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92 to contain the halls of legislation, will be amused at the primitive opinions of an untravelled child.

But Wyllys Hill and the Charter Oak were the objects of my highest enthusiasm. Methought the proud Sir Edmund Andros, with his red-coated minions, stood before me. I heard the heavy tramp of their armed heels as they ascended to the chamber where the care-worn fathers of the colony prolonged their evening session. Methought the closing words of the speech of Governor Treat, his voice hoarse with emotion, met my ear:

"Our colony has not yet recovered from the perils of its infant years. Not only have 'we heard them with our ears, and our fathers have told us,' but some who are in council here remember them. I have myself borne a part therein. But since this blessed Charter has been ours, the gift of Charles II. of glorious memory, we have enjoyed tranquillity and the just rights of free men. Shall it be taken away without cause, and we be made vassals? To me it is like the rending asunder of soul and body, to yield up the defence, the liberty, the life of the State."

A sudden darkness falls—a rushing step passes—the life-blood of our liberties thrills in the heart of the faithful tree.

The ancient mansion at Wyllys Hill was an object also of intense interest. Brought over from England during the infancy of the colony, it gleamed out from