Skip to main content

Full text of "The New England magazine"

See other formats 


#v  '^rl    »&JLt  ,m  iii  ^L.^V 


" 


v  .  ■'..  / 


*.** 


ti'%.If; 


Ifl 


^.     *} 


I       -\ 


*    :**?? 


PUBLIC  LIBRARY 

FORT  WAYNE   &   ALLEN  CO.,  tNB 


<JB»M10€Y  DEPARTMENT 


AS 


EMeNT 


ALLEN  COUNTY  PUBLIC  LIBRARY 


In  3  1833  01746  7355 


GENEALOGY 

N4E15 
1902 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2012 


http://archive.org/details/newenglandmagaziv26bost 


New  England  Magazine 


An   Illustrated   Monthly 


New   Series,   Vol.    26 


xdki 


March,    1902 


August,  1902 


Boston,   Mass. 

America    Company,    Publishers 

J   Park    Square 


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

AMERICA  COMPANY, 

in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


All  rights  reserved. 


INDEX 


TO 


THE     NEW    ENGLAND    MAGAZINE 


VOLUME  XXVI. 


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 


26 
344 
268 
428 

93 
241 

259 
628 

739 
339 
329 
645 
102 

449 
21 

71 
476 

399 
556 
494 
241 
708 
387 
259 
293 
535 
76 
182 
76i 
625 
562 
117 
3 
236 


\-V^<5 


INDEX 


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. 


len 


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 
}]rilliam  T.  Davis  . 
Margaret  W.  Beardsley 
Alfred  S.  Roe    .     .     . 
Martha  E.  D.   White 
Mary  E.  Starbuck 
E.  J.    Carpenter     . 


366, 


389. 


721 
588 

54 
679 
26 
498,  617 

54 
481 

417 
289 
574 
131 
562 
628 
675 
417 
752 
76 

539 
276 
667 
548 
131 
293 
167 

675 
583,  698 


INDEX 


POETRY 


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 


ick 


760 
627 
738 
697 

497 
365 

225 

44 
712 
224 
760 
582 
56i 
524 
454 
470 
70 
53 
338 
720 


Hmerican  Sbrinee    UT 

1Fnt>cpent>cncc  Ifoall 

"  WE    HOLD    THESE    TRUTHS   TO  BE   SELF-EVIDENT: 

THAT    ALL   MEN    A  B  I<:   CREATED   EQUAL;     THAT  THEY  AKE  ENDOWED  BY 

THEIR    <  JR.EA.TOR    WITH    CERTAIN   UNALIENABLE  RIGHTS;   THAT   AMONG 

THESE     \  K  K    LIFE,    LIIIKKTY    AN' 1)  THE    PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS." 

New  England  Magazine 


New  Series 


MARCH 


Vol.  XXVI  No.   1 


Mrs.  Howe  as   Poet,   Lecturer  and 
Club-woman* 


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 
them. 

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 


MRS    HOWE  AS    POET,   LECTURER  AND  CLUB-WOMAN  5 


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 
work. 

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 


MRS.   HOWE  AS   POET,  LECTURER  AND   CLUB-WOMAN 


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- 


MRS.  HOWE  AS   POET,   LECTURER  AND   CLUB-WOMAN 


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 
city. 

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 


MRS.  HOWE  AS   POET,   LECTURER  AND   CLUB-WOMAN 


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- 
able. 

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. 


io        MRS.   HOWE  AS    POET,   LECTURER  AND   CLUB-WOMAN 


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  : 

OUR    ORDERS. 

"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; 


MRS.  HOWE  AS   POET,   LECTURER  AND  CLUB-WOMAN 


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." 


12         MRS.   HOWE  AS   POET,   LECTURER  AND   CLUB-WOMAN 


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 
Newport. 

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  wrere  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 
comprehensive 
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 

13 


The  Home  at  South  Boston 


dedicated  to  the  service  of  his  fellow 
men." 

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 


MRS.   HOWE  AS   POET,   LECTURER  AND    CLUB-WOMAN 


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- 


16 


MRS.   HOWE  AS   POET,   LECTURER  AND   CLUB-WOMAN 


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- 
ance. 

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 

17 


8        MRS.   HOWE  AS   POET,   LECTURER  AND   CLUB-WOMAN 


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, 


2o        MRS.   HOWE  AS    POET,  LECTURER  AND    CLUB-WOMAN 


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 
avoidance." 

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


THE  CONQUERING  OF  CAROLINE 


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- 
ures. 

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 
poles. 

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 


•">! 


THE  CONQUERING  OF  CAROLINE 


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 
grimly. 

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 
refinement. 

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. 


THE  CONQUERING  OF  CAROLINE 


23 


"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 
shortly. 

"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 
feebly. 

"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 
much." 

"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. 


24 


THE  CONQUERING  OF  CAROLINE 


"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 
woman. 

"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 
child. 

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  CONQUERING  OF  CAROLINE 


23 


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- 
tiously. 

"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 
ribbons. 


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 
26 


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 
Smibert. 

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,. 


AMERICA'S   FIRST  PAINTERS 


29 


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 


3° 


AMERICA'S  FIRST    PAINTERS 


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 
subjects. 

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 
existence. 

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 


33 


34 


AMERICA'S   FIRST  PAINTERS 


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 
God." 

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 
colonies. 

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 


\VSVi 


35 


From  the  painting  by  Benjamin  West 

QUEEN     CHARLOTTE    AND     HER    THIRTEEN     CHILDREN 


36 


AMERICA'S   FIRST  PAINTERS 


31 


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 


m 


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 
England. 

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 


dignified, 
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 
38 


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- 
ness. 

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


AMERICA'S   FIRST  PAINTERS 


39 


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. 
40 


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 


AMERICA'S  FIRST    PAINTERS 


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, 


42 


AMERICA'S   FIRST  PAINTERS 


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 


44 


THE    PILOT 


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 


light. 


The  Lesser  Tragedy 


Bv  Grant  Richardson 


"H 


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 
chair. 

"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- 
man." 

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

"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 

45 


46 


THE  LESSER  TRAGEDY 


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 
on?" 

"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- 


THE   LESSER  TRAGEDY 


47 


ball  and  danced  cotillions,  or  I'm  a 
sailor." 

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

"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 
captain. 

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- 
swered. 

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

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

"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- 


48 


THE   LESSER  TRAGEDY 


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 
him." 

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 
child. 

"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- 


THE   LESSER  TRAGEDY 


49 


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 
thing." 

"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 


5° 


THE   LESSER  TRAGEDY 


which  he  refused.  Then  came  his 
disappearance.. 

"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 
bride. 

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 
men. 

"Sergeant  Roakes  !"  announced  the 
striker. 


THE   LESSER  TRAGEDY 


5i 


"'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 
behalf." 

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 


52 


THE   LESSER  TRAGEDY 


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 
moaned. 

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 
hills. 

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 
within. 

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," 


STRANGERS 


53 


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

"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 
parade. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  asked  Whip- 
ple. 

"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 
died." 

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- 
prehending. 

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


Strangers 


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 
54 


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 


OLD  BLUE  PLATES 


53 


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 


56 


OLD  BLUE  PLATES 


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 
possession. 

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 


OLD  BLUE  PLATES 


57 


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 
hero. 

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- 
tures. 

Riley  has   several   pretty  views   on 


5* 


OLD  BLUE  PLATES 


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 
curiosity. 

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- 

59 


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. 

60 


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 
cherries. 

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 


OLD  BLUE  PLATES 


61 


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. 


62 


OLD  BLUE  PLATES 


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

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. 


Washington-Greene 

Correspondence 


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. 


*s%^#^+&t-  &i?&rf 


^t^ri^fr/-*** *& 


uf15fi&*JpfA 


s*£j&^«£r*----^***. 


jSjw***---.  ***** 


s 


ty'djw^1*.  '^ey^^^'^^^^f^^^i 


&? 


i^^-^^.^^n^^ 


wm^t^^ 


^y~*^^  sfc*4*  ^^  g^^ 


64 


Ur-k,    £  ^      *2      -% 


p.**.*-/-  j*&/  *?**  *EZ/  (*~^e^*'-  '  ~**f&*t<z~*-s  ^  4ty£.**s su****.^  ^f«***^*& 

/£  ■        . 

«5 


#~ 


it^'   tffe-     JJt^^jL^?'^      Z&r-, 


? 


f^Sk^*^^^0k^SF. 


y 


'/* 


^/  £-**- *-*4<?i*4/b 


-A 


'  >^^g^  *f^T  ^^^^^^^^^^ 


'?**! 


5*» 


&*£«&&&*&- 


S 


66 


/&-**^<C-J     S^fC**/      S^Z^S     /Z_r    X^W     ^^/^     Jrm^y     trSx^jg 


Slf '  &/>* '  ^tZ*r#^/-.     -    ■     - „■— .'-^     ^^/*7 ^A^^'*/        <***     ^^^ 


- 


*>^<^J^s^^^£ 


s**k-^- 


67 


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. 


68 


Gen.  Greene  to  Gen.  Washington 

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

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. 


69 


-■Vy-  '    .,.    ^feliiffllilP'V.        -„ 


\TORM-BEATCri 

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 


T 


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- 


72 


A  CONSPIRACY  IN  ST.  MARKS 


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 
delightful. 

"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- 


A  CONSPIRACY  IN   ST.   MARKS 


13 


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 
breath. 

"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 


74 


A  CONSPIRACY  IN  ST.  MARK'S 


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 
up. 

"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, 


A  CONSPIRACY  IN  ST.   MARKS 


1? 


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 
advertisement. 

"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- 
ceeded. 

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. 


~~%^M. 


^?#^*##^ 


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 
liquor. 
76 


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- 


THE  GENESIS  OF  STANDARD  OIL 


77 


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- 
ture. 

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 : 
1865. 

220,000  barrels  crude  received. 

154,000  barrels  refined  produced. 
1866. 

600,000  barrels  crude  received. 

400,000  barrels  refined  produced. 
1867. 

750,000  barrels  crude  received. 

550,000  barrels  refined  produced. 
1868. 

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 
them. 

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 
holding1  one  hundred  barrels  or  more. 


IS  THE  GENESIS  OF  STANDARD  OIL 

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   John    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 


THE  GENESIS  OF  STANDARD  OIL 


79 


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 


82 


MENOTOMY  PARSONAGE 


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 
record. 

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- 
tinction. 

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 
experiences. 

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 
years. 

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 

83 


84 


MENOTOMY  PARSONAGE 


Bowl  and  Table  Originally  Owned  by  Rev.  Sam 
Cook 

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 
outspoken. 

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 


MENOTOMY   PARSONAGE 


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 
State. 

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, 


86 


MENOTOMY  PARSONAGE 


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, 


7 


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- 

87 


MENOTOMY  PARSONAGE 


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?' 


&—*r*> 


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 

8o 


90 


MEN0T0MY  PARSONAGE 


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, 


/ 


MENOTOMY    PARSONAGE 


9i 


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 
J9>  I775-  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- 
est. 

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 
children. 


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 
Bird. 

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 

93 


94 


THE    BIRDS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 


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- 


w-£> 


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- 


THE    BIRDS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 


95 


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 


«*8§g 


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 


s*^e^ 


THE   BIRDS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 


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 


THE  BIRDS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 


97 


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 


98 


THE    BIRDS  OF  NEW     ENGLAND 


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 


Whip-poor-will 


THE    BIRDS  OF  NEW   ENGLAND 


99 


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- 
esting. 

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 


100 


THE  BIRDS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 


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. 


Bobolink 


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. 

April. 

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


THE  BIRDS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 


IOI 


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

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 
appearance. 

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 


A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


103 


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 
enthusiasts. 

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- 


04 


A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


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

FLATS. 

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. 

SHARPS. 

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 


A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


105 


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- 


io6 


A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


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 : 


A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


IO' 


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- 
stitutes." 

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 


io8        A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


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 
method. 

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 


A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW   ENGLAND 


c9 


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 
politics. 

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 


A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


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 
school. 

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. 


A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


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- 
torios. 

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 
managed. 

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- 


ii2         A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


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 
enthusiasm. 

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 
devised. 

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 


A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND         113 

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  5r  s    y 

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

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

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  overfl0wed  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   ,  .,          ,,        -xT  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   peace  Jubilee 

nowhere  but  in  Boston.     A  great  orchestra         r    0^     .    ,    .         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  : 

MASSACHUSETTS. 

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 


ii4        A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 

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 

NEW     HAMPSHIRE. 

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 


A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND  n 

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

Suncook  Choral   Soc'y J.    C.    Cram 31 

VERMONT. 

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

Rutland R.  I.  Humphrey 50 

Middlebury C.   F.    Stone 26 

MAINE. 

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 

CONNECTICUT. 

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 

RHODE    ISLAND. 

Pawtucket    Choral    Society George   W.    Hazel  wood 33 

Providence    Lewis  T.  Downes 82 

NEW   YORK. 

Granville   D.    B.   Worley 28 

Malone  Musical  Ass'n T.  H.  Attwood 21 

Saratoga   Springs S.    E.   Bushnell 48 

ILLINOIS. 

Chicago  Mendelssohn  Soc'y J.  A.  Butterfield 95 

OHIO. 

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. 


n6        A  CENTURY  OF  CHORAL  SINGING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


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- 
tory. 

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 
choruses. 

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 


HOOSAC  TUNNEL'S  TROUBLED  STORY 


117 


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- 
proaches. 

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- 
posed. 

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 


HOOSAC  TUNNELS  TROUBLED  STORY 


119 


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 
minutes. 

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 
eye, 

Gilding  pale  streams  with  heavenly  al- 
chemy." 


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: 


120 


H00SAC  TUNNEL'S  TROUBLED  STORY 


"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 


122 


HOOSAC  TUNNELS  TROUBLED  STORY 


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 
Pelham. 

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 

123 


124 


HOOSAC  TUNNEL'S  TROUBLED  STORY 


■ 


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 
realize. 

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 


HOOSAC  TUNNEL'S  TROUBLED  STORY 


125 


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 
men. 

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- 


126 


HOOSAC  TUNNEL'S  TROUBLED  STORY 


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 
rock. 

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 

127 


128 


HOOSAC  TUNNEL'S  TROUBLED  STORY 


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 


APRIL 


Vol.  XXVI  No.  2 


The  True  Story  of  Paul'Revere's 

Ride 


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 
spur, 
As  he  galloped  through  mud  and  mire  ; 
He  thought  of  naught  but  liberty, 

And    the    lanterns    that    hung    from    the 
spire." 

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- 

131 


^rU-,(T,IS-fO 


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- 

132 


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 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  PAUL  REVERES  RIDE 


133 


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: 

THE  SIGNAL  LANTERNS  OF 

PAUL  REVERE 

DISPLAYED    IN    THE    STEEPLE    OF 

THIS  CHURCH 

APRIL  18,   1775, 

WARNED  THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE 

MARCH   OF  THE  BRITISH   TROOPS 

TO  LEXINGTON  AND  CONCORD. 

(*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 


'34 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  PAUL  REVERE'S  RIDE 


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  HisLory  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 

135 


36 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  PAUL  REVERES  RIDE 


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- 
torians.* 

(*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 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  PAUL  REVERES  RIDE 


'37 


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 


\-i 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  PAUL  REVERES  RIDE 


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.) 


40 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  PAUL  REVERES  RIDE 


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. 
Prescott." 

"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 
direct."* 

(*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- 

141 


42 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  PAUL  REVERES  RIDE 


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  TRUE  STORY  OF  PAUL  REVERES  RIDE 


'43 


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- 
otism. 
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 

dark, 
And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a 

spark 
Struck   out  by   a   steed   flying   fearless   and 

fleet: 
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  TRUE  STORY  OF  PAUL  REVERE'S  RIDE 


'43 


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 


146 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  PAUL  REVERES  RIDE 


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. 


pp    S2&  &*^yt  <p^^*^^ 


3  u  0(7  >>  & 


<Hrm~J   kj^^~^ 


~*#-  irtfc- 


a 


& 


•?'  r 


t^vtauFXZt  *<a£<n<  r£T~A/ A*fcd~-f 


M^^t 


/-*>.  i0?£j£i  s^  //,*,  ssg*  j, 


x& 


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 


h 


«&-• 


3i 


\  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 
148 


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, 
Dr. 

To  riding  for  the  Committee 
of  Safety  from  April  21 
1775  to  May  7th,   17  Days 

at    5/ 4     5     0 

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    0 

Aug.  2d,  To  Printing  1000  impres- 
sions at  6/  pr  Hundd,  Sol- 
diers   Notes 3  00     0 


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 

149 


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  : 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  PAUL  REVERE'S  RIDE 


151 


"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 
sky." 

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 


I 


SHOULD  never  suppose  him 
to  be  an  American,"  said  Lady 
Innismore. 

"Why  not,  mamma?"  asked 
her  daughter,  the  Honorable  Miss 
Vane. 

Her  mother,  who  was  thin  and  pink 
and  high-nosed,  after  a  certain  type  of 
patrician  Englishwoman,  laughed 
lightly. 

"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." 

»52 


"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 
disappearing." 

"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 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


53 


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- 
cussing. 

"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- 
ciety." 

"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- 
quiries." 

"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 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


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 
import. 

"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, 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


•55 


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- 
ing. 

"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 36 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


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 
cheer. 

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 
contrast. 

"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. 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


57 


"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- 
mentals. 

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 
usurper?" 

"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 
titles?" 

"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- 
lishman." 

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- 
ferent." 

"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 58 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


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 
frock. 

"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- 
vulgar." 

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- 
gadocio." 

"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- 
patiently. 

"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 

159 


i6o 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


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 
blurred." 

"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 
tree. 

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 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


61 


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 


62 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


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 
true. 

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 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


169 


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 
well." 

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 
me." 

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 
brows. 

"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 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


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 
offered." 

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 
yourself." 

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 " 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


16s 


"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 
please." 

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- 
erence. 

"Don't  mar  your  noble  conduct,"  she 
murmured,  "by  allusions  to  this  morn- 
ing." 

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  wray :  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 


INTERNATIONAL  SWEETHEARTS 


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. 

"Clement." 

He  lifted  his  eyes,  but  gave  no  other 
response. 

"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— **VS*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. 

167 


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- 
hind. 

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 

168 


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, 


THE  U.  S.  NAVAL  TORPEDO  STATION 


169 


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 


170 


THE  U.  S.  NAVAL  TORPEDO  STATION 


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 
importance. 

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 


172 


THE  U.  S.  NAVAL  TORPEDO  STATION 


possible  contingency  being  provided 
for. 

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 
former. 

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- 
istence. 

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- 

173 


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- 
termines. 


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- 


176 


THE  U.  S.  NAVAL  TORPEDO  STATION 


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- 
den. 

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. 

THE    EFFECT    OF    THE    EXPLOSION     OF    A    TORPEDO 


1 78 


THE  U.  S.  NAVAL  TORPEDO  STATION 


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 


THE  U.  S.  NAVAL  TORPEDO  STATION 


■79 


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 
knots. 

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- 
180 


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 


THE  U.  S.  NAVAL  TORPEDO  STATION 


is 


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 


ftW 


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 
182 


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 
lips. 

"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 
cooking." 

"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 


HANDSOME  FELIX 


.83 


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 
street. 

"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 
place." 

"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 
table." 

"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 
man." 

"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- 


HANDSOME  FELIX 


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- 
dainfully. 

"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 


HANDSOME  FELIX 


i»5 


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 
pain. 

"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 
Felix. 

"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 
mine." 

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 
cream. 

"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- 
self." 

Felix  would  have  explained,  had  not 
Julie  silenced  him  with  a  glance. 


1 86 


HANDSOME  FELIX 


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 
bound. 

"Trifiis  !  There  is  Trifiis  !"  she  cried 
the  next  moment  and  ran  out  to  meet 
him. 

"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 
she?" 

"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- 
ling. 

"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 
hands. 

"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 
ate." 

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 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


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 
better. 

"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 
something. 

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 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


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 
woods. 

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.  H1'^  \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 


190 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


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 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


191 


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 


192 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


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  running1  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. 

103 


194 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


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- 
pear. 

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 
dressed, 

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- 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


95 


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- 
ton. 

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.  Wrebster, 
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- 
land. 

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," 
106 


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 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


91 


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 
battle. 

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. 


198 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


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- 
pealed. 

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 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


199 


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 


200 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


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- 

201 


202 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


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- 
ters  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 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


203 


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 
Union. 

"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- 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


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 


2o6 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


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 
shore. 

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 


MEMORIES  OE  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


207 


"*- 


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 
God. 

"Life,  death  and  hell 
and  worlds  un- 
known, 

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, 


208 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


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 


MEMORIES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


20Q 


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 : 

DANIEL  WEBSTER, 
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 
it." 


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 
210 


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   ( 


dge. 


IN  AN  OLD  GARDHN 


21 


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 
blaze. 

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- 
214 


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 


IN  AN  OLD   GARDEN 


215 


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 
Reserve. 

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 


2l6 


IN  AN  OLD  GARDEN 


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 
seem." 

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 

2lS 


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 


IN  AN  OLD  GARDEN 


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- 
floor." 

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 

days." 

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 
garden." 

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 


IN  AN  OLD  GARDEN 


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 


IN  AN  OLD  GARDEN 


221 


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 


224 


PREPARATION 


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. 


Preparation 

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. 

22s 


226  ODE  TO  THE  ORGAN 

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. 


ODE  TO  THE  ORGAN  227 

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. 


228 


Washington-Greene 

Correspondence 


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. 


6"*- <3<2^. /yfr' 


<cj^  <c^u  r^p?^*^  j^~<2-^s£l-^  ^r~^^^^y^>  v^^L^^Sc&i  \ 


,-s^jz^l^Z^?-  <?u<f  <&^e^£*~£<£~*y*  J^-^*—  J 


ia-^^^^?<^-x^P  ^*^^<2-1*^£^^ 


j 


€f       ^?^<^*D>      ^^<y^L^     S^^^fL 


<2-^<_43_-<Z- 


231 


^fc* 


_^a_^ 


'/&*y?& 


<£»  *S&J& 


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. 


233 


On  the  Wharf 


By  E.   L.   Pearson 


UE' 


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- 
234 


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 
wharf. 

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 


ON   THE  WHARF 


23^ 


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, 
Esq1".,  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 
236 


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- 


HOW  LOWELL  MASON  TRAVELLED  TO  SAVANNAH 


■31 


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, 


23S 


HOW  LOWELL  MASON  TRAVELLED   TO  SAVANNAH 


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 

Thursday 
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 
Wralingford,    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 


HOW  LOWELL  MASON  TRAVELLED  TO  SAVANNAH 


239 


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 


240 


HOW  LOWELL  MASON  TRAVELLED  TO  SAVANNAH 


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- 
tition. 

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- 
veniences. 


Early  Churches  at  the  North  End, 

Boston 


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 
body. 

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, 

241 


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 
mind. 

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 


EARLY  CHURCHES  AT  THE  NORTH  END,   BOSTON 


243 


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 
244 


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 
descendants." 

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 
Families." 

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 

245 


246  EARLY  CHURCHES  AT  THE  NORTH  END,  BOSTON 


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- 
ableness. 


248 


EARLY  CHURCHES  AT  THE  NORTH  END,   BOSTON 


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 
remarkable. 

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 


EARLY  CHURCHES  AT  THE  NORTH  END,   BOSTON 


249 


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 
man: 

"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- 
ners." 

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- 
day. 

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 
said: 

"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 


g^gc- 


230 


EARLY  CHURCHES  AT  THE  NORTH  END,    BOSTON 


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- 
ment. 

After  withdrawing  from  the  church, 
Mr.  Emerson  left  the  citv  to  live  hence- 


EARLY  CHURCHES  AT  THE  NORTH  END,   BOSTON 


251 


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     0f      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, 


2S2 


EARLY  CHURCHES  AT  THE  NORTH  END,   BOSTON 


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 
Awakening, 
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- 
ful. 

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 


EARLY  CHURCHES  AT  THE  NORTH  END,   BOSTON 


253 


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 
Mather. 

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 


254 


EARLY  CHURCHES  AT  THE  NORTH  END,   BOSTON 


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 


r 


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. 


EARLY  CHURCHES  AT  THE  NORTH  END,   BOSTON 


2SS 


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 
Church 


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 
sculptor. 

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 
country. 

With      the     exception      of     Christ 


2^6 


EARLY  CHURCHES  AT  THE  NORTH  END,   BOSTON 


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- 
gogue. 

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.       ^ 


when 


Hmerican  ©brines   UTTT 

Lexington  Common 

"  IjAY   DOWN  THE  AXE,   FLING  BY  THE   SPADE; 

Leave  in  its  track  the  toiling  plough  -. 

The  rifle  and  the  bayonet-blade 

JTOR   ARMS   LIKE  YOURS   WERE  FITTER   NOW." 

New  England  Magazine 


New  Series 


MAY 


Vol.  XXVI  No.  3 


Flower  Folk  in  the  Boston 
Reservations 


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- 

259 


Hepatica 


Bloodroot 


Anemone 


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- 
260 


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." 


FLOWER  FOLK  IN  THE    BOSTON  RESERVATIONS 


26 


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 


Jack-in-the-Pulpit 


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 


Maianthemum 


Rhodora 


Bellwort 


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 
Hill. 

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- 

263 


Pitcher  Plant 


New  Jersey  Tea 


Lady's  Slipper 


Trillium. 

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. 
264 


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 
them, 

"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- 

265 


Common  St.  John's  Wort 


Evening  Primrose 


Mullein 


Daisy 


Chicory 


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- 

266 


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 
honor. 


267 


As  It  Was  Written 


By  H.   Knapp  Harris 


"I 


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 
268 


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- 


AS  IT   WAS  WRITTEN 


269 


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- 
ham. 

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 


270 


AS  IT  WAS  WRITTEN 


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 
mouth." 

"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 


AS   IT  WAS  WRITTEN 


271 


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 
birth. 

"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- 
tion. 

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." 


272 


AS  IT  WAS  WRITTEN 


"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- 
finity." 

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 
dryly. 

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 
earnest. 

"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." 


AS  IT   WAS   WRITTEN 


273 


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- 
lief." 

"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- 
tentous. 

"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 
nervously. 

"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 
snare. 

"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 


274 


AS  IT  WAS  WRITTEN 


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,  fNon 
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 
lowered. 

"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 


AS  IT  WAS  WRITTEN 


275 


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 


276 


STEEL  SHIP-BUILDING  IN  MASSACHUSETTS 


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 
fell. 

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 


STEEL  SHIP-BUILDING  IN  MASSACHUSETTS 


277 


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- 
ties. 

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 
over. 

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- 


STEEL  SHIP-BUILDING  IN  MASSACHUSETTS 


279 


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 


280 


STEEL  SHIP-BUILDING  IN  MASSACHUSETTS 


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 
pounds. 

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 

281 


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 
282 


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 
employed. 

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 

2S3 


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- 
284 


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 

285 


STEEL  SHIP-BUILDING  IN  MASSACHUSETTS 


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 

287 


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 
288 


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 


THE  REGENERATION  OE  YOUNG  HAWLEY 


289 


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 
commentary. 


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 
Manila. 

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 


290 


THE  REGENERATION  OF  YOUNG  HAWLEY 


woman  who  had  not  been  born  with 
any  illusions,  which  are  apt  to  be 
troublesome  things  to  an  enterprising 
spirit. 

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 


THE  REGENERATION  OF  YOUNG  HAWLEY 


•91 


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 
act. 

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- 
bred. 

"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 


>0/2 


THE  REGENERATION  OF  YOUNG  HAWLEY 


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 
longer. 


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 
women. 

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 
Suggestions 


By  Daniel  S.  Sanford 


I.     ILSENBURG. 


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' 
Jack." 

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 

393 


Director 


294 


TWO  FOREIGN  SCHOOLS  AND  THEIR  SUGGESTIONS 


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 


TWO  FOREIGN  SCHOOLS  AND  THEIR  SUGGESTIONS 


295 


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- 


296 


TWO  FOREIGN  SCHOOLS  AND  THEIR  SUGGESTIONS 


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 
interest. 

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 
authors. 

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 

297 


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 
life: 

"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 
298 


any  belonging  to  ancient  or  mediaeval  his- 
tory." 

