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"A man may go back to the place of his birth 
He cannot go back to his youth." 











"Holds fast the golden mean, 
And lives contentedly between 
The little and the great." 

OVER, a small town in Norfolk 
County, Massachusetts, is about six- 
teen miles from the State House in 
Boston. It borders upon the Charles 
River and possesses natural features of 
remarkable interest and beauty. Its fertile farms 
and comfortable homes illustrate a seldom por- 
trayed type of New England life. Some aspects 
of home and village life belonging to the first half 
of the last century are presented in these pages, 
in which customary forms of expression, and the 
names and uses of common things are recorded 
with fidelity. 

John Battle, born 1716, married Mehitable Sher- 
man of Connecticut. Josiah, their son, born in 
Dover, married Lucy Richards, and their second 
daughter, Lucy, was my grandmother Griggs. 

6 In Dover on the Charles 

In the archives of the State House at Boston, as 
I am informed by a recent writer, is preserved the 
original muster roll of the company which marched 
from Dover to Lexington, April 19, 1775, under 
Captain Ebenezer Battle of Dedham. The name 
of Josiah Battle, private, appears on that muster 
roll. My grandmother has told us that her father 
was ploughing in his field some distance from home, 
when the messenger arrived with the summons to 
join his company. The "Minute Man" left his 
plough in the furrow, put his horse into the barn, 
and then found that his young wife had gone after 
the cows. He took his powder horn and musket, 
filled his knapsack with "rye and ingin" bread and 
sausages, and was on his way to meet the British 
before she returned. 

Josiah Battle owned a large tract of land on the 
east slope of Pegan Hill, divided by the road lead- 
ing from Medfield to Natick. He lived on the site 
from which John Adams removed to Elmira, about 
forty years ago. His six children grew up, married, 
and settled on portions of his land, within such 
distance of his own house that he could visit them 
all in a morning stroll. 

Lucy Battle, my grandmother, married Reuben 
Griggs of Ashford, Connecticut, the son of Nathan 
Griggs, whose uniform and sword hung in our garret, 

In Dover on the Charles J 

and whose Bible, knives, and queer old spectacles 
are now in my possession. Reuben Griggs was a 
shoemaker, and worked at his trade in Dover. 
After his marriage he took his wife away from 
Dover for several years. Between the years 1810- 
1815, he lived in Amherst, Massachusetts, and in 
Wilmington, Vermont, and afterwards in Ashford, 
Connecticut. In Amherst he pastured his cow on 
the present site of Amherst College buildings. 
Noah Webster, the lexicographer, lived in Amherst, 
and my mother, then five or six years old, used to 
peer through the garden fence to watch his two 
pretty and amiable daughters among their flowers. 
I have a letter written to my grandmother by Mrs. 
Catherine Whiting of Wilmington, Vermont, in 
1815. They were in Ashford on my mother's tenth 
birthday, and a friend whom my mother always 
held in loving remembrance made for her a little 
wooden rocking-chair which her grandson now has 
in his possession. 

Great-grandfather Battle offered such inducements 
that his daughter returned to Dover and settled upon 
the farm next to that of Uncle Rufus. I have never 
known when and by whom the house was built. I 
have the original deed given by the heirs of Josiah 
Battle to Reuben Griggs and Lucy, in settling the 
estate in 1834. In later years the name came to be 

8 In Dover on the Charles 

spelled Battelle. The Battelles of Strawberry Hill 
and the "West End of Dover," were not of this 

Lucy, only child of Reuben and Lucy, married 
Hiram Walker Jones, April 4, 1830. 

My grandfather, Samuel Jones, of South Natick, 
seventh in the line of descent from John Alden, 
married Mary Walker of Marlboro. His sister Polly 
became the second wife of Lee Claflin, of Hopkin- 
ton, and step-mother of William Claflin afterward 
governor of Massachusetts, my father's manhood 
friend. Lucy, another sister, was the mother of 
"Cousin Sally" of Milford, Massachusetts, who mar- 
ried the Colonel Johnson for whom I was named. 
Sarah, "Aunt Parkhurst," was the mother of our 
valued and intimate friends, the "Parkhurst Cousins" 
of Milford. 

My father was born in South Natick, September 
4, 1807. The scenes of his boyhood are depicted in 
Mrs. H. B. Stowe's Old Town Folks, but the Jones 
family of that book are not our connections. At 
the present time, my sister and I have no knowledge 
of any relation, however remote, bearing the name 
of Jones. 

When my father was very young, his mother died, 
and he was brought up in the family of Mr. Nathan 
Phillips, in West Dedham. Mr. Phillips was a car- 

In Dover on the Charles p 

penter and builder, and from him my father learned 
the trade which he followed until the year 1839. 
He built church edifices in many of the surrounding 
towns, among them the Unitarian Meeting House 
in Sherborn, and the Orthodox, afterward the Cath- 
olic Church in North Natick. It was customary 
for employers to furnish their men with liquor. 
After listening to a lecture by John B. Gough, my 
father resolved to depart from the custom, and duly 
informed his men of his purpose. He was about to 
"raise" a barn for Uncle Rufus Battle. All went 
well until the "ridge pole" was wanted and then it 
was not to be found. After much search, my father 
was informed that it would be forthcoming as soon 
as the men were supplied with their "grog." He 
stood firm, the men yielded, and the barn was 
raised. On that day and occasion the question of 
liquor was forever settled between him and his men. 
While his men were at work on the North Natick 
meeting house, he went to Boston with his team 
to buy lumber. While his wagon was loading on 
T Wharf, he was struck senseless by a falling tim- 
ber, and on the third day after was brought home 
accompanied by a physician. He recovered after 
months of critical illness, but, one side having been 
paralyzed, he was never again able to carry on his 

io In Dover on the Charles 

He took up farming, added to the land which my 
grandfather owned, and altered and improved the 
buildings. For many years he was agent for the 
Dedham Mutual and other fire insurance companies, 
and Justice of the Peace. He held many town and 
county offices, including those of Selectmen and 
Town Treasurer. He was spoken of as Mr. Jones 
or Squire Jones. I feel safe in saying that, an up- 
right, self-respecting man of "good judgment," he 
was honored and trusted by all who knew him. In 
his family he was loved and obeyed, not feared or 
dreaded. I never knew him to fly into a passion, 
and never heard anybody say "father is cross," but 
he could show displeasure, and administer deserved 
reproof. He had the gift of managing men so as to 
secure the best results from their efforts. This 
power was doubtless due to his own mental and 
moral poise, and to the care with which he planned 
all the details of work. To my mother he was in- 
variably courteous and considerate, and as devoted 
as a lover. Any differences of opinion between 
them were discussed and adjusted in private. We 
never dreamed of appealing from one to the other. 
"Your mother knows best," or "Your father is the 
one to decide that," is all we should have gained by 
so doing. As I look back upon my mature inter- 
course with my parents, I realize the truth of Miss 

In Dover on the Charles n 

Mulock's saying that the real friendship between 
us must have had its root and nurture in respect on 
both sides. His sense of humor made my father a 
most entertaining companion, and those who knew 
him, even now refer to "Mr. Jones's stories." These 
stories included no low jokes or injurious personali- 
ties, and I never knew him to utter an oath. 

After my brother Waldo's death, followed by 
that of both grandparents, my father sold the farm 
to Mr. Slavin, the present owner, and removed to 
the Stephen Jones place opposite the old Josiah 
Battle farm. This Mr. Jones was no connection of 
ours. In 1867, he sold this place to H. R. Stevens, 
and bought a house in Franklin, Massachusetts, 
where he died December 2, 1875, and was buried 
in the family lot in the cemetery in Dover. 

My mother, born in 1809, was contemporary with 
Darwin, Gladstone, Tennyson, Lincoln and Holmes. 
The Boston known to Dr. Holmes she knew; the 
public events which he noted were the events in 
which she was interested. She attended district 
schools, for the most part under male instructors, 
some of whom were men of marked character. Her 
taste for reading, and her intelligent interest in the 
world's progress, she owed to "Master" Whitney, 
and to the hours in which she read aloud to her 
father. To the last year of her life she regularly 

12 In Dover on the Charles 

perused the daily and weekly newspapers, not only 
the local and news columns, but the leading article 
and editorial notes, prices current, and especially 
the records of the legislature and the "doings" of 
Congress. She knew the "views" of all the prom- 
inent members of Congress, and was familiar with 
the President's policy. She had her opinion of 
public men and measures, and her reasons for that 
opinion. Fairy tales, and purely imaginative writ- 
ings of any sort had no interest for her, from lack of 
plausibility. "It is not reasonable" was her sweep- 
ing condemnation of any story which she considered 
untrue to life. In advanced age, when she was too 
feeble to read columns of fine print, she would look 
over the evening paper, and by means of headlines, 
select the articles which she wished to have read to 
her. She enjoyed poetry of religion, patriotism, 
and sentiment, and had many favorites in verse. 

By those who knew her in youth, I have been 
told that she had remarkably beautiful dark brown 
hair, and that in the "square dances" of that period 
she excelled by her ease and grace. I often imagine 
her growing up in these days of colleges and clubs, 
where she would have been able to take a high place 
among educated women. As it was she did not 
lack scope for her abilities. Married at twenty, 
she bore eight children, of whom five grew to 

In Dover on the Charles rj 

womanhood, in a household which included old 
people, children, menservants, womenservants, and 
frequent guests. 

In my father's absence or illness, she carried on 
his work. During a serious illness, her head was 
shaved, and her soft brown hair changed to snow 
white bristles. Although only thirty-three years 
old, she conformed to the inexorable custom, and 
donned the "false front" and close cap which she 
wore for the next twenty-five years. Then her 
white hair had become fine and soft, her face had 
aged to correspond, fashion had changed, and she 
thankfully discarded cap and false front. 

In temperament she was truly fearless, recogniz- 
ing danger, and taking all possible precautions, after 
which it was of "no use to worry." Carelessness, 
forgetfulness, and foolishness, in her eyes, were with- 
out excuse. Foolishness meant the failure to do 
under certain circumstances the best we knew or 
might have known had we used "common sense." 
Praise from her was a reward, and blame a long 
remembered punishment. Both mother and father 
had a horror of debt, and a realizing sense of the 
value of "ready money." A bargain or contract 
made, just so much money was then considered to 
have been withdrawn from their available resour- 
ces. To be entirely out of any one household ne- 

14 fn Dover on the Charles 

cessity, or to be reduced to one set of napery or 
bedding was never within my mother's exper- 

She was accustomed to say, "Do your work first, 
then play." "Always dress when about your work 
so that you will not be ashamed to go to the door 
if anybody comes." "Go just as you are'' "Do 
your part." "Pay him what he asks." "There is 
as much in saving as in earning." "Because you 
have money by you is no reason why you should 
spend it." "Always keep some money by you." 
"Be neighborly but do not meddle." "If you can- 
not keep a secret, how can you expect your con- 
fident to do so ?" What Senator Hoar in his Auto- 
biography says of his mother's true democracy is 
equally true of my mother. Captain William Sher- 
man the great grandfather of Mrs. Hoar, was my 
mother's great, great grandfather. 

In her later years, my mother's courage, forgetful- 
ness of self, cheerful patience under infirmities and 
sorrows, her interest in an ever widening circle of 
friends, all are among the memories which we 
cherish. She died in Franklin, April 14, 1897, aged 

Eveline, the oldest child, after her marriage to 
Mr. J. Q. A. Nichols, lived first in East Randolph, 
now Holbrook, afterwards in Dover, and about 1862 

In Dover on the Charles 15 

removed to Elmira, New York, where she died in 
1895, surviving her husband fourteen years. 

Parthena taught the district school in West Ded- 
ham at the age of fourteen. After one year in the 
Charlestown Female Seminary, she taught in Lan- 
caster, Massachusetts, and later attended the Normal 
School with which Dana P. Colburn was connected 
in Providence. About 1855 she went to Newport, 
R. I., to be assistant in the Boy's High School, Mr. 
I. W. R. Marsh, Principal. In May 1864, she be- 
came the wife of Mr. Charles E. Hammett, Jr., of 
Newport. She died in 1 896, and her husband's death 
followed in 1902. 

Mary and Arabelle, the children next in age, died 
in early youth, and infancy. 

Waldo, the youngest child and only son, died 
when eight years of age. 

Inez Lenore remained with her parents during 
their lives, and now resides in Franklin. 

Alice, a teacher in the public schools, lived for 
many years in Newport, and now lives in Franklin. 


"Ghost-like I paced round the haunts ot my childhood." 

ROM a country road which curved 
around the base of a steep hill, a 
circling carriage-drive crossed a grass 
plot between a rounded maple and a 
drooping elm, and almost touched the 
doorstone of a spacious white farm-house. 

Some portions of the structure had been erected 
at a later date than that indicated by the great stone 
chimney and the broad roof which, in the rear, sloped 
to the height of the lower story. Natural features, 
gentle slopes, sudden descents, and level spaces, all 
had been considered in choosing sites for the house 
and the detached farm buildings. 

"The white rose tree that spent its musk 
For lover's sweeter praise." 

Across the south front a narrow grassy yard was 
enclosed by a white picket fence. On either side 
of the gateway stood a tree-like purple "laylock" 
bush, whose branches were not so far above the 
ground that children could not pluck the thick, 
smooth leaves, to rend them with a "smack." The 
up-springing sprouts under these trees were often 

In Dover on the Charles ij 

cut with scythe or sickle, as was the grass, other- 
wise cared for by the dew, rain, sun, and snow. 

The old peach tree in the corner showed its age 
in the peeling bark and yellowed leaves, and its 
late-ripening fruit was blotched with mildew even 
on its sunny side. 

Blush roses faded too soon; cinnamon rose petals, 
at their best, were faded, crumpled, and set awry; 
"single" red roses fell at a touch; and yet the thorny 
thicket against the house was a pretty sight. One 
tall bush beside the parlor window bore old-fash- 
ioned white garden roses, of stock brought from 
France, delightful to sight and smell in their morn- 
ing freshness, and delightful to the taste as well in 
the mysteriously compounded and delicious sweet- 
meat known to us as Grandmother's "conserve of 
roses." Close by the house nestled a compact little 
bush bearing many crimson blossoms among its 
tiny leaflets, the Burgundy or Hundred-leaf rose, 
prettier far than its kindred, Province or Cabbage 
roses of modern gardens. 

Rose-bugs were the enemies of the roses them- 
selves, but slug-eaten foliage was happily unknown. 
Hips of various shapes and colors succeeded the 
roses, and decorated the leafless branches which 
stood out against their background of white-painted 

i8 In Dover on the Charles 

Short blades of wide grass hid the edges of the 
sunken door stone, on one side of which grew abed 
of grass pinks, overhung by drooping sprays of 
flowering almond. No blossoms ever appeared 
among the fragrant, finely cut leaves of southern- 
wood or boys' love, and I often wondered at the 
fact. I know now that Artemesia Abrotanum really 
blooms, though I have never seen its flower. Of 
the annuals which filled the borders, all have passed 
from my memory except tne white and crimson 
"globes," the eternal flowers. 

Often in the daytime, always at dusk, toads, large 
and small, came out from their hiding-places and 
hopped over the door-stone. From one direction 
or another the monotonous music of unseen tree 
toads sounded throughout mid-summer days. 
"We see but what we have the gift 
Of seeing; what we bring, we find." 

A portion of the door-yard boundary was formed 
by the front yard fence, next to whose corner post 
came the "gap," then the "great gate," and, paral- 
lel with a row of young shade trees, the rail-sur- 
mounted bank wall which ended at the stone steps 
near the corner of the "mill-house." 

Once, within my remembrance, a cider press was 
set up in this mill-house, but its horse power wheel 
was mainly used to run the threshing machines 

In Dover on the Charles 19 

and winnowing mill. When the men were upstairs 
busy with falling grain and flying chaff, one of the 
children was stationed below stairs to start and to 
stop the horse, and to see that he kept a steady 
pace in his journey around the track under the 
great wooden wheel. Sometimes duty grew irk- 
some to the child, and the wide open door tempted 
to a comfortable seat upon its broad threshold. 
Then the horse moved slowly and more slowly still, 
until his sudden start as he passed the door within 
reach of the flourished whip gave a corresponding 
jerk to the machinery, and betrayed the culprit to 
deserved reproof. 

