of this Connecticut man was my grandfather. And he was cousin, if you please, of the grandfather of those men from Maine who now find their companions in Senates and stand unawed before kings. But I did not know that when I first went there. I believe I only mention it now to say that the Hales of Maine are our sort of Hales; the Hales of New Hampshire are of the sort of the distinguished lady I have spoken of, and are also of our kind of Hales, "the Hales who do not have sugar in their coffee." The Hales of Vermont are of the Newbury Hales, which means Thomas the Glover. They also are admirable people, and they have a Nathan Hale of their own who was a Captain Nathan Hale of the Revolution, and died a prisoner of war near New York and shall be spoken of hereafter. My son Philip is an artist. He was in a New York gallery one day when it was what the artists call "varnishing day," and a lady, referring to his picture, said, "So you have come to New York to be hanged, Mr. Hale." "Yes," said he; "that is the way the Hales usually come."

Perhaps it is as well to say that the Massachusetts Hales are some of them of one kind and some of another, and yet a third belong to the

Rehoboth Hales. The Rhode Island Hales are mostly Rehoboth Hales. Besides the Coventry Hales in Connecticut, of whom I am, and the Ashford Hales, who are our cousins, are the

Glastonbury Hales. They are the people who now produce peaches for the world, and are our cousins on another line from the Ashford Hales.

It is my belief that in all these lines the Hales were cousins of each other. Generally speaking, they are tall, with a tendency to black hair. Without exception they love their country and tell the truth. So much for genealogy, to which I may never refer, perhaps, again.

No, I did not go to Maine to see my cousins. I went there on my way to New Hampshire to see, if you please, on those mountains the geological order of its stratification. In the year 1841 I was appointed as a junior member on the New Hampshire Geological Survey, under the eminent Charles Thomas Jackson, who is better known as one of the discoverers of the properties of ether. On my way to join this survey I went down to Portland and made a visit on my lifelong friend Samuel Longfellow. He is the Longfellow to whom you owe some of the best hymns in your hymn-book; for instance, he wrote the hymn for my ordination. He graduated with me

at Cambridge in 1839. And we of our class used to call the celebrated Henry Wadsworth Long

by Sam Longfellow and me. He and I and Channing, who had asked for my appointment on the New Hampshire Survey, were intimate in college.

From college days down I liked Channing and Channing liked me. In November, 1838, he proposed that we should watch from midnight

onward for the annual recurrence of the meteoric shower which is now generally called the shower of the Leonids. And we did so, eight of us of the college class of 1839, on the Delta of those days. What says the poem of that day?

Our Chase and our Channing

The Northwest are scanning,

While the cold wind is fanning

Their faces upturned,

While our Hurd and our Hale,

With watching turned pale,

Are looking toward Yale

Where all these things burned.

And Morison and Parker

Cry out to the marker,

"One jet black and darker

From zenith above."

While Adams and Longfellow,
Watching the throng below,

Won't all night long allow

Black meteors move.

All the rest of us insisted that there were black meteors as well as white ones. This opinion has been confirmed since then. Our observa