pillar in the Somerville and Bound Brook churches knew his happy voice. He
took the pitch of sacred song on Sabbath morning, and lost it not through
all the week. I have heard him sing plowing amid the aggravations of a 'new
ground,' serving writs, examining deeds, going to arrest criminals, in the
house and by the way, at the barn and in the street. When the church choir
would break down, everybody looked around to see if he were not ready with
Woodstock, Mount Pisgah, or Uxbridge. And when all his familiar tunes
failed to express the joy of his soul, he would take up his own pen, draw
five long lines across the sheet, put in the notes, and then to the tune
that he called 'Bound Brook' begin to sing:

'As when the weary trav'ler gains
The height of some o'erlooking hill,
His heart revives if, 'cross the plains,
He eyes his home, tho' distant still:

Thus, when the Christian pilgrim views,
By faith, his mansion in the skies;
The sight his fainting strength renews,
And wings his speed to reach the prize.

"'Tis there," he says, "I am to dwell
With Jesus in the realms of day:
There I shall bid my cares farewell,
And he will wipe my tears away."

"But few families fell heir to so large a pile of well-studied note-books.
He was ready, at proper times, for all kinds of innocent amusement. He
often felt a merriment that not only touched the lips, but played upon
every fibre of the body, and rolled down into the very depths of his soul,