IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 4> /V"/. :A i/.x % 1.0 !!« I.I 1.25 28 ii£ |a2 t 1^ M IM 2.0 U nil 1.6 V] <^ /^ % "^"^ % •) 7 *>v^ /!^ ? Photographic ^Sciences Corporation V iV 4 k qjj \\ o^ M^'^ 32 V/IST MAIN STRUT V/IBSTIR, N.Y. 14380 (716) %T>..»>iVi ^'^ CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques at bibliographiques The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checked below. D D D D D D □ Coloured covers/ Couverture de couleur I I Covers damaged/ Couverture endommagde Covers restored and/or laminated/ Couverture restaurie et/ou pelliculde □ Cover title missing/ Le titre de couverture manque I I Coloured maps/ D Cartes g6ographiques en couleur Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/ Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur Bound with other material/ Reti6 avec d'autres documents Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion along interior margin/ La reliure serrde peut causer de I'ombre ou de la distortion le long de la marge int6rieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the iext. Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peu' que certaines pages blanches ajouties lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans Is texte, mais, lorsqua cela 4tait possible, ces pages n'ont pas 6t6 filmies. Additional comments:/ Commentaires supplAmentaires; L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire qu'il lui a 6td possible de se procurer. Les details de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-Atre uniques du point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une modification dans la methods normale de filmage sont indiqu6s ci-dessous. I I Coloured pages/ D Pages de couleur Pages damaged/ Pages endommag6es Pages restored and/oi Pages restaurdes et/ou pellicul6es Pages discoloured, stained or foxei Pages d6color6es, tachet6es ou piqudes Pages detached/ Pages d6tach6es Showthrough/ Transparence Quality of prir Quality inigale de I'impression Includes supplementary materii Comprend du materiel suppldmentaire I — I Pages damaged/ I — I Pages restored and/or laminated/ I — I Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ I I Pages detached/ I I Showthrough/ I I Quality of print varies/ I I Includes supplementary material/ □ Only edition available/ Seule Edition disponible Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata slips, tissues, etc., have been ref limed to ensure the best possible image/ Les pages totalement ou partiellement obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure, etc., ont AtA filmAes A nouveau de fa^on d obtenir la meilleure image possible. This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est film6 au taux de reduction indiquA ci-dessous. 10X 14X 18X Z2X / 12X 16X 20X 26X 30X 24X 28X 32X The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks to the generosity of: Dana Porter Arts Library University of Waterloo L'exemplaire film^ fut reproduit grdce d la g6ndrosit6 de: Dana Porter Arts Library University of Waterloo The images appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract specifications. Les images suivantes ont 6x6 reproduites avec le plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et de la nettet6 de l'exemplaire film6, et en conformity avec les conditions du contrat de filmage. Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending or. the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprimis sont rilm^s en commengant par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont film^s en commenpant par la premidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol — ► (meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole -^ signifie "A SUIVRE", ie symbole V signifie "FIN". Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmds d des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clichd, il est film^ d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 V -:/'' ^^^^^^^m^^"^ " Life is Jo\\ and lore is p(nuer, Death all fetters doth uiihind ; Strength and wisdom only flo7uer When we toil for all our kindr James Russkli. Lowell. (i <- THE CITY AND THE SEA," llhii) ©tfjcr Camfarftisc Contributions. IN' AID OF The Hospital Fund. See wliai they be; read them." .SlIAKKSPKAKE. ^r CAMnRIDGE: JOHN WILSON AXn SOX, 2lnibrr3tt0 IJrcss. 1881. property o« «* ^^'f* Copyright, ISSl, 13Y Helen L. Reed. I'REFACn. pOR the welfare of every community certain institutions are needed, prominent anion- wluch are scliools and religious societies. Tliere 's another institution whose necessity is not per- liaps as widely recognized, yet whose mission is of great importance. This is the hospital, an out- come of Christianity ; for thot,nh we do not ex- actly know in what way the ancients cared for thcr s.ck poor, the probability is that the work was done by individual Good Samaritans. The hospital, as known to us of modern times un- '''■"I't-^Hy had its origin among the Mediaeval >»onks, who, whatever their faults, certainly showed a pra^eworthy spirit of kindness toward the poor and afflicted. f PREFACE. Sickness and pain, bard enough to be borne by any, arc aggravated a thousand times in the abodes of poverty ; and it is a cause for thankfuhiess that science and philanthropy have pointed out a way whereby we may do something to ease the suffer- ings of the unfortunate. Since the hospital, then, is an institution so needed in every large com- munity, it is strange that Cambridge as yet has not one. For while the general prosperity of Cam- bridge is evident and acknowledged, her citizens cannot claim immunity from disease or poverty. Painful accidents have occurred, will occur, among the many employed in her various indus- tries ; yet, no matter what the injury, the patient, if poor, must suffer much at home from inadequate care and the general discomfort of his surround- ings. That Cambridge has no hospital must not be ascribed wholly to indifference on the part of her citizens. Doubtless many have thought that the Massachusetts General Hospital is able to answer all requirements made upon it by Cambridge pa- tients. The facts, however, are otherwise. The Massachusetts General Hospital is always full. 1 PKEi'.trr.. Demands arc constantly made .,,>„„ it l.v c.nntry t'»vns: anri.|..v s„ »-n able to take eare .,f l,er .,wn. shotdd 2m to tlie perplexities of its majia-ers. The nee.l of a Cambridge h,.spital, nou' obvious to all, was seen, years a,:;o hy the few,-,amo„^ then, M,ss I.:mily IC. l',,rs„„s, the history of whose work I- too well known to require much mention here 'lavms .