quaint and characteristic mixture of
positiveness and idealism, that "inhabitants of granite countries have a
force and healthiness of character about them that clearly distinguishes
them from the inhabitants of less pure districts." Perhaps he was right,
for surely here where the succeeding generations have all lived in the
atmosphere of the marching Blue Hill, each has through its own fair
name, done honor to the fair names which have preceded it.

One of the very first to be attracted by the lofty and yet lovely appeal
of this region was Governor Thomas Hutchinson, the last of the Royal
Governors Massachusetts was to know. It was about the middle of the
eighteenth century that this gentleman, of whom John Adams wrote, "He
had been admired, revered, and almost adored," chose as the spot for his
house the height above the Neponset River. If we follow the old country
Heigh Waye to the top of Unquity (now Milton) Hill, we will find the
place he chose, although the house he built has gone and another stands
in its place. Fairly near the road, it overlooked a rolling green meadow
(a meadow which, by the gift of John Murray Forbes, will always be kept
open), with a flat green marsh at its feet and the wide flat twist of
the Neponset River winding through it, for all the world like a
decorative panel by Puvis de Chavannes. One can see a bit of the North
Shore and Boston Harbor from here. This is the view that the Governor so
admired, and tradition tells us that when he was forced to return to
England he walked on foot down the hill, shaking hands with his
neighbors, patriot and Tory alike, with tears in his eyes as he left
behind him the garden and the trees he had planted, and the house where
he had so happily lived. Although the view from the front of the house
is exquisite, the view from the back holds even more intimate
attraction. Here is the old, old garden, and although the ephemeral
blossoms of the present springtime shine brightly forth, the box, full
twenty feet high, speaks of another epoch. Foxgloves lean against the
"pleached alley," and roses clamber on a wall that doubtless bore the
weight of their first progenitors.

Another governor who chose to live in Milton was Jonathan Belcher, but
one fancies it was the grandness rather than the sweetness of the scene
which attracted this rather spectacular person. The Belcher house still
exists, as does the portrait of its master, in his wig and velvet coat
and waistc