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THE
GRANITE MONTHLY
A New Hampshire Magazine
DEVOTED TO
HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY, LITERATURE,
AND STATE PROGRESS
VOLUME XXI
CONCORD, N. H.
PUBLISHEIJ BY THE GRANITE MONTHLY COMPANY
1896
v.ZI
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.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXL
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
Prose
TAliK
26
289
34
284
165
79
3"
353
147
174
300
2 12
168
2!
198
63
103
167
11
259
163
42
219
104
229
260
332
IV
CONTENTS.
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
147
333
103
79
291
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
199
I. 369
244
242
120
183
301
369
166
292
148
163
63
332
363
369
219
163
102
283
247
102
41
I
199
41
210
187
I
CONTENTS.
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
29
Unitarians The.mselves anr Others
60, I
23, 185, 245, 31
34
284
21
230
167
29
•63
31
357
41
I
105
353
165
45
169
3'i
226
45
165
32
I. 354
99
226
7«
i6g
34
104
3T^
123
186
124
310
123
246
61
245
62
245
310
123
60
310
VI
C0NTEN7S.
Nkw IlAMrsiiiRK Necrolo(;y {Cotititiued):
UOK.MAN, Dk. NATHAM
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. .
KiTTHEDGE, C. F.
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
372
372
246
61
124
jio
61
60
310
245
124
61
62
60
62
186
123
124
310
246
186
186
373
373
62
374
186
373
186
310
62
373
124
62
61
373
124
372
245
185
6r
124
123
62
62
186
259
On Middle Ground, A. W. E.
198
CONTENTS.
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 Ho.me Garden .
Pierce, George W., Winchester .......
Piper, H. H., A Sketch of Dublin .......
PoLLV Tucker, Annie J. Conwell
212
1 66
210
148
'74
268
79
294, 364
Representative Agriculturists, H. H. Metcalf
Roberts, Mrs. Caroline M., Good By and Welcome
The El.ms 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
Inspiration
284
29
289
345
78
241
344
168
357
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
99
136
1 10
72>
260
I, 176, 230
247
293
241
97
267
259
230
220
125
148
226
357
354
283
VI 11
CONTENTS.
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
259
97
345
42
268
344
267
w
K
tr.
o
C
<
Pi
The Granite Month l\
7
Vol,. XXI.
JULY, 1S96.
No. I,
HISTORIC HAMPTON
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.
JUS UVUC HAMPTON
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 ,
larger
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
HISTORIC HAMPTON.
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
suffering.
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 le.ss 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.
4
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 hou.ses,
located in different parts of the town.
The old Toppan house, now stand-
ing, was at one time used as such,
HISTORIC HAMPTON.
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
'^'■H.
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
J-^
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 Hor.se 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.
"i*.
t
*5-
"^^K
i
yard tlie^^
ten slullin2:,s for
Tne del General Moulton House.
shall forfitt
everv such
is between the two
windoes."
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
HISTORIC HAMPTON.
H amp ton,
li a vS i u li i s
possession
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
O
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
Xa
Methodict Church. Congregational Church.
Baptist Church and Parsonage. Gramrr.ar 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.
8
ins Tl VvYC HAMPTON.
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
HISTORIC HAMPTON.
- - ^'-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
bell.
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
HISTORIC HAMPTON.
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
x
^
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.
12
HISTORIC HAMPTON.
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
Johnson.
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
HISTORIC HAMPTON.
13
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
generations.
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 ^
|]]!5P^
laajjiSliiil
^ _» n CB ar a *J' m ai « « » t n
Tne brce Factory.
14
HIS TORIC HAMPTON.
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
purpo.se of exciting curiosit}', and to
cau.se 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.
HIS TORIC HA MP TON.
T5
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.
Mason.
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
i6
HISTORIC HAMPTON.
■"' ' ' 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
owned.
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.
rw
" Uncle
'I
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
HISTORIC HAMPTON.
17
'#1-
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
>l
»«8JI»\
«-i nil
!l'
->^^gSSa:r
^
.»■ .
^ ..,->.--^...
«>
"^
Jk
ip?«**- .
wKmX
L
I^S-
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
desuetude.
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
state.
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.
r8
inSTORfC HAMPTON.
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
HISTORIC HAMPTON.
19
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-
W^'
h^"M
EiiJ ut Buar s Head.
20
HISTORIC HAM /'TON.
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 clo.se
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
THE BENEFACTIOX OF MELANCTHON DOWNS.
21
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.
A WARRIOE.
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.
THE BENEFACTION OF MELANCTHON DOWNvS.
By Francis Dana.
I.
THE vSOWINCx.
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 !
light.
sweetening
fairv-like
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,
THE BENEFACTION OF MELANCTHON DOWNS.
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-
tice.
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
luxuries.
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
Caraway.
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-
ence.
II.
THE SUMMER.
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-
ever.
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.
THE BENEFACTION OF MELANCTHON DOWNS.
23
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
24
77//; nENEFACriON OF MELANCTHON DOWNS.
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
House?"
" 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 acro.ss his shoul-
ders.
"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-
mount."
