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GRAND ARMY POSTS OF SUFFOLK COUNTY,
TREMONT TEMPLE, BOSTON,
May 30, 1 88 1
BOSTON :
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Memorial Day.

ORATION
BY
GOV. JOHN D. LONG:
ODE
BY
COL. THOMAS W. HIGGINSON,
BHFORB THE
GRAND ARMY POSTS OF SUFFOLK COUNTY,
AT
TREMONT TEMPLE, BOSTON,
May 30, 1 88 1.

BOSTON :
LOCKWOOD, BROOKS & CO.
1881.

CcG,^i^£

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ORA TION.

I GRATEFULLY acknowledge your courtesy, vet
erans and members of the Suffolk posts of the
Grand Army, in inviting me, a civilian, to speak
for you this day. I should shrink from the- task,
however, did I not know that, in this, your pur
pose is to honor again the commonwealth of
which I am the ofificial representative. By recent
enactment she has made the day you celebrate
one of her holy days — a day sacred to the
memory of her patriot . dead and to the inspira
tion of patriotism in her living. Henceforward,
she emblazons it upon the calendar of the year
with the consecrated days that have come down
from the Pilgrim and the Puritan, with Christ
mas day and with the birthdays of Washington
and American Independence. So she commits
herself afresh to the eternal foundations, which
the fathers laid, of piety, education, freedom,
justice, law and love of country. The time will
come indeed, and speedily, when none of you
shall remain to observe it and when the last sur-

4 Memorial Day Orcttion.
vivor, shouldering his crutch no more, shall lie
down to rest with no' comrade left to shed a tear
or flower upon his grave. But the service you
did, the sacrifice you made, the example you
taught, more immortal than your crumbling
dust, will forever live and illume the world, as '
in the heavens, speeding so far from us that the
eye sees not the vapor that enshrouds them, the
stars shine only in purer and eternal glory. I
can understand that, when the war closed, the
same disinterested and single loyalty, which com
pelled the true citizen to arms, made many a
soldier shrink from even the appearance of far
ther display, either by joining your organization
or by publicly engaging in the decoration of
graves. But with the lapse of time, with the
inroads on the ranks, with this statutory recogni
tion by the commonwealth — a recognition not
more apt in desert than in time — Memorial Day
will hereafter gather around it not only the love
and tears and pride of the generations of the
people, but more and more, in its inner circle of
tenderness, the linking memories of every com
rade, so long as one survives. As the dawn
ushers it in, tinged already with the exquisite
flush of hastening June, and sweet with the
bursting fragrance of her roses, the wheels of

Menwrial Day Oration. 5
time will each year roll back, and, lo! John
Andrew is at the state-house, inspiring Massa
chusetts with the throbbing of his own great
heart; Abraham Lincoln, wise and patient and
honest and tender and true, is at the nation's
helm; the North is one broad blaze; the boys in
blue are marching to the front; the fife and
drum are on every breeze; the very air is pat
riotism ; Phil Sheridan, forty miles away, dashes
back to turn defeat to victory; Farragut, lashed
¦ to the mast-head, is steaming into Mobile Har
bor ; Hooker is above the clouds — ay, now
indeed forever above the clouds ; Sherman
marches through Georgia to the sea; Grant
has throttled Lee with the grip that never
lets go; Richmond falls; the armies of the
republic pass in that last great review • at
Washington; Custer's plume is there, but
Kearney's saddle is empty; and, now again,
our veterans come marching home to receive
the welcome of a grateful people, and to stack
in Doric Hall the tattered flags which Massa
chusetts forever hence shall wear above her
heart. In memory of the dead, in honor of the
living, for inspiration to our children, we gather
to-day to deck the graves of our patriots with

6 Memorial Day Oratioft.
flowers, to pledge commonwealth and town and
citizen to fresh recognition of the surviving sol
dier, and to picture yet again the romance, the
reality, the glory, the sacrifice of his service.
As if it were but yesterday, you recall him.
He had but turned twenty. The exquisite tint
of youthful health was in his cheek. His pure
heart shone, from frank, outspeaking eyes. His
fair hair clustered from beneath his cap. He
had pulled a stout oar in the college race, or
walked the most graceful athlete on the village
green. He had just entered on the vocation
of his life. The doorway of his home at this
season of the year was brilliant in the dewy
morn with the clambering vine and fragrant
flower, as in and out he went, the beloved of
mother and sisters, and the ideal of a New
England youth: —
" In face and shoulders like a god he was ;
For o'er him had the goddess breathed the charm
Of youthful locks, the ruddy glow of youth,
A generous gladness in his eyes ; such grace
As carver's hand to ivory gives, or when
Silver or Parian stone in yellow gold
Is set."
The unreckoned influences of the great dis
cussion of human rights had insensibly moulded
him into a champion of freedom. He had

