letter under the vast dome of the State House; and
it occurs to him that he and his eminent colleagues and the stately
capitol and the glorious flag that floats above it, all gathered on
the hill above the Common, do his country no greater honor than the
outspoken admiration of an ardent young alien. The Senator replies to
your letter, inviting you to visit him at the State House; and in the
renowned chamber where the august business of the State is conducted,
you, an obscure child from the slums, and he, a chosen leader of the
people, seal a democratic friendship based on the love of a common
flag.

Even simpler than to meet a Senator was it to become acquainted with a
man like Edward Everett Hale. "The Grand Old Man of Boston," the
people called him, from the manner of his life among them. He kept
open house in every public building in the city. Wherever two citizens
met to devise a measure for the public weal, he was a third. Wherever
a worthy cause needed a champion, Dr. Hale lifted his mighty voice. At
some time or another his colossal figure towered above an eager
multitude from every pulpit in the city, from every lecture platform.
And where is the map of Boston that gives the names of the lost alleys
and back ways where the great man went in search of the lame in body,
who could not join the public assembly, in quest of the maimed in
spirit, who feared to show their faces in the open? If all the little
children who have sat on Dr. Hale's knee were started in a procession
on the State House steps, standing four abreast, there would be a lane
of merry faces across the Common, out to the Public Library, over
Harvard Bridge, and away beyond to remoter landmarks.

That I met Dr. Hale is no wonder. It was as inevitable as that I
should be a year older every twelvemonth. He was a part of Boston, as
the salt wave is a part of the sea. I can hardly say whether he came
to me or I came to him. We met, and my adopted country took me closer
to her breast.

A day or two after our first meeting I called on Dr. Hale, at his
invitation. It was only eight o'clock in the morning, you may be sure,
because he had risen early to attend to a hundred great affairs, and I
had risen early so as to talk with a great man before I went to
school. I think we liked each other a little the more for the fact
that when so many people were still asleep, we were already busy in
the interests of citizenship and friendship. We certainly liked ea