-iven her time and stren,;;lh to the service "f the woimde.l durin,:; our late War, on Iier return she was not willin,^ to sit idle when there was so "inch to be ndge. I<:verything has been expressly contributed to this book. With one slight e.vception. whose ex- planation will be found on page 1,9, nothing has before appeared in print. The book having been prepared within a limited tT*" 8 PREFACE. time, at the season when people are scattered far and wide, it was impossible to obtain contributions from all thj Cambridij:e writers whose interest in the object would have led them to contribute. The sincere thanks of the ladies concerned in increasing the Cambridge Hospital Fund is here given to those who have contributed to this book ; and especially would the editor thank them for the uniform courtesy and interest with which they have assisted her in her work. H. L. R. Cambridge, October, i88r. n ^ •=>> 4 .? COiXTENTS. TmF, CtV AXn T„F, S,.A ...//. „,, z„„^,.//„,,. A CAM„Rn,f;r. Kob.nson Crusoe . . John IMmc... Il Gexovese . . T- ■ ^ ^rafias J. ChilcL Frexch Radical Eloquknt k t ir ir • K»>.M- I.:,.ua,„.:t„ l.AKSONS . . . Saran S. J,„o/.. Mv First 1.-r,k.nd ..v Can.rrmk..: . ;;•. /;. y/,„,,;/,, Tahiti FA . . ,,, ^, ^S/.///,7/ //'. Driver. A STUDV I.V THR HISTORV OP CAMMiuno..: ^l Icxattdcr McKenzie. TlIK WlIIITooKWILL . ,,../ The Oij) Nurse . ,,, , , „ • • • V • I'letchcr Hates. Historic HosriTAUTY . ,1.,, ,^., ' • • . Arthur Gih/ian. (I 13 55 71 73 79 «5 99 103 III 113 I I i i lO CONTEXTS. I' AGE The Heritage of Sufferers Charlotte F. Bates. 117 Rex's Vacation Anne IV. Abbott. 119 PuELLA Rom ANA J. B. G. 185 To William Cullen Bryant . Mrs. Chas. Folso?n. 187 The Lesson of a Song H. L. R. 191 n si TUIi CITY A.N'D THE SEA. T HE pantinn^ City cried to the Sea, " I am faint with heat, — O breathe on me ! " And the Sea said, " Lo, I breatlie ! hut mv brcatli To some will be h'fe, to others death! " As to Prometheus, brinj^ing ease In pain, came tJie Oceanides, — So to the City, hot witli the flame Of tiie pitiless sun, the east wind came. It came from the heavin- breast of the deep. Silent as dreams are, and sudden as sleep. Life-iving, death-giving, which will it be, - O breath of the merciful, merciless Sea ? ' Hi NKV W. LOXGFKLLOW. f^' w i III 1 * A CAM15RlDGn ROBIXSOX CRUSOIi. \T 7E will suppose a boy, born in Cambridge and a steady attendant at the old Parish j\Icct'uuis (as it was commonly pronounced), to have been wrecked on his first venture to sea in the year 1820; to have lived a Robinson Crusoe life till about' the present time, when he has been found by a venerable navigator, his companion in boyhood and fellow-attendant at the Parish Church, and who is conversant with the town and its changes to the present time. In so long a term of silent self-comj)anionship it would be our friend's melancholy recreation to recall the picture of his old home, and of his neighbors young and old, in the then little more than village TT -r r 14 y1 CAMBRIDGE ROBINSON CRUSOE. of Cambridge. Seeming like part of another world and another state of being, it would, by long con- templation, become fixed in his mind as something with which time and cham;e had nothinii- to do. Himself living in perennial vigor, his days silently coming and going like the tides cf the sea about him, why should he dream of distant innovation or decay ? * No ! doubtless to his last Sunday revery on the island, the old meeting-house and its fre- quenters appear before him as he saw tliem last. Judge Winlhrop still hangs his cocked hat on its brass-headed nail in the south wall ; Mr. Stacey Read goes to his accustomed pew on the other side of the door; and he seems faintly to hear the rumble of Mr. William Ikites's bass-viol as he sets the pitch for the psalm. As he advances along the uncarpeted aisle in his creaking Sunday shoes, he is conscious of trying to look as if they made no noise. 1 le set:s the sexton peeping through his little window in the tower of the church to see if the minister has arrived, that he may cease to toll the bell. No intervening time has changed this perishable picture to his view. •% 1 ■.*1 ■ vl; W'c all know how hard it is to keep in due pro- j^rcssion (or rctro<;rcssio:i) the buclL;et of facts which each carries in his memory. An amicable pjrson is about to send a present of sui^ar-i^lums to the friend's child of whose birth he heard, it seems to him, a year or so since. Askini;- one or two {)re]iminary questions he finds that the young- ster is mining in California, or lierding on the plains, or possibly that he is a settled minister, with a boy that exactly fits the intended gift. We meet a valued contemporary whom we ha\'c not seen for fortv years. He appears his exact former self. " My dear Codlin," we exclaim. " Ves, sir ; I am a son of }'our old friend," is the reply. We greet him cordially, and omit to tell him that we took him for a well preserved youth of sixty or sixty- five summers. We e\en occasionally find persons who fail to keep u[) with their own ad\-ance in life, and remain ever anchored on the shores of time, in, say, thirty to forty-five fathom. W e rii\ist allow the two friends a brief interval, to be come wonted to the situatio n. A member o f the First Parish, who has resided fifty years alone ! f i6 A CAMBRIDGE ROBINSON CRUSOE. in a very remote degree of longitude, is not to be approached exactly as a friend whom you met yesterday. He must be allowed a certain amount of hysteric agitation at the prospect of rescue, and to make the first enquiries after parents and house- hold. His jaws, opened for so long a time only to give entrance to his primitive diet, or for brief soliloquy, or for attempts at dialogue with beasts and birds in their own language, need some prac- tice to meet the demands of conversation. His tones of voice, unregulated by any standard, range from the sea-cow to the parrot. He gives vent to any excess of joy in a variety of capers which show that he retains the activity as well as the simplicity of the boy of thirteen. These circum- stances make the first meeting with his deliverer rather miscellaneous. A little practice in talking with the Captain, however, has brought him round so that they are quite well prepared for such con- versation as they are like to enter on. The Cap- tain is a great custodian of old reminiscences, and he regards his new-found friend somewhat as he would a map of Cambridge that had lain rolled up A CAMHRinCE ROBISSOX CRUSOE. 