and waits to be whipped."

     From the sweet-smelling Maryland meadows it crawled,

     Through the forest primeval, o'er hills granite-walled;

     On and up, up and on, till it conquered the crest

     Of the mountains—and wound away into the West.

     'Twas the Highway of Hope! And the pilgrims who trod

     It were Lords of the Woodland and Sons of the Sod;

     And the hope of their hearts was to win an abode

     At the end—the far end of the National Road.

    Brownsville.

    Do you not know where it is located? Do not ask any human being who ever lived in Brownsville as to its location on the map—that is, if you value his friendship. Your ignorance of geography will be exposed and you will be plainly informed: "We do not want anything to do with a person who does not know where Brownsville is located."

     Market Street, Brownsville

    Strange as it may seem, though many excellent histories have been written, there is none extant that has given any full and adequate description of Brownsville's early days and people—quaint, curious, serious, humorous, wise and otherwise—good people all.

    Brownsville was the most important town on that "Modern Appian Way," the National Road, or pike, extending from Baltimore, Maryland, to the Ohio River, and lengthened beyond, in after years, to Cincinnati and Richmond, Indiana.

    Brownsville was founded soon after this country gained its independence, although it had been an established frontier post long before known as Red Stone Old Fort. It was the center of the Whiskey Insurrection, during which George Washington gained his first military experience in the West, experience that would have saved Braddock's defeat 

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