*'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." 

II.    BEDALES. 
"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 

299 


Gardening 


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 
girls. 

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 
specimens. 

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- 


TWO  FOREIGN  SCHOOLS  AND  THEIR  SUGGESTIONS 


303 


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 


Having 


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. 


Carpentry 


"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 

3^4 


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 


TWO  FOREIGN  SCHOOLS  AND  THEIR  SUGGESTIONS 


305 


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 
convictions. 


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 

306 


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 


THE  NATIONAL  PIKE  AND  ITS  MEMORIES 


307 


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- 


308 


THE  NATIONAL  PIKE  AND  ITS  MEMORIES 


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 
world. 

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 


THE  NATIONAL  PIKE  AND  ITS  MEMORIES 


309 


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 
310 


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 
heed. 

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 
312 


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, 


THE  NATIONAL  PIKE  AND  ITS  MEMORIES 


3U 


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 
314 


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 
company. 

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  NATIONAL  PIKE  AND  ITS  MEMORIES 


3*5 


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 
inn. 

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 
mankind. 

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- 


Jill! 


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 
life. 

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. 
Searigbt. 
316 


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 
limestone." 

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 
wragoners,  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 

317 


MPr-i 


I  I 


Ill'' 


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 
318 


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 


320 


THE  NATIONAL  PIKE  AND  ITS  MEMORIES 


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- 
sengers. 

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. 


Washington-Greene 

Correspondence 


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. 


y 


V/Jtarf-J^ 


/7*AJ stft^^X^^^^^zj  /fe^/7// 


&  ^r*J~  $*A  ji^Q  i^L^  ^v  ^  ^^uL., 

4jt4P  \~~>  y>~rri/*'  ///  y//%^r  J&nAV    *JAtsh$/  %Ztstsy  Asr^rri**  **Xs>~ts 

/ZUj    iA/vrf£    ^^   ^Lcrt^    ^L^£/     tyAsasy^ls  fyc  <0J~*S%   V&s 


> 


'SiaS 


■^ktr'&~&* 


-<>isk^2 


4" 9—,<rrj)+*  — - > 


C:  e£  '"i^ 


K 


i 


Li 


323 


r^ 


^7-6^t- 


.1       \  I 


If. "*-?%•  "f-***~  e^^y^^^f^ 


.^^  ^W  /*** ^  -Tjby&*^*'i 
d*  /~t  J       ^r    ^    ZTi&LX+st<ys  ^^ac^e^  t*t*~++td-J+*. 


Bin* 


r. .        -.   ' 


/ 


ir 


V     ■ 

V 


•j  >J*ti&  *«•,,-_- :Sgfe*». --^v 


®«>jai 


326 


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 — 


327 


Gen.  Greene   to  Gen.  Washington 


Head  Quarters, 

November  21st,   1781. 
Sir, 

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. 


3*8 


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- 
where. 

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 

329 


33° 


CAPE  COD  NOTES 


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 


CAPE  COD  NOTES 


33i 


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 


33* 


CAPE   COD  NOTES 


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 


CAPE  COD  NOTES 


333 


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 
oblivion. 

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 


334 


CAPE  COD  NOTES 


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 


CAPE  COD  NOTES 


335 


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- 


336 


CAPE^COD  NOTES 


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 


CAPE  COD  NOTES 


331 


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 


33% 


SUNSET 


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. 


Sunset 


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 


MASSACHUSETTS  is  unus- 
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 
lakes. 

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 


339' 


340 


THE  LAKES  OF  CAPE  COD 


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 

Chlorine 

Name  of  Lake  or 
Pond 

Location 

in    water 

Areas  in 

per 

Acres 

100,000 

parts 

Shank  Painter    | 

Province-   \ 
town,       j 

Pond,                }■ 

S.42 

83 

Clapp's  Pond, 

2-39 

72 

Great  Pond 

Eastham, 

I.98 

112 

Long  Pond, 

Brewster, 

I.44 

77S 

Nine  Mile  Pond 

Barnstable. 

1.05 

700 

Mashpee   Lake,  1 

.85 

770 

John's  Pond, 

Mashpee, 

.81 

240 

Ashumet, 

•77 

226 

Long  Pond, 

Falmouth, 

.87 

205 

( )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- 


THE  LAKES  OF  CAPE  COD 


341 


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 
sections." 

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 
luxuriantly. 

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 


342 


THE  LAKES  OF  CAPE  COD 


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 
winter. 

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- 


THE  LAKES  OF  CAPE  COL) 


343 


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 

Attic 


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- 
thodoxy. 


AN  OLD  LETTER  FROM  A  NEW    ENGLAND  ATTIC 


345 


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 


346 


AN  OLD  LETTER  FROM  A  NEW  ENGLAND  ATTIC 


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 : 


AN  OLD  LETTER  FROM  A  NEW  ENGLAND  ATTIC 


547 


"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- 
348 


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 

349 


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- 
350 


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. 


AN  OLD  LETTER  FROM  A  NEW  ENGLAND  ATTIC 


/>-> 


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 
1818. 

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 


352 


AN  OLD  LETTER  FROM  A  NEW  ENGLAND  ATTIC 


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 


U 


A 


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 
Wightman. 

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, 

353 


354     ROGER  WILLIAMS  AND  THE  PROVIDENCE  PLANTATIONS 


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 


ROGER  WILLIAMS  AND  THE  PROVIDENCE   PLANTATIONS     355 


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- 
sions." 

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 
child." 

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 


3^6     ROGER  WILLIAMS  AND  THE  PROVIDENCE   PLANTATIONS 


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- 
son." 

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- 
ing." 

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 
authority." 

The  contentions  of  Williams,  as  re- 
corded by  himself  in  his  pamphlet  en- 


ROGER  WILLIAMS  AND  THE  PROVIDENCE  PLANTATIONS    357 


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 
England. 

"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 
them. 

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- 


358     ROGER  WILLIAMS  AND  THE   PROVIDENCE  PLANTATIONS 


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 


ROGER  WILLIAMS  AND  THE  PROVIDENCE   PLANTATIONS     339 


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 
Seekonk. 

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 
Providence. 

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 
him. 

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 


360     ROGER  WILLIAMS  AND  THE   PROVIDENCE  PLANTATIONS 


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 
things." 

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, 


ROGER  WILLIAMS  AND  THE  PROVIDENCE  PLANTATIONS     361 


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 


)b2     ROGER  WILLIAMS  AND  THE  PROVIDENCE  PLANTATIONS 


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. 


ROGER  WILLIAMS  AND  THE  PROVIDENCE  PLANTATIONS     363 


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- 
dertaking." 

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 


564     ROGER  WILLIAMS  AND  THE  PROVIDENCE  PLANTATIONS 


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 
lived. 


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. 

S6S 


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- 
366 


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 : 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


367 


"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 
place." 

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 
Penn. 

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 


368 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


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 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


369 


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 

Dutch 
Whose   trade  in   weaving   Linnen   cloth   is 

much," 

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- 


370 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


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 
Maryland. 

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 

know." 

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   &- 


■ 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


371 


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 


312 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


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- 
derness." 

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- 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


373 


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 

around, 
And    held    armed    truce    upon    its    neutral 

ground. 

There  Indian  chiefs  with  battle-bows  un- 
strung, 

Strong,  hero-limbed,  like  those  whom  Ho- 
mer sung, 

Pastorius  fancied,  when  the  world  was 
young, 

Came  with  their  tawny  women,  lithe  and 

tall, 
Like  bronzes   in  his   friend  Von   Rodeck's 

hall, 
Comely,  if  black,  and  not  unpleasing  all. 

There  hungry  folk  in  homespun  drab  and 

gray 
Drew  round  his  board  on  Monthly  Meeting 

day, 
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- 
sen. 

Deep  in  the  woods,  where  the  small  river 

slid 
Snake-like  in  shade,  the  Helmstadt  Mystic 

hid, 
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, 


374 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


Whereby  he  read  what  man  ne'er  read  be- 
fore, 
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 
eclipse. 

Or  meek-eyed  Mennonist  his  bearded  chin 
Leaned  o'er  the  gate ;  or  Ranter,  pure  with 

in, 
Aired  his  perfection  in  a  world  of  sin. 

Or,    talking    of   old    home    scenes,    Op    den 

Graaf 
Teasing  the  low  back-log  with  his  shodden 

staff, 
Till  the  red  embers  broke  into  a  laugh 

And  dance  of  flame,  as  if  they  fain  would 

cheer 
The  rugged  face,  half  tender,  half  austere, 
Touched  with  the  pathos  of  a  homesick  tear  ! 

Haply,   from   Finland's  birchen  groves   ex- 
iled, 
Manly  in  thought,  in  simple  ways  a  child, 
His    white    hair    floating   round    his    visage 
mild, 

The    Swedish   pastor    sought   the   Quaker's 

door, 
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 
Germantown. 

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 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


31b 


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 
emigration. 

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 


376 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


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- 
vania. 

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 
numbers. 

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 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


377 


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 
war. 

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 : 


378 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


"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 
character. 

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 
friendliness. 

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 
Zion." 

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 : 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


379 


"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 
Christ.) 

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- 
son: 


"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 
news." 

The  "News"  attained  the,  for  those 
times,  immense  circulation  of  4,000 
copies. 

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 


380 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


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 
America. 

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 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


381 


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- 
migrants. 

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- 
fer."* 

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 


38i 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


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- 
less." 

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- 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


383 


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- 
vant." 

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 


3S4 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


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 


JUNE 


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 

387 


388 


FARM  HOUSES  IN  THE  NARRAGANSETT   COUNTRY 


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 


FARM  HOUSES  IN  THE  NARRAGANSETT   COUNTRY 


189 


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 
England. 

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 
window-sashes. 


390 


FARM  HOUSES  IN  THE  NARRAGANSETT   COUNTRY 


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 


FARM  HOUSES  IN  THE  NARRAGANSETT    COUNTRY 


39* 


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)  and  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." 


392 


FARM  HOUSES  IN  THE  NARRAGANSETT   COUNTRY 


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 
built. 

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- 

393 


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 

304 


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- 


FARM  HOUSES  IN  THE  NARRAGANSETT   COUNTRY 


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 
396 


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 


FARM  HOUSES  IN  THE  NARRAGANSETT   COUNTRY 


397 


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 


398 


FARM  HOUSES  IN  THE    NARRAGANSETT  COUNTRY 


having  been  used  by  Mr.  Robinson's 
beautiful  daughter.  The  story  of  her 
life  is  a  pathetic  tale  of  misplaced 
love. 

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, 

Massachusetts 


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- 
wealth."* 

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 

399 


400 


CREATING  CHARACTER  AT  THE  LYMAN  SCHOOL 


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 
act. 

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 


CREATING  CHARACTER  AT  THE  LYMAN  SCHOOL 


401 


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. 


402 


CREATING  CHARACTER  AT  THE  LYMAN  SCHOOL 


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>  J853,  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- 

403 


404 


CREATING  CHARACTER  AT  THE  LYMAN  SCHOOL 


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 
1859. 


CREATING  CHARACTER  AT  THE  LYMAN  SCHOOL 


405 


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- 
406 


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 
life. 


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- 

407 


408 


CREATING  CHARACTER  AT  THE  LYMAN   SCHOOL 


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 


CREATING  CHARACTER  AT  THE  LYMAN  SCHOOL 


409 


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 
associates. 


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- 
412 


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, 
1902. 
B.  Oatmeal,  sugar,  milk. 
D.  Corn  beef  hash,  cold  slaw,  bread 

pudding. 
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- 
prise. 
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 

betty. 
Bread,  milk,  peach  sauce. 
Sat.        B.  Bean  soup,  bread. 

Roast     beef,     onions,     potatoes, 

blanc  mange. 
Bread,  milk,  raisin  loaf. 

4*3 


Mon. 


Tues. 


Wed. 


Thurs. 


Fri 


D. 

S. 
B. 
D. 

S. 


At  Breakfast 


Sun.      B.  Tomato  soup,  bread. 

D.  Baked     beans,     tomato     pickles, 

prune  dessert. 
S.  Bread,  milk,  peach  sauce. 

The  boys  are  clad  in  a  uniform  in 
which  blue  predominates.  It  is  warm 
and  serviceable  and  no  lad  appears  to 
suffer  from  the  cold  though  he  is  out  at 
all  times  and  in  all  seasons.  When  he 
goes  away  he  is  furnished  with  an  ap- 
propriate suit  for  which  he  has  been 
measured.  The  shoes  are  made  by 
the  boys  on  the  premises.  The  long 
line  of  cow-stables  is  policed  by  the 
boys  and  they  do  all  the  milking.  No 
more  pleasant  sight  greets  the  visitor 
than  that  of  the  barn-brigade  starting 
out  on  its  very  useful  round  of  duties. 
The  boys,  under  proper  guidance,  do 
all  the  farm  work.  They  plow,  harrow, 
plant,  sow,  hoe  and  reap.  They  cut 
the  corn  stalks  which  are  run  through 
the  machine  for  the  silo.     They  pile 


the  great  bay  full  of  sweet  smelling 
hay  and  all  this  must  be  done  in  the 
forenoon,  for  the  after  dinner  hours  are 
given  to  regular  school  work. 

Regularity  and  constancy  are  rules 
of  the  institution  and  unless  some  en- 
tertainment in  the  large  hall  keeps  them 
up,  they  are  all  in  bed  before  nine.  In 
the  large  hall  the  boys  have  lectures, 
concerts,  magic  lantern  exhibitions  and 
the  same  round  of  diversions  which 
come  to  lads  of  the  same  age  elsewhere. 
Sundays  they  gather  here  for  a  short 
service,  in  which  they  participate  in 
the  singing,  and  then  listen  to  a  brief 
address  by  some  one  invited  for  the 
purpose.  Those  who  desire,  can  have 
the  ministrations  of  their  own  partic- 
ular denomination  and  the  Catholic 
priest  of  Westborough  includes  the 
boys  of  his  religion  in  the  school  as  a 
portion  of  his  particular  charge.  While 
there  is  a  large  and  well  supplied  li- 


CREATING  CHARACTER  AT  THE  LYMAN  SCHOOL 


4'5 


brary  maintained  from  the  Mary  Lamb 
Fund,  each  cottage  has  its  own  read- 
ing matter,  so  that  no  boy  need  lack  for 
literary  diversion.  The  school  has  its 
own  monthly  paper,  The  Lyman  School 
Enter prise,  wholly  prepared  and  printed 
on  the  premises.  While  there  is  some 
selected  matter,  in  the  main  the  contents 
are  of  local  and  personal  interest.  The 
weekly  programmes  for  the  Sunday 
services  are  here  produced  and  the 
young  printers  are  learning  the  art 
preservative  in  a  way  which  admir- 
ably fits  them  for  similar  labor  beyond 
the  confines  of  the  Lyman  School. 

At  the  first  glance,  the  word  cottage 
hardly  seems  applicable  to  the  stately 
piles  of  brick  and  mortar  which  have 
space  and  entertainment  for  thirty  or 
more  boys,  but  the  name  came  when 
the  buildings  were  smaller  and  doubt- 
less will  ever  cling.  Here,  too,  con- 
tinuity prevails  and  unless  the  head  of 
a  household  departs  to  assume  the  di- 
rection of  an  institution  elsewhere,  as 
has  happened  many  times,  the  chances 
are  that  he  will  remain  a  long  while. 
The  boys  are  prompted  to  a  proper 
pride  in  themselves  and  their  own  cot- 
tage. 

In  each  dormitory  there  are  small 
rooms,  the  occupation  of  which  comes 
as  a  reward  for  long-continued  good 
conduct.  Soon  after  "a  boy's  arrival 
the  workings  of  a  system  of  merits 
and  demerits  are  explained  to  him  and 
he  is  shown  that  in  order  to  be  even  con- 
sidered by  the  Trustees  as  a  candidate 
for  release  or  ticket-of-leave  he  must 
attain  the  maximum.  If  careful  and 
well  disposed,  he  can  secure  this  re- 
quired number  within  one  year,  but 
even  then  there  may  be  circumstances 
which  render  his  longer  detention  de- 
sirable.    As  all  commitments  are  for 


minority,  even  if  he  does  go  out  he  is 
still  under  the  constant  supervision  of 
the  Board  of  Visitors  who  have  had 
long  experience  in  this  work.  If  they 
find  that  he  is  not  doing  well  he  is  re- 
turned to  the  school  or  even  sent  to 
Concord.  But  it  is  a  satisfaction  to  re- 
port that  in  the  large  majority  of  cases 
no  such  punishment  is  necessary. 
Where  boys  run  away,  known  in  school 
parlance  as  "eloping,"  they  are,  if 
caught,  as  they  usually  are,  returned  to 
school  with  the  loss  of  all  credits  and 
for  a  given  period  assigned  to  a  place 
of  detention  generally  called  "The 
Inn,"  an  easterly  extension  of  "The 
Wayside,"  where  certain  privileges 
are  withdrawn  and  a  range  of  duties 
including  the  breaking  of  stone  is  im- 
posed. Corporal  punishment  may  be 
inflicted  only  in  the  presence  of  the 
superintendent.  It  is  impossible  to 
over-estimate  the  value  of  the  proba- 
tionary system.  Under  it  the  boy  has 
from  the  start  the  very  strongest  in- 
centive to  do  his  best. 

Now  as  to  the  final  results.  Care- 
fully tabulated  records  of  fifty  years 
have  been  kept  to  show  the  future  of 
boys  leaving  the  school.  Of  course 
some  on  release  go  quickly  and  irre- 
trievably to  the  bad ;  others  turn  out 
so  well  that  they  are  ashamed  to  have 
it  known  that  they  were  ever  in  the 
custody  of  the  courts,  and  so  change 
their  names  and  are  also  lost  sight  of. 
But  of  the  larger  number  who  are  per- 
fectly willing  to  have  it  understood 
that  their  beginnings  of  true  manhood 
were  found  here,  from  sixty  to  seventy 
per  cent,  are  known  to  have  turned  out 
well.  Naturally  many  boys  of  the  ad- 
venturous nature  received  here  go  to 
sea  and  little  subsequent  knowledge  of 
them  can  be  had  except  as  they  render 


Medals  Awarded  the  School 


it.  These  are  the  boys,  too,  who  in  a 
love  of  adventure  readily  essay  the 
soldier's  part.  During  the  Civil  War 
twenty-six  boys  enlisted  directly  from 
the  school  and  of  the  2,500  who 
had  been  in  the  school  before  1861, 
629  wore  the  blue  either  in  the 
army  or  navy.  There  was  no  regiment 
from  the  Bay  State  that  did  not  have 
representatives  from  the  Lyman 
School,  and  not  always  in  the  ranks. 
These  boys,  then  grown  men,  fought 
in  every  battle  of  the  Army  of  the  Po- 
tomac, they  followed  Sherman  from 
Atlanta  to  the  Sea  and,  behind  the 
iron  or  wooden  walls  of  the  navy  were 
with  Farragut  on  the  Mississippi  and 
at  Mobile ;  they  helped  man  the  fleet 
which  battered  down  the  defences  of 
Wilmington  and  at  least  one  of  them 
was  on  the  "Kearsarge"  when  she  sent 
the  "Alabama"  to  the  bottom.  In  later 
days  the  boys  tried  hard  for  a  chance 
to  fight  beneath  the  flag  in  Cuba,  Por- 
to Rico  and  the  Philippines.  No  sure 
data  of  their  numbers  are  at  present 
accessible,  but  of  the  boys  out  of  school 
and  under  the  direction  of  visitors  and 

who  are  still  less  than  twenty-one,  for- 
416 


ty  are  known  to  be  in  the  army  and 
thirty-three  in  the  navy. 

Without  doubt  there  is  a  seamy  side 
to  the  picture.  The  thirty  or  forty  per 
cent,  not  included  in  the  roll  of  honor 
could  tell  stories  of  sorrow,  degrada- 
tion, misery,  sin  and  crime,  but  is  this 
number  of  persistently  erring  much 
larger  than  the  average,  if  all  walks  of 
life  are  included  ?  Is  it  not  small  when 
the  origin  of  these  boys  and  men  is 
considered?  No  boys  are  sent  to  the 
school  on  account  of  excessive  good- 
ness. On  the  contrary  there  are 
charges  against  every  lad,  large  or 
small,  who  in  his  suit  of  blue  walks 
these  paths.  In  drawing  conclusions 
this  should  be  constantly  borne  in 
mind.  When  that  vital  spark,  man- 
hood, supposed  to  exist  in  every  breast 
can  be  touched  we  may  expect  growth 
and  development,  but  when  it  is  dull 
or  incased  and  securely  locked  in  the 
hard  shell  of  generations  of  vicious 
heredity,  Solomon  himself  could  not 
reach  it.  That  the  lost  are  not  more 
numerous  is  a  lasting  tribute  to  the 
men  and  women  who  have  wrought 
here  for  the  uplifting  of  their  kind. 


A   Public  School  Garden 


By  Henry  Lincoln  Clapp 


THE  interest  in  school  gardens 
in  this  country  has  grown 
until  many,  including  the 
writer,  have  visited  Europe 
to  see  the  progress  made  there  along 
the  same  lines.  So  far  as  is  known  the 
kitchen  garden  on  the  grounds  of  the 
George  Putnam  Grammar  School  in 
Boston  is  the  only  one  in  New  England 
directly  connected  with  a  public  school. 
The  success  of  this  pioneer  undertak- 
ing is  therefore  worth  observing.* 

On  May  12,  1900,  sixty-six  square 
feet  of  land  situated  south  of  the  build- 
ing, covered  with  a  tough  turf,  was 
ploughed  and  left  in  the  rough.  Vol- 
unteers from  two  classes  of  the  seventh 
grade  were  called  for  to  convert  the 
plot  into  a  kitchen  garden  where  they 
would  be  allowed  to  raise  and  enjoy 
such  vegetables  and  flowers  as  each 
chose  to  introduce.  So  far  as  possible 
the  difficulties  of  the  undertaking,  as 
well  as  the  pleasures,  were  carefully 
explained  so  that  the  children  would 
not  be  easily  discouraged  and  abandon 
their  work  at  the  very  .outset.  They 
could  not  help  seeing  that  the 
land  was  rough  and  full  of  sods 
from  which  the  earth  must  be  shaken 
and  saved  and  the  useless  remainder 
disposed  of,  and  they  understood  that 
ploughed  land  would   soil   shoes   and 


*Since  this  article  was  written  a  school 
garden  has  been  established  in  connection 
with  the  Rice  Training  and  Boston  Normal 
Schools  by  the  Twentieth  Century  Club  of 
Boston ;  and  another  in  Hartford,  Conn. 


hands  and  entail  much  hard  work  be- 
fore it  could  be  brought  into  the  condi- 
tion required  for  an  orderly  garden. 
They  were  asked  to  bring  seeds,  plants 
and  tools  for  the  prosecution  of  their 
work,  and,  in  the  preparation  of  the 
soil,  to  mix  in  some  well-rotted  stable 
manure  which  had  been  put  in  a  con- 
venient place  during  the  preceding 
winter.  The  older  boys  being  stronger 
and  more  skilful  in  the  handling  of 
tools  were  advised  to  assist  the  girls  in 
preparing  the  soil  and  making  the  beds. 
They  could  use  the  spading  forks  in 
extracting  or  turning  under  sods  and 
the  iron  rakes  in  leveling  beds  and  rak- 
ing off  stones  and  coarse  useless  ma- 
terial. The  girls  could  turn  under  the 
lighter  sods  and  use  the  smaller  garden 
tools,  many  of  which  they  already 
owned. 

An  examination  of  the  ground 
showed  that  it  was  possible  to  make 
eighty- four  beds  ten  feet  long  and  three 
and  one-half  feet  wide  with  a  fourteen1 
inch  path  running  around  every  bed 
and  a  centre  path  two  feet  wide  run- 
ning entirely  through  the  garden,  irr 
one  direction.  Laid  out  in  this  man- 
ner and  with  beds  of  this  width  the 
pupil  could  reach  every  part  of  his 
plot  with  his  hands.  The  children 
were  asked  to  bring  rules,  stakes 
and  long  stout  strings  to  lay  out  the  ar- 
rangement with  surveyor-like  ac- 
curacy, insuring  his  full  share  of  land 
to  each  gardener.  The  nature  of  the 
proposed  work  having  been  fully  ex- 

417 


plained  to  the  class,  those  who  desired 
to  make  and  take  care  of  a  bed,  agree- 
ing not  to  neglect  it,  were  asked  to 
raise  their  hands.  The  number  wish- 
ing to  undertake  the  labor  was  greater 
than  could  be  accommodated  and  so  the 
teachers  had  an  opportunity  to  use  dis- 
crimination in  selection.  The  number 
of  thirty  was  chosen  as  more  manage- 
able for  one  teacher  to  properly  oversee 
and  direct,  and  accordingly  the  work 
was  begun  by  thirty  children  full  of  en- 
thusiasm on  the  afternoon  of  May  21. 
There  was  no  lack  of  vigorous  effort 
on  the  part  of  either  girl  or  boy,  but 
various  degrees  of  skill  were  mani- 
fested from  the  beginning  ;  some  pupils 
were  as  methodical  as  experienced  gar- 
deners and  others  as  helpless  as  in- 
fants, but  in  two  hours  three-eighths  of 
the  ploughed  land  was  laid  out  with 

vcommendable  accuracy  in  accordance 
418 


with  the  plan  agreed  upon,  and  the  sat- 
isfaction of  the  young  people  in  thus 
changing  the  appearance  of  the  plot  to 
such  a  noticeable  degree  in  so  short  a 
time  was  manifest.  No  system  of  in- 
door gymnastics  could  have  done  so 
much  for  the  health  and  strength  and 
enthusiastic  pleasure  of  the  children  in 
so  short  a  time  as  did  this  work.  The 
boys  had  ample  opportunity  to  show 
their  skill,  strength  and  helpfulness, 
and  even  the  girls,  after  a  two  hours' 
tussle  with  refractory  sods,  seemed  in 
no  way  weary  or  discouraged. 

Following  this  work  simple  instruc- 
tion in  planting  various  kinds  of  seeds 
was  given  in  the  class  rooms.  The 
children  were  advised  to  restrict  corn 
and  pole-beans  to  outside  beds  so  as  not 
to  hide  from  view  low  growing  vege- 
tables and  flowers.  They  were  recom- 
mended to  plant  the  seeds  of  lettuce, 


A  PUBLIC  SCHOOL  GARDEN 


419 


radish,  turnip,  cabbage,  parsnip,  carrot, 
beet,  onion  and  peas  while  tomato  and 
potato  plants  were  also  suggested  to- 
gether with  a  great  variety  of  flower 
seeds.  Some  were  to  be  planted  in 
drills  and  some  in  hills  and  others 
singly  at  regular  intervals.  They  were 
shown  that  the  last  method  would  do 
for  vegetable  roots  and  tomato  plants ; 
that  small  seeds  were  to  be  covered 
with  soil  lightly,  larger  ones  more 
deeply  in  proportion  to  their  size,  and 
that  then  the  beds  were  to  be  watered. 
May  24  the  thirty  beds  already  made 
were  planted  according  to  instructions, 
and  twenty  new  ones  were  started  by  as 
many  new  gardeners  assisted  by  those 
who  had  had  their  three  hours'  experi- 
ence. Improvement  in  disposing  of 
the  sods  was  made  so  that  it  was  not 
necessary  to  cart  them  away  They 
were  stamped  down  into  the  depres- 


sions in  the  rough  surface  and  covered 
with  loose  soil  scraped  out  of  the  paths. 
In  this  way  the  beds  occupied  a  higher 
level  than  the  paths  and  were  more 
readily  distinguished  and  protected. 
The  desire  for  building  high  often  re- 
sulted in  making  the  beds  too  short  or 
narrow  and  the  paths  too  wide,  but 
strings  were  carefully  applied  and 
the  soil  was  finally  leveled  down  to  the 
prescribed  limits.  The  children  were 
shown  that  low  beds  were  preferable  to 
high  because  they  held  moisture  more 
easily  and  so  produced  better  plants. 