Memorial Day Oration. 7
passed no solitary and sleepless night watching
the armor which he was to wear when dubbed
next day with the accolade of knighthood. But
over the student's lamp or at the fireside's blaze
he had passed the nobler initiate of a heart and
mind trained to a fine sense of justice and to a
resolution equal to the sacrifice of life itself in
behalf of right and duty. He knew nothing of
the web and woof of politics, but he knew in
stinctively the needs of his country. His ideal
was Philip Sidney not Napoleon. And when
the drum beat, when the first martyr's blood
sprinkled the stones of- Baltimore, he took his
place in the ranks and went forward. You
remember his ingenuous and glowing letters to
his mother, written as if his pen were dipped in
his very heart. How novel seemed to him the
routine of service, the life of camp and march !
How eager the wish to meet the enemy and
strike his first blow for the good cause ! What
pride at the promotion that came and put its
chevron on his arm or its strap upon his shoul
der! How graphically he described his sensa
tion in the first battle, the pallor that he felt
creeping up his face, the thrilling along every
nerve, and then the utter fearlessness when once
the charge began and his blood was up ! Later

8 Memorial Day Oration.
on, how gratefully he wrote of the days in hos
pital, of the opening of the box from home, of
the generous distributing of delicacies that
loving ones had sent, and of the never-to-be-for
gotten comfort of the gentle nurse whose eyes
and hands seemed to bring to his^ bedside the
summer freshness and health of the open win
dows of his and her New England homestead !
No Amazon was she with callous half-breast;
but her whole woman's heart was devoted, as
were the hearts of all her sisters at the North,
to lightening the hardships and pain of war.
Let her praise never fail to mingle in the sol
dier's tribute, or her abilities be belittled in a
land to whose salvation and honor she contrib
uted as nobly in her service as he in his.
They took him prisoner. He wasted in
Libby and grew gaunt and haggard with the
horror of his sufferings and with pity for the
greater horror of the sufferings of his comrades
who fainted and died at his side. He saw his
school-mate panting with the fever of thirst yet
shot like a dog for reaching across the line to
drink the stagnant water a dog would have
scorned. He tunnelled the earth and escaped.
Hungry and weak, in terror of recapture, he
followed by night the pathway of the railroad.

Memorial Day Oration. g
Upon its timbers, hoar with frost, he tottered in
the dark over rivers that flowed deep beneath
his treacherous foothold. ; He slept in thickets
and sank in swamps. In long and painful cir
cuits he stole around hamlets where he dared
not ask for shelter. He saw the glitter of horse-.
men who pursued him. He knew the blood
hound was on his track. A faithful negro —
good Samaritan — took compassion on him,
bound up his wounds and set him on his way.
He reached the line ; and, with his hand grasp
ing at freedom, they caught and took him back
to his captivity. He was exchanged at last ;
and you remember, when he came home on a
short furlough, how manly and war-worn he
had grown. But he soon returned to the ranks
and to the welcome of his comrades. They
loved him for' his manliness, his high bearing,
his fine sense of- honor. They felt the nobility
of conduct and character that breathed out from
him-. They recall him now alike with tears and
pride. In the rifle-pits around Petersburg you
heard his steady voice and firm command. The
bullet of the sharp-shooter picked off the soldier
who stood at his side and who fell dying in his
arms, one last brief message whispered and faith
fully sent home. It was a forlorn hope — the

IO Memorial Day Oration.
charge of the brave regiment to which he be
longed, reduced now by three years' long fight
ing to a hundred veterans, conscious that some
body had blundered yet grimly obedient to
duty. Some one who saw him then fancied that
he seemed that day like one who forefelt the
end. But there was no flinching as he charged.
He had just turned to giv^ a cheer when the
fatal ball struck him. There was a convulsion
of the upward hand. His eyes, pleading and
loyal, turned their last glance to the flag. His
lips parted. He fell dead and at night-fall lay
with his face to the stars. Home they brought
him, fairer than Adonis over whom the goddess
of beauty wept. They buried him in the village
church-yard under the green turf. Year by
year his comrades and his kin, nearer than
comrades, scatter his grave with flowers. His
picture hangs on the homestead walls. Chil
dren look up at it and ask to hear his story
told. It was twenty years ago ; and the face is
so young, so boyish and fair, that you cannot
believe he was the hero of twenty battles, a
veteran in the wars, a leader of men, brave,
cool, commanding, great. Do you ask who he
was.? He was in every regiment and every
company. He went out from every Massachu-

