In my boyhood, in our lonely farm-house, we had scanty sources of information; few books and only a small weekly newspaper. Our only annual was the Almanac. Under such circumstances story-telling was a necessary resource in the long winter evenings. My father when a young man had traversed the wilderness to Canada, and could tell us of his adventures with Indians and wild beasts, and of his sojourn in the French villages. My uncle was ready with his record of hunting and fishing and, it must be confessed, with stories which he at least half believed, of witchcraft and apparitions. My mother, who was born in the Indian-haunted region of Somersworth, New Hampshire, between Dover and Portsmouth, told us of the inroads of the savages, and the narrow escape of her ancestors. She described strange people who lived on the Piscataqua and Cocheco, among whom was Bantam the sorcerer. I have in my possession the wizard's "conjuring book," which he solemnly opened when consulted. It is a copy of Cornelius Agrippa's Magic printed in 1651, dedicated to Dr. Robert Child, who, like Michael Scott, hadlearned

`the art of glammorie
In Padua beyond the sea,'

See how the black ship cleaves the main
    High-bounding o'er the violet wave,
Remurmuring with the groans of pain,
    Deep freighted with the princely slave.

Did all the gods of Afric sleep,
    Forgetful of their guardian love,
When the white traitors of the deep
    Betrayed him in the palmy grove?

A chief of Gambia's golden shore,
    Whose arm the band of warriors led,
Perhaps the lord of boundless power,
    By whom the foodless poor were fed.

Does not the voice of reason cry,
    `Claim the first right which nature gave;
From the red scourge of bondage fly,
    Nor deign to live a burdened slave'?"

Twenty years have taken flight
Since these pages saw the light.
    All home loves are gone,
But not all with sadness, still,
Do the eyes of memory fill
    As I gaze thereon.

Lone and weary life seemed when
First these pictures of the pen
    Grew upon my page;
But I still have loving friends
And the peace our Father sends
    Cheers the heart of age."