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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2012 

New England Magazine 

An Illustrated Monthly 

New Series, Vol. 26 


March, 1902 

August, 1902 

Boston, Mass. 

America Company, Publishers 

J Park Square 

Entered according .to Act of Congress in the year 1902, by 


in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 

All rights reserved. 





MARCH, 1902— AUGUST, 1902 

America's First Painters Rnfus Rockwell Wilson 

An Old Letter from a New England Attic Almon Gunnison . 

As It was Written. A Story H. Knapp Harris . 

At Harvard Class Day. A Story . . . . • . . . . Elsie Carmichael . 

Birds of New England A. Henry Higginson 

William I. Cole . 
Elsie Locke 
George EI. Martin 
Clifton Johnson 
S. W. Abbott . . 

Boston's Early Churches at the North End .... 

Boston's Reservations, Flower Folk in 

Boston's Schools One Hundred Years Ago 

Cape Cod Folks 

Cape Cod Lakes, The 

Cape Cod Notes By a Returned Native 

Charles River Valley Augusta W. Kellogg 

Choral Singing in New England, A Century of . . . Henry C. Lahee 

Cinderella of the Blackberry Patch, A. A Story . . . William McLeod Raine 

Conquering of Caroline, The. A Story Eleanor H. Porter . 

Conspiracy in St. Mark's, A. A Story David H. Talmadge 

Coronation Sermon, An Early ,. . . George H. Davenport 

Creating Character at the Lyman School Alfred S. Roe 

Dancing Flowers and Flower Dances Alice Morse Earle 

Don Who Loved a Donna, A. A Story Will M. Clemens 

Early Churches at the North End, Boston William L Cole . 

Fair Exchange, A. A Story Emma Gary Wallace 

Famous Farm Houses in the Narragansett Country . . Harry Knowles 

Flower Folk in the Boston Reservations Elsie Locke 

Foreign Schools and Their Suggestions, Two .... Daniel S. Sanford 

Fruit of His Bravery, The. A Story David H. Talmadge 

Genesis of Standard Oil, The Will M. Clemens • 

Handsome Felix. A Story . . . /. McRoss . 

Hartman. A Story Frank Baird . 

Hazel. A Story Mary Tcprell . . 

Historic Town in Connecticut, An Clifton Johnson 

Hoosac Tunnel's Troubled Story Edward P. Pressev 

Howe, Mrs., as Poet, Lecturer, and Club Woman . . George Willis Cooke 

How Young Lowell Mason Travelled to Savannah . . Daniel Gregory Mason 










In an Old Garden 

International Sweethearts. A Story 

Jefferson, Thomas and Higher Education 

Kellogg, Rev. Elijah— Author and Preacher . . . . 

King's Highway, The 

Korea, The Pigmy Empire 

Lesser Tragedy, The. A Story 

Letter from a New England Attic, An Old 

Lyman School for Boys, Westborough, Mass 

Mane Adelaide of Orleans 

Mason, Lowell, How He Travelled to Savannah . . . 

Massachusetts Steel Ship Building 

Memories of Daniel Webster 

Menotomy Parsonage 

Methuen, Mass., The King's Highway 

Nantncket, Mass 

Narragansett Country Farm Houses 

National Pike, The 

Naval Torpedo Station, The U. S 

New England Birds 

New England Choral Singing, A Century of ... . 

Northborough and Westborough 

Norwalk, Connecticut 

Old Blue Plates - 

Old York, A Forgotten Seaport 

Painters, America's First 

Pennsylvania Germans, The 

Plates, Old Blue 

Professor's Commencement, The. A Story . 

Public School Garden, A 

Regeneration of Young Hawley, The. A Story . 

Resurrection of a Minister, The. A Story 

Revere's, Paul, Ride, The True Story of 

Saybrook, Connecticut 

Schools of Boston One Hundred Years Ago . 

School Garden as an Educational Factor 

School Garden, A Public 

Secret Service, The 

Standard Oil, The Genesis of 

Stars and Stripes, The, a Boston Idea 

Steel Ship Building in Massachusetts 

Story of Jess Dawson. A Story 

Things That Were, The. A Story 

True Story of Pan! Revere's Ride, The 

Two Foreign Schools, Their Suggestions 

United States Naval Torpedo Station, The 

York, Maine, A Forgotten Seaport 

Washington-Greene Correspondence 

Webster, Daniel, Memories of 

Wee Jamie's Cab. A Story 

Westborough, M;iss., Lyman School 

Westborough and Northborough 

Whale Oil and Spermaceti 

William-, Roger, and the Plantations at Providence, R. I. 


Elizabeth W . Shermer 
Edgar Fawcett 
George Frederick Me 
Isabel T. Ray . 
Charles W. Mann 
W. E. GriMs . . . 
Grant Richardson . 
Almon Gunnison . 
Alfred S. Roe . . 
Mary Stuart Smith 
Daniel Gregory Mason 
Ralph Bergengren 
William T. Davis 
Abram English Brown 
Charles W. Mann 
Mary E. Starbuck 
Harry Knowles 
Rufus Rockwell Wilson 
Grace Herreshoff . 
A. Henry Higginson 
Henry C. Lahee . 
Martha E. D. White 
Angeline Scott . 
A. T. Spalding 
Pauline C. Bouve 
Rufus Rockwell Wilson 
Lucy Forney Bittingcr 
A. T. Spalding 
Willa Sibert Cat her . 
Henry Lincoln Clapp 
Neill Sheriden 
Edith Copeman 
Charles Ferris Gettemy 
Clifton Johnson 
George H. Martin . 
Lydia Southard 
Henry Lincoln Clapp 
W. Herman Moran . 
Will M. Clemens . . 
George J. Varney 
Ralph Bergengren 
Imogen Clark 
Agnes Louise Provost 
Charles Ferris Gettemy 
Daniel S. Sanford 
Grace Herreshoff . 
Pauline C. Bouve . 

. . . . 63, 229, 32 
}] r illiam T. Davis . 
Margaret W. Beardsley 
Alfred S. Roe . . . 
Martha E. D. White 
Mary E. Starbuck 
E. J. Carpenter . 




498, 617 




583, 698 



Aftermath Charlotte Becker . . . 

Beautiful Death S. H. M. Byers . . . 

Good Queen, The Charles Hanson Towne . 

Hill Stream, The Alice d'Alcho 

Homesickness Ethelwyn Wetherald . 

My Dream Garden Edith R. Blanchard . . 

Ode to the Organ . . . . . Lucy C. (Whittemore) My 

Pilot, The Mary Hall Leonard . . 

Pond, The Mary Clark Huntington . 

Preparation Charles Hanson Towne . 

Pygmalion Zitella Cocke .... 

Quest, The Charlotte Becker . 

Sea-Born Virna Sheard .... 

Shepherd Stephen Tracy Livingston 

Similitude E. Carl Litsey 

Sisters . . Helen M. Richardson 

Storm Beaten Charles Francis Saunders 

Strangers .... Emma Playtcr Seabury . 

Sunset Alice Van Leer Carrick 

Then ! Christene W. Bullwinkle 






Hmerican Sbrinee UT 

1Fnt>cpent>cncc Ifoall 





New England Magazine 

New Series 


Vol. XXVI No. 1 

Mrs. Howe as Poet, Lecturer and 

By George Willis Cooke 

N^O woman in this country bet- 
ter represents than Mrs. 
Julia Ward Howe the great 
advancement made by her 
sex during the present century in edu- 
cation, social influence, literary power 
and industrial opportunities. With 
almost every phase of this advance has 
she identified herself, and in several of 
them she has been a leader. Her 
career has been many-sided and 
broadly catholic in its sympathies. The 
companion and intimate friend of 
many of the intellectual and reforma- 
tory leaders of our country, she has 
lived much abroad and known the bet- 
ter phases of life in England, France, 
Italy and Greece. Though obtaining 
her education before women's colleges 
had come into existence, few women 

* The illustrations in this article are from "Mrs. Howe's Reminiscences, 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co., by whose courtesy they are here used. 

have attained a broader or more thor- 
ough culture than she or used it to 
nobler advantage. 

In her charming book of "Reminis- 
cences," Mrs. Howe has told the story 
of her life, and in a manner to delight 
and to instruct all who may read it. 
There could be no excuse whatever for 
presenting the facts of her life in 
briefer fashion, were it not that in so 
doing, attention may be drawn to the 
significance of her career in a manner 
that was not possible to her own pen. 
Not only will the book fail to reach the 
hands of many who would be inter- 
ested and instructed by its most im- 
portant incidents, but it is possible to 
make such a study of Mrs. Howe's life 
as will freshly interpret the gains 
women have made since she was a 

published by Messrs. 

Sarah Mitchell, Mrs. Howe's Grandmother 

young girl, and the part she has had in 

Julia Ward was born in the city of 
New York, near the Battery, May 27, 
1819. During her girlhood the family 
moved to Bond street, then in the 
upper part of the city. Her paternal 
ancestry included Roger Williams, 
Governor Samuel Ward of Rhode 
Island, who was very active in the 
opening scenes of the Revolution, and 
other persons of note. Her mother, 
who died, greatly beloved and re- 
spected, at the age of twenty-seven, 
was a grandniece of General Francis 
Marion. Her father early became 
a member of the New York bank- 

ing house of Prime, Ward and 
King, and took an active part in its 
affairs. In 1838 he established the 
Bank of Commerce and became its 
president. He was one of the founders 
of the University of the City of New 
York. The first temperance organiza- 
tion in the country was formed by him, 
and he was actively interested in many 
charities. A devoted member of the 
Episcopal church, he was severely 
orthodox and austere in his religious 
convictions, and somewhat ascetic in 
his daily life. He died in 1839, at the 
age of fifty-three. 

Leaving school at sixteen, Julia 
Ward obtained her more advanced 


education at home under the direction 
of excellent teachers, no other means 
of thorough intellectual training being 
then open, to a young woman. She 
was taught French, German, Italian, 
music, something of mathematics and 
still less of the sciences. Among her 
tutors was Joseph Green Cogswell, of 
the Round Hill School at Northamp- 
ton, famous in its day, and later the 
librarian of the Astor Library. Her 
brothers graduated at Columbia Col- 
lege, as it then was, the family moved 
in the best social and intellectual cir- 
cles, men and women of literary tastes 
frequented her father's house, and she 
grew up in an atmosphere of culture. 
Among the persons she met in her 
own home were Richard H. Daiia, 
Bryant and Longfellow ; and when 
Mrs. Jameson visited New York she 
was also a guest. More important 
than the studies she pursued was the 
atmosphere of serious thought and 
literary interest in which she grew up. 
She was, from girlhood, a student of 
books, albeit loving music and getting 
a goodly training in that and the other 
arts. She had a taste for the lan- 
guages and skill to master them. Espe- 
cially important was it that she early 
developed a love for good literature 
and read the best books in several 
languages. Without obtaining an 
education in any way so thorough as 
the college training of to-day, it was 
one well fitted to develop her literary 
gifts and to prepare her for her life 

When only about sixteen, Julia 
Ward began to publish poems in the 
"American," a daily paper edited by 
Charles King, afterward the president 
of Columbia College. A familiar guest 
in her father's house was the vouneer 

Leonard Woods, who took much in- 
terest in her studies and who per- 
suaded her to contribute a review of 
Lamartine's "Jocelyn" to the "Literary 
and Theological Review," of which he 
was the editor. It attracted much at- 
tention, and she was induced to send 
a short paper on the minor poems of 
Goethe and Schiller to the "New York 
Review," then edited by Dr. Cogswell, 
who had been her tutor. "I have al- 
ready said," she writes in her "Remi- 
niscences," "that a vision of some 
important literary work which I 
should accomplish was present with 
me in my early life, and had much to 
do with habits of study acquired by 
me in youth, and never wholly relin- 
quished. At this late day, I find it 
difficult to account for a sense of liter- 
ary responsibility which never left me, 
and which I must consider to have 
formed a part of my spiritual make-up. 
My earliest efforts in prose, two re- 
view articles, were probably more 
remarked at the time of their publica- 
tion than their merit would have war- 
ranted. But women writers were by 
no means as numerous sixty years ago 
as they are now. Neither was it pos- 
sible for a girl student in those days 
to find that help and guidance toward 
a literary career which may easily be 
commanded to-day." 

In the summer of 1841 Miss Ward 
visited Boston and spent some months 
in a cottage near that city. Among 
the visitors were Longfellow and 
Sumner, and Professor Felton of Har- 
vard. Interesting reports were given 
her by the two latter of the work of 
Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe at the In- 
stitution for the Blind in South Bos- 
ton, where he was then carrying on 
most interesting experiments with 


Laura Bridgman, then a girl of twelve. 
Miss Ward visited this institution and 
met Dr. Howe, and the acquaintance 
led to their marriage, which took place 
April 23, 1843. One week later they 
started for Europe, having as their 
companions Horace Mann and his 
newly wedded wife. In England they 
visited many 
charitable in- 
stitutions and 
saw much of 
noted persons. 
They traveled 
through Ger- 
m a n y, Swit- 
zerland and 
Italy, and 
spent the win- 
ter in Rome, 
where their 
first child was 
born in the 
spring. The 
little one was 
baptized by 
Theodore Par- 
ker, who was, 
with George 
Combe, a con- 
s t a n t com- 
panion of the 
Howes during 
these months 
in Rome. Dr. 
Howe visited 
( rreece to renew his acquaintance 
with the men with whom he had 
toiled for Greek independence in the 
years of his young and ardent man- 
hood. The following summer was 
mostly spent in England, and there Dr. 
Howe met Florence Nightingale, then 
a young woman eagerly feeling her 
way to the philanthropic effort that 

Julia Cutler Ward, Mrs. Howe's Mother 

has made her fame world-wide ; and 
he was able to give her the encourage- 
ment she needed in order to start her 
upon her career. In the autumn they 
came back to Boston and found a 
home for many years in South Boston, 
where Dr. Howe was superintendent 
of the Institution for the Blind. 

In 1824, af- 
ter graduat- 
ing at Brown 
Uni ve r si t y 
and the Har- 
vard Medical 
School, Dr. 
Howe went 
to aid the 
Greeks in 
their attempt 
to secure in- 
de pendence 
from the do- 
minion of 
Turkey. He 
served as a 
surgeon, but 
was obliged to 
accept the 
hard condi- 
tions under 
which the 
Greeks carried 
on their war- 
fare. In 1827 
h e returned 
to the United 
States to raise funds to aid the 
poverty-stricken people, and he 
then devoted himself to the distribu- 
tion of the food and clothing he was 
able to secure. In 1828 was published 
his "Historical Sketch of the Greek 
Revolution." In 1830 he was com- 
pelled to leave Greece, owing to an at- 
tack of swamp fever, induced bv ex- 


posure and a rough soldier's life. Re- 
turning home through Paris, he was 
induced to carry aid to the Poles, was 
apprehended in Berlin and imprisoned. 
After some months he was liberated 
through the urgent efforts of his 
friends and by diplomatic interven- 
tion. While in Europe at this time he 
became inter- 
ested in the 
efforts being 
made for the 
care and teach- 
i n g ' o f the 
blind, and on 
his return to 
Boston, in 
1830, he began 
his efforts in 
behalf of that 
class of per- 
son s. Mr. 
Frank San- 
born has right- 
ly called Dr. 
Howe one of 
the most ro- 
mantic charac- 
ters of our cen- 
tury, and de- 
scribes h i m 
also as a hero. 
Mrs. Howe 
says that "his 
sanguine tem- 
perament, his 

knowledge of principles and reli- 
ance upon them, combined to lead 
him in advance of his own time. 
Experts in reforms and in charities 
acknowledged the indebtedness of 
both to his unremitting labors. He 
did all that one man could do to 
advance the coming of the millenial 
consummation, when there should be 

Samuel Ward, Mrs. Howe's Father 

in the world neither paupers nor out- 
casts." He labored for the blind, the 
deaf, the criminals, the slaves, and for 
all who needed sympathy and help. 
He early gave encouragement to Dor- 
othea Dix in her labors for the insane 
and criminal, and he quickly joined 
Garrison and Phillips in their anti- 
slavery cru- 
sade. His sym- 
pathies were 
with Horace 
Mann in his 
efforts for 
the common 
schools, and, 
becoming a 
member of 
the Boston 
school board 
soon after his 
return from 
Europe, he 
made his influ- 
ence felt in the 
greatly im- 
proved school 
methods of the 

During the 
next twenty 
years Mrs. 
Howe was the 
companion of 
her husband in 
his p h i 1 a n- 
thropic and reformatory labors. She 
came to know the men and women 
who were his co-laborers and to 
share in their ideals and their 
humanitarian efforts. Devoted to 
her children, and aspiring to make 
for her husband a genuine home, 
she was also an earnest student, giv- 
ing much time to literature, to the 


study of Greek and other languages, 
and to zealous inquiry into the realms 
of philosophy, being especially devoted 
to Kant. Having been brought up in 
good society, it had many attractions 
for her and she could not keep quite 
away from its demands ; but her hus- 
band's example and her own studious 
habits would not permit her to give to 
it the best gifts of which she was cap- 

In 185 1, when the "Boston Com- 
monwealth" was started to represent 
those who desired the suppression of 
slavery, but were not ultra abolition- 
ists of the Garrisonian type, Dr. Howe 
gave it his aid and became its editor. 
He was assisted by Mrs. Howe, who 
for a year or more wrote frequently 
for the paper, especially on literary 
subjects. In 1854, soon after with- 
drawing from the paper, Mrs. Howe 
published anonymously in Boston a 
volume of poems bearing the title of 
"Passion Flowers." It attracted much 
attention and curiosity was aroused as 
to the author, who soon became known. 
The book was praised in many direc- 
tions, but received some sharp criti- 
cism. Two years later appeared 
"Words for the Hour," also pub- 
lished without the author's name. 
Both these volumes were large- 
ly influenced by the questions 
of the day, the democratic and 
reformatory spirit of the time. They 
breathed forth an ardent desire for 
the extension of liberty to all peoples 
and for the lifting up of the oppressed 
and unfortunate. Mrs. Howe has said 
of her first volume of poetry that "it 
was much praised, much blamed, and 
much called in question." Theodore 
Parker quoted from it in one of his 
sermons, Catherine Sedgwick praised 

one of its lines, and Dr. Francis Lieber 
recited a passage from it as having a 
Shakespearian ring. The poet herself 
calls it "a timid performance upon a 
slender reed ;" but the second volume 
showed somewhat of improvement in 
mastery of the poetic art and in facil- 
ity of expression. 

The next poetical work was "The 
World's Own," published in Boston in 
1857, having been produced in Wal- 
laces Theatre in New York previous- 
ly, the principal characters having 
been taken by Sothern and Matilda 
Heron. This poem has much interest 
as a literary production, but it lacks in 
dramatic qualities that would make it 
a stage success. A year after the pro- 
duction of this play, in 1858, Mrs. 
Howe wrote for Edwin Booth a trag- 
edy called "Hippolytus," a result of her 
Greek studies. Arrangements were 
made for its production, with Booth 
and Charlotte Cushman in the princi- 
pal parts ; but the manager suddenly 
bethought him it was late in the 
season, and he dropped the play with- 
out an effort to revive it. It has never 
been published or in any manner given 
to the public. 

During the first years of "The At- 
lantic Monthly" Mrs. Howe was a fre- 
quent contributor to its pages. In 
February, 1862, it published her "Bat- 
tle Hymn of the Republic," which 
soon gained great popularity, and the 
story of the writing of which she has 
several times told. In the same mag- 
azine appeared her "Lyrics of the 
Street," and two of her noblest patri- 
otic poems, "Our Orders" and "The 
Flag." These and other poems were in 
1866 published in the volume called 
"Later Lyrics." In 1898 appeared 
"From Sunset Rid^e : Poems Old and 

Julia Ward and Her Brothers, Samuel and Henry Ward 

New," which contained the best of the 
poems from the three earlier volumes, 
as well as a number that had not pre- 
viously been given to the public. 

As a poet Mrs. Howe belongs in the 
company of Lowell and Browning 
rather than in that of Longfellow and 
Whittier. Although her themes are 
often homely and familiar, her treat- 
ment of them is serious and thoughtful 
with Lowell, and sometimes dramatic 
in the manner of Browning. Famil- 
iarity with her poetry brings a grow- 
ing recognition of its poetic value, its 
strength of expression and its fine hu- 
manity. Several of her poems written 
during the Civil War are of equal 
merit with her "Battle Hymn of the 
Republic," but they are too little known 
to receive just recognition. They 
show forth her ardent and profound 
patriotism, indicate most clearly how 
strong can be a woman's love of coun- 

try and how just her recognition of its 
social worth. On the other hand, Mrs. 
Howe's introspective and semi-relig- 
ious poems give rich expression to her 
inner life, — its noble ideals, its fine 
insight, its depths of spiritual wisdom. 
As a poet Mrs. Howe is first of all 
a lover of mankind and gives voice to 
her sympathies with all its struggles 
and aspirations. Her earnest appre- 
ciation of homely and simple lives ap- 
pears in the introductory poem to 
"Passion Flowers ;" and well does she 
give utterance to her desire to comfort 
and to help them. 

"I have snng to lowly hearts 

Of their own music, only deeper ; 
I have flung through the dusty road 
Shining seeds for the unknown reaper. 

I have piped at cottage doors 

My sweetest measures, merry and sad, 
Cheating Toil from his grinding task, 

Setting the dancing rustic mad. 


Better to sit at humble hearths, 
Where simple souls confide their all, 

Than stand and knock at the groined gate, 
To crave — a hearing in the hall." 

Again this desire for a large spirit- 
ual fellowship with mankind finds ut- 
terance : 

"Ere this mystery of Life 

Solving, scatter its form in air, 
Let me feel that I have lived 
In the music of a prayer, 

In the joy of generous thought, 
Quickening, enkindling soul from soul ; 

In the rapture of deeper Faith 

Spreading its solemn, sweet control." 

The one note in Mrs. Howe's poems 
that is not to be heard so distinctly 
elsewhere is that of motherhood. 
Others have sung more sweetly and 
enchantingly of home, its cares and its 
joys, but none has so impressed the 
motherly spirit upon her songs or more 
truly interpreted the world from that 
point of view. When she sings of war 
and its ways it is as a mother who 
watches over her babes and never loses 
the brooding love of them, however 
far they wander or strong they may 
become. So must we read one of the 
best of her war poems — that named : 


"Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms, 
To deck our girls for gay delights ! 
The crimson flower of battle blooms, 
And solemn marches fill the nights. 

Weave but the flag whose bars to-day 
Drooped heavy o'er our early dead, 

And homely garments, coarse and gray, 
For orphans thai must earn their bread! 

Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet, 
That poured delight from oilier lands! 

Rouse there the dancers' restless feet: 
The trumpet leads our warrior bands. 

And ye that wage the war of words 
With mystic fame and subtle power, 

Go, chatter to the idle birds, 

Or teach the lesson of the hour! 

Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knot 

Be all your offices combined ! 
Stand close, while Courage draws the lot, 

The destiny of human kind. 

And if that destiny could fail, 

The sun should darken in the sky, 

The eternal bloom of Nature pale, 

And God, and Truth, and Freedom die !" 

When she sings of "The Flag" not 
less does she tune her song from the 
home corner and its mother affection : 

"There's a flag hangs over my threshold, 

whose folds are more dear to me 
Than the blood that thrills in my bosom its 

earnest of liberty ; 
And dear are the stars it harbors in its 

sunny field of blue 
As the hope of a further heaven, that lights 

all our dim lives through." 

The same thought comes out even 
more strongly in the concluding 
stanza : 

"When the last true heart lies bloodless, 
when the fierce and the false have won, 

I'll press in turn to my bosom each daugh- 
ter and either son : 

Bid them loose the flag from its bearings, 
and we'll lay us down to rest 

With the glory of home about us, and its 
freedom locked in our breast." 

The mother love sings of the boy 
who went out from the home at the 
age of three years, in the poem that 
bears the title of "Little One." 

"My dearest boy, my sweetest ! 
For paradise the meetest ; 
The child that never grieves me, 
The love that never leaves me ; 
The lamb by Jesu tended ; 
The shadow, star befriended ; 
In winter's woe and straining, 
The blossom still remaining. 

Days must not find me sitting 
Where shadows dim are flitting 
Across the grassy measure 
Thai hides my buried treasure. 
Nor bent with tears and sighing 
More prone than thy down-lying; 


i 1 

I have a freight to carry, 
A goal, — I must not tarry. 
If men would garlands give me, 
If steadfast hearts receive me, 
Their homage I'd surrender 
For one embrace most tender ; 
One kiss, with sorrow in it, 
To hold thee but one minute, 
One word, our tie recalling, 
Beyond the gulf appalling. 

Since God's device doth take thee, 
My fretting should forsake thee ; 
For many a mother borrows 
Her comfort from the sorrows 
Her vanished darling misses, 
Transferred to heavenly blisses. 
But I must ever miss thee, 
Must ever call and kiss thee, 
With thy sweet phantom near me, 
And only God to hear me. 

One of the finest of all Mrs. Howe's 
poems is "The House of Rest," and it 
brings out her poetical characteristics 
as well as her spiritual aspirations in 
language that fitly clothes her thought. 
It is a poem that only a mother's con- 
stant watch and care could fitly sing. 

"I will build a house of rest, 
Square the corners every one : 
At each angle on his breast 
Shall a cherub take the sun ; 
Rising, risen, sinking, down, 
Weaving day's unequal crown. 

In the chambers, light as air, 
Shall responsive footsteps fall : 
Brother, sister, art thou there? 
Hush ! we need not jar nor call ; 
Need not turn to seek the face 
Shut in rapture's hiding-place. 

Heavy load and mocking care 
Shall from back and bosom part ; 
Thought shall reach the thrill of prayer, 
Patience plan the dome of art. 
None shall praise or merit claim, 
Not a joy be called by name. 

With a free, unmeasured tread 
Shall we pace the cloisters through : 
Rest, enfranchised, like the Dead ; 
Rest till Love be born anew. 

Weary Thought shall take his time, 
Free of task-work, loosed from rhyme." 

The intent of this house of rest ap- 
pears from the concluding stanza: 

"Oh! my house is far away; 
Yet it sometimes shuts me in. 
Imperfection mars each day 
While the perfect works begin. 
In the house of labor best 
Can I build the house of rest." 

"Warning" may be taken as a sam- 
ple of Mrs. Howe's more philosophical 
poems, those in which she deals with 
the great questions of life and eternity. 
In some of these her thought is subtle 
and dramatic, but in all of them it is 
human in its sympathies and loftily 
spiritual in its ministrations : 

"Power, reft of aspiration; 
Passion, lacking inspiration ; 
Leisure, not of contemplation. 

Thus shall danger overcome thee, 
Fretted luxury consume thee, 
All divineness vanish from thee. 

Be a man and be one wholly ; 
Keep one great love, purely, solely, 
Till it make thy nature holy ; 

That thy way be paved in whiteness, 
That thy heart may beat in lightness, 
That thy being end in brightness." 

These samplings may conclude with 
"A Spring Thought:" 

"Overgrow my grave, 
Kindly grass ; 
Do not wave 

To those who pass 
A single mournful thought 
Of affection come to nought. 

Look up to the blue 
Where, light-hid, 
Lives what doth renew 
Man's chrysalid. 
Say not : She is here, 
Say not : She was there. 
Say: She lives in God, 
Reigning everywhere." 


Mrs. Howe has been much of a 
traveller and has profited by her stud- 
ies of foreign lands. In June, 1850, 
she went with her husband and 
children to Europe, visited friends in 
England and spent some months in 
Germany. Dr. Howe returned home, 
but Mrs. Howe spent the winter in 
Rome with her two sisters. She saw 
something of the revolutionary and 
democratic movements of 1848 in their 
reactionary effects, though her sym- 
pathies did not grow less for liberty 
and republican institutions. In Febru- 
ary, 1859, the Howes accompanied 
Theodore Parker to Cuba ; but Parker 
not being benefited in health, went on 
to Vera Cruz, then sailed for Europe, 
from which he did not return. Mrs. 
Howe wrote an account of her life in 
Cuba for "The Atlantic Monthly," 
which was continued through six 
numbers of that magazine, and which 
was published in book form in i860 as 
"A Trip to Cuba." This volume was 
not favorably received in Cuba and its 
circulation there was forbidden. The 
book is bright and readable and 
brought the author an invitation to 
contribute to the "New York Trib- 
une," and for several years she wrote 
of social and literary life in Boston and 

The Cretan insurrection of 1866 re- 
newed Dr. Howe's interest in the 
Greeks and he raised funds for them. 
In the spring of 1867 he set out for 
Greece, accompanied by Mrs. Howe 
and two of their daughters. On the 
way they visited England and Rome, 
but pushed rapidly on to Greece, 
where they arrived al midsummer. Dr. 
Howe visited Crete, although a price 
had been set upon his head, and he did 
all he could to aid the people there. 

On their return home in the autumn 
Mrs. Howe wrote an account of this 
journey and of her life in Greece, 
which was published as "From the 
Oak to the Olive : a Plain Record of a 
Pleasant Journey." "I have only to 
say," she wrote in concluding the vol- 
ume, "that I have endeavored in good 
faith to set down this simple and hur- 
ried record of a journey crowded with 
interests and pleasures. I was afraid 
to receive so freely of these without 
attempting to give what I could in re- 
turn, under the advantages and disad- 
vantages of immediate transcription."" 
On their return to Boston the Howes 
organized a fair in aid of the Cretans. 

In the spring of 1873 Mrs. Howe 
again visited England, having previ- 
ously accompanied Dr. Howe to Santo 
Domingo, to which he had been the 
year before sent as a commissioner, 
with Benjamin F. Wade and Andrew 
D. White, for securing its annexation 
to the United States. This second visit 
was made to aid the people in develop- 
ing their commercial interests. In 
1875 they again visited the island, this 
time in search of health for Dr. Howe. 
Mrs. Howe has visited Europe several 
times in more recent years. The winter 
of 1897-8 was spent by her in Rome. 

Dr. Howe died in January, 1876, 
after some months of failing health. 
The addresses and poems given at his 
funeral w r ere published by Mrs. Howe, 
together with a memoir prepared by 
herself, the volume being especially 
designed for reproduction, in raised 
characters, for the blind. In con- 
cluding the "Memoir of Dr. Howe," 
she said that his was "one of the 
noblest lives of our day and genera- 
tion. All that is most sterling in 
American character may be said to 

From a photograph by Haztu 

Julia Ward Howe About 

have found its embodiment in Dr. 
Howe. To the gift of a special and 
peculiar genius he* added great 
untiring persever- 
by a deep and 
benevolence. Al- 
in temperament, he 
was not hasty in judgment, and was 
rarely deceived by the superficial 
aspect of things when this was at 
variance with their real character. 
Although long and thoroughly a ser- 

industry and 
ance, animated 
though ardent 

vant of the public, he disliked pub- 
licity, and did not seek reputation, 
being best satisfied with the approba- 
tion of his own conscience and the re- 
gard of his friends. In the relations 
of private life he was faithful and af- 
fectionate, and his public services were 
matched by the constant acts of kind- 
ness and helpfulness which marked his 
familiar intercourse with his fellow- 
creatures." Bryant said of Dr. Howe, 
that "he was one whose whole life was 


The Home at South Boston 

dedicated to the service of his fellow 

Writing of her chief aim in life Mrs. 
Howe says that she might have chosen 
for her motto: "I have followed the 
great masters with my heart." She 
has been first and last a student, not 
so much a lover of books as a student 
of the thoughts which books interpret. 
In her books of travel and in many 
of her lectures she has seemed to be 
chiefly concerned with the social or 
superficial phases of life, but she has 
been in reality largely interested in 
philosophy and the great problems of 
human existence. In her youth she 
eagerly read Goethe, Richter, Herder 
and the other Germans, and then she 
turned to Dante. In her South Boston 
days she gave much time to the Latin 
writers, particularly to Cicero. She 
.also plunged into Swedenborg that she 
1 1 

might sound the deeper truths of the 
spirit ; and for the same purpose she 
turned to Hegel. She also gave much 
attention to Comte, and then to Kant, 
thus seeking help in all directions. 
She turned also to Spinoza and found 
great delight in his works ; but it was 
in Kant she found the deepest satisfac- 
tion, being inclined to say with 
Romeo: "Here I set up my everlast- 
ing rest." 

These philosophical studies, after 
being carried on for many years, led 
to a desire to speak to others her own 
thoughts on the problems she had 
studied. Although Theodore Parker 
encouraged her in this undertaking. 
Dr. Howe was opposed to it, and it 
was not until i860 or 1861 that she 
found her first audience. She invited to 
her house, which was then in Chestnut 
street, afterwards famous for the 


meetings of the Radical Club, such of 
her friends as she thought would care 
to hear her. She spoke on " Doubt and 
Belief, the Two Feet of the Mind;" 
" Moral Triangulation, or the Third 
Party;" "Duality of Character," and 
other kindred themes. In her audience 
were Agassiz, Alger, Clarke and 
Whipple; and much interest was ex- 
pressed in her lectures. A year or two 
later they were repeated in Washing- 
ton, and there they were listened to 
by many persons of political and intel- 
lectual prominence. 

The result of these lectures was to 
increase her interest in philosophical 
studies and to give her a desire to pro- 
duce some original contribution to 
philosophical truth. She accordingly 
wrote several essays on such subjects 
as the "Distinctions between Philoso- 
phy and Religion," "Polarity," "Man 
a priori/' and "Ideal Causation." The 
second of these papers was read before 
the Boston Radical Club, and the third 
to a meeting of scientists at Northamp- 
ton. At the Radical Club she also read 
lectures on "Limitations" and "The 
Halfness of Nature ;" she frequently 
attended that club and took part in its 
discussions. Some years later, when 
the Concord School of Philosophy was 
established, she was frequently invited 
to address it ; and usually did so once 
or twice each year so long as its ses- 
sions were continued. The largest 
audiences which gathered at the school 
were those which listened to her. Her 
lectures there on "Modern Society" 
and "Changes in American Society" 
were in 1880 published in a little book 
bearing the title of the first of these 
addresses. Her lecture of 1884, on 
"Emerson's Relation to Society," was 
published in the volume on "The 

Genius and Character of Emerson," 
which included all the lectures of that 
year. Two of her other lectures given 
there, those on "Aristophanes" and 
"Dante and Beatrice," were in 1895 
published in the volume called "Is Po- 
lite Society Polite? and Other Essays." 
This volume included seven of her 
lectures, originally prepared for the 
Radical Club, the Concord School of 
Philosophy, the New England 
Woman's Club, the Town and Country 
Club of Newport, and the Contempo- 
rary Club of Philadelphia, and subse- 
quently read in many places through- 
out the country. One of the lectures 
published in this volume was on "The 
Salon in America," and it gives ac- 
count of the growth of literary interest 
as developed in clubs. For such gath- 
erings Mrs. Howe is an ideal lecturer, 
always bright, entertaining, instructive, 
and provocative of discussion as well 
as of serious thought. Her voice is 
not strong enough and does not have 
sufficient carrying power for large as- 
semblies, but in the quiet of a parlor it 
finds its fit opportunity as the expres- 
sion of her rich and noble thoughts. 
Most of her later prose writing has 
adapted itself to club utterance, and it 
has partaken of the limitations thus 
imposed upon it. This is one reason 
undoubtedly why her lectures, when 
put into print, receive less attention 
than when heard. Mrs. Howe's per- 
sonality has given character and 
strength to her spoken words, and 
caused many to listen to them with 
deepest interest and satisfaction. 

Her experiences as a lecturer, and 
especially her desire to aid women in 
securing recognition as religious 
teachers, led Mrs. Howe to enter the 
pulpit, as opportunity offered. Hav- 



ing early become a Unitarian, she fre- 
quently preached in churches of that 
religious body, but many other de- 
nominations have given welcome to 
her sermons. In 1875 she succeeded 
in bringing together the women minis- 
ters of all denominations, and they or- 
ganized an association for mutual 
sympathy and co-operation. Of this 
organization she was chosen the presi- 
dent, a position she continues to hold. 
The sermons Mrs. Howe has delivered 
from time to time show how fit it is 
that women should occupy the pulpit, 
and how capable they are of the high- 
est spiritual ministration. It can be 
only a question of time when women 
will in a large degree become the re- 
ligious teachers of mankind, such is 
their natural fitness for the tasks of 
spiritual instruction and moral guid- 

When Theodore Parker began to 
preach in Boston, Dr. and Mrs. Howe 
became members of his congregation. 
Mrs. Howe writes in her "Reminis- 
cences" with the greatest enthusiasm 
of the preaching of Parker, saying that 
"it was all one intense delight." "The 
luminous clearness of his mind, his 
admirable talent for popularizing the 
procedures and conclusions of philoso- 
phy, his keen wit and poetic sense of 
beauty, — all these combined to make 
him appear to me one of the oracles of 
God." Great as was her admiration for 
Parker, when her children became of 
an age to attend church and Sunday- 
school she had a desire for a church 
fitted to their need, and she became a 
member of the Church of the Disciples, 
of which James Freeman Clarke was 
then the minister, who was succeeded 
by Charles G. Ames. To this church 
Mrs. Howe has been warmlv attached, 

and she is always seen at its morning 
services when it is possible for her to 
attend. It should be said, however, 
that she is no partisan in religion, and 
that her sympathies go out to all truly 
worshipful souls seeking the light. 
Radical in her thought, keen critic in 
her philosophical liberalism, Mrs. 
Howe is at heart conservative in her 
religious sympathies. Finding little 
help in the formulas and rituals of the 
churches, she is in closest alliance with 
all who seek for the truths of life. Her 
strong fidelity to the inward facts of 
the Christian ideal appears in many of 
her poems, as well as in her lectures. 
Perhaps it nowhere finds more expres- 
sive utterance than in "Near Amalfi," 
one of her best poems : 
"Oh ! could Jesus pass this way 

Ye should have no need to pray. 

He would go on foot to see 

All your depths of misery. 
Succor comes. 

He would smooth the frowzled hair, 

He would lay your ulcers bare, 

He would heal as only can 

Soul of God in heart of man. 
Jesu comes. 

Ah ! my Jesus ! still thy breath 

Thrills the world untouched of death, 

Thy dear doctrine sheweth me 

Here, God's loved humanity 

Whose kingdom comes." 

Mrs. Howe sought the Church of 
the Disciples because it was a church 
of serious people, and free to all. She 
says she had already had "enough and 
too much of that church-going in 
which the bonnets, the pews, and the 
doctrine appear to rest on one dead 
level of conventionalism." There she 
found those who desired to help their 
fellow men, and a pulpit open to all 
the humanities. It was not strange, 
therefore, that she grew to take more 
and more interest in the reform move- 

Julia Romana Anagnos 

merits of the time, to identify herself 
with the anti-slavery party and to give 
her strength to advancing the interests 
of women. The first reform move- 
ment in which she took a leading part 
was that of peace. During the pro- 
gress of the Franco-Prussian war she 
drew up an appeal of women against 
war. "The august dignity of mother- 
hood and its terrible responsibilities 
now appeared to me in a new aspect," 
she writes, "and I could think of no 

better way of expressing my sense of 
these than that of sending forth an ap- 
peal to womankind throughout the 
world." She accordingly wrote an ap- 
peal to women, had it translated into 
many languages, and called a world's 
convention in London. In 1870 she 
held two important meetings in New 
York, and she gave two years to inter- 
esting women in the cause of peace. In 
1872 was held the Woman's Peace 
Congress in London, and she devoted 



many months previous to its session in 
advocating in England the cause she 
had at heart. In London she held a 
series of Sunday evening services, in 
which were considered "The .Mission 
of Christianity in Relation to the Paci- 
fication of the World." 

In the course of her philosophical 
studies Mrs. Howe arrived at the con- 
clusion that "woman must be the moral 
and spiritual equivalent of man." This 
conviction led her to take part in the 
organization of the New England 
Woman's Club, of which she was for 
many years the president. Soon after 
she began to recognize the importance 
of the political enfranchisement of 
women, and although she was slow in 
accepting the necessity for this reform, 
she came finally to give it the strongest 
assent. She became one of the leaders 
in its advocacy, adding her abilities to 
those of Garrison, Phillips, Higginson, 
Clarke, Curtis, Hoar, Lucy Stone, 
Lucretia Mott, Mrs. Livermore, Mrs. 
Stanton and Miss Anthony in pleading 
for the emancipation of women. In 
1869 she took part in the organization 
of the American Suffrage Association, 
of which she has since been the presi- 
dent. In January, 1870, she joined 
with Lucy Stone, Mrs. Livermore, W. 
L. Garrison and T. W. Higginson in 
the publishing and editing of "The 
Woman's Journal" in Boston. For 
many years she was one of its editors 
and wrote frequently for its pages, and 
she has ever since its founding been 
in closest agreement with its purpose 
to secure the advancement of women 
by educational economic and political 
methods. With voice and pen she has 
continued for over thirty years to ad- 
vocate the cause of woman, and 
though the suffrage has not been 

granted her, she has lost none of her 
faith in the justice of the cause she has 
represented. She has steadily con- 
tinued to adhere to the position she 
stated in the opening editorial of the 
"Woman's Journal/' advocating co- 
operation with men and not opposition 
to them : 

"Our endeavor, which is to bring the fem- 
inine mind to bear upon all that concerns 
the welfare of mankind, commands us to let 
the dead past bury its dead. The wail of 
impotence becomes us no longer. We must 
work as those who have power, for we have 
faith, and faith is power. We implore our 
sisters, of whatever kind or degree, to make 
common cause with us, to lay down all par- 
tisan warfare and organize a peaceful Grand 
Army of the Republic of Women. But we 
do not ask them to organize as against men, 
but as against all that is pernicious to men 
and to women. Against superstition, 
whether social or priestly; against idleness, 
whether aesthetic or vicious ; against op- 
pression, whether of manly will or feminine 
caprice. Ours is but a new manoeuvre, a 
fresh phalanx in the grand fight of faith. In 
this conflict the armor of Paul will become 
us, the shield and breastplate of strong, and 
shining virtue." 

In the "Boston Globe," during 
March, 1894, she stated her continued 
adherence to the faith thus declared, 
and expressed her convictions as to the 
progress that had been made and the 
promise of the future : 

"The wonderful advance in the condition 
of women which the last twenty years have 
brought about, makes me a little diffident of 
my ability to prophesy concerning the fu- 
ture of the sex. At the Deginning of the 
first of these decades few would have fore- 
told the great extension of educational op- 
portunities, the opening of professions, the 
multiplication of profitable industrial pur- 
suits, all of which have combined to place 
women before the world in the attitude of 
energetic, self-supporting members of soci- 
ety. Even the vexed suffrage question has 
made great progress. The changes which I 

From a portrait by Hardy 

Julia Ward Howe 

foresee are all farther developments of the 
points already gained. I feel assured that, 
in the near future, the co-operation of wo- 
men in municipal and in State affairs will 
be not only desired, but demanded by men 
of pure and worthy citizenship. The true 
progress of civilization is from the assump- 
tion of privilege to the recognition of right. 
In this country this progress already em- 
braces the whole of one sex. The laws of 
moral equilibrium will speedily place the 
other sex in an equal condition, exalting the 
dignities of domestic life, and making the 
home altar rich with gifts of true patriotism 
and wise public spirit." 

When the Association for the Ad- 
vancement of Women was organized 
in 1869 Mrs. Howe took an active 

part, and on the occasion of the Bos- 
ton meeting in 1879 she was elected 
the president. In 1882 the New Eng- 
land Industrial Exhibition opened a 
woman's department, this being the 
first time that a great fair gave women 
such recognition. Mrs. Howe was in- 
vited to act as the president ; she ex- 
plained the purpose had in view on the 
opening day, and this effort to advance 
the interests of women was an eminent 
success. The next year she was in- 
vited to preside over the woman's de- 
partment of the Cotton Centennial Ex- 
position held at New Orleans, and 
though the task involved much labor, 


it established the recognition of women 
in all future exhibitions of the indus- 
trial products of the country. A novel 
feature of this fair was managed by 
Mrs. Howe's daughter Maud, who 
took charge of an alcove in which were 
collected the books written by women. 

Mrs. Howe has been a member of 
several famous clubs and the founder 
of two or three that have received wide 
recognition. Since 1852 she has been 
a summer resident of Newport, and 
she organized the Town and Country 
Club, which has been an attractive fea- 
ture of life there, and has drawn to- 
gether many intelligent men and wo- 
men for amusement and instruction. 
When the women's club movement 
began she gave it her support, and she 
has been the president of the Massa- 
chusetts Federation of Women's Clubs 
and a director of the General Federa- 
tion. It is probable that Mrs. Howe is 
better known as a lecturer than as an 
author, and yet she has published 
much. She has been a contributor to 
the "Atlantic Monthly," "Christian 
Examiner," "Old and New,' "North 
American Review," "The Forum," 
and other well known journals. Her 
contributions to the "Atlantic Month- 
ly" have been about thirty in number, 
and they extend through nearly the 
whole history of that magazine. In 
1874 she edited a volume on "Sex and 
Education," in reply to Dr. E. H. 
Clarke's "Sex in Education," to which 
she was a contributor and for which 
she wrote the introduction. She also 
wrote for the "Famous Women" series 
of biographies an account of the life 
of Margaret Fuller, which was pub- 
lished in 1883. 

In closing her "Reminiscences," 
Mrs. Howe says thai on one occasion 

she was asked to enumerate her 
"social successes," and she gives them 
in words that cannot be omitted from 
this account of her life : 

"I have sat at the feet of the masters of 
literature, art, and science, and have been 
graciously admitted into their fellowship. 
1 have been the chosen poet of several high 
festivals, to wit, the celebration of Bryant's 
sixtieth birthday, the commemoration of the 
centenary of his birth, and the unveiling of 
the statue of Columbus in Central Park, 
New York, in the Columbian year, so called. 
I have been the founder of a club of young 
girls [Saturday Morning Club], which has 
exercised a salutary influence upon the 
growing womanhood of my adopted city, 
and has won for itself an honorable place in 
the community, serving also as a model for 
similar associations in other cities. I have 
been for many years the president of the 
New England Woman's Club, and of the 
Association for the Advancement of Wo- 
men. I have been heard at the great Prison 
Congress in England, at Mrs. Butler's con- 
vention de moralite publique in Geneva, 
Switzerland, and at more than one conven- 
tion in Paris. I have been welcomed in 
Faneuil Hall, when I have stood there to 
rehearse the merits of public men, and later, 
to plead the cause of oppressed Greece and 
murdered Armenia. I have written one 
poem which, although composed in the 
stress and strain of the civil war, is now 
sung South and North by the champions of 
a free government. I have been accounted 
worthy to listen and to speak at the Boston 
Radical Club and at the Concord School of 
Philosophy. I have been exalted to occupy 
the pulpit of my own dear church and that 
of others, without regard to denominational 
limits. Lastly and chiefly, I have had the 
honor of pleading for the slave when he was 
a slave, of helping to initiate the woman's 
movement in many States of the Union, 
and of standing with the illustrious cham- 
pions of justice and freedom, for woman 
suffrage, when to do so was a thankless 
office, involving public ridicule and private 

This record of Mrs. Howe's suc- 
cesses might have been extended to a 


2 I 

much greater length. She has wit- 
nessed a wonderful advance in the 
position and influence of women, and 
her own part in securing it has been 
considerable. If women have not 
gained the right to vote, they have 
secured the opportunity of studying 
any subject to which men give their 
attention. She has taken part in the 
opening of all professions to women, 
and she has aided women in organ- 
izing for every kind of intellectual, 
moral, religious and industrial im- 

provement. These activities of hers at 
first closed to her in a measure the 
avenues of polite society, but with the 
result that for nearly fifty years she 
has been one of the best known and 
most influential citizens of Boston. 
Every good cause now seeks her ap- 
proval. All her public activities and 
all her reformatory efforts have but 
made her more truly a woman. In- 
stead of unsexing her, they have 
brought her into the full maturity of 
her womanly powers. 

The Conquering of Caroline 

By Eleanor H. Porter 

FROM her earliest recollections, 
she had regarded babies with 
awe and unreasoning terror, 
a feeling which speedily grew 
into settled disapproval and dislike, 
and she — a woman child ! Her dolls 
were never children, nor baby-dolls, 
but queens and princesses, occupying 
sumptuous palaces, and disporting 
themselves in silks and satins. As a 
child she had many a time crossed 
the street to avoid meeting a woman 
and a baby-carriage, lest she be ex- 
pected to kiss the tiny, cooing creature 
half smothered in flannels ; and she 
never borrowed the neighbors' babies 
for an afternoon, as did so many of 
her playmates. Being the youngest 
in the family, she found her own home 
quite free from the objectionable creat- 

As the years passed, and her girl 
friends married, their letters to her 
began to be filled with the sayings of 
small Tommies, and the doings of wee 

Marys, together with soft rings of 
baby hair, all of which filled Caroline's 
soul with distress, — and her stove with 
cinders. The letters remained long 
unanswered, and the correspondence 
waned. And then people began to 
call her an old maid, and to point out 
her prim little cottage as the place 
where "old Miss Blake" lived. 

Caroline Blake's entire personality 
was made up of angles. There were 
no curves to her square chin nor kinks 
to her thm yellow hair. Even her 
flower beds in the front yard were 
laid out in severe diamond shape, and 
the Nottingham curtains at the parlor 
windows hung straight from their 

When the Smiths moved into the 
vacant house across the way, Caroline 
anxiously scanned the contents of the 
big wagons from her vantage ground 
behind the front chamber blinds. Her 
brow contracted into a frown when 
she spied the baby-carriage, and she 



fairly gasped at sight of two new high- 
chairs. Her disgust was complete, 
upon the arrival of the family on the 
following day, — a black-whiskered 
man, a thin, faded-looking little 
woman, a small girl of perhaps six 
vears of age, two tiny toddlers — evi- 
dently twins, — and a babe in arms. 
Caroline pursed her thin lips tight, 
and descended to the kitchen with 
resolute step. 

'Tolly," — said she, sharply, to her 
one handmaiden, who was trying to 
coax an obstinate fire into a blaze, — 
"I do not like the looks of the woman 
who is moving into the other house, at 
all, and I wish you to make no advan- 
ces in her direction. If they want to 
borrow anything, tell 'em you're going 
to use it yourself, and use it — if it's the 
low-shovel in August! You can dig 
n the garden with it," she added 

Polly looked at her mistress in sur- 
prise, for Caroline was proverbially 
hospitable and generous, save only 
where a child was concerned. The 
girl opened her mouth as though to 
speak, when a wailing duet from the 
twins across the way sent a gleam of 
understanding into her eyes, and 
caused her to shut her lips with a snap ; 
Polly did not share her mistress's an- 
tipathy to twins. 

Caroline went into the parlor, and 
peered furtively through the lace cur- 
tains. No one was in sight at the 
other house save the small girl of six, 
who had evidently come out to view 
the landscape. Suddenly the woman 
noticed that her own gate was the 
least bit ajar ; and with a quick jerk 
she turned from the window, darted 
across the room, opened the front 
door, and marched down the walk, 

shutting the gate with a short, sharp 
snap, meanwhile sending her most 
forbidding frown across the expanse 
of dusty street. Then she walked 
leisurely back into the house. 

In the days that followed, Caroline 
had a sore struggle with herself. She 
had been a strict adherent to the vil- 
lage creed of calling on all strangers, 
especially neighbors ; but this crea- 
ture — ! For a time she succeeded in 
persuading herself that it was unnec- 
essary that she should notice so objec- 
tionable a specimen of womanhood ; 
yet her conscience would uncomfort- 
ably assert itself whenever she caught 
a glimpse of the frail little woman op- 
posite, particularly as she was forced 
to admit that her new neighbor pos- 
sessed a face of unusual sweetness and 

Caroline finally compromised with 
herself by calling one afternoon, soon 
after she had witnessed Mrs. Smith's 
departure from the house. She was 
rewarded according to her iniquity, 
however, for Mrs. Smith had returned 
unseen for a forgotten letter, and open- 
ed the door herself in response to 
Caroline's sharp pull at the bell. 

"You are Miss Blake, I know," said 
the little woman delightedly, smiling 
into the dismayed face of her visitor. 
"I am so glad to see you ! Come right 
in and sit down — I've wanted to know 
you all the time." 

Caroline Blake hardly knew how to 
conduct herself at this unforeseen out- 
come of all her elaborate scheming. 
She followed her hostess into the par- 
lor with a sour face. There was a de- 
cided chill in the atmosphere by the 
time the two women were seated op- 
posite each other, and Mrs. Smith be- 
cran to be aware of it. 


2 3 

"It — it is a nice day," she ventured 
timidly, in a very different voice from 
the one she had used in cordial greet- 

ing a moment before. 

"I don't care for this kind of 
weather — it's too hot !" said Caroline 

"Yes — no ! Of course not," mur- 
mured Mrs. Smith in quick apology. 
"I think there will be a shower to- 
night, though, which will cool the air 
beautifully!" she added courageously. 
"Well — I hope not ! If there's any- 
thing that I positively detest, it's a 
thunder storm," replied her guest with 
the evident intention of being as dis- 
agreeable as possible. "They're so — 
noisy and — er — wet," she finished 

"Yes, they are — so," acquiesced 
Mrs. Smith unhappily, wondering 
vaguely what was the matter. Then 
there ensued an uncomfortable silence, 
during which she coughed nervously, 
and hitched in her chair. 

"I think Norton is a very pretty 
place," she began at last hopefully ; 
"I am sure I shall like it here very 

"Do you? I don't care much for 
it, myself, I have seen so many prettier 
places. Of course, if one has never 
been about much, I dare say it seems 
quite fine," and Caroline fixed her eyes 
on a worn spot in the carpet from 
which the concealing rug had been 
carelessly pushed one side. 

Mrs. Smith colored and bit her lip, 
but she bravely rallied her forces once 
more, on courtesy intent. 

"What beautiful flowers you have, 
Miss Blake ! I think I never saw such 
lovely beds." 

Now this was a diplomatic stroke 
indeed, and a far-away smile dawned 

in Caroline's sombre eyes ; but it quick- 
ly waned at her hostess's next words. 
"My little Nellie is always talking 
about them. I'm sorry the child isn't 
here to-day, but she and the twins are 
out for a walk with the nurse." 

Caroline stiffened. At that moment 
an infantile wail was wafted from the 
upper regions. Mrs. Smith sprang 
to her feet with an inspiration. 

"It's baby — he's awake! I'll go 
right up and get him. I know you'll 
want to see him — he's so cunning!" 
and she had almost reached the door 
when Caroline arose with a face upon 
which determination sat enthroned. 

"Excuse me, Mrs. Smith, but I 
must be going. I — I don't care for 
babies at all!" and she rustled toward 
the hall door, — "Good afternoon." 

The little woman left behind stared 
in dumb amazement after her guest, 
whose parting assertion had placed 
her quite beyond the fond mother's 
comprehension. At a more insistent 
wail from above, she caught her 
breath with a smothered exclamation, 
and rushed up stairs. 

A few days later, Caroline, weeding 
her flower beds, glanced up to find her 
small neighbor of six summers not 
three feet away, gravely regarding her. 

"Pretty flowers!" ventured the 
sweet voice by way of introduction. 

Caroline pulled spitefully at a big 
weed and said nothing. 

"I like pretty flowers," came sug- 
gestively from the small maiden as she 
took a step nearer. 

Caroline suddenly awoke to the pos- 
sibilities of the occasion. 

"Run away, child. I don't like little 
girls !" said she, sharply. 

Two round eyes looked reproach- 
fullv at her. 



"You don't? How funny! I like 
you" and the red lips parted in a 
heavenly smile. 

At this somewhat disconcerting 
statement, Caroline started, and there 
came a strange fluttering feeling at 
her throat. She looked at the child 
in almost terror, then dropped her 
tools hastily, and started for the house. 
Once inside, she peered out of the win- 
dow at her strangely victorious foe. 
Nellie stood looking in evident sur- 
prise in the direction of her vanished 
hostess. By and by she turned her at- 
tention to the bright-colored flowers 
before her. 

Caroline's finger nails fairly dug in- 
to the palms of her hands as she 
watched the little girl bend over her 
pet bed of geraniums. Lower and 
lower stooped the sunny head, till the 
lips rested in a gentle kiss right in the 
scarlet heart of the biggest flower ; 
then another, and another tender car- 
ess was bestowed on the brilliant blos- 
soms, until the watching woman felt 
again that strange new fluttering that 
nearly took her breath away. She 
waited until Nellie, with slow and 
lingering step passed through the gate, 
then she went to her bedroom cup- 
board, and taking down from the shelf 
a large black bottle marked, "Nerve 
Tonic," turned out a generous portion. 

The next afternoon, as Caroline sat 
sewing under the trees, she again 
found herself confronted by her visitor 
of the day before. Nellie advanced 
confidently, with no apparent doubt as 
to her welcome, and laid a tiny bunch 
of wilted buttercups and daisies in the 
unwilling hands of the disturbed 

"Go away, little girl ! I don't- ■" 

What a queer sensation the touch of 

those small moist hands gave her I 
She must be going to be sick — such a 
little thing upset her so ! The but- 
tercups and daisies dropped from her 
nerveless fingers, and she began to 
feel the same overmastering desire to 
run away that had conquered her the 
day before. The child looked wist- 
fully into her face. 

"I gived you some of my flowers," 
she began insinuatingly. 

Caroline refused to take the hint. 
Really, this was a most impossible 

Nellie edged a little nearer. 

"P'raps you'll give me some of 
yours," she suggested sweetly. 

Caroline sprung to her feet. 

"Run away, little girl! I — I don't 

" she had hurried along the path 

to the house, and now the door shut 
behind her. Peeping cautiously 

through the blinds, she saw Nellie 
gather up the discarded posies one by 
one, then stand long before the flaming 
geraniums, patting each blossom ten- 
derly with her pudgy little fingers. 

The woman straightened herself 
with a spasmodic jerk, dashed out of 
the door, and catching up her scissors, 
began snipping ruthlessly among her 
treasured blossoms, until her hands 
overflowed with riotous bloom. 

"There, there, child — take 'em !" 
said she, nervously, thrusting the gay 
bunch into the eager outstretched fin- 
gers. "Now run right away ; I 
don't ." 

"Oh ! thank you — thank you !" inter- 
rupted a rapturous voice, "You may 
kiss me, now," it added graciously. 

With a slight gasp, Caroline pecked 
gingerly at the upturned rosy lips, then 
went straight to the cupboard and took 
down the nerve tonic. 



The next day Caroline saw nothing 
of Nellie. She told herself that it was 
a great relief not to see the child run- 
ning around, and she looked over to the 
other house every few minutes just to 
emphasize her satisfaction. Toward 
night the doctor's gig stopped at the 
gate across the way, and after Caroline 
had watched the man of pills and 
powders go into the house, she went 
again to her cupboard and took down 
the nerve tonic — somehow, she felt 
a little queer. 

During the week that followed, Car- 
oline grew strangely restless. Her 
flower beds were always well cared 
for, but never had they received such 
attention as now. The woman cast 
many a glance across the street, but no 
Nellie came to torment her weeding. 

Whatever was the cause of the little 
girl's absence, it evidently was not 
serious, for a few days later she ap- 
peared — a little thin and pale, perhaps, 
but otherwise quite her old self. 

Caroline fluttered around her flow- 
ers the greater portion of that morn- 
ing, and in the afternoon carried her 
chair way down to the farther end of 
the yard nearest the fence. She sud- 
denly decided that that was the shad- 
iest place, and concluded to sit there, 
even if she could so plainly hear the 
children's voices as they played 
"housekeeping" just across the street. 

Several days passed, and Caroline 
was still left in undisputed possession 
of her yard and her flower beds. Per- 
haps Nellie had received instructions 
from the tired little mother who had 
not forgotten her neighbor's heresy on 
the baby question. The child certainly 
gave no indication of further disturb- 
ing visits. But one day Caroline saw 
her looking wistfully over at the bright 

blossoms. Recklessly lopping off the 
head of a gorgeous poppy near her, she 
held it up enticingly. The little girl 
hesitated, then came straight across 
the road, and held out a longing hand. 

"If you'll come in, I'll give you 
some more," said Caroline in a voice 
she hardly recognized as her own 
And the child came. 

It was not until September that the 
tragedy occurred which made the little 
town sick with horror. Mr. and Mrs. 
Smith were driving down on the river 
road where the Northern Express 
came thundering up through the quiet 
valley every afternoon. No one knew 
how it happened, but they found the 
poor quiet forms with the light of 
life quite gone out, and the dead horse 
and broken carriage to tell the tale. 

When Caroline Blake heard the 
dread tidings her face went deathly 
white ; then a strange gleam came into 
her eyes and she quickly crossed the 
street and took Nellie into her arms. 

"Come, dear, you are going to be 
my little girl, now, and live with me/' 

The child stopped sobbing, and 
looked wonderingly into the trans- 
formed face of the woman. 

"And the twins?" she asked cau- 

"Yes," assented Caroline faintly. 

"And baby?" demanded the small 
maiden, insistently. 

"Y-y-es," breathed Caroline again, 
with a little gasp. 

And the winter passed and the sum- 
mer came. And it was noticed that 
fantastically-shaped flower beds ran 
riot all over the yard, and that the 
Nottingham curtains were looped back 
in graceful curves with gaily-colored 

By John Singleton Copley 

A Family Group 

America's First Painters 

By Rufus Rockwell Wilson 

STUDY of the beginnings of our 
native art is a task that amply 
rewards endeavor, for, not- 
withstanding the too prevalent. 
lack of faith in our early painters and 
sculptors, many admirable artists have 
lived and flourished in America, men 
of force, of feeling, and of talent often 
falling little short of genius, whose 
achievements cannot fail to command 
interest, respect and admiration. 

Recent investigations prosecuted by 
members of the Massachusetts Histori- 
cal Society make it clear that there 

were painters in America more than a 
century before the Revolution, and 
there is reason to believe that the curi- 
ous portrait of Dr. John Cutler, now 
the property of this Society, which rep- 
resents that forgotten worthy contem- 
plating a skull, was painted in Boston 
prior to 1680. The same date is at- 
tributed to a portrait of Increase 
Mather, and the quaint portraits of the 
Gibbs children are dated 1670. There 
is no clue to the origin of the portrait 
of John Winthrop, deposited in the 
Harvard Memorial Hall at Cambridge, 

From the painting by Smibert 

Bishop Berkeley 

but if it was drawn from life, in Bos- 
ton, it is the oldest work of native art 
in this part of the world, as Winthrop 
died in 1649. There is record of an 
artist named Joseph Allen, who sailed 
from England for Boston in 1684, an ^ 
that at least one other painter made 
Boston his home before the opening of 
the eighteenth century is shown by an 
extract from Judge Sewall's Diary : 

"November 10, 1706. This morning, Tom 
Child, the painter, died. 

"Tom Child has often painted Death 

But never to the life before. 
Doing it now, he's out of Breath, 

He paints it once, and paints no more." 

However, aside from this singular 
epitaph, we have no record of the life 

and work of Tom Child, who was, 
doubtless, a well known character in 
the snug little Boston of his time. We 
know less of the painters who were his 
contemporaries, and it is not until a 
later period that we find ourselves on 
sure ground. That painting should be 
the last of the arts to take firm root 
among us is easily explainable, for its 
hard and narrow conditions at first 
denied the painter, or "limner," as he 
was called in the blunt speech of the 
fathers, a place in pioneer life. 

Peter Pelham, whose name heads 
the roster of the pioneer painters of 
New England, has left us no other 
proof of his handiwork than likenesses 
of some of the Puritan divines of his 

Photograph by Herbert Randall 

Bishop Berkeley and His Family 

time. He settled in Boston in 1726, 
and the earliest American work yet 
traced to him is an engraved portrait 
of Cotton Mather, dated 1727. The 
portraits of Cotton and Richard 
Mather, now in the library of the 
American Antiquarian Society, at 
Worcester, Massachusetts, are by his 
hand, and he also numbered John 
Moorhead and Mather Byles among 
his sitters. Besides engraving his own 
work, he reproduced in mezzo-tinto 
some of the portraits painted by John 

in May, 1748, Pelham married Mary 
Singleton, widow of Richard Copley, 
and received into his family her son, 
the future artist, John Singleton Cop- 
ley. The wife, who had kept a tobacco 
shop during her widowhood, added her 
contribution to the common fund bv 

continuing it after her union with Pel- 
ham. The records of Trinity church, 
in Boston, where Pelham had long 
worshipped, show that he was buried 
December 14, 1751. His widow sur- 
vived him nearly forty years, her de- 
clining days cheered by the success of 
her son Copley, whose talent as a 
painter had brought him fame and 
competence. Pelham's productions on 
copper are executed in the deep mezzo- 
tinto so prevalent in the early part of 
the eighteenth century, and closely re- 
semble the work of the well known 
English scraper, John Smith. As a 
painter in oils he had small merit. He 
was a man capable of giving a likeness- 
and little more. 

The same is in a measure true of 
John Smibert, who came to America in 
1720, in the train of Bishop Berkeley,. 



who had conceived the idea 
of converting the Indians 
to Christianity by means of 
a college to be erected in 
the Bermuda Islands. Sir 
Robert Walpole, then chief 
minister, opposed the en- 
terprise, but Berkeley per- 
suaded the British govern- 
ment to promise a grant of 
£20,000 in support of his 
plans, and, full of enthusi- 
asm and courage, he sailed 
from Gravesend in Septem- 
ber, 1728, expecting to 
found the college and as- 
sume its presidency. He 
reached Newport, Rhode 
Island, late in January, 
1729, where he bought a 
farm, erected upon it a 
small house, engaged in 
correspondence and study, 
composed a philosophical 
treatise, preached occasion- 
ally, and longed in vain 
expected endowment. Finally, wea- 
ried by long delays and reluctantly 
convinced that Walpole had no in- 
tention of giving him the promised 
support, Berkeley gave up his resi- 
dence in Newport and set sail for 
home, embarking at Boston in Septem- 
ber, 1 73 1, just three years after his 
departure from England. 

Smibert, who was to have been pro- 
fessor of fine arts in Berkeley's pro- 
jected college, was born in Edinburgh 
in 1684. The son of a well-to-do 
tradesman, tradition has it that he was 
destined by his pious-minded father 
for the ministry, but early evinced so 
strong a taste for drawing that he was 
allowed to follow the profession of an 
artist. Smibert studied his art in Lon- 

Photo graph by Baldwin Looiidge train the portrait oy Smibert 

Mrs. McSparran 

for the don and then passed some years in 
Italy. Returning to England he be- 
came a portrait painter in London and, 
in 1729, as before stated, he came to 
America with Bishop Berkeley. He 
painted for some months in Newport, 
and when the Bermuda enterprise was 
abandoned settled in Boston. When 
Berkeley was made Bishop of Cloyne 
in 1734 he asked Smibert to join him 
in Ireland, but the painter, who in the 
meantime had won the heart and hand 
of Mary Williams, a rich American 
widow, declined his patron's invitation 
and lived in Boston, prosperous and 
contented, until his death in 1751. 

Smibert's most important American 
work is the painting of Berkeley and 
his family, executed in Boston in the 
autumn of 1731, and presented to Yale 



College in 1808. Besides the Berkeley 
group, there are said to be more than 
thirty Smiberts, about half of them 
well authenticated, scattered about 
New England and the Middle States. 
The portrait of Judge Edmund Quincy 
in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts 
and that of John Lowell in Harvard 
Memorial Hall are characteristic ex- 
amples of Smibert's art. As paintings, 
pure and simple, they have small value. 
Executed with a dry brush and in 
severely formal style, they are cold, 
stiff and hard, but they are, undoubt- 
edly, good literal likenesses of their 

When Smibert landed in America, 
another Scotch painter, John Watson, 
had been plying his brush for nearly 
fifteen years in the Province of New 
Jersey. Watson, of whose early life 
we have no record, except that he was 
born in 1685, came to the colonies in 
171 5, and settled at Perth Amboy, 
which then promised to become a 
thriving commercial centre. There he, 
in due time, built a home and lived and 
painted until the ripe age of eighty- 
three. "I remember well," writes 
William Dunlap, himself a native of 
Perth Amboy, "the child's wonder that 
was caused in my early life by the 
appearance of the house this artist once 
owned, for he was then dead, and the 
tales that were told of the limner in 
answer to the questions asked. His 
dwelling house had been pulled down, 
but a smaller building which adjoined 
it, and which had been his painting and 
picture house, remained, and attracted 
attention by the heads of sages, heroes, 
and kings. The window shutters were 
divided into squares, and each square 
presented the head of a man or woman 
in antique costume, the men with 

beards and helmets, or crowns. In 
answer to my questions I was told that 
the painter had been considered a 
miser and usurer — words of dire por- 
tent — probably meaning that he was 
a prudent, perhaps a wise man, who 
lived plainly and lent the excess of his 
revenue to those who wanted it and 
could give good security for principal 
and interest." In other words, the 
Perth Amboy limner seems to have 
been endowed with the proverbial 
thrift of his race. None of Watson's 
portraits in oil has come down to us, 
but there still exist a number of minia- 
ture sketches in India ink made by him 
and including a series of drawings of 
himself at different ages, which evince 
considerable skill in draughtsmanship. 
When Smibert and Watson came to 
America, another foreign-born painter 
had for several years been plying his 
art in Philadelphia. This was Gus- 
tavus Hesselius, a native of Sweden, 
born in 1682, who arrived in the 
colonies in 171 1. After residing for 
several years in Philadelphia and Wil- 
mington, Hesselius removed to Queen 
Anne's Parish, Maryland, and for its 
parish church of St. Barnabas painted, 
in 172 1, an elaborate altar-piece of the 
"Last Supper," which long since dis- 
appeared, but which was, past ques- 
tion, the first work of art for a public 
building executed in America. In 1735 
Hesselius returned to Philadelphia, 
where he lived and painted until his 
death in 1782. Some of his authenti- 
cated portraits now find a fitting home 
in the Historical Society of Pennsyl- 
vania. Refined in color and in treat- 
ment skilful, they show that he was a 
painter of no mean ability for his time, 
and easily the superior of either 
Smibert or Watson. 

Photograph by Baldivin Coolidge 

Col. Jonathan Warner 

Jonathan B. Blackburn was a better 
painter than Smibert, Watson or per- 
haps Hesselius. There is reason to 
believe that he was born in Connecticut 
about 1700, and if this assumption is 
correct, he was the first native Amer- 
ican painter of real ability. Blackburn 
settled in Boston about the time that 
Pelham and Smibert died, and re- 
mained there some fifteen years. 
When Copley's work began to receive 
more attention than his own, Black- 
burn removed from the town, but left 
upwards of fifty portraits behind him. 
These are now in various public 
collections and in private hands. 
Blackburn's finely modeled portrait 
of Colonel Jonathan Warner in 

the Boston Museum of Fine Arts 
shows this painter at his best. Quiet 
in tone and thinly painted in neutral 
colors, it has about it an unmistakable 
air of distinction. The pose is proud 
and assured, the costume handsome, 
the expression masterful. Copleys 
hang beside it on the wall and they 
look as if they had been painted by the 
same hand. Nothing is known of 
Blackburn's career after his departure 
from Boston in 1765. 

The lives of two of Blackburn's con- 
temporaries, John Greenwood and 
Robert Feke, with whom he must often 
have touched elbows, are also shrouded 
in obscurity. Greenwood's name ap- 
pears as one of the appraisers of 

from the painting by Benjamin West 

The Witch of Endor 

Smibert's estate, — the latter left prop- 
erty valued at £1,387, a snug fortune 
for his time, — and a portrait of Rev. 
Thomas Prince, painted by him, was 
engraved by Pelham in 1750. He is 
believed to have been the son of 
Samuel Greenwood, a Boston mer- 
chant, and to have been born in that 
city in 1727, to have left America be- 
fore the Revolution, and, after a short 
stay in India, to have settled in Lon- 
don as an auctioneer, dying at Mar- 
gate in 1792. All this, however, is con- 
jectural and none of Greenwood's por- 
traits are now believed to be in 

Robert Feke is thought to have been 
born of Quaker parents at Oyster Bay, 
Long Island, in 1724. He left home 
when young, and is said to have 
learned to paint in Spain, whither he 

had been taken as a prisoner. With 
the proceeds of the rude paintings he 
had made in prison, he returned home 
and became a portrait painter, working 
in turn in Newport, New York, and 
Philadelphia. His first pictures bear 
date 1746. He died in the Bermuda 
Islands, where he had gone for his 
health, about 1769. Feke's portraits 
are in the Bowdoin College collection 
and in that of the Rhode Island His- 
torical Society at Providence. He was 
a man of undoubted talent ; and his 
quaint, yet charming, portrait of Lady 
Wanton, wife of the last royal gov- 
ernor of Rhode Island, now in the 
Redwood Library at Newport is a fine 
example of what he might have accom- 
plished in his art, had his life been 
more favorably ordered. 

While Blackburn, Greenwood and 




Feke were painting in New England 
and Watson in New Jersey, in the 
colony of Pennsylvania two other men, 
John Valentine Haidt and Benjamin 
West, the former among the Morav- 
ians and the latter among the Quakers, 
were playing a not unworthy part in 
the creation of American art. Haidt 
was born in Dantzic in 1700, and lived 
in Berlin where his father was court 
jeweler. He was carefully educated 
and later studied painting in Venice, 
Rome, Paris and London. At the age 
of forty, after a somewhat turbulent 
youth and early manhood, he joined 
the Moravians and devoted himself to 
painting portraits of their clergy and 
pictures dealing mostly with sacred 
subjects. He came to America in 1740, 
was ordained a deacon of the Moravian 
church, and preached through the 
middle colonies as an evangelist, at the 
same time continuing to paint. His 
last years were spent in Bethlehem 
where, in 1770, "he gave his soul to 

A gallery of Haidt's portraits and 
several of his other pictures are still 
preserved at Bethlehem. These are 
painted in the dry, formal manner of 
the German painters of his time, but 
they show considerable feeling for 
color and borrow charm from the 
quaint and picturesque dress of their 
subjects, white caps and collars for the 
women, loosely flowing robes for the 
men ; and an hour spent in their study 
aids not a little in reconstructing one 
of the least, known but most admirable 
chapters in the history of the middle 

The name of Benjamin West is one 
held in honored remembrance by 
every lover of art. Born at Spring- 
field, now Swarthmore, Pennsylvania, 

on October 10, 1738, West was a de- 
scendant on his mother's side of 
Thomas Pierson, a trusted friend of 
William Perm, and both his parents 
were sincere and self-respecting 
Quakers. Before he was six years old 
West never saw a picture or an en- 
graving, but his placid life absorbed 
the beauty of nature, and the first 
expression of his talent was in the 
picture of a sleeping child drawn at 
this age. West's first instruction in 
art was given him by William Wil- 
liams, a sign painter in Philadelphia 
who occasionally executed portraits, 
and his first attempt at portraiture was 
in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where he 
painted "The Death of Socrates" for 
William Henry, a gunsmith. He was 
not yet sixteen years of age, but other 
paintings followed which possessed so 
much genuine merit that they have 
been preserved as treasures. In 1756, 
when he was eighteen years old, he 
established himself as a portrait- 
painter in Philadelphia, his price being 
"five guineas a head." Two years later 
he went to New York, where he passed 
eleven months and painted many por- 
traits, after which he decided to visit 
Europe in order to improve himself in 
his art. 

West arrived in Italy in July, 1760, 
and spent about three years in study, 
divided between Rome, Florence and 
Parma, "very profitable and enjoyable 
years," he called them. From Parma 
he proceeded to Genoa and thence to 
Turin, later visiting in turn Leghorn, 
Venice and Lucca. The art treasures 
of France next claimed his attention 
for a brief period, and finally in 
August, 1763, he reached London. It 
was then his purpose, after a few 
months spent in England, to return to 



From the painting by Benjamin West 





America but this plan was destined 
never to be fulfilled. A portrait and 
picture painted for the exhibition of 
1764, brought him numerous patrons 
and induced his permanent settlement 
in London. 

As West settled down to the new 
life, mingling the delights of his art 
with the pleasures of society, his 
thoughts went out to the sweetheart he 
had left behind 
him in the New 
World, Eliza- 
beth Shewell, an 
orphan girl, re- 
siding with her 
brother in Phil- 
adelphia. This '0 ^g» 
brother, an am- 
bitious man, 
urged her to 
marry a wealthy ||| 
suitor, but she 
refused, having 
already pledged 
her vows to 
West. There- 
after a close 
watch was kept 
upon the girl 
and orders giv- 
en to the ser- 
vants to refuse 
admittance to West if he ever came 
to the door. For five years Eliza- 
beth waited ; then, assisted by friends 
watching within and without, she 
descended a rope ladder from the win- 
dow of her room, was hurried into a 
waiting carriage and driven rapidly to 
a wharf where a ship was ready to sail 
for England. The father of West re- 
ceived her, cared for her during the 
voyage, and delivered her to the eager 
lover who came aboard the ship at 


From a portrait by Lawrence 

Benjamin West 

Liverpool. Upon their arrival in Lon- 
don they went at once to the church of 
St. Martins-in-the-Field, and were 
married. Mrs. West soon became 
known in London as "the beautiful 
American." Her letters, still in the 
possession of the family, breathe only 
of the kindness of all she met. West 
sent a portrait of his wife as a peace 
offering to her brother, who never 
looked at it, but 
had it stored 
away in the gar- 
ret of his house. 
One of his 
grandchild ren 
remembers hav- 
^<gS i-f m §" beaten with 

a switch the 
portrait of 
his " naughty 
aunty," who 
[ ll» smiled upon the 

% ". ,, children playing 

jtl W| : ' c in the attic 
where she had 
gone to weep, a 
lovelorn maid, — ■ 
smiled upon 
them from her 
calm estate of 
wedded bliss in 

West's long career in England, — he 
died in 1820, and sleeps in St. Paul's 
Cathedral, London, — gave him fame as 
an historical painter that made him 
President of the Royal Academy. But 
it is in his portraits that he is seen at 
his best. Here he sometimes chal- 
lenges comparison with the ablest 
painters of his time and his portrait of 
Robert Fulton, now in the possession 
of one of the latter's descendants, is, 
both in conception and execution, a 

From the painting by Benjamin West 

Peter Denying Christ 

wholly admirable work, 

moving and full of charm 

Praise not 
less hearty can be given to the family 
group painted by West soon after the 
birth of his first child, in which the 
beautiful young mother with tender 
solicitude shows her baby to the visit- 
ing grandfather and uncle, while the 
artist, brush and palette in hand, 
proudly surveys the scene from behind 
his father's chair. The grouping is 
natural and unconstrained, while the 
white robes of the mother and child 

afford a pleasing contrast to the sober 
gray in which the male figures are 
garbed, and lend effectiveness to a deli- 
cate and harmonious color scheme. 
Feeling and sincerity are apparent in 
every brush stroke of this charming 
composition, which shows where, had 
he followed it, lay the painter's true 
forte and his strongest claims to great- 

Despite his long residence in Lon- 
don, West's love for America never 
waned, and his fellow countrymen, 



when they sought him out in 
London, always found him a 
wise counselor and an unfalter- 
ing friend. The elder and the 
younger Peale, Fulton, Trum- 
bull, Stuart, Allston, Sully and 
White were his pupils, and 
nearly all of the American 
painters of his time were his 
debtors in more ways than one. 
One of West's first American 
pupils was Matthew Pratt, a 
gifted painter, who even in his 
lifetime seems to have fallen 
into unmerited neglect. Pratt, 
who was West's senior by four 
years, was the son of a Phila- 
delphia goldsmith. Born Sep- 
tember 23, 1734, Pratt early 
showed an inclination for draw- 
ing and at the age of fifteen 
was apprenticed to his uncle 
James Claypoole, "limner and painter 
in general," from whom, to use his 
own words, he "learned all branches 
of the painting business, particularly 
portrait-painting, which was my favor- 
ite study from ten years of age." 

In 1764, four years after his mar- 
riage, Pratt went to London to study 
under West. His aunt had married 
the uncle of Elizabeth Shewell, West's 
future wife, and his voyage to London 
was made in company with that lady 
and the elder West. When the mar- 
riage ceremony of the reunited lovers 
was performed at St. Martins-in-the- 
Field, Pratt attended and gave away 
the bride. For two years and a half 
he lived with the Wests and was the 
husband's first pupil. While studying 
under West, Pratt painted his first 
figure composition, "The American 
School," which was exhibited in Lon- 
don in 1766, at the seventh exhibition 

Matthew Pratt's Portrait of Himsllf 

of the old Spring Gardens. This 
picture remained in the possession of 
Pratt's descendants until 1896; when it 
was acquired by Samuel P. Avery ; 
who has placed it in the Metropolitan 
Museum of Art. It represents West's 
studio, with the artist instructing his 
pupils. The composition is good, the 
execution excellent and the color 
scheme pleasing and skillfully handled. 
As a whole and remembering* the fact 
that it was painted by an American 
who had had less than a year's study 
in London, it is a remarkable work. 

In the spring of 1768, Pratt returned 
to Philadelphia and, resuming his pro- 
fessional career, made that city his 
home until his death in 1805. Scores 
of Pratt's portraits are scattered 
through the Middle States, and many 
canvases cherished by their owners as 
the work of Copley came, in all prob- 
ability, from the easel of Pratt. His 

The American School 

portraits show knowledge of character 
and the ability to portray it, a refined 
feeling for color and a knowledge of 
values surprising in a painter of his 
period. His posing was often artificial, 
but that was in keeping with the taste 
and custom of his time, while his 
modeling was delicate, yet clear, and 
his drawing always careful and cor- 
rect. At his best he was the equal and 
in some respects the superior of West 
and Copley.* 

John Smibert's American wife bore 
him four sons. The youngest of these, 
Nathaniel, showed great talent in por- 
traiture and "had his life been spared," 
writes one who knew him, "he would 
have been in his day the honor of 
America in imitative art." Smibert's 

* The author begs to acknowledge his obligation 
to Mr. Charles Henry Hart for interesting details 
of the career of Matthew Pratt. 

portrait of Dorothy Wendell, now 
owned by Dr. Josiah L. Hale, of Bos- 
ton, in a measure confirms this pre- 
diction, but he died in 1756 at the early 
age of twenty-two, and his place was 
taken by John Singleton Copley, whose 
name concludes the list of the colonial 
painters. Copley was born in Boston 
in 1737, the son of Richard Copley and 
Mary Singleton. His father came to 
America from Ireland in 1736, and 
died in the West Indies, where he had 
gone for his health, about the time of 
the birth of his son. Eleven years later 
the widow married Peter Pelham, by 
whom she had one son. Copley began 
to draw when a child, but his studies 
were attended with every disadvantage. 
From his association with his step- 
father, Pelham, and the latter's friend, 
the elder Smibert, he must have gained 
a tolerable knowledge of the painter's 


tools, and it is also possible that later 
he obtained some useful hints from 
Blackburn, but, according to his own 
account of his artistic career, he re- 
ceived no regular instruction and never 
saw a good picture until after he left 
America at the age of thirty-seven. 
He had neither teacher nor model, and 
the very colors on his palette, as well 

step-father, Pelham, had died three 
years before, leaving his widow to the 
care of her sons ; and how tenderly 
Copley discharged his share of the 
trust imposed in him is shown by pas- 
sages in his letters, in which he men- 
tions his reluctance to leave his mother 
as an objection to his going to Europe, 
and again in his unwearied care for her 

•-'. ,.■...■; 

^^fc^Ma-.' JBflj 

John Singleton Copley's Portrait of Himself 

as the brush he handled, are said to 
have been of his own making. 

However, nature had not only en- 
dowed Copley with persevering indus- 
try, but with rare feeling for the beau- 
ty and charm of color, and he made 
such steady progress that at the age 
of seventeen, — some of his pictures 
bear date 1753,— we find him regular- 
ly established as a portrait painter. His 

comfort when circumstances finally in- 
duced him to leave America. In 1766, 
when Copley was twenty-nine years 
old, he sent to Benjamin West in 
London, but without name or address, 
a portrait of his half-brother, Henry 
Pelham, known as "The Boy and the 
Flying Squirrel," requesting that it be 
placed in the exhibition rooms of the 
Society of Incorporated Artists. West, 



delighted with the portrait, conjectured 
from the squirrel and the wood upon 
which the canvas was stretched, that 
it was the work of an American, and, 
although it was contrary to the rules of 
the Society to place an unsigned 
picture on its walls, secured its admis- 
sion to the next exhibition of that 
body. . 

In 1777 Copley visited New York 
and painted in that city for some 
months. Before that, however, his 
fame as a painter had become general, 
and for years people had come from all 
parts of New England to have their 
portraits painted by him. A calm, 
deliberate and methodical workman, he 
never hurried and never neglected any 
part of his task. "He painted," as Gil- 
bert Stuart said in after years, "the 
whole man." But if Copley was slow, 
he was industrious, for three hundred 
portraits were painted by him between 
1754 and 1774, most of which are in 
or near Boston to-day ; and, although 
his prices were modest, by 1769, when 
he married Susannah Farnum Clarke, 
daughter of Richard Clarke — a leading 
Boston merchant, famous in after 
years as the consignee of the cargoes 
of tea which provoked the historic "tea 
party" — and a woman remarkable alike 
for her beauty and her worth, he was 
in comfortable circumstances. Colonel 
John Trumbull, who visited Copley two 
years after his marriage, described him 
as "living in a beautiful house on a 
fine, open common ; attired in a crim- 
son velvet suit, laced with gold, and 
having everything about him in very 
handsome style." 

In T774 Copley carried out a long 
cherished but oft postponed desire to 
visit Europe. The outbreak of the 
Revolution intervened to prevent his 

return to America, and, being joined 
by his family, he took up his residence 
in London, where he lived and painted 
with honor and profit until his death 
in 181 5. His widow, surviving him 
twenty-one years, lived to see their 
son in the flush of the career that made 
him Lord Chancellor and a member of 
the English peerage. 

It was Copley's own belief that his 
best work as a painter was done in 
America, and in this opinion the 
thoughtful student of his portraits now 
in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts 
and in the Harvard Memorial Hall 
cannot fail to concur. They are never 
commonplace and the handling is 
always unmistakable. Self taught, 
Copley's merits and faults are his own. 
Superior as a colorist to a majority of 
his contemporaries, he delighted in the 
brilliant and massive uniforms, the 
brocades and embroidered velvets, the 
rich laces and scarves of his day, and 
painted them, and the masterful men 
and stately women which they 
garbed, with sure and loving hand. 
He modeled a head with as much care 
as did Clouet, and he was especially 
felicitous in catching the expression of 
the eye, while his skill in rendering the 
individuality and character of the hand 
has seldom been excelled. "Prick that 
hand," said Gilbert Stuart of the hand 
in one of Copley's portraits, "and blood 
will spurt out." 

Copley's faults as a painter are an 
occasional tendency to dryness,* to 
hardness of outline and to stiffness in 
his figures. However, distinction is 
never lacking in his work and in his 
best portraits, like those of Hancock 
and Adams in the Boston Museum of 
Fine Arts, of the Boylston family in 
Harvard Memorial Hall and of Ladv 



Wentworth in the Lenox Library, 
New York, the faults I have mentioned 
are hardly apparent. Indeed, the truth., 
simplicity, repose and refinement of the 
portraits named would have done 
credit to any painter of any time, and, 
painted as they were by a young man 
who never had a teacher, and who saw 
few, if any, good pictures save his own 
until he was forty years of age, they 
are bound to remain the marvels of our 
pioneer art. 

Copley was essentially a portrait 
painter and his historical and religious 
pictures — an admirable example of his 
work in this field, "Charles I. Demand- 
ing the Surrender of the Impeached 
Members at the Bar of the House of 
Commons," hangs in the Boston Pub- 
lic Library — though showing no 
mean ability, are wanting in im- 

agination, and, at their best, are little 
more than groups of carefully executed 
portraits. Still, considered solely as 
a portrait painter, Copley's fame is 
secure. No painter, not even Holbein 
or Velasquez, ever lived in closer sym- 
pathy with the spirit of his time than 
did he. 

Thus closes the record of the 
colonial painters, a study of whose 
efforts teaches anew the familiar lesson 
that the day of small things is ever 
worthy of respect. In the face of sore 
discouragements but with faith and 
enthusiasm, they did their work and 
builded better than they knew, for no 
human effort, however modest, is 
wasted and these pioneers, humbly and 
often blindly, hewed the way for an 
art that is to become the glory and the 
wonder of the world. 

The Pilot 

By Mary Hall Leonard 

ANIGHT of storm ! Both Faith and Hope were failing 
And even Love grew pallid with affright. 
Then calm Obedience rose with brow unquailing, 

And guided safely till the morninj 


The Lesser Tragedy 

Bv Grant Richardson 


OW many this morning, 
Connors?" asked Lieu- 
tenant Sterrett, the offi- 
cer in charge of the New 
York Recruiting Station, throwing 
his great coat over the back of a 

"Not one, Lieutenant," answered 
the old sergeant from his desk at 
which he was patiently filling out with 
his pen duplicates and triplicates of 
army reports. 

"That's bad," said the lieutenant. "I 
wanted to get the men started to-night. 
We haven't had much luck so far. 
Those we have are not an extra good 
lot. There isn't the making of a de- 
cent non-com' among them." 

"That's true, sir, the place to pick up 
good 'rookies' is in the country. New 
York gives us the worst it has. If I 
had my way I'd go over to Ireland and 
pick out a regiment or two in me own 
county. That's where they raise good 
sojers, sir." 

The lieutenant laughed, and turned 
to the window that faced the Battery. 
He musingly watched the distant mov- 
ing shipping on river and bay, tapping 
on the window pane with his fingers. 
The door opened and he turned to see 
a man standing within. The man was 
young, and had a tall athletic figure, 
clad in what had once been fashionable 
and expensive garments. His pale 
face was handsome and intellectual, in 
spite of the marks of dissipation that 
marred it, and there was pride and 

good breeding in his bearing; but his 
eyes were blood-shot, his hand trem- 
bled and he was greatly in need of 
sleep, food and a bath. 

"I should like to enlist," he said. 

"Step up here," said the sergeant 
gruffly, picking up a paper. "What's 
your name?" 

"John Roakes," answered the man. 

"Where have I seen that chap?" 
thought Lieutenant Sterrett. "Some- 
where I'm sure. At a club or a dance? 
I've met him in New York, and his 
name is not Roakes. But no matter, 
poor devil, he is or once was a gentle- 

"What did you say your name is?" 
he asked suddenly, turning to the ap- 

"John Roakes," answered the man. 

"H-m," said the lieutenant doubt- 
fully. "I thought perhaps it might be 
something else." 

The applicant looked at the lieuten- 
ant for a moment without replying. 
Then he said distinctly, with a force 
that carried conviction and yet without 
insolence : 

"I said it was John Roakes." 

"O, very well, John Roakes it is 
then." replied Sterrett indifferently, 
returning to the view of the river. 

John Roakes was measured, 
weighed, punched and sounded, and 
every mark on his body was registered 
bv the sergeant. He answered ques- 
tions more or less truthfully, took the 
oath to defend his country, and passed 


4 6 


from the world into the army. That 
night, together with a dozen or more 
''rookies," he took a train under the 
guidance of a grizzled old corporal, 
and duly arrived at Fort Rincon, on 
the plains at the foot of the San Jacin- 
to mountains, the most God-forgotten 
army post in America. 

Private Roakes was no sooner in 
Fort Rincon and into the uniform of 
Uncle Sam, when he managed to get 
some smuggled whiskey. Well, he 
went to the guard house and, as soon 
as he was sober, to Captain Compton. 
He looked very well in his uniform, 
did Private Roakes, but he' was not yet 
a soldier. His tunic was not buttoned 
at the neck, and was wrinkled from 
having been slept in. As he entered 
the captain's presence he carried him- 
self defiantly. 

"Now see here, Roakes," said Cap- 
tain Compton slowly and dispassion- 
ately, "I am going to have a little talk 
with you. I don't know who you are, 
but I do know that you are a gentle- 
man. No, you must not interrupt me. 
You are a private soldier of the United 
States now, and I am your captain. It 
is my privilege to talk to you as I see 
fit. I have had men of your stamp in 
my company before this. You are a 
man of education, and have probably 
had more money than was good for 
you. This is going to be the only real 
discipline and restraint you have ever 
known. I am thoroughly sorry for 
you, and regret the cause of your be- 
ing in the army as a private, whatever 
it was. but you are not the first, and 
will not be the last. A soldier must 
fight, not one thing but many. You 
know the thing that you must fight. 
You can be a good soldier or a bad 
one. T do not believe it is in vour 

blood to be a bad one. So far as I may 
I will help you, but our relative posi- 
tions are not what they might have 
been under other circumstances. I 
wish you to be a good soldier for your 
own sake, as well as for the sake of 
Company C, the regiment and the ser- 
vice. I am sure you understand me. 
If you are in trouble at any time I 
wish you would come to me." 

The captain paused, and the two 
men looked each other fairly in the 
eyes. The private understood and, 
seeing that the interview was at an 
end, he bowed and withdrew. 

"By the way, Whipple," Captain 
Compton said to his first lieutenant one 
day, "how is that man Roakes getting 

"I never saw his like," answered 
Lieutenant Wnipple. "He is a born 
soldier. Picked up his work as if he 
had learned it at West Point. He i£ 
cheerful, a hard worker, reserved and 
gentlemanly, and a great favorite with 
the men. He does not go near the 
canteen, and shares everything he has 
with the men in his quarters. That 
chap has seen better days." 

"I wish you would send him up to 
me at the first opportunity." 

"Very well, I will do so." 

When Roakes presented himself in 
officers' row he was as smart a soldier 
as there was in the army. Plenty *of 
work and a wholesome diet had wiped 
the flush and the marks of drink from 
his face. He unconsciously bore him- 
self like a gentleman, and his uniform 
fitted his fine athletic figure like a 
glove. As he went smartly up the walk 
to Captain Compton's quarters, Major 
Ransom, who was smoking a cigar on 
his veranda, looked after him and 
thought : "That chap has played foot- 



ball and danced cotillions, or I'm a 

Presenting himself to his captain, 
Private Roakes saluted and stood at 

"Roakes, I want a 'striker,' and 
should be glad if you would come up 
here," said the captain. "The fellow I 
have is stupid and untidy. There are 
plenty of books here that you may use, 
and the duties are not severe." 

For an instant Roakes felt the full 
sting of the degradation of the position 
offered him, and he unconsciously 
drew himself up with hauteur, but the 
mood passed. 

"As you wish, sir," he answered. 

"Very well," said the captain. He 
called a soldier from the next room. 
"Murphy, you may instruct Private 
Roakes in the duties you have been 
performing for me and afterwards re- 
port to your sergeant." 

"You're lucky," said Murphy, 
when the two soldiers had retired from 
the room. "The cap'n is the easiest 
officer in the service. There's nothing 
at all to do. It's all a bluff. All you 
got to do is to sit here, and once in a 
while carry a note to one of the offi- 
cers' houses or up to the office. He 
won't let you do a thing for him, and 
he dines at the officers' club. All you 
got to do is to keep his room and the 
things in it tidy. I'm a pretty poor 
chambermaid myself." 

So Roakes became "striker" to his 

He was sitting within call one after- 
noon, looking out of the window at 
Lieutenant Slocum's wife and the 
Misses Brierly, who were playing cro- 
quet in the next yard. Suddenly he 
threw back his head in a bitter, noise- 
less laugh. 

"God," he thought, "who could have 
predicted that I would come to this? 
What a fool is folly ! I cannot stand it 
much longer, then down I tumble 
again. I have fought it and fought it 
well. There it is on the buffet, mine 
whenever I stretch out my hand for it. 
Ah, how I love it ! Better than I loved 
her, God bless her, and I loved her 
well. God help to keep me strong for 
her sake. What a giant is the flesh ; 
full of pride and the lust of living. 
Why cannot I forget it? Every day 
have I seen it there, golden brown in 
its shining decanter. Every day have 
I had it in my hands and put it from 
me, and every day has it grown more 
difficult to do so." Private Roakes 
shook with a great sob that seemed as 
if it would tear his heart out. 

"What is it, Roakes?" Captain 
Compton stood in the doorway. 

Roakes sprang to his feet. "I beg 
your pardon, sir, nothing," he an- 

"I ask you what is it, Roakes?" the 
captain repeated. 

Officer and private looked into each 
other's eyes as squarely as men ever 

"It's the drink," cried Roakes, 
hoarsely. "I cannot help it. I would 
rather fight a regiment of devils than 
fight it again," he said, trembling. For 
a moment Captain Compton hesitated. 
Then he turned to the private, his in- 
decision gone. 

"Roakes, I am going out and will 
not be back to-night," he said. "You 
will remain here until I return. You 
are at liberty to use anything I have, 
but you must give me your word that 
you will not leave my quarters without 
my permission. " 

Roakes nodded, standing fast, star- 

4 8 


ing before him like one demented. He 
heard the captain close the door, cross 
the veranda and, as the echo of the last 
footsteps died away on the walk, 
turned and looked at the buffet on 
which stood a row of decanters full of 
the drink he craved. 

As the captain walked to Major 
Ransom's house he thought, " Perhaps 
I have been a fool after all. But I be- 
lieve in blood and I think he has it in 

Private Roakes moved eagerly, with 
outstretched, quivering hands, to the 
buffet. His face was as white as his 
collar, and his eyes gleamed and 
glared. His trembling hand reached 
out and grasped the vessel that held 
his ruin. He shook it between his eyes 
and the light, watching the fires in it. 
Pouring the liquor into a tumbler, so 
fast that it choked and gurgled in the 
neck of the decanter, he shook it with 
impatience, as a child might, to make 
it run faster. Only when the tumbler 
was full to the brim did he set the de- 
canter down. Then he raised the glass 
slowly to his lips. 

"No !" he shouted, and threw the 
brimming tumbler into a corner. Stag- 
gering to a chair he buried his face in 
his hands and cried like a frightened 

"I have won ! I have won !" he cried 
over and over again. 

Darkness came on ; the hours slipped 
into midnight and so into the dawn, 
and still Roakes sat immovable. "If 
she were only here," he moaned. "She 
is all out of the past that I want back, 
and I drove her from me. Ah, dear 
heart, how I love you now, and ever 
have. And now I know that you loved 
me, dear wife of mine. God forgive 
me ! God forgive me ! But I have 

fought the fight, and now I want you 
back, my wife." 

He did not hear the guard passing 
around the house trying the doors, nor 
did he hear the entrance of Captain 
Compton, who now stood in the door- 
way, framed in the glaring sunshine of 
the morning. 

"Roakes! Roakes!" 

"Here, sir." Roakes sprank to his 
feet. His face was pale with his vigil, 
but his eyes were clear and frank, hon- 
est and joyous. 

"O, I thought you were asleep," 
muttered the captain, retreating to his 
room. His quick eye had seen the 
broken glass in the corner and the 
splash on the wall. Out of the cap- 
tain's room came a happy, tuneless 
whistle. In a moment he returned to 
where Roakes stood. 

"Your hand, Roakes," he said. 

For a moment the eyes of these two 
met again as they clasped hands, each 
valuing the other as man to man. 

It was not long after this that the 
private became Corporal, and then Ser- 
geant Roakes. Captain Compton urged 
him to study for a commission, but 
Roakes demurred. 

"Thank you, Captain, but I would 
rather not. I have very good reasons 
for not wishing to do so." 

"Very well, Sergeant," the captain 
said, "but you could pass easily, I am 
sure. You have already mastered all 
the technical books I have, and the rest 
is easy. I believe that I could asssure 
you a welcome out of the ranks. But 
perhaps you know better than I." 

Lieutenant Sterrett had been re- 
lieved of recruiting and other detached 
duties, and had in the meantime re- 
joined his company at Fort Rincon. 
One day, as he and Lieutenant Whip- 



pie were crossing the parade, Sergeant 
Roakes passed them. 

"By Jove," said Sterrett, "that looks 
like a man I enlisted in New York un- 
der the name of Roakes." 

"Yes," replied Whipple, "that is 
Roakes, and he is the best man you 
ever took into the service. I should be 
glad if he'd try for a commission. He's 
worth it, every inch of him, but he 
steadily refuses to do so for some rea- 
son or other." 

"And I know why," said Sterrett. 
"Come to my quarters and I'll tell you 
all about it. It's not a bad story, if it 
isn't exactly new." 

"Now in the first place," Sterrett 
said, after they had made themselves 
comfortable, "his name is not Roakes, 
it is Howard. Do you remember the 
mysterious disappearance from New 
York of Jack Howard about a year 
ago ? It was the sensation of the day. 
All sorts of stories gained publicity; 
that he had committed suicide ; that he 
had gone to Australia; that he had 
been murdered, and all that sort of 

"No," Whipple replied with a sigh. 
"Nothing ever penetrates the confines 
of Rincon except family letters and 
general orders." 

"Well, you see," continued Sterrett, 
"this chap Howard was no end of a 
swell. Belonged to two of the oldest 
families in New York. His mother 
was a Courtney, sister to Lawrence 
Courtney. Young Howard was pretty 
wild. He was expelled from college 
for an outrage committed by some 
other men. He refused to 'peach' on 
them and they would not come for- 
ward and exculpate him. This made 
him more reckless than ever. His 
father was dreadfully cut up over his 

expulsion from the university, of 
which he himself was an honored 
alumnus and a trustee, and after refus- 
ing to listen to any explanation, packed 
the young man off to travel for a year. 

"In Egypt he met a beautiful Balti- 
more girl traveling with her father. 
That winter there was a sumptuous 
wedding in Baltimore with special 
trains full of society folk from New 
York. The Howards went away on 
the father's yacht to be gone a year, 
but were back in six months on a liner. 
The gossips said that Jack drank and 
neglected his wife. 

"They settled down to life in New 
York and were great favorites. Mrs. 
Howard was admired for her beauty, 
her wit and her tact. Jack became the 
best known man about town. He be- 
longed to the clubs, his horses won 
blue ribbons, his yacht cups, but — 
there can be no doubt that he neglected 
his wife, although unquestionably it 
had been a love match. 

"One day his father died, leaving 
Jack a very tidy fortune, but the bulk 
of the estate went to the two girls, the 
mother being dead. After a decent 
period of mourning, Jack Howard, 
who had never forgotten his father's 
injustice, went back to his former hab- 
its, and figured in many an escapade, 
Then Mrs. Howard left New York and 
after a while it was announced that she 
had taken her maiden name. I knew 
what it was at one time, but it has es- 
caped my memory. But, no matter. 

"After that he went down hill fast. 
He settled a large share of his remain- 
ing fortune on his divorced wife, how- 
ever. One day the papers announced 
him bankrupt ; but he paid every dollar 
he owed and was left without a penny. 
His sisters offered him a small income 



which he refused. Then came his 

"One morning a man walked into 
the New York recruiting station and 
asked to be enlisted. The moment I 
looked at him I was convinced he was 
giving a false name and that I had seen 
him before, — where I did not know. 
That night I started him out here, and 
the next morning the newspapers were 
full of the accounts of the disappear- 
ance of Jack Howard, the society man 
whose extravagances had ruined him. 
There were portraits of Howard in 
the newspapers, and then I knew that 
Roakes was Howard, and that I had 
met him at a dinner one night at the 
Army and Navy Club, and had been 
charmed by his wit and good fellow- 
ship. Of course I kept the matter of 
his enlistment to myself and we three, 
Roakes, and you and I, are the only 
persons who know what became of 
Jack Howard." 

As Sterrett leaned back in his chair 
and resumed his pipe and glass after 
his story, Whipple sighed and said : 

"And the secret shall remain with 
us, and he shall never know that he is 
other to us than Roakes." 

"Done," said Sterrett. 

Shortly after Sterrett's return to 
duty at the post, Captain Compton 
stopped Roakes and said : 

"Roakes, I am going away on leave 
in a few clays ; in short T am to be mar- 
ried. I am to have the new quarters 
at the end of the Sheridan road, and 
am having a lot of new furniture sent 
out from Chicago. I have asked the 
commandant that you be detailed to re- 
ceive my things and prepare the house 
against my return. Employ such men 
and women as you need to do the work, 
but I am particularly anxious to avail 

myself of your good taste in seeing 
that the house is made ship-shape, so 
that Mrs. Compton may not come to 
a disordered home." 

"It will be a great pleasure, sir," 
said Roakes. "May I ask how long 
you will be absent?" 

"My leave is only for a month." 

"Very well, sir, I will do my best." 

The month passed quickly, but long 
before it came to an end the house 
was furnished and fitted, even to the 
Captain's striker in the hall, a cook in 
the kitchen, a maid upstairs and sup- 
plies in the larder. 

Meantime Company C to a man had 
subscribed of their pay ; Roakes had 
telegraphed to a jeweller in New York 
and in due time Company C's wedding 
gift arrived. It was a massive silver 
punch bowl of military pattern, en- 
graved with an appropriate inscription 
and a set of cut glass cups, in which 
the whole garrison might toast the 

The Captain and Mrs. Compton 
came in the night from Soldier Creek. 
The four ambulance mules, decorated 
with bride's favors, galloped up the 
Sheridan road between two lines of 
cheering soldiers to the new quarters. 
The captain, from the doorway, 
thanked his men for their welcome, 
and sent them to the canteen to drink 
his wife's health. 

The following evening, Sergeant 
Roakes, with a half dozen soldiers 
bearing the punch bowl, went to Cap- 
tain Compton's quarters. Roakes 
had been delegated, much against his 
will, to deliver Company C's gift, and 
to present the congratulations of the 

"Sergeant Roakes !" announced the 



"'Show Sergeant Roakes in," said 
the Captain. 

Roakes entered the parlor, saluted 
and was cordially greeted by the Cap- 
tain. At the other end of the room 
Roakes observed a woman sitting be- 
fore the hearth, with her chin in her 
hand, gazing into the fire. 

"Captain," said Roakes, "I have 
been asked by the enlisted men of 
Company C to present to you their 
hearty congratulations on your mar- 
riage, and their respectful assurance 
of their homage to your wife, and to 
present you with a slight token of 
their devotion to you and in remem- 
brance of the occasion. I believe you 
know my feelings too well, Captain, 
for me to add anything in my own 

When he began to speak the woman 
at the fire looked up with a start. She 
leaned forward, a look of horror com- 
ing into her eyes. The soldier at the 
other end of the room talked steadily 
on. His face was in the deep shadow 
cast by the thick crimson shade on the 
lamp and through it she could see only 
the blur of his shaven face and the 
dark, close cropped hair above it. Her 
staring eyes were striving to pierce 
the gloom between them searching for 
something she dreaded to find. She 
passed her cold fingers across her fore- 
head and gave a shuddering little 
gasp. Then a wan smile loosened the 
tense rigidity that bound the muscles 
of her mouth. She shook her head 
and seemed to toss off the fear that 
had come upon her. 

"Impossible !" she muttered. 

But she continued to stare into the 
shadowy vagueness that engulfed the 
other end of the room, vainly search- 
ing for the soldier's features. Other 

men entered, bearing between them 
the punch bowl, which they placed up- 
on the table and withdrew. Then 
her husband began to speak formally 
to the tall soldier before him, thank- 
ing his company for its gift, and she 
took advantage of it to leave the room. 

Roakes stood at attention listening 
to his captain, his eyes fixed on a 
broad band of light that shone into 
the far end of the room through an 
open doorway. His soul expanded in 
appreciation of the warmth, the color, 
the daintiness and the strangely famil- 
iar perfume of the room. It convey- 
ed to him the presence, the very soul 
of a woman. His thoughts were on 
another room he had known, and the 
woman who had glorified it. Now he 
felt the spirit, the essence of that wom- 
an, and his soul was lulled and at rest. 

Across that broad band of light into 
which he was looking moved the slen- 
der, beautiful figure of Anita Comp- 
ton. Roakes staggered, his eyes di- 
lated and his face went white to the 
lips. In a moment his body resumed 
the rigid pose of the soldier at atten- 
tion, but his fingers, the muscles hard 
and knotted, slowly opened and closed 
beside the broad yellow band of his 
cavalry breeches. 

Mrs. Compton passed through the 
doorway and was gone, but in that 
moment Roakes had met and accepted 
the punishment Fate had dealt him. 
Slowly his eyes sought the face of his 
captain, and in them was, for the first 
time, fear, indecision, and hate also. 
The captain, who was not much given 
to speechmaking, stood with eyes cast 
to the floor, searching his mind for 
words, so that he had not observed 
the agitation of the private. Upstairs, 
with the door of her bedroom locked 

5 2 


behind her, Anita Compton sat at the 
window looking into the night. Her 
brain throbbed painfully and she re- 
peated to herself, monotonously: "It 
cannot be Jack. No, it is not Jack. 
But the voice was so like his." And 
thus she assured herself and wept soft- 
ly, and soon grew calmer and slept 
with her head pillowed on her arms. 

Out into the night went Roakes, the 
voice of his captain ringing in his ears, 
the face of his captain's wife before 
his eyes. He passed a word or two 
with the sentry at the bridge near the 
canteen and left the post behind him, 
setting out across the prairie with 
long rapid strides. Soon his steps grew 
heavy and slow, his body shrank and 
collapsed within itself, and with a low 
cry, in which was concentrated all 
the agony and despair in a man's life, 
he cast himself upon the ground and 
buried his white face in the grass, his 
body heaving with noiseless sobs. 

Above, the eternal stars flashed and 
glittered unheeded by him. Around 
him sweet winds breathed softly 
through the grasses. A vagrant prai- 
rie wolf picking its way cautiously 
across the plain got to leeward of him 
and stopped, with paw raised and nos- 
trils quivering, and eyes that burned 
yellow in the darkness. 

Roakes stirred. "'Nita, 'Nita," he 

At the sound of his voice the wolf 
scurried off a few yards, sat upon its 
haunches and howled. As if terrified 
by its own mournful call it turned tail 
and fled into the dark. The soldier at 
the bridge paused in his weary pacing 
at the sound and looked out across the 
prairie to where the mountains showed 
even blacker against the velvet black 
of the night. 

It was evening. The band was 
playing in front of the Colonel's quar- 
ters and the officers' wives made gay- 
ly colored groups on the verandas 
and lawns of the row. The barracks 
were almost deserted and privates 
sprawled on the grass, smoking and 
chatting, while at one end of the par- 
ade the baseball club was languidly 
practising. The weather was heavy 
and sultry and broad sheets of light- 
ning played on the southeastern hori- 
zon. The zenith was sulphur yellow. 
A storm was slowly making behind the 

Sergeant Roakes came out of his 
quarters to witness the dying of the 
day. The purpling night was de- 
scending, and faint sounds of laughter 
came to him from across the parade. 
A single star blazed in the southwest, 
and he looked at it for several min- 
utes, his pale lips moving as if in pray- 
er. He cast a long look around the 
post, — at the barracks, the parade, 
and the long line of officers' houses, 
faced by a row of tall, slender, dark 
cottonwood trees that stood like sen- 
tinels ; at every familiar object in the 
scene. Then he turned and went 

Captain and Mrs. Compton sat on 
their veranda with Lieutenant Whip- 
ple and Lieutenant Sterrett, who had 
called. They were all laughing gayly 
at an army story of Whipple's. A 
dark figure ran swiftly across the par- 
ade and Corporal Dunphy stumbled up 
the steps. 