In the east end of this building the "covered 
carriage" and best harness were kept in one room, 
and the open "express wagon" in another. Heavy 
timbers, empty barrels, harrow, cultivator, wheel- 
barrows, wooden horses, and other cumbrous tools 
were stored in the power room, the "lower part of 
the mill-house." Some years before, the red- 
painted carpenter's shop had been removed from 
its site near the road. Then bench, tool-chest, and 
all implements of the craft were placed in the upper 
story of the mill-house, where newly planed boards, 
curling shavings, and scattered saw dust testified 
to the never ceasing repairs and improvements in 
which my father found delight 3 

20 In Dover on the Charles 

Horserake and mowing machine, alternating 
with the roomy yellow sleigh, occupied another 
corner of this "mill-house chamber." An ideal 
place for play on a hot summer morning was found 
in this spacious room, when the wide double doors 
stood open upon a grassy plot, among whose gravelly 
spaces May-weed, sorrel, rabbit-foot clover, and 
five-finger straggled to the wheelruts of the road 
beyond. Under the pear tree, at the foot of the 
stone steps, stood the carefully supported "grin 
stone," its lowest point just touching water in the 
moss-covered trough beneath. 

"Upon the budded apple trees 

The robins sing by twos and threes, 
And ever, at the faintest breeze, 
Down drops a blossom." 

A "pair of bars," in the fence extending from mill- 
house to "corn-house" gave entrance to the apple 
orchard, separated by stone-walls from the high- 
way, the next estate, and "our lane." Its sloping 
ground effectively displayed the green, white, and 
rose-colored canopy above the dandelion sprinkled 

Early "jinctins" (June-eatings?) small, yellow, and 
shiny, were the first among the "early" apples, 
followed by "early sopsy vines" (Sops-of-wine ?) 
Heavy, bulging, purple-lined "fall sopsy vines" no 

In Dover on the Charles 21 

other baked apples had such color, such juice, or 
such flavor. Metcalf sweetings, baldwins, Roxbury 
russets, Rhode Island greenings, porters, Newton 
pippins, crow's eggs, and Peck's pleasants, on bend- 
ing boughs and fruit-strewn ground, I seem to see 

them now. 

"The kindly fruits of the earth." 

As a protection against rats and mice, the corn- 
house was raised upon four pillars, and entered by 
removable steps. Always in perfect order, the 
well-filled interior made a pretty picture, which in 
memory's reproduction, shows my Grandfather as 
the central figure. Scorning one of the new patent 
cornshellers, close at hand, and discarding the 
customary iron shovel, he preferred to "shell" corn 
by means of an iron-edged board which was placed 
across the large red tub, and upon which he sat. 
In time with his rhythmic rasping, yellow kernels 
fell into the bushel measure, and white cobs flew 
through the air. 

Crevices in the high-slatted bins showed closely 
packed ears of yellow "field" corn, and of rice-like 
popping corn. By standing on tiptoe, or upon an 
overturned wooden measure, we could bury our 
hands deep in bins of winter rye, spring rye, buck- 
wheat, or oats. Great white ears of sweet corn, 
dried and wrinkled, and seed corn of other sorts 

22 In Dover on the Charles 

were tied together and suspended by their turned- 
back and braided husks. 

Harvesting implements, cradles, flails, rakes, pitch- 
forks, scythes, and sickles; corn-dropper, and canvas 
bags for the sower's grain; clean baskets, wooden 
measures, and great piles of grain bags; in racks 
overhead, or on pegs against the bins, all were ready 
for use. 

Heavy roller, stone-drag, horse-sled, tip-carts, 
and farm-wagon, were "under cover" in the "corn 
house cellar" which was entered from the lane. 
"Bursting with hay were the barns." 

Carefully located, commodious, and well-equipped f 
the barn and adjoining buildings were planned with 
a view to saving labor in necessary work, and with 
consideration for the needs of the sheltered animals. 

Tom and Bill, the black farm-horses, stood side 
by side, opposite Kate's stall and the usually vacant 
ox-stalls. In winter all the mows were filled to the 
roof above the scaffolds, and two "hay-riggings" 
stood against the barred north doors; but in sum- 
mer, when both doors were thrown open, the 
dangerously tempting hay-cutter and ladders pru- 
dently set aside, and the whole wide space awaited 
the incoming loads of new-mown hay, then the barn 
floor, furnished and peopled by our imagination, 
became a charmed spot. 

In Dover on the Charles 23 

"Mowing away" had great interest for us; rye, 
oats, buckwheat, and bush-beans were threshed 
under our supervision. Grandfather was expert at 
"cradling" grain, and one of the last to give up the 
old-time implement; nor was he less skilful in swing- 
ing the flail with the hired men on the threshing 
floor. Later in the year, corn ears were piled high 
between the mows. Except as an excuse for party, 
and occasional frolic, husking-bees belonged to the 
past, and the men husked the corn on rainy days 
and in the autumn evenings. 

On one side of the barn floor, under high mows 
of English hay, cornstalks, meadow-hay, and bed- 
ding straw, were openings through which "feed" 
and "litter" were put down for the cows in the light 
and airy basement, known as the barn-cellar. Just 
at the foot of the stairs was a row of stanchions, 
and clean dry stalls, where milking-stools, hoe, fork, 
and shovels hung on high pegs, and where air and 
sunlight streamed through open doors and windows. 

In one corner of this basement was the first of 
adjoining hog-pens, the third and last being adjacent 
to the cow-yard. This corner pen contained the 
main feeding-trough with a contrivance for keeping 
back the squealing swine until their food was ready, 
and the trough filled. Near by was an overflowing 
tub of running spring-water, the clean swill-pails, 

24. In Dover on the Charles 

and the huge meal-chest, which held cotton-seed 
meal, shorts, or corn. Calf-pens, in the north end, 
could be entered from outside, and the downward 
slope to the door, just reversed the adjacent ascent 
to the north barn-door. Sprinkling-pot, brooms, 
and shovels were in daily use, and children could 
play anywhere on the premises in the absence of 
the cattle. 

The large "cow-yard" was enclosed on the west 
by the barn which overhung the yard, and formed 
a covered porch for the cow-stable; along the north 
end, on rising ground, a barn-roofed shed, open to 
the south, sheltered the salting-trough; on the east 
was an embankment, topped by a high stone wall; 
at the south end, between the "lane gate" and the 
smaller door-yard gate, was the watering-tub which 
stood one-half within and one-half without, because 
the horses were watered on the door-yard side of 
the fence. 

"The noisy masons of the eaves, 
The busy swallows circling near." 

Adjoining the barn on the west, and on a line 
with its south front was the "harness-house," in 
which a waiting horse and vehicle could stand pro- 
tected from the weather. It contained a work- 
bench and all appliances for mending and cleaning 
harnesses. Working harnesses, chains, ropes, pulleys, 

In Dover on the Charles 25 

short ladders, pickaxes, spades, shovels, crowbars, 
mud shoes for horses, horseblankets, nose feed- 
bags, and other equipments for farm-work were 
arranged upon pegs, shelves, brackets, and racks 
about the room. A small cupboard held leather 
straps, strings, balls of "crow-line" and other twine, 
grease for boots and for axles, and bottles for 
veterinary use. 

Litters of young pigs in the cellar basked in the 
sunshine which streamed in upon them through the 
opened scuttle in the floor. "Be sure to close the 
scuttle if the wind changes or a shower comes up" 
was the frequent injunction when the men started 
for a distant field. Barn-swallows made their mud 
nests under the eaves over the wide doorway. 
When the birds were busiest at their work, we 
watched them from a seat in some wagon, left for 
the time in the middle of the door-yard. 

''The perched roosts 
And nests in order ranged 
Of tame villatic fowl." 

Next to the harness-house came the hen-house, 
clean as whitewash-brush, broom, and fresh gravel 
could make it. On one side of the sunny outer 
room was the large stone upon which oyster-shells, 
"scraps," and bones were pounded; the shallow, oval 
iron kettle of water; and the dough-board. On the 

26 In Dover on the Charles 

other side were the roosts, both high and low. 
"Laying" or "setting" hens retired to the inner 
room, where box-nests were ranged on a long, wide 
shelf. The methodical fowls walked up an inclined 
and cleated board to enter the nests from a corri- 
dor at the back. Dropping the hinged fronts of 
of these boxes, gave access to the nests and their 
contents. Setting hens were "broken up," by 
temporary imprisonment under a barrel. 

Mother hen and her brood were transferred from 
the nest to a portable coop, set upon the grass not 
too far from the kitchen door. Through spaces 
in the slatted front the chickens could run in 
and out. and the hen could stretch out her neck 
to cluck a warning, to eat grass, or to reach the 
dough-dish and the shallow not too shallow dish 
of water. Fresh water and shoots of tender grass 
besides other food, were supplied several times aday. 
A wide board laid on the top of the coop projected 
to form an awning, and was kept in place by the 
weight of a stone. At the first sign of an impend- 
ing shower, somebody ran from the house to "see 
to the chickens," to hurry them into the coop, and 
shut them in, as for the night, by placing the awn- 
ing board upright against the slats with the stone 
for a prop. To save the valuable time of one hen, 
if two small broods "came off" the same day, they 

In Dover on the Charles 2f 

were usually placed in one coop. Rats, weasels, and 
skunks sometimes invaded the coops at night. In 
the day-time by a peculiar signal which was in- 
stantly obeyed by the huddling chicks, the hen gave 
notice that a dreaded, sailing, swooping pigeon-hawk* 
or a stronger, fiercer hen-hawk was circling overhead. 
Neither hens nor chickens were allowed to run at 
large. In summer the sashes were removed from 
the latticed doors and windows of the hen-house 
and all sorts of green food was "saved for the hens." 
Temporary runs were made for the half-grown 
chickens. One of our regularly assigned tasks was 
"watching the hens" when they were let out to 
ramble for an hour just before dark. Whenever 
turkey eggs were "set" they were placed under 
hens, since turkeys reared by the more domestic 
fowls were less likely to wander and die in the wet 
grass or become the prey of prowling enemies. 
Guinea fowls were interesting but unprofitable. 

No Committee sent by the Agricultural Society 
could more surely select the premium flowers and 
vegetables, and the soil in highest state of cultiva- 
tion, than could an escaped hen in search of a place 
to "muffle." 

"This is the cock that crowed in the morn." 

A tiny, disowned chick, just out of the shell, Dick 
was brought into the house, wrapped in cotton, kept 

28 In Dover on the Charles 

in a basket for a few days, and then provided with 
suitable quarters in the wood-house, under my 
charge. He became my pet, and I became his out 
door companion. Grandmother enticed him to her 
room to eat flies which she killed and laid between 
sheets of brown paper. 

Fully grown, long-spurred, gorgeous in plumage, 
Dick would escape from his coop and revisit the 
scenes of his chickenhood days. However often 
repeated, it was somewhat startling to have a bird 
of such a feather alight on one's shoulder or top of 
the head, or try to perch confidingly upon a fore- 
finger. Dick appeared to much better advantage 
when he ceased his canary bird tricks, and strutted 
into the middle of Grandmother's room, where he 
would give a lusty crow and fly upon the desk to 
seize his well-remembered paper of flies. 

"1 know he will go up all manner of streets." 

Tuxus, the pig, was literally brought up by hand. 
His first meal was obtained by sucking milk from 
my forefinger, and I afterwards fed him with a silver 
teaspoon until he was able to drink from a cup, after 
which time it must be confessed that he ate like a 
pig. He grew and thrived in his little pen, from 
which I released him for an occasional frolic. Once 
I put him back into his pen on the east side of the 
house, passed through the L, and sat down in the 

Ih Dover on the Charles 29 

west doorway just as Tuxus, having made the cir- 
cuit of the main house, came through the gap in 
the fence and jumped into my lap. Weeks after 
this occurrence, I was sent on an errand, and a group 
of boys began to laugh and jeer as I passed them 
in the road some distance from home. Looking 
back, I saw Tuxus, no longer a little pink-white pig, 
making the dust fly from the middle of the road, 
and grunting a lesson on manners for the benefit of 
the boys, as he raced after me. 

"Not Bruce of Scotland, 
Not the Bruce of Bannockburn." 

Bruce, the black Newfoundland dog, must have 
come to the farm not far from the time when I be- 
gan to run about out of doors, for he took the charge 
of me from that time. He went to school with me 
every morning, keeping close by my side, unmoved 
by the torments which the larger children who 
joined us managed to inflict upon him, but ready 
to fly at the throat of the first who tried to interfere 
with me. On the first morning, he followed me in- 
to the school-house, but his reception was so 
boisterous that afterwards he was satisfied to see 
me safe within the yard. 

A sick man, who watched us from his window, 
noted the contrast between the dignity with which 
Bruce ignored his tormentors while I was under his 

jo In Dover on the Charles 

protection, and the manner in which he bounded 
through the fields at a safe distance from the road, 
on his way home. 

"Beeves and homebred kine." 

Black Jenny Lind, light-red Fanny Elscler, dark- 
red Ruth, old Line-back, Jessie Fremont, and Myra 
Clark Gaines, our bovine friends, how well I re- 
member, not their looks alone, but their character- 
istic ways, for they were born on the farm and 
lived long in our service, while many other cows 
were bought and sold. 

Men drove_the cows to pasture in the early morn- 
ing, but one of the children, with Bruce, often went 
after them at night. The "old Plain" was an out- 
lying pasture within sight across a neighbor's field, 
but this line of vision was the hypothenuse of a 
triangle whose other two sides were formed by the 
public road. Usually all the cows were waiting at 
the "bars," and as one end of the upper rails fell to 
the ground, the impatient animals clattered over 
the lowest rail and filed down the road toward 
home. Jennie and Line-back had the trick of 
staying far down in the cranberry-meadow, com- 
placently feeding until we came to look them up. 
Bruce barked long and frantically at their heels 
before they would start on a run to overtake their 
companions, long out of sight. Our door-yard and 

In Dover on the Charles ji 

grass-plot needed no lawn-mower, for the cows 
were "watched" and allowed to feed, sometimes 
without the "great gate," and sometimes within 
the enclosure, that they might become cool and 
rested, and be in proper condition when the men 
came to the barn at milking time. 

"The steeds were champing in their stalls." 

Tom and Bill, the equine brothers, worked through- 
out their lives in double harness, and occupied stalls 
side by side except for two nights upon a memor- 
able occasion. It was long before the Air-Line Rail 
Road was built, and these horses went regularly with 
heavy loads to and from Boston, over the Mill Dam, 
stopping at the "Corner" for luncheon and rest. 
On one of these trips Bill was sold, and soon after 
delivered at his new home, the "Corner." 

Bereaved Tom refused to eat, but watched and 
listened and waited for the coming of his mate. 
On the second morning, ungroomed Bill, dragging 
a broken halter, was found at the stable door. 
Their next separation was caused by Bill's death 
many years later. A small ambrotype shoAvs Tom 
and the farm-wagon, my father and Bruce inci- 
dentally included in the picture. Grown old, faith- 
ful Tom was released from labor, and at length 
placed in a marked and honored grave. 

J2 In Dover on the Charles 

I was allowed to drive Kate harnessed to the "top 
buggy," but my father was accustomed to say that 
a woman could drive a horse wherever a horse 
wished to go. 

"The harmless necessary cat." 

My old Hodge was named for Dr. Johnson's pet 
cat. Hodge was a "good mouser," and he could 
not understand why he was scolded for catching 
song-birds, and praised for bringing in rats and 

"All duties, when thoroughly and perfectly done according to a 
standard in the soul, become works of art." 

At the time of which I write, my Grandfather's 
active labors were chiefly confined to the "chip- 
yard," a large, well-defined plantain-bordered space, 
beside the path between the house and barn. 