17 'g P- up for fifty years. He means to examine him to a certain extent, without disturbing his evident im- pression that his old town remains quite the same to-day as when he left it in 1820. The third day after arrival (the ship being de- tained by various causes) our friend having settled down into comparative quiet and, as the Captain said, got his talking tackle on, they both after breakfast lay down under a cocoa-nut tree for a free talk. " Well now, Captain," said our friend, " I am going to ask you all about Old Cambridge." " That 's right, Royal," said the Caj^tain (for such is our friend's name), " but suppose you should give me some idee first how well you remember it. Have you kept the run of the time since you 've been here? " "Not much," said our friend ; "I guess I was considerable distracted when I was first bumped ashore here all alone. I suppose I must have been here fifteen or twenty years." The Captain saw that his friend had kept his boy estimate of time, and that he considered \r i8 A CAMIIRIDCE ROBIXSON CRUSOE. twenty years as much as mortal vLsion could con- template at one time. He smiled, thinking how he had considered himself far advanced in years at forty, and was now disposed to look at seventy as very near the prime of life. "Well, Royal," said he, "we will find out by and by how old you are. Now give me your idee of our old town." "Where shall I begin } " " Well, — back of the colleges is as good as anywhere." " Oh, back of Holworthy," said our friend. " I see you remember the names," said the Cap- tain. " Yes, there 's four colleges, and then there 's Harvard and Holden Chapel, and University Chapel besides. That 's all of white stone. That 's about the finest building in the State, I suppose, next to the State • House. Then back of Hol- worthy is the College playground [Delta], and at the east end of that is the Swamp — the Huckle- berry Swamp. Craigie's road is one side of the playground [Cambridge Street] ; there's one house n A CAMHRIDCE ROIUXSOX CRUSOE. 19 C on that about half a mile down, and I don't know as there's any other between that and the Pint [Lechmere's Point, P^ast Cambridge]. Then, on the other side of the playground is the old Charles- town road [Kirkland Street]; there's one old black house down there, an old Foxcroft house, I believe [not far from the head of Oxford Street] ; then come up along, there's a piece t)f land that the College owns ; there 's a barn on that [near the site of the Scientific School]. Then, going along toward the West Cambridge road [North Avenue], there's a little three-cornered piece of Common, where the Light-horse always comes up at Commencement time. Oh, ain't that a hand- some sight, Captain } Well, up there in the corner is the minister's house (I hope I shall hear him preach in the old meeting-house before six months is over), and there 's Mr. Royal Morse's and Mr. Gannett's, — Jic died before I come away. 1 sup- pose his widder lives there now. Then you come to the corner [Mrs. leaker's. North Avenue], and there 's a little pasture-lot with a yellow barn on it. They always have a dancing-tent there Com- iir»*""»" 20 A CAMIiRlDCE RO BIX SON CRUSOE. mencemcnts. (Oh, Captain, if wc could only get home time for Commencement. There must be more tents now than there was when I come away !) Well, up the road [North Avenue] there 's about a dozen houses, say, on each side till you get to Davenport's tavern [near Porter's]. I sup- pose Davenport does a great business now with the country pungs that come down in the winter." " Do you remember the houses, Royal, along the road pretty well ? " asked the Captain. •' Why, no, I don't ; but about a third of 'em was little black story and a half houses, with gam- brel roofs." " Yes," said the Captain, '-'• and them houses, in my opinion, saw the row that was going on the 19th of April, '75." •' What ^s a row } " asked our friend. " Why, it 's a kind of shindy," said the Captain. "What's a shindy?" " It's a disturbance, a tumult like, where there 's more kicks than coppers. Why, Royal, you /lavc got pooty green staying here so long, have n't you »» // C AMUR IDC, E ROBIN SOX CRUSOE. 21 S j't '• I 've ^^ot tanned, I suppose," said Royal, inno- cently. "Well, yes," said the Captain, "so you have — f;ot tanned, that's it — yes;" and he resolved not to use any more \v )rds at present that were not in vogue in the j^riniitive time of his youth. " Xow," said the Captain, " suppose you should begin at the southeast corner of the burying-ground, pretty near opposite to Harvard." " Well," said Royal, " first, there's Mr. Reemie, in a small, squarish sort of house ; and then there 's Captain Stimson (he takes care of the College wood-yard) in the old black-looking house with the gable end to the street [both these houses where the church of the First Parish now stands] ; then there 's the passage into the wood-yard [now carried through and made Church Street] ; then there 's the Den, and that's the first College house, — Wis- wall's wife died there. Captain, do you believe that it was the Devil that scratched Mrs. Wiswall so?" "Couldn't say, Royal; it's jes like him if he got the chance." tsMmmmammait ■'|lli| oo A CAMBRIDGE KOBINSOX CRUSOE. " But on a Sunday ! " said Royal. " Why, you know that would n't be no objection to /lim, Royal ; and then you know the folks was all gone to meeting. If she 'd only had her l^ible in her hand — they say t/iat is a pertection ; but I am afraid the poor woman did n't have much to do with the Good Book, but it don't concern us. Royal, so long as we go regular to meeting when we are ashore, and try to be good." '* Good, scn'oits Christians, you mean, Captain," said Royal, who had been very piously brought up. " Well, about the scrioits, Royal, I don't want folks to look all the time as if they was flying sig- nals of distress. Vou know ihey thought hard of the captain of the schooner that hove out his signals of distress because he was short of beans, — there was n't sufficient cause. Royal. I don't want to have a feller look as if he had the colic because he is good. ' Oil to make his face to shine,' — you'll find that in Scripter. Now if it was bhirking, a feller 'd have some reason for keeping a serious look on. But look here. Royal, IC ,0 it i)r al, you '11 never get down in town at this rate. What 's the next buildinii to the Den ?" " It 's the College engine house," said Royal. " I s'pose the College engine goes to fires now ? " " It don't go to any fires out of Cambridge," said the Captain, still evasively. " Well, next to that," continued Royal, " is the passage-\va^- that goes in to the College carpenter's shop, and then comes the second College house [Huntington's shop occu|)ies a part of the ground] ; the Law School is there, and Professor Stearns's office. I suppose there must be as much as forty law students by this time." " There 's as many as that," said the Captain. "Then," resumed Royal, "from there to the Court House [Lyceum] is an open field." " Xow cross ()ver to the corner," said the Cap- tain. "Oh, to Miss [Mrs.] Farwell's shop [corner of Brighton Street antl Harvard Scjuare]. What a business they do do there; she's worth as much as ten thou.sand dollars. Does Prudence Board- man tend there now } She 's pooty, ain't she ? 