AUNT HARRIET: If you read the introduction to the poem you will be tempted to read it through, though some of it may seem at first a tissue of absurdity.

Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple,

Who have faith in God and Nature;
Who believe that in all ages

Every human heart is human;
That in even savage bosoms

There are longings, yearnings, strivings,
For the good they comprehend not;
That the feeblest hands, and helpless,
Groping blindly in the darkness,

Touch God's right hand in that darkness,
And are lifted up and strengthened :-
Listen:

DR. PAULUS: “In every nation, he that feareth God and worketh righteousness is accepted of him."

THE PRESIDENT: Perhaps the chief merit of this poem is the studious fidelity to Indian tradition which it indicates, combined with the insight it gives into the workings of the human mind in circumstances so different from ours.

AUNT HARRIET: Any one who has read Hiawatha will think of Pau-puk-keewis and the Gitchie Gumee or Big-Sea-Water, when he visits the Pictured Rocks.

Then along the sandy margin

Of the lake, the Big-Sea-Water,
On he sped with frenzied gestures,
Stamped upon the sand and tossed it

Wildly in the air around him;

Till the wind became a whirlwind ;

Till the sand was blown and sifted

Like great snow drifts o'er the landscape,
Heaping all the shores with Sand Dunes,
Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo.

THE PRESIDENT: There is a strong, though of course grotesque, relationship perceptible in some of these traditions with Scripture record. Hiawatha is himself of divine origin; he is the prophet and friend of humanity; he bears a commission to benefit his race. His mission ends when the Black-robed Pale-face comes to tell his people of the blessed Saviour. In one of his adventures we have an odd resemblance to the experience of Jonah. All this, with the avowed intention of the author to reproduce Indian traditions faithfully, makes Hiawatha worthy of special study for other reasons than for its delineations of scenery.

AUNT HARRIET: Undoubtedly, and I admire the happy way in which the poet manages to depict the more human features of the Indian character, bringing that race, so to speak, into the realm of our common brotherhood. But I presume we must not travel too far from Lake Superior.

MRS. MERRIMAN: There is a poem of Whittier's entitled "On receiving an eagle's quill from Lake Superior." To him, the sign speaks of the onward march of the American nation:

ALBERT: And with this symbol before us, reminding us of the distance we are from our homes, and the necessity for bold and rapid flight, I will bespeak the power of an eagle's pinion for each one of our company for our southward journey, and so close our portfolio for this evening.

ΙΟ

CHAPTER XV.

BOSTON AND THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.

HEN the J. U. T. C. came together, as arranged, for their eighth meeting, at the house of Mr. Goldust, every member, as usual, was present; and, after the transaction of the routine business, the conversation was directed to the subject of the tour for the evening, namely, Boston and the White Mountains, the President taking the part of leader.

THE PRESIDENT: In any conversation or discussion about New England, no matter from what standpoint, it would be decidedly improper to leave out Boston; and so, in our wanderings hither and thither among the hills and valleys of New England, we shall do well to make Boston our rendezvous and point of departure. We can, however, only touch with exceeding brevity upon some of the features worthy of notice in that city. The view here given is of that part of Boston seen from Bunker Hill in the city of Charlestown, and looking out towards the bay. As you know, Boston is built upon an irregularly shaped peninsula, being in this respect somewhat akin to New York; but, unlike New York, the city limits are not confined to the peninsula, but reach over and include the adjacent lands and islands, with which it is connected by free bridges. Old Boston, however, was a much more restricted place, the various additions to the city having been made by annexation from time to time.

Bunker Hill monument, from which our view of Boston is taken, occupies the site of an old redoubt on Breed's Hill, famous in the annals of the War of Independence. It is a square column tapering towards the top, with a spiral staircase inside, and a small room just below the apex, from which a fine view is afforded. Perhaps we ought to pause here for an instant for a brief talk about the events of the stirring times commemorated by this simple but yet grand stone pile.

DR. PAULUS: As Americans we cannot but feel proud of the historic associa

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tions of this spot.

Here was fought out one of the sublimest conflicts that the world has ever seen. Of course, Boston had not all the struggle to herself, by any means; but she occupied a most conspicuous position in the history of that eventful period. THE PRESIDENT: Let us try to realize something of the position of things on June 17, 1775. The American army, with their headquarters at Cambridge, under General Ward, at this time surrounded Boston, and the British, under General Gage, were cooped up in the city, with free access, of course, to the ocean. On the one hand, the Americans were bent on driving the British into the sea; and on the other, the British were determined to force back the Americans from their too close proximity. The British troops were well quartered, had abundant supplies, and were a fine, well-disciplined body of men. The Americans were raw militia, most of them fresh from their farms, with such weapons as they could command, and very moderately supplied with ammunition; but every man was fired with enthusiasm, and could be relied on to the last emergency.

Looking back across the century and recalling the memorable struggle of that bright June day, there mingles in my mind a feeling of sadness, with the natural emotion of joy at the ultimate triumph of the cause of liberty. Behind that double row of rail fences, stuffed with the new-mown hay from the Charlestown fields, were the descendants of men who by patient toil, by suffering and hardship, through blood and tears and fire and famine, had created a paradise out of a howling wilderness, and had handed it to their sons-—a heritage of industry and virtue. A stupid king thousands of miles off, surrounded by proud and foolish nobles, instead of treating this bright and fair offshoot from England with the justness and frankness which it deserved, must needs set to work, inspired by senseless counsels, to harass and pinch and vex the new colony with unjust, meddlesome, and despotic laws. The patient toilers over the seas stood this as long as they could; but human patience has its limits, and it was absurd for George the Third to imagine that men who had sprung from such stock, and had such a record as the inhabitants of the American colonies, were going to be ruled by a foolish despot and a handful of haughty and disdainful nobles. Unfortunately, these nobles and their king were able to commit the people of England-the brothers of the colonists-to the cause of oppression, and, in the conflict which followed, brother was arrayed against brother.