"Beg pardon, Cap'n," he gasped. 
"Sergeant Roakes has shot himself. 
He was cleaning his revolver in the 
barracks and — " 

Mrs. Compton's laughter died 
away on the instant. "Poor fellow," 



she murmured, sympathetically, "I 
hope he is not badly hurt." Her hand 
fell affectionately on her husband's 

"I wish you two would go and learn 
what has happened. I suppose it is 
nothing serious," said the captain. 

Whipple and Sterrett hurried down 
the steps with Dunphy at their heels. 

"It's dead, he is," whispered Dun- 
phy as they walked rapidly across the 

"How did it happen?" asked Whip- 

"He was out all night, sir," replied 
the corporal. "This mornin' he came 
back to quarters lookin' like a dead 
man ; pale, blood-shot eyes and wet 
with the dew. All the day he's been 
sittin' on the edge of his bunk starin' 
at the floor like one that's daft. Just 

before dark he went out and looked 
about for a minute, and when he come 
in he took down his revolver. I kept 
my eye on him because I didn't like the 
way he was actin', but he was only 
cleaning the piece, so I paid no more 
attention to him. I had walked to the 
door when I heard the revolver go off, 
and ran back. I picked him up and 
he looked at me and said 'Nita,' and 

The officers stopped short. "Whip- 
ple," said Sterrett, "do you happen to 
know Mrs. Compton's maiden name?" 

"Yes," replied Whipple ; "the wed- 
ding cards gave it Anita Robertson." 

They stared at one another, com- 

"Poor fellow," muttered Whipple. 
"After all, he has chosen the lesser 


By Emma Playter Seabury 

HAND in hand, and day by day, 
They trod the paths of life and care, 
And lonely each their burden bore ; 
They greeted in the heavenly way, 
But did not know each other there, — 
Their souls had never met before. 

Old Blue Plates 

A. T. Spalding 

THE children who were playing 
in John Sadler's yard in Liv- 
erpool, England, about 1750, 
little thought of the pictures 
they would help perpetuate, and the 
pleasure they would give thousands of 
people at their meals. Mr. Sadler was 
a potter, and the broken pieces of pitch- 
ers, mugs and plates often fell to the 
children's share as their toys, when 
they chose to play keep house. His 
little folks were great favorites with 
other children, who enjoyed these won- 
derful bits of ware which were ar- 
ranged in the yard on make-believe 
shelves and tables ; and great entertain- 
ments were given with these treasures. 
One day when they had a few rude 
pictures given them, not half so pretty 
as any child can now pick up on cards 
and advertisements, they took these 
prints and wet them and stuck them on 
to the broken pieces of crockery for or- 
nament. Mr. Sadler, passing through 
the yard, saw an impression which had 
come off upon a piece of a pitcher ; and 
the idea occurred to him of printing 
on pottery instead of making the de- 
signs by hand. That evening he pon- 
dered on the matter, and more and 
more it seemed to him possible; and 
if possible, what a valuable invention it 
might prove! The next morning, 
bright and early, he communicated the 
new idea to Guy Green, a printer, well 
known to him, as Green had been for- 
merly in the employ of Sadler's father. 
After a few experiments, the process of 

printing the picture from a copper- 
plate and pressing the impression on 
the surface of the ware, became very 
easy. In August, 1756, Messrs. Sadler 
and Green certified that on the 27th of 
July, in six hours, without help, they 
printed upward of twenty-two hun- 
dred tiles of different patterns, which 
would have cost months and months 
of patient labor by the old method. 

These printers, after that time, did 
a very extensive business in printing 
for other potters. Much ware made at. 
the celebrated Wedgwood establish- 
ment was sent to Liverpool to be print- 
ed by Sadler and Green. For some 
time these ingenious men kept their 
own secret with respect to the process, 
and made their exclusive business very 
profitable. But after a while other 
potters learned to do the same thing, 
and printed ware became very common. 
Pictures of historical and noted events, 
of public persons, or illustrations of 
popular books became transferred to 
pitchers, mugs, jugs, plates and dishes 
of all kinds. Political preferences im- 
printed themselves on wares by pic- 
tures and doggerel rhyme, and many a 
droll caricature found a place there. 

Before the end of the last century 
the trade of the LTnited States with 
China had assumed considerable im- 
portance ; and beautiful specimens of 
Oriental porcelain owned by families in 
this country date back more than a hun- 
dred vears. This is especially true in 
the larger towns on our seacoast, but 



not confined to them, for rare pieces 
found in the more rural districts show 
how early the taste for ornament came 
to our fathers and mothers, after the 
first hard struggle for subsistence. 

In a biographical sketch of the late 
Rev. Dr. Sweetser of Worcester, Mas- 
sachusetts, it is mentioned that his 
grandfather was a captain of artillery 
before the war of the Revolution. On 
the morning of the battle of Bunker 
Hill, Captain Frothingham came to his 
house in Charlestown, and said to his 
wife: "I must go to the cannon, but 
I have engaged a man with a cart and 
oxen to take you out of town." The 
brave woman, after seeing the cart 
loaded with all the necessary articles 
that could be taken away, started with 
her five children, the oldest only about 
nine years of age, walking by the side 
of the cart, and carrying in one hand a 
bag of bread and in the other some 
china wrapped in a cloth. 

Among our earliest recollections of 
more than one household connected 
with our family are those of beautiful 
china which antedated the Revolution, 
almost as thin as an egg-shell in some 
instances, very vivid in coloring, in 
others with a delicate tracery, with 
double handles on creamers and pitch- 
ers crossed and terminating in leaves 
of most graceful indentures ; high- 
shouldered tea-caddies, with sides and 
covers of marvellous designs ; punch- 
bowls generous in size, and often gor- 
geous in ornamentation. No tea tastes 
to us as did that from these tiny old 
fashioned tea-cups used in our younger 
days by other generations, and no plates 
of modern decoration seem half so 
choice and inviting with us ; no ceramic 
treasures are as jealously guarded as 
are the remains of some of these old 

sets of china which belonged to re- 
vered relatives of four or five genera- 
tions back. 

During the eighteenth century Liv- 
erpool had several noted potters, 
among whom were Richard Chaffers, 
James Drinkwater, Richard Abbey and 
John Sadler. Richard Chaffers made 
important discoveries in the use of 
Cornish clays for pottery. An interest- 
ing story is told of his perseverance in 
going out with his men to find the ka- 
oline clay, which, from certain indica- 
tions, he felt sanguine of finding in 
Cornwall. After apparently useless ex- 
penditure of toil and money, he had 
concluded to relinquish the search, and 
return home with the feeling of a disap- 
pointed adventurer. He paid off his 
men, and was about starting on his way 
back, when a hail storm overtook him, 
and he retraced his steps to a rough 
shed which had been erected for shel- 
ter during their expedition, when one 
of his men came running toward him 
with a piece of the coveted clay as the 
result of his boring. It proved to be 
finer, softer and better adapted to take 
color than the hard-paste clay then in 
use ; and the art of pottery in England 
was much indebted to his discovery. 

After the Revolutionary war, Amer- 
ican shipmasters carried many orders 
to Liverpool for patriotic designs to be 
executed on mugs, jugs and pitchers, 
and other articles of table ware. Al- 
most every family felt that the posses- 
sion of a Washington pitcher was a 
token of gratitude due to "The Father 
of Our Country." It is remarkable how 
well a certain kind of likeness to each 
other is preserved in these rude impres- 
sions of Washington, whether in the 
finer or coarser material. Many of 
these pitchers were made between 1790 



The Landing of the Pilgrims 

and 1800; and on the death of Wash- 
ington several designs were labeled, 
"Washington in Glory," or "America 
in Tears," with appropriate scenes and 
devices. Pictures of Thomas Jeffer- 
son, Benjamin Franklin, John Han- 
cock, Samuel Adams, and other pat- 
riots were also printed on pitchers. 
About twenty varieties of these Wash- 
ington pitchers are familiar to us, many 
of them bearing verses in which the 
patriotism is better than the poetry.* 

It is curious to see in some rural dis- 
tricts how these relics of the past have 
been preserved after accident and care- 
fully treasured in the closet of "the 
spare room." Some of them have been 
mended with putty, or paint, others by 
tying the pieces together and boiling 
them in milk. Whether or not they 
would stand the test of the iron weight 
which a well known mender in Boston 
attached to his mended china, it is cer- 
tain they will last through the reverent 
handling they now receive. 

During the first thirty or forty years 

* See illustrated article on "The Pioneer of 
China Painting in America," in The New Eng- 
land Magazine for September, 1895. 

of the present century great quantities 
of blue English ware were imported by 
America from designs sent over to 
England. Pictures of scenery, of pub- 
lic buildings, of historical events, or 
subjects of fancy or humor were intro- 
duced on the tables of families, and 
served to impress upon the minds of the 
younger members many a fact or fic- 
tion. The portraits of all our distin- 
guished statesmen were more or less 
frequently conspicuous at the tables of 
the people, — noted soldiers or sailors, 
persons who had served the country, 
from the first President down to heroes 
of a comparatively recent period. 
Enoch Ward and Sons gave us the 
"Landing of the Pilgrims," after the 
old traditions of the rock-bound coast, 
— whereas the coast was really as flat 
as a flounder, and the boulder on which 
the Pilgrims touched was itself a pil- 
grim, having drifted thither from a 
distance. On the rim of the plate is the 
American eagle six times repeated; 
and the inscription is : "America Inde- 
pendent, July 4, 1776. Washington 
Born 1732. Died 1799." On the flat 
surface of the plate is the ship on the 
ocean, while at the shore a boat is pull- 
ing in ; one man has waded out to a 
rock, rope in hand, and on another rock 
near him two Indians with tomahawk 
in hand have already climbed up to 
view the proceedings and to dispute 

On another blue plate is the White 
House at Washington, — a large square 
house quite alone in the centre of the 
plate, and a garland of the thirteen 
original states on the rim. On a sim- 
ilar style of plate, the Boston State 
House is represented on a rise of 
ground, the cows quietly feeding on 
the Common in front. This also has a 



border of the names of the thirteen or- 
iginal states. 

A handsome dark blue plate with 
flowers on the rim gives us, as we are 
told, the "Landing of Gen. La Fayette 
at Castle Garden, New York, 16 Au- 
gust, 1824." In the foreground appear 
two horsemen approaching from oppo- 
site directions. Beyond them is a line 
of soldiers and cannon first offering sa- 
lute ; further on, at the right, is the for- 
midable pile of Castle Garden, and two 
ships and a steamboat are nearing the 

popular in America, and many objects 
of local interest, such as "The First 
Hudson River Steamboat," were re- 
produced on it. 

R. Hall manufactured a series of 
popular designs called "Beauties of 
American Scenery," embracing "Pas- 
saic Falls," "Fairmount Water- 
Works," "Scene on the Susquehanna," 
and other noted views. He issued also 
"Select Views" of English places, in 
dark blue ware, with deep border of 
oriental fruits and flowers surround- 

The Landing of Gen. La Fayette 

shore, met by a great number of sail 
and row boats to welcome the coming 

A very interesting series of marine 
plates of rich dark blue has a uniform 
border of sea shells ; and among the 
pictures in the centre are "MacDon- 
nough's Victory on Lake Champlain," 
and "A Scene off Calcutta," with well 
drawn vessels and good perspective. 
The "Marine Hospital, Louisville, 
Kentucky," is of the same set. 

Enoch Wood, who was sometimes 
called the Father of Pottery, began 
business in 1784. His ware was very 

Marine Hospital, Louisville 

ing the central picture. These were 
much liked in America. One of the 
views is called "Biddulph Castle, Staf- 
fordshire;" another, "Paine's Hill, 
Surrey." Some of his fancy pictures 
were very pretty. Among these is 
one called "Sheltered Peasants." The 
rain is falling in the distance,, and un- 
der a tree a man, woman, and child 
have taken refuge, and some lambs 
are quietly resting near them. The 
faces are unusually good, reminding 
one of some of Gainsborough's pic- 

Riley has several pretty views on 



common blue ware, but he does not 
name them, and the localities are not 
always easily identified. 

A set of Don Quixote pictures ap- 
pear on very dark blue ware without 
any manufacturer's name; but fortu- 
nate is the person who secures them, 
for they are spirited in drawing and 
rich in coloring: such subjects as 
"The Meeting of Sancho and Dap- 
ple," and "Don Quixote's Attack on 
the Mill." 

A plate without any manufacturer's 

in dismay. We may well wonder at 
the taste which liked to eat off these 
plates every day ; but they are a great 

We have seen a soup plate which 
bears on the back a picture of two 
steamers, with the words, "Boston 
Mails" above them and below, "Ed- 
wards." On the face is a view of the 
"Ladies' Cabin" in the centre, and on 
the rim the steamers, "Caledonia," 
"Britania," "Arcadia," and "Colum- 
bia." This cabin was doubtless deem- 

Sheltered Peasants 

name, and in a very ordinary blue, 
gives the great New York fire of Dec. 
n, 1835. On the back it is labeled, 
"Ruins of Merchants' Exchange." 
On the rim of the front side are the 
words : "Great Fire," and "New 
York," parting off the divisions which 
contain alternately an eagle and a 
hand-engine. In the centre of the plate 
is the Exchange, presenting an un- 
broken front, but the flames are mak- 
ing rapid progress in the rear. Soldiers 
are patrolling the street to protect the 
goods that have been left there, while 
groups of people are huddled together 

Paine's Hill, Surrey 

ed quite magnificent in 1840, when 
the line of steamships was established. 
A very popular blue plate known as 
the Willow Pattern was issued in 1780 
by Thomas Turner of Caughly, who is 
said to have made the first full table 
service of printed ware in England. 
It is a very mixed and grotesque imi- 
tation of Chinese designs, but fancy 
has associated with it a story vari- 
ously told. On the upper side of the 
plate, at the left hand, is the humble 
home of a man who has become enam- 
ored of a lady of much higher rank 
than his own, where superiority of 

Ladies' Cabin 

wealth is indicated by the extent of the 
walls and the variety of trees about 
her home which is seen on the lower 
part of the plate at the right. Between 
these two residences is a body of water 
with a bridge, near the end of which 
is a house, with a boat near by. These 
are about the same on all the plates of 
the series. The first pattern sent out 
by Turner had one man on the bridge 
— the lover going over to see the lady. 
The second issue was the same com- 
position, with "two men," as they are 
generally called, passing on the bridge 
— the lovers eloping, with the inten- 
tion of hiding at the farther end of the 
bridge, and being taken away at night- 
fall by the boat in waiting for mem. 
The third design, termed "Three Men 
•on the Bridge," has the lovers, and the 
father of the lady in pursuit of them. 
The father carries in his hand a knot- 
ted scourge, very distinctly seen on 
the large platters, but he does not get 
the opportunity to use it ; the lovers 
succeed in reaching the boat, and go 
off triumphantly to the new home, 
humble as it is, and live happily all 
their united life. At their death, as a 

Lover on the Bridge 

Lovers in the Garden 

reward of their faithfulness, they are 
turned into two birds, which are seen 
on the plate, hovering in the air! 
There are tragic versions of this story, 
but we prefer this rendering which 
has just as good authority. 

One plate of this series has the lover 
approaching the house of the lady on 
one side, while a servant is eagerly 
watching on the other to warn him 
that the father has found out the affair 
and is very angry. However, the lover 
goes on to his fate, as lovers have al- 


Christ Church, Oxford 

Radcliffe Library, Oxford 

ways done from the beginning. Anoth- 
er plate has the lovers in the garden, 
perhaps planning the elopement. 
These two plates are of a more muddy 
blue than the willow pattern series of 
the man on the bridge, and evidently 
come from a different manufacturer. 
A very interesting set of plates was 
called "The Classic Series," and was 
issued by I. and W. Ridgway, whose 
wares came into use about 1814. They 
are of a clear, pretty, although not 
very dark shade of blue. On the rim is 
the same design of goats and children, 
alternating with flowers of the con- 
volvulus. In the centre is an octagon 
defined by a distinct line of white and 
blue; and within this is a picture of 
some college or university building, 
and some professors or students on the 
adjoining ground. We are made fa- 
miliar with views of "Downing Col- 
lege," "Christ Church, Oxford," 
"Trinity College, Oxford," "Sidney 
Sussex College, Cambridge," and 
"Radcliffe Library, Oxford." These 
pictures are spirited drawings of the 
buildings and of the students in their 

distinctive Oxford caps. 


Even fashion has imprinted copies 
of textile fabrics on this blue ware ; 
very handsome patterns of lace have 
been thus reproduced. About a hun- 
dred years ago, one of the reigning 
beauties of London was Lady Stor- 
mont. She invented a mixed pattern 
as the groundwork of some of her 
dresses, and it became very much in 
demand as the Stormont pattern — 
sometimes called, however, pepper and 
salt. This was copied on the blue 
ware, and a very pretty blue plate 
was made, without the name of the 
manufacturer, in which this fine mixed 
style is the groundwork, and in the 
center of the design a bird is eating 

The "Syntax" plates are favorite ob- 
jects of search among collectors of 
blue plates ; not that they are very old 
or beautiful, but they are queer and 
amusing. I. and R. Clews, potters at 
Cobridge from 18 14 to 1836, were very 
popular decorators of ware early in the 
present century, and they issued many 
American designs expressly for this 
market. Their Syntax plates had a 
very rapid sale both in England and 



America, although of little merit ex- 
cept as copies of clever caricatures. 
More than sixty years ago, there ap- 
peared in England, a humorous poem 
by William Combe, abundantly illus- 
trated, giving the adventures of an ec- 
centric clergyman and schoolmaster, 
Dr. Syntax, who spent his vacations 
in search of picturesque scenery, stud- 
ies in human nature, and general in- 
formation. This poem was published 
first by instalments in the "Poetical 
Magazine," with a colored sketch 
every month by 
Thomas Rowland- 
son, who was the 
Cruikshank of his 
day. After the first 
number, the story 
was eagerly 
watched for, and 
its popularity gave 
a sudden increase 
to the subscription 
list of the maga- 
zine. The Doc- 
tor's name — thus 
identified with 
good-natured sim- 
plicity, credulity, 
shrewdness, droll wrong-headedness, 
and recuperative patience under ludi- 
crous mishaps — was given to hats, 
wigs, coats, canes and numberless arti- 
cles, which sold all the better for being 
labeled "Syntax." Every shopkeeper 
had the tale at his tongue's end because 
it helped his business. 

The "Tour of Dr. Syntax in Search 
of the Picturesque" was published in 
a volume in 1812, and it contained 
thirty-one colored illustrations. This 
volume was followed by two others, 
with pictures by the same spirited 
artist, Rowlandson. These were: 

The Return of Dr. Syntax 

"Dr. Syntax's Tour in Search of Con- 
solation," after the death of his wife, 
and "Dr. Syntax in Search of a Wife." 
Those shrewd potters, I. and R. Clews, 
availed themselves of the popularity 
of Dr. Syntax by transferring to their 
blue crockery, with remarkable fidelity, 
the original pictures of Thomas Row- 
landson. These queer blue plates sent 
many a young person, fifty or sixty 
years ago, to the library to find the 
story of the eccentric Doctor Syntax ; 
and they would sometimes say to 
younger genera- 
tions, when "The 
Pickwick Papers" 
came out, "Ah, 
Dickens must have 
got the suggestion 
of Pickwick from 
Dr. Syntax!" 

Three of these 
Syntax plates are 
very familiar to 
me. One is called 
"Dr. Syntax Re- 
turned from his 
Tour." The Doc- 
tor and his buxom 
wife are sitting be- 
rate, and between 
on which are a 
Her uplifted foot, 
and the poker with which she gesticu- 
lates, express her consternation lest he 
has returned with no means to meet the 
household expenses. The dog behind 
the Doctor's chair indicates his sym- 
pathy with his master in his peril, 
while the curious servants, one of them 
with scissors hanging at her side as if 
she had just risen from her sewing, 
are peeping in at the door, with open 
mouths of wonder, to see if the re- 
turned tourist does really intend to pay 

fore an open ° 
them is a table 
bottle and elasses. 



arrears. The Doctor reassures his wife 
by throwing down some notes on the 

Another plate is entitled "Dr. Syn- 
tax and the Bees." While the Doctor is 
taking a sketch of an interesting 
country-seat, the servants happen to 
be driving a swarm of bees ; and the 
lady of the house rushes out with her 
parasol to warn the stranger of his 
danger, while half a dozen servants 
armed with warming-pan, kettle, stew- 
pan, pail and dipper try to divert the 
furious insects from the poor victim. 

A very amusing plate is "Doctor 
Syntax Star-gazing." A literary lady 
whom he encounters while on his 
"Tour in Search of a Wife" urges him 
to look through the telescope with her 
and see the passage of the moon over 
the sun ; and the instrument is taken 
from the observatory and placed in the 
balcony. The picture on the plate 
shows the butler first tripping as he 
descends the steps of the house, watch- 
ing the astronomers. One foot is on 
the tail of the cat, which is, in our 
opinion, the author of the mischief, 

while another cat at the side sets up 
her back in defiance, and the hind leg 
of the man accidentally hits a cur, 
which resents the injury ; the tray 
slips from the hand of the but- 
ler, and the dishes lie scattered 
in dire confusion. On the balcony 
is the Doctor, who has risen from 
his seat and is explaining the 
celestial phenomena to the lady, who is 
earnestly gazing through the telescope. 
It is a droll example of the step from 
the sublime to the ridiculous — the but- 
ler's misstep. 

These studies of simple, coarse 
crockery open much of historical in- 
terest. The first steamboat, the first 
railway, the opening of a canal, public 
buildings which have long since 
yielded their treasures to more massive 
structures, college buildings as they 
stood in their primitive simplicity, 
benevolent institutions which sprang 
up so early in the growth of the 
country, all these imprinted on old blue 
plates lend an importance to ceramic 
search ; and the value of this old ware 
increases every vear. 



A large collection of original letters written by General Washington 
and General Greene has come into the editor's possession. It is our inten- 
tion to reproduce in fac-simile those of the letters which present the most 
interesting details and side lights on the great events of the period covered, 
even though some of the letters may have been previously published. 

The reproduction of these letters in chronological order will be con- 
tinued through the following five issues. Printed copies of these letters 
appear on pages 68 and 69. — Editor. 

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Gen. Washington to Gen. Greene 

Head Quarters, Williamsburg, 
28th September, 1781. 
Dear Sir, 

I am very sorry to observe in your Letter of the 6th August, that you had heard nothing from me 
since the first June — many letters have been written to you since that time — some of very particular 
Importance. — This failure gives me reason to fear some foul Play on the Route. 

The last I wrote to you was from Philadelphia, of the 4th of this instant month — inform'g that the 
Plan of our Campaign was totally changed from the attack of N. Yorke, which had been in contempla- 
tion, & that I was then so far as that Place, advanced with my troops, to comence a combined operation 
against Lord Cornwallis in Virginia, with the french Fleet, w'ch was expected to arrive in the Chesapeake 
— I likewise informed, that Admiral Hood, with 13 ships of the line, had arrived at N. Yorke, & joined 
the force already there under Adm'l Graves — & that I had not heard of the arrival of Count D'Grasse. 

I have now to inform that I left Phila. on the 5th inst — The same Day, on my Route, I met the 
agreeable news of the arrival of Admiral D'Grasse in the Chesapeak on the 26th August — with a formid- 
able Fleet of 28 Ships of the Line & 4 frigates — and that he had landed 3,000 Troops, who had formed 
their junction with the Marquis— All possible expedition was made to hurry on our Troops, Artillery 
and Stores — which, I have the satisfaction to inform you, have nearly all arrived at & near this place, 
with less Accident or Disaster, than might have been expected. — I arrived myself, preceeding the 
Troops, on the 14th & very soon paid a visit to the french Admiral on Board his ship to make our 
arrangements for the Enterprize; which were most happily effected, & settled to mutual satisfaction. 
The Admiral has taken his Position, for our Water Security, to facilitate our Transportation, & to 
block the enemy. Our operations are fast drawing to a Point of Comencement — & by the 1st Octo. 
I hope to open Trenches upon the enemy's works. 

While these things are taking place on our side, the enemy are not idle on their Part — Lord 
Cornwallis has collected his Troops on Yorke River, & taken two posts — one in Yorke, the other in 
Glouster; where he is fortifying with great assiduity, & seems resolved to defend himself against our 
siege with great obstinacy. — By accounts, thro Deserters, & otherways, I fear we have little Hope to 
starve him into a surrender — my greater Hope is, that he is not well provided with artillery & military 
stores for such Defence — not having bad in Contemplation, the situation to which he is now reduced. — 

By information from N. Yorke, I collect, that Admiral Digby, with (probably) 10 ships of the 
Line from Europe, is arrived on the Coasts, & joined the British Squadron already here — this junction, 
if formed, will probably make the English Fleet consist of 30 ships of Line — besides 50 & 40 & a number 
of Frigates, which will bring the two Fleets upon too near an Equality. — Tis said also from N. Yorke, 
that a large embarkation of their Troops is formed, & on Board Transports — & that Sir H'y Clinton 
himself is with them — their views undoubtedly look southward. 

The Count de Grasse has, most happily & critically, effected a junction with Count de Bonas from 
Newport — the conjoined Fleet are now in a good Position within the Capes of Chesapeak Bay — mak'g 
in Number 36 Capital Ships of the Line — four large french Frigates, with some smaller ships, captured 
from the English, on Board one of which was L'd Rawdon, who had embarked for England — two British 
Frigates, the Iris & Richmond peeping into the Bay, have also been captured, & now form part of the 
Fleet of our allies. 

Thus you have a particular Detail of Circumstances so far as this Time — as to future prospects & 
operations, should we have success in the present operations, it is impossible for me to decide in favor 
of your Wishes, expressed in your Letter of the 6th August — If the Fleet remains so long as the Com- 
pletion of the present object, it is all I can expect from present appearances. I hope, however, if nothing 
further is obtained, that we may be aided in our Transportation tozvard the Point of your Wishes. 

Colo. Stewart, who is on his Way to your Camp, favors the Conveyance of this. — Colo. Morris, 
who is now ill, & with me, will be detained a few Days — by him you may expect to have further & 
particular accounts of our Progress — with a confidential, verbal Communication of our future prospects, 
views & expectations. — 

I am informed, by circuitous means, of a very severe Action which has taken place on the 8th 
between your Army & the British under com'd of Colo. Stewart — so many particulars are mentioned as 
give me Reason to believe these Reports are grounded in Fact. I wait impatiently for your Dispatches. 

With very great Esteem & Regard, 
I am, 

Dear Sir, 

Your most obed't & 
humble servant, 
Major Gen'l Greene. G. Washington. 


Gen. Greene to Gen. Washington 

Head Quarters, 
High Hills, Santee, Octob. 25th, 1781. 

My last letter was dated at Charlotte and forwarded by Lt. Col. Lee since which I have received 
your Excellency's favor of the 28th of September. I am happy to find the army under your command 
ready to commence operations against Lord Cornwallis, but I am sorry to hear you think the issue 
somewhat doubtful. And it gives me great pain to find that what ever may be our success in Virginia 
the circumstances of our ally will not permit them to cooperate with us in an attempt upon Charlestown. 
The great importance of their present services demands our warmest gratitude, but it is much to be 
regretted that we cannot improve the advantage which our signal success would give us, as hopes of our 
people and the fears of the enemy would greatly facilitate the reduction of Charlestown; however if 
you succeed in Virginia it will enable you to support us more effectually here if these states derive no 
other advantage from the present exertions of our ally. I will not suffer myself to doubt of your success, 
tho I cannot help at times being greatly agitated between hope and fear which alternately prevail from 
the many incidents that occur in military operations which may defeat the most flattering prospects, and 
I find by letters from Congress as well as from your Excellency that Sir Henry Clinton is making 
most rapid preparations for some important blow. 

I mentioned in one of my former letters that I had been concerting with Governor Burke a plan 
for the reduction of Wilmington. General Rutherford is moving down towards that place with a con- 
siderable body of militia and I hear the enemy have left the place, and now occupy Brunswick about 
thirty miles below, and by preparations making in Charlestown of small transports I think it highly 
probable the enemy intend to take off the garrison. But this is only conjecture. 

Since the battle of Eutaw our troops have been exceeding sickly and our distress and difficulties 
have been not a little increased for want of medicine and hospital stores. The malignity of the fevers 
begins (to) cease as the weather grows cool. The enemy are all in the lower country and nothing 
material has happened since my last except a number of prisoners which have been taken by our light 
parties sent out by General Marion. Inclosed I send your Excellency a return of our strength by which 
you will see cur weak state. We can attempt nothing further except in the partizan way. Some rifle 
men have arrived in camp from the mountains; more are expected which will enable us to keep up 
pretty strong parties for a time. 

But I look forward with pain to December, when the whole Virginia line will leave us. I hope 
measures will be taken to reinforce us before that period. To arrive here seasonably they must move 
soon. Col. Lee and Capt. Pearce I hope have given you a full state of matters in this quarter to enable 
you to take your measures without loss of time. 

I transmitted by Capt. Pearce copies of all the letters and papers that had passed respecting Col. 
Hanes' (Hayne's) execution mentioned in some of my former letters; and as I had not paper to copy 
them for your Excellency, I desir'd Capt. Pearce to break the cover on his arrival at your camp to give 
you an opportunity to see them, and inform yourself respecting the matter as the business in its conse- 
quences might involve the whole Continent, and particularly the military part; and therefore would 
ultimately rest with you. Should he have omitted this matter of which I gave him a particular charge I 
will forward you copies by the first opportunity. I wrote to Lord Cornwallis on the subject but have 
not got his answer. 

You have my warmest wishes for your success and my hearty prayers for your safety. 

With sentiments of the greatest 
respect and esteem, 

I am your Excellency's 
most obed & 
His Excellency humble ser. 

General Washington. N. Greene. 


-■Vy- ' .,. ^feliiffllilP'V. -„ 


I 1 BY 

— ^ • Charle^ Francis • ^avnderS • • 

QCARRED of bole and twisted of limb, 
^ By the beach stands an ancient tree, 
Bowed by a thousand storms that have swept 
Up from the angry sea. 

Blasts of the north have rent its crown 

But its vigor is unsubdued; 
And it lives not in vain — there is joy in its midst, 

It is home to the wild bird's brood. 

In the world's workshop toils a man, 
Misshapen through ceaseless strife ; 

Graceless of form, but his soul is aglow — 
He is guard of a woman's life. 

A Conspiracy in St. Mark's 

By David H. Talmadge 


HIS is the story told of an 
angel of mercy who wears a 
shirt waist and a glorious 
crown of straw adorned 
with red roses, and who devotes the 
hours of her earthly sojourn to the 
doing of good deeds. She told the 
story voluntarily. She always talks 
that way. She is not one of those dis- 
tressing women who must needs be 
urged to the pouring forth of words — 
and occasionally of thought. The story 
came out freely and without conditions 
of secrecy. She did not dream when 
she told it, toasting her libelously 
broad shoes before the cannel fire and 
cocking her head prettily first to one 
side then to the other in order to enjoy 
more fully the spectacle presented by 
the crown of straw held before her 
eyes by her own white hands, that the 
story was more interesting than the 
thousand which had preceded it. She 
was quite unaffected and altogether 
charming. Had she been otherwise — 
the fact is admitted shamelessly — it is 
more than probable that the natural 
perversity of man would have pre- 
vented its retelling. 

"Such lovely old things as they 
are !" she began lucidly. "Sweet is no 
name for them ! Intelligent too — so 
intelligent and — and soulful ! I be- 
lieve I'll have them changed ; some- 
how they look cheap." 

Let it be understood that the last 
sentence referred to the roses on the 
crown of straw, and had no reference 

whatever to the bursts preceding it. 
This was plainly obvious to one who 
could see her face. The world would 
have been tied into a hard knot and 
tossed into the universal closet long 
ago, had men not learned to listen to 
femininity with their eyes as well as 
with their ears. 

"It was too funny," she continued 
without noticeable pause. "One day 
a week ago I was calling upon the 
Misses Wallingford, — such dear old 
creatures ! So patient and cheerful ! 
Struggling like demons to pay their 
own way ! — and a happy idea popped 
into my head. They're so proud, you 
know, that they won't accept anything 
even faintly suggestive of charity, yet 
they are poorer than church mice, and 
sick too, — mercy ! how pale and drawn 
Miss Alfaretta looks ! They had their 
tea things spread out upon a tiny stand 
hardly large enough to hold a Gains- 
borough hat, and Miss Theresa apolo- 
gized for it, saying that they could 
never seem to find an extension table 
to suit them. Extension tables, she 
said, were not what they used to be. 
They had such a lovely one at home, 
when they were girls, that they really 
couldn't get up the heart to buy one 
of the kind now on sale at the furni- 
ture shops. They preferred to eat 
from this little table which had been 
their mother's and their grandmother's 
and their great grandmother's and was 
of real mahogany. Miss Alfaretta 
proudly raised the drapery of the arti- 

7 2 


cle so that 1 might see its legs. Then 
they entered into a chirping, tinkling, 
quavering series of reminiscences 
about the extension table that had been 
in the dining hall at home, and when 
they had finished, both were weeping 
and my own eyes were wet. Their 
father must have been very wealthy. 
It is so sad that they should be com- 
pelled to spend the twilight of their 
lives in poverty I" 

It was sad indeed. The fortunes of 
the Wallingford family have been 
topics familiar to the ears of many peo- 
ple for five and twenty years. Colonel 
Wallingford, a man who had served 
his country with his sword when she 
was at war, and who had counseled 
wisely for her welfare when she was 
at peace, met with financial reverses in 
his old age, and at his death the home- 
stead, with most of its contents, passed 
into other hands. The circumstances 
were well known, and were too com- 
monplace to be absolutely interesting, 
A blanket mortgage is, of all literary 
products, the least entertaining. There 
was left of the colonel's belongings but 
one small piece of land in one of the 
Southern States, a melancholy rem- 
nant of the investments which had 
caused his downfall, and this piece of 
land, together with a few hundreds of 
dollars in personal property had com- 
prised the wealth of his two daughters 
for a quarter of a century. Neither 
had married. Miss Alfaretta, the 
elder, had been an invalid even at the 
time of her father's passing, and Miss 
Theresa, with the true spirit of her 
blood, had remained faithful despite 
the urgings of numerous suitors, Van 
Dorken, the banker, among them. 
They lived in a box of a cottage burst- 
ing with ideals in the very shadow of 

old St. Mark's, and drop by drop as 
the years went on they exhausted the 
principal of their income. But they 
did not part with their land. Some 
sort of sentiment attached to the 
worthless tract, and the dignity with 
which they had refused charitable of- 
fers for it was as pathetic as it was 

"So," the angel of mercy went on, 
with a queer little catching of the 
breath, "a happy idea popped into my 
head. I thought what a perfectly 
sweet thing it would be if the man who 
owns the Wallingford homestead 
would present to them the old exten- 
sion table about which so many happy 
gatherings had taken place, and upon 
which their revered father had done 
his writing during the last days of his 
stay on earth, for after his wife's death 
he had taken a strange dislike to work- 
ing at his desk in the room adjoining 
the lady's chamber. Doubtless, I 
thought, the present owner attaches no 
value to the table beyond its intrinsic 
worth. Doubtless, further, he would 
have no objection to posing as a 
philanthropist if the case were prop- 
erly presented to him. I resolved to 
see Mrs. Van Dorken and Mrs. Wil- 
kins at once. I did so. They entered 
into the plan with such enthusiasm! 
They told me I was born for charity 
work, and said other things that made 
me feel so good !" 

Mrs. Van Dorken, it may be stated, 
is the chief angel of the congregation 
which worships at St. Mark's, and 
Mrs. Wilkins is her right bower. They 
are women to whom the younger ele- 
ment of femininity in that social body 
looks up. 

"Well, it was arranged between us 
that we should wait upon the gentle- 



man who owns the Wallingford place, 
and lay the proposition before him, 
getting his terms and sounding his 
temper. Mrs. Van Dorken asked her 
husband about it, and he said this was 
the best way to do it; which we did, 
and we found him to be a most de- 
lightful man. 'My dear ladies,' said 
he, 'nothing would give me greater 
pleasure than to return the table to the 
daughters of Mr. Wallingford, but 
really I cannot accept money for it. I 
shall send it to them within a short 
time, and I shall write to them saying 
that owing to the purchase of new 
fittings for the dining room I have no 
further use for it, — no room for it in 
fact/ Wasn't that lovely? So cheap 
too ! A veritable bargain in charity ! 
And the dear man kept his word. The 
Misses Wallingford got the table this 
afternoon, and you should have seen 
them hovering about it for all the 
world like two sweet old robins that 
have found their nest of a summer long 
ago. I don't know when I have felt so 
happy. I seemed to be floating in a 
little cloud of incense. To think that 
I had been the cause of such pleasure 
was as balm to my soul." 

She paused for a moment, quite 
overcome, gazing into the fire with eyes 
half closed and sparkling with holy 
water. The crown of straw was low- 
ered to her lap. She drew a long 

"The table was dusty and lacking in 
lustre. One might almost have thought 
it had been stored in a loft or a ware- 
house. Perhaps the gentleman had 
told us the actual truth ; perhaps he 
really did not want it ; but this makes 
no difference. Miss Alfaretta limped 
away and returned with a bottle of 
furniture polish. Miss Theresa 

brought a faded silk handkerchief re- 
dolent of myrrh. And together they 
worked, rubbing it so tenderly, patting 
it here and there, gently bewailing its 
scratches, their lips quivering, their 
hands trembling. I should not have 
stayed, but they did not seem to mind 
my presence, and I did not want to go 
away. One is not often so favored as 
I have been. So I remained, saying 
nothing for a long time, for my hos- 
tesses were living in the past of which 
I was not a part. I can keep silent, 
sir, — when none will listen to me." 

She said this so demurely that a 
smile would have been brutal and a 
laugh most diabolical. O, angel — but 
there, this is her story. 

"They finished the polishing at last. 
and Miss Alfaretta involuntarily held 
out her arms to her sister, who threw 
herself into them. Then they sobbed 
and sobbed. It was too sweet! 'Twas 
like the blessed rain from heaven fall- 
ing upon a parched field. I also 
sobbea , I could not help it. I think it 
was the sounds I made that restored 
them somewhat to their dignity. At 
any rate they looked at me in a sur- 
prised way, and Miss Alfaretta re- 
arranged the bow upon her head. Then 
they tried to pull the table apart to 
wipe the dust from its internal ar- 
rangements. It stuck, and I arose to 
help, but they waved me back. 'We 
would much rather do it alone, if yon 
please,' said Miss Alfaretta. So I sat 
down, watching them strain and strug- 
gle. Of course they succeeded finally : 
that blood either does or dies ; but the 
exertion left them with barely suf- 
ficient breath for what followed. In 
the table, between the top and the ex- 
tension things, was a letter, and upon 
this letter Miss Theresa pounced with 



a cry that was like a peal of rejoicing- 
struck upon a cracked bell. T put it 
there myself — my very self,' she said, 
'the day father was taken sick. The 
leaf was not quite level, and — and I 
put the letter under it. I took it from 
father's waste basket — no, from the 
floor beside the waste basket — O dear, 
dear, dear ! Five and twenty years ! 
Five and twenty years !' Miss Alfa- 
retta placed her arm about her sister's 
waist, and together they looked at the 
envelope, the tears gushing in torrents 
down their faces. Above them was a 
halo — I saw it plainly — a halo of light 
from other days. The envelope bore 
no address. It was unsealed. Slowly, 
almost reverently, Miss Theresa drew 
forth the sheet it contained. 'Father's 
hand,' she murmured; 'dear father!' 
'Dear father!' echoed Miss Alfaretta; 
'read it, sister ; I cannot see.' And 
Miss Theresa read it. It was a letter 
to the man who had once been his 
agent in New Orleans, and it had ref- 
erence to the piece of land which the 
sweet old creatures own. It told of a 
discovery Mr. Wallingford had made 
during a recent trip to the property. It 
spoke of oil and development and a 
retrieval of lost fortunes. When Miss 
Theresa refolded it her eyes were 
round as saucers and her face was 
chalky white. She wavered back and 
forth an instant, gurgling, trying to 
speak. Then she fainted, and Miss 
Alfaretta — was ever such faithfulness ! 
— fainted also. I realized then why .1 
had remained ; it was Providence." 

The tea bell rang at this juncture, 
and the angel straightened herself in 
her chair. 

"Well, I should think it was time!" 
she commented ; "I'm simply fam- 
ished ! Charity is such hungry work! 

When I left the Wallingfords they 
were seated, one on each side of that 
precious extension table, sipping tea 
and nibbling toast. The letter was 
upon the table between them. They 
hardly took their eyes from it. 'Father 
must have been about to seal and ad- 
dress it when he was taken so suddenly 
and so violently ill,' said Miss Theresa. 
'Can you wonder that it seems almost 
sacred to us ?' In the same breath with 
which I declined to stay for tea, I re- 
plied that I did not wonder in the least. 
And I really didn't, — dear old things ! 
But wasn't it funny about the letter?" 

She led the way to the dining room, 
where she discoursed charmingly over 
the tea urn on sundry topics utterly 
foreign to the Misses Wallingford. 
Having accomplished her good deed 
she was now, angel like, dwelling upon 
it no more. What are the wings of 
mundane angels for, if not to flutter 
from flower to flower like butterflies? 

Yet her story was not finished. The 
end came two weeks later, and it was a 
fitting and a pleasing end. She sat 
before the fire again, her soles toast- 
ing, her face radiant. The crown of 
straw hung, with roses humbly droop- 
ing, on the back of a chair. She looked 

"O I'm so glad you've come!" she 
cried ; "so glad ! I have been to see 
the Wallingfords, and they are going 
to be rich, rich, rich ! Miss Theresa 
carried that letter to Mr. Van Dorken 
— or Mr. Van Dorken called to see 
them about it, I have forgotten which 
— he's such a nice man, Mr. Van Dor- 
ken — and he made a special trip to see 
that land and he's satisfied that there 
is oil there — oceans of it, though no 
one would ever have suspected it, of 
course, if it hadn't been for the letter, 



which means barrels of money, and — 
and isn't it just too lovely!" 

It is, truly. The Misses Walling- 
ford are now in receipt of a comfort- 
able income. That piece of land in a 
Southern State has been the means of 
saving them from absolute want in 
their old age. But it is dreadful to think 
of the consequence which might ensue 
if they or certain of St. Mark's angels 
were to visit that piece of land to view 
the developments, for there are no de- 
velopments ; it is as barren and worth- 
less as when misguided Colonel Wal- 
lingford bought it. Van Dorken and 
two or three other guilty wretches, all 
males and pillars of St. Mark's, have 
the secret locked tightly in their 
breasts. Van Dorken's weight of guilt 
is heaviest, for to the crimes of false- 
hood, deceit and conspiracy he has 
added that of forgery. 'Twas he who, 
after much overturning of old papers 
to find a specimen of the colonel's 
handwriting, wrote that letter, signing 

the colonel's name to it ; 'twas his hand 
that put it between the table top and 
the extension things, replacing an en- 
velope containing a patent medicine 

"Confound it !" he said, with charac- 
teristic emphasis, "we can't have two 
helpless old Wallingfords starving to 
death because of their pride. Maybe 
the plan will work and maybe it won't ; 
it can do no harm to try it." 

Wherefore the plan was tried, and 
by the excellence of chance suc- 

Some day, if the angel of mercy sur- 
vives the Misses Wallingford, — and 
please God she will, for they are old 
and she is young — she will be told the 
truth. She should, in common justice, 
know it now ; but Van Dorken has 
sworn his fellow conspirators to se- 
crecy- Therefore her story, while end- 
ed most happily, is not complete. She 
has builded, bless her helpful little 
heart, better than she knows. 


^?#^* # #^ 

The Genesis of Standard Oil 

By Will M. Clemens 

THIS is the story of a small 
beginning, showing how in 
this golden age, a few hun- 
dred dollars invested in the 
right place, at the right time, by the 
right man, have increased in forty years 
to a few hundred millions of dollars. 

There is neither adventure, romance, 
nor tragedy in the early history of that 
famous corporation known throughout 
the world for its wealth, power, and 
money-making capacity, the Standard 
Oil Company, sometimes called the 
Standard Oil Trust. It is a plain, 
simple narrative of business growth 
and development, as easy, natural and 
consistent as the sowing of a wheat 
field in early spring and the reaping 
of a profitable harvest in the autumn. 

The Standard Oil Company never 
"struck oil," nor dug a well, nor 
owned a derrick in the early days of 
petroleum development. Six years 
after the first oil well company was 
established in Pennsylvania, two 
bright young men began to refine 
crude oil and manufacture a market- 
able product, and they are still selling 
that same product to-day, under the 
name of Standard Oil. 

In 1850, the northwestern part of 
Pennsylvania was almost a wilder- 
ness. Titusville was a lumbering vil- 
lage with a general store and a saw 
mill. The site of Oil City was a high- 
way tavern, where raftsmen on the 
Alleghany River stopped to get their 

Oil in its crude state was found in 
the valley streams, in the early fifties, 
a mere floating substance known as 
Seneca Oil, from having long been 
used in the war paints and medicines 
of the Seneca Indians who lived in the 
region round about. 

In 1852 a bottle of the oil was taken 
to Professor O. P. Hubbard, of Dart- 
mouth College, who pronounced the 
product valuable for commercial pur- 
poses, if it could be found in sufficient 
quantities. Indirectly, the result of 
Prof. Hubbard's analysis was the for- 
mation, in 1854, of the Pennsylvania 
Rock Oil Company, capitalized at five 
hundred thousand dollars in shares of 
twenty-five dollars each. The com- 
pany was composed largely of New 
York and New England stockholders. 
The enterprise was not a success. 
Three years later came the Seneca Oil 
Company, which was likewise unsuc- 
cessful. It was not until May i, 1858. 
that the idea of drilling into the rock 
for oil was conceived, and not until 
August 28 of the following year was 
the first oil well in successful operation 
near Titusville. Then came the great 
oil land boom, with the nearest rail- 
road station at Erie, forty miles away. 
Within six years there were one hun- 
dred thousand people in the oil reg- 
ions, and millions of dollars were in- 
vested in wells, land, rigging, derricks, 
and machinery. Thousands of barrels 
of crude oil were soon being produced 
daily, but with small facilities for re- 



fining it, although that was necessary 
to make it a marketable commodity. 

At this juncture appeared the man 
who seized the opportunity. His name 
was John Davison Rockefeller. Born 
at Richfield, N. Y., June 8, 1839, he 
removed in 1853 to Cleveland, Ohio, 
with his parents, and was a pupil at the 
Cleveland High School until his six- 
teenth year. Then he entered the for- 
warding commission house of Hewitt 
& Tuttle as an entry clerk. Fifteen 
months later he became the firm's 
cashier and bookkeeper. When not 
yet nineteen years of age, in company 
with Morris B. Clark he opened a 
commission business under the firm 
name of Clark & Rockefeller. 

The oil discovered in the nearby 
Pennsylvania region attracted the at- 
tention of Cleveland business men, and 
crude petroleum began to find a 
market there, being shipped by rail 
from Erie. In i860, Samuel Andrews, 
in company with Rockefeller and 
Clark, started the Excelsior Oil Re- 
finery, a small concern that cost, at its 
inception, but a few hundred dollars. 
Rockefeller saw the opportunity to re- 
fine crude oil, and invested every dol- 
lar he possessed. The business of the 
firm, Andrews, Clark & Co., grew at 
an astonishing rate. Clark was afraid 
to risk his money in" the enterprise, and 
withdrew. Then young Rockefeller 
sold out his interest in the commission 
business, placed his money to the last 
dollar in the development of the Ex- 
celsior Refinery, and in 1865 estab- 
lished the firm of Rockefeller & An- 
drews. This really was the genesis of 
the Standard Oil Company. 

In 1867 the firm admitted William 
Rockefeller into partnership, reorgan- 
ized the growing concern under the 

name of William Rockefeller & Co., 
and built a second refinery, called the 
Standard. William Rockefeller fur- 
nished the capital for the second ven- 

Looked at from a business stand- 
point, the subsequent success of the 
Rockefellers was as natural as the 
growth of a tree. They purchased the 
entire output of various oil wells, the 
crude product to be shipped to the two 
refineries at Cleveland. Figures for 
four years, which I fortunately have at 
hand, tell the story in the simplest pos- 
sible language. 

The shipments of crude petroleum 
to Cleveland from the oil regions of 
Pennsylvania, and the amount of re- 
fined oil produced during the years 
from 1865 to 1868, were as follows : 

220,000 barrels crude received. 

154,000 barrels refined produced. 

600,000 barrels crude received. 

400,000 barrels refined produced. 

750,000 barrels crude received. 

550,000 barrels refined produced. 

956,479 barrels crude received. 

776,356 barrels refined produced. 
This practically represented the 
growth of the Rockefeller business 
during four years, as fully ninety per 
cent, of the oil product was refined by 

The crude petroleum was originally 
shipped to Cleveland and elsewhere 
from the oil fields in ordinary barrels 
in car load lots. Then wooden tanks 
were used, two tanks being built upon 
each car, with a capacity of forty-one 
barrels, or eighty-two barrels to the 
car. Later came the immense iron 
tanks built the length of the car and 
holding 1 one hundred barrels or more. 


The total output of refined oil for thrust upon them. New refineries, 
the year 1868 was divided as follows: railroads, pipe Ikies, tanks, and ware- 
New York 965,863 barrels. houses had to be built, and the Com- 

^.yeland 929,372 barrels. thrived and and prospered 

Philadelphia 266,912 barrels. f , . , r T 1 t^ 

Boston 129,981 barrels. be ^ 0nd GVen the dreams ° f J ohn D ' 

Portland 35,878 barrels. Rockefeller himself. The daily out- 
Other points 245,883 barrels. put of the Pennsylvania oil wells was 

The Rockefellers were at this time 15,000 barrels in 1872. At this latter 
refining about 800,000 barrels out of date refined Standard Oil sold at an 
the 929,372 barrels refined in Cleve- average price of $24.24 the barrel, 
land. Their only opposition to a com- In this same year of 1872, the Stand- 
plete control was in New York and ard Oil Company had a daily still ca- 
Brooklyn, where some fifteen or six- pacity of 10,000 barrels at Cleveland, 
teen small refineries were turning out 9,700 barrels at New York, 650 bar- 
965,863 barrels. rels at Pittsburg, and 418 barrels at 
William Rockefeller was sent by his Oil City, making a total of 20,768 bar- 
firm to New York in December, 1868, rels produced. The whole enormous 
and he promptly purchased as many of traffic of the Standard Oil Company 
the local refineries as his money would was confined to marketing the product 
buy. More capital was needed in after the crude oil had been dis- 
order to control the New York end of tilled. Refineries were worked night 
the business, and Henry M. Flagler, and day, and it mattered not whether 
Colonel Oliver Payne and others were this well or that well in the oil 
admitted to the firm. The Rockefeller region went "dry," whether one oil 
Company of New York was estab- company or a dozen went to smash, 
fished <and at the close of 1869 they The Standard bought crude oil from 
were in control of 1,859,235 barrels, nearly every well and firm, and having 
out of a total product of 2,573,889 bar- once secured control of the market, no 
rels, which represented the year's pro- other refiner dared interfere, and prac- 
duction. tically all crude petroleum flowed nat- 

At first the Cleveland and New urally into the Standard's tanks. 

York houses were consolidated under What was true of the Pennsylvania 

the firm name of Rockefeller, Andrews oil fields soon became true of other 

& Flagler, but in 1870 the Standard fields in other States and other 

Oil Company was legally organized, countries. The Russian oil wells fed 

with a capital stock of $1,000,000. the Standard refineries abroad as 

John D. Rockefeller was elected presi- quickly and as easily as those at Oil 

dent of the new corporation, William City and Titusville fed those at home, 

Rockefeller, vice-president, and Henry and thus the monopoly of the Rocke- 

M. Flagler secretary and treasurer. fellers soon encircled the entire world 

Meanwhile the daily output of crude of oil. 

oil increased at a wonderful rate, and In 1882 the Standard Oil Trust was 

the Standard Company, now con- organized with a capital of $70,000,- 

trolling a majority of refineries, was 000, which was increased two years 

taxed to keep pace with the business later to $90,000,000. Rut in t8q2 the 



Supreme Court decided that the trust 
was illegal, and it was consequently 
dissolved. Since then the enormous 
business has been conducted under dif- 
ferent names, the Standard Oil Com- 
pany of New Jersey being the most 
prominent. In each of these various 
companies John D. Rockefeller is the 
leading director and heaviest share- 
holder. In recent years, stock in the 
Standard Oil Company of New Jersey 
has been quoted at a figure as high as 
$824 a share. 

An idea of the magnitude of this 
great industry which now supplies the 
entire world with oil, will be conveyed 
by the statement that since i860 there 
have been received for exported 
petroleum and its products, an aggre- 
gate amount exceeding the present 
money wealth, in gold and silver, of 
the United States government. 

The same methods adopted by the 
Rockefellers in the early sixties are 
in vogue to-day, for the Standard Oil 
Company is acquiring great interests 
in both the new Texas and California 
oil fields. As I have said, the business 
of the Standard Oil Company is to 

acquire and control the oil when pro- 
duced, but not to produce oil. The 
corporation builds pipe lines and fur- 
nishes cheap transportation for car- 
rying the oil from the wells to the re- 
fineries or to the seaports. It is al- 
ways ready to purchase the oil pro- 
duced at any well, and always pays the 
market value for the oil. There are 
few companies that have sufficient 
capital to build their own pipe lines, 
and if the oil producer is dependent 
upon railroads, the freights are usually 
too high to compete with pipe lines, 
and as a matter of economy, most oil 
producers are glad to enter into a con- 
tract with the Standard Oil Company, 
not only to transport the oil, but to 
find a market for the product. The 
Standard Oil Company has its own 
ships and pipe line transportation, and 
its own agencies in almost every part 
of the world, so the most economic 
method for any oil producer is to con- 
tract with the company to transport 
and buy the oil. If the Standard Oil 
Company enters any new oil district, 
it is the best evidence of the per- 
manencv of that district. 

Menotomy Parsonage 

By Abram English Brown 

THE New England clergyman 
was the one man of unques- 
tioned authority in the town 
where he was settled. He 
was commonly known as the parson — 
the word from its derivation : Old 
French persone, Latin persona — sug- 
gesting his position in the community. 
Naturally enough the residence of the 
autocrat was the one dwelling of the 
town in which there was general in- 
terest, for it sheltered him to whom the 
people looked for spiritual guidance 
as well as much of their intellectual 
and social stimulus. Hither they 
brought a tithe of their increase with 
a consciousness of duty well per- 
formed, as did the Jews of old when 
they offered the firstlings of their 
flocks as a sacrifice to the Most High. 

There was always a kindly welcome 
at the parsonage for every one. If 
laden with sorrow, here one was sure 
of finding the comfort of sympathy and 
perhaps the means of relief. If uncer- 
tain as to the path of duty, here was to 
be had that advice which enabled one 
to hasten on with confidence, assured 
that whatever the result it would be for 
the best. A home in which the whole 
parish had such vital interest, could 
not be other than sacred to the entire 
community. The affectionate pride in 
the parsonage was in no way affected 
by its size or appointments, although 
the house was generally as good as any 
in the town, but it was the power 
within that made it what it was. Had 

it belonged to another class of aristoc- 
racy which flourished in provincial 
days in Massachusetts, the building 
would necessarily have been one of 
some colonial grandeur, decorated with 
the insignia of royalty as evidence that 
the occupant held a commission from 
the King. 

But the influence of the parsonage 
was not limited to the bounds of the 
parish which had provided it. Here it 
was that the neighboring clergy re- 
sorted for hospitality and exchange of 
professional civilities. With a larder 
well stocked through the honest tithing 
of the parishioners, supplies were never 
lacking for the physical nourishment, 
and the spiritual stimulus was ever at 
home. No tavern upon the King's 
highway, its royal name emblazoned 
in golden letters upon its extending 
signboard, had charms for the New 
England parson, unless some untoward 
accident befell him, and he would so 
well time his journey as seldom to have 
need of other hospitality than that of a 
parsonage. In fact the weary traveller 
of any worthy calling found welcome 
at its door. Some, indeed, during our 
revolutionary period, were such com- 
mon resorts for ardent patriots that the 
jealous tory element derisively called 
them "parsons' taverns." 

Visits of brother clergymen must 
have been helpful to both visitor and 
host alike at a time when education in 
the rural districts was closely confined 
to the clergy and physicians, with pos- 

The Old Parsonage at Menotomy 

sibly a slight smattering of law at the 
command of the squire. When the 
spiritual food for the Sabbath was to 
be dispensed by a neighboring pastor, 
it was known throughout the parish by 
his arrival on Saturday, for no parson, 
in good and regular standing, would 
think of journeying on the Lord's day. 

A good representation of the New 
England parsonage was that at Me- 
notomy. It was more simple in con- 
struction and less pretentious than 
some, but in all the essentials it was 
typical. Its first occupant was, too, a 
typical parson. 

The inhabitants of Cambridge, on 
the westerly side of the Menotomy 
River, desired better accommodations 
than they were enjoying at the mother 
church, so much absorbed by the col- 
lege, and they petitioned the General 

Court in 1725 to be set off as a separate 
precinct, but did not succeed in having 
it done until some years later. After 
duly humbling themselves and having 
sought Divine guidance, they were led 
to call a young man, Rev. Samuel 
Cook, to become their minister. Al- 
though a native of Hadley, where he 
was born in 1709, Mr. Cook was not a 
stranger to his people. He had spent 
four years at Harvard College, having 
been graduated in 1735. He re- 
sided for a year or more at Medford, 
in the home of Colonel Isaac Royall, 
serving as tutor to young Isaac, the 
son and pride of the West India mer- 
chant. The Colonel had left his home 
at Antigua, brought his family and 
retinue of negro slaves to Medford and 
there set up a palace indeed. During 
these vears, before thev were free to 



have a separate church, Mr. Cook had 
performed some parochial services for 
the Menotomy people, and had made 
his way to their hearts. 

Life in Isaac Royall's family was 
entirely different from that of a New 
England parsonage, but the time spent 
there by young Cook did not turn him 
from his chosen path of duty. While 
engaged as tutor he kept close to his 
studies and so conducted himself as to 
secure the confidence of Rev. Mr. 
Turell, the pastor of Medford, and fast 
friend of Isaac Royall, and through his 
advice the people of Menotomy com- 
pleted their obligations as a precinct, 
in calling Mr. Cook to become their 
pastor. He was settled with all the 
formalities of the times in September, 
1739, when a church was formed by 
Rev. John Hancock, of Lexington. 
Although a single man when entering 
upon his work, he had his affections 
already centered in a young lady of 
his native town, and in August of 1740 
he brought Sarah Porter, as his bride, 
to the parsonage. "The house was 
raised July 17, 1740, at the expense of 
the people ; the frame was given and 
the cellar and well were dug and 
stoned gratis ; the board and shingles 
were carted from Sudbury and Bil- 
lerica free of charge to me," is his own 

With a church well established, with 
a pastor and his wife located in a par- 
sonage, the people at the west of the 
River felt that they were at last distinct 
from the mother town of Cambridge. 
Pride spurred them to do all in their 
power to have their parsonage compare 
favorably with those of neighboring 
towns and precincts, and they saw to it 
that the larder was well stocked. There 
was no family of the Menotomy Pre- 

cinct that did not tithe its income, and 
the share left at the parsonage was of 
the best. 

Calls from the neighboring parsons 
were occasions of pride to the people 
of the new precinct, and their only 
fear, at the coming of so many to 
extend fellowship, was that they might 
have in some things neglected their 
duty. What if the young parson's 
supply of wine or West India rum 
should give out, or his "firing" run 
low, when one of the older ministers 
was the caller ! Would not he think 
that the Menotomy people had failed in 
their obligations to their pastor? But 
they did not allow such fears to repeat 
themselves. William Russell, who 
headed the petition of the settlers for 
better accommodation, looked out for 
the necessities. Jason Russell who had 
married Elizabeth Winship and set up 
a home in the Russell house, at about 
the time of the coming of Rev. Mr. 
Cook, was a thrifty man, and while fit- 
ting up his own house did not fail to 
share his supplies with the parsonage. 
The Whittemores, Lockes, Swans, 
Butterfields, Winships, Dunsters, Wel- 
lingtons and others did their duty and 
took delight in noting the calls of Rev. 
John Hancock, of Lexington ; of his 
son-in-law, Rev. Nicholas Bowes, from 
Bedford ; Rev. Daniel Bliss, of Con- 
cord ; Rev. Samuel Ruggles, of Bil- 
lerica ; Rev. Thomas Jones, of Woburn 
Precinct, and of many of like dis- 

Thus everything started off well at 
Menotomy, but in less than a year after 
the auspicious beginning, the commun- 
ity was shrouded in gloom. The grace- 
ful lady, who had come to the parson- 
age as the bride of Rev. Samuel Cook, 
had passed away and the young minis- 

Communion Service Used by Rev. Samuel Cook 

ter, looking to his people for comfort, 
struggled to rise above the burden that 
rested so heavily upon his heart. It 
was a severe trial but it taught the 
young pastor, as nothing else could, 
how to sympathize with the members 
of his flock when called to similar 

At length Rev. Mr. Cook brought to 
the lonely parsonage Anna, the daugh- 
ter of Rev. John Cotton, of Newton, 
having followed the example of the 
ministers of that time in strengthening 
the aristocracy of the clerical profes- 
sion through inter-marriage. The 
voices of children were soon heard 
about the place. Some remained but a 
short time while others were spared to 
add cheer to the home, and afford 
comfort to their father in his second 
bereavement. For their mother was 
taken away at the age of thirty-eight 

Again the trusting parson looked 
about him for a helpmeet. It was at 

the Bedford parsonage where he found 
the widow of Rev. Nicholas Bowes, 
daughter of Rev. John Hancock. The 
coming of this cultured lady from 
Bedford to Menotomy again brought 
happiness to his home. The parson 
had made a wise choice. Mrs. Cook 
was born in the Lexington parsonage, 
presided as mistress of the one at 
Bedford and knew well how to per- 
form the duties of a third home of 
this character. This alliance brought 
a different circle of visitors. Rev. 
Jonas Clark, of Lexington, suc- 
cessor of Rev. John Hancock, 
whose granddaughter he had married, 
had been friendly with his Brother 
Cook ever since he was settled at 
Lexington in 1755, but now that his 
wife's mother was the lady of the 
Menotomy household the association 
warmed into that of kinship. 

Thomas Hancock, the successful and 
liberal-handed merchant, who had 
made frequent visits to the old home 


8 4 


Bowl and Table Originally Owned by Rev. Sam 

at Lexington, passing through Me- 
notomy on his journeys to and from 
Boston, had occasion now to stop to 
call upon his sister Lucy. Nicholas 
Bowes, who was in the employ of his 
uncle Thomas at Boston, was also a 
frequent visitor upon his mother. 
The friendship of Thomas Hancock 
and his wife, Lydia Henchman, daugh- 
ter of Colonel Daniel, the book dealer 
of Boston, was highly valued, and 
their stone mansion on Beacon Hill 
was the rendezvous for people of 
marked influence in business, social 
and ecclesiastical circles. John Han- 
cock, the rising young man of Boston, 
found attractions at the Menotomy 
parsonage. He had not forgotten the 
aunt who had made his boyhood visits 
to Bedford so happy and now, when 
entering into his kingdom of honor and 
wealth he continued the early associa- 
tions. It was through the death of 
John's Uncle Thomas that much of his 
wealth came, but he was not heir to it 
all, for the Boston merchant carefully 

remembered many of his relatives, 
among them Mrs. Cook, his sister. 
She outlived her brother but four 
years, yet long enough to receive 
the legacy and appropriate it to 
the use and benefit of the family 
at Menotomy. 

The members of the Royall fam- 
ily at Medford were visitors from 
the time the house was opened 
until the last of them fled to Hali- 
fax with the other Loyalists and 
the King's army on March 17, 
1776. Colonel Isaac preceded 
them on the eve of the battle of 
Lexington and Concord. George 
Erving and Sir William Pepperell 
JEL the younger, who married the Roy- 
all daughters, were also familiar 
guests, but these, like the Vassals and 
Inmans, made less frequent visits after 
the political excitement of the revolu- 
tionary period caused them to take 
sides against the patriots, of whom 
Rev. Samuel Cook was one of the most 

Although bereft of his third wife 
before the opening of the war, Rev. 
Samuel Cook was in full sympathy 
with Rev. Jonas Clark at Lexington, 
and many of the plans of the patriots 
must have been discussed in the 
Menotomy parsonage before the actual 
fighting on Lexington Green and at 
Concord Bridge. Here John Hancock 
must have heard the most positive as- 
sertions in regard to the constitutional 
rights of the Colonists. These clergy- 
men, and their associates, Rev. William 
Emerson of Concord, Rev. Joseph 
Emerson, of Pepperell, Reverends 
Turell and Osgood of Medford, were 
actuated by high motives and deep 
seated convictions of duty. If John 
Hancock ever wavered there was 


family influence quite as strong as that 
exerted by Samuel Adams, who has 
been credited — erroneously I believe — 
with having secured the sympathy and 
support of the young merchant on the 
side of the patriots. (See John Han- 
cock His Book, page 86. ) There were 
those in the Menotomy parsonage who 
derived peculiar satisfaction from the 
elevation of John Hancock, — one of 
the family, — to the presidency of the 
Continental Congress, 
and to the positions of 
honor later conferred up- 
on him by the Bay 

Rev. Samuel Cook 
was a man of standing 
with the government offi- 
cials before the lines of 
separation were drawn. 
On March 29, 1770, the 
"Boston News Letter" 
published the statement 
that "the Honorable 
House of Representa- 
tives made choice of 
Rev. Mr. Samuel Cook, 
of Cambridge, to preach 
on the anniversary of the 
election on his Majesty's 
council on the last Wed- 
nesday of May next." 

There was anxiety in the Menotomy 
parsonage on the 19th of April, 1775, 
for Rev. Mr. Cook knew that his 
nephew, John Hancock, was in the 
vicinity of Lexington, and believed 
that he was with the Clarks, for Mrs. 
Thomas Hancock and Dorothy Quincy 
had halted at his door on their way 
out from town and had made known 
their fears on the subject. It was with 
solicitation for his family and his flock 
that the venerable pastor applied him- 

self to the needs of the hour, until at 
the approach of the retreating enemy, 
he was taken away by his son Samuel, 
to a place of safety. Perhaps, thereby, 
his life was saved, for the British had 
great contempt for the local clergy, 
whom they denounced as leaders in the 
rebellion. The parsonage did not alto- 
gether escape the mark of the enemy, 
and the old bullet-scarred shutters 
are still preserved as reminders of 

Rev. Samuel Cook's Writing Desk 

the excursion of the Kings army. 
The lady of the household at this 
time was Miss Mary Cook, the daugh- 
ter, who never married. Two days 
after the battle of Bunker Hill the 
Menotomy parsonage was taken for a 
hospital, as were other houses in the 
precinct, and wounded provincials 
were cared for in these hastily im- 
provised quarters. We may well 
imagine that when Rev. Samuel Cook 
again penned a sermon in that house, 



it was with emotions such as had not 
filled his breast during the thirty-six 
years of his ministry. In his summary 
of deaths during the year 1775 he says, 
"There have been 47, besides some 
Provincials and Hutchinson's Butchers 
slain in Concord Battle, near the meet- 
ing-house, buried here." 

This pastor's ardent patriotism and 
■devotion to his people prompted him, 
with others, to make frequent visits to 
the camp at Cambridge during the 
siege. After the evacuation, when the 
General Court held its sessions at 
Watertown in 1776, he was chaplain of 
that body, making his journeys to and 
from Menotomy on the back of his 
favorite horse. Having passed the last 
fifteen year* of his life with his 
daughter as his housekeeper, Rev. 
Samuel Cook's long and useful life was 
closed on June 4, 1783, and his body 
was laid to rest with those of his three 
wives, in the burying ground near the 
church and parsonage. It was just as 
the Colonies, for which he had labored 
and suffered, were beginning to emerge 
from the cloud of Revolution in which 
they had been so long enveloped. 

The house, built for him and in 
which he had dwelt for more than forty 
years, was his own property. It was 
a New England custom, when calling 
a minister, to give him a settlement fee, 
in addition to an annual salary. This 
was to aid him in providing a home 
and was often accompanied by land 
•enough to constitute a farm, hence the 
dwelling did not revert to the parish 
and the people had no control of it. 
The habit of calling the home of 
the minister, the parsonage, was so 
firmly established that it was contin- 
ued, and it. many of our old towns to- 
day, may be seen a stately mansion 

shaded by elms and guarded by Lom- 
bardy poplars, so honored although no 
minister has dwelt in it for a generation 
or more. The people of Menotomy 
were not exceptions to this habit, and 
the parsonage was a place of interest, 
if not of reverence, long after it ceased 
to shelter a clergyman. This feeling 
was strengthened and continued by the 
occupancy of Miss Mary Cook, the 
maiden daughter, who became the pro- 
verbial "Aunt" of all Menotomy. Miss 
Cook never lapsed into a state of in- 
activity, to sit attired in rusty black 
bombazine as a relic of old times, sel- 
dom seen beyond her tansy or camo- 
mile bed. Hers was a lot of helpful 
activity, and while she never forgot the 
reviving effect of a sprig of tansy, on 
a hot day when inclined to be drowsy 
in the meeting house, she kept pace 
with the times, and her usefulness 
honored the title Aunt Cook, which she 
bore with graceful dignity. 

The voice of childhood seemed never 
to have been wholly stilled in the par- 
sonage, for before one generation had 
ceased its prattle, there came a second 
to take its place, not without sorrow 
however. Our joys are often mingled 
with tears. Hannah, who made her 
advent to the parsonage seven years 
after a welcome was extended to Mary, 
became the wife of Henry Bradshaw. 
She died at an early age, leaving four 
children, whose father soon followed 
her. They were received at the parson- 
age by Aunt Cook. If she ever looked 
upon them as a burden, their innocence 
and helplessness brought out her ma- 
ternal instinct and she found in them 
that which more than compensated for 
all her care and trouble. 

Miss Cook, like many another de- 
scendant of the New England clergy, 


mm-m ■ ■ 

A Leaf of the Church Records 

had good reason for being proud of 
her ancestry, but while there was satis- 
faction in the reality, it brought no cash 
to her beaded purse, and with real puri- 
tan heroism she applied herself to the 
sterner realities of life. Being con- 
veniently near Harvard College the 
Menotomy parsonage was a desirable 
place of residence for students and fac- 

ulty and soon others from town found 
a congenial home beneath the old roof- 
tree. Miss Cook thus maintained the 
dignity of the parsonage and of her 
position while at the same time she 
added to her resources. Professional 
men always made their way to "Aunt 
Cook's" in preference to the "Black 
Horse" or "Cooper's Tavern" in Cam- 



bridge. In fact there was a silent in- 
fluence here which had its good effect 
upon them. The old leather bound 
family Bible witnessed of the best ; the 
ancestral portraits offered good society, 
silent but to be trusted, and even the 
old desk, with its neatly kept files of 
manuscript sermons told of the labor 
which gives true dignity to manhood. 

Among the early boarders of this 
class was James Sullivan, a rising law- 
yer, who sought here a quiet retire- 
ment for himself during his inocula- 
tion for the small pox. So tenderly did 
Aunt Cook minister to his needs, and 
so rapid was his recovery, that he 
never forgot the Menotomy parsonage 

called, accompanied by a friend, Mr. 
William Williamson, of North Caro- 
lina. The part of the country through 
which they travelled was unfrequented. 
The scene was rural, the air refreshing, 
the birds carolled on every spray and 
all nature was in a most agreeable hu- 
mor. The hearts of the two gentlemen, 
which vibrated to the harmony that per- 
vaded Creation, were open to every ten- 
der impression. In one of their excur- 
sions in South Berwick township they 
met a little girl, five or six years old. 
whose beauty and sweetness, like some 
little wandering wood nymph, attract- 
ed their attention ; they stopped to 
speak to her. 'What is your name?' 


A Shutter from the Parsonage, Showing Bullet Hole Made by the British 

and its worthy occupant, and when in 
later years, in the fullness of his honors 
as jurist, statesman and Governor of 
Massachusetts, he made frequent visits 
to see her and was a friend indeed. In 
fact the acquaintance then formed rip- 
ened into a family association and Mrs. 
Amory, a daughter of Governor Sulli- 
van, with her children passed many 
pleasant summers at the old parsonage. 
Through the influence of Mr. Sulli- 
van, there was brought to Miss Cook's 
door, one day at the dawn of the last 
century, a most attractive little girl. 
Her previous history has been told as 
follows : "Hon. James Sullivan, upon 
a tour of business and pleasure visited 
the District of Maine, as it was then 

said Mr. Williamson, dismounting 
from his horse. 

" 'Eunice, Sir,' returned the child. 

' 'Who is your father?' 

' T have none,' she said. 

" 'Ah ! that's hard, indeed. Where 
is your mother ?' 

' 'She is sick and going to die too,' 
cried the poor little girl. The feelings 
of the gentlemen were touched by the 
simplicity of the child. They followed 
up their interest by further inquiries 
and visited the house of the mother and 
found the sick woman and her friendly 
nurse. The nurse was talkative and in 
answer to their questions informed 
them that the mother was in the last 
stages of consumption, and that her 

Window from the Old Parsonage 

mind was entirely occupied concerning 
her child who would be left, on her 
death, defenseless and unprotected. 
Entering the room where the widowed 
mother lay Mr. Williamson inquired if 
she would be willing to put the child 
under his protection. Her consent was 
given with joy ; to her it seemed that 
this event was ordered by that Being 
who is the father of the fatherless and 
the protector of the widow. Mr. Wil- 
liamson promised to send for the child 
as soon as the mother was no more, and 
they took their leave. They called upon 
the physician in attendance upon the 

mother, and begged him to pay her 
every attention his professional skill 
could render, and write when she 
breathed her last. 

"In about six weeks this event took 
place. Mr. Williamson sent immedi- 
ately for the child who was according- 
ly conveyed to Boston. On her arrival 
there Maria Eunice Lord, for that was 
her name, was received by her Boston 
friends and soon after went to the old 
town, earlier known by its Indian name 
of Menotomy, now Arlington. Here 
she was placed in the benevolent care of 
a lady, Miss Mary Cook, the daughter 




of Parson Samuel Cook, the first min- 
ister of the parish, and in her family 
spent her early years." 

The coming of little Eunice to the 
parsonage marked a new era in the life 
of Miss Cook. To be sure it added to 
her cares, but there was something in 
the nature of the little girl from the 
country, so different from that of the 
Boston girls whom she had known, that 
softened and purified her own. The 
voice of the child was music to the ears 
of all the occupants of the house, and 
not the least so to a — 

young physician who 
had just come to en- 
joy the advantages of 
the old parsonage, 
and had quietly begun 
to make his way to a 
practice in the town. 
He had been gradu- 
ated at Harvard Col- 
lege and its medical 
school, and promised 
to be an honor to the 
profession which he 
had chosen. Doctor 
Timothy Wellington 
became strongly at- 
tached to the pretty 
little girl. As time went on Aunt Cook 
saw that the young doctor's fondness 
for Eunice was ripening into love, and, 
liking and respecting him as she did, 
she could not discourage the attach- 
ment. So when at the age of eighteen 
Eunice went from the old parsonage as 
his bride Miss Cook found a solace for 
her loneliness in their happiness. Her 
ward did not go, at marriage, beyond 
her convenient oversight. From the 
parsonage door Miss Cook looked 
many times each day to the new home 
across the highway. Had it been her 

Miss Anna Bradshaw 

own daughter's she could not have done 
so with more evident satisfaction. 

There was an occupant of the par- 
sonage of a very different type from 
those already introduced to the reader. 
The Spanish Consul to New England 
in seeking for retirement from the 
growing city, was introduced to Miss 
Cook, and found a pleasant home with 
her. His natural characteristics served 
as amusement for his hostess, who at 
first manifested no admiration for the 
official, but after a time became recon- 
,,. ciled and derived not 

a little pleasure from 
Don Juan Stough- 
ton's society. When 
he was ill Miss Cook 
was unremitting in 
her faithful care and 
attention, and when 
he was laid to rest in 
the Old Burying 
Ground she felt that 
another grave was 
added to the many 
tenanted by those who 
had been dear to her 
in life and whose 
resting place was but 
a step from her door. 
Aunt Cook was not left in the par- 
sonage alone, in her declining years, 
but was comforted and cared for by 
one to whom she had ministered when 
left an orphan. Anna Bradshaw was 
the one of the third generation to con- 
tinue the family possession of the 
house. Faithful to the traditions of the 
family, she guarded it until the end of 
her life. When loosening her hold upon 
the many treasures of the parsonage, 
she entrusted the contents of one draw- 
er of her lamented grandfather's study 
desk to one, who for name and kinship, 




she had a fond attachment. Maria Eu- 
nice Wellington, or Mrs. Hodgdon, 
even in advanced years, delighted in 
showing a letter penned by the Tory, 
Isaac Royall, while in banishment in 
England. This letter was written to 
his old tutor, Rev. Samuel Cook, 
pleading with him to intercede 
with the government of the State of 
Massachusetts to allow him to return to 
his home and estate in Medford. 

True to her inherited instinct,. Miss 
Bradshaw, the last of the family occu- 
pants of the parsonage, devised the es- 
tate to the church which she loved 
and over which her grandfather was 
settled as pastor in 1739. Now the 
West Precinct was no longer known as 
Menotomy but was duly incorporated 
as West Cambridge. The march of 
progress soon caused the removal of 
the old parsonage and destroyed the 
Lombardy poplars, but through the 
thoughtfulness of Timothy Welling- 
ton some interesting portions were 
saved. Among them is one of the win- 
dow shutters which bears the mark 
of a British bullet, fired during the 
running fight of the afternoon of April 
J 9> I 775- A glazed window sash is 
also treasured in the town, a gift of 
Mrs. Eunice L. Wellington Hodgdon, 
whose father had a particular interest 
in it. It was one of the "best room" 
windows, on the glass -of which various 
autographs have been cut that give to 
it both historic and sentimental inter- 

Naturally the first name to be placed 
upon this autograph window was that 
of the owner, the parson, and there is 
to be read to-day, in bold characters, 
the name of Samuel Cook and affixed to 
it is the date 1772. One pane bears the 
following : Madame De Neufville ; 

Dr. Timothy Wellington 

Nancy De Neufville; John De Neuf- 
ville, Nov. 30, 1787. This trio consti- 
tuted a family who shared the com- 
forts of his home. The name is inter- 
woven with several incidents of the 
American Revolution. John De Neuf- 
ville, according to a rude slab in the 
Precinct Burying ground, was an em- 
inent merchant in Amsterdam. His 
death occurred at Menotomy in 1796. 
It is claimed that he rendered efficient 
service to this country during the war, 
in promoting negotiations for a loan 
from the Dutch capitalists, and that af- 
ter the war he came to the United 
States and established a business which 
was not successful. His widow peti- 
tioned Congress for relief, claiming 
that the family embarrassment was due 
to the efforts of her husband in be- 
half of the distressed Colonies. Alex- 
ander Hamilton, in a letter to Wash- 
ington, in allusion to her claim said, "I 
do not know what the case admits of ; 
but from some papers she showed me, 
it would seem she had pretentions to 
the kindness of this country." She 
afterwards became the wife of Don 
Juan Stoughton, the Spanish consul 
before mentioned. 

The Tomb of Rev. Samuel Cook 

Under the date of 1811, appear the 
names of Rebecca Cook Bradshaw, 
Mary Cook, Timothy Wellington, and 
fancy, in careful dealing with several 
unfinished or unsuccessful attempts 
with the diamond point, may read Ma- 
ria Eunice Lord. It was less than two 
years later that this sunbeam of the 
parsonage went out as the bride of the 
young physician. 

Another pane of the window shows 
the name of A. C. Linzee, who was a 
daughter of John De Neufville and 
wife of Ralph T. Linzee. Andrew 

Boardman and Mary Boardman, the 
genealogist says, were prominent in 
the first Parish in revolutionary days ; 
Lizzie Sullivan was a member of the 
Governor's family. Of the names 
plainly to be traced are Silvanus Bour, 
Nov. 30, 1787, John De Mady, Peter 
Curtis, Jonathan Frost, Jnr., Samuel 
Griffin, H. Judson and Ephraim Ran- 
dall, with the initials of others, each 
and all of whom have shared the hos- 
pitality of the old parsonage and fain 
would testify of it to their children's 

AMONG the first of the feathered 
race to appear in the early 
spring are the Bluebirds. 
Sometimes they arrive before 
the first of March, willing to brave its 
cold and bitter winds, so eager are 
they to return to New England. They 
are found almost everywhere in in- 
habited districts ; in old orchards, 
along the country roadsides, and even 
at times in the parks of the great cit- 
ies. About May fifteenth the blue- 
birds build their nests in some con- 
cealed place, choosing by preference 
a hollow post, or a deserted wood- 
pecker's nest. Within it they build 
one of grass, seaweed, rags, or any- 
thing near at hand, and there are laid 
four pale blue eggs. About June fif- 
teenth the young birds are flying about 
with their parents. 

Another early comer is the Cow- 
bird. He has no song to speak of and 
little to bring him to our attention, ex- 
cept the fact that he is too lazv to build 

a home of his own in which to rear 
the young, and hence his mate lays her 
eggs in the nests of other birds. As 
Cowbirds' eggs hatch more quickly 
than those of other birds, the young 
interloper has generally two or three 
days' start of his nest fellows, with the 
result that he, being stronger and bet- 
ter developed, throws the lawful in- 
mates out. At any rate, whatever 
happens, he always fares well. The 
eggs of the Cowbird are white, thick- 
ly dotted with reddish brown, and she 
usually lays them in the nests of the 
Yellow Warbler, Pewee, or Indigo 

About April first, or a little later, 
some interesting birds will be met with 
in the thickest cedar-swamps. There 
the Screech Owl may be seen, blink- 
ing as if he could not quite make you 
out. Upon penetrating into the deep- 
est recesses of the swamp, one may 
suddenly hear a gutteral croak, and 
looking upward the eye encounters 




what appears to be a pile of brush on 
every tree, and on each pile a dump- 
ish bird with a long bill, more like a 
hen than anything else. This is the 
Black-crowned Night Heron, and it is 
likely that there may be a hundred or 
more nests in the colony. Each nest 
contains four blue eggs about the size 
and shape of a bantam's egg. In simi- 
lar localities the Great Blue Heron, or 
the Green Heron make their nests. 

A little later the edges of the 
swamps will be found alive with small 
birds. Near the border of some pool 
or brook, the Maryland Yellow-throats 
build their home and one may hunt for 
hours before it is discovered. The 
beautiful little nest is usually well 
hidden in some tussock or clump of 
grass, and contains three or four white 
eggs, dotted with brown. The parent 
birds will do everything in their power 
to divert your attention and it will be 
hard to resist the wiles of the hand- 
some black-headed little yellow male. 

The Black-poll Warbler and the 
Water Thrush will be there also, the 
former noticeable by his black head. 
Then, too, the Red-start may be found. 
He is a strange little chap, sometimes 
building his nest in low bushes, some- 


Blue Bird 

American Robin 

times in trees forty or fifty feet from 
the ground. The Redstart's plumage 
is not of the hue that his name implies, 
but of orange and black, a good deal 
like a Baltimore Oriole on a small 
scale. This latter bird will come from 
the South about May first, or a little 
earlier, and flash like a ray of sun- 
light from tree to tree. Presently 
his more sombrely dressed mate 
will put in an appearance and 
the pair will begin about the end of 
May to construct, at the tip of some 
branch overhanging the roadside, one 
of the nests with which we are all so 
familiar. It is a beautiful nest, woven 
out of fibres, with here and there a bit 
of string or gaudy cloth for ornament. 
Upon one occasion a patriotic person 
hung red, white and blue worsted near 
his home, hoping that an oriole, which 
was building near by, would use some 
of it ; and he was highly gratified when 
on July Fourth, a brood of young ori- 
oles resplendent in their orange and 
black liveries of Lord Baltimore, for 
whom the bird was first named, 
chirped noisily from a red, white and 
blue nest. 

Leaving the wet haunts of these 
birds and coming into the dry wood- 
lands, where the ground has a peren- 



nial carpet of leaves and pine needles, 
one will find the Water Thrush's near 
relative, the Oven-bird. He makes his 
appearance after May the first, sneak- 
ing about the woods like a burglar, a 
noisy one it must be said, for his song, 
beginning low and gradually becom- 
ing louder, ends abruptly at the top 
of his vocal strength. He begins to 
build his nest about June the first. 
Unless the bird is flushed suddenly, it 
is very difficult to discover, and one 
must look very closely for the four 
little eggs in their carefully roofed 
resting place. 

Up in the tall pines are the rarer 
Wood-warblers. Oftentimes, in tramp- 
ing through the woods, we hear an 


Blackburnian Warbler 

apparently insignificent chirp from 
some tree-top, and find on careful in- 
vestigation that it has come from some 
bird of the Warbler family for which, 
perhaps, we have been looking all day. 
Early in the spring, before the trees 
are well leaved out, is a very good 
time to see these little fellows. The 
Blackburnian Warbler, beautifully ar- 

Yellow-Bellied Flycatcher 

rayed in orange and black, the tiny 
Parula Warbler, with its Quakerlike 
dress of blue gray, set off by a saddle 
of old gold, the Pine 
Creeping Warbler and the 
Black-throated Green 
Warbler will all become 
familiar to you in time. 
The one last mentioned 
nests in the tallest pine 
trees and its nest is so tiny 
that you will hardly find 
it, unless you happen to 
see the bird fly off. 

The Yellow is the com- 
monest of all our New 
England Warblers, and is 
known by half a dozen 
names — Yellow Warbler, 
Summer Warbler, Yel- 
low Wren, Yellow Spar- 
row and Yellow Bird being the ones 
most frequently heard. The female 
is olive green and is most quiet 
and retiring, but the male bird in 
his suit of yellow sprinkled with 
brown, is a familiar figure on the 
roadside shrubbery. It nests any- 
where, often in barberry bushes, when 
thev can be found, and never over six 



feet or so from the ground. The nest 
is strongly built of plant fibres and 
lined usually with fern down, or some 
other soft material. There four white 
eggs are laid, splotched and dotted 
about the larger end with purplish 
brown. This is one of the birds most 
frequently burdened with the eggs of 
the Cowbird, and it often happens that 
the little warbler roofs over her first 
nest and builds on it a second one in 
her efforts to be rid of such an unwel- 
come guest. 

The other familiar member of this 
family is the Chestnut-sided Warbler, 
and is one of the most beautiful — 
black and white, with a yellow cap, 
and yellow wingbars set off by its dis- 
tinguishing mark of bright chestnut ; 
this bird makes the hillsides and wood- 
ed places cheerful by its song. Its 
nest, generally found in some low bush 
on a hillside, is suspended between 

Great Blue Heron 

Chestnut-Sided Warbler 

two branches, or a small fork of a 
shrub, and contains usually four eggs 
very much like those of the Yellow 
Warbler in size and marking. It is 
one of the most perfect examples of 
bird architecture and does not easily 
escape the notice of the ornithologist. 

Another variety of Warbler often 
seen in large numbers during the 
spring migration, is the Yellow Rump, 
a showy little bird in blue, gray and 
yellow. It breeds but seldom in New 
England, except in the more Northern 
States, and then sparingly. 

The Warbler family is very large, 
and in addition to those birds already 
mentioned, one may see in the spring 
the following: Canadian, Wilson's. 
Hooded, Maryland Yellow-throat, 
Mourning, Connecticut, Prairie, Pine 
Creeping, Yellow Palm, Yellow 
Throated, Bay-breasted, Magnolia. 
Black-throated Blue, Cape May, Ten- 
nessee, Orange-crowned, Nashville, 
Golden-winged, Blue-winged, Worm- 
eating, Prothonotary, and Black and 
White. The last named, sometimes 
known as the Black and White 
Creeper, is familiar to many lovers of 
the woods. He is often to be seen 



running up and down the bark of large 
trees, looking for the larvae and bugs 
that form his diet. The nest, usually 
on the ground at the foot of some large 
tree, is a slight structure of grass, and 
contains, when complete, four small 
white eggs, with reddish brown dots 
all over their surface. 

Leaving the uplands and wandering 

Black and White Warbler 

down toward the river, along its banks 
Blackbirds will be discovered looking 
about for a suitable bush in which to 
build their nests, or if it is fairly late 
in May, one may see the male bird 
perched on some branch overhanging 
the stream, while he sings to his 
heart's content. Within the thick bush- 
es, or perhaps in the long grass, the 
little brown female is quietly sitting 
on her substantial nest. In the reeds 
the marsh wrens are busily twittering 
and excitedly peeping forth at anyone 
who intrudes. Their nest is a won- 
derfully made structure, carefully 
woven of dead reeds and fastened to 
living ones. It looks more like a gourd 
than a nest. A tiny hole in the top ad- 

mits the parent birds. It is carefuly 
lined with feathers and soft material, 
in which six or eight chocolate colored 
eggs are deposited. This little nest 
of the Marsh Wren's is one of the most 
perfect of bird homes. 

But what is that form that scuttled 
away so suddenly, hardly giving one 
a chance to determine its character ? A 
careful search will reveal a Rail's nest, 
with its complement of seven or eight 
buff eggs speckled with black. In the 
northernmost state of New England 
may be found the Coot, which lays 
its eggs on a tussock in the middle of 
some marsh. The eggs resemble in 
color those of the Rail, but in size are 
as large as those of the bantam. 

Cat Bird 

In marshy borders of lakes or ponds 
are found the nests of the Horned, or 
Pied-billed Grebes (Hell-divers they 
are called when they appear along the 
sea coast in winter). They build a 
platform of dead weeds, which they 
anchor to living ones. The Loon con- 
structs a similar resting place for the 
two eggs (as large as those of the 



Belted Kingfisher 

goose) which it lays each year, their 
ground color being chocolate, with 
black dots sparingly distributed over 
the surface. 

Some . birds build their summer 
homes in strange places. For instance, 
one would never think of finding the 
Kingfisher, so familiar to all who live 
near water, sitting on seven white eggs 
at the end of a burrow which would 
do credit to a woodchuck or rabbit, yet 
this is the form of seclusion which is 
sought. There is a gravel pit on the 
banks of the Sudbury River in Mas- 
sachusetts that is the home of hun- 
dreds of Swallows and two pairs of 
Kingfishers. The steep walls of this 
pit are honey-combed with the little 
holes of the Bank-swallows that live 
there and each year raise their broods 
to add to the numbers that skim over 
the smooth surface of the river. One 
may take a trowel and dig into the 
bank for three feet before coming to 
the end of the burrow, where on a few 
grasses will be found at nesting time 
four white eggs. These are the only 

two New England birds, I believe, that 
conceal their eggs in the earth, but 
often birds use holes in trees for that 
purpose. Many of them are lazy, 
though, and have a habit of appropri- 
ating the deserted nests of wood- 
peckers which make their own excava- 
tions often to the depth of eighteen 
inches in sound green trees. There at 
the bottom of the hole thus made, on 
a few chips, they lay their eggs, always 
white, but varying greatly in size ac- 
cording to the variety. The Wood- 
peckers found in New England are the 
Red-headed, Hairy, Downy, Pileted, 
Yellow-bellied, Red-naped, and Gold- 
en-winged. In winter some of the 
Arctic species come to us. 

Along the sea-coast near fishing 
grounds, may be seen the common 
Terns hovering about, waiting to pick 
up any bits of fish throAvn from the 
fishermen's boats, and sometimes tak- 
ing a hand themselves in the fishing. 
Their near relatives, the Caspian, Arc- 
tic, Roseate and Least Terns may be 
met with them. These birds all breed 




Cooper's Hawk 

in the various islands of the Vineyard 
Sound group, particularly Muskegat 
where they are protected. Some of the 
Hawks will be seen 
there also, notably 
the Marsh Hawk, 
which in his quest 
for mice and 
shrews flies low 
over the wet 
meadows. The 
Red-sh ouldered 
Hawk and the 
S h a r p-s hinned 
Hawk are the 
ones that do the 
damage; the 
Marsh Hawk, dis- 
tinguishabl e a 
long way off by 
his white rump, 
will not invade the 
poultry yard. 
Toward the mid- 

dle of May the Whip-poor-wills put 
in an appearance, as do also their 
near relatives the Night Hawks. The 
Chimney Swallows are close con- 
nections of these two, and if you 
can manage to see the nest of one, 
you will observe an odd provision 
in nature which furnishes these 
birds with a kind of glue to fas- 
ten the basket-like nest against the side 
of the chimney. The Pewee is known 
by the constant reiteration of his own 
name, and you may look for his nest 
under old bridges and in similar 
places. Then the Swallows will come 
and build on some old barn, and if 
one has time to watch their nest grow 
bit by bit, it will be found most inter- 

Vireos nest in the woods, but as 
they come a little later than most 
birds, they may be reserved for the 
next article. 

That o'audv woodland bird, the 

Blue Jay 



Redwinged Blackbird 

Blue Jay, will make himself familiar 
with you whether you want to meet 
him or not. He will imitate all the 
other birds in addition to his own cat- 
like call, and at times give a cry like 
the squeaking of an old door on a 
windy day. 

Sparrows without number come 
from the South, the early arrivals be- 
ing the Fox Sparrow, the largest of 
his kind, and the White-throated Spar- 
row. Both of these pass on to the 
Northern limit of New England, close- 
ly followed by many others. 

A calendar of the birds of New 

England during the months of March, 
April and May is appended. This is 
taken from "The Birds of New Eng- 
land," by H. D. Minot. These dates 
are only approximate, as the birds 
come far earlier to Connecticut and 
Rhode Island than to the Northern 
States of New England. 

The space allowed will hardly per- 
mit the enumeration of more than half 
the names of the birds which may 
cross one's path in the spring season. 


Cardinal Grosbeak 

March ist-i5th. 

Song Sparrows and Snow Birds 
begin to sing. The Bluebirds and 
Blackbirds come from the South, 
and the Song Sparrows and Rob- 
ins become more abundant. 

March 1501-3 ist. 

The Robins, Cedar-birds, Mead- 
ow Larks become more numerous. 
Blackbirds, Fox Sparrows, Bay- 
winged Buntings, Cow-birds, and 
Pewees arrive. 


The Kingfishers, Swallows, 
Chipping Sparrows, Field Spar- 
rows, Hermit Thrushes, Pine 
Warblers, Red-poll Warblers, 



Ruby-crowned Kinglets, and some- 
times White-throated Sparrows 

May ist. 

About the ist of the month the 
Barn Swallows, Black and White 
Warblers, Least Flycatchers, 
Night Hawks, Purple Martins, 
Solitary Vireo, Towhee Buntings, 
Yellow-rump Warblers, and Yel- 
low-winged Sparrows make their 

May 5th. 

The Baltimore Orioles, Black- 
throated Green Warblers, Catbirds, 
Chimney Swallows, Wilson's 
Thrushes, Yellow Warblers. 

May ioth. 

Blackburnian Warblers, Black- 
cap Warblers, Black-throated 
Blue Warblers, Parula Warblers, 

Bobolinks, Chestnut-sided Warb- 
lers, Oven-birds, Golden-winged 
Warblers, House Wrens, Hum- 
ming-birds, King birds, Maryland 
Yellow-throats, Nashville Warb- 
lers, Redstarts, Rose-breasted 
Grosbeaks, Warbling Vireos, Wa- 
ter Wagtails, Wood Thrushes, and 
Yellow-throated Vireos arrive. 

May 15th. 

The Bay-breasted, Magnolia, 
Black-poll, Canadian, and Mourn- 
ing Warblers arrive, also the Ol- 
ive-sided Flycatchers, Traill's Fly- 
catchers and White-crowned Spar- 
rows appear. 

May 20th. 

About the 20th the Tennessee 
Warblers, the Yellow-bellied Fly- 
catchers and the Wood Pewees 
mav be looked for. 

Lark Bunting 

A Century of Choral Singing in 
New England 

By Henry C. Lahee 

THE cause of music in New 
England has always re- 
ceived its greatest impulse 
from the enthusiasm of men 
who, while possessed of comparatively 
small technical ability or musical edu- 
cation, put the whole force of their 
souls into the work of helping the 
masses of people to a higher enjoy- 
ment of music than that in which they 
found them. Their accomplishments 
to this end must always be regarded 
with respect, for he who does the most 
for the cause of music in a nation is the 
man who inspires the greatest number 
with a love for the art and a desire for 
some knowledge of it, and as choral 
singing affords the surest foundation, 
we naturally look to those men who 
have been foremost in its cultivation. 

Until the latter part of the eigh- 
teenth century there was practically no 
choral singing except in the church, 
but an enthusiast arose who not only 
initiated important reforms in church 
choirs, but also established that pecul- 
iar institution of olden times generallv 
known as the "singing skewl," and 
who is said to have originated, in New 
England, the concert. 

This enthusiast was William Bil- 
lings, born in Charlestown, Massachu- 
setts, a tanner by trade, who has been 
described as a mixture of the ludi- 
crous, eccentric, commonplace, active, 
patriotic, and religions elements, with 

a slight touch of musical and poetic 
talent. He was deformed, — one arm 
somewhat withered, one leg shorter 
than the other, and blind of one eye, 
and he was given to the habit of con- 
tinually taking snuff. He had a sten- 
torian voice, drowning that of every 
singer near him. He was an advocate 
of the "fuguing tunes" then being in- 
troduced into the country from Eng- 
land, and he wrote many such tunes 
himself, using the sides of leather in 
his tannery on which to work out his 
musical ideas with a piece of chalk. 
With the compositions of Billings, 
crude as they were and amusing, we 
have nothing to do. Let a single sam- 
ple, and that a poem (?) stand for all. 
This verse was written as a dedication 
ode to his "New England Psalm 
Singer," published in 1770: — 

O, praise the Lord with one consent, 

And in this grand design 
Let Britain and the Colonies 

Unanimously join. 

Billings introduced the bass viol into 
the church and thus broke down the 
ancient Puritanical prejudice against 
musical instruments. He also was the 
first to use the pitch pipe in order to 
ensure some degree of certainty in 
"striking up the tune" in church. Bil- 
lings gradually drifted away from tan- 
ning and became a singing teacher. 
As early as 1774 he began to teach a 
class at Stoughton, and as a result of 



his labors the Stoughton Musical So- 
ciety, which still flourishes, was 
formed in 1786, and it has the record 
of being the first musical society of 
Massachusetts. The Dartmouth, N. 
H., Handel Society was also formed 
about this time, and numerous singing 
schools sprang up, for the example of 
Billings was followed by others. In- 
deed, Billings was able to impart so 
much enthusiasm to his classes and he 
taught them to sing with such good 
swing and expression, that singing be- 
came a revelation to most people. He 
died at the beginning of the nineteenth 
century, but he had given the impulse 
which has gathered in force with each 
succeeding year, and which has been 
carried forward and increased by other 

The Massachusetts Musical Society 
was formed in 1807 with the same 
object as most of the singing societies, 
viz., that of singing psalms and an- 
thems. It was dissolved in 1810, but 
in 181 5 the Handel and Haydn Society 
was formed, and on December 25th of 
that year, gave a performance at 
King's Chapel in Boston of the first 
part of Haydn's ''Creation," and airs 
and choruses selected from Handel's 
works. The audience numbered nine 
hundred and forty-five and the verdict 
on the performance was, "Such was 
the excitement of the hearers, and at- 
tention of the performers, that there is 
nothing to compare with it at the 
present day." There had, however, 
been performances of oratorio in Bos- 
ton previous to this, both in 1812 and 
1813 under the direction of Dr. Jack- 
son, the organist, at that time, of the 
Brattle Street church. At this last 
performance, in 1813, part of the Det- 
tinsren Te Deum and the Hallelujah 

Chorus were given by a choir of two 
hundred and fifty voices and an or- 
chestra of fifty instruments, and the 
impulse given by this concert undoubt- 
edly had much to do with the forma- 
tion of the Handel and Haydn Society. 

Thus within fifteen years of the 
death of Billings, choral singing, poor 
as it was, had reached a much higher 
plane than that in which he left it. 
Amongst his most eminent contem- 
poraries and successors were Andrew 
Law, who was a better musician, 
though a man of less magnetism ; 
Jacob Kimball, less original than Bil- 
lings ; Oliver Holden, first a carpenter 
and joiner of Charlestown, then 
teacher of singing, composer of hymns 
and fuguing tunes, and later a pub- 
lisher ; Samuel Holyoke, of Boxford, 
teacher of singing, violin, flute and 
clarinet; Daniel Read, Timothy Swan, 
Jacob French, Oliver Shaw, a blind 
singer, and many others, who all flour- 
ished and taught the "singin' skewl." 

A vivid description of an old fash- 
ioned New England singing school was 
given in the Musical Visitor for Janu- 
ary, 1842, by Moses Cheney, an old 
time preacher and singer, who was 
born in 1776. Elder Cheney was the 
progenitor of the well known family 
nf sinerers of that name, who during: 
the middle of the century traveled all 
over the country giving" concerts. 

After relating some incidents of his 
childhood. Elder Cheney says: 

"We were soon paraded all around the 
room, standing up to a board supported by 
old-fashioned kitchen chairs. . . . The 
master took his place inside the circle, took 
out of his pocket a paper manuscript, with 
rules and tunes all written with pen and ink, 
read the rules, and then said we must attend 
to the rising and falling of the notes. I shall 
now take the liberty to rail ladies and g?n- 



tlemen and things just as they were called 
in that school, and I begin with the rules as 
they were called, first: 


The natural place for mi is in B 
But if B be flat mi is in E. 
If B and E be flat mi is in A. 
If B, E, and A be flat mi is in D. 
If B, E, A, and D be flat mi is in G. 


But if F be sharp mi is in F. 

If F and C be sharp mi is in C. 

If F, C, and G be sharp mi is in G. 

If F, C, G, and D be sharp mi is in D. 
"These rules as then called were all that 
was presented in that school. 

"The books contained one part each, bass 
books, tenor books, counter books, and 
treble books. Such as sung bass had a bass 
book ; he that sung tenor had a tenor book ; 
he who sang counter a counter book, and 
the gals, as then called, had treble books. 
I had no book. With all these things before 
the school the good master began, 'Come, 
boys, you must rise and fall the notes first 
and then the gals must try.' So he began 
with the oldest, who stood at the head, — 
'Now follow me right up and down ; sound.' 
bo he sounded, and followed the master up 
and down as it was called. Some more 
than half could follow the master. Others 
would go up two or three notes and then 
fall back lower than the first note. My 
feelings grew acute. To see some of the 
large boys, full twenty years old, make such 
dreadful work, what could I do ! Great fits 
of laughing, both with boys and gals, would 
often occur. . . . Then the gals had 
their turn to rise and fall the notes. 'Come, 
gals, now see if you can't beat the boys.' So 
when he had gone through the gals' side of 
the school he seemed to think the gals had 
done rather the best. Now the rules were left 
for tunes. Old Russia was brought on first. 
The master sang it over several times, first 
with the bass, then with the tenor, then with 
the counter and then with the trebles. Such 
as had notes looked on, such as had none 
listened to the rest. In this way the school 
went on through the winter. A good num- 
ber of tunes were learned in this school and 
were sung well as we thought, but as to the 
science of music very little was gained. 

"At the close of the school, and after 
singing the last night, we made a settlement 
with the master. He agreed 'to keep,' as 
then called, for one shilling and sixpence a 
night, and to take his pay in Indian corn at 
three shillings a bushel. A true dividend 
of the cost was made among the boys, the 
gals found the candles for their part, and it 
amounted to thirteen quarts and one pint of 
corn apiece. After the master had made 
some good wishes on us all, we were dis- 
missed and all went home in harmony and 
good union." 

It would be difficult to find a more 
touching or more convincing tribute to 
the value of the singing school than 
that given by Elder Cheney. "Think 
for a moment," he says, "a little boy at 
twelve years of age, growing up in the 
shade of the deep and dense forests of 
New Hampshire, seldom out of the 
sight of his mother, or the hearing of 
her voice, never saw a singing master 
or a musical note — seldom ever heard 
the voice of any human being except 
in his own domestic circle, by the fire- 
side of his father's humble hearth. 
Think of it ! Now he is a member of 
a school — more, a singing school ! 
Singing the tunes by note ! Singing 
'We live above !' Carrying any part 
all in the same high boy's voice. O, 
that winter's work. The foundation 
of many happy days for more than 
fifty years past. The master too ! Ah, 
that blessed form of a man. His bright 
blue, sparkling eyes and his sweet, 
angelic voice — his manifest love and 
care for his pupils — everything com- 
bined to make him one of a thousand." 

Then comes a repetition of the story 
of Elijah and Elisha, with a New Eng- 
land coloring. "Forty-three years ago" 
(one hundred and four years from 
the present date, for Mr. Cheney wrote 
in 1841) "or the winter after I was 
twenty-one, I followed Mr. William 



Tenney, the best instructor I had ever 
found. He taught every afternoon and 
evening in the week, Sunday excepted. 
When he left us, he gave me his sing- 
ing book and wooden pitch pipe and 
told me to believe I was the best singer 
in the world and then I should never 
be afraid to sing anywhere. 
After this last school, from the time of 
my age, twenty-one, I have taught 
singing until I became fifty — that is, 
more or less, from time to time." 

There is in the Religious Monthly of 
1861 an acount of the Oxford, Massa- 
chusetts, singing school, founded in 
1830, in which a good deal of human 
nature is revealed. The jealousies 
among the singers, their sarcastic re- 
marks, at one another's expense, and 
the oddities of the teacher are very 
amusing. "Fill your chests and open 
your mouths. Don't squeeze your 
mouths as if you were going to whistle 
Yankee Doodle," the teacher exclaims, 
and then proceeds to give an example 
of a thunderous tone, roll it, quaver 
and shake it. Then he shows the oppo- 
site, in mimicry of his class. Now the 
pupils endeavor to imitate him, and 
subject themselves to the biting sar- 
casm of their fellow pupils, — "Now 
I understand being threatened with 
lock-jaw," says one. "She looks as if 
she was trying to swallow the uni- 
verse," another exclaims. But these 
little pleasantries have become unin- 
teresting by frequent repetition, and 
we may well turn to a later number of 
the same journal and glance at an ac- 
count of "a singing school of fifty 
years ago," which means about 1820: 

"The class arrives in a straggling stream, 
the meeting being held at seven o'clock in 
the parish vestry. The teacher takes from 
his pocket a yellow flute with one key, fits 

the parts together with much care, adjusts 
the instrument to the corner of his mouth 
and gives a preliminary flourish. With a 
few well considered remarks the school is 
open for the season. 

"The pupils are marshalled according to 
their voices and attainments. Now he 
stands before a row of young ladies, gets 
the pitch from the yellow flute and elevates 
his sonorous voice. Now he listens along 
the line for unison or discord, as the class 
repeat the note or passage. From the rattle 
of short, diffident responses, let off at every 
possible grade, his quick ear is able, after 
some severe trials of patience, to judge of 
the materials offered. They are afterwards 
put through a series of more difficult tests. 
At one bench shrill tenors respond as 
through a comb covered with thin paper. 
Boys crow like young chanticleers, or fall 
into ruins from some high note, while basses 
drop into unfathomable depths of sound 
which seem to come up everywhere through 
the floor and give no hint of origin or rela- 
tion to other sounds. 

"Failing at his bench to govern the tones 
of the class by his voice, the teacher now 
goes to an obscure corner of the candle- 
lighted room and returns with a violoncello 
in a green bag, and after some wailings 
and shrieks from the upper strings, groans 
from the lower ones, and a little tub-tub- 
tubbing with the thumb and finger, the in- 
strument is in tune and away they go at it 
again guided in their perilous path by the 
tones of the bass viol. 

"As the class proceeds from week to 
week, Fa, Sol, La become obsolete, varieties 
of time and movement are noted, keynotes 
discovered, and the class goes from "Dun- 
dee" and "Old Hundred" to more stirring 
music. Now they start on some ambitious 
fuguing tunes of Billings and Holden, in 
which the several parts worry and puzzle 
each other like half a dozen reckless fire 
engines in full cry to a conflagration, and 
the few remaining lessons are more like 
musical reunions." 

A graphic picture is given of the 
bent and aged sexton, an old sailor, 
and his frequent dashes to the door to 
disperse the crowd of young street buc- 



caneers who gather to have some fun 
at the expense of the class. At them 
he hurls a broadside of invective, of 
which his sea training has made him 
master. The grotesque shadows of 
the teacher cast upon the wall by the 
dim glimmer of the candles afford 
gentle mirth. Then, too, many a run- 
ning noose flung over young people 
unawares at the singing school was 
drawn into a love-knot in after months 
and years. Undoubtedly the singing- 
school was a great institution in its day. 
Another great factor in the develop- 
ment of choral singing amongst the 
people was the Musical Convention, 
and the establishment of these conven- 
tions has generally been attributed to 
Lowell Mason. But we must refer 
again to the Cheney family and quote 
from a letter written by Moses E. 
Cheney, the son of Elder Cheney. 

"You know, perhaps, that the singing con- 
ventions, or 'musical conventions,' had their 
beginning in Montpelier, Vermont, in May, 
1839, and that your humble servant was the 
projector, and that they were continued 
yearly until five very successful conventions 
had been held. At every convention a com- 
mittee was appointed to fix upon a town 
within the state for the next convention and 
give due notice to the newspapers. The five 
conventions under the organization were 
held at the following villages : Montpelier, 
1839; Newberry, 1840; Windsor, 1841 ; 
Woodstock, 1842 ; Middlebury, 1843. The 
committee made no appointment for 1844 
and that ended the organization. Seven 
years later, when I returned to Vermont to 
live, I found that musical conventions had 
been going on for three or four years. 
Mason, Baker, Woodbury, Root and others 
were holding them ; it was a new start. 
Plainly enough they had all rooted from the 
convention held in Montpelier in 1839." 

Mr. Cheney then enters into the de- 
tails of the origin of these conventions : 
"E. K. Prouty, a broken merchant in 

Waterford, then a travelling peddler with a 
horse and wagon, came along with his cart 
and took me to Coventry. As he was a 
singing teacher there, we could meet some 
singers and have a great musical time. 
Very good. Prouty was a fine singer and 
also a composer, ten years my senior. Af- 
terward I used to meet Prouty who kept 
me aroused to music, and soon I was teach- 
ing in Montpelier and leading the brick 
church choir. I was in request as a teacher 
for all I could do. Well, in 1836 Prouty 
was visiting his wife's relations at the Cap- 
ital. I chanced to meet him, and he was 
very eloquent on the subject of music. As 
we parted I said to him jocularly, 'Prouty, 
we must have a musical convention.' 

