Full text of "The Granite monthly, a New Hampshire magazine, devoted to literature, history, and state progress"

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THE

GRANITE MONTHLY

A New Hampshire Magazine

DEVOTED TO

HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY, LITERATURE,
AND STATE PROGRESS

VOLUME XX

CONCORD, N. H.

PUBLISHED P.V THE GRANITE MONTHLY COMPANY

1896

By THE Granite Monthly Company

Concord, N. H.

Printed, fllusirated, and Electrotyped by
Republican Press Association {Monitor Press)
Concord, New Hampshire, U. S. A.

The Granite Monthly.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XX.

jfaniiary — jfime, i8g6.

Among the Hills, George Bancroft Griffith

An Evening Prayer, Harry Sheridan Baketel, M. D.

An Imperishable Epitaph, Frank L. Phalen

April Days, Mary M. Currier

A Question, Adelaide Cilley Waldron .

Aspiration, Fletcher Harper Swift

A Sunset Reflection, Caroline M. Roberts

A Trip to Western Texas, G. Scott Locke

A Typical New England Farmer, H. H. Metcalf

A Visit to Westminster Abbey, John C. Thorne

A Winter in a Logging Camp, Rev. Orrin Robbins Hunt

A Winter Midnight, J. B. Lawrence

A Wish, H. H. Hanson .....

Baketel, Harry Sheridan, M. D., An Evening Prayer
Benedict, Milo, Moments of Light

Some Passing Thoughts on Literature
Berlin: A Town of To-Day, Edward C. Niles
Brown, Emma E., Esther's Defence
By Old Stamboul, Frederick Myron Colby

Carr, John M., H. H. Metcalf .

Ch^dler, Ensign Lloyd H., Roentgen's "X Ray" Photograph

Chandler, Hon. William E., Charles Anderson Dana

Chapin, Bela, The Sunset Land ....

Chesley, Charles Henry, The Haunts of the Snowbird

Colby, Frederick Myron, By Old Stamboul

Conway, Mrs. Ellen M. Mason .....

Currier, Mary M., April Days

Currier, Ex-Gov. Moody, The Fairy King .

PAGE

375

207

143
247
264
388
266

45
381

227

99
106
21 1

207

175

307
184

78
136

381
248

159
80

1 1 1

136

347
247
310

CONTENTS.

i' {^Continued)

New Hampshire Necrology
duxbury, j. w.
Eastman, Cyrus
Evans, Brice S.
Everett, C. W.
Fairbanks, Moses
Flanders, B. F.
FuLLONTON, John
Gay, Willi a;\i E.
George, C. S.
Gile, George W.
Gilman, Joseph .
GiLMORE, Mitchell
Goss, Oliver
Greene, H. W.
Hall, M. P.
Holman, Sullivan
Holmes, Mrs. Sarah Dinsmore
Hooper, Rev. Noah
Horn, G. L.
Hosley, Col. J. D.
Hunt, George S.
Jeavett, Francis
Johnson, Nathaniel
Knox, Col. T. W.
Lang, Joseph E.
Leavitt, S. M. .
Lund, John C.
McCuTCHiNS, Luther
Morrill, John .
Morse, J. N.
Murray, O. D. .
Nutter, Mrs. S. M.
Pattee, Dr. Luther
Paul, Amos

Peabody, Rev. Charles
Pierce, John
Pillsbury, John J.
Pratt, Major L. B,
Preble, Rufus .
rossiter, p. m.
Russell, M. W.
Shaw, C. C.
Smith, Joseph R.
Stearns, A. W.
Taylor, Jacob .
Taylor, W. P. .
Tilton, Newell
Trickey, J. B. .
Tyler, Rev. Josiah

156

346

94
278
218
27s
346

96
217
277

346
2.17

345

277

218

345
96

278

397

278

397
157
155

97
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158
346

96
278
278
218

94
218
218
346
95
95
157
158

346
158

155

345

276

95
96

CONTENTS.

Vll

New Hampshire Necrology {Continued'):

Walworth, J. J.

Webster, Benjamin E.

Webster, Mrs. Ezekiel

Wendell, Daniel H.

West, Gen. F. S.

Whitfield, Col. S. A.

WiLKiNS, Alexander M. *

Woods, G. D.

WooLsoN, Moses
Newport: A Model New England Town, H. H. Metcalf
Nil€s, Edward C, Berlin: A Town of To-day

Orphean Music, Edward A. Jenks

One Morning, Virginia B. Ladd

Our Store of Old Letters, Marian Douglas

Pattee, Fred Lewis, Inexpression

Yesterday .....

Pearson, H. C, New Hampshire Horses
Perry, Frances H., Sweet May .
Phalen, Frank L., An Imperishable Epitaph
Phillips, Helen E., The Land of Evangeline
Prescott, Mrs. Polly A., Some Memories of Dudley Leavitt

Raymond, George H. Moses

Rest, Willis Edwin Hurd ....

Revenge is Sweet, Edwin Osgood Grover

Roberts, Caroline M., A Sunset Reflection

Robinson, Henry, Dr. J. Alonzo Greene

Roentgen's "X Ray'' Photography, Ensign Lloyd H. Chandler

Sanborn, Victor Channing, The American and English Sambornes

Selden, G. C, Farnum

Sewall's Falls Historically Considered, Otis G. Hammond

Some Memories of Dudley Leavitt, Mrs. Polly A. Prescott

Some Passing Thoughts on Literature, Milo Benedict

Stinson, Col. Wm. H., Annis Gage Marshall

Sweet May, Frances H. Perry . .

SwETT, Sara M. . . • .

Swett, Sara M. The Doctor's Thanksgiving Story

Swift, Fletcher Harper, Aspiration ....

Tenney, Rev
Tenney, E. I

39S

217

158
277

93
95

346

157
I

184

49
385
143

123
300
285

325
143
376
265

1 12

63
384
266

248

107

138
265

307

378

325

388

E. P. ......

The Legend of John Levin and Mary Glasse,

64, 125, 207, 258, 326, 388
The Administration of a Great Department in the City of Boston,
Bertrand T. Wheeler ......

The American and English Sambornes, Victor Channing Sanborn
The College Church at Hanover, Rev. S. P. Leeds
The Doctor's Thanksgiving Story, Sara M. Swett
The Fairy King, Ex-Governor Moody Currier

301

32
219

81
310

Vlll

CONTENTS.

The First Snowshoe Club in New Hampshire, Edward French

The Haunts of the Snowbird, Charles Henry Chesley ....

The Land of Evangeline, Helen E. Phillips ......

The Legend of John Levin and Mary Glasse, E. P. Tenney,

64, 125, 207, 258,
The Main Street of The Ocean, Henry McFarland

The Pianist, Samuel Hoyt . .

The Princes in the Tower, Edward A. Jenks ....

The Prize Stories ..........

The Society of Colonial Wars in New Hampshire, John C. Thorne
The Spare Front Room, Clara Augusta Trask ....

The Sunset Land, Bela Chapin .......

The Town of Conway, Mrs. Ellen M. Mason .....

The Worshiper, Samuel Hoyt

Thorne, John C, A Visit to Westminster Abbey ....

The Society of Colonial Wars in New Hampshire
TowLE. Elbridge a., L. K. H. Lane ......

Trask.

Clara Augusta,

The Spare Front Room

" Wahlspruche" for the New Year, Mrs. Ellen M. Mason .
Waldron, Adelaide Cilley, A Question ......

Wentworth, Ella A., Easter ........

Westminster Abbey, A Visit to, John C. Thorne ....

Wheeler. Bertrand T., The Administration of a Great Department in the
City of Boston ....

Yesterday, F. L. Pattee

170
1 1 1
376

6, 388
279
306
124

97
32>7
169

80
347
154
227

337
205
169

89
264
226

'2'2'7

301

300

The Granite Monthly.

Vol. XX.

JANUARY, 1896.

No. I.

NEWPORT: A MODEL NEW ENGLAND TOWN.

By H. H. Metcalf.

HERE is no town in
New Hampshire,
or in all New Eng-
land, more fav-
ored by nature
with all the ele-
ments tending to
induce industry, enterprise, thrift,
and prosperity among its people, than
the town of Newport, shire of " Little
Sullivan." Nor is there anywhere
to be found a community which has
more fuU}^ utilized its opportunities
than that which peoples the banks of
Sugar river, and the pleasant hill-

sides overlooking the beautiful, wind-
ing valley through which the pure
waters of Lake Sunapee, and the
tributar}' streams from the mountains
of Grantham and Lempster, find their
way to the stately Connecticut.

It is not claimed for Newport or its
people that every possible ac,vance
has been made, every desirable im-
provement effected, or that it is not
excelled in some respect by some
other town or towns ; but it may be
maintained successfully that, on the
whole, no country town has more
generally improved its natural re-

^-\r^'Y.i.-':^^,''

Q-.

^.,^m^ X.

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t-.

!*-ft3;*;t-

A West View of Newport Village. Printed and Published by Simon Brown, Newport, 1834.
Dravm nitii etigravcd by Henry E. Baldivin. Used by courtesy of E. C. Hitchcock.

NEWPORT.

^""^^I^V

been men and

Mrs. Sarah J. Hale.

sources, secured for its people a

higher average degree of material

prosperity, and a fuller measure of

intelligence, maintained a

higher standard of morality

— or has, in short, developed

a higher type of manhood

and womanhood within its

borders, and sent out into

the land and world a

stronger influence for good.
Favored with a wide va-

riet}' of vSoil of more than

average fertility, it is, and

has been from its earliest history, an

excellent agri-
cultural town
in the general
sense, with no
marked tenden-
c}' to specialties.
vSupplied with
a 1) u n d a n t and
almo.st unfailing
water power, its
Dr. John L, Swett. uiauufac t u r i u g

Rev. John Woods.

#S^v

. ^ V - \

*%^«*

Malvina Chapin Rowell

interests are and have always been
an important factor in its prosperity.
Settled originally by a sturdy, indus-
trious, intelligent, and God-fearing
class of people, whose minds and the
character of whose descendants were
strengthened and elevated by the
mysterious influence of grand and
beautiful scenery, its population has
always been of the highest order, and
its representatives, going out into
other states, have
women of com-
manding power,
while the influ-
ence of the town
itself upon the
general body pol-
itic, has been sec-
ond to that of no
other of equal
population.

And yet, civi-
lization had established her
haunts, reared her altars,
and opened her schools up-
on the banks of the Piscat-
aqua, the Cocheco, and the
Squamscott, more than a
hundred 3'ears before the
white man's foot had
pressed the soil of the
Sugar River valle}', and a
generation of her pioneers
had done their work along the
Merrimack before the first band of
settlers from the " Land of Steady
Habits" pitched their camp in the
Newport forests.

About the middle of the last cen-
tur}^ as is reputed, a noted hunter
and trapper of Killingworth, Conn.,
named Eastman, made his way up
the valle}- of the Connecticut to the
mouth of Sugar river, since thus
named from the extensive growth of

NEWPORT,

F. W. Lewis,

sugar maples
i 11 the r e g i o ii
through \v h i c h
it flows. He
extended his trip
up the valley of
this tributary
stream till he
came to the
present lo
cation o
Newport village, where, on the
broad meadows to the south-
ward, he found excellent trap-
ping ground, while he became
strongly impressed with the
richness of the soil and the
desirability of the location for
agricultural set-
tlers. Returning
home loaded with
furs at the close
of the season, he
gave a glownng
account of the
natural advan-

Hon. Austin Corbin, Sr.

ing a charter for
a township there.
Subsequently this
man, Eastman,
the first w h i t e
man known to
have visited this
region, made an-
other excursion
to the locality, from which lit,
never returned. A few years
later, after the settlement of
the town, the discovery of a
human skeleton, near a small
stream about a mile west of
where the village now stands,
was regarded as in a measure
solving the fate of the unfor-
tunate trapper, who, through

sickness or acci-
dent, was sup-
posed to have
there perished.

On October 6,

1 76 1, a charter

for the township

of Newport was

tages of the region he had penetrated, granted by King

and inspired his friends and neigh- George the Third

bors to move in the matter of secur- to sixty-one citi-

Df, Thomas Sanborn,

Fred Clasgett,

NEWPORT.

Tnt; Jenko Homeotcad.

zens of Killing worth and other
towns in New London count}-, Con-
necticut, through Benning Went-
wortli, governor and commander in
chief of the province of New Hamp-
shire. These grantees, however,
were not the men who became the
settlers of Newport, they having gen-
erall}' disposed of their rights to
others for a consideration, and it was
not until three years after the charter
was granted that action was taken in
regard to the distribution of shares
under the same. December 25, 1764,
there was a meeting of the proprie-
tors at Killingworth, and a commit-
tee was appointed to proceed to
Charlestown ( Number Four ) , the

nearest settlement, and
' ' attend to the allotment
of the shares," which
committee, consisting of
Stephen Wilcox, Robert
L,ane, John Crane, and
Isaac Kelsey, attended to
the duty in Juh- following,
in the fall of which year
six young men came up
from Killingworth, cleared
each a few acres of land,
got in a crop of rye, and
made other preparations
for permanent settlement
and a season's work the

following year.
Early in June,

1766, a party of

Old Court House.

Edward A. Jenks.

eight men, including Stephen Wil-
cox and his two .sons, Jesse and
Phineas, vSamuel Hurd, Absalom
Kelsey, and Ezra Parmelee, came up
from Killingworth and established
the first permanent settlement.
They located to the west and .south-
west of the present village, along
what is the present road to Unit)'
Springs, on the west side of the .south
bank of the river.

The party arrived within the limits
of the towmship on Saturday night.

NEWPORT.

camped in the region of Pike
hill, being hindered by bad
travelling, pushed on to their
destination the next morning,
and, it being Sunday, en-
gaged in religious worship
under a large tree, the same
being conducted by Deacon
Stephen Wilcox, whose de-
scendants were leading citi-
zens of the town in subse-
quent generations. It is as-
serted, without dispute, that

from

f K

Edes Block.

that day to this, no Sunda}^ has
passed without religious observance
of some kind in the town of Newport.
A number of accessions were made
to the party of settlers dur-
ing the season, and the
next 5'ear a fresh start
was made with the further
accessions and the wives of
several settlers also added
to the number. A ' ' cart
road " had been opened to
Charlestown, which was
the base of supplies for
the settlers, running over
the Unity hills with more
regard for directness than
the avoidance of uncom-
fortable grades, according
to the usual old-time wav.

Residence of A. S. Wait.

In the fall of this year, October 13,
1767, it appears that the first regular
meeting of the proprietors within the
town was holden at the house of Jesse
Wilcox, being called to order by Ben-
jamin Bellows of Walpole, one of
"His Majesty's Justices." Stephen
Wilcox was chosen moderator ; Ben-
jamin Giles, clerk ; Samuel Hurd,
Charles Aver5^ and Zephaniah Clark,
assessors ; and a committee, of which
Benjamin Giles was chairman, was
also chosen ' ' to lay out a second
division of land." The original divi-
sion, it is understood, had consisted
of lots of fifteen acres to each settler,
running east and west, across the
meadow, while at this meeting it was

West Side of Mam Street.

NEWPORT.

%^^

Hon. Ralph Metcalf.

voted to lay out to each proprietor
thirt3'-five acres more, either at the
east or west end of the lots already
laid out. The meeting adjourned
three da^-s to the house of Zephaniah
Clark, when it was voted that Zeph-
aniah Clark, Ebenezer Merritt, Benja-
min Bragg, Samuel Hurd, and Jesse
Wilcox, having families in town, have
each eighty acres of land, and also

that an}- proprietor who with his wife
should become an inhabit«ant of the
town, before the first of July follow-
ing, should also have eighty acres,
thus putting a premium upon the
virtue of establishing the famih* re-
lationship.

The Edmund Burke Place,

Hon. Edmund Burke.

Benjamin Giles, the first town
clerk, who came in 1767, was a
native of Ireland, and a man of great
energy and force of char-
acter. He was about fift}^
years of age when he came
to Newport from Groton,
Conn. He appx'eciated the
settlement's need of nwlling
privileges, and the natural
opportunity presented for
meeting the same, and he
proposed the building of a
saw- and corn-mill at the
falls in the '" East Branch "
or main stream of vSugar
river, at the east part of
the town, where the Gran-
ite State mills at Guild

l\J::\\'PORT.

now staiul ; and at an ad-
journed meeting of the pro-
prietors, held October 29,
of the same year, he was
voted a tract of one hun-
dred acres of land around
and including the falls in
the river at this point, and
a tax or rate to the value
of four da3's' labor on each
proprietor's right or share
was also voted, for his en-
couragement, toward build-
ing the proposed mills.
These mills were built and
ready for operation in Sep-
tember, 176b. Thus was taken the
first practical step toward manufac-
turing in the town of Newport, it

%>^-M

■^

Residence uf Hun. Dexter Richards.

Revolutionary^ period. He was a
delegate in the convention at Exeter,
in 1 775-' 76, called to organize a pro-
visional government after the flight
of Gov. John Wentworth, and was
one of the committee of twelve, chos-
en from the delegates to constitute
an upper house, or senate, over
which Meshech Weare, the first gov-
ernor of the state, presided. He also

Hon. Dexter Riciiards.

having been as substantially encour-
aged by the settlers of the town as
has been the establishment of any
manufacturing industry anywhere in
later years.

Benjamin Giles seems to have been
the leading man of the town in the

«^ C

Hon. Edwin O. Stanard.

NEWPORT.

Congregational Church,

'>■ *■ <^.'*«P'«i.'2ii(«^-T?'.?«*5rv-& use in July, 1773- The

building was square-roofed,
covered with rough boards,
fastened on with wooden
pegs, and located on the
plain just south of what is
now known as the Claggett
place, on the Unity road.

Although religious ser-
vices were maintained week-
ly, it was not until October
28, 1779, that a church or-
ganization was effected. At
that date articles of faith,
form of covenant, and rules
of discipline were adopted
and signed by the following,
constituting the first church
organized in town : Robert
Ivane, Daniel Dudley, Daniel
ser\^ed in several other sessions of the Buell, Aaron Buell, Elias Basconi,
provincial or state congress, and was Matthew Buell, Josiah Stevens, Ben-
a member of the convention at Con- jamin Giles, Esther Buell, Susannah
cord, in June, 1782, to settle a per- Dudley, L,ydia Hurd, Eunice Bas-
manent plan of government. He com, Mary Stevens, Esther Lane,
died December 9, 1787, at the age of Chloe Wilcox, Mary Buell, Jane
seventy years. Buell. Thus it will be seen that

The first settlers of the town were the women were in the majority even
Congregationalists, and devout wor- in the first church in Newport, as is
shippers, as has been seen, holding the case there and everywhere at the
services from Sunday to Sunday in present day.
their different homes, as
their town, or "proprie-
tors'," meetings were also
held; but in 1772 it was
determined to erect a build-
ing which should be used
for public, religious, and
school purposes, and a tax
of fifteen shillings on each f
proprietor was levied to "
meet the expense.

The building was to be
thirty feet long by twenty
feet wide, with one fire-
place, and to be ready for Baptist church.

NEWPORT.

It was not, however, until January,
17S3, that a pastor was regularly set-
tled over this church in the person
of Rev. John Remele, who came at a
salary of seventy pounds per annum
and continued eight years in the pas-
torate, being dismissed October, 1791.

The church was without a pastor
for more than four years, but mean-
while the town had erected a new
meeting-house, land for the same
having been purchased by vote of
the town at a meeting held Novem-
ber 7, 1 791, the site being a slight
elevation at the four corners, at the
foot of Claremont hill so called.
Christopher Newton, Jeremiah Jenks,

Newport House and Methodist Church.

Phineas Chapin, Samuel Hurd, and
Aaron Buell were the committee ap-
pointed to build the house, which
was raised June 16, 1793, and soon
after completed. It was at the rais-
ing of this building that a son of the
Rev. Jol:) Seamans, of New I^ondon,
who had come over with others to
assist in the work, was killed by a
fall.

December 13, 1795, Abijah Wines,
a young citizen of the town, and the
first Newport graduate from Dart-
mouth College (class of 1794), was
called to the pastorate, accepted, was
installed, and served faithfully twenty-

1 \

Old Universahst Churcn.

one years. Two years later Rev.
James R. Wheelock, a grandson of
the first president of Dartmouth, was
installed and continued four years,
during which time, in 1822, the pres-
ent stately house of worship, known
as the " South church," was erected.
In January, 1824, the Rev. John
Woods, the most notable of all New-
port's clergymen, became pastor and
continued till July, 1S51. He was a
man of dignified presence and austere
manners, and his pulpit portrayals of

Catholic Church.

NEWPORT.

Residence of G. W. Britton.
Residence of C. W. Rounsevel.
Old Nettleton House and Residence of John McCrillis.
Residences of Col. S. M. Richards and. Hon. Levi Barton.

the terrors of the "wrath to come'
are remembered by many
at the present day with feel-
ings akin to awe. Subse-
quent pastors of this church
have been Revs. Henry
Cummings, G. R. W. vScott
(during whose pastorate
the interior of the church
edifice was remodelled, and
a vestry built), K. E. P.
Abbott, Charles N. Flan-
ders, George F. Kengott,
and John Pearson Pillsbury,
the latter of w^hom has just
closed a three vears' min-

istry, leaving the church with a mem-
bership of 295, and a Sunday-school
of 275 scholars.

Congregationalism, however, has
not alone ' ' held the fort ' ' in New-
port, even from the earl}- days. A
colou}^ of settlers came
up from central Massa-
chusetts in 1770, and lo-
cated in the northwest
portion of the town and
the corner of Cro3'don,
who were generally Bap-
tists, and the same year
when the Congre-
gational church
was established
(1779) they also
organized a
church at what
was long known
as " North ville,"
now North New-
port. The orig-
inal members of the church were Seth
Wheeler, Elias Metcalf, William Hav-
en, Ezekiel Powers, Mrs. Seth Wheel-
er, Mrs. Elias Metcalf, Mrs. William
Haven, and Mrs. Nathaniel Wheeler.
Rev. Bial Ledoyt was the first pastor,
serving from 1791 till 1S05.

Residence of William Dunton.
Congregational Parsonage.

-^'

The Reservoir.

NEWPORT.

The church flourished, and in 1794 church building was erected in the
a house of worship, forty-four feet village, at the north end of the corn-
square, was built near the cemetery, mon (where, with alterations and im-
services having been previously held provements, it still remains), and the

Prof. Jesse M. Barton.
Rev. John P. Pillsbury.

Dr. Christopher Sanborn.
Rev. H. D. Deetz.

Dr. Thomas B. Sanborn.
Prof. Herbert J Barton.

in private houses, in barns, and in Rev. Ira Pearson, from Hartland, Vt.,

the school-house. Several clergymen was installed as pastor, who, with a

held brief pastorates between 1805 few years interregnum, ministered to

and 1 82 1, in which latter year a new the people with great success for

NEWPORT.

tfttE^

John McCrillis.

E. M. Kempton.

A. L. Hall.

eighteen ^-ears. Succeeding pastors
have been Revs. Orin Tracy, Joseph
Freeman, \Vm. IM. Guilford, Paul S.
Adams, David Jones, Foster Henry,
Halsey C. Leavitt, Charles F. Hol-
brook, Frank T. Latham, and W. F.
Grant, with brief incumbencies b}'
others. The present pastor is Rev.
Joseph F. Fielden, settled March i,
1892. The church has 170 members,
and the Sunday-school, 157.

The town had grown and pros-

Court House and Town Hall.

pered as a matter of course, while the
churches were flourishing. The in-
habitants in 1775 numbered 157, and
in 1790 had reached 780. In 1850
the population was 2,020, and in
1S90 it was 2,623.

While the first settlers had located
on the western margin of the Sugar
River valley, others came in and
established themselves on the other
side of the valley, where the present
village is located, and in a few years
the center of business was here re-
moved, though even here there was,
for a long time, a spirit of rivalry
between the north and south ends.

A grist-mill, the first within the
present village limits, had been built
by Daniel Dudley in 1787, on the east
branch of the river ; and about 1790,
the first framed house was erected
by Isaac Redington at the north-east
corner of the present Main and Maple
streets, which was long after known
as the " old red store." Mr. Reding-
ton had been in trade on the other
side of the river and he continued
here, and also had a hotel in connec-
tion.

The opening of the ' ' Croydon

NEWPORT.

Turnpike" in 1S04, from Lebanon
to Concord, through Croydon and
Goshen, which utilized the road
down the east side of the valley,
gave an impetus to business. In
181 1, Gordon Buell erected a hotel,
known as the " Rising Sun Tavern,"
a short distance south of Redington's,
the proprietorship of which was soon
assumed b}' S^dvanus Richards, pro-
genitor of the Richards famih' in
Newport, who was succeeded by his
son, Capt. Seth Richards.

At the upper end of the village,
upon the site of what is now the
spacious Richards block. Col. Wil-
liam Cheney, who had come into
town from Alstead, and had also been
in trade on the west side, erected in
1 8 10 a long, two-story block of stores,
the most pretentious business struc-
ture in town for man}^ years. He,
himself, with his son, William H.

Richards Free Library.

Cheney, who afterward succeeded
him, occupied the northerly store in
general mercantile business. Colonel

'> ^

■.f0im^

t..:\

%t^^

Albert S. Wait.

Hon. L. W. Barton.

Gcorce R. Brown.

NEWPORT.

Cheney was a man of great energy,
enterprise, and public spirit. He de-
veloped the water power, erected a
cotton factory, an oil mill, and saw-
and grist-mills, and subsequently pur-

the influence of Colonel Cheney, the
town secured for itself the magnificent
common at the north part of the vil-
lage, now unsurpassed in beauty b}^
an>- village park in the state. On this

\ .;

;* ; yi

■^

>>vs;

George H. Fairbanks.
William Nourse.

E. C. Converse.

Col. Edmund Wheeler.

Francis Boardman.

William Dunton.
Hon. R. P. Claggett.

cha.sed the entire water power at Sun- common, for a long series of years,

apee Harbor, and built mills there were holden the old-time regimental

also. In 1 8 14-"! 5 he erected a large musters, which so delighted the

hotel on the .site where the present hearts of the boys of the period, who
Newport House .stands

Through

regaled themselves on new cider and

NEWPORT.

gingerbread while watching the won-
derful evolutions of the militia.

About the time when Colonel Che-
ney erected his first block, the old Net-
tleton block \vas erected on the other
side of the street where the new
I,ewis block now stands. Here Jere-
miah Kelsey, Aaron Nettleton, Bela

been owned and managed by Klbridge
L. Putney with great success for
more than thirty years. Mr. Putney
is not only one of the oldest but one
of the most popular landlords in New
Hampshire.

In 1827 the new county of Sullivan
was established, embracing the fifteen
northern towns of the old
county of Cheshire, and
Newport, by vote of the
people, was made the shire
town, though Claremont
contested strongly for the
distinction. Already a
two- story brick building
had been erected by the
town, with a town hall
below and a court room
for the use of the county
above, at a cost of $3,500.

'•■Vf-seler's Block.

Nettleton, and others, were
successively^ in trade. In
1 8 16, James Breck, another
pushing merchant, came down
from Croydon, built a brick
store at the lower end, and
was for many years in trade.
In company with Josiah For-
saith, he built the Eagle hotel,
a spacious, three-stoiy struc-
ture, now Edes' block, which
was a popular public house
for a long time, principally under the
management of Capt. John Silver.
This hotel and the original Newport
House, built by Colonel Cheney and
subsequently conducted by Col. Joel
Nettleton and his sons, were rival
establishments and among the best
in the state. The present Newport
House, built after the original one
was destroyed by fire in i860, has

Lewis Block end Tt e OeWolf.

Oliver Jenks was chairman of the
board of selectmen who certified its
completion. This Oliver Jenks was
one of a notable family in Newport.
His father, Jeremiah Jenks, had set-
tled in the town as early as 1776,
coming from Smithfield, R. I., and
was at one time the largest land-
holder and heaviest taxpayer in town.
In 1780 he built a frame house, still

NEWPORT.

SI 'i^

Rear-Admiral George E. Belknap.

standing as the ell part of the man-
sion on the old Jenks place, a mile
and a half northwest of the village,
which yet remains in the family name.
Here were born his eight children, in-
cluding Oliver and Thomas Bowen,
the latter of whom became a cotton
manufacturer of Cumberland, R. I.,
and was the father of the distinguished
congressman, Thomas A. Jenckes, of
that state.

Here, too, were born the sixteen
children of Oliver and lyCvina (Jack-
son) Jenks, ten of whom, including
George E., and Edward A., both
subsequently well known in New
Hampshire journalism, grew up and
passed middle life.

In 1S73 a spacious new courthouse
and town hall building was erected
on Main street near the old one, and
the latter building conveyed to Union
district for school purposes, for which
it was remodelled and has since been
occupied. In June, 1885, this new
building was swept away by a disas-

trous fire, which also destroj'ed the
old Nettleton block and several other
buildings ; but a y^zx later the pres-
ent elegant structure, one of the best
in the state, had taken its place.

The Congregational and Baptist
churches could not forever monopo-
lize the religious field in Newport.
Methodism got a start as early as
1830, when, through the influence of
Peter Wakefield of Northville, a class
was formed and meetings held, first
in the school-house, and later, in a
chapel which Mr. Wakefield built in
that locality. Subsequently the
movement drooped, but it received
new life when dissensions sprang up
in the Congregational church in 1850,
and that j^ear Rev. Warren F. Evans
was located at Newport, as a pastor,
by the Methodist conference. The
interest increased, and the present
church edifice was erected and dedi-
cated December 25, 1851. The
societj' has been a flourishing one,
and the church membership is nov,/

Hon. Williann J. Forsalth.

NEWPORT.

about two luindrecl. The present
pastor is the Rev. H. D. Deetz.

In February, 1830, a Universalist
society was organized, which held
meetinos in the court house and town
hall until 1S37, when a brick chapel
was erected on Main street, in
which public worship was held
with more or less regularity un
til about 1870. In 1873 a Uni-
tarian society was organized and
occupied the ITni-
versalist chapel for 1
some years, l)ut
that, too, weakened !
and gave up the
attempt to main-
tain services, the
marked liberaliza-
tion of the Con-
gregational church
render i n g

it impracti- \ i'.ouno.

cable if not '
unnecessary.
This chapel
w a s recenth
sold and will be \
remodelled for 1
business pur-
poses.

The Roman
Catholics consti
tute a considerable
element of the pres-
ent population, and
in 1854 a Catholic mission was here
established. In November, 1883, a
handsome wooden church edifice,
located upon the hill in the north-
east part of the village, was com-
pleted and dedicated.

In the earl}' part of the present cen-
tury there was a Free Will Baptist
organization of considerable strength
in town, with head-quarters at Xorth-

ville, but it gradually died out, and
the remnants were absorbed by the
Methodist society. In later 3-ears the
Second Adventists have had quite a
following, and have maintained wor-
ship a considerable portion of the time.

i^VioWt^^'

C, M Emerson.
E, H. Carr.

Franklin P. Rowell

George C. Edes.

A. O, Whitney.

Col. Seth M. Richards.
Dr. Henry Tubbs.
Frank A. Rawson.

As .stated in the out.set, Newport
is a good agricultural as well as
manufacturing town, favored with
excellent .soil and abundant water
power. Its farmers were particularh'
prosperous in the earh' days, and
their success to-day compares favor-

NEWPORT.

L- ' |K^

V^^MI

Dexter Richards & Sons Woollen Mill.

ably with that of their fellow agricul-
turists throughout the state. A town
agricultural society has existed for
some years, and an annual fair is
usually held. Sullivan Grange No.
8, Patrons of Husbandry, one of the

ufacturing business now in progress
in town, the leading establishments
being as follows :

Sugar River Mills, Dexter Rich-
ards & Sons, proprietors, employ loo
hands, and manufacture 1,200,000
yards of flannel per ainium.

Granite vState Mills (at Guild),
Sollace & Fairbanks, proprietors,
employ 85 hands, and manufacture
375,000 yards of dress goods and
repellants annually.

Establishment of the Newport Im-
provement Co. (capital, $12,000),
building, 260 feet by 45, two stories
high; operated as a shoe luanufac-

■i.

Granite State Mills.

oldest in the state, is here located.

Since Benjamin Giles set up his
corn- and saw-mill on the m a i n
branch of Sugar river, at what is
now Guild, in 1768, the water power
cf the town, including the three
branches of the river and their tribu-
taries, has been utilized to consider-
able extent for manufacturing pur-
poses, and a simple reference to each
of the various enterprises in different
lines, would alone exceed the limits
prescribed for this sketch. Many
have "risen, flourished, and de-
cayed." Several mills have been
burned and some of the sites are now
unoccupied, offering excellent oppor-
tunities for enterprising capitalists ;
but there is a goodh' amount of man-

Peerless Manuijcinmig Co.

tory by Knipe Bros., of Haverhill,
Mass., who manufacture 200 cases of
gent's slippers per day, employing
175 hands.

Peerless Manufacturing Co., C. M.
Emerson, president; A. E. Aldrich,
vice-president; F. W. Cutting, sec-

Shoe Factory.

NEWPORT.

D. J. Mooney.
Wm. F. Richards.
James C. Grandy.

F. W. Cutting.

L. G. Ross.

Frank O. Chellis.

Edwin M. Hunton.

Sam. U. Lewis.

E. N. Johnson.

George H.Woodbury.

T. L. Barker.

John J. Dudley.

C. H. Fairbanks.

George E. Lewis.

Frederick J. Lewis.

Carlton Hurd.

retarv^; P. A. Johnson, treasurer; 150 to 200 hands. This company

E. N. Johnson, assistant treasurer; has a capital of $75,000, and operates

manufacturers of ladies' muslin un- a similar establishment at Barton,

-derwear, wrappers, etc., employing Vt.

NEWPORT.

Carleton is president, and
George E. Lewis,
tary and treasurer.
Citizens' National

organized in 1885,

:a..J Mis

Riverside Stock Farm, H. M. Kimball, Manager

Quite an extensive business in the
manufacture of scj'thes has been car-
ried on at Northville for more than
fifty years, being established in 1842
by Sylvanus Larned, and continued
by L,arned & Sibley, Sibley & Dun-
ton, E. T. Sibley, and E. T. Sibley
& Son. Various other smaller estab-
lishments indifferent lines have been,
and many still are, operated in town.

Newport enjoys excellent banking-
facilities. The old Sugar River Bank,
chartered by the state, was organ-
ized in January, 1853, with a capital
of $50,000. Ralph Metcalf was the
first president, and Paul J. Wheeler,
cashier. In 1865 the bank was re-
organized as a national bank, with a
capital of $100,000. Frederick \V.
Lewis, who had succeeded to the
ofhce on the death of Mr. Wheeler in
the fall of 1S62, was continued as
cashier, holding the position until
his death, when he was succeeded
by his son, vSam. D. Lewis, the pres-
ent incumbent. Hon. Dexter Rich-
ards has been president since 1875.
Newport Savings Bank, incorporated
July I, 1868, is one of the most
flourishing in the state. Henry G.

secre-
The
Bank,
has a
capital of $50,000. C. M.
Emerson is president and
P. A. Johnson, cashier.
Sugar River Savings Bank,
incorporated the past sea-
son, has its office in con-
nection with the Citizens'
National Bank. Carlton
Kurd is president, and
P. A. Johnson, treas-
urer.

The Concord & Claremont Rail-
road, which had been built as far as
Bradford in 1853, and there stopped,
was carried through to Claremont in
i87i-'72 largel}^ through the enter-
prise of the business men of Newport,
the first train running into the town
November 21, 1871, and the first
train through to Claremont, Septem-
ber 16, 1872. The completion of
this road was hailed with joy by the
people, gave new impetus to busi-
ness, and greath' promoted the pros-
perity of the town.

The inhabitants of Newport have
ever been a patriotic people. Twent}'-
six names of Newport soldiers are
preserved on the Revolutionary rolls,
the last two Revolutionary pensioners
in New Hamp
shire, Joel Mc-
Gregor and Joel
Kelse}', having
been of that
numl)er. Sev-

t%.

enteen Newport
men are record-
ed as serving in
the War of 1812,
and 240 in the

Cr.L Ir:, McL. Barton

NEWPORT.

Samuel .H. Edes.

War of the Re-
bellion, the first
of the latter to
volunteer having
been Ira McL,.
Barton, who re-
cruited the first
company, and
w as commis-
sioned its cap-
tain in the First
New Hampshire regiment. Many
sons of Newport also enlisted in the
Union arm}' in other localities, and
all did valiant service in their coun-
try's cause.

The town has also made honorable
contribution to the civil service of
the state and nation. Edmund Burke
served with distinction in congress for
six j-ears, and was four years commis-
sioner of patents. Ralph Metcalf was
twice elected governor, and had pre-
viously' been secretar}' of state. Jo-
siali Stevens was also secretar}- of
state for several years. Nathan Mud-
gett and Dexter Richards were mem-
bers of the executive council, and
Benjamin Giles, Uriah Wilcox, David
Allen, Austin Corbin, vSr., Jeremiah
D. Nettleton, Devi W. Bar-
ton, George H. Fairbanks,
and Shepard D. Bowers
were state senators.

The legal profession has
been well represented in
Newport during the great-
er part of the present cen-
tury. The first law3-er in
town was Caleb Ellis, who
was here previous to the
year 1 800, but subsequently
located in Claremont, and
was elected to congress
wh''i^ there in practice.
Hubbard Newton, Amasa

Edes, David Hale, Josiah Forsaith,
Ralph Metcalf, Edmund Burke, Levi
W. Barton, Albert S. Wait, Sam-
uel H. Edes, \\\ H. H. Allen,
Shepard D. Bowers, and George R.
Brown, each practised many years
in town, all with fair success, and
some attaining distinction. Messrs.
Barton, Wait, and Brown are still
in practice, while Samuel H. Edes
abandoned the law and engaged in
general business many years ago.

Newport physicians have ranked
well with their medical brethren, and
some have been among the most
valued and influential citizens of the
town, as well as brightest lights in
their profession. The first settled
physician was Dr. James Corbin, a
native of Dudley, Mass., who located
in town about 1790 and continued in
practice until his death in 1826. He
was a faithful and intelligent practi-
tioner and had also a love for agricul-
ture, purchasing after a time a large
farm above the Jenks place, on the
road to Northville, to which he re-
moved. A portion of this farm on the
other side of the river subsequently
became the home of his son, Austin,

A West Side Residence.

NEWPORT.

and the birthplace of his children,
including Austin, Jr., Daniel, and
James. Dr. John B. McGregor, a
native of the town and a student with
Dr. Corbin, was in successful practice
in Newport from iSio until his re-
moval to Rochester, N. Y., in 1838.
Dr. John L. Swett, a native of Clare-

pher, were educated to tlie same pro-
fession. The former succeeded his
father, and died suddenly, deeply
mourned, in 1894. The latter is in
practice in California. The present
medical practitioners in Newport are
Dr. D. M. Currier. \V. W. DarHng
(homoeopathy), J. L. Cain, Amanda

'<^ jm-

0lll»l^, J»-

V««-^

v>.

Hon, James Corbin.

Hon. Austin Corbin.

Hon. Daniel Corbin.

mont, and a graduate of Jefferson
Medical College, Philadelphia, lo-
cated here in July, 1836, practised
for more than half a century with
great success, and still enjoys a green
old age in the town of his adoption.
He was president of the N. H. Med-
ical Society in 1874, and has been a
member of the National Medical So-
ciety since 1864. Another phj'sician,
in long practice and of good repute,
was Dr. Ma.son Hatch, who located in
Newport in 1838, and remained until
his death in 1876 at the age of 86
years. Dr. Thomas Sanborn, in prac-
tice here from 1843 until his death in
1875, except during the time of his
absence as surgeon of the Sixteenth
N. H. regiment during the war, was
specially eminent as a surgeon. His
two sons, Thomas B. and Christo-

B. Kemptor (homoeopathy), who have
been several years here located, and
two recent comers, Drs. A. S. Mar-
den and Henry L. Stickne3^

The newspaper history of Newport
covers a period of seventy years.
Cyrus Barton remo%-ed his Nezu
Hampshire Spectator from Claremont
to this town in 1S25. Edmunc
Burke removed the Ne%c' Hampshire
Arojis from the same town, here, in
1834, and in 1835 the two were united
under his management and became a
vStrong and influential paper. In 1840
this paper passed into the hands of
Henry G. Carleton and Matthew
Harvey, two able, young, practical
printers, and continued under their
joint management until April, 1879,
a partnership record unparalleled in
journalism, since which time it has

NEWPORT.

been under the editorial management
of Hubbard A. Barton, with whom
George B. Wheeler has been asso-
ciated in the proprietorship for fifteen
years. The latter is a son of Col.
Edmund Wheeler, the historian of
the town. Mr. Barton, a native of
Cro5-don, is a painstaking and consci-
entious journalist. The Sullivan
Republican had an existence here of
about two 3'ears, from January, 1S59,
till 1 86 1. It was printed by E. H.
Chenejs subsequently of the Eebanon
Free Press, and edited b}^ the late
Hon. W. H. H. Allen. In 18S1 the
Republican Champion was started by
Fred W. Chene}-, editor and proprie-
tor. In 1888 Mr. Cheney sold the
paper to Edwin C. Hitchcock and
William H. Wright. Five years later

New England settlers, and their de-
scendants, as they moved out into
the wilderness, followed their exam-
ple. The cause of education has
been fostered in Newport from the
start, insuring a high order of intel-
ligence among the people. The first
public building was erected for school
and church purposes, and the earliest
appropriations included those for pro-
viding instruction for the 3'oung.

Earh" in its histor}- the town was
divided into six school districts. In
1837 a rearrangement was made, and
nineteen districts organized.

In 1S19 an acadenn^ was estab-
lished. A building was erected for
its use, and it became for a time
a flourishing institution, with able
teachers and a large attendance.

»"?Sf*

i'l^ *-

^3-

Dr, D, M. Currier.

Amanda H. Kempton, M. D.

Dr, Wm. W. Darling.

Mr. Hitchcock purchased Wright's
interest, and has since been sole pro-
prietor, making the paper a bright
and enterprising sheet.

The church and the school were
planted side by side by the early

vSubsequently the building was dis-
posed of, and the academy had ac-
commodations in the lower story of
the Baptist church edifice after that
building was remodelled. Eater it
occupied the court-room. In 1 87.^1.,

NEWPORT.

when the union school district was or-
ganized in the village, a high school
was established, and the academy
abandoned.

Under the present town system all
the schools are under control of a
committee or board of three persons.
The present members are Mrs. Geor-
gia Barnard Chase, P. A. Johnson,
and Orren C. Kibbey. Mrs. Chase,
a highly educated woman and expe-
rienced teacher, who has served sev-
eral years, is the present chairman of

gaged in mercantile business at the
old Cheney stand, and with whom
his sons. Dexter and Abiathar, were
subsequently a.ssociated. L,ater, en-
gaging in successful manufacturing,
Mr. Richards has amassed a fortune,
and, greatly to the advantage of the
community in which he has lived,
has expended a liberal portion thereof
in this and other public benefactions.
There are many thousand well se-
lected volumes on the shelves of this
librarv, for whose future maintenance

91 S..

P. A. Johnson.

Mrs. Georgia B. Chase.

Orren C. Kibbey.

the board. Mr. F O. Chellis is now
the principal of the high school.

That education has been appre-
ciated thoroughly in Newport is evi-
denced 1n' the fact that more than
one hundred sons of the town have
received the advantages of college or
university training, while many of
the daughters have also been liber-
ally educated.

The educational system of the town
has been magnificenth' supplemented
by the donation of a beautiful, costh',
and finely appointed free library
building by one of Newport's loyal
sons, Hon. Dexter Richards, eldest
son of Capt. Seth Richards, long en-

Mr. Richards has also liberally pro-
vided. The first librarian was Miss
Anne Parmelee, who continued about
five years from the opening of the
librar\- in February, 1889. Mrs.
N. S. Tand}' is now the librarian
in charge. In the basement of the
library building antiquarian rooms
have been fitted up, where main-
rare and curious articles of the old-
en time may now be .seen, and to
which collection constant acces.sions
are made.

Newport was the birthplace and for
many years the home of that great
woman pioneer in the field of Amer-
can literature — Mrs. Sarah J. Hale,

NEWPORT.

(Sarah Josepha Buell), daughter of
Gordon Buell, prominent in the early
history of the town. Writing, first
for pastime and later as a means of
subsistence for herself and children,
when, after the death of her husband,
David Hale, a brilliant young law-
yer, other means proved inadequate,
it was here that she gave to the world
the first of the long series of literary
productions that rendered her name
immortal. Subsequently she removed
to Boston, and later to Philadelphia,
where she was for more than forty

a centur}'. She still lives, a cheer-
ful, noble-spirited woman, with seven
children and thirtj^-six grandchildren,
one daughter being the wife of a
brother of President Dole.

Another brilliant daughter of New-
port is America's greatest female or-
ganist, Marion McGregor Christo-
pher, daughter of Dr. John B. Mc-
Gregor. Born with a soul full of
music, she was given b)^ her father
the first piano ever brought into the
town. Her career as a musician has
been a notable one, culminating with

The Corbin Farm

years editor of Godey's Lady's Book,
the first successful ladies' magazine
in the country.

Another wholesome and prolific
contributor to the literature of her
time, Mary Dwinell Chellis-I^und,
lived and died in Newport, and is
held in fond remembrance b}^ many
of its citizens at the present time.

Here, too, was born Malvina Cha-
pin Rowell, one of twelve children
of Daniel Chapin, a pioneer of the
town. She was one of the first alum-
nae of Mt. Holyoke Seminar}-, grad-
uating in 1842 ; married Rev. George
Rowell the same year, and sailed with
him around Cape Horn for the Sand-
wich Islands where she did royal
work as a missionary for nearly half

twenty-five years' ser\ace as organist
at the Broadwa}- Tabernacle, New
York city.

The list of notable men whom New-
port has produced and sent abroad
contains manv distinguished names.
No name is better known to the
American people to-day than that of
Austin Corbin, the great New York
banker, railroad operator, and man
of affairs, whose recreations, even,
assume magnificent proportions, as
evidenced by his establishment of the
.greatest private park in the country,
in the vicinity of his childhood home,
where he also maintains a country
seat of baronial magnitude. His
brothers, Daniel and James, — the
former extensively engaged in rail-

NEWPORT.

T-: ^.

H. G. Carleton.

great

and

Mason

Matt new H,trv

ey.

reading at Spok-
ane, Wash., and
the latter a
heavy real estate
operator in Sil-
ver Cit}', New
Mexico, of which
he has bee n
mayor, — are also
m en of
alM li ty
achievement. The late Col.
W. Tappan, of Brad-
ford, and the late
Hon. Samuel M.
Wheeler, of Dover,
two of the ablest
law5'ers at the New
Hampshire bar,
were both natives
of Newport, as are
Hon. Wm. J. For-
saith, judge of the
municipal court of Boston. Frank
H. Carleton, of Minneapolis, and
many other lawyers of distinction
and success in different parts of the
country.

Hon. Edwin O. Stanard of vSt.
Louis, an extensive flour manufac-
turer and banker, former^ lieutenant-
governor of Missouri, representative
in congress and president of the cham-
ber of commerce, first saw the light
near the base of old Coit mountain in
this town ; and Frederick W. Dunton,
the Long Island bicycle railroad pro-
jector and operator, a nephew of the
Corbins, and a man of remarkable
push and ambition, is also a Newport
boy. Rev. Carlos Wilcox, an emi-
inent clergyman and poet, some of
whose verses are among the choicest
gems in our literature, spent his early
years here, and here was reared the
Rev. Kendrick Metcalf, D. D., long

professor of Latin and Greek at Ho-
bart College and for a time president
of that institution. Another New-
port born college professor of the
present day is Herbert J. Barton,
professor of Latin and Greek in Illi-
nois University ; nor should we fail
to mention Miss Etta L. Miller, pro-
fessor of English literature in Smith
College.

But Newport's most eminent native
and one of her most loyal sons, in
whose record every citizen of the
town, as of the state, takes pride, is
that most distinguished living rep-
resentative of the American nav}'.
Rear- Admiral George E. Belknap.
Appointed a midshipman in the navy,
at the instance of Hon. Edmund
Burke in 1847, at the age of fifteen
years, the record of his rank and
service is briefly' summarized as fol-
lows : Commissioned lieutenant, 1855 ;

lieutenant -com-
mander, 1862:
commander, 1866 ;
post-captain, 1875 ;
commodore, 1885 ;
rear-admiral, 1 889 ;
retired for age,
1894. Partici-
pated in capture
of Barrier forts.
Canton river,
1S56. Assisted in reenforcement of
Fort Pickens,
April, 1 86 1. Ex-
ecutive officer
N'ezv Ironsides in
her fighting ser-
vice at Charles-
ton. Command-
ed monitor Can-
onicus at the bat-
tles and capture •

of Fort Fisher ; Edwm C. Hitchcock.

H. A, Barton.

NEUTORT.

Sciine vessel at fall of Charleston — re-
ceived and fired the last hostile shots
there. Commanded flagship Hart-
ford, Asiatic station, i867-'68. Led
attack against Indians on Formosa,
1867. Ran two lines of deep-sea
soundings across the north Pacific,
in command of TiLscarora, 1 873-' 74,
inventing some of the apparatus for
the work. Landed forces from Tus-
caroia and Portxii/oiit/i at Honolulu,
and quelled the riot there, February,
1S74. Commandant navy yard, Pen-
sacola, i876-'8i. Commanded cor-
vettes^ /a .y/^a. Pacific station, 1 881 -'83.
Nav}^ yard, Norfolk, and superintend-
ent naval observatory, Washington,
1 883-' 86. Commandant navy yard.
Mare Island, Cal., i886-'89. Com-
mander - in - chief Asiatic squadron ,
1 889-" 92. President board of inspec-
tion, i892-'94. Retired for age, 1894.
Total service afloat, in twenty ships,
twenty-four years
and six months ;
shore duty, eigh-
teen years ; un-
emploj^ed, four
years and nine
months. In 1S95
the honorary de-
gree of LL. D.
was conferred
upon A d m i r a 1
Belknap by Dartmouth College.

___ ^ The fraternal,
social, and be-
nevolent organ-
izations are well
represented i n
Newport, the
Masonic order
having been es-
pecially promi-
nent for many
years. Corinth-

Abiathar Richards.

ian Lodge No.
28, F. and A. M.,
was formed and
opened here, in
'•Richards' hall,"
June 21, 1 8 16,
under a dispen-
sation from the
grand master to
Arnold Kllis,
Hubbard New-
ton, and others.

F. W, Dunton.

The first regular

..-*^- .*^** ..

Frank H. Carleton.

E. L. Putney.

communicat i on
of the lodge was
held July 2, fol-
lowing, when
officers were duly
elected and in-
stalled, with
Arnold I^llis as
worshipful mas-
ter, and Nathan-
iel Wheeler, Jr.,
the first candidate, was proposed for
admission. The lodge grew and pros-
pered until the time of the Morgan
excitement, but surrendered its char-
ter in 1833, the last master being
B. B. F'rench. In 1848 Mount \^er-
non Lodge No. 15, which had been
established in the town of Washing-
ton in 1802, removed its location ta
Newport, its first communication here
having been held Jul}- 10 of the first
named 3'ear. This Lodge has had a
flourishing career since its removal to
Newport, its membership embracing
many of the most prominent citizens.
Its present officers are George Dodge,
W. M. ; T. L. Barker, S. W. ; F. O.
Chellis, J. \V. : A. L. Paul. S. D. ;
E. A. Paul, J. D. ; F. A. Raw.son,
treasurer; W. H. Nour.se, secretary;
A. V. Hitchcock, chaplain ; F. J. Lati-
mer, marshal ; C. H. Dunbar, George
E. Lewis, stewards ; C H. Little, tyler.

NEWPORT.

Residence of S. D. Lewis.

Chapter of the Tabernacle No. 19,
Royal Arch Masons, was instituted
here July 15, 1872, the first con-
vocation being held at the office of
Albert S. Wait, who was the first
presiding officer or most excellent
high priest, and has been succeed-
ed by George C. Edes, D. George
Chadwick, A. D. Howard, Daniel P.
Quimby, Abiathar Richards, Frank
A. Rawson, Frank J. Latimer, David
M. Currier, Charles M. Greenough,
and Hubbard A. Barton, the lat-
ter being the present incumbent.

Odd Fellowship estab-
lished its first tangible
abode in this town May
25, 1874, when Sugar
River Lodge No. 55 was
instituted with five char-
ter members, and 16 can-
didates were instructed in
the work, Ahira Barnev,

ment No. 27, I. O. O. F.,
instituted March 30, 1880,
with 12 charter members,
12 candidates accepted and
instructed, and Frank A.
Rawson, chief patriarch,
has now about fifty mem-
bers, Charles H. Fairbanks
being chief patriarch.

Hopeful Rebekah Lodge
No. 31, I. O. O. F., insti-
tuted Februar}' 23, 1887,
with 84 members, has now
''■'' 135. with May E. Angell,

noble grand. This lodge
is especially active and has
done much for the advancement of
Odd Fellowship in the town.

Newport Lodge No. 43, Knights
of Pythias, was instituted May 24,
1892, with 41 charter members, H.
H. Flanders, C. C. It has now
about eighty members, E. N. John-
son, C. C.

Deer Park Colony No. 146, United
Order of Pilgrim Fathers, organized
December 8, 1892, with 35 charter
members, Harvey F. Deming, gov-
ernor, has now 55 members, Edmund
B. Cutting, governor.

noble grand.

The organ-

ization has now 126 mem-
bers and $8,000 in in-
vested funds. John W.
Johnson is the present
noble grand.

Ston}^ Brook F^ncamp-

Residence of the late Dr. Sanborn.

NEWPORT.

Miss M. Kidder. Etta L. Miller. iVlattie M. Chellis.
Mrs. N. S. Tandy. Mrs. Ellen E. Kimball. Mrs. T. L. Barker. Anne Parnnelee.

Newport Commandery, United
Order of the Golden Cross, instituted
December 29, 1893, with 20 charter
members, Dr. D. M. Currier, N. C,
has already reached a membership of
about seventj'-five, and is in a ver}-
flourishing condition, with Mary A.
Chase, N. C, and L. R. Bascom,
V. N. C.

Fred Smyth Post No. 10, Depart-
ment of New Hampshire, G. A. R.,
was instituted April 2, 1868, with 20
charter members. John B. Cooper
was the first commander. His suc-
cessors have been R. M. J. Has-
tings, Charles H. Little, William H.
Perry, Ransom Huntoon, Charles A.
Puffer, P:. M. Kempton, William W.
Hall, Albert L. Hall, Simon A. Ten-
ney, A. V. Hitchcock, B. R. Allen,

James C. Grandy, Frank J. Latimer,
Martin L. Whittier, Clarence F.
Pike, Charles K. Stubbs, Nathan S.
Tandy, and Frank Carpenter, the
latter being the present commander.
The membership of the post is now
76.

P'red Sm3'th Relief Corps No. 7
was organized Maj^ 12, 1882, with 23
charter members, and Mrs. ^lary A.
Cooper, president. Mrs. Ida M.
Barker is now president, and the
corps is in a flourishing condition.

The Newport Woman's Christian
Temperance Union was organized in
May, 1886, with 23 members, and
has labored earnestly to promote the
cause of temperance in the town. Its
president is Miss M. Kidder ; corre-
sponding secretary, Mrs. M. M. Mc-

NEWPORT.

Cann ; recording secretarj^ Mrs. ly.
W. Barton. Miss Kidder is among
the most prominent workers in the
organization in the state, and is the
present state superintendent of jail
and reformatory work.

The Penawan club is a social or-
ganization of gentlemen, with up-
wards of 40 members, having pleas-
ant and finely appointed rooms in the
new De Wolfe building. John Mc-
Crillis is president ; Col. S. M. Rich-
ards, vice-president ; vSam D. Lewis ,
treasurer; and F. Wallace Reed, sec-
retary. vSocial entertainments are
liolden several times during the sea-
son to which the ladies are invited.

The '■ new woman " has found her
way to Newport, and in the spring of
1S94 the lyadies' Bowling club was
organized. This club, which has 15
members, the president being the
only officer, meets weekh^ on Thurs-
day afternoon, at the " Country
Club ' ' house, located on spacious
grounds at the north end, and owned
by a syndicate of gentlemen, who
grant them free use of the same, aside
from the price of the ticket for each
string bowled, which pays for the

services of the boys in attendance
who set up the pins. The names of
the members are Mrs. A. C. Bradlej',
Mrs. S. M. Richards, Mrs. S. D.
Lewis, Miss Georgia C. Wilcox, Mrs.
H. A. Barton, Mi.ss Anne Parmelee,

Residence of John Gunnison.

" Country Club."

