of a right royal parade. At the Fowler House, Mrs. Warren received and entertained her for two hours, when she proceeded to the Headquarters of the Army at Cambridge. Here Paul Revere made. his home during the British occupation of Boston; and here, in a house still standing, he engraved the plates for the first continental money. During the great struggle that followed, ending at last in the independence of the colonies, the Watertown men did their part manfully. In the May that preceded the great "Declaration," the Watertown Town Meeting voted unanimously to maintain with their lives and their estates the independence of the thirteen colonies. By this act the people did but assert the legitimacy and purity of their lineage as descendants of those "Watertown Men" who, under George Phillips and Richard Browne, asserted their right and their resolve to direct their own affairs. The chief purpose of this article has been to set forth some facts of interest in the early history of one of the oldest towns in the colony of Massachusetts Bay; more especially, the little known services of old Watertown to the cause of political and religious liberty. It would be most interesting to trace the influence of Watertown in the colony of Connecticut (where a party of Watertown men made the first settlement in 1634,) and through Connecticut upon the American Union, the life principle of which may, according to Professor Johnston, be traced back "to the primitive union of the three little settlements on the bank of the Connecticut River." But for this study there is no space here. There is barely room for a few words upon the Watertown of to-day. It is at present furnished with six churches. They are the First Parish, the Methodist, the Baptist, the Congregational, the Roman Catholic and the Episcopal, all of which are in a prosperous condition, and earnestly doing their parts in the work of the community. The public schools rank among the very best in the state. A large and valuable Public Library is finely housed in a substantial and beautiful building, and is largely used by the people. A fine reading-room occupies one part of the building, and is furnished with the choicest magazines in the various lines required to serve the popular needs. Many branches of manufacturing settled themselves in Watertown in very early times, and these pioneers now find themselves supplied with ample companionship of more recent growth. The population of the town has rapidly increased in the last few years; it has been hard to build houses fast enough to accommodate the people. Seekers for homes where healthfulness and beauty are combined, find what they need here on the banks of the Charles, in the beautiful suburb of Boston seated by the river, near the very spot, as some maintain, where Leif Ericson, in. the year 1000, founded his far-famed city of Norumbega. RETROSPECT. By Charles Gordon Rogers. UST a plant or two I've got, Some sweet perfumed things that grow More for heaven than for show; Vines that clamber, twine and run Morning glories, where the dew Pale forget-me-nots of blue : Pansies yellow, white, and black, Not a color do they lack ; Like a rainbow's earthly track; Garden daisies, round and small, Growing next the garden wall Where the coolest shadows fall; And a plant that in a year, If it live, will roses bear: Guard it, heaven, and make it fair! Last, a lily's queenly head, Like a benediction spread, Crowns the centre of the bed. That is all; but they will raise Memories of other days, Fraught with self-reproach - not praise; Of a village, still and sweet, With its single grass-grown street, Type of perfect calm complete ; Where the cottages were set And the antlered great elms met; Of a face I used to see, Peeping through the vines at me : And these flowers bring at will Of a stone grown old and gray And sad Conscience broods apart A FAMILY TREE. By Mary L. Adams. HEN Mrs. Ludington when she had tied on a shade hat, and encased her white hands in a pair of gloves, she went down into her garden. unlocked her front door with the massive key and entered her house, she stepped backward fifty years, and into surroundings in perfect harmony with herself. She walked softly across the narrow hall into her parlor. The former impressiveness of this room, with its rich brocade curtains and choice ornaments, had been subdued by age. The once severe aspect of the mahogany sofa was softened by a comfortable hollow made in its lap by generations of children. The stern expression of the portraits on the wall gradually appeared more lenient as the years shadowed their countenances. The distinguished-looking old clock in the corner alone remained unchanged, ticking evenly on its way as irrevocably as time itself. Mrs. Ludington carefully removed her gray silk bonnet and thread-lace veil, and laid her delicate mittens inside the crown. Then she stood for a moment breathing the aroma of rose-leaves, sweet-lavender, and lemon-verbena, which to her was the essence of home. She glanced around in proud and loving greeting, and then she ascended the staircase which curved upward to the rooms above. She went into her chamber and exchanged her street costume for one of spotless print; and The outside of the house was as quaint as the inside, and retained its refinement and dignity regardless of the debasing influence of the apartment-houses towering smartly on either side. Hollyhocks, descendants of those that had bloomed for years, leaned their graceful pink and crimson heads against the gray old house as their ancestors had done. A whole colony of vines climbed the high brick wall that separated them from the world. Around the base of the wall were broad beds overflowing with flowers that intermingled their sweets above the partitions of box. Mrs. Ludington moved about eagerly, snipping away dead leaves, and propping burdened plants with an absorbing care that was a