Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, With such accursed instruments as these Thou drownest Nature's kindly voices, And jarrest the Celestial Harmonies? Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals and forts. Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; And like a bell with solemn sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace." Peace no longer from its brazen portals The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies! But beautiful as songs of the immortals The holy melodies of love arise. The arsenal of Springfield was built in 1794. In 1846 it had a storage capacity of five hundred thousand rifles. It is earnestly to be hoped that the old arsenal's mission is over, and that future generations will visit it only because our illustrious Longfellow was inspired to write his poem about it. One will be well repaid for a trip to Charlemont. Many memories of bygone days fraught with gravest meaning are recalled at this place. "Charlemont has many places of historical interest. At the western end of the village near the long bridge across the Deerfield river is, the famous sycamore tree under which the first settlers slept. Just back of it is the place where Charles Dudley Warner lived, when he had the experiences related in "Being a Boy." Back of the house on a hill is a monument marking the resting place of Captain Rice and Phineas Arms, who were shot by Indians in June, 1775. About two miles from the crossing of the river on the Mohawk trail on a high ridge is a tall, lonesome pine which marks the point where the aboriginal Mohawk trail ascended the hills. The trail can be very clearly traced at the present day from Cold river up the mountains and along the ridge to the west for several miles." What a different scene the road presents today when compared with that of two hundred years ago! What a charming location North Adams has in the hollow of the hills! They seem to surround it on all sides like sentinels watching over the birthplace of one of the world's great souls, Susan B. Anthony. A silvery brook comes stealing From shadow of its trees Where slender herbs of forest stoop Before the entering breeze. --Bryant.