"I soon found myself seriously in thought 
on the subject. I spoke of it to Judge 
Redfield and other eminent persons, all of 
whom gave their approval. Judge Howes 
said a call must be issued, inviting the peo- 
ple to assemble for a convention. So I 
trained all my schools to the practice of un- 
usual tunes, anthems, quartets, male quar 
tets, duets and solos for both sexes. We 
used for secular music 'The Boston Glee 
Book' and Kingsley's two volumes. We 
had more than two hundred singers, half of 
them good and some very good. All could 
read music. Every one, I think, knew his 
or her part. The convention was held May 
22 and 23, 1839. • • • Lowell Mason 
knew nothing of it ; Henry E. Moore knew 
nothing of it. The musical convention was 
begotten and born in Vermont, not 
in Massachusetts ; in Montpelier, not in 
Boston. It was suggested, nursed and 
trained by Moses E. Cheney and not by 
Lowell Mason, who stated at our third con- 
vention, held at Windsor in 1841, that that 
was the first day he had ever stepped foot 
into Vermont. Our committee invited him 
to come to lead our singing. He came 
bringing two hundred Carmina Sacras just 
from the press, and the convention sang the 
new music. He said to me that Vermont 
was the second state in the Union in point 
of musical culture. He did not think it the 
equal of Massachusetts, but it surpassed all 
other states." 

The officers of the first musical con- 
vention, held at Montpelier, were : 



President, Joshua Bates, President of 
Middlebury College; Vice-president, 
E. P. Walton ; Secretary, E. P. Wal- 
ton, Jr. ; Treasurer, Solomon Durgin ; 
Director, Moses E. Cheney; Organist, 
John H. Paddock. 

There were also thirteen clergymen 
present, who spoke on thirteen dif- 
ferent subjects, all connected with 
music. Their speeches were inter- 
spersed with anthems, tunes and glees 
which constituted the prime object of 
the convention. 

There appears to have been a pecu- 
liar confusion of name in connection 
with musical meetings. The word 
"convention," which has been custom- 
arily applied to such affairs as that just 
related, means a gathering of select 
persons for discussion of a subject. 
This certainly does not apply very well 
to the conventions of the Cheney type, 
which consisted of singers gathered 
together from far and wide for the 
purpose of singing, but it does apply 
very aptly to the gatherings organized 
by Lowell Mason and called Teachers' 
Institutes. These were really gather- 
ings of teachers f on the purpose of dis- 
cussing matters of musical education. 
They were held at various places and 
lasted a few weeks. As an institute is 
essentially something on a firm founda- 
tion and of a lasting nature this title 
seems peculiarly inappropriate, even 
more so than the use of the word con- 
vention for musical festival. 

With all due allowance for confusion 
of terms, there is still evidence that 
Elder Cheney is mistaken as to the 
origin of the musical convention, for 
according to good authorities a similar 
gathering was held at Concord, N. H., 
in 1829, under the auspices of the Cen- 
tral Musical Society of that State, and 

was conducted by Henry E. Moore, 
the same gentleman who, according to 
Elder Cheney, knew nothing of the 
Montpelier convention of 1839. 

Jt is now advisable to go back a 
little for the purpose of sketching the 
career of Lowell Mason and his great- 
est works — introducing singing into 
the public schools, and establishing 
conventions — that is, "Teachers' In- 

Lowell Mason will always be a 
prominent figure in the history of 
music in America. He marked the 
transition period from the illiteracy of 
the beginning of the nineteenth cen- 
tury to the generally diffused musical 
information of the present time. To 
him we owe some of our best ideas in 
religious music, elementary musical 
education, music in the public schools, 
the popularization of classical chorus 
singing, and the art of teaching music 
on the inductive plan. In short, he 
formed the musical taste of his gen- 
eration and of the next following, and 
has been called, "The Father of Music 
in America." 

Lowell Mason was born in Medfield, 
Massachusetts, January 8, 1792, and 
was the son of a manufacturer of 
straw bonnets. As a boy he had a 
great fondness for music, but such a 
thing as devoting himself to it for a life 
business was not contemplated. In 
school he did not distinguish himself, 
and although he had no bad habits, he 
acquired the reputation of being a 
ne'er do well. His thirst for every- 
thing relating to musical art was £reat, 
and he amused himself by learning to 
play almost every instrument which 
came in his way. This he could do 
with very little trouble, and he taught 
singing schools, led a choir and became 


prominent in his native town quite 
early. At the age of twenty he went 
South with a view to making his for- 
tune. He secured a position in a bank 
at Savannah, but there also his chief 
work became that of teaching singing 
and leading a choir, which soon be- 
came famous in the surrounding 
country, not only for the musical qual- 
ity of its work, but especially for the 
religious spirit which characterized 
its singing. 

In 1825 Deacon Julius Palmer, of 
Boston, spent a Sabbath in Savannah 
and was so impressed with the music 
in the Presbyterian church where Mr. 
Mason was playing the organ and lead- 
ing the choir, that on his return home 
he interested a number of gentlemen in 
joining a movement to invite Mr. 
Mason to remove to Boston and work 
for the improvement of church music 
there. The result was that Lowell 
Mason moved to Boston in 1827 and 
took charge of the choirs of Dr. Lyman 
Beecher's church in Hanover Street, 
Dr. Edward Beecher's and the Park 
Street church. After a time the plan 
of managing three church choirs was 
found not to work well and he con- 
fined his labors to the first. In the 
same year he was elected president of 
the Handel and Haydn Society, a posi- 
tion which he held for five years. 

Meanwhile his mind became occu- 
pied with schemes for the musical edu- 
cation of children. In 1829 he met Mr. 
William C. Woodbridge, who had been 
abroad for several years studying edu- 
cational systems, and brought with him 
the published works of Pestalozzi and 
the music book on Pestalozzian prin- 
ciples by Nageli and other writers. 
Being engaged to lecture in Bos- 
ton Mr. Woodbridge wished to find 

some school children to help him 
with illustrations of a musical nature 
and was referred to Lowell Mason, 
who had a well trained class of 
boys. Mr. Mason did not at first care 
to change his method in favor of that 
of Pestalozzi, and it was not until after 
a good deal of persuasion that he con- 
sented to teach a class upon the new 
system. The result, however, so far 
surpassed his expectations that he was 
permanently converted, and became a 
consistent advocate of the inductive 

It was apparently this new departure 
which caused his resignation from the 
presidency of the Handel and Haydn 
Society, for many of the members were 
old fashioned, and opposed to innova- 
tions. It also caused the founding of 
the Boston Academy of Music in 1833. 

Shortly after his conversion to the 
new method, efforts were made to es- 
tablish music as a regular study in the 
public schools, and in 1832 a resolution 
was passed by the primary school 
board to the effect that "one school 
from each district be selected 
for the introduction of syste- 
matic instruction in vocal mu-' 
sic." The experiment did not 
prove to be more than a partial trial 
and Mr. Mason became convinced that 
it was necessary to bring more potent 
influences to bear in shaping public 
opinion as a motive power with the 
educational authorities. He therefore 
organized gratuitous classes for chil- 
dren and gave concerts to illustrate 
their proficiency and the practicability 
of his scheme for primary musical edu- 
cation, and thus the people's interest 
became aroused. 

This all took time and it was not 
until 1836 that the school board, on 


c 9 

petitions from citizens, authorized the 
introduction of music into the public 
schools, and even then the city failed 
to make the necessary appropriation. 

Mr. Mason, however, was not to be 
daunted by trifles after he had gone so 
far, and he volunteered to teach in one 
school for a year without charge. He 
did this and in addition supplied the 
pupils with books and materials at his 
own expense. The result was that the 
report of the committee on music in 
1838 testified to the entire success of 
the experiment and said: "The com- 
mittee will add, on the authority of the 
masters of the Hawes School, that the 
scholars are farther advanced in their 
studies at the end of this than of any 
other year." 

Thus, seven years after the enter- 
prise was first taken in hand by Mr. 
Mason, a work was accomplished 
whose influence has ever more been 
felt and continues to expand in its 
beneficent operation throughout the 
whole United States. Music was 
formally adopted as a public school 
study and Lowell Mason was placed in 
charge of the work. In 1839 the school 
committee said in their report, "It may 
be regarded as the Magna Charta of 
musical education in America." 

Lowell Mason remained in charge of 
the music in the public schools of Bos- 
ton until 1853 when he was superseded 
by a former pupil of his own, an event 
which caused him some mortification, 
although of a nature common in city 

Shortly after this, Mr. Mason went 
abroad where he was received with 
great honor and everywhere recog- 
nized as an eminent teacher and a most 
impressive lecturer. 

Aside from his books, and occasional 

musical conventions, his last days were 
not occupied with teaching, with the 
exception of the Normal Musical In- 
stitutes held for several years at North 
Reading, Massachusetts, where he con- 
ducted the oratorio choruses and the 
sacred music classes, and brought them 
to a remarkable degree of perfection. 
The degree of Doctor of Music was 
conferred upon him by the University 
of Yale. 

Dr. Mason was a natural teacher, 
full of tact, logical, handy with the 
black board and delightfully simple in 
his phraseology. He declared that 
teachers ought to be promoted down- 
wards, for the real work must be done 
at the bottom. His great merits were 
his simplicity, sincerity and unaffected 
kindness. He died at Orange, N. J., 
in 1872. 

The establishment of the "conven- 
tion" was a part of Lowell Mason's 
plan for the education of the masses in 
singing by note. The Boston Academy 
of Music was founded with this object 
in view and in 1834, the year after its 
establishment, a course of lectures was 
given by its professors to teachers of 
singing schools, and others. The 
"others" must have been few in num- 
bers for the lectures, we are told, were 
attended by twelve persons, most of 
whom had been accustomed to teach. 
In 1835 a similar course was given 
with an attendance of eighteen persons, 
besides several of the class of '34. In 
1836 the membership rose to twenty- 
eight, besides members of the previous 
classes, and the gentlemen present on 
this occasion organized themselves into 
a convention for the discussion of 
questions relating to the general sub- 
ject of musical education, church 
music, and musical performances, dur- 

1 IO 


ing such hours as were not occupied by 
the lectures. 

It is not our purpose to follow the 
history of the convention in detail. It 
resembled the course of true love 
which never does run smoothly. Suf- 
fice it to say that the con- 
vention became a popular method 
for the diffusion of musical 
knowledge, — and sometimes also for 
the display of ignorance. Much 
good was done by it, however, and 
when properly conducted, with its true 
intentions carried out it enabled the 
psalm-tune teacher, the music teacher 
from small country towns, and mem- 
bers of singing societies or church 
choirs to hear new works rendered by 
a good chorus, to gather some new 
and much needed information, and 
sometimes to enjoy the inspiring per- 
formance of some noted artist. 

Like every other good thing, it was 
subject to abuse, and many conventions 
were held by ignorant impostors, men 
of low tastes, and those whose sole ob- 
ject was "trade," but on the whole the 
convention wrought much good, and 
helped to make possible the Oratorio 
and Choral Society. 

The evolution of the Oratorio So- 
ciety in New England was not rapid, 
and we may perhaps get the best idea 
of it by tracing the history of choral 
singing in one of the smaller cities. 

Let us take Salem, Massachusetts, 
for our example. Previous to T814 
there was an association called the 
Essex Musical Society, by which were 
held primitive festivals in different 
towns in the county, but the first regu- 
lar society formed in Salem was the 
Essex South Musical Society, organ- 
ized in October, 1814, with Isaac 
Flagg of Beverly for director, and 

consisting of about sixty members. It 
was customary in those days for the 
clergy to make addresses on musical 
subjects at the public performances 
and even at the rehearsals, and many 
of these were considered important 
and undoubtedly aided in developing 
the interest in music. This society con- 
tinued to exist for ten years and a half, 
the last concert being given on No- 
vember 20, 1829. 

There were also other societies, — ■ 
the Handel Society was organized in 
1 81 7 and lasted three years ; the Haydn 
Society came into existence in 1821, 
but was short lived ; the Mozart Asso- 
ciation was formed in 1825 and existed 
nearly ten years. These societies chose 
ambitious names, and sang selections 
from Handel, Haydn and Mozart, be- 
sides minor composers, but the mem- 
bers were untrained in the vocal art, 
except for such instruction as was af- 
forded by the old fashioned singing 

In 1832 the Salem Glee Club was 
formed for the purpose of studying a 
lighter and more modern class of 
music. This society flourished for 
about twenty years and became very 
efficient. There was also the Salem 
Social Singing Society formed in 1839. 
and a new Mozart Association in 1840. 

In 1846 the Salem Academy of 
Music was formed, with a membership 
of fifty persons and an orchestra of 
sixteen instruments, and in 1849 tne 
Salem Philharmonic Society was or- 
ganized. These two societies amalga- 
mated in 1855 under the name of the 
Salem Choral Society. All these so- 
cieties tended to raise the standard of 
music, more ambitious work was con- 
tinually being done, better musicians 
were constantlv becoming associated. 


1 i 

and the general average of musical 
knowledge was greater each year. 

In 1868 the time was considered 
ripe for the formation of a society 
capable of performing the greater 
choral works and the result was the 
establishment of the Salem Oratorio 
Society, which has always had a high 
reputation. The prominent names in 
the musical history of Salem include 
Henry K. Oliver, Dr. J. F. Tucker- 
man, B. J. Lang, Manuel Fenolosa, 
Carl Zerrahn and others. 

Some of the most noted choral socie- 
ties are the Worcester County Musical 
Association of Worcester, Mass., the 
Hampden County Musical Associa- 
tion of Springfield, Mass. ; the Salem 
Oratorio Society ; and the Portland 
Oratorio Society. New Bedford, 
Mass., Hartford and New Haven, 
Conn., Burlington, Vt., and many 
other cities and towns have flourishing 
choral societies. 

In the middle of the century there 
was little or no earnest musical effort 
outside of the two or three largest 
cities, which was not included in the 
range of culture represented by Lowell 
Mason and his associates, who effected 
a great deal in the way of introducing 
the chief choruses from the great ora- 

After the war the conditions changed. 
Many musical societies were formed, 
but with the increase of wealth and 
culture there became a wider differ- 
ence between the advanced and the 
elementary grades of knowledge. Thus 
while a high class of music was culti- 
vated amongst the few, the masses of 
people did not advance, — in fact they 
apnear to have retrograded. 

Nevertheless the work of the conven- 
tion and the musical institute went 

steadily on, and made possible the 
Peace Jubilee of 1869. 

This great musical festival was 
planned by P. S. Gilmore and it was 
intended to "whip creation." The 
plan included a chorus of twenty 
thousand voices, an orchestra of two 
thousand, an audience of fifty thous- 
and, and a building to hold them all. 
In addition to all these wonders, there 
were to be soloists, both vocal and in- 
strumental, suitable for the occasion. 
To give a complete history of the affair 
would take more space than can be 
spared, and would lead us beyond the 
limits of this paper, but some little 
sketch of the chorus, which actually 
exceeded ten thousand voices is within 
our province, and at the same time it 
may be remarked that a second Jubilee 
was held in 1872 in which the num- 
bers planned for the first one were 
realized, and the whole program car- 
ried out with all its elaborate details, 
even to the importation of several of 
the finest military bands from Europe. 
The first Jubilee was financially a suc- 
cess, the second a failure. It will an- 
swer our purpose to glance at the first 
only, for the second was merely a rep- 
etition on a larger scale, the methods 
employed being the same, but the artis- 
tic result certainly no greater, because 
of the unwieldy mass of material to be 

From the beginning the project was 
worked up with consummate skill, first 
in the securing of financial support, 
second in advertising and third in the 
organizing of the chorus and orches- 
tra. When Mr. Gilmore first ventilated 
his huge plan, he visited many of Bos- 
ton's musicians and organizers, but 
they were appalled by the magnitude 
of the undertaking:. Finallv he sue- 


ceeded in interesting Dr. Eben Tour- 
jee, who, after a couple of days' reflec- 
tion, came to the conclusion that the 
scheme was feasible, and convinced 
other men who were influential in mus- 
ical and financial circles. 

Mr. Gilmore could not have secured 
a more efficient assistant than Dr. 
Tourjee, who was a born organizer 
and an inspirer of enthusiasm in oth- 
ers, whom he impressed by his inborn 
grace and suavity of manners. For 
many years Eben Tourjee had worked, 
with the desire to make possible for 
the masses the best musical education. 
He became impressed, during a foreign 
journey, with the idea of establishing 
a musical conservatory in America 
similar to the great institutions abroad, 
and his efforts in that direction bore 
fruit in the New England Conserva- 
tory. In regard to the establishment 
of this institution an amusing story is 
told, which gives the keynote to Dr. 
Tourjee's ingenuity and tenacity of 
purpose. On unfolding his plans to a 
friend from whom he wished to secure 
financial aid, he was told, "You can no 
more do it than you can make a whistle 
out of a pig's tail." Tourjee went off, 
but in a few days returned to his friend 
and showed him a whistle which he 
had made out of a pig's tail. In such 
ways he enlisted the confidence of 
moneyed men, his scheme was carried 
out and the whistle is to be seen to this 
day in the museum of the New Eng- 
land conservatory. 

When Dr. Tourjee decided to co- 
operate with Gilmore in the Peace Jub- 
ilee, it not only saved the Jubilee but 
ensured its success, and the result of 
this success was that Dr. Tourjee was 
called upon to lecture all over the coun- 
try. By this means he established "the 

Praise Service," giving lectures and 
illustrating the subject in nearly one 
thousand churches, and inspiring a 
vast number of people with his own 

The organization of the chorus was 
thus placed in the hands of Dr. Eben 
Tourjee, whose great services in the 
cause of musical education had already 
become conspicuous. Dr. Tourjee 
sent out invitations to all choral socie- 
ties, clubs, choirs and conventions to 
join the huge chorus. The replies came 
in quickly, many new societies sprang 
up and choruses were organized 
for the occasion. Musical instruction 
in the public schools had been unosten- 
tatiously feeding all these fountains. 
The program was laid out and sent to 
each organization. The singers came 
together in their respective towns with 
enthusiasm and in the work of rehears- 
al, the sense of participation was in- 
spiring and uplifting. 

When the great gathering took place 
and visitors streamed to Boston for the 
final rehearsals en masse there was in- 
describable enthusiasm. Perhaps the 
greatest object lesson of the whole fes- 
tival was the chorus of seven thousand 
school children giving a concert of 
simple music on the last day of the 
week. No greater testimonial to the 
work of Lowell Mason could have been 

As far as the artistic results of the 
Jubilee are concerned, there was much 
that was disappointing, although some 
grand effects were produced at times, 
especially in the rendering of the great 
chorals from the Oratorios. It gave a 
new impulse to the cause of choral 
singing all over the country. The first 
bond of union of the new societies was 
the practice of good music, — the great 


works of Handel, Haydn, Mozart and culture, is impossible except in the capital 

Mendelssohn °^ New England. Children in Boston learn 

Tj _ -u , , ,, r 11 music with their alphabet. Singing by note 

It will be seen bv the following- sta- , l 5 r s y 

. , \ . — not the mere screaming of tunes — is 

tistics that by far the greatest part of taught in the most thorough and system atic 

the chorus was recruited from Boston manner in all the public schools. This is why 

and its immediate vicinity, although Boston has such magnificent choruses; and 

there were representatives from states sha11 we not ^ that the charming good 

r ,. , T11 . . j ^-m • t order, good temper, and enthusiasm which 

as far distant as Illinois and Ohio, in . . . . , 

were so conspicuous in the motley crowd 

the second Jubilee the representations that over fl wed the Coliseum were also at- 

were from almost, if not quite, every tnbutable in no small degree to the refining 

State as far west as Nebraska, and the and elevating influence of an early musical 

chorus was twice as large. In com- education. Here New York and all the 

x1 T , ., ,, -x T great cities of America may find their lesson 

menting upon the Jubilee, the New , . .. „ 

York Tribune said : m, > « ■ 1. r • 

Ine iollowmg list 01 organizations 

'The Jubilee could have been organized whkh took part in the p eace J ubilee 

nowhere but in Boston. A great orchestra r ^ . , . r 

u 11 *. a t, u j 1. t, ,u of 1869 is taken from Dwight s Journal 

can be collected by anybody who has the y & J 

the money to pay for it; but a great chorus, of Music. We copy simply the mat- 
in the present state of American musical ter referring to the Chorus : 


Directors. Members. 

Boston Chorus — Bumstead Hall Classes Carl Zerrahn, P. S. Gilmore, and 

Eben Tourj ee 2934 

Handel and Haydn Society, Boston Carl Zerrahn 649 

Boston Choral Society, South Boston J. C. D. Parker 278 

Chelsea Choral Society John W. Tufts 504 

Newton Choral Society George S. Trowbridge 221 

Worcester Mozart & Beethoven Ch. Union .... Solon Wilder 202 

Salem Carl Zerrahn 269 

Randolph J. B. Thayer 101 

Spingfield Mendelssohn Union Amos Whiting 113 

Georgetown Musical Union E. Wildes 51 

Newburyport Charles P. Morrison 92 

Haverhill Musical Union J. K. Colby 132 

Fall River Chorus Society C. H. Robbins 75 

Medford W. A. Webber 84 

Weymouth " C. H. Webb 188 

Athol Musical Association W. S. Wiggin 40 

Quincy Point Choral Society E. P. Heywood 30 

Groton Centre Musical Association Dr. Norman Smith 49 

Maiden Chorus Club O. B. Brown 56 

Plymouth Rock Choral Societv John H. Harlow 29 

South Abington Choral Society William A. Bowles 46 

Waltham Choral Union J. S. Jones 143 

Fitchburg Choral Society Moses G. Lyon 73 

East Douglas Musical Society John C. Waters 25 

Quincy H. B. Brown 60 

Lawrence S. A. Ellis 167 

Abington Centre Henry Noyes 45 

Yarmouth Chorus Club Jairus Lincoln 28 


Sandwich Choral Society H. Hersey Heald 21 

Hyannis R. Weeks 24 

Mansfield George E. Bailey 35 

Holliston W. L. Payson 5c 

Melrose Musical Association H. E. Trowbridge 25 

Northfield Miss M. A. Field 24 

Springfield Choral Union J. D. Hntchins 24 

North Abington J. F. L. Whitmarsh. . 21 

East Somerville S. D. Hadley 25 

Sherborn Musical Association Augustus H. Leland 22 

South Braintree Choral Society H. Wilde 14c 

Whitinsville .". . . B. L. M. Smith 13 

New Bedford J. E. Eaton, Jr 75 

West Acton Schubert Choral Union George Gardner 4c 

Middleboro A. J. Pickens 23 

East Boston Choral Society Dexter A. Tompkins 54 

Hopkinton E. S. Nason 31 

Methuen Jacob Emerson, Pres 30 

Natick J. Asten Broad 102 

Milford C. J. Thompson 38 

Woburn P. E. Bancroft 58 

Lowell Solon W. Stevens 148 

Amesbury Musical Ass'n Moses Flanders 65 

Belmont Musical Ass'n F. E Yates, Pres 37 

Acushnet Musical Ass'n Ammi Howard 24 

Framingham L. O. Emerson 40 

Winchester Choral Society J. C. Johnson 48 

Webster Carl Krebs 23 

Ashland C. V. Mason 41 

North Bridgewater Dr. G. R. Whitney 138 

Reading Musical Ass'n D. G. Richardson, Pres 43 

Sterling Birney Mann 18 

Andover George Kingman 32 

Groveland L. Hopkins 25 

Taunton Beethoven Soc'y L. Soule 97 

Lynn Rufus Pierce 133 

Westfield J. R. Cladwin, Pres 36 

Roxbury H. W. Brown, Pres 35 


Manchester E. T. Baldwin 40 

Nashua E. P. Phillips 49 

Wolfeboro Union Chorus and Glee Club M. T. Cate 31 

Plaistow Choral Soc'y Mrs. J. T. Nichols 23 

Keene G. W. Foster and C. M. Wyman . . ^3 

Farmington B. F. Ashton 20 

Lebanon J. M. Perkins 39 

New Hampton Z. C. Perkins 29 

Salmon Falls George W. Brookings 30 

Exeter, Rockingham Mus. Ass'n Rev. J. W. Pickering, Jr 82 

Concord Choral Soc'y John Jackson 96 

Francestown G. Epps 31 

Dover, Strafford Co. Mus Ass'n W. O. Perkins 193 


Laconia, Belknap Mus. Ass'n Ralph N. Merrill 34 

Suncook Choral Soc'y J. C. Cram 31 


Randolph, Orange Co. Mus. Soc'y George Dodge 18 

Rutland R. I. Humphrey 50 

Middlebury C. F. Stone 26 


Damariscotta G. M. Thurlow 32 

Farmington Choral Society C. A. Allen 27 

Augusta Waldemar Malmene 23 

Saco G. G. Additon 69 

Lewiston, Androscoggin Mus. Soc'y Seth Sumner 61 

Bangor F. S. Davenport 57 


New Haven Choral Union J. H. Wheeler 83 

Thompsonville. Enfield E. F. Parsons 14 

Waterbury J. W. Smith, Pres 42 

Wallingford J. H. Wheeler 40 

Lakeville, Salisbury D. F. Stillman 20 


Pawtucket Choral Society George W. Hazel wood 33 

Providence Lewis T. Downes 82 


Granville D. B. Worley 28 

Malone Musical Ass'n T. H. Attwood 21 

Saratoga Springs S. E. Bushnell 48 


Chicago Mendelssohn Soc'y J. A. Butterfield 95 


Mansfield W. H. Ingersoll 20 

Cleveland S. A. Fuller 28 

Total 10,228 

From the time of the Jubilee the music students. All this is actually a 

work of educating the masses to sing testimonial to the work of those who 

at sight went steadily foward and ef- have labored for the masses, 

forts have been continually directed Notwithstanding all this, there is 

to improving the musical taste of the still room for more foundation work, 

people. In the higher branches of and a lesson has been learned from 

musical education and enjoyment im- New York, where some nine or ten 

mense progress has been made. Bos- years ago Mr. Frank Damrosch estab- 

ton to-day possesses an orchestra said lished Sunday singing classes for all 

to be the finest in the world, and there people. The experiment was highly 

is no city in America in which great successful, for the opportunity was 

musical artists are more highly appre eagerly accepted by the people for 

ciated. or where more is being done for whom it was intended. 


In the fall of 1897, a similar plan 
was adopted in Boston under Mr. 
Samuel W. Cole, a well educated mu- 
sician, who has for many years been 
a teacher of sight singing in the pub- 
lic schools of Dedham and Brookline 
and at the New England Conserva- 

The same feeling of enthusiasm with 
which the singing school filled Elder 
Cheney in the days of his youth, in- 
spired Samuel W. Cole when he at- 
tended a convention at Concord, N. 
H., as a boy. Always fond of music 
and the son of a musically inclined 
father, the impression made on him 
by the singing of the grand choruses 
from the oratorios by a large choir di- 
rected by Carl Zerrahn was such that 
he determined to make music his life 
work. The hymn singing at Mr. 
Cole's class was under the direction of 
L. O. Emerson, and Mrs. Martha 
Dana Shepard presided at the piano 
skillfully supporting and coaching 
the somewhat nervous choir. 

Mr. Cole now entered seriously up- 
on musical studies and secured the 
best education available for the pur- 
pose in view. He began life as a 
music teacher in Portsmouth, N. H., 
and has since been continually en- 
gaged as organist, choir director and 
as teacher of sight singing in the pub- 
lic schools. A few years ago he gave 
up his position as organist at the Clar- 
endon Street Baptist Church in order 
to travel abroad, and on his return, 
his Sundays then being free, he was 
able to accept the suggestion of the 
committee of the Massachusetts Emer- 
gency and Hygiene Society to estab- 
lish and direct the People's Singing- 
classes. These classes meet at four 
o'clock on Sundav afternoons. Each 

person pays ten cents towards the rent 
of the hall and the purchase of music. 
The instructors give their services, 
and consider that their reward lies in 
the moral and intellectual good gained 
by the chorus. 

In a very short time after the estab- 
lishment of the first class in Bumstead 
Hall, it was found necessary to pro- 
vide for the overflow, and other classes 
were formed in different parts of the 
city, until there were five large 

Mr. Cole declares that people like the 
music that they know, and the aim of 
the People's singing class is to enable 
them to know good music in the belief 
that when they know it they will like 
it. In answer to the statement that 
the people always want a "tune," he 
says that certainly they will have the 
approval of all good musicians in this, 
if they will only like good tunes, and 
such they learn in these classes. This 
work may be considered in some re- 
spects the most important movement 
since sight singing was established in 
the public schools, for it enables peo- 
ple to enjoy the inspiration of choral 
singing, whose means and occupation 
prevent their gaining it in any other 
way, and makes it possible for them to 
continue the study which they began 
in the schools. In New York, where 
the plan has been in existence for sev- 
eral years, the classes are immense, 
and have been so judiciously managed 
financially that they have a good bal- 
ance at the banker's. In Boston the 
scheme is not less successful, and will 
doubtless gain financially as long as 
the present system is maintained. 
There is no doubt that the movement 
will spread into the smaller cities and 
towns of New England, just as all 



schemes for choral singing have done. 
There is, however, this difference, — 
that while at the beginning of the cen- 
tury few, very few, of the singers 
could read the simplest music at sight, 
today no one who has attended school 
is without a moderate knowledge of 

the elements of sight singing. In 
what better manner can the work- 
ing people spend their Sunday after- 
noons than in the manner prescribed 
by the old hymn : — 

"All people that on earth do dwell, 
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice." 

Hoosac Tunnel's Troubled Story 

By Edward P. Pressey 

"A pathway cleft beneath Old Hoosac hoary ! 

How few will climb the mountain's weary stair ; 
And future years will hand its troubled story 

From child to child as olden legends are." 

THE Mohican name Hoosac 
means far-over-the-mountain. 
The Indians called the 
streams just west of Hoosac 
the Mayunsook and Ashuwillticook, 
while the winding torrent to the east, 
under the beetling rocks, was the 
Pocumtuck. Over the mountain, from 
the western to the eastern waters runs 
an ancient roadway. This was first 
known to the white settlers as the Mo- 
hawk warpath, and many a brave 
found it the short cut to the happy 
hunting grounds. In the name of St. 
Croix, for a junction of streams, there 
is the single trace of. an early Jesuit 
missionary's hopes. 

By 1744, the Hoosac Mountains be- 
came famous in the military operations 
in New England. The Mohawk war- 
path, directly over the modern tunnel, 
was becoming rutted with the wheels 
of English cannon, while captives from 
Deerfield and Charlemont fainted on 
their forced marches up its weary stair, 
straight and unsoftened by any engi- 

neering triumphs of zigzag ap- 

By 1759, the year of Wolfe's capture 
of Quebec, the exigencies of the 
French wars had made necessary the 
construction of a rude road following 
this trail. The western gateway of 
the valley, near the spot where twice 
rose Fort Massachusetts, became the 
Thermopylae of New England, in con- 
sequence of the repeated defeats there 
of Dutch, French and Indians. In 
1797 the commonwealth ordered a fine 
turnpike, of the easy, whiplash type, 
built over the mountain across the east- 
ern end of the trail, but by 1825 the 
abruptness of the mountain's slope had 
worn out so many good horses and 
men that a tunnelled canal uniting Po- 
cumtuck and Hoosac waters was pro- 

The original trail was still open in 
1848; and college boys often ran up 
and down it ahead of the lumbering 
Williamstown stage. It was trace- 
able in 1803. There was an inn during 

We Guard the Western Gateway ' 

stage days where the paths crossed at 
the top of the mountain, "way up there, 
out of sight of land," and near a typi- 
cal New England school house. On 
a sign board, which once stood at the 
loot of the trail, the traveller read, 
"Walk up, if you please," and on an- 
other at the summit, "Ride down, if 
you dare." In the heyday of staging 
four milk white horses drew motley 
humanity and its baggage over the 
mountain. There still lingers the mem- 
ory of the last of the stage drivers of 
the '50's, Morris Carpenter. I once 
sat on his garden wall in the twilight 
looking down over the Hoosacs to the 
Rerkshires and heard strange tales of 
his turnpike days. Much wealth at 
one time and another passed over this 
east and west thoroughfare ; and some 
of the "hold-ups" became famous in 
the legends of the road. One night in 
mid-summer Carpenter, armed to the 
teeth, had just rounded the ledge at 
the summit going west, when, in the 
moonlight suddenly appeared two fig- 

ures covering his approach with four 
enormous pistols. Under the circum- 
stances nothing could be done but to 
parley. The knights of the road be- 
lieved that there was a clear ten thou- 
sand in booty or ransom inside the 
stage. But when upon thorough in- 
vestigation a few half-empty bottles 
were all they could find, they refused 
to take the gentlemen's small change, 
broke the bottles over the passengers' 
heads, and wishing them God-speed 
and a good surgeon, departed. The old 
driver had an almost sacred memory 
of the still, sunny winter days on the 
mountain. In his seventieth year he 
could not speak of their splendor with- 
out emotion. Then there were days of 
hurricane and cold when no living 
thing could cross the ridges of the hill. 
Legends of startling blow-aways 
abound, and they say that the bells 
from church steeples rolling down 
the ledges at midnight made fiendish 
music above the roar of the tempest. 
There is a reminiscence, almost the 



last, of staging in 187 1. Late in Sep- 
tember General Butler arrived in great 
haste at the "east portal" and was hur- 
ried up and down the mountain stair 
to North Adams in the record 
time of one hour and seventeen 

There was a time when the old trail 
was a famous route for the polite 
mountain climber. In Thoreau's de- 
scription of the 
view from the sum- 
mit he says : 

"I had come, over 
the bills on foot and 
alone in serene sum- 
mer days, plucking 
the raspberries by the 
wayside, and occa- 
sionally buying a loaf 
of bread at a farmer's 
house, with a knap- 
sack on my back 
which held a few 
traveller's books and 
a change of clothing, 
and a staff in my 
hand. And that morn- 
ing I looked down 
from the H o o s a c 
mountain on the vil- 
lage of North Adams 
in the valley, three 

miles away under my feet. A stream 
ran down the middle of the valley. It 
seemed a road for the pilgrim to enter 
who would climb to the gates of heaven. 
Now I crossed a hay-field, and now over the 
brook on a slight bridge, -and ascended with 
a sort of awe. It seemed as if he must be 
the most singular and heavenly minded man 
whose dwelling stood highest up the valley. 
The thunder had rumbled at my heels all 
the way. I half believed I should get above 
it. I passed the last house. And at last I 
reached the summit (of Greylock ) just as 
the sun was setting, and overlooked the 
woods. I was up early to see the day break. 
As the light increased, I discovered around 
me an ocean of mist. I was floating on this 
fragment of the wreck of a world, in cloud 

land. It was such a country as we might 
see in dreams, with all the delights of Para- 
dise. The earth beneath had passed away 
like the phantom of a shadow. But when 
its own sun began to rise on this pure world, 
I found myself drifting amid saffron-colored 
clouds, in the very path of the sun's chariot, 
and sprinkled with its dewy dust. I saw the 
gracious God 

Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign 

Gilding pale streams with heavenly al- 

Site of the Mountain Top Inn 

Up the Pocumtuck, in the borders 
of Rowe, are Prospect and Pulpit 
rocks. Here, a thousand feet above 
the waters, in tunnel building days, 
were rustic arbors and tables and a 
register of names of pilgrims from all 
over the world. A little to the south 
of the eastern portal of the tunnel is a 
half-moon cave in the rock, the only 
record of vain aspirations. On this 
spot a mechanic, who had invented a 
huge rock-bit, that, like a ship worm, 
was to bore the ribs of Hoosac, en- 
deavored dramatically to fulfill Mother 
Shipton's prophecy: 



"Men through the mountains shall ride 
Without horse or mule at their side." 

His failure, legend tells, drove him 
mad. The records show that during 
the long period of construction the 
slow-crawling process of drill and blast 
was thrice abandoned in order to test 
different ambitious inventions. 

At the top of the mountain, scattered 
about in huge ridges of gneissic rock, 
lie samples of the depths within. Pro- 
fessor Edward Hitchcock, the eminent 


The Evidence of a Dream 

geologist, had been engaged to fore- 
tell the probable mineral treasures of 
the Hoosacs and in spite of the un- 
promising nature of his reply nearly 
every block of this debris has been 
scanned by expectant eyes and every 
hill and mountain for leagues around 
has its pit of some hastily abandoned 
gold mine. 

In the midst of perils of chill and 
damp and suffocation, the belief crept 
into the hearts of the tunnelers that 
the waters that drenched them were 
curative. Rheumatism ceased to be 

complained of. Chronic ills were dis- 
solved in the daily forced bath. The 
contractors had hitherto been com- 
pelled to advertise attractive wages to 
keep the work moving. Now men 
came from far and near to offer their 
services. The old belief in the foun- 
tain of youth had almost been revived. 
A dream of wonderful times to come 
to western Franklin County upon the 
completion of the tunnel arose in 1867. 
It was near the end of the period of 
failing contracts 
and little summer 
spurts of triumph 
and advance. In 
vision was seen, 
at the eastern 
portal, a new city. 
The chief works 
o f construction 
were there, on the 
crescent of the 
Deerfield where it 
sweeps from 
north to east after 
threading the dim 
nether world of 
the Hoosacs. Near 
this point the 
chief peaks rise 
splendid wall of 
within gun shot 
thousand feet sky- 
craggy southwest 
bastion of Rowe. Eastward, be- 
tween abrupt woody mountains, the 
meadows stretch along their broken 
waters. A hundred paths and ancient 
roadways go up from here into the 
mystery of the hills. Some of these 
are still well worn, but many are over- 
grown. Even to a casual observer 
there appear for miles around traces of 
the worl of man. Fern-grown levels, 

sheer in a lone 
green. Opposite, 
and towering a 
ward rises the 

The Vanished City " 

moss-grown walls, choked-up conduits, 
and a thousand other such marks ar- 
rest attention and give a hint of a 
busy world of workmen, where now is 
left little more than the original soli- 
tude of the romantic wild wood of the 
Mohican. Hereabouts, in 1867, was a 
population of a thousand in an actual 
embryo city. There were miniature 
thoroughfares up the- mountain sides 
where now you see the cattle-paths 
running up to the hedge-like border of 
beech and maple. Whole families came 
down from the hills to help dig the 
tunnel, attracted by the high wages or 
the hope of cure. A great hotel arose 
at the head of the sweet meadows. 
Soon the western terminal of the 
Greenfield and Troy Railroad arrived 
with its great round-house ; and thou- 

sands of tourists came by coach and 
rail to visit the most famous engineer- 
ing feat of the continent. The State, 
to further its work, had built a dam 
and dug a long canal down the western 
bank of the mad-running Deerfield, 
the Pocumtuck of the Indians, and 
here, in the heart of the glen, a sub- 
stantial stone factory was erected. A 
glowing picture of the city that was to 
be appeared at that time in the county 
paper. In imagination the whole 
meadow was peopled. Brilliant shop 
windows and cafes lined a grand ave- 
nue along the southern river front. 
On the mountain sides north and south 
and west gleamed windows and gilded 
spires at the rising and setting of the 
sun. The mountain tops of Rowe, Sa- 
vov and Florida sent down their butter 



and milk into this city, and over its 
housetops floated the June fragrance 
of their orchards, matchless pastures 
and wild-woods. The strength of the 
youth of the hills came down also in 
a stream that made glad. The suburbs 
of the city spread up every valley, 
along Cold and Chickley rivers ; up 
Bosrah and Dun- 
bar and Fife and 
Mill brook and old 

The towns were 
roused to action. 
The State allowed 
them to subscribe 
three per cent, of 
their valuation to 
hasten the comple- 
tion of the tunnel. 
Some citizens put 
in a good part of 
all they had. Alto- 
gether five hun- 
dred and twenty 
shares were thus 
disposed of. In- 
dustry was actually 
quickened at Bea- 
con Hills and in 
many mountain 
hamlets besides. 
There was a sense 
of new life after a 
long period of 
stagnation. Population increased, as 
did property values. By 1872, when 
the tunnel was nearing completion, a 
condition of prosperity was reported 
at Beacon Hills such as had never been 
known in this little hamlet in the 
mountain tops. The manufacturing of 
Venetian shades, baskets, baby car- 
riages, chairs, furniture and many 
other tinners fairlv lined the banks of 

The Cascade 

Pelham brook for a great distance with 
a series of miniature factories, whose 
broken clams and sluices and penstocks 
may be seen to-day in part and can be 
reproduced in their entirety by imagi- 
nation. Now there is not a single in- 
dustry active enough for the name. 
In 1 87 1 the centre of activity shifted 
westward and 
gathered about the 
meeting place of 
the sweet Indian 
waters of Mayun- 
sook and Ashu- 
willticook. Thar 
locality had a 
broader valley and 
was the original 
Hoosac, or "far- 
away-land." Here 
the city of North 
Adams arose in a 
night. In prospect 
of the speedy com- 
pletion of the tun- 
nel many a hill- 
town farm was 
wholly abandoned 
as were, in many 
cases, the better 
homesteads. Every 
family was anx- 
ious to choose a 
house lot in the 
city that now 
guards the western gateway. 

During July and August of that year 
the bore had extended westward one 
thousand feet ; and the half-way fig- 
ures had long since been passed. And 
now we come to the consideration of 
conflicting interests that led to trouble. 
Two routes for a draft canal through 
the Hoosac Mountains were surveyed 
by a commission of the Commonwealth 

A Church and Churchyard on the Mountain 

in 1825. One was through a tunnel 
in line with the present one. The rail- 
road company that actually began the 
tunnel was incorporated in 1848 with 
a capitalization of three and a half mil- 
lion dollars. Denizens of the hills 
originated the scheme as a whole. It 
was a descendant of that Eleazer 
Hawkes, who a hundred years before 
had traded the first wheat of the up- 
per Deerfield meadows in Charlemont 
to garrisons in Forts Pelham and Mas- 
sachusetts, who suggested the canal 
under Hoosac. Major Samuel H. 
Reed, of Beacon Hills, was prominent 
in the Greenfield and Troy Railroad 
Company, which in 1825 broke the first 
soil for the construction of the tunnel. 
A native of Deerfield, on that occasion, 
the Rev. Dr. Crawford, used the cere- 
monial spade. The work came many 
times to a standstill. Unforeseen dif- 
ficulties dispelled illusions in regard 
to the efficiency of patent borers. Dis- 
couraged and incompetent contractors, 
and frightful loss of life caused long 

delays and pauses. Under three suc- 
cessive contracts in the first six years 
only a little more than a thousand feet 
of tunnel, wide enough for a single 
track, had been opened. And in the 
ninth year the Greenfield and Troy 
Railroad Company failed and aban- 
doned its work. The State foreclosed 
its mortgage and in the tenth year 
work was again begun. Nitroglyc- 
erin was introduced and became a new 
source of accident, which in the end 
exceeded all others in fatal results, but 
made the tunnel possible. The work 
now proceeded fitfully but more suc- 
cessfully until the fearful winter trag- 
edy of 1868 on Florida Mountain, 
when the central shaft buildings and 
pumps were burned and about a score 
of workmen, crushed by falling debris, 
were smothered or drowned at the bot- 
tom of the well several hundred feet 
down. Their bones were not found 
till the following spring. Tn sixteen 
years less than two-fifths of the length 

of the tunnel had been opened. At 





The Central Air Shaft 

that rate it would barely be completed 
at the end of the century. The execu- 
tion of the wild scheme of the Charle- 
mont farmer and his visionary neigh- 
bors was prolonged beyond all rea- 
sonable limits and was growing 
very costly and dangerous ; but still 
its was practical and possible to 

A new era began in the summer of 
1868, when two Canadian engineers, 
Francis and Walter Shanly, took what 
proved to be the last contract ; and in 
five years penetrated the remaining 
fifteen thousand feet of rock. But 
even their surprising success was not 
won by any new discovery, such as 
sometimes proves the solution of me- 
chanical problems. They did a half 
more work in one-third the time of 
their predecessors, chiefly through 
sheer heroism and patient continuance. 
Their trials were also as great. 

They had little more than cleared 
away the wreckage of the last contract- 
ors when there came the memorable 
flood of 1869. Half a million dollars' 
damage in this sparsely settled region 
was done, showing that nearly every- 
thing along the water courses must 

have been lost. 
The state's works 
by the Deerfield 
were flooded and 
largely swept 
away. The three 
thousand dollar 
bridge, a few 
miles below the 
tunnel, was 
hurled bodily 
from its piers and 
wrecked along 
the banks. Every 
bridge on the 
Pelham was carried away. Six human 
lives and innumerable sheep and cattle 
were lost by drowning in these moun- 
tain tops. Fellows' Mill, on the 
Pelham, was then owned by a 
Mr. Hyde. At eight o'clock Mrs. 
Hyde had got the children off to 
school and Mr. Hyde went to work 
about his mill. At that time there was 
no cause for apprehension, but before 
the middle of the afternoon the heav- 
ens seemed to part and let down all 
the waters of the firmament upon the 
Hoosac range. Pelham brook, which 
falls by continuous rapids a thousand 
feet in four miles, spouted with a 
treacherous smoothness down its bed. 
Hyde and his wife began to lash cables 
around their buildings and anchor 
them to trees up stream. The water 
was rising, not as the tide rises, but 
with fresh avalanches of water from 
above. Hyde was caught by one of 
these and swung out into the stream, 
clinging to a limber sapling, which 
momentarily threatened to be uproot- 
ed. Mrs. Hyde crept out and a neigh- 
bor saw her throw him a line. At the 
same moment the great building was 
lifted bodily bv a terrible burst of 



waters and hurled with its owners like 
a straw towards the Deerfield, and no 
man to this day knows the Hydes' 
sepulchre. Two little orphans came 
home from school that night, one run- 
ning ahead in childish glee at the rush- 
ing waters just in time to see home 
and father and mother whirled into the 
fearful thunders and foam of the 
gorge. In their native hamlet far over 
the mountain, touching services were 
held the next week, in the church 
where, as children, these two worthy 
persons had received another baptism. 

"The Strength of the Hills" 

Another problem than flood had 
been left over to the Shanlys from the 
last contractors, namely, staying the 
demoralized and shattered rock in the 
western section of the tunnel. Before 
they had completed the work they en- 
countered a surface requiring, since 
the work began, twelve millions of 
bricks to overarch it, six years' labor 
and the sacrifice of many lives. The 
last brick was laid July 5, 1872, a little 
more than a year before the completion 
of the bore. Another of the perils en- 
countered was from the great pockets 

of water, which kept the miners 
drenched and sometimes caused fatal 
accidents. At any moment a flood of 
unknown force and volume might leap 
upon them out of the darkness. There 
were frequent fatalities from premature 
or mismanaged blasts. Circumstantial 
accounts appeared from week to week 
in the county paper, of heads and arms 
blown off, of tools and trucks and 
men hurled through the narrow dark- 
ness, of bursting air pipes and suffo- 
cated men, of falling boulders and sud- 
den destruction from all the variety of 
causes that beset miners' 
lives. But all these 
sources of accident were 
aggravated by the neces- 
sity for haste. Water and 
fire, crushing rocks, suffo- 
cation and explosion, acci- 
dental falls and disease, 
hardship and disaster in 
the twenty years that the 
Hoosac tunnel was build- 
ing cost the lives of one 
hundred and thirty-six 

And last of all came the 
abandonment of the town 
at the east portal. The 
population of Florida in a few years 
after the completion of the bore 
fell to almost nothing. And now to 
the careless observer little is visible of 
the great city that was the dream of 
the sixties.. Meanwhile, however, there 
had been a marked increase in social 
life in all these hills. Two churches 
have had a most interesting history 
and witnessed an unusual number of 
picturesque changes. They are the 
old First Parish of Beacon Hills and 
the ancient Baptist Church on the east- 
ern top of Florida Mountain. It hap- 



pens that the present temples are of 
one model, the creation of the locally 
noted Amidon brothers of Beacon 
Hills. It is they who are responsible 
for a good part of the most dignified 
architecture and love for things beau- 
tiful in all these mountains. The Bea- 
con Hills Church stands sixteen hun- 
dred feet and the Florida Church nine- 
teen hundred feet above sea level, 
their respective slopes some six or 
eight miles apart as the bird flies. One 
faces the warm south down Pelham 
brook, and the other 
toward Pocumtuck wa- 
ter and the rising sun. 
At Beacon Hills, where 
now in winter there are 
barely five hundred 
souls, were once even- 
ing gatherings that 
brought four hundred 
people together. 

The cheerful ring of 
industry, that for long- 
years was heard in 
these solitudes, is still 
remembered, — like a 
song that has never 
died away. When the 
work was at its height 
seven hundred men were delving in 
the rocky ribs of the mountains, 
whilst above, a hundred more sup- 
plied them with their needs. There 
were over half a million dollars em- 
ployed in the capital of the con- 
tractors. The yearly wages were about 
the same sum. Twenty-one 400-horse 
power engines and a locomotive 
burned more than thirteen hundred 
tons of coal in a year besides sixteen 
hundred cords of wood hewn from 
the hitherto unbroken silences of 
woods now rinmnjr with the axe. Four 

Col. Aivah Crocker 

] no-horse power water wheels brought 
old Pocumtuck into service to aid in 
running ninteen air-compressors, fifty- 
two Burleigh drills and machinery of 
that sort in the eastern heading. More 
than one-eighth of a million pounds of 
explosives were used in a year. With 
such an equipment the Shanlys re- 
moved annually about a half mile of 

The evolution of the applied ma- 
chinery reads like the story of many 
a human life, from the hand drills and 
black powder of the 
fifties through the 
heavy, complicated ma- 
chine drills and remov- 
al of the debris block by 
block, to the simplified 
drills run in gangs. 
Black powder was ex- 
changed for nitro-gly- 
cerin ; the awkward, 
old fashioned fuse for 
electric discharge. In 
the eastern heading, 
where the greatest 
work was done, com- 
pressed air was intro- 
duced by a twelve-inch 
pipe. And with numer- 
ous improvements of a sort of which 
these may stand as illustrations, 
the accomplishment of the work- 
leaped forward from thirteen hundred 
feet in six years and ten thousand feet 
in sixteen years to more than fifteen 
thousand feet in five years. The new 
progress had all the difference in spirit 
between living despair and living hope. 
In this way the great engineering ro- 
mance that be?;an in the imagination 
of an obscure farmer of the upper 
Deerfield in T825, ended on Thanks- 
giving day, November 27. T873. an ac- 

Entrance to the Hoosac Tunnel 

complished fact. A hole four and 
three-quarter miles long had been 
pierced from base to base of the Hoo- 
sac range, and where the main head- 
ings of the famous Mt. Cenis tunnel in 
Switzerland swerved in alignment 
more than half a yard, these varied 
only five-sixteenths of an inch. 

During the last weeks of March, 
1867, the bore had proceeded four feet 
a day. In May, Dull & Gowan, of 
Chicago, contracted for two years' 
work to remove sixty-four hundred 
feet of rock, that is, to advance at the 
average rate of ten feet a day. They 
never made half that distance. There 
were some spurts of work in June, and 
on the last day of that month they re- 
moved thirty-six feet of rock, but the 
methods used could not be advanta- 
geously employed. Their largest record 
for a whole month, one hundred and 
twenty-three feet, was in August. It 
was during their contract that the 
problem of staying the areas of demor- 
alized rock in the west end, after many 
fruitless experiments, began to be 

solved. But the contract was never 
completed. The plant lay crippled and 
idle for the best part of a year until 
the Shanlys took it. 

They began with the modest record 
of forty feet a month, and by improve- 
ments in method, machinery and or- 
ganization advanced until in the sum- 
mer of 1 87 1 they were moving along 
at the rate of five hundred feet a 
month, or about double the rate before 
contracted for. In the spring of 1872 
there was a mile and a half still to bore 
so that in the last year and a half the 
work advanced at the rate of a mile a 
year, or at a sustained speed of four 
hundred and forty feet a month. But 
during the three months in the spring 
the record progress of half a mile was 
burrowed into the stubborn darkness. 

We are now entering upon the last 
chapters of the romance. On Octo- 
ber 14, 1872, workmen in the central 
and eastern sections were calculated 
to be exactly six hundred feet apart. 
They could distinctly hear each other 
drilling at the core and bottom of the 




mountain. A month passed in excited 
expectation. By November 18 they 
were stated to be three hundred and 
fifty-six feet apart ; but the miners be- 
lieved the engineers had miscalculated, 
so distinctly could they hear the drill- 
ing and terrible explosions of each 
other's blasts. On December first one 
hundred and twenty-three feet re- 
mained in the eastern end. And twelve 
days later at half past four o'clock 
in the afternoon a rift was opened 
by a blast and light shone through 
these tragic cells eleven hundred feet 
below the sunlight. A tool was first 
passed through and received with 
hurrahs. In a short time a small 
hole was cleared and a boy crept 
through from the east and was borne 
westward in triumph through the 
smoky corridor upon the shoulders of 
the workmen, singing and shouting 
as they went. At the central shaft, 
where a tiny spot of wholesome blue 
and gold shone down upon their heads, 
the lad was swiftly drawn up to the 
mountain top. He was the first being 
who had ever thus found himself above 
the "mountain's weary stair." 

On February I, 1873, there was still 

half a mile to open in the western 
end. They had worked eastward from 
the foot of the central shaft fifteen 
hundred and sixty-three feet; and 
westward they now went two thousand 
and six. By April 14 only a third of 
a mile remained. One day in August 
the greatest record was made, a fifty 
foot plunge back for daylight. On 
September first an eighth of a mile re- 
mained to open and by November first 
two hundred and forty-two feet were 
still unbroken. The contractors then 
made their first boast, — "We shall eat 
Thanksgiving dinner in North Adams 
coming by way of Hoosac Tunnel." 
On November 27, 1873, with snow fly- 
ing in the air, but a glow in their 
hearts, a company of gentlemen 
passed under the mountain straight 
from old Pocumtuck to Hoosac 
waters and fulfilled the letter of 
this promise. 

The work had proceeded night and 
day except Sundays for some years. It 
was originally estimated to cost three 
and a half million of dollars but the 
actual cost was $12,700,000. The first 
train passed under the mountain Feb- 
ruary 9, 1875. 

Hmcrican Sbrinee UTI 

Cbarter Oak 

" Thou monarch: tree:— and worthy of thy crown ; 
jtor hands of freemen placed the simple guard 
That marks thee from: thy fellows— guardian tree, 
to make thy trunk the sanctuary safe 
Of sacred pledge which tyranny WOULD WREST." 

[This half tone is from the only photograph extant of the Charter Oak, and was 
obtained through the courtesy of Mr. F. G. Whitmore, Secreiiry of the Board of Park 
Commissioners, of Hartford, Conn.'] 

New England Magazine 

New Series 


Vol. XXVI No. 2 

The True Story of Paul'Revere's 


By Charles Ferris Gettemy 

PAUL REVERE performed a 
great and lasting service to 
his country when he took his 
famous midnight ride on 
the 1 8th of April, 1775. 
It remained unsung, if 
not unhonored, for 
eighty-eight years or un- 
til Longfellow, in 1863, 
made it the text for his 
Landlord's Tale in the 
Wayside Inn, clothing it 
v with all the matchless 

beauty and witchery of 
his imagination. Some one signing 
himself "Eb Stiles" had, to be sure, 
written a poem about 1795 which he 
called the " Story of the Battle of Con- 
cord and Lexington, and Revere's 
Ride Twenty Years Ago," and in 
which he said: 

"He spared neither horse, nor whip, nor 
As he galloped through mud and mire ; 
He thought of naught but liberty, 

And the lanterns that hung from the 

But Stiles did nothing else in a liter- 
ary way to perpetuate his name, and he 
failed to find a publisher capable of 
rescuing his poem from obscurity. 

It is to Longfellow's simple and 
tuneful ballad that most persons un- 
doubtedly owe their knowledge of the 
fact that a man of the name of Revere 
really did something on the eve of the 
historic skirmish at Lexington which 
is worth remembering.* Indeed the 

(*Bancroft mentions the incident of Re- 
vere's ride in the edition of his history pub- 
lished in 1858; Hildreth says the alarm had! 
been given, without mentioning Revere's 
name ; Palfrey, whose History of New Eng- 



SaJb %*WC'S l&cbu 

OR tfce/ fyy^d^JuM^ 

«\\&o 'it*v<Jto*'X>4* S $uJl v(X^uytx4 cL<U4 as».<Ls \*4asr { 

Fac-simile of the First Verse of Longfellow's Poem Written by the Author 

land is brought down to the Battle of 
Bunker Hill, says : "They [the British] were 
watched and, by signals before agreed upon, 
the movement was made known to the peo- 
ple on the other side." He does not allude 
to Revere.) 

true character of Revere's services, 
both on the occasion of this particular 
ride, and during the period preceding, 
has been a matter of comparatively 
recent recognition, and from the maj- 
esty of the closing lines of the poem : 

"For, borne on the night-wind of the past, 
Through all our history, to the last. 
In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 
The people will waken and listen to hear 
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, 
And the midnight message of Paul Revere." 

it might seem that we are indebted to 
Longfellow for some instinctive ap- 
preciation of the historic significance 
of the episode, independent of its poet- 
ic value. 

But poetry and history sometimes 
become sadly enmeshed, and the lan- 
guage in which such a combination is 

clothed often remains fixed and is fin- 


ally accepted as a record of fact. It 
is one of the missions of poetry and fic- 
tion to give glimpses of things in the 
intellectual and physical worlds and 
an insight into the beginnings of great 
movements in history which vast num- 
bers of people would get in no other 
way. It ought not, therefore, to be 
improper or impertinent to inquire 
whether the poet and romancist, in so 
far as they deal with historic events 
and personages and with matters of 
verifiable record, might not find it pos- 
sible to hew with greater fidelity, 
sometimes, to truth, without in any 
degree detracting from the poetic qual- 
ity or interfering seriously with that 
license whose exercise may be essen- 
tial to artistic literary expression. Such 
an inquiry is suggested in the common 
tendency of historical narrative to 
draw upon poetry for embellishment 
ard for the stimulation of a certain 
human interest in a story which other- 
wise might possibly make dull reading. 
Upon how many thousands of 



schoolboys who have declaimed the 
stirring lines of Longfellow's descrip- 
tion of Paul Revere's ride, and upon 
how many thousands, too, of their el- 
ders, has the picture drawn by the 
poet left its indelible impression? 
Certainly it is the sum and substance 
of all their knowledge of the subject 
to hundreds of visitors, who, every 
summer, wander through those old, 

challenged, it being urged that Revere's own 
allusion to the North church steeple proba- 
bly referred to another North Church, lo- 
cated at that time elsewhere in the vicinity. 
This allegation was met and exhaustively 
examined by William W. Wheildon, and 
his view, which is in accordance with the 
tradition in favor of Christ Church, is now 
generally accepted. Another claim brought 
forward at about the same time, to the effect 
that Revere's friend, whom he selected to 
display the signals, was one John Pulling, 

Where Paul Revere Waited for the Signal 

narrow streets of the North End of 
Boston, and gaze with reverence upon 
the graceful spire of Christ church. 
The stone tablet, placed in the wall of 
the tower by order of the city govern- 
ment in 1878,* tells them that: 





APRIL 18, 1775, 




(*The proposition for the placing of this 
tablet, when brought forward in the Boston 
city government, precipitated a lively con- 
troversy, the echoes of which have not yet 
entirely died away. The right of Christ 
Church to the honor in question was stoutly 

likewise deserves to be rejected. Revere 
has not left us the name of this friend, but 
a mass of traditionary evidence supports the 
belief that he was Robert Newman, the 
sexton of the church. Many of the parish- 
ioners were loyal to their Church of Eng- 
land instincts and adhered to the King's 
cause, but Newman was a consistent and 
fervent American patriot.) 

And from the summit of Copp's 
Hill, in the ancient burial ground 
nearby, surrounded by tombstones 
marked by indentations which the 
guide books say were caused by Rev- 
olutionary bullets, one may look across 
the mouth of the Charles, opening just 
at the foot of the height into the har- 
bor, and — shutting out from present 
view the ugly grain elevators, the 
black coal wharves, the masts of the 



ships, and Charlestown's brick walls 
beyond — try to conjure up the vision 
of the poet's fancy : the stout-hearted 
messenger of the Revolution ferried 
across the stream under the shadow 
of the forbidding man-of-war Somer- 
set, his safe landing on the opposite 
shore, his impatient and fretful slap- 
p i ng of his 
horse's side as 
he stands boot- 
ed and spurred, 
and strains his 
eyes for a 
glimpse of the 
signal rays from 
the steeple of 
the old church ; 
then the ride 
out through the 
villages and 
farms of Mid- 
dlesex until, in 
the lines of the 
poet, — 

"It was two by the 

village clock, 
When he came to 

the bridge in 

Concord town." 

It is a pity to 
mar this work 
of art by the 
homely daubs 
of fact ; yet a 

faithful limning of the scene, as it was 
really enacted, would necessitate some 
retouching. But it ought not to be 
difficult to do this without in any es- 
sential respect spoiling the liveliness 
or romantic spirit of the picture. To 
be sure, the statement that Revere 
reached Concord was long ago shown 
to have been incorrect ; but its persist- 
ent virility only goes to prove that 

Interior of the Belfry of Christ Church 

truth is not the only thing which, 
crushed to earth, will rise again. The 
impression, however, is yet more gen- 
eral that the signal lanterns were 
placed in the North Church steeple 
for Revere 's benefit, and that he waited 
on the Charlestown shore for the mes- 
sage they were to convey before he 
was able to start 
on his journey. 
The facts are 
that Revere had 
all the desired 
information be- 
fore he left Bos- 
ton, and that 
the lights were 
hung out at his 
instance as a 
warning to 
others, who 
might know by 
them the ne- 
cessity of arous- 
ing the country 
in the event of 
his capture 
while being 
ro%ed across 
the river.* 

(*T h e s e ac- 
counts of the hang- 
ing of the lan- 
terns, those writ- 
ten both before 
i and since Long- 
fellow's poem was published, are, most 
of them, curiously inaccurate. John Stet- 
son Barry in his History of Massachusetts, 
(p.509) published in 1856, makes an allusion to 
Revere, saying "a lantern was displayed by 
Paul Revere in the upper window of the 
tower of the North Church in Boston," and 
George Lowell Austin in his His L ory of Mas- 
sachusetts (p. 300) published twenty years lat- 
er, copies Barry's statement. Even John Fiske, 
usually as accurate in detail as he is safe in 
his generalizations, did not take Revere's 

View of Charlestown from the Belfry of Christ Church : 

narrative as his authority, else he would 
hardly have said (The American Revolu- 
tion, Vol. I, p. 121 ) : "Crossing the broad 
river in a little boat, under the very guns 
of the Somerset man-of-war, and waiting on 
the farther bank until he learned, from a 
lantern suspended in the belfry of the North 
Church, which way the troops had gone, 
Revere took horse," etc. 

The looseness with which Lossing allowed 
himself to write is nowhere more apparent 
than in his allusions to this historic episode. 
In his Pictorial Field Book of the Revolu- 
tion he says (Vol. I, p. 523) : "Paul Revere 
and William Dawes had just rowed across 
the river to Charlestown with a message 
from Warren to Hancock and Adams at 
Lexington." Dawes, of course, did not ac- 
company Revere, and Lossing, in Our Coun- 
try, p. 775, corrects himself in this respect, 
but still serenely careless of statement, 
says : — "William Dawes had gone over the 
Neck to Roxbury on horseback, with a mes- 
sage from Warren to Hancock and Adams, 
and Warren and Revere were at Charles- 
town awaiting developments of events." 
Such a statement can be reconciled with 
itself only upon supposition that Warren, 

* We are indebted to Mr. Will C. Eddy, of the 
used to illustrate this article. 

after despatching Dawes, went over to 
Charlestown and there joined Revere, — a 
supposition purely gratuitous. Lossing not 
unnaturally also follows the other writers in 
giving the impression that Revere engaged 
a friend "to give him a timely signal" from 
the North Church, when as a matter of fact, 
Revere personally had no use for such a 
a signal.) 

It so happens that for the ac- 
count of the events of that night we 
have the highest possible authority. 
Revere himself was not so modest and 
self-effacing as to fall short of appre- 
ciating, at something like its true 
value, the importance of his services to 
the cause of liberty on the 18th of 
April, 1775, and posterity fortunately 
has a circumspect and detailed narra- 
tive of his movements on that occa- 
sion, written down by himself. One 
must not, indeed, forget that the real 
worth of personal reminiscences, as 
authority for history, is frequently a 
matter of doubt and that inaccurate 

Mystic Camera Club, for many of the photographs 




The Newman House. Home of the Sexton 
who Displayed the Signal Lanterns 

statements, due to a treacherous mem- 
ory or a faulty perspective, are com- 
mon occurrences in autobiography, 
But when there is no indisputable and 
unprejudiced record which can be cit- 
ed to controvert an 
autobiographical nar- 
ration and when there 
is no reason to doubt «A- « 
the truthful purpose 
of the author, such an 
account is entitled to 
stand and does stand, 
as an authority out- 
ranking all others. 
Revere's Own story 
of his midnight ride, 
though written after 
a lapse of twenty 
years, has this qual- 
ity. None of its as- 
sertions in all the 
warfare of antiquari- 
ans and pamphleteers 
has been successfully 

refuted, and one cannot turn its pages 
in the publications of the Massa- 
chusetts Historical Society, to whose 
secretary, Dr. Jeremy Belknap, it was 
written in the form of a letter, over a 
century ago, without a conscious feel- 
ing that here indeed is a document 
from the historic past which will pre- 
serve a patriot's fame from the icono- 
clasm of the modern investigator, even 
though it may itself make a little icon- 
oclastic havoc among poets and his- 

(*In preparing this letter Revere un- 
doubtedly refreshed his memory of inci- 
dents which happened so many years previ- 
ous, from an account written by him, sup- 
posedly about 1783, and which was found 
among his papers. This in turn was based 
upon other memoranda, so that the letter 
to Dr. Belknap does not stand alone. The 
earlier accounts may be found in Goss's 
Life of Revere, the originals being in the 
possession of the family of the late. John 
Revere of Canton, Mass.) 

Boston was in a ferment, during the 
winter of 1774-75. The long series of 

Paul Revere's Home in North Square 



General Gage's Headquarters 

grievances endured from the mother 
country had led to the adoption of the 
Suffolk Resolves* in September. In 

(*The spirit of the Suffolk Resolves is set 
forth clearly m these two of its numerous 
declarations : "That the late Acts of the 
British Parliament for blocking up of 
the harbor of Boston, and for altering the 
established form of government in this 
colony, and for screening the most flagitious 
violators of the laws of 
the province from a legal 
trial, are gross infrac- 
tions of those rights to 
which we are justly en- 
titled by the laws of na- 
ture, the British Consti- 
tution, and the charter 
of the province;" and 
"That no obedience is 
due from this province 
to either or any part of 
the Acts above men- 
tioned; but that they be 
rejected as the attempts 
of a wicked Administra- 
tion to enslave Ameri- 
ca." The full text of the 
Resolves is printed in 
Warren's Life by Froth- 
ingham, pp. 530-531.) 

October the Provincial Congress was 
organized, with Hancock as president ; 
a protest was sent to the royal gover- 
nor remonstrating against his hostile 
attitude and a committee of public 
safety was provided for. In February 
this committee was named, delegates 
were selected for the next Continental 
Congress, and provision was made for 
the establishment of the militia. Ef- 
forts were then made by the royal gov- 
ernor to seize the military stores of the 
patriots and to disband the militia, but 
they proved futile, and the fire of op- 
position to the indignities heaped upon 
the people by the crown was kept alive 
by secret organizations. "Sons of 
Liberty" met in clubs and caucuses, 
the group which gathered at the Green 
Dragon Tavern becoming the most 
famous. They were mostly young ar- 
tisans and mechanics from the ranks 
of the people, who in the rapid succes- 
sion of events were becoming more 
and more restive under the British 
yoke. No spirit among them chafed 
more impatiently or was more active in 

Headquarters of Lord Percy 



The Ochterlony House 

taking advantage of each opportunity 
that offered to antagonize the plans of 
the royal emissaries than Paul Revere, 
aged forty, silversmith and engraver 
on copper of famous caricatures. With- 
in the twelvemonth he had ridden hun- 
dreds of miles on horseback, as the 
trusted messenger of the plotters 
against the peace of King George, 
making four trips to New York and 
Philadelphia and one to Portsmouth. 
In the early months of 1775, Revere 
was one of a band of thirty who form- 
ed themselves into a committee to 
watch the movements of the British 
soldiers and the Tories in Boston. In 
parties of two and two, taking turns, 

* The "Ochterlony house" is still standing, though 
the front wall has apparently been rebuilt, at the 
corner of North and North Centre Streets, Boston. 
The Ochterlonys were royalists, but a tradition ex- 
ists in the Revere family that one fair member of 
the household was in sympathy with the rebel 
plans, and that one of Revere's friends, while the 
party was on their way to the boat on the night of 
April 18, 1775, stopped in front of this house and 
gave a signal. An upper window was raised and 
presently, after a hurried conversation in whispers, 
a woolen undergarment was thrown out. This was 
the petticoat used to muffle the oars of Revere's 
boat while he was being rowed across to Charles- 
town. The story was told by Drake in his history 
of Middlesex County, and John Revere, a grandson 
of Paul, in a letter written in 1876 said that it was 
authentic. This picture is from a photograph, re- 
produced by permission of W. H. Halliday. 

they patrolled the streets all night. 
Finally, at midnight of Saturday, the 
15th of April, the vigilance of these 
self-appointed patrolmen was reward- 
ed. It became apparent then that 
something unusual was suddenly 
transpiring in the British camp. "The 
boats belonging to the transports were 
all launched," says Revere in his nar- 
rative, "and carried under the sterns 
of the men-of-war. (They had been 
previously hauled up and repaired.) 
We likewise found that the grenadiers 
and light infantry were all taken off 
duty. From these movements we ex- 
pected something was to be trans- 
acted." The following day, Sunday, 
the 1 6th, Dr. Warren despatched Re- 
vere to Lexington with a message to 
John Hancock and Samuel Adams. 

This ride of the 16th has never re- 
ceived much attention. It is not famed 
in song and story and Revere himself 
alludes to it only incidentally. He 
probably made the journey in the day- 

He Crossed the Bridge into Medford Town.' 

Reproduced from an old photograph. 

Medford Square 

time, jogging out and back unnoticed 
and not anxious to advertise the pur- 
pose of his errand with noise and pub- 
licity. Yet there cannot be much 
doubt that, in its relation to the por- 
tentous events which followed three 
days later, it was at least of as great 
importance as the more spectacular 
"midnight ride" of the 18th. The 
movements of the British on the night 
of the 15th aroused the suspicion of 
the patriots, of whom Warren was 
chief, who had remained in Boston. 
They meant to him one thing, — an in- 
tention to send forth very soon an ex- 
pedition of some sort. The most plaus- 
ible conjecture as to its object, even 
had there been no direct information 
on the subject, suggested the capture 
of Hancock and Adams at Lexington, 
or the seizure of the military stores at 
Concord, or both. 

The two patriot leaders, upon whose 
heads a price was fixed, were in dailv 

attendance upon the sessions of the 
Provincial Congress at Concord but 
they lodged nightly in the neighboring 
town of Lexington at the house of the 
Rev. Jonas Clarke, whose wife was a 
niece of Hancock. It was of the ut- 
most importance that they and the 
Congress be kept fully informed of 
what was transpiring in Boston. But 
when Revere called on Hancock and 
Adams in Lexington, on Sunday, he 
found that Congress had adjourned the 
day before to the 15th of May, in ig- 
norance, of course, of the immediate 
plans of the British. It had not done 
so, however, without recognizing "the 
great uncertainty of the present times, 
and that important unforseen events 
may take place, from whence it may be 
absolutely necessary that this Congress 
should meet sooner than the day afore- 
said."* The delegates indeed had 

(*Journal of the Second Provincial Con- 
gress, p. T46.) 



scarcely dispersed before the news 
brought by Revere aroused such ap- 
prehension that the committee which 
had been authorized to call the conven- 
tion together again met, and on Tues- 
day, the 18th, ordered the delegates to 
re-assemble on the 22nd at Watertown. 
Meantime, the committees of safety 
and supplies had continued their ses- 
sions at Concord. Friday, the 14th, it 
had been voted : 

artillery company, to join the army when 
raised, they to have no pay until they join 
the army; and also that an instructor for the 
use of the cannon be appointed, to be put di- 
rectly in pay." 

It was also voted : 

"That the four six pounders be transport- 
ed to Groton, and put under the care of Col. 

"That two seven inch brass mortars be 
transported to Acton."* 

(♦Journal, ,j. 515.) 

The Craddock House, Medford 

"That, the cannon now in the town of 
Concord, be immediately disposed of within 
said town, as the committee of supplies may 

(*Journal of Committees of Safety and 
Supplies; p. 514. 

Monday, the 17th, however, with 
John Hancock — to whom Revere had 
brought on Sunday information of the 
preparations being made in Boston for 
the expedition of the British — the com- 
mittees on safety and supplies, sitting 
jointly, voted : 

"That two four pounders, now at Concord, 
be mounted by the committee of supplies, 
and that Col. Barrett be desired to raise an 

On the 1 8th, the committees contin- 
ued their preparations in anticipation 
of the descent of the British upon the 
stores which had been collected. Nu- 
merous votes were passed, providing 
for a thorough distribution of the 
stock of provisions and ammunition 
on hand ; a few of these may be cited 
to tell the graphic story : 

"Voted, That all the ammunition be depos- 
ited in nine different towns in this province; 
that Worcester be one of them ; that Lan- 
caster be one, (N. B. Col. Whitcomb is 
there) ; that Concord be one : and, that 
Groton, Stoughtonham, Stow, Mendon, 
Leicester and Sudburv. be the others. 

The Mystic River 

Voted, That part of the provisions be re- 
moved from Concord, viz : 50 barrels of 
beef, from thence to Sudbury, with Deacon 
Plimpton; 100 barrels of flour, of which 
what is in the malt house in Concord be 
part; 20 casks of rice; 15 hogsheads of 
molasses; 10 hogsheads of rum; 500 candles. 
* * * * 

Voted, That the vote of the fourteenth 
instant, relating to the powder being re- 
moved from Leicester to Concord, be recon- 
sidered, and that the clerk be directed to 
write to Col. Barrett, accordingly, and to 
desire he would not proceed in making it up 
in cartridges. 

5j< >|S % 5J! 

Voted, That the musket balls under the 
care of Col. Barrett, be buried under ground, 
in some safe place, that he be desired to do 
it, and to let the commissary only be in- 
formed thereof. 

Voted, Thar the spades, pick-axes, bill- 
hooks, shovels, axes, hatchets, crows, and 
wheelbarrows, now at Concord, be divided, 
and one third remain in Concord, one third 
at Sudbury, and one third at Stow. 

Voted, That two medicinal chests still re- 
main at Concord, at two different parts of 
the town; six do. at Groton, Mendon, and 
Stow, two in each town, and in different 
places ; two ditto in Worcester, one in each 
part of the town ; and, two in Lancaster, 
ditto ; that sixteen hundred yards of Rus- 

sia linen be deposited in seven parts, with 
the doctor's chests; that the eleven hundred 
tents be deposited in equal parts in Worces- 
ter, Lancaster, Groton, Stow, Mendon, 
Leicester, and Sudbury."* 

(♦Journal, pp. 516-517.) 

The transporting of the six pound- 
ers to Groton and the brass mortars to 
Acton carried an inference and a mes- 
sage of its own. It helps to account 
for the presence at the fight at Con- 
cord Bridge, on the 19th, of the min- 
ute men, from these and other towns, 
who could not readily have covered 
the distance within so short a time, 
had their information been due solely 
to Revere's alarm of the night before. 
But that the blow might be expected 
at almost any moment, Revere's tid- 
ings, brought on Sunday, made quickly 
apparent to the committees in session 
at Concord on Monday, two days be- 
fore it fell. 

No one in Boston knew better than 
Revere what the plans of the British 
were on the night of the 18th of April. 
He was in the thick of everything that 
was transpiring. ''On Tuesday even- 
ing, the 18th," he writes, "it was ob- 




served that a number of soldiers were 
marching toward the bottom of the 
Common," which meant that they 
were to be transported across the river 
to Charlestown or Cambridge, instead 
of making the long march around by 
way of Boston Neck. He continues : 

"About ten o'clock, Dr. Warren sent in 
great haste for me, and begged that I would 
immediately ^et off for Lexington, where 
Messrs. Hancock and Adams were, and ac- 
quaint them of the movement, and that it 
was thought they were the objects. When 

two friends rowed me across Charles River 
a little to the eastward where the Somerset 
man-of-war lay. It was then young flood, 
the ship was winding, and the moon 
rising. They landed me on the Charles- 
town side. When I got into town, I met 
Colonel Conant and several others ; they 
said they had seen our signals. I told them 
what was acting, and went to get me a 
horse ; I got a horse of Deacon Larkin." 

Revere thus makes it quite plain 
that the signals were agreed upon for 
the benefit of the waiting patriots on 
the Charlestown shore, who when thev 

The Hancock-Clark House, Lexington 

1 got to Dr. Warren's house, I found he had 
sent an express by land to Lexington — a Mr. 
William Dawes. The Sunday before, by 
desire of Dr. Warren, I had been to Lexing- 
ton, to Messrs. Hancock and Adams, who 
were at the Rev. Mr. Clark's. I returned 
at night through Charlestown ; there I 
agreed with i. Colonel Conant and some 
other gentlemen, that if the British went out 
by water, we would show two lanthorns in 
the North Church steeple ; and if by land, 
one as a signal ; for we were apprehensive it 
would be difficult to cross the Charles River, 
or get over Boston Neck. I left Dr. War- 
ren, called upon a friend, and desired him 
to make the signals. I then went home, 
took my boots and surtout, went to the 
north part of the town, where I kept a boat ; 

should see the light or lights, might be 
trusted to carry the news to Lexington 
and Concord in the event of no one be- 
ing able to cross the river or get 
through the British lines by the land 
route over Boston Neck. From the spot 
where Revere landed on the Charles- 
town shore, the steeple of Christ 
church was plainly visible, yet he does 
not mention seeing the signals, though 
taking pains to record that others had 
seen them. Certainly curiosity could 
have been his only motive for looking 
for the lights in any event. Had Re- 
vere and Dawes both been captured or 



The Merriam House, Lexington 

otherwise prevented from starting on 
their journeys, the signal lanterns were 
to tell their story just the same, and it 
is fair to assume that some other rider 
would then have carried the news out 
through the Middlesex villages to 
Hancock and Adams. But to say this 
is not to detract from the value of the 
services rendered by Revere and 
Dawes. It so happened that the three- 
fold safeguard taken to insure the 
alarming of the country was not, in 
the event, necessary. All three served 
their purpose and any one without the 
others might have served, but as a 
matter of fact all three succeeded. To 
Revere must be awarded the posses- 
sion of the foresight 
which suggested and ar- 
ranged for the display of 
the signal lights ; and to 
Dr. Warren, after hav- 
ing despatched Dawes 
with the important news, 
belongs the credit for 
providing against the 
contingency of his cap- 
ture by sending Revere 
on the same errand by a 
different route. Each of 
the actors in this little 
curtain-raising perform- 

ance, preceding 
the first act in 
the great drama 
of the Revolution 
to be played next 
day on Lexing- 
ton Green and at 
Concord Bridge, 
executed his part 
well, with cour- 
age, skill, intelli- 
gence and patri- 
And in view of all these facts, for 
which Revere himself is our chief 
authority, we are forced to the conclu- 
sion that Mr. Longfellow drew liber- 
ally from his imagination, when he 
wrote the lines : 

"Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
Now he patted his horse's side, 
Now gazed at the landscape far and near. 
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, 
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; 
But mostly he watched with eager search 
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 
And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! 

The Buckman Tavern 

Lexington Common 

He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
A second lamp in the belfry burns !" 

Revere's story is to the effect that as 
soon as he could procure a horse, he 
started upon his journey, without fur- 
ther delay. "While the horse was pre- 
paring," he says, "Richard Devens, 
Esq., who was one of the Committee 
of Safety, came to me, and told me 
that he came down the road from Lex- 
ington, after sundown, that evening; 
that he met ten British officers, all well 
mounted and armed, going up the 
road. I set off upon a very good 
horse ; it was then about 1 1 o'clock, 
and very pleasant." He had not gone 
far, when he discovered just ahead of 
him two British soldiers, but he turned 
quickly about, and, though pursued, 
made good his escape, passing through 
Medford and up to Menotomy, now 
Arlington. "In Medford," he records, 
"I awaked the captain of the minute 
men ; and after that, I alarmed almost 
every house, till I got to Lexington." 
This quite agrees with the stirring 
description of the poet : 

"A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the 

And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a 

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and 

That was all ! And yet, through the gloom 

and the light, 
The fate of a nation was riding that night." 

Revere aroused Hancock and Ad- 
ams at the Rev. Jonas Clarke's house 
in Lexington.* No one has told the 

(* Among the depositions of the survivors 
of the Battle ot Lexington, printed in Phin- 
ney's history of the fight, published in 1825, 
is one signed by William Munroe, an or- 
derly sergeant in Capt. Parker's company 
of minute-men. Munroe says he learned 
early in the evening of the 18th that Brit- 
ish officers had been seen on the road from 
Boston. "I supposed," he continues, "they 
had some design upon Hancock and Adams, 
who were at the house of the Rev. Mr. 
Clark, and immediately assembled a guard of 
eight men, with their arms, to guard the 
house. About midnight, Col. Paul Revere 
rode up and requested admittance. I told 
him the family had just retired, and had 
requested, that they might not be disturbed 
by any noise about the house. 'Noise !' said 
he, 'you'll have noise enough before long. 



The regulars are coming out.' We then 
permitted him to pass." p. 33. 

Dorothy Quincy, Hancock's betrothed, 
whom he married the following autumn, 
was also in the house.) 

story of what occurred after that bet- 
ter than Revere himself : 

"After I had been there about half an hour, 
Mr. Dawes came; we refreshed ourselves, 
and set off for Concord, to secure the stores, 
&c, there. We were overtaken by a young 
Dr. Prescott, whom we found to be a high 
Son of Liberty. I told them of the ten 

in nearly the same situation as those officers 
were, near Charlestown. I called for the 
Doctor and Mr. Dawes to come up ; in an 
instant I was surrounded by four ; — they 
had placed themselves in a straight road, 
that inclined each way ; they had taken 
down a pair of bars on the north 
side of the road, and two of them were 
under a tree in the pasture. The Doctor 
being foremost, he came up ; and we tried to 
get past them ; but they being armed with 
pistols and swords, they forced us into the 
pasture; the Doctor jumped his horse over 
a low stone wall, and got to Concord. 

Concord Square 

officers that Mr. Devens met, and that it 
was probable we might be stopped before 
we got to Concord ; for I supposed that after 
that night, they divided themselves, and 
that two of them had fixed themselves in 
such passages as were most likely to stop 
any intelligence going to Concord. I like- 
wise mentioned that we had better alarm all 
the inhabitants till we got to Concord ; the 
young Doctor much approved of it, and said 
he would stop with either of us, for the peo- 
ple between that and Concord knew him, 
and would give the more credit to what we 
said. We had got nearly half way ; Mr. 
Dawes and the Doctor stopped to alarm 
the people of a house ; I was about one 
hundred yards ahead, when I saw two men, 

"I observed a wood at a small distance, and 
made for that. When I got there, out start- 
ed six officers, on horseback, and ordered me 
to dismount ; — one of them, who appeared to 
have the command, examined me, where I 
came from, and what my name was? I told 
him. He asked me if I was an express? I 
answered in the affirmative. He demanded 
what time I left Boston? I told him; and 
added, that their troops had catched 
aground in passing the river, and that there 
would be five hundred Americans there in 
a short time, for I had alarmed the country 
all the way 'op* 

(*Lossing, in Our Country, p. 777, says :— 
"Revere and his fellow prisoners were 
closely questioned concerning Hancock and 



Adams, but gave evasive answers." This is 
another of Lossing's wholly gratuitous state- 
ments, there being no authority for saying 
that questions were asked concerning Han- 
cock and Adams, while from Revere's ac- 
count of the colloquy he appears to have 
been exceedingly frank in his replies to the 
British officers. Lossing made the mistake 
of supposing that the story would read bet- 
ter by crediting Revere with displaying a 
certain amount of Yankee shrewdness in 
attempting to deceive his captors. With a 
pistol to his head, it is quite likely Revere 
thought discretion the better part of valor; 
if such a suggestion be unjust, then it may 

about one mile, the Major rode up to the 
officer that was leading me and told him to 
give me to the Sergeant. As soon as he 
took me, the Major ordered him, if I at- 
tempted to run, or anybody insulted them, 
to blow my brains out. We rode till we got 
near Lexington meeting-house, when the 
militia fired a volley of guns, which ap- 
peared to alarm them very much." 

So much so, in short, that the major 
ordered the sergeant to take Revere's 
horse from him, and the officers rode 
quickly off together leaving their pris- 
oner free. It was then about two 

Where Paul Revere was Captured 

surely be said that his remarkable candor 
in truth-telling is a tribute at once to his 
courage and audacity. In either view, he 
was anything but evasive.) 

"He immediately rode towards those who 
stopped us, when all five of them came 
down upon a full gallop ; one of them, whom 
I afterwards found to be a Major Mitchell, 
of the 5th Regiment, clapped his pistol to 
my head, called me by name, and told me 
he was going to ask me some questions, and 
if I did not give him true answers he would 
blow my brains out. He then asked me 
similar questions to those above. He then 
ordered me to mount my horse, after search- 
ing me for arms. He then ordered them 
to advar.ce and to lead me in front. When 
we got to the road, they turned down 
towards Lexington. When we had got 

o'clock in the morning, and Revere 
went across lots, returning to the Rev. 
Mr. Clarke's house, where upon nar- 
rating his adventures to Hancock and 
Adams, it was decided that they ought 
to retire to a safer place. Revere went 
with them toward Woburn, where they 
found lodging, Dorothy Ouincy and 
young Mr. Lowell, Hancock's clerk, 
accompanying them. There Revere 
left them, and with Lowell returned to 
Lexington "to find what was going 
on." Great things, indeed, fraught 
with momentous consequences were 
"going on" when Revere and his com- 
panion reached the village green. 

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Fac-simile of the Bill Presented by Paul Revere for His Services as Messenger 

The 19th of April had dawned. It was 
daylight and messengers were hurry- 
ing through the town with the news 
that the British troops were coming up 
the road from Cambridge. 

"Mr. Lowell," writes Revere, "asked me 
to go to the tavern with him, to get a trunk 
of papers belonging to Mr. Hancock. We 
went up chamber, and while we were get- 
ting the trunk, we saw the British very near, 
upon a full march. We hurried towards 
Mr. Clark's house. In our way, we passed 
through the militia. They were about fifty. 
When we had got about one hundred yards 
from the meeting-house, the British troops 
appeared on both sides of the meeting-house. 
They made a short halt ; when I saw and 
heard a gun fired, which appeared to be a 
pistol. Then I could distinguish two guns, 
and then a continued roar of musketry; 
when we made off with the trunk." 

This was the "Battle of Lexington" 
— fifty men exchanging a few volleys 
of musketry with eight hundred of the 
King's disciplined troops, who then 
marched on to Concord, only to find, 
after a bloody encounter, that the most 
valuable of the stores they had come 

to seize or destroy, had, thanks to the 
timely warning of Paul Revere three 
days before, been already removed to 
places of safety. 

On the day following these events, 
Revere was permanently engaged by 
Dr. Warren, president of the Commit- 
tee of Safety, "as a messenger to do 
the outdoors business for that commit- 
tee." * It would be a mistaken idea 

(*Revere's narrative.) 
for any one to cherish that Revere 
was willing to tender these ser- 
vices without expectation of some- 
thing more substantial in the way of 
reward than the mere satisfaction of 
having performed patriotic duty. 
There was much self-sacrifice on the 
part of the Revolutionary patriots, 
whose only remuneration was ingrati- 
tude from their countrymen, but the 
men whom history holds as heroes 
were by no means lacking, neverthe- 
less, in that quality of thrift which 
holds even patriotic service to have a 

\J£?P/ St 

Sea '" .-*?*. ^-{ ru. - ^- : ■■"" "" ,r~ : ' -•- -v ■» 1.JU- - -.-- — ■... ..'- - r-irff 




\ 4 r 

J^ x Jd*&a h& 

Fac-Simile of the Record for the Appropriation Made to Cover Paul Revere's Bill 

commercial value which the state 
should recognize. Revere, at this 
period, was prospering fairly well in 
his business, and he doubtless felt that 
he was not called upon to neglect it for 
the public service without some finan- 
cial recompense. That his employers 
took the same view of the case one may 
feel assured, from the promptness with 
which his bill was approved by the 
legislative body and the executive 
council. That the authorities thought 
Revere disposed to place too high a 
valuation upon his services is equally 
evident, for they reduced his charge 
for riding as a messenger from the 
amount asked, five shillings a day, to 
four shillings. This bill, a fac-simile 
of which is produced for the first time, 
is carefully preserved among the Rev- 
olutionary archives at the State House 
in Boston.* The paper is faded with 

(*Mass. Archives Vol. 164 p 3.) 
time, but the handwriting of Revere 

and the endorsement on the back with 

the signatures of James Otis, Samuel 
Adams, John Adams and other mem- 
bers of the council in approval, stands 
out clear and distinct. The bill, with 
the council's comments, is as follows : 
1775. The Colony of Massachu- 
setts Bay to Paul Revere, 

To riding for the Committee 
of Safety from April 21 
1775 to May 7th, 17 Days 

at 5/ 4 5 

To my expenses for self & 
horse during that time .... 2 16 a 
May 6th To keeping two Colony 
Horses 10 Day at 1/ pr 

horse 100 

Aug. 2d, To Printing 1000 impres- 
sions at 6/ pr Hundd, Sol- 
diers Notes 3 00 

Errors Excepted £11 1 o 

Paul Revere. 
N. B. ye Government does not charge ye 
charges of Impressions for ye Money emit- 
ting for other Uses than ye Army, 
reduced his Labour to 4/ per Day. 
The comments of the council upon 
the original bill, as made out by Re- 

Paul Revere's Home at Canton 

had ne- 

vere, show the care with which the 
expenditures were guarded. Revere 
evidently did not designate the pur- 
pose for which the "impressions" 
printed by him and charged up to the 
colony was intended, so a memoran- 
dum was made at the bottom of the 
bill calling attention to the fact that 
only the printing of money for the use 
of the army would be paid for. Doubt- 
less inquiry developed that Revere's 
charge was in accordance with this 
understanding, though he 
glected to indicate it in the 
item in question, and the 
explanatory words, "Sol- 
diers Notes," were after- 
ward added. 

The record of the appro- 
priation made to cover the 
bill, after the total had been 
reduced to ten pounds 
four shillings, is inscribed 
on the back of the original, 
and is to this effect : 

In the House of Representa- 
tives August 22d 1775 
Resolved that Mr. Paul Re- 
vere be allowed & paid out of 

the publick Treasury of this Colony ten 
pound four shilling in full discharge of the 
within account 

Sent up for concurrence 

Jas. Warren Speakr. 
Saml Adams Sec'y 

In Council Aug 22 1775 

Read and concurred 
Consented to 

James Otis 

W. Sever 

B. Greenleaf 
W. Spooner 
J. Winthrop. 
T. dishing 
Tohn Adams 

Saml Adams 
Joseph Gerrish 
John Whetcomb 
Jedh Foster 
Eldad Taylor 
M. Farley 
J. Palmer 
S. Holten 

Where He Manufactured Powder in Canton 


From a steel engraving from the portrait by Gilbert Stuart. 
Paul Revere 

After the British had evacuated 
Boston, Revere made himself useful to 
Washington and on April 10, 1776, he 
entered the regular military service, 
being commissioned a major in the 
First Regiment ; Nov. 27 he was made 
a Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery. He 
served in the Rhode Island campaign 
and was in command of Castle Will- 
iam in Boston Harbor ; but with his 
subsequent career we need not concern 
ourselves here. He retained through- 
out his life an intelligent interest in 
public affairs, and on one occasion 
probably used his influence in an im- 
portant and lasting manner. When the 
fate of the Federal Constitution was 
trembling in the balance in 1788, and 
the support of Massachusetts was vital, 

Samuel Adams, who had been the 
leading critic of the document, as 
drawn up at Philadelphia, is credited 
with having turned the scales in its 
favor. It is pleasant to think that he 
was induced to do so by the impression 
made upon him by a procession of 
those plain people, to whose voice 
Adams never failed to listen, led by 
Paul Revere, from the old Green 
Dragon Tavern, where resolutions en- 
thusiastically approving the new Con- 
stitution had been adopted. Daniel 
Webster, in a speech delivered at Pitts- 
burg, July 9, 1833, alluded to this in- 
cident, and represented a colloquy as 
having taken place between Adams 
and Revere somewhat after this 
fashion : 



"How many mechanics," said Adams, 
"were at the Green Dragon when these 
resolutions were passed?" 

"More sir,' was the reply, "than the 
Green Dragon could hold." 

"And where were the rest, Mr. Revere?" 

"In the streets, sir." 

"And how many were in the streets?" 

"More, sir, than there are stars in the 

For many years, Revere continued 
to follow the business of copper- 
smithing and bell founding, establish- 
ing an industry at Canton, Massachu- 
setts, which still bears his name. When 

he died, in his eighty-third year, in 
1818, he left a considerable fortune. 
He was twice married, and the father 
of sixteen children, eight by each wife. 
His remains lie in the Old Granary 
Burying Ground, a quiet spot in the 
midst of the rushing tide of business 
in Boston's commercial section, and 
where they keep company with the dust 
of Peter Faneuil, the parents of Ben- 
jamin Franklin, and three signers of 
the Declaration of Independence, — 
John Hancock, Samuel Adams and 
Robert Treat Paine. 

International Sweethearts 

By Edgar Fawcett 


SHOULD never suppose him 
to be an American," said Lady 

"Why not, mamma?" asked 
her daughter, the Honorable Miss 

Her mother, who was thin and pink 
and high-nosed, after a certain type of 
patrician Englishwoman, laughed 

"He hasn't, for one thing, any dread- 
ful twang when he talks. For another, 
he's graceful, and dresses like our own 
men . I don't like his legs, somehow," 
drawled the lady in conclusion, "but 
his figure is very good, and his face 
manly, if not handsome." 


"You don't like his legs because they 
have calves to them," said Cicely Vane. 
"Our men's never do, unless their pos- 
sessors are of the old John Bull pat- 
tern, which, for some reason, is rapidly 

"My dear, how unpatriotic ! By the 
way," pursued Lady Innismore, taking 
a red rose from a vase and putting it 
into the front of her black lace dress, 
"who got him out?" 

She was going to six or seven af- 
ternoon receptions, and had just met 
her daughter in one of the drawing- 
rooms of their Portman Square home, 
which they occupied not longer than 
about three months everv season. Her 



carriage, with its powdered coachman 
and footman on the extravagantly high 
front seat, and its huge colored coat- 
of-arms painted on one of the panels, 
waited for her outside. She knew very 
well that her daughter, who stood hat- 
less before her and very simply 
gowned, had chosen to stay away from 
all entertainments, this afternoon, be- 
cause of an expected visit on the part 
of this same young American gentle- 
man whom they had just been dis- 

"Who got Clement Madison out?" 
Cicely replied. "Why, he knew the 
American Ambassador, I believe — " 

"Nonsense, my dear. The Ameri- 
can Ambassador is charming. I wish 
they'd always send over such nice 
specimens. But this official, as you 
perfectly well know, doesn't occupy his 
time in seeking to thrust fellow coun- 
trymen down the throat of British so- 

"Mr. Madison met at one of the Eu- 
ropean watering-places," proceeded 
Cicely, as if recollecting, "that pretty 
Mrs. Macnamara." 

"Oh, the little woman whom two or 
three of our Royalties beam on ? That 
makes the affair altogether different. 
I thought I saw him talking with her 
at the Vandeleurs' garden-party. He's 
— er — very rich, isn't he, by the bye?" 

"They say so," answered the girl, ra- 
ther vaguely. "I've never made in- 

"Oh, you haven't?" said her mother, 
with a smile dim but sharp. "And yet 
you have grown rather rapidly inti- 
mate, I should gather." 

Cicely flushed and started. "By the 
way," she heard Lady Innismore add, 
"your fpther will see you presently; 
he said that he would join you here." 

In the hall Lady Innismore met her 
husband. He was a grizzled and very 
spare man, unerringly tailored, with 
deep-set eyes from which, of late days, 
troubled flashes would sometimes leap. 

Eighteenth Baron Innismore of 
Ormolow, sprung from a race no less 
rich than patrician, he found himself at 
the present time in galling financial 
straits. There was no reason why this 
condition of things should be other- 
wise. Lord Innismore was not the vic- 
tim of misfortune, but rather of his 
own violent extravagance. Ormolow, 
in Devonshire, had for several years 
been heavily mortgaged, because of 
gambling debts. This June his win- 
nings at the Ascot races had been very 
large, but debt had left him only a 
few thousand of these after they were 
reaped. Like so many of his compeers 
in rank, he lived a false, vain, selfish 
life, and, like numbers of them, as well, 
he scarcely gained one annual half- 
hour of happiness. His wife he had 
never loved, though at the time of their 
marriage, she was very much in love 
with him. So much, indeed, that she 
had "lent" him almost half of her 
jointure, never seeing a penny of it 
again. She now hugged the remainder 
greedily. Cicely was their one child. 
The girl was so handsome, with her 
profuse amber hair and sea-blue eyes, 
that when her first London season be- 
gan there were many prophecies as to 
her making a great match before its 
end. Yet this was her third season, 
and though offers had come to her, 
some of them highly approved by her 
parents, she resisted all suasion from 
any source but that of her own heart 
and spirit. 

"She's an odd girl to be ours," Lady 
Innismore had said repeatedly to her 

1 54 


husband, in varying forms of phrase. 
"I don't know where she gets her sen- 
timent from, really." This mother, 
now so ossified in worldliness, had for- 
gotten the sentiment of her own girl- 
hood and the bitter disillusions which 
had cruelly gorgonised it. 

"Cicely's there in the front drawing- 
room, if you want to see her," the lady 
continued. Then, looking coolly into 
her husband's face, she went on: "I 
think I guess the truth, Innismore. 
The American has asked you for her. I 
saw you reading that long letter this 
morning in the library, and something 
in your face made me suspect. Per- 
haps you may have seen him since. 
I've heard he's enormously rich." 

Lord Innismore pulled his gray 
moustache and nodded twice or 
thrice. He had long ago given up all 
confidential dealings with his wife, but 
this time he doubtless felt that she de- 
served full tribute to her shrewdness 
in a matter of such momentous family 

"Yes, Adela, there's no question 
about his wealth. I'll tell you every- 
thing later. I shan't have a very long- 
time to talk with Cicely, for Madison's 
coming this afternoon." 

He was moving past his wife when 
her next words made him pause. 

"How we hate it, don't we?" 

"Hate it? You mean—?" 

"Marrying our daughters to for- 
eigners. But if Cicely takes him, as 
I've strong suspicions that she will, 
we should remember his Americanism 
as a very small fact. He'll live here 
with her most of their time, if not all — ■ 
I'm convinced of it. As if he could 
possibly prefer one of those provincial 
Yankee towns after being accepted by 
our great English world ! I shouldn't 

be at all astonished, indeed, if he had 
himself Anglicised." 

Lord Innismore gave a dubious lit- 
tle grimace as his wife passed him on 
her way downstairs. At once he went 
in and joined his daughter. 

"So, Cicely," he said, taking her 
hand and holding it for a moment, Mr. 
Clement Madison tells me that he 
wants you for his wife. He believes 
that you like him. Do you?" 

"Yes, papa." 

Cicely was perfectly accustomed to 
her father's matter-of-fact way. He 
seldom kissed her ; he had rarely 
scolded her, though he had once or 
twice told her she was a precious lit- 
tle fool for refusing So-and-So or 
Thus-and-Thus. His manner had 
never seemed to her brusque or heart- 
less, for she knew so many Englishmen 
of their aristocratic set who behaved 
precisely as he did. With one of them 
she had indeed narrowly escaped fall- 
ing in love. They were nearly all very 
much alike. They waxed talkative, 
even enthusiastic, over horses and dogs 
and races ; they had long periods of 
silence when this woman or that did 
her best to amuse them ; they spent 
hours in the hunting-field or in shoot- 
ing grouse, and often at country- 
houses their feminine admirers were 
expected to follow them into the bil- 
liard-rooms and attempt some travesty 
of conversation punctured by the fre- 
quent clicks of ivory balls. Without 
realizing it, Cicely knew in every detail 
the ungallant modern swell of her race. 

"He wrote me," said Lord Innis- 
more, dropping into a chair, pocketing 
either hand and crossing his slender 
legs. "Then I went to his chambers 
and we had a chat." Seeing a look 
of surprise, here, on the girl's face, 



Jier father added: "I — er — went to 
him, you know, because his letter was 
— er — very polite indeed. He offers 
handsome settlements — I may say, ex- 
ceedingly handsome." Here Lord In- 
nismore rose. He hated long talks, 
and he had a card-playing appointment 
at one of his clubs. "I don't know 
much about our ancestral line, Cicely, 
but I don't think that in any instance 
we've married other than Englishfolk 
for surely two hundred years." 

"In 1620," said Cicely, with a de- 
mure recitational manner, "Edmund 
Gordon Waynfieete, Baron Innismore, 
married a Venetian lady belonging to 
the famous family of Gradenigo." 

"Brava !" replied her father, with 
the rasp that he usually gave instead 
of a laugh. "That's where you get 
your yellow locks from, I haven't a 
doubt. Well, my consent, please un- 
derstand, is given. I'd like the mar- 
riage to take place before the shooting- 
season, and I suppose you'd prefer St. 
George's, Hanover Square." 

"Yes, papa, though the preference 
isn't strong." 

His lordship gave a shrug, and took 
out a cigarette, which he rolled un- 
lighted between his fingers. "I hope 
your preference in another direction is 
more decided." 

"Oh, certainly," said Cicely, laugh- 

"Upon my word, I've sometimes be- 
lieved you'd marry a pauper if you 
were fond of him," declared her father. 
"But Madison, luckily, is very far from 
being that. The truth is, he's richer 
than some of our dukes. I've verified 
his statements absolutely. They know 
all about him at Coults's. One of the 
American agents happened to be there 
to-day when I called. He left no doubt 

in my mind as to Madison having a 
million and a half of pounds (I never 
can remember how you put pounds 
into dollars), besides holding a very 
respected position." 

Lord Innismore departed, that after- 
noon, without having mentioned to his 
daughter a fact which he wished to 
remain inviolably secret, and which 
Clement Madison, on his own part, had 
promised to keep so. The latter had 
received a daring proposal that he 
should make Lord Innismore a large 
loan within the next few days. Only 
to call this proposal daring would be 
to invest it with an insufficient blame; 
for it was also the very essence of hid- 
eous taste. But Innismore felt des- 
perate enough to deport himself thus, 
even after having accepted this young 
man as a son-in-law and received from 
him, as well, an assurance that Cicely 
should be generously dowered. 

Clement mused rather sombrely af- 
ter the father of the girl he loved had 
left, that morning, his agreeable cham- 
bers in St. James's Street. He did not 
like his prospective father-in-law ; he 
liked few of the fashionable, dawdling 
men with whom Lord Innismore min- 
gled. All in all, titled and untitled, 
they were a great throng, and they 
stood for a most lamentable arrogance. 
Love for Cicely made much of her sur- 
rounding, at least temporarily, rose- 
color, but even so halcyon a necro- 
mancy could not tinge it all. Except 
for Lord Innismore's daughter, he 
would have gone back to America soon 
after the feverish fascination of Mrs. 
Macnamara had perished. He was 
by nature cool-headed, firm of purpose, 
and an abominator of vice. Especially 
did he loathe vice when blent with so- 
called culture. He had begun to look, 

1 3 6 


in his reticent, clear-visioned way, 
upon the English aristocracy as the 
curse of a noble country. He was 
young — barely twenty-seven — and his 
opinion may have been open to refuta- 
tion in many of its most important de- 
tails. I leave that to the arguments of 
the comparative social analysts. Never- 
theless, it was his opinion, and he clung 
to it with hardy, concealed stubborn- 
ness. For many days before telling 
CiGely that he loved her, he had under- 
gone much severe anxiety. He had 
never dreamed of marrying an Eng- 
lishwoman at all, and if such an idea 
had ever entered his head, it must have 
been totally disconnected with becom- 
ing the husband of any woman who be- 
longed to Cicely's class. He was deeply 
fond of his own country; he came of 
New England stock, though for sev- 
eral generations his family had made 
their home in New York. Now he had 
no near relations, and had found him- 
self, when scarcely twenty, the master 
of a great fortune. It had always been 
his wish to enter a political life on re- 
turning home, and already he had con- 
cerned himself not a little with primary 
meetings and other governmental 
questions in his huge native town. 

Of all this he had scarcely spoken a 
word, as yet, to Cicely. His love for 
her was the truest of passions, but like 
so many attachments of the sort, it 
never concerned itself with the girl's 
mental strength or weakness. He felt 
that she was complaisant and yielding, 
and that she resembled hundreds of 
Englishwomen, old and young, who 
consented without a murmur to play 
passive parts toward the other sex. 
These made of themselves voluntary 
backgrounds, and took it for granted 
that they were to be amused rather 

than to amuse, smiled upon rather than 
even hint self-assertion, obey and con- 
ciliate, rather than direct and counsel. 
All this Clement disliked ; he had a fur- 
tive conviction that some day he would 
see Cicely delicately Americanized. 
Such a change could not add to her a 
single charm in his eyes, but it would 
still bring him an elusive, yet vital 

To-day his meeting with her in Port- 
man Square dealt only with the divine 
frivolities of love-making. That even- 
ing, at a certain very large dinner in 
Mayfair, the fact of their engagement 
was caused to transpire. Later, at a 
great crush in Belgrave Square, 
Clement and Cicely received 
many gratulations. From the Eng- 
lish of both sexes, they mostly 
came in the characteristic, reserved 
way. But there were several Ameri- 
can women present, and their cordial- 
ity was, to Clement, rich in refreshing 

"What will you do when you bring 
her to New York?" whispered one of 
these, "and have to put on your cards 
'Mr. and Lady Cicely Madison'?" 

"She isn't 'Lady' anything," said 
Clement: "she's a baron's daughter, 
you know." 

"True ; I'd forgotten. But 'Mr. and 
the Honorable Mrs.' ? Won't that look 
even stranger still?" 

"It may," returned Clement, with an 
oracular smile. "It certainly ought." 

At this same entertainment a slen- 
der, comely young man found his 
chance to glide into the little crowd 
which surrounded Cicely. "Is it true?" 
he asked, carelessly, with his lips close 
to her ear. He spoke with such speed 
and in a voice so deftly modulated, that 
almost no one caught his words. 



"Yes, it's true," she answered, look- 
ing full into his earnest eyes. 

"Will you come and talk with me 
about it for a little while?" he said, in 
his quick, yet wooing voice. Some- 
what later, as they moved away into 
whatever coign of privacy the thronged 
apartments would grant, Cicely met 
the gaze of Clement Madison. It did 
not look at all jealous, though he was 
well aware that her present companion, 
Sir Chetwynd Poyntz, had been among 
her former suitors and that he stood 
well outside the black list of detri- 

It was not until the next day that 
Clement had untrammelled possession 
of his sweetheart's company. By pre- 
arrangement he drove her in one of his 
smart traps to Hampton Court, which 
they reached in time for luncheon at 
the drowsy and picturesque Mitre inn, 
only a step from the river. After 
lunching, they strolled among the im- 
perial oaks and chestnuts of old Bushey 
Park, sought to pat the shy deer and 
fawns, laughed at their own repeated 
failures, and then moved onward 
among the glorious trees. 

"You haven't told me anything about 
your talk last night with Sir Chetwynd 
Poyntz," Clement presently said. "Did 
he tear me all to pieces as an impudent 

"Fancy my allowing him!" she re- 
plied. They sank, as if by mutual 
wish, on one of the infrequent benches. 
All about them was a voluminous mel- 
ody of high tossed leafage, whose rifts 
revealed the brilliant blue and the 
rounded, rolling clouds of a perfect 
midsummer English day. 

"No," Cicely continued, "there's 
nothing mean or double about Chet- 
wynde. "If I'd loved him as much as 

I respect and like him, no doubt we'd 
be to-day Sir Chetwynde and the Hon- 
orable Lady Poyntz." 

"You'd have called yourselves after 
that funny fashion?" 

Cicely drew herself up a little. 
"Don't you know yet," she asked, 
"about the rigid etiquette of our 

"I haven't thought very much about 
some of their intricacies," laughed 
Clement, perhaps a trifle nervously. 
"Why, if you married him, should you 
not be simply 'Lady Poyntz'?" 

Pier sweet eyes widened. "Because 
I could not. It would be against all 
custom, all precedent. I am above him 
in rank ; I am the daughter of a baron ; 
he is only a baronet." 

"M-m, I see. And then he's an Eng- 

Her head gave a bird-like start. She 
looked at him across one shoulder, with 
slanted eyes. "An Englishman, of 
course. If he were a real foreigner, 
like a Frenchman, a German, an 
Italian, then it would of course be dif- 

"A real foreigner," Clement re- 
peated, as if to himself. "Do you call 
an American a real foreigner, Cicely?" 

"No," came her brisk response. 

Clement spoke very softly. "Then 
you would expect to call yourself the 
Honorable Mrs. Madison after you 
married me?" 

"Call myself?" she exclaimed, with 
a tang of irritation in her tones, 
wontedly so suave and mellow. "One 
never calls oneself that. One is never 
addressed as 'Honorable' even by 
servants, as of course you know. But 
one always put it on one's cards." 

"Still, to us, in America, it would 
seem absurd, no matter how employed. 

1 5 8 


During our visits to England, I should 
not have the least objection. But as 
residents of New York I should not 
desire it, and no less for your sake than 
my own." 

"As residents of New York!" The 
words were harshly given. "You can't 
mean that you've intended to drag me 
over there ! You surely don't wish me 
to live there !" The face of Cicely was 
pale as her puffed and broidered white 

"I do wish it." And very gravely, 
but very tenderly, Clement leaned 
toward her. "All my future lies there, 
Cicely. You come of a race and a set 
that despise my country—" 

"We don't despise her ! We don't 
think enough about her to do that!" 

"Could contempt go farther?" 

"It isn't contempt," she persisted. 
"We admit her enormously large and 
prosperous. In certain respects we're 
prepared to call her refined. But we 
do not often feel like doing so. As a 
rule (you must pardon me), it has 
been our experience that she is very- 

In a swift mounting surge the color 
stained Clement's blond face, then 
slowly faded. She had hated to speak 
as she had spoken, and she dearly loved 
the man at her side. But it must be 
now or never. She must make him 
yield. Here and forthwith must the 
fight be fought out — a veritable fight 
to the finish. Here and forthwith must 
be crushed clown and forever anni- 
hilated this horrid peril of becoming 
an American through marrying one. 

