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THE

GRANITE MONTHLY

A New Hampshire Magazine

HEVOTED TO

HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY, LITERATURE,
AND STATE PROGRESS

VOLUME XIX

CONCORD, N. H.

PUBLISHED BY THE (iRAXITE MONTHLY COMPANY

1895

974,2

G759
V. /9

bv the (jranite monthly company

Concord, N. H.

Printed, lilust rated, and Electroiyped by
Republican Press Association (Monitor Press)
Concord, New Hampshire, U. S. .4.

The Granite Monthly.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XIX.

July — Decern ber, i8g^ .

Abbott, Hattie, Witch Hazel

Adams, Ida G., Along the Piscataquog : A Sketch of VVkake

A Dawn Picture, Frank Walcott Hutt .......

Along the Piscataquog: A Sketch of Weark, Ida G. Adams

Along the Saco, George Bancroft Grififiths ......

Among the Islands: A Sketch of Lake Winnipesaukee, Henry B. Colby
An Old Barn And Its Swallows, Henry Whytmere ....

A Sketch of Warner: Historic and Otherwise, Amanda B. Harris
At Lundy's Lane, Mary H. Wheeler ........

August 17, 1755: A Tale of the Early Settlement of New Hampshire
F. Hodgman . . . . . . . .

Autumn Among the Hills. Charles Henry Chesley .....

Barnabee. Henry Clay, H. C. Pearson .......

Bartlett, John H., The Dying Leaf . . .,

Benedict, Milo, Bring Back the Old People ......

Bring Back the Old People, Iviilo Benedict ......

I'AGE

353
329
314

329
189

152

395
411
169

42
394

451
398
187

187

Call, Zaida, Faithful Unto death: A Sketch from Life .... 473

Love .............. 476

Campbell, M. J., Dethroned 360

Chandler, Agatha B. E.,Wild Reutlingen : A Ro.mance of the Time of the

Gre.\t King 46, 129. 251, 294, 361, 458

Chesley, Charles Henry, Autu.mn A.mong the Hills ...... 394

The Bobolink ............ 82

CoiT, Rev. Henry Augustus, LL. D. ; First Rector of S. Paul's School,

Concord, N. H., Rev. Daniel C. Roberts, D. D i

Colby, Henry B., Among the Islands: A Sketch of Winnipesaukee . . 152

Copy of Record of Marriages by Rev. Samuel Hidden, from i 792-1 837 . 217

Currier, Mary M., Pardon 122

CONTENTS.

Davis, Franklin Ware, In the Chocorua Country
Dethroned, M. J. Campbell ....

Educational Department, Fred Gowing .
Can School Children be Healthy?

^77

360

89, 170, 251, 321, 399, 478

321
251

Desirable Educational Legislation, Channing Folsom

Report of the New Hampshire Committee of Five on the Report of

the "Committee of Fifteen," John Henry Bartlett
The Curriculum of a Small High School, Edward J. Goodwin
The Relation of the Agricultural College to the Common Schools

Pres. C. S. Murkland

477
89, 170

399

Faithful Unto Death : A Sketch from Life, Zaida Call
Farmington, Mrs. Adelaide Cilley Waldron . . . .

From the Piazza : Mt. Washington from the Mt. Pleasant
A. Jenks ..........

Hou

SE, Edward

Gems of the New Hampshire Shore, L. K. H. Lane
Gowing, Fred, Educational Department
Granite Monthly, The .....
Griffiths, George Bancroft, Along the Saco

Home ........

The Granite Statp: .....
Grover, Edwin Osgood, Mount Chocorua .

"Over the Mounting:" A Hate Story

89. 170, 251, 321, 399, 478

489
189

375
306

186

227

Hanson, H. H., The Partridge

Two Pictures .....
Harris, Amanda B., A Sketch of Warner: Historic and Otherwise
Hodgman, F., August 17, 1755: A Tale of the Early Settle.ment of New
Hampshire .....

The Cricket .....
Holbrook, Chlce P.. Mt. Caesar Seminary and Swanzey Academy
Home, George Bancroft Griffiths
Hutt, Frank Walcott, A Dawn Picturk

In a Curious Twist, Edward A. Jenks

In the Chocorua Country, Franklin Ware Davis

Jenks, Edward A., From the Piazza, Mt. Washington from Mt
House ........

In a Curious Twist ......

Under the Old Elm .....

Ye Balade of Ye Fretful Lytel Robin .
John Danforth and Camp Caribou, George H. Moses

Lan-", L. K. H., Gems of the New Hampshire Shore
Linehan, John C, War Pictures .... 83, 143, 2

Lord, Myra B., The Dividing Line: A Sketch of New London
Love, Zaida Call .........

473
259

355

Pleasant

306

207
4ir

455
193
375
314

291

177

355
291

128

315
8

d8, 307, 356, 456

• 93
. 476

CONTENTS.

Mason, Mrs. Ellen M., North Conway Among the Mountains
Metcalf, H. B., John B. Peaslee, Ph. D.
Moonlight on the Uncanoonucs, Moses Gage Shirley
Moses, George H., Phillips Exeter's New Principal

John Danforth and Camp Caribou .
Mount Chocorua, Edwin Osgood Grover .
Mt. Caesar Seminary and Swanzey Academy
Mt Willard in September, Emilie Reade

New Hampshire Necrology
Adams, Mrs. :\Iary E.
Ayer, Nathan .
Blaxchard, Edwin D
Brown, Oran
Burge, Samuel .
Butler, Jerome C.
Campbell, Charles H.
Callaghan, William J.
Cheney, Benjamin Pierce
Chesley, Lieut. J. A.
Chesley, William P.
Clough, Lucien B.
Cogswell, Hon. P. B.
Colony, Ormaxd E.
Currier, Orim

UlXSMORE, AlONZO R.

Dole, Edith S.
Drew, Nicholas
Duncan, Samuel A. .
Eaton, Edmund .
Eaton, George C.
Elkins, Dr. John P. .
Fernald, James E.
Gliddex, C. W.
Goffe, Col. George W.
GoocH, William L, .
Goodrich, Hiram M.
Gordon. William
Harvey, D. L. .
Haven, Dr. A. H.
Haven,. George W.
Hill, Job W. .
Jackson, Rev. W. C.
Kexdrick, H. p.
Kexxett, Frank R. .
Kimball, Deacon Charles
Kimball, J.a.son J.
Kimball, John G.
Laxe, Albert F.
Laxe, Samuel D.

Chloe P. Holbrook

391
168
215

315
186

193
320

92, 176, 256, 326, 407, 485

176
328
407
486
487
326
326
328
256
410
409
258
485
92
409
176
176
328
487
408
327
327
257

327
257
408
407
487
486

327
258
408
410
487
410

92
408
258

92
327

CONTENTS.

New Hampshire Necrology [Continued^ :

Little, Sherman

McAlpine. C. G.

Miner, Rev. A. A., D. D.

Miner, Mrs. Maria S. P.

Morgan, Gerry .

Morse, Dearborn

Nason, Richard

Paige, Horace T.

Parker, Charles

Pe.arl, Isaac E.

Perkins, Robert H. .

Perkins, Washington

Pierce, Samuel .

Pike, Rev. James K., D. D.

Piper, S. H.

Pollens, Louis .

Putnam, S. B. .

Reid, Rev. Lewis H.

Reynolds, Charles H.

Savage, Joseph .

Simons, Lewis

Sinclair, Albert G.

Sleeper, Mrs. Martha G.

Spalding, Dr. Edward

Stearns, Mrs. Mary A.

Stevens, A. j. .

Stuart, Thomas

Taft, Mrs. Lucinda Knight

Taylor, James C.

Thompson, Robert C.

Thorpe, Elliott G. .

TowLE, Frank C.

True, William C.

Upham, Dr. F. W. .

Wadleigh, Capt. John S,

Waite, O. F. R.

Webster, Prof. Warren T.

Wetherbee, W. W. .

Whidden, a. G.

Wood, Capt. H. G. .

Woodbury, Rev. Augustus
Nichols, Laura D., The Sentinels
North Conway Among the Mountains, Mrs. Ellen M. Mason

Our National Flower: A Suggestion and a Plea, Rev. Daniel C. Roberts, D.D
"Over the Mounting:" A Hate Story, Edwin Osgood Grover

Pardon, Mary M. Currier ......

Pearson, Clarence Henry, Why Didst Thou Doubt? .

409

327
92

257
258
328
487
488
326
326
408
176
407
257
410
407
487
176
409
407
409
408
488

92
257
486
258
410
408
257
488
409
408
410
488
409
258
486
486
410
488
406

142
227

122

450

CONTENTS.

Vll

Pearson, H. C, Henry Clay Baknabee .....

The Waitek Girl

Peaslee, John B., H. B. Metcalf

Phalen, Frank L., Sunrise on Monadnock ....

Phillips E.xeter's New Principal, George H. Moses

Reade, Emilie, Mr. Willard in September ....
Roberts, Rev. Daniel C., D. D., Rev. Henry Augustus Coit, LL
Rector of S. Paul's School, Concord, N. H.
Our National Flower : A Suggestion and a Plea

Sanborn, Franklin Benjamin .......

Sanborn, F. B., The Charities of New Hampshire

Sanborn, \'ictor Channing, The American and English Sambornes

Selden, G. C, The White Angel

Sliirley, Moses Gage, Moonlight on the Uncanoonucs
Stewart, Helen Soule, The Two Paths .....
Sunrise on Monadnock, Frank L. Phalen ....

The American and English Sambornes. Victor Channing Sanborn

The Bobolink, Charles Henry Chesley

The Charities of New Hampshire. F. B. Sanborn

The Cricket, F. Hodgman ....

The Dividing Line: A Sketch of New London, iMyra B. Lord

The Dying Leaf, John H. Bartlett

The Granite State, George Bancroft Grififiths .

The Old Folks at Home, M. P.. Lawrence

The Partridge, H. H. Hanson ....

The Sentinels, Laura D. Nichols

The Two Paths, Helen Soule Stewart

The Waiter Girl, H. C. Pearson

The White Angel, G. C. Selden

Two Pictures, H. H. Han.son ....

D.,

Under The Old Elm, Edward A. Jenks .

War Pictures, John C. Linehan

Wheeler, Mary H., At Lundy's Lank

Why Didst Thou Dotnn? Clarence Henry Pearson

Whytmere, Henry, An Old Barn and Its Swallows

Wild Reutlingen: A Romance of the Time of

B. E. Chandler

Witch Hazel, Hattie Abbott ....

First

451

391

439
215

320

142

389
376
441
123
168
292

439

441
82
376
455
93
398
306
191
306
406
292

38
123

207

128

83, 143, 208, 307, 356, 456

1 69

45^

395

THE Great King, Agatha

46, 129, 235, 294. 361, 458
3S2,

Ye Balade of Ye Fretful Lytel Robin, Edward A. Jenks

o
o
W
u
m

W
W

The Granite Monthly.

V^OL. XIX.

JULY, 1895.

No.

THE REV. HENRY AUGUSTUS COIT, D. D., LL. D.

FIRST RECTOR OF S. PAUL S SCHOOL, CONCORD, N. H.
By Rev. Daniel C. Roberts, D. D.

^HERE is a mystery
of power in a great
and representative
man which is de-
veloped, in various
ways in various
individuals of our
race. These men do great things,
and we look on and see them do it,
and it all seems simple and natural
enough. And j'et other men, who to
all appearances are as well equipped,
using the same tools and apparently
like methods, wutli energy and ambi-
tion, fail to achieve greatness. One
cannot tell why, in any helpful way,
nor point out the article of failure,
nor clearly indicate a remedy. No
amount of any other quality or en-
erg5^ wull take the place of genius.
]Most of us must be contented with
our average of success. Most of the
world's work is done by average
men. And so it comes about that
we make a great background of me-
diocrity against which genius appears
in a sort of high relief. The great-
ness would not be so conspicuous but
for the foil of common-place.

And this mysterious power is not
shut up to any one vocation in life
which happens to afford facilities for
display. Talent is favored by oppor-
tunity. Genius creates opportunity.
Talent does well with materials.
Genius discovers materials. Tal-
ent, with strenuous endeavor, accom-
plishes great things. Genius does
great things easih'.

The subject of this sketch did
great things easih*. That does not
mean an}- magic in indolence. It
means that with the same endeavor
which other earnest and industrious
men use in doing their part, he did
his, and it was great.

Possibly it is a greater thing to
achieve greatness in one thing than
in another. If there are degrees of
greatness, surely tho.se are greatest
wdiose lines of thought and work are
least conspicuous, and ' are brought
into notice by the personality of him
whose greatness is illustrated by
achievement in them. \Ve under-
stand all about a man's being a great
soldier, a great statesman, a great
poet or artist, — we feel that it is less

THE REW HENRY AUGUSTUS CO IT, D. D., EL. D.

easy to think of a great schoolmaster.
This is Ijecause there is a certain
reserve in a schoohnaster's Hfe, and
because we in onr fancy set a Hmit
to what can be done in that depart-
ment of the world's work. We have
a sort of mental reluctance to classify
greatness in that with greatness in
things more wideh' exploited, more
clamorously advertised. But, as a
matter of fact, the greatness is in the
man. And the list of such men is
not large in any generation.

The earl}- historj- of Dr. Coit is
like that of other young men of good
ancestry and average opportunities.
He was born in 1S30 in the state of
Delaware. The men who had the
training and moulding of the young
mind and spirit were men who had
a decided and well understood part
in the "making" of our country,
intellectually and spiritually. The
Rev. Dr. Muhlenberg was a striking
and unique figure in the Episcopal
church and in practical philanthropy.
He was the founder of S. Luke's
hospital in New York city, and the
organizer of the free Church of the
Holy Communion, with its wide ex-
tended works in behalf of the poor
and the outcast. He was a man of
strong convictions and resolute in
carrying his purposes into effect, but
his methods were conservative and
his personal manners sweet and gen-
tle. The enterprise known as " S.
John land," with its modest but
practical Christian socialism, was
instituted by him, and he was a
pioneer in several things of note
and moment. Many youths came
under his care : here was one who
could and did profit by the les.sons
and impressions received from him.
Dr. Coit used to say that the school

of Dr. Muhlenberg was his earliest
model.

While still young he travelled in
the South for the benefit of his
health, and was for a short time a
guest of Bishop Eliot, the pioneer
bishop of Georgia. The organization
of Southern society was of a sort to
develop a strong individuality, and
the example and influence of Bishop
Eliot would emphasize that tendency
in an ardent and earnest tempera-
ment already coming under the dis-
cipline of a lofty principle and un-
wavering resolution.

With new experiences and great
store of observation and study, wdth
much shrewd insight into men and
their ways, and with renewed health,
Mr. Coit returned from the South
prepared for duty.

Associated with the Rev. Dr. Ker-
foot in S. James's college at Hagers-
town, Maryland, the future educator
was himself educated in the best
wa3'S. There were difficulties enough
in the working out of Dr. Kerfoot's
plans to furnish practical training in
methods for the staff and to establish
their resolution.

From Hagerstown Mr. Coit went
to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and en-
tered upon the charge of the Parish
school in connection with S. James's
church under the Rev. Dr. Bowman,
afterwards assistant bishop of Penn-
sylvania. Serving the parish anct its
missions as well as the school, he
found a field for the cultivation of
his versatile and original powers,
developing the many-sided man who
was always not less a pastor than a
schoolmaster, not less a preacher than
an educator, not less a priest than a
pedagogue.

At Lancaster he met, and subse-

THE REV. HENRY AUGUSTUS CO IT, D. D., LL. D.

quently married, Miss Mary Bowman
Weeeler. INIrs. Coit was a woman of
birth and breeding, accomplished,
sympathetic, and wise, and having
the useful gifts of knack and capa-
bility. In all his enterprises and
endeavors, notably in the founding
and development of S. Paul's school,
she was strength, support, and com-
fort to her distinguished husband, a
constant power, a gracious presence,
an inspiration.

Leaving Lancaster, ]\Ir. Coit en-
tered into missionary work in north-
ern New York, west of Lake Cham-
plain, and there as elsewhere made
the most of himself and his oppor-
tunities. It was a typical rural pop-
ulation. Among such people the
work that is done must be largely
personal, and the pastor is on inti-
mate terms with the quaint intelli-
gences which grow strong and earn-
est and original, with many a twist
awry in their intellectual make-up,
thinking out things for themselves
in their isolated and more or less mo-
notonous lives. They stand sturdily
by the traditions of their region, sect,
or family. It is an education in human
nature to deal intimately with them,
drill for the mind to discuss their moot
questions with them, training for heart
and soul to bring light and love to
bear upon them. One learns the ex-
tent of one's own resources and how
to draw upon them. Shut up in that
environment, men grow narrow and
hard ; but, with one's mind and heart
open to the movements of the great
world of thought and feeling, contact
with such minds and the earnest but
friendly contest which comes of tr}--
ing to lead them in new ways, open
new^ ideas to them, or to make last-
ing and character-forming impression

upon them, develops new powers and
new SNUipathies. The man who
succeeds achieves a certain sweet
and gentle masterfulness, the mastery
which kindles loyalty. Mr. Coit was
being prepared for his life work, al-
though in so different a sphere. He
was developing patience, insight,
readiness, perseverance, reverence for
souls, wise appreciation of the value
of the individual. The subsequent
success came largely of this singular
rapport with the individual. In fact
all effective discipline or true disci-
pleship comes so.

In 1856 George C Shattuck, M.D.,
of Boston, a man of wealth and cult-
ure, and one who is probabh' better
known for his munificence than for
his other great qualities, gave his
country house, a large and well ap-
pointed dwelling in that part of Con-
cord known as "Millville," together
with a sufficient tract of territory sur-
rounding it, for the founding of a
church school for boys. He invited
Mr. Coit to take it in charge, and the
invitation was accepted. From that
time until his lamented death the
biography of the rector is bound up
in the history of the school.

The ideal which the rector of S.
Paul's school set before himself was
a lofty one. And through nearly
fort}^ of the best years of his life
he has steadily pursued that ideal.
He was no dreamer. His was not a
visionary ideal, but a distinct notion
of what might be achieved by perse-
verance and industry guided by wis-
dom, balanced by principle, and ani-
mated by a lofty ambition.

His greatness was of a severely
practical sort, and his success w'as
won by the application of simple and
business-like methods. Other men

THE REV. HENRY AUGUSTUS COIT, D. D., LL. D.

might do the same, one would think,
it looks so sure and eas3\ The work
of genius alwa3\s does. Constantl}'
and patiently, his zeal in harness, he
persevered, until the S. Paul's school
of to-day is his great and fitting mon-
ument, and his fame is secure. It
was secure from the beginning ; be-
cause he was not striving for renown,
but simply and modestly to do his
duty as he saw it. That is a great
point, "As he saw it." He saw
beyond the mere mechanism and
routine of administration, and yet he
never forgot that these are as neces-
sary as inspiration — the very tools
of genius. The completeness of the
mechanism and the exactness of the
routine is a part of the greatness.

There was another element in his
character which gave it singular pow-
er — the element of religion. No man
could carry such an enterprise as
S. Paul's school to such a pitch of
success, without encountering criti-
cism and difference ; but no critic,
no one who differed with him, ever
thought of questioning the genuine-
ness of this man's faith or the depth
of his devotion. To him Christianity
was a real and potent factor in life,
and he had no hesitations. Duty
was something more than the demand
of business or the necessitj^ of doing
the task before him. It was the call
of God. He heard and obeyed with
the simplicit}' of a child and the loy-
alty of a man. It gave a sureness to
his moral and intellectual footing, a
certain directness and pungency to
his teaching, which one could not
fail to observe and to feel. He had
a constitutional shyness to overcome,
which was sometimes mistaken for a
haught}' and cold resen-e, but there
was no mistaking the warmth or the

humility of his Christianity. Simple,
earnest, clear-ej^ed, incisive, his re-
ligious teaching was positive and
helpful. Moreover it had a buoy-
ancy which gave courage and certi-
tude to other and wavering souls,
and a youth who received his reli-
gious impressions and early teaching
from Dr. Coit, would feel through all
his life the strength and realit}^ of it.

Having these great qualities, he
had also a singularly sane and solv-
ent intellect, an exalted spirit, and a
temper capable of sustained enthu-
siasm. With boys from the leading
families in the country growing into
young manhood under his moulding,
he became more and more widel}^
and favorably known as the years
went by, and did not fail to re-
ceive distinguished tokens of appre-
ciation.

In 1S63 Trinity college conferred
upon the rector of S. Paul's school
the degree of doctor of divinity. The
years of patient, untiring, modest la-
bor had begun to make him known
outside the widening circle of the
patrons of the school. In 1SS7 Col-
umbia college claimed the honor of
conferring the same degree, and in
1 89 1 Yale university conferred the
degree of doctor of laws.

Dr. Coit is most widely known as
the creator and rector of S. Paul's
school. It is in that character that
he takes his place among the great
men of his day, and in that character
he will be remembered. But it was
not possible that his powers .should
be confined within one department of
activity, hov/ever great. The world
makes constant and various demands
upon its men of force, and Dr. Coit
was called to various positions of
prominence and responsibility.

THE REV. HENRY AUGUSTUS CO IT, D. D., LL. D.

The "Standing Committee" of a
diocese of the Episcopal church is
the council of the executive, and
represents such interests and powers
of the church, lx)th temporal and
spiritual, as are not wholly confided
to the bishops. As president of the
standino- committee of the diocese
of Xew Hampshire, Dr. Coit ex-
hibited the qualities of a churchman
and a statesman.

x\s a member of the triennial gen-
eral convention, the constituent legis-
lative body of the church in America,
he made his influence widely and
profoundly felt. As chairman of the
important "Committee on Christian
Education," his \vi.sdom and expe-
rience gave weight and momentum
to the work and the recommenda-
tions of that committee.

During the last years of his life
illness and sorro\v added their bur-
den to his cares and manifold labors.
Labor, care, and sorrow are the com-
mon lot of man, and, while we all
are glad of sympathy, no man has a
right to make capital out of it, as

though his experience were singular.
But there is a wonderful difference
between putting up with it sullenly
or stoically, because we have to, and
bearing it cheerfully, with a firm,
elastic vSpirit which comes of faith
undimmed and hope unshadowed.
Bereaved of his beloved wife, with
failing health and diminishing physi-
cal powers, Dr. Coit bore himself so
stronglv, with so much courage and
cheer, that it was difficult to believe
the news that the strong man had
fallen, fallen "full knightly, with all
his armor on."

The day of his burial was so se-
verely inclement that comparatively
few of those who would have joined
in the last tribute could be present.
But the furious, wintry storm added
an element of grandeur to the simple
and impressive service of burial as
he was laid to rest near his beloved
school.

Dr. Coit, as a man, a Christian, a
scholar, a clerg3'man, a citizen, an
educator, left his mark upon the cen-
tury.

The Old Chapel.

Y"^ BAIyADE OF Y'^ FRETFULIv EYTEE ROBIN.

By Eckvard A. Jenks.

A biasing- sumer afternone : —

No breth of aire Avas steringe ;
Y' frogges blynked "neatli y' lilie-paddes ;

No partriches were whurring.

Y' grases wulde nott bend their beds,

Nor whysper to eche other ;
Y'' lambs, in lamb's-wooll sumer suites,

Were sure that they sholde smother.

Y" kow stood kne-deepe in y' pool

Where temptinge schade hadde broghte hir :

Hir nerA'eless taille hung limpe and stille
Above y'' steaminge water.

Y'' bumblenbees, on languid winges.
Went hom, and ceased their humming,

And in their easy-chaires they dremed
Of cool September's coming.

Y'' molten sunne runne downe y' west,

Impacient for y'' shelter
Beyond y" cool grene mountain-toppes —

Y'' daye was suche a nielter !

A panting lytel Robin, perched

Amonge y" rede-cheked cheries.
So overcome hee coude nott pyke

Y'' tantalising beries, —

Scliokk '' his mamma with dreadfuU wordes :

"If thys ' y' kinde of wether
You " hatched mee to, I wisch — I wisch —

I '"'' nott a single fether

"Upon my bak — so there!" — Atte thys

Y'' precious lytel mother
Just gasped — and sobbed ; — shee coude nott chide

Thys childe — shee hadde no other.

y^ BALADE OF ¥'■■ FRETFULL EYTEE ROBIN.

But wheune y'' father homeward came

Acros y" feeldes of clover,
And herde y' sad, sad storie — thenne

Hee sente a lettre over

To Robiu-toun for twenty In-rdes

To sitte in consultation
Upon thys case of mutinie

Within }-' Robin nation.

They sate within y' cherie-tree —

Eche Robin took a cherie —
Whiles on a distant lim y'' childe

Of sinne sate solemne — very.

Y' final verdit was, that eche

And everie single fether
Sholde bee pulled off y' Robin's bak,

Regardless of y" wether, —

And that hee thenne bee turned aloofe

To rome }■' wyde worlde over,
A hatteless, coteless, homeless byrde,

Without a frend or lover.

Atte once they fell upon y" childe —

Thys Sterne, relentless jurie —
And wulde have torn eche fether out

In their ungoverned furie, —

Hadde nott y*" farmer's trustie gunne
Just thenne begunne its cracking :

In fiftene minutes twenty byrdes
In Robin-land were lacking.

Nexte daye y" morn was cool and bright :

V farmer hadde for dinner
A most delicious Robin-pye :

A sweete songe sang y'' sinner

Oute in y" orcherd where 3'' breese
vSwung high y'' mocking beries.

And filled his downie basket fulle
Of rype, rede-brested cheries.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

By L. K. H. Lane.

'Then I heard the far-off rote resound,
Where the breakers slow and slumberous rolled,
And a subtile sense of thought profound
Touched nie with power untold." — Cclia Tliaxtcr.

EW Hamp-
shire has
but eighteen
miles of sea-
coast, yet it
is eighteen
miles of in-
teresting
picturesqiie -
ness ! Bold,
projecting cliffs and low, rolling,
sandy shores vie in pleasing con-
trast that appeals to the student of
nature, who finds subject for thought
and stud}^ in the formation of the
rocks, in the stratas of earth revealed
by the inroad of storm and sea, and
in the numberless grains of sand over

which the waves tumble one upon
another. Eikewise is the sentiment
of the seeker for pleasure and ro-
mance awakened by the charms held
out to those who are so fortunate as
to journey thither.

Foremost among New Hampshire's
seaside resorts that have become fam-
ous is Rye beach, the natural attrac-
tions of which are so many and varied
that the visitor who has once enjoyed
an outing here is sure to sound their
praises to friends, and they in turn do
likewise, so each succeeding summer
season brings people in augmented
numbers to this elysian retreat. From
the bluffs and elevated points along
the coast the views to be obtained are

Fairagul Rocks, Rye Beach.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

The Bathers, Rye Beach.

magnificent. To the south, Cape
Ann can be seen stretchinsr lor miles
out into the ocean, forming a back-
ground against which looms ' ' the
grisly Head of the Boar ' ' ; while to
the east, ten miles away, the Isles of
Shoals rise up out of the water, like
sentinels guarding the coast. To the
north,

"Agamenticus lifts its blue
Disk of a cloud the woodlands o'er."

Looking inland, the " Granite hills "
can be seen towering to the sky, and
the inter\'ening landscape that greets

the vision is such as to justify the
appellation so often given to New
Hampshire, "the Switzerland of
America." Is it then surprising that
so man}' seek these shores to enjoy
the beauties that Nature has been so
generous in bestowing upon them?
It is related that the Indians, in the
remote period in which they held
undisputed possession of these lands,
were wont to travel mau}^ miles from
the interior to hunt and fish and hold
high carnival on the promontories
jutting into the Atlantic.

A G'oiip nt Bathers.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

T ^rm IS Grounds.

The historj^ of Rye has never been
written, but certain it is that the
early white settlers did not escape
molestation by the Indians, Init were
subjected to murderous attacks, as
were the settlers of other localities
in New England. It is recorded
that in June, 1696, a large number
of Indians, coming from York in ca-
noes, landed on Rye beach and pro-
ceeded to Portsmouth plains, where
they massacred fourteen whites and
took four prisoners. Returning
through "Great swamp," they were

Summer House, Farragut Rocks.

pursued by a compan}- of militia sent
from Portsmouth, and surprised while
at breakfast on a hill, which ever
since has borne the name of " Break-
fast hill." The prisoners were res-
cued, l)ut the Indians escaped by
regaining their canoes and putting
to sea. Two months later Lieut.
John Locke, wdio came from York-
shire, England, in 1^144, was mur-
dered by Indians while at work in
his field on Jocelyn's neck, then a
part of Hampton, afterward annexed
to Rye and called Locke's neck. It
is now known as Straw's
point. Although the set-
tlers continued to be an-
noyed l)y the Indians, and
were forced to remain con-
stantly on their guard
against attack for some
3'ears afterward, it is be-
lieved that the killing of
^- • Lieutenant Locke was the
last murder committed by
them within the present
limits of the town of Rye.
A period of one hundred-
and fifty years elapsed
after the cessation of hos-

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

tilities by the savages, dur-
ing which time the popu-
lation and weahh of Rye
increased but slowly, yet
in a ratio proportionate to
that of other farming
towns. Her people were
frugal and industrious, as
their well-tilled farms and
abundant crops afforded
ample evidence. But the
old town was destined to
experience a rejuvenation.
Fame was to perch upon
her banner, and wealth flow
into her coffers. When in
1S40 John Colby Philbrick first be-
gan taking a few summer boarders in
a private house, it was little thought
that that event was the beginning of
a new era in the history of Rye. But
clearly such was the fact, as, witness
the wonderful advance since that
time, in the value of real estate :
witness the imposing structures that
have been erected to accommodate the
rapidly increasing business that had
its inception in that little two-story
house.

Commodious and well appointed

The Casino.

hotels are now to be encountered all
along the six miles of Rye's shore.
A casino and various other public
halls of amusement exist in adequate
numbers, while every objectionable
element that might in any way de-
tract from the social and moral enjoy-
ment of the visitor has been avoided.
A beautiful church, St. Andrew's-by-
the-Sea, constructed of .stone and of
a pleasing style of architecture, is
situated in a shady grove close by the
water front, where religious services
are held each Sunday during the sum-

'\^kmJ

I 1

. *, «-*>MF'?tf7^3K!^^£r! •

Mrs. Huse s Cot'ages Straw's Point.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

St. Andrew's-by-;he-5ea.

" My Rfg, Sir.

A Favorite promt '~ade.

mer. There is a notable
absence of that bewilder-
ing whir of excitement
incident to many summer
resorts. Retirement and
restful seclusion are
vouchsafed to those who
seek the shores of Rye,
)^et by means of ample
telephonic and telegraphic
facilities one is kept in
inmiediate touch with the
busy outside world. The
excellence of the bathing
privileges at Rj'e beach
has been an important
factor in establishing the
great reputation of the
place. The bathing beach
is conceded to be the best
on the Atlantic coast. It
is one mile in length, hard
and smooth, with a long,
gradual slope oceanward,
while its freedom from the
dangerous undertow ena-
bles even the young and
inexperienced to bathe in
comparative safetj-. Yet
every precaution is taken
to guard against accident.
There is the raft, and the
life-line, and boatmen are
always in attendance dur-
ing the regular bathing
hours. The details of the
bathing interests are under
the efficient management
of Mr. R. J. IvOcke, who
has done much to further
and improve the same.
The temperature of the
water is taken each day at
eleven o'clock a. m. and
announced by blasts of a
steam whistle, so that all

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

are enabled to decide with-
out going to the beach
whether or not they care
to take a phmge in the
briny deep. On a pleas-
ant day hundreds of per-
sons, old and young, can
be seen at one time dis-
porting themselves in the
water. There are among
the fair sex who sojourn
here some expert swim-
mers, who often give evi-
dence of their skill and
power of endurance by
swimming long distances
through the surf, ever and
anon buried from sight by
the huge waves, only to
reappear further out from
shore a mere speck on the
ocean. It is a remarka-
ble fact that no fatality
by drowning ever occurred
to bathers at this beach.
Hot sea-water baths are a
feature introduced here
two years ago, and are
proving very p o p u 1 a r.
They are the only public
hot sea-water baths north
of Newport, and many peo-
ple now come to Rye solel}'
to avail themselves of the
advantages and benefits
that these baths afford.

One of the most interest-
ing points at Rye beach is
the cable station of the
Direct United States Cable
Company, Limited, which
is situated near Straw's
point. Here is the Ameri-
can end of one of the
Atlantic telegraph cables,
which stretches under the

The Marden House.

Cottage of G. G. Lougee.

Locke's Cottage.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

'?£*->'■

^,,,#««i(Sr^

Landing Place of the Ocean Cable.

ocean s,ioo nautical miles, from the
shores of the Granite state to Balin-
skellio-s bay, Ireland, touchincr on the

•1 ^ II I i

The Cable Ottice.

way at Halifax, Nova vScotia.
The cable was laid by the fam-
ous steamship, Earaday, assist-
ed by the Aiiihassadoi\ and the
shore end landed at Rye beach
on July 15, 1S74. A view of
the landing place is given here,
showing the huge, snake-like
rope lying over the stumps and
fallen logs of a submerged for-
est. These stumps, which are
rarely visible, have been the
subject of much scientific interest,
and some scientists claim that they
substantiate the theory that the Isles

of Shoals were once a part of the
mainland. When a magazine pub-
lished an article twent}' years ago
describing the mode of
working on the R }• e
Beach cable, the mirror
system of signalling, by
which messages were read
from a moving spot of
light on a scale, was used
from Rye beach to Nova
vScotia, and from Nova
Scotia to Ireland ; but
now, even on the longest
cables, the mirror has been

The Instruments.

abandoned, and the instrument used
lietween Nova Scotia and Ireland
is the syphon recorder, which traces

GEMS OF THE NE W HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

Caole Road, looiMng up.

on a strip of paper the telegraphic
impulses received throvigh the cable.
At R3'e beach messages are trans-
mitted automatically through a spe-
cially devised set of translating re-
lays, which repeat Morse signals from
the cable into the Xew York land
line, and vice versa from the land
line into the cable. By the use of
the duplex system, also, messages

can be simultaneously sent
and received between New
York and Nova Scotia and
Nova Scotia and Ireland.
On the " Direct " cable,
as it is familiarly known
among cablers, there are
only two transmissions be-
tween New York or Boston
and London or Liverpool,
and almost incredible rec-
ords for speed have been
made on this route, which
was the first to inaugurate
fast working on Atlantic
cables. Previous to the
opening of the Direct cable, thirty or
fort}- minutes was considered remark-
able time in which to get a reply to
a cablegram, but now New York
and Boston merchants and bankers
in the ordinary course of business
obtain replies from their European
correspondents in ten minutes. The
New York Sun of March 23, 1S93,
states that the result of the Oxford

Cable Road, looking down.

John F. Fraser.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

Residence of Thomas Gothorpe.

and Cambridge boat race
was telegraphed to the
United Press, via Direct
cable, within thirteen sec-
onds of the finish of the
race. Mr. William J.
Fraser is superintendent
of the R3'e beach station,
and also of the Boston
offices of the company in
the Old State-house, and
post-office building. Mr.
John F. Fraser, assistant
superintendent, and Mr.

"Is,

Thomas Gothorpe, mecha-
nician, have been stationed
with Mr. Fraser since the
opening of the line in 1S74.
Other members of the staff
are P. W. Rieb, John
Squire, Joseph Wati, and
Archibald Finlaysen, op-
erators, and Anders S wen-
son, batteryman. Most of
the cable staff are married,
and have built cottages
along the Cable road, add-
ing much to the attr'ac-

1 "Li

ififfiD

Residence of Archibald Finlayscn.

R^<;idence of John Squire.

tiveness of this part of the
beach.

Another interesting fea-
ture, also located near
Straw's point, is the Rye
Beach station of the United
States Life Saving Ser^-ice,
whose crew of hardy sea-
men are trained under the
direction of Capt. Albert
U. Remick in the duty of
protecting and saving the
lives of those "that go
down to the sea in ships."
By day and b}' night, in

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

sunshine and storm, these
brave men patrol the
beach, ever on the alert to
render succor to any ill-
starred craft that may be
so unfortunate as to ap-
proach too near this rough
and rocky coast, — it may
be in giving a timely warn-
ing of danger by means of
the rocket, or in firing the
shot-line from the Lj'le-gun
across a fated ship already
upon the rocks, or yet by
launching and m a n n i n g
the life-boat and rowing
through a wild and turbulent sea to a
wreck and taking off a half drowned
crew. Whichever the case, the men
know their dut}', and do not hesitate
at danger. The visitor will find an
inspection of the .station and the
appurtenances used in the ser\nce
an interesting object lesson.

Straw's point, sitviated midwaj^
between South beach and Concord

■.>aa

Capt. A. L. Remick, Life Saving Station.

Rye Beach Life Saving Station and Crew.

point, was named in honor of ex-
Gov. E. A. Straw, who was one of
the first to build a summer residence
there, and during his life was largely
interested in the development of this
beautiful strip of land. Ex-Governor
Chene}' is a cottage owner at Straw's
point, as is also Hon. Dexter Rich-
ards. The Castle Mona, situated on
the ex-Governor Straw estate, affords
accommodation for 100 boarders.

Concord point, Xorth Rye, is
largely populated during the sum-
mer by people from Concord, N. H.,
many of whom are owners of attrac-
tive cottages. Here is located the
Ocean Wave House, owned- and ably
managed by Henry Knox, which is
favored with a large patronage.

Of those who have been promi-
nentlj' identified with the de\-elop-
ment and business interests of Rax
beach, may be mentioned John Col-
by Philbrick, the first to embark in
the boarding business. His venture
proving remunerative, some 3'ears
later he built an hotel, the present
Atlantic House, which he success-
fully conducted, and in 1S66 he built
the Farragut, a much larger house,

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

John Colby Philbrick.

which was burned in 18S2. Mr.
Philbrick died in 1S67, while yet in
the prime of manhood and business
success, at the age of 51 years. His
genial nature and fine business quali-
ties had long before won him laurels
as a model landlord. As illustrating
the rapid and wonderful growth of
the summer boarding biisiness dur-
ing his brief career, it may be said

that he began taking boarders at the
rate of $2.50 per week, and before
his death he received rates of $5 per
day. His hotel business continued
to be ably managed by his widow,
Eliza P. Philbrick, and son, Frank
A. Mrs. Philbrick was a lady of

Residence of Austin Jenness.

Hon. Emmons B. Philbrick.

pronounced business ability, and in
addition to their hotel interests at
Rye beach, she was lessee
and manager for five years
of the Wolfe Tavern, at
Newburyport, Mass. Her
death, at the age of sixty-
eight 3'ears, occurred in
1S93. vShe left two daugh-
ters and one son. The lat-
ter, Frank A. Philbrick, is
now sole proprietor of the
Farragut, a magnificent
structure, erected in 1SS3,
on the site of the burned
hotel bearing the same
name.

Another pioneer in the

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

^S\^ ■!

hotel business at Rye beach
was Job Jenness, who be-
came the peer of the most
famed landlords of his day.
His experience began in
1S4J, in a small hotel, the
Ocean House, at Jenness
beach. In 1S64, together
with his son, J. Rienzi Jen-
ness, who had become as-
sociated with his father as W
a partner, they built upon *
the site of the old house a -

large and imposing edifice.
The new house was 250
feet in length and cost
upwards of one hundred thousand
dollars. It was largely patronized by

' ' I > 1 1 1 1 1 , 1

aliiilJIILi^

Residence of Hon. David Jenness.

ment of which they had in the mean-
time assumed. For manj^ j-ears this
firm conducted all at one time the
Ocean House at R3'e beach, the
Jenness House at Washington, D. C.,
and the Wauregan Hotel at Norwich,
Conn. The death of J. Rienzi Jen-
ness in 1S72, and the burning of the
Ocean House one year later, resulted
in Job Jenness retiring from the hotel

Job Jenness.

people high in public life in Wash-
ington, D. C, meml)ers of congress,
cabinet officials, etc., who came to
Rye beach because of the high rep-
utation sustained by Job Jenness &
Son as proprietors of the Jenness
House in Washington, the manage-

i^H »

Hon. David Jenness.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

In the Surf.

business. The loss of the Ocean
House was a severe blow from which
Rye beach has never fully recovered.
George G. Lougee is a well known
boniface, whose hotel life began in
1852, as clerk for J. C. Philbrick at
the Atlantic House. In 1S65 he
leased the house from Mr. Philbrick
for a term of years and became the
landlord. During the first year of
Mr. L/OUgee's management Admiral
Farragut, the gallant old naval hero,
fresh from the famous engagement in
Mobile Bay, with his family, was a

guest at this house for the entire
summer. In 1869, Mr. lyougee built
the Sea View, which has since been
conducted under his popular manage-
ment. He has held variovis public
offices, being for several 3'ears a
deputy sheriff and jailer at Ports-
mouth, and for three years treasurer
of Rockingham county.

Hon. Emmons B. Philbrick, a
gentleman of enterprise and ability,
was a state senator in iSjS-'So, and
for two years was president of the
Newton National Bank of Newton,

Sea View House.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

Fox Hill Point, Little Boars Head.

Kansas. He is a trustee of the
Piscataqua Savings Bank of Ports-
mouth, N. H., and one of the solid
business men of Rye beach, where
he resides, devoting the greater part
of his time to looking after the board-
ing interests, being the owner of
three houses there.

Hon. David Jenness, a native of
R^-e and a man of sterling worth and
integrity, has been honored at one
time and another by his townsmen
with nearly all the ofhces within their
gift. He was a member of the legis-

lature in iSji-'ja, and a state
senator in 1 887-' 88. He is at pre-
sent a member of the Democratic
state committee.

Horace Sawyer came to Rye beach
in 1873, and built the large private
boarding house known as "Saw-
yer's", which is largely patronized
by wealthy western people. Mr.
Sawyer is wide awake in his efforts
to further the public interests of Rye
beach.

So closely connected with Rye
beach, that the casual observer is not

••Woodbine Cottage."

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

" Fishing Rocks," Concord Point.

aware where the one ends and the territor}^ in the town of North Hamp-
other begins, is Little Boar's Head, ton. Within the memory of some

Wallis Sands.

a gem of sea-side resorts, embracing of the older inhabitants of the place,
a small but exceedingly valuable now living, a narrow, crooked path

..- •-!-_,;«..; AiSi&.9i.'S.^

At Concord Point.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

.^,^,^^^.^

II w ei t

Ocean Wave House.

afforded the only means of traversing to pass that wa}', which was a very
this headland, at the end of which unfrequent occurrence. Now the

-ji^^

W. F. Thayer s Cottage.

was a pair of bars that had to be narrow path has become a broad
removed whenever one had occasion avenue, skirted on either side with

Cottage of W. G. C. Kimball.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

Drake's Cottage.

t i J ^ I

il^BWaSHWfiip'j '-m.

;al U

" Sawyer's,' Horace Sawyer, Proprietor.

Washington House.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

D. W. Dalton's Cottage.

^^fl^asi^feSfe-' *^~ ** -

' R";ing Sun Cottage.

Cottage of Joseph 0. Hobbs.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

Albert Bachelder.

beautiful lawns and handsome cot-
tages.

Gov. John Page of New Hamp-
shire was the first summer boarder
at Little Boar's Head, coming there
in 1840. The first purchase of
real estate here for building pur-
poses was made in 1S45 by Hon.
James Bell of Exeter, United States
senat )r from New Hampshire. Not

until 1862, however, five years after
the death of Hon. James Bell, was
a house built on this lot. His
daughter, Mrs. Nathaniel G. White,
then erected the first summer cot-
tage on the bluff which she has
since occupied, and to which she

aaB9

William J. Fraser.

has made extensive
improvements.

During

additions
the

and
early

' Bachelder's."

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

Cottage of Ex-Governor Charles H. Bell.

'50's ex-President Franklin Pierce sisting of some fifty acres of land
came to lyittle Boar's Head with his bordering on the ocean, for which he
wife, who was at that time in ill paid $6,000. All of this purchase
health, hoping that she would be has since become ver}- valuable, a

single acre selling for as much as the
ex-president paid for the whole farm.
As showing the great increase in the
value of real estate on lyittle Boar's
Head, it is onh' necessary to state
that the sum of $10,000 has been

Ex-Governor Charles H. Bell.

benefited b}- the sea air. He was
ver\' quick to discern the natural
beaut}' and possibilities of the place,
and predicted a great future for it,
which prediction has already been
verified. He was so captivated by
the attractiveness of the place that he
purchased the ' ' Brown Farm ' ' , con-

George G. Lougce.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

Itl ]

■■''*?JS

Villa of George A. Allen of St. Louis.

The Carter Cottage.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

^**H. ^f

Hon. F. W. Kittredge.

refused for a very desirable corner lot
containing less than one acre. In
1866, ex-President Pierce built a
house on a commanding site near the
water, which he occupied each sum-
mer until his death, when it was sold
to Col. Cyrus Kastman of Littleton,
and by him sold to Judge Asa Fowler
of Concord, who occupied it until
his decease. This estate is now

owned by Hon. F. W. Kittredge, a
prominent lawyer of Boston. The
summer boarding business here re-
ceived a great impetus in 1S69, when
Albert Bachelder built a large board-
ing house which, with its connecting
cottages, conducted under his able

Horace Sawyer.

nianasrement has since become famed
throughout the countrv. The excel-

iffl.iflll,-'

iw^

Cottage of Hon. F. W. Kittredge. Formerly the President Pierce Place.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

m SW««!-^.«%fflBiJ^. -s-

lSiL^:-;.r->; •V'-- **;'

Cottage of Ex-Mayor C. A. Stott of Lowell.

lence of its sendee, and a high class
patronage ever on the increase, has

Morris H. Smith.

given to " Bachelder's

a prestige en-
joyed by bnt few pnblic houses. In
the palmy days of President Grant's
administration, it was at this house
that Secretar\^ of the Navy George
M. Robeson passed the summers and
dispensed his hospitality with a gen-

erous hand. Many notabilities w^ere
his guests here, and the Tallapoosa
often came in off this shore for the
transportation of the genial secretary
when he felt nauticall}' inclined.
President Arthur while in office was
a guest of Robeson here, as very fre-
quently was the Hon. James G.
Blaine, who, in fact, spent an entire
season at " Bachelder's " while en-

Major Charles A. Stott.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

' Plase Cove.

Union Chapel.

Cottage of Mrs. F. A. Lewis.

GEMS OF THJ-: NFAV HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

The Baker Cottage.

^.^S6^^:

-^"-^-:;.

riiiiii

Hon. George R. Fowler's Cottage.

.fcjBiw-' >

^^^

' Comfoit Cottage, ' Misi Clara M. Fowler.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

expert in the construction
of armor plates for ships of
war, who is the owner of
" Miramar Jaques," a mag-
nificent place on " Fox Hill
Point." The recent death
of his wife, Elizabeth Hale
Jaques, a daughter of Hon.
John P. Hale and sister of
the wife of Senator William
E. Chandler, was a serious
loss to the summer colony
here, by whom she was
held in high regard.

The late Gov. Charles
H. Bell was an earnest

gaged in writing his book "Twenty admirer of this place. He loved the

Years in Congress."

Among the prominent

people who own or lease

cottages and come here

year after year may be

mentioned Hon. Robert

T. Lincoln, Hon. Nor- -

man Williams of' Chica- ^

go, Richard Hoffman, the

eminent pianist of New

York, w^ho has spent

odd summers here. Captain
Jaques, naval engineer and

' Stoneleigh.

twenty
W. H

"The Breakers.

Summer Res'dence of Mrs. N. G. White.

rocks, the crags, the beach, and
passed many seasons amid the quiet
surroundings of his attrac-
tive summer home clOvSe by
the breakers.

Amelie Rives Chanlei ,
the distinguished young
Southern authoress, in
1893, on her return from
abroad where for a time
she had been living in
Mme. de Pompadour's
chateau in France, leased
and occupied a cottage
at Little Boar's Head,
and expressed herself as
charmed with the beauty
of the place.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

Miramar Jaques. '

"J*"*^

William P. Fowler, Esq.

Hon. Gaorge R. Fowler.

GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

■•"-■"ii™

'The Coach.

on the eastern divis-
ion of the Boston &
Maine, is also the
Rye Beach station.
Here the welfare
of the traveller is
under the careful
watch and ward of
the veteran railroad
agent, Morris H.
Smith, whose long
term of service,
covering a period of
thirt3'-six years, has
given him an ac-
quaintance with the
travelling public

tiwrr

iSirf

Hon. Dexter Ki<.haiclo. H. F. S'rav

F. P. Carpenter

Mrs. Huse.

At Union chapel, which
was built through the mu-
nificence of summer guests,
eminent clergymen of dif-
ferent denominations
preach. Among those who
supply the pulpit one Sun-
day at least each summer
may be mentioned Rev.
James De Norman die,
Professor Churchill of
Andover, Rev. Edward A.
Horton, and Rev. Dr.
Edward Everett Hale.

North Hampton station,

Reside'-ce of Albert Bachelder.

GEMS OF THE NEJF HAMPSHIRE SHORE.

Gen. Franklin Pierce.
Copyright by //'. G. C. Kz}>ibaU, Co;;cGrcl^ IT. H.

complaint for want of places of inter-
est to visit. A ride through the town
of Rye, with its fine farms, and New-
castle, with its crooked streets and
long bridges, its old fort, and other
places of historic interest, to Ports-
mouth, an ancient city rich in legend-
ar}- lore, of which much has been
charmingly told by her own talented
son, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, in "An
Old Town by the Sea," is hard to
equal. To the south the new ocean
boulevard gives a fine marine view
all the way to Great Boar's Head.
Stratham Hill, some ten miles inland,
is a lovel}^ retreat for picnic parties,
and rarely a daj' in summer passes
without a gay company from some
resort filling the grounds with laugh-
ter and merrymaking. Exeter, with

Ex-Governor Cheney's Cottages, Straw's Point.

that extends from ocean to
ocean. The ride by stage-
coach from the railroad sta-
tion to the beach, a distance
of four miles, is through a
section of rural beauty, dot-
ted with country homes and
shaded by stateh- elms and
pines.

Broad, hard roads afford
unlimited opportunities for
those who derive pleasvire
from driving or riding upon
the wheel, and there is never

Residence of M ss Caroline PhilbricK.

IHE WAITER-GIRL.

its streets shaded with beautiful trees
and its renowned institutions of learn-
ing, is often visited by summer excur-
sionists, who never fail to express their
admiration of the place. Such are
the environments of Rj-e. With these
and many other drives to choose from,
the enticing shade of hotel piazza,
with entrancing music of the orches-
tra, the wxll-kept tennis courts, and,
perchance, a sail to the Isles of Shoals
with skipper David Philbrick, who
for forty years has attended to the
w^ants of the boating public ; the bath-

ing, the dreamy waltz, the attractive
plays at the Casino, a stroll on the
beach or through the tree-embowered
lanes, — the tourist finds the days all
too fleeting, and when at last the
summer draws to an end — as all sum-
mers must — these birds of passage
regretfully hie themselves awaj', some
to the prosaic walks of business, some
to continue a life of social gaiet)- at
other resorts, but whatever the subse-
quent surroundings may be, the mind
often reverts to the happy days spent
at romantic Rye.

THE WAITER-GIRL.

By H. C. Pearson.

\ /i^~pHE long, low
white hotel
clung like a
frightened
rabbit to the
side of the
great hill ; a
hill which would have been a moun-

grand old Eafayette lifted his sturdy
shoulders into the bright blue sky,
still bearing the white cross proudly
upon his breast. On either side
frowning heights stretched aw^ay till,
far in the southwest, stood Moosi-
lauke, lone sentinel at the entrance
to the pass. Behind and above all,

tain anywhere but in the midst of towered in the dim majesty of dis-
the American Alps. Over opposite, tance the Presidential range, as won-

THE WAITER-GIRL.

derful a background as the Master
Painter ever drew.

At the foot of the hill, just beneath
the great hotel, the Gale river rippled
and danced along through its green
valley, harnessed for half-hearted ser-
vice at a few little mills, but for the
most part as free and gay as the birds
that circled above it. Along its
banks ran the highway, skirted in
turn by the green and white houses,
.stores, and churches of the little vil-
lage.

Framed in the doorwav of her cot-

pretty picture as she gazed wistfully
up the hill. It was the middle of
May, but spring comes late in the
mountain land and the valley was
just beginning to renew its life and
beauty. There was a rose flush
under the girl's olive skin, and her
brown eyes shone like stars beneath
the curling hair of darker shade.
One little foot tapped nervously on
the doorstone and her slender fingers
drummed impatiently on the casing.
Presently she turned her face toward
the interior.

"Ma," she called, "I want to go
up to the Grand Mew to work this
summer."

The first reply she received was a
masculine grunt indicative of the
deepest disfavor. Then came a shrill
female voice :

"Land sakes, what will 3-ou want
next, Kittie Dearborn, I don't know.
Here you are, well-fed, well-dre.s.sed,
goin' to school, got a beau, aint
denied anythin', .spoildest child in
the village everybod}' says; an' yit
you want to go to work in a hotel
along of nobody knows who from
Boston and everywheres else that has
to do it to live, poor things ! But

that 's no reason why you should be
mixin' up with 'em and you sha' n't,
there ! ' '

' ' O Mother ! ' ' answered the girl
petulantly, " you know there are lots
of good girls working in the hotels.
I want to earn some mone}^ of my
very own, and I want to see some
people besides those in this village
and I want to be where there is some
life."

"'Some life!'
Did you hear
that, John Ren-

tage home, Kittie Dearborn made a ry ?

The

verv

same words Fan-
ny Bruce said,
and she came
back with her
hair cut short
and diamonds

in her ears and died in three months.
Oh ! To lose my one ewe lamb like
that ! ' '

There was a heav}^ ru.stling of boots
and from the back door her father
called: "Guess I'll go down to the
post-ofhce, Kittie. Your ma, she's
got a cryin' spell."

The girl was very gentle and ten-
der in soothing her mother's excited
nerves and drying the tears that
flowed profusely. But when the
threatened tempest had at last been
successfully averted she said calmly :
"And so I suppose I may go if I get
a chance, mayn't I, Mother?"

"Deary me, yes, I suppose so.
You always do what you want to.
That is, 3'ou may if Jim's willin',"
catching eagerh- at this straw of hope.

"Jim? Oh, I '11 fix Jim," answered
Kittie with a laugh.

Down across the road by the river
bank was a wooden seat between the
trees, not really quite large enough

THE WAITER-GIRL.

for two but just suited to the wants of
Kittie and her lover. There they
met night after night and sat for
hours dreaming happy dreams, while
smoke from his briar pipe kept off the
mosquitoes. This evening he was
more quiet than usual, and, rather to
Kittie's surprise, offered not the
slightest objection to her plan.

' ' It will keep you from being lone-
some while I am away, ' ' he said. ' ' I
am going to New York the first of
next week."

"O Jim! So soon? What for?"
cried Kitty with a suspicion of tears
in her voice.

"Well, you see, dear, I've loafed
round here till my health is as good
as a bulldog's and it is about time for
me to get back to work. I 've a
chance on the Sun which is one not
to let slip, and the sooner I get there
the better. I hate to leave you,
sweetheart, but yovi will enjoy your-
self so much at the hotel that I 'm
afraid you will not miss me as much
as I shall w^ant you to."

And so it came to pass that when
the Grand View opened its doors on
' June 15 there was a new waiter-girl
behind one of the flower-decked tables
in the long dining room ; a very
pretty girl, too, in her neat white cap
and apron, as the head waiter from
Dartmouth noticed with admiration

and the other girls with a bit of envy.
Kittie was a little ner\-ous as she
stood awaiting the first appearance of
the people who had been assigned to
her table. "They 're all from New
York, going to stay the whole season,
just soft snaps," the head waiter had
assvired her, and she had thanked
him with one of her sweetest smiles.
After the first awkwardness had
passed away she found, too, that the
young collegian had been correct in
his estimate.

Mrs. Van Derek's dog was obnox-
ious, for Kitty simply despised pugs
anyw^ay, and this one's temper had
been spoiled by a long course of
pampering and petting. But Mrs.
Van Derek herself did not need to
quote her old Dutch pedigree to show
that she was a true lady, and true
ladies, as Kittie soon learned from
hotel life, are al-
ways kind an d
courteous.

]M r s . Jacobs
wore diamonds at
ever}' meal to be
sure, and simply

THE WAITER-GIRL.

i::ur(lered the French on the menu
cards ; but she was generous to a
degree, as gorgeotis as her gowns,
and that atoned not only for her own
faults but also for those of her twin
hopefuls, who have as much regard
for table manners as so many little
pigs.

As for the men, Kittie was soon
assured by every girl in the dining
room that she had the ' ' pick of

the lot." There
was young Carryl
Earle, who, when
properly made up,
looked as pretty
as a mayfiower,
1) u t w h o s e per-
fume, alas, was
cigarettes instead
of arbutus. He fell desperately
in love with Kittie at first sight,
but discovered upon due considera-
tion that it was not good form ; and
so transferred his allegiance to one
of the guests, an hurrah girl from
Cincinnati, who married him, rather
to his surprise, in the fall.

Jack White was a stock broker of
thirty-five, seeking relief for shat-
tered ner\-es in the mountain air,
who chaffed Kittie at meal times,
tipped her handsomel}" afterward,
and wondered cynically over his mid-
night cigar what the future of so
pretty a girl was to be.

And, finally, there was
Hamilton. On the shadv
fifty was the colonel
lively half-century
that he had to look
back upon ; but he
still stood erect as
a pine, his iron-
grey hair was thick
and bush}' and his

and

Colonel
side of
it was a

^*^

heavy mustache curled as dashingly
as ever. His green eyes were usu-
ally half closed, l)ut occasionally they
opened wide for a glance at Kittie.

It did not take the experienced
man of the world long to ingratiate
himself into the confidence of the
prett}^ waiter-girl and soon he knew
all her little histor3\ In return he
told her that he was a leading lawyer
of the New York bar, which was true
enough ; that he had been disap-
pointed in love when a young man,
which was verv far from being true ;
and that she reminded him strongly
of his fair but false one, which was
also, of course, untrue.

Kittie naturalh^ pitied the poor
man, and their intimacy grew so fast
that before long he was proposing to
take her back to New York with him
in the fall to stud}- short-hand and
type-writing at his expense. Kittie
thought this would be "perfectly
lovel)-," but when she mentioned it
at the little home down in the valley
father Dearborn gave one of his deep-
est grunts of negation and said to
himself: " I guess I'll write to Jim,"
which he did.

One evening about a week later
the colonel and Kittie were strolling
along " lyOvers' Lane." The soft
light of the full moon filtered throusrh
the overhanging foliage in little
glints and gleams that merely served
to accentuate the cool summer dark-
ness. The colonel had his arm
around the girl's waist, "in a fatherly
way," he explained to her; and
though Kittie did not remember any
embrace of just that kind from her
own father .she did not see fit to
object. They talked of their plans for
her future and the colonel, after a
particularly glowing picture of the

AUGUST /", IJS3.

cit}' life she would see, asked softly :
" And now will not my little girl give
her old friend one kiss for all that he
is going to do for her ? ' '

Innocent Kittie assented readily
enough and her companion's face was
close to her's when there came a
sudden interruption. K dark form
that had been quietly following them
materialized into an athletic 3'oung
man, who laid the colonel prostrate
with one well-directed shove and
with his other arm pressed the girl
clo.se to him.

' ' Who are you ? What are you
here for ? ' ' sputtered the colonel as
soon as he had regained his feet.
" I'll have you arrested, sir."

" You will not," replied the other
man. " My name is James \3.\\
Horn at your service. I am a repor-
ter on the New York Sioi and a

friend of Harry Dumont. Do you
know what that means ?"

"No, nor do I wish to," growled
the colonel.

" I'll tell you what it means then,
you grey haired scoundrel," con-
tinued Jim, warming up a bit. "I
love this girl as my life. Because I
do not wish to see her where Harry
Dumont's wife is to-da}' I am here.
Leave her presence this instant. If
you ever dare speak to her again I'll
whip you like a dog."

Thoroughly cowed and frightened,
the colonel slunk away into the dark-
ness, leaving Jim and Kittie alone.
It was sometime later when Jim said :
" If you are tired of the hotel life
what will you want next, Kittie?"

"Jim I Dear Jiml" said the girl
with a happy sigh, "I don't want
anything any more but just you."

AUGUST 17, 1755.

A TALE OF THE P:ARLY .SETTLEMENT OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.

By F. Hodgiiiau.

The summer sun shone brightly down
Upon Fall mountain's rocky crown.
While at his foot a rushing stream
Dispersed the rays with flash and gleam
Connecticut's swift rolling tide

AUGUST 17. 175s. 43

Swept close along the mountain side,

Till narrowed by the rocky shore

It leaped the falls with sullen roar,

Then, from its narrow bondage freed.

It wandered on by copse and mead

In de\-ious way, with turns and crooks,

And gathered in the babbling brooks

That, down from Walpole's wooded hills,

Brought laughing tribute from the rills.

The sun shone down on peaceful scene

Of valleys broad and forests green ;

Of hill tops clad with spruce and pine ;

Of dells where grew the hardy vine ;

Of terraced plains that stretch away

Where once the river held its sway.

The sun .shone on a land most fair

With not a white man living there.

Save where the lonely cabin stood

That Kilburn made his dwelling good,

And where a mile and more away

The Bellows garrison held sway.

The sun shone bright on peaceful scene,

But even then, the hills between,

A dusky arm}', on its way

Through meadows fair and forests gray.

Were coming down from northern land

With musket shot and fiery brand.

With tomahawks and scalping knives

To take the peaceful settlers' lives.

Ben Bellows and a score of men

Returning homeward from the glen

Were slowh' climbing up the hill

With sacks of forage from the mill.

They had their trust}* guns in hand

To use if they should meet the band.

For news had come from far Quebec

That an}- hour they might expect

An inroad from an Indian band

To drive them from their chosen land.

Before they reached the very crest.

They halted for a moment's rest

And, peeping o'er the other side.

An Indian ambuscade espied.

Each dropped his sack and primed his gun

And when they had the summit won

Thev gave a .shout with all their miarht

44 AUGUST I J, ijsj.

Then mid the ferns dropped out of sight.

As clansmen on the Scottish hill

Responded to the whistle shrill

When it was blown by Roderick Dhu,

So now up sprang the dusky crew.

And every bush, and rock, and tree.

Alive with warriors seemed to be,

For but an instant, — then they fled

Assailed by deadly storm of lead.

They disappeared like phantoms strange

Beyond the .settlers' sight and range,

And soon with yells and musket shot

Were heard a.ssailing Kilburn's cot.

The colonel sought the strong support

And shelter of his little fort,

And there, with all his force arrayed,

He waited for the savage raid.

And there till night had shut them in

They listened to the di.stant din,

Each minute looking for attack

And well prepared to hurl it back.

But not an Indian came in sight.

And silence fell with .shades of night ;

No .sound was heard on wood or hill,

And e'en the night bird's note was .still.

An anxious man was Colonel Ben

As, turning to his troop of men,

He said : ' ' No further noise we hear ;

Now what good man will volunteer

And down to Kilburn's cabin go.

And bring back tidings of the foe? "

The colonel's men were brave and true,

But well each one among them knew

The desperate peril he'd invite

Were he to try to go that night.

Each man drew back and glanced around

And not a single one was found

Who of his own free will and lot

Would go that night to Kilburn's cot.

" I'll try it. Father. Let vie go.

Full well each foot of ground I know

And all the better for the night,

I'm sure to go and come all right."

'Twas Peter spoke, the colonel's son ;

Of all were there, the bravest one

To dare the perils of the night

AUGUST 17. rjs5- ' 45

And bring them tidings of the fight.

The bo3' was onh' jnst sixteen

And for his age was small I ween ;

Bnt he was fleet as any deer

And never knew the slightest fear ;

Had hunted all the country o'er,

And knew it well from hill to shore.

He left the fort at dead of night,

And soon his form was lost from sight

Amid the forest dark and gray

That hid him on his silent way.

His feet with softe.st buckskin shod

Made not a sound upon the sod ;

He careful stepped, lest breaking stick

Should reach the Indians' hearing quick ;

He kept close watch on all around

Where'er a foeman might be found.

And thus with eye and muscle strained

The Kilburn clearing safely gained.

Now if the Kilburns held their ground

And foes were lurking yet around,

A double danger he must dare

From those who watched and waited there ;

And so he sought the deepest shade

That friend and foe he might evade ;

With double care no soul to rouse

At last he safely reached the house ;

With care he searched about the place

And of the foe found not a trace.

As good as new the cabin stood,

No fire had .scorched its solid wood ;

The lad stood still in dire suspense

With beating heart and muscles tense.

Was any one there ali\'e or dead ?

And where had all the Indians fled?

Had they scalped John Kilburn and his men ?

If so, where were the women then ?

With vice-like hold he gripped his knife

And waited for .some signs of life.

They came at last. Low sounds of speech

From well known voice his hearing reached.

When that sound met his grateful ear

He knew full well no foe was near.

He shouted loud : " Good friends within.

Unbar the door and let me in ;

I've just come dowi"" fiom Number Three

WILD REUTLINGEN.

And not a soul has troubled me."

The well-known voice and Peter's words

Seemed sweeter far than songs of birds.

They soon unbarred the heav}' door

And let him in where safe once more

And all unhurt, save onlv one,

The^-'d fought from noon till set of sun.

They told him all and on him pressed

Refreshing food and drink and rest ;

They shared with him the best they had

And praj-ed that God would bless the lad

Who through the woods without a fear

Had brought them words of hope and cheer.

Then homeward Peter went his way

And reached the fort by break of day.

His welcome home need not be told.

If your boy did a deed as bold,

On his return, pray, what would you

To welcome him be apt to do ?

WILD REUTLINGEN.

A ROMANCE OF THE TIME OF THE GREAT KING.

[Translated from the German of Hans Werder. J
By Agailia B. E. Chandler.

CHAPTER XVIII.

UvSANNA VON TECHOW

was also out of doors
on that same beautiful
spring afternoon when
Reutlingen met his
wife. The violets
were blooming upon
the green terraced
banks of the lake
near her house, and
drew her to the shore.
She stooped and plucked the lovely
little spring flowers, and with their
scent she seemed to dream of the
past. Years ago, it was now ; she

which lay
their odor

was a child and stood in this same
place looking for violets. At her
feet lay a slender, handsome boy, his
laughing brown eyes gazing up at
her. They were the children of
neighbors and were constantly to-
gether ; he was her dearest playmate.
His parents had died when he was
young and he had been brought to
Steinhovel to be educated with the
young Reutlingens, and soon wild
Jobst and he became inseparable,
except that he seldom brought Jobst
to Zellin.

Once during violet time they came

WILD REUTLINGEN.

together across the lake, each in a
cranky little fishing boat, and shouted
greetings to the slender vSusanna as
she stood upon the bank. The}' were
home on leave and had come to show
her their uniforms, Jobst von Reut-
lingen as a sub-lieutenant in the
Baireuth dragoons, antl Wolf von
Eickstadt, the younger and weaker,
as a page to the prince of Prussia, with
the hope of soon entering his friend's
regiment as a sub-lieutenant also.
Both boats reached the shore, and
out stepped two soldierh- oarsmen,
ea^h wishing her to accept his escort
for a boat ride. Her heart drew her
to Wolf, the charming page whose
beautiful brown eyes besought her
so earnestly, but it was much too
good a chance to torment him, and
so she took the wild Reutlingen's
outstretched hand. The young lieu-
tenant showed her his Hohenfried-
burg sabre cut and told her of the
king's precious words, while Wolf
fell into an indescribable rage. He
brought his little skiff so close to
the other and moved about in it so
roughly that finally it capsized and
the page found himself in the water.
The day was cool, and Susanna took
loving care of her unlucky friend,
whose rage against Jobst was not les-
sened by the latter's ridicule.

Wolf was mortified and cast down,
but she comforted him, gave him her
violets, and later in the evening, when
he and his friend took their leave, she
could not find it in her heart to deny
him the first kiss for which he begged
so earnestl}'.

Wolf was now a lieutenant and she
seldom saw him, but she heard reports
of him that pained her greatly ; not
only that he gambled and won, but
that he paid court to other women.

as though he had forgotten his youth-
ful love.

"He offers incense at ever}- shrine, ' '
said Heinz von Reutlingen to her with
his deep smile. This bearer of evil
tales gathered all the bad news about
Wolf that he could, and told with
nuich pleasure of a certain woman in
Pasewalk by whose side the young
lieutenant was constantl}' found, and
to whom he had given his unsought
love. Susanna saw, however, that
Heinz himself was passionately at-
tached to her, and thought that per-
haps he spoke maliciously to injure
his rival.

Once Wolf had come to Steinhovel,
and thence to Zellin to see her, bring-
ing with him a bunch of violets.
The}' had sat together for a short
time, and she then saw that she had
a great influence over him, and that
he realized and rejoiced in it. Had
he since been untrue to her? She
dared not hear the answer. It seemed
to her that she had then cast from
her that which was her right, for
where Susanna von Techow loved,
there she wished to reign supreme.

They had not .spoken of their fu-
ture, for Wolf was without means, and
Susanna looked upon the life before
them with sensible eyes. So they
had separated and had not met since.
Susanna sighed. How long ago had
it been ? Was not youth passing, the
violet time of life ?

' ' I am not obliged to wait for him, ' '
she murmured unwillingly to herself.
A few days before another had stood
before her with passionate supplica-
tion, begging for her love and her
hand, — Heinz von Reutlingen — but
she did not care for him. vShe had
sent him away, and he had left with
a disagreeable laugh.

WILD REUTLINGEN.

" Don't think you can count upon
Wolf von Eickstadt," lie had said,
"for he has a very short memory.
He was desperate in his attentions to
my sister, but he has forgotten her
in even this short time."

She had listened to him disdain-
fvilly, but still she could not forget
his words. Why did she worry over
them ; surely she was not obliged to
wait for him ?

W^ith a frown upon her brow she
heard a light step behind her, and
turning, saw an active, handsome fig-
ure, in the bright blue, silver-trimmed
blouse of the Baireuth dragoons, the
hat with its flowing white plume in
his hand. Thus Wolf von Eickstadt
approached her.

" Susanna," he cried in a low tone,
with deep agitation in his voice.

A treacherous blush appeared be-
neath the soft, wavy lock that fell
over her forehead.

" Herr von Eickstadt, is it you ? "
Never before had she called him Herr
von Eickstadt. He took her hand
and pressed it to his lips with an
expression of unbounded respect.

" Fraulien Susanna, we have not
seen each other for a long time ; have
3^ou entirely forgotten your old play-
mate ? ' '

" Oh, no ! I have had no vicissi-
tudes of war to di.stract my mind.
I have lived quietly all these 3'ears,
but have heard much and forgotten
nothing."

She spoke coldly and stiffly, more
so, perhaps, than .she intended, which
was onlv natural. He misrht have
known it, but he only noticed the re-
pulsion in her tone, and that paint d
his faithful heart.

' ' The war has tossed me about like
a ball." said he, " but through ever}^-

thing the thought of you has been
constantl}' with me, to .see you again
has been the aim of my life."

She laughed him awa}'. " What
non.sen.se 3'ou talk, Wolf. Come and
greet my parents, and tell us what
you have been doing."

They returned to the house, Wolf
talking as they walked.

' ' I came with Jobst von Reutlin-
gen, but he went on to Steinhovel to
visit his wife, while I came here."
Then after a pause : ' ' Did you
.see anything of Fran von Reutlin-
gen ? ' '

" Yes, indeed ; she is charming,
and improves wonderfull}' on closer
acquaintance, for she is a trifle shy at
fir.st."

" A trifle ! I .should say she was
painfully shy. It is her greatest fault,
but she never shows it to me."

" So I have heard."

He felt instinctively that there was
more in her words than appeared on
the surface, so he watched her atten-
tively.

He was not pleased at the pro.spect
of .spending the afternoon with Sus-
anna's parents, but he saw no way of
avoiding it, until at la.st Susanna her-
.self gave way to the silent supplica-
tion of his dark eyes, and led the way
to her own little sitting room, a pro-
ceeding which did not plea.se her
father and mother, although they
never interfered with their daughter's
actions.

Wolf followed her with a beating:
heart, and when she seated herself on
the little sofa in her bright room, he
hastened to her side, and, seizing her
hand, pressed it passionately between
his own.

" Susanna, has anyone been trying
to injure me in your eyes? "

*»>" '

r^y,.-^'

'They returned to the house, Wolf talking as they walked.

WILD REUTLINGEN.

Her bright ej^es watched him
closel}'.

" Yes, Wolf ; someone has been try-
ing to injure you ; I have been told of
your gambling habits, and of your
light, ever-changing heart." She
stopped and colored deeply, not feel-
ing sure of her voice.

Wolf covered his e^'es with his
hand, rested his arm upon his knee,
and remained silent. The charge of
gambling he could easily refute, but
he was so merry and gay, so warm
hearted and lovable, women of all
classes were so kind and friendl}' to
him, that he felt that she had some
cause for complaint. Had .she l>ut
allowed him to love her, he would
never ha\'e needed to look elsewhere,
but he had been hopelessly separated
from her for years. Should he then
have passed his life in mourning, with
none of the pleasures of the society of
women ? It was too much to ask of
him, and now he must tell her so, a
task for which he had but little cour-
age. She was gazing at him steadily,
however, and her glance was becoming
colder and more determined every mo-
ment, so he at last overcame himself
and .spoke. In simple words he told
of their .separation and of his hopeless-
ness of ever winning her, that it was
true that he had found pleasure in
the friendship of other women, but
that his heart had ever remained true
to her. His honest e^-es, so full of
love, were proof enough to her of his
truth, and she listened to him in great
agitation.

" Then it is not true that you love
Jobst von Reutlingen's wife ? "

' ' Jobst von Reutlingen's wife ! " he
exclaimed. " Have you not an.swered
your question in those four words?
The wife of my dearest friend ? The

woman to Avhom he has gi\'en \\v:>

heart and for whose love he is striv-
ing ? Do you think me a scoundrel,
Susanna ? ' '

He had sprung from his seat l)esidc'
her and was pacing the floor excit-
edly. At last he stopped before her.

" No, Susanna ; you are too quick
to jealous}-. You must see that my
love for you fills wxy whole heart, that
no flirtation has ever touched me,
that upon ni}- every return to Zellin
you have found me as I went awa>- —
no other image, no other thought in
my heart but you ; you my ideal, my
life my only loved. You must believe
me ; and I want your whole love and
faith — may I have them, Susanna? "

She looked at him thoughtfully as
he stood before her, apparently con-
sidering her charges not worth meet-
ing, and still claiming her love and
faith as his right.

" I believe and trust you, Wolf,"
she said at la.st ; "if I did not, we
should have to part, for I cannot give
my lo\-e where there is doubt and
mistrust ; I must ha\-e your whole
heart or nothing."

She wanted all, wanted to love
him and believe in him : this she told
him plainly, and he knelt, glad and
happy, by her side.

Rosy- hued and golden, like a .spring
morning, la}' the future before them,
and the hours of joy and happiness
flew by unnoted. The sun had sunk
and its dying glow la}- spread upon
the smooth surface of the lake when
Wolf finally awoke.

"I must be off;" he exclaimed,
starting up suddenly. "My stern
captain ordered me to leave soon after
sunset, so I must hurry."

"Jobst stern ? " exclaimed Susanna,
with a smile of unbelief.

WILD REUTLINGEN.

"Indeed he is. He is severe in
ni:itters of dnty. He un(l()ul)ledl}'
longs to stay at Steinliovel, but I
wager he'll be with the troop before
I am. Now. Susanna, before I go I
must speak to your parents, and you
must promise me that some da}' you
will l)e my wife."

"I ha\-e alread}' promised, Wolf,
and you are right, you must speak to
my parents," answered Susanna earn-
estly, "but I think I can tell you
what their answer will be. They see
trouble for us in the future, and they
will be slow to give me to ^-ou."

He went, but soon returned with a
shadow of discouragement in his
ej^es that disappeared when he saw
Susanna.

" Your parents will not give you to
a poor subaltern, they have two sons
in the army, and are therefore too
poor. You know the situation, be-
loved ; will you wait for me ? "

Tears filled her eyes as she clung to
his arm and clasped it tenderly.

" I will wait for you forever I "

The twilight was fading, and his
horse was pawing impatiently l)efore
the door.

' ' Give me the violets that you
picked today, Susanna, as a remem-
brance of this sweet hour."

She gave him the flowers, and he
rode away with them upon his heart,
whence they breathed forth their
fragrance, and whispered sweet tales
and songs of love.

CHAPTER XIX.

The Baireuth regiment joined the
corps of Prince Heinrich in the march
against the Russians on the banks of
the Oder, and later into Schlesien
against Laudon. The king remained
for a time in vSaxonj- with his army
and besieged Dresden, but finalh'
gave that up and joined Prince Hein-
rich in time to command at the great
victor}- of Liegnitz. where he shat-
tered Laudon and the Austrian army.
Friedrich's departure from Dresden
left Saxon}- practically cleared of Prus-
sian troops.

During the entire siege Benno von
Trautwitz had been confined in Dres-
den. He had been carried to the
hospital there to be treated for the
wound that he had received at Reut-
lingen's hands, and when the fever
had abated enough for him to leave
his bed, the siege had begun, and the
shadow of death lay over the un-
happy city. Hunger, epidemic,

momentary danger of death from
falling shell, fire, and ever}- misery
that war can bring, all made life a
hell in the beleaguered city, and
Benno von Trautwitz was forced to
suffer with the rest, the unfavorable
conditions rendering his recovery very
slow.

At last the king gave up the siege
and left the half-annihilated city to
its fate, and Benno did not linger
wdthin the battered walls a moment
after the road was clear. Sick and
suffering, he made his way to his
relations at Deitnitz, who took him in
with true ho.spitality and ga\-e him
the care and attention he so sadly
needed. trying by all possible means
to win him back to health and
strength. Herr von Trebenow, who
was a chamberlain at the court of the
king of Poland, was at Warschau,
and Frau von Trebenow and her
daughter were at home alone, so they

WILD REUTLINGEN.

had plenty of time to attend to the
comfort and entertainment of their
guest.

The daughter, Maria Ehzabeth,
was a pretty, lovable girl, with a rosy
face and ash blonde hair, who reminded
Benno now and then of Ulrike, thus
becoming doubly dear and agreeable
to him.

Ulrike — she was in his every
thought, the dream of his waking
hours, and there had come to him a
longing to see her again, together
with a burning hatred of the man
who had robbed him of her. He had
thought that he had Reutlingen in
his power in the fight at Coszdorf , but
his enemy had not only escaped but
had felled him to the ground with
terrible wounds, and now a fierce
longing for revenge burned within
the 3^oung hussar's breast.

Benno learned with surprise that
Ulrike had written to the Trebenows,
telling them that she had married
Captain von Reutlingen and was now
living in his home at Steinhovel
during her hu.sband's absence with
his regiment. She had asked for her
relatives' blessings, but nothing in
her letter told why she had taken the
step or whether or not she was happy.
Benno read this letter, and became
greatly excited over it, making up
his mind to see Ulrike again at any
cost .

' ' She is sitting there alone while
her brute of a husband is out in the
world," he growled to Fran von Tre-
benow. "The Prussian army is on
the frontier of Brandenburg between
our forces and those of the Ru,ssians,
and will thus doubtless soon be de-
stroyed. She will have no one to
protect her in the storm>- times that
will follow, lor that brute will cer-

tainly never trouble himself about
her. I am going to see her."

" But you are a soldier and .should
join your regiment at the front," re-
monstrated his aunt, "and besides,
it seems to me that 5-ou are not quite
just to your cousin's husband, dear
Benno."

" Perhaps j^ou are right, ni}- dear
aunt," he replied, with a shrug of his
shoulders, "although I don't quite
see how. At any rate, I will go to
Steinhovel to see Ulrike, and I will
try to persuade her to return with me
to lycitnitz."

His aunt approved of this proposi-
tion, and so Benno wrote to Ulrike
and told her of his intended visit.
He soon received an answer, but he
did not .show his cousin's letter to
any one.

" I will go, of course," was all he
said, and in a few days he was on his
way to Steinhovel. The ride was a
very severe one in his feeble condi-
tion, and he was tired and worn out
when he found himself, at evening,
in the house of his deadly enemy.
Ulrike was not at home, but old Fer-
dinand cared for him as his mistress's
cousin, for such he complacently
announced himself to be, and gave
him a room and something to eat and
drink.

Ulrike was at Zellin with the
Techows, whom she often visited in
her loneliness, but she returned home
before she was expected, and when
she entered the hall heard the soft
tones of a .spinnet touched b}' a
master hand. It did not occur to her
that it might be Benno, but she
thought of Heinz, and terror seized
her heart.

"You have a visitor," said Fer-
dinand, in answer to her silent inter-

WILD REUTLINGEN.

rogatory, "a young gentleman, a
relative of yours, my young mistress."

She hurried up stairs and entered
the sitting room. There sat Benno
von Trautwitz at the spinnet. Ulrike
remained standing in the middle of
the room, her dark mantle slipping
from her shoulders and hanging over
her white dress to the floor. She
hastih- removed her veil and held it
in her hand, while she gazed upon
the intruder with a look of dis-
pleasure on her face.

"So you have come, Benno?
Didn't you get my letter? I begged
you to stay away. What do you
want here ? " '

"Just to see you again, Ulrike,
nothing more. You misunderstood
m\' purpose when you told me not to
come, and I felt that I must make
\ou understand me. Have you no
welcome to offer me after we have
been separated so long, after I have
suffered so much for youx sake ? "

' ' I know of nothing that 3'ou have
had to suffer for my sake," she
responded coldly, "and I am not
responsible for anything that you may
have done. This is my husband's
house, and you have entered it against
my will, for I know \o\x would be no
welcome guest to him. He despises
you because you broke your word of
honor. Tell me if that is true before
I give you my hand in greeting."

A deathly paleness spread over
Benno "s face.

' Give me ^'our hand on trust, my
cousin," he said with a forced smile;
"it is the hand of an honorable man
that I offer you ; even Reutlingen
cannot deprive me of that glory."

His tone was firm and confident,
and she had been accustomed since
childhood to look up to him as one to

be trusted. She was now undecided
in her opinion and he noticed it.

' ' Why did he not make this accusa-
tion to my face?" he continued with
growing assurance. "He can pro-
duce no proof, can call up no te.sti-
niony against me. But I will have a
reckoning with him for this accusa-
tion. He has known my affection for
you, my dearest relative, and he has
thought to separate us."

Ulrike threw off her cape, sat down
upon the sofa, and leaned her elbow
upon the table.

" You needn't trouble to bring him
to account," she said dejectedly ; "he
is not in the habit of making false
accusations. If he has been misin-
formed about this he will gladly
admit that he is wrong, of that I am
sure."

Benno grasped her hand and kissed
it.

" Thank you, my cousin ; that was
thoroughly wifely, truly, and rightly
spoken, and the pretty Ulrike whom
I have loved and honored through-
out my whole life is a worth}- wife."

Ulrike gave him her hand again.

" I have loved >'ou very dearly, my
cousin, and if I have doubted you it
was because of my husband's mis-
take." She hesitated for a moment
and then continued. " I begged you
for your protection when I was sorely
in need of help, but you went away
and left me to my fate. Captain von
Reutlingen cared for me, and now
that I am in safety you come to me.
You cannot blame me for believing
him."

Benno was ready for this attack.

"I deserve your reproach, dear
Ulrike," he said in a trembling voice.
' ' I will not try to defend m^-self for
leaving 3-ou defenseless, for I know

WILD REUTLINGEN.

myself to be guiltless. Was I not
frantic under the torture of leaving
you at Ivangenrode, and did you not
refuvse to go awa}- to a safe place with
me ? But one thing in the world
could have driven me from your side,
and of such a power you know nothing,
you can 't even imagine what it means
— the duty and honor of an officer in
time of war. ' '

She knew nothing of a soldier's
honor and duty — she, the wife of a
Prussian officer, the ' ' comrade ' ' of
the Baireuth dragoons. But she did
not care to contradict him, and the
w^armth wnth which he spoke carried
conviction to her mind. Being con-
vinced against her better judgment,
she sought to change the subject of
conversation.

' ' You have been sick a long time,
she began, "where did you get the
wounds that have giveii you so nuicli
trouble ? ' '

Benno gazed at her in astonish-
ment.

"Don't you know that, \\\\ dear
cousin? Haven't you heard it from
the owner of the kind hand which
s:ave me these wounds ? Your hus-
band was the man, the wild Reut-
lingen ; sad is the day for him who
meets that man. So he has kept it
a secret from you, has he ? It seems
that he doesn't look back upon the
affair with a free conscience, then ? "

Ulrike was silent. It surprised her
that on that last evening when Jobst
had told her so much of the battle, he
had not mentioned his meeting with
her cousin ; still she did not wish
to listen to Benno 's account of the
affair.

"You have been sick," said she,
"and yet I have not once asked if
anyone has arranged a room for you

and offered you something to eat and
drink—' '

" It has all been done," he inter-
rupted. "The old servant is atten-
tive to his duty ; nothing has 1:)een
wanting but a greeting of welcome
from you, Ulrike."

His gentle reproach shamed her.

" Then you shall have that in addi-
tion to my good wishes for a pleasant,
comfortable night : it is late, and you
nuist be tired after your long jour-
ney.' '

Ferdinand was called, and escorted
the guest, who, after a hearty hand-
shake, departed to his room, glad of
the much needed rest.

* * * * .,;■ *

Mignonette and gillyflowers sent
forth their fragrance in the warm sun-
shine of the August morning when
Ulrike stepped into the garden and
saw her guest sauntering slowly along
in the shade of the heavily laden apple
trees. She had sent his breakfast to
his room and so had not seen him
before that morning, and now when he
heard her step he turned and greeted
her with such warmth and tenderness
that she saw it would be necessary
to moderate his feelings. As they
walked backwards and forwards to-
gether he told her of his life during
the siege of Dresden, then of his
convalescence at Leitnitz, and of the
care and attention of his aunt and
cousin, and at last asked her if she
had no desire to see her relatives
once more after such a long separa-
tion. His aunt had directed him to
beg a visit from her, and naturally,
considering the great distance, it
could not be allowed to be a short
one. At his last words Ulrike drew
herself up with a determined air ; the
thought, " He has forbidden it," ran

WILD REUTLINGEN.

through her mind al once, and for
the present she dismissed tlie ques-
tion.

Benno's cheerful and pleasing com-
panionship caused the day to pass for
Ulrike as though on wings, and 1)\'
niofht her old innocent love for the
friend of her childhood was restored.

A warm summer evening fell upon
Steinhovel. Clear as a smooth silver
shield hung the moon above the edge
of the forest, while the sighing wind
rustled to and fro amid the tops of
the fragrant trees. Ulrike and Benno
sat together upon the lawn before the
house, she with a white shawl thrown
around her shoulders and her head
leaninu- back against a vine covered
trellis that ran along the side of the
house. vSilvery white Avas her hair
anions: the dark green leaves, and
Benno's eyes never left her, while
her gaze was fixed dreamih' in the
distance so that she could not see her
cousin's face.

" How long is it now," he l^egan
suddenly, "since that mo.st painful
hour of ni}' life when I had to leave
j'ou at L,angenrode ? It seems ages to
ms."

"Still it is not a year," she an-
swered with a sigh.

' ' Did the dragoons come soon after
I left ? " he asked in the same sup-
pressed voice. " Did the abbess live
to see them ? ' "

Then Ulrike told him, and he ques-
tioned her carefully, .skillfull}', and
minutely, until, almost without her
knowledge, she had given him all
the information that he desired :
Reutlingen's arrival at the abbev, his
assistance at the burial of the abbess,
his promise of protection and his
.wooing, and also the agreement un-
der which she had consented to the

marriage. Her loving trust in her
cousin made it easy for Benno to find
out everything, and the little she did
not tell him he readilv iruessed.

A wild, mad joy filled his heart, for
he knew tluit these two looked coldly
upon each other, and the knowledge
aroused anew his deadened hopes.

"And has he kept his word ? " he
asked in a faltering voice.

' ' Has he kept his word ? A Reut-
lingen break his Avord ?' ' cried I'lrike;
and Benno started as though .stung to
the heart.

' ' Of course ; he must have done so
unless he wanted to be called a scoun-
drel by every honorable man," con-
tinued Benno quietl}-. " Upon the
whole, he has treated \o\\ very
honorably, and he appears to be a
good fellow with self-sacrificing im-
pulses, under the influence of which
he married you. But, if you will
pardon my saying it, my dear cousin,
his whole conduct bears witness to an
undoubted coldness on his part ; had
he been moved by passion his actions
would have been very different."

Ulrike was silent. A hand of ice
seemed laid upon her heart. vShe
knew all this herself ; why did he
speak thus ? It was torture to hear
it.

" He wasn't jealous, either," con-
tinued Benno, "for he left you here
alone for .several months \\\\\\ his
young, hot-blooded brother. The
man is trul\- enviable in his uncon-
cern. Now, my cousin, thank God
that your heart has also remained
untouched, that you, who are beau-
tiful and lovely, towards whom the
noblest in the l?nd might well
turn their longing gaze, thank God
that you have not fallen in love with
this cold-hearted cavalr3-man, that }-ou

WILD REUTLINGEN.

have conceived no unhappy, unre-
quited passion for this rough soldier,
who is so absorbed in himself that he
cannot see that he has placed 3'ou in a
position that no true woman's soul
could endure."

.Ulrike had risen, overcome b}' a
feeling of horror and aversion that
almost robbed her of breath. How
pale she was as she trembled with
the pain his words had brought.

"I am cold," she said softly.
" The evenings are still cool. I will
go in — good-night."

She went without once looking
back, and so did not see the glance
of mingled triumph, pit}', and fierce
passion that followed her. Benno von
Trauwitz had placed a file on Ulrike' s
fetters, and now he worked with it
carefully, little by little, watching
with hungry eyes the progress that
he had already made, and wondering
how much further he dared go. The
hope of ultimate success never left
him for a moment. With inward ex-
citement he looked forward to the
next morning, and when it came found
his young hostess pale and quiet, the
dark shadows beneath her eyes en-
tirely changing their usual clear and
childlike expression.

It would not have been easy for
Benno to have carried on a harmless
and agreeable conversation that day,
and as the afternoon was beautiful
and sunny he proposed a walk. So
the}' strolled awa}^ together over the
heath and into the forest of firs. How
delicious was the fragrance of the
trees, the breath of the forest !

Their way led them to the bank of
a small pond bordered b>' rushes and
covered by broad leaves, amongst
which glistened a few 3'ellow lilies.
Ulrike's usual resting place, a large

moss-covered rock, lay not far from
the bank, and now she seated herself
upon it, clasped her hands over her
knee, and gazed with dreamy eyes
into the green depths.

" Is this the full extent of nature's
beauties in this vicinit}' ? ' ' asked
Benno jokingly, but she did not an-
swer, so he leaned against the trunk
of a fir and watched her.

" I am worried to see you so sad
and depressed, my pretty cousin," he
began at last. "Have any of my
yesterday's words angered you, or is
it the burden of your fate that weighs
upon your spirits ? ' '

Ulrike took off her straw hat as
though it pressed upon her brain, let
it fall upon the moss, and threw back
her head.

" What good does it do to talk
about it ? " she murmured in an
undertone, as though to herself.
" Fettered hand and foot."

Benno 's eyes glowed.

' ' Thank God that those fetters can
be broken, my dear cousin. Reut-
lingen very nobly promised to give
you up when the war was over ; very
well, we have this Friedrich, this
margrave of Brandenburg, in a tight
place, and I hope we can soon destroy
him ; then you can ask and receive
your freedom. F'or 3'our sake I long
for the time to come, and for Reut-
lingen's I wish that it were long
past."

Ulrike drew herself up. "For
Reutlingen's sake you wish it past ? "

She thought it all over in a flash,
how Heinz had said : "It costs but a
word and he will set you free. ' ' How
did Heinz know that if Reutlingen
himself had not told him, and did not
his assertion agree with what Benno
had just said?

WILD REUTLINGEN.

' ' It certainly is not necessary for
me to look any further into it," she
continued hesitatingly. " He de-
ferred the moment for which he longs
until the end of the war, however.
Why did he delay it so when one firm
.step would put an end to all our
misery ? ' '

She raised a fleeting look of pain to
her cousin. "Do you really believe
that it would please him to have his
freedom again ? "

' ' I cannot know that," he answered.
"As far as I have heard, Herr von
Reutlingen has never felt called upon
to limit his freedom on account of his
marriage."

' ' What have you heard ? ' ' she
asked quickly.

He shrugged his shoulders. ' ' Mere
rumors."

" Xo, cousin," she cried with
spirit; "you know and mean .some-
thing definite and you must speak
out. I can bear truth and frankness
when the matter concerns m}- whole
life."

"Yes, indeed j'ou can, dearest
Ulrike," he cried with suppressed
excitement. " Why should I be
silent when perhaps a word from me
will make it easier for you to break
the fetters that are an insult to you ? ' '
He leaned towards her.

"I know this Reutlingen well, as
3'ou know. Ne^•er has a man been
more closely watched than he, for I
felt that I must know the man to
whom Ulrike von Trebenow had con-
fided her life's happiness. The result
of my scrutiny was not pleasant. He
doesn't care to be well known to 3'our
friends, for his heart, his love, as he
calls it, is given to an unworthy
creature upon whom he throws him-
self awav."

Ulrike trembled at his words. "Can
you prove wdaat }-ou say ? ' ' she asked
in a dull, expressionless voice.

' ' Of course I can prove it ! " he
cried. " I know the woman, a black-
eyed gypsy creature ; he knew her
before he first went to Langenrode,
and now she follows the regiment to
lie with him." He stopped, and then
added : " His comrades wouldn't tell
vou of this ; thev don't see anvthing
wrong in it. If you desire the proofs
that are within my reach you may
soon know the truth."

Ulrike said nothing ; a kind of
parah'sis seemed to rob her of .speech
and motion. At last she slowdy rose,
replaced her hat, and walked silently
along the homeward path, careless as
to whether Benno followed or not.
He walked by her side and occasion-
ally spoke to her without receiving
any answer. When she reached the
house .she hurried to her room, locked
the door behind her, and remained
standing.

" Oh, if I were only the dark-eyed
g3'psy creature that he loves 1 ^\'hat
is it to me to be his wife in name
only, what to be 3-oung and well born,
if he does not care to love me ? ' '

She muttered it inaudibly at first,
but again the words came in a whis-
per from her lips and startled her.
She stepped to the mirror, and, with
a quick movement, threw off the
shawl from her shoulders. White as
a lily in face and dress, exquisite and
pure was the picture that she beheld
in the glass. Could he do aught but
laugh at her, this wild Reutlingen ?
" Ah, if I were only that black-e3'ed
g3'pS3' girl ! " — The white face in the
glass turned red with the flush of
shame and anger, and her hand
clutched at her heart.

WILD REUTLINGEN.

' ' O God ! what have I been think-
ing ? To throw myself away for his
love ? So I am to love him — this
wild one who loves me not ; that also
is to be my fate ? ' '

Her glance wandered to the writ-
ing desk, to his picture, and she met
the winning smile in his eyes. She
wrung her hands and covered her
eyes.

"God help me; I couldn't bear
to see him again. His laughter, his
careless attentions — to know that in
his heart he exulted over my unre-
turned passion — that would be tor-
ture, not death alone."

Evetiing came, night passed, and
the dawn broke. Day had also broken
with terrible clearness in Ulrike's
mind. "I am going aw^ay." That
thought was firmly fixed. " His
house must shelter me no longer ;
his noble protection for which I once
thanked him has now become an
insult. His command for me to stay
here has no meaning nor value now,
and if he should kill me in his anarer,
so much the better."

She was troubled as she thought of
their agreement and of the faithful-
ness and honor with which he had
kept it, but still she shrank from the
bitter humiliation of his learning her
unasked love. In the hours of suf-
fering of the night she had made up
her mind, and morning found it still
unchanged.

In the latter part of the afternoon
Benno sent her maid to inquire after
her, for he did not know the effect of
his words, and was beginning to grow
uneasy. Ulrike came down herself
and met him in the living room.
Her determination was fixed, and a
cold quiet had con.sequently settled
vipon her. She greeted her

guest

with a glance but did not offer him
her hand ; it seemed as though she
could not forgive him for the terrible
news he brought.

' ' Thank you, my dear cousin ; how
should I feel ? Well, naturally. I
want to tell you that I have changed
ni}" mind and ha^-e decided to visit
our relatives in I^eitnitz for a time.
If convenient to you we can start
together to-morrow ; I will be thank-
ful for your protection, for it is a long
drive. To-day I will go to Zellin
and say good-bye to the Techows."

Benno forced himself to speak
calmly of his pleasure at her decis-
ion, and she did not see the flash of
triumph in his eyes.

Late in the evening Ulrike entered
Lore's neat little chamber, which was
only separated from her own sleeping
room by that of Annette. The old
woman was sitting up, spinning a
fine thread b}' the light of a tallow
candle, singing a sad song to herself
as she worked, and did not notice
her mistress's entrance until she felt
her arms around her and fovmd her
kneeling by her side and weeping
passionately.

"My dear lady! Oh, what has
happened? Don't cry so, my sweet
child."

Ulrike shook her head. " Let me
alone ; nothing has happened. Ca-
ress me, Lore ; kiss me, show me
that you love me, but let me cry."

They were the first tears that had
come to ease a heart that had been
full to bursting. Lore felt that they
told of some sorrow that was bej^ond
her knowledge, and a deep fear filled
her heart. She said nothing more,
however, kissing the hair and hands
of the sobbing girl in silent sympathy
instead.

WILD REU7LINGEN.

"Lore," began Ulrike at last,
recovering her self-command, " I am
going away to-morrow. My relation,s
in Leitnitz — I have doubtless told j'ou
of them before — have begged me to
\isit them, and I have accepted their
invitation. My cousin will accom-
pany me."

The old woman clasped her hands
together in nameless dread.

"How terrible, my dear lady!
You are going away from here ? Our
captain was so light at heart to know
that you were here in safet}'."

vShe felt the slender figure tremble
in her arms and continued rapidly :
' ' Does he allow you to go into the
enemy's country where you will find
dangers on even,- hand ? "'

"How can I ask him when he's
not here?" cried Ulrike. "Who
knows when he will return ? And
I am so lonely here. Lore."

vShe could not say : "I am going
away because I love him, and his
wishes have no more weight with
me."

"You must have good reasons, I

don't doubt, ni}- dear 3'oung mis-
tress," answered Lore with a sigh,
' ' but it seems to me unfortunate for
you to go away. Pardon me for say-
ing it, ni}- dear lad}-, but it seems an
injustice to my young master. Sup-
pose he should come back and not
find you here? ' '

Ulrike had dried her tears and now
looked at the old woman with sad,
moist eyes. An unspeakable anxiety
clutched at her heart. Yes ; suppose
he should come back, and, not find-
ing her here, look for her, perhaps.
She could not shake off the terror of
the thought.

' ' If he comes back and asks for
me," she whispered, " tell him. Lore,
that I leave him my best wishes, and
that he must not be angry with me,
for I have done what is right. And
give him this letter."

The next morning Ulrike and her
maid began their journey to Leitnitz
under Benno's care. Steinhovel
stood empt}' once more, and good old
Lore sighed as she closed the doors
and curtains of her mistress's room.

CHAPTER XX.

In the autumn the Baireuth regi-
ment returned to Saxony with the
reinforcements under General von
Forcade, which Prince Heinrich sent
to his brother, the king. The troops
had much marching and camping
that fall, and very little rest. Reut-
lingen had not seen his wife for half
a year, and his thoughts of her were
full of trouble and fear.

Then in October came terrible
news. The Russians were before
Berlin ; devastation, death, burning
homes, and outrages of every kind
marked the path their army had

taken, and at the break of one
autumn day the inhabitants of the
capital found their enemies around
them. Would their terrible suffering
last long, would the king send aid,
or would these troops go further and
devastate the entire country ?

In great excitement Reutlingen
speculated as to whether the enemy
would reach vSteinhovel, and,
although he did not think it proba-
ble, soon determined on his course of
action. He himself could not leave
his troop, not even for a single day,
so he sent the trusty Ferdinand to

WILD REUTLINGEN.

Steinhovel, with orders to conduct his
young mistress and the old Lore to
Magdeburg, to which place of safety
from the eneni}^ the whole royal
family had retreated. The funds and
archives of Prussia had been secretly
conveyed to the same place some time
before. There Ulrike would un-
doubtedly be safe, and he sent a let-
ter, commending his wife to the kind-
ness of Frau von Vosz, the wife of
the court marshal, who had been a
great friend of his mother's. vSo he
did the best he could for his wife, but
he still felt far from easy about her.
Perhaps something had happened to
her l)efore he could do anything,
news came to Saxony so slowly.

Reutlingen had just returned from
a severe ride upon which his duty
had called him, and, being greatly
angered by some breach of discipline
on the part of one of his under offi-
cers, slammed the door of his room
fiercely behind him, hoping to sit in
quiet before the fire and free his mind
from all worries. It was late in the
evening, and his brother officer who
shared the quarters with him had
long since gone to bed in the next
room. So he sat alone in the fire-
light, and smoked, and dreamed. In
a few moments the door opened
quietly and some one entered.

"Ferdinand! Man! You back
already ? What have you done ? ' '

The captain sprang from his chair
and advanced to meet his servant.
He felt that the next moment would
bring him evil tidings and his ques-
tions stuck in his throat.

"You must pardon me, my dear
sir, but I couldn't take your lady to
Magdeburg ; she had already left
Steinhovel."

"What?"

"Yes; Frau Lore sends many
greetings, and says that her master
need not trouble to send her away.
In August a young gentleman, one of
my lady's relations, came to Stein-
hovel and vStayed two days ; Herr
von Trautnitz or Trautwitz, he was
called. Then my lady went away
with him, taking Annette with her,
and left this letter behind to be given
to the captain."

Reutlingen received the news in
silence, mechanically stretching forth
his hand for the letter.

" That is all, you may go."

He pushed a chair close to the table,
threw himself into it, hastily broke
the seal and read: —

" Do not blame me, Herr von Reut-
lingen, for disobeying you and leav-
ing your house. Never will I forget
your kindness to me, never will my
heart cease to beat in gratitude to
5'OU ; still it is better for you, as well
as for myself that I should go away
now, and I am convinced that you will
agree with me.

"Once more I offer you my thanks

for your kindness and nobility to me,

and give you my best wishes for your

future well-being.

"Ulrike."

Reutlingen ran hurriedly over this
letter and then read it again slowly ;
then he let his head fall upon his
arm, while his hand convulsively
crushed the paper and held it. A
sharp pain, such as he had never
before known, pierced his heart. She
had left him ! Ulrike ! His wife !
His own ! While he was caring for
her safety she had gone away with
his bitter enemy! "I will not trust
you with that scoundrel! " he had
once said to her, when as an utter

WILD REUTLINGEN.

stranger he offered her his soldierly
protection, and now she was his wife
and still had trusted the villain and
had left him ! It was a farewell for
life that he read in the cold, meaning-
less phrases of her letter. He sprang
up and stamped his foot angrily.

"My commands disobejxd ! Our
agreement broken ! My love be-
trayed i You shall explain this or
make amends, my faithless wife ! "
He began to pace the room with heavy
steps, throwing the furniture noisily
from his path.

"Heavens and Hell! It didn't
originate in her child's head ! Carried
off ! That villain has robbed me of
her, dishonorable hound ! You shall
feel mv hand, hing scoundrel, al-
though you are not fit to die an hon-
orable death at the hands of a Prussian
officer ! "

He paused again, smoothed out
the crumpled letter, and re-read the
superficial words of farewell. Then he
tried to picture the look in her eyes
that he loved so well, and the name-
less rapture of that kiss. His heart
was bursting ; it could not, must not,

be true. He again paced to and fro
across the room.

" All the devils in hell can't stop
me ! I'll see her again before I be-
lieve it ; she shall saj^ it to me herself
— shall give me her reasons — and
then for that scoundrel — L,eitnitz is
only a day's ride from here — I can
surely find her there somewhere
among her relatives ! " He suddenly
threw open the door into the next
room where Captain von Zobeltitz was
sleeping in the dark.

" Zobeltitz, are you asleep ? "

"Of course, and have been for a
long time. I shall be soon again if
)^ou'll stop making that awful noise,"
was the answer.

"Oh, never mind that! Do you
suppose Bulow would give me leave
for a couple of days ; I have some-
thing very important to do ? "

' ' lyCave ? Now ? When we are
expecting a fight daily ? Go to bed,
Reutlingen, you must be half asleep
already."

" You are right, I think I must be
myself. Good-night, Zobeltitz."

" Well, good-night at last."

CHAPTER XXI.

The king, to save his cause, must
fight a fierce battle, must win a great
victory, for the Prussian army was
threatened with annihilation. On
one side was the mighty host of Field-
marshal Daun, on another the Rus-
sians, and on a third was General
von Laudon, the king's troops being
thus entirely surrounded, cut off from
all sources of supply, from Berlin,
Breslau, and from Magdeburg.
Friedrich must cut his way through
his enemies, must drive them from
Saxony. Upon one turn of fate

rested the life or death of the army,
of the king, and of Prussia.

Watchful and threatening, in an
almost impregnable position upon the
heights of Suptitz, near Torgau, lay
Daun and his army, and 3'et, on the
third of November, the king was
obliged to advance. General von
Zieten was to attack on the other
side while the king himself led
against Daun, but before Friedrich
could get more than a part of his
infantry into position, the sound of
heav}' guns told him that Zieten had

WILD REUTLINGEN.

engaged, and so, without waiting for
his cavalry and artillery, he at once
opened the battle with such of his
troops as were available. A terrible
fire from the artillery on the Domits-
cher heights poured down upon the
brave grenadiers as they advanced
upon the field, and rank after rank,
regiment after regiment, sank down
before it. The king looked on in a
rage.

' ' What a terrible fire ! I have
never seen its like ! " he exclaimed
vehemently to his aides.

The sun flashed a ra}^ through the
heavy banks of clouds that covered
the sky, but it was no ray of hope,
for it fell upon a bloody field of battle
strewn with the dead and d3-ing heroes
of King Friedrich's army.

This terrible work was given up.
The infantry could no longer stand
before the murderous hail, and was
on the point of breaking, when at
four in the afternoon, the hour of
greatest need, the Prussian cavalr}^
reached the field. This column was
led by c Prince of Holstein, and
consists. f the Baireuth dragoons
and the Schmettau and Spaen curas-
siers, names that will ever be immor-
tal wherever the tale of the Battle of
Torgau is told. At a moment of
greatest importance, when victory
seemed to rest upon the Austrian
banners, the troopers charged the
enemy without waiting to form line
of battle. Confident of success, they
rode forward to victory or to death.

lycading the charge, at the head of
tne troop rode Captain von Reutlin-
gen, the wild rage of battle in his
heart. The heath before them was
cut up l^y trenches, and the enemy's
flank was defended by an apparently
impassable ditch, too wide to leap.

too deep to cross. There was no
time for deliberation there, in the
face of the enemy, however, and at
the signal for the charge the bold
leader's horse started forward at a
gallop towards the dangerous obstacle,
and by a mighty effort cleared it at a
bound. The captain's spirit spread
through his troop and thence to the
regiment, and the troopers followed
him with scarcely a mishap. lyike
the wind they whirled down upon the
enemy's unprotected flank, and the
infantry wavered and broke under
the terrible onslaught. The gallant
attack had changed the tide of vic-
tory, although the fight was still to
be won. Daun sent fresh troops to
oppose the Prussians, and the battle
trembled in the balance until evening,
when Friedrich's charges had broken
Daun's line and scattered his regi-
ments in everj' direction.

In the midst of the storm of shot,
wherever the fire was fiercest, there
the king held his position, and at
evening a shot struck him on the
breast and he fell from his horse. His
excited aides gathered around him,
raised him, and loosened his clothing,
and in a few moments he opened his
eyes.

"It is nothing."

Yes ; they saw it. His fur-trimmed
velvet coat had checked the spent
force of the murderous bullet and the
king was safe. God's will had done
it. God's hand lay over the king's
holy head, and covered and protected
it.

The fight continued until after
nightfall, for Daun had yet to be
driven from the field, and as yet
nothing had been heard from Zieten.
The darkness of the grave settled
over the earth. There were no stars

WILD RE Ul LING EN.

in the sky ; heavy masses of clouds
overshadowed the heavens ; the storm
swept over the battlefield, and wet,
cold, and shelterless, friend and foe
wandered aimlessly over the field
together, and fought and shot at
random. The groans and cries of the
wounded and dj'ing sounded with
heartrending clearness through the
gruesome night.

Now the village of Suptitz on the
heights was in flames, fired by the
Prussian shot, and there, on the other
side of the mountain, was Zieten,
falling upon his enemy and putting
him to flight. Far away through the
darkness flashed the sea of fire, a
flaming torch to light the Prussians
on to victor}'.

The king had not 3-et heard the
news, and with a troubled heart lie
rode to the village of Elsnig to spend
the night, expecting to return to the
attack in the morning. All the houses
were overflowing with wounded and
there was not a place of refuge for the
royal hero, so he at last sought shelter
in the village church and bound up
his wounds by the light of the altar
candles. It was not enough that for
his country and his people he should
bear the heavy burden of war and
responsibility', he must also carry
this bleeding wound in his breast.

At the same time there was no rest,
no assistance, for him, and until late
that night he sat upon the altar steps
receiving reports and sending com-
mands to his generals.

In the shadows behind him a num-
ber of officers gathered and whispered
softly to one another. The news of
the king's wound had spread like
wildfire and they had come to see if

it were true and if he still lived.
Reutlingen was among them, and his
hands crossed over the hilt of his
sabre in a silent prayer of thanksgiv-
ing as he saw his beloved leader
earnestly at work, his sharp, clear
face illumined by the flickering light
of the candles. Friedrich looked up.

' ' Who will carry this order to the
prince of Holstein for me ? You,
Reutlingen ? Here, my brave one.
Your regiment fought nobly to-daj^
and I hear your troop was not back-
ward. I will find out more about it
later."

Away stormed Reutlingen with the
message.

Hark ! What was that ? A trum-
pet call resounded down the village
street and a foreboding of victory
filled the king's breast and flamed
in his large eyes. The church door
opened, and with a clashing of spurs
and sabre. General von Zieten strode
up the aisle. "I congratulate your
majesty upon winning the day."

\'ictory ! \'ictory ! The battle was
won. The king stood with his friends
and thanked them. Zieten had won
the day on his side.

Quiet was the king's heart, happy
and filled with thankfulness, as he
stretched himself upon the bed of
straw which his friends had brought
him, covered himself with his mantle,
and slept as he had not slept for
nights. Before this glorious crisis,
trouble and anxietj^ had tormented
his soul, but now the victory was his
and Friedrich slept. The angel of
God floated through his lioh' dream
and watched over and protected the
slumbering hero, Prussia's shield and
star, her king, Friedrich the Great.

[to be continued.]

NORTH CONWAY-AMONG-THE-MOUNTAINS.

By Mrs. Ellen M. Mason.

iptp IS such
Jj a pretty

11 a m e ,
'North Con-

way,'" said

Professor
E. Charlton
Black last win-
ter, ' ' it makes
me think of ' Conway-by-the-vSea.' "

" But this is North Conwayamong-
the-Mountains, and one of the very
loveliest places on earth," declared
the writer.

Fancy a long valley enclosed to
the east and west with mountain
ranges ; a strikingly bold and noble
peak to the north-east ; a majestic
mountain towering to the north —
Mount Washington — and nowhere in
New Hampshire more impressive
than as seen coming straight up the

main village street of North Conway ;
pretty, rounded hills to the south ;
fancy, to the west, below the plateau
on which the town is built, a valley
on a still lower level — a long stretch
of luxuriant meadow-land, adorned
with stately elms, the bright water
of a cur\ang river glancing out here
and there. Fancy this interv^ale wind-
ing around the cliffs that form foot-
hills to the great Moat range. As
the sea winds about the sea-cliffs,
there are many shades of green in
the woods on the great ranges, and
the fantastic, splendid clouds of a
mountain landscape trail fascinating
shadows over them. A crj^stal-clear
atmosphere pervades the picture ; —
this is North Conway as it seems to
the stranger just come here, as it
must seem to those who have known
and been fond of it this many a ^-ear.

Looking up Main Strpet, North Conway.

NOR TH CONWA ) '-AMONG- THE- MO UNTAINS.

Peak of Chocorua.

That there is a distinctive charm
in this region, that gives it a place
apart from other White IVIountain re-
sorts and has enabled it easil_v to keep
this first place for nearly half a cen-
tnry, is a matter of New Hampshire
histor}' ; but in what particular does
this charm consist ?

Almost certainly in two features
geographical. Other places have
loftier heights in their neighbor-
hoods, higher water- falls, as grand
mountain prospects, but they have
not the magnificent sweep of inter-
vale that lends such serenity and
sweetness to the picture here, nor
do there exist elsewhere forests to
equal those idyllic woods that border
the town to the east — "Cathedral
woods" and the "Enchanted woods."

There is a perfect treasury of

grand and beautiful scenes h'ing at
the base of IMoat, that vast rampart
of the valley, the lovely, undulating
lines of whose summits are so
softly traced along the western sky.

" Crost the river," to use the
vernacular idiom, are the dark purple
granite cliffs, bold and green- wooded,
named "The Ledges" — White Horse,
Cathedral, and Humphrey's ledge.

There are Echo lake, Diana's
baths, Thompson's falls, and Pit-
man's arch — or the Arch of Lycur-
gus, as some prefer to call it, because
in the latter cognomen, a public-
spirited citizen is honored, and the
Cathedral, giving Cathedral ledge
its distinctive name.

It is not too much to say that the
Saco river landscapes are renowned
the country over. John Austin Stev-

NORTH CONWA Y-AMONG- THE-MOUNTAINS.

ens, the biographer and literateur in
two noteworthy papers, published in
The White Mountain Echo, calls
them the Upper and Lower inter-
vales, "for purpose of description,"
as he explains, and designates the
covered bridge that spans the Saco
at North Conway as the point divid-
ing the northern and southern sec-
tions of a single circuit, and giving
it the arbitrary form of an irregular
figure 8 ; Conway Corner bridge

a little lengthily, the "Conway Cor-
ner an ' ' round b ' the west [or other]
side o' the river" drive.

Mr. Stevens writes, — "The time
of day when the upper driving may
be best taken depends upon the sky.
If it be overcast, the morning hours
should be chosen ; if clear and sunny,
the afternoon. As to the direction,
while there is no question with re-
gard to the lower inter^^ale, there is
no unanimity of opinion as to its

Kearsarge Mountain, from Kearsarge Village.

at the lower end. North Conway
bridge at the centre, and Glen Sta-
tion at the upper extremity of the
Intervale meadow.