relief to her suppressed nature. Her heart was full of love for all her favorites, but her thoughts and eyes often wandered from them to the outside wall; for it was beyond her heritage that her dearest possession stood. A beautiful horse-chestnut tree, straight, vigorous, and perfect, with a forest of leaves and fruit, was the object on which Mrs. Ludington's lonely heart lavished its affection. Years ago it had been planted by her grandfather's own hand, in his front yard. When a city grew up, and the land was taken for a road and the family tree was left outside the gate, Mrs. Ludington was for a time inconsolable. When she recovered from her indignation, she was more than ever attached to the tree, and did her best to make it feel that it was still her own. The tree seemed to appreciate this devotion; for year after year, as the once stately mansion grew old and gray, it stretched out its rugged branches and shielded it from wind and rain, and also from the derisive glances of the vulgar occupants of the surrounding houses. The dwellers in the flats looked down at Mrs. Ludington from their superior heights, and talked about her. They deplored the fact that any one of apparently sound mind should scrape along in comparative poverty, trying to keep up such an expensive place in the heart of the city; when, if she had raised her head above her flowers, she might have seen what could be done with the valuable land in her possession. To prefer her shackly old house, with its faded furnishings and uneven floors, a curiosity shop, without an electric bell, a bit of stained glass, or a pound of steam except what came from the tea-kettle, without even a gas-jet, —when she might have had all if she were inclined, was nothing short of insanity; at least, she might have sold a lot from her garden and spent the profit in rebuilding her house. These solicitous neighbors patched an addition on to one side of Mrs. Ludington's dwelling, raised the roof, and inserted numerous stained-glass windows; they could almost hear the whirr of the electric bell and the hiss of steam, when they decided that it would be better to clear away the whole heap of rubbish, that was such a blot on the neat, new street, and begin anew. "Why," said they, leaning out of their plate-glass windows to look down at the worn shingles of Mrs. Ludington's roof, where the shadows of horse-chestnut leaves danced in the sunlight, "why, she could build a six-flat apartment-house, as high and beautiful as any of these, with all modern conveniences! She could live on one floor and rent the others, and live in luxury to the end of her days!' Mrs. Ludington went placidly on with her gardening, ignorant of the resent ment and schemes of her neighbors, whose wise remarks passed over her head and were carried to the dwellers in the flats on the other side. She continued loving and cherishing her home and her tree, innocent of the plots that were harbored to wipe out the remnant of happiness left in her. 66 As she stood at her pleasant work in the garden one morning, her old servant came out to her. There's a man in the parlor wants to see you, ma'am,” said she. Mrs. Ludington put out her hand. "His card?" "Oh, he ain't one of them kind. I was mistaking him for an agent, when I see he had nothing to sell." Mrs. Ludington went back to the house. She found a man in the parlor, with his hands in his pockets, breathing a tune to the accompaniment of jingling keys and silver as he looked curiously about; a cable watch-chain with a huge seal was well displayed on his ample He turned and surveyed Mrs. Ludington as she entered, his curiosity slightly mixed with awe. waistcoat. He placed his stout person on the most fragile and precious chair in the room. Mrs. Ludington controlled her features, while he arranged himself comfortably by tilting backwards before he began to speak. "I've been thinking," said he, " that — er-well, you see, the people about here have all been talking about it; they think it's a shame that an old lady like you should be living here like this, for the lack of a little well-meant advice. Scrapin' along, I mean, from hand to mouth, when you might be living in luxury- and the whole neighborhood the better for it." Mrs. Ludington looked coldly at him. "I think -I don't understand what you mean," she said. "Why," responded the fellow glibly, "just wipe out this whole business, house, garden, everything!" He gave his arms a comprehensive swing as he said it. "Clear this land off as clean as a whistle, and begin again. See?" Mrs. Ludington did not see; but she was too astonished to say so. Her face grew pale with apprehension, but her visitor did not notice it. His round eyes were fixed on the top of the next apartment-house for inspiration. But he turned and leaned forward confidentially on his elbow. "You see," he said, "to speak the truth, this old house of yours is a blot on the street. It spoils the symmetry. It's way off-the whole place is. It was all right when Newtown was country, but now when building's a science, it ain't in it." He paused and glanced toward Mrs. Ludington for acquiescence; but her 66 eyes were fixed on him uncomprehendingly- he was speaking a foreign tongue. What I'm driving at is this," he went on. "I'm willing to buy the place of you for a good round sum, cash down. Then I'll pull down the house, tear up the garden, and cut down that old chestnut tree. That's the worst thing about the place. 'Tain't so bad to look at, but it's a dirty thing, and full of those fighting sparrows. When it's once down and the roots dug up, we can have a decent sidewalk. When it's all cleared and graded," he went on, with the look of one seeing visions, "I'll put up the most stunning apartment house on the street. You can take the money and buy a brand-new Queen-Anne house, or live in one of the flats. Gad! You don't know what living is. All on one floor - no up |