June  7  seven  boys  made  the  eighty- 
fourth  bed  in  a  very  short  time  and  in 
one  end  planted  a  beet,  a  round  turnip 
and  a  French  turnip  to  see  how  vege- 
table roots  flower,  seed  and  then  die  in 
the  manner  of  biennial  plants. 

The  desire  to  work  in  the  garden  out 
of  school  hours  became  so  general  that 


it  seemed  best  to  place  some  restriction 
on  the  hours  and  number  of  pupils  who 
without  a  director  could  obtain  sucR 
permission.  Tickets  were  issued  for 
early  morning,  late  afternoon  and  for 
the  Saturday  half  holiday.  It  was,  of 
course,  impossible  to  foresee  or  guard 
against  what  the  children  would  do 
that  would  have  to  be  later  undone  b.ut 
no  serious  complication  was  encoun- 
tered. Wherever  the  seeds  were  planted 
too  thickly  the  young  radishes,  turnips, 
beets  and  parsnips  were  too  crowded  to 
thrive  and  that  fact  was  noticed  by  the 
children  themselves  when  they  saw  the 
plants  which  they  had  given  plenty  of 
room  grow  quickly  and  large.  They 
thus  learned  the  need  of  thinning  and 
transplanting.  Surplus  plants  were 
given  away  to  those  who  did  not  have 
that  kind,  and  finally  order  came  out 
of  chaos. 

The  development  of  the  young 
plants,  each  species  in  its  own  peculiar 
manner,  excited  the  curiosity  of  the 
children.  When  they  examined  the 
corn  they  could  not  help  seeing  the 
long,   tough,    spreading,  fibrous  roots, 


sometimes  in  a  double  row,  which  hold 
up  the  stalks  in  spite  of  wind  and  storm 
like  so  many  underground  guy  ropes. 
The  storage  of  plant  food  in  the  tap 
roots  of  the  radishes,  turnips  and  beets 
was  called  to  their  attention.  Many 
singular  phenomena  of  plant  growth 
like,  for  instance,  the  bean's  habit  of 
coming  out  of  the  ground  with  the  skin 
of  the  bean  perched  on  the  leaf ;  or  the 
marked  difference  between  the  seed 
leaves  and  the  first  pair  of  ordinary 
leaves  interested  them  and  sharpened 
their  powers  of  observation.  Compari- 
sons as  to  who  had  the  best  bed,  who 
had  shown  the  most  skill  in  planting, 
who  had  the  most  appropriate  tablets, 
whose  name  was  clearest  painted  there- 
on, and  so  on,  led  to  constant  friendly 
rivalry. 

In  many  cases  the  transplanting  was 
not  successful,  the  children  not  know- 
ing how  carefully  young  plants  must 
be  treated  to  live  and  thrive.  They 
were  told  plants  resembled  babies  and 
could  no  more  than  they  be  pulled  out 
of  their  warm  beds,  deprived  of  their 
supply  of  food,  or  exposed  to  the  hot 


mi  1 


>r  ykc*m 


%trmm*^ 


sun,  without  harm.  They  were  taught 
to  lift  them  carefully  from  the  ground 
with  as  little  disturbance  of  the  roots  as 
possible.  They  were  shown  how  the 
trowel,  fork  or  shovel  was  to  be 
thrust  under  the  plant  so  as  to  leave  a 
mass  of  earth  clinging  to  the  roots, 
none  of  which  should  be  broken.  The 
plant  should  be  protected  from  the  sun 
by  a  covering  of  some  kind  and 
watered  later  in  the  day.  Such  in- 
structions, however,  did  not  make  half 
the  impression  that  their  failures  did. 
When  the  children  saw  their  plants 
wilt,  grow  pale  and  sickly  and  actually 
disappear  from  the  beds,  they  had  an 
object  lesson  worth  hours  of  lecture. 
Experience  as  usual  was  the  best 
teacher,  and  practice  surpassed  pre- 
cept. Many  an  early  June  after- 
noon was  spent  in  weeding ;  for 
ragweed,  pigweed  and  cudweed  were 
abundant,  and  oats  and  grass  from  the 
old  sods  added  to  the  variety  of  intru- 
ders. The  children  were  taught  the 
characteristic  feature  of  both  seedling 


plants  and  weeds,  and  they  in  turn  were 
asked  to  point  them  out  to  others,  until 
at  last  all  learned  to  distinguish  young 
beets  by  their  red  leaved  stems,  rad- 
ishes by  their  peculiar  first  pair  of 
leaves  reniform  in  shape  and  blue 
green  in  color,  turnips  by  their  crum- 
pled and  wrinkled  leaves,  lettuce  by  its 
yellow  green  shade  and  so  on  through  a 
long  list.  This  was  a  most  practical 
and  useful  lesson  in  observation  and  a 
sample  of  many  that  the  garden  fur- 
nished before  the  last  work  was  done  in 
November. 

When  the  school  closed  on  June  21 
and  many  of  the  young  gardeners  left 
to  spend  their  vacations  in  the  country 
the  beds  were  quite  free  from  weeds. 
The  summer  was  remarkably  warm 
and  dry,  but  these  conditions  had  been 
anticipated  and  an  attempt  to  keep  the 
garden  in  good  order  had  been  made  by 
the  appointment  of  a  committee  of  nine 
to  meet  once  a  week  and  attend,  mean- 
while, to  weeding  and  watering.  The 
committee  found  it  difficult  to  live  up 


to  their  good  resolutions.  Water  had 
to  be  brought  from  the  children's 
homes,  when  not  far  distant,  or  from 
the  main  school  building,  two  hundred 
feet  away  and  only  occasionally  opened ; 
so  that  although  some  of  the  beds  were 
carefully  tended  all  through  the  twelve 
weeks'  vacation  many  of  them  when 
the  school  opened,  September  12,  were 
so  overgrown  with  weeds  that  the  eco- 
nomic plants  made  a  poor  showing, 
Some  of  the  owners  of  the  former  had 
cropped  their  beds  a  number  of  times 
during  the  summer.  Radishes,  let- 
tuce, corn,  kohl-rabi  and  other  vege- 
tables were  carried  home  for  the  table 
as  well  as  flowers  of  many  kinds. 

When  work  was  taken  up  again 
September  17  on  account  of  change  of 
city  residence  and  promotion  fully  half 
of  the  beds  changed  hands.  The  gar- 
deners who  were  in  grade  seven  before 
the  summer  vacation  were  now  in 
grades  eight  and  nine,  and  pupils  of 
the  former  grade  take  their  manual 
training   in   the   schools   of   carpentry 


and  cooking.  The  beds  of  such  were 
given  to  children  who  had  been  pro- 
moted from  grade  six  to  seven  and, 
again,  the  number  was  not  equal  to 
the  demand.  The  most  pressing  busi- 
ness was  weeding  and  was  begun  by 
thirty  pupils,  some  of  whom  were 
novices  in  the  work  and  could 
not  distinguish  the  wheat  from 
the  tares.  Under  the  tutelage  of  the 
experienced,  whose  beds  served  as 
models,  the  tussle  began.  But  know- 
ing how  is  quite  as  applicable  to  this  as 
to  any  other  art.  They  had  to  be 
taught  not  to  clutch  a  handful  of  weed 
tops,  jerk  and  break  off  half  of  the 
stalk  leaving  the  roots  in  the  ground, 
the  beds  merely  disheveled,  and  the 
work  to  be  done  over  again.  The  most 
abundant  weed  and  the  most  difficult  to 
eradicate  on  account  of  its  numerous 
tough  and  spreading  roots  was  the 
common  plantain.  Individual  pupils 
after  skirmishing  with  one  or  two 
heads  hesitated  to  openly  attack  an  en- 
emy so  stoutly  entrenched.     Strategy 


was  resorted  to  by  the  teacher  to  en- 
courage quick  work,  and  a  certain 
number  of  girls  were  pitted  against  as 
many  boys  to  see  which  group  could 
first  clean  out  the  weeds  from  an  entire 
bed.  That  many  hands  make  light  work 
was  never  better  illustrated.  Victory 
perched  first  on  one  banner  then  on  the 
other  but  whichever  side  won  the 
contest  was  strenuous  and  emi- 
nently successful  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  manager.  The  roots  were 
so  nearly  removed  as  to  encourage  the 
owner  of  the  bed  to  dig  them  out  com- 
pletely, and  the  gardeners  learned  that 
to  pull  up  one  weed  at  a  time  was  the 
most  successful  if  the  slowest  way. 

Reports  of  the  out-door  doings  came 
to  the  knowledge  of  the  children  in  the 
school  rooms  and  they  envied  their 
young  friends  at  work  in  the  clear  air 
and  the  beautiful  sunshine  of  these  Oc- 
tober afternoons.  Indeed,  an  observer 
of  similar  scenes  in  France  on  seeing 


the  pictures  made  by  these  children 
could  hardly  help  recalling  Jules  Bre- 
ton and  Normandy,  Millet  and  Barbi- 
zon. 

The  work  of  weeding  and  digging 
up  the  beds  was  completed  by  the  end 
of  October,  but  the  accession  of  forty 
inexperienced  hands  was  the  cause  of 
irregularities  in  line  and  level.  Novem- 
ber i  seventy-six  children  went  to  work 
straightening  the  paths,  which  had 
been  made  too  wide  in  some  cases  and 
too  narrow  in  others,  reducing  the  beds 
to  a  general  level,  some  having  been 
made  too  high,  others  too  low,  and 
widening  them  to  the  prescribed  limit. 
Once  more  the  more  experienced  boys 
showed  their  knowledge  of  rudiment- 
ary surveying  and  reconstruction  by 
stretching  long  strings  along  the  edges 
of  the  beds.  Words  were  unnecessary, 
the  defects  were  obvious  and  soon  rem- 
edied with  hoe,  rake  and  broom.  On 
this  occasion  forty  pupils  of  the  science 

4-3 


class  in  the  Boston  Normal  School 
made  their  third  visit  to  the  garden  to 
see  the  children  work  and  to  talk  with 
them  about  the  vegetables  and  flowers 
which  they  had  raised.  Certainly  here 
was  an  opportunity  for  striking  out  a 
spark  to  set  on  fire  the  true  spirit  of 
observation  in  many  a  class  for  many 
a  year. 

The  methods  of  cultivating  the  soil 
in  Germany  were  explained  to  the  chil- 
dren, especially  the  custom  of  fall 
ploughing  and  keeping  the  soil  open  to 
the  influences  of  the  atmosphere,  four- 
fifths  of  which  is  nitrogen,  that  most 
important  element  for  plants  which  in 
the  United  States  is  generally  supplied 
by  means  of  fertilizers,  natural  and 
manufactured.  Certainly,  the  Ger- 
mans raise  remarkable  crops  with  com- 
paratively little  fertilizing  material  di- 
rectly applied.  Reliance  is  placed  on 
stirring  the  soil  and  the  nitrogen  in  the 
atmosphere  does  the  rest. 

There  was  another  purpose  in  view 
in  putting  the  beds  in  good  order  at  this 


time.  After  the  children  had  planted 
in  the  previous  spring  they  were 
obliged  to  wait  till  the  middle  of  June 
before  any  considerable  number  of 
blossoms  appeared.  That  seemed  a  long 
time  to  wait  so  they  were  encouraged 
with  assurance  that  they  might  have 
beautiful  flowers  very  early  in  the 
spring  if  they  would  take  the  trouble 
to  put  their  beds  in  order  in  the  fall 
and  plant  the  bulbs  of  tulips,  crocuses, 
hyacinths  and  narcissi.  Accordingly, 
the  beds  were  prepared  for  bulbs  and 
there  was  a  lively  demand  for  cata- 
logues which  were  looked  over  with. 
great  interest.  The  selections  having 
been  made,  the  names  of  the  desired 
bulbs  were  written  on  a  slip  of  paper 
which  with  the  price,  varying  from  ten 
to  thirty-five  cents  for  each  pupil,  was 
given  to  the  director,  who  made  the 
purchases  for  the  children  and  returned 
to  each  his  package  fully  labelled. 

It  was  not  easy  for  the  children  to 
wait  for  November  13,  the  day  ap- 
pointed for  the  planting.     Careful  in- 


A  PUBLIC  SCHOOL  GARDEN 


4*5 


structions  having  been  given  in  regard 
to  using  sand,  depth  of  planting,  mak- 
ing holes  with  large  round  pegs,  dis- 
tance of  holes  apart,  etc.,  the  children 
went  out  with  their  packages, 
strings  and  pegs  and  set  in  their 
bulbs  by  hundreds.  This  ended  the 
season's  work.  It  will  go  on  for  as 
many  seasons  as  the  land  is  not  other- 
wise occupied ;  and  Boston  should  see 


than  digging  in  the  dirt  or  sand ;  and 
when  to  this  natural  interest  in  the  soil 
is  added  the  great  amount  of  useful  in- 
formation that  may  be  obtained  from 
the  care  and  study  of  vegetables  and 
flowers,  it  seems  as  if  gardening 
should  be  one  of  the  first  forms  of  man- 
ual training  to  be  put  into  an  ideal 
course  of  study.  In  Europe  it  is  so 
considered  by  the  most  distinguished 


to  it  that  the  school  garden  is  made  a 
permanent  institution  and  a  pattern  for 
similar  ones  where  the  purpose  is  to 
educate  children  in  a  broad  and  beauti- 
ful way. 

The  reasons  for  putting  garden 
work  into  the  course  of  study  for  ele- 
mentary schools  are  numerous  and 
cogent.  Children  are  fond  of  doing 
something  with  their  hands,  and  it  is  a 
matter  of  common  observation  that 
hardly   anything   is   more    fascinating 


educators.  Kellner,  school  councillor 
in  Treves,  says,  "I  recommend,  above 
all  things,  horticulture  in  all  its 
branches  to  the  teachers  of  rural 
schools."  ''The  advantages  of  even 
the  smallest  garden  are  so  many  and 
so  great  that  no  school  should  be  with- 
out one."  (Demeter.)  "A  school 
without  a  garden  is  like  a  stag  with- 
out water."  (Dr.  Georgeus.)  "School 
gardens  are  a  fountain  for  the  knowl- 
edge   of    nature    and    its    consequent 


pleasure,  and  an  excellent  means  of 
training."  (Professor  Schwab.)  "Not 
trees,  shrubs,  herbs  and  grasses  alone 
are  what  we  offer  the  children  in  the 
school  garden,  but  love  of  nature,  la- 
bor and  home.',  (F.  Languerres.)  "No 
public  school  should  be  without  a  gar- 
den ;  every  community  that  resolves  to 
connect  a  garden  with  its  school  is  lay- 
ing up  capital  whose  interest  it  enjoys 
in  the  prosperity  of  its  future  mem- 
bers." (Jablonzy.)  E.  Gang,  of  Thu- 
ringia,  Germany,  says,  "School  gar- 
dens are  of  paramount  economic  sig- 
nificance. Franz  Langaner,  of  Vienna, 
makes  the  best  characterization  by  call- 
ing them  the  pioneers  of  agricultural 
progress.  As  elementary  schools  lay 
the  foundation  of  all  subsequent  educa- 
tion, so  all  beginnings  of  civilization 
and  all  progress  in  industry  proceed 
from    them.      The    impetus    and    the 


progress  that  are  observed  in  ag- 
riculture in  several  countries  are 
mainly  the  result  of  school  gardens. 
Many  a  village  is  indebted  to  school 
gardens  for  its  outward  attractions." 

In  1898  in  Austria-Hungary  there 
were  over  18,000  school  gardens,  cov- 
ering an  area  of  thousands  of  acres. 
For  twenty  years  the  question  has 
been  a  live  one  in  Switzerland  and 
model  school  gardens  now  exist  at  the 
normal  schools  of  Schwyz,  Berne, 
Kiissnacht,  Zurich  and  Chur,  and  at 
many  elementary  schools.  In  Belgium 
the  study  of  horticulture  is  compulsory, 
and  every  school  must  have  a  garden  at 
least  thirty-nine  and  a  half  square  rods 
in  area,  to  be  used  in  connection  with 
botany,  horticulture  and  agriculture. 
In  1894  Sweden  had  4,670  school  gar- 
dens. In  1895  two  hundred  and  fifty- 
seven  elementary  schools  in  southern 


A  PUBLIC  SCHOOL  GARDEN 


427 


Russia  cultivated  296  acres  of  land.  In 
Germany  there  is  a  central  school  gar- 
den of  five  acres  in  each  of  the  cities 
of  Breslau,  Cologne,  Dortmund,  Mann- 
heim ;  Leipsic  and  Altona  each  has  one 
of  three  acres,  Karlsruhe  two  acres, 
Gera  and  Possneck  each  three-fourths 
of  an  acre,  and  many  other  towns  have 
those  of  less  area.  France,  too,  has 
thousands  of  school  gardens.  In  1898 
Russia  had  7,521  school  gardens.  At 
the  Nizshni-Novgorod  fair  in  1896  a 
model  school  garden  containing  1,225 
square  yards  was  established  in  the  ed- 
ucational section. 

The  value  of  a  thorough  introduc- 
tion of  the  idea  into  this  country 
would  be  as  great  as  it  has  been  and 
is  in  Europe  to-day,  and  any  school 
system  that  would  lay  claim  to  the  first 
rank  must  include  school  gardens 
among  its  educational  means.  It  may 
be  worth  while  to  raise  the  question 
whether  beating  the  empty  and  close 
air  of  a  school  room  with  or  without 
gymnastic  implements  can  favorably 
compare  with  cultivating  plants  of  ec- 
onomic and  aesthetic  value  in  the  open 
air,  or,  indeed,  whether  with  the  latter 
work  the  former  is  at  all  necessary. 
Productive  energy  should  be  worth 
more  than  non-productive. 

Something  should  be  done  in  rural 
schools,  at  least,  to  prevent  young  peo- 
ple from  such  districts  from  making 
city  life  and  workshops  the  goal  of 
their  ambition.  The  pleasures  and  ad- 
vantages of  country  life  should  receive 
adequate  consideration,  and  some  of 
the  detractions  from  city  life  might 
also  be  considered  with  profit.  More 
should  be  done  to  create  respect  for 
labor  and  to  discover  the  pleasures  in 
it.     The  importance  of  agriculture  to 


the  prosperity  of  our  nation  should  be 
better  understood  and  appreciated  by 
teachers  as  well  as  scholars.  There  is 
no  industry  more  important.  Abundant 
crops  bring  prosperity  and  stimulate 
inland  and  outland  commerce.  They 
increase  activity  in  mill,  mine  and 
workshop.  So  important  a  subject 
should  therefore  receive  its  due  atten- 
tion. 

Moreover,  children  do  not  have  to 
be  taught  to  love  to  work  in  a  garden. 
People  who  ask  "Will  it  pay?"  gener- 
ally refer  to  money  values.  Content- 
ment is  better  than  wealth.  A  hundred- 
dollar  garden  may  yield  more  happi- 
ness than  a  hundred  thousand  dollar 
house.  Elizabeth  in  her  delightful  Ger- 
man out-door  book  says,  "What  a 
happy  woman  I  am,  living  in  a  garden, 
with  books,  babies,  birds  and  flowers ! 
Yet  my  town  acquaintances  look  upon 
it  as  imprisonment  and  burying.  Some- 
times I  feel  as  if  I  were  blest  above  all 
my  fellows  in  being  able  to  find  my 
happiness  so  easily.  The  garden  is  the 
place  I  go  to  for  refuge  and  shelter, 
not  the  house.  In  the  house  are  duties 
and  annoyances,  servants  to  exhort 
and  admonish,  furniture  and  meals ; 
but  out  there  blessings  crowd  around 
me  at  every  step  *  *  *  *  and  every 
flower  and  weed  is  a  friend  and  every 
tree  a  lover.  *  *  *  *  It  is  not  grace- 
ful and  it  makes  one  hot,  but  it  is  a 
blessed  sort  of  work,  and  if  Eve  had 
had  a  spade  in  Paradise  and  known 
what  to  do  with  it,  we  should  not  have 
had  all  that  sad  business  of  the  apple." 
It  will  pay  to  give  children  opportunity 
to  tend  living  plants,  to  learn  lessons 
from  them  and  to  work  in  the  open  air, 
to  the  end  that  they  may  enjoy  country 
life  and  respect  manual  labor. 


At  Harvard  Class  Day 


By  Elsie  Carmichael 


IT  was  a  mild,  damp  day  in  the 
February  thaw.  The  snow  and 
slush  lay  deep  all  over  the  Yard, 
and  the  low  afternoon  sun  felt 
warm  on  Monteith's  back  as  he  strolled 
aimlessly  towards  his  rooms.  It  was  one 
of  those  days  that  takes  away  a  man's 
energy  and  leaves  him  "dopy,"  as  the 
college  boys  say.  He  had  come  across 
from  the  Law  School  with  nothing 
particular  to  do,  and  was  feeling  too 
lazy  even  to  go  to  the  library  and  read, 
when  he  found  himself  in  front  of 
Stoughton,  and  decided  to  go  in  and 
see  Pomeroy,  a  senior,  whom  he  knew 
very  well,  but  whose  rooms  he  had 
never  seen.  He  remembered  that  Pom- 
eroy had  promised  to  show  him  some 
curios  that  he  had  picked  up  in  Egypt. 
Pomeroy  was  out,  the  solitary  occu- 


pant of  the  room  said,  but  he  would 
be  back  in  a  moment,  and  Monteith 
had  better  come  in.  Partly  because  he 
had  nothing  else  to  do,  and  partly  be- 
cause the  room  attracted  him  he  strolled 
in,  sat  down  in  the  wide  window  seat, 
and  lighted  his  pipe,  while  the  other 
went  on  busily  writing. 

The  room  was  low  studded,  and  a 
cheerful  fire  was  blazing  on  the  hearth. 
There  were  book  cases  running  all 
around  the  walls,  and  one  or  two  fine 
casts,  and  all  the  available  space  was 
covered  with  pictures  and  souvenirs  of 
many  trips  abroad. 

Monteith's  eyes  wandered  from  one 
interesting  bit  of  decoration  to  anoth- 
er, until  they  suddenly  stopped  at  the 
desk,  and  he  sat  up.  Looking  straight 
at  him  out  of  a  silver  frame  was  a 


AT  HARVARD  CLASS  DAY 


429 


very  beautiful  girl's  face,  with  eyes 
that  looked  straight  into  one's  own — 
eyes  one  trusted.  Monteith  drew  a 
quick  breath.  It  was  a  photograph  of 
Edith  Somers. 

A  great  wave  of  recollection  swept 
over  him,  and  he  closed  his  eyes  for  a 
moment.  There  was  a  confusion  of 
golden  sunsets  and  a  still  green  lake 
and  mountains  beyond  mountains 
reaching  to  the  horizon  line.  Then  one 
picture  stood  out  clearly  in  his  mind. 
He  and  Edith  had  been  driving  all 
the  soft  September  afternoon  over 
those  glorious  mountain  roads.  Here 
and  there  a  scarlet  maple  branch 
flamed  out,  and  the  sumach  and  pur- 
ple asters  and  golden-rod  made  great 
patches  of  brilliant  color.  At  sunset 
time  they  had  reached  the  top  of  the 
mountain.  Off  to  the  northwest,  the 
Catskills  lay  blue  and  misty.  The 
Rondout  valley  below  was  all  ablaze 
with  gold  and  purple,  while  behind 
them,  on  the  other  side  of  the  range, 
the  Wallkill  valley  was  sombre  in  the 
twilight,  and  over  the  mountains  be- 
yond the  Hudson  rose  the  full  moon. 

It  was  a  time  for  silence — that  twi- 
light time,  when  the  day  was  dying, 
Edith  had  turned  a  little  away  from 
him  and  was  looking  off  into  the  sea 
of  color  in  the  west,  with  dreaming 
eyes.  Her  pure  profile  was  silhou- 
etted against  the  gold  of  the  sky,  and 
her  face  was  radiant.  He  remembered 
how  he  had  looked  away  from  her  and 
crushed  down  the  torrent  of  passionate 
words  that  rushed  to  his  lips.  It 
would  not  be  right,  he  felt,  to  speak  to 
her  then,  when  he  had  nothing  to  offer 
her.  He  was  very  old-fashioned  in  his 
ideas ;  he  felt  it  would  not  be  honor- 
able. They  were  both  silent  as  they 
drove  home  in  the  cold  twilight,  with 


the  fire  still  burning  low  in  the  west, 
and  the  pale  moon-light  shining 
through  the  trees. 

Ah,  how  lonely  he  had  been  since 
that  September  sunset  two  years  ago ! 
He  had  never  quite  realized  before 
what  he  had  missed  out  of  his  life,  in 
not  having  a  home  or  a  mother  or  sis- 
ters. All  the  love  he  would  have  given 
to  those  home-makers  had  been 
crushed  in  his  heart.  Now  all  that  he 
had  ever  meant,  when  he  thought  of 
home,  lay  in  one  girl's  eyes.  He  was 
through  the  Law  School,  ready  to  go 
out  to  battle  with  the  world  and  suc- 
ceed. He  felt  he  should  not  fail,  if 
he  had  some  one  to  buckle  on  his  ar- 
mor and  bid  him  God-speed.  He 
looked  across  into  Edith  Somer's  trust- 
ing eyes. 

"Dear  heart,"  he  whispered  to  her, 
"I  have  waited  so  long  for  you — all 
my  life  I  had  dreamed  of  you,  before  I 
ever  saw  you.  With  you,  little  com- 
rade-heart, I  could  fight  forever.  You 
must  help  me — you  must !  I  shall 
make  you  love  me  somehow.  It 
couldn't  be  that  you  would  not  come, 
when  I  have  waited  so  long  for  you." 

He  sank  back  in  the  shadow  of  the 
curtains  on  the  broad  window  seat  and 
looked  at  the  picture  through  a  haze  of 
smoke. 

Several  fellows  strolled  in  to  see 
Pomeroy,  but  he  did  not  notice  them, 
until  Garth  threw  himself  down  in  the 
Morris  chair,  and  tossed  a  pillow  at 
him. 

"Say,  you  old  duffer,  why  so  sol- 
emn over  there  in  the  corner,"  he  cried. 
"Heard  the  news?  Jim  says  Pomeroy 
is  going  to  announce  his  engagement 
on  Class-Day." 

"Who's  the  girl?"  asked  Monteith, 
lazily,  only  half  listening.     His   eyes 


430 


AT  HARVARD  CLASS  DAY 


were  still  fixed  on  the  eyes  of  the  pic- 
ture, that  looked  straight  back  into  his. 

"Why,  Miss  Somers,  of  course,"  re- 
turned Gartha.  "He  has  been  devoted 
to  her  for  the  last  year.  There  is  a 
picture  of  her  over  here  somewhere." 

There  came  a  sudden  exclamation 
from  the  window  seat.    Gartha  turned. 

"What  a  shame,  old  man,"  he  said, 
"You've  broken  that  amber  mouth- 
piece. How  did  you  do  it?  I  should 
think  it  would  make  you  swearing 
mad." 

Monteith  was  white  to  the  lips  and 
rose  unsteadily  and  went  out.  Once 
he  stumbled,  as  he  passed  the  desk. 
Then  he  shut  the  door  without  a  word, 
pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  and 
disappeared  in  the  wind  and  twilight. 

Everyone  noticed  the  change  in 
Monteith,  as  the  end  of  the  year  came ; 
he  was  pale  and  thin,  and  had  a  stoop 
he  had  never  had  before.  He  seemed 
old,  like  a  man  who  had  struggled  long 
and  failed. 

He  had  grown  quite  used  to  the 
thought,  that  if  he  could  not  have  love 
in  his  life,  he  would  at  least  make  the 
most  of  what  he  did  have.  He  pic- 
tured the  long  evenings  by  his  open 
fire,  with  his  dog  for  company  and  his 
pipe  and  his  books.  Then  he  would 
sigh.  He  could  not  crush  out  of  his 
thoughts  the  other  picture  he  used  to 
keep  in  his  heart  of  that  same  fire-side, 
with  a  radiant,  beautiful  little  comrade 
beside  him,  who  would  sit  with  dream- 
ing eyes  looking  into  the  flames  while 
their  hearts  spoke  to  each  other — they 
two  all  alone  in  the  world.  Or  he,  with 
his  pipe,  would  lie  at  her  feet  on  the 
hearth-rug,  while  she  read  to  him  in 
her  dear  voice  the  poems  they  both 
loved.  Then  with  a  groan  he  would 
open   his  books  and   bury  himself  for 


hours,  or  he  would  dash  away  in  the 
wind  and  rain  for  a  long  cross-coun- 
try tramp. 