The drives circling the upper and
lower intervales are very beautiful
and romantic. That around the
highlands which skirt the upper or
northern one is known as the,
"Around Humphrej^'s Ledge," or
the " 'Round Ledges" drive, a name
which properly belongs to but a small
part of it. The one by the south, or
lower intervale, is properly called, but

northern companion. Artists, whose
delight is the study of light-effects,
for which this entire region is famous,
concur in advice to the tourist to turn
to the westward by the road which
passes by Sunset Pavilion, and from
the start hold the mountains ranged
to the northward in full view; but
this high authority to the contrary,
notwithstanding the reverse tour is
commended, because of the greater
surprises of scenery presented on the
homeward descent to the valley of
the Saco . . ."

NORTH CONWA Y-AMONG-THE-MOUNTAINS.

"At the turn of the road at Inter-
vale, the meadow to the northward is
one of the most pleasing views in this
region — Mount Washington and its
companions of the Presidential range
closing the landscape. There is
nothing to mar the perfect peace of
the valley scene. No buildings,
large or small, give it an American
character. The European traveller
may sit on the porches of the Inter-
vale houses and think himself at the

eastward as the road winds up the
rising ground to Lower Bartlett,
where a light but well constructed
bridge crosses the East Branch — a
tributary of the Saco — a stream quiet
in ordinar\' seasons, but a wild, rush-
ing torrent after a mountain freshet,
as the boulders and heavy driftwood
on its rocky bed bear constant wit-
ness. There is quite a cluster of
road-side houses about this point,
one of which, the Pequawket, keeps in

Saco River and Rattlesnake Range. Madison Hills in the distance.

mouth of one of the valleys which
open upon the Rhone bej'ond the
Leman lake. Nothing in view but
wide meadows with clustering groups
of trees and an expanse of green over
which the sunlight plays in ara-
besques of light and shade, now in
long sweeps, as the clouds float
slowl}- by, and now in quick, fanciful
play about the dark maples and
throvigh the feather}- foliage of grace-
ful elms .

" Kearsarge and Bartlett moun-
tains are now left behind to the south-

memory the almost forgotten name of
the Indian tribe who raised their corn
in the interv-ales, fished the rapid
mountain streams, and retired into
the fastnesses of the inaccessible hills
before the march of settlement which
followed the tread of the colonial
soldiery to the conquest of Canada in
the old French war. ' '

"At this i^oint of the drive, the
western ledges — Humphreys's, Cathe-
dral, and the White Horse, — close the
horizon and are seen at their best.
The road now passes through a

NORIH CONWA Y-AMONG- THE-MOUNTAINS.

Moat Mountain, with drifting clouds. Saco River in nniddle distance.

closeh' wooded region over rising hill
and steep descending glade in a west-
erly sweep until the head of the upper
intervale is reached at the point where
the highway turns to the northwest,
and through Jackson and the Glen to
Gorham. At this spot there is a fine
southerly view of the intervale. The
Glen railroad station is now passed,
and a short distance beyond the Ellis
is crossed by a long, covered bridge.
"A second covered bridge crosses
the Saco at the point where the road
on the west side of the river, from

Conway Corner, branches to the
westward to Upper Bartlett. A turn
to the left is now taken, and the
scenery entirely changes in charac-
ter. Huniphrej^'s ledge is now
ascended. To the eastward are seen,
clean cut, the two road gaps through
Thorn hill, while low down, hun-
dreds of feet beneath the steep decliv-
ity of the ledge, the Saco roars in
rapid tumult and for cause. The
Ellis, swelled by the Wild Cat from
the northern mountain slope, has
been joined by its worthy peer, the

Looking across the Intervale to Mont Mountain and Ledges, from Intervale Park.

NOR TH CON \ VA } '-AMONG- THE- MO UN TAINS.

Rock}' Branch, with equal tribute
from the western mountains, and now
in mad struggle rush from their con-
finement to a wider freedom in the
broad surface of the Intervale mead-
ows. Here one is reminded of the
savage scenery of the P5-renees at the
Eaux Chaudes south of Pau. There
is nothing else like it in these moun-

color the maples of the North Conway
ledges, with their background of deep
green firs, are supreme.

' ' The Saco widens as the ledge is
descended, and at last the intervale is
again reached . . . The high
road is followed and pursued southerly
to the first fork, when that to the left
hand should be taken. This leads to

vM^Wt

A Bit of Intervale, North Conway.

tains. The drive is more wholly
through woods striking for variety
and perfection of form of trees, beau-
tiful in summer i.i their greens of
every tint, and in the autumn mar-
vellous in their myriad hues. x\mer-
ica is famous for its autumnal foliage.
The valleys of the Ramapo and Sus-
quehanna are justly renowned, but
artists claim that for brilliancy of

the bridge over the Saco, named as
the dividing lines of the intervales.
North Conway is now reached after
a drive, which may challenge, for
variet}', beauty, picturesque sur-
prises, and extended views of hill and
plain, any in this or any other coun-
try ; and this without danger, expos-
ure, or fatigue."

In regard to the ' ' Conway Corner

NORTH CONWA Y- AMONG- THE-MOUNTAINS.

and 'round the west side o' the river, ' '
or the lower inter\^ale drive, as Mr.
Stevens terms it, he is ahnost equally
enthusiastic ; but first, two of the
delightful landscape-views at Con-
way Corner deserv'e .special mention.
Mount Chocorua is majestic and
beautiful as seen from the lower end
of the village ; and at its entrance,
just north of the covered bridge over
the Saco, there is a lovely picture ;
at the junction of the Saco with the

in ordinary summer weather it flows
in sunny shallows by the tinj^ island,
soft and peaceful as a happy dream,
or the course of a good, benevolent
life. Then suddenly after a moun-
tain freshet, it becomes a raging,
roaring torrent ; its clear waters black
and turbid, threatening to submerge
the faithful island ; a lowering inky
cloud-bank scowling in like mood
above it ; the whole scene strangely
changed, even the ver}- trees shrouded

Echo Lake and White Horse Cliff, North Conway.

Swift at this point, there is a little
island thickly covered with trees and
undergrowth, and presenting a pic-
turesque, rocky aspect at the lower
end ; the aforetime still waters rush
with a pleasant sound over the stones
with which the river-bed is thickly
strewn, and up the long valley- vista
Mount Washington stands, glorious
against the northern sky.

And here is sometimes furnished
confirmation strong of the Dr. Jekyl
and Mr. Hvde nature of the vSaco ;

in darkness ; it has a wild and intense
beauty at these times that is most
poetic and fascinating.

Conway Corner itself is a pretty
little hamlet of much interest to those
who are fond of local history and old-
time landmarks. In the old days it
used to be called ' ' Chatawque Four
Corners," and the older people of the
region call it ' ' Chatawque ' ' now ; it
was here that the stage coaches used
to stop over night on their way from
Centre Harbor to Crawford's, passing

NOR TH CON WAY- A. MONG- THE- MO UNTA INS.

Mt. Washington, fronn the Intervale.

of the eastern half of the compass.
To the northward appear, clearly-
defined, the Carter Notch and the
summits of the Presidential range.
To the east familiar Kearsarge and its
subsidiary hills, five distinct ranges
of elevation, rise in ascending grade
clear cut in their shades of dark
green, paling with faint blue as they
fade in increasing distance

" This lower intervale was a favor-
ite resort of the Pequaket Indians in
the earlier part of the century% and
here the first settlements were made
b}' the whites soon after the old

up the west side of the vSaco by the
old Conway-Bartlett highway.

But besides being a relic of other
days, this road gives a most impres-
sive and beautiful mountain and
meadow prospect. Mountains be-
3'ond mountains rise in front, the
grand White hills in the northern
sky towering beyond and above
them all. Sheltered at the base of
the great ranges and winding down
the valley is the entrancing expanse
of the inter\-ale.

To quote again from Mr. Stevens's
accurate description : ' ' On the entire

length of this drive the . ,_,,

view of the mountains is
unsurpassed for variety,
extent, and grandetir.
On the left, divided from
the road b}' a narrow
slope of land, overhang
the steep, palisaded cliffs
of the White Horse and
Cathedral ledges, beyond
which rises Moat moun-
tain with its i^eculiar top,
which has the rare char-
acteristic of appearing

tne same irom all points Mt. Wasn'ngton and Meadows, from near Moat Mountain House.

A'OR TH CON \VA^ '-AMONG- THE- MO UNTAINS.

i^a^.

Jb. >

Diana's Baths, after a Freshet.

French war. For fertility of soil,
variety of tree and shrub, and for
beauty of river scenery it is vinri-
valled, even in this fascinating resort."

It is pleasanter far to come along
this road at sunset. As the sun
grows low the mountain shadows
float lower and lower, and spread far
and wide into the valley, darkening
the green fields and the silver river.

The vast purple mountains stand
sharp-drawn against the clear sky.
If the sunset be fine elsewhere, it is
wonderfulh^ tenderly beautiful here,
and often very splendid, the sun
going down in masses of gorgeous
clouds that flame above the ledges.

But to one on a flying trip through
the mountains, and having time only
to visit the most remarkable points of
the different sections, the ' ' crost the
river ' ' scenes skirting the foot of the
great western range are recommended
as the places />ar excellence to show
the variety of beaut}' and i^icturesque
features of North Conway. Visitors
staying all summer here are apt to
make the tour of these scenes a
familiar walk, as the}- are near
enough at hand that we may go often

and deliberately and minuteh' study
their characteristics at leisure, v:ntil
they become dear from close acquaint-
anceship ; and the passing tourist has
ample time ' ' between trains ' ' to visit
them all.

The road leads through rich inter-
vale fields studded with graceful elms.
There is a remarkably beautiful view
of the White Mountains and the
dusky purple Carter mountains, with
the graceful loop of the Carter notch,
up the vSaco valley. At the covered
bridge the great beauty of the silver
maples on the thick-wooded, over-
hanging right bank is noticeable ;
and so is the clearness of the water
running over shining stones below
the bridge. Then there is a small
island and presentl}' a black, deep
branch of the Saco is crossed ; here
is a wide piece of coarse, stony beach,
made wider each year b}' the heavy
freshets in the spring and autumn,
but beautified by a growth of slender
sumachs with their velvet}- red spikes.
Then are more fields with their grand
trees, and a prett}' brook is reached,
where leaning trees make shadj^ pools
in the l)right water ; taking the left

XOJ^ TH CON \ VA } '-AMONG- THE- MO UN TAINS.

hantl way leading along a marshy
part of the inter\-ale where there is a
luxuriant growth of exquisite Amer-
ican larches and pretty elders, the air
filled with the odor of sweet flag, at
the top of the little hill in the pine
woods, among several roads is one
that descends to the foot of White
Horse ledge, where close to it, the
ledge towering above and almost
overhanging it, is Echo lyake :

" A lofty precipice in front,
A silent tarn below."'

It is deep, dusky, solemn, and full
of poetic beauty and charm. A nar-
row shroud of pines separates it from
the cliff, which sends back a wonder-
fully clear repetition of wise or foolish
savings. Above it in eternal stone
White Horse pursues his endless,
motionless journey. It is only one
and a half miles from the village, yet
it seems ' ' miles away among the
mountains," the look of isolation is
so complete. The ascent of the
ledge by a good and well-defined
path may be made in about half an
hour and there is a fine viev\' from its
top. From Echo lake one may follow
a romantic lane, a kind of lovers' by-
way, through the pine woods redolent
of warm, spicy odor, or from the
highway leading northward, a road
with a wide gate marked ' ' Cathe-
dral ' ' is soon reached ; it leads west
through another fragrant forest aisle
to the base of Cathedral ledge where
it terminates in a little clearing, the
solid gray rock rising sheer five or
six hundred feet at one side of this
miniature Alpine field.

A well kept stairway makes easy
the steep ascent to the beautiful
Cathedral w^hose name seems not in-
appropriate for a place that might

well have been dedicated to nature
worshippers ; it is a natural cavity
twent3'-five feet deep fine-hewn out of
the front of the cliff; the inner wall
is over eighty feet high, and the roof
is a noble arch. Loft}' old trees form
the otiter wall. vSeated on one of the
boulders on the floor of the temple,
one may listen to the solemn sough
of the sea of waving tree tops belov/
and fancy it is the organ softh^ swell-
ing through the vaulted roof of an
old-world cathedral. The air is deli-
ciously fresh, spicy, and cool here,
even in the very hottest days. The
descent by a rocky path beyond the
southernmost point of the Cathedral
fissure, is as easy as the stairway,
more romantic, and has the advan-
taofe of an extensive view of the
valley and of vSunset hill, or Birch-
mont as it is now known, the estate
of Hon. Pa^'son Tucker.

Further north from the highway
another gate leads westward b}' easy
carriage-way through a pleasant field

vi.vjeiW'.-z-'*'

The Cathedral.

NORTH COmVA Y-AI\IONG-THE-MOUNTAINS.

■w i-wifir^it- .

.,j|^

River view at Chatawque Four Corners.

and wood to Diana's baths. Diana's
brook on which the Cascades are sit-
uated flows down from the side of
Moat mountain, and a pretty wood-
path leads np the rocky ravine to
where the water flows softly over
broad, inclined tables of granite and
falls in tin}' cascades over jutting
rock. There is one lovely fall about
ten feet high a little distance up
the stream. One may walk for rods
over the sloping rock, where there
are great numbers of the "baths," of
conventional shapes and smoothly
polished, perfectly car^-ed in the stone
by the movement of the water and the
whirling pebbles. One is of mam-
moth dimensions, ten feet deep and
long and wide in proportion.

At times of high water the cascade
becomes a grand cataract, but at mid-
summer the limpid stream running
over the rich colored ledges, the over-
hanging trees casting flickering shad-
ows through the glade, the quiet and
sylvan freshness make an enchanting
scene, and one rather expects a
glimpse of the Arcadian huntress,
armed wdth her arrows, and holding
in a struggling mountain deer.

Retracing one's wa}' and
still following north, more
and more charming grows
the forest road, the luxu-
riant foliage enclosing, ov-
erhanging, and shadowing
it, lending a delightfully
primeval character. Every
wa3'farer's interest is ex-
cited at sight of the pictu-
resque, tin}-, wood-colored
house with quaint, over-
grown little yard, the place
that was once the home of
Dady Blanche Murphy and
her gifted husband, both
of them dead and gone now, while
the memory of their romantic story
lingers in the lovel}^ nook at the foot
of the vast purple cliff, and is as
refreshing in this somewhat sordid
fin dc siecle time as the wildwood fra-
grance that fills the air, and, it might
be fancied, hallows the poor, pretty
deserted home to all lovers true.

Just before reaching this wayside
shrine, on looking up the narrow
forest vista, the dark, towering
height of Humphrey's ledge seems to
wall the way. One might fancy he
had reached the end of the world.
But no, the road dips down into a
sweet little hollow where a gay mur-
muring brook runs under a little cul-
vert, and a great motherly-looking
oak tree — the very sight of which
suggests the countr}- home and coun-
try childhood's delights — stretches
its broad arms to shelter the little
run , there is a sudden ascent and lo !
the cliff rises to the left, an obstacle
that could not have been gotten over
but has been gotten around — like
many another obstacle in the world.
On the right is the true lovers'
deserted home ; beyond it are field

NORTH CONWA Y-AMONG- THE-MOUNTAIXS.

and meadow, the sfleamina^ Saco,

great forests and mountains ; down a
precipitous, thick-wooded bank there
is a sparkle of waters through the
green boughs ; the country has a
more rural aspect; presently, just
beyond the place where an enormous
boulder stands in an eternal pool of
black water, the entrance to Pitman's
Arch is reached. At a little toll-
house live cents per capita is paid
for visiting the arch, or ten cents for
going up the carriage road to the
summit of Humphrej-'s ledge from
whence there is a magnificent pros-
pect.

The arch is not ver}- far up on the
east side of the ledge. It is reached
b}" a narrow path into the woods and
then up a natural rock stairway
guarded by a rustic rail. A most
luxuriant undergrowth adds much to
the beauty of the way. Virginia
creepers, wild buckwheat, and long
wild-currant vines drape the great
rocks, and the reddish purple blos-
soms of the flowering raspberry make
bright masses in the forest's shadowy
greenness. Meadow rue, Solomon's
seal, and wild columbine grow in pro-
fusion, and the trees are
beautiful. Beside and
above the buttresses of the
arch, tower lofty bass-
w^oods whose dark, stone-
colored trunks form .stateh'
columns, 3-ellow birches
with boles shining like
dull golden satin, gleam-
ing white birches and
feathery hemlocks.

The arch is a grand and
beautiful specimen of Nat-
ure's masonry ; almost per-
fect in shape, it seems as if

it were hewn with infinite Cnatawqu.? Four comers

pains out of the granite of the ledge.
The space within is wide and lofty,
and the entrance a vast though nar-
row rent in the side of the cliff. The
outer walls and buttresses are faced
with irregular blocks that look as if
the}' were cut out of the rock, which
is soft and easih' broken. Dark
lichens, dainty rock-ferns, and velvety
green moss grow up the buttresses
and walls of the grotto. The stone is
very dark and rich in color, and looks
as though it might contain iron.

Whoever has visited the Rhine will
be fancifulh' reminded of the Roland
arch, for Pitman's arch is like it in
its contour, size, and massivencss,
though it is but a specimen of
Nature's building and possesses no

romantic legend to enhance its inter-
est as does that fine Rhenish relic.
One may sit at the matchless entrance
of this American arch, adorned as it is
with Nature's exqviisitecar\-ings, and
traceries of foliage and ferns, and gaze
down upon a scene as entrancing as
that viewed from the Roland arch ; in
truth the ' ' Seven Mountains ' ' are
not so grand as Kearsarge, nor is the
Rhine with the little island of Non-

River view during a freshet.

NOR TH CONU \-l \ ^- AMONG- THE- MO UNTAINS.

nenwerth more beautiful than the
Saco with its intervales.

The eye is attracted by the woods
that fill the steep incline from the
arch to the narrow highway hedged
with trees and wild-growing shrubs,

Pitman's Arch.

then are the intervale fields where
the Saco flows in lovely cur\'es and
shines like silver amidst the green
stretches, and bej'ond the view is ter-
minated by the soft-tinted mountains
against the glowing skj^ ; it is peace-
ful and restful be3^ond expression.
The pleasant chattering of squirrels
and the delicious notes of the wood-
thrush break the stillness, but there
is no other sound save the low mono-
tone of insects and the sweep of soft
winds through the trees. It is delight-
ful to visit the Arch very early in the
morning, and watch the first shafts of
sunlight strike through the woods
and into the dusk-haunted grotto,
lighting up the dark rock walls.

To Thompson's Falls there should

be a separate excursion. Situated
part way up the eastern side of Moat,
and about four miles distant from
the village, this waterfall possesses a
peculiar interest that might be said to
be historic since it was discovered in
the summer of 1S51 or 1852 by Ben-
jamin Champney, the landscape
painter, who has probably done more
than all his fellow artists to make
North Conwa}^ known to the outside
world ; as a matter of fact the half
dozen pictures that he sold to the
Prang Chromo Company about 1S70
— thus securing an immense circula-
tion to the views — contributed largelv
towards popularizing the fame of the
scenery of the whole east side of the
White Mountains.

Much earlier than this, in the sum-
mer of 1S50, Kensett had painted his
famous picture, "The White Moun-
tains and Valley of the Saco, from
Sunset Hill, North Conway," and
sold it to the American Art Union,
and it was engraved for distribution
to subscribers, thus becoming widely
known and interesting artists and
lovers of mountain scenery in the
region ; but Mr. Champney has
passed nearly all the summers of
his life since his young manhood
here, and his beautiful studio, alwaj's
open to visitors, has its walls lined
from floor to ceiling with lovely pic-
tures whose counterparts have been
sold far and wide. He has painted
every phase of the landscape from
early May until late November,
knowing and being able to interpret
each elusive mood as a mother under-
stands every expression of her little
child's face.

' ' I cannot paint the mountains as
Mr. Champney paints them because
I do not love them as he does, and to

NOR 77/ CONW 'A ) '-AJ/OA'G- THE- MO UNTAINS.

paint a landscape well, the artist must
love it," said Mr. J. J. Enneking to
the writer recently.

"But surely, j'ou are fond of the
North Conwa}' scenerj- ? " I asked.

" Yes, and I mean this : the better
one knows that region, the more he
will love it. I do not know it as well
as Mr. Champney does, and therefore
do not love it as well."

This summer almost half a centurj^
ago, seven landscape painters were
staying at the Kearsarge House, kept
by the late Mr. Samuel W. Thomp-
son, its builder and first proprietor ;
they were Benjamin Champney, David
Johnson, John Williamson, J. W.
Casilear, B. B. S. Stone, Mr. Durand,
and Alfred Ordway. One day Mr.
Thompson told them that while in a
logging-camp back of White Horse
led2:e, he had heard the roar of some
waterfall, but had never seen it ; so,
their curiosity excited, they immedi-
ately set out on a tovir of exploration,
but ' ' after fording the vSaco and pass-
ing the Ledges," says Mr. Champney,
* ' we soon got into a perplexing laby-
rinth of half overgrown wood roads
and began almost to despair, for not
even a mountain rill was visible and
we were about to turn our horse
homeward, when one of the more
^persevering of the part}' and m5'self
resolved to make a last attempt to
find the unknown cataract. We pen-
etrated the deep forest and in half an
hour had fathomed the secret."

The}' carried back an enthusiastic
report and on the morrow those seven
musketeers of the brush attacked the
scene which they had christened
"Thompson's Falls," in honor of
their host. ]Mr. Champney says they
spent a week in their studies there.

And it is regarded just as difficult

an undertaking in these latter days
to find the way ; so difhcult that there
has come to be something: alluring:
about the very name of Thompson's
Falls. People set out again and
again to return disappointed. The
writer knows of one enthusiastic and
determined Appalachian who made
seven unsuccessful jaunts ; the eighth
was successful and he came back
delighted and proceeded forthwith to
make a map of his route for the use
of his friends, and one heard less
about people getting lost trying to
find that will-o'-the-wisp waterfall
during the rest of that summer.

Yet to the initiated in wood-craft
it is easy enough. Arrived in the
pine woods at the road leading to

Thompson's Falls,

Echo Lake, one should take the
wood path just to the left of the little
white school-house standing there.
Here is the entrance to a great forest
of everg:reen trees mixed with de-
ciduous ones in pleasant diversity.

NOR TH CONWA Y- AMONG- THE-MO UNTAINS.

Avoiding all ways that diverge from
this, the right one, whether on the
right hand or on the left, the wise
and prudent initiate fares serene
through the forest and after a little
while conies out to a pleasant clear-
ing very near to Moat mountain and
White Horse ledge and shut off b}'
a stubborn-looking pair of bars that
nevertheless yield to the persuasion
of determined and persistent tugging.
A clear brook flows over white sand
and stones only a little way from the
bars, and the clearing proves to be
one of those most pathetic of places,
a deserted homestead. There are the
remains of an old cellar, mostly filled
up and grassed over, and a number
of old apple trees lend that peculiar
look of peace and comfort that nothing
else but an old orchard can.

Now away to the right of the clear-
ing, at the edge of the forest that
encircled it, is a large, dead, white
birch, a skeleton or mummy of a tree
that looks as if it had been dead a
hundred years. Following the forest's
edge around to the left, or below^ the
skeleton tree, there is a remarkably
pretty hemlock rounded and evenly

A view in Enchanted Woods.

shaped as though clipped and trained
by the most finical of gardeners. A
little below this a path enters the
wood, bears away to the right, and
soon crosses a shallow, stonj- stream,
and then emerges into a tin}- clear-
imj. Soon it becomes a mere thread
winding through thick growths of
brakes of the variety that children
call ' ' parasol brakes ; ' ' and now it
ascends, and the wood is very close
and soon becomes a growth of white
birches, tall and slender, reaching off
as far as the eye can see. Giant
lo2:s are stretched across at intervals.
Presentl}' there is a sound of rushing
waters, and at the right is a steep
bank down which one may peek
through the trees at the stream below
the falls. In a few moments the
place is reached where one may clam-
ber down over boulders and get a
^•iew of the falling waters from below.
They are lovely, delicate, and lace-
like, resembling a bridal veil, float-
ino; softlv over the rich warm- colored
granite. A curious birch tree spans
the stream, rooted on one side, the
trunk lying prone across, with the
top curving about and resting on the
opposite side, yet with foli-
age luxuriant and looking
perfectl}^ hardy.

The home of the water-
fall is a long, narrow chasm,
furrowed down the side of
the mountain, and from the
top of the fall the scene is
remarkably lo\ely. Along,
shining, narrow stream
flows down from the vast
forest; behind, rises Moat;
in front, seen through a
delicate, leafy screen across
the vista, lies North Con-
way, pastoral, peaceful, but

NORTH CONWA Y-AMONG-THE-MOUNTAINS.

seemingly far a w a \ .
Above on the Rattle-

snake
clearinars

range

are
the

sunny
great

woods. Tall, ancient,
grey-bearded hemlocks
grow beside the silver
current whose pools and
shallows dotting the
sheH'ing rocks over
which it flows, resemble
the quaint cuts in the ^*^"-
old readers, ilkistrating
the story of the innocent
lamb and the grumbling,
deceitful wolf that dissembled
wickedness under the pretext
being rather particular as to

/■^

i^lR

Coming from the Mill, Main Street, North Conway.

matter of drinking after others.

his

the

sweetly wild and secluded is the
whole scene that it might be miles
away in the wilderness.

The summer of 1853, there were
twenty landscape painters at the
Kearsarge House. The pioneer hotel
men were Mr. Thompson, John
Mc^Iillan, Nathaniel R. Mason,
Daniel Eastman, Stephen Mudgett,
and Edwin Merrill. The old hotels
were the Kearsarge House, kept by
Mr. Thompson, as before stated ; the
McMillan House, bearing the name
of its owner ; the North Conway
House, kept by Mr. Mason, and the
Washington House kept by Mr.
Eastman. Mr. Mudgett first kept
summer boarders in the large farm-
house now belonging to the Bigelow
estate, afterwards buying the Inter-
vale Hou.se; and Mr. Merrill kept a
boarding hou.se at Kearsarge village,
famous throughout the region as
"The Merrill House." It is now
one of the Russell cottages. Mr.
Mason afterwards built the Sunset
Pavilion for his sons. Of this older

generation of ho.sts, Mr. McMillan
only is left. The descendants of the
others still keep open house for the
tourist-public in the Saco valley.

And there are now about fift}' hotels
and boarding houses in the neighbor-
hood, including North Conway, Inter-
vale, Eower Bartlett, and Kearsarge
village, besides a growing summer-
resort cottage-colou}' at Inter\^ale.
This is of the typical kind, made up
of wealthy and well-to-do families
from different cities. There are sev-
eral prominent persons among them,
one of whom is Mr. James Schouler,
the historian and eminent jurist ;
General Francis A. Walker, of the
Massachusetts Institute of Tech-
nology, .some sea.sons occupies one of
the Intervale cottages ; and Howells,
the novelist, has passed several sum-
mers here, a guest at the Intervale
House.

There nutst have been a strange
contrast between those primitive daj'S
and these present ones. Mr. Champ-
ney tells how in the month of Augu.st,
(the height of the sea.son ! ) 1850, he
planted his easel in the middle of the
main street and painted a picture of
Mount Washington 1 There were no

NOR TH CONWA \ '-AMONG- THE-MO UN TAINS.

View from "Birchmont," the Estate of Hon. Payson Tucker.

full dress hops, no fashionable after-
noon driving, nor tennis tournaments,
nor Sunday trains, nor society re-
porters then.

No ; nor coaching parades. And
in the matter of White Mountain
coaching parades, though those gor-
geous pageants were inaugurated on
the west side, the east side celebra-
tions are famous far and wide for their
finish and elegance in details, and the
admirable manner in which they are
conducted as well as for the eclat that
attends them. Prizes in the shape of
handsome banners and other trophies
are awarded for the finest displays.
On the west side, the competing for
prizes was abolished a few seasons
ago, and on the occasion of the first
parade after that, the writer remarked
through the columns of the Boston
Herald, that a coaching parade with-
out prizes was like a dinner without
salt, whereupon the witty editor of
the Wliitc Moil )i tain Echo remarked
that there was no accounting for
tastes, and some people preferred
fresh meat to salt, which was the
case with the reformed Bethlehem
appetite, while promoters of the west

side parades had no desire to have
their judges well peppered for their
awards.

But the annual .special pageants of
the east and west sides since then
have confirmed the notion that a
coaching parade without prizes might
indeed be likened to a dinner with-
out salt. The award of prizes lends
a bouquet, a flavor, a zest to the car-
nival that nothing else could, and
judges, not willing to sustain a little
harmless peppering for the sake of
the success of the occasion, are
wanting public-mindedness, and lack
the spirit of camaraderie, indeed.

A descriptive sketch of North
Conway, with no allusion to the
famous prospect from the summit of
historic Kearsarge, would be like the
play of "Hamlet" with the part of
Hamlet left out, to make use of a
hacknej-ed and much abused simile.

To Kearsarge village cii route to the
mountain-top, the pleasant, winding-
road follows a continual upward slope.
Of this road. Col. H. H. Dow, of the
Ridge hotel, in his hotel circular
for this season, felicitously remarks
that "from nearly every point along

NOR TH COM! '. / ) -AMONG- THE-MO UNTAINS.

the way, from the railroad station to
Kearsarge vilkige, a ver\- fine view
of all the mountains can be obtained."

Kearsarge village is a sweet sum-
mer haunt where the wildness and
simplicity of nature are condjined
with modern taste and luxury in a
very attracti\'e way. Almost all the
houses are built upon one side of the
road, facing the east ; and on the
other side, below a high, wooded
bank, a beautiful brook flows over
the wide, sloping, bleached ledges
that form its bed. There are tiny
glades in the little wood along the
streams that lure to holiday dream-
ing and pleasant revery ; and ever}--
where east, west, north, and south,
the vast, sheltering mountains rise.

Fertile farms reach up to the foot
and on the side of ]Mount Kearsarge,
and the very last farm-houses are
given over to the summer boarding
interests of these latter days, their
owners bestowing upon farming only
a secondary consideration, if indeed
so much as that.

It is a good three miles stiff climb.
From Prospect Ledge, about a mile
up, there is a delightful view, and
near the summit the double line of

mountains against the western sky is
very loveh' — the nearer ones deep
purple and the farther range, .seem-
ingly clo.se behind and only slightly
higher, of pale ametln-st melting into
the hazy air.

From its fortunate position with
respect to other mountains, there be-
ing no peaks in its neighborhood to
the eastward of sufficient height to
cut off the prcspect, it commands a
view of the mountain ranges, b}'
many pronounced finer than that
from any other mountain in New
Hampshire.

Mountains beyond mountains rise
like infinite, petrified billows rolled
off into the circling horizon. The
whole of the Presidential range is
perfectly di.stinct, INIount Wa.shing-
ton, occupying its proper relative posi-
tion, being the most prominent in the
line. The Saco can be traced almost
from where it rises, down through
the green valleys till it winds awa}-
into ]\Iaine. Great numbers of lakes
brighten the scene. The broad,
nearly level stretch of country
towards Portland serves as a comple-
ment to the grandeur of the limitless
ranges, toning up the landscape, as it

A Picturesque "Feature" of the Parade.

THE BOBOLINK

were, to almost ineffable effect. The
whole great picture is surpassingly
beautiful.

The favorite though unaccom-
plished project of the older hotel men
of the region was to build a carriage-
road up Mount Kearsarge, but this
present and progressive generation
would of course have none of it, and
there is in existence a charter for an
organized company to build a rail-
road — according to the latest idea it is
to be an electric road — to the summit.
And it ma}' sometime be, who knows ?
Stranger things have happened.

It may be said, in passing, that all
the mountain peaks of the neighbor-
hood are eas}' of ascent, as mountain
climbing goes ; and it is something
worth while for the stout mountain-
climber to carry his mental portfolio
away, at the close of the summer
vacation, filled with the distinctive
and widely varying views that he has
made his own for all time.

Mount Chocorua, of which there is
such an enchanting view from Sun-
set Hill, or Birchmont, is the Matter-
horn of the east side, and for a
woman to have made the ascent, even
in these da3'S of general athletic
training, is esteemed something to
tell of indeed.

The town has an exceedingly inter-
esting and picturesque local history,
dating from the year 1765, in the
reign of His Gracious Majest}' King
George the Third, and Benning
Wentworth, governor of the Province
of New Hampshire, but it does not
come within the scope of the present
sketch.

It is certain that North Conwa}'
o^ves much of its present progressive
condition to the Hon. Pa3'Son Tucker,
who has manifested the utmost liber-
ality, and pul)lic spirit, and the great-
est interest in the prosperity of the
place ever since he became a summer
resident here.

THE BOBOI.INK.

11 y C liar It's Henry CJiesIcy.

Beneath the azure of the skies,
Where cloudlands drift away,

As o'er the field he madly flies
He pours a merr}- lay.

In a bubbling ripple of ecstas3^
This golden summer morn.

He trills a tune of mad-cap glee
Above the waving corn.

Oh, joyous fate, to wing along
O'er the fields of clover red,

Nor stoop to earth save with a song,
And onl}^ by fanc}' led.

-1\

.i3'ij<

Robbers' Row,' Hilton Head.

WAR PICTURES.

[CONTlNUEll.]

[Illustrated from photographs by Henry P. Moore, Concord, N. H.]
By Joint C. Linehaii.

,^jL^ j|HE brigade was en-
camped on a cot-
ton-field of consid-
erable extent just
across a creek at
a point opposite
the Pope mansion
and outside the fortifications built
b}- the Confederates. Here for five
months the troops were drilled con-
stantly — battalion drill, dress parade,
inspection, and review, varied onh'
by the daily routine of guard mount-
ing, company drill, and the occasional
spree or tussle which made some of
the boys acquainted with the inte-
rior of the guard-house.

This was the condition of affairs
when Mr. Moore arrived, and his pic-
tures are faithful delineations of the

scenes to which all had become fairly
accustomed. The Third New Hamp-
shire and the Fort3--eiglith Xew York
with the officers and crews of the men-
of-war in Port Ro5'al bay proved to
be his best patrons. Early in April,
1S62, the Third was ordered to Edisto
island, and later, when Fort Pula.ski
on the Savannah river was captured,
the Forty-eighth garrisoned it, which
gave Mr. Moore an opportunity he
was not slow to avail himself of as
the illustrations of the fort and regi-
ment indicate.

The reproduction of these views
cannot but be of general interest, for
at this point the United States gov-
ernment secured, within six months
of the fall of Sumter, a foothold on
the soil of that state to which the

.viP[aig^

A.-.

General Hospital, Hjlton Head.

WAJ? PICTURES.

"From Blufton-on-de-Main, Sah.''

responsibility of the rebellion can be
justly charged, and it seems like retrib-
utive justice to find the home of John
C. Calhoun in possession of the Union
army, for it was located upon one of
the islands occupied by Sherman's
troops. But if it is of interest to the
general reader, how much more so
must it prove to be to the survivors
of the regiments who took part in its
capture or occupation? They can
again recall the stirring scenes of
the bombardment on that cloudless
November day, the broad bosom of

Pope Ma'-.sion, Hiiton Head.

Port Royal bay as well as the sk}-
being for a time obscured by the
artificial clouds produced by the in-
cessant firing of great guns, or mor-
tars, followed by the music of the
various bands and the cheering from
thousands of throats as the cessation
of the firing annovmced the capture
of the forts, and the occupation for
the first time since April by Union
soldiers of the sacred soil of South
Carolina, any effort to dislodge them
therefrom proving a failure. Then
the volunteers saw the long dock
grow before their eyes,
the result of the labor of
Colonel Serrell and his en-
gineers, and the gradual
addition of stores, dwell-
ings, stables, storehouses,
etc., until quite a little
town, unique in its way,
was created ; not lacking
even in names appropriate
for its streets, Robbers'
Row being the principal
J avenue. Whether this
was derived from the
location of the sutler's
quarters there, or not, the

ffWA' PICTURES.

writer cannot remember, but if it
was, most appropriate was its name.
The new town was not lacking in
population, either, for there was not
a da}^ without fresh arrivals, invari-
bly " from Blufton on de main, sah ;"'
contrabands of all ages and of both
sexes, and, it might be added, of all
shades from indigo to mahogan}-, and
from mahogany to clear white, thus

used as a signal station, and as head-
quarters at first, and here the boys
were paid off, going from camp in
squads, and many of them returning
as they pleased, the result of an ac-
quaintance with the brandied peaches
of the sutler. These pay days were
busy days for the officers of the day,
and of the guard, and for a week
after there was no lack of men
furnishing proof that in one respect, for police duty, when the shovel, the
the average Southerner was not prej- axe, and the water-pail superseded

Company G — Captain Wiggin, Lieutenants Emmons and Hendersor

udiced towards his colored kindred.
A prominent feature in the new town
was the general hospital projected hx
the wisdom of General Sherman and
finished by General Hunter. When
erected no one dreamed that it would
ever be filled. The campaign on
James Island in June, 1862, however,
filled it to overflowing, thus verifying
the forethought of the first com-
mander of the department.

A well remembered land-mark was
the Pope mansion, the home of one
of the departed magr.a'es. This was

the gun and the bayonet. The artist
has done justice to all the scenes
mentioned, as well as to the different
companies, bands, groups, etc., avail-
ing himself of his sen'ices.

In the picture representing the
headquarters of Company" G with the
beautiful palmetto tree on the left.
Captain Pierce L. Wiggin is seen
leaning against the tree, and seated
on the camp-stools are Lieutenants
Emmons and Henderson, the original
officers of the company. Captain
Wiggin resigned in June, 1862, went

IVAJ^ PICTURES.

Company C Officers.

Tionie, and was commissioned captain
in the First N. H. Cavalry, in which
he served till the end of the war.
He then located in Beaufort, S. C,
where he married, was elected judge,
and died there a few 3'ears ago.
Lieutenants Emmons and Henderson
were later commissioned captains ;
the former is still living in Boston
and is employed on the Old Colony
•division of the New York, New
Haven & Hartford railroad. The
latter died in Keene a few years ago
while holding the position of post-
master. The shell and rifled cannon
ball in the foreground are grim
reminders that theirs is not a holiday
trip to the South, such as are taken
nowadaj'S.

Company C, the Irish company of
the Third, next demands our atten-
tion. To the left with folded arms
stands the figure of Captain Michael
T. Donohoe, its first commander. At
his right is Sergeant John Kirwan,
and at his left, seated, are lyieuten-
ants Robert Allen and Walter Cody,
and behind Cody stands Orderly Joe
Donohoe. A more genial man than
Captain Donohoe was rarel}' met.

He was well educated, a fine musi-
cian, and as an all-around man it
would be hard to find his equal.

He was commissioned colonel of the
Tenth regiment in the summer of
1862, but before leaving the Third he
led his company- with the regiment in
its first engagement at Secessionville,
James Island, June 16, 1862. Coni-
pau}- C sufifered severely here. Both
lieutenants and the orderly were
wounded, one of them severely, and
sixteen of the men were killed and
wounded. Colonel Donohoe ser\-ed
until the end of the war, earning
a brevet brigadier-general's commis-
sion, and led one of the first brig-
ades, if not the very first, in to Rich-
mond after its fall.

Lieutenant Robert xVllen was pro-
moted to captain after Donohoe 's
withdrawal, and served faithfully for
three years. He was born in Ireland,
and was in religion a Protestant.
Nearly all of the men under his com-
mand were Catholics, but no distinc-
tion could ever be noticed in their
demeanor towards their officers, for
"Bob" Allen was beloved by all.
On retiring from the ser\-ice, he

IVA/s! PICTURES.

located in Rockford, Illinois, where
he still resides, respected by all who
know him. A crippled hand is evi-
dence of his service for his adopted
countrw A more modest man never
lived, and he was as fearless as he
was modest.

Lieutenant Walter Cody was
severely wounded at James Island and
crippled for life, necessitating his
retiring from active service. Before
he left the Third, he had been pro-
moted to first lieutenant, and was
then transferred to the \'eteran Re-
ser\-e corps, where he ser\-ed until
near the close of the war. Like his
superior officers named, he was a good
representative of his race and breed,
sturdy, upright, the soul of honor,
and a brave soldier. He has made
his home in Manchester since the war.

Orderly Sergeant Joe Donohoe
accompanied his brother into the
Tenth, was commissioned first lieu-
tenant, and appointed adjutant. He
was later promoted to a captaincy,
and .served on the staff of General
Fessenden. He ser\'ed until Feb-
ruar}', 1865. He died of disease and
wounds after the war.

Standing between Allen and Cody
in the picture is the figure of little
Eddie Quinn, the captain's waiter,
who deserves mention here. When
the regiment went into action at
James Island, Eddie, without the
captain's knowledge, secured a mus-
ket and took his place in the ranks
of Company C and was nearly the
first man to fall. Though but a
mere bo}', as the picture shows, he
died the death of a soldier, shot
through the head. Sergeant Kir-
wan arose step by step until he had
earned a captain's commission, and
by his gallantry maintained for the
compau}- the proud reputation se-
cured for it by its first commanders.
He married a daughter of the late
Luke Benson of Concord, and since
the war has lived in the west, resid-
ing at present in Chicago.

The figure of the dog in the fore-
ground recalls the faithful comrade
who is, of the entire animal creation,
the truest friend of man. The pic-
ture of the shell at the feet of Allen
is a reminder of one of Dupont's com-
pliments to the Confederates, for his
fleet literallv rained shells on the

D'um Co-ps at Mess.

WAJ^ PICTURES.

Hopkins, Langley, and others.

island during the bombardment, and
it was rare to find a tent without one
or more of them as ornaments.
Rather dangerous, however, as it
proved in one instance, when one
used as a candlestick exploded, kill-
ing two and wounding several other
soldiers, a fragment flying in the
direction of a group of which the
writer was one, making them think
for the time being that euchre was a
wicked game, after all.

The next group fronts a mess tent,
and from appearances the boys are on
good terms with the cook who stands,
ladle in hand, surrounded by his pots
and kettles. The faces are familiar,
but a lapse of thirty-two years has
completely obliterated the names from
memory. The portable stoves on the
left were a valuable appendage to the
cook house, but once worn out were

never replaced. For this part of its
camp equipage, the Third New
Hampshire was envied, as few regi-
ments were supplied with them. A
glance at the figures of the soldiers
will give an idea of the youth of the
volunteers, most of whom were boys.
The next view discloses Orderly
Sergeant Hopkins on the right and
Lieutenant Tangley on the left but
one ; who the others are the deponent
knoweth not. Each view is well sup-
plied with the palmetto or pine, both
of which were not lacking on an}' of
the islands thereabout. The tent in
the rear was Mr. Moore's head-quar-
ters. The boys tried to make him
believe when he occupied it that it
had been used as a hospital tent for
small-pox patients. The artist was
not frightened but he never grew
anymore.

[to be continued.]

Conducted by Fred Gowiiig, State Superintendent of Public Instruction.

THE CURRICULUM OF A SMALIv HIGH SCHOOL/

By Edivard J. Goodwin. '

In constructing a programme of
studies for a small high vSchool a very
important consideration is the well-
being of the teacher. It is true, of
course, that the school is not main-
tained for the sake of the teacher ;
but it is likewise true that those com-
munities that disregard the personal
welfare of their teachers do not have,
and can not have, the best schools.
In view of this, it is not unreason-
able, as a preliminary to the discus-
sion of the main proposition of this
paper, to ascertain and clearly state
the conditions under which a teacher
in a small high school may carr}- on
h.is work in a normal and successful
manner.

My first thesis is that the teacher
must not be overworked. He must
be a sturdy and persistent worker,
but he must not be overworked. The
schoolmaster who allows his nerv^ous
system to be upset and his spirits

broken by carrying too heavy and un-
reasonable burdens, commits a wrong
not only against himself, but also
against his school. No remunera-
tion is great enough to compensate a
man for loss of health ; and no teacher
whose blood lacks oxygen or whose
nerve centres lack what Dr. Hall
calls ' ' euphoria ' ' is qualified to in-
.struct or train a healthy and vigorous
youth. The teacher should have time
for abundant physical exercise in the
open air, and for such recreation as
affords him needful rest and pleasure.
This is not only his right but his
dut}'. Children are as soft clay in
the hands of a teacher who possesses
an abundance of vitalit}' and good
nature. But how manj^ teachers in
the village high schools of New Eng-
land can even approximate such a
condition ? As a class they are seri-
ously overwrought. They spend their
days in the most harassing kind of

1 Paper read before High School Instilute, Concord, N. H., by Edward J. Goodwni, principal high school,
Newton, Mass., and published in Sclwol Review May, 1S95.

ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMEKJ .

labor in the school room and their
nights in tutoring some ambitious
pupil, or in preparing for the six,
seven, eight, or more recitations that
must be conducted the next day.
The debilitating effects of such a life
are easily discernible. No one should
wonder that such teachers are ner-
vous, irritable, and despondent. If
young men of ambition and ability
are to be induced to enter the small
high schools and remain in them,
thisStress and strain of overwork that
depresses the spirits and impairs the
health of conscientious and faithful
teachers should be removed.

My second thesis is that the teacher
in the small high school should have
his work adjusted in such a way that
he may thereby and meanwhile be
making suitable preparations for a
position of larger responsibility and
more substantial remuneration.
Bvery good teacher is an ambitious
one. The small high schools secure
a high order of talent, and often
the most efficient and skillful ser-
vice, simply because the wide-awake
teacher looks to the future, and be-
lieves that transfer and promotion are
sure to come to him whose work from
day to day evinces both wisdom and
fidelit}'. In this view the small high
schools are the training ground where
men and women are prepared for
more responsible duties and wider
fields of activity in the larger centres
of population. Fortunately for the
small high schools that this is so,
and the communities in which these
schools are placed will consult their
own interests when they see to it that
the men and women, who serve them
so efficiently at small salaries, shall
have some reasonable opportunity to
prepare themselves for the larger

work that waits those who sur\'i\'e
this period of their probation.

What then are the conditions under
which a man teaching in a small high
school may prepare himself for a
larger sphere of school work, and at
the same time do the full measure of
his duty to the school in which he
obtains his preparation ? The answer
to this question is a two-fold one :
The teacher should have time to
acquire some breadth and accuracy
of scholarship in the subjects which
he attempts to teach, and should
have opportunit}^ to study both theo-
retically and practically the problems
of education and the most approved
methods of instruction. These two
statements ma}^ be sunnned up in
one : The successful teacher must be
both learned a!id wise.

The teacher who is thorough^ sat-
urated with his subject is the one
to whom pupils listen with attention
and respect. He it is who wastes no
time on non-essentials, but puts the
emphasis of his own instructions and
his pupils' efforts where it is most
needed. Mr. Collar, of the Roxbury
Latin school, on his return to this
country after a somewhat careful
stud}' of the German gymnasium,
said in substance : " The chief defect
in our secondary schools is the poor
scholarship of our teachers." "We
American teachers," he said, "do
not know enough about the subjects
which we profess to teach." He
might have added : Nothing is so
destructive to good scholarship among
American teachers as the necessity
of teaching half a dozen or more sub-
jects on the same day or in the same
year. A curriculum of wide range
in a small high school inevitably pre-
cludes scholarly teachers. Therefore

ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMENl .

since the good qua.Ay of the school
is so dependent upon the scholarship
of the teacher, the most .serviceable
course of studies for such schools is
the one which is carefully, but rig-
orously, limited in the number and
range of the subjects to be taught.

Furthermore, that a teacher who is
hard pressed with the cares of the
.school and has a large number of
subjects to teach, can give anything
more than a cursory attention to the
philosophy of his work is out of the
question. The teacher should not
only have time for observation and
reflection concerning the phenomena
that appear from day to day in the
class room ; but he should have
leisure also for careful reading and
close study, if he is to understand
in any good degree the real signifi-
cance of the work that he is attempt-
ing to do. Men, of course, differ
about this, and there are some who
go so far as to sa}- that there is no
such thing as a philosophy or science
of education. But all will agree, I
believe, in the notion that those who
direct the education of children and
youth need to know something about
the characteri.stics of human nature :
something about the different effects
that a .study of the .several classes of
subjects, such as language, literature,
history, science, and mathematics,
has upon the human mind ; and
.something about the form and nature
of the civilization under which they
live, and for which their pupils are
to be trained and instructed. This
is what I mean when I say that the
truly successful teacher must be a

"wise" man. Such wisdom is not
inherited and cannot be imparted ; it
comes only from the attentive study
and profound reflection of men of ex-
perience. Of cour.se ultimate knowl-
edge along these lines of investigation
is not to l^e expected ; but we must
all admit that real progress in educa-
tional .science depends upon the suc-
cessful prosecution of these three
departments of .study. When we
know what human nature is, we shall
agree as to the proper function of the
.school. When we understand the
effects of the .several subjects of .study
upon the child's mind, we shall know
the best means of education. When
we fully realize the essential qualities
of modern civilization, we .shall be
better able to judge of a pupil's
power to conform to it and thrive
under it. It may be urged that this
.study of the philosophj* of education
is more or less speculative, and I
admit it. And still it is better to
make slow progress by an uncertain
light than to grope in utter darkness.
But however fundamental or impor-
tant these problems may be, the
teacher of the small high school
cannot be expected to give them
serious attention .so long as his time
and strength are wholly absorbed in
the work of the class room and in
preparation for it. Thus far an at-
tempt has been made to present, from
the .stand-point of the teacher, some
rea.sons why great care .should be
taken to restrict the number of sub-
jects to be taught in a high school
that has onl}- two or three teach-
ers'.

[to be continued.]

rrr:r-:""ri

DR. EDWARD SPALDING.

Edward Spalding, M. D., LL. D.. of Nashua, died June 22, while on a fishing trip near
the Magalloway river. Dr. Spalding was born at Amherst, September 15, 1813, graduated
at Dartmouth in 1833, and from the Harvard Medical school in 1837. He began the prac-
tice of medicine with Dr. Elbridge in Nashua, and has ever since remained a resident of
that city. Aside from the permanent success achieved in his profession Dr. Spalding was
a prominent and valuable citizen. He had been president of the Nashua Savings and the
Indian Head National banks, and a director of both for many years. He had also served
as president of the Pennichuck water works, the Nashua & Jackson Manufacturing com-
pany, and the county board of education, the New Hampshire Historical society, and the
New Hampshire Bible society. He had been a trustee of Dartmouth college since 1866,
and of the Nashua public library. In politics. Dr. Spalding was a steadfast Republican.
He was mayor in 1864, delegate to the I5altimore convention in the same year, councillor
under Governor Prescott, and a member of the constitutional convention in 1876. He gave
liberally to the various societies of the Congregational denomination and to the erection of
the new First church at Nashua. Two daughters survive him.

REV. A. A. MINER., D. D.

Rev. Alonzo A. Miner, D. D., the leading Universalist clergyman of New England, who
died at Boston, June 14, was born at Lempster, August 17, 1814. He gained an education
at the public schools and academies, and in 1839 was ordained to the Universalist ministry.
His first charge was at Methuen, then at Lowell, and in 1848 he became the colleague of
Hosea Ballou in the pastorate of the Second Universalist church of Boston. He later
succeeded to the pastorate, which he held over forty years, being pastor emeritus at the
time of his death. From 1862 to 1875 he was president of Tufts college to which he gave
$40,000 for a theological hall. He was also a member of its board of trustees, of the
board of overseers of Harvard college, of the board of trustees of Dean academy, and of
the board of visitors of the State Normal Art school. He was prominently allied with
many reform movements, notably those of temperance, woman's suffrage, and free public
schools. He was a member of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, and
of the executive committee of the American Peace society, and was many times the candi-
date of the Prohibition party for governor.

ORMOND E. COLONY.

Ormond E. Colony died at Keene June 14 at the age of 54 years. He was formerly one
of the editors and proprietors of the CliesJiire Republican, was postmaster under President
Cleveland's first administration, and has since been manager of the L. J. Colony Chair Co.

DEACON CHARLES KIMBALL.

Deacon Charles Kimball was born at Dunbarton January 23, 1826, and died at Concord
June I. In business he was a builder and a contractor and a man of the strictest integrity.
The South church found in him for many years a tower of strength.

ALBERT F. LANE.

Albert F. Lane, a native of Exeter, died at Virginia Beach, Va., June 24, aged 35 years.
He was one oi the finest scholars in the Harvard class of 1882 and later studied law and
engaged in l)usiness life in West Virginia and Ohio.

tfl

-o

i-J-t

t-T

:?;

The Granite Monthly.

Vol. XIX.

AUGUST, 1S95.

No. 2.

THE DIVIDING DINE: A SKETCH OF NEW DONDON.

By Myra B. Lord.

ROWNING the
summit of a lofty
hill whose sharply
sloping sides im-
partially distribute
its rainfall among
the tributaries of
the Merrimack and Connecticut, the
town of New Dondon may well be
characterized as the dividing line
between tlie two great rivers.

On the Adam Davis farm, in the
north part of the town, are two
brooks, one of which, flowing west,
runs into Little Sunapee lake, through
to Big Sunapee, and thence, by way
of Sugar river, to the Connecticut ;
the other, flowing east, reaches the

Merrimack through Lake Pleasant
and the Blackwater and Contoocook
rivers.

At "Willow Farm," the home-
stead of John K. Law, a citizen who
has served the town in various ca-
pacities and is a member of the pres-
ent board of selectmen, the line is
even more sharply defined, for the
ancient roof-tree divides the pattering
raindrops like the sheep from the
goats — on the one side, to the Merri-
mack ; on the other, to the Connecti-
cut.

The lands in New London were
originalh', and are still, held under
a grant, dating back to 1773, from
the Masonian proprietors to Jonas

A SKETCH OF NEW EON DON.

' Willow Farm.

Minot and others, of this territory as
an addition to the town of Alexan-
dria, and all the plans of the town
were based upon the allotments and
drawings or purchase of lots under
that grant. These grants, however,
conveyed no municipal rights, and
hence six years later the inhabitants
of the hill town were petitioning the
' ' Great and General Court ' ' for a
charter as an independent town.
The act of incorporation, creating
the town of New I,ondon out of a
tract of land previously recognized as
"Alexandria Addition" in titular
phrase, bears the date of June 25,
1779.

There were Indian settlements in
the town long before the foot of the
white man had penetrated to this
localit}', and though they had de-
parted from the region previous to
the advent of the first settlers, the

ashes of their camp-fires had not as
yet been scattered to the four winds.
The hills and valleys had been the
red man's hunting-ground, and his
light canoe skimmed the blue waters
of the lakes and ponds that nestled
so coyly in the shadows of the forest-
clad mountains.

The large nvimber of Indian relics
that have since been found in the
west part of the town would indicate
that their principal settlement was
on the border of the lake near that
neighborhood, with trails leading to
smaller camps at Harvey (now Clark)
pond and the easterh' shore of Little
Sunaj^ee. From the latter locality
a trail wound over the long stretch
of highland to the east, ending in
another settlement at the upper end
of Lake Pleasant. Here, in the fer-
tile land of the inter\'ale, were their
little plats of golden maize, and the

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

first white man's cabin in that part
of the town was located on this prim-
itive clearing.

From Hopkinton, in 1774, came
Moses Trnssell, who ])uilt himself a
camp on the Morgan farm, so called,
adjoining the Ezekiel Knowlton farm,
and wielded his ax to such good pur-
pose that by spring several acres of
ground were read}' for the firebrand.
Planting his clearing to corn, he went
back to his home in Hopkinton, in-
tendina: to return in the fall and har-
vest what promised to be an abun-
dant reward for his season of toil. In
due time he returned, only to find
that the four-footed dwellers of the
country' roundabout had spared him
the trouble of housing his crop. The
next spring found him at Bunker
Hill, in the serv'ice of his countr}-.
In the memorable engagement on the
17th of June he had his left hand
taken off b}' a cannon-ball while
helping to remove his wounded com-
mander from that bloody field. In
1804, just thirty ^-ears after his first
visit, he returned to New lyOndon,
where he thenceforward resided for
man}- 3'ears.

James Lamb, Nathaniel Merrill,
Eliphalet Lj'on (the sponsor of Lyon
brook, which runs through the valley
on the westerly side of Colby hill),
and Ebenezer Hunting were the
pioneer settlers, and came in 1775,
the first named erecting his humble
cabin on the Knowlton farm men-
tioned above. The next year this
cabin in the wilderness had another
inmate — the first child born within
the town limits — and his parents not
inaptl}' named him John.

With the Lj'on and the Lamb
dwelling in peace together, it is
no wonder that the little settlement

prospered, and that in 1779 they
were electing town officers and pro-
viding school privileges for ' ' John ' '
and the other children.

Up to the time of its incorporation
as a town the territory constituting
the "Alexandria Addition," had been
more familiarly known as Heidelberg,
and it is so designated on the state
maps drafted in 1750 and 1761, and
engraved and published in London
in 1768. But the original signifi-
cance of the name, " an uncultivated
mountain," had departed with the
coming of the white man, and the
town fathers showed their good Eng-
lish sense in adopting the more dig-
nified appellation of New London,
though they probably did not concern
themselves with fears lest the infant
town should grow beyond their pow-
er to control, as Elizabeth worried,
with only too sure prescience, over
the metropolis in the mother country.

But the town grew and prospered,
nevertheless. The records kept by

At Little bunapee.

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

the first town clerk, Ebenezer Hunt-
ing, show that on February 12, 1781,
a duly notified meeting was held to
see what action the town would take
to procure a man for the Continental
army ; and the file in the adjutant-

The Church on the Hill.

general's offtce at Concord duly cred-
its the town with one, "Francis
Como," mustered in April 23, 1781,
and also with a paj'ment of /^6o.
Again, in 1782, the town provided a
soldier ; and until the disbandment of
the Continental army in November,

1783-

Nor were the religious interests of
the town neglected. As early as
1782, Elder Ambrose, of Perrystown,
had visited the little flock, and con-
tinued to divide his labors between
these charges until the town was able
to settle a minister for itself, the town
in the meantime contributing annu-
ally towards the elder's support.

Down in the valley, south-west of
Colby hill, a noisy stream bubbles
and babbles over the rocks through
the long summer days, as if joying in
its escape from the placid bosom of
the pond above. It is the outlet of

what was then Harvey pond, and the

visitor of to-day may wonder at the

fancy which bestowed the quaint

name of "Hominy Pot" on this

picturesque spot, until his eye may

chance to rest on the well worn mill-

.stones — long since fallen

into disuse — that lie half

hidden in the grass beside

the bridge.

Here it was that Lieut,
lycvi Harvey set up the
town's first industry, a
grist-mill ; and it was at
his house that the annual
meeting was held in 1783,
when the town voted that
the selectmen (of whom
Harvey was one) give se-
curit}^ to the said Harvey
' ' for the purchase of land
and defending of privileges
for a mill, according to
former bond," and also that "grind-
ing days this year be Tuesdays and
Fridays of each week."

A full centurj' had been rounded
out since the farmers first brought
their grists to Harvey's mill, before
my acquaintance with the locality
began, and there was nothing left to
tell the tale of what once had been
save the round, smooth stones b}' the
waj'side ; but the simple beaut}^ of
the surroundings ever after had an
unfailing charm.

In the early springtime the grass}^
banks w^ere dotted with modest violets
and slender, wind-blown anemones,
that faded away only to be replaced,
a little later in the season, by the
glossy scarlet and spicily fragrant
wuld strawberry. Close by the bridge
were dense thickets of raspberries
and blackberries, and scraggly al-
ders that whispered and nodded to

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

each other across the narrow stream,
and gaily flaunted in the breeze that
swept down from the hill the snowy
trappings with which the wild clema-
tis vainly sought to clothe their tan-
gled branches.

Out in the open, where the fierce
heat of the July sun had narrowed
the streamlet to a tiny thread, a row
of flaming sentinels marked where
the cardinal flower lifted its regal
head. All through the season the
kaleidoscopic shifting of colors went
on, and late in the fall, even after the
trees had woven a covering of mottled
5'ellow and brown and red for dear
old Mother Earth, there were starry
asters and plum}- goldenrod on the
banks, and the feathery seed-pods
of the clematis still strove with the
alders.

There in the grass is a ring where
the fairies might have held their
moonlight revels ; and there surely
is a witching charm about the spot,
for sitting on the broad, flat stone in
late afternoon, when the purple shad-
ows crept softly down from the moun-
tain and no sound broke the stillness
save the cricket's plaintive chirp, the
mother-bird calling to her young in
the leafy tree-tops, or the babbling
brook at mj- feet — 3-es, there is the
sound of childish voices ; and pres-
ently the rude door of the log school-
house is drawn back, the children one
by one pause on the threshold to drop
a curtsey to the mistress ; there is the
soft patter of their bare feet as they
trip lightly down the dusty road and
over the narrow footbridge that spans
the stream. The windows of the low,
red house on the ledge above me,
that have been barred and shuttered
for so many years, are open, and
my listening ears catch the drow-

sy whirr-r-r of the good wife's spin-
ning-wheel ; the low, dull monotone
of protest that issues from the nether
millstone as the busy miller pours
still another grist into the waiting
hopper, is yet sounding in the air ; —
but it is only a dream, and the sober
reality of to-day depicts a noisy shin-
gle-mill, and the flower-strewn banks
are heaped with sawdust.

At the time of Elder Ambrose's
first visit to the town, in 1782, twenty
families had settled in different parts
of the town ; and they must have
been good, old-fashioned families,
too, for the whole community num-
bered two hundred and nineteen souls.

At the annual March meeting in
1786, the town voted to build a meet-

Rev. W. A. Farren.

ing-house fifty feet long, and "to set
the meeting-house not more than 40
rods distant from the mouth of the
Hutchins' road, so called; " and also
' ' to have a burying-yard near where
said meeting-house is to stand."

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

Such was the origin of the old
meeting-house, which stood on what
is now the southerly side of the cem-
eter}^ and of the "burying ground,"
which was enlarged and improved
after the removal of the old church.
The " Hutchins' road, so called," was
the road which now runs from Ceme-
tery street to the four corners.

Many of the people who had locat-
ed in the town had come hither from
Attleboro, Mass., and were members
of the Baptist church there, of which
Elder Job Seamans was the pastor.

When, in 1787, it was decided that
the inhabitants were able to settle a
minister of their own, the former par-
ishioners of Elder Seamans invited
him to visit them in their new home.
He came, and preached for them
"Lord's day, June 24," 1787.

The leading men of the town were
not insensible to the religious needs
of the fast growing community, and
shortly after the elder's visit, the
town, acting in its corporate capacity,

Deacon J. C. Herrick.

Hon Anthony Colby.

formally invited him to become the
' ' settled minister, ' ' the record of the
action taken reading as follows :

' ' [ ^otcd, To give Elder Seamans a
call to settle in this town as a minis-
ter of the gospel.

' ' [ ^otcd, To give him forty pounds
[$200] as a salary, three pounds in
cash, and 37 pounds in labor and
grain and other produce that he may
want, all to be paid at the common
price ; and all ministerial privileges
in town except one half the parson-
age lot."

The elder's heart evidently inclined
to the acceptance of the call, for he
came again in February, 1788, and
remained for two months, preaching
from house to house ; and finally,
after careful consideration, decided
to cast in his lot with his former
people. He started from Attleboro,
with his family, June 20, and arrived
in New Eondon July i. His diary,
covering a period of more than fifty
years of active ministerial life, records

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

the fact that on the night of their
arrival the j-oungest child, Manning,
"was taken sick."

Little Manning soon recovered,
however, in the bracing mountain
air, and became his father's constant
comrade, not only upon the farm,
which was diligently and carefully
tilled, but in his visits among the
members of his scattered flock. But
the elder, dearly as he loved the bo}-,
was a firm believer in parental disci-
pline, though Manning, presuming
on his position as his father's favor-
ite, sometimes ventured beyond the
prescribed bounds. Once, however,
he reckoned without his host :

Down on the Pingree farm there
was to be a barn-raising, and the
elder was to lend a helping hand.
Manning, boy-like, wanted to go, too ;
but his father, fearing lest some harm
might happen to him, decided that
he must remain at home. But the
elder was no sooner out of sight than
the boy made up his mind to be a
looker-on at the proceedings, if not a
participant. Taking the '"cross-lots"
route, he stole down
on the busy workers
from the back side,
and managed to be-
stow himself unseen

Col. A. C. Burpee.

in a maple tree that stood in the pa.s-
ture just behind the barn. The fun
and frolic went on, and Manning, for-
getting caution in interest, thrust his
tow-colored head beyond the shel-
tering leaves, regardless of conse-
quences. It was not long before he
rued his reckless procedure, for the
elder caught sight of
the familiar head-
piece of his youngest
hopeful almost imme-
diately. The work-

The Bu'pee Homes'ead.

The 'Governor Colby" Mansion.

The Herrick House.

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

lOI

men had seen him, too, and awaited
the result of the elder's discovery
with considerable interest. There
was a duty to be performed, and
that was enough for the elder ; he
walked over to the tree, and the
trembling culprit descended. The
maple rods were both light and ' ' lis-
some," — the elder went back to his
work, and the boy w^ent home. The
mnple tree still stands in the pasture,
though the -elder and his son have
been gathered to their fathers ' ' these
many 3'ears."

All this, however, happened long
years after. The elder had com-
menced his labors immediateh- after
his coming to the town, working
on his farm through the week and
preaching on the I^ord's day the
sermons which his active mind had
evolved while his hands were busied
with hoe or scythe. It is said of him
that he never wrote out a sermon in
his life, though he alwaj^s preached
twice on the Sabbath and occasion-
ally held a week-day service ; yet his
long ministry with this people was no
insignificant element in the spiritual
and temporal advancement of the
church and town.

The elder had a horror of dancing,
and considered it one of the devil's
wiles to lure unwary souls ; so one
winter when a dancing school was
held down near the Sutton line his
hired man, who was an ardent dis-
ciple of the Terpsichorean art, had to
use all .sorts of devices in order to
■explain his frequent absences from
home. All went well for a time, liow-
e^•er, and the young man grew over-
confident. One day when he thought
the parson was safely out of the way
he .shut himself up in the barn, and,
ffailv whistling a dancing tune, began

to practise the latest figures. But
alas for the unlucky Amos ! The
parson returned unexpectedly, and,
scandalized at the ungodly sounds
that issued from his premises, quietly
investigated. He waited until the
tune was finished, and then, horse-
whip in hand, entered the barn.
" vSuppose you dance to this tune,
Amos ! " was all he said : but it was
enough.

The church was duh' organized,
with eleven members, October 23,
1788. Even then the meeting-house,
in which the exercises w^ere held,
was only partly finished, both the
seats and the floor being improvised
for the occasion, which was one of
great rejoicing among the people.
B)' 1795 the church had increased
to 115 members, and the meeting-
house was so far completed that
the town voted to hold its meet-
ings in it for the future. It now
boasted a pulpit and the permanent
floors had been laid, but it was
only partially glazed ; was guiltless
of paint within and without, and the
"singing-pew" was still unfinished.
It was not until the 3'ear 18 18 that
the town voted $300 for the outside
finishing of the meeting-house, and
appointed Joseph Colb}- agent to see
that the mone}' was properly ex-
pended.

If the singing-pew was wanting,
the singers themselves were not. At
a town meeting held shortlj' after the
institution of the church, the town
elected Ebenezer Hunting, Lieut.
Samuel Me.sser, Nathaniel Fales,
Asa Burpee, Moses Hill, Jonathan
Adams, and Capt. Samuel Brockle-
bank ' ' singers to sing at public re-
ligious meetings," and the singing
has ever .since been a distinguishing

I02

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON,

'«
"*

^^^K^K

^^i^^M

^^^3

^ i

'^-=-^:

^•V

^«j

Two of the " Four Corners.

feature of the' church service, the
descendauts of some of these first
singers in the fourth generation
being members of the present church
choir.

The women were at first exckided
from the singing-pew, but later on,
when Asa Burpee and his five fair
daughters and three stahvart sons
were occupants of the high position,
there were also representatives from
the feminine side of the Everett,
Sargent, Woodbury, Herrick, Green-
wood, and Ayers families. The pres-
ent church chorister. Col. Anthony
C. Burpee, who has most acceptably
performed the duties of his office for
more than fifty 3'ears, is a descendant
in the third generation of Asa Bur-
pee.

In the earliest days the deacons
led the singing — one reading two
lines of the hymn, and the other
singing the same with those of the

congregation who knew the music.
Then the bass-viol was introduced^
and later on the flute, the violin,
the clarionette, and the "big trom-
bone." In 1837 Richard Messer pre-
sented the choir with a fine, large
seraphine, and in 1S65 shared with
James B. Colgate, of New York, in
the gift of a pipe-organ.

At one period in the historj' of the
choir — it may have been during the
" coal-scuttle " era — it was suggested
by some one that the ladies would
sing much better without their bon-
nets. To sit through the ser\'ices
with uncovered heads would outrage
the proprieties, so a compromise, sub-
stituting .small caps for the volumi-
nous bonnets, was finally settled upon.
The caps were of lace, covering the
ears and tieing under the chin, in
good, grandmotherl}- .style ; but after
a 3'ear's trial of this hideous fashion
the feminine portion of the choir

A SKETCH OF NFAV LONDON.

105

rebelled, and the plumed and posied
bonnets henceforward reigned
triumphant.

From 1784 to 1803 New London
had been classed with Perrystown for
representation at the general court,
but in the latter year it was found
that a sufficient number of ratable
polls had been attained to entitle
it to send a representative of its
own, and Josej^h Colb}^ was duly
elected to ser\-e as the town's first
member of that august body, and
was successive!}^ returned for thirteen
years. Then there came a political
revolution, and the old order of
things no longer prevailed. The
dominant party duly celebrated their
victory, and erected the liberty pole
which for many j^ears stood in front
of the old meeting-house, whither the
people resorted on the Sabbath to
spend the intermission between the
forenoon and afternoon services and
to exchange the news of the week

for many a year. Under the new
dispensation, Daniel Woodbury was
moderator, first selectman, and rep-
resentative for almost as long a
period as his predecessor had filled
the positions. Fred Farwell, of the
legislature of 1895, is the youngest,
though not the least influential, of
the long line of honorable men who
have since represented the town.

One year the town was equally
divided between the two political
parties, and the struggles for suprem-
acy at the annual meeting are among
the traditions of the neighborhood.
For two days they had tried in vain
to elect a moderator, and the murky
shadows of the early March twilight
were fast deepening into gloom in
the dusky interior of the old meeting-
house when it was announced that
the final test of strength for the day
would be made. Just as the candles
were lighted a member of the then
dominant party was hurriedly called

John Dow. Hon. Luther McCutchlns. Steohen Messer.

I04

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

t^Kr^

^'^'

^^e.
,*

r/^.

-* «- %

Sr///ir- M-''^^!^.

John K. Law.
John D. Pingree.
Amos H. Wh pple.

Sherman L. Whipple.
Charles W. Gay.
James E, Shepard.

Fred Farwell.
Enwin P. Burpee.
George Wl. Knight.

outside on some pretext or other, and
before he realized what was happen-
ing was securely stowed away under
an old cart-body, there to remain un-
til the opposition candidate for mod-
erator had been triumphantly elected.

The memory of the oldest inhab-
itants runs back to the daj'S when
the liberty-pole was vStill standing,
and there are those 3'et living who
can remember hearing Elder Sea-
mans preach and Elder Ambrose lead

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

105

in prayer ; for it was the fashion in
those days for the whole family to
attend church as soon as the children
were large enough to be carried, and
the wagons that ever}' Ivord's day
jolted over the rough roads that con-
nected the outlying farms with the
central interests of the town, each
carried a fulJ quota of the rising gen-
eration — the youngest hopeful in its
mother's arms, the smaller members
of tlie family carefulh- bestowed at
the pajental feet, and the rest cling-
ing for dear life to the tailboard.

It has been noted that immediately'
after its incorporation the town voted
to furnish a soldier for the Conti-
nental army, and that they furnished
a man and paid him until the close
of the war ; but a peculiar feature in
the earh' settlement was the large
proportion of Revolutionary soldiers
who took up their residence in the
town between the close of the war
and the opening year of the nine-
teenth centur}'. The fresh breezes
that were wafted from the moun-
tains, the free, broad outlook from
the grand old hill-top, seemed to
possess a particular charm for those
who had served through the war
and were seeking the most desirable
places for settling in the new coun-
tn,' ; and the boys and girls of to-day
who can trace their ancestry back to
these heroes of the da^-s of '76 may
well be proud of their honorable de-
scent. The town records give the
names of these soldiers as Thomas
Currier ( more familiarh' known as
Captain Kiah), Edmund Davis, Jo-
siah Davis, John Dole, Jesse Dow,
Levi Everett, Penuel Everett, Eliph-
alet Gay, Zebedee Ha^^es, Ezekiel
Knowlton, Thomas Pike, David
Smith, Moses Trussell, and Eliphalet

Woodward, most of whom came from
Massachusetts.

The first alarm of the War of 181 2
found the spirit of the Revolution
still extant, and Captain Kiah with
numerous followers entered the regu-
lar army and ser^-ed through the war.
Ver}' little of active sen-ice was de-
manded of the volunteers from the
Granite state, but in two of the com-
panies that were called out and or-
dered to Portsmouth were several
New London men — Sergt. Robert
Knowlton and Privates John Davis,
David Marshall, Nathaniel Messer,
and David Gile, in Capt. Jonathan
Bean's conipau}- ; Eieut. Stephen
Sargent and Privates Samuel Messer,
Zenas Herrick, and Nathan Smith,
in Capt. Silas Call's company — Lieu-
tenant Sargent also serving as com-
mander after the death of Captain
Call.

Again, in the bloody and cruel
Civil War, that from 1S61 to 1S65
demanded the serv'ices of the bravest
and best of New^ Hampshire's patri-
otic sons, the town of New London
responded to the call by furnishing
seventj'-three men. Among them
were such officers as Capt. A. J.
Sargent of the Fir.st regiment, a vet-
eran of the regular army ; Capt.
Charles Woodward of the Eleventh,
who, enlisting as a private in 1862,
won his straps by heroic conduct and
was honorabh' discharged for disa-
bility in 1864; Maj. George W.
Everett, of the Ninth, a most faithful
and efficient officer, who died in Cin-
cinnati in August, 1863, having been
taken ill during the transportation of
the troops up the Mississippi after
the surrender of A^icksburg ; and
Lieut. Col. Joseph M. Clough, of the
Eighteenth, who, since the close of

io6

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

Brig. Gen. J. M. Clough.

the war, in his sen-ice as brigadier-
general, has done much to advance
the general efficiency of the state
militia. For those who ser^-ed in
the ranks it is enough to say that
they did their duty faithfully and to
the end. Not a few filled nameless
graves on the far distant battle-fields
of the South ; others, in the earlier
days of the war, cut down in the
vigor of their strong, 3-oung man-
hood, were brought home, and were
borne by loving hands to their last,
long rest in the quiet church-yard
amid tears and sobs of grief-stricken
womanhood and the frightened wail-
ings of little children. Many of those
who were spared to return to home
and kindred have suffered for years
from wounds and diseases contracted
in the ser\-ice of their country, and
New London to-day contains no bet-
ter citizens than the men whose
. names are enrolled on the records of
Anthony Colby post, G. A. R., which
was organized in 1885. The town

was one of the stations of the famous
underground railroad of slavery days,
and many are the poor blacks that
have been helped on to freedom
through the kindly assistance of
"Uncle Jonathan," the father of
Major Everett and '"Bial."

"Uncle Jonathan" was likewise
a strong anti- Masonic man. King
Solomon's lodge of Free and Ac-
cepted Masons, No. 14, had been
chartered and located in New Lon-
don, January 27, 1S02, and for the
first quarter-century of its existence
was both flourishing and popular.
Then came the days of the anti-
Masonic excitement, and so strong
was the opposition aroused that the
Masons were obliged to resort to
stratagem in order to hold their
meetings undisturbed. The Green
French house — a picturesque ruin on
the eastern slope of Colby hill, be-
fore whose latchless door and light-
less windows the ancient poplars long
kept watch and ward — had been the
scene of the gatherings of the breth-
ren of the square and compass for
many a year, and after a time it
was noticed that the Frenches had a
great many callers on certain daj^s,
and it began to be suspected that
meetings were still being held on
the quiet. "Uncle Jonathan" was
young and spry in those days, and
having waylaid a neighbor whom he
thought was headed in that direction,
extorted from him an admission that
such was the purpose of the gather-
ing to which he was bound. After
administering a thorough drubbing
to the unlucky offender,- he sent him
on his way, with a warning that
future transgressions would be dealt
with in the same manner. There was
not much more work done by the

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

107

lodsre in its old localit}', and in 1S51
it was removed to Wilmot. There it
remained in peace and a fair degree
of prosperity until 1878, when it was
transferred to Sc3'theville — at that
time the seat of a thriving manufac-
turing business — where it is still
located, and in its large and active
membership renews the memory of
its old-time popularity.

The year 182 1 was a memorable
one in the history of the town be-
cause of the great tornado that early
in September swept everything before
it in its swift flight across the hills of
south-western New Hampshire. The
late Chief-Justice J. E. Sargent, a
member of one of the largest and
oldest of the Xew L,ondon families,
in an admirably collated historical
address delivered b}" him at the
centennial celebration of the town's
incorporation, June 25, 1879, thus
graphicalh' depicts the incidents of
an event that even at that late day
lingered in the memory of the gray-
haired men and women of the town's
tenth decade :

"The ninth day of September,
1 82 1, is one of the earliest da^-s that
I can remember, and 3'et, though I
was then only five years of age, I
shall never forget it. The day was
Sunda}'. The morning was bright
and sunn}-. The air was soft and
balnty. The day was hot, and espe-
■cially in the afternoon was still and
sultry. About five o'clock there
were signs of a thunder-shower ; dark
clouds gathered in the west, and soon
•overcast the sky. The stillness that
precedes the storm was soon inter-
rupted b}- the mutterings of the dis-
tant thunder, the clouds grew darker
and blacker, until presently a strange
•commotion was seen among them in

the west ; vivid lightnings light up
the dark and angry masses, the roar-
ing of the distant tornado is heard
as it approaches, and anon the most
terrible whirlwind ever known in the
state burst upon the terror-stricken
inhabitants of New London.

" I gather the following facts from
a description of the great whirlwind
of 1 82 1, as found in the collections of
the New Hampshire Historical So-
ciet}-, vol. I, page 241 : The whirl-
wind entered the state in Cornish,
and moving easterly through Croy-
don, demolished the house and barn
of Deacon Cooper ; thence through
Wendell [now Sunapee] to near Sun-
apee lake, where it blew to pieces the
house, barn, and outbuildings of
Harvey Huntoon, destro3'ing and
blowing away all the furniture and
other property in his house, and the
contents of his barn and other build-
ings, and blowing an infant nearly a
year old, that was lying on a bed in
the house, awav into the lake, where

Fish Commissioners' Cottage at Sunapee Lake.

lOi)

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

Sunapee Lake and Mountain, fronn Burpee Hill.

the mangled body was found the next
Wednesday, on the opposite side of
the lake, and the feather-bed on
which the child was sleeping was
found in Andover by a Mr. Durgin
and restored to Mr. Huntoon. A
horse was blown up hill a distance of
forty rods, and was so injured that it
was necessary to kill him. No
human lives were lost in that town,
except the child's, though the other
seven members of Mr. Huntoon's
household were injured, and some of
them very severel3^ From Wendell
the hurricane passed across I^ake
Sunapee in a most terrific manner,
assuming the form of an inverted
P3^ramid in motion, and drawing up
into its bosom vast quantities of
water. Its appearance on the lake
was in the highest degree sublime
and terrible ; apparently about twenty
rods in diameter at the surface of the
water, it expanded on each side
towards the heavens, its vast body as
dark as midnight, but occasional!}'
illuminated by the most vivid flashes
of lightning.

' ' From the lake it passed into New
London and through the southerly
part of the town, destroying property
to the estimated value of nine or ten

thousand dollars. But fortunately no
person in the town was killed. The
house and other buildings of John
Davis, standing directly in the path of
the tornado, were entirely demolished.
Not a timber nor a board was left
upon the ground where the house
had stood, and not a brick in the
chimney remained unmoved. A
huge hearth-stone weighing some
seven or eight hundred pounds was
removed from its bed and turned up
on one edge : all the furniture of the
house, beds, bedding, and clothing,
was swept away, and not the value
of five dollars of it was ever found.
The family chanced to be absent from
the house. Three barns belonging
to Josiah Davis, with their contents,
w^ere blown entirely away, and his
house much .shattered and damaged.
A house belonging to Jonathan Her-
rick was unroofed, the windows
broken out, and much furniture and
clothing blown away, but fortunately
none of the family were injured. A
new two-story house frame, nearly
covered, belonging to Nathan Her-
rick, and two barns were blown
down. A house and barn of Asa
Gage were unroofed and two sheds
carried away. Anthony Sargent had

A SKETCH OF NEW EON DON.

109

one barn demolished, another un-
roofed, and two sheds blown away.
Deacon Peter Sargent had a barn
blown down, another unroofed, and
a shed blo\\n away. A barn of John
P. Sabin's was torn to pieces: anoth-
er barn, Levi Harvey's, was blown to
pieces, his saw-mill demolished, and
some twelve thousand feet of boards
in the mill-yard carried away ; his
grist-mill was moved some distance
whole, and was left standing on dr}^
land, and' a hog-house, containing a
hog weighing from three to four hun-
dred pounds, was carried away whole
several rods, and dropped on the top
of a stone wall, where it fell into frag-
ments, and the hog, released from his
prison, walked away unhurt. A pair
of cartwheels, strongly bound with
iron and nearly new, with the spire
and axle, were carried ten rods, the
spire broken off in the middle, all the
spokes but two broken out of one
wheel and more than half out of the
other. All the trees in an orchard of
one hundred, without a single excep-
tion, were prostrated, and one half of
them were wrenched up b}' the roots
and carried entirely away, root and
branch. The trunk of one of these
trees, divested of its principal roots
and branches, was found half a mile
distant and at the top of a long hill ;
near the top of this hill was an exca-
vation some fort}^ feet long, and in
places two to three feet deep, partl}^
filled with mangled boards and
broken timbers, apparently made by
the perpendicular fall of the side of a
barn, which must have been blown
whole at least eighty rods.

' ' The track or path of the whirl-
^^ind in New London was some four
miles long, and varied in width from
one fourth to one half a mile as the

column rose and fell, and passed off
upon the north side of Kearsarge
movmtain. In passing, it seemed to
hug to the mountain, so that its
course was changed more to the
south, and it passed down the moun-
tain on the easterly side into the
Gore, touching a corner of Salisburj^,
and into Warner, and finally termi-
nated in the woods of Boscawen.
A great amount of property, many
buildings, and several lives w^ere de-
stro3'ed in the Gore and in Warner.

' ' The track of the whirlwind is
thus described : ' It appeared as if
a rushing torrent had been pouring
down for man}- days ; the dwellings,
buildings, fences, and trees were all
swept off in its course. The earth
was torn up in places, the grass
withered, and nothing fresh or liv-
ing was to be seen in the path of the
desolation.' It is difficult for us to
conceive the horrors of that instant
— for it was but an instant — when
houses, barns, trees, fences, fowls,
and other movable objects were all
lifted from the earth into the bosom
of the whirlwind, and anon dashed
into a thousand pieces. Probabh'
no event has occurred in the histor}'
of this town during the hundred
3-ears of its existence that was so
well calculated to teach man his ut-
ter impotence, and to impress upon
his mind the awful sublimity, the
terrible grandeur of the scene, when
the hand of Omnipotence, even for a
moment, displays its resistless power,
as the great whirlwind of September
9, 1821."

The town had prospered from its
very inception, and the census of
1820 gave it a population of 924,
with a corresponding increase in
wealth and position. Religious and

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

educational interests had been care-
fully fostered, and the community
as a whole was enjoying to a goodly
degree the comforts and conveniences
in vogue at that period. The church
had increased from ii members in
1788 to 115 members in 1794, and
during the next quarter-century of
its existence under Elder Seamans's
ministrations there were two marked
seasons of revival, in which 40 and 85
persons respectively were admitted to
membership.

The venerable elder closed his
direct work as pastor of the church
with the year 1823, though the church
records make no mention of anj^ for-
mal resignation, or an}- move to
secure another pastor, until 1828.
More than fifty years of active pas-
toral work in Attleboro and New
lyOndon might well excuse the feeble
frame from further servnce, but he
was spared to be the guide and coun-
sellor of his dearly beloved people
until October 4, 1830, when the man
of God whose simple piet}^ had left its
impress on church and town for ages
to come, went home to his reward.

It was in the interval before the
settlement of a second pastor that the
meeting-house on Colby hill was
erected. There was at this time a
considerable rivalry for leadership
between the residents of the old town
centre on Cemeter}' street and those
of the would-be centre on Colby hill,
and the prime movers of this enter-
prise finally accomplished a master-
stroke. The Baptist society, the
avenue of church work from 1801 to
1846, has the following vote recorded
under date of June 4, 1S25 :

" Voted, As the sense of the Society,
that a new Meeting House should be
erected for the use of the Society."

And again, two weeks later, the
society

' ' [ ^otcd. That if a Meeting House
should be built for the use of the
Society, it ought to be erected at the
four corners, near Jonathan Ever-
ett's."

Evidently the settling of the vexed
question of the exact location required
both tact and time, for it was not
until the next year that the corner-
stone of the new church was laid ou
Colby hill Avith the concomitant cere-
monies of a procession, music, and
religious serA-ices. July 4, 1826, was
the day set for the raising, and by
sunrise the work w^as w^ell under way.
The sun poured down upon the busy
toilers with the characteristic fervor
of the glorious Fourth, but they heed-
ed it not, and the coming of night
saw the frame substantially in posi-
tion and ready for the permanent
force of workmen. The work so well
begun was not permitted to languish,
and when the early snows came drift-
ing softly down the new church stood
complete in its simple furnishings.
From the modest steeple with its clear-
toned bell, to the pulpit and modern
slips, the edifice was ready for use,,
and on the third Monday of Decem-
ber, 1826, the society

" r "otcd. To accept of the New Meet-
ing House, built by David Everett
and Anthony Colby, and the Common
around the same. Chose Joseph
Colby and Jonathan Greeley to take a
conveyance of said Meeting House
and Common."

This latter action of the society is
explained by the custom, common
enough in those days, of having the
ownership of the meeting-house vested
in two ways ; that is, the pew-holders
owned it, in that each one was given

A SKETCH OF NFAV LONDON.

Ill

a "deed" of his pew, and then the
society in its corporate capacity
owned it as a whole. The expense
of building was guaranteed by the
sale of the pews beforehand, so as to
secure those who did the work in the
first instance ; then the completed
building was by them conveyed to
the society.

To the pastorate of the new and
inviting church the Rev. Oren Tracy,
of Randolph, Mass., was called in
1 82 7, and was duly installed in ofhce

O. D. Crockett.

early in the following year. So
closely were the interests of town
and church intenvoven, that with the
awakening of new life in the church
a corresponding interest in the tem-
poral advancement of the town was
aroused. Through the wiseh^ ex-
erted influence of Elder Trac}' educa-
tional matters were given a decided
impetus. Teachers were more thor-
oughl}' and systematically exam-
ined, a higher standard of common-
school education was set up, and old

and young alike seemed to gather
inspiration from his spirit and efforts.

To him also belongs the credit for
pioneer work in the temperance
cause, for he not only delivered a
course of lectures on temperance dur-
ing the noon intermission on the
Sabbath, but exerted the far more
potent force of practising what he
preached. He refUvSed to drink wine
or cider as a beverage, nor would he
taste of di.stilled spirits in any form,
though it was a common custom to
bring out the decanter of liquor with
sugar and water whenever the parson
called, in order that he might drink a
friendly glass with his parishioners.

So high was the spiritual plane of
life to which the elder himself at-
tained, yet so keen was the sympa-
thy and so friendly the interest which
he displayed in the temporal welfare
of his people, that his labors among
them were greatly blessed, and the
year 1832 witnessed an ingathering
of sheaves that will never be forgotten
in the annals of the church. Fifty-
six years afterwards, when the church
had rounded out a full century of
existence, the two senior deacons,
Joseph C. Herrick and Micajah Mor-
gan, then serving in the fortieth year
of their diaconate, were men whose
conversion dated back to the great
soul-harvest of 1832. It is some-
thing to be remembered and to be
grateful for, to have known the.se two
thoroughly good men. Both were
veneraljle with years, }'et with a
marked difference in their bearing.
Many a time have I watched them as
they passed up the broad church aisle,
side by side — Deacon Herrick, alert,
vigorous, every muscle of his sinewy
frame responsive to the eager spirit
within, with keen, dark eyes and

112

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

snow-white hair, — a man whose good
deeds live after him ; Deacon Morgan,
somewhat spare in frame, the gray
head a httle bowed, — a man of sweet
humihty of presence, 3'et one whose
hearty hand-grasp has strengthened

of their active duties b}' Deacon
Edwin F. Messer and Deacon Charles
W. Gay, but held the office of honor-
ar}' deaconshii^ to the time of their
death, Deacon Herrick dying in 1S90
and Deacon Morgan in 1S91.

Belden Morgan. Rev. Dura P. Morgan.

VVillie M. Knowlton. Professor La Roy F. Griffin. Dr. Charles A. Lamson.

many a halting soul, whom the chil-
dren loved for the light in his kind,
blue eyes and the smile on his
wrinkled face, whom the stranger
remembered for his words of welcome.
At their request thej^ were relieved

The late Rev. Dura P. Morgan,
the last of the eleven ordained minis-
ters of the gospel that New London
has furnished during the present
century, was a son of Deacon Mor-
gan, and literally laid down his life

A SKETCH OF XFAV LONDON.

113

in the work to \\hicli he had conse-
crated himseU' in early manhood. He
was ordained in 1S72, and was pastor
of the chnrch at Beverh', Mass., for
twelve years. His work as a pastor
was characterized by a rare fervor
and devotion, but the spirit was too
strono^ for the earthlv frame, and he
came back to his native town in the
vain hope that the fresh breezes from
the hills might bring renewed vigor.
The last years of his life were spent
at the old homestead at the four cor-
ners, where he died in 1892.

Dating back to the fall of 1S32 is
another event that was of great in-
terest to the people of that day,
which was the opening of a stage-
route between Hanover and L,owell,
with New London as the half-way
station between Hanover and Con-
cord. The road had been talked of
for many years, and finally, perhaps
through the efforts of Hon. Anthony
Colb}-, of New London, more than
of any other one man, had been laid
out and built ; a stage compan}' had
been formed, horses and coaches pur-
chased, and everything made ready
for the great event. In these days
of fast trains and flying .steamers it
i:; not eas}" to comprehend the im-
portance attaching to the affair, but
Judge Sargent, who was then a lad
attending the district .school, has giv-
en an apt description of the way it
was looked upon in those j^rimitive
da3-s :

"This fall of 1S32, J. Everett Far-
num was teaching a private school
for a term in the red .school-house at
the four corners, and it was announced
that on a certain da}' — in October, I
think — the .stage-coach would make
its appearance. It was to go through
here, in the afternoon to Hanover,

and start the next morning early for
Lowell. As the expected event drew
nigh, study was out of the question,
and our kind teacher gave us all per-
mission to gaze for a time to the ex-
tent of our capacity, for the long-
expected stage-coach with its four
horses in hand. It finally came and
went, as all things come and go, and
we resumed our .studies again ; but it
took .some time to fully comprehend
and realize the importance of the fact
that New London was henceforth to
have a daily .stage and a daily mail
both ways."

This was the beginning of a new
era in the importance of the town, for
the increa.sed facility for travel and
the broadened outlook afforded by the
new route, opened a new field for the
energy of the enterprising villagers
and a wider market for the surplus
products of their farms. The Deacon
Herrick homestead was the ' ' tavern ' '
in those daj^s, and when the winding
notes of the horn announced the arri-
val of the stage at the top of the long
hill to the south, the bustling land-
lord had just time to stir the fire and
throw wide the hospitable door before
the stage-driver drew up his panting
.steeds with a grand flourish and a
wonderful cracking of the whip in
front of the low, wide portico, and the
wear}' travellers were bidden to seek
cheer and refreshment within.

vSixty years have gone by, but the
stage-coach is .still a familiar feature
of New London life, and will continue
to be until some enterprising genius
utilizes the dormant water-power at
Sc3^tlieville for an electric railroad to
run from Potter Place to the western
border of the town, on the .shore of
Sunapee lake. To-day the traveller
may still ride behind a five-in-hand,

114

A SKETCH OF NEW EON DON.

Shepard s Heidelberg Tally-Ho.

in the famous Heidelberg coach, over
which C. E. Shepard holds the reins
with skilful touch, or by the pleas-
ant route from Bradford, under the
guidance of C. G. Adams.

The late George W. Herrick, a
brother of Deacon Herrick, drove
the stage-coach for many years,
when the road was first opened
from Hanover to Lowell, and after-
wards was connected with Hon. B. P.
Chene}' in the express business. He
was a singularly generous man, and
town, church, schools, and individu-
als were alike the recipients of his
bounty. The chapel adjoining the
church was his gift, but was only one
of the many benefactions that were
never ostentatiou.sly bestowed.

Daniel vS. vSeamans, a grandson of
Elder Seamans, drove a four-horse
freight team through to Boston, and
carried the first load of potatoes
sent out from the town. On his
return trips he carried consignments
of groceries, both dr}' and " wet," for
the village stores, and it is said that
among the items in one year's ti'ips
w^as one of t\venty-four hogsheads
of — well, it wasn't exactly molasses,
— all of Avhich was delivered at a
store in an adjoining town, however.

In those daj's when a
man Avanted any strong
drink he went to the store
and bought it just as he
would buy molasses, onlj-
the storekeeper exerci.sed
his discretion perhaps a lit-
tle more freely in this case.
There was one old fellow
who had run up quite a
bill with the storekeeper,
and further credit was out
of the question. One day
he presented him.self at the
store, and handing over his bottle
asked to have it filled. Xothino- was
said until the customer, carefull}^
bestowing his precious bottle in an
inner pocket, turned to depart.
"Where's the money?" queried the
.storekeeper. " Ha'n't got a red,"
was the placid response. "Well, now,
look here," said the irate tradesman,
" you can just hand back that bottle
then ! " "All right ; just as you say,"
was the answer ; and handing over the
liottle the customer hastily deiDarted.
The dealer, somewhat taken aback at
the ready acquiescence to his de-
mand, uncorked the bottle to return
its contents to the keg — it was full of
water.

At the foot of Lake Pleasant, the
source of the Blackwater river, the
village of vScytheville has grown up
within the last half-centur}-. An-
thonv Colbv built the second 2:rist-

- - O

mill in town here, and later, in com-
pany with Joseph E. Phillips and
Richard H. Mes.ser, introduced the
l:)usiness of scythe manufacturing,
from which the little hamlet took its
r.ame. Mr. Messer, who was the active
agent in the business, was born in
New London in 1S07. He learned
his trade in ]\Lassachusetts, and com-

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

115

ing back to liis native town soon
interested the others in his project.
A thoroughly equipped plant was
built, and for many years the firm
did a flourishing business. A first-
class line of goods was placed on the
market, and held their own against
all competitors ; but within recent
3^ears, the distance from market, and
the extra cost of carting both raw
materials and finished products six

ceived. He was a member of the
governor's council in 1857 ^^<^ 1858,
and served one term in the legisla-
ture.

The Colby name is a justh' honored

one in the town of New London, for

three generations of distinguished

citizens of that famih- have lived and

died within its borders. The first of

the line was Joseph Colb}^ Esq., who

came to the place in 17 86, and had

his log cabin on the Indian clearing

at the upper end of Lake Pleasant.

He w^as for many years the agent of

one of the largest proprietors of the

grant, and dealt largely in real estate

in the town. He built the house on

miles over a hilly road
to the railroad station,
made it impossible to
continue the business,
and the shops were
finally closed in iSSS.
Mr. Messer died in 1872,
when the business was at
the flood-tide of prosperity,
and was a man to whom
the town and her citizens
owed much, for he arave
as freelv as he had re-

mi^!^:Hm

^•.CxSlr

ii6

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

the Elder Seamans place on Colby
hill, lived for a time on the road
which runs through the lyOw Plain
district to Scytheville, where his son
Anthony and the youngest daughter,
Susan — afterwards the wife of Perley
Burpee, the father of Anthony C. and
Edwin P. Burpee — were born, and
finally settled on the homestead farm
on Main street, which runs over Colby
hill, in the year iSoo. He was one
of the selectmen for several terms,
was the leading magistrate, and the
town's first representative at the gen-
eral court. He died in April, 1843,
shortly after passing his eighty-first
birthday.

Anthon}' Colby was born in 1792.
He had a wonderful talent for busi-
ness, and was the prime mover in all
the leading enterprises of the town.
He it was who built the original
stone dam at the outlet of Lake
Pleasant and the grist-mill on Black-
water river ; who lent his energies to
the establishment of the line of stages

which daily covered the hundred
miles which lay between Hanover
and Eowell ; shared in the building
of the new meeting-house, was one of
the school superintendents, and
among the earlier advocates of tem-
perance reform. He went through
all the grades of military promotion
from captain to major-general, serv^ed
nine terms in the legislature, and in
1846 was the chief magistrate of the
state. From 1861 to 1S63 he was ad-
jutant-general under Governor Berry,
and was an invaluable assistant in
"the time that tried men's souls."
A young ladies' boarding-school was
opened in the town in 1837, through
his efforts, with his daughter, Miss
Susan E. Colb}-, now Mrs. James B.
Colgate of New York, as principal.
Miss Colby was afterwards called to
New Hampton, and was one of the
ablest and most popular of the long
line of lad}' principals of the New
Hampton Eadies' seminary.

Governor Colby was a fine example

Joseph Phil ips.

Gpn. D. E. Colby.

Deacon E. F. Messer.

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

117

of the old-school gentleman. Bluff,
hearty, energetic in voice and man-
ner, he was withal a most devoted
husband and father, an influential
member of the church, and the poor
and needy never left his door empty-
handed. He died July 20, 1S73, full
of 3'ears and honors, in the town to
the building up of what he believed
to be its best interests he ever de-
voted himself, and in the homestead
where his father had passed away
before him.

When ex-Governor Colby resigned
as adjutant-general in 1S63, his son,
Daniel E. Colby, was appointed in
his stead. He had represented the
town in the legislature of 1S57, and
was after^vards a member of the Con-
stitutional convention of 1876. He
was a graduate of Dartmouth college,
of the class of 1S36, but his retiring
disposition led him to prefer a quieter
life than that of his bustling, ener-
getic father, and his time was devoted
to the care of the fine old homestead
that had been his father's and his
grandfather's before him. His influ-
ence in town matters, though quietly
exerted, was a mo.st beneficial one,
and his sensible advice, which made
him the confidant and counsellor of
half the townspeople, has kept many
a case out of the courts and the costs
in the farmer's pocket. He died on
the old homestead in May, 1S91, in
his 76th year.

The Xew London academy of 1837,
after a most successful independent
career, was incorporated as "The
New London Literary and Scientific
Institute," under the patronage of
the Baptist denomination of the
state, in 1853. The new school was
opened in the fall, and in the course
of its first year had enrolled upon its

Rev. G. W. Gile, Ph. D.

catalogue more than three hundred
pupils. The late Rev. George W.
Gardner, D. D., was the first princi-
pal, with Mr. Ephraim Knight as
associate principal and professor of
mathematics. The grand work that
these two men did in the school lives
on after them, and traditions of tho.se
early days still linger in the class-
rooms of the old academy.

The year 1S53 likewise witnessed
the building of a town house just to
the west of the new meeting-house,
and the old town meeting-house was
moved over to Main street and trans-
formed into the present Colby hall, or
boys' dormitor}-.

In 1866 the need of ampler accom-
modations for the school began to be
pressing, and Mrs. James B. Colgate
offered $25,000 toward the necessary
fund, providing the balance was sub-
scribed within two years. This was
accomplished, and in 1870 a finely
equipped brick building for the
accommodation of the school was

iiS

A SKETCH OF NEW EON DON.

completed and dedicated. In 1S7S
the name of the institution was
changed to Colb}- academy, in honor
of the many benefactions of the Colby
family. The building was destroyed
by fire in 1S92, and the school has since
been accommodated in the first acad-

Professor J. P. ui

emy building, with the ladies' board-
ing-house, the modern gymnasium,
and Colby hall as necessary adjuncts.
The Rev. George W. Gile, Ph. D.,
one of the earlier graduates of the
school, is now its president, and a
successful year's work has just drawn
to a close.

A bird's-eye view of the New lyon-
don of to-day shows a clean, enter-
prising, thrifty, country town of about
nine hundred inhabitants, with a con-
stantly increasing popularity as a de-
sirable summer resort that brings hun-
dreds of visitors within its borders
during the summer season. Nor is
its fame undeserved, for it would be
hard to find a location that offers so

many advantages to the seekers for
health or pleasure. A hill-town it-
self, a chain of loft}' mountain peaks
bounds its horizon as far as the eye
can reach, and "spicy breezes blow
soft" over hill and dale through the
long, hot days of midsummer bright-
ness. The first faint beams of morn-
ing sunlight touch with ros}^ fingers
the rocky heights of grand old Kear-
sarge and ripple the blue waters of
the lake that lies at its feet, rest softly
on the rugged outlines of Ragged
mountain at noon, and crown with
sunset splendor the majestic brow of
Mount Sunapee in the west. One by
one the stars come out ; from behind
Kearsarge rises the full midsummer
moon in all her queenly glory, and
mountains and lakes, hills and valleys,
lie revealed in the shimmering light.

Let the traveller follow the well-
kept roads that divide the town into
districts, and note the changes that
a hundred and twenty 3'ears have
wrought. At Scytheville the low
stone shops that once were filled with
the hum of busy industr}- stand silent
and deserted, but a glance around the
pretty hamlet shows a still thriving set-
tlement. Here are the handsome resi-
dences of Charles C. Phillips (known
as the Joseph Phillips house), A. R.
Coolidge, Dr. C A. lyamson, and E- A.
Jones ; the ample accommodations for
summer guests at the homes of R. O.
Messer, Ruel Whitcomb, Benjamin
G. Everett, and others ; the well-kept
farms of Charles S. Whitney and
Mason W. Emery, — the needs of all
supplied by the general store, and
the various smaller industries.

Half way between vScytheville and
Colbv hill is the Low Plain district.

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

119

■with its broad acres of carefully culti-
vated farming lands and the comfort-
able homes of J. E. Shepard, promi-
nent in the state grange work and an
up-to-date dealer in lumber and real
estate, R. E. Farwell and O. D.
Crockett, the male members of the
board of education, Austin Mor-
gan and his famih' of stalwart sons
and housewifely daughters, Eevi San-
born, Frank Shepard, and Fred Fow-
ler, J. D. Prescott and his hustling
son, Fred O., the Todds of Todd cor-
ner — honest Jacob H., bluff Nelson,
and energetic Frank, — and a square-
built farmhouse that dates back to the
early settlers, the home of Deacon
Charles W. Gay, chairman of the
board of selectmen for many years,
and a man whose absolute probity and
upright life have won for him even in
5'outh all the honors within the pow-
er of his fellow-townsmen to bestow.

Skirting the western
shore of Lake Pleasant is
a rightly named Pleasant
street, with a branch road
running to the upper end of
the lake. Highly favored
are the summer guests that
are lodged at Major Mes-
ser's "Red Cxables " or
Hiram Sargent's " Pine
Tree Cottage," for the near-
ness of lake and mountain
but enhances the charm.
Protected from rough
winds by the sheltering
hillside are thrifty orchards
and a cluster of tidy farm-
houses, the homes of Joseph H. Mes-
ser, David Baldwin, Willis J. Sargent,
Solon Cooper, vStephen J. Dean, Joseph
C. Adams, and James F. Hayes, one of
the selectmen ; the Pingree farm, on
which is the oldest house now standing

in town, the home of John D. and
Ransom C Pingree ; George R. McFar-
land's cosy dwelling, the pride of a vet-
eran who shoes horses and raises big
strawberries with equal facility, and
the well tilled farm of Deacon Seth
Eittlefield, whose only daughter,
Miss Anna M., is a recent graduate
of the Philadelphia Medical college.

Main street, which runs over Colb}'
hill, is the business centre of the
town, and the handsome residences
on either side bespeak the comforta-
ble prosperity of her citizens. At
the easterly end of the street is the
pleasant home of one of the town's
most honored residents. Professor
James P. Dixon, for eleven years
president of Colb}' academy, and one
of the finest classical and mathemati-
cal teachers in the state, but now
enjoying a well earned vacation and
gathering strength and vigor for coni-

Residence of Professor Dixon

ing duties. Directly opposite is the
homestead of the late Stephen Mes-
ser, a sterling man, generous, whole-
souled, who amassed a competence
literally b}' the sweat of his brow, his
farm being one of the finest in town,

I20

A SKETCH OF NEW LONDON.

At the Head of
BlacKwater River.

and now carried
on by his only
son, Alvin F.
Messer. Then
come the Bur-
pee, Herrick,

and Colby homesteads, and the
"President's house," so-called. This
last was the home of Hon. N. T.
Greenwood, during the earlier part
of his connection with the New L,on-
don Sc3'the company, but on his
removal from the village on the hill
he presented it to Colby academy,
of which he was treasurer, to be
used as a home for the president.

The " Pres'dent's House," Colby Academy

Ragged Mountain,
from Colby Hill.

through out a
long and useful
life has taken a
deep interest in
W'hatever is cal-
culated to ad-
vance the agricultural and all other
interests of the state. I^eading off
from Main street is the " back road,"
where dwell the Ninirod and Izaak
Walton of the town, John A. Seamans
and Ransom F. Sargent, whom the
visitor eager for sport is sure to seek
out. At the "mouth of the Hutch-
ins road" is the village smithy,
where four generations of the Dow
family have made the anvil ring for

Not far be3'ond are the church,—
the clock in its modest steeple the more than a century of time, John
gift of Hon. Luther McCutchins Dow, of the third generation, hav-

and the late Marcus Nelson — the
chapel and town-house, and the cos}'
parsonage, the home of Rev. W. A.
Farren, the tenth settled minister of
the church in its hundred and seven
3'ears of existence, and a most faith-
ful shepherd, the academy' build-
ings, Hotel Sargent, the Dr. Whip-
ple mansion, whence have gone three
gifted sons, Ashley C, Amos H., and
Sherman L., and the homestead of
one of New Hampshire's most stal-
wart sons, Hon. Luther McCutch-
ins, a practical farmer and one who

ing followed bis trade for over
lift}' years. On the same road is the
homestead of Henry R. Gates, one of
New London's oldest and most re-
spected citizens. To the west is Mes-
ser hill, with George M. Knight's
roomy farm-house, always full to
overflowing with visitors throughout
the summer season; and "Soncy,"
the charming summer home of Judge
E. B. Knight, of Charlestown, West
Virginia. vStill farther west is Burpee
hill, with its thrifty farmers, — H. B.
Williams, Fred Farwell, Ai Worthen,

A SKETCH OF NE]V LONDON.

121

Oilman H. Whitney, and Frank M.
Stanley, nephew of the late Judge
Clinton W. Stanley, and the delight-
ful home for summer guests over
which Mrs. J. B. Rol)y presides.

In the North district are most
ample accommodations for those in
pursuit of health or pleasure, either
with Deacon E. F. Messer at "Pleas-
ant View,'' or Capt. Baxter Gay at the
' ' Glengae, " ' at Jay Messer's ' ' High-
land Home," or Job Cross's " Little
Sunapee House." Just across from
the "Little Sunapee House," is the
home of ]\Iiss Martha H. Pillsbury,
daughter of Burpee Pillsbury, a lad}'
of fine literary culture who is now
ser\-ing her second term as a member
of the school board. The elegant
summer residence of Charles \V.
Bucklin overlooks Little Sunapee,
and the cosv cottage of George W.
Hodges is almost hidden in the shel-
tering pines on the easterh' shore.
Pine point, the narrow ridge that

runs far out into the lake, is a favor-
ite re.sort for private picnic parties.

Lj'ing between Little Sunapee and
Sunapee lake is Otter pond, and the
Xorth-west district of the town, or
Otterville. This neighborhood has
a saw-mill, grist-mill, carding-mill,
and l)lacksmith shop, and the quaint
"Wayside Chapel," where divine
ser\-ices are held in the summer sea-
son.

La.st, but not least, is the West
part, along the shore of Lake Suna-
pee. Here were the clearings of the
first settlers of the town, now the
broad acres of Nathaniel Knowlton,
Belden Morgan, and Edward A.
Todd : the sunnner residences of Mrs.
Tracy of Cleveland, O., Dr. E. ]\Iorrill
of Concord, Dr. J. D. Ouackenbos
and Professor Campbell of New York
cit}- ; while the omnipresent summer
guest is cared for by Benjamin C. Da-
vis at "The Willows," or by Frank
H. Davis at " Soo-nipi-side Lodge,"

R. E. Farwell.

Martha H. Pillsbury.

J. F. Hayes.

122

PARDON.

which was described
in the Granite Month-
ly for August, 1S94. In Dr. Mom, is Su

Soo-nipi-side Park are also located
the state fish hatchery and the fish
commissioners' cottage or "station.""
In this part of New London, at the
school-house, Episcopal services are
conducted in the summer season b}'
the Rev. Dr. Thomas H. Sill, of New
York.

From all parts of the town the
farmer comes back to Colby hill as
the centre. The well stocked stores
supply his daily needs ; there is a
physician, a druggist, and a barber
for emergencies ; a fully equipped
livery stable, a watchmaker, shoe-
maker, and saddler, as well as .smiths,
caipenters, and masons. There are

Residence of Austin Morgan.

three secret societies
in the bailiwick — the

mmer Residence. GraUgC, Odd FclloWS, aud

Masons — with Willie M. Knowlton,
Professor La Roy F. Griffin, and Dr.
C. A. Lamson as presiding officers.
The daily stages carry the mail, and
furnish conveyance to and from the
nearest railroad stations, for the hosts
of students and summer guests that
are yearly welcomed to this pleasant
covmtry town.

The shifting light that has serv^ed
to guide the inquisitive traveller over
the winding avenues is fading ; the
moon drops down behind the tree-
tops, and the traveller, volcns nolens^
has crossed "the dividing line."

PARDON.

By Mary M. Currier.

It is so sweet to pardon you, my own !
You know I love you. Love, when I forgive.
How shall I show my love to you in heaven ?
Your little sins will all have been forgiven !
The dear old wa}' of earth will be outgrown
When we that higher life begin to live.

THE WHITE ANGEE.

By G. C. Sclden.

T was not until the
summer was half
over that Beatrice
saw the white an-
gel ; for her father
was always busy
waiting upon the
ever hungrj- World's Fair crowd at
the little restaurant on Stony Island
avenue, and her mother was not often
well enough to take her to the fairy-
land inside the gates. Then, too,
the}' could ill afford even the small
expense of the entrance fee. Her
father's wages were not large, and
what with the doctor's bills and the
World's Fair rent to pay, the}' had
but little spending money. But the
dark-eyed mother had lost nothing of
her love for beauty, though the wide
sea and half two continents lay be-
tween her and her sunny Italy ; and
neither povert}' nor sickness could
always keep her from the white
glories of the crystal city.

So at length the}- went one day,
the mother and the child. Hand in
hand they wandered down the Court
of Honor and gazed upon the big
bisons and the fountains and the
noble horses. They rode upon the
moving sidewalk and sat in the shade
of the Peristyle. The child did not
understand it all, nor did the mother;
but perhaps they enjoyed it all the
more for that, for beauty suffers by
analysis. They followed the broad
pathway up the lake and rested upon

the benches in the wooded island and
wondered at the queer plants and
flowers in the Horticultural building.
Beatrice exclaimed upon it all, and
went into little ecstasies of admira-
tion, but her mother was silent, and
only looked, and sometimes sighed.
Then they crossed the bridge to the
east, and as they passed Beatrice
looked up and saw the angel on the
corner of the Manufactures building.

"Oh, Mamma, look!" she cried.
' ' See the white angel on the top ! ' '

"Yes, dear, I see it," said her
mother. "It is verv^ pretty." She
would have passed on, but Beatrice,
suddenly silent, stood gazing up at
the angel ; and as they crossed the
bridge again on their way home, she
stopped once more and looked long at
the white angel with its outspread
wings. "Come, Beatrice, we must
go home now," said her mother ; but
it was not until she took the child
by the hand and drew her away^
that Beatrice would consent to go.

Beatrice spoke often of the angel in
the days that followed and begged to
go again to the fair grounds. Her
mother could not take her again, the
exertion was too great, but at length,
after many misgivings, she bade the
child go alone ; and several times
after that Beatrice spent the afternoon
within the magic turnstiles.

Always she went to look at the
angel. It caught her childish fancy,
up there so high, almost among the

124

THE WHITE ANGEL.

clouds. She looked upon it with a
reverence not unlike what she might
have felt for the angel at the sepul-
chre, if she had known the stor>^
She thought the angel must see a
great deal that people could not see
upon the ground, it was up so far.
Perhaps it could see away to Italy,
across the sea. But Beatrice thought
not, because Italy was so very, very
far away, her mother had told her.
The angel must know the birds, all
of them, they flew about it so much.
Perhaps they brought messages to it
when they came. Once she saw one
of them alight upon its wing ; it was
so high she could hardlv see, but she
almost thought the angel turned a
little and smiled upon it.

How small the people must look
down upon the ground ! The angel
must pity them for having to crawl
about upon the dirty roads, it was so
high above all the noise and dust.
Once Beatrice saw it when the sun
was setting, so that the angel shone
white in the light while all the rest
below was in the shadow ; and she
wished she were an angel too, and
could see the sun and the stars and
the ships upon the lake, like the
angel on the Manufactures building.
But why did not the angel fly away
to heaven ? For Beatrice had a vague
idea that angels belonged in heaven.
Perhaps it liked to sta}' there high
among the clouds, and look down
upon the people. Perhaps it could
not get away. She wondered if the
other angels came to visit it. It was
very selfish of them if the}' did not.
It must be so lonely up there at night,
and cold, too. And when it rained
the poor angel must get very wet.
After all, Beatrice thought she would
not care to be an angel unless she

could fly away to heaven when she
chose.

The glorious autumn passed away
and winter came. The great fair
closed beneath the shadow of a
mighty sorrow, and the thousands
who had walked its stately colonades
scattered to their homes. Day b}^
day the long trains bore them away
to brown western prairies and eastern
hillsides, and to the soothing breezes
of the south. Some crossed the sea
again and told the far off peoples
the wonderful story of the city by the
lake. Stony Island avenue was lonely
and deserted, as if swept by a pesti-
lence. The once crowded restau-
rants closed their doors, and gambling
halls were for rent, — the fakir was
heard no more.

For a time Beatrice's father man-
aged to pick up work of one kind or
another around the park ; but as the
chill snows of winter sank upon the
cit}', the outlook grew dark in the
meagre little household. Those were
the days when the father sat silent
and sullen in the corner with his chin
upon his hand, and the mother, who
was too ill to sit up now, sighed as
she looked at her child ; and Bea-
trice's heart was nearly broken to
hear her mother cough and cough,
for the cold was killing her.

