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University Library 

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Number ZT^frr- *±r. 

Accession rr ..3.-^-T...T.A-. 



A New Hampshire Magazine 








Copyright, 1896 

By the Granite Monthly Company 

Concord, N. H. 

Printfti, Illustrated, and Electrotyped by 
Republican Press Association (Monitor Press) 
Concord, Mew Hampshire, U. S. A. 

The Granite Monthly. 


s Page 

jfiily — Dece7nber, i8g6. 

ACHSAH Wray, L. a. Caverly ..... 

A Lover, Moses Gage Shirley ..... 

Andover, Miss M. J. Hersey ..... 

A New England Poet — James E. Nesmith, H. M. . 

Another New England Poet — Philip H. Savage, H. M 

A Pembroke Farmer, H. H. Metcalf 

A Sketch of Dublin, H. H. Piper .... 

A Sketch of Marlborough, Sullivan Holman McCollester 

A Song of the Pine Forest, Ray Lawrence . . 

As THE Bud Must Bloom, Persis E. Darrow 

A-SwixG in the Old Home Garden, Frances H. Perry 

At Home, Bela Chapin 

Aunt Betsy's Thank-Offering, Mary Jenk 

Autumn, F. H. Swift . 

A Warrior, Samuel Hoyt . 

A. W. E., O.v Middle Ground 

Babcock, M. W., From Naples to Genoa 
Bachelder, N. J., Mrs. Alice A. Dow 

Mrs. Annie E. Hutchinson 
Bartlett, John H.,'The Harmony of Silence 
Benedict, Milo, Night on Moosilauke. A Sketch Charcoaled in 
Bennett, Adelaide George, Ideals .... 

Bethune, Thomas C., Why Men. Do Not Go to Church 
Brotherhood, George Bancroft Griffith 
Brown, Frank E., New Hampshire 
Brown, Herbert L., H. H. Metcalf . 
Burns, Dora L., Their Patient Expectancies 
By Artist's Fall, Gordon Hall Gerould 







2 12 










Cari'KNTER. Lucv J. W., H. H. Metcalf 32 

Carr. Laura (iarland. In Having Time 3' 

Caverly, L. A.. Achsah Wkav 26 

Chandler, Ensign Lloyd H.. U. S. N., Thk United States Naval Academy . 125 

Chapin, liela. At Home 3°° 

Chcsley, Charles Henry, The Midnight of Years 293 

The Tides , 32> 

Clough, Lizzie M., Through New Hamtshire with Hammer and Pick . . 357 

Conwell, Annie J., Polly Tucker 294,364 

Dana, Francis, Ueus Ex Machina 

The Benefaction on Melancthon Downs 
Darrow, Persis E., As the Bud Must Bloom 
Deus Ex Machina, Francis Dana 
Dow, Mrs. Alice A., N J. Bachelder 
Dublin, A Sketch of, H. H. Piper 
Duncan, C. H., H. H. Metcalf . . . . 

• 333 

21, 74 




56, 120, 183, 242, 30 

Eddy, Rev. Mary Baker, Judge S. J. Hanna 
Educational Department, Fred Gowing . 

New Hampshire State Teachers' Association .... 

One or Two Daily Sessions for High Schools .... 

Physiology in Public Schools ........ 

Rural School Problem ......... 

The County Unit in Educational Organization, Lawton B. Evans . 

The Present Status of New Hampshire Education, Elisabeth Averill 

The Rural School Problem, Dr. C. C. Rounds 

Far Away, Fred Lewis Pattee 
Farr, John W., H. H. Metcalf . 
Franconia, a Sketch of, H. C. Pearson . 
Franconia's Profile, George Bancroft Griffitn 
From Naples to Genoa, M. W. Babcock . 

Gerould, Gordon Hall, By Artlst's Fall . 

Good By and Welcome, Caroline M. Roberts 

Gowing, Fred, Educational Department . . . 56, i 

Griffith, George Bancroft, Brotherhood 

Franconia's Profile .... 

Halcyon Days ..... 

Two Lives ...... 

Grow, Eugene Julius, The Mary Hitchcock Memorial Hospital 

Halcyon Days, George Bancroft Griffith 
Hale — Pierce — Davis .... 
Ha.mpton, Historic, L. K. H. Lane 
Hanna, Judge S. J., Kev. Mary Baker Eddy 
Hawes, Annie M. L., July .... 
Hemlock, Fred Lewis Pattee 
Hersey, Miss M. J., Andover 
Historic Hampton, L. K. H. Lane 

20, 183, 242. 30 


I. 369 



















H. M., A New England Poet — James E. Nesmith . 

Another New England Poet — Philip H. Savage 
Hoyt, Samuel, A Warrior ..... 

The Sin(;er ...... 

Hutchinson. Mrs. Annie E., N. J. Bachelder . 
Hutchinson, E. C, Christopher C. Shaw . 

Ideals, Adelaide George Bennett 

In Having Time, Laura Garland Carr . 

Inspiration. Fletcher Harper Swift 

July, Annie M. L. Hawes ..... 

Lane, L. K. H., Historic Hampton . 
Lauder, George B., The Anti-Vivisection Movement 
Lawrence, Ray, A Song of the Pine Forest 
Little, George P., H. H. Metcalf 
Love's Star, H. B. Metcalf .... 

Lyford, James O., Misconceptions of Unitarianism by 
selves and Others .... 

Unitarians Them 

Mason, Mrs. Ellen McRoberts, The Story of the Lady Blanche 

McCoUester. Sullivan Holman. A Sketch of Marlborough 

McDaniel, Hon. Charles, H. H. Metcalf . 

Metcalf, H. B., Love's Star 

Metcalf, H. H., A Pembroke Farmer 

Carpenter, Lucy J. W. 

Represent.\tive Agriculturists 

The Cogswell Homestead, Gilmanton 

Three Representative Farmers 
VIidsum.mer, C. Jennie Swaine 
.Misconceptions of Unitarianism by 
James O. Lyford 

Nesmith, James E., H. M. 

New Hampshire, Frank E. Brown 

New Hampshire Necroloc 

Abbot, F. L. 

Allbee, H. a. 

Ball, Benjamin W 

Batchelder, E. C. 

Bean, N. S. 

Beede, J. M. 

Browne, Rev. Addison 

Burleigh, E. T. 

Burnham, Dr. A. C. 

Carlisle, Jacob 

Cheney, O. D. 

Colby, F. A. 

Corbin, Austin 

Dame. Owen 


Unitarians The.mselves anr Others 

60, I 

23, 185, 245, 31 















I. 354 














Nkw IlAMrsiiiRK Necrolo(;y {Cotititiued): 


Dow, Mrs. Alice A. 
Eastman, D. B. . 
Eaton. Rkv. W. H. 
Emerson, Jamks . 
Ei'i's, Charles L. 
Fairhanks, a. G. 
Frost, Dr. C. P. 
Fuller, Le\ i K. 
Georoe, Rev. N. D. 
Gleason, L. W. . 
Grenier, Abraham C. 
CiRIFFITHS, J. 15. . 
Hanscom, W. F. . 
" HoiTGHTON, Horatio 
Howe, M. G. 
HovT, T. B. 

J EFTS, L. T. 

Johnson, Edward Y . 
Jov, j.F. . 
Klmhall, J. M. . 


Larabee, Dr. G. H. 
Mardex, H. B. . 
Milliken, C. E. . 
Morrison, Capt. Tho.mas 
Owen, A. J. 
Parker, Prof. H. E. 
P.\rrott, p. p. 
Perkins, W. D. . 
Plu.m.mer, Enoch W. 
Quint, Rev. A. H. 
Reed, A. G. 
Robinson, Dr. J. L. 
RowE, Alfred 
Russ, Rev. Benjamin 
Sawyer, A. J. 
scruton, j. y. 
Seavev, Manson, 
SiSE. W. H. 
Slade, Dr. D. D. 
Slavton, H. K. . 
True, N. L. 
Underhill, a. B. 
Wentworth, Jonathan 
Winch, Thomas . 
Night on Moosilauke. A Sketch Charcoaled in Prose. Milo Benedict 





































On Middle Ground, A. W. E. 



VI 1 

Page, Mary Jenks, Aunt Betsy's Thank-Offering .... 

Pattee, F'red Lewis, Far Awav ....... 

Hemlock ........... 

Pearson. H. C, The Warder of the Pass: A Sketch of Franconia 

Perry, Frances H., A-Swing in the Old Garden . 

Pierce, George W., Winchester ....... 

Piper, H. H., A Sketch of Dublin ....... 

PoLLV Tucker, Annie J. Conwell 


1 66 



294, 364 

Representative Agriculturists, H. H. Metcalf 
Roberts, Mrs. Caroline M., Good By and Welcome 

The of Concord .... 
Rollins, Frank West, The Dago 
Ryder, William H.. H. H. Metcalf . 

291, 354 

. 363 

1 10 

. 136 
• 355 

Savage, Philip H., H. M. 
Shaw, Christopher C, E. C. Hutchinson . 
Shirley, Moses Gage, A Lover . . . . 

Stuart, Helen Soule. Whittier and His Poetry 
Swaine, C. Jennie, Midsummer 

The Midnight Storm 

Witch Hazel 
Swift, F. H., Autumn 










46, I 

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

The Anti-Vivisection Movement, George B. Lauder 

The Benefaction of Melancthon Downs, Francis Dana 

The Cogswell Homestead, Gilmanton, H. H. Metcalf 

The Dago. Frank West Rollins .... 

The Elms of Concord. Mrs. Caroline M. Roberts 

The Harmony of Silence, John H. Bartlett 

Their Patient Expectancies. Dora L. Burns . 

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

The Mary Hitchcock Memorial Hospital, Eugene Julius Grow 

The Midnight of Years. Charles Henry Chesley 

The Midnight Storm. C. Jennie Swaine 

The Old Stage Coach. Mary H. Wheeler 

The Return, W. M. R 

The Royal Hunt, Lucy Mayo Warner 
The Singer, Samuel Hoyt .... 

The Story of the Lady Blanche, Mrs. Ellen McRoberts Mason 
The Tides, Charles Henry Chesley ...... 

The United States Naval Academy, Ensign Lloyd H. Chandler, U. S. X 
The Warder of the Pass: A Sketch of Franconia. H. C. Pearson 
Three Representative Farmers, H. H. .Metcalf .... 

Through New Hampshire with Hammer and Pick, Lizzie M. Clough 

Tripp, Warren, H. H. Metcalf 

Two Lives, George Bancroft Griffith ....... 

46, III, 176, 230 
. 105 
21, 74 

1 10 

I, 176, 230 




VI 11 


Warner, Lucy Mayo. Thi- Royal Hunt 
Wheeler, Mary H.. The Ox.u Sta(;e Coach 
Whittiek anu His Poetry, Helen Soule Stuart . 
Why Men Do Not Go to Church, Thomas C. Bethune 

Winchester, George W. Pierce 

Witch Hazel, C. Jennie Swaine . • • • 
W. M. R.. TiiK Return 













The Granite Month l\ 


Vol,. XXI. 

JULY, 1S96. 

No. I, 


r>y L. K. 11. Lane. 

ARTICULAR interest at- 
taches to the early Iii;;- 
tor}- of the beautiful 
town of Hampton, so 
cliaruiins2:lv situated on 
the Atlantic seaboard, it being one 
of the four original town."; of the 
province of New Hamjjshirc, settled 
the same 3'ear \vilh Exeter, and fifteen 
years after Dover and rortsiiiouth. 

More than two hundred and fifty 
years have been counted off by old 
Father Time since the smoke from 
the chimney of the first white settlers' 
cabin, nestled among the towering 
pines of Winnacunnet, went curling 

'Whr.t heed I of the dusty land 

And noisy town ? 
I see the mighty deep expand 
From its white line of glimmering sand 
To where the blue of heaven on bluer 

Waves shuts down!" — JT/ii flier. 

skyward, telling as it i:)ursued its up- 
ward flight, that a new i:)eople had 
come to occupy this land of the red 
man. Perhaps it also foretold how 
unequal the contest for supremacy 
between the vrhites and their dusky 
brothers wotild thenceforth be, but 
if so, its concealed prophes5'".was then 
uninterpreted. Yet by the end of the 
first centur)^ of its joint occupation 
by the two races, the fate of one of 
them had alread}^ been told. Its 
numbers had decreased, slowly but 
nevertheless surely ; the Indian had 
abandoned the trail, his scalping- 
knife no longer tortured its victim. 


Old NudJ Place. 
Ballard Place. 
Norman Marston. 
Charles Sargent. 

Residence of Dr. Merr II 
J. A. Lane. 

and lii.s wigwam had gone to decay. 
Only a fragmentary remnant of this 
once large and powerful race re- 
mained, and it offered no remon- 
strance to the assumption of the 
white man that 

"T'm monarch of ;^I1 I survey, 
^ly rights there are none to dispute." 

"VVinnacunnet, said to mean " Pleas- 
ant Place of Pines," was the original 
Indian name of Hampton. It em- 
braced at the time of its settlement 

)>■ the 
i t e s , 
of the 
territory ly- 
ino^ between the Merri- 
mack river on the south, 
the Piscataqua on the north, 
and extending from the Squam- 
scott on the west to the ocean, 
coverins: an area of more than 
one hundred square miles, in- 
cluding fully one half of New Plamp- 
shire's seacoast. Since that time, 
when Hampton formed one fourth of 
the entire province, her territory has 
been greatly reduced, six towns, viz., 
Kingston, Kast Kingston, Danville, 
Hampton I'alls, Kensington, North 
Hampton, and a part of three more, 
vSandown, Seabrook, and Rye, hav- 
ing been taken therefrom. 

Wiiniacunnct was included in the 
grant of New Hamp.shire in 1629, 
from the Council of Plymouth to 
Capt. John ]Mason. SeA'en 3'ears 
later the hrst house was built there, 
and was known as the "Bound 
House," it standing on the boundarv 
line of Massachusetts. In 1638, 
Winnacunnet remaining yet unset- 
tled, the general court granted to 


Stephen Bachiler and others leave to 
locate here, and at that time the 
township can be said to have been 
practically founded. Mr. Bachiler 
and his associates, like the Pilgrims 
Avho landed from the Mayjltnccr at 
Plymouth, were people who had been 
persecuted in England because of 
their religious belief, and sought in 
this new country, place and opportu- 
nity to exercise, iintrammeled by ob- 
noxious restriction and interference, 
the rights which they believed were 
iusth' theirs, to practise the religion 
of God as they interpreted it. But 
they were destined to experience a life 
fraught with privation, danger, and 
hardship, a recountal of which chills 
the blood of those who, cen- 
turies after, are enjoying the 
benefits resultant from their 
The Ind- 
ians were 
of course 
the chief 
cause of 
the set- 

tlers' woe. In fact it may be said that 
they exceeded the combined force of 
all other adverse elements with which 
they had to contend, although each of 
itself was formidable enough, it would 
seem, to dishearten any endowed 
with than the almost super- 
human power of endurance, and de- 
termination, which was exhibited in 
the lives of these early pioneers. 
The Indians, naturally belligerent, 
soon became envious of the whites 
and a constant strife waged between 

Residence cf Joseph Batchelder. 

Dr. Smith. 

Miss Isabelle Winthrop Stuart. 

Residence of W. M. Pray. 

Horace M. Lane. 

' Cosey Corner," C. H. Turner. 

Hampton Elm. 


JUS Ti )RIL ' y/.l. MP'J\ )N. 

Miss Lucy E. Dow, 

them, and many a life was sacrificed 
to appease the morbid frenzy of the 
savages. From the very beginning 
of the settlement the whites ■were in 
constant peril. ,Vttacks and murders 
were of frequer.t occurrence. The 
settler who left his cabin to work in 
the clearing, in doing so took his life 
in his hands and often delivered it up 
a victim to the cruel weapon of his 
remorseless foe, or, spared such a fate, 
returned to find his cabin laid in 
ashes and the life of his wife and little 
ones gone out, a sacrifice to savage 
butchery. The founding of Hamp- 
ton was prolific of such traged}'. 

But the settlement grew in num- 

bers rapidly, ami in the sj^ring of 
1639 numbered some seventy-five j^er- 
sons, and on June 7 of that ^-ear the 
general court enacted as follows : 
" Winnacunnet is allowed to bee a 
towne & hath power to choose a con- 
•stable & other ofiicers & make orders 
for the well ordering of their towne 
and to send a deputy to the Court." 

The Exeter Road. 

Joseph Dow. 

During the next fall session of the 
general court, the Indian name of 
the place was changed, and the fact 
recorded as follows: "Winnacunnet 
shallbee called Hampton." The set- 
tlers were not permitted, however, to 
relax their vigilance, the attacks of 
the Inclians continuing constant and 
unremitting. The meeting-house 
which the settlers ha.stened to build, 
completed and in use early in 1639, 
was enclosed Avithin a fortification, 
and sentinels were stationed to give 
an alarm sliould the enemy appear 
while the people were engaged in wor- 
ship. There were garrison, 
located in different parts of the town. 
The old Toppan house, now stand- 
ing, was at one time used as such, 


and was enclosed by a stockade. 
\"erily the church was the founda- 
tion upon which the town of Hamp- 
ton was reared. Of the fix'st trees 
that were felled in the forest, a part 
were used in the construction of a 
meeting-house. The settlers were a 
devout people, and as their numbers 
increased, this meeting-house, with 
others that followed it, became inad- 
equate to their needs, when each in 
turn was superseded b}' a larger and 
more elaborate structure. 

Of the first meeting-house, Init lit- 
tle is recorded; it was built of logs, 
aud was undoubtedl}' a ver}- rude 


Hon. Amoj Tuck. 

affair, but ^et vServed its purpose, 
and presumabh^ the devotion of the 
worshippers within its walls was as 
ardent and sincere as that witnessed 
within the more pretentious sanctua- 
ries of the present day, and 5'et it 
appears that there was even then a 
disturbing element, for in 1645 the 
people of Hampton made a regula- 
tion as follows: " Itt is ordered vt if 


Joel Jenkins's Cottage, North Beach. 

any p'son shall discharge a Gunn in 
the Meeting House or any other 
House, without the leave of the 
owner or Householder, Hee or they 
shall forfitt five shillings, unless the 
p'son so offending doth peacably 
make satisfaction, nor shall any p'"son 
Ivide or lead a into the meet- 
ing House under the like penalty." 
Another vote is thus engrossed on 
the town record : ' ' To prevent dan- 
ger l)y fire itt is ordered that if any 
p'son shall take any tobaco, or Carrie 
any fire or make use of any fire in 
the new meeting House or the fortt 

Judge Tnomas Leavitt. 

niS TC ^RIC ^ I/.l. MP TON. 





yard tlie^^ 
ten slullin2:,s for 

Tne del General Moulton House. 

shall forfitt 
everv such 

is between the two 

Tlie meeting-house 
built in 1797, the fifth 
in order, had "square 
pews" and "singing 
pews," also galleries. 
The pulpit was a re- 
markable specimen 
-i; of the joiner's art, of 
lofty height, reached 
]jy winding stairs, 
and surmovmted b}' a 
great s o ii n d i n g - 
board. In loii a 
steeple was built at a cost of S900, 
and a bell placed therein. 
offence the one Halfe to the Inform- Rev. Stephen Bachiler, who came 

er & the other Halfe to the Tov.-nc." from England, vras the first pastor 
The second meeting-house, Avhich settled in Idampton, his pastorate ex- 
was first occupied in 1650, was tending from 163O to 1641. He re- 
without i^cws, having onl}^ narrow turned to England in 1655, and died 
benches, and a committee allotted at Hackne}-, a village in Middlesex, 
seats, observing the following rule: near Eondon, in 1660, in the one hun- 
"All the men to sett at the west end dredth yenr of his aQ:e. He was the 
and all tlie women sett at the east progenitor of the Catchelders, now 
end of the meeting house and the quite numerous in Nev/ Hampshire, 
devotion to be at the greet poest that Mr. Thomas I. Batchelder, of Xorth 

3- -'-y 



Rev. W. A. Prc;::er. 

Rev. D. H. Adams. 

Rev. J. A. Toe 


H amp ton, 
li a vS i u li i s 
several arti- 
cles that 
have been handed down 
from feneration to 2:en- 
eration of Batchelders, 
that formerlv belo:is:ed 
to Rev. Stephen Bachiler. One cf , 
these articles is a contribution-box 
that was used in Hampton's first 
meetin!7-house. Still another is a 


wooden chest that he brought from 
England when he embarked for the 
new world. The advance in the re- 
ligious conditions of Hampton has 
kept apace with the growth of the 
town, and there are now four reli- 
gious societies in flourishing order, 
with attractive houses of worship, 
viz. : The Congregational, the old- 
est church i'.i New HamjDshire, hav- 
ing maintained continuous existence 
for more than two hundred years. 
During that long period of time were 
enrolled the names of man}^ eminent 
divines installed over this church. 
Rev. J. A. Ross is at present its hon- 
ored and beloved pastor. The Free 
Baptist, of which Rev. D. H. Adams, 
is pastor. The Methodist Episcopal, 
Rev. AV. A. Prosser, pastor, and tlie 
Second Advent, which is without a 
resident pastor. 

The progress of civilization was 


Methodict Church. Congregational Church. 

Baptist Church and Parsonage. School. 

Town Hall. 

rapid, the people appreciated the 
importance of education, and in less 
than ten years after the settlement of 
the town, a public school was estab- 
lished. John L-egat was the first 
teacher, and liis engagement is thus 
recorded. "On the 2 of the 2 Mo; 
1649 : The Selectmen of this Towne 

Old Garrison House. 



of Hampton have agreed with John 
L/Cgat for this present yeare cnsuc- 
ing. To teach and instruct all the 
children of or belonging to our 
Towne, l)oth niayle and f^'uiailc 
(well are capiable of learning) to 
write and read and cast accountes, 
(if it be desired), as diligentl}- and 
as carefully as he i ; able to tcacli and 
instruct them ; And so diligently to 
follow the said implo^nnentt att all 
such time and times this j'eare en- 
sueing, as the wether shall be fitting 
for the youth to corii to;2:ethcr to one 
place to be instructed ; And allso to 
teach and instruct them once in a 
week, or more, in some Arthodox 
chatechise provided for them l:iy their 
parents or masters. And in consid- 
eration hereof we have agreed to 
pay, or cause to l^e pajxt unto the 
said John Legat, the som of Twenty 
pound;;, in corne and cattle and l^ut- 
tcr att price currant, as payments are 
riadc of such goods in this Towne, 

and this t<; be payd b)- t:s cjuarterly, 
paying /"5 every quarter of the yeare 
after he has begun to keep school." 

I'rom tliis beginning, interest in 
educational matters continued, and 
as the town increased i:i population 
and wealth, new means and r.iethods 
were adopted to improve the public 
school sj-stem, and Hampton Ijccarae 
famous for its fine schools. Nearly all 
(^f its teacher.5 before the Revolution 
were college graduates, and Latin 
was taught here in 1714. In June, 
1 8 10, Hampton academy was incor- 
porated under the name of Hampton 
Proprietor}^ school, which name was 
never changed by act of legislature. 
It soon took high rank among the 
preparatory schools of Nev/ Kngland, 
and although less fortunate in tlie 
matter of endowment than man}- sim- 
ilar institutions, notablv its neir^h- 
bor, Phillips acadeni}' at Kxeter, it 
continued to maintain a:i envialjle 
record. On its list cf instructors 

John H. Fogg. 
Jacob T. Drown. 

D. O. Leavi+t. 
D. VV. T. M. Trill. 

Ernest G. Colo. 
0. H. Whitticr. 

Abbolt Norris. 
Dr. M. r. Smith. 

ins 7V VUC HA MP TON. 


^?;^,v\/^To^l /\^;>o^rAr 

were the names of many able men, 
including that of .Vndrew Mack, its 
first preceptor, wliose term of ser- 
vice was three j'ears, Roswell Harris, 
A. INI., Amos Tuck, Timothy O. 
Norris, A. IM., Avhose preceptorship 
covered a jDcriod of twelve years, 
Josepli Dow, and others. 

Hampton academy has graduated 
many young men who have won 
distinction in public life; judges, 
representatives, and senators in con- 
gress, railroad magnates, and gov- 
ernors of states are included in the 
number. Rufus Choate, the eminent 
jurist and statesman, completed his 
preparatory course here, as did the 
Hon. Amos Tuck, who afterwards 
was preceptor of the academy, and 
for man}' 3-ears ser\-ed on its board of 
trustees. He was a man of recog- 
nized ability, antl l)ecame prominent 
as a lawyer and representative in 
congress. He was also one of the 
founders of the Republican j^arty. 
His ancestors were among the early 
settlers of Hamj^ton, and his great 

and life-long interest in Hampton 
academy, comljined with his man}' 
fine personal qualities, greatly en- 
deared him to the people of the tow!i. 
On January 22, 1SS3, the academe- 
building was moved from the site it 
had so long occupied on ' ' Meeting- 
house Green," to a lot donated b}' 
Christopher G. Toppan, near the 
town hall. A wide, public thorough- 
fare was laid out, connecting the two 
roads leading to the ocean, and 
named Academy avenue, on which 
the academ}' fronted. On September 
14, 1S85, Hampton acadeni}- and 
high school began its consolidated 
career with Prof. Jack Sanborn as 
principal, and he has since success- 
fulh' conducted the school. The 
people of Hampton feel a just pride 
in this time-honored institution, and 
its alumni, scattered over the globe, 
cherish for it an endearing love and 
veneration, and the hope is enter- 
tained that the future has rich bles- 
sings in store for it, and that it will 
continue to occupy a prominent place 


- - ^'-i^'.^^sfrW" 

Odd Fellows' Building. 

among the famed etlucational institu- 
tions of the land. 

This brief sketch of Hampton 
academy would be to many readers 
incomplete indeed, did it not contain 
a reference to " Grandsir Harden," 
who might not inaptly be termed the 
beloved mascot of the school, whose 
humble abode, a little, one-storj^ vin- 
painted house, stood for many years 
within the shadow of the academy 
building. Its latch-string was always 
out to the pupils of the school, and 

each of the great number that 
came and went during many 
years of its most prosperous 
career, felt an interest, recip- 
rocated by the venerable man, 
that amounted almost to joint 
ownership in the little home. 
Samuel Harden was born in 
1792, and died in 1S77. He 
was a pensioner of the War 
of 1 81 2, and for many j-ears 
the faithful village sexton, 
one of whose devolving duties 
was the ringing of the curfew 
Superstition was rife in colonial 
days, and witchcraft was accorded 
undue prominence in affairs, in 
which Hampton shared to too great 
an extent, thereby producing a blot on 
her otherwise fair fame. There were 
within the borders of the tow^n no 
less than a dozen persons wdio were 

Col. S. H. Dumas. 

S. W. Dejrborn. 

called witches, and regarded with 
hatred and fear. Conspicuous among 
them vv'as Good}^ Cole, whose name 
has been made famous by the poet 
Whittier, in "The Wreck of River- 
mouth," and other poems. This 
unfortunate person was publicly 
whipped, and twice sentenced to 


I r 

Boston jail. After being indicted by 
the grand jury for witchcraft the 
second time, and spending several 
months in jail, the court rendered 
the following unique decision in her 
case : "In y" case of Unis Cole, now 
prisoner att }'" Bar not lyCgally guilty 
acording to inditement butt just 
ground of vehement suspissyon of 

;-cr^ "^iT^j^^Cf ." CTT" ' ~- .. '~VMi^^z 

J. Parker Blake. 

her haveing had famillyarryty with 
the devill. 

Jonas Clarke 

in the name of the rest." 

Siie was thereupon liberated and 
returned to Hampton, where the 
remainder of her days were passed. 

There are strange legends concern- 
ing this eccentric character, and her 
shadow}' life has been made the sub- 
ject of many a story, interwoven with 
fiction and embellished by fancy. To 
this day, children sitting on their 
mother's knee, listen to weird stories 
of the mysterious power exerted by 
this odd creature in Hampton, more 
than two centuries ago. 

In earlier years the people of 
Hampton engaged in commercial as 
well as agricultural pursuits, and the 
privileges afforded Irr the waterway 
of Hampton river were utilized for 
the purpose of traffic with other sea- 
ports, and by means of the shallop at 



J. A. Lane. 

first, and later by larger ana more 
pretentious vessels, trade was carried 
on with Boston, the West Indies, and 
other foreign ports. A'essels were 
built in Hampton and sailed thence 
commanded b}' Hampton men, and 
manned by sailors of the town. 
Hampton was at one time dignified 
as a port of entry, and in April, 1696, 
Xathaniel Weare, Esq., was ap- 
pointed naval officer there, " to enter 
and clear all vessels for what goods 
imported or exported and to receive 
all duties & imports, as h\ I,aw." 

Of the more prominent ship build- 
ers of Hampton, those who acquired 
a large competency from \-essel traffic 

A Wreck. 



J. A. Lane & Co.'s Store. 

J. W. Masons Store and St. John's Hall. 

D. 0. Leavitt's Store. 

and fishery, were Col. Christopher 
Toppan, David Nudd, and John 

The schooner, Willi am TcII , be- 
longinsr to the last named, made 
fifty-two trips in one 3-ear from 
Hampton to Boston and return, one 
each week. The schooner, Harriet 
Neal, owned and commanded l)y the 
same party, made two voj-ages to the 
West Indies. In 1S49 she took a 
hundred passengers to Chagres on 
the Isthmus of Panama cu route to 
the o-old mines of California. 

The rocky formation of portions 
of Hampton's sea-coast make it a 
dansrerous shore that is much dreaded 
by mariners, and upon which many 
an unfortunate craft has been driven 
to destruction. On vSunday, Febru- 
ary 9, of the present year, the three- 
masted schooner, Cteiidoii, coa\ laden, 

from Port Johnson, N. Y., to St. 
John, N. B., during a terrible snow 
storm was wrecked near Boar's 
Head. The crews of the Rye Beach 
and Wallis Sands life-saving stations 
were summoned by telephone, and 
brought their life-boat and other ap- 
paratus a distance of six miles, over 
hard and badly-drifted roads. After 
a long and very nearly fatal delay, a 
line was fired across the doomed 
craft and 1;)eing secured l:>y the almost 
exhausted sailors, their entire num- 
ber of seven men were taken off by 
means of the breeches buoy. One of 
the most notal)le wrecks here was 
that of the British steamship, Sir 
Francis, in February, 1873. The 
frequency with which wrecks have 
occurred here has demonstrated the 
importance of having a life-saving 
station on Hampton beach, a matter 



that has been too long deferred. 
Senator GalHnger has recently intro- 
duced a bill in congress favorable 
to that end, and alread}' the estab- 
lishment of such a station is an as- 
sured fact. 

During the perilous times of Indian 
wars, when the fate of the colonies 
was problematical ; in. Revolutionary 
days, while struggling for independ- 
ence and the casting off of the joke 
of British oppression ; and through 
the dark j-earsof the Civil War; — the 
brave men of Hampton were foremost 
in volunteering their ser\-ices in de- 
fence of their country and the blessed 
cause of freedom, and their heroic 
actions and deeds of valor are ac- 
corded the highest honor within the 
power of the people to give, and are 
worthy of emulation by all coming 

Space will j^ermit of only a hv\^i 
allusion in this article to a few j^er- 
sons whose names have been promi- 
nently connected with the history of 
Hampton. General Jonathan Moul- 
ton was born July 21, 1726, and died 
September iS, 17S7. He took an 
active part in the Indian wars, and 

also in the Revolution ; was rich in 
lands and cattle, and transacted a 
large commercial business. His 
house is yet standing, a conspicuous 
object of interest to tourists and to 
students of the history of '' the times 
that tried men's souls." 

Col. Christopher TopjDan, who was 
born Januar}^ 18, 1735, and died Feb- 
ruary 2.S, 1818, was a man of great 
intellect and fine educational attain- 
ments ; was engaged in shipping and 
mercantile pursuits, served as a rep- 
resentative, senator, councillor, and 
two years as one of the justices of the 
court of common pleas. 

The name of Joseph Dow will long 
claim honorable remembrance. He 
was born April 12, 1807, and died in 
i88(.j; a learned man who graduated 
at Dartmouth College in 1833. He 
wrote the history of Hampton, a most 
valuable and comprehensive work, 
published in 1S93. In this labor he 
was ably assisted by his daughter, 
lyucy E. Dow, whose death occurred 
since the advent of the present j-ear. 

Uri Lamprc}-, who died in 1881, 
aged 72 years, was during his life a 
prominent man in public affairs of 

x«iga*t^Eiiti N ^ 



^ _» n CB  ar a *J' m  ai « « » t n 

Tne brce Factory. 



town, county, atid state, and a i)oli- 
tician whose influence was recognized 
far and near, and although a member 
of the Democratic part}', the minority 
party in Hampton, lie held many town 

oflfices. He was a dele- 
gate to the constitution- 
al convention in 1S50, 
represented the town in 
the legislature, and was 
a member of the execu- 
tive council. He was a man of great 
natural ability, and possessed the 
qualities that made him a leader 
among his fellow men. By some he 
was termed a dictator, .so great was 
the influence he exerted over certain 
numbers of the inhabitants, who, as 
one party put it, "thought him a 
bigger man than old Jackson," and 
associated him in their minds as con- 
nected with all passing events, illus- 
trative of which we will relate the 
following anecdote : 

One day in the autumn of a cer- 
tain year, an advertising team drove 
through some of Hampton's prin- 
cipal streets, including the one to 

IJoar's Head, and painted on fences 
and rocks the letters "T L," for the of exciting curiosit}', and to people to inquire as to their 
meaning, while another team was to 
follow some days later, and supply 
the missing letters of the two words, 
which when completed was the name 
of a patent medicine. Two gunners 
who had during the night gone down 
to the shore and out on a gunning 
trip off Boar's Head, when they came 
in in the morning and started for their 
homes up towm, loaded with ozone 
which was blown over from the clas- 
sic shades of Newburyport, first saw 
the mysterious letters referred to and 
wondered what they meant ; and as 
each pair of bars on the 
way up was reached, on 
every one were the 
m^'stic symbols, before 
w h i c li thej^ stopped , 
queried and comment- 
ed at such length that 

Jacob I . Brown and Frank B. Brown. 
S. W. Dearborn. 

Clarence T. Brown. 

John H. Fogg. 

Moses W. Brown. 

their journey home threatened to con- 
sume the greater part of the day. 



But the mystery only deepened. 
" What can the letters mean?" At 
last one of them threw up his hands 
and shouted, "Hurrah! I have it: 
T for Uri, and L for Lamper. Oh! 
holy, how plain I see it.'' The days 
of Uri Lampre3'are now no more, but 
the quaint saying, "T for Uri, and 
ly for Lamper," is a common proverb 
in Hampton to-da}-. 

here from 1797 to 1807, and who later 
was president of Bowdoin College, a 
daughter was born in Hampton, Jane 
Means, who became the accomplished 
wife of President Franklin Pierce, 
and as the first lady of the land pre- 
sided over the White House with a 
dignity and charming grace that re- 
flected honor upon herself and the 
town of her nativitv. 

Cottages at Hampton Beach. 
Cottages cf A. L. Japlin, W. H. Carter, C. R. 
Dr. Mitchell's Lodge. 


Beach's Cottage. 
Manchester Cottages at Hampton. 

Hon. Thomas Ueavitt, judge of 
probate for Rockingham county, is a 
Hampton man by birth and educa- 
tion, and is devotedly attached to the 
old town. The Toppans, the Shaws, 
the Mars tons, and the Towles, have 
all been prominent families in Hamp- 
ton for generations past. 

To Rev. Jesse Appleton, D. D., set- 
tled over the Congregational church 

Of secret and fraternal societies in 
town, that of Odd Fellowship occu- 
pies the more prominent place. Rock- 
ingham Lodge Number 22, 1. O. O. F., 
was instituted at Hampton Falls in 
1848, and removed to Hampton in 
1883. This lodge now numbers 170 
members, and is one of the most pros- 
perous in the state. It has recently' 
erected and completed a large and 



■"' ' '  I 1 1 kl U U I I 

I I II I I I I I Nil t 

Ocean House. 

'lyisha," as he was familiarl}- called, 
was proverbialh' honest and gener- 
ous, and treated others as being the 
same. He never had locks on liis 
store dcjors. I le transported his goods 
from Boston, first in whaleboat's, and 
afterwards in larger vessels which he 

It is related that on one occasion 
the captain of one of his schooners pur- 
chased a cargo of goods of a firm in 

elesfant buildini'- of colonial style ci 
architecture, to be dedicated to tlic 
use of the fraternitx'. AVinnacunnct 
Rebekah lodge and Ilvmto Encamp- 
ment, are both prosperous branches 
of the order. Winnacunnet Council, 
Junior Order United American ]\Ie- 
chanics, another fraternal organiza- 
tion, has a membership of loo. 

Hampton has a public library in a 
flourishing condition, established in 
1 88 1, and now numbering more than 
two thousand volumes. 

A general store was opened in 
Hampton in 1786, l)y Elisha John- 
.son. Two rooms in his dwelling- 
house were used for store j^urposes — 
one for groceries, the other for dry 
croods. In the latter a bed was util- 

ized for a counter. 


" Uncle 


Cutler's Sea Vi;w House. 

Boar s Head Hotel — East side. 

ISoston, with which he had not pre- 
viously traded. It being in the days 
before mercantile agencies were es- 
tablished, the firm became uneasy 
about their new customer in Xew 
Hampshire, and sent one of their 
number by .stage to Hampton, to look 
after what they feared was a bad sale. 
The time that had elapsed was but 
three weeks, and goods in those days 
were sold on six months' time, hence 
r.Ir. Johnson was not a little surprised 
when waited upon by the representa- 
tive of the Boston firm, but he quickly 
sized up the situation, and asking his 
caller into the other room, 2:)ulled from 
under the bed a china receptacle filled 
with golden eagles, and counting out 
tlie amount of the bill handed it to 
ihe astonished merchant, who was 
profuse in his apologies and solicited 
another order, but " I'ncle 'Lisha" 
good-naturedly told him he would 
not cause him further anxiety, and 
he never afterwards patronized that 




firm. He amassed a large com- 
petency, and ])usiness was con- 
tinued at that stand by him and 
his successors for more than one 
hundred )-ears. 

Of the merchants now in 1)us- 
iness in Hampton, the firm of 
J. A. Lane & Co., established 
in 1848, is the oldest and, as 
general traders, the}' do an ex- 
tensive business. There are , 
other well-kept grocer}-, hard- 
ware, drug, dry goods, milli- 
ner}^ stores, etc., all conducted by 
enterprising and prosperous firms. 

Although Hampton has superior 
railroad facilities, it has developed 
no particular manufacturing enter- 
prise. The shoe business flourished 
for a time, and .some three hundred 
hands found employment in the large 
factory on the "new road," which 
was built with local capital, and the 



«-i nil 




.»■ . 

^ ..,->.--^... 




ip?«**- . 




Hampton Beach H 

quiet old village took on an air of 
surprising activit}-. The building 
boom was .something before un- 
known, and owners of corner lots 
wore complacent smiles, and en- 
tertained exalted ideas of the 
value of their posses.sions, but all 
at once the shoe business here 
.stopped, like "Grandfather's 
Clock," never to go again, and 
the big factory has for years re- 
mained in a state of innocuous 

New Boar's Head. 

Mar.ston & True manufacture, by 
.steam, specialties for the irse of car- 
riage manufacturers. 

A new industry here is that of 
piano-making, established the present 
year b}' Closes AV. Brown, an artisan 
skilled in the business, having been 
engaged for years with one of the 
leading piano manufacturers of Bos- 
ton. Mr. Brown manufactures high- 
grade pianos in all styles of finish. 

To the sunnner l)oarding business, 
however, must be awarded the palm as 
the leading industry of Hampton, as it 
is elsewhere throughout the Granite 

In 1654 the first public house, or 
ordinary as it was then called, was 
opened in Hampton b}' Robert Tuck, 
Avho was allowed by the county court 
"to sell wine and .strong water." 

Hotel Whittier. 



Other pul)lic houses, from time to 
time, succeeded this one, and about 
1735 I.iei:t. Jonathan Leavitt opened 
a tavern in the village, on the site of 
the present Hotel Whittier, which 
latter structure was erected in 18 16. 
Thus it will be seen that for a period 
covering' more than one hundred and 
fifty years, this famous corner has 
been a place of entertainment for the 
traveller on business or pleasure bent, 
and there is no more popular house 
to be found to-da}' than Hotel Whit- 

ccrnnient revealed the fact that Nat- 
ure had not been cliar\- in bestowintr 
her beauteous charms upon this sec- 
tion of the universe, termed by one 
enraptured visitor, " The garden-spot 
of New Ivngland." Ham2)ton North 
Beach with its wild surroundinp-s is 
a most captivating retreat, where the 
balsamic pine and fir grow luxuri- 
antly close down 1)}' the shore, and 
their fragrance mingling with the 
ozone wafted in from over old ocean 
make it an ideal resort for the seeker 

The Leonia. 

tier, or a more genial host than its 
landlord, Otis H. Whittier. This 
house is largely patronized by sum- 
mer guests, and in winter by sleigh- 
ing parties as well ; its favorable 
location, being situate about equal 
distance from Portsmouth, Kxeter, 
Amesbitr}^ and Newburyport, makes 
it a most attractive Mecca to which 
the youthful pilgrims journey by cut- 
ter and barge, during the cold and 
biting days and nights of winter, in 
search of the pleasure that can always 
be found in the music halls, and at 
the festive board of the Whittier. 

The attention of tourists was early 
attracted to Hampton,, and quick dis- 

for health and recuperation. This 
localit}- bids fair to become most pop- 
ular, and real estate here is fast in- 
creasing in value. The large sum- 
mer boarding-house of Jacob B. Leav- 
itt is located on the spot where the 
first beach house was built in 1800. 

There arc other private boarding- 
houses, and the new and commodious 
hotel, "The lyconia," was opened 
the present season l)y V . M. Crosby, 
who is the proprietor and manager. 

This house is delightfull_v situated 
amid romantic scenery, and is thor- 
oughly equipped with all conven- 
iences and appliances known to mod- 
ern hotel art, and no effort is spared 



Leavitt's, North Beach. 

to make the entertainment of its 
guests complete. Here are to be 
found some very pretty and attractive 
cottages, including that of Joel Jen- 
kins of Montclair, New Jersey, the 
wealthy inventor of the safety pin. 
picturesquely situated near the old 
mill on "Nook Lane." Also the 
"Red house," the summer home of 
Mrs. Susan B. Hill, a cultured lady 
of recognized literary ability, among 
whose published works is a history of 
Danbury, Connecticut, just issued. 
Mrs. Hill is enthusiastic in her ad- 
oration of Hampton north side. 

From Hampton shore, reaching its 
nose far out into the ocean, as in a 
vain endeavor to connect with the 
Isles of vShoals, is the promontory 
known as Boar's Head, which has a 
reputation as a seashore resort that is 
of more than local extent. It is a 
strikingl}' odd formation of earth, 
thrown up by nature, with a gradual 
rise from the westward, to a height 
of sixty feet above the level of the 
ocean. Its surface of twenty acres is 
covered with velvety green grass, 
while its base is bathed and buffeted 
b}^ the waves of the Atlantic. It is 
an ideal spot, with which no other on 
the New England coast can compare 
for a summer hotel. This fact was 
long since establi.shed, for Boar's 
Head was one of the first waterino- 
places to be opened up in New Eng- 

land, its history as such antedating 
by more than fifty years that of Bar 
Harbor and other of the popular sum- 
mer resorts of the present day. 

The first hotel was bviilt on Boar's 
Head in iSig and opened to the pub- 
lic one 3'ear later. It stood very near 
the site of the present Hampton 
Beach hotel, and was conducted finst, 
by Richard Greenleaf, and later by 
Uri Eamprey. In 1S27 the property 
was purchased by Thomas Leavitt, 
who enlarged and otherwise improved 
the house, and became a very pop- 
ular and successful landlord. The 
house was burned in 1S54 and was 
not rebuilt until 1S72, when two of 
^Ir. Eeavitt's sons, T. and J. L. 
Leavitt, opened the present commo- 
dious and well appointed Hampton 
Beach hotel, which has enjo3'ed a lib- 
eral patronage. Its location is ex- 
ceptionalh' fine, from its broad piazzas 
a sea breeze is always to be obtained, 
no matter from v.diat point of the com- 



EiiJ ut Buar s Head. 



pass the wind may blow, while every 
window in the house commands- a 
view of the ocean. 

In 1S26 a large hotel was built on 
the sunnnit of the promontory and 
named the Boar's Head Hotel. It 
was owned by a company, and man- 
aged by different parties until finally 
sold, together with the Granite 
House, situated at the base of the 
Head, to Col. S. H. Dumas, who had 
previoush' conducted the Phenix, 
at Concord, and other well known 
hotels. He immediately introduced 
many improvements, and made ex- 
tensive additions to the Boar's Head, 
and under his management it had a 
most prosperous career, until in 1H94 
it fell a victim to the devouring ele- 
ment, fire. Its loss was a staggering 
blow to Hampton Beach, but Colonel 
Dumas transferred his attention to 
the Granite House, and with com- 
mendable enterprise, remodelled and 
enlarged the same, fitting it with 
modern improvements, and had it in 
readiness for the next season's travel. 
This house which has been renamed 
the New Boar's Head, is a cosy, as 
well as roomy, house, situated 
l)y the water, and here Colonel Du- 
mas receives his guests with that 
heart}' welcome and hospitality that 
has made him famouL; as " an ideal 
Vjoniface." Fire has more than once 
vLsited Hampton Beach with disas- 
trous result, and its effect is still pain- 
full}' noticeable. In 1SS5, the Ocean 
House, the largest hotel there, was 
burned, and has never been rebuilt. 
South of Boar's Head, about midwa}- 
of the long stretch of the prett}' cot- 
tages that skirt the roadway as it 
follows the circuitous shore of the 
baj', is Cutler's Sea A'iew House, 
and who has not heard of this famous 

resort, of its lish dinners, and bird 
suppers, that are the delight of the 
epicurean ? Cutler's is to Hampton 
Beach, what Taft's was to Point 
vShirley, and any one to be familiar 
with the highest degree of excellence 
in the ga.stronomic art, must have 
sampled the larder at Cutler's. 

The visitor to Hampton who in- 
clines to sport with gun and rod will 
find ample opportunity to exercise 
his skill. The salt meadows afford 
good feeding ground for small birds, 
while during the late summer and 
early autumn the off-shore gunning 
is excellent, as is both fresh and salt 
water fi.shing. Then there are the 
Hampton clams, famed for their 
superior quality. One can at will go 
down and dig these succulent bi- 
valves, and amid the rocks and sea- 
weed on the shore, prepare a bake 
that will outrival any that Del- 
monico's chef can produce. 

Another and not the least attractive 
or important feature that Hampton 
possesses, is its hard, smooth roads 
with their shade of evergreen foliage. 
They are unsurpassed in the way of 
country roads, and in these daj's of 
pneumatic tires hold out inducements 
found b}' many to be .simply irresisti- 
ble. As a seaside resort, the place 
lays no claim to the excitement and 
glitter incident to summer life at 
Newport, Sorrento, and Bar Harbor, 
but one can journey far, and not find 
a more pleasing combination of scen- 
er\- than that with which Hampton is 
adorned. Highlands upon which are 
finely cultivated fields, contrasting in 
pleasing effect, with meadows green, 
tlirough which flow shaded brooks of 
clearest water, and broad acres of 
salt meadows, coursed with number- 
less .streams, supplied by Atlantic's 



ceaseless tide. A shore diversified 
enough to charm a disciple of Ar- 
cadia. Miles of hard, white, gflitter- 
ing sand, stretches of pebbly waste, 
over which the wa\'es ripple with con- 
stant motion, and headlands bold and 
picturesque. Coupled with these 
attractions, is the fact that the famous 
White Mountain range, with its in- 

comparable scener}', the state of 
Maine, with its wonderful coast, 
Casco and Penobscot bays. Mount 
Desert and numberless summer- 
haunted Ijeaches, coves, and islands, 
and the great business centres of 
Bo.ston, and New York cit}', are all 
within a few hours' ride of Hampton 
in New Hampshire. 

By Saiiniel Hovl . 

I see the cliff the storm defy, 

Though all the winds and waves assail ; 
It lifts its knightly crest on high 

And mocks the fur}- of the gale. 

It spurns the breakers at its feet. 

Breasts the fell blasts' impetuous shock. 

And sets 'gainst javelins of sleet 
Its adamantine shield of rock. 

Here at the harbor breach it fends 
The inland hamlet from the wrack. 

And to the tempest's teeth it sends 
Its wrathful challenge headlong back. 

And when, with broken ranks, the storm 
Beats quick retreat beneath the stars, 

vStill towers erect its dauntless form. 
All covered with its battle-scars. 


By Francis Dana. 



ND now," said Miss Eg- One might think the 

gles worth at the end of 
a long discourse in 
which she had tried to 
set Melancthon's faults 
plainl}- before him, "you git along 
spry and go to sweetenin' them gar- 
din' beds ! 



of garden-beds" a 
employment to be plied amid the 
charming influences of dew-moon- 
light and the music of the nighting- 
gale, and by no means unenjoyable. 
But the proposed sweetener w-as 
aware of the euphemism, and frowned, 


well knowing that sweetenin' as ap- 
plied to gardens is mineral phosphate 
— a homely substance beloved of none 
of the senses (except the common 
which esteems it for usefulness) and 
to be imparted to the soil V:)y active 
labor with hoe and rake. 

Usefulness was no recommendation 
to Melancthon, who hated the quality 
in theor}' and was consistent in prac- 

He had been taken by Miss Eg- 
glesworth into her home in his help- 
less, unattractive childhood, and she 
had done her best to bring him up 
icindly and well, and fit him for life. 
She had been well off for an inhab- 
itant of Caraway village, and he had 
shared all her comforts and small 

But recently Miss Egglesworth had 
lost much of her property, if one can 
lose much of little. With hardly 
enough left for her own support she 
had still kept the bo3% for she knew 
that '' Lanky " Downs, as he was gen'-' 
erally called, had succeeded in mak- 
ing himself disliked by all the village 
and that no other home would be 
open to him if he left hers. 

Melancthon, however, did not feel 
the obligation. On the contrary he 
held himself aggrieved that her losses 
should have obliged Iiiiii to bear pri- 
vations and do work to which he was 
not accustomed, and grew sulky, ob- 
stinate, and impertinent. 

He had a great opinion of himself 
and felt that his abilities would make 
their mark in a wider sphere than 

He despised the Carawayans. 

In a state of mind to which all 
these thoughts and feelings contrib- 
uted, he went to the garden. 

" I ain't a-goin' ter break my back 

a-workin' to keep Elviry off'n th' 
County Farm," he said to himself. 
' ' Not me ! " 

And having crept unobserved into 
the house, he put on his best clothes, 
and wishing the worst of luck to Miss 
Egglesworth, her neighbors, and Car- 
away at large, went out over the hills. 

But first he said, " P 11 put that bag 
o' sji'ectcnin' ivhcre itH do sonic oood.'" 

If he had known how truh' he 
spoke when he said that he never 
would have said the words nor have 
done the act to which they had refer- 



There are times when the people of 
this world ma}' be seen to congregate 
in open places and stare blankly, but 
earnestly, skyward at some other, 
whose actions are not at all likely to 
affect their interests at all and with 
which the}' have no business what- 

Sometimes, indeed, it leaves a mes- 
sage for one or two, but the many are 
vaguely pleased, remark " Oh ! won- 
derful " and go home none the wiser. 

Moved by a like impulse the inhab- 
itants of Carawav were wont to slather 
at evening on the platform of what 
was known to them as ' ' the Deep- 
Oh ' ' to behold the transit of the 
north-bound train. 

In the summer that followed the 
departure of Melancthon, one warm 
evening in July, their punctuality 
met with an unexpected reward. 
The train in defiance of precedent 
and custom, stopped. "" Caaaara- 
iL'aayf'' the brakeman shouted, with 
that happy blending of the stentorian 
and the nasal which none but railroad 
officials can achieve. 



A large trunk was hurled upon the 
platform and the people clustered 
about the car steps to look at the new 
arrival. Now the " cit5'-boarder " with 
his puzzling eccentricities, strange 
paraphernalia, and shocking disre- 
gard of the rural proprieties was as 
5-et unknown to the region. 

It was, therefore, with no little 
amazement that the Carawayans saw 
emerge from the smoking-car a stout 
man of middle age, clad in such 
apparel and so mannered as their 
ej-es had never beheld nor their fan- 
cies even dimly shadowed forth. 

On the back of his head, framing 
his ruddy countenance, like a golden 
halo round the harvest-moon, hung a 
straw hat, broad of brim as any hay- 
maker's but stiff, neat, and shiny, as 
an elder's Sunday best. 

His ample shoulders and hippopot- 
amic back and sides, displayed a gay 
flannel jacket ("striped fer all th' 
world like a tater-bug," said one) 
and its open front left bare a wide ex- 
panse of checked shirt, adorned with 
a scarf of like ornamental pattern, 
tied in a jaunty knot. 

The upper and the nether man 
were divided by a crimson sash some 
six or eight inches wide, below which 
bulky white flannel trousers extended 
to a pair of shoes of russet leather, 
each sharpened to a fine point. 

This apparition bounced off the 
train, closely followed by another 
whose apparel was even more start- 
ling, for it was evidently a series of 
selections from the last year's ward- 
robe of the stout person himself and 
flapped (as good Queen Bess is said 
to have danced, "high and dis- 
posedly") about the long, lank per- 
son of its second tenant. 

He, laden with many burdens, in- 

cluding a valise, a basket, a cofhn- 
like leathern case, and a bundle of 
shawls, walking-sticks, umbrellas, 
and fishing-rods in a strap, stumbled 
awkwardly after his employer who 
called out to him with an impatient 
voice, " Come-come-come ! Don't 
stand idling about there — can't \'OU 
see the train wants to start ? Go get 
me a carriage and mind 5'OU don't 
drop any of those things I Get a 
move on ! " 

The man thus adjured, grinned, 
touched his hat (ducking his head to 
meet his heavy-laden hand ) , and dis- 
appeared round the corner of the sta- ^ 
tion in search of a vehicle. 

The throng was divided. The 
more active followed the man of bur- 
den, others gathered close about the 
o-entleman in the blazer, and two 
small boys set off at full speed to 
spread the news in the village. 

The new-comer bore the thrusting 
of eyes a moment, and then burst out 
in wrath: "Well, well, well, my 
ofood friends I What in the name of 
all that 's new and strange and beau- 
tiful is the matter? 

They backed away a little, but 
stared, if possible, harder than before. 

" What is it, \\\\ dear people? Has 
there been a smash-up ? Am I the 
corpse, and are you the coroner's 
jury? If so will you kindly reach a 
verdict and leave off sitting as soon 
as you can ? 

"Can't an ordinar\-, commonplace 
specimen of humanity in a humble 
walk of life stand on 3-our blessed 
platform without being gawped at 
like a wild Abyssinian m3-ster\' in a 
dime show ? Can't an Invalid — hullo, 
you lazy reprobate," he shouted, as 
his man came back with an increa.sed 
following, "how long does it take 



you to call a carriage? Why don't 
you j)Ut those things in the hack ? 
Where is the hack? " 

" Plaze, sorr," said the man stoop- 
ing again to touch his hat, " t\iere do 
be no hack at arl in this place." 

" Well, then where 's the omnibus, 
the hearse, the hotel conveyance, 
whatever it is? " 

"Sure, sorr, there do be no hotel 
conveyance at arl fur lack av a hotel, 
an' as fur Ih' hearse, plaze sorr it — " 

"No hotel? Where are we, any- 
way? Look here, my friend" — and 
he turned sharpl}" to a bystander — 
" am I at Caraway, or am I not? " 

"You be," said the person ad- 
dressed. "This is Caraway — this 
here village." 

"Then where 's the Riverside 

" Aint no sech place — not's I ever 
heerd tell on." 

" What "s this ? " The traveller felt 
in all his pockets and from the last 
and most remote drew the prospectus 
of a summer hotel and handed it to 
the Carawaj'an, who pored over it 
industriously, while his neighbors 
craned their necks his shoul- 

"Come now! Do 3^ou say there's 
no such house ? ' ' 

"N-no," said the native geogra- 
pher with great deliberation, return- 
ing the document. "No. I aint 
sayin' they aint no sech house. The}' 
maj' be a dozen, or they may be two 
dozen jest such houses f'r all I know 
— ])Ut " (lowering his tone to the 
whisper of one who imparts impor- 
tant and exclusive information of 
great price) " but, they aint none on 
'em here! This house, as you 're a- 
.seeking after, is in Caraway, Var- 

"W^hy!— isn't this?—" 

" This — here — is Caraway, New 
Hampshire. Where be 3'ou from ? " 

The traveller was speechless for the 
moment, and seemed about to burst 
with his emotions so his man ans- 
w^ered : 

" From Yorrk city, we be." 

"You don't say! Wal — I pre- 
sumed likely. You 'd orter got off'n 
til' cars 'bout seventy mile back, 
down road to th' junction, an' took 
the other line. An' then, ef nothin' 
hadn't a happened to ye you 'd a' 
be'n there now — both on ye." 

The traveller turned an angrj- face 
upon his .servitor, who was grinning 
widely at their mistake. 

" You unmitigated numbskull 1 This 
is what I get by trusting you with a 
simple errand! Didn't I tell you to 
get tickets for Caraway, Vermont?" 

" Ye did not sorr. No sorr. Niver 
a wurrd av \"arrmunt was iver 
spake betwane ayther av us. Av 
ye'd be plazed to hov me recarl th' 
convarsashin .sorr," he continued, in 
spite of explosive interruptions and 
commands to hold his peace, " j-e 
carried me to yer room in th' early 
mornin' an' says you, ' Go to the sta- 
shin' (sure I disremimber now phawt 
stashin ye said) but ' Go to that sta- 
shin ye carritt-hidded ruffi'n,' says 
you .sorr, spakin' vir}- plisint, 'an' git 
two tickets for Corraway.' I wint 
th' place ye towld me an' says I to 
th' man, 'Two tickets fer Corraway,' 
says I. ' Do ye be anny chance 
mane Corraway, New Hampshy?' 
saj's the man. ' Roight ye are,' says 
I (thinkin' he knew his business) an' 
wid that he ban's out two tickets an' 
change. An' when I give 'em to ye 
sorr an" saj's I ' Do that be roighf ? ' 
then says you, ' kape th' change ye 


avaraycious scoundrel,' says you sorr, 
'an' be off about packin' up me 
things." An' now \ ax }-e sorr, 3'er- 
self — was iver a wurrtl annyways re- 
latin' to Varrniunt iver niintioned in 
til' convarsasliin av us at arrl ? " 

During this oration, delivered in 
the impassioned manner of one who 
pleads a just cause and whose heart 
is in his plea, and with such gestures 
as the weight of luggage on the 
speaker's hands would permit, the 
traveller had gradually regained his 

"Now, Phelim," said he, "as 
you 've brought me into this City of 
Perpetual Inspection," (waving his 
hand at the interested Carawayans) 
"3'ou'd better find me a lodging. 
No Sunda}' trains, of course — so 
we 're stuck here till Monday." 

"Arr anny av yez aware av a 
noight's lodgin' fur a invalid an' his 
man ? "' Phelim inquired of the public. 

The}' took counsel with each other 
and held aloof. Was it safe to enter- 
tain an invalid of such unusual and 
violent demeanor ? Would it look 
well in the eyes of the commvtnity to 
be associated with such people, on 
the Sabbath of all days ? 

"Sure th' ixposure will be afther 
killin' me employer av ye lave him 
stay out arl noight," said Phelim. 

"And if this ruffian in silk attire — 
this sanguinary hireling of mine — is 
compelled to run at large in the dark- 
ness I wont be responsible for any 
damage he may do I " said the inva- 
lid. " Come — the hospitality of New 
Hampshire is proverbial — people have 
written books on the subject. My 
dear sirs I Can't you put us up some- 
how ? " ' 

" Wal " — said one "we haint got 
no great 'commodations fer strange 

folks an' thet 's a fact. But I{lviry 
Egglesworth she lives jest down th' 
road a-piece. vShe's a lone woman 
in a big house an' like enough hez 
room fer comp'u}-." 

So, on the principle that advocates 
the greatest good to the greatest 
number, the village was saved at the 
expense of the " lone woman." 

Miss Egglesworth, poor soul, mar- 
velled greatly when two such unpre- 
cedented strangers arrived at her 
door, and was frightened, in spite of 
the explanation of the man who 
brought the trunk in his ox-cart that 
"they aint nothin' only some city 
folks," but the manner of the invalid, 
softened in her presence to a jovial 
kind of deference, reassured her. 

vShe was glad as she acknowledged 
to herself, to " hev somethin' 'live 
'bout th' house once more." 

"1 'm 'fraid they aint nothin' much 
here to feed to two sech hearty folks 
as you be," said she, thinking of her 
scanty larder. 

" Madam," said the invalid, " make 
yourself quite at on that point. 
I defy any one to starve me ! Phelim, 
you cormorant ! Where is my lunch- 
eon ? Bring it here ! — The fact is. 
Madam," he continued in a tone .so 
pleasant and gentle that she quite re- 
covered from the tremor occasioned 
by his roar at Phelim, "the human 
organization is far too delicate a 
thing, in my case e.specialh" — for I 
am a sad sufferer. Madam — to be sub- 
jected to risks of any kind. I never 
allow myself to travel in unknown 
places without a certain quantity of 
proper food. Phelim, you utter igno- 
ramus ! don't bring that in here I 
take it to the kitchen ! " 

"An' how l)e I, plaze .sorr, t' know 
phweer th' kitchen is — seein' — " 


A CHS AH \rk\l)'. 

" Madam, how is he to know where 
the kitchen is ? " 

"I'll show him out there," said 
Miss Egglesworth. 

" There will be enough for supper," 
said the invalid, laying out upon the 
deal table what seemed to the hostess 
a week's supplies. " Yes, there will 
be enough for supper, for to-morrow 
we will endeavor somehow to pro- 
vide, Monday morning and w^e are off. 
You will assist my poor appetite by 
your presence and example, Madam ? 
I insist ! You will join me ? Plielim 
— who told you to build a fire ? What 
do you mean by taking such a liberty 
in Madam's house? Now vou mav 

warm this chicken-])ie — not the lob- 
ster — mind — l)ut this, }'ou may fry 
some of the ham — open this bottle 
of claret — l)ring everything into the 
dining-room — or, no — set the table 
here — it's cozy! When Madam and 
I have done, you are to allay 3'our 
insatiable greed by devouring every 
morsel that is left. You hear me, 
Phelim ? ' ' 

Having supped with tremendous 
gusto on a variet}' of indigestibles, 
the invalid bade his ho.stess good 
night and betook himself to bed, and 
soon the walls echoed the thunder of 
his repose. 

\To he co)!iiiiiirJJ\ 


[A Tale of Nnnquit Hill and the Naiipaug, near .Strawberry Inlet. N. IL, 172-.] 

By L. A. Ca7>erly. 

"Stay, stay thee, Goodman Tyson, art mad this holy day ? 

Or art a witch's envoy belated on thy way. 

Or, while the good folk worship with pious Master Drowne, 

Think'st thou to ride a steeple-chase through goodly Naupaug town ? ' ' 

" Nay, sta}' me not, but rather speed thou mine errand on; 
No soul hath slept on Nonquit since yester's set of sun ; 
And even while I hasten for help. Dame Colman's child. 
Beset with unknown dangers, maj' perish in the wild. 

Deep in th' accursed forest she wanders, and I go 

To fetch the keen-nosed hunters of Trapper Bigelow." 

The meeting-folk thronged round him in pity and affright, 

And mothers clasped their children with faces awed and white. 

The}' saddled him their fleetest horse, and, as he spurred away. 
The good folk knelt upon the green with Pastor Drowne to pra}'. 
But one knelt not, nor wept she, but with set face and pale 
She hurried all unnoted along the Nonquit trail. 


The lost child's mortal peril made her heart with terror thrill ; 
Yet, if a squirrel chattered, it beat the faster still, 
Lest Mistress Wyvan's railing should stop her on her way,^ 
Small ruth had Mistress Wyvan for the bound-girl, Achsah W'ray. 

The changing light and shadow along the forest trail 
Seemed darkening and brightening vipon her life's sad tale : — 
The pleasant English village, the father's new-made grave, 
And then the sick'ning tossing between the skj- and wave, 

The poverty and hardship of the home on Nonquit Hill, 
The mother's grief, the failing of her heart and brain and will. 
The neighbors' kindness turning to looks of hate and fear. 
The dreadful accusation, the darksome cell at vSpeare. 

Ah I merciful the fever that snatched the gallows' prey ! 
Short was the magistrates' debate concerning Achsah Wray, 
For up spake Mistress Wyvan, " Good Sirs, I '11 take her in, 
Though some there be who deem her curst for her mother's .sin. 

"And, verily, the witch's child hath grievous need to .strive 
With prayer and toil and fasting to save her soul alive ; 
For Satan hath desired her ; yet, if Heaven willeth so. 
He may be driven out of her with many stripes, I trow. " 

Still through these shad'wy pictures flitted the laughing face 
Of little ]Mary Colman, — a .stern life's single grace, — 
At pla\' about the threshold, or on the mother's knee 
Soothing her dark'ning anguLsh with childish gait}-. 

A great sob broke, " God, help me to find the child, I pray." 
Some angel, .strong and loving, .seemed the soul of Achsah Wray, 
And as the op'ning pathway showed the homes on Nonquit Hill 
She turned aside, and entered the forest dark and still. 


Along the .sombre Xaupaug the .searchers' quest was vain. 
The fourth day, dumb with anguLsh, Dame Colman watched the rain. 
Four days ! when not the boldest pass one night alone 
Within the awful forest ! — She hears a .step, a moan. 

A torn and wretched figure that plained and muttered fast 
Fell spent across the doorstone ; Dame Colman rose aghast. 
And, peering through the twilight, feared she was going wild 
When by the fallen figure she thought she .saw her child. 


Nay, it was no delusion ; she touched the shining hair ; 
vShe clasped her child, her treasure ; — God then had heard her prayer. 
" For all Thy love, T praise Thee ! " She raised her eyes; there lay 
Stretched senseless on the threshold the bound-girl, Achsah Wray. 

In awe and tender pit}- the folk on Nonquit Hill 

Tended and blest the witch's child ; but, all unconscious still 

Of long-withheld cares,ses, she trod in wear\- maze. 

Now with the child, and now alone, those endless forest ways. 

None ever knew what perils the loving heart had known. 
The child could onl}- prattle how, by the moss)' stone, 
She wakened in the sunshine, and Achsah Wray had come, 
vShe said with tears and kisses, to carry Mary home. 

But home was far, and Marj^ borne safe on Achsah's arm. 
Had slept, when she was tired, enfolded close and warm, 
Had fed on nuts and berries, and water from the dell. 
But Achsah was not hungry ; — so much the child coukl tell. 

But watchers by the pillow heard many a niuttererl prayer. 
And stifled exclamation of terror and despair. 

And knew that Achsah listened for the howl of wolves, and heard 
The catamount's far wailing, and where the hemlock stirred. 

Watched for the lurking redskin ; nor ever lost her dread 
Of Mistress Wyvan's anger. They knew how she had fled 
In undiscerning terror from the noise the searchers made, 
Believing it the din of fiends that roamed the forest shade. 

vSo weary days passed onward, biit when the night came on. 
In pity for her anguish the}- brought the little one. 
And cow'ring on her pillow, she clasped the sleeping child. 
With eyes alert and sleepless ; yet oft her poor lips smiled 

And thus she smiled at daybreak, as, rising suddenly. 

She stretched her arms, — awakened, the child sent forth a cry, — 

With face whence joy had vanished all trace of .sorrows past 

She murmured, "Hush, my darling; we "re safe at home, at last." 

They laid her in the graveyard with tender prayers and tears. 

And all along the Naupaug they told for many years 

Her sad and simple story ; but time has swept away 

The homes where children listen to the tale of Achsah Wray. 

By K. C. Hiiiihiiisoii. 

LTHOUGH mainly en- 
gaged in other business 
in another state, there 
are few names better 
known in agricuhural 
circles in New Hampshire than that 
of Christopher C. Shaw, of Milford, 
president of the New Hampshire 
Horticultural Societ}', and a pioneer 
in the work of the Grange in this 
state. Mr. Shaw was born in Mil- 
ford, March 20, 1824, on the farm 
which he now occupies, and where 
he remained until nineteen years of 
age, receiving such education as the 
district school afforded. At eighteen 
he was made clerk of the state militia 

in his native town, and a year later 
was commissioned captain of the 

At this time he commenced retail- 
ing dry goods from house to house, 
and two 5'ears later opened a country 
store in ]\Iilford, continuing in this 
line until 1848, when he closed out 
all departments, except dr}' goods, 
and removed to I,awrence, Mass. 
There he continued this line of trade 
for two years, and then removed his 
.stock to Hanover street, Boston, 
where he was similarly engaged a 
year or two, finally closing out and 
connecting him.self with the large 
importing and jobbing dr}- goods 



house of J. W. Blodgett & Co., in 
which business he has remained until 
the present tinie, either as a proprie- 
tor or salesman, with the exception 
of some seven and a half ^-ears im- 
mediately following the great fire of 
1872, in Boston, which completely 
destroyed his business and retired 
him to his farm in Milford. 

About this time the Grange move- 
ment was sweeping over the great 
west, and attracted his attention to 
the extent that he sent for circulars 
and documents calculated to inform 
him of the character of the order and 
its work. After satisfying himself 
regarding the same, he arranged to 
have the first deputy of the order, 
coming to the state, visit him at 
Milford. The result was that he 
received a call from General Deputy 
Eben Thompson, representing the 
National Grange. After two daj's' 
work Granite Grange, No. 7, was 
organized in Milford, wath Mr. Shaw 
as master. A few weeks later the 
State Grange was organized, and he 
was elected its secretary and appoint- 
ed general deputy for the state. In 
March following, Hillsborough Coun- 
ty Council was organized, and he 
was chosen purchasing agent for the 
county. Later in the same month, 
at a special meeting of the State 
Grange, he was made purchasing 
agent for the state. In January, 
1S77, at the organization of the New 
Hampshire Mutual Fire Insurance 
Company, he was chosen president 
(which position he held for seven 
years), and in the following De- 
cember was elected secretary of the 
Patrons' Relief Association, and its 
president in January, 1S93. During 
the years fror.i 1S73 to iSSo, at which 
latter date he re.siened all his official 

positions in the State Grange, pre- 
paratory to resuming mercantile bus- 
iness in Boston, his time was largely 
spent in organizing subordinate 
granges, and otherwise developing 
the order in the state, and no man 
is held in greater esteem by the old- 
er members of the grange in New 

Politically he was born a Whig, 
but early became an Abolitionist, 
and graduated into the Republican 
party at its organization. He ser\-ed 
the towrn of Milford in the state legis- 
lature in 1S75 and 1S76, and the Re- 
publican party seven years as a mem- 
ber of its state committee. 

Mr. Shaw has been an enthusiast 
in the culture of fruit, and a large 
exhibitor of fruits, vegetables, fancy 
poultry, Chester County swine, and 
Jersey cattle at county, state, and the 
New England Agricultural, Massa- 
chusetts Horticultural, and American 
Pomological societies' fairs. He has 
been a trustee of the New England 
Agricultural Society, and a life mem- 
ber of the three latter associations for 
many years. While making an ex- 
hibit of fruits at the late World's 
Columbian exposition at Chicago, he 
became dissatisfied with the showing 
made by New Hampshire in the ex- 
hibit, especially in the fruit depart- 
ment, and with a view^ to remedying 
the matter in the future, should the 
occasion ever arise, he, in connection 
with a few others, took action while 
at Chicago, which led to the organ- 
ization of the New Hampshire Hor- 
ticultural Society, of which he was 
elected, and still remains, president, 
and which he hopes, with the coop- 
eration of other friendly influences, 
will 3'et become an instrument of 
great value in developing the agri- 


cultural resources of the state along and is president of the Boston Charit- 

the lines of fruit and vegetable cult- able Association. He is also presi- 

ure. dent of the Milford Historical and 

In religion Mr. Shaw is a liberalist, Genealogical Society. 

By Laura Garland Carr. 

Lazily, lazily, under the trees, 

In my light hammock, I swing and I swing, 
Winked at by sunbeams and fanned by the breeze. 

While from the meadows the labor sounds sing : 
Swish swish, and swish swish, down by the willows 
Grasses are falling in green, fragrant billows. 

White-shirted mowers — a wavering line — 

Move down the valley— broad shouldered and lithe. 

See — in the sunlight— their blades flash and shine ! 
Hark — to the sound of the sharpening scythe I 

'Tis snicker snicker, snicker snicker, down by the willows 

Where grasses are tumbling in green, fragrant billows. 

Pinafored lasses and bare-footed bo^-s 

Straggle behind with their small forks and rakes ; 

Light is their labor but heavy their noise — 
From its long slumber the hill echo wakes — 

With shouting and calling they stir all the willows. 

And up the grasses that fall in green billows. 

Farther away, in the rakers' brigade, 

Da.shes of color enliven the scene. 
Long, cur\-ing winrows and hay stacks are made ; 

Draperies blend with the flutter of green. 
Ripples of laughter come over the willows 
Where, yesterday, grasses were thrown in green billows. 

Now, there is rattling of carts and of chain. 

Trampling of oxen, the creak of a gate. 
Can the good farmer be thinking of rain? 

Now I must hurry or I .shall be late I 
I '11 join the brigade over there by the willows 
And ride on the hay that once was grassy billows. 


By H. H. Metcalf. 

ONG before Deninan 
Thompson, a native of 
that town, brought the 
"Whitcomb" name into 
universal notice through 
his inimitable presentation of New 
England countr}- life in the "Old 
Homestead," the Whitcombs were a 
well known famih^ in the town of 
Swanzey, a notable representative 
thereof being Col. Carter Whitcomb, 
a grandson of Col. Jonathan Whit- 
comb who fought at Lexington and 
Bunker Hill. 

Lucy J., daughter of Col. Carter 
and Lucy (Baker) Whitcomb, was 
born March 9, 1834, at Saxton's 
River, Vt., where her father was 

then residing engaged in a business 
enterprise, returning to his native 
town two years after her birth. She 
was educated after leaving the dis- 
trict school at Mount Caesar Semin- 
ary in Swanzey, under the instruc- 
tion of those well known educators. 
Prof. Joseph C. Barrett and Rev. 
S. H. McCollester, D. D. June 14, 
1864. she was united in marriage 
with George Carpenter, a prominent 
citizen of the town, conspicuous in 
the Greenback and Labor party 
movements in this state, and candi- 
date of the same for governor. 

Possessed of a strong inclination 
for study and decided literary tastes, 
she took up the Chautauqua literary 



and scientific course, along with her 
husband, soon after it was instituted, 
they being members of the Ashuelot 
C. L. vS. C, completing the full course, 
and subsequently pursuing the uni- 
versity course, under able professors. 
Mrs. Carpenter has developed decided 
ability as a writer, and is possessed 
of poetic talent, as has been demon- 
strated by frequent productions in 
verse which have often found their 
way into print. 

She was activeh' instrumental in the 
organization of Mount Caesar Library 
Association of Swanzey, which occu- 
pies for library and social uses the 
old seminary building, which, after 
its disuse for school purposes, came 
into Mr. Carpenter's po.ssession, and 
was by him donated to the associa- 

tion, in which she has been from the 
.start a leading spirit. 

Mrs. Carpenter was a charter mem- 
ber of Golden Rod Grange of vSwan- 
zey, and has been a faithful and zeal- 
ous worker in the cause of the order, 
holding various ofhces in the local 
organization, and .serving as lecturer 
of Cheshire Count}' Pomona Grange. 
vShe is also a loyal and devoted mem- 
ber of the Daughters of the American 
Revolution, claiming eligibility from 
her distinguished great-grandfather, 
Colonel Jonathan Whitcomb. 

Her domestic life as mistress of 
"Valley View," their pleasantly locat- 
ed farm home at the base of Mt. Caesar, 
is characterized by a refined ta.ste and 
gracious manner which give charm 
and zest to the hospitality of the place- 


By Charles Henry CJiesley. 

Over the sands in the morning's gray 
Crept the tide with a motion slow ; 

Over the east at the dawn of day 
Burst the sun with a ro-Sj- glow. 

Riding in with a buoyant pride 

A fair .ship sped by the harbor bar ; 

Life was good with the flowing tide. 
And the dawning day in the east afar. 


Down from the sands in the evening's gray 
Fell the tide till the flats lay bare ; 

Down in the west at the of day 
Dropped the sun with a ruby glare. 

Drifting out on the .stranded side 

A worn hull .sped by the harbor bar ; 

Life was wrecked with the ebbing tide, 
And the dying da}- in the west afar. 



By H. M. 

[OR the past century the 
essayist, whenever re- 
viewing the Hterature of 
America as a whole or 
discussing an author as 
an individual, has in justice to the 
subject of his theme Ijegun his criti- 
cism b}- first enumerating the long 
list of "restrictions" which have 
seemingly fettered the aspiring Amer- 
ican genius. 

Hampered by Puritanism, pulled 
down by a dead weight of British 
prejudice against the younger 
brother, lacking historic background, 
and wanting fair perspective, — these 
are the chief restrictions that have 
been counted as the causes which 
have ended disastrously in their effect 
upon our literature. 

However, at the end of two hun- 
dred and seventy odd years of abso- 
lute growth, this country (which has 
been boasted of iii one breath as a 
prodigy of strength and excused in 
the next as but a child in ^-ears) 
needs no longer the apology of its 
critics. We have lived in three cen- 
turies what the ancients lived in three 
times three centuries. Even in later 
history the slow development of other 
countries is wholly out of ratio with 
our rapid growth and advancement. 
What nine hundred years of Scottish 
background could give to Burns and 
Scott as inspiration can be equaled in 
the New World if the "patriotic 
bard" but appear, or if another 

knight of fiction but arise upon the 
field of letters. 

Judgment, therefore, should be 
passed upon the American author 
without claiming excuses for him at 
the outset, or asserting that an undue 
advantage belongs to his English 

Dr. Holmes has told us that it 
takes three generations to make a 
gentleman, and he has added that 
portraits and miniatures, old silver 
and fine lace, go a long way on the 
road to gentility. There is, no 
doubt, a great truth in the wise Au- 
tocrat's logic, " Blood will tell ; " and 
that old saying is a much-quoted one 
at this "century-end," as a later 
word is being spoken by the biogra- 
phers for our greatest heroes. Where 
glory was once found in the mere ex- 
pression, "the self-made man," this 
same man is now having claimed for 
him an ancestry whose stock and 
l)lood have, after all, told in the 
sinews and veins of the hero. Even 
our finest type of American manhood, 
the man whose life was held up to 
the little citizens of ever}- red school- 
house in the sixties as a possible ex- 
ample for the American born bo\\ 
even he is, according to best author- 
ities, accounted for by a genealogy 
which proves without question, — and 
we believe ju.stly, — that inherited ten- 
dencies played a great part in mould- 
ing the destiny of the man, Abraham 
Eincoln. And the blood and bone of 



the colonial forefathers of our seven- 
teenth century certainly " tell " upon 
this generation of able thinkers who 
are the representative men of to-da3^ 

The poet who sings from his heart 
at the plough is surely fortune's 
child : but he who sings from the 
library which is rich in the product 
of an inheritance of former genera- 
tions is surer of his pitch at all 
times, even if his flights of song 
may not always equal the raptures 
of the open-air singer. In con- 
templating the ability and possi- 
bility of the rarest product of man's 
mind, a poetic nature, the inherited 
tendencies that belong to a family 
race cannot be omitted as unimpor- 
tant factors in the poet's make-up, 
original as his own individuality may 

James E. Nesmith, the author of 
the volume of poems entitled " Phi- 
loctetes " which has claimed for itself 
the attention of the critical reader, is 
a poet whose personality suggests at 
once original thought. Yet the traits 
of character which mark him as a 
poet and lover of nature are the be- 
quests of a race of strong men and 
women who for five generations have 
lived among the hills and valleys of 
New Hampshire, a family whose 
name has ever been associated with 
thrift, energy, and the love of God. 

The Nesmith stock dates back to 
the year 1690, where we find the fam- 
ily emigrating from Scotland into Ire- 
land. Here the}' settled in the valle\' 
of the river Bann, that charming 
stream of water famous in Irish 
romance and history. An entertain- 
ing picture might be drawn of that 
stretch of countr}- in northern Ireland 
at the time when these Scotsmen 
founded for themselves a new home, 

one year only after the terrible siege 
of Londonderry. We wonder and 
marvel at the choice the\' made when 
emigrating from the Scottish hills. 
Hut that's "another .story,"— and, 
accepting the dry facts of history-, we 
read in the page of genealogy that 
" iri 1718 Dea. James Nesmith and 
family emigrated to America, and 
was one of the sixteen settlers of the 
ancient township of Londonderry." 
For now nearly two hundred years 
the descendants of this same w'orthy 
deacon and his good wife, Elizabeth 
McKeen, have identified themselves 
with the hi.story of the two towns of 
Derry and Windham, where they 
have represented the typical New 
England life, associating themselves 
in the growth and advancement of 
their town's interests, and leaving an 
honorable record upon the pages of 
their histories. The mothers who 
shared the fortunes of these grand- 
sires were worthy specimens 01 wom- 
anhood, and the influence of their 
.strength of character can l)c traced in 
the sons as one generatiori after 
another grew into manhood. In 
reading the family genealogy it is 
interesting to notice the character- 
istics that are repeated again and 
again in each succeeding generation. 
From the time of the first Dea. James 
Nesmith until the closing record of 
the poet's father, Lieut. Gov. John 
Nesmith, the reader is constantly 
confronted by such terms as "a 
man of sound judgment;" the ex- 
pressions, "diligence," "keen fore- 
thought," '■ courteous bearing," and 
"honorable lousiness relations," 
terms that seem part and parcel of the 
inheritance that de.scended with the 
title-deeds of the old family home- 




Col. Jacob M. Nesmith. 

With such a background was the 
poet, Mr. Nesmith, Ijorn, under cir- 
cumstances and in an atmosphere 
that many another poet of the past or 
the present would have gladh' ac- 
cepted as a birthright with "the 
golden spoon." His father, John 
Nesmith, the fifth in descent from the 
original emigrant stock, went to 
Lowell from Derry early in that city's 
annals. He and his brother, Thomas, 
associated themselves with the rapidly 
increasing interests. Foreseeing the 
possibilities of its water-power for 
manufacturing purposes, the two 
brothers furthered every measure to 
develop the growth and prosperity of 
the town. The practical man of 
affairs, endowed with wise and sound 
sense in connection with public in- 
terests, Mr. Nesmith, although no 
politician, was called upon twice to 
hold the ofhce of lieutenant-governor 
during the exciting period in state 
history, the years of 1862 and '63. 
But the personal characteristics of 

the poet's father, — his .strict integrity, 
his concentration of energj- and 
faculty to one end and aim, his in- 
domitable perseverance, together 
with his devotion to philosophical 
and mechanical .study, — these are the 
characteristics which attract our at- 
tention in viewing the inheritance of 
the author of poems like "The Yoke 
of," and "Backed with 

Mr. John Nesmith married in 1840 
his third wife, Harriet Rebecca Man- 
ser (among whose ancestral family 
was numbered General Warren), and 
together they led a life of unusual 
domestic happiness. For more than 
sixty years the Nesmiths ha\-e lived 
at the beautiful homestead in Belvi- 
derc, Lowell ; and as the .sons and 
daughters have married these yovmger 
branches of the famih- have wandered 
only the wide lawns to pitch 
the tents of their new homes under 
the very .shadow of the old. Flerc 
Mr. James Nesmith, himself, has his 

Thomas Nesmith. 



John Nesmith. 

aesthetic home, and here, too, Gov- 
ernor Greenhalge's late residence is 
situated, Mrs. Greenhalge being one 
of the four daughters of the Nesmith 
household. During the guberna- 
torial career of Governor Andrew, 
this mansion house of the lieutenant- 
governor was one where hospitality 
threw open its doors to societ}' and 
philanthropy. And never in the 
quieter years that followed were they 
closed again, except, perhaps, during 
those months that brought 
sorrow to the home circle. 
Mrs. John Nesmith herself 
lived many years after the 
death of her beloved hus- 
band, and no words of hon- 
est admiration are too strong 
to paint the picture of this 
broad-minded, loving-heart- 
ed woman, who graced the 
Nesmith home and Lowell 

Among such influences and 
surroundings Mr. James E. 

Nesmith was born, January 27, 1856^ 
Educated in the public schools of the 
city until he had finished the High, he 
went from Eowell to Phillips Acad- 
emy, Exeter, N. H., where he re- 
mained for one year. Naturally ar- 
tistic, and a desultory student for the 
most part, Mr. Nesmith saw little 
attraction in a university life, and he 
chose rather, for the next few 5'ears, 
to work at the National Academy of 
Design in New York, and at the 
Boston art schools. But, art lover 
that he was by nature, he still had 
the cultured man's instinct for a pro- 
fession, and after a later course at the 
Harvard Daw School we find him in 
18S4 admitted to the bar. In 1885 
Mr. Nesmith married Miss Alice 
Eastman of Lowell, and the j^ast ten 
3'ears of married happiness have 
brought few changes to them ; the 
pleasantest reminder of the flight of 
time being their own three little 
daughters, who have outstretched 
their babyhood altogether. Mr. Nes- 
mith has been, during these years of 
stud}- and application, on the other 
side three times. The earlier trips 
were during his twenties, and while 
in Rome at these times he studied art 
in Miss Foley's studio ; while his 

The Nesmith Estate, in Lowell. 



sketching trips in this country have for the time being remains "caviare 

been with the artist Phelps, partic- to the general." 

ularly during the latter's sojourn As poet and singer, Mr. Nesmith 

among the mountains in New Ilanip- holds a somewhat isolated position in 

shire. his art. Unlike the modern h'rists. 

With the publication of his and having but little tolerance for the 

volume of poems, Mr. Nesmith's decadent school, this lover of nature 

James E. Nesmith. 

ability as a poet was brought be- 
fore the public by Mr. Douglas 
Sladon, the English critic, who at 
once counted him among: the Ameri- 
can singers in a late compilation of 
the literary men belonging to this 
generation. This fact demands of 
the public a certain recognition of 
the man b.imself, even if his poetry 

in all its simplicity has cared but 
little for the comradeship of fellow- 
workers, catching in.spiration rather 
from the genius of the master minds. 
]Mr. Nesmith's first volume, entitled 
"Monadnock," appeared in the late 
summer of iS88. From the first to 
the last page the finish of each line is 
that of the careful, if not alwavs sue- 


cessful, student. The longer poems 
are those that most broadly bear the 
stamp of nature, Init it is within the 
province of the sonnet that Mr. Xes- 
mith has done his best work. Both 
in his earlier volume and in " Philoc- 
tetes," the real worth and dignity of 

Studio in James Nesmith's House. 

his thought is expressed in a purity 
of diction that might belong to an 
older poet. Po.ssibly in the earlier 
volume the kinship with nature is 
more apparent, but no great shade of 
difference is noticeable between the 
ideals of these two works. No trans- 
itional period seems to have changed 
his thought, — the same subjects 
appeal to him, — mountains, crags, 
and peaks, — rivers, streams, and val- 
leys, — and the personality of the 
Almighty P'atherhood has not grown 
dimmer with maturer years. A sim- 
ilar spirit of faith that kept Lowell 
and Whittier calm in the midst of de- 
nominational factions, seems to be the 
gift of this younger singer, and ethi- 
cal and doctrinal subjects are matters 
of lesser moment to him than the 
grandeur and truth of the creation. 
Now and then a big drop of 

humanity pulses in the veins of his 
lines. In none of his .sonnets does 
this kinship with mankind .show 
it.self more intensely than through 
the venses entitled " In the Street." 

" Methiiiks invisible agencies there are 

'Twixt soul and soul ; that each to each 

A salutation, and, in passing, blends 
Its being, by the body's sensual bar 
Itnpeded not ; that none, or near or far 
Their fellows meet, but that each spirit bends 
In sympathy — is altered in its ends — 
As dips the needle to the northern star. 
If this be fantas}-, mj- soul yet feels 
A perturbation in these thronging streets : 
The agitations of innumerous souls 
Ivvinced in vagaries my own reveals, 
That like a faithful compass falsely cheats. 
Drawn from its centre bj- conflicting poles." 

But, for the most part, Mr. Xes- 
mith comes not into touch with men 
and women. He lavs his ear verv 


close to mother earth and knows 


many of her secrets, but her children 
he leaves unquestioned. I doulit if 
the complexity of human minds, or 
the spontaneity of hinnan action, 
would appeal to his inspiration even 
if he were capable of reading the 
heart of mankind. An exponent of 
the age, but not in touch with the 


A N/-:\V JuXa/.AND POET. 

age, — a negative exponent, as it 
were, of the times, — Mr. Xcsniith 
cannot interest himself in the per- 
sonal eqnations that mark ilic indi- 
viduality of tlie moment. The Inir- 
den of each of his sonnets is Ijut the 
picture of nature — a reflective repro- 
duction of nature — as she dominates 
the sea, the sky, or mountain side. 

In comparing the sonnets in the 
two volumes, we find that in " Phil- 
octetes " the action is stronger, the 
vision broader, — for instance, in the 
sonnet of the earlier collection to 
"The vSummer Tempest," the pic- 
ture is true to nature : 

" The tempest drapes the azure dome in black, 
Kolls lip the rain, the whirlwind, and the 

And thunders in a roaring torrent by." 

But it is in the later .sonnet that 
we catch in.spiration. Here, in the 
"Storm in the Mountains," we see 
the grandeur and the fire, the power 
of the oncoming tempest. 

" The vast and sombre company of clouds, 
Among the mountains brooding gloomily. 
Veiling the giant peaks in murky shrouds, — 
All day have hatched a dark conspiracj- 
Against calm Nature. See ! they leave the 

Their forms gigantic grown, and, rolling 

With muffled thunder, menacing and deep, — 
And furtive, flickering tongues of angry fire 
Jamming the beast before them in one wave. 
As if the storm had but one mighty breath, — 
\Vith edges torn and flying, on they rave, 
In awful beauty ; the dark vale beneath 
Is filled with their wild fury, — wide around 
A whirling chasm, — dark, disturbed, pro- 

Again in the Monadnock volume 
we find an exquisite sonnet entitled 
" In March." A sj^mpathetic knowl- 
edge of nature is what gives these 
fourteen lines their 1:»eauty : 3'et, it is 
in "The First Thaw in vSpring " — a 
sonnet in the later publication — that 

we ourselves in the mental \ision 
which his pen suggests. 

Beneath the south wind and tin sun's w;:rm 

Earth slowly uncongeals : the aged snow 
In dissolution falls; the loud brooks flow 
Through hollow'd ice caves pitted with 

decay : 
A dripping moisture wraps the humid day ; 
The once white fields their dusky lining 

In dreary spots. How large looks yonder 

Upon the elm tree ere he flits away. 
The rainy lights shine through the naked 

The cold, damp woods soak'd by the thaw- 
ing breeze ; 
Along the mirj- road the wheel-ruts gleam. 
And slushy pools ; the shallow wayside 

strea tn 
vSings in its muddy channel, and on high 
The clouds float lazily across the sky." 

Mr. Nesmith's chief power lies in 
the simple portrayal of nature, but a 
certain element of courage inspires 
another class of sonnets that in them- 
selves command respect even if they 
do not bear so deep a mark of a poet. 
Here is found the soul of the man 
as he challenges "Fate," "Soli- 
tude," "Barren lyabor," and "Lost 
Legions," or where he dwells upon 
the inevitable victory of time, as in 
"Vain Resistance," and "Time's 
Perfid}'." There are masterful 
thoughts here, even if the scope of 
the sonnet gives them but little room 
in which to be developed. 

The cardinal interest of these 
poems lies in their really true artistic 
worth. As a word-painter Mr. Nes- 
mith is as faithful a colorist as we 
can find among the pupils of Tcnn}-- 
son, and a certain strength and terse- 
ness of epigram adds a personality 
that is as Nesmithian as the art is 
Tennysonian. In fact, it is this .strong 
individualit}' which keeps Mr. Nes- 
mith from belonging to the coterie of 



lessci' inocitni songsters ; and yet this 
same characteristic may be the very 
stumbling block to wider apprecia- 
tion and greater development. At 
present Mr. Nesmith, wlio is en- 
gaged upon a biography of the late 
Governor Greenhalge, is letting his 
poetic temperament lie fallow. What 

the result of a year's rest may be we 
cannot prophesy. If the man has 
more within him, we may feel fairly 
sure that a third volume will be, in 
the end, the out-come of this period 
of thought, and whatever its theme, 
the heart of nature will be reflected 
in its lines. 


By Atiiiie J/. L. Hawes. 

AVhen cuckoos in the thicket hide 

And prate about the heat. 
When, far and wide, the country side 

With new-mown hay is sweet, 
When butterflies in vague unrest 

Go idly wandering by, 
When phcebe-birds make anxious quest, 

And oriole's breast flames by his nest 
Upon the elm tree high. 

Then 'tis July. 


NDER the above title, 
Senator A\' i 1 1 i a m E . 
Chandler contributed to 
the Granite Moxthj.v 
for April, 1894 (Volume 
XVI, No. 4), a most interesting his- 
torical article dealing with the three 
distinguished men referred to, and 
narrating some of the incidents in 
which they were mutually concerned. 
At the conclusion of the article, vSen- 
ator Chandler writes : 

' ' Even the pro-slavery Democrats 
in the senate, who at first made up 
their minds to ostracise Mr. Hale and 

to treat him as an Ishmaelite, outside 
of any health}^ political organization, 
soon changed their tactics, and most 
of them came to be fond of Mr. Hale 
and always to be courteous in their 
demeanor towards him. On one oc- 
casion, Jefferson Davis, having u.sed 
harsh words towards him, was met 
b}' Mr. Hale with a spirited reply; 
and afterwards Mr. Davis made an 
advance towards honorable amends, 
which Mr. Hale accepted with the 
utmost good will. The incident is 
shown by the accompanying letter. 
[ Reproduced in fac-similc. ] 



"A search in the Couiircssional 
Record does not disclose the debate 
ill which the foregoing encounter 
tiook place. Mr. Davis was still 
chairman of the niilitar}' committee, 
and reported the army appropriation 
bill and defended it and secured its 
passage, and he and Mr. Hale de- 
bated this and other measures during 
the same period. There is, however, 
no unerring indication of the discus- 
sion in which the controversy arose, 
the record of which Mr. Davis ex- 
punged with Mr. Hale's consent. 
The aa:reement was doubtless re- 
turned to Mr. Hale liy the reporter, 
after he had made the expurgation 
agreed upon. The letter is credit- 
able both to Mr. Davis and to Mr. 

vSince the publication of that article 
a letter has been discovered, written 
by Senator Hale to his wife, which 
throws light upon the matter referred 
to, and is both interesting and his- 
torically valuable for the glimpse it 
gives us of the inside of political 

affairs at that time. An extract from 
it is as follows : 

Washini'.ton, ]). C, Jiiiic 3, iS6o. 

We had a little flare up in the Senate 
yesterday, in which I had a part. Davis of 
Mississippi had introduced an amendment 
from the Committee on Military Affairs 
appropriating twenty-five thousand dollars 
to purchase books of instruction for the 
army and militia. This I pronounced a. job. 
Davis said with a good deal of temper that 
I had made a. false accusal ion . After a while 
I got the floor and replied ; showed that I 
was right, and Davis openly retracted in 
the Senate what he had said, and when I 
came home to my lodgings last evening, I 
found a note from him assuring me of his 
regret at what had occurred, and request- 
ing me to consent that nothing of it should 
appear in the report of our proceedings, 
and if I did assent to that proposition, that 
I should say so in writing my assent on the 
bottom of the sheet on which his note was 
written, and hand it to Mr. Sutton, the re- 
porter, which I very readily did. I have 
given you the substance only of what oc- 
curred, and very briefly at that, l)ut the 
substance only. It will not appear in the 
(ilobc, and that is why I have written 3'ou 
about it- . . . Aff. yours, 


WHY mb:n do not go to chi^rch. 

By Tlioiiias C. BethiDW, Concord. 
[A Layman of the Episcopal Church.] 

HIS is a question long 
since worn threadbare. 
It has, doubtless, been 
put daily for the past 
hundred years, and will 
be asked and discussed as many times 
more for the next thousand years to 

It seems to me that Episcopalians, 
of all men, can shed the least possi- 
ble light on the subject. It touches 

them lighth'. Men do go to the 
Episcopal church. It is stated that 
no other church approaches in male 
attendance, pro rata^ this great 
church. The Episcopalian, be he 
great or small, rich or poor, loves 
the church. Next to home it stands 
foremost in heart and mind. 

The good-fellowship, too, 
that exists outside among its mem- 
Ijers is certainlv remarkalile. Go 



abroad, go anywhere, the luonient 
you find that the stranger who sits 
l)y your side on the journey, or at 
the hotel, is a churchman, or he dis- 
covers you to be one, a friend indeed 
is found, and a pleasant familiarity 
begins instanth', which, among people 
in general, might otherwise take da}'S 
to create, if, indeed, it existed at all. 
This feature is most marked. It sel- 
dom exists elsewhere. It is not 
strange, then, with such kindly 
under-currents, that the worship of 
Almighty God in the Episcopal 
church is largely attended by men. 
It is said, "Once an Episcopalian, 
always an Episcopalian."' This say- 
ing is- generally accepted. The 
church has great and lasting attrac- 
tions — its music, usualh' of the high- 
est order, its hymns are poems, its 
service — uplifting, solemn, beautiful 
always. Without doubt, a long- 
drawn-out discourse would land a 
churchman in the realms of nod and 
nightmare as readih* as any other 
person, but he is reasonabh'safe from 
that risk, as the short sermon is the 
unwritten law. There is, as yet, no 
known general remed}' for tedious 
men and dull sermons, but, certainly, 
if the sermon be brief, the possibility 
of putting a part of the congregation 
to sleep and giving the balance an 
excuse or reason for having nervous 
prostration, is reduced to the mini- 

The question itself is misleading. 
Men do go to church. One can quite 
as consistently ask why men do not 
2fo to the theatre, the base-ball 
game — the two star attractions of 
the day. As a matter of fact, out 
of the many, very few people go to 
either, yet, upon the first impulse, 
one would perhaps sa}-, the attend- 

ance at the theatre and the ball field 
far outnumbers that at church. The 
play and the ball game, at Boston or 
any other great centre, draw their 
patrons from at least twenty miles in 
all directions. Within this radius 
there are hundreds of churches. 
After careful consideration it is safe 
to say, the daih* attendance at the 
theatre and ball game combined will 
not compare by many thousand with 
the Sunday attendance alone of men 
at church, within the same radius. 
Men, then, do go to church, thou- 
sands upon thousands. The ma.sses, 
however, do not. The major- 
ity, the ''rank and file," spend their 
Sunday's at home with their friends 
and families. The Sunday news- 
paper keeps many clo.sely there, and 
deserves unbounded credit on that 
ground alone. Nearh' everj- Sunday 
journal furnishes i'.s reader with the 
best sermon obtainable, and much 
other matter for religious thought. 
It does not, however, keep many, if 
any, from the church who have any 
inclination to go. As the matter 
stands to-day, iin)i 7rhoiii flic cluirch 
interests go ; those that it does not, do 
not oo. 

The teachings of the church 
should, and do, interest almost all 
men ; but men at large demand that 
those teachings should be placed 
before them with the same character 
of common sense u.sed by men in 
their dail}' .social and business inter- 
course. Broad, clever propounders 
with interesting methods are vitally 
necessary. Bishop Brooks was all 
this. His church was a church of 
many devout men. W^herever he 
went men were his followers. His 
life, his .story was the story of 
the Cross, and .so .simj^h', so beau- 


/[•//)■ J/A"iV DO NOT GO TO CHURCH. 

tifully was it lokl, all men reverently 
paused and listened. His greatness, 
his goodness, charmed every one, 
excepting, perhaps, a few bigots of 
his own denomination. The stor\' of 
Christ is the best of all stories. If 
sensibly and interestingly told, it at 
once attracts the attention of the 
most indifferent. 

Take for illu.stration Gen. Lew 
Wallace's book — " Ben Hur," where 
the divine story is told so beautifully 
that thousands and thousands of 
men and women, aye, children, have 
read it, who, perhaps, had never 
before looked into a religious l)Ook. 
Man}', a great many, who have never 
opened the H0I3' Bible since eai'liest 
childhood, have read this little work 
from cover to cover. The great 
good accomplished by "Ben Hur" 
cannot be over-estimated. It reaches 
thoughtless mankind because it is 
interesting, and tells "the old, old 
story " in a fresh and gracious wa}'. 

Before you can train the animal 
3^ou must capture it ; before you can 
handle the man you must interest 
him. The good clergyman who 
sj)ends his time preaching about the 
flood of two thousand years ago and 
does not .sometimes refer to the floods 
of 1896, here at home, will not in- 
crease his church membership a single 
voter. The clergyman who discourses 
continually about Joshua, the valiant 
warrior of old, and never mentions 
the great names of Xapoleon, Wel- 
lington, Grant, vSherman, will find 
himself floundering in the same boat, 
drifting and slowl}' sinking into de- 
served olj.scurity. The triumphs, the 
joys, the misfortunes of to-day at- 
tract the careful attention of the men 
of to-day. 

Then let the preacher, with the 

cross ever uplifted, far in the fore- 
ground, draw .some lessons, make 
.some applications, from the victory of 
to-day, the crime of yesterday, the 
poverty which abounds about him 
every day. He will .soon discover 
that he attracts and holds the eye and 
mind of men bv the thintr.s that are 
tlaily occurring around them where 
friends and neighbors are sometimes 
the actors, where he utterly fails by 
con.stantly using as figures the men 
and things of a thousand 3'ears ago. 
This should not be .so, .some good 
man, living in the, will say, but 
it is the stubborn fact, nevertheless. 
The church should be more human. 
It can readily be so without being 
any the less divine. 

Its general business affairs should 
be conducted upon every day bus- 
iness principles. If in debt, the min- 
ister should not call for money, in- 
sinuating almost that it is a direct 
matter between the good L,ord and 
the person who is asked to draw his 
cheque. Call for money, if you want 
to obtain it quickly, in the name of 
the contractor, the bricklayer, the 
plumber, — in other words, the man 
you owe. Men respond to such ap- 
peals. The church that uses these 
methods gloriously wins. The 
church that directly or indirectly says 
the anger of heaven will rest upon 
the head of the man who does not 
give freely whether he can afford to 
or not, 5'ou will find upon investiga- 
tion has not paid in full the minister 
or organist their last month's salary. 
Intelligent men understand the anger 
of the person one owes is the only 
possible anger likely to occur, and 
the more said about heavenh' rage, 
the smaller the chance of an early 
liquidation of the debt becomes. 



Few clergymen understand the 
ways and means of "begging" — 
commonly called. They talk too 
long and say too much about it — sug- 

gestions how to give, the exact 
amount one ought to give, are many 
times too frequent. When the good 
clergy learn that the individual ap- 
pealed to, not themselves, is the best 
and proper judge of what he is able 
to contribute, the collection that fol- 
lows will be found to be "larger 
than usual." Most men have but 
small admiration for the clergyman 
who is con.stanth' and publicly med- 
dling with matters which clearly be- 
long to the sheriff or other officers of 
the municipality to handle. Such a 
man may "think he thinks" he is 
doing mankind a sendee, but in .some there is revenue in it. or he is 
dangling at one end or the other of 
cheap politics, oftentimes interfering 
with the personal rights and affairs of 
a worthy neighbor. Sooner or later 
he makes himself, his church, and 
his friends, a vast amount of trouble. 
Happily there are but few ministers 
of this kind. Instead of being con- 
tent to lead the way heavenward, 
the}- coolly assume the general man- 
agement of all things on the earth 
besides. It is refreshing to know in 
these good days they disappear early. 
The average pulpit is unque.stion- 
abl)' strong and learned, but seldom 
interesting to the larger body of men. 
" That "s the rub," and, in my judg- 
ment, the greatest of all reasons 
"why men do not go to church." 


/>> H. B. Met calf. 

Behold — a star 

Divine, serenely bright, 
That shines afar — 

The jewel of the night. 

A budding hope 

Is nurtured b}* its ray, 
Love's horoscope 

Foretells the dawn of da^^ 

The vale of tears 

Unwarned — a vanishing .star. 
Love disappears 

And dark the vistas are. 

At last, a vow 

To bear the great God's will. 
Peace conies — and, lo, — 

The star is .shining .still. 

THK ij':r,i<:Ni) ok john i^kvin and mary CxLASvSi-:. 


Hy p.. /'. Teniicy. 

^T came alx)ut in this way. Do you know, I fear something is 

The doctor and Martha going to happen to him. And our 

that evening sat long at dear Mr. Ross thinks .so, too. Oh, 

the tea-tal)le discussing dear, dear, what would become of us 

the situation: all, if anything should happen to 

"You know, my dearest one, that him? I feel as if I should go dis- 

the cosmical relations of John Levin tracted with thinking of it? Don't 

are such that the insignificant affairs you feel worried. Doctor? " 

of this colony no more di.sturb his "Yes, I do. I put him up a med- 

soul's serenity than Atlas would shift icine chest, and he forgot to take it. 

from one shoulder to another the Besides, there are liable to be mos- 

globe to shake off a fly. Indeed, my quitoes." 

amiable child, if you had any such Before midnight Martha was really 

knowledge as I have of the 'Squire's convinced that there was danger, al- 

vast designs, you would quake like though nothing was said that the 

an ill-adjusted continent in view of doctor did not know already. She 

the mighty forces which underheave made up her mind quite as much l)y 

church and state when John Levin cross-questioning the doctor after 

once gets his back up." 

their visitor had gone out, as by 

Will your volubility have another placing confidence in the widow. 

cup of tea ? ' ' 

"No, my dear, but I will smoke, 
if it be not offensive to you." And 
the doctor drew back into the chim- 
ney corner ; and .startled the witch- 
cats on the roof, which were peering 

"What made that creature come 
in here, Robert ? " 

' ' How do I know ? She is often oiit 
in the night. I sometimes meet her 
at .strange hours when I 'm called to 
see patients. I shall not be surprised 

down the smoke-stack, by burning if she is hung for a w'itch some da}^ 

tobacco under their noses. Just then 
Angelica appeared, with cheeks I'ed 
and flabby like wilted beef-steak. 

" Do you suppose, my dear Martha, 
and you, dear Doctor, that our beloved 
pastor, — that is we want him for our 
pastor you know, — is sleeping out of 
doors this rainy night ; although it is 
not very x-aXwy you know. But it's 
execrably muddy. And I 've worried 
myself all day about him, dear man. 

" Do you know Ross ? " 

"I 've seen him." 

"And Sympkins and Banges, do 
you know them ? ' ' 

" Oh, yes, I 've doctored them." 

" Does John Levin know them? " 

"He has seen Banges. I do not 
know further." 

"Is John Levin never hollow- 
hearted ? Is he at heart Raymond's 
friend ? "' 



'■ Ht)\v do 1 know? All I know is, 
that if an idea flits through his head 
or heart it can ne\-er collide with con- 

" Why?" 

" He has no more moral sensibility 
than a whirlwind." 

"I think it's likely," answered 
Martha, in a measured tone. " What 
time is it, my love?" 

'• Whatever hour you wish, my dear." 

A dignified rapping at the door 
now led the doctor to take his pill- 
box and move out into the darkness 
to visit John Levin's mother. 

He had no sooner gone than Mary 
Glasse came in. 

" What, Mary, at midnight ! " 

"Yes, at midnight. The hag An- 
grelica came to Madam Levin's where 
I was at shelter for the night : and 
she roused me, and sent me hitlier, 
saj-ing that you were anxious to .see 
me this very night." 

" I am more than anxious, albeit I 
did not send for you." 

" How is it then?" 

' ' I fear that mischief is brewing for 
Raymond Footc. Certain vile fel- 
lows, with whom he had a quarrel at 
sea, as it is told me. have sworn that 
he shall never return. And it is pos- 
sible that John Levin knows it." 

A far-seeing look settled upon the 
face of Mary Glasse, and her eyes 
kindled and glowed ; but she said 
coldly, — 

"Is that all?" 
" Yes, that is all." 
"Good night." 

