acres of land, which he found wild, and not all of it very good, have reared a large family, and supported public institutions as he did; have given each of his sons at settlement in life, six hundred dollars, and left to each at his death, eight hundred, if he had not practiced through life, a resolute industry, and a somewhat rigid economy.

It is worthy of notice that like his grandfather, Timothy Boardman of Wethersfield, he owned, what by a little change of circumstances, might have brought, not a competence merely but wealth to his heirs. Early in his residence at Rutland, he became possessed, with many others of a small lot in what was called the “Cedar Swamp.” These lots were valued almost exclusively for the enduring material for fences which they afforded. Their cedar posts supplied the town. They obtained also on the rocky portions of these lands a white sand, which was employed for scouring purposes, and also for sprinkling, by way of ornamentation, according to the fashion of the times, the faultlessly clean, white floors of the “spare rooms.” Timothy Boardman’s cedar lot, is now one of the largest marble quarries in Rutland, a town which is said to furnish one-half of all the marble produced in the United States. It brought to one of his sons, a handsome addition to farm profits, but was disposed of just before its great value was appreciated and lost, as in case of the Maine lands.

His grandfather Timothy Boardman, is said to have been “a short, stocky man;” his monument, and until recently that of his father Daniel, son of the emigrant from England, might both be seen, near together in the old cemetery at Wethersfield.

The author of the Log-Book, was a little below the average height, of rather full face, with a peach-bloom tinge of red on each cheek in old age, and of light complexion, and light hair. His motions were quick, and his constitution healthful, though he was never strong. He had undoubtedly a mind of fair ability; inclined perhaps to conservative views, and acting as spontaneously, it may be in criticism, as in any other exercise of its energies. I remember to have received reproof and instruction in manners, from him when I was five or six years of age. He was careful of his possessions, and articles belonging to him, were very generally marked “T. B.”

It is a tradition among the older kindred, that the writer, though he does not remember it, finding at the age of five or six, on grandpa’s premises, some loose tufts of scattered wool, and being told that they were his, expressed the candid judgment, that it could not be so, “because they were not marked T. B.”

I am not aware that he was much given to humor, yet he would seem not to have been entirely destitute of it from the philosophical account he gave of the advantages of his position, when some one ventured to condole with him on the steep hill of nearly a mile which lay between his house and the church. He said it afforded him two privileges, first that of dropping down quickly to meeting, when he had a late start; and secondly, that of abundant time for reflection on the sermon while he was going home.

His wife, undoubtedly his equal in every respect, to whom much of his prosperity, usefulness, and good repute, as well as that of his family was due, after a married life of fifty-three years and three months, died in Dec., 1836. She had long been feeble. Her children watched around her bedside on the last night in silence till one of her sons, laying his hand upon her heart, and finding it still, said “we have no longer a mother.” I remember the hush of the next morning, throughout the house, when we young children awoke. It was lonely and cold in grandma’s room, and only a white sheet covered a silent form.

At eighty-three he was alone, and he deeply felt, as was natural, that loneliness. Yet he had affectionate children, and with his youngest son, who had four daughters, to him kind and pleasant granddaughters, he made his home for the remainder of his life. With the oldest of these he made in 1837, as already noticed, his last visit to Connecticut, going as far as New Haven and the city of New York. On this journey he went in his own carriage. He visited us, once at least in Castleton, at the house where the Log-Book was so long concealed. I remember his figure there, as that of a “short and stocky man,” who seemed to me very old. He died while on a visit to Middlebury, where two of his children had been settled for more than twenty years, at the house of his youngest daughter and youngest child, Betsey, then the widow of Dea. Martin Foot. She and her six daughters did everything possible for his comfort. A swelling made its appearance upon his shoulder, and the disease advanced steadily to a fatal termination. His appointed time had come. From his death-bed he sent to his children a final letter of affectionate greeting and counsel. The feeble hand, whose lines had been so fair and even for nearly three-quarters of a century, wanders unsteadily across the pages, expressive of a mind perhaps already wandering with disease. And so the fingers that had traced the neat lines of the Log-Book, on board the Oliver Cromwell, in 1778, “forgot” sixty years afterwards “their cunning,” and wrote no more. He was buried beside his wife, in the cemetery at West Rutland, near the church where he had worshipped nearly sixty years.

On the death of his wife, he had ordered two monumental stones to be prepared just alike, except the inscriptions; one of which was to be for her, and the other for himself. They may be seen from the road, by one passing, of bluish stone standing not very far from the fence, and about half way from the northern to the southern side of the lot. On these stones was inscribed at his direction, where they may now be read, the words, contained in Rev. 14: 13, divided between the two stones; on the one: “I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, write Blessed are the dead, which die in the Lord from henceforth;” and on the other: “Yea saith the Spirit that they may rest from their labors and their works do follow them:”

His children were:

Hannah, born July 23, 1784; died Oct. 26, 1803.

Timothy, born March 11, 1786; settled in Middlebury, and died there April, 1857.

Mary, born Jan. 27, 1788; married Dea. Robert Barney of East Rutland 1824; died at her son’s house, in Wisconsin, 1871.

Dea. Samuel Ward, born Nov. 27, 1789; died in Pittsford, Vt., May 13, 1870.

Dea. Elijah, born March 9, 1792; died Sept. 24, 1873.

Capt. Charles Goodrich, born Feb. 19, 1794; died Dec. 17, 1875.

Betsey, born, 1796; married Dea. Martin Foot of Middlebury; died April 26, 1873.

The proclivity of the Puritans for education is illustrated in the fact, that only five years after the foundation of Yale College one of this family, Daniel a grandson of Samuel, the emigrant from England, became a student there and was graduated in 1709, and that wherever different branches of the family have since been settled they have generally sent sons to the nearest colleges, not only many to Yale, but several to Dartmouth, Williams, Middlebury, Union, and others. The eighth and ninth generations are now in the process of education, in various institutions east and west. The descendants of Timothy Boardman who have entered professional life, are:

Hon. Carlos Boardman (grad. Middlebury College 1842), a lawyer and judge, in Linnaeus, Mo., oldest son of Capt. Charles. G. Boardman, of West Rutland.

Rev. George Nye Boardman, D.D. (Middlebury College 1847). Prof. of Systematic Theology, in Chicago Theological Seminary, Chicago, Ill.

Rev. Samuel W. Boardman, D.D. (Midd. Col., 1851). Pastor of