lebrated Stonehenge, and near by, the Amesbury where was one of
the oldest monasteries in England. It is supposed that the towns were so
named because many of the new settlers came from those old English
towns. The latter name used to be spelled Ambresbury, and Tennyson in
his "Idylls of the King" spells Almesbury. After the discovery by Modred
of the guilt of King Arthur's fair and false wife, he says:--

"Queen Guinevere had fled the court and sat
There in the holyhouse at Almesbury
Weeping."

Describing her flight, he tells us that she sent Lancelot

"Back to his land, but she to Almesbury
Fled all night long by glimmering waste and weald."

There Arthur sees her for the last time and mourns over her before he
goes forth to his last battle with Modred.

On the whole, it is not strange, considering its associations, and
moreover the fact that this town in Massachusetts is the only Amesbury
in America while so many other names are duplicated, that the people of
Amesbury are not willing to merge the name of their town into that of
the elder sister, even when those parts called in each "the Mills" are
so closely united in interests and in appearance that no stranger could
recognize them as two towns. It is only the Powow that makes the
dividing line here. Blocks of offices and stores on both sides of the
street, among them the post-office, common to both towns, hide the
narrow stream at that point, and further up and down the towering walls
of the factories make it unobserved. It is not here that one sees the
Powow. But there is, or a little time ago there was, a place not far off
from this main street where the river is still harassed, yet as it slips
past in its silent toil with a few trees hanging low on the right, it
has a fascination in spite of its prosaic surroundings; it takes
naturally to picturesqueness and freedom.

One of Whittier's early poems speaks of an Indian re-visiting the stream
that his forefathers loved, and standing on Powow Hill, where the chiefs
of the Naumkeaks, and of the other tribes held their powows. Here for a
moment, says the poem, a gleam of gladness came to him as he stooped to
drink of the fountain and seated himself under an oak.

"Far behind was Ocean striving
With his chains of sand;
Southward, sunny glimpses giving
'Twixt the swells of land,
Of its calm and silvery track
Rolled the tranquil Merrimack."

The Indian's feeling about "These ba