ing friend of the white settlers. It seemed to be his ambition to adopt their habits and costumes, and

in the end, as it turned out, he sought matrimonial connexion with them, aiming to bind in firm alliance and mutual good offices and interests, the two races, whose lots in life then seemed cast together. He erected for himself a cabin of unusual elegance, and adopted many of the arts of civilization. He sought the acquaintance of the old pastor, and of the other leading citizens, and seemed fully inaugurated in the ways of civilized life.

The young lady was the possessor of great personal beauty, and womanly attractions. She seemed the "rare ideal of feminine loveliness, such as often haunts the dreams of the imaginative and young, but sel

dom meets us in the walks of life." She was the type of innocence and purity. She was possessed of unaffected piety, and loved to

wander in the beautiful sylvan retreats in the vicinity of the village. For the quiet contemplation of nature, and private devotion, she often, at sunset hour, retired by the shady path from her uncle's house to the over-hanging, mossy cliff, of Bethel Rock. It was natural for the romantic and religious child to wander to the place of prayer frequented by all the people, at stated intervals.

Waraumaukeag was often at the pastor's house, and became more and more enamored of his niece. Not yet having forgotten the aboriginal custom of wooing, he brought many a rich and rare present, and lay at her feet to win her favor, but she, understanding their import, and being unimpressed by the fervor of his passion, declined them all, with dignity and kindness, desiring to give no offence, to arouse his anger. Meeting with no success with the maiden, he pressed his suit upon the uncle, desiring his good offices on his behalf. The old pastor tried to show him the impropriety of the alliance, and declined to influence his niece to accept the marriage proposed. Yet he did this with great kindness, as well as firmness, for it was a matter of first importance to all the settlers, to be on friendly and intimate terms with the Indians.

Thus failing, on all hands, in the prosecution of his suit, he departed, and was seen no more at the parsonage. His proud nature could not endure the slight put upon him, the leader of the red men. No offer of violence followed, and the pastor's household was for some time in doubt as to what might result from this unfortunate attachment on the Indian's part, though revenge was feared. One delightful evening in the gorgeous "Indian summer," the young girl left her home, as usual, for Bethel Rock, just as the "sun set behind the western hills," to engage in her evening meditation and devotion, but failed to return. Next morning, after diligent search had been made, her dead body was discovered, at the foot of the rock, mangled by the fall, but with her limbs decently arranged, her hands folded, and her clothing wrapped carefully about her. Beside her was the lifeless body of the chieftain, evidently lying just as he had fallen from the cliff. It is supposed that after she reached the top of the rock, she saw Waramaukeag, who had followed her to this retreat, and, supposing him still angry, and coming to wreak his vengeance, started back in alarm, falling from the great height upon the jagged rocks below, and was killed by the fall. By a secure path the chief

reached the scene below, and finding her dead, he adjusted the form and dress in a comely way, re-ascended the rock, and sought death by casting himself from the dizzy height upon the rocks by her side, thus atoning his responsibility for the occurrence by sharing her fate.

Let us pause a moment to drop a tear over the obliterated graves of a buried race. They are all gone to meet the Great Spirit, and, perhaps, as they desired while in life, to revel in "happy hunting grounds." By the romantic falls of his own ever-murmuring stream, is the grave of Nonnewaug. In his own orchard, at Pootatuck, near the noble Housatonic, rest the remains of Tummaseete. Within the fertile meadows of Wecuppemee reposes the brave of that name, in his last quiet sleep. And there, by that rock, in our very midst, they buried Pomperaug, the renowned chief of our valley, who gave his name to our beautiful meandering river. There, too, shall remain, perhaps for ages yet, the little hillock of stones which now mark the spot, dropped there, one by one, with a tear to each, by his remaining braves, as they sadly passed the hallowed spot on their hunting and fishing excursions. The children of the forest have passed away-faded from the view, and almost from the memory of man. In their low, unnoticed and unknown graves, they sleep well! Their existence has become a matter of antiquarian research, and oft told legend. Their history has been written in desolation.

"The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye,

And when she weeps, weeps every little flower."

We may look on this sad history with sympathy, for, in the "fullness of time," a similar fate will be ours. Our nation will leave more enduring "foot-prints on the sands of time," but with all that is noble and hopeful, it may not last forever. As individuals, at least, our heads shall lie as low in the dust as theirs. "Generation after generation," says an eloquent writer, "has felt as we now feel, and their lives were as active as our own. They passed away like a vapor, while nature wore the same aspect of beauty, as now, and loveliness crowned the hour. The heavens shall be as bright over our graves, as they are now around our paths. The world will have the same attractions for our offspring yet unborn, as she had for us when children. Yet a little while, and all will have happened. The throbbing heart will be at rest.

Our

funeral will wind its way, and prayers will be said; and then we shall be left alone, in silence and darkness for the worms; and, it may be, a short time we shall be spoken of, but the things of life will creep in, and our names will soon be forgotten. Days will continue to move on, and laughter and song will be heard in the room in which we died; and the eyes that mourned for us will be dried, and glisten again for joy; and even our children will cease to think of us, and will not remember to lisp our names."

CHAPTER III.

ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY.

99

GENERAL ECCLESIASTICAL REVIEW; THE "STRATFORD VIEW OF THE WOODBURY CHURCH ORGANIZATION; THE "WOODBURY VIEW" RE-STATED, RE-AFFIRMED, AND

PROVED,

LTHOUGH the history of the immediate causes that led to the settlement of Woodbury, were very fully set forth in the first volume, yet it has been deemed advisable to recur to the subject again, carefully review the evidence in the case, and see if any error has intervened, or any inaccurate inference has been drawn. Almost immediately after the former edition was issued from the press, the author learned that his statements and conclusions in relation to the

Church difficulties at Stratford, were not deemed to be entirely correct by our good friends of the First Church in that town, and, on several public occasions, allusions have been made to the matter, and the opposite opinion has come to be known as the "StratfordView" of the church difficulties which led to the division of the church, and the settlement of Woodbury.

It was stated in the first volume, p. 32, that "the settlement of Woodbury was the result of difference in religious opinions among the inhabitants of Stratford. The first ministers of the colony being dead, and a new generation coming on the stage of action, alterations in respect to church membership, baptism, and the mode of church discipline, were imperatively demanded. Great dissensions on these subjects accordingly arose in the churches at Hartford, Windsor, Wethersfield, and other places, and continued in various parts of the colony from 1656 to about 1670. The discord not only affected all the churches, but it "insinuated itself into all the affairs of societies, towns, and the whole commonwealth." About 1664, while these contentions were going on at Hartford,