tation and a name.'
The spirit of the fountain was wedded to its present tabernacle. The
dwellings of men sprang up around me in the place of the departing
forest. I gave them all a cheerful welcome. If the colonists worked
hard, I worked harder yet. I filled their pails and cups, and revived
their failing hearts, and cheered their unremitting labors. They
called me their friend. The pretty girls smiled upon me, as, under
pretence of levying contributions on my treasures, they chatted with
young men who gathered at my side. Then came a sterner period. I heard
no more love tales--no more idle gossip. Men stood here, and spoke of
deep wrong, of tyranny, of trampled rights, of resistance, of liberty!
That was a word I had not heard since the red man drank of my
unfettered tide. One night, there was a great gathering here. There
were men and boys, a multitude. There was much angry talk and much
confusion. Then I heard the roll of the drum and the regular tramp of
an armed force. A band of British soldiers, all resplendent with
scarlet, and gold, and burnished muskets that glittered in the
moonbeams, were formed into line at the command of an officer, and
confronted the dark array of citizens. Then came an angry
discussion--orders on the part of the commander for the multitude to
disperse, which were unheeded or disobeyed. Then that line of
glittering tubes was levelled. I heard the fatal word "fire!" the
flame leaped from the muzzles of the muskets, and the volley crashed
and echoed in the street. Blood flowed upon the pavement--the blood of
citizens mingled with my waters, and I was the witness of a fearful
tragedy. In after times, I heard it named the Boston Massacre. Since
then, I have seen hours of sunshine and triumph, of fun and frolic, of
anger and rejoicing. My waters have laved the dust that it might not
soil the uniform of Washington as he rode past on his snow-white
charger, amid the acclamations of the multitude. I have seen Hull and
his tars pass up the street, bearing the stripes and stars in triumph
from the war of the ocean. I have heard long-winded orators spout over
my head in emulation of my craft, "in one weak, washy, everlasting
flood." I have seen many a military, many a civic pageant. The last I
witnessed was, as Dick Swiveller remarks, a 'stifler.' It was that
confounded Water Celebration. Republics _is_ ungrateful. I was
forgotten on that occasion. Nobody drank at the old city pump. People
sat on my