We would not boast, but we think the Mantles of our Fathers have fallen on many of their children, and that we have refined intelligent Christian Society, persons who love each Sabbath day to come from their far off homes, to mingle their prayers and praises with those who worship _Him_ who is a Spirit in Spirit & in truth, and who appreciate the high privilege, of hearing the word of God, Preached with plainness, with simplicity, with Spirituality & Power. Here also in Rugged Winter we love to dwell. We love to brave the Storm, to hear the loud wind roar, the bracing air adds color to the Cheek, and elasticity to the frame. We love to hear the merry Sleigh bells jingle and see the brawny ox at the bidding of his master, bending his neck, to draw the heavy load which gives warmth & comfort to our dwellings. We love the placid quiet of domestic life free from the shackles of folly & Fashion. We love after the labor of the day “To stir the fire and close the shutters fast, “Let fall the Curtains, wheel the Sofa round, “And, while the bubbling & loud hissing urn “Throws up a steamy column, and the Cups “That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each “So let us welcome peaceful evening in.” Music, Books, pleasant converse with others and ourselves, plans of usefulness fill up the passing hour, and we retire to rest leaning on him beneath whose notice, not a sparrow falls to the ground. On yonder Hillock in the vale, a gentle stream meandering at its base, sleep the remains of our Honored Fathers & Mothers. Many of them unknown to fame, but their names are recorded on high. The green sod covers them and the Fir tree & the Willow spread their branches over them, but their excellencies still live in the memory of their descendants. We would emulate their virtues, We would elevate that which is low, we would frown on vice, and contribute our might to reform what is wrong. And may Education, Morality & the Religion of the atoning Lamb of God, characterize the People of this loved place, to the latest generation. AN OLD INHABITANT. 1802. MARY ANN BACON—HER JOURNAL. Mary Ann Bacon was born February 9, 1787, and married, November 13, 1815, Chauncey Whittlesey, of Roxbury, Connecticut. “MARY ANN BACON’S JOURNAL” WRITTEN IN THE 15^{TH} YEAR OF HER AGE.