benches and desks, bearing many a mark of mischievous girls and boys, and saw my own name rudely, out with the knife of one of my boy lovers, I knew it was the same dear old school house; every bench and desk seemed to tell a tale of school girl's joys and sorrows, of school mates and masters gone; for

"None were there to greet me now,

And few were left to know,

That played with me upon the green

Full forty years ago."

There, to, stood the old elm tree upon the corner; though shorn of much of its original beauty and grandeur, it still spread its gnarled branches far and wide, showing how nobly it had braved the fury of "Old Pompey's" winds for centuries. Beneath its cool shades I remember sleeping, and dreaming such dreams as come to us but once, and that in our sinless, happy childhood. I remember standing on tip-toe and spelling out the bills which told of the wonderful things to be found in the city of salt, for the old tree was used as a bulletin board in those days by the agents of the merchants of the infant city of Syracuse.

The ancient Columbia Poplars too, were there near by; which seventy years ago shaded the house of my grand-father.

How familiar they looked, tall and straight, their dark leaves whispering as they did years ago. Many a whip I have cut from their leafy sides, with which to urge on my "Arabian Steeds," which so often in those days bore me "o'er the hills and far away!"

But do you know Doctor, how sadly I missed the dear old country church? How desolate the green looked without it? for it had been borne away, as a store house, for a thrif ty farmer; who instead of "pulling down the old and building greater" chose rather to take the old church, with its ample dimensions; and now in place of the voice of prayer. we daily hear the cooing of doves from its high dome. Fondly and tenderly, do I remember the church of my early love; when first my infant lips learned to join in the Response the

devout Litany and prayer. There, too, when but a child I took the solemn vows of confirmation; promising to love God and keep my spirit "free from earth-taint." Still do I feel the kindly pressure of the good Bishop's hands upon my head; and hear the accents of his gentle voice;

"When he spoke, what tender words he used,

So softly that like flakes of feathered snow
They melted as they fell."

I was but a light-hearted child then of thirteen, and long years have passed since the echo of that good man's voice died away in that dim old country church; and he with many of my loved ones "rests from his labors."

Ah! Dr. it is good for us to live over the past, as we did on that never to be forgotten day! We shall ever look back upon it as a "bright green spot in the desert sands of life!" We will remember it ever, and teach our children to echo the cry which daily goes up from our hearts. Thank God for the Re-union.

Yours, very Truly,

ESTHER A. CLAPP DORWIN.

Dr. R. F. Stevens:

MANTORVILLE, MINN., June 23d, 1871.

Your favor, inviting us to attend a re-union of the former residents of the old town of Pompey, has been received, and has awakened many thoughts of the "Auld Lang Syne.' Again and again, through all the "halls of memory," have been stirred anew the long-slumbering echoes of the past. Half forgotten forms have reappeared with sharper outlines and more than usual distinctness, claiming former appreciation. Few things would be more gratifying to us than to meet and greet once more the many surviving friends of "long ago" on the grand old hills of Pompey; but growing infirmities, a long and wearisome journey, with other reasons, will compel us to forego the pleasure. But we shall be with you in spirit and measurably share the festive joy of

your gathering. And should any there still kindly remember "Jared" and "Miss Rowena," and enquire of our wellfare and whereabouts, please tell them that we now hail from the "Land of the Dakotas," just over the eastern line of what we here call the "West," alias Minnesota; and like many who were young when we left our native hills, are far in the "sear and yellow leaf." Our lot has been cast among the Pioneers of the West. Left the "Hills" when the first railroad pointing westward was being built, from Utica to Auburn. Found Milwaukie a small village. Preached the first sermon ever preached in Madison, the Capitol of Wisconsin, standing behind a dry goods box covered with an Indian blanket, in the upper story of a store, the best meeting house the place could afford. Now it is a beautiful and proud city, full of churches and elegant public buildings, and the whole country, a few years since the home of a few filthy Pottawatomies, Menominies and Winnebagoes, now blossoms out with cities, villages, and homes of culture and refinement. The Indian trails, once the only guide to the Wisconsin pioneer, have given place to a net-work of railroads, which bear along their iron traceways the burden of a great and growing commerce. All these changes have we witnessed within the last thirty-five years. The last five years have been spent in Minnesota. This State, twenty years ago, had but a few hundred inhabitants. Now her population of half a million can take excursions on a thousand miles of her railroads; and as they witness the rapid movements in building the N. P. Railroad, some fancy they can almost hear the thunder of the iron horses from Puget Sound, as they rush over the mountains, bringing the commerce of China with them, and gathering up, as they course the great Plains, the products of a thousand industries already being opened up from a territory large enough to make twelve or fifteen States as large and as good as New York.