While the "sledding was good," great loads of 
wood and logs were brought from the "Deacon 
Haven lot" and the Clark lot woods." Oak, hickory, 
hard pine, soft pine, birch, "fencing stuff," and 
"apple-tree brush" ranged in high piles at the lower 
end of this yard. Toward the house, splitting log, 
sawhorse, and chopping block, woodsaw, axe, and 
bill hook, bettle and wedges, wheelbarrow and 
baskets, all were brought into use. In due time, 
the well-seasoned hard wood, oven wood, split wood, 
round wood, pine knots, "air tight chunks," "little" 

In Dover on the Charles jj 

wood, and kindling wood, with the pine needles, 
shavings, and chips were systematically housed in 
the capacious wood-shed. 

"To pick up a basket of chips" was one of the 
regular duties of a summer's day, and one which 
we often dallied over rather than return to less agree- 
able tasks. Standing upon the wood-shed chopping 
block enabled one to reach the light ladder, clothes- 
line poles, long-handled caterpillar brush, and snow 
shovel, which were kept in the racks overhead. 

"How could such sweet and wholesome hours, 
Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers?" 

Passing from the chip-yard through the back 
room to the "west door" brought us under the great 
horse-chestnut tree, and near to the bench where 
tin cans and pans were set out to dry. 

Of the two diverging paths, the one close to the 
house led by flower beds and currant bushes to the 
Well Curb. This tall white frustum of a pyramid 
was erected over a quicksand well which was used 
solely as a refrigerator where cans of milk, and pails 
of butter, and food were lowered far out of sight 
by four stout ropes. Nothing in this well was ever 
molested, though the gate in the adjacent picket 
fence was but a few yards from the public road. 

Milky-juiced cypress spurge sprang up under the 
fence. Among the stones at the base of the curb 

34 In Dover on the Charles 

grew luxuriant stalks of live-for-ever (Sedum Tele- 
phium,) from whose carefully bruised leaves we 
made and inflated tiny watery bags. No sedum 
blossoms were ever seen. Years had passed before 
I understood why I found myself able to recognize 
so many plants by their leaves with no recollection 
of having seen their blossoms. My father never 
tolerated weeds, and he cut short their career before 
they had time to "blossom and go to seed." 

A small butternut tree grew near the well, beside 
the currant bushes. Impatient fingers were stained 
"butternut color" by the juicy covering of the un- 
dried nuts. Circular brooches, sawed from the nuts 
and supplied with bent-pin fastenings, were at one 
time much in vogue among schoolgirls. This must 
have been the period of peach and cherry-stone 
baskets, and of braided horsehair rings. 

Not far from the butternut tree, flower-beds held 
love-in-the-mist; red and "variegated poppies" old 
maid pinks and velvet marigolds;gillyflowers; Canter- 
bury bells; balsams; single petunias, purple and 
white; yellow daffies; prince's feather; honesty; ladies' 
delights; and a light-blue star-flower which we 
called Star of Bethlehem. I have never seen that 
star-flower elsewhere, nor have I seen any recog- 
nized description of the plant under that or any 
other name, Seed-bearing stalks of honesty, re- 

In Dover on the Charles jj 

taining only the oval, satiny, dividing membrane 
of the pods were carefully gathered, and combined 
with dried grasses for winter bouquets. 

"It is not simply beets and potatoes, and corn and string beans 
that one raises in his well-hoed garden, it is the average of human 

Below the horse chestnut tree, half way down 
the grassy slope, two "orange sweeting" trees almost 
touched the ground with their wide-spreading 
branches. Then came more currant bushes, red 
and white, a porter apple tree, peach trees, white 
and purple plums, quince bushes, more young apple 
trees, pear trees, the tub of running water, and 
then the vegetable garden. Much below the level 
of the road, the garden was enclosed on that side 
by a bank wall surmounted by a four-inch rail held 
edgewise in iron supports. Against this wall, 
behind the well curb, was a sort of wild garden, 
where tall black currant bushes, and red raspberry 
canes grew among brakes and stalks of caraway, 
and bent over low lying bloodroot, coltsfoot, and 
gold thread. 

All sorts of vegetables for our table were suit- 
ably distributed from the rich, heavy soil next to 
the road to the higher, drier ground beside the 
clothes drying yard. Beets, turnips, onions, pars- 
nips, carrots, radishes, newly introduced tomatoes, 

3 6 In Dover on the Charles 

peppers, squashes, cucumbers, cabbages, cauli- 
flowers, lettuce, sweet corn, string beans, peas, early 
and late, rhubarb, strawberry tomatoes, and shell 
beans, kidney, lima, cranberry, and horticultural; 
all these were "handy to the house." 

A small plot was devoted to peppermint, spear- 
mint, and sage; saffron, valuable for its medicinal 
yellow petals, which must be pulled off every morn- 
ing; and sives, whose tender, finely chopped leaves 
were food for hens. I have forgotten most of the 
"roots and herbs," and their uses. Thoroughwort, 
tansy, pokeroot, hardhack, mullein, penny royal, 
yellow dock, yarrow, wormwood, and pumpkin 
seeds I remember to have seen hanging, in paper 
bags, against the garret rafters. 

"The golden buttercup, the grass, the leaves." 

A wide red gate opened from the door-yard into 
the "lane," a long, wide, level, grassy, cart-path, 
bounded on the east by well-fenced fields of "grass 
land" and "ploughed ground," and ending at the 
"Clark Lot bars." 

Along its stone wall, on its orchard side, wild 
red raspberry and thimbleberry bushes were 
allowed to grow. Few berries plucked from these 
bushes found their way to kitchen or dining-room. 
They were destined to be strung like beads upon 
long stems of timothy grass, and fated to be eaten 

In Dover on the Charles j/ 

as soon as strung. Young children liked to play 
in the sand heap under the corn-house, where they 
were out of doors, protected from the sun or rain, 
and we all roamed the lane at will. 

Here we picked great bunches of yellow-eyed 
bird-foot violets, or made bouquets of dandelion 
"curls." Buttercups held under each other's chins 
usually cast a yellow shadow and proved that we 
"loved butter." Fortunes were told by means of 
"white weed" petals, but I could never decide 
whether "rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, 
doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief," referred to four or 
eight possible husbands, and "chief" in my mind, 
was always associated with scalplock and tomahawk. 
When three puffs of breath failed to blow all the 
tufted seeds from a dandelion globe, the shout 
arose, "Your mother wants you ! " If the drop of 
juice pressed with thumb nail to the top of one 
grass stalk "took off" the drop from the one held 
against it, then your "wish would come true." 
"I wander in the woodland paths once more." 

On the left of the "bars" stretched the dim recesses 
of the "Clark Lot Woods." We spent hours at a 
time among the hollow trunks, the fallen branches, 
the gnarled and mossy roots, and the shifting 
shadows, on the borders of these woods. 
Acorns, partridge berries, bearberries, checker- 

j 8 In Dover on the Charles 

berries, wild strawberries, low blueberries, puff balls, 
curious fungi and cup mosses, besides Indian pipes, 
and many familiar but unnamed wild flowers, were 
our successive playthings. 

Beyond the woods and the open fronting space, 
in boggy regions when entering horses must wear 
the clumsy, square, wooden mud-shoes, was the 
meadow, the place of turtles, water snakes, musk- 
rats, and of historic beavers. There we could not 
venture, but were , glad that grandfather dared go 
after yellow-blossomed cowslip sprays, a dainty 
unsurpassed by young beet tops, "milk weed 
sprouts" or "dandelion greens." We went far 
enough to find white violets hidden under the 
leaves of skunk-cabbage. 

"Where the freshest berries grow." 

"John Ricker Hill, "long and narrow, the base of 
Brown's Hill, was opposite our house and orchard. 
What had been left an unsightly gravel bank when 
the road was cut through, my father had improved 
by building a "face wall" at its foot, and planting a 
row of evergreen trees half way up to its level top. 
Along its boundary wall, and in many a grassy 
nook, the largest strawberries and high blackberries 
were gathered as fast as ripened. The reddest, 
thorniest of barberries succeeded the wild roses in 
the south wall thicket. 

In Dover on the Charles jp 

"However small it is on the surface, it is four thousand miles deep, 
and that is a very handsome property." 

A trip to Grandmother's valued inheritance, the 
Natick Pasture, was an event to be enjoyed in an- 
ticipation, as well as in the excursion itself. 

There was the bustle of preparation at the barn, 
varied with the season and the project. "Salting" 
the young cattle; picking sweet apples or juicy, 
coarse-grained, puckery "baking" pears; cutting 
hay or mowing bushes; mending a "post and rail" 
fence, or building a stone wall: any one of these 
may have been the serious object of the expedition. 
The pleasure seekers in the party had in mind the 
short ride through the village street to the Cleave- 
land place, and the long, delightful ride, "by right 
of way" through fields, woods, and berry pastures, 
where jolt succeeded jolt as the wheels passed over 
embedded rocks into deep worn ruts. Arrived at 
Pegan Hill Lane and the pasture, we revelled in its 
berries, fruits, and flowers, gathered hickory nuts 
and acorns, and explored the "Indian cellar hole," 
ever with a wholesome dread of snakes. Tired out 
at last we sat in the shade to watch the birds and 
squirrels, or rehearse the tales of vanished Indians, 
until it was time to go home. 

"I come to pick your berries." 


Cranberry picking began early in September. 
Before the bogs were ready for the men and their 
rakes, the fruit on the "upland," exposed to the 
frosts, lay among the dry and grassy hummocks 
like great crimson-purple beads, strung on a woody 
thread. Mother and children alike looked forward 
to these September days, and the best outdoor ex- 
cursions of the year. The first "good" day, before 
the dew was "off," found us in the "old plain" 

Blueberry and huckleberry bushes, sweet fern, 
"mountain cranberries" (bearberries), acorns, lichens, 
stalks of pennyroyal, and life everlasting, goldenrod 
plumes and aster panicles, all were brushed aside, 
or trampled under foot, when we wandered from 
the narrow wagon road which led to the low-lying 

Luncheon baskets, and wraps safely bestowed 
under the old oak tree by the boiling spring, we 
hastened to the remembered spots where shining 
fruit was scattered over the brown grass among 
autumn-tinted leaves, on low-creeping vines. "Pick- 
ing by hand" was the rule, but my small, short- 
handled rake would sometimes scoop a double 
handful from a hollow between hillocks or moss-cov- 
ered stones. Our small baskets filled, they were emp- 
tied into bags under the oak tree, and filled again. 

In Dover on the Charles 4.1 

Besides spots "thick" with berries, we found 
solitary wild roses blooming among the reddened 
hips, fringed gentians, cardinal flowers, curious burs 
and pods on leafless stalks, ground birds' nests, and 
countless living, crawling, hopping, running, flying 
things. Our baskets filled rapidly in spite of all 
these side attractions, because we were paid the 
highest market price for all we picked. One year 
my quarts became bushels, and my bushels more 
than filled a barrel. Late afternoon brought my 
father and the farm-wagon, into which the tired, 
sun-burned, happy pickers clambered among the 
heavy bags and baskets, and we went home with 
the cows. 

The entire crop gathered and spread in the "barn 
chamber" until dry and ''turned red," the hand pow- 
er winnowing mill was brought from the mill house 
chamber into the door yard, and the cranberries 
were freed from dirt and tiny leaves. A trough- 
like sieve, set upon trestles of unequal height, 
received the berries which were passed along the 
incline from one compartment to another, until, 
screened and "picked over," they fell into barrels 
which were well shaken and then "headed up." All 
this was men's work, but women and children were 
welcomed as helpers in the tedious picking over. 
"To every sweet its sour." 

42 In Dover on the Charles 

A high, well-lighted basement under the woodshed 
and pumproom was known as the vinegar cellar. It 
was furnished with hogsheads, barrels, kegs, bungs, 
plugs, spigots, taps, mallet, auger, gimlet, measures, 
"tunnels," skids, and pails. 

In a long row, on a sort of platform, lay hogsheads 
of cider in the successive stages of the process by 
which new cider was arrested on its way to become 
"hard" cider, and was made into sharp vinegar. 

A suitable quantity of molasses was added to the 
new cider to promote fermentation; froth issued 
from the open bung hole in a towering meringue, 
a color scheme in cream, yellow, brown, and black; 
the first "working" ended, and impurities precipi- 
tated or thrown off at the bung, the liquid was 
carefully "drawn off," and filtered through a straw- 
filled wooden tunnel into a clean cask, and allowed 
to work again. This process was continued with 
great care and frequent testing until that which 
entered the first cask as sweet cider, left the last 
hogshead pure cider vinegar which was sold to 
regular customers, the principal being Billings' 
Store, Roxbury. 

"We may build more splendid habitations, fill our rooms with 
paintings and with sculptures, but we cannot buy with gold the old 

Once on the broad stone doorstep, it was easy 

In Dover on the Charles 4.3 

to press the thumb piece of the great iron latch, 
open Grandmother's door, step across the entry, 
dimly lighted from above the winding stair-case, 
and come into Grandmother's room. 

In summer the green blinds were partly closed, 
but in winter the south sun shone through the 
many-paned white curtained windows upon the box 
of growing lavender which stood beside the "noon- 
mark" on the window sill. The wooden clock 
between the windows, the brass ornamented ma- 
hogany desk, the round-cornered two-leaved table, 
the long, high-backed red settle, the iron "fire 
frame" trimmed with shining brasses, all had be- 
longed to preceding generations. Grandmother 
valued the old, and took kindly to the new. 

Her cooking stove stood at some distance from 
the chimney, and the funnel entered the flue high 
above the ancient fire place, where she had an 
occasional fire upon the hearth. The kettles were 
hung from pot hooks on the crane, and bannocks 
were baked upon the "bannock boards" set upon 
the hearth before the fire and supported by a flat- 
iron at the back. She never indulged us with the 
sight of meat roasting on a "spit," but she used the 
"bake oven," and set the little iron basin on its 
three-legged "trivet" over the coals in one corner 
of the hearth. This iron basin was always used on 

4# In Dover on the Charles 

the stove when cream toast or chicken fricassee 
was prepared, and beef-a-la-mode could be "warmed 
up" just right in no other vessel. The small brass 
kettle, bright as gold, guarded by a flat iron ring, 
was used on the stove, and no hasty pudding, rye 
pudding, or samp can ever equal that which it 
contained. When the round-bottomed three-legged 
"iron pot" was used as a doughnut kettle, it also 
required the encircling ring, being too small for the 
hole in the top of the stove. The tiny "iron skillet" 
which had three tall legs and a rat-tailed handle 
was even then called ancient, and I never saw it 
used. Many more quaint and convenient utensils 
and much old china and pottery were in Grand- 
mother's neat "buttery." The stone mortar and 
pestle which the Pegan Indians had used; covered, 
wooden hooped pails of different sizes, painted red 
or blue, which held corn meal, buckwheat flour, or 
dried apples; the "blue piggin" which resembled 
a small wooden pail except that one stave rising 
above the rest was shaped as a handle; a tall, 
"brown earthern pailful pot" held "biled cider 
apple sauce." One queer high-shouldered green 
glass bottle was kept filled with balm of Gilead 
buds steeped in rum, a sovereign balm indeed for 
cuts and bruises. From this remedy I first learned 
one of life's useful lessons, bravely to bear the 

In Dover on the Charles 4.5 

present smart for the sake of future healing. 
Petty-morel berries (Aralia racemosa) steeped in 
New England rum, elderberry wine, blackberry 
cordial, cherry rum, black currant jelly, and other 
medicinal supplies were always at hand. 

Amongthedishesof shining pewter,the large plate, 
the quart basin of hammered metal,and the porringer, 
all bore my great, great grandmother's initials, H. R. 

An ancient round iron "waiter" held the white 
teapot which would contain a cupful of water, used 
in the time of the Revolution when tea was scarce 
and high, an old Delft cup and saucer of corres- 
ponding size, and a graceful pointed-nosed cream 
white pitcher whose lower half was emerald green. 
The beautiful silver teaspoon marked H. R. is four 
inches long, and shows that it was wrought by hand, 
and the bowl welded to the handle. Another tea- 
spoon, belonging to the next generation, is somewhat 
larger. The greater the grandmother, the smaller 
the spoon. My grandfather always ate from a large 
white plate with a wavy edge of deep blue. One set 
of steel knives had bright green bone handles. Bright, 
deep blue pitcher, sugar bowl and teapot which 
showed upon each side a deer without antlers, were 
accompanied by handleless cups, and the jet black 
"citron sauce" bowl bore a floral pattern in relief. 