"You call my country vulgar," 
Clement said, after he had held for 
some time his chin buried in one hand, 
whose arm rested on his knee. "How, 
pray, is it in the least more vulgar than 

yours? Assuredly, judged by size, it 
has far fewer paupers, and these sink 
to depths of degradation that ours 
rarely reach. Is not ignorance vulgar- 
ity? Go among your peasantry, your 
mechanics, your fisherfolk, your min- 
ers, all your working-classes, and see 
what ignorance abounds there ! Many 
of them dwell in pretty cottages, and 
through summer these are overmanned 
by flowering rose-vines. But inside 
they are often comfortless, ill-ven- 
tilated, unwholesome. The question of 
pensions for your aged poor has long 
cried to your parliament and received 
from it no pitiful answer. The edu- 
cation of your masses at the present 
hour is below that of Germany, France, 
Austria and even Denmark. It is so 
far below that of our United States as 
to make any comparison almost ridicu- 
lous. Is knowledge, then, your defini- 
tion of vulgarity?" 

Cicely evaded his clear, mild eyes. 
"Your people flock here in droves, and 
we judge of them by their loudness, 
their pushing deportment, their brag- 

"But your people — your common 
people, as perhaps you would phrase it, 
Cicely — cannot flock to us in droves.- 
They are too poor. The Irish flock 
that way, and do so still, but only be- 
cause starvation has driven them to 
our shores. However, I have no de- 
sire to talk politics." 

"I do so wish that you would drop 
the entire subject," she flashed im- 

"I cannot," said Clement, with placid 
seriousness, "for the time has come 
when it must be threshed out thor- 
oughly between you and me." 

"You mean, then — ?" murmured the- 
girl, growing pale. 

They Sank 

on One of the Infrequent Benche.^ 

"That all must be arranged, dear 
Cicely, and the sooner the better." 

"All arranged?" she faltered. 

"That I should never consent to your 
not living with me as my wife in my 
native land. That however we may 
transiently wander to this or to other 
lands, from time to time, our real home 

must be overseas. That I concede the 
faults of the great Republic in which 
I was born, but that these faults, in a 
sense, only make her dearer to me, 
since I believe them always fraught 
with a promise of betterment. That I 
see in this Republic the noblest and 
purest idea of human government yet 




conceived by man. And finally, that it 
would cover me with shame to forsake 
her for any protracted period." 

"This — this," the girl stammered, 
"covers me with a sort of horror. You 
never told it me before. You waited 
till now, when everybody knows we are 
engaged !" 

"And pray," asked Clement, a note 
of sternness creeping unawares into his 
voice, "what did you expect from me?" 

"Expect? Why, that you'd already 
pitched your tent here, for good and 
all ! We'd received you," she fired on, 
her eyes moistly flickering, her pure- 
curved lips curling with disdain. "We 
don't receive everybody, you know!" 

"Yes, I do know," he answered. 
"You receive nearly every American 
who is rich, you British aristocrats, 
and who is willing first to fawn upon 
you a little and then to spend money on 
you in showers. You bow specially be- 
fore the American women who marry 
your dukes and earls, my angry Cicely. 
And very often these marriages are 
horribly unfortunate, being made with 
the most sordid motives. One foolish 
little woman gives thousands to mend 
the old broken-down "historic" abode 
of His Grace This. Another little 
woman, equally foolish, pays the huge 
debts of Lord That. The list of Anglo- 
American marriages has grown very 
long by this time. How many of them 
have been happy ? How many of them 
have contained, during the early days 
of courtship, a spark of actual love — 
of the rich, devout love which I feel 
for you now, and which I am certain 
you feel for me as well?" 

Cicely rose, trembling^ "You in- 
sult the class to which T belong!" 

"T could not," said Clement, while 
he also rose. "It is beneath insult. It 

is too lazy, selfish and vicious. How- 
ever, I speak only of what are called its 
smart sets, and by this time I think 1 
ought to know them." 

"Why, then — why, then," she 
gasped, "did you go among us after 
you saw our depravity?" 

"Because of you, Cicely. Nothing 
as yet had tainted you! Your purity 
was like a star which I loathed to see 

"Are you sure it was not Mrs. Mac- 
namara who kept you handling such 
pitch as you describe us?" 

Clement's features grew tense. 
"That is not worthy of you. And I 
resent your 'us.' " 

She laughed high and gratingly. 
"Ah, don't idealize me, please. It 
sounds anomalous enough after you've 
abused my place in the world, my as- 
sociates, even my kindred. Still, all's 
over now." She swept past him, hav- 
ing grown deadly pale. "Good-bye," 
he just heard, no more. 

As she began to walk rapidly on- 
ward he sprang after her. "Are you 
not going home in my carriage ?" 

"No; I've been here often," she 
said, in husky tones, her head almost 
imperceptibly turned toward him. "I'm 
quite familiar with the place. I shall 
go back by train." 

"One moment, please. You said 
'all's over.' Did you mean by 
that ?" 

"I meant that our engagement is at 
an end." She hurried on, and he stood 
with one lifted hand pressing hard 
against the furrowed bole of a giant 

On her return, that afternoon, Lady 
Innismore met her with marked sur- 
prise. "So early, my dear ! I thought 
you and your new sweetheart were to 



feast upon all the finest paintings in 
Hampton Court. You look queer. Did 
the horses run away — or what?" 

"/ ran away," said Cicely. 

Lady Innismore stared at her child 
in that stolid, languid style with which 
years had made Cicely conversant. 
"Good gracious, my dear, I hope you 
haven't been quarrelling!" 

At once Cicely told everything. She 
was in great mental pain, and now her 
mother's throwing of the head from 
side to side and intolerant curling and 
recurling of the lips, by no means les- 
sened her distress. 

"This is quite preposterous," Lady 
Innismore declared, when the recital 
was ended. "You never knew the 
word diplomacy, and you'll never learn 
it till you're an old maid with scores 
of wrinkles." 

"Ah, you say that, mamma, because 
Clement Madison is rich!" 

"I say it because he's an admirable 
match, certainly. What on earth was 
the sense of your breaking with him 
because he chose to be a little pom- 
pous about his own country and rather 
impudent about yours? Didn't your 
common sense tell you that he'd never 
be contented with Yankeedom after 
having really been taken up and smiled 
on by us? I hear he's a good sports- 
man — has ridden to the hounds more 
than once in Leicestershire and else- 
where. And then he's seen our coun- 
try houses, a few of the very best. You 
played your role idiotically." 

"I had no role to play, mamma." 

"Yes, you had. It was marriage 
first and talk afterward. Wouldn't 
you have had your assured settlements, 
you goose ?" 

"Oh," cried Cicely, "you counsel 
such deception as that !" 

"Bosh! How would we women 
ever get on without it? Besides, no 
special deception would have been 
needed. Cetait la moindre des choses 
— it was all such a trifle ! You could 
have smiled and looked a little sad — 
and got married. Men are all alike. 
Oppose them in a pet idea and they 
turn granite. Yield (or seem to yield) 
and they're wax. Hadn't you the 
weapons of your beauty and the fas- 
cination it exerts upon him ? And why 
in heaven's name should you bore 
yourself by taking a heroic pose on the 
subject of the British aristocracy? My 
silly girl, are you a conservative news- 
paper wrangling with an Irish parlia- 
mentary member? He said we're a 
sorry lot, did he? Well, he's quite 
right ; so we are. We've nothing to do 
except spend money, and we haven't 
half enough money to keep up the im- 
pudence of our idleness. What Clem- 
ent Madison said we've all heard a 
thousand times before. The Radical 
gangs are always flinging it at us, and 
(for that matter) we're always fling- 
ing it at one another." 

Lady Innismore paused. She was 
very indignant, but she had not once 
raised her voice above a tart, stinging 
drawl. Cicely had dropped upon a 
sofa, and she now went up to her, and 
with a touch of something in her tones 
that might relatively be termed soft- 
ness, she recommenced : 

"Come, now, let me write Madison 
a note. You shall sit beside me while 
I write it. I'll tell him that you were 
secretly feeling quite nervous and un- 
strung, this morning, and that you re- 
gret " 

But here Cicely flew up from the 
sofa. "No, no ! Clement isn't the fool 
you paint him, mamma. He at least 



meant what he said. He has the dig- 
nity and honesty of his opinions, how- 
ever I deplore them. He loves me, 
and he would not lie to me. I love him, 
and I will not lie to him. You once 
told me, while you scolded me because 
I wouldn't marry that odious Mr. Cav- 
endish-Pomfret, that you were sorry 
you'd ever sent me for three years to 
Wye Seminary under the care of dear 
old Mrs. Holme. But she taught me 
at least what truth and honor mean, if 
she taught me nothing in your eyes 
more noteworthy." 

Here Cicely hastened from the room, 
and went upstairs to her own. By de- 
grees her anger against Clement died, 
but its passing left her determination 
still firm. She would not expatriate 
herself. It was bred in the bone that 
she should not. Let her mother talk 
insincerely and flippantly of the whole 
affair. If pride and love of country 
were myths, if there were nothing 
worth having on earth but wealth and 
caste and splendor, then she meant to 
live as if this were all a fabulous affir- 
mation and the complete reverse were 

She dreaded to meet her father, for 
she was dearly fond of him despite 
flaws but too manifest. In a little 
while, however, Lord Innismore, fresh 
from a talk with his wife, appeared ; 
and Cicely had cause never to forget 
the interview that ensued. Lord In- 
nismore began by looking at his daugh- 
ter as if she were a dish of something 
that he didn't like and was impelled 
to push away. But instead of pushing 
her away he went closer to her. His 
air was horribly grim ; his bushy eye- 
brows were so drawn down that they 
almost veiled his eyes ; he stood plant- 
ed before Cicelv with red face, leq-s 

apart, hands deep down in his pockets, 
and a general air of commonness which 
suggested its having been borrowed 
from one of his most plebeian grooms. 

"Well, my girl, you have made a 
mess of it I" 

Cicely was not in the least afraid 
of him. She had long ago learned that 
his bark was far worse than his bite. 
She was excessively fond of him, as 
already recorded, however much or 
little he may have deserved it. He had 
once saved her life when her horse 
bolted with her on the hunting ground, 
and had been laid up for weeks with a 
fractured thigh in consequence. He 
had never complained afterward, in 
spite of much suffering, and repeat- 
edly he had said, with hand tight- 
clasped about her own : "Thank God 
I got you safe through it, anyhow, 
Siss, old girl !" 

"You've come to scold me," she 
now said, receding from him a few 
steps. "I'm miserable enough, surely, 
without that. No doubt mamma has 
been telling you just what happened at 
Hampton Court." 

He suddenly veered away from her, 
and went to a table, from which he 
snatched up a book. Staring down at 
the volume, he turned over its leaves 
with such rapidity that each twist of 
thumb and finger threatened to tear 
one of them from its binding. 

"Take care, please," ventured Cicely, 
with veiled satire. "That's a Mudie 
book, and if you mutilate it the damage 
must be paid for." 

"I can't pay for it," he shot out, 
flinging the book with a slam back on 
the table. "I can't pay for anything. 
I'm about as well ruined, now, as a 
man can be. I don't see anything that 
T can raise monev from. I'm brutally 



in debt; you're not mean, and would 
have helped me with a small slice of 
vour settlements, or enabled me, be- 
fore you got 'em, to put myself on my 
legs again — I know how, perfectly 

Cicely said with sadness, then : 
"Papa, if I had married Clement, and 
if I had lent you anything, you'd sim- 
ply have gambled it away. And 
so " 

Lord Innismore struck the table 
with his clenched fist. "I wouldn't 
have clone anything of the sort ! I tell 
you I would not! I've made up my 
mind never to touch a card again or 
gamble in any way, as long as I live !" 

"Servient d'ivrogne" thought 
Cicely. But this was certainly better 
than to be scolded after the manner 
of her mother. Aloud she promptly 
answered: "Bravo, papa! I wish, all 
the more, now, that Clement Madison 
hadn't tried to use so high a hand with 

He looked at her, quite abruptly, 
with a certain mildness and melan- 
choly which he never showed to any- 
one else. "If I made you a sacred 
oath, Cicely" — he began. But then 
he stopped dead short. 

"I should love to have you make the 
oath," she said, perfectly understand- 
ing his incomplete sentence. "But not 
on the terms which I feel confident you 
desire — no, no!" 

Lord Innismore gave a great sigh. 
With lowered head he moved toward 
the door. Then he turned and looked 
at her again, with great steadiness. 

"I — I oughtn't to have spoken of the 
settlements he promised, Cicely. It 
was shabby of me, I grant. But you 
don't know the madness that comes 
over a man placed as I am. Your 

mother will do nothing for me. She's 
never forgiven me — you recall for 
what. She'll help you, but she'll let 
this house go, she'll see me in the gut- 
ter, before she helps me with five hun- 
dred pounds — or even less. Only fools 
babble of suicide, and then don't com- 
mit it. Look at Rotheraye, last month. 
He staid till four o'clock at the St. 
James's Club, merry as a linnet over 
baccarat. By ten his valet found him 

"Papa!" cried Cicely. She sped 10 
her parent and struck him sharply on 
the shoulder, then kissed him almost 
violently on both cheeks. 

He caught one of her hands, press- 
ing it with vehemence. "Take my oath 
that I'll never gamble again!" 

"I'll take it." 

"There's nobody on earth I'd make 
it to but yourself." 

"I'll take it," repeated Cicely. "But 
not on the condition that I marry Clem- 
ent Madison." 

"Never mind." He gave her the 
oath, and in his rough, lowered voice, 
he made it very sacred. 

"Now," he broke off, with his old 
bluff manner returning, "will you do 
a favor for me?" 

"A favor?" 

"Yes. See Madison once more. Oh, 
you needn't look so stern. It's noth- 
ing about marriage. Perhaps it's hard- 
er than would have been any offer to 
take him back." 

"Harder?" Cicely creased her 

"What is it?" 

"This : Madison agreed to lend me 
a certain sum of money during- the next 
day or two. Of course he'll think it 
all off, now. Will you see him and 
ask him (remember, my girl, the sol- 

1 64 


emn oath I've sworn you!) to let the 
agreement hold good?" 

Cicely gave a great start. Then she 
hurried away, sank into a chair and 
covered her face. She felt the hot 
crimson shame steal against her deli- 
cate palms. 

Lord Innismore's voice went on : 
"If he lends me that sum I can pay 
him back every penny inside of two 
years. Living my new life, which I've 
sworn to you that I will live, I can get 
from my Devonshire rents and my 
Scotch property twice the sum he 

There came a pause. Cicely still sat 
with covered face. Presently her 
father's voice again sounded, mourn- 
ful, but not reproaching. 

"Oh, well, I see it's no use. You 
won't do it. All right. You're the 
only woman I ever loved, Sissy, old 
girl. I don't blame you. I've been a 
bad lot in my clay and you've stuck by 
me more than once. It's asking too 
much, though, this time ; it's asking 
too much !" 

She heard the door close, and stag- 
gered to her feet. Yes, her father had 
gone. She flung herself into the chair 
again, racked by a torrent of tears. 

"I am sorry," said Clement Madi- 
son to his visitor, "that you did not 
send for me instead of coming here 

Cicely was darkly clad and looked 
all the paler on this account. For a 
moment her eyes wandered about the 
pretty room, full of curious, taste- 
ful and costly things. "You were 
afraid to have me come like this, all 
alone?" she said, absently. "Well, I 
didn't know whether you'd answer anv 

message I might have sent. How 
should I know?" 

"Cicely!" He motioned toward a 
chair close at her side. 

"No thanks; I'll stand. So you 
think I've compromised myself by 
coming here? Well, we'll assume I'm 
a typewriter, or a girl with some sort 
of subscription, or an artistic damsel 
with a portfolio of barbaric water-col- 
ors. But my mission is more serious." 
For an instant there came into her eyes 
a kind of frenzied light. She slipped 
one hand toward her throat, rubbing 
it restlessly below the chin. "I — I don't 
come on my own account," she pur- 
sued, and then seemed unable to speak 
the next words. 

But effort prevailed, and soon she 
brought them out with clearness and 
calm. Her entire appeal to the man 
with whom that morning she had 
broken faith was meant to be set in 
the key of intense entreaty. But she 
never reached the end of it. With 
trenchant ardor Clement cut her short. 

"I hadn't dreamed, Cicely, of with- 
drawing my word to your father. How 
could I?" 

She stared at him wonderingly. "But 
the marriage?" 

"Our marriage has nothing to do 
with the affair. If you will not, you 
will not. Your father, meanwhile, 
shall receive his cheque to-morrow. 

A gladdening light seemed to pour 
itself over Cicely's face. "Oh, how I 
thank you ! Many another would not 
have acted like this, Clem — excuse me, 
Mr. Madison !" Her eyes glittered 
with tears, and some of them fell. "I — 
I told you, didn't I, of papa's oath to 
me ? And he'll keep it — he'll keep it ! 
In two years' time, he will have gath- 
ered together " 



"Yes, you told me about that, too." 
"Did I ? My head's so confused, 

I " 

"You'd better let me go home with 
you, in that case," proposed Clement. 

"Oh, no, thanks." Here Cicely sank 
her voice to a whisper. "I — I didn't 
tell you that I feared papa might com- 
mit suicide!" 

It occurred to Clement that there 
wasn't much danger of anything so 
ghastly. "In that case," he said, 
however, "I'd better bring the cheque 
myself at once. "Provided," he went 
on, solemnly, "you'll allow me to ap- 
pear in your house." 

"Oh, it isn't my house," fluttered 
Cicely. "You may do precisely as you 

He dismally laughed. "You didn't 
speak like that this morning." 

Cicely moved toward the door. 
Resting her hand on its knob, she gave 
him a look replete with mystery. Half 
of it seemed gratitude and half bellig- 

"Don't mar your noble conduct," she 
murmured, "by allusions to this morn- 

Clement somehow slipped much 
nearer to her without being himself 
quite aware of the approach. 

"I might allude to them — er — apolo- 
getically, you know." 

"Oh," cried Cicely, "you want to 
make me appear a perfect fiend by de- 
porting yourself like an angel ! Come, 
now ; you meant every word you said." 

"That doesn't prevent me from apol- 
ogizing. Suppose you did the same," 

"Never! "But she softened in every 
feature while this little exclamatory 
crash was effected. 

"I'm sorry," Clement answered. 
"Because that, vou know, would make 

us quits. You certainly were not very 
polite in Bushey Park. Neither was 
I. We might each apologize for thai. 
Then we could begin all over again. I 
see your eyes ask me how, dearest! 
Well, this w r ay : you could be my wife 
and spend three years with me in 
America " 

"Three years !" 

"Wait. You could go back with 
me every summer. Summer's the only 
decent time in England, anyway." 

"Pray," she said, with a pensive 
haughtiness, "don't revile poor Eng- 
land any more ! Surely I've had a sur- 
feit !" 

"Is that reviling her? Good heav- 
ens ! I've heard you vituperate the 
fogs and the dampness for hours at a 
stretch. Well, if not hours, appreci- 
able periods. After we'd spent three 
years in New York you would have 
the right to command that I should 
spend three years with you in Eng- 
land. It would ruin my career, but 
I'd do it, provided you so insisted." 

"Ruin your career?" she repeated, 
as he slightly turned away. 

"Oh, yes ; I had hoped for a political 
future in the States. Not on my own 
account, but because I've felt that I 
might do some good in a land where 
legislation, God knows, needs honest 
men far more than rich ones." 

"Oh," burst from Cicely, "so your 
beloved United States are not perfect- 
ly faultless, after all?" 

"Did I ever say they were?" 

"No, you were too occupied in up- 
braiding England. I must go now ; 
it's growing dusk." She turned the 
door-knob, slightly opening the door. 
"I would never ruin your career," she 
continued, shutting the door again, 
yet still keeping a stout hold on the 

1 66 


knob. "But you mustn't believe I'm 
not immensely thankful for your great 
goodness to papa. It would trouble 
me greatly if I thought otherwise." 

Clement drew backward several 
steps. He folded his arms, and drooped 
his head. There was silence. Cicely's 
hand dropped from the knob ; she took 
some faltering paces toward the man 
she loved. 


He lifted his eyes, but gave no other 

"I — I think I might try to live in 
your country for — for three years. But 
if I should grow very homesick before 
they were ended, wouldn't you take 
pity upon me, and ?" 

She did not finish her sentence, for 
with eager haste he had caught and 
crushed her in his arms, and pressed 
his lips to her own. 

They were married in London that 
autumn ; and when they went to Amer- 
ica; a few weeks later, Cicely found 
her fear of homesickness drifting away 
with unexpected speed. The gay world 
welcomed her, and its novelty, fresh- 
ness and individualism became, as 
month followed month, a deepening 
charm. Clement's political impulses 
were exploited with determination, and 
their first result was a winter residence 
in Washington. But every summer 
the young pair would sail for England, 
and at these times all the old remem- 
brances were brightened for Cicely by 
realization that her father was not 
only keeping his oath, but would still 
keep it while he lived. If possible, 
this realization endeared her to Clem- 
ent all the more. It seemed like a con- 
tinual testimony, shining and precious, 
of the high and sweet boon that his 
love had brought into her life. 

_<wM— **V S* m 

The U. S. Naval Torpedo Station 

By Grace Herreshoff 

AS our late war with Spain has 
quickened the interest and 
increased the activity in our 
new Navy, so the greater Civ- 
il War set on foot more ambitious pro- 
jects and offered wider opportunities 
for inventions, ''changing the old or- 
der and giving place to the new." A 
wonderfully able navy was that of the 
sixties ; but one of the most essential 
elements the present day organiza- 
tion possesses, it lacked : the torpedo, 
which, previous to the Civil War, was 
in the most embryonic state, needing 
the activity of actual warfare to bring 
it into prominent notice. In the gen- 
eral revitalization of all governmental 
departments, a spirit engendered by 
the final demonstration of the Nation's 
power, attention was turned to the 
powerful explosives then recently 
brought into use by the Navy, and the 
subject seeming to open up unknown 
possibilities, it was thought wise to 
pursue a special course of study and 
experiment upon torpedoes. To this 
end, Admiral Porter selected, as the 

home of the "Torpedo Station," Goat 
Island, forming one of the protections 
of the harbor of Newport, Rhode Is- 
land, convenient to and yet removed a 
safe distance from the city. The little 
island — it is hardly a mile and a half 
long — was the property of the Army, 
however, and had hitherto been known 
only for its disused Fort Wolcott, 
where the Naval Academy boys had 
been drilled during war-time ; but Ad- 
miral Porter's scheme was too excel- 
lent to pass unnoticed, and the value of 
Goat Island was finally fixed at $50,- 
000, a yearly rental of $5,000 being de- 
cided upon. 

Accordingly, on July 29, 1869, the 
island was transferred from the War 
to the Navy Department, only by 
lease, however, for the possession of 
anything so stable as dry land is de- 
nied those whose domain covers all 
the seas of the earth ; a torpedo corps 
was organized, and under the direction 
of Commander E. O. Matthews, as 
Inspector in Charge, took possession 
of Goat Island in September. Until 

It was bv the courtesy of Commander Mason that the writer was enabled to visit the Station. 


The Commandant's Headquarters 

the routine should be regularly estab- 
lished and adequate working-space 
provided, the old army barracks were 
transformed into lecture-rooms and 
laboratories, while a machine shop and 
store house were evolved from the few 
shelters the naval cadets had left be- 

During the first five years of the sta- 
tion's growth, were erected its most 
important buildings, which are those 
in present use ; they were the machine 
shop, store house, electric and chem- 
ical laboratories, several cottages for 
the officers, and the inspector's house, 
which latter was built over the old 
barracks and includes also various offi- 
ces. In 1881 a comparatively large 
gun-cotton factory was built on the 
west shore, and for a period of years 
that explosive was manufactured ex- 
clusively at Goat Island, though of 
late only a small quantity for experi- 
mental use is yearly turned out. It 
being found impracticable to mass in 
one building so great a quantity of 

sensitive explosives — the factory was 


destroyed by fire, with some loss of 
life, in 1893 — a number of small build- 
ings were erected along the west shore, 
and built into the embankment which 
was cut out to receive them. This 
scheme was rendered the more neces- 
sary by the introduction of smokeless 
powder into general use ; for, in each 
little building, only one step in the 
transformation of the raw cotton can 
be effected, thus reducing to a mini- 
mum the danger of explosion. 

Goat Island, or the Torpedo Sta- 
tion, as it is invariably called, is entire- 
ly surrounded by a heavy sea-wall of 
stone and masonry, begun under the 
direction of Captain, then Commander, 
Converse ; and it was only by the 
timely construction of this barrier 
that the island was saved from the 
uselessness to which the constant wear 
of the waves threatened to reduce it. 
From its northernmost point — Goat 
Island, long and narrow, extends al- 
most due north and south — a heavy 
stone breakwater stretches some one 
thousand six hundred feet up the bay, 



ending in a light-house of the usual 
neat, white-plastered variety. Both 
the breakwater and "Goat Island 
Light" were built long before the cre- 
ation of the Torpedo Station, — about 
1840, in fact; while even previous to 
that date a small light had been main- 
tained on the point, its keeper inhab- 
iting a house near by. 

the station. Even a few tenderly 
cared for trees flourish before the 
commandant's quarters directly oppo- 
site the landing-pier, though elsewhere 
the neatly marked paths and roads 
gleam white in the sunlight. And let 
it here be noted that the extreme neat- 
ness prevalent at the Torpedo Station 
is such as to remind one forcibly of the 

The Electric Laboratory 

The aspect which the station pre- 
sents, as one approaches it on a sum- 
mer's day, is not without its beauty ; 
with the winter days it is best not to 
concern one's self, for then the bleak 
winds, sweeping up and down the bay, 
seem to render even one's foothold in- 
secure. In the summer, the ground is 
grass-covered, and vines embellish the 
six severely plain cottages, marshalled 
in a row along the south part of 
the island, which are occupied by the 
officers constituting the personnel of 

"holystoned" and orderly appearance 
of a great battle-ship. Over in front 
of the machine shop a number of pon- 
derous torpedoes and tubes of obso- 
lete make, with other objects of that 
nature, are regularly disposed on the 
lawn, and clumsy old submarine mines 
(one "ancient" example is dated 1880, 
such is the haste of modern inven- 
tion!) mark the corners of the paths. 
And here, north of the inspector's 
quarters and scattered over tile widest 
part of the island, within and about 



the embankments of the old fort, 
stands the little group of buildings 
which shelter the forces that go to 
make up the Torpedo Station, — that 
little speck on the great map of the 
United States which exercises on the 
Navy an influence out of all proportion 
to its size. For the purpose of the 
Torpedo Station is to manufacture, 
instruct, and primarily, to experiment. 
Every invention of use to the Navy, 

and the power which these insignifi- 
cant objects possess is symbolical of 
the importance of the Torpedo Station. 
They are, generally speaking, small 
round receptacles of brass, one or two 
inches in length, filled in the case of 
primers and fuzes, which ignite gun 
powder, with a very fine meal powder ; 
but the contents of exploders and de- 
tonators, which explode the gun-cot- 
ton in a torpedo and are of necessity 

Officers' Cottages 

except in the line of propelling ma- 
chinery and heavy armament or "ord- 
nance proper," passes through or has 
its birth at the station. Here also a 
large number of officers and men re- 
ceives instruction on matters of vital 

Though gun-cotton and smokeless 
powder are no longer manufactured 
exclusively at the station, there are 
produced here the primers and fuzes, 
exploders and detonators, which fire 
the charges of guns and torpedoes ; 

more powerful, are composed mainly 
of fulminate of mercury. A recent in- 
vention at the Station was the com- 
bination primer, which, as the name in- 
dicates, unites in one primer the forces 
of two different classes ; so that if, say 
the electricity, should fail to act, the 
charge would still be fired by virtue of 
the power of friction which the primer 
also possesses — and vice versa. 

On the floor above the machine shop 
is the torpedo lecture room, a large hall 
in which officers and men are instruct- 

The Torpedo Boat " Winslow" at the Station 

ed, fairly lined with torpedoes, most 
of which are the modern automobiles ; 
but in one corner hang three obsolete 
forms, one of which possesses an his- 
toric interest in having been taken 
from the Spanish war-ship "Maria 
Teresa." The Whitehead automo- 
biles, however, predominate in inter- 
est, for they are the torpedoes in com- 
mon use at the present time. The 
Howell — also an automobile — is occa- 
sionally used, to be sure, and is most 
successful in actual warfare ; but its 
delicate and complex mechanism (it 
is propelled by a revolving disc instead 
of by compressed air, as is the White- 
head ) renders it impracticable for in- 
struction or "exercise" use. 

The modern torpedo is a cyl- 
indrical case of steel, n feet 8 inches, 
or 15 feet, long (the Whitehead is 
used in two sizes) and nearly 18 inches 
at its greatest diameter, tapering to 
the bluntly rounded "head" at one end 
and to the slender pointed "tail," car- 
rying the rudder and propellers, at the 

other. Into three sections is the won- 
derful torpedo divided : the head, 
holding the explosive ; the air flask — 
which is the middle section — contain- 
ing the driving power of air at a high 
pressure ; and the after-body, in which 
are the engine, shaft and steering-gear, 
together with various appliances con- 
trolling the idiosyncrasies of this min- 
iature submarine vessel. For such the 
torpedo really seems to be, guiding it- 
self, and entirely independent of any 
outside agency from the time it leaves 
the tube, until the little war-nose pro- 
jecting from the head touches a solid 
substance, when the gun-cotton with 
which the war-head is packed explodes 
and the torpedo, with its target, is 
blown to atoms. 

But in carrying out its purpose of 
destruction upon the opposing force 
what an exquisite piece of workman- 
ship is sacrificed in the torpedo ! Its 
interior is filled with numerous delicate 
and complicated mechanisms which 
automatically regulate its course, every 



possible contingency being provided 

That it may the more resemble an 
actual boat, one small compartment 
is called the engine-room ; within this 
the little engine, occupying a space 
hardly a foot in diameter and driven 
by the force of compressed air, accom- 
plishes thirteen hundred revolutions 
every minute. Though racing at this 
tremendous rate, it can and does stop 
on the instant without injuring in the 
slightest, without even jarring the del- 
icate machinery surrounding it. The 
speed made by the miniature ship in 
passing through the water, which, it 
must be remembered, offers resistance 
to its entire surface, is twenty-six 
knots an hour for a run of eight hun- 
dred yards, and amounts to about thir- 
ty knots when half that distance is to 
be covered. As a matter of compari- 
son, let it be noted that the engines of 
the torpedo boat "Dupont," gigantic 
in contrast to the dainty mechanism 
under consideration, cannot make 
more than four hundred revolutions to 
the minute; yet with this power the 
boat, encountering to be sure, less re- 
sistance, can make over twenty-eight 
kriots an hour — nearly the greatest 
speed of which the torpedo is capable. 
What, then, would be the speed of the 
"Dupont," could her powerful engines, 
without destroying themselves, even 
approach the high rate reached by a 
torpedo's machinery ! 

As torpedoes are in constant use 
for both instruction and experiment, 
it would of course be dangerous and 
even impossible for them always to 
carry their charge of gun-cotton ; each 
one is accordingly provided, besides 
the war-head, with an exercise-head, 
which is filled with water, in order 

that its weight may equal that of the 

A torpedo is fired from a tube, the 
upper half of which projects, roof-like, 
over the mouth, as a shell from a gun, 
that is, by a charge of powder ignited 
by a primer; but with this difference, 
that the torpedo travels under its own 
propelling power, whereas the shell 
gains its momentum from the force of 
the ejecting charge. It requires, how- 
ever, great care and skill to set cor- 
rectly the different regulators in a tor- 
pedo, preparatory to the run ; and it is 
both interesting and ludicrous to 
watch the proceeding of the novices at 
"target-practice," for they are prone 
to forget the most important adjust- 
ments. A "surface-run" is most re- 
markable to witness : then the huge 
cigar-shaped object goes skimming 
across the water, occasionally leaping 
several feet into the air, looking and 
behaving exactly like a porpoise, it is 
said, while making a great rushing 
and whirring noise, like the sound of a 
train speeding through a tunnel, a fact 
not at all strange when one remembers 
that the fifteen-foot torpedo is running 
at a rate of twenty-six to thirty knots 
an hour. Perhaps the steering gear is 
left to its own devices : immediately 
the torpedo proceeds upon a course 
most bewildering and even terrifying 
to the beholder, turning in circles, run- 
ning up against some object, only to be 
headed off in another direction, and, 
when the compressed air is finally ex- 
hausted, describing an arc in the air 
before ending its gyrations at the most 
unexpected spot. Occasionally a tor- 
pedo will be lost, burying itself in the 
mud or following so eccentric a course 
beneath the water as to evade the vig- 
ilance of the searchers ; but it is usual- 

A Torpedo Tube for Practice Work 

ly recovered eventually, as was the 
case with a torpedo found recently by 
the divers under instruction at the 
station. Though having lain a year and 
five days beneath the water, it was 
found to be intact, and will perhaps be 
used eighty or a hundred times for 
exercise purpose during its future ex- 

It is hardly possible to realize that 
this remarkable mechanism is the re- 
sult of so humble a beginning as the 
primitive spar torpedo. This explo- 
sive, it can hardly be called a missile, 
came into existence about the time of 
the Civil War, and was nothing more 
or less than a cast-iron box filled with 
coarse gun powder, and fastened to 
the end of a long spar, or "boom," 
which was carried alongside a launch, 
though projecting some distance in 
front of the bow. As this torpedo 

could not be exploded until the launch 
was beside the object of attack, and 
as this act was accomplished by means 
of a primitive friction primer, manipu- 
lated by a cord, the danger to the oper- 
ators was nearly as great as to the en- 
emy. Though spar torpedoes have 
been superseded by automobiles they 
have been constantly improved : the 
shell is now of steel, the charge has 
become gun-cotton, ignited by an elec- 
tric detonator. At a recent experi- 
ment in the waters near Goat Island, 
four of these modern spar torpedoes 
were exploded, sending great beams 
of wood two hundred feet into the air, 
while the solid column of smoke and 
debris seemed to extend up into the 
clouds themselves. 

The next step from the spar was the 
towing torpedo, dragged by careful 
manipulation of two lines at some dis- 


Copyrighted, 1897, by Frank H. Child. 

U. S. Torpedo Boat "Porter" Making 35 Miles an Hour 

tance off the quarter of a vessel, and 
made to dive beneath her adversary. 
An approach to the automobiles were 
the Lay, Lay-Haite, Ericsson and Ed- 
ison-Simms torpedoes ; but these, al- 
though propelled by their own power, 
were hampered by the cables controll- 
ing them from the boat or shore. In 
1870, before the adoption of the 
Whitehead by our Navy, the so-called 
Station torpedo, resembling the En- 
glish one, was constructed and exper- 
imented with at the island ; it gave way, 
however, to the Howell, which, though 
a later invention, was introduced here 
at about the same time as the White- 
head, the most recent and by all odds, 
the best. 

It is a remarkable, and perhaps not 
fully realized coincidence, that during 
the Spanish War not a single torpedo 
was fired by our vessels, the torpedo 
boats having been mainly useful as 
despatch boats, defending themselves, 
when necessary, with the small guns 
with which they were provided. Con- 
sequently the first explosion of a 
Whitehead under actual conditions of 

war took place only year before last in 
Narragansett Bay, when the United 
States Torpedo Boat "Porter," running 
at full speed, fired the torpedo at a dis- 
tance of eight hundred yards from the 
target, the beach of Prudence Island ; 
then immediately turned about and 
fled to a safe distance. Several other 
torpedo boats were assembled, with a 
number of officers on board to witness 
the experiment, which resulted most 
satisfactorily, effectually proving that 
with the discharge of a single torpedo 
the "Porter" could destroy the enemy's 
ship and herself escape with practic- 
ally no damage. 

Mines were originally intended to 
receive as much attention at the sta- 
tion as torpedoes ; but shortly after its 
beginning the mine department was re- 
moved to Willett's Point, not however 
before Captain Converse had made an 
important invention in that line. The 
Naval Defense mines are invariably 
loaded at the station, and at the time 
of the Spanish War the employees 
were kept very busy filling the coun- 

Copyrighted, /6'pp, by Frank 11, 

Firing a Whitehead Torpedo 

Not only are mines and torpedoes 
loaded there, but it is at the Torpedo 
Station that the torpedo outfit of every 
vessel in the Navy is assembled ; and 
on going out of commission it is there 
a ship returns her outfit, to be repaired 
or, if necessary, replaced. The regu- 
lations, moreover, provide that an 
overhauling of the outfit shall take 
place every three years. With the 
"rush in business"entailed by the tre- 
mendous growth of the Navy during 
recent years, it is not surprising to 
find the pay-roll of the employees at 
the Torpedo Station increased from 
about $100 per month in 1872 to about 
$400 per day in the present year. 

The experiment manoeuvres at the 
island are by no means confined to 
torpedoes. Back of the machine shop 
stands the electrical laboratory, a neat 
little building crowned by the search 
light tower, in which is given practical 
instruction on this weapon of the new- 
Navy. In the lecture rooms are to be 
found examples of every kind of elec- 
tric light used on board a vessel, from 
the huge search light, down to the 

minute one-half candle power incan- 
descent, with which the inside of a 
torpedo is illuminated for examina- 
tion. The dynamo room is also the 
place of particular investigation and 
practical instruction to both officers 
and men. 

Leaving the electric laboratory, one 
approaches an archway cut through 
the high embankment which formerly 
surrounded the fort ; one approaches, 
but may not pass through, for within 
the enclosure stand two buildings 
closed to the outside world. The 
larger is the chemical laboratory, in 
which are conducted experiments in 
the line of explosives ; in the small 
building to the right of the entrance the 
blocks of wet gun-cotton are shaped, 
by means of a circular saw, to fit snug- 
ly into the oval war-heads. Sawing 
gun-cotton sounds as if it were a de- 
cidedly hazardous proceeding ; but as 
the material is saturated with water 
and every possible precaution taken, 
the workmen are nearly as safe as are 
those in the machine shop, — more so 
than the workers on detonators, per- 



haps, for a careless blow, be it ever so 
light, on the sensitive fulminator may 
result in the serious, if not fatal, 
wounding of the workman. 

In one wall of the white plastered 
archway is cut the name of the French 
engineer, very modestly, thus : — 
"Rochefontain Enginr." He it was 
who threaded the embankments 
with passages, partly underground; 
leading into these are little doors at in- 
tervals in the walls, one of which, in a 
corner of the enclosure, opens into an 
old prison in the tunnel. 

Again, back of the enclosure is 
another, but solid embankment, which 
extends thence along the west shore 
nearly to the breakwater; it is this 
embankment that shelters the six gun- 
cotton and smokeless powder houses, 
entrance into which, it is hardly 
necessary to state, is strictly forbid- 

Buildings 1, 2 and 3 comprise the 
guncotton factory. In the first of these 
the raw cotton is picked apart and 
dried, a certain brand of English cot- 
ton being always used, as it is the most 
successfully treated in the manufac- 
ture of the powder. The second step 
is the nitrate bath, out of which the 
cotton, now nitrocellulose, is wrung 
and washed, then carried to building 3 
to be reduced to a soft pulp ; after a 
final wringing the gun-cotton is ready 
to be taken to building 4, which, with 
5 and 6, is the smokeless powder fac- 
tory. From building 4 the cotton 
emerges transformed into smokeless 
powder, and having the appearance of 
sticks of glue ; but a process of drying 
and seasoning, accomplished in the 
next building, is now necessary, and 
after that the powder undergoes a final 
test, lying stored in the last building, 

under different degrees of tempera- 
ture, before it is issued for use. 

The preparation to which the gun- 
cotton is subjected, the ingredients of 
which are known to very few, is of 
course constantly experimented upon 
and, as the results show, greatly im- 
proved, for the smokeless powder of 
the present day has obtained a consid- 
erable advance in velocity over that of 
a few years ago. Many of the experi- 
ments in the action of gun-cotton and 
smokeless powder are conducted on 
Rose Island, which lies to the north- 
west of the station, and where a gun- 
cotton magazine is also situated. The 
subject of nearly as much study as the 
powder itself is the elimination of dan- 
ger from explosion during its manu- 
facture, and of disease to the work- 
men ; and to that end the buildings 
have been so constructed that they may 
be frequently and thoroughly cleansed, 
while some progress has been made in 
protecting the men from the "noxious 
vapors" arising from the chemicals. 

As a place of instruction, the Torpe- 
do Station holds a position of import- 
ance in the Navy. Not only are classes 
of officers engaged there every sum- 
mer in practical study on torpedo work, 
electricity, the chemistry of explosives, 
etc., but each year two classes of sea- 
men/ the pick of the enlisted men, are 
thoroughly trained in electricity and 
torpedo work, and, if they so desire 
and are physically fit, in diving. The 
course in torpedoes renders the men 
capable not only to fire the missiles, 
but to give them proper care and to 
repair them, to some extent, when dis- 
abled. A lasting proof of the excel- 
lence of the Station's diving course 
was furnished by the work and condi- 
tion of the men diving on the wreck 

Copyrighted, 1901, by Frank H. Child. 


1 7 8 


of the "Maine" in Havana harbor. So 
thorough had been their physical train- 
ing, that after 50 days of continuous 
work in the filth and stench of the har- 
bor, in a hot and oppressive climate, 
not one of the naval divers suffered 
any ill effects or was in any way in- 
jured — a most unusual occurrence in 
any wrecking company. As to their 
ability, though the New York press 
was at first inclined to criticise, com- 
paring the "sailors" unfavorably with 
the professional divers, at the last it 
was eager to admit their undoubted 
skill and bravery. 

With their previous six months' 
training in the gun-shops at the Wash- 
ington Navy Yard the men qualify as 
seamen gunners after this seventeen 

weeks' course, and are usually ordered 
at once to sea ; later, those who possess 
sufficient ability rise to the rank of 
warrant officers. 

A small portion of their time of 
study at the station is spent on board 
torpedo boats, the men thus becoming 
somewhat accustomed to sea-duty, 
though of course the majority are sent 
on board battle-ships and cruisers, 
gun-boats and other smaller vessels, 
whose numbers predominate over 
those of torpedo boats. Life on the 
latter, it must be understood, is quite 
a different matter from that on any 
other ship in the Navy. In the hrst 
place, torpedo boats are not built xor 
men to live on, far less with a view to 
comfort ; in fact, the question of ex- 

The Machine Shop 
In the foreground may be seen many torpedo tubes taken from the Spanish vessels at Santiago 



istence on board was so far 
forgotten in the cases of 
the "Craven" and "Dahl- 
gren," that no spaces 
were allowed for the 
galleys, and on their com- 
pletion it was necessary to 
construct them between 
the stacks on deck ! It is 
however, well known that 
these boats were not the 
result of American talent. 

Beyond the primary 
purpose of discharging 
her missiles, the objects 
of a torpedo boat are facil- 
ity of control and speed, speed that will 
enable her to outstrip any other class of 
vessels whatsoever; save only the tor- 
pedo boat destroyers, which are merely 
torpedo boats raised to a higher power, 
size, armament and speed increased, 
but not altered. But to attain this 
speed a torpedo boat must be of a slen- 
der shape and lie low on the water, in 
order to escape observation as well as 
to offer the least possible resistance; 
further she must not be uselessly en- 
cumbered with elaborate fittings, but 
every portion of her make-up must be 
reduced to the least weight, while her 
machinery must embody in a compact 
form a tremendous amount of power. 
Fully as high as her speed qualifica- 
tions must be her ability to respond to 
the lightest touch on the wheel, to re- 
verse, stop, or start her engines at a 
second's notice; for she depends in 
battle not upon the material protection 
of heavy armor-plate, which would 
weigh her down and detract from her 
swiftness, but upon her own insignifi- 
cance and cunning in escape. 

A torpedo boat is, in proportion to 
her size, without an exception the fast- 

"The Archway" 

est vessel afloat. Though the "Du- 
pont" is but 175 feet in length, with a 
displacement of 165 tons, the 3,800 
horse power of her engines is equal to 
that of the Sound liners, such as the 
"Plymouth," for instance, a boat of 
vastly greater tonnage and perhaps 
150 feet longer. Yet the "Plymouth's" 
speed is hardly two-thirds that of the 
torpedo boat. A comparison with a 
modern ocean liner, whose proportions 
more nearly approach those of a tor- 
pedo boat, is also interesting. Rough- 
ly speaking, the "Deutschland" — fast- 
est of the ocean greyhounds — meas- 
ures about four times the "Dupont's" 
length and breadth ; but against a hun- 
dredfold increase of tonnage, the 
"Deutschland" can develop only a nine 
times greater horse power, with the 
result that her speed lacks about five 
knots of the "Dupont's." The latter 
craft, be it noted, was built to attain a 
speed of only twenty-six knots ; but on 
her official trial she exceeded this con- 
tract rate by about two and one-half 

The power of endurance against the 
ceaseless battery of waves and ice in 

" ' .■•:.■'■}-■•*. , ■&*&,''■:*■:{;* 

A Recent View, Showing the New Administration Building at the Left 

our northern waters is not considered 
one of the requisites of a torpedo boat ; 
but the "Dupont," with the smaller 
''Morris," refuted the idea that these 
vessels must be hauled up or sent south 
during cold weather. Both of these 
boats successfully weathered the hard 
winter of 1898-99, moored to a dock 
in a sheltered cove of Bristol, R. I., 
harbor ; the "Dupont" going there di- 
rectly after the terrible November 
storm of that season, while the "Mor- 
ris" joined her later — in good time, 
however, to pass through the novel ex- 
perience of being frozen in the ice for 
many weeks. But though the boats 
stood the test well, the crews endured 
untold discomforts. 

Two members of the latter, never- 
theless, seemed to enjoy life in the cold 
weather to which they were so unac- 
customed. Both of southern birth, 
they were "Chic," the lively little fox 
terrier mascot of the "Morris," cap- 
tured from some Spanish merchant- 
ship ; and "Dupont Bill," basely kid- 

napped in infancy from his Cuban 
home, a goat which gladly devoured 
the candy, with its paper bag, so fre- 
quently offered him by the sailors, as 
well as, on one occasion, the feathers 
decorating a visitor's hat ! For a short 
time last winter, the "McKee" was re- 
joiced with "Bill's" presence as a 
guest, and it was on one of her trips 
that he narrowly escaped a waters- 
grave. The trip was memorable in 
the boat's career as well as in "Billy's." 
The "McKee," which is the small- 
est of her class, — hardly one hundred 
feet in length and of only sixty-five 
tons displacement — left New York one 
stormy day for Newport, expecting 
to arrive in about eight hours. A 
short distance along the Sound, how- 
ever, her blowers gave out and she 
was forced to proceed under natural 
draft, crawling along at about three 
knots an hour, while the seas literally 
swept over her, nearly sweeping poor 
"Billy" overboard. At last he was 
lashed to the smokestack, and though 



half smothered by the water, weather- 
ed the twenty-four hour nightmare of 
a trip ; meanwhile the executive officer, 
"Bill's" only companion on deck, was 
forced to grasp the supporting stack 
in a close embrace. 

innumerable are these unofficial 
records of runs bravely accomplished 
under conditions with which no torpe- 
do boat was designed to cope ; but so 
enjoyable can warm, fair weather ren- 
der a short trip, that one would forever 
scorn the most luxurious steam yacht 
after a single rapid, exhilarating run 
on a torpedo boat. 

The "McKee" has been mentioned 
as the smallest vessel of her class. 
Still smaller is the "Stiletto," the only 
wood torpedo boat in the navy ; be the 
other slips crowded or deserted, she 
is always to be found at her dock at 
the Torpedo Station. Moored near 
her, last summer, was that representa- 
tive of a new type, the submarine tor- 
pedo boat "Holland ;" and very strange 
and weird, like some deep-sea mon- 
ster newly dragged into the light of 
day, appeared that part of her fifty 
feet of length which is visible when 
she rises to the surface. As far as the 
question of life on board (or is it with- 
in?) is concerned, the "Holland" is a 
little more comfortable than a diving- 
suit, and can be stored with sufficient 
air and food to support her crew of 
five for forty-eight hours ; as to the 
question of destruction upon an out- 
side force, this submarine vessel is an 
undoubted success, as was proved in 
the fleet and harbor defense manoeu- 
vres held at Newport last summer. Tt 
was reported on this occasion, that the 

"Holland" could have "torpedoed" 
(synonymous with "destroyed"; prob- 
ably three ships of the blockading 
fleet. In strange juxtaposition to this 
modern invention, an old submarine 
boat, designed by Admiral Porter, lies 
near the docks at the Station. It is a 
box-like structure of iron, divided 
within into compartments, one of 
which contains an ancient smooth- 
bore gun, and intended to be sunk to 
a stationary position. 

It has been almost entirely through 
the ceaseless activity of its many ex- 
cellent commandants and assisting offi- 
cers that the Torpedo Station has at- 
tained its prestige. The present In- 
spector is Commander N. E. Mason, 
the well-known executive officer of the 
U. S. S. "Brooklyn" during the Span- 
ish War, who distinguished himself at 
Santiago ; Lieutenant - Commander 
Rees, formerly executive officer of 
the island, but ordered to sea duty 
August, 1 90 1, most ably performed the 
duties of executive officer on no less 
a ship than the "Olympia," at Manila, 
under Admiral Dewey. It is hardly 
necessary to add that the Department 
strenuously endeavors to appoint the 
personnel of the Station from among 
the most active and efficient officers of 
the navy. 

Many years ago Rear Admiral 
Sampson was Inspector at the Station, 
and little known to the general public. 
With the increase of the new navy he 
has come into prominence, and by his 
ability has shown to the world her 
power in war, — a power the growth" of 
which is typified by the progress made 
at our Navy's Torpedo Station. 

Handsome Felix 

By I. McRoss 

ft W 

HAT is the use, Felix, 
in being the hand- 
somest man in all 
Madawaska, if you 
care nothing for the girls ? You might 
as well be as homely as Sol Boulier, for 
all the use your good looks are to 
you !" 

"Perhaps better, mother, for Sol has 
just married as pretty a girl as ever 
confessed a sin to Father Marchand; 
you see good looks have nothing to do 
with it. Now give me one of your 
aprons to put across my knees and I 
will shell the peas for you, before I go 
down town to hunt up a table girl." 

"You'd better hunt up a wife; re- 
member you are thirty years old ; when 
your father was your age we had been 
married ten years." 

"Whom shall I marry? Susie Mi- 
chaud? Delphine Dionne? Rosie — " 

"Shame on you, Felix St. Thomas! 

To think of such creatures ! No, no, 

marry some one like yourself, pretty 

and slender, straight and tall, though 

not quite so tall as you ; you stand six 

feet in your high-heeled boots, your 

wife's forehead should just reach the 

tip of your ear ; she must be dark, too, 

just a trifle lighter than you; hair a 

good, warm brown, eyes brown or 

hazel, color enough to stain her cheeks 

a rich red. Never, Felix, never marry 

a washed-out, light-haired, blue-eyed 

girl, — she'd be faded before thirty. 

Your wife must be French, too ; I'd 

like a Canadienne, but she must speak 

English as well as you or I. Yes, and 
her hair might curl a trifle that your 
children's hair be not too straight. 
Sometimes I think of the children 
while I am here at work, until this 
kitchen seems swarming with the dear, 
bright-faced little fellows ; they jostle 
my elbows, they get their little hands 
into my flour, and I put out my hand to 
box their ears — but not hard, I 
wouldn't hurt them — just to get them 
from under my feet. Madame rested 
the rolling-pin upon the piecrust and 
looked at Felix with happy, smiling 

"Well, mother, you pick out the 
one you want me to marry, and I will 
get her if I can." 

"Of course you can get her ! What 
girl would not be proud to be the wife 
of handsome Felix? Then see what a 
good business you are doing; twice 
you have been obliged to enlarge this 
hotel, yet it is always full." 

"That is because of your famous 

"Partly, and partly because the 
liquors you sell are the best, so they 
say, that were ever sold in spite of the 
Maine liquor law." 

"There, mother, the peas are 
shelled." Felix rose and put the pan 
of peas upon the table. "Now I 
must go and look up the table girl." 

His mother watched him as he 
walked down the street — tall and 
straight, head upheld, eyes bright, 
complexion clear — he cared too much 



for his good looks to drink the liquor 
he handled. His new suit of dark 
gray cheviot fitted perfectly his fine 
figure, and his boots had just the high, 
pointed heels dear to a Madawaska 
Frenchman. Apparently he looked 
neither to the right nor the left, but 
from the corner of one eye he saw two 
girls looking at him from the opposite 
side of the street, and heard the ripple 
of a few syllables in French. In- 
tent upon his errand, he crossed the 

"Do either of you girls want to work 
out? I need a table girl at the St. 
Thomas hotel." He directed his ques- 
tion to the elder of the two, a girl about 
twenty. "How pretty she is !" he kept 
thinking. "But mother would not think 
so, she is so fair ; and not tall enough, 
either; her head would scarcely lie 
upon my shoulder." He had the grace 
to blush at the thought, as she smiled 
into his face. 

"Yes, I came to town to find a 

"What is your name?" 

"Julie Le Vasseur." 

"And your home?" 

"In Canada, near the Chaudiere." 

His questions had been put in 
French, now he spoke English : 

"Can you speak English?" 

She answered in English as perfect 
as his own : 

"O, yes ; I went to an English school 
and my mother is an Englishwoman. " 

"That is the reason you are so fair; 
you do not look like a French girl. Can 
you come to the hotel now, with me? 
Our girl left this morning and we need 
you now." 

"Yes; but my trunk is at my cous- 
in's, Pete Thibbedeau's." 

"I will send for it, if you will come 

with me." They walked together to 
the hotel and into the kitchen. 

"Mother," said Felix, "this is Julie 
Le Vasseur ; she will wait upon the 

"Come with me, then; I will show 
you what to do," said Madame. 

"What a white head !" wasMadame's 
inward comment, though she could 
not deny that it was a pretty head, with 
its glistening waves of fair hair break- 
ing into tiny curls wherever a strand 
became loose. "She would be pretty 
if only she were darker, and I am glad 
she is not. Felix will never fall in love 
with such a light girl." So hard it is 
to abdicate a throne that Madame for- 
got, for a moment, what she had been 
preaching to Felix for ten years. 

Madame watched Julie very closely 
for many days ; she always kept her 
eye upon the table girls, they were so 
eager to get a word or glance from 
Felix ; but Julie, to Madame's surprise, 
seemed utterly indifferent to Felix's 
charms, and that was something that 
neither he nor his mother could quite 
understand. Madame tried by hints 
and questions to get Julie's opinion of 
Felix ; at last she asked outright : 

"Do you not think my Felix very 
handsome, Julie?" 

Julie was polishing silver in the din- 
ing room, and she looked at a fork 
critically, before answering : 

"O, yes, Madame, for such a black 

"Black man! My Felix!" Madame 
almost screamed. 

"Yes, Madame, such black eyes and 
hair, and such dark skin, you know." 

"Of course ! W'at else will you have 
for ze man? Ze white hair an' skin, 
like ze foolish girl?" Madame never 
lost her perfect command of the Eng- 


lish language except under stress of 
great mental excitement. "Where ever 
did you see one ot'er such han'some 
man, like my Felix?" 

"My Trirlis is handsomer," said 
Julie, her eyes bent upon a tea spoon. 

"Your Trirlis ! So zat ees eet, ze 
mattaire ! Your Trirlis ! Bien, w'at 
do he look lak?" 

"Trirlis? O, he is tall — six feet and 
two inches." 

"Zat ees too much ; ma Felix ees 
just six feet." 

"In his stocking feet;" said Julie, as 
though she had not heard, "my Trirlis 
does not need to wear boots with high, 
pointed heels, like a fine lady's." 

"Zat ees ze style, an' ma Felix have 
ze leetle, pretty feet zat look so nice." 

"Triflis is broad across the shoul- 
ders, thick in the chest and strong." 

"So is ze ox." 

"His hair is just a little darker than 
mine, and it curls around his white 
forehead; the rest of his face is tan- 
ned quite dark, but his cheeks are red 
as June roses. And Triflis's mouth — 
O, it is handsome ! He does not need 
any mustache to hide it." 

"Ma Felix does not wear hees mus- 
tache to hide hees mout', his mout' ze 
pretties' you evair saw." 

"Perhaps his teeth — " 

"His teet' !" Madame was quivering 
with rage. "His teet' are perfec' ! Yes, 
look at you'se'f in ze spoon ; you see 
you upside down, zat w'at you are ! 
W'at you t'ink you see, anyhow ? You 
t'ink you pretty wit' you tow-head an' 
you putty face? Felix can have any 
girl he want for marry heem." 

"Oh !" Incredulously, "he'd better 
be hurrying a little, he's getting pretty 
okl.' ? 

"Old ! Ma Felix ! He iss young ! An' 

listen ; he will marry one hen'some girl 
like heemse'f — black eyes an' hair an' 
red cheeks, tall an' fine, wis ze proud 
head like hees own, zat is ze wife I 
choose for heem." 

Julie shrugged her shoulders, dis- 

"Well, that would be best. It will 
save spoiling two families." 

Madame was too angry to answer 
this, and went into the kitchen bang- 
ing the door after her. Julie could hear 
her slam the stove covers. "Ma Felix ! 
Black ! Old ! Wear mustache to hide 
his mouth ! Bad teeth ! Make fun of 
his pretty boots !" She could not keep 
it to herself, but found Felix and 
poured the story into his ears. 

"She shall leave, the baggage! To- 
morrow, to-day she shall go !" 

"No, no, mother; I should be 
ashamed to send her away for that, 
and you know she is the best table girl 
we ever had." 

Madame's anger continued many 
days, but Julie did not pay any atten- 
tion to it, nor did she seem to notice 
that Felix's mustache and the hign 
heels of his boots had disappeared. 

One day word came that the gover- 
nor and his staff, with their wives and 
daughters, were going through the 
Upper Madawaska and would be at 
the St. Thomas hotel for six o'clock 
dinner. Then Madame forgot her 
anger and turned to Julie : 

"O, Julie ! Only to-morrow ! Thirty 
of them ! And such a dinner as they 
will expect ! Many governors have 
taken dinner here, and have always 
been served with the best, but now — 
not twenty-four hours' notice, and 
bread, cake, pies, puddings to be 
baked, chickens and turkeys to be 
killed, dressed and cooked, fresh meat 



to be killed and made ready for oven 
and broiler ! 

"Go quick, quick, Felix ! Get Pete 
Thibbedeau's wife to come and help !" 

Pete's wife was nursing a sore hand 
and could not come, but by the time 
Felix returned Julie had encouraged 
Madame, and she had become a little 
more calm. 

"I will help, Madame ; the chore boy 
and I will get the fowls ready for your 
hand ; I can do lots of things, you shall 
see." Her voice was so cheerful, and 
her face so bright and sunny that be- 
fore Madame thought what she was 
doing she patted the girl's shoulder : 

"You are a good girl, Julie, the best 
that ever worked for me ; you do not 
mind the extra work and look cross, 
as most girls would. Now while T gtt 
my canister of herbs you go into the 
yard and pick out the fattest chickens 
and the tenderest young turkeys for 
Joe to kill." She took a chair to climb 
upon, to reach the canister; there was 
a crash, and Julie ran back. Madame 
lay upon the floor, groaning with 

"O, Madame, what is the matter?" 
She tried to help Madame to rise, but 
she screamed : 

"My leg is broken ! I took that old 
chair and it let me down ! What will 
we do ? It was bad enough before, but 
now — we will lock the doors, pull down 
the shades and let no one in." 

"No, no, Madame ; I will get the 
dinner. You shall lie there in your 
bedroom, just off the kitchen ; the bed 
can be pulled close to the door and you 
can tell me everything to do. Come, 
Felix, we must put her in bed and send 
for the doctor." It was Julie who alone 
retained a cool head ; Julie who direct- 
ed and commanded, waited upon the 

doctor, soothed Madame and ordered 

"Now, don't you worry, Madame, 
the dinner will be so like yours that no 
one will be able to tell the difference." 
After the doctor had gone, Julie went 
to work ; until eleven o'clock that night 
she baked and boiled and made prepa- 
rations for the next day. At hve the 
next morning she was again at work, 
so deft, quick and capable that 
Madame watched her in amazement. 

"Julie, where did you learn to cook 
so well? I believe you have taken the 
mantle from my shoulders." 

The dimples came to Julie's pink 
cheeks : "O, Madame, have I not been 
watching you for three months ? Then 
I knew a little before, and you lie there 
telling me, and I have your recipes. 
Now taste this dressing for the tur- 
keys, then I will fill them." 

"It is good; just a trifle more sum- 
mer savory and it cannot be told from 

When the governor and his party 
arrived, everything was in readiness ; 
cups of bouillon, hot, rich and fra- 
grant ; trout from a mountain lake — 
John Therranlt had caught them while 
the governor was taking his morning 
nap ; broiled chickens, young turkeys 
with Julie's nice dressing ; baked spare- 
ribs of tender young pork; then there 
were pies, and puddings with foamy 
sauces, and coffee rich with yellow 

"Tell Madame," said the governor, 
in his kindest, most courteous manner, 
"that those who expect a good dinner 
here are never disappointed, but to- 
dav Madame has fairlv surpassed her- 

Felix would have explained, had not 
Julie silenced him with a glance. 

1 86 


The governor and his party had 
gone ; Julie and John Therrault's wife 
were putting things in order, when 
Felix came into the kitchen. The tired 
droop at the corners of Julie's pretty 
mouth went to Felix's heart. 

"You look so tired, Julie, sit down 
and rest. I will help Susanne." 
Madame heard ; the tone more than the 
words opened her eyes to her son's 
feelings. Not even when Felix had 
sacrificed his beloved mustache and his 
cherished high heels had she suspected. 
If she could have looked into Julie's 
eyes she would have read her secret, 
too, that secret which dear little Julie 
had guarded so well. 

Madame's heart filled with anger — 
not against Felix or Julie, but — Trifiis ! 
What business had he with Julie's 
heart? "I wish he'd drown in the 
Chaudiere ! I wish he'd tumble over 
on his big head and break his neck! 
The gawky hulk ! O, my, the wicked 
woman I am!" She reached for her 
rosary and said a pater-noster, then 
listened again : 

"Come into the dining room, Julie, 
and let me wait upon you ; I do not be- 
lieve that you have eaten a mouthful 
since morning." 

"Yes, I have, and I am not very 
tired." She raised her blue eyes to 
Felix and his heart gave a great 

"Trifiis ! There is Trifiis !" she cried 
the next moment and ran out to meet 

"Felix," cried Madame. 

"What, mother?" 

"Is — is it really Trifiis?" 

"Yes, mother." 

"Did — do — you think — was she very 
glad to see him ?" 

"Yes, mother." 

"She — she — did not kiss him, did 

"Yes, mother." 

"The shameless tyke ! Send her 
home ! She shall not stay here another 
hour!" Felix did not hear; he was out 
of reach of his mother's voice, out of 
sight of Julie and Trifiis. 

"And all he could say was, 'Yes, 
mother,' sighed Madame. 

"I wish that Trifiis may choke with 
the next mouthful of bread he takes ! 
O my, O my!" And she said an- 
other pater-noster. 

It seemed to Felix that hours had 
passed, though Susanne had just fin- 
ished washing the dishes and gone 
home, when Julie walked into the office 
with Triflis's hand clasped in hers : 

"Felix — I mean Mr. St. Thomas, 
this is my brother, Trifiis," she said de- 
murely, though her eyes were twink- 

"What ! Trifiis your brother !" With 
outstretched hands Felix sprang to- 
ward the tall young man. "You big, 
handsome boy !" was his thought, while 
he tried to shake the large, heavy 

"We must give him a good dinner, 
Julie ; there is enough left to feed a 
dozen like him. Sit here, Trifiis, and 
rest with Julie while I put on the table 
a dinner as good as the governor 

But Julie would help, and together 
they loaded down a table with fish and 
meats, bread and cakes, pies and pud- 
dings, until Trifiis, giant that he was. 
declared that if he ate steadily for two 
whole days he would not be able to 
clear the table. Yet Felix was not 
satisfied ; in the hiding place, behind 
the cellar wall, were a few bottles of 
wine ; his father had put them there to 


await Felix's wedding. Felix brought 
out a bottle of this precious wine and 
filled the largest goblet he could find. 

"There, Triflis, that is something 
that the governor could not get, no, 
or even the president, not if they 
should beg for it upon their knees." 

"He left Triflis smacking his lips 
over the rich, mellow wine, and went 
into the kitchen to find Julie. 

"Julie, he has not come for you?" 
He took both her hands and drew her 
toward himself. 

"Yes ; they are lonesome at home 
without me." 

"You cannot go, Julie ; I must have 
you always, dear ; I have never wanted 
anybody else, and I must have you. 
Stay, Julie, and be my wife." 

Madame forgot her broken leg and 

all the doctor's instructions and raised 
herself upon one elbow, to hear 

"But you know I am too fair; your 
mother says that you must marry a 
dark, handsome girl ; she does not like 
my light hair and blue eyes." 

"Yes, I do," cried Madame. "I want 
you, Julie, who else would be so good? 
I like you just as you are, with your 
shiny, curly hair and blue eyes. I love 
you, too, Julie, dear." 

Julie's happy laugh sounded as 
though it had been smothered against 

Madame sank back, contentedly, 
upon her pillows, hardly noticing the 
twinge of pain. She closed her eyes 
and a happy smile played over her 
handsome old face. 

Memories of Daniel Webster in Public 
and Private Life 

By William T. Davis 

SOME of the incidents in the life 
of Daniel Webster narrated in 
the following paper have come 
to my knowledge from my 
own observation, from communications 
made to me by my uncle, Isaac P. 
Davis, of Boston, and Charles Henry 
Thomas, a native of Marshfield, and 
from information obtained from my 
father-in-law, Mr. Thomas Hedge, 
and his brother, Hon. Isaac L. Hedge, 
both of Plymouth. To these incidents 
I have added such of a general charac- 

ter as secure a continuity of narrative. 
So far as my own opportunities of 
observation are concerned, I met 
Mr. Webster at his home in Marsh- 
field and at his home in Washington ; 
and in my native town of Plymouth, 
eleven miles from Marshfield, his fig- 
ure was a familiar one. 

It may perhaps with truth be said 
that no person outside of Mr. Web- 
ster's family was more familiar with 
his social habits and every day life, 
than my uncle, and in the second vol- 

1 88 


ume of Mr. Webster's speeches, pub- 
lished in 1 85 1, the following dedica- 
tory letter to him may be found : 

"My Dear Sir: 

A warm private friendship has subsisted 
between us for half our lives, interrupted 
by no untoward occurrence, and never for 
a moment cooling into indifference. Of this 
friendship, the source of so much happiness 
to me, I wish to leave, if not an enduring 
memorial, at hast an affectionate and grate- 
ful acknowledgment. I inscribe this vol- 
ume of my speeches to you. 

Daniel Webster. 

Mr. Charles Henry Thomas was for 
many years his agent and man of af- 
fairs, and Mr. Webster in his will re- 
quested his executors and trustees "to 
consult in all things respecting the 
Marshfield estate with Charles Henry 
Thomas, always an intimate friend, 
and one whom I love for his own sake 
and that of his family." 

Messrs. Isaac L. and Thomas 
Hedge, above referred to, were inti- 
mate friends of Mr. Webster, and his 
frequent companions when fishing in 
Plymouth Bay or hunting in Plymouth 

Mr. Webster was born January 18, 
1782, in that part of Salisbury, New 
Hampshire, which is now Franklin, 
and graduated at Dartmouth College 
in 1801. He entered, as a student, the 
law office of Thomas W. Thompson of 
Salisbury, where he remained three 
years, teaching school a part of the 
time in Fryeburg, the first earnings 
from which were devoted to the educa- 
tion of his i rother, Ezekiel. On the 
20th of July, 1804, he entered the of- 
fice of Christopher Gore, in Boston, 
remaining there until March, 1805. At 
that time his brother was teaching a 
school in Short street, now Kingston 
street, in Boston, with Edward Everett 

as one of his pupils, and for a short 
time in August, 1804, Mr. Webster 
taught the school during his brother's 
absence. In March, 1805, he was ad- 
mitted to the bar of the Court of Com- 
mon Pleas in Suffolk County, and 
opened an office in Boscawen, N. H., 
adjoining his native town. In May, 
1807, ne was admitted as counselor in 
the New Hampshire Superior Court 
and removed to Portsmouth. 

On the 24th of June, 1808, he mar- 
ried Grace, daughter of Rev. Elijah 
Fletcher of Hopkinton, N. H., who 
died January 21, 1828. His court- 
ship was a romantic one. Grace 
Fletcher was visiting her sister Re- 
becca, wife of Israel Webster Kelly 
of Salisbury, and on a stormy Sunday 
morning in preparing for church her 
sister told her that she need not be par- 
ticular about her dress, as she would 
see no one to mind. After church she 
reminded her sister of what she had 
told her, and said, "I did see someone, 
a man with a black head, who looked 
as if he might be somebody." Mr. 
Webster noticed her, as well. One 
day, not long after, a package was re- 
ceived at the Kelly home with a string 
about it tied in a hard knot, and Mr. 
Webster and Miss Fletcher by their 
united efforts succeeded in untying it. 
He then said to her: "We have been 
successful in untying a knot, suppose 
we try to tie one which shall last 
through life." Taking a piece of rib- 
bon and partially tying a knot, he 
handed it to her to finish, which she 
did, and thus was the offer of marriage 
made and accepted. H 1 '^ \r 
never faded. N ; ^ ^_i her 

death, while sitting at a generous tea- 
table at the home of Albert Livingston 
Kelly, a nephew of Mrs. Webster, he 

Brum a drawing made by Healy in 1S43; owned by Benjamin B. Stevens. 
Daniel Webster 

said, "Albert, you live luxuriously, " 
and Mr. Kelly replied that it had been 
his wish to imitate the delightful tea- 
table of his dear Aunt Grace. Tears 
at once started from Mr. Webster's 
eyes and it was with some effort that 
he recovered his composure. On his 
death-bed, finding on one occasion 
Mrs. James William Paige by his bed- 
sit, he said, "If dear Grace could look 
' 1 iven, how grateful she 
would ue lkj ft ' William for min- 

istering to my comfort." Mr. Paige 
was a half brother of Mrs. Webster, 
her mother, Rebecca (Chamberlain) 

Fletcher, having married for a second 
husband Rev. Christopher Paige and 
become Mr. Paige's mother. 

He was chosen, in Portsmouth, 2 
member of the Thirteenth Congress, 
taking his seai May 24th, 181 3, and 
being re-elected to the Fourteenth 
Congress. In June, 1816, while hav- 
ing an annual income of about two 
thousand dollars from his practice, he 
removed to Boston, where he occupied 
a house in Mt. Vernon street near the 
State House, and a law office on the 
corner of Court and Tremont streets 
over the store many years occupied 



by S. S. Pierce & Co. Though John 
P. Healy occupied the office with him 
for some years, the only law partner 
he ever had was Alexander Bliss, one 
of his pupils, who was the first hus- 
band of my aunt, Mrs. George Ban- 
croft, and who died July 15, 1827. 

In 1818, at the age of thirty-six, by 
his argument in the Dartmouth Col- 
lege case he established a reputation 
as one of the ablest constitutional law- 
yers in the Union. The words, "Dart- 
mouth College case," probably slip 
from the pen of a writer without con- 
veying to those of the present genera- 
tion any idea of their meaning. A 
case so important that the argument 
of Mr. Webster, in the words of his 
biographer, "caused the judicial estab- 
lishment of the principle in our con- 
stitutional jurisprudence, which re- 
gards a charter of a private corpora- 
tion as a contract, and places it under 
the protection of the Constitution of 
the United States," should be more 
generally understood. 

In 1769 a corporation was estab- 
lished by charter to consist of twelve 
persons, and no more, to be called the 
"Trustees of Dartmouth College," to 
have perpetual existence and power to 
hold and dispose of lands and goods 
for the use of the College, with the 
right to fill vacancies in their own 
body. The New Hampshire Legisla- 
ture by acts passed June 27th and De- 
cember 18th and 26th, 1816, changed 
the corporate name from "The Trus- 
tees of Dartmouth College," to "The 
Trustees of Dartmouth University," 
and made the twelve trustees, together 
with nine other persons, to be appoint- 
ed by the Governor and Council, a 
new corporation, to whom all the prop- 
erty of the old corporation with its 

rights, powers, liberties and privileges 
was to be transferred, with power to 
establish new colleges, and an institute 
subject to the power and control of a 
board of twenty-five overseers. The 
conversion to the new corporation of 
the records, charter, seal and other 
property was made on the 6th of Octo- 
ber, 1816, and an action of trover was 
brought by the old trustees to recover 
them, on the ground that the acts of 
the Legislature were repugnant to the 
Constitution of the United States. By 
consent, the action was carried directly 
to the Superior Court of New Hamp- 
shire in May, 1817, and argued at the 
September term of the Court in Rock- 
ingham County, Jeremiah Mason, Jere- 
miah Smith and Mr. Webster appear- 
ing for the trustees. At the November 
term of the Court in Grafton County, 
Chief Justice Richardson delivered the 
opinion of the Court sustaining the 
constitutionality of the acts. By a writ 
of error, the case was carried by the 
plaintiffs to the United States Supreme 
Court in February, 181 8, and argued 
in March by Mr. Webster and Joseph 
Hopkinson, of Philadelphia, for the 
plaintiffs, and by John Holmes, of 
Maine, and William Wirt, United 
States Attorney General, for the de- 
fendants. In February, 1819, the 
opinion of the Court was delivered, 
reversing the action of the State Court 
and declaring the acts of the Legisla- 
ture unconstitutional. Though assist- 
ed by Mr. Hopkinson, a leading Phila- 
delphia lawyer, popularly better known 
as the author of "Hail Columbia," the 
burden of the case rested on the shoul- 
ders of Mr. Webster. John Holmes, 
one of his opponents, was nine years has 
senior and, as the ablest lawyer in the 
District of Maine, was selected, when 



in 1820 that district became a state, as 
one of its first two United States Sena- 
tors. William Wirt, his other oppo- 
nent, was ten years his senior and had 
by distinguished service at the bar won 
the appointment of Attorney-General 
in the Cabinet of President Monroe, 
which he continued to hold until the 
accession to the Presidency of Andrew 
Jackson, in 1829. Against such men 
Mr. Webster won the title of "Defend- 
er of the Constitution." 

On the 22d of December, 1820, Mr. 
Webster delivered his memorable ad- 
dress at the invitation of the Pilgrim 
Society of Plymouth, in commemora- 
tion of the landing of the Pilgrims. 
The Pilgrim Society had been incorpo- 
rated on the 24th of the preceding 
January, and in view of the fact that 
the celebration of 1820 would be its 
first public act, and would occur on 
the two hundredth anniversary of the 
landing, it was determined to make the 
occasion a notable one. The desire to 
hear Mr. Webster was widespread, and 
throughout the day before the celebra- 
tion the roads leading to Plymouth 
were dotted with stages and carriages 
of all kinds, crowded with visitors. 

The company was a distinguished 
one. At the dinner, held in the Court 
House, then building and far enough 
advanced to be used for that purpose, 
the parchment sheets, since framed and 
kept in Pilgrim Hall, were passed 
along the tables to receive the auto- 
graphs of those present. 

Mr. Webster was the guest of Mr. 
Barnabas Hedge, and on the eve of 
the celebration a reception was held at 
the home of my grandfather, William 
Davis. He was visiting Plymouth for 
the first time. With Pilgrim associa- 
tions clustering around him, he was 

about to speak the next day in the 
meeting-house of the first New Eng- 
land church, organized in Scrooby, 
England, in 1606, and in the presence 
of those whose criticism he would fear 
as much as he would value their ap- 
proval, and throughout the evening he 
was depressed, as he said, by a sense 
of the responsibility resting upon him. 
During the delivery of his address 
he stood in front of the pulpit. He 
wore small clothes, with silk stockings 
and a black silk gown. As is well 
known, the most marked feature of his 
address was its eloquent and scathing 
denunciation of the slave trade. 
Though that trade had been prohibited 
by the British Parliament in 1807, and 
by Congress in 1808, it still survived, 
and even within the limits of the Old 
Colony was profitably carried on. With 
this fact in mind Mr. Webster uttered 
the following words : 

"I deem it my duty on this occasion to 
suggest that the land is not yet wholly 
free from the contamination of a traffic, at 
which every feeling of humanity must for- 
ever revolt — I mean the African slave trade. 
Neither public sentiment nor the law has 
hitherto been able entirely to put an end 
to this odious and abominable trade. At 
the moment when God in his mercy has 
blessed the Christian world with an uni- 
versal peace, there is reason to fear that 
to the disgrace of the Christian name and 
character new efforts are making for the 
extension of the trade by subjects and citi- 
zens of Christian states, in whose hearts no 
sentiments of humanity or justice inhabit, 
and over whom neither the fear of God nor 
the fear of man exercises a control. In 
the sight of our law the African slave trad- 
er is a pirate and felon ; and in the sight of 
heaven an offender far beyond the ordinary 
depth of human guilt. There is no brighter 
part of our history than that which records 
the measures which have been adopted by 
the government at an early day, and at dif- 
ferent times since, for the suppression of 



the traffic ; and I would call on all the true 
sons of New England to co-operate with the 
laws of man and the justice of heaven. If 
there be within the extent of our knowledge 
or influence any participation in this traffic, 
let us pledge ourselves here upon the rock 
of Plymouth to extirpate and destroy it. It 
is not fit that the land of the Pilgrims should 
bear the shame longer. I hear the sound of 
the hammer, I see the smoke of the fur- 
nace, where manacles and fetters are still 
forged for human limbs. I see the visages 
of those, who by stealth and midnight labor 
in this work of hell, foul and dark, as may 
become the artificers of such instruments 
of misery and torture. Let that spot be 
purified, or let it cease to be of New Eng- 
land. Let it be purified, or let it be set 
aside from the Christian world; let it be 
put out of the circle of human sympathies 
and human regards, and let civilized man 
henceforth have no communion with it. 1 
would invoke those who fill the seats of 
justice, and all who minister at her altar, 
that they execute the wholesome and neces- 
sary severity of the law. I invoke the min- 
isters of our religion that they proclaim its 
denunciation of these crimes and add its 
solemn sanction to the authority of human 
laws. If the pulpit be silent, whenever or 
wherever there may be a sinner bloody with 
this guilt within the hearing of its voice, 
the pulpit is false to its trust." 

The clergy had not at that time been 
more emphatic in condemning the 
slave traffic than they were at a later 
period in condemning slavery itself, 
and I was told by a witness of the 
scene that the ministers, who had taken 
part in the service and were leaning 
over the reading desk of the pulpit, 
retreated abruptly to the rear while 
the above closing words were spoken. 
The peroration was worthy of the ad- 
dress : 

"Advance then, ye future generations ! 
We would hail you as you rise in your long 
succession to fill the places, which we now 
fill, and to taste the blessings of existence, 
where we are passing, and soon shall have 
passed, our own human duration. We bid 

you welcome to the pleasant land of the 
fathers. We bid you welcome to the 
healthful skies and the verdant fields of New 
England. We greet your accession to the 
great inheritance, which we have enjoyed. 
We welcome you to the blessings of good 
government and religious liberty. We wel- 
come you to the treasures of science and the 
delights of learning. We welcome you to 
the transcendant sweets of domestic life, 
to the happiness of kindred and parents and 
children. We welcome you to the im- 
measurable blessings of rational existence, 
the immortal hope of Christianity and the 
light of everlasting truth." 

In 1822 Mr. Webster was chosen 
Member of Congress from the Boston 
district and re-chosen in 1824. In 
January, 1824, he made an important 
speech on the Greek question, ad- 
vocating the passage of a resolution 
by Congress : 

"That provision ought to be made by law 
for defraying the expense incident to the 
appointment of an agent commissioner to 
Greece, whenever the President shall deem 
it expedient to make such appointment." 

In February, 1824, Mr. Webster 
won a second victory in the United 
States Supreme Court, and confirmed 
his reputation as a Constitutional 
lawyer, in the case of Gibbons vs. 
Ogden. In the light of today this 
case appears an extraordinary one. 
The Legislature of New York had 
passed laws securing, for a term of 
years, to Robert R. Livingston and 
Robert Fulton, the exclusive naviga- 
tion by steam of all waters within 
the jurisdiction of the state. Aaron 
Ogden, to whom was assigned Liv- 
ingston and Fulton's right to navi- 
gate the waters between Elizabeth- 
town, in New Jersey, and the city of 
New York, secured an injunction in 
the Court of Chancery against Thomas 
Gibbons, who was running 1 two steam- 

Webster's Home at Marshfield 

boats in said waters in alleged viola- 
tion of his exclusive privilege, and the 
injunction was affirmed by the highest 
court of law and equity in New York. 
the court for the trial of impeachments 
and correction of errors. From that 
court the case was taken, by appeal, to 
the United States Supreme Court. Mr. 
Webster and William Wirt, the United 
States Attorney General, appeared for 
the appellant and Thomas Jackson 
Oakley and Thomas Addis Emmet 
for the respondents. It seems now- 
strange that the Ogden claim could 
have been seriously entertained, and 
yet Mr. Webster himself began his 
argument by "admitting that there was 
a very respectable weight of authority 
in its favor." He argued that the 
laws of New York, on which the re- 
spondents' claim rested, were repug- 
nant to that clause in the constitution, 
which authorizes Congress to regulate 
commerce, and to that other clause, 
which authorizes Congress to promote 
the progress of science and useful 

arts. The 

claimed that : 

respondents' counsel 

"States do not derive their independence 
and sovereignty from the grant or conces- 
sion of the British crown, but from their 
own act in the declaration of independence. 
By this act they became free and independ- 
ent states, and as such have full power to 
levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances, 
establish commerce and to do all other acts 
which independent states may of right do." 

The decision of the State Court was 
reversed, and, as a result of the argu- 
ment of Mr. Webster, it was estab- 
lished for all coming time that the 
commerce of the union was a unit, 
and that no state can grant a monop- 
oly of navigation oyer waters where 
commerce is carried on. In this case 
also Mr. Webster had to contend 
against powerful adversaries. Mr. 
Oakley was Attorney General of New 
York and became at a later date Chief 
Justice of the Superior Court ; and Mr. 
Emmet, the brother of Robert Emmet, 
the Irish revolutionist, had been At- 
torney General of the same state. 




On the 17th of June, 1825, Mr. 
Webster delivered the oration at the 
laying of the corner-stone of Bunker 
Hill Monument, parts of which are fa- 
miliar to every schoolboy in New Eng- 
land. The following passage in the 
oration is the only one to which I shall 
refer : 

"Let it rise till it meet the sun in his com- 
ing; let the earliest light of the morning 
gild it and parting day linger and play on 
its summit." 

This passage is often quoted with 
the article "the" before the word "part- 
ing," but Mr. Webster's ear for 
rhythm would have been disturbed by 
the use of that word. Whatever the 
form of the passage may be in some 
publications of his speeches, in the 
editions of his works published in 1830 
and 185 1 the article "the" does not ap- 

No one would dare to charge Mr. 
Webster with plagiarism, but he some- 
times borrowed thoughts and ideas, to 
which he added force and beauty by a 
more brilliant clothing of words. A 
figure of speech like that quoted above 
may be found in an ode written by 
Rev. John Pierpont for the Pilgrim 
Celebration at Plymouth on the 22d of 
December, 1824, six months before the 
Bunker Hill Celebration, as follows : 

"The Pilgrim fathers are at rest ; 

When summer's throned on high. 
And the world's warm breast is in verdure 

Go stand on the hill where they lie. 

The earliest ray of the golden day 

On that hallowed spot is cast, 
And the evening sun as he leaves the world. 

Looks kindly on that spot last." 

There can be little doubt that Mr. 
Webster had seen the ode, and I think- 
that there is as little doubt that Mr. 

Webster's prose is the better poetry. 
There is also that passage in his speech 
in the Senate, in 1834, on the Presi- 
dential protest, where, in speaking of 
the American colonies, he said : 

"Oh this question of principle, while ac- 
tual suffering was yet afar off. they raised 
their flag against a power, to which for pur- 
poses of foreign conquest and subjugation, 
Rome in the height of her glory is not to be 
compared — a power which has dotted over 
the surface of the whole globe with her pos- 
sessions and military posts, whose morning 
drum-beat, following the sun and keeping 
company with the hours, circles the earth 
with one continuous and unbroken strain 
of the martial airs of England." 

I have heard it said that Mr. Web- 
ster constructed this passage in Que- 
bec, after witnessing a parade of Brit- 
ish troops. There is, however, a 
poem written by Amelia B. Richards 
entitled "The Martial Airs of Eng- 
land," in which these lines occur : 

"The martial airs of England 
Encircle still the earth." 

But I have been unable to learn 
when tins poem was written, whether 
before or after the speech. It is cer- 
tain, however, that the grandeur of the 
passage is Mr. Webster's alone. 

On the 2d of August, 1826, Mr. 
Webster delivered, in Faneuil Hall, his 
eulogy on Adams and Jefferson, by 
which his reputation as an orator, es- 
tablished at Plymouth in 1820. and at 
Bunker Hill in 1825, was fully sus- 
tained. In 1825 he saw for the first 
time the estate in Marshfield, which 
was destined to become his home. He 
was then living in a house which he 
had built in Summer street. Boston, 
opposite the entrance of South street, 
and which lie continued to occupy a 
part of each year until 1839, when he 
sold it and made Marshfield his perma- 



nent home. For several years prior to 

1825, it had been his custom to spend 
a part of the dog-days in Sandwich, 
shooting and fishing with John Deni- 
son, familiarly called "Johnny Trout," 
as his helper and guide. It having 
been suggested to him by Mr. Samuel 
K. Williams that Marsh'field, with its 
marshes, its boat harbor and its brooks, 
would be a pleasant summer resort and 
much nearer to Boston than Sandwich, 
he stopped there on his next return 
from the Cape. Mr. Williams told 
him that Captain John Thomas, an in- 
telligent farmer occupying a comfort- 
able house and estate, would doubt- 
less be glad to accommodate him. 
Late one afternoon in early September, 
in 1825, accompanied by his wife, in a 
chaise with a trunk lashed to the axle, 
and his son, Fletcher, a lad of twelve 
or thirteen, following on a pony, he 
drove down the avenue leading to the 
house of Captain Thomas, and drew 
up at the piazza where the Captain, 
with his oldest son, Charles Henry, 
was sitting, resting after putting into 
the barn a load of salt hay- Neither 
had ever seen the other, but when Mr. 
Webster said "I am Webster," "I 
thought so,'' said the Captain, for he 
knew very well that no other living 
man possessed the majestic person- 
ality which he saw before him. The 
hospitality of the house was at once 
extended to the party, and for several 
days Air. Webster was a welcome 
guest, passing his time in shooting on 
the marshes and fishing in the waters 
of the bay. 

Mr. Webster had, mingling with 
and softening his gravity of demeanor, 
a quiet vein of humor, and on his de- 
parture, as he was about to drive away, 
he saw Nathaniel Rav Thomas, the 

younger son of the Captain, standing 
nearby holding a fine looking horse by 
the halter. 'T like the looks of that 
halter," said Mr. Webster; "I should 
like to buy it." "Ray," said the Cap- 
tain, "take off that halter and put it in 
Mr. Webster's chaise box." "Oh, 
but I want the head in it," said Mr. 
Webster. The horse was bought, and 
when hitched behind the chaise, the 
procession, with Fletcher on the pony 
bringing up the rear, started for Bos- 

This younger son of Captain 
Thomas afterward entered largely into 
the life and affections of Mr. Web- 
ster. He was at that time attending 
a school in Duxbury, taught by George 
Putnam, afterwards the distinguished 
Unitarian divine, and was later taken 
by Mr. Webster to Boston under his 
special guardianship. He finally be- 
came a secretary of the great states- 
man whose love he shared with his 
own children. In 1840, at the age of 
twenty-seven, he died at Mann's Hotel 
in Washington, of bilious fever, and 
on the testimony of Dr. Sewall. the at- 
tending physician, Mr. W r ebster, 
though pressed with the burdens of 
public business, was with him for a 
week almost constantly, day and night. 
The letters which he wrote to the fam- 
ily of the young man during his sick- 
ness and after his death reveal a sym- 
pathetic heart and a tenderness of 
spirit which illuminate and beautify 
the grandeur of the man. Between 
the TOth and 18th of March he wrote 
no less than eleven letters, some of 
them long and in detail, to Charles 
Henry Thomas, Ray's older brother, 
full of anxiety for his young friend 
and sympathy for his family at home. 
No one can read these letters without 

Webster's Carriage 

awakening to a higher admiration for 
their writer than his intellectual quali- 
ties had ever kindled. 

After annual visits to the Thomas 
homestead, in the year 1831, Captain 
Thomas asked Mr. Webster to buy his 
estate, which, after repeated requests, 
he consented to do, upon the condition 
that Captain Thomas would occupy it 
as his home, free of rent, as long as 
he lived. Captain Thomas died in 
1837, and after that time his widow 
lived with ner son, Charles, in Dux- 
bury, until her death, in 1849. Though 
the purchase of the estate was made in 
1 83 1, the deed, in which the consider- 
ation was $3,650, was not passed until 
April 23, 1832, and included the house 
and outbuildings and one hundred and 
sixty acres of marsh, tillage and wood- 

The estate was an historic one. Wil- 
liam Thomas, one of the merchant ad- 
venturers who assisted the Pilgrims in 
their enterprise, came to New England 
in 1637, in the ship "Marye and Ann," 

and on the 7th of January, 1640-1641, 
received from the Plymouth Colony 
General Court a grant of a tract of 
land in Marshfield containing about 
twelve hundred acres. Adjoining this 
tract, another of about the same num- 
ber of acres had been previously 
granted under the name of Careswell 
to Governor Edward Winslow. The 
Thomas estate descended to Nathaniel 
Ray Thomas, who built the house 
which finally became the Webster 
mansion. Before the revolution, 
Marshfield was a town of aristocratic 
pretensions, and at the beginning of 
the war a majority of its people were 
loyal to the crown. For the protec- 
tion of these from the indignation of 
patriots in the neighboring towns, 
General Gage sent down a company of 
soldiers called the "Queen's Guard," 
under Captain Balfour, who, with his 
officers established headquarters in the 
Thomas House. On the evening of 
the 19th of April, 1775, a body of mi- 
litia had marched from various towns 



in Plymouth County and occupied the 
outskirts of Marshfield, with the in- 
tention of attacking the Guard the next 
morning. In consequence, however, 
of the disastrous results of the Lexing- 
ton fight on that day, General Gage 
dispatched a messenger with orders 
for Captain Balfour's immediate re- 
turn to Boston. On the morning of 
the 20th the militia discovered the 
flight of the enemy, and thus Marsh- 
field narrowly escaped being the first 
battle-ground of the war. When I 
was a young man I heard a lady say 
that she remembered that on the 19th 
of April the older members of her fam- 
ily in Marshfield were engaged in 
moulding bullets and making bandages 
and lint in anticipation of the coming 

A number of the leading citizens of 
Marshfield went to Boston after the 
retirement of the Queen's Guard, and 
among them Nathaniel Ray Thomas, 
the owner of the Thomas estate. Nine 
of them returned later and were im- 
prisoned at Plymouth by the Commit- 
tee of Correspondence and Safety- I 
have before me an unpublished petition 
of the prisoners, headed by Cornelius 
White, one of my own kinsmen, to be 
released, which was finally granted. 
Nathaniel Ray Thomas remained in 
Boston, and at the Evacuation went 
with the British troops to Halifax, 
leaving in Marshfield his wife and son, 
John. His estate was confiscated, an 
allowance being made to his wife of 
the house and one hundred and sixty 
acres of land, which at her death fell 
to her son John, the grantor to Mr. 
Webster. Mr. Webster, at the time 
of his death, had by twenty-two deeds 
bought twelve hundred and fourteen 
and three-quarters acres, and by one 

other deed an unknown quantity of 
land with a water privilege and claim 
in Duxbury. These purchases in- 
cluded nearly all of the original Wil- 
liam Thomas grant and a part of the 
Edward Winslow grant, and their to- 
tal first cost was $34,644.20, and, in- 
cluding improvements after deducting 
receipts, $87,144.20. 

In 1827 Mr. Webster was chosen 
United States Senator and remained in 
the Senate until he resigned, in 1841, 
to become Secretary of State in the 
Cabinet of President Harrison. Upon 
Mr. Webster had devolved the duty 
of negotiating with Lord Ashburton 
the Northeastern Boundary Treaty, 
and he patriotically refused to resign 
his post until that treaty was con- 
cluded. On the 8th of May, 1843, he 
retired to private life, but in 1845 was 
again chosen Senator, remaining in 
the Senate until he was appointed 
Secretary of State by President Fill- 
more, July 23, 1850, a position which 
he held until his death. 

In December, 1829, Mr. Webster 
married for his second wife Caroline, 
daughter of Jacob Le Roy, of New 
York, who survived him. In 1830 he 
made his celebrated speeches in reply 
to Senator Robert Young Hayne of 
South Carolina. Though the ques- 
tion under discussion was the adoption 
of a resolution of inquiry concerning 
the distribution of public lands, intro- 
duced by Senator Foote of Connecti- 
cut, Mr. Hayne seized the opportunity 
to attack New England on account of 
its advocacy of a protective tariff, 
which he believed to be unconstitu- 
tional, and to take the position that a 
state had the right to nullify the ope- 
ration of a law which it believed to be 
repugnant to the constitution. Mr. 



Webster had established, by his Dart- 
mouth College argument, the limit of 
the functions of states concerning 
chartered rights, and by his argument 
in the case of Gibbons vs. Ogden, their 
limited functions concerning com- 
merce. Now the duty devolved on 
him to define the exact position of 
states in the mosaic framework of the 
Federal Union. 

Though nine years younger than 
Mr. Webster, Mr. Hayne was no 
mean antagonist. He had been four 
years longer in the Senate, and had 
taken his seat with a reputation in his 
own state perhaps second only to that 
of Mr. Calhoun. He had been a mem- 
ber of the State Legislature, Speaker 
of the State House of Representatives 
and Attorney General. His defeat by 
Mr. Webster was so overwhelming 
that the present generation are inclined 
to think of him only as the fly in the 
amber of Mr. Webster's speeches. He 
was sustained by his state in the po- 
sition he took, and in 1832 was chosen 
Governor. When, on the 10th of De- 
cember, in that year, President Jack- 
son issued a proclamation against the 
nullification acts which a South Caro- 
lina convention had passed on the 24th 
of November, Governor Hayne replied 
with a proclamation of his own. Con- 
gress, however, modified the tariff 
which had led to the nullification, and 
the acts of the convention were re- 

And now I come to the time when I 
first heard and saw Mr. Webster. It 
was in the presidential campaign of 
1836. Prior to 1840, when the first 
presidential convention was held, there 
was, in the Whig party, at least, a di- 
versity of candidates. Tn the election 
of 1836, Mr. Van Buren, who had been 

Vice-President under Jackson, re- 
ceived one hundred and seventy demo- 
cratic votes and the whig votes were : 
for William Henry Harrison seventy- 
three, Hugh L. White twenty-six, 
Daniel Webster fourteen, from Massa- 
chusetts, and Willie P. Mangum 
eleven. At the time to which I refer 
Mr. Webster spoke standing in the 
rear doorway of the court house in 
Plymouth, and though I was only a 
youth of fourteen, his appearance has 
never been effaced from my memory. 
Standing, as he always did, with 
neither legs nor body ever bent, his 
portly, but not corpulent, frame sur- 
mounted by a massive head, with eyes 
looking out from beneath overhanging 
brows, he seemed to me godlike in- 
deed. When, in 1839, ne visited Eng- 
land Sidney Smith said he was a 
fraud, for no man could be as great 
as he looked. Lord Brougham said he 
was a steam engine in breeches. 
Thomas Carlyle, after breakfasting in 
his company, wrote to an American 
friend : 

"He is a magnificent specimen. You 
might say to all the world — 'This is our Yan- 
kee Englishman ; such limbs we make in 
Yankee land: 

"As a logic fencer advocate or parliamen- 
tary Hercules one would incline to back him 
at first sight against all the extant world. 
The tanned complexion ; that amorphous, 
craglike face ; the dull black eyes under a 
precipice of brows, like dull anthracite fur- 
naces needing only to be blown ; the mastiff 
mouth, accurately closed ; I have not traced 
so much of . [ ilent Berserker rage that I 
remember of in any other man. I guess I 
should not like to be your nigger." 

It was said that when he appeared 
in the streets of London the crowds 
on the sidewalk, without knowing who 
he was turned and gazed with won- 
der at the majestic human specimen 



in their midst. I can easily believe it, 
for even in Boston, where he was 
known, his public appearance always 
caused a sensation. I have seen him 
many times walking down Court or 
State street, or along Washington and 
down Summer street, always in the 
middle of the sidewalk, with a slow 
and stately gait, the crowd meeting 
him turning to the right and left as the 
waves divide before a battleship. 

It was my good fortune to stand 
very near Mr. Webster and hear his 
speech in Faneuil Hall on the 30th of 
September, 1842. He was still in 
President Tyler's cabinet, and the 
Whigs of Boston had, in their hasty 
and unwarranted disapproval of his re- 
fusal to resign, committed themselves 
at an early period to the nomination of 
Henry Clay as their candidate for the 
Presidency in 1844. The hall was 
crowded, and at the start the audience 
was unsympathetic. Jonathan Chap- 
man, Mayor of Boston, presided and 
his opening speech, which I well re- 
member, was sagacious and eloquent. 
He said, in connection with the anom- 
alous attitude of Mr. Webster, a cabi- 
net officer of a President, from whom 
his party had departed, "that amidst 
the perplexities of these perplexing 
times, he who has so nobly sustained 
his country's honor, may safelv be 
trusted w'ith his own." Mr. Webster's 
speech was in no sense an explanation 
or a defence. It was a rebuke rather 
to the party which had deserted him, a 
rebuke which touched the hearts of all 
who heard him and revived their al- 
legiance to their idol. He probably 
never came so near speaking in anger 
as on that occasion. In a rasping 
voice, which is still ringing in my ears, 
he exclaimed, "What are you going to 

do with me ? I am a Whig, a Massa- 
chusetts Whig, a Faneuil Hall Whig;" 
and every man present responded in 
his heart, "We will make you Presi- 
dent." It is a sufficient answer to the 
charge that he selfishly sought the 
gratification of an unconquerable am- 
bition to become President, that he 
must have known that by remaining in 
the cabinet he was taking issue with 
the very men by whose aid alone his 
nomination could be possible. 

Again I heard him deliver his oration 
at the dedication of Bunker Hill Mon- 
ument on the 17th of June, 1843. As 
a member of the Boston Cadets, the 
body guard of the Governor of Massa- 
chusetts, it was my fortune to be sta- 
tioned immediately in front of the plat - 
form. He had in the previous month 
resigned his place in the cabinet, and 
President Tyler, having in view the 
debt which he owed to the orator, had 
accepted the invitation of the com- 
mittee of arrangements to be present. 
With the President were several mem- 
bers of his new cabinet, among whom 
was Mr. Legare, who succeeded Mr. 
Webster as Secretary of State, and 
who died in Boston a few days after 
the celebration. 

In the winter of 1843-44 Mr. Web- 
ster appeared in the United States Su- 
preme Court in the case of the heirs of 
Stephen Girard against the executors 
of his will, which came to that court by 
appeal from the Circuit Court of the 
United States, sitting as a court of 
equity for the Eastern District of 
Pennsylvania. The plaintiff for 
whom he appeared, assisted by Colonel 
Walter Jones of Washington, sought 
to have the will set aside for three 
reasons, one of which was that the 
plan of education prescribed for the 



college, which the will established, was 
repugnant to the law of Pennsylvania 
and opposed to the provision of Article 
9, Section 3, of the constitution of that 
state, that "No human authority can in 
any case whatever control or interfere 
with the rights of conscience." The 
will in its reference to the college "en- 
joined and required that no ecclesi- 
astic, missionary or minister of any 
sect whatsoever shall ever hold or ex- 
ercise any station or duty whatever in 
the said college ; nor shall any such 
person ever be admitted for any pur- 
pose, or as a visitor within the prem- 
ises appropriated to the purposes of 
said college." Horace Binney and 
John Sergeant of Philadelphia ap- 
peared for the defendants, and their 
position was sustained unanimously by 
the court, that Mr. Girard did not in- 
tend to exclude the teaching of Chris- 
tianity by preventing its being taught 
by ministers, for it might nevertheless 
be taught by laymen without violation 
of the terms of the will. 

It has always seemed to me that the 
argument of Mr. Webster in this case, 
with its display of biblical learning and 
fits eloquent exaltation of those prin- 
ciples of the Christian religion, which 
should mould and direct the education 
of youth, was the profoundest forensic 
effort of his life. In recognition of its 
importance as a contribution to Chris- 
tian literature, at a public meeting of 
citizens of Washington regardless of 
sect, resolutions were passed declaring 
"that it demonstrated the vital import- 
ance of Christianity to the success oi 
our free institutions, and that its gen- 
eral diffusion among the people of the 
United States was a matter of deep 
public interest." 

In September, 1849, I heard Mr. 

Webster again. Early in that month 
he said one day to my uncle, Judge 
Charles Henry Warren, "Charley, I 
wish you would get together a hun- 
dred of my friends and we will take 
a special train to Plymouth and cele- 
brate with a dinner at the Samoset 
House the anniversary of the final de- 
parture of the Pilgrims from Ply- 
mouth in old England." The plan 
was carried out, and as the 16th of 
September occurred that year on Sun- 
day, the party went to Plymouth on 
Monday, the 17th. Through the kind- 
ness of Judge Warren, I, then residing 
in Boston, was permitted to join the 
party. It was indeed a notable com- 
pany, made up, with the exception of 
myself, of men, who were distin- 
guished in either public, mercantile or 
professional life. Mr. Webster pre- 
sided, and seated at the tables were: 
President Quincy, Josiah Quincy, Jr., 
Edward Everett, Rufus Choate, 
George S. Hillard, Sidney Bartlett, 
Benjamin R. Curtis, William Sturgis. 
Nathan Appleton of Boston, Charles 
A. Davies of Portland, Joseph Grin- 
nell and John H. Clifford of New Bed- 
ford, Nathaniel P. Willis of New 
York, and others equally well known. 
I was the youngest member of the 
party, and I am now its only survivor. 
Mr. Webster's opening speech was a 
little heavy, but after the addresses of 
the other speakers he made a closing 
speech, tender and touching, and more 
eloquent than any I ever heard from 
his lips. 

He was then sixty-eight years of 
age. He was beginning, he said, to feel 
the weight of years, and the grass- 
hopper was becoming a burden to him. 
He was surrounded by friends, whom 
he loved and trusted, and who, he be- 

From a daguerreotype taken in 1849. 

Daniel Webster 

lieved, put their trust in him. Probably 
for the last time he would address in 
grateful affection those, who in the 
perplexities of public life had stood 
manfully by him, and on whose arm he 
had leaned for support. 

Mr. Willis, who was then one of the 
editors of the New York Mirror, wrote 
to his journal a letter descriptive of 

the scene, from which the following is 
an extract : 

"Unable from illness to join in the con- 
viviality of tlu evening, he (Mr. Webster) 
was possibly saddened by a mirth witb 
which his spirit could not keep pace; and 
at the same time, surrounded by those who 
had met there from love of him, and 
whose pride ?nd idol he had always been, 
his kindest and warmest feelings were up- 




permost, and his heart alone was in what 
he had to say. His affectionate attachment 
to New England was the leading sentiment, 
but through his allusions to his own ad- 
vancing age and present illness, there was 
recognizable a wish to say what he might 
wish to have said, should he never again 
be surrounded and listened to. It was the 
most beautiful example of manly and re- 
strained pathos, it seemed to me, of which 
language and looks could be capable. No 
one who heard it could doubt the existence 
of a deep well of tears under that lofty tem- 
ple of intellect and power." 

In 1850 I saw for the first time Mr. 
Webster trying a case in court. It was 
a patent case in the United States 
Court in Boston, with Mr. Choate on 
the other side. A two-thirds length 
portrait by Willard, in Pilgrim Hall 
in Plymouth, represents him as he 
then appeared in face, posture and 
dress, and on the whole furnishes a 
more correct conception of the man 
than any other portrait I have seen. In 
this trial the contrast between the an- 
tagonists was striking, — Mr. Web- 
ster, calm, serene and stately, Mr. 
Choate nervous, energetic and fiery ; 
the one simple in his vocabulary, the 
other making heavy drafts on the dic- 
tionary for words unfamiliar to the 
ear; the one so natural in his gestures 
as to leave his hearers forgetful 
whether he had gestured at all, the 
other lashing the air with his arms 
and making the table resound with his 
blows. Mr. Webster was not, as many 
who never heard him suppose, a fluent 
speaker. Fluent speakers are rarely 
concise, but conciseness was his chief 
characteristic. Often in extempora- 
neous speech he would hesitate, and he 
had a trick of scratching his right ear 
until the word he wanted came to his 
tongue. On this occasion he was in a 
playful mood and during the short re- 

cess after Mr. Choate had finished his 
address to the jury, he took the lat- 
ter s brief during his absence from the 
court room, and distributed the sheets, 
which no one but Mr. Choate could 
read, and which he often found illegible 
after the writing had got cold, as he 
once said, among the ladies, who had 
crowded the seats behind the rail to 
hear the thunder and witness the light- 
ning of those wonderful men. 

The last important speech of Mr. 
Webster in the Senate, on the 7th of 
March, 1850, on the compromise res- 
olutions introduced by Henry Clay, 
caused intense disappointment to his 
friends in the North, and for a time 
clouded his reputation. By some it 
was charged that he had betrayed the 
North and was bidding for Southern 
presidential votes. But now, since time 
has cleared the atmosphere, the in- 
justice of such a charge is apparent, 
for by opposing the sentiment of 
Northern friends, by whose aid alone 
his nomination could be made possi- 
ble, he was really sacrificing his politi- 
cal prospects on the altar of his coun- 
try, as he did by remaining in the Cab- 
inet of President Tyler. More lenient 
critics took the ground that his fears of 
disunion were groundless, but the 
events of 1 861 demonstrated that he was 
better informed than they. In a conver- 
sation I had a few years ago at his 
house in Augusta with Hon. James 
Ware Bradbury, who died January 6, 
1 901, at the age of ninety-eight years, 
the last survivor of the Senate of 1850, 
he told me that the North was totally 
unaware of the danger which threat- 
ened the union when that speech was 
made. He further said that it was 
well known among Senators that the 
middle states, looking" on a refusal to 



accept the compromises as an aggres- 
sion on the part of the North, would 
have followed the Southern states out 
of the Union. When, however, seces- 
sion finally came in 1861, those states, 
looking on the South as the aggressor, 
sent more soldiers into the Union arm} 
than all New England. The speech 
was a plea for the Union. Mr. Web- 
ster believed that the hope of republi- 
can institutions rested on the per- 
petuity of the Union, and that disunion 
would not only check their progress, 
but would also result in the permanent 
establishment of slavery in a confed- 
eracy, within whose limits no influence 
would exist looking to its abolition. 
How far the people of the North mis- 
understood the position of Mr. Web- 
ster is shown by the statement made 
as late as 1881, in the ''Memorial His- 
tory of Boston," that "he opposed the 
exclusion of slavery from the terri- 
tories by law," when one of the very 
compromises advocated by him was 
the admission of California as a state, 
which the South opposed, with a con- 
stitution forbidding slaverv within its 
limits. The speech was in line with 
the consistent efforts of his life to de- 
fend the Constitution and uphold the 

"When," he said, "my eyes are turned to 
behold for the last time the sun in heaven, 
may they not see him shining on the brok- 
en and dishonored fragments of a once 
glorious union, on states dissevered, dis- 
cordant, belligerent, on a land rent with 
civil feuds, or it may be drenched with 
fraternal blood." 

By his early death he was spared the 
sorrow of witnessing the miseries of 
civil war. If, during that conflict, he 
could have looked down from heaven 
on the scenes of earth he would have 
beheld the armies of the North, gath- 

ered under the inspiration of the les- 
sons of patriotism which he had taught, 
yielding up their lives in defense of 
the union he loved so well. It is a 
question no man can answer, if that 
speech had not been made, if the com- 
promises had been defeated, and if the 
people of the North had rightly or 
wrongly refused to aid in the rendition 
of slaves, whether a Southern confed- 
eracy would not have been established 
in 1850 and slavery been continued to 
this day. But in some inscrutable way, 
followed either under the guidance of 
Providence or of the wisdom of man, 
the result for which Mr. Webster 
prayed has been achieved, not liberty 
without union, nor union without lib- 
erty, but liberty and union now and 
forever, one and inseparable. 

As an aftermath of the 7th of March 
speech, was the refusal by the Alder- 
men of Boston of the use of Faneuil 
Hall to the friends of Mr. Webster for 
the purpose of hearing him on the 
topics then agitating the public mind. 
The refusal was based on the ground 
that the hall had been refused to the 
Abolitionists, and that the advocates 
and opponents of the compromise 
measures should be treated alike. In 
the following week the city govern- 
ment, under the pressure of public in- 
dignation, reconsidered their action 
and extended an invitation to Mr. 
Webster to address his fellow citizens 
in the Hall, which he declined. 

Turning now from the public to the 
private life of Mr. Webster at his 
Marshfield home, much may be found 
that is new to those who have known 
of him only as the lawyer, orator and 
statesman. There among his neigh- 
bors he was the true, simple, trans- 
parent, tender-hearted man. Among 

The Webster Estate at the Present Time 

them he assumed no superiority, inter- 
ested himself in their families and 
farms and became their counselor and 
friend. Of these neighbors only one 
remains, Mr. Charles Porter Wright, 
who for a number of years was the 
manager of Mr. Webster's landed es- 
tate. To him the memories of the 
great man are blessed ones, and even 
now, after the lapse of fifty years, he 
can scarcely speak of him without a 
tear. Released from the cares of state, 
the playful side of Mr. Webster would 
often asserts itself, as the following in- 
cident shows, which illustrates as well 
his familiar and kindly intercourse 
with the farmers of Marshfield. Once, 
on his return from Washington, a 
neighbor called with a bill for hay. Mr. 
Webster told him that he had just 
reached home and that if he would call 
on the next Monday he would have the 
money ready for him. After the man 
left Mr. Webster said to his son 

Fletcher, "I think I have paid that 
bill, and I wish you would see if you 
can find a receipt." The result of the 
search was that two receipts were 
found. "Let those bills lie there," he 
said, "and when our friend calls next 
Monday we will have some fun with 
him." On Monday the farmer called 
just before dinner, and Mr. Webster 
said, "Come, neighbor, get your dinner 
with me, and then we will talk busi- 
ness." After dinner they went out 
and sat under the shady elm-tree near 
the house, accompanied by Fletcher, 
and after a little general conversation, 
Mr. Webster said, "Mr. N., do you 
keep books ? I advise you by all means 
to keep books ; now if you had kept 
books you would have known that I 
had paid this bill once," and he handed 
him one of the receipts. Mr. N. was 
mortified beyond measure and accused 
himself of inexcusable negligence and 
foreretfulness. After further con- 


20 : 

versation, Mr. Webster again said, 
"Mr. N., you don't know how im- 
portant it is to keep books," and hand- 
ing him a second receipt added, "If 
you had kept books you would have 
known that I had paid this bill twice. 
Now I am going to pay it just once 
more, and I don't believe that I shall 
ever pay it again." Poor Mr. N. was 
overwhelmed with surprise and pro- 
tested that when able he would refund 
the money. "No, Mr. N.," said Mr. 
Webster, "you are a poor man and I 
know you to be an honest one. Keep 
the money, and when you have any 
more hay to sell, bring me a load and 
I will buy it." 

