Belpre library, six
miles distant. Many a night have I passed (using pine knots instead
of candles) reading to my wife while she sat hatcheling, carding or
spinning." The association was dissolved in 1815 or 1816, and the
books distributed among the shareholders; many of these volumes are
still extant in this vicinity, and several are in the college museum
at Marietta.

There are few descendants hereabout of the original New England
settlers, and they live miles apart on the Ohio shore. We went up
to visit one, living opposite Blennerhassett's Island. Notice of our
coming had preceded us, and we were warmly welcomed at a substantial
farmhouse in the outskirts of Belpre, with every evidence about of
abundant prosperity. The maternal great-grandfather of our host for
an hour was Rufus Putnam, an ancestor to be proud of. Five acres
of gooseberries are grown on the place, and other small-fruits in
proportion--all for the Parkersburg market, whence much is shipped
north to Cleveland. Our host confessed to a little malaria, even on
this upper terrace--or "second bottom," as they style it--but "the
land is good, though with many stones--natural conditions, you know,
for New Englanders." It was pleasant for a New England man, not long
removed from his native soil, to find these people, who are a century
away from home, still claiming kinship.

At the Big Hockhocking River (197 miles), on a high, semicircular
bottom, is Hockingport, a hamlet with a population of three hundred.
Here, on a still higher bench, a quarter of a mile back from the
river, Lord Dunmore built Fort Gower, one of a chain of posts along
his march against the Northwest Indians (1774). It was from here that
he marched to the Pickaway Plains, on the Scioto (near Circleville,
O.), and concluded that treaty of peace to which Chief Logan refused
his consent. There are some remains yet left of this palisaded
earthwork of a century and a quarter ago, but the greater part has
been obliterated by plowing, and a dwelling occupies a portion of the
site.

It had been very warm, and we had needed an awning as far down as
Hockingport, where we cooled off by lying on the grass in the shade
of the village blacksmith's shop, which is, as well, the ferry-house,
with the bell hung between two tall posts at the top of the bank, its
rope dangling down for public use. The smith-ferryman came out with
his wife--a burly, good-natured couple--and joined us in our lounging,
for i