"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
THR BENEFACTION OF MELANCTHON DOWNS.
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
temper.
"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 ea.se 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' — "
26
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\
ACHSAH WRAY.
[A Tale of Nnnquit Hill and the Naiipaug, near .Strawberry Inlet. N. IL, 172-.]
By L. A. Ca7>erly.
I
"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.
A CHS AH IVRAV. 27
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.
II.
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 dur.st 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.
28 A CHS AH WRAY.
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.
CHRISTOPHER C. vSHAW
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
same.
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
30
CHRISTOPHER C. SHAW.
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
Hampshire.
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-
IN HAYING TIME. 51
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.
IX HAVING TIME.
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 to.ss 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.
LUCY J. W. CARPENTER.
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
THE 7 IDES.
33
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-
THE TIDES.
By Charles Henry CJiesley.
I.
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.
II.
Down from the sands in the evening's gray
Fell the tide till the flats lay bare ;
Down in the west at the clo.se 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.
i
A NEW ENGLAND POET— JAMEvS E. NESMITH.
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
cousin.
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
A NEW ENGLAND POET.
35
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
appear.
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-
stead.
3^'
A NEW KNCrLAX!) PORT.
l'
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 Con.science," and "Backed with
Resolution."
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 acro.ss 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.
A NEW ENGLAND POET.
37
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
societ}'.
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.
38
A NFAV J-.NCrLANP POF.T.
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 fir.st 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-
A NEW ENGLAND POET.
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
extends
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
Library.
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
40
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
rack,
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
steep.
Their forms gigantic grown, and, rolling
higher,
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-
found."
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 lo.se ourselves in the mental \ision
which his pen suggests.
Beneath the south wind and tin sun's w;:rm
ray
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
show
In dreary spots. How large looks yonder
crow
Upon the elm tree ere he flits away.
The rainy lights shine through the naked
trees.
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
HALE— DA VIS, PIERCE.
41
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.
JUIvY.
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.
JOHN PARKER HALE.
JEFFERvSOX DAVIvS. FRANKLIN PIERCE.
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. ]
4^
[fV/)' MEN DO NOT GO TO CHURCIf.
"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.
Hale."
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,
JOHN P. HALE.
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
come.
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 clo.se good-fellowship, too,
that exists outside among its mem-
Ijers is certainlv remarkalile. Go
[f7/r MEN DO NOT GO TO CHURCH.
4:
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-
mum.
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 va.st 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-
44
/[•//)■ 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 pa.st, 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.
LO]'E\S ST.IR.
45
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
ca.ses 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."
LOVE'S vSTAR.
/>> 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-:.
[CONTINUI:!).]
Hy p.. /'. Teniicy.
CHAPTKR X.W'III.
^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 ? "'
LEGEND OE JOHN LE\'LN AND MARY GLASS E.
47
'■ 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-
science."
" 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?"
"Mary!"
"Martha!"
" Yes, that is all."
"Goodnight."
"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 .
CHAI'TKR XXIX.
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
48
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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
fear.
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.
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
49
CHAPTER XXX.
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
Champlain.
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 the.se au-
iO
LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
tumiial days were the days of spring
to the travellers, days for the stretch-
ing forth of roots and leaves of affec-
tion.
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-
side.
CHAPTER XXXI.
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
Glasse.
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-
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
51
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 lea.st
some parts of his nature through and
through. In this she was mistaken,
it was by inexperience, or mental
exaltation arising from disordered
nerves.
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.
52
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE
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
sunlight.
"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
ill."
"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 pau.se, 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
it."
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.
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
53
" What is that, John ?" asked Mary,
leaving her work and standing at his
side.
"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
absence."
" But, John, Christianity reaches
the sources of conduct. You and I
are actuated by radically different
principles."
" 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
religion."
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.
CHAPTER XXXII.
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-
54
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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 aby.ss
alone.
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
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
55
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.
THE COUNTY UNIT IN EDUCATIONAL ORGANIZATION/
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.
ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMENT.
57
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
city.
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
appropriation.
When it comes to the distribution of
this fund no regard is paid to the
58
ED UCA TIONA L DEPAR TMENT.
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-
bors.
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
things."
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
tuition.
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
ED UCA TIONAL DEPA R TMENT.
59
by the board of education, and cost
from three hundred to twenty-five hun-
dred dollars each, according to size and
equipment';
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
believe.
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.
jcg^rf^^^^^..
.../
:'> V
AUSTIN CORIIIN.
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.
W. F. HANSCOM.
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.
UR. C. P. FROST.
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.
NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY. 6i
DR. D. D. SLADE.
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.
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. W. H. EATON.
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.
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.
ABRAHAM C. GRENIER.
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.
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.
52 NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROEOGY.
C. E. MILLIKEN.
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.
A. 1;. UNDERHILL.
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. ROISINSON.
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.
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.
J. B. GRIFFITHS.
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.
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-
erty.
DR. A. C. BURNHAM,
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
ofifices.
ENOCH W. PLUMMER.
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.
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The Grainite Monthly.
Vol. XXI.
AUGUST, 1896.
No. 2,
FROM NAPLES TO GENOA.