Memorial Day Oration. 1 1
setts village. He sleeps in every Massachu
setts burying-ground. Recall romance, recite
the names of heroes of legend and song, but
there is none that is his peer. Can you think
of him and not count the cost of such a pre
cious life, not thrill with gratitude at such a
sacrifice, not ask why such promise, such hope,
such worth should have been cut down ? I
know not why it is that, if the future is always
progress, the past is always sacrifice unless it
be that in the nation as in the man sacrifice
is the soil and seed of progress. I know not
why it is in the providence of God that
through blood — not the sacrifice of rams and
goats but the blood of human hearts — the
great gains of human freedom have had their
impulse unless it be that in the laws of growth,
as in the laws of light, it is the red rays that
are strongest and that first shine through and
flash the dawn, foretelling the pure white fire
of the uprising sun. But this we do know:
that, search history through, and you shall find
no more heroic record of self-sacrifice, of cour
age, of the flower of youth giving itself to
death for right and country's sake. Massa
chusetts will never forget the memory of these
her martyrs. Their lives are insensibly mould-

12 Memorial Day Oration.
ing the character of her children at school or
by fireside even while the busy man of years
and of affairs may almost seem to have forgot
ten them. With you she weeps over their turf
and crowns them with the laurel wreath.
Yes, why was it ? Why do we recall all this ?
Because the sacrifice is lost in the consumma
tion, death is swallowed up in victory ; because
it was not a nipped bud but the full flower, not
a life cut off but a life rounded and complete ;
because the high ideals, the lofty purposes, the
forward-looking ambition to be of service in the
world were all fulfilled, not defeated, in these
young men. If in our pride of conquest, if in
these organizations and festivals our purpose
were simply to count our excess of victories, to
glory in superiority of endurance, strength and
numbers, to echo the gladiator's roar of triumph,
to rake from the dying embers flashes of the
stinging fires of hate, it were worse than time
wasted. It was no fight of men with men. That
is but brutality. It was the eternal war of right
with wrong, which is divine and wreathes an
eternal crown of glory round the brow of the
conqueror. Our foes were not worth beating if
the purpose were simply to beat them. But it
was the chastisement of love that overthrew, not

Memorial Day Oration. 13
them, but the false gods they worshipped, the
false principles they obeyed, and that gave to
them and secured to us a union for the first
time founded on universal freedom and equality.
And so it is that as sometimes a brave man
perils and loses his life that he may save that
of a little child or even of a foe, so our heroes
died that all their countrymen. North and South,
might live the only life worth living — the life of
freemen. It would be easy to say that the late
war demonstrated that we are a nation of sol
diers as well as of citizens and to paint the
laurels which, in case of another, we could win
again on sea and land. But I prefer to say
that the result is a united country, a solid
South, such as it soon will be, only because at
last and' forever solidly identified with the edu
cation, the business growth, the glowing enter
prise of the North — its common people taught
in common schools, its vast fields open to the
stimulating immigration of the globe, its great
rivers turning the wheels of peaceful and pros
perous industries — a united country that counts
as nothing its ability to fight the world, but
as everything its ability to lead the world in
the arts of peace, secure in the consciousness
rather than in the exhibition of power, and
cemented not by blood but by ideas.

14 Memorial Day Oration.
This is our triumph, — not that we overthrew
a brave though ignorant, provincial, misguided
foe,, stunted by the barbarism of slavery, but that
we have forever established in fact the principle
that all men are born free and equal; have de
stroyed the doctrine of caste ; have proved the
stability and permanence of a government of the
people; have consolidated our heterogeneous
population and made them all of one birth and
kin so that the names of our fallen dead no
longer, like those on the Lexington column, are
all patronymics of pure New England stock but,
as you may now read them on the later shafts
throughout the commonwealth, represent every
nationality, each blending in the one common
destiny of the American republic We have
confirmed the policy of honesty in financial ad
ministration, of keeping good the nation's prom
ise, and of giving its people an honest dollar.
We have struck the shackles from the feet of
the slave and from the soul of his master. We
have let loose the energies, the mighty energies
of a free people, which are turning this great
domain into a hive of industry and prosperity,
girting it with bands of iron rails, and disembow
elling its mines of gold and silver and more pre
cious ores. Best of all, we have emancipated the

