He was promoted to the sergeancy of Company C, 67th N. Y.; was shot in the head while before Petersburg, a “minie” ball, which is about the size of one’s thumb, passing through his cheek and out of the back of his head at the base of the brain. Because of this wound he was in the Fairfax Seminary, which had been turned into a hospital, when Lincoln was shot, but through the efforts of Governor Ward was transferred to Newark, and was here in the hospital some three months, being mustered out while still a patient, on August 8, 1865. Mr. Kinsey came to Woodside in 1867 and has ever since resided at the northeast corner of Summer place and May street, in the first house erected by Morrison & Briggs. DR. J. E. JANES. Dr. J. E. Janes is worth a good word if for no other reason than because of the good he did. The Doctor never refused to go when a call came, no matter what the night, or if he knew that there was no money compensation for him. He was endowed with that good Samaritan disposition that is so typical of our associations with all that is best in the old-fashioned country doctor—everybody’s friend and at the service of all. When the Doctor found it necessary to remove his family to the balm of the southern California coast Woodside lost a man. MR. PETER WEILER. Mr. Peter Weiler of the River road is spoken of as a man of large stature and determination and, withal, not easily bluffed. When the Paterson & Newark Railroad (now the Newark Branch of the Erie) was put through, the railroad people made every effort to avoid adequate payment for the land taken, and in many cases they succeeded in securing the property for little or nothing, but such an arrangement did not at all meet with the views of Mr. Weiler, and when they attempted to rush his place he built a rail fence across the proposed line of track and mounted guard with a shotgun, and the railroaders, like Davy Crocket’s coon, came down. BELLARS. One of the queer sticks of the times was Bellars, the church organist. No one ever called him “Mr.” Bellars—he was just plain Bellars—an odd combination of ignorance and musical genius. He could not read the simplest Sunday school music but, once he heard a tune, nothing could drive it out of his head. When it came to new music he was a trying proposition and grievously tormented Mr. Hine’s patience. Occasionally there were stormy scenes about the organ loft, and at least once Mr. Hine threatened to dismiss him if there was not an immediate improvement, winding up his peroration with “It’s a short horse and it’s soon curried”.