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
churches.
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
reached.
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-
64
FROM NAPLES TO GENOA.
;-'ij'-v-.
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
hotel.
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-
lization."
The churches of Naples are disap-
pointing. The principal decorations
FROM NAPLES TO GENOA.
6.S
are veiled, to be uncovered at Easter,
and the remainder seem soiled and
tawdr>-.
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
childhood.
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
Suisse.
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.
All
Pompeii.
66
FRO^/ NAPLES TO GENOA.
sea and sky, "two symbols of the
infinite."
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
Salerno.
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
FROM XAPLES TO GENOA.
67
gorgeous
bearing
SyiEfi
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
vestments,
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
iivt^Tiijrttij,,
A blind girl
tells her beads over and
are sa\-ing.
The Coliseum.
68
FROM NAPLES TO GENOA,
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
dampness.
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
FROM NAPLES TO GENOA.
69
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,
FROM NAPLES TO GENOA.
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
city.
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
FROM NAPLES TO GENOA.
71
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
dance.
72
FROM NAPLES TO GENOA.
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
grows,
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
relea.se 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
THE HARMONY OF SHENCE.
73
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
fires.
Called Italy." — Aleardo Alcardi.
THE HARMONY OF SILE^XE.
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.
THE BENEFACTION OF MELANCTHON DOWNS.
[concluded.]
By Francis Dana.
awn Mi.ss Eggleswortli
awoke in a fright, and
heard the voice of her
gue.st at the foot of the
.stairs.
"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-
ises?"
"Yes!"
' ' 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
morning.
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 cre.st 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-
THE BENEFACTION OF MELANCTHON DOWNS.
/o
ing he discovered that the day was
uncomfortably hot and the road
dusty.
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-
ished.
"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-
ing."
"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
August.
"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
pasture."
"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-
door.
"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'.
76
THE BENEFACTION OF MELANCTHON DOWNS.
" 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-
shire.
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."
III.
THE HARVEST.
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
THE BENEFACTION OF MELANCTHON DOWNS.
II
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 "
"Yes."
" 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
physics.
" 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'
78
MIDSUMMER.
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 ! "
MIDSUMMER.
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
1^
Dublin Village, looking East.
A vSKETCH OF DUBLIN.
[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 late.st 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)
Franconia
Gorham
Jackson
Jefferson Hill
Lancaster
North Conway
Plymouth
Sugar Hill
660
1.4.54
921
812
759
1,440
870
521
473
1,351
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,
8o
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
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-
usett.
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
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
8i
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-
tions.
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.
82
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
"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 mu.st considerably ex-
ceed one hundred miles.
horizon.
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.
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
83
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
•Sf
v-
Emmanuel Chapel, Rev. R. Kidner, Rector.
feet, and it ri.ses 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
84
A SKETCH Ob DUBLIN.
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
made.
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
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
85
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
applied.
In 1S46 Miss Hannah Piper, a sis-
Monadnock Lake and Mountain.
86
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
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
1^'
'^^
:'9w:
'tn
'%>?^
H;
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
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
87
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
88
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
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
?*^*L
■^^ ^ 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
summer.
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 SKETCH OF DUBLIN
89
^rfJ
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
iaca
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.
90
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
'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
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
91
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.
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
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
history.
"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
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
93
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-
A
H^
" Morse Farm," Residence of Daniel A. Dwight.
port and use were left un-
changed by the act. In
1855 it consisted of 1,990
volumes."
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
3iS
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-
94
A SKETCH OF DIUUJN.
^|Pllff7^;
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
^ss^-^^iJB
' Stonehenge, " Residence of Miss Martha Parsons.
A SKETCH OF DUB UN.
95
rii
" 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-
cation.
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
k.
Breezy Top," Residence of Mrs. Dr. Farnum.
96
A SKETCH OF DUBLIN.
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
afford.
" 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-
i^rrr^ii?"
THE OLD STAGE COACH. 97
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.
THE OLD STAGE COACH.
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.
98 THE OLD STAGE COACH.
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.]
THE COGSWELL HOMESTEAD, GILMANTOX.
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.
E
o
THE COGSWELL HOMESTEAD.
lOI
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,
I02
HALCYON DAYS.
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 purpo.se.
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.
HAIXYON DAYS.
l^y Gc(V'ge Bancroft GriffUli.
At the flowering of the roses,
When the birds are singing be.st.
And the mother dove repo.ses,
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!
MRS. ALICE A. DOW.
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 pa.st 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 Pari.sh, 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,
I04
NEW HAMPSHIRE.
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
Plaistow.
, NEW HAMPSHIRE.
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.
THE A XTI- VIVISECTION MOVEMENT.
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 lea.st
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,
io6
THE ANTI- \ I MSEC J ION MO VEMENT.
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-
tion.
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-
THE ANTI-VIVISECTION MOVEMENT.
roy
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
io8
THE ANTI -VIVISECTION MOVEMENT.
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-
THE ANTI- VIVISECTION MO VEMENT.
109
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 almo.st 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 succe.ss-
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 mo.st 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, becau.se 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
THE ELMS OF CONCORD.
