"Dear Husband.

"It is a Crasie time in this place. There is but little Traviling by the Massachusetts Fort which makes it more difficult to send letters. Capt. Chapin and Chidester and his Son were killed and scalpt by the Enemy near the new foort at Hoosack."

Sarah Williams, of Roxbury, in 1714 announces to her friends at Deerfield the expected return of many of their friends who had been carried off in different raids—"We have had news that Unkel is Coming with one hundred and fifty Captives."

The number dwindled, and many who were carried away on that dreary march through the winter snow never returned, but among the relics preserved in the archives of Memorial Hall is a pathetic little red shoe which walked all the way from Hatfield to Canada and back, on the foot of little Sally Colman. It is hardly more than a tiny sole, with a rag of the scarlet upper clinging to it, but it tells the story of the cruel march, and the heroic efforts of the noble men who effected the rescue of their friends, better than many a page of print.

We were so much interested in Memorial Hall that it was long past supper-time before we thought of leaving. The book-agent advised us to visit the old burying-ground, and, after supper, offered to show us the way. We found it grass-grown and neglected; in some portions, a thicket of climbing vines and tangling briers. Indeed, the entire God's acre was so given over to nature that the birds built undismayed, while the squirrel frisked impudently on the headstones, and the woodchuck burrowed beside the tombs. It had not been used for many years; a newer cemetery raised its white monuments on the hillside, while here lichens nearly filled the carving, and the stones leaned at tipsy angles, proving that grief for any buried here had been long assuaged, that the very mourners had passed away, and it was doubtful whether a single aged man still lingered in the town of whom it could be said that

"These mossy marbles rest
On the lips which he has pressed
In their bloom.
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb."

As Miss Sartoris remarked, the place did not suggest sadness, but gentle retrospection, while curiosity provoked the fancy to fill out the histories so provokingly suggested in the inscriptions. Here was buried Mrs. Williams, whom her epitaph declares to be "the virtuous and desirable consort of Mr. John Williams," and Mr. Mehuman Hinsdale, who was "twice captivated by the barbarous savages."

The book-agent read us another epitaph, copied in Vernon, Vt., which suggested a three-volume novel in the history which it gave of early Indian times. Our imaginations sank exhausted as we attempted to follow the heroine through all her matrimonial complications, I give it as it was dictated to me:

Mrs. Jemima Tute,
Successively Relict of Messrs. William Phips,
Caleb Howe, and Amos Tute.
The two first were killed by the indians,
Phips, July 5, 1743; Howe, June 27, 1755.
When Howe was Killed, She and Her Children, Then Seven in Number, were Carried into Captivity.
The Oldest Daughter went to France, and was Married to a French Gentleman. The Youngest was Torn from Her Breast, and Perished with Hunger. By the aid of some Benevolent Gentlemen, and Her Own Personal Heroism, She Recovered the Rest. She Died March 7, 1805, Having Passed Through more Vicissitudes and Endured more Hardships than any of Her Contemporaries.
"'No more can savage foe annoy,
Nor aught her widespread fame destroy.'"

It was dark when we wandered back to the hotel, past the old manse built for the Reverend John Williams by his parishioners after his return from captivity. We were told that some one residing in the house of late had occasion to move a tall piece of furniture in one of the chambers, and discovered a door. Opening this, a secret staircase was found leading from the cellar to the attic. No one living had known of its existence, and many were the wild guesses made as to its object.