Before morning Mary had stolen 
away Martha's Indian maid M^-ra, 
and had joined the dispatch carrier's 

e.scort, and followed alter Raymond 
F'oote . 


Chaplain Foote had been captured 
by Indians in the night, so that Mary 
Glasse did not overtake him when 
the dispatch carrier joined the expe- 
dition. Little did she think, when 
she set out, how far slae might go. 
Doctor Jay, Simeon Strait, and 
Major Treate were set to the task of 
finding their chaplain. So brief were 
the hours before the}- would probably 
return that ^lary and ]\Iyra lingered, 
moving in the wake of the moving 
arm}'. And after some days it was 
more difhcvilt to go back to the set- 
tlements than to go forward. When 
they had so far penetrated the som- 
bre wilderness as to find the primeval 
desolation nowhere disturbed b}- tl:e 
pioneer's axe, it was a great delight 
to Mary Glasse tliat she, too, was 
captured by the Indians. 

To the prosaic James Glasse, Mary 
had ahvays been a mystery, as if in 
her veins there flowed .streams of life 
not in his own. With the ready 
superstition of the age he believed 
that she was more cunning than wise, 
that she was subtle not sanctified, 
hardly fit to belong to the same 
church with him and Elder Perkins. 
How was it that since the death of 
Mother Glasse the child and father 
had drifted apart? Certain it is 
that she was as fully in sympathy 
with the wilderness of the woods as 
he with the howling wa.ste of ocean. 
Ever since when as a child she 
climbed an oak at the mouth of 
Chubb's creek to get out of the way 
of the bears, and then paddled to the 
Mi.sery to get out of the way of the 
Indians, she had desired to live 



among wild men. And, despite a 
slight tinge of melancholy in her dis- 
position, which was not unlike that 
of the savage in solitude, she was ex- 
uberant at the thought of captivity ; 
it being to her not other than a larger 
freedom in which she was competent 
to care for herself. No sallow and 
wailing nun was Mary Glasse ; but 
incalculable forces welled up from 
within, and the first thought entering 
her mind was that she had captured 
a band of Indians. Whether she 
knew little of the perils, or overestim- 
ated her own powers, or was upborne 
by faith in help not promised, the 
effect was the same ; she knew no 

To launch into unknown spaces, 
among forests unscratched b}' the 
mill-saw, where the surface of the 
earth had been crumpled into low 
hills, gave to her the sensation en- 
joj^ed by a supple sea-fowl riding and 
diving amid gently cresting billows. 
The idea of dominance was ever 
uppermost in her mind. If she 
trusted in God, she trusted also in 
instinct and her right arm, to the 
forces of man primeval, to perfect 
physique never asking odds. No 
wild creature was more self-poised 
than she. How could she but win 
the heart of the brave who captured 
her, long after so well known among 
the English as the eccentric, fun- 
loving, grim savage, Jo Silverheels. 
And, before the day was over, she 
made with him a plot to rescue Ray- 
mond Foote. 

Without the tricks of polished so- 
ciety Jo was a gentleman ; but on 
her part the captive girl was wary of 
him as a fox, and as ready to shift 
for herself when opportunity might 
serve. With no moping spirit Marj' 

shared the song and dance and .sober- 
faced merriment of the young sav- 
ages ; and her nuiscular energ}- and 
easy adaptation to Indian life, and 
her dignified reserve, gave her the 
standing of an Indian belle to whom 
deference was due, and such freedom 
as pleased her. 

And one black night, when aerial 
water-tanks were floating and .slowly 
dissolving in small incessant rain, 
Mary walked awa}' from her captors, 
self-reliant as a she-bear, — and as 
stealthily as if she expected to cap- 
ture Raymond before morning ; 
which she did, — thanks to the careful 
calculations of Mr. Silverheels. 

It was not far to go. Soon after 
the dawning of the new day and its 
dispersion of the clouds the plash of 
a musk-rat was heard ; and the flash 
of a bird's wing was seen, a duck 
dropping aslant from air to water. 
The blue domes of far-off mountains 
were uplifting themselves like isles 
upon the verge of the western sky, 
and the tinted vapors of sunrise were 
glorifying the woods, at the mo- 
ment when Mary discerned Ray- 
mond Foote. He was standing knee 
deep in the water fishing for pickerel 
in company with that jolly Irishman, 
O'Killia, who was now stripped of 
that Indian guise in which he had 
assisted to capture Raj-mond. Dr. 
Jay and Simeon Strait and Wybert 
Merry were dressing a deer upon the 
bank of the nameless water sheet ; and 
a loon w-as laughing loudly in a distant 
bay. The radiant azure of the later 
morning, and the lustrous leaves of 
June, wore fresh color through glad- 
ness when Mary Glasse joined the 
five whites, — although .she knew that 
Silverheels and his warriors would 
soon follow. 




How could everything go on Inxt 
much as usual with the placid Ray- 
mond, — particularly since the gallant 
Major Treate had separated the ras- 
cally Banges and Gungill and Symp- 
kins from his company, by taking 
them upon a scout to ascertain the 
whereabouts of the lost army ? And 
even Mary's warning tone that sav- 
ages were at hand could excite little 
alarm in the breasts of those who had 
so long lived in peril of such capture. 

Much as Raymond Foote desired 
to make his home among the Indians 
and keep Mary Glasse as his captive, 
to which he fancied that she would 
not object, .still it seemed more fit- 
ting to sensible white people of the 
seventeenth century to imitate cer- 
tain ancient heroes, who bought and 
sold the land occupied b}' their ene- 
mies, by proceeding upon the theorj- 
that thej' should live to get out of 
the woods, and dwell upon the shores 
of Chebacco rather than an arm of 

Rajmiond's thoughts concerning 
Mary could but center upon the 
breaking of her relations with Levin, 
but the Puritan was so strong within 
him that he urged her to decide defi- 
niteh' to marrj' the wretch, and to fix 
the time as soon as she should return 
to the sea-board. Well, however, he 
knew that she would never do it, — so 
that he was the more complacent in 
urging it upon her. The moral an- 
tagonisms between Glasse and Levin, 
and the moral unisons between 
Glasse and Foote, were clearly dis- 
cerned by Raymond in the cr3'stal 
air of their captivity. And he dis- 
cerned afar off the day when Levin, 
by some unaccountable freak in one 

of his periodical .sprees, would put 
himself into such relations with some 
low-l)red and vulgar woman that 
Mary would be freed 1j\- him from 
her pledge to marry. Raymond 
heard, therefore, with patience all 
that Mary had to say about the 
fate which impelled her to befriend 
the villain. Xot that the cler2:v- 
man thought outright that John 
Levin was the wonst of men, but in 
his heart he thought ill of him, espe- 
cially since his own .spirit had come 
into some subtile harmonj' with the 
.spirit of Mar)' Glasse. 

The weeks rolled by, and the con- 
stellations of September looked upon 
the captives, fiery Mars and golden 
Jupiter ; and \'enus shone brilliantly 
in October days before the great leaf- 
fall. The wild turkeys were fatten- 
ing upon beech-nuts and acorns 
before Raymond and Mary effected 
their escape ; to which Jo Silver- 
heels was a party, although in 
treachery towards his comrades. 

With varying gloom and sunshine 
of experience, — like a tract of wilder- 
ness shaded by passing clouds when 
one looks upon it from a mountain 
top, — the twain went forth ; amid 
hourly peril of recapture they .stole 
along some meadow much haunted 
by deer, where their own footprints 
would .soon be trampled by hoofs, 
and where it was eas}' to snare food 
for the way ; or they glided down 
swift rivers in some stolen canoe ; 
and for manj- days their feet moved 
over the floor of the forest, through 
rustling leaves, yellow with the In- 
dian summer sun and shining like the 
golden pavement of the new Jeru- 
salem. So they journeyed until the 
stealth}' Ra3'mond and Mar}- emerged 
from the wilderness. But au- 



tumiial days were the days of spring 
to the travellers, days for the stretch- 
ing forth of roots and leaves of affec- 

And withered was the heart of 
Raymond when he was recaptured 
by the redmen, in a raid which they 
made upon the log huts of the set- 
tlers, where the returning captives 
spent certain November days; 
withered, because Jo Silverheels, 
not without a manly pride in serving 
Mary, secured her separation from 
the company. And in her escape to 
the coast Marj^'s heart seemed to her 
to shrink and dr\^ up by lack of Ray- 
mond's presence ; although, from the 
company and care of her recent host- 
ess and her child, she could not turn 
back until the}' reached Salem. 

The first house they entered was 
that of the angelic widow Adipose ; 
and before day-dawn, by autumn 
damps and long exposures, Mar}' was 
seized by fever ; and she was long 
sick in the house of Angelica, with 
Martha and the doctor for nurses, 
and John Levin to sit pale-faced and 
in an aaronv of solicitude at her bed- 


When Mary Glasse had returned to 
her home and was thoroughly well, 
John Levin, for perhaps the hun- 
dredth time since her sickness, called 
to inquire as to her health, but to-day 
he had also an errand pertaining to 
his own health. The months that 
Mary had spent coursing the woods 
Mr. Levin had spent coursing the 
seas, and now he was about sailing 
again for England. No other Amer- 
ican of the earlier colonial days w'as 
so public spirited as he, in so often 
crossing the ocean like a shuttle in 

the attempt to attach the new life to 
the old, to make the incipient nation 
of the same political and religious 
web as the country from which the 
people came. With easy dignity he 
made himself at home in the palace, 
the parliament house, or the pot 
house; among bishops, and justices, 
or politicians waiting for a bribe ; 
and he did all that man could do to 
maintain the spirit and the form of 
conservative England in the Bay 
Colony. But to-day all public inter- 
ests waited at the door of Mary 

To Mary Mr. Levin had grown old 
in their separation ; and he thought 
that she too had grown old. They 
had both been tangled in wilder- 
nesses, and his captivity had been 
harder than hers. If his peculiar 
habits of life, which he had inherited 
from his own youth, were beginning 
to tell upon him, it was manifest less 
in his muscle than in his mind. Are 
not the most healthy men upon the 
globe tough old sinners without con- 
science ? Mary took it to be a sign of 
moral improvement that John Levin's 
iniquities had begun to worr}' him ; 
in any event she noticed that he was ill 
at ease when at Glasse Head this da5^ 

The settled dislike and ill-will 
which Mr. Levin had come to enter- 
tain for Raymond Foote had been 
gratified by the lively description of 
his death given by the talkative, im- 
aginative, sensational, and cross-eyed 
Mistress Peters, who had fled with 
Mar}^ to the settlements. And even 
if he had escaped the tomahawk and 
knife, he must be in ever present 
peril. So that it was no thought of 
Raymond Foote which made John 
Levin ill at ease this day. Nor did 
he care whether Mary had seen Ray- 



mond, when among the savages. His 
own heart told him that her heart 
and her words were steadfast. But 
the on-going months had convinced 
him that her pledge to marry ought 
to be fulfilled, if upon his part he 
might hope for moral mending. Still, 
he did not to himself put it that way ; 
rather, he needed a home, — now that 
his mother was dead and now that 
the widow Angelica condoled wdth 
him so often and so mournfully upon 
the sad, sad circumstances that he 
was an orphan. 

In the thick of a whirling storm he 
came to Glasse Head that morning, 
riding upon that lucky black horse 
which Doctor Langdon rode when he 
courted Martha Dune. He had no 
apprehension of being blamed for 
anything he had ever said or done 
by the compliant and affable Mary. 
And it was indeed true, that, as she 
had tossed upon her sick-bed, with the 
ever present and ever solicitous yet 
cheer}' John Levin between her and 
the window, her heart had softened 
toward him. She looked upon his 
demoniacal conduct as that of a 
moral infant or idiot not knowing 
right hand from left ; and she pitied 
him and loved him. "As," she said 
to herself, "Love Infinite pities me, 
so ill-deser^'ing." 

The dreaming girl had no past ; 
and the discover}- that she w^as so 
much to John Levin, and that even 
the pastor-captive was pleased in her 
company had led her to slightly over- 
estimate herself ; and she was con- 
scious of spiritual gifts without know- 
ing their proportion or relations, so 
that her powers were ill-balanced. 
Some days upon her sea-blown head- 
land she had almost imagined herself 
to be in such vital contact with 

unseen powers that a prophetic .spirit 
might look out of her eyes';/ an il- 
lumination of uncertain origin, possi- 
bly her fancy unduly heightened, in- 
sight more subtle than sound. Was 
she not easily extravagant, indulging 
in hyperbolical poetic phrases,, with 
rhetoric untameable as the tide tos- 
sing upon the rocks of Glasse Head ? 
Under favoring circumstances her 
mental state might easily have allied 
itself to fanaticism. 

Still, there was much good sense 
in what she said that day to John 
Levin. She would risk no social or 
domestic earthquake by telling him 
too frankly what she really thought 
of him ; but spoke wnth restraint, 
shaking him up gently. In her 
heart of hearts she loved him, loved 
him by virtue of some mystic tie un- 
known to her ; loved him, not for 
what he was, but for what he was 
capable of becoming. Practically 
homeless, though not houseless, she 
alwa5'S felt singularly at home with 
Mr. Levin ; and sometimes she im- 
agined that she could read his 
thoughts, and that she knew at 
some parts of his nature through and 
through. In this she was mistaken, 
it was by inexperience, or mental 
exaltation arising from disordered 

It was now in the afternoon, and 
the south-easter had abated. 

"The wind's gitting round s'uth- 
ard," remarked James Glasse, after 
dinner, lighting his pipe, and puffing 
till the smoke curled about his high 
forehead like fog upon the edge of 
a cliff, then sauntering comfortably 
down tOAvard the landing to ex- 
change yarns with Skipper Hake, 
who was waiting among the fish 
flakes for the weather to lift. 



John Levin and Maty went out 
upon the rcJcJts,, and looked upon the 
' ever-moving riVer. Tide in or tide 
out, they loved to look upon the ever- 
flowing river. The boats were al- 
ready going to and fro among the 
stranger fishermen who had put in 
for shelter ; and they saw Wybert 
Merr}' and his wife descending the 
stream in a dug-out. 

Then the}- re-entered the dusk}^ 
dwelling with its small windows and 
gray w^alls. The house had alreadj- 
been long standing, and the great 
beam overhead was sagging a little. 
The room was open to the rafters 
and the ridge-pole, and it was hard 
to drive out the dampness brought 
in by the storm. Mr. L,evin roused 
the fire and made the chimney roar 
like a gale. The yellow^ birch and 
hard maple blazed briskh% — illumi- 
nating the polished platters on the 
dresser, so offering the twain who 
sat at the fire a fair substitute for 

"Experienced voyagers," said 
Mary, taking up one end of the fish 
net she vi'as mending, "sail by the 
stars, although upon common er- 
rands. If, Mr. Levin, — for I must 
call you Mister, you seem to me so 
dignified to-day, — if, Mr. Levin, you 
are of so large a nature as I fancy, 
you must have room for a conscience, 
and cannot be at peace with anything 

"I fear, indeed, Mar3^ that my 
character must have been a sad dis- 
appointment to the superior beings 
who have w^atched me, — unless they 
can see further than my neighbors 
do. The truth is, that I often tread 
a mere cloud floor, living as to my 
interior life upon mere sentimental 
metaphysical speculations ; a life 

favoring the dissolution of all moral 
energ3% and tending to foster moral 
insincerity and craftiness, and lead- 
ing ultimately to form an insensitive 
nature." And then he added, after 
a moment's, and manfully sup- 
pressing a yawn, — "You see how 
easy it all is." 

Being a little uncertain whether 
Mr. Levin was uttering his mind, or 
mereh" speculating, Mar}- made no 
reply, but assiduously worked her 
twine into the net. Finally, pluck- 
ing up her courage, as if to mend 
the hole in their conversation, and 
possibly close up the broken meshes 
in their friendship, Mary said: 

"I was but a giddy girl when I 
first saw you, Mr. Levin. But I 
look upon it now as immoral that 
two should be tied together b}' law 
when they are conscious that their 
souls are not tied together by moral 
affinity. Outside ourselves is God. 
The only true harmonj^ between you 
and me must be in being at one with 
Him. We cannot else be at one 
with each other. The planes of our 
lives ara now unequal." 

"I know, Mary, that you cannot 
love me with that ardor with which 
you loved the man you took me to be 
wdien we were first engaged. I have 
proved to be a ver}- different man 
from the ideal being you mistook me 
for. It would be dishonorable for 
me to keep you to your pledge. 
You are free. But then, Mar\-, 
there is another way of looking at 

And John Levin arose, and went 
to the window, and looked out over 
the heav}^ swell toward the Goose- 
berries, upon which a struggling 
gleam of sunlight was streaming for 
the moment. 



" What is that, John ?" asked Mary, 
leaving her work and standing at his 

"It is this, Mary. The judgment 
weighs all defects of character ; but 
love is like the sunshine, which does 
not appear to distinguish between 
purit}' and impurity any more than 
these fingers of light distinguish 
between the ragged rocks and the 
uneasy sea. If, Mary," he added, 
resuming his seat at the fire, " m}^ 
heart is as hard as the nether mill- 
stone, it cannot fail to be affected by 
the fire of love and the frost of love's 

" But, John, Christianity reaches 
the sources of conduct. You and I 
are actuated by radically different 

" Mary, I do not know what your 
Master would have said, but he evi- 
denth' had pity upon those who were 
conscious of being under the master}^ 
of their own worst passions, who 
were smarting under moral defeat. 
That is, if he saw in them any desire 
of amendment. I have long lived, 
Mary, under the doctrine of despair, 
hopeless and helpless, and you are to 
me what your Master is to you, an 
object of love ; and you know that it 
is impossible to develop right living 
in any human being without some 
object of unselfish love. It must be 
my own fault that I feel doubtful 
about the individualit}' of God, but 
you are to me an expression of the 
infinite mind which perv'ades the uni- 
verse ; and you I love with all vay 
heart, and I believe that I love you 
unselfishl}'. In my love to you, 
then, I have the essential ground for 
the possible development of my bet- 
ter nature. If, upon your part, your 
love fails me, I seem to myself to be 

lost as to the highest and best possi- 
bilities of my nature." 

"But, John, you know that I love 
you with all the fullness of my 
nature. Still that does not in itself 
constitute a ground for marriage, to 
my thinking. Marriage demands 
moral similarity. Love implies self- 
devotement, but marriage implies 
companionship. And how can two 
walk together except they be 
agreed ? ' ' 

"That, Mary, is just the ground 
I claim 3'ou upon, — it is the becom- 
ing that is the ground of hope. I 
may, by 3-our help, become a differ- 
ent man from what I am now. But 
I have absolutely no hope to become 
moralh' similar to the ideal I see in 
my best moments, save through 3'our 
constant instead of occasional com- 
panionship. I am so surrounded by 
the imps which I have myself called 
up that I need your abiding better 
spirit, as much so as you ss.y that 
you need the abiding presence of 
God. You are to me, Mary, my 

This was too absurd ; and Mary 
laughed at the serious face of John 
Levin, and James Glasse came in 
with Skipper Hake ; and the}' mixed 
their toddy, and went out again. 
And a tall, fine-looking stranger, 
with frank, benevolent face and in- 
telligent e^'e, came in to talk with 
John Levin about an estate in Eng- 
land. And they rode away together. 


John Levin had long felt tolerably 
certain that, when Mary Glasse 
should actuall}- become his wife, it 
would act like the pouring of new life 
into his arteries, giving celestial cur- 
rent to his being, and that the horri- 



ble night visions, by which he was 
periodically inured to a criminal and 
hypocritical course, would be inter- 
rupted ; and that he could break up 
the somewhat regularly recurring- 
paroxysms of debauchery in which 
he sought diversion from a mental 
state much worse than that of the 
rake and the sot. 

Most of the public men, whom he 
met in Kngland, indulged in courses 
of life which strongl}^ contrasted with 
the dominant life in New^ England, 
habits inimical to the kind of charac- 
ter possessed by her whom he would 
make his wife. His moral education 
had, indeed, before now, so advanced 
that he had been willing to have 
Mary know, as indeed she could not 
help knowing, what he considered 
worst about himself, those things in 
which his life was most readily con- 
trasted with hers. Not 3'et had it 
occurred to him to analyze the mo- 
tives at bottom of his business affairs, 
or to imagine by the faintest shadow 
that his course toward Raymond 
Foote was other than the natural 
prompting of the divinity imminent 
in his owai humanit3^ 

But his consciousness of a desire to 
better his life was dim when com- 
pared with the sunbeam clearness of 
his love to Marj-, and the necessitj- it 
laid upon him. No question of 
moral fitness, or cool calculations of 
a nice adjustment of his conduct to 
hers, came in here. Never before in 
his life had his whole nature been 
wrought upon by such internal fires. 
He could with difficulty keep on with 
his mercantile or legal affairs, if he 
suffered her image to rise in his fancy 
at his ofiice or counting room. And 
her partial withdrawal from her agree- 
ment to marry had the effect upon 

hi in to idealize her character. vShe 
.seemed like a statue, alive but un- 
communicative, a soul divine hut 
standing aloof, the perfection of 
beauty l)Ut dumb to him. Whether 
she was a captive in distant forests, 
or moaning in sickness, or liltl}' fin- 
gering her father's broken nets, her 
character was almost apotheosized in 
his own thought of her. No goddess 
ever had a more unquestioning and 
fervent worshipper than Marj' Glasse 
had in John lyevin. 

If she should actuall}- condescend 
to get down from her pedestal and 
become his wife, then she might work 
her will in his moral transformation. 
At least it seemed .so to him upon the 
next Sunday afternoon, when he 
visited Mary at Glasse Head ; deter- 
mined now to settle the matter once 
for all, — to scale the celestial bat- 
tlements and be at one with his di- 
vinity, or to fall into the dark 

Before nightfall, it came to this, 
that Levin frankly told Mary — (what 
she so well knew as to her own life) 
that he was not at harmony within, — 
although he must keep company with 
himself ; that he could not be rid of 
spiritual friction, — having as the 
ancients said two souls in one man 
always contending wnth each other ; 
that the unworthy, the worthless part 
of his nature had pitiless hold upon 
him ; that he had no power to throw 
off what assailed him ; that he feared 
nothing on earth but the evil within 
himself ; that in her presence his 
nature was at peace, that she inspired 
his best thoughts, that the memory of 
her face and w^ords gave tone to his 
sense of obligation whenever he 
thought of her ; that her daily, al- 
almost hourl}', presence w4th him as 



wife, instead of in occasional inter- 
views as a friend, would throw the 
balance in favor of his own best 
promptings ; and that the moral dis- 
parity between them would grad- 
ually disappear ; that as a mean clod 
becomes sweet scented by being 
breathed on by roses, his own base 
life would grow fragrant with the 
perfume of heaven only b}' contact 
with the object of his love. 

In vain did she put in her ques- 
tions and apothegms : " If it is im- 
possible for you to re-fashion j-our 
life before we marr}-, what proof have 
I that you can do it afterwards ? ' ' 
" If sin becomes a disease, is not the 
patient's will power helpful to the 
physician ? The giving up of hope is 
fatal. He will yield who believes 
that he has no power to resist." 
' ' Do you follow all the light as to 
duty which you now possess? " "It 
seems to me that you do not begin 
right, that you ought to look upon 
the relation of 3-our business affairs 
toward men. If you were to try to 
become absolutely unselfish toward 
all men, and so begin to look at all 
\OMX conduct from a moral point of 
view, it would surely end in 3'our 
arriving at the knowledge of God." 
" I do not like it, that your intellect 
is so peculiarlj' constructed or trained 
that you cannot apprehend a personal 
God." " Life is not worth anything 
unless you are a Christian. Sur- 
render your will to God. Make his 
will 3^our will. And faith and love 
and the power of a new affection will 
renovate your life. Then I will talk 
with 3-0U about marrying. I do not 
dare to trust myself with a man with- 
out God in the world. I am too 

weak. I love you so much, that, if I 
were with you all the time, I should 
conform my ideal to yours. Your 
nature is stronger than mine. \ 
could not resist you. In.stead of my 
helping you, you would hinder me. 
Instead of your two natures contend- 
ing with each other, I fear that you 
and I should contend." 

But it was all in vain. He con- 
vinced her that she realh' had no 
love, no unselfish affection for him 
unless she could trample on herself, 
and run risk of her own moral ruin, 
to save him. "What is j-our God 
good for, claiming of all men an un- 
selfish life, unless he will undergird 
5'ou with almighty strength for the 
express purpose of carrying out your 
unselfish endeavors to help one who 
needs it ? And how can 3-ou expect 
me to be unselfish toward men whom 
I do not love, if you who do love me 
stand off to .see me — as ^-ou sa}- — 
' perish ' ? And how can you expect 
me to love all mankind, when my 
love to 3-ou meets no helpful re- 
sponse ? ' " 

Vain was it that she interposed her 
antique New Testament text, that 
she ought not to link herself with an 
unbeliever. John Levin per.suaded 
her that the wife might, even accord- 
ing to her Paul, "save" her hus- 
band. And he overwhelmed her by 
the tides of his great love, irrepress- 
ible and irresistible as the currents of 
the ocean. 

Then the3' bade each other good 
night, and John Levin went out to 
walk the shores of the sea ; and Mar3^ 
kept to the duties of the house, and 
retired, but not to sleep. 

\^To be co>itimifd.\ 

Cottducted by J- red Gowing, State Superintejident of Public Instruction. 


By Lawton B. Evans, Siiperintendetit of Schools, Augusta, Ga. 

The educational thought of our time virtue and vice meet. The force of 

has been chietiy directed toward the cities is centripetal. It attracts every- 

improvement of city school systems, thing, good and bad alike. But cities 

So we hear of the great schools at Bos- do not develop individuality. There 

ton, Chicago, New York, Cincinnati, is a leveling influence about them that 

Philadelphia, and a score of other merges individuals into masses, and it 

places ; but I have yet to hear of a is only occasionally that a volcanic 

single county or township of rural pop- genius breaks through the hard crust 

ulation, the excellence of whose schools and thrusts itself above the burning 

entitles them to national repute. The level of great city life. The highest 

emphasis of our thought has been types of individuality, the strong and 

placed long and devotedl}' on city independent men of our nation, have 

schools at the expense of the rural been born and bred in village or rural 

schools. homes, away from the turmoil of city 

It is true that cities are the centers life, in quiet and serious communion 
of highest civilization. Our human with nature, in her grand and enno- 
nature has made them so. Architec- bling forms. It is out of the rural 
ture, art, literature, schools, fashion, homes that the great men of our coun- 
reach their highest forms when people try have come. Genius abhors the pal- 
strive with each other for display. The ace and the crowded cities and the 
very contact of people civilizes them, cradles of luxury, and courts the cabins 
Cities are likewise the centers of great- and the open fields and the simple but 
est iniquity. The worthless, the idle, stern homes of the poor, 
the contentious, the wicked, gravitate We need skilled labor in the fields as 
toward large centers. Extremes of well as in the city. We need intelligent 

1 An address delivered before tlie Department of Superintendence of the National Educational Association at 
Jacksonville, Fla., February iS, 1S96, and printed in April number of Educational Review. 



and scientific management of a farm as 
well as of a great factory. We need 
business methods here as well as in the 
great commercial houses of the city. 
We need economy of effort and conser- 
vation of force and adaptation of inven- 
tion and discovery here, if we need it 
anywhere. And we need culture and 
refinement among the country people. 
Music, painting, books, and all the evi- 
dences of a higher kind of life are as 
proper on the farms as in the cities. 
The more highly educated the people 
of the rural districts are, the more capa- 
ble they will be of taking advantage of 
the improvement in machinery, of econ- 
omizing time and labor in producing 
raw material, and the more time they 
will have to devote to culture and the 
higher arts of civilization. They will 
accomplish as much as now in far less 
time, and will live more comfortably 
and more happily. 

That farm life is behind city life in 
development is due in some part to the 
isolation of the rural population. Men 
live too far apart and see each other 
too seldom to exert a refining influence 
over each other. In other part, it is 
due to the attention that has been 
given to educating the people of the 

It is quite time that we change the 
emphasis of our study, turn aside from 
the contemplation of the excellences of 
the city schools, and consider the 
necessities of the rural schools. The 
wisest policy is to frame some educa- 
tional scheme that will keep the people 
in the country, that will stop the exodus 
from the farms, that will make the 
rural population content, that will make 
them enlightened and prosperous. 

I believe very firmly that the county 
or township is the proper unit of edu- 
cational organization. If one system 

of schools can be made to extend over 
a whole county, including the city and 
villages, the organization will be upon 
the basis of territory. By this means 
the entire country can, after a while, 
be brought under uniform organization. 
So long as the organization is by cities, 
we merely organize by locality, which 
can never be uniform or entire. It will 
always remain a one-sided development. 
A proper policy is to induce the people 
hereafter to organize by area, rather 
than by spots. The effect of this will 
be to give to the rural child the same 
school advantages as to the city child, 
and there is every reason in equity 
and good sense why these advantages 
should be the same. 

I come from an ilustration of this 
kind of organization, at.d it may not be 
amiss to tell something of the schools 
of Richmond county, Georgia, in which 
county is situated the thriving city of 
Augusta. Here, for the past twenty- 
five years, has been in operation, what 
is known as the county system. 

One board of education, composed of 
representatives elected by the people 
for a term of three years, one third of 
the membership expiring every year, 
has charge of the entire school interests 
of the city of Augusta and of the 
county of Richmond. This board of 
education has the unique power of levy- 
ing a school tax directly upon the peo- 
ple of the county, without revision by 
any other authority, and without any 
limit as to rate or amount. The school 
tax is levied and collected as a uniform 
rate upon all property of the county, 
whether it is in the city or out of it. 
This forms the general school fund of 
the county, supplemented by the state 

When it comes to the distribution of 
this fund no regard is paid to the 



amount raisea by any ward of the city 
or any district of the county, but the 
fund is distributed according to the 
necessities of each ward and district, 
determined by the number of children 
to be educated. The school fund of 
the whole county is raised by a tax 
on all the property of the county, and 
is distributed upon the basis of the 
school population of each community. 
Thus it happens that a community 
rich in naught else but children will 
get a flourishing school paid for by 
their wealthy but less fortunate neigh- 

As a matter of fact, a large part of 
the money paid by the city is annually 
spent in the rural districts, for the 
city has nine tenths of the taxable 
property, but only three fourths of the 
school population. So it happens that 
the rural schools pay one tenth of the 
school tax and receive the benefit of 
one fourth of it. Augusta has spent in 
the past twenty years the sum of two 
hundred thousand dollars, in building 
school-houses and paying school-teach- 
ers for the children who live in the 
country districts around her. Augusta 
has shown her faith in the proposition 
that every city needs to be environed 
by an intelligent, industrious, and con- 
tented population. 

When it comes to teachers, the same 
qualifications are demanded for rural 
schools as for city schools. Upon the 
regular examination terms, and upon 
the issuing of licenses to teach, an 
applicant does not know whether he 
will teach in the city or out of it, and 
to many it is a matter of indifference. 
And I know whereof I speak when I 
say that there are young woman gradu- 
ates of normal colleges doing high- 
grade work in country schools ten 
miles beyond the limits of the city, and 

doing it happily and cheerfully. We 
believe firmly in the further proposition 
that a country school is entitled to as 
good a teacher as a city school, and 
that those who live in the fields are as 
deserving of education as those who 
dwell beside the asphalt. Carlyle must 
have had a country child in his mind 
when he said " this I consider a great 
tragedy, that one soul should remain in 
ignorance that had capacity for higher 

The teachers are treated as nearly 
alike as can be. City and country 
teachers are paid about the same sal- 
aries. They get it at the end of every 
month and on the same day. The cer- 
tainty and the regularity of a fixed com- 
pensation create a sense of security, 
safety, and comfort for a teacher, and 
accordingly increase his ef^ciency. No 
teacher can do his best work when he 
works at starvation rates, is paid once 
every three or four months, and often 
in scrip that he must discount. There 
is much philosophy and also economy 
in the maxim that advises us to pay a 
public servant well and watch him 
closely. So we draw no distinction of 
locality. First-class work is worth as 
much twenty miles from town as it is in 
the heart of the city. 

The schools of the county all run 
nine calendar months. They all begin 
at the same time and close at the same 
time. During the last year every child 
of the county, regardless of where he 
lived, was offered nine months of actual 

So far as school-houses are con- 
cerned, these are located in rural dis- 
tricts, so as to be on an average of four 
miles apart. No child is out of walk- 
ing distance of a school, open nine 
months in the year, and taught by a 
Sfood teacher. These houses are owned 



by the board of education, and cost 
from three hundred to twenty-five hun- 
dred dollars each, according to size and 

One superintendent has charge of all 
the teachers in the county. The same 
degree of efficiency that should attend 
the supervision of city schools is like- 
wise extended to the country schools. 
One expert for all is the theory, and, so 
far as human effort can avail, it is car- 
ried out in practice. The same course 
of study is prescribed for the pupils, 
and the same course of professional 
reading is required of the teachers. 
The teachers of the city schools meet 
for instruction once a week, the teach- 
ers of the covinty meet once a month, 
and in addition have a two-months in- 
stitute, in the summer months. 

This, in brief, is the outline of the 

plan of organization of the schools of 
which I assumed charge thirteen years 
ago. That it has its defects of manage- 
ment and its minor faults I am pre- 
pared to admit. These I need not 
enumerate at this time. Suffice it to 
say that no one knows what the}' are 
and that they are, more surely than I 
do. What institution devised and con- 
trolled by an imperfect humanity is 
without the faults that are incident to 
us as men ? That our system is pro- 
jected upon the proper theory, for all 
our population, and for all the boys 
and girls under our tuition, I firmly 

There are two other systems in 
Georgia organized upon a similar plan, 
one for Savannah and the county of 
Chatham and the other for Macon and 
the countv of Bibb. 



:'> V 


Austin Corbin was born at Newport, July ii, 1827, and met 
his death in that town June 4, from injuries received in a run- 
away accident. He graduated from the Harvard Law school in 
1S49, and removed to Davenport, Iowa, in 185 1. There he re- 
mained fourteen years, and entered the banking business in which 
he later became so successful. In 1S65 he came to New York 
and founded the house of Austin Corbin &: Co. Soon after, he 
became interested in railroad matters, and, securing control of 
the various struggling lines on Long Island, he consolidated them 
and made them immensely profitable. He built the first railroad 
from Brooklyn to Coney Island and erected the first of the large hotels there. 
During a critical time in the history of the Philadelphia tSc Reading road Mr. Cor- 
bin managed its affairs with consummate ability. At the time of his death he was 
engaged in forwarding plans for a free port of entry on Long Island. He was 
also engaged in many other financial and philanthropic schemes of magnitude. 
Mr. Corbin loved New Hampshire hills, and upon and among them, in several 
towns of Sullivan county, he created the most extensive private park in America, 
stocked with elk, buffalo, and other rare animals. In the article upon Newport, in 
the Granite Monthly for January, 1896, there is an extended account of the 
Corbin family of which Mr. Corbin was the most distinguished member. 


Deputy Marshal William F. Hanscom of the Lynn, Mass., police force, died in 
that city. May 29. He was a native of Strafford, born March 6, 1842, and en- 
listed in the Eighteenth N. H. Volunteers in 1864. Since 1S78 he had been on 
the Lynn police force, and had successfully worked on many important cases. 


C. P. Frost, M. D., LL. D., dean of Dartmouth Medical college, died May 24. 
He was born at Sullivan, in 1830, graduated from Dartmouth in the class of '52, 
and from the medical college in '57. He practised in St. Johnsbury, Vt., until 
1862. He was in the service of the United States government from 1862 to 1865. 
After the close of the war, he practised medicine in Brattleboro, Vt., until he 
began his work in Hanover. He received the degree of A. M. from Dartmouth in 
1855, and LL. D. in 1892. The alumni chose him trustee of Dartmouth college 
in i8gi, he being one of the first elected to that position, after the new plan of 
alumni representation went into effect. 



Daniel Denison Slade, M. D., son of Jacob Tilton Slade of Portsmouth, was 
born May lo, 1823, and died, near Boston, February 11. His ancestors lived in 
Portsmouth and Newmarket. He graduated in the class of 1844, Harvard col- 
lege, took his degree of M. D. at Harvard Medical school in 1848, studied in 
Europe, at Dublin and Paris, and practised in Boston. In 1870 was appointed 
professor of applied zoology at Bussey Institution of Harvard college. In 1885 
was made lecturer on osteology at Agassiz museum, Cambridge. He wrote many 
scientific articles, and was a frequent contributor to agricultural, medical, horticul- 
tural, and historical publications. His last book was the " Evolution of Horticul- 
ture in New England." 


A. G. Fairbanks was born in Francestown, and died at Manchester, May 28, at 
the age of 74 years. Mr. Fairbanks came to Manchester in 1843. ^"^d was for 
fourteen years employed on the Amoskeag corporation. Later, he was in the 
butcher business, and for nine years, from 1864, was county jailer. He after- 
wards went into the undertaking business with F. L. Wallace, forming one of the 
largest firms of that kind in the state. He was representative to the legislature 
in i88i-'82, and from 18S3 to 1889 was county commissioner. In i892-'93 he 
was a member of the state senate. 


Rev. William H. Eaton, D. D., died at Nashua, June 10. He was 78 vears old. 
and a native of Goffstown. Dr. Eaton was one of the best known men in the 
Baptist denomination in New England. He was a pastor at Salem, Mass., for 
five years, at Keene for eighteen years, and at Nashua, fourteen years. He had 
been retired from the ministry for several years, but during his years of activity 
he did valuable work for the institutions of his denomination and especially for 
Colby academy and Newton Theological seminary. 


Alfred Rowe died in Springfield, Mass., May 24. He had been prominently 
connected with the financial institutions of that city since 1850, having served as 
president of the Second National bank and of the Springfield Assurance Com- 
pany. He was born October 8, 18 15, in Bridgewater. 


A. C. Grenier, a well-known French business man. died at Manchester, June 12. 
aged 42. He was a native of La Baie, Canada, and the first French Canadian 
elected a member of the city government. 


Rev. Addison Browne died at Roxbury, Mass., June 13. He was born in 
Brentwood, 72 years ago, and was ordained to the Baptist ministry in 1850. From 
1864, to the close of the war, he was connected with the Christian commission in 
New Orleans. About eighteen years ago he retired from the ministry, and since 
that time had been collector for various philanthropic societies. 



Rev. Charles Edward Milliken died suddenly at Swanzey, June 15, of heart dis- 
ease. He was a graduate of Dartmouth in the class of 1859, was for nineteen 
years pastor of the Congregational church at Littleton, and later, preached at 
Penacook and Swanzey. 


Arthur B. Underhill was born in Chester, October 23, 1832, and died at Spring- 
field, Mass., May 24. From 1880 to 1893 he was superintendent of motive 
power on the Boston & Albany, during which time he built eighty-five loco- 
motives and devised many improvements. 


Dr. J. L. Robinson, one of the best known physicians in the state, died at Man- 
chester June 13. He was born in Pembroke, in 1835. ^^ practised at Wren- 
ham, Mass., for twenty years. He was a surgeon of the Eighth Massachusetts 
regiment during the Civil War and continued in that office till [875. He settled 
in Manchester in 1S79. 


Horatio Houghton, for more than fifty years a resident of West Boylston, Mass., 
and for three years clerk of the town, died suddenly, June 14. He was born in 
Fitzwilliam, September iS, 1S21, and had done considerable literary work, includ- 
ing newspaper correspondence and histories of West Boylston. 


John B. Griffiths was born in Durham, June 12, 1814, always lived there, and 
died there, June 10. For more than thirty years he was a director of the New- 
market National bank. 


Jonathan Wentworth, aged 79, died at Rochester, June 13. He was born in 
Rochester, and had held local offices, including those of tax collector and deputy 
sheriff, for many years. He was trustee for many estates, leaving a large prop- 


Dr. Abel Conant Burnham, probably the oldest practising physician in the 
state, died at Hillsborough Bridge, May 21, aged 84 years and 19 days. He was 
a native of Amherst, and graduated from the Dartmouth Medical college in 1839, 
Since iS4r he had practised in Hillsborough, where he had held many local 


Enoch W. Plummer died June 18. He was born in Milton, April 4, 1S15, and 
had maintained a continuous residence there. He was identified with the volun- 
teer militia, and held the commission of colonel for several years. He filled 
many town offices, representing the town in the New Hampshire legislature. For 
over forty years he was a deacon of the Congregational church, and at the date 
of his death the oldest church member. 


.^.isa.»» #J 















The Grainite Monthly. 

Vol. XXI. 

AUGUST, 1896. 

No. 2, 


Bv M. JI\ Babcock. 

JOURNEY to Italy, it 
is said, "is a journey 
through all periods of 
histor}^" To the impa- 
tient travellers who sailed 
on the Fidda last March it seemed 
also a journe}' through interminable 
seas. Passing the Azores broke the 
monotony of the voyage, and, on the 
first day of April, we were allowed to 
land at Gibraltar, where we spent 
two hours driving up the steep 
streets, stopping at the public gar- 
dens and getting a glimpse of Spain. 
Twenty-four hours later we en- 
tered the beautiful harbor of Algiers. 
Dark-skinned Arabs rowed us to the 
quay, and, engaging a carriage, we 
were soon ascending the terraced 
hills between the perfect blue of sea 
and sky. Innumerable were the cos- 
tumes which met our astonished 
gaze : White, baggy trousers, and 
tight red ones, high boots and bare 
feet, queer hats, turbans, and the 
red fez. In the Arab quarter the 
women were covered with white 
veils, and the men seemed to have 
no occupation save to squat in sol- 
emn silence in the sun. Strange 

beyond expression were the shops 
and mosques, the schools and 

We passed man}- handsome villas. 
The exquisite green of perfect spring 
covered the slopes ; flowering vines, 
palms, and tree ferns delighted our 
e3'es. Finally, putting brakes on 
the wheels, we drove rapidly down 
to the sea and returned to the 
steamer. A night and a day on 
the ^Mediterranean and our goal was 

On Thursday morning we dropped 
anchor in the Bay of Naples. It was 
misty, Vesuvius wore a veil, and the 
time seemed long before we were 
allowed to take final leave of the 
Fidda, to be carried by a tender to 
the custom house, a long, low build- 
ing on the water's edge. 

Here, indeed, we realized that we 
are in a strange land. The cries 
and curses of the ' ' facchinos, ' ' who 
bring the trunks on their shoulders, 
the howls of steerage passengers, 
who, having attempted to smuggle 
shoes, are deprived of them, the 
mysterious chatter everywhere, dis- 
may the two of our party who re- 




Vesuvius and Bay of Naples. 

main to watch the trunks, while two 
others go in search of rooms. 

Time drags ; we hang anxiously 
over the railing, unable to find our 
own possessions among the piles of 
baggage. At last they appear. The 
officer opens a shawl-strap, sniffs sus- 
piciously at a bottle of tooth-powder 
and a small flask of brandy, asks, 
sarcastically smiling, if we have 
^' cigar res,'" makes cabalistic chalk 
marks on all, and we are free. 

At the same instant one of our em- 
issaries returns — "Oh, we have de- 
lightful rooms, with the sun pouring 
in!" We emerge into the bright 
sunlight and charming color of 
Naples. In a carriage sits the 
fourth of our party, holding an im- 
mense bunch of yellow primroses. 

Flower sellers surround us, with 
violets, fleur de lis, and anemones, 
as we set out in triumph for our 

It is impossible to describe the 
sensations attending the first drive 
in a foreign land after a sea voyage. 
The joy of the solid earth, the free- 
dom of motion, the strange sights 
and sounds, fill us with delight. We 

stop at the Hassler House. 
The concierge steps out to 
inform us that the}' have 
no rooms ! How we glory 
in our prudence in send- 
ing early to engage them, 
and how cordially we are 
received after a parley with 
the guide who insisted up- 
on accompanj'ing us, and 
who suddenly changes 
from a smiling friend to a 
grasping foe. We climb 
up two, three, four, five 
long flights of stairs, and, 
breathless, are ushered into 
rooms overlooking the bay, with a 
glimpse of Vesuvius, high ceilings, 
two comfortable beds, a monumental 
stove, — this is the t3'pe of all hotel 
rooms in Ital}'. 

Later, we go out to visit our bank- 
ers. How vivid are the impressions 
of that first walk in Naples : The 
tin}' donkeys, with panniers so over- 
flowing with greens that they seem 
like walking bouquets, cows and goats 
led about to give fresh milk, drays of 
oranges, each decorated according to 
the taste of the owner, lemonade sel- 
lers, with brown and red jars of 
water, and lemons with their fresh 
green leaves, the vendors of flowers 
and wax tapers, the frying of cakes 
and fish, the home life of the streets, 
the pink and j'ellow tenements with 
garments hung to dry from their win- 
dows. Howells saj's, " It is perpetuall}- 
washing day in Italy, and the ob- 
server, seeing so much linen washing 
and so little clean, is ever}' where in- 
vited to the solution of one of the 
strangest problems of the I^atin civi- 

The churches of Naples are disap- 
pointing. The principal decorations 



are veiled, to be uncovered at Easter, 
and the remainder seem soiled and 

At the door of one church we dis- 
cover a group of women embroider- 
ing an exquisite altar cloth. The 
shop is small, and the table at which 
they sit extends into the street. 
With smiles and cordial gestures 
thej' invite us to enter, and di.splay 
a red satin banner, on which we see, 
worked in heavy gold thread and 
brilliant colors, the Italian flag, the 
Papal arms, the Goddess of Liberty, 
and the Stars and Stripes, sur- 
mounted by the word " New York" 
in unmistakably large letters. Alas, 
they speak neither French nor Eng- 
lish, and we cannot learn its object 
or destination. 

Having studied the marbles, fres- 
coes, and mosaics from Pompeii at 
the museum, we are ready for an 
excursion to that wonderful cit}' 
whose history has thrilled us from 

The train bears us quickly from 
Naples, through market gardens and 
maccaroni factories ; alighting, we 
rush past the disgusting beggars 
who squirm and hobble at 
the station ; but are con- 
strained to stop for a pain- 
full}' modern lunch, eaten 
to strains of Neapolitan 
music at Cook's Restaurant 

At last we enter the Por- 
ta Marina, and are soon 
passing the open doors of 
the homes and shops of 
the busy, thronging people  
whose chariot wheels cut 
the roads, and whose pitch- 
ers marked the well-curbs, 

is clean and still. Eittle green lizards 
darting about are the only inhabitants 
of this town, which yet, in some 
strange waj^ seems instinct with 
life. We feel the crowds of worship- 
ers iu the temples and the assemblies 
at the public baths, and almost see 
the hurrying feet of the multitude 
rushing up the crooked stone steps 
to enter the theatre. We sit long in 
the sunshine, gazing down into the 
grass-grown amphitheatre, and wear}- 
our guide by delays at the temples 
and forum. 

A fine house is just uncovered ; 
the centre an open square with mar- 
ble fountains, statues, and carved 
pillars, and a large, round-topped 
table of pure white marble. The 
frescoes here had their original 
brightness of color. " Vesuvius, 
with his plume of smoke," was ever 
in view, looking peaceful, 3'et awful, 
with power to destro}-. 

Two da^'S we devote to driving 
along a marvellous road cut in solid 
rock, and winding below enormous 
overhanging cliffs, often supported 
b}' walls of solid masonr}- built up 
from the water, alwaj-s between the 

^^m' '^ 

so many centuries ago. 





sea and sky, "two symbols of the 

Occasionally we pass through 
quaint villages with vineyards ter- 
raced high over our heads ; orange 
and lemon trees full of ripe fruit, 
wild flowers everj'where. The drive 
is broken onh- b}* an hour's row 
along the coast to Amalfi. When 
the boat is drawn up on the beach, 
amid the cries of '^Montez, Madame ! " 
the boatmen lift us on to the sand. 
Then, indeed, ^^ Montez" seems the 

St. Pe-er s. 

only thing possible for us. We 
crawl up over hundreds of steps to 
the Hotel de Capuchin, finding a 
chapel, a garden, a grotto, and a 
view, but no room for us. so we 
shorth' continue on our way to 

The next morning we return to 
Naples, take a farewell stroll through 
the streets which we have learned to 
love, and set out for Rome, each 
carrj-ing a bouquet, presented at part- 
ing by our smiling hostess. 

Rome ! how the vision grows as 
we approach the reality, and the 
sayings of great men of all ages 
come back to us. •"Antiquity," 

says Thayer, " is a vast ravine, from 
one side of which to the other re- 
verberates the magic word, Rome." 
So in our poor brains the rattle of 
the train intensifies thought, and 
Rome, "'Holy Rome, venerable 
through the blood of the martyrs," 
"Rome, the high school which is 
open to all the world." — " the cradle 
and grave of empires," excludes all 
other fancies. The long stretches of 
vineyards and buttercup-filled Cam- 
pagna surprise us, till the arches of 
the aqueduct warn us of 
our approach to the cit}* of 
our dreams. 

In spite of this prepara- 
tion, perhaps because of 
it. the Eternal City seems 
strangely modern as we 
drive to our hotel. The 
broad, clean streets, the 
hio^h. brick tenements 
might be a part of one of 
our own western cities. 

Our Xeapolitan bouquets 

prove an open sesame to 

the Eden hotel, where we 

are made most comfortable, 

and are ready the next morning for 

a Roman Good Friday-, though we 

answer "iVc " when asked if we wish 

to ' " dinei- maigrc. ' ' 

We visit first " the most Hoh* 
Lateran church. The Mother and 
Head of all the churches in the 
world." Though we become some- 
what accustomed to the dim, chilh- 
atmosphere, the rows of columns, the 
twinkling lights, the odor of incense, 
the pictures, monuments, relics, and 
masses, we cannot attempt to de- 
scribe any one of the three hundred 
and eighty churches of Rome. A 
few of them bear over their doors 
the inscription " Indulgcnta plenarie 





The Vatican. 

perpctiia pro vires et defiindisr — "per- 
petual plenan,' indulgence daily, for 
the living and the dead I " ' 

On Sunday we are surprised by 
the apparent lack of Easter rejoic- 
ing. There is no display of flowers, 
great baskets of eggs in the provision 
shops mark the only change. We 
cross the bridge of St. Angelo, 
guarded h\ statues of angels and 
apostles, and approach St. Peter's, 
' ' that glorious temple " " which sur- 
passes all powers of description. 
Arriving early, we wander through 
its vast spaces, till the crowd gath- 
ers, which only partially fills the 
enormous building. Mothers lift 
their children to kiss the toe of the 
bronze statue of St. Peter. 
In each confessional sits 
a priest, holding a long, 
slender wand, like a fish- 
ing rod, with which he 
touches in blessing the 
head of each person who 
bows before him. Some 
fling themselves on the 
pavement in an agony of 
worship and devotion: 
others kneel and mutter 
prayers, apparently un- 
conscious of what thev 

over in feverish haste. 
She seems to hope for a 
miracle of healing. Pro- 
cessions of priests in 
candles, pass 
and repass, tinkling 
bells announce the pas- 
sage of the consecrated 
___' wafer to chapels where 
it is administered. Over 
all the organ peals, and 
the chanting voices sound. 

great height above 
of St. Veronica, a door 
the light of candles 
which they earn,- we discern three 
priests walking tip and down a small 
balcony. They display the handker- 
chief of St. Veronica, a bit of the 
true cross, the head of the spear 
which pierced the Saviour's side. It 
is impossible to distinguish one from 
the other. The crowd prostrate 
themselves. To look on these relics 
insures a deliverance from 7,000 
years of penance in purgator}-. 

Since the Pope no longer comes to 
St. Peter's, the ceremonies are less 
impressive than of old. 

Suddenly, at a ^. 
the statue 
opens. By 


A blind girl 
tells her beads over and 

are sa\-ing. 

The Coliseum. 



Wear>' of the noise and confu.'^ion 
near the high ahar we wander to se- 
ckided corners where even the sound 
of the music does not penetrate, and 
where we are quite alone, as if we 
were in another world. 

When we leave St. Peter's it is 
raining. Many hacks are in wait- 
ing, and each is covered by a huge, 
bright-colored umbrella. They seem 
like mushrooms springing up in the 

At the entrance to the Vatican the 
pope's Swiss Guard are always on 
duty. They are fane-looking men, 
wearing red, black, and yellow caps, 
.slashed knee breeches, one leg black 
and the other 3'ellow and red, and 
stockings of the three colors. Many 
flights of gre}' stone steps lead to the 
Sistine chapel. Half way up, against 
the wall, is the equestrian statue of 
Constantine, apparently transfixed by 
the vision of the cross suspended 
above his head. Here we begin to 
fall under the spell of Michael Angelo 
which even more intensely pervades 
Florence, and feel increasing amaze- 
ment at the genius and power of 
Raphael, who, d^'ing at thirty-seven, 
left such a wealth of art to delight 
all future generations. 

One blissful morning we spend in 
contemplation of Guido Reni's " Au- 
rora," so exquisite in color and de- 
sign ; on another we drive far out in 
the Campana and revel in the flowers 
and the sunshine. Strange, headless, 
armless statues line the roadside, cows 
feeding near the arches of the aque- 
duct make a charming picture. We 
pass many flocks of goats and the odd 
wine-carts returning from an early 
trip to the cit}' in each of w^iich the 
driver is curled up, soundly sleeping. 

In all the world there is nothing 

like the Pantheon. The Forum is a 
ruin. The Coliseum, "arches on 
arches," colo.ssal, awe-inspiring, still 
is a ruin, and 

" The sand beneath our feet is saturate 
With blood of martyrs; and these rifted stones 
Are awful witnesses against a people 
Whose pleasure was the pain of dying men." 

— Longfelhnv. 

The Pantheon stands complete as 
when erected by Agrippa, 27 years 
before Christ, though many of its 
decorations have been removed ; its 
inlaid floor and domed roof with cir- 
cular opening to the sky are grandly 
perfect. Here Raphael is buried, and 
here, too, is the tomb of Victor Em- 
manuel, the "Honest King," who 
heard the ' ' cry of anguish ' ' iygrido di 
dolor c) from Italy, long oppressed by 
Bourbons and Austrians, and devoted 
his life to liberating his country. 
That he is the idol of his people no 
one can doubt who sees in ever}' city 
a ' ' Corso Victor Emmanuel ' ' and an 
equestrian statue of the "First King 
of Italy." The tomb is gttarded hy two 
of his veterans. Italy, no longer a 
mere "geographical expression," is 
a united country under a constitu- 
tional king. 

The Sala Rotonda in the Vatican 
is modelled after the Pantheon, and 
in all that maze of art and grandeur 
seems most sublimely perfect. The 
antique mosaic floor, the immense 
basin of porphyry from the baths of 
Diocletian, the exquisite statues and 
busts absorb and thrill us. 

Another room, overwhelming in 
the variety and charm of its marbles, 
is the Hall of the Dying Gladiator 
in the Capitoline Ivluseum. The old 
River God ^larforio in the vestibule 
of this building inspires us with real 
affection, and we return to gaze on 



his mild and kingly countenance. 
He it is who was the friend and gos- 
sip of Pasquin at the Plazzo Braschi, 
and liveh- dialogues, merciless as to 
the follies of the government, used 
to appear each morning placarded on 
their respective pedestals. To put 
an end to inconvenient criticism the 
government ordered the removal of 

future da}'. Our party is to separate, 
and all one evening, having indulged 
in the luxury of a lampe a petrole, 
we sit around our table settling our 
accounts. The result reached is an- 
nounced thus, "As nearly as I can 
make out 3'ou owe us nine francs, 
and we owe you twelve, therefore we 
must pay you three." 

The Pantneoa. 

one of them, "and since ^larforio 
has been shut ujd, Pasquin has lost 
his spirits." 

" I feel myself exalted — 
To walk the streets in whicla a Virgil walked, 
Or Trajan rode in triumph." — Longfelloic. 

The time draws near when we must 
leave Rome. We stop at the glorious 
fountain of Trevi, drink of the water, 
and throw a penny in the basin ; this 
it is said ensures our return at some 

After we are established in Flor- 
ence we drive about to survey the 
city. Oitr hackman proves an ac- 
complished guide, pointing out and 
describing many of the statues and 
buildings, and finally, passing through 
the Porta Romana, proposes to show 
us a bella panorama. Handsome villas 
surrounded b}- blossoming shrubs and 
trees line the constantly ascending 
road, until we reach San Miuiato, 


whence all the magnificence of Flor- 
ence, "The brightest star of star- 
bright Italy," is revealed to ns : The 
marvellous dome of Brunelleschi, 
Ghiberti's gates of bronze, Giotto's 
tower, the yellow Arno, the distant 
heights of Fiesole, the clear, bright 
atmosphere glorifying all. It is a 
perfect preparation for a study of the 

The flower market is one of the 
most charming institutions of Flor- 
ence, where under the grey stone 
arches of a large arcade are displayed 
masses of flowering plants, shrubs, 
and cut flowers, arranged with true 
Italian taste and skill : Azaleas large 
as trees bearing thousands of brilliant 
blossoms, roses unlike any we have 
ever seen, clusters of the j^ellow Benci 
rose, a luxuriant climber, bushels of 
tulips, forget-me-nots, lily of the val- 
ley, and narcissus. We are told that 
gardeners in this city of flowers pay 
for their positions, and are allowed to 
sell flowers for their own profit. In 
the city the streets are narrow and 
the houses seem gloomy and shabby, 
but when the door of the court is 
opened one sees within gardens which 
are entrancing. 

The Strozzi palace, a huge pile of 
rough hewn stone, is opposite our 
hotel. It is surrounded b}- a broad 
stone bench, which affords a resting- 
place for vendors of melon seeds, 
sweetmeats, toys, handkerchiefs, fried 
cakes, and all manner of queer mer- 
chandise. Here, too, the laborers 
who are laying a pavement near b}^ 
take their noonda}^ rest, sleeping mo- 
tionless in the sun after a lunch of 
the dryest of dry bread. The}' begin 
work at six in the morning and toil 
until seven at night, and the "re- 
ward," we are told, "is three francs." 

The carriages are driven violently 
through the streets, with an inces- 
sant cracking of whips, sounding like 
a perpetual Fourth of July. The 
drivers shout to warn pedestrians, 
and should one bareh* escape being 
thrown down, he slinks meekly away, 
while the aggrieved coachman shakes 
his fivSt and shrieks in a violent rage. 

When we first visit the Pitti pal- 
ace, we go b}' mistake to a private 
entrance where we receive b. pcniiissio 
to see the roj^al apartments. We are 
led through vast suites of rooms, with 
cold marble floors, stifl, solemn-look- 
ing chairs, magnificent tables and 
cabinets, inlaid with mosaic, ivory, 
and choice pictures, canopied beds, 
most uninviting, and enormous chan- 
deliers filled with candles. We are 
allowed also to visit the royal stables, 
where we gravel}^ inspect long rows 
of short- tailed bays, heavy gilt and 
decorated coaches, and fantastic har- 
ness with plumed head-pieces, all of 
which were ready for use at the wed- 
ding of the Prince of Naples. 

In the galleries of the Pitti and 
Uffizi palaces the succession of pict- 
ure filled rooms seems endless. Hare 
calmh' states that a walk of several 
miles may be taken within these 
walls ! The Tribune, a crimson oc- 
tagonal hall, lighted by a cupola 
inlaid with mother of pearl, contains 
many gems of sculpture and art. 
Raphael's "Madonna of the Gold- 
finch," in which the countenance of 
the child Jesus expresses a more than 
human love and tenderness, con- 
stantly attracts us. This room is one 
which impresses itself indelibl}' upon 
the memory as in every particular 
most perfect. 

At the convent of San Marco we 
begin to know and appreciate Fra 



Angelico. After a long study of the 
cloisters and the large " Crucifixion " 
in the chapter house we wander from 
cell to cell receiving such revelations 
of the love, patience, and compassion 
of Christ that we feel awed, as in a 
most hoi}' place. 

Da5^ after daj' we visit palaces, 
churches, and convents. At Santa 
Maria Novella we look with some 

bought or caught a cricket that day. 
We could not ascertain the origin of 
the custom, peculiar to Florence, but 
every one endeavored to keep the 
cricket alive b}- care and feeding. 
We understood that the possessor 
would live as many years as the 
grello survived days in captivity. 
The shops were closed, and family 
parties drove to dine in the Cacine, 

A Side Street in Venice. 

anxiety at the frescoes of Giotto, of 
which Ruskin says, "If 3'ou can be 
pleased with this, j^ou can see Flor- 
ence ; but if not, by all means amuse 
yourself, if 3'ou can be amused, as long 
as you like ; 5'ou can never see it I " 

Ascension day is celel)rated with 
great pomp in Florence. Early in 
the morning we hear strange cries in 
the streets, and see men carrying 
about branches hung with tin}- cages, 
each of which contains a cricket or 
grello. Every person in the city 

a fine park full of trees and vines, 
where children are allowed to play 
in the grass and gather wild flowers. 
The railroad between Florence and 
Venice goes over the ridge of the 
Apennines and through forty tun- 
nels. Then it descends rapidl}- and 
passes fields of grain and waving 
grass red with millions of poppies. 
The grape vines, which festoon all 
Italy, here stretch from tree to tree 
and produce the effect of a rural 



Venice: Interior of St- Marks. 

Our own gondolier, Edoardo, a pa- 
tient and amiable man, awaits us, and 
we behold with rapture that ' ' City of 
Silence, floating in the sea. There vShe 

has stood for 1,400 years, as delicate 
as a nautilus, yet firm as marble, and 
stauncher than the staunchest ship." 
It is "the gate to artists' fairy land," band plays, and we sit with hundreds 

". . . Undaunted she fell. 
Bravely she fought for her banner 

and well. 
lUit bread lacks, the cholera deadly 

From the lagoon bridge the white 
banner blows." 

— Anialdo Fiisinati. 

Then it is good to look at 
the figures at the base of 
the monument to Victor Em- 
manuel ; Italy, drooping, 
chained, 3'et struggling to herself, while the 
-'•i lion at her feet gnaws his 
bonds. On the opposite 
side she stretches out her 
arms, exultant, free, and the lion, 
with uplifted head, his fetters bro- 
ken, guards her liberty. 

There is a fete day w^hile we are 
in Venice. Flags and banners float 
from buildings and ships. At night 
St. Mark's square is illuminated, a 

and when we glide through the ca- 
nals or sit at our window in the 
moonlight, hearing only the waves 
lapping against the stones, the cries 
of the gondoliers, and the songs of 
serenading parties, it is hard to real- 
ize that Venice has ever 
had any other life than 
this. Yet when we stand 
before the statue of Manin, 
the " Great Defender, ' ' we 
remember the siege of 146 
days, when after eighteen 
months of independence 
that old ruffian Radirsky 
with his Austrians bom- 
barded the cit}', and the 
brave Venetians expended 
60,000,000 francs in her 
defence, and endured un- 
til overwhelmed by chol- 
era and starvation. 

of people on the pavement at Florian's, 
eating an ice and watching the crowds 
filling the great square. 

The bones of St. Mark, to whom 
the cathedral is consecrated, were 
stolen by Venetians from Alexandria 

Statue of Cav 



in the year S29. They covered the 
baskets in which the remains were 
carried with pork, to escape interfer- 
ence b\- the Jews. This theft and 
falsehood is emblazoned in brilliant 
mosaic in one of the arches of the 
cathedral. The turbaned Jews turn 
from the unclean meat with gestures 
of loathing ; the Venetians wear an 
ill-concealed look of triumph. 

Days pass as in a dream, and all 
too soon we are on our way to Milan. 
Here we behold the crowning glory 
of our trip — Milan cathedral by moon- 
light ! A dazzling vision of turrets, 
statues, and delicate carving traced 
against the sky. Morning onh- in- 
creases our admiration of the statel}' 
edifice, and when we enter the door 
and pass up between the great stone 
pillars supporting the Gothic roof, we 
are overwhelmed b}^ a feeling of in- 
significance of our own personality, 
yet exalted by our realization of the 
power and genius which designed and 
constructed such marvellous beauty. 

" So nigh is grandeur to our dust, 
So near is God to man ! " 

The square in front of our hotel 
is adorned by a statue of that great 
statesman and patriot, Cavour. He 

appears clad in a frock coat, stretch- 
ing out his hands apparenth* in ex- 
postulation with the slightly draped 
3-oung woman who sits at the base 
of the pedestal inscribing his name 
thereon with the pen of Fame. Evi- 
dently there is no longer a Michael 
Angelo in Itah'. 

We hasten on to Genoa, where our 
sta3' is so brief and hurried that we 
remember only steep and narrow lanes, 
hot stores, ticket and express offices, 
and do not realize that it is Genoa 
La Siiperba. 

Rain is pouring when on the gang- 
plank of the Wa-ra we have our last 
struggle with a foreign tongue. The 
porter carrying our bags, drops them 
and demands his fee. "Where are 
they? What have you done with 
them ? Where did you put those 
bags ? ' ' we ask with increasing ex- 
citement. Then we remember that 
we are not j^et at home, and ''Done 
il bagagliof' relieves his anxiety and 
our own. 

And .so farewell to that 

" Paradise of land and sea, 
Forever stirred bj- great hopes and bj' volcanic 

Called Italy." — Aleardo Alcardi. 

By John H. Bartlctt. 

I ask myself when oft I 'm dreaming 
In meditation's calm, sweet hour. 
What songs are these ? what angel voices, 
As bird notes come from distant bower ? 

But no reply. The soul's in silence, — 
Soft strains to heaven's height now rise, — 
At peace with man, with God and nature. 
It hears the notes of paradise. 


By Francis Dana. 

awn Eggleswortli 
awoke in a fright, and 
heard the voice of her at the foot of the 

"Madam! Madam! Forgive me 
for disturbing j-our early shimbers, 
but, madam ! " 

' ' Oh ! Is anything wrong ? ' ' 

" Evciything 's ahvays wrong, mad- 
am. Have you a basket on the prem- 


' ' A lajge basket — a bus]icI-h2iS^^\. ? " 

' ' Yes — in the wood-shed ! ' ' 

' ' Many thanks ; and again, madam, 
forgive me ! 

' ' PheHm ! You lotos-eyed bird of 
sloth ! Up with you ! Take the bas- 
ket 5'ou wall find in the shed — the 
^«.y/z^/-ba.sket, mind — go to the vil- 
lage and the neighboring farms — buy 
provisions, and bring that basket 
home, A//.' You understand me? " 

" Oi do, sorr," said Phelim, con- 
scientiously touching his red flannel 
nightcap in the darkness and soli- 
tude of his apartment. 

The invalid, whose affliction, how- 
ever grievous, did not seem to have 
condemned him to inactivit}', then 
left the house and set out at a great 
pace, swinging his stick, and hum- 
ming merry songs to himself, for a 
walk in the freshness of a delightful 

He entered the village and found 
the street deserted (for Caraway 

folk rise late on a Sunday), except 
b}' an old and reverend nag who was 
at pasture there, assisting traffic to 
destroy the not inconsiderable ver- 
dure of the road, and who raised his 
head to look with one mildl5^-accus- 
ing e3'e at the disturber of the peace. 

The street was arched with noble 
elms, and on either side stood cot- 
tages, wdiite and pleasant to see 
among their vines, and each in its 
own ample enclosure, each wdth its 
trees and shrubs about it. 

He left the village, pas.sed a few 
out-lying farms, and turned up a 
steep slope under the whi.spering 
pines, through tangles of brush, and 
knee-deep in brake and fern — slip- 
ping on the moss}^ stones, clambering 
over the fallen timber, and .stopping 
now and then to laugh gaily back at 
some squirrel that scolded from a 
safe branch, or to whistle with the 
birds that were greeting light with 
song overhead. 

He reached the height, climbed 
the of gra}' rock above the 
woods, and, turning, saw the fair 
valley from which he had come, and 
the river that w^atered its fields glow- 
ing at the touch of sunrise like a 
stream of liquid flame gleaming 
under its dark alders and storming 
in ros}' foam with echoing melod}' 
among its granite boulders. 

The sky brightened, the village 
la}- basking in warm light, and 
before the invalid reached his lodg- 



ing he discovered that the day was 
uncomfortably hot and the road 

His long walk had bestowed on 
him a severe thirst. 

Taking a short cut to reach Miss 
Egglesworth's, he found in the pas- 
ture behind her empty barn a cool 
grove, and in the grove a spring 
whose basin had been deepened and 
walled inside with stones, forming a 
narrow shaft full of cold, dark water. 

He scooped some up in his hol- 
lowed hands and drank. 

After a few swallows he stopped — 
tasted, tasted again — then, jumped 
up, and ran to the house. 

He found Miss Egglesworth wait- 
ing for him at the table for which 
Phelim, according to his instructions, 
had abundantly provided. 

"Madam," said the invalid, as he 
poured a handkerchief-full of wild 
flowers on the table b}' his hostess, 
" are you aware that you have on 
your premises — in all probability — 
an inestimable treasure ? Xot my- 
self, madam, not myself," he, mod- 
estly, continued. "I allude to the 
well in the grove on the knoll behind 
the barn. Unless I am greatly mis- 
taken — a rare occurrence — it con- 
tains mineral properties of the high- 
est order ! ' ' 

"Land!" cried the lady, aston- 

"On the contrary, madam, 'water \ 
I can hardly be mistaken, I think. 
I have been obliged to take min- 
eral-waters before, and have greatly 
benefited by them. This really has 
just the flavor of the sulphur spring 
at Hackmatack. It's worth analyz- 

"You don't say! Mabbe so. I 
never took no notice of nothin' queer 

about it. Puit then, I ain't drank 
out o' that spring year ago come 

"We hev' a well handy to th' 
hoUvSe, but hot years it runs dry, an' 
then we hev' t' take t' th' one in the 

"Phelim! Or — no, you butter-fin- 
gers — you'd spill it ! " 

The invalid seized a pitcher and 
was gone. In a few moments he 
brought it back full of the precious 
element. "Taste that, madam, if 
3'ou please ! Here, Phelim — where 
are you ? Come here ! ' ' 

Phelim appeared at the kitchen- 

"Drink that. There, does that 
remind you of anything, or have 
you lost 5'our memor}' ? ' ' 

" Docs it remoind me, is it ? Sure, 
sorr, it 's the very twin av the taste 
av them onpalatable springs phwere 
3'ou an' me wint that summer for our 
hilth! Bagle! " 

' ' Madam ! ' ' 

Miss Egglesworth had sipped it 
gingerly. " Mmm — 'pears t' me like 
all ain't jest right with th' water." 

Now the invalid was a man who 
rushed headlong with open arms 
upon a theory, and, having grasped 
it, loved it too well to let go, or to 
allow the cold wind of doubt to blow 
upon it in his presence. 

"Madam, if you had had ni}' ex- 
perience in these matters I think you 
would agree with me. I am sure 
you would." 

" Wal, I ain't never tasted no sul- 
phur-water, an' if this is some I 
can't say as I much wanter. ' Tis 
jest a little like th' smell of a new-lit 
match," she concluded. 

"You will see that I am right," 
said the invalid testih'. 



" I am much interested in this dis- 
cover\-, and, if you will permit me, 
.shall send some of the water to a 
c h e m i s t — a Jhst- ra fc chemist — and 
have it analyzed. Meanwhile, mad- 
am, if in the interests of science you 
can bring j^ourself to endure my pres- 
ence and that of that disreputable 
vagabond of mine, Phelim, for a few 
days longer, I beg to be permitted to 
wait here for the result." 

Before the answer came from the 
first-rate chemist the few days had 
lengthened into three weeks. When 
it arrived it conveyed little intelli- 
gence to the unenlightened mind, for 
the chemist, like many another wise 
man whose opinion is eagerly sought 
and heard w'ith reverence, had re- 
solved the subject into its primary 
parts, and had rendered each part 
technically expressed, as much of a 
puzzle as the whole had been before. 
The invalid, however, exhibited it in 
triumph as confirmation of his theory. 

Meanwhile he had forgotten Cara- 
way, Vermont, and become the pride 
and wonder of Carawa}', New Hamp- 

Y>\ day he fished the brooks for 
trout (with less success than enjoy- 
ment, for his tendency to sing, whis- 
tle, and hold converse with the echoes 
of the w^oods and hills w^as too much 
for the nerves of those tender water- 
fowl), explored the country, worked 
in the hay-fields with the farmers — 
revelled in his freedom. 

In the evening he returned wnth a 
vast stock of unspent energy, insti- 
tuted games among the village chil- 
dren, presented prizes to the victors ; 
later, chatted, smoked, and told sto- 
ries in the store, or plaj-ed " Pedro" 
and "Old vSledge " with the fathers 
of the hamlet. 

In the misty summer moonlight his 
banjo might be heard upon the river 
below the rapids (for Caraway had a 
boat of its own), the .strains inter- 
rupted by such remarks as, "Phe- 
lim I Get ashore and run for my 
cigars. Hurry up, you dormant 
owl ! ' ' 

\\'ith his own hands he defeated 
the local bully (for calling him a 
"fat zebry, with th' stripes long- 
wise ! " ) ; he conducted in penson 
his defence for this misdemeanor, 
and was fined b}' the local magis- 
trate. He gave a party to which all 
were bidden, and there danced with 
the fairest daughters of Carawa)- ; 
and in short kept the people in a 
constant state of suspense (terrible 
at first, but pleasant as they knew 
him better) as to what might be 
going to happen next. 

When autumn came, he declared 
that he really began to feel almost 
well again ; that he was regaining 
his appetite ; that he wished he 
might sta}' and complete his cure. 

"But I shall come back, madam," 
said he; "I shall come and bring 
mj' friends with me." 



Fifteen years after, a dusty tramp 
came plodding into Caraway. He 
looked with evident surprise at the 
new growth of the village — at the 
pretty cottages along the river, at 
the town hall, the stores, and the 
places of public entertainment. 

"Kin this here be Caraway?" he 
asked himself. ^ 

Then with recognition he beheld 
the village pump and Jonathan Win- 
ters who sat ruminant as in 3'ears 
gone by, idle before his store, — not 



now as formerly for lack of business, 
])ut because he had clerks to attend 
to it, and could afford his leisure. 

"Who's that place up thar, mis- 
ter?" the tramp asked, huskily, 
pointing to a large, pleasant house 
in well-kept grounds, where men and 
maidens in summer garb might be 
seen playing at tennis or discoursing 
amiably in the shade, watched from 
the broad verandas by matrons with 
lorgnettes, where hammocks were 
slung beneath the trees, and fans 
were waving, and the laughter of 
children was heard among the shrubs. 

" Thet ? " said Jonathan Winters. 
" Why, thet 's th' M'lanctum House." 

" Melancthon House I " 


" Who owns it?" 

" Old Miss Elviry Egglesworth — a 
mighty old\a.Ay, but spry." 

" How 'd it come t' be so called I " 

" Elviry?" 

"Naw, th' house." 

" Wal, ye see 'twas kinder queer 
how 't all come about. 'T ain't be'n 
called that niore'n sence last season. 

" Some fifteen year ago they come a 
city feller an' his hired man, an' got 
off here b}' mistake an' had t' s\.zx 
over Sabbath up to Elviry's. 

"The cit}" feller he happened t' 
go out in the mornin' an' drank 
out'n a spring back of Elviry's barn, 
an', seein' it didn't taste jest right, 
he thought it was medicine-water, 
like they hev' up to Saratogj' an' 
them places. 

" He sent some on it to his doctor 
and had it paralyzed, an', they do 
sa3% the doctor sent word back as 
how 'twas full o' no end o' fine 

" Wal, the city feller he was ailin' 
(so he said, though he must a lied 

powerful self-control, fer he didn't 
neither look it ner act it), an' he 
held forth as how th' spring done 
him a sight o' good. Though by 
that time the taste seemed ter kinder 
biled out er th' water some wa5^ 

"Wal, sir, he come back an' 
brought other city folks, an' they 
come back an' brought more, an' 
season by season Elviry's house kep' 
a growin', an' she added on here a 
L, an' there a weng, an' put piazzies 
an' verandies onto it, an' bow-win- 
dies an' all tell it got t' be what ye 
kin see it. An' Elviry, she's a gittin' 
real wealth5\ 

"Up t' last season she called her 
place th' Spring House — not that 
folks cared much for th' spring after 
the first. 

"But last August th' city feller's 
hired man he let on fer th' furst time 
as how when he see th' city feller a 
drinkin' thet water' an' more par- 
tickler when made t' drink it hisself, 
he had his misgivin's, an' he went 
down an' cleaned out thet spring, an' 
ther was a bag o' ground-sweeten- 
in', or rock-phosphate, as some calls 
it, thet some one 'd thro wed in not 
long before. 

" W^al, he did n't say nothin' at th" 
time, an' th' city feller he 'counted 
to hisself fer not bein' able to git no 
more bad taste out'n th' water in 
some scientific fashion. 

" But last summer, when th' hired 
man told what he 'd found there s' 
long ago. Miss Elviry she up an' 
rec'lected as how her boy, M'lanctum 
Downs, hed left, jest a little fore the 
city boarder come, an' how 'bout 
thet time she'd lost th' one baa: o' 
sweetenin' she 'd hed fer her gardin. 

"Lanky must a threw it in there 
jest fer meanness, ter spoil it, or th' 



water, or both. Wal, sir, Ijy trying 
fer to do a mean turn, he made this 
here town, an' done all on us, an' 
Elviry more'n any, a heap o' good." 

" He did so, sure enough," said 
the tramp. 

" Yas — Wal, Miss Elviry, she says 
as how 't war n't t' be called the 
Spring House no more, bein' as the 
spring was no more 'count than any 
other, an' she told tli' summer board- 
ers slic couldn't think o' no name 
an' they c'd call it. 

" So they up and called it the 
M'lanctum, after Lank Downs." 

" But whur do th' boy come in on 
all this here," the tramp inquired, 
"ain't he agoin' t' be rewarded? 
He done it all. Eft hadn't a b'en 
fer him, th' city chap wouldn't a 
stayed on, yer know, an' there 
wouldn't nobody a come ter Cara- 
way. See?" 

" He ain't never be'n back here — 
young Downs ain't," said Winters. 

The tramp took off his ancient hat 
and looked the old man in the face. 

"Jonathan Winters — here I be. 
Do n't you remember Eanky Downs ? " 

" Wal, I swan ! " said Jonathan. 

"An' now, fur old-time's sake, an' 
seein' I done yer all so much good up 
here, lied n't yer better take me inter 
the store an' fill me up an' give me a' 
outfit ? " 

" Be you M'lanctum Downs ? " 

"Tha's who I be. 

The old man shook his head, his 
eyes twinkled. 

" I don't b'lieve ye, Eanky," said 
he. " Ye see it's this way. Ef you 
aiiit 'Eanktum Downs in course ye 
ain't a tellin' of the truth when 3-e 
say ye he. Ain't thet so? Wal, on 
the other hand, 'f you be Eanktum 
Downs, I can't seem ter b'lieve noth- 
in' you say anyhow — 'cause you 
ain't noway ter be depended upon — 
not even fer th' fact that it's you. So 
you better get erlong ! " 


By C. Jeimic Suaine. 

What wealth of bloom, what flash of wings, 
Each rare and radiant morning brings ! 
How full of rest the drowsy thrall 
When noon-ra5'S on the dial fall ! 
What beauty 'round the sunset wreathes 
When her last breath the daylight breathes 
Oh, like a miracle of dreams 
A day in sweet midsummer seems ! 

After the day-queen seeks repose 
What tender shadows 'round us close ! 
The stars are asters, pale and sweet, 
Turned down to dimness by the heat. 
Eater the moon is set afloat. 
With clouds to sail her silver boat. 
Oh, like a miracle of dreams 
A night in sweet midsummer seems ! 

_.- P{ 1*1 II 


Dublin Village, looking East. 


[Illustrated from photographs by Henry D. Allison.] 
By H. //. Piper. 

IHATKVER may be said 
of the course of Dub- 
lin's history, there can 
be little question that 
in natural scenery, in 
southwestern New Hampshire, at 
least, this little hill town is unsur- 
passed. One of the most noticeable 
features of Dublin is its elevation 
above the sea, \i\ which reference is 
had not mereh' to its hilltops and 
mountain ridges, but to its village 
rather, with the neighboring lake 
and the summer cottages which sur- 
round it. The careful meas- 
urements of the United States survey 
made by Raphael Pumpelly within 
ten 3'ears place the elevation of 
Monadnock lake at 1,493 f^et, which 
is also the elevation of the village in 
front of The Leffingwell. A compar- 

ison of these figures with the height 
of other villages in New Hampshire, 
taken from a table in Drake's " Heart 
of the White Mountains," will prove 

interesting : 

Upper Bartlett 

Bethlehem (Sinclair House) 




Jefferson Hill 


North Conway 


Sugar Hill 





But it is not .so much the fact of 
altitude, either absolute or relative, 
as a peculiarity of situation which 
gives to Dublin its chief attractive- 
ness. Briefly, the town may be said 
to occupy a position at the southern 
extremity of the ridge of hills, ter- 
minating in Monadnock mountain, 



which tli\icles the \-alley of the Con- 
necticut from the valley of the Merri- 
mack, or rather, that portion of the 
former valley represented by the Ash- 
uelot from the Contoocook valley of 
the Merrimack. The position of the 
town in its higher portions is, there- 
fore, commanding, for beyond Mon- 
adnock to the south the watershed 
sinks to a comparatively low level 
and does not thereafter rise into any 
considerable elevation except Wach- 

ridges of \'ermont. Passing from the 
region of the lake with its mountainous 
surroundings over the height of land 
to the east, one is confronted at once 
with the Peterborough and flanking 
hills ten miles away bounding the 
Contoocook valley. So fine is the 
scene here presented that many have 
been led to believe that for satisfving 
beaut}' it is unsurpassed among the 
town's attractions. The village of 
Dublin extends from the summit of 
the water- shed eastward for a mile. 

Dublin V'llage and Beech Hill, looking West. 

The line of the water-.shed which 
enters the town a little north of the 
summit of Beech hill continues its 
course in an irregular southwesterh- 
direction and crosses the line between 
Dublin and Jaffrey a few rods north 
of the pinnacle of Monadnock. The 
two slopes into which the town is 
thus divided are about equal in ex- 
tent, but each has a strongl}- marked 
individuality. The westerly slope 
includes the lake with its cottages : 
it is much less precipitous than the 
eastern and as it extends onward is 
broken into hills over whose summits 
ma}^ be had glimpses of the smooth 

South of the village and running 
parallel with it, there is an irregular 
elevation, closing the prospect in that 
direction, upon which a number of 
the summer cottages are located. 

The onh- means of communication 
between the two slopes just described 
is a highway, or rather parallel high- 
ways, leading from the upper portion 
of the village through a depression in 
the ridge to the region of the lake 
just bej'ond. This thoroughfare con- 
nects the more important summer 
settlement ver}- closely with the vil- 
lage. In the depression in the ridge 
at its highest point was located the 



Unitarian Church. 

"old common," upon which once 
stood church and town house, and so 
exactly was the church placed on the 
line of the water-shed that one may 
well believe the current report that 
the rain which fell on the east slope 
of the roof found its way into the 
Merrimack and that which fell on the 
west slope into the Connecticut. 
Fifty or more rods to the west of the 
common, and close under the shadow 
of Beech Hill, stood the first church 
edifice. In front of it, and sloping to 
the lake, was the churchyard, still 
used as the town's one cemetery ; a 
spot of singular beauty where one 
may w^alk among the moss-covered 
slabs, when meeting-house and town- 
house have long since passed awaj^ 
and feel that here at least one may 
behold the work of the early inhab- 
itants unchanged. The love and 
care which centre in this cemeter}^ 
increase from year to year. May no 
monstrosities of art disfigure it, and 
no over-ornamentation destro}' its 
simple beauty. Thus it will be seen 
that not onl}^ is the thoroughfare 
leading from the village to the lake 
the busiest in the town ; it also 
affords an outlook to scenes of the 
rarest grandeur and beauty and leads 
one to spots where centre the ten- 

derest and holiest associa- 

Among the elements of 
Dublin scener}-, Monad- 
nock mountain must 
always hold a leading 
place. Though rising at 
the limit of a ridge of 
hills, it still has all the 
appearance of a lone 
L^Ji peak, dominating the 
landscape in every direc- 
tion. It is wooded on 
the sides, bold and rocky on the 
upper ridges and pinnacle, and pre- 
sents from ever\- point of obser\-a- 
tion, even when viewed from great 
distances, the appearance of a moun- 
tain, never of a hill. Its altitude is 
3.159 feet above tide water and 1,676 
feet above the lake. Like most 
mountains, it has outlying spurs, one 
of which, the largest, runs in a north- 
easterh' direction toward the village 
of Dublin, giving to the mountain 

-««''te " 

Town Hall. 



"The Leffingwell, ' H. R. Leffingwell, Manager. 

looked at from that direction an ap- 
pearance of variety in unity not ob- 
servable from any other point. The 
ascent may be made from Farmer's, 
three miles from the village, over a 
good path ; or up the valley of the 
mountain brook with no path ; or 
over the northeast spur with a path 
to the ledges. Good climbers prefer 
the latter route, not merely as pre- 
senting the greatest variety of scene, 
but as affording the best opportunity 
to study the interesting vegetation of 
the mountain among the ledges. 
The route along the mountain brook 
leads one to fine forest growths and 
through ravines of ever-changing and 
subtle charm. The view from the 
summit is indescribable except in its 
grosser elements. The farthest reach 
of vision is probably to the 
north, where ( through a 
clear air) the whole White 
Mountain group are dis- 
tinctly visible : Moosilauke, 
the Franconia range, Wash- 
ington and Chocorua, with 
other not so easily distin- 
guishable peaks among 
them. The air line dis- 
tance to Mount Washing- 
ton considerably ex- 
ceed one hundred miles. 


I^astward one looks across 
the Contoocook valley to 
the central and southeast- 
ern stretches of New Hamp- 
shire, out of which rise a 
number of lesser peaks. 
Southeasterly one's eye 
travels over ever-diminish- 
ing hills to the very sub- 
urbs of Boston, to Arlington 
Heights and Blue Hill, from 
which points Monadnock is 
a prominent feature on the 
Southerly the onl}- impor- 
tant elevation is Wachusett. Far on 
the southwestern horizon loom the 
picturesque Berkshires. Westward, 
beyond the Connecticut valle}', the 
Vermont hills rise, tier on tier, to the 
limit of vision. Toward the north 
Ascutney, Cardigan, and the southern 
Kearsarge are among the midway 
peaks. On those many features of a 
landscape as seen from a lone summit 
rising in an inhabited region ; on 
villages and farmhouses, cultivated 
fields and woodlands, streams and 
ponds, creeping railway trains and 
the smoke of towns, we cannot 
further dwell. 

It is difficult to convey in words, 
even to those long familiar with it, an 
adequate idea of mountain .scenery 

Monadnock House,' George W. Preston, Proprietor. 



and the effect which it produces. It 
is even more difficult to portray the 
full meaning of a beautiful mountain 
lake. To .state that the elevation of 
Monadnock lake is nearly 1,500 feet 
above the sea, that it is a mile in 
length and something less in width, 
that it has clean .shores, pebbly here, 
sand}- there, with pure, deep water 
fed mainly hy hidden springs, that 
the trout which sport in its waters 
are of a variety not found 
in neighboring ponds and 
lakes, that no puffing 
steamer with its .shrill 
whi.stle breaks in upon its 
serenity and that beautiful 
hills look down upon it, 
may conve}* .some idea, 
perhaps, of this sheet of 
water as compared with 
others, but it will not take 
captive the heart. To know 
it one must look upon it as 
one looks upon the face of 
a friend ; .see it as the writer has 
often seen it in the earl}- morning 
from the top of vSnow Hill, when the 
sunlight was beginning to .stream 
over the Contoocook valley while all 
to the west lay in shadow, the sur- 
face of the water like a mirror reflect- 
ing the verdant shores, a light mist 
floating over it and all its message 
peace. When Homer wished to set 
forth the beauty of Helen among the 
Trojan dames, he did not dwell upon 
the color of her hair and eyes, the 
proportions of her form or her bear- 
ing, but rather described the effect 
which her beauty produced upon the 
aged men of the city as she came 
among them on the rampart to gaze 
upon the embattled hosts in the plain 
below. So in attempting to .set forth 
the charms of Monadnock lake it 

might be wiser to dwell upon the 
popularity of the drive along its 
shores, or the price men are willing 
to pay and the distance thej' are will- 
ing to come that the}^ may look upon 
its waters, or the difficulty of obtain- 
ing sightly building lots near its 
shores even at the highest prices ; for 
these facts with the majority are far 
more eloquent than any description. 
The height of Beech Hill is r,884 



Emmanuel Chapel, Rev. R. Kidner, Rector. 

feet, and it 391 feet above the 
lake. The view from its summit is 
at once less and greater than the view 
from Monadnock ; less in that the 
prospect is not so exten-sive, though 
nearly all the peaks mentioned as vis- 
ible from Monadnock are visible also 
here, even to a portion of the White 
Mountain group ; but greater in that 
many nearer objects, Dublin village 
and its surroundings, the lake and its 
cottages, and most of all, Monadnock, 
appear from the lower elevation in 
proportions which are far more satis- 
f3'ing. Moreover, Beech Hill is very 
accessible and is a favorite resort with 
persons who seldom or never visit the 
more distant peak. 

Of many other objects of interest 
throughout the town which are a 
part of its natural beauty, of lesser 



Monadnock Lake and Mountain, from Cathedral Rock. 

hilltops, shady drives, forests and 
forest paths, stretches of meadow, 
smaller ponds and brooks, and a 
wealth of flowering plants and 
shrubs, no farther mention can be 

The history of Dublin for the first 
one hundred years is similar to that 
of man}^ of the hill towns in south- 
western New Hampshire. The first 
attempt at settlement was in 1752, 
but the real settlement came ten j-ears 
later, when Thomas Morse, William 
Greenwood, Samuel Twitchel, and 
those who soon joined them, held the 
land for their descendants. The 
zenith of the town's prosperity along 
the old lines corresponds very closely 
with the pastorate of Rev. Levi W. 
Leonard, D. D., who was installed 
over the Unitarian church in 1S20 
and resigned in 1S54. Without 
dwelling on the work of this man, re- 
markable as it was in many ways, 
and sweet as his memory still is, in 
fairness it must be said that even he 
could not have accomplished what he 

did had he not labored at a time 
when the resources of the town were 
still unexhausted and when many 
men and women of the finest endow- 
ment still found the farm a congenial 
field for their exertions. Toward the 
middle of the century the decline in 
population was noticeable, but it was 
not marked until after the Civil War. 
The stor}^ of this decline, read with 
appreciative eyes, would be as pa- 
thetic as the stor}- of a nation's de- 
clining greatness, for never, perhaps, 
in the world's history has national 
life on a small scale been so finely 
exemplified as in the towns of New 
England. We dwell upon the hero- 
ism of those who cleared the land and 
founded the town, and all honor to 
their names, but it must be remem- 
bered that they had at least the fruit 
of their toil from the accumulated 
products of many thousand years of 
forest growth. When the land was 
once cleared, rich grass grew in the 
pastures and abundant crops covered 
the fields. The early generations left 



to the later barren pasture lands and 
wornout fields ; and the later genera- 
tions struggled on, scarcely doubting 
that Nature would prove as kind to 
them as to their fathers. So she has 
proved, but not in the way which 
they were expecting. Mother Na- 
ture, at once the most inexorable and 
the most tender of the friends of man, 
is making up in the marketable value 
of her grandeur and beauty what has 
been lost in fertility ; and the old 
town which a generation ago was 
apparently passing into irremediable 
decay is able to hold its own and 
even to enter upon a period of pros- 
perity which, in some of its features, 
far surpasses am-thing in the past. 

The beginnings of Dublin as a 
summer resort have an earlier date 
than is generall}^ supposed. There 
is evidence in the published history' 
of the town that the inhabitants were 
well aware that they lived amid 
scenes of unusual natural beauty ; 
and it is gratifying to chronicle that 
the first evidences that the hills and 
vallevs around Monadnock lake 

were to be a summer home for those 
dwelling in distant towns and cities 
are to be found in the annual return 
of former citizens. The writer be- 
lieves there is no doubt that the an- 
nual visits of the family of Solomon 
Piper of Boston to his native town 
led to the establishment of summer 
boarding ; and summer boarding, as 
is now perfectly well understood, was 
the natural precursor of the summer 
cottage. As long ago as 1S40 the 
daughters of Mr. Piper spent their 
summer vacation with their uncle 
and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. John Piper, 
who were living in Dublin village. 
At that time, or a little later, there 
were boarding at the same place a 
number of other ladies, several teach- 
ers among them, one of whom, Miss 
Harriet Graupner, is still living. It 
seems, however, to be the impression 
among those who sat at Mrs. Piper's 
table that she had no wash to make a 
regular business of taking boarders, 
but merely accommodated those who 

In 1S46 Miss Hannah Piper, a sis- 

Monadnock Lake and Mountain. 



ter of Solomon Piper and a member 
of his family, married Jackson Green- 
wood, and from that time forward 
made her home in Dublin ; and it is 
known that almost immediately, per- 
haps in the summer of 1846, Mrs. 
Greenwood matured plans for filling 
her house with summer guests, for 
whom some special provision should 
be made. Here, then, without doubt 
is to be found the beginning of the 

wood two successive summers, one of 
them being the summer of 1855, 
when the writer of this article had 
the ])leasure of an introduction, but, 
owing to his tender years, he finds it 
impossible to recall even a fragment 
of the conversation. About 1851 
Solomon Piper purchased the house 
now occupied in a remodelled form 
by Washington Proctor and used it 
for a number of years as a summer 







Northeast Ridee of Monadnock, showing Summer Residences. 

business of summer boarding in Dub- 
lin. Mrs. Harriet Greenwood, who 
occupies the house formerl}' occupied 
by Mr. and Mrs. Jackson Greenwood, 
has a book in her possession which 
might be used as an interesting piece 
of corroborative evidence if that were 
necessary. It is a collection of ser- 
mons by Rev. Theodore Parker, on 
the fly leaf of which appears the fol- 
lowing in the handwriting of the dis- 
tinguished author: "Jackson Green- 
wood, with the regards of Theo. 
Parker: Aug. 28, 1855." Mr. 
Parker boarded with Mrs. Green- 

residence, his sister, Mrs. Elvira 
P^arnsworth, occupying the house 
throughout the year. 

There is another couple who de- 
serve to be mentioned, not merely 
from the fact that they were among 
the very earliest of those who minis- 
tered to the wants of summer visitors, 
but because they mark a change in 
the location of the boarding interest 
from the lower portion of the village 
into the heart of the town's most 
charming scenery, the region about 
the lake. The names of Mr. and 
Mrs. Thaddeus Morse will never be 



lost out of the chronicles of the new 
Dublin. From a record of their 
boarders kept from the time wiien the 
first instalment arrived in ICS57 till 
the death of Mr. Morse in iSSi it 
may be learned that their home was 
frequented by a very large number of 
persons who became prominently 
identified with the summer life of the 
town. The Lombards came in 1859 ; 
the Page and Jameson families in 

changed life of the town it would be 
unpardonable to omit it. When Mr. 
and Mrs. F. F. Myrick came from 
Chelsea, Mass., in 1S64 and pur- 
chased the Hay ward place on the 
west slope of Beech Hill, it is doubt- 
ful if the}' paid one extra dollar be- 
cause of the fine location. Twenty 
times what they paid would be no 
temptation to the present owner and 
might not be bevond its actual value. 

 The Paaing of tne Ways. 

1863 ; S. G. Deblois and wife in 
1866; Mr. and Mrs. Wyman on their 
wedding trip in 1S67 ; Miss Marj^ 
Anne Wales and the Bacons in 1 868 ; 
Mr. and Mrs. James Emerton in 1879. 
Man}' persons who now occupy cot- 
tages boarded with Mrs. Morse for 
one or more seasons. After the death 
of Mrs. Morse in 1884 the place was 
sold, and is now occupied as a sum- 
mer residence. 

There .is still another of those 
homes where summer guests found 
shelter which has been the occasion 
of .so much that is finest in the 

How Mrs. Myrick began taking 
boarders may be told in her own 
words : " Early in that summer ( 1864) 
our experience in keeping boarders 
commenced b}' accommodating three 
brothers of the name of Faxon, j'oung 
men from Jamaica Plain, who had 
travelled on foot leisureh' from their 
home on a pleasure trip. Coming to 
Dublin for the purpose of climbing 
Monadnock, and visiting other places 
of interest, the}' could find no one to 
spare them a room. Being urged we 
took them for about a week. After 
this the demand for boarding places 



increased each year." It was in 
1868 that the familj- of John Osgood 
of Boston, which included the family 
of Prof. L,. B Monroe and Dr. Ham- 
ilton Osgood, first boarded with Mrs. 
Myrick. Mrs. J. S. C. Greene and 
Gen. Caspar Crowninshield, though 
not boarders at Mrs. Myrick's, came 
to Dublin through this line of influ- 
ence. The Mj-rick place was pur- 
chased by Prof. Monroe in 1872, and 
occupied by him as a summer home. 

him as a hotel in 1877, under the 
name of the Appleton House, with 
his son, H. R. Leffingwell, in charge. 
The hotel building was at first a two- 
story village residence, but it has 
been so many times enlarged and 
improved that the nucleus is hardly 
recognizable. This establishment 
has always been admirably kept, and 
is a credit to the town in whose de- 
velopment it has pla^^ed no unimpor- 
tant part. Boulderstone consists of 


■^^ ^ y<^ 

Path in Centennial Woods. 

The business of taking summer 
boarders reached its height about 
1879. At that time not less than 
ten houses of permanent residents 
were filled to overflowing. After 
that date the business declined, so 
far as private houses were concerned, 
and at present it is confined almost 
entirely to The Lefflngwell and Boul- 
derstone, the latter owned and man- 
aged by a non-resident. The lycf- 
fingwell, till recently the only sum- 
mer hotel in the town, was purchased 
by Dr. C. H. Leffingwell, of Provi- 
dence, R. I., in 1S71, and opened by 

two cottages on the east slope of 
Snow^ hill, and is an excellent sum- 
mer boarding - house. During the 
past year the old Heald tavern in 
the lower portion of the village has 
been leased for hotel purposes, and 
will be open to the public the present 

The first summer cottage was built 
by Mrs. J. S. C. Greene, of Bo.ston. 
It was begun in the fall of 1872, and 
was ready for occupancy in. the sum- 
mer of 1873. George W. Gleason, a 
merchant in the village and the post- 
master, acted as Mrs. Greene's agent. 




a sen-ice he has performed 
for a large majority of 
those who have built cot- 
tages down to the present 
time. The second and 
third cottages were built 
by Dr. Hamilton Osgood 
and Gen. Caspar Crownin- 
shield, in what order of 
time the writer is unable 
to state. Mrs. Greene and '^ 
Dr. Osgood disposed of 
their property a few years 
later and moved to the south shore 
of the lake, there to establish a set- 
tlement which has been known at 
times as the "Latin Quarter," and 
which includes at present within its 
borders Col. T. W. Higginson and 
Prof. H. B. Hill, of Cambridge, and 
the well known painters, Abbott H. 
Thayer, Joseph L. Smith, and Geo. 
De Forest Brush. In 1879 there 
were eight summer residences, five of 
which were new structures. From 
1879 till 1893 the building of cottages 
went on quite steadily till, at the lat- 
ter date, there were not less than 
fifty-six. Only one has been added 
since 1893, but there are indications 
that building will be resumed. 

Many changes have taken place 
in Dublin during the past fifteen or 
twenty years, due in a greater or less 
degree to the rapid increase 
in summer population. In 
numbers and character the 
permanent population is not 
very different from what it 
would have been had the 
old conditions continued; 
but there has been a steady 
drifting from west to east, 
and especially into the vil- 
lage, till at present not 
more than half a dozen old 


Residence of Misses Ida and Ellen Mason, 

time families remain in the west 
half of the town. The inevitable re- 
sult will be that the greater portion 
of the westerh' slope will soon be 
clothed with forest, and for that mat- 
ter large portions of the easterl}- slope 
as well, man}- hundred acres of which 
are alread}- held b}- summer residents 
as forest land. On the other hand, 
considerable tracts are kept under 
cultivation which would otherwise 
either grow up to bushes or would 
not be cared for so thoroughl}-, so it 
is not likely that, even with a steady 
loss in tillage land, the contrasting 
beauty of field and forest will disap- 
pear from the landscape. 

One of the most noticeable of the 
beneficent changes is the improve- 
ment in the highways. The sum 
expended on highwaj's during the 

GI'mpsewood,' Residence of Col. T. W. Higginson. 



'Westmere," Residence of B W Taggard. 

Residence of Dr. H, H. Snnith 

Residence of Daniel Catiin. 

3'ear ending February 15, 1896, and 
not including a considerable sum 
used in breaking roads in winter, 
was more than one third of the ex- 
penditures for all purposes ; it was 
nearly double the cost of schools, 
and very nearly equal to all other 
expenses except for schools. And 

not only is the road-bed in 
much better condition than 
it was fifteen years ago ; the 
borders of the roads are 
neater, and shade trees and 
bordering forests are as a 
rule less carelessly sacri- 
ficed . If this policy is 
steadily maintained, the 
drives of the town will be- 
come celebrated ; and cer- 
tainly there is nothing more 
acceptable to the summer 
sojourner than perfect roads. 
When it is known that about 
half the tax list is non-resi- 
dent, and that in reality' the 
cottagers, a number of whom 
rank as residents, pay con- 
siderably more than half the 
taxes, the justice and wis- 
dom of a liberal polic}' in 
dealing with the question of 
highwa3\s is apparent. 

The principal changes no- 
ticeable in the village, apart 
from the addition of ten or 
a dozen houses and the nu- 
merous improvements at The 
Ivefhngwell, are the erection 
of a town house, Episcopal 
church, and a new building 
for the Trinitarian society. 

The town house was begun 
in i8Sr and completed the fol- 
lowing year. Its hall at once 
began to be used for manj^ 
different purposes, and it was 
soon difficult to understand how the 
town's life ever went on without it. 
Almost the only other place of meet- 
ing was the vestry in the basement 
of the Unitarian church, a place ill 
fitted in manj^ ways for large gather- 
ings, but one in which the hi.story 
of the town for a generation was .so 



bound up that were its annals fully 
written there would be produced no 
unsatisfactory account of the town's 
life. Sunday-school and occasionally 
church ser\aces. sessions of the high 
school, singing schools, literary and 
dramatic entertainments, the annual 
town meeting, selectmen's meetings, 
the annual caucus, political 
rallies, church fairs, town 
fairs, the sewing-circle, the 
Good Templars, the Gran- 
gers, all the travelling com- 
panies, and I know not w^hat 
beside, have made of this 
hall a very museum of mem- 
ories, interesting and pre- 
cious in such a variety- of 
ways as was never known 
before and is not likelj- to 
be known again. But we 
refer to this place to revive 
some memories of the earl}- 
days of summer Dublin, be- 
fore the town house was 
built, when the vestry was 
the one place of meeting ; 
when Professor Monroe gave 
readings, the Osgood family 
furnished music, and Miss 
Katie May and her com- 
panions gave "dramatics": 
when Miss Cay van, not yet 
upon the stage, was read- 
ing the " Bobolink " ; when 
everybody knew everybody, 
and everybody turned out to 
raise money for the library. 
It so happened that after 
the town house was built, 
boarding in private families 
declined, and the number of 
cottagers rapidly increased. 
Very naturally therefore 
there was never quite the 
same amalgamation in the 

town hall that there had been in 
the vestry, but the pleasantest feel- 
ings continued to exist, and it is to 
be hoped always will exist, between 
the two elements of the town's life. 
If there is any failure to manifest this 
feeling, any falling off from the closer 
relations of a former day, it is mainly 

Residence of Mrs. L. B. Monroe. 

Fairvlew, Residence of W. W, Browne. 

Residence of Col. George E. Leighton. 


due to causes which have ver}- little literary entertainment were Colonel 
connection with the feeling itself. Higginson, Colonel Leighton, of St. 
Some of the townspeople who stood Louis, Joseph L. vSmith, the artist, 
in the closest relation to the summer and Richard Burton, the writer, 
visitors have passed away, and their Pleasanter occasions could hardly be 
places, socially and otherwise, it is imagined, and thej^ are mentioned 
not easy to fill ; and now that the but as a sample of what has taken 
boarders have become to a large ex- place in a little different form many 

times. Musical entertain- 
ments especially have afford- 
ed a frequent opportunity 
for mutual acquaintance. 
In August, 1SS5, Rev. 
Robert Collyer gave a lect- 
ure for the benefit of the 
Dublin public library ; and 
literary, dramatic, and mu- 
sical entertainments for the 
same purpose are frequent. 
The public library, by the 

Monadnock Post-Office. • •, , • .-y ,1 

wa}', IS quite a pet with the 
tent cottagers, and are very 
numerous, it is natural that 
there should exist among 
them something of esprit dc 
corps, a natural drawing to- 
gether, which on all accounts 
is highly to be desired and 
promises well for the contin- 
uation of present conditions. 
It is probably true that at 
no time have there been 
more manifestations of in- 
terest in the town than 
during the past ten 3'ears. 

In August, 1885, there were a num- 
ber of gatherings at the Episcopal 
rectory, planned and conducted by 
Rev. and Mrs. Reuben Kidner, who 
are among the town's warmest friends, 
at which a number of distinguished 
persons gave talks. These meetings 
though in a measure literar}' were 
primarily designed to promote social 
intercourse, and the invitation was 
general. Those who furnished the 

Monadnock Farm, ' George B. Leighton, Proprietor. 

summer residents, and well it may 
be, for a portion of it at least has a 

"In 1822 the Juvenile librar}- was 
instituted b}^ Rev. Levi W. Leonard 
and Dr. David Carter, since which 
date it has been open and the use of 
its books free to all persons in town. 
It was and ever has been, until united 
with the Dublin public library in 1890, 
supported by voluntary contributions 



in the various school districts, a sub- 
scription paper being annually circu- 
lated in each district for this purpose. 
Be it said to the credit of the people 
that there has never been occasion 
for a compvilsory public tax for the 
maintenance of this institution. It 
was incorporated in 1825, but its sup- 



" Morse Farm," Residence of Daniel A. Dwight. 

port and use were left un- 
changed by the act. In 
1855 it consisted of 1,990 

When one considers that 
the date of the oldest town 
librar}" in the United States 
supported by taxation (in 
Peterborough, N. H.) is 
nearly ten years subsequent 
to the date above given, 
some pride in this institu- 
tion is justifiable. The 
Dublin public library was 
established by vote of the town in 
1884. It contains, in addition to the 
collection just mentioned, the remains 
of several older libraries, one of them 
a "Ladies' Librar}-," which date back 
into the last century. 

A very substantial quickening in 
the religious life of the town is ap- 
parent during the summer months. 
The congregations at the Unitarian 
and Trinitarian churches are more 

than doubled ; a large congregation 
assembles at the Episcopal church, 
where services have usually been con- 
ducted by Rev. Reuben Kidner, of 
Boston ; and Catholic ser\nces are 
held in the town hall. Preachers, 
who for longer or shorter periods 
make Dublin their home, are fre- 
quently heard in the differ- 
ent pulpits. Among those 
who have preached during 
the past few years one re- 
calls the names of Revs. 
Robert Colly er, of Xew 
York ; William R. Alger 
and vS. H. Winkley, of Bos- 
ton ; and, till his recent 
death, J. C. Leonard, of 
St. Louis, whose annual 
visit to his native town 
was anticipated with 


Residence of Prof. Raphael Pumpelly. 

special j^leasure. The Trinitarian 
church is without a pastor. The 
pastor of the Unitarian church, Rev. 
George W. Patten, finds in his rela- 
tion to his large and appreciative 
summer congregation some of the 
pleasantest of his experiences. The 
writer, from his knowledge of other 
summer resorts, and judging also 
b}^ the general impression regarding 
them, believes that the summer pop- 




Residence of James H. Frothingham. 

Illation of Dublin are unusually in- 
terested in the religious life of their 
adopted town, and are liberal in the 
financial aid which they annually 
furnish for its needs. It may be 
questioned whether the maintenance 
of religious services at the present 
level in the older churches would 
not be imperilled if the regular sum- 
mer contributions were withheld. 

