116 THE MASSACHUSETTS SOCIETY 



his fathers. They have gone to their last home ; but 

 he can trace their footsteps in the daily scene of his 

 labors. The roof which shelters him was reared by 

 those to whom he owes his being. Some interesting 

 domestic tradition is connected with every enclosure. 

 The favorite fruit tree was planted by his father's 

 hand. He sported in his boyhood by the side of the 

 brook which still winds through his meadow. Through 

 that field lies the path to the village school of his earli- 

 est days. He still hears from his window the voice of 

 the Sabbath bell, which called his fathers, and his fore- 

 fathers, to the house of God; and, near at hand, is the 

 spot where he laid his parents down to rest, and where, 

 he trusts, when his hour is come, he shall be dutifully 

 laid by his children. These are the feelings of the 

 owner of the soil. Words cannot paint them; gold 

 cannot buy them; they flow out of the deepest foun- 

 tains of the heart; they are the life-spring of a fresh, 

 healthy, generous, national character. The history 

 and experience of the world illustrate their power. 

 Who ever heard of an enlightened race of serfs, slaves 

 or vassals? How can we wonder at the forms of 

 government which prevail in Europe, with such a 

 system of monopoly in the land as there exists? Noth- 

 ing but this explains our own history, clears up the 

 mystery of the revolution, and makes us fully com- 

 prehend the secret of our own strength. Austria or 

 France must fall, when Vienna or Paris is seized by a 

 powerful army. But what was the loss of Boston or 

 New York in the revolutionary war to the people of 

 New England? The moment the enemy set his foot 

 in the country he was like a hunter going to the thicket 

 to rob the tigress of her young. The officers and 

 soldiers of the revolution were farmers and the sons of 

 farmers, who owned the soil for which they fought; 

 and many of them, like the veteran Putnam, literally 

 left their ploughs in the furrow to hasten to the field 

 of battle. 



