kindly
origin. When Winthrop, the earliest of the settlers, wrote to his wife,
"We are here in a paradise," he spoke with an enthusiasm which is easily
intelligible. And as the little colony grew, it lived its life in accord
with the habit and sentiment of the mother-country. In architecture and
costume it followed the example set in Bristol or in London. Between
these ports and Boston was a frequent interchange of news and
commodities. An American in England was no stranger. He was visiting,
with sympathy and understanding, the home of his fathers. The most
distinguished Bostonians of the late eighteenth century live upon the
canvases of Copley, who, in his son, gave to England a distinguished
Chancellor, and whose career is the best proof of the good relations
which bound England to her colony. Now Copley arrived in England
in 1774, when his native Boston was aroused to the height of her
sentimental fury, and he was received with acclamation. He painted
the portraits of Lord North and his wife, who, one imagines, were not
regarded in Boston with especial favour. The King and Queen gave him
sittings, and neither political animosity nor professional rivalry
stood in the way of his advancement. His temper and character were well
adapted to his career. Before he left New England he had shown himself a
Court painter in a democratic city. He loved the trappings of life,
and he loved to put his sitters in a splendid environment. His own
magnificence had already astonished the grave Boston-ians; he is
described, while still a youth, as "dressed in a fine maroon cloth, with
gilt buttons"; and he set the seal of his own taste upon the portraiture
of his friends.

I have said that Boston loves relics. The relics which it loves best are
the relics of England's discomfiture. The stately portraits of Copley
are of small account compared to the memorials of what was nothing else
than a civil war. Faneuil Hall, the Covent Garden of Boston, presented
to the city by Peter Faneuil some thirty years before the birth of
"Liberty," is now but an emblem of revolt. The Old South Meeting-Place
is endeared to the citizens of Boston as "the sanctuary of freedom." A
vast monument, erected a mere quarter of a century ago, commemorates the
"Boston Massacre." And wherever you turn you are reminded of an episode
which might easily be forgotten. To an Englishman these historical
landmarks are inoffensive. The dispute which they recall aroused far
le