Close by the covered wood box stood a wooden 

j.6 In Dover on the Charles 

pail of shavings and a basket of clean chips. The 
long disused brick oven was then a sort of cupboard, 
but our interest centered in the high chimney cup- 
board and its treasures. Here was the wooden 
covered book of Indian stories which had the wood 
cut of Mr. Dustin and his children;the"American Pre- 
ceptor;" the old "Third Part," a school reading book 
in my mother's day; "Reuben Kent;" "Little Henry 
and his Bearer;" "The New England Primer;" "The 
Badge;" and an ancient broadsheet of poetry, "Cat- 
skin." Besides these books the cupboard contained 
the clasp knife, brass-handled pen knife, and the 
pocket Bible which great grandfather Nathan Griggs 
carried through the Revolutionary War. 

Grandfather's arm chair stood beside the stove 
where the light came over his left shoulder as he 
sat reading, a blue and white bandanna handkerchief 
thrown over his bald head. The green wooden 
chairs were decorated with gilding and painted 
shells and flowers. Braided rag mats were placed 
here and there upon the carpet where the "wear" 
was likely to come. Across the plastered ceiling 
ran a large painted beam. The walls were made 
of wide, matched boards which like the prominent 
corner posts, had received many a coat of lead- 
colored paint. 

In Dover on the Charles 47 

In the adjoining bedroom stood the tightly-corded 
four-poster, straw-bed, feather-bed, bolster, pillows 
with long, overhanging "cases," snowy valance, and 
patchwork quilt. The other furniture consisted of 
a mahogany bureau over which hung a small mirror, 
a low chair, an arm chair, and an ancient table 
which folded so that one leaf would double upon 
the other or stand upright against the wall. The 
edges of the leaves and the front legs were prettily 
inlaid with bits of wood. 

The blue and white woven counterpane was even 
then laid carefully aside because of its associations. 
"O how full of briars is this working-day world." 

Work inside the house was termed house-work, 
earning, and sitting-work. Kitchen, back room, and 
cellar, like all other parts of the house, were arranged 
and furnished with a view to "making work easy." 

Soon after my mother was married, one of the 
earliest made cooking stoves was set up in front of 
her enormous kitchen fire-place. Its huge cylindri- 
cal sheet iron oven threw out overpowering heat 
upon the head of the person who used the "elevated 
oven," and it was replaced by one improved pattern 
after another. From the lettered hearth of the "Bay 
State" stove, I took my first lesson in the alphabet. 

Spring water was drawn from a faucet at one 
kitchen sink, next to which was a large, built-in 

4.8 In Dover on the Charles 

case of drawers under a wide shelf, a dish closet, 
and then the large dry-sink, where dishes were al- 
ways washed, and cooking operations carried on. 

Pump-room it was always called, but a wooden 
faucet took the place of a pump in the large un- 
plastered room adjoining the kitchen. One corner 
of this room was the laundry and held the necessary 
utensils, and supplies. Often used steel-yards, large 
and small, hung on convenient nails. Pantry, store- 
room, and milk-room combined, occupied an ad- 
joining space in this wing. No cruel "one-step 
down" led to our wood-shed. Children's arms were 
scarcely able to throw back the wide top of the 
long meal chest. Standing on tip-toe, we contrived 
to reach the wire sieve on the corn-meal side, and 
the hair-cloth sieve on the rye-meal side, but we 
could not run a sieve along the horizontal bar in 
the middle of the sifting section of the chest. A 
hugh brick oven, and chimney had, at some recent 
date, been built out into the room on one side. An 
ancient brass kettle, immense in size and beautiful 
in proportions had been deprived of its bail, and 
ears, and had become a "set" kettle, in which clothes 
were boiled over the fire in the brick chamber 

Although my mother always "kept help," most of 
them women who could be spared from neighbor- 

In Dover on the Charles 49 

ing families, yet she tried to instruct her daughters 
in the art of house-keeping. 

"Cloy the hungry edge of appetite, 
By bare imagination of a feast." 

Baking day saw long sticks of pine oven wood 
burned to coals on the floor of the brick-oven, the 
ashes removed, and the "oven broom" plied with 
energy, before the long handled shovel placed cakes, 
pies and bread within the remotest recesses of the 
fiercely heated oven. Later the somewhat cooled 
oven was filled again, this time with loaves of brown 
bread, rye-bread, fruit cake, pots of beans, and a 
brown earthern dish of Indian pudding. 

White "bonny" beans were picked over on Friday 
afternoon, washed and soaked over night in more 
water than could be absorbed. Early Saturday 
morning this water was poured off, and the beans 
boiled in a large quantity of water, until the wrink 
led skins were ready to burst. With a skimmer, the 
beans were drained and placed in an eathern pot, 
with a small piece of salt pork, selected for its 
streak of lean, and gashed across the rind. A little 
soda, molasses and mustard were added, and some- 
times a morsel of sausage. When put into the oven, 
the pork was almost hidden by the beans, and a 
sheet of tin was laid over the uncovered bean pot. 
A spoonful or two of water was added from time to 

jro In Dover on the Charles 

time, and, presently, the pot was uncovered, and 
the pork brought to the surface to shrink, grow 
crisp and flavor the beans, until supper time. Unless 
the steam were allowed to escape from the uncovered 
pot, the beans might be boiled or stewed, they 
surely would not be baked. 

Baked sweet apples and milk, very cold, made a 
delicious and hygienic supper dish. Hulled corn, 
with milk or molasses was a favorite form of food. 
Great kettles full of hasty-pudding were easily 
disposed of, as "pudding and milk," and too little 
remained to serve as "fried pudding" at breakfast. 
It was not really fried but was browned on a hot 
greased "spider." Buckwheat was never made into 
griddle cakes, but into a sort of muffins cooked in the 
oven. Roast spare-rib was eaten cold, preferably 
with hot baked potatoes. All fat was carefully lifted 
from the bowl of cold "drippings," to which water 
was then added, with a thickening of flour and water. 
The resulting "roast pork gravy" was not greasy, 
but savory and wholesome, with potatoes. 

For "invited company" mother was sure to make 
great piles of those cream-white hot biscuits which 
accorded so well with "quartered quince" or "whole 
peach" preserve. 

Muslin toast was a favorite supper dish, prepared 
with nicety and precision. A rye short cake the 

In Dover on the Charles 51 

full sixe of the griddle iron, was browned to a deli- 
cate crisp, on each side, the thin crust deftly flayed 
from the hot side, the denuded surface returned to 
the griddle, and the crust placed in the waiting 
basin of hot, thickened and salted milk. This 
process was repeated until the upper crust of the 
cake was reached and ready to be "dipped." 

"Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended." 

No butter and cheese were made within my 
recollection, except for home use. Milk was some 
times sold to collectors for city markets, but as a 
rule calves were bought and fattened for veal. 

Grandmother made sour milk, new milk, sage, 
four meal, and "white oak" or skimmed milk cheeses. 

Having brought milk to the desired temperature 
by setting it in the huge tin kettle on the back of 
the stove, it was poured into the immaculate "cheese 
tub," with a small quantity of soaked rennet, a 
substance prepared from the inner membrane of a 
calf's stomach. When the curd was well "set," it 
was cut across with the "cheese stick," to allow the 
whey to rise and be ''dipped off." Bowls of "curds 
and whey" were served at this point to those who 
had been impatiently waiting for them. 

Meanwhile, the "cheese tongs," a sort of ladder 
with two rungs, had been placed across the "whey 
tub" to support the large meshed, splint "cheese 

52 In Dover on the Charles 

basket" over which the ample cheese cloth "strainer" 
had been spread. The "wheyed off" curd having 
been put into the basket, upon the cloth, and 
allowed to drain dry, it was then ready to be 
"broken up" with the hand, and mixed with salt. 
Again the children begged for "just a taste." 

A square of strong cotton cloth, placed over a 
"cheese hoop" of suitable size, was well filled with 
the crumbled curd. The cloth was tightly twisted 
on the top, held in place by the "follower," a 
wooden disk smaller than the hoop, and then the 
cheese was placed under the requisite number of 
"blocks" in the curious wooden cheese press and a 
heavy weight hung upon the arm of the press. By 
the next morning the follower had followed the 
cheese into the hoop, and a corresponding amount 
of whey had run out across the grooved shelf of the 

When the hoop was removed in order to "turn" 
the cheese and wrap it in a dry cloth, a ridge of 
curd was found to have filled the space between the 
edge of the follower and the hoop. This was 
carefully cut off, and the delicious morsels called 
'cheese parings" were the children's perquisites. 
Removed from the hoops, placed upon thin boards, 
and added to the rows upon the shelves, "new," or 
"green" cheeses, were regularly "greased" and 

In Dover on the Charles 53 

"turned," until the rind became thoroughly dry, 
smooth, and almost impervious. Dutch or sour milk 
cheeses were made by a simple process for imme- 
diate use. 

Within my recollection, the dasher churn, the 
round wooden butter bowl, and the stone butter 
jars were seldom removed from their pantry corner, 
but Grandmother had little dairy ways all her own. 

A certain ancient brown-glazed jar was half 
filled with rich cream, and steady stirring with a 
white-wood paddle soon "brought" a lump of 
yellow butter, which she "worked" with the same 
paddle-like "spatter" on a wooden plate kept for 
the purpose, and then the salted and "printed" pat 
was set on a certain Ridgeway plate, in its own 
stone jar. Making, and, incidentally, eating a 
"buttermilk cake" followed as in natural sequence. 
"As dry as a remainder biscuit after a voyage." 

Hermetically sealed cans and jars had not been 
invented. Steam-cooked, kiln-dried, and dessicated 
foods were not in the market. 

Unless fruits and berries were made into jelly 
or preserved pound for pound, they must be dried 
for winter use. Drying apples was an important 
part of the season's work. "Apple stagings," "ap- 
ple boards" and "apple cloths" were brought out 
from the store room. Apples were pared, thinly 

$4 In Dover on the Charles 

sliced, and spread upon cloths laid over boards 
which rested upon stagings in the front door yard. 
The boards were brought into the house at night, 
and on the approach of rain, and were placed upon 
the floor of some unused room. In case of long 
continued dampness the drying could be finished 
in the wide open stove oven. Some of our neigh- 
bors "strung "apples and hung the festoons upon 
lines over the stove. Peaches, pears, berries of all 
kinds, and sweet corn were dried in their season. 
Sugar pumpkins were first "stewed" and then 
spread upon boards or plates, and dried in the 

Catsup and all kinds of pickles were "made" 
in due season. 

Sweet cider, boiled down to one half its bulk, 
was "bottled," and with dried apples made the 
spring relish known as boiled cider apple sauce. 
"Laying down and putting into the cellar." 

In slaughtering time, "Ben Sawin," an expert 
at the business of "pig killing" brought his "scald- 
ing tub" and other paraphernalia on a low wagon. 
Assisted by the "hired men" Mr. Sawin set about 
and finished his work, removed the traces, and de- 
parted to fill other engagements, leaving my father 
to "cut up" and distribute the pork at the 
proper time. 

In Dover on the Charles 33 

Clean barrels were packed with firm white pork, 
and then filled with brine prepared according to 
a famous family receipt. A flat stone was placed 
upon the top-most layer to secure complete 
submersion free from "rust," and a sharp-pointed 
iron hook was conveniently hung on the edge 
of the covered pork barrel. 

"Leaf lard" was tried out in the kitchen, in 
an ancient "round bottomed iron pot." Even now 
I seem to hear the scrape, scrape, scrape of the tin 
cup, as Grandmother tried to dip the hot lard, 
drop by drop, from the lowest point at the bottom 
of the pot. 

Hams were cured in a neighbor's smoke house. 
"Sausage meat" was usually crowded into strong 
cylindrical cotton bags, from whose firmly pressed 
contents thin slices were cut for the "spider" at 
breakfast time. A few "skins" were sometimes 
"filled." Tin funnel, flat, knobbed piston, and 
"breast board," was the apparatus used by Grand- 
father with great skill, until the resulting "sausage 
links" festooned one corner of the storeroom. 

Fruits, vegetables, and winter supplies of all 
kinds were unloaded from wagons at the "out- 
side cellar door," and wheeled through the "vine- 
gar cellar" to their respective places in "apple 
cellar," "milk cellar," or "Grandmother's cellar," all 

56 In Dtfuer on the Charles 

suitably furnished with cupboards, boxes, barrels, 
bins, and "swing shelves." One flight of stairs led 
from vegetable cellar to kitchen, another from 
vinegar cellar to pumproom, and the third from 
Grandmother's cellar to the "front entry." Chil- 
dren always avoided this last mentioned stairway, 
because it was dark, and because a door on the 
upper landing opened into a dark space behind 
the chimney, known as the "dunce hole." 

"Poor lone Hannah, 
Sitting by the window, binding shoes." 

For some years previous to 1860, "binding 
shoes" and "closing shoes," afforded means of earn- 
ing money at home. The shoes were cut out, and 
then distributed from shoe shops in the larger 
towns. No "work on shoes" was ever done in our 
house, but I have seen it done in neighboring 
houses. A three cornered needle, like the common 
glove needle, was used in binding shoes. Thin, 
soft leather from which the binding strips were 
cut had a sort of ticking stripe in black and white. 
Cutting in the middle of the white stripe secured 
an even strip of such width that the white edge 
was concealed in the seam. This was wholly hand 

In "closing shoes," the counter was properly 
lapped upon the vamp, and inserted in an iron 

In Dover on the Charles 57 

clamp, worked by foot power. A sharp blow upon 
the handle of the "marking iron" had left in the 
leather the marks of sharp teeth to show where 
a double row of awl holes should now be made, 
through both thicknesses of leather, close to the 
clamp. A length of well-waxed "shoe thread" was 
threaded with a needle at each end, the left hand 
needle passed the right hand needle in the first awl 
hole; the thread was drawn out equally on the 
sides, and the locked stitch continued to the end 
of the seam, and back again in the second row of 
holes. Sewing the seam on the other side of the 
shoe completed the work. The invention of sew- 
ing machines ended this kind of work as it did 
many other kinds. 

Braiding straw was for many years an easy 
and profitable kind of work for afternoons and 
evenings, and for visiting. Shining yellow straws 
from carefully selected sheaves of rye, freed from 
the sheath, severed at each joint, bleached in brim- 
stone fumes, and tied in neat bundles were ready 
to be "split" and "machined." First made "limber" 
by wetting, each straw was deftly split and flat- 
tened with one blade from a pair of scissors; and 
then, except for half an inch at one end under the 
left thumb, it was divided into strands of the 
desired fineness by the sharp teeth of the little 

5<? In Dover on the Charles 

"machine" which was held in the right hand. A 
clean white lap towel, a bundle of prepared straws 
in a napkin, and a bowl of water were essential 
in braiding straw, or "Dunstable" as it was more 
often called. 

Seven "strands" were usual, but some experts 
made a "fine 'leven braid." New strands were 
inserted at almost every turn, so that one edge 
of the finished braid bristled on each side with 
slanting ends of straw. On account of its brittle- 
ness, the braid could not be reeled, but was wound 
into balls, and sent to the "trimmer" before being 
sewed into bonnets. Mr. Charles Gowen of Frank- 
lin had a trimming machine and carried on a large 
business at his shop between 1840 and 1850. 

Every industrious woman, rich or poor, so or- 
dered her household affairs as to be at liberty 
to "sew straw" in the "season" which lasted four 
or five months, beginning in November. The 
straw shops sent out work, plaster of Paris hat 
blocks, straw braid, numbers printed upon cloth, 
and thread. Four or five different shapes, and all 
sorts of "stock" were brought in the course of the 
winter. Coarse, rough-edged Canton was hard 
on fingers, and so were notched braid and Coburg; 
Dunstable was brittle and showed stitches; Milan 
was sometimes easily torn, and even when "firm" 

In Dover on the Charles 59 

was unprofitable, "paid by the hat;" lace was stiff, 
and the wide intricate patterns difficult to 
join ; hair braid showed uneven lapping, and was 
sewed with horse hair instead of thread. "Flor- 
ence" was easy to sew and profitable. When all 
these considerations were added to "shapes," and 
"price," and "length of season," straw sewers had 
topics for conversation in "straw time." 