It was a bitter day for poor little
Beatrice when she stood by the grave
and listened to the thud of earth upon
her mother's coffin. She did not half
understand it then, no one does; but
when vshe came back to the empty
home and tried to live on as before,
the awful desolation seemed too great
to bear. For her father was not the
same to her as her mother had been.
He had never seemed like a father,
more like a somewhat morose and

THE WHITE ANGEL.

125

quick-tempered uncle. Beatrice and
lier mother had been all in all to one
another. She could hardly convince
herself that her mother was really
gone. Every few moments she would
say to herself, "I nuist tell mamma
this," or " I will ask mannna." only
to think in the next breath that she
never could ask mamma any more.

She thought often of the angel in
the drear}^ days that followed. She
wondered if it was still on the top of
the tall building. It must suffer so,
up there in the wind and snow ; and
its sister angels could not come to see
it now, it would be so cold coming
down through the sky. She won-
dered if it missed the other ano-els as
she missed her mother, and she
wished, oh, so earnestly, that the
angel and she could fly away together
up to Heaven where her mother was.
She used to look out the window to
the east and long for it to come ; but
the angel never came.

Her father worked when he could
get work, and sat silent and mood}-
by the stove when he could not.
Failure and misfortune had em-
bittered him against the world. He
owed it nothing ; he had received
only rebuff and injury ; he had asked
bread and it had given him a stone.
Too ignorant to perceive that his ill
luck was mostly due to his own in-
dolence and bad judgment, he rose in
fierce revolt against he knew not
what. God, the universe, society, —
what had they done for him ? The
very laws of nature were concei\-ed in
cruelty ; the earth turned to rock and
the sk}' to ice at the moment of his
greatest necessity. Desperate, hope-
less, often half intoxicated, it some-
times seemed to his depraved imag-
ination that, had he the power, it

would be but a sweet solace of re-
venge to sweep away at a single blow
the labored fabric of society.

While his wife was alive she had
restrained him, for he had loved her
very dearly. But now she was dead ;
and on vSundays his wretched little
house was the rendezvous for a group
of malcontents. Around his rusty
kitchen stove circled the theories of
anarchy. Government was brought
before this tribunal and summarily
condemned — by men too weak to gov-
ern themselves. The acknowledged
flaws of society — those hardships and
horrors which are analogous to the
unexplained cruelties of nature — were
magnified until they completely ob-
scured the multitude of advantages
which accompany them, and with
them was mingled in inseparable con-
fusion a specious tissvte of error.
And there was reason for this ; for
circumstances bring the flaws of so-
ciety to the attention of the very poor
much more frequently and forcibly
than its advantages.

To this group of economic rebels
all was darkness. No single ray of
light pierced the deep night of pluto-
cratic oppression. Wealth ruled the
world ; and government, even so
called republican government, was
but the ser\'ant of wealth. Capital
was every day more and more con-
trolled by the few, and the people
were being reduced to a slavery
which was all the more galling for
its shallow pretense of independence.
Even the expression of opinion was
controlled by the ' ' mone}* power. ' '
Editors of newspapers must write as
their owners directed. Even teachers
of political science, and authors of
economic books were directly depend-
ent upon the wealth}' classes for their

126

THE WHITE ANGEL.

support. The working man must vote,
speak, and think as his employer de-
sired, if he would keep his position.

And there was no relief. Impa-
tient man, hurrying through his little
span of years, cannot learn the lesson
of the strata. He wishes to do in a
day what can onh^ be done in a
century. To the ignorant the ice-
berg seems stationary. It seemed to
the group about the kitchen stove
that the only solution was in com-
plete re-con.struction. The building
must be torn down and begun anew
upon a better plan.

Such was the argument of the abler
and better educated of these Sunday
reasoners. Beatrice's father could
not appreciate it all, but he gathered
that everything was wrong and the
only remedy was to destro^^ a remedy
which appealed very strongly to him.
Nothing is more dangerous than a
radical theory in the hands of a man
who but half understands it.

Beatrice, of course, saw but little
of all this. She only knew that her
father drank more and more and
worked less and less, even when
work was to be had. She sometimes
listened to the talk of the strange
men who came to see him, but not
often. She did not like them. She
felt instinctively that they were not
good men ; and again and again she
wished in vain that her mother could
come back to her.

At length the dreary winter was
gone ; but the spring and summer
brought no improvement in the pros-
pects of the little family. Times were
hard, and Beatrice's father showed
little energy in looking for work.
lyabor disturbances were common,
and he took a passionate interest in
them all. When the great strike

came, he joined the crowd at the
stock yards as a matter of course.
Beatrice saw with dismay that he
was drinking more than ever. He
was gloomy and silent and would
hardly speak to her.

On the day after our great national
holiday she spent the afternoon wan-
dering through Jack.son Park. She
had often been there durinsr the
lonely spring days. It grieved her
to see the buildings all broken and
torn away ; but the white angel still
remained. Beatrice thought it mu.st
certainly fly away soon or the build-
ings would all be gone.

The broad pathway was deserted
as she came back past the terminal
station. She was a little afraid, but
she had learned not to mind it. All
at once she saw a man stealing
around the corner as if to keep from
being seen. For a moment her heart
beat quick with fright ; but at the
next glance she saw it was her father
and ran toward him. But he clutched
her arm with a grip like a vise and
hoarsely bade her run home and
never say that she had seen him
there. Beatrice had not seen him
like that before. His step was
unsteady, and his eyes were almost
wild as he walked rapidly away.

Beatrice watched him, uncertain
what to do ; Init when at length he
disappeared she turned to go home as
he had told her. As she was setting
out she looked around half fearfully,
and saw flames creeping out at the
corner of the building next her, and
smoke oozing through the cracks.
An instant she stood stupefied ; then,
half in fear and half in a vague desire
to find some one, she ran northward
alongside the Transportation build-
ing, until at length, tearful and

THE WHITE ANGEL.

127

"breathless, she sank down npon a
pile of boards.

She heard some one shouting and
saw two guards running ; then for a
few minutes all was silent, and Bea-
trice began to wonder if she had been
dreaming. Over across the lagoon
she could see the angel against the
skj', its wings still stretched out as if
to fiy away ; but she was too fright-
ened to think much about it. vShe
looked again toward the south and
saw black clouds of smoke pouring
up alongside the white dome of the
Administration building. Then she
heard the warning clang of the fire
department, and down the broad
pathway from the north swept the
Hyde Park engines on their way to
answer the alarm. She crept farther
back upon the pile of rubbish, as the
laboring horses thundered by with
their ponderous load.

She was not long alone. The
dense volumes of smoke, rising
slowly up above the park, and then
reluctantly crossing the Court of
Honor and drifting out over the lake,
told all too plainly the story of de-
struction. People on foot, people on
horseback, people in carriages, passed
her in constantly increasing numbers.

Meanwhile the flames were spread-
ing with surprising speed. The Ad-
ministration building caught almost
immediate!}- ; the roof burned quickly
through and the high dome formed a
va.st chimne}' from which the smoke
and fire poured forth as from a mighty
kiln. In less than half an hour the
building was a total wreck. Torches
from its lofty arch were borne blazing
through the air to the Mining, Elec-
tricity, and Manufactures buildings,
and across the Court of Honor, far
out into the lake.

Beatrice sat silent and awe-struck,
watching the rapid spread of the fire ;
but when the corner of the Manu-
factures building began to burn she
thought again of the white angel, and
looked to see if it was still there. Yes,
there it stood, poised above the west-
ern doorwa}^ seemingly all uncon-
cerned in the face of fast approaching
danger. Oh, surely, surely now it
would break away from its ruined
city, and soar aloft to its home among
the clouds ! Beatrice watched it with
beating heart, anxious lest it should
slip away when she was not looking.

She was now in the midst of a
crowd of sightseers. The paths and
bridges and the piles of timber were
thickly covered everj-where with an
indiscriminate mass of men, women,
and children, silently watching the
mounting flames. All seemed to real-
ize that the}^ were looking upon a
.scene of grandeur unparalleled in the
story of the past, and one probably
never to be repeated : for nothing
was ever better calculated to make a
magnificent bonfire than the White
City. Only the children talked, and
some of the younger girls. At inter-
vals fire engines would part the
crowd, as they arrived from the more
distant portions of the city, or passed
around to the north to protect the
Government building.

Night had come on, but no one
noticed it ; the light of the fire was
like that of day. It shone high into
the heavens with a glaring brillianc}^
and died away in exquisite shades of
blue and yellow and orange and red.
The roar of the flames was like a dis-
tant cataract. For ninety degrees
the horizon was a sea of fire. The
majestic world-city, treasured in the
hearts of thousands, seemed to rise

128

UNDER THE OLD ELM.

ill fierce rebellion against the piece-
meal destruction of the wreckers, and
chose rather to perish, sublime to the
last, in one magnificent whirlpool of
flame.

The southern end of the Manufac-
tures building had already fallen, and
it was the expectation of the specta-
tors that the remainder would give
way, section by section, toward the
north ; but a far grander sight awaited
them. First came a sound like the
rushing of a distant avalanche ; then
with one simultaneous and tremen-
dous crash the whole vast structure
fell thundering to the earth. Noth-
ing remained standing save the two
towers, at the corner and at the side.
The involuntary exclamations of the
people blended in one long-drawn
"Ah! " of astonishment, horror, and
admiration. The flames shot up from
the pile of ruins with a fierce glare
far into the heavens, and the heat re-
doubled in intensit_v.

Instantly Beatrice looked for the
angel. The western arch upon which
it stood, had survived the fall of the
main building, and as the wind

swept a.side the smoke and flame, she
could still see plainly the white angel,
erect and motionless at the top.
Why, oh, why did it not fly awa}^ ?
Could it be that it was going to be
burned up with the rest ? Beatrice
refused to believe it. When the
tower fell below it, she would see the
white- winged angel, soaring above
the smoke and fire, away to its home
in the sky.

Beatrice clasped her hands closely
together and waited. Suddenlj^ the
tall structure, now all the higher
because no building stood behind it,
began to crumble and fall. For an
instant the angel seemed to poise it-
self with outspread wings upon its
trembling and swaying pedestal ;
then, with one last look at the sky
and the stars, it plunged headlong
into the seething flames.

For a moment Beatrice was dumb
with horror ; then she began to cry
as if her heart would break. Two
kind hearted women who sat near her
came and tried to comfort her and
asked her why she was crying so ;.
but she would not tell them.

UNDER THE OLD EEM.

By Edward A. Jciiks.

And this is June : — these overhanging boughs
Invite us — nay, entice us — to a rest
Upon this soft, green, fragrant mother-breast.

Where we may watch the sweet home-coming cows

Wind down the hill, and listen to the vows

We have no right to hear from that small nest
That swings above us, while the waning west

Breathes benedictions on our throbbing brows.

Here we will dream the twilight hours away
Beneath this ample firmament of leaves,
And listen to the whirr of unseen wings

Within the shadows, while the soft airs play
The songs our mother sung, that time nor thieves

Can filch from meni'ry's storehouse — Hark! she sings!

WILD REUTLINGEN.

A ROMANCE OF THE TIME OF THE GREAT KING.

[ Traiislated from the German of Hans Werder. J

By AgaiJia B. E. Chandler.

CHAPTER XXil.

VICTORY was won,

but at a t c r r i 1) 1 e

cost, and the king

could care little for his

triumph when he thought

of the thousands whose blood and

lives had bought it for him.

"We fought with the strength of
despair," he himself wrote in his
"Lecture de Catt," "merely to win
our wa}' back to our miserable con-
dition of preceding years. That is
the reason so nuich blood was .shed ;
had we not fought this battle we
should probably have been driven to
the antipodes."

So the battle was fought, and Sax-
ony, as far as Dresden, was in the
king's hands, the Russians retreating
to Poland, Laudon falling back to
Glatz, and the vSwedes withdrawing
to Stralsund. Friedrich's name was
more terrible to his enemies than
ever before.

The Prussian ami}- went peacefully
into winter quarters, the Baireuth
dragoons being divided between two
little villages in the vicinity of Frei-
berg, having been once more publicly
commended by the great commander
for its "heroic deeds" in battle.
\'on Bulow, the regimental comman-
der, was made a major-general before
his time, and ]\Iajor von vSeelhor.st

was promoted to the colonelcy, while
upon Reutlingen's brea.st glistened
the cross of honor, the highest ambi-
tion of all noble minds. The cap-
tain's wild leap over the ditch had
been made known to the king, and
his majesty was proud of his of^cer.
Unspeakable pride and thankfulness
filled Reutlingen's breast ; what could
bring him pain or anxiet}^ now ;
what personal trouble could disturb
him as long as he was a Prussian
soldier, an officer of Friedrich the
Great, as long as he had pleased
his monarch ?

Before the Prussian troops could
settle permanently into winter quar-
ters, however, came trying marches
in pursuit of the enemy and expedi-
tions against the imperial army,
duties full of plea.sure to Reutlingen,
whose heart was filled with a joy and
excitement of victory which over-
shadowed every other feeling. At
last, when the much needed rest had
come, when the first transports of
triumph were pa.st, cooler recollec-
tions returned, and there awoke with
redoubled force in Reutlingen's soul
the bitter realization of the truth.
His urgent desire to see Ulrike was
ever before him ; to seek an explana-
tion and vindicate his honor were his
.sole aims. He asked his colonel for

I30

J [ 7/. D RE UTL INGEN.

leave, which, in that officer's zeal in
his newly gained office, was unwill-
ingly granted.

" I am very reluctant to let you go,
Reutlingen, for you know his majesty
disapproves of these leaves of ab-
sence. We are now very near head-
quarters, and the king could easily
inspect the regiment at a moment's
notice. Still, if so much depends on
it, you may go for three days; that is
the longest time that I can possibly
give you."

Three days. That was short
enouoh, but it was better than noth-
ing and Reutlingen was satisfied.

In the centre of Saxony la}' the
estate of lycitnitz, belonging to Herr
von Trebenow. The mansion was a
stately white house with a mansard
roof pierced by round \vindows, and
on the garden side were beautiful
terraces decorated in the fashion of
the day. The large garden itself was
surrounded by a trellis arched walk
and by neatly trimmed hedges, while
at the foot of the terraces a fountain
threw its misty spray high into the
air to fall again in light drops upon
the shells which lined the stone basin.
Now the ground was bare, in the
clear cool da^'S of autumn, waiting-
only the coming of its pure white
mantle of winter snow.

Ulrike von Reutlingen stood in a
window overlooking the terraces and
gazed silently out over the bare
fields, while her aunt, Frau von Tre-
benow, sat at the other side of the
room with her daughter beside her,
both busil}' engaged upon a piece of
silk embroidery. The}' had by this
time become accustomed to the silent
sadness that had at first seemed so

unlike the gentle Ulrike, and so they
paid no attention to her.

vSlie, on her part, watched the wind
playing with the dry red leaves that
lay scattered over the green turf, and
thought of lyangenrode. A 3'ear had
now passed since the strains of the
Hohenfriedburg march first rang in
her ears; a single year, and yet it
seemed to her as though a century
had gone between, a whole lifetime
lived as in a dream.

The Prussian dragoons quartered
in the vicinity had spread the news of
the battle of Torgau until it at last
reached the ears of the family at
lyeitnitz, and lUrike heard that the
Baireuth dragoons had taken part,
that Reutlingen had acted gallantly,
and that he had been decorated by
the king. It was certainly good news,
and her relations could not under-
stand why she sighed so bitterly nor
why she was so restless.

" There's no passion that bnrus with so
fierce a flauie
As the love that locked in the heart
nuist remain."

She whi.spered the words of the old
love song softly to herself, and pressed
her forehead against the cool window
pane.

Suddenly the door was fitmg hastily
open and Annette lutrried in.

"Oh, my lady! My dear master,
the captain, is jitst riding into the
garden ; he will be here in a moment.
Oh, how glad I am !

Ulrike turned, her face pale as
death. So he had come to seek her
and had fotmd her here. She must
meet him, nutst see him, for she knew
he would brook no reftisal. Oh, how
wottld he speak to her? Her heart
sank within her.

"Go and meet him and bring him

WILD REUTLINGEN.

131

to my room, I will wait for him
there," she said hurrietUy. " Vou
will excuse me, my dear aunt?"
Without waiting for an answer she
ran up the stairs into her own bright
little room and, glancing in the mir-
ror, tried to straighten her hair, but
her hands trembled like aspen leaves,
and her knees threatened to give way
beneath her. She had feared him
when he had gently sought her hand ;
how could she meet him now when
she had so troubled and angered him ?
She heard his heavy step in the corri-
dor, and the door flew open.

"This way, please, my dear sir,"
cried Annette, retreating as she
opened the door.

It closed with a heavj' slam, and
Ulrike realized that she was alone
with him. The whole room seemed
to swim around her and she grasped
the back of a chair with both hands.
Reutlingen stood in the middle of the
room breathing fast and loud, an agi-
tation that he had never before
known filling his heart with pain and
anger.

"Ulrike," he cried at last. "So
3'ou came here against my wishes and
and my express command. Tell me
why you did this ?

His eyes flashed and his voice was
full of anger. Ulrike stood as though
stunned ; she could not speak, and he
advanced heavily towards her.

"Ulrike, 3'ou have made a fool of
me with your obstinate silence long
enough ; now \o\x shall speak to me !
You have broken your marriage vow,
forgotten j-our duty, and I can at
least demand an explanation."

Ulrike had become quieter ; an in-
stinct of self defense awoke within
her such as teaches the bird of the
forest to defend itself against the

hawk. She raised her head and
looked at him ; that soft beseeching
gaze from the tear dimmed ej^es
totiched his heart, the harsh words
died away upon his tongue, and his
eyes softened. As she stood there
helpless before him, so maidenly and
so charming, he longed to fold her
in his strong arms ; his feeling of
anger changed to one of burning pas-
sion as the storm wind shifts sud-
denl)' from the east to the south and
blows throtigh the meadows and
forests, still passionate, but with a
more soothing breath.

" Ulrike, why have you done this?
Did you run away from me?"

Ah, 5'es ; she had tried to escape-
him, but how could she confess it.

"Did yoti not receive my letter?"
she asked.

A hasty and unwilling acknowl-
edgment was his reply.

' ' Did you write that letter your-
self, Ulrike?"

" Yes ; certainly."

' ' Then did some one dictate it to
you?"

" No, I wrote it alone."

Her hand trembled in his grasp.

"Now please tell me your reasons
for doing it ; why did you leave Stein-
hovel?"

Silently, as before, her head sank,
and with it his patience ended.

"Make up your mind to answer
me," he continued with rising anger.
' ' Why did you leave my house after
I had strictly forbidden you to do so?"

"You had forbidden it, Herr von
Reutlingen, and by what right?"

"What?" He laughed aloud as
he turned and threw himself into a
chair, his clenched fist falling heavily
upon his knee.

" M}' dear lady, that is a question

n,2

WILD REUTLINGEN.

that I can readily answer. By the
right of an honorable and true hns-
band. I have never given np the
rights as such that you gave me when
you met me at the altar, and j'ou
have forgotten the first duty that I
laid upon you. I want to know why
you have done this. Tell me, Ulrike,
wdiy did you leave my house ? ' '

' ' I considered it better for you and
for myself."

' ' What do you mean by that ? ' '

"I we must part, Herr von

Reutlingen ; that was our agreement.
I wanted to hasten the step, to
lighten it."

Her voice became indistinct. She
sank down in a chair before him and
covered her face with her hands.
Reutlingen made a move as though
to rise but changed his mind and
leaned back silently again. A terri-
ble pause ensued.

"Ulrike, how have I deser\^ed
this?" he asked at last, as though it
were forced from his unwdlling lips.
She did not look up, and a frightened
sigh was her only answer.

" Child, the idea did not originate
in 3'our own mind, who put it into
your head ? ' '

"No one, Herr von Reutlingen.
lyisten to me for a moment," cried
Ulrike, now determined to speak out
unreservedly. "You know I mar-
ried you in my loneliness when you
.so nobly offered me your aid and
protection. I accepted your offer,
although I knew that it was only a
whim of your kind heart, and was
prompted by no real feeling for ine.
I will speak plainly. You made a
ofreat sacrifice for me and I had
already felt deeply humiliated by it,
when " — .she raised herself to her full
height — "my cousin, Benno von

Trautwitz, came and opened my eyes.
He saw more clearl}^ than I, and
showed me the whole unworthiness
of my position ; he left me no doubt
of what I must expect from you
should I carry my chains any longer

in silence "

" What must you expect from me ? "
interrupted Reutlingen in a voice of
forced calmness.

A glance of agony met his own.

" Must I then tell you ? Is it not
enough that I must know^ that I bear
your name while "

"While what? Goon."

" While an unworthy life dares to
be more to you than "

She got no farther, for a harsh
laugh interrupted her speech ; pale
and with flashing eyes Reutlingen
stood before her, his nostrils quiver-
ing like the hand that rested upon
his sabre.

"And he dared to make you believe
this tale — lying hound ? He sneaked
under ni}^ roof in ni}^ absence merely
to be near my wife, to win her heart
from me with his damnable lies ?
Your teacher found a willing pupil
no doul3t. Perhaps he offered you
his love in place of mine ? Are
you not afraid for your teacher's life
when you throw such a lie in my
face ? ' '

' ' Herr von Reutlingen ! What are
you saying ? Every one of your
words is an insult to me."

He turned quickly away.

"Insult! And what have you
said to me ? ' '

"Isn't it true, then?" she asked
trembling.

' ' You should have asked me that
long ago, but you w^ere so glad to lis-
ten to my accuser that you did not
consider my honor worth an inquiry."

WILD REUTLINGEN.

133

" I thought " whispered Ulrike.

"Yes, you thought " He

gfazed darkly into her eves.

"Still it is not with you that my
reckonintr; must he ; where will I find
your teacher? Tell me that."

She met his glance with terror, for
she saw written in it the death war-
rant of her friend.

"Where shall I find Trautwitz ?
You must tell me," he continued
with growing anger.

"I don't know. I can't — I will
not tell you," she cried breathlessl}'.

"But I will have it from you, Ul-
rike. Or has your lover made his
life so precious to you that you had
rather defy me than tell me his hiding
place?"

Ulrike would not answer.

" Will you tell me ; yes or no ?"

"No!"

Reutlingen clinched his fist with a
liot laugh.

' ' Good ! that ' no ' of >ours shall
lead me to his heart, for I shall surely
find the way ; you ma>- keep that con-
stantly in mind." Without another
word he left the room and the door
closed noisih' behind him.

He remained leaning against the
wall of the corridor and pressed his
hand to his forehead, for the blood
surged in his brain and through his
veins until it seemed that his head
, must burst ; thirst for revenge over-
powered him and made him long to
be on his way. With an effort he
straightened himself up and hurried
down stairs and out of the house
■where his life's hapj^iness had l)een
"wrecked.

In the courtyard he met a servant.

"Can you tell me if Lieutenant
von Trautwitz is .staying here?" he
inquired in a stern, commanding tone.

"No, sir; the lieutenant has been
gone for a long time," was the reply.

' ' Do you know where he went ?

" No, sir. Perhaps to Dresden, or
perhaps back to his regiment."

" Will you bring me xwy horse, my
friend: I nuist hurry away?"

In her room above stood Ulrike.
The noise of the door quivered in her
brain, and still more sharply she could
hear his terrible words and the fear-
ful tone in which he uttered them.
Now he was gone to demand an ex-
planation and seek revenge, and he
would not hesitate, he would find his
enemy and blood would be shed.
Blood ! For her error ; spilt on her
account. Whose murderess would
she become, Reutlingen 's or Ben-
no's? A shudder ran through her
frame ; no, that could not, must not
happen. A thought flashed through
her mind like lightning ; he could not
5'etbe gone; his horse must be saddled;
which way would he go ? He must
pass the gate that opened into the
highway from the wide drive through
the garden. The cold November
wind blew around her, hvA. she felt it
not, as she flew like a hunted fawn
over the turf and along the straight
road from the leafless hedge to the
spot where he must pass. The gate
was closed and locked, and she shook
it with both hands and then stood
still and listened. The gallop of a
horse reached her ears, and the beat-
ing of her heart told her that he was
coming nearer and nearer. He was
passing the gate when he heard her
cry and stopped his horse.

"Ulrike?" Was it a ghost or was
it really she? There she .stood, her
delicate cheeks red from exertion,
her hair flying in the cold wind, and
a feverish glow in her eyes. The

134

WILD REUTLINGEN.

wooden gate separated them, and her
weak hands shook it in vain. Scarcely
reahzing what he was doing RentUn-
gen leaped from his saddle ; every-
thina: that stood between them was
forgotten in the wave of j^assion that
snrged over him. He threw the
reins over a small Inish and struck
the latch with his clinched fist.
With a crash the woodwork splintered
and the gate flew open.

" Ulrike, what do j-ou want of

me?'

He held 1 oth her hands in his own ;
those small, soft, ice-cold hands that
trembled like aspen leaves in his
feverish grasj).

" Hei'r von Reutlingen," she stam-
mered with a dry throat, "for God's
sake don't look for him; give np
j-our revenge. O God 1 it was ni)-
fault. Kill me, but don't — " Her
voice failed her.

The blood turned to ice in his veins
and his face became ashy pale. So
she feared for his enem3''s life and
besreed for mercv for him.

"No, child! Cry to God for your
lover's life, not to me. I am going

to carr\' him my thanks for the lesson
he taught you ; he will need your
prayers."

In deathly terror she tried to free
her fingers from his clenched hand.

" Let me go ! Listen to me ! My
God, vou wrong me ! "

"Women always say that," he
cried, with a short laugh. "You
l:)roke our marriage bond yourself.
What binds me to \\\\ word now ? "

" Don't go away so," cried the ter-
rified girl. " I will make restitution.
You must listen to me ! "

He drew her closer to him.

"Xo, no; I must go. I love you
madly, child. My own, and still not
mine — vou will kill me ! How Ions:
must I see you beyond my reach ? ' '

In an outburst of passion he threw
his arms around her and kissed her
again and again, and then tore him-
self awav so roughh- that she staa:-
gered back.

The gate closed ; he sprang into
the saddle and galloped away into
the fast fading twilight, the gravel
rattling under his horse's hoofs as he
went.

CHAPTER XXIII.

In the living room of his mansion
of Neuserbnitz sat the young count
of Langenrode and his guest. Lieu-
tenant von Trautwitz, the latter, an
expression of mingled fatigue and
sadness on his dark face, with his
head thrown back in his chair, gazing
gloomily into the fire that crackled in
the fireplace, while his host watched
him attentively.

The count of Langenrode was still
a young man and was unusuall}'
large and strong, the friendly, pleas-
ant expression of his weather-beaten

face bespeaking an easy going dispo-
sition, which inclined him to think
nuich of the good things of life,
thereby giving him a tendency to
corpulency. With a sigh of deep
content he lifted his tankard to his
mouth and blew clouds of smoke from
his pipe towards the ceiling ; he could
not understand why the other pre-
ferred to sit there gazing moodily
into the coals, thinking neither of
smoking nor drinking.

"Stop your brooding, Trautwitz,"
he said at last. " Your wound is

WILD REUILINGEN.

135

healed and a good drink will not luirt
yon now ; look at the agreeable side
of life again, as becomes a jolly hns-
sar."

"Ah, if I only conld," answered
Benno with a sigh. "Life has no
agreeable side for me ; that villainons
king of Prussia .stripped me of all my
property by the .siege of Dresden ; the
eirl that I love better than mv life is
estranged from me, and the last fleet-
ing hope that I might .some day call
her mine has just died away. Don't
ask me about it. Those Ijrigands
that the king of Prussia calls his offi-
cers have robbed me of her. My
honor as an officer and as a man was
forever lost on that unlucky hour
when that miserable king released
me on parole; everything in m>- life
worth having has been laid in ashes
by this margrave of Brandenburg."

"As you were the king's prisoner
j-ou can't take it amiss that he
paroled you," responded Langenrode
quietly. ' ' Your only trouble was
that 3-ou did not keep your word, my
Sfood friend. Xo ; don't get into a
rage over it. We shall never agree
on that point, but that is no reason
why our friendship should suffer. I
believe you honorable as long as I
see that you only break your word to
the enemies of our Fatherland, but
you can't be surprised if others criti-
cise you more severely."

It really did not surprise Benno at
all, but for that very reason he suf-
fered more sharply under criticism.

"Never mind that," he said hur-
riedly. "But you must see that I
have no reason to feel happy. I
hoped for so long to see this king of
Prussia defeated by our combined
forces, to see this margrave of Brand-
enburg brought low, and now, that he

has won this battle when he was all
but overpowered, the last and only
hope of my life has flown."

" Poor king," laughed Langen-
rode. "In my opinion he has done
nothing to merit such hatred, he who
has .so heroically beaten off an over-
whelming force. I hate him also, of
course, l)ut at the same time I
admire him with all \\\\ heart."

Benno shrugged his .shoulders dis-
dainfully.

"You don't understand me any
better than liefore, Langenrode, but
you are a good fellow nevertheless,
and about the onl\- man on earth who
means well by me. You will lie a
scood friend to me after mv death, I
know, so I will not quarrel with you
now."

' ' You are not going to commit sui-
cide, are you?" asked Langenrode,
half in jest, half in earnest.

' ' No ; but I have no friends but
yourself, only enemies."

"That seek 3-our life, poor fel-
low ? ' '

" Perhaps. You told me j^esterday
of a Prussian officer of dragoons who
asked for me here and then went on
to Dresden to seek me. That must
have been Reutlingen, the brigand
who robbed me of LTlrike ; 3^our de-
scription fits him well, and he has
only too much cau.se to .seek a reck-
oning with me, I freely admit."

' ' Do you think that he will demand
satisfaction ; tho.se Prussian officers
think a great deal of their honor? "

Trautwitz laughed grimly.

' ' This .street robber is not seeking
his own death. But I am caught on
ever}' side and for that reason I have
prepared for death. Will you do me
a friendly .service, Langenrode?"

" Certainlv, old friend."

17,6

WILD REUTLINGEN.

Benno drew a sealed packet from
liis breast.

" See here, my friend ; should 3-011
once be sure that I am dead I want
you to give this to Ulrike. Take it
to her yourself ; she shall then hear
of my death through you and through
110 one else. Promise me that you
will do it."

" I promi.se you."

Benno leaned back contentedly in
his chair, Langenrode took a deep
drauofht from his tankard, and thev
both relapsed into silence once more.
At last Benno spoke again as though
some disquieting thought had sud-
denly occurred to him.

"I must start to-day in order to
reach my regiment as early as possi-
ble to-morrow ; I know a secluded
little inn in the mountains where I
can pass the night. That is the most
convenient way for me to do."

L,angenrode looked at him, a little
startled, for the thought occurred to
him that Benno expected to meet
Reutlingen on the way.

"As you will, my friend, but I will
bear you company until you reach
your mountain inn."

' ' Do >-ou want to protect me from
any followers I may have?" asked
Benno laughing.

' ' Perhaps ; at any rate I want to
he present at any accidents that ma}^
happen. One can't always tell about
such things, you know."

He spoke in an indifferent way, but
still in a true, manly tone. He was
sorry for this poor fellow who, by his
own confession, had no friend on
earth but himself.

vSoon after this conversation they
started off together and, with Benno's
servant following them, they rode
through the dark mountain forests

into Bohemia. Just as darkness .set
in they reached the inn of which
Benno had spoken, a small, uncared
for cabin with a wide, overhanging
roof which stood in the shadow of
the neighboring trees with its back
again.st a cliff.

The two men demanded shelter,
and the host, a black bearded brig-
and, greeted Benno with a grin as an
old acquaintance, and said that he
could guide him to his regiment.
They entered the low public room
which was filled with smoke and
steam, and found there two rough
looking peasants who were drinking-
brandy and throwing dice.

" This is an abominable lodging,"
grumbled Langenrode. "We cer-
tainly would have done better had
we remained where we were over
night."

Benno sat down beside the dirty
pine table and rested his head upon
his hands.

"Never mind," he said sadly.
" Do you know the feeling that a man
sometimes has that he is fleeing from
his fate to the end of the world ? I
have done all I could to win my hap-
piness and I thought I had done it,
but to-day it seems to me as if every-
thing were lost, as if my part were
played to a finish on the stage of life.
Fate has dealt unkindly with me ; I
feel her hand closing around me and
I will no longer try to escape it. As
the storm sighs through the trees —
listen — what was that ? ' '

The hoofs of a horse beat upon the
wooden bridge that crossed the brook
in front of the house, and a man's
voice called out a loud "hello"
through the stillness of the night.

Benno sprang up and stepped to
the window, ever}' trace of color fad-

IV/LD REUTLINGEN.

137

ing from his face. "He is there,"
came through his clenched teeth.

The full moon had risen over the
forest and its pale light shone bright
as day on the little clearing before
the door. There sat a rider upon his
horse, a white feather in his three
cornered hat. his hand hanging by
his side where the moonbeams
flashed like lightning upon his sabre.
He gave some directions about his
horse to the servant who answered
his call, and then swung himself out
of the saddle.

In the meantime I,angenrode had
sought the host in an effort to keep
out the unwelcome guest, but before
he could accomplish anything the
door was pushed open and Reut-
lingen entered. The blood rushed to
his temples when he saw Benno.

" Herr von Trautwitz, I have
sought you for four daj'S through
town and country ; may I ask j^ou for
a short inter^aew? I wish to ask a
question, and a short answer will be
all that is required."

" I am at your ser\-ice," answered
Trautwitz, his hand on the hilt
of his sword. "Here is my friend,
Count Langenrode, who will remain
with us during our inter\'iew, with
your consent, Captain von Reutlin-

gen.

The two men bowed to each other.

"That is exactly what I wish, to
have a man of honor bear witness as
to our meeting," said Reutlingen.
" Now for my question, Herr von
Trautwitz. I charge that 3'ou, dur-
ing my absence with my regiment,
sneaked into my house, won ni}^
wife's ear, and through lies deroga-
tory to my character so influenced
her that she left ni}- house in spite of
my express commands, and now

wishes for a divorce." His voice
became loud and threatening.
" What have you to say to this
accusation ? ' '

Benno 's eyes flashed with rage.

"Nothing, except that it is false.
Whatever I have told my cousin is
true. You won your wife in a man-
ner unworthy of a man, for she was
engaged to me before 5' ou ever crossed
her path. I love her, and I know
that m}' love is returned ; you cannot
prevent me from maintaining my
place in her heart."

' ' Stop ! No more ! " Reutlingen's
face was ashy pale, and his eyes
flashed like the lightning from black
clouds on a stormy night.

' ' Sir, you have broken 3'our word
of honor to my king, and as a Prus-
sian officer I cannot challenge you,
still, as a scoundrel who has assailed
my honor, you shall feel my sword as
a school boy feels the cane."

Their swords flashed from their
scabbards in the firelight, and they
closed in a struggle for life or death,
the weapons clashing together as
the}' circled round about each other.
Reutlingen fought grimly and
fiercely, like an enraged wild boar,
w^hile Trautwitz moved with the
quickness and ease of a wildcat.
Suddenly they closed, and the hus-
sar fell back with a stream of blood
gushing from his breast. Langen-
rode rushed to him and knelt by his
side. There was a deathly silence in
the room.

Reutlingen stood motionless, the
point of his sabre lowered, while the
warm drops trickled down over his
right hand from a wound in his arm.
His bloodshot eyes were fixed silently
upon his enemy, who lay upon the
floor before him.

ir.S'

J I VLB REUTLINGEN.

Trautwitz threw his arms about his
head and tried to niunnur a few bro-
ken words.

" Benno, I am here ; what do you
want to say to me?" cried Langen-
rode.

A deep sigh was the only answer ;
the wounded man's head sank heav-
ily back, and the calm of death
smoothed his distorted features.
Langenrode closed the lifeless eyes
and made the sign of the cross over
the ashy forehead.

"Dead," said he softly as he rose
from his knees.

Dead. Reutlingen saw it too truly.
His honor was avenged ; his enemy
had wiped out the .stain with his life's
blood. He had killed this man in
the prime of his youth, not on the
field of battle in his king's service,
but for personal revenge and to main-
tain his own honor. He did not
regret the deed, for honor is a sacred
thing and demands the sacrifice of
human life and all else besides to
preserve it untarnished.

At last he turned away, slipped his
sword back into the scabbard, and
left the room after a hasty word to
Langenrode, who was covering the
corpse with his cloak.

Reutlingen paused outside the door.
A ragged cloud flew over the face of
the moon and sudden darkness fell
around him, while the black firs bent
rustling around him and the hoot of
an owl came wild and full of fore-
boding through the night. He drew
his hand across his forehead without
noticing that he thus streaked it with
blood. At last the door opened, and
turning, he saw L^angenrode advanc-
ing towards him.

' ' I take it that my company here
is no longer agreeable to you. Count

L,angenrode ; if so I am at your ser-
vice and will take my departure.
For — for the dead you will provide
best. I will also ask you to give no-
tice of the death to whomsoever you
think necessary or best."

" Herr von Reutlingen, you will
readily believe that this hour has been
very painful to me," answered Lan-
genrode earnestly; " still I have no
fault to find with the manner of my
friend's death ; I warned him that he
could not stand before you and tried
to keep you apart. Life had no
charms for him, and he died in hon-
orable combat with a gentleman, so
perhaps he is not so unhappy after
all."

Reutlingen shrugged his shoul-
ders.

' ' Yes, ' ' the count continued, ' ' your
conduct could not have been other
than it has : his course towards you
demanded atonement, he knew it
himself, and you followed the dictates
of honor."

" I thank you ! " was Reutlingen's
answer, and then they parted, but
as the captain was mounting his
horse, Langenrode stepped up to him
again.

" Pardon me, Herr von Reutlingen.
Yesterday my friend Trautwitz
seemed to foresee his approaching
fate and gave me a letter for vour
wife, making me promise to put it
into her hands myself upon his death ;
I hope I may do this with your con-
sent ? ' '

An indefinable expression passed
over Reutlingen's face as he raised
his hand in salute.

" I have nothing to say against
it."

Then he rode away into the stormy
night.

WILD REUTLINGEN.

159

CHAPTER XXIV

Reiitlingen rode without dismount-
ing untd the following morning, when
he reached the little village near
Freiberg where his troop was quar-
tered. As he approached his dwell-
ing he saw that some one was lean-
ins; from the window of his own room
and looking anxiously up and down
the street. As the captain approached
this person drew back and emerged
hastily from the front door. He was
a sub-lieutenant of Reutlingen's own
troop, a tall, slender youth, blonde
and handsome, from the eastern shore
of Pomerania, and he now advanced
to his captain's side, took his reins,
and gave the horse to a groom.

"O Captain!" Curiosity, impa-
tience, and a tinge of reproach were
mingled together in his voice.

" What's the matter with you, Ban-
demer ; what do you want with me ? "

Reutlingen dismounted heavily and
stood rubbing his forehead with his
hat in his hand. The sub-lieutenant
opened the house door for him.

"Will 3'ou go in, Captain?" he
said in a persuasive tone.

Reutlingen followed him to his
room, threw himself wearily into a
chair, and rested his head on his hand.
It seemed as though a horrible night-
mare clouded his brain and only the
sharp pain in his soul kept his body
awake. His hat slipped from his
grasp and rolled on the floor, and the
sub-lieutenant, as he sprang to get it,
noticed fresh traces of blood on the
other's arm.

"You are wounded. Captain," he
said quickly, "may I send for the
regimental surgeon ? "

The captain looked up and seemed
to recover himself.

" What are you doing here in my
quarters, Bandemer ; have you iio
better duty to do in ni}' absence than
this?"

"I have done very little duty fur
the last two days, Captain, for Lieu-
tenant von Hertel and I were ordered
to alternate in staying here to await
your return."

' ' What has been the matter for
two daj^s then?" a.sked Reutlingen.

" Captain, his majesty was here
and inspected the regiment."

The captain sprang up ; the words
"his majesty" had a great effect
upon his brain, for he brightened,
trembled, and winced under them.

" Bandemer, did I not have three
days' leave ? "

" Certainly, Captain."

"And how long have I been away ;
it seems like weeks ? "

"Five days, Captain."

"Five? Two days over leave?
My God ! ' ' He pressed his hand
upon his brow, realizing that his
overwhelming passion had brought
him into trouble.

Carl L u d w i g \' o n B a n d e m e r
watched Reutlingen's face as it
seemed in a moment to grow years
older. He knew the strictness and
attention to duty of his troop com-
mander, by which he ruled himself
no less than he did his men, and real-
ized that it must be no trifling mat-
ter that had caused the captain to
forget himself so culpably.

"And his majesty discovered that
I was absent?" asked Reutlingen,
looking up suddenly.

' ' Certainly, Captain. His majesty's
visit was entirely unexpected, his
adjutant, Major von Bonin, notifying

140

WILD REUTLINGEN.

us barely an hour before his arrival.
The inspection was very satisfactory
to him, but I heard that he asked for
you at the end of it, Captain, and
that the talk was of you for a long
time. Afterwards the colonel com-
manded that Hertel and myself should
take turns in awaiting you here to
tell 30U what had happened as soon
as you arrived."

"Thank you, Bandemer." Reut-
lingen's glance met a pair of clear,
honest eyes so full of earnest sym-
pathy that he involuntarily extended
his hand.

' ' I am going to report to the col-
onel now ; please ask I^ieutenant von
Eickstadt to w^ait for me here."

The colonel welcomed him with
every sign of astonishment and
anxiet}'.

"But ReutHngen, for God's sake,
tell me what has happened to you.
Your appearance strengthens my
fears. I pray you tell me everything.
Lay aside the fact that I am your col-
onel and look upon me only as your
old comrade."

Herr von Seelhorst was a gentle-
man in the truest sense of the word,
and Reutlingen did not hesitate to
tell him of the fatal affair. The col-
onel was full of sympathy and con-
sternation.

"Thank God it isn't one of our
own ofhcers you have killed, dear
Captain. As it is, I don't believe we
will call one of our own men to
account for killing an enemy who has
violated his parole so infamously, and
I hope his majesty will let the mat-
ter rest. The breaking of your leave
is another matter, however, and what
the king will say about that I can't
even hazard a guess. You know
what I think of the matter."

Reutlingen' s broad breast heaved
with an inaudible sigh.

" From whom did his majesty learn
of my absence ? ' '

" My dear Captain, his majesty in-
spected the regiment just after your
leave had expired, and although you
had not reported your return — even
though I was a little worried over it
— I could not believe that an officer
of your rank would forget himself as
3'ou have done. I tried to get his
majesty to allow me to deal with your
case myself, but wdthout avail ; he
learned exactly how the matter stood
and then ordered that you report to
him in person immediately upon your
return, an order which I hereby
transmit to you. His majesty is in-
specting the troops at Freiberg to-
day, so you need lose no time."

Reutlingen bowed.

' ' Give me your good wishes in the
matter, Colonel. I am very grateful
to you for your kindness. ' '

" I only hope that the king will
deal leniently wdth you, my dear Cap-
tain ; 3-ou have a claim upon his grat-
itude and I know he will be glad to
see you safely back again."

Reutlingen rode to Freiberg in full
uniform, stabled his horse, and
walked along the street towards the
king's headquarters. A company of
soldiers passed him, singing as they
went :

" 'You are gallaut men,' the kiug ex-
claimed,
' And onward win in battle fierce ! '
The ranks must be by devils filled
That Fritz and his soldiers cannot
pierce."

It rang loud and joyous in his
ears. Ah, yes ; he himself was a
soldier of the king, but now he had
forgotten his duty and feared to face

] VI L D RE UTLIXGEN.

141

the monarch wlunn he so deeply
loved. Again the voices rang out :

" Farewell, Louise. Nay, do not weep.
Think, that if bullets harmless sing,
If honest wounds we may not win,
What honor, then, to serve the king? "

The song died away and Reut-
lingen walked hurriedly along to
headquarters, where he was met by
Major von Bonin, the king's adju-
tant.

" His majesty will see you in about
ten minutes. I will notify you ; be
kind enough to take a seat there and
wait, Herr von Reutlingen."

At last the adjutant reappeared and
bade him step in. It was a terrible
effort for Reutlingen ; he would
gladly have led a charge through
a hail of shot, or have thrown him-
self upon his enemy's bayonets rather
than face the anger in the king's
eyes; yes, it would have been child's
pla}^ to that.

The adjutant ushered him into the
royal presence, left the room and
closed the door, leaving Reutlingen
standing stiff and motionless,
although his heart was beating fierce-
ly within him. Reading a letter and
seated at a large square table in the
middle of the room sat the king in
his blue uniform. He had grown
thin and old since Reutlingen last
saw him, and his carriage was less
upright, his left hand resting tipon a
cane, while his right held the letter.
Two crrevhounds came out from
under the table to greet the new-
comer, walked around him, sniffed at
his clothes, and retired to their place
again.

"Ah, it is you, Reutlingen. I vis-
ited your regiment a few days ago
and was much pleased with your

troop, but unfortunately you were
not there yotirself."

"I had been on leave, your maj-
esty, and had not yet returned."

" Yes, but your leave had expired ;
Seelhorst told me that he expected
you every moment. When did you
return ? ' '

" Two hours ago, your majesty."

' ' Then you overstayed your leave
two days ? ' '

"Yes, your majest)'."

The king looked at him sharply.

"Do yoti usually behave in this
way ? I have alwa3'S regarded you
as an officer who knew his duty ;
have I been mistaken ? ' '

"May it please 3-our majestj-, this
is the first time that I have ever ne-
glected ni}- duty, and I did not do it
knowingly this time."

The king's searching glance met
his eyes and Reutlingen returned it
without a tremor of his lashes. If he
was struggling with emotion he did
not show it, but stood as motionless
as though cast in l^ronze. King
Friedrich, "a man who knew other
men," gazed into the faithful,
.straightforward eyes and felt his old
affection for his dashinar vouno- offi-
cer still strong within him.

' ' What has happened that j-ou so
forgot yourself this time ? ' '

Reutlingen pressed his hand upon
his heart. It was very hard for him
to speak of his wife even to the king,
but he concealed nothing. The
king's brow clouded as he heard the
captain's tale, and at its conclusion
he spoke.

" vSo, then, this marriage has been
the cause of all your trouble? Did I
not tell you that it would ruin your
life ? You have done too much
harm: vou have killed a man in a

142 OUR NATIONAL FLOWER.

personal quarrel ; you have forgotten When he reached his quarters a

your honor and duty to trifle with short time later he found Norman,

women and ma}- do it again. I have Eickstadt, and Bandemer waiting for

no use for such oihcers in my arni}^ ; I him, apparently having been there

have no further need of your services." for some time. He scarcely- noticed

Although no muscle of his face them, however, but sank into a chair,

moved, the king saw the captain's his elbows upon his knees and his

whole bod}' tremble under the blow, face in his hands,

and his face became a.shy pale. " Reutlingen, for God's sake, what

"Do you understand me? asked has happened to 3'ou?"

the king. "Dismissed."

" Yes, your majest}'." He said but a single word, but

" Then go !" what a word was that to fall from the

Reutlingen turned quickl}' and left lips of an officer of King Friedrich's

the king's presence. army !

[to be continued.]

OUR NATIONAL FLOWER.

A SUGGESTION AND A PLEA.
By Rev. Daniel C. Roberts, D. D.

From where the unsalted seas of Northland pour
Their gleaming waters with tumultuous roar
Into Niagara's rainbow-spanned abyss
With sparkling foam, with whirl and curl and hiss,

To where the Southern gulf, with tossing waves,
O'er coral reefs with tropic fury raves ;
From where Atlantic's billows shake the earth.
Along the shores where Freedom had its birth,

To where Pacific's rolling surges play,
And grim sea lions toss the silvery spray ;
From pine-clad Maine to deep magnolia shades,
From Puget Sound to Florida's everglades,

There blooms the modest flower which I name
As having, in the court of taste, a claim
To be the symbol, chosen from the field
To grace the blazon of Columbia's shield.

It's silver rays in jewelled grace are .set

Around the circle of its coronet.

Which maidens use to cast their horoscope,

"He loves me — loves me not — he loves" — sweet hope

The golden-rod, I grant, has beauty rare.
But all its glor}- bourgeons on the air.
As the last suns of summer cast their shadows
Northward across the shoiu and silent meadows.

rK-7/v' PICTURES.

143

The golden-rod demands an artist's hand
To rightly paint or carve its flaming brand :
Ill-Avronght, one might too easily assnnie
It were a sumach, or a pampas-plume.

But any child, with patriotic pencil.
Or " Decorator" with conventional stencil,
Or sculptor's chisel, or the carver's knife
Could shew this simple floweret to the life 1

It brings no chill of autumn's frosty breath.
Nor whisper's portent of the flowers' death.
Already has it found, in song and stor}-,
A place, a name, a never dying glory.

This maiden's flower, this " Pearl

This artist's study, challenges the flight

Of poet's song ! vSimplicity its dower !

I choose the " daisv " for the nation's flower

this heart 's-delight,

WAR PICTURKvS.

[continued.]
[Illustrated from photographs b\- Henry P. Moore, Concord, X. H.]

r>y JoJin L. IJjichan.

\ HE first picture this month shows three of the band
bo3-s breakfa.sting. The one on the left is Henry
S. Hamilton, one of the oldest active printers of
the Granite state. He is as well known in Man-
chester, which now claims him for a resident, his
family being located there, as in Concord, where
he still handles the stick and rule, and "ives the
youngest printers a hustle. "Ham," as he is
designated l^y all his "print" friends, has a his-
tory, varied and full of interesting incidents. He
has the happy faculty of making friends, and can adapt himself to societ}' of
different ages and conditions. He is of too l)uoyant .spirits to appear and
talk old, yet he is well informed, and a good talker on matters of serious
import. An autobiograph}- of his experiences, from the days of his ap-
prenticeship until the time of the late war, was j)ublished .some years since
in the Manchester Mirror, and is an entertaining and in.structive bit of
reading, in which the author neither boasts of his own achievements, nor
spares himself in matters of his peccadilloes. He served a .seven ^-ears'
apprenticeship in England, of which country he was a native, entered the
British army during the Crimean war, and later came to America, and en-
listed in the United States army in 1.S54; served through the Kan.sas
troubles, and in the expedition to Utah against the Mormons, under

144

WAJ^ PICTURES.

-V,

Three of the Band Boys Breakfasting.

Gen. Albert vSidney Johnston ; was
discharged in 1859, and enhsted in
1 86 1 in the Third N. H. volunteers.
After the war he entered the print-
ing office of McFarland & Jenks, of
Concord, and for twenty 3'ears worked
in that office. Then for several years
he was at the Mirror office, of Man-
chester, but now is again working in
Concord, with the Republican Press
Association.

The second figure is that of George
L. L,ovejoy who was in the employ
of the Abbot-Downing Co. before and
after the war. He was for many
years connected with the Concord fire
department, and for a time was its
chief. He died a few years ago. He
was a man respected and esteemed b}^
all who knew him. The one on the
right, preparing to demolish a formid-
able looking piece of bread, is J. A.
Dadmun, a well known tinsmith of
Concord, — a man with a kind heart
and a tender disposition was Joe, but
unfortunately a year's sojourn in the
malarious Sea islands was not con-

ducive to good health as he found to-
his cost. He lives in Concord and is
engaged in business there.

The next group is Company H.
The three original officers are Capt.
Robert H. Dow, Lieut. J. V. Langley,
and William H. Maxwell. Captain
Dow resigned in June, 1862, and
since the war had resided in Man-
chester. He died a few years ago.
Lieutenant Langley resigned in July,
1862, came back, recruited a com-
pany for the Twelfth, and later was
commissioned m a j o r. Lieutenant
Maxwell was promoted to a captainc}^
and ser\'ed with the regiment until
December, 1864, three 3'ears and four
months. He was a good officer and
a brave man, and was equal to any
occasion he was called upon to meet.
He has made his home in Manches-
ter since the war, where he has been
repeatedly honored by his fellow citi-
zens with places of honor and trust.
He bears a historic name ; a name
with a record in the British and
American armies, and he has in his

WAJ? PICTURES.

145

own person maintained its
proud reputation.

Our next representation
is the drum corps at mess.
The large man in rear of
the table is Drum-Major
Wing, a well known figure
in the regiment in iS62-'63.
He came home in 1S63 or
1864, and went out again
as a captain in a Alaine "**"
regiment. Seated b)' his
side is Tom McHenry,
the fifer of Company C,
and in front of the table
is little Marse Gove, the
pet of the regiment. The cook,
standing in the foreground, has a
troubled, doubtful expression on his
face. He has just been ladling out
the soup and it ma}' be possible this
was the day he found the fine tooth
comb in the kettle, one of the boys
putting it in to thicken the soup.

The bandmaster and his tent-
mates, Lieut. G. W. Ingalls in the
foreground, looking over a collection
of music, is an excellent portrait.
Bandmaster Ingalls was well known
in Concord before the war, and since

Headquarters Cormpiny H— Captain Maxwell.

then has resided in Worcester. After
the muster out of the regimental
band he organized the brigade band,
which was stationed at Port Royal
during the war. The man on his
left is Samuel F. Brown of Penacook,
who also served in both bands ; he
was one of the best known men in
Penacook, being for a number of
vears postmaster, and treasurer of the
Penacook bank.

[As an illustration of the uncer-
taint}' of life, I\Ir. Brown died since
this sketch was written.]

f^lh'^

■7

The Drum Corps at Mess.

146

JVAJ^ PICTURES.

Bandmaster G. W. Irgalls and Tent-nnates D. Arthur Brown and S. F. Brown.

On his left sits another Penacook
man, D. Arthur Brown, the well
known axle manufacturer. He was
the assistant bandmaster, and, after
the ^^ ar, the leader of Brown's band
of Penacook, which was in its daj^
the foremost military band in the
state. From their appearance it is
fair to presume that they were not
aw^are of the artist's presence, so un-

Major Moulton, Regimental Surgeon, and Wife.

concerned and religious they look.
Were it not for the musical charac-
ters seen in the open book, it would
be fair to infer that it w^as Sunda^^
and Ingalls was reading a chapter
from Scripture, which is not, judging
from the look on Brown's face, very
agreeable to him.

Next in order is Major Moulton,
regimental surgeon, Mrs. Moulton,
and, in the rear front of the
tent is, it is fair to presume,
Master Moulton. In rear
of the major, sitting on the
camp stool, is the late la-
mented Joe Currier, the
major's man of all work.
He has an open book in
his hand, but it is plain to
see his e^'es are not upon
it. Dr. Moulton lived in
Tilton since the war, and
died there a few years
ago. Joe Currier enlisted
from Penacook but lived
in Concord after the war.

IVA/^ PICTURES.

He died a f e \v }• e a r s
ago.

Here is, as the 1)()ys used
to call him, "Old Detail,"
Adjt. Alfred H. Hill, seated
on what was as conifortahle
as a rocker, a barrel with
one side sawn half way
down, leavincr the other as
a back. This made a most
comfortable chair, in the
absence of the real arti-
cles, and, on account of
the back, preferable to
the camp stool. Adjutant
Hill was a veteran of the
Mexican war, servins: in the same
company with Major Bedel and Col-
onel Jackson. He belonged in Ports-
He
1S62. Seated
inside is Lieut, ^^'illiam Ladd Dodge,
at that time the adjutant's clerk. He
was in the custom house, Boston, for
many ^-ears since the war, and is still
a resident of the Hub.

From appearances here is another
group of the detail for guard, not a
familiar face among them, l)Ut the
majorit}- in years mere boys. How

mouth and died a few 3'ears ago
left the regiment in

Old Detail" Adjt. Alfred S. Hill and Wm. Ladd Dodge.

would the mothers of to-day like to
part with their sons as did the
mothers of 1S61 ? It would not be
surprising, however, if among the
forms depicted, are not a few of those
who later on earned their captain's
.straps ; the real heroes of the war,
who went in at the beginning and
stayed till the end. It was the men
of this class that conquered the rebel-
lion. All honor to them !

Headquarters, Company A, Third
New Hampshire comes next, and
seated in the foreground, on the right,

The Detail for Guard.

148

WAT? PICTURES.

is lyieut. John R. Hynes, reading the
Manchester Mirror, probably, and on
the left Lieut. A. H. Libbey. Hynes
worked in the yl//;7w- olifice before his
enlistment, and used to write enter-
taining letters home which were pub-
lished in that paper. He was, later
on, transferred to the regular service
as commissary of subsistence with the
rank of captain, dying in harness
some 3^ears ago. Libbey was ap-
pointed adjutant after Hill's depart-
ure. He was with Maxwell in the
reg:ular ser\'ice before the war, was a

of the orderh- who stands to attention
in the rear. The interior of the tent
harmonizes with the outside, while
the appearance of the clock, which is
a prominent feature, denotes that they
have " time " to aid them in the per-
formance of their duties.

Of "A vSquad of Third boys" but
two can be named. The ofhcer on
the right, with arms folded, is Lieut.
J. F. Langley of Company H, and
later of the Twelfth regiment. The
orderh' sergeant on the left is Ser-
geant Hopkins, later commissioned
brave, efficient officer and one of the lieutenant, since the war a resident

Company A — Lieutenants Libbey and Hynes.

most genial, kind hearted men living.
His career ended at Wagner where
he fell in that terrible charge wdiich
brought sorrow and mourning to so
many far - away New Hampshire
homes. It is doubtful if there was
another officer in the regiment more
beloved by the men at large than he.
Consequentl}' the loss of none was
more sincerely deplored. His like-
ness is perfect even to the twinkle of
the clear, .sharp eye. The appear-
ance of the tent and the surroimdings
evinces the good taste of the occu-
pants, and perhaps the faithful labors

of Lawrence, Mass., and for .some
years clerk of the police covirt in that
cit}'.

The regimental band now demands
our attention. The historian of the
Third in his .sketch of the band said,
"Its music drew tears or cheers.
' Twas an inspiration to all who
stepped to its music, whether at dress-
parade, review, or on the march.
The Aveariness of a march was
largely diminished by its cheering
notes. The old Third New Hamp-
shire never camped anywhere while
the band existed that it (the band)

J FAR PICTURES.

149

did not attract unusual attention by
the superiority of its music, and I
have no doubt that the pride thus
created in the hearts of tlie boj-s had
not a little to do with making them
the good soldiers they were on the
field."

As has been mentioned the Third
band was made up of amateur musi-
cians, mainly from Concord and Fisli-
erville, now Penacook. But one pro-
fessional, Carl Krebs, was in its
ranks. In the days before the war it
was not uncommon to find some of

all cases being the reader's left) cor-
net in hand, sits John W. Odlin, of
Concord, one of the brightest j-oung
men the capital city has ever pro-
duced, a fine musician, and as an all
round man hard to beat. After the
war he was connected with Gilmore's
celebrated band, and during the great
peace jubilees was the great band-
master's right hand man. He died
in Concord a few j'ears ago.

Next to him is Drummer John W.
Caswell, as good a man as ever
drew breath. He is now, and has

"%.

Lieutenant Langley and Non-commissioned Officers.

the most prominent of the business
men of musical localities marching
behind a bugle, cornet, tuba, or
drum. Two governors, Natt Head
and C. A. Busiel, were members re-
spectively of the old Manchester Cor-
net and of the Belknap bands, in their
palmiest days, when Walter Dignam
led one and Perley Putnam the other,
and the band of the Third was a fair
illustration of the composition of the
New England bands of the days
before the war. Now let us look the
boys over and size them up. On the
right of the front rank (the right in

been for years, in the emplo}' of the
Abbot-Downing Co. Beside him,
clarinet in hand, and a thoughtful
look on his face, is "Doc." Park-
hurst, well known in Concord, and as
well liked in his day. No man had
more friends. He was born in Mas-
sachusetts, but lived in New Hamp-
shire the greater part of his life. He
died a few years ago, mourned by all
who knew and loved him. Next to
him is Henry Stark, of the same
stock as the old hero of Bennington,
a good boy then, and a successful
business man now in Goffstown.

I50

JVAJ? PICTURES.

D. Arthur Brown and Bandmas-
ter Ingalls come next, of whom
mention has been made, and along-
side of the bandmaster sits the
immortal Carl Krebs, the best musi-
cian in the band, and a fine performer
on the clarinet. He was a native of
Berlin, Prussia, with the typical blue
eyes and light hair of the German.
But here the resemblance ceased, for
he was as nen'ous as a Frenchman,
as quick-tempered as an Irishman, as
overbearing and arrogant as an
Englishman, as close fisted as a

enough to find a friend in the person
of Miss Clara Barton, who looked
after him tenderly during his last
hours, and who notified the writer of
his death some six j^ears ago. Peace
to his ashes.

Henr}' S. Hamilton, of whom men-
tion has been already made, sits be-
side Kre])S, and next to him, with his
hands on his knees, is Samuel F.
Brown of Penacook, for years one of
the most prominent citizens of Pena-
cook, and at the moment of writing
dangerously ill at his home in that

The Regimental Band.

Scotchman, and in full possession of
all the cheek and cool assurance of
the genuine Yankee. In one respect
he was stricth' impartial, for all kinds
of liquids prepared for human con-
sumption, but water, were cordially
welcome. Regardless of all this,
however, his fine qualities as a musi-
cian made him hosts of friends. His
rendition of the " Mocking Bird " with
proper accompaniments, once heard
was never forgotten. The last few
years of his life were spent at the
water cure establishment in Danville,
New York, where he was fortunate

place, with no hopes of recovery.
Anison Baker is the la.st of the front
line seated. He enlisted from Ash-
land ; was a fine musician, and since
the war has been a successful teacher
of music in I^owell and Wakefield,
Mass. In rear of the drum, is Phil
Welcome, who enlisted from Concord
and now lives in Bristol ; in wielding
the drum stick or in trading watches
Phil was an expert. He was by
birth a French Canadian, a brother
of the well known shoe dealer of
Concord of the same name. Billy
Seabrook, proud as a drum major,

AN E \ 'ER } '- DA \ ' HERO.

151

one of ex-Governor vSeabrook's runa- Mitchell, the oldest brother of the
way slaves, is leaning on the bass well known Eagle Hotel artist, Col.
drum. He would not exchange his Frank P. Mitchell. He was from Pen-
position of drum carrier for the stars acook, the soul of good nature, of an

even disposition, perfectly willing to
let the rest of the world do all the
work if he only got his part of the
remuneration, and he always did.
He died in Penacook a few years after
the war, but his memory will live as
long as his old friends and associates

of a brigadier.

On the right of the rear rank, head
erect, stands V. M. Hughes, of Ash-
land, a good musician, and at the
present time the treasurer of the Ash-
land savings-bank. Next to him,
instrument in hand, is George B.
Lang, a son of Maj. J. K. L,ang, one
of Concord's well known citizens.
Thirty 3'ears ago, George came home
on a furlough, during the war, and
on his return was drowned by the
foundering, off Hatteras, of the vessel
upon which he had taken passage.
Beside him stands Jacob R. Sanborn,
the son of a well known Methodist
clergyman of Concord, a graduate of
Brown university and one of the best
educated men of the lot. After the
war he was for some time in the em-
ploy of the Waltham watch factory.
He died about six years ago.

Nex;, to him stands what appears and well educated, still residing in
to be a fair looking mulatto, but he Penacook ; and last but not least,
isn't. It is John C. lyinehan of Pen- George ly. Lovejoy, who has been
acook, who must have been under a spoken of, between Hughes and lyang.
cloud at the time, and Charles A. On the right of the rear rank, trying
White of Byfield, }klass., flanks his to hide, evidently, is J. A. Dadmvin,
left, and on White's left is John C. of whom mention has been made.

[to be continued.]

do.

George E. Flanders, " Old Ply-
mouth Rock," stands next to ]Mitchell,
an overseer, when he enlisted, in the
cotton mill in Penacook, and now a
farmer in the same town. He was a
man who never preached but alwa3'S
practised, hence the name Plymouth
Rock given him by the boys. A
good man and true, a good tj-pe of
the men who made the rock famous.

Henry F. Brown, a brother of D.
Arthur Brown, and one of the pres-
ent senator from the Penacook dis-
trict, genial, courtly, witty, well read.

AN EVERY -DAY HERO.

By George Ilaiicroft Griffith.

Be a hero just where you are ;
The humblest breast may wear a star
For duty freely done, whose light
To angel eyes glows doubly bright.

AMONG THE ISLANDS: A SKETCH OF LAKH WINNIPESAUKEE-

]ly Henry B. Colby.

AKE WINNIPESAUKEE is the Mecca of an annually
increasiiig number of summer pilgrims. Situated as it
is at the feet of the beautiful mountains, and but a few-
hours' ride from the sea ;
its shores traversed upon
three sides by .steel rails
and flying trains ; its sil-
ver surface furrowed b}^ countless boats and
gemmed with many emeralds, our beauti-
ful lake offers inducements to travellers of
every clime and station.

The lake with its shore line of iSo
odd miles has an area (according to the

Hon. S. A. Kimball's Castle on Locke s Hill.

At Lake Shore Park.

154

A SKETCH OF LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE.

Lake Companj-'s sun-ey) of 69.8
square miles, is 502 feet above sea
level, and contains 267 islands. It lies
in two counties, Belknap and Carroll,
and is nineteen miles long by about
eight miles wide, of very irregular
outline, many of its bays being pre-
tentious enough to deserve the title
of lake in an}- other connection. No
streams larger than mountain brooks
flow into the lake and the longest
distance of its water shed is but seven
miles from its shore, ^-et its outlet at
The Weirs is a swdft flowing river
whose tireless current has built and
supported many valuable industries
at Lakeport, Laconia, and Tilton,
before it joins the Pemigewasset and
forms the Merrimack at Franklin.

To properly appreciate the extent
and the location of this beautiful
sheet of water, it should first be
viewed from Locke's hill, a spur of
Mt. Belknap, a few miles from Lake-
port on the railroad which skirts the
south shore. Ten minutes' walk up
hill from the station brings one face
to face with the most wonderful lake
view in New England. At vour feet,
in all its matchless beauty of chang-
ing color and flying shadow is spread
the entire body of the lake proper,
a shimmering ocean filled to the very
edge with islands great and small.
And beyond lie the mountains, New
Hampshire's crown. Row upon row,
range be3-ond range, crowding each
other, upholding their chiefest jewel,
grand old Mt. Washington, the en-
tire mountain system of New Hamp-
shire stands revealed.

At the end of the line in the west
is Kearsarge (in Merrimack county),
then Cardigan, then nearest the lake
the Sandwich mountains. Red Hill,
Sandwich Dome, Tripyramid,

A SKErCII Ol- /..IK' J- WIXXIPJiSAUKEE.

155

\\'liiteface, Passaconaway, Paugus,
and Ossipee — behind them Moosil-
auke and Washington. The precip-
itous crag from which this command-
ing view is obtained is occupied l)y a
stone castle, nearing completion, the
property of Hon. B. A. Kimball of
Concord. A short distance beyond is
Lake Shore Park, a beautiful grove
with the usual complement of amuse-
ments and a well managed hotel,
owned by the railroad company.

The wonderful panorama of lake
and mountain is spread for your
delectation during the greater part of
the railroad journey along the south
.shore — pictures with an ever-chang-
ing foreground of glittering water
backed by the immutable hills, upon
whose broad shoulders the slow-mov-
ing clouds cast their mantle of
shadow.

Presently the road bends sharp to
the south and clinging tightly to a
bold spur of Mt. Major takes the only
course that permits its passage down
the shores of Merrymeeting bay to
the steamboat landing at Alton Bay.
Here we find a hotel, and cottages
almost vcithout number, for it is on
this shore that the vSecond Advent-
i.sts have located their campground,
and here they gather in large num-

bers e^•ery
upon their

August

in attendance
campmeeting.

annual

Many of their cottages are of tasteful
design and are occupied during the
entire season, making things lively at
this end of the lake during the inter-
val between the arrival and departvire
of boats and trains.

lycaving Alton Bay upon one of the
many .steamers plying in all direc-
tions over these waters we sail nearly
due north for the entire length of
Merrymeeting ba}-, some four miles.

opening into the lake at the southern
end of the "Broads," up which we
look toward Centre Harbor over
nearly twenty miles of water. Be-
hind us looms the bulk of Mt. INIajor,
rising precipitously from Merrymeet-
ing bay, and just ahead upon the
left rises the densely wooded summit
of Rattlesnake island which, accord-
ing to tradition, is rightly named.

Out here is the deepest part of the
lake — a little over 200 feet. I/j:) in
the middle of the ' ' Broads ' ' it is from
100 to 150 feet deep. We see many
.steamers, large and small, the num-
ber having increased considerably of
late, so that at present there are some
sixty boats .steaming for business or
for pleasure among the pleasant
islands. The keel of the fir.st steamer
was laid in the year 1830, by a stock
company at Lake Village — now Lake-
port. She was launched three years
later and chri.stened the Belknap, for
the mountain under the shadow of
which she was Iniilt. She was a flat-
bottomed craft about one hundred
feet long, and old timers who remem-
ber her say that the racket made by
her insufficient engines could be
heard for miles. The Bclk)iap, under
command of Capt. W. A. Sanborn,
cruised about the lake when and
where she was needed until Novem-
ber of '41, when she was wrecked on
what is now called Steamboat island.
A number of unsuccessful attemj^ts at
raising her were made, but her ribs
are still to be seen upon the bottom
of the lake.

In '49 the Lady of the Lake was
launched and made regular trips
around the lake with William AValker
for her first captain. She was burned
in 1S67 ; was immediate!}' rebuilt and
has been in constant ser\-ice ever

156

A SKETCH OF LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE.

since under various commanders, —
Eleazer Bickford, Stephen Cole, and
Winborn Sanborn. For many years
past vSlie has been under command of
genial Capt. John S. Wadleigh of
Laconia. I^ast year she was taken
out of commission and broken up, and
her successor has not vet been buih.

This township was first granted as
Kingswood October 20, 1737, and its
present name was adopted in 1759 in
honor of the hero of Quebec. The
first recorded use of the town as a
sunnner resort was in 1770 when the
then Royal Governor John Went-
worth opened his mansion on the

- '%
' r

Residence of Charles F. Parker, Esq., Wolfeborough.

In the early '7o"s the present large
and commodious J//. Wasliington was
built, and sailed for many years under
the efhcient command of Capt. Au-
gustus Wiggin. Capt. H. L. Went-
wortli commands the Mount at pres-
ent. Our own boat has meanwhile
steamed by Barndoor island and up
another bay to the landing at Wolfe-
borough .

Residence of Mrs. W. H. Jones, Wolfeborough.

shore of Wentworth (now Smith's)
pond. Since that time its fame has
spread and its popularit}' increased so
that now there is a thriving village
with five churches, a splendid free
academy, two fine hotels, and in-
numerable boarding-houses and
smaller hotels for the accommodation
of the vacationist. " Kingswood Inn,"
the largest hotel, is a type of hostelry

A SKETCH OF LA KK U'lNNIPESAUKEE.

157

^vllich has made Xew Hamp-
shire f a m o u s these man y
3'ears. Charmingly situated
under trraccful, s \v i n 2: i n e
ehns, in the midst of a broad
domain through whose vis-
tas of trees and shrubs
beautiful glimpses of water
are seen, " Kings wood ' '
spreads its cooling shade for
the comfort of its three hun-
dred guests.

"The New Wolfboro "
(erstwhile the Glendon) is
under the same careful man- ^"'"" ^'"'^e.

agement as the Kingswood, both course free of charge. The same gen-
being in the hands of Landlord C. E. erous spirit also gave the town a beau-
Sleeper, of many years' successful tiful :\IemoriaI hall. There are many
experience. manufacturing and commercial enter-

The Brewster Free Academy, a few prises here, but as they have no coimec-
steps up the hill, was

richly endowed by John ISs^K at' .'TJfeSa ^ -^

Brewster, whose will jDrc-
vides a liberal income for
the school. Here chil-
dren of both sexes are
given a good academic

■•"*ii'iii iii(iilli|,,p^,^^

Long Island Hotels.

158

A SKETCH OF LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE.

tion with a summer outing they may
be reserved for a later article. Sum-
mer visitors come to Wolfeborough
in large numbers, and manv have
erected cottages upon good sites
along the lake front and upon the
surrounding hills.

Continuing our course around the
lake from Wolfeborough we follow
the contours of Tuftonborough neck,
which is adorned with a row of very
handsome cottages, and enter the
most romantic portion of the lake —
Moultonborovigh ba}'. The entrance
is throusfh a tortuous channel into a
land-locked bay which ever opens out
before us as we sail along. It con-
stitutes by itself a large lake with
numerous islands and its quiet retire-
ment in the shadow of grand old
Ossipee, and awa}' from the regular
screech of the steamboat whistle, is
attracting many who would get ' ' far
from the madding crowd." Here we
find Melvin Village, a little hamlet,
nestling at the base of Ossipee and
lulled into slumber by the murmur of
Melvin stream, which is wild enough
back on the mountain but which has
caught the contagion of the shore and
gone to sleep under the beautiful
trees. A genuine paradise this, as
we creep along toward the head of
the bay. Up here we see Red Hill,
but the high peak hides its brother
and it seems a single dome. Fine
views of Black Mountain or $and-
wich Dome are had all along here,
and we are so close to Ossipee that
w^e must literalh' look up to see the
top of the mountain. The white speck ,
which we see upon the side of Ossipee
is " Ossipee Mountain Park," a fine
estate Soo feet above the lake. The
park proper ""cOftipriseS about 500
acres, through which flows a beauti-

ful mountain brook which is a suc-
cession of wonderful cascades, one of
which, " The Falls of Song," leaps a
clean fiftv feet over a led2:e.

The late B. F. Shaw, who discov-
ered the beauties of the place and first
opened it to the public, laid out some
five miles of most picturesque ram-
bles and paths along the stream and
over the crags to the enchanting
views of the lake which must be seen
to be appreciated. Mr. S. W. James
entertains the public here since Mr.
Shaw's death a few 3'ears back.

The largest tributary to the lake
flows in at the head of this bay, — Red
Hill river, rising in the pond of the:
same name and turning the wheels of
several mills before it loses itself in
the quiet waters of the bay.

Guarding the entrance to the bay
and connected by a bridge with the
mainland stands I,ong island, the
largest island in the lake. It is three
miles long by one in width ; has two
hotels — the Island Home and the
lyong Island House — a post-office,
school-house, several flourishing
farms, and last, but by no means
least, it contains the magnificent
estates of the Doctors Greene of Ner-
vura fame. "Roxmont," the resi-
dence of Dr. J. Alonzo Greene, out-
lines its battlements against the sky,
and can be seen from almost every
portion of the lake, while the beau-
tiful summer home of his brother, Dr.
F. E. Greene, at the lower end of the
island, is a model of beauty and
comfortable surroundings.

. The views from most any part of
Long island are hard to beat in this
regipn and its sunsets are more than
gorgeous.

Leaving-IyOng isianrd; aird""still sail-
ing up ' ' The Broads, " we' pasS; <Six:

./ SKETCH OF LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE.

159

Mile aiul T'ive Mile i.slaiuls 011 our
way to Centre Harbor, which pres-
ently appears ahead of us — an amphi-
theater of hills dotted with beautiful
summer homes — and on the plain at
the water's edge the little village, fol-
lowing somewhat the curve of the
shore, and with a road winding off
among the trees in the direction of
Red hill, whose twin domes are visi-

won by his predecessor, the house
growing larger and more famous each
year, until in Jidy, 1887, it was
burned to the ground. The present
elegant structure was immediately
erected across the street from the old
site, and, still in possession of the
Huntress family, is regarded as the
model hotel in this part of the state.
Just beyond is another good hotel,

ble on the right. Straight up from
the landing is the Senter House,
originally built by Samuel M. Sen-
ter wa}' back in the '30's, and who
sold it in 1S35 to his son-in-law, John
Coe, who made a great reputation as
a boniface in this house. It was this
same John Coe who planted the beau-
tiful elms and maples bordering either
side of the village street. Aboub 1852
the house wa^s purchased by Janie^jly.
Huntress, who added to the laurels

Two Long Island Homes.

the Moulton House, on a site nearly
as old as the Senter, for you must
know that the Senters and Moultons
were among the original settlers
of Centre Harbor, and b}' petition
had the town set off from New
Hampton and incorporated on the
seventeenth of December, 1797. It
is now chiefly a summer resort and
its hills are dotted with a number
of very elegant summer residences
whose occupants fully appreciate the
quiet beauty of this ideal location.
The shores of the harbor have many
smaller cottages, but they are all
smart looking and well kept, and
Centre Harbor is almost a world to
itself. , .-.:

Guarding the entrance to this ^or-

A SKETCH OF LAKE WLXXIPESAUKEE.

i6i

tioii of the lake from the
"Broads" is Bear island, which
is second in the lake in point
of size. Lovejoy's farm occu-
pies a commanding eminence
upon the island and a numer-
ous colony of cottages are clus-
tered about its one wharf and
upon the adjacent shore. We
sail along its entire length
on our way from Centre
Harbor to The Weirs.
Near its southern ex-
tremit}', upon " Dolly's
Point," we see the
ruins of the house once
occupied by Dolly Nich-
ols, a strong old woman,
whose cider was appreciated
by the bargemen on the lake, and of
whose muscular feats many fabulous
stories are told to this da}'.

A few miles toward the sunset
brings us to The Weirs, which was
full}' described in this magazine for
August, 1S94, in connection with a
sketch of Laconia, of which enter-
prising and hustling city it is a part.
Since that article was written, how-
ever, a syndicate of wealthy gentle-
men, under the title of the Weirs
Hotel and L,and Co., has purchased
the three largest hotels, has re-fur-
nished and re-fitted them throughout,
revived the old name
for one of them ( the
Hotel Weirs,

Among the Forties.

which with the Winne-
coette is under one man-
agement), and has infused
such an amount of life and
vigor into everybody that it has
made things boom, and The Weirs is
a busy place indeed.

Connected with The Weirs by a
bridge is Governor's Island, the es-
tate of Hon. Stillson Hutchins. It
is the fourth island in the lake in
point of size and constitutes in its
entirety a large farm whose surface
is pleasantly diversified by well cul-
tivated tillage, fine grass, good pas-
tures well covered with fine cattle,
and many acres of grand old woods.
Upon a commanding eminence, fac-
ing the west, stands an elegant cot-
tage ; large, airy, with many rooms
and broad piazzas, and a surpassingly
fine view of the lake and country
round about. The farm buildings.

" Garrick Lodge" and Spindle Point.

rTHE

A SKETCH OF LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE.

163

Tiarns,-etc., are on the south shore of
the island and are up to date in every
way. The island is connected with
the main land by a bridge, and an
excellent road leads thence to The
Weirs and so out to the world at large.
To the north across the bay from
Governor's island is Spindle Point,
which is the old name for the end of
Meredith Neck nearest The Weirs.
It is one of the most beautiful of all
the many "Points" upon the lake,
and is owned by Mr. Charles H.
Cummings, of New York, who has
erected a signal tower upon its out-
ermost rocks, and whose " Garrick
Lodge" overlooks a beautiful bay
upon the eastern side. Reaching to
the north between Meredith Neck
and The Weirs is another great bay,
at the head of which is the village of
^Meredith. This is one of the oldest
towns in this section of the state, and
the village is a thrifty, busy place.
Lake Waukawan, which empties into
Winnipesaukee here, furnishes a fine
water power, which is improved by
several manufactories. Years ago
this was the home of the celebrated
Dudley Leavitt, whose almanac al-
ways hangs beside the ' ' looking-
glass " in every farm house in New
Hampshire. He taught school here,
and in those days it was esteemed a
liberal education to be a pupil of
"Master Leavitt."

Boarding houses and an all-the-
year hotel accommodate the summer
guests who throng the beautifully
shaded streets through the season,
and the many lovely hillside farms
afford a retreat from the heat and
dust of the city streets that is appre-
ciated more and more as the years go
b}-. The usual fate of a New Hamp-
shire village (a big fire and no fire

engines) overtook Meredith some
years ago, but when the ashes got
cold they hustled around and put in
an ample water supply with numer-
ous hydrants, so they have nothing to
fear from the fire fiend in the future.
Meredith being much more than a
summer town we will leave it for a
future number of the magazine, for it
is a town with a historj'.

This completes the circuit of the
villages around the lake, from each
and ever}' one of which delightful
excursions may be made among the
islands. What would a lake be
without islands ? Certainly much of
the beauty of Winnipesaukee de-
pends upon them. To be sure there
are the surrounding mountains, but
5'ou know every picture needs a
frame, and when you go sailing in
and out among these gems of the
inland sea you must acknowledge
that they make the finest frame in the
world for these beautiful pictures.
As 5'ou sail from one island to
another new vistas of silver open be-
fore 3'ou, and beyond rise blue moun-
tains, the same old mountains, with
shapes ever changing as you advance,
until it seems as if one covild never
learn their faces to recognize as the
face of a friend. And then just as
you feel sufficiently familiar to call
them by name when you meet, along
comes a skit of rain and veil of mist
to create another transformation.
How they grow ! Dwarfs are giants
now, and with their heads lost in the
clouds they might look like pathways
to another w'orld. And so the}- are
in a sense, for a mountain viewed seri-
ously, should banish a world of cark-
inof care and drive all sordid meanness
from the heart of every human being
(with the accent on the human).

164

A SKETCH OF LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE.

Along the South Shore.

We have seen several of the largest
islands of the lake, now let us ascend
the highest — Mark island, just south
of Bear island. Its rocky summit is
some one hundred and fift}' feet above
the lake, and from its central location
is well adapted to give one the lay of
the land hereabouts. Sixty islands
are easily identified from this stand-
point. lyOoking down upon the
islands one notices that, while all of
them are fringed with trees, some are
well wooded and others are bare in
the centre, many of them being used
as pastures for cattle and sheep, nota-
bly Cow island, whose old windmill is
visible ; outh of Long island. The
mill and accompanying farm build-
ings were framed b}- Paul Pillsbury
about 1S12. The house has long

since gone to decay, but
the armless old mill still
.stands, a landmark visi-
ble for miles.

The mo.st picturesque
group in the whole lake
is known as ' ' The For-
ties ;" they are next south of us, and
as we look down upon them from
Mark island they seem little more
than rocks. But go down among
them and j'ou will feel the enchant-
ment of the place. Stand on the
beach in front of the cottage on Camp
island and look out through the
crooked old trees (with their festoons
of moss ) that adorn ' ' The Forties ' '
and see a thunder storm sweep down
the sides of Mt. Belknap and out
across the lake, lashing the "Broads"
into foam as it passes, and then say
if it were not worth the waiting. The
glory of a moonlit night out here
beggars description. It always re-
minds me of those novels I read as a
boy, the kind where the villain comes
on just as a heavy cloud " hides the

i66

A SKETCH OF LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE.

A Horse-boat.

moon and shrouds the earth in dark-
ness, while muttering thunder is
heard in the mountains," and all that
sort of thing — 3'ou know how it goes.
But the moonlight does throw a veil
of unfathomable mystery over the
lake. You can hear strange noises —
the laughing prattle and splashing of
loons in the coves ; a startling crack
of broken twig on shore as some ani-
mal of the night passes along ; or

" Low stir of leaves and dip of oars
And lapsing waves on quiet shores,"

and, greatest mystery of all, the pass-
ing of the night wind, whispering
among the trees, invisible, and going,
no one knoweth where, upon an aim-
less errand. There is an ineffable
charm about the night upon the lake
if one is only awake to enjoy it.

As one journeys about the lake it
"becomes evident that a great many

people have discovered
the beauties of the place
before him , for nearly
every island of any size
has one or more cottages
or camps hidden away
among the trees. The
prevailing style of cot-
tage upon these islands
is unpretentious in- archi-
tecture and simple in
arrangement. Their occupants
would not be classed by, a hotel man
as " champagne- trade " but are of
that class who know a good thing
when they see it, and above all else '
enjoy an outdoor life, and to that end
they make their uihiaoe as simple as
possible. Occasionally one sees a
"house-boat" anchored in some
quiet cove, and I cannot understand
why they are not more numerous, for
when you get tired of one locality, or
think the view from some other point
a little better, all you have to do is to
charter a little steamer (and their
name is legion ) to tow you and your
household gods and youngsters over
there and anchor again and so on ad
i)ifinitum. Speaking of boats reminds
me that we no longer see that quaint-
est of all members of the lake navy —
the horse-boat : it has passed along
with its tired horses keeping step to

A Wlnnipesaukce Trout.

A SKETCH OF LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE.

167

the clank of a treadmill and is sup-
planted by the quicker and more
powerful steam launches.

Over by the south shore between
Rattlesnake island and the mainland
is Diamond island. Years ago there
was a small hotel upon it, and a land-
ing place for steamers. The build-
ing was moved up to The Weirs
finally and became the back wing of
the present "Hotel Weirs," so now
the island is deserted — left to the
rattlesnakes that are said to swim over
from their own island. Awa)^ up the
south shore near Governor's island is

dragged about, and their way of fish-
ing is to cut a hole in the ice forming
the floor of the house, drop in the
lines, and then sit down and wait in
comfort, well sheltered from the biting
wind which sw^eeps across the lake in
winter without let or hindrance. The
5'oung folks have frequent dances on
IvOng island, merry parties driving
over the lake from every direction for
miles around.

This lake and its surrounding
shores are historic ground. Ages
before the Indian's day the cold hand
of the glacier wrote in indelible char-

iRi)^. a».v '-...i.&Ai4 i^(iiiti

'dt^k^

*' Glendale," a settlement of Laconia
families, Hon. S. S. Jewett, G. A.
Sanders, and several others with
more to follow\

Many of the cottages on the differ-
ent islands are used by fishing parties
in the winter, for fishing is good here
both winter and summer, bass being
taken all over the lake in season,
while the trout are as fine as are
caught anywhere.

In winter the lake is a plain of ice
three or four feet thick and it is
dotted for miles with the camps and
shelters of the fishermen. Some of
the men have a little shanty upon
runners so that it may be easily

acters the history of nature upon the
rocky mountain sides. Then came
the Indians in swarming tribes to
take the fish from the lake, and inci-
dentally a few scalps from unwary
strangers. The ruins of the Indian
fish traps or weirs are still in evi-
dence across the outlet to the lake at
The Weirs (hence the name), while
their arrow heads and an occasional
pestle are ploughed up everj- year by
the farmers all along shore.

But on August i, 1652, (but thirty
odd years after the historical landing
of the Pilgrims at Plymouth) the
Indians composing the village at the
outlet saw a strange sight upon the

i68

MOONLIGHT ON THE UNCANOONUCS.

shores of their lake. It was a party ness b}' both sides, was finally .settled

of white men — palefaces — the first of by a compromise, and its story has

their race to see the lake. They were been most interestingly told in the

emissaries of the governor of Massa- pages of this magazine by Mr. Moses,

chusetts, seeking the most northern Every season witnesses the arrival

part of the Merrimack river, which of palefaces now — faces pale indeed

they located at this point, and marked when they reach these shores, but

a big rock in the channel with their after their outing among the islands

initials as well as those of Gov. John and upon the sparkling waters they

Endicott, in whose memory the rock are brown again almost as the origi-

has since been named. nal owners, and they return to busi-

The lake countrv was the scene of ness at the end of it all with bodies

the famous warfare between Massa-
chusetts and the ' ' Masonian Propri-
etors ' ' whose names by this time are
familiar to readers of the Granitic
Monthly's town histories. The liti-
gation lasted many years, and,
though prosecuted with great bitter-

invigorated and strengthened, and
brain refreshed and filled with new
ideas of the breadth of things. And
next year they come back and bring
their friends, and so Mother Nature
continues the good work of broaden-
ing the lives of her children.

^rgvC>€>€>€>^

'^'^S^% 1 1 1 1 I I

The " Lady of the Lake.

M00N1.IGHT ON THE UNCANOONUCS.

By Moses Gage Shirley.

How soft the moonlight falls upon each crest

Of our loved mountains — in a limpid sheen

Of silvered gold they lie and seem to dream

L,ike tired children on their mother's breast.

The kingly pines uplift their emerald crowns,

The beech leaves rustle in the fitful gale ;

And swaying branches cross each moonlit dale.

The while I muse a fox's shrill bark sounds

Within the woods and slowly dies away.

Ah, this is night ! and such a night as this.

Thrilled by the rapture of the moon's soft kiss,

It almost seems as glorious as day.

Our mountains dream : the moonlight's mellow bliss

Fades out and morning streaks the sky with gray.

AT LUNDY'S LANE.

By Mary H. Wheeler.

Col. Joseph Cilley of Nottingham, in describing the Battle of Lundy's Lane, said : " During one of the sev-
eral contests the line was falling back with the exception of my company, and I commanded Sergeant Foy to
advance with the colors. He obeyed and the retreat was stopped. I knew Sergeant Joseph Foy to be a very
reliable man. He was detailed from my company and came from Barnstead."

A gnarled and twisted apple tree beyond a pasture wall,

A hollow overgrown with weeds that stand up rank and tall.

The stones that walled a cellar once, now mossed and lichened o'er,

A wide, flat rock that used to form the threshold of a door.

And that is all remaining now where once, not long ago.
There was a roof, a house, a home, a hearthstone all aglow\
And in that home, in joy, in grief, in pleasure and in pain,
Dwelt one who bore our colors in the fight at Lundy's Lane.

A poor man with a famih' he toiled da}^ after day
With harder lot than many a one who lived along the way.
His arm was bent and stiffened and moved as if in pain.
From wound by British bayonet in the fight at Lundy's Lane.

Ah, frightful was the contest when Miller's men essayed
To rush upon the gunners and to stop the cannonade !
And when in wild confusion shot and steel together glanced
One cried, "Advance the colors ! " and Sergeant F03' advanced,
And comrades rallied round him and, though many a one was slain.
They took the British cannon in the fight at Lundy's Lane.

In times of peace forgotten are the men who faced the foe.
The hero is the general, for history tells us so.
While men as faithful and as brave go their respective ways
With none to tell their merit and with none to speak their praise.

This man grew sick and when he lay upon his dying bed
What thoughts and errant fancies w^ere coursing through his head !
He saw the lightning flashing and he heard Niagara's roar,
The tramp of men behind him and the blazing guns before.
And he clutched the clothes above him with an iron grasp again,
As if he held the colors and was still at Lundy's Lane.

But when he died no bells were tolled nor solemn dirges sung.
No flag was draped about him and none at half mast hung ;
But sympathetic neighbors joined the sombre funeral train
Of him who bore our colors in the fight at Lundy's Lane.

Conducted by Fred Cowing, State Siiperinteiident of Public Instruction.

THE CURRICULUM OF A SMALL HIGH SCHOOL.'

It is believed that the same prop-
osition can be maintained when pre-
sented from the point of view of the
school and the community which the
school ser\^es. It is manifestlv better

[continued.]
By Edivard J. GoodwiJi.

sum of half a dozen other subjects,
each of which has one sixth of the
time allotted to Latin." "If every
subject is to provide a substantial
mental trainiu'^^, it must have a tinie-

for a youth to study a few subjects allotment sufficient to produce that

with a good degree of fulness and
thoroughness, than to stud}^ many
subjects briefly and superficially.
The Committee of Ten report upon
this point with no uncertainty. On
page 41 they say: "The funda-
mental conception of all the confer-
ences " was "that all the subjects
which make part of the secondary

fruit." I know of nothing more fun-
damental or valuable in the whole
report than this. It disposes in a
sentence of all sciences that can be
taught in " 14 weeks," and throws
overboard without ceremony all sub-
jects that are studied only or mainly
for information. Subjects that yield
interesting and valuable information,

school course should be taught con- but a small measure of training, may

secutively enough and extensively
enough to make every subject yield
that training which it is best fitted to
yield." Again on page 42 they say :
"It is essential that each principal
subject shall be taught thoroughly
and extensively." "If in a sec-
ondary school Latin is steadih' pur-
sued for four years, that subject will
be worth more to the pupil than the

be maintained as luxuries in large
and well-manned high schools, but
shovild be rigorously excluded from
the small schools. In a limited cur-
riculum only those subjects should be
admitted, that afford information and
training, since training is, to say the
least, the equal of information, as a
factor in education.

It is interesting to note that only a

' Paper read before High School Institute, Concord, N. H., l^y Edward J. Goodwin, principal high school,
Newton, Mass., and published in School Review May, 1S95.

ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMENT.

171

few of the whole number of subjects
contained in the four courses of study
recommended by the Committee of
Ten, are to be studied less than a
j^ear. If you except higher algebra
and trigonometry, which constitute a
group to be studied a year, the sub-
jects that are to be studied less than
a year, that is, a half year, are as-
tronomy, physiology, meteorology,
geology, and physiography. When
the instruction is based chiefly upon
the text-book, these five subjects just
mentioned may also be classed with
studies that are pursued for the sake
of information, and should not be
admitted into the programme of
studies of the small high school.
The objection to them is removed, of
course, if the teacher has had special
training in them, and is prepared to
direct his instruction ' ' quite as much
towards a training in the methods of
logical investigation, as towards im-
parting information." For obvious
reasons, "anatomy, phj'siology, and
h3-giene ' ' may be rated as an excep-
tion to the general law just laid down,
if they have not been studied in the
grammar school.

In the four sample programmes
found in table IV of the report of the
Committee of Ten, it is instructive to
obser\-e that several subjects, which
often have a prominent place in the
high school curriculum, do not ap-
pear. What are the subjects that
have been discarded b}' these famous
decemviri ? They are civil govern-
ment, political economy, psychology,
ethics, logic, drawing, music, elocu-
tion, book-keeping, commercial arith-
metic, and commercial law. To be
sure, the3^ say b}' way of apology for
such seeming disrespect, that "it
must not be supposed that the

omitted subjects are necessarily to be
neglected," and they go on to show
how some of them, such as drawing,
ethics, metaphysics, economics, etc.,
come in for " incidental in.struction ; "
but the significant fact remains that
these subjects do not appear at all in
their "four sample programmes."
The obvious inference is that, in the
judgment of the Committee, they have
only a secondary educational value.
Although I have a special interest in
some of these discarded subjects, 3-et
I believe that the Committee of Ten
were wise in their decision to exclude
them from their sample programmes.

President Eliot said in one of his
lectures before the L,owell Institute a
year or two ago, that modern educa-
tion is characterized more and more
by the efforts that are made to de-
velop the power to do as well as to
know, the power to apply what one
knows to new problems and new con-
ditions. In reading a foreign lan-
guage without a vocabular}^ in solv-
ing fresh problems in algebra, in work-
ing out original demonstrations of
propositions in geometry, in making
obsen'ations and inferences in the
field or laboratory, in applying the
canons of criticism to the master-
pieces of literature, and in writing out
one's thoughts clearly and logically
we have good illustrations of the
processes by which the pupil devel-
ops power while he acquires new
knowledge and culture. Studies
which develop the power to do as
well as power to know should, with-
out question, have the precedence in
making up a curriculum in which the
number of subjects to be taught is to
be rigidl}' restricted.

We now approach the most per-
plexing problem of this whole discus-

EDUCATIONAL DEPARTMENT.

sion. Should the high school that
has only two or three teachers at-
tempt to prepare hoys and girls for
college ? There are weight}' reasons
both pro and con. It must of course
be recognized at the outset, to use
the words of the Committee of Ten,
that ' ' the secondar}' schools of the
United States do not exist for the
purpose of preparing girls and bo3's
for college." And yet, there are
benefits, both direct and indirect,
that can come to a village high
school in no other way.

In the first place it brings the
teachers into contact with the col-
lege, a contact that generates both
heat and light, inspiration and guid-
ance. When a teacher's work is to
be tested by the examination of a col-
lege expert, or by the proficienc}- in
study of pupils from his school who
have been admitted to college by cer-
tificate, he looks about himself as
never before. He now plans his
work with his utmost care and skill,
scrutinizes every method to ascertain
its efficacy, directs his pupils' efforts
along the lines that are most produc-
tive, and .stimulates them to their
l)est efforts that the}' may win honor
for themselves and distinction for the
school ; in .short, he leaves no stone
unturned to make his work sound
and .successful. The good results of
these activities of the teacher are felt
in a large degree by all the school.
It may be urged that clearsighted
and honorable men and women will
do their best for a school without the
aid of any such .stimulus, but any
man of experience in the manage-
ment of schools recognizes at once
the unsoundness of this statement.

Again there are a few superior
boys and girls in every ^-illage that

may be saved to the higher education
and prepared for careers of larger
usefulness, if the local high school
furnishes an incentive and a prepa-
ration for it without expense.

And again, if the village high
school does not prepare its pupils for
college, the brightest and mo.st am-
bitious boys and girls are frequently
withdrawn and sent away to other
schools. This alienates the patronage
and, naturally, the sympathetic sup-
port of the most influential families
of the community and deprives the
school of its natural leaders, girls
and boys who have inherited intel-
lectual and studious tendencies, and
whose attendance would establish the
confidence of the community in the
school, and exerci.se a beneficent
influence upon other pupils who may
be less richly endowed and less aspir-

ing.

Furthermore, to be able to send
boys and girls directly from the local
high school to college is a source of
gratification to any community, and
this reacts to the advantage of the
school, especially when the graduates
return from college and take their
places as men and women among
those who patronize and support the
school.

On the contrary, as I have said,
there are weighty reasons wh}' the
.small high school should not expend
its valuable time and .strength upon
a curriculum designed primarily for
pupils preparing for college. The
greatest good to the greatest number
is quite generally recognized as a
sound jDolicy in the management of
public .schools. If there be one cur-
riculum containing Greek for the few
who prepare for college, and another
for the many who do not, even if the

ED UCA TIONA L DEPA R TMENT.

173

two curricula are identical in several
important subjects, justice cannot be
done to the nian\- while so much
attention is given to the few.

Notwithstanding the great advan-
tages incident to maintaining a suc-
cessful college-preparatory course,
there are other and, I believe, greater
advantages, both to the community
and teacher, to be derived from a
carefully planned and well sustained
general course. The possibilities in
this direction are ver^- great and may
well excite the ambition of any
teacher, or enlist the enthusiastic
support of an intelligent school com-
mittee.

Take for instance the study of
English, using the word in its broad
sense to include the language, the
literature, and practice in composi-
tion. In each of the four sample
programmes presented by the Com-
mittee of Ten there is a four years'
course in English. What an oppor-
tunity for a teacher who has a wide
acquaintance with good literature
and knows how to teach it ! The
intellectual stimulus and moral inspi-
ration that can be given to a school,
and, through a school, to a commu-
nity, by imparting to high school
girls and boys a genuine and lasting
interest in good literature, are well
worthy of the consecrated efforts of
the most devoted teacher. So, too,
in directing pupils' efforts in English
composition, the wise efforts of the
faithful teacher, like the seed that
falls on good ground, "bring forth
fruit, some thirty, some sixy, and
some an hundred fold."

History', too, is made quite promi-
nent in the sample programmes just
mentioned. In three of them it ap-
pears as a three years' course, and in

the English programme, as a four
years' course. The great educa-
tional value of the proper study of
history in the secondary school is
more highly appreciated everv' year,
and the methods of teaching it are
improving with great rapidity. No
.study can be made more fascinating,
and none is more useful in training
young men to meet their responsibil-
ities as intelligent citizens of a free
state. To collect a working library
of historical works so that pupils may
to some extent have access to orig-
inal and authentic sources of infor-
mation ; to make a series of suggestive
topics that shall comprehensively
cover the periods to be studied ; to be
well enough informed to indicate to
pupils the best and various sources
of information on important histori-
cal epochs ; to be able in dealing with
historical data to cultivate the pupil's
power of careful and systematic in-
quir}', and to establish in him the
habit of logical inductive and deduc-
tive reasoning, to do all this with
wisdom and enthusiasm for a whole
school is just as creditable and quite
as productive of good to the com-
munity, as to teach Greek to two or
three girls and bo3'S.

Likewise in physics and chemistry
there are possibilities of effective
training in quantitative laboratory
work that must be abandoned, if the
teacher's attention is absorbed in
maintaining the traditional college-
preparatory course. How much this
laborator}- work has improved in
value during the last .seven years
under the leadership of Han-ard col-
lege need not be recited here. There
are reasons for believing that this
more accurate, and therefore more
effective, method of quantitative ex-

174

ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMENT.

perimentation in the laboratory will
soon displace a part, at least, of the
less accurate and therefore less valu-
able qualitative laboratory work that
now quite generally prevails. A
young man just entering upon his
career as a teacher would make no
mistake for himself or for the com-
munity which he serves, if he should
enter upon this new^ scheme of school
work with a view of demonstrating
its full value as an instrument of
education. The idea to be empha-
sized is this : Such desirable possi-
bilities as have been instanced in the
departments of English, history, and
science, that may accrue if the whole
strength of the teachers be spent in
developing one first-class general
course, must be relinquished, if
Greek and the higher mathematics
comprise a part of the curriculum,
and if the best efforts of the teachers
be given to preparing pupils for col-
lesre. I must not be understood as
decrying the study of Greek. Far
from if. As an instrument of culture
the Greek language has no superior.
As a means of interpreting the phe-
nomena of modern civilization and
correcting its evil tendencies, Grecian
philosophy and Grecian history are
well-nigh indispensable. But, in a
secondary school of only two or three
teachers, that which appears to be a
good thing for the few, must some-
times be sacrificed for what is really
the greatest good of the many.

The main propositions that I have
tried to support thus far in this dis-
cussion are chiefly negative in their
character, and may be briefly ex-
pressed as follows : The course of
study of a small high school having
only two or three teachers, should
contain a minimum number of

subjects of study ; should exclude
all studies that are pursued mainly
for information ; should admit but
few, if any, short courses; should bar
out Greek and the higher mathemat-
ics, and should be framed primarily
in the interests of the many and not
for the few that go to college.

When we turn to the affirmative
side of this question, and attempt to
show^ just what studies should be ad-
mitted to such a curriculum, where
each should be placed, and to what
extent each .should be pursued, fix-
ing at the same time the number of
exercises per week, we not only enter
upon the discussion of a subject about
which wise men disagree, but also of
one that involves the greatest per-
plexities and uncertainties. In such
a dilemma we may w^isely and confi-
dently follow the lead of the Commit-
tee of Ten. Their four "sample pro-
grammes ' ' represent the mature out-
come of all their investigation,
thought, and discussion, and are
well worthy of careful analysis and
comparison. The first of the four is
the so-called ' ' classical course ' ' con-
taining Greek, and must therefore be
set aside. The third programme is
characterized by the large amount of
time given to German and French,
and for this reason would not gen-
erally be acceptable to New England
people. Having rejected the first
and third, our choice lies between
the second, the "Latin Scientific,"
and the fourth, the "English."
That the Committee believes the
English course to be inferior to the
Latin Scientific is evident from thd
following excerpt from the report :
The Committee ' ' desired to affirm
explicitly their unanimous opinion
that the two programmes called re-

ED UCA riONAL DEPAR TMENT.

175

spectivel}' Modern Iv-anguagcs and
English must in jM'actice be distinctly
inferior to the other two." The
English course contemplates the for-
mation of classes in L,atin, French,
or German, prescribes trigonometry
and higher algebra with no alterna-
tive, and gives one fourth more time
to English and one half more time to
history than is demanded in the
Eatin Scientific course. If the Eng-
lish programme were preferred, it
would have to be cut down to much
smaller proportions, and then would
not differ essentially from the Latin
Scientific course, except that two
foreign languages, Latin and German
or French, are prescribed for the
latter. This fact alone makes me
hesitate to pronounce in favor of the
Latin vScientific course. Is it practi-
cable to attempt to require every
pupil in the school to study two for-
eign languages ? If this question
can be answered in the afhrmative, I
shall not hesitate to declare the Latin
Scientific to be the most satisfactory
general course that I have ever seen
in print. Of course a school having
only two teachers, can not afford the
costly luxury of providing twent}'
exercises a week for its pupils, as
recommended by the Committee of
Ten ; the number must be reduced to
fifteen. If there were three strong
teachers in the school, possibly the
Latin Scientific course might stand in-
tact, with the proviso that some of the
subjects be rated as electives. But
for a school of two teachers, it .seems
necessar}' to exclude from the Latin
Scientific course ph5-sical geography,
botany or zoology, astronomy, and
meteorology, trigonometry and
higher algebra, geology and physiog-
raphy, and to reduce .somewhat the

amount of time given to history and
linglish. Abridged in this manner
the Latin Scientific programme of
studies would stand as follows :

riRST YEAR.

SECOND YEAR.

Latin,
English,
Algebra,
History,

5 p. Latin, 5 p.

3 p. German or French, 4 p.

4 p. Geometry, 3 p.
3 p. Physics, 3 p.

THIRD YEAR.

FOURTH YEAR.

Latin,
English,

4 p.
3P-

Latin,
English,

2 p

German or French, 4 p. German or French, 3 p
Algebra, 2 p. Chemistry, 3 p

Geometry, 2 p. History, 3 p

This scheme would provide an ex-
cellent general course, and at the
same time would enable the school
to prepare boys for the course of
study at Dartmouth college leading
to the degrees of B. L. and B. vS.; a
course leading to the degree of A. B.
at Williams college ; a course leading
to the degree of B. S. at Amherst
college ; courses leading to the de-
grees of Ph. B., C. E., and M. E- at
Brown University ; and a course at
Wesleyan University leading to the
degree of Ph. B. In like manner
girls ma}' be prepared to enter upon
courses of .study leading to the de-
gree of A. B. at Vassar and Wellesley ;
and courses leading to the degree of
B. L. at Smith and Mount Holyoke.

On account of the modifications
in college requirements for admis-
sion, made during the last three or
four years, a fairly comprehensive or
satisfactory general course may be an
acceptable college-preparator}- course.
The time has happily come when a
small high school can retain all the
great benefits to be derived from pre-
paring girls and boys for college, and
at the same time devote all the re-
sources of the school to the training
and culture of those who are graduat-
ed from the high school to enter imme-
diately upon the duties of active life.

REV. LEWIS H. REID.

Rev. Lewis H. Reid, 1). D., was born at Charlestown, March 2, 1825, and died
at Hartford, Conn., July 8. He studied for the ministry at Yale college and
Union Theological seminary, graduating from the latter institution in 1S50. He
preached at Fayetteville, N. Y., where he succeeded the father of President
Cleveland, and where the son was his parishioner, at Syracuse, N. Y., and at
Chicago. During the past fifteen years he had devoted most of his time to edu-
cational work.

ALONZO R. DINSMORE.

Alonzo R. Dinsmore, who died at Laconia, July 4, was born at Dunbarton
June 30, 1809. He was a successful inventor and a well-known man throughout
the state. During his early life he was toll gatherer at the first bridge thrown
across the Merrimack river at Manchester.

MRS. MARY E. ADAMS.

Mrs, Mary E. Adams, a member of the old Senter family, and a lineal descend-
ant of Hannah Dustin, died in Dorchester, Mass., July 12, at the age of ninety
years. One of her sons is Charles Follen Adams, " Yawcob Strauss."

WASHINGTON PERKINS.

Washington Perkins, one of Londonderry's wealthiest and best known citizens,
died in that town July 11, at the age of seventy years. He served in the Fif-
teenth N. H. Vols, during the war, represented his town in the legislature, and
was for many years one of its selectmen.

EDITH S. DOLE.

Miss Edith Smith Dole, who contributed the poem " Just for To-day " to the
April Granite Monthly, died at Manchester June 30. She was born in Vassal-
boro, Me., twenty-six years ago, and had been for three years a successful teacher
in the public schools of Manchester. Her literary work, but just begun, was full
of promise.

Publishers'" Note. — The cuts accompanying the article upon North Conway in the July
number were from photographs by T. E. M., and Mrs. G. F., White.

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The Granite Monthly.

Vol. XIX.

SEPTEMBER, 1S95.

No. 3.

IX THE CHOCORUA COUXTRY

/)'i' I-'ra)iklin Ware I'^avis.

HOCORUA stands
not far from where
the waters of the
Saco smile on their
way toward the
sea, and just above
the placid river
where Y'hittier loved to watch the
" Sunset on the Bearcamp." Taller
than Mt. Y'hittier and rounded Red
hill, more abrupt and craggy than
any other peak in sight, it is cov-
ered and crowned with a whimsical
changeability which mountain nature
inexplicably assumes. It can be seen
from Ordination rock, that cherished
old stone-pulpit as firm and enduring
as the church that was founded on its

flat height over one hundred 3-ears
ago. From Ossipee and the plains
below Chocorua's vast tooth seems to
stand out all alone. Its aggressive
cone drinks of the clouds. From the
mirror-like, wind-caressed lakelet at
its foot the rocks show^ like the
flaunted crest of an eagle over the
nearer hill-tops. As seen from Al-
bany and the Conway woods on the
east it appears to be a huge rolling
comber of a raging sea, charging
toward the north and its turbulent
hills.

To Chocorua alone, of all the White
Hills, is it given to have an authentic
legend. The mountain is grim and
grand and stolid like the character

173

IN THE CHOCORUA COUNTRY.

Ordination Rocl<.

that its Indian name suggests. Seen
from any point its individuality stands
out as prominent as its ragged rocks
and cliffs.

The countr}^ around Chocorua is
scarcely less interesting than the
mountain itself. There are other
mountains too, higher, darker, more
massive. But Chocorua, as the east-
ern summit of the Sandwich range,
commands the first view. It is a cen-
tering point for the radiation of moun-
tain breezes. Twenty miles to the
ea.st in Fryeburg, is the scene of the
fight of Captain I^ovewell, so well kept
in mind hy legend and ballad. Be-
yond to the north the tops
of the hills roll up thick
and enormous. From its
summit one can see far
down the Saco valley. At
the south is the land of
the Ossipees, the site of
the old Indian burying-
place, Ossipee mound:
also Ossipee lake, the
Wakefields, Winnipiseo-
gee, and the broad, low
Ossipee hills. At the foot
of its slopes is the town

of Tamworth, and the lit-
tle crescent beached lake.
Itself, it is a part of the
town of Albau}', a town of
small pretentions as a cen-
ter of population, but gen-
erous enough in its native
proportions and scenery.

Beneath the e^-e of him
who beholds the beauties
of nature from this natural
citadel is the narrow, wind-
ing, widening ribbon of
Bearcamp's w^ater, wending
its happy, bubbling way
onward to the 0.ssipee and
the Saco and the sea. Lucy Larcom
and Whittier used to love its mur-
murings, although the hostelr}' where
they were wont to stay is long since
turned to ashes by the iire-fiend. Onl}-
the grass grown oval mound of the
house's foundations can now be seen
on a knoll of the West Ossipee sands.
Just below this site the Bearcamp
river flows peacefully between its
banks of green on toward its basin,
Ossipee lake, with its pine-fringed
.shores. Above, at the base of Mt.
Whittier, a high bridge crosses the
stream.

The little station at West 0.ssipee

View on Bearcamp River-

IN THE CHOCORUA COUNTRY.

179

is the centre of a lively traffic. In
winter it is logs and lumber and in
summer, people. It is the "shipping
point" for man, box, or beast, from
Sandwich, Moultonborough, or Tam-
\vorth .

There are three main roads leading
north. The easterly one traverses for
four miles the sandy plains. The pine,
the blueberry bush, the scrub oak, and
the golden rod abound. Then the
traveller crosses Chocorua river, and
is at Tamworth Ironworks, now Cho-
corua village. Here, a hundred years

water, is the substantial Chocorua
House, erected in 1865 by John H.
Nickerson. Mark K. Robertson is
the present genial host. Just to one
side of the rough lawn in front of the
hotel is the residence, for a part of the
season, of Mrs. C. E. Hammer, of
Bo.ston. Its lower story walls are
fashioned curiously from the rough,
rounded stones with which the field
abounded. Only a few years ago
this little acre was an area of small
boulders with blades of grass between
them. But the farmer owner raised

ago, Mr. Weed made the first screw-
auger the country ever saw. The
iron works ceased forty years ago,
however.

North of Chocorua \'illage is the
lake under the mountain. Around
it gather the elite of Chicago, of New
York, of Cambridge, and of Boston.
On its eastern shores is the summer
home of Dr. J. R. Chadwick, of Bos-
ton. Away back on the hill is the
cottage of Rev. Percv Grant, of New
York, and the abode of Rev. Joseph
Hutchin.son, of Providence. Below%
and nearer the silver exoanse of the

a crop of potatoes there the ver^- last
thing before selling the tract, for
building site, quarry, and foundation,
all in one. The lawn now is smooth
and green.

Perhaps the Scudder place is the
oldest of those of the neighborhood
owned by summer visitors. Its brown
gothic-gable stands a few^ rods above
the carriage road. From its very
door stone, the land slopes to the lake
side, and the view^ is over the near
fields, the pretty wind-kissed water,
the little rustic bridge, and the wood-
ed shores, up to Chocorua 's horn of

i8o

IN THE CHOCORUA COUNTRY.

silence, lone, bare, and bleak. It is
not to be excelled for picturesqueness
all the hills over. The cottage, which
has been there for t\vent>- years or
more, is the summer abiding place of
Horace Scudder, editor of the Atlan-
tic Monthly.

Farther along down the hill the
road comes to the lake. The under-
brush is all cut away, and here, on
many a bright summer's day, may be

wheels. His father for thirty years
was the pastor of the little Baptist
church there.

Prof. William James of Harvard
has a place of rest and recreation on
a farm just above the lake. And
Prof. William Salter of Chicago also
finds near by a cool retreat. The
summer colony is a growing one, and
there is now a boom in real estate,
where a few years ago were aban-

i£'':

•m

The Peak of Chocorua.

seen a party from near or afar, rest-
ing and admiring the pretty picture
of the lake, framed in heavy moun-
tain woods, with a border of yellow
pebbles and sand.

But a step or two beyond the bridge
one sees at the left the house of Miss
Charlotte Bowditch. Yet farther on
is the summer cottage of Hon. J.
Sumner Runnells, of Chicago. He
long lived in the pretty hamlet back
at the foot of the hill, where the Cho-
corua river used to turn the mill

doned farms, decaying well sweeps
and weed-grown, old fashioned flower
beds.

The late secretary- of Harvard Uni-
versity, Frank Bolles, natvire's care-
ful student, acquired some years ago
an old farm, one of the forsaken ones,
on the west of the lake. He loved
his brown low house colored by
weather-rust and moss, with its swal-
lows and barn owls in summer and
with its cold and snow in winter. It
is close by the water and ' ' just within

LY THE CHOCORUA COUNTRY.

i8i

Upper Wc

--: Fa

th^ limits cf the wilderness," as hs
himself has said. Near Mrs. Bolles's
summer home, is that of Gen. Thcmas
Sherwin of Jamaica Plain.

But there is another road leading
from West Ossipee to Chocorua, the
mountain. It runs at first over the
same sandy plains as the other. It
g-oes within a half mile of White

pond, a shimmering little sheet cf
v.-hite sand and limpid water. In the
winter it is bleak and desolate. In
summer it is dry, mosquito-haunted,
and hot. The giant growth cf pines
along the road has been destroyed by
the axeman.

About four miles from West Ossi-
pee the land changes, and right
here, as one climbs a low hill and
passes the only brick building in
town, a school-house, is the central
village of Tamworth. It boasts three
stores and a town hall, Odd Fellows
hall, and a pretty little library build-
ing, the gift of Mrs. Charles Cook.
Through the centre of the hamlet
passes turbvilent Swift river. Its
flood is dammed just above to fur-
nish power for the mills.

