Of course, he was equally at home with the church in Hartford, and spent much of his time in visiting, especially the poor of the flock. He had a kind word and a ready hand for every one. One severe winter, a fearful snow-storm had raised the roads to a level with the tops of the fences. A certain widow Burnham lived all alone, just on the outer edge of East Hartford. The deacon was anxious about her; he was afraid that she might be covered with the snow and suffering from want. He proposed to visit her; but his friends thought it perilous to cross the meadows. But, being light of foot, he resolved to attempt it. The weather was cold, and the snow slightly crusted on the top. By means of this he succeeded, with some effort, in reaching the widow’s house. As he supposed, he found it covered with snow to the chimneys. He made his way into the house and found the good sister without fire or water. He cut paths to the woodpile and to the well, and assisted her to make a fire and put on the tea-kettle. He then cut a path to the pig-pen and supplied the wants of the hungry beast, by which time breakfast was ready. After breakfast, he read the word of God and prayed, and was ready to start for home. In the meanwhile, the sun had melted the crust of snow, and, as he was passing through the meadows, he broke through. He tried to scramble out, but failed; he shouted, but there was no one to hear him. The wind began to blow keenly; he did not know but he must remain there all night and perish with cold. But he committed himself to God, and sat down for shelter on the lee-side of his temporary prison. He finally made a desperate effort, succeeded in reaching the edge, and found, to his joy, that the freezing wind had hardened the surface of the snow, which enabled him to make his way home. On a pleasant Sabbath morning, some seventy years ago, might be seen a little group wending their way from Hartford, through the green woods and meadows of the Connecticut valley, towards the little church on Zion’s Hill. Among them was a man of small stature, something like Zaccheus of old, of erect gait, bright eye and agile movement. Though living eighteen miles from Suffield, he was wont, on pleasant days, to walk the whole distance, beguiling the way with devout meditation; or, if some younger brother chose to accompany him, with pleasant talk about the things of the Kingdom. This was Deacon John Bolles, brother of Rev. David Bolles, and uncle of the late excellent Rev. Matthew Bolles, and of Dr. Lucius Bolles so well known in connection with the cause of foreign missions.