"Stock wagons" from Medfield and other straw 
manufacturing centers furnished this employment. 
Expert sewers sometimes earned $200 or $300 in a 
good season. 

About 1862, weaving palm leaf for shaker sun- 
bonnets was the neighborhood industry. An out- 
of-town manufacturer sent out stock wagons, distrib- 
uted the material and collected the sheets, strips, and 
braid. Village carpenters made the looms; wide looms 
for the sheets from which bonnets were cut, and nar- 
row looms for the inch wide binding strips. It was 
no unusual occurrence for an invited neighbor to 
arrive early in the morning, accompanied by some 
male member of her family who had her loom on 
his shoulder, or in a wheel-barrow. Constant treadle 
motion was very fatiguing, continued day after day, 
and only robust women could use the wide looms. 
I had a narrow loom, but, though I saved my 
reputation for industry, I did not amass wealth. 

60 In Dover on the Charles 

Those who did not weave, braided the notched 
braid which covered the seam where the crown 
joined the front of the bonnet. The split palm 
leaf for the looms and for braiding came in 
strands two or three feet long, some black 
and some in the natural color. These sun-bonnets 
were universally worn by women and children after 
adding wide gingham capes and strings. 
"The spinster and the knitters in the sun." 

"Sitting work" included family sewing, fancy 
work, and other forms of handiwork, but at the 
date of my story, which ends in 1864, many crafts 
had been abandoned. 

Over and over again Grandmother has explained 
the process of "swingling" and "hatcheling" flax, 
and showed us how she used to spin linen thread 
on the flax wheel, and yarn from wool or tow on 
the "great" wheel. We never meddled with these 
spinning wheels, but the reel upon which the spun 
yarn used to be wound into skeins was a fascinating 
plaything. The crank was twirled round and round 
for the sake of hearing the sharp "click," as the in- 
dicator marked each completed knot in the skein. 
"Blades," or swifts, reversed the reeling process, 
and held the skein while it was wound off upon 
wads of paper into a ball. Within my recollection 
spools were rarely seen. "Hanks" of thread, skeins 

In Dover on the Charles 61 

of sewing silk, and "sticks" of button hole twist 
necessarily gave way to spool thread and silk when 
sewing machines began to be used. 

A pair of "wool cards," their hooked teeth 
pressed and locked together, lay upon the attic 
floor until wartime brought every sort of fibre into 
use. Then these old-fashioned implements did 
good service in "carding" matted cotton and wool 
wadding into fluffy rolls for a second period of 

Our great-grandmothers learned "marking stitch" 
by working more or less elaborate samplers, linen 
canvas worked with colored silks. 

People now-a-days "tie puffs," a few "tie com- 
fortables," and wadded linings are quilted by 
machine stitching, but the old-time art of quilting 
is almost forgotten. Even as one of the "revived 
arts," modern appliances have greatly changed the 
operation. Quilting frames, or bars were four 
strips of wood, seven or eight feet long, three 
inches wide, and less than one inch thick. Each 
bar had a strip of "list" firmly tacked to one edge, 
and a long row of holes bored at each end. To 
"put in" the quilt, the frames were laid in the form 
of an oblong, and fastened at the overlapping cor- 
ners by wooden pegs, the ends of the bars pro- 
jecting more or less according to the size of the 

62 In Dover on the Charles 

quilt. A chair back at each corner supported the 
frame, over which the lining was tightly stretched 
and sewed to the list on all four sides. Wool wad- 
ding or cotton batting of the desired thickness was 
spread upon the lining, and the "outside" laid 
upon that. "Marking out" the quilting patterns, 
herringbone, diamond, or shell, by snapping a 
chalked line, or by marking around a pasteboard 
design, was an art in which some women were 
enviably proficient. In order to "quilt" an elabo- 
rate pattern in one afternoon, a "quilting bee" 
was held, and the frames were surrounded by as 
many workers as could find elbow room. From 
time to time the pegs were withdrawn, and the 
sides rolled up to the last finished row, until the 
pattern was completed. Then the quilt was "taken 
out" and finished by turning in or binding the edges. 
A very large bedquilt of printed India cotton, 
wadded with wool, lined with homespun linen, and 
quilted in herringbone lines one third inch apart, 
was made by my great-great-grandmother, Roger 
Sherman's sister Mehitable, who died in 1804, aged 
ninety years. My mother gave a piece of this relic 
to each of her children. 

Some other heirloom bedquilts were in the house 
and one "album" quilt was made in my childhood. 
Usually patchwork was made in leisure hours, in 

In Dover on the Charles 6j 

simple designs, for the purpose of utilizing scraps 
of calico, gingham, or delaine, and of renewing the 
supply of bedding. Children were taught to sew 
carefully basted squares, "over and over," as one of 
the first lessons in needle work. 

Grandmother's "rag basket" always held a mat 
upon which she was working, and the finished 
rugs were worthy of her conscientious skill. Every 
strip was cut wide or narrow according to the thick- 
ness of the cloth; the strips were pieced flat and 
folded smoothly in braiding so as to form even 
strands with no raw edges on the right side of the 
braid. Only thick, firm, all wool cloth was deemed 
worth using. The completed length of, braid was 
wound into an immense ball, so that the end in- 
tended for the middle came upon the outside 
of the ball. The unwinding, the heap of many- 
colored braid, and the rewinding interested us 
greatly. In "sewing" the mats, the needle was in- 
serted so that all stitches were concealed in the 
braid and not exposed to "wear." 

Home-braided palm leaf hats were worn by men 
in the fields. A favorite seat of mine, in the old 
pumproom, was an upright bark-denuded log, 
known as the hat-block, because these hat crowns 
were shaped upon its smaller end. 

Husk collars, for working horses, were braided 

6$ In Dover on the Charles 

from the soft inner husks of the corn. The large 
steel needle for sewing these collars was curved at 
the double-beveled point, and, in use, was inserted 
edgewise, and pushed through by a sort of thimble 
fastened to the palm of the hand. 

Braided husk door mats were always used at our 
outside door. They had many of the qualities 
which make modern rubber and woven wire mats 

Yarn, once used and crinkled, or poor and slack- 
twisted, and two bent rusty needles were given us 
when we learned to knit garter stitch, and with 
these the most skillful knitter could not make 
smooth, even work, and "do a stint" in reasonable 
time. Patience and persistence characterized the 
teacher, and perseverance the pupil. At length, 
with the help of the whirling blades, a great skein 
of new yarn was wound, the stitches "cast on" 
three needles, and a long woolen stocking was be- 
gun. The first stitch was taken off upon the fourth 
needle, and then followed knit two, seam two, knit 
plain, narrow, seam one in middle needle, slip and 
bind, set heel, knit heel, bind off, take up stitches, 
knit plain, toe off, run heel and a stocking was 
finished from top to toe. 

Knitting sheaths were used only by very old 
ladies like my grandmother, and were pinned to 

In Dover on the Charles 65 

the right side at the waist. They were made of 
double cloth, velvet or kid, almost triangular in 
shape, and held a quill, or quill-shaped roll of soft 
leather, into which one end of the fourth needle 
was thrust and held while in use. Sometimes the 
sheath was attached to a long bag or pocket which 
held the ball, and in which the rolled up work 
could be placed when the little caps joined by an 
elastic cord, had been slipped over the ends of the 
needles. We knit the mittens which we wore, 
durable but often clumsy. 

"Railroad" cotton stockings, so called either 
-from the open work effect, or from the way in 
which that effect was produced, were made by 
knitting a plain top a certain number of inches 
long, and then dropping every alternate stitch, 
and "toeing off" with the remaining half of the 
stitches. Every girl knit one pair when they 
were the rage, but I have no recollection of wear- 
ing them. 

In my childhood crochet needles were in univer- 
sal use. One of my choicest possessions was a set 
of six hooks and a bone handle. Every imagin- 
able article of use or ornament was crocheted 
from yarn, thread, split, single and double zephyr 
worsted, and saddler's silk. Germantown wool 
afterwards replaced the costly imported Berlin 

66 In Dover on the Charles 

wools. Thread edgings and insertion trimmed 
every sort of garment. "Shells" and "points," 
hairpin lace, serpentine and feather edged braid, 
and tape trimming occupied our attention. Table 
mats and tidies were made of knitting cotton, or 
fine cotton thread. Ladies wore wide flat collars 
crocheted from sewing cotton, and from red, blue, 
or drab split zephyr. Large, square Shetland wool 
shawls in shell stitch, were folded cornerwise, and 
worn by ladies as "summer shawls," not in the 
house, but in the street and to church. Up to the 
time when I was a grown woman, it was con- 
sidered unconventional, and even immodest, to 
appear in the street with "nothing over the 
shoulders," that is, without wearing a shawl, wide 
scarf or cape. 

Small black or garnet beads were strung upon 
skeins of sewing silk, and crocheted around a 
pencil into a long flexible bead tube which was 
tied in a true lover's knot and the ends neatly 
joined, making a very fashionable and clumsy 
bracelet. We worked cross stitch on canvas with 
colored worsteds, and we did elaborate work with 
tatting shuttle and fine thread. Netting had gone 
out of fashion, but both wooden and steel netting 
needles were in my great-grandmother's work- 
basket. All this work of fifty years ago is now 

In Dover on the Charles 67 

revived. About this time the sewing machine 
came into use. The first machine was a chain 
stitch machine, turned by a hand crank. Grover 
and Baker's foot power machine came next, and 
then we came into possession of a Wheeler and 
Wilson treadle machine with a lock stitch. 

"Here friendship lights the fire and every heart, 
Sure of itself and sure of all the rest, 
Dares to be true and gladly takes its part 
In open converse, bringing forth its best." 

Hospitable and neighborly we certainly were, 
but there was no unceremonious "running in" on 
our part or that of our neighbors. Like all our 
visitors, the family habitually used the west "front" 
door whose entry opened into both parlor and 
dining room. The old "four foot" dining table had 
been consigned to the kitchen, and replaced by a 
black walnut extension table. The China closet 
held a rose-bud tea set, a mulberry ware dinner and 
tea set, an oval willow ware platter, several dark 
blue plates, and other specimens of English and 
Delft ware. 

"Invited company" was one thing, "unexpected" 
company was quite another. Instead of formal 
calls, card leavings, and receptions, social courtesy 
required that one's visiting aquaintances should be 
entertained at afternoon visits, or invited "to spend 

68 In Dover on the Charles 

the day" at regular intervals. The "time was set," 
the guests brought their work, and "spent the day" 
or "spent the afternoon and took tea." Sometimes 
one person was invited, sometimes a "party;" some- 
times husbands were included and sometimes not. 
These visits could seldom be made "on foot." 

Every good housekeeper held herself in readiness 
to entertain company at any time without notice. 
"If anybody should come" was an important if in 
the day's work, and in the larder, too. Soon after 
one o'clock was the proper time to reach one's des- 
tination on these uninvited visits to relations or 
intimate friends. To delay until two o'clock was 
considered affectedly "genteel." Accustomed visi- 
tors from adjoining towns were confidently "looked 
for" under favorable circumstances of season or 

Mr. and Mrs. Elijah Perry of South Natick, Mr. 
and Mrs. Calvin Richards of Strawberry Hill, Dover, 
Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Barden of Newton Upper 
Falls, Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Newell of Dover, and 
my father and mother comprised "The Old Guard." 
They were friends from childhood, and kept up the 
friendship and intimate acquaintance throughout 
their lives. Mrs. Richards was the last survivor, 
dying during the present century. 

They were accustomed to meet at each house 

In Dover on the Charles 6p 

by special invitation at least once a year. They 
often made excursions in their own carriages to 
Squantum Beach in summer, or went in sleighs to 
some distant hotel for supper in winter. When 
the sleighing was good, in midwinter, they always 
went to Newton Upper Falls, and the party 
assembled at our house in the autumn. No 
children were invited to these formal gatherings. 
"One's treasures always tell such secrets of oneself." 

Our parlor, though constantly used, was always 
kept ready for company. A brass-trimmed iron 
fire frame surrounded the closed up fire place, be- 
hind the air tight stove, but side brackets still held 
the brass "fire set," shovel, poker, and tongs. The 
chimney cupboard contained the family daguerreo- 
types and other relics, among them a colored print 
of the Burning of the Steamer Lexington. 

"Look in the candle stand drawer" was an often 
repeated direction. This sewing table with hinged 
drop leaves and two drawers was the orderly recep- 
tacle of all sorts of sewing implements and sup- 
plies. When my mother was married her "bureau," 
according to the fashion of the period, was placed 
in this parlor. The "center table" opened out 
square, or folded over to one-half its size, and the top 
turned around over the box; which formed the top 
of the standard. 

70 In Dover on the Charles 

Some forms of fashionable decoration were not 
in our rooms. Painting on glass belonged to an 
earlier period. A printed picture was gummed to 
a plate of glass, the paper moistened and rubbed 
off to the thinnest possible film, and then the out- 
lines filled in with a brush so that the vivid colors 
seemed to be in the glass itself, Large and elabo- 
rate designs were cut with small scissors from white 
paper, which was then placed over a dark back- 
ground and framed. This work was called papyro. 
tamia, and included human figures, birds, and 
flowers. "Skeleton leaves" were made by immers- 
ing green leaves in water until the veins and fibrous 
network could be brushed perfectly clean. When 
dried, pressed and arranged on a background they 
were framed as pictures. In spatterwork the de- 
sign was obtained by laying patterns upon card- 
board, and spattering India ink over all the uncov- 
ered spaces, producing a white picture upon a 
gray background. Pressed ferns were often used 
as patterns. 

In our dining room was a well filled bookcase 
and a table with magazines and newspapers, in- 
cluding a Boston daily, the Massachusetts Plough- 
man, Dedham Gazette, American Messenger, 
Child's Paper, and Farmer's Almanac. Godey's 
Lady's Book, Peterson's Magazine, and Arthur's 

In Dover on the Charles 71 

Home Magazine were then popular, and the fa- 
miliar periodicals of the present time were not 
in existence. Besides law books and many 
other leather covered volumes, I recall Travels in 
Africa, Light on the Dark River, Anna Clayton, 
The Dales in Newport, Watts on the Mind, Paul 
and Virginia, The Russian Boy, and Peter Parley's 
Geography, volumes of poetry and essays, and 
many school text books. 

" Some smack of age in you, 
Some relish of the saltness of time. " 

My father's slant top desk stood in a dining 
room recess. He used steel pens, but in a drawer 
were quill pens such as my mother "mended" under 
Master Whitney's direction in her school days. 
He used blotting paper, but the once indispensable 
"sand box" stood in its wonted place. He used 
gummed envelopes, but the box of wafers was 
opened now and then. He used red bordered 
gummed seals on legal documents, but some 
papers in the pigeon holes bore diamond shaped 
bits of paper fastened with red wafers. 

Within my memory my Grandfather never used 
the shoemaker's bench and the tools of his trade. 
The long, low bench with its hollowed seat, the 
leather apron, lapstone, hammer, lasts, awls, pegs, 
wax, waxed ends, bristles, rasps, and shears, just 

J2 In Dover on the Charles 

as he last used them, were kept in the unfinished 
"back chamber," among the large chests which 
had tills, spring locks and secret drawers. 


"Tempera mutantur." 

IFTY years ago, there were no sample 
cases, drummers, commercial travelers, 
and canvassers, but men went about 
peddling all sorts of merchandise. 
The lightning rod man was ubiquitous. 
Dunlap, the seedsman, sent out an agent who was 
regularly entertained at our house on his annual 
visit. My father sent to the new dealer, Gregory 
of Marblehead, for seeds and plants mentioned in 
his catalogues. The tree man, the shoe man, the 
skein thread peddler, the root-and-herb doctor, the 
ladder man, and the tin peddler came at regular 
intervals. In after years we heard of sending for 
samples, and of orders filled by mail. 

Our well kept Dry Goods and Grocery Store at 
the Corner thrived in a modest way. Mr. Laurence 
Derby was the first proprietor whom I knew. Mr. 
Plummer succeeded Mr. Derby. Mr. Lewis Bliss 
followed Mr. Plummer, and changed the location of 
the store. At this store eggs and butter were 
doubtless disposed of "on account." Every family 
had a garden, and there was no sale for perishable 
fruit and vegetables. 

