Have we filled
our earthly horizon with golden thoughts, fair visions of the
sea of memory that reach the infinite? Are they transient as the
crimson and rose-colored west or shall they flash and gleam
silent, yet eternal as the stars above?
How often will the ocean's clean-washed sands, those ever-
changing hues and sunsets re-appear when we shall long have been
absent from them! How often, too, shall we hear in fancy as we
do now in reality the moaning of the storm and the booming
breakers along the shore!
The sirens were still calling and their weird enticing melodies
yet rippled through our memories. Out over the harbor beyond
those enchanted rocks the water was o'erspread with the delicate
blue bloom. Later they seemed to withdraw, fading slowly away
into blue and mysterious shadows in the deepening twilight. "Far
out toward the horizon we watched a vessel fade in the violet
dusk; the evening star trembled low on the horizon as if
enamored of the waters." Thus Newport passed into memory.
RHODE ISLAND
Little Rhode Island! What a surprise it was to find in this,
this smallest member of a family group of forty-eight states, so
much of the wild and primeval wilderness. Through long stretches
of forest bordered road, stony fields and rough pasture land our
road led. Great clusters of ferns grew in the swampy meadows,
and many brilliant colored swamp flowers were in blossom, giving
the otherwise desolate scene a touch of color. Stone fences
bordered some of the meadows and now and then a rustic cottage
with its brown-stained sides appeared. For a number of miles we
passed through a country where on both sides of the road grew
thickets of oak, yellow and white birch and fragrant pine.
Interspersed among this growth were numberless chestnut, maple
and larch trees.
We soon emerged from this desolate region, however, and at a
more attractive spot our eyes fell upon a boulder monument
erected by the state of Rhode Island in memory and honor of
Thomas Wilson Dorr, whom in an earlier time was considered a
menace to his country. How long this man was in receiving the
true verdict of his country! Pausing to read the latter verdict,
so different from the former, we noted these significant words:
"Thomas Wilson Dorr, 1805-1854; of distinguished lineage, of
brilliant talents, eminent in scholarship, a public spirited
citizen, lawyer, educator, statesman, advocator of popular
sovereignty, framer of the people's Constitution of 1842,
elected Governor under it, adjudged revolutionary in 1842.
Principle acknowledged right in 1912." Then below these words
were added: "I stand before you with great confidence in the
final verdict of my country. The right of suffrage is the
guardian of our liberty."
Here in this charming spot where the beautiful maples stood in
groups or grew singly we ate our luncheon beneath these trees
whose liberty-loving branches stirred by a passing breeze
rustled a leafy accompaniment to a nation's paean of praise. His
principles were right, but he was in advance of his time. We
were glad to know that such a small state could produce so great
a man.
Here we were entering the city where Williams with five others
landed at the foot of the hill which he chose as the place of
his settlement. In gratitude for "God's merciful providence to
him in distress" he called the place Providence. Roger Williams,
with his grand idea of religious tolerance, stood far ahead of
his time. His aim, like his character, was pure and noble. He
was educated at London, and was a friend of Vane, Cromwell and
Milton. While at Plymouth and Salem he spent much time in
learning the Indian tongue.
Little did he dream as he slept in their filthy wigwams what a
great benefit the learning of their language would be to him
later on.
The land along the east shore of Narragansett bay was the
country of Massasoit; that on the west side, and the islands,
belonged to the Narragansetts.
It was in the heart of winter when he made his way in secrecy
through snow and ice to a place not far from where Blackstone
lived. Here he began to plant and build, and others came to join
him. Williams was shown great kindness by the Indians, and he
bought the land of natives, thereby soon gaining great influence
over them.
CHAPTER VII
BERKSHIRE HILLS
I know where wild things lurk and linger
In groves as gray and grand as Time;
I know where God has written poems
Too strong for words or rhyme.
- Maurice Thompson.
To one who has lived in a level country how full of joyful
experience is a winding mountain road!
None of our journeys will be remembered with keener delight than
the days spent in sauntering along the Mohawk trail. What
incomparable trout streams, what vast primeval forests, how
charming the peaceful valleys, what trails leading to the tops
of wooded hills or fern-clad cool retreats of the forest! What a
life the Indians must have had here, moving from place to place
enjoying new homes and new scenery! Here the fierce child of
Nature lived amidst the grandest temples of God's building,
where the song of the hermit thrush as old as these fragrant
aisles, still rings like a newly-strung lute; while the wind
among the myriad keyed pines thrums a whispering accompaniment
and the yellow and white birch fill the place with incense.
Many mourn because they have no money to purchase a noble work
of art, or pay a visit to the Vatican or the Louvre. But here in
their own beloved America God has an open gallery, filled with
pictures fairer than the grandest dream of any landscape artist,
which wear no trace of age and no fire can destroy.