Following the rocky bed of Swift
river for three miles to the north

the site of F'owler's mill is reached.
Nothing remains but a few rotten
timbers and plank, and the debris
of the ends of a dam ; the fresh-
ets have carried the rest away. The
mill is but a memory, and at least has
ser\'ed to furnish a name for a localit3\
Here, almost at the base of its foot

Middle Wonolancpt Falls.

l82

IN THE CHOCORUA COUNTRY.

hills, the gre}' cone of Chocorua
pierces the sky, and often its tip is
lost in the whirls of cloud around it.
It darkens with the gathering clouds
or gloom. In a tempest it hides its
fur}-- wrapped head in mist. In sun-
shine it shows cold and defiant, and
possesses the beholder with an insati-
able desire for an alpine tramp. Two
miles away the Knowles road and
path starts up its steejj side. A part
of the stream that once turned Fow-
ler's mill flows out from its myriad
springs away to the right.

with the writer, a few 3'ears ago. The
sting of the parting is not yet forgot-
ten.

Just beyond Wonolancet falls, on
the main road, is Birch Interv^al and
the AVonolancet farm and cottages,
where summer visitors drink deep of
the nectars of nature's bountiful hand,
and enjoy Miss Sleeper's big open
fireplace, and broad j^orch. Mount
Wonolancet rises just behind the
house, an out post of the greater
Passaconaway that towers up farther
back among the wilderness of moun-

Chocorua La^t

The other half has come away from
the left. Behind Marston's hill it
flows. Here, a half mile from the
main road, in the depth of a valley,
was once L'Ocke's Mill. Its ruins are
even more complete than those of
Fowler's. The stream just at this
point rushes over some .steep ledges
in a series of beavxtiful cascades. The
old pa.sture and wood lot was once
famous for blackberries and hornets.
But the former delicacies are much
devastated now by the many visitors,
and the little yellow jackets kept their
last engagement for the season, there.

and Mountain,

tains, the highest of the Sandwich
range. A mile or two beyond here,
up in the valley between the hills,
was for several years the site of
an extensive lumber industry. It
broueht manv laborers and wood
choppers together, and there grew
up, almost in a night, a shanty settle-
ment, with matched board houses,
saw-dust walls, and pine board furni-
ture. The facetious people called it
Birch-Boston. It is now a deserted
city.

It may be accounted as passing
strange thac neither Miss Larcom

LV THE CHOCORUA COUNTRY

183

\\\\V) named the next westerly moun-
tain, Paugus, and also applied the
name Wonolancet to the lower hill
front of Passaconaway, nor Mr.
AVhittier, ever poetized the legend
of Chocorua.

Both North Sandwich and the
West Ossipee House were favorite
summer homes of Miss Larcom. At
the latter place she used often to be
in the company of Mr. Whittier,
whom she assisted in editing the
" Songs of Three Centuries," a part
of the work lieing done there one
summer. To Chocorua she writes :

"At last, a sudden iiight-storni tore
The niounlaiu veils asunder,
And swept the valleys clean before
The besom of the thunder.

"Through vSandwich Notch the west-wind
sang
Good morrow to the cotter ;
And once again Chocorua's horn
Of shadow pierced the water."

\\'hittier wrote of many noi:)le sub-
jects, but he never j^enned lines more
beautiful than those of his "Sunset
on the Bearcamp,'" in which he
describes the changing vistas of
Chocorua and the surrounding hills.

"Hoary Chocorua guards his mystery
well ;
He pushes back his fellows lest they
hear
The haunting secret he apart must tell
To his lone self, in the sky-silence
clear ;
A shadowy cloud-cloaked wraith, with

shoulders bowed.
He steals, conspicuous, from the moun-
tain crowd."

And again, " At Winnipesaukee,"
she chants the praises of these, her
favorite hills. She glances first at
the nearest range, and

'• . . . that is sunburnt Ossipee,
Plunged knee deep in yon glistening

sea ;
Somewhere among these grouping

islands
Old Whiteface from his cloud-cap

smiles,
And gray Chocorua bends his crown
To look on happy hamlets down."

Perhaps Whittier wrote even more
about this region than did Miss L,ar-
com. His "Among the Hills" was
first published in 1S68, as "An Idyll
of Bearcamp Water." Its lines are
quaint and real where he says :

" Touched b}- a light that hath no name,

A glory never sung.
Aloft on sky and mountain wall

Are God's great pictures hung.
How changed the summits vast and old !

No longer granite-browed.
They melt in rosy mist ; the rock

Is softer than the cloud.
The valley holds its breath ; no leaf

Of all its elms is twirled :
The silence of eternity

Seems falling on the world.

" The pause before the breaking seals
Of mystery is this ;
Yon miracle play of night and dav

Makes dumb its witnesses.
What unseen altar crowns the hills

That reach up stair on stair?
What eyes look through, what white
wings fan
These purple veils of air?
What Presence from the heavenly
heights
To those of earth stoops down ?
Not vainly Hellas dreamed of gods
On Ida's snowy crown ! "

The earl}^ history of Chocortia is
shrouded in legend, tradition, and
imagination. Even its legend is told
in at least five radically different
ways. But after all, the sweet \\\ys-
ticism and beauty of many a quaint
legend or even a leaf of history

1 84

IN THE CHOCORUA COUNTRY

^>c:^t

First House on Chocorua,

would be taken away if the cold
light of nineteenth century investi-
gation was to be thrown too scruti-
nizingh^ upon it. The legend may
have been largely the product of
literature, but at least it exists and
is told to- da}' by those settlers of
the hills to whose eye the written
account may never have come.

The mountain was known and
mapped as Chocorua decades before
the legend was ever written. On a
map of New Hampshire, published

in 1 79 1 by Jeremy Belknap in his
history, Chocorua is the onlv moun-

tain of the Sandwich

range

to be

Moat mountain
the only other
this map, even
being undesig-

James Liberty.

located or named.

and Red hill were

summits named on

Mount Washington

nated there. The same authority,

writing in 1792, has this to say of

the region : ' ' Farther back ( from

the Wakefields) the mountains are

higher, and among the third range

Chocorua, Osapy, and Kyarsarge

claim the preeminence."

James Libert}', an enterprising
Frenchman, succeeded in obtaining
a charter for a road and path here,
which he opened in 1881. He had
the help of many of the townspeople,
who gave money or labor. The car-
riage road was extended to an old
logging camp a mile and three quar-
ters above the Durrell house. Here
a "horse camp" was located. Be-
yond this the path was straightened
and improved. A stone camp was
soon erected of split rock, under the
peak. The canvas roof blew off right
awa}- and the lumber bought for the
permanent covering was l)urnt up in
a saw mill conflagration. A couple
of tents were then pitched inside the

lA" THE CHOCORUA COUNTRY.

185

rock Avails. A cook stove was set up
at one side. A saw-buck, and saw,
and axe lay without, and a hemlock
cot, opposite the cook stove, served
the "lodge keeper" as bed when his
tents were full. He loved to sit and
puff his old clay pipe while his won-
derfully strong green tea was brew-
ing over the embers of a fire. He
would take out his accordion, while
the outside night camp fire burned a
signal far down into the valleys, and
sing wierd, strange music, in unmis-
takable French. He looked like a
part of the mountain.

Mr. David Knowles and Mr. For-
est, of Madison, bought a part of Mr.
Liberty's rights in 1S91. Some four
hundred dollars was expended on the
road above the "horse camp," and
it was made wide enough to allow a
narrow, stout wagon, made for the
purpose, to pass. On the site of the
stone camp a two and one half story
liouse now stands. Fourteen wire
cables, a half inch in diameter, fas-
ten it to the rocks. A cabinet or-
gan was taken up, but it was a load
for two horses on the little wagon.
Fire-wood costs about twelve dollars
per cord at the house ; two hundred
sticks, stove length, are a load for
four horses. The furniture is left
there the year around.

Mr. Knowles, who is now sole
owner of the house and the charter
of the road, makes a monthly trip
thither, staying over night to see
that all is well. Last February he
conducted thither a part}' of Appa-
lachian Clubbers, including the wife
of Governor Greenhalge and a party
of Lowell friends. The entire trip
had to be made on snowshoes, and
although some of the number essayed
to climb the peak, the drifts were .so

deep and the wind so furious that it
was given up.

In the summer of 1S94 there were
1,200 visitors to the Peak House,
which is only on the trail of the
Hammond and Durrell i)aths. The
people who frequent the ledges to
pick blueberries in their season, ob-
jecting to paying toll for their pas-
sage over the road, have cut out a
trail for themselves, that does not
touch the old one at any point, al-

View on Brook Path, Chocorua.

though it starts from the same spot
at Mr. Durrell's. This last track
was made in 1S92. It is generally
known as the "new path." The
ascent by the more frequented way
is now comparatively easy. Horses
manage to scramble up where men
once trod with caution. Planks and
ladders and rude stairs make easy the
difficult pa.sses up the peak. Four-
teen 3-ears ago it took the writer with-
out guide and with scarcely any path,
seven hours to wander up the moun-

i86

MO UNT Clio COR UA .

tain. This just covered the distance
from the Durrell house. It has been
done of late in less than two hours,
without ' ' horsepower. ' '

Once deserted farms under the
spell of Chocorua's influence are
becoming the homes of the city peo-
ple to whom the cool mountain
breezes come in a peculiarly grateful
freshness. The fi.sherman and the
bather use the streams and lakes.
The sides of the hills re-echo the

shouts of the happy rusticators.
Hundreds of people ascend the
pointed summit of the sentinel moun-
tain, easily and comfortal)ly, albeit
its very frown still looks forbidding
when seen from just beneath those
shagg}-, rugged rock-brows. A com-
fortal^le house occupies a sheltered
angle at the base of the la.st steep tier
of cliffs, and a horse may now go
where the foot of man went, only yes-
terday as it were, but with caution.

Winter View of Chocorua

MOUNT CHOCORUA

Bj'

)}' I'.dwiii Osgood Graver.

Though the wide hush of heavens soft sunlit blue,

A universal prophet of the hills,

You cry : " The world grows old ! " High in the stills
And calms of lofty solitude I view
The glory of the hoary head and through

The mellow misty shine that floods and fills

The interspace thy ancient grandeur thrills
Adown the valleys, palpitant and new.
Oh, patriarch of the hills ! Thy scattered locks

Fall o'er thy shoulders broad and high up-piled.
Thy brow is w^rinkled, yet thy form of rocks

Is full of aged beauty as when a child
You frolicked with the infant world that mocks

You now grown gray, stern-faced, and wild.

BRING BACK THK OLD PEOPLE.

By Milo Bedcdid.

1 T J"!-^ have e^-er a strange delight in
y y the presence of those quaint old
people, now as rare as some of
the old fashioned f!.o\ver gardens, who
come occasionally and often timidly
into the societ>' of modern men and
women, making them all appear to be
merely the cheap and light products
of the hour. We would like """o be
able to say just what it is about them
that is so stimulating and like a relish.
They are breathing and li\ing with
us, they see with eyes like ours,
and >'et they color the world for us,
and through their eyes we are made
to see strange and beautiful pictures
of things past.

We think of them as wearing a
delicate rose-tint continually, which
pervades not only their outward
dress, but their thoughts and manners
as well. It is said that the true color
of delight is gold ; the color of the
late afternoon sunlight of a summer's
day when we see it shining with
warm radiance upon a surface of
polished wood, or through a grove of
A-ellow birches in October. It is the
color children like to find among their
toys and picture-books. But the old
people have not quite the strength,
the quickness of pulse, to vibrate to
that color as do the young. The
thread of gold is still precious to
them, and we are sure it is there
woven into all their doings and say-
ings, their manners and their attire ;
but it is shaded a little bv a softer

hue, and though it is never absent,
it is often charmingly evanescent.
They have gone, we fancy, to their
china closets for their color, and have
found the cooler tints of the rose, like
those of the mornings in springtime,
most appropriate and easily worn. It
makes no difference whether the
actual dresses they put on be of a
cold gray or a plain black ; in the
folds we discover the soft tint we
admire, and all sense of dullness is
lost in the mellow haze of those early
years which antedate the histor}- of
our childhood.

Many of our old people seem won-
derful to us for their singular perfec-
tion of growth ; not a blemish, not a
fault, not a roughness or perver-
sity anywhere. Their metal has no
alloy, it is of one substance and
exquisitely and perfectl}- tempered.
They do not know impatience, or
haste ; they do not waste words, or
thoughts, or sentiments. They have
ever a watchful and scrupulous
economy. And such ma jest}' ! Not
gaudy and pretentious like that of
pagan kings, but a majest}' of rever-
ence, intelligence, and sweet humility.

I remember with what pleasant
anticipation I looked for the entre of
a certain elderly lady into the dining
hall at a large summer hotel in the
mountains where I spent a few days.
She took her seat regularly at a table
not far from the one at which I sat,
and her arrival always produced the

iSS

BRING BACK THE OLD PEOPLE.

effect of making the whole company
seem individually great and royal.
Her smile clarified everything. Did
the air from the windows seem more
delicious, and the spring water sud-
denly attest higher virtues, and the
mountains look grander and the fields
brighter? Yes, alwa3^s wdthout fail;
for her presence immediately height-
ened our power of appreciation . More
than that : Such a person is pos-
sessed of a certain magnif^nng power
together with a wonderful transpar-
ency', so that she comes between us
and nature as a sort of lens.

But these remarkable old people
have had great discipline. We are
apt to think discipline the destroyer
of freedom and liberty, of ease and
enjo3'ment, but we are quite wrong.
It is the only power that makes these
enviable advantages possible. We
prefer not to have our natural actions
interfered with. We say, what are
pleasanter to see than perfectly natu-
ral actions ? Really nothing is pleas-
anter to see after we have become
sufficiently sensible of our relations to
others; but the perfectly natural
actions of selfish, untrained children,
like those of wild animals, are fright-
ful to behold. I think we may ask
ourselves with some anxiety : Will
we be as wise and serene as these
representatives of the old regime
when we, ourselves, are old, or will
we be fussy and foolish as a natural
consequence of having spent a life
rather chaotic and ill regulated?
These old people long ago put on
their chains, and prol^ably without
shrinking at the thought of any possi-
ble deprivations, and after reaching
a certain stage of self-possession their
chains have naturally dropped off of
themselves.

Discipline is not really in the
schools, but in our consciences. It
is out of the trials, struggles, doubts,
hardships incident to each da}' we
weave our beautiful, or unlovely, web
of life, as the case may be. We start
with a very coarse warp in the loom
and an ill threaded shuttle which we
manipulate with clumsy hands, but
in time we acquire some grace and
learn to improve our pattern. Un-
doubtedly the old people had a great
deal taught them which the young
people of the present da}' are left to
learn for themselves. Perhaps we are
better for it; at any rate we shall some
da}' find out for a certainty.

Hawthorne, in his Marble Faun,
says, "Mankind are getting so far
beyond the childhood of their race
that they scorn to be happ}- any
longer." Whatever the condition of
societ}' may have been when that
sentence was penned, we must demur
at so grave a charge as this if it is to
be read as applicable to the present
time. The young man of the period,
the girl of the period, are in some
respects, at least, undoubtedly, more
agreeable persons to become acquain-
ted with than their predecessors. It
may not be too much to claim that
there is abroad the sign of a general
gain of happine.ss of mind. To be
sure, there is much implied in Haw-
thorne's words, closely following the
sentence I have just quoted, viz.:
" It is the iron rule in our da}' to
require an object and a purpose in
life. It makes us all parts of a
complicated scheme of progress, which
can only result in oiir arrival at a
colder and drearier region than we
were born in." Only, it seems to us,
that the lack of a purpose in life
would be thj tiling that would make

ALONG THE SACO.

189

the workl we inhabit seem cold uiul
dreary. The higher and more seri-
ous your purpose and the more enthi:-
siasm you have for it the happier will
be your fi"anie of mind both night and
day. There will then be no empti-
ness. It is because there is more to
learn, a greater variety of objects of
legitimate pursuit, more need of
energy and versatility and inventive-
ness, that the world of to-day seems
richer than the world of fifty years
asjo, or even less. There is now no
need of a dull moment or an idle hour.

For all their elegant leisure we do
not believe Adam and Eve appre-
ciated their garden very much. If
they had they would not have been
idling and falling into temptation.
They needed a multiplicity of inter-
ests, somebody to teach them some-
thino;, to awaken their latent aml)i-
tions, and quicken their dormant sen-
sibilities.

The present day is better than any
day that ever went before it for the
reason that it is more alive. Our
beautiful old people when they were
3-oung had less to say, less to think
about, and their manners were rather
the manners of restraint. The}- made
no superfluous motions and conse-
quently they were lacking in mobility
or flexibility. Nowadays there is
everywhere an excess of motion. Our
young ladies are fairer and have better

health l)ecause they are more on the
move. They have a thousand ways,
attitudes, and gestures which their
grandmothers, when the}- \\-ere }-oung,
probably never saw or dreamed of.
The old rule was to sit as still as
possible and keep cool and serene and
mindful of proper dignit}-. There
must have been a certain primness of
propriety about everything that w-as
said or done. Of course there were a
few irrepressibh' vivacious persons ;
l)ut even they, we fancy, were a good
deal tamed, never quite audacious
enough to act strictly according to
their natures.

Now, because we have acquired a
somewhat better knowledge of how to
liive, we have set aside certain need-
less restraints, and indulge ourselves
in a certain abandonment which is as
delightful to feel as it is to see. ^Slet-
aphorically speaking, the days of our
grandfathers' were days of frozen
streams, w-hen beaut}- was present
without motion. Now the streams
have thawed out, and are running,
babbling, and bubbling, always with
incessant sparkle and music. But
the old people have their charms and
excellencies in spite of all this.
Sometimes we think we are making
all the mistakes, and that as time
advances their singular perfections
will have in the world no living
possessors.

ALONG THE SACO.

By George Ihiiicroft Griffith.

Like a river of flowing topaz.

Over its sandy bed
Babbles the beautiful Saco ;

The skies smile overhead.

I90 ALONG THE SACO.

And fair as the blooming hillslope

To holy Nazarene,
His sandals pressed in childhood,

Is each familiar scene.

That monarch of all the mountains,

Old Washington, is near,
Its peak for every pilgrim

A shrine forever dear !

Moat through the blue mist shining,
While tinted cloudlets stray ;

And as shallops white and noiseless
The thistles drift away.

How the Conway meadows sparkle.

All diamonded with dew !
And October's full-hued fruitage

Has wonders rich and new.

Each valle}^ and wooded temple

A glory-festooned waj' ;
The facade of rock cathedral

God's hand adorns for aye !

Diana's baths are glowing;

And never brighter shone,
Dancing in sport toward us

That hoyden, wild and lone —

That embodiment of beaut}',
With all its merry ways, —

For the vSmile of the Great Spirit
O'er the Silver Cascade plays !

Companionship and sympathy

On ev'ry hand is found ;
A soft breeze kisses each fair cheek ;

The bells of Tamworth sound.

The breathing freshness of the pines

Is like the silv'rj^ ■''igh
A dying saint gives when he sees

Bright angels drawing nigh.

The birds, God's white-winged messengers,

Flash by us, one by one.
And insects have in flaming hvies

Their day of life begun.

THE OLD FOLKS A T HOME.

191

Like a river of flowing topaz,

Still sweeps the Saco there ;
Stand the mountains mute, and the golden fruit

Scents all the amber air.

And hand-in-hand we wander ;

The circling eagle hies
To the rifted oak where the owlet blinks,

And the black rook hoarsely cries.

Ah ! pictured memories abide !

And, fringed with gold, we see
In silver belts and robes of green

The hills of Ossipee !

THE OLD FOLKS AT HOME.

Bv M. P. Lawrence

THE little old house stood close b}-
the railway tracks and quivered
on its tottering foundations and
rattled in its empty sashes as the mon-
ster trains thundered by. The loos-
ened bricks fell one by one from its
ancier t chimney and every gale that
blew carried away some of the moss-
grown, wrinkled shingles. Every
vestige of paint had long since disap-
peared, and through windows guilt-
less of glass for years one looked in
upon gaping floors which rose and
fell with w^ave-like undulations.

Once the little house had been trim
and new ; radiant in its glory of white
paint and green blinds ; daintily
placed in an emerald setting of smooth
green lawn that sloped away to the
ri^-€r. It had sheltered then .stalwart
Dan Bradley, his pretty young wife,
and their three little ones. Dan was
a prosperous farmer, happy and in-

dustrious, peaceful and contented.
But the railroad had come and had
stretched its steel .skeleton right
through the midst of his fields, spar-
ing but by a mere hand's-breadth his
very home. The money that his fer-
tile field.s — now bearing strange crops
of .stone and brick — yielded him he
invested in mills and tenements ; and
now the lapse of twenty years finds
him the millionaire maj^or of the
flourishing city of Carlton.

The beautiful mansion upon the
Heights before whose entrance the
long line of carriages is drawn up is
his. To-night its spacious rooms pul-
sate with life and beauty under the
softh' globed glare of myriad electric
lights. Daniel Bradley, Jr., is come
of age and societ}' is glad to welcome
the new recruit. He and his tall,
stylishl)' reser\xd elder sister are
doing the honors of the evening with

192

THE OLD FOLKS A T HOME.

irreproachable grace and ease. The
father and mother looked on in the
earlier part of the evening with
pleased if half-sad smiles and with
hearty greetings for all their hosts of
friends. But now the}' have disap-
peared and their absence is not
noticed ; for the ball-room music, now
softly languorous, now madly pas-
sionate, thrills every 3'outhful vein of
their guests and pleasure is, indeed,
unconfined.

Down between the railroad and the
river the moon pours a flood of pale
glory over the little black house. Its
desolation is but emphasized thereby
and its decay the more plainly re-
vealed. A man leans upon the ruins
of the fence, gazing at the building ;
presently he passes where once hung
a gate, crosses the worn stone thresh-
old and stands within the door. A
tramp, mayhap, seeking doubtful
shelter for the night. But no, as the
moon comes out from behind a cloud
its beams tell a different story.

As he enters a dark form in one
corner of the front room moves as if
in search of a hiding place. " Who's
there?" the man calls out. "O
Dan! Is it 3'OU?" a woman's voice
replies, and the two forms are quickly
united.

"Did you think, dear, that it is
just twenty-five years ago to-night
since 3'ou and I first crossed that
threshold together? " asked the wife.

"That I did," answered her hus-
band in slowly musing tones, " and I
thought, too, that all the happiness
in the new home could never quite
equal that we enjo3'ed in this little
one."

" We were happy here, weren't we,
Dan?" continued the woman dream-
ilv. "It was here that Nell was

born, and little Dan; and the}' grew
like the flowers at the door-step, sweet
and pure. But it wasn't all sunshine
after all. For there was Faith."

The man's eyes were dim with
tears in the darkness. He saw once
more the little grave on the hillside,
with its tiny headstone, and a great
lump rose in his throat that kept him
from speech.

So the woman, after a pause, went
on : " We were young then, Dan, and
life was sweet, wasn't it? We were
poor and worked with our hands, but
I sang at the wash-tub, j'ou whistled
behind the plough, and the children
trotted to and fro between us."

There w-as silence for a time as both
wandered in fancy far back along the
years. At length the husband said
gently, almost sadly: "The riches
that have :ome, dear, will smooth the
path, i hope, for Dan and Nell. And
\'et I cannot help but fear their happi-
ness will not be as great as ours. We
cannot tell how much longer we may
be spared to guide them."

The twain were seated now upon
the old settle that still stood beside
the yawning fire-place. As he spoke
their hands met in a long love clasp.
Outside, one of summer's sudden
storms had arisen and the sky was
veiled in deepest black. Low thunder
rumblings heralded a keen, sharp
lightning flash that for a moment
seemed to blaze a path from the lit-
tle black house straight to the gate-
ways of heaven.

So it proved for the grey-haired,
warm-hearted lovers within. When
anxious searchers found them next
morning happy smiles still illumined
their worn features and the blue mark
of the lightning on their clasped
hands told the story.

(vie lint i-aesar.

MT. CAESAR SEMINARY AND SWANZEY ACADEMY

Ilv Chloe r. Holbrook.

HIS institution was
located in the beau-
tiful valley of the
A s h u e 1 o t r i ^• e r,
near the base of
Mount Caesar in
the village of Swan-
zey Centre. The building which was
its home was surrounded by ample
grounds, upon a wide and level street,
at that time a part of the Greenfield
stage road. The broad valley, through
which flows the south branch of the
Ashuelot river, is bounded by steep
and nearly continuous ranges of hills,
with ' grand old Monadnock ' " tow-
ering beyond and above, forming the
background of the view in the east.
From the front, to the west, a short
distance away, is Mount Caesar, ris-
ing about a thousand feet above the

level of the sea, showing its bold and
abrupt profile toward the south aiid
the long slope to the north. Its side
is partly clothed with forests, but here
and there bare ledges show.

The school was distant and secluded
from the large business centres, for
the Cheshire railroad was not com-
pleted until May, 1848, five years,
and the Ashuelot road was not built
until 1850, seven years, after the
opening of the seminar^'.

The reunion, which is proposed to
be held August 21, 1895, at Swanzey,
of all the principals, assistant teach-
ers, and students who have been con-
nected with the institution, brings to
mind many pleasant remembrances of
its history.. It seems fitting at this
time to make some record of that his-
tory, and of the men who gave their

194

MT. CAESAR SEMINARY.

thought to providing that opportunity for the up-building of character to the
youth of the vicinit}', by the instruction of. and contact with, persons of

a high degree of culture and refinement and of
firm moral and religious principles. Of the men
who projected the institution, who gave of their
means, or who patronized it, and by their appre-
ciation aided the work, we would say with grati-
tude that they were men of "knowledge and wis-
dom . ' '

Mt. Caesar Seminaiy and Swanzey Academy
was founded in 1843, seven years after the
Keene academy was established,
and seven }ears before the Ches-
terfield academy was closed.
Previous to this time the Uni-
versalists of Cheshire county
had no denominational school.
M. E. Wright. , ""^ l^tie liberal minded portion of

the inhabitants of
the county h a d
long felt the de-
sirabilit}- of hav-

'■'N,

L. J. Fletcher.

was designed to be in

ing a school es-
tablished in their
midst, where the
course of instruc-

tion should pos-
,sess the advan-
tage of t h o r-
oughne.ss c o m-
1)ined with the-
oretical an d
practical in-
struction, and,
while the insti-
tution

no sense sectarian, its aim was
to be to draw out the native
faculties of the mind and fit
its students, Ijy a course of
rigid discipline, to think and
act in the great drama of life
with credit to themselves and
the generation in which they lived. A county
convention of I'niversalists was called, and it
was decided that a seminary .should be established
.somewhere in Cheshire county, and that the town
raising the mo.st mone}^ b}' subscriptions from its
inhabitants should be entitled to have the .semin-
ary located in that town. The whole amount
beins; raised in the town of Swanzev, it was ac-

cordingly located there. The clergymen and delegates from the various
societies of Universalist connection in the countv of Cheshire met accord-

Rev. Joseph Barber.

Edwin Guild.

MT. CAESAR SEMINARY.

195

ing to previous notice in Swanzey on
Wednesday, May 31, 1S43, to con-
sider the subject of the Hberal school
about to be founded in that place.
The following preamble and resolu-
tion were adopted :

"Whereas, The Cheshire County
Association of Universalists, as a
body, cannot act under the existing
circumstances in electing the proper
officers to govern the Mt. Caesar in-
stitute about to be established in
Swanzey, therefore,

''Resolved, That we recommend to
the stockholders in said institution
such measures as we believe best cal-
culated to promote the interest of
the school, the legality of these meas-
ures to rest with the company."

The committee prepared resolu-
tions, which, after being separately
considered and amended, were adopt-
ed as follows :

"" Resolved, That we recommend the
following individuals as suitable per-
sons to act as trustees of the Mt.
Caesar Institute in conjunction with
the directors of the same and such
other trustees as may be appointed
by the stockholders: Rev. J. Barber,
Swanzey ; Rev. Wm. Cilley, Stod-
dard ; Thomas Little, Nelson ; Dr.
Vine Porter, Walpole ; Rev. T. Bar-
ron, Winchester; P. Cressey, Ches-
terfield ; V^. Dort, Surry ; Jonah Davis,
Marlborough; Rev. C. Woodhouse,
Westmoreland; S. Slade, Jr., Esq.,
Alstead ; Elijah Sawyer, Esq., Keene ;
Hon. Devi Fisk, Jaffrej- ; E. Martin,
Richmond; Ivah Newton, Hinsdale;
Chas. Carpenter, Troy ; S. W. Day,
Gilsum ; and such other persons as
the trustees thus appointed shall
think proper to elect, not exceeding,
with those herein designated, the
number of towns in Cheshire countv."

[The following is the list chosen :
Hon. Elijah Carpenter, Col. Carter
Whitcomb, David Parsons, Capt.
Edward Goddard, Amasa Aldrich,
Esq., Lsaac Stratton, Esq., Charles
N. Hills, Esq., and Israel Applin,
of Swanzey; Rev. Stillman Clark,
Jaffre\' ; Jonathan Robinson, Esq.,
Surry ; Calvin May, Gilsum ; Dan-
forth T3'ler, Richmond.]

'"Resolved, That we recommend to
the trustees of the Mt. Caesar Insti-
tute, that they secure the ser\-ices of
such competent teachers as will give
to the school a literar}^ scientific, and
moral standing, second to none in the
county, and worthy the patronage of
the community at large.

"Resolved, That the clergvmen in
the Cheshire Count}' Association of
Universalists, with the tru.stees, be
requested to use their exertions in
procuring a subscription for the pur-
chase of chemical, philosophical, and
astronomical apparatus, and also a
library for the use of Mt. Caesar In-
stitute in Swanze}', said apparatus
and library to be the property of the
E^niversalist Association of the county
of Cheshire."

The first meeting of the Swanzey
Acadeni}' Association was held at the
store of Benjamin Page in Swanze}',
October 14, 1842, and was organized
by choosing Col. Carter Whitcomb
chairman, and Jerome vSawyer clerk.

It appears from the secretary's
report that there was no statute law
in the state of New Hampshire at that
date whereby the stockholders in such
an institution could organize into a
corporate body.

At a meeting held the seventh of
January, 1S43, Elijah Carpenter, Esq.,
was chosen treasurer and Col. Carter
Whitcomb a committee to solicit sub-

196

MT. CAESAR SEMINARY.

'"^■^ '''-'■^£m^V^

1^ hS^

View of Swanzey Centrf, loward trie North — Town House and M'. L.v i.ir Liira;) 1-;

■^

^;i.

scriptions for erecting the building.
Rev. Joseph Barber, Col. Carter Whit-
comb, and C. N. Hills, Esq., were
chosen a committee to draft resolu-
tions of agreement and a code of by-
laws for the regulation of Swanzey
Academy Association.

After the formation of the associa-
tion it was voted that the institution
take the name of "Mount Caesar
Seminar}' and Swanze}^ Academy'. "
It appears from the records that the
meetings were largely attended and
that the members were enthusiastic
in the cau.se of education, and through
the combined efforts of the members
quite a sum of money, labor, and
material were subscribed.

The whole stock was taken by the
following persons who became mem-
bers of the association, — Elijah Car-
penter, Esq., Benjamin Page, Paul F.
Aldrich, Lorenzo R. Holbrook, Virgil
Holbrook, David Whitcomb, Elijah C
Belding, Wyman Richardson, Ezra
Emerson, Ej'man Parker, Esq., Joseph

Woodward, Amos Bailey, Leonard
Whitcomb, Isaac Stratton, Esq., Arba
Stearns, Roswell Whitcomb, Charles
N. Hills, Esq., Amasa iVldrich, Esq.,
Daniel H. Holbrook, Rev. Joseph Bar-
ber, Samuel Thompson, Jr., Zadoc L-

^^^

^^l&,„

'^'■.fj

vMf

Francis A. March, LL. D., L. H. D.

MT. CAESAR SEMINARY.

197

Tatt, (;iles Taft, INIoses T. Thompson,
Roswell S. Osgood, John Woodward,
Jesse Thompson, Capt. Edward God-
dard, Erasmus Marble, John Stratton,
Robberts Hovey, Ezekiel Page, David
Parsons, Phinehas Aldrich, Israel Ap-
plin. Nathaniel Stanley.

The building was completed and
furnished with good philosophical,
astronomical, and chemical apparatus,
a cabinet of minerals, three hundred
volumes for a library, and a little later
with a piano- forte.

September 13, 1843, the academy
was opened for the admission of stu-
dents under the instruction of Rev.
L. J. Fletcher, principal, L. Winslow
Blanchard, A. B., assistant principal,
and Miss Fidelia Foveland, principal
of the female department.

The building was used for the
school for about twenty-five years.
Its teachers were persons of superior
education and of a high moral char-
acter, who brought to their work an
enthusiasm that awakened in those
under their care something very like
their own, — a desire for knowledge
for its own sake.

The students came not only from
the vicinity but from several different
states in the Union. Here young
men could be fitted for college. Mil-
itary- drill was optional. Persons
desiring to teach received special
training, and lectures were delivered
upon different topics through the
term .

The lyceum was the great event,
for which much preparation was
made, to discuss the proposed ques-
tion by the gentlemen, while the
ladies gave their attention to the edit-
ing of a paper to be read the same
evening. Here, as Mr. Guild has
said, ' ' we formed our ' literary union '

and measured our swords in the
forum, alias the lyceum, which people
are beginning to find out is one of the
best educators. The practice I had
in the old Swanze}' lyceum of ' cut
and parry ' has been very helpful to
me." The school year sometimes
closed with an exhibition, and one is
recorded as consisting entirely of
original exercises.

At suitable seasons of the year the
principal invited the whole school out
for a walk. If to the top of Mount
Caesar, the way up the long slope
was taken, past the site of the first
school-house in town, the old fort, and
the old meeting-house. Minerals and
1)Otanical specimens were examined
and collected, and the rocking-stone
never failed to receive due attention.
By the aid of a glass di.stant views of
the surrounding countrs' were seen.
Rhetorical exercises have been held
at these times. Another walk was
out towards and across the railroad
bridge to the sand-bank, so called,
supposed to have been the locality of
an Indian village.

A most enchanting walk on an Oc-
tober da}' was down the sandy road,
over the hill-side, through woods of
oak, maple, beech, and birch, whose
brilliant foliage was aglow with the
western sun, on through the pines,
solemnly .sighing, and whose resinous
odor filled the air, to beautiful Swan-
zey pond, whose waters, faithfull}- re-
flecting each shadow cast upon its
surface, are deep and pure and clear.

This institution after many years
of u.sefulness ceased to be patronized,
as did many similar ones in the state,
when the larger towns and cities es-
tablished public high schools, which
supplied their place.

Among those connected with the

198

HIT. CAESAR SEMINARY.

.. ^^

'v;/.

I s» -^

vr^

\ '

George Carpenter. Charles I. Barker. H. A. Pratt.

J. Q. A. McCollester, A. M., M. D. Dea. A. A. Ware.

Irvine A. Whitcomb. S. H. McCollester.

school in one way or another during
its existence are the following promi-
nent men and women of whom por-
traits and brief biographical sketches

are given

Rev. Joseph Barber, born in Au-
gust, 1 80 1, in Heath, Mass., studied

and practised medicine for a time, but
became a minister, preaching to the
Universalist society in Swanzey. He
was one of the first trustees of Mt.
Caesar vSeminary. He was actively
engaged in the temperance cause,
and his earnest lectures on the sub-

MT. CAESAR SEMINARY.

199

ject produced a most salutary effect
upon the community. He other^vise
served the people most faithfully.

Rev. L. J. Fletcher, D. D., the first
principal, was born in Alstead, 181S,
and was a man highly endowed with
physical, mental, and spiritual gifts.
He became by his own efforts a
thorough English scholar, and was
profoundly interested in natural
science and Biblical literature. He
was a popular administrator of the
school for nearh' two A'ears, when he
settled in Brattleboro, Vt., as pastor
of the I'niversalist church. He died
in Franklin, Mass., in 1SS4.

Lemuel Blanchard, A. M., was
assistant with Mr. Fletcher. He
won laurels as a teacher and disci-
plinarian, and possessed the rare
faculty of inspiring the right spirit
in the students who came under his
charge. He departed this life at his
old home in Whitingham, Vt., at the
age of thirty-six. He is remembered
as pure in heart, scholarly, and es-
pecially attractive in mien and per-
sonal qualities.

Francis A. March was born in Mil-
bury, Mass., October 25, 1S25 ; A. B.,
at Amherst, 1845; taught at Mt.
Caesar, 1845 ; professor at Lafayette
college. 1857-1895: LL. D., Prince-
ton, 1S70; L- H. D., Columbia, 18S7;
president American Philological As-
sociation, 1873; president Modern
Language Association, succeeding
James Russell Lowell, 1891. Pro-
fessor March has been styled the
Skeat of America, and is one of its
foremost Anglo-Saxon scholars and
comparative philologists of the time.
He has been the author of a number
of valuable works on the subject of
language and literature.

Rev. John S. Lee, D. D., was born

in A'ernon, \'t. He early evinced an
ardent thirst for knowledge and an
inten.se love of books. His memory
of dates and events was remarkable.
He immediately assumed the charge
of Vl\.. Caesar Seminary after his
graduation from Amherst college in
1S45. Here he taught in i845-'46.
He was ordained pastor of the West
Brattleboro Universalist church in
June, and in September, 1847, fol-
lowing, he took charge of Melrose
acadeni}'. He has travelled much.
Since 1869 he has held the position
of professor of ecclesiastical hi.story
and Biblical archaeology in the theo-
logical school of the vSt. Lawrence
university, Canton, X. Y.

Prof. H. A. Pratt was born in
Shutesbur}-, Mass., January 21, 18 19.
Having fitted for college at Franklin
academy, Shelburne Falls, Mass., he
entered at Amherst in 1845, graduat-
ing in the class of 1848. He taught
in Shelburne Falls acadenty the same
year, and subsequently followed teach-
ing as a profession. He was assistant
teacher in ^It. Caesar Seminar}- in
1845. He now lives in Gill, Mass.

Caroline Lovisa Southgate, born at
Bridgewater, Vt., educated at Green
Mountain Liberal Institute, South
\Vood.stock, \'t., was assistant teacher
at Mt. Caesar in 1857, and has taught
successfully elsewhere. In 1S61 she
married Hon. Hosea \V. Parker, of
Claremont.

M. E. Wright, A. M.. graduated
at Dartmouth college in 1850, and
followed teaching for a few years.
He was principal of the Mt. Caesar
Seminary in the fall of 1S52 and the
spring of 1853. He now lives in
Marlborough.

Rev. S. H. McCollester, D. D., of
]\Iarll)orough, became a .student under

200

Mr. CAESAR SEMINARY.

Hon. Carroll D. Wright.

Dr. Fletcher and Mr. Blanchard. In
1S53 he assumed the duties of princi-
pal of the school and pastor of the
Universalist church, preaching both
at West Swanzey and at the academy.
His education and natural ability are
of a high order, and his faithful efforts
in the cause won respect and honor
from all. He was connected with the
school longer than any other teacher.
He has since travelled much in for-
eign lands, been author of books, cor-
respondent of various journals, presi-
dent of Buchtel college, Akron, Ohio,
and a successful minister of the gospel.

Mrs. S. H. McCollester, nee Sophia
F. Knight, of Dummerston, Vt., be-
came preceptress when her husband
took charge of the school. She had
been a successful teacher at Melrose
academy, Vt., and was well fitted by
education, experience, and her many
womanly graces to fill the position
acceptably.

Edwin Guild, born in Bethel, Vt.,
October 24, 1S29, was educated in

AValpole. He has taught in the pub-
lic schools of Danville and Stockholm,
N. Y., Newfane and Dover, Vt., Fitz-
william, Walpole, and Winchester.
He was assistant to Mr. McCollester
at Mt. Caesar Seminary. Since 1S63
he has been a farmer, though he
remains a student and teacher still.

'"^ l^ps^.

•*-

wl'yi^i..'-

?^%^^;

>u.

Burnll Porter, Jr.

J. Q. A. McCollester, A. M., M. D.,
was an assistant at one time in Mt.
Caesar Seminary. He afterwards
became a physician, practising for
twenty years in Ayer, Mass., with
eminent success, and then removed
to Waltham, Mass., where he has
had an extensive practice, and is
still devoted to his profession. He
was a surgeon in our Civil War,
making a brilliant record.

Mrs. D. ly. M. Cummings, of Swan-
zey, teacher of music, i854-'55, now
Mrs. Eliza W. Taylor, of Windsor,
Vt.

Burrill Porter, Jr., was born in
Charlestown, February 22, 1S32, and

MT. CAESAR SEMINARY.

20I

-was a graduate of Dartmouth in
1856. He taught in the academies
of Canaan, Alstead, and vSwanzey,
and the pubhc schools of Cleveland
and Fostoria, Ohio. He has been
principal of the high schools of
Braintree and Attleboro, Mass., and
-since 1879 he has filled many ofhces
of importance in Attleboro, and been
representative to the general court
of Massachusetts.

Hon. Carroll D. Wright, A. M.,
IvL. D., born in Dunbarton, July 25,
1840, was assistant to Mr. Porter in
the spring of 1S60. He enlisted in the
Fourteenth New Hampshire Volun-
teers, September, 1S62, on the quota

George W. Gay.

from Swanze}^ and was made second
lieutenant of Company C, October;
adjutant, in December, 1863 ; colonel,
in December, 1S64; resigned, March,
1865. Admitted to the bar at Keene,
October, 1S65 ; began practice in Bos-
ton, Augu.st, 1867; elected to Massa-
chusetts senate, 1871 and 1872; ap-

pointed chief of Ma.ssachusetts bu-
reau of statistics of labor. May, 1S73 ;
United States commissioner of labor,
June, 1885; in charge of the United
States census since October, 1893.

Gardner C Hill, M. D., was born in
Winchester, in 1827 ; educated at Ches-
terfield and Saxton's River academies
and at Mt. Caesar Seminary, where
he was assi-stant and pupil in 1852. In
1857 he was principal of the Winches-
ter high school. He attended medical
lectures at Harvard college and Cas-
tleton, Vt., and practised ten years
at Warwick, Mass. He removed to
Keene in 1867, and has been twenty
years on the board of education,
ser\'ed as county commissioner, mem-
ber of the common council, on the
board of health, as city and county
physician, and on the medical .staff
of the Elliot city hospital.

George W. Gay, A. M., M. D., the
principal of this seminary in the fall
of 1864, was born in vSwanzey: edu-
cated there and at Bernardston, and

Charles Holbrook.

202

MT. CAESAR SEMINARY.

Han-ard medical school. He has
practised medicine since 1868 in Bos-
ton, and has been visit-
ing surgeon to the city
hospital since 1872. He
is consulting surgeon to
the St. Elizabeth hospi-
tal and the Elliot city

John S. Lee.
Rev. Freeman A. Jackson

hospital at Keene, a
trustee of Boston Den-
tal college, and instruc-
tor in surgery at the
Har\-ard medical school.
George Carpenter, a

zey, September 13, 1S28; went to Cal-
ifornia in 1 85 2, and returned in 1S55 ;
married Eucy Jane Whit-
comb, June 14, 1864. He
was elected to the New
Hampshire house of rep-
resentatives in 1877, and
has also been the caudi-

Georg<? K. Harvey.

J. F. Long.

Dr. Gardr^er C. H. HilL

•^ #Vv

¥C

^-^ , . ^'"<^^..

N. H. Rictnidsoii.
George W. Oliver.

date for several high of-
fices. He bought Mt.
Caesar Seminary build-
ing in 1866, and with
characteristic generos-
it}^ gave it to the Mt.

student in 1843, was born in Swan- Caesar Eibrar}- association in 1S85.

.I/r. CAESAR SEMINARY

20'

Charles Holl)rook, of San Fran-
cisco, was born in vSwanzey, educated
at Mt. Caesar Seminary and at the
public schools of Springfield, Mass.,
and then learned the trade of machin-
ist. He went to California in 1850,
where he engaged in the mercantile
business, first in Sacramento and later

Charles F. Kingsbury, M. D.

in vSan Francisco. He is president
of the incorporated company of Hol-
brook, Merrill & Stetson, and is its
financial manager. He has become
a leading merchant of the United
States.

Alonzo A. Ware, a student, was
born and lived in Swanzey all his
life. He was teacher, superintend-
ent of schools, farmer, and land sur-
veyor. He was a deacon of the Con-
gregational church and president of
the Security Savings bank at the
time of his death in 1895. A man
of undoubted integrity.

Charles F. Kingsbury, M. D., a
student, also attended school at West
Brattleboro, Vt., and for three years

at Norwich university. He studied
medicine and received his diploma in
1855. He was in active practice till
1889, when he retired. He now gives
his attention to counsel cases only.

George K. Harvey, a student, was
born and lives in Surry, where he has
held the offices of town clerk, select-
man, town treasurer, and representa-
tive, and has been a state senator.

Mrs. Louisa B. Wright, nee Ran-
dall, attended Mt. Caesar Seminary
in 1 85 1, and afterwards studied Latin
and French with Miss Julia K. Hall
at Keene. She taught successfull}-
in Richmond and Swanzey, and in
1855 married Dr. S. G. Wright, of
Winchester. Thev removed to Gill,

H. H. Metcalf.

where Dr.

Wright died in

Mass

1 86 1. She subsequenth' taught in
Westmoreland, Troy, and Marlbor-
ough, Corning City, Kansas, and is
now principal of the high school in
Seneca, Kansas.

Hon. Charles I. Barker, student in
1S45, was born in Westmoreland,

204

MT. CAESAR SEMINARY.

June 4, 1826, and educated at Keene
and Swanzey academies. In 1846
he entered the Clics/iirc Republican
office, in Keene, to learn the printing
business, and worked at his trade in
Newport, N. H., Barre, Vt., Worces-
ter, Mass., and Hamilton, Ohio, until
1853, when he became editor of the
Gazette, of Burlington, Iowa. In
1S93 he was elected member of the

well merited the confidence reposed
in him by his fellow citizens.

Nathan Henry Richardson, a stu-
dent, born in Swanzey, May 31, 1823,
went to Athol, Mass., to live, March
23, 1S44. He married Martha Ann
Barber, of Marlboro, Mass., May 31,
1849; has lived in Kitchburg, Mass.,
Brooklyn, N. Y., and again settled in
Athol, and is now engaged in build-

ivirs. S. H. M^Collester. Mrs. L. B. Wright. Mrs. A'jgusta E. Pierce.

Mrs. D. L. M. Comings. Mrs. Hosea W. Parker.

legislature, which position he now
holds.

Lemuel F. Long, student in 1851,
went around Cape Horn to California
in 1853. He is an extensive raiser
of hops in Mendocino county. He
has been chairman of the board of
supervisors, in 1 878-' 79 he was a
member of the legislature, and has
filled other positions of trust, and

ing and perfecting rattan-working
machines.

George W. Oliver, Esq., student
in 1854, was born in Swanzey. After
teaching three years, he was engaged
in a prosperous business in New York
city for many years. Removing to
Syracuse, N. Y.. he built up a laige
manufacturing industry, employing
several hundred people. He retired

MT. CAESAR SEMINARY.

205

three years ago, and has travelled in
the United States and Knrope.

Truman Jackson, of Swanzey, was
drafted into a New York regiment,
wounded in the Battle of the Wilder-
ness, sent to Andersonville prison,
and died there.

Irvine A. Whitcomb, of the firm of
Raymond & Whitcomb, is a former
resident of Swanzey and a student
at Mt. Caesar Seminary. He first
located in business in I/awrence,

public, Dover Press, Manchester Union,
and People and Patriot. He was the
founder and for some time the edi-
tor and publisher of the Granite
Monthly.

John J. Holbrook, born in Swan-
zey, December 10, 1844; studied at
Mt. Caesar Seminary, Leland and
Gray seminary, Keene high school,
and Colby academy, and received the
degree of A. B. at Brown university
in 1S72. He finished the theological

Tfie-

Mass. Thence he w^ent to Boston,
where he soon became a member of
the firm of which he is now principal
manager. This firm arranges excur-
sions to many points of interest.

H. H. ]\Ietcalf was a student here
in 1861. He studied law, graduating
from the law department of Michigan
university in 1S65, and was admitted
to the bar in 1866, but soon after
entered upon journalism, and was in
that business for nearly thirty 3'ears,
as editor of the White Mountain Re-

course at Newton seminar>' in 1875,
and was instructor in natural science
and mathematics during the ensuing
two years. He received the degree
of A. AI. from Brown university in
1876. He afterwards followed the
profession of a civil engineer till his
death at Keene, March 24, 1884.

The following named were among
the teachers and assistants at the
school: L. F. W. Peirce, A. B., prin-
cipal; Miss Frances A. Haven, pre-
ceptress and teacher of music ; Miss

2o6

MT. CAESAR SEMINARY.

Catherine D. Conant, preceptress;
Miss Julia Haven, teacher in the or-
namental department ; F. M. Crosby,
assistant; S. W. Horton, teacher of
penmanship; W. W. Guild, teacher
of penmanship ; Miss Ann I. Tilden,
assistant; Miss E. D. Knight, assist-
ant; Miss J. ly. Emerson, assistant
and pupil; Miss H. A. Thompson,
assistant and pupil; W. S. Myers,
assistant and pupil.

If space permitted, we should be
pleased to present, as we might easily
do, the creditable career of a much
larger number of
the students at
old Mt. Caesar.

On May 14,
1880, the ladies of
Swanzey formed

May 16, 1885, George Carpenter,,
of Swanzey, having previously pur-
chased the Mt. Caesar Seminary
building and lot of the stockholders,
made a gift to the library associa-
tion of the building for the use of a
library. The deed of gift is itself
unique. One of the provisions is
that ' ' as long as the United States
remain free and independent the boys
of the neighborhood shall have the
right, unmolested, to ring the bell on
each succeeding Fourth of Jul}'."
The bell of Mt. Caesar Seminary,

_ which still does

duty for the libra-
ry association, was-
a gift from Benja-
min Page. Esq., of
Swanzey, in the

the association, which since that time
has been known as the Mt. Caesar
Union Eibrary Association, wdiose ob-
ject was the formation and perpetua-
tion of a public library in Swanzey,
for the purpose of promoting general
intelligence, a pure literature, and
good morals among the citizens.

Mrs. Rebecca R. Belding was the
first president of this association, and
gave her best and untiring efforts for
its success. It has been almost en-
tirely under the control of the ladies
from its first inception and formation
until the present time.

earl}^ days of the institution. The
building was repaired and furnished
throvigh the generous contributions
of the students of old Mt. Caesar Sem-
inar>^ and others interested in the
cause of education, most of whom
were natives of Swanzey.

The Mt. Caesar Library Associa-
tion has been formed about fifteen
years, and is in successful operation,
at the present time having nearly two
thousand volumes. The association
has also a permanent fund of about
$2,200 for the care of the building
and the running expenses of the same.

TWO PICTURES. 207

The lower floor of the building is which are curious as well as valuable

used for a cloak-room, reception-room, for their age and quaintness.

dining-room and kitchen. The While the building is no longer

second floor contains the library, and used for a school, yet the ideal pur-

the old military drill hall is used by pose for which it was built is not

the association for an antiquarian materially departed from, for it is the

hall, and contains about one thousand home of books and the resort of those

articles of " ye olden time," many of seeking " knowledge and wisdom."

TWO PICTURES.
By H. H. Hanson.

Clear and peaceful were thy waters
Gently rippling in the breeze,

As across the lake it wafted
Sweet perfume of forest trees.

Down old Ossipee the shadows
Chase each other to the shore.

Far away the Autumn sunlight
Diml}' tints Chocorua.

Fair and beautiful the picture

'Neath the bright September skies

Winnipesaukee, queen of waters,
Sleeping, in the valley lies.

Changed the scene ; next day the tempest

Bursts in fury down the vale.
White-capped billows foam and tumble,

Driven by the rushing gale.

Storm clouds whirl in wild confusion
Hiding bold Chocorua' s peak.

Faintlv show the cold grav ledges
On old Whiteface, bare and bleak.

Thunders roll in ceaseless crashes
From the black and inky west.

All is wild and deaf'ning tumult
Where before was peace and rest.

WAR PICTURES.

[continued.]
[Illustrated from photographs by Henry P. Moore, Concord, N. H.

/()' JoJui C. Liite/ian.

HIS picture of cot-
ton pickers, Dray-
ton 's plantation,
shows the contra-
il a n d s at work.
The name of Dray-
ton brings to mind
an incident of the bombardment of
Port Royal that had man)- counter-
parts in many of the southern states
during the war. The commander of
the rebel forces on that occasion was
a General Drayton, and on the Union
side was his brother. Captain Percival
Drayton, commander of one of the
vessels of Dupont's fleet, whose guns

were literally raining shells on the
house in which he was born and
against troops commanded by his
brother.

At the headquarters of Company
B, Third regiment, the officer on the
left is Capt. H. H. Ayer who went
from Penacook. In the center is
Lieut. A. J. Fogg, and on the right
is Uieut. Tom Jackson. Ayer went
out as first lieutenant of Company B.
He was a brave man and a good
officer, was wounded at Wagner and
killed in one of the battles before
Richmond in 1864. His body was
brought home and buried in Pena-

Cotton Pickers — Drayton's Plantation.

IVAA' PICTURES.

209

5cr

Headquarters, Company B — Captain Ayers, Lieutenants Fogg and Jackson.

cook. The stack of guns, sword and
drum, with the shells in the fore-
ground, denote the character of the
"business in which they were then
engaged. Lieutenant Fogg was pro-
moted from the ranks for bravery
and now resides in Exeter. Lieu-
tenant Jackson resides in New York.

A group of the line oflficers of the
Third New Hampshire shows on the
left, sitting on the drum. Captain
Henderson, and on his left sit Lieu-
tenants Miles and Cody, Captains
Donolioe, Carleton, Emmons, and
Wiggin, and Chaplain Henr}- Hill.
Bandmaster Ingalls is on the right

L-_

Line Officers, Third N. H.

2IO

IVA/^ PICTURES.

sioned officer in the Third
to meet death on the field.
The post in Farmington was
named in his honor. He was
I the leader of the Farmington
band before the war and his

son is the leader of the pres-
ent band there. Chaplain
Henry Hill was from Man-
chester and of the Method-
ist denomination. None of
the survivors of the Third
can think of him but with
sentiments of respect, for he
performed faithfully not only
the sacred duties of his office
and in the rear two of the three stand- but also the additional duties imposed
ing are Adjutant Hill and Captain upon him of looking after the express
Maxwell. Poor Captain Carleton ! and mail business of the regiment.
Early in June, 1862, he had just He was a kind hearted man and very
returned from a furlough to New often on the march gave evidence of
Hampshire, went into the action at this trait by giving the drummer boys
James island on the i6th of the same a "lift" on his horse. He returned

Headquarters, Company H — Captain Maxwell.

month. He was struck by a solid
shot which mangled one of his legs,
necessitating an amputation of the
limb, from the effect of which, after
lingering in terrible agony, he died
on the same day. He was from Farm-
ington and was the first commis-

to Manchester at the close of the war,
dving soon after.

Here we have another view of the
lieutenants' quarters, Company H,
Third regiment. Lieutenant Maxwell
taking it easy on his camp stool.
This is followed by a tent crew of

A Tent Crew of Company K

JVAA' PICTURES.

211

Coini)any K, one jirivate, three cor-
porals, aiul a sergeant, all good look-
ing faces, with eyes well to the front.
The pipe, it will be noticed, is as
essential a part of their eqnipments
as the guns or bayonets stacked close
by. Coffee and tobacco, as well as
the bullet and shell, played their
part, which was no minor one, in the
civil war, and although the writer
has had no personal experience with
the use of the weed, he is well aware.

of the view of the cemetery recalls a
mournful episode of the terrible storm
encountered when going around Hat-
teras, on the way to Port Royal. A
paper, giving a description of this
event, was prepared by the writer
for the Boston Journal in 1893, and
from this, which was published in its
series of war stories, the following is
copied.

After giving an account of the
departure of the fleet from Fortress

In Memory of Amasee Niles.

from observation, that it was often
both meat and drink to the tired and
hungry volunteer.

The view of the cemeter}' at Hil-
ton Head is a forcible reminder of an
enemy more potent than bullet or
shell — di.sease, which thinned the
ranks of the Third before it faced the
foe on the battle field. Malaria was
the great curse of the sea coast, as all
know who served there and who feel
its evil effects to this day.

The head board in the foreground

Monroe the writer rounds up the end
of the first day at sea, b}- saj'ing :

' ' The hour was late when I turned
in, down two stories, next to the tem-
porary hospital, and were it not for
the imperative call of Morpheus, I
believe I would have staid on deck
all night. Some of the poor fellows
by my side were very ill. One of
them was already in a high fever, at
times out of his head. He was but a
boy, barely seventeen years of age,
and it was pitiful to hear him call in

212

WAJ? PICTURES.

his delirium, for liis mother. At
other times he would burst out sing-
ing the hymns he had so often sung at
home. One, in particular, he was
forever singing — " Greenville," and I
never hear it now but the whole
scene, like a picture, comes back to
me — the bunks, three high, with an
alley between, and completely filling
the space between decks, the dim
lights, the foul air, the pitching of
the vessel, the creaking of the tim-
bers, the clank of the machiner}-, the
chafhng and joking of the well, the
complaints of the unfortunate sea
sick, and the moans of the poor fever
stricken boy by my side
The second day out and the night
following were like the preceding,
pleasant and agreeable, but, though
the dreaded Hatteras was passed,
there was a change on the evening of
the third day, a terrible storm arose,
whose memories will never be forgot-
ten by those who were for three days
at its mercy. By midnight it was
impossible to stand, sit, or lie still.
The whistling of the wind, which
shrieked like a legion of demons, the
creaking of cordage and timber, the
pitching and rolling of the heavily
laden steamer, the swash of the great
waves against its sides, and the con-
stant clank, clank, clank of the great
walking beam, as well as the fear of
what might happen, kept us all
awake, and, as if to make it more
frightful still, the poor delirious boy
was singing ' ' Greenville ' ' at the top
of his voice, his feelings seeming to
be in harmony with the storm, which
howled and screamed like a thousand
locomotives.

" The experience of that night will
never be forgotten by those who sur-
vive. There was no lull in the storm

on the day following. To those who
had courage to go on deck, the ocean
had the appearance of an immense
caldron, boiling, hissing, roaring,
rising, falling, accompanied by the
wind which blew like a hurricane,
obliging all to hang on to rope or
mast for dear life. . . . Night
brought no cessation of the storm.
The portholes, which were usually
left open in order to supply us with
fresh air, were now closed, screwed
up tight, and to add to our miserj^
the air was indescribably foul in con-
sequence. All were utterly discour-
aged but the sick bo}', who was still
in a high fever, seemed if anything
to gain strength. Above the moans
of the seasick, the roar of the waves,
and the regular clank of the machin-
ery, which was ever at work, arose
his voice singing ' Greenville.'

" Completely tired out I finall}' fell
asleep, only to be awakened by a
rush of waters and the yells of those
around me. For a moment I thought
we were going to the bottom, for it
seemed as if the vessel had been
swamped. I was not alone in this
opinion, for .some were praying,
thinking their last hour had come,
but we regained our courage on
ascertaining the cause of the trouble.
One of the bulls-eyes, which had
been simpl}- closed without being
screwed up, had been burst open
by an immense wave w^hich had
almost capsized the ship, and
throiigh this aperture came in an
immense quantit}^ of water, nearly
drowning us out, as well as nearly
frightening us to death, before we
found out the cause.

"Although the danger was over,
sleep was out of the queston. The
old, familiar sounds of the tempest,

WAJ^ PICTURES.

the creaking of the timbers, and the
steady, nionotonons action of the ma-
chinery were still heard, but some-
thing was missing. I turned around
and faced the bunk on which the
singer was lying, but his voice was
still. I raised myself up on my
elbow, and by the dim light of the
lamp I could see his white face and
outstretched arms, dead ; poor fellow,
his troubles were over, and ' Green-
ville ' is never heard but the sad

Captain Dow, the officer of the day,
wanted to have the body consigned
to the waves, but he protested against
it and succeeded in bringing it safely
to shore, where on November 9, 1861,
it was buried in the regimental ceme-
tery The inscription on the head-
board gives the name of the j)oor
boy, who died during the storm, the
first Union volunteer buried on South
Carolina soil :

" In Memorj' of Amasee Niles,

Domino ! "

memories of that night are brought
fresh to my mind."

The day after this was published
Perry Kittridge, the well - known
druggist of Concord, came into the
ofhce of the writer, and asked him if
he knew the boy's name ; he was told
that he did not not. Mr. Kittridge
said his name was Niles, and that
he remembered the circumstance
well; the boy died two or three
daj's before we landed. He. Kit-
tridge, was the hospital steward ;

Pvt. Co. G., 3d N. H. v., died Nov.
9, 1861."

' ' Domino ! ' ' should properly be the
title of this illustration, and the par-
ties engaged in the game are Captains
Wiggin and Emmons. Captain Dono-
hoe, leaning against the tent, looks on
with a quizzical expression on his face,
and with shoulder braced against
the stately palmetto stands Captain
Henderson. Here, as in most of the
views, the pipe or cigar are ever in
sight. This is a t3'pical camp scene,

214

IVAA' PICTL'A'J-S.

Typical Volunteers — Seventy-Ninth Highlanders.

away back in the halcyon days of
1861.

For a wonder the group next in
in order are not in line with the
figures in those preceding it, for out
of seven persons but three are smok-
ing. Perhaps the others vary the
use of the weed by chewing it. With
one exception all are in appearance
just on the verge of manhood, — a vig-

orous manhood too. Who they are
cannot even be conjectured, but they
look like the vSevent^'-Ninth High-
landers, for all are wearing Glen-
garry caps. There is not a weak
face among the lot, all being un-
usually fine specimens of the Union
volunteers. A most determined and
manly looking figure is that of the
oldest of the squad, standing back

•^l-'V -T

Drayton Mansion.

PHILLIPS EXETER'S NEW PRINCIPAL.

aeainst the tent with his left hand on
his hip. The only bearded man in
the crowd, and an honest, boyish face,
is that of the young fellow on the left
with hands clasped on his knees.

"Drayton's Plantation," already
referred to, was the home of the confed-
erate commander and the birthplace
of his brother, Captain Percival Dray-
ton of the Union Navy. The broth-
ers fought on opposite sides in the
battle of Port Royal, one defending,

the other attacking the home of
their fathers, not an uncommon
occurrence during the Civil war.
The troopers in the background are
undoubtedly a squad of the P'irst
Massachusetts Cavalry. Three of the
colored sisters are having their ' ' pic-
ters " taken. The one in the fore-
ground can almost be heard saying,
" George Washington, cum rite heah,
heah's a gefliman knows yoh fada,
shuah."

[to be coxtixued.]

PHILDIPS EXETER'S NEW PRINCIPAL.

By George H. Moses.

Harlan P. Amen, the newly elected
principal of the Phillips Exeter Acad-
emy, is the sixth to hold that office in
the one hundred and fourteen 3'ears of
the famous old school's histor}^, and,
unlike any of his predecessors, is a
graduate of the school. Mr. Amen
was born at Sinking Springs, High-
land count}^ O., in 1853, and came
to Exeter as a "prep" in 1S71,
where for four 3'ears he was class-
mate, chum, and rival of William
De Witt H5'de, the brilliant presi-
dent of Bowdoin College, who was
the first to congratulate his victori-
ous room-mate when Mr. Amen, in
his senior year, carried of the Gor-
don scholarship of $120, one of the
richest trophies at the school's dis-
posal. It was said at the time that
both Mr. Amen and Dr. Hyde were
exactly ecjual in standing, and that
the facult}' made the former the
beneficiary because he was the more
needy. Certainly ]\Ir. Amen was a
poor boy when he went to Exeter.
Before coming East he had enjoyed
for two years the i:irivilege of the

High school at Portsmouth, O.
Then, finding it necessar}- to earn
some money, he became a clerk in
the Valley Bookstore, a wholesale
and retail establishment, the pro-
prietor of which was Capt. W. W.
Reilly. Here he kept the books
and acted as "stock bo^^" An
incident that happened during his
experience as bookkeeper was the
burning down of the store. Young
Amen was among the first at the
fire, and his presence of mind saved
the books, for which service his em-
ployer presented him his first watch.
He was studying at everj- oppor-
tunity during his clerkship, and was
much encouraged in his ambition for
an education by his former principal
of the high school, as well as by an
Episcopal minister and a physician
of his native town. At length he left
the store and went to Boston, intend-
ing to prepare for college either at
the Boston Latin school or at Exe-
ter. He carried letters from his
former employer. Captain Reilly, to
Dr. vShurtliff, ex-mavor of Boston

2l6

PHILLIPS LXLTLR'S NE]\' PRINCIPAL.

Harlan P. Amen.

and secretary of the faculty of the
Harvard Medical school, by whose
advice he went to Exeter. There
he found himself with only $35 in
his pocket, but he obtained various
employment, including tutoring, etc.,
and was able to support himself, and
even to lay by $75 in his last year, the
year he won the Gordon scholarship.
From Exeter he went to Harvard,
where he and Hyde were still room-
mates, both graduating in 1879.
That same j^ear Mr. Amen, deter-
mined upon teaching as a career,

went to Riverview, a military school
at Poughkeepsie, New York, where
he remained until called to Exeter.
His success at Poughkeepsie was
marked from the first, and he leaves
the school with an enrollment greater
than it ever before enjoyed and with
a reputation and a prestige second
to none among fitting schools. Mr.
Amen has spent much time abroad,
and a close study of the great public-
schools of England, Eton, Harrow,
Rugby, and St. Paul's, was carried
on during a four months absence in

MARRIAGES AT TAM WORTH.

217

1892, at which time he also visited
a niiml)er of the leading secondar}'
schools on the Continent. The bear-
ing of this investigation npon his
work at Exeter is evident, and from

plans alread}- on foot as a result of
Mr. Amen's accession to the faculty,
"the Rugb}- of America" is looking
forward to a larger and nobler useful-
ness.

COPY OF RECORD OF MARRIAGES BY REV. SAMUEE HID-
DEN FROM 1 792-1837.

[On September 12, 1792, Rev. Samuel Hidden was ordained pastor of the cburcli at Tamwoith. The cere-
nionv took place at the now famous '" Ordination Rock • Mr. Hidden was eminent among the pioneer clergy
of his day and during his long period of service d, 1 vered no les'j than 12,000 sermons. While he was pastor
at Tamworth 503 united with his church and 56 pastors and teachers went out from it. The following copy
of Jiis marriage record is of historic vaUie as well as local interest. — Ed.]

1792, vSimeon Keni.ston to Mary
Mudgett, both of Tamworth.

Oct. 3, 1792, Henry Blaisdell to
Hannah Nicker.son, both of Tam-
worth.

Oct. II, 1792, Jabez Hatch to Molly
Blaisdell, both of Tamworth.

1792, Robert Smart
Dorothv Philbrick,

of
of

Nov. 15,
Ossipee to
Tamworth.

March lo, 1793, James Stevenson
to ]\Iary Remick, both of Tamworth.

March 21, 1793, Tufton Mason to
Sarah Oilman, both of Tamworth.

Mav

"9:

Samuel Harris to

Mary Cranfield, both of vSandwich.

Nov. 21, 1793, Isaiah Jewell to
Abigail Alley, both of Tamworth.

Jan. 8, 1794, John Cotton of Wolfe-
borough to Betsy Allen of Tamworth.

Feb. 9, 1794, Israel Folsom to Eliza-
beth Dow, both of Tamworth.

June I, 1794, John Drake to Polly
Leavitt, both of I^ffingham.

June 8, 1894, Joseph Maloon to
Nancy Eampre}-, both of EfiEingham.

July 6, 1794, West W. Sampson to
Rebecca Fowler, both of Tamworth.

Oct. 5, 1794, Wiggin Taylor to
Mar}' Abbot, both of Tamworth.

Oct. 29, 1794, Daniel Dow to Eliza
Moulton, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 20, 1794, Timothy White to
Elizabeth French, both of Ossipee.

Oct. 4, 1794, David Oilman to
Esther Low, both of Tamworth.

Oct. 23, 1794, Humphrey Fowler
to Nancy Mason, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 30, 1794, Ezekiel James to
Susanna Head, both of Benton.

Jan. 28, 1795, Christopher Sanborn
of vSanbornton to vSusanna Mason of
Tamworth.

March 7, 1796, Abner Moulton to
Mar}' Seavey, both of Tamworth.

Oct. 9, 1796, John Fowler, Jr., to
Miriam Gordon, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 22, 1796, John vSimpson to
vSally Palmer, both of Eflfingham.

Feb. 28, 1797, John Blake to Su-
sanna Frost, both of Moultonborough.

April 26, 1797, Oilman Heilton to
Polly Mason, both of Tamworth.

April 20, 1797, William Remick
to Abigail Oilman, both of Tam-
worth.

April 30, 1797, John Beau to Betsey
Weed, both of Sandwich.

Aug. 3, Abner Blai.sdell to Eouis
Sherman, both of Tamworth.

2l8

MARRIAGES AT TAMWORTH.

Aug. 3, 1797, Jacob Merry to Abi-
gail Giinnett, both of Tamworth.

Aug. 27, 1797, David Colcord, Jr.,
to Rebecca Smart, both of Tannvorth.

vSept. 19, 1797, Luther Rice of Con-
way to Polly Atkins of vSandwich.

Oct. I, 1797, Capt. Tristram Capo
of Tuftonborough to Susanna Hill.

Oct. 12, 1797, Richard Shepherd of
Holderness to Wid. Abagail Oilman
of Tamworth.

Nov. II, 1797, Stephen Palmer to
Dolly Dearborn, both of Efhngham.

Feb. 28, 1798, Isaiah Rogers of
Plymouth to Mahitable Bradbury of
Moultonborough .

May 13, 1798, John RoUins to Polly
Meader, both of Tamworth.

June 19, 1798, Nicholas Blaisdell to
Ruth Robinson, both of Tamworth.

Sept. 27, 1798, Aaron Ouimby to
Elizabeth Wells, both of Tamworth.

Sept. 30, 1798, Josiah Lewis to
Jerushia Tuxbry, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 5, 1798, Jonathan Hobbs of
Efhngham to Sarah Sanborn of North-
ampton.

Nov. 5, 179S, Joseph Morrill to
Abiah Folsom, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 20, 1798, David Moulton to
Mary P'olsom, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 25, 1798, Isaac Buzzel to Eliz-
abeth Sanderson, both of Ossipee.

Jan. 29, 1799, William Mason to
Abigail Hayford, both of Tamworth.

Jan. 30, 1799, Abraham Drake of
Effingham to Susanna Leighton of
Ossipee.

April 16, 1799, Amos Bailey to
Patty Jackman, both Tamworth.

Dec. 30, 1799, John Knowles of
Benton to Mary Danforth of I'am-
worth .

Feb. IS, iSoo, Samuel Thincj of
Brentwood to Bets}' Oilman of Tam-
worth.

June 9, 1800, Israel Oilman, 3rd, to
Susan Oilman, both of Tamworth.

Sept. 10, 1800, Joseph Cooley to
Sarah Moody, both of Ossipee.

Oct. 18, 1800, Nathan Beede, Jr. to
Lienor Bean, both of vSandwich.

Oct. 28, 1800, Joseph Tappin to
vSarah Allen, both of Tamworth.

Oct. 30, 1800, Larkin Dodge to
Abigail Mason, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 12, 1800, Ichabod Tibbetts to
Anna Lang, both of Eaton.

Nov. 13, 1800, Nathaniel Hobbs,
Jr., of Efhngham to Sally Smart of
Ossipee.

Jan. 16, 1 80 1, Thomas Gannett to
Hannah Hart, lioth of Tamworth.

Jan. 20, 1 80 1, vSamuel Maloon to
Deborah Palmer, both of Efhngham.

April 19, 1801, Daniel Roberts of
Ossipe to vSusanna Eastman of Tam-
worth.

June 17, 1801, William Williams to
vSally Leach, both of Ossipee.

Aug. II, 1 801, John Folsom to
Sally Jackson, both of Tamworth.

Aug. 20, 1801, Isaac West to Phebe
vSniith, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 28, iSoi, Nathaniel Knowles,
Jr. of Benton to Joanna Brown, lioth
of Tamworth.

Dec. 31, 1 80 1, John Pender to
Ruth Cushing, both of Tamworth.

Feb. 29, 1S02, Jacob Ames of Bel-
fast to Miriam Parsons of Tamworth.

Feb. 29, 1802, vSamuel Whidden to
Polly Head, both of Tamworth.

April 2T^, 1802, Sargeant French of
Sandwich to Dorothy Foster, of Tam-
worth.

Ma}' 2, 1802, Abram Jenness to
Mary Clemment, both of Moulton-
l:)orough.

May 10, 1802, Joseph Hobbs of
Effingham to Dolly Cooly of Ossi-
pee.

MARRIAGES AT TAM WORTH.

219

May 18, 1802, James Blaisdell to
Abigail vStetson, both of Tamworth.

May 20, 1S02, Henry Remick to
Polh- Howard, both of Tamworth.

May 27, 1S02. Theophelus Brown,
Jr., to Moll\- Tuxbury, both of Tam-
worth.

Apr. 10, 1S03, Jacob Oihnan to
Betsey Gihnan, both of Tamworth.

June 23, 1803, Shubal Marston to
Eetsey Remick, both of Tamworth.

July II. 1S03, Joseph Jewell to
Betsey Hayes, both of Tamworth.

Aug. II, I S03, Jonathan Mood}' to
Experience Xickerson, both of Ossi-
pee.

Sept. I, 1803, Elisha Weed to Abi-
gail Freeze, both of Sandwich.

Sept. II, 1803, Benjamin C. Doe
to Rebecca Dearborn, both of Efhng-
ham.

March i, 1804, David Jewell of
Tamworth to Ruth Clough of Sand-
wich.

March 11, 1804, Nathaniel Whit-
aker of Chatham to Abigail Fowler of
Tamworth.

March 15, 1S04, James O. Freeman
to Susanna French both of Sandwich.

July 23, 1S04, Nicholas Glidden to
Betsey Williams, both of Effingham.

Aug. 8. 1804, Benjamin Cook of
AVakefield to Mercy Burley of Sand-
wich.

Sept. 20, 1804, Winthrop Smart to
Sally Heard, both of Ossipee.

Nov. 22, 1804, Daniel Smith of
Philipsburg to Wid. Mary Fowler of
Tamworth.

Jan. 3, 1805, Robert Roberts to
Jerusha P. Goulet, both of Ossipee.

Aug. 4, 1805, John Vittum to Mary
Flanders, both of Tamworth.

Oct. I, 1805, Daniel Folsom to
AVid. Sarah Folsom, both of Tam-
worth.

Oct. 8, 1805, Reuben Hobbs of
Effingham to Polly Parsons.

Nov. 4, 1805, Clement Mood}* to
Polly Cooley, both of Ossipee.

March 6, 1806, Moses Weed to
I^ydia Brown, both of Sandwich.

March 20, 1806, Perkins Moulton
to Nanc}' Meader, both of Tamworth.

April 29, 1806, James Wingate to
Polly Shaw, both of Tamworth.

June 5, 1806, Bradbur}' Jewell to
Polly Chapman, both of Tamworth.

June 12, 1806, William Philbrick
of Tamworth to Jane ^IcCrillis of
Sandwich.

July 13, 1806, Ephraim Hidden to
Dorothy Remick, both of Tamworth.

July 18, 1806, John Moulton to
Eydia Clough, both of Sandwich.

Sept. 21, 1806, Jonas Carter to
Mehitable Oilman, both of Tam-
worth .

Nov. 27, 1806, Nathaniel Nicker-
son to Thankful Parsons, both of
Ossipee.

Jan. I, 1807, John Williams to
Thankful Nickerson, both of Ossipee.

Jan. 8, 1807, Abram Perkins of
Meredith to Susan Oilman of Tam-
worth .

Feb. 19, 1807, Nathaniel vS. Eadd
of Andover to Deborah Thing of
Tamworth.

April 8, 1807, Samuel Fogg to
Dolly Folsom of Tamworth.

May 3, 1807, David Hatch to
Susan Colburn of Tamworth.

May 17, 1S07, David Folsom to
Hannah Philbrick of Tamworth.

May 19, 1807, Consider Gannett to
Veriah Howard of Tamworth.

]\Iay 20, 1807, Joseph vSeavey to
Sally Docum, both of Tamworth.

May 21, 1S07. John Meservey of
Thornton to ]\Iary Smith of Sand-
wich.

220

MARRIAGES AT TAMWORTH.

June II, 1S07, John Marston, Tam-
worth, to Betsy Edgell, Tamworth.

Dec. I, 1 807, John Parsons to
Sarah Ellis, both of Tamworth.

Jan. 10, 1808, Jeremiah Gilman of
Meredith to Hannah Sanborn of
Effingham.

P'eb. 10, 1808, Samuel Chapman to
Elizabeth Folsom, both of Tamworth.

March i, 1803, Nehemiah Cram to
Susan Mor.se, both of Sandwich.

March 16, 1808, Mo.ses Hinds to
Hannah Bryer, both of Tamworth.

May I, 1808, Wm. Wallace, Jr., to
Sally Keniston, both of Sandwich.

Mas' 2, 1808, vStephen Fellows to
Peggy McGaffy, both of Sandwich.

May 2, 1808, Henry Weed, Jr., to
Nanc}^ Foss, both of Sandwich.

Ma}' 4, 1808, Daniel Smart to
Rhoda Davis of Eaton.

May 10, 1808, Mark Blaisdell to
Patty Whitman of Tamworth.

May 12, 1808, Jonathan Wat.son to
Dolly Vittuni, both of Sandwich.

May 12, 1808, Nathan Watson to
Betsey Shaw, both of Tamworth.

June 13, 1808, Eewis Bates to Eliz-
abeth Webster, both of Sandwich.

Dec. 29, 1808, Samuel Knox of
Conway to Betsey Ames of Cssipee.

Feb. 2, 1809, Nathaniel Morse to
Hannah Frost both of Sandwich.

May 18, 1809, Ichabod Shaw of
Moultonboro to Eliza Eittle of Cam-
brige.

July 5, 1809, Sylvanus Blossom of
Eaton to Hannah Bean of Sandwich.

Oct. 22, 1809, John Chapman to
Mercy Ballard, both of Tamworth.

July 2, 1809, Jonathan Ouimby of
Sandwich to Esther Keniston of Tam-
worth.

Nov. 23, 1809, Wm. P. Beede to
Phebe Weed both of Sandwich.

Feb. II, 1 810, Reuben Sanderson

of vSandwich to vSally Bason of Tam-
worth.

April 4, 1 8 10, Solomon Eiscum to
Sarah Eayman both of Tamworth.

April 3, 1 8 10, Henry Weed of
Sandwich to Sally Fowler of Tam-
worth.

April 8, 1 8 10, Isaac Allen to Eliza
Gilman, both of Tamworth.

May 28, 1 8 10, Wm. Quiniby of
Sandwich to Sally Folsom of Tam-
worth.

Oct. 7, 1 8 10, Enoch Stevenson to
Eydia Dow, both of Tamworth.

Nov. I, 1810, Wm. Weare to Bet-
sey Clough, l)oth of Tamworth.

Jan. 27, 181 1, Samuel Beede of
Sandwich to Mary Edgell of Tam-
worth.

Feb. 7, 181 1, Daniel Shaw, Jr., to
Mehitable Gilman, both of Tamworth.

Feb.

iSii, Francis Remick of

Industry to Abigail Marston of Tam-
worth.

April 3, 1811, Robert Newell of
Wolfeboro to Nabb}- Nichols of Ossi-
pee.

June 20, 181 1, David Foss to Rachel
Hoit, both of Sandwich.

June 30, 1 81 1, Jacob Hyde to Com-
fort Hayes, both of Tamworth.

Aug. 7, 181 1, Jesse Thing of Gil-
manton to Sophia Ames of Ossipee.

Oct. 31, 1811, Jacob W. Eastman
to Mary Webster, both of Sandwich.

Nov. 13, 181 1, Carr Leavitt, Jr.
of Effingham to Dolly Danforth of
Eaton.

Jan. 12, 181 2, Rev. Nathaniel Porter
to Mrs. Phebe Page, both of Conway.

Feb. 10, 181 2, George Woodman
to Peggy Brewster, both of Tam-
worth .

March 11, 1 8 1 2 , Jeremiah \'ittim of
Sandwich to Mary Jewell of Tam-
worth.

MARRIAGES AT TAMWORTH.

221

March 26, 1S12. Nathan Morse to
Sally Oilman, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 12, 181 2, David Oilman, 30!,
to Betsy Ayers, both of Tamworth.

Jan. 15, 1 8 13, Samuel Brewster of
Tamworth to Elenor White of Ossi-
pee.

Jan. 28, 1 8 13, Nathan Cram to
Patience Purington, both of Sand-
wich.

Feb. 25, 1813, Mark Jewell to
Catherine Sinclair, both of Tam-
worth .

March 2, 1S13, Newton S. Hatch
to Hannah Howard, both of Tam-
worth.

March 5, 1813, Japheth Smith of
Tamworth to Mary Varney of Ossi-
pee.

June II, 1813, Jonathan Miller of
Chichester to Abigail Folsom of
Sandwich.

Dec. 22, 1 8 13, John McOaffey to
Lucy Sampson, both of Sandwich.

Jan. II, 1 8 14, John Marston to
widow Susanna Weymouth, both of
Sandwich.

March 31, 1S14, David Howard to
Widow Abigail Hull, both of Eaton.

April 14, 1 8 14, Ephraim Stevens
to Mary Nichols, both of Ossipee.

April 21, 1 8 14, Jonathan Leavitt to
Hannah Fay, both of Ossipee.

June 14, 18 14, Josiah S. McOaf-
fey to Mar}' Boy den, both of Tam-
worth.

Aug. 4, 1 8 14, Reuben Head to
Mary Vittum, both of Sandwich.

July I, 1 8 14, James McCrillis of
Sandwich to Rebecca Hackett of
Tamworth .

Oct. 12, 1 8 14, James Remick to
Sarah Edgell, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 5, 1 8 14, ]\Iark Newman of
Andover to Abagail Dodge of Tam-
worth.

Nov. 20, 1 8 14, Ross Coon of Haver-
hill to Pliebe Purington of Sandwich.

Dec. I, 1814, Samuel Shaw to Ruth
Oilman, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 14, 1 8 14, Eliphalet Sanborn to
Frances Norris, both of Sandwich.

Dec. 28, 1814, David Brier to Mary
Cook, both of Tamworth.

Jan. 28, 1815, William Nickerson
to ]\Iehitable Parsons, both of Tam-
worth.

Feb. 5, 18 1 5, Nathaniel B. Oordon
of Exeter to Eydia Lampson of Sand-
wich.

July 20, 1815, Jeremiah Ballard to
Mary B. Folsom, both of Tamworth.

Aug. 10, 18 15, David Foss to
Mehitable Lee, both of Sandwich.

Sept. 23, 1815, John Eastman to
Mary Hayes, both of Tamworth.

Sept. 23, 18 15, Charles Heard to
Lucy Eastman, both of Tamworth.

Oct. 12, 1 8 15, John Kelle}' of Wen-
dell to Elizabeth C. Hilton of Sand-
wich.

Nov. 9, 1 8 15, Isaac Davis to Betsy
Ellis, both of Ossipee.

Nov. 13, 1815, Joseph B. Harvey
of Portsmouth to Rebecca Rogers of
Tamworth.

Dec. 6, 18 1 5, John iVyer to Mary
Ney, both of Ossipee.

Feb. S, 1 8 16, Thomas Peave}' of
Farmington to Susanna Nichols of
Ossipee.

April 16, 18 16, Joseph Dodge to
Hannah Dodge, both of Ossipee.

May 16, 1 8 16, Abner Moulton to
Susanna Fowler, both of Tamworth.

Sept. 15, 1816, Andrus B. Peters to
Keziah Gannett, both of Tamworth.

Sept. 24, 1 8 16, William Clark to
Susan Haj-es, both of Tamworth.

October 27, 18 16, Samuel McOaf-
fey, Jr., to Amelia Drew, both of
Tamworth .

222

MARRIAGES AT TAM WORTH.

Nov. 14, 1816, Stephen Hawkins
to Olive Hoit, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 14, 1S16, Asa Jewell to Sail}'
Hoit, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 10, 18 16, David Dow to Deb-
orah Oilman, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 25, 1816, William Eastman
to Elizabeth Dow, both of Tamworth.

Jan. 2, 18 1 7, Nathaniel Remick to
Esther Nickerson, both of Ossipee.

Jan. 15, 181 7, Stephen Fowler to
Betsy Pinner, both of Tamworth.

Jan. 18, 181 7, Jonathan C. Oilman
to Sophia Hidden, both of Tamworth.

Jan. 26, 18 1 7, James H. Twombly
of EfiEingham to Abigail Oilman of
Tamworth.

Feb. 4, 18 1 7, David Drake of Chi-
chester to Phebe Beede of Sandwich.

Feb. 6, 18 1 7, James Smith of Bel-
fast to Harriet James of Tamworth.

March 3, 18 17, Samuel T. Oilman
to Abigail Mason, both of Tamworth.

March 9, 1817, James Rnss to Zer-
niah Weymouth of Tamworth.

Oct. 16, 1817, Eben Allen to
Thankful Ellis, both of Ossipee.

Nov. 16, 1817, Maurice Lord to
Dolly Danforth, both of Eaton.

Nov. 16, 1817, John Staunton of
Ossipee to Eliza Danforth of Eaton.

Nov. 13, 18 1 7, Samuel Varney to
Sally Cross, both of Ossipee.

Dec. 25, 18 1 7, Isaiah Cushing to
Hannah Norris, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 25, 1817, Joseph Oraves to
Betsy Vittum, both of Sandwich.

Jan. 8, 1818, Jonathan Moulton of
Effingham to Hannah Cushing of
Tamworth.

March i, 18 18, Daniel Sanborn to
Lj'dia Cushing, both of Tamworth.

April 20, 18 1 8, James M. Woodman
to Betsy A. Jackson, both of Tam-
worth.

June 21, 1818, Dr. Samuel O.

Wood to Mary C. Cook, both of Tam-
worth.

Sept. 21, 18 18, Robert Felch to
Betsy Sanborn, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 15, 1818, Eybeus Hay ford to
Lj'dia Hawkins, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 3, 1818, Jonathan Dow to Ea-
vinia Cushing, both of Tamworth.

Feb. 17, 1819, David Luce to Lucy
Chapman, both of Tamworth.

Feb. 21, 18 19, Noah Shaw of Mon-
treal to Fanny Durgin of Tamworth.

April 2, 1 8 19, Joshua Welsh to
Nanc}' Heath, both of Ossipee.

June 13, 1 8 19, David O. Stevenson
to Sophia Durgin, both of Tamworth.

Aug. 12, 18 1 9, Samuel Weed of
Newport to Abigail Jones of Tam-
worth .

Aug. 25, 1818, Jeremiah Furber to
Eliza Little, both of Sandwich.

Nov. II, 1819, Nathaniel Carter to
Patience Colomy, both of Ossipee.

Nov. 21, 18 19, Sylvanus H. Oreen
to Clarrisa Durrell, both of Tamworth.

Dec. I, 1 8 18, Jacob Bean of Sand-
wdch to Jane Danforth of Eaton.

Dec. 3, 1 8 19, John Sawyer of Effing-
ham to widow Rhoda Currier of
Eaton.

Jan. 13, 1820, Neal McCrillis to
Abigail Foss, both of Sandwich.

Jan. 25, 1820, Simeon Whitman to
Hannah S. Oilman, both of Tam-
worth .

March 22, 1820, Enoch Remick to
Lucinda Edgell, both of Tamworth.

March 27, 1820, Dr. Henry McCril-
lis of Sandwich to Sally Shepherd of
Tamworth.

April 16, 1820, Dea. Jacob East-
man to Wid. Abigail Stevenson, both
of Tamworth.

April 20, 1820, William Reynolds
of Boston to Temperance Brewster of
Ossipee.

ERRATU^I

The printed date for the marriage of John Smith and SaLljr -Ambrose
should he May 18, 1820

MARRIAGES AT TAM WORTH.

22-

Aug. iS, 1820, John Smith to Sally
Ambrose, both of Ossipee.

Sept. 6, 1820, Benjamin Lamper to
Mary Leavitt, both of Kfhngham.

Sept. 6, 1820, Joseph Warren of
Ossipee to Caroline Huckins of Ossi-
pee.

Nov. 2, 1820, Ezra Oilman to Be-
thana Cook, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 7, 1S20, Asa Fowler to Mary
Folsom, both of Sandwich.

Jan. 14, 1821, Thomas Johnson to
Elizabeth Eord, both of Efhngham.

Feb. 22, 1 82 1, Henry Smith to
Betsy Hodgdon, both of Ossipee.

Feb. 23, 1 82 1, Isaac O. Stillings to
Mary O. Colby, both of Ossipee.

March 21, 1821, John Bean to
Rebecca McCrillis, both of Sandwich.

March 14, 1S21, Phineas Hodgdon
of Portsmouth to Sally Heard of Sand-
wich.

July 24, 182 1, Nathaniel to Mary
Weed (undoubtedly Nathaniel Eocke)
both of Sandwich.

Aug. 2, 182 1, Samuel Blusky to
Betsy Hidden, both of Tamworth.

Oct. 18, 1821, Warren Hayford to
Sophia Gannett, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 22, 1S21, Jonathan Ambrose
to Olive Hodgdon, both of Ossipee.

Nov. 28, 1 82 1, John Folsom to
Abagail Noyes, both of Sandwich.

Nov. 28, 1 82 1, Stephen Bennett,
Jr., to ^Margaret Foss, both of Sand-
wich.

Nov. 28, 1 82 1, Henry B. Hatch to
Louis Frost, both of Tamworth.

Dec. II, 1821, Ebenezer Cogswell
to Betsy Wiggin, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 30, 1821, Isaac Sawyer, vSen.,
to Sarah Hayford, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 30, 1 82 1, William Haley of
Hollis to Betsy Bryant of Tamworth.

Feb. 7, 1822, John Eastman to
Eliza Mason both of Effingham.

Feb. 27, 1822, John Hyde to Eliza
G. B. Hoit, both of Sandwich.

March 13, 1822, Nathaniel Clark of
Sanbornton to Ruth Philbrick of Tam-
worth.

March 15, 1S22, John Forest to
Anna Frost, both of Sandwich.

March 15, 1822, Samuel Fogg of
Sandwich to Sally Palmer of Tam-
worth.

April II, 1822, Isaac P. Davis to
Judith Colby, both of Eaton.

April 25, 1S22, Rook Stillings to
Mary Hodgdon, both of Ossipee.

June 20, 1822, Rodman Moulton to
Dorcas Miliken, both of Efhngham.

Nov. 4, 1822, John Moulton to
Eliza Hoit, both of Sandwich.

Nov. 10, 1822, John Check of Eim-
ington to Lucy Bryant of Tamworth.

Nov. 12, 1822, Seth Hayford to
Susan Gannett, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 26, 1822, Joseph Drake of
Effingham to Mary Clark of Tam-
worth.

Dec. 31, 1822, Wm. P. Hidden of
Tamworth to Eunice Purrington of
Sandwich.

Jan. 16, 1823, Nicholas G. Norris to
Betsey Blanchard, both of Sandwich.

Feb. 8, 1823, Edmond Banks Hol-
lis to Sally Jones of Tamworth.

Feb. 13, 1823, Moses James to
Jacintha Mason, both of Tamworth.

Feb. 13, 1823, Walter Brown to
Sally Quimby, both of Sandwich.

Feb. 27, 1823, Wm. Buzell to Mary
Chase, both of Tamworth.

March i, 1823, Jonathan Tappan to
Dorothy Heard, both of Sandwich.

March 13, 1S23, F^liphalet Mc-
Gaffey to Aphia Chase, both of Sand-
wich.

April 20, 1823, Edmond Grant,
Sen., to Betsey Oilman, both of
Ossipee.

224

MARRIAGES AT TAMWORTH.

April 23, Richworth Dorman to
Hannah Blaisdell, both of Tamworth.

May 13, 1823, Benjamin Moulton
to Nancy Moulton, both of Tamworth.

June 3, 1823, Benjamin Gilmau to
lyucy H. Boy den, both of Tamworth.

July I, 1823, Joshua B. Smith to
Dorothy Stevenson, both of Tam-
worth.

July 24, 1822, Joseph H. Downs to
Jemima Mudgett, both of Tamworth.

Sept. 2, 1823, Dudle}' Cram to
I,ucy Moulton, both of Tamworth.

Sept. II, 1823, Samuel Tebbetts of
Wolfboro to Joanna Meader, of Tam-
worth.

Sept. 28, 1823, Samuel Gushing to
Betsy Butte, both of Tamworth.

Oct. 7, 1S23, John Clark to Huldah
Varney, both of Ossipee.

Nov. 16, 1823, Dearljorn Chase to
Nancy Clark, both of Tamworth.

Feb. 2, 1824, Lybeus Washburn of
Dime to Mehitable Gannett of Tam-
worth.

Feb. 12, 1824, Jacob Reniick of
Industry to Hannah Shaw of Tam-
worth .

April 14, 1824, James Burk to Han-
nah Alen, both of vSandwich.

June I, 1824, John M. Stevenson
to Martha Boj'den, both of Tam-
worth .

June 28, 1824, Reuben Heard of
Ossipee to Sophia Moulton of Tam-
worth.

Sept. 2, 1824, Timothy Colb}^ to
Ellen M. Hunt, both of Eaton.

September 12, 1824, William Ed-
gell to Davina Quiniby, both of Tam-
worth.

Oct. 17, 1824, Andrew McCrillis to
Mary C. Webster, both of Sandwich.

Nov. 4, 1824, Hubbard Deach to
Ducy K. Freeze, both of Sandwich.

Nov. II, 1824, Abner Moulton, Jr.,

to Nancy C. Godfrey, both of Tam-
worth.

Nov. 28, 1824, Stephen Staples of
Tamworth to Frances Brown of
Ipswich, INIe.

Dec. 5, 1S24, Charles Jackson to
Elizabeth S. Dean, both of Tam-
worth.

Dec. 12, Matthew Gannett to Betsy
Goodwin, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 26, 1824, Japhet Oilman to
Charlotte Durgin, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 30, 1S24, William Mason to
Nancy Mason, both of Tamworth.

March 24, 1S25, George Folsom to
Miriam C. B. Dow, both of Tam-
worth.

April 16, 1S25, Ebenezer Allen to
Ruth Cogswell, both of Tamworth.

April 20, 1825, John Bennett to
Eucinda Fogg, both of Sandwich.

Sept. 20, 1825, Benjamin Durgin
of Eimington, Me., to I\Iartha Fol-
som of Tamworth.

Oct. 18, 1825, Samuel Folsom to
Mercy Downs, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 10, 1825, Frederick Boyden
to Vesta Remick, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 20, 1825, William Vittum, Jr.,
to Elvina Clough, both of Sandwich.

Dec. 22, 1825, John Penn, Jr., to
Sally Hubbard, both of Tamworth.

Dec. 22, 1825, Stephen M. Smith
to Huldah Gordon, both of Tam-
w^orth.

Jan. 26, 1826, Moses Titcomb to
Mrs. Hannah Whitman, both of Tam-
worth .

Jan. 26, 1826, Capt. Samuel East-
man to Mrs. Eydia Whitman, both of
Tamworth.

March 2, 1826, Nathaniel Perkins
of Tamworth to Mrs. Anna Eeavitt of
Efhngham.

May 23, 1S56, Ira A. Bean, Esq.,
to Eliza F. Hoit, both of Sandwich.

MARRIAGES AT TAMWORTH.

!25

May 23, 1826, Jonathan Foss to
Mary Richardson, both of Sandwich.

July 18, 1S26, Ebenezer Ricker of
Lebanon, Me., to Su.san Butler of
Sandwich.

Sept. 7, 1826, Aaron Jarvis to Eliza-
beth Prescott, both of Sandwich.

Nov. 9, 1826, Dr. Ebenezer G.
Moore of Wells, Me., to Eliza S.
Hidden of Taniworth.

Nov. 14, 1826, Caleb Marston to
Betsy Ambrose, both of Sandwich.

Nov. 23, 1S26, Henry A. P. B.
Hj'de to Abigail Pitman, both of Ossi-
pee.

Nov. 23, 1826, Reuben \V. Randall
of Effingham to Balinda Blaisdell of
Tamworth.

Dec. 20, 1826, Alden Washburn to
Sarah Pease, both of Taniworth.

Dec. 21, 1826, Dr. Ebenezer Boy den
of Tamworth to Hannah Ames of
Ossipee.

March 4, 1S27, Joseph Popkin to
Sarah Price, both of Tamworth.

April 14, 1827. Joseph Doe of Tam-
worth to Lavina Hobs both of Ossi-
pee.

April 26, 1827, James Gate to Ruth
James, both of Tamworth.

Ma}- 6, 1S27, James Stevenson, Jr.,
to Joanna Folsom, both of Tamworth.

June 21, 1827, True Bean to Han-
nah Webster, both of Sandwich.

July 28, 1827, William Eastman of
Tamworth to Louis Burleigh of Ossi-
pee.

Sept. 25, 1827, Edmond Knight of
Hollis, Me., to vSusan Sanborn of
Tamworth.

Sept. 27, 1827, Andrew Folsom, Jr.,
to Sally Hodgdon, both of Ossipee.

Oct. 25, 1827, WilHam Moulton to
Sally Smith, both of Ossipee.

Nov. 6, 1827, Nehemiah White to
Susan Williams, both of Ossipee,

Nov. 15, 1S27, Moody G. Osgood
to Joanna Hayford, both of Tam-
worth .

Nov. 27, 1 82 7, Wm. Moulton of
Sandwich to Elizabeth Hill of Tam-
worth.

Nov. 28, 1827, Theophelus G.
Clough to Hannah C. Boynton both
of Tamworth.

Nov. 29, 1827, Obed Hale, Esq., to
Bets}- Oilman, both of Tamworth.

Jan. 7, 1828, vSamuel Ghapman to
Mary Hoit, both of Tamworth.

Jan. 8, 1828, Dr. James Norris of
Sandwich to Lucinda Stevenson of
Tamworth.

Jan. 19, 1828, Jo.shua Horr to Sally
Gushing, both of Tamworth.

June 4, 1828, Daniel Hoit of Sand-
wich to Rosanna Nickols of Soniers-
worth.

June 12, 1828, Capt. Samuel Edgell
to Wid. Sarah Chapman both of
Tamworth.

July 17, 1828, Dearborn Doe to
Nancy Seaverance, both of Tamworth.

Nov. 13, 1828, Josiali Folsom to
Huldah Downs, both of Taniworth.

Jan. S, 1829, James Hidden to
Harriet Griffin, both of Tamworth.

Jan. II, 1829, George D. Hidden
to Almira Hunt, both of Tamworth.

March 3, 1829, Spencer Wentworth
of Adams to Nancy Gannett of Tam-
worth .

May 17, 1829, Simon Brier, Jr., to
L5-dia Hoit, both of Sandwich.

May 17, 1829, Jonathan Frost to
Nancy H. Rollins, both of Tamworth.

June 4, 1829, Nathan Moody to
Miriam Nickerson, both of Tamworth.

Sept. 10, 1829, Levi Smith of Ossi-
pee to Cj'Uthia Remick of Taniworth.

March 6, 1830, William G. Went-
worth of Jackson to Loisa Gannett of
Tamworth.

226

MARRIAGES AT TAMWORTH.

May 6, 1S30, Enoch Perkins to
Clara Page, both of Taniworth.

June 3, 1S30, Charles M. Page
to Abigail Blaisdell, both of Tani-
worth.

Oct. 13, 1830, Dr. Lowell Marston
to Nancy M. Brown, both of Tarn-
worth.

Oct. 28, 1830, Jacob F. Webster to
Margeiy Heard, both of Sandwich.

Nov. 6, 1S30, Solomon Pease to
Rebecca Lawrence, both of Tam-
wortli.

April 12, I S3 1, Ephraim Washburn
to Clarissa Roberts, both of Tani-
worth.

April 21, 1 83 1, Stephen Flanders
of Eaton to Polly Hay ford of Tani-
worth.

April 13, I S3 1, George Durrell to
Anna Berry, both of Taniworth.

May I, 1 83 1, John Burleigh to
Nancy Durrell, both of Taniworth.

Aug. 21, 1 83 1, Seth Edgell to Sall}^
Price, both of Taniworth.

Aug. 21, 1 83 1, Isaac A. Gilnian to
Esther Williams, both of Taniworth.

Sept. 24, 1 83 1, Earkin Hobbs to
Dorothy Hobbs, both of Ossipee.

Sept. 30, 1 83 1, Wyatt H. Folsoni
to Sarah Hoit, both of Sandwich.

Dec. 20, 1 83 1, Alfred Hatch to
Charlott Chesley, both of Soniers-
worth .

Feb. 3, 1S32, Jonathan Perkins, Jr.,
to Mehitable Williams, both of Tani-
worth.

March 21, 1S32, Rev. John Rich-
ardson, of Pitt.sfield to Mary J. Per-
kins of Taniworth.

April 18, 1832, James to Mrs.
Joanna Hay ford, both of Taniworth.

Ma}- 31, 1832, Harve}' M. Weed to
Eucinda Folsom, both of Sandwich.

June 15, 1832, Calvin Cooley to
Hannah Welch, both of Ossipee.

Sept. 16, 1832, John G. Smith to
Sally vS. Mason, both of Taniworth.

Nov. 5, 1832, Amos Bachelder to
Betsy Kimball, both of Taniworth.

Nov. S, I S3 2, Jacob P. Smart of
Ossipee to Amy Stanley of Taniworth.

Dec. 20, 1S32, Naliuni Gilnian to
Abigail Reiiiick, both of Taniworth.

Dec. 20, 1S32, Jonathan S. Gilnian
to Polly Pinner, both of Taniworth.

March 3, 1833, Wyatt B. Marston
to Almira Brown, both of Taniworth.

INIarch 9, 1833, Maj. Joseph Oilman
of Taniworth to Mrs. Mary Kelly of
Dover.

June 26, 1S33, John Meader to
Nancy Mason, both of Taniworth.

June 27, 1S33, Bradbury Jewell to
Eucinda Chapman, both of Tani-
worth.

Sept. 25, 1833, Eewis Gannett to
Eliza J. Mason, both of Taniworth.

Oct. I, 1833, P'axoii Gannett to
Mary U. Reniick, both of Taniworth.

Oct. 15, 1833, Robert Felcli to
Katherine Sanborn, both of Tani-
worth.

Dec. 5, 1833, Harvey M. Weed to
Mar3' Bo3'iitoii, both of Taniworth.

Dec. 18, 1S33, Earkin D. Mason to
Joanna P'olsom, both of Taniworth.

Feb. 2, 1834, Noah J. Sanborn of
Taniworth to Persis W. Eittlefield
of Wells, Me.

Eel). 13, 1S34, William Cotton to
Nancy Smart, both of Ossipee.

March 13, 1S34, Capt. J. Brewster
Smith of Sandwich to Betsy Hubbard
of Taniworth.

June 22, 1834, Samuel Cushing of
Dover to Asenath Hyde of Taniworth.

Aug. 14, 1834, Remembrance Clark
to Henrietta Durgin, both of Exeter.

Sept. II, 1834, Ebenezer Dow, Jr.,
to Harriet N. Mason, both of Tani-
worth.

'Ol'ER THE MOUiXriNGr

227

Nov. S. 1S34, Isaac W. Kimball to
Mary F. Hayes, both of Tamwortli.

Nov. 27, 1S34, Lorenzo D. Steven-
son to Lncy V,. Mears, both of Tarn-
worth.

Dec. 4, 1837, Jonathan W. Pollard
to Sally H. Marston, both of Tani-
worth.

Jan. 7, 1835, Sanauel S. Beede to
Nancy T. D. Boy den, both of Tarn-
worth.

Feb. 24, 1835, David Marston of
Tamwortli to Sarah Horn of North
Berwick, Me.

Ma}' 12, 1835, Samuel Fairfield of
Tamwortli to Pliebe Chick of Sand-
wich.

Oct. 5, 1835, John Gray of Jackson
to Merand}' Gannett of Tamwortli.

Nov. 7, 1S35, Joseph Cogswell, Jr.,

of Tamwortli to Amanda F. Page of
Gilmanton.

Feb. 4, 1836, Joseph Seav}^ of
Ossipee to Leonia vStanley of Tam-
wortli.

April 17, 1S36, John Berry of Scar-
boro, Me., to Sail}- Hooper of Tam-
wortli.

April, 27, 1836, Consider Gannett
of Tamwortli to Alartha Brown of
Cheshire, \'t.

Aug. 4, 1S36, John Perkins of
Newmarket to Hannah Brown of
Tamwortli.

Sept. 4, 1836, Samuel Meader, Jr.,
of Tamwortli to Abigail M . I^overing
of P'reedom.

Nov. 7, 1836, Ebenezer Smith to
Mrs. Betsy Weare, both of Tam-
wortli .

"OVER THE MOUNTING."

A HATE STORY.

By Edwin Oso-ihh/ Gfcn'er.

WHEN the sawmills which had
dwelt for many years in the lit-
tle hamlet of Bear Camp moved
up the narrow valle}' of Potash brook
into the Ossipee mountains, and pre-
empted sites on their wooded slopes,
they found the mountains already in-
habited. From almost time out of mind
the bushy clearings and mountain
meadows of the Ossipee range have
been the homes of a race of moun-
taineers who live by hunting and
fishing and the cultivation of paltry
patches of rock}- land about their
board and log shanties. During the
summer they bring down from the
oval summits of the mountains hun-

dreds of bushels of blueberries and
blackberries that find a ready sale in
the great New England markets.
Whether these people are the descend-
ants of early settlers intermarried
with the Ossipee Indians, or of out-
casts from society who sought hiding
in these lonely regions, or whether
the}' are voluntary recluses from the
world, is not known. For many gen-
erations, however, they have dwelt
apart, neighbor marrying neighbor,
till the entire race is intimately re-
lated. The men are almost without
exception tall, angular, large boned,
with deep dark eyes and straight hair ;
the women .short and slight, with

228

''OVER THE mounting:'

small, sharp features that have been
strongly intensified by much hard
labor and rough living.

The intrusion of the sawmills into
their domain was regarded jealously
at first by the suspicious mountain-
eers, but discovering that they would
provide employment 'for nearly two
score men they joined eagerly in their
building. Within a month after their
location there had grown up about
them a little hamlet of a dozen houses
which had assumed the lofty name of
"Forest Cit}'." The houses stood
on insecure wooden posts in an irreg-
ular square about a tiny store that
occupied an unshingled shanty with
a lean-to in the rear. All bore a pic-
turesque resemblance in their simple
architecture and unfinished condition ;
a single room below and a loft above
providing as luxurious comfort for a
family of twelve as for man and wife.
Tottering staging stood along their
sides, here and there a window was
boarded up, and a few inches of
smokj' stove pipe showed itself timidly
above the shingles of their roofs. The
store, with its counter down one side
and a bar at the end, at once became
the acknowledged rendezvous of the
"cit3^" Every evening the moun-
taineers for miles around would flock
thither, smoking on the benches about
the door, gambling over their bottles,
and telling with many oaths the
bloody stories of the life ' ' up the
mounting" in the early days.

By the second summer in the ex-
i.stence of Forest City the rough board
huts had become weather beaten and
dark, young white birches and clus-
ters of sweet fern had begun to grow
again in their front yards, and the
people adapting themselves to their
new surroundings had settled back

into the monotonous routine of their
old life. The men worked lazih' dur-
ing the day and quarrelled over their
cards and liquor at night ; the women
scolded each other from the thresholds
of their open doors, shaking their
bony fists and tousled heads as em-
phatic warning that ' ' trespassers will
be prosecuted; " the children played
along the mountain stream, building
frail dams and shingle water wheels
that were sure to be washed away
when the gates were open at night,
and punctuating their play with many
a pitched battle to show that the pos-
session of a favorite stretch of sand or
waterfall was ten points of the law.

It was late in August of the second
summer of this commonplace exis-
tence that a new family suddenly
made its appearance in the drowsy
hamlet. For some never explained
reason Sim Pentock, who.se ancestors
for three generations had occupied a
log cabin on the north slope of Black-
snout mountain and lived by catching
salmon in Dan Hole pond, had delib-
erately left the home of his fathers
and come to Forest City to earn an
honest living. He had secured a
position in one of the mills and
brought with hin: all his worldly pos-
sessions, which consisted of a few
chairs, a table, a rickety bedstead, a
few broken dishes, a barefooted, shift-
less wife, and a bright-faced, laugh-
ing little girl named Meg who resem-
bled neither her father nor mother so
much as some half-blown flower of
the woods. It was fortunate for vSim
Pentock that he had come down the
mountain instead of up, for the moun-
taineers have an inborn hatred of
anything that comes from the ' ' valley
kentry." Even Meg's simple beauty
would, I fear, have been wasted on

''OVER THE MOUNTING.

229

the iealous mill hands had .she not
been to the manor born with the wild,
hot blood of the moutains in her
veins. Sim Pentock and his " ole
wooman " cau.sed scarce a ripple in the
embryonic social life of the city, for
the world had known his father and
his father's father, and his neighbors
naturally regarded this outburst of
ir.diistry as likely to be of brief dura-
tion.

" 'Tain't no-un 'cept Sim Pentock
an' I 'low he '11 be moughty sick o'
workin' 'fore snow drops," said one
of them when told of the new arrival.

Meg, however, was not to be dis-
posed of so lighth'. She was over-
wise in many ways for her fourteen
years and looked at life through
a more wholesome atmosphere than
many of the others. Most of the
mountain girls of her own age were
alread}" married and the smaller chil-
dren regarded her with that same
curious pity with which the children
of our New England villages regard
the old maids of their acquaintance.
Dwelling alone on the side of Black-
snout and having no playmates, she
had made friends with the birds, the
flowers, and the loving, animate hills
about her. In these new surround-
ings she immediately sought her old
friends and wandered alone through
the magic, mysterious woods full of
mysterious music and familiar voices.
All this separated her alike from the
children of the brookside and the joy-
less child-wives of her own age.

But the men at the mill as they saw
her pass beheld .something strangely
attractive in her fresh beauty and
wild joy. To be sure it was not the
beauty of the ball-room or such as
would have attracted attention out-
side this lumber city, but a bright

laugh and gentle word are potent
charms to rough, unloved fellows
who never knew the sweetness of a
kiss. Within a few weeks ^Vleg had
won a warm place in the heart of
everyone of the mill hands and spent
many hours watching them at their
work. They were all "boys" to her
though in .spite of her good-natured
impartiality there was not a little ill-
concealed jealousy on their part, and
one da}' they laughingly demanded of
her ' ' which was her favorite ? ' '

' ' None of yez ! ' ' she replied with-
ov:t hesitation. "I hain't got no
favorites ez I knows on. Liph Som-
mers thar be jes' the same ter me ez
Harnsome Jack. Thar hain't no dif-
f'rence."

Meg had frankly chosen Liph and
Handsome Jack as representing the
two extremes of attractiveness to
prove that the}' were all cronies
together. Liph was lank and wrin-
kled, browned l^y sun and weather,
with a shock of unkempt black hair
and bushy iron-gray beard that fell
ragged and yellow with tobacco stains
over his soiled blue shirt. He was a
typical mountaineer, rough, uncouth,
quick-tempered, fond of his liquor,
but kind to those who confessed them-
.selves weaker than he. Handsome
Jack was the acknowledged dude of
the city, light-haired, with a thin
moustache and fair complexion, he
was often seen on Sundays M-earing a
" biled .shirt " which aroused the con-
tempt of the mountaineers to its high-
est pitch. But his greatest fault was
in being born a French Canadian and
it was only after several years of
gradual conciliation that he had over-
come the intense hatred of the moun-
taineers for all " furriners " as the
rest of the world is sneeringly called.

2^,0

"PTYf/C THE MOUNTING

When Meg made answer to the
question of the men their slow minds
failed to perceive that they were all
included in her friendship hut fancied
that she had chosen Liph and Hand-
some Jack to the exclusion of the
rest. "Waal, I swar, Meg war a
cur' us gal!" laughed one of the
men as she turned and ran out of the
mill, followed by the laughter and
raillery which her reply had created,
till she was out of hearing far up the
rough logging road.

" Tuk the homliest an' harnsomest,
cuss me if she hain't!" he cried
above the roar of the saws. " Meg's
got er moughty p'tic'ler taste, Meg
has."

All the afternoon the men ban-
tered Liph and Handsome Jack over
their relative prospects of winning
Meg for a wife, for marriage meant
nothing more to them than a com-
mon existence. Meanwhile Meg was
roaming innocently along deserted
wood roads, over spotted trails, dis-
covering hidden springs and noisy
waterfalls, chasing squirrels and rab-
bits with nimble bare feet, plucking
golden-rod and familiar flowers for
wreaths and necklaces which crowned
her tangled golden locks and trans-
formed her ragged calico gown into
veritable cloth of gold. vShe did not
know why she did it, no one had ever
tau-'ht her, and it was in no vain
spirit, for she had never seen her own
face in a mirror but once when she
had tramped with her father to Bear
Camp ; yet it gave her pleasure.

That evening after the mills were
closed, the men collected as usual in
groups about the .store to gossip and
drink and play at cards. The raillery
of the afternoon had created an evi-
dent coldness between lyiph and Hand-

some for they sat well apart, Liph
thoughtful over his black, broken
pipe, and Handsome twirling care-
lessly his cigar as he drew the ace of
spades as trumps.

"Thar goes Meg, Harnsome ! "
called one of the miners as she came
down from the woods to her father's
shanty and waved an armful of flowers
to the men at the store.

" I say, fellers, Harnsome orter set
'em up. He's got the gal sartin.
When 's the weddin' ? " he asked, turn-
ing to Handsome Jack, for public
opinion had from- the first decided in
his favor. Before he could answer,
however, L,iph sprang to his feet with
an oath.

" Shet up yer talkin' ! " he cried.
" Thar hain't no-un got that gal ez I
kin see an' I want you ter onderstand
that Liph Sommers hev got an e\'en
chance with any uv ye ! "

"The gal hain't no-uns, I '11 'low,"
interrupted the other. "But she
'pined at the mill as haow her ch'ice
lay 'tween j'o an' Harnsome. I swar,
both uv y ez orter set ' em up . Whatcher
say, fellers? "

With cries of ' ' drinks ! ' ' and ' ' all-
uns in ! " the crowd accepted Liph's
nodded invitation and gathered about
the bar. The store keeper proposed
a toast to " Meg an' the lucky dog ez
gets her!" and they all went back
good natured to their pipes and cards,
save Liph and Handsome Jack, who
seemed more interested in watching
each other.

