Mr. G., "about one hundred years ago, on the banks of the Contoocook. At that period there was not a settler nor a single improvement between their house and Canada; and it was years afterwards, before they had one neighbor, and for a long time but one, between them on the North, and the boundaries of that Province. On a cold winter's day, my mother threw on her cloak of scarlet cloth, such as the great-great-grandmothers of the rising generation were then accustomed to wear, and, with her husband, went out upon the ice down the Contoocook, to see the family of their nearest northern neighbor in Antrim, twelve miles off by land, and some fifteen by the river. They arrived about noon, but found their neighbor, Mr. James Aiken, had gone with his wife, to make a call, on some of their relatives twenty-five or thirty miles distant at the East. Miss Aiken, their little daughter, then about twelve years old, made a cup of tea for my mother. After which, the two disappointed travellers retraced their steps over the ice to their dwelling, which they reached in the evening. That night, there fell a rain so heavy as to break up the frozen stream; and, had they not returned as they did, they could not have reached home for less than four or five weeks, as there were no roads, and the snow was three or four feet deep in the woods. In those days there was not a cart nor a vehicle on wheels, nor a highway in the whole town of Peterboro'; and my ancestor was obliged to take his grain four miles to mill, and bring the meal back upon a rude car, composed of poles, fastened lengthways to a cross-piece, the front being elevated by the oxen, and the rear drawn over the ground, somewhat like a sled."

Retiring from the Hall, towards the close of the Festival, and reminding some friends of the trials, sufferings, denials, and fortitude of those who first founded his native State, he furnished the following sentiment:

The First Settlers of New Hampshire! — Their privations and virtues can never be forgotten by the natives of the Granite State.

THE OLD GRANITE STATE.-A SONG.

BY MRS. SARAH JOSEPHA HALE.

Our world has a wonderful story,
A story as new as her name;
Each State brings its guerdon of glory,
To build up her Temple of Fame.
But Architects know as they plan it,-
This Temple of Liberty's home,
No stuff is so sure as the Granite,
To last through the ages to come.

And so from our mountains we quarry,
The strong living blocks as they stand;
And scarce may we pause for the hurry,
That's urging them over our land.
Our land, you will find if you scan it,

The Middle, the South, and the West,
Among its proud pillars of Granite,

Our mountains have furnished the best.

But here in this lap of the ocean,

Our strength and our glory appear; The world may run wild in commotion, And Nations fall fainting with fear: The ship Constitution, we 'll man it,

And place the Expounder on deck, And firm as our mountains of Granite, We'll stand in the battle or wreck.

Then hail to the beautiful places,

Our homes in the old Granite State!
Her sons, 'mid the struggle of races,

Will never be laggards or late:
And happy as when we began it,

May life lose its last ling'ring sand, And deeds worth engraving on Granite, Ennoble each name in our Band.

By T. W. Bancroft:

Sons of New Hampshire! - So long as our hearts beat, and our breasts glow with emotions, may we cherish in our memory the State that gave us birth.

By Levi Bartlett:

This Family Gathering! - May it prove as useful to us as the occasion is pleasant and gratifying.

By Mr. Batchelder:

The Daughters of New Hampshire! - Pure as her mountain streams, fair as her fertile plains; would that they had been with us at this joyous Festival.

By J. W. S.:

The Eloquence of the Switzerland of New England! — The rival in wisdom to the German, in elegance to the Italian, in majesty to the Spanish, in brilliancy to the English, will be presented to the world by the French.

of American Freedom; they are the test of what is noble in patriotism, dignified

in character, and pure in principle.

By David Bryant:

The Settlers of New Hampshire!

The first in New England to cultivate the potato, and manufacture linen. May they be remembered with respect while the vegetable or the fabric is useful.

By N. Gale:

-

The Old Granite State! Her voice in the national councils and her arm in the battle-field will never be forgotten while she can point to such sons as Webster, Woodbury, and McNiel to illustrate her greatness, her patriotism, and her military glory.

By Charles L. Woodbury:

Portsmouth! — Trade, Commerce, and the Fisheries were the objects of her Pilgrim Fathers; her absent sons rejoice at her prosperity, and send assurance that, wander where we may, our hearts still linger amid the pleasant memories of our boyhood's home.

By Dr. J. V. C. Smith:

The BELLS of New Hampshire! - Let us hear them ring a merry peal.

Voted, on motion of Mr. J. M. BELL, that we adjourn after

singing this

ORIGINAL HYMN.

BY A LADY OF BOSTON.

Tune: -St. Martin's.

Father, Divine! we raise our hearts
With gratitude to Thee;
In all the joy this day imparts,
Thy love we fain would see.

One common birth-right do we share,
One common lineage own;
And all, supported by thy care,
Depend on Thee alone.

Then bless this hour, this festive board,

And this our social cheer;

And in Thy Book of Life record,

Each name that's enter'd here.

APPENDIX.

16