KEE SEVILLE. 331 



day till twelve o'clock Sunday nights of each. week. 

 Everybody and everything are busy. Teams are 

 busy, men are busy, the waters are busy. Business, 

 activity, energy, go-ahead, are written upon every- 

 thing. 



We hired a conveyance to take us to Keeseville. 

 This is a pleasant town on the banks of the Au Sable 

 river. It is a quiet place, away from the thunder of 

 railroads, the roar of the steam-pipe, or the scream of 

 the steam-whistle ; but you hear, day and night, other 

 sounds quite as indicative of civilization, quite as sug- 

 gestive of progress. The blows of the monster trip 

 hammer, the ceaseless rumbling of great waterwheels, 

 the puffing of great bellows, and the clank of ma- 

 chinery, are never silent, save on the Sabbath. The 

 world knows but little of the natural wealth of this 

 portion of the State, or the extent of its manufactures. 

 On this little river, within fifteen miles of Keeseville, 

 are made over eight thousand tons of nails alone not 

 from iron manufactured abroad, but from ore dug 

 from the bowels of the earth here. It will be remem- 

 bered that this vast amount constitutes but a portion 

 of the iron manufactured here. You will hear the 

 pondrous hammer as it makes the iron into bars of all 



