A Tale of the Connecticut.
"And 'mid fair hills where cultivation smiles,
The Connecticut, white with sunlit sails,
Flows down and up with his unwearying tides."
Flow on gently, noble river, as thou hast done from the beginning, ever faithful keeper of the secrets entrusted to thy bosom! What tales could'st thou not tell us of human joy and human sorrow; of want, wretchedness and we; of tragedies that would chill the heart's warm life-blood at its source; and thank God for the blessed gift, thou could'st tell us also of human love, pure, deep, fervent as that ushered in on the first Christmas morn.
Beside thy still waters have lived and died earth's nameless heroes, saints and sages, pure and humble spirits that have won victories grander than were ever achieved on battle-field; from thy verdant banks the unlettered savage and the civilized Puritan have raised their daily orisons to God; and here also have wrestled in deadly conflict the vengeful ire of the Anglo-Saxon and the vengeful ire of the hunted Indian, as the native child of the forest vainly strove