Mr. Webster in Marshneld was al- 
ways up before sunrise, attending to 
correspondence or strolling about the 
farm, petting his horses and oxen, or 
arranging for the farm work of the 
day. "I know the morning," he said. 
"I love it fresh and sweet as it is, a 
daily new creation, breaking forth and 
calling all that have life and breath and 
being to new adoration, new enjoy- 
ments and new gratitude." He thought 
the rising of the sun the grandest 
spectacle in nature and wondered why 
people were willing to forego the 
pleasure of beholding it. 

His style of living was unostenta- 
tious and his habits were plain, regu- 
lar and unexceptionable. He did not 
use tobacco in any form, and con- 
sidered an oath unfit for a gentleman. 
He never gambled ; at whist, the only 
game of cards he ever played, he was 
not proficient ; he never indulged in 
telling stories, and was a far from pa- 
tient listener to those of others. His 
drinking habits, which those without 
knowledge have exaggerated, I have 
been assured by my uncle, were only 

such as prevailed in his day among re- 
fined and educated gentlemen. At 
dinner he confined himself to two 
glasses of Madeira wine. 

Mr. Webster was a man of deep re- 
ligious feeling and was as familiar 
with the Bible as with the Constitution 
of the United States. On Sunday 
morning he would gather his house- 
hold in his library and, after reading 
scriptural passages, would address 
them on the responsible duties of life. 
In answer to the questions often asked 
concerning his theological views, it 
seems to me that the facts bear out the 
statement that during the larger part 
of his life they were those of the Trini- 
tarians. In Salisbury he joined the 
orthodox Congregational Church un- 
der the pastorate of Rev. Thomas 
Worcester. When he removed to 
Portsmouth he carried a letter to the 
orthodox Congregational church in 
that town, under the pastorate of Rev. 
Dr. Joseph Buckminster. At that 
time Unitarianism was receiving large 
accessions from the ranks of conserva- 
tive theological thinkers, and among 
those who found their way into the 
new fold was Dr. Buckminster's son, 
Joseph Stevens Buckminster, who was 
ordained pastor of the Unitarian Brat- 
tle Street Church, in Boston, in 1805. 
It is not improbable that the theologi- 
cal discussions between father and son 
modified Mr. Webster's views for a 
time, for when he went to Boston, in 
1816, he became a worshipper at the 
Brattle Street Church. His connec- 
tion with that church, however, termi- 
nated in 18 19, when he became one of 
the founders of St. Paul's Church. 
Episcopal, attended the meetings of its 
organizers and was one of the commit- 
tee for building its place of worship in 



Tremont street. The pew occupied 
by him was Number 25, and his con- 
tinued association with that church is 
shown by the fact that his son Charles, 
who died in 1824, his first wife, who 
died in 1828, and his son Edward, who 
died in Mexico in 1848, were buried in 
its vaults, though later removed to 
Marshfield. His belief in Christ as 
mediator and intercessor was shown 
by the prayer uttered by him in his last 
hours, — "Heavenly Father, forgive my 
sins and receive me to thyself through 
Christ Jesus." 

No sketch of Mr. Webster would be 
complete without a reference to his 
habits as a sportsman. Of fishing in 
the bay, shooting on the marshes, 
dropping his line in a trout brook and 
hunting in Plymouth woods, he was 
inordinately fond. He was a good 
shot and in marsh shooting was un- 
doubtedly skillful, but in hunting and 
fishing too often his reveries permitted 
the game to . escape and the fish to 
nibble away his bait, until he had com- 
pleted the construction of some pas- 
sage or solved some law point in the 
speech or argument he was soon to 
make. On the trunk of a maple tree 
standing on the margin of Billington 
Sea, one of the large ponds in Ply- 
mouth, I have seen the initials "D. 
W.," which were cut by him while 
waiting for the sound of the dogs in 
pursuit of the quarry. On that oc- 
casion a noble buck passed him with- 
out warning, but seizing his gun, he 
brought him down with a bullet as he 
ran hock deep in the water along the 

Of one of his hunts his son Fletcher 
told me the following story. Reach- 
ing home in the early evening of an 
October day, in answer to the question 

of Fletcher, "What luck, father?" he 
said, after seating himself at the sup- 
per table : 

"Well, I met the Messrs. Hedge and 
George Churchill at Long Pond Hill, which 
you know is about eight miles beyond 
Plymouth, and there also was Uncle 
Branch Pierce with his hounds, and 
he had already found a fresh deer 
track to the eastward near the Sand- 
wich road. Uncle Branch told us that 
as nigh as he could make up .the vyage, the 
critter would run to water in little Long 
Pond. So he put me on the road as you 
go down the hill, and told me to keep my 
ears open ani my eyes peeled, and not to 
stir till he calied me off. For two hours I 
stood there under a red oak tree, expecting 
every moment either to hear the dogs or see 
the deer, but without a sound or a sight. 
I then put my gun against the tree and took 
a lunch. When it got to be one o'clock, 
I made a speech, and about three o'clock a 
little song sparrow came and perched on a 
limb over niv^ head, and i took off my hat 
and said 'Maoam, you are the first living 
thing I have seen today. Permit me to 
pay my profor.ndest respects.' Pretty soon 
Uncle Branch came up and said the dogs 
had gone out of 'hearth' and the hunt was 
up 'by golly.' So here I am. Fletcher, tired 
out and as hungry as a cooper's cow." 

Before he left the hunting grounds 
he drove his knife into a pitch pine 
tree and said, "Gentlemen, we meet 
here to-morrow morning at eight 
o'clock." After riding home and back, 
thirty-six miles, taking supper, a 
night's sleep and breakfast, he pulled 
the knife out of the tree precisely on 
the hour. As I was told by the 
Messrs. Hedge, the morning coming 
on wet, and he having a slight cold, he 
told his companions to go on their hunt 
and he would go up to Uncle Branch's 
house and await their return. After 
a successful hunt, they went to the 
house and found old lady Pierce sit- 
ting in the common room, with the 




breakfast dishes 
still unwashed, 
listening to Mr. 
Webster as he 
paced the floor, 
repeating some 
of the grand old 
lyric poems of 
Isaac Watts : 

"Keep silence all 
created things, 

And wait your mak- 
er's nod ; 

The muse stands 
trembling while 
she sings 

The honors of her 

"Life, death and hell 
and worlds un- 

Hang on his firm 
decree ; 

He sits on no pre- 
carious throne, 

Nor borrows leave 
to be." 

Uncle Branch, 
as everybody 
called him, was 
the most Skillful '« Uncle Branch » 

hunter ever raised in Massachusetts, as his e 

He and Mr. Webster were frequent 

companions, and though I have never 

seen them together, I have been told 

that it was interesting to see them in 

company. He was too far removed 

from social life to feel embarrassment 

in the presence of any man, and as 

king of the woods on his own domain, 

no one was his superior. He signed 

and made oath to an affidavit that he 

had killed in Plymouth woods with the 

gun shown in his portrait two hundred 

and forty-eight deer, — three at a shot 

once, and two at a shot twice. 

Reference has been made in an 

earlier part of 
this article to 
one of t h e 
man y portraits 
taken of Mr. 
Webster. It is 
probable that no 
other man has 
been so o f t e n 
portrayed on can- 
vas and in mar- 
ble. I have a 
list of forty -five 
portraits, five 
drawings, eight 
miniatures, five 
statues, one 
statuette and six 
busts, exclusive 
of daguerreo- 
types, seventy in 
all, representing 
the work of thir- 
ty-three artists. 

On the 8th of 
May, 1852. while 
on his way to Ply- 
mouth with Mr. 
Charles Lanman 
companion, for a days' fishing 
with his friend, Mr. Isaac L. Hedge 
in the latter's trout pond, at Sea- 
side, near Plymouth village, in go- 
ing up the hill from Smelt Brook, in 
that part of Kingston called Rocky 
Nook, the linchpin of his carriage 
broke and he was thrown to the 
ground, receiving bruises on his head 
and left arm. Though not uncon- 
scious, he was faint and chilled by the 
shock and was carried into the house 
of Mr. Benjamin Delano, who hap- 
pened to be a political friend and one 
of his ardent admirers. Under the 
sympathetic and kindly care of Mr, 



Delano and his family, he was in three 
or fonr hours sufficiently recovered to 
be carried home. While Dr. Nichols, 
of Kingston, was dressing his wounds 
and just as an attack of faintness was 
passing off, Mrs. Delano came into the 
room, and he said, "Madam, how very 
diversified is the lot of humanity in this 
our world ; a certain man passing from 
Jerusalem to Jericho fell among 
thieves and was illy treated ; a man 
passing from Marshfield to Plymouth 
fell among a very hospitable set of 
people and was kindly taken care of." 
From the effects of this accident Mr. 
Webster never fully rallied. He ad- 
dressed the citizens of Boston in Fan- 
euil Hall on the 22d of May, in a 
speech which I heard, full of eloquent 
pathos. In June he was in Washing- 
ton and there, on the 16th of that 
month, endorsed the nomination of 
Winfield Scott for the Presidency. On 
the 9th of July a public reception was 
tendered him in Boston, and he ad- 
dressed his fellow citizens on the Com- 
mon. On the 1 2th of July he was in 
Franklin, and on the 25th was received 
by his neighbors and friends at the 
station in Kingston and escorted to 
Marshfield, where, to those who had 
lived near him and loved him, his last 
speech was made. In August he went 
to Washington, where he remained un- 
til the 8th of September. After his re- 
turn he gradually failed, and died on 
the morning of Sunday, the 24th of 
October. The story of his death was 
told me by Mr. Charles Henry 
Thomas, on whose bosom his head was 
resting when he breathed his last. The 
scene was an impressive one. There 
were gathered around his bed Mrs. 
Webster, his son Fletcher and wife, 
James William Paige and wife, his 

son-in-law Samuel A. Appleton, Peter 
Harvey, Dr. J. Mason Warren, Dr. 
John Jeffries, and George T. Curtis of 
Boston, Edward Curtis, Mr. Le Roy 
and Miss Downs of New York, Mr. W. 
C. Zartsinger and Mr. George J. Ab- 
bott of the State Department in Wash- 
ington, and Mr. Thomas. Mr. Web- 
ster had entertained the idea that there 
was a point of time between life and 
death when the spirit was conscious of 
both the scenes of earth and of 
heaven. After a period of silence, he 
opened his eyes and said, "I still live." 
Dr. Jeffries, not understanding the 
meaning of his words, repeated the 
scripture passage, "though I walk 
through the valley of the shadow of 
death I will fear no evil." Again he 
opened his eyes and said, "No, Doctor, 
tell me the point, tell me the point," 
and died. An autopsy was held which 
disclosed a disease of the liver as the 
cause of death accompanied by hemor- 
rhage from the stomach and bowels 
and dropsy of the abdomen. In a re- 
port made to the Massachusetts Med- 
ical Society, it was stated that his brain 
exceeded by thirty per cent, the aver- 
age weight, and with the exception of 
those of Cuvier and Dupuytren was 
the largest on record. It was also 
stated that there was an effusion upon 
the arachnoid membrane, the inner of 
the triple membrane of which the Dura 
Mater and the Pia Mater are the other 
two lining the cranium and covering 
the brain and spinal marrow. 

I attended his funeral on Friday the 
29th of October, the services at which 
were conducted by the Rev. Ebenezer 
Alden, pastor of the Trinitarian Con- 
gregational Church in Marshfield. He 
had stated in his will that he wished 
"to be buried without the least show or 



ostentation, but in a manner respectful 
to my neighbors, whose kindness has 
contributed so much to the happiness 
of me and mine, and for whose pros- 
perity I offer sincere prayers to God." 
His wishes were complied with, and on 
a beautiful Indian summer day, his 
body, clad in a blue coat with brass 
buttons, buff waistcoat and, I think, 
white trousers, lay in its coffin exposed 
its whole length to view, under the elm 
in whose shade he had loved to sit, and, 
like the autumn leaves falling about 
him, having performed his mission, he 
was borne by loving neighbors to his 
final rest. On his tomb in the ancient 
Winslow burial ground, not far from 

the Webster mansion, is the following 
inscription by himself : 

Born January i8th, 1782, 
Died October 24th, 1852. 

Lord, I believe. Help thou mine unbelief. 

"Philosophical argument, especially that 
drawn from the vastness of the universe, 
in comparison with the apparent insignifi- 
cance of this globe, has sometimes shaken 
my reason for the faith which is in me ; but 
my heart has always assured and reassured 
me that the Gcspel of Jesus Christ must be 
a Divine Reality. The Sermon on the Mount 
cannot be a mere human production. This 
belief enters into the very depth of my con- 
science. The whole history of man proves 

In An Old Garden 

By Elizabeth W. Schermerhorn 

AN acre of sunny, western slope 
in the heart of the town, shut 
in by lilac hedges and grape- 
vine trellises, and ending in a 
tangle of damask roses, orange field 
lilies, and straggling Rose of Sharon, 
which crown a rough stone wall above 
the old river highway ; square plots of 
lawn where the flower-bordered, 
white-pebbled walks intersect ; at the 
end of the central path a little brown 
summer-house, peaked and latticed, 
and half buried in rank trumpet- 
creeper, and delicate sweet-brier, — -"an 
unimaginable lodge for quiet think- 
ing," — on whose steep little roof, 
throughout the long June day, the pat- 
ter and scratch of tiny feet and the 
dropping of fruit and pits from an 

Illustrated from photographs by Thomas E. Mai 

overshadowing cherry-tree, betray the 
pilfering robin and oriole, and the tac- 
iturn cedar-bird ; two sturdy ever- 
greens to break the force of the west 
winds, and to spread tents of slanting 
branches for a refuge from the midday 
sun ; beyond them, two twisted apple- 
trees, to make cool circles of shadow, 
and strew the ground with a fragrant 
drift of snowy petals or dot it with 
shining golden fruit, — and to bend and 
crook their hollow old arms into nooks 
where the wrens can play hide-and- 
seek, and the woodpecker may set up 
his carpenter-shop : below the summer- 
house, on a gentle descent toward the 
wall, an orchard of pear and quince 
and cherry-trees, where bunches of 
scarlet berries, — stray waifs from an 

r, Clifton Tohnson and Baldwin ( 




ancient strawberry bed, — lurk in the 
tall, tasselled grasses, and blue violets 
reflect the changing tints of the sky : — 
this is the garden I love, where I have 
played as a child, labored as a woman, 
where, — if anywhere, — the shapes and 
memories of the past will gather at 
the summons of backward-glancing 
old age. 

In the heart of the town ! Or rather, 
in its lungs ;— one of those open spaces 
which even a growing city always 
manages to leave for breathing-places. 
For a garden, a real garden, is a deni- 
zen of the town, an adopted child of 
civilization ; mellowing and uplifting 
by its fresh beauty and innocence, the 
heart of its labor-worn, brain-sick fos- 
ter-parent. Those who live in the 
country, before whose very door the 
pageant of forest and field is ever out- 
spread, do not need to mimic the pano- 
rama of the seasons ; the original is 
free to all. Cultivated plants look 
tawdry and artificial when wild flow- 
ers are at hand to invite comparison, 
as hothouse flowers cheapen beside 
garden blossoms. Then, too, the sine 
qua non of a garden is seclusion, — a 
quality not to be found in the bound- 
less privacy of tranquil nature, but 
only to be realized when Edom is at 
your very gate, and you must encoun- 
ter him whenever you venture outside 
the bulwark of your hedge. What 
beauty in a trellis or arbor unless it 
screens something, unless it shuts out 
the "cark and clutch of the world" — - 

"Doves defiled and serpents shrined, 
"Hates that wax and hopes that wither?" 

An ivy-draped wall has a raison 
d'etre when it muffles the discordant 
noises of traffic ; soft green stretches 
of well-kept lawn are a respite to eye 
and foot when the distant hum of the 

trolley calls up faint memories of jost- 
ling, perspiring crowds, and hot, glar- 
ing pavements. Thoreau was merely 
theorizing when he declared that "Man 
has sold the birthright of his nose for 
the privilege of living in towns." The 
consciousness of contrast is the sea- 
soning of enjoyment. The dew-sweet 
fragrance of old fashioned flowers, the 
cool depths of trees, the uplift of wav- 
ing vines give keenest satisfaction to 
senses weary of staring advertisements 
and gaudy wares, of ugly bricks and 
noisome odors, of networks of wires 
overhead, and darting bicycles and 
lumbering carts below. What Mere- 
dith says of one of his heroines, is also 
true of a garden,— "She could make 
for herself a quiet centre in the heart 
of the whirlwind, but the whirlwind 
was required." 

The Island Garden of Celia Thaxter 
possessed this charm of seclusion, — 
though it was far from civilization,— 
because it nestled in the rough em- 
brace of booming breakers, on the bar- 
ren bosom of the gray, old rocks, en- 
compassed by a dreary desolation of 
reef and ocean ; because every barrow 
of earth, every pound of fertilizer, 
every seed, every root was brought 
with infinite labor from the mainland, 
and its whole history was a struggle 
against sea bird and sea wind, untem- 
pered sun and destroying tempest. 
We prize most what represents diffi- 
culties overcome. There is no prim- 
rose path leading to the real garden. 

Moreover, our human limitations, 
can comprehend beauty only in little. 
We long for a lodge in a wilderness, a 
tent on the lonely sea-shore, a taber- 
nacle on the Mount, but of all the 
grandeur at our very feet, we can take 
in only a limited quantity. Who has 

not actually suffered with the sense of 
futility and incapacity, when standing 
on the summit of Kaaterskill Moun- 
tain, or watching a wild tempest on 
the cliffs at Newport, or a fine sunset 
over an Adirondack lake? Except for 
an occasional broadening of the hori- 
zon, all the more effectual because 
rare, it is better to use the microscope 
than the field glass, — to take our 
glimpses of nature in homoeopathic 
doses, small but frequent. 

The Japanese make dainty minia- 
tures of nature in the wild. In small 
compass, their little imitations of gar- 
dens possess tiny lakes and islands, 
mimic forests and meadows, fairy rills 
and grottoes. This is not childish 
mimicry but a thoughtful and reverent 
selection and combination of natural 
effects. As we hang landscapes and 
sunsets on our walls, adorn our houses 

with Turkish smoking-rooms and 
Moorish parlors, decorate our 
churches with evergreens and lilies, — 
so we do well to bring into our 
grounds living pictures of the great 
garden of the world. 

Though a long way from Japanese 
ideals, the garden I know best contains 
many quotations from the book of 
nature, and by the aid of a healthy 
imagination I am able to make a "wil- 
derness of handsome groves." For it 
has many patches dedicated to sylvan 
things, — tall, rippling grass that has 
never known the lawn mower, where 
trailing blackberry vines and elusive 
wild strawberries and early violets 
can multiply unmolested ; where a 
handful of daisies and a clump of 
golden-rod by the fence suggest the 
white capped billows and gay shores 
of the open meadow. One shady nook, 

where the cultivated summer plants 
would not thrive, is kept for the few 
spring wild flowers I can coax to 
grow. There columbine's doves arch 
their purple necks over the edge of 
their swinging nest, the bright pink 
stars of the wild geranium nod to the 
drooping purples of the deadly night- 
shade, and clumps of gray-green sage 
and hairy mint wait for my feet to 
bruise them into fragrance. Clusters 
of ferns, cool to the touch, inexpressi- 
bly sweet when wilted or broken, en- 
circle the foot of a tree or border a 
wall, and gives a woodsy tinge, sooth- 
ing the eye with the soft blending of 
their greens, which range from the 
light yellow-green of the common 
brake, through the deeper shades of 
the sweet-fern, bronzed by the fruit on 
its sides, to the dark, glossy evergreen 
of the acrostichoides. 

in the centre of the garden is the 
"Jungle," a thicket of rose bushes, old 
fashioned single pink roses, that open 
fresh buds in the June mornings and 
fade and shed their petals under the 
midday sun. Beneath them, where 
thorny branches defy the would-be 
weeder, gay parrot tulips flaunt their 
harlequin garb in spring, the scarlet 
Oriental poppy flashes and flutters like 
some gigantic tropical butterfly, and 
tangled bachelor's buttons swing their 
blue and pink fringes ; or in August, 
the curious cardinal torches of the 
balm light up the "Jungle" and spread 
their flames until the smouldering hips 
on the rose bushes are kindled into a 

Resides these bits of field and forest 
thus brought into the heart of the 
town, cultivated flowers are scattered 
through the grass in conventional 

beds, or border the paths in stiff and 
dignified rows. Petunias and Drum- 
mond's phlox, candytuft and lacy 
sweet alyssum are near the veranda, 
where their kaleidoscopic variations of 
color and form, and their delicate per- 
fume may be readily perceived. The 
showy hardy phlox, purple and white 
and crimson, a-murmur with bees and 
a-flash with butterflies, — the brilliant 
sheaths of gladioli, the great crumpled 
globes of the marigold, the pink and 
white stars of the cosmos shining 
through a waving background of 
green smoke, are most effective at a 
distance as a foil for the more subtle 
harmonies of balsams and zinnias and 
asters. The nasturtiums spread a crisp 
mantle of green over the beds where 

the daffodils arc enjoying their mid- 

summer nap and the sweet peas serve 
as a screen to the only "vegetable 
shop" the garden can boast, the 
staunch and faithful tomato, which be- 
trays an ancient and aristocratic line- 
age in its old name of "Golden Apple." 
I always keep some precious blossoms 
in the farthest corner of the garden to 
lure me on frequent pilgrimages of 
inspection. The varied markings of 
the China aster, the evanescent rain- 
bow silks that fringe the poppies, — 
Iceland, Shirley, and all the rest, — the 
splendid surprises unfolded from a few 
prize bulbs of gladioli, the curious 
crimpings and streakings of some par- 
ticularly choice petunias, draw me 
irresistibly to thrill over the unfold- 
ings of every hour. 

The old fashioned flowers are br 



themselves, as is befitting. An exclu- 
sive atmosphere of ancestral dignity 
surrounds them, that accords not with 
the fancy strains and ambitious names 
of the seedsman's collections. "How 
the flowers would blush if they could 
know the names we give them," ex- 
claimed Thoreau. The simple names 
of our grandmothers' posies expressed 
their character or habits. Four- 

hocks peeping primly over the fence, 
and their cousin, the healing Mallow- 
rose, with great broad cups of pink or 
white splashed with crimson, and with 
odd clusters of pointed buds shut 
up in little green cages, — these sur- 
vivors of the quaint nomenclature of 
our grandmothers are gathered in the 
plot set apart for them, aloof from the 
pretentious newcomers, — hardy abo- 

o'clocks, and London Pride, Mourning 
Bride and Prince's Feather, Bleeding 
Heart and Widow's Tear, Sweet Will- 
iam with the Honest Eye, Canterbury 
Bells in chimes of blue and pink and 
white, Fox-gloves that the Germans 
call "Fingerhut," Fraxinella with the 
fragrant oily bean, baneful Aconite in 
its monk's hood of purple and white, 
shining Primroses as yellow as butter, 
and pale Cowslips "sick with heat" 
under the summer sun ; statelv Hollv- 

rigines penned up in a Government 

The poets are all agreed that the 
presence of running water is indispen- 
sable to the perfection of a beautiful 
scene. The birds, too, love the spot 
where drinks and baths are abundant, 
and the proximity of a fountain or 
spring is a great consideration to them 
in selecting a summer resort. In the 
swooning heat of July, when the gar- 
den is parched and scorched and no 



dew falls at night, and the great piled 
up, white thunder-clouds have rum- 
bled by, day after day, without a pass- 
ing visit, then a rubber hose, though 
more far-reaching in its ministrations, 
is no substitute for the cool trickle and 
splash of a fountain, to soothe the 
mind with dreams of cold, brown Adi- 
rondack trout-brooks, or crashing, 
foaming surf on the breezy New Eng- 
land shore. Who ever heard of a 
poet's garden without a brook or a 
pool, a spring or a fountain ? Keats's 
lush nook was kept moist by a "bab- 
bling spring-head of clear waters ;" 
Bacon gave elaborate and explicit 
directions for the arrangement of 
fountains which were to furnish 
"beauty and refreshment" in his ideal 
garden ; Solomon "made himself pools 
of water to water therewith the trees 
of his orchards and gardens ;" a river 
flowed through Eden, that first garden 
of the world, and Milton tells us it 
rose in fountains on the Mount of Par- 
adise. Delicious to the ears of those 
first gardeners must have been the 
murmuring of that 

"Crisped brook, rolling on Orient pearl and 

sands of gold, 
"With mazy error under pendent shades;" 

but it cannot compare for somnolent 
qualities with those "welles" that 
Chaucer tells us trickled down by the 
cave of Morpheus, and "made a dedly, 
sleping soun\" nor with those "slow- 
dropping veils of thinnest lawn," in 
the Lotus-eaters' land, that 

"Like a downward stream along the cliff 
"To fall, and pause, and fall again did 

What slumbrous music that, to 
tinkle in my ears, and lull my senses to 
poppied oblivion, on a drowsy summer 
afternoon, as T swing to and fro in the 

hammock, blinking up at the idle 
clouds that float quietly in the wide 
blue above, while the sleepy whirr of 
the grasshopper "runs from hedge to 
hedge," and the shadows slowly 
lengthen and stretch across the lawn, 
and the lazy vines sway and curtsey in 
the soft south breeze, and all my senses 
go a-wool-gathering. 

But honesty forces me to confess 
that the music is in Tennyson's verses, 
not in my garden. The nearest ap- 
proach to that which "no garden 
should be without," that I can offer, is 
an old well, — not a mossy sweep but a 
neat square curb with a latticed roof. 
Yet the well is deep, defying the most 
obstinate drouth, and it has a wide 
circle of acquaintances among heated 
pedestrians and tired workmen. All 
day the slow shuffle of heavy feet, the 
creak of the rusty chain, the muffled 
splash of the bucket, the swish and 
drip of the water, the clink of dipper 
and slam of lattice testify to the com- 
forting properties of this unromantic 
spring. And in spite of the unpromis- 
ing curb, a goodly company of birds 
"their quire apply," and brave unnum- 
bered dangers from bandit cats that in- 
fest the neighborhood, in order to 
bring up their families here. 

The list begins of course with the 
robin. The robin, like the garden, 
really belongs to the town. He looks 
best on a smooth-shaven, velvety lawn ; 
it is the proper background for his 
trim, erect, and strictly up-to-date fig- 
ure. He is a Utilitarian, a Philistine, 
and prefers the comforts of city life to 
the primitive ways of the country. 
Though affecting exclusiveness, his 
plebeian self-consciousness and fond- 
ness for posing demand that he shall 
be seen of men. Brisk, alert and bnsi- 

ness-like, nothing- escapes him ; yet he 
has his contemplative moods, and then 
his glowing breast shows off well on 
the top of a stake or pole. Of course 
the tidy little chipping sparrow, with 
his innocent air and corkscrew trills, is 
on the list ; and the pugnacious, hys- 
terical blackbird, thouefh he leaves 

early ; the indefatigable vireo, the 
lighthearted goldfinch, the nervous 
little hummingbird, the nasal voiced 
nuthatch, "answering tit for tat," the 
downy woodpecker flitting noiselessly 
from tree to tree. The great golden- 
winged woodpecker, a giant among the 
others, has frequented the garden 

for several summers, his discordant 
laugh and clarion calling from the 
trees early and late. It is not uncom- 
mon to see four of these splendid crea- 
tures together, industriously engaged 
in hammering the turf for grub ; 
punctuating their labors with frequent 
upward glances, for they are very shy. 
The scarlet on their heads and black 
crescents on their breasts are very 
showy when they are feeding, and 
when they spread their gold-lined 
wings and fly in alarm to the lower 
branches of the evergreens under 
which they feed, the snowy patches on 
their backs make them dangerously 
conspicuous. That impertinent little 
busybody, Jenny Wren, I could never 
spare. Her ecstatic, bubbling melody, 
which seems to gush from every cor- 
ner of the garden at once, is silent be- 
fore the end of August, and leaves a 
great void in the summer song that 


the ubiquitous insect voices cannot fill. 
The flashing contralto of the oriole, the 
pure sweet melancholy of the thrush, 
"like a mower whetting his scythe," 
says Thoreau, the spring whistle of the 
Peabody sparrow, the catbird, practis- 
ing broken bars of her medley song, — 
these are the voices that blend in the 
great jubilee chorus of the old garden. 
And last summer the crooning of a 
pair of wood-doves was added. On a 
pear tree limb directly over the path, 
their frail, careless nest of twigs was 
placed. The male cooed mournfully 
from an elm down on the highway, 
and as often as I walked by the nest, 
the timid mother would twist her long 
iridescent neck, to look at me with her 
bright frightened eye, until she had 
endured me as long as she could, — 
then with a rush of her strong wings 
that shook down a shower of tiny 
pears, she would fly to the protection 

of her mate. The more sophisticated 
robin would have clung to her nest, 
though with palpitating breast, and 
pretended she did not see me. 

The spring flowers and the ferns 
are not the only wild flavor my garden 
boasts. More and more the sylvan life 
is seeking the society and protection of 
man. Besides the flicker and the 
wood-dove, the oven-bird skulks every 
spring and fall in the shade of a snow- 
hall bush, among the lilies of the val- 
ley, uttering its querulous, metallic 
chirp, like a fine wire spring. And the 
"oologizing" squirrel plays tag all day 
in the treetops, stares me out of coun- 
tenance as he straddles head down- 
wards on the trunk, not a yard from 
my seat, or skips about the piazza 
vines, where the robins' nest is con- 
cealed, on his unholy errands. When 
the dusk is gathering and all is quiet, 
I hear the trills and moans of the for- 

lorn little screech-owl. I find him 
often in the lilac bush, staring in blank 
amazement at my intrusion, and, as I 
walk past him, turning his head as if 
it were on a pivot, until he resembles a 
mask at a "Looking Backward" party. 
Once I discovered his two fluffy babies 
snuggled up close together and fast 
asleep almost within my reach. And 
so the "feathered tribes" themselves 
help on the illusion of the garden. 

1 have never shared trie general en- 
thusiasm over that popular book, 
"Elizabeth and Her German Garden." 
There is a "stand-offishness" in her 
attitude towards flowers, a lack of the 
intimacy of every-day association, and 
of knowledge of their "true inward- 
ness," that make the book artificial in 
tone. "Go to ! I will now be a lover of 
Nature !" she seems to say : and thus 
she secures the point de depart for her 
picturesque moods and her pretty ad- 

jectives, her petulant self-analysis and 
her "gay malevolence." The flowers 
whose color scheme she elaborates so 
exuberantly are no more hers, than the 
Groliers and editions de luxe which 
adorn his Gothic library, are the pos- 
sessions of the upstart millionaire. We 
possess only that which we earn. The 
flowers this cold hearted, cynical pos- 
eur strolled out to admire, and opened 
her note-book to exploit, belonged not 

to her, but to the surly gardener, con- 
temptuous of her interferences, who 
had himself nursed and trained them. 
Celia Thaxter, fostering the tiny seeds 
in her sunny window through the long 
bleak winter, transplanting the fragile 
roots in eggshells, building little bar- 
ricades of lime to ward off the slugs, 
weeding and hoeing through the hot 
summer days, rising at midnight to 
satisfy herself that everything: was 


22 1 

well in the moonlit garden by the sea, 
— what secrets of the flowers has she 
not surprised ! For neither a fat 
pocketbook nor a graceful vocabulary, 
nor yet a fastidious nature, is the key 
that opens their hearts. They have no 
affinity for selfishness or indolence. 
He who would love and be loved by 
them, must not only cultivate a gen- 
erous enthusiasm for humanity, but 
must "know the history of his barn- 

Neither do I find my ideal in Mrs. 
Wheeler's "Garden of Content." She 
strikes, to be sure, a truer note. She 
is thoroughly genuine in her enthusi- 
asms, and to the trained and sensitive 
perceptions of an artist, she adds a 
practical knowledge of plant life, and 
brings to her pen-picture a sweetness 
of spirit and gentle sympathy that are 
charming in themselves. But her gar- 
den lacks the seasoning of age ; it 
didn't grow, but was made, — and in a 
short time. Like painters' studios and 
the houses of people with "an eye for 
color," the picturesque and apparently 
careless confusion have an air of cal- 
culation and deliberate intent, like the 
best clothes that the Thrums villagers 
laid out on the spare room chairs when 
visitors were expected. 

The garden I know was doubtless 
indebted to the hand of man a half 
century ago, for its present plan and 
the germs of its present glory ; but the 
slow growth of years has changed and 
adapted and added to it, till its way- 
wardness is genuine, its antiquated air 
unassumed. Moreover I have known 
it as long as I have known anything. 
I can close my eyes and see it as it was, 
and as it is, in every detail. I know 
every leaf and root, every weed to 
which each spot is liable, the pedigree 

of every plant, and the waxing and 
waning of every blossom. 

"The spirit culls unfading amaranth when 

wide it strays 
"Through the old garden ground of boyish 


The perfume of rockets after a 
shower, the crash and thud of great 
windfall pears, the sweet, sad psalm of 
the thrush on warm, damp evenings, 
the distant cries of newsboys on Sun- 
day mornings when I stood under the 
blossoming apple trees, — these are the 
warp and woof of all my present love 
of poetry, and happiness in outdoor 
life. My earliest experience of sorrow 
was on being taken to my city home 
after the long happy summer in this 
garden, standing wistfully at a win- 
dow which overlooked a bricked-in 
back yard, and sobbing softly for 
"Grandma's pink clouds and pretty 

What a curious commentary on 
child-life and child-lore could be gath- 
ered in a record of garden games ! If 
we grown-ups could all unite to col- 
lect and compare the "Let's pretends" 
of ingenious little brains, the priceless 
treasures that Nature's toy shop of- 
fered in indulgent abundance to the 
buoyant imagination of healthy child- 
hood ! The black and yellow anthers 
folded away in the buds of the Crown 
Imperial were packages of kid gloves 
for the dolls. The scarlet trumpet- 
flowers were finger protectors. The 
big hips from the rose bushes, when 
furnished with straw handles and 
spouts, made tiny tea-sets for the play- 
house under the trees ; and the pantry 
shelves for their accommodation were 
the gnarled roots which projected here 
and there from the carpet of smooth 


brown needles. The seeds of plantain 
and dock, when mixed with water, fur- 
nished the kind of oatmeal that made 
little dolls grow. The strawberry- 
shrub blossoms were cabbages, the 
drooping yellow racemes of the bar- 
berry were grapes for dessert, and 
yellow catkins were bananas. Some- 
times the cruel fickleness of the age 
that knows not pity betrayed itself in 
sham battles, wherein were decapitated 
the violets just tenderly culled from 
the wet grass. How we exulted in the 
possession of some triumphant, stiff- 
necked Roland who had resisted the 
onslaught of many a weaker Saracen. 
To suck the honied throats of lilacs, to 
weave fragile garlands from the stars 
of the rocket, and necklaces of pine- 
needles, and fringe with a pin the 
white stripes of the ribbon-grass into 
waving plumes ; to ask the dandelion- 
down if mother wanted us, and festoon 
our heads with pale curls fashioned by 
artful tongues from the stems of the 
dandelion ; — these were some of the 
occupations of the busy little folk, 
who trudged all day up and down the 
paths, peeped from the low, smooth 
branches of the spruce, or bobbed their 
sunny heads above the tall, waving 
grass in the orchard. 

When I am alone in my garden it 
seems a Paradise of blossom and color ; 
I take my visitors there and a sinister 
spell seems to fall upon it. There is 
nothing to see; everything has "just 
stopped blooming," or is "late this 
year," or is "not doing well." T sup- 
pose this blight falls upon the spirit 
of every connoisseur at times. The col- 
lector of old furniture, of rare books, 
bric-a-brac or porcelain ; the biol- 
ogist, entomologist or ethnologist ; the 
painter or musician ; nay, even the 

stamp-collector and amateur photogra- 
pher; — -how sorely are they sometimes 
troubled by blindness to the beauties, 
or superficial praise of the trivialities, 
of their art, or disappointed by the 
stolidity with which their treasures 
are viewed. And so I am shy and 
nervous when I exhibit my flowers, 
shrinking and wincing in anticipation 
of the rebuff my enthusiasm is pretty 
sure to meet. My guest strides rapidly 
down the path, sweeping, with eyes 
that see not, the borders full of expect- 
ant, welcoming faces, discoursing the 
while on foreign topics, or at best de- 
scribing another garden he has visited, 
or some rare flower he has seen else- 
where. If by any chance he stops to 
admire, it is probably before the flow- 
ers that have been popularized by the 
florist and his fashionable patrons, — 
valued chiefly for the prices they bring. 
Nearly all my guests who betray any 
interest whatever, express a dislike for 
the zinnia, — that artist's color-box of 
quaint, harmonious tints. The whole 
gamut of mediaeval and Oriental col- 
ors may be found in the exquisite ros- 
ettes of this strong, simple plant. Bits 
of rare old Persian rugs ; fragments of 
painted cathedral windows ; ashes-of- 
roses shading to amethyst, violet and 
purple ; pale flesh tints melting into 
rose, madder and carmine ; brilliant 
vermilion and scarlet, that blend with 
orange, crimson and chestnut ; dingy 
ochres, siennas, cinnamons, umbers; — 
all tarnished and oxidized, bronzed 
and stained, as with long exposure to 
sun and air. Embalmed blossoms, they 
seem to be, old as the seed in the 
mummy's hand. Some people dislike 
the pungent smell of the marigold ; 
and others refuse garden room to the 
lady-slippers, — though T proffer them 



my finest seed, — because, forsooth, 
they are not effective in vases in the 
house ! 

As the book-lover throws himself 
into the mood of each author he reads, 
finding some traces of beauty and truth 
in all, so the true lover of flowers will 

perception of universal beauty should 
apply to flowers more than to litera- 
ture, for their author is not subject to 
lapses of inspiration, — has never been 
detected in a failure or mistake. Sir, 
in flowers I love everything ! 

After all, the real lovers of flowers 

deem nothing that blooms to be com- 
mon or undesirable, and will shift his 
point of view for every specimen, in 
order to detect its inward as well as its 
outward character. "Monsieur, en lit- 
ter ature faime tout," was Taine's re- 
sponse to a curious questioner who 
asked his preferences in books. This 

are naturally few. How can people 
admire when they do not know what 
to look for? And how can they know 
without practical experience? Once 
let my indifferent visitor get his dainty 
fingers in the moist, cool earth, let him 
make the acquaintance of spade and 
hoe, of weed and insect, — be it but 



once, — he will be an interesting com- 
panion when next he comes. Sir 
Thomas Browne tells us that "Cyrus 
was not only a lord of gardens but a 
manual planter thereof." Dismiss the 
gardener ! The great general does not 
cry "Fight on, my brave boys !" from 
a commanding hill, but bivouacs with 
his men and fights in the front. He 
who lets any one do for him what he 
can do for himself, cheats himself out 
of an inexpressible pleasure. Perhaps 
the outward results may not be as sat- 
isfactory as if a trained hand had been 
at work, but the pleasure has been in 
the labor. Industry is its own wage, 
as the parable of the workers in the 

vineyard teaches us. The "joy of the 
doing" is a reward that blight and 
drouth cannot cheat us out of. When 
you have digged and spaded, watered 
and weeded ; when you have known 
the eager zeal of acquisition, the joy 
and pride of possession, the anxieties 
incident to the bug and blight period ; 
when you have experienced cares as 
harrowing as the mother's through the 
dangerous months of baby-teething, — 
then you can walk with me in my gar- 
den and recognize the hopes and fears, 
the disappointments and anticipations, 
— the tireless vigilance and tender 
solicitude that have made it what 
it is. 


By Charles Hanson Towne 

HOW long the violets neath the snow 
Toiled ere they breathed the Spring 
How long the poet dreamed his song 
Before his heart could sine. 

Ode to the Organ 

By Lucy C. (Whittemore) Myrick 

This poem was written about 1875 in response to a request from her fellow 
members of the famous Conversazioni instituted by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
The poem speaks for itself, and additional interest is given by the many associa- 
tions which cluster about it. 

Organ, King among the clan 

Of mechanisms complicate, 

Through which the cunning skill of man 

Doth silence make articulate 

Harmonious sound, 

Melodic measure! — 
Say, who conceived the wondrous plan 
To build a palace for this treasure? — 

With chambers round, 

Whence, at the pressure 
Of a human finger light 
On ivory or ebon gate, 
Shall hasten many an aery sprite, 
With sudden consciousness elate, 

To answer "Here I" 

With ready voice. 



Whence came ye, viewless spirits? Where 
Lurked ye before ye found these cells? 
From blue illimitable air? 
In labyrinth of tinted shells, 

Where erst ye breathed 

Your songs of ocean? — 
From forests, 'mongst whose ancient pines 
Ye sang — and trembled with devotion? 

From cascades wreathed 

In arched motion 
Like silver web Arachne twines ? 
From rolling cloud — the Thunder's lair — 
From Ocean caves — from Ocean waves — 
Cataract and storm! Spirits of Air, 

Ye answer "Here," 

With ready voice. 

Organ ! Grand epitome 
Of Pipe and Sackbut, Lyre and Lute ; 
Tabor, Timbrel, Psaltery; , 
Viol, ten-stringed Harp and Flute ; 

The Trumpet's blare, 

The Cymbal's clashing, — 
Sounds of grief and sounds of glee ; 
Dirge funereal, — Triumph flashing; 

All, all are there ; 

Wailing — dashing. 
From distant clime, from ancient time, 
They speak anew in harmony. 
Organ, instrument sublime ! 
All meet, all culminate in thee, 

And answer "Here," 

With ready voice. 

Did Pan, among Arcadian hills, 
While Syrinx still his suit evaded, 
Hear hints of thee in murmuring rills 
Whilst yet the charm'd reed he waded? 

Did Love infer 

The quaint invention? 
Or, while the Psalms of Nod were young, 
Did Jubal catch some sweet intention 

From insect whirr 

Or bow-string's tension, 
Voice of winds, or bird's clear song? 
To thee, Cecilia, taught of Heaven, 
Thee, raptured by the angelic throng, 
The banded organ pipes were given 

To answer "Here !" 

With ready voice. 


Organ, Instrument sublime! 
Thy feeble infancy began 
In the midst of dateless time, 
With the infancy of man. 

Harsh and few 

Thy first inflations. 
But as broad and broader ran 
The life-stream down through generations, 

Sweeter grew 

Thy intonations; 
Till to-day, thou standest, King! — 
Climax of all that men applaud; — 
That out from spheral silence bring 
The echo of divine accord ; — 

Aye answering "Here!" 

With readv voice. 

O Builder ! build the Organ well ! 
Bring soundest metal from the mine ; 
And fragrant wood from forest dell ; 
And deck with carvings, quaint and fine, 

Sweet Music's shrine. 

Paint Angels' faces 
On the silver pipes that shine 
In front ; and in the panelled spaces 

Garlands twine, 

And nymphs and graces ; 
While caryatides unweary, 
Like the basses of the chord, 
On either side the burden carry; 
Seeming still to praise the Lord, 

Still answering "Here!" 

With ready voice. 

Happy they, the Master Souls, 
Who wrote undying symphonies ; 
Hieroglyphics — magic scrolls — ■ 
Full of wondrous mysteries. 

'Tis thine to tell 

Their mystic story, 
Worthy Organ ! and as rolls 
Through pillared aisles the varied, unseen glory 

That now doth swell 

"Memento Mori," 
And now "Te Deum Laudamus," 
We know not which is most entrancing — 
The skill that brings the sound to us, 
Or those sweet sounds themselves advancing, 

Still answering "Here !" 

With readv voice. 

Humbly sit I at thy portal ; 
With a sense of awed surprise, 
That to me, a sinful mortal, 
Should approach such harmonies. 

Grief, care and fear, 

And doubt and sorrow, 
All that pains the soul immortal, 
All that makes it dread the morrow, 

All disappear; 

I seem to borrow 
Wings from ye, ye winged tones, 
And with ye my heart ascends, 
Till with songs of blessed ones 
Perchance the Organ- Anthem blends. 

And answers "Here!" 

With ready voice. 

House of Music ! Organ Grand ! 
Temple templed ; Shrine enshrined ! 
Let the Poet-King's command 
Now in thee fulfilment find ; 

"Praise the Lord!" 

Let thine oblation, 
Wreathing up with solemn chord, 
Represent a world's oration, — 

"Praise the Lord!" 

Let thy vibration 
Thrill through space with worship's hymn, 
Till, about the Great White Throne, 
With Cherubim and Seraphim, 
Sounds the far-aspiring tone, 

Still answering "Here!" 

With ready voice. 




A large collection of original letters written by General Washington 
and General Greene has come into the editor's possession. It is our inten- 
tion to reproduce in fac-simile those of the letters which present the most 
interesting details and side lights on the great events of the period covered, 
even though some of the letters may have been previously published. 

The reproduction of these letters in chronological order will be con- 
tinued through the following four issues. A printed copy of this letter 
appears on page 233. — Editor. 

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Gen. Washington to Gen. Greene 

Camp before York, 

6th Oct. 1 78 1. 

How happy am I, my dear Sir, in at length having it in my power to congratulate you upon a victory 
as splendid as I hope it will prove important. — Fortune must have been coy indeed had s*he not yielded at 
last to so persevering a pursuer as you have been — I hope now she is yours, she will change her appella- 
tion of fickle to that of constant. — 

I can say with sincerity that I feel the highest degree of pleasure the good effects which you mention 
as resulting from the perfect good understanding between you, the Marquis and myself. — I hope it will 
never be interrupted, and I am sure it never can while we are all influenced by the same pure motive — 
that of love to our Country and interest in the cause in which we are embarked. — I have happily had but 
few differences with those with whom I have the honor of being connected in the Service — with whom, 
and of what nature these have been, you know. — I bore much for the sake of peace and the public good. 
— My conscience tells me I acted rightly in these transactions, and should they ever come to the knowl- 
edge of the world I trust I shall stand acquitted by it. 

The Baron, from the warmth of his temper, had got disagreeably involved with the state, and an 
enquiry into part of his conduct must some day take place, both for his own honor and their satisfac- 
tion. — I have for the present given him a command in this army which makes him happy. — 

I shall always take pleasure in giving Mrs. Greene's letters a conveyance and sh'd she persist in the 
resolution of undertaking so long a journey as that from New England to Carolina I hope she will make 
Mount Vernon (where Mrs. Knox now is) a stage of more than a day or two. 

With much truth and sincere affection, 

I am, Dr Sir, 

Yr. Obed't, 

G. Washington. 
Maj. Gen-1. Greene. 


On the Wharf 

By E. L. Pearson 

U E' 

LLEN! Ellen!" Mrs. Phin- 
ney pounded on the door 
till Ellen opened it and 
stood staring at her. ''El- 
len, have you heard? Short's boat 
swamped goin' over the bar this morn- 
in', an' Dave an' your husband threw 
over their bait an' went to pick 'em 
up. Two of 'em jumped in to catch 
Fred Short who was goin' down, 
but they couldn't swim 'count of 
their oil-skins, an' they all three 
was drowned !" Mrs. Phinney backed 
away from the door, and stood, 
stammering, among the rose-bushes in 
the little garden of the fisherman's cot- 
tage. Ellen tried to speak twice, be- 
fore she said, "Which two?" "That's 
it," said Mrs. Phinney, "they don't 
know. They telephoned this up from 
the life-saving station, an' then the 
storm got so bad they couldn't make 
out what they said, an' now the wires 
are down. They said that both the 
boats' crews, — the ones that ain't lost, 
are comin' up the river as soon as they 
can. Don't look so, Ellen, I guess 
Jim's all right." 

Ellen disappeared into the house, 
then came out with a shawl over her 
head. "Where are you goin'?" said 
Mrs. Phinney. "Down on the wharf," 
Ellen replied. "Land sake, there ain't 
no use doin' that ; they may not come 
for hours, an' at any rate the boat will 
be sighted 'fore it gets up, — you'll get 
your death !" shrieked Mrs. Phinney, 
as Ellen got farther away. Mrs. Phin- 

ney stood and watched her till she was 
out of sight in the driving mist of the 
northeast storm. Then she went on to 
tell the other neighbors. 

Ellen kept on to the head of the 
wharf. One or two men were stand- 
ing there and she spoke to them. "Do 
you suppose he's all right ? How soon 
will they be up ? Where are they now, 
do you think?" One of the men took 
his pipe out of his mouth and answered 
with maddening deliberation, "I dun- 
no, — p'raps they are, and p'raps they 
ain't. They was fools," he went on 
with more energy, "trying to get 
outside in weather like this." Ellen 
could get no more out of him, so 
she continued alone to the end of the 

Here the force of the wind was such 
that she could hardly stand, and she 
had to cling to one of the big posts. 
The tide was nearly high, and the wind 
drove the water against the wharf so 
that it struck with a slapping sound 
and splashed over the planks. The 
mist was thick, like a fine rain, cold 
and stinging to the cheek, though the 
month was April. Ellen thought she 
had never seen the river looking so 
black and rough. The sky and water 
were of the same dark color; but here 
and there circled a few storm-beaten 
gulls, standing out against the sky 
as did the white-caps against the 
dark body of the river. The storm 
had shut down and the line of white 
breakers which had marked the river's 



mouth and the bar beyond, plainly visi- 
ble on clear days, were hidden behind 
a gray curtain of mist. 

She could hear the pounding of 
those waves, however, — a ceaseless 
grumble that rose to a roar, as the 
violence of the storm increased. She 
always hated that sound, as did all the 
women of the fishing village. Now it 
seemed to her something terrible. She 
shut her eyes and tried not to see, or 
hear, or think. But always before her 
was that white wall of breakers, for- 
ever towering one above the other only 
to come crashing down in their cease- 
less fury. 

She thought of the life that her hus- 
band led in his seine-boat. He la- 
boured unceasingly, in all kinds of 
weather, suffering every hardship, and 
at the end of it all the work was often 
thrown away ; for the fishing schooners 
seemed never to come for bait when 
the porgies were in the river. The bait 
would not keep unless salted down on 
the schooners right away. Often it 
was caught three or four miles up the 
river and if schooners were waiting 
out at sea, there was a race between 
the seiners. A race, not in a light shell 
for a silver cup, but a race, or rather a 
struggle, in an overloaded dory, 
manned by five or six tired men, row- 
ing for food and clothing for their 
wives and children. 

Such a race had taken place this 
morning, and for her husband's crew 
the end of it was to heave over the bait 
and go to the rescue of their rivals, — 
men who wouldn't say "thank you," 
but who, nevertheless, would do the 

same for them if need came. Two 
were drowned, — which two ? The roar 
of the breakers arose again in her ears, 
and she almost screamed in her help- 
less agony. 

It was much darker now. Although 
only the middle of the afternoon, the 
storm hastened the darkness. She was 
numb with cold, but still waited there, 
alone. The other women were willing 
to stay in their houses till the boat 
should be sighted. 

A long time passed, till, as she 
watched, a speck grew out of the mist. 
It was a boat, and a seine-boat, as she 
knew by the long oars. It came on 
with great strides like a water-spider. 
Soon she could count the men, — two, 
six, eight. Was he there? They were 
all dressed in oil-skins, and their "sou'- 
westers" were pulled over their faces. 
She heard the people come running 
down the wharf. Some of the women 
spoke to her, but she did not answer. 
She tried to make out if he was in the 
boat, — he usually rowed in the bow, 
she knew. She looked at the man 
there. The figure was short and thick 
set — not the tall, straight one that she 
had longed to see. 

Dizzy and faint, she clung to the 
post, and for a moment neither saw 
nor heard anything. The boat was in 
under the wharf, when suddenly she 
heard some one calling her name. In 
a daze she looked down. A man was 
crouched in the stern, steering. A 
moment later she felt a hand on her 
shoulder and heard a voice say : 

"Hello, Ellen. What are you doin' 
down here?" 

How Young Lowell Mason Travelled 

to Savannah 

By Daniel Gregory Mason 

I HAVE before me two letters 
nearly a hundred years old, and 
full of quaint suggestions of the 
habits and customs of their writ- 
ers, so different from our own. In 
the first place our grandfathers never 
used envelopes, but wrote on large 
double sheets of stout paper which they 
deftly infolded and sealed. My speci- 
mens are turned a deep brownish yel- 
low with time, and well frayed at the 
edges, nearly ready to disintegrate al- 
together. One is addressed to "Mr. 
Lowell Mason, present" ; the other 
bears the superscription, in fat deeply 
shaded letters, "Johnson Mason, 
Esq 1 "., Medfield, Mass," and the post- 
mark, legible only by the aid of in- 
ductive reasoning, "Savannah, Jan. 
24." In the corner where we should 
put the stamp is scrawled the num- 
ber 25. Two round holes indicate 
where the seal was placed, and by 
experimenting until they coincide one 
discovers the mode of folding. The 
first letter, which has no postmark, 
scrawled figures, or seal, was prob- 
ably delivered by messenger. 

Lowell Mason, who in due time be- 
came famous as a musical educator 
and as the composer of "Nearer, My 
God, to Thee," of the "Missionary 
Hymn" and other church tunes, was 
in 1812 a young man not quite of 
age, preparing to journey southwards 

to seek his fortune. His letter to his 

father will tell us some interesting de- 
tails of his journey, but first we must 
turn for a moment to his father's 
anxious words of advice and warning 
on the eve of departure. Johnson 
Mason was a rude, shrewd, and up- 
right man, keen of eye, dishevelled of 
hair, and firm of jaw, a straw-bonnet 
maker in the town of Medfield, and 
a radical in the matter of spelling. 
He reveals in his letter the combina- 
tion, so frequent in his contempora- 
ries, of a canny and circumspect busi- 
ness sense with indefatigable piety 
and the habit of scriptural allusion. 
He hopes his son may "accumulate a 
small property," but fears the pres- 
ence of "Wolves in Sheaps Clothing 
to devower it." He advises him, 
should he be at first unsuccessful, 
"not to dispond but maintain steady 
habbits and have A particular eye to 
devine providence in all you say and 
all you do." 

But the reader will be anxious for 
the letter itself, which I shall give 
with all its eccentricites of orthog- 
raphy and punctuation. Johnson 
Mason was a man of integrity and 
self-respect, quite able to ignore the 
subtleties of grammar and sentence- 
structure without losing dignity. 
Any lapses he makes are more than 
counterbalanced, I think, by the sin- 
cerity of his ethics, even if we say 
nothing of the keenness of his obser- 



vation, shown in such remarks as that 
about the especial danger of the 
"cience of Music." 

Medfield Novr 22 1812 — 
My Son As you are about seting out on 
a long and I fear furteagueing journey I 
cannot refrain from makeing a few ob- 
servations to you by way of advice before 
your departure — your abilities and address 
in many particulars I think sufficient to 
recomend you (at least) to the second 
class in sosiety the prinsipal indowments 
in which I think you defisient in (as it re- 
spects the present life) is Prudence and 
Economy in the first of these particulars I 
should not only include a prudential care 
of your own property but a strict Assiduity 
and carefull attention in whatever you 
may be called on to transact for others — 
by Economy I do not mean to be under- 
stood selfisness but a mediom between 
extravigence and meanness which are both 
detestable in the minds of the wise and 
good If it should please a kind Provi- 
dence to prosper you in any undertaking 
so that you should be accumulating a 
small property to your self you will find 
plenty of Wolves in Sheaps Clothing to 
devower it if by inticing flattery, or fals 
statements it can be obtained but espe- 
cially in the cience of Music for that will 
probably make your circle of acquaintance 
large in a short space of time so there will 
not be that chance to distinguish the real 
charracters of your acquaintance that there 
would be in some other occupations 
where you would be more deliberate and 
longer in forming connections. In a word 
you cannot be too cautious about joining 
parties and I should recommend you to 
evade them as much as possable — You will 
find the manners of the People very dif- 
ferent at the Southward from what it is 
here or in New York I expect Gaming 
and Sabbath Braking are among the many 
bad practices which you will find preva- 
lent in Georgia and the Southern States 
which I hope by the care of a kind Provi- 
dence you will be able to withstand also 
numerous other Vices which it is not 
necessary to enumerate — If you should not 
meet with the success at your journeys 

end which you expect (which I am fear- 
full may be the case) you ought not to 
dispond but maintain steady habbits and 
have A particular eye to devine providence 
in all you say and all you do 
Nov 25 

I hope there will be some opening here 
next Spring which will be to your advan- 
tage and mine If so I shall inform you 
but if things should not prove more fa- 
vourable in the Spring than they are now 
should not advise you by any means to 
stay at the Southward dureing Summer 
shall write you as soon as I can be in- 
formed of your Arrival in Savannah — wish 
you to write me without fail from New 
York and Alexandria give my respects to 
Mr Kellogg and request Mr D Metcalf to 
give you the proceeds of the last Box of 
Bonnets if they are sold — I am with es- 
teem your 

Affectionate father 

Johnson Mason 

Mr Metcalf will give you all the pro- 
ceeds of my Bonnets except 50 Dollars 
which I owe Mr Baxter of Boston 

Two days after this was written, 
Lowell Mason set out on his journey. 
He estimates the distance from Bos- 
ton to Savannah to be a little over 
a thousand miles. Nowadays we 
think nothing at all of a jaunt like 
that. We buy our railroad ticket and 
our novel, and sit comfortably in our 
upholstered seat, learning nothing 
about the country we travel through, 
to be sure, but suffering no fatigues 
or dangers. In 1813 it was very dif- 
ferent. Lowell Mason describes his 
journey, with his characteristic love 
of paradox, as "unpleasant, agreea- 
ble, fatiguing, fine, long, tedious." 
He travelled in a wagon, with two 
companions, taking fifty-five days and 
spending about one hundred dollars, 
which was in that day a sum of 
money. But on the other hand he 
had the experience of journeying, by 
a natural and primitive method, 

2 3 S 


through a noble country. He did not 
merely leave Boston and arrive at 
Savannah ; he traversed the places 
between them. With businesslike 
accuracy he recounts his itinerary, 
and it will not prove dull, I hope, if 
I quote it in detail, especially as it is 
frequently enlivened by idiosyncrasies 
of phrase and by picturesque bits of 
incident. I adhere for the most part 
to his own punctuation: 

Savannah January 21. 1813 

Dear Parents I am at length able to in- 
form you of my arrival this day at this 
place after an unpleasant, agreeable, fatigu- 
ing, fine, long, tedious journey of fifty five 
days. Having left you on Friday 27th 
Nov. 1812 — we passed through Medway 
and Belingham to Mendon 17 miles. We 
staid the night with Mr Jackson. Satur- 
day 28th. Passed through Uxbridge and 
Douglass to Thompson in the state of 
Conecticut 21 miles. Sunday 29th. Went 
to meeting & heard Rev. Daniel Dow — a 
high calvinist. Monday 30th. Through 
Pomfret & Ashford to Mansfield 23 miles. 
Tuesday Dec. 1st. Through Coventry, 
Bolton and East Hartford to the city of 
Hartford 23 miles. Wednesday 2nd 
Through Weathersfield and Berlin to 
Marridon 17 miles. Thursday 3rd Through 
W r alingford, Hamden and North Haven 
to the city of New Haven 17 Miles. Friday 
4th. We remained at N. Haven on account 
of rain. Saturday 5th. Through Milford 
and Stratford to Bridgeport 18 miles. 
Sunday 6th. Went to meeting. Monday 
7th. Through Middlesex, Sokunteek, Nor- 
walk, Stamford, Greenwich, Rye, to 
Mamaroneck in the State of New York 32 
miles. Tuesday 8th. Through New Ro- 
chel, East Chester, West Chester, Har- 
leim, to the city of New York 22 miles. 
9th and 10th we staid in New York. Fri- 
day nth. Crossed Hudsons river in a 
steam boat and passed through Powlers- 
hook in the State of New Jersey — Barba- 
does, Elizabethtown, Bridgetown, Wood- 
bridge to the city of New Brunswick the 
capital of New Jersey, 32 miles. Satur- 

day 12th. From New Brunswick to Tren- 
ton 27 miles. Here we saw the ground on 
which the famous Battle was fought in the 
revolutionary war. Sunday 13th. Crossed 
Trenton bridge across the Delaware river 
& passed through Morrisville & Bristol to 
the city of Philadelphia in the State of 
Pennsylvania 30 miles. Evening went to 
church. Monday 14th. Remain in Phila- 
delphia. Tuesday 15th. Crossed the 
Schuylkill — passed through Darby, Ridley, 
Chester, to the city of Wilmington the 
principal place in the State of Delaware. 
Bristol, Stanford, Cristiania to Elktown 
36 miles. Wednesday 16th. North East, 
Charlestown, Crossed the Susquehannah 
to Havre de Grace 31 miles. As we were 
ascending a very steep hill in North East 
Town Mr. Bosworth's Trunk fell out un- 
perceived by us. We proceeded about 
three quarters of a mile before we discov- 
ered our loss — and we had met only one 
Negro — we knew it must have fell out 
[sic] at the hill — accordingly we turned 
about and drove immediately to the place 
— but behold the trunk was gone — there 
were two houses in sight — we enquired at 
both of them but without effect — We 
therefore concluded that the Negro we had 
met must have hid it in the woods — which 
were on all sides of us. Mr. Bosworth 
took the Pistol, Mr. Hall a club & myself 
a Dagger and we went in different direc- 
tions in the woods — after about two hours 
search I found it in a Ditch covered up 
with leaves — but no negro — we were in a 
great hurry or we should have hid our- 
selves and taken him when he came after 
it — Thursday 17. Through Bush and Ab- 
bington to the city of Baltimore in the 
State of Maryland 36 miles. Friday 18th. 
remained in Baltimore — went to see the 
remains of the house that the Federalists 
defended in Charles Street against the fury 
of a Democratic mob, and the spot where 
Genl Lingan was barbarously murdered. 
Saturday 19th. Through Blensburgh to 
the City of Washington in the District of 
Columbia — the capitol of the U. States. 
Sunday 20th. At Washington. Monday 
21 st. Through Georgetown, crossed the 
Potomac river, through Alexandria, by 
Mount Vernon to Colchester in the State 



of Virginia 25 miles. At Mount Vernon 
we saw the seat of Genl Washington which 
is beautiful beyond any description I can 
give — it is on a high piece of ground on 
the banks of the Potomac. The tomb of 
the American hero stands under a cluster 
of cedars about one hundred yards from 
the house. There is no monument of any 
description whatever — it is 8 miles from 
Alexandria and 16 from Washington city. 
William Lee a black man, servant of Genl 
Washington in the American army is yet 
living. The seat is now occupied by Judge 
Bushrod Washington. Tuesday 22nd. 
Through Dumfries and Aqua to Stafford 

25 miles. Wednesday 23rd. Falmouth, 
crossed the Rappahannock to Bowling 
Green 31 m. Thursday 24th. Through 
Hannover to [illegible] 31 miles. Friday 
25th. Passed through no town today 
untill we arrived at the city of Richmond 

26 miles. Here we saw the ruins of the 
Theatre that was burnt in Deer. 1811. A 
Church is now building on the spot — and 
directly underneath it is the tomb of 
about 60 of the unfortunate persons who 
perished at that time. Saturday 26th. 
Through Petersburgh 26 miles. Sunday 
27th. (no town to-day) 31 miles. Monday 
28th. Crossed the Roanoke into the State 
of North Carolina 24 miles. Tuesday 29th. 
Went a-hunting. Wednesday 30th. 
through Warrenton 24 miles. Thursday 
31st. Through Louisburg 31 miles. Fri- 
day January 1st 1813. Through the city of 
Raleigh the capitol of North Carolina 30 
miles. Saturday 2nd. To Averysborough 
18 miles. Sunday 3rd. To Fayetteville 25 
miles. Here Mr. Hall concluded to stay 
and teach musick we left him on Monday 
4th. (no town today) 23 miles. Tuesday 
5th (no town) 26 miles. Wednesday 6th. 
Hunting Deer. Thursday 7th. (No Town) 
passed into the State of South Carolina. 
15 miles. Friday 8th. Crossed Pede river. 
Passed through Greenville over Long 
Bluff 20 miles. Saturday 9th (No Town) 
23 miles. Sunday 10th to Stateburgh on 
the high hills of Santee 15 miles, nth and 
12th. 'Staid at Stateburgh. Wednesday 
13th. Crossed the Lakes [?], the Congree 
and Wateree rivers and went to Belle Ville 
23 miles. 14th. Staid at Belle Ville on the 

account of rain. Friday 15th. To Orange- 
burgh 25 miles. Here we found Mr. Cum- 
mins. 16th. Staid with Mr. Cummins. 
Sunday 17th. Went 23 miles (No Town). 
Monday 18th. went 30 miles — through 
water so deep that it came into the wag- 
gon. Tuesday 19th. Went 33 miles (no 
town, house, or any thing else). Wednes- 
day 20th. Crossed Savannah river at the 
Two Sisters ferry — went 27 miles. Thurs- 
day 21st. Arrived at Savannah 16 miles. 
The whole distance if I have added it 
right is one thousand and eightyeight 
miles. Although we have generally found 
good entertainment on the road — yet we 
have several times put up at a little log house 
where there was but one room, a large 
family of children and fifteen or twenty 
negroes — this was not altogether comfort- 
able. Our horses have held out remark- 
ably well and are in good order at present. 
I board at a very good house kept by Mrs. 
Battey. Mr. B. and myself occupy three 
rooms — one apiece for a bed and one be- 
tween us for musick. I have called on 
Doc. Kollock — who is an extremely fine 
man. He thinks I shall meet with encour- 
agement. I find however that my pros- 
pects are materially different from what 
I expected by Mr. Bosworths account — if 

1 make two hundred dollars in all I shall 
think I do well — indeed I have offered to 
let myself for $150 to Mr. B. and he will 
not give it. But it is certain I must make 

2 or 300 before I can return home. I wrote 
to you from New York and informed you 
of the money I had received there on your 
account. When we got to Alexandria we 
found we should be deficient and I got $20 
of Mr. Metcalf which I shall consider my- 
self indebted to you for. I shall expect to 
receive a letter from you as soon as this 
reaches you [illegible] write on one sheet 
to prevent postage. I hope by the time I 
write you again I can give you a more 
pleasant account of my business. It is 
very warm here — so as to be some days 
quite uncomfortable — and amongst im- 
prudent people it is unhealthy (there has a 
number died within a few days after hav- 
ing been sick but two or three days) I 
suppose there is about 8 or 10 die weekly. 
I shall not think of staying in the city 



next summer if I do not come home — but 
shall probably return as far as some part 
of South or North Carolina. From New 
York we shipped the guns by Water and 
they arrived here in four days. Mr. Bos- 
worth is willing to acknowledge now that 
it would have been much better if we had 
come by Water. N. Underwood is at No. 
30 North 2nd St. Philadelphia- — he said he 
would attend to my business you wished 
him to do. — I wrote to Mr. Hill from 
Washington and requested him to give 
you this information. Lucretia will re- 
member me to all my young friends and 
thank Mary Prentiss for the Poem. 
Goodbye for the present L. Mason. 

It is to be regretted that Miss 
Prentiss's poem, probably valedictory 
and pathetic in nature, has not been 
preserved to us. Nor have we any 
of the answers of Johnson Mason. 
We know only that Lowell suc- 

ceeded in finding a place as teller in 
a bank, and remained in Savannah 
until he was called, in 1827, to 
be choirmaster in the three principal 
churches of Boston. Thus began his 
musical career the further history of 
which is too well known to need repe- 

As for his journey to Savannah, 
though he has made, I think, a mis- 
take of sixty miles in his addition (of 
which he himself suggests the possi- 
bility) it was certainly arduous be- 
yond anything we know of travelling 
to-day. If any reader doubt the state- 
ment, let him merely copy the letter 
on a typewriter, as I have just done. 
He will become devoutly thankful for 
the introduction of modern con- 

Early Churches at the North End, 


By William I. Cole 

l^r^HE first church gathered with- 
| in the limits of Old Boston 

J, was, paradoxically speaking, 
the Second Church. The 
First Church of the town had been or- 
ganized in Charlestown, under a tree, 
by John Winthrop, Thomas Dudley and 
others, before they and their follow- 
ers crossed over to the peninsula of 
Shawmut, or "Trimontaine," and 
found, at last, "a place for our sitting 
down." For nearly twenty years after 
their removal hither, the church which 
they had brought with them was the 
sole church of the community ; and its 
meeting-house, originally a small, low 
building of mud walls and thatched 
roof, — later a larger and more preten- 
tious wooden structure — was the only 
place of public worship. In 1649. 
however, ''by reason of the popularity 
of the town, there being too many to 
meet in one assembly," the people liv- 
ing at the northern end of the peninsula 
were gathered into a separate church 

North Boston, as this part of the 
town was called, the North End of the 
present day, had undergone considera- 
ble change since Anne Pollard, the 
impulsive young woman who was the 
foremost to leap ashore from the first 
boat load of colonists, had found it a 
place "very uneven, abounding in 
small hollows and swamps, covered 
with blueberries and other bushes." 

The narrow neck joining it to the 
main part of the peninsula had been 
cut through by a canal, which was 
bridged at one or two points. Three 
main traveled ways crossed the island 
thus created, one to Snow Hill, now 
Copp's Hill ; one to the Winnisimmet 
ferry; and one to the present North 
Square, where the "long wharf" 
reached out into the water. These 
rough paths were the beginnings of 
what are now Salem, Hanover and 
North streets. A windmill for the 
grinding of corn stood on Snow Hill ; 
and near by, on the slope of the hill, a 
strong battery had been built of timber 
and earth. Houses, for the most part 
small, unpainted, and unimposing, fol- 
lowed the coast line at irregular inter- 
vals, or were gathered in a cluster 
around the hill, or in the neighborhood 
of the "long wharf." Although the 
population at this time did not include 
over thirty householders, business was 
rapidly increasing and removals hither 
from south of the canal were becoming 
more and more frequent. 

A meeting-house was built by the 
new religious society, which became 
known as the North Church, at the top 
of a gentle slope where now is North 
Square. No description of this building 
has come down to us. Probably it was 
a plain square structure, not very large, 
with the usual high pulpit and wall 

pews. Some of these pews, it is said, 


North Square 

had private doors opening into the 
street. Ladders, branded with the town 
mark, hung on the outside for use in 
case of fire. These ladders, be it ob- 
served, were not for the protection of 
the sacred edifice alone — which, devoid 
as it was of all heating apparatus, was 
in little danger of fire from within — 
but of the entire neighborhood. Thus 
the meeting-house was a primitive fire 
station as well as a place of worship. 
One wonders whether attendants upon 
its services discovered any symbolism 
in the fire ladders suspended without. 
Did they see in them a figure of the 
church as a means of escape from eter- 
nal flames ? Such a use of material ob- 
jects to illustrate spiritual truth was 
especially congenial to the Puritan 

But the ladders did not save this 
building from destruction by fire ; for 

in 1676 it was burned in a conflagra- 
tion that swept away all the houses in 
the vicinity. The next year it was re- 
placed by a larger edifice, also of wood, 
with a rather low belfry. This second 
structure, which was looked upon as 
"a model of the first architecture in 
New England," after serving its pur- 
pose as a church home for almost a 
hundred years, in the winter of 
1775-76 was pulled down by the Brit- 
ish for firewood. Whether this build- 
ing, like its predecessors, combined the 
office of fire station with that of meet- 
ing-house, is uncertain ; but for many 
years it was a public arsenal, the pow- 
der of the town being kept here. What 
a variety of solemn thoughts must 
have filled the minds of the worship- 
pers within its walls ! To the reminders 
from the pulpit of spiritual perils were 
added from the storage under the same 



roof those of physical perils. In view 
of this strange storage, any references 
to the uncertainty of life must have 
had peculiar point and force! 

The first regular minister of the 
North Church was the Rev. John 
Mayo. Of his personality and labors 
little, if anything, is known to-day. The 
records of the church give one item, 
however, concerning his funeral which, 
unintentionally perhaps, lights up for a 
moment contemporary customs. Ac- 
cording to this entry, the whole cost 
of the funeral was ten pounds and four 
shillings, of which only six shillings 
were paid for the grave and six shil- 
lings for the coffin, while three pounds 
and seventeen shillings were spent for 
wine and five pounds and fifteen shil- 
lings for gloves. 

The two succeeding ministers were 
Increase Mather, and his son, col- 
league, and finally his successor — the 
more famous Cotton Mather. The 
combined pastorates of these two men 
extended over a period of more than 
sixty years, during the greater part of 
which time the pulpit of the North 
Church was the most conspicuous pul- 
pit not only in Boston but in Amer- 
ica. If father and son were contrasted, 
it might be said that the former was 
more the man of affairs, the latter more 
the scholar and preacher. To the du- 
ties of his ministry, Increase Mather 
added those of the presidency of Har- 
vard College, from 1684 to 1701. He 
was also for several years the agent of 
Massachusetts at the court of James 
the Second and of William and Mary. 
When the lineal descendant and pres- 
ent representative of the North Church 
selected an incident in the life of this 
man of many activities to depict in a 
"minister's window," it chose that 

of his appearing before the English 
Commissioners to protest against the 
surrender of the colony charter. The 
window, which adorns its house of 
worship on Copley Square, shows him 
standing, a tall, commanding figure, in 
the act of addressing the royal com- 
missioners, who are seated at a table, 
the simple austere garb of the Puritan 
priest being in marked contrast to the 
rich dress of the Englishmen. 

But as a minister alone, Increase 
Mather would still be a conspicuous 
character in the early annals of New 
England. His appearance in the pulpit 
is described as having been peculiarly 
apostolic. His voice was strong and 
he sometimes used it with great effect, 
delivering sentences which he wished 
to make especially impressive "with 
such a tonitrous cogency," to use the 
words of his son, "that his hearers were 
struck with awe like that produced by 
the fall of thunderbolts." The same 
authority affirms, also, that it was his 
custom to "back everything he said 
with some strong or agreeable sentence 
from the Scriptures." 

If an incident in the life of Cotton 
Mather were singled out for represen- 
tation as being peculiarly characteristic 
of the man, probably it would be one 
suggested by the part he took against 
the witches. It might be that described 
by Calef in connection with the hang- 
ing at Salem of the Rev. George Bur- 
roughs. According to this writer, the 
sympathy with the condemned man 
was so great that at one time the spec- 
tators seemed likely to hinder the ex- 
ecution. "As soon as he was turned 
off," he goes on to say, "Mr. Cotton 
Mather being mounted upon a horse, 
addressed himself unto the People, 
partly to declare that he (Rev. Mr. 

Increase Mather 

Burroughs) was no ordained minister, 
and partly to possess the People of his 
guilt ; saying, that the Devil has often 
been transformed into an Angel of 
Light; and this did somewhat appease 
the People and the Executions went 
on." Probably an incident of this kind 
would be chosen to perpetuate the 
memory of Cotton Mather ; for, 
strange as it may seem, his persecu- 
tion of the witches, although ot short 
duration and far less fanatical than 
that of some of his contemporaries, is 
more frequently dwelt upon than any 
of the other activities of his long life, 
many of which were of a beneficent 
character, unquestioned even to-day. 
Without doubt few historical charac- 
ters are less understood than Cotton 

Mather. Self-conscious to an unusual 
degree he undoubtedly was; but what 
else could be expected of a man of his 
natural parts reared in the days when, 
to quote Barrett Wendell : 

"As soon as children could talk, they were 
set to a procecs of deliberate introspection, 
whose mark is left in the constitutional mel- 
ancholy and Ihe frequent insanity of their 

The belief in witchcraft, for which 
he is especially censured, was well- 
nigh universal at that time. In Eng- 
land alone, more witches were hanged 
or burned every year, for many years, 
than were put to death during the 
whole period of the Salem frenzy. To 
his weakness and eccentricities, of 
which he possessed not a few, were 

Cotton Mather 

added qualities of the highest charac- 
ter. Although a persecutor of witches, 
he was at the same time a scholar of 
immense learning, a powerful preach- 
er, and, what few familiar with his life 
can really doubt, a good man. 

Early in the eighteenth century the 
population of the North. End had in- 
creased to such an extent that the 
North Meeting-house was over- 
crowded and the need of a second place 
of worship began to be felt. In 171 3, 
Cotton Mather, foreseeing that another 
religious society must be formed be- 
cause of the "swarming brethren," 
wrote characteristically in his diary : 

"God calls me in an extraordinary man- 
ner to be armed for the Trials which I may 
undergo in a church breaking all to pieces, 
through the Impertinences of a proud crew, 

that must have pues for their despicable 

Nevertheless, his wounded vanity 
did not prevent him from advising 
with those about to start a new church, 
and preaching to them two appropriate 
sermons in a private house. The fol- 
lowing year the associates, consisting 
primarily of "seventeen substantial 
mechanics," built for themselves a 
church house at the corner of Hanover 
and Clark streets. An interesting fact 
in connection with its erection is that 
permission to build it of wood had to 
be obtained from the General Court, a 
law having been passed two or three 
years before prohibiting other con- 
struction than brick or stone. 

This meeting-house, of small dimen- 
sions, but enlarged later, was put up 



without assistance from the more 
wealthy part of the community, except- 
ing what was "derived from their 
prayers and good wishes." So diffi- 
cult was the undertaking that several 
years afterward, by way of compensa- 
tion to the builders, the church voted : 

"That if by any means this house should 
be demolished, they shall have the privilege, 
by themselves and their heirs, to rebuild 
the same with such others as they please to 
associate with them in the work." 

The contingency provided for by 
this action occurred in 1802, when the 
building was taken down to make room 
for a larger and finer structure; but 
the privilege graciously conferred was 
not claimed. 

The later building, it may be inter- 
esting to know, was after a design by 
Charles Bulfinch. Enlarged and other- 
wise altered, it is still standing, al- 
though no longer the home of its orig- 
inal owners. 

The new organization was called the 
New North Church to distinguish it 
from the North, henceforth the Old 
North Church. Among its first dea- 
cons was John Dixwell, a son of one 
of the judges of Charles the First. 

The early history of this church was 
marked by a dissension leading to a 
permanent division and engendering 
between the two opposing factions a 
bitterness of feeling that was many 
years in dying out. The cause of so 
-great a dissension was the calling and 
installation of a Rev. Mr. Thatcher as 
a colleague with the pastor. Rev. Mr. 
Thacher was settled pastor of 
the church in Weymouth, and 
the real point at issue was the 
propriety of taking him away 
from his flock. In view of mod- 
ern church methods in securing pastors 

the mere raising of such a question 
seems well nigh absurd, still more so 
allowing it to become a subject of 
fierce altercation. In justification of 
their course, the supporters of Mr. 
Thacher gave, among other reasons, if 
an old writer is to be believed, that: 
"He was afflicted with the asthma, 
which was attributed to the local sit- 
uation of the place. The air of Boston 
was more congenial to his health." To 
this his opponents replied, according to 
the same authority, that "his disease 
was not very alarming till he was tam- 
pered with about changing his parish." 
Thus early in the history of New Eng- 
land were ministers accused by their 
detractors of making the need of a 
more salubrious climate an excuse for 
accepting a call to a larger field. 

Those who had resisted the calling 
of Mr. Thacher, when they found that 
their efforts had been in vain, set them- 
selves to work to prevent his settle- 
ment. The council, in which were rep- 
resented but two other churches, the 
church at Milton and the church at 
Rumney Marsh, now a part of Chel- 
sea, met at the house of the pastor, 
which was situated at the corner of 
Salem and North Bennet streets. The 
"aggrieved brethren," on the other 
hand, met at the house of one of their 
leaders, at the corner of Hanover and 
North Bennet streets, by which, under 
ordinary circumstances, the council 
would pass on its way to the meeting- 
house. Their purpose in this was to 
intercept the council and prevent it, 
by force if necesasry, from entering 
the sacred doors. The pastor, however, 
learning that such a plot was on foot, 
conducted the council by a back way 
through what is now Tileston street, 
thus getting it into the building with- 

Cotton Mather's Tomb in Copp's Hill Burying Ground 

out disturbance. Both factions as- 
sumed, apparently, that possession of 
the pulpit was all the points of the law. 

Active opposition now ceased, but 
the disaffected members left the church 
and formed a separate organization, 
the third of the same faith and order 
in the North End ; and built a place of 
worship on the upper part of Hanover 
street. In the first stress- of wrathful 
resentment, they proposed to call the 
new society the "Revenge Church of 
Christ," but milder counsels prevail- 
ing they allowed themselves to become 
known as the New Brick Church, from 
the construction of their meeting- 
house, which was of brick. 

But one fling they must have at the 
church from which they had come out, 
and especially at the direct cause of all 
the trouble. As a vane for their steeple 
they chose a gilded cock in derisive ref- 

erence, so it is said, to Mr. Thacher 
whose first name was Peter. To make 
this reference unmistakable, when the 
cock was put in place, a "merrie fel- 
low," if an old chronicler is trust- 
worthy, climbed upon it and, turning it 
in the direction of the New North 
Meeting-house, crowed lustily three 
times ! This vane gained for the edifice 
which it surmounted the sobriquet of 
the "cockerel church," a name surviv- 
ing in "Cockerel Hall" by which the 
building occupying the same site is 
known to-day. When the New Brick 
Meeting-house was taken down at the 
time of the widening of Hanover 
street, the cock was transferred to the 
Shepherd Memorial Church in Cam- 
bridge, where it still can be seen facing 
the direction from which the wind 
blows, a perpetual symbol of change- 



Individual expressions of bitter feel- 
ing toward the New North, on the part 
of the seceders, were not lacking. One 
man nailed up his pew in his former 
church home, that at least one pew 
there would always be empty. For 
several years the pew remained nailed 
up, until certain persons entering the 
meeting-house by night sawed out the 
section of the floor upon which the 
pew stood and, carrying the whole 
away, placed it at the shop door of its 
owner, where it excited much mirth 
among the passersby. 

As time went on, however, the feel- 
ing grew less and less bitter and the 
occasion of it became the subject of 
many a joke. A rather grim illustra- 
tion of this has been preserved. It 
seems that Mr. Thacher died at night, 
in the midst of a severe storm accom- 
panied by thunder and lightning, 
which was very unusual at that season 
of the year. The next morning, accord- 
ing to the story, a member of his church 
passing along the street met an ac- 
quaintance and asked him if he knew 
that Parson Thacher was dead? "No," 
said the other, "when did he die?" "In 
the midst of the storm," was the reply. 
"Well," rejoined the friend, "he went 
off with as much noise as he came !" 

Strangely enough, the character and 
ability of Mr. Thatcher appear to have 
played no part in this historic quarrel. 
So far as is known he was personally 
acceptable to those opposed to his call 
and settlement. The question so vio- 
lently in dispute was one of church 
polity exclusively. As a matter of 
fact, Mr. Thacher proved to be a pop- 
ular preacher, and was greatly beloved. 
His ministry also was far from un- 
fruitful. From his installation till his 
death in 1736, a period of sixteen 

years, 383 persons were admitted into 
the full communion of the church ; and 
92 were given the covenant, without 
admission into full communion. When 
the somewhat severe conditions of 
church membership in those days are 
remembered, such figures appear quite 

Following Mr. Thatcher in the min- 
istry of the New North, after an in- 
terval of a few years, came Andrew 
and John Eliot, perhaps its two most 
eminent pastors. Like Increase and 
Cotton Mather, they were father and 
son ; and their pastorates, separated by 
a few months only, comprised a term 
of seventy years. The most salient 
characteristic of the elder Eliot seems 
to have been circumspection, for he 
bore the nickname of "Andrew Sly." 
One of his maxims is said to have 
been : 

"When your parishioners are divided in 
sentiment, enjoy your own opinion and act 
according to your best judgment; but join 
neither as a partisan." 

Although suspected during his 
earlier life of being a Tory at heart, be- 
cause of his friendship for Gov. 
Hutchinson, in his later years he 
proved that he was not wanting in true 
patriotism. With the exception of 
Mathew Byles, the pastor of the Hollis 
Street Church at the South End, he 
was the only Congregational minister 
who remained at his post during the 
siege of Boston. 

A sermon of his, still in existence, 
has a peculiar interest because of the 
circumstances under which it was 
given. These are indicated by the title 
page : "A Sermon Preached the 
Lord's-Day before the Execution of 
Levi Ames, who suffered Death for 
Burglary, Oct. 21, 1773, Act. 22." A 



foot-note explains still further : "This 
discourse was preached at the desire of 
the Prisoner, who was present when it 
was delivered." The subject was, per- 
tinently, "Christ's Promise to the peni- 
tent Thief," from the text, "To-day 
shalt thou be with me in Paradise." 

The closing words were addressed 
rather to the gen- 
eral audience than 
to the condemned 

"Let me exhort and 
intreat all who may 
attend the execution 
of this poor con- 
demned criminal, to 
lay to heart such an 
affecting sight, and to 
behave with decency 
and seriousness on 
such a solemn occa- 
sion. And may the 
awul spectacle be a 
means of instruction 
and amendment to sin- 

Doubtless this 
exhortation to due 
propriety of con- 
duct at the hang- 
ing was needed at 
a time when a pub- 
lic execution was 
looked upon as the 
greatest of diver- 
sions, imparting to the day of its 
occurrence the character of a holi- 

The younger Eliot's most distin- 
guishing trait was, apparently, cath- 
olicity of spirit, as the epithet of the 
"liberal Christian," often applied to 
him, seems to imply. Of him it was 

"Good men he loved and associated with, 
although they differed from him in senti- 

The Mather House 

ment, and excluded none from his pulpit on 
that account." 

For this spirit of tolerance he re- 
ceived many a reproof from some of 
his ministerial brethren. Once in par- 
ticular was he chided — perhaps repri- 
manded would be the exacter word — 
for "inviting Mr. Hill, an amiable man, 
to preach for him, 
who belonged to 
the church call- 
ed the Church of 
New Jerusalem." 
On another occa- 
sion he gave of- 
fence by acting as 
pall-bearer at the 
funeral of a Meth- 
odist minister who 
had been a neigh- 
bor of his. He 
was on intimate 
terms with the 
Universalist min- 
ister whose church 
building was not 
far from his own 
m e e t i ng-house, 
which likewise was 
frowned upon. 

During the min- 
istry of the two 
Eliots the New 
North reached the 
point of its greatest prosperity. In the 
period directly preceding the Revolu- 
tion, the population and prosperity, if 
not the fashion, of the town were cen- 
tered at the North End ; and the con- 
gregations gathering Sunday after 
Sunday in the New North Meeting- 
house were the largest and most influ- 
ential in Boston. After the departure 
of the British, however, social deter- 
ioration set in here, which went on 




with increasing rapidity nearly up to 
the present time. Of course the 
churches quickly felt the change. At 
the very beginning of the century just 
closed, a writer deplores the altered as- 
pect of the "face of the assembly" at 
the New North and attributes it to 
"the local situation of the meeting- 
house." "The young gentlemen who 
have married wives in other parts of. 
the town," he goes on to say in explan- 
ation, "have found it difficult to per- 
suade them to become so ungenteel as 
to attend worship at the North End ; 
while the ladies of the society, as they 
have become wives, have affected to 
consider it a mark of taste to change 
their minister." 

Even most of the pastors had be- 
come non-resident. According to this 
same writer, only one out of the six or 
more lived in his field of labor. 

This single exception must have 
been John Eliot ; for both he and his 
father always dwelt in the midst of 
those among whom they worked. It 
is pleasant to read also of these two 
pastors that they went among the peo- 
ple of their church, "not only when duty 
called them, as in cases of marriage, 
sickness and death, but in a social man- 
ner as friends." Their parishioners 
in turn visited them on Sunday even- 
ings, "at which times their studies 
were filled with them, not for the sake 
of religious conversation only, but 
here the common topics of the day 
were talked over, much information 
given and received relative to the pol- 
itics of the time and the interest of the 
country." Many men not belonging to 
the parish were in the habit of joining 
these circles. Surely the two Eliots 
are worthy of imitation by all pastors 
of all times. 

The house in which the Eliots lived, 
and where these Sunday evening gath- 
erings were held, had been, curiously 
enough, the home at one time of In- 
crease and Cotton Mather. A section 
of the original building is still standing 
on Hanover street. 

After the Revolution, the Old North 
Church people, whose meeting-house 
had been demolished by the British 
soldiers, were invited to worship with 
the New Brick, the membership of the 
latter having been greatly reduced by 
the war. The result was a formal 
union of the two societies, mother and 
daughter, or, more exactly, mother and 
granddaughter, in 1779, under the 
name of the Second Church. 

The middle period in the history of 
the church thus reorganized was dis- 
tinguished by the ministration, for a 
brief time, of Ralph Waldo Emerson, 
called in 1829 as colleague to the pas- 
tor. Mr. Emerson soon succeeded to 
the full pastorate, discharging its du- 
ties until 1832, when he resigned the 
office. The reason for this act was the 
radical difference between his view of 
the Lord's Supper and that generally 
held by the church and the Congrega- 
tional body at large. This rite, he de- 
clares in his farewell discourse, ought 
not to be observed, inasmuch as it con- 
fused the idea of God by transferring 
the worship of Him to Christ. Christ 
is the mediator only as the instructor 
of man, he explains. In the least peti- 
tion to God "the soul stands alone with 
God, and Jesus is no more present to 
your mind than your brother or child." 
This entire sermon was an epoch-mak- 
ing utterance in the Unitarian move- 

After withdrawing from the church, 
Mr. Emerson left the citv to live hence- 



forth in Concord. It was in connec- 
tion with his departure from Boston 
at this time that he wrote the well 
known poem beginning : 
"Good-bye, proud world ; I'm going home." 
For sixty-four years the North 
Church was the 
only church in the 
North End, with 
one exception. 
This exception was 
a small body of 
Baptists, meeting 
in a little wooden 
structure in the 
neighborhood of 
Salem street, on 
the edge of what 
w a s called the 
"mill-pond." Or- 
ganized in Charles- 
town in 1665, this 
church had remov- 
ed hither by the 
way of East Bos- 
ton fifteen years 
later. Its recep- 
tion in the town 
had been very far 
from friendly, the 
governor and 
council promptly 
ordering that the 
doors and windows 
of its scarcely fin- 
ished meeting- 
house be boarded 
up. This proceed- 
ing on the part of 
the civil authorities is less surprising, 
in view of the fact that only thirty-six 
years before a man had been publicly 
whipped at Hingham for refusing to 
allow his child to be baptized, the belief 
in infant baptism being one of the car- 

Christ C 

dinal heresies of the Baptists. Less 
than forty years after the boarding up 
of these doors and windows, at the or- 
dination in the very same edifice of a 
pastor of the church, Cotton Mather 
was present and preached the sermon. 
In this sermon, 
whose subject was, 
"Good men uni- 
ted," the speaker 
condemned "the 
withdrawal of fel- 
lowship from good 
men," and "the 
disposition to in- 
flict uneasy cir- 
cumstances upon 
them under the 
wretched notion of 
wholesome severi- 
ties." Thus the 
plant of religious 
tolerance had al- 
ready taken root 
in the somewhat 
stony soil of New 
England and was 
beginning to grow. 
For one hundred 
and fifty years the 
church worshipped 
by the side of the 
"mill-pond," a 
larger edifice re- 
placing the orig- 
inal one; then re- 
moved to the cor- 
KM ^ MLMwMMMA^ ner f Hanover 

HURCH and Union streets. 

One of its pastors during this period, 
the Rev. Samuel Stillman, gave the 
church considerable dignity and influ- 
ence, being regarded as one of the able 
preachers in the Revolutionary days. 
People of the town and strangers alike, 



so it is said, many of them men and 
women of distinction, thronged the 
aisles of his obscure little meeting- 
house, drawn hither by his eloquence. 

In 1743 a division occurred in this 
church which led to the formation of 
a new society, as the separation in the 
New North had resulted in the New 
Brick. In this 
case, however, 
the division was 
mainly over a 
question of the- 
ology rather 
than of church 
polity. The 
pastor was ac- 
cused of hold- 
ing unsound re- 
ligious views, 
and also of op- 
posing "the 
work of God in 
the land." "The 
work of God" 
was the Great 
which, begun 
by Jonathan 
Edwards in 
1735, had re- 
ceived a fresh 
impulse from 
the opportune 
arrival in this 
country of 
George White- 
field, the Wesleyan preacher. The un- 
soundness of the pastor's views con- 
sisted in his tendency to Arminianism, 
the essence of which was repudiation 
of the doctrines of "election" and "rep- 
robation." Now this very heresy, as it 
extended in New England, had pre- 
pared the way for Whitefield's won- 

Methodist Alley 

derful work ; as it later made possible 
the establishment of Methodism in 
Boston and elsewhere. Therefore the 
opposition of the Baptist pastor to the 
"work of God," of whatsoever nature 
it was, must have been on other than 
theological grounds. 

The seceders built a place of worship 
near that of the 
parent church, 
in what is now 
Baldwin Place. 
By the end of 
the century the 
society had so 
increased that 
the building 
was enlarged, 
and a few years 
later was taken 
down to be re- 
placed by a still 
more commodi- 
ous edifice. The 
early history of 
this Second 
Baptist church 
was compara- 
tively unevent- 

The Metho- 
dist as well as 
the Baptist form 
of faith gained 
its first foothold 
in Boston at 
the North End. 
Among the British soldiers who came 
in 1768 were some Methodists who 
made the beginning of a society. About 
1772 a small organization was formed, 
which soon after became extinct. While 
there was some preaching in the in- 
terval, it was not until 1790 that 
Methodism was fairly established 



Reverend John Murray 

here — its founder, the Rev. Jesse Lee, 
holding his first public service in the 
town in July of that year. This service 
took place under the historic old elm 
on the Common, at the close of a Sab- 
bath day. The appearance of the 
preacher and the effect that he pro- 
duced have been thus described : 

"Upon a rude table a man of powerful 
frame and of a serene but shrewd counten- 
ance, took his stand. Four persons ap- 
proached, and curiously gazed while he 
sung. Kneeling he prayed with a fervor 
unknown in the Puritan pulpits, attracting 
crowds of promenaders from the shady 
walks. Three thousand people drank in his 
flowing thoughts, as, from a pocket Bible 
without note^, he proclaimed a free salva- 
tion. ... It was agreed, said one who heard 
him, that such a man had "not visited New 
England since the days of Whitefield." 

Five years later the first meeting- 
house of the denomination was built. 
It was situated on Methodist Alley, 
now Hanover avenue, and was a small, 
plain, wooden building, rough and un- 
finished within, benches without backs 
serving for pews. The society at this 
time numbered about forty, all of 
whom were poor. While in no sense 
persecuted, thev suffered at first manv 

petty annoyances similar to those that 
the Salvation Army endures to-day on 
its appearance in a new community. 
Within thirty years their numbers had 
so increased that a larger meeting place 
became imperative, and in 1828 they 
finished and dedicated a new house of 
worship on North Bennet street. 

One other important form of relig- 
ious faith came into Boston through 
the North End. In 1785 the first so- 
ciety of Universalists in the town was 
gathered by the Rev. John Murray, 
the "father of Universalism" in this 
country. A house of worship for the 
new sect was ready at hand in the sa- 
cred edifice at the corner of Hanover 
and North Bennet streets recently va- 
cated by the followers of Rev. Samuel 

To account for this structure it is 
necessary to go back a period of fifty 
years. In 1732, Samuel Mather, a 
son of Cotton Mather, was dismissed 
from the Old North, after a service of 
nine years as colleague of its pastor. 
The reasons for this action on the part 
of the church are vaguely stated as his 
being "not entirely sound in doctrine, 
and not entirely proper in conduct." 
The latter charge was based solely on 
his attitude toward the Great Awak- 
ening already referred to. Wherein his 
heresy lay is not given. With him 
went ninety-three others of the church, 
who put up the building in question. 
This they and their successors occupied 
until the death of their pastor, in 1785, 
when most of them returned to the 
Second Church. 

Of Samuel Mather, it may be said 
in passing, that he was accounted a 
man of learning although not a power- 
ful preacher. In spite of the opposi- 
tion that he aroused, there is no good 



reason to doubt his uprightness. That 
he was generally esteemed, appears 
from the title pages of two sermons 
preached by him, one on the death of 
Queen Caroline, "in the audience of his 
excellency the governor;' the other on 
the death of "the high, puissant, and 
most illustrious Prince Frederick Lew- 
is, Prince of Great Britain." The latter 
was "in the audience of the honorable 
Spencer Phips, Esq., lieutenant-gov- 
ernor and commander in chief, and 

The Universalists, acquiring the 
property left when the church of Sam- 
uel Mather was disbanded, made it 
their church home.. 

A dramatic contrast was involved in 
this change of ownership and occupa- 
tion ; for Samuel Mather had been a 
strong opponent of Universalism. 
His best known if not his only con- 
troversial book bears the title : 

"All men will not be saved forever, or an 
attempt to prove that this is a Scriptural 


The First Universalist Church 

the honorable his majesty's council, of 
the Province of Massachusetts Bay." 

A third sermon of his which has 
been preserved was prepared and 
preached for the benefit of the same 
Levi Ames that Andrew Eliot ad- 
dressed, both discourses being given 
on the Sunday before the man was 
hung for burglary. The subject of 
Mather's sermon was "Christ sent to 
heal the broken-hearted." Poor Levi 
Ames ; one cannot but hope that these 
two sermons of his last Sabbath on 
eartli brought peace to his heart ! 

Doctrine; and to give a sufficient answer 
to the Publisher of the Extracts in favor 
of the Salvation of all Men." 

Nevertheless, within a few months 
of his death, in the very pulpit which 
for so many years he had occupied, the 
voice of the Rev. John Murray was 
lifted up in the exposition of the doc- 
trine of ultimate universal salvation ! 

The building was enlarged in 1792, 
repaired and partially remodeled a few 
years later; and in 1838 demolished 
preparatory to the erection of the brick 
structure still standing. 



One more early church at the North 
End remains to be spoken of. In 1723 
Christ Church, the second Episcopal 
church in the town, dedicated a 
stately house of worship on Salem 
street, near the two Baptist meeting- 
houses. At one period it was a large 
and prosperous society, 
and is to-day the sole 
survivor at the North 
End of all the churches 
worshipping there pre- 
vious to the nineteenth 
century; but it is less 
famous for its history 
than for its house of 
worship, which it has 
occupied from the first. 
The edifice, erected one 
hundred and seventy- 
five years ago, from a 
design by Sir Christo- 
pher Wren, if report is 
to be believed, retains 
generally its original 
appearance. External- 
ly the body of the 
building is plain and 
uninteresting, differing 
little from that of all 
old houses of worship 
in New England; but 
the steeple gives dignity 
and distinction to the 
whole structure. The 
interior resembles that 
of an old English church, and is at 
once quaint and beautiful. 

Around this venerable sanctuary are 
gathered many associations, not a few 
of them having to do with important 
events in American history. In the 
steeple, according to tradition, were 
displayed the signal lanterns of Paul 
Revere, "which warned the country 

A Glimpse of St. Stephen's 

of the march of the British troops to 
Lexington and Concord." From the 
tower General Gage witnessed the bat- 
tle of Bunker Hill ; and in one of the 
burial vaults beneath the nave, for 
after the English custom the space un- 
der the floor was used in the early 
days for sepulchre, the 
remains of General Pit- 
cairn reposed until they 
were transferred to 
Westminster Abbey. 

Among the treasures 
and curiosities of the 
church are parts of a 
communion service pre- 
sented by George the 
Second and bearing the 
royal arms; a copy of 
the "Vinegar" Bible, in 
which, by a misprint, 
the word "vinegar" is 
substituted for "vine- 
yard" in the parable; 
prayer-books in which 
all the prayers for the 
king and royal family 
are covered with pieces 
of plain paper, pasted 
on after the Revolu- 
tion; and, as one of 
the mural decorations, 
a bust of Washington 
by Houdon, the dis- 
tinguished French 

Services are held here every Sunday 
morning, attended by a small congre- 
gation made up chiefly of sightseers ; 
and a Sunday-school of a few members 
meets in the afternoon. This Sunday- 
school dates back to 181 5, and is per- 
haps the oldest Sunday-school in the 

With the exception of Christ 



Church, as has been said, not one of 
the early churches at the North End is 
to be found there to-day. The North, 
or Old North, which was merged into 
the New Brick Church, now has a 
house of worship on Copley Square; 
the New North Church, after remov- 
ing to Bulfinch street, became extinct ; 
the First Baptist Church is occupying 
a stately edifice on Commonwealth ave- 
nue; the Second 
Baptist is housed 
on Warren [ave- 
nue, and is known 
as the Warren 
Avenue Baptist 
Church; the 
First Methodist 
Church is con- 
tinued in the 
Grace Method- 
ist Episcopal 
Church, worship- 
ping on Temple 
street, and the 
First Universal- 
ist Church was 
dissolved in 1864. 
Of the Protestant 
churches estab- 
lished in this part 
of Boston since 
the beginning of 
the century just ended, two or three 
only remain. The Hanover Street 
Church, of which Lyman Beecher was 
pastor at one time, removed to Bow- 
doin street and later went out of ex- 
istence, and the Salem Street Church 
merged into the Mariners' Church. 

Those that still are to be found here 
comprise three societies for carrying 
on work especially among sailors, and 
a Methodist Episcopal Church of Ital- 
ians in charge of an Italian pastor. 

The Baldwin Place Synagogue 

years ago 

Protestantism has all but disap- 
peared from the North End and in its 
place have come alien forms of faith. 
Within a stone's throw of the site of 
the Old North Meeting-house, stands 
the church home of an Italian Roman 
Catholic body ; the former meeting- 
house of the New North is now occu- 
pied by Irish and that of the First 
Methodist Church by Portuguese Ro- 
m a n Catholics ; 
while what was 
once the church 
home of the Sec- 
ond Baptist 
Church has be- 
come an orthodox 
Jewish syna- 

In a word, the 
religious s i t u a- 
tion at the North 
End to-day, 
broadly consid- 
ered, departs 
more and more 
widely from that 
in each remoter 
period, until it 
presents the most 
amazing contrast 
to what it was two 
hundred and fifty 
Puritanism was the 
dominant and sole form of faith. Puri- 
tanism departed with the Mathers and 
Protestantism has all but disappeared, 
while alien faiths have increased more 
and more. In its religious aspects at 
the present time the North End can be 
likened only to a palimpsest on which 
over the half erased annals of Protes- 
tantism are written in large characters 
the records of Roman Catholicism and 
orthodox Judaism. ^ 


Hmerican ©brines UTTT 

Lexington Common 


Leave in its track the toiling plough -. 

The rifle and the bayonet-blade 


New England Magazine 

New Series 


Vol. XXVI No. 3 

Flower Folk in the Boston 

By Elsie Locke 

MARCH is not only nursing 
April's violets ; she also 
brings to us the first wild 
flower of the year. And 
what is it? — for poets and naturalists 
disagree. The honey bees know. If, 
about the middle of March, we see 
them returning home laden with pol- 
len and could follow them, they would 
take us, I think, to the • swamps and 
bogs of the Middlesex Fells, there to 
find the symplocarpus — the country 
folk call it skunk cabbage because of 
its unpleasant odor. But, for all that, 
it is a near relative to our cherished 
calla lily. Hamilton Gibson gives it 
a prettier name, "the hermit of the 
bog," and says that it is not without 
honor, save in its own country. 

In March the pussy willows are 
coming, ten or twelve different kinds 
of them, — for there are as manv dif- 

ferent species of the willow hereabouts. 
Some of them, indeed, are later with 
their leaves, but first and dearest are 
the silvery gray pussies peering out of 
scaly buds on the bare, brown twigs. 
Heralding the earliest blossoms of 
spring, they bring gladness to the 
hearts of all true lovers of nature, a 
golden gladness which pierces the 
films that wrap the inner sense, until, 
for a time, we become like Asgard 
who sat and listened at the rainbow 
bridge and could hear the grass grow, 
leagues away. 

Leaving the hermit of the bog to the 
botanist and the bees, let us find the 
first blossom that is also a flower. It 
is not the trailing arbutus ; for, al- 
though that once grew in the Fells, it 
has gone with the great pines, and the 
beautiful fringed gentian that once 
could be found there. But in the Cas- 





cade Woods the hepatica is coming, 
that dear little first flower sometimes 
called squirrel-cup, and with it, the 
anemone, swaying on its stem. 

And the violets ! Sweet white vio- 
lets — the viola blanda with rounded 
leaves, and the long-leaved viola lance- 
olata; and on higher ground the downy 
yellow violet growing at the root of 
some old tree. On Bare Hill, and by 
Beaver Brook, still grows the beauti- 
ful bloodroot. And the anemonella, 
differing from the true anemone by 
its cluster of flowers, is found through- 
out the Fells. 

By the brookside, beneath the red 
maples, look for the early saxifrage; 
and, in wetter places, the marsh mari- 
gold — marsh gold, some of us call it — 
and with it wild callas, and the sweet 
flag acorus calamus known to some 
people only as a confection. And, 
later, growing by these same brook- 
sides, we shall find the wild forget-me- 
not, golden saxifrage and the white 
crowfoot, its finely dissected leaves 
floating on the water. 

Somewhere east of Hawk Hill the 
little goldthread is found, and on rocky 
places everywhere look for the deli- 

cate meadow rue, and for the colum- 
bine swinging its scarlet bells, 

"Like clear flames in lonely nooks." 

On these same rocky ledges grow the 
wild geraniums and the pale corydalis. 

In the moist woods Jack-in-the-pul- 
pit preaches to the Solomon's seal, the 
baneberry, the sweet cicely, and the 
nodding trillium hiding its pretty blos- 
som beneath its three broad leaves. 
Everywhere we see the drooping white 
clusters of the shadberry, with the tiny 
yellow blossoms of the spicebush. 

Late in May the flowering dogwood 
tree is blooming in the eastern part of 
the Blue Hills, and the Middlesex Fells 
south of Spot Pond. Only here and 
there may the rare rhodora be found; 
while far less shy are its sisters, the 
swamp azaleas, lovely — and sticky ! 

In open, moist, grassy places you 
will find the Houstonia that delicate 
little flower with so many pretty local 
names, bluets, innocence, Quaker-la- 
dies, and sky-bloom — 

"Sky-bloom on the hillside, 
Sky-bloom in the meadow," 

"Like a cherub crowd astray 
For an earthly holiday." 



There may be found pyrolas, medi- 
ol'as and the yellow dog-tooth violet. 
And on the wooded hillsides the smil- 
acina, the maianthemum and oakesia 
are common in both the Blue Hills and 
in the Fells ; but the uvidaria — the real 
straw lily — is very rare. Common 
enough, yet with a golden-starred 
beauty of its own, blossoms the faith- 
ful dandelion, that friend of the merry 
children. Later, when 

"June bids the sweet wild rose to blow," 

those growing in its ponds, swamps, or 
bogs fringing the swamps ; the wild 
cranberry, and, growing with roots 
matted together, the clethra, cassandra 
— swamp rose — and the "sacred An- 
dromeda'' are among these. Sometimes 
this last, pushing out into the pond, 
lifts its dark green leaves and lovely 
flowers up out of the water. The 
drooping flower stalks are white, the 
calyx white tipped with rose, and the 
petals all rose color. Not far away you 

Marsh Marigold 

Wild Geranium 

we shall find on these hills the dwarf 
wild rose, rosa humilis; and the sweet- 
briar escaped from cultivation. 

There are fields full of daisies and 
buttercups, and knee-deep clover. Bar- 
berry bushes are in blossom along the 
wayside, agrimony with its elegantly 
cut leaf, and the pretty, starry stitch- 
wort. And as we go on, we drink in 
with delight the fragrance of the wild 
grape blossom. Hiding in deep woods 
are the lady's-slippers, and the rare, 
ragged-fringed orchids by Hoosic- 
whisick Pond. Some of June's love- 
liest flowers in the reservations are 

may find an early iris versicolor, — our 
native fleur-de-lis. And here, also, are 
the pink spikes of the water smart- 
weed, polygonum; and, on the banks, 
the delicate, blue-eyed grass, and the 
lilac-colored, fragrant whorls of the 
wild mint. 

Queen of all, is the white pond lily, 
our Lady of the Lake. In the same 
pond is its cousin, in yellow, better 
named frog lily, because it loves the 
mud, and blooms contentedly there 
from May until August, unheeding the 
general indifference to the useful prop- 
erties of its root. 

Wild Columbine 

Meadow Lily 


Other very interesting bog and wa- 
ter plants may be studied at this sea- 
son — the pitcher plant, the sundew 
and the utricularia. Most familiar is 
the pitcher-plant with its leaves shaped 
so wonderfully into woodland pitchers 
and its flowers so queerly constructed 
that somebody thought it looked like 
a sidesaddle — hence its name. A 
strange little plant is the sundew. It 
will close its round leaf about the end 
of your finger, — in the vain attempt 
to eat you, no doubt, thinking you a 
marvellous kind of spider ! The 
utricularia is appropriately called 
bladderwort for its finely dissected 
leaves are covered with curious little 
glands filled with water while the 
plant is immersed, and until the time of 
flowering. Then, in some mysterious 
way, these bladders eject the water, 
fill with air, and so raise the plant to 
the surface of the pond, where it floats 
and rests in the sunshine until the time 
of its flowering is over and it wishes 
to ripen its seed. Then these wonder- 
ful contrivances eject the air, fill again 
with water, and the plant once more 
sinks to the bottom of the pond. These 
little organs have other duties beside 
keeping the flower afloat, they go fish- 
ing- to catch the carnivorous food 

which seems to be part of the utricu- 
laria's diet. It is well worth while to 
take Darwin's fascinating "Insectivor- 
ous Plants," and go to the Fells some 
August morning to interview this 
queer genus. 

Some of the parasite flowers to be 
studied in June — and occasionally to be 
found in the Fells — are the dodder, 
tangling its golden threads about the 
nearest plant ; the chestnut-colored 
squaw-root under some old oak tree 
in the southwestern part of the Reser- 
vation ; the coral-root, with blossoms 
mottled with red, in Virginia Wood ; 
and, in deep, moist woodlands, the 
Indian-pipe, sometimes called the 
ghost flower. The last is common in 
the Blue Hills. 

On hot July days as we walk or 
drive along the wooded roads, we shall 
see the shining-leaved wild rose — rosa 
lucida — often hiding beneath the broad 
disks of the common elder. And all 
along in the wayside thickets are yel- 
low hop clover, meadow sweet, white, 
feathery sprays of the New Jersey tea 
— cea not hits — downy hardhack, the 
tall meadow rue, and the pretty pink 
dogbane — apocynum. And there in 
the shelter of a stone wall stands the 
mullein wrapped even in July in wool, 

Solomon's Seal 




and sunning itself near the sumach 
bushes. By the way we find no less 
than four kinds of St. John's-wort, two 
of the species with their leaves dotted 
with oil glands, and their stamens done 
up in little parcels. And near by, it 
may be, appears the paler yellow of the 
linaria. The blue linaria and the 
thyme-leaved speedwell grow beside 
the wooded paths, in sunny places ; and 
the dear little pinky-gray pussy clover 
runs fearlessly into the cart roads. In 
low, moist places we can gather mon- 
key flowers, snake-heads — chelone — ■ 
the fragrant heads of the button bush, 
and the bright yellow loosestrife. And, 
although we miss the harebells, we 
may expect to find a rare marsh bell- 
flower, if we search well for it. In 

moist, rich woods the partridge vine is 
at its prettiest now, bearing on the 
same sprays bright red berries and 
waxy white flowers. 

