Especially was Judge Rodman’s final sentence generally repeated for days afterward:—
“At Faneuil Hall,” said the judge, “the hour at last had struck. The hands on the face of the clock stood still. ‘The force of Nature could no further go.’ The supreme thing had been accomplished. Henceforth we were embalmed in the everlasting and unchangeable essence of freedom—freedom—freedom.”
Indeed, he held our attention from the first, both because he did not read what he said, and because the ice in the pitcher at his elbow had melted before he began and did not require watching.
Then came the moment when, having completed his address, he took up the Decoration of Independence, to read it; and began the hunt for his spectacles. We watched him go through his pockets, but we did so with an interest which somewhat abated when he began the second round.
“What is the Decoration of Independence, anyhow?” I whispered to Mary Elizabeth, our acquaintance with it having been limited to learning it “by heart” in school.
“Why, don’t you know?” Mary Elizabeth returned. “It’s that thing Miss Messmore can say so fast. It’s when we was the British.”
“Who decorated it?” I wanted to know.
“George Washington,” replied Mary Elizabeth.
“How?” I pressed it. “How’d he do it?”
“I don’t know—but I think that’s what he wanted of the cherry blossoms,” said she.