lviii LIFE OF 



in this memorable affair. He is a man about sixty, stout, remark- 

 ably fresb coloured, with a benign and manly countenance. I intro- 

 duced myself -without any ceremony — shook his hand with sincere 

 cordiality — and said, with some warmth, that I was proud of the 

 honour of meeting with one of the heroes of Bunker's Hill — the 

 first unconquerable champions of their country. He looked at me, 

 pressed my hand in his, and the tears instantly glistened in his 

 eyes, which as instantly called up corresponding ones in my own. 

 In our way to the place, he called on a Mr Carter, who, he said, 

 was also in the action, and might recollect some circumstances 

 which he had forgotten. With these two veterans I spent 

 three hours, the most interesting to me of any of my life. As 

 they pointed out to me the rout of the British — the American 

 entrenchments — the place where the greatest slaughter was made 

 — the spot where Warren fell, and where he was thrown amid 

 heaps of the dead, — I felt as though I could have encountered 

 a whole battalion myself in the same glorious cause. The old 

 soldiers were highly delighted with my enthusiasm : we drank a 

 glass of wine to the memory of the illustrious dead, and parted 

 almost with regret. 



" From Boston to Portland, in the district of Maine, you are 

 almost always in the neighbourhood, or within sight, of the Atlantic. 

 The country may be called a mere skeleton of rocks and fields of 

 sand ; in many places entirely destitute of wood, except a few low 

 scrubby junipers ; in others, covered with pines of a diminutive 

 growth. On entering the tavern of Portland, I took up the news- 

 paper of the day, in which I found my song of Freedom and Peace, 

 which I afterwards heard read before a numerous company (for the 

 Supreme Court was sitting), with great emphasis, as a most excellent 

 song, but I said nothing on the subject. 



" From Portland, I steered across the country for the northern 

 parts of Vermont, among barren, savage, pine-covered mountains, 

 through regions where nature and art had done infinitely less to 

 make it a fit residence for men, than any country I ever traversed. 

 Among these dreary tracts I found winter had already commenced, 

 and the snow several inches deep. I called at Dartmouth College, 

 the president of which, as well as all I visited in New England, 

 subscribed. Though sick with a severe cold and great fatigue, I 