Mrs. A. L. Hall, Mrs. John McCril-
lis. Miss Ella Robin.son, Mrs. A. vS.
Chase, Miss Kathreen Sanborn, Mrs.
F. E. Eovell, Miss M. E. Partridge,
Mrs. Cx. H. Woodbury, Mrs. A. S.
Wait. The first president was Mrs.
A. C. Bradley, who was succeeded
by Mrs. S. M. Richards, and she in
turn by Mrs. S. D. Eewis, the pres-
ent incumbent.

A more orderly, law-abiding, in-
telligent, and prosperous community
than that constituted b}' the people
of Newport is rareh', if ever, found.
A more beautiful or pleas-
antly located village can-
not be seen in New Hamp-
shire. The village streets
are well kept, and the high-
ways throughout the town
in superior condition.

A first - class system of
water works has been es-
tablished, the source of
suppl}' being Gilman pond
in Unity, whose water is
remarkabh- pure and clear.
With extensive and power-
ful hydrant service, sup-
plemented by a steam fire

NEWPORT.

engine, the protection
against loss from fire is of
the most ample character,
while it is generally con-
ceded that the village is
one of the best lighted in
New England. The New-
port Electric lyight Com-
pany, S. M. Richards, pres-
ident, \\' . F . Rich a r d s ,
treasnrer, and Myron W.
T e n n e y , superintendent ,
established in 1892, has
a plant with a capacity
of forty-five arc and two
t h o u s a n d incandescent
lights, and the perpetrators of "deeds
of darkness" necessarily seek other
localities in which to ply their voca-
tion.

With its beautiful meadows, green
hillsides, delightful forests, and pleas-
ant drives — six miles to Lake Sun-
apee, an equal distance to Corbin's
park, in whose midst sits grand old
Croydon mountain, the highest eleva-
tion in Sullivan county, four miles to
Unity springs, and ten, by easy ride,
to the beautiful si.ster village of Clare-
mont, — no place presents greater at-
tractions than Newport to the sum-
mer visitor, as none offers stronger
inducements for the busy capitalist
or the man of leisure, seeking profit-
able investment for his money or a

Ladles' Bowling Club.

delightful, permanent abiding place
for himself and family.

Newport is, indeed, and has long
been, a model New England town.
Her record is a proud one in the his-
tory of the state and nation. Her
sons have l^een loyal, industrious,
progressive, patriotic ; her daugh-
ters, pure, refined, intelligent — de-
voted wives, noble mothers, trvie
women. Her contributions to every
field of noble endeavor and grand
achievement, to every phase of
worthy character, have been notable
and abundant. That her future may
fulfil the prophec}' of the past and the
promise of the present, ma>' well be
the fondest hope of all her children,
at home or abroad.

[The writer, in the preparation of this article, has made free use of Wheeler's " History uf Newport •' and
of the Newport article in the " History of Cheshire and Sullivan Counties." He would also acknowledge his
obligation for material assistance to Editors Barton, of the Argus and Spectator, and Hitchcock, of the Rcfitb-
fican Champio7i, Col. S. M. Richards, Col. Edmund Wheeler, George R. Brown, A. L. Hall, L. G. Ross, and other
citizens of the town. He only regrets that the publishers' space limit, which has been extended far beyond the
average for articles of this description, precludes, not simply indulgence in rhetorical embellishment and anec-
dotal illustration, but the use of a vast amount of interesting facts, historical, biographical, and descriptive, left
in his possession ; while the most that he can hope is that what he has been able to present, in matter and man-
ner, may not be without interest to natives and residents of the dear old town, wherein was his birthplace, how-
ever it may be regarded by the general reader.]

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES,

WITH A NOTICE OF REV. STEPHEN BACHILER.

[COXCLUDEli.]

J})' I'ictor CJiaiining Sanborn.

N the Probate Reg-
istiy at Wells are
filed the wills of
John vSamborne
(dated February
26, 157 1 ) and Dor-
othy, his widow

(dated April 20, 1572), which are as

follows :

Will of John Samborne of Tymsborow,
Esq.

Body to be buried in my parish church
chancel at Tymsborow. To Dorothy, my
wife, the use of five rooms in my manor-
house, with wheat, barley, etc., and the
keep of seven kine. To John Samborne,
my son, and heir, a chayne of gold, value
_2{^20, which I will to remain to my Godson,
Barnabas, and so to remain to the heirs of
the name amd family. To son John also
my gelding, etc. To son Francis one cow.
To daughter Gatonby one cow. To daugh-
ter Horsington one cow and one young-
beast. To Swithin Samborne, my son, 10
pounds a year to be paid out of Bahvoodes-
tine until said Swithin shall have the bene-
fice of the parsonage of Timsljury, also to
have one cow. To daughter Baber one cow
to remain to John Baber my godson. To
daughter Martha 120 ])ounds and one cow.
To servant, Wm. Porter, 4 sheep. To my
cousin, James Samborne, a yearling beast.
To Joan Hall, my servant, an ewe sheep
and a lamb. To Joan Sideham, my servant,
one sheep. To John, the son of my brother
Nicholas Samborne, the reversion of a cot-
tage in Tymsborow, provided he shall use
himself honestly towards my wife and heirs.

Wife Dorothy and son in law Anthony Gat-
tonby, E.xecutors ; Son John to be overseer.

Will (nuncupative) of Dorothy Samborne,
Widow.

Body to be buried in Tymsborow church,
as nigh as possible to the body of John Sam-
borne, Esq., her late husband. To Son
Gattonby one cow, and to his wife another,
and to her daughter Priscilla one cow. To
daughter Martha Samborne one cow. To
Mr. James Samborne one cow. To Mr.
Francis Samborne's child Dorothy, one cow.
To Mr. Horsington's wife one cow. Resi-
due to Son in Law, Anthony Gattonby, sole
Ex"r. Witnesses, Anne Gattonby (als. Sam-
borne) and Robt. Panes of Beiston.

In Volume i of the Euglish " Gen-
ealogist " is a pedigree of Samborne,
reprinted with additions from the
" Visitation of Eondon in 16S7." In
this pedigree are given the dates of
the births of the children of this John
Samborne (.said to be "taken from an
old book in the possession of Wm.
Samborne, who hath subscribed this
descent ' ' ) as follows :

II. 1.

13-

14.

15-

16.

John, b. May 31, 152S.
Nicholas, b. June i, 1529, probably
died young.
. Anne, b. Oct. 25, 1533,111. Rev. Anthony
Gattonby.
Jane, b. Oct. 15, 1540, ni. Mr. Horsing-
ton.
Francis, b. March, 1543.
Richard, b. May 8, 1544.
i. Swithin, youngest son.

And the will above given also shows:
ii. MAR'riiA.

ill. ]Mr. liaber.

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES.

St. Andrew's Church, Sonning, Berks, The Burial-place of Henry and Thomas Samborne,

8. Nicholas^ (5) Samborne; in 1506

inherited from liis father land in Rod-
bourne Cheney, Wilts. We have no
further record of him except that his
brother John in his will dated 1577
speaks of "John Samborne, son of my
brother Nicholas."' John speaks also of
his •• Cousin James Samborne." Cousin
in those days denoted nephew, — so I
assume James also to ha\e been a son
of Nicholas. James (19) in his will
mentions "brother Edward." So we
have the following children of Nicholas :

17. i. John.

18. ii. James.

19. ill. Edward.

9. Thomas*' (6) Samborne, Esqre., of Son-

ning, in Berks, and O.xon. A rich
squire and landowner: like his father
was a lessee of the Bishop's lands.
Had several disputes with his under-
tenants {^Meinoriah of Sonning). Reg-
istered his pedigree in the Herald's
Visitation of Berks. 1566. That Vis-
itation states that he married four
times. From his will we know of a
fifth wife.

The will of Thomas Samborne, filed
12 Watson P. C. C, dated April 21,
1584, is as follows :

Body to be buried in Church of St.

Andrew at Sonning, as near as possible"
to the body of my father Henry Samborne.
To Clemence, my wife, 100 marks &c. To
Mary Chandeler, dau. of my brother Ed-
mund, 33 s. 8 d. To Elizabeth & Mar-
garet Stampe, wife's daughters, gold rings.
To Thomas Garnett, eldest son of my
daughter Frances £6, 13 s. 4 d., to be used
towards his education. To Richard Gar-
nett, second son of dau. Frances, one bul-
lock. Residue to Lawrence & Richard
Samborne, my sons, and Katherine Sam-
borne my daughter, joint exrs. Richard
Garnett, gent., my son-in-law, and Henry
Samborne my son. Supervisors.

Will of Clemence Samborne, widow,
of Wallingford, Berks., filed in Berks,
wills at Somerset House, and dated
June 5, 1618, is as follows :

To Richard Samborne my daughter's
Sonne, 20 s. &c. To John Samborne his
brother 50 s. To Anne Samborne, their
sister, 20 s. To Elizabeth Samborne, their
sister ^10. &c. To son Thomas Stampe,
goods &c. To his eldest son John Stampe.
To his daughter Frances Stampe my first
wedding-ring. To all his other children.
Residue to Richard & John Samborne afore-
said, joint exrs. Overseers, my son-in-law
Henry Samborne & his son Sir Henry Sam-
borne, Kt.

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES.

Thomas Samborne married, fiy^t^
Margaret Veniiour, and had

20. i. Henry, born al:)out 1540.

ii. Grace, m. Henry I'eckham of Surrey,
iii. Frances, ni. Rich. Garnett, and had

(I) Thomas, (II) Richard,
iv. Jean, died young.

Second, he married Jane, daughter
of Lawrence Stoughton of vStoughton
Hall, Surrey, and had

V. Lawrence, m. Mary, widow of Richard
Sands, and had (I) Margaret, (II)
Jane, d. about 1617.

Third, he married Joan, widow of
Hugh Beke of Reading, and daugh-
ter of Henry Polstede of Albury in
Surrey, and had

vi. Thomas, died young.

21. vii. Richard.
viii. Katherine.

ix. Walter, died young.

Fourth, he married Blanche Bur-
dett, and had no issue.

Fifth (not given in Visitation), he
married Clemence, widow of Richard
Stampe of Cholsey, and daughter of
Roger Harbord of Sufton, Co. Here-
ford. No issue.

10. Edmund^ (6) Samborne, of the parish
of St. Giles's, Reading. Married Mar-

eraret . Their wills are tiled in

Berks, wills at Somerset House and
mention child, —

Mary, m. John Chandler, and had (I)
Clemence, (II) John.

11. JoHN^ (7) Samborne, Esqre., of Tims-
bury, Somt. Born May 31, 1528.
Married Bridget Wilioughby, of the
Willoughbys of Turner's Puddle, Dor-
set., a younger branch of the Lords
Wilioughby d'Eresby. She died Feb.
14, 1574. Apparently he married again,
Dorothy .

Will of John vSamborne, Esq., of
Timsbury, filed 40 Carew P. C. C,
and dated April 11, 1575, is as fol-
lows :

The chain of gold, disposed of by my
father John Samborne's will, shall succeed

to our heirs. To iny four younger sons,
Israel, Toby, Samuel, & Peter, during their
lives, out of the rents of Bury Blunsden,
;^40 by the year. To my daughters Mary,
Margery & Elizabeth, ^500, to be raised
out of the rents of my manors of Maiden
Newton & Up Sydling. To Mary my
daughter, her mother's wedding-ring. To
my brother Richard Samborne the rever-
sion of a tenement in Maiden Newton. To
my brother Swithin Samborne, the presenta-
tion to the next avoidance after Richard
Shepforde, parson of Tymesborow. My
said brothers to have the use and charge
of the said legacies during my children's
non-age. Son Barnabas, Exr : Edw. Baber,
Esqre, and John Slocum, Clerk, B. D.,
Overseers.

Dec. II, 1576, a commission issued
to Richard and Swithin Samborne,
Chas. Smith, Esq., and Anthony
Gattonby, clerk, to administer the
goods of the late John Samborne
during the minority of Barnabj^ Sam-
borne, Executor Dorothy Savibor}ic,
relict of the deceased, renouncing.

Children of John Samborne, born at
Timsbur}^ :

22. i. Barnaey, b. 1561.

ii. Israel, bapt. Aug. 9, 1562.

iii. Toby, bapt. Dec. 9, 1563.

iv. Susan, bapt. May 6, 1565, died young.

V. Samuel, bapt. Nov. 3, 1566, d. unm. at

Bath, 1614.
vi. Mary, bapt. Sept. 29, 1567.

23. vii. Peter, bapt. Sept. 29, 1569.
viii. Margaret, bapt. Sept. 9, 1571.
ix. Elizabeth.

12. Anne*^ (7) Samborne, born Oct. 25,

1533. Married • Anthony Gattonby,
Rector of Goodworth Clatford, Hants.

The parish registers of Goodworth
Clatford, which Rev. Mr. Iremonger,
the present rector, kindly showed me,
date back to 1528. In them I found
the death of Rev. Anthony Gattonby
recorded. Goodworth Clatford, it
will be remembered, is the next
parish to Wherwell, where Stephen
Bachiler was rector at this same
time.

13. Francis*' (7) Samborne, Esq., born
in March, 1543, buried at Maiden New-

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMDORNES.

ton, Uoiset. July 5tli, 1590. His
father leased to him in 1568 for 100
years the manor of Maiden Newton.

Francis Samborne m. Margaret ,

and lived at Maiden Newton. Chil-
dren :

i. Dorothy, bapt. at Timslniry, Aug. 26,
1571.

24. ii. KirH.'iRD, bapt. at Maiden Newton,

Jan. 9, 1575.

25. iii. Francis.

26. iv. JoH.N.

V. Priscilla, m. Augustin Mervyn of

East Knoyle, Wills.
vi. Magdalen, m. May 21, 1610, Nicholas

Folden (V. No. 27).

14. RiCHARD'5 (7) Samborne, E.sq., born
May 8, 1544, lived at Wehsleigh in
Parish of Wells, Somt. Married Anne,
daughter of George Milborne (a sister
of Rev. Swithin Samborne's wife), and
was buried at S. Cuthbert's Church,
Wells, May 25, 1609. His will dated
April 29th, 1609, filed at Wells,
leaves all to wife, she to be sole e.xecu-
tor. Wm. Hall of Hornblotten to be
Overseer. Witnesses, John Samborne,
Grace Samborne, and Robt. Lambert.
Children :

i. Dorothy, bapt. at Timsbury, April 27,

1578.
ii. Richard, bapt. at I'imsbury, Sept. 21,

1579-
iii. Grace, bapt. at Timsbury, March 26,

1581.
iv. Alexander, bapt. at Timsbury, July

22, 1582; buried at .St. Cuthbert's,

Wells, July 23, 1614.

15. Rev. Swtthix'' (7) Samborne, B. A,
of Magdalen College, Oxford, 1570;
RL A., 1573. Married Martha, daugh-
ter of George Milborne, whose pedi-
gree is recorded in "Somt. Visitation
of 1623.'' Swithin Samborne was pre-
sented to the living of Timsbury in
1579; his will dated Aug. 8th, 1623,
describing him as clerk of Eiiiboroiv,
Somt., is filed at Wells a.s follows:

To be buried in Chancel of Emborow
Church. To poor of Tymsborow, To Son
Cornelius, a great chest &c. To sons Ivell,
Joseph, Obediah, Isaac and Ezra. Wife
Martha. Daughter Jenny Evans, her chil-
dren Rebecca, John and Cornelius. Daugh-
ter Phebe Villis, her children Sarah and
Phebe. Nathaniel and Martha children of
John Evans. Brother in law, Thomas Mil-
borne.

Children of Rev. Swithin Samborne :

i. Apollos. bapt. at Timsbury, March 7,

15S6; buried May 7, 1586.
ii. Shuka, bapt. at Timsbury, Dec. 25,
I 589.

Cornelius, Ijapt. at Timsbury, Nov.
21, 1 591; apparently moved to Dor-
set, and died in 1652.

John, bapt. at Timsbury, Sept. j6,
1593; buried June i, 1595.

Ezra, bapt. at Timsbury, Jan. i, 1599.

Joseph

Obediah.

Isaac.

Jane, m. John Evans, and had issue —
Rebecca, John, Cornelius.

Pheiie, m. Villis, and had issue —

Sarah and I'liebe.

27-
28.

in.

vi.

vii.

viii.

ix.

L>«^^

Church at Goodworth Clatford, Hants. Where R<jv. Anthony Gattonby, Husband of Anne Samborne, was Rector

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES.

i6. Martha*^ (7) Samborne. Lived in
Andover, Hants. In her will dated
April 1st, 1572 (filed II Peter P. C. C),
she desires to be buried in church earth
of Andover, and leaves a cow to Susan
Horsington, her god-daughter. Resi-
due to Anne Gattonby, sole executor.
Thomas Child of Andover, Overseer.
Witnesses, Mrs. Margaret Bridge,
widow, Thomas Pattenden and Richard
North of Andover.

17. JOHN^ (8) Samborne, mentioned in
his Uncle John's will, and given a cot-
tage at Timsbury. In the Timsbury
Register is this entry, — "John Sam-
borne, son of John Samborne, bapt.
Octo. 14th, 1574.'' At Basingstoke
Hants we find in 1641 a John Sam-
borne chosen Sergeant of the Mace.

18. Rev. James^ (8) Samborne. We sur-
mise that he was a son of Nicholas
because he is called "Cousin" by his
uncle, John, a term then used to denote
nep/ie^u. James vvas a clergyman of
Hampshire, probably not beneficed, —
at least no record of his presentation
to a living is to be found. From Wey-
hill Register we know he lived there
(just outside of Andover, and very near
Wherwell and Clatford), in 1572.

Rev. James Sanibonie'.s will, dated
May 18, 1603, i.s filed at Winchester,
and is the otily Samborne will filed
there. It is as follows :

Will of James Samborne of Andover in
Co. of Southt. Clarke. Body to be buried
in chancel of Andover parish church. All
my books to son James Samborne. All
my wearing apparel to brother Edward Sam-
borne, except my best Gowne. Residue to
wife Eleanor and daughter Abigail, joint
Ex'rs. 07'i'rsei'rs : Anthony Gattonby of
Clatford, and Rowland Hopgood of Ando-
ver. mtnesses : Edward Samborne and
John Tanner.

His inventory taken Aug. 25, 1603,
by Anthony Gattonby, Richard Ven-
ables, Rowland Hopgood, and Wm.
Barton of Andover, is very interest-
ing (amount, ^91 8s.), describing
all the goods in detail, covering eight
pages, and mentioning among other
things — all the books (^5), a writ-

ing-desk (4d.), wearing apparel (/s
19s.).

From this will it will be seen that
the only sur\'iving children of Rev.
James Samborne were Abigail and
James. These are the only ones of
whom we have an}' record.

i. Abigail, bapt. at Weyhill, Hants, Apr.

13' 1572.

30. ii. James, b. 1576 (Oxford Register.)

19. Edward*^ (8) Samborne. We only
know of him through his brother
James's will. He may have been the
father of the Samborne who married
Anne Bachiler.

20. Henry" (9) Sambourne, Esq. ; lived
at Sonning, Berks., and later became
lord of the Manor of Moulsford, Berks.,
a pretty village on the Thames. The
old manor house is still standing. In
Moulsford church and Streatley church
are tablets commemorating the Sam-
bourne charities. Several items about
Henry Sambourne occur in the Close
Rolls. He married Anne, daughter of
Wm. Barker of Sonning. The Barkers
were for three hundred years the prin-
cipal family in Sonning, and the owners
of Holme Park, a fine estate there.
Henry Sambourne died intestate. In
the Archdeaconry of Berks, dated
November 17th, 1 631, is filed a com-
mission authorizing Henry Sambourne,
son of Henry Sambourne, Esq., for-
merly of Moulsford, to make inventory
of goods. Children :

31. i. Henry.

ii. Katharine, m. Thos. Tipping of

Woolley, Berks,
iii. Mary, m. Wm. Howe of So. Okenden,

Essex,
iv. Anne, ni. Thos. Holmes of Berks.

21. Richard" (9) Samborne. Said in
the Herald's Visitation to have lived
at "Stokes Farm near Wokingham,"
but this I think is a mistake for Stoke
Farm, near Wallingford. North and
South Stoke lie together in Oxfordshire
near Wallingford and just across the
Thames from Moulsford. Married
Elizabeth, daughter of Richard Stampe
of Cholsey, Berks., and Clemence,
daughter of Roger Harbord of Sufton,
Co. Hereford. Clemence afterwards
married Thomas Samborne of Sonning,

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMDORNES.

1^^

-jte'.aa*:'«

Upper Clatford (Hants) Church, Where James and Thomas Samborne were Rectors 1610-1662.

Berks., father of Richard above, as his
fifth wife. The Beri<s. Visitation of
1566 traces the Stampe pedigree for

five generations.

Children

32. i. Richard, I3. 15S9.
yy \\ John.

ill. Anne, bapt. at Reading in 1597.

iv. ELIZ.A.BETH.

22. Sir Barnaby' (ii) Samborne, Knight,
of Timsbury, Somt. Born in 1561.
Matriculated at Magdalen College,
Oxford, in 1577.

Sir Barnab}' was the most promi-
nent of the Timsbury Sambornes.
He has a fine stone monument in
Timsbury church, representing him
in full armor, with his hands clasped
together. His epitaph (which was
btingled hy the historian Collinson)
is worth inserting in full. It is
carved in a diamond-shaped piece
of marble.

Here lieth the body of sir Barnaby Sam-
borne, Knight, who lived all his days faith-
ful to his Prince, and in loving affection to
his country; being a zelous professor of the
Trew Religion, and continued Constantly
in the same : of whose worth & Vertew,
much might be spoken But he resting
from his labours His good works follow

him : who, when he had lived his years in
hapie & peaceful manner, departed this life
A. D. 1610. His body being here interred:
His soul waiteth for the Resurection to Glory.
Into Thy hands I commend my spirit for
Thou has redeemed me O Thou Lord of
Truth.

Sir Barnabj-'s nuncupative will,
dated April 7, 16 10, and filed 41
Wingfield P. C. C, leaves to his four
younger sons — Thomas, William,
Richard, and John — 400 marks apiece,
to be raised out of his farm called Peg-
linche and Woodberowe. Residue
to Dame Margaret Samborne, his
wife.

Lady Margaret vSamborne's will,
dated April 8th, 1626, and filed 62
Skynner P. C. C, is as follows :

To son Thomas my wedding ring, the cup
that was Sir Thomas Throgmorton's (my
dear and loving father) &c. Son Thomas
to be Executor. Son William 200 pounds,
and inheritance in certain portions ot Tims-
borow manor, luIiicJt has been in me to dis-
pose of since t/ie death of my husband. Sir
Barnaby Samborne. To son Richard Sam-
borne 300 pounds, to be paid to my brother
Sir Wm. Throgmorton, my kinsman Thos.
Baynard, Esq., my friend Edvv. Orange,

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES.

gent, to be bestowed in an annuity or living
for the said Ricliard. Son John Samborne
^200 to be paid to him in six months after
he arrives at age of 21. In the mean time
his brother Thomas to send him to a good
school and to Oxford. To my said trustees
the next advowson of the Church of Tims-
bury, to present the same to my son John if
he enter the ministry. To my sister the
Lady Dale, the ring which my Lord Con-
waie's sister sent me.

Sir Barnaby Samborne niarrried
twice. His first wife was Cicely,
daughter of Wni. Bassett, Esq., of
Uley, Co. Glouc, by whom he had

i. John, b. 1588; jjrobably died young.
34. ii. Barnaby, b. 1590.

His second wife was ]M a r g a r e t
Throgmorton, daughter of Sir Thom-
as Throgmorton of Tortworth, Gloac,
and aunt of one of the early govern-
ors of Virginia. By her he had

35. Ul.

36. IV.

37- V.

Thomas, b. t6oi.

William, bapt. at Timsbury May 20,

1604.
Richard, bapt. at Timsbury .Sept. 30,
1605.
vi. Bridget, bapt. at Timsbury, May 21,

1607, and buried Aug. 7, 1607.
vii. John, bapt. at Timsbury Feb. 9, 160S;
buried Dec. 4, 1641.

23. Peter' (ii) Samhorne. Born 1569, a
goldsmith in London. An indenture
dated Nov. i, 1594, covers a gift
from Barnaby Samborne of Timsbury,
son of John, to Peter Samborne of

London, goldsmith, of ^20 a year, to
be raised out of the rents of Upper
Sydling, Dorset, to be paid at the now
dwelling house (called the White Gray-
hound) of Peter and Anne his wife, at
the east end of London Bridge.

A copy of the Somerset Visitation
of 1623 (with additions) at the Brit-
ish Museum (Har. Mss.) gives the
children of Peter Samborne and his
wives' names. In addition the will
of his first father-in-law, Robert Has-
sall of lyOndon, farrier, proved April 8,
1606, filed P. C. C. Stafford 25, leaves
"Peter Samborne, husband of my
daughter Anne, the lease of my dwell-
ing house on London Bridge, which
cost me 230 pounds, I gave him 50
pounds at marriage. To his eldest
son Markley and his other children."

The will of Peter Samborne him-
self, dated July 26, 161 1, and filed
72 Wood, P. C. C. is as follows:

Body to be buried in Church uf St.
Olave's, Southwark near the corpse of my
late wife Anne. My five children, Markley,
Elizabeth, Ellen, Ann and Benjamin.
Brother Samuel. Cousin John Hayman.
Bi other in law Simon Addams, father in law
John Owens of Barnet. Mr. Bamford "a
silenced minister "' Father in law Mr.
Monger. Cousin John Heyman. Executor;
John Owen and Simon Addams, Overseers.

Upper Clatford Rectory. In the older part of which Rfv. James and Rev. Thomas Sanrborne lived, 1610-1662.

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES.

Peter Sambonie married twice.
By his first wife, Anne, daughter of
Robert Hassall, he had

i. Elizabeth, married (i) Miles Gray or
Craine; (2) Wm. Aslett.

ii. Ellen, married Mr. Russell of London.
Vintner.

iii. Markley, eldest son and heir; no fur-
ther record.

His second wife was Mary, daugh-
ter of Monger ; by her he had

iv. Benjamin ; no further record.

V. Mary, buried at St. Mary Magdalen,

Bermondsey, July 14, 1603.
vi. Anne.

24. Richard" (13) Samborxe, born in
Maiden Newton, Dorset, 1575. Be-
came a merchant of Caen in Normandy,

and married Mary, daughter of

Rignouf of France. Several entrie.s in
State Paper.s and indentures on Close
Rolls relate to his ventures.

His will, dated February 21, 163 1,
l^roved in 1642, and filed 94 Campbell
P. C. C. is as follows:

Whereas, John Saintlow, now in London,
merchant, demised to me 2 out of three
parts of the farm of Peglinch and Wood-
berowe in Camerton and Wellowe, Somt.
and whereas Giles Green of Weymouth
in Dorset, and the said John Saintlow,
demised to me the other third part of
the aforesaid farm, which part lately de-
scended, or should have descended to ALirk-
ley Samborne as a cousin and next heir of
Barnaby Samborne, deceased. Now, I give
the above to my brother in law. Nicholas
Polden of Fuscandle, and my cousin John
Cole of Cullompton in Devon., upon trust
that they sell the same, and distribute the
proceeds equally amongst my four sons,
Michael, Richard, Thomas and John.

Children of Richard Samborne :

38. i. Anne, b. 1602.
ii. !VL\rgaret.

iii. Michael, probably never married.
iv. Richard, married and had two daugh-
ters.

39. V. Thomas, married, but had no issue,
vi. John, married, but had no issue.

25. Francis (13) Samborne, a merchant
of London, said in "Visitation of Lon-
don, 1687,'" to have been a goldsmith.
Married at St. Mary Magdalen, Ber-

mondsey, in February, 1606, ALargaret
Blincoe, daughter of Nicholas Blincoe
of South wark. Children of Francis
Samborne ;

i. Nicholas, b. 1610; entered at Merchant
Tailors' School, 1618; drowned at 16.

40. ii. Francis.

41. iii William.

iv. Richard, died unm. in London, 1643;
will, filed in Com. Court of London,
mentions brother William.

26. John" (13) Samborne. said to have
been a merchant in France witli his
brother Richard. He was born about
the same date as the father of the three
American Sambornes. In the " Herald
and Genealogist,'' Vol. i, is the follow-
ing title of an old parchment pedigree
exhibited by Mr. John Gough Nichols
at the Heraldic Exhibition of the
Society of Antiquaries at Somerset
House, thirty years ago. (I have
searched for this pedigree, liut cannot
find any trace of it )

Geiiealogia, sive prosapia generosissivii 7<iri ;
Johaniiis Samlwrne, Jam in partis trausmarinis
e.xislentis : filii qiiarii Francisci Satiiborne de
Maiden iVt'wtoti in Coin. Dorset geucrosi : filii
secundi Johannis Sandwitrne de ' Timsberie in
Com. Somt., — ex autiqua stirpe Sambojtrnoriim
in Sunning in Com. Berks, orinndi

27. Ezra" (15) Samborne, of Stowey,
Somt. Yeoman, born 1599, apparently
had no children. His will filed at
Wells and dated May 4, 1666, leaves

his property to the children of his
brother Joseph.

28. Joseph'^ (15) Samborne, of Stowey
Somt., husbandman. From him was
descended a large family, whose wills are
filed at Wells. I have not attempted to
follow them farther than this generation.

Jo.seph vSamborne's will, dated June
26, 1665, and filed at Wells, men-
tions

Brothers in law John and Isaac Robbins
and their sister Prudence Robins, and father
Misaac Robbins. Wife Sarah. Children,
Richard, John, Deborah, Phebe, Sarah,
Ezra and Martha.

29. Obediah" (15) Samborne, of Farm-
borough, Somt. Nuncupative will dated
Nov. 8, 1667, gave all to the poor.

30. Rev. Jame.s' (i8) Samborxe, born in
1576. Matriculated at Magdalen Col-

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES.

Magdalen Collegp, Oxford. The Col

uf Ruv, Swithin, Rtv. James, Rt^v. Thomas Samborne, ptc.

lege, Oxford. Described as " son of a
gentleman of Hants." Apparently had
some family influence near Andover
(perhaps at Thruxton, where his
cousins the Philpotts held the ancient
Lisle possessions). Foster says James
Samborne was Rector of Grateley Hants
in 1604, and of Upper Clatford, Hants,
in 1610. We know that he was pre-
sented to the living of Upper Clatford
by Arthur Swaine of Sarson, Hants
(next parish to Thruxton).

A long bill, filed in chancery pro-
ceedings Jnne 13, 1664, is, in brief,
as follows :

Bill of Thomas Samborne, eldest son &
heir of Thomas Samborne, late of Up Clat-
ford Hants, Clarke, who was eldest son &
heir of James Samborne late of the same
parish. About 1610 one Arthur Swaine of
Sarson, Hants, was seized of the right of
presentation to p'sh. of Up Clatford, and
presented the said James Samborne to the
said Rectory, who was thereupon instituted
&c. Shortly after, Arthur Swaine died &
his son Edward sold all his rights to the said
James Samborne. About 1628 your orator's
father being then under 21 and a scholar of
St. Mary Alagdalcn Hall in the Univ. of
Oxford, the said James Samborne, being a
very intimate friend of Sir Thomas Jervois,
then of Herriard, Hants, did convey all his
interest in Up Clatford in trust to the said
Jervois ^.K: shortly after, died. Sir Thomas
Jervois instituted one Hook to the living,
but your orator's father coming of age, the
said Hook resigned, and vour orator's said

father, Thomas Samborne was presented to
the living (in 1632) when Sir Thos. Jervois
pretended that he had paid some debts of
your orator's grandfather & said he would
retain the title to the premises until the
debts were paid. But the late unhappy wars
breaking out, and your orator's father being
a person of eminent loyalty to the late glori-
ous mighty King Charles I ; and the said
Jervois being a person of great authority in
the then pretended Parlyament, he procured
your orator's father to be sequestered for a
delinquent against the said parlyament (and
he was the very first minister that was
sequestered in that county or in the whole
kingdom), and so he continued during all
the time of the said trouble, until the late
happy restoration, when your orator's father
being legally restored to the premises died
about 18 months ago. When he was so
sequestered, the said Jervois came to him,
confessed the deed to be a trust, & offered
that if your orator's father would assert the
interest of the then "godly & well affected
party " as then called, he would not onlv
restore him to the rectory but would recon-
vey the premises to him >.K:c.

As an answer, Thomas Jer\-ois of
Herriard recited the indenture of 1637,
whereby Christian Samborne, widow
of James Samborne ; and Thomas
vSamborne, Gierke, deed., son and
heir to the said James Samborne,
conveyed the .said rectory, etc., for a
valuable consideration to Sir Thomas
Jervois.

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES.

Sir Thomas Jervois, mentioned
here, was a prominent Puritan, a
member of the "Rump ParHament,"
and a commander in the Civil War.
A close intimacy existed between
him and James Samborne, as can be
seen from several entries on the Close
Rolls, conveying property in trust to
James Samborne and Henry Sher-
field. Sherfield was a Wiltshire Re-
corder, who had strong Puritan ten-
dencies, and was tried for sacrilege
in breaking up a Papistical stained-
glass window in Salisbury. F'rom
the intimacy between Rev. James
Samborne and these Puritans it may
be reasonabl}- asserted that he w^as
himself of their wa}- of thinking, and
this would bring him near in spirit
to that "notorious inconformist,"
Stephen Bachiler.

Upper Clatford is a charming vil-
lage on the banks of the Anton ; and
the church is an ideal country church,
embowered in trees, and so old that
its exact age is unknown. Parts of
the present delightful rectory are also
very old, and a beautiful avenue con-
nects it with the church.

The dates of Rev. James Sam-

borne 's children were very kindly
given me by Rev. Mr. Noakes, the
present rector of Upper Clatford.
Children of Rev. James Samborne :

42. i. Thomas, b. 1606, probal^ly at Grateley.

43. ii. James, b. at Upper Clatford April 24,

1610.

iii. Dorothy, b. at Upper Clatford, Nov.
6, 161 1.

iv. Lucy, b. at Upper Clatford, Dec. iS,
1613. Following and making part of
this entry is the addition, apparently
by the same hand at a later dale,
" Lucy Jervois, b. Nov. 13, 161 3."

V. Elizabeth, b. at Upper Clatford Sept.
14, 1616.

vi. Sybil, b. at Upper Clatford April 10,
1619.

31. Sir Henry'* (20) Samborne. Knight-
ed 1608. High Sheriflf of Berks. 1616.
Lived at Moulsford, Berks. Married
Dorothy, daughter and heir of John
Stampe of Aston Thirrold, Berks.,
gent. Died in 1667.

Sir Henr}' was engaged in the
manufacture of saltpetre, and appar-
ently held crown contracts for the
manufacture. During the Civil War
he got into trouble with the Com-
monwealth party, and in 1646 nearl}-
had his estate confiscated ( CaL of
State Papers). At his death he was
possessed of four manors — Moulsford,
Cholse}-, Streatle}', and Ashton Thir-
rold, Berks.

Church an.1 Manor-house, Moulsford, Berkshire. The Home of Henry Sambourne and his Son, Sir Henry Sarnhnurne.

THE AMERICAN AND ENGEISH SAMBORNES.

Children of Sir Henry Samborne :

i. Henry, b. i6i I ; probably had no issue,
ii. William, died 1697; probably had no

issue,
iii. Anne, m. Hatton, and died before

1700, leaving son, Wm. Halton.
iv. Dorothy, died unmarried.
V. Mary, m. Jeremiah Hand, April 12,

1664. (Called " an ill husband.")
vi. Martha, m. White, and lived at

Streatley, Berks. A widow in 1700.

:. Richard^ (21) Saiviborne of Cholsey,
Berks., born 1589. Married Dorothy,
daughter of Richard Comyns of Cholsey.
Children :

i. Henry, b. 1622; m. Mary, daughter of

Tery, of Avington, Hants.

ii. Joseph.

iii. Benjamin.

33. JoHN^ (21) Samborne. We know
nothing of hitn. He must have been
born about the right date to have been
father of the three American Sam-
bornes.

34. Barnaby* (22) Samborne of London,
merchant, born 1590. The eldest son
of Sir Barnaby, it is difficult to tell why
he left Timsbury. He is not mentioned
in his father's will, which, however,
leaves bequests to ''My four yo^niger
sons, Thomas, William, Richard and
John," thus showing that an elder son
was then living. Apparently never
married. In St Mary Aldermary
Register occurs this entry. " 161 9,
July, died Barnaby Samborne, out of
Mr. Chamber's house."

His will, filed Parker 104 P. C. C,
is as follows :

All my lands in Camerton and Wellowe
and elsewhere in England to be sold within
one year, the proceeds to be divided to allow
To Richard Samborne now resident in Caen,
Normandy, 300 pounds, and to each of his
children 20 pounds. To George Chamber
my approved friend 300 pounds, to each of
his children 20 pounds. To my aunt Eliza-
beth Caroles in Zealand 70 pounds. To
Richard Stanfatte's children of Bristol, 20
pounds. To Kinswoman Margaret Lang-
ton, 100 pounds. To Ki)tsincii James
Samborne, John Hayman and George Bay-
nard ,^^30 To John Gibbs, my tenant, and
James his son. Residue to Brothers
Wilh'avi, RicJiard and JoJin George
Chambers Executor. James and Richard
Samborne, John Hayman and George Bay-
nard, Overseers.

35. Thoma.s** (22) Samborne of Timsbury,
Sonit., born 1601, married Amice,
daughter and co-heir to Roger Maudley
of Nunney. This was a great Somer-
setshire family. In Nunney Church are
some fine Samborne monuments of the
Stuart period.

His will, dated Januar^^ 12, 1636,
filed 47 Gore P. C. C, mentions

My three younger children, Margaret,
Thomas and Anne. Manor of Nunney,
which I bought of John Jessop. Brother
Wm. Samborne Brother Richard Samborne,
Marie his wife and William their son.
Brother John Samborne.

The present Sarnbornes of Tims-
bur}^ descend from Maudley Sam-
borne, eldest .son of above Thomas.
Mr. S. S. P. vSamborne's grandfather
married a coheiress of the Sambornes,
and assumed the name of Samborne.

36. William'' (22) Samborne, Esq. of
Paulton, Somt. Born 1604. Matricu-
lated at Balliol College, O.xford, 1624,
det. 1625. Married Anne, widow of
Virgil Vaughan Esq., but had no issue.

His will, proved June 7, 1670, filed
Penn 85 P. C. C, is as follows :

To be buried in the Chancel of Tymsbury
Church, as near as possible to the Corpse of
Lady Margaret Samborne, my mother. To
wife Anne, ^10. To poor of Tymsbury and
Paulton. To Aljiaham Bailey. Residue to
Nephew Maudley Samborne, sole executor.

37. Richard^ (22) Samborne, Esq., born

1605, married Marie . Children

born at Timsbury :

William.

Elizabeth.

Marie.

Anne.

Martha.

Joanna.

38. Annes (24) Samborne. Born 1602.
Married John Le Bas of Caen in Nor-
mandy, gent., son of John Le Bas.
From this marriage was descended a
large and influential family, the earlier
generations of which are given in
"Genealogist" Vol. i, and " N. E.
Register "'"for July, 1885.

THE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SAMBORNES.

39. Thomas'^ (24) Samt.orxe of Caen in
France and later of London. He and
his brotlier John were wealthy mer-
chants. Royalists, who aided in the
escape of Charles II, and in his restora-
tion in 1660. In 1 66 1, Thomas and
John Samborne presented a memorial
for recompense for services in this con-
nection. (See State Papers , 1 6 6 1 . )

The will of Thoiiia.s Samborne,
Esq., of Westminster (filed 92 King

Victor Channing Sanborn.

P. C. C), dated June 3, 1676, is as
follows :

To be buried at Somerset House, or the
Chapel Royal. To the poor 50 pounds.
To wife Margaret Samborne, (besides 100
pounds a year out of estate of Llwyngert-
wyth) all right to the lease of the house
where I now live in Axe Yard, Westminster.
To eldest brother Michael Samborne, 100
pounds. To two nieces, daughters of
brother Richard Samborne, /^5o. To
Widow of late John Samborne, /^loo. To
children of my nephew, John Le Bas, ^50.
To nephew, James Le Bas, ^50. To loving
friend, Lewis Lewis, Esq. To my wife's
children, Francis and Richard Gosfruit.
Rest to children of Nephew Richard Le
Bas, — he to sell my goods to satisfy this
will, including the jewel I bought from the
Swedish Ambassador for ^500.

40. Fran'Cis* (25) SAMBORisrE of Westham
in Essex, married Mary Goodfellow.
Children :

i. Samuel, b. 1640; died young.

ii. Mary, b. Nov. 24, 1641 ; d. unmarried.

iii. William, b. Feb. 4, 1644; m. Eliza-
beth, daughter of Richard IJrooke of
Derby, and had issue.

41. Wn^LiAM** (25) Samborne, a Norwich
factor ; married Hester Clarke, widow,
daughter of Robt. Haynes of Bristol.
Children :

i. William, died young.

ii. Mary.

iii. Elizabeth, living in 16S7.

42. Rev. Thomas'^ (30) Samborne, Rector
of Upper Clatford, Hants. Presented
to the living by Sir Thomas Jervois in
1632. Matriculated at Magdalen Col-
lege, Oxford, 1623. Married Mary

, who survived him, and in 1664

with her son Thomas disputed the pos-
session of the Rectory with Rev. An-
thony Eaibury. Children (From L'pper
Clatford Register) :

i. Mary, b. Oct. 9, 1634.

ii. Thomas, b. Aug. 29, 1636.

iii. William, b. Aug. 14, 1638.

iv. Elizabeth, b. March 17, 1640.

V. James, b. July S, 1643; Oxford, 1661 ;

rector of Mersham, Kent.

vi. Anne, b. Feb. 17, 1645.

No further Samborne record ap-
pears in the Upper Clatford registers
except " The Reverend Father in God,
Mr. Thomas Samborne, son of Mr.
James Samborne, Parson of Upper
Clatford, died Sept. 27, and was
buried Octo. 2, 1662."

43. James^ (30) Samborne. Esq.. of
Andover, Hants. Linen Draper, born
1 610. Bailiff of Andover, 1666, and
his name appears often in Andover
town records. In the tower of Andover
Church is a white marble slab, bearing
the Samborne arms and reading as fol-
lows :

Under this place lieth interred the body
of James Samborne, gent., of this town, who
died Sept. 19, 1669, — also in the same place
lieth interred the body of Katherine Sam-
borne, relict of the said James Samborne,
who died Apr. 17, 171 5.

James Samborne's w'ill, dated vSept.

THE AMERICAN AND ENGEISH SAMBORNES.

i8, 1669, filed Coke 146 P. C. C, is
as follows :

Wife Catharine to have ^850 and house-
hold goods. Son James ^800. Dau. Mar-
tha ^500. (At age of 21 or day of
marriage.) Son Julius £700. Dau. Chris-
tian ;{^40o If I die without issue ^100 to
the poor, balance to be divided into two
parts, — one half to my wife, if she die then
^40 to sister Fleetwood. £2,0 to sister
Merriatt. ,^40 to the poor. 20s. to sister
Higge for a ring. Executors, Thos. Plum-
mion of London. Henry Kelsey of Winches-
ter, Joseph Hinxman of Andover, and John
Rayley of London, ^^5 apiece to them. £^
to sister Lawrence. 20s. to Mr. Braith-
waite, minister of Enham. 20s. to Philip
Liddiard.

Children of James Samborne :

i. James, died in 1725, and endowed a
charity school in Hatherden, near
Andover. A memorial tablet en-
graved with the Samborne arms is
over the door of the school.

ii. Julius, bailiff and town clerk of An-
dover; an influential citizen.

iii. Martha.

iv. Christian.

Besides the foregoing contiected
pedigree, I have come across the fol-
lowing scattered links, which I can-
not connect with the main line :

A. In Foster's "London Marriage Licen-
ses"' I find the following: — " Feby 10,
1599, Barxabv Samborne of Padding-
ton, Middlesex and Alice, daughter of
William Blackleech of Paddington."

3. I . David Samp.orxe, probably of Lon-
don, only known of by the marriage
entry of his son Richard.

2. Richard Samborne, Barber, of Lon-
don. In the Register of St. Peter's,
Cornhill, I find this entry: "Feby. 15,
1578, wedded, Richard Sanborn, Bar-
ber, son of Davy Sanborn and Isabel
Walker, daughter of Edw. Walker,
Carpenter. Richard Samborne was the
father (probably) of

3. Richard Samisorne, Barber Surgeon
of London. Will proved July 22nd,
161 5, Dean and Chap, of St. Pauls,
D. 112, mentions wife Ursula, and fol-
lowing children, all minors :

i. Michael.

ii. John, b. Dec. 1604; entered Merchant

Tailors' School, 161 5.
iii. Nathaniel.
iv. Jonathan.
V. Joan.
vi. Susan.
vii. Hester.
viii. Jane.

C. Will of Richard Samborne, Skinner of
London, dated Jany. 21st, 1693, proved
P. C. C. Box 19:

Estate devised to loving brother James
Samborne and my friend Christopher Daven-
port of the New Inn, to be sold : To sister
Pinckney and each of her children ^100.
To brother in law, Mr. Burrowes, £100
hoping he will make better use of it than
what he has had. To mother in law Mrs.
Burrowes, and each of her daughters, ,^5 for
mourning. To my brother Samborne,
^200. To Bartholomew's Hospital ^200.
To Mr. Pride ^10. To Mr. Davenport
_^io. Mrs. Bohee my housekeeper ^35.
Brother Pinckney to have my lease. Late
wife's wearing apparel to sister Pinckney.
Rest to son Riciiard when he comes of
age. — if he die, then ^^500 to brother Sam-
borne. Executors brother Samborne and
Chr. Davenport, each 30 pounds. Witnes-
ses Hussey Chapman, Thos. Lodge, Jane
Paliett.

A TRIP TO WESTERN TEXAS.

By G. Scott Locke.

LEFT Concord on
Thnrsday , O c t o-
ber 25, for Texas,
via Chicago, Kan-
sas Cit}', Trinidad,
Col., Alberquer-
que. New Mexico,
to El Paso ; thence on the Texas &
Pacific Railroad for Kent, a place
consisting of one building, the rail-
road station, 2,908 miles from home.
We had Wagner and Pullman sleep-
ers, with dining cars, as far as Kan-
sas City, then the eating houses on
the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe
route. There is not much style in
serving at these eating houses but
the bill of fare is excellent. The trip
was without any unpleasant inci-
dents, and there were plenty of sights
to interest an eastern man.

As the travel to California was
heav}', our train consisted of ten tour-
ist and Pullman .sleepers, three day
coaches, and three baggage cars,
these being run in two sections.
After leaving Chicago, for a thou-
sand miles this route runs through a
rich farming and grazing countr\-,
but after pa.ssing La Junta, Col., and
following the old Santa Fe trail,
made noted b}' the "forty-niners,"
there is a sameness in the scenery
that soon fails to interest one. It is
a long stretch of grazing countr}-
without a building in sight, and for
many miles is but a slight trail beside
the railroad.

A young man riding a bicycle
bearing a .sign on which was painted,
"On to San Francisco," created a
good deal of interest. He wore
knickerbockers, sweater, etc., and
presented the appearance of some
adventurous college lad. It seemed
a Herculean task, "kicking a bike "
over those rough roads, against a
heav}' wind and through thick clouds
of dust. The pa.s.sengers waved
handkerchiefs and hats, which he
graciously acknowledged.

At Trinidad, Col., we began to
climb the Raton mountains, with two
heavy Mogul engines, pulling seven
cars through the tunnel to the state
line, where we reached an altitude of
7,622 feet. Here the old Wooten
Ranch ruins were visible, where toll
was expected of travellers over the
Santa Fe trail when railroads were
unknown through this desolate coun-
try.

Leaving cold weather and ice in
Colorado, we descended through New
Mexico to the banks of the Rio
Grande river and El Paso. Here we
had a temperature of 80 in the shade ;
flowers were in full bloom and every-
thing was suggestive of mid summer.
At 4 p. m., I took the train for
Kent, One car bore a placard, " For
Whites," another, "For Negroes,"
and these regulations are strictl}- en-
forced, as I realized, when I entered
the wrong car and was requested to
" Take a seat in the white car, sah."

A TRIP TO WESTERN TEXAS.

The Railway Station.

Fearing that my man would not
reach Kent in time to meet me, I was
somewhat unea.s_v. The train was
due there at ii : 30 p. m., and as the
station agent has orders not to allow
strangers inside, the prospect of walk-
ing the platform in a heavy thunder
storm was not a pleasant one. I was
relieved of my anxiety, however, by
meeting Mr. Newman, a ranchman,
and our only neighbor between Kent
and my ranch. An attempt to " hold
up" the passenger train at this sta-
tion had caused the railroad officers
to be suspicious of strangers, hence
extreme caution is used, but Mr.
Newmian introduced me to the sta-
tion agent, who kindly offered me
hospitality and took me inside.

Having no blankets with me, as is
the cu.stom when travelling through
a ranch country, I was puzzled as to
how I should pass the night with
any degree of comfort, when, to my
surprise, I discovered Mr. Perkins,
the foreman of the ranch, asleep on
the floor behind some boxes. After
greeting me in hearty Texan fashion,
he offered to share his blankets with
me, and I "turned in." Despite the
non-ela.sticity of the floor, these men
fell asleep at once and snored in per-
fect unison until daybreak. As for
myself, even though I like harmon}-,
so much of it became tiresome and I
realized that I had forgot to leave

my nerves at home. I counted black
sheep and wdiite sheep vaulting
high walls, spelled Mississippi back-
wards, and resorted to other old-time
remedies for insomnia without avail,
and when day dawned I rejoiced
with exceeding great joy, and
punched my melodious companions
with unnecessary vigor.

After "rustling the horses," we

The Nearest Neighbor.

started for the ranch, thirty miles dis-
tant, passing but one hovise on the
route. As the travelling was heavy,
on account of the recent rain, we
were nearl}- all day in making the
journe}'. On arriving we found the
cow-boys busy shoeing horses, get-
ting their blankets ready, and bus-
tling about generall^^ On inquiring
the cause of the unusual commotion,
I was informed that they were prepar-
ing for a trip to the mountains in
search of wild .steers. Most of the
cattle are gentle, Init a few steers
will stray to the highest mountains
and l)ecome as wild as deer, causing
the other cattle to become unman-
ageable. We have good-sized moun-
tains out there. The ranch has an alti-
tude of 5,900 feet, and " Old Bald)',"
or Ivivermore Peak, towers 8,382 feet.

A TRIP TO WESTERN TEXAS.

As I entered cainp one of the cow-
boys shouted, " Wall, Mr. Tender-
foot, you 're jest in time for the pic-
nic. We air sure goin" to get Old
Midnight, Lightning, and Break-
away this time. The critters have
caused us a heap of trouble. They
got away last year and year before,
and now we air goin' to camp on
their trail until we get 'em."

With fifty saddle-horses, three
mules, six cow-boys, a ' ' horse-wran-
gler" (herder), and a cook, we started
wending our way through canyons
and oyer mountains to the head of
Lympia canyon, where we struck
camp at Grubbs' spring. Long
before daybreak we rolled up our
blankets, and eating breakfast by
moonlight, started for Liyermore
Peak. Seven men and seven horses,

Prairie View.

in Indian file, began the ascent, occa-
sionally stopping to rest or to get
down and lead their horses along the
side of the mountain, where a mis-
step would mean death to horse and
rider. I must confess I rode when I
preferred to walk, for I had a boyish
dread of showing the " white feather."
These mountains in places are
nearly covered with loose, fiat rock,

and when your horse gets to sliding,
as mine did, on this slippery moun-
tain side, instinctively you would
pull up on the reins. Not so here,
for as my horse started to slide, some
one shouted, "give him the rein,
tenderfoot, and let him see where he
is stepping!" As we stopped a
moment to re.st, Mr. Perkins said, —
" Now we missed them ^^esterday, we
must sure land them to-day ! You
and Jim Nunn," he said, turning to
me, "goto the head of this canyon
and turn northeast. Here, Rob, you
and Lee go up Goat canyon and turn
to the right. You, Buck, and Jersey,
head up Ghost canyon for Pinery
trail. Now work easy, don't talk if
you strike the trail, and stay with
'em! "

After riding and walking for about
two hours, Mr. Nunn and myself
found Old Midnight and his pals
with a " bunch " of twelve head. In
a whisper Nunn said, "there the}^
are ! ' ' Through the brush they
went, snorting and roaring like a
steam engine, we giving chase, with
horses running for their lives over
rock and arroyas, through brush and
trees, until I rode into a treetop and

W^^i^^

R^-."*-
"^-.I?"

Ready for the Start.

A TRIP TO WESTERN TEXAS.

pulled up, with hat off, face bleed-
ing, and Jim and cattle out of sight.
I certainly fovmd out what rough rid-
ing was. After following the trail
for a long distance I lost it, and not
only that, I discovered that I was lost
with it. The mountains everywhere
were so much alike that it was impos-
sible to determine w^here to go.

Finding that ni}^ horse objected to
going my way I let him go his, and
in about two hours I struck a trail
that led me to the cattle we found the
day before. While resting, " Jerse}" "
came in on a hard lope. "Come on ! "
he shouted, "the boys are up the
Pack canyon, they have the steers
surrounded and want help." Riding
for a couple of miles, we found one of
the men, who said, " get down and
look to the left of that juniper
tree yonder. There 's Midnight and
lyightning. Breakaway has gone
over the divide."

Directing two of the men to go on
to the other canyon, he gave me
instructions, which, you may be
sure, I followed closely, and .soon
came in sight of the runaways.
Away they flew at full speed, but we
managed to turn them over the moun-
tain where the boys were ready for
them.

For six miles they raced, followed
closely b}' Rob and Jim, and as they
turned up Lympia can3'on they passed
our camp, where Lightning was
roped and tied down after a hard
fight.

Up the canyon Midnight flew, with
Rob in close pursuit. A wire fence
.spread across their path, and Mid-
night, with head close to the ground,
roaring, made for it. Down went the
steer for a moment, then up and away
again, through the fence, Rob follow-
ing at full speed, until, a mile above,
he succeeded in roping the steer,
which he held until help came.
Imagine a wild, fighting steer at-
tached to a half-inch rope thirty feet
long with one end fastened to the
pommel of j^our saddle, and that
.steer rushing at you and roaring like
a wild bea.st. The cow-boy's horse
is all attention, eluding the attacks
of the rushing steer. The horse
must brace himself to throw the steer,
and by keeping the rope taut hold
him down. The cow-bo}* must dis-
mount to tie the steer's legs, know-
ing if his horse fails to do his duty
that he will have a " close call."

Later in the da}- the other wild
steer was captured, and with fift}'
head of cattle we moved " the outfit "
five miles down the canyon to Dolan's
ranch where we ' ' made down ' ' for
the night, after the most exciting
day's ride I ever experienced. As
the cow-bo3'S fell asleep under their
blankets, I watched the camp-fire
ca.st its .shadows, and listened to the
roar of the cattle, raised by an occa-
.sional dismal cr}^ of the coyote, and
I could but wonder wdiat tempted
those brave men to such a life of dan-
ger and hardship.

BY PERMISSION OF M. KNOEDLER & CO NEW YORK.

ORPHEAN MUSIC.

Bv Edward A. Jciiks.

The legendary Orpheus and his lyre, —

Who led the wood-nymphs captive at the sound
Of his clear voice and sentient strings, and bound
The streams with bands so soft they could not tire,
Thrilling the sylvan wilds with sweet desire
To staunch for aye the ever-bleeding wound
Left by his lost Eurj-dice, — are found
Again when soft Octol>er's leafy fire

Burns on the silent mountains, and the woods
Are bursting with the melody that springs

From hidden chambers — chauntings low and deep.
Fit music for these sacred solitudes.

Here, breathless, all things listen as he sings,
And, listening, fall like children into sleep.

^Si'Clr --ir

Dr. J. Alonzo Greene.

DR. J. ALONZO GREENE.

By Henry Robinson.

EN years ago Dr. J.
A 1 o n z o Greene
fixed his heart upon
New Hampshire as
a home. He spent
the summer seasons
of 1885, 1886, 1887,
and a part of that of 1888, amongst our
mountains and valleys, which hold for
him a peculiar fascination.

He travelled extensively through the
mountains, and along the lake and sea-
shore resorts of New England, search-
ing for what his family and himself
might consider the best place, every-
thing considered, in which to locate ;
leaving the busy cares of city life to
pass their remaining years in comfort
and quietness in the country.

In 1889, seven years ago, he had pur-
chased the magnificent property on the
largest and most picturesque island in
our own beautiful Lake Winnipesaukee,
in the town of INIoultonborough, county
of Carroll, and there with increasing
devotion to the state of his deliberate
and unselfish adoption has ever since
held and kept, not only his legal resi-
dence, but the charming resort that has
become famous for its grand and j^et
unostentatious hospitality, a home that
is a happy consummation of the cheerful
and consistent cooperation of nature,
art, science, exquisite taste, wide expe-
rience, sound judgment, and a gen-
erosity that knows no limit.