Memorial Day Oration. 15
prodigal states themselves from the swineherd's
thraldom and put rings on their hands and shoes
on their feet, allowing them to justly share but
never more to domineer. It was General Greene
of our neighbor Rhode Island who a hundred
years ago led South Carolina to victory in the
War for Independence. It was General Lincoln
of our own Massachusetts who received the
sword of Cornwallis at Yorktown in the same
good cause. Since then. South Carolina and
Virginia, false to that cause, have struck their
flags to the men of Rhode Island and Massachu
setts who held them to their better duty. They
will not repeat that mistake. Within this month,
at the centennial celebration at Cowpens, it was
Colonel Higginson, a representative of the Mas
sachusetts Executive, who spoke for New Eng
land on the same platform with General Hamp
ton whose slaves, less than twenty years ago, the
Colonel had armed against this their master in
the cause of their own liberty. And both struck
the same high' note of freedom, of progress, of
the new era of a higher destiny. In October
next, the soldiers of the North will again encamp
at Yorktown. But it will be to celebrate, not the
slaughters of the Peninsula campaign, but the
hundredth anniversary of the achievement of

1 6 Memorial Day Oration.
American Independence. On that day, the
President of the Union and the representatives
of every state in it will . look back over the cen
tury and pay tribute to its sacrifices and its
triumphs. But with faces on which no shadow
will fall, they will turn anon and look forward for
centuries to come upon the more glorious fra
ternal progress of the future. It has been said
that it would be better to blot out this day and
with it every recollection of the past it commem
orates. I believe it is better to keep the day and
to forget nothing of the past, if so on both sides
we make the past a lesson for the future, and out
of its very nettle of horror and danger pluck the
flower of safety. The mere man you fought is
naught, and it is indeed better to forgive and
forget. him. But the victory you won over him
was the victory of principles and is eternal.
Proud may you be indeed to keep it known that
you share and transmit its glory ; that, having as
soldiers saved the republic, as citizens you per
petuate it ; that you recall a youth not lost but
made immortal. Proud, too, the commonwealth
of such sons ; secure in their hands alike in
peace or war ; her motto still The quietude of
PEACE with liberty BUT ELSE THE SWORD.
In that Commonwealth, her very soil rich with

Memorial Day Oration. ly
ashes of heroes and giants, fitting it is that you
should not limit the honors you bestow this day
to the graves only of the recent dead, but should
extend them to the dead who for two hundred
and fifty years have been, by force of their indel
ible impress, the real life, transcending ours, of
Massachusetts. And fitting it is that I, echoing
their sentiment and yours, the sentiment that
never was ungenerous or narrow, should speak
no word that is not liberal, no thought that is
not national, no hope of future good that is not
as broad as our common country, or that does
not embrace the happiness of every citizen,
whatever his color or birth, whatever his faith
or toil, whatever his section or estate. For we
commemorate to-day not more the heroism of
the past than the common weal of the present —
the equality of citizenship, in honor commanding
respect, in duty commanding service.
As I look, veterans, upon your faces, your
thinner ranks, your brows on which time is
writing in plainer lines its autograph, true in
deed I know it is that the number of the sur
vivors is fast diminishing and that with the
close of the century few will remain. But
they will all still live in the works that do
follow them — in a civilization better because

1 8 Memorial Day Oration.
purified by the searching fire of war from the
dross of human slavery and political inequality,
and in a country lifted up to a higher plane
of justice, mercy and righteousness. They will
live, too, in history — in the history of a patri
otic people, pictured in pages more graphic
than those of Plutarch or Macaulay, in the
songs of poets who shall sing a nobler than
Virgil's man and an epic loftier than the Iliad.
They will live, too, in these monuments of
stone and bronze which we erect not more to
their memory than to the incitement and edu
cation of coming generations. It might be
said that we are now in our monumental age.
The towering obelisk at Bunker Hill, the
homely pillar on Lexington Green are no
longer the only columns that write in granite
the record of our glory. At Plymouth, the
colossal figure of Faith, looking out over the
sea, catching from its horizon the first tints of
the morning and guarding the graves of the
Pilgrims, proclaims to the world the story of
the Mayflower and its precious freight of civil
and religious liberty. Across the bay rises
almost to completion the plain but solid shaft
that marks the home of Miles Standish, that
sturdy type of courage and independence in

