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later days," she fell into a fit of thought." She raised her head after a while, and passing her brawn and bony fingers over her eyes, as if to clear away the mists of the past, she said, "I've forgot; so long ago."

At another time she was asked, "What did the Indians call these rivers, the Housatonic and the Naugatuck?" she replied, "You do not speak it right; you must say Naugatuck, Ousutenuck." Her usual reply at receiving a gift was, "Arumshemoke," (Thank you kindly.) "Now you must say Ta-putney," (You are welcome.) The song of Molly or Magawiska, (an Indian name given her, her own being unknown,) was written by Doctor J. Hardyear some years before her death; he was a physician of talent and respectability, and a native of Derby.

THE SONG OF MAGAWISKA, THE LAST OF HER TRIBE.

DESERTED and drear is the place

Where the huts of my fathers arose;
Alone, and the last of my race,

I watch where their ashes repose.

'The calumet now is no more;

The hatchet no longer is red;
The wampum our warriors wore

Now molders along with the dead.
Once we listen'd to hear the war-song,

As we floated on Naugatuck's wave;
Then the arm of the hunter was strong,
And the soul of the warrior was brave.

Now lonely and drear is the place

Where the huts of my fathers arose ;
Alone, and the last of my race,

I watch where their ashes repose. Derby seems to have been a patriotic place in the war of the Revolution. Among the natives of this town, whose names have been prominent in the annals of the republic, are those of General Humphreys, the friend and aid de camp of Washington; General William Hull, a brave and useful officer of the war of the Revolution, who tarnished his hitherto unsullied reputation by the surrender of Detroit to the British in the last war. Commodore Isaac Hull, the gallant hero of the Constitution," was also a native of Derby.

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Some interesting stories are related of Joseph Hull, the father of Commodore Hull. In early life he engaged in the West India trade; at the commencement of the war of the Revolution, he received the appointment of lieutenant of artillery,

and was made prisoner at the capture of Fort Washington, on York island, in 1776. In defense of this fortress, he is reputed to have behaved with great gallantry. He remained in captivity two years. At length he was exchanged, and his unbroken spirit was once more given to the service of his country.

Shortly after he was appointed to the command of some boats on Long Island Sound, formerly used in the whale fishery, but now fitted out to annoy the enemy, as opportunity might offer. In this limited but dangerous sphere of action, he gave earnest of a mind and spirit, which, under other circumstances, would probably have developed more important results.

On one occasion a British armed schooner was lying in the Sound. She was engaged in transporting provisions from the country to New York, where the British army was then stationed. Lieutenant Hull proposed to some of his companions, of the town of Derby, to go out and capture the schooner.

On the evening appointed, twenty men, placing themselves under the command of Lieutenant Hull, embarked in a large boat, similar to those used in carrying wood to the city of New York. The men lay concealed in the bottom of the boat; and the dusk of the evening favoring the deception, it had the appearance of being loaded with wood. As they approached, the sentinel on deck hailed them.

Lieutenant Hull, who was steering, answered the call, but continuing his course, came quite near the vessel, without exciting suspicion, when, by a sudden movement, he drew close alongside of her. His men, well armed, sprung on the deck. The commander of the schooner was sleeping below, and aroused by the firing of the sentinel, he made an attempt to gain the deck, but was instantly shot dead.

The Americans immediately fastened down the hatches, took possession of the vessel, and carried her in triumph up to Derby.*

Another story is related of Lieutenant Hull's success in circumventing a small party of the enemy whom he met at a place called "the Cove," about three miles west of New Haven. He succeeded in making

For the foregoing account the writer is indebted to the biography of General William Hull, by James Freeman Clarke.

them believe that he had a considerable armed force stationed at a little distance, and actually forced them to return to New Haven. The party were extremely exasperated when they learned that his pretended American force was all a ruse, and that they had been driven back by a single

man.

Lieutenant Hull, although exceedingly circumscribed in his sphere of action, certainly exhibited great bravery and ability. But it was left to his distinguished son, Commodore Isaac Hull, to exhibit his gallantry and ability in a more extended field. He it was whose skill and bravery first gave the American people a confidence in their prowess on the sea. Early in life he adopted the profession of a seaman, and soon after was placed in command of a vessel. He occupied this position at the first establishment of the navy, and at that time received the appointment of lieutenant.

The first of his gallant exploits which attracted the attention of the public, was the admirable seamanship which he displayed in his escape from a British squadron, consisting of one ship of the line, four frigates, a brig, and a schooner, one frigate being within gun-shot. This occurred on the 17th July, 1812. He left the Chesapeake Bay on the 12th of the same month. The chase continued for sixty hours, during which time the gallant crew remained steadily at their posts. The enemy is said to have expressed great admiration of the skill with which Captain Hull maneuvered his vessel and effected his escape.

