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Updated: June 3, 2025
And the following letter to Matthew Vassar, of Poughkeepsie, dated February 1, 1861, shows that he was actively interested in the foundation of the first college for women in this country: "Your favor of the 24th ulto. is received, and so far as I can further your magnificent and most generous enterprise, I will do so.
Their anxiety only increased: Why hadn't Jack telegraphed? Why leave it to Bolton? Why was there no word of him, and yet how could Bolton have known that Peter was with Ruth, except from young Breen. In this mortal terror Peter had wired from Albany: "Is Breen hurt?" but no answer had been received at Poughkeepsie.
It also draws attention to the difference between the hand-split shingles of those days and the machine-sawed ones of the present. Poughkeepsie is the Apo-keep-sinck of the Indians, the "pleasant and safe harbor" where canoes were safe from wind and wave. The name is said to be spelled some forty-two different ways in the old town records.
When the state convention assembled at Poughkeepsie, on the 17th of June, more than two thirds of its members were avowed Antifederalists. At their head was the governor, George Clinton, hard-headed and resolute, the bitterest hater of the Constitution that could be found anywhere in the thirteen states.
The family came to the United States in 1841, making their home at first in Poughkeepsie, and afterwards in or near Wappinger's Falls, where the father bought a large building-lot and erected a neat and commodious house, which remained in the possession of the family until sold by Mrs. Cunningham after the death of her husband.
We will flash first to Worcester, cross the Hudson on the high bridge at Poughkeepsie, swing southwest through a dozen coal towns to the outskirts of Philadelphia, leap across the Susquehanna, zigzag up and down the Alleghenies into the murk of Pittsburg, cross the Ohio at Wheeling, glance past Columbus and Indianapolis, over the Wabash at Terre Haute, into St.
He ran down for us, and answered our hail as the whale-ship, New England, of Poughkeepsie, one hundred and twenty days from New York. Our captain gave our name, and added, ninety-two days from Boston. They then had a little conversation about longitude, in which they found that they could not agree. The ship fell astern, and continued in sight during the night.
The village contains an interesting relic of the past in the old homestead of Peter Mesier, a New York merchant, who settled here about the close of the Revolution. Between here and Poughkeepsie the trolley plies. Its tracks run through the grass by the roadside, the poles blend with the trees, and this usually unsightly modern convenience hardly mars the beauty of the landscape.
Instead of keeping away to follow, the Poughkeepsie maintained her luff, and just as the Swash entered the unknown passage, into which she was blindly plunging, the sloop-of-war was about a quarter of a mile to windward, and standing directly across her stern. Nothing would have been easier, now, than for Captain Mull to destroy his chase; but humanity prevented his firing.
The two vessels were so far apart that one could not be seen from the other, and there was little hope that the Poughkeepsie would detect Spike at his toil on the wreck; but the mate fully expected that the ship would go into the anchorage, among the islets, in order to ascertain what had become of the schooner. If she did not go in herself, she would be almost certain to send in a boat.
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