On Monday morning the Roxbury boys took their cousins to see their tennis ground, and it may be believed that all parties there joined in one or two games. Mrs. Dudley and Mrs. Crehere went into Boston for some necessary shopping, and came back by the Art Museum, where was a good “Loan Exhibition.” The loan exhibition in summer is generally filled with masterpieces from the private galleries of people who are in their country homes. “I would not pay so much for pictures,” said one of these noble women, “if the people were not to enjoy them nine-tenths of the time.” But Mrs. Dudley had so arranged her dinner that they might all take a street car for “Dorchester Heights” and see the view of the harbor from that point, and that the boys, who had had no chance to swim at Nahant, might take a sea bath on their return. Accordingly, about five o’clock they started for South Boston. “Take any car for City Point,” was Nathan’s final direction as the party separated. “Ask for the Reservoir, and we will meet there.” “Dorchester Heights” is simply the name, which only old fashioned people would understand, of the hills in what is now “South Boston,” now surmounted by the “Blind Institution” and a public park, in which is one of the city reservoirs. Visitors to Boston who are at all interested in education will do well to drop a line on arrival, for Mr. Anagnos, the chief of the Blind Institution, to ask what is the proper day for a visit there. Our friends were obliged to defer this interesting visit till the autumn, and they all gathered on the other hill and enjoyed the spectacle of the harbor, white with the sails of hundreds of yachts, and all alive with the movements of the lolling steamers as they went out, just before sunset, on their voyages to every port of the seaboard, not to say of the world. These high hills completely command the harbor, in a military sense. Why the English generals did not take possession before Washington did no one ever knew. That was the sort of imbecility George III. got by appointing men to office because they were his relations. When, at last, the winter of 1775-1776 broke up, and no ice had formed strong enough for an attack on Boston over the ice, Washington seized these hills. By the road now called Dorchester Avenue, which Nathan Dudley showed our friends, he sent from the camp in Roxbury (“just behind where we live,” said Nathan) the men and munitions. It was all done by night. On the morning of the fifth of March the Americans had built a fortification which surprised the English officers in Boston as that on Bunker Hill had surprised them nine months before. “It was like Aladdin’s lamp,” wrote one of them.