It is a pleasing encomium upon the
Granite State that a discerning gentle-

man of Dr. Greene's magnitude of mind
and means should choose it as the one
bright, particular spot on God's great
footstool for him to cultivate, to love, to
cherish, upon the soil of which he lives
and wherein all that is mortal of him
will commingle with its dust when the
years of his earthly sojourn are over.

He had travelled extensively abroad;
he had seen many lands ; the biggest
inducements, the most alluring entice-
ments were offered ; the glittering pan-
orama of the whole varied world was
unrolled before him ; but amidst our
own matchless mountains, along our
own placid lakes, our winding rivers,
our rippling brooks, enraptured with
the unsurpassed spectacle of New
Hampshire scenery, thrilled with the
healthful exhilaration of our climate,
already deeply ingratiated with our
people in their agricultural and other
important industrial interests, a cham-
pion and generous supporter of our
beneficent and other worthy institu-
tions, he came quietly, modestly, unas-
sumingly, a decade ago, to be one with
us and of us, to establish here a home
that should be comfortable for himself
suitable in every way for his family,
luxuriant for his friends however hum-
ble, and a beauty, a pride, and a glory
to the commonwealth.

Such a man is not to be ignored. A
man of Dr. Greene's iron constitution,
courteous manners, breadth of intellect,
power and force of presence and pur-
pose, companionable temperament, frank

52 DR. J. ALONZO GREENE.

and open-hearted disposition, native zation throughout the state he has
tact, superior ability, and vast wealth been called to testify in able and elo-
of resource and experience, would not, quent addresses, which have given him
could not, be ignored in any commu- front rank as a leader and orator, elicit-
nity, especially as he has asked noth- ing the deserved attention of the news-
ing beyond the spontaneous good will paper press and of the public,
of his fellow-citizens. Dr. Greene is president of the
This confiding and respectful trust of National Veterans' Association of New
those associated with him has been his Hampshire and vice-president of the
mascot to the thirty-second degree of New Hampshire Veterans' Association.
Free Masonry, where his comprehen- His memberships in various dignified
sive usefulness has been greatly felt, bodies have been transferred, as far as
This unbroken confidence on the part practicable, to the Granite state, but
of those who have known him longest exalted above all other orders, associa-
and best has been his open sesame to a tions, positions of trust and confidence,
conspicuous prominence and salutary is the commanding place that Dr.
influence in Odd Fellowship, which he Greene holds everywhere in the Royal
did not seek, but of the high credit of Order of Eminent Good-Fellowship,
which he is far from being insensible, wherein he is always in close touch,
The lustre of his good name will be shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart,
lasting, for his tent was pitched on keeping step with all the loyal good fel-
" fame's eternal camping ground," when lows of whatever faith, or kin, or cir-
as a poor, patriotic young man, hardly cumstances, who are " the salt of all the
more than a boy, eighteen years of age, elements, world of the world."
December 14, 1863, he enlisted at Den- Do I hear some carping spirit ex-
ver in the Second Colorado cavalry. claim, " Dr. Greene is one of the pro-
He was wounded in the Battle of prietors of Dr. Greene's Nervura blood
Sand Creek, but served his country and nerve remedy ! "
valiantly through the War of the Rebel- What of it ? Is it not an excellent
lion, and was mustered out at Fort one ? Is it not a legitimate one ? Is it
Leavenworth in 1865, his commission not a profitable one to us as well as to
as colonel coming only in time of peace, himself.^ He pays the Amoskeag Paper
last year, when he was appointed senior company, of Manchester, through their
aide-de-camp on Commander Buzzell's Boston agents, the Rice-Kendall Com-
staff of the Grand Army of the Repub- pany, over one hundred thousand dollars
lie, a splendid brotherhood, whose glo- a year for paper used in his advertising
rious roster is " on the right-hand side department. He pays the newspapers
and near the throne of God." of New Hampshire between $16,000
Dr. Greene is surgeon to the Amos- and $17,000 a year for advertising
keag Veterans. He is also a favored space, and advertises in nearly every
member of the Knights of Pythias, and newspaper in the United States, and in
of various other orders and societies, many foreign newspapers in different
but perhaps in nothing does he take countries.

more pride than in his membership in Although Dr. Greene himself retired

the Grange in his own to\vn, to the great from active participation in the busi-

work and worth of which useful organi- ness as early as 1886, leaving the

DR. J. ALONZO GREENE.

charge in the hands of his worthy
and competent brother, F. E. Greene,
M. D., with whom he still remains a
partner, yet the business has grown to
be of such an extraordinary and tre-
mendous magnitude and scope that to
describe it in detail might awaken
incredulity. I run the risk of this inci-
dental mention merely to intimate how
closely identified are the material inter-
ests of Dr. Greene with those of New
England, and especially of New Hamp-
shire.

Dr. Greene's almanac is already dis-
tributed for this year, and is a model of
its kind, the issue consisting of 6,000,-
000 copies. The Commonwealth Mag-
azine is widely circulated, over 15,000,-
000 copies being annually gratuitously
distributed. He receives from the pa-
per-mill every spring forty carloads
of paper, and forty carloads every fall.
At one place in the city of Boston
Dr. Greene employs regularly between
two hundred and three hundred girls
and women, between forty and fifty
men ; and he has in the neighborhood
of thirty men constantly travelling on
the road. The medicine is sold all
over the United States and shipped to
Canada, South America, Central Amer-
ica, Mexico, and the West India
islands.

But the mission of this cursory sketch
is more especially to do homage to his
persistence, courage, beneficence, integ-
rity, and capability as an individual,
rather than to compliment his acknowl-
edged skill, punctuality, push, and suc-
cess as a business magnate.

He "took occasion by the beard,"
and mastered all impediments. He
would have succeeded anywhere and in
any vocation. The faculty of success
is strikingly marked in him. That rare
combination of physical courage, men-

tal capacity, thoroughness, indomitable
will, that he possesses constitutes him
a Napoleon amongst men. Gentle as
a child, tolerant and indulgent in his
social relations, he is nevertheless
equipped with ihat magical force, those
indefinable qualities, that make one
man so much superior to others. His
is one of those fine spirits that have
been described as never faltering. It
rises to the ordeal, and, whatever the
burdens and barriers, it bears them and
surmounts them. The acuteness of his
intellect, the rich treasures of his
thought, study, and observation, the
earnestness and honesty of his charac-
ter and friendships, the self-respecting,
high and irreproachable estimate that
he puts upon his honor. That is true
success !

Dr. Greene was born in Whitingham,
Vt., ten miles west of Brattleboro,
November 5, 1845. His grandfather,
Nathaniel Greene, of Revolutionary
fame, was one of the first settlers in
that neighborhood, one of his earli-
est enterprises there being to erect
a fence to keep the wolves from his
home.

The Greene family moved to Boston
a few months later, where Alonzo
attended public school and afterward
engaged in the study of medicine, with
the view of succeeding his father, Reu-
ben Greene, who was a learned and
skilful physician in active practice
when the War of the Rebellion broke
out.

Young Greene had a skeleton undei
his bed to exemplify his researches in
anatomy ; his bureau drawers and room
generally were filled with old bones,
and he became tired of medicine. He
dreamed of it at night and had fright-
ful nightmares, and the thought of
going into the active j^ractice of the

DR. J. ALONZO GREENE.

profession became very distasteful to
him. He told his father that he was
going to enlist in the army, but his
father withheld his consent, the son
being yet in his teens and in the judg-
ment of the parent not old or strong
enough to endure the hardships of a
common soldier. If the truth were
known it would be found that, notwith-
standing the father's objections, young
Greene did actually enlist in Massachu-
setts, but at the instance of his father
was discharged. Then, with only three
dollars in his pocket, he set out for the
West. He drove six yoke of oxen from
Omaha to Denver, in relief to General
Fremont at Pike's Peak. His oppor-
tunity for enlistment in the West has
already been mentioned.

After the war. Dr. Greene resumed
his medical studies with renewed
energy. He was creditably graduated
from the Eclectic Medical Institute of
Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1867, and very
soon thereafter engaged in business as a
physician with his father, who practised
medicine in the very same building in
Boston (34 Temple Place) for forty
years, in which Dr. Greene still has
a business office to-day.

It is a remarkable incident that
might be mentioned in this connec-
tion, that during the war Dr. Greene's
father, Reuben Greene, was thrown
from a carriage and had his knee-cap
injured. He offered to enlist, but was
refused. He then hired a man to go
to the war for him, the substitute giv-
ing the name of Reuben Greene. This
man was killed, and then Dr. Greene's
father hired still another man to go in
his place, taking the same name. The
second man was also killed ; so that
Dr. Greene's father, or rather Reuben
Greene, was killed two times during
the Rebellion.

Dr. Reuben Greene, the father of
Drs. J. Alonzo and F. E. Greene,
treated many nervous diseases and
used one particular prescription with
wonderful success. When the young
men purchased the interest of their
father in the business, he told them
that this prescription was a great nerve
and brain invigorant, in fact the best
and most effectual remedy that he had
ever known for nervous diseases. It
was included in the sale, and from that
very same prescription the far-famed
panacea, the " Balm in Gilead," Dr.
Greene's Nervura, the great blood and
nerve remedy, the superior merits of
which are now so universally recog-
nized, is made.

Dr. Greene's mother, a very estim-
able lady, was Lydia (Waste) Greene.
In 1867 he married Miss Lucretia V.
Drew, of Boston, a lady of culture,
refinement, and taste. They have had
three children, two of whom are dead,
the surviving one, a son, being now
twenty-six years of age. He has charge
of the affairs of his father in relation to
the farm, employing just now in the
neighborhood of twenty men in cutting
wood and otherwise on the premises
at Roxmont Castle, Long Island, this
state, which comprises hundreds of
acres of rich tillage and other land. He
is also extensively engaged in business
besides his responsibilities at Roxmont.

It was in the summer of 1889 that
Dr. Greene bought the two farms now
comprised in his large homestead place
on Long Island and moved thither with
his wife and son, his household effects,
bag and baggage, horses, cats, dogs,
and all, and established his formal
and legal residence there. Desiring to
extend his farming and stock-raising
operations, which were even then very
considerable, he purchased four adjoin-

DR. J. ALONZO GREENE.

ing farms in 1890. The deeds for
these were made out by the owners
or their agents and given to Dr.
Greene's agent, without consultation
with him. Two of these deeds are cor-
rect, and give his residence as Moulton-
borough, while one inadvertently gives
it as Centre Harbor and another as New
York. The doctor never had the pleas-
ure of residing, voting, or paying taxes
in either Centre Harbor or New York.

than four thousand were entertained by
the hospitable doctor and his good wife
at dinner, these numerous tourists and
guests comprising various delegations
from all sections of the state, each and
every one of them anxious to make
available the magical latchstring that
always hangs out.

The farm is highly stocked with
fancy breeds of fowl and cattle, and is
a source of much pleasure and gratifi-

The Hall, Roxmont.

His Roxmont stock and poultry farm
has been visited during the seven years
last past by hundreds of friends and
enthusiastic admirers, going by special
trains and steamboats, including the
Amoskeag Veterans and their ladies,
the Masons and their ladies of Belknap
and Carroll counties, the Odd Fellows
and their ladies of Lake Village, the
Knights of Pythias and their ladies,
the State Board of Agriculture, the
State Grange with their ladies, and it
is a fact that in a single week more

cation to its owner, who spends the
greater part of his time during the sum-
mer months in overseeing it and in
hunting and fishing in the neighboring
country, for Dr. Greene is a sportsman
of no small calibre.

He organized the Winnipesaukee
Transportation company, built two
steamboats, the Eagle and the Roxmont,
and chartered still another, the Cyclone,
and the facilities for going to and from
his residence are very fine. He has
recently purchased all the stock in the

DR. /. ALONZO GREENE.

company, and now runs it, with his son
as general manager and owner in part.

His superb castle is favorably located,
commanding an unobstructed view in
every direction. From one of the
"towers" the extensive grounds, beau-
tifully laid out, stretch away from the
shores of the lake, studded with its
charming islands, while an almost con-
tinuous chain of mountains skirts the
horizon.

The main hall is over twenty-five feet
high, with a gallery running around it,
and entirely finished in oak, while the
costly Eastern rugs which hang over
the railing give it a rich, Oriental effect,
and there is a broad fire-place up which
the great fires of hospitality roar.

Amongst the numerous curiosities
which are shown to visitors are swords
and canes from nearly every country
on the globe.

The Dining-room, Roxmont.

This castle is a veritable treasure-
house of curiosities and rare articles
of furniture and rugs collected by the
doctor and his wife in their journeys
over the entire world.

From the massive hall clock of Eng-
lish manufacture one can hear the beau-
tiful Westminster chimes and the Whit-
tington bells ; and the music box, about
five feet long and one of the finest in
the country, dispenses the sweetest
strains.

A visit to this elegant dwelling is
especially interesting, from the fact,
which is modestly mentioned, that the
plans for it were drawn by Mrs. Greene
from her own ideas. It was not an
attempt to copy any foreign castle vis-
ited abroad, but the working out of her
original theory of a good home.

The doctor has just now thirty-three
brood mares, and two stallions, one
the famous " General Lyon, Jr.," the
other the well-known " Saucv Tom."

DR. J. ALONZO GREENE.

]l°r5^ PafT^

;|j«,^<^]S.'

n°.

0=5

The story of his blooded horses and
cattle with their several pedigrees
would of itself make an interesting
article. His is one of the largest horse-
raising establishments in New England,
as he is also the proprietor of the
largest poultr}^ farm. Along the sandy
shore of the lake are placed houses
for the accommodation of one thousand
ducks and five thousand hens, which
thrive in the healthful location. A
small brook, fed by springs, courses
down through the valley for a mile or
more, and this stream is lined on either
side by nearly a hundred houses for
the accommodation of chicks and duck-
lings. The incubator house is a two-
story building, seventy by forty, in the
cellar of which are arranged the incu-
bators, each with a capacity of six hun-
dred eggs.

The doctor is a director in two build-
ing associations of New Hampshire, the

Masonic of Laconia and the Odd Fel-
lows of Lakeport. He is an owner in
the Weirs Land and Hotel company, a
share owner in one of the most enter-
prising and widest circulating newspa-
pers in the state, and he has various
other local holdings, all conducing to
make his responsibilities and liabilities
one and the same with those of our peo-
ple, and his home here one of perma-
nence as well as elegance and prosper-
ity. It is appropriate and fitting that
the Granite Monthly, our own maga-
zine, which has chronicled the merits
and deeds of so many illustrious sons of
New Hampshire, the home of Stark, of
Webster, of Pierce, of Hale, should open
its guarded covers to include and per-
petuate the record of this worthy gen-
tleman, this well-born, well-bred, and
skilled physician, this popular lecturer
and eloquent advocate of what is pure
and beneficial, this extensive traveller

DR. /. ALOAZO GREEAE.

and close student, both of books and
human nature, this kindly, hospitable,
charitable, public-spirited citizen, this
broad-minded, unassuming, unobtrusive
capitalist and general benefactor,
J. Alonzo Greene.

A rounded man of Dr. Greene's sort,
with hardy common sense, a tremen-
dous following amongst the people, a
thorough, practical education, a quick,
powerful grasp of understanding, a
wonderful executive faculty and knack
to deal successfully with men and
things, a brilliant speaker, with prepos-
sessing personality, and with important
interests identical with all that pertains
to the industrial welfare and general
prosperity of his state, is almost sure to
have his name mentioned sooner or
later in connection with popular office ;
but it is only seldom that party leaders
and their followers so persistently beset
a man to become a candidate.

Dr. Greene has never been a political
aspirant, and has uniformly declined to
allow the use of his name as such, but
it is well known that just now an unpre-
cedented pressure is being brought to
bear upon him, from all classes, to enter
the field for the gubernatorial nomina-
tion of the Republican party, with the
principles of which organization he is
firmly allied, and it is a fact that hun-
dreds — yes, thousands — of earnest soli-
citations and impatient importunities
have been received by him to announce
himself as a candidate ; vet he has not
consented to do so.

His claim geographically, as well as
otherwise, would be equal, if not supe-
rior, to that of any other possible can-
didate for recognition, and upon none
could the considerable responsibility
and honor be more appropriately and
safely placed; but Dr Greene did not
come to New Hampshire ten years ago.

to seek a home, as Ingersoll would say>
"out of the mad race for money, place,
and power," with any notion whatever of
political distinction. The subject of
this sketch is away, and I can not
assume to speak for him now, but he
has said :

"I fully appreciate the high honor
and great responsibility of the oftice,
and if my friends throughout the state
feel next summer toward my candidacy
as they appear to feel at the present
time, I shall be very proud to allow my
name to go before the convention.
You may say, also, that if my name
goes before that body at all, it will go
there for the purpose of winning the
nomination."

This last is a very significant remark,
for Dr. J. Alonzo Greene is one of those
indomitable managers, with the genius
of conquest, who never yet was thwarted
in his deliberate purposes. One is re-
minded of the comforting remark of the
old man to the new teacher, about the
dog, in Edward Eggleston's noted novel,
" The Hoosier Schoolmaster," " Ef
Bull once takes a holt, heaven and
yarth can't make him let go." Such is
the substantial structure of the robust
character of the noble-hearted, patriotic
veteran who let loose the American
eagle at the National G. A. R. encamp-
ment, at Louisville, Ken., last Septem-
ber, that he suggests one of nature's
elemental, invincible forces. As was
said of Daniel Webster, it is like asso-
ciation with the law of gravitation
itself.

At the Kentucky encampment, the
twenty-ninth annual, the first ever held
on southern soil, in the grand proces-
sion, close behind the veterans from
Rhode Island came the New Hamp-
shire comrades, at the head of whose
column was borne a large bald eagle,

DR. J. ALONZO GREENE.

captured eight years ago in the Green
mountains. The proud bird was in a
large wire and wood cage, tastefully
decorated, set upon poles, and carried
by four negroes, clad in the national
colors. He has been a conspicuous
feature in every parade in which the
New Hampshire comrades have taken
part for the last seven years, but they
determined to celebrate the occasion of
their first visit south by liberating him
in front of the reviewing stand. He
was presented to the department by
Comrade Greene. Although retaining
his strength and power, the bird re-
fused to leave the grand stand, and he
was returned to his cage and brought
back to Roxmont, Dr. Greene's beauti-
ful home at Lake Winnipesaukee, the
harbinger of victory to come. I am
not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet,
but I predict that the eagle will yet take
his victorious flight over New Hamp-
shire.

Dr. Greene's private life is above
reproach. Against him has never been
raised the clamor of scandal. Within
the home circle he is gentle, affection-
ate, helpful, and all that an exemplary
husband and father should be. His
fondness for pets and his kindness
toward all his creatures are character-
istic of his noble nature. Never is he
so happy as in noiseless charities, never
so contented as when serving others.
There is no discount upon his sterling
merit. He belongs in the resplendent
galaxy of the state's best sons. He is
a positive star in the firmament of our
stability as a commonwealth, a strong
factor in our prestige and influence as a
people. He is a guide and not a dicta-
tor, but his mature judgment justifies
the deference of imperative command.
Although a frequent attendant upon
religious services, and a firm believer in

3^7

the Deity, he is closely allied to that
great church whose sunlit aisles are
broad enough for everybody.

Dr. Greene takes correct views of
popular questions, whatever may be the
sentiment of the hour, and upon all
civic problems he is level-headed and
statesmanlike. He has always been
recognized as the strong friend of the
laboring classes and the poor, for his
beginning in life was amongst the hum-
blest, and he may rightfully be said to
be the architect of his own fortune. It
is an honor to such a man to be rich,
for his riches were acquired through a
legitimate and honorable profession, the
most exalted and ennobling calling
upon earth and amongst men, that of a
beneficent, well-read, and skilful physi-
cian. For him to have ample means is
a benefit to all, for it is his chief pleas-
ure to use them for the edification, edu-
cation, and advancement of his fellow-
men.

He abhors shams of all kinds. One
of the salient features of his life is his
frank sincerity, and his mission has
been and is to build up, to encourage,
to help mankind. He never stoops to
idle gossip about his friends and neigh-
bors. His impulses, his inspirations,
his ideals are high and commendable.

As an observant traveller through
Europe, South America, West India, Asia,
and Japan, he is replete with informa-
tion, and, being a remarkably fluent and
captivating converser, he is a most
desirable acquaintance and entertain-
ing companion. I asked him, only the
other day, what was the most startling
adventure in his army experience, and
here give his answer verbatim :

" The most memorable incident, as I
now recall my army experience, hap-
pened two or three months after the
close of the war, while my regiment was

DR. J. ALONZO GREENE.

on the way from Pueblo to Fort Leav-
enworth, to be mustered out of service.
There was no raih'oad west of the Mis-
souri river in those days, and we were
marching down the Arkansas valley.
Antelope were plentiful. Three of us
went away from camp one evening for
a midnight hunt, and became lost in
the foot-hills of the Rocky and Ratoon
mountains. My horse got lame. My
two companions left me. A storm set
in. After roaming around for four
days, sustaining myself on dried ante-
lope meat, which became so tainted
that I could not eat it, and went hun-
gry, I saw a herd of Mexican sheep and
a Mexican boy herding them. From
him I obtained food, and was shown
the trail from Sante Fe to Fort Lyon
(where now is the town of La Junta), for
which place I set out. On the way
thither I met a corporal's guard which
placed me under arrest for desertion, and
I was taken a solitary prisoner on the
journey to Fort Lyon. Wolves would
not permit of any sleep, except what I
got in the saddle. We reached Fort Lyon
after three days' travel, having been
absent from my regiment seven days.
I explained the matter to my captain
(Anderson) and the major who was in
command (Wyancope), and was excused
and sent to my company for duty.
Colonel Chivington was not with the
regiment at this time. Chivington is
now coroner at Denver. My compan-
ions were never heard from. They
were killed by the Indians, or perished
in the mountains, or deserted and suc-
ceeded in reaching the mining camps of
the Rocky mountains or the cattle
ranges of New Mexico." In a recent
conversation Dr. Greene related the fol-
lowing interesting experience while in
the United States service :

" I resided in Massachusetts when

the war broke out, and enlisted in the
Sixth Massachusetts regiment. I was
only sixteen years of age, and my father
raised severe objections. In fact, he
went to the army head-quarters, swore
that I was under age, — as I was, — and
had me discharged.

" But I was bound to go, and as soon
as school let out, I skipped from home
and started for Pike's Peak. I went
with six yoke of oxen across the
western plains to the mining districts of
Colorado, and when I reached there I
enlisted in the Second Colorado cav-
alry. That was in '63.

" Our fighting was mostly against the
Indians, although we had to meet Price
and his men a few times when they
made raids into Missouri. In 1863 I
was detailed as a scout. You see I
was the kid of the company. I was a
good rider and feared nothing, being
very young, and so was placed in this
line of work. I am one of the few men
who went into the service as a private
and came out a private."

" What was the most exciting time
you ever had, Doctor t "

"Well, that is hard to tell, but prob-
ably the one where the greatest number
of lives were lost was at Sand Creek.
We had been chasing a band of three
thousand Indians, consisting of Kiowas,
Sioux, and Choctaws, who were on the
warpath.

" We located them the night before
in this creek and fought them all day,
and when the sun went down there was
scarcely one left. There were three
regiments of us, under command of
Colonel Chivington. That morning
before we commenced the fight the
colonel came to us and said :

" ' Boys, kill everything that smells
like an Indian.'

" We obeyed him to the letter. We

DR. J. ALONZO GREENE.

had to. Men, women, and children,
three thousand of them, fell before us
on that day. They fought like demons.
They were armed with muzzle-load-
ing muskets. The men shot the guns,
and some of the women loaded them,
while the rest of the women and chil-
dren danced around a fire yelling their
fiercest whoops.

"Our men were marshalled into three
divisions. One of them was sent on one
side of the creek, which is a big ravine
in which there was little water and
formed somewhat of a basin, another
was sent on the other side, and the
third was sent to the rear of the Indians.
The company in the rear drove the
Indians to the front, while those on
either side fired into them as they
advanced from the sides. No mercy
was shown. They all fell down alike,
but they died game, fighting till the end
came.

" Did we take any prisoners ? Just
two white men named Smith. They
were Texans by birth, and to them was
due a great deal of the trouble. They
started in as traders among the Indians,
and got acquainted with them and their
ways.

"They saw there was money in kill-
ing white people and plundering their
settlements, so they stayed with the
Indians and incited them to their cruel
deeds. You can always put it down
that when you hear of trouble among
the Indians there is some white man at
the bottom of it.

" As soon as these two men reached
camp as prisoners, an officer, when
hardly any one was looking, took out
his revolver and shot them dead. The
roll had been called, and a shot at that
time attracted attention. Colonel Chiv-
ington knew what had happened, but
didn't let on, as he was glad of what

had occurred, and perhaps knew about
it beforehand. But he had to say some-
thing.

"'Boys,' said he, 'how often have I
got to tell you to be more careful with
your firearms in camps .^ Here are two
more men killed by accident.'

"And the two men were reported to
the department as accidentally shot.
That day's work, however, cost Colonel
Chivington his commission. He was
reported to the war department at
AVashington for unnecessarily massa-
cring the Indians, and he was cashiered,
or, in other words, dishonorably dis-
charged.

" What made Colonel Chivington so
ferocious was because he had lost his
wife and two children at the hands of
the Indians. They had also destroyed
some twenty villages, killed the men
and children, captured the women, tor-
tured and abused them, and mercilessly
slaughtered many.

" Colonel Chivington was a clergy-
man. He went out West with Fre-
mont's first expedition, and used to
preach among the miners. He studied
the Indian habits, and knew them well,
and when the war broke out he asked
for a commission, and raised his own
regiment. Although he was ferocious
on this occasion, he didn't forget that
he was a clergyman, and often have I
heard him gruffly call out :

" ' Boys, take off your hats while I
pray.'

"And he prayed, while we bowed our
heads in silence.

" His knowledge of Indian methods
was of great service to him in this bat-
tle. There is no question but that if
the Indians had been on their horses
they would have killed every one of us.
They are very agile and expert on horse-
back, and we would have fared badly.

REST

"The colonel knew this, and as soon
as he learned where the Indians were
he knew that their ponies must be graz-
ing loose in the fields nearby. He ac-
cordingly sent a company of officers
to find their horses, get between them
and the Indians, and stampede them in
the other direction. It worked like a
charm, and the Indians were at our
mercy.

" I went over this creek again about
six months after, and there was nothing
but the bones of the three thousand
left. The wolves had feasted on the
flesh."

Dr. Greene's standing and experi-
ence, his wealth of learning, his busi-
ness success and intellectual versatility
entitle him, as a representative man,
to a full biography, such as might well
fill a volume, but the space now allotted
for the purpose is such that I close
this article with a quotation from him,
spontaneously and unselfishly testifying
to his preeminent regard and fond
admiration for his own state of New
Hampshire, this " Switzerland of Amer-
ica."

It was the peroration of a forceful
and very eloquent speech delivered
extemporaneously at Boston on the
17th of June last, at the elegant ban-
quet of the Amoskeag Veterans, the
Putnam Phalanx, the Worcester Conti-

nentals, and friends of these organiza-
tions. His words were as follows :

" It has been my fortune to travel in
nearly all parts of the world, and I
affirm, without prejudice or partiality,
that, from the spice-laden breezes of
tropic isles, and the burning sands of
Indian Egypt, to the snow-crowned
Himalayas and the glittering frosts of
the Empire of the Czar, from the home
of the cowardly Chinese and brave
little Japs, to the land of Cleopatra
and the Golden Horn, from the dia-
mond fields of South Africa to the
Land of the Midnight Sun, — there
exists no place superior to rock-ribbed
and verdure-clad New Hampshire.
Skies are nowhere brighter, fields no-
where greener, men nowhere braver,,
children nowhere nobler, women no-
where lovelier. The sun in all its
course does not shine on more beauti-
ful lakes, more picturesque streams,
more fertile valleys, nobler mountains,
more charming dells and hillsides.
Here, throughout these dales, highlands,
and lakeshores, silvered by night under
the star-decked canopy of heaven, glori-
ous by day under the genial sunshine,
fanned by the pure health-given breezes
of nature, and arched by the blue dome
of the eternal sky, lies the garden
spot of America, the Eldorado of the
world."

REST.

By Willis Eduuin Hnrd.

Calm as a northern twilight

That gently closes down,
There comes with hope's new insight

Sweet rest without a frown.

the: IvEGEnd of john IvKvin and mary glasse.

By E. p. Tenney.
CHAPTER I.

WEET melodies
flowing down from
the sky, like rills
from the m o u n-
tains, awakened
Raymond F o o t e
from his refresh-
ing sleep in Boston jail. The prison-
er's ear was quick to discern another
voice than that of the songsters which
rested in the maples hard by.

"If there were crevices in the
firmament, I should think this song
to be celestial."

"Perhaps," he added, listening,
' ' the opening rifts of day dawn in
the overarching heaven have allowed
some angel to escape."

Eistening again, — " It is sweeter
than an angel ; it is the voice of an
old friend."

Listening again, — " Mar>^ ! Mary ! "

At the sound of the minister's
voice, Mary Glasse was startled like
a timid bird, and she returned to her
lodging. When Mary left the jail,
it was with a curious sense of fool-
ishness as well as self approbation.

"Martha," she called, "let us
hasten home. I fear that the jailor
will waken."

The faithful friend, who had just
completed her toilet at the spring,
sprang to her feet.

"Did you ever dream, Martha, of
seeing the dead ? ' '

"Yes. East night, I saw your
mother standing at your bed. But
I cannot say it was a dream. I
thought I saw her with my waking
eyes. It was just before cock-crow-
ing. And then she was lost to
me."

" It was indeed ni}' mother. This
is the second time I have seen her.
How can any one but dread to see
one's dearest friend if now she
belongs to the dead ? ' ' Mary hesi-
tated, steadied herself upon Martha's
arm, — "I thought I saw the halter-
mark. Did you see it ? "

" It was bj' that I knew her. You
know that iwy mother saw it all.
Would to God we'd never known
it."

Mary, after a long pause, an-
swered, — " It meant something that
she came, although she did not
speak. There was grief and pity in
her eyes, just as I first remember her ;
and she raised her finger, warning,
and was about to speak, when the
cock crew."

"It was," said Martha, "that
night when Mr. Levin stayed so long
that I saw her first ; but I fainted
when she moved to speak, and I
heard nothing." Then Martha stayed
a moment in her words, as if she had
no right to go farther. ' ' Was that
when you first saw her ? ' '

' ' It was that very night before

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

cock-crowing. And she bade me
thrice to befriend John Levin, nay,
to be his best friend, and to cling to
no one else ; but never to marry
him. " Then Mary stopped short,
and looked upon the ground, and
waited for words to come. " But you
know I had just engaged to marry
him, and what could I do ? "

' ' Did you engage to marry ? You
never told me that."

"I could not tell you after my
mother warned me. I would not tell
you now, but I am half beside my-
self with fear ; and half in ecstasy
with this morning's excitement,
which was more whimsical than pru-
dent. But do you know, Martha,
that I determined last night to do it
as soon as I heard of Raymond's
arrest ; for I believe John Levin had
something to do with it. And if he
did, I '11 indeed be his best friend and
tell him what I think."

" I 'm glad to hear you say that ;
for I cannot bear to have you turn
from Raymond, even in your thought,
to this handsome, dark John Levin."

" Dark, did 3'ou say ? Why, I am
dark too."

" Yes, you do look like him. But
you notice I said handsome. You
know that I always clung to you for
j^our manly beauty till the doctor
came along with his three rings."

CHAPTER II.

When Raymond Foote heard the
silence which followed his call of
"Mary," he could but regret his
speech. Next, he heard the jail-
keeper, Hodgman, and saw him
emerge, 3- awning, and rubbing his
eyes and ears . to catch sight and
sound of the unusual commotion out-
side and in.

Hodgman heard the birds still sing-
ing, — nothing more ; and since the
cawing of crows was the only bird-
music which from boyhood a.ssocia-
tion on the Saugus marshes really-
interested him, he crawled back to
bed again. Hodgman felt in good
mood to sleep this morning, and to
take his ease ; Raymond Foote being-
no poor prisoner, — thanks to his .sea-
voyaging and mercantile good wit.
With fees jingling in his mind's ears,
Hodgman slept soundly.

Raymond, having come to jail for
love of liberty, now, for the love of
having his own way, went forth from
his .somewhat shak}- prison hou.se, by
means which would have been little
approved by the royal governor, and
found his way to the hou.se of Mis-
tress Race where Mary was. He
sang no puritanical hymn, but, as
if to shock Mary Glasse's puritanical
aunt, a rollicking sailor love-song.
The niece of Mistress Race was, how-
ever, now so prudent as to make no
vocal response ; but what could the
girl do less than snatch up a hand-
kerchief and throw it out of the win-
dow, — no matter if it was Martha's.
Raymond returned with his trophy ;
and began to storm, in a voice like a
speaking-trumpet, at his jailor's door.

" It is June now. Do you mean to
sleep till January? It's last month
since I had an34hing to eat."

And opening the door he flung
coins at Hodgman's head. " Get up,
my hearty."

So the popular parson of Chebacco
broke his fast, while the bird .songs
were .still stealing in at his window.

CHAPTER III.

As the tall, broad-shouldered pris-
oner picked his teeth after breakfast.

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

standing in the sunlight, looking out
at the jail window, his large-featured,
smoothly-shaven face kindled with
sunlight from within ; for he saw
Mary Glasse approaching, and about
to enter the prison house. She too
was glad, every inch of her five feet
ten. Her spare, muscular figure
moved lithely across the unkempt
grass ; and her well-browned features
were tinged with red when she saw
Raj^mond looking at her through the
bars of the little window. Stooping
to pluck a honeysuckle, she did not
look up again till she confronted the
jailor, whose heart and the prison
door were opened easily by a small
fee.

Red and white as to his com-
plexion was Raymond Foote ; but
his whole face reddened when he
saw within easy smiling distance his
old-time acquaintance, — indeed, his
child-friend he might call her, or
"his" Mary; for had he not long
had a lingering bachelor dream that
somehow she might be his ? It had
never occurred to him that John
lyCvin, for whom he had such unsus-
pecting friendship, cared an^'thing
for Mary.

Somewhat rudely this momentar}^
dreaming was interrupted b}- his fair
visitor recalling him to his situation :
"Do you have no sense of shame,
Raymond, in being brought to jail ? "

"Yea, I am ashamed of him who
represents my king."

' ' Was it then the governor who
did it ? Was there no prompter ?
Has not John L,evin become his
bosom friend ? "

"Jack L,evin is \\\y friend. I wot
not to whom else he may be a friend.
But why mention him ? Tell me
of Mistress Race and your Glasse

Head neighbors. I hear that Martha
Dune is about to be married. Who
is the fortunate man ? ' '

" I 'd prefer to talk with you about
John I^evin, that's what I came for,
to warn you ; but it is of course more
delightful to talk of weddings. If
you have not heard of Martha and
the doctor, your Chebacco parish
mu.st be a closer place than a jail. I
would that you had been half so
ignorant of the governor's tax, which
you say is illegal."

" But, Mary, do not talk politics ;
for I am in the mood to talk about
weddings— when I see j-ou."

Mary blushed, and twirled her
honeysuckle, which .she had forgot-
ten to give to the minister. Her
mind could not quickly let go her
suspicion of John I^evin ; but she
thought it better to allude to it later.
Lifting her eyes first shyly, then
archly, Mary gave the flower to Ray-
mond.

"And don't 3'OU know Doctor Bob
Ivangdon ? ' '

"Bob Langdon? What, is he to
marry Martha ? How odd ! Well, if
that be so, I must tell you about Sue
Rand and the fortune teller."

"Tell me, then," said Mary with
curiosity all alive, and an eager,
quizzical expression. "You cannot
tell me so good a stor}' as I can tell
you, of Martha's green dress and the
doctor's black hor.se."

"The green dress? Why, that
must be a part of the same story."

' ' How ? ' '

" Well, I '11 tell my story, then you
tell yours. Who knows but they go
together and match ? And if they
do, it's as good a yarn as ever was
told at a mess-table."

"Doctor Bob, as Jack and I

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND .IL-iRY GLASSE.

alwaj'S called him, was mightily
taken b}' Sue Rand of Plymouth
Hoe, whom he met in her father's
shop not long before we sailed upon
our long cruise. He engaged him-
self to her at once. Whether she
engaged herself to him I don't
know. Perhaps it wasn't mutual.
But, according to old sea-port custom,
since he was to be gone so many
months, he left his best coat and his
watch wnth the girl till he should
return. But the East Bind did not
sail so soon as w-e expected ; so Doc-
tor Bob went ashore again to visit
Sue, — and he met her walking with
another man who wore his coat and
watch.

" Now, Bob is the most violent-
tempered good fellow in the world,
but this so struck him all aback as if
'tw^as a hurricane, that he could not
be angr^^ unless indignant with him-
self that he should be in such a boat.

" I 've heard that he so staggered
that with difhculty he turned on his
heel ; and he was like to faint, for he
loved Sue to desperation. And he 's
slow-like, you must know, to love
any bod}- ; and a trifle superstitious.

"Now, it so happened that there
was an open door off the walk behind
him, and he sailed into it. It was
Aunt Nabby White's, she who told
fortunes. As soon as he recovered
himself a bit, Doctor Bob thought he
might as well laugh as cr>^ So he
asked Aunt Nabby to tell his fortune.
She told him all about his voyage
true ; and then asked him if he did
not w'ant to see his future wife.
When he plucked up his heart and
took a peep into Aunt Nabby 's magic
mirror, he saw a very handsome
young woman, of full figure, w^earing
a green dress and a ribbon tied in a

true-love knot. The doctor paid his
money, and went to sea with all the
world before him in which to search
for that green dress, and that true-
love knot. But we never saw it ; and
the last I heard of Doctor Bob, he
was still laughing to himself, and
putting on and off green spectacles
searching for that dress and that
knot, with implicit faith in his for-
tune.

"But I never thought Martha
Dune as being capable of dressing in
green or wearing a love knot."

"Yes, she did in a frolic; when
she went two Sundaj's to Salem. She
said that she expected to meet her
fate in that green dress in Salem.
And it was there that Doctor I^ang-
don first saw her, in the meeting-
house. I remember laughing at her
for her love knot. But her dress was
becoming, and you know what a fine
figure she has. I don't w^onder the
doctor was enchanted. But Martha
told me something else, even more
strange. Haven't 3'ou heard of the
rings ? ' '

" No, only that Bob spent half his
time at sea, polishing up three rings
for his future wife."

"I believe in dreams," replied
Mary; "and Martha dreamed about
the doctor before she saw him. I
remember how she came to me that
Sunday morning before she went to
Salem, and told me with a seriously
comical face that she 'd had a vision
of her lover, who had come far over
the sea ; that she saw him riding
upon a black horse to visit her ; that
he had made love to her, and given
her three gold rings. And that very
Sunday on w-hich she went to Salem
the doctor first saw her. And the
next Sunday morning Martha had

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

the same dream ; and again she told
it to me, — on Sunday morning, mind
you, before breakfast. And upon
that ver}' Sunday afternoon after she
had returned from Salem, Doctor
Langdon came to her father's door,
riding upon a black horse ; and he
made love to Martha, and gave her
three rings, and told her that she
was fated to be his wife. And she
said that he was fated to be her hus-
band. And now they are just as
happ3' as

"As if the}'' d always known each
other, as you and I have."

This sudden turn by Raymond
silenced Mary, and set her to blush-
ing and to thinking about — John
Levin and her engagement to him :
concerning which Raymond did not
know.

Hodgman now put in his appear-
ance, with a key large enough to be
the key of knowledge, and dismissed
Mary ; and Ra3miond was left in soli-
tary- confinement, — too solitarj^ he
thought.

CHAPTER IV.

" Do you think, Martha, that it
was quite prudent in me to serenade
Mr. Foote, this morning?" asked
Mar3^ that afternoon, when they
were far upon their homeward way,
toward Manchester-by-the-sea, which
by some of the old people was still
called by its early name, Jeffrey's
Creek.

" No, I do not. You would not
catch me bouncing out of bed before
daylight to serenade a man I was not
engaged to."

"Very likely."

" Perhaps, however, you are bent
on having a quarrel with John Levin.
If so, it will not be strange if he

imagines that he has grounds for it."
"That's a fact, for I suppose he
will know it and know much more
that never happened, before night ;
for, did 3'ou not see our angel, our
lovely widow, our Adipose, hovering
near, when she returned from sitting
up with Dame Dobson ? ' '

" Oh, yes, Angelica will make sure
to tell John Levin all .she heard and
a good deal more, as soon as she can
get back to Salem. If she was not
so fat, she would be there on a broom-
stick inside of an hour. Angelica
Adipo.se is so angelic, so apt to fly
about, with that heaventy disposi-
tion of her's, I don't see how \o\\
ever survived having her for 3-our
nurse. But then she 's a good sew-
ing woman ; and you know that she
made m^^ cucumber dress — just her
taste 3'ou know — and that true-love
knot which the doctor so dotes on.
And of course I had to have her take
m3' wedding stitches for me. If she
comes to-morrow to finish me off, i
hope 3'ou '11 come over and see her."

CHAPTER V.

No sooner was Mary Glasse alone
in her father's house than she was
quite sure she had been imprudent.
She had gone too far. Too far for
what? Too far to be pleasing to
John Levin.

Then she blamed herself. Had
she not always been too .shrinking,
else ever-bold ? Too shrinking she
had been, if she had known it, as to
Raymond Foote ; who would long-
since have declared himself her lover
as well as friend, upon the slightest
encouragement or demonstration on
her part. Her impulsive self-asser-
tion of this morning, following her
instinct rather than her judgment,

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

would certainly disturb John Levin.
So thought the sensitive girl, so
easily moved hither and thither by
the l:»reath of the hour.

And she thought of it all next day,
when she pulled the weeds out of her
garden, and adorned her flower beds
with a margin of quahaug shells.
The imaginative and not quite well-
balanced Max'y fancied to herself all
that day that she had set up a see-
saw in her heart, with a new friend
at one end and an old friend at the
other. She imagined her father —
now homeward bound from Spain —
standing in her heart, not steadfast,
but adding his weight to that of John
Levin upon one side of the see-saw.

But it almost threw her off her
equipoise when she thought of her
mother, resting uneasity in her tragic
grave, and rising from it in night
visions to warn her daughter against
John Levin. Had she not schooled
herself since she had been a child to
keep this dreadful thought of her
dead mother out of her mind, ever
since her wretched and mischief-mak-
ing child nurse, Angelica, had so
injudiciously told her the horrible
story ? No wonder that she tried to
keep it out of mind, to push it out of
mind violently, and sometimes to com-
pel herself by seeming levity to speak
and act as if it were all a dream.

And then, too, there arose before
her, as she set the purple edged
shells in order!}- rows, the forms of
her two brothers, the manly Tom
and the roystering, yet sensible lad,
Jim, both asleep at- the bottom of the
sea. Had they not always loved Ray-
mond Foote ? What would they have
thought of the handsome, dark-fea-
tured stranger who had come up out
of the mysterious sea ?

Then Mary stood long upon her
own threshold, in the twilight, won-
dering whether it had been a happy
providence that vShe had fished John
Levin out of the brine with a boat-
hook at the Misery.

At the evening fireside she gazed
alternately upon dancing flames and
smouldering embers, and saw visions
forming and dissolving, — the fascinat-
ing John Levin and his great mastiff,
Raj^mond Foote imprisoned, and
Martha's wedding. And when Mary
went to her cot, it was not to sleep.
It was in that corner of the room
where her mother had slept. Who
could tell whether the dead might
revisit her daughter before morn-
ing ?

But there was that night no unwel-
come ghastly return to the old home
of one torn from it by violence, and
no warning finger raised to quench
the flaming of Mary's heart which
finally centered — for the night — upon
her accepted lov^er with whom she
was to " stand up " at Martha Dune's
marriage with the doctor.

Wide-awake, after brief napping in
the small hours, Mary went out to
watch the delicate tints of the day-
dawn stealing up from the heart of
the sea.

Can it be said of her, any more
truh' than of her mother before her,
and of the 3'oung women of ' a thou-
sand generations, that the earl}' hours
brought pleasant fancies concerning
her tall, lithe-limbed lover, whose
muscular vigor had so pleased her
father ? Of simple ways and ignorant
of the world was Mar}', of strong
sympathy, and with penetrative
powers little experienced or disci-
plined. Not accustomed to asking
herself questions, or to analyzing her

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

own moods, she could l)ut wonder at
the strong hold John I^evin had upon
her and the hold she certainly had
upon him.

His deep affection, and her own,
did not stand in doubt. vShe loved
him when she first saw him dripping
on her boat hook. And his eyes had
never ceased to center upon her from
that day to this. But now, when she
thought of actually fulfilling her
plighted word to marry, there was
the vision of her w^arning mother,
and there was a strange heart quak-
ing ; and she did not believe that
she should ever be his wife. No
uplifted finger out of the unseen
world could, however, disturb the
serenity of her deep, passionate love
for this strange man who had come
so recently from over the sea, to
whom she believed herself to be
allied as a friend if not a wife by
foreordaining heaven. She could at
this particular moment no more
argue and philosophize, and inquire
whether her love was preceded by
faith in the man, than she could
tell why the purpling east and the
hues of the roses in her garden grati-
fied her eye and made her heart
glow. Did she need to know much
about the chemical analysis of the
sun in order to rejoice in his light ?

" Mr. Levin and I are so like and
yet so unlike," she said aloud in
talking with herself, "that we can
be of infinite help to each other. So,
indeed," she added slowly, weighing
every word, "unless there are deeps
upon deeps in his nature which I can
never fathom."

Concerning him who stood upon
the other end of the see-saw, which
Mary was now conscious that she
had erected in her heart, she said to

herself that she had always main-
tained friendliness, — friendliness, not
love. At times, indeed, a glow of
warmth had kindled in her impet-
uous nature when she had been in
Raymond's presence.

" Had I not drawn John lycvin out
of the sea, who could have foretold
what I might have said if Raymond
Foote had spoken to me in words of
fire and with heart leaping, as John
Levin did ? ' '

Since Mary's imprudent caroling
with the birds and her early visit to
a prisoner whom she first knew^ when
she was two years old, she was sure
that Raymond Foote loved her in his
calm, undemonstrative way. But
how was it, she asked, that he w^ho
was a sailor still, even in the pulpit,
could be so subdued and fearful, in
her presence ? Perhaps he loved her
too much to treat his affection with
that levity which he sometimes put
on, — for example, toward Hodgman.

CHAPTER VI.

"Are you here so early?" asked
Martha, touching Mary's dark tresses
with her finger tips.

And they stood, with arms about
each other, gazing out over the
gleaming sea.

" How is it, Martha, that you can
marry so soon one whom j'ou have
known for so short a time ? I under-
stand that you can love, but how can
you marry ? ' '

"It is fated that I should. And,
too, what is better, we are perfectly at
one. I do not now think of my girl-
hood freedom, but the happy life
inside of a wedding ring."

" Unhappy am I, then, for I told
Mr. Levin that I would marry, but I
can never think of a definite day, or

LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

month, or even 3'ear, when I will
do it. I love him, but, strangely
enough, I love him as I would
another person, not as if he were
any part of my person. I think of
him as I would of a near relation,
just as I do of you, only infinitely
more so ; but I cannot think of him
as the other half of my own true self.
I love him dutifully, passionateh',
and would lay down m}' life for
him."

'; But, Martha," she added, with
tears glistening in the rising sun,
"what would you do to-daj^ if you
did not have implicit faith in the doc-
tor, as the basis for 3'our love to
repose upon? Perhaps at bottom
that 's wh}' on my part I rebel at my
word given to Mr. lyCvin so hastih^
and heartily. My love starts up
restlessly and almost flies away,
when I think of absolutely trusting-
John Levin. If it were not so horri-
ble a thing to say, I should picture
myself to you as a creature fa.sci-
nated bj' him, charmed by his eyes,
from which I can never free mj'self, —
but I trust him no more than a bird
would a black snake. I know that
he loves me devotedly. But aside
from his love for me and his love for
himself, he has not, that I can dis-
cover, a particle of love for any other
being in the universe, unless a min-
gled half love and half dutiful respect
for his mother."

"Well, Mary, what do you want
of a lover who has a love for being,
as our minister says, a universal
love for all possible creatures in all
worlds? I 'm amply contented if the
doctor hates everybod}' except my-
self."

"Mary! Mary!" now called a
A'oice like a fog-horn, "Mary! why

do n't you come aaid fry them eels ? "
It was the voice of Skipper James
Glasse, returned from the Spanish
main. And Mary started to fly to
her father.

"Why, Mar}^ how do you do? "
eagerly asked the widow Angelica,
meeting Mary as she turned about.
"Can't you fry enough for four, — at
least one eel apiece ? I am getting
hungry.' '

"But you are fat enough," inter-
rupted Martha, "and oily enough,
and slippery enough, to get on with-
out hanging about James Glasse's
eel-kettle at this time of dzy. Come
over to the mountain ; and there fast
with me and my sisters three."

And the Mrs. Dr. Langdon, about
to be, thereupon undertook to march
off the widow, whose needle must fly
swiftly before the next neighing at
her door of the doctor's black horse.

' ' I guess you are satisfied now, ' '
said the widow to Mary, coming to a
stand-still for a moment and looking
back over her shoulder, ' ' that what
I told you is true, that John L,evin
was going to put a stop to your flirt-
ing with Raymond Foote by putting
him into jail. Wh}' don't 3'ou get
married at once, and make an end of
it ? He will, I trow, make you march
straight when you are once married."

CHAPTER VII.

Had Dr. Robert Langdon, when
he stood up to be married, been less
than four feet in circumference, it
would have been less noticeable that
he was less than five feet high.

"And Martha, too," the physician
had been careful beforehand to tell
John Levin, "has a remarkably well-
proportioned physique, — five feet two
by two feet five."

72 LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

This was, however, in the doctor's
eye, to which the balance and beauty
of his wife lacked nothing. Her true
height being five feet six, it never
would have done for her epigramatic
husband to have described her chest
as six feet five, although she did
measure half that, when accoutered
for calling upon her neighbors.

Martha was truly magnificent, if
the etymological significance of the
adjective be noted ; Langdon's let-
ter to lycvin picturing her as having
blue eyes, high, arching brows, and
long lashes, not too thickly set ; with
features full and broad betvveen eyes
and mouth ; with nostrils adapted to
easy breathing ; a generous mouth
with fine lips, and a pointed chin ;
for a woman, very square shouldered
and deep chested ; her arms muscu-
lar, and hands and feet equal to a
good day's work without weariness.

"Who," confidentially asked lyang-
don of lycvin at least once a week,
" ever saw so restful a face to gaze
upon, or one more fully informed by
light and love, by cheerful faith, nim-
ble wit, high courage, and reserved
power ? ' '

Indeed, after that wedding was
over, the doctor rarely talked about
the weather to John, but, instead of
a " Good morning," he would say, —
" My bright-eyed wife says," or " my
cheery helpmeet says," — "and I
think so too."

It is l)ut fair to add that the
rotundity of Dr. I^angdon never in
the least detracted from his dig-
nity. Who of Martha's friends to
whom he was a stranger, could fail
to notice the size of his well-propor-
tioned head, adorned by short, curl-
ing jet-black hair and beard ; his
generous, intelligent features, marked

by penetration and apparent good
judgment ; his shoulders so power-
ful, and chest so immen.se, as to
make his waist appear to be not
unusually large ; and his whole frame
made alive b}' his long, swinging,
sinewy arms, and quick-moving,
massive lower limbs ? How could
Martha, who never remarked upon
the personal appearance of her hus-
band, but take pride in a certain
delicacy of the doctor's hands and
feet, as if his grandfathers in far-off
generations had not been obliged to
toil and trade like common folk ?

What could be more beautiful than
the words of Martha, in her serene
old age after death had divided her
from her husband, — " We two were
always upon the same side, being one
and not two so far as related to all
outside ourselves."

As to their wedding garments, the
doctor was always so well dressed
that it was not eas}' to remember
what he wore. His face and words,
his personality, took off attention
from his clothing. Martha's raiment
was tidy if not tasteful ; her taste
having been made up for her by the
gaudy and tawdry widow Adipose.

But the twain most noteworthy at
the wedding, were John Levin and
Mary Glasse. With coal-black ej-es,
deep set, and glowing like coals
when kindled ; long lashes ; shaggy
brows, fringing a prominent fore-
head ; hair black, and dressed with
care ; a highly-bridged, thin nose,
with nostrils alive at every breath ;
a small, mobile mouth, with lips of
high color, and compressed when in
repose ; his smoothly-shaven lower
face not prominent but well rounded ;
small ears far set back ; of dark com-
plexion ; of agile limbs ; of powerful

LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND ]\L4RY GLASSE.

framework, light, well-knit, and
fineh' proportioned ; a man so quick
motioned withal, as to carry the
impression of being always upon the
alert : so stood John Levin,— six feet
four. And Mary Glasse was so
nearly his image, as to be called by
others by the name he best loved,
"My Alter- Ego."

But he was at least thirty-five,
looking ten ^-ears younger ; and she
was eighteen, looking as mature if
not as old as he. She did not appear
to strangers to be lacking in experi-
ence ; and he looked so guileless
upon this wedding day, that no one
could have dreamed his life story.

'iThere was no one who could keep
his eyes off John Levin and Mary
Glasse when they addressed each
other. Their faces were so animated
that the blood came and went, and
every emotion rippled upon the sur-
face, so that even James Glas.se said
that " looking at 'em 's like watchin'
the livin' sea."

Nothing could be more apparent
than their mutual affection. With the
older, it was an intense passion, mas-
terful when in Mary's presence ; but
her love was apparently tempered if
true, and there was sometimes a
shadow of distrust or withholding of
confidence in jest or earnest. Mary
kept her lover aloof, or played him
at will, as served her fancy. She
was a girl, the world was before her.
He was a man, and so much of the
world was behind him that he knew
his mind.

It cannot be said that the grooms-
man and bridesmaid used this wed-
ding occasion for paying their atten-
tions to each other in the hour set apart
for the doctor and Martha ; but they
were so attractive to every one who

set eyes upon them that none could
do otherwise than to watch them ;
and everybody said, who. had seen
John Levin before, that there never
was a man more transformed by his
love than John Levin ; who other-
wise was so cold, so undemonstra-
tive, so secretive, .so unreadable, as
to be called a social iceberg, — unless,
now and then, it served him a good
turn to be affable.

And Tom Wimbleton went so far
as to say, " I s'pose it sarves John
Levin some kin' of turn to make love
to Skipper Gla.sse's daughter. 'T aint
much money the skipper's got, but
there's the flakes and sixteen boat."
The wedding of course was no
more and no less hilarious than was
pleasing to Elder Perkins, the magis-
trate.

" What a pity," said the doctor to
his bride, "that Raymond Foote, in-
stead of being here on this 303'ous
occasion, is chained to his bedpost
in jail."

' ' But he ought not to resist the
king," replied his loyal lady.

"The clerical jail-bird," quoth
Farmer Goadby, "can ill afford to
trifle with our royal governor."

"But I did not tell you, Mr.
Levin," said Mary Glasse, " that my
conscience led me to consult the min-
ister more than once when I was in
Boston." And she looked archly for
the effect of her words.

" Yes, I heard about your serenad-
ing him in the small hours of the night,
when modest girls are asleep," inter-
posed the widow Angelica Adipose,
sharply, making sure that John
Levin should look at her when she
said it.

"It is indeed a very serious mat-
ter, that has brought my shipmate to

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

sorrow," gravel}- answered Mr.
Levin, with a slight flush stealing
over his dark features.

And the brown cheeks of Mary
Glasse glowed a little with strange
fires.

So ended the wedding at Peter
Dune's, at the foot of the crag, upon
the west of Norton's mountain.

CHAPTER VIII.

"All, Doctor," said L,evin next
day, in Langdon's office, "I would
give all the world if I were fixed as
you are. But Mary will consent to
set no day ; she is restless, aggravat-
ing, untamable, and beautiful as a
thousand leagues of ocean. I am
tortured by her, but can no more
leave her than our planet can cease
to circle round the sun."

Dr. lyangdon was one of those
beings who fancied that he knew
John Levin ; or that he might come
to know him. And he believed that
his illustrious patient (who had at
this time no particular ailment,
save that he was always wanting to
see his doctor, chat with him, and
upon some pretense pay him large
fees,) imparted to him now and then
a tithe of information that could be
relied upon, as to the true nature of
John Levin ; and many were the
days which came and went before he
made up his mind that he knew abso-
lutely nothing about him.