74. In Dover on the Charles 

Twice each week, Hewins, the Medfield butcher 
sent his cart through Dover. The fish man came 
on Friday. Once each week, Balch, the Medfield 
baker, included us in his circuit. Many articles of 
food came directly from Faneuil Hall Market in 
the returning farm wagons. 

My'old hard rubber, or gutta-percha "puff combs" 
bear the imprint "Goodyear's patent. 1849." Be- 
fore Goodyear's time we had no "hard rubber," 
nothing but the "pure gum." Overshoes at first were 
molded, without cloth lining, a hollow mass of 
thick, soft rubber not wholly unlike the shape of a 
human foot. Tarpaulin and sailcloth were used as 
protection from weather. No waterproofs, rubber 
bands, hose, waterbottles, tubing, aircushions, 
atomizers, and rubber surgical instruments were 
made. Imagine the world of today, hospitals, 
shops, homes, streets, schools, and playgrounds 
suddenly deprived of everything made of rubber 
in its countless forms and combinations, such as 
were unknown twenty years ago, and then imagine 
what must have been true in all departments of life 
fifty years ago. 

In 1863, Professor Horsfordof Harvard College be- 
came the president of theRumford Chemical works 
at Providence. This must have been sometime after 
Horsford's Yeast became a commercial product, 

In Dover on the Charles 75 

the first "yeast powder" which we used. It came 
in two tin boxes, accompanied by a short tin tube 
which was divided into two unequal parts to in- 
sure exactness in measuring first the acid, and then 
the alkaline powder. 

"Before the war" almost everything was sold in 
bulk in markets, grocery and hardware stores, and 
apothecary shops, and purchases were measured 
off or counted out in "dry goods and notions." 
In days still more remote this was the universal 
custom. Pins were sold by the ounce, and even by 
the dozen. I well remember the first paper bags 
such as grocers now use, which took the place of 
wrapping paper for certain purposes, but these 
bags did not have the turned-in corners which 
were a much later invention. The makers of those 
first paper bags "carried out" the work, and "past- 
ing bags" was one of the Dover industries at one 

Adhesive paper, and gummed labels are compar- 
atively modern. I remember when postage stamps 
were not gummed, and when the sheets were not 

Cox's gelatine was introduced in 1844, but I 
recollect when it began to be sold and used in place 
of the sheets of isinglass. 

With the invention of porcelain, arsenic and 

j6 In Dovtr on the Charles 

glass, a great variety of lampshades, vases, and or- 
namental articles became common. 

The invention of the steaming process of bend- 
ing wood, and the introduction of scroll and circu- 
lar saws brought about cheap and varied styles in 
furniture and woodwork. 

"Sinews of War." 

In the time of the Civil War, specie payment 
was suspended. I had a box of silver coins, includ- 
ing half dimes and three-cent pieces, which I ex- 
changed at a premium for "paper currency." 
These much handled, torn, soiled bits of paper 
could not be kept in ordinary purses or pocket- 
books, and little books were made, with a leaf for 
each denomination, and provided with bands of 
tape to hold the "scrip" in its place. Change became 
so scarce that postage stamps were used as money, 
before sufficient "fractional currency" was sup- 
plied. In damp weather, these crumpled bits of 
sticky paper were almost unmanageable in spite 
of all the stamp books and other devices. 
Everybody rejoiced when silver pieces, "new 
cents," and nickels came into use. Much later 
gold was returned to circulation. I have a hand- 
ful of old copper cents, "coppers," in the box in 
which my little brother placed them just before 
his death "in the time of the war." 

In Dover on the Charles 77 

"Sparks of Fire." 

The first red friction matches were made in Eng- 
land in 1827. The matches used in my childhood 
were similar to the brimstone matches of the pres- 
ent day. I have seen matches which could be 
lighted at either end. 

Grandmother had a tinder box, steel, and flint 
with which fire could be obtained by the tedious 
process of striking a spark with the steel against 
the flint, and igniting the tow in the tinder box. 
Fire upon the hearth, in those days, was carefully 
covered with ashes at night, that the coals might 
be ready to start the morning fire. It was not un- 
usual to "borrow fire" from a neighbor, taking the 
live coals home in an iron pan or fire shovel. 
About 1805 sulphur matches were first used. They 
were ignited by dipping the prepared end in a 
bottle of liquid. 

"And stretch the hands ot memory forth 
To warm them at the wood fire's blaze." 

Our parlor, dining room, and two large sleeping 
rooms were heated by air-tight stoves ; one chamber 
had an open fire place; three bedrooms were well 
heated from adjoining rooms, and two chambers 
had no means of heating. 

My grandmother's foot stove is still in my pos- 
session. It is a skeleton wooden box, with zinc 

j8 In Dover on the Charles 

covered bottom, and perforated zinc panels in the 
top and sides. In one side, a door admits an iron 
dish filled with live coals upon ashes. In the days 
of open fireplaces and draughty floors, this stove 
was used as a foot warmer at home, and was car- 
ried under one's shawl into the unheated meeting 
house on the Sabbath day. Grandmother had, of 
course, no rubber water bottle, and she made use 
of her footstove all her life. 

A certain long, cylindrical stone jug was kept 
for the purpose of holding hot water when needed 
"in case of sickness," while hot bricks and soap- 
stones were always used as bed warmers in winter. 
By the rules of the Charlestown Female Seminary, 
every student was required to have a soapstone 
marked with her name. Our warming pan was a 
large pan of shining brass, which had a perforated 
lid, and a long wooden handle. At bedtime, in 
"old times" long before my day, this pan was filled 
with hot coals sprinkled with a little brown sugar, 
and moved about among the icy linen sheets until 
the bed was comfortably warm. 

Peat was used by some families, but coal was 
unknown as fuel. Wood stoves were in every 
house. For summer use we had a patent flatiron 
in which charcoal was burned. 


In Dover on the Charles 79 

"How far that little candle throws its beams !" 
"At early candle light" was a common expres- 
sion, and in many houses candles were still used, 
but I seldom saw them in our own house, the para- 
fine candles of today being of course unknown. 
A wall candlestick hung in our garret, and mother 
still treasured her snuffer-tray and the snuffer, but 
I realize now that she considered candles as relics 
of barbarism though she did stir boiled starch 
with a spermaceti candle to secure glossy linen. 
Once or twice Grandmother "run" some tallow 
candles in the set of iron molds, "dipped" some 
tallow candles, and told us how she had made can- 
dles from "bayberry wax," (myrica cerifera.) 

Candles were superseded by sperm oil, and lard 
oil lamps, usually "one-wicked," that single wick 
tube about the size of an ordinary quill. Well-to- 
do people had two-wicked lamps, and lighted both 
wicks, when several persons sat around that lamp 
to read or sew. The recklessly extravagant, of 
whom, in this particular, my Grandmother was one, 
on occasion burned "lard oil" in two-wicked lamps 
to obtain a clear, steady light. Those wicks 
needed much attention. We had a pair of little 
lamp-shaped standards carved from wood to re- 
ceive the oily, wooden handled pins, or "lamp picks," 
with which the wicks were raised or lowered at fre- 
quent intervals. 

8o In Dover on the Charles 

Seldom lighted "Astral" lamps adapted to astral 
oil adorned the parlor tables almost everywhere, 
but we had a different kind of "tall" lamp for gen- 
eral use. We had a useful "nurse lamp." It was 
a japanned tin cylinder with a handle and a hooded 
opening at one side to admit air. An oil lamp 
could be placed inside under one of its inter- 
changeable covered tin dishes. No alcohol lamps 
were used, and kerosene was unknown at that 

We had one of the first camphene or "fluid" 
lamps, Their wicks were supplied with metal caps 
on account of the extremely volatile nature of the 
fluid. Owing to its explosive properties, resulting 
in many fatalities, camphene soon went out of use 
for illuminating purposes. 

It is difficult to realize now how we lived before 
"rock oil" became a commercial product, be- 
fore the words petroleum, kerosene, and gasolene 
became a part of our vocabulary, and before the 
by-products of oil refineries, and gas works came 
into daily and general use. I well remember the 
first kerosene lamps which were sold. As they 
had no chimneys, the smoke did much damage and 
the light was unsatisfactory. Chimneys were soon 
invented, ground glass globes followed, improve- 
ments in burners, shades, wicks, and oil multiplied, 

In Dover on the Charles 81 

and at some date about 1863, we were the happy 
possessors of an excellent brass student lamp, the 
first one seen in town. 

"The fashions of these times." 

My grandmother, as I remember her, wore deli- 
cate "sprigged" calicoes, or Scotch ginghams, and a 
little shoulder cape, when about her work. For 
afternoon wear, she put on a gray woolen dress, 
between whose surplice fronts lay the soft folds of 
a white muslin neckkerchief. A delicate lawn cap 
just overlapped the neat "false front," and tied under 
her chin. Years after her death it began to be con- 
sidered decent for a woman to show gray hair. 
Except the insane and utterly abandoned, all women 
covered gray hair with false fronts and lined caps, 
or else with entire wigs. 

On Sundays Grandmother wore her newest silver 
gray poplin, and a cashmere shawl, or one of black 
"China crape" heavily embroidered above the knot- 
ted silk fringe. 

A Natick dressmaker, who used to "go out" at 
"two and thrippence" (37^ cents) or three shillings 
(50 cents) per day, came to the house twice each 
year to cut and make "best dresses," silks, poplins, 
thibets, and all wool delaines. She cut, basted, 
fitted, and made button holes, while less skilful 
workers covered piping cord and did the plain sewing. 

82 In Dover on the Charles 

Dressmaker's charges had "gone up" to seventy-five 
cents or one dollar a day, when I was old enough 
to require her services. 

As late as 1860, the invariable style for the neck 
of dresses was a rather low round neck, finished 
with a small piping cord. A necklace of gold beads 
was worn close about the neck, at some distance 
above the dress. Ruffles basted into the neck was 
the next style, leading up to low collars of the 
dress material. 

Knitting machines had not been invented and 
"Jersey" garments were not for sale. 

Summer and winter dresses for little girls, under 
fifteen, were made with "half-low" necks, and "puffed 
sleeves" at the shoulder. A long sleeved apron was 
commonly worn in cold weather, and very "dressy" 
girls wore white undersleeves extending from the 
wrist to meet the sleeve, and held by being tucked 
under the tight band. No guimpes were ever seen. 
When I first went to school I wore a dress almost 
to my ankles and white pantalets of the same length 
or longer. Two older girls were considered the 
leaders of fashion in our school. Their pantalets 
were made of the same material as the dresses with 
which they were worn. Mother refused to let me 
follow the fashion which she said had long ago been 
discarded by my older sisters. 

In Dover on the Charles 83 

Those were not the days of many styles, nor the 
days when the prevailing style was modified to suit 
individuals. I have distinct recollections of a 
milliner's well fitted show room at North Natick. 
It held just two kinds of large bonnets, and two 
shapes in children's hats. The broad-brimmed, low- 
crowned "leghorn flats" must be trimmed with 
wide white ribbon and long feathers. The hideous 
white straw "visor caps" must be trimmed with 
narrow, colored ribbon, a band around the crown 
ending in a rosette among the "artificial flowers" 
clustered above the visor. My sister once brought 
from Newport pretty, expensive hats of the latest 
New York style, small leghorn hats with a fringe 
of straw "dangles" around the edge of the brim. 
Such misery as my little sister and I suffered during 
that summer! All the girls ridiculed our queer 
hats, and no idea of latest fashion could be impressed 
upon them. This was before the days of paper 
patterns, pattern sheets, and fashion books. For 
many years our new dresses were one year ahead 
of Dover fashions and we had a bitter experience 
in being conspicuously out of fashion. 

Everybody wore pumpkin hoods, except for 
dress occasions and church. They were usually 
made of silk, in melon shape, with ribbon bows and 
strings. Loosely knit "clouds'" three yards long, 

84. In Dover on the Charles 

usually of white or chinchilla worsted, were worn 
for years by both old and young, twisted round 
and round the head, being considered "dressy" 
articles of comfort. 

When voluminous and distended skirts were in 
vogue, before "hooped petticoats" were worn, 
women often put on six or seven white petticoats 
at once, all full length and stiffly starched. How 
cumbrous their bulk, and how burdensome their 
weight ! 

Hooped skirts were designed to obtain the 
effect without the inconvenience. A white cotton 
skirt was made with a half inch hem at the bottom, 
and above, seven or eight half inch tucks. Rattan 
sticks of graduated lengths were run into hem and 
tucks. The canes did not meet at the front by 
eight or ten inches, thus allowing for overlapping 
when the wearer sat down or passed through a 
doorway. "Skeleton hooped skirts," with flat steel 
hoops, were soon invented, and one style followed 
another with great rapidity. 

"Raglans," the universal overcoats worn by gen- 
tlemen, such as were worn by Lord Raglan after the 
loss of his arm in the Crimea, and cloaks with rag- 
Ian sleeves worn by ladies came in about 1855. 

"Kossuth" hats, soft felt, were generally worn at 
the time when the fame of Kossuth went everywhere. 

In Dover on the Charles 85 

About 1860, girls' wide brimmed straw hats had 
a long narrow ribbon attached to the crown 
band in front, and held in the hand or fastened to 
the belt so as to bend the hat brim downward over 
the face. This ribbon was called a "bridle." 
"Our shadow selves." 

Paintings and portraits in oil, if good, were beyond 
the reach and means of common people. Etchings 
and steel engravings were occasionally seen. Paul 
Revere's Battle of Lexington, and his Boston Mas- 
sacre in color and original frame hung in our dining- 
room, as did two flat black frames containing col- 
ored prints of sentimental beauties of a bygone day. 
Two large gilt frames, made to order in Boston by 
Williams and Everett, once contained certificates of 
membership in the Norfolk Agricultural Society, 
and later held fine chromos of scenes in water colors, 
the first of those artistic reproductions whose soft 
tints and pleasing outlines in the still untarnished 
frames are admired to-day. Crayon and pencil 
sketches were found here and there, and so were 
cut paper silhouettes. 

In 1839 Daguerre announced his discovery of the 
effect of light upon silver, and in the course of a 
few years "daguerreotype likenesses" became com- 
mon. Daguerreotype saloons upon wheels were 
drawn from town to town, and they remained in 

86 In Dover on the Charles 

favorable localities until everybody in the neighbor- 
hood had an opportunity to be taken. Then, in- 
deed we saw ourselves as others saw us, when dressed 
in our best. No attempt at posing or artistic effect 
would have been tolerated by the severe critics, 
among whom the most severe were the sitters for a 
"good likeness." These daguerreotypes cost sev- 
enty-five cents each, and sometimes more, exclusive 
of the leather covered "case." For an extra con- 
sideration the pictures were "touched up" in colors. 
The "case" before me contains a group on one plate. 
My younger sister in a pale blue dress sits in her red- 
cheeked mother's lap, and my yellow gown, which I 
never possessed, shows to great advantage as I stand 
by her side. My likeness "aged six months," is in 
an open oval locket, at the back of which, in a place 
for the purpose, are entwined two locks of hair. 

Daguerreotypes gave place to Ambrotypes, about 
1855. The new process in skilful hands, gave soft, 
pleasing pictures. 

Then came the period of "tin types." Inch square 
tintype pictures of all degrees of hideousness were 
"taken" by bushels wherever a saloon took its 
station. For serious purposes, larger plates were 
used and the results were somewhat better. 

Photography by collodion process dates back to 
185054, and came gradually into use. Photographs 

In Dover on the Charles 87 

at first were invariably "carte visite size," and it was 
a long time before we heard of "cabinet size." 
Only one daguerreotype or ambrotype likeness was 
obtained at a sitting, but by means of photography a 
negative once obtained could be copied indefinitely. 

"For there no noisy railway speeds 
Its torch-race, scattering smoke and gleeds." 

To ride with father was a treat enjoyed by the 
children in turn. Medfield lay five miles to the 
southwest, and business often called my father to 
Mr. Lorenzo Harding's saw mill and farm, where 
there were children of our own age. 