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
attention."
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.
THE ELMS OF COXCORD.
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.
THE LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
[continued.]
By E. P. Tenney.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
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.
He
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
112 LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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
ships.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
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
away.
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
thoughts.
"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
mug.
"Egad, Doctor, what is this thou
prescribest for me ? "
LEGEND OF JOHX LEMN AND MARY GLASSE.
II
" 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
114
LEGEND OF fOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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
does."
"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,
very."
CHAPTER XXXV.
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.
H-hem."
"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.
LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
115
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-
mg-
-me.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
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.
ii6 LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
"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 exqui.site face which by ex-
citement kindled to their admira-
tion.
" 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.
LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE. 117
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
hither.
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
her.
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
Ii8
LUG END OF JOHN LliVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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
moment.
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.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
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
Hill."
"I am glad, Mary, to find you in
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
119
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
away."
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-
pedition.
"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
from.
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.
PHYSIOLOGY IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS.
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.
ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMENT.
121
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-
erally.
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-
cated.
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
Statutes.
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
world.
PHYSIOLOGIHS — REFERENCE AND ADVANCED.
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.
122 EDUCATIONAL DIJW RTMENT.
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.
PHYSIOLOGIES — ELEMENTARY.
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.
PHYSIOLOGIES — FOR TEACHERS' USE.
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.
124 NEW n AMPS HI RE NECROLOGY.
I.. \V. GLEASON.
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.
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.
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.
H. K. SLAVTON.
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
topics.
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.
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
SEPTEMBER, 1896.
No. 3,
View of Naval Academy from Opposite Bank of Severn River.
THE UNITED STATEvS NAVAL ACADEMY.
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
the
in
di-
its
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
126
THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY.
^ 4'Vl '
■^w^
Wr4i
-R
"'«4'
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-
THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY.
127
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.
12a
THE UNITED STATES NAl'AL ACADEMY.
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
THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY.
129
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
account.
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.
I30
THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY.
ATr^^SI?^!
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
place.
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-
nals.
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-
THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY.
131
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
projectiles.
Navigation : Nautical astronomy ;
methods of determining position at
deviation of
sea ; marine
surveying
U b. Practice Ship Bancroft.
and its
the compass in steel ships
correction.
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
J^'
Old Mortar and Gymnasiunn.
132
THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY.
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)
Supper
Call to studies ....
Release from studies
Taps
1:50
2:55
3\55
4:05
5:30
6:00
6:30
7:25
9:30
10:00
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.
THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY.
133
■■-^-4
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
demerits.
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.
134
THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY.
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
THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY.
135
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
month.
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
THE DACO
give
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-
ishing."
"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
THE DAGO.
137
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
departure.
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
heed.
"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
repertory."
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,
Dave."
"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
138
THE DAGO.
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."
THE DAGO.
139
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 :
140
THE DAGO.
"Well, }'ou '\e had a devil of a
time, have ii't you ! "
" Ye.s, haven't you ? "
"Oh, yes, but what will people
think?"
"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
ears."
"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
now?"
"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
sure."
" 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 ju.st 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
THE DAGO.
141
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
14:
THE DAGO.
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-
fer!'"
"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,
Phil?"
" 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 ? ' '
THE DAGO.
143
"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
all.
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,
proceeded.
"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-
pressed.
" 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
teeth.
" 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
144
THE DAGO.
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-
turber.
"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
Italy.
" 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
trouble."
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
so.
"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
THE DAGO.
U5
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
these."
' ' 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
house."
"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,
146
THE DAGO.
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
you?"
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
AS THE BUD MUST BLOOM.
147
and irrevocably married ? You were
ver>^ keen to know nie, why did n't
you make out Dave Harris as
well?"
"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
condition."
"Name it."
' ' That we are not to be married b}'
Squire Hardscrabble."
AS THE BUD MUST BLOOM.
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 mu.st sleep.
So hearts must break.
THE WARDER OF THE PAvSS: A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
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
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
149
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."
I50
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
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
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
151
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
Haystack.
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
sands."
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
152
A SKETCir OF FRANCONIA.
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
mountains.
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.
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
153
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
life.
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-
154
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
-f
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
centuries."
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.
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
:)0
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-
V..
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."
156
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
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
■.?-T*-.
HT^^tsFrMi'fas-r'
-f-IJ!
'$:
Franconia Inn.
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
157
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.
i5«
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
i
i%\ I s.
Ik
•■f
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
Y\
Ci:urch.
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
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
159
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
people.
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.
i6o
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
■v._
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.
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
i6i
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
spent.
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
academy.
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.
l62
A SKETCH OF FRANCONIA.
TT'
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.
IDEALS.
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.
FRANCONIA'S PROFILE.
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 ! "
£
a;
A PEMBROKE FARMER.
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
lines.
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.
FAR AWAY.
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.
MRS. ANNIE E. HUTCHINSON.
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-
ford.
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 UTUMN.
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,
1888.
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-
tion.
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.
AUTUMN.
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.