The  fellows  had  tried  to  get  him  to 
enter  into  their  plans  for  those  last, 
half-sad,  half-happy  days  of  college 
life,  but  he  shut  himself  up  like  a  her- 
mit and  refused  all  invitations  for 
Class-Day  spreads.  Pomeroy  told  him 
to  be  sure  to  drop  in  at  his  rooms  af- 
ter the  Statue  exercises  and  meet  some 
very  particular  friends  of  his,  and 
Monteith  half  promised,  though  he 
knew  he  would  not  have  the  nerve  to 
do  it  when  the  time  came. 

Class-Day  was  such  a  day  of  blue 
skies  and  soft  breezes  as  sometimes 
comes  at  the  end  of  June.  The  grand 
old  trees  in  the  Yard  were  swaying 
gently  against  the  bluest  of  skies  and 
casting  cool  shadows  over  the  grass, 
when  Monteith  started  for  a  long  pad- 
dle on  the  Charles,  before  the  crowds 
poured  out  from  Boston.  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  escape  and  not 
return  until  it  was  all  over,  but  an  ir- 
resistible impulse  drew  him  back  in 
the  late  afternoon ;  he  must  see  her 
once  more  before  he  went  out  into  the 
world  alone. 

It  was  twilight  and  the  sunset  was 
still  burning  low  in  the  west,  when  he 
reached  the  Yard,  and  the  long  strings 
of  gayly  colored  lanterns  were  being 
lighted.  He  tried  to  go  to  his  room, 
but  instead,  he  found  himself  pushing 
through  the  strolling  crowds,  which 
were  growing  denser  as  evening  came 
on.  The  sombre  black  of  the  seniors' 
gowns  was  relieved  by  the  bright-col- 
ored dresses  of  the  hundreds  of  pretty 
girls  and  women  who  were  fluttering 
about  like  a  flock  of  brilliant  butter- 
flies. The  two  bands  were  playing 
alternately  at  either  end  of  the  Yard. 


AT  HARVARD  CLASS  DAY 


431 


All  was  gayety,  music,  laughter,  and 
the  sound  of  women's  voices.  The 
grass  was  covered  with  confetti,  and 
many  a  dignified  unconscious  senior 
was  decorated  with  it.  The  soft  or- 
ange and  red  lights  shone  through  the 
trees.  Over  at  Holworthy  a  string  of 
electric  lights  festooned  the  front  of 
the  building,  and  transparencies  with 
the  score  of  the  baseball  game  of  the 
day  before  and  many  legends  hung 
from  the  trees  and  buildings. 

But  Monteith  was  hardly  conscious 
of  the  gay  scene.  His  heart  ached  for 
one  look  or  word  from  Edith,  and  his 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  brightly  lighted 
windows  in  Stoughton,  where  he  knew 
that  the  only  person  in  the  world  who 
really  existed,  was  receiving  the 
good  wishes  of  all  their  friends — hers 
and  Pomeroy's. 

Then  he  found  himself  opposite 
those  low  ground-floor  windows.  The 
room  was  softly  lighted  by  lamps  with 
rose-colored  shades.  There  were  girls 
and  men  talking  gayly  and  eating  sal- 
ads and  ices.  Sitting  a  little  apart 
from  the  others  in  the  window  seat 
behind  the  curtains  where  he  had 
lounged  that  day  that  seemed  to  have 
been  the  end  of  his  life,  sat  Edith.  The 
light  shone  on  her  face,  and  he  saw 
that  it  was  strangely  sad,  framed  in 
her  black  plumed  hat.  There  was  a 
glint  of  gold  in  her  hair,  where  the 
light  fell  on  it.  Her  eyes  were  far- 
away and  wistful  as  she  gazed  out  into 
the  gay  crowd,  without  seeing  Mon- 
teith, who  drew  back  into  the  shadow. 
He  longed  so  to  take  her  in  his  arms 
and  comfort  her,  she  was  so  adorably 
pathetic  and  childlike. 

Then,  as  he  watched,  he  saw  Pomer- 
oy  come  over  to  her  and  bring  her  an 
ice.    She  looked  up,  smiled  her  thanks, 


and  began  to  talk  in  an  animated  way. 
Monteith  clenched  his  hands  and 
turned  away  into  the  darkness  outside 
the  gates. 

About  nine  o'clock  he  came  back 
after  a  long  stroll  out  Brattle  street. 
There  was  a  tense  look  on  his  pale 
face.  The  Glee  Club  was  singing  over 
on  the  steps  of  Mathews,  and  it  made 
him  blue.  "Fair  Harvard"  floated 
over  to  him,  and  he  was  pushing  his 
way  through  the  crowd  quickly,  to  get 
away  from  the  sound,  when  suddenly 
he  felt  his  arm  clutched  in  a  tight  grip, 
and  he  swung  round  to  find  Pomeroy 
and  a  crowd  of  his  friends.  The  only 
face  he  really  saw  was  Edith's.  When 
he  looked  into  her  glad  welcoming  eyes 
for  a  moment  the  old  thought  of  home 
came  back  to  him. 

"Just  the  one  we  were  looking  for," 
cried  Pomeroy  joyfully.  "Here  come 
and  take  Miss  Somers  over  to  the  Gym 
for  the  dancing — we  are  one  man  short 
and  have  been  looking  for  you  all 
evening.  Why  didn't  you  drop  in  and 
have  some  feed,  you  old  hermit?" 

Before  he  had  recovered  from  his 
surprise,  he  found  himself  strolling 
through  the  Yard  towards  the  Gym- 
nasium, with  Edith  looking  up  at  him 
with  her  bright  frank  eyes,  and  the 
color  coming  and  going  in  her  cheeks 
as  she  talked.  He  hardly  knew  what 
she  was  saying,  and  he  did  nor  realize 
at  all  that  he  had  not  said  one  word, 
had  only  looked,  and  looked,  he  was  so 
starved  for  a  sight  of  her. 

He  thought  he  had  persuaded  him- 
self that  at  least  his  life  was  the  better 
and  richer  for  having  known  her,  and 
it  was  something  to  know  that  she  ex- 
isted— that  he  was  living  in  the  same 
world  with  her.  He  had  believed  that 
his  love  was  great  and  unselfish  enough 


432 


AT  HARVARD  CLASS  DAY 


to  be  glad  that  she  was  happy,  even 
with  another  man.  But  now  that  he 
was  with  her  he  forgot  everything, 
except  the  one  great  fact,  that  no  one 
else  existed  in  the  world  but  they  two. 
Over  at  the  Gymnasium  the  crowd 
was  more  dense  than  in  the  Yard. 
They  waltzed  once  about  the  great 
room,  and  then  stopped  breathless  near 
an  open  door,  through  which  a  fresh 
night  breeze  floated  in.  It  looked 
quiet  and  cool  out  there  on  the  lawn 
dimly  lighted  with  lanterns,  and 
Edith  made  a  little  motion  towards  the 
door. 

"Let  us  go  out  there,"  she  said.  She 
looked  white  as  the  crowd  of  dancers 
brushed  by  her. 

Monteith  had  never  realized  before 
how  adorably  little  she  was.  The 
crazy  thought  dashed  through  his 
brain  that  it  would  be  so  easy  to  pick 
her  up  in  his  arms  and  run  away  with 
her — away  from  all  those  people  to 
the  other  end  of  the  world,  if  neces- 
sary. 

"That  is  quite  as  bad  as  the  old 
Tree,"  she  said,  laughing,  as  they  wenc 
down  the  steps.  "I  wonder  the  Facul- 
ty has  not  abolished  it.  It's  what  my 
small  brother  calls  a  regular  rough- 
house." 

Monteith  was  looking  down  at  her 
absently.  He  was  thinking  so  hard, 
that  he  was  not  paying  much  attention 
to  what  she  said. 

The  night  wind  blew  fresh  and  cool 
after  the  heat  of  the  day  as  they 
strolled  about  the  grass  where  only  a 
few  solitary  couples  wandered  in  the 
soft  light  of  the  lanterns  while  dreamy 
waltz  music  floated  out. 

"We  were  sorry  not  to  see  you  this 
afternoon,"  she  said,  looking  up  into 
his  sad  face,  and  wondering:  whv  he 


had  changed  so  from  the  gay  fellow 
she  used  to  know.  Her  heart  ached 
for  him;  she  longed  so  to  help  and 
comfort  him.  She  wished  so — a  flood 
of  color  swept  over  her  face  as  she 
watched  him.  A  little  mist  came  be- 
fore her  eyes. 

"Why  didn't  you  come?"  she  said, 
softly.  "We  looked  for  you  all  after- 
noon ;  Jack  had  something  to  tell  you. 
Perhaps  you  know  already?"  She 
smiled  archly  up  at  him. 

He  stooped  to  pick  up  her  scarf,  and 
put  it  gently  around  her  shoulders. 

"Yes,  I  had  heard,"  he  said.  I  want- 
ed very  much  to  congratulate  Jack," 

She  wished  he  would  not  look  at  her 
like  that ;  it  made  her  want  to  cry. 

"I  think  Jack  was  very  good  to  give 
me  this  chance  to  see  you,"  he  said, 
after  a  pause.  "It  is  unselfish  of  him. 
I  have  wanted  to  see  you  very,  very 
often  in  the  last  two  years." 

"You  have  not  forgotten  that  sum- 
mer in  the  mountains  ?"  she  asked  in  a 
low  tone. 

"Forgotten?"  he  cried,  passionately. 
"I  remember  every  moment  of  the 
time.  Over  and  over  again  have  I 
lived  those  days,  that  were  the  happiest 
in  my  life.  It  was  the  only  summer 
time  I  ever  knew.    Forgotten?" 

She  trembled  and  drew  a  little  away 
from  him,  and  then  he  remembered. 

"Ah,  they  were  jolly  old  days, 
weren't  they?"  he  said  in  such  a  differ- 
ent tone,  that  she  looked  up  at  him  in 
surprise.  "Do  you  remember  those 
paddles  on  the  lake  and  how  we  ex- 
plored the  mountain,  and  best  of  all 
how  we  used  to  go  and  read  under 
the  pines  on  the  cliff  above  the  lake, 
with  the  waves  beating  against  the 
rocks  far  below  us?" 

"Ah,  yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  eagerly. 


AT  HARVARD  CLASS  DAY 


433 


"How  steep  that  cliff  was !  Some- 
times it  made  me  shudder  to  look 
down,  it  was  such  a  sheer  drop  to  the 
water.  Do  you  remember  the  day  we 
read  Sidney  Lanier  up  there,  beautiful 
musical  Sidney  Lanier,  and  Mr. 
Rogers  and  Annette  and  two  or  three 
others  drifted  by  in  the  canoes  in  the 
shadow  of  the  cliff  and  played  on  their 
mandolins  and  guitars,  and  then  An- 
nette sang  Schubert's  Serenade?  It 
was  all  so  beautiful  there,  in  the  soft 
summer  afternoon,  with  the  pines 
murmuring  overhead  and  that  spicy 
smell  of  the  needles." 

She  had  seated  herself  on  one  of  the 
little  benches  at  the  far  end  of  the 
lawn.  Monteith  stood  above  her  lean- 
ing against  the  tree  trunk,  and  watched 
her,  as  she  clasped  her  hands  on  her 
knee,  and  bent  forward  eagerly,  with 
a  faraway  look  in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  it  was  all  so  beautiful — that 
mountain  top,"  she  went  on,  softly. 
"Do  you  remember  how  the  lights  and 
shadows  used  to  play  across  the  valley? 
Sometimes  it  would  be  all  in  shadow 
and,  then  a  bright  beam  of  light  would 
flit  across,  like  a  smile.  Just  the  way 
a  smile  will  sometimes  come  to  the  lips 
of  a  little  sleeping  child  when  it 
dreams  it  is  back  in  heaven,  playing 
with  the  little  angels." 

"You  darling,"  Monteith  said,  under 
his  breath.  It  almost  seemed  as  tho' 
she  had  forgotten  him,  as  she  went 
on  talking  half  to  herself. 

"Then  one  day  after  a  long  hard  rain 
the  sun  came  out,  and  we  went  for  a 
walk,  just  riotously  happy,  after  being 
shut  up  so  long  in  the  hotel.  I  felt 
like  a  little  child.  Do  you  remember 
how  we  ran  down  a  steep  needle-cov- 
ered path  through  the  dear  wet  woods, 
while  the  wind  blew  awav  the  clouds. 


The  air  was  divinely  fresh  and  laden 
with  the  perfume  of  pine  and  birch  and 
wet  leaves.  You  sprang  up  on  a  high 
boulder,  with  the  wind  beating  against 
you,  and  quoted,  "O  the  wild  joys  of 
living !"  It  was  as  though  nature  were 
playing  joyously  that  morning  and 
had  taken  us  right  into  the  game,  and  it 
was  so  much  more  fun  than  the  game 
of  people." 

She  rested  her  chin  on  her  hand, 
her  elbow  on  her  knee,  and  looked 
straight  ahead  of  her,  all  unconscious 
of  everything  but  her  memories.  The 
music  throbbed  on  the  air,  rising  and 
falling  on  the  breeze — a  sad,  dreamy 
waltz,  that  seemed  to  contain  all  the 
heartache  of  all  the  lovers  in  the  world. 
Around  them  floated  the  perfumes 
from  the  June  gardens  of  Cambridge. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  then  Mon- 
teith said  a  little  huskily,  "I  have 
never  forgotten  any  of  those  days, 
Miss  Somers,  and  I  shall  keep  them 
locked  up  in  my  heart  as  the  dearest 
memories  of  my  life.  When  I  go  away 
next  week  from  you  all,  I  shall 
like  to  think  that  you,  too,  have  not 
forgotten — that  they  were  happy  days 
for  you,  as  well  as  for  me." 

"Going  away?"  she  said,  startled. 
She  sat  up  and  looked  at  him,  with 
wide,  troubled  eyes.  "Where  are  you 
going?" 

He  looked  away  from  her.  Oh !  if 
she  only  would  not  torture  him  this 
way !  She  looked  then  for  a  moment, 
as  though  she  really  cared.  He  felt  he 
could  not  stand  this  much  longer — he 
must  go  away  from  those  soft  brown 
eyes. 

"I  think  I  shall  go  to  the  Far  West," 
he  said,  slowly.  "Sometimes  I  want  to 
break  with  the  whole  thing.  I  have 
unhappy  associations — there  are  some 


434 


AT  HARVARD  CLASS  DAY 


things  I  would  like  to  forget — but  I 
cannot." 

His  voice  was  low  and  tense. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  slowly,  "I  am  sorry. 
So  you  want  to  go  away.  And  I  had 
hoped  that  now  I  should  see  more  of 
you,  that  you  would  be  good  friends 
with  me.  I  hoped  to  see  more  of 
Jack's  friends,  of  whom  I  have  heard 
so  much." 

He  clenched  his  hands. 

''It  was  good  of  Jack,"  he  said, 
somewhat  stiffly,  "to  let  me  have  this 
little  talk  with  you.  It  will  be  another 
memory  to  add  to  those  others." 

"Good  of  Jack?"  she  repeated,  sur- 
prised. "He  was  only  anxious  to  be 
rid  of  me.  It  was  you  who  were  good 
to  come  to  the  rescue.  It  is  not  pleas- 
ant to  be  third  party,  you  know,  espec- 
ially in  a  case  like  this." 

"Third  party?"  he  queried. 

"Aren't  you  well  enough  acquaint- 
ed with  engaged  men,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing, "to  know  that  they  don't  want 
another  girl  around  when  the  regina 
orbis  terrarum  is  there?" 


"I  don't  understand,"  he  said,  slow- 
ly. "If  Jack  is  engaged  to  you,  I 
don't  see  how  he  could  bear  to  give  you 
up  for  all  this  time  to  me." 

"I — engaged  to  Jack?"  she  cried. 
Oh,  what  a  joke!  I'm  not  engaged — it 
is  my  sister.  Didn't  you  know? 
Oh " 

Then  she  stopped  and  looked  con- 
fused. Monteith  dropped  on  the  seat 
beside  her  and  seized  her  hands, 
crushing  them  against  his  breast. 

"Edith,  oh  Edith,"  he  cried,  with  a 
great  light  on  his  face.  "And  I  have 
been  in  torment  all  these  weeks  because 
I  thought  you  were  lost  to  me.  I  had 
waited  so  long,  so  long,  to  tell  you 
how  I  loved  you.  There  has  never 
been  a  moment  in  these  two  years  when 
you  have  not  been  with  me — when  you 
have  not  been  my  guiding  star.  Ah, 
don't   tell   me   that    I    must   lose   vou 


There  were  tears  in  the  eyes  lifted 
to  his  face  as  she  whispered: 

"Dear,  there  has  never  been  any  one 
else  but  vou." 


Rev.  Elijah  Kellogg-Author  and 
Preacher 


By  Isabel  T.  Ray 


THERE  died  Sunday,  March 
17,  190 1,  in  a  humble  home 
at  North  Harpswell  on  the 
Maine  coast,  a  man  who  for 
many  years  has  delighted  the  youth  of 
the  land  with  his  stories ;  and  not  only 
the  young  people,  who  have  been 
charmed  by  his  books,  but  older  ones 
as  well,  who  have  known  him  as  an 
earnest  preacher  exhibiting  rare  origi- 


nality and  above  all  a  sturdy  common 
sense,  mourn  his  loss. 

Elijah  Kellogg  was  born  in  Port- 
land, Maine,  May  20,  1813,  in  a  house 
on  Congress  street.  He  was  the  son 
of  Rev.  Elijah  Kellogg  and  Eunice 
McLellan. 

The  father,  Elijah  Kellogg,  was  born 
in  South  Hadley,  Mass.,  August  17, 
1 76 1.      Early  in  1775  he  was  a  drum- 

435 


43b 


REV.   ELIJAH  KELLOGG— AUTHOR  AND  PREACHER 


mer  boy  in  the  minute  men  and  helped 
with  the  wounded  at  the  Battle  of 
Bunker  Hill.  He  also  served  at  the 
siege  of  Dorchester  as  a  member  of 
Colonel  Dike's  regiment.  January  I, 
1777,  he  enlisted  for  the  term  of  three 
years  in  the  regiment  of  Colonel 
Charles  Thomas  Marshall  and  marched 
to  Fort  Ticonderago.  He  doubtless 
was  an  interested  witness  to  the  scene 
of  Burgoyne's  surrender,  and  was  also 
at  Valley  Forge  during  the  dark  days 
of  that  memorable  winter  of  1777-78, 
as  he  fought  in  the  Battle  of  Mon- 
mouth and  came  back  to  the  Hudson 
River,  where  his  term  of  elistment  was 
finished. 

After  his  discharge  he  entered  Dart- 
mouth college,  where  he  was  gradu- 
ated at  the  age  of  twenty-five  years  and 
was  made  a  Congregational  minister, 
being  settled  over  the  Second  Parish 
Congregational  church  of  Portland, 
Maine,  as  its  first  pastor  in  1788.  The 
church  then  stood  on  the  corner  of 
Middle  and  Deer  streets.  He  remained 
with  this  church  twenty-five  years,  for 
those  were  the  days  when  ministers 
were  not  changed  every  new  moon. 
During  the  latter  part  of  his  ministry 
Rev.  Edward  Payson  was  associated 
with  him  as  colleague.  After  his  re- 
tirement from  the  Second  Parish  he 
became  pastor  of  the  third  Parish 
Chapel  Society  and  later  a  missionary 
in  the  eastern  part  of  Maine  for  seven- 
teen years.  He  was  one  of  those  quaint 
old  parsons  who  graced  the  pulpits  of 
an  earlier  generation,  but,  alas,  whose 
like  is  never  seen  now.  He  died  March 
9,  1842,  at  the  age  of  eighty  years. 

The  first  of  the  Kellogg  family 
known  in  Massachusetts  was  Joseph 
Kellogg,  a  weaver  by  trade,  who  re- 
moved from  Farmington,  Connecticut, 


to  Boston  in  1659  and  from  there  to 
Hadley  about  1662.  His  first  wife, 
the  ancestress  of  the  subject  of  this 
sketch,  was  named  Joanna.  Joseph 
was  the  father  of  twenty-five  children. 
He  was  a  landed  proprietor  in  1663  as 
well  as  sergeant  in  the  militia,  ensign 
in  1678,  and  lieutenant  in  1679.  He 
took  part  in  the  Indian  skirmish  called 
the  "Falls  Fight"  in  1676,  and  at  that 
time  was  the  ferryman  at  Hadley; 
which  business  was  kept  in  the  family 
for  one  hundred  years.  Joseph  fre- 
quently served  as  selectman.  He  must 
have  been  well  to  do,  for  in  1673  his 
second  wife  was  before  the  court  for 
not  dressing  in  silk  attire  according  to 
the  prescribed  custom  of  her  station. 
She  was  acquitted  of  any  misdemeanor, 
however.  John,  next  in  line,  son  of 
Joseph,  was  born  in  1656.  He  mar- 
ried Sarah  Moody  in  1680  and  died 
before  1728.  His  son,  Joseph,  born 
in  1685,  went  to  South  Hadley  in  171 1 
and  married  Abigail  Smith.  Their 
son,  Joseph,  Jr.,  born  in  1724,  married 
Dorothy  Taylor.  He  was  on  a  com- 
mittee of  correspondence  and  inspec- 
tion at  South  Hadley  in  the  Revolution 
and  died  in  1810.  His  son  Elijah, 
born  in  1761,  was  the  father  of  Elijah 
Kellogg  of  Harpswell. 

Eunice  McLellan,  the  mother  of  the 
subject  of  this  sketch,  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  Joseph  and  Mary  McLellan  of 
Portland,  Maine,  and  was  born  Janu- 
ary t,  1770.  Her  father's  house  stood 
on  Congress  street  nearly  opposite 
Casco.  It  is  of  his  maternal  ancestors 
Mr.  Kellogg  treats  in  his  first  book, 
"Good  Old  Times."  Joseph  McLellan 
was  the  son  of  Bryce  and  Jane  Mc- 
Lellan, who  came  from  Antrim  in 
the  North  of  Ireland.  Joseph  Mc- 
Lellan died  in  1820,  aged  eighty-eight 


REV.  ELIJAH  KELLOGG— AUTHOR  AND   PREACHER  437 


years.  He  was  a  sea-captain  and  was 
at  the  siege  of  Quebec  when  General 
Wolfe  was  killed.  He  was  also  a  com- 
missary and  a  captain  in  the  army  of 
the  Revolution. 

When  Portland  was  burned  by 
Mowatt  on  October  18,  1775,  Captain 
Joseph  McLellan  arrived  off  the  port, 
but  in  order  to  save  his  vessel  put  in  at 
Harpswell  harbor.  His  wife,  Mary 
McLellan,  was  in  the  Congress  street 
house,  and  when  the  notice  was  given 
that  the  town  was  to  be  burned, 
she  sent  off  her  furniture  to  Gorham. 
She  also  prudently  took  out  the  win- 
dows of  the  house. 

Thinking  of  others  as  well  as  herself 
she  sent  her  son  with  their  horse  and 
chaise  to  remove  the  aged  and  infirm 
to  a  place  of  safety.  The  boy  rode  all 
night  doing  this.  This  chaise,  by  the 
way,  was  a  rare  thing  in  town  and  was 
much  thought  of.  In  1778  the  Provin- 
cial Congress  voted  seven  pounds  to 
Joseph  McLellan  for  damage  done  to 
this  same  chaise  by  the  Penobscot  In- 
dian chiefs  when  on  their  way  to  Cam- 
bridge in  1775. 

Mrs.  McLellan  having  aided  those 
not  able  to  help  themselves  started  her 
children  for  the  most  likely  place  of 
safety,  the  home  of  their  grandparents, 
Hugh  and  Elizabeth  McLellan  of  Gor- 
ham, for  Joseph  McLellan  had  mar- 
ried a  relative.  Elijah  Kellogg's 
mother  was  one  of  that  little  band  of 
children,  and  although  but  ten  years 
old  she  went  the  whole  distance  of  the 
ten  miles  on  foot. 

Mrs.  McLellan  staid  by  the  Con- 
gress street  house,  in  which  was  stored 
a  quantity  of  salt,  then  very  valuable. 
A  shell  from  the  bombarding  vessels 
in  the  harbor  fell  in  the  garden ;  the 
fearless  women  immediately  ran  out, 


The  Old  Hugh  McLellan  House 

and,  heaping  damp  earth  over  it,  put 
out  the  fuse,  thus  preventing  an  ex- 
plosion. A  round  shot  came  into  one 
of  the  rooms  as  she  was  passing 
through  it,  but  nothing  daunted  she 
still  remained  in  the  house  to  protect 
her  property.  People  came  in  to  help 
her,  ostensibly,  but  in  reality  they  were 
after  plunder  and  stole  a  considerable 
quantity  of  her  precious  salt  despite 
her  vigilance. 

After  the  burning  of  the  town — 
nearly  two  hundred  and  eighty  dwell- 
ing-houses, and  other  buildings  bring- 
ing the  list  up  to  four  hundred,  were 
burned — those  left  standing  were  oc- 
cupied by  the  army.  The  McLellan 
house  was  used  as  a  commissary  store 
and  barracks.  The  ell  of  the  house 
is  still  standing,  having  been  moved 
from  its  original  site.  Mrs.  McLellan 
spent  the  next  winter  in  Gorham.  Such 
was  the  ancestry  of  "Parson  Kellogg," 
as  his  Harpswell  people  loved  to  call 
him.  Could  we  ask  for  a  braver  line- 
age? A  knowledge  of  it  gives  a  bet- 
ter understanding  into  the  life  and  life- 
work  of  this  man,  remarkable  in  so 
manv  wavs. 


The  First  Brick  House  in  Cumberland  County 


Mr.  Kellogg  entered  Bowdoin  Col- 
lege in  1836.  Small  of  stature,  sharp- 
eyed,  lean  and  wiry  he  comes  before  us 
on  that  day,  momentous  to  him  at  least, 
for  he  says:  "With  humility  I  re- 
quested an  inhabitant  of  the  village  to 
point  out  the  President  of  the  college. 
I  gazed  upon  him  with  anxiety  and  so- 
licitude inspired  by  the  belief  that  my 
fate  lay  in  the  great  man's  clutches." 

Although  he  was  the  son  of  a  city 
minister  Elijah  Kellogg  had  not  lived 
all  the  twenty-three  years  of  his  life  in 
a  city.  Much  of  the  time  had  been 
spent  on  the  farm  of  an  uncle  in  Gor- 
ham,  where  he  learned  all  kinds  of 
farm  work,  the  knowledge  of  which 
meant  much  to  him  in  after  life.  It  is 
said  his  mother  kept  him  from  the  sea 
as  much  as  possible,  knowing  his  fond- 
ness for  it ;  in  fact,  before  entering  col- 
lege he  had  spent  six  years  as  a  sailor. 
This,  a  reader  of  his  books  can  readily 
see — there  being  that  in  some  of  them 
which  could  not  have  come  from  one 
438 


not  cognizant  of  Ocean's  varying 
moods,  or  who  had  not  exulted  in  a 
struggle  with  the  elements  and  felt  the 
salt  spray  on  his  cheek. 

Many  were  the  punishments  he  re- 
ceived as  a  boy  for  having  stolen  away 
to  the  wharves  to  listen  to  the  sailors' 
yarns.  Several  anecdotes  are  told  of 
these  escapades. 

One  Sunday  morning  his  father  did 
not  see  him  at  church.  When  the  boy 
returned  from  the  wharves  he  was  met 
by  an  indignant  parent  who  demanded 
where  he  had  been. 

"To  the  Methodist  church,"  was  the 
reply. 

"Give  the  text,"  the  father  de- 
manded. 