24 A C A 'if BRIDGE ROBINSON CRUSOE. ■i'l" She's just like those little handkerchiefs with a pink border that they sell there. The next build- in*^ is Mr. Stacey Read's — ^le is the postmaster. I should be glad enough to pay a quarter of a dollar for a letter, if I had it, for the sake of going to the old post-office again." "They did use to charge twenty-five cents for a letter from a distance, did n't they "^ " said the Captain. "Why, don't they now?" said our friend in alarm, for the least idea of innovation on the status in quo was a pang to him. "Oh, they make a little discount nowadays," said the Captain, and Royal resumed : — " Next to the post-office comes the tavern, and it's a real dear place, is n't it .'' They charge six cents a glass, and it 's only three at the stores ; they keep soda, too, and that 's six cents a glass. I never tasted any, but I have seen 'em in at the winder a drawin' of it. You 've seen the soda fountain .^ " " Yes," said the Captain. " How I should like to go in there," said Royal, A CAMBRIDGE RO BIX SOS CRUSOE. 25 *•' and see Captain Stedman and Royal Morse, and Morse that drives the stage, and ^Vtwell, and Squire Wood, and all the rest of the printers that board there. I mean to go to l^oston in the stage when I get home, if I have a quarter of a dollar to pay the fare. It 's a good deal, but I want to go in the stage for once in my life, anyhow. Next to the tavern is Deacon Brown's old shoj). How is the Deacon .'* but no matter now. Then cross over to the opposite corner [Little's Block] ; Professor Hedge lives there, — or I suppose he does, don't he ? " **No," said the Captain, "he moved — some time ago. Now go down the street toward the river [Dunster Street], and let's see how well you re- member." "Well," said Royal, " past Professor Hedge's it 's open to the street — tJiat's old Mr. King's garden ; he was at the storming of Stony Point. Next to his garden comes the old black house where he lives, with the ro(tf running down near the ground on the back, — one of the real old houses. Jacob Watson lives there, too ; is n't Catherine Watson 'Wr W- 26 A CAMBRIDGE ROBINSON CRUSOE. a real pooty girl ? Then you go four or five rods, and you come to Dr. Tom Foster's house, with the end on the cross street [Mount Auburn Street]. I suppose he 's got into a good deal of practice by this time, has n't he ? " " He has retired from business," said the Captain, not wishing to say that he was dead. " Now go across the street to the opposite corner." "Oh, Dr. Gamage lives there, I suppose lie's alive. He and his old yellow mare 's about as tough as anything in Cambridge. What a pair they be. She is rhubarb color, and his old surtout is just the color of ipecac. Oh ! don't he give a feller the stuff .^ Oh, Lor! his ipecac! it's just like letting a cat down into a feller s stomach and pulling her out by the tail. I do declare, Captain, fur off as I am, it gives mc a sort of a twist inside when I think of it. Folks say you 'd ought to take a 'metic at least once a year. I should have a lot to make up, should n't I, Captain .' " " Well, if you like it," said the Captain, ''but the doctors don't keep their own stuff now. You '11 have to go to an apothecary." ^ A CAMBRIDGE ROIU.XSO.W CRUSOE. or is it Tuesday?) old Leonard Hunnewell marks out the places for the tents, just as solemn as if they was so many graves, and the boys always make it out that there 's agoing to be more tents than ever there 'vas before. Then Tuesday after- noon the jice [joists] and boards and old sails come, and they begin to build the tents, and they keep on working at 'em in the night ; and the boys when they go to bed know that the work is going on, and perhaps they wake up and hear 'em ham- mering, and go to sleep again and drear, of lots of tencS. Do you think we can get home in time for Commencement, Captain ?" " I am afraid not, Royal," said the Captain, " but you go ahead with your story. I rather like to think about Commencement, myself." " Well, Captain, you know when it comes morn- ing there 's the tents, the most of 'em on the Common right in front of the colleges, and then there 's one or two big ones out in the direction of the Episcopal Church, and one up at the corner on West Cambridge road [corner of North Avenue and Holmes Place]. The lowest down tents is A CAMryRlDGE RO BIX SOX CRUSO[-:. 29 about opposite Massachusetts, and the furthest up comes pretty near the little three-cornered Common [Flolmes Place]. Then from the tents tlown to the Court House [Lyceum] there's stands just outside the sidewalk, with candy and toys and every sort of thin^;'. The children 's thick cnoui^h down there. I 've seen something there they calletl ice-cream — that come from Boston I suppose. It was dreadful dear. I never tasted any, but some that did said it was real good. Did you ever taste any, Captain } " " Why, it is n't much in my line. Royal, but I have." " Well," resumed Royal, " then the first thing you know there 's the Light-horse comes with their trumpets, — they come with the governor, — and then about nine o'clock the great procession comes with music ; the women has been crowding in to get seats in the meetinus beforehand, and when the procession comes into the meetinus it 's just as full as it can hold, every corner of it. It's almost as good fun to be there as to be out on the Common. Then down in the market-place it's all 30 A CA.l/BAVDGE ROBINSON CRUSOE. full of carts with watermelons and peaches, and Ijts cr folks coming and goin^;. Then at Captain Stimson's house [where the First Parish Church stands] they let rooms for the shows, and I see Punch and Judy there once, and it was the best thing that ever / did see. Well, Captain, you know they keep it up all day on the Common, and pretty well at night, and all the next day and night. Oh ! there can't be anything like it any- where, I do sup])ose. But look here, Captain ! you'd like a fresh cocoa-nut I know. This here tree's come up and growed since I landed, and where on earth the seed come from I don't know." The Captain was just hesitating between an im- mense cube of tobacco, his ordinary solace, and a minute bit of flag-root from the Jarvis meadow, which with true village patriotism he affirmctl to be the best flag-root in the known world, and a sure preventive of colic in all latitudes. Before, there- fore, he could accept or decline, our friend pro- ceeded alono: the tall stem as if he were on a concrete sidewalk, detached a cocoa-nut such as enterprising boys occasionally dream of, descended 1 \m lllili iiiii 32 A CAMBRIDGE ROB I \ SON CRUSOE. Lord forcrive us ! I am afraid I 'm a stretching: it a little, and I belong to the Bethel, too ; but there 's something in these low latitudes that makes a fellow go bye and large in his talk." " What 's localities ? " said our friend. " Why, it 's places ; they call places localities nowadays, and they call things local that 's in the localities. The last time I got my hair cut ashore, the barber (he was a purblind sort of a feller) thought he sec a bald spot on my head, and he told me of it. I did n't say anything, but maybe I squirmed a little in the chair. * Oh,' says he, ' Captain, it 's only a local baldness.