For the present, the doctor believed
himself to be, to all intents and pur-
poses, his patient's peculiar and
confidential friend. It was probably
on this account that, surgeon as he
was, the doctor was alwa^'S probing
John Levin's heart as if for a bullet.
But to all the doctor's suggestions,
whether interrogatory or dogmatic,

John Levin went rattling on, this
way or that, as if what he said was
complete answer ; and he did it in
tones so sincere as to pass unques-
tioned. And it was a long, long
time before the doctor was led to
believe that Levin's social or confi-
dential talk was solely for his own
diversion for the hour, and that noth-
ing certain could be known thereb}'
about his real opinions or emotions, —
that he might or might not be reveal-
ing his interior life.

Was there ever a man to whom it
was so amusing as to John Levin, to
pose in a thousand attitudes before
those whom he called his friends,
each confidential ; and in the most
secret manner, tone, word, represent
himself to be what he was not ?

This served one important end.
There was much truth at bottom of
what he said ; his own true life was
perhaps unveiled in its most dreadful
secrets ; but so much that was not
true was ostensibly unveiled to
this or that one who fancied himself
Levin's most intimate friend, that the
narrator himself looked upon himself
simply as an ink fish, darkening all
waters around him and escaping
whence, how, whither, he himself
could never tell.

Amid his masterly mercantile tran-
sactions and professional triumphs,
which so astonished his contempora-
ries, Mr. Levin so "diverted" his
mind by a mingling of lies and truth-
telling, deception and frankness, that
this "amusement," as he called it
when talking to himself, smacked of
mental aberration.

But there was one thing that he
could b}^ no act conceal, it was his
love for Mary Glasse, which became,
when he was thirty-five years old,

LEGEND OF JOHN LE\7N AND MAR)' CLASSE.

the mastering passion of his life ;
although, in all he said about it to
any one, he may, or he may not have
truthfully represented his own life.
Much of it must have been true ; and
much was certainh^ invented to please
the fanc}' of the hearer.

When, therefore, Dr. L,angdon
undertook to probe the heart of his
" friend," John Levin, for his secret,
as he would probe for a bullet endan-
gering life, the shipping merchant,
the law3-er, knew how to answer him.

"It's plain enough," replied the
doctor to Levin's assertion that
Mary would not marry him at any
definite time, "that you gravitate
toward Mary ; and that the centrifu-
gal forces of your soul are held in
check b}^ the centripetal impellation
of your being toward hers. But if
she fails to be regulated by the prin-
ciples and laws which actuate all
true celestial bodies, she mu.st in
time fail to put forth influences so
potent as now, and then the centrifu-
gal forces of your soul will impel )'ou
to fly to some other center of attrac-
tion, — for example, to the widow
Adipose."

"Confound your science, Lang-
don ; and confound the widow^ You
know me too well to trifle when I
need your help. You are married at
last, married bj' magic and triple
rings. There was a time in which I
thought I should make of 3'ou as
great a rake as myself; but now I
thank heaven that you were a better
man than I took you for. But what
am I to do ? You know me for bet-
ter and for worse, — for the worse
mostl}'.

" Now I swear to 3'ou, Doctor, by
the red ring of Ulla, that Mary
Glasse has it in her power to change

my whole life, — to change my heart,
as the doctors of divinity say, and to
make me a new creature, as St. Paul
says. You know how long it is
since I have believed in God, for
any certainty, but I have profound
faith in Mary Glasse. She is a
divinity to me. It is no more po.ssi-
ble for me in her presence to think of
those passions which are most de-
grading than it is possible for me to
have evil thoughts in the presence of
my mother, — God lengthen her hon-
ored days."

" But John," said the surgeon, " I
do not understand that you are now
where you were a year ago in respect
to foolish courses of life."

" I tell you. Doc, that I am under
the reign of natural law. I have
formed habits more powerful than
tho.se forces which impel the sun. I
can no more change my currents of
thought and action than j^ou can call
Orion out of the skies, or chain the
bear in his walk about the pole.

" Now^ Mary Glasse, — hear me,
man, do not look so drowsy, man, —
Mary Glasse is so much of a true
divinit}' that she has changed my
whole habit of thought and life.
Her influence over me is miraculous.
But all this is onl}- for such time as I
am with her, or when I ' have faith '
in her. When she puts me off, as to
our marriage, or goes to fooling with
Parson Foote — the powers of dark-
ness overtake him — then I straight-
way tumble to pieces, and all is over
wdth me till she is again ' gracious.' "

"Ah, I see," said the doctor,
' ' }■ our divinity studies still influence
your phrases in the worship of your
goddess."

" I curse the divinity I used to
know, but no power can persuade me

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

that there is not something divine in
Mary Glasse. I sometimes think the
God-head I finall}' lost at Hardwick
has reappeared in mj-riad forms.
Possibly, although it 's hard to think
it, you yourself may be a fragment
of deity, and Martha too — God bless
her. But Mary Glasse," —

" I^evin, if you don't stop this
' Mary Glasse,' ' Mary Glasse,' ' Mary
Glasse' repetition, I'll have her
arrested and hung for a witch, that I
will."

"Ah, man, but you are married.
I w^ould that I could invite you to
my wedding. L,et 's liquor."

After the toddy, John Levin left ;
and the doctor was slightly puzzled.
There was a slight insincerity in
Levin's later words, which made him
uncertain as to what else had been
said : " He 's the same old sea-dog,
I warrant."

CHAPTER IX.

No sooner had Mr. Levin left the
doctor's ofhce than Myra, the maid,
came in ; and the doctor told her to
be seated until he could find his
stump-puller. In the anguish of her
toothache she sat down upon the doc-
tor's new hat.

' ' What did you do that for ? "

"I did not mean to," whimpered
the girl.

' ' Did not mean to ! What did you
do it for, then ? ' '

Myra hung her head and cried.

' ' You never did sit down upon ni}'
hat before, what makes 3'ou com-
mence to form the deleterious habit
now ? Can't j'ou speak, girl? "

"I'm so .sorry. I'll buy you
another one."

"Buy me another? You can't,
unless I give you the money, and do

you suppo.se I shall be such a fool as
to do that? But what's the odds?
You've spoilt this particular hat."
The doctor took it up, and looked at
it, and then tried to take the crush
out of it with his fist. " If you take
my money and purchase a new one,
you '11 make a cushion out of that
one before night, I wager. I never
saw such stupidity."

The doctor was now white with
rage. Myra trembled like a leaf.

Three rings were now placed upon
the doctor's shoulder ; Myra began
to laugh hy.stericall}^ when she saw
her mistress's hand extended toward
her fuming, .sputtering husband, with
a quiet, but determined air, as if she
was about to lift off a steaming tea-
kettle. The doctor, liardl}- feeling
the gentle pressure, turned himself
about in a slow and dignified man-
ner, and took his wife's hand, —

"What did I say, Martha ? "

•' Nothing my love, but I have just
prepared the confections you are .so
fond of. And I was going to ask
you to go out into the garden with
me to taste the sweetmeats."

" Precede me, and I will come sub-
.sequently."

"Not so. Will you take prece-
dence, as you alwa^'s do, — when we
go to meeting, for instance ? ' '

Stumping along a little ahead of
her like a fore-runner, as he com-
monly did upon the .street, the doctor
went to the garden with the confec-
tion cook.

" Do 3'ou know, my adorable one,
that your saline properties have a
tendency to exercise a valuable con-
serving influence upon society, and
so, indirectly, upon the age ? But
3^ou will bear with me, my good
angel, if I say what it is not becom-

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

iiig in a husljaud to sa}', that the salt
of the earth is improved by the addi-
tion of pepper. I could not love you
more if I shoukl try ; but I should
esteem ^-ou more highly and hold
you in more lofty regard, if possible,
had 3-ou been endowed with a fiery,
na}', a furious temper like mine."

" But you know that we 've agreed
to be opposites, so that what I lack
you '11 have, and what you lack I '11
have. I do not need, therefore, to be
fuss}^ and particular and out of sorts
about small things ; although I do
think that my good husband ought
to be spirited if things go wrong."

"Yes, I had forgotten that we
were to be as unlike as possible, in
order that, as two halves made one,
we might present to the admiring
world of Juniper Point, a full-orbed
state of perfected matrimonial bliss."

" I am so proud to be united to a
spirited, even if a pepper}-, family.
You've often told me that your
ancestors were of volcanic and earth-
quaky and hurricanic temperament.
I believe those were the adjectives."

"And I, on my part, am perfectl}"
hilarious upon m^' good fortune in
being allied to one of opposite tem-
perament, — one who can take me off
when I boil over."

" I ahvaj'S think of you, my be-
loved physician, as I think of the
green, restful, wholesome w^orld we
live upon, as having such qualities
that we can put up with .storms now
and then, which, after all, help clear
the air."

"And I always think of you, as I
told John Levin, as being a genuine
goddess who has stepped out of the
world's golden age, with no particu-
lar studies, pursuits, learning, or
mission, but b}- nature having the

perfection of every grace which lends
a charm to life."

"And pra}' what did Mr. Levin
say, when you told him that ? "

" I do n't think he appreciates you.
He went on, and just doted on Mary
Glasse. Now I think that Marj-
Glasse has nothing very uncommon
about her, that ,so great a man, as he
is, should run on so. John Levin is
a genius. I should think all the
women in the world would fall in
love with him. But Mary Glasse" —

" Why, Robert, Mary is far supe-
rior to me. Her endowments are
wonderful, I think. But I do not
see anj'thing for a woman to run
after in John Levin, he can't stand
comparison for a moment with Ray-
mond Foote, not to mention my bub-
bling and tempestuous leach."

"We are indeed opposites, if that
be your mind as to John and Mary.
Let's drop the subject, and be at
one, upon at least one thing to-day."

" Seriou.sly, my dear, do you think
that John Levin expects that Mary
Gla.sse will ever marr}- him ? "

"Why not? vShe will, unless she
be daft.

' ' W^hat makes you admire John
Levin so ? "

' ' How can I tell you off-hand ? I
should have to write a book to tell
3-ou a tithe of what 's admirable in
my friend. But, pray tell me, on
your part, if you know, how John
Levin came to be enamored of Mary
Glasse? I never could find out."

' ' Raymond Foote introduced him
to Mary, when she rescued him from
the tide-wash. John Levin's bod}^
would have been swept off b}' the
river under the sea if Marj- had not
hooked him out. He was literally
caught upon her hook. Raymond

78 ESTHER'S DEFENCE.

Foote, less exhausted than Mr. Levin, him, so John saj-s. I don't fanc}-

helped himself out the brine, that so her, but I want him to be suited ;

nearly pickled them both ; and he at and I wish you would try to per-

once introduced John to Marj-." suade her."

" Very romantic. And, still, now "There's Mary, coming out ""of

that she's got him, she won't marry the house, now."

[to be continued.]

ESTHER'S DEFENCE.'

By Emilia E. Br own.

Since those far-off days when Mason came.

And Fernando Gorges of old-world fame

To found on Piscataqua's rock-bound shore

A " royal province " (not only in name ! )

With its sure, safe harbor and bounteous store

Of nature's wealth in fish and game —

" New Hampshire's Daughters," stanch and strong,

Have left their record in story and song.

And we never tire to hear them told —

Those valiant deeds of the days of old,

When dangers threatened on every hand

The lives and homes of that little band

Of pioneers— brave, patient, strong.

Unfading laurels to those belong

Who pushed their way through the pathless wood

Undaunted in faith and fortitude.

Till among the Granite Hills at length

Rose our little state in beauty and strength.

And, helping always a tireless band, —

Through the bye-gone j-ears we see them stand.

New Hampshire's Daughters, stanch and strong,

Leaving their record in story and song.

There was Hannah Dustin and Molly Stark

And many another of shining mark.

But among the names that are handed down

From sire to son with their wide renown —

Among the man}^ I think of one

Who faced the enemy all alone ?

1 Read before " New Hampshire's Daughters " at Hotel Vendome.

ESTHER'S DEFENCE. 79

A frail and slender woman, they said,

Was this Esther Jones with her clear, wise head,

But she always knew what was best to do —

That rare, fine gift bestowed on the few !

And to Esther it was that every man

In the garrison came for the wisest plan

Of guiding the colony, day by day,

And keeping the savage tribes at bay —

For whatever she said they always knew

Was the best and the safest thing to do.

The planting, one time, had been long delayed,
Because of a treacherous Indian raid
And when, at last, it could safely be done
If they worked together till set of the sun,
She bade them go and leave her on guard
In the garrison fort, well bolted and barred.

So with loaded guns they had gone away —
Man, woman, and child, from the fort that day,
And Esther alone in the garrison stood.
Surrounded each side by the dense pine wood ;
The nearest house was miles away.
And the savage tribes in ambush lay
Near the forest path, but she knew no fear —
This dauntless Esther who waited here !

The long, long day is nearing its close.

When — hark ! — a wild shriek ! — and Esther knows

The wily foe at length have guessed

How weak is the fort ! She must do her best —

She must rally all her wits to the front.

For 't is she alone wdio must bear the brunt

Of this savage raid — they are coming fast,

And she knows each moment may be her last.

But, undismayed, she challenges all
The murderous host, and her figure tall
Arra)'ed in her husband's coat and hat
Eooks now from this loop-hole, now from that.
While with gun in hand they can hear her call
To Peter, to John, to Henry, to Paul,
And a host of others, as if there stood
Beside her a stalwart brotherhood
Of valiant warriors ! — With puzzled mien
The Indians pause — and while they wait.
As if hypnotized, there by the gate.

THE SUNSET LAND.

A troop of well-armed men is seen
Hemming them in on ever}- side,
While a panic seizes them far and wide !

The planting was over ere set of the sun,

And an easy victory now is won.

Brave Esther Jones ! — till the da}' was done

Alone she had held the fort ! Among

New Hampshire's Daughters, stanch and strong,

Let her name be known in story and song.

THE SUNSET LAND.
By Bela CJiapin.

Far away o'er the hills lies the sunset clime

That in vision we sometimes behold ;
That in fancy we build or weave into rhyme

When the clouds are all burnished with gold.

From those radiant hills that afar off extend,
From those plains and blossoming vales,

Sweet odors, the incense of flowers, ascend,
And are wafted along on the gales.

There the gayest of creatures of bird-kind throng,

In the hues of the rainbow arrayed ;
And they fill all the valleys and meadows with song,

Every forest and evergreen glade.

There the soft, clear streams unmurmuring flow
Through meads, over crystalline sand ;

And the rose-hued skies are mirrored below —
The glittering skies of the sunset land.

Oh, the sunset land is brighter than this
Where we live, where w-e labor, and die ;

' Tis a foregleam, perhaps, of the bright world of bliss
Where the purified dwell upon high.

':./^<^^^

:~ts^m,

Hilltop, N. H., Nov. — , 1S95.

My " Mentor " : Can I not imag-
ine your expression when the date of
this letter meets 3'our eye? Don't I
know how scorn scintillates from
every part of your majestic being ?
Ah, but too well! "And so," you
say, "you are back there again,
singeing your wings, like a foolish
moth, in the light that probably does
not burn for ^-ou at all." Even so,
my dear boy, but with all due respect
to your intellect, I would call your
attention _ to the fact that you sa^'
"probably," and I propose to give
myself the benefit of the doubt.

In the mean time, here I am, and
I have been listening this evening to
a story that has not left me in a par-
ticularly somnolent mood, hence this
letter, though it is already past
midnight. I am going to tell you
the stor}', but in deference to your
orderly habits, I will begin properlj',
by giving you a brief resume of some
of the causes (apparent) of my being
here. Prominent among them, is the
following letter, which I received a
few days ago :

Hilltop, Nov. — , 1895.
My dear Fellow: I hope you haven't
forgotten that you gave your promise last
summer to make one of our party on Thanks-
giving day. I write to remind you that we
have not forgotten, and hope you will not
disappoint us. There will be only a small
party of us, and we shall keep our Thanks-
giving very quietly. Come up into the hills
and see what the country is like in winter.
You will find it pretty cold, but I can assure
you of a warm welcome from a//.
Faithfully yours,

R. Gray.

Yesterday morning found me en
route for Hilltop. What did I under-
stand you to say ? Was it not a fine
opportunit}' for a " poor but desen'-
ing" landscape painter? Wh}' not
kindly regard it purel}' in the light
of a business trip ? Remember that
I have never been in the country in
America except in summer, and
could get some hints on tints and
coloring that might be invaluable to
me in working up my academy
picture.

I do n't propose to gratify 3'ou by
informing j^ou at what unearthly
hour the train left, but the sun had
not melted the frost on the platforms
and car rails. Men hurried past with
their shoulders drawn up, and their
hands in their pockets; boys didn't

THE DOCTOR'S THANKSGIVING STORY.

beset you for a "shine," and news-
boys stamped their feet and blew
their cold fingers. The passengers
who came hurrjung in, all looked
cold and discontented I noticed.
Strange, I thought ! I had been
repeatedly told by anxious friends
that it was a strange time to go into
the country on a sketching trip, and
I felt the exultation of one who has
overcome all unworthy obstacles,
and triumphantly has his own wa^'
in spite of them ; and as the train
steamed rapidly out of town and into
the open country, I leaned forward
and watched the long series of pic-
tures, that seemed to flit past the
meadows, with a sense of keen
enj03'ment that made me smile at
myself it was so boyish.

It was all so strangel}^ different
from anything I had ever seen, —
like a series of pale sketches in
sepia after brilliant paintings, 3'et it
was very beautiful, and there was
color here too, but in softened, sober
shades. The frost lay thick and
white along the fences and across
the level fields ; the trees stood bare
and gray, wdth the infinitely deli-
cate tracery of their branches outlined
clearly against the pale sky. Every-
thing looked cold, — even the sunshine
seemed thin and pale and ineffect-
ual, and presently disappeared alto-
gether behind a film of gra}* cloud,
that spread gradually over all the
sky.

A tall man, in a gray coat, re-
marked in a cynical voice, as if crea-
tion in general, and the passengers
in particular, were responsible for
the fact, that it " was goin' to snow
before night." And in an hour or
two the snow began to fall ; a few
large flakes drifted dowai in a leis-

urely, purposeless way, and a little
later others came with a little flurry
at first, then falling fast and steadih'
in a determined, businesslike way
that soon showed substantial results.
The fences put on ermine, and ever}'
common tree and bush and shrub
was transfigured ; the telegraph lines
beside the track were long ropes of
eider down, and the mountains,
which we were fast approaching,
were all misted with white, thin and
lovely as a bridal veil.

Passengers came in from time to
time powdered thickly wdth the soft,
cold particles, and looking as if that
were the last straw added to their
accumulated load of discomforts. I
have noticed that the onlj^ people
who appreciate discomforts, which
happen at the same time to be pic-
turesque, are those to whom the nov-
elty compensates for the inconven-
ience. Nevertheless, I enjoj-ed
with unflagging interest the beauti-
ful transformations which were tak-
ing place before my very eyes, until
it grew too dark to see.

Not until then did I remember that
I had a stage-ride of some four or five
miles to take at the end of my rail-
way journey, and begin to appreciate
my fellow-travellers' objections to the
picturesque. But I had roughed it
too much in my various sketching
trips to be much dismaj'ed hy the
prospect, and, indeed, I had not
time, for the conductor threw open
the door, at that point in my reflec-
tions, with a slam that admitted a
good deal of cold air and a small
avalanche of snow% as well as him-
self, and called the name of a town,
which by courtesy we accepted as
English, but which might as well
have been Hindostanee, for all evi-

THE DOCTOR'S THANKSGIMNG STORY.

dence our ears gave to the contrary.
But, as the announcement was ac-
companied b}' a jerk of the head in
my direction, and the beckoning of
a grimy finger, both of which were
intelHgible, I picked up my grip,
turned up the collar of my coat, and
prepared to face the outside world,
which seemed to be in a very bad
temper just then, judging from visi-
ble evidences.

My usual good fortune did not
desert me, however, for the first per-
son whom I encountered was the
stage-driver, who had, evidently,
been instructed to look out for me,
for he inquired at once " Be you the
feller that's goin' to Dr. Gray's?"

I assured him of my identity with
that ' ' feller, ' ' and was piloted across
a platform to a long, low vehicle, —
evidently the stage, — and a ver}- com-
fortable conveyance it w^as too.

Apparently he expected no other
passengers, for we started at once,
and we went on and on, I have no
idea how far or how long, for the
storm seemed to grow thicker every
moment, and through the blinding
drift of flakes I could see onl}^ a long,
white opening, between dark, snow-
laden trees, and, now and then, a
light from a farm-house window. By-
and-by one shone out, bright and
clear, high above the others, and the
driver turned to me, and pointed
with his whip,—" There 's Hilltop,"
he said briefly.

It was an entirely superfluous piece
of information, for I had been watch-
ing it for five minutes, — trust the
' ' moth ' ' to find his light !

A little later we drove up at the
door of what seemed the white ghost
of a house, but a ghost with the
familiar outlines I remembered so

well. The door was thrown open at
once, and Rex ran down the steps to
meet me, and the promise of a warm
welcome from all was fully made
good. However, as this cannot be of
interest, I will pass very briefly over
what followed — merely remarking
that to an ordinary mortal, like ni}'-
self, it w^as thoroughl}^ delightful.

Supper over, w^e adjourned to the
sitting-room, and gathered round the
large, open wood- fire for a cosy,
social evening. It seemed that I
w^as the onl}- one of some half-dozen
invited guests who had had the cour-
age to face the storm. I readily
forgave their lack of perseverance,
and mentally blessed the storm as I
glanced around our snug little circle.

I had brought along a portfolio of
Florida sketches I made last winter,
intending to finish up tw^o or three of
the best for Mrs. Gray and Virginia,
and naturalh' the conversation turned
on Florida, and Dr. Gray asked,
apropos of a little sketch of the pine
barrens, if I had ever witnessed a
forest fire on the pine lands. I re-
plied in the negative, and expressed
a regret that I had failed to see what
I had so often heard about while I
was there, and he answered quickly
" Never regret it, but thank God
you w^ere spared the sight. You
have no idea of the terrible, irresist-
ible might of such a fire or the speed
with which it travels. It is more
fiendish, more awful and devilish
than anything I ever saw\"

He spoke with strong feeling, and
I fancied that Mrs. Gray grew a
little pale. There was a moment's
silence, and then he turned to his
wife, — " Mary, shall I tell him what
happened fifteen years ago to-day? "
She assented a little reluctantly I

THE DOCTOR'S THANKSGIVING STORY.

fancied, and he seemed in no haste
to begin, but drew his chair a httle
more into the shadow, and sat
silently stroking his beard and gaz-
ing into the fire.

"You may not know," he said at
length, "that my wife is southern-
born, but thereon hinges my story,

to the south again after the war was
over.

"We were married, and I began
practice in her native town. During
the years we remained in the south
we frequently passed the winter
months on a little plantation we
owned in the Florida pine lands, and

as it was the cause of many years of
our early married life being spent in
the south. Her home was in Vir-
ginia, and the regiment of northern
soldiers in which I went as surgeon,
was quartered for many weeks near
her father's plantation. During that
time I learned many things which it
is,, perhaps, needless to enumerate —
most people learn them sooner or
later — but w^hich caused me to return

it was while we were there that I
became acquainted with this stor}'
which I am going to relate to you, —
in fact, this is the anniversary of the
daj^ on which it happened.

' ' Fifteen years ago this morning,
two children, — a little girl of four
years, and the colored girl who had
care of her, and who was called Sip,
partly on account of her unusual
blackness, and partly as a convenient

THE DOCTOR'S THANKSGIVING STORY.

shortening of her proper name, started
out to walk across the pine lands to
a plantation about two or three miles
distant.

" Sip had been sent on an errand,
and, as usual, had begged to take
the child with her. Permission had
been readily granted, for vSip w^as
always careful of her, and there
existed between the two that strong
affection so often seen in the south
between black and white, but which
always seems so incomprehensible to
northern understanding.

"So the two had started out, hand
in hand, till the baby feet grew tired,
and Sip lifted her in her strong young
arms, and beguiled the time b}' tel-
ling stories. The child never tired
of Sip's stones, and Sip, apparently,
never tired of telling them, or of sing-
ing the old plantation songs, in her
weird, mournful voice, keeping time
with her bare, black feet, in a queer,
half-dancing step, which was the
baby's special delight. So the time
went quickly, and when Sip judged
that about half the distance had been
passed, they both sat down beneath
a large pine and shared the luncheon
Sip had carried in a tin pail, hung
across her arm.

"The moments slipped by unheed-
ed, the sun climbed higher and higher,
and a strong westerly breeze began
to blow. By and by Sip became
aware of a .strange sound that made
itself heard above the soft chant of
the pines, — a sound that made her
start up suddenty, with a wild look
of terror on her face, and strain her
eyes anxiously in the direction from
w^hich they had come.

"Nothing was to be seen but the
level sweep of the pine lands, covered
with the tall, waving, brown grass,

flecked here and there with wild
flowers, and golden with the sun-
beams that flickered through the
pine boughs; overhead, the sky was
as blue as only southern skies can
be, wath a single .soft, dark cloud
showing its edges above the tree-
tops in the west.

" Sip watched it a moment, her dark
face growing strangely set and gray
about the lips. She knew that the
dark cloud, rising higher and higher
above the tree-tops, meant that a
fire was sweeping across the pine
lands, blown directly towards them
by the wind. She knew the rapidity
with which such fires travel, and had
comprehended their danger in an in-
stant. To reach home was impossi-
ble, for the fire would cut them off —
the faint, distant roar was growing
more distinct every moment. She
must go on, and quickly.

" She caught the baby in her arms,
and started down the path towards
the distant plantation. You know
how impossible it seems to run on
the pine barrens, where the deep
sand and the smooth, wiry grass are
equally treacherous footing, but Sip
ran with all the speed of which she
was capable, the thought of their
awful danger nerving every muscle
to do its utmost.

" On and on she ran, her breath com-
ing in deep, heavy gasps with the
terrible effort she was making, but
she dared not .stop even for a mo-
ment, for the deep, ominous roar of
the fire grew more and more distinct
every instant. Now and then a heavy
fall told Sip's practised ears that
some giant pine had fallen before the
resistless might of the fire.

' ' The baby had grown strangely
quiet, and clung silently to the girl's

THE DOCTOR'S THANKSGIVING STORY.

neck, with her face turned backward
towards the strange sound, which she
understood only as a half compre-
hended danger. Sip's efforts were
becoming every moment more pain-
ful. She staggered as she ran, and
little flecks of foam stood on her
lips, but still she kept on. Sud-
denly the child cried out sharp h-,
' Oh, Sippy, the trees are afire ! '

" vSip stopped running for a moment,
and, leaning heavity against a tree,

roots, with the earth still clinging to
them, had been left. Between that
and the advancing fire was an old
lumber road, its furrows worn deep
into the soft ground by the heavy
logs, the grass trampled down and
destroyed by the plodding feet of
the mule teams.

" In a moment Sip remembered the
fire guards the orange growers plough
around their groves, and her eyes
brightened with a gleam of hope :

looked back. Yes, there was the
fire ; she could see the flames now
in the distance, and the smoke was
thickening around them fast. The
child clung to her neck with low,
frightened sobs, her eyes fixed on the
fire. Sip looked around her despair-
ingly — was there nothing she could
do — nothing ?

"A few rods ahead of her, at a
little distance from the path, an im-
mense pine had blown down, from
which the trunk had been cut away,
but the huge mass of upturned

here was her fire guard ! It was her
only chance — could she do it? She
must! She clasped the little form
closer, and ran on, murmuring husk-
il}', ' Doan' cr}', Baby, Sippy's g'wine
tek ca'h ob yo'.'

' ' Behind the roots of the pine was
a large cavity, half filled with loose
earth ; Sip hastilj^ wrapped the child
in an old woollen shawl she wore,
and placed her where the roots of
the tree would shelter her as much
as possible from the heat, and fell
to work. Somehow, in all that ter-

THE DOCTOR'S THANKSGIVING STORY.

rible flight, Sip had clung to the tin
pail she had carried slipped upon her
arm, and she used it now with an
energy born of her despair, scooping
out the loose sand from the cavity
behind the roots of the tree and scat-
tering it over the scanty grass that
grew between them and the old road.
Soon she had covered every inch of
it with the moist sand, and she con-
tented herself with throwing the rest
in a long, irregular heap on one side
of the cavity, not daring to take time
to carry it further.

' ' The baby crouched in the old
shawl sobbing pitifully, but still with
her eyes turned toward Sip with a
beautiful trust in her promise to take
care of her. The girl glanced at her
now and then as she worked, and
her dark face grew more set, and
there was a terrible tightening in her
parched throat, — what if she couldn't
save her after all, when she trusted
her so ?

" She bent to her task desperately.
The smoke grew thicker, and little
tongues of flames were creeping
through the tall grass beyond the
road with a faint, hissing noise, like
fier}' serpents. Sip dared wait no
longer ; she held out her arms to the
child, who crept into them with a
confidence that went to the girl's
heart, and for a moment she held
her close, and tried to smile as she
murmured again, ' Sipp3^'s g'wine
tek ca'h ob her bab}' ; ' then wrapped
her closely in the old shawl and laid
her in the cavitj' as far back as pos-
sible under the roots of the tree, and
half covered her with loose sand, and
fell to work again.

"The heat was terrible, for the
flre was burning close to the other
side of the old road now, lapping up

the long grass, and swinging in
fier}- streamers from the gray moss on
the branches of the trees. Again
and again it caught in the grass,
lying between the road and the up-
tvirned tree, blown across by the
treacherous wind, and again and
again Sip choked it with sand and
trampled it out with her bare, black
feet, hardl}' conscious of the pain in
the terrible struggle for life.

' ' She could hear the baby sobbing
sometimes when the dreadful roar
subsided for a moment, and once a
few words of the little praj-er Sip
had heard her say so many times in
the nurser}^ at home, reached the
girl's ears, coupled with her own
name, — 'and God bless Sippy,' the
baby voice said, but the rest was
drowned in the fierce, hungry roar
of the fire.

"After a while, — Sip never knew
how long, — she fancied the heat grew
a little less intense. She raised her
head ; the smoke seemed to be lifting
a little, and it was not so difficult to
breathe. She felt something cool
and moist on her cheek, and stretched
out her hands eagerly, — 3'es, thank
God ! it was rain, — one of those swift
showers that so often follow in the
wake of such a fire. The wind had
changed too, as the shower came on,
and began to blow from the south-
east. The fire hissed angrily beneath
the lash of the rain, but crept back
slowly and swept sullenly away in
the path of the wind.

" Back to the west, over the path
the}^ had come in the morning, all
was blackened and smoking, and
hundreds of trees and stumps were
still burning, but the danger was past.

"Sip straightened herself slowly,
and pressed her hands against her

THE DOCTOR'S THANKSGIVING STORY.

aching ej^es ; the hands were blis-
tered, so was her face, and the bare
feet were dreadfully burned. Her
head felt strangeh' dizzy and con-
fused ; she staggered blindly back
to the cavity where the baby lay, and
stretched out her hands, unable for
the moment to speak.

"The child crept out to meet her, —
a pitiful little figure, with smoke-
blackened face, and the old woolen
shawl drenched by the rain, clinging
around her, but safe, — no shining
curl of the dear little head was in-
jured. Sip made sure of that, pas-
sing her hand over the soft hair and
the little shoulders from which she
had torn the old shawl, almost as if
she doubted the evidence of the poor
aching eyes. Then she sank heavily
down, half leaning against the huge
roots of the old tree, and the tall
trees, with their blackened, smoking
tops, seemed to reel suddenl}-, the
sky grew strangely dark, and the air
was full of a rushing sound like fall-
ing water; Sip's head fell forward
lifelessly, and she lost all conscious-
ness.

' ' You can perhaps better imagine
than I can describe, what had been
taking place at the house in the
meantime. I was there, and I shall
never forget it, but I cannot tell you
the awful, sickening sense of utter
helplessness with which we watched
that cloud of black smoke, and lis-
tened to the fierce, hungry roar of
the fire, and realized how powerless
we were to do anything but wait —
we dared not think what that waiting
might mean."

The doctor's voice had grown ver}-
husky, and he paused a moment and
passed his hand furtively across his
eyes before he continued his stor>'.

" I urged my horse down the smok-
ing road as soon as it was passable,
and found them there b}' the old tree,
both unconscious, and both so cov-
ered with smoke that for a moment
my heart stood still until I had as-
sured mj'self that they were still liv-
ing. The baby, frightened by the
girl's strange silence, had crept as
closely to her as possible, and sobbed
herself to sleep with her arms clasped
around Sip's neck. The girl's poor,
burned hand still clung protectingly
to the baby's little gown — faithful
black heart, true to the last ! "

Again the doctor paused a moment,
then turned towards me, trying to
speak lightly, "So we carried them
home across the blackened pine lands,
and long weeks of tender care and
nursing healed Sip's dreadful burns.
That's all my stor\-," he added, "and
the clock points to twelve."

"But," I exclaimed, "the black
girl — I hope the famil}^ rewarded her
faithfulness ! "

He smiled a little as he bent down
to stir the fire. "I don't think she
wished to be rewarded," he said soft-
1}% " she only wanted to live near her
nursling. Is it possible you have
not guessed that the black girl is our
own Mississippi, who waited on you
to-night at supper, and the baby —
was Virginia? "

No, I had not guessed it, and for
a moment I was speechless with an
emotion I could not analyze ; there
was a strange, tingling sensation
about my eyes, and a tightening in
my throat that would not let me
speak. Hardly conscious of what I
did, I turned to Virginia and, with-
out a word, held out my hand. She
placed hers in it silently, and I said,
in a voice that surprised myself, it

''VVAHLSPRUECHE'' FOR THE NEW YEAR.

Avas so unlike my own, "God bless my dear Mentor, good bye. Come

Mississippi ! " and every voice an- and singe your rusty wings in the

swered, "Amen." light that burns for me.

It is sunrise, and Thank.sgiving Yours,

•day, and my story is ended ; and, so, Tei^Emachus.

'WAHLSPRUCHE" FOR THE NEW YEAR.

[From the German.]
By Mrs. Ellen M. Masofi.

It were a vain and worse than useless folly,
To blench while on the moving wheel of Time ;
Swift-wnnged from hence, it onward bears the hours ;
Old things disappear, and all new things are ours !

— Schiller.

Man, deride thou not the Devil,
Only short is the life here.
And the everlasting Torment
Is no folk-tale born of fear.

Man, pa}- up also all thy debts.
Somewhat long is the life here.
And thou wilt still have to borrow.
As thou borrow 'st ev'r}^ year !

-Heine.

(SSi

Condncied by Fred G owing. State Sjiperintendent of Public Justriictioii.

STATE CERTIFICATION OF TEACHERS.'

By Dr. C. C. Rounds, Plymouth.

The present tendency in school ad-
ministration is to larger educational
units. We have recently passed from
the district to the town. In some
states, for administrative purposes, the
unit is the county, of which in the east
altogether too little account is made,
and the opinion is gaining ground that
the educational functions of the state
should be enlarged. There is no ground
for doubt but that the standard of qual-
ification for teaching should be uniform
at least throughout the state. This,
however, should be considered but as a
stepping to a further advance if teach-
ing is to become a profession as law,
medicine, engineering, are professions.
A standard should be set by the teach-
ers themselves, rigid terms of admission
to the profession should be prescribed,
and one proving himself able to com-
ply with all the requirements should be
considered everywhere entitled to recog-
nition as a teacher.

Educational societies, like the Peda-

' Read before the New Haniiishiie State

gogical Society of Maine, which re-
quires for admission a certain standard
of scholarship and a certain period of
experience in teaching — two years for
the second grade and ten years for the
first grade of membership — could so
conduct tests for admission that their
certificates of membership would be
most authoritative evidence of profes-
sional standing. But as yet this pros-
pect is below our horizon, and we must
advance as directly as may be towards
our first goal, — state uniformity to be
secured by state examination. I con-
sider the agencies, the standards, the
mef/nhh, for these examinations.

The agency may be the state super-
intendent of public instruction, a spe-
cial examining board, or a state board
of education wlien such board exists.
Any state board of education should be
so constituted that its decisions shall
carry the authority of experts, and that
within it the various phases and inter-
ests of public education shall be ade-

Teachers' Association, Novenibsr 2, 1S95.

ED I rCA riONAL DEPA R TMENT.

quately represented. It should be en-
tirely free from political control in its
appointment and in its conduct of bus-
iness.

If the examination be. as in Ohio,
by a special examining board, it would
naturally be an examination by ex-
perts.

If the work of examination and cer-
tification is to be conducted by the de-
partment of education of the state, a
large expense must be provided for.
The results will be amply worth the
price.

Times and places for examination
should be announced frequent enough
and numerous enough to meet all rea-
sonable demands. The scope and
character of the examinations should
be announced long enough beforehand
to enable candidates to consider the
matter deliberately, as is now done in
regard to examinations, for admission
to college. Information as to books
for use, and as to modes of preparation,
should be given. The papers set may
not be identical in matter but they
should be uniform in general require-
ment. Each examination should be con-
ducted by an expert, and the papers
should be critically examined. The
plan followed in Canada of having the
papers examined by experts in the
various subjects, usually by professors
in college, is an admirable one.

Certificates granted should be graded
as to range of examination, not as to
length of validity. A one year's physi-
cian would receive little credit, why
should a one year's teacher receive
more ?

Examinations should cover the range
of the work required of the teacher,
and should be written, oral, or prac-
tical. The written examination should
be planned, not to test the candidate's

range of acquirement, but, rather, his
style of thought, his mental grip, and
those not succeeding in this should not
be admitted to {he oral examination.

The oral examination should be
adapted to test the range of attainment
or the personality of the candidate and
his readiness of resource.

The practical examination should be
planned to show, so far as examination
can show, the practical efiiciency of the
candidate.

The elementary examination must of
necessity be made simple. The certifi-
cate of the elementary grade must be
presented as a condition preliminary
for examination for advanced examina-
tions. In all cases the most satisfac-
tory evidences of character must be re-
quired.

For the elementary or third grade
certificate the candidate should pass an
examination in common school studies,
with the elements of natural science.
The questions should be few but com-
prehensive, and such as will test the
refiective power of the candidate. The
oral examination will supplement the
written, and enter more into detail.

The professional examination for this
grade of certificate should not be severe,
but should require clear general state-
ments regarding methods of conducting
recitations, and the organization and
management of the school.

For the second grade of certificate
the examination should also be oral and
written, and should include the English
studies of a high school course, and a
special certificate should be given for
knowledge of a foreign language. This
examination should include psychology
and ethics, drawing, and the elements
of vocal music.

The professional examination for this
grade should include history of educa-

NFAV HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.

tion, methods of teaching, general prin-
ciples of pedagogy, and the organization
and management of schools.

For admission to the examination for
the first grade certificate the candidate
should present certificates for the two
lower grades, as these must attest his
scholarship in the various branches.
The examination will consist of several
parts.

1. A paper upon some subject of
elementary instruction.

2. A paper upon some topic selected
from psychology or ethics.

3. The examination, discussion, and
marking of an examination paper writ-
ten by a pupil.

4. The criticism and oral discussion
of a drawing by a pupil.

5. The statement, written or oral, of
the treatment to be adopted in some
case of school discipline.

6. The writing of the plan of a les-
son, and the giving of the lesson to a
class of pupils of the grade selected by
the candidate, twenty-four hours notice

being given to the candidate of the
subject selected.

At first it might be necessary to
grant some certificates as now on mere
scholarship, and that of a grade not
high, but such certificates should be
for one year only and not renewed.

I recently questioned thirty-nine in-
telligent young women who had been
pupils in the ungraded schools, in
regard to the character of the instruc-
tion which they had received therein.
I asked them to class as good teachers
all those whom they, acting as exam-
iners, would be willing to certificate for
teaching schools which their own broth-
ers and sisters were to attend. Of
these five stated that thev had in these
schools only one good teacher; thirteen
(one third the whole number), only two ;
ten, only three ; twenty-eight of the
thirty-nine had had only one to three
good teachers in the ungraded school.

These thirty-nine young women rep-
resented nearly as many towns. Verily
these things ought not to be.

\ '^/m\

CHARLES CARROLL CHASE.

Charles Carroll Chase was born in Hopkinton September 18, 1829, being the
youngest son of Hon. Horace Chase. His life, since early manhood, was spent in
Chicago, 111., where he died, December 4, of neuralgia of the heart, after a short
illness, at the age of 66 years and 3 months. In his death Chicago lost one of its
oldest residents. He entered the business life of that city the day following his
arrival, in May, 185 1, as assistant to the city clerk, continuing in that ofiice until
1852, when he resigned to accept the position of bookkeeper in the Exchange

NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY. 93

bank of H. A. Tucker & Co. The city, during those years, was building rapidly,
and capable business men were ever in demand. In 1854 Mr. Chase was chosen
secretary and treasurer of the Chicago Hide and Leather company, remaining a
faithful, efficient officer in this company for eight years and leaving it to accept
the position of chief clerk in the city comptroller's office, where he remained until
February, 1870. Five years previous to this date he was chosen school agent by
the board of education, which position he held at the time of his death, making
thirty years of service to the city. In this capacity he handled many millions of
dollars, performing his duties satisfactorily through all the changes of adminis-
tration. He was a witness to the growth of the city, with unusual opportunities
for personal observation through his position. When first appointed he used to
carry his money in a tin box, the monthly payments then amounting to about
$12,000. At the present time the teachers are paid by check, and the monthly
pay-roll is about $380,000. In 1870 he joined, with his two brothers, Samuel B.,
and Horace G. Chase, in forming the firm of Chase Brothers, engaging in the
abstract business. In their hands rested the abstracts of all the property in the
city of Chicago. The full importance of this trust was not fully realized until the
great fire swept all records of real estate away. It was by the greatest effort and
untiring watchfulness that these valuable records were preserved during the des-
truction and confusion consequent upon such a disastrous fire. For weeks these
books were guarded, — until order was brought out of the chaos, — at the home of
Mr. Chase, in Lakeview. When the firm of Chase Brothers consolidated with
several others into the Title Guarantee and Trust company, Mr. Chase retained an
interest in the business. Since 1875 he has, in addition to his duties as financial
agent of the school board, carried on a private business as a real estate and loan
agent, representing the business interests of many men both east and west. He
was ever faithful, and acted for others as though it were a personal matter. His
two sons by his first marriage are young business men in Chicago. He leaves a
widow and two young daughters. The latter group came to Hopkinton this
summer, as has been their custom, and his last birthday was spent with his aged
mother under the home roof. His love for his native state increased as the years
rolled by. He came and went, as one who knew the welcome that awaited him
wherever his genial face was seen. Warm of heart, noble of impulse, he was a
man one might be proud to call a friend. Chicago papers speak of him as "a
good citizen, whose record for honesty and fidelity to his important trusts was
never challenged or criticized."

COL. S. A. WHITFIELD.

Col. Smith A. Whitfield died at Chicago December 2. He was a native of
Francestown, born March 24, 1844, and enlisted as a private in the Second New
Hampshire in 1861. Rising rapidly through all grades he became a lieutenant-
colonel at ig. After the war he engaged in the internal revenue service as inspec-
tor, deputy collector, and agent, winning much renown and undergoing many thrill-
ing adventures in the course of a three years contest with the " moonshiners " of
Kentucky. In 1880 he was made assistant postmaster of Cincinnati, and in 1882
postmaster. At the expiration of his term he became a member of the board of

94 NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.

public affairs of that city. President Harrison appointed him second assistant
postmaster-general in 1889 and in 1890 he was nominated for the ofifice of first
assistant, made vacant by the resignation of J. S. Clarkson. In these capacities
Colonel Whitfield added to his reputation as a faithful and efficient public official.

COL. J. D. HOSLEV.

Col. Jewett D. Hosley, a native of Hillsborough, died at West Lebanon Decem-
ber 8 at the age of 75 years. He was educated at Hancock academy and at pri-
vate schools. Engaging in lumbering until 1847, i" ^^^^t year he was appointed
superintendent of the track laying of the Northern railroad. Upon the comple-
tion of that work he became superintendent of the road's western terminus with
headquarters at West Lebanon, which position he retained until three years ago.
Colonel Hosley was many times the candidate of the Democratic party for con-
gressman and minor offices. He was one year selectman of the town, and served
as postmaster under Presidents Pierce and Buchanan. He was a colonel of the
Twenty-sixth regiment. New Hampshire militia, and a trustee of Tilden ladies'

seminary from 1856.

CHARLES A. CROOKER. .

Captain Charles A. Crooker was born at Richmond in 18 19 and died at New

Bedford, Mass., December 14. He shipped on a whaling voyage when a boy and

continued to follow the seas until the outbreak of the Civil War, rising to the

position of master. He served with distinction in the war and in 1865 was

appointed to the command of the fourth division of the Potomac flotilla, assisting

in this capacity in the capture of Wilkes Booth. In 1873 he was the only man

who would consent to take charge of the small-pox hospital at Clark's Point during

the epidemic.

DR. LUTHER PATTEE.

Dr. Luther Pattee was born in Warner December i, 183 1, and studied medicine
with Dr. Leonard Eaton of that town and Dr. Oilman Kimball of Lowell, Mass.
He attended lectures at Harvard university and the medical schools at Pittsfield,
Mass., and W'oodstock, Vt., graduating from the latter in 1852. He practised his
profession in Candia, Wolfeborough, Boston, and since 1863 in Manchester. He
was renowned as a surgeon and entirely devoted to his profession, overwork being
one of the causes of his death, which occurred at Manchester December 2.

JACOB TAYLOR.

Jacob Taylor, the oldest person in Weare, died December 7. He was born in
Stoddard January 10, 1797, and resided there until 1868 when he removed to
W^eare. He was a lifelong Democrat, voting at every election from 18 18 until last
fall, and had held many offices, among them moderator in Stoddard eight years,
chairman of selectmen eighteen years, representative eight years, state senator
two years, road commissioner for Cheshire county two terms. He is survived by a
son, a daughter, fifteen grandchildren and eleven great-grandchildren.

BRICE S. EVANS.
Brice S. Evans was born at Allenstown in September, 1821. When 17 years of
age he went to work in a Lowell cotton mill and a year later opened a small dry

NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY. 95

goods store on Hanover street, Boston. In 1850 he entered the real estate bus-
iness and had since continued prominently in it, being considered an expert in
real estate values. Mr. Evans was a leader in church and charitable work but
had never sought public ofifice. He died December 5, leaving eight children.
He was the promoter of the annual Allenstown grove meetings.

ALEXANDER M. WILKINS.

Alexander McCauley VVilkins was born February 25, 1806, at Merrimack, and
died there November 28. He was in early life a school-teacher and then a prom-
inent farmer and manufacturer. He represented the town in the legislature in
1855, was chairman of the board of selectmen five years and town treasurer four
years. He was for several years director of the Indian Head National bank at
Nashua, and was justice of the peace for more than 25 years. He was largely
employed in the settlement of estates.

JOHN J. PILLSBURY.

As the result of a carriage accident John J. Pillsbury died at Tilton Novem-
ber 26. He was born in Northwood in 1828, studied law with Judge Clark of
Manchester, practised at Pittsfield, and was later engaged in the shoe business at
Lynn, Northwood, and Tilton. Since 1888 Mr. Pillsbury had been engaged in
the woollen business and was treasurer of the Tilton Mills corporation from its
organization in 1889 to his death.

REV. JOSIAH TYLER.

Josiah Tyler was born in Hanover, July 9, 1823. He was educated at Amherst
college and the theological seminary at East Windsor Hill, Conn. For forty
years, from 1849, he labored as a missionary among the Zulus of South Africa.
Since his return to this country he had lived with his son at St. Johnsbury. Vt.
Amherst college conferred upon him the degree of D. D. in 1895. He died,
December 20, at Asheville, N. C.

MAJOR L. B. PRATT.

Leonard Barnes Pratt was born in Providence, R. I., 62 years ago, educated at
Brown university and served with the First Rhode Island cavalry through the war,
/ receiving the rank of major. He became a resident of Lisbon twenty years ago
and was prominently identified with its interests especially in educational lines.
He was a member of the legislature in 1889 and of the board of education at the
time of his death, December 16.

NEWELL TILTON.

Newell Tilton, born in Meredith 58 years ago, had resided in New Orleans for
the last 35 years, and died there December 1. He learned the mechanic's trade
in New England, and during his life was master mechanic on several prominent
western and southern railroads. Since 1883 he had been the manager of the Whit-
ney Iron Works, New Orleans, and was generally regarded as a leader in his line.

CHARLES H. CUSHMAN.
Charles H. Cushman was born in Norwich, Vt., October 12, 1857, and was edn-

96 NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.

cated there. Coming to Manchester at the age of 21, he learned the clothing
business and entered into a partnership with George H. Hardy which continued
until Mr. Cushman's death, December i. He was one of Manchester's leading
business men, and prominent in church and secret society work.

WILLIAiM E. GAY.

William E. Gay died at Hillsborough December 9 at the age of 60 years. He
had been selectman of the town, had held all the offices except master in Valley
grange. Patrons of Husbandry, and was a leading member of the Methodist
church. He was an extensive and successful farmer and was regarded as an
authority upon agricultural questions.

A CENTENARIAN.

Mrs. Sarah Dinsf.;ore Holmes died at Antrim December 7 at the age of 100
years, 7 months, and 5 days. She was the daughter of a Revolutionary soldier
who came from Ireland and settled in Antrim in 1778. In 1820 she married
Thomas S. Holmes and they lived together fifty-six years, until his death.

GEORGE A. COSSITT.

George A. Cossitt was born in Claremont May 31, 1807, but moved to White-
field and thence to Lancaster in the early thirties. He was a practicing lawyer
but served as cashier of the Lancaster bank for twelve years and register of pro-
bate for fifteen. He died at Lancaster December 14.

J. B. TRICKEY.

Joseph B. Trickey, proprietor of the Jackson Falls House, Jackson, died Decem-
ber 3, aged 75 years. He was town clerk for twentj'^-five years, representative and
selectman many times and justice of the peace for a number of years. He was
leader of the church choir for thirty years.

BENJAMIN E. WEBSTER.

Benjamin E. Webster of Walpole, who died November 28, aged 80, was a native
of Gilsum, but was for a long time in business in Boston, ^e had resided in
Walpole some thirty years, where he had filled many civil offices, having been
twice elected a member of the legislature.

-to"

JOHN MORRILL.

John Morrill was born at Chichester June 25, 1823, but lived at Nashua half a
century and died there December 6. For forty-eight years he served as black-
smith for a manufacturing company, and in public life had held many city offices.
He was a prominent Odd Fellow.

EDWARD E. DAY.

Edward E. Day was born in Enfield in 1853. He studied law, was admitted to
the bar in Massachusetts and built up a large practice at Kankakee, Illinois,
where he died December 14. He was twice a candidate of the Prohibition party

for congress.

THE PRIZE STORIES. 97

JOSEPH E. LANG.

Joseph E. Lang died December 13 at Exeter in his 63d year. He had been
connected with the Exeter machine works for twenty-five years. He was promi-
nent in Masonry, a member of the board of health, and secretary of the board of
trade.

FREEMAN BABB.

Freeman Babb was born at Barrington December 9, 1835, and died at Dover
December 10. He was a successful farmer, and had served as common council-
man, street commissioner, and representative to the legislature.

thp: prize stories.

The prize fiction competition instituted by the Granite Monthly w^as gratify-
ingly successful in both the number and quality of the manuscripts submitted by
New Hampshire authors. The judges, Prof. C. F. Richardson of Dartrfiouth col-
lege, Prof. J. A. Tufts of Philips academy, Exeter, and Mr. J. Carter Knox of
S. Paul's school, performed their duties with care and impartiality and made the
following awards :

In the serial competition the prize of $50 was awarded to E. P. Tenney of Cam-
bridge, Mass., a native of West Concord, for his historical novel, "The Legend of
John Levin and Mary Glasse." Honorable mention was made of " Polly Tucker,"
by Mrs. J. R. Connell of Portsmouth. The opening installment of the prize-win-
ning story is given in this number. Upon its conclusion the publication of " Polly
Tucker" will be begun.

From the large number of short stories submitted in competition the judges
selected as the most meritorious " The Doctor's Thanksgiving Story," by Miss
Sara M. Swett of New Hampton, and awarded it the prize of $25. It will be
found complete in this number. The following stories were also recommended for
publication, and will appear during the year :

"Farnum," by G. C. Selden, Chicago, 111 , a native of Northwood.

" Light of Gold," by Walter LeRoy Fogg, Manchester.

"How Old Corncob Was Fooled," by Charles R. Harker of San Jose, Cal., a
native of Dover.

"The Dago," by F. W. Rollins, Concord.

"Aunt Betsey's Thank-Offering," by Mrs. Mary Jenks Page, Worcester, Mass.,
a native of Concord.

"The Lucky Snap-Shot," by Mrs. C. E. Bingham, Nashua.

"Only an Engagement," by W. A. Guild, Milford.

"August Sunshine," by William Tenney Bartley, Andover, Mass., a native c f
Concord.

98 THE PRIZE STORIES.

Rev. E. P. Tenney is the son of the late Rev. A. P. Tenney, for thirty-four years
pastor of the Congregational church at West Concord. He fitted for college at
Pembroke academy, and entered the Dartmouth class of 1858, but was obliged to
leave college upon the advice of his physician. After three attempts to resume
his college course, he finally entered Bangor Theological seminary. Upon gradvi-
ating he was advised to pursue some out-of-door employment, and acted as travel-
ling editor of the Pacific newspaper in California. On his return to New England
he spent some years in special studies, a part of the time at Andover seminary,
and in connection with parochial work. He preached five years at Manchester-
by-the-sea, and then went to Central City, Colorado. This border service was
relinquished on account of an attack of nervous prostration. After preaching
for some years at Braintree, Mass., and at Ashland, he returned to Colorado and
engaged in building up the new college at Colorado Springs. Finding it without
means and in debt, he maintained the work for eight years and gathered for it a
substantial property. At a subsequent date Mr. Tenney acted as general mis-
sionary for the Home Missionary Society in Washington, upon the Pacific coast.
He has also supplied pulpits for some years in New England, filling two engage-
ments in New Hampshire, — at Orford and at Pembroke. He now resides at
Cambridge. During all these years Mr. Tenney has been a careful student in
the libraries, and has written several books. His writings in behalf of education
in the New West had an immense circulation. " Coronation," "Agamenticus,"
and " Constance of Acadia," have made many literary friends for the author. His
latest work is the " Triumphs of the Cross," the result of ten years of library and
desk work. Mr. Tenney received, some years since, the honorary degree of
Master of Arts from Dartmouth college. Sarah Holden, daughter of Daniel
Holden of Concord, was his first wife. His present consort is a descendant of
Leonard Weeks of Greenland. Her father was a drummer-boy at Fort Constitu-
tion in the War of 181 2.

Miss Sara M. Swett is a native of Bristol, whence her parents moved to New
Hampton when she was very young. She was educated at the widely known
institution in the latter town, graduating in the class of '82. Her life since that
time has been the typical one of the cultured woman of the day, largely spent in
travel and in the study of people and places as well as books. Writing has been
with her a habit of long standing, one of whose results is "The Doctor's Thanks-
giving Story," which is also to some extent a transcript of personal experience.

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The Granite Monthly.

Vol.

FEBRUARY, 1S96.

No. 2.

A WINTER IN A LOGGINCx CAMP.

/>')' AVt'. ( >rriii Robbiiis Hunt .

HE camp of which I
write is one of the
Connecticut River
L u ni 1 ) e r Compa-
ny' s, located in the
most northerly part
of this state, in the
town of Pittsburg. The company
was chartered under the laws of the
state of Connecticut in 1879, and
then had 250,000 acres, more or less,
of lumber land.

The Hon. Asa Smith, of Hartford,
Conn., was the first president, and a
pioneer in the lumber interests of
this part of the state. After four
years of service he resigned, and was
.succeeded b}' George Van Dyke of
Lancaster, who is now the president.
Having camped for ten successive
seasons, during the months of August
and September, on the western shore
of the Second lake, I had made the
acquaintance of nearly all the leading
men of the company, and, finding
them to be good men, and true, I
pulled the latch-.string of Samuel
Watts, the bu.siness manager and
treasurer of the company, for winter
quarters, in one of their logging
camps.

My request was cheerfully granted,
and, after spending the night with
Mr. Watts, he took me into the
woods, where he had driven me on
a buckboard, ten years previous, when
he was a hostler for the company.

Ready for the Woods.

lOO

./ WINTER IN A LOGGING CAMP.

Building the Dam.

Arriving at the camp, on the east-
ern shore of the lake, I was intro-
duced to the "boss," Clarence Robey,
and to the cook and "cookee."
"Boys," said Watts, "I have brought
this fellow in to live with you this
winter and keep 3'ou straight. Feed
him well, and let him do as he
pleases, and you will have no
trouble." At once the cookee offered
me the use of his bunk to sleep in,
while he, kind soul, persisted in
wrapping himself in his blanket and
lying on the floor.