MISCOXCEPTIONS OF UNITARIANISM BY UNITARIANS
THEMSELVEvS AND OTHERvS.
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
church-going.
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
IJO
MISCONCEPTIONS OF UNITARIANISM.
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
teachings.
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
MISCONCEPTIONS OF UNITARIANISM.
171
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.
172
MISCONCEPTIONS OF UNITARIANISM
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 pure.st
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
MISCONCEPTIONS OF UNITARIANISM.
173
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 Unitariani.sm ? 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
attention.
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
174
AS WING IN THE OLD HOME GARDEN.
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 la.st
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
others.
A-SWING IN THE OLD HOME GARDEN.
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
A-SJV/NG IN THE OLD HOME GARDEN.
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.
/o
THE LEGEND OF JOHN EEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
[continued.]
By E. F. Tenney.
CHAPTER XX.WIII.
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
did.
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
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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
you."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
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-
178
LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
179
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
knew.
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.
i8o LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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
skies.
CHAPTER XL.
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
ago."
" What do you want?"
"I am growing old too fa.st, 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
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
i8i
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
road."
" 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
me."
" 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
you."
"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
lycvin.
"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
up.
"Ask Martha, John, ask Martha,
l82
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
she knows." And the doctor fell in
apoplexy ; and was dead before Mar-
tha returned.
CHAPTER XLI.
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-
lege.
[ /"o he contiuiied.^
Conducted by F?'ed Gowing, State Superintendent of Public Itistruction.
RURAL SCHOOL PROBLEM.^
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-
m-
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
ED UCA TIONAL DEPAR TMENT.
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-
NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.
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
gracious.
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
employed.
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.
W. II. SISE.
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.
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.
H. A. ALLBEE.
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.
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.
P. P. PARROTT.
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.
C. F. KITTREDGE.
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.
n
Rev. Mary Baker Eddy
The Granite Monthly.
Vol. XXI.
OCTOBER, 1896.
No.
ANDOVER.
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
interest.
^^T
'^♦-^
^r-
tK
Highland Lake.
i88
AN DO VER.
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
astonishment."
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.
ANDO VER.
189
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.
190
AN DO VER.
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
magistrate.
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
AN DOVER.
191
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-
wry.
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.
192
ANDO VER.
F. E Putney
C. E Carr,
Miss Mariana Marston.
Mrs. Thompson and W. S. Carr.
laiHiMiiai
' "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
ANDO VER.
193
r
^
V-
dA
^ *^.
Mi
r»j
^i^w
. ...^
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.
'S
4^.
Sk
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
churches.
In 1 795 the meeting-house was torn
down, and the present one erected in
194
ANDO VER.
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
ANDOJ'ER.
195
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.
have
"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
196
ANDO VER.
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-
ANDOVER.
197
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
\A^
Rev. J. F. Morton.
Miss Smith.
Miss Scales.
Miss Emerson.
FACULTY OF PROCTOR ACADEMY.
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.
1 98 ON MIDDLE GROUND.
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."
ON MIDDLE GROUND.
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.
ffi
REV. MARY BAKER EDDY.
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 :
200
REV. MARY BAKER EDDY.
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.
REV. MARY BAKER EDDY.
20I
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-
ness.
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
W'ay-shower.
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'
organized.
IXCIDENTS IX MRS. EDDY'S LIFE.
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.
202
REV. MARY BAKER EDDY.
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
restoration."
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
REV. MARY BAKER EDDY.
203
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
understood.
" 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
204
REV. MARY BAKER EDDY.
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 :
EX-GOVERNOR MOODY CURRIER.
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.
MRS. EDDY UNFOLDS CHRISTIAN
SCIENCE.
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.
REW MARY BAKER EDDY
205
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 cau.se, 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."
2o6
REV. MAR)' HAKER EDDY.
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
REV. MARY BAKER EDDY
207
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
Christ.
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
sick?
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-
ter.
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
208
REV. MARY BAKER EDDY.
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
REV. MARY BAKER EDDY
209
and spiritualism, or z.ny speculative
theory.
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
death."
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.
-^-^^^]|^/^^^y^
HEMLOCK.
By Fred Lezuis Pattee.
KING OF THE I.AKELANDS.
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.
THE STORM- WRESTLER.
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?
THE SNOW-BEARER.
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.
HEMLOCK. 211
THE HEART OF THE SOLITUDES.
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.
MOST SPIRITUAL OF TREES.
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.
BROTHER OF MY SOUL.
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.
AUNT BETSY'S THANK-OFFKRING.
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
wimmen."
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
AUNT BETSY'S THANK-OFFERING.
213
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.
14
AUNT BETSY'S THANK-OFFERING.
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
thinkin.'"
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
persons."
" 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
AUNT BETSY'S THANK-OFFERING.
21
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
2l6
AUNT BETSY'S THANK-OFFERING.
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
AUNT BETSY'S THANK-OFFERING.
217
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'
gri.st, 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
lookin'.
' ' 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
empty-handed.
"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
2l8
A UNT BE TSV S THA NK- OFFERING .
'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
BROTHERHOOD.
219
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.
BROTHERHOOD.
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 !