* ' Well,' says I, * if it 's only local, it may stay there for all me.' You see he wanted to sell me some of his stufT that '11 make a head of hair grow on the capstan." " Do they have the base-ball in Cambridge now 1 " inquired our friend. " Have it ! yes, worse than most anywhere, and all the rest of the what-d' ye-call-'ems — the ath- letics. Why, when I was ashore this last time, I used nights to meet half a dozen young fellers in a string all running as if the devil was after 'em. % A CAMBRIDGE Kn/ilNSCW CRL'SOE. 33 (There, now ' I never used that word till I was ever so fur south of the Line, — there's somethinci: in these latitudes.) Well, when I first met these fellers I thought it was fire or burglary or some- thing, and I set out to run too, but I could n't do much in that line — your shore grub makes a fel- ler too pussy for running. — But now, Royal, you spoke about the old meeting-house. I don't sup- pose you remember the inside of it very well .'' " " Oh, don't I ? " said Royal ; " when we get home you just ask me to carry you to any of the pews where I know the folks. You know there 's some of 'em comes from so fur up West Cambridge road I don't know 'cm by name, though I do by sight. Why, I '11 just start now at the door that looks down the street, Dunster Street. The first right- hand pew, if you go in straight from Dunster Street, is Mr. Mellen's, — him that used to be the min- ister at Barnstable. The next is the minister's pew, and then comes Judge Winthrop ; he looks just the same, I guess, as he did at Bunker liill, — cocked hat, knee-breeches, and silver buckles, — only he is pooty old now. Is he alive, Captain ? " 7 •A 'W\ ^ i 1 ' i ! ; ill *lil ll ihi m VlM'l 11 34 A CAMBRIDGE ROBINSON CRUSOE. " Well, Royal, he is n't able to go o\\\. at all now," said the Captain, he having died about the year 1822. " What 's the next pew ? " "It's Mr. Jacob Wyeth's," said Royal. "lie keeps the tavern at Fresh Pond. Aiiit Fresh Pond the beautifuUest place in the world, Captain.-*" " It is about as pooty as anything I have seen in all my vyges," said the Captain. " How the yellow chaises used to go up there," continued Royal, "half a dozen together — Sun- days. I should a liked to have been in one of 'em, if it had n't been on a Sundav. It was n't our Cambridge folks that was a riding — t/icy come, most ^?// of 'em, to meetin' regular. — But I was at the meetinus. Well, you go to the other side of the door, and first there 's Professor Hedge's pew, and next Professor Stearns's. T/uy come to meetin' when it's College vacation. And then there's Mr. Stacey Read's. Don't you thiiii: I remember some- thin' about it } Well then, the first pew right- hand, broad aisle, — t/icre's llie little old man in the snuff-colored coat ; he 's got a great clubbed cue that he mijiht knock a feller down with if he could ■1^ III A CAMBRIDGE RODINSO.V CRUSOE. 35 hit him with it. The pews in the broad aisle is a little mixed up in my memory, that 's a fact, Cap- tain ; but there's Major Metcalf, his family, — {fic sings in the choir, you know), — and Mrs. McKcan, and Mr. Prentiss, and on the left hand there's tlie Miss Howes, and Mr. Jacob l^ates, and Dr. Water- house ; he 's the man that brouc^ht the vaccination in first, ^ — he and President Jefferson writes letters to each other ; folks think he 's a kind of Socinian. Then there 's Captain Lee, and good old Deacon Walton in the deacon's pew at the end. He's alive, I hope." •' He was very low the last time I heard from him," said the Captain, determined not to own to any change in the town till he was ready, although the excellent deacon had been dead some fifty odd years. " When I get home," said Royal, " I shall see all the folks together in the old meetinus ; at least, the families." " Yes, the families'' said the Captain. •' You must expect some change." " I don't know," said our friend, still tenacious of ^nrr^ ^iliii^i III 36 A CAMBRIDGE ROBINSON CRUSOE. the old situation, — "I don't know, Captain. I haven't seen much change here, though, to be sure, my Httle dog and Dr. FrankHn and Miranda have died." And here our friend drew from the pocket of the trousers that the Captain had given him a most extraordinary piece of manufacture. " Why, Royal," said the Captain, " what 's that ? " " It 's a hankerchif that I made out of cocoa- nut bark. I thought I 'd have a hankchif if I didiit have no trousers. I saved mine for Sun- days, and outgrowed 'em pooty soon," said Royal, suppressing the rudimentary tears and smiling with innocent pride. " Don't you think it 's rather pooty ? " " Why, ahem ! — yes. Royal, very pooty, but I should advise you not to give way to your feelings very often, or you'll rub your eyes out with it. But you never told me before about the dog and — what was it ? — Dr. Franklin .'' — who in the world was he ? " "Oh, he was the pig," said Royal, "?nd Miranda was the parrot. I called her after Miranda Gibson. I used to see /ur to meetin', but I never spoke to ./ CAMBRIDGE ROBINSON CRUSOE. 37 her." Here Royal colored, and in his embarrass- ment again produced the handkerchief. " Look here, Royal," said the Captain, " I '11 give you one of my bandannas if you want to use a swab so often. I got a case of 'em at Singapore in the year '28, when I was chief mate of the ' I'lying Buffalo.' They 've carried me through all my trials up to date. I 've lost three wives. Royal," said the Captain, solemnly, " and every one of 'em just the best of women, and I 've never used anything l)ut these bandannas. There 's no better material for affliction, and when you're off duty in that line, there's nothin' more — well, I won't say fashionable, but anyhow, respectable, than a real bandanna. Jkit you was telling about the meetin'-house." " Yes," said Royal ; " ain't it a nice one. too } If the pews was all painted, and the men's and boys' gallery too [the pojiular designation of two long slips in the u'est gallery], it would be real hand- somo. Then there 's such a high pulpit, and such a handsome sounding-board over it ; and what a winder there is back of the pulpit ! It 's shai)ed like the gravestones in the buryiri^-ground. I guess i : I V III 41F" * to make a feller's eyes water. I don't know where I should ha' been without my bandannas." " I 've always tried," said Royal, " to be as good as my depraved nater would allow, and I 've prayed to be kept out of temptation." " Why ! I don't see what temptation you could have found ficrc^ Royal, unless it was to hang your- self, or jump overboard," said the Captain. " Did n't you never see a sail ? " K i^ h\ A C A.] f BRIDGE A'OB/XSO.V CRUSOE. 