The business of the town, as for 
many years, is largely in the hands 
of George \V. Glea.son and M. D. 
Mason, the proprietors of the two 
general stores in the village. The 
latter has also a branch business in 
Harrisville, and the former adds the 
offices of the express, telegraph and 
telephone, a livery stable, and a bus- 
iness in real estate which, since the 
first sales of land early in 
the seventies, has increased 
to large proportions. The 
other branches of local bus- 
iness, the post-office, the 
building and care of cot- 
tages, several livery stables, 
and much beside which va- 
rious and increasing needs 
demand, are in good hands 
and well managed. The 
Monadnock post-office, es- 
tablished a few years ago 

to meet the wants of cot- 
tagers living at a distance 
from the village office, is 
located in the ( / 1 e a s o n 
house, now a part of the 
estate of Col. George Iv 
Leighton at the northwest 
corner of the lake. Three 
mails a day each way, and 
connection with the Boston 
& Maine and Fitch b u r g 
railroads at Harrisville 
and Peterborough keep the 
town in touch with the outside world 
without the unpleasant accompani- 
ment of a railroad station nearer than 
three miles. The affairs of the town 
of a public nature are well adminis- 
tered and a polic}' neither extrava- 
gant nor parsimonious is .steadily 
maintained. The rate of taxation is 
substantially unchanged from former 
years and varies but slightly from one 
per cent. 

One of the pleasantcst features of 
the summer is the return of former 
citizens and the reunion of old fam- 
ilies. Occasionally one meets at the 
churches or on the street some one 
who went away years ago and who 
now returns for a sight of the old 
town, led perhaps by the reports of 
changes which have reached him in 


' Stonehenge, " Residence of Miss Martha Parsons. 




" Edgewood," Residence of Col. E. H. Hamilton. 

some distant state. There are others 
who return annually and whose com- 
ing like the return of birds is a part 
of the regular order of things. 
Among these there are many whose 
names come into the mind unbidden : 
Mrs. Persis F. Rice, the widow of 
Rev. George M. Rice, the cherished 
pastor of the Unitarian church from 
1866 to 1 88 1, whose welcome is ever 
more cordial with each succeeding 
year and who better than almost 
anj-one else stands as a connecting 
link between the cottagers and the 
town ; Prof. S. C. Derby of Colum- 
bus, Ohio ; Frederick M. Adams of 
New York city ; Dr. William S. 
Leonard of Hinsdale, N. H. ; John 
and Frank Morse of Boston ; Willis 
C. Morse of Keene ; Col. E. H. 
Hamilton of New York 
city, who has returned to 
erect and occupy on one 
of the sightliest locations 
in the village a beautiful 
s u m m e r home. M an}- 
others there are who re- 
turn less frequently per- 
haps or who belong to a 
younger generation. 

Will the character of 
Dublin as a summer re- 
sort change ? Not in the 

immediate future and prob- 
ably not for many j-ears. 
There is a quiet, as one 
might say, an unspoken 
protest against any sale of 
land which might result in 
a crowding or cheapening 
process such as would ren- 
der the town less desirable 
as a place for quiet summer 
' homes. By this it is not 
meant that expensive and 
elegant houses are alone to 
be considered, or large establish- 
ments and finely kept estates. These 
are well, but many of the houses 
which have been built owe their 
chief charm to the grace and re- 
finement of those who occupy them, 
a fact far more important than the 
mere evidence of wealth ; and so long 
as the summer homes are occupied as 
the}' mainl}- are at present, by those 
who represent high ideals in Amer- 
ican life the word which goes forth 
regarding them will suffer no qualifi- 

And will there be no changes in 
the native population other than 
those which would have taken place 
if Dublin had -remained but a little 
farming town on the hills? The 
writer believes that while there will 


Breezy Top," Residence of Mrs. Dr. Farnum. 



be some modifications in the direction 
of greater material prosperity and per- 
haps in other ways, the likelihood of 
essential changes will be diminished 
rather than increased under the new 
regime. In certain important re- 
spects the town is a more desirable 
place of residence than it was a quar- 
ter of a century ago. To be sure the 
native population have abandoned 
the region about the lake and the 
upper portion of the village, but they 
are firmlv intrenched in the central 

Old Elm at Thorndike Pond. 

and lower portions of the village and 
seem likely to remain there. More 
than half of the land in and about the 
village street, in a number of different 
farms and lots, is owned by the de- 
scendants of one of the earliest set- 
tlers, William Greenwood, and the 
remaining land and houses are 
mainh- owned and occupied by the 
grandchildren and great - grandchil- 
dren of other early settlers. It is to 
be hoped that this tenacity will be 
preser\^ed, and that generations hence 
men and women will be found living 
in Dublin who will be proud to trace 
their lineage back to the Morses, the 
Greenwoods, and their companions, 
who entered the region to the north 
of Monadnock when it was a wilder- 
ness, and subdued it. 

In closing it will not be unfitting to 
give, though at the risk of repetition, 
some more definite hint of the sum- 
mer life of Dublin to-day. One 
prominent feature is its comparative 
exemption from change from summer 
to sumn:er and decade to decade, ob- 
servable in the old days, but well- 
marked since the establishment of 
the summer cottage. Dublin has 
otherwise showm its power to attract 
and hold in the native population to 
which allusion has been made. 
Another feature, and one 
which has held since the 
days when Theodore Par- 
ker walked up and down 
the groves south of the 
village formulating his 
philippics against the 
slave power, is the gen- 
erous sprinkling of men 
and women of eminence. 
Perhaps this has been 
most strongl}^ marked in 
members of the clerg}' ; 
men, as a rule, thoroughly in sym- 
pathy with tolerance, freedom of 
thought, and breadth of view. This 
latter peculiarity is due in a measure 
to the somewhat unique history of 
the town in matters religious and ed- 
ucational in which freedom of thought 
has had no inconsiderable place : the 
scener}' may have had an influence, 
the mountain, the breezy hilltops, 
the far reach of vision wdiich they 

" Two voices are there ; one is of the sea, 
One of the mountains ; each a mighty voice ; 
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice, 
They were thy chosen music, liberty! " 

The character. of the summer popu- 
lation has very naturall}^ led to a 
lively interest in whatever in the 
town was valuable and wortliv of en- 



couragement. Reference has been pageant on the lake in the summer of 
made to entertainments in aid of 1895 attracted considerable attention, 
local institutions, as for example the For the rest there are lawn parties, 
library ; but there have been other receptions, musicales, driving, excur- 
entertainments whose onl}- object was sions, picnic parties, and whatever 
their own worth. The talks of Colonel makes up a summer's gayety ; over 
Higginson during the past few j-ears all, deeper than all, there is the de- 
have given a never-to-be-forgotten light in natural beauty ; the moun- 
pleasure. Among prominent charac- tain in sunshine and shadow, the 
teristics the artists, their work, and lake sombre or bright, the woods 
the pupils they have attracted must vocal or silent, the far-reaching land- 
not be overlooked. A number of the scape, the soft morning mist in the 
most beautiful and famous of recent vallej's, the upland storm, the clear 
American paintings have been created blue sky and the clouds, the lights of 
on the shores of Monadnock lake. morning and evening, whence streams 

Summer Dublin is light hearted, in upon the heart 
Afternoon dancing parties in the 

town hall and out-of-door sports and "The light that never was, on sea or land," 

games, tennis, base-ball, boating, 

boat-racing, and bic3'cle riding, have a present jo}' and for the future com- 

a well-established place. A boating fort and inspiration. 

By Mary H. Wheeler. 

In the blessed old days when the country was new, 
The electrics unknown, and the railroads but few. 
If the people would journey up country or down 
They must go h\ the stage coach from this to that town. 

The old coaches were heavj' and clumsy and strong. 
And the whips of the drivers were lashy and long. 
And were w^hirled in the air with a stage-driver knack 
Which startled the ear with an ominous crack. 

The " off horse " and " nigh horse " each knew well his place, 
And the "leaders" were read}- and keen for the race; 
Or if one was inclining to shirk or be slow. 
Why, that long whip soon taught him the waj' he should go. 

In the coach there were cu.shions and bright-colored straps. 
And seats there for six, or for nine, or perhaps 
On occasion a few more could even find place. 
While high at the top there was infinite space. 


The trunks and the baggage were lashed on behind, 
And the bundle and bandbox to roof were consigned ; 
'Neath the seat of the driver the mail-bag was stowed, 
With numberless notions to leave on the road. 

The driver, enthroned, with the ribbons in hand. 
Gave the long whip a flourish, and at its command 
The good steeds sprang off with a galloping bound, 
And away flew the sand as the great wheels went 'round. 

The roads of New England are rocky and rough. 

With hills and deep hollows and many a bluff. 

And in springtime, when warm thrills through thawing earth creep, 

The mud in some places is frightfully deep. 

It was up a steep hillside a stage team one day 

Was carefully wending its perilous way 

When the quaking earth fell and the horses sprang past, 

But in a deep mud-slough the coach wheels were fast. 

The driver was skilful and also humane ; 
When the horses' endeavors had proven but vain. 
He opened the door and, explaining their plight. 
Politely invited the folks to alight. 

But, " No," said the men, " we have paid for our ride, 
And it 's here in the carriage we mean to abide. 
If your horses are lazy and can't pull us through, 
Why, that 's your affair, and we leave it to you." 

" You are right," said the driver, " I 've nothing to say." 
And, closing the door, he went softly away. 
And the passengers waited expectant and vexed, 
And wondering still what the man would do next. 


So they waited till weary, and then the}' got out 
To learn, if they could, what the man was about. 
And, lo ! by the roadside they found him serene. 
As he sat on a stone, with a satisfied mien. 

" Now, what are you doing? " one cried, " It is late ! " 
He answered, " There 's nothing to do but to wait. 
The horses can't start the coach with you inside ; 
So we 've just got to wait till the mud becomes dried." 

Good humor 's contagious. They joined him with zeal. 
One pulled at a tug, and one pushed at a wheel, 
And the horses, well rested, soon started their load 
And leaped at a lively pace over the road. 

[The foregoiiiCT incident is told of the late Daniel Green, fornieiiy a well-known stage-driver in New Hampshire.] 


By H. H. Meicalf. 

j^a^^ROMINENT among the 
"^ historic homesteads of 

Belknap county is the 
Cogswell place in Gil- 
manton, owned and oc- 
cupied by the gallant and genial Col. 
Thomas Cogswell, who was born and 
reared and ever had his home upon 
it. This farm, as now constituted, 
consists of 517 acres of land as deter- 
mined by actual survey, and includes 
the original adjacent Badger and 
Cogswell homesteads, upon the for- 
mer of which Gen. Joseph Badger of 
Haverhill, Mass., settled in 1763. 
General Badger who was born in 
1722 was a member of the provincial 
congress and of the first New Hamp- 
shire constitutional convention. He 
was a man of strong character and 
high standing and influence in the 
community and was for many years 
judge of probate for the old count}' 
of Strafford. He died April 4, 1803. 
Col. Thomas Cogswell, also of 
Haverhill, Mass., married Ruth, a 
daughter of General Badger. He 
was one of eight brothers, all of 
whom were soldiers in the Revolu- 
tionar}- army and did gallant service 
in the war for American independ- 
ence. At the close of the war he re- 
moved to Gilmanton and located 
adjacent to his father-in-law. General 
Badger. He also became a leading 
citizen and was prominent in public 
affairs, .serving as chief justice of the 
court of common pleas from 17S4 

until his death in 18 10. Colonel 
Cogswell and General Badger were 
activel}' instrumental in the establish- 
ment of that notable institution of 
learning — Gilmanton Acadera}-. 

Hon. Thomas Cogswell, a son of 
Gen. William and Judith (Badger) 
Cogswell, (his father being a brother 
of Col. Thomas Cogswell before men- 
tioned) a native of the town of Atkin- 
son, born December 7, 1798, married 
Mar}' Noyes, in 1820, soon after 
attaining his majorit}-, and estab- 
lished his home in Gilmanton where 
he united in his possession the farms 
of his grandfather and uncle, since 
known as the Cogswell homestead. 
This Thomas Cogswell also became 
a leader among his townsmen, and 
was for years the most prominent 
figure in local political life, serving 
repeatedly as moderator, selectman, 
and representative in the legisla- 
ture, as deputy sheriff, as an asso- 
ciate judge of the court of common 
pleas from 1841 till 1855, and as 
a member of the executive council 
in 1856. He was a successful and 
thorough-going farmer — one of the 
best in the .state — and increased his 
pos.sessions until he held about a 
thousand acres altogether ; that por- 
tion outside the homestead, about 
equal in extent, ultimatelj' going 
into the hands of his elder son, the 
late James W. Cogswell, under whose 
management it was long known as 
one of the best farms in the countv. 





Judge Cogswell died August 8, 
1868, when the homestead passed 
into the hands of his younger son, 
Col. Thomas Cogswell, Jr., the 
present incumbent, under whose 
personal management it has since 
continued. With the details of Col- 
onel Cogswell's career, military and 
political, the public is already famil- 
iar. Suffice it to say he was born 
February 8, 1841, fitted for college 
at Gilmanton academy, graduated 
from Dartmouth with the class of 
1863 ; was first lieutenant and cap- 
tain of Company A, Fifteenth regi- 
ment. New Hampshire volunteers, 
serving at the siege and surrender of 
Port Hudson ; studied law with 
Stevens & Vaughan at L,aconia, and 
at the Harvard Law School, and was 
admitted to the bar, in September, 
1 866 ; and commenced practice at 
Gilmanton Iron Works, but on his 
father's death, two years later, 
assumed charge of the farm, which 
he has since continued, though de- 
voting some attention to legal prac- 
tice. He was chosen superintend- 
ing school committee in 1868 ; rep- 
resentative in the legislature in 1871 
and 1872 ; selectman for three years 
from 1880, being two years chairman 
of the board ; was a member of Gov- 
ernor Weston's staff in 1871 ; state 
senator for his district in 1878 ; was 
appointed a member of the state 
board of railroad commissioners in 
April, 1893, and became United 
States pension agent, for the district 
of New Hampshire and Vermont, 
July I, 1894, which position he still 
holds. He is also and has been for 
several years president and treasurer 
of the board of trustees of Gilmanton 
academy. Politically Colonel Cogs- 
well is and always has been a Demo- 

crat. He is a member of Winnipe- 
saukee lodge, F. and A. M., of Post 
37, G. A. R., and of Crystal Lake 
Grange, of Gilmanton Iron Works, 
and has been lecturer in the latter 
organization. He married, October 
8, 1873, Florence, daughter of R. D. 
Moores of Manchester, who died Feb- 
ruar>^ 14, 1892, leaving a daughter 
and two sons. The daughter, Anna 
M., is the wife of Walter J. Kd- 
gerly of Gilmanton. The elder son, 
Thomas, is a student at Dartmouth, 
of the class of 1899. The other son, 
Clarence Noyes, is engaged in the 
wholesale boot and shoe establish- 
ment of Parker, Holmes & Co., Boston. 
Since taking charge of the farm 
Colonel Cogswell has made numer- 
ous and extensive improvements, es- 
pecially with reference to the increase 
of the hay crop, which amounts to 
from eighty to one hundred tons per 
annum. He is a believer in ensilage, 
and has put in a new silo of one hun- 
dred tons capacity the present year. 
The soil is well adapted to wheat and 
corn, as well as grass, and wheat was 
raised successfully for sixty-four 
3'ears in succession, the first pre- 
mium for the product having once 
been awarded for its exhibit at the 
state fair. Corn to the amount of 
eight hundred bushels per annum 
has been raised in the past, but less 
attention is now devoted to this crop. 
P'ormerly from twelve to fifteen 
horses were kept, but the number is 
is now largely reduced, milk produc- 
tion being the object now aimed at, a 
creamery having recently been estab- 
lished at the Academy village with a 
skimming station at the Iron Works, 
by the Gilmanton Creamery company 
in which Colonel Cogswell is a mov- 
ing spirit. He has now fifteen cows, 



which iiuinher will soon be increased 
to twenty-five. His pasturage is 
ver}^ extensive, furnishing summer 
forage for from fifty to seventy-five 
head of cattle for outside parties. 
For farm work, in addition to his 
horses, he has two fine yokes of oxen. 
The barn is a spacious, well-ap- 
pointed structure one hundred and 
twent}^ feet in length. There is also 
a fine stable for horses, and these as 
well as the house — a .spacious old 
famil}- mansion — have an unfailing 
supply of pure water, the power fur- 

nishing the same being from a wind- 
mill which Colonel Cogswell has put 
in for the 

While emphatically a man of af- 
fairs, interested in law, in politics, 
and in all matters of public import, 
and attending faithfully to his impor- 
tant of^cial duties, Colonel Cogswell 
is properly regarded as a representa- 
tive New Hamp.shire farmer. His 
sympathies and interests are with the 
agricultural toilers, and they find in 
him an outspoken champion of their 
rights on all proper occasions. 


l^y Gc(V'ge Bancroft GriffUli. 

At the flowering of the roses, 
When the birds are singing 

And the mother dove, 
Brooding .softly on her nest ; 

When the gardens are resplendent 
And the wild fields full of gold, 

From the hearthstone, independent. 
Forth I wander as of old. 

In the halcyon days of summer 
All the bells of memory ring ; 

How the streams greet each new comer 
How the bright rills leap and sing ! 

Their enchanted flutes the thru.shes 

Like angelic harpists play ; 
And our sleeve the .swallow brushes 

As she swoops upon her w^ay. 

At the flow^eriug of the roses 

Who could dream of woe or blight 

Where the mother dove reposes 
'Mid the fragrance and the light! 


By N. J. Bachelder. 

HE remarkable growth of 
the organization known as 
the Grange, or Patrons of 
Husbandry', in the coun- 
try at large, and in the 
state of New Hampshire in particu- 
lar, where the increase in member- 
ship the year has been unprece- 
dented, bringing the total well up 
toward twent}^ thousand in this little 
state, directs general attention to the 
character and personalit}' of those oc- 
cupying prominent official positions 
"within the gates." This organiza- 
tion, as is well known, is not con- 
fined, as to its membership, to a sin- 
gle sex, women as well as men being 
eligible, receiving equal considera- 
tion, participating in the work, re- 
ceiving equal benefits, and exercis- 
ing equal influence. 

Among those honored by election 
to prominent ofRcial positions at the 
last session of the State Grange is 
Mrs. Alice A. Dow. of Plaistow, 
Worthy Pomona. Mrs. Dow, the 
eldest of six children of William and 
Mary li. (Burns) Emerson, was born 
in Portsmouth, November 29, 1849. 
When .she was nine \"ears of age her 
father, a well to do farmer, having 
come into possession of his father's 
farm, situated in North, Hav- 
erhill, ;Mass., removed his familj^ 
there, thinking it a more favorable 
location for the proper rearing of 
children. Here they remained, and 
the daughter received her education 

in the public schools of Haverhill. 
In the year 1878 she was united 
in marriage with Moses P. Dow, a 
carriage manufacturer of the town 
of Plaistow, in this state, where her 
home has since been, and where she 
has become a leading factor in the 

Mrs. Alice A. Dow. 

social and educational life of the 
communit}-, as her husband has in 
business and political affairs. 

Six years after her marriage her 
mother died, and her father, having 
but one son and he not inclined to 
agriculture, sold his farm, which had 
been in the P^merson family for five 
generations, and made his home with 
Mrs. Dow for .several years, but is 
now living with his son in Bradford, 



Mass. Mrs. Dow has taken a deep 
interest in all organizations and 
movements tending to improve the 
mental and moral fibre of society, 
and promote material as well as edu- 
cational progress. She has been 
president of the Social Circle, is serv- 
ing her third term as treasurer of the 
Village Improvement society, and is 
a leading spirit in the Mutual Cul- 
ture club, which holds its regular 
meetings every Monday evening at 
her home. This club took up the 
study of French the past year, and 
has made excellent progress. 

Recognizing the great power of the 
Grange for good in a rural commu- 
nity, she and Mr. Dow became char- 
ter members of Plaistow Grange, No. 

1 86, of which he has been master 
every year but one since its organiza- 
tion, and in which she has held some 
office every year, having been secre- 
tary the last two years, and receiving 
every vote at the last election. No 
one has contributed more than Mrs. 
Dow to the success of the order in 
her section of the state, and her elec- 
tion as Pomona of the State Grange, 
at the session last December, was a 
well merited tribute to her ability, 
fidelity, and zeal. 

Recognizing at all times the power 
and wisdom of the Almighty, she has 
been for many years a faithful and 
consistent member of the Congrega- 
tional church of North Haverhill and 


By Frank E. Brown. 

O land of the White Hills, dear birthplace and home, 
Thy mountains and vales throng with memories sweet. 
Thy children shall love thee wherever they roam, 
And long to again feel thy ground 'neath their feet. 

The warm breath of summer moves soft o'er thy hills. 
Rich-laden with odors of wild-flower and pine. 
When autumn adorns thee with crimson and gold 
No land in the wide world is brighter than thine. 

White winter spreads o'er thee his mantle of snow 
And turns all thy waters to ice with his cold ; 
But^^the coming of spring again makes them flow 
And bids all thy verdure awake and unfold. 

Each season is rich with the joys of its time ; 
Each year has its blessings of plenty and peace. 
Great Giver of good gifts, we pray thee to grant 
They within her fair borders may ever increase. 


By George B. Lauder. 

^OME time ago there ap- 
peared in the newspa- 
S* pers an article in de- 
fense of vivisection, sub- 
scribed by forty names, 
most of them those of professors in 
medical colleges or schools, where, 
presumably, vivisection is practised 
to a more or less extent, so that the 
article has the effect of a number of 
men advocating the business in which 
they are engaged. The article closes 
with the statement that ' ' no intelli- 
gent man or woman should give heed 
to the denunciations of those few ill- 
informed or headstrong persons who 
have been drawn into one of the 
wise of the agitations that be.set mod- 
ern society." A belief that this state- 
ment is entirely unwarranted has led 
the writer to give a few of the reasons 
on account of which the anti-vivisec- 
tion movement was begun, a brief 
account of the line along which it 
has developed to its present propor- 
tions, and the objects that it has in 
view, with the earnest hope that all 
intelligent men and women will give 
heed and carefully consider the dan- 
gers by which modern society is be- 
set through the practice of vivisection 
as it is carried on to-da3^ 

Galen carried on vivisection in 400 
B. C, and in all ages it has been 
exten.sively followed ; and in earlier 
days, according to Tertullian and 
others, slaves and criminals were 
used for the purpose. That such 

things should have been done in an 
age when every man's hand was 
against his neighbor, when even a 
great artist racked his model that 
he might correctly reproduce the 
death dew on his brow, is not to be 
wondered at, but that they should 
occur to-day, in our age of light and 
humanit}', seems incredible. Yet 
such is the shameful fact. It is a 
common practice in medical institu- 
tions, a thing of the present, ever 
increasing, and ever to increase un- 
less steps be taken to stop it ; that 
such steps have been and are being 
taken by the grandest and most noble 
men and women in the world, augurs 
well and places the cause of anti-vivi- 
section in the front ranks among the 
great questions of the day. 

The first organized agitation on 
record against vivisection took place 
at Florence in 1863, and was brought 
about by a desire to check the cruel- 
ties of Professor Schiff. The move- 
ment in England took its rise from 
the pro.secution of the Nonvich ex- 
perimenters by the R. S. P. C. A. in 
1874, the "Handbook of the Physi- 
ological Laboratory " having directed 
attention to the extension of the 
practice in England. In February' , 
1883, the American Anti- Vivisection 
Society was founded at Philadelphia. 

To-day there are over eighty-five 
organized societies in America and 
Europe, the ones in the United States 
being the New England, the Illinois, 



the American, and the New York 
State Anti-Vivisection societies ; the 
IlHnois society alone having to date 
15,892 signatures, inchuling those of 
263 physicians, to the national peti- 
tion for the total abolition of vivisec- 

On August 15, 1S96, Lord Carnar- 
von's bill received the royal signature 
and became an act in England ; this 
bill did not ask for total abolition, 
but had for its object the greatest 
possible protection for. animals under- 
going vivisection, and provided lor a 
system of regulation and inspection. 
This system has been in force since 
that time although numerous at- 
tempts have been made to pass a bill 
for total prohibition, largeh' through 
the efforts of Frances Power Cobbe, 
secretary' of the \'ictoria Street so- 
ciety and first editor of the Zoophilist. 
That this sj'stem, in vogue for twenty- 
years in England, has failed utterly 
to restrict and properh- regulate the 
practice of vivisection there is no 
doubt, and believing that anj- sys- 
tem, depending necessarily on in- 
spection, that looks for a satisfactory 
restriction of the practice to the 
hands of worthy experimenters and 
to those few cases which may rareh-, 
if ever, be necessar\-, will not meet 
the demands of the occasion, the anti- 
vivisection societies in this country-, 
and most of those abroad, appeal to 
the public in favor of total abolition 
of vivisection. A prospective ^-ivi- 
sector in England has seemingly ven,' 
little trouble in getting a license from 
the British government to carry on 
experiments without the use of anaes- 
thetics, practically giving such a 
one the right to " investigate " with- 
out the interference of an inspector, 
which entirely defeats the object of 

the bill, to say nothing about the in- 
difference and unfaithfulness of some 
of the inspectors. 

In a recent issue of the Milwaukee 
Nc'lCS is given, in detail, an account 
of horrible cruelties to which dogs 
are subjected by the students in and 
about the Milwaukee Medical col- 
lege : one basement revealing the 
sight of eleven dogs bandaged, 
bruised, slashed, cut open, two with 
their eyes put out, some lying help- 
less and moaning pitifully, but all 
alive and sensible. These dogs were 
enticed to the place by the aid of a 
piece of meat attached to the end of a 
stick, where they were vivisected 
and finally thrown into an alley to 
die a terrible and lingering death. 
A current publication has this item : 
" The supplement to the India?! Mir- 
ror (Calcutta) of February 20, con- 
tains a lecture ' Against \"ivisection " 
b}- Mrs. Annie Besant, delivered at a 
meeting of the Anti- Vivisection So- 
ciety." These two items go far to 
show what the vivisectors are foster- 
ing and what their opponents are do- 
ing to oppose them. Is it necessary 
to ask the thinking people of the 
world to do more than to post them- 
selves regarding the nature and num- 
ber of the woful things done the earth 
over, in the name of vivisection, to 
obtain the results for which the anti- 
vivisectionists are so earnestly work- 
ing, for absolutely no pecuniary re- 
ward and for no purpose other than to 
obtain justice for our dumb friends ? 
It is believed that, if the public at 
large knew just what vivisection 
means to-day, the practice would die 
a sudden death, and, to that end. the 
various societies furnish, for the ask- 
ing, literature on the subject setting 
forth an abundance of facts and sta- 



tistics, showing such an amount of 
active work and research, and expen- 
diture of time, money, and brain, 
that no intelligent and honest person, 
informed in the matter, would refer 
to them as a few ill-informed or head- 
strong persons. The records of the 
societies are full of opinions in wri- 
ting, favoring the movement, from the 
most prominent people in all parts of 
the world, and among the thousands 
of names, commending the work of the 
societies over their own signatures, 
are those of Bishop Xiles and vSen- 
ators Chandler, Gallinger, and Blair. 
Nearly all of the medical schools 
and colleges in this country devote 
more or less time to ' ' physiological 
research ' ' through the medium of 
vivisection, many of them being 
equipped with costly apparatus, from 
the torture trough to the finest nee- 
dles, made for piercing the eyes and 
ner\'es, some of them seeming to re- 
quire an infernal ingenuity to con- 
struct ; the value of those at Clark 
University, of Worcester, Mass., be- 
ing estimated to be fifty thousand 
dollars. The extent to which the 
practice is carried on in the public 
schools of this country is astounding, 
the records including the states of 
Oregon, Wisconsin, Iowa, Ohio, Cal- 
ifornia, Kansas, Xew York, Wash- 
ington, Pennsj-lvania, Illinois, Massa- 
chusetts, and the District of Colum- 
bia. Massachusetts, in 1895, passed 
a law" prohibiting vivisection in the 
presence of pupils of the public 
schools, and providing a penalty for 
its violation. It seems bej'ond belief 
that an3-one can be so lost to the 
sense of duty as to cut up live ani- 
mals before a class of children or to 
teach the scholars to do it for them- 
selves. This has been done and is 

being done to-day, and for what pur- 
pose ? To demonstrate that the heart 
beats, for instance, a fact as well 
known and recognized as that the 
sun rises and sets. The effect upon 
children whose tendencies are yet un- 
shaped and characters unformed can 
not fail to be wholly bad, brutalizing, 
and degrading. 

In a hearing held recently in Bos- 
ton, Mr. Peabod}', president of the 
New England Anti-Vivisection so- 
ciet}-, cited a number of instances of 
cruelty occurring outside of Massa- 
chusetts, and was told by the chair- 
man that they were tr>ang the case 
in Massachusetts and not all Europe. 
While this may be true the fact, 
nevertheless, remains that wrong 
doing in any part of the world af- 
fects, indirectly, the welfare of every 
individual on earth. At the \'eterin- 
ary College of Alfort, France, which 
has been in existence nearly two 
hundred 3'ears, wretched horses are 
given over to a group of students to 
experiment upon ; they tie the horses 
down and torture them for hours, the 
operations being graduated in such a 
manner that many are performed on 
each horse before death ensues. Mr. 
Peabod}^ saw' sixt\-eight performed 
upon one horse without anj' attempt 
to use anaesthetics. As many as one 
hundred experiments are performed 
if an animal lives long enough to 
endure that number, including the 
puncturing the ej^es, lopping off the. 
ears and tail, tearing off the hoofs 
with pincers, and experiments on the 
stomach, intestines, brain, and spinal 
cord. If this awful place had not ex- 
isted in Alfort, or similar places had 
not existed in other cities in Europe, 
Professor Zuill, a graduate of the 
Alfort school, would not have come 



to this country as instructor for the 
veterinary department of the Univer- 
sity of Pennsylvania, where the agon- 
izing experiments, exposed in the 
New York World, are being repeated 
to-day. If vivisection had not been 
allowed in a school at Hiawatha, 
Kansas, before a class of children, 
would two boys, after having wit- 
nessed a "demonstration," have pro- 
cured a cat and hurriedly cut it open 
alive in order to see its heart beat ? 
Vivisection as it exists to-day would 
not be allowed if it had not been prac- 
tised for ages and gradually brought 
to its present stage of development. 

Regarding the use of anaesthetics 
in vivisection authority states that 
their use is the exception and not the 
rule ; in vivisection experiments the 
animals are, ordinarily, so tightly 
bound in immovable positions that 
the use of anaesthetics serves the 
vivisector no purpose further than to 
produce a state of insensibility of 
sufficient duration to permit the ad- 
justment of the straps, clamps, etc., 
necessary to hold the animal in place. 
A drug more suited to the needs of 
the experimenters, and largely used 
by them, is curare, which Tennyson 
called "the hellish ooralii," and by 
virtue of which the nerves of motion 
are completely paralyzed while the 
sensitiveness to pain remains. Con- 
cerning this drug Claude Bernard, 
" the prince of vivisectors," says that 
the animal will experience the most 
excruciating agonies although de- 
prived of voice or motion, his own 
words, translated, being, "its intelli- 
gence, its sensitiveness, and its will 
remained intact, a condition accom- 
panied by the most atrocious suffer- 
ing^ the mind of man can conceive." 

In the Journal of Physiology , for 

April, 1895, appears a long and elab- 
orate article by Prof. W. T. Por- 
ter, of the Harvard Medical vSchool. 
Taken in conjunction with his asser- 
tion regarding painful vivisections, 
that "none such have been made in 
Harvard Medical vSchool within our 
knowledge," this paper would seem 
to offer a .somewhat noteworthy il- 
lustration of scientific forgetfulness. 
One of the experiments mentioned 
will be of interest : " Expt. I^I. May 
3d, 1894. At 10:30, a middle-sized 
dog received 0.2 g. morphia. Half 
an hour later, the left half of the 
.spinal cord was sev^ered. . . . Ani- 
mal being loosed showed paralysis on 
the left side. . . . At 4:30 (5 >^ 
hours later), the dog was again 
bound and the abdomen opened." 
No mention of anaesthetics is made, 
but if used, why was the dog bound 
again ? At the late Medical Congress, 
held in Berlin, a Chicago professor 
performed, before the assembled doc- 
tors, .some experiments upon a dog. 
Regarding this exhibition the Phila- 
delphia Ledger says, ". . . Then 
came the second part of the experi- 
ment. 'Now, gentlemen,' says the 
professor, ' you will see the effect, 
when the gas has been pumped into 
the bowels . when they have been 
wounded.' He then produced a load- 
ed revolver and fired a bullet into the 
wretched animal's abdomen. The dog 
yelled piteou.sly, and the bleeding 
creature was subjected to the gas 
injection. The rest of the story was 
too horrible to tell even in the pages 
of an English medical journal." 

The list of Brown-Sequard's and 
M. Chauveau's experiments on the 
spinal marrow is too horrible to de- 
.scribe at length. The studies were 
chiefiv made on horses. M. Chan- 



veau says, ". . . The animal is fixed 
on the table. An incision is made in 
its back of from 30 to 35 centimeters ; 
the vertebrae are opened with the 
help of a chisel, mallet, and pincers, 
and the spinal marrow exposed." 

]\Ir. Peabod}' says, — "To show 
what vivisection is, I give with great 
brevit}' three accounts of verj- com- 
mon experiments, such as I have 
often witnessed : . . . The next 
case is given in the ' Minutes of Roy- 
al Commission.' The dog was ren- 
dered motionless by curare. His 
throat was cut open and a tube of 
bellows inserted in windpipe. The 
head was partiall}' fla3-ed and an 
arter}- exposed. The spinal marrow 
was next cut through. Needles were 
dug into the exposed marrow ( un- 
speakably^ agonizing ) . The nerves 
from the brain to the heart were 
burned away b}- means of galvanism. 
... Of this terrible experiment the 
vivisector speaks as ' beautiful ' and 
of the 'pleasure of repeating it very 
frequently.' " 

The records contain a long list of 
awful experiments performed upon 
men, women, and children, in hos- 
pitals and elsewhere. Prof. E. E. 
Slosson, of the University of Wyom- 
ing, says, in the New York Independ- 
ent oi December 12, 1895, "A human 
life is nothing compared with a new 
fact in .science. The most curious 
misconception is that the Humane 
Society seems to think that the aim 
of science is the cure of disease, the 
saving of human life. Quite the con- 
trar}', the aim of science is the ad- 
vancement of human knowledge at 
any sacrifice of human life." 

What has been the result of all this 
suffering caused by experiments on 
living animals ' ' in the interest of 

science " or for " the advance of medi- 
cal knowledge ? " There are labora- 
tories in many of the principal cities 
of luirope and America, where the 
number of victims who perish by 
slow torture is countless, and 
whose unvoiced agony, if given ex- 
pression, would fill the world with 
one wild shriek of pain. The records 
show that 70,000 animals were thus 
destroyed by Professor Schiff in ten 
years, 14,000 of them being dogs, 
and this man is .still living and ply- 
ing his trade. Dr. A. Lutaud, one 
of the best known and most 
ful doctors in Paris, said that there 
were probablj^ one thousand places in 
Paris alone where vivisection was be- 
ing done. vSurely we should expect 
beneficial results in keeping with all 
the huge amount of "scientific re- 
search" on record, similar results as 
have been brought about in all 
branches of true science through 
analytic experiment. Surely the re- 
sults obtained so far should be of 
sufficient value to warrant the heart- 
less vivisector, at least, in a continu- 
ation of the cruel deeds going on to- 
day. On the contrary, Claude Ber- 
nard said, " without doubt our hands 
are empty to-da3^" Majendie, one 
of the learned of vivisectors, 
u.sed to warn his friends against em- 
ploying any medical man who had 
gained his knowledge or skill by 
means of vivisection, he 
would have obtained it \yy methods 
sure to mislead. Lawson Tait, Eng- 
land's most eminent abdominal sur- 
geon, himself formerly a vivisector, 
once wrote "You may take it from 
me that instead of vivisection having 
in any way advanced abdominal .sur- 
ger5% it has, on the contrary, had a 
uniform tendency to retard it . . ." 

I lO 


Dr. Blackwood, the eminent phy- 
sician of Philadelphia, writes, " I 
hope that the widespread dissemina- 
tion of the Pamphlet Vivisection in 
America . . . will be the means 
of starting public investigation, and 
if it does this, the time will soon 
come when vivisectors will be rele- 
gated to the category of professional 
criminals, . . ." Dr. lulward Ber- 
doe, member of the Royal College of 
Surgeons of England, member of the 
British Medical association, etc., says, 
in speaking of vivisection, " It strikes 
a blow at our common humanit}', 
and, if tolerated by society, will in- 
evitably be fatal to its highest inter- 
ests." Henry J. Bigelow, M. D., 
late professor of surgery in Harvard 
College, referring to experiments be- 
fore students, said, " Better that I or 
my friends should die than protract 
existence through accumulated years 
of torture upon animals whose ex- 
quisite sufferings we cannot fail to 
infer, even though they have neither 

voice nor feature to express it;" and, 
again, " Watch the students at a vivi- 
section, it is the blood and suffering 
and not the science that rivets the 

John Ruskin resigned his pro- 
fessorship at Oxford because he could 
not, by keeping it, sanction the prac- 
tice of vivisection there. Robert G. 
Ingersoll, with all his command of 
the English language, says, " It is 
impossible to express my loathing, 
horror, and hatred of vivisection." 

How long the practice, at the cost 
of such unutterable anguish as has 
already been inflicted on unoffending 
creatures in the name of science, will 
be allowed to continue it is not possi- 
ble to sa}' , but one looks forward with 
hope and confidence to find that the 
hour wherein the intelligence of 
America awakens to the true nature 
of vivisection, will be the hour of the 
condemnation thereof by their con- 
sciences, and the prohibition thereof 
by their laws. 

By Mrs. Caroline M. Roberts. 

The royal elms of Concord 
Shade river, park, and street. 
In lofty, leafy arches, 
Their spreading branches meet. 

In summer-time they greet us, 
Those tall and stately trees, 
Bathed in the golden sunshine 
And swaying in the breeze. 

In autumn's crowning splendor 
They glow in jeweled tints, 
And all their falling leafage, 
With gold and crimson glints. 

In winter, tall and sturdy. 
They toss their branches high, 
And join the frosty north wind, 
In joyous revelry. 

But when the spring advances. 
And claims her right to reign. 
Then bud to leaf unfolding. 
Clothes them in green again. 

Long may they stand in triumph, 
In grace and beauty grow, 
And over lawn and roadside 
Their grateful shadows throw. 



By E. P. Tenney. 


A IN it was that John 
Levin gazed at the vary- 
ing sunset colors at play 
upon the waters ; the 
sun but tarnished the 
brightness of that light which had 
kindled in his heart. He knew that 
Mary Glasse would become his wife. 
Her sense of duty would coincide 
with her love and that would settle 
the question once for all. Vain was 
it that he watched the afterglow of 
late twilight, and the dark forms of 
islands and promontories southward 
and eastward, and the outline of pine 
and fir ridges upon the west and 
north. The stars were all aglow, but 
he saw them not, nor the pitch- pot 
l)lazing on Marblehead rock, nor the 
beacon lights in the meeting-house 
steeples at Salem. Nor did he hear 
the noise which the wild geese made, 
settling in the harbor. His eves 
saw everywhere the beauty and the 
bright apparel of Mary Glasse ; and 
he constantly imagined himself stand- 
ing upon her threshold, to him the 

threshold of glory or doom. 


thought of the tapestries upon the 
walls and retraced their figures. 
And once he believed that he was 
toying with Mary's hands as she an- 
nounced to him in gentle accent the 
great decision. But he could no 
more control intermingling fears than 
he could regulate the aurora or the 

phenomena of an electric storm. He 
clutched one moment at the tran- 
scendent life so near and ye.t so far, 
and then, as if b\' some fierce explo- 
sion of supernal fires, he fell into 
darker depths of despair. 

And untameable as the sea were 
the fierce agitations which kept Mary 
Glasse awake all night. Her guar- 
dian angel could see the color upon 
her face come and go. Toward 
morning she made up her mind to 
trample upon her maidenly heart 
which had instinctively shrunk for 
so man}' months from marriage, and 
wed John Levin. 

Then the unearthly fingers of the 
dead touched her hand. Mother 
Glasse stood at Mary's side, looking 
upon her from eyes of stone ; but her 
voice was full of tender love, — 
"Mar}-," and as she said it there 
was almost a flush of color upon her 
ashen face ; but Mary became deadly 
pale and cold, and she rushed to the 
door for breath. 

John Levin was standing upon the 
door- rock, looking with glazed eyes 
at the star-lighted south and the dark 
sea. As he turned, in his excited im- 
agination, he believed that he saw the 
dead pass by him ; and with a great 
heart-quake and a sudden paralytic 
chill of despair he knew that unseen 
powers had made the great decision. 

At dav-dawn it was noticed that 


there was a fogbank in the south- 
east, and that small white clouds 
towered above it ; and then they 
were seen moving in the gentle morn- 
ing wind, like the sails of ghostly 


It was about ten days later, when, 
on the morning of the twenty-sixth 
of February, Doctor Robert Langdon 
rode past Mingo's beach upon his 
wa}^ to prescribe for the Rev. Dr. 
Hammersmith, to preserve him from 
the evil effects of the rum he was 
obliged to drink in making pastoral 
calls ; and he wished, moreover, to 
consult with the learned pastor upon 
a case of moment. 

The doctor paused a moment to 
give breath to Nighthawk, and to 
look upon the calm waters of the har- 
bor, which were crinkling under the 
light air stirring, and to watch the 
billows of molten silver breaking 
upon the shore. He then rode for- 
ward slowly. It was apparent to 
Nighthawk that his master was gain- 
ing in weight every month. And the 
lucky black horse stepped cautiously 
along the slippery and sometimes 
treacherous roadway ; a hoof now 
and then breaking through thin ice, 
which concealed some slight hollow 
or cut whence the water had settled 

And the doctor was content to ride 
slowly that he might more fully de- 
liberate upon the subject concerning 
which he was about to seek advice 
from a theologian. Would Dr. Ham- 
mersmith pronounce John Levin to 
be merely insane, or would he coin- 
cide with medical opinion, and ad- 
judge him to be the victim o' witch- 
craft ? 

Martha, too, was sick, and nigh 
unto death ; and the doctor rode verj' 
slowly as if Nighthawk was heavily 
weighted with human sorrow. Were 
there not some indications that Mar- 
tha, too, was bewitched ? 

What wonder if the half-distracted 
doctor believed that the great crisis 
in his own life had come, and that all 
he had heard and read of diabolical 
agency was about to be verified by 
what was already taking place under 
his own eyes, within the limits of his 
riding as a physician. Now that 
John Levin had gone to England, 
and Martha was silent, this matter 
should be probed to the bottom. 

The beach sands, further up the 
.shore, were of fro.sted silver, and the 
rocks near the sea gleamed with ice ; 
and the frigor of the morning gave a 
sober if resolute tone to the doctor's 

"It is a cold world ; and the win- 
ter sun runs low, and is late in ris- 
ing," quoth the doctor. "But no 
true man will succumb to his sur- 
roundings. I will accept the destiny 
thrust upon me ; and settle the mat- 
ter, once for all, as to the diabolical 
agencies inimical to m}- domestic 
peace and to the sound health of ni}' 
illustrious friend." 

The frost in the air made the rider 
glad when he was finally within reach 
of the Hammersmith latch-string. 
Crossing the log floor to the rough- 
stoned fire-place, he found his patient 
seated at an oak table within the 
jaws of the deep-mouthed chimney, 
attempting to keep warm by help of 
a crackling fire and by the sipping of 
bare-legged punch from a pewter 


"Egad, Doctor, what is this thou 
prescribest for me ? " 



" Pray do not ask. It is in my 
profession as in yours. I depend 
more or less upon the power of mys- 
tery in curing patients, not telling 
them too much." 

"Then, prithee, tell me the morn- 
ing gossip. I hear strange news." 

"Tell it then to me, — unless you 
keep it for a mystery." 

"I hear that Mr. Levin has gone 
daft, — unless there be some other 
name for it." 

" What do you mean?" 

' ' Dost thou not know, Doctor, that 
Mar}' Glasse's mother was hung for 
a witch ? ' ' 

' ' How could I but know it ? Eve- 
ry bod)' has said so within a week. 
Everybody seems to be thinking 
about it, since Mary has treated John 
Levin so." 

' ' Treated him how ? What dost 
thou mean ? ' ' 

" If you do not know, I hesitate to 
tell you. It 's a shame even to speak 
of it. He is not the same man now. 
He clung to her against hope ; as if 
she were his last earthh- refuge. And 
this noble business man is now all 
broken up. He will never be what 
he has been. Do you not remember 
his father?" 

"Yea, him I knew very well. And 
once I saw his grandfather. Lord 
Levin. He was a Scotch general in 
the civil war." 

' ' I 've alwaj-s heard that our John's 
father was a very able, prudent, pains- 
taking, far-sighted merchant." 

"Yea, he was that, and he was 
strong in his domestic affections. 
And he was honest, I am very sorry 
to say, in rejecting our holy religion ; 
he told me he would take his chances. 
He was. Brother Pepper says, very 
upright, and .self-seeking, and mis- 

erly, and of great will power. If so, 
he was peculiarly fitted, in my judg- 
ment, to shine in the mercantile call- 
ing. But then, as thou art aware, we 
ministers of the Gospel never trust 
ourselves to speak of merchants ; they 
seek to usurp influence in the colony. 
And then — lawyers — I never could 
abide them. But, for all that, I am 
sorry that Mr. Levin is either mad or 
bewitched, for he came of a good 
family. And I am more than pained 
that the blame is found to lie in my 
parish. I would not have thought 
that James Glasse's daughter could 
have done it. But it's a clear case 
of hereditary depravity. She takes 
after her mother, and Goodman James 
could not help that. Poor man, with 
such a wife and such a daughter, — 
both hung, or the same as that." 

" I 'm very glad to hear 3'our rev- 
erence talk so. In 3'our judgment 
I have implicit confidence, as to an 
intricate case of this kind. The 
learning of the ministry and their 
knowledge of the devil and his ways 
make their decisions paramount as 
to all cases involving witchcraft, and 
you have with dexteritj^ and precis- 
ion made this particular case clear. 
I 've often thought that, if we must 
still believe in live dragons and in 
astrology and in necromancy, we 
ought logically to believe in diaboli- 
cal possession ; and if an)' believe 
that heretics ought to be put to 
death, then much more those wicked 
persons who are in league with im- 
palpably diffused devils. As a phy- 
sician I look on it as a disease ; some 
folks catch it easier than others, 
but I don't see wh}' people are not 
just as liable to have devils as to 
have the mumps." 

"If the powers of darkness were 



not kept in tether, it would be so," 
replied the clergyman, nervously 
plucking a small gray twig off one 
end of the maple forestick. "It is, 
I suppose, measurably so. The devil 
looks on men as a hungry shark 

"Precisely so," responded Elder 
Perkins, who had just come in, with 
a leather bottle in his hand, which 
he placed upon the rough oak table ; 
"precisely so. And it is remarkable, 


Madam Hammersmith had pre- 
pared an elaborate dinner that day 
for Brother Pepper and Sister Adi- 
pose and the witch-finding girls of 
Salem village ; and Dr. Robert lyang- 
don, much to his own surprise, sat 
down with them at eleven o'clock 
sharp. It was a great occasion, and 
Madam Hammersmith was so much 
excited that she passed a wooden 
bowl of gun-flints to the doctor in 
lieu of sugar. Doctor Langdon, with 
a gravity that would have made Mar- 
tha smile, dropped a flint into his 
chocolate broth. 

"What is this, madam, that you 
have concocted for us ? " 

"It is chocolate broth, Doctor. 
Capt. Sam Baker brought it to me 
yesterday. It is the first we have 
ever seen. I took it to be a kind of 
meat victuals. But my fork failed to 
find it after it had cooked an hour. 
I suppose the witches took it away ; 
but the broth is very good. Won't 
you have some. Brother Pepper? " 

" It smells good ; but it has a dia- 
bolical look to it. Please pass it to 
your husband ; and experiment first 
upon him." 

But her husband w^as so absorbed 

in his own thoughts that he had not 
noticed what his wife was talking 
about. "What remedy. Brother 
Pepper," he asked, " can 'st thou 
find out?" 

Brother Pepper had been, all the 
morning, since his eai'ly arrival, over- 
hauling the Hammersmith library in 
keen scent for witchcraft remedies, — 
since the owner of the books had 
never read them ; the library having 
come from a deceased uncle, who 
was none other than the learned 
James Hammersmith, rector at Barn- 
staple in Devon. Brother Pepper 
had not found out any remedy ; but 
he had read a profound essay by the 
Right Reverend John Thorne, D. D., 
bishop of Durham, explaining phil- 
osophically how it was that women 
could ride the air upon brooms ; and 
to Brother Pepper it was more satis- 
factory than the Newtonian theory 
as to gravitation. 

"The number of evil spirits, my 
dear brother, is infinite. They 
swarm like invisible flies. They up- 
bear by unseen wings those unfor- 
tunate females who appear to us to 
be supported solely by broomsticks. 
The devils are the real horses, my 
brother, upon which they ride. 

"Can we not. Brother Pepper, .se- 
quester the devil, that he ply not his 
functions among us; and, so, amelio- 
rate the sufferings of our people ? ' ' 

"Alas, brother, thou knowest that 
we be settled, as it were, upon lands 
which were once the devil's terri- 
tories, and that he is much disturbed 
when he perceives such a people 
here. He is sorely irritated, and 
would overturn our poor plantation. 
An army of devils is brought in upon 
us, and a dreadful knot of witches. 



Is it not, my dear brother, our sov- 
ereign mission to relieve an im- 
perilled countr}- from stress, and to 
scatter these ruthless powers of dark- 
ness like chaff ? H-hem." 

"Yea and amen. I have no mind 
for those new expositors of divinit}' 
or physic who say there be no witches 
or devils. When I was last at home. 
I presented to the Royal Societ}' a 
horse-shoe crab that I had picked up 
at the foot of my garden. Our 
school-master and even Doctor Ja}^ 
said that he walked forward ; but I 
was aware that crabs had been known 
to walk backwards for more than a 
thousand years. So I took the shell 
to England. x\nd the Royal Societ)- 
agreed with me. What our Mr. 
Simeon Strait had called the tail, the 
learned Jacobus Acidity Smith, 
F. R. S., declared to be the nose, 
and he discovered eyes looking the 
same way the nose did. Ergo, I 
hold with the more serious part of 
our people that devils and witches 
are as prevalent now as they have 
been known to be during more than 
ten hundred years past. I believe 
that to-day the devil himself so far 
abides in a common weather-pan, 
that his witches do sell real winds to 
mariners for mone}'." 

"Ah, Brother Hammersmith," re- 
plied Brother Pepper, with a hollow 
laugh, " I fear that familiarity breeds 
contempt. We in Salem village have 
devils as plent}^ as house-rats ; and if 
it 's only the devil that wakes me in 
the night by making a racket in my 
chamber, I turn over and go to sleep 
again. H-hem." 

"But the situation is too grave. 
Brother Pepper, to allow us to smile. 
Thou knowest that the savages wor- 
ship the devil, and that he has ex- 

cited them to kill three of our neigh- 
ijors within a brief space ; and that 
we must retaliate, and punish the 
devil by hanging his witches, who 
lead such wicked lives and are by 
blood bound to his service. It is a 
time of great danger to our state, and 
there are abroad rumors of wars." 

" I should say, Mister," exclaimed 
the widow Adipose, now no longer 
able to contain. herself. 

" What is that, sister?" 

But Angelica was abashed and 
half frightened that she had inter- 
rupted the parsons. Nor would she 
speak again till her own pastor — 
Brother Pepper — also asked, " What 
is that, sister? " 

Then she made bold to resume, 
" I should say, Misters, — " 

But she was broken off short, b}^ 
the fall of the girl sitting next her. 
Eetitia Morgan with a loud outcry 
sidled off her stool and sprawled upon 
the floor. She was one of Brother 
Pepper's witch-finding girls. Madam 
Hammersmith arose hastily, spilling 
her witch broth and up-setting the 
gun-flints ; and Doctor Langdon felt 
of the girl's pulse, and pulled her 
tongue, — and she said, — with wild, 
rolling eyes, and intermingling 
shriek.s, — " Man,- — Glasse — is — pinch- 




Three months went by, and the 
witch trials had been going on, and 
some poor creatures had paid the 
penalt}- with their lives, when upon 
the morning of the thirty-first of Maj' 
Thomas Clangdon, constable, visited 
Glasse Head. He found Mar}- put- 
ting out her washing. Unwittinglj' 
she had crossed the threshold of her 
house for the last time. 


"Do not meddle with me, I pray 
thee. I will not stir hence." 

"We'll hear you of that anon. 
Come hither." 

En.sign John Brimblecome now 
came forward from his concealment 
behind a clump of barberry bushes, 
and Mary went with the men with- 
out more ado. 

It was a wild, gusty morning, and 
the coast line was fringed with break- 
ers. Mary cast one glance .southward 
upon the saw-toothed horizon of the 
rough sea, and one glance westward 
to the heights of Gibbet hill in Sa- 
lem where her mother Glasse had per- 
ished. The sun was shining clearly 
upon that ghoulish hilltop, although 
at the moment the ocean outlook was 
clouded. But the sunbeams pierced 
the pine woods as the travellers 
moved along the slope of the Great 
hill and skirted the Chubb Creek 
marshes. It was low tide with hard- 
pounding weaves, as they progressed 
slowly over the West Beach sands. 
After that Mary walked as if in 
dreamland, till they came to the Bass 
River ferrj^ where she noticed the 
hills upspringing from tide-water, 
and the light of the morning upon 
them, and the forest crowding in 
upon the settlers from ever}- quarter 
of the land. And she heard afar 
the anvil strokes of a smithy, which 
floated upon the morning air like the 
tinkling of a bell. 

When the}^ paused a moment for 
the ofhcers of the law to partake of 
the hospitalities of the Blue Anchor 
tavern on English street, Mary was 
dazed as to any cognizance of the 
burly villagers, who jostled each 
other at her elbows and made com- 
ments upon her fine figure, and up- 
on her face which by ex- 

citement kindled to their admira- 

" vSlie has the mien of a wild bird," 
said one. 

"She is too fascinating to be un- 
touched by evil," said another. 

At the hasty trial Mary was as 
good as condemned at the outset by 
the astounding effect of Doctor Jay's 
testimony. He was her friend, and 
meant to befriend her. But in his 
frank statement of what he really 
thought about Mary's health, he 
made a distinction between mental 
eccentricity and witchcraft for which 
the court was totally unprepared, and 
in effect gave to Mary that kind of 
character which in the judgment of 
the court might best league with the 
powers of darkness. 

Her physician knew her too well, 
and he thought less of the effect of 
what he might say upon her fate 
than of the opportunity he now had 
of displaying his learning and his 
theories before a popular audience. 
He believed that his patient's nerves 
had been early strained by the tragic 
death of her mother ; that she had 
never been well balanced ; that some 
faculties she held in excess ; that 
she had transient mental conditions, 
which if permanent would be unrea- 
son ; that she sometimes saw visions ; 
but physic might modify her humors. 
The doctor gave it as his medical 
opinion that there was no such thing 
as witchcraft, that all the phenomena 
attendant upon the pretention could 
be accounted for by his theor}^ of in- 
sanity and the contagion of nervous 
excitement ; and he was particularly 
severe upon the girls who had set up 
for witch hunters. 

"Hallucinations," he said, "may 
occur without insanity or the devil. 


I have had one patient sew by the 
hour with an imaginaiy needle, but 
I call her crazy. I cannot say 
whether the witnesses, who see the 
devil incarnate in a small black dog, 
ma}' or may not be insane ; but this 
I know : that nothing is so catching 
as mental disturbance among persons 
in S5'mpathy with each other; and, if 
it be allowed that one person is be- 
witched, soon there are forty pos- 
sessed by the same imagination." 

In saying this Doctor Jay ran great 
risk; and Mary could see that the 
crowd was very angrj^ His testi- 
mony had been given in statelj- ac- 
cents which added weight to w-hat he 
had said. The doctor was a small 
man, of much humor; and he con- 
stantly fingered, while talking, a half- 
inch toadstone, dark gra}', and semi- 
transparent, set in a heavy thumb- 
ring of silver upon his left hand. 
He had been used to loaning it out 
among his patients, upon enormous 
security for its safe return, to protect 
new born children from fairies. The 
displa}^ of this talisman added much 
to his influence with the court. 

Parson Pepper, whom Ross charac- 
terized as a vinegar barrel on stilts, 
quoted Sir Thomas Browne to the 
effect that our hearts are commonh- 
the factories of the devil, with ma- 
chiners' capable of running on in his 
absence. No one who heard it could 
for a long period rid his ears of the 
doleful echo of the word " damned," 
which Mr. Pepper emphasized when 
he described the fate aw^aiting the 
criminals at the bar. 

Mary Glasse did not hear it ; she 
was thinking whether John Levin's 
legal talents might not have availed 
her could he have been present. In- 
deed, with his strong arm for defence 

she never would have Ijeen brought 

Mary could, however, Init hear 
Letitia Morgan, who had been so 
wrought upon, and so frightened by 
devils visible and invisible, as to be- 
lieve w'ith the utmost sincerity that 
the prisoner at the bar had tormented 

Angelica, the widow, testified as to 
certain things observed b}' her when 
Mary was sick at her house. And 
Mistress Race told all that she knew 
of Mary's idiosyncrasies. 

As for the cranky fisherman, James 
Glasse, it was no harder for him to 
testify against Mary than it was, 
when he lived across the bay at Mar- 
ble harbor, to testify against Ruth, 
his wife. He implicith' believed in 
diabolical possession, as much so as 
he believed in unseen monsters of the 
deep ; and if his wife and his daugh- 
ter were possessed they were no 
longer of kin to him. He had been 
diabolically deceived, made a fool of, 
by that fate which tied him first to 
Ruth, then to Mary. He would 
save his own soul, and renounce the 
fiendish relationship ; and this he 
did. Doctor Hammersmith told him 
that thisw^as right. He testified that 
Mar}^ had always acted unnaturally 
as to her home life, as though the 
devil had been her father, as most 
likely he was. 

Mary did not so much as li.sten to 
what he said ; for there had been 
long a moral separation between 
them, and she had long hesitated in 
daughterly affection although never 
in service. 

At this moment her mind was ab- 
sorbed in watching the shoal of faces, 
such as she had never wished to see. 
There she stood like a field lilv in a 



fleck of sunlight ; which one some- 
times sees in a deep green wood, out 
of place, and the more beautiful for 
the unwonted surroundings. And 
she looked at certain insane wretches 
already condemned, who had believed 
and confessed themselves afflicted by 
the devil and in league with him. 
Patsey Pease from Jeffrey's creek 
was the only one she knew ; who 
wore a haggard, beseeching look, and 
who was clad in attire so strange as 
to divert Mar}- from herself for the 

If Mary had ever questioned 
whether all the follies of her life (of 
which she had been timidly con- 
scious) might have been actuated by 
the devil, this trial threw her back 
upon herself, and so cleared her in- 
tellectual atmosphere that .she knew 
herself to be of sound mind, — al- 
though her steps, as she believed, 
were now drawing near to the City 
of God. 

As they went out of the room 
toward the jail, Mary felt the instinc- 
tive clutch of Patsey 's hand ; and she 
heard a shriek from some stranger 
quivering through the air. It was 
growing dark, but the wall of the sky 
was bright with the tints of the sun- 
set. Could Mary Glasse have seen 
through the walls of the jail, at the 
moment she entered the door, she 
would have descried Raymond Foote, 
approaching from the direction of 
Salem village ; although she might 
not have easily recognized him in his 
strange Indian guise. 


Sweet melodies flowing down from 
the sk}^ like rills from the mountains, 
awakened Mary Glasse from her re- 
freshing sleep in Salem jail. Her ear 

was (|uick to discern another voice 
than that of the birds. And her 
spirit was in tune for music at day- 
dawn. When left alone last night 
she came to herself at once and was 
glad of heart to be so near the 
threshold of her F'ather's house. 
Untroubled were the incalculable 
forces within ; and she had sung in 
the moonlight which shone in at the 
little window till the music-loving 
mice came with twinkling black e^-es 
to listen. 

When Raymond Foote, thought- 
less of danger, stout-hearted, with 
large frame and powerful muscles, 
came to try his voice under the jail 
window, he had some such sense of 
joy as a child might have in trying 
to find out the exact spot from which 
the rainbow rises. The foot of the 
arch was at the jail window. 

He found his old friend Hodgman 
to be the jailor, who quickly let him 
in. Nor could Raymond notice bolts 
and shackles for joy of beholding the 
beauty of the prisoner, whose face, 
slightly pale, was informed with 
spiritual light. 

" How can I, Raymond, be in the 
shadow when I keep my face to the 
sun ? ' ' 

"Arise, go hence, Mary, this is not 
your rest." 

" I am now at rest, Raymond, nor 
stand I in need of other than this. I 
touch myself to be assured that I am 
still in the body. Am I not surround- 
ed by the ros}^ light of the realm 
unseen ? Not for all worlds would 
I have missed this security of faith, 
which is no more disturbed by the 
accidents of life than the stars are 
swept away by the tree tops or Great 

"I am glad, Mary, to find you in 



harmony with the bells ot paradise, 
since God has been pleased to test you 
b}- his hammer to see if there be an)' 
flaw, but I have come to carry you 

As the morning hours sped, Ra}'- 
mond, who had redeemed several cap- 
tives from Barbary, had no difficulty 
in redeeming Mary Glasse, by the 
aid of Hodgman, and of his friend 
Ross who was now the sheriff, with 
the title of major which he had won 
b\- his gallantry in the Canadian ex- 

"There's room for hope 'twixt 
jail an" th' rope," said Hodgman, 
who started off to find Ross, leaving 
the late Indian captive in charge of 
his prisoners. It was not long before 
Raymond persuaded the martyr ]\Iar\' 
to get down from that high plane 
which refused to look nowhither save 
toward life celestial, and to listen not 
W'ithout interest to his terrestrial or 
rather aquatic stor}- of his own escape 
from the Indians. 

His captors had secured skates in 
a raid on the settlements ; and upon 
the 26th of February Raj-mond un- 
dertook to teach the braves how to 
use these wings of steel ; and he flew 
away from them all, and reached the 
whites after incredible winter and 
spring journeying. His Indian life 
had agreed with him, and his vigor 
was a match for rough nature and for 
wild men. 

When Hodgman returned with 
Ross, the Major not only ratified the 
agreement entered into by the jailor, 

but as the sheriff he made a compact 
which resulted in deceiving the au- 
thorities, who were led to believe that 
Mary was dul}- executed with others 
upon the fatal day ; and Ross also saw 
to it that some ghost should haunt 
Glasse Head long enough to satisfy 
everybody of the reality of IVIarj^'s 
death, and to scare James Glasse into 
moving himself and his fish-yard over 
to Marble Harbor where he came 

The Reverend Doctor Hammersmith 
preached a suitable sermon, warning 
his )'Oung people against the fate of 
Mar}' Glasse : and then he took his 
physician's advice and escaped the 
snares set for him by his bibulous 
parishioners, and visited the Old 
world. He took with him a cargo 
of crabs, as it was currenth' reported 
by Doctor Ja\' and Master Strait. 

RaA'mond Foote's Chebacco parish 
having a temporary supply, assented 
to his serving Brother Hammersmith's 
people for a few months in the absence 
of their beloved toperial pastor. Ray- 
mond had no hesitation about mak- 
ing frequent visits to Glasse Head, 
although the ghost which came there 
so often after James Glasse left was 
never known to cross the threshold. 

Mar}' Glasse lived all the earlj' 
summer in wild-wood life, such as 
she had been accustomed to lead 
when an Indian captive. One of her 
haunts was the great boulder near 
Mount Zion, which offered her con- 
venient shelter in rough weather. 

YTo I'C coutiiuicci.\ 

Comiitcted by Fred Goiviuo^ State Sitperiiiteitdeiit of Public Instruction. 


In the statement of the duties of the 
Superintendent of Public Instruction, 
the amended law says that " he shall 
investigate the condition and efficiency 
of the system of popular education in 
the state, especially in relation to the 
amount and character of the instruction 
given to the study of physiology and 
hygiene, having special reference to the 
effects of alcoholic stimulants and of 
narcotics upon the human system, and 
shall recommend to school boards what 
he considers the best text-books upon 
those subjects and suggest to them the 
best mode of teaching them." 

Accordingly a study has been made 
of several text-books on physiology that 
are commonly found in the public 
schools, with a view to determining 
somewhat the merit of such works for 
school use. It would have been better 
to assign to a body of experts this task 
involving, necessarily, much technical 
knowledge and acumen not usually 
possessed by laymen, and hardly to be 
expected in such. The responsibility 
was somewhat lessened by the fact that 
the law does not require the selection 

of a single book that is best, but " the 
best text-books^'' and by the further fact 
that no school board is bound by the 
recommendation to adopt any of the 
books in the list, but is free to make 
selection in accordance with the light 
given it, carefully studying books, 
schools, and local conditions. 

One point is satisfactorily proved, 
that the ideal book on this subject 
written for study by school children, if 
published, did not find its way into this 
examination. While perhaps one could 
not put his finger on a passage in some 
books that in itself is exceptionable, 
the impression left by these books as 
wholes is distorted and faulty. 

From some books a child might gain 
the notion that it is positively danger- 
ous to live, that one must not do any- 
thing, however trivial, without the most 
careful consideration of its ultimate 
effect upon the body. The unusual, the 
exceptional, the morbid, are too prev- 
alent to the exclusion of the normal, 
the actual, the wholesome. Fortunately 
the child mind is elastic and recovers 
quickly from some of these shocks. 



The question naturally arises, Is it wis- 
dom to cause a child to be conscious 
in a large degree of his organs and their 
functions ? Shall digestion tend to be- 
come a conscious process ? 

Anatomy is given too great promi- 
nence ; hygiene, too little. Unimpor- 
tant details fill much space. The treat- 
ment of the structure, physiology, and 
care of some of the most important or- 
gans of the body is wholly omitted gen- 

The excellence of the pedagogic form 
of the text-books varies, but one can gain 
many valuable hints for the preparation 
and teaching of lessons from many of 
these elementarv books. 

The typography and cuts are gener- 
ally good. The prices are reasonable. 

At a future time in dealing with 
methods of teaching physiology in com- 
mon schools, it may be necessary to go 
further into the subject of text-books, 
but at present all that is required is a 
simple list. The preceding comments 
are gratuitous. As it is desirable, even 
necessary, that boards should furnish to 
schools advanced books and books of 
reference in this subject as in others for 
proper and adequate study, the names 
■of a few such helpful books are added. 

Some things need much emphasis, 
night living is the end sought by a 

study of physiology and hygiene in the 
lower schools. To inculcate and form 
right habits that shall be a permanent 
possession of the child is the function 
of the teacher. Morality is involved to 
a considerable extent in this subject. 
The truth, simple and pure, is strong 
enough to make out its case. Philan- 
thropists and scientists should get to- 
gether upon common ground for the 
building of a book satisfactory to all 
and worthy of the children to be edu- 

The school is a powerful factor in in- 
fluencing the life of the child. The com- 
munity itself is a mighty factor. The 
ideals of a community tend to become 
the child's ideals. Parents should be in- 
structed in hygiene at parents' meetings 
and all forces joined in harmonious 
work to the end that there be no waste, 
no friction. Much practical good might 
be accomplished by the people in each 
community trying to enforce chapter 
two hundred sixty-five of the Public 

A variety of books in a single school 
is highlv desirable. 

A selection of books in this subject 
should be made in view of the ends 
sought, the w'elfare of the child and the 
improvement of the people and the 


1. Anatom3-, Phj-siologj-, and Hygiene. Jerome Walker, M. D. Allyii & Bacon. 

2. The Human Bodj- and the Effects of Narcotics. H. Newell Martin, D. Sc. Henry Holt & Co. 
The Human Body. H. Newell Martin, D. Sc. Henry Holt & Co. 

The Human Body (Elem.). H. Newell Martin, D. Sc Henry Holt & Co. 

3. Hj-gienic Physiologj-. D. F. Lincoln, M. D. Ginn & Co. 

4. Physiology and H3-giene. J. C. Hutchison. Maynard, Merrill & Co. 

5. Physiology and Health. Union Series, No. 3. E. H. Butler & Co. 
■6. A Healthy Body. Charles H. Stowell. Silver, Burdett & Co. 

7. Anatomj-, Ph3-siology, and Hygiene. Roger S. Tracy, M. D. American Book Co. 

8. Second Book in Physiology and H3-giene. J. H. KeFogg, M. D. American Book Co. 

■9. An Academic Phj-siology and Hygiene. .\. M. Brands and H. C. Von Gieson. Leach, Shew- 
ell & Sanborn. 


rHvsif)T.fxui':s — (■,r.\:\i:\iak cradk. 

1. Our Woiultrfiil Bodies. J. C. Hutchison. Maynard, Merrill iS: Co. 

2. Our Hodies and How We Live. A. F. Hlaisdell. Giun & Co. 

3. How to Keep Well. A. 1". Hlaisdell. Ginn & Co. 

4. Physiolog:j' and Health. Union Series. E. H. Butler & Co. 

5. The Essentials of Health. Charles H. Stowell. Silver, Burdett & Co. 

6. The Human Bodj^ and Its Health. Wni. Thayer Smith. American Book Co. 

7. The Human Body and How to Take Care of It. J. Johonnot and E. Bouton. American Book Co 

8. First Book in Phj-siology and Hygiene. J. H. Kellogg. American Book Co. 

q. Human Anatomj', Physiology and Hygiene (rev. ed.). Chas. H. May. Wm. Wood & Co. 
10. Essential Lessons in Human Phj-siologj-. W. E. Baldwin. Werner Co. 


1. Our Wonderful Bodies. Hutchison. Maynard, Merrill & Co. 

2. The Child's Book of Health. Blaisdell. Ginn & Co. 

3. Physiology and Health. LTnion Series No. i. E. H. Butler & Co. 

4. Primer of Physiology and Hygiene. Wm. Thayer Smith, .\nierican Book Co. 

5. Health for Little Folks. 


Dalton's Physiologies. 

Hunt's Principles of Hygiene, .\merican Book Co. 

W^arren's Plumbers and Doctors. D. .\ppleton & Co. 

Butler's Emergency Notes. Funk & Wagnalls. 

Pitcher's First .^id in Illness and Injury. Chas. Scribner's Sons. 

Doty's Prompt Aid to the Injured. D. Appleton & Co. 

Charts by Andrew Wilson of Edinburgh. American Book Co. 

Thornton's Human Physiology. Longmans & Co. 

jNIorris's Human .\natomj'. 

Landor and Stirling's Human Physiology. 

Huxley's Elementary Physiology. 

Foster and Shove's Physiology for Beginners. 

Rej-nold's Primer of Hygiene. Macmillan ^t Co. 

Bissell's Manual of Hygiene. Baker, Taylor & Co. (N. Y.) 

Newsholm's School Hygiene. 

Colton's Zoology. 

Bowditch's Hints for Teachers. I). C. Heath .S: Co. 

Blaisdell's How to Teach Physiology. Ginn (!<: Co. 

Waller's Human Physiology. Longmans & Co. 

The courses of study and pamphlets of F. V . IMurdock, l\Irs. Ella B. Hallock, the publications 

under the charge of the Woman's Christian Temperance I'nion, and other similar works, are 

most stimulating and helpful. 

F. A. CO LBV. 

Dr. Frank A. Colby was born in Colebrook in June, 1852, and died at Berlin 
July 14. He was educated at Phillips Exeter academy and at Dartmouth Medical 
college. In early life he travelled extensively and underwent many adventures, 
being at one time surgeon in the armies of the Sultan of Turkey. Returning to 
this country he practised for a long time at Lancaster and Berlin. He was a 
member of the last legislature from the latter town. 

F. L. ABP.OT. 

Francis L. Abbot died at Manchester-by-the-Sea, Mass., July 22. He was a 
native and life-long resident of Concord, and had been one of the city's represen- 
tatives in the legislature. He was educated at S. Paul's school, being one of the 
first boys at that institution. After leaving school he entered business life with 
the firm of Abbot & Downing, now the Abbot-Downing Co., and maintained an 
active connection with them until his death. 

T. K. HOYT. 

Thornton B. Hoyt was a native of Concord and died at Hampton, July 14, aged 

64 years. He was at different times proprietor of hotels at Exeter, Portsmouth, 

and Kingston ; was at one time engaged in the provision business in Boston and 

served during the Rebellion as a sutler. He was deputy sheriff and jailer for 

many years. 

N. L. TRUE. 

Dr. Noah E- True was born in Meredith and died at Laconia, June 21, at the 
age of 67 years and seven months. He studied medicine at Harvard and at the 
Eclectic Medical college, Worcester, Mass. He practised at Dover and Meredith, 
and, since 1865, at Laconia. He served Meredith as representative and select- 
man, and was at the time of his death the oldest member of the New Hampshire 

Medical Society. 

N. S. BEAN. 

Nehemiah Sleeper Bean was born in Gilmanton, May 16, 18 [8, and died at 
Manchester, July 20. He learned the millwright's trade and assisted in the con- 
struction of mills in various parts of the state. Later he was in the employ of the 
Essex locomotive works at Lawrence, and built the Pacific that ran for many years 
on the Boston and Maine. Fame and fortune came to him, however, as the inven- 
tor and perfector of the Amoskeag steam fire engine, one of Manchester's num- 
erous products which are known around the world. Mr. Bean was also prominent 
in banking circles and had served in the legislature and city government. 



Loring W. Gleason was born in Westmoreland 64 years ago and died at Bil- 
lerica, Mass., July 7. In early life he was a gold miner in California but return- 
ing to the east, he successfully engaged in the real estate business in Hoston for 

more than 40 years. 

A. G. REED. 

Augustus G. Reed died at Nashua, July 3, at the age of 77 years. He had been 

a resident of that city for 60 years, and for 50 years had been one of its leading 

merchants, having been engaged in the dry goods business. He was also promi- 

inent in banking circles. 


James Emerson was born at Bradford 73 years ago and died at Williamansett, 
Mass., July 6. He was one of the best known civil and mechanical engineers in 
the Connecticut valley and also an inventor of note. He was the author of sev- 
eral scientific works and was frequently called upon as a consulting expert. 


Benjamin W. Ball, journalist and poet, died at Rochester, July 13, aged 73. He 
was born in Concord, Mass., receiving his early education at Groton and gradu- 
ating from Dartmouth college in 1842. He studied law with John P. Robinson of 
Lowell, and, in 1856, became editor of the Lowell Courier, during the famous 
Fremont campaign. He was an intimate friend of Ralph Waldo Emerson, whose 
library was at his disposal. He published a book of poems in T851, and another 
in 1892. His contributions to the Atlantic Mouthly attracted wide attention, and 
he was a frequent contributor to Boston newspapers and magazines. 


Hon. H. K. Slayton was born in Calais, Vt., 71 years ago and died in Manches- 
ter, July 9. He engaged in mercantile life in Boston at an early age and later 
kept a general store in Calais for 10 years, serving during that time as a member 
of the Vermont legislature and a delegate to the Republican national conventions 
of 1856 and i860. He went to Manchester in 1863 and established a wholesale 
produce business which still continues. He was a member of both branches of 
the New Hampshire legislature, and a well known writer on finance and dairy 


L. T. J EFTS. 

Luman T. Jefts was born in Washington in 1830, and died at Hudson, Mass., 
July 3. He had been engaged in shoe manufacturing at Hudson since 1859, and 
was also prominent in banking and in i^olitics, having served in both branches of 
the legislature and in the governor's council. He built and presented to his nat- 
ive town an elegant public library building, was treasurer and trustee of the New 
England Conservatory of Music, and a trustee of Boston University. 


A. J. Sawyer died at Manchester, June 27, at the age of 58 years. He had for 
many years been engaged in the lumber business and had amassed a fortune. He 
was a prominent member of the Advent church. 

Cascade at Hkad of Flume, Franconia Notch. 

The Granite Monthly. 

Vol.. XXL 


No. 3, 

View of Naval Academy from Opposite Bank of Severn River. 


By Etisign Lloyd H. Cliandler, U. S. N'. 

ABOUT forty miles to 
the southward of Balti- 
more, on the western 
shore of Chesapeake bay, 
is the Severn river, — a 
river in name only, for 
it is realh' but a narrow 
arm of the bay extending 
a few miles into the coun- 
tr}-. On the western bank 
of this river at its mouth 
c ., stands the historic citv 

Samoan Memo- 

nai Window, ^f Auuapolis, the capital 
of Maryland, where once met the na- 
tional congress, and where George 
Washington resigned his commission 
as commander in chief of the army of 
the United States. The mildness of 
the climate at this place and the prox- 
imity of a navigable sheet of water 
were the principal reasons for its se- 
lection as the site for the naval school 

which George Bancroft, then secre- 
tar}' of the nav}', was so largely in- 
strumental in establishing. Created 
in 1845, under the administration of 
James K. Polk, the "Naval School," 
as it was then called, was formally 
opened on Octol^er 10 of the same 
3'ear, with Commander Franklin Bu- 
chanan as superintendent, upon the 
then small militar}' reservation sur- 
rounding and including Fort Severn, 
that property being transferred for 
that purpose from the war to the 
navy department. 

From this small beginning 
"Naval Acadeni}-," so called 
1850, -has grown to its present 

mensions, gradualh' enlarging 


grounds and its course of study un- 
til it now ranks as one of the first 
schools of the world. The course 
as now given covers six years, of 



^ 4'Vl ' 





Dinner Formation. 

which only the first four are spent 
at the academy, the last two being 
spent at sea on the regular war ves- 
sels of the navy, the cadets returning 
to Annapolis for final examination 
at the end of this two-^-ears' cruise. 
Each congressional district has the 
privilege of keeping one boy as a 
naval cadet all the time, appoint- 
ments being made by members of 
the national house of representatives. 
Did every boy who received the ap- 
pointment succeed in graduating, 
there would be but one chance in six 

years for the boys of an}' 
particular district, l)Ut 
there really are man y 
more than that, for of the 
number appointed annu- 
ally only about half suc- 
ceed in passing the en- 
trance examinations, and 
of those that do so pass 
onl}^ about one third are 
ordinarily able to get 
through the course. /\s 
soon as a bo}' fails at any 
step in the course his con- 
gressman has the right to 
make another appointment. 

Superintendent's House and Buchanan Row. 

Mess Hall. 

In addition to the congres- 
sional appointments the 
president has the right to 
m a i n t a i n ten cadets ap- 
pointed at large. 

The age of admission is 
from fifteen to t w e n 1 3^ 
years, and ever)^ boy must 
be in perfect pli5\sical con- 
dition before he is allowed 
to enter. Upon receiving 
the appointment the can- 
didate reports at the acad- 
emy to be examined in 
arithmetic, elementary al- 
gebra, geography, gram- 



mar, United States histo- 
r}', reading, .spelling, and 
writing, the last two being 
judged by an exercise in 
dictation and by the gen- 
eral work on all the exam- 
inations. Each boy who 
fails on his first trial is 
given a second chance in 
the subject in which he 
was deficient. The exam- 
inations are all written 
except that in reading, 
the candidates all being 
asked the same questions 
and allowed the same 

Lovers' Lane. 

time in which to answer 
them . 

A bo}' enters in Ma}' or 
September as the congress- 
man who appoints him may 
direct, but constant efforts 
are being made to put a 
stop to the September en- 
trance as boys coming in at 
that time miss such train- 
ing as their classmates who 
enter in Maj' get on the 
summer practice cruise. 
Having successfully passed 
his examination in May the 
newl}' made cadet is sent 

Lower Seamanship Model Room. 

aboard the old receiving ship Santee 
to live, where he is given a hammock 
and instructed in the at first incom- 
prehensible mystery of lashing and 
sleeping in one, a difficult accom- 
plishment to acquire but one which 
opens to its possessor the most com- 
fortable bed in the world, especialh' 
at sea. He is also sent to the acad- 
eni}' store and to the tailor where he 
is fitted out with such clothing as the 
regulations demand. 

Being once fairly in, our young 
man is not allowed time enough to 

Upper Seamanship Model Room. 



Annual Presentation of Colors to Connpany winning Connpetitive Drill 

get homesick, for he is immediately 
started in on drills. Getting up at six 
in the morning, the day is taken up 
with elementary instruction in going 
aloft, boats, infantry, artillery, and in 
fact all the drills in which he will be 
in the future compelled to take part. 
The day winds up with an evening 

Seamanship Drill, U. S. S. Monongahela, — "Shorten sail: 
reef topsails and furl light sails." 

in the gymnasium so that when taps 
sounds at ten there is an extreme 
readiness for bed evident on the part 
of all concerned. After the end of 
the academic year, generally about 
June lo, the first or highest class and 
the third and fourth or two lowest 
classes are sent to sea on the old sail- 
ing ship, Monongahela , sometimes 
going across the ocean to some out- 
lying Eui'opean port and sometimes 
spending the summer off our own 
coast. Here the cadets are taught 
according to their stage of advance- 
ment, the " plebes " learning the 
names of the various parts of the 
ship and to control the inner man 
when at sea, the third class taking 
up more advanced seamanship and 
elementary navigation, while the first 
class men learn to determine the posi- 
tion of the ship by astronomical ob- 
servations and to handle the ship 
and crew, in fact, to do everything 
that an officer is called upon to do in 



service. While these three 
classes are at sea the sec- 
ond and the engineer divis- 
ion of the first remain at 
the academy to work in 
the machine shops, making 
short cruises on the gun- 
boat Bancroft. 

The cruise ends the last 
of August, when the upper 
classmen all go on leave 
for a month, leaving the 
"plebes" with their class- 
mates who enter in Sep- 
tember to learn enough 
about drills to enable them 
to join the rest of the corps in the 
exercises when the term opens. 

All leave being up on the last day 
of September, the first recitations are 
held on the following day. The 
number of instructors is sufficiently 
large so that no one of them ever has 
more than ten cadets under him at one 

Seamapship Drill, — "Stand by to lay aloft, topmen. 

months' terms, and the combination 
of the marks for all these makes the 
mark for the year, a certain mark for 
conduct based on the number of de- 
merits received being also taken into 

The severity of the course will be 
seen by the following list of studies 
time. This of course amounts to per- pursued, bearing in mind the fact 
sonal instruction for each cadet, and that each term is but four months 
each of them recites in each subject long and that all cadets who are more 
each da}^ receiving a mark in each, than slightly unsatisfactory^ at the 
Monthly examinations are held in end of any term are dropped. The 
each branch as well as examina- marking is on a scale of 4.0, that 
tions at the ends of each of the four being a perfect mark. To be satis- 

Dress Parade. 




cuius ; mechanics ; hydro- 
mechanics ; least squares ; 
strength of material. 

English studies : The 
English language ; general 
and United States history ; 
United States naval histo- 
r}- ; international law. 

Modern languages: 
French, with a special 
course in maritime terms 
and the translation of pro- 
fessional articles ; elective 
factory a cadet must hav^e an average course in Spanish. 

Observatory, Naval Lyceum Building, and Figurehead of U. S. S. Delaware. 

of 2.5. The difficulty of attaining 
this mark is shown by the fact that 
two thirds of every class fail to do it. 
The fact that nearlj^ all the instruc- 
tors are officers in the navy, that no 
cadet remains under the same in- 
structor continuously, and that the 
examinations are all written and 
therefore matters of record, makes 
the school one in which favoritism 
and unfairness can have but little 

The studies pursued are as follows : 
Mathematics : Algebra ; geometry ; 
logarithms ; trigonometry ; descrip- 
tive geometry ; solution of the astro- 
nomical triangle and its stereographic 
projection upon the principal planes 
of the celestial sphere ; conic sec- 
tions ; differential and integral cal- 

Drawing : 

Mechanical course in 
drawing machinery from the origi- 

Physics and chemistry : Elementa- 
ry physics and chemistry ; explo- 
sives ; harmonic motion ; sound ; 
light ; heat ; photography ; magnet- 

Maryland Avenue, looking towards Acaaemy Gate. 

Cade; Quarters and Tripoli Monument. 

ism ; electricit3% with its special ap- 
plication to marine plants. 

Steam engineering : Principles of 
mechanism; expansion of steam, ma- 
rine and other engines and boilers. 

vSeamanship : Rigging, fitting, and 
handling boats and ships under sail 
or steam ; naval tactics. 

Shipbuilding and naval architect- 
ure : Eaying down and taking off, 
with necessary calculations ; con- 
struction of wooden and steel ves- 



sels ; theory of deep sea waves and 
of ships thereon. 

Ordnance : Great gun construction, 
drill, and fire ; infantry and light ar- 
tillery tactics; boat guns; ammuni- 
tion ; armor ; torpedoes ; motion of 

Navigation : Nautical astronomy ; 
methods of determining position at 

deviation of 

sea ; marine 


U b. Practice Ship Bancroft. 

and its 

the compass in steel ships 

Physiology : Effects of alcoholics 
and narcotics on the human sy.stem ; 
emergenc}- treatment of wounds, 
drowning cases, etc. 

At the end of its third 3'ear, each 
class is divided into two parts, pro- 
portional to the number of vacancies 
in the line and in the engineer corps 
of the nav}' for the pre- 
ceding N'ear. Two corps 
are thus formed, the ca- 
dets of one being destined 
to become deck of^cers, 
and of the other engineers. 
During the fourth year 
each corps has its course 
of .studies developed in the 
particular studies with 
which its members will 
deal in after life. 

In addition to these 

U. S. S. Santee. 

studies, the cadets have drill or prac- 
tical work every afternoon during the 
academic year. 

As will be seen from the above 
schedule of study together with the 
day's routine as given below, there 
is not much time in which a cadet 
can acquire habits of idleness, and in 
fact almost all recreation periods are 
voluntarily devoted to some form of 
athletics or boating. The routine 
for an ordinary working day is as 
follows : 

Reveille 6:00 

Morning roll call and breakfast . . 6:35 

Sick call 7:30 

Call to rooms and first recitation . . 7:55 

Call to second recitation .... 8:55 

Recall from first two hour period of re- 
citations ...... 10:00 

Call to third recitation . . . .10:10 

Call to fourth recitation . . . . 11:10 

i>. >i. 
Recall from second period and release 

from rooms ..... 12:15 

Dinner formation ..... 12:30 


Old Mortar and Gymnasiunn. 



Blake Row. 

Call to rooms and fifth recitation . 
Call to sixth recitation . . . . 
Recall from third period and release 
from rooms 

Drill call 

Recall from drill 

Dress parade (in May and June) 


Call to studies .... 

Release from studies 







Each cadet makes but three recita- 
tions a day, one in each period, the 
rest of the time devoted to recitation 
periods being spent in his own room 
in study. Much of interest could be 
written about the daily life 
of the cadet, but it would 
seem as if the above details 
would suggest everything 
to the thoughtful reader ' * 

necessarv^ to a thorough 
understanding of the trials  
of a naval cadet, especially 
when it is remembered that 
strict military discipline 
prevails, and that the ca- 
dets are under the constant 
surveillance not only of 
the seventy or more com- 
missioned officers attached 
to the academy, but also of 

a number of cadet officers 
chosen from the upper 
classes. Of course attend- 
ance upon all exercises is 
compulsory, sickness being 
the only excuse, and then 
only upon the recommen- 
dation of the medical offi- 
cer of the da3\ Saturday 
a n d vS u n d a y afternoons, 
national holidays, and the 
month of September are 
the only holidays. 

The secretary of the 
navy may order the dis- 
missal of a cadet for any 
offence which he thinks deserves it, 
and in cases not meriting dismissal 
the superintendent may assign any 
of the following punishments at dis- 
cretion : 

Solitary confinement not exceeding 
seven days ; Coventry ; public repri- 
mand on parade in written orders ; 
confinement under guard ; confine- 
ment in quarters ; deprivation of 
leave ; deprivation of recreation ; ex- 
tra watch or guard duty or drill ; ex- 
tra duty ; suspension ; reduction of 
rank in case of a cadet officer. 

Boats under Oars. 




Light Artillery Battalion. 

In addition to the above punish- 
ments demerits are assigned as fol- 
lows : 

For falsehood, fraud, theft, goug- 
ing (receiving assistance or carrying 
in notes to recitation or examina- 
tion ) , breach of arrest, mutinous con- 
duct, gambling, intoxication, intro- 
ducing intoxicating liquors within 
the academic limits, hazing, — 100 

Slander, prevarication, obscenity, 
irreverent conduct at divine service, 
deliberate disobedience of orders, re- 
fusing to give evidence be- 
fore a board of investiga- 
tion, — 75 demerits. 

Insubordination , being 
present at or witness to 
any hazing or any unlaw- 
ful assembly and not sup- 
pressing it or immediately 
reporting it to proper au- 
thority, gross disrespect to 
senior officer, absence from 
academic limits w i t h o u t 
authority, maliciously in- 
juring or endangering 
government property, — 
50 demerits. 

Card playing within ac- 
ademic limits, unprovoked 
assault, using threatening 
or insulting language tow- 
ards or intimidating any 
person in the naval service, 
unwarranted assumption or 
abuse of authority, visiting 
2i\\y drinking saloon, bil- 
liard room, or other im- 
proper place, absence from 
quarters after t^ps, disobey- 
ing a lawful order, ^25 de- 
merits. - 

Disrespectful conduct to 
senior officer, profanity, 
making an improper evasive state- 
ment, shirking duty, exercise, or re- 
citation, sitting up or burning light 
after taps without authority, wear- 
ing or having in possession civilian's 
clothing, when on duty failing to re- 
port violations of regulations, using 
tobacco or having it in possession, — 
10 demerits. 

Unauthorized articles in room, in- 
troducing unauthorized persons into 
quarters, introducing or having any 
animal in quarters, overstaying leave, 
room or clothing smelling of tobacco, 



Infantry Battalion — Scaling a Wall. 



Broadsword Drill. 

malingering, turning in after reveille, 
entering a locked room without au- 
thorit}', — 7 demerits. 

Absence from dut}' or room with- 
out authority, careless or indifferent 
performance of duty, disorderly con- 
duct, neglect of duty while in charge 
of room, visiting prohibited places 
within the academic limits, slow in 
obeying orders, assisting another 
cadet at recitation or examination, 
creating disturbance at recitation, 
drill, or examination, — 5 demerits. 

Injuring public property through 
carelessness or neglect, room in dis- 
order, inattention at drill, recitation, 
or examination, slouchiness, im- 
properly dressed, talking at drill or 
in ranks, not turned out at reveille, 
not turned in at taps, wearing non- 
regulation clothing, receiving visits, 
— 3 demerits. 

L<ate at formation, room not in 
proper order, untidy in dress or per- 
son, negligence in preparing official 
papers, wearing anj- article of dress 
improperly, not saluting properly, 
neglect of uniform, clothing not 
properly marked, — i demerit. 

If a first classman receives 150 de- 
merits, a .second 200, a third 250, or 
a fourth 300, he is dismissed. 

In addition to this long list of 
offenses there is always room for any 
heretofore unheard of misconduct 
under that blanket clause of the 
naval regulations providing for the 
punishment of any ' ' offenses not 
specified in the preceding articles." 

The requirements being so severe 
it would seem almost useless to 
attempt the course, but the reward is 
proportional to the effort. A cadet 
takes the oath of allegiance to the 



United States, submits himself to the 
requirements already described, and 
in return he receives a thorough ed- 
ucation, his expenses are paid during 
his schoolda5'S, and should he stand 
sufficiently high to obtain one of the 
yearty vacancies he obtains an honor- 
able life position of which any man 
could be proud. If there are more 
cadets in any year than there are 
vacancies the extra ones are given a 
year's pay and honorably discharged 
into civil life. 

Severe as are the duties and stern 
as is the discipline, the cadets still 
find time for pla}', and football, base- 
ball, general athletics, fencing, rifle 
shooting, boating, etc., all come in 
for their share of attention. A great 
impetus was given to sports of all 
kinds b}' the annual game of football 
with the cadets of the United States 
militar}^ acadeni}-, but after four 
games, with a record of three to one 
for the naval cadets, the practice was 
stopped because the excitement at- 
tending the rivalry seriously inter- 
fered with the studies at both insti- 
tutions. The pluck and persever- 
ance which leads the cadets to suc- 
cess in this outside work will be ap- 
preciated when it is known that there 
is absoluteh- no let-up in discipline 
or routine for those taking part, that 
one hour a da}' is all the time avail- 
able for practice, and that any cadet 

who is unsatisfactory in his studies 
for a month cannot take part in 
any important event for the next 

Thus we get some idea of the pa- 
tience and hard work required from 
those who aspire to ser\-e their coun- 
tr}- on its outer line of defense, but 
there is one more lesson to be learned 
which has not yet been noticed, and 
that is patriotism and fidelity to the 
flag and to regularh' constituted au- 
thority. This lesson is taught not 
by text-books and word of mouth, 
but b}' example and surroundings. 
The reverence wdth which the flag is 
treated, the chapel with its memorial 
windows and mural tablets to dead 
heroes, the naval cemetery where 
ma}^ be read the names of Gushing, 
De Uong, and of man}^ another, the 
mess hall with its man}' paintings of 
the famous men of the old navy, with 
the smiling face of Farragut, the no- 
blest of them all, leading the van, 
the naval 15'ceuni building contain- 
ing the largest collection of captured 
British battle flags in the world, and 
the many monuments and trophies 
on every hand, each recalling some 
noble name or heroic deed, — all move 
the heart irresistibly, and must inev- 
itabl}' bring forth that pride and love 
of country and esprit de corps wdthout 
which no military organization can 
hope for long or successful life. 

Stribling Row — Did Recitation Hall 



IHAT wouldn't I 

for one week of our 

old college life ! Jove ! 

What times we had ! ' ' 

"Great ! were n't 

they? But you couldn't enjo}^ the 

same things now, Dave, that tickled 

your palate then." 

"I don't know; I don't feel any 
older, though the family Bible and 
my bald spot prove the contrary." 

' ' I know, but the things which 
amused us then would seem silly, 
puerile, and boyish now. It was our 
youth which gave the relish. Still I 
feel like breaking loose somewhere, 
m3'Self, and doing something real 
devilish. I never worked so hard in 
my life as I have the past ^^ear. My 
brain rejects the thought of volts and 
ohms, and I feel I must turn off the 
current, take my trolley off the wire, 
and let the dynamo rest." 

"Same here. The panic of last 
year was a terrible strain. Bob. No 
one who wasn't in financial circles 
knows anything about it. We both 
need an absolute change. You see, 
you can't even talk socially without 
employing the phrases and tools of 
your profession. You are saturated 

with electricity. Your head has be- 
come an arc light in which the car- 
bons are burned out and need replen- 

"Well, what can we do? I don't 
want to go away to a mountain or 
seaside hotel and sit on the piazza, 
and ogle old maids, or make a fourth 
at whist with a lot of moss-backs. I 
can't afford a yacht; I've been to 
Europe several times, and nothing 
that I can think of has anj^ charms 
for me. I want to do something out 
of the ordinary ; have a little fun ; 
break a law or a commandment or 
something. Do n't 3'ou remember 
that remark of Mulvaney's, — ' Oh ! 
ni}^ time past, whin I put me fut 
through ivery wan av the tin com- 
mandmints between revelly and lights 
out,' — well that 's about the feeling I 
have, and I thoroughly sympathize 
with Mulvaney." 

"Hello! what the deuce— Well, a 
monk ! How he startled me I ' ' 

This exclamation was caused by 
the sudden appearance at the open 
window of a little monkey, and it was 
not difficult to connect the string tied 
to his collar with the organ grinding 
lugubriously below. It was a warm 



July evening, and the organist, spying 
the open window, had sent his bread- 
winner on a foraging expedition. 

Bob Scovel, as the owner of the 
rooms and host, put his hand into 
his pocket for change, whereat the 
monke}' sprang from the window into 
his lap, and took off his hat in the 
most amiable manner. 

"That's right," laughed Harris; 
"make yourself at home, you little 
beggar. What piercing e5^es he has, 
and how human he looks as he cocks 
his head now one wa}- and now the 
other! If they had the parrot's abil- 
it}^ to talk they would make excel- 
lent servants." 

The monkey seized the coin, and 
in answer to a pull on the string, dis- 
appeared out of the window, touch- 
ing his hat. 

" Queer way to earn a living, isn't 
it? Can't be much wear on the gra}^ 
matter about it," remarked Scovel 
between the puffs of his cigar. 

Harris did not reply, but removed 
his pipe from his mouth, and sat 
intentl}- regarding his companion for 
several moments; then, with a laugh, 
he laid his pipe on the table, listened 
intenth* for a moment, and, as though 
satisfied, seized his hat and rushed 
out of the room. 

" Here ! Where are you going, 
Dave?" called Scovel in astonish- 
ment, but the only answer w^as the 
bang of the outer door. vStepping to 
the window^ he saw Harris hurry up 
the street and disappear around the 
corner. Then, having some knowl- 
edge of his friend's ways, he sat 
down to await developments, wonder- 
ing w^hat crazj- idea had caused his 

Scovel was still studying "The 
Tourists' Guide to New England," 

when he heard the lower door open 
and a great thumping and clattering 
up the stairs. He was about to go 
to the door to see what all the row 
was about, when it was burst open 
with a bang, and in walked Harris 
followed by a wide-mouthed Dago, 
his organ upon his back, their recent 
visitor, the monkey, seated on top, 
and a remarkably pretty tambourine 
girl bringing up the rear, dressed in 
the gaily colored garb of her people, 
and of course bareheaded. 

" What in the name of all that's 
good are 3'ou up to, Dave?" ex- 
claimed Scovel, when the cavalcade 
had lined up. But Dave gave no 

"Let her go, Italy! " he cried. 
" Whoop her up ! Give us ' Grand- 
father's Clock" or ' Down went Mc- 
Ginty,' if you've got it in your 

The gentleman with the broad 
smile and the big ear-rings rai.sed his 
eyes to heaven in mute protestation, 
and set the spring for the next tune. 

' ' Hold on ! " shouted Scovel. " Do 
3-ou want to get me turned out of the 
house, to sa}^ nothing of the neigh- 
borhood ? They won't stand this, 

"Go ahead, Banan, don't mind 
him; he don't count. The rooms 
belong to me," interrupted Harris. 

Whereat, with a wheeze and a 
squeak- the old barrel organ launched 
out into the " Marseillaise," while 
Scovel leaned back with a sigh of 
resignation, and Harris lit his pipe 
and listened in a most appreciative 
manner, keeping time with his hand. 
In order to add to Scovel's discomfit- 
ure, he motioned to the girl to join 
forces, and she started in with tam- 
bourine and voice, and they really 



made a very prett}' din in the con- 
fined quarters of the room. When 
the ort^an stopped, during- a change 
from the "Marseillaise" to "Garry 
Owen," vScovel could hear voices in 
the hall in angry protest, and, glanc- 
ing out of the window, saw a crowd 
looking up in amused wonder. He 
knew, however, that it was idle to 
remonstrate with his friend when in 
this mood, and so resigned himself to 
his fate. He was not at all surprised 
when Harris seized the girl's tam- 
bourine and danced and cavorted 
around the room to an Irish jig, 
while the girl clapped her hands in 
delight. When, at last, the organ 
had played through its list and was 
beginning to repeat, Harris beckoned 
the performers to follow him, and led 
them into Scovel's dressing room, 
where he furnished them with chairs, 
and then rang for the hall boy. 
When the boy appeared, grinning 
from ear to ear, Harris ordered him 
to go to a near-by restaurant, and get 
a dinner, wdiich he quickly outlined 
on a slip of paper. It was to be 
served for four, and quick. 

"What Tom-fool thing are you 
going to do now ? You blamed 
idiot ! " growled Scovel. " My land- 
lady will be scandalized, and the rest 
of the people think we 're drunk." 

' ' That used not to trouble j^ou a 
great deal. How about the gray 
matter, the law, and the command- 
ments, my boy ? You wanted a little 
excitement. I 'm giving it to }^ou, 
that 'sail." 

"Oh, well, I meant something 
reasonable. What do you propose 
doing? I might, at least, be taken 
into the secret, as these are my rooms 
and you have ordered the supper in 
my name." 

But Harris made no reply. In- 
stead he began to throw the things 
off the large center table ; books, pic- 
tures, papers, bric-a-brac, were scat- 
tered over the floor in the twinkling 
of an eye, and the table cover deco- 
rated the wood basket. 

" I wish you would be a little more 
careful of the Venus de Milo. It 
cost me seventy-five dollars," ex- 
claimed Scovel, plaintively. 

" What 's a Venus de Milo to a liv- 
ing lineal descendant of the Caesars ! " 

Shortly the dinner arrived smoking 
hot. Harris arranged it on the table ; 
placed four chairs, and then opened 
the door to the dressing room, and 
asked his new friends out. He 
placed the ringletted Dago on his 
left, the pretty daughter on his right, 
and motioned for Scovel to take the 
other end of the table, but the latter 
shook his head. 

"Sit down there, I tell you! Is 
this the w^ay to treat guests ? ' ' 

Seeing there was no escape, Scovel 
took the vacant chair, and Harris be- 
gan to serve the dinner, carrying on, 
meanwhile, a running conversation 
with the visitors in a mixture of 
Pidgin-Knglish, French, and poor 
Italian, which nearly choked his 
friend. A few glasses of good claret 
warmed Scovel up, and he began to 
enter into the spirit of the thing. 

" Will the daughter of la belle Italic 
have a morsel of the wing or a piece 
of the bosom?" asked Harris in his 
most seductive tone. 

'"Si, Signor, vorrei del polio," 
smiled the dark maiden, showing her 
glistening teeth. 

" Does the descendant of the 
Caesars prefer olives, insalata, or 
some other hors d'oeuvre ? " 

" Grazie, Signor." 



I was born in Rome, New York." 

"The Signor est servi. Do you 
remember, Sigiiorita, that beautiful 
toast first proposed by King Ferdi- 
nand at the time of the launching of 
the Pinta ? — ' Here 's another nail in 
your coffin ' — or, as it is put in your 
own liquid tongue, — ' II corpo to- 
bacco est vermicelli tomato, non parlo 
Italiano bon marche tabasco a bas 
the Dago." 

" Bravo ! " cried Scovel. 

" El Signor speaka Italiano ver 
wella," added the maiden. 

" Grazie, Signorita, and again 
merci, likewise thank 3'ou. I was 
born in Rome, New York. Now, 
our friend, Scovel, who, by the way, 
is a lineal descendant of George 
Washington — " 

" Gr-r-r-rande signore, Washing- 
tonna. Chop old Washingtonna 
banan tree," interrupted the Dago. 

"Right, old boy. As I said, our 
friend, Scovel, will now favor us with 
that tender ballad,—' What 's the 

matter with McGuUigan's pants?'" 
Whereat, Scovel, wdio was now in 
the procession, arose and poured 
forth those soulful lines so familiar to 
us all, to the great enjoj-ment of the 
compau)' and the crowd outside. 
This was followed by a song in the 
Italian b}^ the signorita, and a theme 
on the organ by the descendant of the 
Caesars ; after which, the dinner be- 
ing ended, Harris loaded the remains 
of the feast into Scovel's wood bas- 
ket, a beautifully decorated affair, 
and started his new friends on their 
homeward way, after thej^ had affec- 
tionately kissed both their hosts. 
Harris accompanied them into the 
hall, and held a whispered conversa- 
tion before they went down stairs. 

At last he returned, and sat down 
opposite Scovel, his face aglow, and 
eyes shining with quiet drollery. 
For a minute thej' regarded each 
other in silence over the empty 
dishes, and then Scovel said : 



"Well, }'ou '\e had a devil of a 
time, have ii't you ! " 

" Ye.s, haven't you ? " 

"Oh, yes, but what will people 

"That used not to trouble you 
much in the old days. But I sup- 
pose you mean what would Elsie 
Gardner think of it if it came to her 

"Nothing of the kind," retorted 
Scovel, irritably, while a hot flush 
crept over his face. 

"Don't get excited, old man," 
said Harris soothingly, "we haven't 
begun our fun 3^et." 

" What deviltry are you up to 

"I have a great scheme. You 
wanted excitement, brain rest, a 
change, a racket, you said, and I 
have arranged it all." 

" Well, let's have the details," said 
vScovel, half smiling and half angry. 

" It will be like this. You and I 
and the monk are going to take a 
trip through the mountains, visiting 
the principal hotels." 

" The deuce we are ? " 

" Yes, on foot." 

" Oh ! on foot ? ' ' 

"Yes; you will be disguised as 
the Dago and carry the organ and 
the monk, while I go as the fascin- 
ating signorita with the tambourine." 

" Do I carry you on ni}^ back, too ? " 

"No; just the organ and the 
monk, and whatever things we need 
with us." 

" Thanks ; I decline, but am much 
beholden to you." 

" But you can 't, you know. I 've 
made all the arrangements. The 
thing is as good as done, and we 
start day after to-morrow. I have 
hired the organ and monkey and 

tanil)()urinc, and the Dago and his 
daughter will rig us up with the help 
of a costumer. We will express all 
our kit to some point in the moun- 
tains, and then don our rigging and 
start out from there. You won't 
have to carry the organ from here to 
the mountains." 

"That's ver}' kind of you, I'm 

" Of course, won't it be great sport ?" 

Three days later, two young men 
got off the cars at Bethlehem station 
in the White Mountains, and sought 
a small hotel not frequented by the 
crowd. They were followed by 
various boxes and bundles ; one box 
having holes in the sides and evi- 
dently containing live stock. These 
men were in earnest conversation for 
some time wnth the proprietor of the 
house, and after much reasoning and 
argument and some interchange of 
notes, were shown to a room on the 
ground floor at the back of the house, 
looking out upon the stable yard. 

Breakfast was just over at the 
Maplewood, and the guests were get- 
ting ready for riding, driving, walk- 
ing, or were promenading the broad 
piazzas to settle their morning meal. 
Several gentlemen were smoking at 
one end of the piazza, lazily convers- 
ing the while. It was a beautiful 
July morning, with enough 
breeze to temper the heat of the sun, 
and the girls in their lawns and ging- 
hams, and the men in their flannels, 
made a cool and attractive picture. 

It does not take much to attract 
the attention of the idlers at a sum- 
mer resort, and when an organ grind- 
er with a monkey and tambourine 
girl came up in front of the house 



and prepared to play, all the people 
in sight gathered to look on. The 
organist halted just in front of the 
group of men who were smoking, 
with their feet on the rail, and they 
all stared idly at the 3'oung girl and 
her companions. The Dago was a 
big, swarthy fellow, wearing a long 
black moustache, heavy eyebrows, 
and gold ear-rings. He was dressed 
in a very much worn suit of velveteen 
of a soft brown color, and on his 
head he wore one of those conical 
shaped caps which somewhat hid his 
e3'es. The girl, who evidently was 
not the man's daughter, as there was 
not enough disparit}' in their ages, 
had on some kind of a light-colored 
dress trimmed with black velvet after 
the manner of her people. Her gown 
extended to just below her knees, ex- 
hibiting a ver}^ shapely ankle. Of 
course she wore no hat, and her hair, 
which was of the most beautiful seal 
brown, hung down her back nearly 
to the ground in two broad braids. 
Her eyes were large and expressive, 
and were shaded by long lashes. 
Close examination showed that she 
was somewhat made up, but she was 
a most attractive looking girl, and 
full of mischief evidently, as ever}" 
man noted. 

The organ started in on " The 
I,ast Rose of Summer," and the 
monk began his performances, while 
the girl kept time on her tambourine, 
and executed a slow, graceful pas 
scul to the music. 

" The Dago ought to make his for- 
tune with such a girl," said one of the 
men. " She would ' catch on ' at Koster 
& Bial's, if the}' gave her a chance." 

Various comments were made as 
the smoke curled upward from the 
cigars, and the men were lazih- 

amused. Suddenly, one of the men, 
who had been sharply watching the 
organist, put his feet to the floor, and 
touching the man next him, indi- 
cated that he wanted to speak to him. 
Throwing away his cigar, he led the 
way to a point on the piazza out of 
sight from those watching the monk, 
and then, turning to his companion, 
he said : 

"Do 3'ou see anything peculiar 
about that organ grinder? " 

" No, except that the girl 's deu- 
cedly pretty, and boiling over." 

" You 're right ; but there 's some- 
thing ver}' strange about that couple. 
Now, just as sure as my name 's Phil 
Gardner, that Dago is a fraud. He 's 
disguised, and so is the girl. Did 
you ever see a tambourine girl made 
up ? Of course not. And she is. 
You can see it. I '11 bet a hat on it. 
And, what 's more, the man looks and 
acts tremendoush' like Bob Scovel. 
His nose gives him awa}^ And as 
for the girl, if I am right, of course 
she is Dave Harris. The}- are insep- 
arable. When they were in college 
they were always up to some un- 
heard of deviltrj^ and I think the}' 
have come up into the mountains this 
wa}' for a lark. You remember Har- 
ris took part in the club theatricals 
last winter, and what a good looking 
girl he made." 

