Freedom of thought and of conscience is the pole-star of our existence. The active and enterprising spirit of the age has given us a vigorous and original literature. The universal diffusion of knowledge is the grand characteristic of our country. By means of this, the most distant member of our population, which surges to and fro like the waves of old ocean, is visited in his home on the broad prairie, or among the everlasting hills, and prepared to act his part in the great system of republican institutions. A bright destiny for us, under God, may be predicted, far more glorious than king or potentate ever gloried in. In the spirit of liberty, inculcated by every act of our fathers, lies the secret of the present condition of our kind. Exalted indeed is the position of us, who live in the nineteenth century. We stand amid the mighty ruins of the far distant past, while the clear light of liberty has just dawned in full effulgence upon the world. Events of the greatest importance succeed each other with electric speed. We must ride out the storm, and control the swelling flood, or be overwhelmed amid its angry waves. "For us has been reserved the glorious, yet perilous task, of remodeling society for us a vital share in the regeneration of mankind." Our trust is in the lofty patriotism and intelligence of the people, and we are cheered on by the hope, that the perfection of humanity, having sought in vain throughout the whole world for a permanent resting place, may here, in this western land, take up its final abode.

What shall be the developments and improvements in our highly favored territory, a hundred years hence? The answer to this question must depend mainly upon ourselves. Of all this vast concourse, not one will be here to celebrate the next centennial. Long ere another centennial sun shall rise over this lovely valley, we shall have experienced the "last of earth," and passed to join the innumerable company of the dead! "The dead of old Woodbury! Lost, yet found forever—absent, yet present now, and always-dead, but living in that glorious life, which, commencing on the confines of time, spreads onward, and ever onward, through the endless ages of eternity!" Then let us, by the nobleness of our conduct, and the purity of our lives, eschewing all low delights and jarring discords, strive to add our mite to the great and good history of our sainted fathers, who have "ascended into glory." Then will our children, as they shall, with wet lids, assemble here, a hundred years hence, to commemorate our history, be enabled to say of us, "they wrought well, and have received the reward of their labors." Then shall our fame, as well as that of those glorious men who have already entered

into their rest, be perennial with our noble language, in which it is recorded, now "spread more widely than any that has ever given expression to human thought." Let them, in that distant hour of commemoration, be enabled to apply to our memories, our virtues, and our words, that beautiful apostrophe of our most eloquent historian, to the English tongue: "Go forth, then, language of Milton and Hampden, language of my country; take possession of the North American continent! Gladden the waste places with every tone, that has been rightly struck on the English lyre, with every English word, that has been spoken well for liberty and for man! Give an echo to the now silent and solitary mountains; gush out with the fountains that as yet sing their anthems all day long without response; fill the valleys with the voices of love in its purity, the pledges of friendship in its faithfulness; and as the morning sun drinks the dew-drops from the flowers all the way from the dreary Atlantic to the Peaceful Ocean, meet him with the joyous hum of the early industry of freemen! Utter boldly and spread widely through the world, the thoughts of the coming apostles of the people's liberty, till the sound that cheers the desert shall thrill through the heart of humanity, and the lips of the messenger of the people's power, as he stands in beauty upon the mountains, shall proclaim the renovating tidings of equal freedom for the race!"

At the close of Mr. Cothren's Address, after music from the Band, the vast multitude repaired to the tents, provided with an abundance of eatables by the good ladies of the several towns, where they were hospitably entertained. In a brief space, the people were again summoned to the stand, and the exercises were opened by music from the Band, followed by the well-known song, "The Pilgrim Fathers," sung with fine effect by Gilbert Somers Minor, an aged man of silvery locks and long white beard. Then followed a Historical Poem by Rev. William Thompson Bacon, of Woodbury, as follows:

SIRES AND SONS,

A HISTORICAL POEM;

PRONOUNCED AT THE

Woodbury Centennial Celebration,

JULY 4th, 1859.

BY REV. WM. THOMPSON BACON.

POEM.

ARGUMENT.

A band of Pioneers spy out the land-Advent of the first Colony over Good Hill-Descent into the valley, their location, some facts about them, and why they came-Pass a hundred years, with some notices of descendants-Summary of the Puritan character,

Two hundred years ago, as records say,
*Five sturdy settlers left old Stratford Bay,-
Wells, Harvey, Uffoot, Curtiss and John Minor,
The last, of this design the grand designer,—
And, turning to these northern solitudes,
Sought out a home, among the gloomy woods.

But first, as honest settlers ought to do,
They seek a title to the land in view ;—
So turning eastward, far as Naugatunk,†
Where dwelt an Indian Chief-not always drunk,—
Of him, and paying large of course, they bought
All the wide-stretching region that they sought.

This region, as I learn by efforts great-
(The muses are exact in what they state)
Was bounded northward by a trail, that lay
Over old Bantam Hill, nine miles each way;
Westward, it came, the parted hills among,
As Ousatonuc rolls his bulk along;

* John Wells, Richard Harvey, Thomas Uffoot, John Curtiss, John Minor. † Paugasset, now Derby.

Section of Litchfield."

Southward, from this, due east, to Naugatunk,
f-so seldom drunk,—
And eastward, by that river, till we come
Back to the region that we started from ;—
All this they buy, I dont know for what sum,
Perhaps three hatchets and a quart of rum.

Where dwelt the aforesaid Chief-s

Sharp purchase that, you say-but stop, I say,-
What know you of the land's worth in that day ?—
What did it bear, all this wide stretch of land,
That here, in loveliness, we see expand?
Perhaps a little maize, some worthless chief
Scourged his poor wife, to plant for his relief;
Perhaps a plot of beans the white man gave him,
Yet not enough of these from death to save him;
With here and there a vile tobacco weed,

That he might smoke a little in his need ;——
The rest all left where cat or bear might prowl,

Or echo to the desert wolf's long howl;

All this wide stretch of land, and we to give

This up, that five old chiefs, like brutes, might live!

Perhaps it were a little more like song,

A little more to romance doth belong,

To picture here this loveliest paradise,

With all its glowing woods and streams and skies,
As sheltering, blessing, in its riches rare,

A race of demi-gods, and angels fair!

Imagination, as she loves to paint,

And lay her colors on without restraint,

Might tell us of the bowers here in the wood,

Where once the Sachem and his Shannup stood,

Of lonely walk in solitary glade,

Of Indian lover with his Indian maid;

Of hero, prophet, sage, and all that throng,
That roll and thunder in the poet's song;-
But let me tell you-me-one of the men,
That do this thing, with pencil or with pen,-
That this same ancient race we thus exalt,
And talk and sing about as without fault;