This  was  glibly  given.  An  outline 
of  the  sermon  was  next  asked  for. 
Nothing  daunted  he  started  in,  but, 
well  versed  as  he  was  in  Congregation- 
alism, he  soon  got  into  deep  water  in 
Methodism,  for  these  were  the  days  of 
doctrinal  sermons.  He  was  sternly  in- 


REV.   ELIJAH  KELLOGG— AUTHOR  AND  PREACHER 


459 


terrupted  by  a  (by  no  means  gentle) 
box  on  the  ear  and  ordered  to  stop  ly- 
ing, for  "no  Methodist  minister  ever 
preached  such  doctrine  as  that." 

Associated  with  Elijah  Kellogg  at 
Bowdoin  college  and  graduating  with 
him  in  1840,  were  Ezra  Abbott,  assist- 
ant librarian  at  Harvard  and  Professor 
of  New  Testament  Criticism  ;  Edward, 
Robie,  D.  D. ;  Rev.  Dr.  James  Parte- 
low  Weston,  President  of  Lombard 
University  of  Illinois  and  also  Princi- 
pal at  two  different  times  of  West- 
brook  Seminary  and  Female  College, 
Deering  District,  Portland,  Maine. 

A  very  full  and  complete  life  of  Eli- 
jah Kellogg  under  the  editorship  of 
Professor  W.  B.  Mitchell,  of  Bowdoin 
College,  assisted  by  General  Joshua  L. 
Chamberlain  and  others  is  now  in 
active  preparation  and  will  be  pub- 
lished within  a  year  by  Lee  &  Shepard, 
of  Boston. 

Young  Kellogg  was  a  popular  man 
in  college,  always  good-tempered,  flu- 
ent and  exceedingly  interesting  in  talk. 
One  characteristic  was  his  strong  per- 
sonal affection  toward  his  classmates. 
Many  are  the  pranks  told  of  him  while 
at  Brunswick.  Some  are  wholly  with- 
out foundation,  yet  enough  are  doubt- 
less true  to  establish  his  reputation  as  a 
practical  joker.  He  was  ever  fertile 
in  expedients  in  getting  out  of  scrapes 
— as  resourceful  when  he  gave  as  an 
excuse  for  being  late  at  school,  when  a 
boy,  that  the  frogs  screamed  "K'logg, 
K'logg !"  at  him  and  he  turned  back  to 
see  what  they  wanted,  as  he  was  when 
a  young  man  in  Bowdoin.  A  sign  had 
been  stolen  and  the  men  in  Kellogg's 
dormintory  were  suspected.  Now,  ac- 
cording to  the  regulations,  a  tutor  was 
not  allowed  to  enter  a  student's  room 
during  devotions ;  in  this  instance,  so 


tradition  has  it,  when  the  sign  was  al- 
most consumed  in  Kellogg's  fireplace  a 
tutor  came  to  the  door.  Receiving  no 
response  to  his  knock  he  listened  and 
heard  these  words  from  sacred  writ: 
"And  he  answered  and  said  unto  them, 
'an  evil  and  adulterous  generation 
seeketh  after  a  sign  and  there  shall  no 
sign  be  given  to  it.'  ' 

Although  full  of  fun  Kellogg  had 
underneath  a  serious  purpose.  In  his 
studies  he  by  no  means  stood  at  the 
foot  of  his  class,  as  shown  by  his  being 
appointed  to  take  part  in  the  junior 
and  senior  exhibitions,  which  appoint- 
ments are  made  on  a  basis  of  rank. 

While  at  college  he  went  frequently 
to  Harpswell  to  preach  to  the  people, 
and  a  strong  friendship  grew  up  be- 
tween the  young  man  and  the  fisher- 
farmer  community.  He  was  asked  if 
after  his  graduation  he  would  come 
and  settle  there,  to  which  he  replied 
that  he  would  do  so  on  condition  that 
they  build  him  a  church. 

Time  went  by  and  he  was  nearly 
ready  to  graduate  from  the  Andover 
Theological  Seminary,  when  one  day 
a  committee  waited  upon  him  and 
asked  if  he  intended  to  keep  his  prom- 
ise. To  which  he  made  answer,  "If 
you  keep  yours." 

He  was  then  informed  that  the  lum- 
ber was  on  the  ground  for  the  building 
of  the  edifice.  To  this  he  is  said  to 
have  unhesitatingly  answered,  "Then 
I  am  with  you."  He  had  not  really 
thought  they  would  build  the  church 
and  had  already  received  an  offer  from 
a  Massachusetts  society  at  a  larger 
salary. 

The  church  was  built  and  dedicated 
September  28,  1843,  n^s  salary  being 
three  hundred  dollars ;  and  from  that 
dav  to  the  dav  of  his  death  his  connec- 


440 


REV.  ELIJAH  KELLOGG— AUTHOR  AND  PREACHER 


tion  with  the  society  was  never  broken, 
.although  in  1854  for  lack  of  support  he 
went  to  Boston  and  became  connected 
with  the  Seamen's  Friend  Society  as 
chaplain,  still  preaching  at  Harpswell 
•during  the  summer  season. 

In  1855  ne  married  Hannah  Pome- 
roy,  a  daughter  of  Rev.  Thaddeus 
Pomeroy,  who  was  for  some  years  set- 
tled over  the  Congregational  church  in 
Gorham,  Maine.  Two  children  were 
Jborn  to  them,  Frank  Gilman  Kellogg 
and  Mary  Catherine,  wife  of  Mr. 
Harry  Bachelder,  both  living  at  Mel- 
rose Highlands,  Mass. 

As  has  been  said  a  portion  of  Mr. 
Kellogg's  early  days  were  spent  in 
Gorham,  Maine ;  in  the  historic  Gor- 
ham Academy  he  fitted  for  Bowdoin. 
In  those  boyhood  days  he  displayed 
great  mental  ability,  and  when  a  stu- 
dent there  was  always  ready  to  take  his 
full  share,  as  in  later  years,  in  all  that 
pertained  to  educational  interests.  One 
who  remembers  him  distinctly  tells  the 
following  incident. 

Sixty  or  more  years  ago  it  was  the 
custom  of  the  village  during  the  winter 
months  to  hold  public  meetings  to  dis- 
cuss important  matters  that  interested 
the  people.  One  of  these  questions 
was  the  claims  of  the  colonization  so- 
ciety in  opposition  to  the  promoters  of 
the  cause  for  the  immediate  abolition 
of  slavery.  One  evening  an  invita- 
tion was  given  Mr.  Kellogg,  then  a 
young  man  of  perhaps  twenty  years,  to 
address  the  people  on  this  exciting 
question  which  had  been  debated  over 
by  the  citizens  of  the  place  for  many 
weeks.  One  who  was  present  says : 
"Kellogg  took  the  colonization  side  in 
a  forcible  and  eloquent  manner,  de- 
fending it  against  what  then  seemed 
to  be  the  wild  ideas  of  the  anti-slavery 


abolitionists  of  the  day.  So  convinc- 
ing was  his  eloquence  that,  when  the 
vote  was  taken  on  the  main  question, 
colonization  was  almost  universally 
supported." 

Mr.  Kellogg  had  a  great  love  for 
Gorham.  He  visited  the  village  as 
frequently  as  possible  and  oftentimes 
supplied  the  pulpit  of  the  Congrega- 
tional church.  He  delivered  an  ad- 
dress on  the  one  hundred  and  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  the  settlement  of  Gor- 
ham which  was  received  with  much 
admiration.  It  is  printed  in  the 
pamphlet  gotten  out  in  commemora- 
tion of  the  occasion  and  is  a  most  faith- 
ful picture  of  the  times  and  people. 

He  followed  the  political  opinions 
of  his  relatives  and  was  in  early  life 
a  pronounced  Democrat.  He  was  a 
great  lover  of  his  country  and  an 
ardent  patriot,  loyal  to  every  demand 
for  liberty.  In  his  later  life  he  be- 
came identified  with  the  principles  of 
the  Republican  party. 

While  chaplain  of  the  Seaman's 
Friend  Society  in  Boston  Mr.  Kellogg 
began  the  literary  work  that  was  to 
make  him  famous.  His  object  in  writ- 
ing these  stories  was  to  increase  his 
income,  but  he  received  little  for  them. 
His  first  book,  "Good  Old  Times,"  the 
scene  of  which  is  laid  in  Gorham, 
Maine,  is,  by  some,  considered  his  best. 
It  is  largely  a  tale  of  what  actually  took 
place  in  the  pioneer  life  of  his  ances- 
tors. It  was  written  for  the  Magazine 
"Young  Folks,"  and  I  have  heard  it 
stated,  on  how  good  authority  I  cannot 
say,  that  he  received  five  hundred  dol- 
lars for  it. 

While  "Good  Old  Times"  is  a  story, 
the  true  story  of  the  pioneer  life  of 
Elijah  Kellogg's  great  grand-parents, 
it  is  history  as  well  and  gives  in  a  most 


REV.   ELIJAH  KELLOGG— AUTHOR  AND  PREACHER 


441 


graphic  manner  the  life  of  the  age, 
showing  the  emigrant's  love  for  land. 
We  of  America  can  little  realize  the 
passion  for  land  thesepeople  possessed, 
having  lived  for  generations  under 
conditions  not  to  be  compared  with 
those  of  our  own  land.  It  is  not 
strange  that  Elizabeth  McLellan  was 
willing,  as  she  said,  to  "risk  her  scalp 
for  land."  The  story  of  their  strug- 
gles to  take  land  from  the  forest  and 
bring  it  into  tillage  is  most  entertain- 
ingly set  forth. 

From  the  first  they  were  friendly 
with  the  Indians,  and,  although  so 
poor  themselves,  they  often  found 
chance  to  exercise  hospitality.  Eliza- 
beth often  treated  them  to  a  drink  of 
milk,  although  by  so  doing  she  some- 
times pinched  herself ;  or  gave  them 
food  or  a  small  piece  of  tobacco ;  or 
spun  for  the  squaws  a  little  thread 
which  they  prized  highly,  as  it  was 
much  better  than  deer  sinews  for 
stringing  their  beads  in  working  moc- 
casins. When  the  family  first  went  to 
Gorham  the  door  was  never  fastened, 
and  it  was  not  an  uncommon  thing 
to  find  in  the  morning  an  Indian  sleep- 
ing beside  the  fire.  The  Indians  were 
not  backward  in  returning  these  fa- 
vors. They  taught  her  to  tap  the  maple 
trees  and  boil  the  sap  down  to  sugar, 
of  which  they  were  very  fond. 
A  haunch  of  venison  or  a  fine  salmon 
was  not  an  uncommon  present,  and 
the  white  children  played  with  the 
Indian  children.  But  this  security  was 
rudely  disturbed  by  an  Indian  war. 
The  most  thrilling  chapters  in  the  booK 
are  perhaps  those  describing  the  war, 
the  block  house  and  the  life  in  garrison. 

A  most  interesting  chapter  is  de- 
voted to  a  description  of  mast  hauling, 
which   the   early   settlers   found   most 


Gorham  Academy 

lucrative.  In  those  days  when  the 
states  were  colonies  of  Great  Britain, 
the  Royal  Commissioner  of  Forests 
employed  surveyors,  who  went  through 
the  woods  and  marked  with  a  broad 
arrow  every  sound  and  straight  pine 
over  thirty-six  inches  in  diameter. 
These  were  reserved  for  the  King's 
ships,  and  the  owner  of  the  land  where 
they  grew  could  not  cut  or  sell  them. 
But  the  government  would  pay  him 
liberally  to  cut  and  haul  them  to  the 
landing.  They  were  tremendous 
trees,  some  more  than  four  feet 
through.  The  stump  of  one  from  which 
Hugh  McLellan  and  his  son  William 
cut  a  mast,  stood  for  many  years ;  on 
this  stump  a  yoke  of  oxen  six  feet  in 
girth  were  turned  around  without 
stepping  off.  To  fell  these  masts  and 
haul  them  through  the  woods  with 
the  cattle  of  the  period  was  an  enter- 
prise that  might  well  seem  insurmount- 
able. How  this  was  done  affords 
most  entertaining  reading. 


442 


REV.   ELIJAH  KELLOGG— AUTHOR  AND  PREACHER 


The  last  chapter  in  the  book  gives 
a  rather  amusing  account  of  the 
courtship  and  marriage  of  Mr.  Kel- 
logg's  maternal  grandparents. 

James  and  Joseph,  sons  of  Bryce 
McLellan  of  Portland,  both  fell  in 
love  with  Abigail,  the  eldest  daughter 
of  Hugh  and  Elizabeth  of  Gorham. 
James  was  a  cooper,  plain  but  pious, 
Joseph  was  a  shipmaster  younger,  hand- 
somer, and  rather  wild  in  his  youth- 
ful days.  Elizabeth,  like  many  a 
modern  mother,  considered  it  her  duty 
to  find  husbands  for  her  daughters. 
Now  James  was  all  right,  Joseph  might 
be,  but  there  was  always  the  chance 
of  his  not  being  so.  As  Kellogg 
says :  "Joseph  and  Abigail  went  blue- 
berrying  ;  he  broke  a  gold  ring  in  two, 
gave  half  to  Abigail  and  she  hid  it  in 
her  bosom.  The  next  day  he  went  to 
sea.  Elizabeth  sent  for  James.  When 
he  came  she  asked  her  daughter  how 
she  liked  the  man  she  had  chosen  to 
be  her  husband." 

"I  don't  like  him  at  all,"  said  Abi- 
gail ;  "he's  old  and  he's  ugly.  I  won't 
have  him." 

"Tell  me  you  won't  have  the  man 
I  have  selected  for  you?  Which 
knows  best?  You  shall  have  him!" 
and  she  boxed  her  ears. 

Joseph  came  home,  found  Abigail 
married,  and  reproached  Elizabeth  in 
no  measured  terms.  He  then  said,  "I 
will  have  Mary,  she's  younger  and 
she's  handsomer." 

"You  cannot  have  Mary,"  was  the 
reply  ;  "I  have  destined  her  for  another 
man." 

"I  will  have  her,"  said  Joseph,  and 
turning  to  Mary  he  then  and  there 
asked  her  if  she  would  marry  him. 
She  replied  "Yes." 

Elizabeth   yielded,   perhaps   because 


she  knew  Mary  was  too  much  like  her 
mother. 

So,  while  war  was  going  on,  Eliza- 
beth was  busy  marrying  her  children. 
After  they  were  all  settled  in  life  a 
new  house  began  to  be  thought  about. 
The  McLellans  planned  this,  as  they 
did  everything  else,  within  themselves. 
It  was  the  first  brick  house  erected  in 
Cumberland  County  and  is  standing 
to-day,  although  it  has  passed  out  of 
the  McLellan  family.  In  1858  the  old 
roof  was  taken  off  and  a  modern  one 
substituted,  as  will  be  seen  by  a  com- 
parison of  the  pictures. 

The  McLellans  hewed  all  the  timber, 
made  of  shingles,  moulded  the  bricks, 
tempered  the  clay,  and  set  up  the  kiln. 
They  were  four  years  in  building  it. 
A  brick  in  the  wall  marked  by  the  fin- 
gers of  Elizabeth  records  the  date  of 
the  erection — 1773. 

Elizabeth  lived  to  the  great  age  of 
ninety-six  years,  leaving  two  hundred 
and  thirty-four  living  descendents. 
After  reading  the  book  we  are  fain  to 
agree  with  the  author  that  those  were 
indeed  "Good  Old  Times." 

Elijah  Kellogg's  books  in  all  num- 
ber about  thirty.  They  were  divided 
into  series — the  Forest  Glen,  the  Elm 
Island,  the  Pleasant  Grove,  and  the 
Whispering  Pine  series.  In  the  last 
named  a  glimpse  is  given  into  the  lives 
of  the  students  in  the  early  days,  and 
many  Bowdoin  customs  are  told.  He 
pictures  in  vivid  colors  the  early  Com- 
mencement. One  can  see  the  long  line 
of  carriages,  the  barns  and  sheds  filled 
with  horses,  every  house  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  people,  the  dignified  offi- 
cials, sober  matrons,  gay  belles  and 
beaux  of  the  time,  also  horse  jockeys, 
gamblers,  venders  of  every  sort.  The 
college  yard,  not  campus  then,  dotted 


REV.   ELIJAH  KELLOGG— AUTHOR  AND  PREACHER 


443 


with  booths  where  ginger-bread,  pies, 
egg-nog,  cigars,  and  beers  were  sold. 

In  his  "Sophomores  of  RadclifF' 
Mr.  Kellogg  tells  of  the  Society  of 
Olympian  Jove,  whose  customs  are 
parly  the  wild  imaginings  of  the  author 
and  partly  his  own  experience.  But 
perhaps  the  most  interesting  of  the 
Bowdoin  customs  he  describes  is  the 
"Osbequies  of  Calculus."  This  prac- 
tice was  in  vogue  many  years,  and  a 
head  stone  is  still  to  be  seen  upon  the 
campus,  marking  the  spot  where  are 
buried  the  hated  ashes.  Besides  the 
books  of  the  above  mentioned  series 
there  is  a  volume  called  "Norman 
dine." 

The  opening  scene  of  "A  Strong 
Arm  and  a  Mother's  Blessing"  is  laid 
in  the  town  of  Fryeburg,  Maine,  and 
the  book  tells  the  story  of  the  historic 
Indian  fight  of  Lovewell's  Pond,  which 
took  place  in  May,  1725.  It  adheres 
very  closely  to  the  actual  facts  of  his- 
tory and  gives  much  historic  informa- 
tion. The  scene  at  times  changes  to 
places,  in  and  around  Portland  and  we 
find  pen  pictures  of  ancient  places 
and  dwellings  now  passed  away. 
While  perhaps  not  great  from  a  liter- 
ary standpoint,  this  is  a  most  readable 
book.  "The  Unseen  Hand"  was  Kel- 
logg's  last  story. 

While  Elijah  Kellogg's  books  are 
most  entertaining,  amusing,  if  you  like, 
that  was  not  altogether  his  chief  in- 
tention. He  had  a  purpose  in  every 
book  that  left  his  hand.  His  idea  was 
to  write  something  that  would  make 
boys  more  genuine,  more  manly.  He 
taught  the  value  and  dignity  of  labor — 
manual  labor.  "The  essence  of  hoe 
handle,  if  persistently  taken  two  hours 
a  day,"  would,  he  averred,  cure  many 
diseases  of  mind  and  heart.     This  was 


the  object  lesson  he  wished  to  teach — 
not  mental  equipment  alone,  but  man- 
ual as  well,  fits  a  man  for  the  battle  of 
life. 

These  books  are  as  much  in  demand 
today  as  they  were  when  first  written, 
and  not  in  Maine  alone.  I  am  told 
that  librarians  in  the  New  England, 
Middle  Atlantic,  and  even  the  West- 
ern states  are  forced  to  keep  more  than 
one  copy  of  several  of  the  books,  so 
sustained  is  the  demand. 

Mr.  Kellogg  liked  to  talk  with  his 
friends  concerning  his  "brain  chil- 
dren," and  would  relate  many  amusing 
anecdotes  as  to  the  letters  he  had  re- 
ceived asking  about  localities  and 
names.  He  would  frequently  receive 
letters  from  people  bearing  the  same 
name  as  one  of  his  characters,  striving 
to  claim  relationship,  and  bitterly  were 
some  of  his  correspondents  disappoint- 
ed when  told  that  the  people  so  real  to 
them  existed  only  in  the  imagination  of 
the  story  writer. 

As  he  became  famous  this  corres- 
pondence became  really  a  burden  to 
him.  So  when  he  wrote  "John  God- 
soe's  Legacy"  he  cast  about  for  a  name 
that  had  never  been  heard  of.  But  he 
was  not  to  escape.  The  book  had  been 
out  only  a  short  time  when  he  received 
a  letter  from  a  woman  who  stated  her 
name  was  Godsoe  and  made  minute 
inquiries  as  to  the  details  of  the  story. 

One  prominent  characteristic  of  Eli- 
jah Kellogg  was  his  interest  in  and  love 
for  young  men.  It  was  a  great  delight 
to  him  to  know  he  had  helped  one 
young  man  either  by  written  words  or 
personal  effort. 

For  some  years  Bowdoin  College 
had  the  custom  of  sending  young  men 
who  were  "rusticated"  (to  use  a  col- 
lege term)  to  stay  with  Mr.  Kellogg. 


444 


REV.   ELIJAH  KELLOGG— AUTHOR  AND  PREACHER 


One  young  fellow  whom  the  college 
sent  to  him  was  especially  sullen  and 
unapproachable,  in  fact  inclined  to  sulk. 
On  July  Fourth  there  was  to  be  a  cele- 
bration in  Portland.  The  boy  wished, 
but  did  not  expect  to  go.  ''Well,"  Mr. 
Kellogg  said,  when  the  celebration  was 
spoken  of,  "I  am  afraid  you  can't  go. 
I  have  no  authority  to  let  you  go ;  but, 
then,  I  really  want  to  attend  that  cele- 
bration myself,  and  I  can't  be  expected 
to  leave  you  at  home  alone."  When 
July  Fourth  dawned  the  preacher  and 
the  student  both  attended  the  cele- 
bration. 

While  Elijah  Kellogg  was  intensely 
interested,  as  has  been  said,  in  all 
young  men,  he  came  especially  near  to 
the  Bowdoin  students.  They  saw  him 
in  many  lights,  driving  into  Bruns- 
wick in  the  chaise — of  which  in  sur- 
prise, when  someone  called  it  old,  he 
said,  ''Why,  no,  I  only  bought  it  forty 
years  ago" — sometimes  with  a  load 
of  potatoes,  sometimes  driving  a  yoke 
of  oxen  with  the  rack  loaded  with  hay. 
They  saw  him  as  he  farmed  and  fished ; 
they  saw  him  in  his  beloved  pulpit, 
when  on  Sunday  afternoon  they  walk- 
ed down  to  hear  him  preach.  They 
talked  with  him,  and  they  one  and  all 
came  to  see  in  this  retiring,  quaint,  un- 
conventional, eloquent  man  no  ordin- 
ary preacher.  They  saw  a  man  who, 
through  a  life  much  longer  than  that 
of  the  average  man,  had  kept  his  spirit 
young,  his  heart  free  from  guile. 

Perhaps  nothing  better  illustrates 
how  Bowdoin  men  regarded  him  than 
when  his  Alma  Mater  celebrated  her 
iooth  birthday,  and  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Pacific  her  children  gathered 
to  do  her  honor.  One  after  another, 
men  who  were  known  through  the 
world  in  Art,  Medicine,  Law,  Theol- 


Elijah  Keliogg's  Chaise 

ogy,  and  Science  arose  and  spoke,  to 
reveive  generous  applause,  but  to  the 
man  of  small  frame,  but  large  soul,  to 
this  farmer  preacher  of  Harpswell, 
was  accorded  a  tumultuous  applause 
not  given  to  her  other  sons. 

Elijah  Kellogg  perhaps  best  ex- 
pressed his  own  attitude  to  the  college 
when  he  said  in  1890,  looking  back  for 
half  a  century;  "I  stand  here  today 
like  an  old  tree  among  younger 
growth,  from  whose  trunk  the  bark 
and  limbs  have  fallen,  and  whose  roots 
are  dying  in  the  soil ;  but  there  is  no 
decrepitude  of  the  spirit.  Moons  may 
wax  and  wane,  flowers  may  bloom  and 
wither,  but  the  associations  that  link 
a  student  to  his  intellectual  birthplace 
are  eternal." 

Not  a  few  churches  were  blessed 
by  his  labors  at  different  intervals  dur- 
ing the  years  he  was  settled  at  Harps- 
well.  In  Portland  he  was  greatly  be- 
loved. The  Second  Parish,  his  fath- 
er's old  church,  at  one  time  extended 
him  a  call,  as  did  also  the  Congrega- 
tional church  at  New  Bedford,  Massa- 
chusetts, both  of  which  he  refused. 

He  preached  for  a  time  in  the  War- 
ren Congregational  Church,  at  Cum- 
berland    Mills,     Westbrook,     Maine; 


REV.   ELIJAH  KELLOGG— AUTHOR  AND  PREACHER 


44S 


also  at  Wellesley,  Rockport,  and 
Pigeon  Cove,  and  New  Bedford, 
Massachusetts.  He  also  preached 
at  Topsham,  Maine.  But  he  was 
ever  true  to  his  Harpswell  parish. 
These  people  were  his  first  and  last 
love.  He  came  to  them  a  young  man, 
he  had  married  many  of  them  and  bur- 
ied not  a  few  in  his  pastorate  of  fifty- 
seven  years.  He  was  content  and  sat- 
isfied to  have  their  love  and  devotion 
and  with  his  dying  breath  to  speak  his 
last  loving  benediction  upon  them  ev- 
ery one. 

He  gave  himself  unsparingly  to  his 
people,  not  only  in  things  spiritual 
but  temporal  as  well.  It  was  his  habit 
to  keep,  as  he  phrased  it,  "a  purse  for 
the  Lord."  Into  this  he  put  one  tenth 
of  whatever  he  earned.  He  was  gen- 
erous to  a  fault,  and,  it  is  said,  often 
seriouslv  embarrassed  himself  thereby. 


The  Harpswell  Congregational  Church 


Pulpit  in  the  Old  Harpswell  Church 

His  services  as  a  preacher  were  in 
constant  demand.  He  had  large  con- 
gregations during  the  summer  months, 
and  it  was  not  uncommon,  after  the 
service,  for  as  many  as  twenty  boys  to 
gather  around  him,  wishing  to  shake 
the  hand  of  the  man  whose  stories  had 
given  them  so  much  wholesome  enjoy- 
ment. 

The  last  sermon  preached  by  Rev. 
Elijah  Kellogg,  away  from  his  own 
little  sea-side  church,  was  delivered  in 
the  First  Parish  Congregational  church 
at  Yarmouth,  Maine,  Sunday  evening, 
August  4,i90o,during  Old  Home  week, 
All  other  religious  services  in  the  town 
were  given  up,  and  the  several 
churches  united  to  do  honor  to  the 
venerable  man.  The  house  was  filled 
to  overflowing.  The  words  of  his  text 
were:  "Which  hope  we  have  as  an 
anchor  of  the  soul,  both  sure  and 
steadfast,  and  which  entereth  into  that 
within  the  veil." 

He  said  in  substance  that  hope  in 
Christ  is  to  the  soul  what  an  anchor  is 


Where  Elijah  Kellogg  Preached 


to  the  ship,  and  he  described  a  storm 
at  sea,  the  use  of  an  anchor  in  case  of 
an  emergency,  his  words  reminding 
his  hearers  of  some  of  the  passages  in 
his  books.  Then  he  continued:  "My 
friends,  life  is  like  the  sea ;  the  soul  is 
the  vessel;  the  rich  experiences  of  the 
soul,  the  cargo;  and  Heaven  is  the 
harbor  for  which  we  are  bound.  The 
temptations  of  life  are  the  tempests.  It 
is  a  strong  sea  and  a  wintry  passage. 
You  will  need  a  good  anchor  and  a 
good  holding  ground.  Have  you 
such?"  Later  in  the  sermon  he  said: 
"I  am  like  an  old  and  decayed  tree 
among  the  young  growth  in  the  forest, 
but  there  is  no  age  in  my  spirit.  Time 
has  not  caused  me  to  care  any  the  less 
for  the  welfare  of  the  younger  people 
to  whose  fathers  and  grandfathers  I 
have  preached." 

The    house    at     North     Harpswell 
which   Elijah    Kellogg   built   in    1848 
446 


and  in  which  he  lived  for  more  than 
half  a  century  is  as  retired  as  one  could 
wish.  It  is  perhaps  50  rods  from  the 
main  road  with  front  toward  the  sea 
he  loved  so  well.  Hemmed  in  by  trees, 
the  approach  is  toward  the  rear,  with 
a  weather  beaten  barn  on  the  right. 
There  are  no  very  near  neighbors  and 
the  farm  contains  about  seventy  acres. 
The  field  he  cultivated  did  not  contain 
more  than  twenty  acres,  and  this  was 
all  he  attempted  to  care  for  except  his 
horse  and  cow.  Here  he  lived,  the 
days  passing  all  too  quickly  with  his 
reading,  his  preparation  to  preach 
twice  each  Sunday,  and  his  farm  cares. 
While  Elijah  Kellogg  was  famous 
as  a  writer  and  eloquent  preacher  he 
was  hardly  less  well  known  as  a  writer 
of  declamations.  He  composed  several 
of  these,  which  have  found  their  way 
into  nearly  every  collection  of  recita- 
tions of  the  better  sort,  and  which  are 


The  Home  of  Elijah  Kellogg 


still  deservedly  popular  in  schools  and 
colleges  througout  the  country.  The 
two  best  know  are  "Spartacus  to  the 
Gladiators"  and  "Regulus  to  the  Car- 
thaginians." To  a  party  of  friends 
over  a  Yarmouth  breakfast  table  Mr. 
Kellogg  told  in  his  own  inimitable  way 
how  he  came  to  write  the  former. 