The brilliant achievement of Commodore Hull on the 19th of the ensuing month, in command of the Constitution, in her engagement with the "Guerriere," is too well known to require recapitulation here.

In conversation with the venerable Professor Silliman, a few days since, he mentioned to me some interesting facts, which I quote as accurately as possible from his own words. In Mr. Silliman's work, published some years since, entitled "A Tour from Hartford to Quebec," he relates a conversation which he held with a British officer in Canada, who expressed great admiration for Commodore Hull, and especially for the magnanimity which he exhibited in the celebrated engagement between the "Constitution" and "Guerriere." The officer stated that at one moment the "Guerriere" was completely

within his power, and he might have instantly decided the victory by raking her, but that he let the opportunity pass in order to give her another chance to return his fire. Commodore Hull, on seeing this published, wrote at once to Professor Silliman, and declined in full to receive any credit for such supposed generosity. He said, "However beautiful might appear such magnanimity, I am obliged to disclaim it altogether. My duty was to take the ship, and I did it as soon as possible." In the letter to which I refer, he goes on to give an account of the engagement; he states that the "Guerriere" commenced her fire at a considerable distance, but with little effect. Not a gun was discharged on board the "Constitution" for a considerable time. Lieutenant Morris came to him repeatedly to say, that he found it almost impossible to restrain his men; the balls of the enemy were dropping fast about them. At last, when within pistol-shot, he gave the command so anxiously expected by his men: "Now," said he, "give it to her! Give it to her!" The action lasted thirty minutes; and at the time the "Guerriere" surrendered, she had not a spar standing above her decks, and her hull below and above water was completely shattered.

Professor Silliman further added, that Professor Morse was at that time a student of art in London; a fellow-student called one morning at his room in Somerset House, and presented him with a morning paper, containing the official announcement of the surrender of Detroit by General Hull, saying, 66 I have the honor to announce to you the surrender of your distinguished fellow-countryman, General William Hull, at Detroit." The young American felt that this was most uncour teous on the part of his English fellow. student; but he was enabled to balance the account the next day, by calling upon him, and announcing the brilliant achievement of Commodore Hull in taking the Guerriere.

Professor Silliman further remarked, that the universal joy and exultation throughout the country when the news of Hull's victory over the "Guerriere" became known, was unparalleled.

The following account of a singular phenomenon which occurred in this town, is from a letter published in the Connecticut Gazette, under date of Derby, Feb

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ruary 18, 1764, and signed by several prominent individuals of the place :

"On the evening of the seventh instant, Febuary, 1764, there was a violent storm of hail and rain; the next morning after, was observed a large breach in a hill on the west side of the

old river, (this was a little north of Birmingham, perhaps eighty to one hundred rods,) supposed to be occasioned by some subterraneous wind or fire; the breach is about twenty feet deep, though much caved in; in length one hundred and thirteen feet; about sixty rods of land was covered with the gravel and sand cast out of the cavity; trees, of about a foot in diameter, were carried one hundred and seventy-three feet distant; some small stones, about the bigness of walnuts, were carried with such velocity, that they stuck fast in a green tree that stood near the cavity; a large dry log, better than two feet in diameter, was carried up so far in the air, that, by the force of the fall, one end of it stuck so fast in the ground, that it kept the other end up. The narrowest part of the breach is about thirty feet at the surface of the ground, and the bottom of the breach is crooking, winding much like the streaks of lightning."

The village of Birmingham is of decidedly recent creation for a Connecticut town, and was commenced in 1834. Bar

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ber, in his "Historical Collections of Connecticut," says of it: "There are at the present (July 1, 1836) about twenty dwelling-houses and three mercantile stores." The view, at this time published, of Birmingham in the same work, presents a great contrast with the Birmingham of 1857, which appears at the commencement of this article. The water which supplies the mills at this place is taken from the Naugatuck River, and is brought in a canal the distance of one and a half miles.

The sketch which I present of the public square, Birmingham, exhibits the west and a part of the north side of this inclosure. The church which appears upon the right is the Methodist. This church was organized in 1793 by Rev. Jesse Lee. It was originally located near the Derby Landing. The Congregational church, which appears upon the left of the engraving, was organized in 1846. The edifice occupying the center of the cut is the high school.

St. James's Church (Episcopal) is situated upon the east side of the public square. This church was organized previous to 1700, and is one of the oldest Episcopal organizations in the country. The present edifice is the fourth constructed by this society, and was built in 1841.

