LAUNCHING THE SHIP
IT is not well that I let my mind go back into the past.
I should think only of the future, and of what we are
doing here in Boston, the most important of which just
now is the launching of our ship.
She is what sailors call "bark rigged," which is the
same as saying that she has three masts; but yet not as
much of rigging as a ship.
Her name, painted on the stern, is Blessing of the Bay,
and there is hardly any need for me to say that every
man, woman, and child in the town stood near at hand
to see her as she slipped clown the well greased ways
into the river, where she rode as gracefully as a swan.
I have already said that when the Lyon came in, at
 the time of the famine, she appeared the most beautiful
vessel I had ever seen, and next to her comes
the Blessing of the Bay. As Governor Winthrop said in the
short lecture he gave us before launching, she was
Boston made, of Boston timber, and would be sailed
by Boston sailors, so that when she goes out across the
ocean, people shall know that there are Englishmen
far overseas who are striving, with God's help, to make
a country which shall one day stand equal with the
England we have left forever.
It is while speaking of the launching that I am
reminded of a very comical mishap to Master Winthrop,
and I may sit it down without disrespect to him, for he
 is pleased to join in the mirth whenever it is spoken of
as something to cause laughter.
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