_Symsbury_, with its meadows and surrounding hills, forms a beautiful landscape, much like Maidstone, in Kent. The township is twenty miles square, and consists of nine parishes, four of which are episcopal. Here are copper mines. In working one, many years ago, the miners bored half a mile through a mountain, making large cells, forty yards below the surface, which now serve as a prison, by order of the General Assembly, for such offenders as they choose not to hang. The prisoners are let down on a windlass into this dismal cavern, through a hole which answers the triple purpose of conveying them food, air, and--I was going to say--light, but that scarcely reaches them. In a few months the prisoners are released by death, and the colony rejoices in her great humanity and the mildness of her laws. This conclave of spirits imprisoned may be called with great propriety the Catacomb of Connecticut. The light of the sun and the light of the Gospel are alike shut out from the martyrs, whose resurrection-state will eclipse the wonder of that of Lazarus. It has been remarked by the candid part of this religious colony, that the General Assembly and Consociation have never allowed any prisoners in the whole province a chaplain, though they have spent much of their time and public money in spreading the gospel in the neighbouring colonies among the Indians, Quakers, and episcopalians, and though, at the same time, those religionists preach damnation to all people who neglect to attend public worship twice every Sabbath, fasting, and thanksgiving days, provided they are appointed by themselves, and not by the King and Parliament of Great Britain. This well-founded remark has been treated by the zealots as springing more from malice than policy. I beg leave to give the following instances of the humanity and mildness the province has always manifested for the episcopal clergy. About 1746, the Rev. Mr. Gibbs, of Symsbury, refusing to pay a rate imposed for the salary of Mr. Mills, a dissenting minister in the same town, was, by the collector, thrown across a horse, lashed hands and feet under the creature’s belly, and carried many miles in that humane manner to gaol. Mr. Gibbs was half dead when he got there; and though he was released by his church wardens, who, to save his life, paid the assessment, yet, having taken cold in addition to his bruises, he became delirious, and has remained in a state of insanity ever since.