In  1842,  when  he  was  a  student  at 
Andover,  rhetorical  exercises  were  al- 
ways a  part  of  the  seminary  program, 
and  a  committee  was  appointed  to  act 
as  critics.  It  was  the  custom  for  the 
criticisms  to  be  so  severe  that  the  stu- 
dents looked  forward  to  a  declamation 
as  an  ordeal. 

"At  last  I  made  up  my  mind,"  said 
Mr.  Kellogg,  "  that  I  would  try  to  get 
something  so  unusual  and  so  interest- 
ing that  it  would  hold  attention  too 
closely  for  the  committee  to  think  of 
criticism."  He  thought  over  the  mat- 
ter for  several  weeks,  and  "Spartacus" 
was  the  result. 


The  day  for  the  speaking  arrived 
and  a  large  audience  was  present  with 
Professor  A.  F.  Parks  presiding.  At 
last  came  Kellogg's  turn.  "When  I 
began,"  he  stated,  "it  worked  just  as  I 
expected.  You  could  have  heard  a  pin 
drop  as  I  said  'Ye  call  me  chief,  and 
You  do  well  to  call  him  chief,  who  for 
twelve  long  years  has  met  upon  the 
arena  every  shape  of  man  or  beast  the 
broad  empire  of  Rome  could  furnish, 
and  never  yet  lowered  his  arm,' — and 
on  to  the  end.  The  critics  were  so 
taken  by  surprise  they  didn't  recover 
until  after  I  had  finished. 

"Then,when  Professor  Parks  turned 
to  the  students  and  inquired  "what 
criticisms  have  you  to  offer,  young 
gentlemen?'  there  wasn't  one  of  them 
had  a  word  to  say." 

The  unusual  performance  had  so  as- 
tonished them  that  all  criticism  was 
silenced.  Professor  Parks  then  spoke, 
"Young   gentlemen,"   he   said,    "it   is 

447 


448 


REV.  ELIJAH  KELLOGG— AUTHOR  AND  PREACHER 


customary,  as  you  know,  to  dismiss 
the  audience  before  remarks  are  made 
by  the  president.  I  shall  violate  that 
rule  to-day.  This  is  a  rhetorical  exer- 
cise. We  don't  want  old  sermons  re- 
hashed ;  we  don't  want  anything  stale 
and  yellow  with  age ;  we  want  rhetoric, 
and  gentlemen,  that  is  rhetoric." 

Among  those  present  who  heard 
Kellogg  speak  were  the  members  of  his 
Sunday  school  class  made  up  of  stu- 
dents in  Phillips  Academy.  One  of 
the  boys,  named  Masters,  afterward 
entered  Harvard  and  received  an  ap- 
pointment for  the  Boylston  prize  dec- 
lamations. Remembering  "Spartacus" 
he  went  from  Boston  to  Harpswell  to 
try  to  get  it.  He  easily  found  his 
former  Sunday  school  teacher  and  in- 
troducing himself  told  his  errand. 
"Well,"  said  Mr.  Kellogg,  in  reply,  "I 
haven't  the  piece  in  writing  and  can- 
not give  it  to  you  at  once,  but  if  you 
will  stop  with  me  over  night  I  will 
think  it  out  and  write  it  off  for  you." 

Of  course  Masters  staid,  and,  equal- 
ly of  course,  Mr.  Kellogg  did  as  he 
said.  Back  to  Harvard  went  Masters, 
and  on  the  day  of  the  contest  delivered 
the  declamation  destined  to  become  so 
famous,  and  obtained  the  Boylston 
prize. 


One  of  the  judges  to  award  the  prize 
was  Epes  Sargent,  a  publisher  of  pop- 
ular speakers  and  readers  of  that  time. 
Mr.  Sargent  was  so  delighted  with 
"Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators"  that  he 
secured  it  for  publication ;  and  thus 
was  given  to  the  world  one  of  the' mas- 
terpieces of  literature  with  the  name 
of  Elijah  Kellogg  as  its  author. 

To  the  funeral  of  this  man  who  held 
life  as  a  sacred  trust  from  God  and 
whose  conscientious  purpose  was  never 
in  the  least  guided  by  selfish  aims, 
came  those  who  loved  him  as  a  life- 
long friend,  as  the  author  of  the  stories 
all  have  read.  The  old  and  the  young, 
the  man  of  affairs,  the  professional 
man,  the  clergyman,  those  well  known, 
those  unknown,  the  rich,  the  poor — all 
were  there  in  the  historic  Second 
Parish  church,  of  which  the  dead 
man's  father  was  the  first  pastor,  to 
pay  the  last  tribute  of  respect  to  this 
aged  man  of  God. 

In  the  Western  cemetery  he  lies  at 
rest  by  the  side  of  his  wife,  who  died 
in  1 89 1.  It  is  but  fitting  that  the  town 
of  his  birth  should  be  the  sepulchre  of 
one  who  leaves  to  her  the  heritage  of 
a  pure  and  well  spent  life  together 
with  no  small  measure  of  what  the 
world  called  fame. 


A  Cinderella  of  the  Blackberry  Patch 


By  William  MacLeod  Raine 


THE  westering  sun  was  sinking 
below  the  horizon  at  the 
close  of  a  sultry  Arkansas 
day,  and  the  panting  of  the 
parched  earth  beneath  the  tury  of  the 
untempered  heat  was  abating.  Along 
the  roads  and  cleared  places  the  lan- 
guorous air  was  heavy  with  the  odor 
of  the  rank  dogfennel  which  bordered 
the  highways. 

Out  of  the  dense  brake  behind  the 
Lyndon  place  a  young  man  crept  pain- 
fully to  the  broken  rail  fence  which 
surrounded  the  neglected,  untilled  cot- 
ton field.  He  climbed  the  fence  wear- 
ily, as  one  who  has  almost  reached  the 
limit  of  endurance,  and  limped  slowly 
across  the  long  rows  of  dead  cotton 
stalks  to  the  wild  blackberry  patch  be- 
yond. His  uniform  of  blue  was  hope- 
lessly stained  and  torn  from  contact 
with  the  moist  earth  and  brambly 
bushes  of  the  slough  where  he  had 
spent  the  past  few  days  in  hiding. 
Long  ago  the  chills  and  fevers  of  the 
swamp  had  got  into  his  blood  and  left 
him  the  sallow  complexion  which 
comes  to  the  dweller  in  the  river  bot- 
toms. Unwashed,  unshaven,  and  un- 
kempt, he  appeared  a  wretched  rag  of 
humanity,  an  ill-looking  specimen  of 
the  living  flotsam  which  the  tide  of 
war  was  leaving  stranded  all  over  the 
South. 

To  the  girl  picking  blackberries  in 
the  tangled  fence  corner  the  crackling 
of  dry  cotton  stalks  gave  warning 
of  his  approach.    Her  startled  eyes  fell 


on  the  hated  uniform  of  blue,  took  in  at 
one  swift  glance  the  squalid  despera- 
tion of  the  man,  and  turned  instinctive- 
ly to  seek  a  way  of  escape.  Of  that, 
however,  there  was  no  chance,  for  the 
rank  growth  of  bushes  rose  thick  be- 
tween her  and  the  fence,  and  the 
Northern  soldier  barred  the  road  in 
front.  Though  her  heart  beat  like  a 
trip-hammer,  she  tried  resolutely  to 
drive  the  fear  out  of  her  eyes ;  and 
even  while  she  awaited  inevitable  dis- 
covery noted  with  relief  the  dragging 
limp  and  the  faded  chevrons,  which 
told  her  he  was  a  wounded  officer. 

Abruptly  he  came  to  a  halt  at  sight  of 
her,  standing  there  with  dilated  eyes, 
a  picture  of  suspended  animation.  For 
an  instant  he  stood  looking  at  her  with 
parted  lips,  then  his  hand  travelled 
quickly  to  his  forage  cap  in  a  salute. 
The  curly  brown  hair  tumbled  over  his 
forehead  as  he  lifted  his  cap,  and  she 
saw  with  instant  reassurance  thai  he 
was  little  more  than  a  boy. 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  a  long 
silence,  from  which  he  was  the  first  to 
recover. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  began 
frankly.  "I'm  afraid  I  was  about  to 
poach  on  your  private  preserves.  It 
would  not  be  the  first  time,  and  I  did 
not  know  you  were  here,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

She  was  a  thorough  young  South- 
ron, and  she  hated  "Yankees"  with  an 
exceeding  bitter  hatred  ;  but  something 
in  this  ragged  youth's  evil  plight  and  in 

449 


450 


A  CINDERELLA  OF  THE  BLACKBERRY   PATCH 


a  faint  resemblance  which  she  thought 
he  had  to  her  own  brother,  lying  cap- 
tive in  a  military  prison  somewhere  in 
the  North,  stirred  in  her  the  maternal 
pity  which  is  dormant  in  every  woman. 

"If  it  is  the  berries  you  mean,  there 
are  enough  for  us  both.  Anyhow,  I 
am  through,"  she  told  him. 

"Thanks.  You  are  quite  sure  I  am 
not  driving  you  away,"  he  said  polite- 

ly. 

"Oh,  yes,  my  bucket  is  full,  you  see." 

But  though  she  repeated  that  she 
must  be  going,  she  did  not  leave  at 
once,  but  moved  away  some  yards,  os- 
tensibly still  picking  berries,  but 
really  watching  him  curiously  out  of 
her  sloe-black  eyes.  She  had  never 
before  seen  a  union  soldier  off  duty, 
and  the  study  of  him  fascinated  her. 
Somehow  she  did  not  feel  the  repul- 
sion she  had  expected. 

Though  he  was  not  apparently  look- 
ing at  her  as  he  devoured  the  wild 
fruit,  he  seemed  to  see  every  detail  of 
her  person :  the  dark  hair  and  the  flash- 
ing eyes,  the  straight  nose,  the  fruit- 
stained  lips,  the  cotton  dress  neatly 
patched  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
the  little  shoes  in  woeful  disrepair.  He 
knew  at  once  that  this  charming  little 
Cinderella  of  the  fields  was  the  daught- 
er of  a  gentleman,  and  that  her  thread- 
bare dress  was  typical  of  the  ruined 
South  which  still  fought  on  despair- 
ingly to  make  a  lost  cause  good.  Pres- 
ently he  ventured  to  call  out  to  her. 

"You  will  not  give  me  up  to  them?" 
he  asked. 

"No,  I  wont,"  she  answered  indig- 
nantly. "But  I  don't  see  why  I  should 
not.  There  is  every  reason  why  I 
should."  The  facts  spoke  for  them- 
selves, but  the  girl  emphasized  them 
with  a  defiant  assertion  which  was  also 


a  question.  "You  are  a  Yank,"  she 
said,  with  the  slow  sweet  drawl  of  the 
Southland. 

Despite  his  forlorn  condition  a 
whimsical  smile  twitched  the  corners  of 
his  mouth. 

"The  evidence  is  writ  too  plain  to 
deny,"  he  admitted. 

"I  shouldn't  blame  you  for  denying 
it  if  you  could,"  she  flung  back  at  him. 

He  smiled  again,  this  time  without 
any  attempt  at  repression.  She  was  so 
childish  in  her  girlish  defiance,  so 
slight,  and  withal  so  full  of  indignant 
fire,  that  he  forgave  the  anger  in  ap- 
preciation of  the  effect  as  a  whole.  She 
caught  the  amused  smile,  and  turning 
on  her  heel  went  off  indignantly  with 
her  head  in  the  air. 

The  young  soldier  watched  the  slim 
figure  take  its  way  along  the  dusty 
road  to  the  big  house  in  the  grove  with 
a  regret  that  was  almost  sadness.  She 
was  the  first  girl  he  had  spoken  to  in — 
he  hardly  dared  to  think  how  long — 
and  the  memory  of  buggy  rides  in  the 
long  afternoons,  far  away  in  the  dis- 
tant North,  came  back  to  mock  him  in 
this  alien  land  where  he  was  a  hated 
intruder.  He  was  a  victim  of  malaria, 
weary  for  want  of  sleep  and  good  food, 
and  racked  with  a  wound  that  would 
not  heal  so  long  as  he  kept  on  his  feet ; 
and  because  he  was  only  a  boy,  after 
all,  in  spite  of  the  epaulets, he  hungered 
for  the  touch  of  his  mother's  encirc- 
ling arms  and  wanted  to  sob  aloud  with 
sheer  homesickness.  But  he  remem- 
bered that  he  was  an  officer  of  the 
United  States  army,  and  he  forebore. 
Yet  he  sighed  deeply  as  he  trudged 
back  on  his  aching  ankle  to  the  lonely 
hut  down  in  the  slough  where  he  had 
been  staying  for  the  past  few  days. 

Three    hours    later    young    Culver 


A  CINDERELLA  OF  THE  BLACKBERRY  PATCH 


45' 


appointed  himself  a  committee  of  one 
to  forage  provisions  from  the  enemy. 
The  full  moon  lighted  the  way  more 
brightly  than  was  necessary  as  he  cut 
across  the  cotton  field,  with  its  occas- 
ional girdled  leafless  trees  soughing 
uncannily  in  the  wind,  to  the  walnut 
grove  in  which  the  house  was  placed. 

Before  the  war,  he  could  not  have 
gfot  within  fiftv  yards  of  the  house 
without  his  presence  being  detected  by 
some  of  the  half-score  dogs  that  be- 
long to  a  Southern  home,  but  as  the 
war  continued  the  dearth  of  provisions 
had  brought  famine  to  the  hounds, 
which  had  much  diminished  their 
numbers.  Culver  made  his  way  di- 
rectly to  the  smoke  house,  into  which 
he  forced  his  entrance  through  a  back 
window.  He  selected  a  ham  from  the 
scant  supply,  and  slipping  through  the 
window  again,  dropped  to  the  ground. 
As  he  turned  to  pick  up  his  booty, 
someone  hurled  himself  upon  him  and 
bore  him  down. 

"Yeou  ornery,  shif'less  nigger,  I'm 
a-goin'  tuh  hide  yer  till  yer  plum  cayn't 
stand,"  a  voice  drawled  above  him. 
"I'm  fixin'  tuh  give  you  all  the  bud 
good  and  plenty,  fo'  suah.  I  be'n 
a-honin'  tuh  do  hit  fer  a  right  smart 
time.  Consequence  is — Well,  I'm 
derned!"  The  man  had  dragged  his 
prisoner  to  his  feet,  and  as  the  moon- 
light fell  upon  the  shining  buttons  of 
the  blue  uniform  his  lank  jaw  dropped 
in  grotesque  surprise.  "By  gum,  ef 
hit  aint  a  Yank.  No,  sirree,  yeou 
don't.  Keep  still,  will  yeou,  dad  burn 
your  hide  ?  You  all  air  a-coming  right 
along  uv  me." 

Culver  confronted  a  gaunt,  immo- 
bile-faced renter  in  homespun,  one 
whose  muscles  were  of  iron,  whose 
grip  of  steel  held  the  weak  and  wound- 


ed young  man  as  in  a  vise.  (  His  cap- 
tor was  Joe  Snellings,  orderly  to  Cap- 
tain Lyndon,  home  on  a  furlough  on 
account  of  disabilities  received  at 
Chickamauga.)  The  prisoner  was 
marched  ignominiously  around  to  the 
front  of  the  house,  and  now  that  he 
was  captured  he  realized  that  he  did 
not  care.  Anything  was  better  than 
the  misery  of  the  past  week. 

Captain  Lyndon  and  his  daughter 
Apthia  sat  on  the  porch  to  catch  the 
breath  of  evening  wind  that  cooled  the 
air.  The  time  was  not  far  distant  when 
the  Captain  had  been  the  most  jovial 
of  men;  his  hearty  jest  and  infectious 
laugh  had  been  the  life  of  the  country 
side ;  the  war  years  had  brought  him 
nothing  but  sorrow,  and  were  turning 
him  into  an  old  man  before  his  time. 
Just  as  the  war  began  his  wife  died, 
and  in  the  fierce  fighting  his  sons  Jeff 
and  Homer  had  fallen  at  Shiloh  and 
Seven  Oaks.  His  only  remaining  son, 
a  brave  bright-faced  lad  named  Will, 
had  been  captured  a  month  before  in 
the  same  battle  at  which  his  father  had 
been  wounded.  Since  then  Captain 
Lyndon,  still  debarred  from  active  ser- 
vice by  reason  of  his  wound,  had  been 
much  given  to  sitting  on  the  porch  in 
sombre  silence,  with  his  head  sunk  on 
his  breast.  He  needed  action  to  take 
him  out  of  the  past,  which  oppressed 
him.  It  hurt  Apthia  to  look  into  his 
eyes  so  full  of  sad  memories,  and, 
though  she  dreaded  it,  yet  she  longed 
for  the  time  when  he  would  be  able 
once  more  to  join  in  the  stress  of  bat- 
tle. 

"Found  the  derned  Yank  stealing  a 
ham  from  the  smoke-house,"  explained 
Snellings     triumphantly.  '"Lowed 

when  he  seed  me  he'd  light  a  shuck, 
'lowed  it  were  time  ter  be  a  puttin' 


4^2 


A  CINDERELLA  OF  THE  BLACKBERRY   PATCH 


out,  fer  true;  but  hit  mightily  struck 
me  that  since  I  had  met  up  with  him 
he  mout  as  well  stay — fer  a  spell. 
Leastways,  ef  the  Yanks  can  spare 
him,  though  I  hate  turrible  tur  in- 
convenience him." 

The  man  who  rose  with  his  arm  in  a 
sling  to  meet  Culver  was  dressed  in  a 
nondescript  suit  of  jeans,  a  pair  of 
worse  than  ragged  shoes,  and  a  felt 
slouch  hat  that  would  never  again  cel- 
ebrate its  fourth  birthday.  But  he 
looked  every  inch  the  gentleman  in 
spite  of  his  ridiculous  clothing.  It  was 
not  only  that  he  was  handsome,  though 
he  was  that  in  the  large,  generous 
Southern  way,  nor  that  his  face  was 
frank  and  his  blue  eyes  singularly  win- 
ning, but  also  that  he  had  the  subtle 
distinction  of  manner  which  is  not  to 
be  defined.  He  bowed  to  the  young 
officer  in  the  old-school  way,  the  trick 
of  which  had  been  lost  to  the  present 
generation. 

The  young  man  explained  that  he 
had  been  left  on  the  field,  wounded  in 
a  skirmish  some  days  before,  and  that 
he  had  escaped  observation  by  crawling 
into  the  bushes.  Since  then  he  had 
been  hiding  by  day  and  travelling  by 
night  in  an  effort  to  make  his  way 
across  country  to  the  Federal  lines  at 
Helena,  but  that  for  the  past  few  days 
he  had  found  himself  quite  unable  to 
travel  and  had  availed  himself  of  a  sol- 
dier's privilege  to  forage  from  the 
country  of  the  enemy.  He  stood  very 
erect  as  he  spoke,  his  chin  tilted  high 
in  boyish  defiance.  Apthia.  looking 
at  the  deadly  pallor  of  his  face,  em- 
phasized by  the  black  hollows  under 
the  deep-sunk  eyes,  felt  again  the  surge 
of  pity  sweep  over  her. 

The  face  of  Captain  Lyndon  wore  a 
puzzled  frown.       In  his  present  state 


of  mind  he  frankly  disliked  "Yankees," 
chough  he  was  too  much  a  man  of  the 
world  to  be,  like  his  daughter,  unreas- 
onably intolerant  of  them.  At  any 
rate,  he  did  not  care  to  assist  any  of 
the  enemies  of  Dixie  to  escape,  nor,  on 
the  other  hand,  did  he  propose  to  give 
up  this  boy  to  the  authorities.  It  was 
an  awkward  predicament  any  way  he 
looked  at  it,  for  he  could  not  disguise 
from  himself  that  to  let  the  wounded 
and  fever-stricken  lad  go  back  into  the 
miasma-laden  Cache  bottom  was  to 
consign  him  to  death.  The  Confed- 
erate officer  thought  of  his  own  boy  in 
the  distant,  unfriendly  North,  possibly 
as  much  in  need  of  a  friend  as  this 
blue-coated  youth,  and  vowed  impul- 
sively to  help  his  prisoner  safely  to  his 
destination. 

"By  God,  I'll  see  him  through  for 
Will's  sake,"  he  told  himself  in  swift 
decision.  Then  aloud,  "Apthia, 
you  better  take  Lieutenant  Cul- 
ver in  for  some  supper  and  then  tell 
Mammy  to  make  Will's  room  ready  for 
him  to-night.  Perhaps  to-morrow  you 
may  be  able  to  ride  to  Helena,  Lieu- 
tenant." 

"What's  that?  What's  that  you 
say?"  asked  Culver  wildly.  "I  don't 
seem  to  hear  you  right.  You  can't 
mean  that — that " 

"I've  got  a  boy  of  my  own,"  the 
Captain  explained  gravely. 

"But — but — "  Robert  Culver 
swayed  unsteadily  to  and  fro,  then 
pitched  forward  in  a  faint. 

"Well,  I'm  denied,"  ejaculated  Snel- 
lings,  not  unkindly,  and,  stooping,  he 
took  the  young  officer  in  his  arms. 
"Where  yeou  want  me  to  tote  him, 
Captain  ?" 

"Better  take  him  up  to  Will's  room, 
Snellings,   and  undress  him.       What 


A  CINDERELLA  OF  THE  BLACKBERRY  PATCH 


453 


that  young  man  needs  is  good  food  and 
nursing.  He's  starved ;  that's  what's 
the  matter  with  him." 

In  the  week  that  followed,  the  last 
stray  chicken  on  the  plantation  went 
into  the  pot  to  make  broth  for  the  de- 
lirious stranger  within  the  Lyndon 
gates.  Nothing  was  too  good  for  him, 
and  no  trouble  too  much  to  take.  Had 
he  been  Will  Lyndon  himself,  better 
care  could  not  have  been  given  him. 
Snellings  looted  the  neighborhood  for 
luxuries,  and  Mammy  spent  hours  con- 
cocting delicacies  for  "the  "Linkum 
man."  That  he  might  have  the  nour- 
ishment he  needed,  the  rest  of  the 
household  fared  ill. 

For  a  time  he  lay  in  the  balance  be- 
tween life  and  death,  but  unremitting 
nursing  won  him  slowly  back  to  health. 
Captain  Lyndon  found  balm  to  his 
wounded  soul  in  caring  for  this  young 
enemy,  for  in  some  unexplainable  way 
it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  doing  it 
for  his  son  and  making  his  lot  lighter. 
Apthia  too  nursed  him  with  an  unre- 
mitting devotion.  At  first  she  had 
found  it  hard  to  reconcile  her  great  lik- 
ing for  him  with  her  loyalty  to  the 
South,  but  presently,  woman-like,  she 
gave  up  the  attempt.  Her  heart  went 
out  to  him,  and  logic  was  a  matter  of 
no  importance. 

Culver  would  wake  from  troubled 
sleep  to  find  the  bearded,  grave-eyed 
Captain  fanning  him  or  to  see  Apthia 
flitting  about  the  room  like  bright  sun- 
shine. His  eyes  followed  her  with  deep 
satisfaction.  He  was  like  a  child  that 
is  very  tired,  content  to  rest  peacefully, 
in  the  surety  that  he  will  be  taken  care 
of  without  effort  on  his  part.  The 
lithe  grace  of  the  girl,  the  harmonious 
colors  of  the  darkened  room,  the  fine 
white  spotless    linen,    all     soothed  his 


jarred  nerves  with  the  sense  of  home 
after  long  wandering  in  camp  and  field. 
Both  he  and  his  hosts  came  to  under- 
stand more  clearly  through  sympathy 
for  each  other,  developed  in  long  talks, 
the  abyss  of  misunderstanding  which 
had  brought  the  country  into  the  hor- 
rors of  a  civil  war. 

One  day  Apthia  Lyndon  was  arrang- 
ing roses  in  a  vase,  the  while  the  young 
officer  watched  her  intently  out  of  half- 
closed  eyes.  He  noted  how  every- 
thing she  did  was  done  with  a  grace 
that  charmed  him. 

"Why  do  you  take  so  much  trouble 
over  me?  I'm  only  a  'Yank',"  he 
asked  at  last. 

She  started,  having  supposed  him 
asleep. 

"So  long  as  you  are  ill  it  does  not 
matter  what  you  are,"  she  answered. 

"But  when  I  am  well  again ?" 

The  girl  made  no  answer.  Her  deft 
fingers  were  busy  with  the  roses. 

"You  will  hate  me  then,  I  suppose?" 

The  color  began  to  surge  into  her 
face.       "No,  I  shall — not  hate  you." 

"Indifferent?" 

"Always  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  of 
you."  The  color  of  the  flowers  was 
not  more  beautiful  than  the  tint  in  her 
cheeks  now. 

He  knew  himself  cruel  when  he 
pressed  her  further. 

"As  you  are  always  glad  to  hear  of 

Snellings'  welfare Is  that  the  way 

you  will  care?" 

She  flashed  one  look  of  appeal  at 
him  and  fled.  It  begged  of  him  to  let 
their  relations  rest  unfixed,  at  least  un- 
til the  war  was  over.  He  understood 
that  she  could  never  promise  herself  in 
words  to  a  man  fighting  against  the 
cause  she  loved,  and  he  respected  her 
feeling. 


454 


SIMILITUDE 


When  Robert  Culver  rode  away  to 
Helena  on  the  war  horse  of  the  Con- 
federate Captain  he  carried  with  him 
many  pleasant  memories  of  the  planta- 
tion, but  none  so  persistent  and  so  en- 
during as  those  which  had  to  do  with 
the  slim,  black-eyed  little  rebel  whose 
womanly  heart  had  surrendered  at  dis- 
cretion to  the  "Yank"  officer. 

Since  he  was  a  practical  lover,  Cul- 
ver busied  himself  in  finding-  the 
whereabouts  of  Will  Lyndon,  that  he 
might  begin  to  wipe  out  the  debt  that 
had  accumulated  against  him.  It 
chanced  that  Culver  had  a  cousin  who 
was  a  Congressman,  and  by  means  of 
legislative   and   military   influence,   he 


succeeded  in  securing  an  exchange  for 
the  young  man. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  when 
Will  went  South,  to  make  glad  the 
hearts  of  his  anxious  kindred,  he  car- 
ried with  him  a  letter  to  his  sister  from 
Robert  Culver.  Beyond  doubt  com- 
mon gratitude  demanded  an  answer, 
but  something  more  than  perfunctory 
duty  must  have  stimulated  the  corre- 
spondence which  followed,  for  it  is  a 
matter  of  record  that  long  after  the 
war  had  ended  Lieutenant  Culver,  now 
a  civilian,  followed  one  of  his  letters 
into  the  Southwest,  and  took  to  wife 
his  Cinderella  of  the  blackberry 
patch. 


Similitude 

By  E.  Carl   Litsey 

DIDST  ever  stand,  my  love,  at  night,  when  winds  were  low 
Beside  a  silent  pool,  where,  mirrored  soft,  did  glow 
The   eyes   of   night? 
So  far  above  they  were ;  so  fair  and  pure  they  seemed ; 
But  lo !  beneath  thy  feet  their  magic  beauty  gleamed. 

It    seemed   you   might 
With  outstretched  hand  glean  one  by  one  each  gem, 
Celestial   lamps,   watched   o'er   by   seraphim ! 