Memorial Day Oration. 19
life and faith which has been multiplied in
New England in every phase of its thought
and culture. In Boston, before the state-
house, Webster, defender of the constitution,
and Mann, the promoter of public education.
Before its city-hall, Franklin, the most pro
lific and comprehensive brain in American his
tory, and Quincy, a noble name in Massachu
setts for generation after generation.' In its
public squares, Winthrop, the Puritan founder,
Sam Adams, true leader of the people, and
Abraham Lincoln, emancipator of the grateful
race that kneels a freed man at his feet. In
its public garden, the equestrian statue of
Father Washington, the figure of Charles Sum
ner, and the uplifted arm of Everett. And in
its avenues, Hamilton, the youthful founder of
our national finance, and John Glover, Colonel
of the Marblehead regiment whose lusty arms
and oars rescued Washington from Long
Island. At Mount Auburn, James Otis, that
flame of fire. At Lexington, Hancock and
Adams. At Concord, the embattled farmer.
In Hingham, in marble pure as his own heroic
instincts, that war-governor who in the heart
of the Massachusetts soldier can never be dis
associated from the sympathies and martyrdom

20 Memorial Day Oration.
of the service which he shared with you even
to his life. And now, in Chelsea, the national
flag, floating out its bright and rippling cheer
from the year's beginning to its end, waves
over the Soldiers' Home which has been se
cured by your contributions, so that if haply
there be one needy veteran whom the magnifi
cent and unparalleled provision of Massachu
setts fails, as all general laws must in some
rare cases fail, to reach, there he may find a
shelter that shall not dishonor him. Time and
your patience would fail an enumeration of the
monuments which within a few years have dot
ted the state and in whose massive handwrit
ing the century is recording for centuries hence
its story of heroism, so plain, so legible, that,
though a new Babel should arise and the Eng
lish tongue be lost, the human heart and eye
would still read it at a glance. Scarce a town
is there — from Boston, with its magnificent
column crowned with the statue of America at
the dedication of which even the conquered
Southron came to pay honor, to the humblest
stone in ruiral villages — in which these monu
ments do not rise summer and winter, in snow
and sun, day and night, to tell how universal
was the response of Massachusetts to the call

Memorial Day Oration. 21
of the patriots' duty, whether it rang above the
city's din or broke the quiet of the farm. On
city square and village green stand the grace
ful figures of student, clerk, mechanic, farmer,
in that endeared and never-to-be-forgotten war-
uniform of the soldier or the sailor, their stern
young faces to the front, still on guard, watch
ing the work they wrought in the flesh, and
teaching in eloquent silence the lesson of the
citizen's duty to the state. How our children
will study these! How they will search and
read their names ! How quaint and antique to
them will seem their arms and costume! How
they will gather and store up in their minds
the fine, insensibly filtering percolation of the
sentiment of valor, of loyalty, of fight for right,
of resistance against wrong, just as we inher
ited all this from the Revolutionary era, so that,
when some crisis shall in the future come to
them, as it came to us, they will spring to the
rescue, as sprang our youth, in the beauty and
chivalry of the consciousness of a noble descent.
During the late Turco-Russian war, I passed
an evening in a modest home in a quiet country
town. It was a wild night. The family circle
sat by the open fire of a New England sitting-
room. They told me of a son of that house, a

2 2 Memorial Day Oration.
young man already known in literature and art,
who, full of the spirit of adventure, was at that
moment, as war correspondent of a great London
daily, with the head of the Russian army in
Bulgaria. They read me his letters in which he
interwove affectionate inquiries and memories
pf home with vivid descriptions of battles, of
wounds, of Turkish barbarities, of desolated vil-
•lages, of murdered and mutilated peasants, of
long marches through worse than Virginian
mud, of wild bivouac in rain and tempest, of
stirring incidents of the Russian camp, of the
thousand shifting scenes of the theatre of a
campaign, till suddenly that quiet room in which
we sat was transfigured, and we, snug-sheltered
from the storm, were apace translated over the
sea into the very stir and toss of the war, our
sympathies, our hopes, our interests, our very
selves all there.
And so it is with us always. Shut up within
ourselves, our minds intent on nothing but the
narrow limits of immediate place and time, our
hearts and fists closing tighter on our little
own, we shrivel like dry leaves. But let the
thrill of that common humanity electrify us
which links together all men, all time past,
present and to come, and we spring into the

Memorial Day Oration. 23
upper air. Though we knew it not, yet when
we do these honors to the deserving dead, when
we revive not alone the fact but the ideal of
their service, we strike a chord that forever
binds us and the world around us with all great
heroisms, with all great causes and sacrifices,
with the throb of that loftier moral atmosphere
which is lost only in the unison of man's immor
tal soul with the soul of God the Father.