THE STORY OF THE LADY BLANCHE.
[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.
THE STORY OF THE LADY BLANCHE.
221
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
THE STORY OF THE LADY BLANCHE.
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
6?<%'%i
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,
England.
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
THE STORY OF THE LADY BLANCHE.
223
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
1875.
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-
224
THE STORY OF THE LADY BLANCHE.
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."
THE STORY OF THE LADY BLANCHE.
225
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.
THREE REPRESENTATIVE FARMERS.
By H. H. Metcalf.
JETHOUGH New Hamp-
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 :
HON. CHARI.ES MCDAXIEL, SPRING-
FIELD.
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.
THREE REPRESENTATIVE FARMERS.
22-
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-
ization.
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
228
THREE REPRESENTATIVE EARMERS.
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
Plymouth.
SAMUEL S. WHITE, SULLIVAN.
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-
ment.
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
years.
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
THREE REPRESENTATIVE FARMERS.
229
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.
HERBERT L. BROWX, CANTERBURY.
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,
230
LEGEND OF [OHN LEJ7N AND MARY CLASSE.
2:18, and a large number of fine road
horses.
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
undertaking.
THE SINGER.
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.
THE LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
[concluded.]
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
LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE. 231
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
planet.
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."
CHAPTER XLII.
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.
232 LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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.
CHAPTER XLIII.
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
deserved.
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,
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
233
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
sleep.
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.
CHAPTER XLIV.
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
234 LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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
harbor.
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
fences.
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.
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
235
They ma}' have been so, arising from
purely physical causes, harmless but
perplexing".
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.
CHAPTER XLV.
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
mind.
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-
tled.
And then he remembered how
often upon this rock he had spent
236 LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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
world.
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
worlds.
CHAPTER XLVI.
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
LEGEND OF JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
237
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
Head.
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
238 LEGEND OE JOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
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.
CHAPTER XLVII.
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
affairs.
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-
LEGEND OF fOHN LEVIN AND MARY GLASSE.
239
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 ea.st-
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.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
When Doctor Hammersmith re-
turned, and Raymond Foote went to
his own people at Chebacco, Mary
Glasse went with him. One now
goes pa.st 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 ea.st there are w'ide
areas of salt grass, and expanses of
240
LEGEND OE JOHN I.I-A'IN AND MARY GLASSE.
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-
zon.
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
tyranny.
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
Choate's.
" 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
glad.
"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
THE MIDNIGHT STORM. 241
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.]
THE MIDNIGHT STORM.
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.
ONE OR TWO DAILY SESSIONS FOR HIGH SCHOOLS.
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
plan.
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
work.
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,
EDUCATIONAL DEPARTMENT. 243
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.
?44
RD I T.l 'FIONA L DRPA R TMENT.
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.
NEW HAMPSHIRE STATE TEACHERS' ASSOCIATION.
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
vigorous.
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
prospect.
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
NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.
245
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.
M ANSON SEAVEV.
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
bookkeeping.
E. T. BL'RLEIGH.
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.
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.
246 NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROEOGY.
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.
D. B. EASTMAN.
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.
J. M. BEEDE.
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.
X
X
K
o
y.
---
'X
C
o
y
>J-.
o
The Granite Monthly.
Vol.. XXL
NOVEMBER, 1896.
No.
Front View, with Lawn and Driveway.
THE MARY HITCHCOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL.
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-
manent.
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
miles.
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
248
THE MARY HITCJICOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL.
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 MARY HITCHCOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL.
249
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-
Sienna
building
marble. This part of the
is set apart as a special
Administration Building, fronn Northwest.
250
THE MARY HITCHCOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL.
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
THE MARY HITCHCOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL.
251
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
252
THE MAR) HTICHCOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL.
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-
tients.
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 ca.se 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 clo.se 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-
topsy.
After inspecting the surgical build-
ing, the visitor retraces his steps to
the rotunda, passes along the west
THE MARY HITCHCOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL.
253
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-
scribed.
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.
254 ^'///^ J/.IA')' HITCHCOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
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
THE MARY HITCHCOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL.
255
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.
256
THE MARY HITCHCOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL,
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-
cine.
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.
THE MARY HITCHCOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL.
257
private
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.
258
THE MARY HITCHCOCK MEMORIAL HOSPITAL.
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
contribution.
" 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.
NIGHT ON MOOSIIvAUKE.
A SKICTCH CHARCOALED IX I'ROSK.
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. )
THE ROYAE HUNT.
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.
THEIR PATIENT EXPECTANCIKvS.
By Dora L. Burns.
I.
'"Taint
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,
Emmeline."
" 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
scrimpin'."
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
THEIR PATIENT EXPECTANCIES.
261
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
severity.
"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
melanchol3^
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
262
THEIR PA TIJiNT EXPECTANCIES.
silent contempt. And Miss Phoebe
had never suspected her sister's deep-
laid schemes, for Mrs. Jenkins was
most discreetly mute upon that sub-
ject.
ir.
Mrs. Jenkins opened her end door
a prudent crack and peered out wa-
rily.
"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-
step.
" 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
duck."
' ' 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-
wood."'
