imperfect symbols. All was well, so long as their lamps were freshly
kindled at heavenly flame. After a while, however, whether in their time
or their children's, these lamps began to burn more dimly, or with a less
genuine lustre; and then it might be seen how hard, cold, and confined
was their system,--how like an iron cage was that which they called
Liberty.

Too much of this. Look again at the picture, and observe how the
aforesaid Anglo-Saxon energy is now trampling along the street, and
raising a positive cloud of dust beneath its sturdy footsteps. For there
the carpenters are building a new house, the frame of which was hewn and
fitted in England, of English oak, and sent hither on shipboard; and here
a blacksmith makes huge slang and clatter on his anvil, shaping out tools
and weapons; and yonder a wheelwright, who boasts himself a London
workman, regularly bred to his handicraft, is fashioning a set of wagon-
wheels, the track of which Wall soon be visible. The wild forest is
shrinking back; the street has lost the aromatic odor of the pine-trees,
and of the sweet-fern that grew beneath them. The tender and modest
wild-flowers, those gentle children of savage nature that grew pale
beneath the ever-brooding shade, have shrank away and disappeared, like
stars that vanish in the breadth of light. Gardens are fenced in, and
display pumpkin-beds and rows of cabbages and beans; and, though the
governor and the minister both view them with a disapproving eye, plants
of broadleaved tobacco, which the cultivators are enjoined to use
privily, or not at all. No wolf, for a year past, has been heard to
bark, or known to range among the dwellings, except that single one,
whose grisly head, with a plash of blood beneath it, is now affixed to
the portal of the meeting-house. The partridge has ceased to run across
the too-frequented path. Of all the wild life that used to throng here,
only the Indians still come into the settlement, bringing the skins of