Our three score years and ten are nearly filled; but with such a western experience, and such an outlook still westward,

our old friends will not think hard of us if we express a willingness to live a few years longer to see what we may see.in the West.

I can but think your gathering will make a proud day for Pompey, and that you will realize, as never before, that your town has furnished her full average of notables, and that the old Academy, and olden churches, (however imperfect in their workings,) have had much to do in moulding the character and in shaping the destiny of those that meet in your union.

Could I have the pleasure of meeting the multitude that will gather at your union, and hear recalled the names of others that have passed behind the vail, I would gladly recall the memory of one, now perhaps half forgotten by the older inhabitants, and entirely unknown to the new. I re-. fer to Theodore E. Clarke. His life was scarcely considered a success, even by his best friends. His powers were too restive to be curbed down to those pursuits necessary to give success. But among the long list of gifted minds Pompey has produced, I have long regarded Theodore's as the tallest of them all. For pure intellection, for logical acumen, for profound abstract thought, for far-reaching and comprehensive views, for bold excursions into the unknown in search of hypothesis to explain known facts, he probably had few equals in this or any other country-in this or any other age. But he passed away in middle life, comparatively unknown, and has gone where thinking is a business and profound logic appreciated.

Through you we would send our kindest greetings to old friends, hoping that the renewal of old acquaintances-the stirring memories that will be awakened there-the lessons of instruction that will be suggested by the occasion—will better qualify for a grander, nobler and enduring re-union beyond the River.

We hope to meet you on the other shore.
Yours, in memory of past,

JARED F. OSTRANDER.

Dr. R. F. Stevens.

MANTORVILLE, MINN., Aug. 29th, 1871.

DEAR SIR:-Your request for a few items from my pen shall be cordially complied with. The grand gathering of the scattered sons and daughters of Pompey, on the 29th of June, is an era in the history of that place. The friendly meetings and greetings of those who came back to the homes of "other days"-the reminiscences awakened-the long past brought back with its memories of sadness and of gladness-all conspire to invest the day with an interest which will live when other days are forgotten. Thanks for the papers sent, giving an account of the doings and sayings of that day, that grand event, in which it was my misfortune. not to participate, has, nevertheless, more than any other of my life, stirred up memories of the past, brightened up scenes of my childhood and youth, until they seem but a little ways back in the dim distance, although my three score and ten years are nearly told. The schools of Pompey Hill are among my earliest recollections. The one taught in the school house, near D. Kellogg's residence, I attended and remember-the teacher, I think, was Leman Pitcher. The house was used for meetings on the Sabbath, and the Rev. Mr. Wallace was the minister. The desk used as a pulpit was sometimes, also, used to shut up naughty scholars in. One day Hugh Wallace, the minister's son, was sent there for some misdemeanor, and after looking around to view the situation, exclaimed: "I don't want to be shut up in father's pig pen." After my father removed to his "wilderness home," half a mile east of the Academy, it was my lot, with sister Chloe, to go to school through the woods by marked trees, with only a faint foot-path that led to the hill. One morning, as we were leisurely wending our way to school with our dinner bag and books, we heard a terrible crash in the bushes near us. We halted, and on turning around saw a big black animal near the path, sitting on his haunches and looking at us. As we had not been frightened with stories of bears, we had no fears. We stood