" By Jove ! If you are right, Phil, 
what a job we could put up on them ! 
Let 's go back and I will see if I 
recognize them. I did not look at 
them particularly before, because my 
suspicions were not aroused ! ' ' 

The two men lounged back, un- 
concernedly. The crowd of listeners 
had grown ; many ladies had gath- 
ered, among them Gardner's sister, 
Elsie, who was staring curiously at 



the Dago, as though trying to recol- 
lect something. The latter was grind- 
ing away industriously, never raising 
his eyes, except when he had to ex- 
tricate the monk from some mischief. 

The monkey was gathering a rich 
harvest of nickels and dimes. Gard- 
ner watched his sister's face a mo- 
ment to see if she suspected anything. 
He could see that something puzzled 
her ; some resemblance, but that she 
had no suspicion of the real truth as 
yet. His friend Leverett was keenly 
eying the pair from behind a pillar, 
and presently nodded as though his 
suspicions were more than confirmed. 

When the Dago had plaj'ed all his 
pieces and had received a goodly 
supply of money he shouldered his 
organ, although the girl seemed to 
want to stay longer, but the man 
moved doggedly off, while the nion- 
ke}' bowled his acknowledgments. 

" By the great horned spoon! but 
that was a close shave ! Who would 
have thought we should run right 
into Phil Gardner and his sister, 
L,everett Acton, and all the rest, the 
first house we came to ? Did you 
ever see such luck?" and the Dago 
threw his organ down under a tree, 
without any regard for the monk, 
and wiped the sweat from his brow. 
They had gone into the woods at the 
side of the road for a rest, and were 
out of sight from the hotel. 

"Great, wasn't it? Never en- 
joyed a thing more in my life," re- 
plied the supposititious daughter of 
Italy. " Did j-ou see Phil stare at us 
and then walk off with Acton ? I 
wonder if he made us out ? Jove ! If 
he did catch on, it would be well for 
us to get out of this neighborhood, 
for he 'd just lay for us." 

' ' Do >ou suppose Elsie knew us ? " 
"No, she detected some resemb- 
lance in you, I am sure, but she 
never for a moment suspected the 
truth. Did you see me make eyes at 
Ivcverett ? I made a great impres- 
sion and he ogled me and smiled and 
winked as though I were a ballet 
dancer. I had all I could do to keep 
from yelling at him, 'Oh, you duf- 

"All I can say is that I am tre- 
mendously glad to get away without 
being detected. Sit still, you beggar, 
and shut up your everlasting chatter ! 
I 'm tired." 


The next morning at breakfast 
Gardner turned to his sister and said : 

' ' You know that organ grinder 
and his daughter who were here yes- 
terdaj^ ? ' ' 

" Daughter ! She was n't his daugh- 
ter. The}' were just about of an age." 

"So I thought, and, evidently, 
that 's what the authorities thous^ht, 
too, for they arrested them this morn- 
ing. It seems that the moral sense 
of the town's people here is highly 
shocked at their travelling around 
this way together, especially after 
they found out they were not man 
and wife, and she such a pretty girl, 
and they arrested them this morning, 
and the trial is to come off this after- 
noon before Squire Hardscrabble, 
who is the trial justice here. We're 
all going. It will be great fun." 

" Would it be proper for me to go, 

" Well, perhaps not as an individ- 
ual, but as practicall}' the whole 
hotel will be there yo^x will be safe." 

"Phil, did 3^ou notice anj- resem- 
blance in that organ grinder to a 
friend of ours ? ' ' 



"Yes, more than a resemblance." 

"What, you don't mean, Phil—" 

But Phil jumped up from the table 

and was out of hearing before she 

could ask an}* more questions. 

The trial was to be held in the 
dance hall of the hotel, no other place 
being available. Phil Gardner had 
had a hand in all the preparations, 
and the old Squire was acting under 
his advice. By three o'clock, the 
time set for trial, every inch of space 
was occupied, for the report had 
spread all over the town that the 
pretty tambourine girl and her com- 
panion had got into trouble. Ever}- 
hotel and boarding house contributed 
its quota, while there was a goodly 
sprinkling of the sturd}-, orthodox 
farmers and town's people. It was a 
great event in the village, and espe- 
cially a great day for the Squire. 

He sat on the small stage, with a 
pine table for a bench, his spectacles 
pushed up over his gra}' hair, his 
bandanna handkerchief in his hand, 
while the marks of copious use of the 
weed could be seen in his long gray 
beard. At a signal the door opened, 
and the village constable entered with 
the delinquents, organ, monkey, and 

The girl did not seem at all em- 
barrassed, neither did she seem to 
apprehend the seriousness of the sit- 
uation, for she glanced smilingly 
around, letting her eyes dwell espe- 
cially on the men as though it were 
all a lark ; but the swarthy, dark- 
browed Italian kept his eyes on the 
floor and seemed ver}- nervous. He 
glared quickly around on his en- 
trance and then scarcely looked up 
again. After the warrant had been 
read in an impressive manner, the 
old Squire adjusted his glasses, blew 

his nose vociferously, 'took a chew of 
tobacco, looked around for a place to 
expectorate, and not finding one, 

"Prisoners, you are arrested on a 
very serious charge. Be you guilty, 
or not guilt}- ? ' ' 

No answer. 

" I say, be you guilty or not guilty ? 
Can't you understand ? " 

"No unstan. No speaka. Ver 
leetle," said the man in a low voice, 
without raising his eyes. 

" Is there any one here who can 
speak his lingo ? " asked the Squire. 
No one arose, so he had to go on as 
best he could. 

" Is this your wife ? " 

The Dago looked quickly at the 
girl, and .some thought the}- saw her 
smile, but, if so, it was quickly sup- 

" No unstan," repeated the man. 

"Is this woman your wife?" 
.shouted the vSquire, with that com- 
mon feeling one has with foreigners 
that if they can't understand the lan- 
guage you can beat it into them by 
yelling. But the Italian only shook 
his head. Then the old man stepped 
down off the stage and went through 
a very expressive pantomime, which 
sent the audience into convulsions, 
the purport of which was to illustrate 
the relations of man and wife. Fi- 
nally, it seemed to dawn upon the 
girl what was wanted. 

"Ah! No." And she shook her 
head, blu.shing and showing her 

" That settles it," cried the Squire, 
"that's all the evidence I want," 
and he stumped back to the stage, 
put on his glasses, and began to study 
the statutes. While he was at work 
Gardner edged his way up towards 



the platform. • Having found what 
he was in search of, vSquire Hard- 
scrabble cleared his throat and began 
his commitment, but just before he 
got to the fatal words, Gardner 
stepped to his side, and in spite of 
the old man's black look, whispered 
something in his ear. The vSquire 
stopped, considered a moment, and 
then looked approvingly at his dis- 

"Id 'now but yer right," he said. 
" T 'would be ther best way to settle 
it, and save the county some money, 
as you say. 'Taint a bad idee, 
young man. Be you a lawyer? " 

"No," said Gardner, modestly, 
' ' but it seems the common sense way 
to treat the matter, and you, your- 
self, have demonstrated that com- 
mon sense is common law. Squire." 

" Thet 's so. I alius said so my- 
self. Darned .ef I don't do it. Here, 
constable, go git me a Bible. You 
can borry one over to Pamelia Horn- 
blower's acros't the road." 

The constable started, and there 
was a stir of suppressed excitement 
and wonder in the crowd, which the 
Squire sternly suppressed. What was 
he going to do with a Bible ? The 
prisoners looked anxiously at each 
other, while the monk took off his 
hat repeatedly to the ladies. These 
latter were immensely interested, and 
were whispering comments and ejac- 
ulations and questions. It was a rich 
treat for the summer boarder, as well 
as for the town's people, and no one 
was more satisfied with himself than 
Squire Hardscrabble. 

Presently the constable returned, 
bearing a great family Bible with gilt 
edges. The Squire seized it and be- 
gan to con its pages hurriedly. 

In the meantime the prisoners had 

gradually edged up close together 
and talked in whispers earnestly. 

"This is a nice mess you've got 
us into," whispered the man fiercely. 

"Don't get rattled; it will all 
come out right in the wash. It's 
bully ! No matter what he says, 
do n't speak English. What do you 
suppose he 's going to do with that 
Bible ? " replied the girl. 

" I do n't know. Read us a moral 
lesson and then send us to the cala- 
boose, probably. If it want for giv- 
ing ourselves away, I 'd confess and 
ask the Squire to let us off. Phil 
Gardner is at the bottom of all this. 
I 'd like to know what he told the 
Squire just now." 

"He put him onto this Bible 
racket, whatever it is," replied Miss 

" I say, Scovel, look at Elsie Gard- 
ner's face. She hasn't smiled once, 
and is as pale as ashes. She knows 
you, I 'm certain." 

" Of course she does. I 'd give a 
thousand to be well out of this." 

" Brace up, old man. Here comes 

The Squire had finished reading, 
and approached the prisoners with 
the Bible under his arm. 

" Eet the prisoners stand up," he 
said in a deep, chesty tone. 

The constable indicated by signs 
that they were to rise, and the}' did 

"I am about," continued the 
Squire, "to join this man and this 
woman in holy wedlock in the inter- 
ests of moralit}'. They have evi- 
dently ben livin' an immoral life, 
contrary to the constitushoon and 
laws. It would naturally be my 
dooty to bind them over to ther next 
term er court, but I have decided on 



this course, as better calkilated to 
save their immortal souls, and like- 
wise the county some money. They 
be only ignerant furriners, and do n't 
know our laws, but they must under- 
stand what marriage means. Join 
their hands, constable." 

The constable took the man's right 
hand and placed that of the girl in it. 
The latter looked coy and wonder- 
ing ; the former sullen and dis- 
traught. Then, the Squire opened 
the big Bible at several places he had 
marked and read in solemn tones : 

' ' The}' have mouths but the}' 
speak not ; eyes have they but the}' 
see not." 

' ' For thou hast trusted in thy 
wickedness ; thou hast said. None 
seeth me ; thy wisdom and thy 
knowledge it hath prevented thee ; 
and thou hast said in thine heart, I 
am, and none beside me." 

"And I will visit upon her the days 
of Baalim wherein she burned in- 
cense to them, and she decked her- 
self with ear-rings and her jewels, 
and she went after her lovers." 

"Consider the lilies of the field; 
they toil not, they .spin not, and yet I 
say unto you that Solomon in all his 
glory was not arra5-ed like one of 

' ' This is the thing which the Lord 
doth command concerning the daugh- 
ters of Zelophehad, saying. Let them 
marry to whom they think best ; onh- 
to the family of the tribe of their 
fathers shall they marry." 

Then, closing the book, he added, 
with uplifted hand : 

' ' I pronounce this ere Italj'an and 
this ere companion er his, man and 
wife from this day forth. Those who 
the law hath brung together, let no 
man put in sunder. Amen." 

There was a great stillness all over 
the hall while the Squire took off his 
glasses, wiped his face, and then 
stumped out of the room as though 
he had done a good job. The people 
did not know whether to laugh or 
take it seriously. Some took it one 
way and some another, but the hotel 
people mostly looked upon it as a 
good joke, while the towns-people 
were inclined to think the Squire had 
done the thing well. The constable 
indicated to the prisoners that the}' 
were free to go their way, so the Da- 
go shouldered his organ, and the cav- 
alcade came down the steps through 
two lines of curious people. The 
newly made wife shook her tambour- 
ine roguishly at the laughing faces of 
the men. 

When they had cleared the crowd 
somewhat, Gardner stepped up to the 
organ grinder, and said, mockingly : 

" Now that you are married, I 
think the hotel people would not ob- 
ject to your playing in front of the 

"Go to thunder ! ' ' was all the 
answer he got. 

Then he turned to the pretty tam- 
bourine girl and added : 

"Won't the fair Italian maiden 
come up and favor us with a dance ? " 

"The fair Italian maiden will 
punch your head, Phil Gardner. She 
has no use for the cigarette smoking 
scion of an effete aristocracy." 

Gardner and his friends turned 
away convulsed with laughter, while 
the Dago and his party hurried down 
the road and plunged into the woods 
out of reach of their tormentors. 

" Now, let 's go and telegraph the 
whole thing to the Boston papers," 
cried Gardner. 

"Won't that be a little rough, 



Phil," said one of the men. " Seems 
to me we have given them a pretty 
hard roast, as it is." 

" Serves them just right, the cheeky 
beggars," retorted Gardner. "Com- 
ing up here to humbug us in this 
fashion. By Jove ! Won't the fellows 
roast them when the}^ get back to 
town ! ' ' 


An hour later, two men whom we 
recognize as Scovel and Harris are in 
conversation with the proprietor of 
the hotel where we first found them, 
the day before. 

"You will find the things all 
packed, and all you will have to do 
will be to ship them to the address on 
this card," said Scovel. "And be 
sure and put in some food and water 
for the monk. I don't w^ant the little 
chap to suffer. He 's done his part 
well, anyway." 

The two conspirators had returned 
to their normal condition and were 
faultlessly dressed. Thej^ looked as 
though they had just stepped out of 
the Somerset club. 

" Well, what do you propose to do 
now?" asked Harris, when they had 
seated themselves on the piazza. 

" I am going up to call upon Elsie 
Gardner, and try and explain my 
ridiculous position." 

"Better not. L,et the matter rest 
for the present." 

"No, I'm going now," answered 
Scovel, moodily, and he threw away 
his cigar, and walked up the road, 
striking the weeds by the roadside 
viciously with his cane. 

Miss Gardner received him in her 
sitting room. She was alone. Her 
reception was frigidity itself. 

"Elsie, I've come to explain this 
absurd business," he began. 

"I do n't see that it needs any ex- 
planation," she answered. " It seems 
a clear case. You thought it a great 
lark to go travelling around the coun- 
tr}' in disguise, with a pretty Italian 
girl. Of course, you did not expect 
to find friends here, or you would 
have been more cautious. With all 
their badness men are seldom as in- 
discreet as that. But, you see, 
these people here are not so free and 
easy going as the people in town. 
They have a conscience, if other peo- 
ple have not, and separate the evil 
from the good. You were caught 
red-handed, and they have simply 
done an act of simple duty in making 
you marry that poor, ignorant, mis- 
guided girl." 

She stood haughtily erect, while 
her eyes were full of tears, which she 
turned away to hide. Scovel had lis- 
tened to her with open mouth, stupi- 
fied and overcome, but when she 
ended her chastisement a new light 
broke upon him. He saw it all in a 
moment. Phil had not taken his sis- 
ter into the secret, or at least, only 
partialh'. She had, with his assis- 
tance, recognized Scovel, but not 
Harris. She had believed the girl 
bona fide. His ej-es began to 
twinkle. It was all plain sailing 
now. Miss Gardner heard him 
laughing, and turned upon him with 
proud indignation. 

" Have you no shame ? " 

" Not a bit," repHed Scovel. " May 
I bring my wife up to call upon 

She was too indignant to answer, 
but simply pointed to the door. Sco- 
vel saw he was going too far, and 
hastened to add : 

"Is it possible ^'ou did not recog- 
nize the girl to whom I was forcibly 



and irrevocably married ? You were 
ver>^ keen to know nie, why did n't 
you make out Dave Harris as 

"What!" she exclaimed, a glad 
light breaking over her face. " Dave 
Harris ! our Dave ? that pretty girl ? 
I don't believe it. It isn't possible I " 
but all the same she was smiling now 
through her tears. " This is another 
of your cheats. It "s impossible, and 
5^et he was a prett}' girl in the opera 
last winter. Oh ! If this is true I '11 

never speak to him again, or you 
either, you miserable wretch ! " 

"It's as true as gospel, and ^-ou 
can thank that blessed brother of 
yours for the whole infernal mess. 
But now% Elsie, that you know I am 
not married to that shameless hussy, 
Dave Harris, will you marry me? " 

"No, never! that is, 3^es, on one 

"Name it." 

' ' That we are not to be married b}' 
Squire Hardscrabble." 

By Persis E. Darrow. 

As the bud must bloom. 
As the spring must come. 

As the earth must be green below 

And blue above, 
As the birds must sing. 
As the leaf unfolds, 
As the grass must grow, 

So hearts must love. 

As the flower must die. 
As the frost must come. 

As earth must be buried deep 

'Neath many a flake. 
As the birds depart, 
As the leaf must fall, 
As the grass sleep. 

So hearts must break. 


By //. C. Pearson. 

"Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil 

Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by I 
And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail. 

Uplift against the blue walls of the sky 
Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave 

Its golden network in your belting woods. 

Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods. 
And on your kingly brows at morn and eve 

Set crowns of fire . . . 

They rise before me ! L,ast night's thunder gust 
Roared not in vain : For where its lightnings thrust 
Their tongues of fire, the great peaks seem so near, 
Burned clear of mist, so starkly bold and clear, 
I almost pause the wind in the pines to hear. 
The loose rock's fall, the steps of browsing deer. 
The clouds that shattered on yon slide-worn walls 

And splintered on the rocks their spears of rain 
Have set in play a thousand water-falls, 
Making the dusk and silence of the woods 
Glad with the laughter of the clashing floods, 
And luminous with blown spray and silver gleams, 
While, in the vales below, the dry-lipped streams 

Sing to the freshened meadow lands again. "-^o//« G. U'hiltier. 

RANCONIA, "the land of 
the Franks," was origi- 
nally the title of one of 
the fonr great duchies 
comprising the old Ger- 
man empire. On this side the water, 
in this country and this state, its 
geographical application is threefold. 
It gives the title to a range of our 
White Mountains only inferior to the 
Presidential peaks in majestic height 
and grandeur, and surpassing even 
them in picturesque beauty. Its 
name is applied also to the defile 
through this range, which Harriet 
Martineau declared to be " the noblest 
mountain pass I saw in the United 
States." And, thirdly, it is the vil- 
lage and town of Franconia which lie 
at the entrance to this movmtain 

stronghold as in feudal days the 
homes of the villeins clustered about 
the gray-walled castles of the barons. 

There are and always have been 
many ways of access to these Franco- 
nias. The Indians made the Notch 
one of their most travelled thorough- 
fares, and white hunters and trappers 
knew it well in the last century. To- 
day the summer visitor who desires 
to be awed and impressed by its ma- 
jesty and that of the pierced moun- 
tain range, and to enjo}^ the quiet 
valley village beyond, has his choice 
of half a dozen routes of approach. 

He may drive up from that fine ho- 
tel, the Deer Park, at North Wood- 
stock, over one of the loveliest roads 
in the state. A pufhng engine will 
draw him over what was until last 



season a narrow guage railroad from 
Bethlehem Junction to the Profile 
House, passing, as did Charles 
Dudlej' Warner's Summer Pilgrim, 
"through nine miles of shabby firs 
and balsams, in a way absolutel}- de- 
void of interest, in order to heighten 

the ascending orders of the wilder- 
ness." Still another route is from 
lyisbon over the most beautiful of the 
many " Sugar Hills " in the state. 

It was this last way that Starr 
King liked best to approach the^east 
side of the mountains. Crossing 

Profile Lake and Eagle Cuff. 

the effect of the surprise at the end." 
There are stage routes from Bethle- 
hem and lyittleton, at certain points 
on which the enraptured traveller be- 
holds the ' ' gentle crescent line of the 
vast outworks of Lafaj'ette, suggest- 
ing the sweep of a tremendous amphi- 
theatre, whose walls are alive with 

Winnipiseogee by steamer, he came 
b}^ rail to Plymouth, lingering at 
Prospect hill, whence Whittier gazed 
and wrote : 

" Beyond them, like a sun-rimmed cloud, 
The great Notch mountains shone, 
Watched over by the solemn-browed 
And awful face of stone." 



Driving from Plymouth to Franconia, 
he studied the Notch mountains in 
both morning and evening Hghts, 
when, as he said, "they differ from 
their ordinary aspects as much as 
rubies and sapphires from pebbles. 

The Old Man of the Mountain. 

See the early day pour down the 
upper slopes of the three easterly 
pyramids ; then upon the broad fore- 
head of the Profile mountain, kind- 
ling its gloomy brows with radiance, 
and melting the azure of its temples 
into pale violet ; and falling lower, 
staining with these tints the cool 
mists of the ravines, till the Notch 
seems to expand and the dark and 
rigid sides of it fall away as they 
lighten, and recede in soft perspec- 
tive of buttressed wall and flushed 
tower. . . . Or, towards evening 
of midsummer, at the same spot, see 
the great hills assume a deeper blue 
or purple ; see the burly Cannon 
mountain stand, a dark abutment, at 
the gate of the Notch, unlighted ex- 

cept by its own pallor; and, as the 
sun goes down, watch his last beams 
of crimson or orange cover with un- 
devastating fire the pyramidal peaks 
of the three great Haystacks." 

"The PVanconia range," says Pro- 
fessor Charles H. Hitchcock, of Dart- 
mouth College, "is properly the one 
commencing with what was called 
Haystack on my map, but now is 
called Garfield. Then comes Lafay- 
ette and several of less note, known 
as Lincoln, Liberty, and Flume. This 
makes a range running about north 
and south nearly ten miles long. Peo- 
ple would naturally include with this 
range the Profile mountain, on the 
west side of the Notch, together with 
Mt. Kinsman. It would be more 
precise to speak of this assemblage 
as the Franconia mountains, but the 
first named series of peaks as the 
Franconia range." 

The peaks of these mountains, 
though of less altitude than those 
of the Presidential range, are sharp 
and lofty, and, not having been 
devastated by fires, are beautifully 
wooded. Geologists tell us that dark 
felsite predominates in their compo- 
sition, the southerly peaks being 
coarsely granitic. 

Lafayette, the monarch of these 
mountains, appears on Philip Carri- 
gain's map (1816) as Great Hay- 
stack. Its height is 5,259 feet, and 
the view from its summit — which can 
be reached without considerable dif- 
ficulty — is but little inferior in ex- 
tent, and not at all in variety and 
beauty, to that from Mt. Washing- 
ton itself. 

President Dwight .spoke of La- 
fayette as exhibiting ' ' in its great 
elevation elegance of form and ampli- 
tude, a rare combination of beauty 



and grandeur ; ' ' and Frederika Bre- 
mer, comparing these mountains with 
those of her own Sweden, said : "The 
scenery here is more picturesque, 
more playful and fantastic, has more 
cheerful diversity ; and the afitluence 
of wood and the beautiful foliage in 
the valleys is extraordinary." 

Mount Garfield was so named by 
the selectmen of Franconia in 1881, 
having previousl)' been known as 

The Franconia Notch is a pass be- 
tw^een five and six miles long and 
averaging half a mile in width, be- 
tween one of the western walls of La- 
faj-ette and INIount Cannon. It con- 
tains' more objects of interest than 
anj^ other area of like extent in the 
mountain region. It is traversed by 
the clear and sparkling waters of the 
upper Pemigewassett river and until 
recently had been spared the devasta- 
tion of the ruthless lumberman. Its 
lofty and precipitous mountain walls 
are clad with verdure which softens 
their sublimity and adds to the gen- 
eral aspect of ' ' primeval quietude and 
tranquil beauty." 

Mrs. M. E. Blake has embodied 
the spirit of the place in fitting words 
as follows : ' ' The Profile House and 
the Franconia Notch are the purest 
gems of this great jewel casket. 
What was but suggestion at Craw- 
ford's is reality here ; and the exqui- 
siteness of the spot is so singular as 
to produce an effect of enchantment. 
The valley is like a chalice and the 
two shining lakes its wine of conse- 
cration. The mountains drop .so 
steeply to the circle of perfect green 
lawn upon which the inn stands, that 
they are more precipices than slopes, 
and the solemn shadow of their pres- 
ence creeps at all hours of the da}- 

down to the sunny hand's breadth of 
space below." 

The Franconia Notch owes, how- 
ever, the greater part of its world- 
wide celebrity to the fact that upon 
one of its mighty mountain walls is 

" Where the Great Stone Face looms change- 
less, calm. 
As the Sphinx that couches on Egypt's 

This Profile, which W. C. Prime 
calls " the American wonder of the 
world," is composed of three separate 
masses of rock which jut out abruptly 
from the bold summit of Mount Can- 
non, 1,500 feet above the road. One 
of these masses forms the forehead, 
another the nose and upper lip, and 
the third the chin. The whole is 

Mt. Pemigewassett, from the Flume. 

about eighty feet in length. It was 
di.scovered in 1805 and first described 
by Gen. Martin Field in 1828 in the 
American Jo2i7'nal of Science. 

Seen under the most favorable con- 
ditions the expression of the Profile 



is both grand and noble, yet sad, per- 
haps, as well it might be from its cen- 
turies' long survey of the weakness 
and pettiness of mankind. It has in- 
spired at least two prose tales worthy 
of its majesty in " Christus Judex" 
and Hawthorne's " The Great Stone 
Face," and poets and poetasters in- 

lend to this region a unique and 
lovely fascination which is not pos- 
sessed by any other section of the 

Echo lake, "a little tarn . 
rimmed by the undisturbed wilder- 
ness and watched by the grizzled 
peak of Lafayette," is an especially 

Bridal Veil Falls. 

numerable have aimed their winged 
flights of fancy at its lofty serenit5^ 

A rare combination of the sublime 
with the beautiful is formed by the 
situation of Profile lake, which is 
directly under the Profile itself, and 
is, therefore, called in the vernacular 
"The Old Man's Washbowl." There 
are, in fact, half a dozen pretty bits 
of water within a radius of a mile or 
two from the Profile House which 

favorite resort at the evening hour 
when its calm surface is dotted with 
boats, the songs and laughter of 
whose occupants are repeated with 
startling distinctness from the wood- 
ed banks. 

The basin is a granite bowl sixty 
feet in circumference and ten feet 
deep, which a tiny cascade keeps 
filled with water as pure and clear 
and beautiful as a young girl's eyes. 



Geologists say that it is a pothole 
formed by the attrition of stones 
whirled about by the current. 

Quite unlike this mountain pearl is 
the gloomy Pool, lying under the 
shadow of darkling cliffs like a mon- 
ster in wait for its prey. It is one 
hundred feet in diameter, and, ac- 

Tamarack pond was its old name, 
but it was re-christened hy its present 
owners. Dr. W. C. Prime and W. V . 
Bridge of New York, who have built 
upon its shores a picturesque fishing 
lodge and there entertained friends 
whose names the world knows. Gen- 
eral McClellan spent here what he 

Mt. Kinsman Flunne. 

cording to legend, bottomless; ac- 
cording to the guidebooks a forty- 
foot line will reach its bottom. 

Far up on Mount Cannon, a thous- 
and feet above the road, is lyonesome 
lake : 

" Eye of the wilderness, 
Lonely and loverless, 
Ages and ages since nature began ; 
Sending toward heaven 
The blue it had given, 
Fringed with the forest untrodden by man." 

called the most delightful daj^s of his 

After the Profile the prime attrac- 
tion of the PVanconia Notch is the 
Flume, a deep, jagged cut in the side 
of the mountain through which flows 
a little brook. Until June 19, 1883, 
a great boulder hung suspended, a 
natural sword of Damocles, between 
the chasm walls. But on that day a 
fierce mountain rain started a land- 




Richard Taft. 

slide from Mount Flume which swept 
through the defile, gouging out its 
way, and carrying off the boulder 
from "a grasp, out of which," Starr 
King had said, "it will not slip for 

Bridal Veil falls, the Mt. Kinsman 
or Rowland's flume, and a score of 
other wonders or beauties of nature 
well deserve description which space 
limits will not allow. 

These magnificent scenes of natural 
beauty and grandeur so conveniently 

situated for access from the centers of 
civilization, have been the Mecca of 
thousands of visitors ever since their 
discovery and it is on record that 
these ' ' summer boarders ' ' from the 
earliest days to the present time have 
been most hospitably received and 
kindl}' cared for. 

Fifty years ago the hotel business 
in the White Mountains was in its 
infancy. Crawford and Horace Fab- 
yan had made the small beginnings 
of the great establishments that 
afterwards bore their names and in 
the Franconia Notch Stephen C. and 
Joseph ly. Gibbs kept the Lafayette 
House with a capacity of fifty, sit- 
uated near where the Profile House 
now stands. 

In 1 848 a small hotel called the 
Flume House was built, of which, 
the next j^ear, Richard Taft, then 
proprietor of the Washington House, 
Lowell, Mass., secured possession. 
When, in 1852, the Messrs. Gibbs 
went to the Crawford House, Mr. 
Taft and a partner bought from them 
the Lafayette and began the erection 
of the first Profile House. 

Mr. Taft was an active and enter- 
prising pioneer in the summer hotel 
industry, and he had a worthy help- 
meet in his wife, who was Miss Lu- 

« I * M in  B /i j' ^ 

Profile House. 



cinda Knight of Hancock. He was 
the projector of the narrow guage road 
from Bethlehem Junction to the Pro- 
file House and was its first president. 
To-day the Profile House is one of 
the world's famous hotels. Unique 

accompanying villas occupies almost 
the whole of the little glen between 
Eagle cliff and Mount Cannon. 

It has a tone, peculiarlj^ its own, 
of freedom from care, of reposeful en- 
joyment, coupled with the highest 

in location, tremendous in size, per- type of refinement and of social cul- 


Charles H. Greenleaf. 

feet in management, every tourist 
knows that he cannot claim to have 
"done" the mountains until his 
name is inscribed on the Profile's 
register. At a height of 1,974 feet 
above the sea it is the most loft}^ 
hotel in the mountains except the 
Summit House on Mount Washing- 
ton. It can accommodate with ease 
five hundred guests, and with its 

ture ; even as the wild freedom of 
nature mates with the civilized inee- 
nuity of the great hotel. Charles 
Dudley Warner makes one of his 
characters say in reference to the 
Profile House : "If you simply want 
to enjoy yourself, stay at this hotel — 
there is no better place — .sit on the 
piazza, look at the mountains and 
watch the world as it comes round." 



Forest Hills House. 

Colonel Charles H. Greenleaf, the 
present proprietor of the Profile 
House, as well as of the Vendome at 
Boston, married a daughter of Hon. 
D. R. Burnham of Plymouth. For 
thirty-two years as managing partner 
of the Profile House Colonel Green- 
leaf has reason to be proud of the 
success he has achieved and of the 
splendid reputation which the hotel 
long since acquired and has relig- 
iously maintained. 

Second onh^ to the Profile in size 
among Franconia's hotels, and sec- 
ond to none anywhere in beauty of 
location and excellence of manage- 
ment, is the Forest Hills 
Hotel. It stands on the 
very edge of the Pine Hill 
plateau, looking away on 
the west across the Fran- 
conia valley to Sugar hill 
on the one hand and the 
Franconia mountains on 
the other, while the little 
village nestles at its ver}' 
feet. On the east a rich 
lawn stretches away with 
Mount Washington visible 

in the distance. The 
Forest Hills accommo- 
dates some two hundred 
guests, and is a fine type 
of the modern summer 
hotel at its best. Its pat- 
ronage is of the highest 
class, and it is one of the 
few hotels in the moun- 
tains which have been 
successfully opened for 
winter parties. The pict- 
uresque and comfortable 
Lodge, in connection with 
the hotel, is occupied the 
present season by the 
Rev. Henry Van Dj'ke, 
D. D., the distinguished New York 
clergyman. The Log Cabin and the 
Casino are other attractive buildings 
belonging to the hotel property, which 
also boasts the best bicycle track and 
golf links in the mountains. Priest 
& Dudley was the original firm at 
the Forest Hills, but since the retire- 
ment of Mr. Priest — who is a Fran- 
conia boy by birth and the success- 
ful manager of hotels in Florida and 
Massachusetts — Mr. Dudley has di- 
rected affairs alone, how well his 
every patron will testify. 

Another pleasant summer hotel in 
the village is the Mountain View 





Franconia Inn. 



E. B. Parker. 

House, while further up the glen is 
the large Lafayette House, kept for 
many years by the Richardson broth- 
ers. The Bald Mountain House, the 
Mt. Jackson House, the Mt. Cannon 
House, Echo farm, and Brook farm 
are other hostelries well and favora- 
bl}' known to tourists. Within the 
limits of other towns but fairly com- 
ing within the scope of this article, 
are the Franconia Inn, formerh' the 
Goodnow, on Sugar hill, and the 
Flume House. 

Much of the present prosperity of 
Franconia certainly depends upon 
that, almost the chief, product of New 
Hampshire, the summer boarder, but 
it was not always thus. 

Probably Capt. Artemas Knight, 
Samuel Barnett, Zebadee Applebee, 
and their companions little thought 
when the}' threaded their way through 
the primeval forest in 1774 that their 
footsteps a century afterwards would 
be followed by palace cars and tally- 
ho coaches. 

Franconia was originally granted 
under its present name to Jesse 
vSearle and others, February 14, 1764, 
but as no move was made by them 
towards settlement, a second and 
more extensive grant was given Jan- 
uary 8, 1772, to Sir Francis Bernard, 
Bart., his Excellency Thomas Hutch- 
inson, the Honorable Corby n Morris, 
Esq., and others. In honor of the 
last named gentleman the tract was 
called Morristown. 

These conflicting grants subse- 
quenth^ caused much trouble, and it 
was not until nearly the beginning 
of the present century that the con- 
trovers}' was finally settled in favor 
of the original grantees. Among the 
first settlers was one John Taylor, 
whose powers as a letter writer, judg- 
ing from specimens remaining to us 
in the State Papers, were extraor- 
dinary. He voiced the many and 
doubtless just complaints of the pio- 
neers of that territory in glowing lan- 
guage. In one epistle, for instance. 

W. F. Parker. 




i%\ I s. 



Baptist Church. 

he complains of the legal license 
given to the opposing grantees who 
were "now allowed to rise up from 
their long ambush of Idleness and 
take the Cruel advantage of gather- 
ing the ripe fruits of all our lyabour 
and Expence." 

I^argely on account of this conflict, 
doubtless, the growth of the town 
was slow and in 1790 the population 
was but seventy-two. Since the first 
settlement the Spooners, Aldrichs, 
Streeters, Howlands, and Jessemans 
had come and their descendants still 
remain in goodly numbers. One of 
the pioneers, that soldier of the Rev- 
olution, Capt. Artemas Knight, had 
a son, Thomas, born in 1783, the first 

white child in town. He inherited 
the water privilege on the Gale river, 
and sold it to a Boston firm who de- 
sired to work the rich iron ore which 
had been discovered in another part 
of the town. 

The}^ erected a foundry, furnaces, 
etc., around which the present vil- 
lage of Franconia grew up. During 
the first part of this century the 
mines were worked extensively and 
the ore was considered the richest in 
the United States, yielding from 56 



Advent Church. 

to 63 per cent. In 1S30 the business 
was in the hands of the N. H. Iron 
Factory Company whose works, ex- 
tensive for that time, comprised a 
blast furnace, erected in 1808, an air 
furnace, and a forge and trip hammer 
shop. In 1854 from 25 to 30 men 
were constantly employed and 250 
tons of pig iron and 200 to 300 tons 
of bar iron were produced annually. 
But the lack of railroad facilities and 
the increase of competition gradually 
forced the Franconia mines to the 
wall and to-day their only memorial 
in the village is the picturesque old 
ruin of the furnace. 

In common with all the rest of the 
North country, Franconia was at one 



time busily engaged in the manufac- 
ture of starch from potatoes. The 
turning of lumber into various arti- 
cles from bedsteads to bobbins has 
for almost a century been carried 
on along the Gale river, and this in- 
dustry still survives in the mill of 
Parker, Brooks & Co. This water 
power has also turned the wheels of 
divers saw and grist mills, and char- 
coal burning, sugar making, spruce 
gum gathering, and various other 
employments, in addition to the two 
staples, farming and lumbering, have 
engaged the attention of Franconia 

One of the men who contributed 
much to the business prosperity of 

Tiie Old Furnace. 

Franconia was Hon. Eleazer B. 
Parker, who was born at Sugar Hill 
December 10, 181S, and died May 12, 
1S84. He was a member of the once 
famous firm of Moody Priest & Co., 
manufacturers of potato starch, and 
was also extensively engaged in the 
importation of lumber from Canada 
and in trade. A staunch Democrat, 
he served as town clerk, representa- 
tive, and state senator. He was suc- 
ceeded in business b}' his sons, Os- 

Dow Academy. 

man and Wilbur F., who are among 
the present prominent citizens of the 
town. The latter is proprietor of the 
principal store at the village and has 
been honored by the Democratic 
party wdth the office of county com- 
missioner. The remaining business 
firms of the village to-day include : 
George H. Burt, L. B. Howard, and 
H. L. Priest, general merchants; 
Caleb Huntoon, variety store. 

Until almost within the past de- 
cade Franconia' s religious worship 
was all carried on under one roof, 
that of the old " Union church," em- 
balmed in Mrs. Slosson's exquisite 
story, " Fishin' Jimmy." Now, 
however, there are three buildings, 
the Free Baptist, the Congregation- 
alist, and the Advent. The Baptists 

The Dormitories — Dow Academy. 




Prof. F. W. Ernst. 

occupy the original house, buiU in 
conjunction with the Congregation- 
alists in 1S35 and sold by the latter 
when their present pretty church was 
built in 1882 at a cost of $5,000. 
The little Advent church was com- 
pleted in 1885. 

The Congregational church body 
was organized in 18 14 with seven 
members by Revs. Asa Carpenter and 
Nathan Goddard. Its first pastor 
was Rev. Edmund Burt, and its pres- 
ent one is Rev. Milton T. Craig. Sep- 
tember 20, 1834, saw the organiza- 
tion of forty-eight Freewill Baptists 
by a committee from the lyisbon 
church. Rev. N. R. George was 
the first settled pastor, and at the 
present writing the church is with- 
out a pastor. Rev. Daniel Gregory 
ofathered fourteen Adventists into a 
church body in 1883, and their pres- 
ent minister is Rev. B. A. Glazier. 

In the New England mind, church 
and school are indissolubly connect- 
ed, and it is an easy transition in nar- 

rative from one to the other. Fran- 
conia has twofold reason to be proud 
of her schools : first, because of their 
excellence in material and results; 
and, second, because of their modern 
and complete equipment and housing, 
the latter due to the generosity of one 
who went out a boy from Franconia 
to victory in the business world. 

A dozen years ago the schools of 
this mountain town were no better 
and no worse than those in a hun- 
dred other little villages. To-day 
Dow Academy is one of the leading 
educational institutions of the North 
country, and the permanent value of 
its work is being daih^ proven in the 
universities and in responsible busi- 
ness positions throughout the coun- 
try. This happy result is due to the 
joining hands of a wealthy philan- 
thropist, an active executive, and an 
able educator. 

Moses Arnold Dow was born in Lit- 
tleton, May 23, 1 8 10, but his parents 
removed to Franconia when he was 
but three years of age. He learned 
the printer's trade, and in 1849 or 
1S50 founded the Wavcrley magazine 
at Boston on a cash capital of five 
dollars. Its idea was unique and it 
eventuall}^ became a great financial 
success. With the acquisition of 
wealth the desire came to Mr. Dow 

Residence of Prof. F. W. Ernst. 



W. C. Prime s Summer Home. 

to wisely use it, and he could think 
of no better way than by establishing 
a model educational institution in the 
town where his boyhood days were 

In the furtherance of his plan, he 
found a willing and active cooperator 
in the then pastor of the local Con- 
gregational church, a man who did 
much for Franconia in many ways. 
Rev. F. V. D. Garretson. Although 
Mr. Garretson is not now connected 
with Franconia save as a trustee of 
the academy, his influence and that 
of his family will long be remem- 
bered for its potent uplifting of the 
mental, moral, and material stand- 
ard of the town. To him is due 
much of the credit for 
the pretty Congrega- 
tional church and for 
many other improve- 
ments about the village 
as well as for Dow 

Mr. Dow and Mr. 
Garretson put the fin- 
ishing touch to their 
work in connection 
with the academy 
when they engaged 
as its principal Rev. 

Frederick \V. Ernst. Mr. Ernst is 
a vSoutherner by birth and a clergy- 
man by profession, having graduated 
at Dartmouth in 1876, and later at 
the Yale theological school. He has 
been at the head of Dow academy 
since its opening in 1885, and the 
value of his work is seen in the full 
measure of its success. Of scholarly 
tastes and well rounded culture. Pro- 
fessor Ernst commands the affection- 
ate respect of every student. His 
able assistants for the past year have 
been R. Howard Bolton, A. B., Paul 
R. Clay, Mary H. Alcott, Ada A. 
Cofifman, and Eulalie O. Grover. 

Dow academy is to-day on the 
top wave of success. Its handsome, 
modern school building proper, com- 
plete in equipment and ideal in loca- 
tion, its comfortable and commodious 
dormitories, its museum, reading- 
room and athletic field, all are full}- 
appreciated and wisely used by the 
more than a hundred students annu- 
ally enrolled on its catalogue. Its 
prospects, too, are bright for the fu- 
ture and it may safely look forward 
to decades, we hope centuries, of 
good work. The board of trustees, 
to whom credit is due for the wise 
management of its business affairs. 

Echo Lake and the Notch. 




The Breeding Pond, FraiiLonid Notch. 

is composed of Rev. G. Walcott 
Brooks, Boston, Mass.; Rev. F. V. 
D. Garretson, New York; W. F. 
Parker, Osman Parker, Franconia ; 
Ivconard F. Cutter, Brookline, Mass.; 
Rev. A. T. Hillman, Concord; F. G. 
Chutter, Littleton. 

There is much more deserving of 
mention in the past and present his- 
tory of this mountain town which 
cannot be touched upon in a brief 
magazine article. From the days of 
long ago, when Jacob Abbott wrote 
the Franconia stories, down to the 
present, when \V. C. Prime delights 
us with the scenic descriptions, phil- 
osophic reflections, and the keen 
glimpses of human nature, which the 
Notch inspires in him, hundreds of 
authors and artists have sought to 
portray the beauties of the moun- 

tain land and the life of its dwellers. 
"It is a small college, yet there are 
those wdio love it," said Daniel Web- 
ster of Dartmouth. Franconia is a 
small town in population and in 
wealth, but those who love it are 
in number legion, and in residence 
world scattered. The wearied, wor- 
ried denizens of ant-hill cities breathe 
here the pure air of the hilltops, and 
in the presence of the eternity of nat- 
ure forget their petty cares in the 
nearest human approach to the peace 
that passeth understanding. The 
young men and women who acquire 
more or less of the wisdom of books 
in the academy, at the same time 
draw' into the substance of their very 
souls some part of the majestic gran- 
deur by which they are surrounded 
and retain through life its impress. 
And those whose birth and life and 
death occur within its limits love the 
old towm in a different manner and 
for other reasons, but no less devot- 
edly and sincerely. 

Where the summits of the ever- 
lasting hills pierce the snowy clouds 
in lofty aspiration tow^ards heaven's 
blue ; where the sun of morn and 
noon and eventide bathes all nature 
in color floods ; where crj^stal lakes 
and opal brooks reflect unsullied 
summer skies ; where winter wdnds 
blow fiercest and the power of the' 
Ice King is least challenged; where 
the Great Stone Face, alike in sun 
and storm, gazes above and beyond 
our human vision; where God, the 
Maker, wrought His first and grand- 
est works; — there is Franconia, the 
Warder of the Pass. 


By Adelaide George Bennett. 

High on Franconia's armored mount we see, 
Immovable and fixed, that grand stone face, 
Whose every line seems carved with virile grace, 

Gazing forever towards immensity. 

We higher climb to grasp its symmetry, 

But when we would the noble form embrace. 
Rough, jutting boulders all its outlines trace, 

Moss-grown and scarred with time's grim imager}-. 

So our ideals, which seem to us so fair. 
So faultless, unapproachable, and true 

In the cold stratum of the upper air. 
Brook not the ordeal of a nearer view. 

Be not their fine minutiae laid bare 

Lest ye, a vandal hand, despoiling rue. 


By George Bancroft Griffith. 

The}' hail the Rocky Mountains and the Garden of the Gods, 

Up the Alps and Andes jxarly many a weary tourist plods, 

And, 'midst panoramic changes, over stony stairways long, 

They have told us of their climbing in cold prose and melting song; 

But ni}' happiest moment gilding, the most thankful since my birth. 

Shone the sun on in New England, the dearest spot on earth. 

It was when in manhood's vigor I beheld the Face of Stone, 

And Franconia's pines all murmured, " See him there, upon his throne ! " 

Yes, 't was summer ; all the valleys were a mass of leaf\^ bloom ; 

Form and color dazzled vision, there was not a hint of gloom ; 

Echo lake, in restful beaut}', like a polished mirror shone; 

In the heart of nature's wonders, rapt, I stood as if alone. 

Never, never will that moment from my mem'ry fade away, 

And its rapture, sweet and sacred, will make calm my dying day, 

For I knew the Hand that fashioned such an image in a breath 

Made all things and ruled wisely over life and over death. 

With the thought, the lips, rock-sculptured, lost their sternness, and the face 

For a flash smiled kindly on me with benignity and grace, 

And I stood with clasped hands, dreaming where a thousand splendors shone; 

Hope's rainbow brightly glistened above the face of stone ; 

Franconia's pines breathed softer, while a voice said, " From the sod 

The trusting soul soars upward to the bosom of its God ! " 




By H. H. Metcalf. 

XE of the most prosperous 
agricultural communi- 
ties in the state is to be 
found in the town of 
Pembroke. "Pembroke 
Street " is, in fact, a farming village, 
and the fertile and well - cultivated 
fields on either side, and the substan- 
tial farm houses all along the way, 
are an unfailing delight to the eye of 
the passing traveller. Among the 
best of the many excellent farms here 
situated is that of George P. Little, 
who has won a prominent position in 
agricultural circles, particularly as a 
breeder of Jerse}'- cattle, in which 
line he was extensively engaged for 
many years. 

The son of Dr. Elbridge G. and 
Sophronia (Peabody) Eittle — his 
mother being a sister of the noted 
London banker, George Peabod}^ for 
whom he was named and at whose 
decease he was handsomely remem- 
bered — he was born at Pembroke, 
N. Y., June 20, 1834. In 1846 he 
came, with his mother, to Pembroke 
in this state to continue his educa- 
tion at the academy there, he having 
previously for a time attended the 
Lewiston, N. Y., academy. Subse- 
quently he attended the Gj^mnasium 
and Military Institute, a noted school 
which flourished then at the " Street " 
in rivalry with the academy. The 
winter after he was eighteen years of 
age he taught school in Pembroke, 
but went the next 3-ear to Portland, 

Me., where he was in mercantile bus- 
iness five years. Thence he went to 
Boston where he was similarly en- 
gaged for a time ; but having devel- 
oped a strong taste for photography, 
he finally located in Palmyra, N. Y., 
where he pursued that business for 
ten 5'ears, until 1868, when he came 
back to Pembroke and purchased the 
farm where he now resides, erecting 
thereon a fine residence, spacious 
barn, and other necessary buildings, 
effecting various other improvements, 
and adding to the acreage from time 
to time. He has about 225 acres in 
the home place, with back farms and 
woodland, to the extent of 700 or 800 
acres in all. The mowing and tillage 
includes about 75 acres, and the 
annual hay product is about 100 tons. 
As has been stated, Mr. Little was 
for many years a breeder of Jerseys — 
registered animals of a superior class, 
which he sold all over the countr5^ 
He has also been a breeder of fine 
horses, and has bought and sold 
horses extensiveh', but of late he has 
been inclined to an easier life and 
has relinquished his activity in these 

Mr. Little has taken an active in- 
terest in public affairs in the town of 
his adoption, and is one of its most 
honored and influential citizens. A 
Republican in politics, he had sen-ed 
as deputy United States collector of 
internal revenue while residing in 
New York. In Pembroke he has 

1 66 FAR AWAY. 

been several years town treasurer, children living, a son and five daugli- 
three 5^ears selectman, was a repre- ters. The son, Hon. C. B. Little, a 
sentative in the legislature in 1876 lawyer of Bismarck, North Dakota, 
and 1877 and again in iSgo-'gi. He has been a member of the state sen- 
was treasurer of Merrimack county ate and chairman of the judiciary 
four 3'ears, and a delegate in the last committee the last eight years. Of 
constitutional convention. He is a the daughters, Mary G. is the wife of 
32-degree Mason, and Knight Tem- James E. Odlin, Esq., of Lynn, 
plar, an Odd Fellow, and deacon of Mass.; Lizzie E. married L. F. 
the Congregational church in Pem- Thurber of Nashua ; Nettie H. is 
broke. Mrs. Frank E. Shepard of Concord ; 
He married Elizabeth N., daugh- Lucy B. is at home, and Clara F. 
ter of Daniel Knox of Pembroke, the wife of Herman S. vSalt of Brook- 
August 22, 1S54. They have six lyn, N. Y. 


By Fi'ed Lewis Pattee. 

summer day, O long, midsummer day. 

With flower and bird and softlj' whispering tree, 
And dreamy cloud and half-heard roundelay, 
So like the land where I have longed to be, — 

1 love thee, oh ! I love thee, summer day ; 
Thine every hour brings keenest joy to me, — 

And yet my joy would swiftly speed away 
Had I, O summer da}', no hope but thee. 

O mortal love, of all life's joys most sweet, 

O foretaste of the life that is to be, 
When once our paths in summer days did meet 

My soul did tremble like a summer sea, — 
In fierce, tumultuous jo}^ my heart did beat 

Until I dreamed I held the heavenl}^ key ; 
But, ah ! my joy would speed with rapid feet 

Had I, O mortal love, no hope but thee. 

For summer birds will fly beyond the wold, 

And summer flowers will perish with the day, 
And dreamy clouds will turn to pearl and gold 

And vanish in the evening's leaden gray ; 
For hearts must break, and love must soon be cold. 

And fiercest joys can but a moment stay ; 
Ah ! mortal life, thy sweets are all untold. 

But yet my hope — my hope is far away. 


By N'. J. Bach elder. 

F the various fraternal 
orders or organizations 
whose membership is 
open to women, there is 
none of whose privileges 
they have so extensively availed 
themselves in the state of New 
Hampshire as the Grange or order 
Patrons of Husbandry, established, 
primarily, especially for the social, 
intellectual, and material advantage 
and improvement of those directly 
connected with the pursuit of agri- 
culture, and whose membership of 
nearly 20,000 in this state includes 
fully as many females as males. 

Among all these thousands of lady 
Patrons there is no other so well 
known to the order at large as Mrs. 
Annie E. Hutchinson of Milford, 
wife of the indefatigable secretarj^ of 
the New Hampshire State Grange, 
Emri C. Hutchinson, who, as lad}- 
steward of that organization for the 
last eight years, has come in official 
contact with all members attending 
its sessions, and who, b}' virtue of 
that position, has been the guide and 
inspiration of all her sisters in the 
order seeking advancement through 
the sixth degree, since the state 
grange was endowed with authorit}- 
to confer the same. 

Mrs. Hutchinson was born Annie 
E. Eoveioy, daughter of Abiel A. 
and Mary J. (Osgood) Lovejo}-, in 
the city of Nashua, November 28, 
1S50, but removed with her parents 

to Medwa}', Mass., in infancy, and 
subsequently to Milford in this state, 
where she had her home until about 
twelve years of age, when, on ac- 
count of her health, her father again 
changed his residence, removing to 
the town of Mason, w'here thej' lived 
about five vears. the daughter in the 

Mrs. Annie E. Hutchinson. 

meantime receiving the benefit of in- 
struction for some time at the famous 
Appleton academ}- in New Ipswich. 
Subsequenth' they returned to Mil- 

After a time, obeA'ing the prompt- 
ings of the spirit of independence 
which characterizes so many of our 
American 3'oung women, and hav- 
ing acquired a practical knowledge of 
the business. Miss Lovejoy opened 

1 68 


a dressmaking establishment in the 
thriving town of Peterborough, which 
she conducted successfully for five 
years, developing a business capac- 
ity which has proved of material ad- 
vantage in later years, in the assist- 
ance she has rendered her husband 
in his office work and otherwise. 

August 9, 1876, she was united in 
marriage with Emri C. Hutchinson, 
son of E. F. Hutchinson, of Milford, 
and has since resided with him at 
the old family homestead near Rich- 
ardson's crossing, some two miles 
west of the village, which has been 
in the family for generations. They 
have two children, both daughters, 
Mary Roselle, born February i, 1879, 
and Medora Annie, born August 8, 

Mrs. Hutchinson has been a mem- 
ber of Granite Grange, Milford, since 
the summer of her marriage, twenty 
years ago ; has held the various offices 
in that organization ordinarily accord- 
ed the ladies ; has also been lady 
steward and Ceres of Hillsborough 
County Pomona Grange, No. i, and 
was chosen lady steward in the State 
Grange in 1887, holding the ofhce 

four succes.sive terms, until Decem- 
ber, 1895, a longer term of ofhcial 
service than has been accorded any 
other lady member of the organiza- 

Mrs. Hutchinson, like her husband, 
is liberal in her religious belief, and 
is a member of the Unitarian church 
at Milford. She is also an interested 
member of the newly organized wom- 
an's club in that town. Through her 
connection with the Grange, she has 
formed many strong friendships, and 
has a wide acquaintance throughout 
the state, her amiable manners and 
worthy traits of character gaining her 
the kindly regard of all with whom 
she comes in contact. Fulfilling faith- 
fully all the ordinary duties of wife 
and mother and mistress of a well- 
ordered home, she has also been of 
material assistance to her husband in 
the often pressing work of his office 
as secretary of the State Grange, and 
of the Grange Fire Insurance Com- 
pany, both of which positions he has 
held for several years past, and which, 
with his farm business and other af- 
fairs, involves no small measure of 
effort and responsibility. 


By F. H. Szvift. 

The sleeping lily breathes a parting prayer. 

And for the last time scents the quiet air. 

The blushing rose is pale at early morn. 

Nor can the robin cheer the queen forlorn. 

The wind, that long has slumbered in the trees, 

Awakes and flings afar the trembling leaves, 

Or drives them, like a witch, with unseen hand, 

And, mocking, sports them o'er the moon- washed sand. 

The brook, long nursed by Summer, wakes in chill 

To see that Autumn stands upon the hill. 


By James O. Ly/ord. 

HY do Unitarians go to 
church ? " is a ques- 

^» M/^« tion frequently asked 
in one form or another 
by people of other de- 
nominations, who seem to think that 
Unitarianism is merely a protest 
against the creeds of the so-called 
Evangelical churches. How far this 
question is prompted by Unitarians 
themselves, is a problem which con- 
fronts us to-day, when we are either 
to go forward in our work to grand 
results or leave the mission for other 
denominations to complete. 

There is a prevalent misconception 
in other churches of Unitarianism, 
which presupposes that release from 
ancient creeds gives license for wrong 
doing ; that disbelief of dogmas ab- 
solves one from all religious thought 
and feeling, and that secession from 
orthodoxy does away with the ne- 
cessity for church association and 

There are some Unitarians who 
appear to think that the sole mission 
of Unitarianism is to combat erron- 
eous beliefs, and who, for this reason, 
fail to see that the religion of Jesus 
Christ, relieved of the dross which 
for centuries enveloped it, has the 
same imperative calls to dut}^ as 
when the rack, the dungeon, and the 
stake compelled external professions 
of faith. 

" Why do Unitarians go to church?" 

might be answered by the inquiry, 
' ' Why do people of other denomina- 
tions go to church ?" 

A century ago, people were fined 
five shillings for each offense of non- 
attendance at church on the vSabbath, 
and money being scarce, and the 
people in sympathy with the law, the 
delinquents were not so numerous as 
they have been since. The spiritual 
guide was selected to point the way 
to a far-off heaven ; to paint in lurid 
colors the punishment of non-be- 
lievers ; to explain knotty points of 
ecclesiastical controvers}' ; to portray 
to the mind the seriousness of the 
Sabbath and the hardships of a relig- 
ious life. To the young, the ap- 
proaches to correct living and model 
behavior were surrounded by gloom, 
and a pall of despair settled upon the 
convert to Calvinism with its accom- 
panying terrors of judgments and 
retributions. The solemnity of pietj^ 
the outward austerity of its devotees, 
the forced suppression of the laugh- 
ter and sunshine of existence, needed 
the strong arm of the law to compel 
men to do violence to a natural con- 
ception of the God of humanity. 
With the growth of knowledge and 
the expansion of thought, there could 
be but a protest against the miscon- 
ception and misconstructions of the 
teachings of Jesus Christ. How that 
protest grew from faint whisperings 
and half-expressed doubts, and was 



fanned by persecution into open re- 
bellion, are matters of history with 
which you are all faniiliar. It took 
several decades of fierce religious 
controversy, of family and church es- 
trangements, to overcome the preju- 
dices and superstitions which were 
part of the creeds of orthodox faith. 
What wonder then that those wdio 
protested grew bold and audacious in 
their independence ; that one ex- 
treme followed another, and that 
church service grew irksome to those 
who had felt the weight of its com- 
pulsion and the gruesomeness of its 

The liberal churches in their begin- 
ning had aggressive work to perform. 
They taught freedom of thought and 
action as distinguished from blind ac- 
ceptance of human creeds and human 
interpretations of the Bible. It is one 
thing to point out error ; it is quite 
another to define the truth. Relig- 
ious like secular reforms deal first 
with the destruction of the error, then 
with laying the foundation of the new 
truth. To secure religious freedom, 
it was necessary to strike vigorous 
blows at the prevailing religious tyr- 
anny. To secure a hearing for the 
new interpretation of the gospel, with 
its simple teachings of love of God 
and love to man, the hard formal- 
ities which encrusted the prevailing 
creeds had to be pierced with inv^ec- 
tive and ridicule. To many, there- 
fore, it seemed sufficient to protest 
against the existing order of things 
without laying any new foundations. 
"We are with you," they said, "in 
destroying the doctrine of future re- 
wards and punishment, in elimina- 
ting the God of vengeance, in doing 
away with an incomprehensible trin- 
ity, in letting in the light of reason 

upon religious beliefs, in discarding 
vulgar superstitions and fears ; but 
what more is there to do ? " 

Associated with the hard dogmas 
of the orthodox churches were the 
forms and ceremonies incident there- 
to. It was but natural that, with the 
rejection of the creeds, should come 
a rejection of formalities as well. 
These formalities, however impress- 
ive, were the emblems of a discarded 
theology. Released from the pains 
and penalties both here and here- 
after, which were once a part of the 
old doctrine of church and church 
service, too many people of liberal 
religious belief have felt themselves 
absolved from more than occasional 
attendance at church, and have 
thought that, if their lives were above 
reproach, there was no further duty 
toward their fellows. The demand 
has been for the simplest form of ser- 
vice, and sometimes there has been 
satisfaction with as little as possible 
of it consistent with propriety and a 
feeling that there should be some 
kind of public worship. 

Nor is this confined alone to our 
own denomination. It is a general 
complaint. Removal of the fetters of 
fear, substituting love for force, giv- 
ing freedom to individual thought 
and action, has caused a revolt in all 
churches from that oppressive sense 
of duty wdiich once compelled attend- 
ance at the sanctuary. The ortho- 
dox and the heretic alike have 
shirked church service. 

Yet in puncturing the old creeds, 
in abolishing the hard conceptions of 
the Deity, and in casting out the per- 
sonal devils and the literal hell of the 
orthodox faith, nothing of the teach- 
ings of Jesus Christ has been de- 
stroyed. The lessons of right-living 



all are left. The beauties of the 
Oolden Rule are as impressive to-day 
as when first uttered in Judea. 
Teaching the doing of right because 
it is right, and not because it will 
save from terrible consequences after 
death, is as essential now as ever. 
The opportunity of saving men from 
sin is just as great as when it was 
supposed they were snatched from a 
burning lake. 

When the pulpits taught that you 
could have a good time here, but 
look out for the hereafter, everybody 
was possessed to get a taste of in- 
iquit}' before all of the bad places 
were closed. Then the old sinner 
on his death-bed, with impressive 
ceremonj' and in "the name of God, 
Amen," set aside a part of the worldly 
goods he could not carry with him to 
the ser\-ice of the church, that his 
soul might have easy flight through 
the realms of purgatory. In dissi- 
pating the doctrine that made elev- 
enth hour penitents of the most of 
mankind, there still remained the 
gospels of Jesus Christ in all their 
purit3% and it is instructions in these 
gospels that churches are to give to- 
da}-. Because the plan of salvation 
is now understood to be saving men 
from a hell here instead of a hell 
hereafter, it does not follow that the 
labor is lessened or that the duty is 
made less imperative. 

Xo one questions the necessit}' for 
secular education. Your schools, 
your colleges, and your universities 
testify to that. Is instruction in 
right living less important? The 
alphabet is simple to those of us 
who have mastered it, yet it can be 
forgotten by disuse. Because relig- 
ion has been simplified and its mys- 
teries, doubts, and fears removed, it 

does not follow that its instruction 
should cease. The old saying that 
truth crushed to earth will rise again 
is beautiful in theory but disastrous 
in practice. Truth has to have de- 
fenders as well as error, and if the 
counsel for error is the more vigfor- 
ous and active, he usually gains the 
day. There is a political maxim 
that active ignorance will beat sloth- 
ful intelligence every time ; and I do 
not know but it applies with equal 
force to religion. It is onl}' by itera- 
tion and reiteration that teachings of 
au}^ kind are effective, and there is 
just as great necessity now as ever 
for cooperation of pew and pulpit in 
eradicating evil. Unitarianism is on 
the threshold of a new era. The 
days of its controversies with other 
denominations are over. Having- 
successfully combatted error, it must 
now press on as the living exponent 
of truth. To do this it must avail 
itself of that experience which in the 
past has made those who differed with 
it so effective. 

The Puritans, who came to this 
country to escape religious persecu- 
tion at home, were especiallj' wary 
of everj'thing which experience had 
taught them might be detrimental to 
their freedom. So the Unitarian 
churches, with their teachings of the 
largest liberty in religious thought, 
have been until recently war>' of any 
organization or confederation which 
might in any way hamper or abridge 
that liberty. The}' have preferred 
to act as independent and detached 
churches, to being consolidated and 
mobilized into a denomination actu- 
ated by a common purpose. The 
history of denominational govern- 
ment has been such as to make them 
apprehensive of a church hierachy. 



The}' feared the return in a new 
guise of doi^mas which put the man- 
acles on thought and imprisoned con- 
science. Happily these fears have 
been dispelled, and Unitarianism has 
been united in its efforts and consol- 
idated in its labors. Unitarians now 
see that it is organization which has 
kept together their orthodox brethren 
in the face of discredited creeds and 
lapsing dogmas. With the eradica- 
tion of the popular idea prevalent to 
some extent among Unitarians them- 
selves, that Unitarianism was merely 
anti-orthodoxy, and stood only for 
antagonism to existing creeds, the 
next step to effective organization 
was eas5^ With organization have 
come duties and responsibilities. 
What are they ? 

If there is one thing that Unita- 
rianism has taught, it is that the 
pews are as much a part of the 
church and its work as the pulpit. 
The Unitarian minister is not set on 
a pedestal to worship ; he is not held 
up as an infallible exponent of relig- 
ious doctrine, to dispute whose con- 
clusions is sin ; neither is he to 
preach an easy-going, comfortable, 
stay-at-home-when-you-please relig- 
ion ; but he and the congregation 
are to cooperate in the promotion of 
truth, in the advancement of knowl- 
edge, and in the checking of evil. 
Therein lies the personal responsibil- 
ity of the laity. If Unitarianism is 
to grow, it must have their cordial 
and enthusiastic support. No other 
religious idea ever thrived without 
the zealous advocacy of its adherents. 
Something more is required than the 
prompt payment of pew rent and lib- 
eral contributions for church work. 
Mere endowments never built up an 
academy or a college. There must 

be interest and zeal and labor in the 
undertaking, ll is the same with a 
church. You cannot hire someone 
to do your work for you in the l^ni- 
tarian church, any more than you 
can in any other church. There is 
the same necessity for individual ex- 
ertion and individual interest. It is 
not enough that other creeds have 
been tempered to the expanding in- 
telligence of their followers. 

If Unitarianism represents the best 
of religious thought and is the 
exposition of the teachings of Jesus 
Christ, as we believe, then we are in 
duty bound to proclaim it. Because 
the days of combativeness of the Uni- 
tarian church are past, there is no 
rea,son for not being alert. Procla- 
mations from the pulpit will not alone 
make converts. It requires the same 
zeal on the part of the laity as was 
shown when Unitarians were but out- 
comers from other denominations ; the 
same zeal that in other denomina- 
tions hurries the infant in the cradle 
to the baptismal font early interests 
him in the Sunday-school, and so 
identifies him with the church that 
it costs effort in after life to break 
away from its associations. Unless 
we are going to allow the orthodox 
churches, liberalized b}^ our teach- 
ings, to usurp our place ; unless we 
are going out of business as a church 
organization, we have got to have the 
same loyalty which in other churches 
recruits their decimated ranks. 

The idea of proselyting has been 
in a measure repugnant to the Unita- 
rian laity. They have felt that, if 
their cause did not speak for itself, 
did not commend itself to others, no 
effort should be made to bring the 
stranger within their gates. Depre- 
cating the emotional in religion and 



appealing to the reason and intelli- 
gence, Unitarians have stood apart 
from that work which swells the folds 
of other denominations. This was 
but the natural outgrowth of that 
position which for years put them in 
the attitude of protestants against the 
old creeds and the formality of their 
observances. What they have al- 
ready accomplished in the liberaliza- 
tion of the teachings of other denom- 
inations brings into greater promi- 
nence now the grand yet simple prin- 
ciples for which all this warfare and 
contention have been waged. The 
preliminary contest was for a hear- 
ing, and it needed the belligerencj^ 
of such as Theodore Parker to secure 
it. Now that it has been accorded, 
what is it w^e have to offer? Having 
disproved the charge of heres}- which 
for so long a time was a stumbling 
block to accretion of strength, what 
is ? Aside from the 
freedom of thought for which we 
have battled, what do we believe ? 
What is our faith, or, to put it 
stronger, what is our creed ? for I do 
not object to the term now that it has 
been shorn of its superstitious fears. 
It is very simple and has been 
pithily put in form by one of the 
master minds of the denomination. 
It is this : 

We believe in the Fatherhood of God, 
The Brotherhood of Man, 
The Leadership of Jesus, 
Salvation by Character, 

In the progress of Mankind onward and up- 
ward forever. 

lyived up to is there anything more 
sublime ? Is there any other rule of 
action that will make of us here or 
hereafter better citizens? There is 
no mystery about it, no doubt, no 
fear. It requires no labored inter- 
pretation to bring it to the under- 

standing. It is as plain as the un- 
adorned teachings of the Savior, of 
which it is the sum and substance. 
Saint and sinner, orthodox and here- 
tic, can subscribe to it. 

It is what has made men more 
humane toward their fellows. It is 
what has awakened sympathy for 
suffering, what has made glad sore 
and bereaved hearts, what has built 
hospitals, abolished slaver}-, and 
made of all this earth more of sum- 
mer's joy and less of winter's discon- 
tent. It is the answer of the mother 
to the 

" Infant crying in the night : 
And with no language but a cry." 

It is the voice of good cheer to 
those who are faint and wear3\ It is 
the chord w^hicli relaxes the tension 
of the heart strings. It is the whis- 
per of love which gives to hope its 
brightest dreams. It is the echo 
from Calvary, and it is the religion 
of Jesus Christ as he taught it to the 
multitudes who gave to him their 

Yet it must be taught over and 
over again so long as the world lasts. 
It must be inculcated by precept and 
example to the end of time. Other- 
wise there is no reason for the exist- 
ence of any church to-day. 

This is the work that the Unitarian 
church has before it. This is the 
personal responsibility of its pews 
and pulpits. This is the duty of its 
lait}- ; and there can be no grander 
mission, no more inspiring work. In 
teaching this simple faith that it is 
better to do right than to do wrong, 
more blessed to give than to receive, 
and that the progress of man-kind is 
onward and upward both here and 
hereafter, there is just the same ne- 
cessity for church association and 



church work as when men were cor- 
ralled by fear into public observance 
of the Sabbath, and driven by torture 
into subscribing to beliefs that mocked 
every affection of the hearthstone. 

This is why Unitarians go to 
church, and it is why every one 
should go to church, whatever his 
belief in the trinity or the hereafter. 
To do good and get good is the ob- 
ject of church association. It is the 
life here that we are living, not the 
life hereafter. It is here that we 
need the props, the help, and the 
encouragement that come of right 
association and Christian fellowship. 
It is here that the cup of cold water 
quenches the thirst ; it is here that 
the prodigal returns ; it is here that 
the wayward are reclaimed. 

If the Unitarian church is to go 
forward ; if its mission is to be some- 
thing more than the mere breaking 
down of old creeds. Unitarians them- 
selves must not furnish occasion for 
misconception of their work. We are 
either at the beginning of a new ca- 
reer as a church or we are nearing 
the close of our labors. It all rests 

with us whether the powerful organ- 
izations now camping where our 
fires are smouldering shall absorb us, 
or we .shall draw from them. They 
still cling in council and religious 
assembly to the old tenets and faith. 
Uip service is still given the anti- 
quated creeds, but there is more prac- 
tical religion, and less theology in 
their pulpits. To gain the attention 
of their followers ; to commend our- 
selves to their support, we must give 
more prominence to what we believe 
and less to what we disbelieve. We 
need not now concern ourselves with 
their doctrinal discussions and heresy 
trials. While we have been com- 
batting their errors, they have con- 
tinually arrogated to themselves the 
religious side of the controversy. We 
must therefore demonstrate to those 
who do not think, to those who ven- 
erate old creeds, that we are not less 
religious by being less orthodox. In 
other words, we must teach what we 
stand for, rather than what we stand 
against. If this is done, there will 
be no misconception of ourselves by 


By Frances H. Perry. 

Neath the maples' cool shade in the dear old home garden, 

By a clover field, fragrant, my hammock low swings ; 
Stray sunbeams rain gold through the leafy, green arches, 

And sweetest of odors the morning breeze brings ; 
While day-dreams enfold me the saucy birds scold me. 

The squirrels come, chat'ring, then scurry away; 
Swift insects buzz round me, a butterfly 's found me, 

And shyly alights, just a moment to stay. 

But here comes the busiest, sweetest intruder. 
Dear baby, and with him his little white kit 


I clasp him, but, no, lie is off for a frolic. 

To find where the fluttering butterflj- lit; 
Away it goes, winging o'er wild flowers springing. 

Two little feet follow pit-pat through the grass, 
Till a daisy sways lightl)' and nods to him brightl}'. 

And a gay poppy greets him, too charming to pass. 

A buttercup woos him, a brown bird entices, 

A bending bough rustles its leaves in his face, — 
Back falls the white bonnet and trails through the grasses. 

Invitingly coaxing Miss Kit to a race ; 
A frolic, a scramble, a tug with a bramble, 

A grasp at the down flying by on the breeze ; 
A laughing roll over in a tangle of clover, 

A whirring and droning of sweet-laden bees. 

So happily listening, so leisurely swinging, 

I watch little Gold-Head flit tireless around. 
Till slowly away to dreamland I go drifting : 

But, hush! 'mid my dreams falls a sweet, sleepy sound, - 
Close by in the clover the dear little rover 

Has dropped down, too drowsy to hold up his head; 
While the little white bonnet, with mussed ribbons on it, 

Lies near, brimming over with sweet clovers red. 

A trail of crushed blossoms, of green leaves and grasses, 

Leads off through a tangle of verdure and bloom ; 
Along it steps softly the tired little fol'wer, 

And a cuddling, white ball in the bonnet finds room ; 
A languorous stirring at the sound of the purring, 

A faint little dimple, a satisfied sigh. 
Then, cradled in clover, 'neath boughs bending over. 

All restfully sleeping the tired rovers lie. 

Oh, roses in Eden ne'er bloomed that were sweeter 

Than the two sweet, pink roses all dimpled I see ! 
Oh, a dear little rose he is, swiftly unfolding 

Delightful, fresh loveliness dail}' for me. 
Oh, what to fond e3'es are the dreams of the poets, 

Or wondrous creations of masters of old. 
Beside this fair picture, framed o'er by the maples, — 

This dear, sleeping babe with his ringlets of gold ? 

Dear, dear little rover, I envy the clover! 

I 'm coming to gather my sweet little rose — 
My fair, nodding blossom — to wear on my bosom. 

Then back we '11 go swinging to dreamland's repose. 




By E. F. Tenney. 


AJOR Treate, of the Che- 
bacco parish, who lived 
at the corner where the 
great seed farm is to- 
day, brought back Mar- 
tha's Indian girl, Myra, from the 
Canadian wilderness ; and since the 
Doctor was always quarrelling with 
her maid, Mistress Langdon gave 
easy assent that she should abide 
with Mistress Elizabeth Treate, who 
now loaned her for the season to 
Mary Glasse in her wild-wood life. 
With her, Mary felt like a whole 
tribe of Indians roaming at will in 
the Cape Ann forest. Myra could 
move about among the farms and 
perform all needed ser\-ices, while 
Mary, her mistress, was hedging her- 
self about b)^ secrecy, and as effect- 
ually concealed as if she had been in 
paradise. Indeed, the first night that 
she spent in the shelter of the Zion 
boulder, Mary dreamed that she was 
indeed in paradise, and waking found 
it to be true. And the second night 
she dreamed that her several minis- 
tering angels had a loving quarrel 
among themselves to decide upon 
their turns in keeping watch and 
ward over her in this favored nook 
of paradise, and that the}- settled it 
by all coming at once. Doubtless 
they enjoyed it as much as she 

Martha Eangdon stole away from 

the doctor now and then to visit 
Mary's wigwam, with Elizabeth 
Treate's daughters, Admire and 
Katherine, who pretended to be 
camping here and there for some 
weeks. And the major himself with 
Raymond Foote spent many da5'S in 
the forest with traps and guns. That 
there should have been so man}' ter- 
restial guardians, was well calculated 
to make jealous those celestial beings 
who sought to be near Mary in her 
exile. Still, for the most part she 
was alone, with Myra to go and 
come ; and no life could be more 
divine. To herself Mary seemed to 
be dwelling in the porch of heaven, 
with no more of earthly care than a 
disembodied spirit. 

Beech and birch, pine, hemlock, 
and oak grew near the bowlder 
where she first erected her wigwam. 
Then Mary made friends of many 
aged trees, gigantic chestnuts of the 
earlier wood, hickory of great girth, 
and knotted pasture pines ; and, 
upon northern slopes, heavy, thick- 
set growth of white pine masts, tow- 
ering high with their lower trunks 
untouched by sunshine. She often 
stood upon the bowlder after sunset, 
when the surrounding woods were 
dark, and the west side of the forest 
was all aflame with 3'ellow and red 
lights, streaming far skyward as if 
the whole world were on fire, and 


1 1 

black clouds could be seen rolling 
like smoke. 

Kindling a mosquito smudge to 
the windward, when there was not 
a brisk breeze to drive away the 
devils which attempted to scale the 
walls of this paradise, Marj- wound a 
spiral of dough and stuck the bread- 
stick into the ground near the fire of 
maple, and baked their evening 
meal, while Mj^ra roasted roots of 
spikenard. Trout for breakfast, and 
wild meat for dinner, testified to the 
friendh^ services of guardian angels 
armed with muskets and fish-rods. 
Yet night with its curling smoke, 
and its effulgence of pitch-knots, and 
its flash of familiar star-fires through 
the tree tops, this was the hour for 
celestial visitation. 

The physique of the early Amer- 
ican woman of sturd)^ stock, the 
bounding heart of girlhood, the inde- 
pendence bred of tough muscles, the 
whetting of wits given by out-of-door 
life, brought Mary into sympathy 
with all wild creatures ; so that it 
was to her as much a diversion to 
hear the wolf howl at his own echo 
or to see the swooping of the hawk, 
as to listen to the black-bird's whistle 
or to watch the brisk movements of 
the birds warbling at day-break. 
Through the mother-heart of nature, 
the girl in her exile was related to 
all living things ; was of a piece with 
that wholesome, wild-flavored life 
which is wafted upon the summer air 
of the forest and the shore. To her 
a lowering sk}- and falling weather 
was no less inspiriting than the quiv- 
ering of leaves in the sun ; and the 
dripping of twigs no less musical 
than tinkling bird-sounds, afloat like 
little bells among the echoing tree- 
tops of cathedral woods. 

Mary was much alone upon the ex- 
tensive bare ledges of the hill-tops, 
where there was always a slight air 
stirring. Here the stillness of the 
forest was more moving than its 
music. Here at daybreak she waited 
for the silent tides of sunlight to pour 
over the dark world, wave on wave. 
And sometimes the morning was 
fringed with fire, and the contour of 
the hills became vague with mists ; 
and loose ragged clouds filled the 
sky, the locks of an approaching 
storm. Then, instead of the whis- 
pering leaves, strange muffled sounds 
arose from the woods ; and the great 
murmur of the sea was borne upon 
the wings of the wind. 

Upon the Lord's da}-, Mar}- often 
gave the hour of morning service to 
her imagination, transporting herself 
to city celestial. The songs of her 
childhood no longer trilled, and the 
camp-fire hymns were silent, and the 
solemn chant of the ocean was 
merged in other tones sweet and far ; 
as if the forest and every tree therein, 
and the low coast-range hills, had 
broken forth into singing, — as if she 
were listening to their clear notes 
from mountains divine or to the faint- 
ly sounding music of angelic instru- 
ments rendered sweeter by the re- 
sounding walls of cliff and woodland. 
And the pure in heart heard a voice 
out of heaven, — " Lo, I am with 


Meantime Raymond Foote found 
the Hammersmith parish ver>^ jolly, 
socially ; but morally, a peculiar 
people not zealous of good works. 
He set means in operation for the 
amelioration of their condition. The 
most genial of parsons found sun- 



ny Christian homes standing over 
against those cursed b}^ grim super- 
stition or animal vice. Wholesome, 
hearty, of full nature, with a good 
deal to him, so that he was mightily 
moved b}' affection or indignation, — 
he was well adapted to deal with the 
liberty-loving, the generous, the im- 
pulsive, the self-denying, the enter- 
prising, the self-seeking, the grasp- 
ing, and the hardening. Is not 
human nature enduring as the sea, 
surging and shining age after age ? 

Raymond was here at home ; his 
father still living, not j^et turned 
fifty, still plowing and reaping the 
sea, and still playing the part of con- 
science in that village ; which, as his 
father before him, he even now per- 
sisted in calling by the old name for 
that wandering Jeffrey, who affixed 
his cognomen to no small part of the 
north shore as to points and creeks. 
The Foote homestead was upon the 
slope of Sundown Hill rising above 
the oaks ; the new road from the rail- 
way to the beach passing within a 
few rods of the site. 

By pupilage in college and out, by 
sea going and merchant adventuring, 
Raymond had not lived at home for 
fifteen years, since a mere lad. And, 
dwelling here now, his heart, but for 
Mary Glasse, was still on the ocean. 

" The strange old sea talking to 
himself" could always be heard, — 
heard like an ancient harp at the 
Sunday services, or booming at the 
burial of the dead, heard in the inter- 
vals of conversation with neighbors 
about clods and cattle, heard stealing 
into the chamber if he was wakeful 
at night ; seen like a picture gallery 
with paintings changed every day, 
seen in full-tide harbor with rainbow 

tints at nightfall, seen at midday with 
burnished shield lying close to the 
green fields and the overhanging 
headlands, the summer sea within 
the horizon of the gray-purple haze. 

Often as a lad Raymond had looked 
out at the windows to see between 
the crags the ships of all the world, 
as he thought, going past, — tacking 
hither and thither ; as if the sea were 
a part of his father's dooryard. Born 
and reared where he had been, Ray- 
mond Foote took to blue water as 
naturally as any web-footed whistler, 
and as merrily. Sweet was the mem- 
ory, in his prime, of that sailor-boy 
delight with which he used to sway 
to and fro on the mast-head, w^atch- 
ing the fury of the storm and at home 
in it ; and, with a boy's imaginings, 
believing himself for the moment to 
be at one with the tempest. 

And Sundown Hill looked out up- 
on the edge of an ocean of woodland. 
One could at that time easily pick his 
way from Jeffrey's Creek to Canada 
without leaving the forest ; save that, 
for the first day or two, one must 
cross here and there a high-road or 
path between isolated farms. Ray- 
mond as a lad wandered in the edges 
of this wilderness, as if upon the har- 
bors and bays of a great sea. And 
in this forest land, in going from a 
point a little easterly of Chubb's 
Creek through the wet grounds, upon 
the north, toward the old road to the 
Chebacco ponds, he had found the 
burning bush in his childhood. It 
was when he was so little, that he 
little understood the Midian story ; 
and he easily believed that the au- 
tumnal foliage, upon a resplendent 
October morning, was ablaze with 
God. So he learned that he was 
treading holy ground. And this idea 



was always after flaming in his heart 
with unwasting power, as if he could 
see the Invisible. 

To tell the truth, however, Ray- 
mond Foote did not half do his work 
during the June and July in which 
he supplied Brother Hammersmith's 
pulpit. Even his hours of devotion 
led him to pray for Mar}^ Glasse. 
One day he built mud dams with 
her, in a sun-illumined beaver brook 
which poured into the Chebacco, and 
persuaded her to reside nearer to the 
sea, — where he could more easily see 
her several times a week. To which 
Admire and Kathy Treat easily 
assented, taking Mary and Myra wnth 
them. It was said that there had 
been a great reversion of feeling as to 
the witchcraft business, so that, even 
if Mar\^ should happen to be seen, no 
harm would come of it. According- 
ly, she camped along the coast east- 
erly of the town, early in July. 

Here Martha's 3'oungest sister, the 
rollicking Sue, and her brother, 
Bobby Dune, the irrepressible, were 
often at Mary's wigwam, -^vhenever 
they could find it. And Martha, now 
living in her new summer home at 
Chubb's Creek, more frequently saw 
Mar}', whom she looked upon as 
numbered wdth the dead, so far as 
her husband and the town's people 

Mary now and then spent days and 
nights at a small cavern among the 
rocks south of the Weatherbee Hill, 
which is remembered by persons still 
living. The rail track runs within a 
few feet of the location ; but the rains 
and frosts made the roof fall in some 
years since. It was large enough for 
onh' one person's lodging ; a de- 
tached, low-lying, shelving rock, — 
with dry and ample bed made even 

by small flat .stones, — which were 
also placed at the head and foot to 
protect from the wind. Scarcely 
attracting the observation of one 
passing b}-, it was as safe a refuge 
and convenient as the abode of a 
ground .squirrel. 

From such covert Mar}- often 
skirted along the fringes of the 
forest, now emerging from the droop- 
ing branches, again hidden by shel- 
tering leaves. It was eas}- for her to 
.see the lines of smoke from chimney 
tops meandering over marsh and 
meadow' ; and she could almost hear 
the groaning of the cumberous ma- 
chinerj^ called society in the little 
hamlet between wooded knobs of 
rock and the sea. One Monday she 
even visited the Washing Pond, from 
which flows the stream now con- 
verted into ice for market ; where the 
women in fine weather made a picnic 
and frolic of the weekly wash. 

Then Mary went often alone in a 
boat among rocky islets, and spent 
many nights with the sea gulls. 
Here she could sometimes hear the 
roar of the sunrise gun at Salem, or 
the shrill free notes of the bugle. 
And here, among the wild birds, all 
wild strivings after things unattain- 
able were at rest, and her peace was 
like that of the summer sea. 

Raymond Foote was to her a for- 
bidden subject of thought when 
alone, although she loved to be with 
him. Even if .she was told by fate 
not to marry John Levin, she would 
not marry another unless John should 
be overtaken by some such catastro- 
phe as marriage or death. And con- 
cerning him whom she .so strangely 
loved, Mary had an abiding sense of 
sorrow, as if for a dear friend who 
had been deeply bereft. 


But as to Raymond Foote, the 
little he .saw of Mary made him wild 
to see her more ; and his love was 
like the lightning asleep in summer 


John Levin returned from England 
upon the twentj'-fifth of July. With- 
out going to his office till he should 
get his land legs on, he walked 
straight to Glasse Head ; and, find- 
ing the place deserted, he followed 
the coast back, say half a mile, to 
Doctor Langdon's new summer quar- 
ters. Martha was at House Island, 
under the bass-woods, with Mary 
Glasse. As Mr. I,evin seated him- 
self upon the verandah overlooking 
the rocks, the waters, the sands at 
the mouth of Chub Creek, the doctor 
returned tired, cross and blunt, — in 
no mood to talk with a nervous pa- 
tient, even if an old friend. 

F'or some weeks the physician had 
been out of humor wnth all the world 
save the adorable Martha; but ill- 
temper he left on the door-rock— 
when she was at home. Yet, as to 
other people, if Doctor Langdon ever 
had slight qualms of conscience, in- 
stead of blaming himself, he was 
grouty toward anybody he happened 
to meet. Satisfied as he was that he 
had removed one of the prime causes 
of John Levin's mental disturbance, 
his own course .stood approved to 
himself ; and so it should stand, even 
if the patient resent it. 

"You seem tired, Doctor; where 
have you been?" asked Mr. Levin, 
as, after due formal salutations, they 
seated themselves at the lunch table. 

"I have been in Newbury for a 
month, attending small-pox." 

" Do you return ? " 

" No. I drove death across the 
line into New Hampshire and put up 
the bars. But what are you here 
for ? It was my advice that you stay 
in England a year, at least." 

" I had no need of it. I found my- 
self thoroughly well, as .soon as I was 
on the salt water ; and I have made 
more money, and done more public 
business, by this voyage than I could 
ordinarily do in a 3^ear. It 's been a 
twelve-month, to all intents and pur- 
poses. Besides this, my mind is 
wholl)" diverted ; and there is only 
one subject that I cannot think 
about, and that we will not touch 
upon. But there 's one thing I want 
to talk with you about. I can talk 
with you, when I cannot with any 
one else ; since you knew me .so long 

" What do you want?" 

"I am growing old too, and 
want to know how to hinder it." 

" Kill out your conscience, — if you 
have any ; that 's the finst thing. A 
man of your strong animal impulses 
has no business with a moral nature. 
If you have one, it will tear you in 
pieces, as if by wild horses. Get rid 
of it soon as 3'ou can." 

" Well said. Doctor. But how can 
I best do it ? " 

"All 3'ou 've got to do is to sur- 
round yourself bj' a halo of deceit 
and mental confusion as to the moral 
code, so that you do not know 
whether there is any God, or the 
smallest difference between good and 
evil, virtue and vice ; and consult no 
one but yourself as to what you do, 
following your feelings only as your 
guide to right action. Do this, and 
you will get on well enough, and live 
to a green old age. It is a very rare 
thing that vices kill anv one, it is the 



attempt to be virtuous that worries 
men to death." 

" You trifle with me, Doctor." 
"Never. I cannot be more sin- 
cere. I have studied ^our case. 
You did well enough in your health 
till you struck an incarnate con- 
science ; and the heeding of that has 
nearh' wrecked you. It is now, ac- 
cording to your own showing, twen- 
ty-five years since your soul came to 
be more or less under the domination 
of your ph^'sical nature. Do not, 
therefore, make a fuss about what 
you cannot help. Passion unre- 
strained for a quarter of a centur)' 
becomes a disease. It is like the 
ague. It shakes you, then sleeps till 
it gets read}" to shake you again. 
The ov\y thing you can do now is to 
exclude moral sensibility. Do not 
attempt to stem the tide of disease, 
any more than the eel-grass tries to 
stem the flow of the tide. Do not 
throw yourself, John, against fate. 
You inherited the most part of an}- 
thing that is gross in ^-our nature. 
And b}^ voluntar3" action on your 
part you have now made yourself into 
a ratchet wheel, — capable of progress 
in only one direction and held to 
your course by tooth of iron." 

"What you say is true. Doctor. 
But I might as well spend my time in 
the critical examination of the aerial 
path of last year's swallows, as to 
seek to trace possible ancestral traits 
in my own makeup. I want a prac- 
tical answer to the practical question 
— what am I to do ? As it is now, I 
am making progress toward going 
over a precipice. I have alread}' had 
what you call paroxysms of insanity ; 
brought on primarily, as you asserted 
before I went abroad, by my obedi- 
ence to passion instead of reason. I 

cannot keep long upon the path I am 
treading. I want to find some other 

" You know. Doctor," he added, 
rising from the table and looking 
about wildly, "that I am denied by 
fate the companionship of the only 
being who ever exercised the slight- 
est influence upon me in leading me 
away from that which is worst about 

" Yes, I know it, sit down, John," 
said the doctor tenderly, as he arose, 
with the tears starting in his eyes. 

" I know it, John. God bless you, 
my friend. I know it. I know it. 
But, John, I cannot talk with you 
about that matter you know. It was 
this that made you almost beside 
yourself. Do not allude to it, I pray 

"Am I then, Doctor, but a bubble 
breaking in the whirlpool of life ? 
Am I but a summer song, now flying 
in gay feathers, to be annihilated by 
next winter's storm ? " 

Dr. Langdon's real religious belief 
was never known to any one. He 
who dealt so much in medical mys- 
teries, kept secret his creed. But the 
profound sympath}" which made him 
a good physician now quite broke 
him down, in talking with John 

"I do not know, John, what to 
sa}'. Ask Martha, she knows. She 
is not here now. God bless 5'ou, 
John. Sit and wait till she comes." 

" But I must go now. I have not 
turned the key of my office yet." 

Mr. Levin took his hat, but could 
not go till he asked : 

"Tell me, Doctor, where is Mary 
Glasse ? I found the house .shut 


"Ask Martha, John, ask Martha, 



she knows." And the doctor fell in 
apoplexy ; and was dead before Mar- 
tha returned. 


But his death was not instantane- 
ous, so that John Levin left him in 
charge of the servants and Neighbor 
Pride, and hastened to Salem for 
assistance. It was already twilight, 
and Mr. Levin wondered why Martha 
was so late ; but upon her part she 
had no reason to expect the doctor's 
return, and she had gone with Mary 
Glasse to what is now the Dana 
Island, where Mar}' had a booth for 
her night's lodging. 

Upon reaching Salem, Mr. Levin 
learned of Mar3''s tragic death, and 
of the part the doctor had taken in 
the affair. He spent the night in 
madly pacing up and down under the 
gallows, which still stood upon Gib- 
bet Hill. In his imagination he 
lived through the beaut}^ of that sum- 
mer evening when the forms hung 
against the western sky, and the 
stillness of the night following. He 
touched the gallows with hands and 
lips ; and he sought among the 
graves ; and he went to the door of 
the prison. But toward morning he 
quieted himself, and returned to his 
ofhce, slept a little and partook of an 
early breakfast. 

He could not trust himself in his 
excited state to return to the Lang- 
don house. He could never see the 
doctor again, even if he should re- 
cover ; and Martha he did not wish 
to see. So that, this twent3'-sixth of 
July being his own birthday, John 
Levin gave a few directions as to his 

business, and caused the lunch ham- 
per of his pleasure craft to be replen- 
ished, and then sailed down the har- 
bor, determined to remain upon the 
water till the sea air should give such 
tone to his nerves that he could take 
up the regular routine of his office. 

" Is then Mary dead? " this ques- 
tion he asked over and over again, 
till it died upon his lips. 

" But was she not dead to me long 
ago? No, she never was. Her love 
for me was like that of a faithful 
child. It could not die but. with her 
death. Is she dead? Is she dead? 
No, she is not. She is alive forever- 
more. She is now alive to me, for 
me. And if she lives, I live, and 
will live ; and for her sake, and pos- 
sibly by her help, I will fight out my 
life battle. I can never think of the 
spirit of Mary Glasse as a mere brok- 
en bubble in life's sea, or as some 
bird annihilated b}' frost and storm. 
But if she still exists, why not God ? 
Is there a Personality above me ? If 
I felt so sure of personal love infinite, 
as I am sure of Mary's continued per- 
sonality and continued affection, then 
my life would redeem itself." 

With such thoughts he landed at 
the Dana island, at this time owned 
by Richard Graves. It was low tide, 
and he made his way to the open 
cleft upon the eastern side, and there 
sat in this craggy pocket looking out 
toward the Shark's - mouth rocks. 
Here he listened to the vague and 
inarticulate sorrows of the sea. And 
here he recounted his birthdays, be- 
ginning at the year when he left col- 


[ /"o he contiuiied.^ 

Conducted by F?'ed Gowing, State Superintendent of Public Itistruction. 

By Fred Cowing, State Superintendent of Public Instruction of JVeiv Hampshire. 

Mr. President : \\\ view of all ties at present, besides financial difiicul- 

phases of this discussion I can hardly ties, there is an inertia, an apathy, to 

be expected to settle the rural school overcome, until some of us are fain to 

problem in ten minutes. pi"^}' with the good old lady, '" O Lord, 

There is a rural school problem and we pray that Thou wilt make the indiff- 

there is a city school problem. The erent, different!" This difficulty, aris- 

latter problem can be solved. Its solu- ing from ignorance of possibilities, in- 

tion is possible. One might quote the dolence, poverty, self-satisfaction. 

old music hall doggerel as applicable : 

" We don't want to fight, 
But, by jingo, if we do, 
We 've got the ships, we 've got the men, 
We've got the money, too." 

The city has, or may have, the mechan- 


difference, a good-enough-for-our-fathers- 
good-enough-for-us feeling, or from all 
these, complicates the problem and is 
so real and considerable a factor that it 
must be taken into serious account by 
one practically working in this field of 

ism ; it has the men ; it has the money, rural schools. 

and can apply these if it will. But in the Are the present conditions materially 

country! The sinews of war are largel}^ dift'erent from those of former days .^ 

lacking. Mechanism, men, money, are In New Hampshire as in other New 

not to be had for the wishing. England states, in former times, there 

Preceding speakers have dealt with was a more even distribution of people, 

supervision, training of teachers, con- The congestion in cities came later, 

solidation, and the peripatetic normal Families were large. The farmers 

class. The matter of revenue has not raised their own "help." Instead of 

been emphasized. Of course, it is a mammoth " manufacturing plants '" in 

recognized fact that in rural communi- centres, owned and administered by 

^ An address delivered before the American Institute of Instruction at Bethleliem. July ii, 1S96. 

1 84 


foreign, rather than local, capital, there 
were smaller factories, owned, con- 
trolled, and conducted by individuals or 
single families, and these have passed 
from father to son. The whole com- 
munity took a peculiarly personal inter- 
est in the success of such enterprises. 
Rapid transit was unknown. News- 
papers and magazines were few. Peo- 
ple were self-reliant and independent. 
Industry and thrift were fundamental 
virtues. The population was homo- 
geneous. Language, religion, tradi- 
tions, were largely the same for all. 
Illiterates were few and possibly the 
ratio of well educated to uneducated 
was considerably higher than now. 

Bearing directly upon the school 
problem, there was formerly a tendency 
toward culture among the poor even, a 
high appreciation of education. Chil- 
dren were taught that education was a 
most desirable thing, a pearl of great 
price, a key to success, a well-spring 
of happiness. Sacrifices were freely 
offered upon the altar of education. 
This one condition made the difference 
between an upward and downward ten- 
dency. Consequently the common 
school life of a child was prolonged, 
and as "prolonged infancy" has in- 
creased the power of the race, pro- 
longed school life strengthened the 
child of other days. Books were few 
but classic. The best scholars among 
the girls became " summer teachers " 
and college boys taught the winter term. 
Enthusiasm for mental development 
prevailed to a great extent. Distrac- 
tions were fewer. Boys and girls 
"knew a thing or two," could turn their 
hand to "doing things," rarely "got 
stuck" in difficulties. These days were 
full of hardship and privation possibly 
but certain virile qualities seemed inhe- 
rent in the stock. 

To-day large aggregations of popula- 
tion and of industries are found in a few 
cities and large towns. Rural towns 
have diminished in wealth and people. 
Large numbers of people alien in tongue, 
tradition, institutions, and religion, have 
come to us as residents, whom we wel- 
come but who must be transformed by 
some agency into American citizens, 
thinking the thoughts of a free country, 
absorbing our principles. These peo- 
ple, too, are not pioneers subduing a 
stubborn soil, but are laborers for others. 
School life is shortened. In a word the 
present conditions are somewhat nearly 
opposite to those just noted. We are 
not deploring but trying to recognize 
and meet the change. Naturally gener- 
alization is difficult. True it is, how- 
ever, that the country has been giving 
of its life to the city. From these hills 
have gone forth the best, leaving the 
weaker, the more timid, the less enter- 
prising behind. The country bred men 
and women are the leaders in the cities. 
The city owes a debt to the country of 
incalculable amount. How shall it pay 
it ? These springs of health must be 
kept pure at the sources. Fun and 
joking at the expense of the " deestrick 
skule " are prevalent, and I laugh, too, 
to keep myself from crying. 

The remedy ? A partial remedy lies 
in state aid to poorer towns. Simple 
gratitude would indicate that such help 
is righteous and beautiful. But it is 
the state that demands the education of 
the young. It is the state that makes 
laws for compulsory attendance of chil- 
dren at school. It is the state that reg- 
ulates the employment of children in 
manufacturing establishments. The 
state assumes the education of the 
young. The state, then, must set 
standards for both pupils and teachers. 
The state, too, must see that the stand- 


i8 = 

ards are maintained, must assure suc- 
cess, must invest sufficient capital to 
bring desirable returns. It cannot put 
its hand to the plough and turn back. 
If any community, then, is unable for 
lack of funds to meet its necessary 
school expenses, the state should assist 
in lifting the burden, not as an act of 
charity done grudgingly but as a duty 
and a recognition of what is fitting and 

In many ways state aid may be dis- 
tributed. Here is one. It will not pre- 
vail in New Hampshire this year, nor 
next year, but in some year relief will 
come. The aim is to levy a mill tax 
or a half-mill tax throughout the whole 
state, and then distribute this fund in 
such a way that, while all shall receive 
back some, the larger benefit shall come 
to the poorer community. 

Consolidation of schools is not feasi- 
ble in many places. "The lay of the 
land "' inhibits this. Some of our towns 
are like the Vermont town where the 
three-legged milk-stool was invented be- 
cause there was no room for the fourth 
leg. In these towns a comparatively 
large number of schools must be main- 

tained, and many teachers in compari- 
son with the number of pupils must be 

Let us divide the fund into two parts, 
and distribute one half among all the 
towns and cities in proportion to the num- 
ber of teachers employed. Herein the 
larger, richer places will help the smaller. 

It is of advantage not only to get 
pupils into the schools, but to keep them 
in. The other half of the fund may 
be distributed in proportion to the at- 
tendance of the pupils for the year pre- 
ceding the distribution. The New Hamp- 
shire literary fund, a very uncertain quan- 
tity, is distributed in proportion to the 
number of children attending school two 
weeks or more. 

There are objections to this plan, but 
they will be found to be superficial large- 
ly. It is a much better plan than any now 
existing in this state and many states. 

In closing these incomplete, scrappy 
remarks, let me bespeak for the rural 
school your earnest, hearty, active inter- 
est, and that our strength may continue 
to come from the hills, let us aid in 
sending back to the hills somewhat of 
our acquired wealth. 


Col. William H. Sise was born in Portsmouth, September 12, 1827, and died 
there August 5. He early engaged in the commission business, and later was a 
successful dealer in coal for thirty years. He was very prominent in the Republi- 
can party, and held various offices, including alderman, mayor, four years, chair- 
man of the police commission, and representative to the state legislature. He was 
on Governor Prescott's staff. 

1 86 N£W //A A/PS/// A'/-: NECRO/^OGY. 

A. J. OWEN. 

Augustus J. Owen was born at Livermore, Maine, May 12, 1822, and died at 
Lakeport, August 2. He came to Lakeport in T857, became clerk of the Winni- 
piseogee Lake Cotton and Woolen Manufacturing Company, and retained the posi- 
tion to his death. Mr. Owen was a Democrat, and served as treasurer of the town 
of Gilford. 

M. G. HOWE. 

Moses G. Howe was born at Portsmouth, August 14, 1826, and died at Cam- 
bridge, Mass., August 13. He was a well known member of the Suffolk bar, and 
an active and prominent Unitarian. He resided in Lowell until 1875, when he 
moved to Cambridge. He was an alderman of the latter city. 


J. M. Kimball was born in Tamworth, May 30, 1820, and died at Maiden, 
Mass., July 25. He removed to Massachusetts when a young man, engaged at 
once in business as a building mover, and amassed considerable property before 
he retired, seventeen years ago. 


Harvey A. Allbee was born at Thetford, Vermont, April 15, 1828, and died at 
Nashua, August 5. He had lived in that city since 1874, having served as mem- 
ber of the city council and representative to the legislature. 


Thomas Winch was born in Sullivan in 18 14, and died at Marlow, August 8. 
He had served Sullivan and Langdon as selectman, was commissioner of Sullivan 
county from 1873 to 1876, was twice a representative to the legislature, and was 
a member of the constitutional convention in 1889. 


Peter Pearse Parrott, who died at Arden, N. Y., July 30, was born at Ports- 
mouth, June t8, 181 1. After making several voyages around the world he en- 
gaged in the manufacture of iron, and for fifty years devoted himself to the 
development of that industry in New York. At one time his employe's numbered 
1.500, but of late years the property has been abandoned as unprofitable. 


Dr. Charles F. Kittredge, a native of Mont Vernon, died very suddenly, August 
19, while taking part in the reunion of M'Collom institute there. He was 57 years 
of age, and a wealthy and prominent citizen of Fishkill-on-the-Hudson, New York, 
where he was proprietor of a private sanitarium. 


Rev. Mary Baker Eddy 

The Granite Monthly. 

Vol. XXI. 

OCTOBER, 1896. 



By Miss M. J. Hersey. 

'' Oh, happiest, scene-favored, brave, mountain land, 
Where my heart still lingers while wanders mj- hand." 

S^O sang one of Andover's 
poet sons, and the re- 
frain is echoed in the 
hearts of a multitude of 
men and women who, 
from earh' associations, long connec- 
tion, or appreciation for Nature in 
her most widely diversified forms, 
have grown to love the old mountain 
town that, like that oft-quoted city of 
the Latins, rests in conscious strength 
on her seven hills. Though " Beech 
Hill " ma}' not possess the classic ring 
of the " Capitoline," nor " Marston 
Hill" the softh' flowing cadence of 
the "Aventine," yet Andover's hills 
have as nobly borne each its share, 
in the rearing of the little community 
of which they are a part, as the van- 
ishing hills of ancient Rome. 

Andover is preeminentl}' a residen- 
tial town. Few are the shrieks of 
the factory whistle, telling of shut in 
days and foreign labor, and faint the 
clouds of smoke staining her clear 
sky. The beautiful mountain slopes, 
the wdnding streams, the rugged hill 
farms, and secluded lakes may well 

inspire the brush or pen, and the 
children of Andover have long since 
proven another demonstration of the 
theorj^ that life among such surround- 
ings is conducive to the truest poetry 
of feeling. 

To these children and to others of 
its lovers ever}- tribute, however hum- 
ble, to the worth and beauty, past 
and present, of the dear old town, 
will, it is hoped, be of some degree of 





Highland Lake. 



Union Hall. 

The original grantees of Andover 
were "twelve good men and true," 
who in 1746 bought of John Tufton 
Mason the lands now comprising the 
town of Andover. The}' in turn gave 
a grant of them in 1751, under the 
name of "New Britain," to sixty 
worthy men, mosth* citizens of Hamp- 
ton and Hampton Falls. Although 
the grant gives the name as ' ' New 
Britain," the town was originally 
called "New Breton," and fittingly, 
too, nearly all of the grantees having 
taken part in the expedition of 1745, 
which resulted in the capture of Cape 
Breton, and which, it is said, "filled 
America with joy and Europe with 

Walter Williams, one of the gran- 
tees, was distinguished as a brave 

commander in the New Hamp.shire 
regiment under Col. Samuel Moore ; 
and Anthony Emery, who was regi- 
mental surgeon, is described in an 
old record as " a gentleman of liberal 
education and graduated at Harvard 
College in 1736." He was one of 
the earliest of a long line of Emer3'S 
who have helped make the history of 
the town, and whose descendants are 
among its honored citizens of to-day. 
Indeed, the town was at one time 
called Emeristo wn . 

Although the grant was given in 
1 75 1 , it was ten years later when the 
first fearless pioneer, dominated by 
that spirit which has brought our 
country to be the foremost nation of 
the earth, tramped through the lonely 
woods from Contoocook, now Bosca- 

The North Church — Uongregaf onal. 

Town Hall. 

wen, and made him an habitation on 
the southern border of the town, and, 
as is familiarly known, Joseph Fel- 
lows's log cabin, built in 1761, in 
Flaghole, was the first building in 
town. Following closel}^ after Mr. 
Fellows came Elias Raino of Kings- 
ton and soon afterward John Rowe, 
William Emery, William Morey, and 
Edward Eadd. 

The little settlement grew slowly. 



owing to the great hardships the set- 
tlers were obliged to undergo. There 
was no settlement north whence they 
could obtain assistance and they w^ere 
obliged to bring their provisions ten 
or fifteen miles on their backs. In 
1763 there was only one path through 
the town — it led around Highland 
lake, or Loon pond, as it was then 
called, and back to the Pemigewasset 
river, which was the eastern bound- 

The South Church— Free Will Baptist. 

Congregational Chapel. 

ary of the town until 1828, w^hen An- 
dover yielded a part of herself to help 
form the town of Franklin. Notwith- 
standing the dangers that beset them, 
the settlers persisted in their attempts 
to reclaim the wilderness and in 1773 
organized a town government. The 
town was divided into eighty-one 
rights, each right consisting of two 
lots of one hundred acres and one of 
eighty acres — of these eighteen were 
reserved by the grantors and of those 
remaining one w^as set aside for the 
first ordained minister, one for the 
parsonage, and one for the support of 
schools. The other sixty rights were 
to be the property- of the sixty gran- 
tees. In 1767, the proprietors real- 
izing the need of a place nearby 
where the lumber in which Andover 
abounded might be transformed into 

proper building materials, arrange- 
ments were made whereby the sum of 
£^0 was to be paid to anyone who 
would erect a saw-mill, he also re- 
ceiving the water-privilege and site. 
Nathaniel Prescott accepted their 
offer, with the conditions accompany- 
ing it, being an agreement to saw at 
the halves all the logs that the pro- 
prietors should haul to his mill for 
ten years, and erected the first saw- 
mill on the outlet of Highland lake. 
Then frame houses began to take the 
place of the primitive log cabins. 

June 25, 1779, the town was incor- 
porated by the legislature under the 
name of Andover. The town appar- 
ently enjoyed a healthy childhood, as 
not until 1792 did it require a resi- 
dent physician. In that year Doctor 
Silas Barnard came to Andover from 

Hotel Potter. 



W. A. Bachelder. 

Bolton, Mass. Doctor Barnard is 
distinguished as being an ancestor of 
the eminent New England divines of 
that name, and was evidently a man 
well fitted to endure the hardships of 
those early times. 

Notwithstanding the increase of 
population as well as the number of 
diseases that fall to the lot of man- 
kind, the healthfulness of the town is 
proved by the fact that Andover still 
has only one physician, and in Dr. 
H. A. We^miouth, who has practised 

here for fifty-three years, and who is 
recognized as one of the sterling ad- 
visers of the town. Dr. Barnard has a 
worthy successor. 

Prominent among the first men of 
Andover was Jonathan Weare, Esq., 
a native of Seabrook, whose grand- 
father was a brother of the Hon. 

Highland Farm' — N, J, Bachelder. 

Hon. N. B. Bryant. 

Meshech Weare, the first governor 
of New Hampshire. Jonathan Weare 
was the first justice of the peace in 
Andover, and, according to the rec- 
ords of the town, he was 
in 1779 chosen by the peo- 
ple to be commissioned by 
the government as a civil 

The martial prestige of 
the grantees was nobly up- 
held by Andover in later 
years. During the Revo- 
lution a large number of 
her citizens, in proportion 
to the number of inhabi- 
tants, were sent to aid the 



patriots' cause, and' in 1S12 her 
soldiers were not found want- 
ing. During the War of the 
Rebellion the town was prompt 
in responding to the call for 
soldiers, and furnished her full 
quota of men ; and afterward, 
when, the smoke of battle had 
rolled away, but the shadow 
of a great debt was heav}' 
over all the land, Andover 
struggled along under the bur- 
den for a few years, and then, 
in 1871, it was resolved to lift the 
debt at once, while farm products 
were still commanding the high prices 
occasioned b)- the war. Hon. John 

Weymouth Farm. 

dition that the debt should be paid 
within three 3'ears, and in 1874 An- 
dover emerged into the bright light 
of prosperity with money in the treas- 

In nearly all the original grants of 
our towns provision was made for the 
establishment and maintenance of 
divine worship. A meeting-house 
was erected in New Britain in accord- 
ance with the conditions of the grant, 
and the first settled minister was Rev. 
Josiah Badcock of Milton, Mass., 


Rev. Lyman Clark. 

