in closing the history of one of the oldest towns of Massachusetts
, we are naturally led to the inquiry, How will the condition of those born here two hundred years after us compare with that of those born here two hundred years before us?
Standing between these two extremes, our hearts become moved with a parental regard towards children who will live as far from us in the future as our fathers did in the past.
Had we a telegraph for time, as we have one for space, we would gladly send forward our welcomes and wishes, to be in waiting for them; but the only chance we have of reaching them with our messages of love is to trust in the preservation of musty historic records in fire-proof libraries.
How small the hope!
A block of driftwood, in the Pacific
, is said to
have found its way into the Atlantic
, and finally reached a shore.
Presuming on this smallest of all chances, we would now cast our historic block into the deep waters of 1855; hoping, that, after it has been tossed by the waves and winds of two centuries, it may be driven on the shore of 2055.
Should it have this unexpected rescue, we would, in such case, try to cheer it, amid the awkwardness of its antique dress and the sorrows of its shattered condition, by sending with it our following letter of introduction