On the sunny hillsides are the blue 
spikes of the wild lobelia, the yellow 
and purple Gerardias, and blue patches 
of the vetch — vicia sativa. The 
sleepy catchfly is common among the 
Blue Hills ; and the little corn-speed- 
well is blooming in the Fells on Bear 

Here is a partial list of the August 
flowers blooming only a little way out 
from the city. 

In the fields and in the roadside 
thickets, mingling with, and follow- 
ing close after those we have been 

studying, are the wild clematis, appro- 


Pitcher Plant 

New Jersey Tea 

Lady's Slipper 


priately called the traveler's joy; the 
evening primrose, so beautiful at twi- 
light time; and the day primrose, 
called sundrop, just as beautiful at 
daybreak ; the wild carrot, better called, 
queen's lace ; the white thoroughworts ; 
the purple Joe-Pye weed ; and those 
two little plants that grow the wide 
world over, — brunella and yarrow. 
Then comes all the golden glow of the 
wild sunflowers, the early goldenrods, 
black-eyed Susans, coreopses, tansy, 

groundsel, and fall dandelions. 

Later come the tick trefoils — des- 
modhims — and the beggar ticks — 
bidens, — that in late August and early 
September ripen such interesting and 
troublesome fruit. Thoreau says of 

"Though you were running for your life, 
they would have time to catch and cling to 
your clothes. Whole coveys of desmodiums 
and bidens seeds steal transportation out of 
us. I have found myself often covered, as 
it were, with an imbricated coat of the 
brown desmodium seeds, or a bristling 
chevaux de frise of beggar ticks, and had 
to spend a quarter of an hour, or more, 
picking them off in some convenient spot. 
And so they p-ot just what they wanted — 
deposited in another place." 

The twining wild bean bears its vio- 
let-scented blossoms at this time ; and 
have you ever tried to disentangle it, 
endeavoring to get a perfect specimen, 
from its tuber root to its topmost cling- 
ing tendril, and not lose a single choc- 
olate-colored blossom? And perhaps, 
further on in your drive, on a sandy 
patch in some old field you will find the 
poly gala san guinea, the blue curls, and 

the sand spurrey, all so easily pulled up 
by the roots. 

Down in the meadows, growing 
among the reeds and rushes, is the 
fragile arrowhead with its three white 
petals and its arrow-shaped leaves. 
And here are cardinal flowers ; and 
that pretty little orchid, spiranthes, 
called ladies' tresses ; and the nodding 
meadow lily; and, on higher ground 
the wild red lily erect and stately, with 
robes more rich than those of Solomon. 

In late August and early September 
days we admire the lovely succory, 
generally blue as the sky, yet some- 
times running the gamut of color 
through lavender to pink as delicate as 
that of the Gerardia. So friendly is it 
that it comes even into our dooryards. 
Yet it is so shy and wild, it will not 
have much to do with us, drooping 
when picked, like its contemporary, the 
blue curls, a kind of wild mint that 
cannot be domesticated as we have the 
catnip, for the benefit of our pussies. 

Let us try to see how many we can 
find of the twenty or more different 
species of asters, and fifteen of golden- 

rod growing in the reservations about 
Boston. We all know the New Eng- 
land aster, and the heart-leaved, the 
zigzag-stemmed, the frost, the heather, 
and the lavender-colored swamp as- 
ters. The anise-scented goldenrod 
blossoms by the dry, woodland paths. 
It is common in both the Blue Hills 
and the Middlesex Fells; while the 
elmlike goldenrod, — solidago ulmifo- 
lia, — is rare, being only occasionally 
found in certain localities. 

There are no gentians, although, as 
has been said before, the beautiful 
fringed gentian once grew in the Fells, 
upon land that is now filled in. 

When we get into the late September 
and the October days, the pretty ber- 
ries of autumn add to the beauty of the 
woods, although these berries have 
such a way of hiding! In George 
Macdonald's delightful story, "At the 
Back of the North Wind," the little 
boy. Diamond, calls the berries the 
birds' barn or storehouse. 

In our search for the berries, the 
crimson bitter-sweet climbing over 

stone walls near Bear Hill shall not es- 


Common St. John's Wort 

Evening Primrose 




cape us ; nor the reel berries of the 
mountain holly and the mountain ash. 
And here are the white berries of the 
kinnikinnik and the green briar; the 
blue of the woodbine, the sassafras and 
the alternate-leaved cornel with their 
blue berries on red stalks ; and the 
dockmackie doing better than that, as 
it has berries that are at first red, then, 
afterward — as if discontented with the 
brighter color — changed to purple. 

And now we come to the last flower 

of the year — the witch hazel. This is 

common at the feet of rocky slopes, 

in moist, shady places, — a bright lit- 


tie blossom greeting us cheerily and 
almost as if it were wishing us a pleas- 
ant winter. Hamilton Gibson gives 
this charming description of the witch 
hazel : 

"The waving pennants coiled for weeks 
within their patient buds, are now swung 
out from thousands of gray twigs in the 
copses, and the underwoods are lit up with 
the yellow halo from their myriads of 
fringed petals. These luminous blossoms 
are very well known to most dwellers in the 
country, but there is something else going on 
there among the twigs which few observers 
have suspected. It is a mischievous haunt 
out there among the witch hazels about this 
time. I shall never forget the caper it 


New England Aster 

Witch Hazel 

played upon me years ago. While admiring 
the flowers I was suddenly stung in the 
cheek by some missile, and the next instant 
shot in the eye by another, the mysterious 
marksman having, apparently, let off both 
barrels of his gun directly in my face. I 
soon discovered him, an army of them, in 
fact, a saucy legion. These little sharp- 
shooters are the ripe pods of last year's 
flowers now opening everywhere among the 
yellow blossoms. Each pod contains two 
long, black, shining seeds of bony hardness. 
The pod splits in half, exposing the two 
white-tipped seeds. The edges of the horny 
cells contract against the sides of the seeds 
and finally expel them with surprising force, 
sometimes to the distance of forty feet. A 
branch of the unopened pods brought home 
and placed in a vase upon the mantel will 
afford considerable amusement, as the seeds 
rattle about the room singling out their 
whimsical targets, or perhaps careen about 
from walls and ceilings to the glass lamp 
shade upon the table, or the evening news- 
paper of pater familias, or, possibly, the 
bald spot on his head." 

With the passing of the witch hazel 
our procession of flowers in New 
England is over. And as we go home 
through the cool November woods, we 
say reverently, with Helen Hunt, 

"I never knew before what beds, 

Fragrant to smell and soft to touch, 

The forest sifts and shapes and spreads ; 

I never knew before how much 

Of human sound there is in such 

Low tones as through the forest sweep 

When all wild things lie down to sleep." 

And as, through autumn storms and 
winter snow we await the buds and 
blossoms of another year, a happy 
sense of security makes sweet these 
days of waiting. For we know that 
the axe of the woodman will spare the 
magnificent forest trees of our reser- 
vations, and that no plough of tillage, 
or builders' tumultuous industry will 
invade these hills and dales in which 
the flowers of wood and field may 
bloom in their fragile beauty with none 
to make them afraid. 

Honor to the men and women to 
whose long years of ceaseless labor in 
the cause we owe these reservations 
with their treasures of field and stream 
and forest. When Fame is writing 
names in letters of light, theirs will be 
among those she thus delights to so 


As It Was Written 

By H. Knapp Harris 


THOUGHT we were to give 
no more of these confounded 
formal dinner parties this 
season," growled Colonel 
Wentworth Billingham, pulling his 
mustache and looking bored and un- 
comfortable in his dress suit. Billing- 
ham was one of those men to whom a 
dress suit is so unbecoming that one 
almost wishes mankind had clung to 
the aboriginal loin cloth. 

"I believe I did say so in a rash mo- 
ment. But this is a special number, 
by request. Where do you like this 
rose best, Wentworth ?" 

Mrs. Billingham stood before the 
long pier glass meditatively pinning an 
American Beauty rose first in her hair, 
then in the corsage of her low-cut 
dinner gown and turning her small, 
well-poised head from side to side. It 
was in truth as scheming and far-see- 
ing a little head as was ever set coquet- 
tishly upon a pair of very white shoul- 
ders. She had fine eyes, a vivacious 
manner, and the art of making one be- 
lieve her much better looking than she 
really was. Part of it was due to her 
dressmaker, but more to her inborn 
tact, and that strain of French blood" in 
her veins. Her American birth ac- 
counted for her fine eyes ; her French 
blood taught her how to use them. On 
the stage she could have played the in- 
genue to perfection. On the stage of 
life she did a far more difficult part: 

she managed her husband with such 

fine and subtle diplomacy that he went 
through life unconscious of the fact. 
No one would have resented it more 
vociferously than he, had he ever be- 
come conscious of being in leading 
strings. So delicate was the compli- 
ment he paid her finesse that he fre- 
quently alluded laughingly, in his bo- 
vine, bulky way, to a man he consid- 
ered under petticoat tyranny with con- 
temptuous irony. On these occasions 
little Mrs. Billingham's long lashes 
were always lowered demurely over 
the glint of humor that would shine 
from her big expressive eyes. 

"There — I like it best in my hair," 
she said finally, fastening the rose with 
a long, vicious-looking hair-pin of the 
harpoon variety. "Right behind my 
ear, where Calve always wears hers." 

As an instance of Mrs. Billingham's 
managerial tactics, they had taken a 
London house and had spent the past 
six months in the American colony. 
Billingham didn't really want to spend 
even six weeks in what he termed "this 
beastly English maelstrom." But his 
wife made him believe he did, which 
comes to much the same in the end. 
She convinced him that his liver was 
much more active in London than in 
New York. Though, in point of fact, 
Billingham's liver was less influenced 
by the climate than his temper, and 
his face always suggested a faded 
Naples yellow. What she really meant 
was that the damp and fog of the cli- 



mate cleared out her own complexion, 
and the gayety and frivolity of life in 
the American colony suited her. 

Billingham had made his money in 
pork, while his millionaire brother had 
made his in the manufacture of fine 
toilet soaps. Before leaving America, 
Mrs. Billingham felt on one occasion 
that she had run against her social 
Waterloo, when she chanced to over- 
hear two women say in a spiteful 
aside : "Which Mrs. Billingham do 
you mean? Mrs. Soap — or Mrs. 
Pork?" But surely now, she thought, 
after six months abroad, and returning 
with a French maid and a valet with a 
heavy English accent, those snobbish 
Chicagoans would never dare speak 
of her so. 

In another fortnight they would 
once more hear the American eagle 
flap its wings. Billingham was se- 
cretly as down with nostalgia as only 
a Western man can be who has lived 
and moved and had his commercial 
being in a sphere as far removed from 
formal London drawing rooms as the 
breezy heights of a cloud-capped 
mountain is from the artificial atmos- 
phere of a horticulturist's force-house. 

"The dinner is for that pretty little 
American heiress — Miriam Turner — ■ 
you know, dear," said Mrs. Billing- 

She came up close and stood on tip- 
toe to straighten her liege lord's tie. 
"No one would suppose you had a 
valet, Wentworth," she laughed. 
"You always look so thrown together. 
There's always such a catch-as-catch- 
can air about the way your clothes are 
put on." 

"You can't expect a man to accom- 
modate himself late in life to a valet 
as he does to rheumatism and a bald 

head," growled the weary colonel, with 
a yawn. "I suppose, of course, that 
invertebrate little English lord will be 
here. That scheming Anglomaniac 
mother of Miriam's has at last suc- 
ceeded in bowling him over. What 
other bores are to be on hand?" Mrs. 
Billingham smiled amiably. 

"Lord Ainsley will be here, of 
course — it's a sort of an engagement 
announcement dinner, you know." 

"Think of a bright little American 
girl like that marrying a brainless cad 
like Ainsley — with a monocle and a 
lisp. It's only because he's holding 
up a title that's bigger than he is. And 
it's only by the accident of birth that 
he got that" 

The colonel glowered and sniffed 
with democratic disgust. 

"Cigarettes," said he, "seem to be 
his only intellectual stimulant and he 
takes 'em regularly. Mrs. Turner has 
held Miriam like a broker does his 
stock until the quotations are raised. 
Those startling English waistcoasts he 
wears are the only things with any 
character about him. If he ever 
amounts to anything in the House it 
will be because his wife injects a little 
American "go" into his four-century- 
old veins." He ran his hands through 
his stiff, upstanding bristle of grey 
hair as he mounted his favorite hobby 
and ambled off. 

"I'd rather a daughter of mine 
should marry a wild and woolly West- 
erner with a rapid-firing career behind 
him — yes, by gad, than a titled nonen- 
tity with a glass screwed into one eye 
and a huge boutonniere in his coat 
lapel. It's a thundering shame ! Why 
doesn't she marry a good, live, hustling 
American? Lord knows she's had 
chances enough. Miriam has simply 



been knocked down to the highest bid- 
der," he raved. 

Billingham had a great deal of that 
quality that made our ancestors plant 
their feet wide apart, and expand their 
chests, and invite George III. to come 
on. His Americanism was of the 
dyed-in-the-wool sort that is as pro- 
nounced as a Southern drawl. 

Mrs. Billingham laughed softly and 
changed the rose from her hair to her 
corsage. She herself had none of 
those aggressive Americanisms. But 
it was part of her infinite wisdom and 
tact never to contradict her husband 
when he aired his favorite fads. 

"If you made an exhaustive search 
for that little Englishman's brains," 
said he, "they'd be as hard to find as 
the man inside the Automaton Chess 
Player. He's the most aimless ass of 
my acquaintance. A fellow that screws 
a monocle into one eye, and sucks the 
head of his cane — " 

"Why, I think that's when he's the 
very least objectionable," laughed Mrs. 
Billingham. "Because, you see, of 
course, he looks awfully stupid, still — 
you don't feel at all sure that he is till 
he takes his cane out, and opens his 

"Humph," grunted Billingham as 
he stooped and stirred the logs on the 
hearth to a brighter flame. "Who else 
is coming? Any more Americans? 
A little leaven will lighten the whole 
loaf, you know." 

"I depend upon Miriam," said Mrs. 
Billingham, "for my leaven. Oh, yes, 
and that bird-of-passage, your nephew, 
John Churchill. T'm sure John's dem- 
ocratic and American enough to leaven 
a whole bakery ! He's promised to 
come. But a message at any moment 
saying he's off to South Africa or the 

North Pole would not surprise mt. 
He's as nomadic as the Wandering 
Jew. Did you ever see so restless a 
soul? John always impresses me as a 
man searching frantically for some- 
thing he never finds and can't be happy 
without. Like Sir Galahad and the 
Holy Grail, you know. I never knew 
a man who had had more attractive 
heiresses thrown at his head than John 
has. And he's as indifferent to them 
as a graven image. He doesn't seem 
to care for anything on earth but his 
old electrical inventions. Sir Henry 
Van Wick will be here, too." 

"Great Scott ! Another titled Eng- 
lishman, and with my liver in the anae- 
mic condition it's in now?" 

"And the French Minister." 

"He's the fellow who looks as if 
he ought to have been born in the 
days of frilled shirt bosoms and pow- 
dered wigs. And who else?" 

"And his young wife. You're sure 
to like her, Wentworth. And then 
there's young McVeigh — he has just 
published those clever stories of Paris- 
ian-Bohemian life that have made such 
a hit, you know. He's my lion. The 
only one in the literary menagerie I've 
been able to get hold of. He doesn't 
look like a celebrity at all. In fact, in 
America, you'd probably pick him out 
as a clerk at the ribbon counter. And 
Mrs. Hemminger will be here. She's 
the widow of the Secretary of Some- 
thing-or-other. I asked her because 
she is an aunt of Lord Ainsley. She 
lias just emerged from crepe to helio- 
trope chiffon, and is awfully blue- 
stockingy and intellectual." 

"It's all right for a woman to be in- 
tellectual," struck in the colonel, "if 
she didn't always look it so confound- 
edly, von know. Whv can't a woman 



be intellectual and frizz her hair?" 
he added. 

"Is it a conundrum, Colonel?'" came 
the laughing query of a tall, superbly 
formed girl, who came toward them 
across the long room, having handed 
her wraps to a maid in the hall. 

She walked with a peculiarly grace- 
ful undulating movement, trailing her 
long draperies with a silken swish be- 
hind her. 

"Is it a conundrum, Colonel?" she 
laughed, with a flash of white teeth 
and a pretty upraising of her straight 
brows. She was a striking looking 
girl, Gibsonesque in her contours, and 
with a vivid coloring that suggested 
tropical skies. You wondered how she 
came by it ; till you knew that her 
mother was of Spanish-American 

"By George ! They have to import 

this sort of thing over here," said 

Billingham to his inmost soul. "Beauty 

like that isn't indigenous to the soil of 

the foggy little island." 

* * * * * * * 

A half hour later, Mrs. Billingham, 
taking her seat at the long table, cast 
an approving eye down its shining 
length. Though she was apparently 
engaged in animated conversation 
with the French Minister, who sat on 
her left, her all-seeing eye took in the 
smallest detail of the perfectly ap- 
pointed table. And in her inmost soul 
she sang a paean of praise to her price- 
less chef. She wished she might take 
him home with her to that dear "land 
of the free," where they have a hun- 
dred religions and only one gravy. 
Out of the corner of her eye she watch- 
ed Billingham tuck his napkin into 
the top button-hole of his waistcoat in 
that maddening way that always pro- 

claimed his early Western environment 
and gave her inward qualms. 

Mrs. Billingham was an undoubted 
genius in the rare art of getting the 
right people together. They had all 
met before except John Churchill, who 
had run the gamut of introduction in 
the drawing room. There was no em- 
barrassing pause as they took their 
places at table and broke into a low 
murmur of perfectly-at-ease conversa- 

Miriam Turner's low ripple of 
laughter at a bon mot of young Mc- 
Veigh, who sat on her left, was like 
the soft throat-note of a thrush. She 
had known and liked him first when 
he was merely an impecunious reporter 
on one of the big dailies. And now 
that he had waked and found him- 
self famous in a small way, the spirit 
of camaradarie was none the less pro- 
nounced between them. 

The din of the down-town Babylon 
was muffled and afar off. Through the 
long French windows came the odor 
of mignonette from the tiny garden. 
The rumble of cabs over the asphalt 
and the sound of a passing band which 
brayed out "God Save the Queen" came 
softened by the distance. The candles 
flared under their ruffled shades. The 
sharp-visaged wife of the defunct Sec- 
retary, who wore her hair pushed 
straight back from a high, intellectual 
forehead, was well launched on her 
latest hobby and prosing on peacefully 
when Sir Henry Van Wick was heard 
contending amiably with Churchill. 
"But I didn't suppose any one really 
believed in elective affinities any more 
in this enlightened day and genera- 
tion. I supposed that went out with 
crinolines, and powder, and patches, 
and periwigs, you know." 



"What has John been saying?" 
laughed Mrs. Billingham, not catching 
the remark which had roused Sir Hen- 
ry's spirit of controversy. 

"John always has such debatable 
theories. They form part of his uni- 
que charm." 

She favored Sir Henry with that 
madonna smile of hers. 

"Mr. Churchill affirms his unshaken 
belief in the outre theory of the uni- 
versal working of the principle of af- 

Sir Henry hid a cynical smile behind 
his raised napkin. 

"Seems to me that's as out of date 
as a discussion as to who wrote the 
Letters of Junius or on which side of 
Whitehall Charles the First was be- 
headed," beamed the French Minister, 
who was given to paying closer atten- 
tion to the menu than to the exchange 
of conversational small change. 

"Oh, I say, isn't that theory a trifle 
passe, you know," drawled Lord Ains- 
ley, with his strident little cackle of 
a laugh. 

Churchill's dark eyes shot a quick 
glance across the table at the little 
Englishman and the American girl, 
his fiancee, who sat next him. Her 
heavy-lidded eyes were hidden under 
the dark sweep of her long lashes. 

"Are the principles that underlie all 
science and the immutable laws of na- 
ture ever passe f" asked Churchill 

Lord Ainsley adjusted his monocle 
and gazed vaguely into space. Then 
he turned upon the severe-looking 
young man a smile that was childlike 
and bland. These aggressive Ameri- 
cans were always so frightfully in 

"Really, you have me there, you 

know" — he lisped, and turned undi- 
vided attention to his dinner. 

"I supposed those laws acted only 
upon chemical atoms and molecules," 
vouchsafed the intellectual widow, 
beaming amiably through her pince 
nez and scenting a battle afar, after 
the manner of the traditional war- 
horse. She liked young Churchill. 

John was certainly a noticeable man, 
swarthy as a Spaniard and distingue 
in appearance. He had a tempera- 
ment too imperious for modern social 
life, and he never scrupled to yield to 
its influence. He was wholly original 
and unconventional in his views, and, 
with no special contempt for the tenets 
of social morality, he had a way of 
snapping his fingers and shrugging his 
shoulders at conventionalities that dis- 
tinguished him from most men. He 
had a few theories that were peculiarly 
his own. Born in an earlier age of 
the world he might have made either 
a brigand or a martyr. He was dis- 
tinctly alive to his finger tips, and not 
in the least that deplorable spectacle, 
a blase young man. But always, 
through the veneer and polish of mod- 
ern social luxurious life, shone the 
strong, marked personality of the man 
pure and simple. There coursed no 
milk-and-water in John's veins. Those 
deep-marked lines about the corners of 
his handsome mouth bespoke both ten- 
derness and strength. 

"Perhaps John made the remark in 
the same spirit which prompted young 
Emmerson to propose to Miss Van 
Flint" — laughed Mrs. Billingham, 
nibbling daintily at her ice. "You 
know he says that the reason was be- 
cause he couldn't think of anything 
else to say, and the silence was becom- 
ing appalling." 



When the laugh which followed had 
subsided, Churchill, who sat twisting 
the stem of his wine glass between his 
thumb and finger, shot a strange look, 
alert and watchful, across the table at 
the American girl opposite him. Her 
eyes were lowered and she was ner- 
vously fingering the violets which lay 
beside her plate. 

"Yes," said Churchill, still with that 
fixed look on his thoughtful face — 
"yes, I certainly have an unshaken be- 
lief in the theory of elective affinities. 
Possibly because a strange little inci- 
dent in my own life cemented the be- 

"Oh, how perfectly delightful !" 
gushed the petite, vivacious wife of 
the French Minister, bringing the full 
battery of her dimples into play. 
"You're going to give us the story, 
aren't you, Mr. Churchill?" 

"And that at last accounts for John's 
declining to become a Benedict!" ejac- 
ulated Mrs. Billingham. "He has been 
waiting all these years for his affinity." 

Her voice had a touch of amused 
incredulity. John was really her fav- 
orite nephew and she had always won- 
dered how he would bear up under 
matrimonial trials. 

"And you never found her, John?" 
she asked, her eyes shining with mirth. 

"Yes, I found her," said Churchill. 

His dark saturnine face flushed. All 
eyes were turned toward him as he 
leaned back in his chair, one hand still 
twirling his wine glass. 

"'Tis better to have loved and lost 
than never to have loved at all," quoted 
Sir Henry inanely, in an abortive at- 
tempt to dispell the vague, indefinable 
impression that the situation was por- 

"It was on one of the Italian lakes," 

said Churchill, in his soft, low-pitched 
voice. His expression was retrospec- 
tive, and he seemed looking into a long 
vista of the past. The American girl 
leaned forward to pin the violets in 
her gown and her fingers trembled 

"The night was divine," went on 
Churchill. "A harvest moon sailed in 
a sky as clear and translucent as only 
an Italian sky can be. I had been 
drifting about in a small row-boat for 
hours, basking in the moonlight, and 
had taken up the oars to row ashore. 
Just ahead of me a flight of stone steps 
ran from the water's edge up to a vine- 
covered villa on the shore. A tall, slen- 
der girl in a white gown stood, balanc- 
ing herself in a small boat a few feet 
from shore. She had an oar in her 
hand and was trying to turn the boat 
about. Some one singing snatches 
from II Trovatore on the shore trill- 
ed out in a high sweet tenor, 'Non ti 
scordar di me.' The girl turned her 
head to listen. The heavy oar fell 
splashing from her hand. She lurched 
forward to recover it and losing her 
balance fell with a smothered scream 
into the water. I dropped my oars 
and sprang in after her. We were 
only a few feet from the foot of the 
steps, but the water was deep and she 
clung about my neck with the sob of a 
frightened child." 

The girl across the table made a 
strange sound in her throat like an in- 
drawn breath that chokes down a cry. 
She had the frightened look of a trap- 
ped bird that struggles to escape the 

"As I struggled up on to the lower 
step," went on Churchill, still with that 
air of dreamy retrospection — "she still 
clung with one bare arm about my 



neck. And in that trance-like moment 
and only in that one moment in life 
have I — lived. And by a strange and 
subtle intuition — vague and indefina- 
ble — I know that she too was conscious 
that the wind of destiny had swept 
us thus together. There are sub-con- 
scious moments in life when spirit is 
paramount. She is the one woman in 
the world whose soul's harmony is 
attuned to mine." 

Churchill's voice had taken on a pe- 
culiar, vibrating quality as of one re- 
calling an exquisite memory. His eyes 
had never once left the face of the 
girl opposite him. She lifted her wine 
glass to her lips. With a sudden turn 
it fell from her hand, snapped at its 
slender base. 

"Oh, how unpardonably awkward of 
me !" she gasped in a choking voice, 
as its contents went in a red splash 
upon the cloth. 

A servant behind her, leaning for- 
ward, quietly took up the broken glass. 

"Then you found her only to lose 
her?" asked Sir Henry, with his enig- 
matical smile. He was secretly hor- 
rified in his British conservative soul 
at what he considered the escapade of 
a young man sowing a flourishing field 
of wild oats. 

"Only to lose her," said Churchill. 
"She slipped from my arms with a 
laugh that was more than half a sob 
and disappeared like a wraith up those 
shadowy steps. Under the olive trees 
she paused, looked back, and waved 
me a farewell with her white hand. 
The notes of that soft-voiced singer 
on the shore came clear and soft, f Non 
ti scordar di me! Was it my over- 
wrought fancy, or did T hear the girl- 
ish voice echo the line, I wonder?" 

Churchill paused. Though the eves 

of all at table were upon him the girl 
opposite him, who had slowly lost her 
color, kept her heavily fringed lids 

"Wasn't it on that tour through the 
Italian lakes that you met with that 
accident to your foot?" asked Mrs. 
Billingham as Churchill paused. 

"That very night. In springing 
from my boat a half hour later I slip- 
ped and fell, wrenching my ankle in a 
way that kept me a prisoner in my 
room for weeks. The first day that 
I could painfully hobble out on crutch- 
es I made inquiry at the villa. I found 
that it was a one-time private resi- 
dence converted into a tourists' hotel. 
'How should he know to whom the 
Signore referred' — asked the gesticula- 
ting little landlord with a broad sweep 
of his pudgy hands, 'since the Signore 
did not know himself the name by 
which she was known.' I believe the^ 
thought me a harmless lunatic, escaped 
from my keeper. I haunted the place 
for weeks and made untiring inquiry. 
Then I started in search of her." 

A strange indefinable change had 
come over the face of the American 
girl, who raised her eyes to her hostess 
as if asking permission to go; then 
lowered them swiftly again as Church- 
ill continued : 

"I have always known that I should 
some time find her," with an intense 
look at the girl across the table, "and 
wherever she is, and by whatever claim 
another holds her — she is mine." 

Even Sir Henry's well-disciplined 
old heart gave a little jump under the 
thrill in Churchill's voice. 

The sparkling eyes of the little 
Frenchwoman were shining and aglow 
with changing lights like an opal. 

The wife of the defunct Secretary 



leaned forward excitedly, forgetful of 
her theory of molecules and atoms. 

Mrs. Billingham was thinking that 
she had never before realized what 
a handsome fellow John was. He had 
more force and empressement of man- 
ner than any man she had ever known. 
Contrasted to that colorless little Eng- 
lishman, he gave her a glowing feeling 
of pride in her own countrymen. 

"I shall hold out my hand to her," 
said Churchill, "and she will come to 
me. By every law of love and life — 
she is mine." 

The face of the girl across the table, 
which had been white to the lips, sud- 
denly flushed with a wave of color. 
She raised her face and their eyes met. 
The look that passed between them 
was like a flash of fire. 

With a little embarrassed laugh 
Mrs. Billingham gave the signal to 
rise, and with a soft rustle and swish 
of draperies the ladies left the room. 
When the men had again taken 
their seats in the dining room, and 
cigars and liqueurs were passed, 
Churchill, who sat leaning back silently 
in his chair, turned his head suddenly 
and listened. His face was tense with 
repressed excitement. Muffled and 
soft from the piano in the drawing 
room came the tender refrain : 

"Non ti scordar di me?' 

He got to his feet and tossing aside 
his cigar started impulsively for the 
drawing room. Then suddenly real- 
izing the unconventionality of the ac- 
tion turned and came back. With his 
elbow on the table he sat listening, 
still with that strained, alert look. A 
girl's voice, with a peculiarly vibrating 
note in its plaintive quality, followed 
the accompaniment of the Italian love 

song. Clear and sweet it trilled the 
familiar refrain. Churchill raised his 
head from his hand. His lips parted, 
and the smouldering light in his som- 
bre eyes leaped into sudden flame. 

When they entered the drawing 
room, the American girl stood turn- 
ing over the loose music on the piano. 
Lord Ainsley, with his jaunty little 
walk, which bordered upon a swagger, 
strolled over and stood beside her. 
Churchill, after wandering aimlessly 
about the room a moment, stepped out 
through one of the high open windows 
onto the balcony which overhung the 
garden. With his hands clasped be- 
hind his head he stood leaning against 
a vine-covered pillar in the moonlight. 
He was watching the face of the girl 
by the piano. Through the high 
French window he saw her flush with 
sudden color as she slipped a diamond 
band from her finger, stammering with 
embarrassment broken words of ex- 
planation and apology. The ring slip- 
ped from her nervous fingers and roll- 
ed with glittering scintillations across 
the floor. The little Englishman's face 
wore a look of blank amazement. He 
picked the ring up with a stiff little 
bend of his immaculately groomed per- 
son and held it out to her. Churchill 
could not hear her words, but her face 
was a study. She stepped back and 
held her hands behind her. Her lips 
moved in a singular way. She drew 
them in and held her full lower lip 
with her teeth. 

Lord Ainsley looked as if he were 
balancing between the Scylla of doubt 
and the Charybdis of horrible certain- 
ty. She stepped back and spoke again 
chokingly as he offered the ring to 
her. He evidently understood then, 
beyond a peradventure. He dropped 



the ring into his waistcoat pocket and 
took his conge with the same stilted 
ceremonious smile with which he 
would have accepted an invitation to 
dine. He was the sort of fellow who, 
if given a deadly stroke in battle, 
would have saluted his officer before he 

Like a somnambulist, the girl walk- 
ed slowly to the open casement. 
Standing there, the moonlight white 
on her bare shoulders, she caught her 
breath in a quick sob. Churchill, 
whose swarthy face was illumined with 

a sudden inward light, saw her start, 
hesitatingly, toward him. He stepped 
forward and held his hands out with 
an imperious gesture. 

"I have always known that I should 
some time find you again. It was writ- 
ten," he said, breathlessly. His face 
had grown strangely white as she came 
straight toward him across the moon- 
lit veranda. 

"Oh why — were you — so long?" she 
half laughed, half sobbed, as he caught 
her hands and drew her to him, si- 
lencing her lips from further question. 

Steel Ship-building in Massachusetts 

By Ralph Bergengren 

THE proverbial readiness and 
energy of American ship- 
builders — qualities that in 
the War of 18 12 produced 
a victorious fleet at hardly more than 
a day's notice and for many years de- 
layed the growth of the present United 
States Navy on the assumption that the 
feat could be repeated at will — are il- 
lustrated anew in the building up in 
less than a year and a half of a new 
steel shipyard at Quincy, Massachu- 
setts, by the Fore River Ship and 
Engine Company, which is already en- 
gaged in the construction of two first- 
class battle-ships, two torpedo boat 
destroyers, a protected cruiser, and the 
first seven-masted schooner ever con- 
structed, an aggregate of 44,500 tons. 
The rapid growth of so great an 

enterprise is naturally picturesque. 
Its broader interest, however, lies in 
the fact that the new yard has re- 
established shipbuilding as an impor- 
tant Massachusetts industry, provid- 
ing the State, almost at a single stroke, 
with a shipbuilding plant that is to be 
compared only with Cramp's, the New- 
port News Company, or the Union 
Iron Works of San Francisco; with 
one, that is, of the four most important 
in the country. Two years ago it was 
supposed that shipbuilding was almost 
a dead industry in the old Common- 
wealth, lingering only in the construc- 
tion of an occasional wooden barque 
or schooner and in the building in and 
about Boston of yachts, small torpedo 
boats, a revenue cutter or two, and 
the like minor craft. It had become 



practically a thing of the past in its 
old haunts at New Bedford, Scituate, 
Gloucester, where the first schooner 
was launched early in the eighteenth 
century, or at Germantown, near the 
present Fore River Yard, where in 
1789 the Massachusetts, at that time 
the largest vessel ever constructed in 
America, first took the water. 

Various causes had contributed to 
this decline. The chief one was the 
increased freight charges upon the raw- 
material of the wooden ship as deliv- 
ered at Boston and nearby ports, which 
had first handicapped the industry and 
then slowly put Massachusetts ship- 
builders — North Shore and South 
Shore alike — quite out of all practical 
competition with more favored places. 
It was at first expected that the same 
conditions would affect the building 
of steel as well as of wooden vessels, 
but steel, it appears, can now be de- 
livered in Boston at a cost that in our 
modern steel-building age eliminates 
all advantages which the rate on wood 
had previously given to other locali- 

In answer to these new condi- 
tions the Fore River yard has arisen 
as by magic, although the new plant, 
while equipped with all the essentials 
of the work in progress, is still in an 
intermediate state between the open 
meadow of two years ago and the 
final completion of the plans of the 
company. Enough, however, has been 
done to assemble all its parts and de- 
partments in active and effective co- 
operation. More interesting still is 
the fact that as it comprises an entire- 
ly new equipment it is not only the 
youngest but in many respects the most 
modern and up-to-date of American 
shipyards, and as such is attracting 

the attention of shipbuilders the world 

The plan and operation of the new 
yard are naturally an exceptionally 
interesting object lesson in the devel- 
opment of the ship from wood to steel. 
The great trees of the forest, the raw 
material of former shipyards, have 
been replaced by enormous steel ingots 
which a 20-ton hammer pounds into 
preliminary condition. The smell of 
pine and cedar has been replaced by 
that of oil and laboring steel, the sound 
of the axe by the reverberation of 
metal upon metal, the "gee" and 
"haw" that once directed the lazy 
movements of slow-footed oxen by 
the puffing of a locomotive, and 
the buzz of augers by the incisive 
whirr of drills biting into steel. Never- 
theless, for those who seek romance, 
there is the same magic of human ac- 
tivity as in the days gone by ; the dif- 
ference lies in the increased size of 
the ship, in the problems of handling 
the masses of metal that must be 
pounded, forged, bent, and moulded 
to the work of construction ; and in the 
control of the great machines, still 
man-built and operated, that the mod- 
ern shipbuilder has enrolled like so 
many captive Titans to do his hauling, 
lifting, and hammering. 

The Fore River yard, whether in 
present or in prospective equipment 
like all the great plants with which it 
has entered into competition, is an ex- 
cellent example of the almost human 
dexterity with which the man behind 
the machine may seem to endow the 
machine itself. At the plate yard is a 
great crane with a span of 150 feet, 
to pick up the plates of steel and carry 
them where they are wanted. In the 
forge another crane, operated by five 

The Water Front. 

electric motors controlled by a man 
who directs them from a cage sus- 
pended from the crane itself, will soon 
carry a 75-ton forging straight ahead 
from one end of the big building to 
another, or diagonally in any direc- 
tion — lifting, lowering, turning it end 
for end, or tipping it bottom up. 
Along the still uncompleted seawall of 
the receiving basin the foundations are 
being laid for a powerful gantry crane 
to be used for carrying boilers or 
engines to their exact places in 
the ships under construction. This 
gantry crane, moving on tracks 50 
feet apart at a rate of 500 feet 
a minute, promises, indeed, to be 
one of the interesting novelties of the 
yard, superseding the old fashioned 
stationary crane which made it neces- 
sary for each ship to be moved to and 
fro under it to receive its armor plate, 
engines, and other equipment. When 
erected the crane will have an eleva- 
tion of 108 feet, its arm extending 80 
feet beyond the edgfe of the wharf so 

as to reach every part of the ship, and 
capable of bearing a load of 25 tons 
at that distance, or of 75 tons when the 
reach is of 50 feet and the heaviest 
material — that intended for the centre 
of the ship — is being handled. Tipped 
upward to an angle of 45 degrees the 
arm still serves as a "shears" for set- 
ting up military masts or the stacks 
of battleships, and then take an up- 
right position so that the ship may 
pass by. The gantry crane will be the 
giant of the yard, but eight other 
cranes, hardly less remarkable for the 
ingenuity with which they will do 
their work, are soon to be added to the 
present equipment, by means of which 
each of four ships, in process of con- 
struction side by side, will have the ex- 
clusive service of two cranes capable 
of carrying tons of steel as rapidly as 
a workman could run. 

No less interesting are the big ham- 
mer and anvil of the forge, the mech- 
anism of which is simply that of the 
old fashioned smithy grown so enor- 



mously big that if the force were re- 
ceived directly on the ground surface 
a single blow of the hammer on the 
anvil would make the workmen topple 
like so many tin soldiers when a 
croquet ball is dropped on the floor of 
a play room. The largest hammer, 
weighing some 20 tons, and, with the 
exception of the Midvale hammer, in 
Pennsylvania, which is about the same 

feet apart, rest upon independent 
granite and solid timber foundations, 
so that altogether the effect of the 
anvil vibrations is reduced to a mini- 
mum. None of this foundation is visi- 
ble when one enters the forge house, 
a lofty building lit by the fires of a 
half dozen furnaces and by the day- 
light that struggles dimly through the 
smoky windows. The anvil apparent- 

Iuilding a Seven Masted Schooner 

size, the largest in operation in the 
country, rises 30 feet above the anvil, 
which in turn extends 20 feet below 
the ground and rests finally upon a 
ledge of granite which conveniently 
underlies the forge house. From 
this natural foundation rises a com- 
plication of hard pine timbers to a 
height of eight feet, supporting a pyra- 
mid of seven 30-ton plates of cast iron. 
The legs of the hammer frame, 14 

ly rests directly upon the ground and 
the fall of the hammer upon glowing 
steel suggests rather relentless deter- 
mination than its own great weight. 
The actual blow may range, moreover, 
from a mere touch to the impact given 
by 20 tons of metal dropping nine 
feet and further aided by steam pres- 
sure at 100 pounds to the inch. 

In systematizing its work Fore 
River follows the plan adopted by the 



United States Navy Department, 
separating the vessel in process of con- 
struction into ''hull" and "machinery," 
although the whole plant, including for 
convenience seventeen distinct depart- 
ments, can be called upon for service 
by either the superintendent of hulls 
or the superintendent of machinery, 
both of whom are under the general 
manager and general superintendent 
of the yard. The hull division is con- 

chinery to the required size. It then 
passes through a planer which smooths 
the edges and trims them to the nicety 
of proportion necessary to make a 
watertight joint between connecting 
plates. Then the plate goes to another 
building where it passes under a heavy 
roll of steel that bends it to the curve 
of the part of the ship that it is to 
cover, following a wooden pattern al- 
ready constructed from the lines laid 

Forge and Annealing Plant 

cerned with the plates, frames, and 
general construction of the ship, and 
the machinery division with the 
engines, boilers, and other machinery ; 
the one, it might be said, prepares the 
body, the other the vital forces, of the 
ship. The progress of a plate from 
its arrival at the yard to its final place 
on the side of a ship illustrates very 
well this division of labor and detail 
in modern ship construction. This 
plate is first "pickled" to remove dust 
and dirt, and then cut by special ma- 

down in the mould loft. If it is destined 
to become part of the bow or stern it 
must be made pliable by heat and 
beaten with sledges until it attains the 
proper shape. When it has roughly 
achieved this shaping it is reheated and 
again beaten until the surface is per- 
fectly smooth and regular and the plate 
itself is ready to be riveted on, when 
the car of a small gravity road carries 
it to the ship's side. 

The machinery department receives 
its raw material not in plates but in 

The Forge 

steel ingots, castings, rods, tubings, 
and the many other forms of material 
that are to be transformed into en- 
gines, cranks, shafts, and other ma- 
chinery. This material must pass 
through the forge, where the ingot 
loses its identity and assumes roughly 
its final shape, and from there to the 
machine shop, in which the largest 
lathes are capable of handling a ioo- 
foot shaft, and where, in the case of 
tne 55-foot pieces required by the 
battleships now building, a five and 
one half inch tool bites its way from 
one end of the solid steel shaft to the 
other. From the machine shop the 
shaft goes to the annealing plant, 
where it is first heated in a 52-foot 
vertical furnace and then transferred 
to an oil bath of similar proportions. 

Then it is ready to undergo the gov- 
ernment test, which requires that a 
square inch of the metal, so ductile 
that a test bar from it can be bent 
almost double on a short radius, must 
be able to resist a pulling force equiv- 
alent to a suspended weight of 95,000 

Under the machine shop, which 
stands on the seawall, an open sub- 
way is in process of construction that 
is intended to cooperate with the gan- 
try crane in transporting machinery 
from shop to ship. The usual prac- 
tice has first been to set up an engine, 
for example, in the shop, and then, 
the engine having been pronounced 
perfect, to take it to pieces and set it 
up again, like a great puzzle, in the 

ship itself. Crane and subway will in 


Mould Loft at Fore River 

a great measure obviate this necessity. 
An ordinary engine, set up and tested 
in the shop, will be lowered through a 
trap into a flat car in the subway and 
so moved outside the building to the 
crane. The crane will pick it up 
bodily, carry it along the wall to the 
ship, and there gently lower it into its 
resting place. 

All these activities, of course, re- 
quire their motive power, and it is not 
surprising in our electrical age and in 
so new a plant to find that electricity 
almost entirely supplies this need. An 
aggregate of 1400 horse power is dis- 
tributed from the power house to the 
yard by over one hundred motors. 
Nearly every machine, including the 
three 116-foot lathes already men- 
tioned as unique in the manufacturing 
plants of the United States, has its 
own motor, so that the absence of belts 
and steam jets is one of the essential 

evidences of the difference between the 
modern shipyard and the shipyard of 
even ten years ago, not to speak of 
fifty or a hundred. All riveting, how- 
ever, is done by pneumatic power, and 
for this purpose compressed air at 100 
pounds pressure to the square inch is 
carried all over the yard, some 
eighty acres in area — much as the 
water companies of the modern city 
convey water to each separate house. 
Electricity is supplied to the floating 
machine shop, an idea suggested by 
the Vulcan which the government 
fitted out during the Spanish War for 
the purpose of repairing navy vessels 
in active service. As practically em- 
ployed, however, it is to be reckoned 
as still another of the mechanical nov- 
elties which make the new yard so 
notable an expression of Yankee 
energy. Unlike the Vulcan, the float- 
ing shop is intended for economy 

Building Berths 

rather than emergency, and is prac- 
tically a complete workshop that may 
be moored beside a vessel undergoing' 
repairs, thus not only providing for a 
greater number of vessels but moving 
an entire repair outfit to the spot where 
its services are most immediately re- 
quired and can be most economically 

The working force of the yard, it is 
estimated, will eventually number 
about three thousand men. The set- 
tlement now includes about half that 
number, and it is interesting to know, 
in view of the expected growth of the 
colony, that the company officials, not 
as a corporation, but as individuals, 
have bought an old estate which will 
be sold in lots to the workmen. The 
shipworkers, machinists, pattern mak- 
ers, woodworkers, blacksmiths, labor- 
ers and seamen, draughtsmen, paint- 

ers and foundrymen may themselves 
buy stock in this experiment, which is 
not a speculation but intended rather 
to be a form of loan and building asso- 
ciation with capital already provided. 
It has already been said that the 
Fore River yard has been busy devel- 
oping its own resources at the same 
time that it is busy with government 
and other contracts amounting in the 
aggregate to about $9,000,000, and in- 
cluding two of the most important 
vessels in the United States Navy, the 
great battleships New Jersey and 
Rhode Island. The question arises 
naturally, how could the newest ship- 
building plant in the country have ob- 
tained such contracts in competition 
with her long established rivals? The 
answer might, indeed, be said to lie 
partly in the ledge of Quincy granite 
that outcrops so fortunately under the 


Turning a Crank Shaft 

great anvil of the forge, but it is more 
exact to attribute it, first to the plans 
outlined for the erection and carrying 
on of the plant; second to the posses- 
sion of resources sufficient to insure 
the probable success of the plans ; and 
finally to the excellence of the site as 
a whole, which is remarkably adapted 
to the purposes of shipbuilding. 
Originally it was a big meadow sepa- 
rated from the ocean by a beach of 
hard pan gravel and intersected by a 
small river, the Weymouth Fore River, 
whence the Company takes its name, 
and a tributary creek. The nature of 
the beach has made it possible to lay 
down the granite and concrete ship 
ways for the big battleships without 
the customary use of piles, and the 
water which it skirts leads directly and 
immediately to the deep water of Bos- 
ton Harbor, while creek and river are 
well adapted for the building of 
smaller craft. In addition to the gran- 

ite ledge that, as already pointed out, 
seemed placed on purpose for the 
forge, there was a natural soft bottom 
for the outfitting basin, and the 
famous Quincy granite for founda- 
tions and seawall was within easy 
teaming distance. The spot itself 
is only two miles from the centre of 
Quincy, — still remembering its two 
sons, John and John Quincy Adams, 
who became Presidents of the United 
States, but nowadays taking on more 
and more the character of a bustling 
centre of business and manufactur- 
ing — and is within the limits of met- 
ropolitan Boston. Being new-born, 
moreover, the Company has no accu- 
mulation of old and only partly ser- 
viceable machinery for which to make 
allowance in its contracts and prom- 
ises, and could plan for its equipment 
without reservations ; that is to say, 
it could look forward to quick, eco- 
nomical and efficient construction on a 

The Twenty Ton Hammer 

basis of completely modern mechan- 
ism. The plant was hardly more than 
planned when the Company entered 
its bids for Government work, and was 
so well under way when the govern- 
ment experts were sent to investigate 
it, they were able to report that first- 
class battleships could be constructed 
at the new Massachusetts yard as well, 
and perhaps more economically, than 
at any other. 

Aside from purely commercial 
reasons, the revival of Massachusetts 

shipbuilding, signalized by the erec- 
tion of this new shipyard at the south- 
ernmost inlet of Boston Harbor, is of 
more than local, or even sectional, in- 
terest. Not only is it a very large 
straw among the many now blowing 
toward a re-awakening of American 
maritime endeavor, but it continues the 
industry in Massachusetts in a straight 
line of descent from so long ago as 
1 63 1, when the Blessing of the Bay 
was built in Medford. The poorness 
of the soil and the absence of precious 



minerals and metals were doubtless the 
determining forces that almost im- 
mediately turned the early colonists to 
fishing and navigation, and it is a 
curious coincidence that this first ves- 
sel was launched on July 4th, just 145 
years before that date received its per- 
manent importance in American his- 
tory. Ten years later, in 1641, Ed- 
ward Bangs launched at Plymouth the 

autumn of 1625 on a trading voyage 
to the Kennebec River. At the mouth 
of the Kennebec itself was built in 
1607 — that is, even before the landing 
of the Pilgrims at Plymouth — a "fair 
pinnace of 30 tons," named the Vir- 
ginia, the first New England built 
craft. She was big enough to have 
crossed the Atlantic. Of the smaller 
vessels of that period there remains, 

The Fore River Beach 

bark, of some 40 or 50 tons, which 
was recorded as being the "first ves- 
sel of size" built in the colony, and 
was estimated to cost £200 — perhaps 
$5,000 today. Of smaller boats, the 
record has practically vanished. In 
1624, however, it is known that a sloop 
carpenter came over to Plymouth, dy- 
ing soon after, but not until he had 
built at least two shallops, one of 
which, laden with corn, sailed in the 

as just said, hardly any definite des- 
cription, but we know from the old 
records that coasting, fishing and 
trading were increasingly important 
industries, and that shallops, sloops, 
pinnaces, barks, and ketches were 
built and navigated, although it would 
be difficult to reconstruct the exact de- 
tails of masts, spars, sails or rigging. 
The history of Massachusetts ship- 
building, though the first vessel must 

The Bow of the Des Moines 

be credited to the shores of the Ken- 
nebec — which, after all, was at least 
nominally a Massachusetts river — 
contains also several events that were 
the first of their kind in the larger his- 
tory of the whole nation. Thus, in 
1645, tne "Rainbowe" commanded by 
one Captain Smith sailed out of Bos- 
ton for Madeira, and on her way back 
touched on the coast of Guinea for 
slaves. The venture involved a false 
pretense of quarrel with the natives, 
a murderous attack upon them, and 
two slaves as a part of the cargo of the 
returned "Rainbowe," which accord- 
ingly is recorded as the first American 
craft engaged in the slave traffic. It 
-is interesting to know, however, that 
Boston returned the slaves to their 
original home, and only the fact that 
the court decided that it had no juris- 
diction over Captain Smith's actions 
on the African coast saved him from 
a conviction for "murder, manstealing, 
and Sabbath-breaking." About 1714 
the first schooner ever built was 

launched at Gloucester. She was a 
development of the earlier and now ob- 
solete ketch, and tradition still points 
out the wharf where she took the 
water. The name schooner, suggested 
by a bystander who exclaimed, "Oh, 
how she scoons!" — an exclamation 
that will have meaning to anyone who 
remembers that peculiar motion of a 
flat pebble skipped or "scooned," over 
the surface of a large body of water — 
was perhaps intended first as an- in- 
dividual designation, but the craft was 
of a new type, and the name soon 
gained its present significance. The 
Great Republic, in her time the largest 
sailing vessel in the world, must be 
mentioned as another noteworthy pro- 
duct of Massachusetts ship-building, 
and the new seven master, now build- 
ing at Fore River, looks back to both 
of these achievements in that she will 
be the first seven masted schooner and 
the largest of all contemporary sailing 
craft, competing in size, not only with 
the old-school square rigger, but with 


The Fore River Ship and Engine Company's Plant 

the modern ocean steam ship. The 
first water line model, invented 
in 1794 by Mr. Orlando B. Merrill, of 
Belleville, now a part of Newburyporl, 
belongs also to the above category, and 
was an important step from the eigh- 
teenth to the nineteenth century yard, 
as at Fore River, where practically 
every problem is worked out in the 
preliminary models of which this is the 
first recorded instance. In the old 
yard which produced the host of 
wooden vessels, sloops, schooners, 
pinkeys, pinnaces, brigs, Chebacco 
boats, jiggers and all the others that 
made possible the merchantmen, 
whalers, slavers, pirates and ships of 
war that figure so picturesquely in the 
annals of the eighteenth century, the 
master workman, it will be remem- 
bered, lined out each piece to fit its 
final place in the ship. The stem and 
stern posts were first set up and the 
workmen began amidships, working 
fore and aft as the timbers were filled 
in. The broad axe, whipsaw, adze, 
and pod auger were the tools and 
wooden tree nails — "trunnels" as they 

were, and are pronounced — were the 
means of fastening the ship together. 
There is an amusing tradition, which 
well illustrates the general distribution 
of old time shipbuilding, that the first 
Chebacco boat, a craft once much used 
in the New England fisheries, was built 
in a barn and could only be launched 
after the absentminded builder had re- 
moved part of the roof and walls. The 
story shows also the custom of build- 
ing these earlier and smaller craft 
often a mile or more from water, and 
then mounting them on wheels to drag 
them to the place of launching. This 
condition naturally disappeared rapid- 
ly with the increase in the size of sail- 
ing vessels, dating from the early nine- 
teenth century. The growth of the 
schooner is the most concrete example 
of this increase in size, continuing to 
mount but two masts until well into 
the nineteenth century, and now, at the 
beginning of the twentieth, about to 
appear, in this great Fore River craft, 
with seven masts and 43,000 square 
feet of sail area and to extend one 
hundred feet bevond the cruiser Des 



Moines building alongside. Not only 
that, but in her the schooner is appar- 
ently entered definitely in the class of 
steel constructed vessels, with battle- 
ships and ocean steamers. Indeed, if 
a craft is to survive, it is almost a case 
of steel or nothing nowadays, although 
less than three-quarters of a century 

ago, the chief architect of one of the 
English yards exclaimed indignantly, 
"Don't talk to me about iron ships ; it's 
contrary to nature !" — a statement on 
which the seventy-five acres at Fore 
River are in many ways the most inter- 
esting because the most purely modern 

The Regeneration of Young Hawley 

By Neill Sheridan 

SHE came to Manila with the 
first consignment of Red Cross 
nurses, as the correspondent of 
an American newspaper, and in 
one day she drove her calesa up and 
down the Luneta through the golden 
dusk, and over the hearts of the whole 
mess of the First Volunteer Infantry. 
She was young, small, and not beauti- 
ful. She had no color at all. Her figure 
owed so much to art, the Red Cross 
nurses said — though that might have 
been envy — that the little nature had 
done was overlooked in the total re- 
sult altogether. But her gowns, sheer 
white for the most part, were per- 
fect after their kind, her green eyes 
were the large eyes men fall into and 
drown, and her smile the revelation of 
unutterable things. And although she 
was young, as years went, she had been 
born old in that measureless guile that 
comes from the serpent. 

She had all the officers of the trans- 
port that brought her across the Pacific 
at outs before the boat reached Hono- 

lulu, and all the women on board hated 
her with perfect ferocity. The mess 
of the First called upon her, and went 
down to a man. Even the Adjutant, 
who had a dragon and some well- 
grown nestlings at home, quartered at 
the Presidio, and who was regarded 
as proof, struck his colors and took 
her for a ride on one of the regimental 
Tagalog ponies out beyond the Pasay 
cross-road. That was the scene of 
his gallant action during the siege of 

But the worst hit were the Major- 
doctor and young Hawley. That was 
plain from the first. And she was im- 
partial. Also, she rode and drove, at 
odd times, with naval officers from the 
fleet, and she was not averse to re- 
ceiving, now and again, a private who 
came well recommended. There were 
the sons of millionaires in the ranks f 
the First, and Lydia Fairish could gild 
brass buttons and a plain blue coat 
with paternal gold as well as another. 
More than that, she was a young 



woman who had not been born with 
any illusions, which are apt to be 
troublesome things to an enterprising 

Miss Fairish rode out with the 
Major-doctor in the morning, and even 
went one day to the smallpox hospital 
with him, upon the plea that she 
wanted to get a story for her paper. 
The Colonel raved when he heard 
about it, and the whole mess sent the 
Major-doctor to Coventry and the 
brandy bottle for daring to risk her 
life — but Miss Fairish came to dinner 
at the mess that night, and laughed at 
the Colonel and sent glances from her 
soft eyes so straight into the heart of 
every man there that not one of them 
but would have jumped off the balcony 
into the Pasig, and taken her with 
him if she had ordered it. Each man 
reprobated not the less the conduct of 
the Major-doctor. Moreover, he had 
a wife and a family of small children 
at home, as every man there knew. 

It befell, therefore, that Miss Fair- 
ish presently heard all about the do- 
mestic concerns of the Major-doctor, 
with the result that she made not the 
slightest difference in her treatment 
of him. It was at this juncture one 
of the Red Cross nurses said that she 
had been born wicked as well as wise. 
Women are malicious, but that seems 
to be the usual human combination. 

But if the Major-doctor found favor 
in the morning, young Hawley found 
favor and also a seat in her calesa when 
she drove on the Luneta in the tropic 
dusk. The Spanish women, disdain- 
ful of their conquerors, were driven 
there in the dusk also by liveried 
coachmen, but if one of them deigned 
a glance at the bold young woman who 
outraged the proprieties by sitting be- 

side a man and herself trying the paces 
of her fast pony, Miss Fairish never 
knew it. 

"The poor things must have a stupid 
time of it," she said to young Haw- 
ley, flicking her pony, and that youth 
would have laid his whole prospect 
of the paternal millions at her feet if 
she had let him. No man knows how, 
but a girl not yet out of her teens can 
keep a lover skating along the thin 
edge of a proposal for months, and not 
let him break through. Miss Fairish 
was a long way out of her teens, and 
also she had been born wise. 

Now it chanced that young Haw- 
ley had also some domestic responsi- 
bilities at home. The story was told in 
various ways. Miss Fairish soon 
heard it, in all its variety, as she heard 
most things — and she let it make not 
the slightest difference in her treat- 
ment of young Hawley. That inno- 
cent youth never really knew how wise 
she was. There is a strong re- 
pressive force about the woman men 
know to have claws, even though she 
keeps them in sheath. 

The larger portion of the mess 
dropped out after awhile, leaving the 
running to the Major-doctor and 
young Hawley, with a navy lieutenant 
or two whom nobody considered. The 
comedy went on, for a couple of 
months, to the intense amusement of 
the spectators, and to the enjoyment, 
as it appeared, of the principals. Her 
mornings were given to the Major- 
doctor and her afternoons to young 
Hawley, with rigid impartiality. The 
rivalry became the subject of betting 
in the mess, at last. Everything did, 
sooner or later. In the meantime 
transports were coming and going 
across the sea to San Francisco, and 



these ships sometimes carried tales 
not of war. It was in September, and 
the monsoon was sweeping the black 
clouds against the hills that lie close 
about the Laguna de Bai, and the hush 
of the coming rains was in the air, 
when the curtain went up on the last 

The First had been relieved from 
duty at the Palace of Malacanan, and 
removed across the river to the old 
barracks of the Spanish Marine In- 
fantry. The transport Senator came 
up the bay one afternoon, driving a- 
head of the monsoon, and the men at 
headquarters were counting upon get- 
ting their letters at dinnertime. Miss 
Fairish dined at the mess that night. 
She had no chaperon — but, then, she 
needed none. She had made that fact 
patent from the first. The letters came 
in with the dessert, and the Major-doc- 
tor, who had got her seated at his end 
of the table and consequently scored 
in young Hawley's time (leaving that 
youth scowling among the juniors), 
was observed to become greatly per- 
turbed upon reading one of the mis- 
sives brought to him. It was the cus- 
tom to read home letters as soon as 
they were brought in, at Manila, and 
even Miss Fairish had her mail sent 
to headquarters that night. The 
Major-doctor read his letter, excused 
himself hastily, and then went out 
and called the Colonel after him. 
Young Hawley, smiling once more, 
slipped into the doctor's vacant seat, 
and the discussion of the home news 
became general. The Colonel came 
back presently, smiling. 

"The Major's family is on board 
the Senator," he said. 

The whole table smiled. Young 
Hawley fairlv beamed, but he said 

nothing. The lad was a thorough- 

"Flow pleasant for him," Miss Fair- 
ish said, and every man there saw that 
she honestly meant it. Also, it began 
to dawn upon the dullest, even, that 
her hand was visible in this thing. The 
expression on young Hawley's face 
was cherubic. The Major-doctor 
rejoined the company when they had 
adjourned to the Colonel's room, hav- 
ing been unable to board the transport 
that night, and Miss Fairish went 
straight up to him. 

"I am so glad, for your sake, Ma- 
jor," she said. "You need not be lone- 
some now. Will you not let us go on 
board with you to-morrow to welcome 
them to Manila?" 

Young Hawley glared, but the 
Major-doctor jumped at it. You have 
perhaps observed how frail a straw 
sometimes serves the purpose of a 
drowning man. 

"You should head a delegation from 
the mess, Colonel," she went on. "Mr. 
Hawdey would be glad to go, I am 
sure, and the Adjutant, and Captain 
Jones and Mr. Smithers." The elect 
testified their delight, and young 
Hawley was again in the clouds. 

The whole party was on hand next 
morning at the office of the Captain of 
the Port, where the Government 
launches lay, and they were very gay 
as they steamed down the Pasig and 
out upon the rough waters of the bay — 
very gay, all but the Major-doctor. 
Gaiety is not in the part when a man 
is being led to execution. The Major- 
doctor behaved well, on the whole, 
but chastened. One would have 
thought that the Mrs. Major-doctor 
was going to smother Miss Fairish 
with the fervor of her embraces. And 



young Hawley stood apart and chewed 
his moustache and grinned. That was 
in appreciation of his own superior 
acumen in fathoming the manner of 
the undoing of the Major-doctor. 

The Senator had a saloon and state- 
rooms between decks, and presently 
Miss Fairish, breaking away from the 
embraces of the Mrs. Major-doctor 
and the narration of the last bit of in- 
teresting domestic experience, flut- 
tered like a bird down the companion- 
way into the saloon, with young Haw- 
ley in her train. It was dark in the 
saloon, after the tropical sunlight, and 
nobody noticed the little woman seated 
at the piano, strumming softly, until 
Miss Fairish bent over her and kissed 
her. Then the little woman arose; 
there was a cry, "Oh, John!" and she 
had her arms around the neck of young 
Hawley. He had to stand and hold 
her up. She would have fallen other- 
wise. But he looked unutterably fool- 
ish ; and he said things, softly. 

"Speak to me, John," the little wom- 
an said, between laughing and crying. 
"You are not angry? The doctor's 
wife wanted a nurse, and I had to 
come. I could not stay away any 

Young Hawley was not exactly a 
brute. He was taken by surprise — 
and Miss Fairish was present. Mat- 
ters adjusted themselves after a little. 

There were three women and three 
children in the launch that took the 
party back to the city, but neither the 
Major-doctor nor young Hawley so 
much as looked at Miss Fairish on the 
way. There are some things the boldest 
men may not venture to do. But she 
was dangerously sweet to the other two 

The Major-doctor took up separate 
quarters at once, and presently ob- 
tained his discharge and went home. 
Children do not thrive in that climate. 
Young Hawley also took up separate 
quarters. That was proper. But it 
is a curious thing that within a week 
neither of those women would speak to 
Miss Fairish. They had got on swim- 
mingly before that. 

She did not seem to mind it in the 
least. "I am used to the ingratitude 
of my own sex," she said plaintively to 
the Colonel. Then she married a navy 
lieutenant, and went off with him to the 
China station, leaving the First deso- 
late. They attended her farewell in a 
body, and looked their reproaches. 

.— 1 

(yClSftoYV rJ tl ^jt 

Two Foreign Schools and Their 

By Daniel S. Sanford 


WE had devoted the winter 
to the study of German 
education, had spent 
long hours in the class- 
room, following recitations of mo- 
notonous excellence. We had read 
school programmes and 
courses of study and 
talked with German 
teachers until we had 
grown weary of the su- 
perbly organized Prus- 
sian school system and 
had come to long for the 
variety, the flexibility, 
and the uneven results 
of our American schools. 
A letter written by a 
nine-year-old American 
boy, who was born in 
Florence, struck a re- 
sponsive chord in our 
hearts. His little life 
had been clouded by the 
apprehension that he 
might die before he The Herr 

should see his "native 
land," as he expressed it, but 
now he was on a visit to his grand- 
parents in Pennsylvania. He wrote 
to his father, who was still in Europe: 
"Dear Papa: I love you very much. 
I want you to come over here quick. 
This is a good, lively country. I like 
freedom. Aunt Mary is teaching me 

to sing 'My Country, 'tis of Thee' 

With somewhat the same craving 
for freedom, activity and life, we took 
the train one May morning for 
the Hartz mountains, intending, so 
strong was the sense of duty within 
us, to visit still another 
school, at Ilsenburg, of 
which we had heard 
strange rumors. "Eine 
idealische Schule," re- 
marked a Berlin teacher 
to me, with a shrug of 
his shoulders that be- 
tokened at once amuse- 
ment and disdain. 

Ilsenburg is charm- 
ingly situated in the 
midst of the Hartz 
mountains, with the 
Brocken full in view. A 
red-tiled roof, appearing 
among the trees a mile 
and a half from the vil- 
lage, was pointed out to 
us as our destination. 
Our road took us along 
the side of a mountain brook, the Use, 
which was fringed with willows and 
hundreds of growing things. All nature 
throbbed with the fulness of life. We 
had left huge piles of brick and mortar, 
veritable prison houses reared in the 
name of education. We had inspected 
armies of well drilled, super-obedient 





At Work in the Garden 

schoolboys, from whom every vestige 
of spontaneity had been eliminated. 
Another chapter of the same sort on 
such a clay and amid such surround- 
ings would have ill suited our mood. 
But no such disappointment awaited 
us. The low-browed farmhouse, emerg- 
ing from a wealth of shrubbery, just at 
the point where the Use tumbles over 
a ledge of rock, seemed a part of the 
landscape itself. Certainly this was 
no prison. The Herr Director, who, 
hatless and in bicycle costume, met 
us at the gate, gave no suggestion of 
the traditional German pedagogue ; 
and the boys, full of life and animal 
spirits, and yet all at work construc- 
tively and in ways that somehow 
seemed singularly in keeping with the 
spirit of the place and season, were a 
still more gratifying surprise. The 
first that we noticed were in the gar- 
den, all busily employed, now hoeing 
between the rows of vegetables, now 
on their knees pulling the weeds by 
hand. Like the director, they were 
in easy dress, some had even pulled 
off their shirts and were browning 
their little backs in the warm sun- 

shine. In a neighboring thicket, two 
were cutting pea brush, and beyond, 
there were others sawing into proper 
lengths, and sharpening, posts for a 
fence which they were building. The 
teachers worked side by side with the 
boys, but the animating spirit of them 
all was the director, who passed from 
group to group, and caught up hoe or 
spade or saw, to illustrate practically 
how the work should be done. 

Not a great privilege, some one 
may be prompted to say, to weed a 
garden and build a fence, and not in 
the highest degree educational. That 
depends entirely upon the purpose 
with which it is done, and the relation 
that such work bears to the general 
scheme of education. Gardening and 
farming, which we soon found played 
so important a role in the life of the 
school, have at least these merits, 
they provide a variety of occupation, 
changing with the. seasons, and are in 
themselves helpful and interesting; 
they take the child out of doors and 
relate him to the soil, the sky, animal 
and vegetable life, and familiarize him 
with the processes of nature as no lab- 
oratory course indoors, however skil- 

A Class in Mathematics 



fully devised, can possibly do. There 
is a lingering impression in the minds 
of not a few persons with whom I am 
acquainted, that the New England 
farm of their youth was the best edu- 
cational institution that America has 
known, affording opportunities which 
are scarcely duplicated by the most 
carefully planned courses in manual 
training of our urban schools. 

However that may be, it took us 
but a few minutes to discover that we 
were in the domain of an idealist, and 
that the most prosaic pursuits were in 
his philosophy of education freighted 
with far reaching consequences. The 
open drain at the back of the house, 
which one of the young shirtless cit- 
izens was cleaning out, not as a 

Cleaning a Drain 

meaningless task, but as his contribu- 
tion to the health of the school com- 
munity, was made to suggest such 
important topics as the great sanitary 
problems of city life. The factory 
which we had passed on the way to 
the school and from which come the 
manual training instructors, furnishes 
an object lesson for the study of man- 
ufacturing processes and of industrial 
conditions. In other words, the con- 

ception of the school as a social and 
a socializing institution, where all are 
learning to work constructively, is a 
fundamental principle in the policy of 
this progressive schoolmaster. All 
this we discovered before the day was 
over, and it saved us from condemn- 

Shaping Fence Posts 

ing much that might otherwise have 
seemed trivial and worthless. 

Let me return to our first impres- 
sion. Given the freedom of the place, 
we continued our walk and at every 
step made new discoveries. Across 
the street, on a knoll beneath the 
trees, was a group sketching from 
nature. In the yard, an arithmetic 
class was estimating the cost of paint- 
ing the house by computing its super- 
ficial area. Two of the boys had al- 
ready begun the painting. In the 
shops, hard by, still others were busily 
employed, not slavishly following a 
prescribed course, but making such 
articles as a boy delights in, — sleds, a 
case for books, a mineral cabinet, a 
spring board for diving. The general 
arraignment of German boys that 
they lack initiative cannot be true of 
these youngsters. 

We entered the schoolrooms, where 
there were classes reciting in litera- 



In the Shop 

ture, in history, and in English. The 
teaching was characterized to an un- 
usual degree by ingenuity and fertil- 
ity of resource in making direct and 
immediate application of what is 
taught. Wherever this can be done, 
it increases immeasurably the fruitful- 
ness of academic instruction. These 
boys were not seeing hazy, indistinct 
pictures of past events ; they were 
dealing with living realities. They 

were reenacting in their own experi- 
ences, as all imaginative children who 
are given a chance will, those epi- 
sodes from literature and history 
which appealed most powerfully to 
them. Contrary to the prevailing cus- 
tom in Germany, the modern lan- 
guages are taught by native teachers, 
an Englishman and a Frenchman be- 
ing enrolled among the instructors for 
that purpose. Vital interest is added 
to these subjects by correspondence 
with schools in France and England, 
and by vacation visits to those coun- 
tries. A reciprocal relationship is 
maintained with an English school of 
the same sort, Abbotsholme, with 
which they exchange not merely let- 
ters, but at certain seasons of the 
year, teachers and visits. 

More feasible and indeed quite prac- 
ticable for American schools would 
be the excursions, lasting from two 
days to a fortnight, which are an es- 
tablished custom at Ilsenburg and in 
many German schools. I know noth- 
ing which yields a richer return in 
realistic and practical knowledge of 

A Class in Singing 

A Class in Surveying at Bedales 

every sort- — scientific, historical, so- 
ciological and industrial, — and, I may 
add, in sympathy and good comrade- 
ship between the teacher and the 
taught than these trips on foot and 
by bicycle to different places of 

Time will not permit me to describe 
at length all the incidents of that day 
at Ilsenburg — the swim in the river, 
the supper under the trees where we 
all sat down together, boys and teach- 
ers and guests, the free time after 
supper, an hour for recreation which 
the boys rilled with bicycling, games 
and gymnastic practice, and finally, 
the twilight hour of evensong, a most 
fitting close for a busy day. 

As might naturally be expected, 
music fills an important place in the 
school. One of the large boys played 
the violin while we were at supper. 

This is a common practice, we were 
told. Had we been in the house, 
there would have been the accompani- 
ment of a piano. Frequently some 
one is appointed to read an interest- 
ing book at meal time. Reading aloud 
is not a lost art in this school, and its 
practice by one for the entertainment 
of the others is a common form of 
social service. The systematic pur- 
suit of literature in the classroom has 
in this way been supplemented by 
readings from a wide range of classic 

Not less interesting are the at- 
tempts of the director to broaden the 
sympathies and increase the social 
consciousness of these boys by intro- 
ducing them through familiar talks to 
many of the unsolved social and 
economic problems of the day. I 

have already referred to their visits 


A Sketching Class 

to factories. That they are apt pupils 
is proved by the questions which they 
discuss in their debating club and by 
their amusing social experiments in 
inviting the servants to their musical 
and literary entertainments or to join 
them at dinner, and in sharing with 
the stone breakers on the road the 
contents of their Christmas boxes. 

The following quotations from a 
report by one of the older boys give 
characteristic features of their school 

"On Sunday evenings, after supper, dur- 
ing the first week of the new year, a re- 
view was made of the chief political events 
of the year just past, and their signifi- 
cance pointed out. For this purpose, Dr. 
Lietz drew up a table, giving the chief 
facts of a political, economic and social 
nature for all the principal countries. 
From this review it could be seen that the 
year 1898 was of as great importance as 

any belonging to ancient or mediaeval his- 

*'Dr. Lietz thinks it important that all 
the boys, at least of the upper classes, shall 
each week take a review of the current 
political and social happenings in the 
world, and to this end, the oldest of the 
boys should read the newspapers under 
advice and direction." 

"In our debates, we attack for the most 
part serious political and social questions 
of the day, such as, What is the Social 
Democracy trying to do and how is it to 
be judged by us? How are we to regard 
the different political parties in Germany? 
The alcohol problem. How is the want 
in our great cities to be relieved? What 
should be the attitude of the employer of 
labor toward the employee? How should 
we, as members of the body politic, con- 
duct ourselves toward our fellowmen? 
Many may wonder that problems of such 
a nature should be undertaken by 
us, but these debates have certainly had 
this result, that they have made us more 
serious and thoughtful, wiser, more sym- 

A Class in Natural History 

pathetic in our attitude toward our fellow- 
men, less controlled by party watchwords, 
more independent in our thinking." 

"But we try to be practical as well as 
theoretical. As from the beginning we 
have invited the servants to our evening 
service in the chapel, so we finally decided 
to ask them to sit down with us to our 
common meal. In this way they could 
share with us the advantage of the music 
during supper and the readings during 
dinner. Our next step was to carry our 
social politics into the garden by giving 
work to the beggars and tramps who came 
along, and these in return set us an ex- 
ample all day long of diligence and hard 
work and we came to realize that we had 
here to deal with real human beings, after 
all. From the proceeds of our collections 
on Sunday evening, we have saved fifty 
marks for the support during illness or 
need of some Ilsenburg workman." 

"We can imagine a school in the coun- 
try where hardihood of life can be culti- 

vated amid fresh air, open windows and 
cold water, where life is simple and 
varied and the evils of excessive subdivi- 
sion of labor are avoided." 

"We can imagine a school where the 
masters lead a common life with the boys, 
dressed like them for practical activity in 
the field, . . . working at gardening or 
ploughing, directing the boys at work with 
them; where the child is not isolated from 
the society of adults out of lesson time, 
and where adults find a real and not a 
pretence or toy occupation in utilizing the 
child's force as far as it goes in work 
which is useful for the establishment. We 
can imagine that time at this school will 
. . . consist of interchange of occupation, 
continuous but varied, some lighter, some 
severer, some taxing muscle, some brain." 

"We can imagine that in such a school 
there would be established a collective, 
corporate life, in which, however juvenile, 
each member would learn self-reliance and 
individual responsibility . . . and constant 
adjustment of the relation of self to other 
people. The virtue that here grows up 



will not be negative, as of those who are 
good because they are constrained to be 
good by force external to themselves, but 
active virtue, such as springs from having 
lived in a society where good lives are 
lived and where a good life has been lived, 
thanks to the environment of a well or- 
ganized community." 

These extracts from an article on 
Individualism in Education in The 
Parents' Review were suggested, as 
the author has since confessed, by 
Bedales, one of two English schools 
which are as unique among English 
institutions and as much of a protest 
against traditional academic methods 
as is Ilsenburg among the German 
schools. Like Dr. Lietz's school, it 
derives its inspiration from Abbots- 
holme, where Mr. J. H. Badley, the 
head master, had formerly taught, and 

like that, it exemplifies a healthy, 
natural development, and a broad, 
many-sided, realistic training, in 
which books, though not wholly 
neglected, play but a subordinate 
part. What then are the materia 
pedagogica, the instruments of cul- 
ture, if books are to be relegated to a 
second place? Why, things, actuali- 
ties, the results of direct contact with 
external nature, and, more important 
than this, of intimate association with 
cultivated men and women, young 
enough and broad enough to feel a 
sympathetic interest in all that appeals 
most strongly to growing boys and 

One does not look for radical ex- 
periments in education in England, 
and so, although forewarned, we 

Lessons in Milking 

were not fully prepared for all that 
we found at Bedales. Recall all 
that has been said of Ilsenburg, 
making of course generous allowance 
for the less idealistic, more practical 
character of the English mind, sub- 
stitute for the forty German boys, 
some sixty English lads, more vigor- 
ous and enterprising than their Ger- 
man cousins, with an inherited fond- 
ness for sports and life in the open 
air, include girls, freely participating 
in the life — the studies, the outdoor 
work, the excursions, and many of the 
sports of the boys, an extreme form 
of co-education ; put in charge of them 
a fine-grained, scholarly gentleman, 
aided by a corps of assistants, de- 
voted men and women who believe 
in him and in his educational ideals, 
and count no sacrifice of time or 
effort too great to be made for the 

school's success ; leave out all cram- 
ming for examinations and early 
specialization for scholarships, the 
bane of English schools ; give due 
weight in your thought to the refin- 
ing influence of woman in this com- 
munity, something which is wholly 
lacking in Dr. Lietz's school ; and 
finally, imagine as the setting for 
this somewhat rare combination of 
circumstances, a stately English 
manor house, commanding far-away 
stretches of English landscape, and 
surrounded by the greenest of close- 
clipped lawns, by boxwood hedges 
and fine old trees, and you must admit 
that the conditions for such an exper- 
iment in education are ideal. 

We arrived Saturday afternoon, a 
half holiday, while the boys were still 
at lunch, and under the guidance of 
one of the masters, we visited the dor- 

Making Butter 

mitories and study rooms, the cricket 
field, the bathing pool, the garden, the 
shop, and a house which the boys 
themselves had made for bicycles, 
photography, and natural history 

At Ilsenburg, the Herr Director 
carried his arm in a sling, because of 
a fall from his bicycle while touring 
with his boys through the Thuringian 
forest ; here we found the head master 
lying on a couch under the trees, dis- 
abled with a twisted knee, the painful 
reminder of a recent cricket match. 
There could be no better proof that 
the authorities of these schools par- 
ticipate in the boys' pastimes. In- 
capacitated for active work, Mr. Bad- 
ley was still the central figure of the 
school life. It was interesting to sit 
by his side and watch the boys and 
girls come and go, all with some word 
of greeting from their chief. First, 
there passed the natural history en- 
thusiasts, with butterfly nets and bot- 
any boxes, off for an excursion along 
the river; next came the haying squad 

3 £-2 

on their way to the farm, to be fol- 
lowed by a party of bicyclists, setting 
out to visit a Norman church some 
miles away. So varied are the inter- 
ests which claim the attention of these 
boys and girls. And yet it is not a 
haphazard election which determines 
how the half holiday shall be passed. 
All is prearranged by the ever watch- 
ful and ever present masters. Hay is 
to be made when the sun shines, the 
cows to be milked at sundown, butter 
to be churned when the cream has 
risen, berries to be picked when 
they are ripe, and bees to be hived 
when they swarm. There are to be 
no drones in this human hive. Idle- 
ness is not to be tolerated. Even 
lolling about the cricket field when 
the team is playing is tabooed. The 
school motto cut on the fine old man- 
tle of the dining-room is, "The work 
of each for the weal of all." This 
seems to be interpreted literally by 
masters and scholars. We were pre- 
pared for good comradeship between 
English schoolboys and their teach- 



ers; we had seen it at Rugby. But 
such unremitting consideration as 
prevails at Bedales was quite new to 
us. "What are your hours?" I asked 
one of the masters. "From seven in 
the morning until nine at night," was 
his rejoinder. "What time do you 
have to yourself?" "None whatever, 
except after nine P. M." 

Seated on the grass by the disabled 
head master, I took occasion, before 
following the haymakers, to question 
him about the school and his educa- 

They should become adepts in all 
manly sports, sure of hand and foot, 
strong of limb and quick of move- 
ment, to run, to ride, to swim, win- 
ning for themselves that physical en- 
durance and courage which will stand 
them in good stead later in life. 
There should be a wide range of inter- 
ests and the freest opportunity for 
self-revelation, for the supreme end 
during the early stage of the child's 
education is to discover, if possible, 
his bent, his dominant interest, that 


tional theories. "Until fourteen years 
of age," said he, "all children, boys 
and girls alike, should have a happy, 
free development, close to the heart 
of mother Nature, from whom they 
should learn the secrets of the woods 
"and fields, the habits of animals and 
of plants, that they may have eyes to 
see and ears to hear, and be in sym- 
pathetic communion with all life. 
They should plant seeds in their own 
gardens, and learn to make things 
with their hands, that they may share 
with omnipotence the joy of creation. 

his subsequent training may be 
shaped accordingly. 

"Books are at first but little used. 
Formal instruction should be based 
on objects and given orally. So much 
of literature or of history as the child 
learns should be addressed to the ear 
rather than to the eye. The classics 
should not be begun too early, Latin 
not before a child is twelve years old, 
Greek certainly not before he is fif- 
teen. After sixteen, he should special- 
ize upon some one subject, without 
wholly neglecting the rest. 


"When his more serious academic 
life begins, there is without doubt a 
difficult period of transition — that is, 
from fourteen to sixteen — when he 
must learn the use and value of books. 
But this difficulty once surmounted, 
he will with strong physique and 
well-established habits of observation 
and application be able to work 
harder and do more than the child 
who has been introduced prematurely 
to the study of books. He may even 
read for honors at the university, 
neglecting everything but his chosen 
subject, and do it with a minimum 
of harm. Indeed it would be a mis- 
take to continue the broad, discursive 
training at this time, since now hav- 
ing acquired a breadth of interest 
which will always save him from be- 
coming a narrow specialist, it is not 
only safe but highly desirable that he 
should deepen his education by fol- 
lowing his natural aptitude." 

"What can you tell me of the 
school's discipline?" I asked. 

"Discipline should be an appren- 
ticeship to liberty. Without a doubt, 
the most valuable training that is 
given in the school is the training in 
self-government. This is provided in 
many ways. In the schoolrooms a 


monitor is responsible for the paper 
and ink. Certain boys must maintain 
order in the dormitories. And in the 
farm work, there are still others 
whose duty it is to see that there is 
no shirking. The dairy and butter- 
making are in the hands of three re- 
sponsible lads. Furthermore, the 
boys manage their sports and exer- 
cise no little authority over their 
mates. A single incident will illus- 
trate this. A squad of youngsters 

Searching for Queen Bees 



was sent to roll the cricket field. 
They shirked and were reported to 
the older boys, who decided that the 
offenders should devote the entire 
half holiday to rolling the field, and 
that certain other boys who might 
have prevented the shirking should 
be caned, and they were caned forth- 
with, for the members of the upper 
form may whip the younger boys for 
their misdeeds, and, although some- 
what keen in administering this form 
of punishment, they never seriously 
abuse their authority." 

"But the most unique feature of 
your school and the greatest innova- 
tion from the English standpoint is 
the presence of girls here to whom 
you are giving the same training as 
the boys." 

"Yes," said he, "I believe in co-ed- 
ucation. We need the girls. The 

school was counted a success before 
they came, but we were not satisfied. 
I am convinced that ideal conditions 
can exist only when boys and girls 
are educated together. It is natural 
and right that they should be so edu- 
cated. Life in our little community is 
less abnormal since the girls came. 
They save our boys from undue rude- 
ness and the girls are themselves the 
gainers for the freer life they are lead- 
ing. The best of good comradeship 
exists between them. Our experi- 
ment is only a year old, but thus far it 
has been a splendid success." 

These were strange sentiments to 
come from the lips of an English 
schoolmaster. We could not but ad- 
mire the courage of the man who in 
the face of most deep-seated preju- 
dices was determined to follow his 

In the Studio 

— •-'' * ' : 

The National Pike and Its Memories 

By Rufus Rockwell Wilson 

THE coming of the railroad a 
generation and a half ago 
consigned the National 
Pike to the limbo of aban- 
doned things ; but for more than fifty 
years that now half -forgotten high- 
way was the artery along which the 
country's life blood of commerce and 
travel ran from the East to the West 
and back again, its history part and 
parcel of that of a dozen states. 
Henry Clay has often been called 
the father of the National Pike, 
and he was its friend from the 
beginning; but as a matter of fact its 
origin goes far beyond his period. 
The proceedings of the convention 
which framed the Federal Union 
show that the chief objection made by 

Maryland, Delaware and some of the 


other smaller states to the adoption 
of the proposed Constitution was that 
Virginia, which then comprised a vast 
territory northwest of the Ohio, if al- 
lowed to come in with this immense 
area, would at no distant period exer- 
cise an overwhelming influence in 
national politics. To obviate this ob- 
jection Virginia agreed to cede to the 
general government its territory 
north of the Ohio, with the condition, 
among others, that a stated percent- 
age of the public lands sold in such 
territory should be set apart for the 
building of a road through the do- 
main for public uses. Out of this 
reservation and percentage originated 
the National Pike. 

One finds no serious opposition to 
it in the Congressional debates of the 



period; while, on the other hand, 
there is a tradition of a speech made 
by Congressman Beeson in its behalf, 
in which it was demonstrated that the 
horseshoes it would wear out would 
keep the smithies of the country ring- 
ing and that the horseshoe nails it 
would require would furnish work for 
all the idle population. It is doubt- 
ful, however, whether such figures as 
these were needed ; for the road be- 
came a fixed fact from the time the 
cession of the reservation was ac- 
cepted, and every appropriation by 
Congress in its aid provides that the 
money shall be paid out of the fund 
which accumulated by reason of this 
reservation. The road was, therefore, 
practically built, so far as it was built, 
from Cumberland to St. Louis, by 
Virginia, Congress simply discharg- 
ing a trust assumed when the cession 
of Virginia's rights in the Northwest 
territory was accepted ; and reference 
to the source of the fund is found in 
every appropriation for its laying out, 
making, extension and repair, from 
1806 to 1837. 

From Baltimore to Cumberland 
the road was laid out by Maryland 
banks, which were rechartered in 
1816 on condition that they should 
complete it. In 1806 Congress or- 
dered that the road be laid out and 
built from Cumberland, Maryland, to 
the Ohio River. On the third of 
March. 181 1, $50,000 was appropri- 
ated to carry the road from Cumber- 
land to Brownsville, Pennsylvania. 
On the sixth of May, 1812, $30,000 
more was appropriated ; and on the 
sixteenth of February, $100,000 
was voted. From Cumberland to 
Uniontown, Pennsylvania, the trend 
of the mountains made only one route 

possible, but beyond that the line was 
a matter of discretion tempered by 
political influence, as in the case of 
Wellsburg and Wheeling. The route 
by way of Wellsburg offered superior 
advantages to one by the way of 
Wheeling; and Philip Doddridge, 
who was then a man of national 
prominence, made a strong fight to 
secure the passage of the road 
through the former town. He was 
opposed, however, by Henry Clay, 
who had many friends in Wheeling, 
and, the Kentuckian's influence prov- 
ing the stronger, Doddridge was- 
worsted in the fight. It was in token 
of this service that Colonel David 
Shepherd erected a monument to 
Clay, that still stands beside the pike 
a few miles east of Wheeling. 

From Cumberland to Wheeling the 
road was constructed in the most sub- 
stantial manner. It was designed to 
be thirty feet wide, timber to be cut 
sixty feet, and twenty feet to be cov- 
ered with stone to a depth of twelve 
inches, no stone larger than three 
inches being used. The road was first 
located by Joseph Kerr and Thomas 
Moore, and was built in the main by 
Kincaid, Beck & Evans. Its many 
bridges were of stone, with carefully 
turned arches ; and their present con- 
dition attests the thoroughness of the 
work on them. The mileposts and 
tollgates were of iron, and the toll- 
houses, erected every fifteen or twenty 
miles, were of uniform size and shape, 
angular and durably built. Between 
Cumberland and Uniontown they 
were all of stone, while those west of 
the latter place were of brick. The 
road from Cumberland to Wheeling 
was finished as originally designed in 
December, 1820, but was not macad- 



amized until 1832-36, when the orig- 
inal roadbed was taken up and stone 
broken very small, not to exceed one 
and a half inches, was laid and com- 
pactly rolled, making it, length and 
location considered, the finest road in 
America and one of the finest in the 

Years before that, steps had been 
taken for its extension from Wheeling 
to St. Louis. On the fifteenth of May, 
1820, Congress voted $10,000 to sur- 
vey the road through Ohio, Indiana 
and Illinois ; and on the third of 
March, 1825, $150,000 was appropri- 
ated to build it from Canton (now 
Bridgeport), opposite Wheeling, to 
Zanesville on the Muskingum. On 
the second of March, 1829, $50,000 
was voted to build the road in Indiana, 
east and west from Indianapolis to 
the boundaries of the state. The fol- 
lowing day, $100,000 was appropri- 
ated to be spent east of the Ohio 
River; and in 1831, a $75,000 appro- 
priation was passed for Indiana, and 
$66,000 for Illinois. In truth, this was 

an era of internal improvement ; legis- 
lators vied with one another in intro- 
ducing bills into Congress for im- 
provements to be carried on in their 
districts, and the government's al- 
leged extravagance in this respect 
became an issue in Presidential can- 
vasses. President Monroe was one 
of those who took a firm stand against 
this growing tendency, and in a state 
paper vetoing an annual appropria- 
tion for the maintenance of the Na- 
tional Road took occasion to deny 
the constitutionality of the jurisdic- 
tion which the government assumed 
over it. 

The bill was passed over Monroe's 
head, but was not without its later 
effects; for in 1836 Congress gladly 
accepted an offer from Pennsylvania, 
Virginia and Ohio to receive and care 
for the portions of the road within 
their respective boundaries, and at 
the same time sought to induce the 
other states interested to make a 
similar agreement. Two years before 
this it had voted $200,000 for continu- 
ing the road in Ohio, $150,000 for 
continuing it in Indiana, $100,000 for 
Illinois, and treble that amount for 
improvements and repairs east of the 
Ohio River, ordering that when these 
appropriations were expended the 
road should be surrendered to the 
states through which it passed, ana 
not be subject to further expense on 
account thereof. This sounds per- 
emptory, yet on the third of March, 
1835, Ohio got $200,000 more from 
Congress for continuing the work 
within her limits, Indiana half that 
sum, and the section east of the Ohio 
River, $346,000, the money to be 
withheld until these states accepted 
the road and took the burden off the 



general government. In spite of the 
restriction, the contractors were able 
to get all this money before the road 
was fully turned over, and three more 
appropriations were made by Con- 
gress. The one granted on the sec- 
ond of July, 1835, gave the Ohio sec- 
tion $200,000 and Illinois $150,000. 
By that of the third of March, 1837, 
Ohio got $190,000, Indiana $100,000, 
Illinois $100,000, and the section east 
of the Ohio River $183,000; while by 
the act of the twentieth of March 
some $460,000 was divided in about 
equal parts among the several states. 
This, however, was the last appropri- 
ation made by Congress for the repair 
and improvement of the road, the sec- 
tion lying between Cumberland and 
Wheeling passing into the hands of 
the state authorities of Maryland, 
Pennsylvania and Virginia, and being 
cared for very much as it is to-day. 
Maryland has since turned her share 
of the road over to the two of her 
counties through which it passes, 
Allegheny and Garrett; but the 
others retain control in their state 
governments, except the share of 
Virginia, which fell to West Virginia 
when the state was divided. Ohio 
and Pennsylvania formally accepted 
the road from the general govern- 
ment in 183 1, and Virginia did the 
same two years later. All of these 
states provided for commissioners to 
take charge of the portion given 
them, to fix tollgates and rates, to 
appoint a superintendent and col- 
lectors, and generally to supervise 
matters connected with their charge. 
The schedule of tolls fixed by the first 
Virginia commissioners lies before 
me as I write, and affords a vivid pic- 
ture of our grandfathers' days. 

Where the tollgates were placed at 
intervals of twenty miles, the charge 
for "every chariot, coach, coachee, 
stage or phaeton with two horses was 
eighteen and three-quarters cents, 
and for every dearborn, sulky, chair 
or chaise with one horse, twelve and 
one-half cents." Where the tollgates 
stood closer together, the rates were 
proportionately less; and in all cases 
it was intended that they should be 
no more in the aggregate than was 
sufficient to keep the thoroughfare in 
condition. Vehicles having tires not 
less than six inches in width got 
through free. Persons riding or driv- 
ing on their way to or from divine 
worship and funerals were then, as 
now, passed free. So were persons 
on their way to or from court meet- 
ings and general musters, or going 
and returning in the ordinary course 
of their business to and from farm or 
woodland, mills or common place of 
trading and marketing, while the 
general government was given free 
way for its mails and the passage of 
troops and military stores. 

The National Road was no sooner 
completed than traffic on it became 
general. Mail and passenger coaches, 
freight wagons, private conveyances, 
and droves of sheep and cattle 
formed, in the summer season at 
least, an almost continuous line from 
the rising till the going down of the 
sun, so that often the highway re- 
sembled the main street of a busy 
town, save that a few yards from its 
side the country was a wilderness. 
No accurate data is available as to 
the freight and passenger traffic 
which passed over the pike in its 
palmy days, but both grew steadily 
with each extension of the road until 

The German D. Hair House 

the coming of the locomotive super- 
seded slower modes of travel. I find 
in a Cumberland newspaper of 1849 a 
paragraph to the effect that between 
the first and twentieth of March in 
that year, 2,586 passengers were car- 
ried in coaches through that city ; and 
the late George W. Thompson, of 
Wheeling, once told me that, stand- 
ing on the porch of his house, for- 
merly a famous hostelry on the Na- 
tional Road, he had counted fifty-two 
six-horse wagons in sight at one 
time, and had known as many as four 
thousand head of cattle en route to 
the East to be quartered over night 
on the place, adding that at times 
the freight wagons seemed like a con- 
tinuous procession. 

Nor were these ordinary wagons. 
On the contrary, they were built to 
meet the requirements of the time, 
and the long beds sloping from the 
centre and rising high at either end 
held under their white canvas covers 
a load that would confound a modern 
teamster. Eight thousand pounds 
was no unusual burden, and often 
loads weighing 10,000 pounds and 
called by the wagoners "a hundred 
hundred," were hauled over the road 
by the six big-boned horses attached 
to each blue-painted van. Eighteen 

days from Cumberland to the Ohio 
River was the time allowed in the old 
bills of lading and, barring accident, 
was amply sufficient. The freight 
drivers, who were called wagoners, 
carried their beds with them, and 
slept in the public room of the inn 
where evening found them. There 
were two classes of wagoners, the 
regular and the sharpshooter, the 
former being engaged in the business 
throughout the year, and the latter 
made up mainly of farmers, who put 
their teams on the road only when 
freight was high. A regular aver- 
aged fifteen miles a day, while a 
sharpshooter would make twenty 
or twenty-five. 

Coaching on the National Road in 
the old days was a delightful pastime. 
There were three lines of passenger 
coaches conducted respectively by 
Moore & Stockton, of Baltimore, 
James Reeside, of Cumberland, and 
Kincaid, Beck & Evans, of Union- 
town. Moore at that time lived in 
Wheeling and died only a few years 
ago in Baltimore. Stockton was a 
native of Washington, Pennsylvania. 
Reeside was also a Pennsylvanian, a 
handsome man, with a bluff, hearty 
way about him that made him many 
friends, while his sagacity and indus- 

The Temple of Juno 

try won for him the title of "Land 
Admiral." One thousand horses and 
four hundred men were employed by 
him, and he was the largest mail- 
coach owner of his time. The first 
coaches used were built at Cumber- 
land and held sixteen passengers ; but 
these were soon found too cumbrous, 
and the Trenton coach, which had an 
egg-shaped body, was substituted. 
Then came the Troy coaches, which 
held nine passengers inside and two 
out ; and after them the Concord 
coaches, in use when the lines were 
discontinued. These were massive 
vehicles with panelled landscapes, 
damask upholstering and springs so 
delicate that they bent beneath the 
slightest weight. 

All the lines had first-class horses 
and plenty of them. Ten miles an 
hour was ordinary speed ; and the 
twenty-six miles between Frederick 
and Hagerstown, where the road was 
particularly good, is said to have been 
regularly covered in two hours. Such 
dangers as the road presented were 
exceptional, yet there was no weary- 
ing of the constant change of scene 
and adventure presented to the trav- 
eller. There were long stretches of 
level or gently undulating highway, 

along which the coaches bowled as 
smoothly as over a paved floor, and 
in pleasant weather nothing could be 
more delightful than the balmy air 
and ever varying panorama pre- 
sented. Nor was there wanting an 
occasional mishap to lighten the te- 
dium of the road. When other diver- 
sions failed them, the passengers 
would sometimes amuse themselves 
by holding letters at arm's length out 
of the windows, and calling to the vil- 
lagers, who, supposing that the mis- 
sives were for them, would follow the 
coach for many a weary mile. One 
day the trick was played upon one 
Daniel Oster, who, to the delight of 
the hectors, pursued the coach up a 
long and steep hill. The distance was 
so great that it did not seem likely 
he could reach them; but Oster was 
not to be trifled with. He knew they 
had no letter for him, but was deter- 
mined to make an example of the in- 
considerate wag. "Who has a letter 
for me?" he fiercely demanded, when 
he had overtaken the mail and or- 
dered the driver to stop. No one 
answered, and Oster, hastily gathei 
ing a dozen stones from the roadside, 
declared that, unless the offender was 
pointed out, he would pepper and salt 

The Summit of Chestnut Ridge 

them all. Whereupon, finding that 
the actual transgressor was willing to 
let them suffer for his sins, his com- 
panions surrendered him to Oster, 
who dragged him out of the coach 
and gave him a hearty trouncing. 
"Now," he said, as he lighted his pipe 
and walked down the hill, "don't fool 
me any more," a warning to which 
subsequent travellers gave careful 

Travellers on the National Road 
had little to fear from highwaymen. 
Passenger coaches seldom travelled 
singly, mail coaches never ; and the 
robber's only chance was to cut the 
rear boots of the stage and allow the 
baggage to drop out on the road 
This was attended with considerable 
risk, however, and a dark night, a 
sleepy driver and a rough piece of 
road, to drown the sound of the fall- 
ing baggage, were necessary ad- 
juncts. Stealing cautiously up behind 
the coach, it was the work of a mo- 
ment to cut the leathern boots, the 
platform of which was suspended by 
iron chains from the roof of the 

coach. Still, such cases were few and 
far between, and it was other features 
of the drivers' calling that nurtured a 
deftness and courage which sooner 
or later made them as hardy and in- 
trepid as trained veterans. Most of 
these men — stagers and pike-boys 
they were called in the vernacular of 
the road — had native wit and intelli- 
gence, and their occupation bred in 
them signal skill and steadiness of 
nerve. Often they had need for both, 
for in the winter season, when snow 
and ice. covered the roadbed, to guide 
the coaches safely down the mountain 
sides demanded a sure hand and a 
cool head, as well as good judgment 
and discretion. To try to pick the 
way slowly along these dangerous in- 
clines would, in many cases, result in 
sliding the stage over the embank- 
ment at every turn and corner. The 
only safety was to put on speed and 
keep the vehicle moving in exactly 
the same direction as the horses ; and 
to hold the road and preserve a per- 
pendicular, adjusting the speed to the 
incline and the friction to the curve, 



required an adroitness that at times 
seemed miraculous. Again, the exist- 
ence of competing lines engendered 
hot rivalry among the drivers. This 
rivalry was amiable and well meant, 
as a rule, but led now and then to 
accidents and fisticuffs. Heavy 
trunks were strictly forbidden, each 
passenger being limited to fifty 
pounds of baggage; and "never be 
passed on the road," was the begin- 

abetted by the passengers. Their 
strength and fistic skill proved to be 
as well balanced as the speed of their 
horses, and they buffeted one another 
for an hour or more before a decisive 
point was reached. A hardy set were 
these pike-boys, — honest, polite, tem- 
perate and fond of the sound of their 
own voices. We shall not see their 
like again. 

At first the mails were carried on 

The Burial Place of General Braddock 

ning and end of the driver's gospel. 
Indeed, there were few members of 
the craft who would not test the 
mettle of a rival's horses whenever 
opportunity offered, and at least one 
instance is recorded of a race which 
ended in an impromptu battle on the 
turf. So well matched were the 
teams on the occasion in question 
that, strained to the utmost, one could 
not defeat the other, and when the 
drivers had come to the end of a large 
and varied vocabulary of invective, 
they decided to settle their differences 
by a combat — a resolve gleefully 

the passenger coaches ; but as these 
grew heavier mail wagons were sub- 
stituted, and it was in Iheir dispatch 
that the greatest speed was attained 
on the National Road. Relays were 
established at a distance of from ten 
to twelve miles, and stories are told 
of quick changing that would appall 
a modern Jehu, one old driver boast- 
ing of having harnessed four horses 
in as many minutes, and changed 
teams before his coach had ceased 
rocking. One is apt to associate 
staging with slow travelling; but such 
was not the case with the mail 

The Grave of Jumonville 

coaches on the National Road. A 
through mail coach left Wheeling at 
six o'clock each morning and just 
twenty-four hours later dashed into 
Cumberland, a distance of one hun- 
dred and twenty-three miles. There 
were occasional delays, but these 
were not permissible after the com- 
pletion of the Baltimore and Ohio 
Railroad to Cumberland. Following 
that event, a way mail coach, which 
both received and deposited mail at 
all stations, left Wheeling at seven 
o'clock each day, and, despite its 
extra duties, never failed to overtake 
the through mail before the latter 
reached Cumberland. 

Nor did the mail coaches hold all 
the honors of quick passage over the 
National Road. Frequently Ohio 
River steamboats arrived at Wheel- 
ing as late as ten o'clock in the fore- 
noon, with passengers booked for the 
train leaving Cumberland at six 
o'clock the next day. One hundred 
and twenty-three miles up hill and 

down dale lay between, with rivers 
to ford and mountains to cross ; but 
connection must be made, and it was, 
though at a heavy cost to the stage 

The severest test, however, of a 
driver's mettle was the delivery of the 
President's message. The letting of 
contracts by the post office depart- 
ment hinged on these deliveries; and 
if a driver failed to make fast time it 
meant the cancellation of the contract 
with his employers and its transfer to 
a rival company. David Gordon, a 
noted driver, once carried the Presi- 
dent's message from Washington, 
Pennsylvania, to Wheeling, a distance 
of thirty-two miles, in one hour and 
twenty minutes, changing teams 
three times on the way ; while Wil- 
liam Noble, another famous pike-boy 
of the period, once drove from 
Wheeling to Flagerstown, one hun- 
dred and eighty-five miles, in fifteen 
and one-half hours. Small wonder 
then that the position of stager on 



the pike was held in as high esteem 
by the youngsters who dwelt along it 
as that of pilot among the boys of 
the Mississippi, or that in their eyes 
a driver was of more importance than 
the President. 

Travel on the National Road early 
developed the business of innkeeping 
to such an extent that a hostelry was 
always in sight. Each had its gayly 
painted signboard, spreading porch 
and spacious wagon-yard. All were 
models of cleanliness, and there was 
no bustle or disorder. Meals were 
timed to suit the arrival of the coach, 
and long before it was due prepara- 
tions were making for the coming 
guests. As the time to spare 
grew shorter, landlord and servants 
doubled their activity and the tempt- 
ing odors from the kitchen became 
more distinct. Finally the villagers 
gathered before the door to watch the 
arrival of the coach, which soon 
dashed into view around the curve at 
the foot of the hill, swaying and pitch- 
ing perilously, the horses at full gal- 
lop, and the driver swinging his whip, 
with a pistol-like snap, over their 
heads. No sooner did mine host hear 
it than, with a final word to the 
kitchen, he hastened to the porch, and 
stood there, with smiling face, the 
picture of welcome, ready to lead the 
weary, dust-stained wayfarer into the 

And such inns as they were! Never 
before on one thoroughfare were 
there so many roomy and capacious 
taverns, such bursting larders, such 
generous kitchens, such well-stocked 
tap-rooms. The ride in the open air 
bred keen appetites as a rule, and, if 
further appetizers were indulged in, 
there was no headache in the whiskey 

which stood upon the shelf or the 
sugar bowl that rested on the counter. 
Each guest quenched his thirst as 
suited his individual taste, and sat 
down to the table never doubtful of 
his capacity. The cooking at these 
roadside inns was fit for a king, and 
if one were to repeat half that is 
told him by those who ate them of the 
savoriness of the dinners and suppers, 
the tenderness of the venison, the 
flavor of the mountain trout, the suc- 
culence of the grouse, and the creami- 
ness of the corn cakes, epicures would 
grow envious at the recital. "I tell 
you, sir," said one veteran to me, 
"though it's half a century since I ate 
them, the recollection of the buck- 
wheat cakes and mountain honey 
served in those road houses makes 
my mouth water yet, when they come 
up in memory." The meal ended, 
there was no haste to be gone. The 
guest had time to look about him, and 
literally took his "ease in his inn." If 
he journeyed by chartered coach or in 
private conveyance, he gave his own 
orders as to resuming his journey ; if 
he travelled by the regular stage line, 
he found in summer a resting place 
on the shady side of the porch, or in 
winter in a snug corner of the tap- 
room, until a fresh relay of horses was 
put in, and then took his departure, at 
peace with himself and the rest of 

Most of the travellers over the 
National Pike were the farmers, 
stock raisers and merchants of the 
West, garbed in homespun cloth and 
buckskin ; yet over it journeyed at 
one time and another nearly all of the 
best known men of the middle period 
of our history. Western public men 
going East and Eastern officials go- 


The Brownfield House * 

ing West; Presidents-elect, senators, 
congressmen, judges and governors 
on their way to assume their official 
duties ; ex-Presidents and lesser offi- 
cials returning to the shades of 
private life ; aged men and gray- 
haired women journeying to the 
frontier homes of their children, — all 
these and many more were among the 
patrons of the stagecoaches passing 
over the great highway. In truth, a 
volume of absorbing interest could 
be written on the guests of a single 
tavern on the pike, — the old Globe 
Inn at Washington, Pennsylvania. 
Monroe, when he made his celebrated 
tour in 1817, stopped there over 
night ; and so did Lafayette during 
his second visit to America in 1825. 
Jackson was a guest at the Globe on 
many occasions ; and Harrison, Tay- 
lor, Polk, Benton, Crittenden and Bell 
were often there. A good story used 
to be told in connection with one of 
Jackson's visits to the Globe. Those 

were the days of training bands, and 
one morning the commander of the 
local battalion called on Jackson in 
all the panoply of his office, introduc- 
ing himself with a great deal of dig- 
nity and not a little vanity as "Major 
Simon, of the militia, sir." Jackson, 
who was quietly smoking his pipe, 
surveyed his visitor with grave delib- 
eration, and then said: "I know of 

your militia, but I'll be d d, sir, 

if I ever heard of you." Simon was 
vanquished at this rejoinder; but it 
was the most eventful incident of his 

Henry Clay was one of the most 
popular of the Globe guests. On one 
occasion, so the story runs, he 
reached there in the evening and was 
compelled to remain over night. The 
Whigs could not let the occasion pass 
without a speech from their hero, the 
dining-room of the hotel being se- 
lected as a hall. The room was 
crowded early in the evening; but 

* The sketches of the old taverns herewith arc from "The History of Old Pike," by Thomas B. 

SSfe?-^ urn! !|iiKl9Hni & 


The Johnson-Hatfield House 

hour after hour passed with Clay still 
missing, and those who had come to 
hear him were finally forced to accept 
one of his travelling companions as a 
substitute. Meanwhile, in Clay's 
room above stairs was a crowd of 
Democrats, who, having made escape 
impossible by bolting and barring the 
door, had so cleverly engaged and 
held the statesman in conversation 
that he forgot all about his friends in 
waiting below. 

Not long after this an accident oc- 
curred to Clay near Monongahela 
City, Pennsylvania, which for years 
formed one of the stock stories of 
drivers on the pike. As the stage- 
coach was dashing down a hill the 
wheels encountered a rut, and Clay 
was pitched through the window and 
into the mud outside. It was some 
minutes before he was extricated 
from his unfortunate position ; but 
when the driver finally came to his 
relief, he observed with a laugh that 
never before had he known of "Ken- 
tucky Clay mixing with Pennsylvania 

In these days, however, public men 
of power and repute journey to and 

from the capital by rail and in their 
private cars, and neglect and decay 
have fallen upon the National Pike. 
As the railroads advanced, the coach- 
ing and wagon business declined. 
This ebb of fortune was at first stub- 
bornly resisted by the stagers and 
w r agoners, many prominent men, who 
were friends of the road, lending them 
their aid, — but all in vain. In 1853, 
the Baltimore and Ohio Railway was 
completed to Wheeling; and in the 
same year the coaches ceased running 
on the pike. During a recent trip 
over it, few travellers were to be met 
with. Old taverns fast falling to 
ruins gape on either side ; and the 
tollkeeper has little to do, while most 
of the pike-boys are dead or bending 
under the weight of years. 

Our trip began at the fine old town 
of Frederick, in itself one of the ro- 
mances of the National Pike, for there 
once dwelt Francis Scott Key, author 
of the "Star Spangled Banner," and 
aged Barbara Frietchie, the lion- 
hearted dame made immortal by 
Whittier's verse. All that is mortal of 
Key reposes in Mount Olivet Cemetery 
in the south end of the town ; while 



I I 


A Toll House 

sturdy Barbara, who dared to reprove 
Stonewall Jackson for shooting at 
''his country's flag," sleeps in another 
burial ground in the northwest sec- 
tion of the place. Barbara's house no 
longer exists in Frederick. It was 
purchased by the corporation after 
her death, in 1862, and torn down, in 
order to make room for a widening 
of the creek that passed alongside of 
it. In that home she had lived for 
many years, and her husband, by in- 
dustry and thrift, had accumulated a 
little property, by which he left her 
on his death in 1849 m comfortable 
circumstances. Aside from the epi- 
sode of which the poet has made her 
the heroine, Barbara's life was a re- 
markable one. Born in 1766, she re- 
membered the signing of the Declara- 
tion of Independence and the events 
of the first war with England. When 
Washington visited Frederick in 
1 791, she contributed her modest 
share to the reception given in his 
honor ; and later she was one of the 
pallbearers at the ceremony by which 
her townsmen gave token of their 
grief at the death of the first Presi- 
dent. A portrait of her made in war 

times shows an intelligent grand- 
motherly face of the New England 
type, and local tradition has it that, 
while "an active, capable woman, mis- 
tress of many generous enthusiasms, 
she had also a sharp tongue, of 
which she made frequent use." 

The journey westward over the 
National Pike, especially if it be taken 
in the green and fragrant month of 
June, is one sure to dwell long and 
pleasantly in the memory. From 
Frederick placid meadows stretch 
away on either side to the horizon 
line, while to the south the distant, 
azure-tinted Blue Ridge looks like a 
low-lying, truncated cloud. Locusts,, 
chestnuts and poplars line the road,, 
which finally leaves the bottom lands 
and climbs a hill, from whose crest 
one obtains a noble and wide-reach- 
ing prospect of the Middletown val- 
ley, its meads and steads as green and: 
fertile and beautiful as on that "cool 
September morn" of the long ago, 
when Lee came "winding down, 
horse and foot into Frederick town." 
The Union artillery did deadly work 
up here in the buried years, and be- 
yond that gap in the mountains lies- 

'■"* — G-^iE^^ ^mmiimiy &^^^ L- 

On Laurel Hill 

the river-flanked hamlet of Harper's 
Ferry, where the melodrama in which 
John Brown was the chief actor had 
its strange unfolding and its heroic 
close. All the way across the valley, 
in the centre of which lies sleepy, oak- 
embowered Middletown, we were 
lured onward by the purple beauty of 
lordly South Mountain, up which we 
finally toiled through a dense, prolific 
growth of pine and chestnut, resting 
for a time in the old post town of 
Boonsborough on the farther side 
and spending the night at Hagers- 
town, which still enjoys much of the 
prosperity that came to it in palmy 
post days. 

