Israel is initiated into the mysteries of lodging-houses in the
Latin Quarter

X. Another adventurer appears upon the scene

XI. Paul Jones in a reverie

XII. Recrossing the Channel, Israel returns to the Squire's abode--His
adventures there

XIII. His escape from the house, with various adventures following

XIV. In which Israel is sailor under two flags, and in three ships, and
all in one night

XV. They sail as far as the Crag of Ailsa

XVI. They look in at Carrickfergus, and descend on Whitehaven

XVII. They call at the Earl of Selkirk's, and afterwards fight the
ship-of-war Drake

XVIII. The Expedition that sailed from Groix

XIX. They fight the Serapis.

XX. The Shuttle

XXI. Samson among the Philistines

XXII. Something further of Ethan Allen; with Israel's flight towards the
wilderness

XXIII. Israel in Egypt

XXIV. Continued

XXV. In the City of Dis

XXVI Forty-five years

XXVII. Requiescat in pace

ISRAEL POTTER

Fifty Years of Exile

CHAPTER I.

THE BIRTHPLACE OF ISRAEL.

The traveller who at the present day is content to travel in the good
old Asiatic style, neither rushed along by a locomotive, nor dragged by
a stage-coach; who is willing to enjoy hospitalities at far-scattered
farmhouses, instead of paying his bill at an inn; who is not to be
frightened by any amount of loneliness, or to be deterred by the
roughest roads or the highest hills; such a traveller in the eastern
part of Berkshire, Massachusetts, will find ample food for poetic
reflection in the singular scenery of a country, which, owing to the
ruggedness of the soil and its lying out of the track of all public
conveyances, remains almost as unknown to the general tourist as the
interior of Bohemia.

Travelling northward from the township of Otis, the road leads for
twenty or thirty miles towards Windsor, lengthwise upon that long broken
spur of heights which the Green Mountains of Vermont send into
Massachusetts. For nearly the whole of the distance, you have the
continual sensation of being upon some terrace in the moon. The feeling
of the plain or the valley is never yours; scarcely the feeling of the
earth. Unless by a sudden precipitation of the road you find yourself
plunging into some gorge, you pass on, and on, and on, upon the crests
or slopes of pastoral mountains, while far below, mapped out in its
beauty, the valley of the Housatonie lies endlessly along at your feet.
Often, as your