e, instilling by the quiet weapon of the pen strong, true lessons of
benevolence and truth; men like Longfellow, singing, pure, earnest songs
of high endeavor and noble attainment; men like Whittier, whose simple,
touching strains move so grandly on the side of right and justice.

Women like Mrs. Stowe, who, in her great strength of mind and character,
wrote that wonderful book, which, inspired by zeal, and fired by a
terrible earnestness, filled New England once with something of her own
noble enthusiasm. She could do the grand work then, because her country
needed it, thus illustrating that strong New England trait, latent
power, a power of which we know nothing till it is called out by some
mighty need. There have been earnest purpose, determined will, pure
motive, and unselfish heroism in New England; but their depth and
strength have never been "guessed" till manifested in some great crisis.

Her contests are those of heart and intellect; and her weapons, hard
study and earnest thought.

In spite of popular philippics her traits do not change much from the
summary of them made fifty years ago, "Impatience with wrong, quarrel
with precedent, love of education, and faith in God."

Ah! now we touch the true characteristics of New England, lying in the
deep ocean of her history, unmoved by the lighter traits sparkling upon
the surface.

That is a true boast of Jonathan to John:--

"We aint so weak and poor, John,
With twenty million people,
And close to every door, John,
A school-house and a steeple."

And this is but the outgrowth of that short formula of the brave
founders of school and church: "Faith in God, faith in man, faith in
work;" so that New England's present traits are directly traceable to
Puritan influence.

Our educational institutions had substantial foundation-stones of
self-sacrifice and far-seeing purpose, nobly laid by that score of
sturdy men, dedicating, for the first academy, a peck of corn, or a
shilling in cash, or a few treasured volumes.

The Sabbath has been called the "poem of New England," and it is that
always, whether rung out by the city's chiming bells or whispered in the
sacred repose of the country church. But it was never so truly a poem as
on that first New England Sabbath, when the church was a weather-beaten
ship, its support the lashing waves, and the worshippers "a handful of
sad, stern men and women kneeling in their spray-stiffened garments to
thank