From Hagerstown to Clear Spring, 
the pike is level and uninteresting, 
save for the roomy, dolorous taverns 
and the stables and smithies which 
time has left standing; but between 
Clear Spring and Hancock it rivals 
in beautv and grandeur the noblest 
passes of the Sierras, ridge flanking 
ridge until earth and sky meet and 
blend in cloud and mist. Clear Spring 
lies at the base of the Alleghanies, 
and the road when it first begins to 
climb away from the village is over- 

arched with oaks, chestnuts and 
sugar maples. A little farther up 
these give way to pines, and near the 
summit little grows save the balsamic 
and hardy evergreen. The descent 
of the steep farther slope carried us 
past Indian Springs, the site of a 
once noted post-house, and down into 
a narrow valley cut in twain by the 
Chesapeake canal, with the Potomac 
glinting in the distance. Hancock, 
formerly a busy and bustling burg, is 
now as silent and somnolent as the 
thoroughfare which gave it birth, 
while from that point to Cumberland 
the pike is almost deserted, there 
being no tavern in over forty miles 
of a wild region, that during the war 
was a favorite ground of the bush- 
whackers. West of Cumberland, the 
pike pushes through a hill country, 
closely following as far as Uniontown, 
Pennsylvania, the route of General 
Braddock, — who has left an interest- 
ing old milestone at Frostburg, — 
passing by the ruins of Fort Neces- 
sity and skirting the spot where the 
British commander was buried. 

Our ride ended at the little town of 
Brownsville, just without the shadow 



of the Alleghanies' western slope. 
The story of this almost forgotten 
hamlet is another romance of the Na- 
tional Pike. Time was when the 
name of Brownsville was as familiar 
to the people of the West as that of 
Pittsburg, for it was then the point 
from which a voyage down the Ohio 
and Mississippi was begun. Browns- 
ville claimed the first steamer that 
ever ascended these rivers, and for 
the better part of two decades was a 
strong rival to Pittsburg, sixty-five 
miles to the north of it. Travellers 
coming from the South and West by 
water took passage over the pike at 
Brownsville, and wayfarers from the 
East began their river voyaging at 
that point. The older residents of the 
village retain many interesting recol- 
lections of that vanished time. For 
instance, when a steamboat from the 
West came within two miles of the 
town, the pilot blew his whistle, as 
many times as he had through pas- 
sengers for the East, thus notifying 
innkeepers and pike-boys how many 
people they would have to provide 
for. The signal also served to notify 
the townsfolk that a boat was about 
to arrive, and by the time it reached 
its wharf a great crowd was usually 
gathered to greet the incoming pas- 

James G. Blaine, then a boy, often 
made one of the throng which 
gathered on the wharf to meet the 
steamboats, he having been born in 

Brownsville, where still linger grateful 
memories of his family. The elder 
Blaine owned the ferry across the 
Monongahela River, and tradition has 
it that he made money easily and 
spent it with a free hand. However, 
others helped to enjoy it, and, to his 
credit be it said, he died without 
leaving behind him a legacy of debt, 
as many a man has done. More than 
this, when he "came into his fortune," 
he paid the debts of his father before 
him ; and this manly and high-minded 
act is not yet forgotten. His illustri- 
ous son, while still in his teens, left his 
birthplace, never to come back as a 
resident ; but until his death half a 
century later, the little town and its 
inhabitants had a secure place in his 
affections. More than once the 
younger Blaine went back to visit the 
house in which he was born, — it is 
still standing on the west bank of the 
Monongahela, — and above the graves 
of his parents in the village cemetery 
there is a monument raised by him in 
their honor. 

Brownsville rose and fell with the 
National Pike, and the decline of the 
latter left it stranded on the shore 
that is washed by the sea of Buried 
Hopes. Nothing happens now in 
Brownsville, and never will. Grass is 
growing in its streets, and time and 
the elements are hastening its decay. 
I can think of it only as a silent 
watcher over the dead artery of trade 
from which it had its being. 



A large collection of original letters written by General Washington 
and General Greene has come into the editor's possession. It is our inten- 
tion to reproduce in fac-simile those of the letters which present tne most 
interesting details and side lights on the great events of the period covered, 
even though some of the letters may have been previously published. 

The ''reproduction of these letters in chronological order will be con- 
tinued through the following three issues. Printed copies of these letters 
appear on pages 327 and 328. — Editor. 



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Gen. Washington to Gen. Greene 

Head Quarters near York, 24th Octr., 1781. 
Dear Sir, 

I wrote you on the 16th inst. giving a detail of occurrences to that time — on the next day a 
proposal was received in writing from Lord Cornwallis, for a meeting of Commissioners to consult on 
terms for the Surrender of the Posts of York & Gloucester — This proposition, the first that passed between 
us, led to a Correspondence which terminated in a definitive Capitulation which was agreed to and 
signed on the 19th — in which His Lordship surrenders himself and Troops prisoners of War to the 
American Army — march'd out with Colours Cased & drums beating a British march, to a post in front of 
their lines, where their arms were grounded — the public Stores, Arms, Artillery, Military Chest &c— 
delivered to the American Army — The Ships with their Guns, Tackle, Apparel &c with the seamen sur- 
render'd to the Naval Army under the Count De Grasse — Lord Cornwallis, with a Number of his officers, 
to have liberty to go on parole to Europe, New York or any other American Maritime post in possession 
of the British Forces, at their option his Troops to be kept in Virginia, Maryland or Pennsylvania — 
these are the principal Articles. A more particular account will be transmitted to you, when I have more 
leisure, and a better opportunity — which will probably soon present by Colo. Lee, who will be returning to 
you — ■ 

I congratulate you my dear Sir on this happy event — which has been produced at an Earlier period 
than I expected — 

With much Regard and Esteem, 
I am, 

Dear Sir, 

Yours &c 

G. Washington. 

P. S. The number of Prisoners is not accurately collected — but from the best estimation will amount to 
7,000, exclusive of Seamen — 74 Brass & 140 Iron Cannon with 7,320 musquets are already return'd — the 
Number of Seamen exclusive of those on board the private Ships, will amount to 800 or 900 — 


Gen. Greene to Gen. Washington 

Head Quarters, 

November 21st, 1781. 

Your Excellency's letters of the 16th, 24th and 30th of October containing an account of 
the operations of the combined army against Earl Cornwallis and of the surrender of his army afforded 
me the highest satisfaction and I beg leave to congratulate Your Excellency again upon this important 
and happy event. I contemplate its advantages with infinite satisfaction and feel a relief upon the occa- 
sion that is difficult to express. Count Rocheambeau's stay in Virginia and the march of General St. 
Clair if he arrives speedily I am in hopes will place us upon an eligible footing. The reduction of 
Charles Town is an event much to be wished but to be able to cover the Country and confine the Enemy 
to that place will be a great object. However I am not without my apprehensions that Sir Henry Clinton 
will endeavor to push some vigorous operations in this quarter this Winter to efface if possible their late 
losses both here and in Virginia — General Lesly is arrived to take command here, and it is said rein- 
forcements are expected— I have sent one of my aids to hasten the march of General St. Clair and as 
Wilmington is evacuated there is nothing to prevent an immediate junction, after which if the Enemy's 
reinforcements are not very large they shall purchase their advantages at an expensive rate— 

I would have a return made immediately of the prisoners of war in this department but Major Hyrne 
the Commissary of prisoners has lately met with an unhappy fall which has disqualified him for business 
by disordering his understanding from which I am not a little apprehensive he will never recover — As 
soon as it can be done by another hand it shall be forwarded — But before a General exchange is gone 
fully into, I wish something decisive may be done respecting Col. Haynes — As retaliation necessarily 
involves the whole Continent I wish your Excellency's own and the order of Congress thereon — The latter 
have signified their approbation of the measures I took. But as retaliation did not take place immediately 
nor did I think myself at liberty on a matter of such magnitude but from the most pressing necessity and 
as the Enemy did not repeat the offence, I have been at a loss how to act with respect to the original not 
having any officer of equal Rank with Col. Haynes in my possession — I am ready to execute whatever 
may be thought advisable. It would be happy for America if something could be done to put a stop to 
the practice of burning both in the Northern States and here also; and to prevent it here I wrote the 
Enemy a letter on the subject a copy of which I here enclose and if they do not desist I will put the war 
on the footing I mention — 

We are on our march for Four Holes. Col. M — (Mayum?) brought off upwards of 80 Convalescent 
prisoners from one of the Enemy's Hospitals near Fair Lawn — These and some small skirmishes of little 
consequence and a few other prisoners are all the changes which have taken place since my letters by 
Capt. Pierce. I am happy that Wilmington is evacuated as it leaves North Carolina perfectly at liberty 
to support this army and fill up their line — 

I am with great respect 
and attachment, 

Your Excellency's 

most obedient 

humble Servt, 
Nath. Greene 
His Excellency 
General Washington. 


Cape Cod Notes 

By a Returned Native 

STRETCHING out into the At- 
lantic from the eastern side 
of Massachusetts like a bent 
arm, the forefinger at the 
end curved inward, is Barnstable 
County, more commonly known as 
Cape Cod, although that name really 
belongs only to the extremity along 
whose inner shore lies quaint and in- 
teresting Provincetown. Buzzard's 
Bay is the arm pit. On its western 
shore lie Marion and Mattapoisett, 
well known to summer tourists, and 
just around the corner, so to speak, 
is New Bedford, once the old whaling 
port, now a thriving manufacturing- 
city. To the eastward Chatham is at 
the elbow ; thence, northward, to Well- 
fleet and Truro, at the wrist, the land 
makes another bend to the west and 
then comes the beckoning finger of 
Cape Cod. Twenty miles or so in 
width at Buzzard's Bay, the land nar- 
rows gradually until at Provincetown 
the finger is less than a mile wide. 
From end to end of the Cape the dis- 
tance is not far from sixty miles. Fif- 
teen or more towns occupy this terri- 
tory, some including all the land from 
shore to shore, from Cape Cod Bay on 
the north to Vineyard or Nantucket 
Sound on the south ; others dividing 
between them shore and woodland. 
Each has, of course, its town meeting, 
its town officers, its town administra- 
tion, alike but separate ; but most of 
them are divided into many villages, 
each with its own post office and its 

own name. These, as we go from east 
to west, lie near one another along the 
shores, but, from north to south are 
separated by miles of woodland, with 
scarcely a house to be seen, except, it 
may be, the town-house and the poor- 
house, which, to avoid quarrels as to 
location, are often placed in the geo- 
graphical centre of the town, which 
often means in the woods. Almost 
every village has its little harbor, once 
lively with a fleet of fishermen, now 
silent and deserted, save for a few 
pleasure craft. Comfortable homes, 
almost entire absence of signs of pov- 
erty, and yet no indication of great 
wealth, intelligent faces, a certain kind 
of sturdy independence, meet the eye 
of the observant traveller every- 

From Cape Cod came more than a 
generation ago those able seamen and 
capable ship-masters who took the 
American flag into all parts of the 
world. In every one of these many 
villages every male inhabitant, with 
few exceptions, as soon as he was big 
enough to haul on a rope, went to sea. 
Perhaps he only got as far as the 
Banks for cod, or to the Bay of Chal- 
eur for mackerel, but his life was 
passed on the sea. from the time the 
ice left the harbor until it came again 
in the fall, almost as much so as was 
that of his neighbor who went on the 
"long voyage" to China and Calcutta 
and around Cape Horn, and who re- 
newed acquaintance with his family 




only once in two or three years. The 
railroad, a generation ago, came down 
from Boston as far as the town of 
Barnstable, forty miles or so from the 
end of the Cape. Thence four-horse 
coaches twice a day ran to Province- 
town and back, and their arrival at the 
village post offices was the event of the 
day. Most people, when they trav- 
elled, which was seldom, went to Bos- 
ton by "packet," a roomy vessel which 
sailed, perhaps, twice a week from 
nearly every village. 

All over the Cape, on the fair hills 
overlooking the sea, were the wind- 
mills which pumped the sea-water into 
wooden vats for the making of sea- 
salt by evaporation, and on the low- 
lands were acres of these vats, their 
conical shaped roofs forming a pictur- 
esque feature in the landscape. When 
it rained, day or night, men and boys 
hastened to the salt works to close the 
vats and keep out the fresh water. 
Along the shores were the ''fish flakes" 
on which the cod were spread to dry, 
and at the wharves the summer days 
were busy with culling and inspecting 
and packing the mackerel. Vessels 
were continually coming and going, 
and a rivalry, not unlike that between 
owners of crack yachts nowadays, of- 
ten sprang up over the merits of some 
fast schooner, and the big fare it could 
bring home. 

The population was remarkably 
homogeneous. Certain families occu- 
pied certain villages, and their de- 
scendants are found there today, with 
no more foreign admixture than of 
old. In Barnstable were the Hinck- 
leys and the Scudders ; in Dennis the 
Howes, the Searses and the Crowells ; 
in Brewster, the Freemans, the Cros- 
bvs and the Snows ; in Harwich, the 

Nickersons and the Smalls ; in Or- 
leans, the Higgenses ; in Truro, the 
Riches; in Provincetown,the Atkinses. 
It is tolerably safe to say that most peo- 
ple of these names now scattered over 
the country can claim descent from 
some one of these few old Cape Cod 
families, all of whom are of pure Eng- 
lish blood. In each village they married 
and intermarried, until a • professional 
genealogist would be puzzled to un- 
ravel the tangled skein of kinship. 
Intelligence of a high order was the 
rule. The men saw the world and 
learned its ways in long voyages ; the 
women read and learned at home. 
The girls, having no women's col- 
leges, went to normal school and 
taught the summer village school. 
The winter district-schools were con- 
ducted by college students from Am- 
herst, or Dartmouth, or Harvard, who 
had a delightful three months' life of 
it, and left behind many hints to the 
boys and girls of things heretofore 
beyond their ken. The sewing circle, 
the quilting-bee and the spelling- 
match were the social events, while 
ice-boats on the fresh water ponds took 
the place in winter of the pleasure-boat 
on the bay in summer. Strangers sel- 
dom came except as family visitors, 
when they were warmly welcomed, 
and the summer boarder was un- 
known. Foreigners were rarely seen 
so far from Boston. Most of the 
towns and villages were connected by 
the bonds of relationship, and the 
population of the Cape was like one 
great family, whose members were 
far enough apart not to quarrel. In 
the villages every one called every 
body else by the christian name; 
where so many had the same surname 
it was useless to sav Mr. Sears, or 



Mr. Howes; while "Uncle John," or 
"Aunt Persis," no one could misun- 
derstand. Such was the Cape of forty 
years ago. Then came, about thirty- 
five years ago, the extension of the 
railroad to the lower part of the penin- 
sula, and its entire supplanting of 
the great four-horse coach. 

Ships, fast and famous clippers, 
had been built in Dennis by the Shiv- 
ericks, some of them becoming noted 
for their swift voyages from Calcutta 
and San Francisco, and every Cape boy 
of any ambition wanted to sail the seas 
over on them. But the civil war came 
to overturn all this and change every- 
thing. No more ships were built on 
Cape Cod, or anywhere else in this 
country, for that matter. The fish- 
ing interests were all concentrated in 
Boston and Gloucester and a few such 
centres. Nobody went to sea any 
more, excepting in a coasting schooner 
or, now and then, as officer of a steam- 
ship. The salt works disappeared and 
the windmills no longer reminded one 
of Holland. Cape Cod was left with 
little visible means of support. There 
were the small farms, to be sure, 
which grow to be very small as one 
travels down towards the elbow of the 
Cape; the clam fiats and the oyster 
beds were not damaged by war or 
tariff; but what were these among so 
many? The miracle of the loaves and 
fishes was not likely to be repeated, 
and when the young men sought other 
fields in which profitably to expend 
their native energy, something must 
be done for those left behind. Then 
came the cranberry culture, and the 
summer boarder. Somebody discov- 
ered that the wild cranberry which 
had always been found in certain spots 
could be made to yield a return to the 

industrious cultivator. All at once, 
about i860, the old peat swamps, 
which as such had scarcely any market 
value, were cleared of trees, bushes 
and peat, and cranberry vines were 
set out and watched and tended, at 
first like rare plants. Success was 
immediate. More swamps were clear- 
ed, and in a few years cranberry cul- 
ture became one of the important 
sources of income all over the Cape. 
Families who had struggled with pov- 
erty and used the old swamp only to 
get. the peat for winter fuel, and that 
because they could not afford to buy 
wood or coal, found themselves in 
comparative affluence. Widows, and 
they were very numerous on the Cape 
in those days, who had been barely able 
to keep out of the poorhouse, were 
surprised to find themselves in receipt 
of an almost certain income of hun- 
dreds and, sometimes, thousands of 
dollars. A retired sea-captain whose 
little fortune was invested in a cran- 
berry bog, as it is called, was getting 
richer from the once worthless old 
swamp, where, forty years before, he 
had chased foxes, than he would have 
done as master of a fine ship. As you 
drive along the sandy, winding roads 
through the low forest of scrub oaks 
and stunted pines, you pass now and 
then in a clearing a low, perfectly 
level expanse covered with the cran- 
berry vines, which in the month of 
August, when the stranger is most 
likely to see them, are just beginning 
to be spotted with the bright color of 
the ripening berry. Sometimes it is 
only a patch ; sometimes acres will 
stretch out as level and as green as a 
billiard table. One of the sights of 
the early autumn is the cranberry 
picking, done chiefly by women and 



children, and it is worth a journey to 
behold. Then are shipped the barrels, 
which one sees in the markets of Bos- 
ton, New York, Chicago and St. 
Louis, where the branded name re- 
calls at once the lovely green and red 
and white of the Cape bogs : the green 
rows of fresh-looking vines, the ber- 
ries red and shining, suggesting al- 
ways the New England thanksgiving 
dinner, and the white lines of sand in 
which the vines are set. I do not 
know the yearly value of the hundreds 
or thousands of acres of cranberry 
meadow; but it is many thousands of 
dollars, and has gone very far to make 
up for the loss of ships and fishing 
fleets and salt-works. 

The summer boarder is not peculiar 
to Cape Cod. The eastern coast, from 
Nova Scotia to Cape May, is thronged 
with such in search of rest and recrea- 
tion and change of scene, as are also, 
indeed, the lake shores of Michigan 
and Wisconsin and the wilds of Col- 
orado. In very many places, however, 
we find nothing but the boarders, and 
the houses built for them. When au- 
tumn comes, loneliness descends upon 
the scene, lately so full of life, and all 
is desolate until the next summer's 
heat, or the call of fashion, entices the 
crowd once more to sea and lake and 
mountain. But not so on the Cape. 
There the ordinary life goes on quite 
undisturbed, although somewhat mod- 
ified at times, in summer and winter. 
The old village adds, it may be, a 
hotel or two near the shore ; some an- 
cient houses are enlarged, sometimes 
by curious additions ; the variety store 
spruces up and puts in a lot of fancy 
articles which "city folks" will like ; 
cool drinks of a strictly temperance 
brand and ice-cream soda are added ; 

a few cigars of a better brand than the 
"two for five" in which the natives in- 
clined to be dissipated and extravagant 
on Sundays sometimes indulge, are 
temptingly displayed; the parson of 
the village church surpasses his win- 
ter efforts in the battle against evil 
and in the eloquence of his sermon; 
and the girls watch eagerly and copy 
industriously the latest fashion of 
sleeve or hat. But the village turns 
aside only a very little from its usual 
plan of existence, and fall and winter 
and spring see the old ways go on as 
before the summer boarder came. 
Forty years ago a stranger coming to 
our Cape village to seek board merely 
to get a change of air and surround- 
ings, was unknown, and would have 
been looked upon had he appeared as 
an odd, not to say suspicious, charac- 
ter. Now of all the four-score com- 
munities that line the shores on both 
sides of the peninsula, from Buzzard'b 
Bay to Provincetown, only one is un- 
invaded by summer boaders. In that 
village, one of the prettiest on the 
Cape, the people, strange to say, do 
not want them, and make no effort to 
atract them. 

The south side of the Cape and the 
eastern shore of Buzzard's Bay are 
the favorite resorts. There the water 
is warm for bathing, the temperature 
being usually at seventy, or higher. 
The prevailing southwest wind is soft 
and balmy, laden with the aroma of 
the sea, and yet, coming as it does over 
the shoal and warm water of Vine- 
yard Sound, without the harshness of 
the sea-breezes of the north shore. 
The roads are unusually good, espec- 
ially for a section popularly supposed 
to have no soil but sand, if sand may 
be called soil. The drives through the 



pines and scrub-oaks are charming; 
the small lakes, or ponds, so numerous 
one almost never loses sight of one, 
tempt the angler to try for the big bass 
which tradition says is lurking in the 
deep places. Every village is full of 
history of its own, and nowhere has 
the quaint old stock died out. Old 
houses, curious furniture, rare articles 
brought home in sea-going days from 
foreign lands, in the fast ship, once 
commanded by the master of the 
house, the model of which now orna- 
ments a table or mantel-piece, a fish, 
or vessel under full sail, for a weather- 
vane; the odd sayings one hears, the 
peculiar ways of the people — all these 
are full of interest to a visitor. There 
is, to be sure, the same salt sea on the 
shore and in the air to be found by the 
ocean anywhere; there are the large 
hotels and the same gay summer life, 
with the numerous summer girls and 
the rare men on the Cape as elsewhere ; 
but one who chooses may find much 
more. He may see phases of life and 
character among the people of these 
towns as interesting as he could find 
in a novel ; vastly more so, indeed, 
than in most of the modern stories 
with which the piazza dawdler tries to 
while away the heavy days. 

To the villages themselves comes 
ample return for the cost and pains 
expended. Ready money flows into 
the landlord's pocket and to every 
family in the village. Lands and 
houses increase in value and larger 
taxes are more easily paid than were 
the small ones before. Many sons of 
the Cape who have amassed fortunes 
in the cities or in the far West return 
to their ancestral towns, build hand- 
some summer homes, or more fre- 
quently restore and beautify the old 

mansions, and often give to the village 
a hall, or a library. Many an old 
homestead has been thus rejuvenated 
and the community correspondingly 
benefited, both by the actual money 
spent and by the new sympathy given 
to every good work of the town. Thus 
much of the influence of the summer 
life is made permanent and of lasting 
value. Old ties are renewed, family 
affections are strengthened, local 
pride is stimulated. People often re- 
turn to the same place season after 
season and form strong attachments 
to the good towns-folk, so that the 
summer's return is anticipated with 
pleasure by natives and foreigners 
alike. The village life is quickened 
for the other nine or ten months in the 
year, without being disturbed or revo- 
lutionized or losing its native flavor 
and strength. 

And so the lovely vine bearing its 
handsome fruit, and the summer 
boarder of infinite variety, may share 
the honor of rescuing historic Cape 
Cod from poverty and comparative 

Looking more carefully at one of 
these Cape villages, one finds a type of 
all. With its two or three principal 
streets; its Baptist and Methodist 
meeting-houses ; the post office, where 
natives and foreigners mingle nightly 
in a good-natured crowd to wait for 
the evening mail ; several village stores 
where can always be found the things 
you don't want as well as some things 
which you must have; old houses, 
stored with furniture and curios which 
would delight the soul of an antiqua- 
rian ; its families who have lived here 
for generations, all connected by mar- 
riage, and all calling everybody by 
their christian names. Then there is 



the little village library, with a charm- 
ing reading'-room, supported gener- 
ously by the summer visitors, but 
used continually and profitably the 
year round ; and the village hall, 
where some sort of entertainment goes 
on almost every night, from a preten- 
tious dramatic performance by a 
strolling company to a local concert in 
aid of the library fund. The houses 
are all, almost without exception, neat 
and comfortable one-story-and-a-half 
cottages. No signs of poverty are 
seen anywhere, nor any indications of 
wealth. The people seem to have 
reached the enviable state prayed for 
by Agur, when he said, "Give me 
neither poverty nor riches." One 
wonders how the people live ; where 
the income to satisfy needs never so 
modest can be found. There is no 
manufacturing interest anywhere on 
the Cape below Sandwich, and the 
glass industry which once made that 
town so lively has practically disap- 
peared like the shipping and the salt- 
works. The old sources of revenue 
have gone. Not every family has a 
cranberry bog or keeps boarders, but 
all seem comfortable and happy. 
Money taken in large sums by certain 
people sifts down through the mass 
somehow. And then the savings- 
banks still pay the semi-annual divi- 
dends from old-time savings, when 
Captain Crosby or Captain Lovell 
went to sea, or had his share from the 
fishing voyage. Besides, two or three 
hundred dollars go farther here than 
as many thousands in the great city. 
On the bluff overlooking the blue 
waters of the Sound, a mile or so from 
the village, in the midst of odoriferous 
pines, is a charming hotel, with cot- 
tages all about, making a little colony 

by itself. West of the village, a quar- 
ter of a mile down the shore of a 
lovely bay surrounded by wooded hills, 
is the more modest establishment, half 
hotel, half boarding-house, where 
some of us returned natives love to 
stay. A mile or more further on is a 
passage called "The Narrows," enter- 
ing a still larger bay whose waters 
wash the shore of a pretty village 
perched on the hill overlooking the 
Sound, the entrance to which is at the 
lower end of the bay. Boats abound, 
especially that variety known as the 
"cat," broad and shallow for shoal 
water sailing, with a centre-board to 
drop in the deeper water, and one great 
sail, enormous in proportion to the 
size of the hull. These boats, many 
of which are built in the shops near 
our pier, are famous for speed and 
ease of management, and many a 
friendly race takes place on the waters 
of the bay when the breeze freshens in 
the afternoon. We are seven miles 
from a locomotive, and the electric car 
has as yet spared us, although a pro- 
jected line threatens soon to invade 
our peace. Sometimes, when far out 
from shore, we are startled by the dis- 
tant rumbling of a railway train, 
brought to our ears through the un- 
usually clear atmosphere. The swish 
of the water against the boat, the flap- 
ping of the sail, the sighing of the 
breezes have driven out of mind the 
clang of gongs, the rattle of the elec- 
tric car, and the bang on the granite 
streets. We seem so far away from 
noise, and dirt, and dust, and care, that 
one almost forgets they will ever an- 
noy us again. All villages, by the sea 
or in the country, have their peculiar 
people, their odd characters, who seem 
to be numerous out of all proportion 



to the size of the community ; but it 
really seems as though the Cape has 
more than its share. Everybody has 
read Mrs. Stowe's "Oldtown Folks" 
and remembers Sam Lawson, the 
shrewd Yankee villager. There is a 
Sam Lawson in any Cape Cod village 
which we may study ; a town oracle, 
a gossip, in a good-natured way al- 
ways, the friend of the children and 
of all the dumb animals, the defender 
of those whom malicious tongues may 
wound, the lover of all good things. 
Our village has its share of interesting 
characters. There are so many fam- 
ilies of the same name that all the 
elderly men are Uncle, the women, 
Aunt. Captains are as numerous as 
colonels in Kentucky. There is Cap- 
tain Y., who is old enough to have 
celebrated his golden wedding some 
years ago ; a perfect type of the old 
time sailor ; honest, sturdy, kindly dis- 
posed to all, who has been at sea, on 
long voyages or coasting, for sixty 
years, until he has now taken up the 
lighter duty of skipper of the big cat- 
boat that takes the pleasure parties to 
the bathing-beach or to the fishing 
grounds. He is unlike the typical 
sailor in that he has never tasted liquor 
or tobacco and he never swears, ex- 
cept in quotation marks, thus differ- 
ing somewhat from his stage proto- 
type, who is always saying 
something condemnatory of his eyes. 
He is a genuine Baptist Chris- 
tian, who would rather not take a 
party out for a moonlight sail on 
"prayer meetin' " night and who alters 
the crowd's Sunday bath hour to after- 
noon, because he must go to church in 
the morning. Of great strength, even 
now tnat he is past seventy, he is 
never easy when the wind is light, but 

pulls out his long oar, and poles or 
rows over the shallows and through 
the deeps. In his prime he has been 
known to stand in the hold of a vessel 
all day and pass the barrels of flour 
up to the deck hands, lifting them as 
easily as most men would a peck meas- 
ure. And unwilling as he has always 
been to have any trouble with a fellow 
man, he has more than once silenced 
and shamed the big bully who was try- 
ing to provoke a quarrel, by picking 
him up and throwing him into the 
street, as gently as possible, but with 
a meaningful force after all. The vil- 
lage would not seem the same without 
his genial company. 

Down to the boat-house comes daily, 
leaning heavily on his stick, Uncle 
Daniel, gray-headed, with a venerable 
beard, he looks like an old picture. 
With a merry twinkle in his bright 
eye, which his "specs" do not conceal, 
he inquires how our day is going, and 
gives his opinion of men and things, 
of philosophy and religion, of politics 
and social questions, in a manner and 
in language not to be described. 
Woman, her virtues, her usefulness, 
her many graces, her infinite superior- 
ity to man — is his pet theme ; and 
when he gets well warmed up on a 
Sunday morning with an appreciative 
audience of natives and boarders about 
him, the boat-house resounds with his 
eloquent periods. He loves to pro- 
voke a discussion, especially with our 
host of the boat-house, another uncle, 
who professes to be an out-and-out 
atheist, while Uncle Daniel is an en- 
thusiastic Christian in his own peculiar 
way. But the wary free thinker 
rarely rises, however tempting the bait, 
and while Uncle Daniel shouts and 
saws the air with his arms, only whit- 



ties, and at the end of the oration 
quietly says : "While you have been 
getting out of breath, Uncle Daniel, 
talking of what you don't know nothin' 
about, I have made this cleat for a 
boat/' That usually breaks up the 
service for the day. 

Uncle Sam drops in almost every 
morning when he is not sailing with a 
party from the hotel. He wears a 
patch over one bad eye, and is not very 
well physically, but his will is as strong 
as it was twenty years ago when he 
knocked off using tobacco. He tells 
the story of his victory over the weed 
now and then. "Ye see, I had smoked 
and chawed for a good many years, 
and I knew it was hurtin' me. One 
day I was all out of tobaccer and I 
wanted a smoke terrible; so I went to 
the store, got a pound of navy plug and 
a new clay pipe and put 'em on the 
mantel-piece in my settin'-room. Then 
I stood up and said to 'em, 'Now we'll 
see who'll conquer ! I or tobaccer !' and 
when I wanted to smoke so I couldn't 
sleep nor rest I went to that mantel- 
piece and said : 'We'll see who'll be the 
boss !' and I hain't smoked nor chawed 
these twenty years." 

The Cape villages differ from those 
in the interior in the flavor which a 
sea-faring life for generations has 
given to all the life of the people, to 
the village gossip, to the idioms and il- 
lustrations brought into daily talk. The 
old Cape Codder asks you to "fleet" 
over to the other side of his boat or of 
his parlor; he will say of a village 
beauty who has more than one beau to 
her string that she "will git ashore try- 
ing to tack in a narrer channel between 
two pints." The village ne'er-do-well 
is described as one who has "lost his 
rudder;" the flippant, careless fellow 

"lacks ballast." On the other hand 
the boats are spoken of as elsewhere 
are women. The Sallie is an able 
boat ; the Billow is cranky ; the Cygnet 
is dependable. 

And what stories of life these vil- 
lagers conceal ! Often they would 
supply writer and dramatist with plot 
of thrilling interest. So it is that to 
the student of human life and its 
strange problems no Cape Cod village 
is dull and monotonous. He sails his 
boat, he dips in the refreshing waters 
of the bay, he enjoys to the utmost the 
dolce far niente, which the Cape sailor 
used to call "taking a quish" ; and yet 
the greatest interest of his summer 
outing may come from the people and 
the life about him. 

Vacation life in a place like this, 
where we give ourselves up to the 
spirit of rest which is all-pervading, 
seems monotonous in the telling of it, 
but this is its charm. We should not 
want it the year round ; we want work 
and familiar faces and places by and 
by, and are glad at last when the time 
comes to return to them ; but here, for 
the brief days which are ours to en- 
joy, we think nothing could be better 
than the daily round of busy idleness. 
And this is about the way that the days 
go : breakfast, a late one, over, comes 
the hour's smoke and chat; at ten 
o'clock the sail to the bathing beach in 
the Narrows. One big cat-boat car- 
ries twenty-five or thirty, and is fol- 
lowed by a fleet of smaller craft each 
with its load of passengers. The 
water is warm, delicious for floating or 
swimming, and the bath is a leisurely 
one. Then comes a sail on the bay, or 
perhaps across the Narrows to the rus- 
tic building opening upon the water, 
where we have served to us in the shell 



on wooden plates little-neck clams or 
oysters just out of the water, tooth- 
some and appetizing. The genial old 
man who serves us is a study, one of 
the characters here, with whom we love 
to chat as he opens the reluctant clam 
or oyster. Then, hungry with the 
edge that has thus been put upon our 
appetites, we hurry home to dinner. 
Driving through the woods, golf on 
the links hard by, a stroll along the 
shore, or a cast in one of the ponds 
for that big bass, if haply we may be 
able to tempt him, follow, and for those 
who love the water and would avoid 
dust and noise there is always the boat 
to sail, perhaps out into the bay and 
through the Narrows to the deeper 
and rougher waters of the Sound. 
Hours pass as minutes, and the sun be- 
gins to get near the western hills be- 
fore we think of the return. Then in 
the cool of twilight comes the walk to 
the village, the visit to the post office 
or the reading-room, or the store, to 
meet the natives and hear the village 
gossip.. We go to bed early and get 
up late. It must be granted that this 
is a dull and uneventful programme 
for summer pleasure-seekers. So it 
is, indeed ; and some of us are just dull 
enough and old-fogyish enough to like 
it far better than the fashionable sum- 
mer hotel with its music, and its danc- 
ing, and its jealousies, its rivalries, and 
its disappointments. So year after 
year the same people come again, and 
each summer seems better than the last. 
The company is congenial, the life in- 
dependent and free-an-easy, full of 
health and honest, simple enjoyment. 
It is absolutely different from that 
which we have left behind us in the 
city, and we store up this delicious sea 
air to neutralize for the next nine 

months the vitiated atmosphere of 
Boston, or Philadelphia, or Chicago, 
or St. Louis. 

One of the odd things about the 
topography of Cape Cod is the number 
of ponds of fresh water which one sees, 
no matter in which direction he drives. 
Indeed, there is more than one drive 
through the woods which the boarders 
in our village take, when for miles one 
is never out of sight of the gleaming 
water. The number of ponds on the 
Cape is variously estimated, but it is 
safe to say that there are hundreds of 
them. Most of them are set most 
beautifully within high banks, thickly 
wooded. They are of all sizes, from 
Nine-Mile Pond or Lake Wequaket, 
as the fashion now is, where yachts 
and a steam launch are kept, to Aunt 
Tempie's Pond, near our house, only 
two or three acres in area. Fed by 
cool springs, the water is deliciously 
refreshing and very clear. Sometimes 
these little lakes are so near the sea 
that an unusually high tide makes the 
water brackish ; but in a few days it is 
pure and sweet again. I remember 
one of these on which we used to sail 
our toy ships in summer and swift ice- 
boats in winter, so near the waters of 
Cape Cod Bay that I have seen the 
spray during a northeaster dash over 
the narrow barrier of sand, and make 
us boys think that the pond would 
never be fresh again. I recall a curi- 
ous phenomenon which was an annual 
occurrence in Sheep Pond, very near 
the home of my ancestors. This pond 
was nearly two miles from the sea, 
shut in by high hills all about it. The 
water, as in many of these lakelets, 
was cold and deep. No stream flowed 
into it, and it had no visible outlet. In 
the spring, during a period of two or 



three weeks, salt-water smelt were 
found here in great abundance. We 
fastened willow wythes between the 
teeth of hay-rakes, and in the darkness 
of night raked in the fish by the bushel 
along the shore. In a few days they 
disappeared, not to be seen again until 
the following spring. The views from 
the high banks of some of these ponds 
is lovely beyond description. There 
is no view more beautiful in the famed 
English Lake Country than that which 
one may have from the top of a hill 
overlooking one of the largest of these 
lakes, called Wakeby. This is in the 
queer village of Mashpee, inhabited by 
a remnant of the old Mashpee tribe of 
Indians, once rovers all over the Cape, 
now settled down and civilized. It is 
rather odd, however, to see from the 
hotel piazza two Indian maidens com- 
ing down the hill on brand-new bi- 
cycles. Ancient mariners, the redmen 

of the forest, the summer boarder, the 
old and the new, get strangely mixed 
up on Cape Cod nowadays. 

These random notes on a bit of 
Massachusetts coast have purposely 
omitted mention of that shore which is 
washed by the beautiful sheet of water 
called Buzzard's Bay, the western 
boundary of the Cape. It is lined with 
villages, the summer homes of fashion 
and wealth, but there is less of the old- 
fashioned flavor, less individuality, 
than is found in Barnstable, or Hy- 
annis, or Brewster. The nearness of 
locomotive and steamboat makes a dif- 
ference, and the summer villages are 
more numerous and more crowded 
than farther down on the Cape, where 
he who wants a few weeks of a life 
quite unlike anything which the city 
or its neighborhood can afford, and 
different from the life of most water- 
ing places, can so happily find it. 


By Alice Van Leer Carrick 

THE West flares up as if some giant hand 
Flung into castle-clouds a jealous brand 
To set the whole sky-world aflame. Below, 
All gold and crimson, lies the burnished land. 

The Lakes of Cape Cod 

By S. W. Abbott 

ually well supplied with 
abundance of fresh water, 
distributed with consider- 
able uniformity throughout the state. 
Two great rivers, the Merrimack and 
Connecticut, with their sources and 
principal water sheds in New Hamp- 
shire and Vermont, traverse portions of 
the state, furnishing power to several 
cities and many towns. Besides these, 
there are scattered here and there more 
than one thousand lakes and ponds 
with an area of more than ten acres in 
each. These are so well distributed as 
to give almost every town at least one 
within its limits, but the seacoast towns 
are the most favored and have a great- 
er number of lakes than those of the 
western counties. The town of Ply- 
mouth alone has at least fifty-three 
ponds or lakes of more than ten acres, 
and with a total area of nearly four 
thousand acres of water surface, while 
the town of Lakeville has more than 
six thousand acres in its magnificent 

Many of these bodies of water are 
pure and wholesome and well adapted 
for use as the public reservoir of cities 
and towns whose citizens enjoy the 
privilege of a constant, never-failing 
supply in their houses, ready for in- 
stant use at the mere turning of a fau- 
cet. In no other state does the popu- 
lation thus supplied reach so high a 
percentage as in Massachusetts where, 

by the last census, it is shown to be 
90 per cent, of the total. The states- 
next upon the list, with from 80 to 90 
per cent., are Rhode Island, New Jer- 
sey and the District of Columbia. Sen- 
timentally considered, the "old oaken 
bucket, the moss-covered bucket/' as 
it came up dripping with the cold and 
crystal draught from the depths of the 
open well, is a delightful memory ; but 
the keen and accurate analysis of its 
contents by the chemist, coupled with 
the great frequency of hitherto unex- 
plained illness in the farmer's family, 
and the prevalent proximity of the well 
to an environment, which, to say the 
least, was of doubtful advantage, 
shows that public supplies are, as a 
rule much safer for drinking purposes 
than the ordinary farm-house well. In 
1886 the Board of Health began a 
careful analysis of the waters of Mas- 
sachusetts, especially those used as 
public supplies, and, in the course of 
the examination of several thousand 
samples, a very interesting fact was 
gradually developed. The relative 
amount of chlorine represented by 
common salt actually existing in the 
uncontaminated waters of the State 
diminishes with considerable unifor- 
mity as one leaves the sea-coast and 
proceeds inland. Even in the most ex- , 
posed portions, it rarely exceeded 2 
parts per 100,000, or about i/ioooth 
as much as in sea-water. It is to this 
minute quantity of chlorine, together 




with other mineral salts, that spring 
waters owe their pleasant, sparkling 
taste, as compared with the flatness of 
rain or distilled water. Up to a cer- 
tain amount the presence of salt ren- 
ders them more agreeable, but when 
the proportion rises as high as i/ioth 
of one per cent, the water, in common 
parlance, becomes ''brackish." The 
percentage of chlorine is also an in- 
dex of considerable value in the de- 
termination of the amount of sewage 
pollution in water, and by examining 
the results obtained by analysis and 
connecting, upon the map, points 
where equal quantities of chlorine are 
found in the uncontaminated sources 
of supply, a chart has been obtained 
showing with comparative accuracy 
the standard of purity of the water to 
be found in any given district. In the 
case of the lakes and ponds of Cape 
Cod, as we leave the tip of the Cape 
at Provincetown and proceed south 
and west toward the mainland, this 
rule applies with considerable pre- 
cision, as will be seen by the following 

table arranged 

in that order : 

Ratio of 


Name of Lake or 


in water 

Areas in 





Shank Painter | 

Province- \ 
town, j 

Pond, }■ 



Clapp's Pond, 



Great Pond 




Long Pond, 




Nine Mile Pond 




Mashpee Lake, 1 



John's Pond, 







Long Pond, 




( )f such lakes and ponds having 
areas of more than ten acres in each, 
there arc in all one hundred and seven- 
ty-four 111 the fifteen towns comprised 
in the region known as Cape Cod, that 

is in Barnstable County. Twenty-one 
of these lakes have areas of one hun- 
dred, and three have areas of seven 
hundred acres or more in each. Twen- 
ty-seven of the whole number are in 
the town of Barnstable, while the re- 
mainder are scattered throughout the 
county with a considerable degree of 
uniformity, no town having less than 
five within its limits. In consequence 
of the topographical character of the 
Cape none of the large ponds are at 
elevations of more than one hundred 
feet above the sea. 

The highest, according to the topo- 
graphical sheets of Massachusetts pub- 
lished at Washington, is Peters Pond 
in Sandwich, with an elevation of 
about ninety feet. Next are Mashpee 
Lake, Spectacle, Triangle, and Law- 
rence Ponds in Sandwich, with eleva- 
tions of from sixty to eighty feet. San- 
tuit Pond in Mashpee, Cotuit, Shubael 
and Round ponds in Barnstable, forty 
to sixty feet. Great or Nine Mile 
Pond in Barnstable, and Mill Pond in 
Brewster, about thirty feet. Mill and 
Follins ponds, tributaries of Bass 
River in Yarmouth, Long and Swan 
ponds in Yarmouth, Swan Pond in 
Dennis, Long Pond in Brewster, and 
Hinckley's Pond in Harwich, have ele- 
vations of from ten to twenty feet, 
while few if any of the larger ponds in 
the easterly towns of the Cape beyond 
Brewster have elevations of more than 
fifteen feet above the sea. 

A considerable number of the fresh 
water ponds which are quite near the 
sea level along the south shore, as well 
as those on the shore of Nantucket, 
are probably nothing more than shal- 
low inlets from the sea which were cut 
off by the formation of bars at their 
mouths, the annual rainfall beine suffi- 



cient to convert them into fresh water 
lakes in a few years. Considering the 
geological formation of this region, 
it would hardly seem reasonable that 
any of its depressions should have 
Greater depths than are found in the 
neighboring waters of the sea. The 
extreme depth of the Sound and of 
Massachusetts Bay at distances of five 
miles from the shore is scarcely more 
than twenty-five fathoms, at any point. 
It is not probable therefore that any 
of these ponds have greater depths 
than that, although local tradition of- 
ten accredits them as bottomless. The 
writer was once informed by a native 
that Peters Pond in South Sandwich 
was six hundred feet deep in parts. On 
making many soundings, with a ship's 
lead and line, the extreme depth was 
found to be fifty feet. According 
to the report of the Massachusetts 
Fish Commission of 1900, Great, or 
Nine Mile Pond, in Barnstable, has a 
maximum depth of twenty-five feet, 
and at Follin's Pond in Yarmouth the 
"depth in the northern part varies 
from four to seven feet in the deepest 

Mashpee, which is the largest of the 
Cape Cod lakes as well as the most pic- 
turesque, is probably the deepest in the 
county. This beautiful sheet is sur- 
rounded by bolder and higher shores 
than the others, yet several soundings, 
taken both in the northern and south- 
ern halves, show the deepest place to 
be but sixty-one feet and at a point 
about one-third of the distance across 
from the eastern shore in the southern 
half. The lake is divided into two 
nearly equal portions by a peninsula, 
across whose narrow neck, as tradi- 
tion says, the earlier Indian inhabitants 
were wont to drive the deer and other 

game which are still to be found in 
greatly diminished numbers. The 
lake abounds in fish of many kinds, 
including the delicious trout for which 
this region is famous. At its southern 
end the town of Mashpee has its prin- 
cipal village, the largest and almost 
the only settlement in the state in 
which the descendants of the Massa- 
chusetts Indians have lived, since the 
state reserved this tract for their use. 
Nearly if not all of these people have 
become so mixed by intermarriage, 
either with whites or with negroes, 
that the Indian type is modified. They 
have their town government, church, 
and schools the same as other Cape 
towns. The church, a Baptist one, is 
largely supported by an ancient fund, 
the distribution of which is entrusted 
to the authorities of Harvard College. 
Its meeting-house is located a mile 
from the village in the forest with an 
Indian grave-yard near it. Along the 
lake shore traces of the earlier tribes 
are often found in the shape of imple- 
ments, arrow-heads and other weapons, 
which are ploughed up from the light 
sandy soil of the region ; while nearer 
the sea, often within a few rods of the 
water, heaps of broken oyster, clam, 
scallop and quohaug shells are found 
in scores, showing that the aborigines 
evidently appreciated their contents for 
food. A dam in the outlet at the road 
makes a little mill-pond a few acres in 
extent, and here the Egyptian lotus, 
planted there by the proprietor of the 
neighboring hotel, grows and thrives 

The climate of the southern shore 
of Cape Cod is generally milder than 
that of other portions of the state, as 
indicated by the fact that the lakes and 
ponds of this region rarely freeze in 



winter to a thickness of more than 
five or six inches. The shallower ponds 
are everywhere studded with water 
lilies of unusual size and brilliancy, 
and some of them of varied colors, 
which command a good price at the 
flower stores in Boston. The sea water 
along the shores of Vineyard Sound 
and Buzzards Bay has a temperature 
during the summer months of about 
75 degrees. The surface temperature 
of the fresh water lakes is a little high- 
er, or about 80 degrees from July 1st 
to September 1st. Observations made 
upon Jamaica Pond and other fresh 
water ponds in the summer of 1889 by 
the State Board of Health, showed 
that the temperature of the water un- 
dergoes a uniform decrease in the 
lower strata, until at depths below 
sixty feet a temperature of about 40 
degrees is reached. But as water con- 
tracts down to a temperature of 40 de- 
grees and then expands until it reaches 
32 degrees, the temperature of the 
lower strata does not fall much below 
40 degrees. So that in October or 
November when the temperature at 
the surface is 40 degrees, a change 
takes place in all the ponds which have 
a depth of twenty feet or more and the 
lower strata of water rises to the sur- 
face, the whole body of water thus be- 
coming of a nearly uniform tempera- 
ture and remaining so throughout the 

The reason that Thoreau, in his 
charming description of Cape Cod, 
says so little about these beautiful 
lakes, is probably because in his visit 
he selected a route which lay along the 
seashore. He writes : 

"Our host took pleasure in telling- us the 
names of the ponds, most of which we 
could see from our windows, and making 

us repeat them after him, to see if we had 
got them right. They were Gull Pond, the 
largest, and a very handsome one, clear 
and deep, and more than a mile in circum- 
ference; Newcomb's, Swett's, Slough, 
Horse-leech, Round, and Herring Ponds, all 
connected at high water, if I do not mistake. 
The coast surveyors had come to him for 
their names, and he told them of one which 
they had not detected. He said they were not 
so high as formerly. There was an earth- 
quake about four years before he was born, 
which cracked the pans of the pond which 
were of iron, and caused them to settle. I 
did not remember to have read of this. In- 
numerable gulls used to resort to them, but 
the large gulls were now very scarce, for, 
as he said, the English robbed their nests 
far in the north, where they breed." 

The ponds here referred to are in 
Wellfleet, which like those in Orleans, 
Eastham, Truro and Provincetown, 
the northern towns of the Cape, are the 
least interesting and picturesque of 
them all. They are mostly shallow ex- 
cavations in the soil, and are at a slight 
elevation only above sea level, a cir- 
cumstance which has given rise to a 
popular theory that their source is the 
sea water, which is deprived of its salt 
by filtration. This theory, however, is 
not tenable, frequent experiments, 
notably by the late Prof. W. B. Nich- 
ols of the Massachusttts Institute of 
Technology, showing that sea water 
might be passed through sand filters 
over and over again without losing a 
particle of its salt. The fresh-water 
springs, which appear at intervals 
along the seacoast, are nothing more 
than the expression of the rainfall, 
which falling upon the higher lands 
makes its way toward the sea. This 
rainfall, amounting to over forty 
inches a year, is amply sufficient to ac- 
count for all the water in the ponds, 
for a single inch of rain upon an acre 
of water-surface amounts to one hun- 



dred tons of water, and a year's rain 
would therefore amount to more than 
four thousand tons of water per acre. 
Even were they near enough the cities 
of eastern Massachusetts, the quantity 
of water which these lakes could fur- 
nish would be entirely inadequate to 
supply the wants of a metropolitan 
population, since no one of them has a 
large contributing water-shed or 
streams of considerable size running 
into them. The great pumps of the 
Boston Water Works at Chestnut Hill 
would pump any one of them dry in a 
few days. 

The most picturesque series of lakes 
upon the Cape is that which extends 
from Long Pond in Falmouth to Great 
or Nine Mile Pond in Barnstable, Coo- 
nemosset, Ashumet, John's, Mashpee 
and the Cotuit Ponds. Several of these 
lie in deep hollows, and are surround- 
ed by forests of ash and pine. A fine 
view of Coonemosset Pond may be had 
from the south, across cultivated fields 
and meadows, or glimpses of its sil- 
very surface may be caught here and 
there through the trees along the road 
upon its northern border. Ashumet 
also lies near the road leading from 
Falmouth to Mashpee, while the next 
of the series, John's Pond in Mashpee, 

is entirely concealed from view, being 
remote from any habitation or travel- 
ed road. The water of all these lakes 
is exceedingly pure, although, like all 
surface waters, it is subject to the 
growth of algae during the summer. It 
is remarkable that the microscopic 
flora of these lakes, Ashumet and 
John's, although separated by a ridge 
of scarcely a half mile in width, is 
quite as distant as though they were 
a thousand miles apart. Each of the 
ponds in this series is connected with 
Vineyard Sound by brooks ; that of 
Nine Mile Pond being an artificial out- 
let, made by the town of Barnstable 
several years ago to allow the herring 
to ascend to the fresh water of the 
pond for the purpose of spawning. 

The persistence of Indian names is 
more noticeable in this county than 
in any other part of the state. Nearly 
all of the names of the towns are of 
English origin, but those of the lakes, 
streams and localities are largely the 
Indian ones by which they have been 
known for centuries. Such are Coone- 
mosset Pond and River, Ashumet, 
and Wakeby or Wakepee Lakes, Popo- 
nesset Bay, Waquoit Bay, Chapoquoit 
Harbor, Wenaumet, Cataumet, Nau- 
set and Monomov. 

An Old Letter From a New England 


By Almon Gunnison 

SOME day the wise writer will 
tell the story of the New Eng- 
land attic, and will weave into 
verse or song the romances 
of the heirlooms that are gath- 
ered there, — the discarded cradle 
whose rockers are footworn by those 
whose grave stones were long ago 
gray with moss ; the broken chairs in 
which, by the fireside, aged parents 
slumbered into the sleep which has no 
awakening ; the rude bedstead in which 
boys who are now bowed with age 
slept beneath the rafters and heard the 
pattering of the rain upon the attic 
roof, looking out upon the stars and 
weaving their dreams into visions and 
songs ; the old garments bearing the 
fashion of an age long gone, while un- 
spent odors of the bleached floor and 
roof mingle with the scent of the house 
wife^s herbs which once hung in the 
great room. How curiously childhood 
made its little mysteries of the half 
darkened attic, what strange figures 
used to hide behind chimney and press, 
what voices spoke from the old chests 
and what curious ancestors crept at 
night into the old garments and awed 
the childish imagination of those who 
made the attic the half haunted cham- 
ber of dreams and visions. The nov- 
elist who is hunting in town and coun- 
try archives for the story of colonial 
days has somehow missed the richest 
treasury of the New England attic, 

and the true history of the Civil War 
will never be told until the yellowing 
letters hidden in attic chests have been 
read again and the chroniclers from 
field and camp and battle field have told 
their eventful and vivid tale. 

Central Massachusetts is rich with 
old houses whose attics will some day 
furnish a rare field for the antiquarian 
and story teller. Great cities have not 
swept away these homes with the tides 
of surburban enterprises and the jar of 
industry's whirling wheels has not 
shattered the mysteries and memories 
of a long past. The great religious 
agitation which shook New England 
more than a century ago and resulted 
in the Unitarian movement was hardly 
more felt in Boston than in Central 
Massachusetts. Nearly every Congre- 
gational church in the valley of 
Nashua was on Unitarian lines. Het- 
erodoxy became Orthodoxy and parish 
churches which had been dedicated to 
the triune God became Unitarian. 
Elsewhere than in New England this 
sect has had its social and religious os- 
tracism, but in Massachusetts, in places 
not a few, the social and intellectual 
life of the community was largely cen- 
tered in the Unitarian church, and for 
a little time at least, the prestige, the 
wealth and influence of the town were 
with the church whose new faith had 
well nigh shattered New England Or- 



The town of Lancaster, Massachu- 
setts, very early became Unitarian, and 
has been until this day one of the 
strongholds of this faith. Many of 
the old and influential families are still 
associated with that church and its in- 
fluence is felt in the refined social and 
intellectual life for which the town is 
famous. The present pastor, Rev. Dr. 
Bartol, white bearded like a patriarch, 
has completed a pastorate of many 
years and is still in active service. He 
is a fine type of the Unitarian minis- 
ter for which the last century was fa- 
mous : scholarly, refined, courtly in 
manner, he has some of the literary ac- 
complishments of his more distin- 
guished brother, Dr. Cyrus A. Bartol, 
of Boston, recently deceased. 

In 1780, in Lancaster, Sampson V. 
S. Wilder was born. Later in this pa- 
per some particulars of his eventful life 
will be given. After a long absence he 
returned to his native place in 1823. 
He was a man not only of indomitable 
enterprise but of a stalwart and un- 
compromising faith. He saw with 
alarm the growth of the new heresy 
and with relentless determination 
sought to overcome it. The new faith 
had become the orthodoxy of the town 
and he found himself in the unwonted 
role of a heretic. So persistent and 
pestilent did his opposition seem to his 
neighbors that he was visited with a 
social ostracism and at length, in the 
interest of the community's peace, he 
was by formal petition asked either to 
cease his agitation or to remove from 
the town. This petition, signed by 
forty-four men of the town, was pre- 
sented to him in the form of a letter. 
There is no record of it in the history 
of the town, but in a trunk in the attic 
of one of the old houses of Lancaster 

the original letter has recently been 
found. It makes a unique chapter in 
the history of Unitarianism in New 
England. The letter is as follows : 

August jo, 183 1. 
To Sampson V. S. Wilder: 

Sir: The undersigned inhabitants of 
South village in the town of Lancaster, 
deeply impressed with a just sense of that 
duty which they owe to their families, to 
the rising generation and to society in gen- 
eral, and believing it to be a paramount duty 
incumbent on them, to use all honorable 
means in their power to preserve and trans- 
mit to posterity, unspotted and uncontami- 
nated, those blessings which they so highly 
appreciate : Religion, Morality and Public 
Order, which they have hitherto rationally 
and peacefully enjoyed. Therefore enter- 
taining these views of those sacred privi- 
leges which have been transmitted to them, 
they cannot refrain from expressing their 
abhorrence and solemnly protesting against 
everything which tends to corrupt those 
principles and virtues, and to disturb that 
peace and harmony which can alone adorn 
the human character. 

Having long watched with painful anxi- 
ety the unhappy effects produced by your 
fanaticism and zeal, we feel it our duty to 
inform you that we look upon your coming 
and view your presence among us as a 
calamity of no ordinary kind. That we be- 
lieve the course which you are pursuing is 
productive of little or no good, but much 
evil. That we think it calculated to corrupt 
the morals and disseminate vice among the 
people. That you are sowing contentions, 
hatred and discord, where peace, happiness 
and good order have hitherto prevailed. 
That family hatred, strife and abuse of 
every kind have been the effects in every 
family where you have made proselytes and 
we look upon the fruits of your zeal as 
worse than the pestilence that s/tealeth at 
noon day. We pity your ignorance so far 
as that directs your zeal, but we fear some- 
thing worse than ignorance guides your 
operations against the peace and harmony 
of this town. We look upon the course you 
are pursuing towards the inhabitants of this 
place as insulting in the highest degree and 



were we to form an opinion from your con- 
duct we would think you a fit person to 
inhabit a mad-house or a workhouse. In 
short, we view your character and conduct 
as disgraceful to any person professing de- 
cency and common sense and we shall hail 
your departure from this section of the 
country as a blessing to the people, which 
we hope may long be continued to them. 
(Signed by forty-four men.) 

The life of Mr. Wilder is so unique 
and eventful that its story can profit- 
ably be retold, being summarized from 
his biography published by the Amer- 
ican Tract Society in 1865. 

He was born in Lancaster, May 20, 
1780. His maternal ancestors came 
from the west of England and were 
brought up in the Whitefield Orthodox 
School. The Socinian Controversy 
was raging at that time, and it is pos- 
sible that his almost fanatical hatred 
of Unitarian views was a birth inherit- 
ance from his ancestors. His mother 
was a woman of fervent piety and 
brought up in the principles of strictest 
morality. In a public address, the son 
thus alluded to her: "If I have any 
right to the endearing title of Evangel- 
ical Christian, it is to the faithful, un- 
tiring admonition impressed line upon 
line, precept upon precept, by this de- 
voted mother." His father died when 
the son was thirteen years old. He 
was a man of great integrity and his 
funeral was the largest ever held in 
Lancaster. The boy Sampson was 
overwhelmed with grief and could only 
by force be prevented from throwing 
himself into the open grave. 

Entering a store kept by Squire 
Flagg, a form clerk to his father, he 
remained one year ; and after two 
years' work in Gardner, lie went to 
Boston. He was partially engaged to 
work for a prominent firm when, ac- 

cidentally learning they were believers 
in the Socinian faith, he refused a sal- 
ary of one hundred and fifty dollars, 
engaging with another merchant 
whose compensation was smaller, but 
whose orthodoxy was sound. He at 
once attached himself to the congre- 
gation presided over by Rev. Jedediah 
Morse, the father of the inventor of 
the magnetic telegraph. His ardent 
piety at once arrested the attention of 
his pastor, who tendered him the use 
of his library and became his in- 
structor. On the death of his employ- 
er, he carried on the business for the 
widow, going into business, however, 
for himself after a few years, his store 
being located on Court Street. One 
day a merchant, Allan Melville, came 
into his store and told him that he had 
received an invoice of thirty thousand 
dollars' worth of French goods on 
which he desired to realize at once. 
Young Wilder, on examination, saw 
that the goods were invoiced at nearly 
twenty per cent, less than their value. 
He had no ready money. A friend told 
him that William Gray, a millionaire 
of Salem, had money which he was al- 
ways ready to loan. Gray was inter- 
viewed and promised one third of the 
profits of the sale for the loan of the 
thirty thousand dollars, the transac- 
tion to be closed in sixty days. The 
rich merchant gave his note payable in 
ten days. Getting the note cashed, the 
purchase was made. The next morn- 
ing the goods were displayed and ad- 
vertised. Customers came, and in nine 
days Mr. Wilder called on Mr. Gray 
with one thousand eight hundred and 
seventy-five dollars in money as his 
share of the profits. The incident is so 
peculiar that it is quoted from the pa- 
pers of Mr. Wilder : 



"On reaching the office/" he says, 
"instead of being cordially received, 
Mr. Gray exclaimed : 'Ah, yonng man, 
I did a very foolish thing in assisting 
you to go into that operation, in which 
they say much money will be lost ; and 
besides it is only the ninth day and you 
told me you would not need the money 
for ten days. I shall not pay you one 
cent to-day, sir. Call tomorrow and I 
suppose I must give you the money. 
And, now, as I am very busy, I bid you 
good morning.' Said I : 'Mr. Gray, be- 
fore leaving your office I must request 
you to do me the favor to sign this 
paper.' Said he : 'Young man, I shall 
sign no papers until at least tomor- 
row.' 'Well,' said I, 'You must excuse 
me, sir, but I do not leave your office 
until you sign this paper.' Mr. Gray 
turned to me and said : 'It is no use, 
young man, for you to stand there, as I 
shall sign no papers.' 'But,' said I, 
'Mr. Gray, do you object to casting 
your eye on the paper and seeing its 
purport ?' 'Why,' said he, Tt is really 
too bad to have one's time taken up in 
this way ; there are two ships I have to 
despatch to sea this afternoon. Here,' 
said he, reaching out his hand and put- 
ting on his specs, 'let me see the paper.' 
He then began to read it aloud: 'Re- 
ceived of S. V. S. Wilder, — received !' 
said he, 'I've received nothing,' and 
was on the point of handing back the 
paper. Said I : 'Read on, if you please, 
Mr. Gray.' 'Received eighteen 
hundred and seventy-five dollars, — eh ! 
eh ! — it being my proportion of profits.' 
'Yes/ said I, 'I've, sold the goods and 
here is the money,' handing it to the 
clerks to count. 'What ?' said he, 'And 
you want no money from me tomor- 
row?' 'No, sir,' said I, T sold for 
ready cash, with which I paid 

Mr. Melville. You have one-third 
of the profits counted down, 
sir.' 'And you want no money 
from me?' 'No, sir; it's all settled as 
you perceive.' 'Why, Mr. Wilder, 
walk into my private counting room. 
Do you ever come to Salem?' 'No, 
sir,' said I, 'and all I ask of you, sir, is 
to sign the receipt and as I have other 
pressing engagements, excuse me from 
coming into your counting room.' 
'Well,' said he, 'come down and pass a 
week with us and let me introduce you 
to my family.' Thanking him, I left 
him exultant." 

This led Mr. Gray to propose to Mr. 
Wilder to be his agent in Europe. Ac- 
cepting the position, he sailed for Eu- 
rope in the ship Elizabeth from Bos- 
ton. He reached Paris on the dav and 

The Approach from Lancaster 

hour when Napoleon was proclaimed 
Emperor in the twelve squares of the 
city. The fountains ran wine from 
morning till night. Thousands of legs 
of mutton were distributed to the eight 
hundred thousand people who wit- 
nessed the imposing pageantries. He 
set at work at once to learn the French 
language, engaging as his tutor Latour 
Maubrey, who afterwards became the 
private secretary of Napoleon, and 
who died of a broken heart because he 
was not allowed by the government to 
share in the exile of his chief. In 
eighteen months Mr. Wilder cleared 
for Mr. Gray sixty thousand dollars. 
Returning home he accepted agencies 
for Mr. Gray, Israel Thorndike and 
William Bartlett of Newburyport, the 
three wealthiest merchants in New 
England. With occasional returns to 
America, he resided in Paris for sev- 
eral years, an intimate friend of Talley- 

rand and other French notables, repre- 
senting the United States at the mar- 
riage of Napoleon and being a witness 
of his triumphs after the battle of Aus- 
terlitz and the festivities which fol- 
lowed the birth of the King of Rome. 
He entertained with lavish hospital- 
ity, and was one of the centers of the 
American colony, but, while he was 
an enthusiast in his admiration of Na- 
poleon, he was an ardent lover of his 
own land. 

His enthusiasm for Napoleon was a 
passion. He had seen under his sway 
religious freedom come ; the Code Na- 
poleon, afterward to be adopted in the 
main by every leading nation, was his 
creation ; a new era of larger liberty 
and progress had been brought to 
France by the man of destiny, and 
when the final crisis came in his ca- 
reer, Mr. Wilder proposed a plan for 
Napoleon's escape and tendered him 

The Home of Sampson Wilder 

an asylum at his residence in Bolton. 
The plan was that Napoleon should 
disguise himself as a valet, for whom 
Mr. Wilder had already a passport, 
and hasten with him to the coast, where 
there would be one of his ships with 
a large cask on board, in which the 
Emperor would be concealed until the 
ships had sailed beyond the limits of 
danger. This scheme, the Wilder bi- 
ography narrates, Napoleon seriously 
considered and declared feasible, but 
finally declined because he would not 
desert friends who had been faithful 
to him through prosperity and adver- 
sity. He wished Mr. Wilder to ar- 
range for their flight also, but Mr. 
Wilder said this was impossible, so the 
project fell through, and soon after, 
other plans for escape failing, the Em- 
peror surrendered himself to the offi- 
cers of the Bellerophon. Edward Ev- 
erett Hale, in alluding to the incident, 

wittily said : "Who knows but that he 
might have been selectman of the town 
of Bolton, had he chosen to take out 
naturalization papers." 

The following incident occurred 
during Mr. Wilders stay in Paris. 
During the Elba exile, the Bourbon 
king had a law passed that no picture, 
statue, statuette, figure or resemblance 
of General Bonaparte, as he was called, 
should remain in any public or private 
place or any native or foreign resi- 
dence. Mr. Wilders turn for inspec- 
tion came. Not even his friend Talley- 
rand could have protected him. An 
officer, with secretary and attendants, 
came into his counting room, saying in 
a pompous manner : "Have you any 
image, statue or likeness of any kind 
of that man?" "Of what man," said 
Mr. Wilder, "I am a stranger here." 
"Why do you keep me, you know 
whom I mean ; that usurper, that 


Entrance to the Wilder House 

Bonaparte, if you will have it," said 
the officer. "Have you any likeness or 
representation of him?" "Certainly I 
have," said Mr. Wilder, "Gorrgain, 
bring me a bag of Napoleons." Then, 
pouring them out on the desk before 
him: "Here, they are, sir." The of- 
ficial stared. At first he could make 
no answer, but then said : "That 
money is not what I want. You can 
keep that." "Go and tell your mas- 
ter," said Mr. Wilder, "that the whole 
specie currency of the realm must be 
called in before he can keep from the 
eyes of the people the features of the 
Emperor Napoleon." "You are right," 
said the officer, but continuing aside to 
his comrades, "It is ridiculous, this 
business we are about, but the stupid 
Bourbons cannot see it." 

The entire life of Mr. Wilder is 
characterized by his passionate devo- 

tion to the evangelical faith. He was 
willing to spend and be spent in his 
service to historic orthodoxy. While 
in Europe, he met one day Mr. Collins 
of the London Tract Society. Being 
asked by him if he could not dispose 
of some French tracts in Paris, Mr. 
Wilder took from his pocket a ten 
pound note saying: "Send me the 
worth of that and I will see what I can 
do." In a short time he was notified 
that a bundle awaited him at the pub- 
lic buildings of Paris. He went to 
the place, which chanced to be the very 
building where Marie Antoinette and 
Josephine had been incarcerated. The 
huge bundle contained his tracts, which 
had been detained as suspicious litera- 
ture. Mr. Wilder asked the privilege 
of reading aloud some of them. At 
the conclusion of his readings the su- 
perintendent said : "I thank you. 



These teach good morals. Will you 
give me some?" Within a month the 
great supply was exhausted and more 
were ordered. A translator was se- 
cured, a printing establishment set 
up and this was the beginning of the 
French Tract Society, which was 
formed under Mr. Wilder's roof in 

In 1812 Mr. Wilder crossed the At- 
lantic, bearing dispatches from France. 
President Madison anxiously awaited 
him. Relays of horses speeded him on 
his way to Washington. Arriving 
there at eleven o'clock at night he went 
to the house of the Secretary of War, 
Monroe. "We must go immediately," 
said the secretary, "to the President." 
Ringing the bell, an old man with 
nightcap on and candle in hand came 
to the door. It was the President. Mr. 
Wilder, accustomed to the etiquette 
and formalism of the French court, 
was shocked at first, but was proud of 
the simplicity of this ruler whose au- 
thority was larger than that of the 
King of France. 

In 1823 Mr. Wilder came home to 
live in the United States, to the regret 
of many of his friends in Europe. He 
had owned the house in Bolton for 
many years, but had given the rent of 
it to a friend in Boston. He was 
grieved to find upon the tables, Uni- 
tarian books and pamphlets and attrib- 
uted to the hateful doctrine the laxity 
which he found in his native town. He 
reconsecrated himself to the exter- 
mination of the hated heresy, and while 
he planted the vines and fruit trees 
which he had brought from Versailles 
and beautified his home, he instituted 
a relentless propaganda against the 
new faith which had banished Ortho- 
doxy. His zeal was not alwavs tem- 

pered with discretion, nor softened by 
charity. The old bitterness was re- 
vived among neighbors who had for- 
gotten the enmities of doctrine and 
where there had been peace, discord 
came. It was at this time that the 
letter found in the attic chest was writ- 
ten, rebuking the proselytism of the 
rich citizen and, with words which left 
nothing to be imagined, gave the fan- 
atical defender of the old faith the as- 
surance that he must moderate his zeal 
or increase his toleration. He was a 
zealot, who, had he been less noble, 
and had more power, would have made 
an ideal persecutor; but he had ever 
been masterful, self-assertive, with a 
pride of opinion which could not con- 
ceive that any faith save his own could 
be of God. And yet he was generous 
to other churches, so be it they were 
of type evangelical. He was only illib- 
eral to liberalism. He was the friend 
of temperance and education, one of 
the founders and trustees of Amherst 
College, when it was created as a bul- 
wark for the defence of historic Ortho- 
doxy. He built beside his home the 
Hillside Chapel, which for many years 
was the center of Orthodoxy for the 
region, furnishing it at large cost, es- 
tablishing many of the features of the 
later institutional church, and making 
it one of the most tasteful and beauti- 
ful churches in New England. At the 
formation of the American Tract So- 
ciety, he was elected its president, 
serving seventeen years with dis- 
tinguished ability and success. He 
was its largest benefactor in its days 
of poverty. 

His house was made notable among 
the country homes of Massachusetts. 
Furniture and curios brought from 
France adorned it, and to this home 



Lafayette came in 1824, receiving a 
hospitality which was almost regal. 
His business activity did not cease. He 
reorganized the mills in which he had 
investments, made purchases of stock 
and land and removing to New York 
engaged in trade. But in 1841, his 
life long prosperity began to ebb and 
did not cease until the man of wealth 
was made poor. In his poverty, 
however, he was still the man of faith, 
repining not at his hard fortune, wish- 
ing back no gift that he had made, 
grateful for the mercies which had 
come to him in earlier years and the 
faith that taught him that life does not 
consist in the abundance of things one 
has. He died in Elizabeth, New Jer- 
sey, in 1865, and is there buried. 

The religious enmities of his period 
have passed away. Beneath the elm 
bordered roads of Lancaster and Bol- 
ton, the neighbors dwell, holding their 
differing beliefs, but holding them in 
tolerant affection. The Hillside 
Chapel was burned long ago, and the 
curious traveler can only with diffi- 
culty, from the alien people who toil 
around it, learn its site. But some- 
where in the life of the community 
which has run out to the ends of the 
earth have been lodged the gracious 
influences of the faith which was nur- 
tured there. 

Still stands on the Bolton road the 
old house of Sampson Wilder. It is 
christened "Rosenvec," and is the resi- 
dence of J. Wyman Jones of New York, 
Its name is an anagram composed from 
the maiden name, Converse, of Mrs. 

Jones. There are few finer examples 
of the colonial architecture in New 
England. Modernized, it yet keeps 
the old type. The additions are in 
keeping with the original, and all the 
new decorations repeat the faultless 
lines which exist in the unchanged por- 
tion. It has forty rooms, furnished 
with the richest furniture, yet colonial 
in style : a bedstead which once was in 
a French palace in the period of the 
Empire is in the room of Lafayette; 
and a taste intelligent and refined has 
kept the old form, while it has given 
to it the animation and spirit of the 
new and better age. The old clock, 
which has measured the flight of gen- 
erations, swings its pendulum within 
the hall, and countless nooks and 
graces of architectural design tell how 
wise and resourceful were the old 
builders, who, two hundred years ago, 
erected the New England mansions. 
But changed as is the old house, there 
is the same landscape that was there 
when Lafayette came to be entertained 
by the prince of commerce, although 
the elms cast broader shadows and the 
forests have crept away from the mead- 
ows. Herds of nobler breed feed on 
the pasture slopes and within house 
and stable are luxuries which were in- 
accessible, even to wealth, in the long 
ago. But still the sunset paints the 
old-time colors on the western skies, 
and, rising in majesty, not far away, 
stands Wachusett, while, dimly out- 
lined in the distance, rises Monad- 
nock, the unchanging monarch of the 
New England mountains. 

Roger Williams and the Plantations 
at Providence 

By E. J. Carpenter 



STATUE," says Addison, 
"lies hid in a block of 
marble, and the art of the 
statuary only clears away 
the superflous matter and removes the 
rubbish." About the life and name of 
Roger Williams, as they appear to the 
eye of the ordinary observer, is heaped 
a mass of debris, obscuring from sight 
the man himself, in his true propor- 
tions. Even history, as it is written 
to-day, sheds upon him a light, some- 
times too roseate, sometimes too pale, 
as he stands upon the world's stage; 
and his contemporaries, too, come on in 
ghostly fashion, in form often distorted 
and misjudged. 

It shall be my task to clear away, 
so far as may be possible, some of the 
rubbish which surrounds this man, and 
to turn upon him the true light of his- 
torical record. 

Of the early life of Roger Williams, 
before his appearance in this country, 
we know but little. We do not even 
know the date of his birth; and what 
manner of man he was, in bodily pres- 
ence, none can say. Tradition, always 
unreliable, has said that Wales was his 
native country. Recent genealogical 
researches in London by Mr. Henry F. 
Waters, in behalf of the New England 
Historic-Genealogical Society, lead to 
the belief, however, that he was born in 
that city ; that his father, who died in 
September, 1620, was named John 

Williams; that his mother, who died in 
August, 1634, was named Alice; and 
that he had two brothers, Sydrach and 
Robert by name, and one sister, named 
Catharine, who was the wife of Ralph 

In a legal document, executed in 
1679, Roger Williams records himself 
as "being now near to four-score years 
of age." It would appear, then, that 
he was born at the opening of the sev- 
enteenth century. He must, then, have 
been not far from thirty years of age, 
when he set sail from Bristol, England, 
in the ship Lyon, in the winter of 1630. 

The records of the Charter House 
show that he was admitted a student 
June 25, 1 62 1. He was matriculated 
a pensioner of Pembroke College, Ox- 
ford, in July, 1625, and he was gradu- 
ated with the degree of Bachelor of 
Arts, in January, 1627. We know 
that in his youth he had attracted the 
attention of Edmund Coke, and it is 
probable that he was, in some meas- 
ure, the protege of that eminent man. 

This brief record is all that we know, 
certainly, of the life of Roger Will- 
iams, until the ship Lyon, aforesaid, 
appeared off Nantasket, in February, 
1 63 1. His wife Mary is recorded as 
having been a passenger in the same 
ship. That she was then a bride is not 
improbable; for the first child of this 
couple, of whom we have any record, 
and who bore her mother's name, 



Mary, was born at Plymouth, as Will- 
iams himself records, "ye first weeke 
in August, 1633. " 

We may be sure that Williams, be- 
fore leaving England had been ad- 
mitted to orders in the English church, 
or, at least, had been a student of the- 
ology; for Winthrop records his ar- 
rival as that of "a godly minister." It 
would appear, however, that, although 
he made his first home among the peo- 
ple of Massachusetts Bay, his sympa- 
thies were more in accord with the 
Pilgrims of Plymouth, than with the 
Puritans of the Bay. 

It is well to remember that while the 
Plymouth colonists were Separatists, or 
"Brownists," the Puritans of the Bay 
colony were simply non-conformists. In 
this fact, and in the sympathy of Will- 
iams with the first named of these two 
classes, we may find the key to much, 
in the conduct of Williams, which is 
otherwise difficult to understand. 

Even from the moment of his ar- 
rival, this extraordinary man displayed 
his unique personality. He was, — so 
he himself records in a letter to John 
Cotton, junior, in 1671, — offered the 
position of teacher of the First Church 
in Boston, as the successor of the Rev. 
John Wilson ; but this invitation he re- 
fused. "Being unanimously chosen 
teacher at Boston/' he writes to the 
younger Cotton, "(before your dear 
father came, divers years), I consci- 
entiously refused and withdrew to 
Plymouth, because I durst not officiate 
to an unseparated people, as, upon ex- 
amination and conference, I found 
them to be." 

But we soon have evidence that, even 
among his Separatist friends in Ply- 
mouth, whither he soon removed, he 
exhibited evidences of erratic judg- 

ment. In his "History of the Plymouth 
Plantation/' Governor Bradford makes 
this record : 

"Mr. Roger Williams (a man godly and 
zealous, having many precious parts, but 
very unsettled in judgmente) came over 
first to ye Massachusetts, but upon some 
discontente left yt place and came hither, 
(wher he was friendly entertained, accord- 
ing to their poore abilitie,) and exercised 
his gift amongst them, and after some time 
was admitted a member of ye church, and 
his teaching well approved for ye benefite 
whereof I still blese God, and am thankful 
to him, even for his sharpest admonitions 
and reproufs, so farr as they agreed with 
truth. He this year (1633) begane to fall 
into some Strang oppinions and from opin- 
ion to practise, which caused some contro- 
versie between ye church and him, and in 
ye end some discontente on his parte, by 
occasion whereof he left them something 
abruptly. But he soon fell into more things 
ther, both to their and ye governments 
troble and disturbance. I shall not need to 
name particulars, they are too well knowen 
now to all, though for a time ye church 
here wente under some hard censure by his 
occasion, from some that afterwards smart- 
ed themselves. But he is to be pitied and 
prayed for, and so I shall leave ye matter, 
and desire ye Lord to shew him his errors, 
and reduse him into ye way of truth, and 
give him a settled judgment and constancie 
in ye same; for I hope he belongs to ye 
Lord and yt he will shew him mercie." 

For a time Williams remained at 
Plymouth as an assistant to Rev. Ralph 
Smith, and busied himself in the study 
of the language of the natives. His 
"Key to the Languages of America," 
published some years later in Eng- 
land, shows the results of this close 
and arduous study. 

But, as Governor Bradford has al- 
ready intimated to us, he found the 
Plymouth people not altogether con- 
genial, and, near the close of the year 
1633 we find him at Salem. Here he 


again began to promulgate the same, 
or other "strang oppinions," which 
had so disturbed the brethren of the 
Bay and of the Plymouth colony. First 
and chief of these was the opinion con- 
cerning separation. He was a young 
man, as we have seen, and his reproof 
of the Boston church, that they should 
still continue in fellowship in the 
church of England was, perhaps, not 
meekly received by such men as Win- 
throp, Bellingham and Haynes, — men 
accustomed to advise and direct oth- 
ers, and not to receive dictation and 
reproof from the mouth of a stripling. 
But to this "strang oppinion" he now 
added a second. He made a fierce on- 
slaught upon the validity, from an 
ethical point of view, of the King's 
patent. He did not, perhaps, deny the 
legal right of the king to grant a pat- 
ent to lands in America, the property of 
the English crown by right of discov- 
ery; for such a denial would, no doubt, 
have been regarded as open treason. 
But it was his contention, constantly 
and continuously made, at Plymouth, 
at Boston, and at Salem, that from the 
Indians alone could rightfully have 
been obtained a fee to the land upon 
which stood the homes of the settlers. 

While at Plymouth, this was one of 
the chief of his "strang oppinions." He 
prepared an elaborate treatise which, 
as Winthrop records, disputed "their 
right to the lands they possessed here 
and concluded that, claiming by the 
King's grant, they could have no titfe, 
nor otherwise, except they compound- 
ed with the natives." It charged King 
James with lying and blasphemy and 
declared that all "lye under a sinne of 
unjust usurpation upon others posses- 

It would appear that the existence 

of this treatise was not known to the 
magistrates of the Bay until January, 
1634. At all events, his teachings did 
not become actually obnoxious until 
that time, when the governor and as- 
sistants demanded the surrender of the 
paper. It does not appear that it was 
ever put into print and circulated 
among the people. But, nevertheless, 
Williams submitted to the court and 
offered his treatise to be burned. The 
magistrates were disposed to treat his 
offense with leniency and readily 
passed it over, with the understanding 
that it should not be repeated. The 
colony, just at this period, as we shall 
presently see, was passing through 
troublous times, and the magistrates, 
doubtless felt that they could not af- 
ford to allow any teachings which 
should present the slightest appear- 
ance of disloyalty to the English 
crown. But, notwithstanding this 
broad hint of the magistrates, Will- 
iams, still at Salem, soon recommenced 
with renewed vigor to promulgate his 
"strang oppinions." Now he vigor- 
ously urged the doctrines of the Sepa- 
ratists; now he inveighed furiously 
against the King's patent ; now he 
created a theological ferment over the 
matter of the wearing of veils by wo- 
men ; now he insisted with equal fer- 
vency that one "should not pray nor 
commune with an unregenerate person, 
even though it be his own wife or 

That Williams attained a consider- 
able degree of popularity among the 
people of Salem is made certain from 
the fact that he was made an assistant 
to Rev. Samuel Skelton, although he 
declined to be formally inducted into 
the office of teacher. 

In the winter of 1634, it again came 


to the ears of the magistrates that the 
obnoxious political doctrines were still 
taught at Salem. Williams, they 
learned, had, in effect, retracted his 
submission to the authority of the 
court, was openly and violently attack- 
ing the validity of the King's patent 
and was declaring the English 
churches to be anti-Christian. When 
one recalls that the English Establish- 
ment and the British State were, as 
now, inextricably mingled, and that an 
attack upon the one was regarded by 
the home government as sedition as 
well as heresy, the anxiety of the mag- 
istrates of the Bay will be appreciated. 
John Cotton begged forbearance, be- 
lieving that Williams's course arose 
from scruple of conscience, and not 
from seditious principle. And so it 
was resolved to bear yet a while longer 
with this contentious young man, with 
the hope that he would come into a bet- 
ter understanding. 

Meanwhile the fear became general 
that, through the teachings of Williams 
and others of his way of thinking, a 
sentiment of disloyalty was slowly, but 
steadily, creeping in among the people. 
It was then that the practice of admin- 
istering an oath of loyalty to the free- 
men of the colony was established. Here 
again Williams found food for his con- 
tentious disposition, and he violently 
attacked this new departure. "It is 
not lawful," he urged, and urged with 
vehemence, "that an oath should be ad- 
ministered to an unregenerate per- 

Meanwhile Rev. Mr. Skelton, the 
minister of the church at Salem, had 
died, and in 1635 Williams had so far 
won over this people to his peculiar 
views, that it was proposed to ordain 
him as Mr. Skelton's successor. Then 

it was that the magistrates of the Bay 
rose up in their indignation and wrath. 
Already it had been reported to the 
King's Council for New England that 
seditious teachings were not only tol- 
erated, but encouraged, in the settle- 
ments, and the fate of the colony hung 
in the balance. A demand for the pro- 
duction of the charter had actually 
been made. The governor and magis- 
trates, if ordered to appear before the 
council, would not be able to declare 
that such reports concerning their 
teachings were false. Endicott, al- 
ways impulsive and intense, inspired 
by the teachings of Williams, had mu- 
tilated the English Standard by cut- 
ting out the cross — beyond question a 
treasonable act. His rash deed was, 
it is true, repudiated by the colony, for, 
on May 6, 1635, the records of the 
General Court contain this entry : 

"The commissioners chosen to consider 
of the act of Mr. Endicott concerning the 
coirs att Salem did reporte to the court that 
they apprehend he had offended therein 
many wayes, in rashness, uncharitableness. 
indiscrecon, & exceeding the lymitts of his 
calling; whereupon the court hath sensured 
him to be sadly admonished for his offense, 
well accordingly hee was, & also disin- 
abled for beareing any office in the comon 
wealth, for the space of a year next ensue- 

Williams, too, must be dealt with, 
and so, in July, 1635, formal charges 
were brought against him in the Gen- 
eral Court. He was cited to appear 
and answer to these grave charges, and 
for the reason that, "being under 
question for divers dangerous opin- 
ions," he had "been called as teacher 
of the church in Salem, in contempt of 

The contentions of Williams, as re- 
corded by himself in his pamphlet en- 


titled "Mr. Cotton's Letter Examined 
and Answered," were these: 

"1. That we have not our land by patent 
from the king, but that the natives are the 
true owners of it, and that we ought to 
repent of such a receiving it by patent. 

"2. That it is not lawful to call a wicked 
person to swear, to pray, as being actions 
of God's worship. 

"3. That it is not lawful to hear any of 
the ministers of the Parish Assemblies in 

"4. That the civil magistrates' power 
extends only to the bodies and goods and 
outward state of men." 

And Mr. Williams adds: 

"I acknowledge the particulars were 
rightly summed up." 

Williams appeared before the court 
and a long and earnest discussion was 
held, touching all the points at issue, 
but especially the first three — the ques- 
tion of the King's patent, the oath, 
and of separation. He was now not in 
the least disposed to submit to the au- 
thority or opinions of the magistrates, 
but remained firm in the positions 
which he had taken. Matters of minor 
importance were adhered to as rigidly 
as were those of greater import. It 
would appear to have been a serious 
defect in Mr. Williams's mental con- 
stitution, that he was unable to com- 
prehend the relative importance of 
matters of his contention. He appar- 
ently regarded the question of the pro- 
priety of wearing veils, as of equal im- 
portance with that of the validity of 
the King's patent. 

Despite the vigorous remonstrances 
of the magistrates, the church at Sa- 
lem appeared to be upon the point of 
putting into execution its plan of for- 
mally inducting Mr. Williams into the 
position of pastor. Resort must be 
had to discipline and, that the church 
might feel the weight of the court's 

displeasure, a petition of the people of 
Salem regarding the establishment of 
their title to certain lands at Marble- 
head Neck was denied, or, at least was 
for the present held in abeyance. 

Williams now assumed an aggres- 
sive position and, at his instance, a 
letter of remonstrance was addressed 
by the Salem church to the other 
churches of the colony, in which the 
latter were urged to administer dis- 
cipline to such of the magistrates as 
were of their membership. The Salem 
church, that is, would have its sister 
churches force its magistrate members 
to take certain desired action, upon 
pain of church discipline for their re- 
fusal. Williams, in short, sought to 
use the ecclesiastical machinery to con- 
trol the actions of the civil magistrates. 

In brief, a full-fledged rebellion in 
the colony was hatched, — a rebellion 
which involved not only the ecclesiasti- 
cal, but also the civil powers. The 
strong arm of the magistrates must 
put it down. The Salem church felt the 
weight of the hands of the magis- 
trates and weakened. Williams at- 
tempted in vain to rally his supporters 
and finally renounced communion with 

At the September session of the 
General Court, 1635, the matter was 
brought to issue. The records of the 
colony of Massachusetts Bay, under 
date of September 3, 1635, contain this 
entry : 

"Whereas Mr. Roger Williams, one of the 
elders of the church at Salem, hath broached 
and dyvulged dyvers newe and dangerous 
opinions against the authoritie of magis- 
trates as also writt Ires (letters) of de- 
famacon, both of the magistrates and 
churches here, and that before any 
conviccon, and yet maintaineth the 
same without retraccon, it is therefore or- 


dered, that the said Mr. Williams shall dept 
out of this jurisdiccon within six weekes 
nowe nexte ensueing, wch if hee neglect to 
pforme, it shalbe lawfull for the Gouvr and 
two of the magistrates to send him to some 
place out of this jurisdiccon, not to returne 
any more without licence from the Court." 

But Williams did not at once obey 
the order of the court. He lingered 
for a time and, later, was seized with 
illness, which we have no right to as- 
sume was not real and which prevented 
his departure. His sentence was not 
pressed, and the authorities decided 
among themselves that, since the win- 
ter was fast approaching, the sentence 
should be suspended until spring. But 
it will be readily understood that this 
clemency was extended upon the im- 
plied, if not upon the actually ex- 
pressed, condition, that he should cease 
his contentious opposition to the estab- 
lished order of the colony. With this 
condition, however, Williams failed to 
comply; and when it became known 
that at secret gatherings, at his own 
house at Salem, he was still promulgat- 
ing his views, and sowing dissensions 
among the people, it was resolved that 
the power delegated by the court to the 
governor and two of the magistrates 
should be forthwith exercised. It was 
determined to send him to England, by 
a ship that was about to sail. A con- 
stable was dispatched in a small sloop 
to Salem, to arrest him and bring him 
to Boston for deportation. 

It was now January, 1636; but, not- 
withstanding the inclemency of the 
season Williams, when he was apprised 
of the approach of the officer, fled into 
the wilderness and thus avoided cap- 
ture. To have consented to return to 
England would have been but to sub- 
mit to the frustration of his plans of 
life. Tt was, without doubt, his in- 

tention to become a missionary to the 
Indians. It is not to be supposed that 
his close study of the language of the 
natives was followed simply from love 
of philology. We have been accus- 
tomed to regard John Eliot as the 
great apostle of Christianity to trr: 
Indians, and his fame as such has ob- 
scured that of Williams, who was cer- 
tainly his precursor. John Eliot trans- 
lated the Scriptures into the Indian 
tongue, but doubtless in that literary 
effort he derived much assistance from 
Williams's "Key to the Native Lan- 
guages of America," a volume, today, 
of the greatest antiquarian interest. 
"My sole desire," are Williams's own 
written words, "was to do the natives 
good." And to this end, he continues : 
"God was pleased to give me a painful, 
patient spirit, to lodge with them in 
their filthy, smoky holes, even while 
I lived at Plymouth and Salem, to gain 
their tongue." 

To have submitted to be sent to Eng- 
land, would have been but to renounce 
his intention of and desire for mis- 
sionary endeavor. Of his own free 
choice, therefore, he left the settlement, 
leaving behind him his wife Mary, and 
his daughters, Mary and Freeborne, 
the last an infant of two months. He 
fled into the wilderness and, in his own 
recorded words, it was "a sorrowful 
winter flight," for he was "severely tost 
for 14 weekes, not knowing what bread 
or bed did mean." 

These weeks were, beyond doubt, 
passed among his friends, the Indians, 
still lodging in their "filthy, smoky 
holes." The few remarkable words 
just quoted are almost the entire record 
of these weeks of wandering. "I 
turned my course from Salem into 
these parts," he wrote, "wherein I may 


say Peniel, that is, I have seen the face 
of God." We only know with cer- 
tainty that in the spring of 1636 he be- 
gan "to build and plant" at Seekonk, 
within the limits of the present town of 
Rehoboth. He had hardly become set- 
tled here, in company with five friends, 
who had joined their fortunes with his, 
when he received a gentle intimation 
from the Plymouth colony, that he had 
settled within the territory covered by 
its patent. Unwilling to come into 
conflict with his Plymouth brethren, 
he resolved to migrate, and he con- 
sulted with Winthrop, who was ever 
his friend, concerning a place of settle- 
ment. The governor directed his at- 
tention to the head waters of Narra- 
gansett Bay, as a situation without the 
boundaries of both the Plymouth and 
the Bay colonies, and within the terri- 
tory of Canonicus and Miantunnomi, 
the chieftains who had manifested a 
friendly disposition toward Williams. 
Therefore we find him in June, 1636, 
embarked, with his followers, in a ca- 
noe, paddling down the waters of the 

Upon the bank at one point was a 
large rock of blue slate whereon stood 
a group of friendly Indians. These 
saluted the party as it passed with the 
cry "What cheer? Netop!" Williams 
acknowledged the friendly salutation 
and continued to drift down the bosom 
of the river to its mouth. 

His voyage was short, and, with this 
exception, uneventful; but this inci- 
dent served to supply the city of Provi- 
dence, which was incorporated nearly 
two hundred years after, with its mot- 
to: "What Cheer!" which today it 
bears upon its seal. 

Rounding the promontory, now 
bearing the names of Fox Point and 

India Point, and entering the northern 
estuary of Narrangansett Bay, Will- 
iams and his followers disembarked at 
the confluence of the Woonasquatucket 
and the Mooshaussic rivers, where was 
a great spring of sweet water. Here 
he made his settlement, which, in rec- 
ognition of the Divine guidance which 
had brought him and his company 
safely to this haven of rest, he called 

It was, doubtless, far from the in- 
tention of Roger Williams to found a 
new colony, when he departed from 
Massachusetts, or, even when he set- 
tled at Providence. His intent, beyond 
doubt, was to found merely a mission- 
ary station. But, one by one, impelled 
by various considerations, others came 
to join his company, until the little 
settlement contained fully a dozen fam- 
ilies. A large tract of land was given 
to Williams by the friendly sachems, in 
token of their kindly feelings toward 

So large had the settlement now be- 
come that some form of government 
was necessary. And here we come to 
the narration of what must be regard- 
ed as the most important political event 
of the age in which it occurred, — the 
establishment of a commonwealth, the 
corner stone of which was a principle, 
now become the foundation of Ameri- 
can political life. Here was founded 
a state, the basis of which was the idea 
of an entire separation of the religious 
and the civil powers. It was some- 
thing new in political procedure ; it was 
an experiment based wholly upon a 
theory. But it was an experiment, the 
success of which has been so broad and 
so grand that its feeble beginning at 
the head waters of the Narrangansett 
has well-nigh been forgotten. Very 


brief, yet strangely significant, are the 
words of the compact into which this 
handful of colonists entered : 

"We whose names are hereunder desirous 
to inhabitt in ye towne of Providence, do 
promise to subject ourselves in active or 
passive obedience to all such orders 01 
agreements as shall be made for publick 
good of our body in an orderly way, by the 
major consent of the present inhabitants 
maisters of families incorporated together 
into a towne fellowship and others whome 
they shall admitt unto them only in civill 

It is not the purpose of this paper to 
trace the history of the Plantations at 
Providence through the turbulent 
years which followed. The colony was 
founded upon a political idea fully two 
hundred years in advance of its day ; 
and the very liberality of its foundation 
was a temptation to anarchy. The 
colony, in later years, was refused ad- 
mission to the New England confeder- 
acy upon the ground that it had no 
stable government of its own ; and even 
after Roger Williams, in 1643, re- 
turned from England, bearing the char- 
ter of the colony, which he had so- 
licited and obtained from the Long 
Parliament, it was difficult to control 
the various conflicting elements in this 
remarkable body politic. 

Let us, however, pause here in the 
historic narrative and return to the 
discussion of Williams, his banish- 
ment and its causes, first considering 
the political status of the Bay colony, 
at the time of the advent of Williams, 
and during his career in the colony. 
This condition cannot be more fully 
understood than by consulting the re- 
markable record left us by John Win- 
throp. In his diary, known as his 
"History of New England," under 
date of 1633 we find this entry: 

"By these ships (Mary and Jane) we un- 
derstood that Sir Christopher Gardiner 
and Thomas Morton and Philip Ratcliffe 
(who had been punished here for their mis- 
demeanors) had petitioned to the king and 
council against us, (being set on by Sir 
Ferdinando Gorges and Capt. Mason, who 
had begun a plantation at Pascataquack, and 
aimed at the general government of New 
England for their agent there, Capt. Neal.) 
TI12 petition was of many sheets of paper, 
and contained many false accusations (and 
among them some truths misrepeated) ac- 
cusing us to intend rebellion, to have cast 
off our allegiance and to be wholly separate 
from the church and laws of England; that 
our ministers and people did continually 
rail against the state, church and bishops 
there, etc." 

Who were Sir Christopher Gardi- 
ner, and Thomas Morton, and Philip 
Ratcliffe? History has recorded the 
efforts of Sir Ferdinand to form set- 
tlements in New England, and of his 
humiliating failure. 

Too great a digression would be 
necessary to follow the fortunes of 
Gorges and of his son Robert, and, af- 
terward, of his son John, in their ef- 
forts to found settlements in the New 
World. All these efforts signally 
failed, and the ambition of Sir Ferdi- 
nando, who had fondly imagined him- 
self the Governor General of a great and 
prosperous colony, or chain of colonies, 
fell into nothingness. When, there- 
fore, the settlements of John White 
and his little company, at Cape Ann ; of 
Roger Conant and John Endicott and 
their followers at Salem ; and of John 
Winthrop and his friends at Charles- 
town, and later at Boston, bade fair to 
take firm root and to grow luxuriant- 
ly in American soil, what wonder that 
Gorges felt pangs of jealousy. When, 
too, King Charles chose to ignore the 
Council for New England, which his 
father had chartered nine years before, 


and granted a charter to the colony of 
Massachusetts Bay, empowering the 
colonists to settle within the limits of 
his grant, his anger was stirred within 
him. "The whole proceeding," writes 
Charles Francis Adams, "could not but 
have been extremely offensive to 
Gorges. * * * * In any case, 
from that time forward, however he 
might dissemble and by speech or let- 
ter pretend to seek its welfare, the in- 
fant colony had to count Sir Ferdi- 
nando Gorges as its most persistent 
and, as the result soon showed, its most 
dangerous enemy." 

So much for Sir Ferdinand and his 
attitude toward the colony, still in its 
infancy. Sir Christopher Gardiner's 
was a character which made but little 
impress upon the life of the colony. 
He appeared suddenly, in New Eng- 
land, builded him a house upon the 
banks of the Neponset, not far from its 
mouth, and dwelt there in apparent in- 
offensiveness. Yet a female member 
of his household occupied an equivocal 
position, scandalizing the severe Puri- 
tan morality of the age and place ; and 
advices from England proved that two 
wives had, in turn, been deserted by 
him. Moreover, he was believed, and 
no doubt with truth, to be an agent or 
spy in the pay of Gorges. The resolve 
of the magistrates of Massachusetts 
Bay, therefore, was that he must re- 
turn to England and, accordingly, he 
was deported. Ample authority for 
this action was granted in the charter. 

Of Thomas Morton of Merry 
Mount, history and romance have 
made a broader record. Every his- 
torian of Massachusetts has fully set 
forth the story of Morton, whose an- 
tics about the May pole of Merry 
Mount, in company with his "lassies in 

beaver coats," scandalized the Puri- 
tan brethren across the Bay. But the 
chief of his offences was his persist- 
ence in supplying the Indians with 
firearms and ammunition, to the great 
alarm of the colonists. When, there- 
fore, he refused to be admonished and 
to turn from his evil courses, he too 
was deported and his dwelling burned. 

Of Philip Ratcliffe, the last of this 
precious trio, the record says but little. 
We know him to have been a resident 
of Salem, who uttered "mallitious and 
scandalous speeches against the gov- 
ernment and the church," and who 
thus came in violent contact with En- 
dicott ; a man irascible and hot-headed, 
and never noted for charitableness. 
Wliatever may have been Ratcliffe's 
exact offence, which does not appear, 
he was sentenced to be whipped, to 
have his ears cropped, to pay a fine of 
forty pounds, and to be banished from 
the colony. He, too, was sent back to 
England ; and so here we have three 
formidable enemies of the colony, em- 
bittered by what they regarded as per- 
sonal ill-treatment, and led on by 
Gorges, whose life was now devoted to 
the disruption and disturbance of those 
who seemed about to succeed upon the 
ground where he had failed. 

The efforts of these enemies of 
the colony came to naught. But 
they did not cease their exertions, with 
the first failure. A few months later, 
in February, 1634, a second complaint 
was entered, and an order was issued 
to Governor Craddock, by the Privy 
Council, for the production of the char- 
ter. Craddock, who was then in Eng- 
land, and who, in fact, never went to 
America, returned answer that the 
charter had been delivered to Mr. En- 
dicott. and that it was then in New 


England. He was instructed to com- 
municate with Endicott and to direct 
him to send the charter to England. 
A month later, intelligence came to 
the magistrates and the people of the 
colony, that the king had appointed a 
high commission, consisting of two 
archbishops and ten others of the 
Privy Council to regulate all planta- 
tions, with power to call in patents, 
make laws, raise tithes and portions for 
ministers, remove and punish govern- 
ors, hear and determine all causes and 
inflict punishments, even death. 

In September, 1634, the General 
Court assembled, and to it the demand 
for the production of the charter was 
presented, as well as a copy of the 
commission. The alarm of the colon- 
ists was now undisguised. But the 
American spirit displayed itself, the 
same spirit that one hundred and forty 
years later, was fully aroused at Con- 
cord, and at Bunker Hill. Fortifica- 
tions were thrown up at various points, 
and a beacon was erected upon the 
summit of the highest of the three 
peaks, within the limits of the settle- 
ment, by means of which an alarm 
might be given to the people of the 
surrounding country, in case of inva- 
sion. Hence we have today the name 
of Beacon Hill. 

Winthrop, after recording the ef- 
forts of the colony's enemies, here re- 
counted, adds : "The Lord frustrated 
their designs." Nevertheless, this was 
a critical period in the history of the 
colony. Its very existence was threat- 
ened. Enemies, bitter enemies, at 
court, were struggling hard for its 
overthrow, and the assertions upon 
which these enemies were founding 
their appeals to the crown, were not 
wholly without foundation. Winthrop 

records, as we have seen, that their 
statements included "some truths mis- 
repeated;" and also the assertion 
made that the ministers of the colony 
were, in effect, teaching sedition. In 
spirit we know that these charges were 
false ; in word we know that they were 
true, for, as we have already seen, 
Roger Williams was busily and per- 
sistently engaged, in spite of repeated 
warnings and of strong opposition, in 
promulgating the very political doc- 
trines, with the teaching of which the 
Boston clergy stood charged. 

The settlers of Massachusetts Bay 
could not be possessed with another 
feeling than one of alarm, when they 
became aware of these efforts for their 
destruction. The effect of these ef- 
forts they could do but little to avert; 
but it did lie in their power to silence 
the intestine enemy, whose contentions 
gave excellent color to the charges of 
their enemies abroad. And hence, re- 
lying upon the permissive clause in 
their charter, which had already been 
made operative in the cases of Gardi- 
ner, Morton, Ratcliffe, and nearly a 
score of similar offenders, it was re- 
solved to send Williams away. 

Following thus closely the record of 
history we have failed to find color for 
the prevalent idea, that Roger Will- 
iams was banished from Masssachu- 
setts Bay for the offense of preaching 
the doctrine of religious liberty. We 
have failed to find in him a martyr; 
and the words of Charles Francis 
Adams, in which the expulsion of 
Williams is compared to the dragging 
of Garrison about the streets of Bos- 
ton, with a rope about his neck, for 
the offence of preaching the freedom 
of the slave, must be read with nothing 
less than amazement. 


That astute historical student, Dr, 
Diman, has said: "To upbraid the Pur- 
itans as unrelenting persecutors, or to 
extol Roger Williams as a martyr to 
the cause of religious liberty, is equally 
wide of the real fact." 

Search as closely as one may, the 
effort to find a record that this idea had 
been made prominent in his teachings, 
prior to his settlement at Providence, 
must result in failure. The Separatist 
idea was abhorred alike by church- 
man and Puritan. The attack upon 
the patent, the constitution of the col- 
ony itself, the very root and ground- 
work of its political and social fabric, 
as Professor Fisher explains, "opened 
the prospect of a collision with the 
English authorities, who would be 
ready enough to take notice of proofs 
of disloyalty in the Puritan colony.' 5 
The opposition to the freeman's oath, 
as Diman insists, "cut at the roots of 
the theocratic system already firmly 
planted"; and this, adds Professor 
Fisher, "was at a time when the ad- 
ministration of this oath was deemed 
essential to the safety of the colony." 
"The judgment (the act of banish- 
ment) "was vindicated," says Ban- 
croft, "not as a restraint on freedom 
of conscience, but because the applica- 
tion of the new doctrine to the con- 
struction of the patent, to the discipline 
of the churches, and to the 'oaths for 
making tryall of the fidelity of the 
people,' seemed about 'to subvert the 
fundamental state and government of 
the country.' " 

Of the banishment of Williams, says 
Diman: "It was the ordinary method 
by which a corporate body would deal 
with those whose presence no longer 
seemed desirable. Conceiving them- 
selves to be, by patent, the exclusive 

possessors of the soil, soil which they 
had purchased for the accomplishment 
of their personal and private ends, the 
colonists never doubted their compe- 
tency to fix the terms on which others 
should be allowed to share in their un- 

But, although it cannot successfully 
be contended that Roger Williams was 
driven forth from the colony of Mas- 
sachusetts Bay, for his advocacy of the 
cause of "soul liberty," that he subse- 
quently became the great apostle of 
that idea cannot be successfully de- 
nied. John Cotton said of his removal 
from Massachusetts, that "it was not 
banishment but enlargement." "Had 
he remained in Massachusetts," says 
Diman, "he would only be remembered 
as a godly, but contentious, Puritan 
divine. Removed, for a time, from 
the heated atmosphere of controversy, 
he first saw, in its true proportions, the 
great principle which has shed endur- 
ing lustre on his name." 

Williams had been, it is not to be 
doubted, somewhat under the Dutch 
influence and the doctrine of religious 
toleration there undoubtedly had its 
rise. But though Roger Williams may 
not have been the original discoverer 
of the idea of religious toleration, he 
so far improved upon it, that he was 
certainly entitled to claim it as his own. 
For Williams insisted upon far more 
than simple toleration. It was his con- 
tention, and upon this idea was his col- 
ony founded, that the right to prescribe 
the form of worship or the faith of 
the worshipper rests, in no sense, with 
the civil power; that the religious and 
the civil powers are utterly and wholly 
distinct and are in no manner interde- 
pendent. It was upon this broad foun- 
dation that the government of the 


Plantations at Providence was builded. 
"For the first time in history," wrote 
Diman, "a form of government was 
adopted which drew a clear and unmis- 
takable line between the temporal and 
the spiritual power ; and a community 
came into being which was an anomaly 
among the nations." 

In the year 1644 was published in 
London a treatise from the pen of 
Roger Williams, to which he gave the 
title : "The Bloudy Tenent of Persecu- 
tion." Therein we read a sentiment 
differing in no essential degree from a 
similar utterance in the Virginia dec- 
laration of rights, adopted one hun- 
dred and thirty-two years after. 

A little later, this opinion, broached 
by Roger Williams in 1644, and reit- 
erated by Madison more than a cen- 
tury after, became the agreed opinion 
of the American colonies as expressed 
in their Declaration of Independence. 

Roger Williams was, without doubt, 
erratic, and so, indeed, was Wendell 
Phillips, and so are nearly all great re- 
formers. The character of Williams 
presents also in some degree, the ele- 
ment of inconsistency. While we find 
him vigorously and continuously in- 

veighing against the validity of the 
king's patent, and, in effect, accusing 
his fellow-settlers of the theft of the 
land upon which their dwellings and 
farms stood, he himself was the owner 
of a dwelling and lot in the village of 
Salem. We know that this property 
he mortgaged to raise money with 
which to purchase gifts for his Indian 
friends; and the fee of the property 
was acquired, no one will deny, from 
a white settler, from whom he pur- 
chased it. 

Governor Bradford has already been 
quoted as declaring Williams to be a 
man "unsettled in judgment." This 
characterization, perhaps, is the most 
just which students of his life and ca- 
reer will adopt. Whimsical, erratic, 
unwilling to submit to the guidance, or 
to listen to the advice of his elders, 
stubborn in the advocacy of his ideas. 
unable to distinguish cieariy between 
the trivial and the important, we find 
him in the earlier years of his career. 
Later, we recognize in him qualities 
which stamp him, if not as the greatest, 
yet certainly as the most progressive 
statesman of the age in which he 

My Dream Garden 

By Edith R. Blanchard 

DEAR love, my love, though long since lost to me, 
Though by another's side you live the dreams 
We dreamt we'd live together, long ago, 
You are mine still, and I have made for you 
A garden from whose gates you may not go. 

Green walls of mem'ry keep you captive, love, 
The trysting-tree you have forgot is there, 
Old-fashioned roses by the pathway bloom 
Unfading, since you loved them in the past, 
And laden with a vaguely sweet perfume. 

You are not lonely in your garden, love, 
For every night, when dreary tasks are done, 
I come to meet you in the same old place, 
To hold you unresisting in my arms, 
And feel your kiss of welcome on my face. 

The moon, aswing amid the jasmine vine, 

Smiles down upon you in your quaint white gown, 

Till from your arms and breast the rose blush dies, 

Melts to the silver of the lily's bloom. 

Ah, love, the moonlight shining in your eyes ! 

The bold night breezes wanton in your hair, 
They fling its maddening fragrance in my face, 
Till I, from whom fate drew all love apart, 
I fold you in these empty, longing arms 
And crush you yielding to my lonely heart. 

But ah, from that dear garden, yours and mine, 
Harsh voices call me, cruel visions come, 
Old shadows shut me from the joys inside. 
Once more I lose you, as I lost you then, 
Once more that other claims you as his bride. 

So, when at last the great white stranger comes, 
And midst the gloom I feel him press my hand, 
This, as he bends above me, I shall say, 
Dear Death, I care not for the courts of gold, 
But lead me to my garden, there to stay. 

S6 S 

The Pennsylvania Germans 

By Lucy Forney Bittinger 

THE ignorance concerning the 
Pennsylvania Germans on 
the part of English-speaking 
people is so deep and wide- 
spread that I have thought an account 
of them and how they came to emigrate 
to this country, so distant from their 
home and so alien to their language 
and government might result in a bet- 
ter understanding of an uncompre- 
hended people. 

The Pennsylvania Germans are the 
descendants of the German and Swiss 
emigrants to this country who came 
here between the time of the founding 
of Pennsylvania in 1683 and the Revo- 
lutionary war, and who formed a com- 
munity homogeneous in blood, with 
language, customs, religion and habits 
of thought peculiar to itself and last- 
ing unchanged for many years. 

They were the only emigrants of any 
Continental nation, who came here in 
large numbers prior to the Revolution. 
The causes for so large an emigration 
from remote Germany naturally ex- 
cite our inquiry. These causes were 
two-fold. First in point of time and 
importance, was a religious motive. The 
worldly condition of the German peas- 
ants and artisans, from which class the 
emigrants chiefly came, formed a sec- 
ondary and later cause. 