It had hardly begun to grow dusk
in Forest City, though far down in
the valley they could see the moun-
tain shadows creeping faster and
darker across the plains, and the
placid faces of the Silver and Ossipee
lakes darkening slowly in the thin

'OVER THE mounting:

evening twilight. Before them stood
the broad wooded shoulders of Green
mountain, and far to the north, in the
opal distance, Chocorua hung like a
cloud from the sk\'. Above them
towered the successive peaks of the
Ossipee range, piled one upon another
like children's blocks, as if this had
been the nurser}^ of the infant world.

For some time the men sat quietly
over their cards and pipes, watching
the valley's fill with night shadows,
wdiile the smoke from their own even-
ing fires rose erect and hung glitter-
ins^ in the last reflected ravs of the
persistent sun. Gradually their ran-
dom talk became louder, and before
long it had turned to laughter over
the earnest discussion which had
arisen between Liph and Handsome
Jack. Ever\- moment it became more
animated.

' ' By Heaven ! Ef ye want that gal,
Eiph Sommers, ye hev got ter git her
mought}' quick. I swar, she'll be my
woman 'fore the pond freezes. I '11
shoot her 'fore I see her marry an ole
injun like you. Thar, I'll go ye ten
to one that me an' Meg air merried
"thin a month I " and Handsome
threw a handful of change on the
bench.

Liph's small, dark eyes flashed
beneath the wide rim of his straw hat,
and he moved uneasily on his low
bench.

" Cuss ye " he cried, springing to
his feet. "Do ye think thet gal's
goin' ter marry yo fur yer soft face
'nd silky hair I Ten ter one is it I "
he muttered as he thrust his hand
into his pocket and drew a revolver
and fired, point blank in Handsome' s
face.

"Tha's one on 'em I yo Frenchie,
3-0 ! " he cried, "An" thar be 'nougli

more where thet come from ef yo
want em ! " '

As if Ijlown by a gust of wind
Handsome 's hat shot from his head
pierced by Liph's bullet.

"So thets your game, is et ? Yo
mounting devil!" Handsome said
as he sprang behind a corner of the
.store.

The crowd gathered about urging
them on and in a moment the two
men were shooting at each other
across the front of the building,
neither daring to expose more than
one arm and firing much at random.
Eiph was at an evident disadvantage
in having to use his left hand, but he
had long been known as a desperate
character w^ho Avould risk everything
and hesitate at nothing. It was on
this very account that he had been
elected coroner of Forest City.

" Hyar comes Meg! Hyar 's the
gal! " cried the crowd, moving back
as she came running down from the
house being attracted b}' the noise.

No sooner had she caught sight of
the two men than the cause of it all
flashed across her perceptive mind.

"What be you-uns doin'?" she
called, rushing in between the muz-
zles of the revolvers as they w'ere
raised for another shot. " Hain't I
tole 3'e thar hain"t no diff'runce ? I
hain't got no favorites, no way !
Come out from behint thar both uv

she commanded.

Slowh- the men lowered their re-
volvers and stood forth openly
abashed before Meg.

" I hain't fur shootin" ye 'fore the
gal ! " muttered L,iph.

' ' Xor me, yo ? " retorted the other.

"I'll hev the last drop o' ye furrin'
blood though 'fore I through 'ith )■ e !
Yo fish-hearted Frenchie ! An' I

232

''OJ'ER THE MOUNTING.

hain't goin' to hole no inquest over
ye nuther ! " and lyiph's face dark-
ened with suppressed anger and his
fingers twitched nervousl}' for the
butt of the revolver still hot in his
pocket.

"Ef yo ken draw my blood 'fore I
kin ycurn, yor wilkim ! " answered
Handsome as he strode away.

Till late into the night the crowd
clung about the store, go.ssiping over
the interrupted duel and the probable
result.

The next morning L,iph and Hand-
some Jack went to their work as
usual, and though they were still
silent and ugly, it was evident that
the first heat of their anger had cooled.
The men watched them eagerl}' for
several days expecting that one would
fulfill his threat, but after several
weeks of waiting the whole event was
forgotten. The two men became
apparently as friendl}' as ever, drink-
ing and smoking together at the store,
and no one ever mentioned the affair
of the pistols or their rivalry for Meg
who still treated them all with friendly
impartiality, though Liph and Hand-
some Jack claimed a certain advan-
tage over the others.

It was one of those clear, pulseless
days of late October when bird songs
are hushed and the fragrance of the
flowers gone ; when the brooks run
with gentle flow, the breezes have a
softer breath and the whole world
seems wrapt in silent meditation ;
when it is so still, oh, so .still that
3'ou can almo.st hear your own heart
beat and the rustle of a late clinging
leaf startles j^ou like a foot fall ; when
the very thoughts of those about you
are all but audible, .so palpable is the
noon day quiet.

The men had gone down to dinner

and the mills stood dumbl}^ in the
calm, smoky glare, with the lush drip
and gurgle of the water from the
apron of the dam, sounding like some
far off music. Slowlj^ up the hill,
lyipli and Handsome Jack came saun-
tering back from their noonday meal,
pausing a moment for Liph to light
his cla}' pipe from Handsome' s half
burned cigar.

" Sa}' thar! " called the boss, from
a near by shant}', " 3'ou fellers go up
the pond an' cut thet first boom uv
logs. Thar hain't 'nough at the tail
o' the mill to feed the saw^s half an
hour.

"A' right! " answered the two as
they tightened their belts and went
for their cant dogs. Both smoked in
silence as the}' walked up the bank of
the pond to where the logs were
boomed around the bend. It was but
a few minutes work to break the
chain and start the logs drifting
slowly toward the tail of the mill.
Choosing two of largest Liph and
Handsome struck their cant dogs
firmlj' into them to prevent their roll-
ing, and, .standing erect, waited to be
borne back to the mill. Both stood
leaning on their dogs watching
silently the shadows as they darted
hither and thither beneath the rip-
pled surface of the pond and listening
apparently to some strange sound,
though the air was dumb and still to
outward ears. Gradually the cur-
rent bore them farther from the shore
and farther from each other till ju.st
before the bend was reached, when
the two logs began to draw stealthity
together.

Ihe men .stood as if ignorant of
each other's presence, attentive only
to the silent voices and the shifting
of the shadows. When scarce twenty

''OVER THE MOUNTING.

■oo

feet apart thej- suddenly caught each
other's glance reflected in the mirror
of the dark waters. Like a flash,
each understood the thoughts of the
other. These were the subtle voices
that had filled their ears. Glancing
up. the two men stood glaring at
each other as if their e^'es would start
from their sockets. They seemed to
penetrate into each other's verj'
hearts and read their inmost thoughts
and each knew that the other was
was muttering to himself :

"I'll hev yer blood! I'll hev it
iiaow! "

Handsome Jack's pent-up anger
and silent contempt blanched his face
and he stuck the spikes of his heavy
boots so firmly into the log that it
sent a shudder along its sides. Liph
stood motionless, his hat drawn over
his e\'es and his hand resting calmly
on his dog, though his lips moved
with muttered curses, and he watched
Handsome as a cat watches its prey
before it springs. For an instant it
seemed as if they were drifting apart
again, and Liph measured the dis-
tance anxiously. Almost imper-
ceptibly, but sureh', the logs were
drifting together, as if guided by the
hand of some avenging fate. Why
were they so slow ? The men strode
to the nearest points of their logs and
stood impatient and eager like two
mad men thirsting for each other's
blood. There was scarce six feet of
dark water between their angrj- faces.
Handsome gripped his cant dog with
clenched fingers and raised it ready
to strike. A foot nearer and he
hurled his whole strength upon Liph
in one crushing blow. But Liph was
too quick for the slow fall of the heavy
dog, and as he stepped backward the
handle of Handsome 's dog snapped

itself like glass over the log at his
feet, and Handsome fell himself,
dragged headlong into the water by
the unresisted blow.

Liph burst out in a fiendish chuckle
and knelt ready for the blow when he
should rise. It was a moment of aw-
ful stillness until Handsome Jack rose
with a sharp cry of fear to see Liph
lying in wait for him with his cant-
dog raised above his head. But ven-
geance knows no pity, and a moment
later Liph was drifting alone down
the mill pond, muttering to himself
Handsome Jack's boast at the store:

" Ef yo ken draw my blood 'fore I
kin yourn yor welkini ! ' '

" Much obleeged ! " he said aloud
with a cruel sarcasm.

Far up on the mountain side where
Meg was gathering beechnuts with
the squirrels, she heard in the hushed
noon air a single frightened cry, and
paused to listen.

' ' It was thet pink-e\-ed chipmunk ! ' '
she said, as she chased him as far out
on the limb as she dared.

The story which Liph told at the
mill of how Handsome Jack had
fallen among the logs and rising be-
neath had crushed his own life out,
was plausible enough, and no one felt
called upon to doubt his word. There
was less drinking at the store that
night than usual. The}' had sent
down by one of the lumber teams to
Bear Camp for the teacher to come
"over the mounting" the next day
to read a prayer at the funeral of
Handsom.e Jack.

When Meg returned to her father's
shanty earlj' in the evening, with her
lap full of beechnuts, she found Liph
waiting her.

"Hello, Meg!" he called, " yo
heered haow Handsome Jack ha'

234

■OVER THE MOUNTING r

gone up the fluke, hain't ye? He's
gone sartin ! " he added with an ugh'
grin that made Meg shudder in spite
of her surprise.

" What be you-uns tellin' ? Hand-
some dead ? ' '

"I 'low he be. Ez dead ez Jim
Boney's kid. 'Spose thar hain't no
ch'ce 'tween me an' Harnsome naow,
be thar Meg ? ' ' and he threw^ back
his head and laughed loudly at his
gruesome joke.

Meg turned without an answer.
What was the trouble with Liph?
She had never seen him so fierce and
snake like. She shrank from his
leering glance with a cringe of horror.
His eyes were like those of the adder
that had sprung at her that afternoon,
full of hatred and deadly venom.

"Thar hain't no call fur ye ter
come to ther funeral tomorrer, Meg ! "
he called after her. "We're goin'
ter bury him easy like."

True to his word Liph held no
inquest, though he did render an un-
official verdict that * ' the deceased
dead was drownded with warter."
The school teacher came at ten o'clock
and the mills shut down, for this was
but the second funeral that had come
to Forest Cit3\ The brawny moun-
taineers gathered at the store, with
their jean trousers tucked into spiked
boots, their soiled shirts open at the
throat, showing their broad, hairy
breasts, and their straws hats drawn
over their dark eyes that they might
see the better. In front of the bar at
the end of the store lay the rude pine
coffin, supported by two empty soap
boxes, and Liph, as coroner and pall-
bearer, sitting at the foot and Sim
Pentock at the head. The school
teacher read a chapter from Ezekiel
and a brief prayer, while the men

filed past the coffin and stood awk-
wardly in the corners of the store.
There was not a woman in the com-
pany. After they had all passed,
Meg darted in and followed down the
store. Liph muttered a half-sup-
pressed oath as she stood for a a mo-
ment as if tranced by the dead face
w^hose great ghastly e^^es stared openly
at the man at the foot. The knit
brows, the drawn lips were vocal w'ith
fierce anger and hate, and as by the
mysterious contagion of some deadly
ill, Meg's sensitive heart caught the
hatred of the face mad in death before
her. The whole secret of his death
came to her as in a dream. It was as
plain to her intuitive fancy as if she
had been an eye-witness. Had she
not heard his last cry as she gathered
beechnuts with the squirrels? And
her life was the cause of it all. Hand-
some Jack had died for her sake, and
his pallid lips and dead eyes cried out
for her to avenge his death.

Liph pushed her rudely aside with
a, " git out, 3^e witch ! " as they rose
to bear the coffin on their shoulders
to the rocky knoll where they had
buried Jim Boney's baby six months
before. Meg's lithe body shook like
a poplar leaf as she ran out the door
and toward home. The horror of the
night before had become a fierce, wild
hatred that kept crying out within
her heart for Liph's blood. She ran
on, swifter than the wind, impelled
by that demoniac hatred of the man
who had taken a life for her sake.
No one was at the house and she
snatched her father's shot gun from
the wall with trembling hands and
crept cautiously out of the house into
the underbrush at the rear. What
was she to do ! She did not know.
The dead face had commanded her

WILD REUTLINGEN.

235

and the possessing demon of hate
lashed her on. Through the under-
brush, over stones, she sped up tlie hill
to the little clearing on the summit.
" Blood for blood 1 " cried the thing
within her heart, and she stumbled
and fell in her eagerness. Frightened
and breathless, she crouched in the
edge of the clearing. The men stood

silently about the half filled grave
watching Liph laughing over his
work with a ferocious nonchalance.

With a low cry of pain Meg heard
the avenging voice shriek loud and
fierce within her throbbing heart.
Resting the gun over a broken limb,
she fired, and Liph fell dead across
the half filled grave.

WILD REUTLINGEN.

A ROMANCE OF THE TIME OF THE GREAT KING.

[Translated from the German of Hans Werder.J

By Agatha B. E. Chandler.

CHAPTER XXV.

L R I K E remained
standing by the
shattered gate and
gazed after the
rider until he dis-
appeared beneath
the branches that
overhung the road.
" I love you madly ! " he had cried,
as he tore himself loose and dashed
away. Away from her? W^ith a cry
of joy and supplication she had
stretched out her hands to him and
called his name, but her only answer
had been the sighing of the wind
through the bare trees and his horse's
footsteps dying away in the distance.
' ' I love you ! ' ' The words rang
in her ears, and little by little she
centred her whole mind upon them
and a storm awoke in her heart. If
he loved her why did he leave her ;
why all this suffering ? But she was
his wife and could follow wherever he
went. His generosity was now no
humiliation to her, her flight had been

a foolish misdeed, and her punish-
ment had fallen upon her.

And now he was gone, gone to
seek revenge upon his deadly enemy.
She could not doubt that he would
find Benno, and she could not bear
to think of the result. Reutlingen
might fall and then she would be her
husband's murderess, that husband
\\hom she loved and for whom she
would mourn her whole life long. x\
terrible dread fell upon her and dead-
ened her soul. As though pursued
by fiends she flew about the garden,
crying and praying in despair, until,
as evening came and with it rain, she
returned to the house wet, cold, tired,
and sick. Oh, if Reutlingen could
but have seen her then !

Her cousin, Marie Elizabeth, was
waiting for her anxiously and was
horrified at her condition. She had
heard Reutlingen 's entrance and his
speedy departure, and she could not
understand Ulrike's absence. She
did not try to question her cousin,

236

WILD REUTLINGEN.

however, for she seemed sick from
despair and fatigue, and remained
absolutely silent. With loving care
Marie Elizabeth watched over her,
put her to bed and made her a hot
drink, and comforted her wdth silent
sympathy-. It was late wdien she was
finally left alone, but Ulrike dressed
herself again and w^andered restlesslv
about the room. The doubt in her
soul was not to be allayed. If Reut-
lingen really loved her why had he
been silent so long like a frightened
boy ? Rather had it not been the
passionate excitement of the moment
that had put such words into his
mouth ; had not his feelings of sym-
pathy and friendship suddenl}^ ap-
peared to his excited mind as love ?
She thought once more of Benno's
dreadful words. Had he then ac-
cused Reutlingen unjustly ? Yes ;
she believed him no longer, her heart
spoke against his accusation and she
knew that he had lied to her.

She also dreaded to think that
Benno might fall in the encounter,
that his blood might flow on her ac-
count. The thought w^as terrible, but
if that were his fate it would come
upon him through his own fault ;
lying accusations had been his work,
and his attack w^as more than Reut-
lingen's honor could bear. She had
seen Benno's passion for herself, and
had tried to repel by constant cold-
ness a feeling that seemed so insult-
ing and insupportable to her. She
now saw why he had lied to her
about her husband. Ah, why had
she ever listened to him ; why had she
not remained where love and duty
both bade her stay ! How much dis-
tress and anxiety would she have
been spared had she never quitted
Steinhovel !

How would the meeting between
the two end? Would her whole
future life be given up to remorse and
doubt, or would the time come when
she could once more hope for happi-
ness? Tormented by doubt, the pas-
sion that her girlish nature had so
long restrained burst its bonds and
overwhelmed her.

Marie Elizabeth found her cousin
in this restless state when she came
to her in the morning, and persuaded
Ulrike to tell her all about Reutlin-
gen 's visit. There was neither com-
fort nor help for Ulrike, that her
cousin saw plainl}^ but still she per-
suaded her not to decide on ^\\j
course of action until she heard some
further news from her husband.

Several days of excitement and ter-
rible suspense followed, and Ulrike
was at last beginning to believe that
Reutlingen could not find his enemy,
wdien one evening Count Eangenrode
appeared and asked to see the ladies.
He was Benno's friend and no doubt
brous^ht news. Marie Elizabeth and
her mother left Ulrike to await him
anxiously alone.

Langenrode entered, a solemn ex-
pression upon his fresh, pleasant face.
He knew Ulrike already for he had
seen her at the abbey when a guest
there, and he remembered her as very
charming and beautiful. Now% how-
ever, she seemed much changed ; then
she had been as a still, clear lake, and
now the storm of life was swelling
over the smooth waters. Pale and
trembling, she advanced to meet
him .

"You bring me news of my hus-
band, Count Langenrode? "

He looked up in astonishment.

' ' From 5'our husband ? Certainl}'
not, my dear lady ! Still, if you wish

WILD REUTLINGEN.

^2>7

that first, T can tell you that he lives
and is well."

She covered her face with her hands.

' ' Thank God ! Thank God ! " It
was a cr\' of supreme jo}' and relief.

" My poor friend!" thought L,an-
genrode. " She doesn't even ask for
him, and yet he spoke of her love !
Was that a lie that he told in the face
of death, or was it a terrible mistake ?"

" What I have to tell you," he con-
tinued at last, "is the sad news that
my poor friend, Benno von Trautwitz,
has fallen. Herr von Reutlingen
killed him in a duel."

The terrible news that she had
been expecting was broken to her at
last. He had died for her sake, and
the thought almost crushed her.

L,angenrode then told of the bloody
encounter and of its sad termination,
of Reutlingen "s slight wound, and of
Benno "s last message to her. He
gave her the package that his dead
friend had asked him to deliver, and
Ulrike found in it a letter penned by
Benno 's own hand, as well as two
notes that she had written him at dif-
ferent times. She ran her eye hastily
over the words of farewell and then
thanked the Count, who withdrew
and left her to her own thoughts.

Frau von Trebenow burst into tears
when she heard the news that Count
Langenrode had brought, for she had
been very fond of her nephew and
could not believe that an3-one in the
world could harbor an unkind feeling
towards him, and now this .strange
man, her own niece's husband, must
seek a quarrel with the good Benno
and bring him to task like a brigand.
What a butcher, what a terrible man
this must be into whose hands her dear
gentle Ulrike had fallen ! She had
indeed double cause for mourning !

Marie Elizabeth was also deeply
grieved, for although she had never
cared very much for her cousin Benno,
still his memory was now sanctified
by death, and she was read}' to ascribe
the blackest motives to Reutlingen's
conduct.

Ulrike understood their feelings,
but her own were of a ver}' different
nature. There was but one doubt for
her; whether Reutlingen loved her or
not ; but one question, would he tell
her his feelings towards her ; but one
task, to seek him out and ask him if
he loved her. That was now her
right and her dut}' and ever}' other
resolve gave way before it. One day
she told her cousin of her determina-
tion to leave them and seek her hus-
band, and poor Marie Elizabeth was
horror stricken.

"Ulrike! Will you go to your
husband now, after he has killed one
of our near relations ? ' '

"Killed one of our near relations?"
responded Ulrike. "Reutlingen
might just as well have fallen as
he, had not God's goodness averted
such a misfortune. It was an honor-
able fight between them, and Benno
was responsible for bringing it on,
that is, Benno and myself, and the
thought is terrible to me. We can-
not blame Reutlingen, though."

" Ulrike, your husband left you in
ano^er, he has wounded and offended
you, and now it seems that you in-
tend running after him like a little
beggar to seek an impossible recon-
ciliation."

"Yes, like a little beggar."

"And you will venture out in the
winter and when the country is over-
run with troops ; do n't }-ou know what
terrible accidents may befall you ? ' '

"Yes, I know."

238

WILD REUTLINGEN.

*' Ulrike, do you love this dreadful
man ? ' '

"Yes, I love him; that is all there
is to say."

Frau von Trebenow's sorrow
reached its height when she heard
her niece's determination, and with
tears in her eyes she begged her to
give it up and make L,eitnitz her
home for life. Ulrike thanked her
warml}^ much moved, but her mind
was fixed ; she would seek him out
even if she had to wander over the
whole earth, would ask him if he loved
and would forgive her, and would of-
fer him her love as an atonement.

Accompanied by Annette, she left
the house a few days later and drove
in a large carriage to the little village
near Freiberg, where Langenrode had
told her the Baireuth regiment was
quartered. She reached her destina-
tion in the evening and was delighted
to find a vacant room in the little
hotel of the crowded town. Early
the next morning she sent her coach-
man to find Captain von Reutlingen
and give him a letter.

"I beg 3'ou, Herr von Reutlingen,"
she had written, "to have the great
goodness and forbearance to come and
see me at the Hotel Kurfursten. I
only wish for a few moments' conver-
sation, and I have news of great im-
portance to you. I hope that my re-
quest will not be in vain. Ulrike."

vShe waited long and impatientl}',
not for the return of her messenger,
but for the coming of him who had
so often ridden on his foaming horse
to her side, through darkness and
storm or o\-er sunny meadows. Tears
filled her ej-es as she thought of him.
At last she heard a horse's steps in
the street. Alas; so mau}^ officers of
all kinds rode b_v, hussars, dragoons.

curassiers. But this time the horse
stopped in front of the door and a
light and elastic step ascended the
stairs.

"Lieutenant von Eickstadt," an-
nounced the beaming Annette.

Bitter disappointment reigned in
her heart, but when he stood before
her after such a long separation and
she saw his kindly face and his sunny
brown eyes, a feeling of heart}' pleas-
ure overmastered her and she greeted
him warmly.

"My dear lady, 3'ou are disap-
pointed to see me instead of the cap-
tain ; don't let me suffer for it please,"
he cried, kissing her hand in greeting.
"Reutlingen is not here and I bring
3'our letter back myself. They
brought the message to me to find
out what to do with it, and so I have
had the unexpected honor and pleas-
ure of seeing you again."

' ' I am truly pleased myself, ' *
answered Ulrike. "As soon as I
saw 3'ou it really seemed as if my
troubles were at an end ; I hope that
is realh' the case."

He sighed, for the fulfillment of her
hope appeared very uncertain to him.

"My dear lad}'," he began, "I
intended to hunt you vip as soon as
possible, as I have a message for you,
but the trip to Leitnitz is spared me
now that I have had the good fortune
to meet you here."

' ' A message ? ' ' asked Ulrike
hastily. ' ' From Reutlingen ? ' '

" Yes, my dear lady. You of course
know what has happened since you
last saw him ? ' '

' ' Yes, yes. Count Langenrode was
present at the meeting and told me
the awful news."

' ' Then you have heard the worst
and will not be astonished. Reutlin-

WILD REUTLINGEN.

239

gen sends nie to say that he has kept
his promise ; your friend — no, how-
did he say it ? Oh, yes. He has killed
your teacher. He does not expect to
trouble you by the sight of his blood-
stained hand again so he will take
no steps towards your separation, he
leaves that all in your hands."

Ulrike was terribly pale ; she lis-
tened without interrupting him, her
large eyes open wide. At last she
spoke, her face aflame with passion-
ate excitement.

' ' Where is my husband ; I must
speak with him — at once ? "

Wolf sighed.

"Where is he?" she whispered.
*' What has happened to him — I
must know ? ' '

"I can't tell you; I don't know
where he is."

"You don't know where he is,
Wolf? Don't torture me. Is he —
still living ? "

"Yes, yes; he is alive and well,
do n't worry about that, my dear
lady, and do n't be anxious. Please
sit down," he continued, " you are in
too much of a hurry, and I have
another piece of news for you." He
drew her gently down upon the sofa
beside him and told her all he knew
up to the moment when Reutlingen
returned from his visit to the king
and told his comrades his hard lot by
the one word " dismissed."

Ulrike was stunned, for .she knew
Reutlingen and realized what it
meant to him ; his king's service was
his life's work, and his honor as an
officer weighed more with him than
happiness or life itself. And she had
brought all this upon him.

"And what happened further?"
she asked anxiously, dreading to
hear the worst.

Wolf shruaftred his shoulders.

" Nothing much ; he did n't .spend
much time bewailing his punishment,
but .soon left. He said good bye to
us and rode away, we know not
whither ; I asked him, but he .shook
his head and said he did n't know.
I think probably he has gone to
Steinhovel."

"We are all ver}- .sorry," he con-
tinued after a pause. ' ' We lost much
when he left — I especially."

Ulrike buried her face in her hands
and wept bitterly.

"Oh, what sorrow I have brought
upon him ! " she cried in despair.

Wolf watched her with warm sym-
pathy.

" Yes, my dear lady, but how could
3-ou do it ? " he said at last in a tone
of friendly reproach, at which she
dried her eyes and listened. "Why
didn't you find out about those
charges against him? Why didn't
you ask me ? I knew him better than
Trautwitz ? And why did you believe
a stranger's stories about him. You
knew him yourself, our noble wild
one, to the bottom of his true heart.
Surely he didn't deserve that you
should believe him unworthy so
lightly."

"Yes, 3'es, Herr von Eickstadt,
3'our reproach is just," cried Ulrike.
"I feel differently towards him now
from what I did at first, and you
know what our relations were then.
What matter all explanations, all
right or wrong, against the humilia-
tion of unreturned love ? You know
what I mean 3'ourself."

He looked at her in astonishment,
dumbfounded to hear such words from
Ulrike's lips.

"But he loves you," he said. "I
believe that 3'ou were his first passion

240

WILD REUTLINGEN.

and he was therefore awkward and
didn't tell you of it."

' ' He never spoke to me of it nor
showed me his love," cried Ulrike.
"I still don't know whether I am
right or wrong in believing that he
loves me."

Wolf laughed.

' ' That doubt will not trouble 3^ou
long when you look into his eyes, Frau
von Reutlingen. He is in a desper-
ate mood, and I don't know whether
he will kill himself or me when he
hears what I have said to you."

" Why does n't he come to me him-
self ? " asked Ulrike.

" But, my dear lady, he did n't get
much encouragement. He told me
himself that you had given him many
a heartache, and the heaviest of them
all was that 3^ou should run away
from his home and from his protec-

tion. His sorrow over that was very
deep. You owe him much."

"I know it," she said in a trem-
bling voice, " and I will find him."

' ' Will you go to Steinhovel ? " he
asked.

' ' To Steinhovel or further — to the
ends of the earth. Then he may do
with me as he wishes."

"And 3'ou don't blame him for
killing your cousin ? ' ' asked Wolf.

' ' How can I ? I am myself more
to blame than he, and although I re-
gret ni}^ cousin's fall, still he brought
it upon himself. Reutlingen only
defended his honor, and how could
he do less ? ' '

"Now, my dear lady," laughed
Wolf as he arose, "you have grown
to be a soldier's brave wife. Go to
him and tell him all this yourself. I
have delivered my message."

CHAPTER XXVI.

Ulrike's heavy carriage rolled slow-
ly along towards Steinhovel, meeting
with many dela3'S on the way. How
easy and safe had been her first jour-
ney over that road under the protec-
tion of the wild Reutlingen. Fear
and remorse forced the thought into
her mind.

vShe stopped again at the little inn
where she had passed the night
before her first arrival at Steinhovel,
and the hostess recognized her and
waited upon her wdth zealous care,
giving her the best room in the house.
Ulrike had not fared too well since
leaving Ueitnitz, and with a sad smile
she admitted the power of that once
much dreaded name, now her own,
which was of so much service to her.

It was the same room in which he
had sat on the bench by the stove

and gazed at her with laughing eyes.
" You are tired ; you wish me gone,"
he had said, and his words still rang
in her ears. Ah, to-day she wished
him by her side with all her heart.

The journe}' progressed, but so
much more slowly than when the lit-
tle sleigh had flown along like the
wind. However, Steinhovel was
reached at last. The well remem-
bered arch of ivy over the gateway
waved a greeting to her in the wind,
but everything else was still ; the
house was dark and quiet.

"O God! He is not here," she
cried, trembling.

The wagon stopped, but it was a
long time before the front door
opened heavily and old Ferdinand
appeared. He gazed at his mistress
wonderingl}'.

WILD REUTLINGEN.

241

' ' Good day, Ferdinand. Is the cap-
tain here? '"

"Oh, my dear lady, what happi-
ness. No, the captain has been gone
a long time."

"A long time? O Ferdinand;
he -was here and has gone away? "

The old servant helped her out of
the carriage.

"If we had only known, my mis-
tress. Your rooms are cold and
nothing is prepared for you."

"No matter, Ferdinand. Onh' tell
me when }Our master came, when he
left, and where he went. Was he
well? How did he seem? How did
he look ? '"

"Ah, your lad3'ship well knows
that my dear master was wretched
enough. I have never seen him
so before ; he ate scarcely au}'-
thing and drank all the time as
though in a fever. He had a sabre
wound on his arm, but not a bad one ;
I washed it and bound it up morning
and evening. He was in a ver}^
moody frame of mind, uneasy, and
filled with sighs and curses. He
usualh- stays so gladly at Steinhovel,
but this time he was here but three
days when he said to me : ' Ferdi-
nand, I would stay here all winter,
but I cannot stand it. First my
mother was here and then my wife,
but now I am alone and ni}' heart is
full of trouble — I should go mad.'
Then he rode away, taking my son
with him. He was so wretched that I
wept bitter tears for him."

Ulrike stood in the hall with her
furs around her while the old man
.spoke and listened with eager atten-
tion, after which she allowed him to
prepare the house for her reception.
Fires soon crackled in the stoves and
fireplaces but it was still cold and un-

comfortable, and Ulrike sat in old
lyore's warm little room ; it was such a
snug, cosy little place that she wished
for nothing better. vShe made the old
woman tell her again all that she had
just heard from Ferdinand ; how long
the captain had been there, what he
had done, how he had looked, and
every word that had fallen from his
lips.

Ah, they were not pleasant things
that she heard, and yet it was a com-
fort and a pleasure to learn them, for
his deepest pain did not seem to be
for his king's displeasure; his thoughts
of her had weighed on him most
hea\-ily, he had .sorrowed over losing
her, he had longed for her presence.
This knowledge upheld her when
well nigh crushed with despair.

IvOre told her how he had come to
her room and had sat there in the
deep arm chair b}- the .stove, his head
in his hand, listening to the hum of
the spinning wheel. He had often
done the same as a child in the long,
quiet evening hours of the winter
Avhen the ground was covered with
snow and outdoor sports thus denied
him, and as a man his inward ^x\^i
had sent him back to his old loved
place, there to sit in silence and listen
to Lore as she told him of Ulrike,
asking or ansvv^ering only an occa-
sional question. She had told him of
the evening ^vhen Ulrike had come,
with bitter tears in her heart, to speak
of her determination to leave Stein-
hovel, and of his wife's last greeting
for him, with her prayer that he would
not be angry for she had not known
how to do otherwi.se. He an.swered
this by shaking his head in silence
and covering his face with his hand.

' ' And he said nothing ? ' ' cried
Ulrike, throwing herself into the

242

WILD REUTLINGEN.

chair where he had sat. " Ah, lyore,
why did I go away ? I should have
staid here as was my dut}^ and waited
until it was his pleasure to love me,
but to go awa}', forgetting my promise
when he had kept his so nobly and
truh', that I should never have done."

Lore did not understand the full
meaning of these words but she felt
the love and self-reproach that lay in
them, and so wnth tactful sympathy
she spoke a well-meant word of com-
fort here and there.

How peaceful and comfortable was
Ulrike in this house, the right to rule
and manage which she had so lightly
thrown away ! How willingly she
would now have staj^ed there ! It was
a sweet feeling to her, too, to know
herself under the protection of her
husband's roof and to feel herself de-
pendent upon him. vShe no longer
thought of pride, l^ut love and grati-
tude filled her heart. She felt that
she could not remain here inactive,
she must seek him. Where could he
be? Where would she find him?
Her heart sank at the thought, but
still she did not waver a moment.
She knew her duty now and would
not fail in it a second time.

Her plan was to go to Leipzig
where the king had established his
headquarters, the central point of the
army for the winter. There she
hoped to get news that would enable
her to carry on her search, for there
nuist l:)e men there who had seen the
well known Reutlingen and who
would know where to find him. So
she sent her aunt's equipage back to
Leitnitz with her thanks and chose a
carriage from her husband's stable.
Had she any right to do this? vShe
answered her own question in the
negative with a sad smile.

"I shall be justified in taking it,
and when he comes home he will
wonder but he will not scold me. He
will understand that for once I have
acted naturally and righth'."

She would have loved to take old
Ferdinand as a protector on her much
dreaded journey, but the old man was
weak and unfitted for exposure to the
storms of winter, beside which he was
in charge of the house and property,
a post of honor that he could not con-
scientiously leave. So he himself
suggested that she take one of the
coachmen, Christian, w^ho w^as de-
voted to the family and who would
know how to protect his mistress in
case of necessity. She consented.
Ah, if she could but find him whom
she sought she cared little for aught
else !

The servants begged her to remain
with them at Steinhovel until after
Christmas, wdiicli she did, and then,
leaving behind her a long explanatory
letter for the captain, she began her
journey.

The city of Leipzig resembled a
great camp. The king had estab-
lished his headquarters in a large
house on the new square and worked
hard and earnestly upon the main-
tenance and improvement of his
arm3% well knowing that it would be
needed for the preservation of his
country. Still he found time for
recreation and for the pleasures of
science, and philosophers, artists,
students, and men of learning all
proved agreeable companions. He
was surrounded by a circle of inti-
mate friends, and learned men and
professors of Leipzig university
passed in and out of the royal dwel-
ling and entertained the king during
the long winter evenings. At Christ-

/ / IL D RE UTL INGEN.

243

mas lime the princes of the roj-al
house of Magdeburg came to cele-
brate the hoHclay with their uncle,
and the king was delighted with their
visit. The sons of his dead brother,
these two princes were especially
dear to him and it was a long time
before he allowed them to leave him

again.

So the king lived happily in the
midst of his army. Generals and
other officers of all ranks came and
went about him, the wounded were
cared for, and Leipzig became not
only a camp but a great hospital, all
under the superintendence of Fried-
rich, who was well informed and took
great interest in the practice of sur-

gery.

Into this cit}', so full of bustle and
life, came Ulrike and her faithful fol-
lowers, alone and unprotected.

The wheels of her carriage ground
wearily through the snow as before
her, through the cold January night,
shone the lights of Leipzig. The
heavy guns above the gate frowned
down upon her, and a stern soldierly
voice demanded her name and errand.
Her passport was correct and, as the
wife of a Pru.ssian officer, she readily
gained admission.

Through the dark gate and down
the roughly paved street rolled her
carriage. But where should vshe go ?
Ulrike cried in anxiety and despair.
She was now at her journey's end but
her true goal seemed as far away as
ever. Surely, though, she must find
her husband here near the great com-
mander whom he loved so well, even
though he had been dismissed from
his ser\-ice ! From .street to .street
and from hotel to hotel rolled the car-
riage, all were overflowing and she
asked for accommodations in vain.

At last Ulrike gave up the quest in
despair, allowed her carriage to be
put up in one of the hotel stables, and
passed the night in it. She was well
wrapped up in furs, the windows were
closed, and opposite her sat Annette,
who tried to comfort and encourage
her mistress. The lively little maid
was not at all discouraged but .seemed
to make a pleasure of the tiresome
journey, thus making it much easier
for Ulrike, who had little by little ac-
quired a strong feeling of affection
towards the woman who had been so
true to her.

When daylight came Ulrike made
her toilet in the ladies' parlor of the
hotel and ordered her breakfa.st, to
which she sat down with Annette at
a slovenly, red- clothed table in the
public dining room, together with a
number of nois}-, tobacco scented offi-
cers who cast curious glances at the
two women. She now welcomed the
protection of Christian in his Stein-
hovel livery, for without him she
could have eaten no breakfast from
anxiety.

' ' Xow we will go out and hunt for
lodgings, Annette ; we can't live this
wa}'," she said, rising from the table.

It was a clear, sharp January morn-
ing, the snow crunched beneath their
feet, and the smoke from the chim-
neys rose in clouds straight up into
the bright blue sky. She wandered
to and fro in doubt.

"O Annette, where shall we be-
gin?" sighed Ulrike. "How differ-
ent it was when we were travelling
with the captain ; do 3'ou remem-
ber?"

"Yes, of course, my dear lady ;
but we will find the captain and then
all will be well. Here are thousands
of men ; I never thought that the

244

WILD REUTLINGEN.

king of Prussia could have so many
officers ; some of them must be able
to help us find him."

' ' See, my mistress ! ' ' she cried sud-
denly. " Isn't that the old chaplain
who married you ? ' '

Ulrike saw coming down the street
a benevolent old man of clerical ap-
pearance wearing a long black coat,
a white stock, and upon his grey head
a three cornered hat.

" It really is he ! " she cried, hur-
rying across the street with out-
stretched hands to meet him.

' ' Dear sir, do you still remember
me?"

The old gentleman gazed at her
and tried to recall where he had seen
her face before, and at last remem-
bered the little chapel at lyangenrode
where he had first conducted a funeral
and soon afterwards a wedding, as
well as the anxious maiden who was
compelled to marry the wild captain
of dragoons.

' ' Can it be possible, Frau von Reut-
lingen?" he cried, in some doubt
although clasping the outstretched
hands in a warm grasp.

"Yes, ofcmrse; and I am so glad
to find you, dear sir ? I am a stranger
and alone in the city, and I am sure
you will help me."

"With great pleasure, my dear
lady. But where is the captain? Is
he stationed very far away from his
young wife ? ' '

"My husband is not here," ex-
plained Ulrike. "Through a series
of sad events I have lost all trace of
him and am now seeking him. I
hope that I shall surely hear some
news of him here."

She walked beside the old man and
told him of her trouble in finding a
place to live.

"There is still a small room in vsxy
house," he began in a comforting
tone. "A 3'oung chaplain now has-
it, but he will give it up if I ask him. ' '

Ulrike found that her old friend
expected soon to be promoted by the
king himself to be chaplain in chief
of the whole field clergy, and that he
already received pay and privileges
as such. The little room of which he
spoke was prepared and in a few
hours Ulrike was settled in it. It
was somewhat small for two, but warm
and clean, and, best of all, a good, safe
place that they could now call their
own. In the fortunate and unexpec-
ted meeting Ulrike was inclined to
see a happy omen for the success of
her undertaking.

It was now time to begin her search
in earnest, and how .should she start
about it ?

As she was one day returning home
with Annette from an aimless search
she passed close to several officers
who were engaged in an animated
conversation. " Baireuth dragoons,"
she heard one of them say, and she
stopped close by them with a feeling
of dread. The officer who had
spoken touched his hat to her in salu-
tation and a questioning smile gath-
ered on his face.

" Pardon me, sir, but 3'ou spoke of
the Baireuth dragoons," stammered
Ulrike in great embarassment.

" I was speaking of Lieutenant von
Bandemer of the Baireuth dragoons.
Madam. He has just been severely
wounded in a skirmish between out-
posts and has been brought here to
the hospital; I saw him yesterday."

" Do you know Captain von Reut-
lingen, too ? ' ' she asked with fleeting
breath.

' ' The wild one ? Certainly, madam ;

WILD REUTLINGEN.

245

■\vho does n " t ? He has unfortunately
been dismissed and has probably
s:one home."

"Ah, 3-es." Thanking him for
his news she went, but noticed that
the men remained standing and gazed
curioush" after her. What must they
think of such behavior, not knowing
the motive that inspired it?

"We mustn't go any further, An-
nette; we will try another way."
She sighed, changed her plans, and
turned the next corner.

When she reached the house she
sent word to the chaplain and asked
him to come to her. The old man,
who gladly embraced every oppor-
tunity to do her a serA-ice, immedi-
ately came up stairs to her room.

"Now, my dear lady, what can I
do for you ? Have you found no
traces of the missing one ? ' "

She had long ago told the good
man her whole story, he had com-
forted her, and now she felt so great
a trust in him that her heart was
warmed with the conviction that she
was at last upon the right path.

"Nothing, dear sir; I must still

search long and earnestl}^ but I must
try to make myself as useful as possi-
ble during my time of waiting. I
have been carefully trained in nursing
the sick during my father's long ill-
ness and I also know much about car-
ing for wounds. Can 't I make use
of my knowledge here ? ' '

She told him of her encounter with
the ofhcers and of the news she had
heard of lyieutenant von Bandemer.
Then she told him what was in her
mind ; that she wished to nurse him,
and her hope that among the many
officers in the hospital she would find
someone who could put her upon her
husband's path.

" Of course 3'ou can do it, ni}- dear
lad}' ! " cried the chaplain vigorously.
' ' The king has issued an order allow-
ing the burghers' wives to assist in
caring for our wounded in every pos-
sible way, and if he does that for
them he certainly will not refuse a
like privilege to the wife of one of his
officers. We will go to the surgeon-
general, who is in charge of the hos-
pitals, and he will help you to what
you want."

CHAPTER XXVII.

When the chaplain and Fran von
Reutlingen reached his office next
morning Surgeon-General Cothenius
had not 3'et returned from his daily
visit to the king, but after a long wait
he appeared, an elderly man with a
refined, clever face and courtly air, a
man of learning. The chaplain laid
Ulrike's plan before him while she
awaited the result in silence. The
doctor's bright eyes gazed penetrat-
ingly at her delicate white face, and
he was pleased with her appearance,
her quiet demeanor, and her earnest,
•determined expression.

"If you understand the care of the
wounded and the constant attention
the}- require, my dear lady, 3-ou must
also know whether ^-our constitution
is strong enough for the work ; at all
events we will give you a trial, for
our lack of nurses is too great for us
to refuse your generous offer."

Encouraged by his words, Ulrike
told him of her desire to care for
Lieutenant von Bandemer. Doctor
Cothenius assented and asked her to
accompau}- him to a hospital that had
been establi.shed in the cleared rooms
of a school house, where the beds

>46

WILD REUTLINGEN.

stood in long rows, bearing wound-
ed men, some of whom groaned in
pain, and others were sunk in the
semi-stupor of fever. All the sur-
geons present gathered around their
chief.

"His majest3^ the king, has been
here and has inquired about Lieuten-
ant von Bandemer's wound. He was
very indignant to hear that you
intend to take off the leg."

' ' The leg to be taken off ? " cried
Ulrike vehemently; " O Doctor, is it
absolutely necessary ? Isn't it possi-
ble for the wound to heal without
amputation ? ' '

Doctor Cothenius approached her
and spoke softl}'.

"I am not absolutely sure yet, but
unfortunately the necessary cleanli-
ness and care of the wound have
already been much neglected ; I fear
it is too late. His majesty is very
much opposed to amputation, and
justly so, but it is often the only way
to save life."

Carl lyudwig von Bandemer had
opened his eyes and his feverish gaze
rested upon the doctor, who stepped
to his side.

' ' I ^^•ill not let j^ou take my leg off,
Doctor, and if you do it against my
will I will shoot myself through the
head. I will not live as a cripple ; I
have made up my mind."

"It will not be necessary," said
Ulrike, bending over him ; "I will
care for your wounds and with God's
help heal them."

"There's no use troubling about
it," he answered irritably, "it's all
over with me."

"Herr von Bandemer," cried Ul-
rike; "you giving up this way, you,
the most energetic officer in the regi-
ment ? ' '

His astonished gaze fell upon her
face for the first time.

" Frau von Reutlingen. You here
in Leipzig ? ' ' He glanced quickly
around. ' ' Is my captain here, too ? ' '

"No, he is not here; but what
would he saj^ if he heard you speak
as you have just spoken ? "

" He would say I was right. He
knows that I care nothing for danger
or death ; he knows it better than
any man in the world. Oh, if my
captain would only come ! He
wouldn't encourage me to live as a
cripple, I who am scarcely twenty
3'ears old."

" Be easy," said Cothenius, laying
his delicate, cool hand upon the fever
heated brow. "You will only make
3'ourself worse if you get excited. I
will w^atch your wounds a day or two
longer before I make up my mind."

' ' And until then I will care for you
in my best way ; I may. Doctor, may
I not ? ' '

" I shall be greatly obliged to you,
m}' dear lady, and I will put another
patient in your charge and will intro-
duce you to the superintendent of the
w^ard."

So Ulrike stepped into a position
of responsibility, but she did it
bravely, with that self-confidence
which always came to her in times of
need.

Bandemer was a troublesome pa-
tient, unhappy, irritable, and without
hope. Anyone who had known him
in his earlier days, in his youthful
scorn of death, would have found it
difficult to recognize him now. Ul-
rike often soothed and cheered him,
and he was then full of gratitude for
her care and friendliness.

One day as she sat beside his bed
in the neat, dark dress so fitted for her

WILD REUTLINGEN.

247

work, and which showed her l)loiuIe
beauty to its fullest extent, the door
suddenly opened and a crowd of sur-
geons and officers entered. Excite-
ment and pleasure spread through the
ward and gleamed from the faces of
the patients. The king was coming,
and those who did not see could feel
it in the air. There he stood in his
blue blouse, his three cornered hat
upon his head, and leaning upon the
cane in his hand, as though bent by
the weisfht of the world which rested
upon his shoulders.

"Stop here, gentlemen; so many
foot steps will disturb the wounded
unnecessarily. You two may come
with me and Cothenius shall be our
guide."

It was a strong voice that spoke,
and it had in it a strange, pleasing
clearness, as though he would be
heard from one end of the earth to the
other, as though he must be heard
with respect and astonishment by all
men to whom the fame of his name
had .spread. There he was, the great
king of Prussia. Ulrike .sprang up
and gazed at him in awe, and Carl
Bandemer, his eyes glowing with
enthusiasm, tried to raise himself in
bed to await his king. An expres-
sion of joyful .self-forgetfulness gath-
ered upon the faces of the wounded.

The king stopped beside the fir.st
bed and spoke to the wounded man
who occupied it, a young infantry
officer who had received his death
wound at the battle of Torgau and
who had been brought here to die.
The surgeon-general had given him
but a few days more to live, and the
great commander stood by his side
and spoke words of comfort and
thanks. With folded hands and an
expression of supreme contentment

the dying hero listened, and the com-
ing of death seemed sweet and honor-
able ; he was glad to die for his
Fatherland and for such a king.

Friedrich's two nephews stood be-
hind him, filled with sympathy and
sorrow, for he was accompanied every-
where by these two sons of the
unhappy prince of Prussia. The
heir apparent. Prince Friedrich Wil-
li elm, was a handsome boy of sixteen,
wdio.se large, blue eyes, typical of the
house of Hohenzollern, and whose
retreating profile would have much
resembled his uncle, had not the gen-
tleness of his face given him quite
another expres.sion. Not quite .so
handsome but with more power in
face was the younger brother. Prince
Heinrich, wdiose countenance was
filled with nobility and kingly spirit.
He was the favorite of his royal uncle
and was as dear to him as an only
child would have been, so that with
his untimely death some time after,
love, sunshine, and hope died out of
the king's heart and the desolation of
winter fell upon him.

The king pas.sed from the side of
the dj'ing officer, fir.st summoning the
princes to give their hands to this
true .soldier.

' ' Where is the sub-lieutenant from
the Baireuth regiment, whose leg you
wished to amputate ; I hope 3'ou
haven't done it, Cothenius? "

" No, your majesty, not 3-et : I have
suspended judgment."

"How are you to-day, Bandemer;
still worrying over your misfortune ? "

" No, your majesty, thank you."

He did not look worried, for it sud-
denly seemed a pleasure to him to be
crippled in the ser\-ice of such a
king.

"Sire, do vou notice that beau-

>4S

WILD REUTLINGEN.

tiful girl ? ' ' whispered the young
prince of Prussia to his uncle, who
smiled.

"You did, you young rascal, of
course."

The king raised his eyes to I'lrike,
two large, bright, blue eyes, flashing
as with the triumphant light of the
sun. She saluted him with a deep
courtesy and with the courage and
grace of a high born woman, and no
one noticed the rapid beating of her
excited heart.

"What is your name, madam?"
asked the king.

" Frau von Reutlingen, your maj-
esty."

" \"er\'- good. Cothenius has told
me that you wish to dabble in his
trade and to cure this man's wounds
in good shape. Do you understand
such work . then ? ' '

Ulrike responded firmly and re-
spectfully.

"Yes, your majesty; I learned to
care for the sick by my father's bed,
to which he was confined for 3'ears,
and the surgeon-general has allowed
me to try ni}- skill here upon one of
3-our majesty's officers."

"And 3-ou hope to save his leg?
That would please me greatly. It is
a horror to me to think of my officers
as crippled for life by amputation.
Take all the care of him you can,
my prett}' child, and I shall be deeply
indebted to you."

With a nod of his head to the sub-
lieutenant and his nurse the king
passed on followed by the princes,
who greeted them as they went.

Ulrike's ej^es filled with tears, and
Bandemer saw and understood as he
voiced her thought: "My poor cap-
tain ! "

Days and weeks went by, the hard
work making them pass nuich more
quickh' for Ulrike than if she had
been waiting i d 1 3' . Bandemer's
wound grew better daily, and Co-
thenius had long ago declared ampu-
tation unnecessary and had thanked
Ulrike for her care and attention in
many waj'S.

The young hero of Torgau, wdiom
the king had thanked, had gone to
rest, together with many another
who had lain near b}', but Bandemer
was convalescent and could leave his
bed at last. He now dressed him-
self in his uniform and sat in a large
chair surrounded by pillows, with
his foot propped up before him and
with new life in his eyes. He looked
forward impatienth' to the time when
he could again mount his horse and
return to his regiment ; it was rumored
that the campaign would open in
March, and the thought that he might
not be in his place of honor with his
men was terrible to him.

One morning Ulrike, attended by
her servant, came to the hospital,
visited her patients, attended to their
wants, and spoke words of comfort
to them. She had become dearly
loved by them, patients, doctors,
nurses, and all, and the surgeon-
general lavighingly told her that her
mere presence brought new health
and strength to the invalids.

Late in the morning she entered
the room which Bandemer now
shared with a fellow sufferer, an offi-
cer of the Zieten hussars. The sub-
lieutenant was constantly bewailing
the fact that he was alwavs neglected
until the last, but in his heart he was
glad, for it enabled her to remain
longer with him.

" Good morning, Herr von Bande-

/ A

^il^^ ^

o
z

WILD REUTLINGEN.

249

•nier, how are you this morniiiij ?
And you, Herr von Arnim?"

Bandemer laughed, showing his
pearly teeth beneath his blonde
moustache.

"Splendid, as a matter of course.
How can you ask, my dear lady, at
the moment that you come to us ? "
He took her hand and pressed it
reverently to his lips. The hussar,
whose severe head wounds had been
given into her care, also assured her
of his improvement.

Then a third officer, who had hith-
erto remained unnoticed in the win-
dow, advanced towards her.

' ' Will not the gentlemen present
me so that I can also pay \xiy respects
to you, my lad}'? '" he asked courte-
ously.

"Certainly, allow me, my dear
lady; Herr von Zitzewitz, of the
Schmettau curassiers, one of the
captain's friends," said Bandemer.

She looked at him blushing, and
he smiled and bowed to her.

"You will not remember me, nw
lady, but I was quartered for a short
time at Langenrode abbe}" with the
Baireuth dragoons, and I often had
the pleasure of seeing you from afar,
but was unfortunate enough to be
near ^-ou but once — at the funeral of
the abbess."

Oh, what memories !

" No, Herr von Zitzewitz, I can
scarcely remember it at all : it was
a hard and trying time for me, and
I look back upon it as a dream."

"That I can readily believe. I
heard with great interest that you
were married soon after I left ; Reut-
lingen told me of it himself while we
were stationed at Coszdorf together."

She crushed down the pain that
his harmless words had aroused.

"And can you tell me where ni}^
husband now is ? " How many times
had she asked that question in these
latter daj-s, always to receive the
same answer !

" No, my dear lady; I am sorry to
sa}' that I do n't know. The last
time that I saw him was when he
leaped the ditch at Torgau. Oh, it
was a joy to see him then ! I after-
wards heard that his majesty had
decorated him, and soon after that
he had been dismissed in disgrace.
More than that I can't tell you. Ban-
demer has just told me that he is not
at Steinhovel. I didn't believe that
our wild Reutlingen would sit quietly
at home while there was fighting
going on."

"Yes, that is the awful part of it;
but where can he be ? "

Zitzewitz bent forward.

" He may have gone abroad, and
perhaps fights for the French. How-
ever, there is one place that 3'ou
must search, and that is in the corps
of Duke Ferdinand of Braunschweig,
my dear lady."

"Certainly, I will do that; man}-
thanks for the advice, Herr von Zitze-
witz. I will go as soon as I am no
longer needed here. If I could only
get at his brother Heinz ; you know
him, too, perhaps — he belongs to the
Puttkamer hussars ? "

"The Dingelstadt hussars they
are now called ; I do n't know where
they are now stationed. Yes, I
know Heinz slightly, but I do n't
care much for him ; I am fonder of
the wild one."

' ' If you should meet nw husband,
Herr von Zitzewitz," began Ulrike,
" please say to him that I have sought
for him everywhere since Decem-
ber, and that he must at least send

250

WILD REUTLINGEN.

me a letter. I am always either at
Steinhovel cr with the Baireuth
dragoons."

From her knowledge of Reutlin-
gen's noble nature Ulrike hoped that
this message would not be unwel-
come to him, and that his anger
against her would be neither deeply
seated nor lasting. Zitzewitz prom-
ised to spare no pains to deliver her

message.

She would have liked to start out
the next morning on her search, but
she could not give up the self-
assumed duties, which were as yet
uncompleted. She must stay faith-
fully at her post, no matter how hard
it might be for her.

Ulrike once more met the king on
his rounds through the hospital. He
stepped out of Bandemer's room just
as she was about to enter it on her
morning visit. Pale from surprise
and excitement she stood opposite
him and courtesied low.

"Good morning, madam," said
Friedrich. "I have just inspected
your convalescents, and I am greatly
pleased ; 3'ou have proved yourself
very skillful. Cothenius has also
sounded your praises very highly."

"Your majesty is very kind,"
stammered Ulrike. "It has been a
joyful and fit duty for me — for the
wife of one of 3^our majesty's offi-
cers."

"Your name is Reutlingen, you
told me," the king continued. "Is
your hu.sband related to the captain
of the Baireuth dragoons whom I
recently dismissed ? "

" I am his wife, your majesty."

' ' Then you are no longer the wife
of a Prussian officer. But how is
this ? He told me that his wife had
run away from him, and that he had

on that account killed his rival.
That was why I dismissed him."

"May it please your majesty,"
answered Ulrike, thoroughly aroused
and determined, " I did not run away
from him as he thought. I have
behaved foolishly and thoughtlessly,
but never wickedly. We knew each
other much too slightly when we
were married, and for that reason a
misunderstanding has arisen between
us. I have grown to love him dearly
now, and he can never have a rival
in my heart."

"Have you told him all this?"
asked the king.

" No, I have not been able to find
him since he fell into disfavor with
your majesty. I don't know wdiere
he is, and came to Leipzig to find
him. Now I will go on and continue,
my search until I find him."

During the whole time the king's
flashing eyes had rested upon her
face, and she had borne his gaze
without flinching. She could never
have done it had she not been speak-
ing the truth and that this great
student of human nature saw and
knew.

' ' This is certainly a most wonder-
ful affair," he remarked, "but I am
persuaded that you have told me the
truth. Reutlingen is a madcap, and
must give a very satisfactory explana-
tion of his conduct if he wishes to
prove worthy of so lovely and charm-
ing a wife."

"I thank your majesty for your
kind words," murmured Ulrike.

King Friedrich in his younger days-
had paid court to fair w^omen, and
now and then a recollection of the
past w^ould spread through the lonely
hero's heart. A friendly smile beamed
from his face.

ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMENT.

251

" He must at least have some ex-
planation to offer. Good morning,
madam, we shall remember you with
pleasant thoughts."

He graciously offered her his hand

in farewell, and she bent low and
pressed her lips upon it. Then she
stepped respectfully aside, and slowly
and thoughtfully the king passed on>
leaning heavily upon his cane.

[to be continued.]

Ccndiictcd by Fred Goivi>ig, State Superintendent of Public Instruction.

DESIRABLE EDUCATIONAL LEGISLATION.

By C/iaiuiiui^ J-'oIso/n, Superintendent of ScJunds, Dover.

During the last session of the
legislature more was done towards
strengthening the educational inter-
ests of the state than for man}- years
previous. Several measures which
seemed wise to those identified with
the schools, failed because of the gov-
ernor's disapproval.

It is the object of this paper to
point out some of the defects of the
laws as they stand to-daj-, and to
show wherein they fall short of their
purpose to secure the proper educa-
tion to the children of New Hamp-
shire .

LENGTH OF SCHOOL.

The general reader spends but lit-
tle time upon statistics. One who
desires to know something of the edu-
cational condition of our state would
do well to stud}- the tables in the last
annual report of the state superinten-
dent. From these tables the follow-
ing facts may be gleaned :

Of the 234 towns and cities reported,
it will be found that sixty-two (62)
have thirty (30) or more weeks of
school per year ; that one hundred and
six (106) have less than twenty-five
(25) weeks; forty-three (43) less than

252

ED UCA TIONA L DEPA R TMENT.

twent}' (20) weeks; six (6), less than
fifteen (15) weeks.

By counties, the record stands as
follows :

County.

M-l

^ 1

>-.

c -

umb
towns.

.a m

-C r^"

j3 u5

1) ^

-4.

-^ ?

K-l

S -«

^ 1)

0) is

rt O

Belknap.

Carroll

Cheshire

Coos

Grafton

Hill&boroiigh.
Merrimack. . .
Rockingham..

Strafford

Sullivan

Total.

l.S

....

'7 "t
-J

....

3«

2.S

....

234

106

26. 12

20.68

20.76
22.85

=3-'9
37. 18
26.44
28. 98
29.81
^v54

24.95

Against the proposition to require
a minimum school year of twent^'-five
weeks throughout the state it is
argued that such legislation would
entail a hardship upon the rural
towns, alread)^ overburdened with
taxation. Two small towns report
but eight weeks of school each during
the year, the cost per pupil being
$4.16 and ^5.16 respectively.

This seems a very small per capita,
until we look farther and discover
that one of these towns reports its
rate of .school assessment as $.0067,
while in Manchester it is $.0022 and
in Nashua, $.0016. It is evident,
however, that very manj^ of the towns
raise but a small amount of money
for school purposes, relatively and
absolutely ; and that this small amount
is raised simply because the law
requires it.

How can the school privileges of
the country towns be increased with-
out unduly increasing taxation?
Under the old district system a simi-
lar inequality frequently existed be-

tween different parts of the same
town ; the adoption of the town sys-
tem placed the farmer's boy on an
equalit}' with the village boy of the
same town. Wh}' can not this prin-
ciple be applied in some manner to
the whole state? Why should not
the wealthy communities assist their
less favored brethren ? If the ' ' lit-
erary fund" could be enlarged, and
some more sensible method of divis-
ion be devised the difficulty might be
solved.

It seems to the writer that a tax
of one mill on a dollar of valuation,
or half as much perhaps, might be
wisely required, the proceeds to be
added to the present " Literary Fund,"
and all to be divided among the
towns of the state in such a manner
as to induce a lengthening of the
school 3'ear. The following plan of
di.stribution is suggested :

The state treasurer shall divide the
literary fund into two equal parts,
which he .shall a.ssign and di.stribute
as follows, in November of every
year :

One of said equal parts, he shall
assign and distribute among the
towns and places, in proportion to
the number of teachers who shall
have actually taught in the public
.schools of such towns or places not
less than twent3'-five weeks during
the preceding school 5^ear, the suc-
cessive teachers in any one school
being counted as one teacher ; he
shall assign and distribute the other
of .said equal parts among the towns
and places according to the total
number of da3's' attendance of all
the pupils of the public .schools of
the town or place during the preced-
ing school year, such attendance to
be ascertained from reports made to

ED UCA TIONA L DEPA R TMENT.

253

the state superintendent of public
instruction.

The distribution of a portion of
the fund, based upon the number
of teachers, is advised for the assist-
ance of such towns as are compelled
by physical features to support
small schools. The second method
of distribution would operate towards
securing regularity of attendance ;
under the present plan of distribut-
ing the fund, a town draws as much
for a two weeks' pupil as for a ten
months' one.

Very likely some better plan ma}'
be devised than the one above out-
lined ; but I think few will deny
that the trouble is real, and that in
the near future it will demand the
thoughtful and patriotic considera-
tion of all who have the welfare of
our state at heart.

Until some method of assistance
is devised, it is useless to fix a
minimum length of the school year.
Without such assistance the school
year will not be materially length-
ened in the towns which most need
such lengthening ; if the average
shows an increase, it must come
mainly from the villages and larger
towns.

Should any plan of state aid be
adopted, a provision like the follow-
ing should form a part of it :

When the State Superintendent
of Public Instruction has reason to
believe that a town has neglected
to raise and expend the school
money required by law, or the addi-
tional amount voted by the district,
or faithfully to expend the school
money received from the state, he
shall direct the state treasurer to
withhold further payment to such
town from the literary fund, until

such town shall have satisfied him
that it has expended the full amount
of said school money according to law.

SCHOOIv BUIIvDINGS.

"Be it enacted by the senate and
house of representatives in general
court convened :

"Sec. 19. The school board of cities
.shall have sole power to select and
purchase land for school-house lots.
When said board has secured, by vote
of the cit}' councils, an adequate ap-
propriation for the purchase of a
specified lot at a specified price, then
said board may make the purcha.se.

" vSec. 20. No school-house shall
be erected, altered, remodelled, or
changed in any school di-strict, unless
the plans thereof have been previously
sul^mitted to the school board of that
di.strict and received its approval, and
all new .school-houses shall be con-
structed under the direction of a joint
.special committee, chosen in equal
numbers b}' the city councils and the
school board.

"Sec. 21. Upon the completion of
a new school-house, the city councils
shall, by vote, transfer it to the care
and control of the school board for
public school purposes exclusive^.
Whenever a school-hou.se shall no
longer be needed for public .school pur-
poses, the school board shall re-trans-
fer its care and control to the city."

The foregoing is the text of a bill
which was enacted by the house and
.senate during the la.st session, but
which failed by reason of Governor
Busier s disapproval.

The bill ma}^ have been imperfect,
and there may exist reasons for an
hone.st difference of opinion relative
to it among citizens devoted to educa-
tional interests, but the .statesman (?)

254

EDUCATIONAL DEPARTMENT.

who characterized it as the ' ' infamous
school-house bill ' ' must be at a sad
loss for means of excitement.

Schools and school buildings are
but one of many interests which the
city councils have to consider ; they
form the single interest which the
school committee are called upon to
deal with. The bill looks innocent ;
it appears to have been an attempt
on the part of the legislature to en-
large the powers and duties of the
city school boards in a direction in
which they are peculiarh^ competent
to act. Who so well qualified to
judge of the needs of a school as to
location, needed room, ventilation,
and sanitation as the board chosen
hy the people for the special purpose
of making themselves familiar with
such matters ? The general student
is not supposed to know more of a
specialty than the specialist who de-
votes his life to that specialty.

Education would be well served
should a bill of the tenor of the fore-
going become the law of the state.

COMPULSORY ATTENDANCE.

The state demands that its children
shall be educated, on the theory that
general education is for the benefit
of the state ; that universal intelli-
ofence is the chief bulwark of free
institutions.

It has been well said that "the
corner-stone of our system of public
schools is the fact that, though an
ignorant people may be governed,
only an intelligent people can govern
themselves."

Though the state of New Hamp-
shire acknowledges this principle in
its legislation, its provisions for effect-
ing the desired results are utterly
inadequate and puerile.

Section 14 of chapter 93 of the Pub-
lic Statutes provides for the attend-
ance of ever}' child between the ages
of eight and sixteen years twelve
weeks annuall}^ six weeks of which
shall be consecutive.

The majority of children who need
such a law need more than six weeks
of consecutive instruction during a
year. This section should be recon-
structed and brought into harmony
with the employment laws, which
form a part of the same chapter. Up
to a certain age, sa}^ twelve years,
every child should be required to
attend school the whole time it is
taught in the town or district in
which he resides ; from twelve to
sixteen he should be under the same
limitations as if he wished to work
in a manufacturing establishment ;
that is to say, employment at any
industry should require a certificate
of school attendance.

It goes without saying that no lan-
guage but the English can properly
be permitted in coDinuvi school instruc-
tion, whether in public or private
schools.

If to advocate a legislative enact-
ment to this effect is to place one
among those who favor ' ' class legis-
lation," write me down as such.

But is this not New Hampshire ?
Are we not citizens of the United
States of America ? Is it " class leg-
islation ' ' to enact a law for our own
preservation and the stability of our
institutions ?

Let New Hampshire legislate for
New Hampshire and not for Canada.

EMPLOYMENT LAW^S.

The laws relating to the employ-
ment of children seem to have been
made mainly in the interests of labor,

ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMENT.

255

rather than based on the broad prin-
ciple already enunciated, that the
interests of the republic demand a
thorough diffusion of education and
intelligence. This appears from the
iact that only " manufacturing estab-
lishments ' ' must demand a certificate
■of school attendance as a pre-requisite
to emplo3'ment.

With the addition of mercantile,
mechanical, and other industrial
employments, and some provision
for their enforcement, these laws
are sufficiently stringent. In their
present state, however, their enforce-
ment depends entireh' upon the good-
will of the employer. In many
towns, notably the smaller manufact-
uring places, they are a dead letter,
and will probably always remain so,
until some provision for their enforce-
ment is devised other than b}' local
authority. In the cities and larger
towns, however, they would be more
likely to be observed if requirements
were incorporated in them to the fol-
lowing effect :

1. School boards, or their dulj^
authorized agents, should be legally
authorized to visit all manufacturing
establishments in their districts at all
times ; and it should be made their
duty to make such visits periodically.

2. Employers of child labor should
be required to keep sworn lists of
children in their emplo}-, under six-
teen 3^ears of age. All certificates
of school attendance should be pre-
served. These lists and the certifi-
cates should be open to the inspec-
tion of the school board or its agents
at all times. Refusal on the part of
an employer to show the required
certificate should be considered as
prima facie evidence of illegal employ-
ment.

These amendments would make it
possible to carry out the law where
school boards desire to do so.

Where employers of child labor
themselves constitute the board, or
exercise a paramount influence in it,
a state inspector would be a necessity.

The la\\' prohibits the employment
of an}' child vmder sixteen years of
age in a manufacturing establish-
ment unless he can "read and write."
If our laws are made for the benefit
of the people of New Hampshire and
in the interests of republican institu-
tions, this reading and writing should
be in the English langziage. I am
unable to understand how any un-
selfish patriotic x\merican can oppose
this amendment. I am very far from
know-nothingism ; place of birth or
religious belief are nothing to me
in considering a man's sphere of
action ; but as a measure of safety
to our institutions, immigrants mu.st
be assimilated and converted into
American citizens.

Upon this point I quote the words
of Supt. D. Iv. Kiehle, of Minnesota :

' ' The school mu.st teach thoroughly
the English language as the language
of the country. This is the language
of our business and social life. It is
the language of our history, our laws,
and the only vehicle of American
ideas. Other languages are neces-
saril}' un-American — not anti- Ameri-
can, — carrying with them the tradi-
tions, associations, customs, and na-
tional .spirit of other governments and
civilizations ; hence, if the youth of
this country are to be Americans,
they must think and speak in the
language of America."

We can insist upon this with the
children ; with adults it is impossi-
ble.

256

NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.

L,et not the greed of parents or the
avarice of corporations bar the way
to patriotic legislation.

TRUANCY.

Under our present law truancy or
regular absenteeism becomes an of-
fence only when the town has adop-
ted a bj'-law making it such. It
would seem that some less cumber-
some plan might be devised. At any
rate the term of allowable confine-
ment at the industrial school .should
be increased to five 3'ears at the dis-
cretion of the judge. Truant officers
should be given more authority.
Their duties should lie in the direc-
tion of preventing rather than pun-
ishins: truancv. An amendment like
the following would accomplish this
end:

Truant officers shall have authority
without a warrant to take and place
in school any children found violating
the laws relating to the employment of
children or to the compulsor}' attend-

ance at school, of children between
the ages of six and .sixteen years.

These suggestions incorporated
into the law, and the appointment of
this officer as the agent of the school
board in enforcing the employment
laws, would largel}^ increase his effi-
ciency and usefulness.

Something might be said in favor
of omitting useless and impossible
statistics, such as reporting the num-
ber of persons between twenty-one
and fourteen years of age who cannot
read and write, as now required by
the .statute, but I have already advised
more than is likely to be done at one
session of the legislature.

In light of the criticisms made last
winter upon the number of educa-
tional bills presented, by persons high,
in honor and authority, while no
unfavorable comment was made upon
the numerous sawdust bills or fish
and game bills, it would seem that
the perfecting of our school law is of.
minor importance in their minds.

rrr'r'":;-;^"]

BENJAMIN PIERCE CHENEY.

Benjamin Pierce Cheney, Senior, was born at Hillsborough, August 12, 18 15,.
and died at Wellesley, Mass., July 23. At the age of 16 he became a stage driver
and was soon regarded as one of the most trusty men on the great through line
from Boston to Montreal. In 1842, when the Boston & Lowell Railroad was ex-
tended to Concord, he engaged in business as a local express agent. From this-
humble beginning he rose to positions of responsibility and trust in the management
of some of the greatest express lines and railroads in the country, among them the.-

NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY. 257

Overland Mail, Wells c^- Fargo's Express, the American Express Company, the
Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe, Northern Pacific, Mexican Central, Vermont Cen-
tral, and Northern railroads. One of Boston's half dozen wealthiest men, Mr.
Cheney was generous in his success. His native state owes to him the bronze
statue of Daniel Webster in her state house yard, and a chair at Dartmouth Col-
lege was endowed by him with $50,000. Mr. Cheney was deeply interested in
horticulture and under his personal direction his home at Wellesley was made one
of the most beautiful country places in America. His business interests are left
to the care of a son, B. P. Cheney, Jr., whose ability for their management has
already been proven.

REV. JAMES K. PIKE, D. D.

Rev, James K. Pike, D.D., died at Newfields, July 26. He represented the first
New Hampshire district in the 34th and 35th congresses, was colonel of the Six-
teenth New Hampshire regiment during the Rebellion, and had been for more than
20 years a clergyman of the Methodist Episcopal church. "

ROBERT C. THOMPSON.

Robert C. Thompson, for 53 years a business man in Exeter, died in that town
July 28, at the age of 74 years. He was a native of Glasgow, Scotland, and very
prominent in Masonic circles.

COL. GEORGE W. GOFFE.

Colonel George W. Goffe, a lineal descendant of the regicide Goffe, died in Bed-
ford July 31, aged 67. He was a leading lumberman until he retired from active
business, was twice a member of the legislature and for 20 years was moderator of

the town of Bedford,

JAMES E. FERNALD.

James Elliot Fernald, proprietor of the Farmington N'ezvs, died in that town
July 27 at the age of 65. He had served as town treasurer, postmaster, bank offi-
cial, and in other positions of trust. He founded the News in 1879.

MRS. MARIA S. P. MINER.

Mrs. Maria S. P. Miner, widow of the late Rev. A. A. Miner, D. D., died at
Boston July 27, aged 79 years. She was a native of Lempster and was married to
Dr. Miner 60 years ago. In all his work she was a constant and valued helper
and her circle of friends was very large.

MRS. MARY A. STEARNS.

At her home in Concord, July 27, at the age of 76, died Mrs. Mary A. Stearns,
widow of the late ex-Governor Onslow Stearns. She was born in Athol, Mass.,
and married Mr. Stearns at Lowell in 1845. Since 1847 her residence had been
in Concord. She was prominent in philanthropic and benevolent work and during
the lifetime of her husband a social leader, entertaining at her beautiful home
many of the most prominent men of the time. She is survived by one son and
four daughters.

258 NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.

LUCIEN B. CLOUGH.

Judge Lucien B. Clough, born at Northfield, April 17, 1823, died at Manchester
July 28. He graduated from Dartmouth in the class of 1850 and was admitted to
the bar in 1851 at Albany, N. Y. From 1853 to the time of his death he prac-
tised his profession in Manchester. He was judge of the probate court in 1874-5.
At the time of his death he was a trustee of the city library, a director in the Amos-
keag National bank, trustee of the Amoskeag Savings bank, clerk of the Manches-
ter Gas Light company, and treasurer of the local board of fire underwriters. He
was a member of the Episcopal church and a Democrat in politics. He is sur-
vived by a daughter and a son.

JOHN G. KIMBALL.

John G. Kimball, a native of Concord, 62 years of age, died at North Andover,

Mass., July 29, of apoplexy. He was a successful Lawrence business man for

more than a quarter of a century and was a prominent leader of the Prohibition

party.

THOMAS STUART.

Thomas Stuart was born in Henniker, September i, 1823, and died at Concord,
July 30. He purchased the Columbian hotel in 1848 and was its landlord for many
years. He was a director of the First National bank from 1873 to the time of his
death and was also a director of the Union Guaranty Savings bank from the time
of its organization.

PROF. WARREN T. WEBSTER.

Professor Warren T. Webster was born at Kingston and died at Brooklyn, N.

Y., August 3, in his 65th year. He was a graduate of Brown University and a

prominent and lifelong educational worker. He resigned the principalship of the

high school at Auburn, Me., in 1866 to accept a professorship in the Lockwood

academy, subsequently the Adelphi, of Brooklyn. At the time of his death he

was professor of Latin and Greek and superintendent of the collegiate department

there.

GERRY MORGAN.

Gerry Morgan was born at Francestown, August 10, 1828, and died at Frye-
burg, Me., August 3. He was a California '49er and remained on the Pacific
coast 17 years. On his return he engaged in the manufacture of shoe and box
pegs. He was a member of the New Hampshire legislature for several years and
introduced and carried through that body a bill giving to schools free text-books,
this state being the first in the Union to adopt such a measure.

GEORGE W. HAVEN.

George Wallace Haven died at Portsmouth August 7 at the age of 88 years.
He was for many years a director of the Rockingham National bank and had also
served as trustee of the New Hampshire Insane Asylum. He is survived by a
widow, a son, and a daughter, the wife of Chief Justice Doe.

Reutlingen."

The Granite Monthly.

Vol. XIX.

OCTOBER, 1895.

No.

FARMINGTON.

By Mrs. Adelaide Cilley U'aldron.

a I iOri' F-^^'-^^_^j Kri^T is a might}'

good town to
live in," said
one familiar
with many lo-
calities ; and if
he added ' ' es-
pecially for poor folks," he might

have said also with truth that people

of wealth should find Farmington a

pleasant place of

residence.

It is only ten

miles from Lake

Winnipes a u k e e

and three hours

from Boston, a

clean American

town of about

four thousand in-
habitants, and its

community one

that minds its

own business.

But a part of

that business,

accepted without

question, is to be

the kindest and

most quietly help- Henry Wllson.

•

1^^^^^^ t' *

ful people to each other in genuine
material need, of which one can con-
ceive.

From the surrounding heights —
for one may lift up his eyes unto the
hills from every quarter of the town —
the largest of its villages is seen to be
in the hollows and upon the gentle
slopes whence radiate the roads to
"the bay," old Middleton and Wolfe-
borough, the
mighty ledge of
New Durham
ridge, and the
White M o u n-
tains ; one may
go to West Farm-
ington, south-
w^esterly to Con-
cord or south-
easterly to Dover
and Portsmouth
and the Atlantic
ocean, in an easy
drive of thirty or
thirty-five miles,
or he may wheel
five miles to Mil-
ton, on the Con-
way road, whence

26o

FARMINGTON.

Maine, and go to the fine old place

in Lebanon
where 1 e
Bull made a
summer home
which is used
still in warm
weather by

\
I

he can step across the bridge which Picturesque scenery awaits the way-
there connects New Hampshire with farer in highway and byway, and it

has been said by man}- people that
nowhere in the settled parts of the
country can more delightful drives be
found than in Farmington.

One may follow the mile long
course of the famous Pearl sled as it
coasts down North Main or Province
street, past the Edgerly Memorial
park and nian^^ pretty residences, the
Jones factory, the opera house and
town hall, the Nute factory, and the
business blocks, to Central square
and South Main street. Then by
still other business blocks, the ancient
Edgerly and Eastman
houses, the Congrega-
tional church and the
Strafford House oppo-
site, the H. B. Edgerly
house and
factory, the
picturesque
homes of
F. E. Ed-
gerly a n d

Hon

Mrs. Bull
and their
daughter.

Up to the
fifties only
stage roads
kept Farm-
ington in touch with
the world outside, but
the Hon. George E.
Whitehouse, who in
1839 built the canal
and mill which became later the
busy property of the late J. W. Wal-
dron, forwarded the construction of a
railway between Dover and Alton
Bay, which is controlled by the Bos-
ton and Maine railroad company and
has been of great ser\^ice to towns
along the line.

Connection is made at Rochester
with other roads, in the surveying of
which the late Judge Whitehouse
gave the aid of his experienced skill,
and the opening of the Eake Shore
line has added appreciably to avail-
able means of travel.

Dr. Wheatley,

and the high

school, until,

crossing a

bridge, he

ma}' pause

near the old Dame place, and the

mill occupied formerly by the late

W. W. Hayes, and now used for the

Hon. George L. Whitehouse.

FARMING TON.

261

Looking toward
Central Square.

manufacture of
the C o c h e c o
mills fine knit-
ted underwear,
in the chargfe
of C. E.

Drew,

Wallace & Elliott Factories and Wilson House.

View on
North Main Street.

George W'' .
\\^ o o d , w li o
has been for
m any years
the efficient
agent of the

a skilled, popular, and able manager, company, from whose office telegrams
Going on, past the silent city of the may be sent, telephonic ser\'ice being

dead, a charming road leads easterly
to Chestnut hills, and another winds
toward Milton, whence one may
return, seeking pond lilies, through
the odd little neighborhood of " Dog
hollow," and soon arrive again in the
village \iy streets lined with comfort-
able homes.

From Central square one may pass
the landmark known in old times as
the Steamboat Hotel, but for man}-
years the property of James E. Fer-
nald ; the Barker, Small, and Shack-
ford blocks, the bank building, the
M. L. Hayes factory, the J. W. Wal-
dron house, and many other pleasant
residences ; crossing bridges, passing
the stoneyard of the Prides, he may
leave behind him the Fernald lands,
and meet, perhaps, Mr. S. S. Ama-
zeen, who served for an exceptionally
long period as a selectman, and can
tell the valuation of everj- estate to a
dot. Or one may go into the Boston
and Maine railway station to see

obtained at the Wilson House, a
leading hotel.

Other hostelries are kept by men,
but the Central House, now in charge
of ]VIr. Gray, was conducted for a

Soldiers Monument.

262

FAR MING TON.

long time b)^ its owner, Mrs. Mar}-
Welch.

Passing the Waldrou saw-mill and
box factory, which are ser\^ed by both
water and steam as motive power, by
the Free Baptist church, the hand-
some homes of Miss Emily Davis,
Mrs. Adelaide O. Foss, Mr. W. W.
Whitney, Mr. G. B. Johnson, High

the factory^ of Langdon S. Flanders &
Son, where the unique industry of
last making is carried on ; and far
beyond these buildings one may see
dwelling-houses more or less valuable
and attractive.

Eastward from the principal street
lies a thickly settled part of the vil-
lage, which is known familiarly as
"Nebraska," and was
a part of the old Ham
farm " over the brook."
In this direction is the
extensive market gar-
den of J. A. Fletcher,
and high in the out-
skirts of Nebraska is
" Breez}' Brow," the

Old Peari Place.

Sheriff James E- Hayes, and by other
pretty houses, and the big Hayes
factory, one will go through East
Grove street, past the long side of
the Nute factory, by the fine place of
F. E. Mooney, which was the home
of the late Dr. Hammons and Dr. D.
T. Parker, glancing at the Jenness
mills, the Marston machine shop, and

The Waldron Homestead.

farm of Eleazer Pearl, and recently
the home of his younger son, the
late I. E. Pearl, Esq., during a brave
but unavailing strife with death.

Pursuing one's w^ay up North Main
street past one after another of pretty
residences, he would arrive at the
Waldron house which was built in
1812, one much older having been
removed ; and in winter he might
visit the Waldron ponds to see ice
cutting by F. E. Johnson, or to skate

FARMING TON.

263

in the light of the moon, or of torches
and fires, with a merry party of young-
and old.

In places situated like Farmington
there is likely to exist that variety of
climate which is an attribute of a
large extent of country ; but one
endures not unwillingly a few days

also, determine largely the character-
istics of a town, and when the latter
is an offshoot of one of the earliest
settlements in a country, it has a more
than connnon interest for the student
of history, be his horizon wide or nar-
row of circumference.

lyct us therefore remember that the

--^

William T. Hayes. Henry S Davis. Daniel W. Kinnball.

George W. Gray. Wllliann F. Thayer.

of tropic heat in summer, or a similar
period of biting cold in the opposite
season.

The mean temperature is unobjec-
tionable, and no grave damage from
•elementary disturbances has been
known to occur.

Not onlv does situation,

but origin

first white settlers of New Hamp-
shire, of whom we have definite
knowledge, were adventurous sailors
and merchants, many of whom were
of good family, although few were
men of large fortune. Among the
seamen were those whose fathers had
sailed with Drake, Hawkins, Fro-

264

FARMING TON.

bisher, Raleigh, Argal, Somers, or
Cabot, and more than one of the bold
mariners had ploughed the main with

prominent characteristics of the for-
mer were avarice and romance, ener-
getic independence and dauntless-
ness.

They had their own
notions of caste, but
they seem to have
agreed that the ideal
and safe form of gov-
ernment could be only
that in which a ma-
jorit}' of the commun-
ity should establish
laws of popular selec-
tion. In the course
of time families from
the Isles of Shoals
and from the little in-
dependencies of Exe-
ter, Hampton, Ports-
mouth, and Dover, in
pursuit of fresh fields
and increase of wealth,
found their way along
the Cocheco, and the
Mad, Kla, and Wal-
derne or Waldron riv-
ers, armed with grants
and quit-claim deeds,
or with a sturdy de-
termination to clear
land and hold it, no-
lens volcns.

From the district
between Dover and
Laconia were formed
certain towns of
which Rochester w^as
one, as mentioned in
the interesting article
by Mr. Willis Mc-
Dui^e in the June
number of this magazine.

The increase of population made it

Captain John Smith or had fought
with him in the Old World.

After these pioneers there followed difficult to assemble the people from
a few " for conscience sake," but the so large an area, for civic purposes.

FARMINGTON.

265

and the General Court was petitioned
to divide Rochester into three parts.
"The prayer appearini;' reasonable,""
the Northwest Parish was set off and
incorporated into a separate town, on
December i, 179S. the act being
signed by A\' i 1 1 i a ni
Plunier of Epping,
Speaker of the House ;
Amos Shepard, Presi-
dent of the Senate ; John

was held, at the house of vSimon
Dame.

The notification for this meetingr
was made to the freeholders and
inhabitants of Farmington on Feb-
ruary 23, 1799, and signed by Judge

Aaron W i n g a t e who

served as moderator on

March 1 1.

The first selectmen

were Ichabod Hayes,

Hon. John F. Cloutnnan.
E. P. Nute.

John M. Berry.

Israel Hayes.

Langdon S. Flanders.

A. Irving Nute.
Frank E. Edgerly.

J. Oilman, Governor, and Nath.
Parker, Deputy Secretary.

The preamble and act are given in
the opening pages of the first volume
of town records, a book bound in calf
and marked "11 March, 1799," on

which date the first town

meeting

lyieut. Ephraim Kimball, and David
Roberts, and Jonas C. March was
made town clerk.

Among the names of other officers
are Berry, Dame, Davis, Chesley,
Demeritt, Emerson, French, Furber,
Ham, Holmes, Home, Jones, Knight,

Q. O

o o

(P Oj —

T3 a S

FARMING TON.

267

Leighton, Meder, Pearl, Peavey,
Tlioinpson, Varney, Whitehouse,
and others familiar to present resi-
dents, for the homes of the fathers

Settlement of the vicinitj' had been
made long Ijefore the incorporation of
the town, the Furbers, Samnel Jones,
Benjamin Chesley, Paul Demeritt,

are still largely in possession of their and a few more, having located near
descendants in and around the vil- Merrill's Corner, the Leightons on

'"Vc^^

' /■'"i'"^'-vn\- \/,

O,.^. '^^"^'"'i """"

Capt. C. H. Pitman.
John H. Barker.

Jannes Bartlett Edgerly
Judge Jonn Tuttle.

Annasa W. Shackford.
James E. Hayes.

lages which are included in the town-
ship.

The largest number of votes cast at
the first town meeting was 141, and
while the polls numbered only 971 in
the elections of 1895, over a thousand
names have been counted on the
check-list in other years.

the Ten Rod road, Moses Home,
Caleb Varney, and Aaron Wingate
on Chestnut Hill, and Mr. William
Tibbetts of England, who died in
17S8, having erected the first frame
hou.se on the New Durham Ridge
road, near the site of the fine resi-
dence of his descendant, George A.

268

FARMINGTON.

Davis, who inherited the farm thus Roberts, who came from Dover Neck,

made a homestead. Ancient poplar and moved into his new home in 1782,

trees, .still standing like sentinels upon his marriage.

between the Davis and Pearl-Roberts The second frame was erected by

places, were brought there

by Mr. Tibbetts.

' ' One Berry ' ' built a log
house as early as 1770 at

(

v..

Free Baptist Church.

First Congregational
Church.

Jonas C. March, a
native of Ports-
mouth, whose first
wife was Sally
Wingate, a daugh-
ter o: Judge Aaron
Wingate, his sec-
ond wife having
been her sister
Lvdia.

the southern end of the principal Mr. March was a son of Clement

village, and nearly opposite it, in March, who was six and a half feet

1 78 1, the first frame house in the high and of a commanding presence ;

neighborhood was set un for John it is told of him that on occasion of

FARMINGTON.

269

undue disturbance in his house or in
a public place, he would say to one
of his sons, "Nat, take my cane
there." "When the bo}' appeared
with the long and significant stick
upon his shoulder, quiet would ensue
at once, without the speaking of a
word.

The younger March was one of the
first to open a store in town, and it is
said that a certain obnoxious sobri-
quet of the busi-
ness quarter is due
to the calling of
the swamp behind
his store " March's
Dock " bj^ lumber-
m en and team-
sters, as similar
places in his na-
tive town were
known commonl}'
as docks.

Capt. Richard
Waldron, of Do-
ver, of the ''origi-
nal proprietors ' '
of Rochester, by
his will dated

Augu.st 26, 1777, L-

bequeathed to
his sons John,

Joseph, Richard, Samuel, and James,
certain tracts of land, and water priv-
ileges in this direction, and between
propert}' falling later to his grandson,
Jereni}' or Jeremiah (a son of Col.
John Waldron of the Revolution),
and the March place, there lay the
farm held by the original proprietor,
John Ham. Upon this farm rests
the principal village of Farmington,
one beautiful knoll being owned \iy
Mr. Ham's granddaughter, Mrs. M.
A. Bunker, who removed thence a
pleasant old cottage to make way

Miss Ethel Dow.

for her present handsome residence.
Land in the vicinity of the Boston
and Maine railway station, now
owned by Mrs. Laura WHiitehouse
Fernald, was known in the eighteenth
century as the Thomas Ham farm.

Following the March store and
house were built a half- house by
Benjamin Jones ; Eleazer Pearl's
house facing Central street, where
b}^ and by the Odd Fellows will

erect a fine hall ;
and a ho u s e
whose third oc-
cupant was Dr.
Benjamin lyibby,
the first resident
ph3'sician, who
located here in
1800, and mar-
ried Sukey De-
naeritt in 1802.

Upon the site
of the Lemuel
Rand house is the
charming resi-
dence built by the
widely known late
manufacturer, M.

._ , L. Hayes, and

now occupied by
his only child,
Mrs. Arianna Pearl Davis.

The house built in 1800 by John
Wingate, Esq., became later the home
of the late millionaire, Hiram Barker,
and is now the property of his daugh-
ter, Mrs. Charles H. Berry. The
fine establishment of the son of Mr.
Barker is on the east bank of the
Cocheco, and includes one of the best
stables in the state.

Capt. Josiah Edgerly, a .skilled
cabinet-maker from New Durham,
who had married a daughter of Col.
Thomas Tash of the Revolution,.

270

FARMINGTON.

bought a lot of land touching upon
Main street, and built a shop upon it
about the year 1807.

The Hon. Nathaniel Kastman, a
native of Gilmanton, whose wife was
a sister of Gov. lyevi Woodbury, had
bought the March place, and being
about to build a new dwelling-house,
he sold the old building to Mr.
Edgerly ; but when the latter pro-
posed moving it to his own premises
Mr. Eastman could not bear to think
of making a way for it through his
fine garden, nor by felling trees which
he prized, nor by the taking down of
a shed. He tried to rebuy the house,
but Mr. Edgerly declined to sell it.
Choosing the least of three evils, the
squire had the shed taken down and
a successful moving of the larger
building followed.

It had been customary to christen
the frames of new houses, and at the
proper stage in the building of the
beautiful " colonial " mansion of Mr.
Eastman, in 18 13, the poetaster of
the village was called to perform the
ceremony. Alas! he was the worse
for rum ; but he was produced, and
being supported by a brace he
began : —

" As for Nehetniah, he is both lawyer and
squire,
But the moving of his house he did
dread ;
Without due discretion he fell into a
passion,
And swore he would tear down his
shed."

Just then the irate squire appeared
with a green hide whip in his hand,
and the poet found discretion de-
cidedly the better part of valor.
With this summary conclusion of the
performance an absurd custom of the
district came to a timely end.

The northern part of the village
also had its man of affairs in the per-
son of Squire Waldron. He found
his bride. Miss Mary Scott, in
Machias, Maine, whither he was in
the habit of going in the interests of
his large lumber business, and in the
course of his journeys he had admired
various houses of colonial architec-
ture that stood in the towns through
which he passed. Being about to
build a new dwelling house, in 18 12,
it was planned after the fashion of
those most pleasing to him. It has
been the home of five generations of
the name, and is now the property of
S. H. Waldron. Larger than even
the Eastman house, it has eight spa-
cious rooms in the main part, and
contains three brick ovens. Fine
masonry, wainscots, inside shutters,
wide halls and staircases, and the
gambrel roof, are features of both
houses, and the front door of each
boasts a sunburst.

Another fine old homestead is one
inherited by the late Mr. Daniel
Pearl, a short distance out of the vil-
lage, and now owned b}^ his daughter,
Mrs. John S. Roberts, who is the
first woman chosen in Farmington to
serv^e as a member of the town board
of education. Others upon the board
are the Messrs. H. H. Tanner and
Owen Varney.

Farther outside the village are
places more or less ancient, such as
that of Joseph E. Demeritt, who is
one of the most notable Farmington-
ians; those of the Amazeen, Dame,
Hayes, Roberts, Eeighton, Varney,
and Wentworth families ; and there
stands also the birthplace, and until
recently the home, of a very talented,
shrewd, and successful writer known
as Clara Augusta, as Kate Thorn,

FARMINGTON.

271

Hero Strong, and l)y other pseudo- ter of Jeremiah Jones, who died in

nyms, the first name being- her own. the house mentioned, in 187 1, leaving

It is doubtful if an}- .woman contri- a name which was a proverb of integ-

butor to current periodicals has re- rity. He was descended from the

■' -i

4^^4%

rv^^^vi^.^^^

G. A. Jones, 2d.

Levi L. Pinkham.

B. F. Perkins.

J. P. Tibbetts.

A. E. Carter.

W. Dean Allen.

John Perley Bennett.

Albert Endicott Putnam.

E. T. Willson.

Herman O. Mooney.

W. W. Roberts.

John F. Hall.

ceived larger returns for her work famih' of an Earl of Surrey, on the

than has Mrs. Clara Augusta Trask, distaff side. For him was named, in

with the exception of those who own 1812, the first child of Winthrop and

royalties on plays. She is the daugh- Abigail Colbath, but when the son

272

FARMING TON.

approached manhood, and after con- easily spoken Henry Wilson ; as a

sultation with Mr. Jones and other Senator from Massachusetts and a

friends, he changed the cumbersome Vice President of the United States,

"Jeremiah Jones Colbath " to the Mr. Wilson's career is too well known

--^^y/

I^^0V)\P

FARMINGTON.

to need repetition here.

3'ears ago a big boulder

Several
weighing

twelve tons, inscribed suitably, was
placed just below the village, where
once stood the little house in which
the \'ice-President was born, the
memorial being given and set by

ing house on Peavey Hill, and Miss
Nabby Hodgdon would go from seat
to seat and even to the pulpit, in the
excitement of speech, while her re-
marks received emphasis from the
energetic thumping of her cane.
On such an occasion Mr. Colbath

The Waldron Mill.

Underwear Mill.

his life-long friend, the late M. L.
Ha5'es.

The natural ability of Winthrop
Colbath was obscured by a loose
habit of life, but amusing anecdotes
are sometimes mentioned concerning
him by those who remember him.
Certain good women used to be fer-
vent in exhortation in the old mee^

was in the singers' gallery over the
pulpit, when Miss Nabby, standing
below, untied the strings of her bon-
net, and as she glanced hastily around
to see where she might cast the
restraining headgear, Winthrop
leaned forward and seized it, shout-
ing in warm sympathy, " Go it, Nab-
by, I'll hold 3'our bunnit." And

274

FARMINGTON.

Nabb)' ' ' went it ' ' freely and elo-
quently.

In the year of Mr. Wilson's birth
the population of his native town
could have been counted in a few
minutes, and even so late as 1837,
when the late Dr. David T. Parker
entered upon fifty-one years of medi-
cal practice in Farmington, only sev-
enteen dwelling houses stood in the
village and the west side of North
Main street was a field of mullein as
high as the head of a child ten years
old.

But upon the thrift}' homesteads
roundabout were ' ' good old-fashioned
families ' ' numbering from two per-
sons to a score apiece.

In the wealthier as in the poorer
households the manner of life was
simple and unpretentious, and the
principal industr}- up to 1836 was
agriculture. The communitj' pre-
sented marked peculiarities to an
observant eye, and then, as now,
ever}' man, woman, and child, bond
or free, upheld stiffly his or her own
definite opinion concerning current
events and the questions of the hour.

A story which has been told in
many states and of many people orig-
inated in this vicinity. A farmer,
one of the old stock, had a pou}^ that
sickened and died and was buried
decently in his shoes.

A neighbor, passing the place of
his owner, paused and said, "Well,
Uncle lyOve, ye 've lost your pony,
haint yo. ?"

" No — o," replied the old man, in
an inimitable quaint drawl ; " No — o,
I haint lost him. I know right where
he is."

There was for many years an odd
settlement of people just across the
town line, whose history would be

read with incredulity. In a period
of epidemic disease one of the women,
a tall creature of barbaric air, known
as Old Fifty, was engaged by "old
Dr. Parker " to do nursing for w^hich
he promised to pay, should the town
fathers neglect to do so.

The woman married a lad of
twenty years (her daughter having
married his father), and went to Con-
cord, in 1862, where her husband was
in camp, and about to go to the seat
of war.

Dr. Parker chanced to be in the
city, and was passing along Main
street at an hour when everybody
was out, when he was astounded to
hear a familiar voice crying ' ' Dave,
Dave, where 's that five dollars j^ou
promised me ? ' '

People who remember him can
fancy the grim humor with which he
told the story.

But the stout old doctor no longer
lifts his bearded chin in disgust at
h3^sterics, nor goes in silence from the
side of one whom he cannot help ; his
keen eyes no longer soften with pleas-
ure as he sees one walk a step, whom
he has pulled through a fever, nor
does he hypnotize a bleeding wound
or a broken bone, as he used to do,
going hither and yon, driving his
tough and plucky Morgan horses.

These reminiscences would hardly
be complete without a word concern-
ing Mrs. Parker, whose medical skill
on occasion was only less than that
of her husband and son, whose calm
face and tranquil manner carried
confidence to suffering women, and
whose heart of tender maternity gave
rea.son enough wh}' the whole com-
munity called her " Mother Parker."

People of Farmington live to an
advanced age ;^ the late Hon. J. B.

FAKMING TON.

275

Edgerly was eighty-eight years old at second house of worship was placed
the time of his death ; John Barker, on Peavey hill, nearer the present
Benjamin Wingate, Robert Grace, business section, and in 1844 a Con-
Jonathan Fern aid, and ^^^^■HMMl gregational church build-
several women, lived to ^^^^^^^^^^^ ing was dedicated, which
be long past the age of ^^^m ^k had been erected in Cen-

lourscore and ten years,

tral street on land given

H. L. Gate.
S. S. Parker, Esq

George W. Fernald.

Isaac E. Pearl, Esq.

J. F. Safford.

Frank E. Mooney.
James E. Fernald.
Dr. Albert W. Garland.

Harry C. Waldron.
Hon. George N. Eastman.

and Miles Scruton lived to
be one hundred and one
vears old.

The first meeting-

John S. Parker, M. D.

Dwight E. Edgerly.
Capt. W. S. Edgerly.

Dr. H. P. Wheatley.

in trust by the late Hon.
G. Iv. Whitehouse, to be
held by the parish so long
as used for such a purpose,
house in Farmington stood in the Upon the outgrowing of this struc-
Roberts district south of the village, ture a large church was built, in

hill," but the 1870, in Main street, which, in 1875,

' ' Meeting-house

2/6

FARMINGTON.

'mm

'-T

-s^^

Opera House.

"First church" of the
CongregationaHsts, this
too has been favored with
excellent pastors, among
whom have been the late
Rev. Thomas S p o o n e r ;
the Rev. G. Iv. White,
now of New Hampton,
who has an exceptionally
fine literary sense ; and
the Rev. C. A. Eickford,
D. D., the very able editor
of the denominational or-

was destroyed by fire, and was fol-
lowed by a picturesque brick building
in whose tower is the town clock.

The First Congregational church
was organized, in 1819, under the
pastoral care of the Rev. James
Walker, wnth a membership of eight
other persons. Among the thirteen
good men who have ministered to the
parish have been several especially
notable, and the longest pastorates
have been those of the first incum-
bent, and of the Revs. D. D. Tappan,
D. D., and Walter E. Darling of
blessed memory, and of the Rev.
Roger M. Sargent, who now resides
with his son, the Rev. Clarence S.
Sargent, of the Central Congrega-
tional church in St. lyouis, Mo. The
Rev. S. H. Goodwin was called to
the church in 1893, and preaches ser-
mons which are marked by original
thought, and of classic simplicity and
force.

The first Free Baptist church was
organized in 1854 under the pastoral
care of the Rev. Dexter Waterman,
whose successors number ten, the
present efficient minister being the
Rev. J. S. Harrington. Like the

Residence of S. H. Buzzell.

gan, the Morning Star, published
in Boston, while others, in both de-
nominations, have been equally earn-
est and beloved in their parishes, and
valued as towns-people.

The Adventists have enjoyed dur-
ing the past year the ministrations of
the resident pastor, the Rev. Albert
Iv. Hill, a young man "of excellent
parts."

There was in early days a Quaker
meeting-house, but the number of
Friends is too small at present to call
for a renewal of accommodation for
ser\'ices.

The first schoolhouse was built in
1791, at Merrill's Corner, and where
no other place was available for the
holding of schools, a room in a pri-
vate house served for the purpose.

From the papers of the late " Squire

FARMING TON.

277

Eastman," which were presen-ed by
his son, the late Hon. G. N. East-
man, is selected a yellow sheet dated
August 12, 1826, which says: —

" We agree that we will contribute
towards the support of a school to be
taught b}^ Miss Moody of Sanborn-
ton, in the schoolhouse near Jeremiah
Dame's, in said Farmington, and
commenced as soon as may be, for a
length of time not exceeding twelve
weeks, our equal proportion accord-
ing to the number set against our
several names ; only it is to be under-
stood that the expense of said school
shall not exceed nine pence per week
for each scholar.

Nehemiah Eastman, three.

Ebenezer Wentworth, one.

John Wingate, Jun., two.

Paul Peavey, one.

Jeremiah Dame, two.

Thomas Plumer, one.

Jeremiah Waldron, one.
Eliza Warren, one.
Richard Leighton, two.
Sarah Walker.
Hannah Hayes."

From primitive benches to those of
the last lustrum of the century is a
far en,-. The present Farmington
high school is housed in a substan-
tial and well furnished brick struc-
ture, and fitting buildings have been
provided for other grades, while the
corps of instructors is able and expe-
rienced. The principal of the high-
est grade is Mr. Albert B. Allen, and
diplomas admit their possessors to
colleges.

Mr. H. C. Waldron, a graduate
from Amherst college and the law
school of Boston Universit}', who was
chairman of the board of education
of the high school district, of which
he had been for six years a member,
removed in September to West-
borough, ]\Iass., whither he was
called to be principal of the
high school and superintendent
of schools. His native town
is deprived thus of a cul-

Joseph Hammons,
two.

Eleazer Rand, one.

Simon Dame, one,
and one conditionally.

Isaac Roberts, two.

William Knight, I
agree to send three.

High School.

278

FAR MING TON.

tured and most useful citizen. Re-
maining members of the board are
Dr. Albert Garland and the Rev.
J. S. Harrington with Dr. J. C.
Parker, appointed recently.

From local desks and platforms
have gone many others to do educa-
tional work in divers w^ays and in
different towns. Of these have been,
in the pulpit, the Revs. W. H. Wal-
dron, C. D- Pinkham, Ephraim
Ricker, J. E. Dame, D. D., and the
son of a Congregational pastor already
named; in schools are Edward J.
Goodwin of Newton, Superintendent
Charles E. Hussey of Wakefield and
Reading, Charles G. Ham of Water-
town, A. E. Tuttle of New Bedford,
in Massachusetts; Prof. H. B. Knox
of Providence, and Principal F. W.
Doring of Woonsocket, in Rhode
Island ; Henry C. Fall, the well
known entomologist of Pomona, Cali-
fornia ; in other professions are Dr.
H. R. Parker of Dover, the Rev.
C. E. Harrington, D. D., recently of
Keene ; I. E. Pearl, Esq., formerly
of Mrs. Ouincy Shaw's schools in
Boston, and still others remembered
with affection by pupils and other
associates.

Captain W. S. Edgerly of the
famous Seventh Cavalry, U. S. A.,
a man of imposing presence and
known as an exceptionally cool officer
under fire, has been ordered recently
to duty as instructor in military
science in the Maine State College at
Orono. Captain Edgerly is a native
of Farmington and the youngest son
of the late Hon. Josiah B. Edgerl}- ;
he has seen inuch arduous service,
having been on the frontier ever since
his graduation from West Point in
1870.

While many bright young women

of Farmington have done admirable
work as teachers, bookkeepers, sten-
ographers, or in trade, a few have
given attention to special lines of
labor in study or education. Among
these are Mrs. F. L. Patch, class of
'96 in the medical .school of Tufts
college ; Miss Addie Gray, in train-
ing as a nurse; Miss Winifred H.
Berry, who has devoted herself to
primary school teaching and has a
genius for portraiture ; Miss Ethel
Dow, a graduate from the Eowell,
Mass., Kindergarten training .school,
and Miss M. K. Hanson of the Emer-
son College of Oratory, Miss Char-
lotte R. Davis, a well known con-
tralto singer, with Mrs. I. E. Pearl
and Mrs. Frank Pearl of the same
profession, are resident in town, while
the pipe organ of the Free Baptist
church is plaj^ed by Miss Eva Browne.

The first registered female pharma-
cist in New Hampshire was Miss
Emma L. Parker of Farmington, now
the wife of Dr. W. P. Blake of
Springfield, Mass.; a resident of the
same cit}' is Mrs. Willard, who as
Miss Small of this town received fine
training as a professional reader from
a teacher who has given instruction
to also Mrs. Ida M. Knox of this vil-
lage.

And the town boasts a big grist-
mill conducted with thorough success
by Mrs. Sarah Roberts, the business
having been established by her hus-
band, the late Herman W. Roberts.

On January i, 1891, a public
library and reading room were opened
by an association, former circulating
libraries having given way to time
and circumstances. The first presi-
dent was Isaac E. Pearl, Esq., who
remained in ofhce until his health
and necessary absence from town

FARMING TON.

279

'>'-.

**»^

Hon. Alonzo Nute.

caused his resignation, when S. vS.
Parker, a leading lawyer, was chosen
as his successor.

About two thousand volumes are
thus in constant and free circula-
tion, and many periodicals are read,
under the care of Mr. and Mrs.
H. S. Davis as librarians.

A large number of papers and
magazines are obtained through
the post-office, and at the
news-stand of Roberts and

Peavey in the Hanson block. As
is natural, no newspaper is in greater
local demand than is the Farming-
ton Ah^'a's, the clean sheet whose
first issue was made on March 14,
1879, by the firm of J. K- Fernald
& Son. The Nczcs has a circulation
excellent in quality as well as quan-
tit}', in not only its immediate vicin-
ity, but in many states and in several
foreign countries where former towns-
people, or friends who wish to keep
informed of the common welfare,
have residence. The managing edi-
tor is Mr. H. L. Cate, formerly of a
Rochester paper, whose experience
and excellent literar}*, as well as
practical, sense are shown to be of
sterling worth in both the Neu's and
the large business of the printing-
house whence the paper is published ;
the latter is in the Fernald block
mentioned as the Steamboat Hotel.
The establishment of a purely local

Residence of
Mrs. A. P. Davis.

Residence of
Mrs. M. A. Bunker.

Residence of tiie late" Alonzo Nute.
Residence of H. F. Barker.

2 So

FARMINGTON.

Oid " Steamboat Hotel," now J. E. Fernald's Store and Printing-house

weekly paper was made by Mr. Fer-
nald, partly in view of the talent of
his only son, which promised success
in the editing of the sheet. Mr.
George W. Fernald was a skilful
civil engineer, having been trained
with care by his grandfather. Judge
Whitehouse, and was a member of
the party led by the late Prof. K. T.
Quimby, commissioned to represent
New Hampshire in the determination
of the boundary- between the com-
monwealth and Massachusetts.

After the lamented decease of the
younger man, Mr. J. E. Fernald con-
tinued the publication of the Nm's,,
on lines known to have been consid-
ered by his son. The recent decease
of Mr. Fernald, who was a most ex-
cellent town officer and citizen, leaves
the property in the hands of Mrs.
Fernald, from whom it receives a
warm personal interest.

Farmington is hardly a literar}^
town, but it is considerate of talent
which ma}' be regarded as its posses-
sion, in any form.

Mrs. L. H. Wentworth publishes
pleasant occasional letters of travel,
and others contribute verse, or letters

- upon topics of the day,
to the press, while very
charming letters are found
in private correspondence.
The writer, Virginia C.
Hollis, known to many
appreciative readers, lived
formerly in Farmington.

There are many talented
amateurs in the pursuit of
art, but excellent profes-
sional work is done by
Mrs. A. B. Allen, teacher
of music and drawing in
the schools ; by Miss Ma-
rion Waldron in oils, pen-
cil, and pen and ink; Mrs. A. P.
Davis in water color, and Mrs.
Safford ( M. A. S. ) in oils and
in crayon portraiture. The latter
three named are natives of the
town. Mrs. O. W. Price, now of
Manchester, a successful artist and
designer, removed from Farmington
not long ago. In Mrs. Safford's
studios in Rochester and Farmington
are some charming .sketches made in
the vicinity of North Conway where
she has spent a part of several sea-
sons, with her former master, Mr.
Champney, and man>' other beautiful
paintings are seen from time to time.
Among notable lawyers who have
been of Farmington are the late Hons.
Nehemiah Eastman and George N.
Eastman ; the lamented Col. Eouis
Bell, E. F. Cloutman, Mr. Weeks of
Ossipee, E. H. Shannon, G. E.
Cochrane, Frank Emerson, Charles
Eeighton of Lynn, Mass., A. H.
Wiggin, I. E. Pearl, H. C. Waldron,
and S. S. Parker, who is a member
of the board of trvistees under pro-
visions of the Barker will. Others of
the board, in the celebrated case, are
James B. Edgerly, C. W. Talpey,

FARMING TON.

281

I"". T. W'illson, J. F. Cloutman, and
Dr. H. R. Parker of Dover.

Since the time of Dr. lyibby, iSoo-
18 16, the communit}' has received med-
ical care from the late Rufu.s K. Pearl,
senior, D. T. Parker and his son, A. M.
Winn, O. B. Hanson, N. A. Hersom,
and Rufus B. P'oss ; and of those still
living are the Drs. \V. H. Nute of
Exeter, Warren P. Blake of Spring-
field, Mass.. and the present practi-
tioners, Joiiu V. inkins [died Sep-
tember 7, 1895], his brother, J. S.
Elkins, Pre.ston B. and John Young,
the latter brother being now in Eu-
rope, John S. Parker and his elder
son, all of the allopathic .school;
and Dr. H. P. Wheatley, who was
trained in both the allopathic and
homeopathic methods but practises
largelv in the latter. Dr. Wheatlev
and Dr. J. vS. Parker are presented as
standing for the two schools, the lat-
ter gentleman representing also the
work of his late brother, David T.
Parker, in a half century of practice
in Farmington. [A sketch of the
deceased Dr. Parker was given in the
Granite Moxthlv for Jan., 18S3.]

Formerl}' of the town but in prac-
tice elsewhere since their
graduation are the two
Yorks, G. H. Gray, E. P.
Huntress, and Daniel P.
Cilley, who was a native
of Bo.ston and practises in
his own state.

The medical profession
seems to be a real voca-
tion with many of the local
members of it, several pairs
of brothers, and two in-
stances of the association
of father and son, being
counted among them.

The father of the broth-

ers lilkins also was a physician, and
the Rev. Clement Parker, second pas-
tor of the First church, was the
father of the elder Parkers.

The lamented Dr. D. W. Edgerly,
of the U.S. pension department, prac-
tised dentistry former!}^ in Farming-
ton, and the resident dentLst is Dr.
Albert Garland of the board of edu-
cation.

Before and during the AVar of the
Rebellion a state bank was in active
business in the strong brick building
which is used still for similar pur-
poses, and the cashier or treasurer
was the Hon. John D. Eyman, now
of Exeter. In 1S68 the Farmington
Savings Bank was chartered, with
the late Hon. G. M. Herring as pres-
ident and Thomas Farrington Cooke
as treasurer, who remained in office
to the time of their decease. The
positions named are now occupied by
the Hons. John F. Cloutman and
Charles W. Talpey. In common with
other worth}' institutions this bank
suffered from the extreme financial de-
pression of the past two years, but it
is recovering its earlier prosperous con-
dition and is managed with great care.

Roberts & Peavey's Drug Store.

FARMINGTON.

283

The first Farmington National
Bank \vas organized in 1872 ; its
president is John H. Barker and the
cashier is James B. Edgerh'. The
bank is conducted with distinguished
excellence and is of great convenience
to the communit}'.

The greater part of the village is
well supplied with gas and water, but
with the increase of the number of
buildings subsequent to the comple-
tion of the reservoir between Main
and Province streets, there is a need
of still more elaborate water works.
A pumping station near the fine ' ' cold
spring," owed largely to the insistent
public spirit of the late Hon. Alonzo
Nute, prevents an}' danger of a dry
reservoir. H3-drants are many, and
the fire organizations are marvels of
excellence. The chief engineer, W.
F. Thayer, has been in office for the
past ten years, and is an efftcient
superintendent of the service.

Transfer sen'ice is given Ijv the
coach lines of T. E. Breen and of
Izah A. Home, who carries the U.
S. mail between Postmaster E. E.
Carlton and the railwa}*, and several
short routes are served by teams from
the local stables or by residents of the
suburbs.

Of fraternal organizations there are
many : the Free Masons number 121 ;
Woodbine lodge of Odd Fellows has a
membership of 202, and to Mad River
encampment belong 104, while the
Minnehaha Rebekah lodge has a very
large following.

There are 181 Knights of Pythias
and 72 Red Men, and others of the
beneficent bodies have a more or less
extensive membership.

The grange movement has been a
favorite in the vicinity and is believed
to be of definite advantage to the

community and the state. The local
.society was named for Vice-President
Henry Wilson.

The Wilson Guards, being Com-
pany P", Second regiment, N. H. N. G.,
first w^ent into camp at Concord com-
manded by the late Jo.seph Bradbury
Cille3% at whose decease, in 1886,
resultant largely from exposure while
on dut}', the captainc}^ devolved upon
Eieut. E. W. Emerson. To the latter
succeeded Charles H. Pitman who
resigned in the past 3'ear, after a long
term of interested and faithful service,
and the company made camp in 1895
under his successor, Capt. Herman J.
Pike.

Eouis Bell camp of Sons of Vet-
erans Avas disbanded after the death
of Captain Cilley and the removal
from town of his succes.sor. Dr. Hun-
tress, to Wolfeborough.

Carlton post of the G. A. R. num-
bers only fort3^-two men, for with
ever}' year new graves are made and
new flags are set to mark them by the
sun-iving comrades of the deceased
veterans of the Civil War. The post,
in excellent condition and command-
ed by Charles M. Armstrong, was
organized May 24, 1882, one formed
soon after the close of the war having
been disbanded.

Farmington records show^ 232 men
to have responded to the call of the
government to defend the star-
spangled banner, among whom were
Capt. Ralph Carlton, killed Julv 17,
1862, for whom the local post of the
G. A. R. was named ; Capts. A. W.
Hayes and G. H. Richardson, after-
ward of Rochester; Capts. G. B.
Johnson and G. H. Smith ; Col. Louis
Bell, killed Januar}' 15, 1865, who w^as
practising law in the town at the open-
ing of the war, and the Rev. Daniel

>84

FARMING TON.

Plumer Cilley who sen-ed as chap-
lain from 1 86 1 until mustered out in
1865. As the Northwest Parish was
a part of Rochester durino^ the war of
the Revolution, Farmington may not
claim the patriots accredited to the
parent town, but in the lesser wars of
the nineteenth century were C. B.
Roberts, Timothy Davis, J. G. Wat-
son, G. L. Whitehouse, and Asa and
Jeremiah Willey, whose graves are
honored by the G. A. R. and other
citizens, on Memorial day.

Upon the raising of funds, largel}'
through the efforts of the Women's
Relief Corps, for the purchase of a sol-
diers' monument, Mr. James Bartlett
Pxlgerh', a descendant of Cols.
Thomas Tash and John Waldron of
the Revolution, and a member of the
G. A. R., presented to the town one
of the most valuable lots in the vil-
lage, as a site for the memorial shaft.
A beautiful flag, given to Carlton post
by its generous auxiliary, flies from
the pole set just north of the hand-
some monument, on occasions of
national interest and upon the de-
cease of comrades, and a convenient
stand has been built around the flag-

'• '*•" # -Wri^f^^Jtiiy^

t %>

White Store of D. E. Edeerly.