The first healthy omen in the study
of the lumber works, is the construc-
tion of the dams and camps. At the
First and Second lakes, and on the
East inlet, two miles above the Second
lake, are located these dams. The one
on the inlet is thirteen miles from civ-
ilization, and among the many obsta-
cles in constructing it was a quick-
sand. This necessitated the use of
a pile-driver, and, notwithstanding
the fact that it was fifty six miles to
the nearest railwa}- station, a team of
good horses was sent down to North
Stratford, and in five da3^s was back
to the lake again, bringing the neces-
sary machine.

Another difficulty then confronted
the workmen, — viz., the crossing of
the lake. To do this, two rafts of

logs were Ij u i 1 1 large
enough to carry the pile-
driver and another to car-
r\- the horses and the pro-
visions for the horses and
crew. For the propelling
power of these rafts they
had eight sturdy French-
men in a bateau. With
Mr. Van Dyke steering,
they reached the opposite
side of the lake in about
two hours, a distance of one and a
half miles.

The time spent in building the
dams varies according to the loca-
tion. The accompanying picture is
a view of the one at the foot of the
Second lake, and, while taken in an
incomplete .state, .shows something of
the workmanlike manner in which
the dam is built. The second picture
gives a view of the workmen, the tent
they slept in, and a hovel for theil
horses.

The Second lake is about three
miles long and two w4de, and by
means of this dam can be raised
thirteen feet, thus covering a very
much larger area than at its natural
height.

Crossing the lake to the east shore,
and going up about three miles, we
come to one of the winter camps.
Thev are usuallv located beside a

The Men and Where They Live.

.-7 WINTER IN A LOGGING CAMP.

lOI

good spring or stream of water and
built log-cabin style, one-story high,
with two rooms. One, 20x30, is for
the workmen and the other, 18x20, is
for the cook and for a dining-room.

Formerly the camps were covered
with splits, the first covering being
laid the flat side up, and the second
one the flat side down, covering the
joints. The floors were formerly
made of small trees hewn on the
top side, but now both the floor and
the roof of the camps are of boards,

berths, and furnish their own blan-
kets. All this goes to show that
there are improvements made even
in lumber camps.

These pictures give a view of each
room in the camp. The first one
shows the l)unks where the men
sleep, the stove over which they
dry their clothing, and the room
where they sit and smoke. As it
happened, there are four nationalities
represented in this group, — Ameri-
can, Italian, Irish, and French.

A Camp Interior, I. American. 2. Italian, 3, Irishman, 4, Frenchman.

and the roof has two thicknesses of
tarred paper.

These camps are very warm and
comfortable, and under the super-
vision of a good cook are kept clean
and orderh'. The lights are put out
and the men are all in bed at 9
o'clock in the evening. Formerh'
the beds were made of fir boughs
and straw, covered by a long, heav}^
spread, held in place by means of
rings and pins at each end, and with
a spread over the men, secured at
each end the same as the under one.
At the present time the men have

The little fellow in the corner is
the cook's woodchopper, who said,
"I no want my picter tooken ; " but,
he is in it, just the same, as are all
the others, because of " La Grippe."
The other picture represents the cook
and the dining-room. By the way,
let me introduce you to our cook,
Archie Pomelo, and his general as-
.sistant, Ed. Clevet.

The cook, you will know by his
long apron, but to know Clevet you
must camp with him. He rises at
4 o'clock in the morning, builds the
fires, and at 4 : 30 calls the cook.

I02

A WINTER IN A LOGGING CAMP.

The Cook and the Dir,ing-roonn.

which, by the way, he does loud
enough to arouse the entire crew.

At 5 o'clock the cook has his bis-
cuits made, and the breakfast is
ready. It consists of baked beans,
hot biscuits, sweetbread, doughnuts,
dried apple sauce, molasses, and tea.
The other meals are varied each day,
although baked beans are always on
the table for those who wish for them,
and they are preferred by many.

Sunday is a day of general repair-
ing and visiting, and in all the camps
the Sunday dinner is pea .soup, —
good enough for a king. The sup-
plies are brought from the store at
the First lake daily by mule teams,
as seen in the picture which shows
them on the lake at the fork of the
road .

vShoppie is going up to Leigh-
ton's camp, two miles up the main
inlet, and "Tony" is going up to
our's. The tote team is always wel-
comed by every man in the camp, for

it u.sually brings some bit of infor-
mation from the outside w^orld as
well as the camp supplies. The fol-
lowing view shows that the work of
the company is done by able-bodied
men and large horses ; in fact, every-
thing thev have to do with nuist have
the power to do what is required ;
hence, a lazy man, or a poor horse or
mule, will find no place with the com-
pany.

Tne Parting uf the Ways.

The Cook and Cookee.

The man in the picture with a
snowball in his hand is the black-
smith, who has by no means an easy
task. I have known him to come
into camp with a lot of shoes all pre-
pared, and shoe all night, and then,
next morning, go to some other
camp, and after a little sleep, repeat
the operation until he had made the
rounds of the entire camps. This
nieht work was, of course, done to
save time.

In this camp, where it was my
privilege to stop, we had teamsters,
road men, landing men, choppers,
swampers, and yarders. The chop-
pers fell the trees, the swampers clear

A WINTKR IN A LOGGINC; CAMP.

lO'

the way to them, and the >-arcl-
ers drag" the logs to the >-ard
where the teamsters loatl. The
two-horse team, as seen in the
picture, represents a team at
the vard loadinq,- for the land-

ing.

Most of the teams are com-
posed of four horses, and make
three trips daily from the yartl
to the landing at the lake,
where the logs are drawn out upon
the ice and unloaded. The men on
the load beside the driver in the next
picture are landing-men, whose duty
calls them to a.ssist the driver to un-
load, put the company's mark on
every log (which, l)y the way. is a
four X, x^^), and keep count of the
same to compare with the number of
logs returned by the scaler, who, l)y

Able-bodied Men and Large Horses.

the way, .stands with book in hand at
the rear of the load, as .seen in the
picture. Each teamster cares for his
hor.ses and assi,sts in loading and un-
loading.

The road men are the first over tJie
road in the morning, that they may
have the hill road well co\-ered witli
hay, which is used in.stead of a bridle,
and the la.st over it at night to gather
up the hay and put it in little piles
beside the road, lest it be covered
with snow and be of no use.

In the .spring, just before the ice
breaks up, there is a boom thrown

The B'acksmith end Others.

around the logs on the lake for the
purpose of forcing them down to the
dam at the foot of the lake. This
boom is made l)y attaching the ends
of the logs b}' means of short chains
with sharp, pointed hooks which are
driven into the loijs ; or, in some
instances, by means of a large wooden
pin through the end of two logs, thus
forming a swivel joint where the logs
unite. The picture herewith is of
the dam on vSecond lake, and is a
good representation of the way the
logs are driven through the gate-way
into the lake and river below. I
have witnessed this work, with watch
in hand, and they have averaged one
per second going through the gate-
wa}', and unless there is .some ob-
struction down along the river the
work is continued at that rate.

There are men stationed within
sight of each other all along the bank
of the river, from the vSecond lake
down to the First, and, should an}' of

Loading for the Landing,

I04

A WINTER IN A LOGGING CAMP.

the men fail to clear the obstruction,
the fact is signalled to the next man
above, who repeats the same until the
message reaches the dam and the
gates are closed. By the time the
crew have arrived at the jam, the
logs alread}' through the gate-wa}'

Load and Landing-men.

have arrived, and are piled up like
a keg of board nails dumped on a
floor.

The first thing is to find the key
log, and either cut it or else bore a
hole in it and 1)y means of a d3'na-
mite cartridge, l)low up the log and
loosen the entire jam.

The crew of men standing in the
front of the picture l)elow are river-
drivers, and have their cant-dogs
and other implements of warfare.

As a whole, logging is hard work,
and the men, cut off from any society-
.save that of each other, present a
rough exterior ; nevertheless, they
are large hearted and have their
recreation and pleasure. I have sat
in the "deacon's seat" with them,
and listened with great interest to
.some of their daring adventures as
choppers or river dri^'ers.

The most of this crew were from
Canada, coiLsequently I thought it
would be a grand opportunity for me
to learn French. One day while alone
in camp with the cook and cookee,
I asked the meaning of ' ' sarcaree
mojee." I heard the.se words more

than any others which I could re-
member.

vSurprised at my inquiry, the cook
said, " Oh, that is bad, 3'ou no want
to know." ' ' Ah ! " said Clevet ; " you
no dare tell him." " AVell, then,"
said the cook, "why don't you?"
Whereupon Clevet gave me the Eng-
lish of it.

That evening, Clevet told the men,
:ind there was a great hurrah at my
expense when the fact was known
that the minister was learning to
.swear. From that day until this,
the}' have been very .solicitous for
m}' spiritual welfare, and when we
meet, do not fail to a.sk how I am
getting on in the .study of French.

There was no service which they
could render me which the}' did not
hasten to perform, and much of \\\\
contentment among them was due to
this fact They were a little shv of
me at first, but .soon that feeling wore
away, and nearl}- every evening they
would ask some favor or seek \\\\

Driving Through the Logs

ad\'ice. I was glad indeed to l)e
counted a useful member of the crew,
b}' administering to the needs of both
man and beast.

The remedies which I took with
me were "homeopathic," con.se-
quently, instead of mild treatment,
they preferred something, as they
.said, which had more taste to it.

A WINTER IN A LOGGING CAMP.

105

and therefore chose a French ' ' hot-
crop," — a dose composed as follows :
Black pepper, Johnson's Anodyne
liniment, one tablespoonful each,
and a pint of boiling water, well
sweetened with molasses, taken as
hot as they could drink it.

For a cut or bruise, a fresh " chaw
of terbaccer," or a slice of salt pork,
directly over the wound ; while for a
sprain, beef brine was of great value.
In man}- instances four tablespoons-
ful of kerosene were taken. For

shoe-thread, about the tooth by means
of two half-hitches, he went and got
two of the largest horse-shoes he
could find and a stick of wood which
he attached to the other end of the
cord.

"For heaven's .sake," said I, "what
are you going to do ? "

"Oh, I drop de weight, and snake
him out quick ! ' '

''Don't you do dat, John," said the
cook, " you break you neck if you do."

Whereupon old John stood upon

River-dtivers.

toothache, when the "chaw of ter-
baccer" did not give relief, they
would " snake it out," as they said.

As there is usually a clown in
every circus, so we had one in camp,
familiarh- known as old John. One
evening he was very busy, and at
the same time remarkably quiet
about it, so much so that I asked
if he was sick. " No ! by Gor ! "
replied John, "but ni}- tooth, he
ache bad . ' '

" Well," said I, "snake him out."
"All right, I do that." So, plac-
ing his five-stranded cord, made of

one of the deacon seats, and, pres.sing
his head hard against the roof of the
camp, said, " Dare, now. Minister,
count free, and away he go."

Slowly and loudly I counted, "One,
two, three!" when down came the
wood and honse-shoes and old John
with them, all .sprawling.

"By Gor, I fetch him!" said old
John, as he picked up the various
parts, and betook himself to his bunk
for the night.

"By Gor" was old John's by-
word. I thought I would break him
in the use of it, although he said,

io6 .-/ WINTER MIDNIGHT.

"No harm to swear unless you got about the fire in the evening. I told

wi?</ in your heart." him I was glad he appreciated a

One afternoon I trimmed all their clean lantern, and told him if he

lanterns and had them bright and would not swear any more while I

shining when they came in for them was in camp, I would clean his lan-

at evening. They were all thankful tern every day.

for the little act, and especially old "Give me you'n han' on dat, an'

John, who referred to it as we sat I no swear any more, byGor!''

A WINTER MIDNIGHT.

/>y y. B. Lawrence.

Black night reigns over hill and vale.

The wind moans out its chilling wail
Athwart the eaves, around the hedge,
And yonder at the mountain ledge.

The cr3-stals, beautiful and white,
O'ershadowed by sepulchral night.
Are falling from yon ebon skies
That veil their Author's paradise.

Against the pane the flakes are hurled ;
Adown the road in clouds they 're whirled,
'Till, wearied his stentorian breast,
Old Boreas sits him down t' rest.

All 's still ! vSleep's lullaby we hear
As silence broods o'er nisarht so drear.
Then known is nothing furthermore —
The mind has left time's drear}- shore.

In dreams, soon real, returns the sleet
Upon the angry wind and fleet,
lyoud beating on the roofs and doors

'e>

And sifting 'round the sills and floors.

't>

The chimney howls its ghostty moans ;
The weathercock sharj) creaks and groans ;
The straining timbers neath the test
Of Eurus' rampage, know no rest I

Begone, ye winds, to distant caves !
The orb of night his great torch waves !
The mist clouds from the vault dispells !
His glory pours o'er snow-clad fels !

There by the humble cottage pane
At midnight, stands the lowly swain
Entranced, with such a heavenlj- sight
As winter shows on some midnight !

FARNUM.

A')' Cr. C. Si^lcieii.

H\\ had no idea that the city had
changed so much. But twen-
ty years is a long time — long
enough for Farnum's hair to grow
white and his frame thin and stoop-
ing — and he had heard but little from
the great world outside the walls.

Of course he had gathered from the
new prisoners that things were far
different now. They had told him
about the ^'ast blocks and the densely
crowded streets and the splendid
parks and boulevards, but he had
always felt a little doubtful about the
truth of it all — it seemed unreason-
able ; and had he believed it every
word he would been little wiser.
Occasionally the guard wouM give
them a newspaper, which would be
passed from hand to hand until it
was worn and greasy, and greedily
devoured by those who could read it.
Farnum could read pretty well, but
the papers did not tell him a great
deal ; they took .so much for granted.
He had looked forward very eager-
ly to the time when he would be free
to go. He had .so longed to breathe
the fresh air again, and .stride up and
down the well-remembered streets,
and .see the sunshine on the lake
once more. He did not expect to
find his friends again. His wife had
died five years before, and his boy
Jim — a chubby little golden-haired
youngster, as Farnum remembered
him, had grown up and drifted away.
He had never seen little Jim — never

.since that day .so long before, when
the judge had said " tw^enty years at
hard labor." His mother had never
brought him to the prison. She
would have done so if Farnum had
asked her, but he always said, No,
he did not want the boy to .see him
there .

He had .scarcely paused to Ijid his
comrades goodbye — they were his'
companions from necessity, not
choice — and there was a quick throb
of exultation in his veins as he found
himself upon the streets. He had no
thought then of his white hair and
dim eyes ; his thin, bent shoulders
were straight and .strong again, and
his hand was steady. His glance
was keen and his .step was firm. He
felt in his heart the courage to grap-
ple with the world right sturdily, as
he had done when he was young.

It was but a short time that he felt
so. Very .soon he began to find that
he was like one lo.st in a strange
country. This was not the place he
had known ; it was some new, grand
city .sprung up over night. The roar
of the .streets confused him and to
look up at the Ijuildings almost made
him dizzy. There was not a feature
that he knew, hardly a relic of the
old days.

After he had wandered about a
little while he tried to find the place
where he had lived, and where the
boy was born. It was a rickety little
house, and stood in a humble section

io8

FARNUM.

of the cit}' ; he could have found it
bhndfold, in those days. Now it
took him a long time to trace out the
spot. Twice he became confused
and almost gave it up ; but at last he
came upon what he thought must be
the place. It was in the midst of a
network of railroad tracks, where the
switch engines snorted back and forth
and the freight cars stood lined up
along the sides. He sat down on a
rail between the heavy trucks, and
thought of the day that Nell and he
were married. A big sob rose in his
throat, and he almost wished the cars
would start suddenly and end it all.

For several weeks after that Far-
num drifted about the city, spending
the night in a cheap lodging house
and the day upon the streets. He
watched the carriages roll up to the
theaters in the evening — until the
police drove him away. Silken
gowns rustled up the steps and bright
faces turned to look back at the hus-
bands and sweethearts, with their
dazzling linen, telling the coachman
when to come again. It made Far-
num angry to look at them. They
were no better than he ; the>- had no
more right to be happy.

" Oh, well," he said mournfully, as
he turned away, "they're lucky. I
ain't." And the little girl with the
shawl over her head, who was coax-
ing people to buy the evening paper,
really pitied him, he seemed so un-
happy, and walked so slow across the
street.

He stood upon the corner and
watched the people going home at
night. He imagined every one of
them was hurrying toward warm
hearts and a cheery fireside. Their
happiness made him sad. " If I only
knew where the bo}^ is," he .said

again and again. "He'd take care
of his old father. He was a good
little cuss, Jim was. Took after his
mother. ' '

Sometimes he tried, faint-heartedly,
to get work, but it .seemed a hopeless
quest. He was not strong enough for
hard labor and no one would give
him anything else to do. "It's no
use," he sighed wearily. " I 've lost
my grip. I ain't no good anj^more."

So the day came by and bye when
Farnum's money was gone and he
grew desperate. " I do n't know any
reason," he said to himself, deject-
edly, " why I .should crawl away and
die like a dog, an' I ain't goin" to.
I'm goin' to give one more .squirm.
They used to call me the ' King '
before I was sent up. I '11 take an-
other whack at it." Then he thought
a while, and added huskily, "Oh,
well, I s'pose it don't make nuich
difference. I can't be no worse off."

It had been as burglar that he
earned the title of "King;" but a
burglar must have tools, and Farnum
had no money to buy them — unless he
could rob some one. He could make
a sand-bag of .some sort. He disliked
to .strike any one — he had never done
that — but there seemed to be no other
way, now.

It was a dark night and a lonely
place that he chose for the attempt —
a little way west of the river, where
the street was almost deserted after
midnight, and only the rays of a dis-
tant arc-light could penetrate the
gloom. It was here that belated
merry-makers sometimes passed on
their way to the boulevard be5'ond.

It took a great deal of courage, he
found, to step out from the dusk)^
alley and strike down an unsuspect-
ing victim. Several times he decided

FARNUM.

109

upon this or that man coming across
the bridge, only to make some weak
excuse at the last moment. One
was too muscular, another too poorly
dressed, a third somewhat watchful.
He had half a mind to give it up,
but hunger is a strong motive — and
Farnum was hungry that night. At
last he said to himself, in a sort of
savage despair, that the next man
who came along, young or old, rich
or poor, he would attack.

In a few minutes he heard a firm
tread upon the bridge. He could not
prevent his knees from shaking — the
night was so chilly, he told himself.
He watched the approaching figure
from the shadow where he lurked —
a tall young fellow, swinging easily
along, his right hand in his coat
pocket.

The moment he had passed, Far-
num sprang out, noiseless as a cat,
but every nerve and muscle as tense
as steel. Just as he raised his arms
to strike, the young man turned his
head a little to one side, showing a
clear-cut profile against the white
electric light beyond. Farnum's arms
dropped limp and weak, and his heart
leaped into his throat. If he had
struck !

" Well, what 's the matter ? " asked
the stranger, calmly, turning around.
He drew his hand from his pocket,
and Farnum caught the gleam of
a silver-mounted pistol. "Hold up
your hands ! ' '

Farnum pitched his sand-bag into
the gutter for wondering children to
pick up in the morning, and held up
his hands, while the young man
went carefully through his pockets.
" What? No revolver? " he said in
surprise. " You 're a pretty foot-pad,
aren't you?" He looked Farnum

over curiousl3\ " Well, walk along,"
he said, "I s'pose I'll have to turn
you over to the police."

Farnum did as he was bid without
.speaking. Something in the bent fig-
ure before him touched the young fel-
low. "Say, my friend," he said,
not unkindly-, stepping up beside him
as they came out upon the boulevard,
" 3'ou seem to be in hard luck."

"I guess that's about right," re-
plied Farnum, after a pause.

" Hungry ? "

"Yes."

" Well, come along home with me.
It 's too bad to send a man to the
police station hungr5\"

It was a hand.some little house to
which Farnum's companion led him,
and a bright fire was blazing in the
grate. "Is that you, Jim?" said a
woman's voice from an adjoining
room. Farnum heard the quick
cough of a sleeping child.

"Yes," was the reply. "I've
brought a friend of mine along to
help eat this lunch of yours." They
sat down at the little table and ate in
silence.

" Smoke? " said the host, pushing
over a box of cigars.

" Don't care if I do," replied Far-
num, puffing contentedly. The little
clock upon the mantel ticked indus-
triously along. The wind sighed
around the corner. The fire blazed
higher in the grate.

"What's your name?" said the
young man, suddenly.

"Jones."

His companion laughed. "Can't
you make it Smith ? " he asked.

Farnum grinned. "I see 5^0 u 're
up to tricks," he answered.

"Well, I didn't s'pose you would
tell me, so I 'm not disappointed."

I lO

FARNUM.

'• Won't 3^ou have a glass of wine ? "
he added, going to the sideboard and
pouring it out. It was good wdne,
Farnuni could tell that, although it
was the first he had tasted for many
a year.

"Say, Jones," he went on after a
long silence, in which he sat gazing
into the fire, " what are you going to
do if I let 3^ou go ? "

" Give it up."

' ' Will you let me give you a little
advice? Don't try to sand-bag any-
body again. You 're not strong
enough. You won't make a suc-
cess of it. I could have laid 3'ou
out to-night half a dozen times
before 3'ou could hvirt me."

" Can't do nothin' else."

Farnum's host struck a match and
re-lighted his cigar. ' ' Wh}^ not go
to work ? It 's easier to get an hon-
est living than it is a dishonest one."

Farnum shook his head. "Can't
teach an old dog new tricks," he said.

"Sometimes 5'ou can. Wh)' not
tr}' it, anyway ? "

" There ain't no show. You don't
know nothin' about it."

"Yes, I do, too. I've bucked
against the same thing m^-self. My
father was a burglar by profession,
and I guess likely my mother helped
him."

" No she didn't," interrupted Far-
num. "Don't go back on 3'our
mother, boy." The young man
looked at him with surprise.

"What do you know about it?"
he asked.

"Well, of course," replied Far-
num, "I don't know nothin' about
it. But I 'm willin' to bet your
mother wa' n't in it. Do n't go back
on your old mother." He spoke
almost anxiously.

"Well, may be she didn't. I
don't know," answered his compan-
ion, with rising respect. " But, any-
way, that 's the handicap I had. And
I 've overcome it."

" How d '3'e do it ? "

" Got up a patent. Got capitalists
into it. Made money. Married a nice
girl. Now I 'm as good as anybody."

" Well, 5'ou was young and you
was lucky. I ain't neither."

The young man reflected. "May
be you 're right," he said.

' ' How long have you been work-
ing Chicago?" he resumed, after a
few minutes pause.

" Off and on for twenty-five years."

"I'd give a good deal to know
what became of my father. He was
a burglar here about twent}' j-ears
ago. Possibly 3-ou ma}' know some-
thing of him."

' ' What was his name ? ' '

" Henry Farnum."

" Farnum — Farnum," said Farnum,
meditating.

"They used to call him ' King.' "

Still Farnum thought. At length
he replied slowly, "Oh, 3XS, I re-
member him. He was jugged, an' I
guess he died there. At any rate,
that 's the last I heard of him. He
got a long term."

The young fellow shaded his eyes
with his hand. "The old man
always treated me well," he said.
' ' My mother never told me what
became of him, though I think she
meant to, some time. She died
suddenly, while I was awa}'. I 'm
mighty glad to get news of him."

Farnum could not speak. At
length his host rose, and said, "I
s'pose I '11 have to let you go.
You 're a pretty respectable sort of a
foot-pad. Don't try it again. You

THE HA UNTS OF THE SNO WBIRD.

1 1 1

won't make a go of it. And don't
try breaking into this house," he
added with a laugh. " If you touch
one of these windows or doors the
burglar-alarm will go off with noise
enough to wake up everybody on
the block. That 's my patent. Good-
bye."

" Now do n't that jest beat three of
a kind ? ' ' said Farnum to himself,
as he trudged back toward the city.
" Who 'd a thought little Jim would
ever done that ? Got up a patent !
Made mone}- ! Got a nice wife and
a kid ! Prob'h' he 's one o' them
way up society dudes now." He

laughed softly at the idea. "Lucky
he don't know his old scapegrace
father 's around, disgracin' the fam-
ily. An' such a blasted good feller,
too ! Goes to work an' picks up an
old jay, as was jest goin' to swipe
him over the head with a sand-bag,
an' treats him to supper an' wine an'
cigars ! ' ' Farnum stopped to laugh
again. "By thunder, that's the
best yet. Oh, he 's smart, Jim is."

So he walked on, rejoicing at
Jim's good fortune ; and not until
he reached the bridge did he re-
member that he had no money and
no place to sleep that night.

THE HAUNTS OF THE SNOWBIRD.

By Charles Henry Chesley.

Where mighty winds sweep o'er the gleaming hill,
And storm-winged furies skip across the snow —
Through every wooded glade and vale below —

Urged on by Boreas, mighty god, whose chill

Hand forged the chains that bind the laughing rill ;
Where howling tempests fiercely surge and blow,
And forest giants wrestle to and fro,

And through all nature runs a shudd'ring thrill.

These are thy haunts, O bird of froward fate,
When tj^rant Winter reigns with iron sway,

And here alone, save only with thy mate,
Thou bring' St gladness by thy simple lay ;

And in thy note which scarcely is a tune

I read a harbinger of coming June.

RAYMOND.

By George H. Moses.

N the good old colon}-
times when we lived
under the king, they
called it Freetown
because the king's
' ' broad arrow ' ' cut
upon the choice
trees, thus marked
for spars for the
royal nav3^ did not
prevent the settlers
from felling the in-
terdicted growth
and getting it to market — and with-
out punishment at that. The father
of Freetown was Stephen Dudley of
Exeter, a keen business man and the
forerunner of a numerous and dis-
tinguished progeny, who in Janu-
ary, 1 71 7, purchased the land now
within the boundaries of the town
from an Indian named Penniwit and
Abigail, his squaw. The place was
even then known as Freetown, and
in August of the same year Dudley

was commissioned ' ' Colonel and Tozun
Major of Fj^eetoivn . ' '

The duties of town major were not,
it may be assumed, onerous, though
the new conmiunity enjoyed a con-
stant growth from the beginning.
Three vears after the sale of Free-

The Lean Tavern.

town came the grant of Cheshire,
which was, three years later again,
incorporated as Chester, and the for-
tunes of Freetown were joined to
those of its neighbor. For thirty
years Freetown had ' ' taxation with-
out representation," and, as in the

Main Street.

RA YMOND.

113

¥iritilii(ia jitM'i

.,T--i

Birdseye View of the Burned District.

forty years it was a part of Chester still stands in a portion of the town
the communit}' was never honored which retains the ancient name of
by having a selectman chosen from the place, Freetown. Samuel Dud-
among its inhabitants, that may fur- ley, a relative of the founder, was
nish a reason for the separation and chosen moderator and one of the

selectmen, — and in the flush of new
municipal dignity the new town
voted to build a pound.

The early history of the town is
full of quaint doings. At the second
town meeting, for example, the voters
refused to pay the constable one
pound for his services as tax gath-

Benjamin S. Poor.

incorporation of the town of Ray-
mond which occurred in 1764.

The act was signed May 9, 1764,
and on the twenty-ninth of the same
month the first town meeting was
held, the voters assembled at Ben-
jamin Bean's inn, a building which

Samuel Harriman.

114

RA YMOND.

destitute, and the maintenance of
himself and his family was sold at
vendue at the close of the town

Rev, A. H. Thompson.

erer of the year, upon the ground
that the honor of office-holding was
sufficient emolument ; and the next
year when Jedediah Brown was
chosen constable he would not ser\-e
without pay, and since he could not
be released, he hired John Fullerton
to assume the duties, paying him
two pounds five shillings.

The next year the first census was
taken, and the inhabitants numbered
four hundred and fifty-five. In the
same year one of the settlers became

meeting.

In 176S the town turned its mind
to the building of a meeting-house,
and thereb}' provoked a strife which
lasted ten years. The vexed ques-

Congregational Church.

J, W ilson Fiske.

tion of location, which disturbs many
a larger place under similar condi-
tions even to-day, separated the infant
town into warring camps, and a site,
selected at a .special meeting in Jan-
uary, was sustained at the regular
assembling in March, onh- to be
overthrown at a meeting in May,
when choice fell upon another loca-
tion to which the voters in the south-
west part of the town entered solemn
di,ssent. In vSeptember it w^as tried,
unsuccessfull}', to defeat this choice,
and the dissenters then attempted to
have their portion of the town re-
annexed to Chester. This failed ;
but public feeling ran so high that

RA YMONP.

115

the Provincial Assembly
was appealed to, and that
body advised locating the
building on " vSled Hill,"
but the town refused to
assent to the suggestion,
and for two years the dis-
putants enjo3'ed an armis-
tice.

In 1773, five years after
it had been first voted to
have a meeting-house, a
spirit of compromise moved
the town to vote to locate
the building as near the
geographical center of the
town as possible, and a committee
was chosen to carrv on the work.

Dr. True M. Gould.

But the end was not yet. The
next year all votes relative to a
meeting-house were annulled, and
an entirely new site was selected.
Twenty-one dissenters protested
against the new selection, but with
no avail, and in the autumn the

Methodist Cnurcii

frame of the building was raised.
The raising was a great affair. The
town bought a bushel of meal for
the occasion, and paid Robert Page
seventeen shillings five pence for
rum, sugar, and fish. The dissent-
ers \vere not silenced by this, how-
ever, and at the next March meeting
an unsuccessful attempt was made to
ha^•e the meeting-house frame moved

Rev. Charles N. Tilton.

ii6

RA YMOND.

to another part of the town. This
was in 1775, and the War of Inde-
pendence which came on inimedi-
atel.v had the effect of stifling the
minor quarrel, and the church ques-
tion maintained its status quo. Noth-
ing further was done on the frame,
and after a while the timbers were
taken down and used in bviilding a
bridge, thus fulfilling in some meas-
ure the functions the}- were designed
originally to perform.

The Revolution was finished and
peace declared, and New Hampshire
had adopted a constitution before the
meeting-house question was again
taken up, and then, the lessons of
war aiding, no doubt, to hasten the
decision, the town chose a committee
of four to decide where the house
should stand ; if they could not agree
they were to add a fifth member,
and the majority should rule. It is
not known whether the fifth man was
needed, but the meeting-house was
raised June 14, 1786, and James Mer-
rill, one of the selectmen, furnished a
barrel of rum for the occasion.

Two years later the annual March
meeting was held in the new meeting-
house, but the environment was evi-
dently too oppressive, for it was voted
to adjourn to Lieutenant Bean's.

Town Hall.

Col. S. D. Tilton.

Lieutenant Bean kept the tavern,
and for twenty-three years the town
meeting had been held at his house,
so that the adjournment was not unnat-
ural as a matter of sentiment, to say
nothing of the ease with which toddy
might be obtained. At this election
John Langdon was chosen governor,
though the electors of Raymond gave
nearly half of their votes to one of their
own townsmen, the Hon. John Dudley.
But even the building of the meet-
ing-house did not settle the question.
It was located near the geographical
center of the town, but the business
center had discourteously located
itself elsewhere in the town, and
it was accordingly voted, in 1797,
to move the meeting-house thither.
It was twice attempted to rescind
this vote, but the attempt failed
in each case, and the dissenters,
defeated by the Raymond elector-
ate, appealed to the Most High,
and while the successful part}'
went hunting through the forests
in search of timbers for the
moving, the minority went on

RA YMOND.

117

Congregational Parsonage.

their knees and prayed Ciod
to prevent the impious march
of improvement. Impiet\'
won, however, and eighty
yoke of oxen were hitched
to the building to draw it
to its new location. Gen
eral Joseph Cilley, of Not
tingham, a Saratoga hero,
commanded the enterprise,
and led the arra}' adown the
winding road to Pitch Pine
Plain, where, after some
mishap, the church was

brought to a halt, and where it now 1808, more than ten years before the
stands, shorn of its ]iorches, and Toleration Act, Raymond Congrega-
known as the town hall. But even tionalists shared with the Baptists
in the new location the meeting- the privileges of the meeting-house,
house was not a success, and the The meeting-house quarrel was

first town meeting held at Pitch bvit an incident in Raymond affairs,
Pine Plain had to be adjourned to however, and while the struggle con-
Bean's tavern. tinued for many years it by no means
But, though the pioneers of Raj-- engrossed the public attention, and
mond were foolish and changeable the town and its people waxed pros-
and childish over the location of perous, and one of the latter rose to
their meeting-house, they were in considerable distinction, having been,
other matters regarding it far more as was said, his fellow citizens' choice
tolerant than the state at large, and for governor. This man was John
when the parish was first established Dudley, who came from Exeter to
di.ssenters from " the .standing order '" Raymond, where he bought "one
were relieved from paying the minis- quarter part of a saw-mill." He
terial tax by making themselves .soon became the leading man of the
known to the authorities: and in town, and in 1768 he received a

royal commission as justice of the
peace. At the outbreak of the Rev-
olution he espoused the patriots'
cause, and on learning of the affair
at Lexington he could not wait for
his horse but started out on foot to
rally the militia.

During the years of struggle which
follow he was the town's representa-
tive in the colonial a.ssembly, and
was twice made the speaker. For
eight 3'ears he was a member of the
Electric Light Station. Committce of Safety, and from 1776

liS

RA YMOND.

A Typical Street in Raymond.

to 1785 he was a judge of the covirt
of common pleas. He was then made
a judge of the superior covirt, ser\-ing
until 1797, and it was here that he
made a reputation which can never
die while lawyers live to recount the
traditions of their profession. He
was not trained for the law, but a
distinguished advocate has borne wit-
ness that he "had patience, discern-

ment and sterling integrity,
which neither partiality nor
prejudice, threat nor flat-
tery, hope nor fear could
seduce or awe."

His court manners were
brusque in the extreme,
and Governor P 1 u m e r ,
who practised before him,
is authority for this ex-
ample of Judge Dudley's
charges to the jury : ' ' You
have heard, gentlemen,
what has been said in this
case by the lawyers, the
rascals ! But no, I will
not abuse them. It is their business
to make a good case for their clients ;

Col. G. H. Tucker.

John N. Tilton.

they are paid for it, and they have
done in this ca.se well enough. But
you and I, gentlemen, have some-
thing else to consider. They talk of
law\ It is not law we want, but jus-
tice. A clear head and an honest
heart are worth more than all the

J^A YMOND.

119

law of the lawyers. There was one
good thing said at the bar. It was
from one Shakespeare, an English
player, I believe. It is good enough,
almost, to be in the Bible. It is
this, 'Be just and fear not.' That,
gentlemen, is the law in this case.

C. W. Scribner,

It is our business to do
between the parties, not
quirks of the law, out of
Blackstone or Coke, books
that I never read and never
will, but by common sense
as between man and man.
That is our business, and
the curse of God will rest
upon us if we neglect, or
evade, or turn aside from
it."

Common sense ruled
Judge Dudley's court, and
when once Jeremiah Mason
attempted to urge a plea of
demurrer before his honor
the court remarked that he

justice

l)v the

John T. Bartlett, Esq.

had ' ' always thought demurrer a
cursed cheat," and, turning upon
Mason, exclaimed, "Let me advise
you, young man, not to come here
with your new-fangled law."

Despite his eccentricities the bar
respected him, and Judge Parsons
of Newbury port, in discussing him,
said, "You may laugh at his law
and ridicule his language, but Dud-

Shepard Hotel,

I20

RA YMOND.

le}^ is the best judge I ever knew in
New Hampshire." Judge Arthur
lyivermore gave his opinion that
"justice was never better admin-
istered in this state than when Mr.
Dudley was on the bench."

He certainly was a unique char-
acter, and in view of what I can
learn of him it is a deep regret to
me that he did not declare himself

tithing-men were annually chosen to
protect the Sabbath from violation,
and the daily walk of the people was
godly and pious.

Patrioti-sm, too, abounded, and the
War of 1S12 was cordially supported
in Raymond. The Federalistic sen-
timent of the western counties never
extended into old Rockingham, and
Governor Plumer found his neigh-

Dana J. Healey.

W. H. Bailey.
A. P. Brown.

A. G. Whittier.

on the meeting-house question for
the benefit of posterity.

The opening of the nineteenth
century- found the town contented
and prosperous. The free water
privileges of the lyamprey river were
utilized for small manufacturing, and
by dint of hard labor the .soil, yet
virgin, gave fair returns to the hus-
bandman. Incomes were small, to
be sure ; but so were desires, and
there was plenty for all. Primitive
and Puritan manners prevailed. The

bors quick to support him in his
movements against threatened Brit-
ish inva.sion.

The "cold Fridays" of 1810 and
of 1 81 7 did not disturb our peaceful
hamlet, nor did the hard times of the
latter year nip Raymond keenly. A
veracious historian narrates, among
evidences of the prevailing hardships
that year, — that cider was three dol-
lars a barrel, though there is nothing
to show that the town lacked either
cider or the money to pay for it.

RA YMOND.

121

Among the curious traditions of
those days was one to the effect that
winter would not set in until after
Thanksgiving, and in 1818 Gov-
ernor Plumer, again in ofhce after
six years of private life, did not pro-
claim the feast until the last day of
December. The weather continued
warm and pleasant until some time
in January, and certain people in
Raymond were on that account de-
sirous of retaining Gov-
ernor Plumer in office,
but the majority of the
state willed otherwise
and returned to the old
custom of an earlv win-

The separation of church and state
brought new denominational influ-
ences into the community, and
churches arose and fell. The rail-
road came, bringing little in its
train and taking little with it. Ray-
mond was a century old and yet had
scarcely changed within half that
time. The anniversary was marked
with appropriate celebration and the
even tenor of thine^s was resumed.

The Shoe Shops.

ter. Though in favor of a later win-
ter, Raymond people, for the most
part, were conser\'ative, and recorded
a solid opposition to various schemes
to form new counties and to erect
new towns, and even extended its
hostility to the proposition for the
state to aid in erecting an insane
a.sylum and to aboli.sh capital pun-
ishment. On the temperance ques-
tion the town voted in favor of enact-
ing a prohibitory^ law.

Thus quietly the town grew old.

Two wars passed,
and Raymond ga\'e
of her manhood to
both of them, and
both of them had
pas.sed into hi.story
ere the new order
of affairs took place.
This came with the introduction of
shoe manufacturing, perhaps twenty
years ago, the final .step in the devel-
opment of an industrial system of
aggregated endeavor from the simple
and primitive hand shops which had
sprung up on nearly every farm. The
establishment of the shoe industry
practically created a new RaN'mond.
A liberal pay-roll at the factory still
further denuded the hill farms of their
sons to each succeeding generation of
whom the struggle for a livelihood

122

RA YMOND.

had grown fiercer and less remunera-
tive, and village life took on a citified
activit}'. Money circulated freely
and there was little thought for the
morrow. Prosperity seemed perma-
nent, nay, was permanent, when, on
a sudden stroke of misfortune, it

threatened to
spread it s
wings and fl}-
the town for-
ever.

Raymond folk still speak
of "The Fire" in an un-
dertone and with capitals,
though it is three years ^ince
its day, and the benefits it
brought have covered all
its gaping wounds. It was
a desolate Raymond that bright De-
cember morning after the flames
had spent themselves. The village
churches, stores, business blocks, the
railroad station, storehouses, and
dwelling-houses which had bade fare-
well to the sinking sun on the after-
noon before, were gone, and the
dawning rays of another day lit up a
.smoking crater of desolation where
the village had smiled but yesterday.
There was a funereal stillness in the
air as in the presence of the dead.
Men busied themselves amidst the

remnants of their possessions and
.spoke in undertones of their losses.
Townspeojjle and curious visitors
alike considered the blow a fatal one,
and the funeral oration of Raymond
was pronounced by more than one
voice among its .still smoking a.shes.
But the town was not dead. In-
deed it was never more alive. It was
not even a.sleep. The outlook was
certainly stupefying. Not only was
the heart of the town burned out, but
the firm which occupied
j the larger shoe - factory
took occasion ju.st then
to move its business city-
ward. It required cour-
to meet the emer-
genc}', and
courage
was found.
A new ten-
a n t was
found for
the factor\-.

J. L. Jones.

The burned-out merchants tempora-
rily established themselves in the
town-house and began plans for new
buildings in the .spring. The pastors
of the homeless churches looked to
God for aid and vigorously besought
men to contribute likewi.se. The rail-
road replaced its burned structure

INEXPRESSION.

123

with modern and handsome build-
ings. And the people of the town,
now that the horse was stolen, care-
fully double-locked the stable door
by putting in an adequate supply
of water.

It was almost three years to the
daj^ from the time of the fire when I
had wandered where Raymond's
streets had been to the time when I
last visited the place. A new com-
munity greeted me. The old had
indeed passed away. x\ thriving
modern village was there with elec-
trically lighted streets and buildings,
with hydrants peeping out at every
corner, with new and handsome
stores, with two elegant churches,
and with modern and graceful resi-
dences. The village was hardly more
than a handful, vet in it was concen-

trated all that a century and a half
had produced in Raymond. Circling
around on the hills were few farms
and unproductive. Their worn-out
soil had long ago given up its most
cherished crop of humanity which
had been swallowed up by the village
and the cities. All the nervous force
of a township courses through the
ganglion of the shops and the rail-
road station. The pulse courses
high of necessity. Raymond, reju-
venated Raymond, has become a type,
a type of the modern factory victory.
The keynote of existence has shrilled
up from the deep, solemn tone of the
first century to a piercing shriek of
modern industrialism. Its resonant
note thrills the air, and the visitor
to-day knows that he is in a town
that is " up-to-date."

INEXPRESSION.

J-'red Lewis Fat tee.

Oh, would my clumsy hand obey ni}' will
And catch the radiant vision that I see

In all my dreams, then would I seize the clay
And mould a statue glorified — of thee.

And would my hand but master half the chords
That in my dreams make heavenly harmony,

Apollo's mighty lyre would ring again
To tell the fulness of my love — to thee.

And there are lyrics throbbing in my soul,

And sweeter songs than mortal's dream can be,

But I can only look into thine eyes

And stammer out " I love, I love but thee."

THE PRINCES IN THE TOWER.

By Edward A . Jenks.

You wander hand in hand from room to room —

On every side barred windows and dead walls ;
Dark shadows lurk in corners, and your doom

Is whispered down the grim and silent halls.
Go to your couch, my Princes ! Eet the sleep

Of sweet forgetfulness sit on your eyes
And dull your ears : so may your dreams be deep.

That you maj'^ pass unconscious to the skies.

But that was O so long ago !

The princes of to-day
Are free as birds to come and go

From morn till evening gray.
They are not smothered in the tower —

Their feet are fleet as wings :
Before we know it, they are turned

From princes into kings.

THK LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

[CONTINUKD.]

/>y /■.'. /'. Teniwy.
CHAPTER X.

IF sunshine prevailed over cloud in
Mary's life it was owing, not so
much to moral causes, or relig-
ious disposition and the visitation of
happy spirits as to physical basis.
Welling up from within, there were
no gloomy moods but a constitutional
inclination to take nothing at its
worst ; and, save in rare hours, Mary
was the embodiment of fun alive.
This made her attractive to John
Levin, whose streak of jollity was
private, and carefully concealed from
most people ; even his mother knew
less than Mar}- of his good spirits.

Mary had just left John's com-
pany, and was in no ill-humor when
she called upon the bride.

"I never saw a scrub, Martha, so
transformed by marriage as you are.
Here you sit in queenly state, eating
sugar w'ith his royal highness, your
princely husband, while there is dis-
played before my critical ej'e, a
kitchen full of dirty di.shes, and
Myra crying and laughing like an
. idiot in the office. Who would have
thought it, thou priestess of the holy
art of housekeeping, — .so much more
beautiful as an art than painting or
sculpture. But really, I am jealous
of you. I have a notion, myself, to
be married."

"Really! " said Dr. Langdon, ris-
ing, and walking slowly toward his
oiTice door. " Really ! Really ! "

" Well, I never saw any one,"
exclaimed Martha, eagerly advanc-
ing with extended arms to meet her
friend, " who was so perfectly trans-
formed as you are by being in love,
to infatuation, for a man whom you
are unwilling to marr}'. No wonder
3'ou go raving about my kitchen, or
any place w^here there 's cooking for
two going on, like a dear, sweet man-
iac that you are."

Their greetings, long, loud, and
demonstrative, so disturbed the doc-
tor that he looked out of his ofhce
window, — ''Well, I never! I never!"

The fisherman's daughter had, in-
deed, as this world goes, great rea-
.son to be proud of her brilliant lover,
who had aroused her to a new sense
of her own mental powers, awaken-
ing her true self. It was not that
Mr. Levin was rich, enterprising,
ambitious, one of the rising men of
the colony, but he was wise ; had he
not once studied theology, — and out-
grown it all? James Glasse's half-
orphan child was indeed fortunate in
her match-making, if she would ac-
cept her fate.

"I've almost made up my mind,
Martha, to be married," said Mary,
seating herself by the garden confec-
tion tray. " You know that I never
felt about my mother's mandates as
you about yours. I was so young
when she was alive ; and I remember

126

LEGEND OE JOHN EEVIN AND AE-4RV GEASSE.

her as kind but never passionate in
her love, — never hot and demonstra-
tive as I am. I suppose it's partly
on this account that her wishes have
less weight with me now. It would
be dreadful to disregard the dead,
but don't you know that the most
fearful thing dies out of mind, after a
little ? And a living, warm-hearted,
earnest, kind lover makes one forget
other things. You understand it
all."

" Poor, love-.sick child," said Martha,
stroking Mary's hair the wrong way,
elaborately snarling it. "But I do
wish you had asked my opinion
before you pulled John I^evin out
upon the Miser}' rocks. For my
part, I should have bade you throw
away your boat-hook. You know
that I am not friendly to John
Levin."

"Martha, Martha, don't speak .so.
I may never marry him, but I love
him with all my heart. You know
that >-ou do not have to marry even
if you love, else I .should have run
away with you years ago. I expect,
by loving John Levin enough, to
mend him ; for if love be always
blind, my love is not true, since I
see very clearly that he is in sad
need of a good wife."

" I hope my dear that you will
mend him before you marr}', not
after."

"Mo.st likely."

"You know, darling, that I was
fated to marry the doctor. I was put
down in Aunt Nabb}' White's magic
mirror. But in your case it 's different.
It merel}- hapijened so. You were
looking out for your father's lobster
nets ; and watching the currents plaj^
with >-()ur line, and you caught John
Levin. Ordinarv fish-wife's luck,

you know. You are not necessaril}^
obliged to marry him an\- more than
you would a tom-cod."

"Fate, fate 1 What fate is better
than a deep and abiding affection ?
Be quiet, Martha, and quit your
drollery. I .speak truly ; discovering
in my.self and in John Levin, the
bands of a foreordained friendship.
Whether the friendship .shall be, or
shall not be, formulated and acknowl-
edged before a magistrate, or entered
of record, is not important. I call
you to wit that I am his foreordained
good angel, let alone good- wife. And
I accept the charge because I love to
do it; nor can I, by constraining
heaven, do otherwise."

So they talked in the garden till
the doctor had pulled Myra's tooth,
and apologized to her, and till she
had cleared up the house and spread
the tea.

Martha had never thought of Mary
as being otherwise than naturally
pious, not abnormally so ; but now
.she faintly detected a possible fanati--
cism up-springing in the heart of her
friend. Did .she indeed entertain
whimsical notions concerning the
Infinite Mind ? vSure was Mary that
she was now guided of God ; even
though in truth she was expecting
the universe to be divinely governed
according to the will of Mar}' Glasse,
who sang devout hymns, and lifted
the hands of adoration, and uttered
ecstatic supplication, in her rambles
morning and evening between Black
Cove and the mouth of Jeffery's
creek.

CHAPTER XI.

Whi.stling homeward like a .school-
boy went John Levin, after separa-
ting from Mary (rlas.se, upon the after-

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

127

noon of that seventeenth da}' of July,
when Mary had left his company to
go and call on the bride and her tem-
pestuoiivS but J0II3' hearted spouse.
Had it not been decided between
them that he should at least build a
bird-cage, upon the slope of the Mas-
conomo or Great Hill near Black
Cove, whether or not the shy bird
Mary should ever deign to alight
upon the threshold ? But no sooner
was John L,evin alone that day than
there welled up wnthinhim such spirit
as made him for the hour almost for-
getful of Mary.

As savagery itself, for untold ages,
has been quite equal to the calls of
life by the upspringing of exhaustless
fountains of purely animal vigor and
vivacity, like the renewal of perpet-
ual growth, in the heart of every
brave, so there was in John Levin's
physical force no apparent diminu-
tion by the score of years that had
gone by since he had ceased to be a
child ; he was more boy-like in spirit
than ever. In his case, however,
there was something more. If it can-
not be said that he had about him
the slightest tinge of a conceit of
divine possession, he had a little of a
poet's enthusiasm in leaning towards
life's ideal ; never neglecting the
practical, he ever cultivated the im-
aginative part of his nature.

This had made it easy for him
when a boy to give hospitable enter-
tainment to certain metaphysical no-
tions ; and although it was now so
many years since he had lost sight of
that Personality which had once
ser\'ed as a center to his ideal world,
he could not yet rid himself from the
grasp which the spiritual universe
had upon him. The loss of the di-
vine personality was the less to him.

since it allowed free play to that men-
tal ecstacy, so intense and uplifting,
which filled his own soul, when now
and then he gave himself up to the
thought that he, John lycvin, was an
essential part of that Mind which per-
vades the universe.

This idea is stamped b}' ph3\sicians
as akin to the abnormal experiences
of the asylums and dungeons of the
world, which during many genera-
tions have never been empty of pa-
tients or prisoners who have believed
themselves to personate the Son of
Man or .some other ideal life ; so that
no token of essential unsoundness is
more easily read than the slightest
confusion in regard to one's personal
identity. Although, therefore, John
Levin was clear-headed and far-
sighted beyond most men in his
social, political, and mercantile gen-
eration, nevertheless he held a meta-
physical notion, which was at bottom
based upon unreason, — the assump-
tion that his true individual life was
rooted outside himself, that he was
an irresponsible fragmentar}- expres-
sion of the all pervasive but imper-
sonal intelligence of the universe.

Dwelling much upon this idea, it
had become to him a source of
boundless egotism, which manifested
itself in ever}- act and motion of his
life. He believed himself to have
been so endowed from some treasure
house of mental illumination, as to
make him equal to all events.
" Who," he asked, " can match John
IvCvin, with his powerful physique,
and a fair fragment of the inexhaust-
ible intelligence ? ' '

To say that John Levin went
whistling along his homeward way,
upon that seventeenth day of July, is
to put it very mildly. His whole

128

LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

being sang in unison with the music
of celestial spheres. And during
those moments in which he fancied
himself conscious of possessing in
large measure powers practically in-
finite, all things became even to him,
whether joy or sorrow, good or evil ;
there was no sorrow, no joy, no good,
no evil, all things were in perfect
harmou}'. At such times he forgot
even his passion of love for Mary
and his own impetuous nature, and
there ceased all sense of personal
struggling at odds with the world ;
and for the moment he was diml}'
conscious of sharing the bliss of self-
existent, unconditioned life. So that,
as Hercules retired to solitary places
to reflect upon his divine original,
or touch the earth to renew his
strength , John lycvin sometimes
threw himself upon the ground under
a wide-spreading oak, or stood im-
movable with eyes fixed upon the
sea's horizon, or gazed steadfastly
upon the orbs of heaven, silently
absorbing as he believed, new forces
out of infinite realms of spiritual
power.

It was in this way that, besides being
endowed w'ith the physique of undy-
ing youth, John Levin believed that
he w^as possessed by " the spirit of the
universe," whatever that might mean.
And when he w^as at his best estate,
he felt little dependent upon earthh^
loves. Yet, if he needed not to lean
upon any being who was also a sharer
in the infinite life, he could not but
be conscious of certain opposite pow-
ers in that universal intelligence of
which he was a part ; so that he
knew himself to be attracted by the
quiet and irresistible force of nature
toward certain other beings, and re-
pelled when brought in contact with

others. This law of polarity in his
heart, this celestial movement, led him
in rapture beyond measure to approach
Mary Glasse. When he thought of
Mary, it was as if his senses were
suspended and he was entranced.
How could such bounding pulsations
of feeling be other token than that of
fate, drawing together the predes-
tined friends ?

CHAPTER XII.

John lycvin's enthusiastic day-
dreaming of his love was, however,
interrupted by his meeting the office
boy, who reported that Madam Levin
had just disembarked. Upon this
information the whistling lover
changed his tune. An ill-concealed
irony voiced itself in musical notes,
now shrill now mellow. Was it pos-
sible that this man, at thirty-five,
was a mere tassel adorning his
mother's apron strings?

Madam would, of course, want to
know all about Mary Glasse ; as,
indeed, she did before John reached
home, since he found the widow
Adipose gushing at his mother's
elbow.

" Wh3^ John, what is this you
have done," exclaimed Madam, as
.soon as she had kissed her son for
ten or fifteen minutes, and sat in his
lap and caressed him for fifteen more.
' ' How could 3'ou have done it ? You
know that I am only fifty-three, and
you are thirty-six. If I am too old
to be your companion in life, what
can Mary Glasse think, you being
eighteen years her senior? Why, An-
gelica here is much nearer your age."

"Am I, indeed ? " sweetly interposed
the fat widow, with an oily smile,
and an attempt to blush through the
carmine upon her cheeks.

LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

129

"And I hear, John, that you are
going to build a house outside of
Salem. Not while I am alive, my
son. Not till I become a saint."

" What, never, mother? "

Angelica stayed to make the tea,
and to help madam unpack. "You
are an angel, indeed," said madam
adorning the unctuous rolls upon the
corpulent widow's neck with a gold
chain and heavy cross. ' ' See wdiat
I have brought you. But do not
allow the puritans to see it. You
can wear it when you attend service
with me at St. Michael's."

John Levin sent his office boy two
miles to get another boy to come post-
haste to call the widow to Salem vil-
lage upon some imaginary errand.
By such innocent device it was not
long before John was alone with his
mother. And they talked till mid-
night, mainly upon business mat-
ters.

Madam lycvin's heritage, from the
Hawkins voyages of Devonshire,
was little money, and much spirit
for mercantile adventuring. Early
widowed in America, she had taken
her son from divinity, and had put
him to .such legal studies over sea as
might best help him keep within the
law, in a traffic not hampered by scru-
ples ; and had then put him into
such sea-going as promised most
profit, in that age of far- venturing
pillage among foes and barbarians.

Should John marr3% with so com-
petent a woman in the house as his
own mother ? So his mother asked
herself in the night watches. There
was no need of it. Or, if she .should
allow it, she would do the picking
and choosing. Had .she ever per-
mitted John to think for himself in
such matters? She never should,

not while she was alive. And John,
of course, was the most dutiful child
in the world.

The fitness of things, suggested by
his relation to infinite mind, indeed
demanded of John Levin, in the
night watches, implicit obedience to
the wishes of his mother, — unless the
law of polarity should by blind force
repel him from his mother and at-
tract him toward Mar}^ Glasse.

CHAPTER XIII.

Next morning, fox-like, stole forth
John Levin from his mother's house
at daj-break, to follow the foxes upon
the curving shore. The foxes in turn
were stealing upon unwary birds, not
knowing that it was Sunday. John
Levin, however, expected to go to
church later on ; and what he really
wanted was to observe — not to shoot
— the killdeer plover and his stealthy
foe ; and to watch the purpling east,
which the fox did not appear to no-
tice. In the advancing light John
Levin saw the " looming" sea throw
the islands half out of the shining
ba3\ solid ledges all afloat like har-
bor buoys.

And at the moment when the pol-
ished waters most brightly reflected
the hues of the morning, he stepped
in upon the sanded floor of the ocean,
and swam or floated in the wake of
the escaping plover ; and with eyes
just above the level of the gently
rising and falling plains of silver, and
mother of pearl, and opal, he watched
the changing tints unnumbered and
unnamed. Even if his days were
practically atheistic, he half believed
that, with its enamoring visions of
beauty, this morning bath was wor-
ship ; receiving from it as he did a
certain mental glow slightly tinged

I30 LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

by devotion, as if the glancing waters
were for the moment touched by Hght
divine.

Then he walked in half-devout
dreaming, along the narrow line
which is neither land nor sea, the
tide- washed shore. In the midst of
his thoughts concerning mind and
matter, wondering whether there were
two substances or one, he was met by
Dr. Bob L,angdon riding heavily
upon his black horse, hastening
slowly to answer an early profes-
sional call. The physician only
halted long enough to grasp John
lycvin's hand.

"Holding, my friend, within your-
self the infinite, and having no surety
that your own personal experience of
the infinite intelligence will outlast
the day, I trust that the spirit of the
coherent universe is now illuminating
your rising and falling concepts, like
the sun gilding the wrinkled sea."

