Difficult it is, indeed, to set down in worthy lines the remembrance of the interview herein depicted. Of course, it has been faintly and inadequately done. Let us hope, however, that, should Winthrop's spirit, two or three centuries hence, visit again the last and most eventful scenes of his earthly life, he will find Boston, though changed anew, yet vastly improved, keeping pace with all developments for the good of an ever advancing race, and second to none in the Commonwealth or Nation in true excellence and progress. AN INTERVIEW WITH A GREAT CHARACTER. A Poem POEM. There was a quiet hour in Scollay Square; The cars and teams were blocked from getting there; No longer shone the famed electric light,-- It flickered out and left the darkest night. I seemed to feel a shock upon my arm, And hear the statue speak: "I 'll do no harm,-- An elder of First Church I think you are; I have a message for you; come, prepare." [Illustration: Portrait of Rev. John Wilson.] "Winthrop!" cried I, "my venerable sire! Do you reanimate your rich attire? Most glad am I to have this interview; Pray, tell me all you wish, things old and new." "My friend," said he, "no ven'rable am I, For mortals grow no older when they die; E'er since my earthly race I long have run, My age has numbered only sixty-one. Years are not counted on the heavenly shore, For in eternal life time is no more. The children sweet, the lovely bride forsooth, Transferred, preserve the freshness of their youth. Those who departed later are not found Far to transcend them in their endless round. More of the spirits' life I may not tell; Enough to say that with them all is well; God's universe has boundless worlds to show; His works will take eternity to know. "But I would speak of your millennial time Whose fame has gone through yon celestial clime. Almost one seventh of the years our Lord Has named for Him, First Church has preached His word. Its simple cov'nant ever served its need; It learned to live without a cumbrous creed. Its 'goodly church,' fast built where flowed the tide, Fulfils the vision Wilson saw with pride. Its charming chapel opens wide the door To the bright children of the suffering poor. Ah! blest are they who use for them their might! Angels will bear them on their upward flight; And, in return, the grateful youth will come, With prosperous hands, to deck their Christian home. The seed, wide-spread, will take its deepest root, And, watered oft, will yield its tenfold fruit. Erelong those hallowed walls will scarce contain Those who shall flock to learn the precepts plain. More week-day services will be required, To hear the word by holy men inspired; And long shall those enduring arches ring With pulpit tones, and songs the choir will sing. [Illustration: The Winthrop Cup.]