ant hills.
It was rather the talk of a local antiquary than of a historian in
a comprehensive sense, though now and then a quickly uttered phrase
linked a trifling detail with the great world movement; the spirit
was most kindly. Returning to the house he stooped to the ground and
picked up a handsome peacock's feather which he gave with a bow as a
souvenir of the walk. At dinner we met Miss Freeman, an accomplished
daughter. There was only one guest besides myself, a man whom I felt
it was good fortune to meet. It was the Rev. William Hunt, since
that time well known as a large contributor to Leslie Stephen's great
Dictionary of National Biography, President of the English Historical
Society, and author of many valuable works. It so happened that a few
weeks before, my Life of Samuel Adams had come under his notice and
gained his approval, which he had expressed in a cordial fashion
in the Saturday Review by an article which had caused me much
satisfaction. An evening followed full of interesting things. Miss
Freeman played the piano for us with much skill, and then came a most
animated talk which, though genial, was critically pungent. The United
States was often sharply attacked and I was put to all my resources
to parry the prods that were directed at our weak places. I did
not escape some personal banter. Feeling that I was in a congenial
atmosphere I announced with warmth my persistent love for England,
though my stock had been fixed in America since 1635. I spoke of
a cherished tradition of my family. The chronicler, Florence of
Worcester, describes an ancient battle in the year of 1016 between
Edmond Ironside and the Danes. The battle was close and the Danes at
one point had taken captive a Saxon champion who looked very much like
the king. By cutting off his head and holding it up before the Saxon
army they well-nigh produced a panic, for the Saxons believed that
their king was slain, and Edmond had a lively quarter of an hour in
correcting the error and restoring order. He finally did so and won
victory at last. The chronicler gave the name of the Saxon who thus
suffered untimely decapitation as Hosmer. I told the story and Freeman
at once insisted that it should be confirmed. He sent his daughter to
the library, who returned bearing a huge tome containing the chronicle
of Florence of Worcester. Freeman turned at once to the date, 1016,
and there was the passage in the quaint mediaeval Latin. It was indeed
a H