on American
soil. There is nothing finer in our country's history than the attitude
of the New England colonists during the intercolonial wars. Their
northern frontier covering two hundred miles of unprotected territory
was constantly open to the incursions of the French from Canada and
their Indian allies, to appease whom the French organized their raids.
And yet, so deeply implanted was this ideal of self-reliance that New
England scarcely thought of asking aid of the mother country and would
have protested to the last against the permanent establishment of a
military garrison within her limits. For a period extending over fifty
years, New England protected her own borders. She felt the terrors of
savage warfare in its most sanguinary forms. And yet, uncomplaining, she
taxed herself to repel the invaders. The people loved their own
independence too much to part with it, even for the sake of peace,
prosperity, and security. At a later date, unknown to the mother
country, they raised and equipped from their own young men and at their
own expense, the punitive expedition that, in the face of seemingly
certain defeat, captured the French fortress at Louisburg, and gave to
English military annals one of its most brilliant victories. To get the
pupil to live through these struggles, to feel the impetus of idealism
upon conduct, to appreciate what that almost forgotten half-century of
conflict meant to the development of our national character, would be to
realize the greatest value that colonial history can have for its
students. It lays bare the source of that strength which made New
England preeminent in the Revolution, and which has placed the mint mark
of New England idealism upon the coin of American character. Could a
pupil who has lived vicariously through such experiences as these easily
forsake principle for policy?

A newspaper cartoon published a year or so ago, gives some notion of the
danger that we are now facing of losing that idealism upon which our
country was founded. The cartoon represents the signing of the
Declaration of Independence. The worthies are standing about the table
dressed in the knee breeches and flowing coats of the day, with wigs
conventionally powdered and that stately bearing which characterizes the
typical historical painting. John Hancock is seated at the table
prepared to make his name immortal. A figure, however, has just
appeared in the doorway. It is the cartoonist's conventional