A volume of reminiscences is commonly the last book that an author
publishes, if indeed he does not leave the task to his literary
administrator. There are not wanting, however, instances to the
contrary; and in the present case my object is more especially to
attract public attention to the lives and works of two distinguished
men, one of whom has hitherto been little appreciated, and the other,
as it seems to me, greatly misunderstood. My position in regard to
David A. Wasson has already been challenged, but I have faith that it
will endure the test of time. If these pages shall also succeed in
restoring to Wendell Phillips a portion of the fame which he lost
by the wayward course of his declining years, they will not have
been written in vain. The other characters that I have brought upon
this stage are such as both the writer and the public have long taken
an interest in. To the few living personages who have been introduced,
I would apologize, and excuse myself on the ground that the picture
would be imperfect without them.
SKETCHES FROM CONCORD AND APPLEDORE
CONCORD THIRTY YEARS AGO.
To one looking westward from Boston State House there appears a line of
rugged, precipitous hills extending across the country from southwest to
northeast. Having ascended these heights, we perceive beyond them an
irregular line of pale blue mountains, of which Wachusett is the most
southerly peak, and which is in fact a portion of the White Mountain
range extending through New Hampshire and into the northern part of
Maine.
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