Besides
these, there were many ladies and others boarding there, for the benefit
of the air, I suppose.
At Canaan, Connecticut, before the tavern, there is a doorstep, two or
three paces large in each of its dimensions; and on this is inscribed the
date when the builder of the house came to the town,--namely, 1731. The
house was built in 1751. Then follows the age and death of the patriarch
(at over ninety) and his wife, and the births of, I think, eleven sons
and daughters. It would seem as if they were buried underneath; and many
people take that idea. It is odd to put a family record in a spot where
it is sure to be trampled underfoot.
At Springfield, a blind man, who came in the stage,--elderly,--sitting in
the reading-room, and, as soon as seated, feeling all around him with his
cane, so as to find out his locality, and know where he may spit with
safety! The cautious and scientific air with which he measures his
distances. Then he sits still and silent a long while,--then inquires
the hour,--then says, "I should like to go to bed." Nobody of the house
being near, he receives no answer, and repeats impatiently, "I'll go to
bed.
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