' ' 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-
fully.
"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
Obadiah.
"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-
THEIR PATIENT EXPECTANCIES.
263
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-
monished.
"Yes, Obadiah, you're thin as a
hatchet," supplemented Mrs. Jenkins.
Mrs. Alonzo Greenleaf was making
a Sunda}' afternoon call a few days
later.
" 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
mornin'.
" 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
Phoebe.
" '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-
four."
"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-
ings.
" 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
"tan't."
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. "
264
THF.IR PA TII'.NI F.XPIiCl ANCIES.
" Ivand ! " was Mrs. Jenkins's feeble
response. "Ain't it the second time
he 's been up that liill within a
week?"
" '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
adornments.
"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.
THEIR PATIEN7 EXPECTANCIES.
265
"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
observation.
' ' I always did say Marshy favored
me," she spoke with becoming mod-
esty.
And each old sister smiled gently
at the mental dullness of the other.
"She's a nice little girl. Marshy
266
THEIR PATIENT EXPECTANCIES.
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
tendered.
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."
^^-M
"^'^i
THE RETURN.
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.
WINCHEvSTKR.
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 ea.st
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,
WINCHESTER.
269
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
north.
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
270
WINCHESTER.
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
WINCH ESTER.
2-1
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 Hou.se" hill,
and where the dwelling-house of
Arthur Burbank now stands.
It is not known exactly at what
27-
WINCIIJiSTRR.
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,
1739-
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-
WINCHESTER.
•li
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
waters.
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,
ca.st 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.
274
WINCIIhS'lliR.
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-
ada.
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
campaigns.
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
WINCHESTER.
■IT>
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
276
]\1NC HESTER.
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-
tion.
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
escaped.
On the opposite side appears this
inscription :
In memory of fourteen men who were way-
laid by the Indians near this place June i6tii,
174.^.
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
WINCHESTER.
277
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.
278
WINCHESTER.
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
measures.
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
\
''9
1
wKSfSm^^^
1
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
WINCHESTER.
279
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.
28o
WINCIIESlliR.
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-
salists.
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-
ground.
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
WINCHESTER.
281
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
Winchester.
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
282
VV INCHES'! ER.
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
villages.
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
Town.
There are twenty-two stores, hand-
TU O LIVES.
283
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
TWO LIVES.
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 !
ANOTHER NEW ENGLAND P0p:T— PHILIP H. SAVAGE.
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."
ANOTHER NEW ENGLAND POET.
28.S
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
centur}'.
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
286
ANOTHER NFAV ENGLAND POET.
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,
MocsiIauKe.
ANOTHER NEW ENGLAND POET.
287
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
name.
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
faith.
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-
rance.
His creed, that of the " Dying Phi-
288
ANOTHER NEW ENGLAND POET.
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 ! "
A LOVER.
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.
^i3
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.
o
REPRESENTATIVE AGRICUETURISTvS.
By H. H. Metcalf.
C. H. DUNCAN, HANCOCK.
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
him.
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
crops.
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
J92
REPRESENTA TI VE A GRIC UL TURIS TS.
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.
JOHN W. FARR, IJTTLRTON.
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
THE MIDNIGHT OF YEARS. 293
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.
THE MIDNIGHT OF YEARS.
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.
294
POLLY TUCKER.
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.
POIvIvY TUCKER.
//)' Annie J. Conwell.
CHAPTER I.
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-
bors.
Would you like to hear about our
little home ? There are woods right
behind the house, a row of willows
POLLY TUCKER.
295
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
now.
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
296
POLLY TUCKER.
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
done.
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
POLLY TUCKER.
297
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
fire.
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 ?
CHAPTER II.
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.
298
POLL Y TUCKER.
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
POLLY TUCKER.
299
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-
breeding-.
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
before.
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
;oo
AT HOME.
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.]
AT HOME.
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.
THE PRESENT STATUS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE EDUCATION.
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
learning.
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.
302 ED UCA TIONA L DEPAR TMENT.
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 expen.ses 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-
EDUCATIONAL PI-'.PAKTMENT. 303
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
304 EDUCATIONAJ. PIUW RTMENT.
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
ED UCA TIONA L I )EPA R TMENT.
305
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-
amined.
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
3o6 EDUCATIONAL DEPARTMENT.
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.
EDUCA TIONAL DEPARTMENT.
307
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
3o8
ED UCA TIONAL DJiPAR TMJiNT.
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
ED UCA TIONA L PRPAR TMENT.
309
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
themselves.
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.
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.
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.
W. D. PERKINS.
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.
O. D. CHENEY.
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.
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.
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.
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.
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
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
312
A SKETCH OF MARL BO ROUGH.
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
library.
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
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
313
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.
314
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
Monadnrck, ^rom Albert P. Frost's Residence.
|« JBr
^ ^^m|
^IKS^^^Bi^^^^^a
Ll' '"'^ ' - mSuJk
,1- , %
Rir J^mhIB
■i<i|C^^, ^
"^^S^l^i-d :^-i^iJ
i
Hotel.
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
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
315
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.
(
-t«
Arthur M. Doolittle.
