terrible than all. Again old Monro watches from his
fortress-walls the steadily approaching foe, and looks in
vain for help, save to his own brave heart. I see the light
of conquest shining in his foeman's eye, darkened by the
shadow of the fate that waits his coming on a bleak Northern
hill but, generous in the hour of victory, he shall not be
less noble in defeat,--for to generous hearts all generous
hearts are friendly, whether they stand face to face or side
by side.

Over the woods and the waves, when the morning breaks, like a
bridegroom coming forth from his chamber, rejoicing as a strong
man to run a race, comes up the sun in his might and crowns
himself king. All the summer day, from morn to dewy eve, we
sail over the lakes of Paradise. Blue waters, and blue sky,
soft clouds and green islands, and fair, fruitful shores,
sharp-pointed hills, long, gentle slopes and swells, and the
lights and shadows of far-stretching woods; and over all the
potence of the unseen past, the grand, historic past,--soft
over all the invisible mantle which our fathers flung at their
departing,--the mystic effluence of the spirits that trod these
wilds and sailed these waters,--the courage and the fortitude,
the hope that battled against hope, the comprehensive outlook,
the sagacious purpose, the resolute will, the unhesitating
self-sacrifice, the undaunted devotion which has made this
heroic ground; cast these into your own glowing crucible, O
gracious friend, and crystallize for yourself such a gem of
days as shall worthily be set forever in your crown of the
beatitudes.