John Levin yawned, making no re-
ply. The doctor turned in his sad-
dle, allowing his horse to take one
more breath : " General views, I say,
are indicative of mental powers supe-
rior; and the generalness of 3'our
views determines the ratio for ascer-
taining the superiority of your men-
tal powers. Am I not correct ! ' '

"Just so."

"I ask, then, further: Is not the
human heart the primordial point of
universal emergence and return ? And
if this be so, is not the hypothesis of
a personal creator the figment of an
indolent imagination ? ' '

Then the doctor put spurs to Night-
hawk, and disappeared with his sad-
dle-bags, leaving John Levin to his
meditations, so aptly voiced by his
echo on horseback. Nevertheless, the
doctor's words disturbed his thoughts

— as when one is listening to the sea,
he hears the impertinent rattle of
some musketeer or a heavy salutation
gun. The theological propositions
put forth by his physician seemed to
Levin less timely, since, at the par-
ticular moment in which he had been
interrupted, he had been thinking of
Mar}' Glasse as a possible theological
instructor likely to have healthy in-
tuitions, or as a guide for his con-
science to whom he might habitually
refer as his ideal conception perfectly
expressing the infinite harmom\

Conscious as he was of moral
slouchiness, it seemed proper, upon
Sunday morning, for him to resolve
to go and see her as soon as prac-
ticable — at once, unless his mother
wished to visit St. Michael. Giving
himself due credit for his piet}- in
adoring Mary Glasse, John Levin
returned home to breakfast with his
mother.

' ' Will you take Angelica and my-
self to attend worship this morning,
my son ? "

"Where, my dear?"

' ' There is no worship except at
Marble Harbor. There ma}' be other
meetings, but not for worship."

"Do you think, mother, that I
could worship with the widow Adi-
pose beside me ? ' '

' ' I have no doubt she would dis-
tract your heart. But what's the
harm if you do n't lose your place in
the prayer-book ? ' '

"I think I could keep my thumb
at the right page."

' • Shall we go ? "

" Certainly. Do I not always make
your wishes my first law ? ' '

"Certainly."

As John Levin grasped the tiller in
sailing down the harbor towards the

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

131

the Marble head, he constantly gazed
upon his mother's face. It was long
since he had seen her. And his
mother's features had faded a little
in his mind after he had seen Mary.
Be that as it may, he could not but
look with pride upon her dark, gray
ej^es, almost black, deep set, and well
apart, with under lids very full ; black
brows, finely arched, and hea\^ with-
out being shaggy to the end of the
outer slope ; eyes almo.st cavernous
when the long fringed upper lids
were open wade, — eyes laughing or
frowning all over the mobile face ;
the face easily dimpling with fun
or puckering with fretfulness, — the
cheeks and all muscles about the
mouth as sensitive as the face of the
sea to every ripple of emotion ; with
chin inclined to be double ; heavy,
abundant, black hair without a thread
of silver ; with complexion clear, but
coloring easily ; her figure of good
height, not slender, not stout. John
IvCvin looked at her now, to see
whether hard, unsympathetic lines
appeared more frequently than once,
whether cunning and craft and scorn
had often come to the surface, and
whether her fiendish elements were
getting the better of the angelic.
But his mother was as beautiful as
the morning and sweet tempered as
the sun, as they neared the rock-
bound harbor.

The}^ had made a very early start.
No, one could tell how wind and tide
might ser\'e them, said John. The
plump Angelica had been hurried
and worried out of her life by John
asking several times whether she
was ready ; and she had embarked
in a disheveled condition under the
promise that she should have time
enough to put the finish to her rig-

ging at Captain Goodwin's before
serince.

" I am so glad. Mother," said John
at the landing, "to go with you to
the Church of England service. The
excesses of the Puritans have been a
sad stumbling-block to my spiritual
life. I fear that the root of the mat-
ter is not in them."

"Just so, just so, my son."

But fingers of foam were now
clutching at the rocks more persist-
ently than in the early morning, as
though new forces were at work be-
neath the gently heaving sea ; and
John, looking seaward, remarked, —
' ' Mother, I think that I ought to
take great pains where I moor my
boat, for I look to a change in the
weather."

"Just so, my son."

' ' If you walk up to Captain Good-
win's, I '11 see you later."

"Just so," murmured Angelica.

It is weil known along shore, that
the most experienced seamen, ship-
masters even, are often without skill
in handling boats. In John lycvin's
case, his attempt at safe mooring re-
sulted in his being blown off across
the bay to the landing upon Jeffer^^'s
creek in Manchester, where he went
to church with Mary Glasse, instead
of keeping company with the gross
Angelica and his idolized mother.

CHAPTER XIV.

Of course Mary Glasse did not sit
upon the same side of the meeting-
house with John L,evin, two hundred
years ago. Nor did he see her pro-
file ; and he never, perhaps, disliked
her poke bonnet so much as he did
during that sermon, since he only
saw the back side of it. To Mary
Glasse the long sermon seemed pe-

132

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

culiarly timely and restful, so that
she went to sleep ; and so did Mar-
tha and so did Doctor Bob and his
rival, Doctor Jay, and so did El-
der Perkins, and Simeon Strait, the
school-master. In fact, when the
prolix pastor Hammersmith came to
seventeenthly, John Levin, who was
the only one in the congregation who
did not believe one word the preacher
said, was the only one who was wide
awake. Even Babcock, the tithing-
man, responded to the monotonous
tone from the pulpit by a well-modu-
lated and genteel snore. So that
John Eevin saw the entire congrega-
tion at one time sleeping the sleep of
the just, — reposing as soundly as the
dry bones of the early settlers outside
the meeting-house walls ; and the
pantheist was more than ever before
impressed with the thought that the
church was the pillow of the state.

When Elder Perkins partly recov-
ered himself and began* to cease
dreaming, his eyes were fixed on
John Levin. Never was greater
change in mortal man. Possiblj' in a
spirit of fun, Mr. Levin's face had
become so grave and put on such an
injured look, as if the slumber of
Zion was a personal grievance to him,
that even the short, stunted minister
waked up enough to take sight at
him over the top of the high pulpit
which fenced him in. If Mr. Levin
never failed to attract the eyes of
strangers, he was now the center of
vision to all the saints ; as, one after
another, they waked up, yawned de-
corously, rubbed their eyes, and be-
gan to ogle the distinguished stran-
ger.

" He is naturally a deacon," whis-
pered Babcock to Doctor Jay, who
responded with a nod and went to

sleep again, having been out late Sat-
urday night.

Could not John Levin make him-
self up at will to represent any kind
of character needful for the hour?
Had he not practised artificial per-
sonification to while away long voy-
ages ? If he set out, for a few mo-
ments, to imagine himself a deacon,
he could look like one. But when,
after service, the clerical Hammer-
smith and Elder Perkins and Doctor
Jay and Madam Godsoe and Dame
Silvertongue hurriedly gathered
about the pious stranger. Levin sud-
denly changed his face, and looked
so like the personification of all evil
that no one dared to speak to him.
He did not know that Marj' Glasse
was looking. But she was so shocked
to see the fine looking deacon in him
shrivel and give place to a demoniacal
expression, that she was henceforth
more determined than ever that she
would not marr}^ him. Nor did she
ever fully know how this face-chang-
ing came about, till, upon acquaint-
ance, she observed that Madam Lev-
in had similar power of almost instan-
taneous transformation.

"Come, Doctor Bob, get into my
boat with your wife," said Mr. Levin
on the doorstep. "She lies at Nor-
ton's ship-yard."

So the}^, with Mary, sailed for
Black cove, west of Glasse Head.
But an inexpert sailor was John Lev-
in that morning, else perverse ; for
he could not in such a sea land
his passengers without taking them
further, to the mouth of Chubb's
creek, where Doctor Langdon had
told him that he was prospecting for
a house-lot. The ungodly Levin
apologized for bringing them so far
that they could not lunch at James

LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

133

Glasse's house; and he straightway
produced a kettle and two lines as
soon as all were landed upon the
east bank. In a few minutes he
and tile doctor had cunners enough
to fry, wdth a parcel of new potatoes
■which they pulled out of Knapp's
field, near by ; and then they all
lunched under the walnuts at the
water side.

During these operations the face of
Levin was not wicked, nor very de-
vout, but rollicking all over ; and he
even danced alone around the pot,
before asking the sober company to
partake.

' ' How did you like the minister,
John?" asked Martha, throwing the
skeleton of a cunner over her shoul-
der into the hazel bushes.

" Well, if you will give keen edge
to my jack-knife, I '11 whittle out a
better minister for you, as soon as
I 've finished these fish."

"For my part, I enjoyed the ser-
mon very much indeed," replied the
doctor, suiting his action to the word,
by closing his eyes and breathing
heavily as he did in sermon time.

"Mary," asked Levin, "at what
point did you go to sleep, and what
waked you up ? "

But Mary was too much of a Puri-
tan to respond in like spirit, upon
Sunday ; and she soon turned the
conversation into courses which she
fancied more befitting the day, —
although less drowsy than her pas-
tor's sermon. At least she was more
wide awake in conversation than
under preaching.

" I don't see, Martha," said Levin,
"how you can sleep, if you believe
what the minister was saying."

" What did he say?"

If John Levin ever perverted any-

thing in his life, it was his report of
that sermon, the part to which his
auditors had nodded assent. It
sounded plausible, just like the
preacher ; but the doctrine was John
Levin's, — a singular mixture of illog-
ical dogmatic propositions, and scrip-
ture texts slightly misquoted. And
then, when his auditors entered pro-
test, he added : "I told you that I
would whittle out a wooden-headed
preacher for you. Have I not done
it?"

Without a suspicion, in his limit-
less egotism, that Mary Glasse had
been taking his measure, John Levin
sailed over the bay to meet his
mother. Moody and reckless he sat
at the tiller ; whistling now sadly,
now defiantly, till favoring winds
brought him to easy landing at the
foot of the garden at Goodwin's.

CHAPTER XV.

The mercurial and politic Madam
Levin did not after all object to her
son's attending the established church
of England, New rather than Old. It
would evidently ser\'e him better in
a business way to attend the Congre-
gational conventicles ; who could
tell how many clients he might have
won that Sunday morning ? Besides,
the ritual of her childhood was disap-
pointing to her, when St, Michael
had to hold services in a private
house. Perhaps John had better
stick to the regular meeting-houses
for the present, particularly since he
had secured the freedom of the Epis-
copal people from being taxed to sup-
port Puritanism.

And madam was the less inclined
to quarrel with her son for leaving
her so long, since she had been as
busy as a bee, in leisure hours of the

134 LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

day, in gathering gossip-honey from
the flower of Marble Head society ;
having adroitly rid herself of the com-
pany of the somewhat tiresome Adi-
pose, who spent most of the day in
Mistress Goodwin's guest chamber,
dressing her hair and making beau-
catchers.

There is at this hour, under the
sidewalk of Waterway in Salem, an
old well, walled with circular bricks
which John lyCvin imported from
England. At its opening, a few
years ago, when the walk was laid,
it was found that the entire face of
the bricks was covered with a net-
work of roots from an elm near by,
which in search of moisture had pen-
etrated the porous brick. The Levin
garden enclosed this well before the
street was cut through. In the sum-
mer-house which covered this well,
sat John Levin and his mother alone
upon this Sunday evening of the
eighteenth day of July. They spent
the twilight in going over the points
of their business investments ; to
which the most exacting Puritan
could not object, since the twain
had ' ' kept ' ' Saturday night — well
enough as they thought. To be sure,
even if their business consultations
had trenched upon the hours of Sun-
day, what could have been more suit-
able to the day than what was said
about their Christianizing negroes by
taking them out of pagan Africa and
planting them in Anglo Saxon homes ?

"Can anything be more benefi-
cent? " asked madam.

"Nothing," answered her son,
"unless it be my thoughtfulness in
relieving the Simon idiots of the care
of all their foolish father left them."

' ' Did you do that ? ' '

' ' What else could I do ? If I had

not done so, it would have all been
wasted, every penny of it. They
don't know how to manage property."

"Of course not. I'm glad you
got it. Now, John, do you know,"
added his mother, bending forward
and bringing her face nearer to her
son's, and looking into his eyes
which were emitting strange fire in
the deepening shades of the hour,
' ' do you know that our amiable
Angelica has almost persuaded me
to move to Boston ? ' '

"What! Boston?"

' ' Yes, she saj'S that Boston society
is better than ours."

" But there 's no business in Bos-
ton to speak of. No person of any
mercantile or legal ambition would
leave Salem for Boston."

Madam arose, and looked out upon
the tranquil moon over the restless
sea.

" I am quite sure, my son, that
you have a talent to succeed any-
where, ever>' where, and our residence
shall be fixed according to your judg-
ment not my fancy. — By the way, I
forgot to ask you what success the
Hawly had upon the last voyage ? ' '

" She took three chickens, — one
French and two Spanish, well feath-
ered."

"Very good. Now let me look
into your eyes, my son." The affec-
tionate woman drew to herself her
son, and embraced him. " I see the
angel looking out at the windows of
your eyes, my son."

" Is this real praise. Mother, or is
it every-day irony ? ' '

" It 's the truth, — the angel of love
to your mother."

" That is true. I always keep this
good angel in my eyes to look out my
daily path for me."

LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.

135

"Tell me, then, my son, about
your prospects of political prefer-
ment which we talked about before
your unfortunate sailing to ship-
wreck . ' '

It had been fixed in Madam
Levin's mind that her son would in
the new world rise to great influence,
as indeed he did. Mother and son
were naturally toadies, and tools for
tyranny ; so that the son was making
the most of the royal governor ; and
what conscience he had he put into
his efforts to secure adherence to
the forms of law, on the part of a lib-
erty-loving people, who were likely
to be turbulent if legal forms were
not to their minds. And John lyCvin
was foremost in the attempt to make
head against what was deemed by
many to be the undue power of the
ministers, by combining the mer-
chants and the lawyers and develop-
ing their social and political ener-
gies.

It had greatly gratified Madam
Levin's vanity that her son, in
place of being the poetic dreamer
and theological pedant he had
promised to be when in college,
had come to be so thrifty in busi-
ness and of so decided a taste for
politics. But professional politics in
that age meant little else than the
hunting for place as a basis for plun-
der, — little else than another form of
that gentleman-piracy which was en-
riching so many families, by spoiling
the private citizens of those countries
which were the traditional enemies
of England, or robbing savage tribes
who had no more right than might.

" Let those take wdio have the
power; let those keep who can,"
quoth madam, as she gathered up
their wraps to go into the parlor.

After the candles were lighted,
John was requested by his maternal
ancestor to tell her all about Mary
Glasse, to whom he owed his saving
from the sea ; and he told her, or
professed to, all he knew about her,
and his own relations to her, — told
it all with that deceitful frank-heart-
edness which his mother understood
the better since she had been his
teacher in the art.

Knowing that she knew now no
more than she did before her hopeful
had informed her on this subject,
madam said, — "I know that Mar>'
will not marry you. That 's what
Angelica saj^s, and she knows. But
what do you want to marr>' for ?
What do you really, at bottom,
care, whether or not you have any
friends, — that is, if you make sure to
befriend yourself ? And you know
that I will always be your friend."
Then she suddenly changed her tone,
and great tears stood in her eyes :
' ' You know that your mother loves
you. I do not want you to marry
Mary Glasse. Now tell me that you
will not." And she took John by
the hand, and paused for reply.

" I will not. I will give up the idea.
I do not care anything about it. But
do tell me why 5'ou insist on it."

Madam, knowing that her son had
no notion whatever of giving up the
idea, suppressed her artificial tears,
and quietly went on with her state-
ment of reasons: "Mary Glas.se is
too much like you. You want one
of the opposites when you marry.
That 's the way your dear papa and
I did. Besides, in all that in which
she differs from you, she is undesir-
able for a mate. She is a woman of
ideals, of too much conscience, an
impracticable woman ; she would

136 BY OLD STAMBOUL.

ruin your business, if she knew it as "Her? I can not." And John

T know it. Some women are rehg- hastily rose up to kiss his mother

ious fanatics, and others are fools ; good night.

of the two, marry the fool. There's "Can not? Can-nots and will-
Adipose, for instance, a fool, but nots slip as easy as bow-knots."
thrifty. Why don't you marry her ? " And she blew out the candles.

[to be continued.]

BY OLD STAMBOUI..

Frederick Myron Colby.

Slowly over the silver tide
We drifted — I and my Eastern bride ;
The sun shone low in the golden west,
The waters lay — a haven of rest —
Only stirred by the dip of the oar
In the hands of our Nvibian rower.
As on we drifted by old Stamboul,
Past scented gardens and kiosks cool,

And my bride sang low.

And our boat moved slow.
As on we drifted by old Stamboul.

Under the low Byzantine skies

I watched the gleam of her Orient ej^es

As they rested on dome and minaret,

On bright- walled towers like jewels set

In the crown of a queen, this ga}^ Stamboul,

With its flowers and flashing fountains cool,

Its odors of olive, myrrh and musk.

That scented the air from dawn to dusk,

Its glimpses of fair Circassian girls

With supple limbs and silken curls, —

Houris of a Moslem's paradise,

Where the daytime all too quickly flies

In dreams of bliss and hours of ease.

And Nature employs all her arts to please.

Languid and dreamy we drifted on .

In the blaze of the westering sun,

Past the towers of old Stamboul,

Past emerald bower and flashing pool.

And my bride sang low.

And our boat moved slow.
As on we drifted by old Stamboul.

BY OLD STAMBOUL. 137

Beneath the roseate sunset sky

We drifted on, my love and I,

Beyond the old Byzantine town,

Beyond the height called Michael's Crown,

Past open courts where parrots screamed.

And latticed screens where maidens dreamed,

To where uprose his cool retreat,

And soothing fountains charmed to sleep

The senses of an Orient king,

As if bewitched by magic ring.

We smelled the breath of balsam trees,

We felt the coolness of the breeze,

And all the glories of the past

Like opals from the centuries cast,

Swept in upon our drowsy eyes,

Beneath those lurid, eastern skies.

As on we drifted by old Stamboul,

Through scented calm and shadow\s cool.

And my bride sang low,

And our boat moved slow.
As on we drifted by old Stamboul.

We heard the tinkling of a lute
That made all other music mute,
And, by and by, from off the shore
A fairy bark its burden bore
Adown the sleepless, gleaming tide,
Perchance the lover with his bride.
And denser still the shadows grew,
And fainter gleamed the hills of blue,
Guarding this scene of fairy land
Like sentries rising from the strand.
Begirt with castles, strong and old.
Well-guarded by the Moslem bold.
And now the forests downward swept
To where the placid waters crept ;
And onward, onward, like a dream.
Our shallop floated down the stream,
'Midst purple mists and shadows cool.
By the storied walls of old Stamboul,

And my bride sang low.

And we drifted slow,
As our shallop floated by old Stamboul.

ENVOY.

Sweet is the memory of those hours
When we sailed past those fairy bowers,

138

SE WALL'S FALLS HISTORICALLY CONSIDERED.

And saw the graceful kiosks rise
Beneath the opalescent skies ;
But sweeter yet was the long-drawn kiss
I took from lips, with a lover's bliss,
As we sat amidst the shadows cool.
The night we drifted by old Stamboul.

SEWALL'S FALLS HISTORICALLY CONSIDERED.

I>y Otis G. Ham)no7id.

THE name of Sewall's Falls is an
old one, like many others of our
immediate neighborhood, and it
has a connection and a meaning. In
the days of our early history, men
did not name a bit of nature as now
they sometimes do a child or a pet
dog, merely from a fancy for a eupho-
nious combination of letters, without
any regard to its probable fitness ;
but such names were applied as
would indicate either the ownership
of the property, or, if this was not
possible, its most prominent natural
characteristic. In this way Rattle-
snake hill was so named, because it
was full of rattlesnakes ; Horse- Shoe
pond and Long pond, because of
their outlines ; many others might
be mentioned but these are locally
familiar and sufficient for the pur-
pose.

Sewall's Falls belongs in the class
receiving names from owners of the
property, or in this case, of adjoining
lands. On the 29th of November,
1695, " Samuel Sewall and Hannah
his wife Daughter & Heir of John
Hull Esqr late of Boston deceased"
sent a petition to the general court
of the province of the Massachusetts
Bay, representing that, at a session of
the general court held at Boston, May

6, 1657, a grant of one thousand acres
of land was made to John Endicott,
at that time governor of the province,
"to be laid out unto Him in any
place not prejudicing former Grants :
and is in lieu of Seventy five pounds
by him and his Wife in the general
Adventure." The petitioners then
stated that on the 9th of March,
1658, John Endicott and his wife,
Elizabeth, sold that tract of land to
John Hull, father of Samuel Sewall's
wife, Hannah, for the sum of fifty
pounds ; or rather he sold the title
to that amount of land granted him
by the general court, as the land had
never been selected and laid out.
Under the right derived from this
purchase the petitioners had selected
five hundred acres of land ' ' at Pen-
nicook on the North-East side of
Merrimack River," surveyed and laid
out by Jonathan Danforth, a noted
surv^eyor of that day, and now prayed
that this tract might be confirmed to
them in part satisfaction for the thou-
sand acres originally granted to John
Endicott.

Their petition was read in council
on the 29tli of November, 1695, and
the prayer thereof was granted ; the
House of Representatives concurred
on the 3d of December, and the

SE WALL'S FALLS HISTORICALLY CONSIDERED.

139

grant was completed by the brief, but
necessary, "I consent, W" Stough-
ton."

A further perusal of Sewall's peti-
tion discovers the following clause :
"And whereas no I^and has been
laid out & allowed nor other Com-
pensation made to the s'' John Endi-
cott Esqr, Elizabeth his Wife, or to
the s'' John Hull Esqr or any of their
Heirs or Assigns. (That granted to
your Petitioners Nov"" 8, 1693, being
included in a Grant of all Mericoneg
Neck to Harvard Colledge as now
appears ) ; " and the entry by which
the grant asked for is allowed Nov.
29, 1695, mentions the five hundred
acre farm petitioned for as ' ' Part of
a Grant of One thousand Acres Con-
finned to them upon an Ancient
Grant made unto John Endicott Esq''
then Governour, and Purchased by
the said John Hull, And formerly
sett forth unto the Petitioners at
Merriconeg neck in Casco bay upon
the said Grant, Appearing to be
before granted unto Harvard Col-
ledge."

By which it appears that the peti-
tioners had fixed upon a location for
their property at ' ' Merriconeg neck
in Casco bay," and had obtained a
confirmation of it on the 8th of
November, 1693 ; but upon later ex-
amination it was found that the
whole of the Neck had been pre-
viously granted to Harvard College,
which made their later grant of part
of the same territory void. Then it
was that they fell back upon an old
location confirmed to John Endicott
in 1668.

From a careful examination of all
the documents available, relating to
this case, it would seem that, as
Judge Sewall affirms in his petition,

the farm of a thousand acres granted
to John Endicott was never selected
and surveyed as a whole. In the
same petition, he makes the state-
ment that, on the 9th of March, 1658,
Governor Endicott and Elizabeth, his
wife, sold the title to that tract of
land to John Hull, father of Samuel
Sewall's wife, for fifty pounds. Not-
withstanding this reported sale, the
Massachusetts Court Records of May
27, 1668, contain the following de-
scription of a tract of land laid out
to John Endicott :

" Laid out to Jn" Endecot Esq""
Gov'no' five hundred acres of land
in the wilderniss at Pennicooke one
part or parcell of the same conteyning
thirty six acres more or lesse lieth
upon an Island in the said River of
merrimacke which Island lyeth at
the very farthest end of that place
Called Pennicooke alsoe one part or
parcell of the same Conteyning fower
hundred sixty fower acres more or
lesse lyeth upon the aforesaid River
on the east side of it it begins at the
North East End of that Intervaile, at
a great pine standing by merrimack
side marked w"" J I and from this
pine it runns doune the River by a
crooked line five hundred thirty
fower pole, where it is bounded by
an elme a great one standing by the
side of the bancke markt as before
w"' J I from thence it runns to the
high upland almost upon an East &
by north Point two hundred siventy
six pole unto a stake standing in a
swampish peece of Ground a tree
standing behind it eastward marked
w"' J I : and from thence it runs to
the first pine wch is fower hundred
fifty fower pole also there is two
very smale Islands laid to it one
lieth betweene this land, & the great

I40 SE WALL'S FALLS HISTORICALLY CONSIDERED.

Island w°'' Conteins by estimation taken of the same by Jonathan Dan-

about twelve pole and another Island forth Surveyor the court Approves of

wch lieth on the north west of the this returne/' '

first Conteyning about sixteene or The following plan of the tract of
twenty pole by estimation all wch is land just described is found in Mas-
more fully demonstrated by a plott sachusetts Archives, Vol. 45, p. 228:

[Mass. Archives Vol. 45, p. 228.]

SE WALL'S FALLS HISTORICALLY CONSIDERED.

141

As the general court of Massachu-
setts often allowed grantees to select
their land in two or more places, if
they could not find the whole amount
of suitable land in one tract, Judge
Sewall evidently intended to locate
half the land in Penacook, and the
other half where he might afterwards
find a suitable place, but whether he
ever petitioned for the other five hun- .
dred acres or not we are not able to say.
If Governor Endicott sold the title
to the whole thousand acres to John
Hull in 1658, it is difficult to explain
why, ten years afterwards, in 1668, a
half of that tract was located and laid
out to John Endicott and not to John
Hull who had bought it ; unless it
might be inferred that the governor
allowed the use of his name as an
agent for John Hull, the more easily
to secure the confirmation of the
grant, and to save the confusion of
the case by bringing into use the
deeds of transfer, or for other reasons
not now known to us. This theory
is given some foundation by the fact
that the records show no trace of any
other grant of land to Governor Endi-
cott. It may be, however, that Mr.
Sewall was a little misty in regard
to the dates given in his petition.

The above-described tract of land
is evidently the farm petitioned for
and obtained by Samuel Sewall in
1695. The farm was situated on the
east side of the river, and the island
of thirty-six acres is the one since
known as Sewall 's island, lying a
short distance below the falls, and
embraced between the present main
channel of the river and what is com-
monly known as the ' ' old river ' ' or
"old channel." Its form as an island
is now somewhat obscured, as it is
crossed north and south bv the track

of the Northern Railroad which con-
nects it with the mainland at both
ends. The larger of the two smaller
islands remains in the old channel,
but the other has disappeared. Dr.
Bouton says that the farm embraced
the island known by that name, and
the intervales, with some upland east
of it, including the farms now (1856)
owned by Mr. Samuel B. Larkin,
Samuel B., and John Eocke, and
what is known as the Thatcher farm.
This tract of land proved a great
stumbling block in the way of our
first settlers, as it was situated in the
very center of the township and com-
prised about all the land capable of
settlement and cultivation there was
to be found along the east side of the
river. Two hundred acres of it was in-
ter\'ale land, lying along the bank of
the river, the rest being upland back
from the river. The grant of the town-
ship of Penacook, from the general
court of Massachusetts, dated Jan.
17, 1 725-' 26, stipulated, among other
things, that the first fifty settlements
should be made on the east side of
the river. But on the 15th of June,
1726, the settlers petitioned the court
for the privilege of making their set-
tlements on the west side of the river,
and also asked for an equivalent for
the five hundred acres of land for-
merly granted to Governor Endicott,
which fell within their bounds. On
the 24th of the same June, William
Taylor, from the committee on the
Penacook settlement, reported the
progress of their affairs, and said,
' ' upon View and Strict Sur\-e}' of
the lands on the East Side of Merri-
mack we find that there is little or no
Water, — The Land near the River
extream Mountains and almost Im-
passible And v^ry unfit for and unca-

142 SB WALL'S FALLS HISTORICALLY CONSIDERED.

pable of Receiving Fiftj' Families as
the Court has ordered, more espe-
cially considering That near y'' Cen-
tre of the Town on y" East Side of
the River Merrimack, The Hon'"'''
Sam" Sewall Esq' has a Farm of Five
Hundred Acres of Good Land for-
merly granted by this Court and laid
out to Governour Endicott." The
committee then reported that they
had laid out one hundred and three
lots on the west side of the river, and
recommended that an equivalent for
the Sewall farm of five hundred acres
be granted and laid out adjacent to
the town.

This matter evidently not being
immediately attended to, the settlers
themselves petitioned for this equiv-
alent on the 6th of December, 1726,
asking to be allowed to extend the
south bounds of the township one
hundred rods, the full breadth of the
town. The house immediately voted
to grant the petition, and sent their
vote to the council where it was non-
concurred. On the loth of June,
1727, the house sent another like
vote to the council, where it met the
same fate as its predecessor. On the
1 6th of the following December, John
Osgood, in behalf of the Penacook
settlers, sent in another petition for
an equivalent, with other privileges,
which was likewise allowed bj- the
liouse and non-concurred in council.
The reason of the disapproval of all
these votes by the council seems to
be that the same votes contained a
clause by which the five pounds,
which was to be paid b}- each settler
when he drew his lot, was to be
remitted in view of their hea\^' ex-
penses of settlement ; and it was not
until the 5tli of August, 1728, that
the house passed a vote allowing the

settlers to extend the south bounds
of their township one hundred rods
along its full width, and making no
mention of the five pounds remit-
tance. This vote was read in coun-
cil the next day, and immediately
concurred and signed by Governor
Burnet. Thus did this old grant,
made eighty years before, disturb the
minds of our earliest settlers.

The head line or the northwestern
boundary of the Masonian patent
crossed the Merrimack river at Sew-
all's F'alls. This is shown by the
report of the committee appointed by
the legislature to run the ' ' straight
line," as it was called, of the Mason-
ian claim, as entered in the House
journal, February' i, 1788. The com-
mittee consisted of John McDuffee
and Archibald McMurphy, and they
employed Joseph Blanchard and
Charles Clapham as sur\^eyors. The
line was to connect a point sixty
miles inland on the southern bound-
ary of this state with another point
the same distance inland on our east-
ern boundary. In describing the
course of their survey the committee
state that ' ' this line crosses Merrimac
river in Concord on Sewalls Falls."

The place to-day bears no trace of
its original owner, the old governor,
but it came into other and more ac-
tive hands, whence the island therein
once contained, and the falls just
above, derived their names. They
come to us, after nearly two hundred
years of existence, and, like many
others we speak of day after day, are
full of historical and traditional asso-
ciations which we never dream of
until some musty book-worm un-
earths their secrets and thrusts them
upon our notice, and then we wonder
why nobody ever thought of it before.

AN IMPERISHABLE EPITAPH.
By Frank L. Phalen.

When I am dead,
And silent lie low in my narrow bed
I ask not that the world shed tears,
And raise o'er me a monument of stone ;'

But this I pray, —

That men may truly say,

He was a man !

His heart was warm and true ;
And, in this earthly life of ours,

He did a noble part
To soothe sad sorrow's heart, —

To heal the sick,

And cure the bitter smart

Of sin and pain.

He was a man.
And did what manhood could
To make sublimely real our dream of good.

This be my epitaph.

And this alone,
Written on human hearts,
Not carved on crumbling stone.

OUR vSTORE OF OED LETTERS.

By Marian Dotiglas.

THREE sisters, my grandmother, to-da5^ It was a Puritan family in

my great-grandmother, and my all its associations, with the blood

grandaunt, came to Concord in and belief of the Mayfiowcr Whites.

Colonial days, followed a little later Ann Hazen was a kinswoman of

by their brother, my great-grand- the clear-headed Baileys and Hazens,

uncle. They were children of Sam- to whom the new Haverhill, on the

uel Ayer and Ann Hazen, whose Connecticut, owes its existence. She

strong homestead, still a pleasant possessed a vivid personality, which

dwelling place, not yet in alien has made her the best remembered of

hands, is standing in old Haverhill our ancestors. Quick of thought and

144

OUR STORE OF OLD LETTERS.

strong in purpose, she spun and
wove, and baked and brewed, and
vigorously drilled her eleven children
in "the three R's " whenever the
schoolmaster (as he often did), failed
to appear. The children she gave to
New Hampshire were an honor to
her. The son, Richard, was a valued
citizen ; and the three sisters, Mrs.
John Kimball, Mrs. John Bradle}^
and Mrs. (Doctor) Peter Green, were
recalled by those who knew them,
the one for her blended dignity and
loveliness, one for a keen intellectual
vision that saw beyond her time, and
one for an unfading beauty, unknown
to modern days, with brilliant eyes,
and cheek that " shamed the lily and
the rose."

There were in the second gener-
ation a large class of cousins, with
much visiting and merry-making
when they were together, and sending
of messages and letters when apart.
Everybody used in those days to
hoard letters, and a large chest full
of such spoil has lain for 3^ears under
our garret eaves. Some of the oldest
of these are found in a packet of let-
ters written by her 3'oung friends to
my Aunt Patty in her girlhood.
They must have been delightful to
receive, full of honied flatteries and
protestations of devotion, and rather
gain than lose from here and there a
very obvious attempt at fine writing.

"Though my st)'le is not florid,
friendship is the foundation on which
I build," plead Charlotte Odlin from
Exeter, in 1794.

Betsey Abbott, apparently a
sprightly Concord girl, away from
home, writes, in July, 1796, that she
had just spent "the Fourth in Am-
herst. The exercises began at nine
in the morning. An oration was

delivered by a M^ Howard. The
music was really deliteful." She
had been to a tea-drinking at Colonel
Meanes's of Amherst, and seen my
Uncle Peter, then a clerk in Colonel
Meanes's store.

" M''' Meanes," she saj^s, "shew
me Peter's gardain. It was a small
spot of ground ajoining the flow^er-
gardain. In one corner of it grew a
peculiar kind of peas polled in a very
nice manner. M"" Meanes told your
brother that she apprehended from
the growth and situation of those peas
that he would be a bacheldore."

In Weare, where she was then
stajdng, "lacking what is every
requisite to human happiness, a
bosom friend," reading and walking
were her principal amusements.
"The situation," she saj's, " is very
favorable for the latter, and it is an
amusement of which I was always
ver}' fond. A few rods from our
house nature has placed a majestic
hill, half a mile in length. It lies in
the form of a tray. Its ascent is very
gradual at one end, which makes it
very agreeable walking. On the
sumit we have a very pleasing and
extensive prospect. One side of it is
covered with beautiful honeysuckle
which diffuses a pleasing flavour to
the rambler ; the other checkered
with wheat, rye, oats, &c. At one
end of my favorite hill is a delightful
row of poplars which extends to the
foot. Then a clear, transparent
stream separates the hill from a field
of mowing. There is something pe-
culiarly pleasing in the motion of the
poplar leaf. I contemplate it with a
great deal of satisfaction."

The ' ' honeysuckle ' ' was doubtless
white clover. It was customary in
old times to call it so. Weare resi-

OUR STORE OF OLD LETTERS.

dents can probably recognize the
"hill."

Both these letters began, "My
amiable friend," but the four next
dates open with { what was also com-
mon) the first sentence. " I was just
agoing," begins Eliza Sweeters, "to
take tea at Mrs. Sprague's, when
3'our Par came in with your interest-
ing letter."

"A few words, my friend," com-
mences Nancy Dwight, afterward the
second wife of Rev. Dr. McFarland,
' ' to assure you of my continued
friendship, and reprove your long
silence. Why is your pen so long
laid aside? Resume it, Patty, and
cheer the spirits of 3'our far distant
friend."

She was, we are sure, a most charm-
ing girl, who, in 1799, had just re-
turned from a visit to Concord to her
native home and the shades of sim-
plicity in Belchertown ; and still she
longed, "in her wakeful hours, to
call and chat awhile beneath the
elms."

"Patty," she prays, "when seated
under them, employ a thought of
your friend, to whom the memory of
them, and the hours .spent under
them, are very pleasing."

The elms wave as fair and as beau-
tiful as of old, but the glad, 5'oung
girls speak only to our thought in a
few yellowed pages. "The shades
of simplicit}^ ' ' were not unlighted by
social pleasures. She had been to a
stage-ride of twenty or thirty miles
with a party of eight or ten, "visited,
or rather called on, a number of
friends, and returned the next day; "
and had attended a Belchertown ball,
' ' where were

' Many a youth and many a maid
Dancing in the checkered shade.'

as Milton says." " We had a very
good ball," she adds, perhaps with a
memory of some unusuall)^ pleasant
partner. One of her letters closes
with a conceit very common in some
form at that time : ' ' Excuse this has-
ty scrip, and accept the sincere friend-
.ship and LOVE of Nancy Dwight."

A letter of Eliza Sweeters, in 1797,
is characteristic of the time. She
lived in Lancaster, Mass., and says:
' ' I wrote the two last times your
good Par was in town, but did not
know when he intended leaving, and,
owing to this, \\\y poor scrolls were
deprived of a conveyance, and I com-
mitted them to the flames." " I sup-
pose you have been told that Sally is
metamorphosed into a wife. Yes,
Patty, she has voluntarily enslaved
herself, but, as for me, I am free
as when you were here in regard
to the lads." In all these letters
the words par and mar, or papa
and mama, are constantly used.
Father and mother seemed to have
been kept for formally addressing
one's parents. "Metamorphosed"
was a very fashionable word then,
and for twenty years after.

It seemed as if the 5'oung lad}' cor-
respondents specially exercised their
ingenuity to find place for it. The
poverty of the people generally is
shown by the perfect openness with
which these young women .speak of
waiting for ' ' chances ' ' to send their
missives, none of which have post-
marks. The mail was apparently
too costly to think of employing for
mere letters of friendship. "The
only reason of my not writing,"
sa)'S Sarah McFarland of Worcester,
apparently some relation of the good
minister, " was want of opportunity,"
" except," she adds, " by mail."

146

OUR STORE OF OLD LETTERS.

The postage in 1801 on a double
letter from New York to Boston was
thirty-four cents, and on one from
Belchertown to Concord, twelve and
a half. This last was one of those
carefully- worded , elegantly- w r i 1 1 e n
notes that marked the gentlemen of
the time, and was from a Justus For-
ward, who wrote in regard to the
death of the first Wm. McFarland,
who, early left an orphan, appears to
have been his ward. He describes her
as most lovely, and "of a cheerful
disposition, though not so airy as
some."

1 80 1 is the date of one of "Aunt
Sally's" many beautiful letters. The
love of Concord was a ruling passion
through all her long life, which was
chiefly spent at the house of her
father, the old Kimball homestead
on North Main street. She was
visiting in Coventry, and writes :
' ' You wish me not to stay until I
forget my friends in Concord. No,
Patty ; I must outstay time itself to
do that, although my present situa-
tion is so agreeable that I can
scarcely think of leaving it. Here
I find all the charms of rural life,
and for me rural life has many
charms. The mountains, the brooks,
the birds, the flowers, all are pleas-
ing. Nature meant me for a countrj^
life or she would never have bestowed
such an awkward air upon me in
company." Those who remember
her beautiful old age, believe the
traditions of her charming youth,
and doubt not her ' ' awkwardness ' '
was only a fascinating timidity.

1 80 1 is also the last date in the
worn and yellow roll marked, " Let-
ters concerning our Brother, Peter
Green." One of the earliest Sons of
the Revolution, born the same sum-

mer as the Declaration of Independ-
ence, he was in 1796 the predicted
" bacheldore " of Betsey Abbott's let-
ter, a boy of twenty, handsome, and
with a quick sense of the refinements
and courtesies of life, just preparing
in New Hampshire's Amherst to
launch his tiny craft on the treach-
erous sea of trade. Never were busi-
ness ventures, great or small, more
hazardous than then : with every-
thing connected with commerce full
of uncertainty ; England seeking in
every way to retard the progress of
her rebellious and victorious child,
and France, for the sake of past
favors, demanding our assistance in
all her mad escapades ; with great
cost and difficulty attending the in-
land transit of merchandise, and with
cruel and unjust laws against debt-
ors, when debt was often almost un-
avoidable ; and 3'et with new town-
ships springing up all about, and
constant and alluring opportunities
for speculation well fitted to deceive
even the wariest.

Peter's letters began, "Honored
Father," and were signed either
' ' your obedient " or " your dutiful
son." The style was nearl)^ perfect
and the penmanship exquisite, not at
all like the hap-hazard writing of the
present day. He writes from Milford,
where he had just gone in 1798, in
a glow of anticipated success, " I am
more than ever convinced of the ad-
vantage of putting money into trade.
My business increases rapidly. I am
very sorry you cannot help reap the
fruits of it."

But in 1800 his poor little barque
seems to have capsized. He is then
about setting out from New York " on
a long journey on business for a gen-
tleman of that city, a Quaker, and a

OUR STORE OF OLD LETTERS.

ver3' clever man " ; and in 1801, back
from his travels, he writes his brother,
Samuel, in Boston, that "he had been
taken by the French," — a frequent
fate at that time of ventures by sea, —
that "he was just out of prison, and
would tell particulars when they
should meet," and suggests the pos-
sibilities — a common dream then — of
going to the West Indies to trade.
"Flour," he says, "is twenty-four
dollars the barrel at St. Croix."

It did not matter. After this came
the shadow and silence, and then the
rumor of his death b}' yellow fever in
Philadelphia. The particulars of his
end were never known, though as
late as 1803 the revered Dr. Benja-
min Rush wrote to my grandfather,
from the Quaker citj^ of making
efforts to learn them from the sex-
tons of the churches. "I sympa-
thize," he says, " wnth your anxiety
and distress. I am a father." No
words could have been more simple,
5^et blent perhaps with the text, " Like
as a father pitieth his children." I
think they must have come like a
soothing touch to my poor grand-
father's heart as he jogged about on
his faithful horse from one patient's
doorway to another's. The doctor's
profession is a good one for a sad
man. He is not always striking
some discordant note of joy. The
sorrow of his spirit finds relief in
seeking to heal the physical suffer-
ings of others.

In these same j^ears, clear-headed,
strong, cautiousl}^ moving, step by
step, Peter's cousin, Hazen Kimball,
was endeavoring to build up a place
for himself as a merchant in Savan-
nah.

"There is," he writes in 1805 to
his brother, Benjamin, my grand-

father, ' ' a few articles [for sale] that
will answer from your place. Gar-
den seeds would, I think, do better
than anything else that I now recol-
lect. Should you see my Shaker
friends, Wright or Edgerly, you may
tell them that I could sell almost any
quantity they could raise. Sally men-
tioned that all the tickets I bought in
the Atkinson academy w^ere blanks.
I have three more whose numbers I
send."

He was a strong Federalist, and, in
1805, his party in New Hampshire
had gone down before their opponents.
" It gives me real pain," he says, "to
think that a near relative of ours, and
one I have always loved, should be
among them. When last in Concord,
I washed to talk with him on politics,
but I did not. There will, there must
be, a change."

There is another roll of worn and
tear-stained pages, marked "Letters
concerning our brother Thomas
Greene." The earliest three of these
(two sent by mail, with a postage of
seventeen cents each), w^ere from
Hallowell, Maine, where Uncle Tom,
a restless boy of sixteen, had been
sent, partly, I conjecture, because
of Richardson kinsfolk living in
the vicinity ; partly because Concord
offered neither proper schooling nor
employment for the striving lad. In
Maine he was apparently learning,
not as a bound apprentice, to make
some kind of ware. Potteries at this
time were springing up ever}' where,
and already near the salt waves and
the shipbuilders he had begun to lis-
ten to the luring of the sea. Per-
haps he had heard it before, when
he had sat by the red firelight in his
father's kitchen, and read the stories
of travel, discover}^ and adventure.

148

OUR STORE OF OLD LETTERS.

in "The World Displayed," twenty
stout little volumes with brown-
leather covers, the choicest treasures
on the family book-shelves.

Poor Tom was very homesick. In
one letter he complained that his
employer objected "to giving him
time for play," and hurt his dig-
nity ' ' by setting him to wash the
chaise." In the second letter he in-
timates that the ' ' seas are handy in
case of his leaving." In the third
he declared his intention of ' * going
on a voyage as soon as he had learned
his trade." In the fourth he had
taken his fate in his hand, left his
place, and "being determined to try
the sea before he came home," had
' ' shipped on board the schooner
Drummorc, bound for Jamaica," and
was just back from his first cruise.
He had followed his own stout will,
against advice, no doubt, but the
boy's warm heart shrank from giving
pain or anxiety to those he loved,
and he seems to have looked every-
where for some argument that would
comfort and satisfy the dear ones at
home. He thought of the sermons
in the old North church, and seized
upon the doctrine of the immutable
decrees as a bright and helpful
thought. "Sir," he says, "I never
wish you, or ma, or any of my broth-
ers and sisters to feel uneasy about
me. We shall all have to dye some
day. I shall dye no sooner by sea
than I should by land. When the
Almighty sees fit to take me away, I
must go. Sir ; it is more pleasure
for me to ramble round the world
than it is to be in our little town half
my days." Then, perhaps recalling
the sweet cakes at the cousin-par-
ties, he brings forward one more
cheering thought : "I believe I will

go another voyage to the West
Indies, and will endeavor to bring
you a barrel of sugar." He always
sends his love not only to his broth-
ers and sisters, but to his cousins,
particularly Sam. Ayer and Richard
Bradley, who were nearest him in
age, and bids "William remember
him to all his playmates. He longs
to see Concord," he says, "but can-
not just yet."

His next voyage was rough, and
in lyiverpool where they stopped,
"the press was very hot. They
press every one," he says, " wdthout
it is merchant-ship carpenters and
the like," and the}^ themselves had
been boarded by a man-of-war a few
days after starting. In 1807 he
writes, just sailing from Madeira, on
his way. to Calcutta on the ship True
Amen'ca."

Then there was silence, and
anxious hearts scarcely lightened
by a patient, sorrowful letter from
Plymouth, Eng. Tom, in Calcutta
had been led to step aboard his
majesty's war-ship, Cid/oden, of 74
guns, and found himself a mouse in
a trap ; but, with sweet unselfish-
ness and patient faith, he says :
' ' Make yourselves easy about me
until the Almighty Disposer of all
things sees fit to deliver me from my
trouble." But he watched as well
as prayed, poor heart ! and when the
CMlloden at last came back to Eng-
land and he was drafted into a frig-
ate, he took to the water and swam
for his life. It was a perilous dis-
tance for the bravest swimmer be-
tween him and the shore, but, once
again on land, coatless and waist-
coatless, he, with a Scotchman, trav-
eled, barefoot, through the west of
England, subsisting for a time on

OUR STORE OF OLD LETTERS.

149

raw turnips gathered from the fields,
but led at last, footsore and wear}-,
to a port where an American ship
had been driven in by the wind,
their angel of deliverance.

There was great joy among all the
cousins when he reached home in
181 1 ; but in July his sea-bird wings
were plumed again for flight, bound
for the Straits of Gibraltar as chief
mate of the Augustus, of Bath. He
wrote long letters from Gibraltar.
The strength and majesty of the
place seemed to impress him deeply.
A French army of 15,000 had been
camped in full view on the Spanish
coast, and on the beach near by they
could see men, women, and children
driven from their homes and roaming
about, deprived of all their posses-
sions but the scanty treasures they
could carr>' with them.

To him there must have been a
sense of freedom in the declaration of
war in 181 2. Here, perchance, was
an opportunity to redress his wrongs
from the Britishers. " Sir," he writes
in October of that year, ' ' I am going
to France in the Brig Rambler, a Let-
ter of Marque, and if we take any-
thing on our passage, I am to come
in Prize-Master."

It is his last letter which I can
find. Then or a little later he sailed
away, and was heard from no more.
The brave, blythe heart ! Children
of the brothers he loved so well, we,
who knew him not, still hold his
memory dear.

The War of 18 12 was peculiarly
depressing in inland New Hampshire.
The quiet inhabitants realized the
perils and miseries of war, but there
was no flow of patriotic enthusiasm
in their hearts to enable them to meet
this test bravel}- as their fathers had

the Revolution, or as their sons, in
later days, the conflicts of the Rebel-
lion.

Lucy Wheelock, a good little girl,
who crossed everj- / and dotted every
z, sent, in April, 1813, a prim little
note to her mate, little Harriet Kim-
ball (named by Aunt Sally for the
immactilate heroine of Sir Charles
Grandison). "I am pleased," she
writes, " to hear 3'ou have made such
progress in spinning. It is a fine
accomplishment ; one I should like
to acquire some knowledge of ; for I
consider it a very necessary branch
of edication, especially if this unjust
war should continue." There seemed
to have been soldiers quartered in
Concord. " I think," she says, "you
have been incorrectly informed in
regard to the mortality of the fever
among the inhabitants. It has
proved so among the soldiers. Nine-
teen of them have died, and five per-
sons belonging to this town . God , ' '
she adds piously, "seemed to be pour-
ing out wrath on us poor sinners for
a few days, and then it seemed to
subside."

In this year my father, William
Green, going from Concord to Win-
field, in western New York, with
horse and carriage, to visit his
brother Samuel, into whose pioneer's
home sickness had come, and bring-
ing back with him three children
under nine, heard, when he reached
Albany, the booming of cannon and
the pealing of bells, telling the first
tidings of the victory of Commodore
Perry on Lake Erie. The youngest
of the children, a tiny boy, was after-
ward somewhat widely known as a
lawyer in Buffalo, the late William
Henry Green.

My uncle, Charles R. Green, who

I50

ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMENT.

then was still in his teens, writes,
May, 1 8 14, from Epsom : " Five men
were drafted from here Wednesday,
and have marched. I expect to be
one of the next, if any more are
called for." And Uncle Hazen Kim-
ball writes from Savannah to his
brother Benjamin, anxious in 18 14,
as in 1805, in regard to the bearing
of New Hampshire politics, " Be sure
and do your duty at the election of
members of Congress."

Through all the weary, opening
years of the now dying century one is

filled with admiration at the self-sac-
rificing interest which the hard-
pressed men and women of the time
felt in the higher education of their
children. Dr. Harris, the long-time
honored minister of Dunbarton, writes
in 1806,— "Bless me! Tliis is like
the old woman's salt mill, that will
not stop grinding though it has salt-
ed all the sea ! " The good Dr. Har-
ris —

Can I not stop ? — I open the wide
table drawer, and shuffle in all the
old letters together.

Conducted by Fred Goiving, State Superintendent of Public Instruction.

A WORD TO THE NEW HAMPSHIRE TEACHERS' READING

CIRCLE.

By Dr. Charles J. Major y, Secretary International Reading Circle.

Impelling teachers to the pursuit
of a definite study of the historj- and
principles of their chosen calling
there are two lines of motive force,
one from without and one from
within. There has never been an
era in which so popular an interest
in educational matters has prevailed
as in the present.

School officers and intelligent par-
ents are to-day demanding a class of
teachers who can take a broad view
of their work ; who see beyond the
routine of daily tasks to the bearing
of those tasks upon the mental and
moral character, the general welfare
and the happiness of the children in
school life, and of the men and

ED UCA riONAL DEPAR TMENT.

151

women whom these children are to
become in later years. Successful
continuance in the work of teaching
requires that this demand be met.
But it is not from a defensive motive
alone that teachers comply with the
requirements thus laid upon them.
There is much of earnestness in the
ambition now prevalent among teach-
ers to increase the light in which
they may work, and to do such work
as will stand the test of the clearest
light that may be brought to bear
upon it. Without this impelling
motive within no force from without
could accomplish a tithe of what is
now being accomplished in the field
of educational progress.

Intelligent interest in worthy profes-
sional reading is steadily increa.sing
among teachers of all grades. For sev-
eral years superintendents and princi-
pals, who have held any claim to being-
progressive, have realized the need
of reading pedagogical books. And
among class-teachers and the teach-
ers in ungraded scliools there has
been a growing sense of the need of
such reading. Those who have been
first to feel this need and most earnest
in meeting it have advanced in their
work, and their schools have been
benefited as well as themselves.
The best superintendents, the best
principals, the best teachers owe
more, perhaps, than they realize to
the development that has been di-
rectly .stimulated by their reading.
There are still many teachers doing
faithful work in the best light they
have whose labors would be far more
effective if they had the fuller inspir-
ation and the clearer light that would
come to them from the reading of
professional literature. It is true
that many teachers who have not

read educational books are good
teachers, but they would do better
work .still with this added advantaare.

Experience does not necessarily
make better teachers. If the cla.s.s-
room work be not directed by wise
thought and guided by right princi-
ples, it may soon become merest rou-
tine, with even less of good than of
harm in its results. The teacher
ought certainly to grow more skilful,
ought better to understand the condi-
tions of mental development, ought
better to appx'eciate the motives of
conduct, ought to be better able to
direct the in.struction and discipline
of the pupils to the highest ends.
But some teachers seem to make no
progress along these lines from 3'ear
to year. Probably this is due to a
neglect of professional reading more
than to any other cause. The super-
intendent or principal who can stimu-
late his teachers to read thoughtfully
the best educational books, uses the
best practical means of improving
their work. Experience then will
bring its due growth.

Many elements combine in the
teacher who proves competent to do
really excellent class-room work.

Natural aptitude of disposition and
of character, general learning and
culture and professional training, ac-
quired in preparatory study and in
experience, are alike essential.

Cultivation along each of these
several lines needs to be continued
from 3'ear to year, and appropriate
means for such cultivation can be
found available for the teacher's use.

In the matter of professional train-
ing an indispensable factor is found
in the study of pedagogical books.
This truth would seem to be self-
evident, yet its practical acceptance

152

EDUCATIONAL DEPARTMENT.

has been far from universal. There
are still too many teachers in graded
and in ungraded schools who do not
avail themselves of this ready and
unfailing means of improvement in
their work. It is not enough that
the superintendent and principal
come to view the work of teaching
in its broad extent and manifold
relations. The principles underly-
ing successful instruction and train-
ing must be brought home to the
teacher who is called upon to apply
them in her dealing with the bo^'S
and girls of our schools.

This can best be done through such
definite and continued reading as is
provided in the organized reading cir-
cle. Perhaps many teachers neglect
joining a reading circle because they
think that they can just as well
alone select useful books and read
them. In theory this may seem true,
but in experience it is found that
verj' few teachers engage in profit-
able professional reading otherwise
than under the stimulus of some
organization.

In New Hampshire the teachers
who have formed the State Reading
Circle, under the direct encourage-
ment of the state superintendent, are
about completing their first year's
reading with the three books of the
brief course of the Teachers' Inter-
national Reading Circle. Of the
books read, it may be claimed that
thej* present in the most usable form
for the general reader the three fields
of histor}^ of educational progress,
elementary psychology, and practi-
cal pedagogy. Every teacher who
has faithfully followed the j^ear's
reading has acquired a broader out-
look upon the field of educational
work.

With the opening of the calendar
year the state circle will enter upon
the second year's work of the regular
course of reading. The books to be
read are the ' ' History of Kducation
in the United States," by Dr. Rich-
ard G. Boone, which will prove a
natural sequence to the general his-
tory of education read during the
first 5^ear : ' ' Psj^chology Applied to
the Art of Teaching," by Dr. Joseph
Baldwin, whose elementary treatise
has just been completed, and " Mem-
ory, What It Is, and How to Improve
It," by Prof. David Kay.

To the teachers who will pursue
the reading of this second year with-
out the preparation of written work,
the regular monthlj^ syllabi may
prove of value in relation to a more
analj^tical reading than might other-
wise be made. The topics or ques-
tions are presented as suggestive of
further thought by the reader in con-
firmation of the author's view or in
dissent from such view. The best
reading is that which is done so de-
liberately that there is much of such
independent review and reconsider-
ation. If the prescribed reading for
a month be carefully pursued, first
without reference to the syllabus,
and then gone over again with the
syllabus in hand, the second reading
cannot fail to be more profitable than
it otherwise could be. The- highest
value of reading lies not in the get-
ting of the author's thoughts, but
in arousing thought in the reader's
mind hy his contact with the thoughts
of the author.

The written work required for the
certificate of the International Circle
is not of any prescribed amount. It
is expected that each question will be
answered and each topic discussed

ED UCA TIONA L DEPA R TMENT.

153

from the individual reader's point of
view. The teacher who has a broad
training and a wide experience will
more readily enter into a full discus-
sion of principles than one who has
not such advantage. Hence, a given
topic may be suggestive of two or
three pages of written work on the
part of one teacher, and of only a
sentence or two on the part of another.
And the reading and writing may be
more helpful to the latter teacher
than to the former since it may be
productive of helpful thought that
would not be otherwise aroused.
To a certain extent this exercise
may compensate for some of the lack
of previous training and experience.
So far as this result can be reached
the prime purpose of the reading cir-
cle will be accomplished.

No teacher should hesitate to send
in written work because it does not
seem to be of large quantity. The
only point of view from which it is
examined by the secretary is its
apparent helpfulness to the member
preparing it. The annual certificate
of the International Circle will be
duly issued to every registered mem-
ber who presents to the secretary sat-
isfactory evidence of having faithfully
pursued the prescribed course of
reading covering the three books.

Hereafter all written work and
inquiries relating thereto should be
addressed to the Secretary of the
International Reading Circle at 72
Fifth Ave., New York city.