CKnton Collins.
Charles L. Bemis.
E. P. Kichardson.
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
317
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-
frey.
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
attractions.
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
3^S
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
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-
cense.
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
A SKETCH OF MARLBORO UGH.
319
best possible work for the rising gen-
erations.
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.
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
321
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
322
A SKETCH OF 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
1'iiL.jfi
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.
A SKETCH Of MARLnOROUGH.
323
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.
r^/'
Levi A. Fuller.
Luke Knowlton.
James Knowlton.
V^
A. A, Wallace.
C. O. Whitney.
Warren H. Clarke.
Wl. E. Wr.gh'
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.
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
325
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.
y
41
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.
326
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
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
'iS.
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
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
327
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
A SKI'lTCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
r
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.
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
329
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-
limities.
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
330
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
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
grazing.
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.
A SKETCH OF MARLBOROUGH.
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
33-
BY ARTIST'S FALL.
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
church.
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 ARTIST'S FALL.
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.
DEUS EX MACHINA.
PHONOGRAPHIC PHANTASY
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."
"Don!"
"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
better."
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
resi.st the temptation, but, O Tom,
Mamma and Elaine would never let
me."
"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-
DEUS EX MA CHIN A.
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
back?"
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-
ness.
"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
child."
" 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
DEUS EX MACHINA.
335
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
shut.
"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
will.
"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 mu.st 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
twenty-three.
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.
33^
DEUS EX MA CHINA.
"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-
deed."
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
complied.
DEUS EX MA CHIN A.
337
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.
338
DEUS EX MA CHINA.
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,
sneezed.
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
DEUS EX MACHINA,
339
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-
ble."
"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
340
DEUS EX MA CHIN A.
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
hair.
" 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-
lett.
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
DEUS EX MA CHIN A.
341
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
home."
" 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
consent.
" 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 ?
342
DEUS ]iX MA CHIN A.
" 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-
sion.
" 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
knows.
"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
DEUS EX MA CHIN A.
343
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
all."
"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
again."
Down stairs at the door it was ask-
ing cheerily for Mrs. Tremlett, Miss
Tremlett, and Miss Dorothea Trem-
lett.
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.
WITCH HAZEL.
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.
WHITTIER AND HIS POETRY.'
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-
hood.
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.
546
WIIirriER AND HIS POETRY.
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
WHITHER AND HIS POETRY.
347
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-
ica.
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
348
VVHITTIER AND HIS POETRY.
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
Songs."
" 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
him."
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
clay.
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,
WHITTIER AND HIS POETRY.
349
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?
350
WHIITIER AND HIS POETRY.
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.
WHIT 'HER AND HIS POETRY.
oo
" 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
352
WHIT TIER AND HIS POETRY.
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-
terpiece.
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."
A SONG OF THE PINE FOREST. 353
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.
A SONG OF THE PINE FOREST.
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.
REPRESENTATIVE AGRICULTURISTS.
By H. H. Metcalf.
WARREN TRIPP, EPSOM.
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-
decease.
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.
REPRESENTA THE AGRICUL TURISTS.
355
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-
ments.
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.
WILLIAM H. RYDER, BEDFORD.
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
gardener.
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
356
REPRESENTATIVE AGRICULTURISTS.
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.
INSPIRATION.
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.
THROUGH NEW HAMPSHIRE WITH HAMMER AND PICK.
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
358
THROUGH NEW HAMPSHIRE.
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
THROUGH NEW HAMPSHIRE. 359
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
360
TffROrCrH NEW lIAMrSIlIRE.
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
identity.
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
THROUGH NEW HAMPSHIRE.
361
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
knife.
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-
cide.
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
362
THROUCH NEW HAMPSHIRE.
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}^ who.se 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
GOOD BY AND WELCOME. 363
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.
GOOD BY AND WELCOME.
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.
POLLY TUCKKR.
By Annie J. Conwell.
CHAPTER III.
^^^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 TUCKER.
565
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
366
POLLY TUCKER.
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
doorway.
CHAPTER IV^
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
POLL Y TUCKER.
T^^l
•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
begin.
" 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
house."
'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
music.
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
368
POLLY TUCKER.
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
here.
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
him.
" 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-
EDUCA TIONAL DEPA R TMENT.
369
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
cannot.
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.
THE RURAL SCHOOL PROBLEM.'
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
-•>/
o
ED UCA TIONA L DEPA R TMENT.
: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
farms.
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-
ED UCA TIONA L DEPAR TMENT.
37^
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
perish."
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
37
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.
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.
DR. NATHANIEL DORMAN.
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
health.
J. Y. SCRUTON.
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.
NEW HAMPSHIRli KRCROLOirY. 373
REV. BENJAMIN RUSS.
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.
DR. C. II. LARABEE.
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. H. E. PARKER.
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.
II. B. MARDEN.
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.
REV. A. H. QUINT.
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,
374 NEW HAMPSHIRE NECROLOGY.
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
years.
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
1861.
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.
CAI'T. THOMAS MORRISON.
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."
DATE DUE
A fine of Two Cents will be charged for each day tne
book is kept overtime.
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