The religious motive of the emi- 
grants is well stated by Prof. Oswald 
Seidensticker : 

"Important as was the impetus which the 
political conditions of Germany gave to'em- 

igration, religious motives had a yet more 
powerful influence. For a man will put up 
with almost any injury sooner than an attack 
upon matters of religion. Indeed, the Ger- 
man emigration was in its causes, a parallel 
to that of the Quakers and the New Eng- 
land Puritans. In Germany, too, were sects, 
which lived at enmity with the recognized 
confessions and were bitterly persecuted. 
At the end of the seventeenth century there 
arose a reaction against the dead theology 
of the churches, which endeavored after a 
deeper comprehension of religious truth and 
a closer following of the commands of 
Christianity, and appeared, sometimes as 
Pietism, sometimes as hypercritical Mystic- 
ism. It manifested itself in all sorts of as- 
cetic, "inspired," "awakened" conventicles, 
not without degenerating into fanaticism. 
For all these pious people, oppressed and 
maltreated, Pennsylvania was an asylum, a 
Pella, as Pastorius expresses it, where they 
could cultivate their particular form of be- 
lief and practice, without opposition. That 
it was the jewel of religious freedom, which 
lured the German emigrants by its glori- 
ous rays to Pennsylvania, we have express 
testimony. Let us hear what Christoph 
Saur, himself a so-called sectary, a Dunker, 
says about it : 'Pensilvanien is such a coun- 
try as no one in the world ever heard 01 
read of; many thousand people from Eu- 
rope have gladly come hither just on ac- 
count of the friendliness of the govern- 
ment and the freedom of conscience. This 
noble freedom is like a decoy-bird, which 
shall first bring people to Pensilvanien 
and when the good land gradually becomes 
too narrow, people will go from here to 
the neighboring English colonies and they 
will be settled by many emigrants from 
Germany, for Pensilvanien's sake.' " 

And in Prof. Seidensticker's charm- 
ing sketches, "Bilder aus der deutch- 
pennsylvanischen Geschichte," he says : 



"Three confessions only, the Catholic, 
the Lutherans and the Reformed, had ob- 
tained, thro' the peace of Westphalia, the 
right of existence in the German empire. 
Whoever felt driven by conscientious con- 
viction to express his creed in a different 
form, to interpret the Bible differently, to 
clothe his worship of God in a different 
formula, — his life was made bitter by church 
and state. Such unchurchly Christians, who 
were violently opposed and unsparingly 
persecuted, were very numerous in Ger- 
many toward the end of the seventeenth 
century. The inoffensive Mennonites found 
only here and there a precarious toleration, 
the God-fearing Schwenkfelder were obliged 
to endure more revolting cruelty, even the 
Pietists, Spener's devout followers, who 
insisted only on a more ardent conception 
of and conscientious practice of religion 
in the Lutheran body, were regarded by the 
formal church with suspicion, grossly slan- 
dered, and denounced to the government 
as dangerous innovators. The Mystics who 
appeared in many forms among learned and 
unlearned alike, they would have liked to 
relegate to madhouses and jails." 

The same writer, the highest author- 
ity on Pennsylvania-German history, 
thus describes with a rare union of ac- 
curacy and eloquence, the conditions of 
life in that part of Germany from 
which most of the emigrants came : 

"The causes which at this particular time, 
the end of the seventeenth and beginning of 
the eighteenth centuries, gave a powerful 
impulse to the scarcely commenced emigra- 
tion, are not far to seek. The Palatinate 
and other parts of western Germany had 
been for decades exposed to the plunderings 
and burnings of the French. Strasburg be- 
came their booty in 1681. With the year 
1688 began a system of unexampled barbar- 
ity. Cities and villages, among them Heid- 
elberg, Speier, Worms, Kreuznach and 
Mannheim, were laid in ashes, others ran- 
somed by the extortion of considerable sums 
of money; there was endless misery and 
suffering; the dwellers in city or country 
found from their Fatherland no protection, 
from the uniformed robber-bands of Louis 
XIV. no mercy. And after Johann Wil- 

helm — bigotted and influenced by th« 
Jesuits — came to the throne of the Palati- 
nate in 1690, there was added religious in- 
tolerance. The Protestants were treated 
with unbearable contempt; the Huguenots 
and Waldenses, who had emigrated there 
under the Elector Karl, were forced to quit 
the country, and betook themselves, some to 
Prussia, some to America. But Johann 
Wilhelm was exceeded by his successor, 
Karl Philip, who made his Jesuit confessor, 
Father Seedorf, Conference-Minister; and 
in dissoluteness, pomp and extravagance, 
vied with the French court. Of course, his 
subjects must pay with their last penny for 
the costly fancies of their prince. Even 
when this ruler departed this life, times in 
the Palatinate were not improved, for the 
reign of Karl Theodor, which covered 
nearly all the remainder of the century, was, 
in the self-indulgence of the ruler, in bad 
government, and in impoverishment of the 
people, quite the most mischievous which 
the heavily-visited Palatinate ever had to 
bear. In other South-German principali- 
ties, things were not much better. The 
imitation of France, as contemptible as 
costly, when every prince took pride in be- 
ing a follower of Louis XIV., pressed heav- 
ily on the subjects. This was particularly 
the case in Wurtemberg, from which as 
from the Palatinate, tho somewhat later, 
wholesale emigrations to America took 

But you ask, how did these perse- 
cuted Christians, these oppressed 
peasants, come to know of the Pella be- 
yond the seas. We answer, — through 
the founder of Pennsylvania, William 

The Quaker apostle had made two 
"religious journeys" into Germany be- 
fore he came into possession of his 
province of "Penn's woods." Among 
the Mennonites, the Moravians, the 
Pietists and the Mystics of the Rhine 
country, Penn thought he found a soil 
for the seed of Quakerism, and little 
communities of "Friends" were gath- 
ered in some places. Seidensticker has 



traced with the greatest care his jour- 
neyings through Holland and the 
Rheinland, now at an interview with a 
royal abbess or the Pfalz-graf, now 
"edifying the plain people of Krisheim 
in a barn." But his journey in its main 
aim was a failure. Quakerism in Ger- 
many was an exotic which took no 
root. Another result, undreamed of, 
is the one which lives to this day. 
Penn's journey made him acquainted 
with a group of sectaries in Frankfort 
— chiefly Pietists, men and women of 
culture and rank — who, when he pub- 
lished, in 1681, his "Account of the 
Province of Pennsylvania in America," 
translated into German in the same 
year as "Eine Nachricht von Pensil- 
vanien," conceived the project of buy- 
ing a tract of land there and emigrat- 
ing in a body. But — strange are the 
devious ways by which any human en- 
terprise proceeds to its accomplish- 
ment — not one of the Frankfort Com- 
pany ever carried out their intention of 
emigrating to the "Landschaft Pensil- 
vanien." Perhaps the many ties which 
bind cultivated people to the home and 
society in which they were born, were 
too strong to break. It was reserved 
to a little company of linen-weavers in 
Crefeld, mostly Mennonites, to be the 
path-finders for that immense follow- 
ing which in two generations made the 
province of Pennsylvania half German 
in population and left its impression 
on parts of it to this day, which has 
made the 16th of October an honored 
"Forefather's Day" to many German- 
Americans and the "Concord," — peace- 
ful name, — as well-omened as the 
English "Mayflower." 

A good leader is half the battle in 
such an enterprise as the Crefelders 
had before them, and this indispensa- 

ble man they found in Franz Daniel 
Pastorius, the "Pennsylvania Pilgrim," 
whose sweet and sunny memory Whit- 
tier has rescued from the oblivion of 
two centuries. He was born in Som- 
merhausen in 165 1. His family came 
from Erfurt, whence his grandfather, 
fleeing from the Swedes in the Thirty 
Years' War, was caught in hiding 
and so maltreated that he died. Pasto- 
ius's father was a lawyer of some local 
distinction in Windsheim. Franz Dan- 
iel, his eldest son, studied at the univer- 
sities of Jena and Altdorf, travelled ex- 
tensively, and then went to Frankfort 
to practise law. There he became ac- 
quainted with the Pietist circle of 
William Penn's friends who had 
formed the Frankfort Company and in- 
tended to emigrate to Pennsylvania in 
search of religious freedom. They 
persuaded Pastorius to become their 
agent and precede them by a little — as 
they thought — to their future home. 
But when the Crefeld Mennonites came 
instead, Pastorius assisted them, laid 
out their town for them, and took up 
his residence among them. His first 
impressions of the City of Brotherly 
Love were not very favorable. It con- 
sisted of a few temporary cabins. "The 
remainder," he says, "was forest and 
undergrowth, wherein I several times 
lost myself tho' at no great distance 
from the shore. What an impression 
such a city made upon me — who had 
seen London, Paris, Amsterdam and 
Ghent — I need not say." But he found 
kindly friends there. Lloyd, afterwards 
president of the Provincial Coun- 
cil, and William Penn received him 
with "loving friendliness," and Pasto- 
rius notes that his first meeting with 
the founder of Pennsylvania took place 
the dav after his arrival, in "a tent 



made of fir-tree and chestnut boughs." 
His first residence in Philadelphia he 
thus describes : "I had previously built 
a little house in Philadelphia, thirty 
feet long and fifteen wide, with win- 
dews which in the lack of glass I had 
made out of oiled paper; above the 
door I had written, 'Parva domus sed 
arnica bonis procul este profani/ 
whereat our governor when he visited 
me, burst out laughing and encour- 
aged me to build further." 

In a few weeks the emigrants ar- 
rived in the Concord. They chose their 
land and began their settlement, aided 
by Pastorius. In the town records of 
Germantown he gave to posterity a 
quaint and circumstantial account of 
all their proceedings. Before begin- 
ning it, the spirit of prophecy descend- 
ed upon the German pioneer, and in his 
stately Latin he thus invokes pos- 
terity (I give Whittier's poetic trans- 
lation) : 
Hail to posterity! 

Hail, future men of Germanopolis ! 
Let the young generations yet to be 

Look kindly upon this. 
Think how your fathers left their native 
land — 
Dear German-land ! O sacred hearths and 
homes ! — 
And where the wild beast roams, 

In patience planned 
New forest homes beyond the mighty sea, 
There undisturbed and free 
To live as brothers of one family, 

What pains and cares befell, 

What trials and what fears, 
Remember, and wherein we have done well 
Follow our footsteps, men of coming years ! 

Where we have failed to do 

Aright, or wisely live, 
Be warned by us, the* better way pursue, 
And, knowing we were human, even as you, 

Pity us and forgive ! 

Farewell, Posterity! 

Farewell, dear Germany ! 

Forevermore farewell! 

The history of "Germanopolis," 
while it was literally 

"the German town 
Vvhere live High German people and Low 

Whose trade in weaving Linnen cloth is 


is not eventful. The proverbial indus- 
try of the Germans soon enabled them 
to live in comfort. They built little 
houses, they planted cherry trees along 
the streets in the fashion of the Fath- 
erland, and to their great delight they 
found that the grape-vine grew wild in 
their new home, and they cultivated it. 
They also planted flax, and soon built 
up a thriving industry in knitting and 
weaving. Their stockings were long 
celebrated, and "Germantown" wool is 
still a name well known in commerce. 
To these elements of prosperity their 
town-seal chosen by Pastorius himself, 
"with 'vinum linum et textrinum' 
wound," still testifies. There even 
grew up some foreign commerce ; they 
sent furs, bartered from Indian hunt- 
ers, to England ; they exchanged cattle 
with Barbadoes. The first paper-mill 
in the colonies was erected in German- 
town by Wilhelm Ruttinghuysen (Rit- 
tenhouse). He was a Hollander, but 
most of the settlers of Germantown 
were thorough Germans and German 
was the language of the place. 

From 1689 they had a corporate ex- 
istence of their own. But the annals of 
the government of Germanopolis are 
exceedingly uneventful. It was diffi- 
cult to find any one to accept the offices, 
so Pastorius wrote in 1703 to William 
Penn; but he hoped that the impend- 
ing arrival of new emigrants would 
help them out of their embarrassments. 
It is hardly likely that there has ever 
been a time since when it was neces- 



sary to import office holders because 
the home product was insufficient. The 
chief concerns of the burgomaster and 
his council seem to have arisen from 
vagabond pigs and ill-kept fences. 
Sometimes there was no session of the 
court because there was no business to 
come before it; again they adjourned 
because the secretary had gone to 

Three years after the settlement was 
established, a small meeting-house was 
built by the Quakers. It soon became 
too small and was replaced by a larger 
one, but it must have been in this first 
"Kirchlein," as Pastorius calls it, that 
the protest against slavery was made 
by Pastorius and two other Friends, 
"the first association who ever pro- 
tested against Negro slavery." We 
are probably right in ascribing the 
honor of the composition of this pro- 
test to Pastorius, who was the only man 
in the little settlement able to express 
himself so clearly in English, who did 
all the writing for the community, and 
who is known on the evidence of his 
poems to have held the same views on 
slavery and to have opposed it on the 
same grounds as are set forth in the 
memorial. But "the startled meeting" 
cautiously referred the protest to the 
Quarterly Meeting and that to the 
Yearly Meeting. This body was not 
less afraid of the simple deductions of 
the German Friends from the Golden 
Rule, and decorously smothered the 
anti-slavery movement thus : "It is not 
thought proper for the Meeting to de- 
cide this question." If Pastorius ever 
looked back over his life and its multi- 
farious efforts for the good of his fel- 
low-men to think of his unheeded pro- 
test, he must have thought it a com- 
plete and pitiful failure. He could not 

foresee how at last that cause should 
triumph, though none should remem- 
ber the simple "German Friends'' who 
first of all on this continent, lifted their 
voices for the oppressed. 

"And lo ! the fulness of the time has come, 
And over all the exile's Western home, 
From sea to sea the flowers of freedom 

bloom ! 
And joy-bells ring and silver trumpets 

blow ; 
But not for thee, Pastorius ! Even so 
The world forgets, but the wise angels 


Every year the number of the set- 
tlers in Germantown was increased by 
new accessions, chiefly Mennonites 
fleeing out of Switzerland and Ger- 
many from the bitter persecution of 
centuries. In the eleventh year of the 
settlement, there arrived at German- 
town about forty persons, men and 
women, the followers of Johann Kel- 
pius, the "Philadelphian Society," the 
"Awakened," who had come to devote 
themselves to a life of solitude and 
celibacy in the forests of Pennsylvania. 

Their leader, Kelpius, was so great a 
part of their life that we must first of 
all know him. He was the son of a 
pastor near Strasburg, educated at 
Altdorf, like Pastorius, and from his 
graduation, interested himself deeply 
in all sorts of mystical speculations. 
For a time he was under the influence 
of Dr. Fabricius of Helmstadt, the 
characteristic of whose opinions was a 
desire to bring about peace between 
the two warring Protestant confes- 
sions, — the Lutheran and the Re- 
formed. More profitable than the 
speculations of Boehme or of Dr. 
Petersen, which he also took up, was 
the practical Pietism of Spener, in 
which he was interested. The "revela- 
tions" of the beautiful Rosamunde von 

J &- 




Asseburg, a ward of Petersen's, also 
attracted him. 

Finally, with a company of like- 
minded souls, he resolved to go to 
Pennsylvania, which was then becom- 
ing a cave of Adullam for diverse peo- 
ple, from the patient Mennonite suf- 
ferers to these new emigrants — ''mad- 
dest of good men." Going to London 
on their way to America, they fell in 
with English adherents of the Philadel- 
phian Society, who had nothing in 
common with William Penn's "forest 
court" but were devoted to bringing 
all sects into a united body by means 
of the philosophy of Jacob Boehme. 
Their own account of their journey 
from England affords a vivid picture 
of the dangers of emigrants in those 
days. They were nearly shipwrecked, 
returned to Deal and awaited a convey. 
Being disappointed in this, they went 
to Plymouth and from thence, with 
the promise that several vessels going 
to Spain should accompany them for 
"200 Holland miles," they sailed. 
After their escort left them the 
two ships were attacked by as many 
French vessels. They defended them- 
selves bravely, took a merchantman 
under the French vessels' convoy and 
after several false alarms, reached 
Philadelphia in safety. 

In Germantown, Kelpius found the 
philosophy of Boehme little appreciat- 
ed. He, however, obtained some land 
from an admirer, — tradition says 
Thomas Fairman, surveyor of the 
province, — and settled on the Wissa- 
hickon with his company. They built 
a log-house, cleared a field and planted 
corn. Then they gave themselves to 
the instruction of children, thinking 
there was no hope for a dissemination 
of their ideas, save with the rising gen- 

eration. Tradition still remembers 
Kelpius as the "Hermit of the Wissa- 
hickon" and points out a spring which 
he is said to have walled up with his 
own hands. The company themselves 
called their settlement "the Woman in 
the Wilderness," in allusion to Rev. 
12 :6, and allegorized the name to their 
hearts' content. The hermit life must 
not be taken too strictly. Kelpius had 
considerable religious correspondence 
with various persons interested in his 
opinions, which though Chiliast in 
tone, did not permit him to fix a time 
for the millenium. "The matter will 
turn out quite different from what one 
or another, even J. L. (probably Jane 
Leade) imagines." He hoped for a 
union of all Christians ; in a letter to 
his old teacher, Fabricius, he says: "I 
hope that God who saves men and cat- 
tle and has mercy upon all his works, 
will at length, as in the first Adam they 
all die, so in the other make them all 
alive," the opinion known as Restora- 
tionism. He wrote much religious 
poetry, full of a burning desire for the 
coming of Christ and a resumption 
into him in eternal love and bliss. 
These fiery longings early wore him 
out; he died in his fortieth year. We 
have this picture of his last days, which 
reminds us of the Morte d'Arthur, 
though nothing could have been far- 
ther from the thoughts of the narrator, 
Pastor Muhlenberg: 

"Herr K. steadfastly believed, among 
other things, that he would not die nor his 
body see corruption, but would be changed, 
glorified, clothed upon, and he, like Elias, 
be taken hence. Now when his last hour 
drew nigh and forebodings, as with other 
children of Adam, announced dissolution 
and the separation of soul and body, Herr 
K. continued three days and nights before 
God, wrestling and beseeching that He 



should make no separation with him but 
leave body and soul together and take 
him up to heaven in glory. At length he 
ceased and said to his friend, 'My dear 
Daniel, I do not obtain what I believed, 
but the answer came to me, that I am dust 
and must return to dust; I shall die, as do 
other children of Adam.' Some days after 
this mortal conflict, Herr K. gave this 
friend Daniel a closely sealed box and com- 
manded him solemnly to throw it forthwith 
into the river called Schulkil. Daniel went 
therewith to the water. But because he 
thought that this hidden treasure might 
perchance be useful to him and his fellow- 
men, he hid the box on the bank and did 
not throw it in. When he came back, Herr 
K. looked him keenly in the eyes and said : 
'You have not thrown the box into the 
water but hidden it on the bank.' Whereat 
the honest Daniel, terrified, and believing 
that his friend's spirit must be in some 
measure omniscient, ran again to the water, 
and this time really threw in the box and 
saw and heard with astonishment that in 
the water the Arcanum, as he expressed it, 
thundered and lightened. After he came 
back Herr K. called to him, 'Now it is 
finished, what I gave you to do.' " 

We have little knowledge of the ulti- 
mate fate of the "Woman in the Wil- 

Some years before Kelpius's death, 
Pastorius resigned his agency of the 
Frankfort Company, and three other 
trustees were appointed, Kelpius (who 
took not the slightest notice of his ap- 
pointment), Falckner, and Jawert of 
Germantown. Seven years after, Jaw- 
ert received an offer for the Frankfort 
Company's land in Montgomery Coun- 
ty from a speculator named Sprogel. 
Jawert rejected the offer as too low ; 
Sprogel thereupon offered Jawert a 
douceur of £100 to sell him the land, 
which Jawert, an honorable man, in- 
dignantly refused. Shortly after, 
Falckner, the other agent, sold the land 
to Sprogel, without Jawert's knowl- 

edge and to the latter's great anger. 
Falckner was indebted to Sprogel for 
a considerable sum of money. In a 
short time Sprogel terrified the indus- 
trious settlers of Germantown by at- 
tempting to eject them, by a legal proc- 
ess, from the homes which they had 
won from the wilderness six-and-twen- 
ty years before. The colonists in their 
extremity fled to their trusted friend 
Pastorius. He, going to Philadelphia 
to get legal advice, found that "alle 
lawyers gefeed waren," as he says, for- 
getting his German in his distress. I 
hasten to add that in those Arcadian 
days there were only four lawyers in 
the province of Pennsylvania. The 
Germantown people were too poor to 
bring legal help from New York, but 
Pastorius's old friend, the provincial 
statesman, James Logan, advised a pe- 
tition to the Provincial Council. Jawert 
joined them in this. The Council pro- 
nounced Falckner's operations "an 
atrocious plot" and saved the inhabi- 
tants of Germantown from the loss of 
their all. But nothing could save the 
other property of the Frankfort Com- 
pany, "and so we find that of the ex- 
tensive possessions which the Frank- 
forters had secured with such high ex- 
pectations from William Penn, more 
than seven-eighths passed into the 
hands of a lucky speculator." The af- 
fair was a great grief to Pastorius and 
embittered his later years. 

Kelpius had died before the Sprogel 
trouble. Pastorius survived the hermit 
of the Wissahickon ten useful years, 
employed in teaching a little school, in 
manifold labors for his fellow-men, in 
writing (he published four books "aus 
der in Pennsylvanien neulichst von mir 
in Grund angelegten und nun mit 
srnten Success aufgehenden Stadt Ger- 



manopoli"), in filling 1,000 manu- 
script pages of his exquisite penman- 
ship with his "Rusca Apium" 
"That with bees began 

And through the gamut of creation ran," 
and, greatest joy of all, in cultivating 
his dearly loved garden. Of it he wrote 
poems ; to its flowers he inscribed such 
as this, which happily shows his ming- 
led love of flowers and love of God : 

"Ob ich Deiner schon vergiss 
Und des rechten Wegs oft miss, 
Auch versaiime meine Pflicht, 
Lieber Gott, vergiss mein nicht. 
Bring mich wieder auf die Bahn, 
Nimm mich zu Genaden an ; 
Und, wenn mich der Feind anficht, 
Lieber Gott, vergiss mein nicht. 
Doch ich weiss, Dein Vaterherz 
Neigt in Lieb' sich niederwarts, 
1st in Treu' auf mich gericht, 
Und vergisst mein nimmer nicht." 

The very date of Pastorius' death 
is uncertain ; no man knoweth of his 
sepulchre unto this day. "That his re- 
mains rest in the old Quaker burying- 
ground in Germantown, is a conjecture 
with which one may unhesitatingly 
agree. Should it ever come to pass 
that a monument should be raised to 
the worthy man, the forerunner of mil- 
lions of German settlers in America, 
who, in a strange land, preserved his 
German integrity and strict conscien- 
tiousness unspotted, the words in 
which William Penn characterized him 
should be placed upon it : "Vir sobrius, 
probus, prudens et pius, spectatae inter 
omnes inculpataeque famae." (Sober, 
upright, wise and devout, a man re- 
spected by all and of unblemished 
fame.) No more perfect picture of 
Pastorius's land and time can be found 
than the "Pennsylvania Pilgrim" of 
Whittier. The student of its history is 
always astonished at the art concealing 

art with which the Quaker poet has 
combined historical exactness in the 
minutest details with the purest and 
sweetest strains of poetry. So let him 
portray a character in many ways so 
like his own: 

"His forest home no hermit's cell he found, 
Guests, motley-minded, drew his hearth 

And held armed truce upon its neutral 


There Indian chiefs with battle-bows un- 

Strong, hero-limbed, like those whom Ho- 
mer sung, 

Pastorius fancied, when the world was 

Came with their tawny women, lithe and 

Like bronzes in his friend Von Rodeck's 

Comely, if black, and not unpleasing all. 

There hungry folk in homespun drab and 

Drew round his board on Monthly Meeting 

Genial, half merry in their friendly way. 

Or, haply, pilgrims from the Fatherland, 
Weak, timid, homesick, slow to understand 
The New World's promise, sought his help- 
ing hand. 

Or painful Kelpius from his hermit den 
By Wissahickon, maddest of good men, 
Dreamed o'er the Chiliast dreams of Peter- 

Deep in the woods, where the small river 

Snake-like in shade, the Helmstadt Mystic 

Weird as a wizard over arts forbid, 

Reading the books of Daniel and of John, 
And Behmen's Morning-Redness, through 

the Stone 
Of Wisdom, vouchsafed to his eyes alone, 



Whereby he read what man ne'er read be- 
And saw the visions man shall see no more, 
Till the great angel, striding sea and shore, 

Shall bid all flesh await, on land or ships, 
The warning trump of the Apocalypse, 
Shattering the heavens before the dread 

Or meek-eyed Mennonist his bearded chin 
Leaned o'er the gate ; or Ranter, pure with 

Aired his perfection in a world of sin. 

Or, talking of old home scenes, Op den 

Teasing the low back-log with his shodden 

Till the red embers broke into a laugh 

And dance of flame, as if they fain would 

The rugged face, half tender, half austere, 
Touched with the pathos of a homesick tear ! 

Haply, from Finland's birchen groves ex- 
Manly in thought, in simple ways a child, 
His white hair floating round his visage 

The Swedish pastor sought the Quaker's 

Pleased from his neighbor's lips to hear 

once more 
His long-disused and half-forgotten lore. 

For both could baffle Babel's lingual curse, 
And speak in Bion's Doric, and rehearse 
Cleanthes' hymn or Virgil's sounding verse. 

And oft Pastorius and the meek old man 
Argued as Quaker and as Lutheran, 
Ending in Christian love, as they began." 


We come now to another period in 
the history of the Pennsylvania Ger- 
mans. Prof. Seidensticker has well 
characterized it in his account of Chris- 
toph Satir, where he thus says : 

"When he reached Germantown in the 
autumn of 1724 and settled among the Ger- 

man-speaking inhabitants, the town had 
been founded almost a generation. There 
were many yet living who had seen the spot 
when it was an untrodden wilderness and 
could describe the cabin-building of the 
winter of 1683-4. The pioneer of German 
emigration, the learned Franz Daniel Pas- 
torius, had died a few years before; but 
there still survived the Rittenhouse broth- 
ers, Johann Selig, the bosom-friend of Kel- 
pius, and others. And yet the German im- 
migration had long since entered upon a 
new stage. Not only had Germantown 
outgrown its idyllic childhood, — the rapidly 
increasing stream poured itself into the 
country districts of Skippack and Perki- 
omen, and further up the Schuylkill to 
Oley and other portions of the present 
Berks County. Other parts of the country 
which Germans and Swiss specially pre- 
ferred, were the fruitful valleys of the 
Conestoga, the Pequae, and other tribu- 
taries of the Susquehanna in that part of 
Chester County which was organized in 
1729 as Lancaster County." 

It is impossible any longer to trace 
the progress of a single settlement like 

For twenty years after the weavers 
of Crefeld came to found German- 
town, there was no large accession to 
their numbers at any one time. With 
the exception of Kelpius's little colony, 
no emigrants came in a body, though 
the settlers received constant acces- 
sions. But with the beginning of the 
new century a period of large emigra- 
tion set in, lasting for more than a 
quarter of that century. It was large- 
ly a sectarian movement, and one of 
colonies. The first body to emigrate 
in large numbers was the sect of the 
Mennonites. Seidensticker says: 

"The Mennonites, the meekest, most pa- 
tient and peaceable of Christian men, had 
continually suffered the bitterest persecu- 
tion. Menno Simons himself, after whom 
they are named, was outlawed and to the 
man who should kill him was promised not 



only pardon for all his crimes, but the re- 
ward of a 'Carlsgulden.' Sebastian Frank 
in his chronicle (1530) says of these Bap- 
tists, 'They laid hold of them in many 
places with the greatest tyranny, put them 
in prison and punished them with fire, 
sword, water and all kinds of imprison- 
ment, so that in a few years many of them 
were killed in many places and it was esti- 
mated that more than 2,000 were killed in 
all parts of the country, and they suffered 
like martyrs, patiently and steadfastly.' " 

It is true that Menno Simons first 
gathered the scattered Mennonites into 
a body, but they had existed long be- 
fore. In fact they were but parts of 
that great movement of the Reforma- 
tion times known (chiefly through its 
enemies) as Anabaptism. To most 
readers this name brings up images of 
Thomas Munzer, and the "Prophet" of 
Leyden, of community of goods and 
wives, and the bloody extinction of an 
abhorrent doctrine. But in truth the 
Anabaptism of Miinster lasted but fif- 
teen months, was embraced by only a 
few thousands of people and was a 
fanatical outburst reprobated by the 
leaders of the Baptists as much as by 
any one else. 

It was a foregone conclusion that all 
the religious life of the Reformation 
would not run in the ecclesiastical 
channels provided by Luther and 
Zwingli. Those who believed in adult 
baptism, those who abhorred religious 
persecution, who found more in the 
Bible than in the confessions of faith 
promulgated by the churches, who re- 
quired evidence of a moral change be- 
fore admitting members to their 
churches, who pitied the peasants un- 
der their burdens of tax and tithe and 
corvee, who conscientiously refused to 
take an oath or bear arms, who op- 
posed a paid ministry — these all were 
Anabaptists and foremost among them 

were the Mennonites. Foremost too, 
in the persecution they bore. In Switz- 
erland, under Zwingli's encourage- 
ment, they were pursued almost to ex- 
tinction. Spreading over Germany, 
particularly along the Rhine, they 
found refuge and protection in Hol- 
land under William the Silent, and 
leadership under Menno Simons — a 
Catholic priest converted by the mar- 
tyrdom of his brother to the latter's 
opinions. Menno died a peaceful death, 
after a persecuted life, in 1561. It was 
not till twenty years after, that his peo- 
ple found full toleration, even in Hol- 
land, the land of religious freedom. 
But from that time, Holland was the 
center whence help was sent the suf- 
fering brethren in Germany and Switz- 
erland; a committee there offered as- 
sistance to those who wished to emi- 
grate to Pennsylvania and were soon 
overwhelmed by German co-religion- 
ists, bent on escaping to the free land 
beyond the sea. In vain the commit- 
tee implored and threatened. Their 
brethren came and, once in Holland, 
there was nothing to do but speed their 

We have seen that the first comers 
in Germantown were principally Men- 
nonites in faith. But they united them- 
selves to the Quakers, with whom they 
had, religiously, much in common. In 
1708, however, there were enough who 
remained Mennonites to build a meet- 
ing-house in the town. In the next 
year a colony of Swiss, descendants of 
men who had fled from their father- 
land to Alsace a generation before, 
came with that flood of emigration 
from the Palatinate set in motion by 
Queen Anne's invitation to London. 
Thence they went to Pennsylvania and 
settled in Pequse. Delighted with their 



new home, they sent back one of their 
number to induce others to join them. 
He was so successful that in 171 1, and 
again six years after, emigrations en 
masse took place which have filled Lan- 
caster County to this day, with "Men- 
nists and Amish," whose careful farm- 
ing has made it the Eden of Pennsyl- 

Before this time, the German emi- 
grants were so commonly from the 
Palatinate that they were called not 
Germans but "Palatines." But about 
this time the people of Wurtemberg, 
smarting under the oppressive rule of 
their Duke, followed the example of 
their neighbors and came over in large 

The Germans were now spreading 
over Lancaster, Montgomery and 
Berks counties and the Provincial gov- 
ernment, seeing this, fell into a panic, 
so utterly groundless as to be laugha- 
ble. Governor Keith solemnly "ob- 
served to the Council, that great num- 
bers of foreigners from Germany, 
strangers to our language and constitu- 
tion, having lately been imported into 
this Province, daily dispersed them- 
selves immediately after landing, with- 
out producing certificates from whence 

they came or what they are 

That as this practice might be of very 
dangerous consequence, they were or- 
dered to be registered and to take the 
oath of loyalty to the King of Eng- 
land," which they were perfectly will- 
ing to do. 

For the previous history of the next 
body of sectaries who came to Penn- 
sylvania, we need not go back as far 
as the Reformation. The Dunkers had 
arisen only a few years before their 
emigration, in 1709 at Schwarzenau, 
from which district they are sometimes 

called in Pennsylvania German, 
"Schwarzenau Taufer" — at least a 
more respectful name than Dunker or 
its English corruption "Dunkard" — 
both derived from a colloquialism 
meaning "dipper," of course from 
their practice of immersion. They call 
themselves "Briider" or Brethren and 
differ little from the Mennonites, save 
in insisting on immersion — the Men- 
nonites sprinkle. The tiny principali- 
ties of Wittgenstein and Biidingen, 
where the Dunkers took their rise, 
were havens of refuge to all kinds of 
persecuted people, from Huguenots to 
Anabaptists and Moravians. The 
Counts of Wittgenstein were them- 
selves Pietistically inclined, while 
Biidingen was a famous place for the 
publication of all manner of Separatist 
literature. The Dunker emigration 
was in comparison with others, an 
unimportant one; but three members 
of the sect attained to considerable 
prominence in the annals of the Penn- 
sylvania Germans, though in very di- 
verse ways; they were Conrad Beis- 
sel, the founder of the cloister at 
Ephrata; Christopher Saur, the first 
German-American publisher, and Con- 
rad Weiser, the Indian interpreter. 

In leaving the subject of the secta- 
rian emigration, which was now draw- 
ing to a close, we should note two other 
sects which came somewhat later to 
Pennsylvania — the Schwenkfelder and 
the Moravians. Of the first, Seiden- 
sticker says : 

"Their founder was Caspar Schwenk- 
feld von Ossing, a contemporary of Luther, 
and, like him, an opponent of the papacy. 
But his doctrine of the Lord's Supper and 
his teaching, almost approaching the Quaker 
doctrine, of the Inner Light, hindered a 
union with Luther and his followers. In 
Silesia and the Lausitz, the Schwenkfelder 



dragged out a precarious existence, dis- 
turbed by continual persecution. When 
they besought the Emperor Karl VI. for 
protection, they were 'once for all refused' 
and then finally given over to the Jesuits 
and the secular authorities. Most of them 
resolved on emigration in 1734." 

The Moravians were encouraged by 
the British Parliament to settle in 
Georgia, but military service being re- 
quired of them — at that time they were 
non-resistants — they betook themselves 
to the Quaker colony. There they first 
settled at Nazareth and with character- 
istic zeal for education, employed 
themselves in building a schoolhouse 
for negro children, under the care of 
the evangelist, Whitefield. But the 
next year they removed, and on Christ- 
mas Eve, 1741, was founded with ap- 
propriate ceremonies, Bethlehem, the 
"Herrnhut of America" and a center 
for the church's mission work among 
the Delawares. They had, at times, 
more than a dozen mission settlements 
of Christian Delawares. 

The outskirts of civilization in those 
days were the banks of the . Susque- 
hanna. Into these western wilds had 
come in 1720, a strange sectary, one 
Conrad Beissel, loosely connected with 
the Dunkers who had settled there- 
abouts. He had been at one time a 
sort of pastor to the little flock at Pe- 
quae, but his extreme views on celibacy 
and the observation of the seventh day 
as the Sabbath had separated him from 
the other sectaries, who were plain, 
common-sense farmers with no special 
peculiarities in their religious views 
save in regard to immersion. He was 
a young baker, who thought himself to 
a certain extent inspired, and "had 
queer theosophic fancies." These led 
him to a hermit's life in the woods, in 
which he was presently joined by 

others like-minded. After nearly 
twenty years of asceticism in the wil- 
derness Beissel began the buildings 
which grew into the future cloister of 
Ephrata, some of which still stand. 
And here for thirty years a monastic 
life grew and flourished in the Penn- 
sylvania of Franklin and of the Stamp 
Act. Beissel or "Father Peaceful" 
(Friedsam) as he was known in relig- 
ion, was the head. His followers 
erected buildings; they farmed, the 
brethren in their white Benedictine 
garb pulling the plough themselves at 
first, in the place of the oxen they were 
too poor to possess ; they had paper 
mills and flouring mills, and a press 
from which issued the great "Martyr 
Book" of the Dunkers, a splendid spec- 
imen of book-making, 1500 folio pages, 
the largest book published during the 
eighteenth century in America. It 
was translated from the Dutch by 
Peter Miller, their learned and devout 
prior, and printed on paper manufac- 
tured by the brethren. Among other 
monastic arts, illumination flourished, 
and a peculiar and impressive sort of 
music, in which Beissel himself trained 
them. One of the brethren, Ludwig 
Hoecker, (Brother Obed) independ- 
ently anticipated Robert Raikes by 
many years, and founded a Sabbath 
School, about 1740, which endured un- 
til near the time of the Revolutionary 

Many of those who first or last 
felt the mysterious influence of Beissel 
were men of character and ability. By 
far the most learned was Peter Miller, 
afterward Beissel's successor as head 
of the community. A graduate of the 
University of Heidelberg, the Presby- 
terian minister, Andrews, wrote of 
him : 



"He is an extraordinary person for sense 
and learning. We gave him a question to 
discuss about Justification, and he answered 
it, in a whole sheet of paper, in a very nota- 
ble manner. He speaks Latin as readily as 
we do our natural tongue." 

After his Presbyterian ordination, 
Miller was pastor at Tulpehocken for 
some years, where he fell under the in- 
fluence of Beissel ; he was baptized by 
him and entered the community of 
Ephrata as Brother Jaebez. Acrelius 
testifies to his linguistic and theological 
learning; he was a member of the 
American Philosophical Society in 
Philadelphia. The legend which tells 
how, during the Revolution, he pro- 
cured the pardon of a deserter, his per- 
sonal enemy, by his intercession with 
Washington, may have but little 
foundation, yet it testifies to the 
opinion held of his meek and noble 

Another convert of Beissel's soon 
liberated himself from the glamour 
which this man, uneducated, fanatical, 
tedious in speech, and domineering, 
seemed to cast over all who knew him. 
This backslider was Conrad Weiser, 
the "Schoolmaster of Tulpehocken." 
He was one of those poor Palatines 
who came to England, fleeing from 
Louis XIV. and his devastations, at 
the invitation of Queen Anne ; one- 
half of them perished of want and 
neglect, or returned to their desolated 
homes in despair, before the Queen's 
aid enabled the remnant to be settled in 
various parts of her empire. Weiser 
came with many others to the province 
of New York. But after nearly thirty 
years' experience of the faithlessness of 
the New York authorities, he, with 
many of his fellow colonists, fled again, 
this time to Pennsylvania. Settling at 

Tulpehocken, he fell under Beissel's 
influence and he and Miller were bap- 
tized at the same time and together re- 
tired from the world. But in Conrad 
Weiser's case, it was only for a year. 
By the next year he had begun his long 
and useful career as a diplomatist 
among the Indians. Toward the end 
of his life he returned to Ephrata for a 
visit and was received with perfect 

The relations of Christoph Saur, an- 
other settler near Tulpehocken, with 
Beissel, were not so pleasant. He had 
known Beissel in Germany, and com- 
ing to Pennsylvania in 1724, he and 
his wife settled near the founder of 
Ephrata, and Saur's wife was per- 
suaded to leave her husband and enter 
the community as Sister Marcella. Her 
husband quitted the place where his 
home had been thus broken up, and 
going to Germantown, began the busi- 
ness of a printer, being the first Ger- 
man publisher in the colonies. This 
was in 1739, when he published a Ger- 
man almanac, the prototype of the 
many almanacs still so dear to the heart 
of the Pennsylvania German. His first 
publication in book form, in the same 
year, was a collection of mystical 
hymns, printed for the brotherhood of 
Ephrata and bearing the characteristic 
title of "The Incense-mountain of 

The strained relations which sub- 
sisted between Christoph Saur and 
Conrad Beissel, ever since the wife of 
the former had put herself under the 
spiritual guidance of the latter, are 
supposed to have come to a complete 
rupture during the printing of this 
book. The occasion of the quarrel was 
strange. enough. In one of the hymns 
in the book a verse runs : 



"Sehet, sehet, sehet an 

Sehet, sehet an ben Mann 

Der von Gott erhohet ist, 

Der ist unser Herr und Christ." 
(Look, look, look, look, look at the man 
who is exalted by God, who is our Lord and 

Concerning this there arose a great 
excitement in the office. Saur asserted 
that Beissel meant himself by this and 
took the proof-reader to task about it. 
This man, a fanatical follower of Beis- 
sel, replied by the inquiry, whether he 
believed there was only one Christ? 
Saur lost his patience at this and in a 
letter reproached Beissel with such 
spiritual pride. The "Elder" replied by 
very cutting quotations, such as "An- 
swer not a fool according to his folly," 
etc. This was too great a provocation 
to a man in possession of printers' ink 
and so a broadside appeared to prove 
that Beissel had gotten something from 
all the planets, — from Mars his sever- 
ity, from Jupiter his friendliness, that 
Venus made all the women run after 
him, and Mercury taught him his act- 
ing; besides all this, Saur made known 
the astonishing discovery that in the 
name Conrad us Beisselius the num- 
ber 666, the mark of the Apocalyp- 
tic beast, was concealed. No offence 
could have been more deeply felt 
by a mystic than the imputation of this 
mysterious number, and the two men 
remained for many years at enmity. 
This quarrel very likely was the rea- 
son why the brethren at Ephrata set up 
their own press. 

Saur possessed plenty of enterprise, 
for in this first year of the existence of 
his press, he also founded the first Ger- 
man newspaper, the Pennsylvanische 
Berichte ("Pennsylvanian News"), 
as he finally entitled it, for this rea- 

"We had hoped to give nothing but true 
stories from the kingdoms of nature and 
the church. But we could not bring it to 
that. Therefore we have for some time 
done away with the title 'Historian' and in- 
stead have used 'News,' for afterwards it 
was discovered that sometimes this or that 
did not take place but was only a matter of 

The "News" attained the, for those 
times, immense circulation of 4,000 

There was yet a greater work before 
this pioneer of German- American pub- 
lishers; the printing of the quarto 
"Germantown Bible," which is now a 
monument to his memory. Forty years 
later the first English Bible was print- 
ed in this English-speaking land, and 
its publisher had great misgivings 
about the undertaking. In the pros- 
pectus, which shows, as in a mirror, 
the devout, honest, simple character of 
Christoph Saur, he promised that the 
price of the Bible should not exceed 
fourteen shillings; "to the poor and 
needy," says the News, "there is no 
charge." It was published in 1743. 
Saur proudly sent a dozen copies to 
Germany, where, as the first Bible 
printed in any European language on 
the American continent, they are pre- 
served in several collections. 

Saur's other publications were num- 
erous. On this point Seidensticker 
well says, 

"People are too much inclined to consider 
the German immigrants of the last century 
to have been, universally, unlearned ple- 
beians; sturdy farmers indeed, and indus- 
trious mechanics, but with heads entirely 
empty. Of course, they did not belong to 
the cultivated classes, and that Rascaldom 
had its representatives among them — as is 
the case in our own times — there is no 
doubt. But the German immigration was 
not a mass unleavened by culture, as is 
proved by the extension and the success of 



Saur's publications, which embraced at 
least 150 titles — and indeed the new editions 
of books, if counted, would increase this by 
one-third. This is a very respectable show- 
ing which could hardly be surpassed by 
many publishing houses since then. By far 
the largest number of these writings were 
for purposes of devotion or edification. But 
where else could the plain man of the last 
century seek deliverance from the oppres- 
sion and the sorrow of earth?" 

The works of German mystics and 
Pietists, of course, were the most num- 
erous; but Saur also printed transla- 
tions of the "Pilgrim's Progress," the 
"Imitation of Christ," Whitefield's 
"Sermons," and Barclay's "Apology." 
His first English publication was the 
"Imitation of Christ." But he did not 
confine himself to religious works ; 
English and German grammars, ready 
reckoners and one history were among 
the issues from the press of German- 
town. Saur also wrote and published 
some political pamphlets, for he took 
much interest in governmental affairs 
and had immense influence among the 
Pennsylvania Germans. Naturally it 
was by the Separatists like himself, the 
non-resistants, that he was most re- 
spected and followed. 

Nevertheless, the Sectarian, the Sep- 
aratist, period of Pennsylvania-Ger- 
man history — a period so marked — 
was now drawing to a close. The 
"Church people," Lutherans and Re- 
formed, were beginning to outnumber 
the earlier immigrants who had fled 
from persecution. 

Two men had great influence in 
forming and organizing the "Church 
people ;" one was Michael Schlatter, a 
Swiss-German, a native of St. Gall, 
that town from whose monastery 
Switzerland was evangelized — who 
was sent out in 1746 by the synod of 

Holland as a sort of missionary super- 
intendent, to organize the scattered 
members of the Reformed Church in 
Pennsylvania; the other was Henry 
Melchior Muhlenberg, the patriarch of 
Lutheranism in America, sent a few 
years earlier to do the same service for 
the Lutherans. These two mission- 
aries found a sad state of things among 
their people. Muhlenberg reports in 
"Hallische Nachrichten," which is so 
valuable a source of Pennsylvania- 
German history, that the Lutheran 
ministers were largely "deposed 
preachers and schoolmasters who did 
not amount to much at home." He 
procured regularly ordained ministers 
through the Pietists of Halle, always 
active in good works, and it is no won- 
der that his memory is today rever- 
enced as that of a second founder of 
their church, by the Lutherans of 

Schlatter, as learned, pious and ac- 
tive, was not as fortunate. He was 
destined to end his life in poverty and 
obloquy, through his luckless and in- 
nocent connection with a schemer's 
plans. This was the project for the 
"German schools," engineered by the 
Rev. William Smith. Schlatter him- 
self, in the year 1751, had collected in 
Europe a large fund to be used in the 
support of schools among the people of 
the Reformed church in Pennsylvania. 
But a year or two after, Mr. Smith 
took up the matter and turned it to a 
new purpose, that of teaching the Ger- 
mans English. He addressed a me- 
morial to the Society for the Propaga- 
tion of the Gospel, setting forth the 
spiritual destitution of the Pennsylva- 
nia Germans, of whom he knew only 
by hearsay. It was a very poetical and 
classical production, picturing the utter 



lack of educational opportunities (as 
a matter of fact schools were every- 
where founded with the churches, 
when possible) ; he threatened, too, 
that the Germans would become Cath- 
olics and unite with the French against 
the peace of the province — they who 
had been driven from their native land 
by the fire and sword of the "Most 
Catholic" king of France. 

The memorial made an impression 
on the English public, proportionate to 
its lack of truth. In vain the Luther- 
ans and the Reformed churches official- 
ly protested their unshaken loyalty 
and their unfaltering Protestantism. 
The schools were started in face of this 
protest of Saur's vigorous opposition. 
At first sight this seems mere contrari- 
ness in the publisher of Germantown. 
But events soon proved that he was 
right in his suspicions that the German 
schools were only part of a plan to rob 
the Germans of their cherished mother- 
tongue, to convert them to Episcopa- 
lianism and to detach them from the 
Quaker party in the province, to which 
the non-resistant sects naturally leaned. 
Smith now published a pamphlet, 
avowing these objects, accusing Saur 
of being a papist emissary, and pro- 
posing to make the use of the German 
language illegal, to forbid the publica- 
tion of any book or paper in it, and, 
finally, he advised depriving the Ger- 
mans of the franchise. 

Naturally, these propositions raised 
a storm of indignation in the Teutonic 
element. Poor Schlatter's school proj- 
ect was confounded with Smith's in- 
trigues, for he was the inspector of the 
new schools. He was forced to resign 
his pastorate in Philadelphia by the 
aroused feelings of his countrymen, 
and took a chaplaincy in the Royal 

American Regiment. It is not to be 
wondered at that the "Palatines" were 
not flattered at the portrait drawn of 
them or the plans made for them; as 
Seidensticker says, 

"They awaited from the Germans the 
grateful reception of a benefit and at the 
same time denounced them as by way of 
being rebels and as inclined toward the 
French enemy. They were described as 
semi-barbarians, ignorant savages, and then 
people lamented that it was so difficult to 
reach them on account of the influence over 
them of their press. People desired to win 
them over and yet repelled them by the 
proposition to disfranchise them and to for- 
bid the printing of German newspapers. 
They tried to undermine Saur's influence 
and, in order to do so, made use of a clumsy 
slander which nobody believed." 

Saur's victory over the school proj- 
ect was a conflict, short, sharp and de- 
cisive ; his efforts in another field — the 
last battle of his stormy life — were not 
so successful. The wrong which 
aroused his latest endeavors was the 
outrageous treatment of German im- 

It was not until the German immi- 
gration had attained large proportions 
that we hear complaints of the ill-treat- 
ment of passengers. There then arose 
a class of men who lived by inducing 
simple Germans through glowing de- 
scriptions and lying promises, to emi- 
grate to the New World, and who were 
spurred on to greater efforts by receiv- 
ing a percentage on the recruits ob- 
tained. They were called "Neulander" 
or less flatteringly, "Seelenverkau- 

They persuaded the emigrants to 
sign contracts which they did not un- 
derstand, and lent them money for 

* Goethe uses the latter word in "Wilhelm Meister.' 
He probably learned it in his Frankfort home, which 
was a center of emigration 

3 8i 


their expenses, thus bringing them into 
the "Neulander's" power. In concert 
with them worked the shipmasters, 
often cruel, inhuman, or careless; in 
any case, making the voyage almost 
equal to the horrors of the Slave 
Trade's middle passage. Caspar Wis- 
ter, who came over in 17 17, tells us: 

"Sometimes the voyage is very hard. In 
the past year one of the ships was twenty- 
four weeks on the sea and of 150 persons 
who were on her, 100 miserably starved and 
died of hunger. ... At last the re- 
mainder, half-starved, reached land, where 
after the endurance of much misery, they 
were put in arrest and were forced to pay 
the passage-money for the dead as well as 
for the living. This year, again, ten ships 
have arrived, bringing about 3,000 souls. 
One of these ships was seventeen weeks on 
the way and nearly sixty of the passengers 
died at sea. The remainder are all sick, 
feeble, and what is worse, poor and penni- 

Saur constantly published notices of 
the treatment of the emigrants ; in 1745 
he says : 

"Another ship with Germans has arrived 
in Philadelphia ; it is said there were 400 
and not more than 50 are alive; they got 
their bread every two weeks and many ate 
in four, five or six days, what they should 
have eaten in fifteen. . . . Another man, 
who finished his bread in a week, begged 
the captain for a little bread, but got none, 
so he with his wife came humbly to the 
captain and begged he might throw him 
overboard, that he might not die a slow 
death, for it was yet long till bread-day ; 
the captain would not do that either, so he 
brought the steersman his bag that he 
should put a little flour in it ; but he had no 
money; the steersman went away and put 
sand and sea-coal into the bag and brought 
it to him; the man wept, lay down and died, 
he and his wife, a few days before the 
bread-day came." 

And in 1750, 

"For many years past, we have seen with 

sorrow, that many German newcomers have 
had very bad voyages, that many died, most 
of them because they were not humanely 
treated ; especially because they were packed 
too close, so that the sick must take one 
another's breath, and from the smell, dirt, 
and lack of provisions, that yellow fever, 
scurvy, flux and other contagious sicknesses 
often arose. Sometimes the ship was so full 
of merchandise, that there was not room 
enough for bread and water; many dared 
not cook what they themselves had with 
them. The wine was secretly drunken up 
by the sailors. Some of the provisions and 
clothing were loaded on other ships and 
came, long afterwards, so that many people 
were forced to beg and to 'serve' (verser- 
ven, a word invented by the Pennsylvania 
Germans to express the condition of those 
whom the English called Redemptioners) 
because they had not their possessions with 
them. Many must pay the passage for those 
who had died of hunger or thirst." 

At this time efforts were made for 
the passage of a law regulating the 
transportation of emigrants. But Gov- 
ernor Morris refused to sign it, not 
without suspicion that he was influ- 
enced by the very men who made their 
gain from the poor passengers' suf- 
ferings. At this time Christoph Saur, 
ever the "unwearied friend of the emi- 
grant," addressed several letters to the 
Governor, telling him of the abuses of 
the system. He begins, 

"Thirty years ago I came to this prov- 
ince, from a country where no freedom of 
conscience existed, no motives of humanity 
had any weight with those who then ruled 
the land ; where serfdom compelled the peo- 
ple to work for their masters three days a 
week with a horse, and three days with 
hoe, shovel and spade, or to send a laborer. 
When I arrived here and found the cir- 
cumstances so altogether different from 
those at home, I wrote to my friends and 
acquaintances concerning the civil and re- 
ligious freedom and other advantages which 
the country offered. My letters were print- 
ed and by frequent reprints, widely dis- 



tributed; they induced many thousand peo- 
ple to come here, wherefore many are 
thankful to the Lord." 

And in words that dimly remind us 
of those which Scott puts into the 
mouth of Jeanie Deans, he concludes : 

"Honored Sir, I am old and feeble, draw 
nigh to the grave and shall soon be no 
more seen. I hope your Excellency will not 
take it ill of me, to have recommended the 
helpless to your protection. May the Lord 
keep us from all evil and every harm; we 
may the more hope for this, if we treat 
others so. who are in distress and danger. 
May the Lord bestow upon you wisdom and 
patience, that your administration may be a 
blessed one and when the time comes, give 
you the reward of a good and faithful ser- 

Christoph Saur the elder was indeed 
near his end; he died in 1758 at Ger- 
mantown, leaving to his son, the 
younger Christoph Saur, an honored 
name and a prosperous business. 

It is sad to know that Saur's simple 
and noble appeal produced no effect. 
Things were to go from bad to worse, 
until, for very shame and pity, all 
hearts were roused and, four years 
after the elder Saur's death, the 
Deutsche Gesellschaft was formed, to 
give help to the immigrants. By its 
intelligent and concerted efforts, it suc- 
ceeded in having laws passed through 
the legislature, which put an end to the 
worst oppressions of the "Palatines." 
The founding of this society — still in 
existence — was occasioned by more 
than ordinary distress among the Ger- 
mans landed in Philadelphia in 1764. 
The system of allowing the emigrants 
to hire themselves out in order to pay 
the expenses of their voyage was, in 
itself, not a blameworthy one. In its 
earlier form, when each person 
"served" for his own passage-money, 

it must have been a great boon to many 
poor but industrious people ; but when, 
subsequently, the whole ship's company 
was made responsible for the passage - 
money of the whole list of passengers, 
it led, as may be imagined, to great in- 
justice and hardships. Those who 
had paid their own fare must "serve" 
for those who had no money; they 
were held under English contracts, 
which they did not understand and 
which might contain any severe condi- 
tions ; husband and wife, children and 
parents were separated, as in slavery; 
orphans or widows, left defenceless by 
the many deaths of the long voyage, 
were condemned to years and years of 
servitude; the old and the sick no one 
but the worst masters would take, or 
they were left paupers at the wharf. 
Says Muhlenberg: 

"So the old people get free from the ship, 
are poor, naked and helpless, looking as 
tho they had come out of their graves, go 
begging in the city among the German in- 
habitants, for the English mostly shut the 
door in their faces, for fear of infection. 
One's heart bleeds at such things, when one 
sees and hears how the poor creatures, come 
to the New World from Christian countries, 
are some of them weeping, or crying, or 
lamenting, or striking their hands together 
over their heads at wretchedness and dis- 
persion such as they had not imagined, and 
how others curse and call upon the ele- 
ments and sacraments, the thunder and the 
wicked dwellers in Hell, that they should 
torture and tear into countless pieces the 
Neulander, the Holland merchants, who 
have led them astray." 

Sometimes these emigrants were 
educated men ; the case was frequent 
enough for a thrifty Lutheran min- 
ister to form the plan which he thus 
expounds in the "Hallische Nach- 
richten" : 

"If I had twenty pounds, I would buy 

3 S 4 


the first German student who should land 
here in debt for his passage, set him in my 
upper room, begin a little Latin school, 
teach there in the morning myself and then 
let my servant teach, and by a small fee get 
myself paid." 

And indeed the benevolent pastor, in 
this way — no uncommon one at the 

time— came in possession of a certain 
college graduate, whom he educated 
for the ministry. But few such men 
found so good a fate. 

The system of serving lasted until 
the Revolutionary War, and, in some 
cases, later. 

(To be continued.) 

New England Magazine 

New Series 


Vol. XXVI No. 4 

Famous Farm Houses in the 
Narragansett Country 

By Harry Knowles 

EVERY locality has its land- 
marks, and few regions have 
more which abound in his- 
toric interest than the famous 
Narragansett Country. Situated in 
the delightful region, the southern 
part of Rhode Island, traversed in "ye 
olden time" by travellers from New 
York to Boston over the "old post 
road," it was early settled by an aristo- 
cratic class who could well afford to 
spend time and money for hospitable 
homes, where were born many of those 
men and women whose names later be- 
came pre-eminent in American history. 
Now-a-days in these same localities 
there are attractive watering-places, 
where summer pleasure seekers enjoy 
those privileges and advantages which 
the early colonists fully appreciated. 
The historic interest, together with the 
beautiful scenery of the country, make 

an afternoon's drive to any of these 
houses a pleasure not easily forgotten. 
Undoubtedly the only house in the 
Narragansett Country that can boast 
of a regal inhabitant, is situated in 
Charlestown, not over a mile from the 
shore. When the Puritans settled at 
Plymouth, they found all the Indian 
tribes of New England governed by 
one great sachem, Canonicus. His 
grandnephew, Canonchet, it will be re- 
membered, ruled over the Narragan- 
setts. This tribe was composed of 
several branches, one of them the Ni- 
antics, commonly, but inaccurately, 
spoken of as "Charlestown Indians." 
The leader of this division was named 
Ninigret He died a short time after 
King Philip's War, whereupon the 
crown descended to his eldest daugh- 
ter, a child by his first wife. Upon 
her early death, her half brother, who 




was named for his father, inherited the 
throne. Ninigret Second's reign was 
also short, and a son, Charles Au- 
gustus, succeeded him. Upon his 
death, rather than let the crown fall to 
an infant son, the tribe chose his 
brother, George. This monarch had 
three children, Thomas, Esther, and 
George. The first, born in 1735, 
soon after his father's ascent to 
the throne, is said to have been slight 
in stature and sickly in appearance. 

By the time "King Tom," as the 
English called him, had reached man- 

The King Tom Mansion 

hood, civilization was well advanced 
in Narragansett. A few of the most 
artful Indians, including the King, imi- 
tated the white man, as best they could, 
and built more or less comfortable 
houses for their protection from the 
trying winds and weather. 

Most structures that were built in 
Colonial times were from designs by 
Englishmen, and partake of the feudal 
architecture which is so effective. 
Though "King Tom's" house was in- 
tended for a king, it had none of the 
adornments of a palace, but was at- 

tractive rather for its great simplicity. 
Originally square, it is of two and one- 
half stories, with a "barn," or "Can- 
ada," roof that has a "trap door" 
near the large chimney. It fronts the 
west, and tall elm trees shade the porch 
while the forest primeval extends from 
its very yard in a southerly direction. 
The front door opens into a small hall- 
way, where slightly curving stairs wind 
upward at the right. On the left, a 
massive oak door with brass catch and 
hinges admits to the parlor. The wall 
on the east side of this room is pan- 
elled, and, on either side of the fire- 
place, are commodious cup-boards. In 
the rear of the hall, and opening from 
the parlor, is a long and narrow living 
room. This also has a fireplace, and 
is well lighted by two large windows at 
the south. A door on the north of 
this room opens into the original 
kitchen, where the fireplace measures 
at least eight by fifteen feet. This 
apartment is now used as a dining-hall 
and the "L" at its north has been built 
by the present owner. The rooms are 
similarly arranged in the upper story, 
and throughout all, both upstairs and 
down, beams and corner posts invari- 
ably show. 

It is sad to relate that "King Tom" 
lived but a short time after his home 
was completed. Probably the modern 
methods of living proved ruinous to 
one accustomed to out-door life. At 
any rate, like his ancestors, he early 
sickened and died, and the throne was 
next occupied by his sister Esther who, 
tradition savs, was crowned upon a 
rock in his yard. 

On the banks of the Pettaquamscutt, 
or, as it is now called, "Narrow" river 
and some distance above the upper- 
bridsre, so designated, there is a house 



The Home of Dr. McSparran 

that even the most casual observer will 
not fail to notice, as he rides along the 
road that follows the winding stream. 
Like so many other structures in Nar- 
ragansett, it is shingled and has a gam- 
brel roof. On the whole, however, it 
looks more commodious than ordinary 
country houses. A large barn on the 
opposite side of the road is evidence 
that the owner must have been in com- 
fortable circumstances and must have 
had numerous domestics to perform 
the menial tasks. Then, again, its 
situation upon two terraces ("offsets" 
they are called in the Narragansett 
Country) gives it a dignified appear- 
ance. Great seclusion is afforded by 
tall lilac bushes which form a thick, 
continuous hedge around the edges of 
each terrace. It is in this quiet place 
that the famous Dr. McSparran lived 
when discharging the duties of rector 
to the first Episcopal church in New 

About 1718 Mr. James McSparran 
emigrated from Dungiven, Ireland, to 
America as a licentiate of the Presby- 
tery in Scotland, and finally drifted to 
Bristol, where he visited some friends. 
He was invited to supply the pulpit of 
the church at Bristol and later to re- 
main as permanent pastor. Finding 

his ordination bitterly opposed by Cot- 
ton Mather he returned to Ireland to 
secure a ratification of his credentials. 
When he next visited America it was 
as a missionary of the Church of Eng- 
land to "Narragansett in New Eng- 
land, where he is to officiate as oppor- 
tunity shall offer at Bristol, Freetown, 
Swansea, and Little Compton, at which 
places there are many people destitute 
of a minister." On his arrival he took 
up his abode in the home whose ex- 
terior we have just described. 

The dwelling faces toward the east 
and fronts on the road that runs be- 
tween it and the river, which is not 
over one hundred yards distant. The 
entrance is at the south-east corner and 
admits to a small hall ; the case of 
winding stairs is hidden from view by 
a partition. Besides this hall there 
are on the first floor a large living 
room, with three chambers opening 
from it — two on the west and one on 
the north — and a kitchen of moderate 
size with an ample closet. The fire- 
places in the kitchen and in other 
rooms are bricked up, thereby effacing 
one feature of primitive architecture. 
The second story is an exact duplicate 
of the first. Every room of the house 
has those evidences of antiquity invari- 
ably looked for in Colonial houses, — 
occasional beams running along the 
ceiling and four rigid cornerposts 
which appear to be guarding the plain 
walls. Other indications of age in 
this venerable mansion are the quaint 
figures on the wall paper (many of 
which peep out through rents in a cov- 
ering of later design) ; the uneven 
floor; the brass latches (which, it is 
safe to say, have not been scoured for 
over a century) ; and the many paned 



Saint Paul's Church 

To the north of the house, there is a 
small orchard wherein are numerous 
fruit trees ; chief among which are the 
apple, pear, and peach. The well is 
on the opposite side — or at the south. 
Attached to the rope that hangs from 
the long pole or "well-sweep" is a bot- 
tomless yet moss-covered bucket. Tall 
poplar trees cast a little shade over this 
spot ; tiger lilies and sweet-briar rose 
bushes run wild in great profusion. A 
small locust or cherry tree can be seen 
here and there, while not far away is a 
bed of ripe asparagus. From this spot, 
the home of Mr. McSparran's father- 
in-law, as it stands near South Ferry 
upon the ridge between Narrow, or 
Pettaquamscutt, river and the ocean, is 
plainly visible. Hannah Gardiner, his 
wife, was the daughter of William 
Gardiner, an emigrant from England 
and one of the first settlers in Narra- 
gansett. Mr. Gardiner was a man of 
considerable wealth ; the owner of ex- 
tensive estates and master of numer- 
ous slaves. 

On the death of Dr. McSparran his 
remains were interred beneath the floor 
under the communion table of Saint 
Paul's Church, of which he was the 
first rector. The church is still stand- 

ing — the oldest episcopal edifice in 
New England — but not on its original 
site. As the population of Rhode Isl- 
and increased, business slowly yet 
surely drew away from the favored 
Narragansett Country towards Provi- 
dence and the northern part of the 
State. Thus it came about that there 
were not enough people to support the 
old Saint Paul's in its former situation. 
So, as an accommodation for the ma- 
jority of its members, the church was 
moved to Wickford, in 1800, from the 
place where it had been built in 1707. 
For over half a century, Dr. McSpar- 
ran's grave was unmarked. In 1868 
a monument was erected, upon the spot 
where his body now rests, by order of 
the diocese of Rhode Island. 

On the east side of the road running 
north from the village of Kingston 
(formerly called Little Rest) there 
stands a large rock, built into a wall, 
upon which the following is painted in 

The Monument to Dr. McSparran 



The Site of the Judge Potter Place 

red letters: "The ancient Judge Wm. 
Potter Place : Headquarters of the 
noted preacher Jemima Wilkinson (or 
"Universal Friend") for six years, 
from 1777 to 1783." 

Jemima Wilkinson was the great- 
grand-daughter of the first Wilkinson 
who emigrated to this country (in 
1645) an d who had been a Lieutenant 
in Cromwell's army. Her own father 
lived in Cumberland, Rhode Island, 
where he was engaged in farming. 
Jemima, the eighth child, was born 
on the fifth day of the week, 
November 29, 1752. Since Mrs. 
Wilkinson died when Jemima was a 
mere child, the cares of the household 
early fell upon her shoulders. About 
the time she became eighteen years of 
age, a religious excitement prevailed in 
Providence County ; the celebrated 
George Whitfield acting as preacher on 
many occasions. These meetings must 
have made a serious impression upon 
Jemima ; for she soon cast off all her 
finery and from a vain, proud, selfish 
girl changed to a demure mistress. Her 
early education having been sadly neg- 
lected, she now tried to make up for 
this handicap by employing all her 
spare moments reading the bible ; she 
determined to lead a religious life. 
She was stricken by a contagious 
fever, and her friends, when gathered 

around what was thought would be 
her death-bed one night, saw her en- 
ter into a trance. For hours the 
body was motionless, there being no 
perceptible heart beat or breathing. 
All at once Jemima spoke, telling 
those in the room that she had been 
reanimated and must now ' 'raise her 
dead body." The watchers were 
startled but, fortunately, kept their 
senses. Her clothes were brought to 
her as quickly as requested, where- 
upon she arose, dressed herself, and 
fervently prayed for strength to carry 
out her mission. Then she said: 
"Jemima Wilkinson is no more. She 
has died; this" (touching her breast) 
"is her spirit henceforth to be known 
as the Universal Friend." Jemima's 
life thereafter was devoted to the 
preaching of a new religion, in which 
she adopted many of the teachings of 
the Quakers, but claimed to be the 
daughter of God and likened herself 
to Christ. One of her early converts 
was Judge William Potter of Narra- 
gansett, a noted Rhode Island lawyer, 
who built a large addition to his house 
for the accommodation of "the Uni- 
versal Friend" and her followers. 
There they lived for six years, the 
mansion becoming known as the 
" Abbey." In 1784 Jemima and her 
proselytes removed to Yates County, 
New York, where they remained until 
her death in 18 19, when the colony 
gradually dispersed. 

Between the years 1746 and 1750 a 
number of Scotch gentlemen emi- 
grated from Great Britain to the Eng- 
lish Colonies. Some settled at Phila- 
delphia, others at New York ; but by 
far the major portion came to the 
southern part of Rhode Island, then 
known as the "Garden of America." 



A prominent man in this colony was 
the celebrated Dr. Thomas Moffat, 
who settled upon a tract of land not 
far from the village of Wickford in 
what is now North Kingstown. It 
appears that Dr. Moffat was unfortu- 
nate in the choice of a home; for his 
gaudy dress and obsequious manners 
were so offensive to the plain habics 
of the Quakers who dwelt in this com- 
munity that they refused to employ 
him. Consequently, Dr. Moffat be- 
gan to look about for some other mode 
of "genteel subsistance." 

Observing that large amounts of 
money were annually sent to Scotland 
in payment for the great quantity of 
snuff then imported each year, he de- 
signed to partially supply this demand 
by raising his own tobacco and then 
grinding it into the luxurious article of 
commerce. So, choosing some land 
at the head of the Pettaquamscutt 
River for his farm, he sent to Scot- 
land for a mechanic who considered 
himself capable of constructing and 
managing a snuff mill. A certain 
Gilbert Stuart was secured, who mar- 
ried a daughter of one of Narragan- 
sett's most substantial planters soon 
after his arrival in America, and who 
settled in a house near the first snuff 
mill built in New England, of which 
he was the proprietor. 

There is not a more picturesque or 
attractive farm house in the Narra- 
gansett Country than this one. Situ- 
ated by the roadside, yet only half vis- 
ible in the approach from either di- 
rection because of the drooping wil- 
low trees that partially hide it from 
view, this place has a particularly se- 
cluded appearance. As seen from 
the driveway, the structure is of two 
and one-half stories. But since it is 

built into a hill-side, the house ap- 
pears to have only one story, besides 
the unfinished rooms under the wide- 
angled gambrel roof, when approached 
from the opposite direction. This is 
the front and, contrary to an old cus- 
tom, it faces toward the north. Thick 
planks, under which the huge water- 
wheel can be heard turning whenever 
the dam-gate is lifted up, extend for a 
short distance (or about the width of 
a broad piazza) in front of the house. 
Beyond this, and still to the north, a 
beautiful sheet of water expands, re- 
flecting the numerous trees that bor- 
der upon its banks as well as the pic- 
turesque buildings at its foot. Is it 
any wonder that a person born among 
such delightful surroundings as these 
should be inspired to paint? The 
front door is not quite in the centre 
of the house — there being three win- 
dows toward the west and but one on 
the east side of it. The latter serves 
to light up the room where Gilbert 
Charles Stuart was born — for thus he 
was christened by the Rev. Dr. Mc- 
Sparran. However, his middle name 
— which betokens the Jacobite princi- 
ples of his father — he dropped when a 
young man and, were it not for some 
letters written to his friend Water- 
house and the church records, we 
should have no evidence to prove that 
he was ever so named. 

Not much of Gilbert Stuart's boy- 
hood could have been spent in Narra- 
gansett, for he was early sent to the 
Newport Grammar School. His 
great talent first made itself manifest 
at the age of thirteen, when he began 
copying pictures in black lead. Some 
time after this, and during his sojourn 
in Newport, he made the acquaintance 
of Cosmo Alexander, a gentleman of 

The Birthplace of Gilbert Stuart 

considerable means, who ostensibly 
made painting his profession while 
travelling in America though it is 
thought he was making the tour as a 
political spy. Stuart soon became 
Mr. Alexander's pupil, and it is to this 
gentleman that the famous portrait 
painter owes his rudimentary knowl- 
edge of the art in which he excelled 
Mr. Alexander had become so attached 
to his apt scholar by the close of the 
summer that he requested Gilbert to 
accompany him on a tour through the 
southern states. Stuart accepted the 
invitation, and after travelling in Vir- 
ginia, Carolina, and Georgia, they two 
journeyed to England where Mr. 
Alexander died shortly after they 
reached his home. Stuart next fell 
into the hands of Chambers, who also 
died a short time after adopting his 
protegee. Thence the young Ameri- 
can artist returned to Newport in 1793. 
About this time the conservative in- 

terests of the Stuart family induced 
them to move to Nova Scotia. Being, 
as it were, left alone in the world, Gil- 
bert again sailed for England (after a 
short visit in the colonies) for the pur- 
pose of studying under Benjamin 
West, the great historical painter of 
that day, and his subsequent career is 
too well known to need repetition here. 

The snuff mill still stands. Noth- 
ing remains, however, to indicate the 
purpose for which it was originally 

Christopher Raymond Perry, the 
father of two commodores, was born 
in Newport, and, after his marriage, 
settled upon a farm which borders on 
the road connecting the villages of 
Wakefield and Kingston or, as the 
latter was then called, Little Rest. The 
tall trees of an old orchard (which 
surrounds the house on the northern 
and western sides) make so dense a 
screen that the buildings are com- 


The Birthplace of Gilbert Stuart From the Rear 

pletely hidden when observed from 
the highway. The dwelling is a large 
square two and one-half story struc- 
ture, having a "barn," or "Canada," 
roof. The front entrance, similar to 
that of many old-fashioned houses, is 
at the south over two flat graniie- 
stone door-steps into a small hall that 
is scarcely four feet square. A curv- 
ing stairway (partly hidden by a par- 
tition) leads to the upper story. Two 
spacious rooms, which are similarly 
situated on either side of the hall-way, 
each measure twenty feet square in 
size. Both of these are well lighted. 
Every window frame has thirty-two 
panes of glass, no pane measuring over 
six inches square. Huge beams, 
which have never been painted (hence 
the many knots and primal hewings 
can yet be plainly seen) run along the 
ceilings ; while four stern corner-posts 
rigidly guard each room. In the rear 


of the small hall and with an entrance 
from the rooms situated at either side 
of the hallway, is a poorly lighted 
apartment, probably measuring twelve 
by eighteen feet. A large fireplace 
running from floor to ceiling, covers 
over two-thirds of the southern side of 
this room, while its wide hearthstone 
extends fully half way across the floor. 
To the right, is a smaller opening 
(through which one can see a bricked 
floor) where the baking was done in 
"ye olden time," after heating the oven 
by means of red hot coals. This 
room was formerly employed as a 
kitchen, but is now used as a dining 
room by the more up-to-date inhabi- 
tants. The small "L" to the north is 
a mere shed where the vegetables and 
meats were kept in by-gone days, as 
is shown by the big oak staples run 
through the beams, upon which a 
whole ox was hungf as soon as butch- 


39 b 

ered. The plan of the second story is 
almost an exact duplicate of the first; 
each room, however, being supplied 
with a fireplace. From the windows 
of the southeast chamber one may 
have a panoramic view of exception- 
ally pretty scenery. McSparran Hill 
rises up and extends toward the north ; 
Tower Hill extends in the opposite di- 
rection. The villages of Wakefield 
and Peace Dale lie serenely in the dis- 
tant valley. Here and there a little 
stream runs through barren pastures 
while, upon its banks, tall elm trees 
grow now and then. And so the un- 
equalled pastoral scenery continues, its 
beauty multiplying itself many times 
and making an ideal spot for the birth- 
place of a famous commodore. 

Christopher Perry had five children, 
all of whom were boys. The oldesc 
of these, Oliver Hazard, was born in 
the house previously described. Mat- 
thew Calbraith Perry was not born in 
the same house as Oliver. It seems 
as if such a double honor would have 
been too much for one building. His 
birthplace was upon a farm to the 
south of Wakefield in what is now 
known as Matumuck. The entrance 
is off the old post-road and at a point 
where the ground rises just enough to 
command an unsurpassed view of the 
surrounding country. Towards the 
east and across a beautiful sheet of 
water called "Great Salt Lake," Point 
Judith extends out into the bold At- 
lantic. Still in this direction, but 
converging toward the north, is Nar- 
ragansett Pier and just across the bay 
the merry city of Newport. To the 
north, one has a view of hills, valleys, 
and villages while woodlands cut off a 
similar picture at the west. The sandy 
shores of Matumuck wind alone the 

south, while opposite Block Island is 
vaguely visible. 

But, if we follow a winding drive 
that leads through a small grove and 
thence into an open pasture, we shall 
finally arrive in front of a weather- 
beaten, one and one-half story gam- 
brel roofed house, which is surrounded 
by a dilapidated picket fence and 
whose roof is covered with red water- 
proof paper in order to keep it from 
leaking. The driveway continues 
toward the west to the barn, curving 
around an old orchard, where knotty 
pears and wormy apples hang in great 

— "•";*~~~:~'".".- •;"■'■'- 

Birthplace of Oliver Hazard Perry 

profusion upon the mossy branches. 
Clumps of blue larkspur and scarlet 
sage, evidences of the beautiful flower 
garden once existing there, have out- 
grown their limits and spread nearly 
all over the yard. Bushes of japonica 
and syringa here and there take the 
place of the rotten fence or stand 
where it has fallen apart. 

Like many other old buildings, the 
house faces south with a doorway in 
the middle of that front. The hall 
is long and narrow and its monotony 
is broken only by a straight stair-case 
that runs lengthwise along the eastern 
partition. On the right of the en- 

The Birthplace of Matthew Calbraith Perry 

trance is a room of moderate size, out 
of which a small bedroom extends 
toward the north. Back of the hall, 
with a doorway entering therefrom, 
stands the kitchen. It has but two 
small windows (both on the north 
side) which barely admit enough light 
to illumine the sooty fireplace opposite 
them. The latter is high enough for 
a man of average height to stand erect 
in. On the west is an "L" that is 
scarcely eight feet square, formerly 
used as a milk-room and closet com- 
bined, as its numerous shelves indicate. 
There is a small door on the south side 
of it that opens upon a terrace built 
up around the well-curb. The sec- 
ond story is quite similar to the first. 
Although uninhabited and allowed to 
go to ruin, this farm is the property 
(by purchase) of one of the Commo- 
dore's descendants. 

Matthew Calbraith, the third son of 
Christopher Raymond and Sarah 

Alexander Perry, was born here in 
1794. His services to his country in 
the opening of Japan to the commerce 
of the world, although less brilliant, 
were no less distinguished than his 
brother's ; and both form a part of the 
nation's history. 

Perhaps there is no farm house in 
the entire Narragansett Country that 
has a more palatial appearance than 
the Robinson mansion, situated about 
a mile north of South Ferry or, as it 
was formerly called, Franklin's Ferry. 
The spaciousness and grandeur of this 
old Colonial home can not but impress 
one as he drives up and dismounts 
upon the stone horse-block that stands 
next to the road-side. Tall weeping 
willow trees cast a deep shade over the 
house and surrounding dooryard. 
while here and there is a clump of 
Boxwood which indicates the extent of 
the old-fashioned "posy garden." But 
nothing else, bevond a broken trellis or 



decayed rustic seat, now exists to sug- 
gest the gayety and high living that 
was formerly so customary here. 

The house ( including the slave quar- 
ters) was originally one hundred and 
ten feet long, as the stone underpin- 
ning, which still extends in easterly 
and northerly directions, indicates. 
But, at the present day, it measures 
only about sixty feet in length and is 
only about thirty feet wide. The struc- 
ture is two stories high, above which 
there is a wide angled gambrel roof. 
Like all houses built over a century 
ago, it is covered with shingles which 
have never been painted, though the 
moss that has now grown upon them 
gives the building a dark green color. 
xAll the timber used in constructing this 
mansion was felled upon the farm ; and 
the rugged rafters, which have not de- 
cayed or sagged an inch, are reminders 
of the famous trees that formerly grew 
in the forests of Old Narragansett. 

The massive, weather-beaten door, 
on which hangs an unpolished brass 
knocker, admits to a small hallway. 
The black walnut stair-case, with its 
beautifully turned balustrade and 
unique drop ornaments, is magnificent. 
All the walls on the lower floor are 
wainscotted. In each of the rooms on 
either side of the hall (in both lower 
and upper stories) there is a fireplace 
which has blue and white Dutch tile, 
with allegoric pictures bordering 
around it. The west parlor is twenty 
feet square and has a most curious 
china cupboard on the north side. It 
is apse-shaped, and the top is beauti- 
fully carved in "sunbursts," while the 
shelves are either escalloped or ser- 
rated. There is a secret box on either 
side, while a door made of a single 
pane of glass served to keep the dust 

off the beautiful china kept within. 
Below this and above a tier of drawers 
that extends to the floor, is a hidden 
shelf (not unlike a kneading board), 
that pulls out into the room, which 
was probably used for a writing desk. 
The space above the parlor is com- 
monly known as the Lafayette cham- 
ber; for legend says that the General 
inhabited it for the space of one month 
during the Revolution. The numer- 
ous French signatures and mono- 
grams, supposedly inscribed upon the 
window panes by means of his dia- 
mond rings, would seem to justify this 
tradition. At the left of the hallway 

The Hannah Robinson House 

on the first floor, is a dining room that 
measures twenty by twenty-two feet in 
size. Above the large fireplace in it 
there is a dingy oil painting more 
crude than finished, which depicts 
a deer hunt that took place upon the 
premises while the house was building. 
The hunted animal is represented 
as leaping away toward the forest 
next to the shore with the sports- 
men in hot pursuit. The riders ap- 
pear to be standing up in their 
stirrups rather than sitting quietly 
upon those famous Narragansett 
pacers which they surely rode. The 
chamber above is still known as the 
"Unfortunate Hannah's Bed-room," it 

39 8 


having been used by Mr. Robinson's 
beautiful daughter. The story of her 
life is a pathetic tale of misplaced 

Rowland Robinson, her father, was 
a typical Narragansett planter — 
wealthy, proud, and irascible, yet kind 
at heart. His hospitality was great, 
and under his roof were given frequent 
entertainments and gay social func- 
tions. The beauty of his daughter 
Hannah was celebrated and brought 
her many suitors. No money had 
been spared on her education, but of 
all her accomplishments she was most 
devoted to dancing. In happened that 
a French Huguenot of aristocratic 
lineage had taken refuge in Newport, 
where he supported himself by giving 
lessons in dancing. A love affair be- 
tween Hannah and Pierre Simond was 
the natural consequence, and it was 
accompanied by all those clandestine 
meetings and secret exchanges of mis- 
sives which lend romance to such af- 

fair in the eyes of young people. Dis- 
covered by Hannah's mother, efforts 
were made to break off the affair, but 
in vain, and at last the mother was in- 
duced to lend her assistance to an 
elopement, by which the young people 
were finally united in marriage. Han- 
nah was disowned by her father, and 
her lover, discovering that there was 
no hope of a reconciliation, out of 
which he might profit, deserted his 
bride, leaving her to sickness and de- 
spair. The reconciliation followed, 
but too late, for on the day following 
the unfortunate girl's return to her 
home the song of the whippoorwill was 
heard beneath the window, and when 
morning dawned she was dead. Her 
grave may be seen today in the old 
family lot on the homestead. Beside 
it bachelor's buttons and "Bouncing 
Bess" never blossoms, though hearts- 
ease blooms in great profusion as if to 
soothe the spirit of "Unfortunate Han- 
nah Robinson." 

Creating Character at the Lyman 

School for Boys, Westborough, 


By Alfred S. Roe 

"For I do not think that a measure cost- 
ing an equal amount of money, care and at- 
tention could have been devised, that will 
in the end diminish to a greater extent 
vice, crime and suffering in the Common- 

THE annual average of erring 
boys whom the Bay State has 
sent to her Lyman School 
for juvenile delinquents may 
be reckoned from the fact that No. I 
was entered November i, 1848, while 
No. 7784, in the latest volume of the 
great record books of the institution, 
represents a diminutive specimen of 
juvenile humanity, not many times 
larger than the volume itself, who at 
10.30 a. m., March 4, 1902, was ush- 
ered into the Superintendent's office. 
The story which he told, in reply to 
leading questions, readily explains why 
he and very many of his associates are 
there. The youngest of seven children, 
he had just passed his eleventh birth- 
day. To the best of his knowledge, he 
had a father somewhere in Boston, but 
he had no recollection of ever seeing 
him. His mother was dead. His 
latest home had been with a sister, his 
earliest, the town farm. The charge 

*From Theodore Lyman's letter to the 
Commissioners, comunicating his willing- 
ness to donate the sum of $10,000 for the 
more effectual carrying out of the Act of 
the Legislature contemplating the establish- 
ment of the School. 

of stubbornness, on which he was 
entered, like charity, covers a mul- 
titude of sins in the Lyman School. All 
offenses, not otherwise easily named, 
are lumped under this one head. This 
latest boy had repeatedly run away 
from his sister's home, impelled there- 
to, perhaps by the same inherited trait 
which in the lad's infancy had prompt- 
ed the father to desert his family. Well 
may the Trustees, in one of their re- 
ports, make the pertinent query, "How 
can a boy escape from his ancestors?" 
Carefully kept in the vaults of the 
school, are nearly thirty volumes of 
records, telling when and why the boys 
appeared and, as far as possible, their 
subsequent careers. All sorts of histo- 
ries are found therein. At least one 
lad passed out to a criminal manhood 
and finally expiated his capital offense 
upon the scaffold, while successful bus- 
iness men, college graduates, and de- 
voted ministers of the gospel have 
dated their upward start in life to the 
help and encouragement given them 
here. Number 1 was sent from Lowell 
as "Idle and dissolute." He was fif- 
teen years old ; responding to the ef- 
forts made in his behalf, he learned the 
carpenter's trade and in 1851, went to 
California. There he became a farmer 
and in 1853, tne ^ ast entry, he was in 
possession of a large and well-stocked 
farm. No. 2 came the 3d of November 




and in 1855 was at sea. No. 4 came on 
the 4th and he too went to sea, and was 
drowned. In 1876, No. 5 came back to 
visit the school. During the war he 
had been in the navy, and, an honest, 
reputable man, was then enjoying a 
pension from the Government on ac- 
count of an eye lost in its defence. And 
so on. 

In the care of over active boys, Mas- 
sachusetts was a pioneer. In 1824, 
New York City had begun her institu- 
tion for youthful delinquents on Ran- 
dall's Island; in 1826, both Philadel- 
phia and Boston followed with similar 
provisions for street waifs and juve- 
nile offenders, but Massachusetts was 
the first state as an entire body politic 
to reform the young by an institution 
for punitive purposes. It was in the 
earlier days of the administration of 
Gov. Briggs, that the demand for such 
an institution as is at Westborough 
began to be heard. Too many boys 
of tender age were sent each year by 
the courts to the jails and state prison, 
there to become adepts in crime,* 
and there is little wonder that petitions 
for some action, obviating such pro- 
cedure should pour in upon the Legis- 
lature. That body passed an act which 
the Governor signed, April 16, 1846, 
empowering him to appoint three Com- 
missioners, who at an expense not to 
exceed $r 0,000, should purchase not 
less than fifty acres of land upon which 
the "State Manual Labor School" 
should be established. Governor Briggs 
appointed Alfred Dwight Foster of 
Worcester, who had only recently been 

*In 1845, exclusive of Suffolk, Norfolk, 
Hampshire and Barnstable Counties, ninety- 
seven childien, under sixteen years of age, 
had been arrested and sentenced to houses 
of correction in Massachusetts. 

a member of the Executive Council, 
Robert Rantoul, the orator and states- 
man of Salem, and Samuel H. Walley, 
Jr., of Roxbury, a member of the 
Council, but better known among his 
contemporaries as Deacon of Boston's 
Old South Church. These gentlemen, 
after visits to the existing institutions 
of New York, Philadelphia and Bos- 
ton, and a careful consideration of the 
proper location for the school, fixed 
upon the town of Westborough, as suf- 
ficiently near the center of population 
and they purchased on the shores of 
Chauncey Pond the 180-acre farm of 
Lovett Peters as their first decisive 

It was at this time that there en- 
tered into their deliberations a man 
whose name has been for more 
than half a century a synonym for 
philanthrophy throughout the Com- 
monwealth, though, then and during 
his life, the fact that Theodore Lyman 
was the benefactor of Massachusetts 
boys was not known beyond the imme- 
diate circle actively interested. Scarce- 
ly had the Commissioners settled upon 
the location, when they received a let- 
ter, expressing the writer's warm sym- 
pathy with the project and indicating 
a willingness to give $10,000 towards 
the necessary outlay in securing the 
land, and a disposition to give an addi- 
tional $5,000 or $10,000, provided the 
State would duplicate the sum, to help 
the boys to a start in life on their leav- 
ing the institution. The twenty letters 
between the Commissioners and Mr. 
Lyman, beautifully transcribed and in 
the finest bindings, form one of the 
most interesting possessions of the 
school. Theodore Lyman, whose 
name is forever associated with this 
heaven born effort to repair man's 



faults and crimes, was born in Bos- 
ton, February 20, 1792, and died at 
his home in Brookline, July 18, 1849. 
Possessed of large wealth, he had the 
advantages of education at Harvard 
and of foreign travel in company with 
Edward Everett. Returning to Mas- 
sachusetts, he studied law and entering 
the militia attained the rank of Briga- 
dier-General. He was a member of 
both branches of the Legislature, was 
twice Mayor of Boston and, when 
serving his second term, at the risk of 
his own life, rescued Win. Lloyd Gar- 
rison from the hands of an infuriated 
mob. As former president of the Bos- 
ton Farm School, and dissatisfied with 
its management, he still may have 
gained there that appreciation of such 
attempts to make citizens out of waste 
material which prompted him to as- 
sume so large a part in the direction 
and maintenance of the, then so called, 
Reform School. Unhappily he did not 
live to see the beneficent results that 
followed his gifts, in all amounting to 
$72,500, the income of which was not 
to go into "bricks and mortar" but 
rather to the building and equipping of 
the boys themselves. Not till death 
had sealed the lips of the giver, did the 
authorities of the school reveal the 
name of its benefactor. 

The Act appropriating $35,000 for 
buildings and $1,000 for stocking, im- 
proving and cultivating the farm was 
signed by Governor Briggs, April 9, 
1847. As the first gift of Mr. Lyman 
had paid for the Peters farm, there 
was yet an unexpended sum of $10,000 
to be applied with the above appropria- 
tion. By the same Act, the institution 
was established under the name of 
State Reform School. At first juve- 
nile delinquents under sixteen vears of 

Bust of Theodore Lyman 

age could be sent, later the age was 
left discretionary with the courts. The 
management was placed in the hands 
of seven Trustees, to be appointed by 
the Governor. Including those first 
appointees of 1847, to date seventy- 
eight different men and women have 
served upon the Board. Naturally, 
they have come largely from the east- 
ern portion of the State, as have the 
greater part of the boys themselves. In 
the list of Trustees are found the 
names of some of the most distin- 
guished people in the Commonwealth. 
Among them may be recognized phil- 
anthropists of world wide fame, busi- 
ness men who have added to the pros- 
perity of the State together with pro- 
fessional men and officers of high de- 
gree. The senior surviving Trustee 
is E. A. Goodnow of Worcester, now 
in his ninety-second year, who in 1864 
received his first appointment from 
Governor Andrew and served till 1874. 



Miss Elizabeth C. Putnam 

Eventually realizing- that such philan- 
thropy as this needed the refining in- 
fluence of the gentler sex, in 1879, 
Governor Talbot made Adelaide A. 
Calkins of Spring-field the first woman 
member of the Board. To-day the 
longest term of service stands to the 
credit of Miss Elizabeth C. Putnam 
who, appointed in 1880 by Governor 
John D. Long, looks back upon nearly 
a quarter of a century of devotion and 
kindly labors. Westborough or some 
other nearby town from the start has 
had a representative, that immediate 
conference in emergency may be held 
with the Superintendent. In this way 
the home town has had eight members 
of the Board, to-day the resident Trus- 
tee being Melvin H. Walker, appointed 
in 1884. 

Supervising architects were selected, 
plans were approved, and June 15, 
1847, a contract for construction was 
made for the sum of $52,000. April 
15, 1848, the Legislature added $21,- 
000 to the building appropriation, and 
on the 25th of the same month gave 

$10,000 to cover Theodore Lyman's 
donation, to be expended at the discre- 
tion of the Trustees, and $8,000 for 
farm buildings, stock, etc. The orig- 
inal edifice was evidently fashioned 
largely on the then existing building 
reared for the same purpose by New 
York City on Randall's Island, and on 
the congregate plan, for the advantages 
of segregation had not, as yet, made 
themselves evident. Boys for whom 
there were supposed to be accommoda- 
tions for three hundred, were admitted 
before the structure was formally dedi- 
cated December 7, 1848. 

However well appointed buildings 
may be, they cannot make a school. 
Much depends upon the man who di- 
rects. The first Superintendent was 
Wm. R. Lincoln who served from 
1847 until May 9, 1853. His successors 
to date have been James M. Talcott, 
now living after thirty years of reform- 
atory work, aged eighty-five, in Elling- 
ton, Conn. [i853-'5i] ; Wm. E. Starr 
[1857^67], who at the age of ninety 

Melvin H. Walker 

General View of the Lyman School 

years is living in Worcester, Actuary 
of the State Mutual Life Insurance 
Co., not only the oldest surviving Su- 
perintendent, but one of the oldest men 
in active employ in the Common- 
wealth; Joseph A. Allen [i86i'67J 
and [ 1 88 1 -'85], who came to the school 
from Syracuse, N. Y., though Massa- 
chusetts born and bred ; O. K. Hutch- 
inson [i867-'68] ; Benj. Evans [1868- 
73]; Col. Allen G. Shepherd [1873- 
'78]; Luther H. Sheldon [i878-'8o] ; 
Edmund T. Dooley [i88o-'8i] ; Henry 
E. Swan [1885-^8], and Theodore F. 
Chapin [1888], a native of New York 
State, who saw service during the War 
of the Rebellion, was graduated from 
Rochester University in 1870 and came 
to the Lyman School from a long and 
varied experience as a teacher in the 
Empire State. The Assistant Superin- 
tendent, Walter M. Day, is in his elev- 
enth year of service. Very soon the 
edifice, large as it was, proved inade- 
quate to the demands, and during 
1852-3 an addition was made upon the 
eastern side almost doubling the orig- 
inal capacity of the school. November 
3> J 853, the enlarged structure was 
again dedicated. Lest idle hands 
should get into mischief, it was neces- 

sary to find something for them to do, 
and the problem of employment, from 
the beginning, has been one of the most 
difficult of solution. Very early, the 
boys were set to weaving cane seats for 
chairs and to making shoes under con- 
tract, but at no time did those in au- 
thority feel that this was the best form 
of work for their charges, and only 
resorted to it until something better 
could be devised. So long, however, 
as the congregate system prevailed, 
these forms of labor continued. Later 
years have revealed the possibilities 
and advantages of farm and skilled 
mechanical work. In 1853, Mary- 
Lamb of Boston gave to the school one 
thousand dollars, the income from 
which should be devoted to the im- 
provement of the library, a fund whose 
wide reaching utility it may be doubted 
if even the giver could have realized. 
No incident in the history of the 
school is more thrilling than that of 
the first successful attempt to destroy 
the building by fire, August 13, 1859. 
One of the inmates, a boy of more than 
usual restlessness, with four associates, 
set fire to one of the wooden flues in 
the northwest corner of the edifice and 
in a short time three-fourths of the en- 




tire structure was destroyed. Officers 
had to think and act quickly. The 566 
boys, considerably more than the build- 
ing's real capacity, were immediately 
scattered in temporary quarters in 
Fitchburg, Concord and Westborough. 
In the latter 150 lads were housed in an 
old steam mill. The boys who set the 
fire were taken before the courts and 
the leader, No. 2298, was sentenced to 
Worcester House of Correction, where 
he died the next year. Using money 
from the Lyman Fund, the Trustees 
at once set about rebuilding, and in 
i860, October 10, the renewed build- 
ing was dedicated with an address by 
President Felton of Harvard College. 

The Lyman School is an evolution. 
All interested felt the necessity of clas- 
sification and were convinced that boys 
too old in years and experience were 
admitted. After the fire, efforts were 
made to obviate some defects. To be- 
gin with, fifty of the older boys were 
sent aboard the school ship "Massa- 
chusetts," and other reductions fol- 
lowed, so that at the dedication there 
were only 333 boys, the lowest number 
for many years. At this time, also, 
shoe making was given up and the re- 
formative features of the institution 
began to be developed. 

The strain through which the school 
had passed and the unruly nature of 
many of the inmates had necessitated 
forms of discipline to which open and 
determined exception was taken by 
very many citizens. Whether for good 
or evil, at this late day it would be idle 
to attempt a judgment though never, 
for one moment, could the integrity of 
the officers' intentions be questioned. 
Yielding to popular clamor, Governor 
Banks removed the entire Board of 
Trustees excepting Theodore Lyman, 

the son of the liberal founder, and im- 
mediately appointed six new members. 
Upon these gentlemen came the re- 
sponsibility of securing a new Superin- 
tendent and he was found in Joseph A. 
Allen whose reputation as a teacher 
was of the best. Of his ten years' stay 
in Westborough, his experience and 
conclusions in connection with the 
boys intrusted to his care, he has given 
us a most delightful account in a little 
book, the only one that has been print- 
ed concerning the school except the 
annual pamphlet reports of the Trus- 
tees. But even Supt. Allen's capacity, 
tact and devotion could not overcome 
the structural difficulties of the insti- 
tution. There were still two radical 
faults : boys too old and vicious ; and 
the congregate system, which permit- 
ted bad lessons to be imparted in the 
yard by the older to the younger lads. 
Although for some time a system of 
trust houses had been growing up out- 
side, the yard was still within what 
were really prison walls, and the 
long lines of boys moved in close 
column to their cells at night to 
the refrain of clanging bolts. In 
1873, the school ship boys came 
back and the conditions were even 
harder than ever. May 5th of this 
year, having secured duplicate keys, a 
break for liberty was made by one hun- 
dred lads, but so effectual was the ef- 
fort to capture them, that all save four 
or five slept that night in the old quar- 
ters. It was no bed of roses for Col. 
Shepherd during his five years, and 
only his superb executive ability car- 
ried him through the trying period. 
May 31, 1 88 1, a boy of thirteen at- 
tempted to fire the building, but with 
no such serious results as those of 



As once before, the governor (Tal- 
bot) in 1879 removed the entire board 
of Trustees and appointed a new one. 
The yeast of development was begin- 
ning to work and neither authorities 
nor public were to be much longer sat- 
isfied with the old state of affairs. The 
first radical measure came when the 
Legislature voted to change the name 
of the institution from State Reform 
School to the present appellation in an 
Act, signed by Governor Robinson, 
June 3, 1884. As the present Superin- 
tendent remarked, "The name has long 
been a misnomer for it is a formative 
rather than a reformative place," in 
most cases a creation, rather than a 
reformation was necessary. The max- 
imum age of commitment was reduced 
to fifteen, provisions were made for the 
securing of a new farm and during the 
year twenty-six of the worst boys were 
sent to sea. The old edifice on the 
shores of Chauncey Pond was given 
over to the Commonwealth for an in- 
sane hospital and entirely new quar- 
ters were sought on the most conspicu- 
ous elevation in the town a mile and 
over to the northwest of the village. 
This new location was historic ground, 
for the Bela J. Stone farm which was 
purchased, included the site of the first 
church erected in Westborough, the 
farm house is built over the cellar of 
the old first parsonage and the timbers 
of the old meeting house sheds formed 
a useful part of the farm-barn. Facing 
the main approach to the farm-house, 
now called Maple Cottage, is a large 
structure used in former days as a 
seminary and sanitarium, but now a 
part of the school, called Willow Cot- 
tage. At first it was leased, and in 
April, 1885, was occupied by the first 
installment from the old building. Next 

Maple Cottage 

The Willows 

Lyman Hall 

The Gables 

Oaks and the Hillside 

came the Hillside, then Lyman Hall, 
with a frontage of one hundred and 
four feet, the largest structure on the 
grounds. The report to October, 

1886, says that the farm and buildings 
then in use, including the chapel, and 
introduction of water, steam heating 
and gas had cost $78,000, ten thousand 
of which had been taken from the Ly- 
man Fund. The chapel, though men- 
tioned, was not completed, but was to 
cost $3,500. It was dedicated June 3, 
of the following year. In February, 

1887, the Willow Park Seminary was 
bought for $3,000, and the farm then 
consisted of 99 acres. 

Owing to greater care in the com- 
mitment of boys and in the reduced 
age maximum, the number of inmates 
was smaller than it had been in more 
than a generation, but by October, 
1887, crowding began again, one hun- 
dred and eighteen boys being quar- 
tered in space intended for ninety. The 
present convenient office and home of 
the Superintendent came in 1888 at a 
cost of $8,000, and the same year was 
purchased the Wilson farm to the 
westward, thereby securing more cot- 
tage space in the shape of the "Way- 

side," one of the most attractive in the 
entire plant. Subsequent applications 
to the Legislature have resulted in ap- 
propriations for more cottages, till now 
there are nine with an average room 
for thirty boys each. The names as- 
signed to these beginning with Way- 
side on the west are Bowlder, Oak, 
Hillside, Gables, Lyman, Chauncey, 
Maple and Willow. Lyman Hall, at 
first containing the residence and of- 
fice of the Superintendent, is divided 
into two parts, the eastern part bearing 
the name of the early President of 
Harvard and of the nearby pond. The 
Gables is the made-over chapel, hal- 
lowed by the dedicatory words of Phil- 
lips Brooks, but thus altered when the 
opening of the new school building 
rendered a chapel no longer necessary. 
Careful counting reveals even more 
gables than those assigned to Haw- 
thorne's famous house. 

The latest of the many buildings 
clustered upon this hillside is the 
schoolhouse built especially for 
school and chapel purposes and opened 
March 1, 1900, in the presence of 
the school, the Trustees and many 
visitors. After the formal services 

The Farm Barns 

were over the boys were given 
free range of the edifice, and to 
their credit it should be added that in 
no way did they violate the confidence 
reposed in them. The main assembly 
hall is one of the finest proportioned 
and best lighted rooms in the Com- 
monwealth. Nor is the building era 
ended, since increased population 
brings more boys and greater demands 
for quarters and the present Legisla- 
ture is expected to authorize the erec- 
tion of a tenth cottage. It should be 
stated that in the effort to separate and 
classify, in August, 1895, the Trustees 
bought in the town of Berlin, from 
seven or eight miles to the northward 
of the Lyman School, a farm of one 
hundred acres at a cost of $5,250, en- 
tering into possession in October and 
occupying in November, the total out- 
lay for farm and improved buildings 
being about $9,000. Here are placed 
the smaller lads, those for whom homes 
are earliest sought in country towns, 
the theory being that good homes on 
the farm are the very best places for 
juveniles who have yielded to the 
temptations and allurements of citv 

In all this addition of buildings, one 
notable case of subtraction should be 
mentioned. August 26, 1900, after the 
great hay-barn had been well filled 
with provisions for winter, certain 
boys with incendiary proclivities and 
actuated by the desire to escape, set fire 
to the inflammable contents and the 
structure was entirely destroyed. For 
the sake of the other boys, it must be 
said that they turned to with a will and 
did all in their power to save the barn 
and contents. The firebugs were 
transferred to Concord and the barn 
was rebuilt in time for winter's use. 

Here then is the plant of the Lyman 
School having in all 259*4 acres of 
land, valued at $22,500, with buildings 
large and small, rated at $205,970, be- 
sides personal property to the amount 
of $69,670, making a grand total of 
nearly three hundred thousand dollars. 
Is the game worth the candle? This 
is the query which is annually raised 
by some doubting Thomas who looks 
for a quick and visible return for 
money expended. To such, those who 
have given most time and attention to 
the school reply, ''Yes, a thousand 
times yes." The most convincing evi- 




Supt. Theodore F. Chapin 

dence is furnished by a visit to the in- 
stitution itself. Even at this late day, 
there is abroad a notion that these lads 
are hemmed in by locks and bolts, that 
they sleep behind barred windows and 
that there are deep and dark as well 
as damp dungeons for boys who have 
transgressed the rules of the school. 
Were a total stranger to enter the plant 
at the "Willows" and to pursue his 
course to the "Wayside," he might 
marvel at the number of bright look- 
ing lads engaged in a great variety of 
occupations but not once would the 
thought arise that each and every boy 
is here for cause and sent here by due 
process of law. Should he behold them 
at their sports or farm work, or see 
them in their well appointed school 
rooms, he would simply wonder that 
so many boys should be gathered so 
far from a large town, and his natural 
conclusion would be that he had 
stumbled upon an unusually large and 
prosperous boarding school. 

At the end of the school year, Sep- 
tember 30, 190T, there were 327 boys 

in charge. During the year, 292 had 
been received, 264 discharged, with an 
average presence of 303.89. For this 
period, the State paid out $70,803.96, 
Besides this cash outlay, there were the 
consumed products of the farm, fruit, 
vegetables, poultry, eggs, and milk to 
the amount of $8,177. 

There is over the entire enterprise 
the spirit of continuity. Until the 
lamented death of Mr. H. C. Greeley, 
January 1, 1902, the seven members of 
the Board of Trustees represented 
eighty-nine years of consecutive ser- 
vice. Supt. T. F. Chapin is now in his 
fourteenth year; several of the teach- 
ers have been in their respective places 
many years. The Nestor of the school 
force is James W. Clark, engineer, who 
began his duties June 1, 1863, and sav- 
ing one and a half years out, his stay 
has been continuous. Changes occur 
in the management of the cottages only 
at infrequent intervals, so that the ad- 

The Workshop 

The Schoolhouse 



ministration is backed up by experi- 
enced help. Long since the punitive 
features of the school gave place to a 
heartfelt disposition to regard the boys 
as birds of passage, resting here for a 
time till their pinions are longer grown 
and their powers better developed. "The 
school's chief function is to surround 
the boy with influences which will fos- 
ter a healthy development and all the 

school has, beyond any other that I 
know of in this country, is that it un- 
dertakes, actually, to give efficient su- 
pervision and direction, thus insuring 
a realization upon the care bestowed 
when the youth was in the institution." 
From the first there has been no lack 
of effort to instruct. Most excellent 
talent has been employed, but frequent- 
ly teachers grew weary of their heavy 

The School Band 

means and appliances should be sub- 
sidary to this, the idea of punish- 
ment and all thought or suggestion of 
it being absolutely banished from the 
question. It is quite enough that the 
boy is here against his will, however 
good his surroundings and care. Of 
course there is an element of compul- 
sion, but the influences are not con- 
fined to a period here. The most crit- 
ical period is the subsequent one of 
probation and the distinction that this 

tasks and essayed their vocation in 
more congenial localities. There have 
been in past days uproars and con- 
fusion that come back to the witnesses 
with all the appalling force of a night- 
mare, but on the sunny slopes of the 
present plant, nothing of the kind now 
happens. At Chicago's Columbian 
Exposition the display of sloyd and 
other work from the Lyman School 
secured a silver medal and from the 
Atlanta Exhibition of 1895 a beauti- 

The Chapel 

ful bronze is treasured as a well-earned 
trophy. While many remain a longer 
time, the average stay of the boys is 
eighteen months, in which time chang- 
es sufficient in boyish nature have been 
wrought to warrant the attempt for 
something higher. The State has no 
wish to restrain the lad a moment be- 
yond the day when evidences are given 
of an ability and a disposition to help 
himself. As far as possible the boys 
are graded on entering and in no re- 
spect does their work differ from that 
of similar grades outside. In 1890, 
military drill was introduced and for 
four years was maintained, arms hav- 
ing been furnished by the State. 
Though the manual of arms was given 
up, the drill has continued as far as 
facings and marching are concerned. 
Each cottage has its company and offi- 
cers who, wearing proper insignia, di- 
rect the concerted movements of their 

Manual training, beginning in 
1888-9, has long been a feature of the 
institution, and perhaps no work pleas- 
es the lads so much as this. The re- 
sults of their training may be seen on 
every hand as one goes about the prem- 
ises. The large writing desk in the 
Superintendent's office is boy-made, 
and in the Gables may be found 
chairs, desks and chamber sets 
built and most exquisitely carved 
by these same youthful and now 
useful hands. On leaving the 
school nothing is more highly 
prized than the bric-a-brac which the 
youngster has here produced. Paper 
knives, card trays, photograph-holders, 
hat and umbrella racks, picture frames 
and tool chests, all are proofs of his 
own handiwork and he is proud of 
them. Many a brain has been reached 
through the fingers which had utterly 
failed to respond to every other meth- 
od. No effort has been spared to di- 

A Dormitory 

rect boyish energy into proper chan- 
nels and evidence of this is readily dis- 
covered in the new school-house, half 
of whose bricks, 750,000 in number, 
were laid by the boys, and they did all 
the rest of the work except slating and 
plastering. The wood carving on the 
interior must ever excite the admira- 
tion of all beholders. All the timber 
and lumber were taken in the rough 
and were planed and fashioned here. 
The boys made all the doors and win- 
dows. At a moderate estimate, they 
saved the State $15,000. Under com- 
petent direction the lads built the 
greenhouse, 100 x 28 feet, and remod- 
eled the chapel, but did not rebuild the 
barn simply because it was necessary 
to have it completed in less time than 
would be possible for juvenile strength. 
Its burned predecessor was built en- 
tirely by the school. For the other 
structures they did the excavating, 
carried the mortar and nailed the 

laths. As carpenters and bricklayers, 
boys have found lucrative employment 
immediately after leaving the school. 
The culmination of manual training is 
had in the workshop which is admir- 
ably equipped for labor on both wood 
and iron. Work-bench, forge and an- 
vil are all in evidence and the appren- 
tice really gets what stands him well 
in hand when he essays the journey- 
man's task outside. The appliances in 
this shop differ in extent only from 
those found in first class technical 
schools. In the basement is the laun- 
dry for the whole institution, and the 
boys play the part of John Chinaman 
with most commendable results. 

The basement of the school-house 
is given up to heating appliances and 
to one of the largest and best appoint- 
ed gymnasiums in the state. Here 
from morn till night a competent in- 
structor puts his charges through a 
drill, never irksome, which straightens 

Drawing Room 

backs, limbers joints and builds up 
structures which in many ways are 
lacking. While a large part of the 
time is given to calisthenics, a portion 
of each period is devoted to climbing, 
jumping and other sports dear to the 
boyish heart and hands. Every cot- 
rage has its own play ground and a 
well trodden diamond tells its own 
story of baseball. For more than thirty 
years there has been a brass band 
whose youthful tooters have given 
pleasure to themselves and others. 

The latest report of the Board of 
Trustees gives a picture of the attempt 
to introduce, here, the system of self- 
government, so long in vogue at Free- 
ville, N. Y., and called the George Ju- 
nior Republic. The differences in con- 
ditions prevented that success in this 
school that its promoters hoped for. A 
radical difference in material and the 
constant changes in the personnel of 
the school compelled its discontin- 

uance, though many beneficial effects 
are yet evident. There is still main- 
tained a system of Lyman School 
money in which all exchanges on the 
grounds are conducted. It has an 
equivalent in U. S. Currency, but none 
of the latter is allowed in the hands of 
the boys. Every day's work has its 
pay credited and all that the boy eats 
or wears is debited and his accounts 
are as closely kept as though he were 
working for wages. Whatever re- 
mains over and above his necessary 
outlay will be redeemed by the Super- 
intendent at the rate of one cent, U. S. 
money for every ten cents Lyman 
School currency. With this money the 
boys may do what they like, within 
reasonable limits. The savings bank 
of Westborough carries more than one 
hundred accounts of boys either in the 
school or out on probation, with an 
aggregate exceeding $5,000. Some of 
them are very old accounts, apparently 

The Sloyd Room 

forgotten by the young men who 
opened them. 

The cottages and the Superinten- 
dent's table are supplied from the same 
central source, for experience has 
taught the administration that one 
great kitchen is better than half a, score 
of smaller ones. Each week the Super- 
intendent makes out a bill of fare run- 
ning through from Monday to Sunday 
and an inspection will convince the 
most incredulous that the boys have va- 
riety and plenty. While' ice cream and 
escalloped oysters may not appear very 
often, the boys do not go hungry to 
work or to bed. The range of food 
is such that a high degree of health 
exists at all times in spite of the vicis- 
situdes through which a large part of 
the inmates have passed. A physician, 
residing in the town, makes daily vis- 
its, but it may be doubted whether 
any equal number of people requires 
less attention. 

The following schedule, varied ac- 
cording to the season, is a fair sample : 

Bill of Fare, for week beginning March 24, 
B. Oatmeal, sugar, milk. 
D. Corn beef hash, cold slaw, bread 

S. Bread, milk, molasses. 
B. Combination soup, bread. 
D. Hamburg loaf, string beans, po- 
tatoes, rice pudding. 
S. Bread, milk, prune sauce. 
B. Indian meal, molasses. 
D. Beef stew, dumplings, prune sur- 
S. Bread, milk. 
B. Pea soup, bread, milk. 
D. Stewed beans, brown bread, 

prune roll, syrup. 
S. Bread, milk, cheese. 
B. Lentil puree, bread, milk. 

Fish or clam chowder, brown 

Bread, milk, peach sauce. 
Sat. B. Bean soup, bread. 

Roast beef, onions, potatoes, 

blanc mange. 
Bread, milk, raisin loaf.