to ask for the Council Records of 1746, you will find here the whole story.

When the people of Boston were engaged, a few years ago, in preserving the Old South Meeting House as a memorial of this crisis, I sent to Mr. Henry W. Longfellow the account given of it by Thomas Prince, the minister of the Old South. Mr. Longfellow was delighted with Prince's account of the Fast Day for which Shirley issued his proclamation on the occasion, and wrote for the Old South Association his Ballad of the French Fleet, which in my judgment is the best of his ballads. And this Polly may read aloud to her mother this evening:

A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET.

October, 1746.

MR. THOMAS PRINCE, loquitur.

A fleet with flags arrayed
Sailed from the port of Brest,
And the Admiral's ship displayed
The signal: "Steer southwest."
For this Admiral d'Anville

Had sworn by cross and crown
To ravage with fire and steel

Our helpless Boston Town.

There were rumors in the street,
In the houses there was fear
Of the coming of the fleet,

And the danger hovering near.
And while from mouth to mouth
Spread the tidings of dismay,
I stood in the Old South,

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Saying humbly, "Let us pray.

"O Lord! we would not advise ; But if, in thy providence,

A tempest should arise

To drive the French fleet hence, And scatter it far and wide,

Or sink it in the sea, We should be satisfied,

And thine the glory be."

This was the prayer I made,
For my soul was all on flame;
And even as I prayed

The answering tempest came.
It came with a mighty power,
Shaking the windows and walls,
And tolling the bell in the tower
As it tolls at funerals.

The lightning suddenly

Unsheathed its flaming sword, And I cried, "Stand still and see The salvation of the Lord!” The heavens were black with cloud, The sea was white with hail, And ever more fierce and loud Blew the October gale.

The fleet it overtook,

And the broad sails in the van
Like the tents of Cushan shook,
Or the curtains of Midian.
Down on the reeling decks
Crashed the o'erwhelming seas;
Ah, never were there wrecks
So pitiful as these!

Like a potter's vessel broke
The great ships of the line;
They were carried away as a smoke,
Or sank like lead in the brine.
O Lord! before thy path

They vanished and ceased to be,
When thou didst walk in wrath

With thine horses through the sea!

VII.

ANOTHER DAY IN OLD BOSTON.

If there is time to read an old-fashioned novel evenings or on rainy days, you might ask at the hotel library for Lionel Lincoln, by one Cooper, of whom you have heard, perhaps. Cooper saw what you see-oh, as far back as the first twenty years of this century. And the book will give you some idea of the Boston of that day, as of the Revolutionary days.

Suppose we start from the State House on another walk. Leave the Common this time and go northward through Beacon Street. Here is the Boston Athenæum, and though we have no time to go into the library, we will just look into the entrance hall, where is a cast of Houdon's Washington and some good portraits.

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Now walk on, turn a little to the right, and go down hill. You pass the new and old Congregational Houses. Now just here, Paul, is where the schoolboys started on their coast, as dear Mr. Robins told me the story. "Lickety cut-clear the lalla-clear the coast!"-I dare say they shouted just as they do now. That victory of theirs, with General Haldimand, was the first victory of the Revolution. I tried to make the mayor proclaim a holiday for the last week in every January-a holiday in which every Boston boy might coast down this street as far as Washington Street.

Cross Tremont Street. On the right, where Parker's Hotel is, was the schoolhouse of those days. But it was on the left-hand side on the north side when Benjamin Franklin went to school there-the Franklin of the whistle. Do not pass his statue, which stands where he used to play "tag," without looking at it carefully. The Franklin is, on the whole, the best bronze statue in Boston, though, if you want to, you may