.staff, to be of service to the Carlton
band and to speakers, whenever it is
needed.

The fine figure surmounting the
monument was modeled from a
brother of vSeth Low, the president of
Columbia College in New^ York, and
faces .southward, as did the .soldiers
of the Granite State in 1861.

In view of the immense amount of
good accomplished in work auxiliary
to church and state and to the frater-
nal societies, special mention in terms
of unqualified praise is due to the
.several organizations of F'armington
women ; and while it would be a
pleasure to .speak of every individual
member thus helpful in the w^elfare of
the community, .space can be allowed
for reference to onl}- Mrs. L. H.
Palmer, Mrs. L. A. Small, Mrs.
Knox, and Mrs. Thayer, of lodges,
and to Mrs. C. W. Talpey, Mrs. J.
F. Cloutman, Mrs. A. W. Shackford,
Mrs. E. F. Eastman, and Mrs. Eaura
A. Fernald, of the W. C. T. U. and
.societies auxiliar}- to religious bodies.
Extravagance never has been ap-
parent in the dwellings of the town,
but a certain degree of comfort and
delicate living is the rule
in nearly all of them, and
there are few marks of
destitution. When busi-
ness was at the flood, as
undoubtedly it will be
again, it was common to
hear from travelling men,
in journeys here or there,
such words as these :

" Farmington is the live-
^^^ best and most thrifty little

IlHI town on my route ; ever>'
y jB man owns his home, and
. aa^ almost every man drives
a decent horse."

1 m

FARMING TON,

28-

Aiid the tale was true.

Fortunateh' not all car-
riages call for the tax of
two dollars demanded of
"Squire Eastman" in 18 14.

" Certificate of a Carriage
chargeable with the yearly
rate of two dollars. No. 72.

"This is to certify, that
Nehemiah Kastman of
Farmington in the Count}'
of Strafford, in the Second
collection district of New-
Hampshire, has paid the
duty of two dollars, for the
year ending the 31st da}* of Decem-
ber next for and upon a two wheel
carriage for the conveyance of per-
sons, hanging on Wooden Springs
called a Chaise owned b}^ said East-
man.

'' This certificate to be of no avail
any longer than the aforesaid car-
riage shall be owned by the said
Eastman unless said certificate shall
be produced to the Collector b}'
whom it was granted, and an entry
be made thereon, specifj'ing the name
of the then owner of said carriage,
and the time when he or she become
possessed thereof. Given in con-
formit}- with an act of the Congress
of the United States, passed on the
24th day of July, 1813.

" Hatevil Knight,
"Collector of the Revenue for the

Second Collection District of New-
Hampshire.

" Rochester third daj" of March
1814."

The spacious opera house was
opened in 1881 w'ith Sol Smith Rus-
sell as the great attraction, and its
walls have echoed to the notes of
many famous people, among whom
have been Mr. Blaisdell, Camilla

Eastman House — Built in 1813.

Ilrso, Walter Emerson, Emil Eieb-
ling, Miss Hall, the Fiske Jubilee
singers, and excellent orchestras
secured b_v the fire compan}- and the
hook and ladder company for the
annual balls, the latest of the latter
given by ' ' Hercules i ' ' having been
its thirty-sixth.

Mr. Tompkins brought hither the
leading people of his Boston theatre
in a presentation of "The World,"
and the late lovely old Mrs. Vincent
of the Museum came to pla}^ with her
associates in the Cause Celebre, while
the minor work of the stage, seen in
town, is hardly to be reckoned.

Distinguished men and women
have given lectures and speeches in
the opera house, and local talent has
been appreciated by large audiences
in the same hall. Recent need of
unusual economy has caused similar
assemblies to be less frequent than in
days when Farmington was a sure
resource of advance agents, but no
one seems to mind being without
them.

In days long gone by a red build-
ing on legs, in Main street, like a
barn in its space unbroken from floor
to roof, was the scene of earh' efforts

286

FARMINGTON.

to entertain the people, and of town Guards, and there were held many
meetings. It was incorporated in the fairs and "levees," and neighbor-

old shoe factory operated hy Mr.
Cloutman, was sold later to D. K.
Edgerly, and destroj'ed by fire. In
its place stands a new ' ' white store ' '
completed recently by Mr. Edgerly

hood dances of a sort which none
need condemn.

To-da}' well built blocks accommo-
date merchants, and large factories
are provided with modern machinery.

.\'S/

>uk-

Mrs. W. F, Thayer.
Mrs. M. A. Safford.

Mrs. L. A. Small.
Mrs. Ida M. Knox.

Winnlfred H. Berry,
Mrs. L. H, Wentworth,

goods

busi-

and used for his dry
ness.

Between the time of the old struc-
ture and the completion of suitable
rooms in the opera house building,
town meetings were held in the hall
in the Barker block, which is now
used as an armor}' b}' the Wilson

The Barker block contains the
store of the expert and reliable jewel-
ers, J. F. vSafford & Son, the former
being a trained and careful optician ;
he was the chairman of the Farming-
ton delegation to the legislature of
1895, and a veteran of the Civil War.
Others of the representatives of the

FARMINGTON.

287

town in the general court of the year
areW. E. Herring and J. \\. Seavey.
In the same block are the store of
J. P. Bennett, the legging manufac-
tory of Bennett & Drew, the Farwell
market, and the Parker lawof^ce, the
post-ofB.ce, clubrooms, and the Arm-
ory.

In the Talpey-Willson block are
insurance offices, the big grocery and
crockery store of the Hon. li. T.
Willson, and a tenement house.

The J. F. Hall building contains
the Hall grocery-, and offices of Dr.
X. P. Wheatley and Dr. Albert Gar-
land, and south of the block is one in
which are the stores of L. I^. Pink-
ham, dealer in shoes ; of Thayer &
Fletcher, who do a large business in
stoves and other hardware, and of the
Ferrettis, who sell fruits and candies.

In the Bueldoc block are the Par-
ker pharmac}', a fruit stand kept by
the Rumazzas, and the hall of the
G. A. R., with other apartments.

The Buzzell block is used by the
Smith tonsorial work.

The large Hanson block is used by
the Perkins market, the stores of
H. S. Davis, \V. D. Allen, S. A.
Leavitt, and the pharmacy of Roberts
& Peave3% who carr}' an immense
stock of drugs, paints, oils, wall
paper, stationery, and fancy goods,
and conduct the news-stand where
the Graxite Monthly is on sale.
In the same block are tenements,
medical and law offices, and the
rooms of Mrs. E. H. York, who is a
successful business woman, as are
also Mrs. Small and Mi.ss M. A.
Waldron in blocks called by their
names.

The pharmacy of \V. J. livaus is
in the Star store, which was formerly
owned by the late Dr. Parker, and

the wood and coal yards of F. E.
Mooney are on the same estate.

In Main street, also, are the Nut-
ter, Wingate, and Wedgwood build-
ings, the furniture l)usine.ss of H. O.
Mooney with whom Mr. Carter for-
merly of Concord was for several
years associated, J. H. Barker's store
in his block, and the Fernald build-
ing which faces Central street, in the
latter thoroughfare being the bank,
the grocer^-- of Marcus Small, and
halls used by lodges, with Mrs. L. A.
Small's rooms in her large block, the
dry goods business of E. D. Roberts,
the shoe store of A. E. Putnam, the
bakery, " Shackford's," and other
buildings previously mentioned, with
the Wedgwood and McGibbon ton-
sorial rooms. Carriages are made
and repaired b}^ J. P. Tibbetts and
B. F. Perkins, both of whom are also
undertakers.

Stables and blacksmiths, the coal
and wood business of Preston Pearl,
and the trucking of Frank Haj-nes
and V . O. Nutter, with the many
other occupations incident to village
and farm progress, are in active bus-
iness and operation, and one may
build and decorate a new house or
store with the aid of Frank Copp,
Simon Knox, Eben Frj-e, S. S. Clout-
man, the Fosses, E. J. Avery, Frank
Eeighton, the Gilmans, or the Pearls.

Like other towns, Farmington svif-
fers from the fallibilities of human
nature, and resorts sometimes to the
legal authorities. High Sheriff Hayes,
and Judge John Tuttle, who has been
on the bench for nineteen ^^ears, an
associate justice having been ap-
pointed recently ; and to the officers
Einscott and Pinkham.

Thus, and in other ways, the com-
munity earns a living.

288

FARMING TON.

But it is as the pioneer town of Mr. Hayes had a most worthy fel-
New Hampshire in shoe manufactur- low laborer in the person of the late

ing that Farmington is most widely
known.

Of men at the head of shoe facto-
ries in the village in years long past,
onl)^ Israel Hayes and John F. Clout-
man remain, and to their recollection
is due much of that which it is possi-
ble to say concerning the beginnings
of an industry which has added
largely to the valuation of the pleas-
ant town.

E. H. Badger came to Farmington

' The Turn " on the Cocheco River.

in 1836, to engage in what was called
Natick sale work, the Massachusetts
town in which Henr}- Wilson made
his home having been the centre of
such manufacture. But Mr. Badger
was not successful, and he gave way
to Martin ly. Hayes, a native of the
town, who w^as ready to undertake
the business. He was eminently
successful in the enterprise, and ad-
vanced not only thus the welfare of
the town, but encouraged increase in
its beauty, making of himself a capa-
ble "village improvement society"
whose example is needed in even the
present hour.

Hon. G. M. Herring, who came from
Massachusetts to embark in a similar
venture, and was enthusiastic in the
promotion of every good cause, work-
ing not only for the material but for
the mental and moral growth of the
community.

Following these were the Roberts
brothers, Israel Hayes, Luther Went-
worth, Hosea B. Edgerly, N. T.
Kimball, William John.son, John E.
Platts, John H. Hurd, the Jones
, brothers, C. W. Thurston,
E. C. Kinnear, John M.
,/. ". . , Berry, John F. Cloutman,
.•'''".-, and Alonzo and Jeremy
^■:- O. Nute, and C. W. Nute.

, , : The great H. B. Edg-
erly factor}^ has been op-
erated successfully for
many years and is now the
property of F. E. Edgerly,
the only son, and the effi-
cient partner of its late
owner, the original pro-
prietor.

The Berry factory is in
constant operation, and the
brick buildings erected in Central
street by Mr. Cloutman having been
sold by him to Wallace and Elliott,
his work is carried on in the great
Nute factories in Main street, which
accommodate both Mr. Cloutman and
the Nute firm.

The M. E. Hayes building in Cen-
tral street has been occupied of late
years by Mr. J. R. Ha^^es and by the
heel business of J. E. Hayes & Son,
other heel work being done by the
representatives of the late Stephen
Nutter, in upper Central street.

It is regretted that death and finan-
cial changes outside of Farmington

FARMING TON.

2S9

have caused the Haj^es factory in
Grove street and the Jones factory to
be at present idle, but such well-
j)laced and well-equipped buildings
should attract reliable industries and
the men who need room, motive
power, and skilled and intelligent
labor.

Alonzo and Jeremy Nute opened
their factor}^ in 1S49, the former alone
conducting the business from 1857 to
1875, after which his sons, Eugene P.
and A. Ir\-ing Xute, became his part-
ners. The building previouslj' in
use was destroyed by fire
in 1874, but Mr. Xute's
indomitable energy caused
a brick factory to be com-
pleted so far as to admit
the company of men and
women who always found
him a genial and consid-
erate employer, in the in-
credibly short time of
twenty daj-s, in .spite of
frosty weather. The main
building is 32x185 feet
for two stories, with two
stories above, 32x1 10 feet;
a wooden extension is 36X
90 feet and has two wings each of
which measures 30x36 feet.

The recent general depression in
business, and the decease of men for
whom the factory did a large amount
of work, preceding the death of Mr.
Xute, caused a lessening of the cus-
tomar}- output, but the machinery
has been kept in operation and means
for a stead}' increase of the monthly
shipment are in immediate, if not
alread}' completed, consideration.

In the natural friction of strangers
and unfamiliar methods of work there
will be occasional disaffection, but
strikes are infrequent in Farmington,

persons emplo^-ed by fellow townsmen
being generally as desirous as are the
superintendents to send out good
work, and they have at heart as a
common interest the w^elfare of the
village which is their home.

In days of old a great deal of shoe
work was done by women, in private
houses, and nearly all the surround-
ing farms held a little " shop " where
men were diligent in labor when not
needed in the cultivation of their
land. Bvit at present ever}' depart-
ment of the manufacturing is hou.sed

Residence of Jared P. Tibbetts.

in the great factories built for the
purpose, and, save for a very little
hand work, the many processes re-
quired in the making of shoes are
done by marvels of invention in intri-
cate machinery.

In the producing of the many thou-
sands of cases worth several millions
of dollars, such as are the usual
annual shipment from Farmington,
more than a thousand persons have
found employment, and their pay-roll
has amounted to more than a half
million of dollars.

The first wax-thread sewing-
machine used in Xew Hampshire

290

FARMING TON.

was brought to Farmington by the
Hon. J. F. Cloutman, who began the
manufacture of shoes in 1854, and
has been a favorite employer of an
army of people.

The political opinions held in town
are as man}- as there are citizens ;
sometimes the majority of votes is on
the Democratic side, and again it
weighs down the Republican side.
The latest elections have been em-
phaticall}' Republican.

Dr. Joseph Hammons, the Hon.
Nehemiah Eastman, and the Hon.
Alonzo Nute have been members of
Congress from this district, and minor
offices have been filled by many good
townsmen, mention of whom b}' name
is forbidden bv the limitations of a

magaznie.

The amenities of social life have
not been forgotten ; one ma}' recall
charming teas, little parties, excur-
sions to Pok o' Moonshine, "over
the lake," or in picnic trim to the
Bunker or Waldron woods.

vSpelling and singing schools used
to be common, but nowadays musi-
cians assemble at the Weirs, on occa-
sion ; sleighrides and coasting have
been rather popular in '95, and cot-
tage parties on the shores of Dake
Winnipesaukee are innumerable.

In old times a lively Fourth of July

celebration was not disdained, and in
the autumn Deacon Herring would
give an occasional lecture upon the
starry heavens. When Senator Wil-
son w^as in town a little talk on poli-
tics was in order, and once in a while
there was a clever discussion of some
question, in lyceum fashion.

The old-school courtliness and
suavity, the bright ebullition of wit,
the play of humor, the friendly debate,
and the cheerful "golden go.ssip "
which were features of the gracious
hospitalities of the Eastmans, the
Edgerlys, the Barkers, the Nutes, the
Eymans, the Fernalds, and of their
fellows, with the meetings among the
clergymen, may not be seen again
just as in the past, for every house-
hold of the elders of the village has
been broken in upon bv death.

Yet let none think that the town
builded and nourished Avitli love and
care and with an honest eye to the
future, is any sort of what is known
as " a back number."

F'armington is as read}' to hustle
and do a town's duty in the world as
it ever has been, and in the years to
come as in those which are past it will
make — not simply get — its honorable
and generous living, good old home
of the fathers that it is, a human,
typical American town.

Henry Wilson Boulder.

IN A CURIOUS TWIST.

By Edward A . 'Jenks.

In a curious twist of the grass-grown road,

Just ovei beyond the spruces,
Lies a moss-embroidered watering-trough,

Brimful of the limpid juices
Distilled from the heart of the hill above

By the gnomes that toil thereunder :
I can hear the rush of their elfin feet,

And their echo-gnome-ic thunder.

This watering-trough is the quaintest thing !

'T was car\'ed with an axe or hatchet
In the crudest wa3^ with the rudest blows —

I doubt if the world can match it.
The tooth of time, or the axe, has made

A notch in the farther corner.
Where many a barefoot girl has drank.

And many a Jacky Horner. i

The dear old log is a twisted thing-;—

But it holds the sweetest water
That ever was drank by beast or bird,

Or quaffed by son or daughter :
And yesterday-, after forty years,

I searched until I found it —
A doubtful chance, for the grasses' arms

Were lovingly clasped around it.

A face looked up from the mimic sea —

Alas ! 't was not the old one !
But the j^ellow frog at the farther end

Was the verj^ same old bold one —
A pop-eyed fiend — who never winked

When I bent to quaff the nectar :
If it was n't that same old " crazj' quilt,"

It must have been his spectre.

And Nell, O Nell, do you mind the da}'
You knelt down close beside me —

I never shall forget it, sweet.
Whatever may betide me —

292 THE TWO PATHS.

And we bent above this tell-tale cup,

Reflecting untold blisses,
Where we saw two faces looking up,

And kisses chasing kisses ?

A brown-faced, blue-eyed, barefoot girl —
The angels — how they love her !

A barefoot boy with bleeding feet,
Her constant, graj^-haired lover —

Will search the paths of heaven some day
For such a nook as this is.

And find, perchance, this very pool,
I With all its treasured kisses.

THE TW^O PATHvS.

By Helen Soicle Stuart. '

IT is the story of a beautiful girl on ; but the branch swept lower and

who was walking along life's path touched her hand, and then she

so quietly and so confidently ; the looked, and just at her feet was

path all smooth and filled with sun- another path branching off from her

shine and bordered with flowers — own, and it was bordered with flowers

flowers so white and so pure, all the and the sun was tracing beautiful

way along, that they brought to her lacy patterns on it through the flut-

only the best thoughts and the purest tering leaves on the trees above,

intentions. It looked bewildering^ beautiful!

The way she had come was straight, She took one step in its direction,

and the path as it stretched before her then paused, and was about to turn

was straight as far as the ej^e could back, when just before her she saw a

reach ; and as far as thought could pair of deep, dark eyes full of sadness

go, even to the very end, it still and which seemed to "glow with a

seemed to move on without a curv^e ; mystic spell ; ' ' she turned towards

and so she walked on and on in all them — step by step they allured her

light-heartedness and confidence, on — and whenever she would turn

until, one day, when "her hands were back to find her own old path again

full of flowers and she was humming the eyes held her.

a sweet little tune to herself, the Sometimes there was a voice too,

branch of a noble and upright tree so full of rich cadences and musical

swayed and touched her arm. pathos that she was never afraid when

It was unexpected and she was she heard its tones — and she glided

startled, and she paused for a moment along with an easy step and a light

only to see what had interrupted her heart ; only, occasionally', when a

on her way — then, smiling, she started shadow would fall across her and

THE TWO PATHS.

^93

hide the ej'es for a time, ami when
the voice was silent — then she would
hesitate and stand trembling, as on
the verge of a precipice.

Then the shadow would pass away,

and the eyes would shine out once

more, and in them she thought she

•read only truth. Then .she trusted

again, and the eyes led on.

Often she would glance over her
shoulder with regret that she had left
the old path — but this one was be-
witchingly new, and she had heard of
a beautiful white flower called Love,
and she thought she might find it if
she would only follow to the end.

This path was not straight — it had
man}' curv-es ; so .she could only see a
few .steps beyond— but there were the
ej'CS and the>' almost always looked
kind ; but once the}- changed : then
they glittered and pierced to the
depths of her soul — and she was
afraid and held back, and she thought
they were going to vanish and leave
her in darkness with that look, almost
of hatred. But she reached out
towards them and in a moment the
glitter was gone — the hatred was
gone — and there were the same
tender brown ones looking into
hers.

It was too late to turn back now !
The old path was irrevocably lost,
and this new one was so full of bends
and curv^es that she could not tell
whether its general direction was the
same or not.

Sometimes in her bewilderment she
stumbled ; then, for a time she would
proceed more cautioush', watching
every step, and always she had the
great hope in her heart that .soon the

crookedness of it all would pass away,
and she would only find the new path
a parallel to the old one, leading her
at last out into the broad, sunlit w^ay,
wdth no trace of an^'thing, not even
" dust upon her wings," to .show that
she had strayed.

But there came a time when her
steps grew more unstead3^

The flowers w-hich bordered the
path W'cre still very beautiful and veiy
sweet ; but amongst them now were
some tangled vines, and the}' were
troublesome, and she would have
grown discouraged but for the eyes
that were always near her. She won-
dered why the path grew narrow^er as
she went along, and why the curves
did not straighten out ; and one day
while she was thinking about these
tilings, the eyes came nearer — the
voice w^as a whisper in her ear.

It spoke words .she had never
heard before. She paused to listen,
and when she would move on again
she could not, — her feet were caught
in the tangled vines — she fell.

She was too tired to rise again, but
the path had not ended yet.

It was dark now — the sunshine was
gone and she could hardly find her
way, but she must move on.

Did she follow the path to the end ?
Yes.

Did she find the beautiful white
flower called Love ?

She found a casket, and she was so
tired that she lay down in it and fell
asleep, and on her breast rested a
little golden-haired baby, and it was
asleep too, but the deep, tender brown
eyes were not there to watch for their
awakening.

WILD REUTLINGEN.

A ROMANCE OF THE TIME OF THE GREAT KING.

[Translated from the German of Hans Werder. ]

By AgaiJia B. li. Chandler.

CHAPTER XX\'III.

?lfo\

BOUT a fortnight later,
March 17, 1761, the
king left Leipzig with
his army and moved
into Schlesien. The winter rest was
at an end, the lion rose and shook
himself, and all Europe, watching the
turn of fate, trembled in anxious
expectation. Three miglit}^ powers
were combined against Prussia and
her king.

In a few daj's Leipzig was quiet
once more, the troops were gone and
there only remained the wounded,
among them Carl Ludwig von Bande-
nier, who hobbled about with . his
stick, not yet being able to return to
duty and the saddle. " From four to
six weeks is the shortest convales-
cence that you can possibly allow
yourself, and 3'ou must be very care-
ful even then, Bandemer, for your
future health depends upon it," had
been Cothenius's last words as he
prepared to follow the king. The
good old chaplain had left, too, and
now Ulrike was free, and she and
Bandemer quickh^ planned to con-
tinue her search. A ride in a com-
fortable carriage could not hurt him
and he firml)^ declared that she could
not be allowed to undertake the jour-
ney to the Duke of Braunschweig's
camp alone, and that she must accept

his escort, something that she was
verv oflad to do, for she had become
very fond of him, and his protection
was thus doubly welcome. His gen-
eral health having been but little
injured by his wound his bodily
strength soon returned, so that he was
a very efficient escort. His great
common sense was as well known and
appreciated b}' his friends as were his
true and noble character and his
charming and agreeable manners ;
the " Pomeranian," he was alwaj'S
called, and he was an honor to the
3^outh of the country he thus repre-
sented. It was under his protection
then that Ulrike .started on her drive
to Duke Ferdinand's headquarters.

When they had at last reached the
town of Braunschweig, after a long
and tiresome journey, and had se-
cured comfortable quarters, Bande-
mer announced that he would leave
her and go on alone to the duke's
camp. Ulrike protested vigorously
against being left in idleness for even
that short time, but her protests were
of no avail.

"I can't allow it. ni}' dear lad}',"
he said. "It wouldn't do for a
charming 3'oung woman like yourself
to go roaming about in the camps
and on the field of battle. We would
be very near the enemy's outposts

WILD REUTLINGEN.

295

and nobody can tell what might turn
up ; perhaps something terrible might
happen to you, and how could I ever
face the captain then ? Besides, why
should we both go when I can find
out what we want to know just as
well alone ? ' '

Ulrike saw that he was right, and
so Bandemer went on his way with-
out her, leaving her in Braunschweig
to a tiresome period of inactivity and
waiting. At last Carl Ludwig re-
turned and she greeted him with
feverish excitement, but the look
upon his face told her that his search
had been in vain.

"My dear lady, he isn't there,"
said he, "and I am terribly disap-
pointed, for I certainly thought that
Zitzewitz was right and that I should
be able to bring yc>\x good news. By
a happy accident I met Duke Ferdi-
nand himself — Ah, there is a man.
If there is a leader in the world
besides our own king he is the one."

' ' And what did he say ? ' ' asked
Ulrike sadly.

' ' He has never heard of Reutlingen
as being one of his officers, and he
knows them all well. He was very
gracious and kind and gave me a let-
ter to all his officers telling them to
help me, but my captain was nowhere
to be found ; no one had seen or heard
anything of him. We must search
elsewhere. Don't look so unhappj',
my dear lady, for we will find him
yet."

Their journey had been fruitless,
and without consulting his charge
Bandemer turned his steps towards
Steinhovel. He and Annette had
decided that a long rest and watchful
care were necessary for Frau von
Reutlingen after her hard winter's
work. Ulrike resigned herself silenth'

to her fate ; her hopes had been too
high and her disappointment too bit-
ter ; she had fought the fight of the
weak and helpless, and now had lost
heart and felt herself unequal to new
plans and undertakings.

She was in this frame of mind
when old Uore welcomed the young
mistress whom she had so unwillingly
seen depart. Reutlingen had not been
home, nor had they heard anything
from him.

Bandemer had now done all in his
power to aid her and there was noth-
ing to keep him from joining his regi-
ment, so he left Steinhovel, glad to
return to active duty and 3'et sad
over the parting with his friend.

The Baireuth regiment was now in
Schlesien with the advance guard of
General von Zieten. The king was
again opposed by the combined Rus-
sian and Austrian forces and for once
in his life was anxious to avoid a bat-
tle, for the enemy's strength was so
vastly superior to his own that ' ' Old
Fritz ' ' himself even had lost spirit
and dared not attack. While the
combined armies were preparing them-
selves for the struggle, at a time when
they should have been attacking, and
when the}' could easily have over-
whelmed and destro3'ed the king and
his little force, Friederich, by a sud-
den and unexpected movement, took
up a position on the heights of Bun-
zelwitz and thoroughly fortified his
position, a masterpiece of strategy.
It was done with such lightning rap-
idity that his enemies could not
believe their eyes and stood in won-
der. Three short da3's before the
Prussian army had lain helpless in
their grasp and now an impregnable
fortress vStood before them from which
Friederich looked calmly and quietly

2g6

WILD REUTLINGEN.

down. Discouraged by the opportu-
nity that had thus sUpped away the
foe lost heart for the attack and hesi-
tated before the ahnost superhuman
genius of the king.

In the enem5''s force was lyaudon,
the greatest leader of them all, one
whose name had become famous as
being one of the few generals worthy
to oppose Friedrich the Great. Him-
self a man of the highest ability,
l,audon appreciated fully the masterly
strategy of his royal opponent.

Fortified as well as possible, the
allied armies remained motionless be-
fore the little stronghold for more
than a month, during which time the
Prussians underwent all the priva-
tions of a siege. The king had not
believed that his adversaries would
treat him with so much consideration
and was hourly expecting an attack,
so he was forced to be watchful and
read}' to defend himself, and in con-
sequence it was only in the daytime
that the weary troops could take a
little sleep. In all the fatigues of this
life Friedrich was foremost, sharing
all privations with his soldiers ; a
small tent was the only refuge that
served to shelter him during his few
hours of repose, and man}' weary,
sleepless hours he passed therein,
weighed down by the work, the cares,
and the fatigue. At all hours of the
night he would pass about among the
pickets and, wrapped in his cloak,
would warm himself at their fires and
enjoy here and there a few mouthfuls
of the coarse food which the}' offered
him in true-hearted comradeship, and
would speak kindly words of encour-
agement to them all. "Stop .smok-
ing," once grumbled an old soldier
to his comrades, " you know he can 't
bear it." But the king smiled in his

kindly way and said, " Don't di.sturb
yourselves, my children, .smoke on."
In his evening orders he once said,
" . . . and don't forget a bundle
of straw for my tent, or else I shall
have to sleep on the bare earth again
as I did last night."

It was for such things as these that
this great king was the idol of his
troops ; it was for such actions that
they would follow him to the cannon's
mouth and die for him like heroes.
But battle and death were not the
worst things that they were called
upon to endure for him, — far worse
were these weary days of waiting, of
fearful heat and pouring rain, of hun-
ger, and of terrible privations. Once,
on September 8, General von Bulow
made a sortie and brought back sev-
eral herds of cattle and sheep as a
welcome booty. With faces happier
than had been seen in that hungry
camp for days before, the soldiers
that evening sat about their fires and
enjoyed their meal. They felt that
after that they could gladly welcome
the attack, and were once more disap-
pointed when the enemy failed them.

The Baireuth dragoons had been
detailed under Bulow and were proud
of their leader, and were happy in
being all together again, these stately
gentlemen with their confident air
and their thirsty throats ; all were
there save Reutlingen, and his ab-
sence was felt hy them all.

An officer from the Zieten hussars
came over that evening and was joy-
ously welcoriied.

" Hello, Arnim ; why this honor? "
or ' ' What do you want here ? ' ' were
his greetings from all sides.

' ' I have come over to repay you
by my company for the good suppei
vou have given us," laughed x\rnim.

WILD KEUTLINGEN.

297

"and besides I want to see Bande-
uier ; where is he ? It was nearly
time that we had something to eat
again, I couldn't have stood it much
longer. Isn't Bandemer here? I
have some news that will interest him,
and the rest of }ou fellows too — there
3-ou are, are you, you rascal? Wh}-
do }-ou let me ask for you twenty
times without answering ? " '

Bandemer laughed.

"Of course I'm here: I 've an-
swered j-ou nineteen times already,"
he responded dryly.

"Nineteen times isn't enough,
then," cried Arnim. "Bandemer,
you must give me Fran von Reut-
lingen's address, I have news for
her."

"Not by a good deal' I .shan't.
Give us }-our news ; it belongs to us
here.' "

" News of Reutlingen ? What is it ?
Where is he ? " they all cried.

' ' I have been talking with a scout,
continued Arnim, "who brought dis-
patches from General von Se^-dlitz,
and he spoke of one Reutlingen who
has spent the winter in command of
one of the troops of Kleist's free hus-
sars. Can that be your wild one ? "

" Of course it is," cried Eickstadt,
springing up. "There are no other
Reutlingeus in the army except him-
self and Heinz ; it can be no one
else."

Bandemer .scratched his head.

"Why didn't I think of that
l)efore ? Of course it is he ; where
else should he be ? "

"Well, comrades, if that is what
you think about it you must at least
give me Frau von Reutlingen 's ad-
dress; I want to send her the news."

" Poor man, you will have to leave
that to me," said Bandemer jokingly,
yet in a decided voice.

"Hold on there. As though }ou
had charge of Frau von Reutlingen,"
growled Eickstadt. "Do 3'ou think
you are going to get ahead of us all
in that way ? If }'ou do you are mis-
taken. I will look after this matter
myself, 30U maj' be sure of that."

"Certainl}-, lyieutenant, but you
must tell me her address and let me
write to her first," said Arnim.

And write he did, as soon as he
found out where Ulrike had gone.
The letter went through the field post-
office : would it ever reach its destina-
tion ?

CHAPTER XXIX.

While the king commanded the
armj^ in Schlesien personally. Prince
Heinrich w-as left in Saxony to op-
pose Field-marshal Daun. Neither
Daun nor the prince would be the
first to give battle, so they lay in
idleness and watched each other, fre-
quent skirmishes furnishing occupa-
tion for the troops. A master in this
kind of warfare was Colonel Friedrich
Wilhelm von Kleist, commander of
" Old Kleist's green hussars " and of
a guerilla regiiuent organized by

himself. Being thus in command of
twenty-one troops of horse he was
one of the most prominent cavalr}-
leaders of the da}', and Prince Hein-
rich, in speaking to the king, often
referred to him as his right hand, a
right hand that inflicted deadl}'
wounds upon the eneni}-. "Green
Kleist ' ' was the terror of his foes, but
his noble character and winning man-
ners made him a model to his troops,
a leader for whom his men would
undergo any danger or suffering.

298

WILD REUTLINGEN.

Throughout the entire summer
Kleist had kept up this petty warfare
against Daun's outposts, and now his
men were encamped at Dobehi. I^ate
one warm summer evening, the glare
of the camp fires flashed upon the
ovejrhanging clouds, the tired horses
stood in long rows beneath the tall
white poplars, that shimmered ghost-
like in the gathering darkness, while
a thick fog lay upon the meadows
and covered the busy scene. The
camp was divided by a babbling
brook, on the right bank of which
were encamped the green hussars,
while on the left lay the tents of the
guerilla regiment. A bridge spanned
the stream, but it could furnish no
bond of intimacy between the king's
officers in the hussar regiment and
those of the guerilla troops, the latter
gathered from all ranks in life and
including in their number all sorts of
men. Nothing but the tact and skill
of such a man as Kleist could make
an efficient force from such unprom-
ising material, but Prince Heinrich
himself had declared the " Kleist free
corps " to be blameless of the favilts
usually found in such an organization.

The customary noise and disorder
was to be heard around the camp fire
of the guerilla officers, while from
their kettle rose the steam of a hot
punch, a welcome draught on such a
damp night. A black-bearded Pole
and a light-haired Irishman were
brewing the punch, the latter filling
the mugs that were so frequently
passed up to be replenished. The
flames of the fire threw a red glare
over the surrounding figures, upon
faces, some covered with sabre cuts,
bold, bearded, and hardened b}' wild
adventures, while others bore the in-
extinguishable stamp of vice so that

they could meet no honest man's
straightforward gaze ; all attracted
here by the love of adventure or by
the freedom from the consequences
of past sins that this wild life ensured.

In this compan}' sat Jobst von Reut-
lingen, once a Baireuth dragoon, the
hero of Hohenfriedberg and Torgau,
the man who had been decorated by
the king. Why was he in such com-
pany ? That question he daily asked
himself again and again.

When the king gave him his curt
dismissal he had returned to Stein-
hovel, expecting to spend the winter
there and thus live down his unhap-
piness. After a few days, however,
the fever of despair forced him into
activity. Where should he go ? He
did not know. Should he go into
ser\'ice under Duke Ferdinand or
should he apply for a post under
Seydlitz, or should he end his mis-
eries by a bullet ?

" I have no use for such officers in
my army — " had been the words
with which the king had sealed his
fate, and they rang in his ears by day
and b}' night. He longed to hear
something else, and repeated over
and over again to himself the words
of commendation that Friedrich had
spoken to him after the battles of
Hohenfriedberg and Leuthen, and
recalled the da^^ when he had ridden
to Freiberg to ask a favor of his king
and had been invited to dine at the
royal table. He remembered everj^
word, and he could still hear the
king's voice speaking to Colonel
Kleist : ' ' Reutlingen would be vakt-
able in your hussars."

Reutlingen drew himself up. That
was it ; "Green Kleist's free hussars."

" That was my king's wish, and I
will abide by his decision ; he will

WILD REUTLINGEN.

299

not have me in his army but he can't
keep me from serving him."

He soon after presented himself to
Colonel von Kleist, who was speech-
less with astonishment at being asked
for a place in his corps of outcasts by
Captain von Reutlingen, whom he had
known when he was in high favor with
the king. However, he gladh' granted
the request, with the assurance that it
was an unhoped for honor to number
the wild Reutlingen among his offi-
cers. At first Job.st was made an
aide to the colonel, but soon he was
given command of a troop of the
gvierillas and once more assumed his
dearly loved duties. He was still his
old dashing self, and had shown in
May in an expedition against Gen-
eral von Zedtwitz that he still de-
sen-ed his name of the "wild one,"
but the fresh, cheery laugh and the
gay spirits that had once been his
had deserted him. His laugh was
now sharp and seldom heard, and a
dark frown, hitherto unknown, habit-
ualh' clouded his brow. In his inter-
course with his comrades Reutlingen
appeared quiet and reser\'ed, and in
service he was exacting and impa-
tient with himself and with others,
being in consequence feared by his
subordinates and but little loved by
his associates. He could not feel at
home in such company after having
served as an officer in the Baireuth
dragoons, in a corps which onl}- men
of spotless character and blameless
life could enter, where officers passed
their whole lives and were promoted
in turn, thus forming out of the
many who entered, a group of offi-
cers worthy of such a regiment.
Now he was stranded here in this
motley crowd ; men from different
countries and of doubtful descent

without honor or esprit dc corps, and
he shuddered at his surroundings.
He had doubtless been often noisy
and disorderljr as a 3-oung dragoon
but never really rude or coarse, and
now rudeness and coarseness seemed
the characteristics of all this rough
company. Perhaps he judged too
harshh', for he had once sung the
ver}' song himself that the hussars
now pealed forth to the accompani-
ment of clanking mugs, and had
found it hearty and full of fun, but
that had been among his friends in
the dragoons, and now he did not
join in the chorus but only pushed
up his mug to be refilled. His eyes
wandered watchfully over the circle
and rested upon a j'oung feliow who
passed back his mug, a man who
had formerly been a lieutenant in
an Austrian hussar regiment, and
who was thought to have deserted.
x\t any rate his past was under a
cloud and Reutlingen distrusted him
on that account, but nevertheless he
was of a kind and cheery disposition,
and the captain liked him better than
lie did most of his comrades.

The wild song was at an end and
the young fellow refilled his glass.

"Your health. Captain," said he.
"But why are you alwa3\s so
gloomy ? ' '

"You couldn't understand if I
told you, m}' son, and besides it
wouldn't interest you if you could,"
was the indifferent response. How-
ever, Reutlingen started a conversa-
tion with him.

"Sing us a song, Falieri ? " cried
one of the officers, and the camp
resounded with nois}^ shouts of ap-
proval, and the man addressed arose
with a flattered smile. He was a
young adventurer of Italian descent

;oo

WILD REUTLINGEN.

with the face of an Abruzzi brigand
and the lithe figure of a Tuscan, and
was now a sub-lieutenant in Reut-
lingen's troop. The captain had
but a few days before rebuked him
for some misdeed with the fiat of his
.sword, a proceeding which turned the
half-concealed aversion between them
into open hate. The Italian now arose
with his mug in his hand and in a soft
musical voice sang a music hall song
of undoubted shamelessness, which
was received with hearty applause
by the half-intoxicated assemblage.
Reutlingen sur\'eyed the singer with
a disdainful frown.

"Don't make a clown of yourself,
Falieri," he .shouted.

A venpmous glance from the small,
dark e3'es was the only answer, and
the Italian threw himself upon the
gra.ss and glided like a snake into the
shadow of a tent where the captain
could not .see him. Reutlingen was
disgusted with his associates and
rose and sauntered down the line of
camp fires ; everywhere he found the
same revelr}' and noise. He finally
stopped near a group of Kroaten, that
daring troop that Kleist had .so often
used to harass the Au.strians and who
always interested the captain wonder-
i\\S\.y . He now seated himself upon
the tongue of a wagon and in a pre-
occupied manner watched the figures
moving about before the camp fires.
Little by little his head sank upon his
breast and he heaved a long drawn
sigh ; grief gnawed at his brave, sol-
dierly heart and he could not be
happy nor light hearted.

The king's displeasure ; his wrecked
life — he could not conquer his sad-
ness. In the still, dark hours of his
loneliness a passionate longing for the
wife whom he loved and who was

lost to him surged over him and
would not be repressed. His thoughts
were not so much of her being lost to
him as of her being alone and unpro-
tected in the world.

He drew himself up. Had .she
not called his name ? Had she not
grasped his hand with trembling fin-
gers? Ah, no. It was the .screech
of an owl in the distant forest and
a bat that had lightly touched his
hand in its flight. With a deep
sigh Reutlingen sank back into his
silent revery.

A heavy grasp fell upon his shoul-
der ; he took the hand without look-
ing up, and a smile of recognition
passed over his face.

"Colonel."

He sprang up and saluted his
chief.

"Well, well," laughed the colo-
nel, "have I the hairy hand of
an Esau that you know me by its

gra.sp ?

"His enemies know the 'Green
Kleist " hy the weight of his hand ;
why should not his officers do the
same ? ' "

Kleist laughed pleasantly, much
flattered by the captain's words. The
great cavalry leader was but a few
years older than Reutlingen, and a
deep feeling of friendship had sprung
up between the two.

" I knew you from afar, too, Reut-
lingen," continued Kleist, "and I
am sorry to say that it was by your
melanchoh^ appearance and by your
.shunning j^oiir comrades. It becomes
a gay hussar to be wild in the sad-
dle but not to be sad when dis-
mounted."

' ' Has the colonel ever found me a
laggard in service ? ' ' asked Reut-
lingen shortly.

WILD REUTLINGEN.

\o\

The colonel sat dovn upon the
\vagon tongue and gazed at the man
who stood before him.

'• In other words I am meddling with
matters that do not concern me ; per-
haps so, my friend, but we hussars
have an old and true adage : ' To be
always happy is dangerous, to be
always sad is painful, to be alwa3'S
jolly is illusory, but a mingling of all
is agreeable.'

' ' The sajdng is a true one, Colonel,
and I will remember it, but do m>-
moods incommode an5-one ? Have m\-
comrades complained of me?"

' ' Yes, they have, " responded
Kleist. "You know, Reutlingen,
how much I should prefer to have
you in the green hussars, but unfor-
tunately that can't be managed. You
can't expect such comrades in this
free corps as you would have in my
other regiment or in the Baireuth
dragoons ; there are many here to
whose faults we must shut our eyes,
that I know well, and on that ver}-
account I must ask you to handle
your under officers with a little more
good fellow.ship."

" What have I done to them, then? "
asked Reutlingen.

"That I don't know and don't
want to know," answered the colonel.
" It is enough for me to tell you that
a leader must make himself loved as
well as obeyed if he wishes to be suc-
cessful. However, we two are com-

rades and will remain so," and, with
a strong grasp of the hand, the two
men sealed the compact.

"Colonel," said Reutlingen, "there
is much that I might sa3' in answer
to 3'ou but I will not sa>' it. Your
example shows me best how an officer
can be loved and obej-ed at the same
time : I will tr}- to please you."

" I know that, my wild one. But
now sit down beside me, this pole
will easily hold two, for I ha^'e an
order for you that will please you."
He went on to speak in a low tone of
a wagon train of flour for the Aus-
trian arm}^ that he wished to cut out
and capture, an undertaking that
would be for man}- rea.sons an un-
usually dangerous one, and one that
would require verj- skillful leadership.
' ' Will 3^ou take several troops of the
Kroaten with 3"ou ? " he continued.
" Suit 3'ourself about that, of course,
but I thought the}- would be good
men for the sen-ice."

Reutlingen 's e3-es sparkled with
J03- over his difficult task.

"I thank 3-ou heartih-, Colonel,
but if 3'Ou will permit I will take onh-
m3- own troop."

' ' As 3-ou will ; 30U must give 3-our
orders now though, and start before
sunrise. When 3-ou return I shall be
with General von Se5-dlitz."

"Yer3- w-ell. Colonel."

The3- separated with a warm grasp
of the hand.

CHAPTER XXX.

Before sunrise the* next morning \\^ithout waiting to rest or refresh

Reutlingen rode awa3- w-ith his troop himself, he mounted a fresh horse

and late in the forenoon returned, and set out to find his colonel, who

bringing with him the co\'eted wagon had told him the night before that he

train. The capture had been even would be at General von Se3-dlitz's

more difficult than he had expected, headquarters. He found Kleist there

and his success filled him with jo>-. and was given a heart3- welcome.

;o2

WILD REUTLINGEN.

"What news do you bring, Cap-
tain; good, of course?" said the
colonel, shaking Reutlingen's hand
heartity. "Tell me how your attempt
turned out, I am anxious to know."

Clearly and concisely the captain
told his story, and while he was
speaking there came into the room
an officer in the white uniform of a
cuirassier, j^ellow breeches, and rid-
ing boots. He remained standing
and Kleist turned to him.

"Tell me, your excellenc}^ ought
I not to give Captain von Reutlingen
command of ni}^ free corps ? ' '

Reutlingen stood erect and met the
general's glance. The two had never
before met face to face, but Reutlin-
gen recognized him at once neverthe-
less ; the clear blue, .sparkling eyes,
the cleanly cut features, the short
blonde mustache, the firm mouth
that inspired his troops to victory or
to death, and the fascinating smile
against which no woman's heart was
proof. Such was Seydlitz, the victor
of Roszbach and Zorndorf, the hero
of the Prussian cavalry. He was
rather small in stature, slender, and
delicately though firmly built, an
ideal soldier's figure and one which
always led his troops to victor>^ He
w^as no longer what he once had been,
however, for the long sickness that fol-
lowed the wound received at Kuners-
dorf had weakened him terribly ; he
had given his whole strength and
genius, almost his life itself, in that
battle without avail, for in spite of all
the day had been lost. Two years
had passed since then and he was
still known as the greatest cavalry
leader of the day. The king, how-
ever, fearing to lose the life of so
efficient a general, had since then
kept him off the field of battle as

much as possible. Se^'dlitz now ran
his searching glance over Reutlin-
gen's figure, scanning him from
head to foot.

' ' I am delighted to meet the wild
Reutlingen ; I have often heard of
him," he said in a deep voice.
' ' Will you honor me by being my
guest at dinner to-day. Captain?"

Reutlingen thanked him for his
kind invitation.

" Make 3'ourself at home in my
room, Reutlingen," said the colonel,
"and wait for me there, I will soon
be with you."

"I like his look," said Seydlitz
as Reutlingen left them. "What
brought him here ? "

' ' He came to tell me of the cap-
ture of the provision wagons, and I
am greatl}' pleased with his work,"
answered Kleist.

"His appearance is very attrac-
tive," continued Seydlitz, "and I
congratulate you upon your acqui-
sition, Colonel. It seems to me,
though, that his majesty was a
little severe upon him ; he gave
him the order of merit as he de-
served, and then dismissed him for
a trifling offense."

' ' Reutlingen sees nothing severe in
it himself," responded Kleist, "but
looks upon it as a well-merited pun-
ishment. A fight with deadly results
and two days absence without leave
following so soon after his marriage
were serious offenses enough. Our
leader is a great student of human
nature and must have thought it nec-
essary to let the wild man feel the
weight of his anger even if it did cost
him his services. I have often
thought the king unduly harsh in his
actions but have afterwards found
him to be right in every case."

WILD REUTLINGEN.

303

' ' That is possible, ' ' answered Seyd-
litz thoughtfully.

"Believe me, your excellenc}'."
continued Kleitz. "our king of Prus-
sia, yes, all the Hohenzollerns, tnow
those under them too well, particu-
larly the nobles, to make any mis-
takes in handling them or to suffer
their trust to be betrayed."

"God bless our Hohenzollerns,"
answered Se5-dlitz.

There gathered at the table of
Lieutenant-General von Seydlitz that
day, as often happened, a large num-
ber of officers whose duties had
brought them to headquarters, but
Reutlingen was the only one among
them who w^ore the uniform of the
free corps. He dressed himself care-
fully, and the red cape set off his
soldierly figure to the fullest advan-
tage, but what did he reallv care for
it all? It was not the king's uniform
that he wore, and the very thought
filled him with grief. His glance
wandered around the table and finally
rested with astonishment upon a well
known form ; at the other end of the
board sat his friend Zitzewitz of the
Schmettau cuirassiers, who was look-
ing at him wonderingly. Reutlingen
could not avoid a nod of recognition
and a silent drinking of healths across
the board. As soon as they arose
the two friends approached and
greeted each other, and retired into a
window to smoke and drink their
coffee together.

" I see 3'ou have become a captain,
Zitzewitz ; I congratulate you."

" Yes, in May last his majest}' pro-
moted me. But you, Reutlingen,
what has happened to 3'ou ? ' '

" Never mind me ; don't talk about
it for the subject is disagreeable to
me."

"I can't help it, wild one. The
last time I saw you was when j-ou
were leading the charge on the Dom-
itscher field amid a rain of shot, and
now I find 3'ou dismissed and in the
free corps."

"It was my own fault. Do you
know about it ? "

' ' Only partly ; young Bandemer
told me what he knew and that was
certainly enough. Why did }ou fol-
low that poor devil so relentlessly and
finally kill him ? What had he done
to you ? ' '

" I can 't talk of it now ; later, per-
haps, I may," answered Reutlingen,
an expression of pain crossing his
face. Zitzewitz changed the subject.

' ' I bring 3'ou a greeting from j'our
wife," he continued heartily.

' ' From m>' wife ? How does that
happen ? ' '

His glance darkened and his
friendly manner disappeared, for he
could not bear to hear a third per-
son speak of her. Zitzewitz looked
around to see that no one was list-
ening and lowered his voice.

' ' I met your wife last winter in
Leipzig "

' ' When were }-ou there ? ' ' inter-
rupted Reutlingen, thinking that
his friend had said Leitnitz. Thus
believing that U Irike was still in that
place of safety he was anxious to let
the subject drop.

"That's a strange question, Jobst;
I saw her there in the course of the
winter, and she wished me, when I
next saw )"ou, to ask you to let her
know where you were. She had not
heard from you for a long time and
seemed greatly worried."

' ' Really ? Is it possible ? Now
when you see her again give hei
my kindest regards."

304

WILD REUTLINGEN.

He turned awa}- and Zitzewitz
gazed at him in astonishment, for
he vividly remembered the evident
happiness with which ReutHngen
had first told him of his marriage,
and the longing with which Ulrike
had afterwards inquired after him.
He now saw that there was without
doubt some misunderstanding be-
tween them.

" R e u 1 1 i n g e n , what does this
mean ? " he asked earnestly and
anxiously. "Have you alread}' be-
come tired of 5'our charming wife ? "

"No; I haven't had a chance.
Let me alone, Zitzewitz. I can't talk
about it now, perhaps later "

Zitzewitz was just beginning to put
two and two together and to under-
stand how matters stood, when un-
fortunately Kleist and his adjutant
interrupted the conversation.

" Shall we go, ReutHngen ? I count
upon 3'our company."

They took their leave and rode
away. The way was long and dust}',
the sun hot, and the three men rode
silently side by side, each occupied
in his own thoughts. As the day
sank and the shadows of the tall
forest trees lengthened, the sound of
rushing water fell upon their ears ;
the road turned suddenly as it crossed
the brow of a hill and they saw before
them a little mill overshadowed by the
forest, the water gushing over its great
wheel.

ReutHngen knew this spot and its
surroundings well ; he had ridden by
it at a gallop that morning, and he
al.so knew that the road that turned
off to the right of the wdieel led to
Teitnitz. But a quarter of an hour's
ride and he could be there, could see
Ulrike, could speak to her and beg for
her love once more. Should he do it ?

The colonel stopped. " Let us give
our horses a rest. x\ cool drink for
ourselves wouldn't be amiss either."

The adjutant was very willing and
ReutHngen said nothing. It seemed
as though he could not leave the
place. He dismounted and seated
himself "upon a comfortable bench
beneath the linden trees ; the sink-
ing sun glistened before him upon
the reflection of the wheel in the
water, and the birds twittered in
the branches above him, while the
miller's wife brought him a mug of
cool, foaming beer.

"Have you noticed that there is
something wrong with your horse's
right forefoot, captain?" asked the
adjutant.

"Yes, I saw it, and I will take
another look at it."

"I suppose it is useless," he said
to himself as he thought of Zitze-
witz 's message. " If I find her with
another of them I'll kill him too, I've
had practice at it. I'll go, though,
in spite of everything."

He approached the others.

' ' My horse has cast a shoe and has
split his hoof slightly and I am afraid
to go any further with it in that con-
dition." He seated himself wath a sigh.

"There is a blacksmith's shop
near by ; will the colonel allow me to
ride there and see what can be done ?"

" I don't like to, ReutHngen ; is it
really as serious as that ? The delay
will make me later in reaching m}^
command than I wished."

" You must leave me. Colonel, of
course ; I didn't expect you to w^ait
for me."

" But I will wait willingly, for it is
too bad that we should be separated ;
the journey to the camp is still a long
one."

WILD REUTLINGEN.

305

He walked up and down foi' a
while, but at last gave in and started
on his way with his adjutant. Reut-
lingen was left alone.

"It is childish and weak; what
shall I do after I get there?" he
asked himself, stroking his horse ner-
vously.

" But I want to see her again ; she
has asked for me. Is it not my
right? Is .she not niv wife?" He
swung himself into the saddle and
disappeared at a trot down the bushy
lane to the right of the wheel.

Soon the estate of I,eitnitz lay be-
fore him, and he rode past the pretty
garden down the long lane under
the seemingly endless rows of trees.
There was the gate that he had brok-
en open ; Ulrike had stood there and
it had separated then. It had now
been repaired and formed a strong
barrier, but Ulrike was no longer
behind it.

Twilight came on ; the white flow-
ers and blossoming shrubs loomed vip
ghost-like in the blue gray shadows
of the tall trees, but not a soul was in
sight. The rider's heart beat fast
from emotion and expectation. He
passed the garden and reached the
smith}^ which stood, half hidden in
the trees, but a short distance from
the village. The fire shone bright
through the open door and the bright
sparks flew from the hot iron beneath
the lusty blows of the hammer that
rang loud and clear on the evening
air. Leading his horse by the reins
the hussar entered the smithy.

" Good evening. Will 3'ou look at
ni}- horse for a moment ; he has cast
a shoe from his right forefoot? I
think that you can help him."

The smith let his hammer fall,
wiped his damp brow with his grimy

hand, and approached the horse.
The foot was examined and the shoe
replaced.

As the man worked Reutlingen
held his steed by the bridle and tried
to calm his impatience. While thus
engaged he noticed a hunter in livery
who was engaged in a lively con\-ersa-
tion with the smith.

' ' Are you a ser\-ant of Herr von
Trebenow, my friend?" he asked.

" Yes, sir, and have been for many
3'ears. Do you know my master?"

' ' I was encamped here for a short
time. How is your master? "

"Very well, .sir, I thank you. He
is in Warschau now and is seldom at
home. The ladies are alone, and
since our ^'oung mistress has been en-
gaged they seldom leave the house ? ' '

' " To whom is yo\xr young lady
engaged? " asked Reutlingen.

' ' To Count von Langenrode of
Xeuserbnitz."

" What ! But you speak of but two
ladies ; is the 3^oung Frau von Reut-
lingen no longer here ? ' '

" No, sir ; she has been gone a long
time, almost a year."

' ' Impossible ; you must be mis-
taken, my friend."

' ' Certainly I am not ; I see the
ladies every day. Last autumn — It
was soon after the battle of Torgau, I
believe — her husband came and found
her ; he is a Prussian captain of
dragoons; I don't know him: he
isn't often seen. Soon after he left
the 3'oung lady went away and has
never come back.

" But that certainly can 't be true."

" Believe me, sir, it is true."

"But an officer in the Prussian
cuirassiers saw Frau von Reutlingen
here last winter and spoke to her. ' '

"He must have been mistaken

06 WILD REU7LINGEN.

for she was not here ; besides there how passionately he longed to see her

has been no cuirassier officer here again. He had felt that she was so

within the last 3^ear." near him, and now she seemed at an

"Where is she then, can 3'ou tell infinite distance again. Where had

me ? ' ' she gone ; what had become of her ?

" No, and my mistress can "t either. " But she still belongs to me — even

The ladies often speak of her and if she did love him he is dead now

regret that they have no news from and his love with him. She shall

her. I think beyond a doubt she has atone for all she has done to me.

gone to her husband, the captain." When this war is over I will find her

"Yes, 3'es, undoubtedly." even though I go through hell itself

The brown horse was ready again, to do it."

Reutlingen rewarded the smith for So he muttered to himself as he

his work and the hunter for his news rode like the wind over hill and dale,

and rode away into the dusk. Suf- Soon the camp fires of the Kleist

fering and anxiety burned in his hussars shone before him ; it was

heart and he realized only too trulj' night and he was back at his post.

[to be continued.]

THE GRANITE STATE.

By George Banci-oft Qj-iffitli.

When Summer's roj'al robe of evergreen

Upon New Hampshire's hills mine e3'es have seen,

When all her vales with Flora's colors vie,

And morning's gold fills all the eastern .sk}',

How proud am I to own ni}' chosen home,

Here gladl}' bide, nor longer wish to roam.

M)' tower of strength, Mount Washington, afar;

My mirror, j^onder lake ; my light, the evening star !

THE PARTRIDGE.

By H. H. Haiisofi.

Far in the depths of the hemlock forest ;

Deep where the purple orchid blooms ;
Guarding her nest is the cunning partridge.

Hid b}^ the wood-fern's nodding plumes.
Patient she sits 'neath the tangled grasses;

Fanned by the gentle winds of Maj',
While from his log her proud mate signals,

All through the balm}-, gladsome day.
Bird of the wood, untamed, unhindered,

Wild as the winds that o'er thee blow ;
Happy thy lot in the hemlock forest.

Deep where the rarest orchids grow.

"Auntie's Home," Drayton's Plantation,

WAR PICTURES.

[continued.]
[Illustrated from photographs by Henry P. Moore, Concord, N. H.]

By yoJm C. Lineliaii.

RAYTON'S plan-
tation is one of
the localities
that will per-
haps be reniem-
bered by the
U n i o n volun-

Hilton Head, and for a long time
(after the taking of Port Royal) was
the station of a battalion of the
First Massachusetts cavalry, three of
whom figure in the picture of the
Dravton mansion.

No plantation on the island had
teers who have more comfortable or substantial negro
survived the quarters, the houses as a rule being
war, better than any other ; for it was in good condition. " Auntie's home "
close b}^ the general headquarters on is a good illustration of their charac-

.«^

" They ' Hold the Fort.

;o8

IVA/^ PICTURES.

ter, and the group seated before the
door is a fair representation of the
well-fed, contented contrabands who
had flocked into Port Royal from the
mainland after its capture.

The magnificent live oak tree, with
its trailing moss, one of the features
of a southern forest, is also a delight-
ful reminder of the most attractive

happy, contented looking lot they
are. These were the contrabands'
" happy days," for Uncle Sam was a
liberal provider, and little to do, and
plenty to eat was the rule among
them at Port Royal in 1862.

The mansion of ex-Governor Sea-
brook, on Edisto Island, was one of
the most attractive looking residences

The Mansion and Grounds of Ex-Governor Seabrook.

features of an almost tropical land-
scape.

It was not often the case that the
colored gentry had the entire field to
itself; for as a rule when the artist
was using his camera, some of the
white brothers would obtrude them-
selves, with or without leave. But
for once, the Ethiopians were masters
of the situation, especially in this
view, for they "hold the fort," and a

on the coast of South Carolina. This
was the headquarters of Colonel Fel-
lows of the Third in April, 1S61. He
was at that time acting as post com-
mander. The sloop of war, Pocahon-
tas, was stationed in the bay near
by, and the band was quartered in
the Hopkinson hou.se but a .short dis-
tance away ; and their sojourn here
was the happiest in the war expe-
rience of the volunteers of the Third.

IVAJ^ PICTURES.

309

'Artificial ponds and islands."

The home of the departed aristo-
crats was surrounded by beautiful
grounds, artificial ponds and islands,
conser^-atories, shade trees, and flower
gardens ad libitu))i, and sloped gently
to the edge of the bay. A broad ave-
nue led directh' inward from the main
entrance, and a dock on the opposite
side ran down to deep water, enabling
steamboats to make a landing.

Some of the pleasantest remem-
brances of the war, so far as the sur-
vivors of the Third are concerned, are
connected with this spot ; for here, or
about here on the island, the regiment
was stationed through the months of
April and May, 1862. On pleasant

evenings, the officers of the Pocahon-
tas came ashore to visit the post com-
mander, and while the blue jackets of
the boats' crews were fraternizing out-
side, their superior officers inside were
quoting the delightful adventures of
the governors of North and South
Carolina, and telling what they said
to one another. Over and around all
was a blue sk3% and a genial atmos-
phere. The air was full of the aroma
of flower and shrub, while the band
discoursed the airs so well appre-
ciated in Auld Lang Syne, "Ever
of Thee," "Oft in the Stilly Night,"
"Come Where M}- Love Lies Dream-
" The Mocking Bird," " De-

"A broad avenue led directly inward.

3IO

WA/^ PICTURES.

parted Days," varied by a polka or
reel, which made the contrabands
wild : all ages and all sexes finding
vent for their feelings, by using their
heels in the liveliest of plantation
break-downs, to the infinite delight
of officers and men.

No vision of the future then
troubled the boys. No one thought

the first colonel of the Third, and
one of the best looking officers, when
mounted, in the service. He left the
third of May, 1862, to take command
of the Ninth. He is still living at
his home in Sandwich, N. H. Bet-
ter regimental commanders than he
were rare in those days ; for he was
well up in the tactics, and blessed

"A dock ran down to deep water."

of James Island, where by the middle
of the month following they were for
the first time called into action, losino^
in killed and wounded more than
one fifth of the number engaged, or
of Morris Island, or the lonar siesre of
Wagner, and the closing campaigns
of the war, before Richmond.

A conspicuous figitre represented
at the head of the ' ' broad avenue ' '
is that of Colonel Enoch O. Fellows,

"The home of the departed aristocrats."

with a voice once heard, never for-
gotten.

On his left is the form of Major
Moulton, regimental surgeon. The
views of the grounds surrounding the
Seabrook mansion, attractive as they
seem, give but a faint impression of
their beaut}'. Everything at that
time was in full bloom, and to-day,
thirty-three years later, the perfume
of flowers unconsciously awaken s

WAA' PICTURES.

,11

luemories of the spot, which would
otherwise have been ahiiost forgotten.
Edisto Island was well supplied with
substantial mansions throughout, all
of which were completely deserted
by their white occupants at the ap-
proach of the hated Yankee. Their
places were at once taken by their
former slaves, who made free with
the valuable books, and other articles,
whose value to the owners was price-
less. It was not an uncommon sight,
when the Third arrived, to find many
of the negro cabins well supplied with
the plunder ; for on the arrival of the

six hundred letters, written between
1725 and October, 1861, by three
or four generations of students in
Princeton College. The writer is
not ashamed to acknowledge that
when first witnessed, the scene was
an occasion of sadness, for here were
the loving epi.stles between fathers,
mothers, brothers, sisters, and other
relatives, covering a period of nearly
a hundred and fifty 3'ears, exposed to
the elements as if they were but so
many pieces of waste paper. All that
were wdiole, he picked up, arranged,
and placed in his knapsack hoping

The Hopkinson House.

troops, the mansions were vacated
for their use. It was a sad sight, and
a feature of the war the people of the
North were not accustomed to. to wit-
ness this destruction of household
gods.

A series of letters written in' John
Draj'ton of South Carolina in 17S5,
now being published in the Sunday
edition of a Boston dailv, brings to
mind forciblv this fact, for amona: the
books, pamphlets, and papers strewn
around the lawn and grounds at-
tached to the residence of Rev. Wil-
liam States Lee, in the interior of
the island, were between five and

at some future time, when "this cruel
war was over," to return them to their
rightful owner. For this purpose, they
were carefulh^ guarded, but unfortu-
natel}-, his residence was destro3'ed
by fire shortly after the war, and
the priceless letters, with his books
and other property, destroj^ed, prov-
ing the truth of the old Scotch prov-
erb, " The best laid schemes
gang aft agle}'."

The librar}' in this residence was
one of the best it was the privilege
of the writer to see up to that time,
being filled with nearly all of the
standard works ancient and modern.

IVAR PICTURES.

and printed in various languages. It
is needless to say that its destruction
was a good illustration of the havoc
of war, and of the needless flight of
the occupants of the mansion ; for as
thousands can testify, acts of violence
towards those of the people who re-
mained within the Union lines were
extremely rare. This is a fact cred-
itable to the soldiers on both sides,
and is something for Americans to be
proud of ; for in this respect, our Civil
War differs from all others.

in its reduction was the Forty-eighth
New York. No better regiment
served in the department of the South,
and the reader can form an opinion of
its leaders, by a glance at the field,
staff, and line ofhcers of the regiment
as represented in the picture, which
was taken within the walls of the
fort thirty-three j^ears ago.

Rev. D. C. Knowles was one of
the company commanders, and it
would be of interest to know if his
form is amongst those represented.

La---

% ,- 4^7'^^i Lin

Field, Staff, and Line Officers, Forty-eighth New York Vols.

During the months mentioned,
while the boys of the Third were
enjoying themselves on Kdisto Island
amidst a profusion of fruit and flow-
ers, day after day came to their ears
the booming of guns from the south,
so regularly that it became almost a
matter of course to hear it, the first
thing in the morning, and the last
thing at night. It was Gilmore thun-
dering away at Fort Pulaski, which
was destined to fall two years before
the city for whose protection it was
built. A regiment which aided largely

An idea can l)e formed of the size
of the fortress, and of the strength of a
regiment in war times, from the view
of the Forty-eighth on dress parade
within its walls. A full regiment in
1862 usually numbered ten hundred
and forty, rank and file ; for this was
before the Forty-eighth had faced the
enemy on the battle field, conse-
quently its ranks were full.

Like all regiments organized in
1 86 1, the Forty-eighth was in posses-
sion of a first class band and drum
corps, neither of which was neglec-

m^j^: PICTURES.

313

-ii-iss-'^scK.^^aE

Forty-eighth New York, Band, and Drum Corps.

ted by Mr. Moore when using his
camera, as can be seen from the iUus-
tration of the regiment, representing
the organization by companies, with
"Old Glory " well to the front.

An estimate of Gilmore's task in
reducing the fort can be formed by
looking at the pictures of what might
be well termed Confederate "Bull
Dogs," from whose mouths for two
long months belched forth shot and
shell in the vain attempt to save it
from capture. Nothing can be said
as to the identitv of the officers and

soldiers, whose figures are represented
standing around the guns. It is
probable that they belonged either to
the Forty-eighth New York, or the
Third Rhode Island, as the latter
organization took a hand also in the
reduction of the fort. One thing is
noticeable in connection with the men,
and that is their youthful appearance,
some of them being, seemingly, but
mere boys.

The Martello tower, which the
artist did not neglect, was a structure
familiar to the eyes of the soldiers

'^'^^^

The Martello Tower.

314

.-1 DA IVN PICTURE.

stationed along the coast of Carolina
and Georgia during the war. It
always seemed to the writer to belong
rightfully to another country and

Capt. William J. Carlton.

another race, and seemed out of place
altogether in prosaic America.

Serving in the Fort3'-eighth with
Captain D. C. Knowles was a New
Hampshire boy, Captain William J.
Carlton, who is a native of Cheshire

count}', but from boj^hood a resident
of New York. He was a member of
the ' ' student company ' ' mentioned
previously. This company earned a
fine record during its four years' ser-
vice, and was second to none in a
regiment that could always be de-
pended on in an emergency. The
Fortj'-eighth was with our Seventh
at Wagner, and great as the loss of
the Seventh was in that fated charge,
where it lost its heroic colonel, it was
exceeded by that of the Forty-eighth,
which suffered terribly.

The character of the charge on
Wagner so often mentioned, can be
inferred from the fact that the then
small village of Fisherville, now Pen-
acook, alone had eight of its volun-
teers killed, or died of wounds in that
action, viz., Hbenezer Daggett, Alex-
ander S. Stevens, John Clancy, Rich-
ard Nolan, Lorenzo F. Connor, Free-
man Ferrin, L. G. Raymond, and
Joseph C. Morrill.

[to bk continued.]

A DAWN PICTURE.

By Frank Walco/f Hiitt.

There is no faintest stir of light upon

Yon huddled lowlands banked in dim array,
But in an hour the ea.st, inert and gra_v.

Will move with cloud proces.sions and, anon,

Surge up with all the colors of the dawn ;

And that red, streaming glint, whose lieacon ray
All night has sentinelled the sleeping l^ay,

Will toss and glimmer till the stars grow wan.

A fleet of tiny craft outbraves the deep.
Winging its seaway o'er the harbor bar:
And now and then the winds, returning, blow

A fisher's song, while from their hillside sleep
The early risen echoes, near and far.
Swing to the sailors' heart}' Yo heave ho I

JOHN DANFORTH AND CAMP CARIBOU

By Georqe H, Moses.

;:^ O H N DAN-
FORTH, the
architect of his
own fortune
and the builder
of the most at-
tractive sports-
men's camp in
New England,
was not always as constructive in
his nature as his latterda}' labors
evidence ; and in his boyhood he
^Yas moved by a destructive spirit
even, as for instance when he ran
awa}' from school in order to be-
come an Indian fighter on the plains.
At that time Danforth's father was a
tanner in Bristol — the home of the
tanner who became governor, by the
way — and the lad had been put to
school at the historic New Hamjiton
institution. Scholastic restraints
were irksome, however, and the lad
set out to satisfy his longing " to take
a few scalps, ' ' as he phrases it him-
self.

Scalp-taking was not a conspic-
uous success and John Danforth came
back to his father's house with no
gor\' trophies, but with a wide expe-
rience. The lads of the village were
inclined to jeer at the chop-fallen
3-oung plainsman and the spur of rid-
icule drove him to quit his home
again. This time he sought the for-
est instead of the plains and l^etook
himself to the wilderness of Northern
Maine where he decided, " from pure

love of the woods," he says, to make
a place for himself. With no thought
of 2:)roprietorial rights Danforth
' ' squatted ' ' on the shores of Parma-
chenee lake, a loveh' sheet of water in
the north-west part of Oxford count}',
Maine, but little south of the Canada
line, and in the heart of an almost
unbroken wilderness. Here he built
a camp, supposing the land to be
public property — a supposition sanc-
tioned by usage. Ordinarily a hun-
ter coming into the countrj- as Dan-
forth did twenty-five 3'ears ago would
not have been disturbed in his opera-
tions, and Danforth doubtless would
have found none to molest him nor
make him afraid if he had confined
himself to hunting. But when he
began to act as guide he provoked
the enmity of a man who owned a
sportsmen's camp on the Magalloway
waters and who had secured certain
concessions from the proprietors of
the territory in return for his services
as fire warden. In this fellow's sight
Danforth was a rank outsider — as, no
doubt, in a strictlv legal .sense, he
was — and he determined to rid the
communitv of his presence. Secur-
ing from a lawyer in Bethel the nec-
essary' documents of ouster he ser\'ed
them upon Danforth and emphasized
the formal legal phraseolog}' with
harsh language of his own devising.
Danforth stood not upon the order of
his going but went at once — to con-
sult a lawyer himself. He learned

3i6

JOHN DAN FORTH AND CAMP CARIBOU.

that he Avas legally helpless, that he
not only had no right to build a camp
where he had, but that he nuist be
very careful not to go upon the land
bordering on the lake. He could
fish, as in state waters, a certain dis-
tance from the shore, and he could
traverse the navigable streams, in
short, he had plenty of aquatic privi-
leges, had them to l:)urn, so to speak
— 1)ut he was a minus quantity on
land.

Danforth was in a quandary. He
could not yo back to Bristol ; the

and lie set them both in operation.
The terms of the obnoxious injunc-
tion were seared into his brain, and
he well knew what he must under-
take to circumvent them. He was
determined to fish in Parmachenee,
and to open a sportsmen's camp there
despite all the legal documents ever
drawn in Oxford county, and he
planned what was undoubtedly the
most ttnique structure ever put to-
gether — the first Camp Caribou — a
house built upon a raft so that he
could anchor anywhere on the lake

John Danforth.

jeers of his companions would be
harder than the writ of ejectment.
But he could go on ; and he did.
Cro.ssing the lake he ascended the
northern tributary into the next
township and there set himself at
work to outwit the lawyers and inci-
dentally to outdo the bumptious jjro-
cess-ser\'er in the rival camp below.
The outlook was far from reasstiring.
Danforth had nothing, beyond a few
weapons and a little ammunition.
But, better than tools, money, or
equipment, he had a stotit heart and
a fertile mind, a telling combination.

outside the "dead line," and still
enjoy all the comforts of home.

House building in the woods thirty
miles from the nearest base of sup-
plies, and in midwinter at that, is not
an easy undertaking. At any rate
Danforth found it was not, but he
began work as if house building was
his trade, when as a matter of fact he
had no experience in anything ex-
cept scalp-taking and writs of ouster.
Awa}- over the hills lay the village of
Pittsburg, Danforth's nearest trading
point, and thither Danforth betook
himself, and struck with the village

JOHN DANFORTH AND CAMP CARIBOU.

317

storekeeper one of the most wonder-
ful bargains on record. With a con-
fidence only equalled by Danforth's
abundant courage the trader agreed
to furnish supplies while Danforth
was building his camp, to issue goods
from the store upon Danforth's order,
and to give credit for the whole until
the next fall, more than a year dis-
tant. The way was now smoothed
for the undertaking, and Danforth
engaged men to '"pack" his supplies
to him during the winter, paying them
in orders upon the store at Pittsburg.

forest, and from the forest John Dan-
forth took it.

Considered only as a piece of car-
pentry the house he built is a wonder.
It has stood for more than twenty
years in the mOvSt severe climate
which the vagaries of New England
weather can produce, and is to-day
good for another quarter century, at
least. It is framed of small round
timbers, and covered with long
shingles shaved b}' hand and laid ten
inches to the weather. The floor is of
puncheons, and the interior partitions

Camp Caribou.

These preliminaries completed, the
actual work of construction was soon
under way. Danforth had no idle
moments during that winter twenty-
five years ago, I am sure. His near-
est base of supplies, I said, was at
Pittsburg, thirty miles away ; but
that is true only in a limited sense.
His tools, his nails, the little iron-
work in the building, the glass and
nails, and the few tools which Dan-
forth could afford to buy, together
with his food-supplies were "packed "
over the mountains from the village —
but all the rest was growing in the

are of the same character as the roof
and walls, long shingling — a con-
struction which is very light yet
amply strong. The windows and
doors were wholly made by Danforth,
and for this work he was compelled
to make his own tools, using flat files
for the purpose. Better bits of fram-
ino^ one could not wish to see, and
as for the window sash when com-
pared with the ' ' boughten ' ' article
which Danforth in the days of his
prosperity used in the construction of
the other buildings of the camp, the
home-made is far superior. The

3i8

JOHN DANFORTH AND CAMP CARIBOU.

only nails in the building are those
used in the shingles, and the frame is
fastened together with wooden pins,
the whittling of which kept Danforth
from becoming cnnuye during the
long winter evenings.

The transformation of all this raw
material called for herculean labors,
and Danforth admits that by the time
a fellow had cut down a tree, and
had hewed it .square and had whip-
sawed it into boards and had bunched
them so that they wouldn't warp,
and had stacked them behind the
fire to season, and had planed them
down, and framed them, and had
put them together for a door ' ' he
would think it was time for some
beans." The supply of beans was
evidently ample, for when the ice
went out in the spring Danforth and
his novel craft were ready to go out
with it, and they floated down the
stream and .sought anchorage in the
choicest spot in all the Parmachenee
fishing ground and well outside the
" dead line." When the first .sports-
man of the .sea.son appeared in the
Magalloway basin that spring Dan-
forth was on hand to meet him and to
offer him the hospitalities of his
unique establishment. The idea of a
floating camp was a taking one and
Danforth 's bunks were .soon filled
with eager hunters and fishermen
who found in the novel situation a
charm fron: which the added spice of
danger afforded b}' the "dead line"
detracted nothing. Danforth now
came again in contact with the process
server, but as he knew his rights he
maintained them, though in bidding
for patronage he strove to be abso-
lutely fair to his rival. "Oh, yes,"
he would say to the sportsmen.
"There is another camp up there and

I gue.ss it "s all right. But I 'm going
up to ni}' camp, not to the other one.
If you want to go with me come
along." They generally came.

That first summer was a never-to-
be-forgotten one. Game and fish
were plenty and life on an ocean
wave was delightful. That summer
the camp was christened. One of the
sportsmen .shot a caribou and in
honor of the event named the estab-
lishment Camp Caribou. The rude
letters of withes which were then
nailed up over the door still remain
in the place of honor.

One morning the occupants of
Camp Caribou awoke to find them-
selves broken from their moorings by
a .storm which had .sprung up in the
night. Thej^ were far from their
anchorage and were drifting inside
the ' ' dead line " with each gust where
the process server was plying back
and forth in a boat waiting for wind
and wave to bring John Danforth
again within the jurisdiction of his
Bethel law3^er. But he w^aited in
vain. The guests of Camp Caribou
were not of the kind to float calmly
into the meshes of the law and they
all turned to wnth a will and struggled
to keep the craft off shore and to
warp back to her anchorage. After
several hours of hard work they suc-
ceeded, and the process .sender went
back to Sunda}' Pond without the
opportunity of exercising his little
brief authority.

With the autumn came the harvest.
The owners of the township where
Parmachenee is located paid their
propert}" a vi.sit and Danforth 's cabin
naturall}' attracted their attention.
On being told the hi.story of the craft
the owners prompth' disavowed the
action of the process ser^-er and repu-

JOHN DANFORTH AND CAMP CARIBOU.

319

dialed the document of the Bethel
lawyer. The\- told Danforth to locate
anywhere in the town he saw fit, but
Danforth had learned the value of
legal documents during the past year
and asked for a ninetj'-nine years'
right to an island in the lake which
was promptly granted and Camp
Caribou was propelled ashore and
mounted upon a permanent founda-
tion. The trials of John Danforth
were ended ; but his labors had
hardly begun . He settled his account
with the confiding trader at Pittsburg
and began to plan for a larger estalv
lishment.

Camp Caribou was built by degrees.
"When I got five dollars," says
Danforth, "I would put on a piece.
When I got twenty-five dollars the
piece would be bigger." He built
on a good man}- pieces before he
stopped, and when the Parmachenee
club was formed and took possession
of Camp Caribou the floating cabin
had grown to a hamlet and in the
back woods were a dozen log camps
for the accommodation of those
hunters who found life on the island
too luxurious for what thev thought
" roughing it " demanded.

In every move to enlarge his facil-
ities John Danforth himself took the
brunt of the burden. He stood at
the corner of ever}- camp in the back
woods and lifted on the logs as they
went into place. He shaved shingles
for the houses on the island, he boated
stone for the huge chimney and fire-
place, he made doors and windows
almost b}- the dozen, and at the same
time found opportunity to act as guide,
to keep the run of two or three hundred
traps set in the back woods, to serve
as forest fire warden, and to do man}-
an odd job for the lumber company

which succeeded to the ownership of
the town.ship. There nuist have
been many a time wdien he was
' ' ready for beans. ' ' And in addi-
tion to all this he found time to go
a-courting and to marry.

His wife was indeed a lielp-meet for
him, and Camp Caribou would not
now be half the place it is were it
not for its kindly chatelaine. They
have one child, a bright boy, who
• in energy bids fair to outdo his father.

Soon after Camp Caribou was lo-
cated on the island a young man cast
in his fortunes with Danforth who
has been connected with the estab-
lishment ever since. This man, Mr.
E. L. Rogers, is now assistant man-
aijer of the Parmachenee club and
has been Danforth 's chief reliance
during the nearly twenty years that
they have been together. ' ' Rogers, ' '
says John Danforth, "knows more
about me than I know about myself.
He has been with me on many a trip
and we have sat together beside many
a camp fire in the woods. The only
thing I have against him is that I
have to do the smoking for the both
of us."

Froni the outset Camp Caribou
catered only to the genuine sports-
man. "I've seen lots of the other
kind," says John Danforth, "but I
never had any use for 'em." And
with a view of perpetuating true
sportsmanship Danforth formed the
Parmachenee club. This is an asso-
ciation of wealthy gentlemen w^hom
Danforth had entertained year after
year and to whom he sold Camp Car-
ibou five years ago with all the rights
he had acquired in the adjacent
forests and streams. The Parmache-
nee club, I venture to say, has now
the best equipment of any sportsmen's

320

MT. WILLARD IN SEPTEMBER.

association in New England — perhaps
in America. The ornate "lodges"
of the Adirondack preserves are more
luxurious, I know, than Camp Car-
ibou even at its best ; but nowhere is
there so much of the genuine spirit of
the wilderness, nowhere is there a
more balm}' smell of the woods, and
nowhere outside of Parmachenee is
there a John Danforth. The club
now has in preserve not onh' Parma-
chenee lake and the township con-
taining it but also two other town-
ships. It owns the steamboat line
which covers the first stage of the
journey from the last haunt of men
into the Parmachenee wilderness and
manages the "Camp in the Mead-
ows," a semi-public house at the end
of the steamboat route. Its control
of the thirt}^ miles of river between
the Magalloway settlement and the
lake is well-nigh absolute and it is
thus able to maintain its desirable
privileges with little difficulty.
There is, however, nothing arrogant
in the club's exclusiveness and Camp
Caribou shelters each season as many
guests as it does club members. To

enjoy the hospitality of the camp is a
rare pleasure.

In his function as manager of the
club John Danforth exercises an
almost feudal power over a barony of
considerable area. He is United
States postmaster, general traffic
manager for the steamboat line, the
landlord of the " Camp in the Mead-
ows," the steward of the club-house
at the lake, the head farmer, the
superintendent of the fish hatchery,
the head guide, the surgeon, the pay-
master, the purveyor, and the law-
maker of the whole country. To
work for John Danforth is one of the
chiefest distinctions that can come to
a man in the Parmachenee country
and I am inclined to believe that to
know him well is a liberal education.
When I think of what he has done
and how he has done it, of what he
has faced and what he has overcome
there seem to me no words equal to
my wonder and my admiration. John
Danforth and Camp Caribou will
always mean to me the greatest
combination of energy I have ever
found.

MT. WILLARD IN SEPTEMBER.

By Emilie Reade.

Yon grand and towering purple-crested cliff
Stands boldl}^ forth to meet the coming day ;

To catch the sun's first gleams, and wonder if
The God who made them can be far away.

Should wear}- mountain climbers stop and rest
To feast their eyes on beauties thus displayed

A kindly cloud will fall upon her breast
And shield her like a modest village maid.

But left alone with nature and with God,
Decked in the dewy diamonds of the night,

And garlanded with wreaths of golden-rod : —
She stands, a dream of beautv and delight.

Conducted by Fred Goiving, State Siiperi>ite)ide)d of Public histriiction.

CAN SCHOOL CHILDREN BE HEALTHY P^

There is certainl}- no subject of
greater importance than the health of
our children, the men and women of
the future. All our successes and re-
verses in the work of education of
those under our care are intimately
connected with the health of each in-
dividual child. Of the many influ-
ences that play a role in securing
health to the rising generation, none
can be greater than the hygienic con-
ditions of the school-room, in which
children spend so much of their time
during the period of their develop-
ment. Yet how little attention is
really paid to this matter. How little
is really done by those in authority
toward securing those hj'gienic con-
ditions that would insure the best
development. We hear mam- indi-
viduals enthusiastically expatiate
upon ideal aims and ideal methods in

Yet we find some of these same indi-
viduals, clothed as they are with au-
thority, utterly ignoring the fact that
in the very .schools over which they
exercise control, the}' are harboring in-
fluences thai make against rather than
for, the child' s'highest well-being — his
health. They do not care to explain
how the mind of the ideal citizen is to
abide in a depleted, ill-nourished, half-
developed body, or how you can per-
form the impossible feat of perfecting
an individual morally and mentally
without perfecting him physically.
We must remember that we are not to
deal with the child merely as an indi-
vidual, but rather as an episode in the
development of the future adult.
True, the child is a biologic totality,
but we nuLst emphasize the fact that
the one comprehensive aim of educa-
tion is to .so control the environment

education, all agreeing that of our of the child as to produce the most
children we must make ideal citizens perfect pos.sible adult.

— the perfected individual being the
goal of all educational methods and
the burden of ever\' pedagogical creed.

We must, however, first of all,
remember that children are not little
men and women — thev are children.

1 Editorial in Cliild-Siudy Monthly, June, 1S93, Prof. William O. Krohn. University of lUincis, editor.

322

ED UCA TIONA L DEPA R TMENT.

iJr. Christopher admirably states the
matter when he says: "The child
is ail unstable human being, con-
stantly changing ; now developing
this organ or system with great rapid-
ity, and now that ; at one time pro-
vided with relatively great heart
power, and at another with relatively
weak heart power ; now^ having kid-
neys incompetent to do the work
thrown upon them l)y the rapid and
undue development of other portions
of the organism, and consequently
leading to the occurrence of morbid
conditions, and later provided with
kidneys capable of far greater strain
than they are liable to be subjected to
for a long time. If the various or-
gans and systems of the child were
developed exactl}' as needed b>- the
remainder of the organism, and in
consequence the functions of each
were nicely adjusted to the needs of
the organism as a whole, all would be
well. But this ideal condition is not
often seen, and possibly never exists.
On the contrary, it is common to note
the development of parts l;)y jumps,
with a necessary maladjustment of
ors:ans and a clashing of functions.
The clashing of functions may be so
slight as to lead only to temporary
disturbances of no great importance,
but it ma}' be so severe as permanent-
ly to disable some parts."

We are all aware that nature im-
pels the child to free and ceaseless
activity ; but in our schools we re-
quire him to sit still ; the child needs
sunlight, but the school-room is fre-
quently dark. It is recognized by all
who have studied the subject that the
first steps in reading and writing
require for the child as much light as
is required by the adult in using the
microscope. With reference to the

seats. Dr. G. Stanley Hall remarks
with his characteristic pertinence that
' ' The seat in which so much time is
spent does much to determine the
attitude during the most critical years
of growth. It should be fitted to
each child like a suit of clothes, and
at least semi-annually ; the school
assigns seats more often by rank or
age than by size, prefers ease in get-
ting in and out to physiological fit,
while the form of the seat often favors
a ' collapse attitude ' by which chest
and stomach are compressed rather
than expanded, instead of developing
a healthy attitude of sitting. If due
consideration were given to the
fundamental principles of hygiene,
we would not find loss of weight on
entering school, the diseases of ej^e,
ear, spine, stomach, and throat, also
headaches, so common as they are
now. One of the most inexcusable
of the violations of hygienic rules is
the criminal crowding of our public
schools. In the report of the super-
tendent of schools of Brooklyn for
1893, we find the following:

' If we take sixt}^ as the largest
number of pupils that one teacher can
instruct with any degree of effective-
ness, and the largest number that
ma}^ occupy an ordinary class-room
without danger to health, it appears-
that in October last there w^ere 377
classes in wdiich the conditions of
effective teaching did not exist . . .
Of these clas.ses 231 had registers
between 60 and 70 ; 65 classes had
registers between 70 and 80 ; 22
claSvSes had registers between So and
90 ; 1 8 classes had registers between
90 and 100 : 2 classes had registers
between 100 and no; 16 classes had
registers between 120 and 130; 4
classes had registers between 130 and

ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMENT.

323

140; 2 classes had -registers between
140 and 150; while one class reached
the enormous total of 158.' "

Mr. Penniman.in the Ma}- Forum
in speaking of this condition of affairs
justly says, ' ' For one person to teach
one hundred and fifty children is an
impossible task, and that the cit}^ of
Brooklyn requires some poor woman
to attempt it shows an ignorance of
human power and an indifference to
human suffering that would be in-
credible of the Dark Ages. If the
parent were offered the alternative of
having his children go to school in a
cellar, or of sharing the one hundred
and fiftieth part of the time of a tired,
overworked teacher, he might well
hesitate before he decided. In either
case it would be better for the child if
he should remain at home." We all
know that when classes are over-
crowded, there are always many
pupils who learn next to nothing that
is useful, and who, beside, form hab-
its of inattention and idleness. Fur-
thermore, as it has been obser\'ed,
the children in the overcrowded
schools are of necessit)' so badly
taught that it is actualh- necessar\-
for them to go over the same 3-ear's
work more than once, and the serious
results of this can be seen in the fact
that with many the school 3'ears are
ended before they reach the higher
grades. The recent reports of super-
intendents show an overcrowded con-
dition of the public schools in Boston,
Dorchester, Roxburj-, Washington,
D. C, Milwaukee, Baltimore, New
York, Detroit, Buffalo, and Rich-
mond, Va., as bad if not worse than
that found in Brooklyn, as mentioned
above.

That crowded schools are promo-
tive of disease has long been recog-

nized. Dr. Chapin in a recent article
(also in the Forum for May), empha-
sizes the necessity of such recognition.
Dr. Chapin finds as a result of his
careful and painstaking stud}-, apart
from the vast fund of obser\'ation that
he naturally gained in his connection
with several large children's clinics
in New York city, that the following
conditions exist :

First — Man}- school-rooms are over-
crowded, making individual classes
too large, especially in the lower
grades.

Second — The ventilation is often
extremely defective, and the cubic air
.space allowed each pupil is insuffi-
cient.

Third — The light is bad in many
class-rooms, especially in the lower
grades. In many cities the primary
schools are situated in the lower or in-
ferior parts of the ward school build-
ings, which are frequently closely
surrounded by high buildings. The
strain to which the children's eyes
are subjected by artificial lights can-
not fail to weaken them.

Fourth — Many of the class-rooms
are not supplied with proper furniture.
Every child should, obviously, have
a seat and a 'desk to himself, regu-
lated according to his size. Slates
should be abolished to prevent con-
tagion and on account of cleanliness.

Fifth — In man}^ schools there is no
proper place to hang wraps and
cloaks. Some school-rooms have
narrow wardrobes where clothing is
shut in ; in others the outer garments
are hung directly upon hooks in the
walls. Damp and dirty outer cloth-
ing .should never be kept in a .school-
room crowded with little children, on
account of infection with germs of
disease.

324

ED UCA TIONA L DEPA R TMEN7 .

Dr. William H. Burnham, of Clark
University, in a recent article formu-
lates the following negative rules :

" An ordinary stove, with no means
of ventilation but windows, should
never be used. Steam radiators and
the like should never be placed in a
school-room. When fresh, warm air
is introduced into a school-room the
foul air register must not be placed
above the warm register. Not less
than thirty cubic feet of air per min-
ute should be supplied to each pupil.
The amount of air-space necessary de-
pends upon the efficiency of the means
of ventilation. Air that is to be in-
troduced into a school-room should
never be heated above loo degrees
Fahrenheit, and a much lower tem-
perature would be better. The tem-
perature in a school-room should not
be allowed to exceed seventy; and,
in well-ventilated rooms, the tempera-
ture can be kept lower without dis-
comfort. A school-room should never
be cooled below the dew-point by
opening doors and windows during
the intermission. All the air in a
school-room should be moved. The
room should be so arranged that there
will be no unventilated places, or
deadpoints, as the Germans call
them. In the interest of the tax-
payers, rooms should not be more
than fourteen feet high. One or two
good features are not enough in a
system of heating. All the essential
points must be considered."

It is hardly necessary to speak of
the dangers of impure air. Everj-
teacher and parent certainly knows
its ' ' disease producing power. ' ' But
even where actual disease does not
follow as a result of impure air in the
school-room, who can calculate the
immense detriment to study that

ensues? Pure air is a pedagogical
necessity. The child maj- exist with-
out fresh air, but the child cannot
work without fresh air.

Another matter worthy the thought-
ful consideration of parents and
teachers is the hygienic conditions of
those very common school activities
of reading and writing. Among the
main points to be considered in con-
nection with reading are the size,
thickness, and shape of the letters.
Type should be legible at the dis-
tance of twenty-two inches. To this
end the letters must be 1.6 millime-
ters high. Smaller type is injurious
to a child's eyes. If the size is
greater than 2 millimeters the rapid-
ity wdth which the child is able to
read is lessened. Many school books
contain letters that are entirely too
small, especially the atlases and geog-
raphies. We really believe the vis-
ion of every child ought to be tested
with such eye tests as Snellen's Opti-
cal Cards. As to th,e form of the
individual letters, we must remember
that in reading we glance along the
line a little distance above the center
of the letters. We should remember,
then, that the upper parts of the let-
ters are of especial importance.
Again, the shorter the line the more
easily it can be read. The distance
between the several letters, as well as
the distance between the words is
also of prime importance. The page
should be well leaded, making a good
interlineage. Dr. Hermann Cohn,
author of the excellent work, "The
Hygiene of the Eye," says, "In the
future, I would have all school au-
thorities with measuring rule in hand
prohibit the reading of all books not
conforming to the following measure-
ments : The height of the smallest

ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMENT.

325

' n ' must be at least .06 inches, the
least width between the lines must be
.1 inches, the least thickness of the
'n' must be .01 inches, the shortest
distance between the letters must be
.03 inches, the greatest length of the
text line must be but 4 inches, and
the number of letters on a line must
not exceed 60."

All type should be black and the
paper untransparent with a yellowish
or gra3nsh white tint. Our reference
books, such as atlases and diction-
aries, are the most poorlj^ printed of
an}- of our school-books. School-
books are, however, better printed on
better paper in the United States than
anywhere else in the world. This
does not mean, however, that there
is no room for further improvement.

With reference to writing, it should
be said, the vertical script has many
advantages over the usual script slant-
ing to the right. The vertical script
movement is rapidly spreading over
the countr>\

Let us as parents and teachers seek
to remedy as rapidly as possible the
unhygienic and unsanitary conditions
of those school-rooms in which we
have special interest, /. e., the schools
which our children attend or in w^hich
we attempt to teach. Let us remember
that everything about the building

should contribute to the health and
growth of childhood. The state as
well as the parent owes it to the child
to bring his mind and body to the
fullest maturity of which they are
capable. The whole matter is tersely
summed up by Dr. G. Stanley Hall,
w-hose great heart has ever beat in
sj'mpathetic unison with that of the
humblest child. "A ton of knowl-
edge bought at the cost of an ounce
of health, which is the most ancient
and precious form of wealth and
worth, costs more than its value.
Better the old knightty contempt of
pen and book-work as the knack of
craven, thin-blooded clerks, better
idyllic ignorance of even the inven-
tion of Cadmus, if the worst that the
modern school now causes must be
taken in order to get the best it has
to give. Sooner or later everj-thing
pertaining to education, from the site
of the buildings to the contents of
ever>' text-book, and the methods of
each branch of study must be scru-
tinized w-ith all the care and detail at
the command of scientific pedagogy,
and judged from the standpoint of
health. What shall a child give 171
exchange for his health, or what shall
it profit a child if he gain the whole
world of knowledge and lose his own
healths

CHARLES PARKER.

Charles Parker, born in Lisbon, May 21, 1826, died in that town August 25.
He was educated in the town schools, at Newbury seminary, and at Phillips acad-
emy, Danville, Vt. In 185 1 he formed with James R. Young a partnership which
continued until Mr. Young's death in 1884. They were at first engaged in the
mercantile and manufactuing business at Lyman, but in 1S56 extended the scope
of their operations to Lisbon. After Mr. Young's death the Parker & Young
Manufacturing Company was formed with Mr. Parker as its treasurer and general
manager. He had represented both Lyman and Lisbon in the legislature and was
one of the first directors of the Lisbon bank. Of unflagging energy, determined
and resolute, the town of Lisbon owes to him more than to any other one man her
growth and present prosperity. He is survived by a wife, two daughters and a son.

JEROME C. BUTLER.

Col. Jerome Camillas Butler of Portsmouth died at his summer home on Wallis
Sands, Rye, August 23. He was born at St. Johnsbury, Vt., May 3, 1832, and
attended the public schools there. In 1864 he and his wife removed to Ports-
mouth where for a year he worked as a book-keeper. He then went into the
grocery business for himself and in 1868 took in John Laighton as a partner.
This relation was dissolved in 1882 by the retirement of Mr. Butler. Since that
time he had been engaged in the real estate and insurance business. He is sur-
vived by a wife, son, and daughter.

CHARLES H. CAMPBELL.

Hon. Charles H. Campbell was born in Amherst April 24, 1827. At sixteen he
began teaching and followed this occupation, together with farming and dealing in
cattle, until 1866 when he removed to Nashua. He there engaged in the real
estate business in which he was widely successful. He represented both Amherst
and Nashua in the legislature and was a state senator and president of that body
in 1872. He also held other ofiices and was always a steadfast Republican, At
the time of his death he was president of the Lowell, Lawrence & Haverhill street
railway. He died at Nashua August 22.

ISAAC E. PEARL.

Isaac E. Pearl, a native of Farmington, died in that town, August 22, after a
brave struggle against death. He graduated from Dartmouth in the class of 1882

NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY. 327

and was admitted to the Suffolk county bar in 1885. He practised his profession
at Haverhill, Mass., Boston, and Rochester, and was generally recognized as a
keen and able lawyer. He also took a great interest in educational matters.
He was 38 years of age.

C. W. GLIDDEN.

C. W. Glidden was born in Durham 60 years ago and died at Lynn September
4. He had been engaged in the shoe business in that city for over 30 years and
at the time of his death was superintendent of the McKay & Bigelow Heeling
Machine Company of Boston. He was a well-known and highly successful inven-
tor of machines to be used in the shoe business.

C. G. McALPINE.

Christopher G. McAlpine was born in Concord in 1S19 and died at Henniker
September 2. He had been extensively engaged in the lumber business and was
one of the first to breed blooded cattle. In 1869 and 1870 he represented War-
ner in the legislature and was a member of the Merrimack county board of com-
missioners for three vears.

GEORGE C. EATON.

George C. Eaton, a native of New Hampshire, died at Pigeon, Mich., Septem-
ber I. He was for a long time an engineer on the Boston, Concord & Montreal
Railroad and at the time of his death was employed in the same capacity by the
Lake Shore & Michigan Southern. During the war he was a member of the
Tennessee construction brigade.

SAMUEL D. LANE.

Samuel D. Lane was born at North Hampton 86 years ago and died there Sep-
tember 8'. He was educated at Hampton Academy and was for eleven years a
silversmith with Newell, Harding & Co., Boston. He then returned to the home
farm, where he resided until his death. He had held a commission of justice of the
peace since 1839, ^^'^^ moderator of the town for 2,3 years, and served three years
in the legislature. He was a life-long Democrat and a close personal friend of
President Franklin Pierce.

DR. JOHN P. ELKINS.

John P. Elkins, M. D., died at Farmington, September 8, at the age of 56 years.
He was a native of New Durham and was educated at Pittsfield Academy and at
the Brunswick Medical School, where he graduated in 1861. He settled in Wil-
mot and represented that town two terms in the legislature. He had been a resi-
dent of Farmington for seven years.

DR. A. H. HAVEN.

Dr. A. H. Haven, who died in Boston September 12, was born in Portsmouth
April 26, 1836. He graduated from the Harvard Medical School in 186 1 and

328 NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.

was for several years in the government service as a surgeon. Since the war he
had practised his profession in New York city and was for a time in charge of
one of the hospitals at Randall's island. He had been an extensive contributor
to medical magazines and other periodicals.

NATHAN AVER.

Nathan Ayer died in Concord September lo, at the age of 90 years. He was
born in St. Johnsbury, Vt., and had resided there, at Newbury, Vt., and at Pena-
cook. He is survived by two children, Rev. F. D. Ayer, D. D., of Concord, and
Mrs. Caroline H. Ludwig of Philadelphia.

NICHOLAS DREW.

Nicholas Drew of Durham died at the age of 96 years. He was born in Brook-
field but had lived on the same farm in Durham for eighty years. He cast his
first ballot for William Henry Harrison and had voted at every town and national
election since. A hundred acre farm was the fruit of his unaided labors. Up to
the time of his death he cut all of the wood used in his family.

WILLIAM J. CALLAGHAN.

William Joseph Callaghan, one of the best known young railroad men in New
England, was born in Montreal, July 23, 1872, and died at Laconia September 11.
He graduated at St. Ann's University, Montreal, in 1886, and in 1887 became pri-
vate secretary of the general superintendent of the Canadian Pacific railway. In
1890 he entered the employ of the Concord & Montreal as secretary to its general
manager and at the time of his death was the chief clerk in that office.

DEARBORN MORSE.

Dearborn Morse died at Chester, September 14, at the age of 75 years. He
served throughout the Civil War and was a member of Louis Bell post, G. A. R.
He is survived by six children, one of whom, William T., is editor of the Derry

Ne7vs.

The N. H. ArgHs and Spectator of Newport says : " The Granite Monthly is becom-
ing, indeed it has already become, a magazine of which New Hampshire people have a
right to feel proud. A significant thing in connection with it is that it is progressive. It
improves month by month, and not only are its contents of an elevating, useful, and enter-
taining character, but it is a gem of a publication mechanically. The half-tones with which
it is adorned are works of art rarely excelled in any of the first class publications of the
country."

FkAXK R. vS.vXHORN, 1SS2, AKT. 50.

The Granite Monthly.

Vol. XIX.

NOVEMBER, 1895.

No.

ALONG THK PISCATAOUOG: A SKETCH OF WEARE.

By J da G. Adams.
OULD the mio;htv

^^.. ^^ -^ ""*
";|A Passaconawa}^ but
flu return once more to
'fX^ the shores of this
~ picturesque river,
w here the dusk y
children of his race sought and gath-
ered the fruit with which to grace
the wedding feast of his beautiful but
ill-fated Weetamoo, —

"Cranberries picked in the Swamscott
hog,
And grapes from the vines of Piscata-
quog."

he would still find the red berry in
the Swamscott meadow, and the rich
clusters of purple fruit mirrored in
the gliding stream.

But he would find, also, change —
marvellous change. Where he once,
with stealthy footsteps, tracked the
wild beast of the forest, now lie the
homes of the all-conquering ' ' pale-
face," nestled upon the hillsides and
sunning themselves in the valleys.
Where then stood, like "giant .sen-
tinels," the lofty pines, now points
upward the spire of the village
church, wherein is worshipped the
white man's God.

quog

And the river, the old Piscata-
- in Indian vernacular the
"place of deer," — still flows in its
ancient channel, but it, too, .shows
vici.ssitude. Its waters are depleted
by the suns of centuries, and vexed
by dam and wheel ; and where once
glided the birch canoe, trunks from
the old forest lie stretched from shore
to shore. But that thrift and energy
have marked the course of time, the
busy industries upon its banks now
testify.

Eet us recall, one by one, the step-
ping-.stones of the old town's march
toward progress.

Original!}' known as Hale.stown, —
from Col. Robert Hale, who was the
first petitioner for the grant of a
township to surviving soldiers of Sir
William Phipps's unfortunate expe-
dition to Canada, — the name clung
to the town until long after the Rev-
olution. The .settlement of the state
line, in 1740, located this and several
other Ma.ssachusetts grants in New
Hampshire. In 1746 the Masonian
proprietors granted several townships
to bodies of men called "town-pro-
prietors"; and among these was

330

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

Residence of D. P. Woodbury.
Forest Villa.
School-house.

The Greenleaf Place.
The Hollls House, Residence of Abner P. Collins.

Residence of L. M. Sawyer. Bridge near Toy Shop.

Halestown, which was voted to Icha- was now known as Robiestown, from

bod Robie and his associates, one of the name of its leading proprietor,

whom was Meshech Weare, for whom Considering the extent of the town

the town was afterward named. It Hmits, — it being the largest town in

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

331

Hillsborough county, — the proposi-
tion of one of these ancient worthies,
at a meeting- held in 1750, to vote to
fence in the whole unoccupied town-
ship, seems somewhat absurd.

Soon after this date the first dwell-
ing was erected — by a committee sent
into the still unbroken wilderness for
that purpose — at the locality now
known as Rockland, but there is no
record or tradition of this laboriously
constructed habitation ever having
received an occupant. Spirits of the

Robert Peaslee.

pioneer stamp were evidently lack-
ing at this time, or else the settlers
sought more available locations along
the banks of larger streams than the
wild Pi.scataquog.

In 1750, however, the first inhab-
itant, Nathaniel Martin, made his
appearance, and soon reared his rude
log cabin in the southern section.
Here for some time he lived, with his
young wife, the town's only occu-
pant, — with the exception of sun-
dry bears, wolves, and other similar

neighbors, — sole " monarch of all he
sun-eyed . ' '

Some two years later a .saw-mill
was erected by a proprietors' part}'
sent into town for the purpose of pre-
paring lumber for future dwellings,
but it was shortly after .swept awa}-
l)y an immense freshet. Many years
afterward, Robert Peaslee, one of
Weare's oldest and most influential
residents, built a saw-mill on the old
site, which he .still runs. (A son of Mr.
Peaslee, Benjamin I)., is well known
as a successful physician, particularly
in eye and ear practice. Robert J.,
another son, is a rising young lawyer
in Manchester. )

Lydia Jewell, a daughter of the
second settler, was the first bride in
town, but, singularly enough, the
name of the groom has not been
preserved. The menu of the wed-

Hon. John L, Hadley.

ding-feast, however, — of more im-
portance evidently than the bride-
groom, — consisting of "bear-steak
and l)cans," is still on record.

332

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

A little later, dui'ing the French
and Indian War, roving bands of
red men were occasionally seen, but
so far as known they committed no
depredations. Relics of them have
been from time to time found in va-
rious localities, but it is supposed

The next event, September 21^
1764, was the granting of a charter
of incorporation by Gov. Benning
Wentworth, in which he named the
town Weare in honor of Meshech
Weare, the first governor — or, as the
office was then termed, president — of

that they totally disappeared after the state after its freedom from Brit-
this date, leaving the township en- isli rule.

tirely safe for future settlement.

The first re-
corded death
is that of the
wife of Joshua
Corliss. She
was buried on
the summit of
a hill near
their log cab-
in, and the
rude h e a d-
stone, erected
by her hus-
band and cut
by his own
hand, is still
standing. It
bears the date
of 1763. The
first white
marble head-
stone ap-
peared in
t o w n s o m e

fifty years later over the grave of
William Dustin, and bears this in-
scription : "The grave is the sub-
terraneous road to bliss."

By the year 1764 the requisite num-
ber of .settlers had arrived in town,
and the Robicstown proprietors, hav-
ing complied with the terms of their
grant, no longer feared the threatened
forfeiture. There were probably at
this time between twenty and thirty
families.

A Bit of the River,

Among other things, this charter
- . decreed that

all white pine
trees suitable
for masts
should be re-
served for the
use of the
royal navy,
and the sign
of the broad
arrow, or the
large " R "—
for Rex — cut
upon them.
This clause
was the occa-
.sion of the
famous " Pine
Tree riot,"
w h i c h oc-
curred dur-
ing the ad-
ministratio n
of Gov. John
Wentworth, when a king's surveyor
was sent into the town to carry out
this obnoxious and unjust law.

His demands were resi.sted by the
settlers, and in consequence of this dis-
regard of his majesty's will and open
defiance of his deputies, the sheriff of
the county was sent to Weare with
warrants for the arre.st of the recalci-
trant subjects. This limb of the law,
who had already earned the hatred of
the lil)ertv-loving .settlers, met with a

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

decidedly rough reception, when his
shimbers at Aaron Ouiniby's inn
were rudely interrupted at earl>- dawn
by a score of men with blacked faces
who burst into his room, disarmed him,
and holding" him from the floor, face
downward, gave him a most unmerci-
ful beating. Having thrashed him to
their heart's content, the party placed
him upon his horse and .started him
homeward amid the scoffs and jeers
of the indignant townspeople. This
particular representative of his
majesty must liaAC presented a sorry
appearance as on his forlorn-looking
steed — whose ears had been cropped
and mane and tail sheared by the
rebels — he made his way painfully
homeward. He lost no time, how-
ever, in having a company of troops
despatched to Weare to capture the
rioters, but the}- had fled to the
woods and not one of them could be
found. Alost of them were arrested
later and subjected to a light fine by
a court made up of " The Honorable
Theodore Atkinson, Esq., Chief Jus-
tice," and " The Honorable Meshech
Weare, Leverett Hubbard, and Wil-
liam Parker, Esq., Justices." Cir-
cumscribed through the circle of its
influence the "Pine Tree riot" of
Weare showed the same daring spirit
of stubborn resistance to British
aggression that marked the memor-
able Boston ' ' tea-part}' ' ' two years
later, and doubtless had as nuich
effect in preparing the hardy settlers
of the vicinity for the impending-
struggle, as did the fiery eloquence
of Patrick Henr}- or the indomitable
courage of vSamuel Adams.

Service in the French and Indian
War had already prepared man}' of
the settlers for active i^articipation in
the Revolution, during which struggle

the patriotism of the town was con-
•spicuousl}' shown, its record being
over two hundred men in actual .ser-
vice and a representation on nearly
every battlefield from Bunker Hill to
Yorktown.

Among Weare 's leading Revolu-
tionary officers was Captain George
Hadley, who had alread}' served in
the French and Indian War, and
who.se quaint colonial mansion is .still
standing. His son, John L. Hadley,
was, in political affairs, the town's
most eminent native ; having served
as representative to the general court
several consecutive terms, later in the
executive council of Governor Dins-
more, and from 1S50 to 1855 occupy-
ing the important office of secretary'
of state with marked abilit}'. His
son, Charles J. Hadley, a lawyer by
profession, and while a resident of
Weare active in town politics, now
resides in Manchester.

The society of Friends or Quakers
has long been recognized as one of
the best elements of the town. About
the time of the Revolution fifty or
more families came to Weare from
the .southern part of the .state and
from Lynn and Salem, Ma.ss. In
1776 twenty-nine members of the
society refu.sed to sign the A.ssocia-
tion Test, not from au}^ lack of patri-
otism, but because their religion
forbade their taking up arms. In 1795
two ' ' meeting-houses ' " were erected
by them in different parts of the town
which are still standing and known
as the ' ' North ' ' and ' ' South ' ' meet-
ing-houses. For about eight}' years
a quarterly meeting has been held
here, and the Friends of Weare have
always been noted for their boun-
teous hospitalit}' at these times. The
fact that the sect from its foundation

334

J SKETCH OF WE A RE.

m-m.

Moses Sawyer,

has accorded to women the same
rights and privileges which the men
of the society enjo3^ proves the pro-
gressive spirit of its members, and
their influence has always been felt
on the side of right and justice in
every great reform movement of the
day. On the slavery question they
were particularly outspoken, and the
venerable Parker Pillsbury in a recent
letter says :

" Weare was early in the anti-
slavery field. The large Quaker in-
fluence was always opposed to slavery,

and from the days of John Woolmaii
none of that denomination ever held
slaves. No town was better repre-
sented at the large anti-slavery con-
ventions held in Concord and Boston
than w^as Weare. The Hodgdons,
the Sawyers, the Greenleafs, the
Goves, and others, were ever a tower

Moses Sawyer House — " Underground Railway" Station.

Hon. William H. Gove.

of strength against all slave-holding
at the South or slave-hunting at the
North, or wherever the fugitive was
fovind."

Large anti-slavery meetings were
frequently held in Weare and ad-
dressed by such men and women as
Parker Pillsbury, Frederick Doug-
lass, Stephen Foster, Abby Kelley
Foster, and Lucy Stone. The resi-
dences of Moses Sawyer, who estab-
lished and managed the Weare
woollen mills from 1831 to 1886, and
Moses Cart land, — both influential
Friends, — were stations of the " under-
aground railwav," and it was at the
former that Frederick Douglass made

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

his home while here, and where the
first pages of his famous autobiogra-
phy were written.

In one of tlieir visits to Weare dur-
ing- the war Parker Pillsburv and
Stephen Foster were accompanied by
a former coachman of Jefferson Davis,
who had escaped to the North and
was then under their protection. At
tlie house wliere they were enter-
tained was a little girl who had just
finished reading "Uncle Tom's
Cabin," — the first book she had ever
read b}- herself, — and who was filled
with interest and curiosity in regard
to the colored race, of which .she had
never seen a specimen. This man,

Dr. James Peterson.

whose blood was undiluted African,
seemed to her childish fancy a char-
acter straight from the realm of
romance in which she had been wan-
dering. After eying him furtively
for a while she cautiously approached
him and timidly inquired if he '"knew
Mo.se and Pete?" These trifling

Father Robie House — Oldest in Towfi.

characters in the great story had
appeared the most important to her
youthful intellect and she imagined
that all representatives of their race
must know them.

As the leader of the southern Con-
federacy was not likel>- to have placed
Mrs. Stowe's inflammatory volume in
the hands of his servants, it must be
suppo.sed that his coachman was
entirely ignorant of tlie meaning of
the question. Nevertheless, with a
genuine darky guffaw, he confidently
answered, " Oh 3^es, Mis.sie ! "

As one of the early anti-slavery

Mosus A Cartland.

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

speakers, the late Hon. William H.
Gove, of North Weare, was wideh'
known as "the silver-tongued orator
of New Hampshire." He subse-
quently represented the town for
several years in the legislature, and
served both as speaker of the house
and president of the senate. He w^as
twice a member of national conven-
tions, and has the recognition of a bi-
ographical sketch in "Appleton's En-
cyclopedia of American Biography."
A great temperance agitation was

pany at their word, immediately took
his pen and drew up an informal
pledge which was signed by himself
and all the company, and finally
ninety signatures were obtained.

This movement was the entering
wedge, and in the fall and winter of
i84i-'42 the Rev. Edwin Thompson,
who was at that time preaching in
the Universalist church at Weare
Centre, entered the temperance field
and formed an association known as
the "Weare Washingtonian Societ}',"

North Weare Business Men.
Frank Simons, George L. Hooper. Frank Tucker.

begun in 1S41. It originated at the
liou.se of Dr. James Peterson on the
evening of May 18 of that year, when
a few friends had met in a social way.
The " hard cider campaign " of 1840
had so intensified the habit of intem-
perance that thinking people began
to be alarmed. The subject came
up for discussion on the evening in
question, and some one suggested
that it was time to stop drinking and
sign the total abstinence pledge —
which meant abstinence from all but
cider. The doctor, taking the com-

so called from the organization of
that name which had been originated
b}' reformed inebriates in Baltimore
the year before. The ready wit and
persuasive eloquence of Mr. Thomp-
son made many converts and caused
a general awakening on the subject.
To ' ' Father ' ' John Robie — whose
house is still standing and probably
the oldest .structure in town — much
credit is due for the reformation. Mr.
Robie was a conscientious Quaker, an
able, intelligent man, and an untiring
worker in the temperance cause.

.■/ SKETCir OF WEARl-.

337

Zephaniah Breed, also a Quaker, inent in the work, taking hold of each
Avas another zealous advocate of total successive movement up to the pres-
abstinence, and has alwa^'S been prom- ent time with unabated conrage.

i. 0. Bennett.
Frank Bartlett.
Eben Bartlett.
D. B. Gove.
R. W. Emerson,

I ypical Houses.

Baker's Hill.
Perley Bar;lett
G. H. Bixby.
Allen House.
Elm Farmr.

338

A SKETCH OF WKARK.

Ellen C. Johnson .

In 1S77 began the second temper-
ance crusade, and the shafts were
then aimed at the so-called harmless
beverasre, cider. A reform club was
organized and the work successfully
carried on for several years. None
of the opposition which the workers
in the Washingtonian movement had
to contend with was apparent at this
later date. A Good Templar lodge
was instituted about this time at East
Weare, and is still in a flourishing-
condition.

No town in the state can l)oast of a
higher degree of intelligence, in pro-
'portion to its population, than Weare,
md this fact is largely due to the
influence of the school established
here in 1S34, by Moses A. Cart-
land, a native of Lee. For fourteen
years this school was successfully
carried on and numbered among its
pupils representatives from ricarly
every New England and Middle state
and at one time several from the
"mother" country, — an English fam-

ily who were sent here to be educated.

Mr. Cartland had remarkable abil-
ity as a teacher, and his methods
were far in advance of the times.
He confined himself as little as possi-
ble to text-books, but dwelt largely
on everything pertaining to the ad-
vancement and welfare of the coun-
try. His rare gifts as an educator
and his personal magnetism secured
and held the affection and rCvSpect of
his scholars, and the influence of his
life and teachings is still forcibly felt,
not only in this town but throughout
New England. A favorite cousin of
John Greenleaf Whittier and an active
abolitionist, he assisted him in edit-
inof the Pennsvlvania FrecDiaii and
also assisted in editing at different
periods several other anti-.slavery, ed-
ucational, and agricultural publica-
tions.