47 desolate tone, and again produced the cocoa-fibre handkerchief. " Here, Royal," said the Captain, " if you must swab, take my bandanny, and when you 're done with it, give it to me again. I shall want to use it. I catched a violent cold some years ago going round the Horn, — ship half under water for forty- eight hours, — and the remains of that cold is lurk- ins: ever since."' The Captain, whose eyes had become a little red in the course of the narrative, wished to avoid all suspicion of being sentimental. " Why, you see, Captain," resumed Royal, " the dog pined first ; I guess he was pooty old. I did all I could for him, but he died. The rest of us went to his funeral, and I tell you it was a solemn time. Well, after the dog died the pig missed him dreadful (they was great friends) ; he went grunt- ing about enough to break your heart. He eat pooty well, but his victuals did n't seem to do him no good, and pooty soon he died, '<\n<\ Miranda set on my shoulder at the funeral. She lived ever so long ; but one evening in the twilight she jv st fell i w ■m i • i- r 48 /I CAMBRIDGE RODINSON CRUSOE. forrard, and hunj; there with her head down, — she was dead, but her elaws kept hold of the pereh. Then I was all alone agin. I did n't hardly know sometimes whether it was time or eternity that I was in. If it had n't been for my religion I don't know what I should a done. I hope you've got religion, Captain." " I hope I '\e got my share of it," said the Cap- tain. "You know in my calling I can't spread a great deal in a religious way. I have to make my religion pooty portable. I stow away the doc- trine, but I try to have a little practice on hand all the time. If a feller '11 only hi: pleasant , he'll help religion along considable, without knowing of it." " lUit, Royal," said the Captain, " I 've got to tell you now. I may as well, first as last. There 's been terrible improvements made in Cambridge since you left in the year '20." The Captain imparted to Royal by degrees, now and afterward, the afflictive substitutions of new for old that had taken place in buildings, public A CAMBRIDGE ROBINSON CRUSOB. 49 and private, at the same time recounting the va- cancies which time had made in the population. Consequently, in the brief interval before tlie shii)'s departure. Royal's face was frequently liidden in the large bandanna which th.e Caj)tain had given him, according to his promise. JoH.N Holmes. 111 w k Ht ill iiif IL GKNOVESI-:. A BALLAD FROM THE ITALLW. '" I ^ WAS the daughter of a merchant so rich, As pretty as pretty could be ; This was found out by a Genoese, which Marriage proposed, but she Was put under lock and key. A garden the Genoese planted With every flower that blows ; All the girls picked whatever they wanted, But our fair one never a rose, Because her papa did n't choose. The Genoese gave a great ball, With thirty-two musicians ; 52 IL GENOVESE. Hundreds were there, but she not at all, In spite of the free admissions, Because of her parent's suspicions. The Genoese gave a great feast. With dishes of silver and gold ; All the girls went, the biggest and least, (Save one) the young and the old : Papa was not thus to be sold. The Genoese set the bells tolling about, In sign that his days were over : I'his poor little girl, she put her head out Of the window, in hope to discover Whether reallv it was for her lover. The good folks said, " Your hopes are wreckt, The days of your lover are sped, Go to church and show proper respect : " She went to her parents and said, " My first love, they tell me, is deado " Dear parents, my hopes are all wreckt, — He is dead that for me was sighing ; Let me go and show proper respect ! " " Go," they cried, nor tiiought of denying, " But let us have no more crying." IL GEXOVESE. 53 The poor girl she went to tlie wake ; Her hnnds she kept in her nuiff, Her heart it was fit to l)reak, Her bosom gave many a pulT, — She thought he was dead, sure enougli. But when she came up the aisle, The (lenoese no longer tarried ; " Stop chanting, friars, priests, in that st\ le ! The jest need no further be carried ; We'll go to the high altar and be married." Fkan'cis J. Child. 1: I' II 1! FRENCH RADICAL ELOOUEXCE. [The following extracts are taken, with only the slif:;htest possible revision, from a traveller's diary. They have the inevitable defects belonging to that form of composition, and perhaps some of the freshness and directness which partially redeem those defects. I might have attempted to rewrite the narrative and make it a more symmetrical atVair; but, after all, there is a great deal in what the poet Gray says, that '' memory is ten times worse than a lead-pencil.'"] Paris, May 30, [878. T WAS just able to reach the Folic Theatre in -*■ time, where the Voltaire centenary celebration was to be held. As I drove up, the street was full of people, and the policeman at the door assured me that all the tickets were sold. Indeed, this had been already placarded. Hut when I told him I was an American, and had come from London on pur- 4* I' iftMt^ hi 56 FRENCH RADICAL ELOQUE.\XE. pose to attend the festival, he left his place to an- other, and hunted up a man who had a seat or two left and sold them on speculation. I got a douhle scat with a young Frenchman, who piloted me in, — and a hard piloting it was! The well-dressed crowd surged along, and the old women, who in French theatres find seats and take umbrellas, were at their wits' end. It was one of the most interesting scenes I ever witnessed ; for I never was in a French public meeting or heard real French oratory before. I think it must, when at its best, surpass all others, such are the resources of the language, the power of expression in the race, and the degree of sym- pathy in the audience. Never at the most excited political meeting did I ever see anything like it ; and the fact that all applause was given with hands and voices, never with feet, indicated a far higher and more delicate appreciation. To begin with, it was perhaps the most intellectual-looking audi- ence I ever saw. The platform was covered densely with men, — a singularly thoughtful and able body, such as one might expect the French FRENCH RADICAL ELOQUENCE. 