The books prescribed for the sec-
ond year's work in the brief course
of the International Reading Circle,
have at least three points of merit ;
they are interesting, practical, and
suggestive.

The first month's work in "Boone's

History of Education in the United
States," as outlined in the s^dlabus,
calls attention to several topics which
every intelligent teacher ought to
make the subject of careful study.

1 . The conditions of favorable de-
velopment which in the Old and New
World preceded and accompanied the
establishment of the American pub-
lic school system.

2 . The originating impulses
brought across the sea from England
and the Netherlands.

3. The circumstances under which
the higher institutions of learning
were started among the Puritans and
Cavaliers.

These three topics cover in a gen-
eral way the first month's work.

Now, in connection with the first
two, to illuminate all that Dr. Boone
presents so concisely and clearly, it
would be well for teachers to read,
thoroughly, John Fiske's " Begin-
nings of New England." The cen-
tral thoughts are expressed on pages
7, 12, 28. About certain pivotal
principles concerning the Roman,
Oriental, and Teutonic ideas of gov-
ernment, the author has gathered
many suggestive notions which are
exceedingly profitable for future ref-
erence, study, and elaboration.

Again : In connection with the
second topic every teacher ought to
read Martin's "Evolution of the
MassachUvSetts Public School Sys-
tem," and if possible, with this.
Superintendent Draper's articles on
"Public School Pioneering," in the
Educational Review, 1892, April, June,
and October; 1893, March. These
articles, including Mr. Martin's re- \
plies, are controversial in nature but
none the less interesting on that ac-
count.

154

THE WORSHIPPER.

" MacMaster's History of the Unit-
ed States," Vol. II, pages 569, 571,
572, and Vol. Ill, pages 105, 134-
136, gives some interesting facts
concerning the adverse conditions
under which the early public schools
were established and maintained in
New England.

Teachers who read "Baldwin's
Applied Psychology" and " Kaj-'s
Memor}' ' " will do well to read also
the chapters on ideation and meni-
or>^ in " Ladd's Psychology," and
the chapter on habit in " Prof. James's
Psychology." Certain principles, sug-
gested by Professor Ladd, are well
worth careful stud}^ viz., (i) " Everj^
case of memorj' is a case of sym-
pathy ; " " Memor}^ is a condition or

state of the mind." (2) " Memory,
imagination, and thought are different
manifestations of one and the same
form of mental energy." (3) "The
secret of remembering is not repeti-
tion nor reproduction, but the organ-
ization and reorganization of knowl-
edge. Ever}- complex idea is a new
mental growth ever}- time it occurs."
Some very suggestive thoughts are
also given b}- Professor Eadd (see
page 390) , on the ' ' Influence of
lyanguage upon the Reproductive
Function of Developed Memory."

"Carpenter's Mental Ph3^siology "
is a ver>^ interesting book for every
teacher to read in connection with
any other book on pure or applied
psychology.

— -^&ij&m^^^

THE WORSHIPPER.

By Samuel Hoyt.

She knelt within the vaulted nave,
And, high the altar's cross above,

She saw the image of the Christ
With face of pit}- and of love.

There fell upon her weary soul

A balm that healed its inward smart ;

And when she gained her cottage door
She found that image in her heart.

COL. T. W. KNOX.

Colonel Thomas Wallace Knox, the well-known writer and traveller, was
born in Pembroke June 25, 1835. At the age of 23 he was principal of
Kingston academy. He went to the gold fields of California in i860, and
upon the breaking out of the war received the appointment of lieutenant-col-
onel on the staff of the: governor of California. Later he acted as war corres-
pondent for several New York papers. In 1866 he made his first trip around
the v/orld, travelling through northern Asia with an expedition establishing
a telegraph line. Of this journey,
3,500 miles was by sledge and 1,500
on wheels. In 1873 he represented
several newspapers at the Vienna ex-
position, and travelled extensively in
the East. In 1877 he went around the
world a second time, and serv^ed as a
member of the international jury of
awards at the Paris exposition. He
was a hard and methodical literary
worker, publishing thirt3'-nine books,
many of which achieved great suc-
cess. He was also the inventor of a
system of typographical telegraphy
which he sold to the government.
In politics he was a life-long Repub-
lican. He was a close friend of
Henry M. Stanley, and was the first

American to receive from the king of Siam the decoration of the Order of
the White Elephant. For fourteen years he was secretary of the Lotos club,
New York, where he died January 6. He was also a member of the Union
League club, treasurer of the Authors' club, managing director of the
Olympic club, and a member of the New England society. For a short
time Mr. Knox was connected in an editorial capacity with the New Hamp-
shire Patriot, published at Concord.

JOSEPH R. SMITH.

Joseph Richardson Smith was born at Hollis, May, 1845, and died at New-
ton Highlands, Mass., January i. He prepared for college at Lawrence acad-

156 NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.

emy, Grotoii, Mass., and graduated from Dartmouth in the class of 1879.
While in college he was a prominent member of the Alpha Delta Phi frater-
nity. Upon graduation, he studied law, was admitted to the bar, and was
associated for two years with the firm of Train & Steel, Boston. He then
engaged in practise on his owm account. For the past eight j^ears he had
been a lecturer at the law school of Boston university. He was a member of
the University club, and served for some years on the Newton school com-
mittee. He was a Democrat in politics with which he was quite prominently
identified. His summer residence was at Hollis, and he delivered the address
of welcome at the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the settlement of
the town in 1880.

J. W. DUXBURY.

John W. Duxbury died at Lowell, Mass., January 13. He was born at
Dover, October 4, 1844, and graduated from Bowdoin college in 1863. He
immediately entered the employ of the Western Union Telegraph company,
and the same year was placed in charge of the army telegraph corps at Chat-
anooga. After the war he was successivel}^ employed by the Western Union
company, the Providence Telephone exchange, and the New England Tele-
phone and Telegraph company. Six years ago he was appointed superintend-
ent of the central division of the latter company with head-quarters at Lowell.

THEODORE BALCH.

Theodore Balch was born in Lyme, sixty-three years ago, and died at
Wakefield, Mass., January 12. He was connected with the American Tract
society for fourteen years; in 1876 was appointed financial agent of the New
London Literary and Scientific institution ; was chancellor of the Central
university. Pells, Iowa, two years ; served as treasurer of Roger Williams
university, Nashville, Tenn. ; and since 1887 had been general agent for the
Watchman newspaper. He received the honorary degree of A. M. from Cen-
tral university in 1882. He had held various town offices at Wakefield.

HIRAM COLLINS.

Hiram Collins, one of the oldest Free Masons in the country and a per-
sonal friend of the poet Whittier, died at Amesbury, Mass., January 15. He
was born at South Hampton, May 27, 1808, and was in early life employed
in woolen mills as an overseer. He went to California in '49, and spent
some time in Brazil. During the remainder of his life he followed the busi-
ness of a dentist and jeweler. He was the last captain of the old Boston
Artillery company, and became a Mason sixty years ago.

J. W. BLACK.

James Wallace Black was a native of Francestown, born February 10,
1825. In early life he learned the trade of a photographer, and followed that
business in Boston until his death, which occurred January 5. He was an
authority' in the science and chemistry of his profession, and during the last
fifteen years had made a specialty of landscape views and lantern slides.

NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY) 157

C. G. CONNER.

Charles Gilman Conner, who died at Exeter, Januarj- 20, was born in that

town in 1833, and had always lived there. He was town moderator for

twent}' years, ser\-ed in the legislature in i865-'66, an • was clerk of the

supreme court for Rockingham county for more than thi y years. He had

been prominent in Masonic circles for twenty-eight years, md at the time of

his death was a trustee of Robinson Female seminar^', ant' a director in the

Exeter board of trade.

B. B. BURBANK.

In Vineland, N. J., January 12, at the age of 58 years, vlied Buchanan B.

Burbank. He was a native of Shelburne, and was educate 1 at the academy

at Bethel, Maine. He was a resident of Wakefield, Ma-rS., for thirty-five

years, during twenty-eight of which he was superintendeiiit of the Citizens'

Gas Light company. He went to New Jersey to take a siivilar position. He

was one of Wakefield's selectmen for seven 3'ears, and a .so ser\'ed as road

commissioner.

H. D, CHAPIN.

Henry D. Chapin died at Antrim, January 16, at the age of 67 years. He
was a native of Hillsborough, began teaching at Windham md followed that
profession for thirty ^-ears, fifteen of which were spent in Sussex county.
N.J. Since 1887 he had resided on a farm at Antrim. He was a member
of the Congregational church, and a Democrat in politics.

NATHANIEL JOHNSON.

Nathaniel Johnson died at Haverhill, Mass., January 12, at -'e age of 60
years. He was born at Kingston, but had been in the shoe bu.' .ic,3s at Hav-
erhill for forty-two years, becoming one of the most prominent manufacturers
in the city. He was twice a member of the board of aldermen and declined
a Republican mayoralty nomination.

G. R. BANCROFT.

George Rogers Bancroft was born at Londonderry in March, 1849, and
died at Ipswich, Mass., January 19. He went to Ipswich when he was nine-
teen and entered the employ of John H. Johnson, shoe manufacturer, where
he remained for twenty-five years. Last spring he went into the shoe busi-
ness on his own account.

MOSES WOOLSON.

Moses Woolson was born in Concord, seventy-four years ago, and died in

Boston, Mass., January 17. He earlj^ attracted attention as an educator,

and was principal of high schools at Concord, Portland, Me., Brattleboro,

Vt., and Cincinnati. He married Miss Abba Gould, the now famous author,

1856.

RUFUS PREBLE.

Rufus Preble, the oldest pilot on the Piscataqua river, died at his home in
Newcastle, Januarj^ 11, at the age of 78 years. He w^as one of the firm
which brought the first tug to Portsmouth for use on the river.

158 iNEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.

p. M. ROSSITER.

Pomeroy M. Rofesiter, born at Claremont, December 4, 1810, died there

December 29, 1895 ; He removed to Milford at the age of 22, and spent his

liie there in agrictrjltural pursuits until 1879, when he returned to Claremont

and purchased thrp widely known "Cupola farm." He served for many

years as selectma .1 of Milford, and represented Claremont in the legislature

in 1885. •■

S. W. LEAVITT.

Samuel W. lyCJivittdied at Exeter, January 10, at the age of 89 years. He

was an old-time potter and hatter, and for many years deput}^ sheriff, jailer,

and justice of the peace. He was a trustee of Robinson Female seminar}'-,

and an Odd Fellow of long standing. He is survived by a son and four

daughters.

DANIEL H. WENDELL.

Daniel H. Wendell died in Dover, December 26, 1895, where he was born
July 25, 1814. He was largely engaged in the real estate and insurance bus-
iness, and had held office as justice of the peace, representative to the legisla-
ture, and insurance commissioner.

JOHN C. LUND.

John C. lyUnd, one of the most respected business men and heaviest real
estate owners in Nashua, died at his home January 14, aged 74 years. He
was a prominent Democrat and had held many official positions. He was
also a prominent Mason,

DR. EDWARD ABBOTT.

Dr. Edward Abbott, the leading ph5'sician of Tilton, died in that town
January 21, at the age of 49 years. He had been surgeon at the state Sol-
diers' Home for the past four years, and was well known throughout his sec-
tion of the state.

c. C. SHAW.

Charles C. Shaw, of Chichester, died January 14. He was a leading far-
mer, and a member of the firm of Shaw & Whittemore, Pembroke. He had
held the offices of selectman and representative to the legislature as a Demo-
crat.

OF HISTORIC VALUE.

C. B. Spofford is the compiler and George I. Putnam the proposed pub-
lisher of a volume to be entitled " Gravestone records from the old burial
places of Claremont, New Hampshire." Over 1,600 names and dates of his-
toric value and interest will thus be saved from oblivion if a sufficient num-
ber of siibscriptions are received to warrant publication. It gives the Gran-
iTK Monthly pleasure to endorse the work unqualifiedly and to express the
hope that it ma}^ speedily take permanent form.

"COPVRIGHT lhM5 By B. J. FALK, N. V."

Charles A. Dana.

The Granite Monthly.

Vol. XX.

MARCH, 1896.

No. 3.

CHARLES ANDERSON DANA.

By Senator Chandler.

'7W yTR. DANA, in unique person-
/ ^ \ alit}' and strong charac-
■^ -*- ter, stands with the best
known and foremost of America's
public men of the nineteenth cen-
tury. New Hampshire is able to
to claim him, as she does Horace
Greeley with whom he was closely
associated, as one of her celebrated
sons. In literature, in public affairs,
and especially as an editor, he has
reached distinction which is world-
wide.

If Mr. Dana were a senator or
member of congress his biograph}-
would be concisely given in the offi-
cial record nearl}- as follows : Occu-
pation : literature and newspaper ed-
iting ; born August 8, iSig, in Hins-
dale, Cheshire county, New Hamp-
shire, from which town, when he was
two years old, his parents moved to
Gaines, Orleans county, New York,
and afterwards, when he was about
eight years old, they removed to
Guildhall, Yermont ; at the age of
twelve he went to live with his uncle
in Buffalo, New^ York ; was educated
in the public schools, and for two
years at Harvard college, leaving on

account of failing evesight, but even-
tually receiving his degree of A. B.
as a member of the class of 1S43, and
also in 1861 the honorar}- degree of
A. ]\I. ; he became in 1S42 one of the
Brook Farm association at Roxljury,
Massachusetts, and his first news-
paper work was on the Harbi)ioe?\ a
paper connected with that experi-
ment : in 1844 he was an assistant
editor to Elizur Wright on the Pos-
ton Chronotype \ in 1847, an assistant
to Horace Greeley on the New York
Tribune, aiding in making the paper
a radical anti-slavery journal, and
continuing with it after a voyage to
Europe in 1848, as one of the pro-
prietors, and as managing editor,
until April i, 1862, when he re-
signed on a sudden request from Mr.
Greeley, made because he was too
strenuously forcing the Tribioic to de-
mand the utmost possible vigor in
the prosecution of the war, and he
did not again meet Mr. Greele}' until
ten years later when he was support-
ing him in the Sun as the Democratic
nominee for the presidency ; on June
16, 1862, he became attached to the
war department as one of the depart-

i6o

CHARLES ANDERSON DANA.

nient commission to investigate claims
at Cairo, Illinois, and on March 12,
1863, as special commissioner of the
department to report on the condition
of the pay service in the western
army; on June i, 1863, in order
that he might be subject to military
exchange if captured when visiting
the front of the army, he was ap-
pointed major and assistant adjutant-
general, and on December 31, 1863,
was nominated to the senate for that

1852. Age 33.
Hy pcriiiixsioii of S. S. Mil'lnrc.

ofhce, Ijut he ue\'er formally ac-
cepted it, and the nomination, at his
request, after he returned from Vicks-
burg, was withdrawn on February
24, 1864; on January 20, 1864, he
was nominated as assistant secretary
of war for one 3^ear from January 19.,
1864 ; confirmed January 26, and took
the oath of ofhce on January 28 ; re-
nominated January 23, 1865, and con-
firmed on the same da}' — rendering
the principal part of his service for
the war department under the above

commissions and as assistant secre-
tary by visiting the army head-quar-
ters of Rosecrans, Sheridan, Sher-
man, and Grant, advising confiden-
tially with the commanding officers,,
and corresponding freely with Presi-
dent Lincoln and Secretary Stanton,
resigning as assistant secretary July
I, 1865; in 1855 he had begun to
plan, compile, and edit, with George
Ripley, the " New American Cyclo-
pedia," and the original edition was
completed in 1863, and became the
"American Cyclopedia" between
1873 and 1876; in 1867 he started
the Chicago Republican ; and on Jan-
uary 27, 1868, he issued the first
number under his management of the
New York Su)i and became its editor
and proprietor, making it in 1872 a
Democratic newspaper, continuing in
its control during the twenty-seven
succeeding years, and now so re-
maining.

The foregoing condensed narrative
suggests the character of Mr. Dana's
unremitting intellectual labors for
more than half a century of exceed-
ingly active duty, which, however,
bring him to i8g6 full of vigor of
mind and l^ody. It is not the pur-
pose of this sketch to review his
career in any detail. To adequately
write his life or to even epitomize the
writings which have come from his
brain and pen, would require a full
volume.

A highly connnendable, brief biog-
raph}' of Mr. Dana is contained in
McClurc^s magazine for October,
1894, written by Mr. Edward P.
Mitchell. It is a clear presentation
of the facts and surroundings of Mr.
Dana's life, and graphicalh' exhibits
the characteristics that have enabled
him to render inestimable service to

CHARLES ANDERSON DANA.

i6i

his country in a great crisis in her
national life, while also achieving-
high literary reputation, and attain-
ing cosmopolitan fame as an editorial
writer and manager. The portraits
of Mr. Dana which accompany Mr.
Mitchell " s sketch are admirable,
and with Mr. McClure's permission,
have been freely reproduced to il-
lustrate this article in the C. rax rn-:
Monthly. A reliable short account
of Mr. Dana's life is also to be found
in "Appleton's Cyclopedia of Ameri-
can Biography," Volume 2, page 64.
The ancestry of Mr. Dana is
worthy of note. Gail Hamilton in
her biography of Mr. Blaine, in
order to foreshadow the greatness of
her hero, quotes from I{dwin Reed's

Italy, are well known, one of them
being now a professor in the Univer-
sity of Turin.' Richard Dana settled
on an extensive farm in that part of
Cambridge which is now Brighton,
where he raised a large family, and
died April 2, 1690, aged from 75 to
78 years. His wife was Ann Bul-
lard, and their descendants were (2)
Jacob Dana, born in 1654, died in
1699, at Cambridge; (3) Jacob
Dana, Jr., known as Jacob Dana,
hvSquire, born in 1699, who moved
to Pom fret, Connecticut, and died at
the ripe age of 92 ; (4) Anderson
Dana, born at Pomfret in 1735, lived
at Pomfret, and at Ashford, Connecti-
cut, until 1772, and then removed to
Wyoming, Pennsylvania, where he

attempt to discover an unknown law had acquired a tract of valuable land.
of human life : " Intellectual energy,
like ever}^ other of which we have
knowledge, is the product of antece-
dents. . . . Every man at birth
is the epitome of his progenitors."
This positive af^rmation .seems not
too strong. Ancestors, strong and
healthy, physically and mentally,
usually produce descendants with
.similar traits. Some degenerate sons
of worthy sires disprove the univer-
sality of this affirmation. But the
exceptions prove the rule, which is
no where better illustrated than
among the sons of New England.

On his father's side Mr. Dana s
record is ( i ) Richard Dana, who
arrived at Cambridge, Ma.ssachusetts.
from England in 1640. He is be-
lieved to have been a P'rench Hug-
uenot refugee of Italian extraction,
although all the American Danas
have been distinctly Anglo-Saxon in
their traits. The Danas of Piedmont,

He was a lawyer, and became a rep-
resentative in the legislature of Con-
necticut, which claimed the northern
part of Pennsylvania under its origi-
nal charter from Charles II. He
returned from the legislative session
the day liefore the 'W'yoming mas-
sacre of July 3, 1778, and, according
to tradition, served as an aid to Zeb-
ulon Butler commanding the Amer-
ican forces, and after the battle was
virtually over was killed by an
Indian; (5) Daniel Dana, born in
1760, in Ashford, Connecticut, re-
moved to Guildhall, Vermont, later
to Pembroke, New York, and to War-
ren, Ohio, where he died in 1839 :
(6) Anderson Dana, who was the
father of (7) Charles Andenson Dana.
The wife of the first Anderson
Dana was vSusannah Huntington, a
descendant in the fifth generation
from Smon Huntington, who died
on his passage from I{ngland to this

' Our New Hampshire chief justice, Samuel Daua Bell, wh(jse mother was a Dana, discredited the tradition
that Richard Dana was a French Huguenot, and thought lie w;,s entirely of English origin. He certainly came
to this country from England, and all his children's names are apparen ly English.

l62

CHARLES ANDERSON DANA.

ffr ijiranri neaaauarters at Spcttsylvan
By pcrtiiissicti of S. S. McCliire.

BC4 A^e 't-T-.

country in 1633, l)ut whose sons,
Simon and Christopher, founded
Norwich, Connecticut. vSusannah
Huntington was a woman of remark-
able quahties, according to the book
of the Huntington family, pages 53
and 128. She had seven children, one
of whom was Daniel, above mentioned
as the grandfather of the subject of this
sketch, and another was Sylvester,
born July 4, 1769,' who became a
minister and settled at Orford, N. H.,
at whose funeral, on June 11, 1S49,
Rev. Dr. Nathaniel Bouton, of Con-
cord, N. H., delivered a commemo-
rative address, in which he depicted
the heroic character of Susannah
Huntington Dana.

When the Indians fell upon the
Wyoming settlement, and her hus-
band was killed, she collected her

children, put some food and her hus-
band's papers into a ])illow case, and
with her little flock tugging at her
skirts, fled through the wilderness
along the route she had travelled on
horseback six years before, over two
hundred miles, back to safety in Ash-
ford. She reared her children cred-
itably and managed to give them a
good education.

Her son, Daniel Dana, was gradu-
ated at Yale in 1782, and was a lead-
ing citizen and judge of probate at
Guildhall. His wife, Dolly Kibbe,
descended from Edward Kibbe of
Exeter, England, and her grand-
father was the first child born in
Enfield, Connecticut ; and he organ-
ized a revolutionary company after
the news from Lexington.

Mr. Dana's mother was Ann Den-

' He was the father of Judge Sylvester Dana, that free-soil pioneer, learned lawyer, and upright magistrate,
now living at Concord, N. H. Kev. Sylvester Dana was graduated at Yale in 1797, settled at Orford, May 20,
1801, and remained there about thirty-two years, dying at Concord, June g, 1S49. Judge Dana's persistency and
firmness of character are easily accounted for in a descendant of the Susannah Huntington of this narrative.

CHARLES ANDERSON DANA.

163

ison, whose grandfather was Seth not have been successfully met by an
Paine, a member of the Coiniecticut ordinary ])oy. After he went, at the
state convention which ratified the age of twelve, to live with his Uncle
federal constitution in 1788. Her William, the chief dry goods mer-
uncle was Elijah Paine, United States chant of Buffalo, the panic of 1837
senator from \'ermont from 1795 to brought failure to the firm, and the

young man, then onh^ eighteen, was
by the assignee made his representa-
tive to carry on and wind up the bus-
iness.

During the period of this work
the determination to acquire greater
Lord Ossington, a speaker of the learning took possession of him, and
British parliament, belonged to this he decided, against his father's view,

to go to college ; and he prepared
himself to enter while serving in the
store, reading at night and at all odd
moments which he could find. When
he entered Harvard college in 1839,
without a condition, he could rely

1801.

The first Deni.sou who came to
America returned for a few years
and fou8:ht at Nase1)v with Crom-
well. The Knglish Denisons appear
to have been sinafularlv able men.

family.

The traits inherited from such an
ancestry doubtless gave Mr. Dana
the will and strength to overcome
the difficulties which met him in
early life. It is not wise to exagger-
ate these or to represent him as start- upon no financial assistance from his

family, and pushed on only by teach-
ino; school at Scituate three months
during a college vacation and by

ing

in excessive poverty and hard-
ship, merely in order to make a
striking contrast of his humble begin-
nings with his later signal successes.
Mr. Blaine, in his eulogy of Presi-
ident Garfield, justly deprecated this
tendency of biographers. Mr. Dana

borrowing from the college fund, the
college taking an insurance on his
life and receiving its final reimburse-
ment nearlv twentv vears later.

unquestionably had many favorable Then came deprivation of eyesight.

and helpful surroundings and much
to be thankful for ; and he of all men
would be unwilling to be represented
as having greater obstacles to over-
come, or as possessing more energy,
industry, and ambition, with which
to overcome them than many other
New England boys of his day and
generation. Yet truth requires that
it should be stated that the hardships
and troubles he encountered would

so that he managed to finish his
sophomore year without failure at
the examinations only through the
help of a classmate, Mr. John Emery,
who read to him and heard his reci-
tations.

That Mr. Dana overcame this
weakness of eyesight is remarkable.
It influenced him to join the Brook
Farm conununity,' where he could
work outdoors and vet be sur-

1 Much regret has been for many years expressed that no adequate memorial has been written of tlie Brook
Farm association. But recently Mr. John Thomas Codnian has published his '' Historic and Personal Memo-
ries of Brook Farm," which is a satistactory account. He thus describes Mr. Dana :

•'A young man of education, culture, and marked ability was Charles Anderson Dana when from Harvard
college he presented himself at the farm. He was strong (f purpos-e and lithe of frame, and it was not long
before Mr. Ripley found it out and gave him a place at the front. He was about four and twenty years of age,
and he took to books, language, and literature. Social, good natured. and animated, he readily pleased all with
whom he came in conlact. . . . His face was pleasant and animated, and he had a genial smile and greeting
for all. His voice was musical and clear, and his language remarkably correct. He loved to spend a portion of
his time in work on the farm and in the tree nursery, and you might be sure of finding him there when not

164

CHARLES ANDERSON DANA.

rounded by a literary atmosphere,
which he utilized by learning and
teaching Spanish and mathematics.
The intimate friendship of the bo}'
of 22 with George Ripley, George
William Curtis, Nathaniel Haw-
thorne, Theodore Parker, William
H. Channing, and Margaret Fuller,
in the youthful days of those humane
and eentle enthusiasts who were seek-
ing to live according to their highest
ideals of a perfect life — the mere
recital of whose names now causes
the eyes of every true child of New
England to moisten with tender emo-
tion — subjected him to formative in-
fluences of the best and most endur-
ing character ; and upon the break-
ing up of the Brook Farm experiment
he may be said to have begun his lit-
erary career, yet with ej'es that never
afterwards ceased to trouble him. It
was less than twenty years ago when,
through treatment by Liebrich, a
London oculist, he became able to
use them with comfort, although
never again did he take up his boy-
hood's habit of reading at night, and
practically his whole scholarship has
been acquired since he left college,
without ever again burning any mid-
night oil. If other New England
boys have done as well as he did,
with obstacles and di.scouragements
to surmount, as some certainly have
done, it can be claimed for no one
that he has done better than this lad
without money and with limited eye-
siafht but with indomitable will.

In attempting to form a just esti-
mate of Mr. Dana it is necessary to
consider him in three aspects : ( i ) in
his relations to literature, (2) in con-
nection with his labors for the Union
in the war for secession, and (3) in
his career as the controlling and
principal editor of one of the great-
est of the w^orld's newspapers.

It is difhcult to assign him to an
exact position in the world of letters,
because his own writings have been
so merged in the great mass of the
contributions to the "American Cy-
clopedia" and in the impersonal
editorials in the Sun, that their
quantity and value can be accurately
known to no one, and doubtless all
his own work could not now be des-
ignated even by him. The specific
writings known to have come from
his pen, beside a few short poems,
and his chapters in the life of Grant,
prepared in 1868, in connection with
General James H. Wilson, are not
numerous.

It is certain, however, that he is a
lingui.st of unusual attainments, that
his knowledge of books is wade, that
his literary taste and judgment are
of the highest order, that he has no
superior as a literary critic : and that
he has written such notable articles
on such an extensive variet}' of sub-
jects for the "Cyclopedia" and the
Tribune and Sun during a period of
fifty years, usually with accuracy,
always in a style felicitous and forci-
ble, as to place him indisputably in

otherwise occupied. Enjoying fun and social life, there was always a dignity remaining which gave him infiu
ence and commanded respect. If you looked into his room you saw pleasant volumes in various languages
peeping at you from the table, chair, book-case, and even from the floor, and tliey gave one the impression that
for so young a person he was remarkably studious and well mformed."

In Mr. Codman's book is quoted Mr. Dana's opinion of Brook Farm written shortly after the death of Mr.
George Ripley: " It is not too much to say that every person who was at Brook Farm for any length of time
has ever since looked back to it with a feeling of satisfaction. The healthy mixture of manual and mtellectual
labor, the kindly and unaffected social relations, the absence of everything like assumptions or servility, the
amus?ments, the discussicms, the friendships, the ideal and poetical atmosphere which gave a charm to life, —
all these continue to create a picture toward which the mind turns back with pleasure as to something dis'ant
and beauti ul not elsewhere met with amid the routine of this world."

CHARLES ANDERSON DANA.

i6.s

the ranks of the most expert mas-
ters of the KngHsh language and the
closest students of the literature of
Europe and America.

His " Household Book of Poetry,"
first published in 1857, and in 18S2
revised and enlarged with a preface,
dated November, 1882, states that its
purpose is "to comprise within the
bounds of a single volume whatever
is truly beautiful and admirable
among the minor poems of the Eng-
lish language." "Fifty Perfect
Poems : Selected and edited b}'
Charles A. Dana and Rossiter John-
son," is the title of a volume pub-
lished in 1883. In " Representative
Poems of Living Poets, selected by
the poets themselves," published in
1886, and edited by Mrs. Jeannette
L. Gilder who writes the preface, are
to be found three of Mr. Dana's
poems : ' ' Eternit}-, " " Herzliebste, ' '
and " Manhood."

For the value of Mr. Dana's ser-
vices to the I'uion cause during the
War of Secession, it is but just to
award to him for his gratification in
his lifetime the supreme commenda-
tion which is his due. With an
intense zeal, equal to that of the
great war secretarv whose assistant
he became, and yet, with clear vision
and cool judgment, he gave himself
unreservedly to the work for which
he had been selected. He went to
the front wherever vital battles were
to be fought ; made himself welcome
to ever}- Union commander ; mas-
tered every situation ; gave helpful
advice on the spot ; and wrote let-
ters to Stanton and Lincoln full of
facts which they would not other-
wise have known, and of sugges-
tions which were of the highest im-
portance. The nature, extent, and

value of Mr. Dana's work, and the
remarkable traits of the man himself,
can only be known and appreciated
through a careful perusal of his tele-
grams and letters which are to be
found in so many volumes of the
"War Records," published by the
government. If he had done noth-
ing l)ut his service in preventing
the abandonment of Chattanooga
by Rosecrans after the Battle of
Chickamauga, he would deserve the

1865. Age 46.
By Pertiiissiou )\f S. S. McCliirt'.

gratitude of the nation. His letters
undoubtedl}' caused the supersedure
of Rosecrans by Thomas and the
transfer of the connnand of the oper-
ations on the Tennessee to Grant,
the conqueror of Vicksburg, in sea-
son to prevent Ro.secrans from re-
treating and to make po.ssible the
decisive victories around Chatta-
nooga.

Wherever Mr. Dana went he per-
ceived the situation clearly, and
formed his judgment wisely ; and

i66

CHARLES ANDERSON DANA.

his advice, given without fear or
favor, was eagerly received and often
followed ; his position was anomalous
and not wholly agreeable to him, but
he did his work with tact ; it was
recognized and praised by Stanton
and Lincoln who always honored him
with their confidence and friendship,
— Mr. Lincoln called him "the eyes
of the government at the front " ; as
soon as he could he retired to his
regular vocation ; and he has ever
since, against all attempts at misrep-
resentation, directed against either
Stanton or Lincoln or any transac-
tions of the war, stood for the truth
of history as he, with his superior
opportunities, saw or knew it. If
Mr. Dana allows himself to review
with self satisfaction any part of his
life work, he doubtless congratulates
himself most upon the quiet and un-
ostentatious servnce which he ren-
dered in a special way in wisely in-
fluencing his two intimate associates,
the president and the secretary of war,
in the direction of the movements of
the Union armies against the forces
of the rebellion ; and he and his
descendants may be justly proud of
this portion of his career.

To now write of Mr. Dana as an
editor is to speak only of the Sun.
It is the privilege of a great editor
to surround himself with a staff who
not only carefully represent the views,
but also either purpo.sely or uncon-
sciously reproduce the style of their
chief. So the newspaper in matter
and manner becomes one thing ; in
this case the New York Sun. These
are some of its notable characteris-
tics :

Its literary excellence is surpassed
b}^ that of no other paper. This is

owing to the unremitting care of the
editor and his assistants. Very little
either of news or literary or editorial
matter finds its way into the columns
which is poorly expressed or shows
bad taste in any particular. Unsparing
labor is expended in seeking perfec-
tion in this respect. Doubtless more
matter is rewritten, condensed, and
improved in style for use in the Sun
than for the columns of any other
American paper.

II.

Its historical accuracy is carefull}^
maintained. By this it is not meant
that misstatements do not sometimes
appear in the haste of the daily pub-
lication of what is called news and
in the heat of political controversy.
But it is a maxim of management
that no matter what individual, party,
or interest may be affected, nothing
but the truth is to be deliberately
stated and persisted in. Whatever
can stand against the truth is to pre-
vail, but not otherwise. It is often
interesting to see the Sun reviewing
controversies over questions of fact
in order to proclaim, after careful
research, with irrefragable proofs,
the exact truth of the case. This
is sometimes done in frank with-
drawal of opinions previously ex-
pressed, but such are the proverbial
care and accuracy of the editors that
such changes are seldom necessary
to maintain the reputation of the
paper for fair dealing.

III.

The fearlessness of the Su)i on
several occasions has given to it a
right to the support and gratitude of
the country. When the fierce con-
troversies arose between the work-

CHARLES ANDERSON DANA.

167

men and their employers at the Car-
negie factories at Homestead, Penn-
SN'lvania, which were aggravated by
the unjustifiable absenteeism of Mr.
Carnegie in Europe, and riot and
bloodshed took place, many public
men and newspaper editors lost their
coolness, and began to palliate, if not
to countenance, continued rioting and
the seizure of the works b}' the riot-
ers. The Sun^ almost alone of the
great national newspapers, came un-
reservedly to the support of the pub-
lic authorities, compelled the return

believes that the western hemisphere
is reserved for Americans, that ac-
cording to the ])rinciples of the Mon-
roe doctrine, as the people of the
United States are determined to in-
terpret and enforce it, no new pos-
sessions are on any pretext, either
with or without the consent of the
local governments, to l)e acquired b}-
European powers, and that eventu-
ally the existing control by such pow-
ers of American territory is to dimin-
ish and disappear. Holding firmly
to these opinions, the Sioi opposes

Dosoris," Mr, Dana's Summer Home.

of the great establishment to the
hands of its owners, and became the
chief agency in arousing a national
sentiment that secured the restora-
tion of law and order. No l)etter
work was ever done in a great pub-
lic crisis than that performed by the
Sun in the repression of the Home-
stead riots of 1892. It is a strength
to the country that the paper may
be depended upon while under Mr.
Dana's control to meet similar crises
with the same fearlessness.

IV.

The Su)i is American in all its ten-
dencies and aspirations. Its editor

the British seizure, with no plausible
color of right, of the east bank of the
Orinoco ; advocates the freedom of
Cuba, and the formation of a govern-
ment in Hawaii friendly to the Unit-
ed States ; advises the exclusion of
European powers from ownership or
control of the Nicaragua canal ; and
hopes for the ultimate peaceful an-
nexation of Canada to our Union.
While other newspapers earnestly
urge the same views, yet it seems to
many of us that the Sim more care-
fully investigates, more clearly ex-
pounds, and more cogently and cour-
ageously demands the enforcement of
the .special principles which .should

1 68

CHARLES ANDERSON DANA.

govern the foreign policy of the na-
tion, and finally make the United
States, without colonization by in-
trigue or violence and without an
enlargement of territory outside of
American soil and American waters,
the strongest and greatest country in
the world.

The Su)i and its editor are not
faultless. It is the mi.ssion of jour-
nalism to speak promptly day by da}'
concerning current events and ques-
tions, after such inquiry and delib-
eration as are practicable on short
notice ; and therefore ab-solute accu-
rac}' and wisdom cannot be claimed
for any newspaper which boldly per-
forms its functions, acting according
to the light given at the time. Abso-
lute consistency cannot be asserted
for the SiDi and Mr. Dana during the
la.st third of a century. The neces-
sit}' for immediate .speech has also
led to some harsh judgments of men
which time has not proved to be just ;
while intense feeling and zeal have
found expression in severity of de-
nunciation which would not appear
in writings designed to sur\-ive the
seeming exigencies of the hour. Par-
tisan.ship to carry part\- measures,
the desire or obligation to defend or
to excoriate party leaders and to win
party victories, have also, at times,
led the Sun into extreme expres-
sions. But compared with the influ-
ence for good which it has exerted
in its career taken as a whole, any
anathemas which ma\- have been ut-
tered through mistake of fact or in-
temperate zeal, do not seriously mod-
ify the general declaration that the
Sioi has been conducted judiciously,
wisel}-, ably, and fearlessly and to
the great benefit of the nation which,
like itself, has grown to exceeding

greatness of wealth and power since
Mr. Dana, at the clo.se of the War
for the ITnion, made the newspaper
his own and gave to it the individ-
uality and characteristics by which
it is now known to the world.

It remains to say that Mr. Dana,
like man)- other men who are posi-
tive combatants in the eager .strife of
public affairs, is courteous, gentle
and affectionate in his relations with
his family and friends. He has ex-
cellent taste in pictorial art, and is
fond of ceramics and has accumu-
lated stores of porcelain, ancient
and modern. He has a .strong love
of nature, and is learned about plant.s,
trees, fruits, and animals. At Doso-
ris, his island summer home on the
northern .shore of Dong Lsland, he has
built plain but commodious dwellings
where he mo.st enjoys himself in an
old age reasonably free from trouble
or care, and where, it is to be hoped,
he may continue to find happiness
during many added years.

The writer of this sketch has never
seen him, nor corresponded with him,
and cannot be accused of undue par-
tialit}' for him. Nevertheless, as he
never writes in criticism of any one
without carefully revising the man-
uscript and striking out all words
which appear harsher than the truth
warrants, now he reverses the process
and erases everything commending
Mr. Dana which seems likely to be
called extravagant praise. Enough
truth is left to make New Hampshire
proud of the .son who lived on her
.soil so short a time, l)ut who has
never forgotten or dishonored his
birthplace, and has never failed to
be at all times and everywhere a
true American.

THK SPARK FRONT ROOM.

Clara . Itii^i/s/a Trask.

I remember early in my life how we children stood in awe
Of the majesty and magnitude of one powerful household law ;
How we longed to break and shatter it with every passing day,
But from some mysterious influence we dared not disobey ;
It hung o'er us relentless as the two-edged sword of doom —
" Don't let me catch you children in that spare front room ! "

That darkened, silent room, oh, a mystic charm it bore,

As sometimes a furtive glimpse we caught through the half-opened door;

Its floor was painted yellow, there were, islands here and there.

Formed by braided rugs constructed from the clothes we didn't wear ;

There were paper wandow curtains of a vivid shade of green,

And behind them danced the drowsy flies and l)lack wasps thin and lean.

A slippery hair-cloth sofa stood prim against the wall.

Two slippery chairs kept company each side the beaufet tall.

Brass-handled, stately, ancient, mahogany they said.

Descended from an ancestress for full a century dead ;

Above the narrow looking-glass drooped peacock's feathers gay.

And on the centre table the black-bound Bible lay.

And Grandma's " sampler " hung above the high-built mantel shelf —
A curious piece of handiwork that " Grandma did herself,"
And in the wide-mouthed fireplace the shining andirons spread
Their dragon feet, and spoke of fires whose brightness long had fled ;
And over all the place there hung a deep, mysterious gloom.
That said, " Don't let me catch you in that spare front room."

When the minister came round to call, and read, and pray.
They rolled the paper curtains up so 's he could find his wa}^ ;
And when a wedding was on hand the room was opened wide,
And all of heaven's sunshine fell upon the fair young bride ;
And when a loved one passed beyond into the outward gloom,
The cofiin stood in solemn state within the spare front room.

When I think upon my childhood's days spent on the dear old farm,

When father's care and mother's love kept our young lives from harm.

I feel a thrill of vague unrest, and memory l)rings to me

The house that caught the wild salt winds blown inward from the sea ;

I hear again the warning voice long stilled within the toml) —

" Don't let me catch \ou children in that spare front room !

THE FIRST SNOWSHOE CLUB IN NEW HAMPSHIRE.

By Echvard French, M. D.

NANSEN, the
famous Norwe-
gian scientist,
who crossed
Greenland o n
snowshoes, says

J the following

about snowshoeing as a sport :

"Can there be anything more
beautiful than the northern winter
landscape, when the snow lies foot
deep, spread as a soft, white mantle
over field and wood and hill ? Where
will one find more freedom and ex-
citement than when one glides swiftl}'
down the hillside through the trees,
one's cheek brushed by the sharp
cold air and frosted pine branches,
and one's e3-e, brain, and nmscles
alert and prepared to meet every un-
known obstacle and danger which
the next instant may throw in one's
path? Civilization is, as it were,
washed clean from the mind and left
far behind with the city atmosphere
and city life; one's whole being is,
so to say, wrapped in one's snow-
shoes and the surrounding nature.
There is something in the whole
which develops soul and not bod}'
alone."

In the winter of '87, the writer
of this article, with several others,
feeling the need of more outdoor
exercise during our long, severe
New Hampshire winters, pitched
upon snowshoeing as the oidy one
applicable to our case. Originalh'

there were six of us who, obtaining
snowshoes from Montreal, began our
practice by traversing the level fields,
south of Clinton street in the city of
Concord. We were not always mod-
erate in our exercise, and feeling the
freedom and exhilaration of the crisp
night air and the bright reflected
moonlight, would go more miles-
than our untrained muscles could
bear, and we suffered in consequence
the Dial dc raquette. The true raqiict-
tcur knows from experience to begin
slowly and gradually increase his
pace. The next winter we struck
out for more extended tramps, and
after many exploring trips, both by
night and by day, selected as the
most advantageous one that led
about five miles southwcsterh' from
the city.

This route for three miles was over
a road whose sides were free enough
from bushes to give good clear " shoe-
ing," or the fields were clear enough
for us to traverse the same distance.
When the snow was deep enough to
clear us from the torment of barb wire
this was the favorite way. At the end
of this three miles there was a sharp
turn into an old wood road, broad
and smooth enough to be delightful.
It is always wide enough to get
plenty of snow and narrow enough
to prevent drifting.

Mau}^ a moonlight night did we
race through here, the slender birches
bending forward under their weight

fIRST SNO]\'SHOE CLUB IN NEW HAMPSHIRE.

171

of snow and seeming to how a cordial
welcome to the raqiicttciirs who left a
close, steam-heated house at 8 p. m.,
to make them a cheer>- call in the
cool, exhilarating night. After a
brisk tramp of five miles in the win-
ter air one feels hungry, and so for
.two A'ears we had in the woods at the

of provisions. Once when an ener-
getic and enterprising red .squirrel
gnawed into the bag the tree bore a
new kind of cone, which on inspec-
tion proved to be sausages. The
tree was gracefully draped with pen-
dant links which gave it a Christmas
look. The little chickaree afterwards

'""t

Going down to the Pond.

■end of our road a brush " leanto,"
where we usually stopped for a rest
and something to eat. A good, roar-
ing fire and a hot lunch gave us re-
newed courage for the tramp home.
A coffee pot, frying-pan, and a few
earthern mugs were cached under a
.stump, and a canvas bag, tied in the
top of an evergreen out of the way of
"foxes and skunks, held a small stock

became quite tame and depended con-
siderably upo!i our bounty. We
named him Santa Claus, and as long
as we frequented these woods he was
alwa\s a welcome guest.

It was an easy, but to .some of
us not a welcome, transition from our
breezy, healthful " leanto " to the lit-
tle house at IMontvue park. While
the "leanto" lacked manv artificial

172

FIRST SNOWSHOE CLUB IN NEW HAMPSHIRE.

comforts and its heating facilities
were of a low class, yet it had com-
pensating advantages. The ventila-
tion was simply perfect, and it was
perpetually disnfected by the sweet
balsamic odors of the beautiful pines
and hemlocks. The cheerful, roar-
ing flames of the campfire warm that
vestige of barbarian blood we all
have and make it rush and whirl in
an im2:)etuous c u r rent
through our tense arte-
ries, while a cast-iron
stove but rivets tighter
the ])ands of lethargy
which bind us to an
unhealthful civilization.

a secretary and treasurer, Mr. Kdward
Batchelder. It was gi\-en a name,
"The Outing Club," and numerous
applications for membership were
made to the secretary.

It was evident that a new policy
nuist be adopted, and after a few
short months a new organization was
born of "The (~)uting Club." It had
a permanence and dignity which was

It has always been a fact of this
organization that the ranks are al-
ways full. It is so to-day and was
.so from the first. The original six
increa.sed to ten, there being six new
ones, for two of the original number,
finding snow.shoeing too severe or
not congenial, gave way to others
who were eager to join. For one
winter the little house was u.sed, but
when the .spring came, with the rest
of the world, the clul) took on a
larger growth. It had risen to the
dignity of organization, and had a
president, ^Ir. George H. Colby, and

ne\-er assumed before. It was incor-
poratetl, had shares of stock with an
assigned value, developed l)y-laws,
and an executi\e committee, and
voted in twenty members. The club
elected for president Pxlward French,
continuing Mr. Batchelder as secre-
tar\' and treasurer ; and its executive
board began considering plans for
enlaro-ino^ the little house at Montvue
park.

The purposes of the club were

FIRST SNOWSHOE CLUB IN NEW HAMPSHIRE.

multiplied, but leaving every mem- blance to the straggling, tribal organ-
ber free to indulge in snovvshoeing or ization which, held together only by
not, as he pleased. A new name the thin threads of congeniality, used
was taken, "The Snowshoe Club," to tramp merrily over hill and dale or
because it would perpetuate its old race through the feathery arches of
purpose and served to crystalize the the woodland. The location of "Fur-
memories of many a happy day and lough Lodge," the present home of
night in company with auburn-haired the club, is one of tireless beauty.
Santa Claus at the fragrant " leanto." From its broad piazza a continuous
Land was bought, and a new house chain of hills leads away and up to
built in front of the small one which
was retained as a kitchen. An un-
finished attic gave
room for a few beds ^W"™"""'"""" "U i.

to accommodate a
belated member,
now and then. The
following winter a
barn was built con-
taining an ice-
house. Afterwards
an open shed was

Some Interiors.

the soft blue
peaks of a
dozen of the
white moun-
tains. In
the fore-
o-round is
the silver
surface of
P e n a c o o k
lake, and the long attractive slopes
added. At last the club, which may of Kearsarge with man\' noble hills
be said to have lived a tramping, in the immediate vicinity. At the
vagabond existence, had a perma- southwest, Monadnock, Crotchet, and
nent home. It had risen from bar- the Uncanoonucs, rise above the
barism to civilization. But, alas! jumble of hills, and while not as ex-
we left behind us many a sweet, ex- tensive as the landscape to the north,
hilarating experience which makes these mountains add much to the
my pulse leap now as I think of the beaut}' of the view. \'isitors from
beautiful winter trees, spotless in the Api)alachian club, than which
their pure wdiite winter clothing or there are no better critics of scenery
tinted with the steely blue of the full in New England, pronounce it "one
winter moon. of the six most beautiful views in

The club of to-day bears no resem- New Hampshire." We are willing

174

FIRST SNOIVSHOE CLUB IN NEW HAMPSHIRE.

to accept this generous appraisal of
its value.

The buildings are roughI\- finished
and furnished, and make no pretence
to elegance or effect. Its manage-
ment is unique, and as far as known
it is the first one of the kind in this
country. It is sui generis, and dif-
fers essentiall}' from all other outing
clubs in the complete independence
and liberty enjoyed b}' its members.
Unconscioush' it has built itself to be
more like the famous Beefsteak club
of London than like any other exist-
ing organization for entertainment.

guished in art, politics, and literary
pursuits. The utmost freedom com-
patible with gentlemen and the com-
fort of others has been its aim, and
nothing in the way of buildings or
furniture has been held too good for
every day use. Wood, oil, a few
provisions, and the necessary uten-
sils for a kitchen and dining-table
are kept supplied free for general
use. With the club's present way
of easy management, a small monthly
due of fifty cents a month for each
member, pays all the expenses. There
is no resident .steward or janitor, but

Furlough Ludge.

Its distinguished prototype was
founded in the time of David Gar-
rick, more than a century ago, and
still meets and has its peculiar din-
ners in the green room of Mr.
Irving's theatre.

Like the distinguished gentlemen of
IvOndon, our club has a dinner on the
full of the moon of each month, cooked
and served by three of its members.
The members who make up this sup-
per committee are designated by the
club's president and notify the other
members of the club of the date.
Each member accepting an invita-
tion bears his share of the expense.

The club in its unpretentious, dem-
ocratic way has entertained United
States senators, congres.smen, and
governors, with many others distin-

every member with his key resorts to
the clubhotise when so disposed and
takes care of himself and leaves it
clean enough for the next member
who comes. It would seem impossi-
ble to find twenty-five men, drawn
chiefly from professional and commer-
cial pursuits, who would be more
congenial and who would so heartily
enjoy its privileges as do its members.
The four mile walk from the city
always provokes a vigorous appetite
and an enthusiastic appreciation of
the beautiful view from the broad
piazza. It is an established fact that
the introduction of croquet, lawn
tennis, and other out-door sports has
elevated the general health of the
American people. In this we claim
to have been of some u.se and cer-

MOMENTS OF LIGHT.

tainly by cycling, trap shooting,
driving, hunting and fishing in sum-
mer, and snowshoeing in winter, have
added to the "sum of the world's
amusements." The introduction of
snowshoeing alone has given a new
.sport and means of exercise, and in-
vigorated many a victim of steam
heat, where former!}- there was noth-
ing but the enervating influence of
super-heated houses. Its example
has called into being three other out-
ins: clubs in the citv of Concord alone.
Everv individual member believes

that there is more good fellowship
compres.sed within the unpretentious
little house than el.sewhere in this
vicinity. It has passed its ninth
birthday and has already man\' plans
of alteration and improvement under
consideration. Dr. I. A. Wat.son, its
third president, an enthusiastic snow-
shoer, has many plans for the ad-
vancement and success of the club.
As the years roll on they will some-
time see a handsome establishment to
parallel the rare beauty of the exten-
sive view.

MOMIiXTvS OF UGHT.

liy Milo Bcjiedkt.

I.
A PREACHKR.

So true the life, so white the spirit's heat,

That though he spoke such thoughts as all have thought,

And gave a text \\hich scarce attention caught.

He forged us new and gave us wings tor feet.

II.

DLSTIXCTIOXS IX IMUSIC.

Why build so high ^-our symphony of sound,
When .in one tone a whole world can be found?
I 'm thrilled to think what music I have heard
When soul meets .soul in one soft-spoken word.

III.

HKLPS.

All books, religions, arts, philosophies, —
The whole of memory, nature — every part, —
These helps I need, so deep the mysteries
I seek to understand in one true heart.

IV.

^\■IXTl•;R cupics xot with povk.

O silvery cold, cold wind !
You cannot rule the hour
vSince love can always find
A summer for its flower.

Because you killed the ro.se
What sovereign right have 3'ou ?
'Tis vain ! Love has no foes :
June lasts the whole year through.

LOST IX THK WOODS.

Bv Rev. O. A'. Hunt.

NE evening, while
we were seated on
the deacon's scat,
around the camp
stove, who should put
in an appearance but
Will Smart, overseer
of the work in the
woods. " What bring you in here, dis
time of night ? " said Archie, the cook.
' ' I brought in a j^oung lawyer who
is going over to Parmachenee," was
the reply.

Having heard much about this
lake and Camp Caribou, and its pro-
prietor, John Danforth, I at once said
to Mr. vSmart, " I wish I had known
of this and I would have gone over
with him."

"All right now," said Smart, "for
he is not going until morning, and if
3-0U wish we will take an early start
and I will drive you over to the
camp."

Anxious to make the trip I rose
and took breakfast with the lumber-
men at five o'clock, and at six o'clock
we were in the cutter en route for Ed
Blair's camp, four miles from the
lake on the direct route to Danforth's.
We were somewhat delayed by
meeting the teams, all of them seem-
ing to be in the worst places to pass,
but we did as best we could and
reached the camp, only to be told by
Billy Edwards, the cook, that the
lawyer and John Huggins had been
gone over an hour. My first thoughts

were to abandon the project, but hav-
ing undertaken the journey I decided
to persevere, and, laying in a good
stock of matches and two doughnuts
for a luncheon, took to the trail like
a bloodhound and followed it as
closely. About nine o'clock it began
to snow, and continued all day and
most of the night.

The trail, however, was easily fol-
lowed, and I patiently continued my
journey until 2 : 30 in the afternoon,
when I came to a place on the Ma-
galloway river, known as " Little
Boys Falls." The storm had in-
creased and the snow had so com-
pletely filled the trail that it was
utterly impossible to find any traces
of it. No one had ever told me of
this river, and where to go and what
to do I did not know\

My first impression was to go to
the right, and as that was the way
the wind was blowing, and I being
about ready to be blown by the wind,
I followed down the river to the right
about a quarter of a mile, but, find-
ing no signs of snowshoes, retraced
my steps to the trail on the bank of
the river, and then went to the left,
up the river. I was somewhat weary
with ni}' morning exercise, it being
the second time I ever was on snow-
.shoes, and facing the storm looking
for tracks was rather discouraging,
especially when I could not find any ;
so I turned about for the trail on the
shore of the river a second time.

LOST IN THE WOODS.

177

Then I thought I would cross the
river and find either their trail or
some spotted line of Danforth's, but
alas! there were no signs given, and
I returned to the trail on the shore of
the river a third time to decide upon
further movements. It was now 3 : 30
in the afternoon, and knowing the
night would soon overtake me, I
knew not what to do. Had I an
axe and a blanket I could build me
a shelter and camp for the night, but
these I did not have, and the pros-
pect looked so discouraging, that I
gave up all hope, even of life, and
laid myself down to die.

I cannot describe the feeling which
came over me while there, for none
but a lost man can understand it ;
suffice it to say it was anything but
pleasant ; but I hoped I should soon
chill and then die. While lying there
in this condition, with the snow fast
covering my body, something said to
me, "This is suicide; rise, do what
you can, and trust God for results."
Encouraged by this thought I arose,
and asked God to help me and guide
me.

The only feasible thing for me to
do now was to take the back track,
and while it seemed like a hopeless
task to reach Blair's camp that night,
yet I started with the determination
to do what I could towards it. I had
no difficulty in following the trail so
long as it was through the heavy-
wooded growth and the daylight
lasted ; but when that was gone and
I had come out into the opening,
where years previous the lumbermen
had operated, I was in trouble again,
and with no trail before me and no
daylight to find one, I was compelled
to stop, and give up all hope of reach-
ing the camp that night.

I was now in the old logging works,
and there being some uprooted trees
near the trail where I was standing, I
took to them for shelter. Turned as
they were, one over the other, there
was underneath of these trees an
opening, and by the aid of one of
my snowshoes I made it larger ; and,
by the time I had come to the turf-
covered roots of the trees, I had
prepared a good-sized winter camp.
Then I set out for a birch tree and
some wood, that I might have a fire.
The first was soon found, but, owing
to my eagerness in securing the bark,
I went round and round the tree,
only to lose my trail back to my
newh-made camp.

I had secured as much bark as I
could carrv, and after wandering
about for a while trying to find my
tracks, threw down my burden, say-
ing to myself: " It is no use; die I
must, and I might as well meet it
now as any time." Just then, the
wind drew a piece of the bark to my
right out of sight, and to my surprise
there was the entrance to my newl}^-
made camp, and I gathered up my
birch bark and took it in.

Before leaving ni}' camp to go in
search of wood, I prepared several,
birch-bark torches and stuck them
in the snow, but, in my attempt to
remove my gloves, found them both
frozen on. If I only had one hand to
use I could get my matches and light
a torch, but it was no use trying, so
I took first thought and thrust my
right hand under my clothing, and
after keeping it there a short time
I removed the glove on my right
hand, and b}' the aid of my knife
the left one was opened and off.

For a while I had a beautiful illu-
mination, and the tree tops were

178

LOST IN THE WOODS.

plainly discovered above the snow
with dry limbs broken off, giving a
good supply of fuel. I took it to my
camp, guided b}' the light and smoke
of the torch, and began to build a

fire. I did not have to wait long
before my matches were all wet save
three which I had left in my match-
box. The first one tried was just in
season to be l)lown out by a gust of
wind coming in at the entrance, and
while placing some bark in front of
it the thought occurred to me that
I had better provide a chimney for
the smoke to go out, so out I went
on top of the upturned trees to dig a
hole. Removing one of my snow-
shoes to use as a shovel. I stepped
back just a little, and down I went
between the limbs of the trees into
my camp below. It was quite a
quick wa\- to build a chimney, and
I had the privilege of taking out
some loose snow which had fallen
in, but then. I had a chimney just
the same, and attempted a second
time to kindle a fire.

In separating my two remaining
matches I broke one of them, l^ut
took the whole one and .scratched it.
To my sorrow, I learned the draft of
that chimney was directly opposite
from what it was intended, and out

went m_\- match. I was now reduced
to the Ijrimstone end of the only dry
match I had, and not knowing at
that time that a fellow could rub a
wet match in his hair and then ligrht
it, I proceeded to dig a
hole in the side of my
snow- walled camp, large
enough to admit my head,
hands, and some kind-
ling, in which position I
scratched cautiously Init
successfulh-, and soon had
a good fire.