Among the many successful teach-
ers who owe their education and
broad views of life to Mr. Cartland,
is Miss Caroline Johnson of East

Dav'd Cross.

w sa'/:tc// of wrare.

339

Weare, who established a young
ladies' school in Boston which l^e-
came very popular and remuneratiA-e.
Her sister, — also a pnpil of Mr. Cart-
land. — Mrs. Abby Johnson Wood-
man, is the author of "Picturesque
Alaska , " ' published
in 1894. It was with I
these sisters at Oak '
Knoll that the poet
Whittier made his
home duriny; the lat- I
ter part of his life. j

Another pupil and '
former resident of
Weare, Mrs. Ellen C.
Johnson, superintend-
ent of the Reforma-
tory Prison for Wom-
en at Sherborn. Mass., |
has a world-wide re-
putation as an exec- I
utive and .successful
oflficial, and has dem-
onstrated the fact that her sex is
not lacking in the qualifications

Col. O. W. Lull

value of the farm and establishment
in an immeasurable degree. Her
position is one which requires brain,
ner^'e, and phy.sical force : and that
she has the three essentials combined
is shown by her successful financial
management of this
immense institution,
her control of the
rough element of its
inmates, and the con-
stitution Avhich is still
vigorous after these
many years of ardu-
ous labor. Her influ-
ence over the unfor-
tunate women under
her charge is remark-
able, and her work a
noble and enduring
one.

Hon. Parsons B.
Cogswell , w ho has
been for many years
a leading member of the school board
of Concord, as well as a prominent

*■-.

Col. Jesse Gove.

Capt. C. W. Hodgdon.

Col. Stark Fellows.

which make the opposite sex great.
She has accomplished wonders in the
management of the in.stitution since
she assumed full charge of its many
departments, and with her shrewd
business capacity and knowledge of
countr>^ produce has increased the

editor and ex-mayor of that city. was.
also a .scholar here.

The academy founded by Mo.ses
Cartland was pleasantly situated near
a small wood, and the place was
christened by him "Clinton Grove,"
in honor of DeWitt Clinton, the

CH'J

y SKJiTCH OF WE A RE.

engineer of the Erie canal. In con- Josiah G. Dearborn of South Weare
nection with this school may be men- was for many years a teacher in Bos-
tioned several men who have had ton, and afterward a lawyer in Man-
marked success as teachers, and who Chester, where he was appointed post-

s' North Meeting-house.

ntre. Friends' South IVleeting-houce.

iscopal, East Weare.

President Cleveland in
1886. This ofBce he held until the
change of administration. Reserved
also as state treasurer in 1874. His
brother, Heman Allen Dearborn, is a

at o.'e time practised their profession professor of Latin in Tufts College.

in this "<-t!e rural district. Henrv Thorndike, a son of Thomas

Village Churches.

Baptist, East Weare.

Union Church, South Weare.

Congregational, North Weare.

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

Thorndike, a leading Quaker in town,
taught, with his wife, for nianv vears
in New England and Iowa, and alter-
ward among .several tribes in Iiulian
Territory.

Charles H. Jones, of Maine, was
a Quaker minister of distinction in
the .society, and has since carried on
boarding schools at \'assalborough,
Maine.

Her\-ey Cowell was also from
Maine and is now at the head of the
flourishing Ashburnham Academy at
Ashburnham, Mass.

One of Weare's earh- teachers was
Judge David Cross of Manchester, a
native of the town and a resident for
many years, whose eminent career as
a jurist is too familiar to need repeti-
tion in these pages.

Good schools have been the rule in
Weare almost from its first settlement,
and their effect on the community is
everywhere apparent. John R. B.
Kellev, chairman of the school board
at the present time, is connected with
the Catholic Rccoi'dc?-, published in
Manchester, a young man of nuicli
perseverance and actively interested
in the educational interests of the
town .

When the echoes of the bombard-
ment of Fort vSumter reached the
quiet villages in the Piscataquog val-
ley, no lack of patriotism was mani-
fest in the hearts of the people. vSo
willingly did the young men of Weare
respond to their country's call for aid
that their names are found on the
roll-calls of every New Hamp,shire
regiment, and their valiant ser\-ice is
proved by the shattered bodies of
some still living as well as by the flag-
draped graves on many a hillside.

Xo braver man ever met death
upon the battle-field than Col. Oliver

W. Lull. At the .siege of Port Hud-
son, while at the head of his troops,
fighting hand to hand with the frantic
Confederates, he fell, waving his
sword and .shouting, " Forward,
Eighth New Hampshire! " and even
then, when he was being carried from
the field mortally wounded, his cour-
age did not forsake him, but, all un-
mindful of his sufferings, he pleaded :
" Don't let the regiment break I We
mu.st conquer them ! ' ' To have .sent
out one such son is glory enough for
the old town. Milford claims him as
a resident, but his birthplace was in
the shadow of the hills of Weare.

Col. Jesse A. Gove was another
heroic .son who, after serving in the
Mexican War and doing brave work
in the regular army on the frontier,
fell dead from a rebel bullet at
Gaines's Mills.

vStill another officer of great merit
was Col. Stark Fellows, who enlisted
as fir.st lieutenant of Company D,
Fourteenth New Hampshire regi-
ment. This company was composed
largel}' of Weare men, and was com-
manded by Capt. C. W. Hodgdon
(at the present time practising den-
tistry in Boston ) , an officer whose
kindly consideration for his men
made him exceedingly popular.
Lieutenant Fellows was afterward
appointed colonel of a colored regi-
ment, and died of yellow fever at
Key West, Fla. He was a gallant
soldier and a cultivated and upright
man. The Grand Arm}' post of his
native town now bears his name.

Nor were fidelity and heroism con-
fined to the men who bore official
titles, but were found all through the
ranks. Two of Weare's sons cam.e
back to Weare with empty sleeves,—
Joseph Mayo, who held the position

-» I '■

A SKETCH OF WE ARE.

of warden of the New Hampshire Althougli not a soldier, the un-

state prison from 1865 to 1871, left selfish and patriotic work of William

his arm at Cedar Creek, ahd Elijah B. Gove as a member of the New

Purington, a descendant and name- Hampshire Sanitary Connnission

i ""^^'

1 *■ '

William B, Gove.

Daniel Sawyer,

Jesse Clement.

Mrs. Loretta Foster.

John R. B. Kelley.

Mrs. Eunice H, Chase.

Nate Bailiiy.

Squiers L. Gove.

H. R. Nichols.

sake of the first Quaker settler, lost fairly entitles him to mention in this

his at the Battle of South Mountain ; connection. Mr. Gove left town for

and there are over forty names on the Washington in 1863 to accept a posi-

death-roll. tion in the United States pension

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

343

office, where he was twice promoted, A cornet band, organized in 1879,
but his work on behalf of the boys in is still in existence, and an orchestra,
the field occupied a large share of composed of the I )avis sisters, — whose
his time until the close of the Rebel- brother, " Professor lyeroy," is a ma-
lion. Mr. CiOve was a man of un- gician in Boston, — F. N. Simons,
blemished character and a true phi- L. D. Clement, J. R. Rogers, and
lanthropist. F. F. Fo.ster, is equal to any occasion

A Grand Army of the Republic when its .services may be required,

po.st was formed in 1879, and the The inhabitants of Weare have

roster at one time contained forty-
seven names, but death has now
reduced the number to thirtv. A

always been known as a reading and
thinking people. As far back as
1793 a "Social Library" was incor-
porated containing
some ninety volumes,
and in i S o 9 the
' ' Friends' Library ' "
consisted of s i x t y-
eight volumes. At

Residence of

Alonzo Follansbee,

Riverdale.

Woman's Relief '•

Corps, auxiliary to

the post, was organ- —

ized the same year, and

is doing efficient work

for the veterans and their families.

A lodge of Odd Fellows was insti-
tuted in 1878, and a Rebekah Degree
lodge ten 3'ears later. Both are in a
prosperous condition at the present
time, while the Women's Christian
Temperance Union and the Young
People's Societ}- of Christian F^n-
deavor are exerting a healthy influ-
ence on the morals of the town.

There is no Masonic lodge in town,
but several citizens are members of
that order ; one of whom, Squiers L.
Gove, is a knight templar.

Residence of J. H. LIvesey, Riverdale.

the present time the townspeople en-
joy the privileges of an excellent pub-
lic library located at Weare Centre.

The amount of mail received and
sent away from a town affords a fair
indication of the degree of intelli-
gence of its inhabitants. About fifty
thousand newspapers, periodicals, and
miscellaneous matter, and one hun-
dred thousand letters, are annually
transmitted through the mails of
Weare. The town contains six vil-
lages, in each of which is located a
post-office.

344

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

Toy Shop at North Weare.

The religious societies of the place
are represented by six churches, be-
sides the two Quaker "meeting-
houses '' before alluded to. Two
Baptist churches and one P^piscopal
are situated at East Weare. The
latter, but recently erected, was
founded by the Rev. Edward M.
Parker, of St. Paul's School, Con-
cord. Arthur W. Peaslee — brother of
Robert J., of Manchester — has been

"""'IM ing services there during
t| the summer, and its doors
are opened weekh* for Sun-
day-school exercises. This
school was established in
1 866, and for the first eiarlit
years was superintended by
Dr. C. O. Ballou, now a
resident of Providence, R. I.
When he left town in 1873,
Mrs. Eoretta Foster, w-id-
ow of the Rev. Frederick
Foster, a former pastor of the church,
accepted his position. She remained
superintendent of the school until her
death in 1892, and the influence of
her pure and noble life will be felt
for many years to come. Her son,
Frederick F. Foster, is a prolific
writer of fiction and a contributor to
some of the best known periodicals of
the countr}'.

This school has not been closed a

supplying the pulpit dur-
ing the summer months,
and has also held services at River-
dale. He has not yet taken orders,

George Simons & Son,
North Weare.

Sunday for nearly thirty
years, — a somewhat re-
markable record, — and its library con-
sists of nearlv one thousand volumes.

being at the present time a .student On the death of Mrs. Foster, the work
in St. John's Episcopal College, at was taken up and since carried on by

Cambridge, Mass.

Of the Universalist church at
Weare Centre there is at the present
time no settled pa.stor. Rev. W. H.
Morrison, of Manchester, holds even-

Mrs. Eunice H. Chase, a sister of
the noted temperance advocate. Rev.
Edwin Thompson, and a w^oman of
strong character and broad intelli-
gence. Mrs. Chase is the owner of

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

345

a "Tocerv and drv - q-oods store at
North Weare, and is noted for the
strict integrity of her business tran-
sactions.

The Rev. \V. S. Randall is at the
present time in charge of the Congre-
gational church at North W'eare.
Mr. Randall held services here for
nearly a year prior to his graduation
from Andover Theological Seminary
in June, 1895. He is a native of
Maine, a graduate of Bowdoin Col-
lege, and was ordained and installed
pastor of this church on Jul}' 23,

does also Mr. Morrison, of Manches-
ter, while Mr. Randall holds regular
services there on Sunday mornings.

Among the many bright and suc-
cessful young men of Weare who
have departed her borders within the
last few 3'ears are the following :

Elmer E. Copeland, a rising young
physician in Springfield, Mass.

At Riverdale.

1895. He is a man of progressive
and liberal ideas, and is fa.st winning
Tiis way into the hearts of the people.
A Union church at South Weare
completes the list. Here
are held services by repre-
sentatives of the Univer-
salist. Congregational, and
Advent societies — a some-
what unusual example of
church unity, but one
which is potent for good.
The Rev. William H. Dear-
born, a native of South
Weare. a graduate of Tufts
College, now located as a
Universalist minister in
Medford, Mass., occasion-
ally supplies this pulpit, as

William H. Cha.se, manager and
treasurer of the Leominster Worsted
Co.. Leominster, Mass., and also a
tru.steeof the Fitchburg Savings Bank.

346

A SKETCH OF UFA RE.

Rev. W. S. Randall.

Walter S. Kelley, who holds a
responsible position in the General
Electric Co., with headquarters at
Boston.

Henry Osborne, — a sou of L,indley
Osborne, who is a prominent Friend,
and a man of rare intelligence, — a
civil engineer of much ability in
Manchester.

Charles Osborne, brother to Henr}',
a graduate of Haverford College, and
professor of mathematics.

James M. Adams, who for the last
six years has been editor of the
Nashua Daily Telegraph , and has
served two terms as messenger of
the New Hampshire senate, and still
holds the position of sergeant-at-
arms of the same body. In August,
1890, he was appointed by Secretary-
Jeremiah Rusk to be state statistical
agent for New Hampshire, which
ofBce he held over three years, being
removed by Secretary Morton a few
months after the Democratic admin-
istration came into power.

Weare is particularly well adapted
for manufacturing, as there are many
and excellent "water privileges,"
and is located on a branch of the
Boston & Maine system of railroad,
which insures direct communication
with Boston twice a day, and also

George Simons.

Hillsborough,

and

with Henniker,
other northern towns.

I^arge cotton and woollen indus-
tries have been carried on here in
the past, but within a few 3'ears the
mills have been destroyed by fire,
and the buisiness never resumed. If
some enterprising j-oung men would
avail themselves of the opportunity
offered by the power on this river,
they would doubtless soon be reck-
oned among the most successful busi-
ness men of the .state.

The manufacture of shoes is the
present industry of the town. I^ind-
ley M. Sawyer still carries on the
business founded by his father, Allen
Sawyer, in 1852, and his "Quaker"

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

347

boot is known throughout New Eng-
land.

The firm of George Simons & Son
are successfully continuing the shoe
business carried on so long by John
W. Hanson. George Simons has
always been active in town affairs,
and was for many years a trader at
Weare Centre. His son, Frank X.
Simons, the junior partner of the
firm, is also an artist of much natural
ability. Mr. Hanson established the
plant in 1865, and for twenty-five
years made a most lucrative success
of it. In 1 89 1 he sold out to Simons
& Son. and retired from active labor.
He was a just and generous employer,
and a business man of great abilit}-.

Abner P. Collins.

At Riverdale another shoe firm,
Simons & Homer, is doing a thriv-
ing business. Harry H. .Simons has
also a store and gristmill which are
well patronized.

A stage line from Riverdale to
Clinton Grove is run bv Nate Kailev.

The toy .shop at North Weare is
a venture which has succeeded re-
markably well. Ivstablished by Hen-
ry Wallace about 1875, it has grown
into a ver}- remunerative indu.str3\

Mr. Wallace has recently died,
and the business transferred to Loren
D. Clement, a young man who has
long held a responsible place in the
establishment, and is well adapted
for its continuance.

The Universal Weeder Co., Ernest
Husse}', manager, is in a prosperous
condition. It manufactures under a
royalty, and the machines are shipped
to all parts of this country, to Europe,
South America, and the vSandwich
islands. Zephaniah Breed is the
inventor of this machine, from which
he has received much pecuniary ben-
efit.

The manufacture of skiving ma-
chines was a business carried on with
success for man}^ years by J. W.
Chase. His daughter is the wife of
Hon. Oliver E. Branch, a former

H. H. S.rnons.

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

Vm~:

i'*:^

Eunice Chase, North Weare.
C. A. Thorp, South Weare.
A. H. Marshall, East Weare.

resident, an able and successfnl law-
yer in Manchester, who was ap-
pointed United States district attor-
ney by President Cleveland. On
Mr. Chase's death, in 1877, Daniel
Hanson bought out the business, and
has since remained in it.

Frank Tucker, North Weare.
Hooper & Breed, North Weare.
B, T, Janneson, Weare Centre.
H. H Simons, Riverdale.

Wheelbarrows are manufactured
by Leighton Bros., and the Paige
Bros, are doing quite a business as
wood- workers at North Weare.

There are many other small indus-
tries, and W. H. Kilburn, of East
Weare, is a prosperous dealer in

/ skj-:tcii of wharj-:.

349

grain and feed, with orisl-niill at-
tached. J<ihn Herrick has estab-
lished himseh' as a florist, and in-
tends to increase his business largely
another year.

Hooper .S: Breed are dealers in
groceries and pro\nsions at North
Weare, and a reliable and pro.sper-
ous firm. Frank Tucker does a
large grocerj' business in the same

are attracted yearl\- numerous vis-
itors h"oni all sections of New Eng-
land. As a "summer town," Weare
is not to be despised : in fact, it may
be said to have no superior in this
part of New Hampshire. Its charms
of quiet rural beauty are such that a
drive in any direction will never fail
to find a host of ever-varjdng and
picturesque bits of natural .scenery.

part of the town. Mr.
Tucker is an enterprising
and hustling young busi-
ness man, and at the present
time holds the office of post
master. B. T. Jameson, the grocer
at Weare Centre, is one of Weare 's
numerous postmasters. At South
Weare Charles A. Thorp has re-
cently become proprietor of the vil-
lage store : wliile at East Weare

Mt. Wallingford and the River,

From Mt. Wallingford, the highest
elevation in the town, can be dis-
cerned the hills and mountains of
forty different towns, while from Mt.
William, its neighbor, the view is
nearly as extensive. From Tiffany
A. H. Marshall combines the sale of hill, Mts. Washington, Eafayette,
groceries with his duties as the serv- Moosilauke, and Kearsarge are seen
ant of Uncle Sam in his section. in the north : Sunapee and Lovell,

As an agricultural town, Weare in the west: and Monadnock and
compares favorabh- with any in the Joe English, in the south ; and, with
state, and the fertility of the land the foreground filled with wooded
and the almost universal neatness of hills and undulating vallej'S, a land-
the farm Iniildings are everywhere scape is presented which is well
noticeable. To manv of these farms worth v the canvas of anv arti.st.

)50

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

Maplewooci Hotel.

Perhaps the most l)eautifiil picture
that the town can show is the one
seen from the summit of the hill on
which are located the farm buildings
of Dana B. Gove — for man}- years a
lawyer in Boston, but who has now
returned to reside on the old home-
stead. The dim blue outlines of
the distant mountains combined with
the varied shades of green of nearer
hills, dotted with tiny white villages
and scattering red farmhouses ; the
glimpses of water in the valley, like
crystal mirrors in frames of green ;
the winding roads, like broad white
ribbons narrowing in the distance ;
— all unite in forming a grand and
beautiful scene. And throughout the
town winds the fair and picturesque
Piscataquog, now gliding peacefully

along between its wooded banks,
again dashing with deafening roar
over dam and boulder, and hurrvin"-
away to join the mighty Merrimack
in its journey to the sea.

The villages of North and Hast
Weare and Riverdale are located on
this stream, and the drives alona: its
course are favorites with every sum-
mer resident, who, having once dis-
covered the town's attractions, is cer-
tain to return another year.

Among the many pleasantly located
houses where the welcome guest is
.satisfactorily entertained is that of
Forest \'illa, now owned and occu-

The Everett House.

Residence of John W. Hanson.

pied by John G. Cram, forixierly pro-
prietor of large establishments in
Charles and Pinckney streets, Boston.
Mr. Cram is a genial and pain.staking
landlord, who has the com-
fort of his guests always in
mind, and his house has
been filled to its utmost
capacity the past season.
The location of Forest Vil-
la is a charming one : a
range of high hills at the
back, the river flowing in
front, and on the main road
from North W^eare railroad
station, which can be
reached in fifteen minutes.

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

6:)

At Forest Farm, North
Weare, Elijah Dow, pro-
prietor, the scene this sea-
son has been a lively one.
The house has been filled
to overflowing, and merry
parties of boarders in ever-
green-decked hay-carts
have been a frequent
sight on the village street,
the compan}- very evi-
dently enjoying all the
pleasure the}' could pos-
sibly have anticipated.

Elm Farm, which accommodates
about twenty guests, is another favor-
ite resort, and its owner, Henry Davis,
is known as one of the best of hosts.

At South Weare are Maple Shade
Cottage, H. R. Nichols, landlord,
which is in a fine location and de-
servedly well patronized, and the
Maplewood Hotel, of which David
Tewksbury is the popular proprietor.

In the same sectioji is situated the
Mountain View House, on an eleva-
tion which commands an extensive
view of the surrounding country'.
This place is owned and managed
by F)ben Bartlett, and has room for
some twenty-five guests.

One of the first and best known
summer boarding-houses in town, as

R..-

F r ,.' n k T I J c k e r .

Residence of Mrs. Harlan Marshall, East Weare.

well as most accessible, — being with-
in three minutes' walk from the rail-
road station at North Weare, — is the
Everett House, which is carried on
by its owner, Charles W. Everett,
who is known to thousands as the
courteous old-time conductor on the
Manchester & North Weare Railroad.
Chestnut Cottage is the old Melvin
homestead. It is said to be a hun-
dred and fifty years old, and has
always been in that family. It is
now owned by Mrs. Eydia Melvin.
Built on a sightly hill, two miles from
Riverdale station, it makes a charm-
ing summer home for the families of
Mrs. W. E. Stevens and Mr. J. H.
Eivesey, of Chicago, who have occu-
pied it for seven years. Mr. Live-
sey was formerly con-
nected with the Crane
Elevator Co., of Chicago,
and has now retired with
a large and increasing
property.

The Allen House, at
Weare Centre, was for-
merh- kept b}' Jesse
Clement, a tj'pical old-
time inn-keeper, and was
then called the old
"Whittle Tavern," from

oo-

A SKETCH OF WE A RE.

a still older landlord. It has now
been remodelled, and is very suc-
cessfully managed by a daughter of
Mr. Clement.

The Mollis House, the hotel at
North Weare, was formerly owned by
Abner P. Collins, who carried on the
tavern for thirty years. Mr. Collins
is one of Weare 's best informed men,
a lover of books, and a subscriber
to the Granite Monthly since its
first issue in 1877. He is much in-
terested in genealogy, and compiled

was state librarian in 1851 ; Moses A.
Hodgdon, a former business man of
prominence, and a leader in town
affairs, who ser\'ed as councillor in
i868-'69; and Daniel Paige, Simon.
P. Colby, and Oliver D. Saw3'er,
state senators. The latter is a son
of the late Daniel Sawyer, a worthy
Quaker and Abolitionist.

The bodily health of the commun-
ity is looked after by Dr. James P.
Whittle, a nephew and pupil of Dr.
James Peterson, — a remarkably skil-

,•'/,

>^-9*

■\|

(i O

\uy.

<-;/

Dr. J. P. Whittle.

Physicians.
Dr. Frank Eaton.

Dr. Mary Danforth.

that department of the town history.
He is at present engaged on the
genealog}' of the Collins and Peaslee
families. He has also served several
terms as a representative, and held
town offices for many years. He and
his son, Warren L., now own a farm
at North Weare, and the location of
the hou.se, in a pine grove on the
bank of the river, with a miniature
pond in front, is an ideal one.

Other natives not previou.sly men-
tioned, who have held important state
ofhces, are : Samuel C. Eastman, who

ful and well - beloved homeopathic
phj'sician, who died in 1870, — and
Dr. Frank Eaton, a disciple of the
"old school."

In this connection may be men-
tioned the late Dr. J. Harvey Wood-
bury, for many ^-ears a most successful
practitioner in Boston. Dr. Wood-
bury was the son of William Wood-
burj^ who filled many important polit-
ical positions in town and state, and
was a member of the constitutional
convention in 1850. Another son is
Daniel P. (better known as "Peter-

WITCH HAZEL

son " ) Wootlburv, who has long been
a prominent farmer antl town officer.
Frank T., a son of the latter, is now
a student in the Har\-ard Medical
school, and a 3'oung man of much
promise in his chosen profession.

Dr. Mary Danforth, of Manchester,
was at one time a resident of the
town, and entered upon her medical
career from the office of Dr. Alfred
R. Dearborn, of East Weare, after-
ward of Concord. She entered the
field when it cost nen-e and perse-
verance to be a woman physician,
but, overcoming all obstacles and
prejudices, .she remained constant to
her chosen life work, and was the
first of her sex admitted to the con-

.servative old New Hampshire Medi-
cal Society.

Did space permit, the names of
many other worthy sons and daugh-
ters of Weare might be recalled, who
have gone out into the world to oc-
cupy positions of trust and responsi-
bility ; but it is with the town itself
and its present condition that we now
have to do.

With every facility for remunera-
tive manufacturing interests, and un-
excelled as a healthful and attractive
summer resort, it would .seem that
the future might bring unqualified
success and ever increasing prosper-
ity to these ancient and beautiful vil-
lages '■ along the Piscataquog."

WITCH HAZEL.

/>y Uattic Abbott.

A gra}' November day.
With chill foreboding of drear Winter in the air, —
Through all the wood, for some brave fern or hardy leaf.

We searched in vain.

No trace of vSummer, save ^

The sere, brown leaves, that underneath our feet
Did rustle and seem to grieve for life so .short.

For .stay so brief.

All suddenly we came
Upon a glorious mass of brilliant, golden sheen, —
Was it the touch of Midas, king of olden lore.

Had he passed by?

It was not touch of king
That so transformed and beautified the dull, dim wood :
It was the weird wntch-hazel's bloom this magic wrought

For eye to see.

Into each .soul some day
The brightness of God's love, eternal love, will .shine.—
The shadows of the dreary way will fade and leave

The perfect day.

FROM THE PIAZZA.
:\iT. wASiiixc'/rox kr(jm thk :\it. pleasant house.

Jiy Kdivard A . 'Je)iks.

Across his breast the autumn sunbeams fall,
While up his shaggy side the shadows creep
From foot to crown, — a flock of mountain sheep

Slow climbing homeward at the shepherd's call,

Scaling with certain foot the jagged wall,
O'erleaping gulfs and canons wildly deep
Within whose cells the storm-winged Furies sleep, —

I'ntil they gather at their starlit stall.

And up the iron trail the genii go,

With sturdy shoulders pushing venturous trains,
While the grim mountain shakes his sides with glee

To see his faithful vassals toiling so.

At last the clouds engfulf them, and it rains :
So great ships vanish in a thunderous sea.

WAR PICTURES.

[CONTlNUEll.]

[Illustrated from photographs by Henry P. Moore, Concord, N. H.]
By JoJui C. LineJian.

VOLUNTEER sendee
was a study, for in the
ranks could be found
men from all the walks of life, —
laborers, skilled and unskilled,
capable of building a railroad or de-
stroying it, setting up a locomotive

marshes before Charleston by the
boys of the Third.

So far as ability was concerned,
the line could not be drawn between
the captain and the private. Except
in rank, the one was very often the
equal of the other ; and the latter

The Captain.

or killing it, constructing a vessel or
scuttling it, or in fact able to do
almost anj'thing man could do, even
with scant materials, like the build-
ing of the grape-vine bridge over
the Chickahominy river by the Fifth
New Hampshire, or the planting of
Gilmore's "Swamp Angel" in the

The Private.

3-ears of the war proved this in the
many promotions from the ranks,
even in the regular service. This
was after all what made the Union
army invincible in a long campaign,
the mechanical and inventive genius
of the covmtry being nearly all on our
side.

;i:/A' PICTURES.

357

The captain, whose portrait is pre-
sented on the opposite page, enlisted
as a private, and rose to the com-
mand of a company in the vSeventh
New Hampshire Volunteers.

>A«s

Capt. Joseph Freschel.

Col. H. S. Putnam.

The private, whose features are
well known to many of the readers
of the Granite Monthly, enlisted
as a private in the same regiment,
and was mustered out as a private.
The onl}^ decoration he received dur-
ing his three years' ser\'ice the Con-
federates gave him at Olustee — a bul-
let in the shoulder. Both are among
our most successful business men,
and both have been honored often by
being chosen to fill various positions
of honor b}' their fellow citizens.
The}' are good types of the Union
volunteers of i86i-'62, and their ca-
reer in their native state reverses the
Scriptural saying that ' ' A prophet is
not without honor save in his own
country."

The Germans did not figure largely
in New Hampshire regiments, but
the features of one who commanded
a company in the Seventh will ever
be remembered with affection by
those who ser\-ed under him, Capt.
Joseph Freschel, who was for many
years after the war a well known citi-
zen and business man in the city of
Manchester, one of the two posts
there being named in his memory.

The most dashing looking officer

on parade in the department of the
South was the lamented commander
of the Seventh, who fell at the head
of his men during the terrible charge
on Wagner, Col. H. S. Putnam.
Had his life been spared, he would
undoubtedly have attained higher
rank before the close of the war, for
he was the beau ideal of a soldier.

An associate of Captain Freschel
in the command of a company was
Capt. Paul Whipple, a brother of
the well known proprietor of Young's
hotel, Boston. He enlisted as a pri-
vate, and ser\'ed until the end of the
war, coming out a captain. He set-
tled on a plantation after the surren-
der of Lee, and has remained a citi-
zen and a planter in the Palmetto
state ever since. He visited his old
home during the G. A. R. encamp-
ment in Boston in 1890, and while
at the " Hub," he and a few of his
friends — mainl}- his old comrades of
the Seventh — were tendered a recep-
tion by his brother at Young's hotel.
The proprietor acted as head-waiter
during the banquet, looking care-
fully after the wants of his brother's
guests, and the occasion on account
of its enjoyable features will never be

Capt. Paul Whipple.

Capt. W. K. Norton.

forgotten by those who were so for-
tunate as to be present, for it ended
in an afternoon's drive on Mr. Whip-
ple's tallyho around the delightful
suburbs of Boston, closing with

358

WA/i PICTURES.

The Gallant Dupont and his Officers.

another spread at his stable on Bea-
con street.

A well known Concord boy was
Capt. William K. Norton, of the
Fourth New Hampshire, who served
with his regiment until the end of
the war. Few in the capital city
were better known and loved than
Billy Norton, and his portrait will
be a reminder of the bright faced boy
whom so many will remember before
the war, for he was born in the city,

and lived here up to the time of his
death.

The navy figured largely during
the war, along the coast between
Fortress Monroe and Savannah.
Under the gallant Dupont and his
officers the capture of Port Royal
was effected, which was the begin-
ning of the long siege of Charleston,
that did not terminate until "Sher-
man's March to the Sea." Not a
few of those standing around the old

Sloop-of-War " Pocahontas.'

U'AT^ PICTURES,

359

The Mortar.

sea-king acquired fame and distinc-
tion either during the war or after its
ending, among them Admiral Meade,
Admiral Ammen, and others whose
names cannot be recalled.

Admiral Dupont was from Dela-
ware, which has been the home of
the family for generations. One of the
name represents that state at the pres-
ent time in the United States senate.

The sloop-of-war, Pocahontas, has
been mentioned. It was stationed at

Edisto ba}' during the spring of 1862.
An exchange of hospitalities between
the military and naval officers called
the service of the band into requisi-
tion one night on board of the man
of war, which was memorable for two
reasons : First, the boys being called
upon to ' ' splice the main-brace ' ' for
the first time in their lives, which
the}' did with a will, and a strong
"pull; " second, for the narrow es-
cape the party had from drowning

Long Tom."

36o DETHRONED.

on the return to land, in consequence from whose muzzle belched forth fire
of the too strong and too frequent and brimstone for the devoted de-
splicing of the main-brace by the fenders of Sumter or Wagner, atid
boat's crew. The tide was running the rifle cannon, or " Long Tom" as
out like a mill-race, the boat was full, it might well be called, from whose
and the oarsmen were in the same mouth went whizzing the much
condition: altogether, it was an expe- dreaded and death dealing shell,
rience to remember, for if the boat Too much cannot be said in praise
went down there would not be enough of the navy, for without its aid there
left to .splice together, for a first class could not have been the ghost of a
funeral. chance in suppressing the rebellion.
A very good idea can be formed of For this reason the names of Farra-
the character of the armament of a gut, of Dupont, of Porter, and of the
man-of-war thirt}' years ago from the other gallant sailors of lesser rank,
representation of the mortar, whose should ever be held in grateful re-
roar could be heard for miles, and membrance by the American people.

[to be concluded.]

DETHRONED.

/,V M. J. Cojupbcll.

It seems but yesterday, — the bloom, —
And now the yellow leaf is seen,

And Nature's pencil writes the doom
Of beauteous Summer, royal queen.

The birds of June have taken flight

Or changed their notes, so .sweet and clear

And swallows, from their circling height,
Proclaim departure near.

Unvarying is the locust's .song.
And chirping crickets never tire ;

The goldenrod the pa.stures throng.
With sumac decked with cones of fire.

And daily care and daily task

Infringe upon the setting sun.
While stars peep through their sombre mask

Ere toil is done.

Although dethroned, supremely .stands
Sweet Summer's reign, without a peer.

With lifted hearts and lifted hands,
We ble.ss thee, queen of man}- a year.

WILD REUTLINGEN.

A ROMANCE OP THE TIME OF THE GREAT KING.

[Translated from the German of Hans Werder.]

By Agai/ia B. E. Chandler.

CHAPTER XXXI.

UMMER came to an
end at last, and the
mellow glow of au-
tumn was spreading
over the camp at
Buntzelwitz as well
as over the fields
around Jobst von Reutlingen's estate
of Steinhovel. The young mistress
of that lonely mansion walked along
the narrow path that led through the
high grown fields, for since that walk
with Benno the forest \yith its dreani}^
little lake and moss-covered rock was
distasteful to her — was it not there
that she listened to the words that
caused her to forget her duty, and
that had caused her cousin's death ?
She had never gone there again, but
instead wandered over the meadows,
with her eyes ever gazing eagerh' and
searchingly into the distance. Would
she never again see the wild rider
coming across the fields? Ah, where
was he — what had become of him ?

After Bandemer's departure in the
spring she had put herself under
Lore's gentle care, and soon recovered
from the effects of her journey. She
had given up all thoughts of continu-
ing her search, for a time at least, for
all her plans had failed and she knew
of nothing else to^o.

She had once hoped to gain some

information from the officers of a reg-
iment which halted near Steinhovel,
and, encouraged b}- the respectful
and courteous treatment that she had
hitherto received, had approached
them at their inn as they sat around
the fire. They laughingly told her
that they knew Reutlingen and would
tell her where he was, but only on
one condition — that she should give
them each a kiss. This proposition
was advanced amid loud applause,
and Ulrike noticed when it was too
late that thej^ had all been drinking
heavily. She quickly returned to
her carriage and drove away, but
soon she heard the clatter of hoofs
and peals of laughter, and found
herself escorted b}- half a dozen of
the gay 3'oung men. The}' rode
noisily on each side of the carriage
and overwhelmed her with unwel-
come attentions. Soon, however, the
fun became tiresome to them and
they turned back, throwing her kisses
as they went ; they had not meant
it unkindh', but Ul'rike laid her head
on Annette's, shoulder and w^ept as
though her heart would break. Her
whole nature rebelled against the
rudeness to which she had been sub-
jected and she had not strength to
control her feelings, so she returned
to Steinhovel.

362

WILD REUTLINGEN.

There she remained until the end
of the sammer, thinking ever of her
absent }iu*'band and whispering to
every bird that flew across the sunny
sk}' : "Oh, can't you take him my
greeting, and bring me a message ? "
Scarcely another thought entered her
mind.

One day as she was walking in
the road Susanna von Techow passed
in her light carriage on her way to
Steinhovel. She stopped, and after
a joyful greeting Ulrike joined her
friend and they returned together.

"And what do you expect to do
now, Ulrike?" asked Susanna, as
the two friends sat sadl}^ together
under an arbor in the garden. ' ' You
can't possibly begin your aimless
wanderings again. I do n't believe
that I should have the courage for
such adventures, and you are much
more delicate and timid even than I."'

" I can't even imagine you in my
place, Susanna," responded Ulrike.
" When Wolf came to you you gave
him what he deserved, love and faith,
so you have nothing with which to
reproach ^^ourself. I have so much,
and I must atone for it. Encourage
me instead of frightening me."

' ' Whj^ do you reproach your-
self ? " asked Susanna, and Ulrike
told her.

' ' It will all turn out well in
the end, poor child," said Susanna
thoughtfully. "Jobst von Reutlin-
gen has behaved very nobly towards
you, and you have indeed given him
every cause for mistrust."

"But I had no reason for believ-
ing my cousin a liar, and he offered
to prove what he said," responded
Ulrike.

"Well, what of it?" asked Sus-
anna. "Don't you remember the

old Greek story of Cupid and Psyche,
dear Ulrike? He married her with
the understanding that she was never
to see his face if she wished to hold
his love and keep him with her. She
loved him but her faith was weak,
so she raised a lamp and gazed upon
his features one night as he slept.
The god awoke and disappeared —
her love was not strong enough to
give her perfect faith and so she lost
him. She ever afterwards wandered
aimlessl}^ about the world, seeking
him in vain to ask forgiveness."

' ' To ask forgiveness, ' ' repeated
Ulrike, shuddering; "what a hope-
less fate. But, Susanna," she con-
tinued after a pause, "don't 3'ou
think that Psyche had some cause
for her lack of faith ? ' '

"Perhaps she had," responded Su-
sanna, "but, child, I will tell you
something. I love Wolf, as you
know, and therefore I am willing to
trust him fully. Your brother Heinz
has time and again taken it upon
himself to tell me tales about him
which I am convinced are untrue.
Wolf did not lie to me, I am sure he
could not ; and I have given him my
love, and trust him blindly. Per-
haps a passion for gambling has
.sometimes led him astray, perhaps
his love for me has not alwaj'S been
true ; but I think of the endless
temptations of camp life, and I be-
lieve that from now on he will be
true to me because I trust him with-
out holding up a lamp to gaze upon
his features."

"Yes," said Ulrike, confidentl3^
' ' and now that yow have given him
your love and faith I am sure that he
will be worthy of them, for I know
him ; but I was less noble towards
my husband — I lifted my lamp and

WILD REUTLINGEN.

>63

then flew a\va>- myself. What will
become of me ? " "

"You must search for him, poor
little Psyche, I see that, but you
can't venture out into the world
again as you did before. Our good
Jobst, who alwaj's imagines that we
poor women would perish from terror
were it not for the protection of him-
self and others like him, would tear
his hair if he heard of your wander-
ings."

"I can't help that; what else can
I do ? "

' ' Have you seen Heinz again ? ' '
asked Susanna suddenly.

' ' No ; and I can do without that
plea.su re ver}* willingly."

" But my dear, Heinz would surel}*
know where his brother is. I think
that the Dingelstadt hussars are in
Saxony with Prince Heinrich's army,
at any rate you can find them. Send
some one to him with a letter — the
field post-office is not to be trusted,
and the white hussars are no settled
community and are verj' hard to
find."

" I will seek him myself," answered
Ulrike promptly. "It will be at
least a starting point for my wander-
ings, and perhaps through him I
shall find his brother at last."

So she again started out with her
attendants in the large travelling car-
riage, this time to search for her
brother Heinz.

The white hussars were indeed no
settled community, and were to be
found now here, now there as their
general's orders called them, and it
was impossible for Ulrike to seek
them on the field of battle. Amid
a thousand misgivings she at last
reached Leipzig and went to her old
winter quarters of the year before,

where the good people of the house
looked upon her as a friend and
received her cordially.

She found ample occupation in
waiting, searching, and questioning,
until October passed away and the
autumn wind stripped the golden
leaves from the trees. At last she
heard news of the white hussars, and
soon afterwards rode into the little
village where the}^ were quartered.

She left her carriage and ques-
tioned an hussar, who promised to
find lyieutenant von Reutlingen for
her, and soon after Heinz himself
came .hurrying up. His a.stoni.sh-
ment at seeing Ulrike there was
unbounded.

"Don't make me stand here in
the street, dear Heinz. Have n't
you a room where we can talk
quietly together without being dis-
turbed ? ' '

" Yes, of course ; if you will honor
me by being my guest."

A bright fire was burning on the
hearth, and Heinz drew up a bench
and motioned to Ulrike to be seated,
but she remained standing, with the
cape falling from her shoulders. She
was trembling with excitement, and
he looked at her inquiringly. What
could her coming mean ? Had she
forgotten his conduct on their last
evening together at Steinhovel, or
had she followed him because of it ?
He was too clever to believe the lat-
ter for an instant.

" Heinz, where is your brother? "
she asked breathlessly. " I am hunt-
ing for him ; tell me, where can I
find him ? ' '

Clearly, it was not upon his own
account that she had come.

" How should I know ? One would
naturally suppose that his wife would

364

WILD REUTLINGEN.

know more about that than anyone
else," he answered with a laugh.

" Would I ask you if I knew,
Heinz ? Answer me seriously ; where
is he?"

"His majest}^ sent him to the
devil ; further than that I have not
heard," continued Heinz, " and as
for the cause, my charming sister,
from all I hear you must know more
about that than I, especially as to his
disappearance."

" Didn't you know that he killed
my cousin, Benno von Trautwitz ? "
began Ulrike. It was torture to her
to have to speak of the matter to him.

' ' Yes ; for the sake of your pretty
eyes, of course ! "

" M}^ cousin slandered hhn, and I
was willing enough to believe the
tales and to leave Steinhovel against
my husband's will. Jobst came home
and found me gone, and, as you may
imagine, the wild Reutlingen did not
take it calmly."

Heinz laughed loudh^

" I knew how it would be. How
could you do it, ni}^ dear sister?
You were his wife and must have
seen how deeply he loved you from
the beginning. I told him the first
da}' that you loved him, and the
blockhead would n't believe me."

"You were cruel and heartless,
Heinz, if you knew all that when
you told me that it would cost me
but a word to be free, for I never
doubted but that he told you that
himself and your words goaded me
on to flight. What can you say for
yourself ? ' '

"Well, my pretty one, I didn't
think you were .so credulous," he
laughed. " You were very cold atid
forbidding towards me, and revenge
is sweet, you know. Besides, Jobst

had to be punished for his foolish-
ness. How dared he go away and
leave his pretty young wife with
Heinz von Reutlingen, as though
there were no danger in it ? "

Ulrike sank into a chair and gazed
at him with her blue eyes.

"My dear Heinz, 50U know I was
ver}' fond of you, but you mu.st have
realized that there was not the least
danger in Jobst von Reutlingen's
wife's being alone with you."

The blood rushed to his face.
Where did this charming, timid girl
get her courage ?

' ' You must be very sure of your
power over me that you insult me
when you are here alone with me,
and at the very moment when you
need my services, too ! " he exclaimed
at last.

"I haven't noticed that I have
any power over you," she answered
irritably, " for 3'ou torment and annoy
me as you please, and it is too ridicu-
lous for 3'ou to see an insult in my
placing 3'our brother higher than
yourself. You do n't deserve to have
such a brother if 5'ou talk of courtesy
when you are in a position to do me
such a favor ! ' '

' ' You mean that you would con-
sider it a favor if I took you to him,
dear sister ? ' '

Ulrike looked at him sorrowfully ;
her indignation at his conduct was
too great for words.

" Ulrike," he said at last in a low
tone, "I do know where Jobst is.
What will 3'ou give me if I tell you ? "

She faced him quickly, every trace
of anger disappearing with the hopes
that his words raised.

" I have little enough to give 3'ou.
What price do you ask ; it will be
hard to find too hard a one for me ? "

1 1 7L D RE UTLINGEN.

365

"A kiss from your rosy lips ! "

"A kiss? Oh, if it is nothing
more than that ! Vou are his brother
and therefore mine ! "

She rose quickly, stepped to his
side, and touched his forehead lightly
\vith her soft, cool lips. That was
not exactly what he meant, but her
simplicity and purity stirred him
deeply and made him view his own
conduct in a very unpleasant light.
He .sprang up and covered her hand
with kisses.

" Ulrike, you are an angel! For-
give my foolish behavior and tell
me what I can do for you. It is an
undeserved honor to be allowed to
serve you."

His emotion made but little impres-
sion on her, for there was room in
her mind for but one thought.

' ' Where can I find my husband ?
Tell m.e, if 3'ou know."

"He is with Green Kleist's free
hu.ssars," answered Heinz, not with-
out emotion. "We were campaign-
ing against the Austrians together
in Ma}^ and June, and I saw and
talked with him. I think that the}'-
are now fighting the Russians on the
border of Pomerania, but I don't
know exactly where."

' ' With the free hussars ? Wild
Reutlingen with the free hussars ? ' '

She had little by little become
familiar with the army organization,
and knew how the free corps was
regarded hy the other officers, so she
realized what Reutlingen's feelings
must be at serving in such company.
She sank back into her chair again,
and clasped her hands over her knees.

"But Heinz, that is no company,
no life for him I When did he join
them?"

"Well, it is pretty bad for the

poor fellow, and I found him very
much changed. He had, indeed,
lost much ; the king's favor, his troop
— and a wife like you, Ulrike ! It
is more than one man can bear.
There are only two things in life
that can give him pleasure," he con-
tinued as he saw her eyes fixed upon
him ; ' ' the first is the friendship of
his chief. Colonel von Kleist, who is
truly lovable and charming, and the
second is the decoration that . his
majesty bestowed upon him. He
wears the latter day and night and
remembers constantly that the king
was once pleased with him. It is
touching to see how much he thinks
of that little medal."

" Is he well ? " asked Ulrike.

" Yes, certainly ; that is, he was —
who knows what has happened since
then ? ' '

She arose with a determined air.

" I will go and seek for him," she
said.

" Wait, my pretty sister ; what are
you thinking of ? You can't go wan-
dering about on battlefields among
Russians and Cossacks, exposed to
unheard of dangers. Give me your
message for him and I will deliver it
to him, upon my honor. You shall
have no further cause to complain
of me."

She shook her head.

" I must see him myself, Heinz."

He gazed at her anxiously, but
she seemed animated by a fixed
determination and he saw that she
meant what she said. Quietly and
sensibly he talked to her until she
at last saw the impossibility of her
proposition and promised to give up
her plan. Heinz wanted to go him-
self and bring Jobst to her, but she
still placed little reliance in him, and

?66

WILD REUTLINGEN.

did not think that he would aid her
greatly in her search. But she knew
at last that Reutlingen lived and
Avhither fate had led him, and the
feeling that .she must find him was
still strong within her.

Heinz had no immediate dut}^ to
perform, and so was able to get
awa)' for a da}' to escort her to Leit-
nitz, where she w^as warmly welcomed
by her relatives. She remained there

a week, enjojnng a quiet rest such
as she had not known for a long-
time, and then, when the troops had
gone into winter quarters and teni-
porarj^ quiet reigned over the land,
she started on her journey to Stein-
hovel, accompanied by Count Lan-
genrode, her cousin's Jiatice. She
reached her home safely, and once
more a long, lonely winter of waiting
lay before her.

CHAPTER XXXII.

Winter quarters at last ! Green
Kleist had returned from the Oder,
but there was little rest for his hus-
sars, as they were stationed as out-
posts to watch the enemy for three
miles along the banks of the Mulde.
Within a few miles lay the Dingel-
stadt hussars, near enough for the
old comrades of the last summer's
campaign to see much of each other.
They were all greatly pleased at this,
and Reutlingen was delighted to see
his brother Heinz once more.

"I have come over to see you,
Jobst," said Heinz, on his first visit
to Klei.st's camp, "because I have
something very important to say to
3'ou."

The two brothers accordingly soon
withdrew from the circle around the
fire and sought a few moments' quiet
conversation.

" We will walk a few steps away
from them," said Heinz, "and now
I must begin what I want to say
by asking a question. Wild one,
do you know what your wife is do-
ing?"

"No."

"Very well, then, I'll tell you,
although you do n't deserve it, old
fellow. You do n't know what a

wrong you have done her by j'our
thoughtlessness. ' '

"Thoughtlessness!" exclaimed
Jobst. " If 3"0u have anything .sensi-
ble to tell me, Heinz, wdiy tell it.
You know something of Ulrike ? "

' ' She is seeking you from camp
to camp — perhaps you will be inter-
ested in hearing that."

Reutlingen stopped and gazed at
his brother in a.stoni,shment.

' ' Impossible ! You know how anx-
ious she was — besides she could n't
go three steps alone among all these
soldiers ! Heinz, it is impossible !
What object could she have in doing
it?"

His ej'es darkened and his sabre
clanked again.st his spurs.

"She certainly isn't looking for
me," he said grimly.

"Don't talk nonsense!" said
Heinz. "Of course she is looking
for you. You do n't know Ulrike
at all — she loves you and is a true
wife to 5^ou."

"You don't know what 5'ou are
talking about, Heinz ! "

"Jobst, I do know. I told her
that I loved her during our stay
at Steinhovel together — do n't strike
me ! Yes, it was a villain's act, I

WILD REUTLINGEN.

367

grant ; but your coldness spurred me
on to make love to her. I did it in
j-our place."

"Man, are you crazy?" cried Jobst
fiercely.

" Yes, yes : I was that day entirely.
But be easy — I can't tell you how
she rebuked me. She simply looked
at me, not a bit frightened, told me
that I was sick and my mind was
wandering, that I ought to take a
cold bath and sleep it off. She said
she wouldn't tell 3'ou — it might spoil
your sweet temper — and bowed to me
o-raciouslv and left the room. That
was an unheard of rebuff for me,
and it is n't easy for me to make this
confession."

"I do n't know whether you were
more shameless in your act or in tell-
ing me of it," said Jobst ; "in either
case it was a breach of trust on your
part that I did not deem possible."

"Forgive me, Jobst — I am not
altogether bad I Since that day I
have reverenced 3'our wife as a saint,
and you may be sure of one thing,
that every jealousy on your part is
a reproach upon her honor and integ-
rity."

" Be quiet, Heinz ; I will not hear
any more ! ' '

"And must she keep up her search,
then ? ' '

"What can I do? Where is she,
then, in the devil's name? When
and where have 3'ou seen her ? I ad-
vise you to speak the truth."

" Do n't worry about that, mad-
man I Your pretty wife came to
my quarters, wished for news of you,
wanted to continue her search for
you. She said that she must see
you and speak to you at any cost.
I hope you will not make her search
for you any longer. ' '

" Why did n't you send her to me —
at once ? ' '

"You were in the field then, so
I took her and her little red haired
maid to the Trebenows at Leitnitz."

Before returning to his camp Heinz
stepped up to his brother once more.

"Wild one, do you wi.sli satisfac-
tion from me for my conduct ? ' '

Jobst gazed at him .steadily.

"No," he answered after a short
pause.

A feeling of deep regret rushed
over the younger as he felt the warm
pressure of his brother's hand.

"Jobst, I thank you for that," he
said, and then they parted.

Steinhovel had become the deso-
late winter home of the lonely girl.

Captain von Zitzewitz of the
Schmettau cuirassiers, while on an
expedition to Magdeburg with his
troop, had sought Ulrike and told
her of his meeting with Reutlingen.
He gave her her husband's message,
" Give her my regards."

"What he meant, my dear lady,
I do n't know, but you will of course
understand," he continued after a
pause. She thanked him with a
smile. Ah, yes ; she understood too
well.

Later, in the spring, Heinz came
to Steinhovel. He had gotten away
from his regiment for a few days
and wanted to take Ulrike to his
brother. She followed without hesi-
tation, this time on horseback, for
she rode well, having made herself
proficient by persistent practice. An-
nette followed with the baggage in
the light wagon.

When they reached the valley of
the Mulde, however, the Kleist hus-

368

WILD REUTLINGEN.

sars were gone — they were too late.
Ulrike was scarcely disappointed, for
she felt that her time of probation
was not yet ended, but she could
not return to Steinhovel. She dread-
ed the lonely old house, the sad long-
ing, the remorse, and the fear in
company with which she had lived
so long. Rather the danger and
anxiety of a life in the field than
this dismal place of security.

Heinz told her that he had been
quartered for a time in Langenrode
abbey, and that the old women had
returned and no longer looked upon
the coming of the Prussian troops
with such absolute terror. He meant
the old inmates who had so faith-
lessly left the abbess and her niece
to their fate, but wTio now, he said,
had become very military. More
than two years before, on a cold, icy
winter day, Ulrike had left that clois-
ter, following the Baireuth dragoons
to the strains of the Hohenfriedberg
march.

One bright spring morning a travel-
stained 3^oung woman, sitting lightly
and easily on her horse, rode up to
that same abbej^ door, accompanied
by a Prussian ofhcer. In kindly
words she told them of the l:)equests
of the old abbess. The military old

women shook their powdered locks,
looked through their spectacles, half
reproachfully, half pleased at the
young iiussar lieutenant who flat-
tered them as they had not been
flattered for years, and, on account
of the good Abbess von Trebenow's
generosity, they refused Ulrike noth-
ing.

Heinz said farewell, and Ulrike
thanked him from the bottom of her
heart for his kindly protection and
noble behavior.

" You are too good, my dear sis-
ter," he answered. "When you
meet my brother, put my smallest
services in their best light, for I have
talked to him and he was very angry.
He was much too ready to punish me
as he used to do in earlier days— and
as he can now no longer do — so there
is anger still in his heart. If your
beautiful eyes will plead for me, dear
sister, I hope he will no longer scorn
me."

She promised to serve him. Ah,
when would she be able to do as he
asked ? The moment of meeting was
always fleeing before her and disap-
pearing into the future.

Heinz departed, and Ulrike re-
mained at lyangenrode with her ser-
vants.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

The king experienced serious losses
before the close of the campaign of
1 761; Laudon captured Fort vSchweid-
nitz by a bold attack, and Kolberg,
after a heroic defense, fell into the
hands of the Russians, thus giving
the latter a strong hold upon Pomera-
nia and the Austrians upon SchlCvSien,
while Daun's arm}^ invaded Saxony.
Besides this, the English, who had

hitherto supplied the king with
money, now withdrew their support,
and it seemed as if the might of the
three great powers must prove too
much for Friedrich's weaker forces.

"I do n't know whether or not it
would be a disgrace to me to give
up such an unequal struggle," wrote
the royal philosopher to a friend,
"but I do know that there would

WILD REUTLINGEN. 369

be no honor in being overcome." campaign without waiting for orders.

The daring eagle gazed once more The prince determined upon an attack

upon the sun, which still shone upon upon the Austrians under General

him and upon his good fortune. von Zedtwitz, wdio were intrenched

In this hour of danger God looked at Dobeln. Four columns took up

down upon his chosen people, and the march at midnight, one of them

guided their struggles for the honor commanded by Seydlitz and another

and preservation of Prussia ; Fried- by Green Kleist, Reutlingen and his

rich's powerful enemj^ the Empress troop being with the latter. It was a

Elisabeth of Russia, died, and the warm night in May when the troops

throne passed to Peter III. were aroused and marched quietly to

As the king sat brooding alone the attack. Not a word was spoken,

amidst the ruins of his palace at not even a lighted pipe could be seen,

Breslau, his soul darkened by despair, and it was expected that Seydlitz

a New Year's greeting came to him would first gain his position and

from the far north ; Peter the Great would then receive the signal to

had been his warm friend, and now attack at seven in the morning.

Peter III had become his admirer. Suddenly, however, Kleist's advance

The young. Czar's first act w^as to guard w^as fired upon by the enemy,

establish an armed neutrality with The moment demanded decided ac-

Prussia, which was quickly followed tion without regard to preconcerted

by a treaty of peace. A bond of plans, and Kleist thoroughly under-

friendship between the two monarchs stood his position ; he hastily irapro-

was soon formed, and General von vised a bridge across the river by

Tschernitschew, who with twenty means of wagons loaded with hay,

thousand men had been ordered to led his men across it and threw him-

support the Austrian advance, was self upon the enemy like lightning,

now directed by the czar to place driving his opponents back. When

himself and his men at the disposal near Luttdorf he was opposed by a

of Prussia's great king. This sud- battalion of the foe and two guns,

den alliance caused great excitement, but the troopers soon scattered the

and Sweden hurriedly sought for infantry and captured the guns, the

peace. The king smiled at this, latter being quickly turned upon the

and said, "I know of no war with enemy, wdio were vainly trying to

Sweden. I only know that Belling reform their line of battle. A single

has been having some trouble with ofl&cer was riding to and fro among

them, and now he may do what he them, trying to rally the fleeing men,

pleases about it." and Reutlingen quickly attacked him

Yes, the sun smiled upon him and took him prisoner. General von

again, and the royal eagle raised his Zedtwitz surrendered himself to the

head in the warm light and .spread wild hussar, and upon his capture

his wnngs for his flight to victory. the whole battalion laid down its

It was spring, and hostilities began arms. Before the other columns

anew, this time in Saxony, where could reach the field Kleist had fallen

Prince Heiurich drew his good sword upon the enemy's rear with ^ part

from its scabbard and opened the of his hussars, had broken through

370

WILD REUTLINGEN.

into their camp at Greifendorf, and
had captured or destroyed their entire
force. The prisoners numbered into
the thousands whom Kleist could
lay at the feet of his great com-
mander.

" Colonel von Kleist captured most
of the prisoners, and he certainly
deserves to be promoted," wrote
Prince Heinrich to the king, and
Kleist became a major-general at
thirty-seven 3^ears of age.

"And what are they going to do
for you, my wild one?" said he to
Reutlingen, as the latter congratu-
lated him. " Will not your captured
general bring you a reward ? ' '

' ' The general has offered me a
ransom ; what more can I expect ? ' '
answered Reutlingen.

By the happy stroke of Prince
Heinrich and his generals the Aus-
trian force had become separated
from the army of the empire, and
the latter was forced to fall back into
the heart of Franken. Seydlitz,
Kleist, and Belling followed — three
manly rivals — each tr^'ing to outdo
the others in deeds of daring and
skill. " Prelates and cloisters suf-
fered thereby," the chronicler tells
us, and great lamentations arose in
Wien, for there was no one at hand
to check the invasion.

The king waited in Schlesien until
the junction with Tschernitschew and
his twenty thousand Russians could
be effected, then with this help drove
Daun from the heights of Burkers-
dorf, and finally sat down to the
siege of Schweidnitz. It was fated,
however, that the king was not to
have foreign assistance in completing
the work which he had begun alone.
Without aid as he commenced, so
was he to remain to the end, and

would win the whole glor>^ and honor
as he had taken all the work and
privations. At this moment of high-
est fortune he was met by a blow
that more than all others threatened
to overwhelm him. Peter III died
soon after his coronation and was
succeeded by his wife Katherine, and
the friendship with Prussia was at
an end. Tschernitschew was ordered
to withdraw his troops, and the ene-
my's good fortune seemed once more
in the ascendant.

If doubt ever came to the king it
was hidden beneath his courage and
skill. He asked the Russian gen-
eral to come and speak with him,
and Tschernitschew came ; Friedrich
asked him to keep the news of his
recall a secret and to delay moving
his army. He asked for no assistance,
but only that the Russians should
remain quiet three days longer to
deceive the Austrians. Tschernit-
schew declared that his orders ex-
pressly forbade it, but Friedrich
asked him again, and no one could
stand before the sunny eyes of Prus-
sia's king and deny him anj^thing.
His noble manner won all to his side.

"Do with me as you will, sire!"
broke at last from the lips of the
Russian general. " It will probably
cost me my head, but had I ten lives
I would gladly give them all to serve
you and to prove my affection."

So the king won a victory alone,
and with it the courage of his troops
returned. He drove Daun from the
well-nigh impregnable heights and
forced him back into the mountains,
whence he dared not advance again
that summer.

Thus the king captured Schweid-
nitz, and the campaign in Schlesien
was ended.

WILD REUTLINGEN.

371

CHAPTER XXXIV.

After Prince Heinrich's victor}-,
Seydlitz, Kleist, and Belling ravaged
the land continuously, and Reutlin-
gen led his troop on detached service
and made his name feared in the
land. He held his men under iron
discipline, however, and kept them
from the pillage and outrage so fre-
quent at that time.

" Friedrich, to you the tide of war has
turned ;
Now let us seize the booty we have
earned."

Turning at this song, Reutlingen
beheld a Cossack coming out of a
church with a priest's robes abotit
him. A rebuke sprang quickly from
the captain's lips.

"Rascal, where did you get that
gown? ■' he cried angrily.

' ' It came in answer to a prayer, ' '
answered the Cossack simply, and
Reutlingen, plea.sed with his wit,
made no further remarks.

So pleasures and privations fol-
lowed one another in quick succes-
sion in these wild raids ; riding and
skirmishing, sharp fighting and cer-
tain victory, all tended to inspire the
raiders with courage and spirit.

In October, Kleist's corps returned
to Saxony, and on the way fell in
with the Baireuth dragoons, now
marching as a part of the command of
Lieutenant-General Count von Neu-
wied to relieve Prince Heinrich in
Schlesien. Retitlingen heard the
strains of the Hohenfriedburg march,
and saw through clouds of dust the
long rows of blue coats and white
plumes of his old regiment, and his
heart filled with a storm of mingled
joy and grief. When they bivou-
acked for the night he rode over to

.see his old friends, and stood once
more among his loved comrades.

As he .stood there in his red cloak,
the bear-skin cap was pulled down
over his swarthy, desperate face and
hid the changed expression, and j-et
indeed the old one, — that wild glance
that belonged to him alone, and yet
which was so different from the one
he wore at Hohenfriedburg, at Leu-
then, at Torgau. His heart beat fast
\Vith happiness as he heard the cries
of joy with which his former compan-
ions greeted him. He laughed with
them as he had not laughed for two
years, and they drank together to the
happy daj's of old and to those that
were still before them.

He returned to his troop that night
his heart heavier than before, for the
pleasure of meeting his old friends
had been too surely followed by the
pain of parting. Then, too, some-
thing else troubled his soul, for Wolf
von Eickstadt had drawn him aside
and asked him an earnest question.

" Reutlingen, have you found your
wife ? ' '

"No, how should I? Where is
she?"

" Have n't you .seen her since your
meeting wnth Trautwitz ? ' '

"No, no! Are 3'ou, too, going to
tell me that she is seeking me and
can't find me? "

"Yes, Jobst, for two years. It is
ver}- bad." Then he called to Ban-
demer who had been awaiting the
moment with impatience. The tall
Pomeranian had distinguished him-
self at the siege of Schweidnitz,
and had been made a lieutenant, so
Reutlingen saw wath delight that the
hopes he had once placed in the

372

\]^ILD REUTLINGEN.

3'oung sub-lieutenant had been ful-
filled.

"My dear captain," cried Bande-
mer, "why haven't you let us hear
from you, especially your poor wife? "
And then in his quiet way he told of
the weary days in L,eipzig, of Ulrike's
care, of the king's kindness to her,
and of their trip to Duke Ferdinand's
camp.

Reutlingen listened as if stunned ;
so he had misunderstood Zitzewitz,
and she had been in Leipzig and not
in Leitnitz, in the midst of the bustle
and discomfort of camp life — a dove
amidst an infinite. number of circling
hawks. What she must have suf-
fered ! Why had she done such an
unheard of thing ? — for him ?

"Comrades. I beg of you, if you
know anything of her ' '

"Why, certainly, Captain, I would
be happy to do you this favor if I
could. Your wife has done more for
me than I can ever repay."

Then Jobst left them.

The hussars passed quickly on, but
the dragoons camped for a few days
in a small village near the spot, and
shortly after the Kleist hussars had
left the Dingelstadt regiment en-
camped near the dragoons, and Ban-
demer rode over to them and asked
for Heinz von Reutlingen. His
noble nature prompted him to make
use of every possible means to effect
his purpose.

Heinz was not there, but his com-
rades told Bandemer that he had
ridden to Langenrode to see someone,
a relative they thought, a sister, or
a cousin. Carl Ludwig had heard
enough ; he believed that he . would
at last be able to take Ulrike to the
wild captain, so he returned to camp
in a gallop to ask for leave. Colonel

von Seelhorst granted him leave for
one day, and before sunrise the next
morning he mounted his horse and
rode rapidl}^ towards Langenrode.

The village seemed like an old
friend to him, the stately castle and
the narrow streets, but especially the
dingy old abbey beneath the golden
brown chestnut trees. It was no
camp now, however, and from its
windows peered the three old women,
startled to behold a strange officer at
their door.

He asked for Fran von Reutlingen.
Yes, she was there. He almost
shouted for joy, and when they stood
face to face a few moments later it
is hard to say which was the happier.

" But I have n't come empty handed
this time, my dear lady," he exclaimed,
deeply moved and yet laughing at
the same time. "I bring you news.
Day before yesterday I talked with
Reutlingen, and to-day the Kleist
hussars must be encamped about four
miles from here. I would have gone
directly to him had I been sure you
were here, but now we will certainly
find him."

"Yes, we will find him I " cried
Ulrike excitedly, her eyes filling with
happy tears. "As soon as I heard
your name I knew that you brought
news of him. My dear, dear friend!
Oh, how shall I ever thank you ? "

He kissed her hand.

' ' How can you speak to me of
thanks, dear lad}-, when only your
own kindness and care enable me to
stand and to be active in the king's
service ? Thanks to God and to you
alone I am able to be here — I am not
a helpless cripple — and I can never do
enough to show you my gratitude."

Bandemer was obliged to give his
horse a short rest, after which he

WILD REUTLINGEN.

373

appeared, leading a palfrey, and
Ulrike came ont in a dark green
riding dress, her silvery blonde hair
covered by a hat with a flowing
plume. Her appearance charmed him.

" But the way is long, my dear
lady ; will not the ride tire you too
much ? ' '

" I have done nothing but ride
all summer in order to strengthen
myself for this journey," she answered,
"and now please, we will tarry no
longer."

It was a clear, sunny October da}-,
and their ride under the blue sky and
through the golden brown, shadowy
forests would have been a genuine
pleasure had the time only passed
more quickly to speed them on
towards their goal.

" This must be the town," said Ban-
demer at last. " It undoubtedly is,
with its long, narrow streets, its cas-
tle on the hill, and the river in the
valley. Aha — I see green hussars'
cloaks — God be praised ! our wild
one must be here."

As they rode down the street the}-
met an offtcer and Bandemer greeted
him politely and asked for Captain
von Reutlingen.

"I do n"t know where he is, I am
sorry to say, my comrade. The gen-
eral and the officers of Kleist's old
regiment are over there at the castle,
possibly the captain is there, too ; he
holds himself aloof from his compan-
ions in his own regiment."

"Thank you for your kindness.
I^et us go on, dear lady."

A cool lane shaded by linden trees
led to the castle, and at its end
they saw nothing but green hussars,
horses, and all their fittings. Ban-
demer called an orderly and asked
for Reutlingen.

"Yes, sir; Captain von Reutlin-
gen is quartered at the castle, but he
is not here just at this moment."

" Well, hold our horses for a little
while, my friend. Come to his room,
my dear lady, and I will find him."

He accompanied her upstairs and
asked a soldier for Reutlingen's room,
but the man did not know it, so he
sent for Ferdinand. The faithful
servant was filled w-ith joy at seeing
his mistress again, and she looked
upon his pleasure as a favorable
omen. The captain's room was
quickly opened to her, and after two
long years of wandering she at last
saw herself at her journey's end.
She had reached her haven at last,
but would she be welcomed as she
had hoped and prayed ?

The room was not particularly
inviting ; arms, saddles, and parts
of uniforms lay scattered about in
confusion, and the faint odor of to-
bacco and leather filled the air, while
the remains of a breakfast lay upon
the table. Ferdinand quickly cleared
the latter away and brought some
bread and wine for the newcomers,
of which Ulrike, urged on by Ban-
demer, took a little.

" You mustn't be so anxious about
me," she said, grasping his great
right hand. " Have I been so weak
for the last two years that you expect
me to falter now that I have reached
my goal ? ' '

He took leave of her and went in
search of Reutlingen, Ferdinand ac-
companying him to the stairway.

" Remember, Ferdinand, that I shall
be at my quarters in the morning,
and that I am always ready to serve
your mistress. I am sorr}' that I
can't wait here any longer, but I
must be on my way as soon as my

374

WILD REUTLINGEN.

horse has eaten a mouthful of food.
Will you care for your mi.stress, my
friend, while I seek the captain ? "

' ' The lieutenant can depend upon
me," Ferdinand assured him, and
Bandemer hurried away.

Ulrike sat upstairs in the captain's
room alone. She took off her hat
and long riding gloves, smoothed
her hair before the glass, and then
sank down into a chair, leaned back
her head, and closed her eyes. Her
pulse beat heavily, her temples
throbbed, and feverish waves of
excitement ran through her body.
Muffled noises arose from the court-
yard, the flies buzzed loudly on the
windows, and the clock in the tower
sounded the hours ; time flew by on
leaden wings.

Suddenly the stairs creaked beneath
a heavy tread, and the clank of a
sabre rang through the halls ; Ulrike
started up, every pulse throbbing.
The door opened, and he stood before
her.

Absolute stillness fell upon them
both. Ulrike could say nothing, but
gazed at him joyfully, although the
sudden fulfillment of her dearest
hopes filled her with anxiety. How
changed he seemed to her ! His
eyes glistened so sternly, his face
had become so dark and hard, and
the new uniform was so strange. In
spite of all he was still the rough sol-
dier who had so filled her with dread
on their first meeting.

Reutlingen remained .standing in
the middle of the room, his hat in
his right hand, and his left resting
upon the hilt of his sabre. His spurs
clashed together as he bowed to her,
after which he remained silent and
motionless. His e3'es rested steadily
upon his wife, who stood before him,

her face deadly pale and her slender
figure trembling.

Was this Ulrike, his pretty fawn,
with the .soft, childlike face and
startled eyes ? She seemed to have
grown much larger, as she stood
before him, with her determined man-
ner and earnest, thoughtful gaze.
Still it was .she. The fawn showed
itself to be not alwaj's .shy and
frightened, but turned at last with
a noble air and gazed lovingly upon
the hunter.

So Ulrike stood before him, her
loving eyes raised to meet his own,
and a wave of passion swept over
him. What did she want of him ?
Could this wife, who had looked
upon him as a scoundrel and a rob-
ber, have come to acknowledge him
as her husband ? Impossible ! Pre-
sumptuous thought !

He drew himself up sternly and
stiffly before her.

" My dear lady, Bandemer tells me
that you have come to .speak with
me ; what are your wishes ? " '

' ' Herr von Reutlingen " '

Ah, that soft voice that he knew
so well ; how he had longed for its
music.

"Herr von Reutlingen, I have
sought you throughout the whole
land for two long ^-ears only to speak
to you once more."

"I regret exceedingly, my dear
lady, that you should have been put
to so much trouble on my account.
Wh}' did you not send me a message
that would have brought me to your
side ? ' '

Anger and passion trembled in his
voice ; he blamed her for all he had
suffered. Hoav could Ulrike meet
him ?

' ' I have sent for vou not once but

HOME.

.•)/;

a hundred times," she cried, break-
ing into tears. "You must have
heard from me, for once I received
your answer : Captain von Zitzewitz
brought me your scornful greetings.
I saw at once that you cared little
what became of me."

Reutlingen broke in hurriedly, his
eyes flashing.

" Ulrike, how can you say that to
me ? You made no apology for the
wrong you did me."

"It has always been the same,"
he continued grimly ; ' ' when I first
saw you in ' Langenrode three years
ago — a strange girl — you shut the
door in my face when I came to place
myself at your service. I was then
so indifferent to your fate that I
placed my whole life at your disposal
that I might be able to protect you.

And now, by my foolish passion "'

He broke off, and turned away from
her. "Folly — what am I saying?
Please tell me what you want of me."

' ' Jobst, I want to ask you to forgive

me " Her voice sank. Ah, she

had imagined this first speech so dif-
ferent. She now for the first time
realized that it was impossible for her
to talk to the wild Reutlingen as she
did to other men, and the thought
filled her with pain.

' ' For what mvist I forgive you ? ' '
he asked in a gentler voice.

[to be concluded.]

"Oh, I have made yow suffer so
much; I know it too well. All the
evil fortune that has come to you,
the king's displeasure "

"Oh, no," he interrupted her hast-
ily: "the results of my own foolish
actions alone, I assure you. The
only thing that yo\x have done to me
is that you loved some one else in
my stead, and for that I can't forgive
you."

' ' I have never loved any one but
you," she answered heavily, scarce-
ly comprehending her own words.
"Here is the explanation of ni}-
actions, the reason for my conduct ;
I have carried them with me for two
years, in black and white, to lay them
before you."

With that she pushed up a chair
to the table for him, and opened
and spread out the package of letters
which Langenrode had delivered to
her after Benno's death, in accord-
ance with her cousin's request.

" Read them, please."

Reutlingen brushed his hand across
his eyes as though dazed.

"I can't read it yet — not yet. I
can't read it."

"Yes, you can. I beg you to do
nothing until you have read them."

She sat down opposite him to
wait with patience, although torn by
fears.

HOME.

By George Baticroft Griffith.

Our feet may leave, but not our hearts,
Love from the hearthstone ne'er departs;
In pain and pride afar w^e roam,
Love, dewy-eyed, remains at home.

THE CHARITIES OF NEW HAMPvSHIRE.

[An address given before the Daughters of New Hampshire, in Boston, Mass., October 12, 1S95.]
By F. B. Sanborn, of Concord, Mass.

1ADIES:— There seems
a great propriety in
3'our choosing this topic
for consideration to-day ;
not only because the
charities of any com-
munit}^ are specially in the sphere of
woman — however that sphere may be
defined — Init because a new departure
has lateh' been taken in our native
state, at the suggestion and urgency
of her daughters, in providing for
the better care of poor and neglected
children at the expense of the public.
There is, in fact, a Board of vState
Charities newty formed in New
Hampshire, since July i, and two of
its five members are women ; the
duties of which board at present
wholly relate to public provision, by
the family system, for orphan or des-
titute children, such as now have no
place of refuge, too often, save the
county almshouse, with its mixed
population of old and young, vicious
and virtuous, sane and insane, sick
and well. I had the pleasure of call-
ing on one of the ladies of this new
board, the other day (Mrs. Carpen-
ter, of Concord), and some of the
facts which I am to lay before you
are derived from her.

It is an old maxim that " Charity
begins at home," and we are recog-
nising, of late years, that public char-
ity has much to do with the homes
of a people. The French describe a

large part of their poor-law relief as
sccoiirs a doiin'cik\ or family aid ; and
it is in a family, good or bad, that
much of our own charitable work
must take effect. If it is a well-
chosen family, then the result is apt
to be good ; if the famih^ is too large,
or ill-regulated, or in the wrong situ-
ation, then the result often is to
make a bad matter worse.

Originally, in New Hampshire as
elsewhere, the care of the poor, and
even of prisoners and the insane,
was largely a family matter. There
were few almshouses, the prisons
were small, and insane asylums did
not exist. If a town had a pauper
to support, or an orphan child to
bring up, the custom was to send the
one to some household where he
would be cared for, not too expen-
sively', and the other (the child) to
another household where a 1 oy or
girl was wanted, to be "brought up."
The sheriff or jailer looked after his
prison-family differently from his own
household ; still it was a family rather
than an institution that he managed.
There were serious defects in this
rather loose and happ3'-go-lucky
.state of things ; and, with increasing
population and the specializing of
industries, it was sure to pass away.
The next step, in towns large enough,
was to establish a town poor-house,
and maintain there, in a familj^ large
or small, as the case might be, such

THE CHARITIES OE NEW HAMPSHIRE.

2>n

of the town's poor as could not better
be provided for in their own homes,
or in some friendl}' household. Often-
times the poor-house was a neat and
orderly abode of decayed gentility,
or innocent poverty, with short and
simple rules, few inmates, and a rea-
sonable degree of comfort. I have

/-^ - f -

Mrs. Julia R. Carpenter, Member State Board of Charities.

seen many such almshouses in Massa-
chusetts, and a few in New Hamp-
shire ; but there they are mostly
things of the past, since the intro-
duction, thirty or forty years ago, of
the county almshouse system, upon
the change of law which ga^•e to so
many of the poor a " settlement," as
we call it, in the county rather than
in the town. This change was also
inevitable ; it came from the great
fact that our New England popula-
tion, which had been tolerably homo-
geneous, up to 1845, has in the last
half-century become largely a mix-
ture of races, and, to a considerable
extent, of foreign birth or parentage.

To such inmiigrants the ancient set-
tlement laws did not well apply ;
they often (especially if women)
could not gain a residence in a par-
ticvilar town, so as to receive public
aid there, under a very long period —
frequently not at all. Hence the
necessity of giving such persons what
we in Massachusetts call a " state set-
tlement," but in New Hampshire a
settlement in the county of residence.
And the increase of persons of this
class compelled the opening of county
almshouses, which now exist in each
of the ten counties of New Hamp-
.shire. As the counties vary greatly
in popiilation, from Hillsborough,

^^^^H^

Mrs. M. H. Varick, Member State Board of Charities.

with nearly 100,000, to Sullivan, with
only 17,000, these county almshouses
are of very different size and charac-
ter. The best is said to be that of
Merrimack county ; but the newest
are those of Hillsborough at Goffs-
town ( which this year takes the place
of the crowded and ill-arranged build-

378

THE CHARiTIES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.

Hon. John M. Mitchell, Member State Board of Chanties.

ings at Wilton), and of Strafford at
Dover, where the old buildings were
burnt, nearly three years ago, under
circumstances of great inhumanity,
involving much loss of life among the
insane.

Of necessit}^ these almshouses must
contain a ver}- mixed body of in-
mates. They are poor-house, hos-
pital, insane asylum, orphan asylum,
and workhouse all in one — not alwa3'S
all in one building, but without that
strict classification which so varied
a population requires. It was to take
the children from these quite unsuit-
able abodes for them, that the law
was passed last spring, constituting
a state board of charities, and giving
it supervisory powers in the matter of
placing children in private families.
The members of the board are now
making their preliminary inquiries.

THE TREATMENT OF THE INSANE.

It is only in comparatively recent
times that the insane have been sensi-

bly and humanely treated anywhere^
as a class. Kven one hundred years
ago the grossest ignorance prevailed
among physicians and the community
in general, as to the nature and best
treatment of the insane. New Hamp-
shire was no exception. I have lately
seen a curious edition of ^Esop's
Fables in Latin and English, which
was printed by Henry Ranlet, of Exe-
ter, N. H., in 1799, no doubt for use
in Phillips academy. In it occurs

Hon. G. G. Davis, Member State Board ut Cudrities.

the statement of the means employed
by a physician in Milan, Italy, for
the cure of his insane patients, which
is worth quoting, since it illustrates
a subject verj' little known — the igno-
rant and barbarous treatment of in-
sanity until within the past century
and a half. The date of the fable is
unknown to me ; but it might have
been true at almost any time between
the period of Dante and his first Eng-
lish translator. The title of the fable
is ' ' The Doctor Who Took Care of

THE CirARITIRS OF NFAV HAMPSHIRE.

379

Insane Men": the part which con-
cerns US is tlie following :

"There was a doctor li\ing in
Milan who nndertook to cure the
insane, if they were brought to him
before a certain stage of their dis-
ease, and the treatment was after this
fashion, — He had a courtyard near
his house, and in it a pond of filthy
water, in which he tied them to a
post naked. Some of them were in
the water up to their knees, .some up
to their middle, others deeper .still, —
according to the degree of their mad-
ness ; and he treated them with water
in this wa}' until they seemed to be
sane. Now one man was brought to
him among the rest, whom he placed
in the water up to his thighs; who,
after a fortnight, began to grow sane,
and to beg the doctor to take him
out of the pond. This he did, and
relie\-ed him of his torment ; but with
the understanding that he .should not
go out of the courtyard. When the
patient had complied with this condi-

.#-r-

•■*^

O. J. M. Gilman, Member State Board of Cnarities.

tion a few days, he allowed him to
go all about the house, provided he
.should not go outside the gate. His
fellow-sufferers, who were not a few.
.still remained in the water ; he took
pains to obey the doctor's orders, and
so recovered ; but he remembered
nothing of what he had seen before
he was craz}- ."

Barbarous as this usage was, it
had a certain rea.son in it. Whoever
devised this species of water-cure had
perceived that the insane are much
more curable in the earlier .staare of
the malady : he had also noticed that
the patient .sometimes can control his
insanity b}- force of will, and may be
induced to do this by punishment,
followed by reward. Acting upon
this knowledge, a doctor could now
and then cure a patient — indeed,
insanity is .sometimes .self-limited,
and will cease of itself. But he mu.st
have killed far more than he cured ;
and what monstrous suffering he im-
posed on the hapless victims of his
theory ! The treatment in English
bedlams and Continental hospitals
w^as better than this, but not much
better .so far as rational means of
recover}' went. The insane were
chained, flogged, .shut up in the dark,
kept in cold rooms, bled, do.sed,
prayed over, in the hope of casting
out the demons that were believed
to have entered into the poor dis-
tracted one ; l)Ut it was not until the
middle of the la.st century that
science and philanthropy found out
a better way. The beginnings were
slow and tentative, and much error
was mingled with the treatment, even
by learned and humane physicians,
like Dr. Benjamin Rush, of Philadel-
phia ; but the dawn of a wiser
method having once been seen, the

38o

THE CHARITIES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.

light was followeil up. The epoch-
making event, in France, was the
action of the good repubHcan physi-
cian Pinel, in ordering the chains to
be removed from the madmen in the
Bicetre of Paris, in 1793 ; in Eng-
land it was the agitation by the
good Quaker, William Tuke, which
resulted in the establishment of the
York retreat, late in the last century.
The echo of these things, coming
over to New England, led to efforts,

About sixty-five years ago an agi-
tation began in Massachusetts and
New Hampshire for the application
of the improved treatment b}^ which
the wealthy had benefited in Boston,
Hartford, New York, and Philadel-
phia, to the insane inmates of the
poor-houses and prisons. Dr. C. P.
Bancroft, of the New" Hamp.shire asy-
lum at Concord, which grew out of
this agitation, has recently collected
and printed, at his asylum printing-

un fjsnire Asylum tctr tti

in Boston, Hartford, and elsewhere,
to give the insane of those states
more humane care; and in 181 8 the
McEean asylum, near Boston, opened
its wards for patients in what had
been the coiintry-house of a wealthy
merchant. After occupying this loca-
tion for more than seventy years,
this branch of the Massachusetts
General hospital has lately estab-
lished itself in elegant and costly
new buildings, much more spacious,
in the tow-n of Belmont, seven miles
west of Boston.

ofhce, the journalistic history of the
New Hampshire movement for the
care of the insane. By this it appears
that as early as 1832, Governor Dins-
moor introduced the subject in his
mes.sage to the legislature, where it
was taken up b}- a committee, on
which are the names so familiar to
the daughters of New Hampshire,
of Webster, Bachelder, Smith, Harris,
and Sanborn. Their report, strongly
advocating a state asylum, in imita-
tion of that of Worcester, which
Horace Mann and others had estab-

THE CHARITIES OF NEW IIAMPSIllRIi.

381

lished in Massachusetts, was written
by Samuel 1{. Cones, of Portsmouth,
father. I think, of the present Profes-
sor Cones. Two years later, an emi-
nent phj'sician of P^xeter, Dr. Wil-
liam Perry (whose son has long been
a trustee of the Concord as^dum, and
whose granddaughter is Miss Sarah
Orne Jewett, the distinguished au-
thor), gave an address before the legis-
lature, in which will be found as much
good sense on the condition and care
of the insane as is met with in the
writings of our own day, sixty 3'ears
later.

Dr. Perry e.stimated the New
Hampshire insane, in 1834, at four
hundred ; it is now more than nine
hundred, and would perhaps reach
eleven hundred, if all the ca.ses could
be reported — which never happens b}'
au}' census. In this year (1895) Dr.
Irv'ing A. Watson, who is virtually
lunac}' commissioner for New Hamp-
shire, will have on his excellent rearis-
ter at Concord about one thousand
names of the insane ; and though
more than fifty of these will have
died by the end of the year, and at
least lift}' will have recovered, yet
there is no reason to doubt that the
unregistered would keep the count
up to beyond one thousand, at any
given time. As the state population
is now about 390,000, this would
give one insane person for ever}- 390
of the whole people. In Massachu-
setts the proportion of the insane is
greater — sa}- one to 330 — but the
New Hampshire ratio is nearer to
that of the whole countrv', the older
states having more insane in propor-
tion than the newer ones. Of these
thousand insane, 412 are now in the
admirable asylum at Concord ( which
has convenient room for onlv about

350) : nearly 300 are in the county
almshouses; a few are in the prisons,
and the rest are in private dwellings,
or town poor-houses, where any such
exist. Those under Dr. Bancroft's
care are well treated, and frequently
recover ; those in the count\- alms-
houses are sometimes well treated,
but oftener neglected, or only poorly
nourished and watched over; and in
the Strafford county almshou.se. in
February, 1893, 41 of the insane poor
were burned to death in a night-fire
of the buildings. What New Hamp-
shire ought to do is this, — to build
an asylum for several hundred of the
chronic (incurable) insane, giving
Dr. Bancroft the charge of it ; and
then to see that the insane in the
almshou.ses are all well cared for.

To build up the New Hampshire
asylum ( which deserves the name of
hospital better than most of the e.stab-
lishments that are .so called) was a
slow and gradual process ; the .state
was .small, not wealthy, and in such
matters very conservative. But the
few enlightened friends of the insane
kept up the agitation, and finalh',
near the close of the 3'ear 1842, the
buildings were finished and furnished,
at a cost of about $40,000 for an
establishment supposed to be large
enough for 1 20 patients. It has since
been trebled in capacitj^ and greatly
improved in all its facilities for the
treatment of its inmates, whether for
their recovery or for their detention
and comfort in a condition which
makes recovery impossible — for it
mu.st not be forgotten that insanity,
as manifested upon the commitment
of a patient to .some hospital, is cur-
able in less than half the cases. Were
it possible to detect the disease in its
earliest stages, and then place the

382

THE CHARITIES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.

The Twitcheli Building;, New Hampshire Asylum for the Insane.

patient in the most favorable circum-
stances for recovery, the number of
cures would be far greater ; but this
is impossible in the majority of cases.
It is well known how much more fre-
quent recoveries are in the first six
months from the beginning- of the
attack, than they can be in the chronic
stages of the malady. But these
chronic patients do occasionally re-
cover ; and it is often unwise to give
up hope, even when the situation
seems hopeless. To promote recov-
ery. Dr. Bancroft, the father of the
present superintendent, found that
he needed better classification than
the original buildings could give ;
and especially, that the convalescing
patients ought to be .separated from
the rest, and be placed in conditions
favoring complete restoration. With
this in view, he built the first of two
detached hou.ses (the .so-called Ban-
croft building), where the women
under his care could live in a nearer
approach to the .surroundings and
habits of ordinary .social life than the
common asylum ward permits. This

was one of the first .structures of the
kind in New England, and .so marked
was the success of it that a further
extension of the same principle was
made hy the purchase of land, and
the erection of an ordinary dwelling-
house a few miles in the country, to
which a summer colony of patients
could l)e sent, and where the\' could
live in .still greater freedom and the
enjoyment of everyday pleasures and
duties, not .so readily available at the
larger establishment in the mid.st of
a city. For you must know, if you
do not, that the retired farm of 120
acres, on which the asylum was built,
in the .small village of Concord, half
a centur}^ ago, now" finds it.self sur-
rounded by city houses and .streets,
and threatened with the opening of
a new street through a portion of its
grounds. Con.sequently, the privacy
of the a.sylum is to some extent gone ;
while the summer colony by Lake
Penacook has more than the retire-
ment that once belonged to the whole
asylum. Twelve or fifteen of the
women live in this summer villa for

THE CHARITIES OE NEW HAMPSHIRE.

383

four or five months in the year, and
a siniihir house for men is soon to be
built near In', so that both sexes may
have tlie same advantages. In win-
ter, these abodes are too arctic for
residence, l>ut during the summer
months they lessen the crowding in
the city buildings, furnish a new
mode of classifving the insane, and,
in some instances, undeniablv, bring

been found worse than useless. So
inefficient was the very expensive
apparatus for heating and ventilating
the great pile of buildings, that I
have known thirty tons of coal to be
consumed there in a single winter
day, when they contained but some
600 patients. At present, with more
than 900 patients, in consequence of
changes made in this costly system

about a discovery- of what the patient (and which might have been adopted

most needs for regaining health.
Besides these summer villas, Dr. C I'.
Bancroft has built a magnificent con-
valescent house for men.

These newer and improved build-
ines of the Concord asvlum not onlv

in building, at a saving of at least
iriioo,ooo), it is found that less than
fifteen tons will give a much more
equal and satisfactory heat, and far
better ventilation. In other words,
$100,000 was thrown awav in the

more in coal consumption, in the
fourteen years Ijefore Dr. Page, the

' -<. ,v -■ Wtili^

answer well the purpose for which first construction, and perhaps $50,000
they were planned, but they have
been built within a reasonable sum
for the accommodation of each
patient who may occupy them.
I mention this to the credit of
Dr. Bancroft and his father,
and of their practical and hu-
mane trustees, because the ex-
cellent rule of frugality in cost
for such buildings has so often
been transgressed in Massachu-
setts and other states. It is not
the mo.st expensive buildings
that furnish the best means of
treating the insane ; oftentimes
I have seen them more sensi-
bly and effectively cared for in
ho.spitals where the building-
cost had not come up to one
half what we paid at Danvers,
nearly twenty- years ago, for the
shelter and hou.se-furnishing of
each patient. The building-cost
in that newest of our palace-hos-
pitals was more than $2,000 for
every insane person who could
be conveniently lodged there ;

and much of this cost has Wamer cottage, La^e Penacook. N. H. Asylum for the Insane.

p'*:

384

THE CHARITIES OE NEW HAMPSHIRE.

present superintendent, discovered
and remedied this one grand defect.

A similar, though less expensive,
defect in the heating apparatus of
the new Massachusetts asylum at
Medfield, not yet completed, was
made by the incompetent persons
who first had charge of that struct-
ure. The lesson to he drawn from
such blunders is this, — to place the
construction of buildings for the
insane, not under professional archi-
tects, who seldom know what the

that class, whether rich, poor, of
moderate means, or belonging to the
increasing host of paupers and crim-
inals. In some respects — particularly
in her provision for state aid to indi-
gent families who bear the burden
of insane relatives — New Hampshire
sets an example to wealthier commu-
nities : 1)ut her care of the pauper
insane cannot be commended. Its
worst faults were glaringly shown by
the light of the blazing wooden
shanty in Dover, February 9, 1893,

'»

• it

Me.rinnack County AInnbiiuuse,

patients need, and very rarely econo-
mize funds, but in the hands of
experienced superintendents, such as
Dr. Bancroft, Dr. Brown (another
New Hampshire man, who has built
admirably at the Taunton hospital),
or the two recent superintendents
at Tewksbury, Drs. Fisher and How-
ard.

In New Hampshire, however, the
virtue of frugalit>- in building needs
less to be insisted on than in most
states. The defect there has been
too little outlay for the housing of
the insane, and the lack of a syste-
matic plan for the disposal of all of

where forty-one out of forty-four
insane paupers at the count>' alms-
house of Strafford lo.st their lives
within an hour or two, b>' the burn-
ing of their cells before they could
be got out. Except those who are
admitted to the Concord asylum and
the county asylum of Merrimack,
the pauper insane are inadequately
hou.sed, insulftciently cared for, and
improperh- classified. I except from
this remark the new county asylum
at Goffstown, which I have not seen,
and which is perhaps not yet occu-
pied.

A word here as to the whole popu-

THE CHARITIRS OF NEW HAMJ'SHIRE.

385

latioii of these ten county almshouses.
No complete report is made to the
state government on their condition
and management : but I trust the
new board of charities may hereafter
make such reports annually. How-
ever, in the autumn of 1892, before
the fire at Dover, my old friend. Hon.
P. B. Cogswell, lately mayor of Con-
cord, made a report to the National
government on the immigration ques-
tion, in course of which he presented
the facts concerning the inmates of
the county almshouses, as thej- stood,
October i, 1892 — three years ago.
Whatever change has since occurred
must have been to increa.se the num-
bers, especially of the foreign-born
and the insane.

PAUPERS ox THE COUNTY FARMS OCT. i. 1S92.

Counties.

•H

•6

si
2

u
u

'V.

•t-*

«!

Whole number...

Natives

Foreign

Children under 15
' Insane & idiotic

143
100

7
15

130
56
74

1381 291 IsS

104 141I43

34,15015

i5| 55i--

57 1 149 '27

ii3 78|53|ii25
1024845] 750

II 30, 8| 375

131 Si 116

26'22 391

1 It win be noticed that the whole number of in-
sane (391) is nearly one fourth greater than men-
tioned by me earlier. This comes fioni counting
the so-called idiotic. Many of these, however, are
the demented insane who have passed into a state
resembling idiocy.

It will be noticed how much the
counties differ from each other in
respect to their almshouse poor, even
when the population is much the
same ; thus Rockingham, with 50,000
people, had hardly more than Straf-
ford with 40,000 ; and Coos, with
24,000, had more than Cheshire with
30,000; w^hile Carroll, with only
18,000, had as many as Cheshire.
These differences come in part from
the different practice in regard to
outdoor relief, or family aid. in the

counties; in i)art, probably, from
the prevalence of foreign pauperism,
as in Hillsborough and Strafford.
Slightly more than half in Hills-
borough were foreign, and insane.

The native population of the state,
of native parents, in 1890, was about
254,000; those of foreign birth or
parentage were about 122,300. Thus
it will be seen that le.ss than one
third of the population furnished a
third of the paupers in alm.shouses ;
while in .some counties (Hillsborough
and Strafford, for instance), with less
than a third of the people, the for-
eicrners furnished more than half the
paupers. Of the children. 116 in all,
or one tenth of the whole, nearly all
were of foreign parentage ; in Straf-
ford, w^here none were reported, about
thirty were .supported in Catholic
schools, etc., at one dollar a week.
Of the 375 paupers of foreign birth,
245 were Irish ( 100 of them in Hills-
borough, and 65 in Strafford) ; 65
were Canadian French (27 in Hills-
borough, and 9 in Coos) ; 22 were
English ; 7, Scotch ; and 9, Germans.
The proportion of insane and idiotic
was much larger among the foreign
than the native inmates. In the
.state prison at Concord, December i,
1894, among 172 convicts then remain-
ing, 33 were Canadians ; while the
other foreign born were only put
dowai as 17. But no doubt many of
the 122 born in the United States
were of foreign parentage. The same
would be true, and to a larger extent,
in the count}- prisons and the work-
house wards of the county alms-
houses, from which I have no re-
turns.

It is the intent of the law^ and the
purpose of the new board of charities,
that mo.st of the 120 children (more

386

THE CHARITIES OE NEW HAMPSHIRE.

or less) found in the county alms-
houses shall be put in good families,
or in special homes for children. In
this work they will be guided in some
degree by our experience in Massa-
chusetts, where, for nearly thirty
years, with increasing thoroughness
and good result, we have had a sys-
tem of family care for children under
public supervision. The principles
of this system were laid down by the
late Dr. vS. G. Howe, in 1854, and
again, more in detail, in i866-'67,
when he w^as chairman of the Massa-
chusetts Board of State Charities —
the earliest organized of the twenty
similar boards that now exist. As
secretary of that board, from 1863 to
1868, I had occasion to cooperate
with Dr. Howe in his .efforts to place
dependent children under family care ;
and also to become acquainted with
one of the best of the smaller state
reform schools — the State Industrial
school, established by New Hamp-
shire in 1855, on the banks of the
Merrimack at Manchester. I visited
there thirty years ago, and have
known something of its management
■ever since. It has been now for years
under the charge of an excellent
superintendent and matron — Hon. and
Mrs. J. C. Ra}' — and has been carried
on with that steadiness of administra-
tion, and close oversight by the trus-
tees, which are the best guarantee of
good results. When I saw it first,
there were less than 100 pupils — now
there are more than 130 — and both
boys and girls are received there.
The proportion of the two sexes is
usually about one girl to five or six
boys ; at the date of the last report, a
year ago, among the 131 pupils there
were only 36 of American parentage ;
while 48 were Irish, 41 French Cana-

dian, one English ..^x one Russian
child, and four Negroes. In the forty
3-ears it has exis.jd, it has received
nearly 1,000 different children, and
has restored most of them to society,
self-supporting and law-abiding. It
could now, probably, place more of
its pupils in familie '^^"'n has been
the custom, and co receive from
the almshouses some of the children
kept there, who would benefit by a
stricter discipline.

THE NEW HAMPSHIRE PRISON
SYSTEM.

In a recent visit to the well-built
a n d now frugally managed state
prison at Concord, I was interested
to see that the discipline is still
carried on there upon the steady and
strict principles established by its
first warden, Moses Pilsbury, — the
ancestor of man}- good prison officers,
and the first founder of a system
since developed by his son, the late
General Pilsbur}- of Albany, and his
more gifted pupil, Z. R. Brockway,
of the Elmira reformatory, into a far
better, because more sr-'entific and
correctional, method of dealing with
convicts. Moses Pilsbury, after man-
aging the New Hampshire prison
successfully, went to the Connecticut
state prison in Wethersfield, and
remained there till he turned it over
to his son, Amos, who controlled it
from 1828 to 1844, and who there
took young Brockway as an under-
officer. On removing to the Albany
penitentiary. General Pilsbury car-
ried Mr. Brockway with him, and
kept him until he was qualified to
build and manage a prison of his
own, — first, at Rochester, N. Y. ;
and then at Detroit. From Detroit,
Mr. Brockway went to take charge

THE CHARITIES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.

387

of the great . lira prison in 1S76;
and liis oki teacliL.'-, tlu son of Moses
Pilsbury of Conco 1, lived to witness
his remarkable success in that reform-
atory. In view of these facts, we
may almost claim the Hlmira system
as a New Hampshire prison-system ;
but, in fact, it •- not in force in that
state. The . i Pilsburj- method of
silence and separation is still kept
up ; and its results are by no means
bad. But it would be well to adopt
those modifications of it which Mr.

changed at the prison last winter,
and Mr. Robinson v;as put in charge.
He lia^: had no special training for
the place, is advanced in age, and
cannot hold it long. When a change
is made, it should be the effort of the
governor and council of the state,
who control the prison, to find a man
with a knowledge of convicts, and
trained in the newer science of
reformatory management, as it is
now understood and practised at
Klmira, at our Woman's reformatory

^TPrrrr

>.i^ii2.*#K^4'^'^ '^'

New Hampsnire State Prison.

Brockway began to introduce at De-
troit, and has now so extended that
there is little left of the Pilsbury sys-
tem except its inflexible justice and
its honest application to both con-
victs and officers.

The present warden of the New
Hampshire state prison, Mr. Nahum
Robinson, had the oversight of its
construction, in some degree, when
it was removed from its old location
near the state house to its more north-
ern site near the granite quarries
about ten years since. In conse-
quence of financial troubles in the
labor contracts, the management was

in Sherborn, and at the Concord
reformatory. It will not be feasible
to put in practice, in a prison for all
classes of convicts, all the regulations
of those special prisons ; but their
spirit should be studied, and the
main features of the system adopted.
The pri.son is well built for such u.ses,
and, with certain additions which are
soon to be made, I learn, would admit
of that classification by grades which
is the basis of all good discipline at
present.

In some respects the New Hamp-
shire prison is an example to other
.states. That foolish yielding to labor

388

THE CHARITIES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.

agitators which has disorganized
prison-labor in New York, and in-
jured its efficiency in Massachusetts,
has found no place yet in New
Hampshire. There it is still held
that the original command laid upon
all men to earn their bread in the
sweat of their brows, applies with
added force to rascals who have been
sentenced for crime. vSuch are ex-
pected to work for their living, — not
to be supported in idleness at the
expense of honest men.

Consequently, the prison industries
are so handled as to pay by their
product the cost of carrying on the
prison. This was not the case last
year, but I was told by the secretary
of state in September that the earn-
ings are now equal to the dail}' cost,
making no account of repairs and
improvements. It used to be so in
our Massachusetts state prison, but
that day has long since gone by. If
the discipline is reformatory, and
does send the convict out a self-sup-
porting man, it is not so important
that the prison should pay its ex-
penses. In the county jails, where
the number confined is small, no con-
siderable labor can be done ; and it
is doubtful if the prisoners are as
carefully separated as they .should
be. At the county almshouses, the
sentenced persons are not separated
from the paupers in general.

SUMMARY VIEW OF THK CHARITIES.

It may seem strange to reckon
pri.sons among the state charities,
yet a place of restraint and reform
is the most charitable situation in
which the offender can be put. For
young culprits, such as go to the
state industrial school, few will doubt
the charitable nature of restraint : it

is essential to the future good of the
child. Indeed, a large part of public
charity must consist in restraint and
discipline ; where the insane are con-
cerned, we see this at once. It is
equally needful when the povert}' is
the fruit of intemperance or other
vice ; and though I do not believe in
sending all the poor to almshouses,
still there are many who must be
kept there. The almshouse sy.stem
of New Hampshire, defective as it
now is, can be made much better,
and serve as an essential part of the
poor-law administration. The same
can be said of the rather lax distribu-
tion of out-door relief in the towns ;
with a proper administration, this is
the best way to provide for poor
widows, for children, and for the
honest aged men and women. The
almshouse is never the best place for
a child ; and we shall all bid God-
speed to the New Hampshire women
who are working to send the alms-
house children into good families.
It is possible also to maintain a part
of the chronic insane in private fami-
lies — not of their own relatives, usu-
ally — as is now done in a small way
in Massachusetts, and to a much
greater extent, and with good result,
in Scotland, Belgium, and Germany.
It is now a settled maxim that
all the insane should be under
state supervision. This does not
mean that the public shall sup-
port them all, but that all shall
be looked after by the sovereign
authorit}', to guard against private
harm and local neglect. In New
Hampshire about half the registered
insane are well cared for ; with the
other half much remains to be done,
and women can see that it is done.
The regulation of the introduction

FRANKLIN BENJAMIN SANBORN.

389

of immigrants, particularly from Can-
ada, wcnild iliniinisli the pauper bur-
dens of Xcw Plampsliire, as of the
other states of the North. At pres-
ent the laws are defective, and those
we have are not well enforced. There
are reasons why insanity- — one of the
great causes of pauperism — is natural-
ly more common among immigrants
than in a like number of residents of
all ages. Many of the latter being
children are not exposed to insanit}',
while most immigrants are above the
aoe when insanitv first occurs. More-
over, the change of climate and condi-
tions, the regret for home and friends,
etc., directly promote insanity. That
any considerable number come to the
country insane, I have never seen rea-
son to believe. But most immigrants
are poor, and many of them are quite
willing to be paupers.

New Hampshire is fortunate in
having still many small communities
where crime is rare, and permanent
pauperism almost unknown ; fortu-
nate also in the manly spirit of her
native people, and the tender mercy
of her daughters. The temptations
of village life ; the vice and destitu-
tion and crime of cities ; the many
evils of developing civilization, will
make demands upon all the vvisdom
and all the goodness of her inhab-
itants. But I believe they will meet
those demands, as they have met the
other exigencies of the past three
centuries, with that combination of
affection and practical good .sen.se,
of courage and good nature, which
seems to characterize the true son
and the genuine daughter of New
Hampshire, wherever the}' find them-
selves.

FRANKLIN BPZNJAMIN SANBORN.

Franklin Benjamin Sanborn was
born at Hampton Falls, N. H., in the
house where all his ancestors had
lived for one hundred years, and on
the farm which the .son of the first
American ancestor, L,ieut. John San-
borne of Hampton, occupied from
about 1675. This property has never
passed by grant or deed, but always
by inheritance, and in TS31 ( Decem-
])er 15), when F. B. Sanborn was
born, was the property of his father,
Aaron Sanborn, son of Benjamin,
who married Lydia Leavitt, daughter
of Thomas Leavitt, Esq., a neighbor-
ing farmer, and had a family of four
sons and two daughters, of whom all
but the youngest .son .still survive.
The elde.st son is Charles Henry

Sanborn, M. D., born in October,
rS2i, who has practi.sed medicine in
the Hamptons, Kensington, etc., for
nearly forty years. He taught his
brother Frank the rudiments of L,atin,
French, and German ; the English
branches and .some of the languages
were learned in the common school
of the town, under competent teach-
ers ; and Greek was learned from
books with no instructor, until Pro-
fessor Hoyt, in 1850, began to direct
Frank's Greek studies, in preparation
for Phillips Exeter acadeni}', where
Professor Hoyt was the Greek in-
structor, and where young Sanborn
fini.shed his fitting for college in
i85i-'52, — entering Harvard college
a year in advance, in the summer of

390

FRANKLIN BENJAMIN SANBORN.

1852. He had already become a poli-
tician and anthor, having joined the
Independent Democrats, or Free-Soil
party (of which his brother Charles
and Professor Hoyt were early mem-
bers, from 1845 onward), before be-
coming a voter ; and having pub-
lished verse in the organ of that
party, the Concord Indcpmdent Dem-
ocrat, as early as 1850. In college
he pursued his Latin, Greek, and
German studies, read extensively in
English authors, and continued to
write for publication in newspapers
and magazines. Before leaving col-
leee he was invited bv Mr. R. W.
Emerson, of Concord, Mass., to take
charsre of a small school in that town,
where his children were pupils, and
went there in March, 1855, to begin
teaching, — at the same time carrying
on his college studies, until he gradu-
ated in July of that year. He con-
tinued in this school (which grew to
be a large one) for eight years, when
he gave it up and became editor of
the Boston Coiiiiiioinvcalth, in 1863.
Eater in the same year he was
appointed by Governor Andrew of
Massachusetts, secretary of the first
Board of Public Charities established
in the country ; and thus began a
long period of service in the inspec-
tion of prisons and poor-houses, in-
sane ho.spitals, schools for the deaf
and the blind, etc., and in the gen-
eral administration of charities in
Massachusetts. He retired from ofhce
in 1 888 ; but still continues to be con-
nected with schools for the blind,
deaf, and feeble-minded, and with
the National Conference of Charities,
of which he was one of the origi-
nators in 1874.

In concert with Dr. S. G. Howe,
then chairman of the Massachusetts

Board of State Charities, and his
colleagues, Mr. Sanborn called the
meeting in Boston, October, 1865,
which organized the American Social
Science Association, of which bod)^
he has ever since been an officer,
and for twenty years its chief secre-
tary. In 1870 he cooperated with
Dr. E. C. Wines, Mr. Z. R. Brock-
wa3^ and others in forming the
Prison Congress of Cincinnati, out
of which grew the National Prison
Association and several international
prison congresses ; and he has also
been active in several other philan-
thropic organizations.

Mr. Sanborn's course in life was
early and powerfully influenced by
an admirable and beloved woman.
Miss Ariana Smith Walker, of Peter-
borough, daughter of James Walker,
Esq., of that town, and grand-niece
of Judge Smith of Exeter, a cele-
brated lawyer and wit of New Hamp-
shire, from the Revolution to the
year 1842. Meeting this charming
person in the summer of 1850, he
fell in love with her, and was much
guided by her gentle wisdom for the
next four years, during which his
higher education was going forward,
and his purposes in life were forming.
After a long engagement, and many
romantic and affecting incidents of
their mutual love, they were married
in August, 1854, only a few days be-
fore her death — a protracted illness,
continuing for years, having at last
proved fatal.

After some time Mr. Sanborn re-
turned to college, from which these
circumstances had long detained him,
and in accordance with his wife's
wish, was arranging to complete his
studies in Germany, when the press-
ure of the contest again.st slavery,.

JOHN B. PEAS LEE, PH. D.

391

turning for some years on the colo-
nization of Kansas as a free state and
its admission to the Union, deter-
mined him to remain at home and
ser\'e the cause of freedom. This he
did by acting on committees, raising
mone}' to promote free-labor colonies,
and furnish them with the weapons
of self-defence against the aggression
of the slave-holding part}' ; and in
other ways cooperating with the prac-
tical anti-slavery men of the North.
During this contest he became ac-
quainted with John Brown, the hero
of Kansas and Harper's Ferry, and
was able to give him effective aid
in his memorable career, from 1856
to his death in 1859. His friendship
for Brown involved him in some diffi-
culties, and led to an attempt to
arrest and convey him to Washing-
ton in the spring of i860; but this
ill-advised attempt was defeated by
the spirit of the Concord people, who
took him out of the hands of the
senate's emissaries, and by the
prompt action of the Massachusetts
supreme court, which declared the
night-arrest illegal, and discharged
the young champion who had defied
the usurped authority of the south-
ern slave-masters. Twent^'-five years
later, in 18S5. Mr. Sanborn published
his " Life and Letters of John Brown,"

now the chief authority for the events
of that remarkable career.

In 1878 he joined with A. Bronson
Alcott, Dr. W. T. Harris, now com-
missioner of education, Dr. H. K.
Jones of Illinois, Miss Elisabeth Pea-
body, Mr. S. H. Emer>% Mrs. E. D.
Cheney, and others, in establishing
the so-called ' ' Concord School of
Philosophy," which for nearly ten
A-ears held summer sessions in the
neighborhood of Emerson, Alcott,
Thoreau, and the wood gods of Con-
cord, and taught a high and consol-
ing philosoph}^ to all who chose to
attend the lectures and conversations.
This school closed with the death of
Alcott in 1888, but its work is now car-
ried on elsewhere, with marked results.

Since 1880 Mr. Sanborn has lived
in his picturesque house beside the
Concord river, devoting himself to
literary, philanthropic, and social
studies. He is an editor of the
Springfield Rcpublica)i, and a fre-
quent contributor to the magazines
and reviews. He edits the Journal
of Social Science, and has had much
to do with editing the publications
of the National Conference of Chari-
ties and the Concord School of Phi-
losopliN'. He has written lives of
Thoreau and of Dr. Howe, and sev-
eral other books.

JOHN B. PEASLEE, PH. D.
liy H. B. Met calf.

NEW HAMPvSHIRE'S generosity has become almost proverbial. Her

in rearing, equipping, and send- sons are found in every common-

ing into the .service of other wealth, winning for themselves, in

states the men who were made for ever}- professional field, honors as

leadership in the great world's affairs, enduring as her own granite hills,

392

fOHN B. PEASLEE, PH. D.

John B. Peaslee, Ph. D.

and reflecting upon her a glory as
real as that of her matchless scen-
Qxy.

It is not the Websters, the Starks,
and the Greeleys alone who have
given to New Hampshire the credit
that is justly hers for the production
of strong men. Hundreds have gone
out from her borders who, seeking
not riches or renown, have entered
into the world's work and done a
giant's part, content with the esteem
of their fellow men and the knowl-
edge that they have done something

of permanent value in their chosen
field. One of these is John B. Peas-
lee of Ohio.

The subject of this brief sketch is
a native of Plaistow, born Septem-
ber 3, 1842. His paternal ancestors
were Scotch, coming to this country
in 1642 and settling in Haverhill,
Mass., at which place they left, as
a monument, the old Peaslee Garri-
son house, which still stands to
remind present generations of the
dangers and the privations of Indian
w^arfare. His mother was a Miss

JOHN B. PEASLEE, PH. D.

393

Willets. of an English famil}'^ which
came to New York city in the early
years of the present century.

Dr. Peaslee was educated in the
public schools of Plaistow. at the
academies at Atkinson and Gilman-
ton, and at Dartmouth college, enter-
ing the latter institution in 1S59, and
graduating four years later. His
bosom friend and room-mate during
his college course was Col. Thomas
Cogswell of Gilmanton, and among
his classmates who have won dis-
tinction were Judge Nathaniel H.
Clement of Brooklyn, Judge Jonas
Hutchin.son of Chicago, Hon. Charles
A. Pillsbur}' of Minneapolis, and
Congressman Henry M. Baker of
the Second district of this state.
Soon after graduation young Peaslee
went to Ohio to assume the principal-
ship of the North grammar school at
Columbus, a position for which he
was highly recommended bv Dr.
Nathan Lord, president of Dart-
mouth .

Mr. Peaslee at once demonstrated
marked abilit}' as a teacher, and
after a year's service at the state
capital he was offered the position
of first assistant in the Third District
school of Cincinnati. In 1867 he
was promoted to the principalship of
the Fifth District school. He was
now rapidly advanced, going, two
3^ears later, to the head of the Second
Intermediate ( grammar school ) , and
in 1874, at the age of thirty-two,
being made superintendent of the
public schools of Cincinnati. Very
rarely has so young a man been
placed at the head of so large a sys-
tem of schools, but during his career
as a teacher he had displaj-ed the
qualifications that the responsible
position required, and his twelve

years' incumbenc}^ therein more than
proved the wisdom of his appoint-
ment.

During this time he devoted him-
self, heart and soul, to the work of
improving the schools of the great
city, and as a result of his efforts
measures were adopted which have
since been generally applied through-
out the country.

Among the man}- improved features
of instruction originating with him
are the "Peaslee Method" of addi-
tion and subtraction for children of
the primary grades, a systematic
course in reading and literar}^ train-
ing, and the celebration of authors'
birthda}-s. As superintendent he
brought the study of American lit-
erature to a position of eminence in
the schools, and with results .so suc-
cessful as to command the attention
of the leading educators of the coun-
try. In 1878 Mr. Peaslee received
from the University of Turin, Italy,
a diploma of life membership, in
recognition of the superior excellence
of the Cincinnati school exhibit at
the Paris exposition of that 3'ear,
and of which the Hon. John D. Phil-
brick said, — "No other exhibit of
school work equal to it was ever
made in the known world." Dr.
Peaslee also took a great interest in
the observance of Arbor day, and
in a series of exercises that have
been adopted in other cities, has
impressed its meaning forcibly upon
the minds of the school children of
Cincinnati.

After retiring from the office of
superintendent, he ser\-ed nearly
seven years as clerk of the common
pleas, superior and circuit courts of
Hamilton county, his election being
that of the onlv Democrat on the

394

AUTUMN AMONG THE HILLS.

ticket. He not only overcame the
majorit}- against his party, but was
given a pluralit}- of 6,317 votes over
the opposition candidate. It was his
great personal popularit)', coupled
w4th his decided abilitj', which com-
mended him to the last Democratic
state convention as a candidate for
lieutenant-governor, and his unan-
imous nomination was a compliment
eminently deserved.

While Dr. Peaslee has been in no
sense a candidate for public honors,
he has been assigned to many posi-
tions of trust, and he is at the present
time a director of the University of
Cincinnati, a trustee of the Wood-
ward high school, a member of the
Union Board of High Schools of
Cincinnati, a life member of the
National Education Association and
the National Council of Education,
and president of the Ohio Forestry
Bureau. He is an ex-president of.
the state board of examination for

teachers, and was, with ex-Senator
Thurman and others, an incorporator
of the State Archaeological Society.

Dr. Peaslee took up the study of
law while pursuing his educational
work, and received from the Cincin-
nati lyaw school the degree of EE. B.
in 1867. He was made a Doctor of
Philo.sophy by the Ohio State Uni-
versity in 1879. Among his pub-
lished works are, — "Graded Selec-
tions for Memorizing, for Use in
Home and School," "Tree Planting
and Fore.str>% with Exercises for the
Celebration of Arbor Day," "Moral
and Eiterary Training in Public
Schools," "History of German In-
.struction in Ohio Public Schools,"
and many articles for educational
journals.

In 1878 Dr. Peaslee married Miss
Eou Wright, daughter of Hon. Jo-
seph P. Wright, ex-insurance com-
missioner of Ohio. She died July
18, 1894.

AUTUMN AMONG THE HIEES.

r>y Charles Henry Chesley.

The hoar\' hills in dreamy languor sleep ;
The year is old ; blue mi.sts and golden haze
Eight up the vales, and fill the forest ways
With iris-colored tints ; the rugged steep
Is clothed in glamours gay, till shadows creep
Forth from their hiding in the pine land maze
And dull the hues that mark the perfect days.
A silence falls, and then the river-leap
Mingles its roar with pipe of evening bird.