And  so,  my  love,  whene'er  I  gaze  upon  thy  face, 
I  see  reflected  there  a  light  which  has  its  place 

About   God's   throne. 
And  as  a  star  is  set  within  the  heavens  there, 
To  turn  the  thoughts  of  men  to  God  and  prayer, 

Thou,   thou    alone, 
Art  set  on  earth  to  bless  my  weary  life, 
And  in  thy  love  my  soul  finds  rest  from  strife! 


The  Emperor  of  Korea 


Korea,  the  Pigmy  Empire 


By  W.  E.  Griffis 


WHAT  was  the  part  played 
by  Korea  in  the  old  Chi- 
nese world  of  sun  and 
satellites?  Then  there 
were  hermit  nations.  The  ocean  sepa- 
rated mankind.  China,  the  Middle 
Kingdom,  claiming  the  sovereignty  of 
the  earth  and  immediate  legation  from 
Heaven,  was  surrounded  by  pupil  na- 
tions, and  the  outlying  islands  were  the 
tassels  pendant  to  her  robe's  fringe. 
The  inhabitants  of  distant  countries 
were  barbarians. 

What  is  Korea's  role  in  these  days 
of  the  New  Pacific  and  the  changed 


world?  Now  the  ocean  unites  nations 
and  fleets  make  ferries  with  no 
dependence  on  wind  or  tide.  The  once 
pupil  nations  are  independent.  China, 
herself  no  longer  free,  is  on  inquest, 
and  if  paralyzed  by  too  much  "indem- 
nity" is  likely  to  be  partitioned.  Japan 
is  the  recognized  equal  with  the  nations 
of  Christendom.  The  pivot  of  history 
is  no  longer  in  the  Mediterranean  or 
the  Atlantic.  The  United  States,  Rus- 
sia, Great  Britain,  France,  Germany, 
Italy  and  the  Netherlands  have  pos- 
sessions in  that  once  lonely  ocean, 
now  the  highway  of  all  peoples. 


456 


KOREA,  THE  PIGMY  EMPIRE 


Geographers  reckon  that  in  round 
numbers  there  are  about  eighty  thous- 
and square  miles  in  Korea.  Looking 
from  the  west  her  shape  is  that  of  a 
headless  bjutterfly.  She  hovers  be- 
tween what  seems  to  be  the  great  Jap- 
anese silk  worm,  spinning  out  of  its 
head  and  mouth  at  Kiushiu  a  long 
thread  of  islands  ending  in  Formosa 
and  bordering  on  the  possessions  of  the 
United  States,  and  China,  the  rampant 
monster  ready  to  devour,  with  its  maw 
in  Liao  Tung  and  its  paw  at  Shantung. 
All  along  the  northern  wing-edge  lies 
the  Imperial  province  of  Shing-king, 
while  at  the  northeastern  tip  is  Russia. 
The  most  striking  landmark  on  this 
northern  frontier  is  the  Ever- White 
mountain,  which  holds,  sparkling  on 
its  breast,  the  lake  called  the  Dragon's 
Pool.  Over  the  brim  of  this  crater 
fall  the  streamlets  which,  reinforced  all 
along  the  mountain  slopes,  form  rivers 
flowing  east  and  west  to  the  sea,  mak- 
ing Korea  a  true  island,  with  water 
boundaries  on  all  sides.  The  Ever- 
White  peaked  mountain,  named  less 
from  its  "eternal"  snows  than  from  its 
white  rock  and  earth,  is  the  central  seat 
of  Manchiu  legend  on  its  northern 
side,  and  of  Korean  fairy  lore  on  the 
south. 

Orographically,  Korea  consists  of  a 
great  mountain  spine  which  gives  the 
eastern  side  of  the  country  an  abrupt 
slope  to  the  sea,  with  for  a  hundred 
miles  a  great  cliff  wall,  where  there 
are  no  harbors.  Speaking  roughly,  all 
the  rest  of  the  country,  particularly  its 
western  side,  is  one  prolonged  slope. 
Rivers  which  have  their  cradles  in  the 
mountain  tops,  run  to  the  sea,  forming 
rich  alluvial  plains,  making  also  a  sea 
coast  having  many  islands  and  fine 
harbors,  but  most  dangerous  to  navi- 


gation because  of  its  sudden  and  high 
tides,  which,  receding  leave  enormous 
areas  of  mud  exposed  which  are  ma- 
larious and  dangerous. 

Facing  Japan  and  a  shallow  sea,  the 
rocky  and  abrupt  coast,  though  sinu- 
ous, shows  no  gateway  or  efficient  har- 
bor from  the  Russian  line  down  to 
Gensan  on  Broughton's  Bay.  There, 
on  the  flat  land  and  adjacent  hills  has 
risen  a  smart  settlement.  It  is  located 
on  the  great  high  road  which  skirts 
the  sea  from  the  far  north  to  the  capi- 
tal, throwing  off  also  a  branch  road- 
way which  further  follows  the  coast 
down  through  the  thinly  inhabited 
region  to  Fusan.  At  this  latter  sea- 
port, which  was  for  three  hundred 
years  a  Japanese  trading  station  and  is 
still  substantially  a  part  of  Japan,  we 
find  again  a  main  road  coming  from 
the  capital,  while  the  surveys  for  a 
railway  from  Seoul  to  Fusan  have  al- 
ready  been   made   by  Japanese   engi- 


A  Street  Scene  in  Korea 


neers,  even  as  it  promises  to  be  built 
and  equipped  by  Japanese  capital. 

We  find  what  is  exceptional  on  the 
east  coast, — a  great  alluvial  plain 
drained  by  "the  river,"  and  forming 
for  the  most  part  the  province  Kyong- 
Sang,  warm,  rich  and  fertile,  where  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  the  famous  kingdom 
of  Shinra,  to  which  came  the  Arabs  to 
trade  and  settle,  had  its  domain,  and  in 
1 122  Chinese  fleets  from  Ningpo 
steered  by  the  mariner's  compass.  Of 
both  of  these  facts  there  is  clear  record. 
Ginseng,  deerhorn,  aloes,  camphor, 
saddles,  porcelain  and  satin  were  sent 
from  the  Korean  to  Arabian  land. 
A  greased  magnetic  needle  thrust 
through  a  ball  of  pitch  or  cork,  and 
laid  to  float  in  a  bowl  of  water  formed 
the  "south  pointing  chariot,"  brought 
to  Shinra. 


The  southern  tip  of  Korea  has  a 
frontage  of  hundreds  of  isles  and  out 
in  the  sea  is  the  largest  of  Korean 
islands,  rich  in  bulls,  beef  and  ruffianly 
people,  with  vast  store  of  mythology 
and  folk-lore — the  potter's  field  of  Ko- 
rean romance  and  chronology.  On  the 
western  coast,  between  mountain  and 
sea,  lie  the  three  provinces,  Kyong,  Ki- 
ung  and  Cholla,  so  often  overrun  by 
Japanese  and  Chinese  armies,  and 
again  and  again  devoured  by  them. 
Just  north  of  the  capital  there  is  the 
province,  Whang  Hai,  rich  in  history, 
in  Buddhist  and  mediaeval  remains  and 
monuments,  and  in  fisheries  which  pro- 
vide both  food  and  pearls.  The  north- 
western province,  Phyong  An,  borders 
on  China  and  for  centuries  contained 
at  Wi-ju,  near  the  Green  Duck  river's 
mouth,  the  western  and  only  gateway 


438 


KOREA,  THE  PIGMY   EMPIRE 


into  the  kingdom.  It  confronted  also 
that  ''neutral  strip,"  which  once  nomi- 
nally dividing  queues  from  topknots, 
became  during  our  century  the  home 
of  outlaws,  until  Li  Hung  Chang,  with 
more  generosity  to  China  than  justice 
to  Korea,  sent  a  fleet  of  gun  boats  up 
the  river  and  a  force  of  soldiers  into 
the  land,  thus  annexing  the  whole 
strip.  To-day  the  "walls  of  stakes," 
or  lines  of  palisades,  hundreds  of  miles 
long,  which  once  fenced  in  the  Im- 
perial domain,  with  its  sacred  city  of 
Mukden,  have  vanished  and  should 
have  no  place  upon  the  maps. 

All  over  Northern  Korea,  in  the 
mountain  region,  even  far  below  the 
38th  parallel,  the  tiger,  alert,  hungry 
and  daring,  is  the  chief  ruler  of  cer- 
tain districts.  The  old  Chinese  sar- 
casm that  "The  Koreans  hunt  the  tig- 
ers six  months  in  the  year  (in  sum- 
mer) and  the  tigers  hunt  the  Koreans 
the  other  six  months,"  (in  winter) 
had  a  large  basis  of  truth.  In  these 
days  when  its  superb  robe  is  in  such 
demand  abroad,  and  the  mountaineers 
are  beginning  to  use  Remington  re- 
peaters, the  tiger  is  less  the  king  of 
beasts,  human  and  otherwise,  than  for- 
merly. Besides  pelts,  these  northern 
provinces  produce  gold.  Already  an 
American  syndicate  has  men  and  ma- 
chinery at  work,  testing  (with  satisfac- 
tion and  abundant  revenue)  the  ques- 
tion whether  the  rocks  of  Korea  are 
yet  to  disturb  the  monetary  equilibri- 
um of  the  world.  The  main  source  of 
revenue  to  the  country  is  obtained 
from  ginseng,  rice  and  beans.  Hides, 
bones  and  oxen  are  exported  also.  The 
possibilities  of  making  "the  peninsula" 
produce  the  beef  supply  for  the  lands 
adjacent  are  excellent. 

As  yet  there  is  but  one  railway  from 


Chemulpo  to  Seoul ;  that  is  from  the 
main  seaport  to  the  capital,  with  an 
electric  tramway  in  Seoul.  The  Jap- 
anese line  from  Fusan  to  Seoul  and  the 
possible  iron  road,  to  be  built  thence  to 
the  Chinese  frontier  by  the  French,  to 
connect  with  the  great  Russian  conti- 
nental line,  will  make  Korea  more  ac- 
cessible to  Europe.  As  yet,  however, 
the  means  of  communication  by  hoof 
or  vehicle  are  of  the  crudest,  the  most 
general  and  efficient  being  the  human 
back.  Man  is  still  the  chief  beast  of 
burden.  The  apparatus  of  porterage  is 
a  wooden  frame  or  saddle  set  to  the 
back  and  strapped  over  the  shoulder. 
This  work  is  controlled  by  a  guild, 
with  despotic  rules  forming  a  mighty 
power  with  which  even  the  nobles  and 
the  government  have  to  reckon. 


A  Woman  in  Street  Attire 


Boat  Building 


Next  after  man,  the  bull  and  the 
horse  divide  the  honors  of  toil.  Strange 
to  say,  the  pony,  usually  small,  stunted 
and  suggesting,  especially  in  the  north, 
a  big  dog  rather  than  a  small  horse, 
has  a  bad  character,  while  the  bull 
glories  in  a  noble  reputation  and  is  the 
friend  of  the  family.  For  kicking,  bit- 
ing, squealing  and  making  himself 
a  general  nuisance,  the  Korean  pony 
may  be  warmly  commended.  He  is 
vicious,  untrustworthy  and  needs 
much  development  to  bring  him  up  to 
our  ideas  of  even  the  average  horse. 
He  lives,  when  decently  treated,  in  a 
stable  and  is  usually  fed  on  boiled 
beans,  or  roots  and  hay. 

The  bull,  from  the  moment  of  his 
birth,  is  the  pet  of  the  household,  and 
the  children's  companion  during  most 
of  his  lifetime.      He  does  not  love  for- 


eigners, but  he  is  very  sociably  inclined 
toward  Korean  human  beings.  With 
a  ring  in  his  nose  and  usually  made 
next  to  invisible  under  his  load  of 
bundles  of  brushwood  for  fuel,  he  can 
be  seen  in  considerable  numbers  in  the 
capital  and  is  welcomed  as  a  friend  all 
over  the  country.  Korea  cannot  ex- 
pect to  be  either  rich  or  civilized, 
while  her  roads  and  vehicles  are  what 
they  are  at  present.  Her  "palace  car," 
used  much  for  ladies,  is  still  the  palan- 
quin. Beside  the  rude  ox  cart,  heavy 
and  clumsy  to  the  last  degree,  there 
used  to  be  much  in  use  in  the  capital 
and  yet  survives  occasionally,  the 
monocycle  which  is  used  only  by  na- 
tives of  much  importance.  This  ve- 
hicle is  something  like  a  sedan  chair, 
perched  on  two  supports  above  a  single 
wheel.    Out  from  the  base  of  the  chair 


460 


KOREA,  THE  PIGMY  EMPIRE 


~  J?    ;  «j 

HI                                            jKI                                         ^ffljBBiii     '  -- 

•".-            .   •         •>;■■      .'"  ■:;.:.:.••.  ■-v*'fe»-.:-':    f  -  .)     ,^, 

A  Family  Group 

run  two  poles  to  the  front  and  rear, 
across  either  end  of  which  is  set  a 
cross-bar.  Three  men  propel  the  ve- 
hicle,— two  behind  the  front  cross-bar 
run  along  pulling,  while  one  in  the  rear, 
holding  the  two  bars,  merrily  guides 
and  pushes  the  machine  along.  This 
desire  for  height  above  common  folks 
is  also  to  be  observed  in  official  gentle- 
men, who  are  swathed  in  bright  robes 
of  silk  or  crepe,  and  wear  hats  that,  in 
a  gale  of  wind,  must  be  found  danger- 
ously large,  notwithstanding  that  they 
are  held  on  with  a  throat-lash  of  huge 
yellow  and  red  beads.  On  a  saddle, 
high  and  lifted  up  above  the  back  of 
his  tiny  stallion,  the  rider  strives  to 
maintain  on  his  perilous  seat  what 
passes  for  equilibrium  and  dignity. 
Alongside  of  him  are  usually  half  a 
dozen  servants,  who  are  ready  to  act 
as  shores  and  guys  when  the  mastei 
seems  about  to  capsize. 

The  Korean  dress  is  white,  even  the 
lowest  classes  wearing  what  was  once 
so,  and  always  professes  to  be.       Tt  is 


astonishing  how  snowy-hued  and 
glossy  the  gentlemen's  robes  are  and  in 
most  cases,  the  outer  garments,  at 
least,  of  the  people.  Cotton  is  the  great 
textile,  though  silk  and  hemp  are  also 
much  used.  There  is  no  land  on  earth, 
perhaps,  where  the  women  work  harder 
with  the  especial  purpose  in  view  of 
keeping  the  men  looking  dapper.  Al- 
though soap  is  not  used,  the  results  of 
laundry  and  lye  are  wonderful.  When 
the  Koreans  begin  to  emigrate  to  our 
country,  they  may  drive  the  Chinese 
out  of  business.  The  women  boil  the 
clothes  three  times,  clean  them  with 
lye,  wash  them  in  running  water  and 
then,  after  drying,  begin  that  tedious 
process  which  requires  them  to  toil 
during  the  long  hours  of  the  night. 
The  characteristic  sound  which  one 
hears  while  traveling  through  the  un- 
lighted  streets  of  a  Korean  town,  is 
the  beating  of  the  clothes  on  a  flat 
board  with  a  wooden  ruler.     A  gloss 


Dancing  Girls 


Main  Avenue  to  King's  Palace 


which  is  almost  like  silk  results  from 
this  long  castigation  and  lasts  for  some 
days. 

Hard,  indeed,  is  the  lot  of  a  Korean 
woman ;  generally  speaking,  she  is 
anonymous.  She  is  somebody's 
daughter,  or  sister,  or  wife,  or  mother 
— for  the  most  part  a  cipher  attached 
to  some  male  integer.  In  general,  the 
dress  of  women  in  Korea  resembles 
that  among  us  much .  more  than  does 
the  female  garb  of  China  and  Japan. 
The  palace  attendants  have  an  enor- 
mous and  elaborate  head  dress,  behind 
which  are  stuck  two  colossal  hairpins. 
The  other  women  with  some  variety  in 
coiffure,  gather  their  hair  in  a  knot 
held  by  pins  made  of  brass  or  other 
material,  or,  in  the  case  of  the  young 
girl,  it  is  worn  in  a  braid  down  the 
back. 

The  stranger  in  Korea  is  often  puz- 
zled in  deciding  upon  the  sex  of  the 


youthful  and  often  rosy-cheeked  crea- 
tures that  wear  a  braid,  but  show  no 
fullness  in  the  chest,  and  soon  learns 
that  in  the  land  of  top-knots  all  males 
until  they  are  married  are  looked  upon 
as  children  only,  without  anything  to 
say  in  company  and  with  few  rights 
which  adults  are  bound  to  respect.  Let 
the  minor,  old  or  young,  marry  and  the 
world  changes  its  attitude  towards 
him.  He  can  then  pile  up  his  hair  on 
his  scalp,  or  imprison  it  in  a  cage  of 
horsehair,  and  exult  in  all  the  privi- 
leges of  manhood,  which  seem  chiefly 
to  be  that  of  squatting  instead  of  sit- 
ting down  properly,  and  of  holding 
between  the  teeth,  occasionally  sup- 
ported by  the  hand,  three  or  four  feet 
of  tobacco  pipe.  The  Korean  is  an 
inveterate  smoker,  but  he  usually  puts 
between  "the  fool  and  the  fire"  a  yard 
stick  in  the  form  of  a  bamboo  cane. 
In  winter  the  summer's  thin  white 

461 


462 


KOREA,  THE  PIGMY  EMPIRE 


clothes  of  cotton  or  hemp  give  way  to 
padded  and  baggy  arrangements  of 
the  same  color,  so  that  whether  in  frost 
or  heat  Korea  at  night  looks  like  the 
land  of  ghosts,  and  by  day  suggests 
a  huge  sleeping  chamber  with  the  oc- 
cupants just  out  of  bed.  The  great 
horsehair  caps  and  big  varnished  hats, 
the  conical  wicker  head  dress  and  four- 
sided  matting  covers  which  the  mourn- 
ers wear,  using  also  a  little  flag  or  fan- 
shaped  device  to  shield  their  faces,  are 
additional  peculiar  features  of  the  Ko- 
rean costume. 

As  the  Korean  footgear  is  midway 
in  development  between  that  of  China 
and  Japan,  so  also  in  type  is  the  house 
in  this  Cyprus-like  land,  which  histori- 
cally is  the  link  between  the  Asian 
Egypt,  China,  and  the  far-Oriental 
Greece,  Japan.    In  general,  the  Korean 


Hulling  Rice 


dwelling,  whether  hut  or  palace,  is  a 
one  storied  affair.  It  rests  on  a  plat- 
form of  masonry  enclosing  earth, 
through  which  runs  a  network  of 
flues.  To  obtain  warmth,  the  fires  are 
built  at  one  end  and  the  chimney  at 
the  other,  so  that  all  caloric  is  utilized. 
When  the  heat  is  well  regulated,  the 
stone  or  brick  floor  makes  the  abode 
very  comfortable.  The  houses  of  the 
nobles  contain  usually  parlor,  dining 
and  bed  rooms,  with  tiger  skin  screens,, 
cabinets  and  bedding  and  toilet  ar- 
ticles. In  the  average  house,  however, 
and  especially  among  the  poor,  the 
cracks  in  the  floor  allow  the  smoke 
to  escape,  irritating  the  eyes  of  the 
occupants,  and  making  the  atmosphere 
exceedingly  uncomfortable  to  the 
traveller.  If  staying  at  an  inn,  he  will 
usually  be  disturbed  further  by  the 
near  noise  of  the  horses  and  quarrels 
of  the  hostlers. 

Yet  a  Korean  house  with  its  sub- 
stantial frame,  strong  tiled  roof  and 
windows  made  with  shutters  much  like 
ours,  lends  itself  more  admirably  than 
either  the  Chinese  or  Japanese  dwell- 
ing to  the  needs  and  uses  of  the  Ameri- 
can. One  curious  phase  of  life  in 
Korea  is  the  utilization  of  the  roofs  of 
the  houses  in  the  country  for  the  grow- 
ing of  vines,  melons  and  other  fruit 
ripening  in  the  sunshine  at  the  top. 
Another  phase  of  life  is  the  skill  of 
the  burglar,  who  becomes  a  sapper  and 
miner,  often  removing  without  noise 
the  foundation  stones  and  getting  up 
through  the  flue  into  the  house.  In- 
deed, in  the  Korean  romances,  as  well 
as  in  actual  life,  the  lover  obtains  his 
surreptitious  interviews  in  this  way, 
and  the  widow  or  the  unprotected 
woman  suffers  from  this  source  of 
danger. 


KOREA,  THE  PIGMY  EMPIRE 


463 


An  Ancient  Pagoda 

Despite  their  low  estate  in  general, 
the  native  women  have  played  a  great 
part  not  only  in  religion  but  in  politics. 
In  our  own  day  the  strongest  character 
in  Korean  history,  after  the  Regent 
"of  stone  heart  and  iron  bowels,"  was 
the  able  queen  Ming,  who  long  thwart- 
ed, not  only  the  plots .  of  the  king's 
father  against  herself  and  her  clan,  but 
also  nullified  both  the  machinations  at- 
tempted and  the  reforms  inaugurated 
by  the  Mikado's  envoys.  She  was  in 
every  sense  a  queen,  but  was  at  last 
brutally  assassinated,  her  body  being 
cremated  in  the  raid  made  upon  the 
palace  by  Japanese  ruffians  in  1896. 
It  has  cost  the  nation  millions  of  dol- 
lars to  get  her  remains  properly  buried 
and  built  over,  and  further  removal 
and  rebuilding  must  take  place  in  1902. 


The    native    historians    persistently 
claim   Kishi,   one   of  the  ancestors   of 
Confucius,  as  the  founder  of  their  civi- 
lization.      After  the  fall  of  the  Shang 
Dynasty    of    China,    1122    B.    C,    he 
moved  towards  the  East,  making  his 
capital  at  Ping  Yang,  where  the  de- 
cisive battle  of  September,   1894,  was 
fought.     It   is   certain  that   there   are 
many    alleged    relics    of    this    famous 
man,  who,  if  not  actually  the  founder 
of  Korea,  has  furnished  in  his  name 
a  convenient  centre  around  which  tra- 
ditions have  arranged  themselves.    He 
named    the    new     land     Cho-sen,    or 
Morning  Radiance,  a  term  which  mir- 
rors either  the  tranquility  and  promise, 
as  of  early  morn,  which  the  exile  sage 
sought  and  found ;  or,  as  is  more  prob- 
able, it  refers  to  that  benignant  favor 
of  the  Dragon  Countenance  so  desired 
by  vassals  and  servants  of  the  Chinese 
Emperor,  who  gives  audience  at  auro- 
ral hours  and  sometimes  as  early  as 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning.    Kishi  and 
his  descendants  ruled  until  the  end  of 
the  third   century,   B.    C,   when  they 
were  dethroned  by  a  Chinese  refugee. 
The   new   state   thus   formed   existed, 
with   occasional   lapses   of   revolt  and 
renewals  of  vassalage  and  tribute,  un- 
til 108  B.  C,  when  Cho-sen  was  an- 
nexed to  the   Chinese  Empire.     This 
ancient  Cho-sen  of  the  native  histories 
lay  mainly  in  what  is  now  Russianized 
China  or  Liao  Tung. 

Within  the  boundaries  of  the  Korea 
known  since  the  tenth  century,  we  have 
historic  phenomena  much  like  those 
on  the  island  of  Great  Britain.  About 
the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era 
three  kingdoms  began  to  form  them- 
selves, and  have  through  a  thousand 
years  worked  out  a  history  character- 
ized by  peaceful  development,  but  of- 


In  the  Old  Palace 


ten  interrupted  by  border  wars  and 
alternating  invasions  from  or  alliances 
with  China  and  Japan.  The  various 
tribes  became  slowly  consolidated  into 
one  people,  who  borrowed  the  civiliza- 
tion of  China  and  assimilated  it  so 
thoroughly  that  they  were  able  to  be- 
come the  teachers  of  the  Japanese.  It 
was  mainly  through  Korea  and  not 
from  China  directly,  that  Dai  Nippon 
received  from  India  and  China  her 
letters,  arts,  philosophy  and  religious 
ethics.  Mainly  in  the  north  and  east 
was  the  kingdom  of  Korai,  in  the  south 
and  east  Shinra,  and  in  the  central 
west  Hiaksi.  In  the  year  352,  Bud- 
dhism was  introduced  and  by  the 
tenth  century  was  widely  dissemi- 
nated. 

During  this   time   and   until   A.   D. 
1600,     frequent     colonies     of     skilled 
workmen,    artists,    teachers    and    mis- 
464 


sionaries,  both  men  and  women, 
crossed  to  Japan,  enriching  the  civili- 
zation of  the  Japanese.  Not  only  do 
the  mythology,  early  legends  and  tra- 
ditions of  the  Japanese  point  toward 
Korea,  but  many  a  pathetic  story  of 
love,  valor  and  sacrifice  is  told  of  the 
Korean  scholar,  soldier,  nun  and  monk 
in  Japan.  Classic  literature  is  rich  in 
allusion  to  the  Jewel  Land  over  the 
Western  Sea,  the  Treasure  House  of 
Untold  Blessing. 

In  the  Japanese  nursery,  Cho-sen  is 
the  realm  of  fairy  and  ogre,  the  theatre 
of  the  strenuous  valor  of  the  Mikado's 
soldiers,  the  land  of  the  tiger  and  the 
home  of  wonders  and  mysteries.  The 
enthusiastic  lads  who  landed  in  1894, 
with  Murata  rifles,  to  annihilate  the 
Chinese  army  at  Ping  Yang,  on  the  old 
camp-ground  of  their  own  generals, 
Kasiwade  and  Kato,  must  have  felt  as 


Celebration  of  the  King's  Birthday 


an  American  child  would  if  transport- 
ed to  Bluebeard's  country. 

To-day  Korea  looks  to  the  many 
travellers,  who  all  agree  in  their  re- 
port, like  a  despoiled  land,  scraped 
and  wasted  by  old  wars.  Its  art  is 
languishing.  It  has  the  general  look  of 
a  poverty-stricken  country.  Yet  all 
the  old  testimony,  as  abundant  as  it  is 
sound,  goes  to  show  that  Korea's  past 
is  to  be  measured  by  contrast,  her  an- 
cient grandeur  with  the  poverty  of  to- 
day. During  the  era  of  the  Three 
Kingdoms,  A.  D.,  9-966,  Korean 
Buddhism  was  in  its  missionary  ac- 
tivity. From  960  A.  D.  to  1392  was  its 
golden  age.  This  meant  more  wealth 
and  a  landscape  richer  in  human  in- 
terest than  that  seen  to-day.  The  evi- 
dences from  language  and  the  study  of 
place  names,  the  ruined  cities,  the  co- 
lossal Buddhist  sculptures,  now  found 


in  the  forests  and  remote  from  town 
and  highway,  the  journals  of  the  Jap- 
anese officers  during  their  great  in- 
vasion, 1 592- 1 597,  as  well  as  the  native 
chronicles,  testify  to  a  degree  of  civili- 
zation marked  by  wealth,  art,  archi- 
tecture and  literature,  which  the  tour- 
ist at  this  time  would  never  imagine 
to  have  existed.  Their  absence  dem- 
onstrates how  devastating  was  the 
Japanese  invasion.  The  "art-besotted" 
Japanese  generals  scooped  Korea 
clean  of  the  art  treasures  which  they 
did  not  destroy.  Along  with  hun- 
dreds of  artists  and  thousands  of 
slaves,  they  carried  home  fleet  loads 
of  treasure  and  relics  with  which  they 
decorated  their  houses  and  temples. 

Often  the  Buddhist  remains  are  in 
situ,  colossal  sculptures  on  mountain 
spurs  cut  out  of  the  native  rock.  Be- 
cause of  their  substance  of  white  gran- 

465 


466 


KOREA,  THE  PIGMY  EMPIRE 


Tortoise  and  Column  Carved  Out  of  Rock 

ite,  at  a  distance  they  have  been  mis- 
taken by  naval  travelers  for  light 
houses.  Sometimes  these  miryeks 
stand  in  pairs,  representing  the  male 
and  female  principles  that  rule  the  uni- 
verse. These  monoliths  are  chiseled 
according  to  the  degree  of  art  pos- 
sessed in  their  locality.  In  quality  of 
conception  and  workmanship,  the 
Buddhist  art  works  vary  from  the  ex- 
quisite marble  bas-reliefs  of  the  pago- 
da in  Seoul  to  colossal  stone  columns 
which,  now  bearded  with  the  lichens 
and  moss  of  centuries,  seem  little  bet- 
ter than  the  hideous  wooden  posts  set 
up  on  the  wayside  as  village  gods  or 
as  distance  markers. 