The first thins: after
gjjtojjj* having a fire was to dry
^ ^bHm my matches and clothing,
for I was wet throuofh

with perspiration. By the time this
was done ni}'' wood was burned up,
and I went out in search for more.
In fact, the entire night was spent
in gathering wood and watching it
burn. I can not tell you how I
dreaded the hours of that long
nig'.it, but, contrary to my expec-
tation, the time passed so rapidly
that when I looked at ni}' watch
and saw it was quarter past four
in the morning I could not be-
lieve it. I thought possibly I had
forgotten to wind it or something
had happened to it ; Init not so,
and my heart did leap for joy as
I sang the long-metre doxology and
prepared myself for a nap. Having
a lot of good coals and some hot
stones in the bed of my fire. I curled
up in as small a compass as pos.sible
and with feet to the fire went to
.sleep.

My nap was .short but refreshing,
and had it not been for "old Jack
Frost" breathing in my face with
his breath, eight degrees below zero,
I should have enjoyed it much longer,

LOST IN THE WOODS.

179

but as it was, it was long enough for
two toes to freeze, and I was glad of
an opportunity to exercise.

It was now 5 o'clock, the storm
had ceased, the wind had changed,
and so had the purpose of that chim-
ney, and the result was, in m\- effort
to re-kindle my fire, the wind blew
down into the embers and I was the
unhappy recipient of a hot cinder in
each eye. The left one was closed
entirely, and I tied my handkerchief
over it, while the right one was
partly closed, and I was obliged to
rai.se the lid with ni\- finger that I
might .see at all.

In this one-e^'ed condition I set out
at 6 o'clock to find my lost trail of
the night before. To my joy it was
soon found and easily followed until
I came to a steep ledge. With pleas-
ure I remembered sliding down this
place when I went over, but now the
act of sliding up was a task too much
for me to undertake, and thinking I
could husband \\\y strength In' going-
round the hill, I made the attempt,
only to cro.ss the trail, unnoticed, and
in a circle reach the verv place, at
at 9 : 30. where I had
camped the night l)e- i^
fore.

Again I was con-
scious of being lost, but
a .second time I set out
and followed the trail
to the steep ledge, and |
not having the strength I
to climb it or the cour- |

age to go round it as '

before, I turned to the
left, and after one hour's travel, as
I suppo.sed going round the ledge,
I came out a second time at my
camping place.

It was now about half-pa.st ten,

and what to do I did not know. I
set out again for the high ledge, but
before reaching it I saw down in the
valley to the right an old logging-
camp. I went to it, and upon find-
ing a bridge near by, decided it nuist
be the old half-way camp where the
tote teams .stopped when taking sup-
plies from Pittsburg to Parmachenee
lake.

There being a lot of straw in one of
the rooms of this old camp, I shook
it up for a bed, placed on my snow-
.shoes and .some pieces of lioards for
blankets, and crawled in to refresh
myself with sleep. I awoke at 12
o'clock, nearly frozen, and at once
.started, as I thought, on the direct
road to the First lake. Coming to
a girdled tree, it occurred to me that
this was the tree which one of the
.sportsmen had marked, indicating
where to turn off from the old tote
road and go down to the vSecond
lake.

I was now happ>-, and confident
that I was going in a direct course
for Blair's camp. Soon, however, I
came out into some low land, and a

little before me on the right was a
steep mountain. Again I was as-
sured in \\\y own mind that I was
on the right road, and the mountain
was old " Bose Buck," just back of

I So

LOST IN THE WOODS.

my home camp. Having talked a
good deal about the view from " Bose
Buck," I looked at my watch, and
finding it only i o'clock, thought I
would go up the mountain and take
in the sights.

The side of the mountain was all
cleared, and although quite stee^^ I
persevered until about half way up,
when a little twig which I was hold-
ing on to gave way, and down I
went, heels over head, into the light
snow, on an angle of about forty-five
degrees, minus one snowshoe. The
more I strove to get out the deeper I
went in, and the situation became a
little discouraging, but I finall}^ suc-
ceeded in removing the other snow-
shoe and placing it under my left
side and rolled over on to it. In
that position I beat down the snow
about my feet and legs and formed
quite a firm foundation to stand on,
and thus by a desperate struggle I
succeeded in getting on to my feet
again. -Fortunate for me my last
snowshoe was below me, and I
crawled to it on the other one. To
my sorrow and discomfort the strap
on my snowshoe had broken, and a
part of it was lost ; my only substi-
tute w^as a suspender.

It was indeed a critical moment
with me, for if I took one of my
suspenders the whole responsibility
would rest upon the other, but I took
the risk, and .soon I had my shoes
adjusted and went down the moun-
tain a wiser man. than I went ujd, to
say nothing about the sightseeing.

In going down the mountain I
went the easiest way, and to ni}' joy,
at the foot of the mountain in the low
land there was an open brook, and
I got \\\y first drink of water. Pre-
vious to this I had not been very

thirst}^ but no sooner did the water
touch my tongue than it seemed im-
possible for me to take the bark cup
from my lips, and I guess I got pretty
full, at least it overpowered me, and
lest I should give way to my feelings
and go to sleep, I clung for life to a
little tree.

I have no idea as to the time I re-
mained in this condition, but the first
thing I saw on recovering conscious-
ness was a spotted tree at my side,
and a hand rail supported by two
forked sticks over the brook. I knew
this was the work of man and the
trail went somewhere, but where I
did not know, and it went directly
opposite from the course I was going.
At once I realized, as never before,
the fact that I was lost, l)ut here was
this trail, and as I could not rely
upon my own judgment, I decided
to follow^ it, thinking if I did not live
to find the end of it some one would
at least find my bones.

After a long, hard tramp for about
three hours I came to quite a little
hill, and as the trail led up over it I
resolved to follow it, live or die, and
taking off my snowshoes I put them
on my hands and crawled up on all
fours to the toj:). While lying there
on m}' side I discovered in the dis-
tance a small camp. M}^ first impres-
sions were that it was the one where
I had taken my noonday nap, but,
upon closer inspection, I saw a stove-
pipe sticking out through the roof,
and with the bound of a deer I was
on my feet wending my way to it,
and for my comfort, and I believe my
life, I am indebted to John Danforth
and Rump Pond camp. The pict-
ure herewith given is a view of the
camp taken in summer, and while
there is more of it to be seen as you

LOST IN THE WOODS,

i8i

now see it, and happy hearts sitting
near by, yet there never was a time
when it looked so well to me as then,
and the supper I had there that night
was also better than either of those
standing there could prepare, save
Danforth himself, who is sitting on
the bow of the l)oat beside the man
with the paddle.

The door of this camp had a half-
window in it, and knowing that he
who climbeth up some other way is a
thief and a robber, I proposed to go

as freely as I did that. There was
also a good cook stove, and ])lenty of
dry wood in the corner. So I built a
fire and began housekeeping.

With pail and axe I went to the
pond for water, but ere I had chopped
long my strength failed me, and the
old all-gone feeling of nervous pros-
tration came on the same as when I
clung to the tree when I drank the
water, and as there was nothing to
cling to now I sunk down to a bed in
the snow. With great exertion I

in at the door. Removing the snow-
shoe from my right foot and standing
upon them both, \\ith my right foot
held up in my hand, I kicked for all
I was worth and was successful at it
for away went the glass and down
went the .shutters, and I walked in to
take account of stock.

On a wire across the rear end of
the camp were three pairs of heavy
woolen blankets, in the centre was a
table bearing a lamp, a box of
matches, and a six-quart pail of
mola.sses. This mola.sses l:)eing the
first filling stuff I had found for two
days, save the water at the foot of
the mountain, I helped myself to it

filled my pail with the chopped ice
and dragged it beside me as I crawled
back to camp. T put the ice in the
teakettle, which was on the floor, but
I could neither raise myself nor it, and
in this exhau.sted condition I acci-
dentally inhaled the hot air from the
oven of the .stove, aiul it refreshed
me so that I was in a short time all
right again, and l)egan preparations
for supper.

One blow with the axe raised the
cover of a big, blue chest, lock and
all, and there, to my joy, were re-
vealed groceries enough to la.st me a
month. I fried some salt pork and
flapjacks, and aiade a pot of tea,

l82

LOST IN THE WOODS.

yes, it was tea, strong and hot, I
assure you, and no bab}- drink.

I must now revert for a moment to
the water at the foot of the mountain.
If I was to pass through another such
an experience I would not drink any
water, for it created such a thirst that
I constantly ate snow all the after-
noon, the very worst thing one can
do on an empty stomach, as it chills
the stomach and does not quench
thirst. Now. as I sat down to eat,
no sooner had 1 taken a drink of my
hot tea than there was a reaction of
the stomach, and I was seized with
violent cramp. My head was drawn
back, m>' arms drawn up, my hands
clinched, and my stomach felt as
though it would burst. In this con-
dition I took to the blankets and in a
short time went to sleep. I do not
know how long I slept, l)ut as soon as
I was awake I was con.scious of the
location of my stomach, and the dis-
turbing elements therein. At once I
sprang out of the blankets and hast-
ened for the washbasin and anxiously
waited to find out whether tea was to
be thrown up or molasses thrown
down, and which was to have po.sses-
sion of my stomach. The fire had
gone out, the camp was cold, and
there I .stood, washdish in hand, a fit
looking svibject for an artist, wonder-
ing what I could do, when, presently,
my eye rested upon a jar of pickles,
and I helped myself to them as freely
as I did to the molasses, and the
])ickles decided all controversy should
cease, and hunger should hold sway.

In obedience thereto I rebuilt my
fire, warmed my tea and flapjacks,
eating them as soon as warm. Sup-
per being over I decided to lay nnself-
away in the blankets, but I had
scarceh- covered my head when I

heard the creaking of snowshoes and
a voice from without saying, "Are
you in here, Mr. Hunt ? "' To which
I replied, " I am, and there is ropm
for more." To my surprise it was
Kd Blair, boss of the lumber camp,
and John Huggins, guide of the
young lawyer to Camp Caribou.

And now ni}' rescue, briefly told,
was as follows : Huggins returned
from Camp Caribou next morning,
and as there had fifteen inches of
snow fallen, thought he would rather
retrace his .steps than make new ones,
con.sequenth' he pas.sed by where I
had camped the night previous about
ten o'clock that morning and reached
Blair's camp at two o'clock in the
afternoon. Inquiry being made by
the cook, "how the minister stood
his journey," the reply was " I
haven't seen him," and at once it
was decided that he had lost his way.
and the horn was .sounded, and the
crew ran for the camp to ascei'tain
the trouble. Each one volunteered
to 2:0 and search for me, but it was
finally decided that Blair and Hug-
gins would be be.st able to find me.
It was now three o'clock when they
.set out from the camp. They took a
good supply of food, blankets, and
some tools to make a sled to draw me
in on if necessary. Huggins led the
way to my camping place the first
night, and then they tracked me,
making all my circles, until eight
o'clock in the evening, when Hug-
irins uave out and was obliged to
camp. Blair thought he would go
on a little farther and soon came to
the trail, which he knew led to Rump
Pond camp, and when at the brook
finding my ])irch drinking cup knew
at once I was alive and able to care
for myself and would be in Rump

LOST IN THE WOODS.

183

Pond camp that night if X followed
the trail.

With this evidence Blair returned
to where he had left Huggins, and
the favorable report so animated him
that he was able to go on, and they
reached the camp at ten minutes past
nine o'clock. Next morning we left
Rump Pond camp at six o'clock, and
in five minutes' time were in the tote
road from Chesham, Can., to Camp
Caribou. In my attempt to climb the
mountain the day before I sprained
ni}' knee and it now gave out entirely.
Blair remained with me while Hug-
gins started in great haste for Camp
Caribou, to get a sled to draw me in
on, but ere he had been gone twenty
minutes, he met Lewis Bragg, with a
four-horse team on his way to Canada
for hay for Danforth. The young
lawyer and Danforth were with Bragg
going up as far as Rump Pond camp
for a little outing.

Huggins returned with the team,
and for the first time I was standing
in the presence of John Danforth.
I 2:ave him ni\ hand as a friend,
but found him to be a brother ; and
he wrapped me in his own blankets
and ordered his team to convey me
to Camp Caribou, where I was re-
ceived b}' his wife as a mother, and
where I remained a welcome guest
for nearly four weeks, and then was
guided safely back to Ed Blair's log-
ging camp by mine ho.st himself.

I remained in the logging camp
until the first of April, when I re-
turned to my home for my wife who
accompanied me in my wanderings
back to the lake, where we remained
in my camp, as shown in the picture,
during the summer. To my mind the
whole tran.saction is a clear illu.stra-
tion of the Go.spel following the law,
one never knows how far round it will
take him. or when he will get out.

g5\5^—

MORNING AMONG THE HILLS.

By George Bancroft Griffith..

With royal flush the mountains burn ;

Each bare uplifted brow

In courtesy might love to turn

And greet the day spring now,

Whose overflowing glor}- they

In silence drink, — so dawns the dajH

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY

/>}' Ed-vard C. Niles, Esq.

r is probably safe to
assert that the pres-
ent condition and
l^rospects for the
future of no town
in New Hampshire
owe so little to the
forethought and labor of former gen-
erations as do those of Berlin. The
real founders of Berlin are the men
of the present generation, — it might
even be said, of the present day, —
and whatever of good or evil, of dis-
a.ster or prosperity, may befall this
metropolis of the back-woods will be
due to the industry and sagacity or
to the negligence and incompetence
of those who to-day are determining
the lines along which the develop-
ment of its natural resources and of
its moral, religious, and intellectual
activities shall be carried on. But
little as the past has influenced the
present, and little as this town offers
of opportunity for historical and gen-
ealogical research, it still has a past

which is of interest, if for no other
reason, from its contrast with the
present.

The territory comprised in the
present limits of the town was
granted in 1771 to a number of
English gentlemen, and was called
Maynesborough, in honor of Sir
William Mayne, the most distin-
guished among the original grantees.
The grant was made upon certain
conditions, among which were the
following :

'"Second That the said grantees
shall settle or cause to be settled
Fifteen Families by the r' day of
January 1774, who shall be actually
cultivating some part of the said
Land and resident on the same, & to
Continue making further and addi-
tional Improvement, Cultivation and
vSettlement of the Premises so that
there shall be actually settled thereon
Sixty Families b}' the 1'' da^' of Jan-
uary 1782, on penalty of the forfeiture
c£ any and every delinquent's Share

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

185

and of such share or shares reverting
to us our Heirs and Successors to be
by us or them enter' d upon and re-
granted to such of our Subjects as
shall effectually Settle and Cultivate
the Same :

''Third That all white and other
Pine Trees being and growing within
& upon the said Tract of Land fit for
Ma.sting our Royal Navy be Carefully
preserved for that use & none to be
Cut or fell'd without our special
Licence for so doing first had and
obtained upon the penalty of the for-
feiture of the Right of such Grantee
his Heirs and Assigns to us our
Heirs and Successors as well as being
subject to the penalty of any Act or
Acts of Parliament that now are or
hereafter shall be enacted.

'■'FiftJi. Yielding and paying there-
fore to us our Heirs and Successors
on or before the i" day of January
1 78 1, the rent of one liar of Indian
Corn only if lawfully demanded."

The settlement contemplated in the
charter was never made, nor was
there any attempt at settlement
until well along in the present cen-
tury. For man\^ years the forest
wilds were invaded only by the hun-
ter or the trapper, or in later times,
along the Androscoggin, by the lum-
berman, who found in its richly
wooded river-banks a treasure easily
transported by nature's highway to
the settlements in Maine. Through
Berlin occasional bands of maraud-
ing Indians pa.ssed to descend upon
the early .settlers at Gilead and
Bethel, and through Berlin they re-
turned with their captives on the
way to their Canadian homes. But
except for these occasional visitors

Maynesborough remained an untrod-
den wilderness.

The Declaration of Independence
was proclaimed, and the Revolution
was inaugurated and carried on to
its successful issue. America was
a second time embroiled in war with
the mother country and was again
victorious, but Maynesborough .slept
unmoved alike bv reverses and tri-

The Alpine Cascade.

umphs, unconscious of Lexington
and Bunker Hill, of Bennington and
Trenton, of \'alley Forge and York-
town, and her rocky hillsides never
echoed to the names of \Vashington
and Stark, of Jefferson and Adams,
of Perry and Paul Jones.

But the era of activity following the
termination of the War of 1.S12 was
marked in this country by a general
extension of the outpo.sts of civiliza-

i86

BERLIN: A TOWN Of TO-DAY.

tioii, and in 1821 a few adventurous
spirits started from Gilead, the first
town on the Androscoggin below the
Maine line, and passing through
what is now the towns of Shelburne
and Gorham, settled on the fertile
meadows in the northern part of
Maynesborough.

Mount Forist, from the Heights.

The first house was built in that
year b}- William Sessions, on the
easterly side of the river, on what
was afterwards known as the Benja-
min Thompson farm. The house,
which has long since disappeared,
is said to have stood across the road
from the present house, on a slight
rise of land above the intervale. A
few others followed within a short
time, and before long a clearing was
made on the westerly side of the
Androscoggin, and a house was built
by Samuel Blodgett on the farm
which was afterwards owned by Reu-
ben H. Wheeler, and very near where
the house of John W . Greenlaw now
stands.

The first settlers were farmers, and
i:)icked out the land best suited for
agricultural purposes, and there are
to-da}- no better farms along the An-
droscoggin valley than those which
were first tilled b\' William Sessions
and vSanuiel Blodgett. But the great

inducement to settlement in Berlin
has never been the opportunities
which it offers for agricultural pur-
suits. The tillable land is very
scarce, and there are not more than
twelve or fifteen small farms, all told,
within the town limits.

But whatever of prosperity- it has

^ attained or may hereafter

attain is due to the forests
by which it is encircled,
and to the stream which
affords both a ready
mean s of transportation
for the forest products
and the power by w^hich
they are converted into a
great variet}- of market-
able forms. The An-
droscoggin, rising in the
Rangeleys, furnishes the
only outlet of that great chain of
lakes, and receives, in addition to
the drainage of its own large valle}',
that of the Magallowaj', the Swift,
and Dead Diamonds, Clear Stream,
and a large number of other streams
through which are discharged the
waters of numerous lakes and ponds.
This great volume of water is com-
pres.sed at Berlin between narrow
walls of solid rocks, and pours over
a succession of rapids and abrupt
cataracts with tremendous force, fall-
uig about four hundred feet in six
miles, and furnishing perhaps the
greatest water power in New Eng-
land, if not in the East. It is this
water power which has given to Ber-
lin its character as a mill town. And
it was not long before the possibilities
latent in this power w-ere recognized.
In 1826 Thomas Green located a
mill at the head of the falls, near
where the Berlin Mills saw-mill now
stands, and a year later purchased

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

187

land and a mill privilege about a
mile lower down the stream, erected
a saw-mill and a grist-mill, and Imilt
the house now known as the Scribner
house. Later he moved his grist-
mill to the power opposite, where the
store of C. C. Crcrrish 6c Co. now
stands. His sons, Daniel and Amos
(jreen, in 1S29, put up a .shingle-
and clap-board-mill near their father's
saw-mill. Daniel Green afterwards
built and operated several mills on
the I'pper Ammonoosuc and Dead
rivers, and on A-arious sites on the
Androscoggin. In the course of his
experience as a mill owner he lost
five mills by fire and one by a freshet,
but always built again, either on the
same .site or in a new place.

Mill privileges were plenty in those
days and land was cheap. Daniel
Green is said to have owned at one
time or another the entire water
power at Berlin, and nearly all the
land in town. Among other early
mill owners were Dexter Wheeler,
who at one time operated the mill
l)uilt by Daniel and Amos Green ;
Reuben H. Wheeler, who owned sev-
eral lumber-mills, at \-arious times,
and also for some time carried on
a starch-mill; Ira Ma.son, who ran a
.shingle- mill on Bean l)rook ; and
Samuel M. Andrews, who owned
and operated several mills on Dead
river.

In 1829 there were enough settlers
in Ma3'nesborough to warrant its in-
corporation as a town, and it was ac-
cordingly incorporated by the legisla-
ture in that year. But, probably on
account of the general feeling of hos-
tility to Great Britain then pre\-alent
in this countr}-, and the desire to
efface all reminders of British sover-
eignty, the historic and significant

name of Maynesborough was dis-
carded, and the new town was chris-
tened Berlin.

Several years ago, when there was
talk of applying for a city charter, it
was suggested that a return might be
made to the original name of the
town ; but the name of Berlin has
become .so a.s.sociated with her man-
ufacturing and commercial interests
that it is hardly probable, meaning-
less and insignificant though her pres-
ent name is. that the change will ever
be made.

The first town meeting was held
September i, 1829, at the house of
Andrew Gates. The check-list used
at the March meeting in the follow-
ing year contained the names of but
fifteen voters, representing only
seven family names. — Blodgett, Bean,
Gates, I^vans, Grreen, Thon;pson, and
Wheeler, — and indicating, on ordi-
nary principles of computation, a
total population of about seventy-
five. To-day her check-li.st of eight
hundred and eighty names represents
a population of about 6,000, the small
proportion of voters to inhabitants
being due to the fact that now a
large part of the population are of
foreign birth, while at the time of
the first town meeting, in all proba-
bility, every man of legal age was a
^'Oter.

The growth of the town was .steady,
but slow, for the next forty or fifty
years. A considerable impetus was
ariven bv the construction of the
Atlantic c\: St. Lawrence Railwa\', —
now the Grand Trunk, — which
reached Berlin in 1852. Two years
later the branch track, known as the
Berlin Mills branch, was built to the
mill of H. Winslow «S: Co., the larg-
est mill in town, which was after-

i88

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

Berlin National Bank.

wards made the nucleus of the plant
of the Berlin Mills Company.

Walling's map of Coos county,
published in 1861, gives the popula-
tion of Berlin as four hundred and
forty, and a glance at the check-list
will show that the family names
prominent in 1830 still predominated,
indicating that the increase in popu-
lation was due in very small meas-
ure to inunigration from without.

The records of these intermediate
years are very meagre. The town
records, if intact, would throw very
little light upon the life of the
town ; and by an unfortunate accident
a part of them were lost at the time
of the fire which in 1892 destroyed
the building owned by A. N. Gilbert,
in which were the town offices. The
records which were lost were in a

Clement Block.

safe, which after the fire could not be
opened, and was sold and taken out
of town, records and all. And it has
since been impossible to discover the
whereabouts of the missing books.
If there should ever again be a fire
in the building in which the records
are kept, a similar accident could not
well occur, — as, b}' the wi.se fore-
thought of the town authorities, the}'
are not now kept in a safe.

However, the records available will
suflfice to show who were the strong-
men of the town in those daj's.
Prominent among them was Dexter
Wheeler, mill owner and trader, who
held all the offices in the gift of the
town, being for twent3'-four years
town clerk, and at one and the same
time selectman, town clerk, and
treasurer. Reuben H. Wheeler, lum-
berman, mill owner, and farmer, was
a man of keen intellect, forceful, and
energetic. He lived on the place
now owned b}- his son-in-law, John
W. Greenlaw. Merrill C. Forist,
whose name is borne by the huge
cliff towering above the town, was
for many years proprietor of the hotel
at the Falls. He was a man of com-
manding presence, and was a noted
character among all who travelled
this way. He was for some years
town clerk, and no town can show
hand.somer records than were kej^t
by him. Gardner C. Paine, partner
of Dexter Wheeler, would have been
a leading man in anj- community.
He is credited by those who knew
him with having possessed an un-
usual combination of quickness of
perception and .soundness of judg-
ment. In small places men of mark,
almost without exception, arouse en-
mities and jealousies among those
less favored than thev ; but in Ber-

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY

189

liu all speak well of Gardner Paine.
Ira Mason \vas for many years a
prominent man in the connnercial
and political life of the town. He
was a successful merchant, and owned
land which he had the sagacit}' to
retain, and which the rapid growth
of the town in later years has made
-exceedingly valuable.

J. W. Wheeler, or Woodman

Wheeler, commended the ingenuity
of Wheeler's method of carrying off
the sawdust to the river by the belt
and box, and said nobody else would
have thought of it, anybody else
would have wheeled it out."

This lawsuit grew out of an at-
tempt made b}' Daniel Green to con-
vert his mill-pond on Dead river into
a cranberry bog. About sixtj^ acres

Residences of H. T. Sands and B. L, Pike.

Residence of H. J Brown.

Furbish Residence.

Residence of E. C. Niies.

Residence of W, C. Perkins.

Wheeler, as he was commonly called,
together with his brother, Reuben H.
AVheeler, was for some years in con-
trol of the mill at Jericho, where
they did a large business. A record
of his mechanical ingenuity has been
preser\-ed in the case of Green v.
Gilbert, reported in 60 N. H. 144, in
which ' ' a witness testified that on
one occasion, before 1873, the plain-
tiff (Daniel Green), coming into the
defendant's mill, then owned bv one

of land was thorough!}- drained and
planted with cranberry vines, at a
ver>' considerable expense ; but
White Mountain winters and saw-
dust proved fatal to the experiment,
and the money invested was a total
loss.

Daniel Cxreen was for many years
the most prominent figure in the
town. He was born in Shelburne
in 1808, and removed to Maynesbor-
ough in 1826 w'ith his father, Thomas

I go

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY

Methodist Church. Congregational Church. St. Barnabas's Church, Protestant Episcopal.

St. Kieran's Church and Rectory, Irish Ronnan Catholic. St. Paul's Church, Scandinavian Lutheran.

St. Anne's Church, French Roman CathoHc. French Convent, formerly the Cascade House.

Green. PVom the time when, at the
age of twentj^-one, he buih the shin-
gle- and clapboard-mill al)ove men-
tioned, until his death, at the age of
eight3'-four, he was actively engaged
in business of one form or another,
meeting with numerous obstacles and

undergoing repeated reverses, but
overcoming them all by the force of
his indomitable energy and persis-
tence, and continually, to the very
end of his life, enlai'ging the .scope
of his operations.

He not only owned and operated

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

191

the kimber-mills of which mention
has already been made, but also for
some time manufactured mill machin-
er}^ in a shop on the site of the build-
ing now known as the Revere House ;
was engaged in a considerable mer-
cantile business, and in his later
years dealt quite largely in real
estate, both water privileges and
land ; almost all the land which has
formed the stock in trade of the
various land companies organized
within the past five years having
been purchased from him or his
heirs. He also invested largely in
Florida property, and was the owner
of valuable orange groves in that
state ; and it was in Florida that he
died. He left a large family, his
estate being divided among fifty-four
heirs in the direct line of descent.

His eldest son, vSullivan D. Green,
was possessed of considerable literar}-
abilit}-. Educated at the University
of Michigan, he served through the
Civil War in a Michigan regiment,
and at the same time acted as war
correspondent of the Detroif Fire
Press, and for eight }-ears after the
war was on the editorial staff of the
same paper. Returning to Berlin to
assist in the management of his
father's business, he held \-arious
town offices, and finally died in the
prime of life, being survived by his
father.

There were man>- more wdio dur-
ing those days of small things were
prominent in the commercial, politi-
cal, and social life of the town ; but as
the object of this sketch is not to give
a complete genealogy of the older
families of the place, but rather to
show what sort of place it was and is,
and what characteristics are most to
be noted among its former and pres-

ent residents, enough has been said
to answer the requirements as far as
the men of the past are concerned.

The town, until from 1S75 to 1880,
made no noticeable growth. For
almo.st half a century after its incor-
poration it contained no organized
religious body, and no church edi-
fice. In " Lawrence's New Hamp-
shire Churches," published in 1856,
is this statement: "The following
three towns have each less than 100
inhabitants — Cambridge, D i x v i 1 1 e,
and Millsfield ; the following less
than 200 — Berlin, Clarksville, Dum-
nier, Krrol, and Randolph. In none
of these eight towns is there any
church unless Clarksville and Dum-
mer be excepted, where a church of
66 Freewill Baptists are found." The
three points of interest in this quota-
tion are the population of Berlin at
that time, the fact that there was
then no church organization in the
place, and the naive use of the word
" unless."

The first church society organized
in the town was that of the Congre-
gationali.sts, under the Rev. A. J.
Benedict, who was also the pastor
at Gorham, that place being then
considerabl}" larger than Berlin. In
1882 this society, largeh' through the
liberalit}- of the Berlin Mills Com-
pany, built the first church edifice in
the town, at Berlin Mills village.
Their present pastor, the Rev. J. B.
Carruthers, has made himself as gen-
erally known by all classes of citizens
as any resident of the town.

The li^niversalists organized a
society in 1886, and their place of
worship, standing beside the Berlin
House, was built in the following
year. The .society is at present with-
out a resident pastor.

192

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

Residenci:

In i8So the Roman Catholics built
the church which stands at the cor-
ner of Pleasant and Church streets ;
in their case, as in that of the Con-
gregationalists, the Berlin church
was an off-shoot from Gorham, and
it had no settled pastor
until 1S85, when the
Rev. N. Cournoyer took
the charge which he
still retains. As the
n u m b e r of English
speaking members of
this church increased,
it was deemed advisa-
ble to create a separate
parish for their convenience, and ac-
cordingly vSt. Kieran's church was
built in 1 894-' 95, under the ener-
getic management of the Rev. E.
D. Mackey.

Berlin is a polj'glot town, how-
ever, and services in two lan-
guages do not meet the require-
ments of all her citizens. Accord-
ingly, in 1887, the vScandinavian
Lutherans of the town formed them-
selves into a parish,
and built St. Paul's p '

church in " Norwe- '
gian village," and
secured the services
of a resident Scan-
dinavian pastor, the
Rev. S. N. Garmoe.

St. Barnabas Mis-
sion, of the Protes-
tant 1{ p i s c o p a 1
church, was organ-
ized by the labors
of the Rev. Wm.
Eloyd Himes, of Concord. The mis-
sion owes both its comely edifice and
the land on which it stands to the
generosity of Mr. Henry H. Fur-
bish, who during his residence in

esidence of Mrs. S. D, Green.

Berlin gave freely

A A. H. Eastman. botll of thoUgllt aud

of mone}' to ever}'
enterprise likely to be of benefit to
the town. The Rev. \V. B. Mac-
master is now in charge of the mis-
sion.

The Methodists, after worshipping
for some time in the Universalist edi-
fice, have ])uilt for themselves a com-
modious structure, the first church
building on the west side of the
Grand Trunk Railway. The ser\-ices
of their pastor, the Rev. F. C. Pot-
ter, give great satis-
"'. faction to the mem-
bers of his conarreea-
tion.

If to be without
doctors or law vers is

Berlin House and
Universalist Church

«*

Wilson House.

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

19:

to be happ5^ Berlin must have en-
joyed over fift}- years of unalloyed
bliss; for until 1S81 she had to go to
Gorham for her law and her medicine,
as well as her theolog}'.

In that year Dr. Wardwell, who
from Gorham had long ministered to
the ills of Berlin people, decided to
make his home in the iip-river town,
which was then beginning to show
some signs of its future growth. He
was followed before long by Dr. F.
A. Colb}^ who, since the death of
Dr. Wardwell, has been the senior
physician of the town
in point of residence.
There are now nine doc-
tors in town, represent-
ing the two great schools
of medicine.

In 1 88 1, also, the first
lawyer came to town,
in the person of R. N.
Chaniberlin, who in the
fifteen years of his resi-
dence in this place, has
not only attained emi-
nence in the practice of
his profession, but has also been
prominent in the field of politics,
having been in 1893 speaker of the
N. H. House of Representatives.
For four years he held the field
alone, but then had to share it with
Daniel J. Dale}', who moved down
from Lancaster in 1885.

This arrangement was very satis-
factory, as there were just sides
enough to each case to go around.
But the intrusion of Herbert I. Goss,
who also came over from Lancaster,
where he had been a.ssociated with
Hon. Jacob H. Benton, put an end
to this legal Utopia. Others followed
at greater or less intervals, and the
town to-day has .seven lawyers. Of

these, Mr. Dale}' was four years
county solicitor, and his partner,
Mr. Goss, who now holds the same
position, is the only Republican ever
elected to that office in Ccos county.
William H. Paine, now in practice
here, was formerly Rockingham's
county solicitor. The judge of the
police court is George F. Rich, part-
ner of Mr. Chaniberlin, who was the
first judge of that court.

It is a fact worthy of notice that
the oldest lawyer in Berlin is not yet
forty years of age. And every law-

Log Jam, near Mason Street Bridge.

yer that ever settled here is here
to-day.

As has already been said, the
growth of Berlin has principally
taken place within the past few
years ; and it has also been re-
marked that that growth has been
due to two causes, — her magnificent
water power and her proximitj' to
the forests. Berlin's foundation,
geographically speaking, is solid
rock ; but from a commercial stand-
point she is founded on wood. Until
this year every product of her mills
has had its origin in the forests, her
pulp and paper as well as her lum-
ber ; and it is through her large cor-
porations that advantage has been

194

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

taken of these natural facilities, and
to them that she owes whatever of
prosperity she has had.
The Berlin Mills Com-
pany in 1866 succeeded to <
the mills and privileges of \
H . Winslow & Co . , as has

down the Androscoggin to their mills-
at Berlin. A description of their

.ili^:.Wili>^r .rlfw

jl^,,;,^l?!«%'^-**^

Berlin Mills Saw-mill and Pond.

Part of Berlin Mi Is Mill-yard, about 1890.

Berlin Mills Saw-mill, Dams, and Bridge.
Lower end of Berlin Mills Saw-mill.

b u sine s s alone could
easily be made to fill all
the space allotted to this
article; but perhaps
s o m e conception of it
may be afforded b}' giv-
ing a few figures. They
been stated, and from that time to the employ al)Out the mills and yard, in
present da}- their business has been the summer, from 600 to 800 men.
continually growing and spreading In the winter, when their lumber-
in one direction and another, until ing operations are going on, they
to-day it is the largest lumber manu- give employment to about 1,200;
facturing concern in New England, and during the spring \\\q.\ furnish
if not in all the East. occupation to about 450 river-drivers.

The company own vast tracts of The cutting and driving of their
timber lands in New Hampshire and lumber necessitate the owaiing of a
Maine, aggregating about 300,000 large number of camps with a vast
acres, and cut and drive their own supply of camp outfits, tools, etc.,
logs. On their lands they cut each and they also have large farms in
year about 60,000,000 feet of logs, Berlin and Milan, and on the Dia-
spruce and pine, which they drive mond and Magalloway rivers, where

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

195

they raise a considerable part of the
fodder used by their horses in the
woods and in the mill-3'ard.

Their saw-mill at Berlin is situated
at the head of the falls. It contains
six band-saws, or "band-mills," the
modern substitute for the old-fash-
ioned circular saw, which will go
through a huge log, from end to end,
about as fast as a man will walk. In
addition to these saws there are two
shingle machines, two clapboard
machines, and two lath machines.

The refuse from the saws passes
through sluices to the basement,
where it is sorted according to the
purposes for which it may be used.
There are no "waste products," —
everything is used. A part goes to
the pulp-mills, another part to the
lath machines, and all of which no
other use can be made is cut up for
fuel, and used in the boiler plant or
at the paper- and pulp-mills. The
company buys no fuel whatever for
use any where about its mills.

about the mills. The product of
their lumber-mill is sold in the Amer-
ican markets, and goes also in con-
siderable quantities to South Amer-
ica and England. The}' also make
about 2,000 cords of birch, annually,
into spool-stock, which is sold in
Scotland. They send out daily a
train of sometimes more than thirty
cars loaded with lumber, which is
run as a special train to Portland,
and known as the " Berlin Train."

In addition to the manufacture of
lumber, they have two pulp-mills and
a two-machine paper-mill, which are
run to great advantage in connection
with their lumber business. They
also carry on a grist-mill, a machine
shop, and a large store, in which
they do an annual business of about
a quarter of a million dollars.

But the company are not to be
known only as a corporation engaged
in manufacturing and selling lumber
and pulp and paper. They have not
only been in the town but they have

.-0i

Berlin Mills Paper mill and Be-ilin FalU Fibre Co.

In their mill-yard are several miles always been a part of it, and a

of track, on which three locomotives very important part. The Berlin

owned by them are kept continually Mills village, — that portion of the

busy. The}- also use sixty horses town lying above the " Narrows," —

196

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

owes its existence entirely to them.
The company, or the individuals
comprising it, made possible the
building of the Congregational
church, and have always assisted
liberally in its support ; when there
was no public library in town, the}'
maintained a circulating library, and
when the town established a free
library, they turned their valuable
collection of books over to the town.
They maintain a free reading-room,
billiard-room, etc., for their employes,

became associated in partnership
with J. A. Bacon, a paper manufac-
turer, owning mills at Lawrence,
Mass. They continued in partner-
ship until 1893, when a corporation
was formed under the name of the
Berlin Falls Fibre Co. For many
years Mr. Furbish resided in Berlin
and was t!ie active manager of the
mills, and his son, \V. H. Furbish,
is now the superintendent.

The company manufacture pulp by
a chemical orocess. known as the

Burgess Sulphite Fibre Co., East SiJo.

and in countless ways have contrib-
utJ-Vl towards raising the standard of
living in the town.

The ofhcers of the company are
W. W. Brown, president; J. W.
Parker, vice-president ; Thomas Ed-
wards, treasurer; and H. J. Brown,
assistant treasurer and general super-
intendent of mills.

The Forest Fibre Companj- built
its first mill in 1877, and the second
in 18S0. Henr}' H. Furbish was the
originator of the company, and has
ahvays had a prominent part in the
direction of its n {fairs. He early

"soda process," the principal ingre-
dients used being soda-ash and lime,
from which a liquor is made in which
the wood, — poplar is used in this pro-
cess, — is "cooked" in huge vats,
until the acids and resinous sub-
stances are freed from the wood,
leaving almost pure cellulose. This
is rolled into sheets by a process like
that used in manufacturing ground
pulp, and is shipped off to be used
in making paper. The product of
this mill goes mainly into such
grades of paper as are used in mag-
azines, and fairly good book paper.

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

197

for which purposes ground pulp,
from its lack of fibre, cannot l)e
used. The daily capacity of the
mill is abovit forty tons of pulp,
using eighty cords of poplar.

The Burgess vSulphite Fibre Co.
are situated on the east side of the
river, directly across from the Berlin
Falls Fibre Co. They manufacture
pulp by a chemical process some-
what resembling the soda process in
its general features, though differing
greatly in detail. Spruce is used in-
stead of poplar, and the raw mate-
rials from which the liquor is made
are lime and sulphur. The lime, of
which about five carloads are used
weekly, is brought from the West,
while the sulphur is imported from
Japan and vSicil>'. The wood used is
bought in various places ; at present
the mill is receiving about fort}' car-
loads of logs each day from Canada,
the lack of snow lia\-ing greatly hin-
dered luml^ering operations in Coos
county this winter.

The mill is producing daily from
seventy-five to eighty tons of pulp,
and additions are now in process of
coUvStruction which will increase the
output to one hundred tons. It is
now the largest mill of its kind in
America, and when the addition now
under way is completed, will lie the
largest in the world. The freight
bills of the company on out-going
freight amount to over $100,000 an-
nually, of which, it is interesting to
note, about one half is paid on the
Androscoggin water which is con-
tained in the pulp. Fifty thousand
dollars a year is a good deal to pay
for freight on water that noliody has
any use for, but the proportion of
water to .solid matter is even larger
in other kinds of pulp.

A noticeable feature about the
Burgess mills is the originality' shown
in both process and mechanical ap-
pliances. The use of lal)or is dis-
pensed with wherever possible. The
wood is unloaded from the cars on an
automatic conveyer which takes it
di recti v to the tank, — as lar^e as a
small pond, — in which it is soaked.
From the tank it is taken out and
the bark removed on revolving
knives. It then goes, by way of
another conveyer, to the machine in
which it is cut up into chips. These
chips, in turn, are automaticalh' car-
ried to a sifter, in which the sawdust
and the large pieces are .sorted out
from those which are of the risfht

size, the former being carried to the
boiler-room for use as fuel, while the
others are taken up to the top of the
mill and dumped into the digesters, —
the great vats in which the chips are
cooked. There are six of these di-
gesters, each fourteen feet in diam-
eter and thirt\-five feet high ; when
the mill was built, in 1.S93, the}" were
the largest in the world. The sub-
stance with which they are lined is
the invention of T. P. Burgess, the
general manager of the mill, with
whom certain important features of
the process of manufacture are origi-
nal, as are manv of the labor-savins:
contrivances.

The officers of the company are
\V. W. Brown, president; Aretas
Blood, vice-president ; Theodore P.
Burgess, treasurer and general man-
ager ; Frank P. Carpenter, Herbert
J. Brown, and Orton B. Brown,
directors; and George F. Burgess,
superintendent. The companv em-
plo)'' a large office force, and are now
building what are intended to be the
finest mill offices in the state.

I9S

BRRfJN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

(jit

Mill Nu. I.

The Glen Manufacturing Company
came to Berlin in 18S5, and built
on the original Berlin Falls a mill,
which the town voted to exempt from
taxation for ten years. It was cer-
tainh- the best investment that the
town ever made. The compan}-
steadily and rapidly increased its
plant, until to-day they own six
large mills and emplo}' in them
about four hundred men, with a
weekly pay-roll of about $4,500.

Their first paper machine was set
running in the spring of 1S86, and
was named after Col. C. H. Taj-lor,
of the Boston Globe. In 1887 they
made an addition to their ori2:inal
mill, giving them three paper ma-
chines. In the same year they
bought a mill which had been oper-
ated for a short time by the White
Mountain Pulp and Paper Co., and
which the}' afterwards incorporated
with their Mill No. 5. No. 3 was
built in 1889; in 1890 one ma-
chine was added to No. i ; in 1891
No. 4 was built ; in 1892, No. 5 ; and
No. 6, their sulphite pulp mill, in
1893.

The}' now have a complete plant,
manufacturing everything that goes

'k> *

into their paper, the sul-
phite pulp taking the
place of the rags, of which
it was formerh' necessary
to use a small quantity in
order to give the paper
the requisite toughness.
They now manufacture
dail}' thirty -five tons of sul-
phite pulp and eighty tons
of ground-wood pulp, from
which they make sixty-five

* tons of paper at Berlin,

while the rest is shipped
to their mills at Haverhill,
Mass., where it is made into fifty
tons of paper. They grind up an-
nually into pulp about 30,000,000
feet of spruce logs. They own
about 100,000 acres of timber lands,

Falls at Glen Mill No. I. The original Berlin FalFs.

and contract for the cutting of their
timber. Their facilities for obtain-
ing their raw material are unequalled
b}' any other large paper-mills in the
country, and for this reason they are

BERIJN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

199

able to manufacture at an advantage
over those less favoral)ly situated.

The}' have three dams, by which
they have developed about 12,000
horse-power. They have thirty-six
pulp grinders and five paper ma-

^s»

i:*..

Glen Mills Noa. 4 and 6.

chines. The process of manufacture
in its first steps resembles the sul-
phite process, up to the point at
which in the latter the wood was
cut into chips. In the mechanical
process, the blocks of wood, from
which the bark has been
removed, are ground up,
under a heavy water pres- '
sure, on large grinders, —
stones like ordinar}' grind-
stones, but about five feet
in diameter and two feet
in thickness. The pulp
then undergoes v a r i o u ^
proces.ses by which a con-
siderable part of the water
is removed, and it is rolled
out into thick sheets for

transportation. The pulp, .soaked in
water and mixed with a little sulphite
pulp, is then passed through the pa-
per machine, a great ma.ss of machin-
ery in which the moist pulp, passing
over felts and screens and between
warm cylinders and over various ap-
pliances for drying out the water,
finally comes out at the other end
in the form of a wide sheet of pure
white paper, — ten feet wide on the
largest machine in the Glen mills, —
and is wound up in a great roll ready
for the printing press, at the rate of
about three hundred feet a minute.
The Glen's paper machines turn out
over 60,000 square feet of newspaper
every minute, and run da}' and night
continuously, — twenty-four hours in
the day and seven days in the v/eek.
In a little over two months they
make enough paper to encircle the
earth around the equator with a belt
eight feet wide.

They have had continuous con-
tracts with the Boston Globe and the
Neiv Yo)'k Tribune ever since their
first mill in Berlin was built, and
their paper is used in newspaper
offices from Maine to Texas, and
even in the British Isles.

The officers of this company are
John I^. Hobson, of Haverhill, Mass.,

Glen Mill No. 5.

200

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY

Gri

Train of Logs for the Glen Manufacturing Co.

president; H. M. Knowles, of Bos-
ton, treasurer; and I. B. Hosford,
of Haverhill, general manager.

These four large corpo-
rations ha\'e developed,
by their dams on the
Androscoggi n , not far
from 30,000 horse power;
few if any of the privi-
leges in use are developed
to their fullest capacity,
and there are a consider-
able number of magnifi-
cent powers as _\-et en-
tireh' unused.

In addition to the four
large c o m p a n i e s there
are a number of small manufactur-
ing concerns, almost all of which
make some form of wood product.
Of these the largest is the Berlin
Manufacturing Company, whose mill
would be considered a large j^lant
in almost any other place in New
Hampshire than Berlin. They own
a valuable site, nearly opposite the
Grand Trunk .station, and have an
extremely well equipped and conven-
ient mill, in which they manufacture
spruce, pine, and hard-wood luml:)er
of all descriptions, and do a general
jobbing and house -finishing busi-
ness.

The power is furnished entirely b}'

steam. A. X. Gilbert is
the treasurer and general
manager.

The Builders" vSupply
Company also own a well-
appointed mill in which
are manufactured all kinds
of house-finishing material,
doors, sashes, hardwood-
flooring, etc. The power
for this mill is furnished
from the Dead River privi-
lege, which also operates a small
grist-mill.

Ezra M. Cross, after being for .some

nders in Pulp Department, Glen Mill No. I.

time in business on Mechanic .street,
has, during the past 3'ear, moved down
l^elow the Glen Mill No. i, where he
has built two large and convenient
buildings in which he carries on his
foundry and machine-shop business.
He makes ca.stings in all the common
metals, and does a general jobbing
business. He employs about twenty
men, all necessarily skilled workmen
and earning good wages.

The criticism has often been made
that the mills of Berlin gave employ-
ment practically to none but able-
bodied men, and that no opportunity
was given for the women and younger
people of the laboring families to add

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

20 1

to the family resources as can else-
where be done, where the forms of
labor are more- varied. This diffi-
culty, it is believed, has been in large
measure obviated by the erection of
the Berlin Shoe Factory.

The money for this building was
paid for in part by popular subscrip-
tion, and in part by the use of the
credit of the town. The factory has
been leased to Chick Bros, of Haver-
hill, Mass., one of the largest shoe
companies in New Kngland, on a
guaranty that they will do a certain
amount of business here for a fixed
term of years. The shop is situated
near the Berlin Manufacturing Co.,
beside the Grand Trunk tracks. It
is 200 by 50 feet on the ground, and
five stories above the basement, with
a large tower in front and in the rear
a brick power-house. It is built on
the be.st principles of first-cla.ss mill
construction, equipped with stand-
pipes and an automatic sprinkler sys-
tem, and lighted throughout l)y elec-
tricity furnished by its own dynamo.
It will accommodate about 1,000 em-
ployes, and it is thought that before

Berlin Shoe Factory.

Berlin Manufacturing Company's Mill.

summer it will be running to very
nearly its full capacity.

Shoe-shops are generally consid-
ered rather risky ventures for small
towns, but Berlin's people feel that
this institution bids fair to be a per-
manency. Their confidence is ba.sed
not only on the character and busi-
ness standing of the lessees, but also on
the fact that, strange as it may seem,
Berlin offers peculiar advantages for
the transaction of this particular bus-
iness. Help of the kind wanted is
abundant, and anxious for an oppor-
tunity to work. Fuel is cheap, wood
being abundant, and coal costing less
in Berlin than in Concord. And the

freight rates
— ____„_, from Berlin to

the West are
lower than from
Haverhill, and
it is from the
West that Chick
Brothers obtain
the greater part
of their raw ma-
terial, and to the
West they ship
nuicli of their
finished product.
So much for
the mills of Ber-
lin : to them the

;J^>k-l

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY.

20'

tawn is mainly indebted for what
she is. I wish now to devote a
short space to a consideration of
what she is.

According to the censns of 1890,
Berlin had about 3,500 inhabitants;
by a census taken last spring by the
selectmen, this numljer had swelled
to nearly 6,000, so that she is now
the largest town in New Hampshire.

Her streets and stores and many of
her houses, are lighted by electricity,
furnished b}^ the Berlin Electric Light
Company, whose plant is situated in
the mills of the Berlin Falls Fibre
Company. The president of the com-
pany is \V. H. Furbish, and H. H.
Furbish is treasurer and general man-
ager. The electric light compau}' is
an old institution, and Berlin was one
of the first places in the state to in-
troduce electricity. Gas has ne\'er
been used here for illuminating pur-
poses, and it is hardly probable that
it will ever be introduced.

Water is furnished by several com-
panies, of which the largest is the
Berlin Aqueduct Company, whose
S3\stem was put in in 1892 at a very
heav}' expense. The soil of the
town, if I may .so express myself, is
solid rock, and more than thirty tons
of dynamite were used in blasting out
the trenches for the pipes. The main
supply is a reservoir on Bean brook
in the hills about a mile east of the
Androscoggin, and a pumping station
above Berlin Mills furnishes an aux-
iliary supply of filtered river water.
This company furnishes about 900
families with water, and also supplies
the town hydrants, of which there are
now forty-six, as well as the auto-
matic .sprinkler systems with which
all the mills are equipped.

The Green xVqueduct Company sup-

plies excellent water to a considerable
number of families in the centre of
the town, while the Cold vSpring
Water Company performs the same
service for a number of houses on the
ea.st side of the river.

Protection against fire is furnished
by three \^xy efhcient hose compa-
nies, the high pressure of the aque-
duct compan\- making the posses-
•sion of steamers unnecessary. There
has been no serious fire in town since
the introduction of the water service.
The Glen Manufacturing Co. and the
Berlin Mills have each a fire engine
of their own, with a complete fire-
fighting equipment and a thoroughly
drilled fire department, and the other
mills are supplied with hydrants con-
nected with the aqueduct company's
system.

At the same time when the water-
works were put in, a complete sewer
system was constructed by the town.
The resulting gain in the general
health of the community has been
very marked.

The town is well supplied with
.social and fraternal organizations,
among them being a lodge of Free
Masons, Odd Fellows, Knights of
Pythias, Independent Order of For-
esters, Catholic Order of Foresters,
Society of St. John the Bapti.st, and
Brotherhood of Paper-makers. The
old name of the town is retained in
the Maynesboro' club, which has
convenient rooms in the National
Bank block, equipped with billiard
and pool tables, and furnished with
a good selection of newspapers and
periodicals. The club is a very im-
portant factor in the .social life of
the town. In addition to the above,
there are several whist clubs, a ladies'
literary club, and a snowshoe club,

204

BERLIN: A TOWN OF TO-DAY

with headquarters at the old Benja-
min Thompson place.

There are two opera houses in Ber-
lin — the Whitney- opera house, on
Mechanic street, and the Clement
opera house, in the Clement block.
The latter is a handsome hall with
a seating capacity of nearty 1,500,
and is one of the largest and best
appointed opera houses north of Bos-
ton. Berlin has two out-door ice-
rinks, and in the summer she sup-
ports a ball nine which boasts of
being the champions of the North
country. She is at the gateway to
one of the finest hunting and fishing
grounds in the East, and deer, par-
tridge and rabbits, and trout and
pickerel, abound even within the lim-
its of the town. Ever}- man in this
part of the country is a fisherman,
and in the summer there is a con-
tinual stream of fishing parties mak-
ing for their favorite camping spots
' ' up river. ' '

The town has an excellent public
library, founded in 1^93, and very
largely reenforced by the recent gift
of the entire Berlin Mills librarj^
The library has rooms in Clement's
block, where are also the police court
and town offices.

The banks of the town are a very
important factor in its progress.
There are two, the Berlin Savings
Bank and Trust Company, of which
A. M. Stahl is president and J. S.
Phipps, treasurer, and the Berlin Na-
tional Bank, of which A. R. Evans
is president and A. H. Eastman,
cashier. Both banks have been very
conser\'atively managed, and ex-
tremely successful. It was reported
that $175 a share was recently re-
fused for stock of the savings bank,
while the national bank boasts that

it has never lost a dollar on a note.
A description of Berlin would be
wofully incomplete that did not make
.some mention of the natural beauties
of the surrounding country. The
town lies in a valley, hemmed in on
all sides by mountains, with three
outlets — up the Androscoggin, down
the same river, and up the Dead
River valley to the height of land
where are the headwaters of the
Upper Ammonoosuc.

Eroni the Heights, as the upper
part of the town is called, is obtained
a fine view of Mts. Washington, Mad-
ison, and Adams, the Tiptop House
being in plain sight. A magnificent
view is obtained from the summit of
Mt. Forist, while the outlook from
Cate's hill, back of the town, can
hardh' be surpassed anywhere in the
White Mountain region. Starr King
speaks of the view of the mountains
from near the Thompson farm as
showing better the characteristics of
the three great mountains than any
view elsewhere obtainable.

The Berlin falls, before the Glen
mills were built, were one of the
features of the scenerv of this region,
and are spoken of in terms of the
highest admiration by Starr King.
The Alpine ca.scade is a cataract of
great beauty, and is visited in the
summer months by a great number
of sight-seers.

To tell of all the features of Ber-
lin's scenery, and to describe ever}'-
thing worthy of note in her various
departments of activity, would be an
almost interminable task. All that
Berlin asks is that those who doubt
what is said of her should come and
see for themselves. She has good
hotels and comfortable homes, and
her latch-string is always out.

elbridgp: a. towle.

By L. K. //. Lane.

NEW H A M P vS H I R E has pro-
duced its full quota of men and
women who have won distinc-
tion and renown in the various walks
and callings of life to which their
incli ations and talents have directed
then , and their achievements ha\-e
entailed honor to
their memory and
likewise a d d e d
luster to the
proud history of
the state. If tlie
vocation of rail-
road conductor is
regarded as less
brilliant than that
to be obtained in
the world of let-
ters and science
it is none the less
honorable, and as
exemplified in the
career of the sub-
ject of this brief
sketch is such as
to appeal to the
pride of every cit-
izen of the commonwealth that gave
him birth.

Elbridge A. Towle, on whose life
the curtain was drawn January 31,
la,st, was one of the oldest in point of
ser\'ice, and one of the most widely
and favorably known railroad con-
ductors in the United States. He
was born in Hampton in the little
toll-house on the turnpike, where his

Elbridge A, Towle

father was toll-gatherer for sixteen
years.

He first saw the light of day Jan-
uary 29, 1H23, and was one of eight
children of Caleb and Sarah Towle.
When Elbridge was six years of age
his father moved with his faniih- to

the adjoining
town of Hampton
Falls, and e n-
gaged at farming
upon the place
now owned and
occupied by an-
other of his
sons, Emmons
B. Towle. This
place is near the
common, where
stands the Gov-
ernor Ware mon-
ument, and in
close proximit}'
to the house in
which the poet
Whittier died.

His education
was obtained in
the public schools w'ith a brief course
at Hampton academy. He was then
employed by the stage companj^ for
a short time substituting for his
brother, the regular driver. On
March 28, 1847, ^^^ entered the ser-
vice of the Ea.stern railroad as a
brakeman on the train then run by
Jeremiah Prescott, who afterwards
became superintendent of the road.

2o6

ELB RIDGE A. TO WEE.

]\Ir. Towle was early made a con-
ductor and given a T'ortland train
running out of East Boston. Later,
when the Eastern road entered the
city proper, he ran the first train
from the Causeway street station.
He also ran the first train to North
Conway. With the exception of four
years that he ran through to Augusta,
his regular run was from Boston to
Portland. He covered the distance
of io8 miles six da^'S every week,
and two days of each week he '"doub-
led the road," making in round num-
bers 900 miles every week, 46,800
miles every year. In fort}^ years he
travelled 1,872.000 miles, or a dis-
tance that would have taken him
around the world about seventy-five
times.

On ever}' trip over the road he
passed within sight of the house in
which he was born. It is a most
remarkable fact that in his long ser-
vice no accident ever occurred to his
train resulting in the loss of life of a
single passenger. Wonderful indeed
were the changes and improvements
in railroads, their equipment and
management, that he witnessed.
When he began railroading the larg-
est cars accommodated forty-eight
passengers, now their capacity is
seventy-five. Then the heaviest en-
gines weighed thirteen tons, now
they weigh one hundred tons.

Mr. Towle serv^ed under the ad-
ministration of fourteen presidents
of the road, and at the time of his
deat