And crickets chirp a cheerj" vesper croon
That blends with tinkling bells of homing herd ;

The night comes on ; the full-orbed har^-est moon
Spreads o'er the earth a challis frail and rare,
And autumn scents are teeming in the air.

AN OLD BARN AND ITS SWALLOWS.

Bv Henrv W'hvtinere.

AN interesting building to happen
upon is an old New England
barn, such as stands before me
now. On the north side old-fash-
ioned doors swing open into the road
and similar ones on the south side
into the yard protected from winds by
the barn itself and b}' a long, low
building called the cider-mill.

Before this southern door- way snow
melts soonest in spring, the grass
starts earliest, and here eyes that are
adjusted to such things may watch
the growth of leaves upon apple trees
near by, or as the season advances,
apple and lilac blossoms, the swallows
of summer, and last of all the chang-
ing colors of autumn upon the moun-
tain that gradually rises from neigh-
boring meadows until it fills the south
and south-west.

But if the da}' is rainy, then exam-
ine the interior of the barn itself.
How many reminders of men and
things 1 On this beam, near one end,
is the master-builder's autograph,
two perpendicular lines made with a
scratch awl and crossed by a third
one. On the post into which it fits
are similar lines. They were made
before the raising and saved that
event no doubt from awkward mis-
takes.

High in each gable is a small
square hole for the use of swallows
and over the door at the south are two
irregular holes that speak of some
boy's intere.st in doves. Even the

cows contrived to link their memory
with the building — a post near where
they used to stand still bears the
marks of their horns on a well-
rounded corner.

Great pine boards nearlj^ two feet
wide cover the north side of the barn ;
hand- wrought nails hold them on.
These boards and a single piece of
sawed timber bear the marks of the
old-fashioned "up-and-down" saw.
The lines made b}^ the saw teeth are
straight instead of curved.

But whether the old barn is or is
not worth more than a moment's
thought, it would not figure here at all
but for the swallows that make it their
home for about a quarter of the 3^ear.
Of a certain company of these birds —
the summer residents of 189-, — I shall
have most to say. Early in June
they came from the south and at once
began to put their nests in order or in
some cases to build new ones.

These nests hardly ever fall down
and some of them are no doubt verj^
old ; for swallows were summering
here sixt}' years ago just as they do
now. There were at the beginning
of the season eighteen pairs of birds
and twenty-seven nests, one of which
was in use, however, as will appear
later. Two new nests were built.

The process in one case I watched
daily, beginning with June 7, when
the small semi-circle of mud was
apparently wet. The work was done
in about ten davs. From the start it

396

AN OLD BARN AND ITS SWALLOWS.

was a partnership affair. If the bird
with the somewhat darker breast left
the barn his mate was sure to accom-
pany or ver}' soon hasten after him,
and when one canie back from the
meadow, a hundred rods distant,
with house building material, the
other came, too, or with little delay.
Sometimes both crowded into the half-
finished nest together, but more often
one waited outside as near as possi-
ble while the other was at work.

Then such a deal of warbling and
fluttering of wings as there was. The
bird outside would change places with
his mate, turn around a few times,
settle down comfortably, and express
unqualified approval of all that had
been done.

On the tenth of June a feather was
brought in and carried around the
barn several times, followed by a
crowd of demonstrative friends. The
feather was at length deposited and
inspected ; whereupon the pair began
to warble with such ecstacy that their
neighbors all fell to warbling too.
Jubilees of this sort were quite com-
mon, especially as the young ones
began to try their wings.

But to return to the builders of
nest number twenty-eight. In course
of time their small tenement held five
much crowded youngsters that be-
haved like all the rest. Early in life
their big triangular moviths fly open
on slight provocation, and nothing
sets their tongues in motion but the
coming of something to eat. When
their feathers are well under way and
they have reason to be better pleased
with themselves a very sociable feel-
ing develops.

They have much to saj^ to each
other and to the passer-by, but it all
sounds like ' ' each-each-each ' ' or

'witch-witch-witch," sjdlables that
appear to be at the foundation of the
swallow vocabulary.

The coming of the parent birds is
the .signal for a chorus of ' ' eaching ' '
that often begins when the expected
lunch is at least ten feet away.
Sharp eyes these birds must have,
else how can they distinguish their
parents from the other birds that are
always coming and going ?

It may be, however, that the}^
depend somewhat on the route of the
advancing bird. As a rule I noticed
that any given one always came in
with the same sweeping, graceful
curve, under this beam and over that,
perhaps, or with a simple upward
cur\'e, according to the location of
the nest.

In one instance there was a decided
difference between the paths of pater
familias and his spouse. One swept
in from the north at full speed, grad-
ually facing about to the nest in the
northwest corner. The other slowly
wheeled in at the same door but
mounted to the nest more directl3^

When the young ones are large
enough to sit in a row on the edge of
the nest they are nearly ready for the
active life of their family. They watch
every movement in their neighbor-
hood, — a floating feather, a passing
fl}^ or swallow. A great deal of time
is given to dressing their feathers, and
now and then one mounts the edge of
the nest, turns about, and vigorously
flaps his wings in the faces of his nest-
mates. They are doing just the right
thing without a hint of instruction,
but when the day comes for them to
leave home it is hard to sa3' whether
the young or the old birds decide the
matter.

Nestful after nestful took wing

AN OLD BARN AND ITS SWALLOWS.

397

before I happened to see the process.
Early on the morning of July 4, how-
ever, I noticed that the birds in No.
10 had their minds made up. The
young birds were unusually wide
awake and talkative and their much
excited parents were flying back and
forth between the nest and a con-
venient beam underneath. After a
deal of tr^nng of wings and much
"eaching," one youngster and then
another suddenly scrambled out of the
nest and clung to the sloping side of
the timber upon which the nest is
built.

The last one out made haste to get
back again but the ambition of the
other was aroused and presently he
made a sudden start as if flying were
as easy as breathing, and brought up
against a brace several feet above the
chosen landing-place.

From the nearly upright brace the
little adventurer, amid much approv-
ing chatter, soon descended to the
beam below, and within a few min-
utes two of his fellows reached the
same spot. The fourth and last one
remained stolidly at home until the
next day. Meanwhile, the old birds,
as happy as possible, were on the
wing half the time and using simple
phrases and complicated expressions
of satisfaction by turns. Once out of
the nest these young ones acted like
all the others. The greater part of
the first day they sat in a row watch-
ing ever^^thing keenh- and devouring
rations as usual. On the first day a
young bird usually takes a turn or two
around the barn followed by a noisy
crowd of scolding swallows, scolding
it seems because they fear the bird
may blunder into the wrong nest.

More often the end of the first long
flight comes when, completely ex-

hausted, the bird drives against some
obstruction and .stops with a bump.

The second or third day may intro-
duce the young swallow to the out-
side world but he does not even then
lead an entirely independent life.
He still has the knack of picking up
a living to learn and strength to gain.

Consequently little family groups
of four or five or larger groups of a
dozen or twenty select convenient
perches like fence rails or the tops of
bean poles where they spend much
time awaiting the frequent visits of
their parents with something to eat.

Orioles and robins at this period in
their offsprings' lives are full of
anxious cares and doleful complaints
but swallows seem to have nothing to
fear. Very little came up during the
summer to disturb the swallows in the
old barn, but there was one disagree-
able affair. Several weeks before
the swallows came a pair of pewit
fly-catchers appeared in the barn,
picked out one of the swallows' nests,
and refurnished it. The natural re-
sult, a little later, was a series of
skirmishes between fly-catchers and
.swallows. The swallows soon came
to ignore the intruders unless attacked
by them ; but the fly-catchers never
fully regained their self-possession,
and as soon as their second brood was
ready to take wing, old and young
moved out together. Some of the
swallows celebrated the event in an
unexpected way, by tearing out the
lining the fly-catchers had put in their
nest.

My frequent visits to the barn gave
the swallows very little uneasiness
apparently. A chorus of "chee-chits"
often greeted me, but the fault-finding
was momentary, and if I stationed
myself in a doorwaj' the swallows

398

THE DYING LEAF.

passed in and out a few feet overhead
without a word. I was glad to have
them entertain a good opinion of me,
and accordingly showed due respect
to their rights, with perhaps one ex-
ception.

On a hot August day five nearly
full-grown birds crowded into one
nest suggested the idea that they
would be more comfortable if the fam-
ily were divided. About ten feet from
their nest was an unoccupied one,
and in it, after one or two fits of re-
bellion, two of the young birds con-
sented to stay. As they were soon
discovered and fed as well as the rest,
ray meddling was perhaps ju.stifiable.
But the idea as to dividing the fam-
ily was not well received, for the first
use each of the five birds made of his
wings was to carry him to a conve-
nient meeting place on a beam near
by. Toward night their fraternal
spirit was plainer still, for everyone
of them flew back to the home nest.

Some of the books had led me to
suppose that swallows start south-
ward in a body, and I reasoned that
they would all stay in the neighbor-
hood until the youngest birds were
equal to long distance flying. In
this I was much mistaken, for on Au-
gust 13th, at which time two families
of young birds had been on the wing
but a few days, I was surprised to
find that the greater part of the birds
had disappeared. A little examina-

tion showed that those remaining
were the youngest members of the
flock and their parents, only a dozen
or so in all. During the mi<idle of
the day not a swallow was to be seen,
but toward night the same two or
three families returned. The old
birds circled about outside the barn
as usual at that time of da5^ but
the young ones went to their nests.

On August 1 6th only two old birds
continued their twilight evolutions
about the barn, and inside not more
than two or three young swallows
were to be seen. For a week after
this date I saw now and then single
swallows, or small groups of them,
flying toward the South ; but I could
not be sure they belonged to the com-
pany that had made the old barn its
headquarters. The sw^allows had
gone, and for several days the quiet
was fairly oppressive. A hundred
swallows cannot drop out of the sky
without giving at least a twinge of
lonesomencss to one who has taken a
friendly interest in their domestic
affairs.

After the season had unmistakably
come to an end, I looked over my
notes and made out the following re-
port : During the summer six broods
of five learned to fly, nine broods of
four, six of three, and one brood of
two ; eighty-six birds in all, everyone
of which, so far as I know, lived to
go southward.

THE DYING LEAF.

By John H. Bartlett.

O leaf of the forest, how sad is thy quiver,

As fondly thou cling'st to the twig of thy birth !

How soon autumn frosts check thy life's sweet endeavor,
And the breath of the breezes bears thee gently to earth !

Conducted by Fred Gowirie,^ State Super inteiident of Public Instruction.

THE RELATION OF THE AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE TO THE

COMMON vSCHOOLS.'

Bv President C. S. Murkland.

The phrase " agricultural college,"
inadequate as it is, suggests that in-
stitution in each state, which is en-
dowed by the general government,
is helped or hindered b)^ the state
government, as the case may be, and
which is an attempt to solve some of
the pressing problems in education
and in life. It is not, in theory or in
practice, opposed to other institutions
of learning : it is not regardless of
any true educational ideal ; nor is it
established to maintain anything but
the highest standard of intelligence
and culture.

But impressions to the contrary,
which are not uncommon, are not
altogether accidental. If the agri-
cultural college does not always oc-
cupy a place of acknowledged import-
ance in the common educational sys-
tem, it has itself chiefly to blame.
It must win its place : vindicate its
claim, and create its constituency.

' K ])aper read before the high scliool

And, in the mean time, it need not
worry over-much if it be called ]>y a
name which is always misleading,
and which is particularly tr3-ing
when its apparent incongruity ap-
peals to the jaded wit of the chronic
joker.

It is a rare bit of humor which can
make one smile three hundred and
.sixty-five days in the year.

Certainly, there are some reasons
why the agricultural college should
exist. It could hardh' have come
into being when it did without some
good reason. The year 1862 was not
the darkest the nation has known,
but even then the war was assuming
vast proportions, and it began to seem
as if every thought must be absorbed
in preserving the national life. In
the treasury of the nation there Avas
certainly no money to burn. And I
find myself thinking of the congress
of that time as constantly concerned

teachers, at Nashua, .September, 1S95.

400

EDUCATIONAL DEPARTMENT.

with war measures, and of Mr. Lin-
coln as wholl}^ occupied in signing or
rejecting those measures, appointing
or removing officers, keeping his cab-
inet in order, telHng stories and
granting pardons. But just then the
bill was passed establishing the agri-
cultural college in each state which
cared to take the grant of land ; and
the bill bore the signature of Abra-
ham lyincoln.

The purpose of the act is given
clearly enough in the bill itself ; it
was ' ' to provide a liberal and practi-
cal education for the industrial
classes in the several pursuits and
professions of life." That means, I
suppose, not something less than a
"liberal education," but something
more. But it leaves all the problems
of application and adjustment to be
.settled by the several states through
the officers to be appointed in each
state for that purpose.

We may, in a word or two, get at
the considerations which called for
the agricultural college. For, al-
though that was a third of a centur}'
ago, the passage of years has simply
added emphasis to the demand then
recognised by congress and the presi-
dent.

Let us catch at the phrase ' ' indus-
trial cla.sses." It is not altogether
felicitous, for education knows no
classes. And there has not been a
time, in the last two hundred years,
when children of the wage-earners
could not be found in our colleges.
But, after all, there is something in
the use of this phrase in such a con-
nection. Education was moving tow-
ard the several pursuits, as well as
toward the several professions, of life,
but with .step altogether too halting.
Immigration, especially, was propos-

ing problems which the colleges were
not .solving. Conditions were chang-
ing rapidly, while educational meth-
ods and educational material were
remaining unchanged. There was,
and there .still is, danger that there
should come to be well-defined indus-
trial classes ; and when the hither
side of an indu.strial class is defi-
nitely marked, the further side of it
runs undeterminedly in and out
among the classes of the lazy, the
shiftless, and the dangerous. The
phrase ' ' industrial classes ' ' becomes
harmless, in an act whose object was
to prevent separation into classes.
And the date I have given j'ou gains
a profound significance. The agri-
cultural college was established as
the army was maintained, — to pre-
serve the Union. Disunion among
the states may be trivial ; disunion
among the people is fatal.

The necessity was, that the people
who barely lived from day to day
vshould not be separated too widely
from those of more leisure condition.
How prevent that separation ? In
less pressing times it is safe enough
to wait, and let the small wage-
earner (there is no other satisfactory
designation that I can find), make a
way, for himself and for his children,
into the larger privileges. But that
was no time for waiting. We cannot
afford to do too much waiting now.

Then, congress did the only thing
it saw to be done. And I may con-
fess that I cannot see what wiser
thing it could have done. It could
not say, " Let the small wage-earner
share all the highest privileges of life
on and after the first day of Januar}^,
1863." It could not well call upon
the churches to consider more defi-
nitely the application of the gospel to

ED UCA IIONAL DEBAR TMENl .

401

the conditions of the nineteenth cen-
tur>'. Nor had it any authority to
interfere with the established institu-
tions of learning. But it could de-
clare its belief that by more gener-
ally educating the people, and by
blending liberal education with prac-
tical education, there was a possibil-
ity of keeping the people united.
And it could throw upon the several
states the responsibility of applying
this educational remedy to the
national .social disorder.

So the .states got the agricultural
college. Still keeping the " indus-
trial classes'" in mind, we may see
what the several states were asked to
provide for, at the expense of the
nation. For it is the nation, not the
state, which pays the bills of the agri-
cultural college. The states were to
consider the people who had little
money, who required the proceeds of
their children's labor, and who, with
their children, needed the union of
broad intelligence with practical effi-
cienc}' and wage-earning power.
Here are three items.

I. Mone}'. The colleges were
growing more and more expensive.
They are now so growing, and it is a
thing to rejoice over. For it means
that the demands upon the colleges
outstrip the concessions to them.
Twenty or twent}'-five more students
in each cla.ss require a new col-
lege inside the old one. After a
while they pay for themselves in gifts
and legacies. But meanwhile twenty-
five or fifty more students have come
in, each year, and the college has
reached the limits of its funds and
has been compelled to increa.se the
charge for tuition. There is no
wrong in this. The college gets all
the students it can accommodate at

the increased charge. But there are
those who find the cost prohibitive.
On the other hand, among those who
can pay the larger price are more and
more of those who ha^•e more money
than they know how to use. And
they tend to create a local .sentiment
which is, perhaps, the worst feature
in the life of a large college. It is
all well enough to sa}* that a bo}^
ought to be able to maintain his dig-
nity while practising an economy
which marks him a separate unit.
But it is not .so easy. And there are
incidental con.siderations,'of a social
nature, which make the inevitable
sacrifice of opportunitj' a serious loss
to the college boj' who has to count
ever>' cent he spends. So far as con-
cerns this country, there have been
two large factors involved in found-
ing new colleges : the post-mortem
benevolence of individuals ; and the
increasing expense involved in at-
tendance at the colleges already
established . Congress attempted to
found colleges for the children of
those who had no mone}- to spare,
when it gave land for the .state col-
leges.

2. Time. Time is money, to those
whose money is scanty. The colleges
of older form are not to be blamed for
making it harder and harder to gain
the stamp of their approval. No one
of us who is not the gainer by their
increasing requirements. But the
gain has its attendant lo.ss. It was
one thing when a boy could graduate
from college at the age of sixteen or
seventeen, and then, after a year or
two of study with some individual,
doctor, lawyer, or minister, enter
upon the practice of his profession
fully accredited as a man of liberal
education. It is a verv different

402

ED UCA TIONA L DEPA R TMENT.

thing when he must be the exception
if he get his college degree before
he is twenty-one or twent5'-two, and
must spend three or four years more
in a professional school before he can
enter upon the work of his chosen
calling. How real and pertinent
this consideration of time is ma>' be
easily understood if one fairly esti-
mates the requirements of profes-
sional life. Is it not true that the
intellectual demand made upon the
professional man was never so great
as now? Yes. But, on the other
hand, the ministry is the only profes-
sion which affects to require a college
education as its pre-requisite. One
may pass an examination for the bar
without having attended either a law
school or a college. Some years ago
it was my delight to coach in mathe-
matics a high school graduate who,
with that mere trace of special prep-
aration, found eas}^ entrance to the
Harvard Medical school. And even
to the ministry there are short cuts,
— institutions whose aim is to supply
men who have not had collegiate edu-
cation, but who ma}^ adequateh' serve
the churches of smaller pay and les-
ser requirements.

To me all this is significant. It
suggests the possibility that the time
requirement of our common educa-
tional process is too great. Either
the professional schools are wrong in
admitting those who are not colleg-e
graduates, or the colleges are wrong
in consuming so much time. Of
course, there is another possibility.
The colleges may assume that they
have no professional responsibility,
and that the}^ have only the culture
of the individual to regard, and not
his immediate efficiency. But the
men are few who dare .stand upon

this ground and meet, face to face,
the men of their own colleges. The
' ' industrial classes ' ' are the sufferers
when more and more time is required
by the educational institutions. For
they have no time to spare, their own
or their children's. The value re-
turned justifies the outlay of time, of
course, — but there are people who
simply cannot put the time into such
an investment. As the average age
of college students advances, the
requirement of time becomes prohib-
itive in more cases. Therefore, con-
gress .set for the states the task of
providing facilities for a good work-
ing education which should not in-
volve excessive outlay of time.

3. Practicality-. This is not a
luminous word. But in this con-
nection it may suggest keeping in
touch 7i.nt]i life Colleges are not
often wholly free from the vice of
monasticism. "Four j^ears of col-
lege life may do very well," said a
certain historian, ' ' but fort}- years
of it would very likely make one a
sot or an imbecile." What forty
years wovtld do four years ma}- begin
to do. The evil is not in a specific
temptation, but in the general one.
The most exemplary student, the
thoroughly good boy, may b}- his
very scholastic excellence be most
deeply touched with the perverse
monastic habit. His virtue becomes
his bane, unless he have a saving
genius which will work somehow in
him to the service of men. The
problem which congress faced in
1862, was that of keeping education
in touch with life, with all life, and
most of all with life in our country.
Therefore, the agricultural college
was ordained.

These characteristics then properly

EDUCATIONAL DEPARTMENT.

403

mark the agricultural college, — econ-
omy in money, economy in time, and
practicality. How are these features
preser\'ed ?

The first item presents no great
difficulty. The cost of tuition is
reduced to a nominal sum, and even
that is remitted in ever}' case where
it appears to be necessary. That is,
in nearl}' every case. For the con-
stituency of the agricultural college
is, as it was meant to be, a constitu-
ency of people with no money to
spare. In some states the tuition is
free, and the states appropriate, to
maintain the colleges, a certain per-
centa2:e of the income from taxes.
In New Hampshire the state does
nothing of the sort, but does make
certain appropriations for the evident
necessities of the institution. The
expense of attending the agricultural
college is practically the expense in-
volved in eating, sleeping, and wear-
ing clothes.

The trouble begins with the second
item. How shall the outlay of time
be reduced to smallest limit ? There
are two ways : increasing the amount
of the daj^'s work, and lessening the
variety of it. More study and fewer
studies. This, I take it, is the dis-
tinctive intellectual feature. It is
not worth while to keep up the long
discussion over the value of Latin and
Greek ; that value is manifest, and is
inestimable. But it is not well to say
that unless a student will learn these
languages he .shall not learn any-
thing, and shall not be admitted to
the fellowship of culture. The older
colleges, acting, perhaps, under the
impulse given hy the agricultural col-
lege, concede the fact that a co-ordi-
nate college course may be pursued
without either L,atin or Greek.

Then there is the educational po.s-
sibility involved in technical studies.
It is just beginning to be understood.
The general introduction of manual
training illustrates this. The gain in
studies of this sort is two-fold, accu-
rac3' and the coordination of mental
processes. And the agricultural col-
lege is under .some definite obligation
to use technical studies and manual
operations, .so as to secure the great-
est po.ssibIe economy of time. Upon
the whole, it fairly meets its obliga-
tion.

The same changes in the curricu-
lum work towards that practicalit}'
which is contact rvith life. The stu-
dent is not simply learning a trade,
but he is so learning that he keeps in
sight of all industr>^ . He may, when
he receives his diploma, turn whither-
soever he will ; but he will have taken
little of the spirit of the agricultural
college with him if he go out into the
world with no sympath}- with the life
of productive effort.

But what has all this to do with the
common schools? Much, every way.
Because these three features, practi-
cality, and economy in time and in
mone}', are characteristic of the agri-
cultural college they must have rec-
ognition in the common .schools ; and
by ' ' common schools ' ' I mean all
the schools maintained at the public
cost. The agricultural college is
itself a common school, and ma}',
perhaps, claim the title with more
absolute right than can any other
institution, for the burden of its
maintenance is borne by the general
government, and its professed object
is to promote the common welfare.
But just now the natural connection
is broken. The high schools, under
the strain put upon them by the

404

EDUCATIONAL DEPARTMENT.

older colleges, are likely to offer their
students these alternatives,— a very
good college preparatory course, and
a very doubtful something else, de-
vised to fill up the three or four
years' time. The agricultural col-
lege offers a better alternative in place
of this latter one. There are two
separate things represented by the
imperfect names, classical college and
agricultural college. And the high
schools, forcing their demands down
upon the lower grades, may as well
recognise the facts. It is the veriest
provincialism which refuses to let the
high school take advantage of its
opportunity. The few should have,
as they now do have, the facilities for
the broadest and highest culture ; but
the many should not be told, as in
effect they now are told, " if you do
not want to .spend four years in col-
lege, and three years in a professional
school, you need not enter the high
school." The agricultural college
offers a possible way to act on the
boys and girls in our cities, like those
who now drop out of school here and
there along the line, and to keep
them in the schools. With few ex-
ceptions they are of the ' ' industrial
classes". And they drop out of the
schools, not because they want to,
nor because their parents want them
to, but because of the apparent hope-
lessness of securing either a ' ' liberal ' '
or a "practical" education. The
cost is too great, when that cost is
estimated upon the basis of four years
spent in the high school, and four
years spent in college.

It would not be hard to outline a
course, leading up to the courses in
the agricultural college, and of such
manifest worth as to appeal to the
parents who now look askance at the

courses in our high schools, and at
the implications involved in those
courses. And perhaps the relation
between the agricultural college and
the common schools may be indicated
most clearh' by suggesting such a
course.

First, and foremost, that course
.should have two years' steady drill in
English, including letter writing,
.social correspondence, and the vari-
ous details now so completely ig-
nored.

Secondly, that course should have
two years' earnest work in mathe-
matics, one year in elementary, alge-
bra, and one year in geometry.

These are the essentials. To them
might w^ell be added two years' work
in Ivatin, and one year's work in his-
tor3% phy.siology, and some other
study, such as is suggested either by
Ciuizot's "History of Civilization"
or Macy's "Our Government." A
two years' course without Latin, or a
three years' course wdtli Latin, would
give a better preparation than is
sometimes given by a heterogeneous
course consuming four years.

Neither chemistry nor botany
should be included, nor any other
elementary .science. The agricultu-
ral college is supposed to have better
facilities for scientific work than the
high school can possibly have. So
far as our own ca.se is concerned, we
find that we can do better work with
the student who has had no chemis-
try, for instance, but who has had
thorough training in English and
elementary mathematics, than we can
with one who has had a little mathe-
matical work and a .smattering of
chemistry. From an educational
standpoint, a few fundamentals have
greater value, certainly, than a mul-

ED UCA TIONA L DEPAR TMENT.

405

tiplicity of studies hastily run
through.

It lies with the coninioii schools to
determine, in large measure, the
value of the agricultural college.
Students who come to us well pre-
pared, like those who have come to
us from the high schools of our cities,
make demands upon us which we
cannot ignore. And the agricultural
college and the common school thus
act and react upon each other to the
ultimate good of the people.

One thing should be understood.
The agricultural college does not
stand for a spirit of strife. It is not
in competition, save that of the most
friendly sort, with other colleges.
Least of all has it an}' antagonism
with that institution which has been
for so long the chief glory of New
Hampshire, Dartmouth College. I
ma}' say, as I have indicated l)efore,
that if the two institutions in our
state were entirely of the same .sort,
they would be cooperative, not an-
tagonistic. Being as they are, sup-
plemental one to the other, they
make the fear of antagonism a mark
of utter provincialism. The agricul-
tural college is designed to round out
the circle, and make the educational
sequence a complete whole. To
work out its fundamental idea it thus
needs the cooperation of the common
schools, and waits only for intelligent
consideration from those who have
mo.st influence with the scholars in
the public schools.

One more item, and one only,
should be noticed. There are many
towns which have no high school.
And there are not a few people who
cannot, or will not, send their chil-
dren to the excellent private institu-
tions so abundant in New Hamp-

shire. With these facts in view, the
last legislature established a two-
years' course in our own agricul-
tural college, prescribing certain con-
ditions which may or may not have
been well considered. Congress gave
to the legislatures of the several
.states power to exercise some discre-
tion in the use of the appropriations
put at the di.sposal of the states. But
in using the word "college" con-
gress limited the powers of the sev-
eral legislatures, and made it impera-
tive that the institutions called agri-
cultural colleges .should be of col-
legiate grade. The New Hampshire
legislature appropriated certain sums
to maintain a two-years' course, and
so long as that appropriation is con-
tinvied the agricultural college of this
state must maintain a course of this
kind for the benefit of the boys and
girls who have not the privilege of
attending a high school or academy.
That course must be at once inde-
pendent of the regular four-years'
courses and preliminary to them. In
this way the agricultural college
comes into .still closer contact with
the common schools of the state.
For it must admit students who have
not had the high school training,
while still offering to the graduate of
the high school a course, or .several
courses, worthy of their wider prep-
aration. But there is no new princi-
ple involved in all this. It remains
the es.sential function of the aericul-
tural college to "provide a liberal
and practical education for the in-
dustrial cla.sses in the several pur-
suits and professions of life." To
accomplish this is the steadfa.st pur-
po.se of the New Hampshire College
of Agriculture and the Mechanic
Arts.

THE SENTlNElvS.
By Laura D. Niclioh.

A Lombardy poplar, spare and prim,

Grew tall on a hill-side bare,
And bowed in the storms of threescore years

O'er the homestead nestled there.

Two generations of boys and girls

Grew up 'neath its narrow shade ;
Then the house was burned, and the farm was sold,

But still the poplar swayed

In the winter gales and the summer breeze,

North, east, and south and west.
As if it would point to the scattered homes

Of all who had left that nest.

But one of the girls who went, a bride.

To a farm on a distant hill,
Had carried a shoot of the dear, old tree,

And it throve — is thriving still.

Now, in the sunset of life, she sits.

Widowed, saddened, and gray.
Watching her children's children dance

Round the younger tree in play ;

lyooking across at her girlhood home.

Where turf o'er its hearthstone is green, ,

And Father Lombardj-'s sentinel spire
'Gainst the sunset glow is seen,

Solemnly waving to and fro,

Heavy with tales it could tell.
Whispering soft, " Is it w^ell over there? "

And the young tree nods, " It is Avell."

1 " ~ «,/M i _

HIRAM M. GOODRICH.

Col. Hiram M. Goodrich, a native of Nashua, died in that city, September 19,
at the age of 67 years. At the age of 15 he entered his father's store as a clerk,
remaining there for eight years. He was then for a few years treasurer of the
Underhill Edge Tool Co., later removing to Boston, where he engaged in the
metal business. Upon the death of his father, in i860, he returned to Nashua to
carry' on the business, and became president of the Underhill Co. He also
served as a director of the Pennichuck bank, and as auditor of the Nashua &
Lowell railroad. He was a member of the staff of Governor Straw.

JOSEPH SAVAGE.

Col. Joseph Savage died at Wentworth, September 22, at the age of 92 years.
He was born at Wolfeborough, and first engaged in the trucking business at Bos-
ton, where he remained until 1838, when he removed to Wentworth and there
lived until his death. He was a colonel in the old militia, and served on the
town's board of selectmen and as its representative in the legislature.

LOUIS POLLENS.

Louis Pollens, A. IvL, Ph. D., professor of the French language and literature

in Dartmouth college, died at Hanover, September 28, aged 57 years. He was a

native of Switzerland and educated in that country, having been identified with

Dartmouth for about eighteen years. A close and critical student of the French

and German languages and literatures, Professor Pollens had published several

translations, and was at work at the time of his death upon works on French

grammar and literature. He was a strong and good man, whose influence was

widely felt.

SAMUEL PIERCE.

Samuel Pierce, the largest manufacturer of metal organ pipes in the world, was

born at Hebron, June 12, 18 19, and died at Reading, Mass., September 21. He

had served the town of Reading as both selectman and representative, and was

for many years an active member and officer of the Old South Congregational

societv.

EDWIN D. P.LANCHARD.

Rev. Edwin D. Blanchard died at Los Angeles, Cal., August 6. He was born
at Wentworth, April 14, 1858, and obtained his education at Phillips Andover
academy, Dartmouth college, and the Andover Theological seminary. He was
ordained a Congregational minister in August, 1893, and entered upon a pastorate
at Hudson, from which ill health forced him to retire.

4o8 NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.

WILLIAM L. GOOCH.

Deacon William L. Gooch, of Exeter, died September 23, at the age of 79
years. He was a native of Portsmouth, and for many years a leading carriage
manufacturer. He was made a deacon of the Congregational church in 1846,
and since that time had never missed a communion service.

EDMUND EATON.

Edmund Eaton, a native of Hillsborough, died at Fairbury, Neb., September 19,

at the age of 97 years. He moved to Reading, Mass., at a very early age, and

there learned the shoemaker's trade, which he had followed ever since. He was

a member of Reading's first fire company, and cast his first vote for president for

John Quincy Adams.

JASON J. KIMBALL.

Prof. Jason J. Kimball, one of New Hampshire's best known musicians, died
at Manchester, September 27, at the age of 66 years. He was a native of Wind-
ham, Vt., and gained early repute as a violinist and conductor. He studied
under the best masters in Boston, and there was noted as a bass soloist. Since
1872 he had been a resident of Manchester, where for a long time he was direc-
tor of the choir of the Unitarian church.

ALBERT G. SINCLAIR.

Albert G. Sinclair was born at Haverhill, January 14, 1845. ^^ moved to
Massachusetts, where he engaged in the emery trade, and was a member of the
legislature. He later studied law in Michigan and was admitted to the bar there.
In 1884 he became sole proprietor of the emery business at Peekskill, N. Y.,
where he died, September 27.

WILLIAM C. TRUE.

Hon. William C. True, of Plainfield, died September 24, at the age of 65 years.
He was a prominent farmer, and had been moderator of the town for over thirty
years. He had also been a candidate for state senator and member of the gov-
ernor's council.

JOB W. HILL.

Job Winslow Hill, a native of Lowell, Mass., but for the past forty years resi-
dent in Manchester, died in the latter city, September 28, aged 72 years. He
was president of the Landlords' association, and a well-known and successful
inventor, the Hill valve and self-closing stop and waste being among the more

prominent of his patents.

JAMES C. TAYLOR.

Hon. James Calvin Taylor, an honored citizen of Derry, died in that town, of

which he was a native, September 21, at the age of 78 years. He had held various

offices of trust, and was for a long time treasurer of the Taylor library, to which he

made generous gifts

ROBERT H. PERKINS.

Robert Hamilton Perkins was born at Exeter 50 years ago, and died at
Chicopee, Mass., where he was superintendent of schools, October 6. He was
educated at Phillips Exeter and had spent the whole of his life teaching.

NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY. 409

CHARLES II. REYNOLDS.

Charles Henry Reynolds was born November 30, 1830, and died in South
Barnstead, September 26. He was a veteran of the Mexican and Civil wars, a
Forty-niner in California, and as a sailor a visitor to all the principal ports of the
world.

FRANK C. TOWLE.

Hon. Frank C. Towie, member of the state senate from the ninth district, died
at his home in Hooksett, September 30, at the age of 48 years. He was a native
of Epsom, and was one of the leading business men of the Merrimack valley.
He had served as postmaster at Hooksett, and as a member of the house of
representatives.

ORIN CURRIER.

Orin Currier died at Kingston, October 4, after a long illness. He was a
graduate of Boston university, and practised law in Boston for many years. He
was Kingston's most honored and respected citizen.

LEWIS SIMONS.

Maj. Lewis Simons died at Manchester, October 6, at the age of 80 years.
He was a native of Weare, but went to Manchester in 1853, engaging very suc-
cessfully in the lumber business. He was a member of the Unitarian church and
the Derryfield club, and had held all the offices in the Amoskeag Veterans.

WILLIAM P. CHESLEY.

William P. Chesley, a native of Dover; died at Jersey City, N. J., October 12,
at the age of 59 years. He went to Boston in 1854, and entered into partnership
with Francis F. Morton in the business of builders. Some of Boston's most
prominent edifices were their work. The firm was dissolved in 1891.

SHERMAN LITTLE.

Sherman Little, a native and life-long resident of Webster, died September 27,
aged 60 years. He had represented the town in the legislature, and was for
many years secretary of the Merrimack County Mutual Fire Insurance Co.

O. F. R. WAITE.

Maj. Otis F. R. Waite died at Claremont, October 12, at the age of 87 years.
He was a native of Weathersfield, Vt., learned the printer's trade in New York,
and was editor and publisher of The Spirit of the Times. He was later editorially
associated with the Springfield Republican, Berkshire Eagle, Claremont Eagle,
and Americati Stock jfournal. He held the position of engrossing clerk to the
legislature, i856-'57, state insurance commissioner, i859-'62, recruiting officer
for Sullivan county, 1861, major of the Twentieth regiment, New Hampshire
militia, and brigade inspector, 1875. He was the author or compiler of several
works, including the New Hampshire Register for three years, Claremont's war
history, "New Hampshire in the Great Rebellion," and Eastman's Coast Guide.

4IO NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.

REV. W. C. JACKSON.

Rev. William Chamberlain Jackson, born at Eaton, February 17, 1808, died at
Newton, Mass., October 17, He graduated at Dartmouth in 183 1, delivering the
salutatory address, and spent the four subsequent years in study at the Andover
Theological Seminary. For six years he engaged in missionary work at Smyrna,
and then held long pastorates at Lincoln, Mass., Dunstable, Mass., and Brentwood.

CAPT. H. G. WOOD.

Captain Henry Gage Wood died at Natick, Mass., October 17. He was born
at Hollis, August i, 1853, and was educated for a civil engineer, being engaged
during most of his life, however, in the shoe business. He was prominent in mili-
tary and Masonic circles, and an enthusiastic horse breeder, owning the celebrated
stallion. Pure Wilkes.

DR. F. W. UPHAM.

Dr. Francis W. Upham, the famous Biblical student and author, was born at
Rochester, September 10, 18 17, and died at his home in New York city, October
17. He was educated at Phillips Exeter academy and Bowdoin College, and was
admitted to the bar in Boston. He soon turned his attention to the defense of
the Bible against " the higher criticism," and to this end devoted his life. He
published half a dozen works, was an extensive traveller and a thorough and de-
voted scholar.

LIEUT. J. A. CHESLEY.

Lieut. James A. Chesley died at Wakefield, October 18, at the age of 71 years.
He served throughout the Rebellion and until 1884, when he was retired. For
conspicuous bravery in a great fire at New Orleans he received the special thanks
of the navy department.

F. R. KENNETT.

Frank R. Kennett, representative to the legislature from Madison, died in that
town recently, aged 34 years. He had held all prominent town offices, and was a
leading Odd Fellow.

S. H. PIPER.

Stephen H. Piper, for a long period a leading dry goods merchant of Exeter,
died there October 19, at the age of 81 years. He retired from active business
life fifteen years ago.

MRS. LUCINDA KNIGHT TAFT.

Mrs. Lucinda Knight Taft, widow of the late Richard Taft, proprietor of the
Profile House, died in Boston, October 18. She was born in Hancock, Septem-
ber 5, 18 1 7, and was for a time a teacher in Nashua public schools. She was
married in 1839, ^^'^ ^o ^^^^ efficient aid much of her husband's great success as
a hotel proprietor was undoubtedly due.

I— (

The Granite Monthly.

Vol.. XIX.

DECEMBER, 1895.

No. 6.

rsdfge and Water

A SKETCH OF WARNER: HISTORIC AND OTHERWISE.

/.'l' Ainaiida /.'. Harris.

T will not do to take it
•^ for granted that every-
body knows where War-
^ ner is. Briefly then be
it said in the outset that
it is in the southerly part
of New Hampshire, near the centre of
Merrimack count}-, on what used to
be spoken of, l)efore the railroad was
opened, as the old stage route from
Boston to Windsor, Vt. It would
sound better if one could sa}' that it
is on one of those substantial, famous,
old, incorporated turnpikes, but, un-
fortunately, it would not be true.

A river of the same name winds
diagonally, with many curves and
falls, from the west to the south-east,
dividing the area of the township into
nearly equal parts, and empties into
the Contoocook about a mile l^eyond
the Hopkinton line. The boundaries
show peculiar irregularity on account
of Kearsarge Gore, which — rightly
named — looks as if it had been let
into the original territory, and such
is the fact. It was on this stream
and some of its chief tributaries that
most of those saw-mills were located,
and grist-mills, clothing-mills, bark-

412

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

mills, and tanneries which we have
read and heard so much aljout — im-
portant in the beginning of the town
but not needed in these latter days.

Warner has had an existence as a
legally established town since vSeptem-
ber 3, 1774, when it was incorporated
and received its final name. Some of
the neighboring towns were origi-
nally given Indian names, as Bos-
cawen which was known as Contoo-
cook. Many had two or three tempo-
rary ones. When the first lots were
laid out here in the wilderness this
was ''Township Number One," being
the first this side of Penacook. Next
it was New Almsbury, from Ames-
bury or Almsbur}- where man}- of the
proprietors lived ; and so the peti-
tioners for the charter wished it to
continue to be, Init Governor Went-
worth gave it the name by which it is
now known, presumably for Jonathan
Warner, a member of his council, or
possibly Daniel Warner, another
member, although there are opinions
to the contrary.

It was granted b>- the government
of Massachusetts Bay in 1735, and.
three years later the committee ap-
j^ointed to make some surveys for
settlement, etc., reported that they
had laid out sixtx-three house lots,
containing about fiA'e acres each, and
lots were then drawn by men who are
said to have continued their interest
in it till the actvial settlement. The
laying out of these lots, which were
near Davisville, can hardly be said to
have amounted to anything, although
measures were taken by the propri-
etors to clear a road from the Contoo-
cook river and bviild a saw-mill to
induce people to settle.

They seem to have been more per-
sistent than successful. It was a

fearfully long w^ay up from Ma.ssa-
chusetts, and it required no small
amount of pluck to dare the perils of
the Indians whose favorite tramping
ground was along tlie.se rivers, then
full of fish, by which they took their
miserable captives to Canada. How-
ever, the proprietors at la.st took the
matter into their own hands in eood
earnest, and at their own expense
had four log houses built, in 1749,
not far from where is now the Davis-
ville cemetery. The men who came
and put up the houses were Thomas
Colby, Mo.ses Morrill, Jarvis Ring,
and Gideon vStravv'. Soon after the
French war broke out, and once more
everything was at a standstill. Mean-
while the Indians came up the Con-
toocook river, crossed over, and
l)urned the houses and mill.

There was no positive taking pos-
.session of Warner soil and getting
root-hold until 1762. Then men
came and planted themselves farther
inland. The first white woman was
l)rought there, a bride ; and at la.st
there was a home. The first child
was born, and for the first time fam-
ily life began in Warner. The
woman was Hannah, daughter of
Daniel Annis and wife of Reuben
Kimball. The rude cabin of these
beginners of a town was up on the
rising ground across the road in the
neighborhood of Willard Dunbar's.
It was not long before more and more
families came. There was a revival
of business activity throughout the
colonies, and enterprising men made
clearings and set up their homes
along the.se valleys and on these hills.
According to Rev. Henry S. Hunt-
ington in his " Historical Discour.se,"
there were forty-three men with their
families here in 1763 who had settled

414

A SKETCH OF ]]\AKNER.

on the conditions of the proprietors,
which gave to each a forty-acre lot of
upland and five acres of intervale.
Some of these names are familiar
ones, such as Annis, Chase, Currier,
Davis, Flanders, Colby, Edmunds, Fos-
ter, Gilmore, Watson, Sawyer, Heath.
From Thomas Annis, "Tom pond"
was named ; from David Bagley
(town clerk for thirty-nine years),
" Bagley 's bridge." The descend-
ants of these forty-three men can but
take pleasure in tracing back their
genealogy and looking up the loca-
tions of the first comers.

The place which was really called
the settlement, where all important
gatherings were held for many years,
was across the river from the lower
village near the old cemeter3\ As it
was in the agreement that the propri-
etors should build a meeting-house
and "maintain constant preaching
from and after three years from the
date of the grant," a rude building
for the purpose was at once put up,
and when it was accidentally de-
stroyed by fire, it was replaced by one
somewhat better.

It was my good fortune in 1872 to
hear from the lips of a woman then in
her eighty-third year, the widow of
Capt. Nicholas Fowler, some reminis-
cences of her childhood. She said
the meeting-house stood on the edge
of the burying ground, which was
unenclosed, and cattle fed there and
trampled on the graves till her father
said it must not be. She recollected
being taken to meeting and sitting on
a rough bench. A road then led up
from what is now the Richard Foster
place — the abutments of the bridge
may perhaps still be seen — and at the
top of the hill the roads crossed,
"making a real cross. ' ' One went to

Joppa, one down over the plain, one
to the North village by what is now
known as the Devi Bartlett place, and
there John Kelley had a store. This
last was called the main road. The
house of "Priest Kelley," or " Par-
.son Kelley," as he was called, was
on top of the hill ; next, that of her
grandfather, Joseph Sawyer ; then
Eliot Colby's and John Colby's, two
houses on the right. Toward Joppa,
Reuben Kimball's ; as 5^ou went
doAvn the hill, Timothy Clough's.
Across the brook lived Joseph Foster
and Benjamin Foster; then, up the
long winding hill, John Parsons or
Pearsons, then her father, Edmund
Sawyer ; down through the woods
lived Major Hoyt, then Jedediah
Hardy, and then came the Henniker
line. These were first settlers. She
knew them all, and these men, heads
of families, were man}' of them old
men then. The people she said all
looked old to her. " They w'ere very
set, and perhaps that was one reason.
The women were very plain in their
dress. When they got a new gown
or bonnet they wore it till it was
worn out. Around the neck they
wore a white handkerchief. Her
mother alwaj'S wore a black bonnet."

She knew other settlers, Francis
Davis and Hophni Flanders ; and
over at the North village, Bradshaw
Ordway, Wells Davis, Zebulon
Flanders, and Thomas Barnard ; over
on Pumpkin hill, Isaac Chase, Enoch
Morrill, Humphrey Sargent, and
Robert Davis : on Burnt hill, Richard
Bartlett, and at the Lower village his
brother, " Squire Jo."

Another woman of ninety-six re-
membered when it was thick woods
all the wa>- down from Waterloo to
Warner village, and there was just

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

415

one little cabin down there, and no
more, near where the Dr. Ivaton
house now is, and a man lived there
named Cole Tucker. vShe said peo-
ple had no time for recreation.
"They used, however, to get to-
g-ether and sino-. There were so few
of them that they were drawn to-
gether in kindly feeling" and used to
go a long distance to see one another,
two on one horse, or with an ox
team."

Affairs seem to have gone on rea-
sonably well with the settlers. In
compliance with the conditions, they
must settle a learned orthodox minis-
ter. Accordingly, on the 5th of Feb-
ruary, 1772, William Kelley, who
had preached for them a year, was
ordained, and on the same da}' a
Congregational church was formed.
He built for himself a small house on
the lot set apart for the minister, and
later put up a larger one. It was
afterwards taken down and rebuilt at
the Lower village and is now the
home of W. H. Sawyer.

If that was an epoch in the relig-
ious history, there surel}' was .soon
another of civic significance ; and
presently one of momentous import to
the .state and the nation. The great
event of getting the town incorpor-
ated came next after the organization
of the church. Francis Davis was
the man who went to Portsmouth on
the errand and returned with the
precious document in his pocket and
authority from Governor Wentworth
to call the first town meeting.

In a little more than .seven months
came the alarm of the fight at Lex-
ington. The War of the Revolution
had begun. Warner had then only
262 inhabitants, the majority of whom
must have been women and children :

yet soon the number of men in the
service was creditable to the town.
Seven volunteered at once for three
months, Charles Barnard, James
Palmer, John Palmer, Richard Bart-
lett, Jonathan Roby, PVancis Davis,
and Wells Davis. Richard Bartlett,
.son of one of the proprietors, had
alread}' at the age of twent}' been
three years at his .settlement on Burnt
hill, where Thomas H. Bartlett now
lives — the family homestead for three
srenerations. The DavLses were .sons
of Francis. Hubbard Carter, Thomas
Palmer, John Palmer, Wells Davis,
Joseph Clougli, and William Lowell
were in vStark's regiment at Bunker
Hill. The Revolutionary War rolls
show many Warner men, enlisted for
different periods of .service or raised
to fill up the Continental army.
Among them were Amos Floyd,
Philip Rowel, Jacob Waldron (Lieut.),
Pasky Pre.ssej^ Daniel Young, Isaac
Dalton, vStephen Colby, Solomon
Annis, and Isaac Walker. The last
named settled in Schoodac and was
ancestor of the family represented b}'
Reuben E. Walker of Concord. The
vStephen Colby descendants are nu-
merous. Indeed so many are the
' ' Sons of the Revolution ' ' and the
" Daughters " now living in Warner
that large ' ' chapters " ' might easily
be formed here.

Many other names appear wdiich
undoubtedly belong to this towai.
Many came here after the war was
over who had seen much and honor-
able service like the Badgers. The
first physician of Warner, native
born, was surgeon in the army, Dr.
John Hall. One other man must not
be left out — a negro, Anthony Clark,
known throughout this region as
"Old Tonv." He mav never have

4i6

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

fought, ]jut he carried water and dis-
tributed cartridges at Bunker Hill,
and in his capacity of waiter he
served Washington. He was present
at many battles and at the surrender
of Cornwallis. He used to fiddle for
the officers, and after peace was
restored he drifted to Warner where
he was ready with his fiddle for fifty
years, dying at the age of about 102.
In the mean time, till the century
closed and 1 800

came in, what
was going on
in this young
town of War-
ner that ' ' got
into the news-
papers ' ' as we

Prospect House.

say, and let the outside world know
a few items about us? In 1793
there was a vendue at the inn of
Dr. John Currier (the first tavern
in town, at what is now known as
the Brooks place) to sell the right
of land, about thirty-two acres, which
had been granted as a parsonage. At
this day we cannot help wondering
why they sold it. The committee
were David Bagley of the location
where is now the cluster of well-kept
buildings on the vSamuel H. Dow

estate, and Benjamin Sargent who
lived on Tory hill. William H. Bal-
lard at the Willard Dunbar place,
father of the celebrated school-
teacher, John O., who was no doubt
born there, offers real estate for sale,
600 acres. Dater, Tappan Evans,
collector, advertises taxes at John
George's inn. This man lived over
the river at the Dower village and
had that numerous family of so much

influence there in
after years. And
again, David Bag-
ley brings up what
somebody speaks
of as the " ever-
1 as ting taxes."
Notice is given of
an act just passed
for arranging the
state militia, War-
ner coming in with
Hopkinton, Salis-
bury, Bradford,
and Fishersfield ( now Newbury) ,
forming the second battalion of the
first regiment in the fourth brigade.
Kearsarge Gore, which did not then
belong to us, went into the first bat-
talion. And Ebenezer Smith has for
sale two houses, a tan-yard, bark-
mill, saw-mill and grist-mill three
fourths of a mile from the meeting-
house.

And now an advertisement recalls
the fact that in the charter one right
was granted for the use of schools
forever ; yet, for some reason four of
the lots are to be "leased for 999
years" — meaning that there is to be
the end of it. One of the men who
signed it was Nathaniel Bean, ances-
tor of all the Beans, who built on
Pumpkin hill (just above where John
F. Jewell lives) the fine mansion so

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

417

well known to Warner ])eople, four
square, flat roofed, with big chini-
nevh, and "decorated" with Loni-
bardy poplars — a house famous for
its unstinted hospitality.

No other in town had such a stately
look except the Wells Davis house
(long since taken down), on the site
of which the gifted and distinguished
authors, Charles S. Pratt and his
wife, Ella Farman Pratt, built their
tasteful villa when they chose Warner
for their permanent home.

Just here two men come into print
who must have been worth
knowing on account of
their push and pluck.
So far as appears, the
first store-keeper to ad-
vertise in the newspapers
was Calel) Putney. He
kept everything they
used to need and an-
nounced that he could
sell on as reasonable
terms as any one so far
in the country. Pres-
ently he took in a part-
ner : then they dissolved
and finally he went to
Boscawen where he is
lost sight of. The other man is
Capt. Asa Pattee, ancestor of the
Pattees, who gives notice that he has
sold out the situation where he had
kept a public house for many years,
and taken the Dr. John Currier place
at the Dower village. The tavern he
left was one built by him.self, still
standing, the oldest house in the Cen-
tre village, kept for a short time by
Mr. Whitman, later owned by Capt.
Joseph vSmith, then bought by Dr.
Leonard P^aton who spent the remain-
der of his life there.

Serious trouble arose towards the

clo.se of the century about building a
new meeting house — where it should
be — but the matter eventually righted
itself and the house was erected.
Everybody in Warner who is fifty
years old remembers it as the "old
towm house," a great, barn-like struct-
ure with the beams in sight overhead.
It once had square pews with turn-up
seats. When the congregation rose,
these were turned up, when the}^
seated themselves they were let down
with a dreadful clatter. It was fear-
fully cold there in winter, but in sum-

" Maple Ridge" — Residence C. S. Pratt.

mer it must have been delightful, for
birds were singing in the woods just
back, and swallows darted and
skimmed and twittered among the
rafters over the heads of the people.
It was used for a town house till the
present one was built. The proceeds
of the sale after paying the pew
holders seventy-five cents each was
$77. The timbers were worked into
the Ela bridge. The new town hou.se
was first used at the presidential elec-
tion in 1852.

When once fairh* over the bound-
arv, out of the seventeen luuulreds

4i8

A Sk'liTCH OF WARNER.

^^miEMsesmmmmmmwmmimk

Benjamin Evans.

into the eighteen, it really seems com-
ing nearer home, though still so far
away and though the men active at
that early period have long since
passed away, and the business cen-
tres and industries have so greath'
changed. The new century began
prosperously. The population was
1569. At the March meeting 83
votes were cast for governor, 73 on
the Federalist ticket. James Fland-
ers, a man of remarkable abilit}' who
had been repeatedly in office, was
again senator, and Joseph Bartlett
representative. Oliver Davis was
keeping store near the ' ' Whitman
Tavern." In those days people
talked over in the .stores and taverns
what was going on, the same as the}'
do now. So the talk was how Mrs.
Abner W'atkins had drowned herself
in a well while deranged, how Oba-
diah Gookin was setting up a cloth-
ing mill at Bean's mills in Waterloo,
and how Diah Huchinson's bound
boy had run away — the bound boys
were always running away and no-
body seemed to care, for one cent was

the usual reward offered for their re-
turn. F^benezer vStevens wanted to
sell his farm ; the estate of Roger
Colby, blacksmith, was being settled ;
and over at Captain Floyd's house on
Burnt hill, where Reuben Clough
lives, some property" of Robert Wad-
ley vSmith was to be .sold, including
half of a saw-mill on the Salisbury
road : Fzra Flanders, who kept store
down in the rambling yellow building

Henry B. Chase.

at the Lower village known as the
Heath place, had had a horse stolen
— a horse that was apt to be " very
skitti.sh when passing tan-yards."
The tanning bu.sine.ss was brisk then
and for a long time after. Timothy
Felton, an educated man who lived
where the lower of S. H. Dow's
houses .stands, has a large, new, con-
venient tanner}^ for sale.

When the war broke out in 181 2,
more than thirty men enlisted in a
volunteer regiment under the com-
mand of Aquila Davis, then commis-
sioned as colonel. Warner was lib-
erally represented and has a record of
good service. Names familiar in the
more than twice told tales of the cam-
paign will at once occur to the read-

./ SKETCH OF WARNER.

419

ers oi this sketch, Capt. Joseph vSniith,
Stephen Cxeorge, Daniel George.
Nicholas Kvans, Benjamin Evans,
Daniel Bean, and others, who hon-
estly received the niilitar\- titles by
which they were known through life,
besides the numerous privates whose
faces were long familiar on our streets,
whose eyes used to kindle with mar-
tial fire as they talked of the days
when they were out at Chautauguay.
It was during the second year of
the war that the first post-ofhce was
established in town, at the Lower vil-
lage, then giving promise of Ijeing
permanently the business centre.
Previously the mail had been l)rought
by post-riders. Henry B. Chase was
made post-master, succeeded by Dr.

Harrison D. Robertson.

Henry Lyman, who held the place
eisrht vears, when Levi Bartlett was
appointed, who kept it until it was
closed in 1830. In that year this
ofiice and one which had a brief exis-
tence at Waterloo were consolidated
at the Centre village, with Harrison
D. Robertson as post-master. There
have been eleven in office since, in-
cluding the present incumbent, Fred
Mvron Colbv.

In 1823 a change occurred which
was of interest to many. The bill for
con.stituting the new county of Merri-
niack passed the senate on June 27,
and il therefore became necessary
that new places should be designated
in which to hold probate courts.
Warner was one of the four, and ses-
sions were held on the first Wednes-
day of March and third Wednesdaj-
of September, no doubt at the office
of Esquire Chase, who was register.
Henry B. Chase, of the family of
vSalmon P. Chase, had opened a law
oflice at the Lower village in 1S04,
and there he continued until his
death in 1854. There had been no
law3'er in Warner except Parker
Noyes, who was here two years. Mr.
Chase was a man of fine appearance
and superior abilit_\- and held at differ-
ent times many responsible offices,
including those of clerk of the senate
and speaker of the hou.se. The onh-
other lawyer who remained any
length of time during that period was
Harrison G. Harris at the Centre vil-
lage, who came in 18 16 and was here
till his death at eighty-five. These
rival lawvers lived on fraternal terms :

Harrison G Hams.

420

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

and of neither conid it be
said that he ever furthered
a lawsuit for personal
gain. The latter has been
known to dismiss — declin-
ing any fee — a would be
client who was all on fire
to begin a lawsuit against
a neigh 1) o r a\- ho ha d
wronged him, with the
advice, "You'd l)etter go
home and settle it in
s o m e w a \ . Yon do n ' t
want to get into a law-
suit with 3'our neighbors."

Next in duration of prac-
tice in Warner is vSamuel Davis, who
has spent thirty-five years of his pro-
fessional life here, with the exception
of a short absence while in the army.
Next is A. P. Davis, formerly a
school-teacher in much demand, who
has a record of nineteen years.

Ecclesiastical affairs have again
come to the front. Mr. Kelley had
been dismissed in 1802, and there
were thirteen vears when there Avas

"^he Town House.

In his dav

meeting and

Warners Fi-^t Ciunaav-schocl Puiiil 181/.

no settled minister,
everj^body went to
everj'body liked him. After the .ser-
vice all the people waited and he
would pass out, bowing right and
left. One of the old ladies before
mentioned said he ' ' put on a flowered
gown before he left the pulj^it." TwO'
of his children were long well-known
in this connnunity, Abner B. Kelley
and Mrs. Levi Bartlett. His son
John was a lawyer and a fine scholar,
for many years editor of the Exeter
Nczcs-Ecitcr \ he was author of the
valuable ' ' Ecclesiastical Sketches ' '
in the N. H. Historical Collections.

Among the men who came to sup-
ply Avere David E. Morrill, who
preached his first .sermon here, and
Joseph Emerson, who went from
Warner to be a tutor in Harvard Col-
lege. Ethan Smith was up from Hop-
kinton, and lulen Burroughs, father
of the notorious vStephen, would ride
on horseback from Hanover to attend
a council.

Up to a date several years later
there was no regular support of an}-
denomination except the Congrega-
tional. As may be seen b}^ Belknap's

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

421

History, this was the prevaiHng one
throughout the state. About 1788
there had been a protest in Warner
against infant baptism and the minis-
ter rates. A small meeting-house,
considered as the "Anti-pedobaptist,"
was built at the Lower village on the
slope across the river, l)nt the organ-
ization was not successful. In 1S05,
the town having passed a vote that
each society should have its ])ropor-
tion of the money raised for preach-
ing and should hire such a minister as
was agreeable to them, those who
differed from the old order made a
new start, and there came to be a
loyal church of Baptists. The
second Congregational minister
was John Woods, a man who
was eminenth' successful. It
was during his pastorate, in
1 8 17, that one of the first
vSunday - schools in the
state was formed,

C^i;r€.:ati;

Church.

Baptist C-

Warner. One of the pupils who
attended on the first day is still liv-
ing, Mrs. Abiah G. H. Eaton, widow
of one deacon, daughter of another,
and grand-daughter of the first two.
On the Sth of June, 1819, the cor-
ner-stone of a new meeting-hou.se was
laid, on a site just below John Tewks-
bur^-'s. It was built by twent^'-nine
individuals of the Congregational so-
ciety, at a cost of $2,300. It was moved
to its present location in 1S45, where
it stands the representative, old-fash-
ioned Xew England meeting-house,
of a type not surpassed b}' any revived
Gothic, Romanesque, Old English,
or any other style. It is the meet-
ing-house of our fathers and our
fore-fathers, with its skj'-pierc-
ing spire, a landmark in the
country towns which her
sons and daughters in for-
eign lands might be
homesick for a sight
of. The artist has
made a perfect
picture of it.
In the line of min-
isters. Jubilee Wellman
comes next, a man vastly
helpful to both church and
community, as has been the
case with so man\' of his suc-
cessors. It is easy to recall
the scholarly Mr. Blanchard,
Abel Wood, Mr. Rowland,
and that Christian gentleman
and well-balanced man, Hen-
ry vS. Huntington. East in
the li.st, and not surpassed in
any of the qualities which
endear a pastor to his peo-
ple, was the recent minister,
W. E. Renshaw.

There seems to have been
a little hitch in militarv af-

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

Robert Thompson.

fairs about this time, for notice was
given that Dr. L,yman, surgeon of
the Thirtieth regiment, would meet
invahds at John Kelley's inn to give
them their certificates of exemption
from mihtar}' dut}\ The next week
Adjutant vSimeon Bartlett comes out
with a notice that Dr. Calel) Buswell
is surgeon, and no invalids will be
excused on any but his certificate.
Dr. Dyuian was a physician well
known in this region where he had
a large practice.

He married first the only daughter
of a son of one of the proprietors ; her
onl}' child became the wife of the
promising young merchant, Robert
Thompson, who had just come to
town. Dr. Moses Dong for several
years divided the practice with Dr.
D3'man and remained here after his
death. Besides being a good physi-
cian he was a man of musical and lit-
erary taste. He wrote "Historical
vSketches of Warner," published in
the third volume of the N. H. Histor-

ical Collections, understood to l)e
reliable. To that work the writer
of this article is indebted for many
facts.

Dr. Calel) Buswell, elder brother of
Hiram, was physician at the Centre
village for a few 3^ears, then removed
to Newport, dying in early manhood.
His office was taken by Leonard
Katon, who was constantly engaged
in his profession nearly forty years,
till his death. No one who knew him
has forgotten Dr. Eaton, who had the
affection of many, the respect of all.
Many will recall him jogging over
these hills in his sulky, drawn for so
many years l)y the white-faced sorrel
horse, or on Sunday morning, almost
as regularly as the day came round, in
his place in the Baptist church, where
he was not only leader of the choir but
teacher in the Sunday school. Many
physicians, generally good ones, came
and went during his day. Immedi-
ately after his death came J. M. Rix
from Dalton, who is approaching his
thirtieth year of practice here. His

Dr. Leonard Eaton.

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

423

Residence of Dr. J. M.

professional brother, J. R. Cogswell,
is ill his twenty-tirst year of service.
About 1823 there was a good deal
of interest in music, and the Central
Musical Societ}' of the state met here
for rehearsal, the special pieces given
out being from the Bridgewater col-
lection. Ezra Barrett was one of the
committee, a man of decided char-
acter and public
spirit. He had a
fine bass voice, and
sometimes taught
singing schools.
He lived where
George I'ptoii
now does, and had
a shop where he

It would be pleasant to bring up
the names and record of the men who
made their mark in the first half of
the century. Foremost among them
would be Benjamin P^vans who was
vigorously active in business and in
political life for thirty-five 3'ears. A
man of commanding presence and in-
domitable will which he meant should

carry ever3'thing
before him, he
would have been
a conspicuous fig-
ure in any coin-
m unity. His
li o 111 e w as the
large house where
J . W . Clement

Rix and Union Hall Block,

Tne Old Tnompson Store.

carried on an ex-
tensive business
in making scythe-
snaths, the steam-
ing and drying of
which required

such great heat that his neighbors on
either side lived in terror of fire.
This fear was heightened when on
Saturday' nights the week's accumu-
lation of shavings was carried across
the street and burned in a big bon-
fire, into which the children leaped
with that mad spirit which dares a
perilous joy. One night the build-
ings all went up or dov.-n in flames.

The old Nathan S. Colby Store and Residence

Tiif- Old Robertson Store.

lives. Three men
were k 11 o w 11 far
and near in the
mercantile worl d
for their enterprise
and success. Na-
than vS. Colby, born on the old Ezekiel
Colby place, gave up school teaching
to become a merchant, and was long
identified with the store afterwards
bought by Ira Harvey, later occupied
by B. F. Heath, at present by Davis,
Martin & Co. He was a brisk, de-
cided man, with a va.st amount of
energy and business capacity. While
still in trade he built the hotel which

424

W SKETCH OF WARNER.

after a few years he sold to Nathan
Walker, a model landlord well known
on the stage ronte up through this
section. This hotel after passing-
through man}' vicissitudes was
bought by N. G. Ordway, who fitted
it up and made it attractive for sum-
mer boarders till it was unfortunately
destroyed by fire.

There had been stores and store-
keepers all along — many of them lost
to history beyond identification — but
the places established by these three
men have been known for seventy
3^ears or more. Harrison D. Robert-
son came in his youth and his name
is still perpetuated in the store he
built, known as Robertson's block,
where Upton & Upton are in trade.
He carried on an extensive coopering
business, was much in public life,
and interested in everything concern-
ing the prosperity of the town, sub-
scribing liberally whenever a paper
was presented to him. Surviving
these brother merchants b\' many
3^ears, Robert Thompson, one of the
last of the gentlemen of the old school,
died a few years since at an honored
old age. The store which he built is
occupied now by Jewell & Putnam.

In 1S33 the Baptist meeting-hou.se
was l)uilt. It was not long since re-
modelled and decorated within, and
has now a tasteful and beautiful inte-
rior. The first pastor was George
W. Cutting, a genial and lovable
man, very popular with the towns-
people. A little incident shows his
kindly spirit. One Sunday morning
when starting for church he heard
much shouting and strong language,
and saw that one of those big, covered
wagons such as were used to convey
merchandise and produce between
Boston and the back counlrv towns.

was stuck in the sand on that hill
hard for horses near his hou.se, where
Thomas Nelson lives. There 7»r;r
men so strict that they would have
left the Sabbath-breaking teamster to
his fate. Not so the minister. He
ran to the rescue, helped the man out,
and then went on his way — late at
church. That was the kind of man
Mr. Cutting was.

In the intervals when there was no
settled pastor, the church .sometimes
had the services of such men as Dr.
Cummings, the gentle Edmund
Worth, editor of the leading denom-
inational journal, and that man of
rare personal magnetism and .spiritual
graces, Phinehas Stowe, afterwards
and till his death pastor of the Sea-
men's Bethel in Boston. The suc-
ccs.sor of Mr. Cutting was John M.
Chick who came in 1840, and the
next year brought his bride fresh
from teaching in the famous New
Hampton Seminary. She at once
opened a select school, and those now
living who attended it will need no
reminder of her cordial manners, her
fine face lighted by those wonderful
dark eyes, and the way she had of
kindling in her pupils new enthu-
siasm for knowledge. The church
has been favored with many excellent
ministers. Some of them were deeply
interested in schools and had a true
citizenship in matters relating to the
well-being of the town, like Mr. Her-
rick, Mr. Pinkham, and Mr. Walker.
To Mr. Pinkham the village is in-
debted for the fine shade trees in
front of the church. The present
earnest and devoted pastor is E.
Lewis Gates.

In 1S44, largely through the influ-
ence of Daniel Bean, Jr., of Waterloo,
a meeting-hou.se was built for the

A SKETCH OJ' WARNER.

425

Universalists on a fine site on the
Sfrounds of Hiram l)US\vell. There
some of the best preachers of the de-
nomination were heard, Mr. Barron,
Mr. Tillotson, Dr. Miner, and others.
For a time the pulpit was occupied
l)y Walter Harriman, who afterwards
went into political life and
was known as one of the
best stump speakers in the
state. In this new field he
won distinction, and in
1867 was elected governor.
Later, the preacher was
Lenuiel Willis, w h o h a d
become a citizen of the
town, where the remainder
of his useful and honorable
life was .spent in the house
at the Lower \"illage which
is now the home of his .son,
H. S. AVilHs. The meet-
ing-house was bought by
X. G. Ordway in 1865, moved to a
more central place, and fitted up for a
business block, used for nearly twen-
ty-five years by A. C. & E. H. Carroll.
The occupants at this time are Davis,
Martin & Co., and George L. Ord-
way, who has an attorney's office in
the building.

The locality is as.sociated with the
meetings of the sect known as Os-
goodites, from the founder, Jacol)
Osgood, a man of striking appearance
and considerable ability who about
1805 began to preach, .soon promul-
gating his peculiar doctrines and
gathering a band of disciples. The)'
did not believe in doctors, lawyers,
mini.sters, or churches. They con-
sidered themselves the saints. They
protested again.st pacing taxes and
refused to do military duty, preferring
the penalty of imprisonment. They
were just in their dealings and loyal

to the brotherhood, though never in
an}' sense communists. For a long
time they were conspicuous in
Warner bv their dress, loud siuCTimr
in the streets and otherwise, but they
are now nearly extinct.

A trim little meeting-house was

Residence of Mrs. A. C. Carroll,

built many years ago at the Lower
village for the u.se of the Methodists,
— a denomination which, like the
Freewill Baptists, has always been
represented in town though not hav-
ing the permanent strength as a body
of believers to maintain regular ser-
vices.

Up to 1S49 travellers had to depend
on the stage coach for conveyance,
but in that year we began to feel that
Ave were realh' in touch with the
ereat world, for the Concord & Clare-
mont railroad was opened to Warner.
Xo more of the old coach, swaA'ing
and swinging with its sea-.sick sort of
motion, loaded down with passengers
and piled high with trunks. Xo
more of the big teams. Anyone in-
credulous of mind would be slow to
believe that there were ever such
bustling times as in. the transporta-
tion and traffic of that old stvle wav.

426

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

Some old things passed away, and
some new ones came in ; for one
thing, a bank in 1850, with Joshua
George, a man adept in financial
affairs, as president. Seventeen
years later when this was closed,
another with N. G. Ordway as pres-

Simonds Free High School.

ident ; and then the Kearsarge Sav-
ings Bank in connection with it, the
last president of which was George
vSavory. Francis Wilkins, George
Jones, and G. C. George were the
different cashiers, the last holding
the office till the banks were closed.
Some enterprises had only a begin-
ning and were cut short, like the
U. S. .signal station on the top of
Kearsarge thought out by N. G.
Ordway, which for some inexplicable
reason fell through. But there <rr;r
events the record of which should
begin with an illuminated letter, after
the fashion of the ancient missals
decorated by the monks. One was
the establishment of a free hig^h
school, for which the town is under
obligation to a man who was not a
native but for many years a resident.
Franklin Simonds, during his last
sickness planned it, after taking

counsel of several citizens interested
in education, selected his own board
of trustees (to be self perpetuating),
and left an endowment of $20,000, to
which his widow added $5,000 and
gave an equal sum towards the build-
ing. Oilman C. Bean and Samuel
H. Dow each contributed
liberally. George Jones,
C. G. Mc Alpine, and John
E. Robertson (now of Con-
cord), made up $750 more,
and other citizens g:ave
money or work. On the
proposal of ]\Ir. Dow, it
was named the ' ' Simonds
Free High School." The
i)uilding was erected in
i.Sji, dedicated December
I of the same year, and
opened December 4 with
60 pupils, Edmund C.
Cole, a graduate of Bow-
doin College as principal, Helen S.
Gilbert of Concord assistant. There
have been 24 teachers and 104 grad-
uates. Mr. Bean recently died at
Woburn, and Mr. Dow at his home
in Warner where he had lived in
the enjoyment of the fortune he had
acquired b}' his own judicious man-
agement.

An agricultural town like Warner
should of course be identified with
fairs, and such has been the case here
ever since the days of the old Merri-
mack county fair, when such men as
Gov. Isaac Hill used to address the
farmers. Those were the days when
the earliest grafted fruit was in its
prime, Hubbardston Nonesuch,
Rhode Island Greenings, and the
like, and were on exhibition with
mammoth vegetables and ladies'
handiwork — long before crazy quilts

and

Kensinarton .stitch were

ever

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

427

heard of — all displayed in the Baptist
meeting-house which was always
freely thrown open, for there were no
halls except the one in Nathan
Walker's tavern. Now we have
seven. That sort of fair went by;
but in 1873 a big one was held at
Riverbow Park, a beautiful tract of
about twelve or fifteen acres in a
curve of the river, laid out from land
of N. G. Ordway for that purpose.
It took in the towns around the base
of Kearsarge mountain, and was
named the " Kearsarge Agricultural
and Mechanical Association."
Whenever there is a good institution
or a promising one hereabouts, a
bank, a Bible society, or a Sunday
school association, Kearsarge is the
name, for the mountain dominates
the whole region. It accentuates the
landscape. It asserts itself and can-
not be ignored. We could not in
Warner lose sight of it if we would.
And no man or woman Warner born
can fail to take pride in it. There is
a feeling a little akin to one's pride
in the old flag. It is the first thing
looked for when home returning from
long absence, and whatever other
landmarks may have changed, Kear-
sarge is there.

On that fair ground was witnessed
on one memorable year a sight the
like of which this generation will not
be likeh' to see again — 428 yoke of
oxen and steers, hitched together in
line, were driv^en around the half mile
track. The days of those magnifi-
cent oxen, a delight to the eye of one
fond of cattle, have gone b}-. Instead
of a procession of oxen, it is a bicycle
race, and the world moves faster in
the same ratio. Another fair made a
record by reason of a barbecue, some-
thing hardly known in this j^art of

the country since the one at Hillsbor-
ough during the Pierce campaign.
It was successfully carried out by Mr.
Ordwa}' after genuine ' ' ole Vir-
ginny " directions. Owing to unfor-
tunate circumstances, interest for a
time decrea.sed, but this present year
the granges of Merrimack count)'
have taken control and a new era has
been inaugurated.

Pleasantest of all, Warner has the
Kearsarge Mountain road which was
made practicable by the efforts of Mr.
Chandler and Mr. Ordway, and
opened July 4, 1874. Warner owns
a slightly larger portion of the moun-
tain than an}' other town — if charts
can be trusted — with ample foothold
on the summit. Wilmot comes next,
meeting Warner on the tip-top ; then
Sutton, next Andover, and Salisbury
has a moderate portion. To Warner
belongs the sunny, southern side;
and Warner has to ask permission of
no town to get to the highest place.
The old Tory hill road leads to the
real mountain road, up past the house
of S. C. Pattee and the .summer home
of his brothers. Dr. Luther and Dr.
Asa, the homesteads of Stephen Ed-
munds and Walter Sargent, by the
old Clement and Seavey farms, and
tho.se of the Hardys, Watkinses, and
Savorj's, and the birth-place of Gov.
Ezekiel Straw, through the Kear-
sarge Gore, to the toll-house at Hur-
ricane corner — so named as memorial
of the awful tornado of 182 1. Then
begins the delightful winding road,
through woodsy places, across the
open upland pastures where cattle are
over ledsres to Mis-

grazmg, up, up, ^.^. .^^.^
sion ridsre, and on through

the gar-

den " to the topmo.st point. Nothing
grander can be beheld in this part of
the world than from the sunnuit of

428

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

The Oldest Hcuse In Town, at Davisville.

this high and lonely mountain which
stands up, bare granite rock, solemn
and alone, as if all the other moun-
tains and hills had receded in a circle
and left it in its incomparable majest5^
A blue line of peaks and chains
bounds the horizon. At the farthest
south may be seen Mt. Tom and
Hol3-oke and Wachuset ; at the west,
dim against the sky, the Green
Mountain chain ; at the east and
north- east, Ossipee, Chocorua, White-
face ; in the north-east, eighty miles
away, the White mountains and some
of the Franconia range on a clear
day. Nearer are Moosilauke, Gun-
stock, Cardigan, Ragged mountain,
Sunapee, Ascutney, the grand Monad-
nock, and Uncanoonucs.

It was from Mission Ridge that the
boulder for Admiral Winslow's grave
was taken on the i7tliof June, 1875,
drawn down the mountain by oxen,
and forwarded by rail from Warner
village to its destination in Forest
Hills cemetery, Boston Highlands,
which it reached on the 19th, being
the eleventh anniversary of the Kear-
sarge victory. It gave me a thrill
of patriotic pleasure to stand by the
grave in October of the same year
and read the inscription on that

stone from my own town — that hoary
stone which was not cleft from any
quarry or cut out of the mountain
with hands, but taken entire as it
was, to mark a hero's grave.

Warner people, and a good many
others, think our scenery exception-
ally fine ; and as good fortune or
accident will have it, the roads are
many, and are as inconsistent and
uncertain in their turns and where
they will come out, as can be imag-
ined. Suppose one should go up by
the old Colby and C lough and Evans
homesteads, by the "coal-hearth"
and the Fisher house, once the Wood-
man place, to the high, bare level
where the ancient Pumpkin Hill
burying-ground is, and then take a
choice of roads l)y some of the early
farm-steads — Morrills, Sargents, Da-
vises, Harrimans — around the base
of Burnt hill, down into Schoodac,
where the Joneses, vStraws, more Sar-
gents, Trumbulls, and Walkers early
took root, where Richard Straw had
a tavern in the olden time ; then, by
a circuitous way, till presently one
comes upon the hamlet of Davisville,
tucked in among the trees and hill-
sides and bends in the river — a de-
lightful route a]1 along, over the

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

429

sightly places, and with brooks and
ponds in view.

It will be remembered that refer-
ence was made at the outset to the
first attempt at settlement right in
this locality. There is much historic
interest about the spot where the
men camped on their first arrival
in this town of Warner. The bound
where the three towns of Hopkinton,
Webster, and Warner come near
meeting is a little farther down in a
bog. But close at hand is the iden-
tical site of "the old Camp," near
the spring so familiar to every trav-
eller on the road who has stopped to
let his horse drink at the stone water-
ing-trough. Now, replaced by one
more convenient, it serves as a basin
for flowers in the front yard of Miss
lyucretia Davis. On the hillside back
of her house (which was built by
General Davis for his home in his
later years) stands a tree worth going
a long distance to see — by one who
cares for trees — an oak supposed to
be the largest in Merrimack county.
Of immense girth — twenty-six feet —
gnarh' of bole, knotted, seamed, with
limbs spreading ninety feet heavily

weighted almost to the ground, this
ancient native of Warner nuist have
long passed its first hundred years
when those wdiite men from Ames-
bur}' came up and lighted their camp-
fire down by the .spring.

The first two-story frame house in
town is still .standing, and good for
another hundred years. Built by the
original, first Francis Davis, it was
successively the home of his .son
Aquila, and his grandson, Nathan-
iel A. The kitchen fireplace, u.s-
able yet, is of the kind that takes
in wood of a cord length, roomy
enough to do the roasting for a regi-
ment ; and a regiment may have
dined at the house for aught anybody
knows, for General Davis was from
fir.st to la.st a military man. The
dancing-hall in the wing, built on
when, as a tavern, such a room was
considered essential, remains the
same. Probably there is only one
other of those halls in town, with
the raised platform at one end for the
musicians, and the seats on each .side
running the length of the room where
the dancers waited till the summons
came to " Form on."

The Falls at Davisville.

430

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

The river goes tumbling over the
rocks at the falls, furnishing abun-
dant water-power for mills of some
kind. And mills there once were,
and a foundry, wheels whirring and
machines going for one thing or
another. The latest enterprise was
the manufacture of straw board, car-
ried on extensively for several years
by W. Scott Davis and his brother,
Henry C, but sold to a syndicate in
1887, since when the mills have been
closed.

The Davisville people have a right

Slimmer Residence of F. G. Wilklns.

to great pride in the past, for no man
had better proof that his abilities
were recognized than that first Fran-
cis whose figure stands out so prom-
inently against the background of
history. His sons and his sons' sons
sustained the inherited characteristics
of trustworthiness and those qualities
which make the real worth of a
town.

For an ideal, all-day trip — a long-
summer-day trip — what could be
more varied and delightful than
down through the Lower Village
and home by the most round-about
way ever heard of — through Melvin's

Mills and Waterloo! We shall find
the Lower Village a long, clean,
green-bordered street, with its little
unused Methodist meeting-house, and
the roomy houses which have a-long-
residence look and plenty-of-real-es-
tate look about them — the old Cur-
rier places, the ancient Sawyer house,
the house of Mrs. John B. Clarke,
and the George houses built b}- the
brothers who once held such potent
influence there, and had such numer-
ous connections that the community
was clannish and has the prestige of
family to this day, although
in only one do descendants
of the original owner live,
that of Joshua George, now
the summer home of hi s
grandson, F. G. Wilkins.
The street continues over
the river where once was
the statel}' house of Dr.
Lyman and the first home
of Levi Bartlett, with a
laid-out garden like the
garden in a story. Of all
the substantial houses only
' one, that of Mrs. Runels,
remains in the family.
Keeping on down by the Dow resi-
dences and the ancient Alpheus Davis
house, and where the " Old Pottery"
was, a hill-road takes us up past the
comfortable, cosy-looking farm-house
of Charles Currier into Joppa, up
where on a favorable da}^ Mount
Wa.shington can be seen — a glisten-
ing point against the sk}'. We keep
on along these roads laid out by the
early settlers, rich in associations,
and at the top of the hill we can
but stop, for from there a land-
scape of wonderful beauty meets the
eye. Governor Harriman said people
crossed the ocean to look upon seen-

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

431

ery not so fine. F'roni the
corner where the first rude
meeting-house was buih,
and "the Parade" where
military drills were held
before the century came in
— all lonely now — a road
will take us down through
the green wood and across
the brook, then, worn and
gullied, and closed to much
travel, over Waldron's hill.
We can get across from
here to where the Badgers
settle d — attractive place
still in the family — and
down into the valle}' in the shadow
of the solemn Mink hills, near the
birthplace of the Harrimans, Stew-
arts, and Fosters.

Here we find the John Graham and
Goodwin farms, and at the eaistward,
near one of the many corners, that of
Mr. Mooney, and the ancient home-
stead of E^vans Davis — one of the
few kept in the family for over a
hundred years. We come out at the
North Village where the Flanderses,
Osgoods, Barnards, and Daltons set-
tled, with the old Ordway home in

Residence of M. R. Dowllng.

Summer Residence of Senator W. E. Chandler.

under the hill. An ideal hamlet the
North Village seems, with a look as
if the neighbors could call across to
one another, and "run in" bypaths
across the fields.

Right in the mid.st of this rural
life we come upon a transformation,
where the new ' ' Silver L,ake Reser-
voir Company," under the manage-
ment of N. G. Ordway, A. P. Davis,
and the Messrs. Gustine, are changing
a green meadow into a lake, using the
old Wells Davis mill-pond, where the
second saw-mill in town was built,
in creating at great ex-
pense what is intended to
be a s }• s t e m of w a t e r-
works.

From here our road is
by the Pratt grounds and
the homestead of James
Bean, who has just gone
from it forever. From the
hill we have a fine view of
Waterloo, with Kearsarge
in the background. Once
this village was the scene
of active industries. The
falls read}' for the use of
man were known to the

432

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

proprietors as "the Great
Falls." Once there were
saw -mill, o-rist- mill, tan-
nery, and paper-mill.
There were also a bakery
and a book-binder5\ To-
day Waterloo has the lei-
surely look of a place
where the residents can
take their ease and enjoy
their flowers. It is the
summer retreat of man}'
families, who come as ear-
ly as they can and stay
as long as they can.

Senator Chandler is one
of the yearly comers. His first ac-
quaintance with Warner suggests the
circumstance that led Daniel Web-
ster to make Marshfield his summer
home. He came up from Concord
to fish in our mountain brooks, and
like most strangers, was enthusiastic
oyer the scenery. When, seyeral
years later, the Noah Andrews house
on the hill became yacant, he Ijought
it, and has spent more or less of
eyery summer here since. It was
a big, old-fashioned, square house,
and without taking av/ay from its

Residence oT bteirirge L. Urdv

Summer Residence of Col. E. L. Whitford.

dignified simplicity, he made con-
yenient additions and laid out a gar-
den. Here, in the uno.stentatious
way characteristic of the man, he
finds the retirement and repose im-
peratiye in a life so crowded with
actiye duties, and necessarilj' so
much in the public eye.

Rey. John C. Ager, of Brooklyn,
X. v., returns to the old home which
belonged to his family, where he
takes his pleasure seriously in mak-
ing artistic improyements. Marshall
Dowlin comes to his " vSunnylawn "
on the place once the home
of the well-known teacher,
Stephen S. Bean. On the
other side of the street, the
widow of Goyernor Harri-
man has a quaint red cot-
tage ; and the large Riyer-
side estate of ex-Goyernor
Ordway takes in not onh*
his house on the bluff but
the farms on the riyer, with
the two ancient red houses
where his .son, George L.,
and his daughter, Mrs. E-
L. Whitford, spend their
summers. The busiest

A SKETCH OF W'ARNKR.

4^ 1

mail of the village, John Uowliii, has
his habitation the year round where
the long row of farm-biiildiiigs .stands
on the green level across the river.

Going np from Waterloo on the
Bradford road, b}- what was the Dan-
iel Bean tavern, and the pleasant
Roby and Eastman homes, we reach
the head-quarters of a kind of busi-
ness known over half the world — the
making of hnbs — which has been car-
ried on in the same family for two or
more generations. Orders for the
Redington hubs come even from Aus-
tralia, New Zealand, and
Africa. The road passes
under a green tunnel of
over- arching trees, between
the house of Mrs. Oliver
Redington and that of
Charles Redington, now
sole manager of the busi-
ness. Nearly all the region
above here to the Bradford
line goes by the general
names of Steven.sville and
Melvin's Mills. The road
all the distance disputes
the right of way with the
river and the railroad,
which is always perilously near. In
one of the wildest spots are the mills
where, in 1870, the Bartlett brothers
began the manufacture of coarse and
fine excelsior, now turning out about
one thousand tons annually, consum-
ing nearly one thousand cords of pop-

The Rogers .shops were .still farther
up, where the village is, on a .street
as irregular as .some in Marblehead,
with houses at unexpected turns, and
flower gardens among the rocks, blaz-
ing with the sumptuous colors of
things that love the sun. Here are a
railroad station, .store, and po.st-office
in charge of W. P. Melvin, descend-
ant of the Josiah Melvin for whom the
place was named. This village once
represented one of the most impor-
tant .sections of the town, for here it
was understood was the back-bone of

I^MMttt'^'^^^^^^^^

Residence of ex-Gov. N. G. Ordway.

Democracy. The men from this
neighborhood and from ' ' over the
Minks" exercised not unfrequently a
controlling voice in close political
campaigns. They were men who
knew what they believed, Colbys,
Melvins, Collinses, Holmeses, Brown.s,

lar. Farther up are .shut-up mills, and others, .stanch in their opinions,

where formerly were made carriages,
churns, chairs, and a variety of things
down to clothes-pins. Here the sev-
eral men by the name of Stevens kept
machinery going for one purpo.se or
another, and Chapin Pierce .spent his
time either in manufacturing or in-
venting.

whose advice it was not safe to dis-
regard.

Warner is a good-sized town, under-
stood to have an area of forty-four
square miles. There must necessa-
rily be .some long-di.stance trips if one
would .see remote corners, for in-
stance, the Howe district, where still

434

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

stands the very old Joel Howe tavern
just as it used to be, dancing-hall and
all, occupied by one of the descend-
ants. To get to some of these out-of-
the-way places, one has to do as a
certain artist said of some of the roads,
"go vSomewhere by wa}' of anywhere."

It is no disparagement to the town
that so man}' mills have gone by. If
we have not i6 saw-mills and 8 grist-
mills, as we had in 1823, it is because
we have no need of them. Warner is
really an agricultural town, but, as
already intimated, we have live men
here who keep things moving. In
1890 the new Merrimack Glove Com-
pany began operations in two large
and convenient buildings which re-
placed those of the former glove fac-
tory destroyed b}- fire after being run
several years. The new enterpri.se
started up with vigor under the man-
agement of S. Clay, superintendent,
and H. C. Davis, president. The
manufactures are gloves and coats,
and at its best period it furnished em-
ployment for more than a hundred
persons.

In 1 88 1 the Kearsarge Evaporating
Company came into existence, the
firm being Robert Thompson and his
son, Arthur. The business was a
great success, affording a market for
thousands of bu.shels of what had
heretofore been con.sidered unusable
apples ; and thousands of dollars
passed into the hands of farmers and
the people employed in the buildings.
The evaporators are now owned and
run l)y A. J. Hook, who also carries
on the grain and hay bu.siness in
Thompson's block near the depot.

Down on the river, just back of
which our village is situated, at the
mo.st picturesque turn, have been
mills time out of mind. What is now

the Ela grist-mill was built in 1829 by
Nicholas Fowler, one of the worthy
men of those days who could turn his
hand to the building of almost any-
thing. This quaint old mill, the
quaint house of the miller nestled in
the lap of the hill, the island, and the
romantic surroundings dear to an
artist's eye, have been the subject of
many pictures. And a place alwaj's
suggesting a pictvire, if one takes it
in from the bridge or indeed from any
other place, is the saw-mill of M. T.
Ela, across the river from his father's
grist-mill. A good deal, however, is
going on there more practical than
making illustrations, or than inhalino;
the fragrance of pine logs or li.steuing
to the rhythmic sound of the sawing
— delightful way of passing the time
though it be. The mill is a busy
place. La.st year 700,000 feet of
boards were sawed there, and 600,000
feet will this season l)e manufactured
into boxes.

There are other things in which
Warner is thriving — .secret societies.
One of the most conspicuous .struct-
ures in the village is the Odd Fel-
lows building, and its generous .space
accommodates two organizations be-
sides its own. Harris Eodge of Free
Masons occupies one hall — a beauti-
ful one; Warner Grange has another;
the fourth is devoted to banquets ;
and what with installations, harvest
suppers, and occasions of which the
luckless outsider may not know, the
year is marked off with fe.stivals and
feasts. The lower floor, with the
exception of the .store of C H. Hardy,
is taken up with the printing estab-
lishment of E. C. Cole, owner, pub-
lisher, printer, and editor of the Kear-
sarge Independent , a weekly news-
paper .started by him in 1S84.

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

435

Mmti '^

The town
early h a cl a
Masonic lodge,
hut its hall and
records at the
Lower \"illage
having been de-
stroyed b>' the
fire in which the

Daniel George tavern

and store were burned,
it remained nearlj' inactive
until 1S75, when a new one was insti-
tuted, named for one of the oldest citizens
of the place and his son, John Atherton Har-
ris, a man beloved by the Fraternit>-. The
first Master was G. C. Crcorge.

Warner Grange has had remarkable pros-
perity from the day of its formation in 1877, with
Hiram G. Patten as Master, to the present time,
numbering over two hundred members, and
ranking among the foremost in the state. It
has been an acknowledged intellectual stimulus
and social help to many, and is a source of pride
and gratification to the large body of men and
women among our best townspeople who are in its
membership.

Central Lodge of I. O. O. F., organized in 1881,
with vS. K. Paige, Noble Grand, has evidently
been unusually successful ; and so, as far as one
of the uninitiated has a right to judge, has been
Welcome Rebekah Lodge.

The newest of the orders. Knights of the
Golden Cross, holds its meetings in the hall in Robertson's block.

To do justice to the libraries of Warner — the first of which was incor-
porated in 1796 — a separate sketch must needs be written. The present
one will onl}- briefly outline the history of the Pillsbury Free Lii^rary. It
is a gratifying fact that two of the most generous gifts to this town have

'„*>»'-•■■'.''

436

,-7 SKETCH OP WARNER.

i in n

.1 Si !!i
.71 R m

f I

Glove Factory.

been made by men who had only a
temporary residence here ; gratifying,
because it certainly goes far towards
proving that there is something that
commends itself about the town itself,
or about the people, or the waj- we
treat those who come among us.
George A. Pillsbury, who was for
twelve years in business in Warner,
and whose son, Charles A., was born
here, gave to the town, in connection
with his family, the fine library T)uild-
ing, located on land given by N. G.
Ordway, where formerh- stood the
Kearsarge hotel. It is of
red pressed brick and gran-
ite, in the Romanesque-
Gothic style, is fire-proof,
and has a handsome read-
ing-room and stack room,
finished throusfhout in
quartered oak. It was op-
ened in 1892, and started
with over four thousand
volumes, the gift of Mr.
Pillsbury and his family.
The number is now nearh
five thousand.

Within the limits of an
article for this magazine

it is impossible to even
touch upon many incidents
of interest. Many persons,
many events must neces-
sarily be left out. But not
the .soldiers who fought for
us in the War of the Re-
l:)ellion. The men of War-
ner responded immediateh',
and with enthusia.sm. Nev-
er w'ere more loyal patriots
or braver ones. The Ros-
ter of New Hampshire
Soldiers, lately published,
gives the names of one hun-
dred and twent3'-five men,
natives of Warner, and thirty-seven,
credited to the town, not born here.
Most of them were in the Eleventh
and Sixteenth regim.ents, and their
service was chiefly with the Army of
the Potomac and in the Department
of the Gulf. Walter Harriman w^as
commissioned colonel of the former,
afterwards made brigadier-general by
brevet. Samuel Davis, educated at
West Point, w^as major of the lat-
ter. James H. Fowler, a native of
Warner, was chaplain in Colonel
HiofSfin.son's colored reofiment.

Odd Kellows' Building.

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

437

Pillsbury Free Library.

Several persons natives of Warner
have added to the world's stock of
books. Levi Bartlett, well known as
an agricultural writer, compiled the
" Bartlett Genealogy." Isaac Dalton
Stewart, successful as minister of the
gospel and as editor of the Monii)ig
Star, prepared a " History of the
Freewill Baptists ' ' — some of the ma-
terial being from other sources. To
Walter Harriman belongs the author-
ship of a " History- of Warner " and
" In the Orient." Fred Myron Colby,
a constant contributor to many news-
papers and periodicals, is
author of .several books,
the best known of which
are "The Daughter of Pha-
raoh " and "Brave Lads
and Bonnie Lasses." Hen-
ry E. Sawyer, an eminent
teacher, has contributed to
educational works, ' ' A
Latin Primer," "Metric
Manual." and "'Words and
Numbers." John C. Ager,
besides his pastoral and
editorial work, has trans-
lated seven octavo volumes
of vSwedenborg's writings.

Mrs. Olive Rand Clarke,
for more than thirty years
editorially connected with
the Mirror and Eariiwr, is
author of "A \^ a cat ion
Excursion." Mrs. Flora
Morrill Kimball, now^ of
National City, California,
a w Oman of exceptional
a 1) i 1 i t y, is author of two
books for young people,
•'The Fairfields" and
"The Tyler Boys." Her
sister, Hannah F. M.
Browne, for many years ed-
itor and publisher of The
Agitator, a paper devoted to social
and political reform in Cleveland,
O., wrote several books for children.
She died in i8Si. Amanda B. Har-
ris is author of six books for young
people. A considerable amount of
miscellaneous work has been done by
a few of the above and by others.

The number of ministers born in
Warner, so far as can be ascertained,
is twenty-three ; of physicians, nine-
teen : of lawyers, thirteen. Without
doubt the actual number of each pro-
fession exceeds these figures.

Interior — Pillsbury Free Library.

438

A SKETCH OF WARNER.

Ezekiel Dimond was a professor in cause has now passed into the hands

Dartmouth College. George H. Sar-
gent and others have met with suc-
cess in journalistic work.

The town is the birth-place of three
governors, Ezekiel A. Straw, Walter
Harriman, who was twice elected,
and N. G. Ordway, for four years gov-
ernor of Dakota. Five of her
sons have been mayors in the
cities of their residence,
George Runels in Lowell;
Henr>^ H. Gilmore, Cam-
bridge; John E. Robertson,
Concord; George F. Bean,
Woburn ; B^aon Harriman,
Waterloo, Iowa. .■

Warner women have been
always ready for any service
that had a claim upon them.
When the plan for preserving
Mount Vernon w^as made in

of the W. C. T. U., a band of work-
ers who loyall}' stand by the princi-
ples of which the white ribbon is a
symbol.

The town was represented in the
Sandwich Islands sixty j-ears ago by
a missionary teacher, Mrs. Eois Hoyt

"1 ,

~t%--

The Harris Homestead.

1859, the town was canvassed by
women, and a creditable sum was
raised. During the W^ar of the Re-
bellion .systematic and generous work
was done, till no longer needed, for
the .soldiers and the sanitar}' commis-
sion. The various progressive tem-
perance organizations of fifty years
having apparently had their day, the

Johnson. In these
days southern Cali-
fornia is bestowing
honors on a woman
Warner born. Mrs.
Flora Morrill Kim-
ball is the first
woman ever elected
master of a grange.
vShe was vice-president of the board
of lady managers of the California
World's Fair Commission, was ap-
pointed by the governor a member of
the .state board of sericulture, has
been seven years on the board of edu-
cation, and IS director of a bank.
The six Morrill sisters all wrote more
or less for the press when it was more

SUNR/SE ON MONADNOCK.

439

of a distinction to be a writer than it
is now. Mention should be made of
the literary work of Mrs. H. M.
Colby and Mrs. A. B. Bennett. Mrs.
E. H. Carroll is an accomplished
teacher of music ; Mrs. N. G. Stearns,
a successful artist; Mrs. M. F. Haj-es
has had many years of service at the
head of seminaries; Mrs. R. B. Sey-
mour stands in the front rank as a
teacher of languages. Two Massa-
chusetts women think they have some
claim upon us through their Warner
mother, who descended from that
James Flanders who helped to give
character to the town about a hundred
years ago. They are Mar\' F. East-
man, the distinguished speaker for
woman suffrage, and her sister, Helen,
well known for her histrionic talent.
It is on many accounts to be re-

gretted that the same thing is true of
Warner as of most countrj- towns.
Many of the enterprising young men
have sought careers in the large cities
or in the West. There they have
built up a successful bu.siness or made
honorable records in other ways of
life. They are publishers, editors,
teachers, bankers, political leaders,
manufacturers, millionaires, and in
all the professions. Their influence
goes with them, but it is felt here.
The)' are not lost to their native
town. It is said of Manchester-b}-
the-Sea that there is a certain spring
of water there of which if one drinks
he will be sure to go back. Warner
does not need such a magic spring
or any occult agenc}- for her sons
and daughters. Sooner or later thej-
come back.

SUNRISE ON MONADNOCK.

By Frank L. Phaleii.

Proud over all. Monadnock towers,
A stern old mountain, lifting high
His rugged brow to scan the sky :

Mute critic of the sw-ift-winged hours.

O mountain, watching for the morn,
Serene and calm and brave you seem ;
Serene as life seems when we dream,

Self-poised amid earth's praise or scorn.

At early dawn, 'mid shadows gray.
The first red rays of sunrise kissed
Your cloud-capped crest, and. lo ! the mist

Was scattered by the god of day.

So shall it be in man's vexed life :

Shadows and doubts and mists shall roll
Far off at sunrise from the soul ;

At sunrise, peace shall vanquish strife.

THK AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES,

WITH A XOTICK OF KEV. STEPHEN BACHIEER.

/>')' I'ictof Clmitiiiiii^ Sa///>or/i.

LL the Sanborns in
America are de-
scended from two
of the three broth-
ers, who came to
America in 1632
with their grand-
father, Rev. Stephen Bachiler, and
were sons of an English Samborne
^vho, about 16 19, married Anne Bach-
iler. It has l)een supposed that the
widow, Anne Samborne, came with
her children, but no definite record
of her life here has been discovered.
Her will is not filed here, nor was
she at Hampton with her father and
sons in 1638.

Ver}' full records of the American
Sanborns have been compiled. In
1855 an excellent beginning was
made by Dr. Nathan Sanborn; and Lieut. John Samborne 's will is not
this has been supplemented by gen- extant, only the closing words being
ealogies in the histories of Hampton given in the re-transcript on file in
and of Sanbornton, N. H. No full the Exeter, N. H., probate office,
account, however, has been given of It is signed, — "John Samborne, Sen-
the first generation in America, of

general court ; ensign in King Philip's
War, 1677; lieutenant of tlie town
guard, 1680; commissioner of small
causes, i66j-6g. Died Oct. 20, 1692.
His inventory amounts to ^204, 14s.,
including " old Bible and other books."*
He had these children by the first wife :

John, b. 1649; "i- jLidith Cotfin ; d. 1723.

i. Mary, b. 1651 ; d. 1654.

ii. Abigail, b. Feb. 23, 1653; m. Ephraim
Marston ; d. 1743.

iv. Richard, b. 1655; '"• ('^t) Ruth Moul-
ton ; (2d) Mary Boulter.

V. Mary, b. 1657; d. 1660.

vi. Joseph, b. Mar. 13, 1659; m. Mary Gove.

vii. Stephen, b. 1661 ; d. 1662.

viii. Anne, b. 1662 ; m. Samuel Palmer ; d. i74v

i.x. Dinah (?).

X. Nathaniel, b. Jan 27, 1666; ni. (ist) Re-
becca Prescott ; and (2d) Sarah Nason ;
d. 1723.

xi. Benjamin, 1). Dec. 20, 1668; m. (ist) Sa-
rah ; (2d) Meribah Tilton ; (3d)

Abigail Dalton.

liy the second wife :

xii. Jonathan, b. May 25, 1672 ; m. Elizabetli
Sherburne ; d. 1741.

which the following is a brief record :

I. Lt. John Samborne, born 1620 (as ap-
pears by his deposition) ; lots were
granted him in Hampton. 1640; he
married (ist) Mary, daughter of Robert
Tuck of Hampton ; (2d), Aug. 2, 1671,
Margaret (Page) Moulton, widow, daugh-
ter of Robert Page of Hampton. He
was a prominent man in Hampton : Se-
lectman, 1650, 1 66 1, 1665, 1668, 1672,
1674-75. 1678-79; representative to

ior, his marke 'Jo' and scale." Wit-
nesses, — Nathaniel Bachiler, \Vm.
Mar.ston, Robt. Moulton Hy. Dow.

2. William Samkorxe, born 1622; mar-
ried Mary, daughter of John Moulton.
He was also prominent, and was select-
man several years ; was bell ringer of
Hamilton church in 1639. when he must
have been but 16 or 17 ; died in 1692
ae. about 70. Will on tile at Exeter.
Inventorv, /^4o8, los. Children:

*.'\inong these was a commentary on certain Bible texts by Thomas Cartwriglit. tlie old Puritan divine, now

owned in Manchester, N. H.

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES.

441

i. William, h. 1652; m. Marv Marston ; d.
1744.

ii. JosiAH, 111. (ist) Hiiniiah Moulton ; and
(2d) Sarah I'eikins.

iii. Mercy, b. July 19, 1660; m. Samuel Cass.

iv. Mephiboshkth, b. Nov. 5, 1663; m. Ly-
dia Leavitt; d. 1749.

V. Sarah, b. Feb. 10, 1667 ; m. Samuel Mars-
ton; d. 1738.

vi. -SiEPHEN, b. Sept. 4, 1671; 111. Hannah
Philbrick; d. 1750.

3. Stephen- Samborne, horn ; mar-
ried Sarah . One of a company

to build the Hampton meeting-house in
1641 ; resigned as selectman in 1655 to
go back to England with Rev. Stephen
Bachiler. The children (born in Hamp-
ton) were :

i. Sarah, b June 12, 1651.
ii. Dorothy, b. March 2, 1653.

For the first hundred years in
America (1632-1730) the name was
ahvays written " ' Samborne " " or
" Samborn." How or when the pres-
ent spelHng was introduced is not
known.

Some notes in regard to the Eng-
lish Sambornes were printed by Dr.
Nathan Sanborn and Mr. Dyer H.
Sanborn in i855-'56; but the coat of
arms which they engraved, and which
has been reprinted in the " Hi.story
of Sanbornton," never was a Sam-
borne coat.

In this article I hope to show pre-
sumptive evidence of a connection be-
tween our American ancestors and
the English family of Samborne ; but
until definite proof is found we have
no right to bear the English arms or
crest. The assumption of coat-
armour said to belong to a certain
name, without actual proof of a con-
nection, is unwarranted.

Unfortunately we have been led
into such an error : in the ' ' Sanborn
Genealogy" of 1856 was engraved a
shield of arms bearing '"Argent, a
lion rampant or, bctiuecn five mullets
gules, fzi'o and three. Cre.st. A hand
holding a sheaf of arrows, untinctured.

These arms, although not claimed for
our American family, were said to
belong to the English Sambornes, —
but, though the crest ma}' be a
late Samborne crest, the arms are
impossible in heraldr\-, and never
were borne by any one named Sam-
borne. This unfortunate error has
led some of us to use this false coat,
— it has been copied into family and
town histories, and I believe has been
adopted by the town of Sanbornton
as its seal. I trust this will be cor-
rected.

As a matter of fact, there is practi-
calh' but one Samborne coat of arms.
Burke gives the following references,
which I have supplemented from my
search at the Herald's College in
London :

1 . Samborne of Southcot, Berks. (Jua?--

terly, (i) and (4) [Samborne] Argent,
a chevron, sable, ietween 3 uutileis gnles,
pierced or. (2) [Lushill of Wilts.]
Argent, a pale fusilly, gnles, within a
bordurc aznre, bezantce. (3) [Drew
OF Wilts., Berks., and Devon.] Er-
mine, a lion passant, gules. No crest.
This coat in 1566 was allowed and con-
firmed to Thomas Samborne of Sonning
Berks., grandson of Drew Samborne of
Southcot, who bore the quarterings as
above.

2. Samborne of Timsbury. Somt. Ar-

gent, a chevron, sable, between 3 mullets
gules, pierced or. Crest, ^l mullet as in
the arms. This coat and crest in 1672
were allowed and confirmed to Maiidley
Samborne of Timsbury. sixth in descent
from Drew Samborne's brother, Nich-
olas of Mapledurham. Although Nich-
olas Samborne had the same right to
the Drew and Lushill quarterings as his
brother, his descendants at Timsbury
did not use them, but bore the mullet as
crest, — which I assume to have been a
new crest, since Sir Barnaby Samborne's
seal, affixed to a document at Timsbury
in 1590. shows no crest at all.

3. Sambourxe of Moulsford. Berks.

The same arms as (2). Crest, a biiWs
head erased, sable, armed or, holding
in the mouth 3 wJieat-ears of the last.

44-

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES.

This coat and crest were in 1665 con-
firmed and allowed toRichard Sambourne
of Cholsey, Berks., a great-grandson of
Drew Sambourne, the crest being in
allusion to his descent from the Drews.

4. Sambourne (paid to be of Moulsford,

Berks., Cos., Hants., and Somt.). The
same arms as (2) and (3) . Crest, a /laini
holding a sJieaf of arrows , all proper . Al-
though this crest is described in every
heraldic dictionary as belonging to
Samborne I can find no authority for it
at the Herald's College. It may have
been a late 17th century grant, but I
doubt its authenticity.

5. Samborne (no location). Sable, (an-

flt/icr, azure), a lion ra/npaiil or. No
crest. This coat is given in Burke,
&c., but I think in error; probably con-
founded (because of a Samborne inter-
marriage in 1490 or thereabouts) with
the arms of Brocas of Beaurepaire
(Sal'le, a lion rampant-guardant, or).
This, I take it, is the coat which the
editors of the Sanborn Genealogy still
farther confused by adding five mullets
to it.

Nichola.s Samborne of Mapleclur-
liani bore of right the same arms as
his brother Drew, in whose shield the
lyushill and Drew arms were quar-
tered. My theory is that we are
descended from this Nicholas ; and
his coat of arms is engraved for this
article. His descendants of Somer-

las and Drew bore, I cannot find;
there was none, if I am correct in
assuming the mullet to have been
a later crest, and the hand to be
unauthorized. All three crests are
engraved, as there is some doubt on
the subject.

In tracing our family history, our
best clue is through discoveries* in
regard to Rev. Stephen Bachiler, the
grandfather of our first American an-
cestors. This gentleman w-as born in
1561, matriculated at St. John's Col-
lege, Oxford, in 1581, and in 1586, at
the age of twenty-six was presented
by Lord de la Warr to the living of
Wherwell ( ' ' Horrell " ) , a pretty vil-
lage in Hampshire, on the river Test.
The Oxford registers do not give Mr.
Bachiler' s home, but there was at
Kingsclere, Burghclere, and High-
clere (a few miles from Wherwell), a
large family of Bachilers ; and at
Upper Clatford in 1571 there died a
Richard Bachiler whose will mentions
several family names early found in
Hampton, N. H.

While vStephen Bachiler was at
Wherwell, there Avas living at Ando-

set, Dorset, and Hants did not use
the quarterings, — they are not shown
on the escutcheon at Timsbury, nor
on those at Andover Church and
Hatherden School, — but the}' were
entitled to use them, and also the
Drew cre.st of a bull's-head as in (3).
What, if any, paternal cre.st Nicho-

*Made by H. F. Waters, Esq.,

ver and Weyhill, a few miles away^
Rev. James Samborne, whose son,
Rev. James Samborne, Jr., was rector
of Gratel}' (near by) in 1604, and of
Upper Clatford from 16 10 to 1628.
Anne Samborne, a cousin of Rev.
James Samborne, Sr., married Rev.
Antliony Gattonby, rector from 1572

and the late Judge Batchelder.

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMDORNES.

443

Old Quadrangle, St. Johns College, Oxford. Where Rev. Stephen Bachiler was Matriculated.

to 1605 of Goodworth Clatford, the
next parish to Wherwell. These
Sambornes were of a Berkshire fam-
ily which derived its Hampshire con-
nexion from a marriage with the Bro-
cas family of Beaurepaire ( a few miles
east of Whenvell) and the Rogers
family of Freefolk (the next parish
east of Wherwell ) . This Rogers con-
nexion made the Sambornes heirs to
the estates of the Lisles of Thruxton,
a parish near Andover, and thus asso-
ciated the Samborne family with
Hampshire.

In 1605 Mr. Bachiler was "de-
prived" of his benefice, presumably
for Calvinistic opinions, and by order
of the commisvsion appointed by
James I. to investigate religious
opinions. One member of this com-

mission was lyord de la Warr, a son
of the nobleman who had presented
Mr. Bachiler to the living of Wher-
well. Mr. Bachiler is said to have
taken refuge in Holland, as the Ply-
mouth Pilgrims did in 1608, but no
record of his life there is found. His
son-in-law, Rev. John Wing, was the
first pastor of an English church at
Middleburgh in Holland, from 1620
onward ; and it is curious to note that
a Mr. Samviel Bachiler, minister in
Sir Charles Morgan's* fighting regi-
ment in Holland, was the same
year called to a pastorate in Flush-
ing, but declined. Ma}- it not be
that this was a son of Rev. vStephen
Bachiler? Samuel Bachiler was the
author of a book called " Miles Chris-
tianus"t (perhaps the same volume

* It seems worth noting that another Morgan, Sylvanus by name, in his " Sphere of Gentry " gives a coat of
arms (which I cannot verify) for Rev. Stephen Bachiler, — Vert^ a plow in fesse : in the base the sun rising or.

'y Miles Christianus^ or The Campe Roval, Set forth in briefe Meditations on the Words of tlie Prophet
Moses, Dent. XXIII, 9-14, hereunder following: " When the host goeth forth against thine enemies, then keep
thee from every wicked thing. . . . For the Lord thy God walketh in the midst of thy camp, to deliver
thee, and to give up thine enemies before thee ; therefore shall thy camp be holy : that he see no unclean thing
in ihee, and turn away from thee. Preached in the armie at Danger-Leager. profitable for all sorts of men to
reade ; and published for the generall good of all that willreade. By Samuel Bachiler, Preacher To the English
at Gorinchem. .Amsterdam, Printed by R. P. in the Veare MDCXX^^" (There is a manuscript mscription.)
"To the honourable Gentleman Mr. Ashley his worthy freind, the Authour wisheth all happiness" The
above is the title-page of Bachiler"s book : it is a thin, small, quarto bound in vellum, — 55 pages in all, — a ser-
mon, rather dull apparently. There is a three-page preface addressed" To all my deare and loving Countrimen
in sen'ice to the States of the United Provinces, the honourable officers, and all honest souldiers of the Eng-

444

THE AMERICAN AND ENGEISH SAMBORNES.

which Mr. Bachiler sent to Margaret
Tyndall, Governor Winthrop's wife,
in October, 1639, from Hampton).

In this letter Mr. Bachiler mistakes
Mrs. Winthrop's Christian name,
calling her "Alice" instead of Mar-
garet ; but that was pardonable, for
John Winthrop had three wives be-
fore he was thirty-four years old, and
a patriarch of .seventy-eight, like
Bachiler, could hardly be expected to
recall them all. But he had dined
with this Mrs. Margaret Winthrop,
at Groton, Eng., June 11, 162 1, and
no doubt on other occasions, and
could property address her as "Aun-
cient & Christian Frende." He
went on to say :

I present my great respect and thankful-
ness unto you in a little token. And though
it be little in itself, yet doth it contain
greater weight of true worth than can easily
be comprehended but of the spiritual man.
Looking among some special re-
served Ijooks, and lighting on this little
treatise* of one of mine own poor children,
I conceived nothing might suit more to my
love, nor your acceptance. As God gives
you leisure to read anything that may
further your piety, and hope of a better life
than this, if vou shall please to vouchsafe a
little part of that time to read this by de-
grees, I shall judge it more than a sufficient
satisfaction to my love and desire of further-
ing you in the way of grace.''

I suppose this " Christian Soldier "
of vSamuel Bachiler to have been a
sermon on the religioits life, suggested
by his experience with the English
volunteers in Holland, and perhaps
preached there, and even printed, as
many Puritan works were, outside of
England, in order to escape the pro-

hibition of the archbishop's licenser,
for Eaud, from 1635 onward, was very
strict to keep back Calvinistic books
froiu circulation in England. If Ste-
phen Bachiler brought many copies
of it to New Hampshire, as he may
well have done, they were probabl\-
burnt, with his librar}-, a few years
later ; since he mentions, in a letter
to Winthrop in 1644, he has "had
great loss by fire, well known, to the
value of /,200, with my whole study
of books " in Hampton. In the same
letter, written when he was proposing
to settle in Exeter, he tells Winthrop
that " I procured the plantation for
them [at Hampton] and have been at
great charges in many ways since, for
the upholding and ftirthering of the
same ; yet I never had any mainten-
ance from them hitherto."

Assuming that Stephen Bachiler
was in Holland for a time, it seems
probable this was between 1607 and
1620, although no record has yet
been found concerning him in the
church, town, or military registers of
Middleburgh or Flushing, where his
kindred were. Btit when in Eondon
(June 23, 1631), and while he was
making preparation to come to New
England, permission was granted to
him and his wife Helen, with his
daughter, "Aim vSandburn, widow,"
— the latter described as living in the
Strand, Eondon, — to go to Flushing
for two months to visit his sons and
daughters there. Plushing is in Zea-
land near Middleburgh, and was gar-
risoned bv English soldiers for more

lish nation residing in the Netherlands, and specially (as service bindeth me) to those of Gorcum in Holland,
S. B. wisheth all happie successes,'' etc. There is also '"an Admonitorie Postscript,'" to "the Reader whoso-
ever." Gorcum, in Dutch Gorinchem, is a fortified town of ii,ooo people in South Holland, about twelve
miles east of Dort, thr 'Ugh which you pass in going by rail from Antwerp to Rotterdam and Amsterdam. I
did not go there, nor is it now so important as in the time of the Spanish wars, when it was one of the keys to
the province of Holland. There is no other work by Samuel Bachiler on the catalogue of the British Museum.

* In 1626 Samuel Bachiler published another treatise on religious questions, mixed with politics, entitled
"The Dangers Hanging over the Head of England and France," but it is not likely this was the book sent to
Mrs. Winthrop.

THE A }f ERIC AN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES.

445

Southcote House, near Reading, Berkshire. A Samborne Manor from 1420 to 1506.

than half a centviry, l)egiiiiiiug in

1572. It was easy of access from
England, even in time of war; and
war was going on in Holland dnring
all the early years of the 17th cen-
tur}-. Probably Mr. liachiler's chil-