Proctor and John M. Shirlej', Esq., 
two influential and public-spirited 
men who were especialh^ devoted to 
the interests of the town, were the 
promoters of this movement and la- 
bored untiringh' for its accomplish- 
ment, Mr. Proctor offering to con- 
tribute three thousand dollars on con- 

Dr. H, A. Weymouth. 



F. E Putney 

C. E Carr, 

Miss Mariana Marston. 

Mrs. Thompson and W. S. Carr. 


' "ll^wl 

L/ati ii^i Lju wnes. 

E. B. Merrill, 

whose strong character and curious 
personality have caused much to be 
said and written of him in later j^ears. 
He was graduated from Harvard Col- 
lege in 1772 and afterwards received 
calls from many different churches, 
finally accepting the one extended to 

him in the summer of 1782 by the 
church in Andover, then the most 
northerly Congregational church west 
of the Merrimack river. He was or- 
dained on the thirtieth of October, 
1782, the church formed at that time 
consisting of six members. The text 







^ *^. 




. ...^ 

E. G. Emery. 

Rev. John Thorpe. 

Rev. Howard Moody. 

Rev. W. P. Elkins. 

Dr. George B. Weymouth. Mrs. Hannah J. Barnes. 

Miss Alma Walker. 

J. D. Philbrick. 




George R. Stone. 

Samuel G. Haley. 

Barron Shirley. 

George W. Stone. 

of the ordination .sermon \va.s pecu- 
liarly appropriate for the time and 
place, the pastor in hi.s vigorous 
young manhood coming to the pio- 
neer mountain town, — Isaiah 52 : 7, 
' ' How beautiful upon the mountains 
are the feet of him that bringeth good 
tidings, that publisheth peace ; that 
bringeth good tidings of good, that 

publisheth salvation, that saith unto 
Zion th}- God reigneth." Mr. Bad- 
cock continued as pastor of the 
church for twenty-seven years and 
then resigned, in 1809, and was dis- 
missed b)' a council from several 

In 1 795 the meeting-house was torn 
down, and the present one erected in 



John M. Shirley. 

the spring of 1796 and dedicated Jan- 
uarys 5, 1797. Unusual harmony has 
prevailed among the different reli- 
gious denominations of Andover. 
This church has been variously oc- 
cupied — at one time by the Christian 
denomination out of which the pres- 
ent Congregational society of East 
Andover was evolved, about the time 
the Rev. Howard Moody was called 
to its pastorate in 1870. Mr. Moody 

was a scholarh' man of great depth of 
thought, whose memory is revered b}- 
those who listened to his powerful 
sermons. The conservative sooiet}' 
gave him an ample trial, as not until 
1882 was he installed as pastor over 
this church and its sister church at 
Andover Centre. In 1884 his health 
failing, he determined to resign, but 
his devoted followers refused to ac- 
cept his resignation, and remained 
loyal to him until his death about a 

R P Carr. 

The Shirley Residence. 

year later. His successor was Rev. 
F. G. Chutter, an enthusiastic, whole- 
souled worker, destined for wider 
fields of labor. He remained a few 
years, and since his departure the 
pulpit has been variously occupied, 
the longest pastorate being that of 
the Rev. T. J. Lewis, an able preacher 
of singular purity of thought and ex- 
pression. The present pastor is Rev. 
John Thorpe, who was installed Octo- 
ber 30, 1895, the anniversary of the 
ordination of the first pastor of the 
church . 

Prior to 1801 a Free Will Baptist 
society was organized in Andover. 
In that y^ear there was a revival of 
religion, and Elder Elijah Watson 
was ordained, and continued as pas- 
tor for several years. About 18 10 the 
church grew much larger, and Elder 



Ebenezer Chase was ordained, 
who, with short interruptions, 
preached to the society for some 
time. The society was main- 
tained until a few years ago. 

There is also a Unitarian 
society at Andover Centre, a 
strong and wealthy church, of 
which Rev. Lyman Clark has 
been pastor for several years. 
Mr. Clark is also the financial 
agent of Proctor academy, and 
is greatly interested in all edu- 
cational movements. 

The interests of education 
have ever been the subject of 
earnest thought on the part of 
the citizens of Andover, and 
the number of liberally edu- 
cated men and women who 

G. W. Thompson, J. P. Carr, Jr., J. M. Shirley, Geo. Sleeper, H. A. 
Weymouth, R. F. Eastman, D. F. Langley, John Fellows, John Proctor. 


"Great Elm Farm ' — George E. Eastman. 

won distinction at home or 
abroad is an honor to the 
town . 

The Noyes school, found- 
ed by the will of Joseph 
Noyes, was one of the ear- 
liest, and was situated on 
the River road, now a part 
of the city of Franklin. An 
early record saj-s its growth 
was slow, owing to the 
unfavorable location, and 
because of untoward cir- 

cumstances its existence was limited. 
Proctor academy, a co-educational 
institution under the management of 
the Unitarian Educational .society, is 
located at Andover Centre, and re- 
ceives the cordial support of the 
people in town. It was established 
many years ago by the citizens. Dyer 
H. Sanborn being the first principal. 
Later it came under the management 
of the Christian denomination, but 
has now been maintained by the Uni- 
tarians for some years. The princi- 
pal. Rev. J. F. Morton, is devoted to 

H. N, Rowell 



Hon. John Proctor. 

his work, and with his efficient corps 
of teachers gives satisfaction to trus- 
tees and students alike. 

Highland Lake Institute was estab- 
lished by the townspeople in 1850, 
and flourished for some years. 

The manufacturing interests of the 
town are few, as has been stated, the 
most important being the Consoli- 
dated Hame Company, formerly Ba- 
ker, Carr & Co., at Andover Centre. 
Fine specimens of granite have lately 
been discovered near the base of 
Kearsarge mountain, and it is being 
quarried with excellent results. 

The legal profession has been well 
represented here, some of its mem- 
bers having attained unusual distinc- 
tion. Among the earlier lawyers were 
John H. Slack and Samuel Butter- 
field. William Butterfield, the son 
of the latter, was for many years edi- 
tor of the Nciu Hampshire Patriot. 

Acadenay Boarding Hall. 

Mrs. John Proctor. 

Lawyer Butterfield 's successor was 
the late John M. Shirley, a strong 
lawyer, whose originality and keen 
insight into intricate situations are 
famous in the annals of the town 
and state. Mr. Shirley's successor 
is Geo. W. Stone. His son, Barron 
Shirley, has been engaged in the 
practice of law in Chattanooga, Tenn. 
Andover was also the birthplace and 
early home of Hon. N. B. Bryant, the 
eminent Boston lawyer and eloquent 
orator, who returns each year with 
unfailing loyalty to the scenes of his 
early life. 

Hon. Joseph W. Fellows, of Man- 
chester, and Geo. R. Stone, of Frank- 



lin, both prominent lawyers, by right 
of birth belong to Andover. 

Space permits but fleeting mention 
of a few of the sons and daughters 
who are an honor to the old town. 
George E. Emer}-, of Eyini, Mass., 
the antiquary, poet, and litterateur, is 
a native of Andover, as is his wife, 
INIary Bachelder Emery, who was the 
daughter of Deacon Josiah Bachelder, 
and who has been a worthy contribu- 
tor to our current literature. Mr. 
Emer}^ delivered the historical ad- 
dress at the centennial celebration of 
the incorporation of Andover, and 
was chosen town historian. 

That sweet singer, Edna Dean 


Rev. J. F. Morton. 
Miss Smith. 

Miss Scales. 
Miss Emerson. 


Proctor, spent her childhood days 
among our hills, laying the founda- 
tion for future fame. William Adams 
Bachelder is another of the literary 
workers of Andover, who has done 
much for local history and traditions. 
His son, the Hon. N. J. Bachelder, 
secretary of the state board of agri- 

Proctor Academy. 

culture and master of the State 
Grange, has made a rapid rise in 
public favor for so young a man, 
merited by the marked ability and 
untiring zeal with which he has la- 
bored in whatever capacity" for the 
interests of the cause in which he 
was engaged. 

Prof. John R. Eastman, of the navy 
department, is an Andover bo}- who 
has won a high place for himself in 
the observatory at Washington, D. C. 
His writings are considered works of 
value in scientific circles. 

Joseph A. Rowe. 


The late Samuel O. Haley, for powerful, cut down ere its prime, 

years actively engaged in the in- The late E. ly. Kmery, real estate 

terests of education in the West, was broker and president of the Duluth 

a native of this town. Land and Water Power Company, 

Among Andover's brilliant artists was one of her promising sons for 

are Miss Janet Emery, for several whom Andover mourns to-day. 

years supervisor of drawing in the The town is full of years and hon- 

public schools of Trenton, N. J., ors; its strength and beauty fitly 

and Miss Alma Walker, teacher of mirrored in the lives of those reared 

music in the training school at El- within its limits. With an honorable 

wyn, Penn. past as a firm foundation for a noble 

Andover has sent a share of her future, Andover promises to coming 

men and women to carve out their generations a rich harvest of all that 

destinies in the great West, and goes to make life "one grand, sweet 

among them was a life, brilliant and song." 

By ^. ir. E. 

Among the mountains in God's upper land 
Old Washington, with lofty, snowy crest 
Uprears itself ; 
Its barren crags and cliffs on either hand 
In the first snows of coming winter drest — 
A realm austere. 

And well I know, looking across the vales 
Glorified now by autumn's frosty air 
On leaf and blade, 
That winds of turbulence, and bitter gales, 
Sweep o'er that summit, grand and fair, 
While warmth is here. 

Far down the valley the gay leaves are sere ; 
Fogs settle heavily, gray bank on bank, 
With chill of death, 
And the glad sunshine, flooding all things here. 
Has no warm blessing for the moist and dank 
Plains farther down. 

And so in life — its ills most plenty lie 
In the extremes of wealth and povert}^ ; 
Peace is not theirs. 
Care comes with surplusage; Want brings a sigh. 
While in the middle ground between, we have 
Our l)est estate. 



By Judge S. J. Hatina, Editor of the Christian Science Journal, Boston, Mass. 

HE Reverend Mary Baker 
Eddy, discoverer and 
founder of the system of 
religious healing known 
as Christian Science, 
and author of the text-book on that 
subject, — "Science and Health, with 
Key to the Scriptures" (which has 
alread}^ reached its one hundred and 
tenth edition), — was born in the town 
of Bow, adjoining Concord, N. H. 
Her parents were Mark and Abigail 
Baker, old citizens of that place, and 
of Scotch and English extraction. 

When she was a child they removed 
to Tilton. She numbers among her 
ancestors Sir John MacNeil of Scot- 
land, Gen. John MacNeil, the New 
Hampshire general who won renown 
in the War of 1812, and Gen. Henr}- 
Knox of Revolutionary fame. 

The foundation of her education 
was laid by a memorable woman, 
Mrs. Sarah J. Bodwell Eane, a 
teacher at the Ipswich seminary, and 
by Mr. Courser, of the Sanbornton 
Bridge academy. Their training 
was supplemented by the tutelage 
of Professor Sanborn, author of 
"Sanborn's Grammar," and by that 
of her brother, Hon. Albert Baker, 
as well as by years of self-culture 
in reading and study. Among her 
studies were natural philosophy, 
chemistry, astrononij^ Blair's rheto- 
ric, Whately's logic, Eocke's meta- 
physics, Watt's "On the Mind," mor- 
al science, and somewhat of Eatin, 
Greek, Hebrew, and French. 

Her pious parents being members 
of Dr. Bouton's church, Mrs. Eddy 
was christened in Concord by the 
Rev. Nathaniel Bouton, D. D., pastor 
of the First Congregational church. 
When alluding to Dr. Bouton and 
his family and to his successor. Rev. 
Dr. A^-er, no denominational preju- 
dice was manifested by her, but much 
tenderness and reverence. At the 
age of about twelve years she united 
with the Congregational Trinitarian 
church, of Tilton, continuing her 
membership for about fort}' years, 
and until 1879, when she established 
her own church in Boston, The First 
Church of Christ, Scientist. 

The distinguished Unitarian, Rev. 
A. P. Peabody, D. D., while chap- 
lain at Harvard University, and 
occasionally supptying Mrs. Eddy's 
pulpit in Boston, in a letter to her 
wrote, — "Do not hesitate to call on 
me for any assistance that I can give 
you. I enjoy speaking to your peo- 
ple ; they are good listeners and ear- 
nest seekers." 

Before leaving her native state, she 
communicated to her pastor the new 
and more spiritual sense that she 
entertained of the power of Chris- 
tianity, and its effect in healing the 
sick. Prior to requesting a letter 
of dismission from his church she 
presented to her pastor, for examina- 
tion, her published works. After a 
careful perusal of them, she received 
from him the following recommenda- 
tion to an evangelical church : 



Jan. 1.3th, 1875. 

This certifies that Mrs. Marj- M. ' Glover is a 
member of this Church in good and regular 
standing. At her own request, she is dis- 
missed fn)m this Church and recommended to 
anj' evangelical Church in I.ynn. 

When received there her particular connec- 
tion with us will cease. 

Theodore C. Pratt, 
Pastor Cong' I Church, Tilton;N. H. 

In 1894 her students and adherents 
erected a beautiful church edifice, cor- 
ner of Norway and Fahnouth streets, 
in the fashionable Back Bay district 
of Boston, at a cost of over two hun- 
dred thousand dollars, as a testimo- 
nial to Mrs. Eddy, the discoverer and 
founder of Christian Science. In the 
year 1895 they made her pastor emer- 
itus of this church. She donated the 
ground on which this edifice stands, 
valued at $40,000. 

earlier years, she wrote much for the 
press and for the leading magazines, 
both in the North and South. At the 
commencement of our Civil War Mrs. 
Eddy delivered a lecture on ' ' North 
and South," at the Colby University, 
Waterville, Me., that Professor vShel- 
don highly complimented through the 
press. Recently the president of that 
institution, Rev. Nathaniel Butler, in 
a lecture delivered in Boston, said, 
' ' It may be that the Christian Scien- 
tists are working out a great funda- 
mental truth for us." 

In 1843 she was united in marriage 
to Col. George W. Glover of Charles- 
ton, S. C, and after his death to Dr. 
Asa G. Eddy, of Chelsea, Mass., who 
died in 1882. 

Early in life Mrs. Eddy became 

After this fine building was com- actively interested in many religious 
pleted, the Christian Science board and social organizations and move- 

of directors, in behalf of the church, 
presented to Mrs. Eddy their superb 
edifice, but she gratefully declined to 
accept the gift ! 

It was the intention of her church 
to receive her formally on her first 
visit to Boston after the cathedral was 
finished, and, in grand procession, 
with chiming of bells, to escort her 
to the church. Suspecting their pur- 
pose, she went quietly and unexpect- 

ments. She is now a life member 
of the Society for the Prevention of 
Cruelty to Children, Boston, Mass.; 
the Society for the Prevention of 
Vice, New York ; the Victoria Insti- 
tute, Eondon, England ; and a life 
member of the Daughters of the 
American Revolution. One of the 
distinguished members of the D. A. R. 
recently presented her with the insig- 
nia of this society in diamonds and a 

edly to Boston, accompanied by two large ruby, a badge said to be even 

of her students, and while the}^ re- 
mained in the vestibule, entered the 
auditorium, passed to the platform, 
and, kneeling, bowed her head upon 
the steps in silent praj^er. Mrs. Eddy 

more costly and beautiful than that of 
their president, the late Mrs. Harri- 
son, wife of President Harrison. 

Prior to her discovery of her S3'stem 
of Metaphysical Healing, Mrs. Eddy 

uniformly and emphatically rebukes had studied and experimented in cur- 
man-worship ; discouraging in every ing disease by the homoeopathic sys- 
instance the genuine outbursts of tem. She continued this practice for 
homage that her grateful students several 3-ears, but never received a 
would lavish upon her. diploma as she refused to face the 
Under various pen names, in her horrors of the dissecting-room ; and 

' At her last marriage she dropped the initial " M," and retained her maiden name. 



at that time no woman had been ad- tenets of the churches of this denom- 

mitted to a medical societ}' or to the 
practice of medicine. Mrs. Eddy was 
never at any time, as has been assert- 
ed by persons desiring to misrepre- 
sent her, a student of the late mag- 
netic doctor, P. P. Ouimby, but has 
expressed both publicly and privately 
her absolute disapproval of magnetic 
practice. She knew nothing of Chris- 
tian Science at the time of his death, 
as her discovery was not made until 
some time thereafter. 

In 1867 Mrs. Eddy began teaching 
her first student in Christian Science 
Mind healing. In 1881 she opened 
and became president of the Massa- 
chusetts Metaphysical College in Bos- 
ton, where she personally taught up- 
ward of four thousand students. In 
1876 she founded and became presi- 
dent of the first Christian Scientist 
association, and subsequently of the 
National Christian Scientist asso- 
ciation. She established in 1SS3 
the Christian Science Journal^ a 
monthly magazine devoted to Chris- 
tian Science topics, and for several 
years was its proprietor and editor. 
She is the author of a number of 
books pertaining to Christian Science, 
among which we mention, in addi- 
tion to the denominational text-book 
above referred to, — "Retrospection 
and Introspection" (1891); " Unit}' 
of Good and Unreality of Evil " (1887): 
" People's Idea of God " (i 886); " Chris- 
tian Healing " (1886); " Rudimental 
Divine vScience " (1891); "No and 
Yes" (1891); "Christ and Christmas," 
a poem, illustrated (1893); "Pulpit 
and Press" (1895); and a "Church 
Manual of the First Church of Christ, 
Scientist, in Boston, Mass." (1895). 
Mrs. Eddy is also author of the 

ination, which are as follows: 

1. As adherents of Truth, we take the Scrip- 
tures for our guide to Eternal Life. 

2. We acknowledge and adore one Supreme 
God. We acknowledge His Son, and the Holj- 
Ghost, and man as the divine image and like- 

3. We acknowledge God's forgiveness of sin 
in the destruction of sin, and that sin and suf- 
fering are not eternal. 

4. We acknowledge the atonement as the effi- 
cacy, and evidence of divine Love, of man's 
unity with God, and the great merits of the 

5. We acknowledge the wa3^ of salvation 
demonstrated by Jesus to be the power of 
Truth over all error, sin, sickness, and death; 
and the resurrection of human faith and un- 
derstanding to seize the great possibilities and 
living energies of divine Life. 

6. We solemnly promise to strive, watch, and 
praj- for that Mind to be in us which was also 
in Jesus Christ, to love one another, and to be 
meek, merciful, just and pure.^ 

In 1878 Mrs. Eddy accepted a call 
to the Baptist Tabernacle pulpit, Bos- 
ton. She preached with great suc- 
cess to crowded houses and remained 
with them until her own church was' 


About the 3'ear 1870, before Mr. 
Charles Slade's door in Chelsea, 
Mass., there stopped an emaciated, 
pale-faced cripple, strapped to 
crutches. His elbows were stiff, and 
lower limbs so contracted his feet 
touched not the ground. Mrs. Eddy 
was there, and gave him .some scrip. 

A few weeks thereafter, sitting in 
her carriage, Mrs. Slade noticed a 
smart-looking man, having that same 
face, vending some wares on the 
grounds w^here General Butler held 
parade. She drove to where he 
.stood. Their gaze met, and simul- 
taneously the}' exclaimed, "Are you 
that man?" and "Where is that 

'These tenets are copyrighted, but are here published by permission of the author. 



woman ? ' ' Then followed the ex- 
planation, he narrating that after' 
leaving her house he hobbled to the 
next door, and was given permission 
to enter and lie down. In about 
an hour he revived, and found his 
arms and limbs loosed — he could 
stand erect and walk naturally. All 
pain, stiffness, and contraction w^ere 
gone, and he added, "I am now a 
well man, and I am that man." 

Mrs. Slade then answered his ques- 
tion as to "that" woman, and after- 
wards narrated to Mrs. PZddy the cir- 
cumstances connected with his recov- 
ery, but not until she had inquired of 
her, If she thought that terrible-look- 
ing cripple, whom the}' both saw, 
was healed? To which Mrs. Eddy 
quickly answered, "I do believe that 
he was restored to health." Later, 
on being asked by her students as to 
how she healed him, Mrs. Eddy sim- 
ply said, — "When I looked on that 
man, my heart gushed with unspeak- 
able pity and prayer. After that, he 
passed out of my thought until being 
informed by Mrs. Slade of his sudden 

About the year 1867, as Mrs. Eddy 
sat alone at her quiet occupation in 
an outside room opening on a garden 
and porch, the door was suddenly 
burst open, and an escaped maniac 
dashed into the room. Her quiet, 
truthful gaze momentarily met his 
wild glare ; then he fiercely seized a 
chair to hurl at her head. She spoke 
to him ; he dropped the chair, ap- 
proached her, and, pointing upward, 
exclaimed, "Are you from there?" 
The next moment he was kneeling 
before her with his head pressed hard 
into his hands. vShe uttered not a 
word ; but those of our readers who 
are Christian Scientists can appre- 

hend a little of her inspiration at that 
moment. vSoon the poor maniac gave 
a deep groan, then he looked up into 
her face with a new wildness — the 
astonishment of sanity — and breathed 
out, "that terrible weight has gone 
off the top of my head." 

"Yes," she answered, figuratively, 
" I have anointed you with the oil of 
gladness." Some conversation fol- 
lowed, in the course of which she 
learned that he was talented and 
scholarly, the beloved son of a cul- 
tured and wealthy family residing on 
Beacon street, Boston. He left the 
house clothed in his right mind. 

Several years after, in the midst of 
pressing work, there was announced 
a caller to whom she felt obliged to 
return the request to call again. On 
the receipt of this message from the 
attendant, the gentleman hesitated a 
moment, then requested her to ask 
Mrs. Eddy if she remembered the 
foregoing incident, and to say, as he 
was simply passing through the place 
on his way to a distant city, and had 
an hour to vSpare, he had come to tell 
her of that maniac, if she would like 
to hear about him. This summons 
brought her to the parlors. And to the 
fine-looking gentleman who stood be- 
fore her she expressed heartfelt inter- 
est in the case which he had come to 
report. His reply was, "I am that 
man ' ' ; and she recognized her " call- 
ers" to be identical. 

" And now," concluded he, " I am 
a married man, and instead of a shat- 
tered famil}^ with husband and father 
in the insane asylum the best years 
of his life, when most needed b}' his 
loved ones, we are all together, use- 
ful, happy, and our children are being 
educated as they should be." 

No woman has more real friends 



than Mrs. Eddy, and perhaps no char- 
acter is held in higher estimation in 
the nineteenth century. As her biog- 
rapher, we deem it safe to say that, 
judging of the future b}- the past, this 
estimation will increase in proportion 
as her character and life work are 

" Such is the tale of one of the thou- 
sands of lives that have come, either 
directl}' or indirectly, in contact with 
this our Mother, as w^e endearingly 
term her, inasmuch as she has been 
the one in this century to show us 
the true nature and present possibility 
of Christ healing the sick. Thus has 
she turned everywhere to the sick, 
the desolate, the anguished, and com- 
forted those who were of no use to 
themselves or to any one else." 

When a little girl of seven 3'ears, 
she would steal out of doors on a cold 
November evening and cuddle down 
\yy the pen where her father's hogs 
were squealing, to sing them to sleep. 
Did not this unselfishness foreshadow 
her future life work ? 

In addition to her beautiful home 
on the outskirts of Concord, .she owns 
a fine residence on Commonwealth 
avenue, Boston, and a fine estate 
with ornamental grounds at Roslin- 
dale, near Boston. In answer to the 
inquiry of an ofificial, if she was a 
millionaire, she replied, "No; I will 
never own one million's worth of prop- 
erty while so many others are poor ! 
I could have been worth many mill- 
ions of money, — my college alone was 
an annual income of $40,000, — but I 
manage to give away enough to bal- 
ance my account with conscience." 

She is an exceedingly busy person, 
standing as she does at the head of 
the movement founded by her, which 
has now reached such vast propor- 

tions that it may be said to be a great 
army of teachers, healers, and stu- 
dents, extending to every part of this 
country and many places in Europe. 
To have charge of such an army and 
carry on with it a vast personal corres- 
pondence involves almost incalculable 
labor, patience, and wisdom. With 
the zeal and devotion of one commit- 
ted wholly to a great and holy work, 
she gave up society, and stands faith- 
fully and unflinchingly at her post. 
Her neighbors, passing by her quiet 
and peaceful retreat, little dream of 
the amount of work going on there. 

She has many friends yearning 
to see her. Her secretar}^ receives 
letters from strangers in California 
and Europe, asking him to let them 
know at wdiat date Mrs. Eddy wall 
speak to her church in Boston. But 
generally she declines to name the 
time, and repeats this Scripture, — 
' ' Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for 
thou knowest not what a day may 
bring forth." 

Mrs. Eddy writes, — "It has always 
been a cardinal point of mj' teaching 
that students shall never, under any 
circumstances, mentally trespass upon 
the rights or thoughts of another. 
But they shall pursue their mental 
ministrations very sacredly. They 
shall never touch the human thought 
save to issues of truth ; never to take 
awa}^ rights, but only to aid in re- 
moving the wrongs of mankind. Oth- 
erwise, they diminish if not destroj- 
their ability to heal in Christian 
Science." She teaches them also to 
avoid mesmerism, mind cure, spirit- 
ualism, hypnotism, theosophy, occult- 
ism, and all other systems based upon 
the theory that one human mind can 
or should control another human 
mind. She points them to God as 



the one controlling Mind, and only 
as they are obedient to Him, and re- 
flect the Christ character are they 
true Christian Scientists. 

I present to my biographer the in- 
closed letter from one of New Hamp- 
shire's noblest sons — ex-Gov. Moody 
Currier. It has the special merit of 

" In her system of therapeutics she being free from preconceived views ; 
classifies disease as mental, in the it breathes the inborn strength of our 
sense that, while disease is indeed Granite state ; it kindles anew the 
real and painful, as long as mind fires of religious freedom, lighting an 
assents to it, yet through a sufficient illustrious life, and lifting the shad- 
understanding and realization of the ows of over three-score years and ten." 
all -presence and all -power of the 
Divine Mind, it can be overcome. 
And the fact that it can be overcome 
through Mind alone, as thousands of 
Christian Scientists are daily demon- 
strating, is the evidence of its men- 
tal origin." 

The number of Mrs. Eddy's adhe- 
rents is variously estimated at this 
date from three to four hundred thou- 
sand, but no attempt at statistics has 
yet been made. There are about 
four hundred churches and societies 
holding regular Sunday services, one 
hundred and thirty of which are 
chartered; thirty chartered Christian 
Science institutes for the teaching 
of Christian Science and healing of 
disease (these latter located in the 
larger cities) ; and a large number 
of reading-rooms for the dissemina- 
tion of Christian Science literature, 
etc. The total membership of the 
" Mother Church " in Boston is 6,000 
at the present time and rapidly in- 
creasing. The entire movement con- 
tinues to make fast headway, and its 
influence for good is largely felt. 

Mrs. Eddy communicates the fol- 
lowing interesting letter from a col- 

lege classmate of her brother : 


Manchester, N. H., August 17, 1895. 

My Dear Mrs. Eddy : Some days since, I 
had the pleasure of receiving by express two 
nice volumes, containing your card, showing 
that I am indebted to you for the very wel- 
come present, for which I most heartily thank 
you. From a hasty examination I am sure I 
shall receive much satisfaction in their further 
perusal and study. 

It gives me great pleasure to find j-our S5'S- 
tem so free from mystical creeds and theologi- 
cal dogmas. Every theory of philosophy or 
religion, in order to stand the scientific criti- 
cism of the present day, must be founded upon 
the eternal laws of God. The original method 
of your teachings reminds me very forcibly of 
the characteristic manner of your lamented 
brother, Albert, who thoroughly despised ev- 
ery appearance of sham and pretence in the 
pretended teachers of mankind. 

I wish to congratulate you upon the broad 
and independent foundation on which j-ou are 
now building your great work, and trust that 
your fame and renown may last as long as the 
principles you teach. 

Very sincerely yours, 

Moody Currier. 


At the request of the editor of this 
popular magazine, I have written for 
its columns this bit on the subject of 
my doctrine : ' 

Christian Science begins with the 
finst commandment of the Hebrew 
Decalogue, "Thou shalt have no 
other gods before me." It goes on 

in perfect unity with Christ's Sermon 
She writes, — "Out of the large cor- on the Mount, and in that age culmi- 
respondence commending my labors, nates in the Revelation of vSt. John, 

1 Copyrighted, 1S96. 



who, while on earth and in the flesh, 
like ourselves, beheld " a new heaven 
and a new earth," — the spiritual uni- 
verse, whereof Christian Science now 
bears testimon}-. 

Our Master said, " The works that 
I do ye shall do also," and "The 
kingdom of God is within 3'ou." 
This makes practical all His words 
and works. As the ages advance in 
spirituality, Christian Science will be 
seen to depart from the trend of other 
Christian, denominations in nowise, 
except by increase of spiritualit3\ 

M}^ first plank in the platform 
of Christian Science is as follows : 
"There is no life, truth, substance, 
or intelligence in matter. All is in- 
finite Mind and its infinite mani- 
festation, for God is All in all. 
Spirit is immortal Truth ; matter is 
mortal error. Spirit is the real and 
eternal ; matter is the unreal and 
temporal. Spirit is God, and man is 
His image and likeness ; hence man 
is spiritual, and not material." 

I am a strict Theist — believe in one 
God, and one Christ or Messiah. 

Science is neither a law of matter 
nor of man. It is the unerring mani- 
festo of Mind, the law of God being 
its divine Principle. Who dare say 
that matter or mortals can evolve 
Science? Whence, then, is it, if not 
from the divine Source and the con- 
temporary^ of Christianity, .so far in 
advance of human knowledge that 
mortals must work for the discovery 
of even a portion of it ? Science 
translates Mind, God, to mortals. It 
is the infinite calculus defining the 
line, plane, space, and fourth dimen- 
sion of Spirit. It absolutely refutes 
the amalgamation, transmigration, 
absorption, or annihilation of indi- 
viduality. It shows the impossibility 

of transmitting human ills, or evil, 
from one individual to another, — that 
all true thoughts revolve in their own 
orbits — they come from God and re- 
turn to Him ; and untruths belong 
not to His creation, therefore, they 
are null and void. Christian Science 
has no peer, no competitor, for 
it dwelleth in Him besides whom 
" there is none other." 

That Christian Science is Chris- 
tian, those who have demonstrated 
it according to the rules of its divine 
Principle, together with the sick, the 
lame, the deaf, and blind healed by 
it, have proven to a waiting world. 
He who has not tested it is incom- 
petent to condemn it, and he who is a 
willing sinner cannot demonstrate it. 

A falling apple suggested to New- 
ton more than the simple fact cog- 
nized by the senses, to which it seemed 
to fall by reason of its own ponderos- 
ity ; but the primal, or Mind- 
force, invisible to material sense, lay 
concealed in the treasure - trov^es of 
Science. True, Newton named it 
gravitation, having learned so much ; 
but Science, demanding more, pushes 
the question. Whence or what is the 
power back of gravitation, — the In- 
telligence that manifests power? Is 
pantheism true ? Does mind ' ' sleep 
in the mineral, or dream in the ani- 
mal, and wake in man?" Chris- 
tianity answers this question. The 
prophets, Jesus, and the apostles, de- 
mon.strated a divine Intelligence that 
subordinates so-called material laws ; 
and disease, death, winds, and waves 
obey this Intelligence. Was it Mind 
or matter that .spake in creation, 
' ' and it was done ' ' ? The answer 
is self-evident, and the command re- 
mains, "Thou shalt have no other 
gods before Me." 



What is the Me spoken of in 
the first commandment ? It must Ije 
Mind, for matter is not the Chris- 
tian's God, and is not intelligent. 
Matter cannot even talk, and the 
serpent, Satan, the first talker in its 
behalf, lied ! Reason and revelation 
declare that God is both noumena and 
phenomena — the first and only Cause. 
The universe, including man, is not 
a result of atomic action, material 
force, or energy ; it is not organized 
dust. God, Spirit, Mind, are terms 
synonymous for the one God, whose 
reflection is creation. All must be 
Mind and Mind's ideas; since, ac- 
cording to natural science, God, 
Spirit, could not change its species 
and evolve matter. 

These facts enjoin the first com- 
mandment, and knowledge of them 
makes man spiritually minded. St. 
Paul writes, "For to be carnally 
minded is death ; but to be spirit- 
ually minded is life and peace." 
This knowledge came to me in an 
hour of great need ; and I give it to 
3'ou as death-bed testimony to the 
day star that dawned on the night of 
material sense. This knowledge is 
practical, for it wrought my imme- 
diate recovery from an injury caused 
by an accident, and pronounced fatal 
by the physicians. On the third day 
thereafter I called for my Bible, and 
opened it at Matthew ix : 2. As I 
read, the healing Truth dawned upon 
my sense, and the result was that I 
rose, dressed myself, and ever after 
was in better health than I before 
enjoyed. That short experience in- 
cluded a glimpse of the great fact I 
have since tried to make plain to 
others, namely. Life in and of Spirit, 
this lyife being the sole reality of 
existence. I learned that mortal 

thought evolves a subjective state 
which it names matter, thereby shut- 
ting out the true sense of vSpirit. Per 
contra. Mind and man are immortal ; 
and knowledge gained from mortal 
sense is illusion, error, the opposite of 
Truth, — therefore it cannot be true. 
A knowledge of botli good and evil 
(when good is God, and God is all) 
is impossible. Speaking of the origin 
of evil, the Master said, "When he 
speaketh a lie he speaketh of his 
own ; for he is a liar, and the father 
of it." God warned man not to be- 
lieve the talking serpent, or rather 
the allegory describing it. The Naza- 
rite prophet declared that his follow- 
ers should handle serpents ; that is, 
put down all subtle falsities or illu- 
sions, and thus destroy any supposed 
effect arising from false claims exer- 
cising their supposed power on the 
mind and body of man, against his 
holiness and health. 

That there is but one God or Life, 
one Cause, and one effect, is the niul- 
titiii ill parvo of Christian Science ; 
and to my understanding it is the 
heart of Christianity, the religion 
that Jesus taught and demonstrated. 
In Divine Science it is found that 
matter is a phase of error, and that 
neither reall}' exists, since God is 
Truth, and All in all. Christ's Ser- 
mon on the Mount, in its direct ap- 
plication to human needs, confirms 
this conclusion. 

Science, understood, translates mat- 
ter into Mind, rejects all other theo- 
ries of causation, restores the spir- 
itual and original meaning of the 
Scriptures, and explains the teach- 
ings and life of our Lord. It is 
religion's "new tongue," with "signs 
following," spoken of by St. Mark. 
It gives God's infinite meaning to 



mankind, healing the sick, casting 
out evil, and raising the spiritually 
dead. Christianit}' is Christlike onh- 
as it reiterates the Word, repeats the 
works, and manifests the .spirit of 

Jesus' only medicine was omnipotent 
and omniscient Mind. As omni is from 
the Latin word meaning all, this med- 
icine is all-power, and omniscience 
means as well, all-science. The sick 
are more deplorably situated than the 
sinful, if the sick cannot trust God for 
help, and the sinful can. If God creat- 
ed drugs good, they are not poisonous ; 
if He could create them bad, then 
they should never be used ; and if 
He created drugs for medical pur- 
poses, why did Jesus not employ 
them and recommend them to the 

No human hj-potheses, whether in 
philosoph}^ medicine, or religion, can 
sur\nve the wreck of time ; but what- 
ever is of God hath life abiding in 
it, and ultimately will be known as 
self-evident truth, as demonstrable 
as mathematics. Each successive 
period of progress is a period more 
humane and spiritual. The only 
logical conclusion is that all is Mind 
and its manifestation, from the roll- 
ing of worlds in the most subtle ether, 
to a potato-patch. 

The agriculturist ponders the his- 
tory of a seed, and believes that his 
crops come from the seedling and 
the loam, even when the Scripture 
declares, "He made ever}- plant of 
the field before it was in the earth." 
The scientist asks, Whence came the 
first seed, and what made the soil? 
Was it molecules, or material atoms? 
Whence came the infinitesimals, from 
infinite Mind or from matter? If 
from matter, how did matter origi- 

nate ? Was it vSelf-existent ? Matter 
is not intelligent, and thus able to 
evolve or create itself. It is the very 
opposite of Spirit, or intelligent, sell- 
creative, and infinite Mind. The be- 
lief of mind in matter is Pantheism. 
Natural history shows that neither a 
genus nor species produces its oppo- 
site. God is All in all. What can be 
more than All ? Nothing ; and this 
is just what I call matter, nothing. 
Spirit, God, has no antecedent; and 
God's subsequent is the spiritual cos- 
mos. The phrase, "express image," 
in the common version of Hebrews ii : 
3, is, in the Greek Testament, charac- 

The Scriptures name God as good, 
and the Saxon term for God is also 
Good. From this premise comes the 
logical conclusion that God is nat- 
urally and divinely infinite Good. 
How, then, can this conclusion 
change, or be changed, to mean 
that Good is evil, or the creator of 
evil ? What can there be besides 
Infinity ? Nothing ! Therefore the 
Science of Good calls evil nothing. 
In Divine Science the term God, 
Good, as Spirit are synonjanous. 
That God, Good, creates evil, or 
aught that can result in evil, — or 
that vSpirit creates its opposite, named 
matter, — are conclusions that destroy 
their premise, and prove themselves 
invalid. Here is where Christian 
Science sticks to its text ; and other 
systems of religion abandon their 
own logic. Here also is found the 
pith of the basal statement, the car- 
dinal point in Christian Science, that 
matter and evil (including all inhar- 
mony, sin, disease, death) are un- 
real. Mortals accept natural science, 
wherein no species ever produces its 
opposite. Then why not accept 



Divine Science on this ground ? 
Since the Scriptures maintain this 
fact by parable and proof, asking, 
" Do men gather grapes of thorns, 
or figs of thistles?" " Doth a foun- 
tain send forth at the same place 
sweet water and bitter?" 

According to reason and revela- 
tion, evil and matter are negation, 
for evil signifies the absence of Good, 
God, though God is ever present, 
and matter claims something besides 
God, when God is really All. Crea- 
tion, evolution, or manifestation, — 
being in and of Spirit, Mind, and all 
that really is — they must be spiritual 
and mental. This is Science, and is 
susceptible of proof. 

But, say j^ou, is a stone spiritual ? 
To erring material sense. No ! but to 
unerring spiritual sense it is a mani- 
festation of Mind, a type of spiritual 
Substance, "the substance of things 
hoped for." Mortals can know a 
stone as substance, only by first ad- 
mitting that it is substantial. Take 
away the mortal sense of substance, 
and the stone itself would disappear, 
only to reappear in the spiritual sense 
thereof. Matter can neither see, hear, 
feel, taste, nor smell, having no sen- 
sation of its own. Perception by the 
five personal senses is mental, and 
dependent on the beliefs that mor- 
tals entertain. Destroy the belief 
that you can walk, and volition 
ceases, for muscles cannot move 
without Mind. Matter takes no cog- 
nizance of matter. In dreams things 
are only what mortal mind makes 
them ; and the phenomena of mortal 
life are as dreams ; and this so-called 
life is a dream, soon told. In propor- 
tion as mortals turn from this mortal 
and material dream to the true sense 
of reality, everlasting L,ife will be 

found to be the only Life. That 
death does not destroy the beliefs of 
the flesh, our Master proved to His 
doubting disciple, Thomas. Also 
he demonstrated that Divine Science 
alone can overbear materiality and 
mortality, and this great truth was 
shown by his ascension after death, 
whereby he rose above the illusion 
of matter. 

The first commandment, "Thou 
shalt have no other gods before Me," 
suggests the inquir}^ What meaneth 
this Me, Spirit or matter ? It cer- 
tainly does not signify a graven idol, 
and must mean Spirit. Then the 
commandment means : ' ' Thou shalt 
recognize no Intelligence or Life in 
matter ; and find neither pleasure 
nor pain therein. The Master's prac- 
tical knowledge of this grand verity, 
together with His divine Love, healed 
the sick and raised the dead. He lit- 
erally annulled the claims of physique 
and of physical law, by the superior- 
it}' of the higher law ; hence His dec- 
laration : "These signs shall follow 
the)ii that believe ... if they 
drink any deadly thing, it shall not 
hurt them. The)' shall lay hands on 
the sick, and they shall recover." 

Do you believe His words? I do, 
and that His promise was perpetual. 
Had it been applicable only to His 
immediate disciples, the pronoun 
would be you, not they. The pur- 
pose of his life-work touches univer- 
sal humanity. At another time he 
prayed, not for the twelve only, but 
' ' for as many as shall believe through 
their word." 

The Christ-healing was practised, 
even before the Christian era : " The 
Word was with God, and the Word 
was God." There is, however, no 
analogy between Christian Science 



and spiritualism, or z.ny speculative 

In 1867, I taught the first student 
in Christian Science. Since that 
date I have known of but fourteen 
deaths in the ranks of my about five 
thousand students. The census since 
1S75 (the date of the first publication 
of ni}' work, "Science and Health 
with Key to the Scriptures"') shows 
that longevity has increased. Daily 
letters inform me that a perusal of 
my volume' is healing the writers of 
chronic and acute diseases that had 
defied medical skill. 

Surely, the people of the Occident 
know that esoteric magic and Ori- 
ental barbarisms will neither flavor 
Christianity, nor advance health and 
length of daj's. 

Miracles are no infraction of God's 
laws ; on the contrary, they fulfill 
them ; for they are the signs follow^- 
ing Christianit}', whereby matter is 
proven powerless, and subordinate to 
Mind. Christians, like students in 
mathematics, should be w^orking up 
to those higher rules of Life which 
Jesus taught and proved. Do we 
reall}^ understand the Divine Princi- 
ple of Christianity before we prove 
it, in at least, some feeble demon- 
stration thereof, according to Jesus' 
example in healing the sick ? Should 
we adopt the .simple addition in Chris- 
tian Science, and doubt its higher 
rules, or despair of ultimatel}" reach- 
ing them, even though failing at first 

to demon.strate all the possibilities of 
Christianit}' ? 

St. John spirituall}' discerned and 
revealed the sum total of transcen- 
dentalism. He saw the real earth 
and heaven. They were spiritual, 
not material ; and they were without 
pain, sin, or death. Death was not 
the door to this heaven. The gates 
thereof he declared inlaid with pearl, 
— likening them to the priceless un- 
derstanding of man's real existence 
to be recognized here and now\ 

The great Wayshower illustrated 
Life unconfined, uncontaminated, un- 
trammelled by matter. He proved the 
superiority of Mind over the flesh, 
opened the door to the captive, and 
enabled man to demonstrate the law of 
Life, which St. Paul declares "hath 
made me free from the law of sin and 

The stale saj'ing that Christian 
Science " is neither Christian nor 
science," is to-da}" the fossil of wis- 
domless wit, weakness, and supersti- 
tion. "The fool hath .said in his 
heart. There is no God." 

Take courage, dear reader, for any 
seeming mysticism around realism is 
explained in the Scripture,—" there 
went up a mist from the earth," 
[matter] ; and the mist of material- 
ism will vanish, as we approach spir- 
itualit}^, the realm of reality, cleanse 
our lives in Christ's righteousness, 
bathe in the baptism of Spirit, and 
awake in His likeness. 



By Fred Lezuis Pattee. 


Know you the northern hemlock in his home ? 
He is the wildest creature of the woods ; 
Behold his shaggy form as vast he stands 
Upon the crag or by the nameless lake. 
His squamous bole, his branches lithe and long, 
His mighty front, his rugged, rumpled mane, — 
Behold him all untamed. There 's not a line 
But whispers of the lakelands of the north, 
The trackless swamps, and mossy solitudes, 
Where man is but a wonder and a dream. 


Behold him as he fights the winter storm ; 

He knows his strength, and like a king he stands. 

With arms of steel and feet upon the rock ; 

He glories in the blast, and fiercely roars 

His challenge to the tempest and the night. 

What man can hear, without a throbbing heart, 

A mighty hemlock in the dead of night 

Fight all alone the legions of the storm, — 

Beat off, as does the granite crag the sea, 

The furious squadrons, spurred with hail and hate, 

That pour impetuous from the boreal lands? 


And when the blast is o'er, when quiet steals 
Upon the woods, and from the low, gray cloud 
The snow floats softly down, and all is hushed. 
And twilight in the forest comes at noon. 
The hemlock spreads his branches to the snow. 
And like a giant stands beneath his load. 
Nor shirks to bear it, be it mountain high. 



A glorious tree — I love him as I love 

No other creature of the northern wilds, 

For is he not the very heart and soul 

Of those deep solitudes, free-aired and vast, 

Where Mother Nature keeps my heart for me ? 

You cannot find the hemlock in the field 

Or where the wheel or spade of delving man 

Has torn the leaf mould from his fibrous root ; 

Struck by the axe, be it a single blow, 

He pines and dies. Know you this tree ? 

Then you have known the lakelands of the north, 

And Mother Nature holds your soul in fee. 


A strong, sad tree. He is the priest of trees. 
Who loves the hemlock oft will steal away 
In pensive mood to sigh and fear and dream. 
The voice of primal woods is seldom gay. 
For mystery and half-dreamed tragedy 
Forever haunt the deeper solitudes. 
The hemlock's song is oft a threnody. 
He w^ears the somber robe, and oft he sighs, 
But he is pure, — most spiritual of trees. 
He leaves no ashes in the woodsman's fire. 
But springs into the sky from whence he came. 


O northern hemlock, brother of my soul, 

O truest type of those dark w^oods I love, 

If I can catch a single fleeting breath 

Of those wild airs that whisper in thy boughs. 

If I can bring into my lawless songs 

A tithe of all the wildness in thy soul, 

M}- songs will live and stir the hearts of men. 


By Mnry Jenks Page. 

OMK up an' set down, 
child. I 'm powerful 
glad ter see ye. I de- 
clare, I 'a'n't laid eyes 
on ye fer nigh on ter 
a week. Big goin's on up t'he 
house, I s'pose ?" 

"Oh dear, yes!" I answered, dol- 
orously. " The wedding is to be 
on Thursday, and everything is in 
such confusion! I couldn't stand 
it another minute, so I ran down 
here to you. I'm tired and cross, 
and it breaks my heart to think of 
losing Mildred." 

Here I choked in spite of myself, 
and two big tears started on a voy- 
age of discovery down my cheeks. 
In a minute Aunt Betsy's arms were 
around me, and notwithstanding my 
sixteen years, I was drawn on to her 
broad, comfortable lap, while a big 
white handkerchief, with a faint 
scent of lavender in its folds, moved 
softly over my face in pursuit of the 
vagrant drops. 

" There, there, honey ! I wouldn't 
cry 'bout it," said a voice as sooth- 
ing and motherly as the lap was 
commodious and inviting. " Ye '11 
only end in feelin' wus 'an ever. 
'T a'n't near so bad 's it might be, for 
Mildred seems dretful happy. I 've 
seen Mr. Rogers a good many times 
off an' on, an' he looks ter be a re'l 
likely young man. I^eastways, that 
wus my 'pinion uv him at fust, an' I 
a'n't had no call ter change it sence." 

" That 's the trouble," I said, in a 
despondent tone. "He 's too 'likely.' 
If he wasn't, there would be some 
use in objecting to his having Mil- 
dred." Then, as a sense of my 
wrongs came over me afresh, I added 
savagely, — " I do detest ' likely ' young 
men, who come poking round mak- 
ing the only sister you have fall in 
love with them. I 'd like to — to — 
bite him!" 

A second pair of tears were making 
ready to follow their fellows into the 
undiscovered country of my physiog- 
nomy, when their career was sud- 
denly checked by an emphatic hug 
of the big arms that encircled me, 
and again the lavender-scented hand- 
kerchief touched my eyes, as Aunt 
Betsy said, with a cheery laugh, — 

' ' L,aw sakes, child ' Ye won't allers 
be havin' so unfav'ble a view o' t' oth- 
er sex ; though I must say, as my 
own 'sperience an' obs'vation has led 
me ter b'lieve, there's heaps o' poor 
critters 'mongst 'em. But there, we 
wimmen a'n't some on us no better 'n 
we should be, an' I guess we can 
'ford ter be gen'rous, seein' as how 
men is by natur' gen'alh' more onsta- 
ble an' more lackin' in re'l grit than 

I smiled involuntarily at Aunt 
Betsy's revolutionar}' sentiment, and 
at the characteristic transition from 
censure to apologetic sympathy. 
Was there anything that her man- 
tle of charity would not cover, now 



that it had proved itself sufficiently 
elastic to drape gracefully the short- 
comings of " t' other sex "? 

Back and forth swaj-ed the chair 
with its double burden, and a little 
two-syllable creak in its left rocker 
seemed to be repeating, " Cheer up ! 
cheer up!" While I was wondering 
if it would be proper to succumb so 
soon to this atmosphere of genial 
sympathy and begin to look com- 
forted, I found myself deposited on 
the porch floor, with the rocking- 
chair at my side plunging violently 
to and fro under the impetus of Aunt 
BetS3^'s hast}' exit. 

" Land sakes, child, I 'most forgot 
them pease ! ' ' 

"What pease?" I asked, startled 
into temporary interest by her man- 
ner. I regretted this instantly, for 
in some book that I had found behind 
the Encyclopaedia Britannica on the 
lowest library shelves, I had learned 
that crushing grief indulged in by a 
heroine is alwaj's shown b}' a dense 
obliviousness to the concerns of other 
people. To be momentarih' animated 
by pease ! Dreadful ! Only one thing 
could have been worse, — beans ! 

"Why, Caleb's breakfast dish, to 
be sure," rejoined Aunt Betsy, in a 
sort of uselessly explanatory tone, as 
if the entire community w^ere expected 
to know of her husband's unholy pre- 
dilection for fresh pease at 5 : 30 in 
the morning. " I must go right 
straight to the gardin an' git 'em 
'fore it gits any darker, or I sha' n't 
be able ter see the pods. I won't be 
gone more 'n a matter 'f a few min- 
utes, dearie. Ye jest set up here 'n 
my old chair, an' I '11 be back with a 
mess in less 'an no time." 

I rose to go with her, but she gen- 
tly pushed me down with, — 

"No, no I The vines has growed 
too rank, an' the path 's half covered 
with 'em. The dew 's fell some 
a 'ready, an' ye '11 drabble them pretty 
skirts. Now ye jest set quiet." 

I submitted, and Aunt Betsy's port- 
h- form disappeared within the little 
brown house, presently to emerge 
wdth a tin pan, w^hose scoured sur- 
face would have done credit to a Sa- 
polio advertisement. 

Aunt Betsy is not mj' real aunt, of 
course. You could tell that by her 
grammar, and the way she leaves off 
her "g's" when she speaks. I think 
good grammar runs in families, and 
said so once to father, but he said it was 
much more likel}^ to run out of fami- 
lies. You see he had heard my brother 
Roy say ' ' those sort of people ' ' the 
day before, and it troubled him a 
good deal. It was bad, I admit, 
but R03' is only fourteen, and when 
he grows older he will become more 
used, grammatically, to those sort, — I 
mean that sort, of expressions. I 
find it unsafe even to quote bad 
grammar. It almost makes one 
make mistakes one's self. 

As I said, Aunt Betsj' is not ni}- 
real aunt. It happened this waj^ : 

Our family has always lived in the 
big stone house, the one with the 
towers, on the eastern side of the 
river ; and long ago, when Mildred 
was a little child three years old (she 
is twent3'-one now) , mamma was 
taken ill. It was winter-time, and 
they could n't find a good nurse, un- 
til father heard of a Mrs. Carey, who 
lived at Gayville, a drearj^ little vil- 
lage about twentj^ miles away.. I 
never knew why it was given that 
name, unless the lively sound com- 
pensated in a way for the general 
desolation of the place. 



Father started for Gayville at once, 
and when he found Mrs. Carey he 
represented the state of affairs at 
home as so frij^htful that she got one 
of her neighbors to promise to " feed 
Caleb," her husband, and came right 
back with him. Really it was. not 
half as bad as he said ; but things 
have a w^ay of looking big to father. 

Mrs. Carey proved to be what peo- 
ple call a " born nurse," and mamma 
grew so fond of her that she could n't 
bear to have her go back to Gayville. 
It was finally arranged that her hus- 
band should come down, and that 
they should live in a little brown 
house that father owns close to the 
river, so Mrs. Carey might be near 
mamma in case of an emergency. 

I was the first emergency myself, 
three years later, and Mrs. Carey — 
they all called her "Aunt Betsy " by 
that time— was with lis a good deal 
during my babyhood, and for a while 
after Roy was born, which happened 
when I was two years old. All my 
life she has lived with us, or so near 
us that she seems like a member of 
the family — except her grammar. 

We all loved the dear, faithful old 
soul, and she in turn was devoted to 
the children she had helped into the 
world, and had petted and spoiled 
ever since. So in my wretchedness 
at the thought of losing my beautiful 
sister, I naturally turned to Aunt 
Betsy for the homely comfort she was 
always more than ready to give. 

Down in the garden I could hear 
the pea-pods dropping into the pan. 
I looked over the river toward the 
west. Near the horizon of tall fir- 
tree tops lay dark gray cloud-banks, 
whose outlines melted away into the 
lighter, softer gray of the upper sky. 
Here and there rifts in the clouds 

showed gleaming bands of red and 
orange and gold. 

As I watched the picture, it began 
dimly to dawn upon me that possibly 
I, too, might find .some brightness in 
my own gray clouds, if I chose to 
look for it ; and then for the first 
time I began to realize what a 
shadow my gloomy face must have 
cast over Mildred's wedding prepara- 
tions, when I might have added so 
much to the joy of them. Then the 
storm began to clear away, and by 
the time Aunt Betsy came laboring 
up the path wdth her ' ' mess ' ' of 
shining pods, I was ready to fly to 
meet her, catch the pan from her, and 
rush back to the porch, where I was 
industriously shelling the pease, when 
she came up panting and dropped in- 
to the rocking-chair. 

" Wh3% honey, how chirk ye seem! 
I 'm glad ye 've come ter look at the 
bright side uv things. It 's a power- 
ful sight better way uv doin', ter my 

I answered with a smile, and be- 
gan a detailed account of the "goin's 
on up t'he house" for Aunt Betsy's 
benefit. When I had finished, she 
said, with a funny light in her old 
eyes, — "I 'm right glad Mildred 
seems more settled in her mind than 
I wus once." 

"Why, Aunt Betsy," I said, "I 
can't imagine you unsettled, of all 

" Well, folks do n't allers show by 
their exter'rs the workin's o' their 
in'ards," she answered, — and I 
couldn't help thinking it was a fortu- 
nate provision of Providence that 
they did n't. 

Just at this minute our attention 
was called to a commotion in the 
barn-yard, that lay a little to the left 



of the garden. Aunt Betsy grew 
excited at once. "I do b'lieve 
Caleb 's liavin' trouble with that cow 
agin!" And sure enough, as she 
spoke, the animal leaped over the 
barn- yard wall. Around her neck she 
wore a wooden "poke," which indi- 
cated acrobatic proclivities. As she 
struck the ground, the long end of 
the "poke" stuck in the soft earth, 
and the resulting shock caused "that 
cow ' ' to lose her balance and roll 
over into the outlying row of potato- 
vines. x\unt Betsy, viewing with 
alarm the prospective destruction of 
her favorite "Early Rose," shrieked 
for Uncle Caleb, who arrived breath- 
less upon the scene, and took the 
astonished beast into custody just as 
she had regained her feet and was 
prepared for an extensive promenade 
through the tempting garden-plot. 

Aunt BetS}' sank back in her chair 
with a sigh of relief. 

" 'P" all critters I ever did see, that 
cow is the tryin'est. Caleb a'n't so 
spry 's he us' ter be, an' can't depend 
on his wind now when it comes ter 
chasin' ; an' as fer me," — here Aunt 
Betsy cast a withering glance at her 
own generous dimensions, — "the 
critters might eat up every bit o' gar- 
din-sass, re'l delib'rit', 'fore I 'd be 
able ter git at 'em." 

' ' Why do you keep such a cow ? ' ' 
I asked. " It may not be the same 
one, but ever since I was a little girl 
you have had a cow that jumped 
fences, and had to wear one of those 
big wooden things." 

"Well, 3'e see it's kind uv a 
matter o' conscience." Aunt Bets}^ 
spoke hesitatingly. " It 's all con- 
cerned with that time when I did n't 
know my mind. P'r'aps while we 're 
shellin' the pease, I might tell ye 

'bout it, though I don't know re'lly 
's I ought' er. Ye 'r pretty young 
ter hear o' sich goin's on." 

I hastened to reassure her on that 
point, and at last she yielded. 

" "T wus when we lived up ter 
Ebenston. 'T wa'n't a very large 
village, an' we wus a little out uv the 
town proper, too. I rec'lect it so 
well. Our house wus painted white, 
with re'l tasty blue blinds. There 
wa' n't much land ter the place, not 
more 'n a matter o' twent}- acres or 
so. In one corner uv the gardin wus 
a little buryin' -ground fenced off. 
'T wa' n't none o' our folks as wus 
laid there, but they b' longed ter the 
fam'ly that had the place afore us. 
Ye see they wus dretful high steppin' 
folks, an' seemed ter think an ord'- 
r\2iXy public graveyard wa' n't good 
'nough fer their fam'ly remains, so 
the}' had 'em fenced in there. It 
made me kinder crawl ter look at the 
place when we fust moved in, but I 
got us' t' it. Howsomever, there 
wus a tree o' re'l tart early apples 
that had growed up out o' one uv the 
graves, but I never could be brought 
ter eat one on 'em ; an' whenever we 
had a pie made out o' them apples, I 
could us' ter see ' Sacred ter the 
mem'r}^ uv Aminadab Evans' writ 
acrost the upper crust 's plain 's Bel- 
•shaz'r see the hand-writin' on the 
wall. I felt 's if the fam'ly wus 
kinder like can'bles, a-suckin' the 
life-blood uv Aminadab. 'T wa' n't 
strange I could n't stomick them pies, 
feelin' 's I did. 

" Well, we 'd lived ter Ebenston a 
good spell, an' knowed 'most everj^ 
one 'bout there. 'T wus a re'l lively 
sort 'f a place. We us' ter hev quilt- 
in' parties an' candy-pulls; an' what 
with sleigh-rides an' spellin' -matches 



in the winter, there wa' n't no chance 
to git dull. But the thing we young 
folks set most store by wus the church 
soci'ble. It come once in two weeks, 
an' there wus a high time, ye 'd 
better b'lieve. Ye wouldn't think 
it ter see me now, but when I wus 
nineteen or there'bouts, I wus pretty 
likely, an' the boys they did set after 
me a sight. I could 'a' had nry pick 
on 'em then." 

A faint blush stole over Aunt Bet- 
sy's fat cheeks, and she stopped 
speaking for a minute to feast upon 
the memory of past triumphs. 

" Well, 't wus the night we wus up 
ter Deacon Skinner's that I fust saw 
his nephew, Tracy vSkinner. We 
wus playin' ' Post-ofhce ' — ye know 
what that is, I s'pose ? " 

I discreetl}' replied that I had 
heard of it. 

"The girl that kep' the door, as 
they called it, told me I had a letter. 
That meant, uv course, that I must 
go inter the entry an' kiss the boy I 
happened ter find there. Now I 
never 'proved uv kissin' games, an' 
had said ' No' so many times that 
the boys an' girls got kinder offish, 
an' calc'lated I wus a little stuck up 
'long o' livin' in a house with blue 
blinds. But, somehow, it allers 
seemed ter me that a woman's lips 
oughter be kep' kinder sacred like 
fur people she cared some fer, an' not 
passed 'round promise 'us ter every- 
body. An' I couldn't help thinkin', 
young 's I wus, that some pretty 
square dancin' ter old Jim Downs's 
fiddle would 'a' been a sight less hurt- 
ful. But, law sakes ! folks can't 
never seem ter see that there 's danc- 
in' an' dancin', an' if 'ts taken right 
it 's in 'cent 's rollin' hoop. I remem- 
ber say in' ter Deacon Skinner, when 

they wus havin' a church ent'tain- 
ment, an' the children wus singin' 
their little songs an' dancin' 's pretty 
as could be, — ' Deacon,' says I, ' what 
do yer think o' this havin' dancin' fer 
ter raise money fer the church ? ' An' 
he turned on me re'l quick, an' says 
he, satisfied like, — ' Oh, they call this 
trippin'.' ' Well,' says I, ' they may 
call it trippin', but them children 's 
taking their steps mighty well ;' an' 
he looked re'l vexed. I 'xpect eatin' 
must 'a' had a pretty bad name in the 
days o' them Epicur's ye wus tellin' 
me 'bout, who thought their stomichs 
wus all there wus uv 'em ; but we 
do n't hear o' t' other folks givin' up 
eatin' mod'rit, 'count o' the things 
bein' 'bused by some. 

' ' There ! I 've spun on 't a great 
rate, an' ye '11 be wonderin' what all 
this has ter do with the brindle cow 
an' Tracy Skinner. 

" Well, Tracy wus standin' by the 
front stairs when I come inter the 
entr3\ I had n't never met him. He 
wus so kinder solemn lookin' that I 
backed right off ter t' other side uv 
the room, an' says I, — ' Mr. Skinner, 
I a'n't in the habit uv kissin' young 
men, an' ye '11 please 'xcuse me.' I 
spoke perlite, but firm, an' I guess he 
see I wus in airnest ; so he up an' 
says, ' I think ye 're quite right 'bout 
it. Miss Rice, an' I '11 gladly 'xcuse 
ye.' I thought 't would 'a' sounded 
better 'f he 'd left out the 'gladly,' 
but 't wa' n't his way. I know 't 
wus a little thing, but from that night 
Tracy Skinner set after me re'l hard. 
He told me afterwards that I wus so 
bound not ter kiss him when I didn't 
know him, that he made up his mind 
he 'd have a right ter kiss me b'fore 
long. 'T wus all right, uv course, 
but somehow his sayin' that riled me 



so, I never let him kiss me agin fer 
more 'n a week. He found out 't 
would n't do to act so masterful. 

' ' I never felt more 'n lukewarm 
to'ard him anyway, an' I should n't 
never have promised ter marry him, 
if folks had let me 'lone. But he had 
a fine farm his uncle had just give 
him, jinin' our place, an' he wus 
nephew ter Deacon Skinner who had 
the most money 'f any one in the vil- 
lage ; an' folks kep' tellin' me what a 
likely young feller Tracy wus, an' 
what a nice house I 'd have ter live 
in, so my head got kinder turned, an' 
I said ' Yes ' 'fore I meant ter. But 
I repented soon 'nough. I tell ye, 
when it comes ter marryin', child, a 
nice house, an' money that b'longs 
ter yer husband's rel'tives, a'n't a 
re'l sure foundation ter build on. It 
takes heaps o' the right kind o' love 
fer the best o' mortal critters ter live 
tergether anything like as the Lord 
intended married folks should. But 
there ! I won't say no more 'bout 
that, or I sha'n't git ter the brindle 
cow ter-night. 

" I 'xpect I felt wuss 'count o' Caleb. 
He 'd come to help father on the 
farm the year b'fore, an' we wus good 
friends from the fust. He 'd taken 
me ter all the goin's on that winter 
jest like a brother, an' somehow — 
well, I set a good deal by Caleb 'way 
down deep. I didn't know his feel- 
in's to'ard me till one night after I 'd 
said ' Yes ' ter Tracy, an" wus feelin' 
dretful blue over it. We wus ridin' 
home from the mill with a bag o', when Caleb says ter me, says 
he, — ' Betty, I 'm goin' a^va3^' ' Goin' 
away ! ' sa^^s I, re'l dazed. ' What 
for?' I declare, I wus so took aback 
I didn't have no time ter seem indiff'- 
runt at fust, but when he says, dret- 

ful glum like, ' I can't stay 'round 
here an' see ye throwin' yerself away 
on Trace Skinner,' uv course I come 
to, — any woman would; an' I says, 
says I, careless an' independent, 
' What 's that ter you ? ' I can't tell 
ye what he said then, but by the time 
we got home I knew Caleb's feelin's, 
an' he knew how bad I felt 'bout 
marryin' Tracy ; but I 'd made him 
promise not ter say nothin', fer I 
thought 't would be a ter'ble disgrace 
to break off with Trac}', though Caleb 
held 't wus a sight wickeder ter marry 
a man I didn't care fer. Howsome- 
ever, I didn't see it that way just 
then. I wus so 'fraid o' what folks 
would say ; an' then father wus so 
set on my livin' on the Skinner farm 
that jined ours ; an' Caleb wus onl}^ 
a poor boy. Ye 'd better b'lieve I 
had a time uv it, what with my own 
feelin's an' Tracy in the next house, 
an' Caleb goin' round doin' the 
chores, lookin' 's if he 'd bite nails. 
It kep' growin' wuss, an' by the last o' 
May I wus dretful white an' peaked 

' ' We wus ter be married the mid- 
dle o' June, an' my weddin' dress wms 
'most done. 'T was a white muslin 
with sprigs on it, re'l tasty ; an' my 
bunnit wus fine, I tell ye, — white silk 
with lots o' lace a finger wide, an' a 
bunch o' white flowers. Father 
thought 't wus a great lay-out fer 
fin'ry, an' said we 'd better put the 
money inter sunthin' substantial ; but 
mother, she 'd set out, as I wus ter 
marry a Skinner, I should n't go 

"As the day come near I thought 
I should give up. Tracj^ had n't 
stepped round re'l spry ter his court- 
in' that spring, 'long o' spendin' so 
much time in his gardin that lay 



'cross the fence from our l)arnyard, 
an' I felt kinder riled nights when he 
wouldn't come in till most half past 
eight, an' then have nothin' ter talk 
'bout but his everlastin' new v'ri'ties 
o' pease an' beans an' pertaters. I 
told him 's much once, an' he said, 
kinder smirkin", ' Ye '11 'preciate the 
gardin-sass pretty soon, Betty;' an' it 
made me mad ; jest 's if a woman's 
chief thought in marryin' wus her 
vittles ! 

"The day come at last, an' the 
comp'ny wus in the best room waitin' 
fer us ter march in. Parson Peters 
wus ter tie the knot, which wus try- 
in', fer he allers ended his weddin' 
prayer with ' The L,ord have marcy 
on 'em,' 's if the couple wus jest a 
enterin' o' purg'tory. But then he 
hadn't lived re'l pleasant with either 
uv his wives, so I didn't blame him 
so much fer speakin' out o' the full- 
ness uv his heart, as Scriptur' has it. 
When we come in I wus 'most ready 
ter faint. Parson Peters had jest got 
ter the place where he asks the man, 
' Will ye have her — ? ' when we 
heard an awful bellerin' in the barn- 
3'ard. The minister stopped short, 
an' everybody looked out o' the win- 
ders. In a minute we saw father's 
old brindle cow, with her 'poke' on, 
jump over the wall clean inter Tracy's 
pertater patch, an' start to'ard the 
corner uv the gardin where his pease 
wus planted, gallopin' like mad. 
Well, Tracy jest lost his head com- 
plete, an' droppin' my hand rushed 
out o' the room shriekin', ' My gar- 
din ! my gardin ! ' All the young fel- 
lers follered him, 'xcept Caleb, who 
wus lookin' more pleased 'n I 'd seen 
him fer months. It took the folks so 
sudden that nobody said nothin' fer a 
minute. Then I spoke up, an' says 

I, — (Caleb said afterwards that I wus 
white 's a sheet), ' 'F anybody thinks 
I 'm a goin' ter marry a man as 
thinks more 'f his pertaters than he 
does o' me, they 're mistaken. But 
ye 're come ter a weddin' an' ye shall 
have it.' Then I looked at Caleb, 
an' he came straight up an' stood in 
Tracy's place. 'Now go on,' says I 
to Parson Peters. He wus that 
dazed that he went on 'thout sayin' a 
word, an' by the time Tracy got back 
lookin' dretful sheepish, Caleb an' I 
wus pernounced man an' wife. 'T 
was an excitin' time, I tell ye, after 
that. Folks did n't git over talkin' 
'bout it fer months. A good many 
sided with me, an' some thought I 'd 
done a ter'ble bold thing, but I didn't 
care 's long 's I 'd got Caleb an' he 
seemed sat'sfied. Jest about that 
time an uncle o' Caleb's left him a 
little money, so father did n't take on 
quite so hard 'bout my marryin' him. 
We bought a farm over ter Gayville, 
an' we 've allers lived comf table. 

"Now I a'n't 'fraid o' critters, 
leastways not them as is decent, but 
b'fore that daj' we wus married, I 'd 
jest hated that jumpin' brindle cow o' 
father's, she wus so ugly. Howsome- 
ever, after that I felt so grateful, 
under Providence, to that cow, that 
when we wus stockin' the farm at 
Gayville, I says to Caleb one day, 
says I, ' Don't ye think, Caleb, as a 
sort o' thank-off 'rin, 'twould be a good 
thing fer us ter keep an' care fer one 
o' them contr'y critters? ' An' Caleb 
(we had n't been married but two 
months) says, 'A fust-rate plan, 
Betty, an' we might keep a wasp-nest, 
too ! ' 'A wasp-nest? ' says I, ' What 
do ye mean ? ' ' What do ye s'pose 
made old brindle go bellerin' 'round 
the barn-yard that day, an' jump inter 



Trace Skinner's pertater patch ? ' 'I 
never knew,' says I. ' Well,' says 
he, ' when I went ter the barn that 
night I found the big wasp-nest over 
the double doors all smashed up ; an' 
the wasps must 'a' stung old brindle 
ter make her tear 'round so wild.' 
' But how could the nest have got 
tor'ed up?' says I, inn'cent like. 
Caleb laughed, an' says he, ' How do 
I know ? ' Then he kissed me. 

" Now ye know why we 've allers 
had a jumpin' cow. Some folks would 
think 't wus dretful foolish, I s'pose, 
but when I think o' the life Trac}- 
Skinner 's led the girl he did marry, 
I 'm ready ter have Caleb keep a 
whole herd o' jumpers, I 'm that 
grateful over 'scapin' sech a marc5\" 

The tall, old-fashioned clock in the 
kitchen struck nine. For a minute 
longer I sat on the porch in amazed 
silence. That placid Aunt Betsy 
should be the heroine of such an es- 
capade seemed incredible. Then, 
realizing that nine was the bedtime 
of the Carey family, I pressed a good- 

night kiss on the fat cheek of my 
hostess, and, with thanks for her 
story, hurried up the path to the big 
stone house. As I passed a little 
vine-covered arbor on the lawn, I 
heard Mildred's voice sajdng, — "If 
Winifred was not so grieved over our 
marriage, Hugh, I should be per- 
fectly happy." I went softly in at 
the arbor door. "O Mildred," I 
cried, " you shall be perfectly happy ! 
I won't be grieved any more ! " Then 
my hand crept into Hugh's. ' ' Please 
forgive me, dear Hugh ; I 've been so 
horrid, but I '11 be good now, and I 
won't pray for any brindle cow to 
stop the ceremony." " Why, little sis- 
ter, what do you mean?" he said, 
drawing me closer for his first broth- 
erly kiss. And sitting by Hugh's 
side, with his arm around me, and 
one hand clasped in those of my beau- 
tiful Mildred, while the moonbeams, 
stealing through the openings of lat- 
tice and vine, wrought magic patterns 
on the arbor floor, I told them Aunt 
Betsy's story. 


By George Bancroft Griffith. 

We bring a smile the face to cheer 
Where only rests a burning tear ; 
We speak, in sympathy and love, 
One little word some couch above. 
Where one in patient anguish lies. 
And rapture fills those sunken ej-es ; 
We breathe a prayer with holy zeal, 
And other hearts its influence feel. 

Ah, no one lives who may not bring 
To God a welcome offering ! 
Or ma}' not be a power for good, 
B}' men and angels understood ! 


[Illustrated from photographs b}' Mr. and Mrs. T. E. M. White, North Conway, N. H.] 
By Mrs. EUcn McRoberts Mason. 

g^F the thousands that come 
to North Conway dur- 
ing the summer months, 
there are few indeed 
who go away without 
having seen the beautiful and grand 
sights "across the river." The love- 
ly little Echo lake down at the foot of 
the purple granite cliff, like a spark- 
ling gem set in emerald woods ; the 
tremendous, sheer precipices of the 
Cathedral rocks, the symmetrical, 
harmonious, natural Cathedral, nobly 
proportioned and satisfying to the 
sense of beauty, carved by the Mas- 
ter-hand out of the .solid rock of the 
mountain, the exquisite cascades of 
Diana's Baths, — all these are sure to 
be gazed upon and delighted in. But 
further along the same highway from 

which the roads branch off to the 
west to these famous places, it is .still 
beautiful and attractive. 

Another tremendous, bold, wooded 
cliff, "Humphrey's Ledge," rises 
further to the north. The pine- 
wooded road that skirts its base is 
delightful. Vast beds of great brakes 
form a low though luxuriant under- 
growth, and their .spicy odor is min- 
gled with the smell of the pines. It 
is truly the breath of the forest you 
inhale. But there is no noticeable 
variety until one comes to a part of 
the road wdiere, looking easterty, 
down the high bank, a peaceful, 
level field can be seen through the 
leafy screen of the hard-wood growth 
that borders the road and bank there. 
A few steps further on it looks as 

Humphrey's Ledge and the Saco. 



Study of Lady Blanche Wlurpny as She Left It. 

though the road must bring up 
against the purplish towering rock- 
form of the cHff. Here, all at once 
and just in time, it seems, to save you 
from disaster, it dips down deep into 
a sweet little hollow^ where a huge, 
dying oak stands in the little gulf 
close on your right, along with the 
thick undergrowth, and on the other 
side of the hollow and at its further 
boundar>^ there is a great living oak 
that grows in a way w^holly its own. 
Back a little further to the left is the 
cliff that you have but barel}' escaped. 
On up the rise be^'ond the hollow 
there is a little house, brown and soft 
colored, as rains and weather change 
houses to a soft-tinted brown. It is 
of one story, and long and rambling, 
and there is a deep baj^-window in it. 
The fence along the front, and the 
gateway, are odd and pretty, made of 
the smaller branches of trees with the 
bark left on. 

There is a willow hedge that leads 
up to the door, and young willows 
are growing in clumps in the yard 
above and below it. White musk 
roses grow there, too, and pinks and 
sweet Williams bloom in the shade of 
the hedge. The grand and beautiful 
Humphrey's Ledge rises sheer more 
than four hundred feet, just in front 
of the little low house, shutting out 
the western sk}-. It is dark there 
before four o'clock of a winter after- 
noon. At the rear of the house and 
northward is the pretty field. Here 
was once the home of Lady Blanche 
Murphy, the authoress, and the eld- 
est daughter of the Earl of Gains- 
borough, and here she died. 

It is a romantic storj-. The earl- 
dom of Gainsborough belongs to the 
proudest aristocracy in the kingdom 
of Great Britain. The faniil}' name 
is Noel. The founder of the family 
Noel, with Celestria, his wife, was 


among the nobles who entered Eng- 
land with WilHam the Norman. 
That king granted him vast estates 
for his services. Many of his de- 
scendants were men of distinction. 

Since 1682 the Noel family have 
possessed the title, but it is within a 
century that it has passed to the 
present branch. The father of Lady 
Blanche was the second Earl of 
Gainsborough, and her mother, who 
died before she was twent>' years of 

proved ten times more powerful, — 
great talent. Ead)^ Blanche, from 
her interest in the chapel music, was 
brought daily in contact with the or- 
ganist. In the most natural and sim- 
ple way it came about that after ser- 
vice was over and the rest of the fam- 
ily had left the chapel, she would re- 
main to practice the music with him. 
It is nothing strange that in the 
hours spent singing together after 
matins or vespers, the glad young 


The Ljdy Blanche Murphy Place, from the Hign Road. 

age, was Eady Augusta, the eldest 
daughter of the Earl of Errol. The 
Noel family estate is in Rutlandshire, 

The late Earl of Gainsborough was 
a Roman Catholic and had a private 
chapel at Exton Hall, his place in 
Rutlandshire, in which mass was cel- 
ebrated daily. One day there came 
to the manor, as organist, a winsome 
and fascinating young Irishman, — 
plain, untitled Mr. Thomas P. Mur- 
-phy. But in place of title, the young 
musician possessed what is much 
better, and what in this instance 

voices pouring through the chapel 
windows, making the old woods ring, 
it w^as not strange that the young, 
enthusiastic Lady Blanche and the 
impulsive 5'oung organist fell in love 
with each other. 

The marriage followed — a true 
love-match in an environment of old- 
world traditions and all the fixed and 
cruel prejudices of rank and high 
birth. The course the Earl of Gains- 
borough adopted on his daughter's 
marrying is shown by a quotation 
from a letter written to him by Car- 
dinal Manning, and published in The 



Catholic JVor/d of October, 1881, six 
months after Lady Blanche's death : 
"Then came her marriage, the cir- 
cumstances of which I then partly 
knew, and now more fully. It seems 
to me to have been the working out 
of the same turn of character. Your 
conduct at that time must be a great 
consolation now, for 3'ou showed sig- 
nally a father's prudence till 3'ou 
were assured of what her happiness 
required, and a father's love in sane- 

Lady Blanche Murphy : the name 
does not suggest a thought of the 
eldest daughter of the Karl of Gains- 
borough, the proud possessor of a 
long name and a fine sounding title, 
but brings back a vision of a graceful 
little figure wrapped in a gray water- 
proof, walking with quick, elastic 
step, a fresh, ros}^ face, fair as a 
flower, framed in thick, golden-brown 
hair, Lady Blanche as I first saw 
her on the sidewalk at North Con- 

Boulder and Maples, near the Lady Blanche Murphy House. 

tioning her marriage, with your con- 
sent, from your residence. The lov- 
ing and close correspondence which 
still united her to you, and you to her, 
when she left you, was worthy of both." 
After their marriage the 3'oung 
couple came to New York. Lady 
Blanche entered the field of litera- 
ture, and Mr. Murphy took the posi- 
tion of organist at New Rochelle. In 
1875 the}^ came to North Conway. 
At that time the Rev. Frederick 
Thompson had a boys' school at the 
Three Elms and Mr. Murphy taught 
music there. 

way, one rainy day in the autumn of 


She was an ardent lover of nature, 

and delighted in the grand scener>^ of 
North Conway and its vicinity ; and 
so it came about that after the time 
of Mr. Murphy's teaching in the 
school had expired, though they 
went away for a little while, they 
soon returned to stay. 

Her life here was simple and sweet 
and brave and industrious. While 
doing a great deal of writing for the 
Atlantic^ Scribiier' s Monthly, The Gal- 
axy, The Catholic Review, The Cath- 



olic World, and also for Knglisli mag- 
azines, she yet did most of her house- 
work, and, with it all, she remem- 
bered the poor, the little children, 
all to whom she could give comfort 
or pleasure. Her interest in the 
dwellers of the mountain valley w^as 
just as real as her love of the scenery, 
and that was intense ; so making 
petticoats for babies who needed 
them, giving Christmas gifts to her 
poorest neighbors, or cooking dinners 
for children was just as much an out- 
come, a manifestation, an expression 
of her genuine self, as were the long 
walks she made, the botanizing ex- 
peditions, the hours she passed in 
the open air and in the woods. Her 
life here showed forth that same 
spirit that Cardinal Manning bore 
witness to when he wrote : ' ' The 
love of the people at Exton toward 
her expresses what I mean in saying 
that her heart and sympathies were 
always with the poor, wnth their 
homes and with their state." 

She was always modest, almost 
shy, in the good she did. She made 
many plans for future good works 
in which some other person should 
seem to be taking the lead, while 
she, really the originator and chief 
worker, "would help all she could." 
Her conscientiousness in little acts, 
in the little things which tell what 
a person's real character is, was per- 
haps her strongest quality ; and she 
seemed always sturdily content and 
practical, and always merry in mak- 
ing the best of things. 

lyady Blanche had a rather striking 
face, the features irregular, the coun- 
tenance expressive, with the greatest 
beauty in the winsome, sweet smile 
of her mouth. Her skin was beau- 
tiful, the cheeks the fresh, deep pink 

of the trailing arbutus, and she had 
a handsome head. 

If she had lived, the benefit of her 
presence would have been felt in the 
years that were to come. But it was 
not to be. In the March of 1881, 
she took a violent cold that readily 
developed into an acute and fatal 
malady. She was ill only four days, 
and then, full of life and hope, never 
thinking of death, her words and 
thoughts the very last night of her 
life words and thoughts of kindness 
and loving care for others, she died. 
She was only thirty-five years old, 
in the full prime of remarkable intel- 
lectual vigor, and her success as a 
writer was steadily increasing. 

The Earl of Gainsborough said, in 
a letter to the present writer : ' ' She 
was a remarkable character, a genius, 
but one of a practical and solid dis- 
position rarely to be met with ; a 
noble woman, as 3^ou truly say, — a 
daughter I am proud of. In a letter 
written eight years ago, she wrote of 
her determination to carry out her 
pet schemes, and hoped she should 
do nothing that I should not be 
proud of. She succeeded. 
I believe she will be remembered by 
you all as long as you live, and that 
her influence for good will be felt, 
and her bravery, industry, and hero- 
ism be a constant encouragement in 
long years and trials to come." 

William Dean Ho wells, who was 
the editor of the Atlaiitic at the time 
Eady Blanche made her first contri- 
butions to literature, and who did 
much to help and encourage her, in 
speaking to the writer of this sketch 
of Eady Blanche's intellectual habit 
and acumen, said, "She had the 
most analytical mind of any woman 
I have ever known." 



Humphrey's Ledge and Lady Blanche Murphy's Home. 

She had not lived all the five j^ears 
in her pretty house under the shelter 
of the Humphrey's Ledge, but she 
had looked forward to owning her 
own home in the midst of the lovely 
scenery she so delighted in, and the 
last summer of her life she bought 
the farm at the foot of the ledge, and 
remodelled the house she meant to 
be her ideal home. 

She sleeps now beside her mother 
at Exton, in far-off England, but her 
memory blooms in the peaceful glen 
as the few lonely flowers bloom be- 
fore the house from which her bright 
presence is gone. 

The Earl of Gainsborough lived 
but a few^ j-ears after the loss of his 
daughter, but while he did live his 
son-in-law, Mr. Murphy, was the re- 
cipient of an annuity from him. After 
Eady Blanche's death, her husband 
lived with friends in the village, rare- 
ly going to the Humphrey's Ledge 

farm, that recalled his irreparable 
loss. No other woman took Lady 
Blanche's place in his heart; he re- 
vered her memory with a loyalty rare 
among men. 

His death also was very sudden. 
In August, 1890, he went on a pleas- 
ure trip to Maine ; after a while he 
drifted to Boston, in the meanwhile 
having contracted an illness of which 
he died in a few daj's. He had done 
much to cultivate a taste for classical 
music in North Conway, and for his 
warm heart and genial ways, was 
rarely loved. 

A memorial service was held for 
him in Christ Church, where he w'as 
wont on Sundays to draw such strains 
from the poor, little reed organ as 
almost persuaded the rapt congrega- 
tion that they were listening to celes- 
tial music w^afted from the shores of 
the heavenly land. 


By H. H. Metcalf. 

shire is generally classed 
as a manufacturing state, 
agriculture still main- 
tains its position as the 
leading industry pursued by its pop- 
ulation, a greater number of its peo- 
ple being engaged therein than in 
any other occupation. 

Three representatives of different 
types of .sturdy manhood, embraced 
among the tillers of the soil in the 
Granite State, are briefly sketched in 
this article : 


Among the largest landholders, 
best representative farmers, and most 
influential citizens of the county of 
Sullivan is Charles McDaniel of 
Springfield, a native of that town, 
born July 22, 1835, a son of James 
McDaniel who occupied the old 
homestead whereon his grandfather, 
of the same name, a descendant of 
the Scotch McDaniels of the north of 
Ireland, had originally settled in the 
latter part of the last century. Grow- 
ing up on the farm, and thoroughly 
accustomed to its labors in all direc- 
tions, the young man, like many 
another farmer's son, had a taste for 
mental as well as physical culture, 
and sought instruction beyond that 
attainable in the district school, which 
he secured by attendance at the acad- 
emies in Andover, New Eondon, and 

Canaan, and himself engaged in 
teaching, one or more terms per year, 
from the age of eighteen until nearl}^ 
forty, making his home with his 
father meanwhile, and devoting a 
portion of the time to farm labor, 
until, upon his father's decease, he 
purchased the interest of the other 
heirs in the place, and assumed the 
full management thereof, with which 
he has since been mainly occupied. 

The farm, which is located in the 
western portion of Springfield, has 
been largely increa.sed in extent 
under the present owner, and now 
embraces about eight hundred acres 
of land, of which about one hundred 
and fifty is in mowing and tillage, 
and the remainder in pasture and 
woodland. Aside from the home 
farm, however, Mr. McDaniel has 
about four hundred acres of outland, 
a considerable proportion of which is 
in the town of Grantham. Mixed 
farming is pursued, with dairying as 
the leading feature at present. An 
average crop of about one hundred 
and twenty-five tons of hay, supple- 
mented by ensilage from a seventy- 
five ton silo, furnishes winter sub- 
sistence for the stock, consisting of 
some fift)' head of neat cattle, one 
hundred sheep, and half a dozen 
horses. From fifteen to twenty cows 
are kept, butter being supplied to 
private customers, and the balance of 
cream sold to the Sullivan Creamery, 
at Grantham. 



111 politics Mr. McDaniel is a Dem- 
ocrat, and has been mucli in public 
life, having been elected a member 
of the board of selectmen, and an 
overseer of the poor in 1862, and 
having since served repeatedly as 
chairman of the board, also as town 
treasurer and school committee. He 

3'ears past has been a trustee of the 
New Hampshire College of Agricul- 
ture and the Mechanic Arts, devot- 
ing much attention to the interests 
of the institution during the period 
covering its removal to, and estab- 
lishment at, Durham. In 1895 he 
was appointed by Governor Busiel a 

Hon. Cnarles McDaniel. 

represented Springfield in the legis- 
lature of 1868, and again in 1891, 
when he was an active member of 
the committee on agriculture. He 
has also been voted for by his 
party for important county offices, 
and was the Democratic candidate 
for congress in the second district in 
1894. He was for six years a mem- 
ber of the state board of agriculture 
for Sullivan county, and for eight 

member of the State Board of Equal- 

In the order of Patrons of Hus- 
bandry no man in New Hampshire 
is better known, or more highly es- 
teemed, than Mr. McDaniel. He 
was long master, and is at present 
secretar>^ of Montcalm Grange, En- 
field Centre ; was the first master of 
Mascoma Valley Pomona Grange ; 
three 3'ears overseer, and five j-ears 



master of the vState Grange, also 
member and secretary of its execu- 
tive committee, and chaplain of the 
National Grange from 1891 to 1893. 
Mr. McDaniel is a member of vSo- 
cial Lodge, F. and A. M. of Knfield, 
and of the Chapter of the Taberna- 
cle, Royal Arch Masons. In religion 
he is a Universalist. May 31, 1862, 
he was united in marriage with Miss 
Amanda ]\I. Quimby of Springfield. 
They have had five children, but one 
of whom survives, Cora, a graduate 
of the New Hampshire State Normal 
school, for several j^ears a teacher, 
and now the wife of P. S. Currier of 


Sullivan is one of the small rural 
towns of Cheshire county, its popula- 
tion being almost entirely devoted to 
agricultural pursuits, and including 
in their numbers a fair proportion of 
thrifty and prosperous farmers who 
rank among the substantial citizens 
of the county. One of the best known 

Samuel S. White. 

of these is Samuel S. White, a son of 
George and Lavina ( Ellis ) White, 
who was born vSeptember 18, 1850, 
on the farm which he now occupies 
and which has been in possession of 
the family since its original settle- 

Mr. White was educated in the 
public schools of the town, and at 
Springfield, \'t., and has always had 
his home in Sullivan. September 18, 
1873, he was united in marriage with 
Miss Frances A. Locke, daughter of 
John Locke of Sullivan. They have 
one son, Winfred J. Another son, 
Charles E., died at the age of three 

The farm embraces about four hun- 
dred acres of land altogether, about 
fifty acres in mowing and tillage and 
the balance in pasture and woodland. 
The hay crop averages from fifty to 
sixty tons per annum, and several 
acres of corn are usually planted. 
The stock consists of about twenty 
head of cattle, four horses, and thirty- 
five sheep. The cattle are largely 
cows, and milk production is a lead- 
ing feature of the farm business, the 
same being sold to the Whitings at 
the station in Keene, eight miles dis- 
tant. Another important item is the 
maple sugar product, which has 
amounted in some seasons to 3,000 
pounds, twelve hundred trees being 
tapped. There is also a large apple 
orchard on the farm, the product of 
which reaches 1,000 bushels in good 
bearing years. 

Mr. White is an interested and ac- 
tive working member of the order, 
Patrons of Husbandr}', having joined 
Ashuelot Grange, of Gilsum, in June, 
1890, and given no little time and 
effort to promote the success of the 
organization, believing it to be an 



effective agency for advancing the 
interests of the farmer and his family 
in every community where it is es- 
tablished. He has served several 
years as chorister, has filled the sta- 
tions of steward and overseer respec- 
tively, and was master for two terms 
— in 1894 and 1895. He is also a 
member of Cheshire County Pomona 
Grange ; has taken much interest in 
its work, and attended its sessions as 
generally as circumstances would 
allow. He received the seventh de- 
gree of the order at the session of the 
National Grange in Concord, in No- 
vember, 1893. Mr. White is a Dem- 
ocrat in politics, and a member of 
the Congregational church, for which 
he was organist twenty 3'ears, and 
ten years superintendent of the Sun- 
day school. 


While from our New Hampshire 
farms there have gone out no small 
proportion of the young men who 
have become leaders and workers in 
ever}' department of human activity- 
in all sections of the Union, there are, 
fortunately, manj^ who remain faith- 
ful to the calling of their fathers, con- 
tent to cultivate the soil and develop 
their own manhood in our rural com- 
munities. A fair representative of 
this class of young men, upon whom 
the future prosperity of the state so 
largely depends, is Herbert L. Brown 
of Canterbury. 

Mr. Brown is a native of the town 
in which he resides, born March 20, 
1867, the only child of Albert and 
Ellen (Iveighton) Brown. His father 
is a native of Northfield, and the eld- 
est son of Samuel B. Brown, who, 
with his father, Abram, were among 
the most prominent men of their day 

Herbert L. Brown. 

in the community. His mother is a 
native of Franklin, and the only child 
of Thomas and Eliza (Sanborn) 
Leighton, being a descendant of the 
Cloughs and Fosters, two prominent 
families, Abial Foster being the first 
representative to congress from New 
Hampshire, and several times re- 
turned to that body. Three of his 
ancestors were in the Revolutionar)' 
War, and one in the War of 18 12, 
while his father was a soldier in the 
late Civil War. 

Mr. Brown believes in the policy of 
mixed farming, regarding it as safer 
and more profitable than to devote all 
his time and efforts to a single branch. 
The farm consists of three hundred 
acres of land, fifty being natural 
mowing, and cuts eighty tons of hay. 
In 1895 he raised seven hundred 
bushels of corn. He keeps from 
twenty to twent^'-five cows, and sells 
the milk for the Boston market. He 
has been quite successful in raising 
and training colts, among them 
Homer Wilkes, 2:29; Speedwell, 



2:18, and a large number of fine road 

Mr. Brown is a member of Ivzekiel 
Webster Grange No. 94 of Boscawen, 
and has filled many of the chairs, be- 
ing overseer fonr j-ears, and master 
in 1 895-' 96. He was also elected 
assistant steward of Merrimack 
County Pomona Grange No. 3, in 

December, 1895. In politics he is a 
Democrat, and has been two years a 
member of the Canterbury board of 
selectmen. He is interested in the 
temperance cause, being chief temp- 
lar of Boscawen Lodge of Good 
Templars No. 127, and is always 
read}^ to aid in au}^ good cause or 


By Satiiuel Hoyt. 

A-down the high nave flow along 
The liquid measures of her song. 

The towering arches seem to wake 
To life and warmth for her sweet sake, 

And capital and architrave 
The ripples of her cadence lave. 

I list her voice, and know her heart 
Must tenderer be than all her art. 

Alas ! no gifts to me belong 

To win this sweet-voiced queen of song. 

So I, an humble worshipper. 

Am humbler for the thought of her. 


By E. P. Tenney. 

ITH the keen analysis of 
mature years he could 
now discern that, as a 
child, he had a certain 
devotional feeling which 
grew out of temperament, and wdiich 
was absolutely separate from his life 

purpose. So he had been early de- 
ceived into believing that his religi- 
osity was religion. He remembered 
now with what eagerness he first dis- 
covered the political turn of the 
clergymen he had known, and his 
own final determination to keep clear 


of the cloth, and the preference he 
soon came to have of religious uncer- 
taint}' rather than the unthinking 
certainty of his child life. And he 
thought not without shame of those 
courses of life which first made him 
ashamed to pray, and of the eager- 
ness with which he hailed the notion 
that he might question his own per- 
sonal responsibility to a person for 
his dealings with persons on this 

And then John Levin looked at the 
weary waves, falling on the sands, 
then reluctantly rolling back into the 
unresting sea. 

"It is now three years," he said, 
"since I found something to love. 
Yester-night " — and he paused and 
wrung his hands and then pressed 
them to his temples — "Yester-night, 
I found something to reverence. My 
soul has long been haunted by 
another self, an evil nature, but I am 
myself capable of unselfish service, 
as of unselfish love. If ever any one 
tried to overcome his passions I am 
the man, — as to three years past. 
And now," he said, rising and look- 
ing far over the deep toward the 
horizon, "while I still retain the 
master}' hy will and reason, I will 
live for that which is beyond civiliz- 
ation, and beyond commerce, and 
beyond the reign of human law, — a 
life fitted to share that undying youth 
which I have seen embodied in the 
character of her whom I have loved 
and whom I now worship." 


Hearing an outcr}^ John Levin 
turned, and saw Mary Glasse lying 
upon the edge of a sharp bowlder, 
and Raymond Foote beginning to 
clamber down the ledge to rescue her. 

Mary, since Martha's early depart- 
ure that morning, had spent no small 
part of the hours in fishing upon the 
west side of the island. She had 
seen a strange sail come out from 
behind House Island, and make to 
the eastward ; but thinking nothing 
further about it, she had taken ad- 
vantage of the low tide by proceed- 
ing to fish for lobsters with a stick. 
Raj-mond Foote had seen Mar>' from 
the Graves' farmland, where it came 
to the brink of the sand cliff behind 
the beach, and when he saw a small 
craft at anchor in the lee of the island, 
and a boat drawn upon the sands, 
he walked over the sand-spit, which 
was bare at low tide, so crossing to 
to the island, lest some stranger be 
there to Mary's annoyance. 

Mar\", suspecting Raymond's intent 
to cross the sand-spit when she first 
saw him on the beach, and not see- 
ing the boat upon the other side of 
the island, — gathered up her belong- 
ings and slowly made her way toward 
the east side over the height, think- 
ing to enter the ravine where John 
Levin was. Reaching the margin she 
saw him ; and through surprise at 
this, and the thought flashing through 
her mind that Raymond Foote could 
not be far away and that John Levin 
must inevitably see him, she made a 
misstep, and fell. 

When John Levin heard Mar3''s 
outcry, and saw her, and knew it to 
be her, and saw Ra5'mond, he struck 
his hand to his temple. There had 
been a sudden report in his head, — 
as if a pistol shot. After a moment, 
he went toward Mary. 

Rajanond Foote retired upon see- 
ing Mr. Levin's approach ; and Mary 
straightway felt tender arms uplifting 
and bearing her, but heard no voice. 


When John lycvin had signalled to 
his skipper to come on shore the 
wounded girl was given into his 
charge, to carry her wherever she 
would go. Mary Glasse, the wind 
favoring, directed the skipper to 
round the cape, and land her upon 
the great island off the marshes of 
Chebacco river ; where she would be 
hospitably entertained and cared for. 

John Levin did not speak to Mary. 
Nor did she speak to him ; but her 
face was so pale that he almost 
believed that she had appeared from 
the realms of the dead. After watch- 
ing the craft, with its precious freight, 
disappear around Eastern Point, John 
Levin walked alone to his office in 
Salem. Whatever might betide his 
future, he had now something to live 
for besides a good resolution. 

But concerning the first thing he 
should do, he had so much electric 
force about him that he hesitated no 
more than the lightning. 


The next morning Raymond Foote 
was arrested upon the charge of 
witchcraft. It was no act of insanity 
which prompted John Levin to do 
this, even if his morbid jealousy led 
him to fail in perception. His recent 
arrival had not, perhaps, made it 
clear to him that a reaction in public 
sentiment had really set in, and that 
influential persons had begun to say, 
that now since one clergyman had 
been executed, and now that prom- 
inent merchants were being accused, 
and even the governor's wife, it was 
time to call a halt. 

Even the Widow Angelica ex- 
pressed surprise that Mr. Levin did 
not know better than to arrest his 
rival upon such a charge. And she 

went to the jail, and astonished Raj^- 
niond h'oote by singing in no very 
sweet voice under his window. The 
widow knew it to be the proper 
thing to sing at jail windows. Upon 
hearing her voice, indescribable emo- 
tions filled the breast of the impris- 
oned pastor, and he at once hired 
Sheriff Ross, who was just then occu- 
pying a room with Keeper Hodgman, 
to go out and acknowledge the com- 
pliment and stop the performance. 
The major .soon came back with 
beaming countenance, and hilariously 
returned the shilling to Mr. Foote, 
with the report that the affecting 
song had been intended for himself. 
And he said, moreover, that the 
widow felt rather solemn lest the 
minister suffer the extreme penalty 
of the law. He also said that Mrs. 
Adipose stated that she heard that 
the negro Moses, who resided on a 
rocky hill between the old road to 
Chebacco and the swamp road to 
Chebacco ponds — a wicked witch 
capable of all ill — was to be arrested 
and arraigned with the minister, 
and that it was no more than he 

On the rst of August the trial 
came off, Mr. Levin appearing as 
counsel against the prisoner. It was 
not generally known that the law- 
yer's health had been affected, and 
he was now at the height of his influ- 
ence as a public man. His will in 
the colony had never been success- 
full}^ opposed b}^ others. What he 
willed he did. Popular expectation 
ran high when he came to the court- 
room. If he had changed, he still 
had the eyes of a haw^k ; and the fas- 
cination of his presence had never 
been greater than at this hour. In 
the crowd outside, as he approached, 



quaint old songs of far-off shores 
were silenced, and the only discord- 
ant voice was that of Tom Wimble- 
ton, — " Make way, ni}- hearties ; here 
comes the devil's chaplain." 

Under the excitement of the occa- 
sion, it could not be suspected that 
John Levin's life-forces (possibl}^ b}' 
physical changes in-working) were 
swinging away from the highest rea- 
son. In his address he spoke with 
great econom}^ of gesture, and with 
such sententiousness that he seemed 
to pack a sentence into a word. He 
spoke in a quiet conversational tone, 
in clear accent, and he carefully 
avoided sajdng anything which was 
calculated to give offence. He re- 
frained from extravagant statement, 
and what he said was so plausible 
that it was difficult not to acquiesce 
in it. He availed himself of the pop- 
ular superstitions, and stood coldly 
for the letter of the English law and 
for antique custom, declaring that 
the honor of the state and of the 
church were at stake. 

His remarks being somewhat ex- 
tended, Raymond Foote thought he 
would take a nap : coming as he did 
from an ancestry of .ship-masters who 
watched or slept as occasion might 
serve, he could easil}- sleep or not 

The serenity of Mr. Levin's self- 
confidence was not easily disturbed, 
but when he saw the prisoner sound 
asleep, he felt a recurrence of the 
singular snapping sensation in his 
head. x\nd he resolved to say some- 
thing that would wake him up. His 
clear-cut, cold face took on slight 
color, as he paused, then said with 
dignified manner, and in decided, 
thrilling tones, " May it please the 
Court, I have known the prisoner at 

the bar, eg^ and bird, and he has, to 
my personal knowledge " 

At this point the outer door opened, 
and Mary Glasse came in. There 
was at once a sharp outcry on the 
part of many in the audience, who 
thought that her face, rigid as ice, 
was that of the dead. It was com- 
monly believed that her bod}^ had 
been buried under the gallows. 

John Levin raised his right hand 
to his temple ; then, with slow and 
stately step, threaded his way through 
the crowd, and left the court. It was 
then remembered by some that there 
had been a report before John Levin's 
last voyage to England that he had 
gone daft for love of Mary Glasse. 


In no act of his life, however, was 
John Levin more sane than in what 
he did the next day. 

After learning that the royal gov- 
ernor, who had been called home, 
had pardoned all those condemned 
for witchcraft, and released all who 
were awaiting trial, Mr. Levin took 
Major Ross to the Great Hill be- 
tween Black Cove and what is now 
the high road on the north, and pre- 
sented him with an eligible house 
site, upon condition that he should, 
within ten daj-s, in his own place and 
stead, marry the Widow Adipose. 

The major took the land with the 
encumbrance on it ; and John Levin 
sent word b}* his office boy to the 
widow to make ready. The major 
dieted by abstaining from water and 
from sugar in his rum ; and became as 
thin as he could in the time allowed, 
the better to personate the spare law- 
yer. The marriage was at the Old 
Ship Tavern, kept by John Gederly. 
The widow had been warned bv the 


boy that the bridegroom was slightly 
intoxicated — by joy; and that he 
imagined himself to be Ross, and 
that in his voice he sought to imi- 
tate that of the major. Brother Pep- 
per performed the ceremony. 

The house site was that afterwards 
occupied b}- Ruggles upon the south 
side of the hill. It stood upon good 
soil now UvSed for a nursery ; and the 
garden spot selected by John I^evin 
was a sheltered area just below an 
abrupt ledge, falling off near the 
water. Here the oily and shining 
bride spent no small part of her 
honeymoon with the major, gazing 
upon the sleepy tranquility of the 

It must not be imagined, however, 
that John L^evin spent any considera- 
ble part of his time in playing prac- 
tical and wholesome jokes, or even 
in those eccentricities which were 
popularly attributed to him during 
the forty days in which his natal star, 
Sirius, blended its scorching heat 
with that of the sun. He was too 
busy a man, too cool-headed as to 
making money ; so that the business 
machine went crushing on even in 
dog days. But his multifarious af- 
fairs went like clock work, requiring 
little of his personal attention. The 
anecdotes of his oddities, in these 
days, comprise merely his rowing up 
and down Bass River in a dug-out on 
Sunday, with an immense dog sitting 
upright in the stern ; and his riding 
horseback at breakneck pace in the 
night, leaping turnpike gates or farm 

The gossips who said that Mr. 
Levin had lost his head, little knew 
what they were talking about. A 
physician may recognize many indi- 
cations of an abnormal mental state 

in one whom the law holds responsi- 
ble for his actions. Insanity is es- 
sentially loss of self-control by men- 
tal derangement. As it is hard to 
discern the gradations between heat 
and cold, so it is difficult to distin- 
guish between medical and legal, un- 
soundness of mind. One is legally 
insane who has so lost restraint over 
himself in his relations to others that 
he is liable to inflict serious injury to 
person or property ; but he may be 
medically insane, when his power to 
govern himself effects injury to others 
so little, as to call for no restraint by 
law, — or when his erratic actions are 
whimsical and harmless. John Levin 
was never legally insane, and medi- 
cally he was as sound as multitudes 
of business men whose oddities and 
partial loss of self control never lead 
them to the mad-house. Indeed, 
medical experts look upon a man 
wholly sane as a rara avis. Mr. 
Levin's business affairs were never 
conducted with more skill than at 
this hour. 

If it were to be said that insanity 
consists in a confusion of the faculty 
of instituting just comparisons, the 
definition would sweep the streets 
into Bedlam ; and even if it be said 
that insanity is essentially the loss 
of the facult}' to command attention, 
or to dismiss unwholesome tlK)ughts 
from the mind, the greater part of 
mankind woiild be convicted. John 
Levin had nothing morbid about 
him, nor did he misjudge as to busi- 
ness ; and as to moral relations his 
ideas were probably more correct in 
those days than they had been for 
years. Still, he had, during this 
month of August, unwonted sensa- 
tions ; whether or not they would be 
called hallucinations, by a phj^sician. 



They ma}' have been so, arising from 
purely physical causes, harmless but 

He heard the husky voices of some 
long since dead ; the voices of those 
who had been victims of his own 
vices, and of his mercantile injustice, 
and his greed in human traffic. They 
were calling down hosts of spirits to 
curse him ; and their wings he could 
hear whirring over his head. 

These may have been merely hal- 
lucinations of sound, arising from in- 
flammation of the internal ear ; auric- 
ular delirium caused b}' some for- 
eign substance accidentally intro- 
duced, w^hich leads the patient to hear 
mj'sterious melodies, to be haunted 
by the songs of his childhood, or by 
the roar of some mountain torrent he 
once heard. Sometimes John Levin 
heard the voices of his enemies alive 
or dead, at his right ear, reproach- 
ing, threatening, insulting, exasper- 
ating ; and at his left ear the endear- 
ments of his mother, flattering and 
arousing his ambition, or the cheer- 
ing, electrifying voice of Mary Glasse. 

He almost made up his mind one 
night to have his garden dug up to 
find the singers below the soil, and 
to have his office floor removed 
to discover his enemies. Once he 
thought to burn the building, and 
once to bu}- up and destroy contigu- 
ous dwellings, from which the voices 
came by day and by night. 

Now all this was entirely consist- 
ent with sanit}' ; as Doctor Johnson 
once believed that he heard his dead 
mother calling to him from out the 
world of shades, "Sam! Sam!" — 
and as a noted and ver}^ learned crim- 
inal, awaiting execution in sight of 
Harvard College, complained that 
his fellow prisoners insulted him by 

screaming through the walls, "You 
are a bloody man ! " So it is possi- 
ble that what John Levin heard was 
the voice of an awakened conscience. 


One day, a little before the Dog 
Star was to resume his nightly watch, 
so ceasing to vex the days, John 
Levin crossed the still waters of the 
harbor in an Indian birch to Eagle 
island, a small crag rising out of the 
sea with a scant beach at low water. 
He had discerned that a storm was 
brewing. And here he was kept sev- 
eral days by rising wind and wave, 
like Prometheus chained to his rock. 
And there, amid the confusion and 
tumult of the deep, he tried to lose 
those sounds which had sometimes 
made him sleepless. With the sea 
bounding over distant reefs, and with 
his crags jutting out of the sea now 
changed to intermittent fountains, 
and often lost in a cloud of spray ; 
and wnth the curling waves rising in 
heavy masses to break at his feet, — 
he coolly reflected upon the nature 
of those hallucinations which have so 
powerful a tendency to derange the 

And he came to the conclusion 
that he had been for many years out 
of his right mind, that his ambition, 
his will, his pride, his selfish disre- 
gard of the good of others, had 
unhinged his highest reason ; that 
the confusion as to his personal iden- 
tity which he had fostered, in order 
to escape personal responsibilit}- to a 
person for his conduct toward per- 
sons, was an index of insanit}', the 
vagar}' of a mind essentially unset- 

And then he remembered how 
often upon this rock he had spent 


the night upon his back, hearing 
only the sea ; and seeing only the 
.stars, or the moon climbing the skies, 
or the clouds shaken out like curtains 
by the wind; and how often, here, 
he had tried to imagine himself — as 
an expression of the infinites-person- 
ating a sea gull, or perhaps a breath 
from the ocean pulsating around the 

By voices and clarified vision out 
of the unseen, John L,evin came now 
to know that his soul needed to be 
assailed for sins in speech, and in 
trade, quite as much as for those 
deemed more gross. 

Once the thought occurred to him 
whether the vow he made to worship 
Mary Glasse when he believed her to 
be dead, and to become of like spirit 
with her, might not be accepted by 
powers divine, so that they would 
recant and no longer forbid her to 
marry him. But deep so called unto 
deep in its revelation of his moral 
unfitness to associate with finite or 
infinite purity, that his own moral 
indignation was aroused against him- 
self ; and he said, " He who so long 
refused to be ruled by the rudder, 
must now be ruled by the rock." 

