Lehigh University
The Vault at PfaffsAn Archive of Art and Literature by the Bohemians of Antebellum New York
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Text for Page 058 [07-16-1861]

                George Bolton�s Home
hour miles between it and Paris by 12 �.
There, much as I expected, I didn�t find
George Bolton, the letter I had written from Roch-
ester remaining at the Paris post-office, �till cal-
led for.�    Setting out for a tramp to his house, I
was accosted by an honest fellow bound past it;
who offered to transport me to my destination if
I�d pay the tolls, which I readily accepted, pro-
posing beer into the bargain.    Less than two
miles riding in his buggy brought me to the place,
a neat wooden-built farm-house, with a porch
and green creepers over it, and an �extension� room
on one side, the roof of which sloped to within a
few feet of the ground.      The house stands hard
by, on the road between Paris and Brantford.
Going to the rear (for the front-door and porch,
after the transatlantic custom, are not at all
matters of use) I found a girl of eighteen or
twenty, who told me that Mr Bolton was afield
but would return soon, as he did.         George
may be broader, browner and perhaps coarser-
looking, but is otherwise unchanged.  In a neat
apartment, darkened to repel the flies, with a
big stove fronting the boarded-up fire-place, he told
me the particulars about his wife and child�s
death.    He asserts that the doctors killed her, by
administering turpentine, which she only consented to               
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