Ships, whose traffic links these highlands Bleak and cold of ours With the citron-planted islands Of a clime of flowers; To our frosts the tribute bringing Of eternal heats. In our lap of winter flinging Tropic fruits and sweets. Cheerly on the ax of labor Let the sunbeam dance, Better than the flash of saber Or the gleam of lance! Strike! With every blow is given Freer sun and sky, And the long-hid earth to heaven Looks with wond'ring eye. Loud behind us grow the murmurs Of the age to come-- Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers Bearing harvest home! Here her virgin lap with treasures Shall the green earth fill-- Waving wheat and golden maize-ears Crown each beechen hill. Keep who will the city's alleys, Take the smooth-shorn plain, Give to us the cedarn valleys, Rocks and hills of Maine! In our North-land, wild and woody, Let us still have part-- Rugged nurse and mother sturdy, Hold us to thy heart! Oh, our free hearts beat the warmer For thy breath of snow, And our tread is all the firmer For thy rocks below. Freedom, hand in hand with labor, Walketh strong and brave; On the forehead of his neighbor No man writeth Slave! Brother looks on equal brother, Manhood looks on men-- Be thy future, oh our mother, As thy past hath been-- Heavenward, like thy mountain-guardians, With their star-crowns deck'd, And thy watchword, like Katahdin's Cloud-swept pine, 'ERECT!'" Then followed the "yarn." Now "Nick," as we familiarly called him, was a tall, sinewy man, the exact counterpart of Hobbs in physical proportions, full of fire, and fond of adventure. He had spent much of his life in the woods, and in different parts of the country, somewhat apt in his observations, and off-hand in his style of conversation. Looking thoughtfully into the fire a moment, as if to call an item from his experience, he proceeded as follows: "In the month of September, 18--, having business to transact with a man engaged in timber-making on Bartholomew's River, New Brunswick, I set out on horseback, late in the afternoon, for his encampment, distant some ten miles. Part of the distance I had to pass through a dense wilderness, where a path had been made by cutting away the underbrush and small trees; the rest of the journey could only be prosecuted by riding in the bed of the stream, which at the time was quite dry.