Then he reflected that life unend- 
ing w^as likely to inherit character 
from this life, as he himself had in- 
herited disposition from his own an- 
cestry ; and that there could be no 
end of conscious dissatisfaction with 
himself and practical anarchy of his 
mental powers, so long as he re- 
mained in conscious opposition to 
the highest reason, — that sense of 
moral obligation in his relations to 
others, which demanded unselfish 
love and unselfish service toward all 
life, finite and infinite. And with 
sharp decision, he made then and 

there a self surrender to his own 
highest sense of obligation ; con- 
science in the univ^erse, conscience 
manifested to him by Mary Glasse, — 
and now recognized as that practical 
reason, infinite and personal, which 
rules the moral world. 

And this change of his own atti- 
tude toward moral truth led him in 
a moment to see it in a different 
light ; as one who has criticised the 
stained windows of a grand cathedral, 
by looking at them from the outside, 
sees at once their splendid harmony 
when he enters the door. So he 
came to himself, and found God ; 
within a voice divine, and, without, 
the Supreme Moral Governor of all 


The wild clouds had been shifting 
in obedience to the shifting wind ; 
and the deep rose tints in the east at 
sunrise had been followed by dark 
clouds all over the sk}^ except a 
white light near the horizon which 
glowed upon the tremulous sea east- 
ward. It was the sixth day of Sep- 
tember. The storm had left the sky 
still sultry, but the surf had so fallen 
that John lyevin could embark in his 
birch without swamping, and enter 
again upon the pathless sea. 

He knew that some of the neigh- 
bors had been for some time saying 
that John Levin was now possessed 
of the devil ; that Doctor Jay had 
told the school-master that now the 
lawyer- merchant had softening of the 
brain ; that Raymond Foote had 
noticed in him unwonted deeds of 
kindness, so that sundry poor people 
had blessed him ; that Mar}- Glasse 
believed his heart had softened, and 
that supernal spirits were preparing 



him to go hence, — mollih-ing his 
spiritual life before he should dwell 
in realms of light. And with almost 
a superstitious feeling in his heart 
that his life was mended and ended, 
he turned his prow toward Glasse 

Mary was standing there, under an 
oak, upon the 'height of the promen- 
tory above the harbor-mouth, look- 
ing out upon the sea, and listening to 
its discontent. The sun was coming 
out, and she saw a window in Salem 
gleam with reflected light. Then she 
saw John Levin paddling toward the 
Black Cove landing ; and she knew 
him afar, from the high color he 
always wore. And at the same mo- 
ment he caught sight of strong color 
under the oak tree. 

When he approached the head- 
land, Mary went to meet him, and 
stood upon a ledge which jutted into 
the water, and whose foot was cov- 
ered with rock-weed by the tide. 
John Levin saw Mar}^ Glasse stand- 
ing like a statue in her chiseled 
beauty. It was the radiance of her 
hair, that awoke in him the sense of 
reality ; and he sprang upon the rock 
to greet her. 

Mvsterious as that change which 
comes over the faces of our dead, 
between the flight of the spirit and 
our final separation from the precious 
dust, was the change which Mary 
Glasse now saw in John Levin. It 
seemed to her that his life must have 
been renewed from within, and that 
the features of childhood years had 
reproduced themselves. And j^et he 
looked so old, that a strange feeling 
flashed into the heart of Mary Glasse 
as she stood there face to face with 
John Levin. 

During the months that had gone 

by, since the cords were snapped 
that, from childhood, had bound her 
to Glasse Head, even though the 
powers of an unseen world had for- 
bidden her to marr}^ John Levin, yet 
in her homeless life she had been 
still drawn towards him ; as if to one 
much older than herself, or Raj^mond 
Foote, in the wisdom of getting on 
in the world. If at first she had 
loved him as a friend who might 
become his equal ; and if afterwards, 
when she knew him better, she had 
loved him as a mother an erring 
child, pitying him out of her great 
heart, — she now felt towards him as 
an affectionate child, relying on his 
love and trusting his better nature 
and larger wisdom developed b}' life's 
experiences. And she greeted him 
with a kiss ; and they sat together on 
the rock in the sunshine. 

" It is not meet, Mary," said John 
Levin after their noonday meal, 
"that I allude again to the question 
once settled upon this headland ; 
settled not by you, not by me, but by 
powers unknown. In some wa}^ that 
we do not understand, it is not fit, 
and I accept it. But the acceptance 
of it has made me an old man before 
my time. Nor is it now meet that we 
see each other often. It works upon 
me like madness, and it can do you 
no good. But I am grateful for your 
love toward me. 

"I said that I am old before my 
time, but I was old when you first 
saw me. My larger experience in 
life, as well as age, made me then 
look on you as I would on a child, a 
sweet-spirited, perfect child, so like 
me in essential life, save morally, 
that I loved you bej^ond reason, with 
a heart-bounding that would not be 
answerable to reason. This love has 


been the one element in my life, now 
for three years, that has led me little 
by little to my own higher self. 

" Perhaps," he added, "thiswasall 
that it was intended for, in counsels 
celestial. Be that as it may, if I ac- 
cept it, I cannot yet trust myself 
to speak of it." Mary's head was 
bowed ; and as John Levin rose to 
his feet, he placed his hand upon her 
head, and the tear drops fell as he 
kissed her forehead. Mary still sat 
with bowed head, nor did she look 
up until he was out of sight. 


Turning his thoughts, by an effort 
of his will, from all morbid reflec- 
tions, and attempting even to forget 
for the hour Glasse Head, John 
L,evin gave the remainder of the day 
to careful planning as to his business 

Tow^ard night he ascended Thun- 
derbolt lycdge, and looked out over 
the tops of the tall trees, oak, beech, 
birch, and pine, in the valley toward 
Sundown Hill. He watched the 
rose tints upon that little finger of 
the sea which thrust itself into the 
midst of these woodlands. And he 
saw the clouds piled up like anvils 
in the sky, the forging blocks for 
thunderbolts. And he looked at the 
bridge of gold thrown across the 
harbor mouth toward Glasse Head. 

In a corner sheltered from the west, 
he faced Image Hill, awaiting the 
rise of the moon before he should 
seek his lodging. He had never 
been free from occasional visual hal- 
lucinations, caused primarily by ab- 
normal physical condition, which had 
otherwise manifested itself in the re- 
currence of morbid dreams, and hal- 
lucination auricular, — what he saw, 

however, was perhaps mental, rather 
than physical vision ; it was so in his 
own judgment, — .so that what he saw 
so vividly he was often able, by the 
exercise of memory, to connect with 
what he had at some time actually 
seen. To-night, when the moon rose, 
he saw standing against the full moon, 
the figure of a woman which he had 
first seen longer ago than a score of 
years. Well he remembered how he 
first saw her in the roadway, under 
arching trees, figured against the full 
moon ; and she had at different times 
in the changing years reappeared to 
him at moonrise, perhaps only to the 
mind's eye, but giving a strong im- 
pression of reality. 

After the moon had climbed higher 
than the crest of Image Hill, John 
Levin saw that the woman kindled a 
fire. He saw her image between him 
and the fire. After watching her for 
some time, he arose and went to the 
top of the ledge behind where he had 
been sitting ; being about to go down 
upon the west side. Turning for a 
moment, he saw the woman raise her 
hands to heaven, and there was a 
flash of lightning. 

Mary Glasse had watched the sun- 
set, from the heights above that little, 
low^ lying cavern east of the village, 
where she looked to lodge. Some 
time after the sun had gone down 
and the colors had faded, she saw, 
among the heavy blocks of cloud to 
the west, one vapory mass of fleece 
inlaid wdth fire. Descending to her 
little cave seven or eight feet long, 
from two and a half to four feet wide, 
and from two to four feet high, she 
heard ominous reverberations ; and 
she saw that the ledge among the 
dense woods on the north above the 
cave had been shattered by a thun- 



derbolt in former ages, where now 
the gray Hchens were at work in 
crumbling off particles of granite. 
And she saw the clouds, overhang- 
ing with dark threat, and sweeping 
toward the sea. And she saw" a bolt 
out of the cloud, circling in its de- 
scent like a crown of fire ; and in the 
light, where -the flash appeared to 
fall, she saw the figure of a man 
standing upon Thunderbolt ledge. 

With a convulsive shudder, she 
went to the hill top in the falling 
rain ; and, b}- the lightning flashes, 
she discerned the body of John 
Levin, prostrate, blackened, motion- 
less. Through the weary night she 
watched, lest some wild beast visit 
the ledge before morning. By the 
light, flashing from cloud to cloud, 
or falling into the sea, she could see 
in that strangely still place — so still 
amid all the thunder — the familiar 
face becoming rigid like ice ; and she 
composed the limbs and features, as 
for their burial. 

lyOng after midnight, the west was 
illumined by sheet-lightning, play- 
ing over the hills of Salem village. 
Toward morning, Mary kindled a 
fire. The beacon was first seen by 
Raymond Foote, who reached the 
ledge at daybreak. 

Upon the eighth day of September, 
Mary Glasse walked alone as chief 
mourner to the burial, bearing a 
storm within which contrasted with 
her outward calm. Upon the spot 
once selected as his final sleeping 
place, the body of John Uevin was 
laid to rest, to the music of the 
ocean ; which w'as fingering the 
beaches to the south-east and 
ward, each in a different key. 

A rough bowlder was afterwards 
removed from the slope to the north- 

east, and placed over the grave by 
Raymond Foote. By a sub.sequent 
change in the high road, the wheel 
track now runs near it ; so that the 
sound of the beating hoof disturbs 
the wear}' dead, — and of late a small, 
ill-shapen elm has sprung up near it. 


When Doctor Hammersmith re- 
turned, and Raymond Foote went to 
his own people at Chebacco, Mary 
Glasse went with him. One now 
goes where they two lived, in 
driving from Chebacco village toward 
Choate Island or ancient Agawam. 
Upon the left, near the Mears' place, 
is the grassy site of Raymond Foote 's 
meeting house ; and half a mile fur- 
ther on is a slight elevation in the 
Josiah Lowe field near the high road 
where Raymond and Mary first lived ; 
and then a little further on, upon the 
right hand of the road, one can see 
at the left corner of that lane which 
leads to Choate Island, a house 
standing upon the site where Ra}'- 
mond and Mary lived later. A part 
of the timbers hewn by the pastor 
are framed into this house. And 
near by is the wall over which he 
threw the Andover wrestler. 

And down the lane a little distance 
on the right is a ten-acre lot which 
Raymond used for his study in the 
summer season. It is a low swell of 
land which looks toward the Agawam 
hills on the north-western horizon ; 
and to the north is Indian hill, which 
the natives last fortified in contesting 
the white invasion. North and north- 
east are seen many forest-clad islands 
amid the marshes, and Castle Neck, 
and the farm of the younger Win- 
throp. North of there are w'ide 
areas of salt grass, and expanses of 



tide-water, and lliat great Choate 
Island which had proved so friendl\- 
to Mar}' Glasse in hours of need. 
To the east Raymond at his work 
could see the Chebacco river-mouth, 
the blue sea, and Cape Ann. To 
the south-east are marshes, and 
reaches of river, and the West 
Gloucester hills. Upon the south, 
a grove rises upon a high peninsular 
out of the salt meadows. The most 
prominent object Raymond saw in 
the south-west was the meeting- 
house. And to the south of west the 
powder-house hill marked the hori- 

In this field grew a notable crop ; 
grave doubts as to the monarchial 
power over sea, thoughts that ven- 
tured far. Here at his leisure he 
elaborated those ideas which led him 
so early to oppose the Andros tax, 
and which he put to paper when in 
Boston jail, thoughts which proved 
a great power in years immediately 
preceding the Revolution, when it was 
determined that democracy should 
rule the rising state, as it had ruled 
the colonial church. vSo was this 
pastor's name engraved upon the 
shaft of the republic. And it is not 
without pride that the lover of his 
country now enters a small, rural 
cemetery wnthin sound and sight of 
the sea, to visit the grave of the first 
American who took the ground that 
taxation without representation is 

But the historian has made scant 
record of the domestic life of this 
home, the outpouring of treasures of 
affection, and the constant modifica- 
tion of feature in husband and wife 
by their 'unconscious effort to please 
each other. 

The widow Martha Langdon did, 

however, leave upon record the clos- 
ing part of this story : — 

"After Raymond's death, I went to 
abide with Mary ; and the great world 
went roaring past, as if we were not 
in it : so far aloof did we keep from 
the occupations of society, save that 
we went often over the marsh and 
the tide-water to our neighbor 

" When Mary came to die, her 
life went out with the tide. Seeing 
how it would be, and the end so near, 
I went to the side door to get a 
breath of fresh air ; since I could not 
bear it that she be taken from me. 
Then I saw, under the great oak 
across the lane, that the full moon 
was rising ; and there, against the 
face of the moon, was a woman I 
never saw before, who at once came 
toward me. I asked what she would 
have of me. And she craved a night's 
lodging. When I saw that she was 
fair-spoken and of pleasant face and 
good breeding, I let her in. 

"My Mary w^as dead. Her life 
had gone out while I was at the door. 
The woman told me that her name 
was Molly Scarlet, and that she had 
been a nurse to the sick for many 
years. And going to the bedside, 
she placed her head upon Mary's 
brow; and then, knowing her to be 
dead, she begged to aid me. And 
being not near to a neighbor, I was 

"Adding pitch-knots to the fire, 
we prepared the body for burial. 
When the woman saw the birth- 
mark upon Mary's breast, a large 
red cross, she dropped Mary's hand, 
and gasped for breath, and sat upon 
the side of the bed ; then got up, and 
went to the open door. I made no 
notice of what she did, thinking her 


to be faint. When she came again had said. And when I asked her 

to the bed, she bade me tell who it further, I knew that she spoke truly. 

was ; and I said ]\Iary Glasse. And Then I knew how it was that a girl 

she shrieked and cried, ' My daugh- like Mary could love a man like John 

ter ! M}' daughter ! ' When I bade Levin ; and why she was made fast to 

her be quiet, she cried with more him by bands of adamant ; and why 

ado: — 'She is my child, and John her Mother Glasse arose from her rest 

Levin's child ; I gave her to James to forbid her to niarr}-. 

Glasse and his wife, when John Levin "And I was glad that Mar}- never 

forsook me. And James Glasse took knew^ it; and glad that she loved him 

her out of Devon to America. My and served him like a dutiful daugh- 

child ! My child ! But John Levin ter, with love like that of God to the 

is dead, thank God for that. I saw" erring. And I said, when I stood at 

him die, thank God for that.' Marj^'s grave, that it was a divine 

' ' I kept the woman by me till after behest that directed the waj^ward 

Mary's funeral ; but no one of the steps of John Levin to the fisher 

neighbors knew aught of what she house on Glasse Head." 

[the end.] 


By C. Jennie Sivaine. 

In the cloud-hung gray of a winter day. 

The mist-gathering buds of the snow flowers lay 

'Till, storm-fledged for flight, the winged blossoms of white 
Were frozen, full blown in the rime-wreathed night. 

One white, waving plume of billowy bloom 

Floated silenth* out of the midnight gloom. 
And the snow freighted hour, with ermine and flower, 

Robed and wreathed each skeleton tree of the bower. 

Let rose leaves, dew sweet, be blown at my feet. 

And lilies drop dead in the rain's dull beat ; 
Not sweeter are they than the snows that will lay 

Drift deep, on the morrow^ along the brow^n w^ay. 

Dear are the May-blown, orchard blossoms that roam 
Through the empty rooms of my dear old home. 

But dearer the light fall of snowflake white, 

When the lone house is thronged with dream guests, as to-night. 

Conducted by Fred Gowiiig, State Superintendent of Public Instruction. 


As rhythmically periodic as the swing 
of a pendulum, the question of the num- 
ber of daily sessions in high schools 
recurs, and at the present time in New 
Hampshire there appears a somewhat 
general tendency to adopt a two-session 

Teachers are accustomed to this os- 
cillatory motion. Popular opinion 
swings from lenity to severity in disci- 
pline, from "language lessons" to 
"technical grammar," from "reading 
books" to "literature," from "objective 
teaching of all departments of arith- 
metic " to " drill in fundamentals only," 
from " a few things thoroughly " to 
" something of all things," and no line 
is secure at any time from attack. 

The settlement of public school prob- 
lems is to be determined by the advan- 
tage accruing to the physical well-being 
and intellectual attainment mostly, and 
to the public that supports the school in 
economy and excellence of results. 
Public educational affairs are to be ad- 
ministered in the spirit of promoting the 
welfare of as many persons as possible 

and of working injury to none, hardship 
and inconvenience to as few as possible. 

Those who advocate two daily ses- 
sions for the larger high schools insist 
that such a plan taxes the physical re- 
sources of pupils less, interferes less 
with domestic affairs, allows for more 
study time in school, gives a respite 
from care and labor, reduces fatigue, 
creates a desirable change for pupils 
and teachers in the midst of the day's 

The most serious consideration is the 
health of the pupils. All admit that 
not only should our schools not injure 
the constitution and health of the chil- 
dren but should rather increase and 
conserve the physical forces of pupils to 
the last degree. A vital question then, 
is, " Does a single session of school 
work harm to any considerable number 
of children ? " Many investigations in- 
dicate that it does not, or rather that no 
remarkable difference is found in chil- 
dren attending schools of the two sorts, 
single and double session. It is found 
that social distraction and dissipation, 


late hours, improper habits of eating, do of high school age, should be most care- 
work harm. Over-study kills few chil- fully considered, 
dren or adults. The economy of time is an essential 

In pointing out some advantages of a factor in this problem. It takes time 

single session it is assumed that condi- to get a school into running order, 

tions of heat, light, ventilation, and Probably as much actual work is accom- 

drainage are reasonably good; that the plished in single session of four and one 

distribution of periods of study, recita- half hours as in two sessions of three 

tion, and recreation is rational; that an and two hours. Continuous effort is 

opportunity for a light lunch is afforded ; effective. Most pupils can do better 

that no single method is perfect for all work, study to greater advantage in un- 

individuals. interrupted time. If the mastery of a 

A single session is economical of lesson requires a period of an hour's 
strength and time. It goes without say- length, it is easier to use the continuous 
ing that less energy is required in mak- period than to plan for two half hours, 
ing one round trip to school than in The free afternoon gives opportunity for 
making two round trips. There is less this and also compels less study by arti- 
inconvenience and danger during in- ficial light. All pupils do not want to 
clement weather, during extremes of study at home. Then the afternoon 
heat and cold, in the single journey, furnishes abundant opportunity for out- 
Children are taught the unwisdom of door sports. The single session appeals 
severe exercise, mental or physical, to both the studious and the playful, 
immediately after a full meal. Most In many homes the conditions are 
people of New England take the princi- not right for study. As much time is 
pal meal at noon. Particularly in the given for study in school in a single 
case of pupils living at a distance, this session as in two sessions. Parents are 
meal will be a hasty one, followed by a not to be released from proper super- 
hurried walk to school. As there is vision of their children by any school 
usually but one high school in a small system, irksome as such supervision 
city, the distance to be covered by may be to some parents, 
pupils of such schools is much greater The teachers are worthy of some con- 
than that required of pupils in elemen- sideration also. The stress and strain 
tary schools. Human energy is a lim- in a modern high school are severe. 
ited quantity, somewhat constant in Teachers to maintain their status, to 
each individual. So much as is con- keep in touch with modern thought, to 
sumed for our purpose is not available retain the student spirit, must have 
for any other. Children should be re- time. The preparation of lessons, the 
quired to secure plenty of sleep, eat a examination of written work, are most 
proper breakfast, partake of a light voracious in their demands upon time 
lunch, and if facilities for procuring and strength. The free afternoon 
wholesome food at low rates are pro- affords a continuous period after the 
vided at school for such as can afford work in school, which includes far from 
to buy it, so much the better. all a teacher's school duty, is over, for 

The maintenance of the equilibrium rest, recreation, and study, 
of supply and consumption of vital force The modern high school programme 

in growing children, particularly those is not adaptable to two sessions. 



Courses and plans wholly practicable 
in a one session scheme become impos- 
sible. Whether pupils or teachers could 
successfully accomplish the require- 
ments under a two session plan is 
doubtful. Loss of time from absence 
and tardiness is greater under a two 
session plan. 

The chief complaint concerning the 
one session plan is that parents are 
"bothered about dinner." This is in- 
significant when placed in comparison 
with the advantages to health, economy 
of time, better attendance, secured by 
one session. 

The trend is towards a single session 

in all schools, higher and lower. The 
case of the lower schools is different 
and so requires some arguments in 
addition to those suggested. Ikit the 
almost universal practice in good high 
schools is the single session plan. It 
seems somewhat like an evolutionary 
survival of the fittest. 

The agitation of such subjects is 
stimulating and helpful. The intelli- 
gence of the people will finally settle all 
such questions in the light of the wel- 
fare of the children. Selfishness will 
not prevail. Sacrifice and incon- 
venience will still be endured for the 
generations that are to come. 


The return of the annual meeting of 
this association, to be held this year at 
Dover, October 30, 31, furnishes an op- 
portunity for calling the attention of the 
friends of education to the aims and 
advantages of such institutions. 

The state association is wholly sup- 
ported by the teachers of the state by 
means of small annual assessments. 
The executive board, elected by the 
members, provides the programme. No 
aid is furnished by the state. The 
loyalty and enthusiasm of its member- 
ship alone keep this body strong and 

The teachers' institute is a place for 
instruction in methods. The function 
of the state association is the dissemina- 
tion of new educational thought, the 
discussion of pedagogical problems, the 
agitation of schemes for the develop- 
ment and improvement of all schools, 
the exchange of opinions, the suggestion 
of changes in the school laws, the inspi- 
ration of teachers in their profession. 

An advance may be made this year 
in an attempt to interest school boards 
in this association. Certain it is that a 
mingling of school boards and teachers 
will prove to be to the advantage of 
both parties. It is most desirable that 
school officers make an effort to attend 
the meeting. It would seem that no 
other society than one directly devoted 
to the schools has greater claims on the 
time and attention of the people. All 
friends of the schools and education 
will be cordially received at Dover. 
The hall to be used is a magnificent 
one, unsurpassed by any other in the 
state for the purposes of this meeting. 
The hospitality of the school officers, 
teachers, and citizens of Dover is un- 
bounded. A successful meeting is in 

The Department of Public Instruc- 
tion, although not directly concerned in 
the management of this association, is 
deeply interested in its work, especially 
so as the organization is a voluntary 



one and represents the results of self- radiant as the past it is urged upon all 

effort on the part of teachers. cities and towns to send large delega- 

The history of the State Teachers' tions this year. Let enthusiasm and 

Association is long and honorable, and good-will be dominant throughout the 

that the future may be as bright and meeting*. 

REV. N. D. GE(mGE. 

Rev. Nathan Dow George, the oldest clergyman but one in the New England 
conference of the Methodist Episcopal church, died at Oakdale, Mass., Septem- 
ber 24. He was born at Hampton June 24, 1808, and was licensed to preach in 
1832. He held various pastorates in Maine and ^Massachusetts until he retired 
from active duty in 1874. He was the author of numerous books and pamphlets 
of a religious nature. 


Manson Seavey, for more than twenty years master of mathematics in the Eng- 
lish high school, Boston, died at Woburn, Mass., xAugust 31. He was born at 
Sanbornton in 1840 and graduated from the New Hampton Institution and Dart- 
mouth College. Before coming to Boston he was engaged in educational work at 
Gilford, Columbus, O., and Saco, Me. He was the author of a valuable work on 


Elbridge T. Burleigh, president of the Essex county bar association, died at 
Rangely lakes. Me., September i. Mr. Burleigh was born at Newmarket in 1842, 
graduated at Phillips Exeter academy in 1862, and studied law in the office of 
W. B. Small at Newmarket. In 1865 he established an office at LawTence and 
had since been known as one of the most prominent lawyers in the city. He was 
city solicitor in i877-'78. 


Jacob Carlisle was born at Waterboro, Me., seventy-seven years ago and died at 
Exeter September 12. He had resided in that town since 1840 and had been 
prominent in many business enterprises. He was a Republican from the founda- 
tion of the party and had held various offices. 


J. Y. JOV. 

James F. Joy, the well known financier and railroad man, died at Detro't, Sep- 
tember 24. Mr. Joy was born in Durham, December 2, 18 10. He z '^'^d 
from Dartmouth College in 1833, and was admitted to the bar in Bostc 
He nominated James G. Blaine for the presidency in the Chicago conve 
1880, when Garfield was successful. 


Daniel Bailey Eastman was born in South Weare July 4, 18 12, and lied at 
Manchester September 9. He was an extensive operator in city real estate, hav- 
ing built and sold 103 houses since 1882. His own residence was one of the 
finest in Manchester. 


Captain James M. Beede, the oldest railroad man in the state, died at Meredith 
August 29. He had been identified with railroad corporations ever since the old 
Boston, Concord & Montreal began to lay its lines and was for many years cap- 
tain of the steamer Lady of the Lake on Lake Winnipiseogee. 











The Granite Monthly. 

Vol.. XXL 

NOVEMBER, 1896. 


Front View, with Lawn and Driveway. 


By Eugene J id i its Groiv. 

HE town of Hanover has 
for a long time been be- 
fore the public mind as 
the seat of Dartmouth 
College, but within the 
last few j-ears there has arisen an 
additional institution, whose gifts will 
be most highly appreciated and whose 
sphere of utility will be equally per- 

The Mary Hitchcock Memorial 
Hospital is pleasantly situated on 
ample grounds of several acres, about 
a quarter of a mile north of the col- 
lege campus, presenting to the east 
and west a \-iew of picturesque hills, 
while to the north there opens a beau- 
tiful prospect along the upper Con- 
necticut valle}' for a distance of forty 

It affords, to all who may enjoy its 
benefits, the special advantages of 
being connected with a prosperous 
medical college (one of the three old- 
est in the United States), and of being 
located in an exceptionally health)^ 
climate, removed from noise and de- 
void of other objections oftentimes 
raised against large city hospitals. 

The hospital was erected by Hiram 
Hitchcock as a lasting memorial to 
his wife, Mary Maynard Hitchcock, 
a lad}^ of most exemplary character, 
who was beloved by all with whom she 
came in contact, and who during her 
life devoted more time and thought 
to the relief of the afflicted and poor 
than the world can ever know. 

The building was begun in the 
year 1890 and the construction 



rapidly progressed until its comple- 
tion in May, 1893. During this en- 
tire period Mr. Hitchcock devoted a 
large part of his time to following the 
plans laid out, making such changes 
as would be most advantageous, and, 
in a word, to examining into every 
detail, however trivial, thereby leav- 
ing nothing to chance and allowing 
nothing to be done in a careless man- 
ner. To this fact, possibly, above all 
others, is due the remarkably success- 
ful outcome of the building, and it no 

are suffering from acute diseases and 
require immediate treatment, but also 
for those suffering from chronic debil- 
ity, who may find there, in the change 
of climate, the healthful surround- 
ings, and expert medical attendance, 
factors which are especially condu- 
cive to the rapid restoration of health 
and strength. 

The hospital consists of four dis- 
tinct buildings : a central administra- 
tion building, with an ell of two 
stories and an attic ; two one-story 

Mary Hitchcock Memorial Hospital — View from Southeast. 

less clearly explains, in a measure, the 
brilliant success of the builder both 
in social and financial circles. 

As it stands to-day, the hospital is 
complete in every particular for the 
treatment and care of the sick, being 
equipped surgically and medically in 
accordance with the strictest require- 
ments of modern hospital construc- 
tion ; it is elegantly furnished, sur- 
rounded by broad lawns, and every- 
thing is provided that human skill 
could devise in the way of perfect 
ventilation, heating, and lighting. 
This, together with the excellent hy- 
gienic conditions, renders the place an 
ideal home, not only for those who 

pavilions connected with the central 
building by open corridors, or sun 
rooms, twelve feet wide ; and a sur- 
gical building designed especially 
for purposes of the medical college. 
The basement and foundation walls 
are of granite. The superstructure is 
mottled Pompeiian brick, and the or- 
naments are of terra cotta. The roof 
is composed of red Spanish tiles, and 
the general architectural result is 
suggestive of early Italian Renais- 
sance. The central building has a 
hipped roof with dormers, and the 
roofs of the pavilion wards and of the 
surgical building take a domed form. 
These forms grow out of the use, in 



the interior construc- 
tion throughout, of 
the cohesive system, 
in which thin vitre- 
ous tiles are em- 
ployed, the ceilings 
and stairways being 
formed by layers of 
these tiles as arches, 
or as domes over the 
larger rooms, and 
built up above with 
the material to make 
level surfaces for the 
superimposed floors. 
All partition walls 
are of brick, covered 
with King's Windsor cement, and 
there is an unity of fire-proof con- 
struction throughout, rendering the 
whole structure a fire-proof monolith. 
This is the first building in America 
especially designed for the Guastiv- 
ino system of fire-proofing. 

The administration building faces 

Main Entrance. 

central rotunda is reached, with halls 
leading to the east and west and 
stairs to the rooms above. 

The floor is richly inlaid with mar- 
ble mosaic, the wainscoting is of 
quartered oak, handsome Corinthian 
columns support the arched ceiling, 
and on one side is an ing^le-nook with 

the south and is reached by concrete an attractive fire-place and mantel of 

drives through a broad 
visitor, passing under 
cochere, a.scends six or 
seven steps to a cov- 
ered portico, the floor 
of which is made of 
red tiles with mosaic 
border, the roof being 
formed b}' a series of 
arches supported by 
decorated pillars, and 
enters through the 
main door and stands 
in the vestibule, open- 
ing off from which is 
the main reception 
room on the left and 
the superintendent ' s 
room on the right. A 
few steps more and the 

lawn. The 
the porte- 


marble. This part of the 
is set apart as a special 

Administration Building, fronn Northwest. 



memorial and above the mantel is a 
large bronze tablet bearing the fol- 
lowing inscription : 

In blessed memorj- of Marj- IVIaynard Hitch- 
cock, in loving thought of her tender and un- 
failing sympathy and help for the afflicted and 
poor, and in the spirit of her life, this hospital 
is erected in the year of the Great Physician, 
eighteen hundred and ninety, by her husband 
Hiram Hitchcock. 

arranged service rooms, baths, lava- 
tories, etc., and on the third floor are 
ample accommodations for nurses. 
In the basement connected with this 
portion of the building are various 
store-rooms, kitchen, bakery, ser- 
vants" dining-room, etc. In the rear 
is an annex which contains a com- 

Hon. Hiram Hitchcock. 

The rotunda opens toward the east 
and west into central halls from which 
entrance is gained to the dispensary, 
surgical room, and offices. The re- 
maining part of the first floor of the 
administration building is occupied 
by dining-rooms for physicians and 
nurses; pantries, etc. On the second 
floor are eight private wards for pa- 
tients, together with conveniently- 

plete laundry and the disinfecting 
rooms, well separated, however, from 
the main building. 

The visitor now passes into the 
east corridor, or sun room, which 
connects the east pavilion with the 
rotunda. This is thirty-five feet long 
by twelve broad, having tiled floors, 
the roof being supported by terra- 
cotta pillars, which constitute the 



framework for the large windows, by 
which arrangement there is afforded 
an excellent opportunity for the in- 
mates to enjoy the sunshine. A more 
complete idea of the sun rooms can 
be gained from the pictures. 

The east, or men's, pavilion, which 
is reached after passing through the 

yet keeping the general rectangular 
shape, which gives the greatest con- 
venience for arrangement of furniture 
and for nursing service. There are 
at present ten beds in the ward, con- 
veniently arranged around the walls 
of the room ; by this limited number 
1,200 cubic feet of air is available to 

Mrs. Mary M. Hitchcock. 

above corridors, is one story in 
height and contains one large ward, 
three priv^ate wards, a nurses' sitting- 
room, diet kitchen, bath rooms, 
linen and clothes rooms, lavatories, 
etc. The large ward is tw^enty-eight 
by thirty-six feet, with a height of 
thirteen feet, octagonal in shape, thus 
combining the advantages of this 
form wath that of the round ward. 

each occupant. The private wards 
are very pleasantly situated, look- 
ing toward the east, each contain- 
ing a single bed and necessary 
furniture, together with a fireplace 
which adds much to the cheerful- 
ness of the room and at the same 
time affords a most excellent ad- 
ditional method of ventilation. In 
the basement of the pavilions are 



open unused air-chambers with ce- 
ment floors, and here it may be added 
that the floors of the operating theatre, 
kitchens, etc., are all made of gran- 
olithic cement. The ward kitchen 
and service rooms have every con- 
venience that could be desired. 

Passing from the men's pavilion, 
one enters another sun room, and 
opening off from it on the east side is 
the conservatory. This is, possibly, 

I 9 '4 

Students' Entrance to Operating Room. 

the most attractive place in the en- 
tire hospital, as one might well im- 
agine from the accompanying pic- 
ture, although it presents only a par- 
tial view. Affording, as it does, a 
place of rest and pleasure to those 
who are interested in flowers, it is 
only a typical example of the fact 
that nothing has been left undone to 
provide every possible comfort to 
meet the desires of all classes of pa- 

We now come to the surgical build- 
ing, containing an operating theatre, 
etherizing, sterilizing, and waiting 
rooms, also departments for surgeons' 
use. The operating theatre has a 
domed roof of vitreous tile, the first 
to be constructed in this country-. It 
is well lighted from the dome, by 
windows in the sides and by elec- 
tricity, and contains seats for one 
hundred and fifty students. The in- 
strument and fittings are de- 
signed with a view to prevent the 
accumulation of septic material. 
The sterilizing room contains the 
necessary appliances for the thor- 
ough maintenance of the rules of 
aseptic surgery, the observ- 
ance of which is of such vital im- 
portance toward insuring the fav- 
orable outcome of all surgical oper- 
ations. By means of the system 
used, water can be quickly raised 
to a temperature of 400° F., and 
dry heat can be obtained as high 
as 337° F., in eight minutes. This 
latter fact is of especial import in 
the sterilization of catgut, which 
not infrequently proves to be septic 
after subjection to temperatures or- 
dinaril}^ employed. 

Dr. Parish of Philadelphia, who 
has had a large hospital experience, 
remarks that "the .sterilizing appar- 
atus of the Mary Hitchcock Memo- 
rial Hospital is equaled only by a 
few and excelled, so far as I know, 
by no hospital in the world." 

The basement of the surgical build- 
ing contains the heating plant of the 
hospital, and an annex has the mor- 
tuary with all conveniences for au- 

After inspecting the surgical build- 
ing, the visitor retraces his steps to 
the rotunda, passes along the west 



Arches and Ornamentations at East end of Portico. 

hall and sun corridor to the women's 
pavilion, which is in every way sim- 
ilar to the men's pavilion already de- 

The heating of the building is b}- 
indirect radiation, by which system 
an ample quantity' of fresh air is 
supplied at any temperature desired, 
which obviates the discomfort ensu- 
ing from having the air filled with 
steam vapor, smoke, and gases, as 
so often results from other methods. 
Steam enters a series of radiators 
or stacks situated in the basement, 
each directly beneath the floor of 
the rooms into which the heated 
air is designed to go. Enclosing 
each radiator is a galvanized iron 
case, forming a space into which 
cold air enters from the outside 
and after being heated rises through 
registers to the room above. It will 
be noticed that ever}^ room has its 
own individual stack and connec- 
tions ; while a series of dampers ef- 
fects a convenient regulation of the 

temperature of each room as the oc- 
casion demands. 

The lighting is by electricity. The 
plumbing is of the most approved 
type ; all the pipes can be easily ex- 
posed to view ; which fact, together 
with the natural drainage effected 
by location, insures to the building 
most admirable hygienic conditions. 

The ventilation is as perfect as can 
be devised by modern science, effect- 
ing a change of air throughout the 
entire hospital during each period of 
twenty minutes. The so-called ex- 
traction system is employed, which, 
in its simplest form, provides for a 
natural and speedy inlet and outflow 
of air. 

In each of the larger wards two 
openings with registers are placed in 
the main ventilating shaft, which is 
situated in the centre of the room, and 
below the openings are two fireplaces, 
which in themselves greatl}^ add to 
the ventilating capacity. Additional 
ventilators, connected with the main 
shaft, are placed near each bed. 

View from one end of Portico. 


View in Rotunda, showing Ingle-nook. 

Coils of steam pipes are placed in the 
flues, their effect being to create an 
upward current of air, and so per- 
fectly does this apparatus work that 
it is possible to draw off all the air in 
the brief time mentioned above. 

Connected with the hospital is a 
training school for nurses, which 
gives admirable facilities to those 
5^oung women who wish to perfect 
themselves in this line of work. The 

View in Conservatory. 

requirements for admission are that 
the applicant shall be of good charac- 
ter, industrious, and possess at least a 
thorough common school education. 
On entrance, a probation of two 
months is required, thereby giving 
the candidate an idea of the work 
and what is expected. If, at the end 
of this brief period, the duties seem 
too arduous or a natural adaptation 
for the work is not felt, a resignation 
is advisable ; otherwise, the 
candidate, if accepted, is 
expected to take the full 
two years' course, subject 
to the rules of the school, 
and upon the successful 
completion of this term of 
service is given a diploma. 
The didactic instruction is 
given by lectures and reci- 
tations on various medical 
subjects by professors con- 
nected with the medical col- 
lege. Practical instruction 
is given at the bedside un- 
der the supervision of the 



superintendent and head 
nurse : also a course in diet- 
cooking, conducted by a spe- 
cial teacher. 

Along with the advance 
of civilization and the rapid 
progress of medical science 
there has arisen within re- 
cent years an increasing de- 
mand for trained nurses, and 
not unwiseh', for again and 
again has it been noticed 
that the watchful care given 
by a nurse who can intelli- 
gently and thoroughly carr>- out in- 
structions is of no less aid in pro- 
moting the favorable termination of 
disease than is the work of the phy- 
sician himself. 

The dedication of the hospital took 
place in the College church on May 
3, 1893. The exercises were as fol- 
lows : 

1. Organ voluntary. 

2. Prayer, Rev. S. P. Leeds, D. D. 

3. Hymn, "How Pirni a P"oxindation." 

Interior View of one of the Sun Rooms. 

4. Report of the committee on construc- 

tion and organization. Dr. PMward Cowles. 

5. Presentation of the Hospital to the 

corporation, Mr. Hiram Hitchcock. 

6. Acceptance of the trust, in behalf of 

the corporation. Dr. C. P. Frost. 

7. Dedication hymn, Katherine W. Hardy. 

Dartmouth College Glee Club. 

8. Acknowledgment in behalf of the col- 

lege, President William J. Tucker, D. D. 

9. The origin, development, and utility 

of hospitals, Hon. J. W. Patterson. 

10. Benediction. 

It is a noteworthy fact that the 

Operating Tlieat'e. 



above address was Mr. Patterson's 
last public effort, and that the first 
service rendered b}- the hospital was 
at his death, which occurred so sud- 
denly on the evening of the following 
day, and which marked the end of 
the illustrious career of one of New 
Hampshire's greatest and most hon- 
ored statesmen. 

The hospital is incorporated by 
special act of the legislature of New 
Hampshire. The immediate control 

M. D., of New York city, professor of 
opthalmology ; T. M. Balliet, M. D., 
of Philadelphia, professor of thera- 
peutics; Paul F. Munde, M. D., of 
New York city, professor of gynecol- 
ogy ; George A. Leland, M. D., of 
Boston, Mass., professor of laryngol- 
ogy; William H. Parish, M. D., of 
Philadelphia, professor of obstetrics ; 
Granville P. Conn, M. D., of Con- 
cord, N. H., professor of hygiene; 
John M. Gile, M. D., of Tewksbury, 

View in East Ward, 

is vested by the corporation in a 
board of trustees, twelve in number. 
The members of the medical profes- 
sion connected with the institution 
hold professorships in various depart- 
ments in Dartmouth Medical College. 
The medical staff, consisting of Doc- 
tors C. P. Frost,' W. T. Smith, and 
G. D. Frost, are in attendance at all 
times during the year. The consult- 
ing staff is composed of Phineas S. 
Conner, M. D., of Cincinnati, Ohio, 
professor of surgery ; David Webster, 

Mass., professor of practice of medi- 

The members of this staff, while in 
Hanover at stated periods, treat pub- 
licly and privately all diseases which 
come under the head of their individ- 
ual specialty. 

The manifold benefits of this hos- 
pital are clearly evident, affording to 
the students of Dartmouth a place 
where in case of sickness they can 
receive the best of attendance, enab- 
ling the medical students to receive 

1 Deceased. 




Dining Roonns. 

a fair amount of clinical instruction, 
and giving to the entire community 
the privilege of having their ills 
and afflictions treated by some of 
the most eminent specialists in the 
United States. 

The present number of beds is 
thirty-six, with ample room for many 
more. Patients paying twelve dollars 
per week may be admitted to the 
large wards, including the full bene- 
fits of the institution ; those paying 
a less amount are regarded as ben- 
eficiaries. Those desiring 
rooms are admitted upon 
special terms, according to 
the size of the room, loca- 
tion, etc. Up to the pres- 
ent writing, 489 patients 
have been admitted, 290 
receiving operative treat- 
ment ; a large percentage 
of them have been free 
patients, and in addition 
a large number of out- 
patients have been treated. 

During the last quarter 
of a century, the rapid 
development of medical 
science, requiring a greater 

degree of care and skill in 
treatment, together with 
many appliances that are 
rarely found in private prac- 
tice, emphasizes the fact that 
a hospital is the need of 
every large community. 

The Mary Hitchcock Me- 
morial Hospital fulfils the 
above requirements in an 
exceptional manner, and is 
therefore one of the greatest 
of practical charities to those 
who may enjo}' its benefits. 
As an institution, the object 
of which is to relieve hu- 
man suffering, it presents to all the 
opportunity of perpetuating and ex- 
tending its privileges, for the benefit 
of the communit}', by joining in its 
endowment. In view of the fact that 
the larger the number of individuals 
directly iuterested in the hospital the 
broader and more lasting are its bene- 
fits ; and, furthermore, as the current 
expenses are far in advance of the 
receipts, the board of trustees has 
arranged a system of endowments 
which are to be considered as memo- 
rial funds for the establishment of 

Superintendent's Office. 



free beds. As it is desirable that all 
the beds shall be endowed, the atten- 
tion of philanthropic people is called 
to the needs of this hospital and to 
the opportunities open to them for 
conferring a lasting benefit upon their 
less fortunate companions. 

The provisions for endowments are 
as follows : 

" If an}' person or association shall 
contribute to the hospital the sum of 
five thousand dollars during any con- 
secutive twelve months, such person 
or association shall be entitled to the 
use of one bed in the general wards, 
with the privileges of the hospital, 
board, care and attention, medicines, 
medical and surgical attendance, and 
such other service and supplies as 
are furnished in-patients of the hos- 
pital. Said bed shall be maintained 
by the hospital perpetually^ and its 
privileges enjoyed free of charge, 
subject always to the hospital rules 
and regulations, by such patients as 
shall, from time to time, be nomi- 
nated by the contributor or his assigns 
or representatives. 

"A gift of four thousand dollars 
under like conditions as aforesaid, 
entitles the giver to like privileges 
during life and the life of a successor 
who may be named. 

' ' A gift of three thousand dollars 
under like conditions entitles the 
giver to like privileges during life. 

"A gift of two thousand dollars 
under like conditions entitles the 
giver to the use of a bed for children, 
with like privileges during life. 

"A gift of three hundred dollars 
under like conditions entitles the 
giver to the use of one free bed in 
the general wards, with like privileges 
for one year from the day of such 

" A gift of two hundred dollars un- 
der like conditions entitles the giver 
to the use of a bed for children, with 
like privileges for one 3'ear from the 
day of such contribution." 

While these endowments stand as 
memorials of those in whose names 
they are made, the provisions also 
enable towns, communities, corpo- 
rations, religious and benevolent soci- 
eties, to furnish care to those whom 
the)^ would wish to aid. The money 
contributed for the maintenance of 
free beds, if the term exceeds one 
year, is kept as a permanent fund 
and invested, the income only being 
used. At present there are seven 
beds permanently endowed. 

The building is open to visitors on 
all days, except Sundays, from two 
until four o'clock in the afternoon. 
Inquiries pertaining to admittance 
of patients, the training school for 
nurses, or other matters relating to 
hospital work, should be addressed 
to the superintendent. 

On coming to Hanover for even a 
very brief stay, one should not fail 
to pay the hospital a visit, for it 
is impossible to form more than a 
very meagre idea, from descriptions 
or illustrations, of the thoroughness 
with which every portion is con- 
structed, and of the exceptionally fine 
accommodations and privileges which 
it affords. After the inspection of 
the building has been made, the 
visitor cannot but be filled wdth ad- 
miration of the magnanimous gift of 
the donor, which enables the state 
of New Hampshire to pride itself on 
the finest hospital of its class in this 
or in any other country, and which 
presents to the entire community ad- 
vantages of incalculable value in the 
ready cure or amelioration «f disease. 


By Milo Benedict. 

Out on the dark, bald summit, alone, gazing ; the wind roaring, 
thundering, unintermittent and cold as snow. Out there b}' the lonely, 
cabled house, on the piles of rocks, my feet clinging where they can, my 
fingers numb ; my eyes filling, my hat brim fluttering like a ship's 
angry sail. So far above the plain, I feel but half attached to the earth. 
I gaze far out into space (how vast is space from a mountain I How we are 
charmed by the distance ! ) Far to the south-east, beyond countless ranges 
peaks, gulfs, abysses, near the dim sky-line, too far to seem real, L,ake 
Winnipesaukee — a long, silvery path of light — plainly visible under the 
cold light of the moon. (The whole earth greenish in the moonlight like 
a ghastty daguerreotype. ) 


By Lucy Mayo Warner. 

Hark, the horn's sweet winding wail ! Ah, the hounds are on the trail. 

And the branches wave salute as on they sweep. 

Gallants brave and winsome maids send a greeting down the glades. 

And before them all they ride, prince and princess side by side. 

While the baying of the pack on the scented wind comes back 

In a murmur muttering and deep. 

Hedge and stubble all are past, and the open shows at last. 

All the steeds are warming up to quicker paces. 

Still they ride as they began ; prince and princess lead the van. 

vStill the pack speeds o'er the ground, for the cover must be found. 

Green turf thrills to quickened hoof-beat — ah, the hunter's joy is sweet. 

And the merry hearts look forth from merry faces. 

Sinks the lordly sun to rest, and the flushed and glowing west 

Neath her fleecy cloud- veil strives her joy to hide. 

Not one brush for all the pack do our hunters carry back. 

Not one bay of triumph sounds from the iron-throated hounds, 

But his ladye he has won and love's life is just begun. 

And the prince's gallant heart is satisfied. 


By Dora L. Burns. 

works 'sail cleaned up 

RS. Emmeline Jenkins re- 
moved her blue ging- 
ham apron, and glanced 
at the clock with a sigh 
of satisfaction, 
half past 3'et and the 
If I do say 
it, I 've been uncommon spry. Them 
cookin' dishes took a sight of time. 
How well you made this carpet look, 
Phoeby, ' when you swept it yester- 
day,' " she added commendingl5\ 

"Yes, it do look tolerable. That 
carpet's wore first rate, aint it, Em- 
meline ?" Miss Phoebe returned. 

" It aint done bad, and with care 
it '11 last a good while yet," Mrs. 
Jenkins answered thriftily. 

Miss Phoebe looked dubious. "I 
dunno," she responded. "It's pretty 
thin in places and terrible faded. 
You actooly ought to git another, 

" We can git along a spell, I guess. 
Things is going to be awful cheap, 
this fall," was the hopeful reply of 
Mrs. Jenkins, who lived in chronic 
anticipation of lower market prices. 

" Seems to me I 've hearn j^ou say 
that before, Emmeline," remarked 
her sister with mild impatience. 

" Well, ain't it so? Ain't goods a 
fallin' all the time ? " 

' ' I dunno 's I believe in waitin' 
'till 3'ou 're dead to git things, just 
because they'll be cheaper afterward, 
maybe. We need some other fixin's. 

too. Marshy's teachin' stiddy, and I 
don't see any need of your bein' so 

Mrs. Jenkins smiled tranquilly. 
She had even better reasons than she 
told for not " layin' out" in new 
household equipments. Her eyes 
wandered down the road to a sub- 
stantial set of buildings with roofs 
painted red, as she reflected upon 
them. Suddenly, she pressed her 
face against the glass with quicken- 
ing interest. 

" Eand ! If I ain't mistook greatly, 
Eoizy's out a niakin' her garden," 
she announced. "And I do believe 
she ain't got nothin' on her head." 

' ' With this raw, east wind a 
blowin', and the sky skimmin' over 
for a storm ! " exclaimed Miss Phoebe. 
" Seems to me that's terrible risky 
and she eighty odd," she ended, with 
cheerful apprehension. 

"Fly in' right in the face of Provi- 
dence," said Mrs. Jenkins in an awe- 
struck voice. "But Eoizy's tough. 
All them Metcalfs was." 

' ' She '11 probabl}' live longer 'n 
Obadiah does, now, though she is 
more 'n tvvent3^-five years older. 

"Obadiah ain't looked very well 
this spring," responded Miss Phoebe, 
drearily. "I always did say he 
would n't never have married her if 
she had n't done the courtin'." 

Miss Phoebe's pale blue eyes 
gleamed revengefully. She could 



remember when the aforesaid Oba- 
diah had waited on her to evening 
meeting, and the fond hopes thereby 
aroused still lived. The thought 
had always rankled in her mind that 
her place in his affections had been 
usurped by Loizj^ Metcalf, who was 
old enough to be a mother to him. 

" Loizy was cut out for an old 
maid, if there ever was one, but got 
spoiled in the makin','' Miss Phoebe 
went on with refreshing disregard of 
her own unmarried state. 

" I don't think it becomes you, 
Phoeby, to say much about old maids," 
reminded Mrs. Jenkins with gentle 

"I dunno 's I'm so very old," said 
said Miss Phoebe, scenting an insin- 
uation from afar. "And I dunno, 
either, as a woman that's been a 
widow thirty year, more or less, is a 
terrible sight better off'n one that 
ain't married yet. L,oizy done the 
courtin', I always said," she remarked 
for the second time, "but she ain't 
goin' to live forever more 'n the rest 
of us." 

Mrs. Emmeline smiled compre- 
hendingly. Miss Phoebe certainly 
could not be accused of cherishing 
secret hopes, though she was not 
often so recklessly frank as this. It 
appeared heartless to turn a damper 
upon such rose-tinted expectancies, 
but she felt that her sisterl}' duty de- 
manded it ; there were several rea- 
sons, besides the discouraging lon- 
gevity of the lady under considera- 
tion, which made it most unlikely 
that Miss Phoebe's hopes would ever 
be realized. 

"The Metcalfs are a long-lived 
race. I 've hearn say that Loizy's 
grandfather lived to be ninety-three, 
and old General Metcalf was ninety- 

six and some months when he died. 
Loizy don't seem to be breakin' up 
none. She's spry as a young girl. 

Mrs. Jenkins's despairing sigh 
seemed hardly adapted to the cheer- 
ful aspect of the situation, and the 
dashed expression upon Miss Phoebe's 
face w^as slightly reflected upon her 
own. Some wa}', she could never 
ponder on Loizy Hitchcock's peace- 
ful length of days without a thrill of 

The untimely death of Jerry Jenk- 
ins, her husband, had occurred 
shortly after the celebration of their 
nuptials, and she had been wont to 
declare sadly for several subsequent 
years, that it did seem as though she 
must have her certificate framed to 
prevent her forgetting that she ever 
had been married. Only the endur- 
ing expectations of lower prices on 
frames had deterred her from thus 
doing. As time wore on, however, 
the need of the reminder grew in- 
creasingly less ; for Marcia, the brisk, 
black-eyed daughter, soon became a 
sufficient guarantee to the certaint}^ 
of her matrimonial experiences. 

And after a while her diminishing 
sorrow had been supplemented by 
swelling hopes. "Men always seem 
to take to widders ' ' was frequently 
her consolatory reflection. 

Nevertheless, in spite of this un- 
deniable fact, the worthy widowhood 
of Mrs. Jenkins remained unrewarded. 
The rolling 3'ears had seen nearly the 
last man upon whom she had pinned 
fond faith, vanish into the realms of 
the inaccessible. Obadiah alone, the 
promising, prospective relict of Loizj^ 
was left ; and upon him her trust had 
come to fasten itself with assurance 
so absolute that she regarded Miss 
Phoebe's long drawn out hopes with 



silent contempt. And Miss Phoebe 
had never suspected her sister's deep- 
laid schemes, for Mrs. Jenkins was 
most discreetly mute upon that sub- 


Mrs. Jenkins opened her end door 
a prudent crack and peered out wa- 

"Is that you?" she asked, with 
soft caution. 

"Yes, it's me — Obadiah Hitch- 
cock," came the reassuring answer 
from the black depths, and Mrs. 
Jenkins thereupon allowed a more 
ho.spitable flood of light to illumi- 
nate the dripping figure on the door- 

" Land ! " she ejaculated. "You 
kinder skeered me for the minute, 
seein' its such a night for humans to 
be out. But don't stand there in 
the wet. Come in, do." 

' ' I dunno 's I 'd better, ' ' returned 
Obadiah with the doubt of a well 
brought up man. " Its rainin' pooty 
bad, and I 'm wetter nor a drownded 

' ' My floor's had water on it before 
now, and I guess 't will agin if nothin' 
don't happen. Come in, Obadiah, 
come in," urged Mrs. Jenkins, and 
thus entreated, Obadiah entered. 

He was slightly round-shouldered, 
and had an appearance of meekness 
about him which was beguiling. His 
complexion possessed a suggestion 
of biliousness and kindred evils. 
His small, green eyes twinkled with 
an indescribable mixture of shrewd- 
ness and good nature. A few thin 
whiskers, of uncertain color, were 
distributed over his chin, and locks 
of the same variety adorned the edges 
of his forehead and neck. One felt. 

instinctively, that he was a man who 
would " save." 

"I declare, Obadiah Hitchcock, is 
this you ? " exclaimed Miss Phoebe 
volubly. "I be real glad to see 
you. We've had such a spell of 
rainy weather there ain't been a soul 
in. Do set right up here where its 
warm, and dry off. 

" I dunno 's I 'd better," responded 
Obadiah, somewhat embarrassed b}' 
the warmth of his welcome. " I jest 
come over to git a mess o' worm- 

' ' Land ! I hope none of your folks 
ain't sick ?" questioned Mrs. Jenkins, 
her mind swiftly recalling Mrs. Hitch- 
cock's reckless gardening of the 
week before. 

" It 's the woman. She ain't been 
very chipper for two three days back 
along, and she kinder thought some 
wormwood tea would be first-rate, 
seein' 't was spring o' the year. We 
ain't got none ourselves. The midg- 
ets spiled it all, and L,oizy she made 
sartin you was supplied." 

" Land, 3'es," returned Mrs. Jenk- 
ins cordial!}', " I always git fresh 
yarbs ever}' year. They 're apt to 
lose their strength if they "re kept 
over — to say nothin' of midgets." 

" Loizy do, — gen"rally speakin'. 
but she can't git around 's well as she 
c"d once," answered Obadiah regret- 

"I'll get the wormwood for 3'ou, 
ma," volunteered Marcia from her 
number papers. 

"That's right. Marshy, save your 
ma all the steps you can," approved 

"I'll git it. vShe don't know jest 
where 't is. "Taint no more put-out 
for me to go up attic than it ever 
was," replied Mrs. Jenkins with vig- 



oroiis self-sufficiency, as slie lighted 
another lamp. vShe did not propose 
that Obadiah should suspect her of 
gathering infirmities. 

"You tell Loizy to steep this a 
mite longer 'n common," she said, 
when she had returned. " I'm 'most 
afeard 'twas a speck green when I 
hung it up." 

"And, Obadiah, I dunno but I 'd 
take some, too, if I was you. 'Twon't 
hurt you none, and you ain't looked 
very well latel}-," Miss Phoebe ad- 

"Yes, Obadiah, you're thin as a 
hatchet," supplemented Mrs. Jenkins. 

Mrs. Alonzo Greenleaf was making 
a Sunda}' afternoon call a few days 

" Loizy Hitchcock's real slim," she 
had remarked. 

"I want to know !" replied Mrs. 
Jenkins, with evident interest. 

' ' Obadiah was in to git some worm- 
wood Thursday night, but we 've 
had such mis'rble weather I ain't 
seen nobody since." 

" Yes," reiterated Mrs. Greenleaf, 
"I guess she's pretty slim. 'Tany 
rate, Dr. Dodge was there this 

" Land 1 She must be sick," said 
Mrs. Jenkins, her eyes resting upon 
the red-roofed house more tenderly 
than usual. "She never was no 
hand for doctors." 

"You didn't hear what the difh- 
culty was, I s'pose ? " inquired Miss 

" 'Lonzo said Obadiah told him it 
'peared like a stroke. I guess she 
ain't been so smart as common for 
some time." 

"I shouldn't wonder a mite if 
she didn't git over it,'' said Miss 
Phoebe with inconsistent cheerfulness. 

"She's pretty well 'vanced. How 
old do you make her, Jane?'' 

"She and 'Lonzo's Aunt Pinkham 
was jest the same age, and Aunt 
Pinkham died in her seventy-ninth. 
That was five year ago come August. 
Loizy must be borderin' on eighty- 

"And she was over fifty when she 
married Obadiah,'" put in Mrs. Jenk- 
ins reflectingly. " Well, she's done 
well by him. Been real savin'." 

"I s'pose 'tan't 't all unlikely Oba- 
diah will marry agin. Somebody '11 
git a good home, if he do," said Mrs. 
Greenleaf musingly ; Whereupon Miss 
Phoebe looked pleasantlj^ anticipa- 
tor}^ and Mrs. Emmeline observed 
with suitable resignation, that Loizy 
had n't ought to complain if he did. 

It was a night in November, seven 
or eight months later. The moon 
shed soft radiance upon fields and 
roads and silvered Mrs. Jenkins's low, 
gray house and its attendant clumps 
of lilac bushes. 

That lady was peering out of her 
kitchen widow with painful forebod- 

" Seems to me, Marsh}-," she re- 
marked anxiously, "that looks like 
Obadiah's horse and team a comin' 
out of his gate. Your eves are 
younger 'n mine. Come and see if 

Obedient to the call, the red- 
cheeked Marcia came and stood by 
her mother's side. Shading her eyes 
from the light of the kerosene lamp, 
she, too, peered down the road. 

" Yes, it 's he," was her grammati- 
cal announcement after a prolonged 
stare, "and he's going straight up 
Spruce Lane. " 



" Ivand ! " was Mrs. Jenkins's feeble 
response. "Ain't it the second time 
he 's been up that liill within a 

" 'Pears to me it's the third," came 
in querulous tones from the other 
side of the room. 

" Well, I declare ! " ejaculated Mrs. 
Emmeline. " If he 's so possessed to 
git married agin, it do seem 's though 
he might put up with somebody a 
little nearer home. Two miles ain't 
a laughin' matter these cold nights, 
and Obadiah ain't any younger 'n he 
used to be." 

"Men ain't much sense, anyway," 
complained the indistinct speaker 
from the other direction. "Now, 
why a man that 's got reason should 
want a widder with four daughters 
instead of a nice, respectable maiden 
lady with money, 'twould take some- 
body smarter 'n I be to tell." Miss 
Phoebe finished with a bitter sniff, 
and banging the oven door where 
she had been toasting her feet, she 
thrust the aforesaid members into a 
pair of old slippers. 

" It do beat all," began Mrs. Jenk- 
ins," how Obadiah do go on! A 
man at his time of life to take such 
a family as that onto his shoulders. 
And the Widder Hopley always 
wore false hair. vSeems to me as 
though 'twant no more'n my Chris- 
tian duty to tell Obadiah of that, 
seein' we 've been neighbors all these 
years. I never did believe in de- 
ceivin' folks." 

And Mrs. Emmeline resumed her 
knitting with a calm stoniness of res- 
olution which boded no good for the 
Widow Hopley and her hypocritical 

"She's a terrible poor hand for 
pastry, too. And Obadiah such a 

dretful creeter for pie!" lamented 
Miss Phoebe in an afflicted tone. 

So it happened that these two 
worthy women were pleasantly sur- 
prised at receiving an evening visit 
from Mr. Hitchcock soon after the 
a]:)Ove conversation had taken place. 
The}' nobly exerted themselves to be 
even more than usually agreeable, 
possibly hoping to thus obliterate 
some of the charms of her who lived 
in Spruce Eane. Mrs. Jenkins had 
begun to turn the conversation in 
the direction of artificial ringlets and 
Miss Phcebe was wondering how she 
might best apprise their caller of the 
quality of Mrs. Hopley's pie-crust, 
when Obadiah inquired : 

" What do you think of that strip 
o' pastur that jines onto me this side 
the crick ? Ain't it a pooty little 
piece of land ?" 

"I dunno but it's well enough, 
Obadiah," returned Mrs. Jenkins en- 
couragingly," "belongs to the Wid- 
der Hopley, don't it?" she asked, 
foreseeing an opportunity to admin- 
ister the false hair. 

" It don't neow," said Obadiah 
with a twinkle in his sly, green eyes. 

"You don't mean you've bought 
it ! " quavered Miss Phoebe eagerly, 
catching an exhilarating clue to Oba- 
diah's trips up the I^ane. 

Mr. Hitchcock nodded and waited 
for congratulations. " I'm sure I'm 
real glad you 've got it, Obadiah, if 
you wanted it and needed it," spoke 
Mrs. Emmeline as soon as she had 
sufficiently grasped the glad import 
of the information. "But don't you 
s'pose you 'd a got it cheaper if you 'd 
waited a spell ? " 

A shade of regret swept over Oba- 
diah's snuff-colored visage. 

" Maybe," he admitted reluctantly. 



"But I've been a tryin' to git hold 
o' that pastiir land for the last five 
year. The Widder Hopley holds 
onto her reel 'state 's though she was 
goin' to car' it with her. vShe's poot}' 
snug to drive a bargain with, the 
Widder Hopley is. . I alius did say 
I 'd ruther trade with the Old Nick 
than a woman. No 'fence meant 
]icn\ o course," he added, feeling 
somewhat sheepish for the moment. 

Miss Phcebe smiled so beamingly 
upon him, however, that he was 
swiftly betrayed into thinking he had 
made a laudable remark. 

"No, Em'line," he continued, "I 
dunno 's I 'm sorry I 've bought the 
land — even though I might have 
saved by waitin' a couple j^ear 
longer,'' he said recklessly'. "You 
see I 've been a hankerin' for it some 
little time." 

"But 'tain't best to hurrs- such 
things too much, Obadiah," admon- 
ished Mrs. Jenkins with judicious 
good-wnll again reigning in her breast. 

\\ . 

"Do you s'pose Obadiah '11 be long 
b3'e 'n bye, Emmeline ? " Miss Phoebe 
questioned one February afternoon, 
as she watched the sun sink in the 
red southwest behind a clump of 
pines. "Seems most a pity to undo 
my frizzles and have 'em wasted." 

"I dunno why he .shouldn't," 
answered Mrs. Jenkins with expec- 
tancy in her voice. " Do you ? " 

" I dunno 's I do, only it 's been so 
blusterin' all day I did n't know 's 
he 'd git broke out much 'fore 
mornin'. He has so much to see to, 
and nobody to help him," replied 
Miss Phcebe with tender considera- 
tion. "And the road's blowed chock 
full between us and him." 

"He ain't very hefty. I guess 
he 11 come," returned Mrs. Jenkins. 

And so he did. His nightly visita- 
tions were getting to be considered a 
matter of course. 

To-night he appeared to devote 
himself to Marcia somewhat more 
than Miss Phoebe thought desirable. 
She had never considered Emmeline 
an obstruction to Obadiah's wooing, 
but "Marshy" was a little young 
thing who could hardly be expected 
to appreciate the gravity of the situ- 
ation. Of late she had thought seri- 
ously of withdrawing herself and 
Obadiah to the remote precincts of 
the parlor. That, however, would 
have necessitated an extra wood fire, 
and Miss Phcx^be knew her thrifty 
sister would not countenance such 
extravagance. So she consoled her- 
self with the reflection that the course 
of true love never yet run smooth. 

At one time during the evening, 
when Marcia was momentarily ab- 
sent from the room, Obadiah had 
remarked meditatively, "Strange, 
hain't it, that Marshy never favored 
her ma in looks." And Mrs. Jenk- 
ins's spirits had thereupon risen to a 
transcendent height. 

" How much Obadiah is like poor 
Jerry ! " she mused resignedly, as she 
imbibed the usual cup of ginger tea 
before retiring. "He always said I 
was a dretful sight better lookin" to 
him than anybody else." 

But Miss Phoebe's abstracted mind 
had not thus interpreted Obadiah's 

' ' I always did say Marshy favored 
me," she spoke with becoming mod- 

And each old sister smiled gently 
at the mental dullness of the other. 

"She's a nice little girl. Marshy 



is," condescended Miss Phrtbe with 
suave good-will to all mankind. 
"I'm sure I hope she'll do well 
when the time comes." 

The next evening a jingle of sleigh- 
bells was heard in Mrs. Jenkins's 
door-yard. vShe hastened to the win- 
dow and gazed into the darkness. 
"Unless I 'm terrible mistook," she 
cried, with happy anticipation in her 
tone, " Obadiah 's out here with Jig- 
ger." (Jigger was the horse.) "Land ! 
I 'd clean forgot the temperance lec- 
tur' at the hall to-night. It do n't 
cost nothin', and that 's jest where 
he 's a goin'." And Mrs. Jenkins 
gave her back hair some swift, sur- 
reptitious attention before admitting 
the visitor. 

Obadiah was evidently arrayed for 
a momentous occasion. His heavy- 
soled boots rejoiced in a very unusual 
application of blacking, and he had 
attempted to give an air of style to 
his faded overcoat by the addition of 
fur collar and cuffs — the souvenirs of 
a long-lost antiquity. His scattered 
locks had been laboriously persuaded 
to show to the best possible advan- 
tage under his beaver hat. 

Miss Phoebe's heart fluttered agree- 
ably at his gallant appearance. She 
wished she had been sagacious enough 
to have saved her frizzles until the 
last moment. Obadiah, however, ap- 
peared strangely delinquent about the 
necessarN' invitation, and the digni- 
fied modesty of Mrs. Jenkins and Miss 
Phoebe would not permit them to be- 
gin preparations before it had been 

The event at the hall was to com- 

mence at seven, and Miss Phoebe saw 
with alarm the rapid approach of that 
hour. It would never do to be late 
upon such an auspicious occasion. 
If he did not mention the subject 
soon, she believed she must adminis- 
ter a mild suggestion. In the mean- 
time Mrs. Jenkins, also, cast anxious 
glances upon the calm clock, and 
shifted about nervously in her chair. 
She strove to reassure herself by 
thinking she would need but a very 
few minutes to change her dress, and 
that Jigger could go quite fast when 
the occasion required. 

vSuddenly Marcia appeared in the 
doorway. Mrs. Jenkins noticed with 
a thrill of uneasiness that she was 
attired in her Sunday apparel. And 
what was Obadiah saying ? 

"We 'd better be goin' I guess, 
Marshy, if you 're ready," he ob- 
served cheerfully. "You know we 
want to git a good settin'." 

Their exit was followed by silence 
so intense it could almost be seen. 
Their words were painfully inade- 
quate to express the blasted hopes 
of 3'ears. The clock ticked on with 
loud lack of consideration, and the 
fire went out with a dreary sputter 
for want of attention. 

After a while Miss Phoebe spoke, 
" Marshy 's a doin' the courtin', I 
guess," she said dismally ; " I always 
said Obadiah did n't have no mind." 

And Mrs. Jenkins had responded 
with a vain attempt at comfortable 
resignation, " Tand ! but I do hope 
Marshy w^on't be rampant to git her 
fixin's right off. Things is goin' to 
be awful cheap a year from now." 




By ir. M. R. 

" Hast thou come with the heart of thy childhood back? 
The free, the pure, the kind? 
So nmrunired the trees in my homeward track. 

As they played to the mountain wind." — Hoiiaus. 

A happy youth, in life's bright morning hour, 

Strayed from hi.s joyous childhood's mountain home, 

A mother's and a sister's love his only dower, 

Thenceforth a wanderer o'er the earth to roam. 

Long time home-sickness of the heart hung o'er him. 

And sad home voices came on every breeze. 

One lovely picture con.stant rose before him — 

His childhood's home among the whispering trees. 

Sweet visions of the happy past, in dreams returning, 

Re-fed the quenchless fire of boyish love, 

Onh' to waken, with devoted, tireless yearning. 

Longings to .seek that ark of refuge, like the dove. 

Through tear-dimmed eyes he sees as in a vision. 

Warm in the brightness of the sunbeam's track. 

Mother and sister, in that home Elysian, 

Whose low, sweet voices gently call him back. 

But time, like the famed bird of Indian .story. 

Assuages griefs that seemed too great to bear. 

With soothing pinion fans the wound so gorj^, 

Her own remorseless beak inflicted there. 

So faint, and fainter grew that home impression, 

As from the deck one sees receding shore, 

And turns to other scenes, to hide the sad procession 

Of vanished joys, that come, alas I no more. 

Time rolled with ever-hurrying fleetness, 

Bearing Nepenthe on its restless stream, 

Yet never from his heart could drown the sweetness 

Exhaled in fragrance from his boyhood's dream. 

And now with snow-flecked locks again returning 

To the old paths his feet in childhood trod, 

The altar fires of home no longer burning, 

His loved ones sleeping silent 'neath the sod. 

His stricken .soul finds no responsive greeting 

To its low, mournful roll-call of despair ; 

No throbbing heart's anticipated joy at meeting. 

With answering echo, wakes the silent air. 

And here at last we leave him with his sorrow. 

Welcome, indeed, oblivion's Lethean stream, 

LTpon whose shadowy wave there dawns no morrow. 

No sad returning to that childhood's dream. 


E AR IJ XC/roX . A K LI XCTOX . \V I X C 1 1 i;STER . 

Bv Georoe J I'. Fierce. 

^I'.AR the Monadnock, al- 
most under its western 
shadow, as the sun 
fringes the morning's 
horizon, l3'ing upon both 
banks of the Ashuelot, is the subject 
of our short sketch. 

It is a town of territorial area prac- 
tically six miles square, and has re- 
mained with its present boundaries 
since Jul}- 2, 1850. It was originally 
granted as a plantation to Col. Josiah 
Willard, of lyancaster and Lunen- 
burg, at that time captain of the 
company of soldiers stationed at Fort 
Dummer, and sixtN'-three associates, 
mostly of Lunenburg, by Gov. Jona- 
than Belcher on June 21, 1733. 

The boundary of this grant is as 
follows: " Begining at y' River, at a 
maple tree, the southwesterly corner 
of His excellency's Governour Bel- 
cher's Farm (said to be the northern 
bounds of Northfield) ; from thence 
running up y'' said Connecticut River 
Four miles and one half and twenty 
rods, taking in two small Islands at 
the upper end ; from thence 
twelve degrees, to y' south eight 
miles and a half and twenty (rods) 
perches, to an heap of stones ; then 
south six miles one quarter and fifty 
two rods, to a heap of stones; then 
west two miles and an half, to a white 
pine tree marked ; from thence north 
eighteen and an half degrees, west 

three miles one quarter, and sixty 
perches, to a black oak tree, marked ; 
then north one mile and an half and 
forty perches, to a heap of stones ; 
then west three miles and three-quar- 
ters, to the maple tree, the first men- 
tioned bound. There is allowed about 
one rod in twenty for uneven land and 
swag of chain ; also there 's allowed 
739 acres for farms already Laj^ed 
out, with two hundred acres allowed 
for ponds and rivers." 

These boundaries remained till 
July 2, 1753, at which date they 
were changed as follows: "Begining 
at a beach tree marked for the .south- 
west corner of Richmond ; from thence 
running west 10° N. on the Province 
Line four miles to the easterly line of 
Northfield (so called) ; thence runs 
Northerly on said line to the north- 
east corner of Northfield aforesaid : 
then runs west on the aforesaid line 
of Northfield to Connecticut River ; 
thence running up said River to the 
southwest corner of Chesterfield ; 
then runs south 73° East until that 
point intersects a line running North 
b}^ the needle from the first men- 
tioned found tree," and "containing 
by admeasurement twenty three thou- 
sand and forty acres, which tract is 
to contain six miles square and no 
more, out of which an allowance is 
made for highways and unimprovable 
Lands, by rocks, mountains, ponds, 



and rivers, one thousand and forty 
acres free." 

These new boundaries became nec- 
essar}- from the fact that a strip of 
land of a triano^ular form, with its 
apex towards the east, about two 
hundred and fifty rods deep, on the 
easterlj' border of Northfield, and 
lying between the New Province line 
and "Gardner's Canada," or " Rox- 
bury," now Warwick, Mass., con- 
taining 1,199 acres, was severed from 
the original grant of Winchester as 

This new adjustment of boundary 
gave to Hinsdale all that portion of 
Winchester lying upon the bank of 
the Connecticut river extending from 
near Fort Hinsdale to and including 
the islands in the river opposite Brat- 
tleboro, a di.stance of three miles and 
twenty-three rods, and all the terri- 
tory originalh- granted to Winchester 
west of said "due north line"; and 
gave to Winchester a portion of the 
territory of Northfield above the " New- 
Province Line," about three miles in 

South Mam Street. 

made in 1733, by the establishment 
of the New Province line. 

On September 5, following, on the 
petition of Ebenezer Hinsdale Esq., 
and "sundry persons inhabiting at a 
place called Northfield, lying on the 
north of the dividing line of the Prov- 
ince of New-Hampshire, and the Mas- 
sachusetts Bay," an alteration was 
made in the westerly line of the 
town of Winchester as follows : Com- 
mencing at a point on the " New 
Province Line" eight}' rods from the 
Connecticut river, running due north 
by the needle till it intersected with 
the northern l)Oundary of the grant. 

width on said line by a depth of about 
four and three-fourths miles running 

From this date till 1850 the bound- 
aries remained unchanged. On Jul}- 
2 of this last mentioned 3'ear, the leg- 
islature extended the boundaries of 
Winchester as follows: "Beginning 
at the northwest corner of the town 
of Richmond, and running southerl}' 
on the line dividing Richmond from 
Winchester, three hundred and forty 
rods, to the south line of the road 
leading by Hollis Narramore's house ; 
thence north fift3'-eiglit degrees east 
to Swanzey .south line, at the north 



Town Hall and Universalist Church. 

side of the new road leading from 
Swanzey to Winchester ; thence on 
Svvanzey south line three hundred 
and forty rods, to the corner between 
Swanzy and Richmond." This added 
a triangular piece of the territoi'y of 
Richmond from her northwest cor- 
ner, a little more than a mile in length 
on the Winchester line, and a little 
more than a mile in length on the 
Swanzey line, to Winchester. 

The grantees and original settlers 
came mainly from lyunenburg, Mass., 
and they formed two principal settle- 
ments, one at " y" Great River" (the 
Connecticut), the other at " y' Bow " 
(on the Ashuelot river). Those who 
located on " y' Great River," were, — 
Col. Josiah Willard, Isaac Farns- 
worth, Jonathan Hubbard, Charles 
Wilder, John Stevens, Josiah Wil- 
lard, Jr., Stephen F'arnsworth, Ed- 
ward Hartwell, John Johnson, John 
Waiting, Edward Hartwell, Jr., Elea- 
zer Haywood, Elisha Chapin, Shem 
Chapin, William Willard, William 
Lawrence, Timothy Minot, John 
Keen, Nathan Haywood, Joseph 
Kellog, Esq., Zachariah Field, John 
Brown, Daniel vShattuck, Timothy 
Dwiglit, Nathaniel Dwight, Joseph 
Severance, and Rufus Houghton ; 
and at " y" Bow," — Noah Dodge, 

iCphraim Pearce, James Jewell, Moses 
Willard, James Hoslej', Ephraim 
Wheeler, William Jones, Andrew 
Gardner, Benjamin Prescott, Esq., 
Samuel Earns worth, Asael Hartwell, 
Jonathan Willard, Benjamin Bellows, 
Jr., Samuel Chandler, Jr., William 
Goss, Silas Houghton, Daniel Wright, 
Benoni Wright, Joshua Wells, John 
Heywood, Thomas Willard, Francis 
Cogswell, Jethro Wheeler, Ephraim 
Wetherby, John Prescott, Ebenezer 
Alexander, William vSyms, Nathaniel 
Chamberlain, Elias Alexander, Joseph 
Alexander, Joseph Alexander, Jr., 
John Alexander, Ebenezer Alexander, 
Jr., John Ellis, Oliver Doolittle, James 
Porter, John Summers, Daniel Brown, 
Edmond Grandy, and Benoni Moore. 

The entire number of first settlers 
at this date, October 3, 1733, as ap- 
pears by the above list, is sixty- 
seven — a gain of three over the list of 
grantees, who numbered sixty-four, 
including Colonel Willard. Of these, 
twenty-seven appear to have located 
on the Connecticut river, and fort}" 
on the Ashuelot. 

These first settlers must have come 
into their several locations by the 
way of Northfield, lines of communi- 
cation with towns lying to the east- 
ward and towards Boston having been 
previously opened up as a matter of 

Congregational Church 



cominon necessity. Those locating 
upon the Connecticut river, passing 
up the road leading from Northfield 
to Fort Dummer direct, whilst those 
who located at "y" Bow" jirobably 
followed a "blazed" trail made by 
Joseph Blanchard and his associates, 
who made the original survey of the 
plantation, through the forest from 
Northfield to "y'Bow." No line of 
direct communication between the 
settlements upon the Ashuelot and 
Connecticut rivers was ever estab- 
lished, so far as the records show, 
whilst remaining a part of a common 
grant ; and a line of direct communi- 
cation between Lunenburg and North- 
field was provided for by the way of 
Arlington in the original grant as fol- 
lows : "And within two years from 
the Grant, the Petitioners clear and 
make a convenient Traivailing Road 
of twelve feet wide, from Lunenburg 
to Northfield." The records show 
that this road was constructed, and 
passed through territory now known 
as Richmond, Royalston, and Win- 
chendon, to Lunenburg. 

It would seem from the records 
that these proprietors did not all im- 
mediately proceed to Arlington for 
permanent settlement, as the proprie- 
tors' business meetings were not held 
here till "Tuesday the 26'" day of 
August 1735." This meeting was 
held at the house of William Syms, 
and Deacon Ebenezer Alexander 
was chosen moderator. Rev. Mr. 
Benjamin Doolittle, Deacon Kben- 
ezer Alexander, and Mr. Nathaniel 
Brooks were chosen assessors, and 
Mr. Jeremiah Hall and Mr. James 
Jewell, collectors; and an assessment 
of one hundred pounds and ten shil- 
tings was voted to be levied upon ' ' y' 
Proprietors of y' House Lots, at y' 

Bow & y'' Great River, in equal pro- 
portions on each Lot." 

Between these two dates, Octo- 
ber 3, 1733, and August 26, 1735, 
the proprietors had been construct- 
ing their dwellings, improving their 
lands, building roads, and otherwise 
improving their new possessions in 
such manner as to make the same 
suitable for permanent settlement. 
They had also constructed in part a 

Methodist Church. 

meeting-house at " y'' Bow," forty 
feet in length, ' thirty-two feet in 
breadth, and eighteen feet between 
"joynts," at a cost when completed, — 
all except the windows, which were 
to be in two tiers, with frames and 
casements, " y'' sash fashion for y' 
lower tier with y"" common sort of 
Diamond Glass," — of one hundred 
and eight}' pounds ; and Col. Josiah 
Willard was the contractor for the 
construction of the same, and he gave 
bond for security to " y" Rev. Mr. 
Benjamin Doolittle, a Trustee for the 
Proprietors, y' I will perfect y' s'' 
work to s'' building." The location 
of this building was upon house lot 
No. 5, on "Meeting" hill, 
and where the dwelling-house of 
Arthur Burbank now stands. 

It is not known exactly at what 



School Building No. 3. 

date Col. Josiah Willard became an 
actual resident of Arlington planta- 
tion. He was born in lyancaster, 
Mass., and early became a citizen of 
lyunenburg, Mass., where his family 
resided. He became commander of 
Fort Dummer, as the successor of 
Capt. Joseph Kellogg, who was ap- 
pointed interpreter to the Indian na- 
tions, June 20, 1740. He retained 
this position till his death ten years 
later. He was reported as a gentle- 
man of superior natural powers, of a 
pleasant, happ}^ and agreeable temper 
of mind, a faithful friend, one that 
paid singular regard to the ministers 
of the gospel, a kind husband and a 
tender parent. His early death was 
described to be a great loss to the 
public, considering his usefulness in 
many respects, particularly on the 
western frontiers, where in the " late 
wars, in his betrustments, he has 
.shown himself faithful, vigilant, and 
careful . . . and he has always 
used his best endeavors for the pro- 
tection of our exposed infant towns, 
and his loss will be greatly regretted 
by them." The same writer says: 
" He died on a journe}^ from home 
December 8, 1750, aged 58 5'ears." 
In fact his memorial tablet is to be 
found in the family burial lot of 
Josiah Blanchard (whose brother-in- 

law he was), at Dunstable, Mass., 
and it bears the following inscription : 

Col Josiah Willard. Here lyes interred _V 
body of Josiah Willard captain of I'ort Dum- 
mer, formerly of Lancaster, I.unenberg & Win- 
chester, and Co' of Regiment of foot, who died 
here, December y'' 8, Anno Domini, ij.S'i, in y^' 
58 3'ear of his age. 

The governmental organization of 
the proprietors of the plantation of 
Arlington continued till August 20, 


The general court of the province 

Winchester Public Library. 

of Massachusetts, having ordered 
under date of June 22, 1739, that 
" Col. Josiah Willard one of the prin- 
cipal inhabitants of the new Town- 
ship, called Winchester h'ing in the 
County of Hamp.shire, should call a 
meeting of the inhabitants of y" s'' 
Township, to assemble and convene 
in some convenient public place in 
said Town, to make choice of a Town 
Clerk and other Town Officers to 
stand till the anniversary meeting in 
March next." 

At this first town meeting of Win- 
chester Col. Josiah Willard was 
chosen moderator ; Josiah Willard, 
Jr., town clerk ; Col. Josiah Willard, 
Mr. Andrew Gardner, and Nathaniel 
Rock wood, selectmen ; Simon Wil- 
lard, constable ; Nathaniel Chamber- 



lain, tithin^t;-nuui : Nathaniel Rock- 
wood, town treasurer; Simon Wil- 
lard, Samuel Tajlor, and Henrj- 
Bond, hog-reeves; William Syms, 
Joseph Alexander, and Nathan Fair- 
banks, fence-viewers ; Andrew Gard- 
ner and Josiah Willard, Jr., in- 
formers of all breaches of an act for 
the preservation of deer ; and Ger- 
shoni Tuttle pound-keeper. 

For a little more than a year peace 
and, to a certain degree, prosperity 
attended these early settlers. They 
enlarged their clearings, extended 
their cultivatable fields, increased 
their flocks and herds, improved 
their dwellings, and in very man}' 
ways added to their material w^elfare 
and comfort. The few Indians who 
remained were friendly, and gave the 
settlers no annoyance. The forests 

The Winchester National Bank. 

were filled with game, the main 
streams with salmon, shad, and oth- 
er tide- water fish, and the smaller 
streams and ponds were abundantl}' 
stocked with all kinds of fresh-water 
fish common to New England inland 

On August 5, 1740, the political 
peace of these people was disturbed 
b}^ a royal decree, defining the 
boundary line between the provinces 
of New Hampshire and Massachu- 

setts, which left a portion of their 
granted territory in both provinces. 
But this division of their territory was 
of much less significance to them than 
was this other fact, that their lot had 
been, through this new alignment, among strangers, and that hence- 
forth the}' were joined to those who 
had never claimed them, and did not 
want them, and with whom there was 
neither bonds of kinship, tradition, 
nor a community of interest. 

That these feelings were amply 
warranted w^as shown, when five 
years later Colonel Willard in a letter 
of appeal to Gov. Benning Went- 
worth used the following language, — 
"Almost ever}' man is upon the move 
in this part of the country. I have 
had no sleep these three nights, and 
have now nine families stope'' at my 
house. We have persuaded the 
bigger part of the people to tarry a 
little longer." 

The answer he received read : 
" Fort Dummer is Fifty miles distant 
from any towns which have been 
settled by the Government of New- 
Hampshire." "That the people 
had no right to the lands which, by 
the dividing line had fallen within 
New-Hampshire, notwithstanding the 
plausible arguments that had been 
used to induce them to bear the ex- 

Engine House, Steamer No. 



pence of Ihe line, namely, that the 
land would be given to them, or be 
sold to pay the expences. That the 
charge of maintaining that Fort at so 
great a distance, and to which there 
was no communication by roads, 

Tne WinchesTer House. 

would exceed what had been the 
whole expence of the Government 
before the line was established, and, 
finally, that there was no danger that 
these parts would want support, since 
it was the interest of Massachusetts 
by whom they were created (the 
Forts) to maintain them as a cover to 
their frontiers." 

Beset as these people were by their 
political difhculties, other and by far 
more serious ones soon confronted 
them. Unfriendly relations had been 
rapidly developing between the gov- 
ernments of France and Kngland, 
which, if culminating in actual hos- 
tilities, would, in all human prob- 
ability, subject these frontier English 
settlements to attack by the French, 
who then were in possession of Can- 

In 1744 that which had been feared 
occurred, for war between these two 
countries actually commenced, and as 

these settlers had feared, it ])roved to 
be a war in which, on the part of the 
French, all the skill of the civilized 
was su])plemented by the stealth, 
stratagem, and Ijrutalities of the bar- 
barous Indian. 

The following year, 
1745, the .settlers, hav- 
ing become convinced 
that they were not to be 
protected by the provin- 
cial authorities of New 
Hamp.shire, abandoned 
their settlements, both 
discouraged and deject- 
ed , and returned to 
lyunenburg, a few only 
remaining under the 
leadership of Colonel 
W i 1 1 a r d to brave the 
perils of the coming 
During the period of their absence, 
which extended to 1753, the French 
and Indians made frequent incur- 
sions. On June 24, 1746, twent}' In- 
dians came to Bridgman's fort, two 
miles below Fort Dummer, and 
attacked a number of men who were 
working in a meadow. The}^ killed 
William Robbins and Jonas Parker, 
captured Daniel Howe and John Bee- 
man, and wounded William Crison 
and Patrick Rugg. On July 24, Col- 
onel Willard and a guard of twenty 
men were ambushed near Colonel 
Hinsdale's mill, but suffered no loss. 
On August 6, thirty Indians waylaid 
the road near Benjamin Melvin's 
house ; they killed Joseph Rawson 
and wounded Amasa Wright. Octo- 
ber 22 the Indians captured Jonathan 
Sartwell near Fort Hinsdale. On 
April 16, 1747, a party of Indians com- 
manded by a PVench ofhcer, Monsieur 
Debelene, destroyed all the buildings 



and other property at ' ' y' Bow ' ' that 
had been abandoned by the settlers 
when the}' returned to L,unenburg. 

On October i6, Lieutenant Perie 
Rambout with a party of Indians 
came to Winchester and encamped on 
the south bank of the Ashuelot river, 
a mile or two below the settlement at 
'■y' Bow." The lieutenant, leaving 
the Indians at the camp, passed over 
a neighboring hill towards North- 
field, where he was discovered by 
Major Willard of Winchester, Doctor 
Hall of Keene, and Captain Alexan- 
der of North field, who were going 
from Winchester settlement towards 
Northfield. Their attention was first 
attracted b}^ some cattle running as 
though frightened. Captain Alex- 
ander, being in the advance, saw 
a Frenchman in the path, coming 
towards him. When the Frenchman 
saw that he was discovered, he took 
refuge behind a tree, and asked for 
quarter; but, speaking in French, 
Captain Alexander did not under- 
stand him, but fired his gun, 
shooting Rambout (who it proved 
to be) in the breast. He fell, 
but, soon recovering himself, came 
up to Captain Alexander, whom 
he saluted, but he soon fainted, 
and the captain and his compan- 
ions thought him mortally wound- 
ed if not, indeed, dying. Know- 
ing that Rambout would not be 
there alone, and that in all prob- 
ability his Indian allies were near 
b}', and fearing pursuit, they took 
Rambout's arms and hastened to 
Northfield. The Indians, hearing 
the report of Alexander's gun, im- 
mediately started and soon found 
Rambout, and brought him to their 
camp by the river. Believing him 
to be mortally wounded and fearing 

pursuit, they abandoned him here 
and returned to Canada, where they 
reported him as having been killed 
by the English. The next morning 
Rambout revived sufficiently to make 
his way towards Northfield. The 
first person to discover him was Cap- 
tain Alexander, who the day before 
had shot him. He was taken to 
Rev. Mr. Doolittle, in Northfield, 
who practised the arts of physician 
as well as a clergyman, who cared 
for him till he recovered and was 
exchanged for Samuel Allen, of 
Deerfield, who had been captured 
the year before. 

Later in the j^ear (1747), the In- 
dians burned Fort Bridgman, kill- 
ing several of its garrison and taking 
others prisoners. On June 16, 1748, 
fourteen men were ambushed near 
the mouth of Broad brook, going 
from Fort Hinsdale to Fort Dummer. 
Jo.seph Richardson, William Bick- 
ford, Nathan French, and John Frost 
were killed ; William Bickford was 

Tne A M. Howard Estate Box Factory. 

mortalh' wounded ; William Blanch- 
ard, Benjamin Osgood, Mathew Wy- 
man, Joel Johnson, Henry Stevens, 
and Mark Perkins were taken pris- 
oners ; Daniel Farmer and three 
others escaped. The Indians killed 



one of their prisoners that night at 
their camp. 

On July 3, the Indians ambushed 
a guard of twenty men, under the 
command of Colonel Willard, near 
Fort Hinsdale, where he had come 
to grind corn. The colonel gave 
such loud and repeated orders for 
his men to attack the enemy that 
the Indians fled, leaving their packs 
and provisions in possession of the 
colonel, and he and his men returned 
to Fort Dummer without loss. 

■s,, . 

Eames & Town Grist Mill 

On July 14, Sergt. Thomas Taylor 
with sixteen men started from North- 
field for Keene, following in pai't the 
route to Fort Dummer; they were at- 
tacked about a mile southward from 
Fort Dummer by about a hundred 
French and Indians, and after a 
sharp fight, in which Joseph Rose, 
Asail Graves, James Billings, and 
Henry Chandler were killed ; and 
Robert Cooper and three others, 
whose names are unknown, escaped. 
The others — Sergt. Thomas Taylor, 
Jonathan Dawrence, Thomas Crison, 
Reuben Walker, John Edgel, David 
How, Ephraim Powers, John Henry, 

and Daniel Farmer — were taken pris- 
oners ; two of the prisoners had been 
seriously wounded in the fight, and 
were soon after killed by the Indians. 
The survivors were taken to Canada. 
Near the spot where this fight took 
place has been erected a monument, 
upon one side of which is this inscrip- 

In memory of .Sergeant Thomas Taylor, how 
with a party of sixteen men, was here over- 
powered by one hundred French and Indians, 
after a severe and bloody resistance July 14, 
A D. 1748. Four of their number being killed, 
Sg' Taylor with eight others, several of whom 
were wounded, were taken prisoners, and four 

On the opposite side appears this 
inscription : 

In memory of fourteen men who were way- 
laid by the Indians near this place June i6tii, 

Though peace was declared be- 
tween F" ranee and England, Octo- 
ber 8, 1748, the Indians did not cease 
their warfare upon the settlers of 
Winchester for nearly eight years 
longer, for, on July 22, 1755, the In- 
dians attacked a party of men near 
Fort Hinsdale, and killed and cap- 
tured several of them. 

On July 27 Caleb Howe, Hilkiah 
Grout, and Benjamin Gal^eld were 
ambushed near Fort Bridgman, a 
little before sunset, as they were re- 
turning from their work. Howe was 
on horseback \\\W\ his two children ; 
a bullet struck and broke his thigh ; 
he fell to the ground and his two sons 
were captured. When the Indians 
came up to him they pierced his body 
with a spear, tore off his scalp, stuck 
a hatchet in his head, and left him 
for dead. Grout escaped, btit Craffield 
was drowned in his attempt to cross 
the Connecticut river. The next 
morning a party of men from Fort 



Hinsdale found Howe alive. ( )ii 
being asked by one of the party it 
he knew liin:, he answered, "Yes, I 
know 3'ou all." He lived till his 
friends arrived with him at Fort 
Hinsdale, though he never spoke 
again. These Indians, flushed wuth 
their success, immediately went to 
Fort Bridgman, where they found 
only Mrs. Jemima Howe, Mrs. Sub- 
mit Grout, Mrs. Eunice Gaffield, and 
their nine children, all of whom they 
made captives. 

On June 7, 1756, the Indians cap- 
tured Josiah Foster's wife and two 
children. Foster's house was located 
on the northerly side of Ore moun- 
tain, about one mile south of, and in 
plain view of, the present village of 
Winchester. Foster was at work on 
the bridge near the mouth of " Mirey 
Brook," where the present bridge 
now stands, when the Indians made 
their attack. Whatever attracted 
Foster's attention is not certainl}- 
known, but he in some manner be- 
came aware of the condition of his 
family, and, hastening home, surren- 
dered himself as a prisoner, that he 
might share with his famil}' the bur- 
dens of their captivit}'. They were 
taken to Quebec, w^here, after some 
months of suffering, they were set at 
libert}' and sent to Boston, from 
whence they returned to their home 
in Winchester. 

It may be said with some show of 
truth that these events of Juh' 22 
and 27, 1755, are not a portion of 
the history of Winchester, by rea- 
son of the division of the territory 
of the town in 1753; yet this is 
true, that these affairs occurred at 
the very doors of those people who, 

as grantees, proprietors, and settlers, 
had come up from Lunenburg to set- 
tle Arlington, and who always re- 
mained true in sentiment and prac- 
tice to this new domain that they 
had founded in the wilderness, and 
they were the principal factors in all 
that took place here during these 
troublesome days. 

The interruption of the town's gov- 
ernment continued for aljout seven 
years, when Benning Wentworth re- 
granted Winchester to Josiah Wil- 

The Old Pines, bi.u*n iViair sTeet. hnjuing North." 

lard, Ebenezer Alexander, EHas 
Alexander, William Syms, John 
Ellis, John Summers, Francis Cogs- 
well, James Jewell, William Willard, 
John Brown, and Timothy Minot, of 
the original grantees of Arlington, 
and fifty-five others. 

At the first town meeting held un- 
der the new grant, Josiah Willard, 
Esq., was moderator by the appoint- 
ment of Governor Wentworth ; Major 
Josiah Willard, Esq., Col. William 
vSyms, and Samuel Ashley were chos- 
en selectmen and assessors ; Nathan 

1 This view was taken from near the spot where Josiah Foster was at work when liis family were captured by 
the Indians. The trees were then forest size. There are now nineteen of them standing at irregular intervals 
on the bank of tlie river, bordering South Main street, covering a distance of about one third of a mile. 



Rockvvood, town clerk; L,ieut. vSi- 
moii Willard, town treasurer; Ben- 
jamin Melvin, constable; I<"benezer 
Alexander and Elias Alexander, sur- 
veyors of highways ; Josiah Foster 
and William Temple, fence-viewers; 
John lillis, hog-reeve : and Nathan- 
iel Rockwood, sealer of weights and 

Thus, after long years of trials and 
sufferings, the grantees of Winches- 
ter, having their rights recognized 
by New Hampshire, and having the 
boundaries of their grant finally ad- 
justed, set themselves, with renewed 
vigor, to the restoration of their 
ruined buildings, the clearing of new 
fields, and improving the means of 
communication with each other and 
with the outside settlements. 

On April 22, 175-I., at a special town 






WirTchester rarinery, 

meeting, held at the house of Major 
Josiah Willard, it was voted "to Build 
a meeting-house, forty-four feet long, 
and thirty-four feet wide and twenty 
feet posts, and to set the Meeting- 
house where it was before upon the 
same hill." And Major Josiah Wil- 
lard, Col. William Syms, Lieut. Si- 
mon Willard, Ebenezer Alexander, 
and Samuel Ashley were chosen a 
committee to build the same. 

No further action seems to have 
been taken in this matter till the 
annual town meeting, March 4, 1760, 
which was held at the house of Col. 
Josiah Willard, when it was again 
voted "to Build a Meeting-house, 
forty-four feet in length. Thirty-four 
feet in Bredth, and Twenty feet be- 
tween joynts," "and to be shingled 
and Inclosed before the next winter." 
And Col. Josiah Willard, Esq., Col. 
William vSyms, and Eieut. vSamuel 
Ashley were chosen a committee "to 
do the same." 

That this work was performed 
within the year is shown by the 
fact that the annual town meeting, 
held on March 3, 1761, was warned 
"to Meet at the Meeting-house in 
Said Winchester." The building 
was never full}^ completed, and was 
abandoned in 1795 for the build- 
ing which now stands in our public 
square, and is now in use as a town 
hall, and for religious purposes by 
the Universalist church. 

In this connection, it is well to re- 
member that wherever the name of 
Josiah Willard, Esq., Major Josiah 
Willard, or Col. Josiah Willard, ap- 
pears in these records after December 
8, 1750, that it is the Col. Josiah 
Willard who lies buried in Evergreen 
cemetery at Winchester, and who 
died, "April y" 19"' 1786, in the 72 
year of his age," rather than his 
father, Col. Josiah Willard, the prom- 
inent grantee of Arlington and cap- 
tain at Fort Dummer, to whom refer- 
ence is made. No events of impor- 
tance transpired amongst the settlers 
of Winchester till the questions that 
culminated in the War of the Rev- 
olution arose, when they promptly 
ranged themselves under the banner 
of the provincial congress, b}' voting 



Arsel Dickenson's Sons' Box and Lumber Mil;s. Robert- 
son Bros.' Paper Mill. Pisgah Station. 

on Monday, June i, 1775, "to pa}- 
the two thousand men, agreeable to 
the Congress, and to comply with 
what the}' have done." And this 
spirit continued till the close of the 
war. Ever}' dollar of her taxes was 
paid, and every man "required to 
fill up our Cotto in the Continental 
Army " was promptly furnished. 

In 1 78 1, a new issue arose: Cer- 
tain towns on the east side of the 
Connecticut river had voted to join 
the state of Vermont. These towns 
were Hinsdale, Charlestown, Clare- 
mont, Plainfield, Grafton, Lyme, 
Gunthwait, Surr}^ Acworth, New- 
port, Grantham, Dresden, Dorches- 
ter, Lancaster, Cornish, Marlow, 
Hanover, Haverhill, Piermont, West- 
moreland, Saville, Cardigan, Lyman, 
Morristown, Bath, Croydon. Landaff, 
Lincoln, Richmond, Lebanon, Al- 
stead, and Chesterfield. On March 
28, 1 78 1, Winchester voted not to join 
with the state of Vermont. Notwith- 
standing this emphatic and terse reply 
to Vermont's invitation, she evidenth^ 
sought to coerce Winchester to com- 
ply with her wishes, for, on April 
21, 1 78 1, a town meeting was called 
"To see what notice the town will 
take of the warrant sent to our Con- 
stable from the State of Vermont." 

The answer was, " \'oted not to join 
the union with \'ermont." Thus she 
showed her loyalty to the state that 
had adopted her, as she had just 
before shown her loyalt}' to the acts 
of the "Provincial Congress." 

The question of a new meeting- 
house began to be agitated soon after 
the close of the Revolutionary War, 
Ijut no decisive action was taken till 
1792, when it was voted "to build a 
new Meeting-House," and that it 
should be built "at the bottom of 
the Hill, where the New -School 
House now standeth " ; but, as is 
usual in such cases, all were not of 
one opinion. Practically agreeing as 
to the building of the new house, 
they differed as to the proper place 
where it should stand, and meeting 
after meeting was held, and vote 
after vote was passed, all without 
avail, till April 14, 1794, when vSan- 
ford Kingsbury, Esq., John Hub- 
bard, Esq., and Col. Samuel Hunt, 
who had been chosen a committee 
at the last annual town meeting, 
"to say where the Meeting-House 
should stand," reported, "the new 
Meeting-House Shall stand where 
the Red School-House now stands," 
and this settled the question. 

Ansel Dickenson's Sons' Pail and Box Factory. 



The Orthodox, or Congregational, 
was the established church from 1736 
to 1S15. Its ministers had all been 
called by the town, and dismissed by 
the town, in open town meeting; and 
they had been supported by the town, 
and received their salary from the 
public treasur}^ the same-as all other 
town officers. The first pastor was 

Ashuelot Woollen Mills. 

Rev. Joseph Ashley {1736 to 1747), 
Rev. Micah I^awrence (1764 to 1777), 
Rev. Ezra Conant (178S to 1807), 
Rev. Experience Porter ( 1807 to 
1 8 10). In 1 8 15, the town refused 
by vote to settle Rev. Mr. White, 
and voted ' ' that the town consent 
that the Congregational Society of 
Christians in this town be incorpo- 
rated as a Society." 

At this date there had developed 
in Winchester three distinct religious 
organizations — the Congregational- 
ists, the Methodists, and the Univer- 

The Universalists still continue to 
occupy a portion of the "Meeting- 
House that stands where the Red 
School-House stood." In 1834, the 
Congregationalists constructed a 
church building for themselves ; and 
in 1842, the Methodists erected the 
building they now occupy. They 
partially constructed a church build- 

ing in 1805, and built one in 1826, 
which they abandoned for the one 
they now occupy. In 187 1, the 
Catholics, who have been a growing 
denomination in Winchester, erected 
a church in Ashuelot village. 

In the eventful period immediately 
preceding and during the war with 
England (1S12), Winchester was, as 
ever, mindful of her obligations as a 
patriotic and loyal community. She 
voted June 13, 1810, "To raise one 
hundred and twenty dollars to pro- 
vide ammunition and camp-kettles, 
agreeable to an act of Court," and 
voted to set the house to deposit 
town stores in front of the burying- 

From the close of the war 181 2-' 15 
no marked events occurred in Win- 
chester's history till the extension of 
her boundaries in 1850, as heretofore 
described. Her people had devoted 
themselves assiduously to the im- 
provement of their condition, educa- 
tional, financial, and material. They 
had constructed roads, built school- 
houses, and established manufactur- 
ing plants, until, in population, 
wealth, and influence, Winchester 
stood the peer of any town in western 
New Hampshire. 

Four of her industries were partic- 
ularly notable. Iron ore was largely 
mined, smelted, and cast into all 
forms required for local uses, but 
more particularly into all sorts of hol- 
low ware, including cauldron kettles, 
pots, frying-pans, skillets, and all 
other fire-place utensils and accesso- 
ries. A factory, which was in its da}' 
the most noted one in the United 
States for the manufacture of all 
kinds of brass and reed band instru- 
ments, was established here and con- 
tinued for many years. Its products 



were made use of in all parts of the 
country, and many very fine pieces 
were made on foreign orders. The 
manufacture of organs began here 
with the commencement of the cen- 
tury, Henry Pratt, Esq., having 
made a church organ on the order of 
Samuel Smith, Esq. Smith presented 
the organ to the town and it was 
placed in the meeting-house. This 
organ is now stored away in a loft 
connected with the town hall. This 
organ is believed to be the first church 
organ ever constructed in this coun- 
try. The manufacture of this class 
of musical instruments was continued 
extensively till about 1850. The 
fourth notable industry of this time 
was carried on at Ashuelot, and it 
was the crushing of flax-seed, and 
the extraction of its oil for commer- 
cial purposes. This industry was in 
its day as extensive as any of its kind 
to be found in New England. 

From about 1S50 to the present 
date, Winchester has enjoyed a period 
of material prosperity. The Win- 
chester National Bank was chartered 
as a state bank under the name of the 
Winchester Bank in 1847. It was 
converted into a national bank under 
the title of the Winchester National 
Bank in 1865. It has always been a 
flourishing and popular institution. 
The Security Savings Bank, chartered 
in 1881, has, under the management 
of its able and ever popular treasurer. 
Miss Jane Grace Alexander, who is 
probably the first lady ever intrusted 
with such a position, always held the 
full confidence and esteem of the pul)- 
lic. Soon after 1850, the Ashuelot 
Railroad was completed through the 
town. It has two full stations, Win- 
chester and Ashuelot, and two flag or 
freight stations. Forest I^ake and Pis- 

gah. The road became a division of 
the Connecticut River Railroad about 
1 891, and was acquired by lease by 
the Boston & Maine three years later. 
The Western Union and the Amer- 
ican Telegraph companies both have 
lines through the town, whilst the 
New England Telephone and Tele- 
graph Company connects Winchester 
with its entire system. There was 
also this year an independent tele- 
phone line constructed by private 
effort to connect Richmond with 

Various secret societies or organ- 
izations are amply sustained, prom- 
inent among which are the Masons, 
Odd Fellows, Pilgrim Fathers, Golden 
Cross, King's Daughters, the Grange, 
Grand Army, and the Woman's Re- 
lief Corps. The town supports twenty 
schools at an annual cost of between 
six and seven thousand dollars. 
Connected with the system is a high 
school, which is conducted under the 

Ashuelot Warp Mill. 

provisions of the " Claremont Act," 
the educational standard of which is 
sufficiently high for graduation to 
practically furnish teachers for all the 
primary, intermediate, and grammar 
grades, and for admi.ssion without 
conditions to more advanced educa- 
tional institutions in other localities. 
The Winchester public library J is 
an outgrowth of private effort made 



many years ago (1813) by certain of 
our public-spirited citizens- who se- 
cured a .state charter, under the name 
of "The Washington T^ibrary Asso- 
ciation of Winchester." The books 
of this association were only accessi- 
ble to its members. In 1876 the town 
entered into a contract with the share- 
holders, by means of which the town 
acquired possession of the franchise 
and books of the association and 
made the same thereafter free to citi- 
zens of the town. In 1888 it became 
known that Ezra Conant of Bo.ston, 
Mass., a native of Winchester and a 
son of Rev. Ezra Conant, who was 
town pastor from 1778 to iSio, had 
given to the town the munificent sum 
of fifty thousand dollars, the annual 
income of which should be made use 
of to maintain a public library in the 
village of Winchester, the town to 
furnish the building. In 1890 the 
library building was constructed at a 
cost of $15,000, to which was to be 
added the price of the lot and grad- 
ing the same, and certain furnishings, 
which increased the cost to about 
$18,000. In 1892 the town voted to 
appoint a board of trustees for the 
public library, who should hold their 
offices for one, two, three, four, and 
five years respectively, and that one 
trustee should forever thereafter be 
appointed by the selectmen, annually, 
for the full period of five years. The 
entire number of volumes now in the 
library is in excess of six thousand, 
and about six hundred volumes are 
taken from the library for current use 
each month. 

The fire department is well organ- 
ized. It has a fine steam fire engine 
and three hand engines, with all 
requisite accessories. The steamer is 
housed in a new brick building at 

Winchester Centre, whilst a commo- 
dious wood building supplies the 
needs of upper and lower Ashuelot 

The three villages — Winchester, 
Upper and Lower Ashuelot — have 
been lighted since 1891 by elec- 
tricity, furnished by the Ashuelot 
Valley Electric Eight, Heat, and 
Power Company, a local corporation. 

In Winchester village there are 
five mills and factories engaged in 
the manufacture of native lumber, the 
chief products being pails and tubs 
and packing boxes. The two most 
important of these are the factories of 
Ansel Dickenson's Sons and that of 
A.M. Howard's estate. In addition 
is the plant of the Winchester Tan- 
nery Company, whose works are 
among the most extensive of those in 
New England ; and the factory of the 
Winchester Creamery A.ssociation, 
whose butter product is rated as "gilt- 
edged ' ' by butter experts wherever 
sold or exhibited. At Upper Ashuelot 
is located the extensive plant of the 
Ashuelot Manufacturing Company, 
whose products in woollen goods for 
men's wear are favorably known in 
all our eastern markets. At Eower 
Ashuelot is located the Ashuelot 
Union mills, a branch of the Ashue- 
lot Manufacturing Company, and the 
factory of the Ashuelot Warp Com- 
pany, whose thread is in use in most 
of the extensive woollen mills in New 
England. At Pisgah Station is lo- 
cated the lumber mill and box fac- 
tory of Ansel Dickenson's Sons and 
the paper mills of Robertson Bros., 
and about a mile below on the river 
towards Hinsdale is the wholesale 
grain and feed mill of Eames and 

There are twenty-two stores, hand- 



ling such goods as are usually to be 
found in New England towns, five 
barbers, four doctors, three dentists, 
one lawyer, one printer, the Win- 
chester Star, and the Winchester 
House, — all thriving and prosperous 
in Winchester. 