57 Assembly to be, and certainly superior to Parlia- ment or Congress in looks. The audience was composed of men, nine out of ten, and the same look predominated. I could not see the ui)per gallery, but I saw none of the lower class except one blouse, and nobody in uniform. And such a talking as there was ! It seemed as if they were quarrelling all over the house, merely with good-natured chatter. All were French around me, and I was so glad of this ; my companion was from the provinces and knew noijody, but on the other side was a very handsome man, full of zeal, who helped me about various matters of informa- tion. When I asked him if Victor Hugo was on the platform, he said, " You would not ask that if you knew the shout that will rise from these gal- leries when he comes in." And applaud they did when a white head was seen advancing through the crowd on the platform, and the five galleries and parquet seemed to rock as he took his scat. Victor Mugo looks just like his j)ictures, except that his white beard, cropped short, is not so rough as some of them make him appear. He bowed M 111; m «•'' 58 FRENCH RADICAL ELOQUENCE. and sat in his place, the two other speakers on each side ; and the bust of the smiling Voltaire with a wreath of laurel and flowers rose above Hugo's head. It was a good bust and a pleasant smile, a rare thing in the pictures or busts of Voltaire. The first speaker, M. Spuller, was a fine-looking man, large, fair, and rather English in appearance ; he spoke with one hand always on the table, but the amount of gesture he got out of the other hand was amazing. He spoke without notes, clearly and well, telling the plan of the celebration. Sentence after sentence was received with ap- plause, and with " Oh-h-h " in a sort of long-drawn literary enjoyment, or with "Bravo" and "Admi- rable." But these w^^e far greater with the second speaker, M. Emile Deschanel, well known in the Chamber of Deputies, and author of a book on Aristophanes. Yet he sat down to read his speech, — I found afterwards that it was only the numer- ous quotations he was reading, — but he gesticu- lated as if standing and with really quite as much effect. His speech was almost as much a tribute FRENCH RA DICA L ELO Q i EXCE. 59 to Victor Hugo as to Voltaire, often running par- allels between them. He traced Voltaire's whole career, commenting on each part. One of the most skilful passages was on the most dangerous ground, Voltaire's outrageous poem on Joan of Arc. lie claimed that Voltaire had at least put her before the world as the savior of France, and admitted that mo:;t of the book bore the marl7 the first Revolution, the Chant dn Depart, played by the band and received almost as eai^erly. It was very fine, but unfamiliar to me before, strancje to say. Th ere was also mu L sic by Rousseau, and I had n o notion that it would be so <;'()od. It was finely sung by two vocalists from the Theatre Lyric[ue ; and I was told that they risked their places at that theatre by singing in an assembly so radical. The speaking was elocpient and impressive, by Louis lilanc, M. Marcou, and M. Hamel. All read their speeches, yet they so gesticulated with one hand that it did not seem like reading. Tlie orators were not so distinguished as at the X'oltaire ccle- brat ion, e.xce pt T OUIS HI anc, anc I th( e audience was far greater ; yet there was quite as close at- tention and almost as delicate appreciation. One thing struck me very much ; that when there was a long swell of a really fine sentence, if any one interrupted the flow by premature aj)plause, there was almost an angry "^7// j-/^/" to repress it. Once when it was done my ne.xt neighbor said excitedly, ^*CU'st trap do pn'cipitatiou ;'' and soon the reserved applause broke with accumulated i)ower, like the I'! !l !1 r hi 4 I. 'I I!- ■' ,,( ]'■ 68 FKIiXCH RADICAL F.LOQUEXCE. breaking of a wave at last when the shore is readied. The utter stillness of a Parisian radical audi(Mice in hearing a favorite speaker is as won- derful as the storm of its applause at last, or as the vivacity let loose in the intervals of the meet- ing. The whole lasted from two to nearly six, and during the latter part of the time the disentangling power which one unconsciously uses in hearing foreign speech was so wearied in me that I could hardly comi)rchend a word, and it just flowed by me uncomi)rehcnded ; and it was much the same with my two young companions. We were due at the evening banquet at half past seven, and lounged gradually along an intermina- ble street, the Rue de Belleville, up a hill towards the outskirts of Paris. It was in a thoroughly French region, no more " English spoken " in the window, the streets full of cheery-looking people with an air of holiday, and not a few children, even babies tightly swathed. The banquet was at a sort of cafe in the Rue de Pelleville, near the city barriers. Perhai)s five hundred people were seated when we arrived ; but we found three seats, FREXCJl RADICAL El.OQUEXCE. 69 and I fancy we wore almost the only forei^i;ners. There were about an equal number of men and women, all well dressed. Two gentlemanly men o ppos ite took an interest in us, thcnii-ht we were English, and were much pleased at our being Americans. One began the talk by asking if I was a Freemason, as most of the I^'rench radicals are, and seemed quite sorry T was not. They drank their claret to the '* Republique Americaine," and when I said " Vive la Republique I'^rancj^iise," one shook his head and said it was a very different thing. There was a surprisingly good banquet for seventy cents (A)nerican), but there were few- waiters and the courses came very slowly ; so that when we left at ten, they were only at chicken — after sou[), fish, ciifrccs, and /laricofs. ICverv now and then the band would peal out the Jf(irsci7/diSi\ and all would join in with their mouths full, and pounding the tables. One of my young ct)m- panions said that the brandisliing of knives for this last process was the only thing in the day that could pass for a bloodtnirsty effect. There was speaking, and some of it entirely without notes and ,ll il m 11 >. quite eloquent, chiefly about the I^astille ; and one si)eech by General Wimpffen was received with s])ecial enthusiasm. A lady also read some let- ters aloud from the platform, her appearance being quite a novelty in France, I think. One peculiarly French thing was, that there was a sort of dis- turbance, produced by a man who would not keep still during the speaking ; they all thought him a Honapartist who had come in to make trouble, and were going to put him out, but he explained that he had not had anything to eat, that the waiters had passed him by ; and then all sympathy turned eagerly in his favor. He was fed at last, and all was peace. Thomas Wextworth Higginson. m <- EMILY ELIZABETH PARSONS. IJIKI) MAY \i), iSSo. Could no Apostle death forbid ? Nor weeping widows stay? Good works and almsdeeds that she did, How powerless were they ! Peace, peace, my heart ! and grieve not. but rejoice That she, the faithful, resteth, till a Voice, More piercing sweet than Peter's, saith, ••Arise.'" And in the upper chamber of the shies Alive presents her,— in her soul the touch Of heaven's first ecstasy, His gracious '•Inasmuch.