I

THE OLD MAN'S HOME.

strong contrast to the lines which must have been indented upon it by care and WAS walking out on the evening of suffering, no less than the lapse of years. the 18th of April, 1843, when my at- I cannot recall the words of the chance tention was arrested by a sigh from some observation which I addressed to him: one near me. I turned round, and saw a but it related to the lateness and inclemvenerable old man seated upon a fragment ency of the season, and I was at once of rock by the road-side. His hair was struck by the singularity of his reply. white as silver; his face deeply furrowed, "Yes, yes," he said musingly, "the winand yet pervaded by a general expression ter has indeed been very long and dreary; of childish simplicity, which formed a and yet it has been gladdened, from time

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to time, by a few glimpses of the coming | indeed, traveled a long and solitary jourspring."

I now observed him more closely. There was a strangeness in his dress which first excited my suspicion, and I fancied that I could detect a restlessness in his light blue eye which spoke of a mind that had gone astray. "Old man," I said, "you seem tired; have you come from far?"

"Ah, woe is me," he replied, in the same melancholy tone as before; "I have,

ney; and at times I am weary, very weary; but my resting-place now must be near at hand."

"And whither, then," I asked, you going?"

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"Home, sir, home," he replied; and while his voice lost its sadness, his face seemed to brighten, and his eye grow steady at the thought; "I hope and believe that I am going home."

I now imagined that I had judged him hastily, and that the answers which I had ascribed to a wandering intellect proceeded in truth from depth of religious feeling. In order to ascertain this, I asked: "Have you been long a traveler?"

"Four score and thirteen years," he replied; and observing my look of assumed wonder, he repeated a second time, more slowly and sadly than before, "Four score and thirteen years."

"The home," I said, "must be very far off that requires so long a journey."

"Nay, nay, kind sir, do not speak thus," he answered: "our home is never far off; and I might, perhaps, have arrived at it years and years ago. But often during the early spring I stopped to gather the flowers that grew beneath my feet; and once I laid me down and fell asleep upon the way. And so more than four score and thirteen years have been wanted to bring me to the home which many reach in a few days. Alas! all whom I love most dearly have long since passed me on the road, and I am now left to finish my journey alone."

During this reply, I had become altogether ashamed of my former suspicion, and I now looked into the old man's face with a feeling of reverence and love. The features were unchanged; but instead of the childish expression which I had before observed, I believed them to be brightened with the heavenliness of the second childhood, while the restlessness of the light blue eye only spoke to me of an imagination which loved to wander amid the treasures of the unseen world. I purposely, however, continued the conversation under the same metaphor as before. "You have not, then," I said, "been always a solitary traveler?"

"Ah, no," he replied: " for a few years a dear wife was walking step by step at my side; and there were little children, too, who were just beginning to follow us. And I was so happy then, that I sometimes forgot we were but travelers, and fancied that I had found a home. But my wife, sir, never forgot it. She would again and again remind me that we must so live together in this life, that in the world to come we might have life everlasting.' They are words that I scarcely regarded at the time, but I love to repeat them now. They speak to me of meeting her again at the end of our journey."

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"And have all your children left you?" I asked.

"All, all," he replied. "My wife took them with her when she went away. She stayed with me, sir, but seven years, and left me on the very day on which she came. It seems strange now that I could have lived with them day after day without a thought that they were so near their journey's end, while I should travel onward so many winters alone. It is now sixty years since they all went home, and have been waiting for me there. But, sir, I often think that the time, which has seemed so long and dreary to me, has passed away like a few short hours to them."

At this moment, the sun, which had been obscured by a passing cloud, suddenly shone forth, and its rays were reflected by a path of gold in the silent waters. The old man pointed to it with a quiet smile : the change was in such harmony with his own thoughts, that I do not wonder at the metaphor it suggested to him. "There,” said he, "is the blessing of the mourner! See! how it shines down from the heaven above, and gilds with its radiance the dreary sea of life."

"True," I replied; " and the sea of life would be no longer dreary, if it were not for the passing clouds which at times keep back from it the light of heaven." His immediate answer to this observation proved the image, which he had employed, to be one long familiar to his own mind. "There are, indeed, clouds," he said, "but they are never in heaven; they hover very near the earth; and it is only because our sight is so dim and indistinct that they seem to be in the sky."

A silence of some minutes followed this remark. I was, in truth, anxious that the old man should pursue the metaphor further. But the gleam of light passed away as the sun sunk behind the western hills. His feelings appeared to undergo a corresponding change, and he exclaimed, hastily, "The day is fast drawing to a close; and the night must be near at hand; I must hasten onward on my journey. Come, kind sir, and I will show you where my friends are waiting for me."

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I was wondering whether he now spoke metaphorically or not, when my thoughts were suddenly turned into a new channel, and my former painful suspicions returned. As the old man leaned upon his staff, his

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