The article is quite long, hence I will give only the substance of it here. The writer says he was extraordinary in his acquirements as a student, his brilliancy of mind, his power as a teacher, and in his influence over the community in which he lived. He taught school till he was 90 years old and then retired, lamenting he could no longer be useful to his fellow-men. He still continued his studies, reading his Bible, his Homer, and his Horace with as keen a relish as he did a half century before. He wrote a good hand till he was 102 years old; he continued his reading till he was 104, when his eyesight failed, but his mental powers remained perfect till seven days before his death, when his speech failed, but he seemed to understand what was said to him till the last hour; when he closed his eyes as in sleep, and his noble soul took its flight. His health had been remarkably good throughout his long life of more than a century; he was a stranger to pain till a few months before death, when he became subject to cramps and nervous troubles which caused him great distress. He was active in out-of-door exercise after he had passed the century mark; he would yoke and unyoke his oxen, drive them to the blacksmith shop and get them shod, and work them about the farm; he was able to cut wood for his household fires, and do _chores_ of various sort. Thus Master Sullivan appeared to his pastor, who had known him for forty years and more. Thus I deposit in the archives of the New Hampshire Historical Society my pen picture of New Hampshire’s grandest old schoolmaster. MARTIN MURPHY, SR., AN IRISH PIONEER OF CALIFORNIA.[13] BY MISS MARCELLA A. FITZGERALD. Pioneer! name that like a Conjurer summons All the past before our eyes, Toils, struggles, want and hardships, Perils, dangers, sacrifice. —_Annie Fitzgerald._ Martin Murphy, Sr., is held in loving reverence as an early pioneer of California. A native of Ireland, nurtured on Wexford’s historic soil, he imbibed a love for his native land which was as the breath of his life. Her joys, her sorrows, her glories, were his. In his boyhood he witnessed the gallant struggle of “’98,” when kindred and friends perished in the vain effort to cast off the English yoke, and beheld the cruel persecution and bloodshed that followed the suppression of the Rebellion, scenes which left their impression indelibly impressed upon his heart. No distance could alienate him from, no pleasure cause him to forget, the “Niobe of Nations.” Years afterwards, when a dweller on the Pacific Coast, at a time when intercourse with the outer world was difficult, and mails scarce more than semi-annual, a tourist who shared the hospitality of his home wrote thus: