FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 289 



do, remain long enough to know it in its 

 various aspects, and to steep yourself fully 

 in the beauty of this most beautiful region. 



Having a reverent regard for the mem 

 ory of the father of his- and my country, 

 I have been trying in vain to discover 

 the point where that distinguished citizen 

 carved his name upon t^e bridge, an act 

 in the performance of wMch I sincerely 

 wish that he had been the }s&amp;gt;$t. He seems 

 to have been as ready will* his knife as 

 with his hatchet. And I lif^e also been 

 thinking, reminded thereby of Kobert 

 Lowell s poem, &quot;Fresh Hearts, that Failed 

 Three Thousand Years ago, ; with its 

 motto, &quot;Men that were makers &quot; its story 

 of the long and weary climb, a&quot;d its pa 

 thetic ending, &quot;A boy and yet no 

 name.&quot; Here, indeed, carved unon the 

 rock was the name of a man who ^as a 

 maker, the maker of an empire ; wno left 

 behind him, to last as long as records inay 

 endure and after this great bridge sha) 

 have crumbled into the valley, a name to 

 be remembered. 



But what boots it ? What is fame that 



we should greatly desire it ? It is pleasant 



to have the recognition of those whom you 



know, of your countrymen, of your genera- 



u 