Winchester has never enjoyed or 
suffered from a " boom." Her growth 
and development have been gradual 
and stead}'. In 1767 her population 
was 428 ; in 1773, 646 ; in 1780, 1,103 ; 
in 1790, 1,209; iti iSoo, 1,413; in 
1810, 1,478; in 1820, 1,849; in 1S30, 
2,052 ; in 1840, 2,065 ; in 1850, 3,296 ; 
in i860, 2,225 ; in 1870, 2,097 ; in 
1880, 2,444; in 1890, 2,584; with 
a taxable valuation of $1,430,874. 
In 1850 the census was swollen by 
reason of the number of laborers who 
were at that time engaged in con- 
structing the Ashuelot railroad. 

Winchester, in the 163 years of 

her existence, has developed from 
an unbroken wilderness into a thriv- 
ing and prosperous town. She has 
always been loyal to her state and 
the government to which she be- 
longed. She has alwa3'S been loyol 
to her convictions of right in all mat- 
ters pertaining to education, politics, 
religion, and morals, and where her 
heart has been, there her purse has 
been also. vShe has never hesitated 
to stand with outstretched hands, 
palms upward, bearing in them the 
shining coins of her treasury, which 
she has showered in abundance on 
every cause where her sense of duty 
or patriotism called. The founda- 
tions of her prosperit}^ are struck as 
deep as the granite that underlies 
her, while the structure she has been 
building towers upward and upward, 
keeping pace with the hopes and the 
aspirations of her citizens. 

;^f^ .^f^ /^f^ /f. /^"K 


By George Bauer oft Griffith. 

One toiled, a very slave, for self ; 
His scions wasted all the pelf. 
Which cankered, rusted, never shone 
In his hands, — and he died alone. 

But one his life an offering gave 
That others might possess and save 
What was worth most for all mankind. 
Which he through sacrifice should find. 
His gift the world delights to own, 
A constant treasure brighter grown ! 


Bv II. /I/. 

!ITH the death of the 
Quaker poet, a quiet 
fell upon the moun- 
tains and lake country 
that stretches across the 
Granite state. Chocorua and Sand- 
wich, Asquani and the Merrimack, 
alike felt the want of their beloved 
minstrel. Seasons came and went 
before another singer dared wind his 
venturesome way up the hillsides or 
tramp along the streams. The sweet 
lover of nature, the late Frank Bolles, 
who knew the " tenants " of the fields 
and forest, and had gained an inti- 
macy with them in his journeyings up 
and down the vallej^s, was welcomed 
by a host of readers, onl}^ to be la- 
mented with sincere sorrow when the 
promise of his life here found no time 
for fulfilment. 

Again the woods and the waters 
waited ; then, a year ago, a new note 
was heard among them, and they lis- 
tened with the ear of expectancy to 
what might be the music of still 
another songster. 

In the little volume entitled " Finst 
Poems and Fragments," its author, 
Philip H. Savage, chose wisely the 
mount whereon he deified his muse. 
We want another word from the 
upper pastures of New Hampshire ! 
The beautiful lake-region of Winni- 
pesaukee deserves to have its Lake- 
School, if the genius of Americanism 
can produce it. Time will make of 
possibilities realities, if the possibil- 
ities be ours. 

The first gracious acknowledgment 
we must make this very latter-da}^ 
versifier, Mr. Savage, is the satisfac- 
tion we gain in finding a new Amer- 
ican singer who believes, — 

" That ere he wanders hy Castalian spring 
The poet first must drink the wells of home." 

And yet again declares that, — 

I "d rather love one blade of grass 
That grows on one New England hill, 

Than over all the wide world pass 
Unniastered, uninspired still." 

This loyalty to New England ani- 
mates much of the pastoral verse in 
the volume under discussion, and it 
gives a vigor to the songs, that should 
gain many admirers. Lovers the 
volume cannot command. Lacking 
in positive subjectivit}^ and rarely 
touching the springs of human life, 
the verses do not ring with sympathy 
or sentient beauty with any such 
power as to stir one's pulse. They 
are, rather, the peaceful utterances of 
one who would walk with nature at 
early morning or late evening, but 
whose noontide hours are in busier 
scenes, and 3^et whose enthusiasms 
are not stirred nor ambitions whetted 
b}^ the every-day living, but each 
quickened by the spirit that domi- 
nates the natural world. 

The keynote of this volume is 
struck in the quatrain which opens 
the little collection under the sub- 
title of " Shorter Poems" : 

" 'T is grace to sing to Nature, and to pray 
The God of Nature, out of His large heart 
To grant us knowledge of His human way : 
This is the whole of nature and of art." 



Whether this keynote will lie the 
one b}' which the pitch of a second 
volume will be set, is a question for 
speculation as one reads between the 
lines of certain sonnets or catches 
sight of touches of humanit}^ that 
make beautiful the. thought in a few 
of the longer poems. A broader 

made up of the inherited tendencies 
of orthodoxy and the radical tenden- 
cies that belong to the close of this 

vSimple as these poems seem at the 
first reading, — open as the}' are to the 
critic's censure for lack of unity and 
clearness of vision, — the "personal 

Philip H. Savage. 

knowledge of mankind as it comes 
through contact with the greater 
problems of life may change the song 
of this 3'oung shepherd-poet, who 
would find his joy in lying at the feet 
of Pan, while his soul goes soaring to 
the Almighty ; a typical example of 
the modern New P^ngland youth — a 
product whose two chief factors are 

equation" that crops out on every 
page gives an interest of individuality 
which out-braves any weariness that 
might arise from monotony of subject. 
The man Savage is there, between 
the lines. The impulsive child of 
nature, the appreciative worshipper 
of animate life, the aspiring genius, 
the man of intuitive faith, yet the 



Asquam, Chocorua in the distance. 

cynic of types, symbols, and modern 
artificiality, — such is this young poet, 
who in reality is but the representa- 
tive exponent of manhood as it is 
developed by inheritance, and by 
the environment and the inspiration 
which come from the refinement of a 
New England home and the culture 
of an academical career at Cambridge. 
Although Philip H. Savage was 
born, 1868, in North Brookfield, 
Mass., Boston claims him as one of 
her children. The son of the well- 
known Unitarian preacher, the Rev. 
Minot J. Savage, D. D., the greater 
part of the 3'oung man's life has been 
spent quietly in that city, siii gen- 

eris, — where conservatism and ad- 
vancement, intellectuality and phi- 
lanthropy, combine in such surpris- 
ing manner. 

In '93 Mr. Savage was graduated 
from Harvard University, and at 
that time we first hear of him before 
the public, as he delivered at com- 
mencement a paper upon the ' ' Two 
American Authors ; Thoreau and 
Whitman." This paper evidently 
contains the exposition of a school of 
literature to which Mr. Savage must, 
in part at least, be a devoted pupil. 
The year following was spent by him 
at the Divinity school in Cambridge, 
but with no further fruit, possibly, 




than the positive feeling that the 
ministry was not the field wherein 
his best work might be done. Tnrn- 
ing back to literary pnrsuits and to 
the atmosphere most congenial to his 
taste, — college life, — he spent still 
another year associated with the uni- 
versity, teaching English in connec- 
tion with the department under that 

Earl}^ this spring Mr. Savage took 
the degree of A. M., and this sum- 

birds rises full and deep upon the 
scented air. To Philip Savage, 
" Asquam greets Wynander," and 
Ossipee stretches out in spirit to 
Rydal, Chocorua to Helvellyn I 

" The sun is on them and the dew, 
Shining far down and glittering through 
The wide, white iields of mountain air 
High o'er the valleys everywhere. 
And, Wordsworth, in the auxiliar flame 
That trembles on them from thy name 
They bear in all their company 
Aloft, the living thought of thee." 

Sandwich Dome. 

mer has found him travelling abroad, 
for the most part devoting his" time to 
the English lake country and the in- 
spiration that is so subtile in its in- 
fluence when once Wordsworth be- 
comes the apostle of a man's poetic 

Apropos of the beloved lake poet, 
a pretty conceit lies in one of Mr. 
vSavage's early poems, entitled "Near 
the White Ledge, vSandwich, N. H." 
The young singer wanders across the 
fields with the spirit of Wordsworth 
inspiring his mood. "Morning" 
primroses deck the pastures of this 
New England. The call of home 

The reader of Mr. Savage's poems 
must be prepared for much unpoetic 
workmanship. The form is often 
bad ; rhyme and rhythm alike hav- 
ing been slightingly treated. Indeed, 
we are sometimes led to question 
whether this 3^oung shepherd poet 
can play his pipe and tabor, or even 
whistle a tune, — accounting thus for 
the crudeness in the verses by the 
lack of music in his make-up. How- 
ever, judging from other poems, we 
l)elieve the want of form is a matter 
of lawlessness rather than of igno- 

His creed, that of the " Dying Phi- 



losopher,'' lyandor, — "Nature I 
loved, and next to Nature, Art," — 
theoretically is a creed that inspires, 
but practically it fetters the student, 
and gives every doctor of the literary 
clinic a fair opportunity to practise 
with the sharp knife of criticism. 

A disciple of Walt Whitman and 
Henr}' Thoreau, as we believe Mr. 

of nothing less than sincere earnest- 
ness clothed in the simplest diction. 

" The poet stoops and plucks a little flower 
To tell his greatness in a simple song." 

Such is the spirit of the verses that 
make up Mr. Savage's first attempt 
at poetry. He is a fearless man and 
hopes for the best, and, as he says 
of himself, " If I fail to write poetrj'. 

Tne Whittier Pine. 

Savage to be, his school has not set 
him an example which would natu- 
rall}^ inspire the study of artistic 
technique. Spirit and progress are 
the watch-words of the former mas- 
ter, and the latter breathes the 
words, nature and life ; but each of 
them has but one aim as to style, — 
be it in prose or poetr}', — simplicit}' 
of expression. Here surely Mr. 
Savage again suggests the faithful, 
though at times unsuccessful, disci- 
ple of a school that bears the mark 

I shall e'en gird up my loins and set 
about something else." With such 
stuff in him, there is doubtless much 
possibility. And for the present we 
welcome him as another member of 
that coterie of young aspirants who 
would do their best with God's 
greater or less gifts. As Robert 
lyouis Stevenson puts it, 

" O to be lip and doing, O 
Unfearing and unsharaed to go 
In all the uproar and the press 
About my human business ! " 


By Moses Gage Shirley. 

I am a lover of the good and true, 
Whatever crowns this olden earth anew ; 
A lover of the fields and trackless woods, 
The radiant hills and silent solitudes. 

I am a lover of the changing year, 

The song bird's carol, filling hearts with cheer 

A lover of the butterfl}- and bee, 

The loftj' mountains and the surging sea. 

I am a lover of the sweet surprise, 

And glory waiting in a maiden's eyes ; 

A lover of the deeds that cannot die, 

The star-lights gleaming in the evening sky. 

I am a lover of each hero brave, 

Who gave his all for freedom and a grave ; 

A lover of the tumult and the din, 

The cheers of victors who are marching in. 


I am a lover of the sweet repose 

That comes to all whom grief and sin oppose ; 

A lover of the peace that doth befriend. 

For death and sleep alike men's wants attend. 

I am a lover of the morning light. 
The cloud-lands lying near the verge of night 
A lover of the fair, the brave, the good, 
All attributes of loyal womanhood. 

I am a lover of the dew and rain. 

That gently falls upon the sun-scorched plain, 

A lover of the mystical and vast, — 

And love shall hold me captive till the last. 



By H. H. Metcalf. 


Hancock is a rugged upland town, 
with varied and beautiful scenery, 
and generally rough, though produc- 
tive, soil. Among the most prosper- 
ous farmers in this town is Cristy H. 
Duncan, proprietor of " Norway Hill 
Farm," located on the westerly slope 
of Norway Hill, the farm buildings 
being about half a mile from the vil- 
lage, and commanding a beautiful 
landscape view. Near the summit of 
the hill, Mr. Duncan's great grand- 
father. Deacon James Duncan, one of 
the pioneer settlers of the town, origi- 
nally located, and the family home 
has ever since been in this locality. 
His father, John Duncan, who mar- 
ried Almira Chandler, bought the 
present home place — the nucleus of 
Norway Hill Farm, — forty-two years 
ago, and here Cristy H. Duncan was 
born, February 29, 1856, receiving 
his education in the town schools. 

Mr. Duncan early developed a 
fondness for dealing in cattle, and at 
twent3'-one, and for five years after, 
w^as extensivel}^ engaged in purchas- 
ing stock in the lower towns in the 
spring, bringing the same to the rich 
pastures of Hancock and vicinity for 
the summer, and selling again in the 
fall. December 11, 1878, he was 
united in marriage with Miss Helen 
C. Walker, an educated and accom- 
plished young lady, and successful 
teacher, of Eeominster, Mass., who 
has proved a most helpful and sym- 
pathetic companion. About sixteen 

years ago, he bought a small place of 
some fifteen acres in extent, adjacent 
to the home farm, and began active 
operations in agriculture, making 
thorough improvement of the soil his 
object. He has continued on that 
line to the present time, adding to his 
possessions now and then, till his 
present holdings embrace two hun- 
dred acres of land, including his origi- 
nal home, which became his own res- 
idence after the death of his mother 
in 1894, his father now residing with 

He has extensively improved the 
buildings and has one of the best ap- 
pointed barns to be found in the 
state. It is what is known as a 
"double-decker," the hay and fodder 
going in on the upper floor and no 
pitching up being required. The 
stables are thoroughly arranged for 
the comfort of the animals, and fur- 
nished with the Buckley watering 
device. The hay production is about 
sixty tons per annum, secured from 
fort}^ acres of mowing land. This is 
supplemented with oats and other 

For a time, Mr. Duncan took con- 
siderable interest in stock breeding, 
devoting special attention to Swiss 
cattle, but dairying and the boarding 
of horses now' command his principal 
attention. He keeps about twentj' 
cows, selling milk to village cus- 
tomers, and the balance at the cars, 
to Whiting, and has fifteen or twenty 
horses usually in charge. The farm 



has a good supply of fruit, with three 
hundred apple trees in good condition. 
Mr. Duncan has been a member of 
John Hancock Grange for more than 
twent}^ years. He is a director of the 
Grange State Fair Association, and 
has long taken an interest in agricul- 
tural exhibitions ; was a director of 
the Oak Park Fair Association dur- 
ing its existence, and subsequently a 
moving spirit in the Hancock town 
fair organization. He was also one 
of the projectors and, for some time, 
a director of the Peterborough cream- 
ery. Politically, Mr. Duncan is a 
Republican and has held various 
offices in town. He is a member of 
the Congregational church, has been 
superintendent of the Sunday-school 
and clerk and treasurer of the so- 
ciety. He is engaged considerably 
in probate business and is a corres- 
pondent for various papers. As a 
citizen, he is public-spirited and 
actively instrumental in promoting 
the welfare of the town, in erecting 
dwellings and in other directions, 
"progress" being his motto in all 
things. Mr. and Mrs. Duncan have 
three daughters, aged respectively 
15, 13, and 10 years. The family are 
all musical, with a taste for literature 
also, and their home life is exceed- 
ingly pleasant. 


Three miles northwesterly from the 
thriving village of Littleton, in the 
hill region of the town, is "Maple- 
wood Farm," whose owner, John 
W. Farr, has long been well known 
among the farmers of northern New 
Hampshire, and also prominent in 
grange circles. This is the original 
homestead, settled in 1802 by Eben- 
ezer Farr, of Chesterfield, to whose 

son Joseph it descended. John Wil- 
der I'arr, son of Joseph and Betsey 
(Danforth) Farr, was born on the 
farm, May 26, 1826, and has spent 
his entire life here, with the excep- 
tion of ten years devoted to railroad- 
ing in Massachusetts, New York, and 
Ontario, being engaged the last four 
years of that time in charge of track- 
laying on the Great Western Rail- 
road. In 1857 he returned to Ivit- 
tleton, took charge of the farm, and 
has since successfully pursued the 

John W. Farr. 

agricultural calling. There are 175 
acres of land, of which about fifty 
acres are mowing and tillage. The 
soil is hard and rugged, but yields 
to thorough cultivation, and produces 
good crops. The annual hay prod- 
uct is about thirty-five tons, which 
is supplemented b}' oats and corn. 
Mixed farming is followed, but dai- 
rying is a leading feature, the butter 
from eight or ten cows, mostly grade 
Jerseys, being generally sold to pri- 
vate customers. Mrs. Farr's reputa- 
tion as a butter-maker is first-class, 
her butter having commanded first 


premiums at state and local fairs, and five years as master, and has 
and her exhibit at the World's Fair, been a faithful and devoted member 
Chicago, in 1893, having been award- of the subordinate and state granges, 
ed a medal and diploma for excel- having been four years a member of 
lence, the score being one of the the executive committee in the latter 
hi2;hest attainable. Formerlv Mr. bodv. He was a charter member of 
Farr made a good deal of maple Northern New Hampshire Pomona 
sugar, of superior quality, and re- Grange, and its chaplain in 1896. 
ceived premiums upon the same at Mr. Farr was a member of the ad- 
various exhibitions. visory council of the World's Con- 
Mr. Farr first married Eliza D. gress Auxiliary, on Farm Culture 
Phelps, of Merritton, Out., who died and Cereal Industry, at Chicago in 
in 1861, leaving two daughters, Etta 1893, and has been vice-president of 
P. and Nellie E., of whom the latter, the New Hampshire Horticultural 
now a trained nurse, only survives. vSociety since its organization, being 
His present wife was Miss Alwilda P. an extensive and successful fruit- 
Lane, of Lancaster, with whom he grower. He has also been a direc- 
was united December 29, 1863, and tor and one of the executive commit- 
by whom he has had four children, tee of the Grafton and Coos Grange 
one d3'ing in infancy. Edward C, Fair Association, and a director of 
the eldest son, is a farmer in the town the Grange vState Fair. He is a 
of Orange; Mira L. is a teacher in Congregationalist in religion, and a 
Littleton, and, as well as the 3'oungest Republican in politics, and was one 
son, John W. Farr, Jr., resides at home, of the representatives from Littleton 
White Mountain Grange, Littleton, in the legislature of i895-'96, ser^-- 
was organized in 1875, and Mr. Farr ing on the committee on agricultural 
was one of the charter members. He college, and as chairman of the corn- 
has served seven years as overseer mittee on retrenchment and reform. 


By diaries Henry Chesley. 

Ah ! deep in the darkness and glimmer. 
In the darkness and glimmer of years, — 
In the midnight of tear-bedimmed 3'ears, 

When the stars waxed fainter and dimmer, 
And my soul reeled in unearthly fears ; 

I saw, through the cypress trees glimmer 
The tomb, in the dark vale of tears. 

'Twas midnight in dreary November, 
In the dreary November of sighs, — 
November that dark month of sighs. 

Ah ! yes, and so well I remember. 

How the vale groaned with heart-rending cries, 

In that midnight of darkened November, 
Like the wail when a doomed soul dies. 



There I stood in that tear-flooded valley, 
In that tear- flooded valley of gloom, — 
In that valley of darkness and gloom, 

Till I caught, through the cypress-walled alley 
A glimpse of the darkness and doom, 

Till I saw, at the end of the valley, 
The darkened and legended tomb. 

Then I looked at the darkness senescent, 

At the luster that hinted of morn. 

That hinted of roseate morn. 
And remembered the luminous crescent 

That hung in the sky by her horn. 
And remembered the moon w^as senescent, 

And the morning of day would soon dawn. 


//)' Annie J. Conwell. 

WONDER why a stormy 
day is so much dreaded 
by summer sojourners in 
the country? I think it 
is delightful, especially if 
one happens to be quartered in a 
rambling, old-fashioned farm-house ; 
such an one, for instance, as my 
mother and I have taken possession 
of for the season. The view from 
any one of the small windows is 
beautiful, and to-day a driving north- 
easter makes a fire in the fire-place, 
which occupies one side of the 
kitchen, a welcome addition to the 
pleasant room. 

This is just the time to look over 
that old, black-covered book that I 
found in the attic this morning. It 
was tucked under the edge of the 
floor boards where the eaves join the 
floor of the unfinished room, and I 
brought it down to examine at my 
leisure, as I found it was closely 
written in faded ink. 

It proves to be the diary of Polly 
Tucker and bears the date of 1808 ! 
What a treasure for rainy-da}^ read- 
ing ! I think I must give you the 
benefit of ni}' discovery, so if you 
care to peep over my shoulder, you 
will find it begins as follows : 

Thurs., Oct. 20, 1808. 

I am eighteen years old to-day, 
and Mother has given me this book, 
in which she wishes me to write my 
thoughts and impressions of the few 
things that happen in our quiet life. 
I have only one brother and no sis- 
ter, so I foresee that j-ou and I, 
my diar}-, are likely to become fast 
friends. You must know, first of 
all, that I am the daughter of a 
farmer who lives on a pleasant, ro- 
mantic road, but away from neigh- 

Would you like to hear about our 
little home ? There are woods right 
behind the house, a row of willows 



in front of it on the opposite side of 
the road and close bj' them is the 
well with its long sweep. 

The house is broad and low, with 
a woodbine climbing over the porch 
and lilac and cinnamon rose-bushes 
by the front door. .The parlor is on 
the left of the front door and there we 
resort when the minister or any other 
grand stranger calls ; but on the right 
is the kitchen. That we love, and 
there we gather as a family. It is 
verj- large and the great fireplace 
with its cheery fire seems to invite 
people to come in and enjo}' its 
warmth, when the evenings are long 
and chilly. It takes such a bright 
view of life that one cannot watch its 
bright banners waving and long re- 
main down-hearted. I like the attic, 
too, it is so delightful on rainy days 
to go up there and spin. The big 
wheel is kept there till cold weather, 
when it has one corner of the kitchen. 

I have decided to keep you up 

there too, ni}^ diary ; for there I shall 

be free from observation, as well as 

interruption, and can write just as 

freely as I would talk to an intimate 

friend. Now that 3'ou know where 

3'ou are to live, and who you will see 

the most of, do you begin to feel at 

home ? I hope so, for I must go 


Wed., Oct. 26. 

I have been tidying up, down 
stairs, and here I am, all ready to 
have a chat with you. \\"e are busy, 
busy, now, and have been for the 
three days that have passed since I 
wrote my name on your fly-leaf. 
There is much to be done in harvest- 
time and this year is no exception to 
the rule. To-day Mother and I have 
been cooking — getting ready for the 
husking which we are to have in our 

big barn to-morrow night. I can 
hardly wait for the time to come. 
Country life is so quiet that these 
merry-makings which bring all the 
neighbors together are looked for- 
ward to by old and young alike. 
Some Riverside people are coming, 
and I want everything to be just 
right, for — let me whisper something 
to you — I can't bear to be thought 
country fied ! There ! It is written, 
and I 'm not half as ashamed of see- 
ing it in black and white as I ought 
to be. I am going to confide to 
you all my foolish and disagreeable 
thoughts as well as my good-natured 
ones — for no matter what I say, I 
know you won't scold me and that 
5'ou will never tell. 

Thurs., Oct. 27. 

I have so much to tell you to-night 
that I scarcely know where to begin. 
I guess I '11 tell 3'ou about the barn, 
first of all. Perhaps you know how 
barns look, when the}' are all dressed 
up for a husking, with lanterns and 
maple-branches ? But in case you do 
not, I will tell you that the mows on 
both sides are full of hay, while the 
floor is full of corn in the husk ; two 
big piles of it are placed so that peo- 
ple can sit in a circle around each 
heap. Last night the double doors 
at both ends of the barn were wide 
open, and through the eastern one 
looked the great harvest moon, round 
and full, seeming to smile approval at 
us and encouragement to the red- 
eyed, blinking lanterns strung along 
the rafters and mows. Presenth' the 
people began to arrive, — the boys and 
girls full of frolic and the men and 
women read}' for work ; and it did 
not require much discernment to de- 
cide who would do most of the husk- 
ing. When all were busy with fun 



or work, who should ride np on 
smart - stepping horses but Major 
Sherburne, whom we expected, and 
5'oung Mr. Ladd, whom we did not 
expect. Madam Sherburne arrived 
in her carriage shortl}' after, and her 
colored coachman seemed to think 
himself of more account than Major 
S. himself. At first our neighbors 
were inclined to be afraid of these 
grand strangers and were rather 
quiet ; but presentl}^ all shyness wore 
off and the fun went on, just as if 
they had not been present. 

Our city guests seemed to enter 
into the spirit of the occasion, and 
stayed down in the barn quite a 
while, laughing at the fun and 
watching the buskers. We were 
pleased wdth their evident enjoyment, 
for they are wealthy people, unused 
to country frolics, and we did n't 
know just how they would like our 
husking, but they wanted to come 
and look on, so Father invited them. 

We know them very well, for once, 
when both were young men. Father 
saved Major Sherburne's life. He 
was visiting the Ivangdons, just above 
here, and went swimming in the 
creek. He had an attack of cramp, 
and if Father had not heard him cry 
for help and rushed to his assistance 
from a field near by, he must have 
drowned. That was years ago, of 
course, and the position of the two 
men was widely separated, but a 
warm friendship has been maintained 
between them ever since. 

Madam Sherburne is lovely, too. 
She sometimes rides out to see us in 
summer, and once she invited me to 
visit her at her beautiful home in 
Riverside. Mr. L,add is her nephew, 
whose home is with them. When he 
found the Sherburnes were going to 

a country husking, he declared that 
he was going, too. We have never 
known him very well, so when he 
appeared at the husking, I confess 
that I heartil}' wished he had stayed 
awa3^ He made himself quite at 
home, taking his place with the 
buskers and talking to the men 
who sat next him at the corn-pile. 
He laughed at his awkward attempts 
at husking, and we had to laugh, too, 
at first, but he soon grew quite skil- 
ful, — especially at finding red car's. 
It was surprising how many found 
their way to my hand, and somehow 
it was Mr. I^add who claimed most 
of the forfeits. I had but little to 
say to him, for I thought, — "Oh, 
yes ! you can amuse yourself with 
country girls when you are with 
them, and laugh at them after- 
wards," — and I had no notion of 
giving him a chance to laugh at me. 
But he did not seem inclined to 
make fun of us at all, and was so 
respectful that I just had to believe 
in him and treat him accordingly. 

Presently all the corn was husked, 
and the company came up to the 
house, where supper was all ready 
for them. After saying "good by" 
to Major and Madam Sherburne, who 
were just going away, we took our 
places at the table. By some means, 
Mr. lyadd, who stayed by invitation, 
was at my right, chatting gaily, while 
Mother and a neighbor did the wait- 
ing and tending that I should have 

I know that you want to hear what 
we had for supper, for it was the 
getting ready of these things that 
kept me busy and away from you 
a day or two ago. Well, there were 
baked beans and brown bread, a big 
Indian pudding, pumpkin, apple, and 



mince pies, and a huge pan-dowdy, 
with thick, delicious cream to eat on 
it. Oh, and doughnuts, too! I must 
not forget them after scorching my 
face, frying them over the kitchen 

As soon as supper was over, the 
men went down to the barn and 
cleared the floor for dancing b}^ piling 
the corn and husks into the bays. 

Abel Locke had brought his fiddle 
and soon " Hull's Victory," " Money 
Musk," and "Virginia Reel" rang 
out, and all kept time to the music, if 
all could not dance. It was a ga}' 
party and Mr. Ladd was the life of 
the company' and the nicest partner 
that I ever danced with. He was 
very gentle and deferential, quite as 
if I had been a fine lady and not just 
little Polly Tucker. 

At last they all went home, leaving 
in the barn a great pile of golden 
corn and in 7ny heart, at least, a 
warm, cordial feeling for each one 
who had helped to make this evening 
one of the happiest of my life. Mr. 
Ladd waited till the others were gone, 
and when he thanked father and 
mother for the pleasure they had 
given him, he asked if he might 
come again. They told him to come 
any time he wished to and — I wonder 
if he wall ever think of it again ? 

He rode away then, and I came up 
here to tell you about the husking 
and to ask you what I shouldn't dare 
ask any one else, — Why does Mr. L. 
look and appear so different from 
other young men ? not these about 
here, but the strangers who visit the 
Langdons and Wentworths and are 
the favored ones of the earth ? I 
wish ice had money — our family is a 
good one and we can show a coat of 
arms — and I 'm sure I never missed 

the money before. I think I had 
better go to l^ed and forget that I do 
now, than sit here wishing for — the 
pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, 
— don't you ? 


Fri. night, Oct. 28. 

All da}' I 've been thinking of the 
good time of last night and wishing — 
oh, so much I — that we had more corn 
to be husked, for every-day life seems 
a trifle monotonous after the frolick- 
ing is over. It is specially distaste- 
ful to me to take down the ever- 
greens and autumn leaves that made 
our kitchen so bright and pretty last 
night. I find it much easier and far 
pleasanter to get ready for a merry- 
making than to clear up after one. 
Mother noticed that I did not work 
quite so cheerfully as usual and sent 
me off up attic to spin, as the extra 
work about house lately has left 
scant time for spinning. 

I like to spin : the busy hum of the 
wheel is a pleasant sound to me, es- 
pecially when, as to-day, the patter 
of raindrops on the roof keeps time to 
buzz of the wheel. Xow the snow}' 
rolls are spun and my stint for the 
day is finished, and I am at liberty to 
come to you and tell you all that is in 
my heart. I have thought, some- 
times, that I would like to go away 
from this quiet home, out into the 
world, and see what lies beyond the 
woods which seem to shut us in. We 
occasionally see other people than 
our neighbors, men and women who 
live in the large places of the world 
of which we read, and they are so 
courtly in their manners, so graceful 
and ready in conversation, that I am 
wicked enough to wash that my lot 
had been cast among such. 



I love niy home and respect the 
good people whom I 've always 
known, but — they are so easily sat- 
isfied ! I wonder if they ever longed 
in their youth, as I often do, for 
" something better than they have 
known"? But what nonsense and 
worse I am writing ! One look into 
my mother's heaven-blue eyes, one 
glance at my dear father's honest 
face, makes me ashamed of such 
foolish thoughts, and I am sure — 
sure — that not to be great or beau- 
tiful or famous, not even to be a 
queen upon her throne, would I be 
other than my father's and mother's 
daughter — just plain, simple, igno- 
rant little Polly Tucker. 

Nov. I. 

Four whole days I 've left you to 
yourself, and now I come to tell you 
that I have quite gotten over that 
fit of — what? — not ill nature, but 
discontent, which possessed me last 
week. I am feeling like myself 
again, and am going to a quilting 
at Mary Pickering's. The Picker- 
ings are our neighbors, not more 
than half a mile away. 

At quiltings, the girls go in the 
afternoon to sew, while supper-time 
and the young men arrive together. 
In the evening there are games, 
dancing, and singing, after which 
the boys see the girls home, and 
the quilting is over. 

I am going to wear my new chintz 
gown, and carry the pretty bead 
work-bag which Aunt Jeru.sha lycav- 
itt gave me last birthday, when I 
was seventeen. 

I 've got something to tell you — a 
secret. I 've tried a project ! It was 
last night — Hallowe'en. I have heard 
old people say that on that night, 
under certain conditions, one's future 

husband or wife will appear. There 
are several tests, but I chose the sim- 
plest. It is to stand before a mirror 
in a room lighted only by the can- 
dle in one's hand, and at just twelve 
o'clock at night eat an apple. If the 
project is successful, one's fate will 
be seen looking in the glass at the 
same time. Well, I tried it, and 
fancied that I saw a pair of merry, 
brown eyes peeping over my shoul- 
der. That frightened me, and I 
threw the apple down and ran away, 
I do n't want to bestow a pair of 
eyes where they do not belong, but 
I ////;//■ I 've seen such. 

A short distance from our house is 
an old well, known about here as the 
"Wishing Well." The legend runs, 
that if one has a well-defined wish 
in mind and drinks from this well at 
sunrise November ist, he or she will 
know within the next twenty-four 
hours if the wish will be granted. 

So this morning I went down and 
drank from the well at sunrise. No 
doubt I am foolish, but I have just 
faith enough in the whim to wait 
with some curiosity for the something 
that may happen. I am going to tell 
you my wish, too. It is that some- 
thing will happen which will turn my 
thoughts completely away from a cer- 
tain pair of brown eyes, if I ought 
not to think of them ; and I think it 
will come true. 

I want to be a model daughter to 
my parents and to find my happiness 
in my home, and I find that outside 
interests connected with a sphere to 
which I may not aspire, divide my 
thoughts and make me restless and 
unhappy. Do not think me silly 
enough to have had my head turned 
by a little notice from a stranger, who 
in all likelihood will never think of 



me again. Really, it is not that, Init 
I admire and crave refinement, and to 
rae Mr. Ladd is simply a pleasant im- 
personation of courtes}- and good- 

Wed., Nov. 2. 

Well, I went to the quilting yester- 
day afternoon. After I left 3'ou, I 
went down stairs, helped Mother get 
dinner and clear it away ; then after 
sweeping the kitchen, I looked around 
the room and thought it pleasant 
enough to satisfy anybody, so, full of 
my resolve to be a good, true daugh- 
ter and let fancies alone, I went to 
my room to dress for the quilting. I 
came down all ready to start, but 
went into the kitchen to say good by 
to Mother, and just at that moment 
Mr. Ladd rode up to the door. For 
a moment I was delighted ; then, as I 
recollected ni}' wish, I felt myself 
grow pale. Surely, if I was to forget 
him altogether, I leave you to say if 
seeing him frequently was the best 
way to bring it about ? I was going 
on, after speaking to him, though the 
kitchen did look inviting and the 
quilting, somehow, did not seem so 
wholh' attractive as it had an hour 

Perhaps it was because the sun lay 
warm and bright on the sanded floor, 
and a general air of hominess per- 
vaded the room. Mother motioned 
me to stay, and I knew that she was 
thinking longingly of the fresh cap 
which she wanted to put on ; so I 
sat down and chatted, to give her a 
chance to array herself in it. I ex- 
plained to Mr. L. where I was going, 
.so he did not think strange of my 
not taking my bonnet off. 

Presently Mother came out of her 
bedroom in all the glory of the best 
cap and pretty short-gown, and I was 

free to go if I liked ; but I didn't like, 
though I did go. To my surprise, as 
soon as I made a move in that direc- 
tion, Mr. Ladd started to go, too, ex- 
plaining to Mother that he had not 
intended to make a long call, but 
that he was riding in our vicinity, 
and just looked in upon us, as she 
had given him permission to do. 

So we started off down the road, 
he walking by my side and leading 
his horse. He was very agreeable, 
and seemed interested in all the 
places of interest in our neighbor- 
hood, fairly making me jump when 
he suddenly asked, — "By the way, 
is n't there a wishing well in one of 
these fields? I 've heard the Sher- 
burnes say so." Fortunately, my deep 
bonnet hid my scarlet face, and pres- 
ently I managed to reply that it was 
not far from our house, and .some time 
he should be taken to it, if he cared 
to go. 

I was thankful that we were almost 
down to Mr. Pickering's when he 
asked that question, for I was so 
confused that I could not talk. It 
seemed as if he must know that I 
had wished at the well, — and about 
him, too. He said good by at the 
door and rode away, and I went on 
up stairs to face a dozen girls, each 
full of jests and questions about m}- 
escort. I merely told them that we 
happened to be going in the same 
direction, and so he walked along 
with me, then applied mj-self to the 
sewing and talked but little, for my 
mind was in confusion. 

At last, the quilt was finished, and 
the girls began to prink a little before 
the young men arrived. As soon as 
they came, we had supper ; then fol- 
lowed the usual games, singing, and 
dancing. I wished Joe Mason would 



not claim me for his partner aU the 
time, but he did, and so I liad to 
dance, although I had rather not. 
You see he and Charlie are such 
intimate friends that it would n't do 
to refuse to dance with him. He 
walked home with me afterwards and 
I think wanted me to ask him in, but 
I did not ; so what did he do but 
stand there on the doorstep and, yes, 
truly, ask me to accept him as my 
lover ! Well ! My wish was granted 
in a most conclusive manner ! and 
for a moment that thought so filled 
my mind that I forgot to answer Joe. 
After waiting awhile he went on, — 
" I do not ask you to marry me now, 
but just give me a right to consider 
you mine, and I shall be the hap- 
piest fellow alive." 

What could I say ! I was com- 
pletely taken by surprise and could 
only stammer "Stop, Joe! I never 
thought of such a thing. Why, I 
should just as soon think of marrying 
Charlie, as you ! " but he would not 
listen to me, liut asked me to think 

over what he had said and vSunda}- 
night he would call for my answer. 
With that, he went awa)-, and I was 
glad to go indoors and try to straight- 
en out the tangle of my thoughts. 

Mother was in bed, so I couldn't 
talk with her, and I haven't found 
courage to tell her to-day, either ; so 
I 've come to you with the whole 
story, and after you have calmed my 
mind a little, I nitist talk with Mother. 
Do n't you think my course is a good 
deal mixed up ? If I ought to do so, 
I wished to forget some one whom it 
is pleasant to remember, and behold ! 
he at once appears ! That looks as if 
it were all right to think of him. 

Almost immediately comes the offer 
of the love of one of my best friends, 
who would not take me far away from 
my home and mother ; but of course 
that would effectually prevent my 
ever thinking of the brown eyes, 
which look at me so persistently. 

What ought I to do, my friend and 
confidante ? 

[To be continued.] 


By Bcla CJiapui. 

Now, while the fields and hills and vales are drest 
In the cold raiment of the pure white snow, 

From out the regions of the dread northwest. 
The raging wintry wdnds begin to blow. 

The great, round sun has wheeled adown the sk}', 
And angry clouds float heavil}' and vast ; 

The da}^ is ending and the night is nigh, 

And with increasing chillness comes the blast. 

Here, safe at home, I little heed the storm, 
The frost so biting and white-drifting snow ; 

Beside my cheerful fire, secure and warm, 

I reck not how the freezing north winds blow. 

Conducted by Fred Gmviiio. State Superintendent of Public Instruction. 


By Elisabeth .h'cri/I. 

Among the famous epochs of the 
world's history, our own must surely 
rank, but just what title will best suit 
its wonderful character is hard to de- 
cide. "The Scientific Epoch " has been 
suggested by some. Doubtless, we who 
live in its light are too much dazzled by 
its brilliancy to be impartial judges, and 
yet of one thing we may be sure, what- 
ever other attributes our epoch may 
possess, it is vmdeniably an educational 
epoch. Mighty strides are being made 
in all departments of education, notably, 
perhaps, by our higher institutions of 

Since the object of education is the 
development to the full of all the possi- 
bilities of man's nature, so the test of 
any system of education is not merely 
the grade of scholarship attained, the 
skill or proficiency acquired in any 
given department, but more truly is its 
value to be estimated in the lives and 
characters of the men and women which 

^ Delivered before the New Hampshire Federation of 

it sends forth to their places in the 
national life. 

The type of early monastic learning 
was the man who sought out and 
hoarded up knowledge, simply to 
possess and use this power for himself 
and a few equally-favored mortals. 

Vastly different is the scattering 
broadcast of the precious fruits of 
knowledge enjoyed by the nineteenth 
century. We do not even to-day forget 
that the educational advantages are 
greatly inferior in certain monarchical 
countries to those enjoyed by ourselves 
and our sister republics. With us, 
thanks to a public school system which, 
in spite of its many faults, is, perhaps, 
unequalled in its peculiar relation to the 
government which supports it, education 
is not the privilege of the few, but the 
right of the many ; and, as a result, the 
average American citizen is among the 
most intelligent which the world has 
ever produced. And just as the nation- 

\\'omen's Cluljs, Manchester. X. H., October 15, 1S96. 


al type reveals the national education, spite of weaknesses and deficiencies, 

its strength and its weakness, so the which, probably none so thoroughly 

dififerent state types represent the result appreciate as those members of the 

of the state interest or indifference, stag- officers and faculty who daily struggle 

nation or progress, folly or wisdom. to overcome and remedy them, we have 

A further comparison of these differ- good reason for encouragement and 

ent state types would be interesting, but congratulation over the present status 

our subject of to-day is concerned with of Dartmouth College, 
only one of them — New Hampshire. In these days, education has become 

What kind of men has her system of a science, and it is most important to 

education given to the country? The have at the head of our educational in- 

names come to us with almost no effort ; stitutions one who has practical expe- 

we need not search for them, so inter- rience and an intimate knowledge of 

woven are they with great national both the methods and aims of the so- 

issues, with the country's pride and called new education. How fortunate 

honor. Daniel Webster, Salmon P. we are in having these conditions so 

Chase, Benjamin Butler, Rufus Choate, perfectly fulfilled in President Tucker, 

George Bancroft, — memory overwhelms those who knpw him best can testify, 

us with recollections of what these men The college has an endowment fund of 

did for their country. $1,600,000, all the interest of which is 

Not with the past and its failures or devoted to the running of the 

successes, however, but with the present college. During the past five years, it 

we have to do,— the present with all its has received from the state $15,000. 

possibilities for improvement and its The students, including those of the 

need of our individual help and effort, medical school and the Thayer school 

That this aid may be rendered more of civil engineering, number 556, and 

effectively and intelligently, we must the faculty 49. There are three resi- 

have a knowledge of the exact condition dent graduate scholarships of $300 

of our state in educational matters. each, and a large number of entrance 

Years ago, in the capital city of our and class scholarships and beneficiary 

nation, Daniel Webster said of Dart- aids. 

mouth College, " There are those who Dartmouth aims to give a broad and 

love it," and that this is still true to-day liberal education, out of which the 

is proved by the loyalty of its alumni specialization, or the practical appren- 

and the power of its constituency, as tice-ship, of the technical schools may 

well as by the general public spirit man- grow. The new training has advanced 

ifested in its support and behalf. chiefiy along the lines of natural, physi- 

While the greater number of the stu- cal, and social science, and that this 

dents are from New Hampshire and her demand may be met and yet at the 

sister New England states, yet Wiscon- same time the old learning of classic 

sin, Kansas, California, Nebraska, llli- lore be not neglected, Dartmouth has, 

nois, Texas, and other western and cen- in common with other colleges, adopted 

tral states are represented, showing in part the elective system, 
doubtless in many instances how loving- The Thayer School of Engineering 

ly the heart turned from far distant answers the ever-growing necessity for 

lands to the dear old alma mater. In practical work. It is open to post- 


graduates and seniors only, which is as importance, and aside from the fact that 

it should be. The positions of wide it should especially interest a body of 

responsibility and usefulness which are women such as are here assembled, it is 

open to the civil engineer, render it im- something we have no business to ignore, 

perative that he bring to his profession Some of us are inclined to think, per- 

that breadth which the mental training haps, that while the theory in itself may 

of a collegiate course alone can give. represent a very ideal state of things. 

In connection with the medical school the transition is, to say the least, trying ; 

is the Mary Hitchcock Hospital, now but in spite of all our conservatism, it is 

some three years old. It is constructed coming. At Ann Arbor we may find 

and furnished with all the modern im- perhaps the fairest example of the prac- 

provements and contains 36 beds. Ap- tical working of the system, where of 

pointment of some advanced medical some 3,000 students, 600 are women on 

student as house officer for the hospital, exactly the same footing as the male 

is made every six months. The stand- students. By many, indeed, the bene- 

ard for admission to the department has fits are said to be quite as great to the 

been raised very materially in the past men as to the women, so that very 

few years. possibly the time may come when the 

The Butterfield Museum, which, in co-educational institutions will be 

accordance with the desire of the donor, thought to offer superior advantages for 

Ralph Butterfield, M. D., of Kansas culture, refinement, and all that pertains 

City, class of '39, will furnish accommo- to the development of the loftier side of 

dations for the departments of geology, human nature. \\'ho would then wish 

mineralogy, zoology, botany, and social to see Dartmouth in the rear? Another 

science, was ready for use at the open- thing which we miss at Dartmouth, and, 

ing of the present college year. The indeed, throughout all the institutions of 

gymnasium is being re-fitted, and the the state, is a chair of pedagogy. This 

fine athletic tield has been laid out in is a subject which is much occupying 

the most approved fashion by the gen- the time and attention of scientific edu- 

erosity of the alumni, thus amply pro- cators ; and the special department 

viding for that decidedly important ele- called child study, although in principle 

ment in college training, the develop- as old as motherhood, is one of the 

ment of the body to keep pace with the most modern factors in the new educa- 

growth of the mind. tion. 

With all the progress and growth in In the course of the policy adopted 

so many different directions, we are led by Dartmouth of not allowing itself to 

to wonder a little that Dartmouth closes develop into a university, but of retain- 

her doors so resolutely to women. So ing its individual college character, the 

royal a treatment of her sons, and New connection between it and the New 

Hampshire's daughters must seek their Hampshire College of Agriculture and 

higher education in other states! Welles- the Mechanic Arts was severed in 1891 ; 

ley, Vassar, Smith, Cornell, and others, and the inducement of a large bequest 

continue to draw away many who would by Mr. Benjamin Thompson caused the 

perhaps gladly owe their higher educa- state to locate this college in Durham, 

tion to their native state. This question Here, by means of the appropriation of 

of co-education is one of ever-increasing the state in '93, of $30,000, buildings 


have been erected and well equipped, example of practical work. The Agri- 
and the New Hampshire College has cultural Experiment Station, a depart- 
completed the second year of its work ment of the college supported by the 
in the new environment. There are 153 national government at an annual ex- 
students and 22 members on the fac- pense of $15,000, conducts original in- 
ulty. The Thompson estate, valued at vestigation and research into the niys- 
about $400,000 will be available as an tery of plant and animal life, and is 
endowment fund in 19 10. Until that especially important as encouraging 
time, the college depends upon appro- that independent and individual work, 
priations from the national government already so often and so strongly empha- 
and the generosity of the state. The sized in this paper. Finally, this insti- 
aims of the college are, to quote from tution in the struggle it is undergoing 
its catalogue, to "foster and promote to maintain its early existence, is deserv- 
the liberal and practical education of ing of our hearty encouragement and 
the industrial classes in their special cooperation. 

pursuits and professions," and with its Teaching is fast ceasing to be a 
non-resident course, by means of which trade, and is more and more being re- 
farmers' sons, unable to leave home, garded as a profession for which special 
may, with no expense, have the benefit training should be required ; training 
of fuller knowledge of their work ; the differing in no degree from that neces- 
home class in agriculture, a kind of sary for any of the other professions, 
university extension ; the short winter unless, indeed, it is that it should be 
courses in agriculture and dairy work, more rigorous and complete. In the 
it would seem that these aims were opinion of the speaker, the time is not far 
being accomplished. distant when the much desired standard 
The college interest among the stu- will be reached of requiring that the 
dents suffers of course from the youth teacher have not merely the mental dis- 
of the institutiort, as there are naturally cipline and intellectual breadth of col- 
no traditions or customs. On the other lege education, but in addition to that, 
hand, the number of students is so pedagogical training, 
small that they may come in direct con- The State Normal School, located in 
tact with the professors, and are thus the town of Plymouth, is directly in 
enabled to accomplish a vast amount of line with this sort of work. It would 
individual work. The college being seem that the standard of admission to 
originally intended for the benefit of this institution should be raised, requir- 
high school graduates, the standard for ing candidates to be at least high school 
admission is not so high as might seem graduates, as is the case in most other 
desirable. There is so good a provision states. An especial advantage of the 
in regard to scholarships, that practi- school is the fact that the graded 
cally any deserving New Hampshire schools of Plymouth serve as training 
student may obtain one. The Summer schools for the Normal students, in 
School of Biology, held in connection which they get that practical experience 
with the college at Durham, where in school methods which no amount of 
teachers may the better fit themselves theoretical knowledge can supply. The 
for giving instruction in nature study, is total enrolment in all departments is 
deserving of mention as furnishing an 340, only 91 of which are in the normal 



department proper. Seven teachers in 
the normal and six in the training de- 
partment make up the teaching corps. 
This institution has no endowment 
fund, and all which it has received from 
the state during the past five years is 
the annual appropriation of $10,000, all 
of which is expended from year to year 
in the current expenses of the school. 

Other important works in this direc- 
tion are the different city training 
schools for teachers, five in number, and 
the nine countv associations scattered 
all through the state, similar to the 
Merrimack Valley Association, which 
was formed at Manchester, March, 1896. 
The object of this association is to pro- 
mote a closer union of teachers and to 
encourage an interchange of views on 
educational matters more informal than 
is possible in the state conventions. 

Just here, in connection with profes- 
sional training for teachers, we do well 
to consider the institute work, which is 
so ably organized and conducted by our 
State Superintendent of Public Instruc- 
tion. During the past school year, there 
has been an expenditure of $2,300, a 
large proportion of which was put upon 
the fortnight Summer School of Ply- 
mouth, and the balance upon the twenty 
single-day institutes held in different 
parts of the state. Any of you who, 
like your speaker, may have had the 
privilege of visiting the school at Ply- 
mouth during its session this past sum- 
mer, must have been impressed with the 
spirit of earnestness and enthusiasm 
which pervaded the class rooms. At- 
tendance upon the other institutes is not 
always cheerfully rendered : but at the 
Summer School we found only those who 
were glad of the opportunity to give of 
their time, strength, and money, in order 
to profit by the helpful and interesting 
instruction prepared for them. Of the 

many hundred summer institutes, prob- 
ably there was none which, without any 
fee whatever, offered so fine a pro- 
gramme as the one at Plymouth. The 
lectures were interesting and instruc- 
tive, but better than that, they were 
practical, many of the obstacles and 
difficulties which the teachers were sure 
to encounter being anticipated and 
dealt with then and there by the in- 
structors. It is to be regretted that the 
225 teachers there assembled did not 
feel more freedom in asking their ques- 
tions in open session ; in that way the 
instruction given to individuals by the 
lecturer after class might have proved 
profitable to all present. When we 
think of the number of pupils who will 
benefit through their teachers during 
the coming year by the advantages of 
the summer school, we can not but feel 
that a vote of thanks should be ten- 
dered to Mr. Gowing for its success. 

Another factor, tending to the prog- 
ress and advance of teachers in profes- 
sional lines, is the State Teachers' Asso- 
ciation, the last annual meeting of 
which was held at Concord, November, 
1895. To this body is due the resolu- 
tions adopted at the meeting in Man- 
chester in 1894. In accordance with 
action taken by the legislature on these 
resolutions, examinations for teachers' 
certificates were held the past summer 
in different parts of the state, and 43 
teachers presented themselves to be ex- 

For manv vears the academies have 
formed an important factor in the edu- 
cation of New Hampshire. They have 
furnished a means of education which 
the town district system, owing to the 
scattered farming population, would be 
totally unable to meet. From these in- 
stitutions have graduated many of the 
country's most noted men. It would be 


difficult to estimate the cumulative in- there are many improvements still sadly 
fluence of the academies. In spite of needed, nay, imperatively demanded. 
the fact that many feared the town dis- Your especial attention is called to a 
trict system would interfere with, if not few of these points. It is well-nigh ini- 
destroy, the power of these institutions, possible to exaggerate their importance, 
they are to-day for the most part in a nor is it possible for each one of us in- 
flourishing and forceful condition. In- dividually to conscientiously evade her 
deed, their usefulness has been greatly responsibility in the accomplishment of 
increased by a cooperation with the dis- these desired reforms. First, the neces- 
trict system, by an act of the legisla- sity for an increase of funds for the 
ture, which provides that " any school poor, small towns in isolated districts, 
district may contract with an academy, Attention has already been called to 
seminary, or other literary institution, the fact that the literary fund is distrib- 
located within its limits or immediate uted per capita ; this is unfair to the 
vicinity, for furnishing instruction to its poorer towns, as may be seen at a 
scholars." Thus communities not able glance. Surely a much fairer distribu- 
to support a high school may have the tion would be some such method as 
benefit of academy instruction. These that suggested by State Superintendent 
schools also meet a crying need of the Gowing in an article on " The Rural 
present overtaxed common school cur- School Problem," in the Granite 
riculum in that they furnish an un- Monthly for September, viz., that one 
graded system of preparation for college, half the fund be divided among all the 
In New Hampshire we have, ac- towns and cities of the state in propor- 
curately speaking, no school fund tion to the number of teachers ; in this 
proper. The literary fund, which is way, the places where consolidation is 
variable, as it depends chiefly upon the not possible and where, therefore, more 
tax on deposits made by non-resident teachers must be employed in propor- 
depositors in New Hampshire savings tion to the number of pupils than in city 
banks, is expended among all pupils of districts, will be aided by the larger, 
the state per capita. For 1894 it richer, and more fortunate towns, 
amounted to $1.27 per pupil, last year The state is the fountainhead of all 
to $0.84 per pupil, and this year it is education forits youth ; the state takes 
probable that it will be even less, as the upon itself the responsibility of rearing 
deposits are on the decrease. The in- its inhabitants to be good citizens ; shall 
stitute fund arising from the sale of not the state then be held responsible ? 
public lands amounts to $57,721, the Shall not justice be exacted at her 
interest of which at four per cent, is hands for all her children eqiiallyt Is 
yearly expended by the Superintendent it justice that some should enjoy 38 
of Public Instruction in the summer weeks' schooling and others, through no 
school and different institutes. fault of their own, be permitted only 
May heaven forbid that we should 12? Pray, how is it right that the chil- 
wish to sit quietly with folded hands dren in communities where there exists 
and complacent, self-gratulatory smiles, a greater aggregate of wealth and inhab- 
True we have much, very much in the itants should enjoy a much greater pro- 
way of exceptional educational advan- portion of the bounty of the state ? In- 
tages for which to be thankful, yet deed, if there is to be any partiality. 



any inequality, should it not be exer- 
cised towards those who are less highly 
favored in other respects? who, far from 
centres of culture and refinement, are 
hungry for this intellectual feast, which 
is often left untasted by the sons and 
daughters of the city district ? Dear 
friends, these children look for redress 
for the injustice under which they suf- 
fer. Mere /t'//n' would indicate a more 
generous care of their interests. From 
the hills of Xew Hampshire and Ver- 
mont have come the bone and sinew of 
the modern civilization, the keen bus- 
iness men of large cities ; the very cream 
of the country-bred men and women 
has gone to enrich our national life. 
Mere self-interest indicates that indus- 
tries, cities, the state itself, should be 
vitally concerned in the improvement of 
the rural school. But there is a much 
higher reason than this same self-inter- 
est, h. good old Book which we all 
revere and which is full of practical, 
every-day wisdom, says: "We then who 
are strong ought to bear the infirmities 
of the weak, and not to please our- 
selves." Thus, because it is a gracious, 
grateful. Christian thing to do, the state 
should see to it that her less fortunate 
children, those who struggle against all 
manner of odds and disadvantages, are 
aided and encouraged and given their 
just dues in the matter of education. 
Therefore, I lay very close to your heart 
and conscience the necessity of state aid 
to the poorer toions. 

Then, naturally, we must see that 
these funds are wisely and scientifically 
distributed. Have we not secured 
legislation concerning supervision for 
groups of towns ? Yes, but here again 
there is a need of state aid. Mind you 
it is j-/C'?7/^r/ supervision which is needed. 
Men trained to the work, superintend- 
ents who are practical educators, abreast 

with the times and alive to the peculiar 
exigencies of the situation. Such men 
are not to be had for merely nominal 
salaries, and where the town districts 
are not financially able to offer the sal- 
ary requisite, the state should come to 
their assistance, even offering, as an in- 
ducement, half the amount needful to 
secure the services of a competent, 
trained superintendent to any group of 
towns which shall raise the other half. 
In this way, and in this way only, can 
we be sure that the state's best interests 
are cared for. 

The absolute demand for better 
teachers has been already emphasized ; 
but this is so important a fact that you 
will permit its iteration and reiteration. 
Especially in the primary department is 
this need felt. In certain parts of the 
West to-day, higher salaries are paid to 
the primary teachers than to high school 
assistants, and the reason is obvious. 
No period of child life is more impor- 
tant than the first seven years ; hence for 
no department of school work should 
more careful, scientific preparation be 
made than for the lower grades of 
schools. Our western friends are more 
progressive in this respect than we are ; 
but rest assured we shall not be far be- 
hind, for even now the call is impera- 
tive for better primary instruction, and 
soon the very highest degree of profes- 
sional excellence will be exacted of our 
teachers in the lower grades. 

There is also a great lack of male 
teachers in New Hampshire. Fully 
nine tenths of New Hampshire's teach- 
ers are women. Far be it from me to 
underestimate in any degree the teach- 
ing women do in this state and all over 
the land ; in certain directions, it is un- 
deniably superior to that of the male 
teacher. However, the most intense 
fanatic on women's rights, the most 



ardent advocate of that much-abused, 
over-rated, misunderstood, absurdly- 
caricatured object, the "New Woman," 
can scarcely take exception to the state- 
ment that men and women, however 
equal, are certainly very unlike, and will 
continue so to the end of time ; and in 
education, as in most other things, it is 
the joining of their forces which pro- 
duces the best results and ensures the 
most brilliant success. In view of this 
fact, would it not be for the best inter- 
ests of the state and of society that 
more men should engage in this profes- 
sion of teaching, which is so noble and 
far-reaching in its influence ? 

A strengthening of the truancy and 
compulsory laws is needed, by means 
of which a truant officer may be legally 
empowered, without seeking sanction 
from any one, to take a child from the 
streets and place him in school. The 
age at which school children may be 
employed in factories should be raised. 

We have no time here to discuss ways 
and means for accomplishing these re- 
forms; it is sufficient that when the 
public demand them, ways will be 
found. Our part in the matter is to 
help create that public spirit which 
shall demand the very best education, 
and be satisfied with nothing less. 
Whatever may be our individual opin- 
ion with regard to the action of the 
chief executive of the state in failing 
to approve the school appropriations at 
the last session of the legislature, we 
must all feel gratified that the members 
had the educational interests of the 
people so close at heart. 

We have said in an earlier part of 
this paper that some knowledge of the 
educational status was necessary for 
intelligent aid. But knowledge is not 
enough ; action is needed — action indi- 
vidual and action united. We cannot 

go away from this meeting, where we 
have come in touch with each other and 
with the broad, onward sweep of the 
educational movement of the day, and 
not be either distinctively better or dis- 
tinctively worse. No matter how strong 
our feeling, how quick our sympathy, 
how ready our understanding of the 
arguments presented, however urgent 
the impulse to give of our best, if 
we go forth to inactivity and a tame 
acquiescence in the present state of 
things, we shall have met in vain, far 
worse than in vain. It is easy to talk 
and theorize ; it is quite another thing 
to accomplish. 

In this matter of education, we 
women have a work to do, a responsi- 
bility which cannot be shifted. What- 
ever may be our position on the suf- 
frage question, the right has been ac- 
corded New Hampshire women of vot- 
ing on school matters, and our duty is 
to attend t/ic schflol )iiectiiig. Let noth- 
ing short of sickness prevent. Give 
matters there your thoughtful, intelli- 
gent consideration. See men and 
women best suited to the position put 
upon the school-board; consider the 
wisdom and the propriety of the school 
appropriations; make it a vital, a per- 
sonal matter. 

Then, visit schools. Now, by that is 
not meant the particular school which 
Tommy or Fanny may attend, or for 
the purpose of hearing Tommy or Fan- 
ny recite, or to encourage the teacher. 
These motives are all praiseworthy and 
have their proper place, but are not 
now under discussion. Visit schools 
in fulfilment of your duty as a citizen : 
visit schools whether you have children 
there or not ; visit alt the schools ; visit 
them in the spirit of observation as to 
ventilation, lighting, heating, the sani- 
tary condition of the out-buildings, the 



aesthetic principles, etc. Let it be your 
business to inform yourself as to the 
general condition of the schools in your 
district. Study the school laws of the 
state : inform yourself thoroughly as to 
what those laws require and permit. 
Armed with this knowledge, you may 
make some use of the observations vou 
have taken in your visiting. 

Instead of occupying themselves 
solely with interesting and profitable 
courses of instruction, or reading his- 
tory, literature, etc., why should not the 
education committees of our women's 
clubs do some aggressive work as well 1 
For example, right here in Manches- 
ter, what is to prevent a committee of 
women, of the different clubs, from 
canvassing the mills throughout the 
entire city to ascertain from actual 
observation of, and personal conversa- 
tion with, the employes, how many of 
the children are under the prescribed 
age, how many of them can read and 
write. Besides aiding in the enforce- 
ment of the law in these cases, the 
work would surely open up many new 
avenues of helpful endeavor. In smaller 
places, club committees might take it 
upon themselves to see that the cesthetic 
nature of the children be nurtured; that 
the walls of the school building have a 
few good pictures, the shelves a few 
books, the yard a bed of pretty flowers; 
more important still, that the school- 
house be as clean, well ventilated, and 
airy as your own attractive homes ; that 
the drinking water be pure, and above 
all, that the out-buildings are properly 
cared for. In the superintendent's re- 
jDort, we see that there are still some 
in the state which are veritable plague- 
spots upon the face of the earth. Do 
you not know that you need tolerate 
no such unsanitary conditions in your 
towns? that you can compel school- 

boards to remove them? If you do 
not realize that fact, read in the school 
laws, section 16, under school-houses, 
and then go home, inform yourselves, 
and act. 

All these are mere suggestions and 
examples of the practical, aggressive 
work in education which lies at our 
very doors. Once entered upon by 
really earnest, eager women, number- 
less other lines of work will present 

In conclusion, will you pardon me. 
if even at the risk of being deemed 
repetitious, emphasis is once more 
given to the necessity for action on 
the part of club women, and this not 
merely on this subject, in our own club 
or federation, but throughout the entire 
movement. Let us, in all love and loy- 
alty to the club, in all sincerity and 
honesty to ourselves, consider the dan- 
ger of the club becoming self-centred. 
It is very delightful to be brought in 
contact with the progressive men and 
women in the many departments of 
philanthropic, social, and scientific 
work ; to keep in touch with the great 
and good movements of our times, and 
all this is well, it is as it should be, but 
I ask you, Is it enough ? Are we not 
too prone to inform ourselves some- 
what, write papers, talk learnedly, feel 
carried out of ourselves by a rush of 
enthusiasm in listening to the words of 
some consecrated worker, and then — 
let it rest there? 

By the love we bear the club and the 
federation, by the heart interest we feel 
in the many movements for which the 
clubs labor and struggle, by the alle- 
giance we owe to the cause of woman- 
hood and humanity, may each one of 
us go forth not merely to speak in de- 
fence of right, justice, and progress, 

but to ACT. 


Levi K. Fuller was born at Westmoreland, February 24, 1841, and died at 
Brattleboro, Vt., October 10. Naturally of a mechanical bent, he early devoted 
himself to study in that branch. In i860, he became connected with the Estey 
company, and for more than 20 years, at the time of his death, had been its vice- 
president. The adoption of international pitch was largely due to his efforts. 
He held various town and other offices, and had served the state of Vermont as 
state senator, lieutenant-governor, and governor, being elected to the last named 

position in 1892. 


Edward F. Johnson was born in Hollis, October 21, 1842, and graduated from 
Dartmouth college in 1864. He studied at the Harvard Law school, and was 
admitted to the bar. May 11, t866. Since that date he had practised in Boston 
and Marlboro, Mass., and had been justice of the police court in the latter city 
since 1882. He died October 27. 


The death of William Dana Perkins, a New Hampshire man, is announced 
from Sacramento, Cal. Mr. Perkins was born, February 22, 1831, and went to 
California in 1850. He had held public ofilice much of his life, and at the time 
of his death was state librarian. 


Oscar Dean Cheney was born in Plaistow 55 years ago, and died at Haverhill, 
Mass , October 29. He was educated at Colby academy, Dartmouth college, 
and Harvard Medical school. He had practised in Haverhill 25 years, and was 
also well known as a manager of European excursions. 


E. C. Batchelder was born at Peru, Vt., July 18, 18 18, and removed to Tilton 

in 1847. He engaged in the dry-goods business there for six years, and then 

came to Milford, where he continued in the same business with great success. 

He died October 26. 


Owen Dame was born at Dover, in February, 1833, and died at Lynn, Mass., 
October 28. Throughout his life he was connected with the banking business, 
holding responsible positions with such institutions in Newport, R. L, New York 
city, Chicago, Boston, and Lynn. At the time of his death he had lately com- 
pleted 25 years of service as cashier of the First National bank of Lynn. 


Charles L. Epps was born in Francestown in 1833, and died at Chicago, 111., 
October 14. After receiving an academic education, he entered business life at 
Concord, and later at Manchester. From there he went to Chicago in 1856. For 
40 years he was a prominent member of the board of trade as a maltster. Mr. 
Epps was a member of the Sons of New Hampshire society. He married, in 1866, 
Miss Green, of Baltimore, who survives him. 

John G. Whittier. 

The Granite Monthly. 

Vol.. XXI. 

DECEMBER, 1896. 

No. 6. 


By Sullivan Hoi man McCollcs/er. 

HE beaut)' of a gem often 
depends largely upon 
its setting and surround- 
ings. Thus it is with 
the village of Marlbor- 
ough, being so nestled among the 
hills that, as it is looked upon from 
some height, the beholder is likely 
to exclaim, "How beautiful!" and 
if he is a stranger, he is prone to 
say, ' ' I little dreamed there was 
such a fair\- place in southern New 
Hampshire." Truly, nature has 
done her part to render it invit- 
ing; the Minniwawa winds grace- 
fully through the valley, and the hills, 
rising gradually and majestically on 
either side, are dotted with green 
fields, woodsy patches, and open pas- 
tures. It is so environed that the 
morning earl)' dashes floods of sun- 
light upon it, and the day lingers 
long in letting fall upon it the sun- 
set glow and brillianc}'. 

The lowlands are ten or eleven 
hundred feet above the sea, while 
.some of the surrounding hills are 
three hundred feet higher. It is 
plain that the glacial age did fin- 
ished work in sloping the elevations 

Rufus S. Frost. 

SO gracefully and rasping off so regu- 
larly the outcropping ledges. De- 
ciduous and evergreen trees mingle 
in just proportions; they .so spot the 
landscape as to satisf}- the eye of the 
most fastidious admirer. The lover 
of nature, whether he be artist or sci- 
entist, would find it difficult to sug- 
gest anj' change in the picture which 
could improve it. 

Were it asked how the village came 
to be located where it is, some might 



Wletiiod;it Ciiurcii. 

answer, because of the water-power; 
others, because of the protection 
against the severities of winter and 
summer ; and others, because of mere 
happening; but we are disposed to 
feel that there w^as a divine leading, 
expressed through the beauties and 
charms of natural forces. For this 
reason, the village took its rise, hav- 
ing at present some three hundred 
buildings, consisting of dwellings, 
manufactories, mercantile establish- 
ments, churches, schools, and a 

It has been said that the fnll his- 
tory of iron would give the complete 
story of the human race ; and may 
we not with equal propriety assert 
that the history of roads would show 

the civilization and progress of a 
town or state? Where savagery 
abounds, roads are unknown ; even 
in barbarism, men have perched 
themselves in castles on crags and 
lofty heights, with drawbridge up 
and portcullis down, that no high- 
way could possibly be constructed 
to their strongholds. 

Roads signify movement, exchange, 

School Building. 

Universalist Church. 

and progress. In the time of the 
judges, no thoroughfares existed in 
Palestine ; but when Solomon came 
to the throne, he caused highways to 
be made, that he might use his four 
thousand steeds and fourteen hun- 
dred chariots. He felt that roads 
were a necessity, to carry on com- 
merce. The grandeur of Babylon 
was expressed emphatically in its 
fifty streets through the city, termi- 
nated with its hundred brazen gates ; 
one road was tunneled under the 
Euphrates and another bridged over 
it. Rome, in her palmiest days, was 
noted for her many and grand roads. 
Roads are significant ; for this reason 
we will follow them from the centre 
of Marlborough village to different 
points of the compass, that we may 
have a better view and idea of the 



situation and relation which it sus- 
tains to other towns. 

Starting at the post-of!ice, facing 
west in the distance of half a mile, 
which brings us to the Keene line, 
we pass the stove and tin-shop, gro- 
cery stores, meat markets, town- 
house, dwelling-houses, the hotel ; 
little to the left, up from the road, 
are the Catholic church and parson- 
age ; to the right, on the road to the 
Boston & Maine station, are the 
skate and carriage shops ; on the 
corner stands the big elm where the 
third frame house was built in town, 
the job-printing office, a blacksmith's 
shop, the machine shop, many dwell- 
ing-houses, the grist-mill and a box 
shop, the sawmill, and off to the 
right is Little Canada, in which is 
quite a French settlement. The bed 

Catholic Church and Parsonage. 

of the road on which we are, was the 
first one built in town. 

Returning to the post-ofhce and 
advancing eastward, on the right 
are a series of pleasant dwellings, the 
Universalist church and parsonage ; 
still farther back, on another street, 
are the High school-house and many 
of the most attractive houses in town ; 
•on the left are the Methodist church, 

Soldiers' Monument and Frost Free Library. 

dwellings, the harness and barber's 
shops, the drug store, dry-goods and 
millinery stores, furniture establish- 
ment, another grocery store; just 
across the bridge, on the way to Dub- 
lin, is a carriage and blacksmith 
shop ; a short distance to the north 
are the principal cemeteries ; going 
forward on the Jaffrey road, upon 
the left is the beautiful bronze foun- 
tain, erected by the Woman's Chris- 
tian Temperance Union in memory 
of the late Charles Frost ; then come 
the engine-house and the Monadnock 
blanket mill ; for some distance are 
substantial residences, near and back 
from the road, and now we arrive at 
the unique soldiers' monument and 
the Frost Free library, the gift of the 
late Hon. Rufus S. Frost. 

Here the road forks again, and on 
the one to Troy and the Fitchburg 

Congregational Church. 



Monadnrck, ^rom Albert P. Frost's Residence. 

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Rir J^mhIB 

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Town Hoose — Gartield &Adann'i's sture and Page's market. 

Fire Engine House, 

depot are many houses, some of them 
extending back for forty rods. A 
mile on, we come to Webb's quarry, 
which is being extensively worked 
and is connected by a branch to the 
Fitchburg Railroad. At times, three 
hundred men and more are employed 
in splitting out, cutting and transfer- 
ring the granite. About a third of a 
mile eastward, is the Webb farm and 
palatial residence, and close by is the 
Mason farm, whose outlook is unsur- 
passed. A mile south of the quarry, 
on the Swanzey road, is the Marlbor- 
ough Fitchburg station. On the 
hill to the w^est are the well-known 
Thatcher farms. To the south, in the 
valley, is the F\iller village, devoted to 
getting out hard and .soft wood lum- 
ber, turning pails, and making doors 
and window sash. 

Once more proceeding on the old, 
or the first made road, from the li- 
brary, the prominent buildings are the 
Congregational church and chapel, 
environed with clusters of houses. 
We can but wonder why the first road 
in town should have been made over 
such a prominent hill. Was it not 
because the wood and timber could 
be more readily disposed of b}' felling 
the trees down hill, and that it would 
be less exposed to attacks by Indians 
and wild beasts? On the crown of 
the first hill, are the Ryan and Hill 
farms. Not far on, before this road 
branches, the left leading to Dublin 
by the Stone pond, and the other to 
Jaffrey over the southern spur of the 
Monadnock mountain, climbing still 
higher on the latter, we soon come to 
the notable F'rost home, the birth- 
place of Rufus S. Frost. The pros- 
pect to the west from it is magnifi- 
cent, taking in the village, the range 
of hills west of Keene, and a wide 



stretch of the Green mountains. In 
October, when the leaves are dyed in 
their richest hues, it certainly vies 
with, if it does not surpass, an}- other 
natural picture beneath the sun. 

Across the road from the old Frost 
home, Mr. Albert Frost has recently 
erected a superb house for a summer 
residence, which commands delight- 
ful views from all points of the com- 
pass. The summer home of the 
widow of Charles H. Frost is near b3% 
which was formerly known as the 
Aaron Stone place, and still farther 
back is the Boyden home, where 
Abner, Oliver, William, and Elijah 
were born ; long was it kept as a 
hotel. Across the wa}- and higher 
up, stood the old Sweetser tavern and 
store, made famous by the quaint 
sayings and ludicrous stories of Uncle 
lyUke. This brings us to the height 
of the stupendous hill, from whose 
top is an unobstructed view in all 
directions; not far on, is the brick 
house which was the residence of Dr. 
Batchelor, for many \ears the beloved 
ph5'sician of the town ; he was a. wise 
and excellent man, thoroughlj' true 
to his convictions ; though long dead, 
he still lives in the hearts of all who 
knew him. 

Joining the doctor's farm, were the 
noted muster grounds, now covered 
with a growth of pines. Wondrous 
training and military feats were wont 
to take place on that field. Man}' a 
horse-race has been run over the level 
stretch across the hill. 

Advancing two hundred rods, we 
reach the so-called Old Cemetery, 
which is thickly sown with graves. 
The mortal remains of most of the 
first two generations after the settle- 
ment of the town, rest here. On the 
south side of this yard was erected 

Mrs. Wm. K. Nason. 


A. A. Wallace. 

Charles Mason 

C. C. Whitney. 

Rev. D. J. Smith. 

Rev. C. F. Mclntire. Rev. John S. Colby. 

Re». D. C. Ling. 

Dr. Nathaniel F. Cheever. Dr. W. H. Aldrich. 

Fred E. Adams. 

G. G. Davis. 

Luther Hemenway. 

Joel F. Mason. 

Merrill Mason, Jr. 

Charles Mason. 



Arthur M. Doolittle. 

CKnton Collins. 

Charles L. Bemis. 

E. P. Kichardson. 



the first meeting-house in Marlbor- 
ough. It was built at great sacrifice, 
and by the severest struggles ; it was 
backed by a row of some fifty horse- 
sheds. Who that ever worshiped in 
that house, does not remember the 
high box pews, the lofty pulpit, the 
long galleries on three sides, with a 
row of pews to their rear, which were 
the refuge of the young folk, while 
the married and aged people sat be- 
low? The sermons of Priest Fish 
used to be an hour long, morning and 
afternoon. During intermission, the 
men would look over the horses, dis- 
cuss town affairs, and go into some 
tavern and drink toddy ; the women 
would visit the graveyard in the sum- 
mer, and go into some neighbor's 
to replenish the foot-stove with live 
coals in the winter, and all the while 
relate the news ; at the same time, 
the young folk would go down to the 
pond, or ransack the fields and woods. 
Then, everybody in Marlborough went 
to church. What meetings, what 
preaching, and what singing they 
used to have in those pristine days ! 

The meeting-house was regarded 
the centre of business, around which 
for a long while all public affairs 
revolved. Within a radius of half a 
mile, were several taverns and many 
residences; but these have all disap- 
peared. A few of the places a hun- 
dred rods away have recently become 
summer resorts. 

Hasten on, and we soon come to 
the Wallace farm, then to the school- 
house, the Fox place, the Richardson 
and Porter farms, and on a cross road 
are the Clark, Darling, and Despres 
farms, which bring us to the boun- 
dary between Marlborough and Jaf- 

Once more going back to the vil- 

lage, we are on the Dublin road by 
the Townsend woolen mill, and Rich- 
ardson pail shop ; to the north, on the 
old road to Roxbury, is a row of in- 
viting homes, farther on is Mapleside, 
and higher and on is the Greeley 
farm, formerly known as the Wiswell, 
and still earlier as the Tainter place. 
Surely, it is a most attractive and 
substantial home ; its views to the 
east and south are entrancing and 
grand. To the south and west of 
this farm, is the Boston and Maine 
railroad station, the South wick and 
Towne farms. 

Proceeding upon the Dublin road, 
we pass the Cheshire blanket mills, 
dwellings, the box shop, school-house, 
farms, the Robinson place, and wood- 
land for three miles, before reaching 
the Dublin line. Near this point is an 
extensive stone, rustic gateway, lead- 
ing out to the Chase villa, overlook- 
ing the Stone pond, and fronting the 
Monadnock. It is an elaborate and 
magnificent summer resort. It is 
surrounded on three sides hy woods, 
with a bewitching outlook to the 
south. No Grecian nook or Italian 
dell ever proffered more enchanting 

The farms along the old road to 
Chesham are favored with a fine lay 
of land, and naturally good soil. 
The farms of George Capron, George 
Wise, Merrill and Samuel Mason, and 
Evander Smith, are worked so as to 
make it pay ; those of Stilman Rich- 
ardson and Byron Knight deserve to 
be counted among the best, and the 
highest in altitude. 

The town, at its incorporation in 
1774, was twelve by eight miles 
square. Now it averages about eight 
miles long, and six and a half wide ; 
parts have been taken off to form 



Monadnock Blanket Mills. 

Troy and Roxbur}^ and small por- 
tions, in a few instances, have been 
added to other towns. At the time 
it really became a town, it had no 
church or school-house ; to-day, in the 
village, it has four church edifices, 
and, in the town, four good school 
buildings, with eight schools, and 
some four hundred dwellings. 

The growth of the town has been 
gradual, never having been subject to 
any booming. It was fortunate in that 
its early settlers were men and women 
of stability and sterling qualities. 
They have been for the most part re- 
ligiously inclined, and disposed to 
support Christian teaching and the 
cause of education. For more than 
sixty years, the majority of her peo- 
ple have been decidedly in favor of 
restrictive temperance. It is doubt- 
ful, if any other town in the state can 
show, according to its population, a 

better total abstinence record. The 
prevailing feeling now is, that alco- 
hol, in any form for a beverage, must 
not be sold within its limits. Its true 
citizens believe in prohibition, being 
bitterly opposed to high, or low, li- 

A large majority of the people have 
manifested a good degree of interest 
in behalf of education, and so have 
been ready to support the public 
schools. They are realizing that the 
town sj'stem is a decided advance- 
ment over the district method, for it 
offers equal school advantages to all 
the children. Its tendency is truly 
democratic, doing away with the 
class idea and placing all the young 
on vantage ground. As the people 
become removed from the recent war 

Knowlton's Sawmil 

The Knowlton Box Shop and Grist-Mill. 

and its protracted evils, they are giv- 
ing more attention and thought to the 
demands of our schools, realizing that 
as they are, so will be the homes, the 
churches, and the civilization. Pre- 
vious to the Rebellion they were 
much talked about, written about, 
freely discussed in public meetings, 
and visited to a larger extent than 
the}' have been since that war. Maj^ 
the time be brief before we get back 
to the old habits in this regard, and 
with the improved methods do the 



best possible work for the rising gen- 

Our schools are now graded 
throughout the town, thereby re- 
ducing the number of classes so as to 
give much more time to each recita- 
tion, and thus accomplishing more 
thorough work and gaining more 
satisfactory results. Steps are now 
in progress towards establishing an 
Knglish high school. We have some 
three hundred and ninety children of 

bkate bnop. 

school age in town, and out of this 
number, after having completed the 
grammar school branches, there 
should be enough to go on in their 
studies to make an efficient, working 
high school. At present, we have 
some twenty-five students who are 
pursuing branches bej'ond the gram- 
mar grade. 

This year Marlborough sends out 
thirteen 5'oung women who are en- 
gaged in teaching. In the past, she 
has furnished her quota of teachers, 
many of whom have become eminent 
educators in schools of all grades. 

The four different Christian de- 
nominations in town are earnestly at 
work, each in its own way and with 
its own methods, endeavoring to save 

Cheshire Blanket Mills. 

the lost, 3-et there is no conflict, 
though the creeds differ, for the}' 
seem to be moved by the spirit of the 
Master, agreeing to disagree wherein 
they cannot agree, thus bringing 
forth harmony of action. The differ- 
ent pulpits are giving the people in- 
tellectual and spiritual instruction. 
No longer does the church, but the 
life, make the Christian. 

Marlborough, being so near Keene, 
has not been overstocked with phj'si- 
cians. It never has had more than 
two realh' settled at an}^ one time, 
and these have been of the same 
school and friendly, as the two are at 
present. No one doctor can suit 
everybody, any more than can a sin- 
gle minister. The memory of Doc- 
tors Batchelor, Richardson, Harring- 
ton, Merriam, and Smith, hold a 

Machine Shop. 



warm place in the hearts of those 
who knew them. 

This town has been, perhaps, more 
indebted to its manufacturing than to 
its agricultural interests. Its saws 
and planes, its looms and spindles, 
have been kept active for many 
years; they are humming still. It 
has long had a large number of supe- 
rior mechanics. The merchants from 
an early date have been, for the most 
part, reliable and enterprising men. 

The Woman's Christian Temper- 
ance Union has achieved signal vic- 
tories over the enemy of intemper- 
ance ; this has been done without 
ostentatious display, but by patient 
and persistent effort. It seems to 
signify unflinching Christian work to 
the end. 

Odd Fellowship here holds a prom- 
inent position ; by its deeds it has 
shown itself to be a worthy order. It 
certainly has remembered the sick, 
the widow, and the orphan. 

The grange here is also a potent 
auxiliary to the farmer ; when prop- 
erly conducted, it brings to him inval- 
uable aid, inducing him to think and 
do, keeping abreast of the times. Its 
trend is in the right direction, as ex- 
hibited at the recent Cheshire county 
fair, which surpassed, in its display 
of fruits, vegetables, mercantile and 
fancy articles, horses, oxen, cows, 
young stock, horse-trotting, ox-draw- 
ing, bicycling, and coaching parade, 
any previous fair ever held in the 
count)' ; and this was all done with- 
out cruelty to the animals, or any 
drunkenness or carousing. Let the 
grange live its principles, and it will 
prosper and do good. 

Several other secret orders sway 
their sceptres in the village, and, it is 
trusted, for the right. 

The town has been heartily given 
to patriotism, as was made manifest 
at the opening of the Rebellion. 
With no small degree of pride, the 
post here holds the record that 
Marlborough was the first town of 
Cheshire county to respond to the 
call for men to put down the Re- 
bellion. Thomas ly. White headed 
the list from our county to join the 
First New Hampshire regiment ; two 
others soon followed, James and John 
Totten. In the course of a few weeks, 
fifteen others enlisted for the Second 
New Hampshire regiment. In the 
autumn of '61, eighteen more were 
added to the Sixth New Hampshire 
regiment; in '62, Marlborough sup- 
plied eighteen more soldiers as three 
years' men ; in all, it sent ninety-eight 
soldiers to the war. It is right that 
the Grand Army men should be held 
in high esteem. Our elegant sol- 
diers' monument of granite and metal 
is a deserving tribute to our ' ' braves ' ' 
on earth and our " braves " on high. 
Surely, the spirit of the fathers has 
descended upon the sons. 

Marlborough, during the Revolu- 
tionary period, was not slack in 
assuming her share of its hardships. 
Because of distance, she had no sol- 
diers in the Battles of lyexington and 
Concord, but she did have six men in 
the Battle of Bunker Hill ; several of 
her citizens were in engagements 
around Quebec ; fiv'e were in a New 
Hampshire regiment at Ticonderoga 
in 1776, and still five more the follow- 
ing year marched forth with others to 
meet General Burgoj^ie, as he came 
down from the north, and among 
these were Calvin Goodnow, Freder- 
ick Freeman, and Reuben McAllister. 
Draft after draft was made, and at the 
conclusion of the war, Marlborough 



Collins & Co.'s and Whitney's Stores. 

could count nearly one hundred of 
her men who had fought and bled for 
American liberty ; in camp and field 
they proved themselves patriots and 
loyal soldiers. All honor to the 
Revolutionary heroes ! 

Much romance and adventurous 
spirit must have been connected with 
the settlement of this town. It is 
difficult for us at present to conceive 
of it as once a dense wdlderness, filled 
with the haunts of wild beasts, trav- 
ersed and hunted only by the savage 
Indian. Thus it was in 1761, when 
William Barker, a native of West- 
borough, Mass., found his way to 
Monadnock Grant, No. 5, lying just 
west of the mountain. It seems that 
he had purchased for a small sum, of 
the " Masonian Proprietors," one or 
more lots of a hundred acres each. 

!«' Ul Ul 


Settlements had already been made 
inland from Boston, as far as Win- 
chendon, Mass.; from this point on it 
was a dense forest. As we see in 
imagination this adventurer, with 
axe and gun in hand, with rations on 
his back, wending his way by guess 
through the lone woods, we can but 
feel that he had a deal of steel, grit, 
and determination in his make-up. 
As the town had been set off, it was 
in the form of a parallelogram, and 
his lot was in the southwest corner. 


Stove and Tin Shop, Clothing Store and Grocery. 

Fortier's Grocery and Residence. 

After wandering some twenty miles, 
Mr. Barker found his allotment, 
pitched his camp, and soon com- 
menced to fell the trees for a clearing. 
He was on high ground, which is 
known at present as West hill in 
Troy. About the only greetings to 
him were the creaking of the trees, 
the cawing of the crows, the barking 
of the fox, and the growl of the bear. 
All the long day, it was toiling with 
odds against him ; as evening came, 
it was sitting by the blaze of the pine 
knot, planning and hoping as to the 
future ; and during the night watches, 
he would often be awakened by the 
barking of wolves and the screech of 
the panther. Still, he persevered till 
his food began to fail him, and then 
he returned to his family, greatly en- 
couraged wnth the prospects ahead. 



In the spring of 1764, he went back 
to his wild farm, and toiled away, 
building a log-house, and planting 
corn among the stumps. Now he 
was decided upon making this spot 
his future home. The rising of the 
.vun gladdened his heart, and the 
glow of the evening sky brought 
cheer to his soul, for every daj^ was 
hastening the time when his wife and 
children would share the blessings 
with him in his new abode. Joy 
filled his heart as he lost sight of self 
in doing for others. 

As the fall began to j-ellow the 
leaves, he is once more in Westbor- 
ough, making ready to return with 
his family to their new home. Their 
goods are being loaded into a cart ; 
there is no display of furniture ; they 
covet only what necessity demands. 
At early morn, the good-by is ten- 
derly spoken; Mrs. Barker and chil- 
dren are seated in the cart, and the 

Levi A. Fuller's Residence and Mill. 

oxen are made fast to the pole, and 
the word is said, "go," and the first 
emigrant family to Monadnock, No. 
5, moves off with minglings of fear 
and hope. They find a passable road 
to Winchendon, but from that place 
on, it is being guided by marked 
trees, zigzagging hither and thither, 
fording streams; but finally they 
land at their new home, and what a 
home ! Yes, a sweet home, for union 
of hearts was there, and an ambition 

Odd Fellows' Block and Drug Store. 

to make the wilderness smile like the 
rose. Hardships, indeed, were re- 
quired to settle Marlborough, but 
ample recompense did follow the 
heroic husband, wife, and their trio 
of children. 

Not long after this settlement, 
Isaac McAllister, whose wife was sis- 
ter to Mrs. Barker, purchased three 
lots of the ' ' Proprietors ' ' ; the first 
was where S. H. McCollester now 
resides, the second was across the 
valley, where George H. Hill dwells, 
and the third, where Ed. C. Corey 
lives. His intention, after inspecting 
the lots, was to settle on the first, but 
through depreciation of monej^ he 
sold this and settled on the second, 
building a log-house, into which he 
moved his wife and four children, 
being some four miles from their 
nearest neighbor. Thus, in i764-"65, 
the Barker and McAllister families 

School Street and Residence of W. H. Clarke. 


Levi A. Fuller. 

Luke Knowlton. 

James Knowlton. 


A. A, Wallace. 

C. O. Whitney. 

Warren H. Clarke. 

Wl. E.' 

Edward Harlow. 

Joseph Fortier. 

Henry L. Page. 

Byron C. Knight. 

A. P. Knight. 


C. A. Whitney. 

F. P. Wellington. 

R. M. Lawrence. 

Lester H. Towne. 



comprised all the inhabitants of Mo- 
nadnock, No. 5. As Marlborough 
now is, Isaac McAllister was the first 
settler in it; his family had been in 
town but a short time before Dolly 
was born to them, being the first 
child born in the new settlement. In 
the course of a few years, Mr. McAl- 
lister was forced, through loss and 
depreciation of mone3^ to sell his 
second lot, and settle upon his third, 
where he lived, raising up a family of 
twelve children. 

The third settler in town was Silas 
Fife, of Bolton, Mass., who found 
his purchase in what is now Tro}^ 
and was after- 
wards known as 
the Deacon Ba- 
ker place. Young 
Fife was an ex- 
pert with his gun 
and rod, and did 
revel in catching 

Walter L. Metcalf. 



game and fish. 
He kept an eye 
on the future, 
and so, as soon 

as convenient, he constructed a sub- 
stantial log-house, clearing up a 
patch of land round it, and planted 
it with corn and potatoes. When 
this was done, he returned to the 
place of his nativity, and was soon 
married to his first love, who had, 
while he was in the woods, been mak- 
ing ready for the joyous event. As 
the two were made one, they bid 
adieu to their friends, hasteniug their 
exit to their new home under the 
shadow of the Monadnock. 

In 1765, Benjamin Tucker and 
wife, with five sons and two daugh- 
ters, settled a short distance south of 
the site of the old meeting-house. 
He became famous for his common 

sense, and likeli- 
hood to hit the 
nail ever}' time 
on the head. He 
was fortunate in 
lo c a t i n g near 
where the first 
highway in town 
was built, and 
his house became 
the first tavern. 

He was a character that the boys all 
liked, and whenever the "Proprie- 
tors" came to town, his house was 
patronized by them. Mr. Tucker 
was quite certain to have something 
to say in all public meetings. 

The same year, Daniel Goodnow 
and famil}' came to town from Marl- 
borough, Mass., and settled near 
what is now a part of Tro3^ The 
most known of them is that they 
were of good stock, which has con- 
tinued to tell in their honor. 

The same year, came also Abel 
Woodward and family, settling on 
the place now occupied by Murray' 
Fitch. Tradition says that Mr. 
Woodward set out the elm, which 
has grown into such elegant, grand, 
and umbrageous proportions. 

In 1766, the first town meeting 
was held in the house of Isaac Mc- 
Allister. The principal business 
done was in taking steps to lay 
out a road from 
the Dublin line 
to Keene. The (^^^ 

Orients built M\ 

tombs for the 
dead, but the 
Occidents con- 
structed roads 
for the living. 
As soon as roads 

were built to Fred Wldntire. 



Hon. G. G. Davis. 

feudal castles, they were supplanted 
by cathedrals. As Indian trails gave 
place to highway's, the wigwam dis- 
appeared, and cottages soon fringed 
the roadsides. All along, the early 
settlers were building better than 
they knew. 

During 1767, the first sawmill in 
town was built somewhere near the 
confluence of the Meeting-house 
Pond outlet and the Baker brook. 
The same year, Jedediah Maynard 
built the first framed house, which 
is now a part of Ivory Gates's 
home ; also Abijah Tucker con- 
structed another on the site of the 
Congregational church edifice. 

Near the close of this year, the 
"Provincial I^egislature " required a 
census of the town to be taken, 
which gave a total of ninety-three 

inhabitants. This shows a fair set- 
tlement to have been made in the 
dense wilderness in the short period 
of three years. During the follow- 
ing year a grist-mill was erected on 
the brook flowing from the Cum- 
mings pond, on a part of what is now 
the Richardson farm, which was the 
first one in town ; no doubt, a .saw- 
mill was connected with it. 

In 1769, steps were taken toward 
building a meeting-house. It was 
made binding on every owner of land 
to bear his share of the expense in 
this coveted enterprise. The work 
was achieved by willing hands and 


Clinton Collins. 

Summer Residence of Albert P. Frost. 

united hearts in the course of a few 
years. At this time, sawmills were 
in demand ; one was built on the 
outlet, close by the Cummings pond, 
by a Mr. Hunting ; another, on the 
Roaring brook, by Bert Grimes ; 
another, on the site of Deacon Levi 
A. Fuller's present mill ; and another 
on the Baker brook. In 1784, a grist- 
mill was put in operation by Phineas 
Farrar, near where was afterwards 
built the Forestall mill. About 1790, 
Samuel Collins built a grist-mill and 
a sawmill by the Glen falls, which 
were in operation as late as 1830. 
Near this time, EHphalet Stone set 
in motion a fulling-mill and a sawmill 



The R. F. Greeley Residence. 

on the outlet of the Stone pond. A 
little later, Josiah Fish built a card- 
ing and fulling-mill on the privilege 
where James Townsend's woollen- 
mill is now. 

As the settlement progressed, new 
demands were made, and new man- 
ufacturing interests sprung up. A 
good grist- and flour-mill was soon 
started, where are now the JMon- 
adnock mills, by Charles Holman. 
Chairs and wagons were manufac- 
tured by Charles Gilbert and Silas 
McCollester in what is now Warren 
Richardson's pail shop. Robert Car- 
penter started a pail shop in the Os- 
good Wiswell mill. Slihnan Buss, 
who was a mechanical genius, estab- 
lished a flour-mill in what is now the 
Hart box shop, which became fa- 
mous throughout the county. Charles 

Buss inaugurated a gun and ma- 
chine-shop, at first on a small scale, 
which grew into a large establish- 
ment; he had a remarkably inven- 
tive mind. At length, Franklin R. 
Thurston opened a large blacksmith 
business, and his son Charles, nat- 
urally gifted, invented, with other 
things, a double knob screw and a 
sewing-machine of merit ; the former 
was manufactured for years in the 
skate shop. 

In building up the village, prob- 
ably Asa Greenwood did more than 
any other man ; he worked the stone 
quarry and built nearly all the stone 

H. L. Page. 

The Frost Homestead. 

structures and many other buildings 
in the village. The water privilege 
gradually drew the business from the 
centre of the town to the harbor, 
bringing disappointment to some, and 
joy to others. In the early history of 
the town, the cobblers went from 
house to house to do shoemaking and 
repairing of harnesses, but, at length, 
the Davis shoe shop and the Wilkin- 
son harness shop were conspicuous. 
As the village prospered, the Con- 
gregational church was built, and, 
not long after, the Baptist church, 
and, later, the Universalist church. 
These recall the names, which are 
tenderly cherished, of Reverends Ly- 

3 2S 



J. R. Famum. 

J. K. Soulhwick. 

Charles Ryan. 

J. H. Ki-nball 

Irving E. Gates. 

Cyrus S. Moors. 

man, Cunimings, Fisher, Danforth, 
Record, Merrill, and Polk, with 
others, whose memories are sacred 
in many hearts; they were preachers 
and livers of the Word. 

The town was incorporated in 
1 775-' 76, being named Marlborough 
Harbor. Other names were pro- 
posed, as Oxford, Salisbury, and H 
Worcester, no doubt, because settlers 
hailed from these different towns. 

Before the incorporation, schools 
had been kept in private houses, but, 
after this, measures were adopted to 
have school-houses built. The first 
one was erected in what is now Rox- 
bury, near the Capron place, and the 
next one was built near the old meet- 
ing-house. The town was first di- 
vided into four districts ; as the popu- 
lation increased, school-houses multi- 
plied till there were eight school 
divisions. F'or many years, school- 
masters, only, were considered fit to 
teach, and they must be skilled in the 
use of the birch and ferule. To be- 
gin with, the text-books consisted of 
the Bible, the speller, catechism, and 
an occasional copy of Pilgrim's Prog- 
ress. In 1778, the town raised the 
liberal sum of $500 for the support of 
the schools. Among the early set- 
tlers, it would appear that James 
Brewer and Isaac McAllister were 
particularly interested in the cause of 
education. Superintending school 
committees were first chosen in 1809, 
consisting of nine members. Among 
the early teachers, who were espe- 
cially successful, were Cyrus Frost, 
Benjamin Whitney, Levi Gates, 
Luther Wiswell, Lorin Frost, Stil- 
man Buss, Cyrus Stone, Jairus Col- 
lins, Atossa Frost, Cynthia Farrar, 
Hannah Jones, and those of more re- 
cent date were, S. H. McCollester, w. c. Adams. 

G. L. Fairbanks. 



Maria Wakefield, Harriet Holnian, 
Julia Wakefield, Joseph Slialtuck, 
Ellen and Kliza Stone, Ellen Her- 
rick, Frances and Alice Lawrence, 
with many others. Now, the pros- 
perity of Marlborough is due in no 
small degree to t-he public schools 
and those teachers who have wrought 
faithfully in them. Great honor is 

taken to make up Troy and Roxbury, 
and smaller portions have been taken 
off, or added, to meet school and 
church wants. The surface of the 
town is strikingly diversified with 
hills and valleys ; some parts are 
wondrousl}^ picturesque and roman- 
tic. It is surprising that, within an 
area of thirteen thousand acres, there 

<.Sci->*'L^ - -■ - - ... . 

^^i.-^ ^-""V' i.*?; .r'«i:g.^ >5 

Webb's Quarry. 

due the teachers, who have earnestly 
labored for the welfare of the town. 
Eet their names be so enshrined in 
the memories of the citizens as to live 
when the granite of the hills shall 
have dissolved into dust. 

Marlborough, as first laid out, as 
already stated, was twelve by eight 
miles square, boundaries running 
nearly north and south, east and 
west. A part of the original lot was 

should be such a display of highlands 
and lowlands, of forests and clear- 
ings. Truly, nature has bestowed 
upon it many of her choicest charms, 
attractive beauties, and stirring sub- 

Its geologic formation is made up 
largely of primitive rock ; its out- 
cropping ledges are compo.sed of 
granite, percolated frequently with 
veins of quartz. The drift, or loose 



George D. Webb. 

formation, consists of silicate and 
vegetable products. The deposits 
give evidence of glacial, aqueous, 
and iceberg action. The grooves cut 
into the ledges and the pot-holes give 
assurance of long - continued water 
action. The minerals consist mainly 
of granite, gneiss, white and rose 
quartz, feldspar, mica, beryl, garnets, 
and plumbago. Quarrying gneiss 
has become an important industry in 
town. The sedimentary deposits are 
made up of sand, clay, and peat, 
making a soil well calculated for 

The farms, being properly culti- 
vated, yield good crops of Indian 
corn, oats, potatoes, rye, beans, and 
barley. All who are tilling after 
modern methods, guided by the 
science of agriculture, are learning 
that farming is no humbug, but is 
certain to result in good buildings, 
productive fields, sleek stock, and 
independent living. 

Its climate is favorable to health 
and long life, as is made manifest 
from the fact that some twenty-five 
persons in town are on the other 
side of threescore and fifteen years. 

The inhabited portions are 
from ten to thirteen hundred 
feet above the sea, so that 
the hottest days in summer 
are seldom sultr}', and the 
coldest in winter are not 
often ten degrees below zero. 
It is true that the winters 
here are long, and the snow 
is likely to be deep, yet the 
people, I think, do not suf- 
fer from the climate anything 
as they do in Michigan, South 
Carolina, lyOndon, or Rome. 
Since about one third of the 
surface is growing forests, 
unquestionably this has much to do 
in tempering the atmosphere in hot 
and cold weather. 

The principal forest trees are pine, 
oak, beech, birch, hemlock, poplar, 
cherry, basswood, and spruce. The 
fruit trees are apple, pear, plum, 
cherry, and peach. The natural 
fruits consist of the strawberry, blue- 
berry, blackberry, raspberry, and 
cranberry. The flora is very full ; 
the botanist finds a large variety of 
plants, all the way from delicate 
mosses and ferns to Alpine flowers 
on the top of the Monadnock. 

Four ponds are within the town 

h. H. Pease. 


33 • 

limits, varying from half to a mile 
long, and from a third to three 
fourths of a mile wide. They are 
beautiful l)odies of water, and were 
they in Scotland or Italy, how they 
would have been sought after b}' 
poets and lovers of nature ! A fairer 
lake of water cannot be found than 
the Stone pond. These bodies of 
water abound in fish, as pickerel, 
perch, dace, eels, and pouts. 

The land is intersected by many 
streams ; the largest is the Minni- 
wawa, which warbles and sings as it 
runs over the stones and down the 
declivities. Its Glenn falls, near the 

Luke Knowlton. 

upper end of the village, are enchant- 
ing and sublime in high water. 

If bears, wolves, and deer were 
common when the early settlers came 
here, they have all disappeared, leav- 
ing onl}^ traditions of their feats and 
cruelty. Within the remembrance of 
some living, beavers and minks were 
numerous, but are now seldom seen. 
Foxes are plentiful, having great 
fondness for our hills and dales ; as 
civilization trenches upon them, they 
appear to advance in cunning and 
shrewdness. Woodchucks hold their 
forts as of old ; in spite of guns, dogs, 
and traps, their stock has not dimin- 
ished. Rabbits and conies frequent 
the glades and pineries. Striped, 

Residences of Fred E. Adams and J. W. Lawrence. 

red, and graj' squirrels sport 'in the 
walls, the orchards, and woods. We 
are often apprized that hedgehogs 
and skunks are around, for they are 
not ba.shful in imparting their influ- 
ence to friend and foe. Rats and 
mice give frequent assurance that 
their race is not 3-et run. Hawks 
whistle and crows caw as thej' did 
when the whoop of the Indian and 
the bark of the wolf echoed among 
the hills and vales. Some seasons, 
pigeons flock to the fields and forests : 
ducks swim the ponds spring and 
fall; partridges drum the logs and 
whir through the thickets, and owls 
hoot as they did when the sound of 
the first axe rung in the woods. The 
robin, the oriole, the bluebird, the 
phebe, the lark, the woodpecker, the 
bobolink, the ground-bird, the hair- 
bird, the king-bird, kinglets, hum- 
ming-birds, snowbirds, kingfishers, 
nightingales, night-hawks, and whip- 
poor-will, are with us every year, at 
different seasons, to afford us change 
and enchantment. 

The town, at its incorporation, had 
not far from two hundred inhabitants, 
and now it has sixteen hundred and 
ninety-five; while its growth has not 
been rapid, for the most part, it has 
been healthful. It has sent twelve 
through college ; produced eight 



Stone Pond and Monadnock. 

clergymen, five physicians, three law- 
yers, some seventy-five teachers, and 
many successful business men and 
noble women. If the children still 
continue to rise up, calling their 
fathers blessed, making their places 
more than good, it will prosper and 
increase in numbers, in schools, 
churches, and pleasant homes. It 
has now some four hundred dwell- 
ings, eighty farms, besides gardens 
and patches tilled, fifteen manufac- 
tories in operation, ten mercantile 
establishments, two blacksmith shops, 
two meat markets, a printing-office, a 
hotel, a l)aker3% a skate shop, three 
sawmills, a grist-mill, two pail shops, 
a sash and door shop, and a mill for 
getting out chair and hard wood lum- 
ber. Marlborough, with its natural 
advantages, will continue to grow, if 
the present and future generations 
are loyal to temperance, industry, the 
cause of education, and the Christian 

It is sad that here, as well as else- 

where, some of the sons, with all the 
advantages of the present age, are 
not making their fathers' places good. 
Such are not building up, but tearing 
down; instead of beautifying, they 
are defacing the place of their birth, 
and are casting waste and mildew 
upon their native town, on which the 
All-good has showered richest bene- 
dictions. Let the moral and relig- 
ioiis tone be elevated, and it will be 
sought after, not only in the summer 
for its mountain, its diversified 
beauty and sublimity, but by seekers 
after permanent settlements. Let the 
people so think and act as to impart 
confidence, and it will be sought 
after for its delightful landscapes and 
healthfulness, but more for its soul 
beauty and mental lustre. On the 
right conditions, the town can quad- 
ruple its population, living better, 
becoming far more cultured and en- 
terprising, doing vastly more good, 
and best of all, growing in capacity 
to enjoy more and more life. 


By Gordon Hall Geroiild. 

Here no voice of storm-torn sea, 
Here no river roars to me. 
Only sound of waters free, 
Dancing down all mad with glee. 


By Francis Dana. 

^^^HERE were voices in the 

darkness of the garden. 

"But letters," said the 

deep, strong voice, in a 

"One of which, Donnie, I mean 
to take now." 

"Stop! don't!" cried the other, 
in a well-selected tone of severity, 

good-natured growl of yet not without evident glee. "Oh, 

its own, ''letters, you know, are such dear!'' 
a nuisance / " " Meaning me ? ' ' 

"If you call luy letters a nui- "No, not meaning )'t'«. There," 

sance, — " said the clear, gentle with a cheery sigh that must have 

voice. Something in its emphasis been drawn through a smile, "now 

suggested a lift of the chin beneath you may^'^, and I believe you may 

and a little jutting out of the lower make up your mind to put up with 

lip, and doubtless it would have said letters, and feel blest, if you get any, 

much more on the subject, but the after all you have — said!" 
other made haste to justify itself. "I won't! Now, Donnie, just think 

"Oh! no, Donnie; you know I of the advantage of my being able to 

never meant tliat ! Why the very hear your voice every day. Shan't 

sight of your pretty writing on an I ? Think how much better I shall 

envelope — " work for it ; how it will drive off the 

"Then 3'ou mean what is quite as blues; and how the glad thoughts 

bad — or worse — yes, worse!" the will come tripping in at the sound of 

soft voice decided, after a pause. 
"You mean that you find it a nui- 
sance to write to me. Well, you 
needn't take the trouble." 


"Then, please, what do you mean, 
Thomas? Much of anything?" 

"Only," said the voice called 
Thomas, quite humbly, "that de- 
lightful as letters, particularly our 
letters, always are, real, live talk is 

it, and bring happiness with them ! 
O Donnie! " 

"And of ))iy being able to hear 
yours! " said the feminine voice, with 
selfish enthusiasm. "I can hardly the temptation, but, O Tom, 
Mamma and Elaine would never let 

"Always 'Mamma and Elaine ! ' " 
Here the growl grew rather savage. 

"Needn't ask 'em. 
'em! What have 
Elaine' to do with it? 

Need n't tell 
' Mamma and 
Thev need n't 

"Real, live talk," said the gentler 

voice, reflectivel3\ "By which, I sup- listen." 

pose you mean animated conversa- " As if they would ! " indignantly, 

tion? Y-e-s, Tom, it has its advan- "But if I had such a thing without 

tages." telhng them, Tom, it would be de- 


ceiving tliem, and I should feel so 
awfully guilt3^ Besides — they 'd find 
it out." 

"Then they wouldn't be deceived, 
would they? Look here, Don, — 
you 're of age, — you 've a right to 
do as you please in things that con- 
cern you only. Don, if you don't 
assert yourself now and then, — if you 
allow 3'ourself to be dictated to, — " 

" Not by you, Tom, at all events," 
said the gentle voice, very quietly. 
"You see, Tom," after a moment's 
silence, "I can assert myself a little." 

"Yes, you can. I beg your par- 
don. But ought /to be the only one 
against whom you can hold 3^our 
own — the 07ily one you can answer 

The deep voice made the most of 
this question and said it feelingly, in 
an injured tone, but seemed to win 
no sympathy. 

" If you don't like it, Tom," was 
the mild reply, " you can do without, 
you know." 

" 1 do like it," wath sudden meek- 

"Very well. Now, if the tumult 
of 5'our thoughts has subsided, 
Thomas, I will say that Mamma and 
Elaine are no/ unkind, as j^ou always 
seem to think — but they simply can 't 
realize that I am grown up. How 
can they ? I can hardly have seemed 
perceptibly older to them on any one 
day than on the day before — can I ? 
And so things have gone on, and no 
special time has come when there 
seemed to be a reason for any change 
in their treatment of me." 

"Give 'em a reason, Don, and 
stick to it." 

" But if I were to arise in the dig- 
nity of my majority and remind them 
that the law emancipated me two 

years ago, and that their behavior to 
me is — what 's the word ?" 

" Outrageous." 

" Nonsense ! It 's two Latin words 
— you know what they are — not /?i/ra 
rt'/X'— but— " 

' ' Stii generis f Horribilc didu .^" 

"No — idtra vires. If I told them 
all that, they 'd only be very much 
astonished, and deeply grieved at 
what they 'd call my ' rebellious 
spirit—' " 

" Did they get that out of Milton ?" 

" — Much more hurt than I am by 
continuing to be brought up at the 
advanced age of which you are so 
very polite as to keep reminding me, 
Tom — but they would n't understand. 
How could they? So you '11 not find 
fault with them or with me — Tom, 
please say no more about it." 

" Well, I must respect your loyalty 
to them — which is like you — but 
you '11 never persuade me that it 
does n't hurt you to be treated like a 

" Now, my dear boy, if they were 
really unkind, as you say, would they 
have allowed our engagement? " 

" Why, how could they prevent it? 
You 're of a—" 

" Stop ! Don't say that again ! " 

"All right, Donnie. But you are, 
5^ou know." 

"They saw it was for my happi- 
ness, and they have reall}^ said very 
little against it, that is," with a care- 
ful regard for the truth, "much less 
than they miglit have said." 