MEMORIAL ODE.

By THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON.*

Joy to the three-hilled city ! Each new year
Heals something of the grief this day records ;
Each year the plaintive lay
Sounds yet more far away.
And strains of triumph suit memorial words.
The old-time pang becomes a thrill of joy.
Again we turn the page
Of our heroic age
And read anew the tale of every patriot boy.
A modest courage was their simple wont.
The dauntless youths who grew to manhood here :
Putnam and Savage, Perkins and Revere.
It needs no helmet's gleam.
No armor's glittering beam,
No feudal imagery of shield or spear.
To gild the gallant deeds that roused us then,
¦Where Cass fell dying in the battle's front.
And Shaw's fair head lay 'mid his dusky men.
*Read by Mr. George Riddle.

26 Memorial Day Ode.
II.
All o'er the tranquil land.
On this Memorial JDay,
Coming from near and far,
Men gather in the mimic guise of war.
They bear no polished steel.
Yet by the elbow's touch they march, they wheel,
Or side by side they stand.
They now are peaceful men, fair Order's sons ;
But as they halt in motionless array.
Or bow their heads to pray.
Into their dream intrudes
The swift sharp crack of rifle-shots in woods ;
Into their memory swells
The trumpet's call, the screaming of the shells ;
And ever and anon they seem to hear
The far-off thunder of besieging guns.
All sounds of bygone war, all memories of the ear.
III.
A little while it seems
Since those were daily thoughts which now are dreams.
A little while is gone
Since, the last battle fought, the victory wpn,
¦We saw sweet Peace come back with all her charms.
And watched a million men lay down their arms.
But at this morning's call
¦We bridge the interval.
And yet once more, with no regretful tears.
Live back again, though now men's blood be cooled.
Through the long vista of the fading years,
To days when Sumner spoke and Andrew ruled.

Memorial Day Ode. 27
IV.
Courage is first and last of what we need
To mould a nation for triumphail sway :
All else is empty air,
A promise vainly fair.
Like the bright beauty of the ocean spray
Tossed up toward heaven, but never reaching there.
Not in the past, but in the future, we
Must seek the mastery
Of fate and fortune, thought and word and deed.
The past is on its starry track.
We would not win it back.
Gone, gone for aye, the little Puritan homes ;
Gone the beleaguered town, from out whose spires
Flashed forth the warning fires.
Telling the Cambridge rustics, " Percy comes I "
And gone those later days of grief and shame
When slavery changed our court-house to a jail
And blood-drops stained its threshold. Now we hail,
After the long affray,
A time of calmer order, wider aim.
More mingled races, manhood's larger frame,
A city's broader sweep, the Boston of to-day.
V.
They say our Boston's star begins to wane.
Our heroes pass away, our poets die.
Our passionate ardors mount no more so high.
'Tis but an old alarm, the affright of wealth.
The cowardice of culture, wasted pain !
Freedom is hope and health !

28 Memorial Day Ode.
The sea that all our ocean-steamers ride
Is the same sea that rocked the shallops frail
Of the bold Pilgrims : yonder is its tide,
And here are we, their sons ; it grows not pale.
Nor we who walk its borders. Never fear !
Courage and truth are all.
Trust in the great hereafter ; and whene'er.
In some high hour of need
That tests the heroic breed.
The Boston of the future sounds its call,
Bartletts and Lowells yet shall answer, " Here !

.GOVERNOR LONG'S ^NBID.
NMW AKD HMVISXID BDITIOIT.

THE vENEID OF VIRGIL.
Translated sy John D. Long.
Second Edition. Crown octscvo, # 1.75. ^IJttQ^e piqier issue limited
to fifty copies. Rti}«l«eiS»B,sj[].eo.

CHARLES HENRY BRIGHAM.
MEMOIR AND PAPERS. Edited by Rev, A. A. Liver-
more, D.D., and Rev, E. B. Willson. With Heliotype Por
trait of the author. Square i2mo, 461 pages. $1,75.

LOCKWOOD, BROOKS & CO.,
381 WASHINGTON ST., BOSTON.

YALE-

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