Being agent for the Dedham Mutual Fire Insur- 
ance Company, my father went to Dedham at regu- 
lar intervals, and being also a Justice of Peace he 
had business at the Court House. Up to this time 
no railroad passed through Dover, and we were 
obliged to go to Readville to meet friends from 
New York or Newport, and to Wellesley (then 
West Needham) or North Natick to meet Boston 
trains. Bailey's stage ran from South Natick to 
West Needham, having, I suppose, run to Boston 
before the railroad was built. The first train on 
the Boston and Worcester R. R. ran to West New- 
ton in 1833. When the road was completed as far 
as West Needham or Natick, the event was cele- 
brated by a barbecue which my mother and father, 

88 In Dover on the Charles 

with all the world, attended. They also attended 
the "Opening" of the Cochituate Aqueduct, held 
at Cochituate Pond, in 1848, to celebrate the 
completion of the aqueduct which furnished the 
first water supply to the city .of Boston. 

From our house we could see the Air Line R. R. 
embankment, and I saw the first train that ran 
from Boston to Medfield. 

The nearest grist mill was at South Natick, two 
and one-half miles north. Groceries, hardware, and 
dry goods could be obtained at South Natick, and 
the barber and tailor were sometimes employed. 
We usually made calls upon Aunt Kingsbury or 
Cousin Leonard's family, while my father went 
from place to place in the village. At North 
Natick were larger stores of every description. I 
recall going there for dentistry, millinery, cloaks, 
shoes, paper-hangings, carpets, and furniture. 

Two or three times each year father and mother, 
with one favored child, went to West Dedham, now 
Westwood, "to trade" at Ellis Gay's store. Mr. 
Gay lived in a well-preserved old farm house, in 
one portion of which Mrs. Gay and Mr. Gay's sister 
carried on a unique and popular store. From their 
often renewed and well selected stock, my mother 
was accustomed to buy sheeting, shirting, towelling 
calico, gingham, blue denim, table cloths, cotton 

In Dover on the Charles 89 

and woolen yarn, cotton batting, ticking, ''linen 
for bosoms," and "hanks" of thread, besides "pins 
by the pound," fans, combs, brushes, "round combs," 
umbrellas, and parasols. 

Meanwhile the children belonging to the several 
groups of customers peered into mysterious nooks 
and cupboards, caught glimpses of the kitchen 
where commonplace housework was actually going 
on, or sat by the huge fire place trying to decide 
whether peppermint pipe would prove a better in- 
vestment than cinnamon hearts in return for our 
precious "five cents to spend." 

Purchases made, the bill "footed up," money 
paid, and unwieldy bundles stowed in the sleigh 
box or under the wagon seat, we were ready to 
pay an hour's visit to Mr. Nathan Phillips, and, 
incidentally, to pay our childish respects to Mrs. 
Phillips's cookies and preserves. 

A few steps from Mr. Phillips' house was Mr. 
Lusha Baker's crockery store, a large front room 
crowded with earthern ware and China of every 
sort, including many "odd" and damaged pieces. 
My mother's selection was in the line of pie-plates, 
and baking dishes. I have now a small squat black 
pitcher which was bought there. 

"Pilfshire," a wood lot in the east part of the 
town was on a cross road beyond Deacon Chick- 

go In Dover on the Charles 

ering's. The Deacon's grand-daughters were our 
friends, and we always called to see them instead 
of going on to the woods where my father in- 
spected "fire wood" and fencing logs. 

Hunnewell's Gardens in West Needham, now 
Wellesley, attracted visitors from far and near. It 
was the first show place in the vicinity. Once or 
twice a year we used to visit this Italian Garden, 
and admire the flowers, the terraces, and Lake 
Waban. Mr. Hunnewell died in 1902, aged ninety- 
two years. 

My father was one of those interested in the 
formation of the Norfolk Agricultural Society, 
whose annual Cattle Show was held at Dedham. 
My mother was a member of the Society, as were 
my youngest sister and myself. We all went to 
the Cattle Show, and inspected the fruit, vegeta- 
bles, and fancy work exhibits, while my father 
met with the several committees to which he 

He "entered" various exhibits, and received a 
number of premiums for both animals and produce. 
As he made a specialty of "reclaiming meadow 
and swamp lands," members of that committee 
came to view his fields, and that meant entertain- 
ing the gentlemen at dinner. My father took care, 
of course, that every part of his farm should be in 

In Dover on the Charles gi 

the best possible condition and order. When my 
Grandmother saw him clearing up the already tidy 
dooryard she would say : "Yes, Hiram, it is a good 
thing to have the Agricultural men come once in a 
while." The Hon. Marshall P. Wilder was one of 
the founders of the Society, and its staunch sup- 
porter. After years saw horse-racing and various 
amusements the important features of the Show, 
the place of meeting was changed to Readville, 
and my father ceased to take an active part in its 

At the breaking out of the Civil War, enlisted 
troops from Dover were encamped at Readville 
before being sent to the front. We paid a visit to 
the camp, although no relatives were among the 

About twice each year we went to Boston by 
carriage. The horse was stabled near Faneuil 
Hall, father went in one direction, and mother 
took us to Hovey's, Whitney's, and Newell's shoe 
store. Mrs. Haven had been the popular restaurant 
keeper, but we were accustomed to seek Copeland's 
and its fountain, on Tremont Row. 

" That which lured us once, now lureth not. " 

Hannibal, the famous elephant, was exhibited in 
Barnum's Menagerie at North Natick. I have 
never forgotten the immense tent and the great 

g2 In Dover on the Charles 

number of caged animals, nor my surprise at find- 
ing the living animals to look so exactly like their 
pictures that they were only mildly interesting. 
Hannibal himself was the chief performer in the 
small ring. 

One Fourth of July, my sister Eveline and her 
husband took me to Boston, where we saw Tom 
Thumb at the Museum, and viewed the fireworks 
on the Common. 

About 1858 or 1860 a Band of Hope was organ- 
ized. I have forgotten who was the local leader 
under the Rev. Edwin Thompson, advocate and 
prime mover. All the children of the town at- 
tended the regular meetings which were held in the 
"Town House." We signed a pledge, promising 
"to abstain from the use of all intoxicating liquors 
as a beverage, from the use of tobacco, and from 
all profanity." We had blue ribbon badges, and 
song books for use in our meetings. The copy 
before me is entitled "Thompson's Band of Hope 
Melodies, "and bears the date 1860. The following 
stanzas were among our favorites. Tune, "Susan- 
nah, don't you cry." 

"There is a good time coming, 

Though we cannot fix the date, 
But yet 'tis surely on the way, 

At telegraphic rate. 

In Dover on the Charles 93 

What though the dram shops do increase 

And pauper taxes too, 
We should not let our efforts cease 

While there's so much to do. " 

The Rev. Mr. Hanks came to Dover several 
times with his Chart and Lecture upon the "Black 
Valley Railroad." The Chart represented the 
successive steps and stages in a drunkard's career, 
from youth and innocence to a drunkard's grave. 
There were evening lectures delivered in the 
Orthodox Meeting House. 

When a division of the Sons of Temperance was 
organized, I was over fourteen years of age and 
eligible for membership. Initiated into the mys- 
teries of the order, my connection with the society 
was brief, and I have forgotten all the proceedings 
in which I took part. 

Among home diversions were checkers, fox and 
geese, and jackstraws, the latter being literally rye 
straws and not carved from wood or bone. Jack- 
stones were common playthings. I was expert at 
the game which I carried to "high numbers." 
"Stick knife" was a boy's game, but girls were 
condescendingly admitted to the game and the use 
of the knives. Jump ropes, swings, and kites re- 
turned with the seasons. I had a good sled, and 
"coasting" was fine sport, solitary in my case. 

gq. In Dover on the Charles 

When a hard crust formed on deep snow, I could 
start from the dooryard and reach the third field, 
passing over the tops of fences. On the edge of 
South Natick, "Where the flooded Charles writes 
the last letter of his name," was "Ben Sawin's 
Grove" in which picnics were held every summer. 

Auction sales of household goods and farming 
tools were sometimes advertised, but they were 
outside my experience. Aside from the charm of 
buying at a low price, men found an attraction in 
the fact that "everybody" would be there. Crack- 
ers and cheese were always furnished as a mid-day 


"Science and Song." 

For many successive years, Prof. William Tilden 
of Medfield used to teach an evening singing school 
in the Baptist Chapel. He was a good teacher, as 
I realized years afterwards, when I was obliged to 
drill my class in the theory of music, after the weekly 
lesson had been given by the director of music in 
in the public schools. Each of Mr. Tilden's pupils 
paid a small fee, I think $1.50 for the course of les- 
sons, and a new singing book was purchased each 
winter. One winter we sang from the Diapason, one 
of those books whose pages are wide from right 
to left, conveniently held by two persons singing 
from one book. The first part contained the scale 

In Dover on the Charles 95 

exercises and lessons use; then came the songs, glees, 
and rounds, followed by hymns and anthems. 

Mr. Tilden played the violin accompaniment, 
when he was not beating time with his bow, 
or using it as a pointer in teaching from the black- 
board. While he is not now engaged in teaching, 
he is actively interested in Medfield affairs. 
"Everything for convenience, nothing for ambition." 

Dover had churches, schoolhouses, and a hearse- 
house in the town cemetery, but no hotel or other 
public buildings at the time of which I write. The 
basement story of the Unitarian Meeting House 
was the place where town meetings and elections 
were held, and it could be hired for entertain- 

Nonantum Hall at Charles River Village was a 
suitable place for dancing parties, fairs and other 

The Post Office was kept in Mr. Isaac Howe's 
house at the Centre, a building which was an old- 
time tavern kept by Mr. Howe's ancestors. Mr. 
Howe's son George succeeded him as Postmaster, 
and the office was removed to the Railroad Station. 

Dwellers at the foot of Pegan Hill hired a man 
to bring the mail once each day to the "Corner" 
store, where it was placed in boxes and distributed 
by the store-keeper. 

<)6 In Dover on the Charles 

A circulating library had its place in Isaac 
Howe's house from some remote period. It was 
always spoken of as the Town Library, but no 
books were issued after I was able to read. My 
grandfather was fond of books, and my mother 
habitually read aloud to him while he worked at 
his bench. In this way she read almost every 
book in the library before she was twenty years 
old, prose, poetry, history, Shakespeare, Cooper, 
Rollin, and many more. 

"Martello Towers that protect our coast." 

The Examining School Committee consisted of 
three members, one of whom was chosen for a term 
of three years, at the regular "March Meeting." 
Each of the four districts, West, North, East, and 
Centre, chose a "Prudential Committee Man" 
whose duty it was to hire a teacher, secure her 
boarding place, take charge of the school property, 
provide for fuel, and care of fires. The School 
Committee examined the teachers, issued certifi- 
cates, and examined the Registers to see that they 
were "kept" as required by the State Board of 
Education. This committee authorized text books 
and courses of study. 

I cannot remember the time when I could not 
read, but I know that Sargent's Second Reader 
and Emerson's Elementary Arithmetic were in my 

In Dover on the Charles 97 

hands when I sat on the bench in front of the desk 
nearest the platform in the North District School 
house. The Centre School House, at that time had 
a sloping floor, ascending from the teacher's desk 
to the rear of the room, and the benches were so 
long that six pupils sat at one desk. The North 
District having been "set off," it took just pride in 
its school and school house, which in construction, 
condition, and equipments was said to be excelled 
by none for miles around. Playgrounds and fences 
were well kept. One corner of the yard was 
shaded by two beautiful trees, while a fine old elm 
stood near the road, between the trees at either 
corner of the fence. Boys and girls played "round 
ball," and "four old cat" in the adjoining field, and 
ate their dinners and built playhouses in the old 
pine grove just beyond. Berries of every kind, 
sweet fern seeds, spruce gum, black birch bark, 
checkerberries and their aromatic leaves, all these 
delicacies were free to all who sought them in the 
"hour's nooning." All sorts of wild flowers grew in 
the deep woods, pastures, and lowlands, and in 
roadside thickets and corners. The "Cleaveland 
Lot" was our school garden, and the noon inter- 
mission our time for physical culture and nature 
study, fifty years before those terms were on every 
tongue. Until my fourteenth year, I seldom failed 

to attend school the two terms in each year. Be- 
sides the lessons which I was required to learn and 
recite, like many other children, I mastered by my- 
self several subjects as contained in books which I 
found in the "School Library," a small case of 
books at one end of the teacher's platform. Cut- 
ter's Anatomy and Physiology was one of those 
books, and Greenleaf's National Arithmetic was 
another. This arithmetic contained explanations, 
rules and answers, and in my leisure I "ciphered" 
through the book, in course. Arithmetical and 
Geometrical Progression, Permutation, Alligation, 
Mensuration, and all the rest. One of the teachers 
was "good" in arithmetic. All my life I have 
been grateful to her for teaching me to "reckon in 
my head." We used Colburn's Intellectual Arith- 
metic, the early edition, of course, and in its use 
we were drilled to listen, comprehend, retain, and 
reason. We enjoyed the recitation period, as a 
college crew enjoys a race. Under this teacher, 
the class formed in line across the room, and the 
teacher read from the previously assigned chapter 
a problem which the pupil at the head was 
expected to "solve and explain" later. When she 
had read as many examples as there were pupils 
in the class, the head scholar was called upon to 
recite. First of all he must repeat the example, 

In Dover on the Charles 99 

"word for word" as it had been read by the teacher. 
To change a syllable was to fail. Succeeding in 
this he then analyzed the problem according to the 
model given for bringing out the principle involved, 
and concluded with, "Therefore, if" etc. These 
lessons were so graded that one lesson prepared 
the way for the next, and failures in class were 

"Spelling matches" were a Friday afternoon ex- 
ercise. "Spelling Schools" were occasionally held 
in the school house on winter evenings, and 
matches were sometimes arranged between the 
pupils in adjoining districts. Under the direction 
of enthusiastic teachers, these contests aroused 
general interest. The room was lighted by lamps, 
lanterns, and candles carried from our homes. 
One boy and one girl were appointed as leaders, 
and they took turns in choosing from among the 
participants. When all were chosen, the two lines 
faced each other, and the teacher began to give 
out the words. A failure made, the word was 
passed from one side to the other until spelled 
correctly. Sometimes it was spelled on the side 
where it was missed, and the "side saved." If the 
other side spelled it, the leader was entitled to a 
choice of pupils from the losing side. When all 
were at last ranged on the winning side, they were 

ioo In Dover on the Charles 

"spelled down," One after another missed and 
took their seats. Sometimes "good spellers" would 
hold their places through page after page of poly- 
syllables, and then "catch words" were considered 
"fair." To avoid delay in case of appeal, the reg- 
ular text book in spelling was taken as authority. 

Speaking pieces was a popular exercise on Fri- 
day afternoons. On rare occasions we "spoke 
dialogues," and happy were those who were allowed 
to take part. We "wrote compositions" upon such 
subjects as school, summer, winter, and honesty, 
but we realized no connection between our compo- 
sition work and the "passing lesson" in Green's 
Grammar. Nevertheless, in learning the parsing 
lessons, we learned to look for certain forms and 
uses of words, to know them when we saw them, 
and to give reasons for our classifications. We 
studied Cornell's Geographies, and Quackenbos's 
History. One summer our teacher taught the girls 
all kinds of fancy work, and the older girls made 
some elaborate articles. I learned crocheting, and 
made a card basket from fine cotton thread, shaped 
and starched upon an earthern dish. I also knit a 
round "mat" or doily. On the last day of the 
term our work was displayed to visitors in the 
school room. Among my teachers were Miss Jo- 
sephine Mansfield of Lowell, Miss Electa P. Butler 

In Dover on the Charles 101 

of Maine, Miss Fannie Chute, and Miss Fannie 
Hildreth, now Mrs. Bacon. Miss Martha Plum- 
mer, now Mrs. Everett, taught at the Centre. 
During one long vacation, I went every day to her 
home for private lessons in English Grammar. 
How I happened to do this, I do not know. It 
may have been my own idea, and, possibly, it was 
my mother's wish for me to improve my time under 
a good teacher. At all events, I studied Grammar 
to some purpose, and I well remember the day 
when the mystery of "false syntax" on the last 
pages of Quackenbos's Grammar became a mystery 
solved. The East District, "Strawberry Hill," had 
a "good teacher" one winter, and I was allowed to 
be her pupil. Deacon Bigelow's farm house was 
my boarding place from Monday morning until 
Friday night, and my father took me back and 
forth each week. Miss Hawes, the teacher, also 
boarded there. During the spring of 1863, I 
attended the Girls' High School in Newport, R. I. 
during a three months' visit to my sister Parthena. 
The next fall, with other boys and girls from Dover, 
I attended the High School at "Needham Plain," 
going by rail every day. This high school was 
newly organized, and was nothing more than an 
attempt to make the highest grade possible out of 
the material gathered from the ungraded district 

102 In Dover on the Charles 

schools. The highest class, of which I was one, 
studied the usual high school branches, Latin, 
Geometry, etc. That year the sessions were held 
in one room of a district school house some distance 
from the railroad station. The Principal and sole 
instructor was the Rev. Silas Bundy Rawson, of 
Maine. Later the school was removed to a hall, 
over the Post Office near the railroad station, and 
Mr. Rawson was succeeded by Mr. Albion Gate. 