" Sweet of 'em — horribly sweet! " 
said the growl, and melted into a 
persuasive murmur as it continued, 
"But, Don, about my suggestion?" 

" How obstinate you are. I have 
told you four times, that Mamma — " 

" I scraped up every dollar I could 



and bought them, feeling sure that 
you would be willing. It took about 
all I had." 

' ' How absurd of you ! ' ' 

A door opened from the house, be- 
hind the garden, and a not inconsid- 
erable feminine presence stood there 
in the light and spoke, "Dorothea! 
You must not stay out there in the 
night air. Come in at once." 

"Yes, Mamma! — " and the door 

"I had set ni}^ hcatt on it, so," 
said the deep voice again, in a tone 
that made it seem probable that what- 
ever "it" might be, it was a hard 
substance, and had sorely bruised 
that delicate organ. 

The maiden's mind suddenly 
veered, as maiden's minds may and 

"So have I, Tom. Yes— I will 
have the thing and use it, though it 
will seem uncanny, and I shall surely 
be found out, besides. I promise — " 

Again the door opened. 

' ' Dorothea ! How many times must 
you be told to come in ? " 

"I'm coming, Elaine! Good 
night, Tom — and — good by, Tom ! 
Will there be plenty of directions so 
I shall know how ? ' ' 

"Plenty, it's simple. Good by, 
Donnie ! " 

"Good by, Tom! " 

"Good by! " 

A prett}', slender figure tripped out 
of the darkness and in at the door, 
which, closing harshly, shut in the 
maiden and the light from a tall man, 
who left the garden and walked slow- 
ly away, after looking back at the 
house as he went. 

" I hate to leave her to those 
two!" said he, grumbling, now, 
without restraint. "That sort of 

thing is hard enough even for chil- 
dren, but to a woman as sensitive as 
poor Donnie, it be torture ! " 

" That sort of thing " meant what 
is technically known as " nagging." 

"Mamma" and "Elaine," that is 
to say, Mrs. Tremlett and her elder 
daughter, had never thought of relax- 
ing that strict supervision and ab- 
solute authority over the younger, 
which might have been good for her 
as a little girl, but could only be irk- 
some and mortifying to a woman of 

Gordon, the owner of the discon- 
tented voice, felt this sorely, more 
even than Dorothea, for he saw, as 
she could not, that perpetual re- 
straint, fault-finding, and ordering, 
were wearing her out — that the two 
ladies who loved her were gently de- 
priving her of all rest and comfort 
and peace. 

He knew that the only way by 
which he could rescue his damsel in 
distress was to marry her and make 
her mistress of a home of her own. 

But this, he acknowledged to him- 
self, as he walked away that night, 
was a vague and distant project. 

However, an uncle, who dwelt and 
prospered in Chicago, had written to 
him, offering him a position there. 

He was to set out on the morrow 
to meet that beneficent but unknown 
relative, and, as he looked forward, 
anticipation of new scenes and hope 
of better fortune drove away all his 
sorrows, except that shade of becom- 
ing despondency in which no man 
who has just bidden his lady-love 
good by for an unknown time should 
ever be lacking. 

"You are very imprudent, Doro- 
thea," said Mrs. Tremlett, as her 
daughter came in. 



"It is so damp in the garden," 
said Elaine. 

"And you have so lately recovered 
from a cold," said Mrs. Tremlett. 

"Really," said Elaine, "you are al- 
ways running risks, Dorothea. This 
morning. Mamma, she was out in the 
dewy grass with no more protection 
for her feet than those thin boots, 
which are onl}^ meant for indoors." 

"How very careless ! You ought 
to have told me you wished to go, 
Dorothea, and I should have made 
you put on something more substan- 
tial — if I had allowed you to go at all. 
You will ruin your health. To-night 
you have been saying good by to Mr. 
Gordon, I suppose ? " 

" Yes, Mamma." 

"He goes to Chicago to-morrow, 
then ? ' ' 

" Yes, Mamma." 

"He did not seem elated at the 
prospect, when he made his farewell 
call on us this afternoon." 

" I hope he '11 be successful," said 
Elaine. "But for some reason he 
does n't seem the kind of man who 
ever will succeed. It 's a pity — a 
great pity ! " 

"Indeed it is," said Mrs. Trem- 
lett, mournfully. " I feel about him 
just as you do, Elaine. I have no 
objection to him, personally, but he 
is essentiall}' unpractical. I am al- 
ways in the most painful doubt as to 
whether I did my duty in permitting 
you to become engaged to him, Doro- 
thea. If you had only told him to 
wait, my child ; and if he is as good 
a young man, and as devoted to 3'ou 
as he seems, he would have waited 
till his prospects improved, and left 
you free, meanwhile. But a long en- 
gagement is so trying, and so seldom 
amounts to anvthinir in the end." 

" Donnie never could look beyond 
the gratification of the moment's 
wish," said h^laine. 

" I 'm content to wait," said Doro- 
thea, cheerily. 

"Well, you'll have contentment 
enough, then, I fear, poor child." 

"I don't see how he ever can 
marry," said Mrs. Tremlett. 

"And when he can, he'll very 
likely change his mind," said Elaine, 
"not that it seems as if one could, 
but I know of so many cases where 
that has happened. As Manuna 
says, Dorothea, long engagements 
are very apt to end so." 

"Ours won't," said the maiden, 
with the courage of her convictions. 

" Why Dorothea! What a temper 
you 're in to-night," said her mother, 
with a grieved look. " Such brusque, 
unpleasant answers! Well, dear, you 
have my fondest hopes and prayers. 
' Hope deferred ' — you know. You 
have really a worn look already, and 
I am very anxious about you, in- 

If by any chance it occurred to 
Dorothea, that her mother had trans- 
posed cause and effect, and that if 
less anxiety were lavished upon her 
the " worn look " might give place to 
comparative cheerfulness of expres- 
sion, she did not say so, but smiled, 
rather plaintively. 

" You need n't be worried, Mamma, 
dear. I shall do very well, I 'm sure." 

"But, truly, Dorothea, you are 
quite pale and seem tired out. I 
think. Mamma, she ought to go to 
bed at once, and have a good night's 
rest," said Elaine. 

With which suggestion, Dorothea, 
having been benevolently goaded to 
the verge of madness, not unwillingly 



Early on the nioniiiig of the next 
day, there came to the house a box, 
which she contrived to have smug- 
gled up, unseen, to her room. 

When Gordon had arrived at Chi- 
cago and had talked with the uncle 
who was his hope, he found his pros- 
pects more definite, but likely to take 
so long in being realized that he felt 
that one might almost as well be with- 
out any prospects, and the sport and 
plaything of mere possibilities. 

The uncle proposed to put him at 
the head of an Eastern branch of his 
extensiv^e business — iron, I think, but 
it does n't matter — so soon as he 
should be fit to hold the position. 

The system by which such fitness 
could only (from the uncle's point of 
view) be obtained seemed likel}^ to 
to take up a large part, if not the 
whole, of the nephew's earthly exis- 
tence. The uncle, in business, was 
a devout evolutionist. 

His idea was to start Gordon in the 
lowest stage of his cosmos, and evolve 
him through every department of the 
business which might afterwards 
come under his supervision, until, by 
natural process and without forcing, 
he should become an able and fully- 
equipped superintendent. 

"But," said Gordon, "I shall be 
an elderly man before I am in a fairly 
good place." 

" I prefer elderly men in my fairly 
good places, ' ' said the uncle. ' ' They 
have, as a rule, better heads. But 
don't let me influence 3^ou. I offer 
the chance. You can take it, or 
leave it." 

Gordon took it. 

It condemned him to a long exile 
from Dorothea — but the viau within 
him said, " Better be earning j-our 
own living, even if you have to give 

her up, than be engaged to her with 
no prospect of supporting ev^en your- 
self, much less both." 

"Then," said the uncle, "I shall 
start you as a night watchman in the 
works. It is a place that requires no 
brains, no knowledge, or al^ility, — 
just the thing for you to begin with, 
j'oung man." 

So Thomas, the germ, took form as 
Thomas, the night watchman, and, 
as such, made hourly rounds of the 
works, passing the interstices of time 
in a small room, built with a view to 
such discomfort as might tend to pro- 
duce the insomnia which is a watch- 
man's first duty, and furnished with 
a table, a hard, uncompromising 
chair, a lamp in a swinging bracket, 
a small mirror, and a clock w'ith a 
loud, impressive, censorious manner 
of ticking and striking. 

One midnight, when Gordon was 
thus fulfilling his not too delightful 
destin}', the uncle, at home in bed, 
opened his eyes, and, at the call of 
his awakened mind, his thoughts 
came scudding back from their 
dream-winged flight to their usual 
occupation — the iron business. 

" Now I wonder," said he, " what 
that young fellow is at, at this mo- 
ment? Bet he thinks he has a soft 
snap down there with nothing to do 
and no one to watch him do it. 
Wonder if he 's asleep ? Half a mind 
to go and see — if it ain't a-raining." 

He got up and looked out of the 
window. It 7cas raining. That de- 
cided him, for if ever there was an 
obstinate old gentleman, it was this 
uncle of Gordon's. 

" I 'a'ill go down ! " said he. 

So he dressed, went down stairs, 
and out; hailed a hack, and was 
soon rattling along toward the works. 



He alighted near them, walked the 
rest of the way, let himself in at his 
private door, and, assisted by the 
overshoes he wore, went noiselessly 
down the long passage that led to 
the watchman's room. There he 
heard a voice, and stopped to listen. 
The voice was sweet and clear, with 
gentle modulations, and with a pe- 
culiar something in its tone which 
might have impressed a less practical 
and more psychical uncle as being a 
little unearthl5^ 

" — a constant joy and delight to 
me," it was saying, "but, O Tom, 
I'm so afraid they will find it out, 
and I feel so guilty about it — not that 
it's wrong — but I know I ought 
to tell them ; and, yet, if I did, they 
would perhaps take it away." 

" What on earth? " said the uncle, 
and paused for a reply. 

"At such times," the voice said 
sweetly, " it seems as if we were to- 
gether, Tom." 

" It certainly has that aspect," the 
uncle thought. "Now, what the 
deuce does that young rascal mean 
by making love down here at this 
time of night?" 

The voice went on with its pretty 
monologue. What it said was fla- 
vored with that extreme sweetness 
that young folk much in love are 
said to be able to enjoy ad infinituvi, 
but which cloys with persons in a 
normal condition, like the uncle and 
ourselves. It infuriated the uncle, — 
the reader shall be spared. 

^' She's making love to ///;;/. P'r'aps, 
poor wretch, he can't help himself. 
Some designing woman, maybe, who 
knows he's my nephew, and thinks 
he 's well off, and means to trap him 
into marriage. 'T aint one of the 
type-writers; don't know the voice." 

Here, however, Tom was heard, 
in reply to a particularly affectionate 
speech, to say with fervor, " My own, 
ozvn darling ! " 

"That's my precious young scally- 
wag himself," said the uncle, and, 
having stood long in a draughty pas- 
sage on a damp night, and being 
overcome with pent - up emotions, 

The voices stopped. The uncle 
made a rush for the door, which 
opened upon him, and di.sclosed Tom 
standing alone. 

"Who are you? Come in out of 
that!" cried the watchman, seizing 
his relative by the collar, with a 
mighty grip, and pulling him into 
the light. "Why — my dear Uncle! 
Is this you? " 

"Don't 'dear Uncle' me! You 
scamp ! Where — well — really — I — 
this is very surprising!" 

"Yes, sir," said Tom, looking 
more amused than the circumstances 
seemed to warrant. 

The uncle looked about him high 
and low, and as he looked, his amaze- 
ment grew upon him, and his stare 
became blank to the likeness of im- 
becility. He and Tom were alone 
together. It was quite impossible 
that any one else could have been 
in the room while the voice was 
speaking, for no one could have 
passed out unseen. He looked out 
of the window ; no possible exit there 
— a sheer brick wall descending some 
fifty feet into a trench. He looked 
at the walls and ceiling, at the floor 
— there was no outlet. 

' ' Good heavens, Tom ! ' ' said the 
uncle, staring harder than ever. 

Tom dutifully offered him the hard 
chair, which he accepted in a dazed 
manner. "Look here, Tom," said 



he "do I — the fact is, I had a very 
tiresome day of it yesterday — and — 
I 'm just out of bed, and — sleepy, you 
know — now do I look as if I were — 
in short, do you see anything the 
matter w'ith me? " 

Gordon, bj^ way of answer, handed 
him the mirror. He looked, with 
serious misgivings, at his startled 
image, with its wide eyes and its 
scant hair on end, and presently 
said : 

"Tom, I thought I'd come down 
and see how you were getting on. 
I naturall}^ — take an interest in my 
own sister's own son, 3'ou know. 
Glad to find you doing so well, and 
now I think I '11 go back to bed. 
I 'm getting — " Here the uncle 
stopped and looked up, with a light 
of sudden intelligence dawning upon 
his face. 

' ' I see it now, you young dog ! 
I begin to catch on! You needn't 
ask what I mean, sir, or look inno- 
cent ! You heard me coming, and 
thought you 'd have the joke your 
way, eh? Well, sir, you 've done it! 
You 're the best ventriloquist I ever 
heard ! I could have sworn I heard 
a girl in here talking to you. I 'd 
swear it now, if it was n't impossi- 

"No, sir," said Tom, "there's 
been no one here but ourselves. 
I 'm not a ventriloquist. You did 
hear a voice." 

Tom lifted a newspaper from the 
table, and his uncle saw what had 
escaped him in his search for trap- 
doors and fugitives — a phonograph. 
He contemplated it in silence awhile, 
and then turned to Gordon. 

"Young man," said he, " it seems 
I have been listening to a private 
conversation of the most delicate de- 

scription. As a stranger to the tran- 
saction, I apologize. As your em- 
ployer, I want to know why in thun- 
der you waste your time — which is 
my time — making love to that at- 
tractive but idiotic machine (for, to 
judge from what it says, I call it a 
fool), and how do you think you're 
to do my work and play with toys 
at the same time? This ain't a 
nurse rv ! " 

"111 tell you when I get back, 
sir," said Tom ; " time for my hourly 
round," and he sought a refuge for 
his blushes in the outer darkness, 
while the old gentleman, left to 
himself, grinned and chuckled and 
rubbed his chin. 

' ' That 's the worst case of spoons 
/ ever saw. The idea of having to 
bottle up a girl's conversation and 
pack it around the country ! Now, 
I suppose, if the truth was known, 
he 's got a lock of her hair in every 
pocket. Well — well — well — I haven't 
forgotten — a man has to go through 
that stage. The girl had a sweet 
voice ! Well, we '11 see ; we '11 see ! " 

And then he fell into a reverie, 
which lasted until Gordon came in, 
when he resumed his severely busi- 
ness-like air. 

" Well, sir, have you found time to 
make up an explanation ? " 

"The explanation, sir, is simple 
enough — ' ' 

"I '11 bet it 's simple," said the un- 
cle, with feeling, "simple as Simple 
Simon himself." 

" You see," said Gordon, " there 's 
a girl at home who promised to marry 
me, and I thought, as we should be 
parted a long time, that it would be 
pleasant for us to hear each other 
speak, now and then — and so — " 

"And so you proceeded to spend 



money on costly toys. I see. You 
sa3^ you do n't intend to be married 
at once ? " 

" I don't see much chance of it." 

" Neither do I. Perhaps she 
would n't marry a night watchman ?" 

"She certainly would — this one — 
but I do n't mean to have her marry 
one, not till he 's better fixed." 

" She '11 have a long time to wait, 
Tom. Now I suppose you Ve a pic- 
ture of her handy. Eh ? If you can't 
go without her voice you surely can't 
without her likeness." 

Tom showed him a photograph : a 
sweet, sensible face with large, dark 
eyes a little sad, and masses of wavy 

" Well— well— " said the uncle, 
more pleasantly than he had spoken 
before. "It's a lovel}^ face and a 
sweet voice, Tom Gordon. A sweet 
voice, even if it does talk nonsense. 
Perhaps, if I were a girl and talking 
into a phonograph for the benefit of a 
good-for-nothing young fellow hun- 
dreds of miles away — why, perhaps, 
I should talk nonsense m^'self. You 
each have a machine and send each 
other the slips, or rolls, or whatever 
the^^ use in phonographs, eh? " 

"Yes, sir." 

" Well, that may be folly, but its 
enterprise .' No one can say it ain't 
enterprise ! Hm ! Well ! Just mind 
you don't forget to make your 
rounds, and, as for this thing, you 
ought to keep it at your lodging." 

"The walls are very thin in the 
tenement where I hang out. All my 
neighbors could hear everything Don 
— er — the phonograph — said." 

"All right," said the old gentle- 
man, " I suppose you '11 have to keep 
it here, then. Good night ! " 

" Mamma," said Elaine, one morn- 

ing, to Mrs. Tremlett, " I have found 
out something that I think you really 
ought to know. Something, I regret 
to say, about Dorothea." 

"Dorothea — why what — explain 
j^ourself, Elaine — -tell me at once ! " 

" You have noticed those queer 
little packages Dorothea has been re- 
ceiving by mail ? " 

' ' They have given me some anx- 
iety, Elaine. I have intended to ask 
her about them, but thought it l)etter 
to give her the opportunity of telling 
me about them of her own accord, as 
she ought." 

" I have discovered what they are. 
Mamma. This morning I was pass- 
ing Dorothea's room, only a few min- 
utes ago : the door was a little ajar. I 
heard what astonished me so that I 
stood and listened — a voice in the 
room which was certainl}^ not Doro- 
thea's, and which I should have said 
— if had not known that he was away 
and that no one but Dorothea could 
possibly be in the room — was Mr. 
Thomas Gordon's." 

"Why, Elaine, what do you 
mean ? ' ' 

" I peeped in, and there was Doro- 
thea grinding away at a phonograph ! 
I sent her on an errand at once, with- 
out giving her time to put it away, 
and guilty enough she looked. No 
wonder. The idea of deceiving us in 
this wa3^ I call the whole perform- 
ance most improper ! " 

" To think that a daughter of mine 
could behave so! " said Mrs. Trem- 

Neither of the ladies stopped for a 
moment to consider hoiv Dorothea 
had done wrong. They simply took 
it for granted that it was her duty to 
let them know all about her affairs, 
and that whatever she did without 



consulting them was wrong ab initio. 
This gave rise to a feeling of offense, 
which was greatly emphasized by the 
idea of the sound of the voice of Mr. 
Thomas Gordon in Dorothea's room, 
— a not unnatural, though totally 
unreasonable feeling, from which a 
properly cultivated sense of the ridic- 
ulous would have saved them. 

Mrs. Tremlett, deeply grieved, went 
at once to her younger daughter's 
room, and found the obnoxious in- 
strument on the table ; beside it, sev- 
eral little cjdinders, each with its 
number on a bit of paper neatly 
pasted to the edge, and a paper of 
directions lying open on a chair. 

"No. i" was in the phonograph, 
for Elaine had broken in upon a very 
early stage of Tom's discourse. Mrs. 
Tremlett hesitated a moment, looked 
at the directions that lay at hand, 
locked herself into the room, and 
began to grind out utterances. She 
started nervoush^ as she heard Tom 
Gordon's familiar tones, but kept 
bravel}^ on. 

It was an uncanny thing — this pro- 
duction of the very voice and words 
of a man who was .so far away — and 
to her old-fashioned mind seemed 
almost wrong — a dealing with strange 
powers, and very like raising a spirit. 

The novelty and strangeness of it 
all so occupied her mind that she 
never once thought that her act was 
tantamount to reading a letter meant 
for another, or listening at a keyhole, 
and presently she became so inter- 
ested in what the in.strument was say- 
ing that she forgot everything else. 

" — prospects are not all that could 
be wished." 

" I should think not, indeed," said 
Mrs. Tremlett. 

" Now, Donnie there is one thing," 

said the phonograph ver}^ gravely, 
' ' about which I must beg you this 
once to hear me, though you have 
refused so often." 

' ' Glad she has the grace to refuse 
him something," said her mother. 

' ' It is about 3'our treatment at 

" Well, I never!'' said Mrs. Trem- 
lett, bridling in a manner that must 
have reduced Tom to sudden silence 
had he been present otherwise than 
vocally, but which had no effect on 
the impassive instrument of speech. 
''Treatment, indeed I What next?" 

"I know, dear," said the phono- 
graph, "that I cannot speak unless 
3'ou will let me, — but please hear me 
this time. You say — and for 5'our 
sake it hurts me .sorel}- — that you 
feel guilty in using 3'our phonograph ; 
that 3'our mother and sister would 
not like it, and might not allow it; 
and that it seems to you deceitful to 
use it without their knowledge and 

" Is it not a sad state of things that 
you cannot do an action that is right 
in itself — an action whose onl}' conse- 
quence is to give us both great pleas- 
ure in a perfectly proper waj' — with- 
out feeling guilt}' ? 

"Are you so nagged and brow- 
beaten, Donnie, that you, a woman 
grown, dare not assert your right to 
do as you please in what concerns no 
one but yourself? Is it right that 
3'ou should be deprived of all choice, 
in ruling your own life? 

"Surely, there are many things 
about oneself of which one has more 
knowledge than others have, and 
which one can decide better by 
one's own judgment. Yet what is 
there in which your own free will 
is allowed you ? 



" Would it be well, do you think, 
to be deprived of the use of your 
arms ? Would they not shrivel away 
and lose their loveliness and all their 
power ? Is it better to have the use 
of your moral faculties taken away 
by having every question of right or 
wrong decided for 3'ou — by being 
made accountable to human beings 
in everything — b}' being forbidden 
any choice. 

"Is it good for you to be snubbed 
into assent and submission to the 
wills and ideas of others, however 
fond of you they may be ? Is it good 
for you to be treated like a child in 
all things, to have your dresses and 
hats chosen for you, — I know they 
are, Donnie, — to be told how you 
must arrange your hair, when you 
must practise your music, not to be 
able to read a new book, or take a 
walk, or make any trifling purchase, 
or call on a friend, without permis- 

" Do you admire the feet of a 
Chinese woman of rank, Don ? Is 
constant restraint and repression any 
better for the mind or soul, or what- 
ever it may be that directs our ac- 
tions, than for the body ? 

" Your people are bringing you up 
at LW-ent5^-three — they '11 still bring 
you up at forty, unless I can take 
you to a home of your own before 
that ; they '11 bring up your gra}^ 
hairs with sorrow to the grave ! " 

Mrs. Tremlett smiled rather mourn- 
fully at this. Her face had lost its 
angry look and softened under an 
expression of tenderness and deep 
thought. Had she been so unkind to 
the girl she loved so ? Was Donnie a 
woman now? She could not deny it. 

" I know they do all this out of 
love and kindness for you, Donnie, 

and yet, though you will not own it, 
I know how their incessant control 
must hurt and mortify you. I have 
watched your face when I have seen 
you ordered about and treated like a 
child before strangers. 

" They do not realize it, I know 
that, but, Don, they can be made to 
realize it, and I know your mother 
well enough to be sure that if I speak 
to her about it, her love for you will 
hear me, and will understand. 

" Would she willingly do you harm, 

Don ? Yet she is doing you harm ; 

you may deny it to t)u\ but not to 

yourself ; and would she thank me, 

if she knew, for keeping silence? " 

"Yes, I 7coidd!'' said Mrs. Trem- 
lett, but went on grinding out words 
nevertheless, and said it sadly, not 
indignantl3^ Then said she, "No — 
I wouldn't." 

" We must wait a long time, I fear, 
before I can give you a little mon- 
archy of 5^our own to rule over ; 
meanwhile I long that you should 
have the little freedom that a woman 
may — the ordinary liberty of a rea- 
sonable being. 

' ' Let me write to your mother, 
then. She will see the justice of 
what I say. She is too fair not to 
acknowledge the fact ; too good, too 
fond of 3'OU, to be unkind, when she 

"That 's all about that, Don." 

Here came three strange sounds 
from the instrument. Mrs. Trem- 
lett flushed and started away, then 
laughed nervously. The sounds 
were kisses ! 

"My uncle is not such a bad fel- 
low when 3'ou come to know him. 
I should not have made his acquaint- 
ance so easily except through you. 
He was stand-oflBsh at first, but one 



night he came down here to catch me 
napping, and heard your voice. He 
apologized quite humbl}^ for listen- 
ing— " 

Mrs. Tremlett started again, per- 
ceiving for the first time that she 
was embezzling conversation (to ss-j 
nothing of the kisses) in a most un- 
justifiable manner. She thought a 
while, cried a little, laughed a good 
deal, then went down and had a talk 
with Elaine. 

"Donnie," said she, when that 
young lady, full of misgivings, came 
home, "I have just had a severe 
lecture from an imp in a box. Never 
mind what it w^as. It was addressed 
to you, but it was meant for me, 
dear. You maj^ tell Mr. Tom Gordon 
when 3-ou write him — or talk to him 
— that I think he 's right, and so 
does Elaine, and you may thank him 
for all three of us, please." 

"Especially for the kisses," said 
Elaine, "though Mamma got them 

"Elaine!" said Mrs. Tremlett, 
blushing like a girl. 

From that day, Dorothea had a 
new life, and a very happy one ; 
nor did her mother and sister lose 
by the change, for they found their 
wishes anticipated where before they 
had only been obeyed. 

A little over a year passed, and 
one day a deep voice w-as heard at 
the Tremletts in tw'O places at once. 
Up stairs in Bonnie's room it was 
saying sadly, "I really don't know 
when I shall be able to see you 

Down stairs at the door it was ask- 
ing cheerily for Mrs. Tremlett, Miss 
Tremlett, and Miss Dorothea Trem- 

The two former were not at home. 

and Dorothea received Mr. Thomas 
Gordon, who, after a few exclama- 
tions of delight had been exchanged, 
tendered her a letter in a strange 
hand : 

Miss Dorothea Tremlett, 

My Dear Niece-in-Law Elect: This is to 
reconimend to j^ou the bearer, Mr. Thomas 
Gordon. I have found him faithful, indus- 
trious, steady, good tempered, quick, oblig- 
ing ; — the only fault I have to find with him 
is, that he is a bachelor. If he marries, I '11 
give him a job his wife need n't object to. 

Meanwhile, I presume upon our acquaint- 
ance (for I have seen your likeness and heard 
your voice, Miss Donnie, and lovely they both 
are, — if an old man may be forgiven a personal 
remark) to ask you to take him into your em- 
ploy. Very faithfull5- j'ours, 

William H. Bender. 

" You see," said Tom, " my uncle 
was awfully taken with you that night 
he came to the works and heard you 
talking. He liked the phonograph 
scheme, too. He made up his mind 
then to push me ahead fast, on your 
account, and 3'ou can bet, Donnie, — 
or you could, if jj^ou would, — he made 
me w^ork. 

' ' I thought he was working me for 
what he could get out of me, but a 
few days ago he said he thought I 'd 
do to run a branch of the business, 
and gave me this letter of recom- 
mendation. Will it do, Donnie?" 

A very happy party of four sat at 
dinner that evening. "Be sure and 
give your wife plenty of freedom, Mr. 
Gordon," said his prospective mother- 
in-law, laughing. 

"There's nothing like it for peo- 
ple of age," said Elaine. 

And yet, months after, Mrs. Thom- 
as Gordon said to Thomas, " But you 
know, Tom, I 'm of age, and — " 

" Nonsense," said Tom, "a woman's 
lawful guardian is her husband ! " 

" But, Tom, I 'm not afraid of \'Ou ! " 
said Dorothea. 


By C. Jeiutie Szuai/ie. 

When winter days are short and chill, 
And all the air is keen as myrrh, 

One ghost-like flower may blossom still, 
Where Summer's brightest laurels were. 

The morns are coldly debonair, 

The nights are Winter-gemmed with frost ; 
But like soft down upon the air. 

Its tresses of pale gold are tost. 

The shrub is leafless where its grows ; 

No sap is from its rootlets sent ; 
Yet this pale elfin in the snows 

Swings on in beautiful content. 

When woods in winter's loneliness 
Lure us to haunts of summer days, 

Downward it swaj^s, with elfin kiss. 
To show its flower-kirtled sprays. 

As omen fraught with good, the flower 
Has e'er been sacred to the gods; 

Its sap distilled has healing power, 
Its stems are still divining rods. 

To-day, with longings for the flowers, 
I passed a wood path, gray with gloom, 

And saw, amid its faded bowers, 
A hamamelis spray in bloom. 

" Omen of good," I softly sighed, 
" By the enchantment of thy name. 

Give me to wear, with humble pride, 
A grander wreath than earthly fame." 

This prouder gift a harp should be, 

Whose simple lay will only live 
In some sweet dream or memory. 

When earth has nothing more to give. 


Bv Helen Soitle Stuart. 

^T may be assumed, in giv- 
ing this sketch of Whit- 
tier, that all are familiar 
with his birthplace, his 
later homes, and all nec- 
essar}' dates concerning him. 

He is still so near to us that it 
seems unnecessary to follow the usual 
plan of the biographer, as we might 
feel ourselves in duty bound to do 
were we speaking of Homer or \'ir- 
gil, Dante or Milton, or any of those 
poets of the past. 

Whittier must seem much like a 
next-door neighbor, with whom we 
have been familiar from our child- 

The most of us have, sometime in 
our lives, wandered about amongst 
the New England hills ; so that in 
a wa}^ we have in our minds a pic- 
ture of his life-long surroundings. Our 
ej^es may never have rested upon his 
favorite "Job's hill," but we know 
what the "dome-shaped" hills of New 
England are. If we have not seen 
the broad Merrimack, of which he so 
loved to write, we know what such 
beautiful streams are ; we know of 
their clear, cool w^ater, their pebbly 
bottoms, their shady banks ; we know 
how they tumble along, and gurgle, 
and laugh, until one cannot remain 
long within sight and sound, and not 
enter into their joyous mood. 

We may not have seen the interior 
of Whittier' s first home in the little 

* Read before the Twentieth 

town of Haverhill, but after the word 
etching he gave us in " Snow Bound," 
we do not need any nearer acquaint- 
ance. The great "fireplace," the 
"crane," the "Turks' heads on the 
andirons," the " bull's-eye watch," 
the "motley-braided mat," the "white- 
washed wall," the "sagging beam," 
form as vivid a picture in our minds, 
as we reread that poem, as could be 
there, had we once stood in that "old, 
rudely-fashioned room." 

We have had descriptions of the 
Amesbury home until we seem fa- 
miliar w'ith every tree and shrub 
about it, and we feel, were we per- 
mitted to cross its threshold, we 
could go ' ' straight from one room 
opening into another," until reaching 
his study and pausing there, it would 
not seem strange should our ear catch 
the sound of his pen upon the paper, 
and our eyes fall upon familiar stan- 
zas w^hich there had their birth. Sa- 
cred room where words of love for 
God and nature and humanity were 
born ! We can, with our ej^es closed, 
see the flames of the cheerful fire 
dance upon the brass andirons of the 
open hearth. Not the reflection made 
by our modern flames, roaring over 
logs which are never consumed, but 
the sputtering, dancing, old-fashioned 
blaze of the genuine backlog fire, of 
which Charles Dudlej' Warner has so 
fascinatingly written, that for once 
we regret these progressive days, and 

Centuiy Club, of Detroit, Mich. 



long for the ' ' good old da5'S, ' ' than 
which, our grandmothers tell us, 
there are no better. We can gaze 
through the window of that study 
which looks down a sunny little 
orchard, and farther on, up to the 
summit of " Powow hill," and those 
of us who have been permitted to 
rest our feet upon the sweet, springy 
heather of Scotland cannot fail to see 
the resemblance to the home of the 
' ' Ayrshire poet " to which other writ- 
ers have already called our attention ; 
and we can readily understand why 
he so eagerly pored over the volumes 
of poems written by Robert Burns 
which fell into his hands and may 
have been his inspiration to be- 
come a singer himself. The tribute 
he paid to the Scotch poet is one of 
gratitude and love. How tenderly 
he recalls the ' ' summer day " under 
the "maple's shadow" when he "sang 
with Burns the hours away." 

" New light on home-seen Nature beamed, 
New glory over woman ; 
And daily life and duty seemed 
No longer poor and common. 

" O'er rank and pomp, as he had seen, 
I saw the man uprising; 
No longer common or unclean. 
The child of God's baptizing! 

" With clearer eyes I saw the worth 
Of life among the lowly ; 
The Bible at his cotter's hearth 
Had made my own more holy." 

It is a rude picture we see through 
this study window ; it is a wild and 
lonely spot; it is silent; it is grave. 
The hand of man has not smoothed 
these rough edges ; here is no carv- 
ing, no polished surface, and we 
would have nothing changed, for the 
man we love and the spot he loved 
seem related, and as we still look 
through this ' ' garden window ' ' we 
murmur a hope that nothing which 

modernizes or changes the natural to 
the artificial may ever be allowed to 
enter this valley home. 

We have but to speak the name 
"Oak Knoll," and, at once, like a 
panorama, the scene changes, and 
we have the picture before "our 
mind's eye " of a broad drive, shaded 
by huge trees, leading up to a house 
conspicuous for its generous porch 
and its classic columns. The brush- 
and shrub-covered grounds are be- 
fore us. Friday, the squirrel, goes 
bounding from tree to tree ; David, 
the mocking-bird, is singing in our 
ear ; Robin Adair, the dignified 
shepherd dog, and Jack-a-napes, the 
frisky little fellow, appear ; and the 
soft, gentle, almost girlish eyes of 
Phillipa, the Jersey calf, look into 
ours, and we read in them the story 
of how this "poet of nature" loved 
them all. L,etting our imagina- 
tion play a little longer, we hear a 
sound of laughter, and away down 
through the trees catch a glimpse 
of the cloak of little "Red Riding- 
Hood " and not far away a gleam of 
white hair and the " flash of that eye 
which held its fire to the last," and 
then we know that our ' ' child poet ' ' 
is having a romp with Phoebe, the 
"wee bairnie " of Oak Knoll, to 
whom it is said he gave that dear 
friendship he yielded to no other one ; 
and, by this friendship, we are re- 
minded of the sturd}^ Scotchman, Sir 
Walter Scott, and his similar love 
for quaint Marjory Fleming, or 
" Maidie " as Sir Walter Scott loved 
to call her. 

We speak of Mr. Whittier as the 
"Quaker Poet," and at once his an- 
cestors are before its with all that be- 
longs to the Quaker nature of tender- 
ness, truthfulness, and exactness, so 



a detailed account of them is un- 
necessary and would be tedious ; be- 
sides, it is not the date of his birth, 
or the shape and size of his first 
earthly home, or the blueness of 
blood which flowed in his veins, that 
we are most interested in, but the 
man himself, his place in the world 
and his influence upon our Amer- 

We sometimes call him the " Quak- 
er Poet," sometimes the "Child Poet," 
again the " Poet of the People," the 
"Poet of Freedom," the "Poet of 
Religion," the "Poet of Nature," but 
oftener we sa}^ just Whittier. All 
these titles give us an insight into 
his character, but the last one — the 
name itself — seems the greatest of all. 
It sounds like a poem set to music, 
and every lover of this "Sweet Soul 
of Song " knows wdiat Oliver Wen- 
dell Holmes felt when he wrote : 

Lift from its quarried ledge a flawless stone ; 
Smooth the green turf and bid the tablet rise, 
And on its snow-white surface carve alone 
These words, — he needs no more : 
' Here Whittier lies.' " 

In the North Carolina mountains 
there is a bird which at evening-time 
sings three little notes, which it re- 
peats and repeats. The words it has 
set to its song seem to be Whittier I 
Whittier ! Whittier ! And so plainl}^ 
are they enunciated that one can 
easily imagine the little songster 
knows the meaning of the name 
it speaks, and is trying in that 
southern land, which he helped to 
make free, to keep the memory of the 
"Abolitionist Poet" green, and is 
celebrating it with its song. A sim- 
ple little tune this the bird has com- 
posed ; one which does not belong 
with the sonatas of Beethoven or the 

songs of Mendelssohn, but it matches 
w^ell the character of the man whose 
name it bears. 

It will not be anything but pleas- 
ant for us to look at this poet from 
every standpoint, so charming was 
he in every phase of his character. 
First, then, under the title, the 
" Quaker Poet," the word itself sug- 
gests volumes. When we pronounce 
" Quaker," we immediately think 
"Friend," and he was a "F'riend" 
in all the best sense of the word. 
Think of what the religion of the 
Friends is, — of their earnestness, of 
their truthfulness, of their unswer\-- 
ing devotion to the right ; then 
understand how it was onl}^ natural 
for this man, this Friend, to take 
up, with all the strength of his Quak- 
er nature, the cause of the down- 
trodden, without reference to color or 
race. Whittier could not help tak- 
ing life in earnest. He had learned 
life's lessons from only grave and 
earnest teachers, and this is w^hy " his 
poetry burst from his heart with 
the fire and energ}' of the ancient 
prophet, yet beneath all his fire and 
energy was plainly visible the great, 
tender soul which was often over- 
burdened because of his power to 
sympathize and help." Was he not 
a Eriendf 

We say "Child Poet," and at 
once another side of his character is 
before us, — that noble simplicit}" of 
character which is the delight of 
every true admirer of Whittier. 

When we read ' ' The Barefoot 
Boy," written after the boy had be- 
come a man, we recognize the child 
soul still present ; else how could he 
have lived over again those boyhood 
days, when he wandered about the 
fields and brooks, through the woods 



or to the summit of Job's hill with his 
good Uncle Moses, who, though 

''. . . innocent of books, 
Was rich in love of fields and brooks; 
Himself to Nature's heart so near 
That all her voices in his ear 
Of beast or bird had meanings clear; 

A simple, guileless, childlike man 
Content to live where life began." 

It was the child soul still living in 
the man poet that gave him the power 
to write — 

" Blessings on thee, little man ! 
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan, 
With the sunshine of thy face 
Throxigh thy torn brim's jaunty grace ; 
From my heart I give the joy, — 
I was once a barefoot boy ! " 

Could any one think of a more 
charming picture, a glimpse of which 
we have already given, than that 
of the white-haired poet romping 
through the oak- covered grounds 
with Phoebe, the little "Red Rid- 
ing Hood," or a more genuine expres- 
sion of the pleasure of this child com- 
panionship than that he gave when, 
after one of these romps, all out of 
breath, he exclaimed, — " Phcebe is 
seventy ; I am seven ; and we both 
act like sixty." 

What reverence he gives to child- 
hood in his verses called ' ' Child 

" And still to childhood's sweet appeal 
The heart of genius turns, 
And more than all the sages teach 
From lisping voices learns, — 

" We need love's tender lessons taught 
As only w^eakness can ; 
God hath his small interpreters — 
The child must teach the man." 

With something of reverence we 
view this ' ' Child Poet ' ' of seventy 
years and more, — can we for a mo- 
ment take a backward look, and find 
the child of seven years letting down 

the bars for the cows to pass through 
and wondering, "Why am I differ- 
ent from the cows — what am I — what 
is life ?" and feel much less reverence ? 
Strange combination of man and boy 
from seven to seventy, and to the end 
of his life on earth. 

We call him ' ' The Poet of the Peo- 
ple," and this title holds for us no 
hidden meaning. Then we know that 
in some way he must have taught the 
common people to love him — that he 
sympathized with them — that he un- 
derstood them — that he sang for them 
the songs they held in their hearts, 
but had not the voice to utter. Why 
should not the working class love 
him ? He belonged amongst them — 
he worked with them. He went in- 
to the fields as they did ; he " beheld 
their sorrows, was acquainted with 
their griefs," and so, like the Christ 
of old, when he spoke " the common 
people heard him gladly," and un- 
like that man of Palestine, " he came 
unto his own and his own received 

We would not place Mr. Whittier 
above our other American poets in 
ever>" respect ; we could not do so and 
be just. He was unique and as an 
interpreter of the thought and life of 
rural New England, he has no peer. 
When Longfellow stood upon the 
hills, or in the woods, or by a brook, 
he saw with the eye of a cultured 
artist ; and when he sang of the flow- 
ers, the streams, and the fields, his 
melodies had a lofty sound ; his voice 
soared amongst the clouds, while his 
feet rested ever so lightly upon the 

Whittier never sang in classic 
mood ; his tones never went over 
the heads of the people to whom he 
sang. He stood close beside them, 



and his voice was in their ears as the 
voice of a guardian spirit. 

Referring to himself in the " Tent 
on the Beach." he writes — 

" The common air was thick with dreams — 
He told them to the toiling crowd ; 
Such music as the wjoods and streams 

Sang in his ear he sang aloud ; 
In still, shut ba5'S, on windy capes, 
He heard the call of beckoning shapes, 
And, as the graj^ old shadows prompted him, 
To homely moulds of rh3'nie he shaped their 
legends grim." 

It has been said of him that ' ' He 
did not require a tragedy, or a plot. 
An incident, if it had some glamour 
of fancy, or a touch of pathos, was 
enough for him ; he would take it 
and sing it as something that had 
happened. He loved the traditions 
of his own country, and he came to 
them on their picturesque and human 
side, and cared for them because of 
the feeling they could still awaken. 
It was because he loved a stor^^ and 
told it for its own sake with the ease 
of one who sits by the fireside that 
he succeeded so well in pleasing." 

Another one who loved Whittier 
paid to him this fine tribute — " Our 
poet got at the heart of the matter. 
He learned to utter the word " man " 
so believingly, that it sounded down 
into the depths of the divine and in- 
finite. He learned to say with No- 
valis, " He touches heaven, who 
touches a human body ;" and when 
he uttered the word "man" in full 
social breadth, lo I it changed and 
became America. , On the roll of 
American poets, we know not how 
he may be ranked hereafter, but 
among the honored names of New 
England's past, his place is secure. 

We speak of him as the ' ' Poet of 
Freedom," and at once the " Quaker 
Poet" and the "Child Poet" disap- 

pear, and in their place there stands 
before us the image of a man 

" Whose heart beat high 
Against injustice, fraud, and wrong." 

Mr. Whittier, as a Quaker, knew 
what it was to be a martyr for 
a cause. His ancestors had "suf- 
fered 'for conscience' sake" so how 
could he stand by and silently look 
on while one of God's children was 
being oppressed ? He believed that 
all had been created equal, and hold- 
ing this belief he could not patiently 
look upon the wrongs of the negro. 
He had written these words in the 
epitaph to Charles Sumner — 

" God said — ' Break thou these yokes! undo 
These heavy burdens. I ordain 
A work to last thj' whole life through, 
A ministry of strife and pain. 

" ' Forego thy dreams of lettered ease, 
Put thou the scholar's promise by, 
The rights of man are more than these.' 
He heard, and answered, ' Here am I ! ' " 

This answer sounds like a shout 
from the Abolitionist poet himself, 
as heart and soul he plunged into the 
work. His poems written at this 
time are remarkable for their vigor 
and intensity of feeling. The fiercest 
of all, perhaps, is the one he called 
" The Pine Tree." 

" Lift again the stately emblem on the Bay 

State's rusted shield, 
Give to Northern winds the pine tree on our 

banner's tattered field. 
Sons of men who sat in council with their 

Bibles round the board, 
Answering England's royal missive with a 

firm, ' Thus saith the Lord I ' 
Rise again for home and freedom I set the 

battle in array I 
What the fathers did of old time we their 

sons must do to-day. 

" Tell us not of banks and tariffs, cease your 

paltry pedler cries ; 
Shall the good state sink her honor that your 

gambling stocks maj- rise ? 
Would ye barter man for cotton, that your 

gains may sum up higher? 



Must we kiss the feet of Moloch? pass our 

children through the fire? 
Is the dollar only real? God and truth and 

right a dream? 
Weighed against your Ij'itig ledgers, must 

our manhood kick the Ijeam ? 

" Where 's the man for Massachusetts? where 's 
the voice to speak her free ? 

Where 's the hand to light up bonfires from 
her mountains to the sea ? 

Beats her Pilgrim pulse no longer? sits she 
dumb in her despair? 

Has she none to break the silence ? has she 
none to do and dare? 

O my God ! for one right worthy to lift up 
her rusted shield, 

And to plant again the pine tree in her ban- 
ner's tattered field!" 

Strong words these for the quiet 
Quaker Poet to speak ! 

It has been truly said of Whittier 
that the fact ' ' that his early poetic 
career fell in with the anti-slavery 
movement was not a misfortune for 
his muse ; the man fed upon it, and 
drew therefrom an iron strength for 
the moral nature, which was the bet- 
ter half of his endowment. He was, 
too, one who was destined to develop, 
to reach his powers more by exercis- 
ing than by cultivating his poetic 
gift ; and in the events of the agita- 
tion for the abolition of slavery, he 
had subjects that drew out his moral 
nature with most eloquent heat, and 
exalted his spirit to its utmost of 
sympathy, indignation, and heroic 
trust. The anti-slavery movement 
was his education in a true sense, 
the gymnastic of his genitis." 

Going to that part of the historic 
South where 

" The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland," 

riding over those pikes where — 

" On that pleasant morn of early fall 
I,ee marched over the mountain wall ; " 

recalling to mind, as we pass over 
that historic ground, those 

" Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 
Flapped in the morning wind " ; 

seeing again in imagination Barbara 
Frietchie, as, 

■' Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

vShe took up the flag the men hauled down ; 

" In her attic window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet " ; 

seeming again to hear her voice, as 

" She leaned far out on the window sill. 
And shook it forth with a royal will, 

" 'Shoot, if you must, this old, gray head. 
But spare your country's flag,' she said " ; 

living over again those days, and 
standing before the old gabled house 
where this gray-haired heroine lived, 
one cannot but resent the laugh and 
jest which refutes the fact of the in- 
cident so vividly pictured by our 
"Poet of Freedom." We do not 
fancy being told that although Bar- 
bara Frietchie lived in those terrible 
days of war in the gable-roofed house 
which is still pointed out, that the 
incident was created by the poet's 
fancy. We prefer to be allowed to 
think that 

" A shade of sadness, a flush of shame 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

" The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at that woman's deed and word " ; 

and that in that moment of nobler 
thought he did exclaim 

" Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog! . . ." 

Yet after all, what matters it ? True 
or false, the poem lives, although — 

" Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 
And the Rebel rides on his raids no more " ; 

and we see more clearly the heart of 
the man who wrote — 

" Honor to her ! and let a tear 
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 



" Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 
Peace and order and beauty draw 
Round th}' symbol of light and law ; 
And ever the stars above look down 
On thj' stars below in Frederick town I " 

The "Poet of Religion!" And as 
we pronounce these words, let no one 
be over-anxious about his creed. 

Much has been claimed for Whit- 
tier's religion. Those who are 
anxious about doctrines have tried 
to fix his creed. The Spiritualists 
have declared he was of them. The 
L/iberalists have said, "He belongs 
with us ! " Does it. then, matter so 
much what was his creed ? If one 
were to point out some stanzas which 
would show his belief, another, in 
turn, could point to others which 
hold his own ; and this does not 
mean that he was ' ' all things to all 
men," but merety that he held so 
much of truth that in his heart that 
which 3'ou and another may have, 
could also be found. 

This we know, and this is enough, 
is it not ? He believed in God and in 
immortalit}' ; he was willing to trust 
and wait ; and we also know that the 
essence of his religion was found in 
the Fatherhood of God and the 
brotherhood of man. His life was 
his creed ! 

The ' ' Poet of Nature ! " What a 
large sound this title has I A whole 
volume might be written of him 
under this name, for it is in his 
poems of nature that the natural man 
is most plainty vi.sible. 

When he sang his songs of Nature, 
they were full of expression, there 
were all the true qualities of the per- 
fect singer whose tones hav^e not been 
made too unnatural bv becoming too 
artistic. Here was expression with- 
out affectation ; here w^as the natural 

pathos without the acquired tremolo ; 
here was the true phrasing and inter- 
pretation of experience and no hollow 
imitation ; here, at least, in this.regis- 
ter, his tones were pure. 

Nature was to him always a song 
of love. The blue sky he looked up 
to from his valley home, the White 
Mountains, which from the crown of 
Po hill formed a picture he loved, the 
Hampton beach, the fertile farms, the 
winding valley of the Merrimack, the 
birds, the flowers, the rocks, — in fact. 
Nature's whole family was a source of 
inspiration to him. 

Whittier was a farmer's'lDO}', and 

" Nature answered all he asked ; 
Hand in hand with her he walked, 
Face to face with her he talked, 
Part and parcel of her joy." 

Nothing escaped his obser\-ant ej-e. 
' ' The flowers of gold along the way- 
side," "the maple leaf with faintest 
motion," the " single ha}' cart creak- 
ing down the du.sty road," the "ha- 
zel's 5'ellow blossoms," were each and 
all thought-carriers to him. 

We may admire the scholar who 
has Art for his teacher, but we must 
bow with reverence before the genius 
whom Nature has taught. 

It was to the ever^^-daj' things 
which were constantly before him 
that this poet turned, even in the 
earliest days of his rhj-me-making. 
Some one has preserved this quaint 
little verse, said to be one of his first, 
written when about seven j-ears of 
age, which is a good illustration of 
this fact, — 

" And must I alwaj-s swing the flail, 
And help to fill the milking-pail? 
I wish to go away to school : 
I do not wish to be a fool." 

While the childishness of this verse 
may provoke a smile, the evident 



earnestness of the little (Quaker lad 
comes nearer exciting tears. 

In these days of realism, we readily 
recognize the realistic in Whittier's 
poems. Often the stories he told 
were as plain as the Quaker garb he 
wore ; but as in the eyes of his 
friends the plainness of his costume 
was only an added beauty to the 
man, so could he throw around the 
every-day things of life so much of 
beaut}^ and romance that "an old, 
swallow-haunted barn" or a "pump- 
kin pie " became as fascinating as a 
fairy palace or the ambrosial food of 
the myths. 

Could any other one have made 
into poetry the commonplace story 
of how 

" Meanwhile we did the nightly chores, 
Brought in the wood from out of doors, 
Littered the stalls, and from the mows 
Raked down the herdsgrass for the cows." 

Who but Whittier would attempt 
to create any interest in clothes-line 
posts, pigsties, corn-cribs, brush piles, 
and well-curbs? Yet he could do 
this and make it a part of his mas- 

It is not necessary to ask the ques- 
tion which one has already asked, 
' ' What gives to ' Snow Bound ' its 
eternal hold upon our admiration 
and affection, its high place in litera- 
ture ?" 

Read it, and the question is an- 
swered. What can we not find in 
it? Sketches — exquisite sketches 
from life, which, if we have not ex- 
perienced, our mothers and grand- 
mothers have. 

It seems an ideal interior with its 
backlog fire, when Whittier say.s — 

" Shut in from all the world without, 
We sat the clean-winged hearth about, 
Content to let the north wind roar 

In baffled rage at pane and door, 

While the red logs before us beat 

The frost-line back with tropic heat; 

And ever, when a louder blast 

Shook beam and rafter as it passed, 

The merrier up its roaring draught 

The great throat of the chimney laughed." 

It has been said that not many of 
Mr. Whittier's poems could be 
labeled "religious" poems, but there 
are passages in "Snow Bound" 
which tell us plainly what his relig- 
ion was. That passage so familiar 
that it seems unnecessary to repeat 
it, 3^et which speaks so musically to 
us always the best words of faith, 
that no more can it become common- 
place than can the eyes of one we 
love — it is this — 

" Love will dream and Faith will trust 
(Since He who knows our needs is just) 
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. 
Alas for him who never sees 
The stars shine through his cypress trees ! 
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, 
Nor looks to see the breaking day 
Across the mom^nful marbles play ! 
Who hath not learned in hours of faith. 

The truth to flesh and sense unknown, 
That Life is ever lord of Death, 

And Love can never lose its own 1 " 

And is there one who has not had 
occasion to seek for comfort in these 
tender lines, written after a great sor- 
row had come to him ? 

" But still I wait with ear and eye 
For something gone which should be nigh, 
A loss in all familiar things, 
In flower that blooms and bird that sings. 
And yet. dear heart ! remembering thee. 
Am I not richer than of old ? 
Safe in thy immortality, 
What change can reach the wealth I hold?" 

Whittier himself must have recog- 
nized in this poem the true and pure 
ring which was to make it his ma.ster- 
piece. Not much wonder he wrote 
to his publisher, — "Do not put this 
poem on tinted or fancy paper. Let 
it be white as the snow it tells of." 


Much in Whittier's poems has we know the great heart of humanity 

been called irrelevant, redundant, answered him. 

commonplace. We have purposely He went to the people straight from 

omitted allusion to criticism. That Nature's heart, carr\nng her message, 

there is opportunity^ for words from His fine ear caught her music, and 

the critics, we do not deny. He may he sang it to them with so much sim- 

not have been artistic, but he was plicity and naturalness that it was 

natural; and we hold in our memory ever an uplifting strain, although he 

the image of a man who spent his life " sang from ear alone," although his 

on the great needs of humanity, and compass was limited and his notes few. 

By Ray Lawrence. 

The poets may sing of the laurel and bay, 
And ever green myrtle, immortal are they — 
The chaplets of heroes of ages gone by 
Are fresh and unfaded, tho' centuries die. 
But we, of the Present, will honor assign 
The tree of our woodland, the murmuring pine. 

In forests they gather on hilltop, in vale. 

And battle like giants when fierce winds assail ; 

They wave their green banners against stormy skj^ 

x\nd bend, tho' thej^ break not, when tempests rage high 

The wild sieges over, in unbroken lines. 

They 're victors triumphant, our bold northern pines ! 

They scorn our cold winter, in dark living green, 
No trace of past conflicts upon them are seen ; 
When breezes blow softly, they whispering say, 
' ' The secrets of ages we are keeping to-day ; 
We tell not to man, who is younger than we, 
The wisdom deep hid in the heart of the tree. 

" We point to the heavens, deep-flooded with blue. 
Where winds in mad revels sing truths ever new. 
And daily, and nightly, we list to the song 
Of sun, moon, and stars, of centuries long; 
We catch the glad music of celestial spheres, 
The strains j-et unheard by man's listening ears! " 

Then sing of the laurel and bay, if ^-ou will ; 
We honor the tree of our New England hill ; 
What health-giving odors to Sun-god they yield ! 
How sweet are the memories of dr3-ads concealed 
Within the deep shadows, of green forest dim. 
Where pine trees chant softly their sad, vesper hymn ! 

Warren Tripp. 


By H. H. Metcalf. 


The town of Epsom is almost wholly 
an agricultural community, embrac- 
ing no considerable village, and no 
manufacturing industries of any mag- 
nitude within its limits. The leading 
farmer of this town is Warren Tripp, 
who occupies the old homestead with- 
in a mile of the railway station at 
Short Falls, originally settled by his 
great-grandfather, Richard Tripp, 
who had previously come from Ports- 
mouth to the north part of the town, 
and who married Ann, sister of the 
gallant Major Andrew McClary, of 
Epsom, who was killed at the Battle 
of Bunker Hill. His grandfather. 

John Tripp, passed his life upon this 
farm, as did his father, Jeremiah, 
whose wife was Chloe Prescott, and 
who died in 1884, ten years after her- 

Mr. Tripp was born October 16, 
1839, being one of a family of six 
children, of whom himself and a sis- 
ser, now Mrs. J. E. Prescott, of North 
Berwick, Me., are survivors. He grew 
to manhood on the farm, and it has 
always been his abiding place. June 
8, 1862, he married Katie M. Bick- 
ford, of Epsom. Two children were 
born to them. Floras W., a promis- 
ing young man, who met an untimely 
death by accident, in 1894, and An- 
nie M., who married Blanchard H. 



Fowler, of ICpsom, and remains at 
home, Mr. Fowler being in charge of 
the farm work during the frequent 
and continued absence of his father- 
in-law, who for some years past has 
been extensively engaged in lumber- 
ing in company with Hon. James B. 
Tennant, of Epsom, the firm operat- 
ing mills in Hillsborough and Hen- 
niker, and, previous to 1895, in More- 
town, Vt., their extensive plant in the 
latter place being then destro3'ed b}" 
fire. For a number of years in early 
manhood, previous to engaging in the 
lumber business, Mr. Tripp did a 
large business in the purchase and 
sale of cattle, often handling 2,000 
head per annum or more. 

The original homestead embraces 
about 100 acres of land, of which 
about fifty acres is mowing and til- 
lage, but Mr. Tripp has other farms 
and outlands, to the extent of some 
400 or 500 acres, besides his joint in- 
terest in several hundred acres more, 
owned with Mr. Tennant. He win- 
tered the past season, 33 head of neat 
cattle, and eight horses, the former 
stock being mostly grade Holsteins. 
The milk from twenty cows goes to 
the Short Falls creamer)^ a coopera- 
tive concern which Mr. Tripp was 
largeh' instrumental in establishing, 
and which has proved of great ad- 
vantage to the farmers of the Sun- 
cook valley. The stock and for- 
age are accommodated b}' a spacious 
barn, 38 by 91 feet, and another for 
horses, 36 by 40, recently erected. 
There are two silos of 60 tons' ca- 
pacit)' each, in which are stored the 
product of eight or ten acres of corn, 
after the ears are picked therefrom. 
The soil of the home farm is of ex- 
cellent quality, it being largely a 
high interval, free from stones and 

easy of cultivation. Its productive 
capacity has been greatly increased 
under Mr. Tripp's management, and 
the best improved modern machin- 
ery is brought into use in all depart- 

Politically, Mr. Tripp is a Demo- 
crat. He has served as selectman, 
collector, and treasurer of the town, 
and was the candidate of his party 
for state senator in 1894. He was a 
charter member and first vice-grand 
of Evergreen lodge, I. O. O. F., of 
Short Falls ; was subsequentl}^ noble 
grand, and has almost constantly held 
some office in the lodge. He is also 
a member of the Masonic fraternity, 
of Jewell lodge, and Hiram chapter, 
Suncook, and of Mt. Horeb Com- 
mandery, Concord. He was the first 
master of McClary grange, of Epsom, 
subsequently twice elected to the 
same office, and alwaj's deeply inter- 
ested in the welfare of the order, as 
well as in that of the Grange State 
Fair association, of which he was 
president in 1892 and 1893, and has 
since been general superintendent. 


Among the most thoughtful, prac- 
tical, and progressive young farmers 
in Hillsborough count}', may very- 
properly be classed William H. Rj^der 
of Bedford, already well known as a 
successful milk producer and market 

Mr. Ryder is a native of the town 
of Dunbarton, born March 5, 1869, 
being the third son of Harris E. and 
Elizabeth E. (Kimball) Ryder, both 
parents tracing their ancestry back 
through three centuries. His father 
was the owner of a superior farm in 
Dunbarton, and was prominent in 
public afiairs in that town, serving 



in various offices, and for four years 
as chairman of the board of select- 
men ; but on account of the destruc- 
tion of his buildings by fire, in 1875, 
he removed to Manchester, where he 
remained five years, the son in the 
tneantime enjoying the benefit of the 
excellent public schools of the city. 
In 1880, the family removed to the 
town of Bedford, and again engaged 
in agriculture; but William H., hav- 
ing acquired a taste for city life. 

William H. Ryder. 

sought and obtained a position in the 
Mirror o^ce at Manchester in 1885, 
with a view to the printer's trade, 
and in a short time had charge of the 
engine and boilers and the running 
of the daily press. In October, 1888, 
he became foreman of the press room 
in the Manchester Telegram estab- 
lishment, and continued a year and 
a half, when he left the business and 
entered the employ of the Nashua 
Provision company in Nashua, in 
the beef trade. Here he remained 
until August, 1890, when he went to 
Boston and was engaged with John 

P. vSquire & Co., but was called 
home b}^ the illness of his father in 
October following. He had now, in 
fact, all he cared for of the city, and 
concluded to settle down at home and 
commence farm life in earnest, which 
he did with a determination to thor- 
oughly master the business along the 
lines of operation selected — milk pro- 
duction and gardening. He has now 
a dairy of twenty-two choice cows, 
every one carefully selected with ref- 
erence to her milk-producing quali- 
ties, and the product goes to the 
Boston market, while his garden 
produce is mainly disposed of in 
Manchester. He has recently in- 
creased his acreage by leasing an 
adjoining farm for a term of years, 
and proposes a corresponding in- 
crease in his dairy. His cows re- 
ceive the best of care — are fed on 
scientific principles, and have a sup- 
pi}^ of pure water constantly before 
them, furnished by windmill power. 

Mr. Ryder is an enthusiastic Patron 
of Husbandry, having joined Narra- 
gansett grange, Bedford, in 1884. 
He was elected overseer for 1894 
and 1895, and master for 1896. He 
was also steward of Hillsborough 
County Pomona grange in 1895, and 
overseer in 1896, and has taken a 
strong interest in the success of this 
organization, taking an active part 
in discussions. He was appointed 
a district deputy by State Master 
Bachelder in 1896, and organized 
two new granges during the year — 
Naumkeag, No. 141, of Litchfield, 
and Pelham, No. 244, both under 
most favorable auspices. 

Mr. Ryder is a Republican in pol- 
itics and was elected supervisor by 
his town in 1894. He is married and 
has a son four years of age. 


By Fletcher Harper Swift. 

I hear a voice come in the restless night ; 
It speaks a tongue I can not understand. 
I feel it calling, — where I do not know ; 
In vain I strive to learn its strange demand. 
The voice ne'er ceases through the watches still, 
Its notes sound loud, — I can not understand ; 
I wait, — for soon I know that there will come 
Not mystic words alone, but guiding hand. 


By Lizzie M. Cloiegh. 

E practical or die, seems 
to be the motto of this 
bustling nineteenth cen- 
tur}'. There is no time 
to live slowly. But it 
is the fashion to study something, 
even though it be at a rattling pace. 
Perhaps the most practical part of 
the study of mineralog}', aside from 
its connection with mining and build- 
ing, which will not come within the 
scope of this article, is the ability to 
name the ordinary rocks and miner- 
als that are found in our vicinity, 
and to know their prominent charac- 
teristics. A mineral is a natural, in- 
organic, homogeneous bod}'. A rock 
is an aggregate of minerals. There 
are about one hundred minerals in 
New Hampshire, but their combina- 
tions in the formation of rocks are 
many more in number. Only the 
commonest can be touched upon, for, 

although it were easy to write a hun- 
dred pages on a subject with as 
many highways and byways as the 
science of mineralogy has, the task 
grows to be a very giant as the num- 
ber of pages diminish. 

In many sections of the state, im- 
mense ledges of rock catch the eye, 
that are studded thickly with long 
and narrow white crystals of feld- 
spar. While the majority of these 
are from one to two inches in length, 
they are not infrequentlj^ several 
inches long, and sometimes so small 
as to be hardh" noticeable. The 
bed-rock, or matrix, is graj^ and 
rugged, dark in hue, and forms an 
excellent background for the shining 
crystals. These masses are usually 
old and withered, often to such a 
degree that the feldspar is crumbling 
and may be rubbed to pieces in the 
fingers, but the hard and durable 



setting, usually of quartz, serves to 
hold in place the softer feldspar. 
vSometinies a parallel arrangement of 
the white rectangles can be traced, 
but more often they are scattered 
haphazard in every direction. This 
rock is porphyritic gneiss, and marks 
the first spots of dry land in our little 
state after the waters that covered it 
ages ago began to subside. The 
largest continuous area stretches 
from Groton on the north to Fitz- 
william on the south. A smaller 
belt includes Bethlehem, Franconia, 
Lincoln, Woodstock, Thornton, and 
Campton. Small patches are scat- 
tered about in other sections. Sub- 
sequent upheavals and other phe- 
nomena have strewn fragments, 
small and large, of the same gneiss 
in every direction, so that it is one 
of the three commonest rocks in this 
part of New England. Granite is 
exactly the same rock as to compo- 
sition, but there is no evidence of 
the stratification which is essential 
to gneiss. 

A careless observer might readily 
conclude that, in those far-away times 
when glaciers sported with the solid 
earth on their wa}- to the sea, and 
earthquakes and other lively phe- 
nomena stirred the very rocks into 
plastic masses, granite and gneiss 
fell to this part of the land to the 
exclusion of almost everything else, 
but this is not the case. The rail- 
way train often speed sthrough steep 
cuts with yawning mouths or jagged 
arms that seem to clutch at us as we 
fly by. Perhaps we catch the flash 
of mica. If upon examination the 
different constituents prove to be in 
plates, or laminae, we may safely 
pronounce the rock a schist. Often 
the plates can be forced apart with 

the hands. The principal ingredi- 
ent gives the name, as mica, epidote, 
chlorite, quartz, or hornblende schist, 
but the mica schists are by far the 
commonest. Ever^^ grade is met 
with in New Hampshire, from those 
almost exclusively of mica to those 
composed mostly of quartz, /. e., 
quartz schist. No rock is so rich in 
accessory minerals. Here are gar- 
nets in great abundance. Indeed, 
the pocket lens will descry- tiny gar- 
nets in almost any piece of mica 
schist that is picked up. Crystals of 
magnatite in shining octahedrons, 
gleaming iron pyrites, long, smooth, 
cyanite blades, and fibrolite rectan- 
gles, black and lustrous hornblende, 
jetty tourmaline, soft, greasy talc, 
epidote, green and glassy, slate, 
gritty and with an odor of clay, — 
all this and much more is brought to 
light by a diligent digging in beds of 
this common rock. 

Granite, gneiss, and schist, these 
are the commonest New Hampshire 
rocks. Of course the commonest 
mineral here, as everywhere, is 
quartz. Nine mineral collections out 
of ten owe their attractiveness to 
quartz, for no other one affords such 
varied forms, beautiful colorings, 
degrees of transparency, and wide 
range of distribution. Amethyst, jas- 
per, chalcedony,onyx, prase, carnelian, 
sard, agate, chrysoprase, cat's-eye, 
flint, bloodstone, and petrified wood, 
are all forms of quartz. The beauti- 
ful rose-tinted variety, highlj^ prized 
by collectors, is known to every one 
in New Hampshire, as common at 
Ac worth, Groton, Warren, Grafton, 
Runmey, and the White Mountains. 

Great pride do New Hampshire 
mineralogists take in her beryls. No 
other part of the world has yielded 


such large ones. An enormous crys- pseudomorph or a gradation of one 
tal, weighing over a ton, was once mineral into the other? The Con- 
excavated at Grafton. In the natural necticut valley is the most famous 
history rooms at Boston, one may be hunting-ground for staurolite .seekers, 
seen seventy-seven inches in diame- Charlcstown, Enfield, Franconia, and 
ter, also taken from Grafton. It has Claremont are noted localities. One 
several strong hoops around it, for ascends Green mountain, in Clare- 
beryls, like tourmalines, are extremely mont, and ma}- look about in vain for 
brittle, and large ones are moved this staurolite schist until a certain 
safely onl)- with great care. The point is reached, perhaps half way up 
smallest are no larger than a pipe- the mountain. Then he may look in 
.stem. As a rule, the small crystals vain for anything else of any amount, 
are the purest. Light green is the Yet, on second thought, one more 
usual color, though brown, yellow, stone, abundant on this mountain, is 
blue, and white ones are common, of unusual interest. It belongs to 
The botanist who suddenly sees at the schist family — that prolific race — 
his feet a long-sought, rare flower, and is too handsome for the practical 
the artist before whose ej^es all at use that is made of it, underpinnings 
once opens a beautiful natural picture, and walls. There is mica enough 
can understand the exultation with disseminated through it to give it 
which a lover of fine minerals stoops shine and sparkle, and thickly dotted 
to pick up for the first time one of over the smooth surfaces are count- 
the clear, blue-green beryls known as less " ej-es " or blotches. It is the 
aquamarines. bird's-eye maple of the rocks. A 
It is a novel experience to a per- slab of this is no mean ornament to 
.son living in a granite section of the any cabinet. 

state, to walk up to a man's door, as In a certain .thriving town of the 
the writer has done, over a series of north covmtr}-, is a certain babbling 
broad stones studded with the curious brook. When the water is not too 
staurolite crystals. The stone itself high, one ma}^ walk over a tesselated 
is a .silvery schist, and scattered pavement, as it were, of radiated 
through it haphazard are the long, hornblende. For some distance, a 
diamond-ended crystals. Often two considerable number of the boulders 
cross each other at right angles, that line the edges of the brook, and 
forming crosses, and sometimes at an xxizwy of the slabs that lie in its bed, 
angle of 120°. The staurolites are present a surface of black and shin- 
much harder than the surrounding ing stars. While hornblende is one 
matrix, hence the schi,st weathers or of the commonest of New Hampshire 
decomposes finst, the crosses drop minerals, yet fine cabinet .specimens 
out and are wa.shed down the streams do not as a rule lie around in our 
and roads, perhaps to the very foot of pathway, waiting to be picked up 
the .seeker. Sometimes garnets have and trimmed for exhibition. But 
been pressed into the staurolites, and such is the case in this instance, 
many crystals have the form of the Hornblende is an exceedingl}' tough 
staurolite and the composition, color, mineral, our variety mostly black or 
and hardness of the garnet. Is it a green-black, and is found in many 



different forms, — in disseminated 
grains, in feathery forms that stand 
out in bold relief sometimes from a 
softer bed-rock which has decom- 
posed — forming cameos — in blots and 
patches on some light-colored rock, 
bladed, and in long, slender crystals 
penetrating the gangue like pins in a 
cushion. Lisbon and Warren abound 
in hornblende, also Exeter and Han- 
over, but one is liable to find it in 
any section of the state. 

The mineral hunter in New Hamp- 
shire cannot go far without finding 
a yellow-green, shining substance, 
sometimes in fine, needle-like crystals, 
sometimes in green grains, coloring 
the boulders, often in glassy radia- 
tions filling cavities. This is epidote. 
At Warren there are large crystals, 
and it is there also intimately asso- 
ciated with hornblende. Indeed, 
one side of a rock is frequently epi- 
dote and the other hornblende. 
Very large crystals are found in a 
state of partial decomposition. In 
this condition, the glassy appearance 
is replaced by a dull, earthy, green- 
ish-yellow color. Epidote is com- 
posed largely of silica, and is easily 
tested, although its physical charac- 
teristics usually serve to prove its 

There is a trio of minerals that must 
have made their appearance in the 
earth at one and the same time, so 
nearly alike are they. As sometimes 
happens with a triplet of brothers, 
one can not be distinguished from 
the other until a very close acquain- 
tance is established. Cyanite, com- 
posed of silica and alumina, fibrolite, 
and andalusite made up of the same 
elements, form this group. Of ex- 
actly the same composition, chemical 
analysis falls powerless to aid in their 

discrimination. But if the cyanite is 
not weathered too much, a heavenly 
blue color to the long, bladed cr>'S- 
tals will identify it. If perfectly 
formed crystals can be found, a little 
comfort may be extracted from a 
close observ'ation of these, as each 
mineral belongs to a different system 
of cr5'stallization. The fact that one 
alters into another, and that every 
degree of the gradation is to be met 
with in our state is not of a nature to 
help in testing. Fibrolite is found 
about Concord in isolated boulders, 
and both fibrolite and cyanite are 
abundant at Lake Penacook. 

The micas are too familiar to be 
dwelt upon. Aside from the promi- 
nent part in commerce which musco- 
vite plays, there are few sections of 
the state in which the beauty of the 
rocks and ledges is not due to this 
bright constituent. Biotite, from the 
presence of iron, was of little practi- 
cal use until electricity swept over 
the civilized world with revolution- 
ary force, and appropriated it as one 
of her servants. The other micas are 
not abundant enough to be noticed. 
It would not be right in an enumera- 
tion of the common rocks of New 
Hampshire to omit our limestones, 
although we can by no means boast 
the amount and varieties of some 
other states. Our characteristic stone 
is granite, and its offspring gneiss, but 
along the Connecticut valley the rocks 
are impregnated with carbonate of 
lime, or calcite, forming limestone. 
It is an overflows as it were, of the 
Vermont calcites or marbles, and if 
the boundary line of the two states 
had been drawn with strict regard to 
mineralogical features, it would have 
run a little to the east of the present 
limit. As it is, there are but few 



towns in which pure and perfect 
calcite crystals are found. In Lit- 
tleton and Lyman, good fossils have 
been obtained. The limestone is 
then not white but grayish. For 
marble, we are obliged to yield the 
palm to our sister state, Vermont. 
This term marble, by the way, is not 
a scientific name, but is loosely ap- 
plied to any stone that admits of a 
fine polish. In most cases, however, 
it is a limestone. The beautiful onyx 
marbles that are used for trimmings 
in public buildings, and also cut for 
table tops, clocks, soda fountains, etc, 
are limestone, and not "onyx." Real 
onyx is a kind of quartz, and quite 
as hard as that mineral itself, hence 
could not be cut into so man}^ forms, 
or if that were possible, it would be 
only at great expense. Any posses- 
sor of an onyx ring can satisfy him- 
self of the difference in the two stones 
by trying each with the point of a 

An abundant mineral in this part 
of New England is talc, or soap- 
stone. Without dwelling on the fa- 
mous Francestown stone familiar to 
all, the pretty light green and radia- 
ted varieties should be mentioned. 
The soft, soap3^ feel of talc is due to 
magnesia, of which it is largely com- 
posed. Many hydrous mica schists 
have much the same oiliness, but this 
is owing to the combination of water 
and soft mica grains. Most mineral 
cabinets contain specimens of the deli- 
cately tinted, starry talc, but this is 
much commoner in some other parts 
of the United States than here. A 
trial with the thumb nail is usually 
sufficient to determine talc. 

One other glor}^ for fine specimens 
has New Hampshire besides beryl 
and garnets. Our granite, viewed 

as a building stone, is staid and 
sober. Our quarries that give of 
their heart's best for fine monuments 
and walls, are fine grained and homo- 
geneous, but their poor relations out 
in the open field, — the rough, coarse 
granites — rude in fracture, coarse in 
grain, in which no sculptor, however 
skilful, could see in his mind's eye a 
possibility of beauty, these are the 
strong boxes that open up to the 
mineralogist's chisel and hammer 
beautiful crystals of accessory min- 
erals. Of all these, none are more 
perfectly formed, more splendent and 
clear, than the tourmalines. For an 
enthusiast to sit on the ground and 
see scattered around on all sides as 
the result of a blast, snow - white 
quartz filled with jet-black needles 
pointing in all directions, penetrat- 
ing the hard matrix with as much 
apparent ease as if it were wax in- 
stead of flint, and to see the pure 
tourmalines in bunches like toads' 
backs, swelling with their own im- 
portance, but dying out in harmless 
spangles at the other end of the rock, 
and, on the other side, isolated bugles 
and beads gleaming now and then 
from the milky white, like flakes and 
plums in a delicate pudding — to see 
this all close at hand, and then to be 
suddenly overtaken by the thought 
that the specific gravity of rocks is 
something greater than that of most 
common things, and that at best, but 
a few pounds can be carried away, — 
whether this be heaven or hades is a 
question for the psychologist to de- 

Copper, iron, zinc, lead, arsenic, 
graphite, antimony, fluorite, and apa- 
tite are the commonest minerals in 
New Hampshire not already men- 
tioned, and those who have time and 



inclination to search for still other 
varieties that are with us, but in less 
abundance, have a rich field before 
them. Perhaps the greatest dis- 
couragement in the attempt to learn 
the names of common rocks arises 
from their weathering. For instance, 
it is an easy matter to learn to recog- 
nize hornblende pure. Hornblende 
weathered and crumbling, and per- 
haps half changed to chlorite, is not 
so simple a matter. Indeed, the 
alteration of rocks and minerals forms 
a study in itself, and there are often 
separate names for the different con- 
ditions of the same mineral, as saus- 
surite, for decomposed feldspar. 

It is possible to so collect, arrange, 
and label specimens that a printed 
book on the subject would not be 
easier to read. Great possibilities 
lie in a label. Locality means almost 
as much as the name of the specimen, 
but the name and locality are not the 
whole story that the bit of paper can 
be made to tell. All the names are 
useful. The chemical name is a hint 
to some and Greek to others. The 
colloquial name may enlighten one 
person but will be useless to another. 
For example, sphalerite, zinc sul- 
phide, blende, " Black Jack," Haver- 
hill, N. H. Any peculiarity or in- 
teresting characteristic, as irides- 
cense, striation, inclusion of air bub- 
bles, foreign incrustation, etc, can 
be indicated tersely but plainly. The 
mind of the reader will then read the 
tale as the electric spark leaps from 
one carbon point to the other, thus 
completing the circuit. We all know 
that peat is the first stage of the 
great coal formations, but every one 
does not stop to think that the near- 
est bog, the haunt of frogs and ani- 
malcules, may be also the birthplace 

of one of the giants b}^ aid 
men rule the world, — iron. Xevv 
Hampshire is rich in the different, 
conditions of iron, from the bog ore 
to magnetite. Bog ore, or limonite, 
becomes hematite or specular iron, 
after the elimination of the water. 
Some force, probably heat, expels a 
part of the ox3'gen from hematite, 
and magnetite is the result. Slight 
differences in the composition of 
these give rise to siderite, pyrrhotite, 
titanic iron, and other forms. One 
swamp will not show all these at 
once, but the shelf or drawer may. 

Well arranged .series convej' valu- 
able instruction, as peat (which is 
purely vegetable matter), lignite, bi- 
tuminous coal, anthracite, and graph- 
ite (which is pure carbon). Another 
series branches off from bitumen to 
the diamond, also pure carbon. A 
series of hornblendes, not .so valua- 
ble, but attractive from the tiny 
needles sprinkled through a mica 
schist, up the scale of size to the 
very large crystals which almost ex- 
clude mica and so form hornblende 
schist, may be found anywhere in the 
state. Series representing the rela- 
tive hardness, fusibilit)', lustre, color,, 
specific gravity and system of crys- 
tallization are of great use in deter- 
mining specimens. These character- 
istics known, man)- can be named 
without resort to chemical analysis. 
Collections that are made to tell 
these stories of the hills in an inter- 
esting way are not so liable, when 
their first owners are done with them,, 
to fall into that bottomless abyss, 
known as oblivion. 

Man is obliged to confess that he 
cannot cope with a science of such 
vast reach in time and space as this 
one of geology. It is a triumph of 


matter over mind, as it were. But clear as ether and perfect hexagons, 
he ma}' at least respectfully approach My opportunities . were fine, and I 
it. A piece of sandstone three inches made the most of them." Thus Min- 
square shows essentially the forma- eralogy, the handmaiden, in a meas- 
tion of a range a mile in extent, ure, may entice Geolog}-, the monarch, 
A curved and wrinkled schist four into the small compass of a cabinet 
inches across proves that some power- drawer, and hold him captive there, 
ful pressure was brought to bear upon There may be seen now, in the 
it at some time, as conclusively as a state library building at Concord, be- 
whole ledge of the same rock in the tween two and three hundred speci- 
field could do. A bit of feldspar mens, the germ of what is intended 
allowed to break naturally cleaves to be a panorama in stone of the state 
off at as true an angle as the large of New Hampshire from Coos to the 
boulder from a glacial flow. Two sea. "Instruction" is meant to be 
specimens of so common an object as written in invisible letters on ever>' 
quartz, one. of the tiny crj'stallized label. Much time and thought have 
variety known as drusy, and the been spent in the arrangement of the 
other, of those massive points many collection, and the aim has been to 
inches in length, say as plainly as so select and place the specimens 
words, " /had not time to fully de- that all who choose may glean a use- 
velop myself and show what I am ful fact from each mineral. Every 
capable of. I cooled quickly and person w'ho has opportunity is in- 
was wedged into a small space, so vited to contribute specimens from 
these tiny crystals are all I could three to four inches across until all 
form," and " /cooled slowly. I had phases of the geology and miner- 
plenty of room to stretch myself, as it alogy of New Hampshire have been 
were, and behold, ni}- crystals are faithfully represented. 


By Caroline M. Roberts. 

The Summer leaves us for a while. 
With promise fair to come again. 
And bring her blossoms, fruit and grain- 
The benediction of her smile. 

The Autumn comes in Summer's place, 
With regal step and royal state, — 
With joy and gladness all elate. 
And beauty gleaming in her face. 

An artist comes at her command, 
Inspired with more than mortal skill. 
Who touches valley, plain, and hill. 
With tints that glorify the land. 

We hail the Autumn with a cry. 
Of welcome and a fond caress. 
Nor do we love the Summer less. 
Though we have said a sad good by. 


By Annie J. Conwell. 


^^^ONDAY night, Nov. 7. 

I am glad to get up 
stairs to you to-night, 
for I take it for granted 
that you are interested 
in the progress of my dilemma. 
Well, I told Mother what Joe said, 
and asked her opinion without giv- 
ing mine. She was much pleased, 
for she said that both she and Father 
looked favorably upon what they 
recognized as Joe's advances, but she 
had waited for me to say something 
to her about the matter. Me say 
something, indeed ! Why ! I thought 
he came to see Charlie ! 

She went on to say that if I could 
care for Joe, it would be a great sat- 
isfaction to her, as later I should be 
so near home. You see, the Mason 
farm joins ours, ajid marrying Joe 
would insure my being near Mother 
always. Mother spoke of that and of 
how much she and Father think of 
the farm and the pleasure it would 
give them to know that one of their 
children would live on at the old 
place when the}' are done with life. 
The land has never been owned by 
any but Tuckers, and was never 
deeded. She .said further that 
Charlie is anxious to go away, and 
my own tastes had made her uneasy 
lest I should not take kindly to farm- 
life as a permanency ; Joe is all that 
can be desired in a son-in-law, and 
she thought I should be happy when 

once my mind was made up to .settle 
down in a home of ni}' own, even 
though it was in the country. 

Although secretly rebellious, I was 
forced to acknowledge the truth of 
her remarks. I realized with a heavy 
heart that I ought to be happy in the 
country, for my place was there ; that 
for a farmer's daughter, I had been 
given advantages which our neigh- 
bors' daughters had been denied. I 
say for a farmer's daughter. That 
does not mean such intellectual ad- 
vantages as a city girl would have, 
for opportunities for culture are few 
and costly here. But my parents 
are fond of their home and satisfied 
with its advantages, .so what right 
have I to let a few girlish fancies 
stand in the way of their happiness ? 
They love me and would rejoice far 
more to see me the wife of a thrifty, 
honest farmer, with my home near 
them, than to see nie the greatest 
lady in the land. 

So partly from a sense of duty and 
partly from perplexity, I told Joe 
when he called last night, that if he 
cared for such half-hearted regard as 
I could give him, he was welcome to 
it ; but that we were not to consider 
ourselves engaged, and there was to 
be no talk of marriage between us 
for a long time — perhaps not at all. 
I also told him what Mother had said 
to me, and the silly fellow was over- 
joyed. " I am thankful for so much,. 



Polly," he said, "and am willing to 
wait patientl}' for the love which I 
hope will some day be mine.'' I did 
not tell him so, but I expect the sort 
of half-promise to him will be a sure 
barrier against outside attractions, 
and so, you see, m}' wish is granted, 
and I 'm going to be pleased, per- 
haps — sometime. 

Thanksgiving night, Nov. 24, 1808. 

What a long time has passed, dear 
friend, since I have been up here for 
a chat with you ! I thought I would 
cultivate a more settled state of mind 
before I committed any more foolish- 
ness to paper. Sometimes I have 
been half tempted not to write anj' 
more, for I wondered if talking out 
discontent does not increase it, but 
I do not think it does in this case, for 
I have had all the ground to fight 
over every day, and the desire to 
rush off and spend a little time with 
you, besides. 

Our house has been a verj- bus}' 
place for a week past, for we've 
been getting ready for Thanksgiv- 
ing. Doesn't that sound festive? 
I love all the holidays, but the gen- 
eral gathering of kindred on Thanks- 
giving is best of all. I have a pretty 
new gown which Mother has had 
finished for to-day. It is blue, with 
just no waist at all, for the belt is 
almost under my arms ; the puffed 
sleeves are short and the neck square, 
and a little lace ruffle is gathered on 
the edge of each. When Father was 
in Riverside last week, he bought me 
a dainty pair of slippers with high, 
pointed heels. The skirt of my gown 
is short and scant, and shows my 
pretty shoes. I have never told you 
what I am like, have I ? Well, your 
chatty friend is no beauty. She is 

rather tall, very fair, with blue eyes, 
and a profusion of brown hair, which 
is held in place b}^ a high back-comb. 
Can 3'ou see me now ? 

When I came down in all my new 
finery, Mother said, "Why child! 
how much you look like Sister Abi- 
gail ! ' ' She was one of the Perkins 
beauties, as they were called, and by 
some said to be the handsomest of 
them all. 

Allowing for a mother's partiality 
for her only daughter, I still felt 
gratified that my looks gave her 
pleasure ; for, like all girls, I enjoy 
having pretty clothes and like to feel 
that I look well in them. 

All the relatives in Father's and 
Mother's families were at our house 
this year, for it was our turn to en- 
tertain. In a large family connec- 
tion like ours, each of the older heads 
of families takes his turn as enter- 
tainer, so we had thirty guests to-day. 
First, they all went to the meeting- 
house to listen to the Thanksgiving 
sermon, then came here in company. 
I will tell you about the singing this 
morning, for it seemed to me unusu- 
ally good. Our choir consists of 
some who sing and many who used 
to sing. To-daj' more sang and 
fewer wheezed than usual, and as 
the full chorus of voices rang out in 
"Mear," "Antioch," and "St. Mar- 
tin's," the singers, as individuals, 
were lost to my view and they be- 
came to me only exponents of the 
music which they voiced. So when 
in closing, the congregation arose 
and joined in ' ' Blest be the tie that 
binds," I sang from a full heart, 
each person there seeming in a new 
sense my neighbor. Only at the 
last verse did my voice falter and 
then from excess of feeling rather 



than from lack of it. With a light 
heart and glistening eyes, I took my 
place in the vestibule to wait until 
Father should bring ' ' old Jerry ' ' to 
the door. 

While I waited, Joe Mason came 
along and stood talking with me. I 
was ashamed to be conscious of an 
impatient feeling at sight of him. I 
had never felt so before and why 
should I now, of all times ? When I 
thought ni}- heart was full of the 
spirit of that dear old hymn, too! 

Just then Father drove up and it 
was a very humble and conscience- 
stricken Polly who climbed into the 
chaise and rode silently home with 
him. We were a little in advance of 
the rest of the party ; I was glad of 
that, as I had many things to attend 
to before dinner and in my hurry and 
the pleasure of greeting our friends, 
I quite forgot both vexation and self- 
abasement. The dinner was fine. 
Mother never makes mistakes in 
cooking ; all her loaves are thoroughly 
baked and never burned ; her pies, 
cakes, preserves, and pickles are sure 
to be just right; and as for meats, — 
they would n't dare to be tough or 
under-done under her management, — 
so our Thanksgiving feast was enjoy- 
able and enjoyed. 

We young people got together on 
one side of the table and a lively 
time we had while the sedate matrons 
exchanged recipes and condolences 
upon each other's aches and pains. 
The men were talking about heavy 
cattle and full barns, and presently I 
fell to wondering if this was what 
life had in store for me, — ^///j'this? 
"I cannot, cannot have it so," I 
thought, almost aloud, — when I 
heard my name called. Rousing 
myself, I found all eyes were fixed 

upon me, while Kmily Tucker was 
entertaining the youngsters with a 
description of my handsome escort of 
the day of the quilting. 

I was provoked to feel myself blush, 
as I liistened to their nonsense. One 
of the girls declared that she knew I 
was hiding something, — an engage- 
ment ring, very likely, — or I would 
never blush .so. " How '11 Joe like 
that?" said our clumsy, blundering 
cousin, Eben Rand. "I saw him 
sparkin' you at the door the other 
night, and I kind o' thought he 
might hev somethin' to do with that 
ring business." 

' ' If you are so anxious to know 
how Joe feels, you had better ask 
him," I replied, and fortunately for 
me, the company arose from the ta- 
ble just then. Cousin Emily and I 
cleared off the table, and Aunt Jane 
and Aunt Esther washed the dishes 
as we brought them out. When we 
girls had finished, we called the rest 
of the young people and away we 
went down to the barn to have a 
good time, while the older people did 
their visiting together. 

We swung until we were tired, 
then one of the boys produced a rope 
and called for "Copenhagen." We 
had great sport, and just when the 
fun was at its height some one 
opened the barn door, and imagine 
our surprise when we looked up and 
discovered Mr. Ladd standing in the 


He at once came towards us, hat 
in hand, and apologized for his in- 
trusion. He said he was riding by 
the barn, when he heard shouts of 
laughter (I shouldn't wonder if we 
were rather noisy) just as his horse 



•stopped and utterly refused to take 
another step, so what could he do 
Isut dismount and see what was the 
matter ? We laughed heartily at his 
Jame excuse and the way in which it 
was made, but most of all at the wist- 
ful glances which he cast at our rope. 
All the party made him welcome, 
and Elizabeth invited him to join in 
the game, which he lost no time in 
■doing. Indeed, he seized that rope 
as eagerly as if it were his only 
■chance for happiness. After that, we 
were merrier than ever. Somehow 
all the girls got their fingers tapped 
by Mr. Ladd before the game was 
finished, for he seemed to have a 
hundred e\'es and hands to match. 
It grew dusky in the barn long be- 
iore we thought it ought to, and into 
the house we had to go, for there 
was a pretense of supper to go 
through before the evening fun could 

" I think I '11 go along home now, 
if that horse of mine don't object," 
laughed Mr. Ladd, as he moved 
towards the door. "Suppose he 
will, Charlie?" "Well, I had no 
■difBculty in getting him into the 
stable, but I don't believe you can 
get him out so early as this without 
trouble," replied Charlie. " I guess 
you had better leave him where he is, 
while you come with us up to the 

'Yes, do," urged the crowd, and 
alter a moment's hesitation he con- 
sented. I did not insist upon his 
staying, for I was afraid that I wanted 
him to too much. He went at once 
to Mother and apologized for intrud- 
ing upon a strictl}^ family gathering. 
He said, "I remember the husking 
and the temptation to repeat the de- 
lightful experiences of that evening 

is not to be resisted. So here I am. 
You may .scold me if you like, if yow 
will forgive me afterwards and let me 
.stay." Of course everybody laughed, 
and Mother and Father made him 
welcome. Indeed, how could they 
do anything else, when he stood there 
looking like nothing in the world so 
much as a spoiled child bent upon 
enjoying mischief which he had got- 
ten into? I fancied they were pleased 
because he wanted to come, and I 
know they were glad to have such 
nice company to introduce to our 
friends. Supper was soon dispatched 
for dinner was a fact of too recent 
occurrence to be soon forgotten, so 
leaving the older women to look 
after the clearing up. we young ones 
adjourned to the parlor, where the 
spinnet is. We sang for an hour, 
heartily. Mr. Ladd joined in, sang 
every song, his fine tenor voice add- 
ing largely to the effect of our simple 

We had just stopped singing when 
Abel Locke arrived with his fiddle, 
and we needed no other hint to re- 
pair to the kitchen for a dance by the 
firelight, — no other light being con- 
sidered half so favorable to a general 
good time. Some of the younger 
cousins mustered courage to do their 
first dancing that night by our fire- 
light's ruddy glow. 

Such a jolly, happy set as we were ! 
And, at the close, when Father took 
Aunt Jerusha, his aunt, out to dance, 
and Uncle Simon pranced down the 
centre with Mother, the shouting and 
laughter was enough to frighten any- 
body unused to hearty, countrj- mirth. 

At last, we could neither laugh 
nor dance any more, but were glad 
to drop into the nearest seat while 
apples, pop-corn, and sweet cider 



went the rounds. Suddenly, some 
one discovered that the tall, old clock 
had stopped and that it was really 
eleven o'clock. The women rushed 
off for bonnets and wraps while the 
men brought the horses to the door, 
and a general leave-taking followed. 
Soon they went awa3% each one de- 
claring that the verj^ best Thanksgiv- 
ing which he or she could remember. 

Mr. Ladd claimed to have enjoyed 
himself more than anybody else, be- 
cause he had not expected such a 
frolic and had no right to be there 
anyway. In fact, he confessed that 
he had ridden out after dinner to get 
away from some tiresome people who 
were visiting the Sherburnes. 

He said he hardlj^ thought his aunt 
had intended to grant him unlimited 
leave of absence when she excused 
him while she chatted with her 
friends, and he made a funny gri- 
mace when he hinted at the lecture 
which he knew was in store for him. 
But he didn't look penitent and he 
did look happy when he went away, 
and I know his presence among us 
gave great pleasure to all who were 

When Father was locking up the 
house, he said, "Well, wife, I don't 
know when we have had such a real 
old-fashioned Thanksgiving ; I kind 
o' think Mr. Ladd kept the ball roll- 
ing, don't you?" then as he opened 
the clock door, — " Why, Patience! 
these weights ain't half way down, — 
that clock never stopped without 
help, / know; strange!" — and he 
went off to bed wondering who 
stopped the clock. 

To you I will confess that I think 
I know who did it — but then, too 
much should not be expected of a 
thoughtless young Ladd. 

Monday, November 28. 
Well, I've had my good time and 
have had to pay for it, too. Joseph. 
Mason called here vSunday evening, 
and I soon saw that .something was 
wrong with him. As soon as we 
were alone, he began. He .said that 
he had heard from various sources of 
our Thanksgiving jollification and ot 
Mr. Ladd's presence at it and he 
thought it more than strange that he 
had not been invited, when he was 
almost one of the family, while a 
stranger was made welcome. Wasn't 
I the same as engaged to him and 
what did I mean, anyway, by letting 
that city chap dangle 'round after me 
as I did ? I was too angry to explaiti 
the facts of the case to him, — more 
angry than I can tell. At last I 
found sufficient voice to declare that 
I was not engaged to him, — that the 
most I had ever promised was to 
try to think favorably of what he 
had said to me, but he knew as well 
as I did that I was not engaged to 

" I know what the matter is," Joe 
retorted, "that L,add has made all 
the trouble. I shouldn't have spok- 
en to you quite so soon if he had n't 
appeared, and been so bewitched by 
you at the husking ; I knew then, 
that unless I got some sort of a prom- 
ise from you soon, I never should. 
Now you know the whole story, and 
can make what you like of it." 

"Very well," I replied, "I make 
this of it : Your jealousy of a little 
polite attention to me from a stranger, 
led you into the great blunder of 
asking me to marry j-ou and now j'Otx 
have blundered still more by telling- 
me all this. You are not bound to 
me at all, please remember, — yow are 
quite free to seek some more tracta- 



ble damsel, — some one who will en- 
joy being scolded for nothing. / 
don't, so I'll bid you good-night;" 
and away I went to bed and left him 
to get out of the house the best waj- 
he could. I heard him tramp up and 
down the kitchen for half an hour or 
more, then he went out and slammed 
the door. 

I haven't told mother yet, for I 
dread to. She will be disappointed, 
I know, but for myself, I am glad to 

be free from that shadow of a prom- 
ise. I did think everything of Joe ai^ 
a friend and comrade, but when I 
tried to regard him as a lover, he 
was almost disagreeable to me. 

I just wish I could put things back 
on their old footing before Joe fool- 
ishly wished to be to me what, he 

I do n't want him for a lover, but I 
do miss my friend. 

[TV be coiiii)iued.\ 

Conducted by Fred Cowing, State Superintendent of Public Instntctioti. 


By Dr. C. C. Rounds , f ortnerly of Plymouth N'ormal School. 

The rural school problem we seem 
fated to have always with us, and 
throughout the country it remains essen- 
tially the same. Here, one attempt has 
been made at its solution, and there, 
another, but these attempts have rarely 
been made from any comprehensive 
view of the conditions essential to a 
complete reform. In educational con- 
ventions or discussion, it is seldom that 

' .\n address delivered before the American Institute 
I of Nature and Human Nature Series. 

the rural school has had directly a 
voice. Cities and the larger towns have 
gone on improving their schools as con- 
centration of wealth and of intelligence 
have made such improvement possible, 
while in many cases the rural school of 
to-day meets the demand of its time less 
efficiently than did the school of a gen- 
eration ago ; consequently, the differ- 
ences in culture between city and coun- 

of Instruction at Bethlehem. 1896, and published in No 




:ry have widened, and these differences 
■n educational conditions and possibili- 
ties are among the chief causes of the 
decadence of the country town. 

The statement, " as is the teacher, so 
is the school," has a large measure of 
iruth, yet the best teacher may be 
handicapped by unfavorable conditions. 
Nevertheless, the first necessity is for 
good teachers. How shall these be 
obtained ? Although the normal school 
has been doing its work for more than a 
half century, and has done it well, but a 
very small proportion of the rural 
schools have trained teachers. Were 
"the school year as long, the salary of 
the teacher as large, the other condi- 
tions as favorable in the school of the 
country as in that of the town, the case 
would be different : but to wait for all 
these changes is to sacrifice another 
generation. As conditions now are, we 
can no more expect graduates from 
complete courses in the normal schools 
to give their lives to the rural schools 
than we can expect graduates from 
four-year courses in the agricultural 
colleges to settle down on New England 

These facts are well known, and 
various attempts have been made to 
meet them. There is the teachers' 
institute of one, two, or three days. 
These give a certain amount of inspira- 
tion. Illumination is needed. There 
is the summer school of two or three 
weeks. This accomplishes more, but 
its influence, too brief at the best, 
-reaches but few of the vast number 
that need its uplifting. In the West, 
the summer normal institute of four to 
six weeks, specially planned for the 
country school teacher, carries the work 
further, and as the time is lengthened 
more definite good will result. Yet 
this is not enough by far. An agency 

is needed intermediate between the 
brief convention or institute and the 
normal school, with its two or four 
years' course, so far beyond the reach 
of the majority of rural school teachers. 
What shall it be ^ 

Several facts must be kept in mind in 
the solution of the problem : i. A large 
proportion of the teachers of rural 
schools cannot afford the time and ex- 
pense of a two years' course in a nor- 
mal school. 2. The receipts from em- 
ployment in the rural school under pres- 
ent conditions do not remunerate one 
for the expense of a normal school 
course. This is a simple matter of 
business, and sentiment will not change 
the facts. 3. Other conditions remain- 
ing the same, the attendance at a school 
is at an inverse ratio to the distance be- 
tween school and home. This is es- 
pecially true for a short course. 

To meet these conditions, there is 
needed a normal training school with a 
short course of one-half year, the usual 
length of one term at the existing state 
normal schools. If the mountain will 
not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must 
s:o to the mountain. This should be a 
normal school on wheels, — one half year 
in one place, then changing to another. 
The place, a village which will give over 
its schools to this normal training school 
for the term, for model and practice 
schools. All attempts to prepare teach- 
ers for the work of the school-room with- 
out training in teaching is a delusion 
and a snare. These training schools, 
organized as primary schools in one 
room and as grammar schools in an- 
other, will show and teach what can be 
done with schools in the simplest form 
of gradation. All the grades should be, 
for a part of the course, brought to- 
gether to illustrate the work of the one- 
teacher school, such work as in the un- 



graded school can and should be done. 
Such a school would have its regular 
faculty of two or three teachers, whose 
work would extend through a complete 
school year. 

This the general organization, — what 
the work ? Simple treatment of matter 
essential to good teaching would be 
grounded on the simple principles of 
psychology and ethics. Not attempting 
to sound the depths of philosophy, 
essentials may be taught and compre- 
hended, and teaching thus grounded 
upon fundamental truths of human ex- 
perience may come into the spirit and 
method of Him who taught as one hav- 
ing authority and not as the scribes. 
Deficiencies in education would be sup- 
plemented by sound teaching ; princi- 
ples of teaching and of school manage- 
ment would be taught and illustrated. 
Many might learn to do well what they 
had never done at all ; most would 
learn to do better what they had done 
poorly. From these schools would 
come many students for fuller courses 
of training and a w'ider usefulness. 

Some work of this kind must be 
done. A larger and richer country life 
must be made possible. Country and 
city conjoined make up the nation, and 
though mutually dependent, there is a 
large measure of truth in a recent state- 
ment, "burn the city and leave the 
country, and the city will be rebuilt : 
destroy the country, and the city must 

From country to town, the tide of 
humanity is constantly flowing, as rivers 
flow to the sea. The ancient Russians 
held it highly criminal to pollute the 
waters ; we poison the stream from 
source to mouth. Let us take good 
care that this other stream flow as 
strong and pure as human agency can 
make it. 

The better teacher in the rural school 
will call for a larger school and better 
conditions of organization, equipment, 
and supervision, and all these will call 
for more money. This additional bur- 
den must not be laid upon the country 
town. Often these towns tax them- 
selves to sustain poor schools fourfold 
what the city finds necessary for its^ 
complete system. A higher tax would 
drive all movable capital from the town, 
and thus complete its ruin. We have 
passed from the district to the town as 
the smallest unit of organization and 
administration. The state must become 
in larger measure than now the unir 
for support ; there must be a wider as- 
sertion of the principle that the prop- 
erty of the state must be held for the 
education of the children of the state. 
Not only on broad humanistic grounds, 
but on grounds of political expedienc} . 
we are all in a sense the keeper, not 
only of our brothers, but of our broth- 
ers' children. 

What shall we pass on to the next 
generation ? Not merely our wit and 
literature, not merelv accumulations of 
wealth, but the boys and girls of to-daw 
the men and women who will make the 
America of the twentieth century. Ac- 
cording to the character of this product 
of our time, must the nation rise or fall. 
Journeying through the wide extent of 
our undeveloped country and noting 
the immense expanse over which the 
forces of sun and air are still at play, 
the undeveloped forces still latent in 
the soil, waterfalls still content with 
beauty, the imagination in vain tries to 
grasp the boundless possibilities of the 
future. The loss and waste from failure 
to educate is greater, beyond all com- 
parison greater, than these ; for this 
loss is a failure to develop centres of 
spiritual forces which underlie, whicli 


NEW HA A/PS/// A'/-: N/iCRO/.OGY. 

organize, direct, and control all else. 
*' The average intellect of the present 
day is not equal to the problems pre- 
sented to it." The vast majority of the 
people do not rise above the condition 
of intellectual mediocrity. When we 
note in any department of effort what 
one strong, well-trained mind has con- 
tributed to the life and thought and 

action of its time, what a centre of 
force it has become, what permanent 
contribution it has made to the re- 
sources of humanity, and compare this 
with the vast procession that merely 
moves on through its allotted course, 
and leaves no sign, we may appreciate 
the work which must be done, and 
done now. 


Mrs. Alice A. Dow, of whose busy and helpful life a sketch recently appeared 
in another department of this magazine, died at Haverhill, Mass., November 8. 
She was a native of Portsmouth and married, in 1878, Hon, Moses B. Dow of 
Plaistow. She was, at the time of her death. Worthy Pomona of the state grange, 
and was also active and prominent in church, temperance, and village improve- 
ment work. 


Nathaniel Dorman, M, D., was born in Kennebunk, Me., Nov. 2, 1804, and 
when four years of age his father was lost at sea, leaving his wife with several 
small children and without means of support, Nathaniel was energetic, early 
manifesting a love for study, and, relying on his own resources, worked his way 
through Bowdoin college, taking a course of medical lectures at Dartmouth col- 
lege after his graduation. He then settled at Alton, where he practised his pro- 
fession for 30 years. In 1837, he was appointed postmaster, and was honored 
with many positions of trust. He brought up nine children, none being his own. 
In 1867, he moved to Rochester, with a view to retiring from practice. On the 
morning of October 22, he was found dead in bed, having retired in his usual 


J. Y. Scruton was born in Farmington in 182 i, but resided during most of his 
life in Lewiston, Me,, where he died November 15. For more than 40 years, he 
had been a prominent clothing dealer, and for eight years had been president of 
the First National bank, having been connected with it since its organization. 



Rev. B. K. Russ died at Gorham as the result of a paralytic shock November 
:io. He was born at Salem, June 17, 1834, and graduated at Tufts college and 
divinity school. For 20 years he held a pastorate at Somerville, Mass. 


George H. Larabee, M. D., was born at Bradford, Vt., 56 years ago, and died at 
Suncook October 31. He fitted for the practice of his profession at the Bowdoin 
and Harvard Medical colleges, and served during the war as assistant surgeon 
with the First Massachusetts Heavy Artillery. In 1865, he came to Suncook 
where he had since resided, a most useful and highly esteemed citizen. Outside 
of his profession, he was prominent in Masonry and had represented his town in 
the legislature as a Republican. 


Prof. Henry E. Parker was born in Keene, April 17, 182 i, and died in Boston, 
November 7. His father was Elijah Parker, who was a well-known lawyer in that 
part of the state. He received his early education at Kimball Union academy at 
Meriden, after which he went to Dartmouth, where he graduated in 1841. He 
next attended Union Theological seminary. New York, and from 1857 to 1869 he 
was pastor of the South Congregational church at Concord, with the exception of 
a year and a half which he spent at the front as chaplain of the Second N. H. 
Volunteers. In the fall of i86g, he returned to Dartmouth college as professor of 
Latin, a position which he held over 21 years, and at the time of his death he 
held the rank of professor emeritus. As professor of Latin, there were few in- 
structors in this country who were his equals. His translations were marvellous 
for their beauty and purity of English. As a man, his influence on Dartmouth 
life was specially marked, and his retirement from the institution was greatly felt. 


Harrison Brown Marden of Plymouth, the veteran stage driver, and one of the 
best known men in New Hampshire, died November 3, aged 75. He was a 
native of Allenstown, and, in 1839, began his career as a stage driver, and only 
left it in 1890. He had driven from every principal station on the line of the old 
Boston, Concord & Montreal railroad between Concord and the Fabyan house. 
He became the owner, in 1858, of the Franconia Notch &: Pemigewasset Valley 
stage line, and drove on that system until the railroad was extended as far as 
North Woodstock. After this, he managed the line between the latter place and 
the Profile House until he sold out to the Concord & Montreal railroad some five 

years ago. 


Alonzo Hall Quint was born in Barnstead, March 22, 182S, and died suddenly 
in Boston, November 4. He was graduated at Dartmouth in 1846, and. at An- 
dover Theological seminary in 1852, was the first pastor of the Mather church, 


Jamaica Plain from 1853 to 1863; New Bedford, i864-'75 ; Allston, i886-'9o; 
was secretary of the Massachusetts General Association of Congregational 
Churches from 1856 till 1881, and of the National Council of Congregational 
Churches of the United States from 1871 till 1883, and its moderator, 1892-95. 
At the time of his death, he had been a trustee of Dartmouth college for many 

In 1 86 1 -'64, he was chaplain of the second Massachusetts Infantry. He served 
in the New Hampshire legislature in i88r-'83. Dartmouth gave him the degree 
of D. D. in 1866. Dr. Quint was a member of many historical and genealogical 
societies, and served on the Massachusetts board of education from 1855 till 

He was, from 1S59 till 1876, an editor and a proprietor of the C(»i^i:[rej(atwnai 
Quarterly, contributed numerous articles to the Dover Inqjiirer. and was the 
author of "The Potomac and the Rapidan, or Army Notes from the Failure at 
Winchester to the Reinforcement of Rosecrans," (Boston) 1864, and '-The Record 
of the Second Massachusetts Infantry, i86i-'65 " (1875), and the "First Parish 
in Dover, N. H." (1883). For twenty-five years, he was secretary of the Massa- 
chusetts General Association of Congregational churches, and its moderator in 
1865 and 18S2. He was chairman of the business committee of the national 
council of 1865 ; was chairman of the committee to call a convention of delegates 
in 1870, to form a national council of the Congregational churches of the United 
States; was chairman of the committee to draft its constitution ; was temporary^ 
presiding officer at the national council, which met at Oberlin, O., in 187 i, and was 
chosen secretary of the council for three years, and was continued by re-elections^ 
He edited "The Congregational Year-Book" for many years. 

Dr. Quint preached the last sermon given in the old Brattle Square church be- 
fore the Massachusetts convention of Congregational ministers ; he also preached 
the election sermon by election of the Massachusetts house of representatives in 
1865. He officiated as chaplain at the dedication of the soldiers' monument on 
the Boston Common. 


Capt. Thomas Morrison ctied suddenly at Danversport, Mass., November 9, aged 
73 years. He was born in Manchester, December 26, 1823, and at an early age 
went to New Bedford and engaged in the whale fishery, where he soon rose to the 
position of master. He retired at an early age with a comfortable fortune, but 
moved West, and soon engaged in a large lumber business. For sixteen years, he 
was mayor of Florence, Kan., and for two years, mayor of Emporia, Kan., where 
he lived before moving to Florence. He was a stanch, life-long Republican, and 
was always found in the front ranks of workers to promote Republican interests. 

Publishers' Note. — The editor of this magazine is indebted to Mr. W. L. Met- 
calf for the photographs of Glen Falls and Bird's-eye View of Marlborough, used 

in illustrating "A .Sketch of Marlborough." 


A fine of Two Cents will be charged for each day tne 
book is kept overtime. 

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