- ACTS ■ IX. ST ; MATT : XXV : 40. S. S. J m i ¥ j'jt *' ^d-.\ , i f- 'i !:^ .!♦.■ Ul> ill ii .M 5^:^. /,•*% ^>%i^. MY FIRST I'RIHND I.\ CAMBRIDGi;. MY feeble sense of locality had been upset, in leaving Bowdoin Square, by the fact that the horse-car started for Cambridge in quite a dif- ferent direction from that in which it arrived ; and on the way out I questioned the conductor from time to time as to whether we had yet reachct! Harvard Square. He treated my ignorance with the contempt it merited, and he carried me a little beyond Harvard Square in punishment of my con- tumacious anxiety. lUit I was too glad at finding myself actually in the desired part of Caml)ridge to make him any reproaches, which indeed he did not stay for, but snapped his bell \iciously and trundled away toward Mount Aubuin or Porter's mn m in' ill:' 74 MY FIRST FRIEND IN CAMBRIDGE. Station as the case may have been, while I set out as best I could to find the Poet. The Poet was then an editor, and he had printed some verses of mine, and had even written me a little note about them in his beautiful hand, which I kept in my desk (when I had become afraid that I should wear it out in my pocket), and went and looked at whenever I found it incredibly precious, in order to assure myself that it was really addressed to me, and that I was the person to whom it was addressed. It seemed to me that my great affection and gratitude to the Poet gave me the right, somehow, to go and see him, and I was at least going without any other right. I crossed the College grounds and then the Delta in which the Memorial Hall stands, and so reached the house where the Poet was living, and found that he was not at home. I cannot now remember whether this was a dis- appointment or a relief, for after all I had been very much afraid to go ; but, having screwed my courage to the point ^^i going, I think I would rather have had it over ^vith. I came out into the street again quite bewildered, and not knowing which way to turn, when I met an old man, of ci\ il condition, as the Italians would say, but who still impresses me after a lapse of twenty-one years with the sense of one who had retired from the active duties of some lowly u ilk of life, and was solely devoted to the performance of his own chores. I cannot account for this impression, and I do not understand why he should have known me for a stranger ; perhaps I inquired the way back to- Harvard Square. At any rate, he discovered my foreignness, and he asked me if I had ever seen Jarcd Sparks. " Because," he said, on my answer- ing that I had not, "theie he goes now;" and I turned about in time to miss the historic fiirure which had just vanished within the gate of what my informant said was the Sparks residence. He seemed to think he owed me something in reparation for my loss, and he asked me now if I had seen the Washington Kim. When I replietl no, he said, " Come along," and I came as if I had been one of the centurion's men. I wish that I could recall some impressions that the venerable 76 MY FIRST FRIEXD IN CAMBRIDGE. . I tree made upon m c. I must have stood under it and l(jokcd up into it as I have often sinee sarcas- tically witnessed stranjjers doiny /.v T/r/-: written at the corners of our streets. The same spirit })erva(les the nine reasons, which still remain in \\'inthro[)'s handwriting, encouraging the plan- tation. It is true that these men had commercial rela- tions among themselves and with others in Eng- land. This was necessary, and they dignified trade and commerce by bringing them into such connec- tion. These were not altogether inhospitable shores. The fisheries along this coast were well known. They had drawn the ships of France and Holland, and they brought ships from tlie southern ports of (ireat l^ritain. The emblem of this bold and characteristic enterprise has long hung in state before our legislators. There were, also, indefinite opportunities to trade with the Indians, and to carry into the homes of luigland the furs of this remote wilderness. Business of some kind, remunerated industry, the means of livelihood, must enter into the plan and being of a state. Not even for religious men, exiles for liberty, founders of states, was there such vitality in the air of these forests that they could insn^KV OF cA.MiiRinc,/-:, 89 live without broad. Their faith was stroi^i;-, but not so simple that they fancied the skies over the new world were dark with falling; manna, antl the gloomy rocks bursting with water-brooks. They belonged in civilized communities, and were familiar with the fact that in these stores and shops, fields and farms, money and merchandise, have their i)lace as really as churches, schools, and homes. Their godliness was of that practical sort which inchules prudence, economy, industry, enterprise, and lu)kls the promise even of the life which now is. John Winthrop was over forty years old when he engaged to lead his company across the seas, and all his manliness was in all he did, — in his i)olitical ar- rangements, in his spiritual designs, in the last request for the prayers of those who remained in the old homesteatl when the Arbe^ka sailed on her tedious voyage. It is a little thing, perhaps, but when these men held the first Court of .Assistants on this side of the Atlantic, the first cjuestion pro- posed was, " how the ministers should be main- tained." It was decided that this should be "at the common charge." Here was our beginning. d '■A .. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. ^^ % 1.0 I.I ■- lilM |50 "™^^ t 1^ 1-25 i 1.4 M 1.6 V] (^ /^ '^. % 7 '^ > v /(^ Photographic Sciences Corporation •.3 WIST MAIN STRUT WIBSTIR.N.Y. 14580 (716) S7a-4503 A if : J f i' < i t ^4 I I' I ■ LU ///S/-()A'V OF ClM/lA'/fX;/'. 91 to the contrary, it niiL;iit lia\'c retained that dis- tinction if the j^rincipal inhabitants had not re- moved." In the colony taxes for 1^)33, Ixxston and Cambridge were assessed in the same sum, X4<'^. and Dorchester in /,