''And the hillside where the Meeting-house 
With the wooden belfry stood. " 

The Unitarian Meeting House, the third to be 
built upon its site, Meeting House Hill, was dedi- 
cated in 1839. J* was one m il e from our house by 
road, much less through Uncle Rufus's fields by 
the beaten path which came out by the "dam." The 
square, white structure had then, as now, green 
blinds, a steeple, and a bell. A double row of 
horse sheds stood between the edifice and the en- 
croaching "pine woods." Grandmother Griggs was 
a member of this church, and the family were regu- 
lar attendants upon its services. The Meeting 
House was comparatively new when I frequented 
it, and fully up to the standard of the times. 
When the choir rose to sing, of course the congre- 
gation rose also, and stood with backs to the pul- 
pit, gazing from the hymn books to the "singers" 

In Dover on the Charles 

seats" in the organ loft at the rear of the room. 
Most of the older men stood throughout the long 

My Grandmother had seen and heard much of 
Mr. Nettleton, the famous revival preacher of Con- 
necticut, and she was much distressed by the 
strange doctrines which began to be preached 
from the pulpit of the Dover church as the Unita- 
rian movement spread to that community and 
congregation. The Rev. Benj. Caryl, "Priest Caryl," 
was for forty-nine years pastor of the church. I 
have a manuscript sermon which he preached in 
1802. In 1812 the Rev. Ralph Sanger became the 
pastor, and remained in the pastorate almost fifty 
years. I remember watching his tall, dignified 
figure, as he came "up across" to make a call at 
our house, or to pass through our yard, up the 
mill house steps, on his way to the "west end of 
the town." He was a man of learning, refinement, 
and unvarying courtesy, and of great influence in 
the community. He was succeeded by the Rev. 
Mr. Baker, and he was followed in the pulpit by 
the Rev. Horatio Alger, Jr., the writer of books 
for boys. Mr. Alger's father was the long-time 
pastor at South Natick. The Rev. George Proctor 
was the last pastor of whom I have any knowledge. 

Those who became dissatifi?cj with Unitarian 

104. In Dover on the Charles 

doctrine left the First Church, and formed the 
Orthodox Society, building a chapel on Meeting 
House Hill opposite the old church. My older 
sisters united with this church. The Rev. John 
Haskell was the pastor whom I knew, possibly the 
first placed over the church. His parsonage was 
at the foot of the hill, the house since known as 
the Dunn place. One of the greatest treats of my 
childhood was "going down across" to spend an 
hour at Mrs. Haskell's. She was young and very 
beautiful, and I am sure, greatly admired and 
loved. I was at one time visiting my oldest sister 
when Mrs. Haskell called. My sister had just then 
given me a small broom, suited to my height. To 
show off the new broom, and myself, I set up a 
vigorous sweeping directly in front of the visitor. 
I shall never forget the Way in which Mrs. Haskell 
said: "I see, Alice, that you wish to be thought a 
good housekeeper, but you must not forget that 
very neat people get their sweeping done before it 
is time for company to arrive." Since then I have 
found it true that really clean people take neatness 
for granted, and do not obtrude their ideas of 

Mr. Haskell survived his wife many years, and 
died May n, 1902. 

The Rev. T. S. Norton succeeded Mr. Haskell. 

In Dover on the Charles 

His children, Cooley, Gertie, and Lewis were our 
schoolmates and companions. 

About 1862, Uncle Sherman Battle removed the 
Baptist Chapel from Charles River Village to the 
"Corner," and the Springdale Baptist Church was 
organized. Students fron Newton Theological 
Seminary supplied the pulpit, among them some of 
the best known divines of to-day. Some years ago 
the church was disbanded. 

The nearest Roman Catholic Church was at 
Saxonville, eight miles distant. 

"But when ill indeed, 
E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed." 

Dr. Geo. Caryl, son of "Priest Caryl," was the 
only resident physician which Dover has had. He 
practiced there form 1791 to 1829. 

Old Dr. Gallup of Medfield was a typical old- 
school calomel-giving, blood-letting doctor, of whom 
I heard much, though I saw him but once. 

To save a neighbor's life, my father and mother 
once rode more than twenty miles, at night to 
Rockville, a part of Medway, to secure the services 
of Dr. Nathaniel Miller, the famous surgeon who 
died in 1850. 

Dr. George Townsend of South Natick was our 
family physician, as of most of the townspeople. 
Skilful and popular, he drove his fast horses and 

io6 In Dover on the Charles 

"sulky" for miles around. My earliest recollection 
is of the time when he advised me to put the icicle, 
which I was holding, upon tha stove to warm it a 
little. I regretted taking his advice then, but in 
after years I owed much to his care and skill. 

One reason why Dover has not had a resident 
doctor and lawyer, and a real business and social 
centre, is that the outlying districts practically form 
parts of the adjacent townships. Many families at 
the West End attended church in Medfield, used 
Medfield Post Office, and entered into the social 
life of that town. Natick and Needham, as well as 
Dedham, were the real homes of those who lived 
over the Dover Line. 

"Strange figures of the long ago, 
Come out and take their places." 

Between our house and Uncle Rufus's wheel- 
wright shop was the shop of Rudman, the black- 
smith. Mr. Rudman was an Englishman, and we 
took delight in watching him "set tires," and hear- 
ing him say, " 'Eat the hiron 'ot, Bill. " 

William Green, who came from Connecticut to 
work for my Grandfather, married Eliza, the house- 
maid. My father built a house for them on land 
adjoining the orchard, and afterward sold the 
premises to them. In those days, "to live upon 
hire" was considered a disgrace, because it "showed 
a lack somewhere." 

In Dover on tht Char Its 

Eliza had marked characteristics. Her "posy gard- 
ing" was a wilderness of blossoming shrubs and 
plants, luxuriating in the rich, well-tilled soil that 
William was wont to prepare. Her living rooms 
were crowded with growing plants, which "came 
up," "slipped," or "rooted" at her will. 

She made "monuments," resembling that on 
Bunker Hill, varying in height from six inches to 
three feet. Base and shaft were "turned" out of 
solid wood, and then covered with putty or white 
lead, in which were imbedded sea shells, coral, bits 
of colored glass, broken looking-glass, glittering 
buttons, mother-of-pearl, sea beans, beads, and 
pebbles. Who used these monuments for parlor 
ornaments I do not know, but many were sold at 
prices ranging from two to fifteen dollars, accord- 
ing to size and beauty. Picture frames of all 
shapes and sizes she made to order. Some were made 
of sea shells; some were covered with kernels of red 
and yellow field corn ; others showed a pattern in 
beans, red, white, and black ; scales from white 
pine cones were arranged to overlap each other, 
corner rosettes being made of clustered small 
cones ; autumn leaves, pressed and varnished, were 
also made to cover frames, or grouped upon a back- 
ground to form a picture for the frame. By means 
of fine wire and colored worsteds she made huge 

io8 In Dover on the Charles 

bouquets of "worsted flowers," which were bought 
and placed under tall glass shades upon parlor 
centre tables. Wax flowers and hair flowers had a 
share of her attention. Dover people were not her 
patrons. Most of her orders and purchasers came 
from the "city." 

It was, however, the fashion to display hair 
flowers under glass,.but the small bouquet which we 
had was kept in a cupboard. Locks of hair from 
the head of each member of a family, living or 
dead, were combined in these wreaths or bouquets. 
Some member of the family was always ready to 
tell visitors whose hair was in that rose, and whose 
in that lily. Snow white hair and bright red 
tresses "made up real pretty." About 1862 wax 
flower making was a desirable accomplishment for 
young ladies. 

On Sundays, a quaint, bobbing two-wheeled 
"shay" came by our house from the west part of 
Dover. As I recall the brother and sister who were 
its occupants, the tall, spare, stiffly erect lady might 
have stepped out of an old fashioned novel. Her 
large grey or fawn colored silk bonnet had a soft 
white ruching in its high-peaked front, and a cor- 
ner wise silk shawl draped the straight brown silk 

"Uncle Joe Larrabee," as he was affectionately 

In Dover on the Charles 109 

called, was a conspicuous figure in the community, 
especially in the meeting house where he occupied 
a pew near the pulpit, and always stood erect 
throughout the "long prayer." 

Aunt Fanny in her prime did "tailoring," going 
from house to house. In later years she "kept 
house" in different families whose heads were tem- 
porarily absent. Rain or shine, she never ventured 
abroad without her large, faded, cotton umbrella, a 
protection from sun, wind, or rain as occasion re- 
quired. In these days of more convenient umbrel- 
las, we have followed her fashion. Around her 
black, quaker like bonnet a long, green barege veil 
was tied by its drawing string. When not hanging 
straight down over her face, this veil was thrown 
back and drawn over edgewise so as to hang over 
one shoulder, as was the prevailing fashion in her 
younger days. 

"Granny Gould," when I first knew her, was an 
aged, infirm woman who lived alone in an ancient, 
gambrel-roofed cottage near the Old Plain. Grand- 
mother looked after her in a neighborly way, and 
we often went "over across lots" to carry some del- 
icacy and inquire for her welfare. The house, like 
everything in its three low rooms, was worn and 
time stained. She had never used a stove, and the 
fuel which fed the fire upon her hearth was obtained 

no In Dover on the Charles 

from the peat bogs upon her own premises. She 
was tall and large in frame, though much bowed 
with age; her black eyes had not lost all their bril- 
liancy, and still flashed under her wrinkled brows 
shaded by the brown folds of a turban which con- 
cealed her hair. Whenever I watched her harm- 
less domestic incantations with pot-hook and crane, 
brass kettle and iron skillet, poker and tongs, as 
she stooped over the ash-strewn hearth before the 
cavernous fireplace, she always seemed to me a 
veritable witch of the story books. 

One morning no smoke ascended from Granny 
Gould's chimney, and we learned that the incanta- 
tions were no longer needed, for her life of strange 
and troubled experiences was ended. 



1. Josiah Richards, born 1713, died 1771, mar- 
ried Hannah, the "H. R." of relics, died October 
24, 1771. 

2. Children of Josiah and Hannah: Samuel, 1738; 
Moses, 1739; Hannah, 1741; Asa, 1743; Sarah, 1745; 
Thaddeus, 1747; Josiah, 1749; Solomon, 1751; Mary, 
1753; Lucy, 1755, married Josiah Battle of Dover; 
Abijah, 1757; Lydia, 1759; Jesse, 1761. 


1. Nathan Griggs, Ashford, Conn., married , 
February 8, 1772. 

2. Children of Nathan and : Lucy, married 

Jared Warner Snow; Phebe; Abijah; Reuben, 1782, 
married Lucy Battle, Dover; "Sibbil," married Chap- 
man, second, Parkhurst, Conn. 


1. Henry Sherman, Colchester and Dedham, 
England, born 1580, married Agnes Butler. 

2. Henry, son of Henry and Agnes, married 
Susan Hilles, died 1610. 

3. John, son of Henry and Susan, married Grace 

H2 In Dover on the Charles 

4. Captain John, son of Henry and Grace, Ded- 
ham, England 1613, married Martha Palmer, 
daughter of his mother's third husband, and came 
to Watertown, Mass. 1634. 

5. Joseph, son of Captain John and Martha, 
born in Watertown. 

6. William, son of Joseph of Watertown. 

7. Roger, son of William, signed Declaration of 

Mehitable, daughter of William, born 1714, 
married John Battle, Dover, Mass., died 1804. 


1. John Battle, Dover, married Mehitable Sher- 
man, died 1800, aged eighty-four. 

2. Josiah, son of John and Mehitable, married 
Lucy Richards, died 1834, aged seventy-nine. 

3. Children of Josiah and Lucy: Betsy, 1782, 
married John Brown of Dover; Lucy, 1785, married 
Reuben Griggs, died 1864; Josiah, 1787, married 
first Sukey , second the widow Goulding; Sher- 
man, 1791, married first Hetty , second Miranda 

Twitchell; Rufus, 1794, married Lydia Mann; Roger 
Sherman, 1796, married Betsy - . 


I. Azariah Walker, probably Marbors, married 
Prudence Pepper. 

In Dover on the Charles 

2. Emily, daughter of Azariah and Prudence, 
married Jonathan Kingsbury, South Natick. Their 
children were, Leonard, Abbie, Jonathan. 

Mary, second daughter, married Samuel Jones. 


1. John Alden, England, 1599, married Priscilla 
Molines, 1621, died in Plymouth, 1680. 

2. John, of John and Priscilla, Plymouth, 1622, 
married Elizabeth (Phillips) Everill, Boston, 1660, 
died in Boston, 1702. 

3. John, of John and Elizabeth, Boston, 1663, 
married Elizabeth Phelps, died 1730. He was Cap- 
tain of a schooner, and was taken captive by the 
French. In 1764, the General Court granted to his 
heirs a tract of land because of "his extraordinary 
services and his sufferings during a long and tedious 

4. Nathaniel, of Capt. John and Elizabeth, 1700, 

married Mary . In 1731 he owned one half 

of a house on Milk Street, Boston. 

5. Elizabeth, 1729, of Nathaniel and Mary, mar- 
ried Anthony Jones of Hopkington in 1747. 

6. Nathaniel Alden Jones of Elizabeth and 
Anthony Jones, Hopkington, 1748, married Lois 
Claflin in 1770. 

In Dover on the Charles 

7. Samuel Jones, of Nathaniel and Lois, 1777, 
married first, Mary Walker, second, Lurana Sawin. 

8. Hiram Walker Jones, of Samuel and Mary, 
South Natick, 1807, married Lucy Griggs, April 5, 

1830, died 1876. 

9. Children of Hiram and Lucy: Eveline Eames, 

1831, married 1852, died 1895; Parthena Griggs, 
1834, married 1862, died 1896; Mary Malvina, 
1839, died, l8 54! Arabelle, 1845, died 1847; Alice 
Johnson, 1848; Inez Lenore, 1851; Samuel Waldo, 
1854, died 1862. 

10. Child of John and Eveline Nichols: Lucy 
Griggs, East Randolph, 1853, married Charles S. 
Davison, Elmira, N. Y., 1873, removed to Norfolk, 
Va., 1905. 

Children of Charles E. Hammett, Jr. and Par- 
thena: Waldo Jones, 1864, died, 1865; Philip 
Melancthon, 1867, married Marie Louise Plack, 
Altoona, Pa., 1893, lives in Portland, Me. 

11. Children of Charles and Lucy Davison: Eve- 
lyn Lucy, married Alvah Nivison, Caywood, N. Y., 
Nov., 1904; Alice Lenore, Philip Nichols, Ruth 
Lowe, Charles Morton, Waldo Burton. 

Children of Philip and Louise Hammett: Louis 
Plack, Waldo Bertram, Helen. 

12. Child of Alvah and Evelyn Nivison: John 
Beecher, Dec. 23, 1905. 


Los Angeles 
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 

Form L9-42m-8,'49(B5573)444 


F74 Jones - 
-JEii In. Dovor on tho 
Charles .