It  was  Wu-wang  who  in  960  A.  D. 
gave  political  unity  to  the  country  by 
blotting  out  the  rival  states,  and  pro- 
claiming anew  the  ancient  name  which 
had     prevailed     in     the     northeastern 


states,  Korai.  He  fixed  his  capital  at 
Sunto,  some  miles  north  of  Seoul, 
where  to-day  are  ruins  in  granite  and 
vast  ginseng  fields.  He  borrowed  from 
China  the  centralized  system  of  gov- 
ernment, with  boards  or  ministries, 
sending  out  provincial  governors  from 
the  capital.  Under  this  regime  the  old 
feudalism  was  greatly  modified, 
though  never  extinguished.  To  this 
day  the  internal  politics  of  the  Pygmy 
Empire  take  their  trend,  color  and 
movement  from  forces  surviving  from 
ancient,  almost  prehistoric  feudalism. 
Nominally  the  throne  is  above  all,  but 
the  various  clan-factions,  as  they  are 
up  or  down,  victorious  or  defeated,  di- 
rect Korean  policy.  During  this  time 
of  nearly  four  hundred  years  of  Bud- 
dhist supremacy,  albeit  of  luxury  and 
corruption,  Chinese  civilization,  especi- 
ally those  phases  of  it  most  prominent 
under  the  Sung  (A.  D.,  960-1126)  as 
before  under  the  Tang  dynasty  (A.  D., 
618-905)  was  studied  in  detail  and 
applied  by  the  Koreans.  This  eager- 
ness to  absorb  Chinese  culture,  con- 
tinued with  redoubled  vigor  under  the 
dynasty  now  in  power,  has  produced  a 
phase  of  Confucianism  which  is  dis- 
tinctly different  from  that  of  either 
China  or  Japan.  While  in  the  former 
it  has  produced  a  detailed  system  of 
ethics,  which  gives  material  for  phil- 
osophy and  serves  the  purpose  of  a 
religion,  and  has  created  the  Chinese 
literatus,  who  is  a  civilian  pure  and 
simple,  in  Japan  it  has  become  the  code 
of  conduct  in  the  round  of  daily  life, 
nourishing  the  Samurai,  who  is  a  sol- 
dier and  a  scholar,  and  mightily  rein- 
forcing the  fundamental  duty  of  loy- 
alty to  the  Emperor.  In  Korea,  Con- 
fucianism is,  in  its  main  force,  eti- 
quette, the  rule  of  social  life,  making 


KOREA,  THE  PIGMY  EMPIRE 


467 


but  slight  application  of  its  precepts  to 
business  or  trade. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  the  Mongol  dynasty  in  China 
was  overthrown  by  the  Mings.  In 
Korea  a  revolution  was  started  which 
overthrew  the  old  dynasty  that  had 
patronized  Buddhism,  now  corrupt 
and  degraded,  and  set  up  the  Li  fam- 
ily which,  beginning  in  1392,  has  held 
the  throne  over  five  hundred  years. 
Buddhism  was  disestablished  and  the 
priests,  forbidden  to  enter  walled 
cities,  were  allowed  only  to  live  in  their 
monasteries  among  the  mountains  and 
in  the  government  fortresses.  There, 
despite  their  professedly  peaceful  call- 
ing, they  still  form  the  chief  garri- 
sons and  a  sort  of  clerical  militia.  Nev- 
ertheless, Buddhism  is  the  popular  re- 
ligfion   in    Korea,    for   all    the    women 


and  most  of  the  men   seek   salvation 
by  this  path  to  the  Infinite. 

Confucianism,  the  cult  of  the  court, 
became  rampant,  and  all  things  Chi- 
nese were  cultivated  with  fresh  ardor. 
Sunto  was  dismantled  and  its  streets 
became  fields.  The  royal  residence, 
Han  Yang,  on  the  Seoul,  was  fixed 
on  the  Han  River.  The  eight  prov- 
inces were  organized  as  to  names, 
boundaries,  and  administrations,  as  we 
know  them  on  modern  maps.  For  the 
most  part  the  boundaries  are  those  fur- 
nished by  nature,  river,  sea  and  moun- 
tain. Speaking  roughly,  each  prov- 
ince is  a  river  basin  or  drainage  area, 
with  a  name  made  up  from  the  first 
syllable  of  the  chief  city's  name  with 
the  word  sea,  mountain,  river  or  some 
other  natural  feature  joined  to  the 
word  do  or  circuit. 


Library  in  the  Old  Palace 


468 


KOREA,  THE  PIGMY  EMPIRE 


L 


Korean  Soldiers 


From  1392  until  1866,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  great  Japanese  invasion 
of  1 592- 1 597,  the  story  of  the  people 
within  the  "passive  peninsula"  is  that 
of  a  hermit  or  sleeping  nation.  Then 
followed  failure  of  royal  heits,  adop- 
tion and  the  regime  of  the  Tai  Wen 
Kun  or  regent ;  the  outbreak  of  per- 
secution against  the  Christians;  the 
slaughter  of  the  French  priests;  the 
destructive  raids  of  the  General 
Sherman,  the  French  and  American 
chastising  expeditions ;  the  Japanese 
treaty  of  1876,  succeeded  by  the 
American  treaty  and  others ;  the  anti- 
foreign  reactions  and  riots ;  the  turbu- 
lent and  murderous  attempts  of  Ko- 
rean stalwarts  who  had  been  abroad  to 
introduce  "civilization"  within  twenty- 
four  hours ;  the  storming  of  the  Jap- 
anese legation,  the  fighting  between 
the  soldiers  of  China  and  Japan;  the 
Li-Ito  convention,  and  finally  the 
Chino- Japanese  war  of  1894. 


Then  Korea  was  independent — 
though  hating  her  deliverers.  The 
Chinese  gateway  near  Seoul,  at  which 
the  kings  of  Korea  had  for  centuries 
done  obeisance  to  China's  ambassador, 
was  torn  down  and  a  handsome  mod- 
ern structure  erected  named  Inde- 
pendence Arch.  Korea,  no  longer  a 
vassal,  but  a  free  state  between  two 
empires,  took  another  step  in  imitation 
of  the  greatness  and  claims  of  the  vari- 
ous "sons  of  Heaven"  and  "world- 
powers"  around  her. 

Not  to  be  outdone  by  the  people  or 
the  rulers  of  other  countries  in  mani- 
festation of  nationalism  or  imperial- 
ism, the  newly  formed  Independence 
Club  held  patriotic  meetings  at  the 
arch  and  discussed  the  abolition  of 
slavery,  moral  reforms  and  Korea's 
true  policy,  while  the  king  assumed 
the  title  of  emperor.  This  ceremony 
was  performed  on  October  12,  1898, 
before  the  great  altar  dedicated  to  the 
Spirits  of  the  Land,  with  all  the  spec- 
tacular show  and  accessories  of  solem- 
nity once  peculiar  to  Korea,  but  now 
vanishing  away. 

Russian  influence  was  powerful  in 
this  same  year.  During  a  twelvemonth, 
Colonel  Putiati  with  three  officers  and 
ten  drill  sergeants,  tried  to  remodel 
the  Korean  army.  This  body,  so  vast 
on  paper,  and  efficient  in  the  depletion 
of  the  treasury,  is  pitifully  small  in 
actual  numbers.  Jealous  Japan  looked 
on,  but  could  do  nothing  in  Seoul  or 
Peking  to  stop  Russia  from  putting 
her  nominee  in  charge  of  the  Seoul 
treasury  also.  When,  however,  the 
double-headed  eagle  shadowed  all 
northern  China  and  secured  an  ice- 
free  port  and  railway  terminal  at  Port 
Arthur,  Korea  fell  below  par  in  Rus- 
sian appraisement  and  the  Czar  with- 


KOREA,  THE  PIGMY   EMPIRE 


469 


A  Street  Vender 

drew  his  agents.  The  little  country 
suddenly  became  once  more  a  vacuum 
of  diplomacy ;  that  is,  in  all  probability 
the  dead  calm  at  the  centre  of  a  rising 
typhoon. 

The  pivot  of  history  is  now  in  the 
Pacific.  Down  at  the  bottom  of  the 
outer  ferment  is  the  control  of  the 
Chinese  market.  Who  shall  have  it? 
Russia  or  Japan  ?  Before  this  question 
can  be  answered,  must  come  the  set- 
tling of  the  possession,  or  at  least  the 
disposal,  of  Korea.  Each  nation,  like 
a  new  Archimedes  or  Atlas,  wishes  to 
lift  the  commercial  world  of  Asia  and 
walk  off  with  it.  Each  needs  Korea 
as  a  fulcrum  for  his  lever.  Japan  has 
swept  away  feudalism  and  knighthood, 
and  the  day  of  the  mill  hand,  the 
manufacturer  and  the  merchant  has 
come.  To  make  money  is  the  aim  of 
men  in  this  new  nation  of  shopkeepers 


that  will  fight  for  the  markets  of  Asia. 
But  Russia  wants  these  also  and  has 
the  land  base  of  supplies,  a  railway  and 
an  army.  In  1894  japan,  like  a  falcon, 
struck  the  fat  goose  China  to  the  earth, 
but  the  double-headed  eagle  drove  off 
the  victor  and  appropriated  the  prey. 
Now,  Japan  with  a  mighty  fleet  of 
transports,  cruisers,  battle  ships,  tor- 
pedo boats  and  the  ability  to  throw 
250,000  men  into  Korea  within  a 
month,  waits  and  hopes  for  peace. 
Meanwhile  Korea  cowers  in  weakness 
at  the  opening  of  a  new  century,  be- 
lieving that  her  weakness  is  her  only 
strength. 

The  question  naturally  arises,  why 
have  the  Japanese  and  not  the  Koreans 
been  able  to  modernize  themselves,  to 
be  a  "self-reformed  hermit  nation?" 
What  is  the  difference  between  the 
islanders  and  the  continentals?  One 
fact  is  patent.  In  Japan  there  is  the 
samurai — the  gentleman-soldier,  civil- 
ian and  war  man  in  one — a  character 
wholly  absent  in  China  or  in  Korea. 
The  samurai  or  shizoku  form  a  large 
body  of  educated  men,  who  for  a  thou- 
sand years  have  enjoyed  culture,  and 
have  had  the  same  body  of  traditions 
and  opinions.  These  men  and  their 
families  form  a  full  tenth  of  the  popu- 
lation, and  through  their  unifying  sen- 
timent of  loyalty  to  the  Emperor  have 
been  enabled  to  swing  the  whole 
country  out  of  the  rut  of  Asiatic 
conservatism  into  the  path  of  mod- 
ern progress. 

In  China,  between  the  Emperor  and 
the  people,  or  rather  between  the  Im- 
perial Clan  and  the  body  of  6,000,000  > 
Manchius  who  govern  nearly  400,000,- 
000  Chinese,  there  is  no  middle  term,, 
or  large  body  of  intelligent  patriots, 
but  only  a  few  mandarins,  who  are, 


470 


SISTERS 


for  the  most  part  steeped  in  a  hoary 
system  of  corruption. 

In  Korea  anything  like  patriotism  in 
our  sense  of  the  word  is  unknown.  The 
feudalism  of  many  warring  clans  pre- 
vents anything  like  unity.  Selfishness, 
greed  and  the  instincts  of  clanship  are 
as  yet  too  powerful  to  lift  the  nation 
out  of  the  morass  of  immorality  into 
patriotic  virtue.       Outside  of  the  newT 


Korea,  as  yet  scarcely  as  big  as  a  man's 
hand,  which  is  forming  under  the  in- 
fluence of  Christian  teachers,  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  see  where  there  is  any  force 
for  the  regeneration  of  this  once  her- 
mit nation,  forced  into  the  world's 
market  place  and  still  too  much  dazed 
to  know  exactly  what  is  going  on. 

Nevertheless  a  new  Korea  is  form- 
ing. 


Sisters 


By    Helen    M.  Richardson 

ONE  opened  her  eyes  in  the  meadow, 
Way  down  'mid  the  grasses,  tall ; 
She  heard  the  chirp  of  the  crickets, 

The  lilt  of  the  robin's  call ; 
And  trimming  her  new   spring  bonnet, 

She  worked   by  the   glow-worm's   light, 
And  danced  to  the  tinkling  music 

Of  a  brooklet,  clear  and  bright. 
A  delicate  hot-house  darling 

Looked   out   where   the   breezes   played 
At  hide-and-seek,  in  the  sunshine, 

With  this  little  meadow  maid ; 
She  longed  for  the  daisy's  freedom, 

And   she   thought   her   fair  and   sweet, 
But  she  did  not  know  they  were  sisters, 

For  they  called  her  Marguerite. 


Marie  Adelaide  of  Orleans 


By  Mary  Stuart  Smith 


EVERY  one  knows  the  loving 
gratitude  that  has  been  mani- 
fested by  all  patriotic  Amer- 
icans to  the  French  in  gen- 
eral and  Lafayette  with  his  comrades 
in  particular  who  shared  person- 
ally in  the  hardships  and  glory  of  our 
Revolutionary  War.  How  strange 
does  it  seem,  then,  that  in  this  connec- 
tion the  name  which  heads  this  sketch 
is  hardly  known  to  the  closest  students 
of  that  stormy  but  never-to-be  for- 
gotten period  of  our  history. 

Although  a  great-granddaughter  of 
Louis  XIV.,  wife  of  a  man  who,  for  a 
while  was  heir-apparent  to  the  throne 
of  France,  and  one  day  to  become  the 
mother  of  the  King  of  the  French, 
Marie  Adelaide,  Duchesse  de  Chartres, 
the  richest,  wittiest  and  most  beautiful 
woman  of  her  nation,  from  the  very 
beginning,  was  an  ardent  sympathizer 
with  the  American  colonies  in  their 
struggle  for  liberty  and  aided  them  in- 
calculably by  most  generous  contribu- 
tions of  money  and  munitions  of  war, 
beside  using  her  great  social  influence 
in  their  behalf.  Her  salon  was  ever 
open  to  the  representatives  of  the 
youthful  republic,  and  her  purse  re- 
sponsive to  every  appeal  for  its  many 
imperative  needs. 

Doubtless  one  reason  why  no 
acknowledgement  was  ever  made  by 
the  American  people  of  the  gratitude 
due  her  was  that  her  benefactions  were 
dispensed  in  the  most  unostentatious 
and  modest  manner. 


Inheriting  three  immense  estates  at 
the  early  age  of  eighteen,  she  had  been 
wedded  to  Joseph  Louis  Philippe, 
Due  de  Chartres,  and  the  warm,  ro- 
mantic attachment  existing  between 
this  young  couple,  in  the  early  days  of 
their  union,  was  very  different  from 
the  general  idea  entertained  concern- 
ing French  marriages.  This  duke  is 
the  only  Bourbon  who  seems  to  have 
been  born  with  a  love  of  liberty  for  the 
people  as  well  as  for  himself,  so  that 
when  in  1786  he  became,  in  the  natu- 
ral order  of  succession,  Duke  of  Or- 
leans, he  dropped  his  title  and  hence- 
forth desired  to  be  known  only  as  the 
Citizen  Philippe  Egalite. 

But  the  Parisian  populace  could  not 
forget  that  he  was  of  the  blood  royal, 
and  ever  mistrusted  his  sincerity,  so 
that  when  "the  Mountain"  obtained 
supremacy,  his  comradeship  with  re- 
publicans of  many  hues  was  speedily 
forgotten ;  he  was  arrested  as  a  royal- 
ist and  sent  to  prison,  whence  the  short 
step  to  the  guillotine  followed  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

His  fate  was  the  more  surprising  as 
his  lovely  wife,  during  all  those  hid- 
eous days  of  famine,  blood  and  strife, 
had  spent  nearly  all  of  her  time  and  a 
large  share  of  her  income  in  bestowing 
aid  wherever  needed,  irrespective  of 
class  or  condition,  so  that  even  the 
sans  culottes  looked  up  to  her,  as  an 
angel  of  mercy,  with  reverence  and 
love.  What  love,  though,  could  quench 
the  insatiable  thirst  for  blood  that  ran 


47 : 


MARIE  ADELAIDE  OF  ORLEANS 


riot  in  Paris  at  that  time?  But  this  is 
to  anticipate. 

The  lively  interest  in  American  af- 
fairs taken  by  this  high-born  couple 
had  its  source  in  the  warm  friendship 
that  subsisted  between  them  and  the 
naval  hero;  John  Paul  Jones,  which  be- 
gan in  the  heyday  of  their  youth  and 
prosperity.  The  Due  de  Chartres, 
young  as  he  was,  had  been  nominated 
High  Admiral  of  France,  and  prepar- 
atory to  filling  this  exalted  station,  had 
been  sent  out  upon  a  cruise  of  instruc- 
tion, as  it  was  called,  under  the  tuition 
of  his  predecessor  in  the  admiralty, 
and  in  the  course  of  this  cruise,  they 
crossed  the  Atlantic  in  a  splendid  new 
frigate  "La  Terpsichore/'  and  an- 
chored in  the  harbor  of  Norfolk,  Vir- 
ginia. 

John  Paul  Jones,  who  was  at  that 
time,  a  Virginian  landed  proprietor, 
no  sooner  heard  of  the  presence  of  this 
vessel  at  Hampton  Roads,  and  the 
quality  of  its  officers,  than  he  waited 
upon  them,  and  conveyed  to  them 
large  stores  of  the  dainties  and  delica- 
cies for  which  that  region  is  famed, 
and  which  must  have  been  so  grateful 
after  a  long  voyage. 

But  this  was  in  1775,  when  already 
men  of  discerning  minds  like  Paul 
Jones,  foresaw  clearly  that  war  with 
England  was  imminent.  Hence  his 
visit  to  the  French  frigate  was  not  a 
mere  idle  social  call,  but  a  visit  fraught 
with  momentous  consequences.  The 
hospitable,  intelligent  planter,  soon  ob- 
taining the  favor  of  the  ship's  com- 
manders, was  permitted  to  closely  in- 
spect the  vessel  and  its  armament,  tak- 
ing its  dimensions  so  exactly  that  he 
was  enabled  to  direct  the  construction 
of  a  man-of-war  modelled  precisely 
after  the  Terpsichore ;  as  soon  as  Con- 


gress   decided    upon    having    a    navy 
built. 

In  1778,  when,  in  response  to  earn- 
est pleading,  Paul  Jones  was  permitted 
to  carry  the  war  into  European  waters, 
after  his  victory  over  "The  Drake/' 
when  he  came,  with  his  prizes,  into  the 
French  harbor  of  Brest,  he  was  most 
hospitably  received  and  entertained  by 
the  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Chartres  in 
their  cottage-palace  by  the  sea,  and 
immediately  there  sprang  up  between 
the  lady  and  hero  that  remarkable 
friendship,  of  which  her  eldest  son, 
Louis  Philippe,  long  afterwards  re- 
marked, when  an  exile  and  guest  of 
the  Morris  family  in  New  Jersey: 

"In  all  my  checkered  life,  I  have  never 
known  so  beautiful  a  relation  between 
woman  and  man  as  that  of  my  mother  and 
Paul  Jones." 

But  these  royal  hosts  did  not  con- 
fine themselves  to  feasting  and  flatter- 
ing the  commander  of  the  victorious 
"Ranger."  The  officers  and  common 
sailors  shared  their  attentions,  and  the 
good  Duchess  supplied  them  with 
sorely  needed  changes  of  raiment  and 
whatever  other  comforts  they  lacked, 
at  her  own  expense,  knowing  full  well 
that  the  United  States  Commissioners 
were  utterly  unable  to  raise  the  funds 
necessary  to  provide  for  the  require- 
ments of  these  gallant  fellows. 

Again  and  again  during  the  war  she 
did  the  like,  and  when  Commodore 
Jones  would  demur  she  would  per- 
emptorily silence  him  by  exclaiming: 

"Commodore,  I  command  you !  This  is 
not  charity;  it  is  not  even  gratuity.  It 
is  my  offering  to  the  great  cause  of  which 
you  are  by  far  the  ablest  and  bravest  cham- 
pion on  the  sea." 

Marie  Adelaide  had  a  lively  imag- 
ination, and  was  in  the  habit  of  play- 


Paul  Jones 


fully  applying  descriptive  epithets  to 
persons  whom  she  particularly  ad- 
mired. Washington  she  styled:  "His 
Uncrowned  Majesty,"  that  is  to  say, 
"Sa  Majeste  Sans  Couronne."  Jeffer- 
son was  "The  Clever,"  viz :  "Monsieur 
Vhabile"  and  Paul  Jones  had  several 
soubriquets,    such    as    "The    Untitled 


Knight 


of  the  Sea,"  "The  Wrathful 
Achilles  of  the  Ocean,"  and  "The 
Bayard  Afloat." 

The  princely  pair  went  so  far  in  their 
complaisance  as  to  insist  that  the 
young  hero  take  up  his  abode  in  the 
palace,  while  he  remained  at  Brest, 
which   was    such   a   condescension   as 


474 


MARIE  ADELAIDE  OF  ORLEANS 


court  etiquette  pronounced  perfectly 
inadmissible,  and  much  censure  was 
incurred.  Louis  Philippe  years  after- 
wards said  that  he  accounted  it  one  of 
the  greatest  privileges  of  his  life  to 
have  had  association  with  Paul  Jones, 
when  a  boy,  under  the  auspices  of  his 
gracious  mother. 

It  was  this  friendship  which  pro- 
cured for  the  Scottish-American  hero 
of  low  birth,  but  lofty  soul,  introduc- 
tion to  the  most  select  society  of  Paris, 
and  never  had  the  Duchess  to  blush  for 
her  protege.  He  not  only  sustained 
himself,  but  was  considered  to  add 
eclat  to  every  assembly  that  he  at- 
tended. The  King  Louis  XVI.  him- 
self conversed  with  him  freely  as  friend 
with  friend,  and  in  the  end  ennobled 
him  and  bestowed  favors  upon  him 
never  before  accorded  to  a  foreigner 
and  a  plebeian. 

Full  as  was  Marie  Adelaide  of  ex- 
alted patriotism,  she  was  especially  de- 
voted to  the  memory  of  her  grand- 
father, the  Count  of  Toulouse,  High 
Admiral  of  France,  who  had  achieved 
the  feat,  so  rarely  accomplished  by  a 
French  naval  officer,  of  wresting  a  vic- 
tory from  the  English.  At  the  great 
battle  of  Malaga,  in  1704,  he  had  done 
more  than  any  other  officer  to  win  the 
day.  And  yet,  like  all  other  great  war- 
riors he  had  his  critics,  and,  at  a  din- 
ner given  by  the  Duke  and  Duchess  at 
Brest,  where  Paul  Jones  was  one  of  the 
guests,  conversation  fell  upon  the  con- 
duct of  that  famous  seafight,  and  a 
leading  courtier  presumed  to  animad- 
vert upon  the  admiral's  orders.  Here- 
upon Jones  responded  so  spiritedly  and 
took  the  part  of  the  Count  de  Toulouse 
so  ably,  that  his  critic  was  confounded, 
the  Duchess  charmed,  and  all  at  table 
wonderstruck  bv  the  knowledge  of  his- 


tory and  naval  warfare  displayed  by 
one  who  had,  comparatively  speaking, 
had  so  little  opportunity  of  storing  up 
such  an  amount  of  practical  informa- 
tion. Calling  to  a  trusted  servant, 
while  the  dinner  was  still  going  on,  the 
Duchess  had  brought  to  her  a  fine 
watch  of  unique  workmanship  that  had 
belonged  to  the  Commodore,  and 
begged  him  to  keep  it  as  a  memento  of 
that  gallant  ancestor  of  her's  whom  he 
had  so  eloquently  defended. 

No  one  could  have  been  more 
amazed  than  was  Jones,  at  receiving 
such  unlooked  for  recognition  of  his 
honest  tribute  to  real  merit,  yet  he 
mastered  his  embarrassment,  and  ac- 
cepted the  priceless  gift  as  gracefully 
as  it  had  been  tendered.  After  thank- 
ing the  lady  reverentially,  he  said : 
"May  it  please  your  Royal  Highness, 
if  fortune  should  favor  me  at  sea,  I 
shall  some  day  lay  an  English  frigate 
at  your  feet." 

To  the  tactful  persuasions  of  Marie 
Adelaide  alone  did  Louis  XVI.  yield 
when  he  made  a  present  to  the  United 
States  of  the  frigate  "Le  Bon  Homme 
Richard,"  which,  old  and  crazy  as  it 
was,  enabled  John  Paul  Jones  to  win 
the  most  memorable  sea-fight  of  mod- 
ern times,  at  once  raising  the  govern- 
ment under  which  he  fought  to  the 
rank  of  a  maritime  power. 

Ordinarily  calm  and  undemonstra- 
tive, when  the  news  of  this  glorious 
victory  reached  Paris,  the  Duchesse  de 
Chartres  was  rapturous  in  her  joy, 
causing  her  palace  to  be  illuminated 
and  assembling  a  large  company  to  do 
honor  to  the  occasion.  Well  might  she 
rejoice  in  the  fruit  of  her  own  modest 
but  effective  intercessions ! 

In  April,  1780,  Paul  Jones  chanced 
to   visit   Paris   on   business,   and   was 


MARIE  ADELAIDE  OF  ORLEANS 


475 


.again  handsomely  entertained  by  his 
.steadfast  friends,  the  Due  and  Duch- 
-esse  de  Chartres.  In  her  journal,  the 
lady  herself  records  what  happened  at 
supper.  When  a  suitable  pause  be- 
tween the  courses  allowed  the  oppor- 
tunity, Chevalier  Paul  Jones  asked  her 
Royal  Highness  if  she  deigned  to  re- 
member his  promise,  made  two  years 
before,  that  he  would  lay  a  frigate  at 
her  feet.  She  bowed  assent.  Then 
Jones  sent  an  attendant  to  bring  from 
his  apartment  in  the  palace  a  leather 
case.  When  the  messenger  returned, 
Jones  took  from  the  case  a  sword  and 
•said : 

"Your  Royal  Highness  perceives  the  im- 
possibility of  keeping  my  promise  in  kind. 
The  English  frigate  proved  to  be  a  forty- 
four  on  two  decks,  and  she  is  now  at 
TOrient,  with  French  colors  flying.  The 
"best  I  can  do  towards  keeping  my  word  ot 
two  years  ago  is  to  place  in  your  dainty 
hands  the  sword  of  the  brave  officer  who 
commanded  the  English  forty-four.  I  have 
the  honor  to  surrender  to  the  loveliest  ot 
women  the  sword  surrendered  to  me  by 
one  of  the  bravest  of  men — the  sword  of 
Captain,  the  Honorable  Richard  Pearson  of 
His  Britannic  Majesty's  late  ship  the  Ser- 
:apis." 

Elsewhere  in  her  journal  the  Duch- 
ess says : 

"Although  the  company  at  table  was 
most  distinguished,  Commodore  Jones, 
fresh  from  his  marvelous  victories,  was 
easily  the  centre  of  attraction  to  all. 

"I  said  to  him  that  all  the  world  had  read 
the  account  of  his  exploits,  and  the  more 
we  read  the  more  we  marvelled.  And  I 
asked  him  what  thought,  what  impulse,  what 
inspiration  could  have  sustained  him  to 
persevere  when  his  ship  was  on  fire  and 
sinking  under  his  feet,  and  his  men  almost 
all  in  the  throes  of  death  about  him.  To 
this  he  replied  with  a  profound  bow  and  the 
greatest  solemnity :  'May  it  please  your 
IRoyal  Highness,  I  could  not  be  the  first  to 


strike  the  flag  that  I  had  been  first  to  ex- 
hibit in  Europe ;  and  besides,  surrender 
must  have  postponed  the  rapture  of  greeting 
you  again !'  Then  I  could  only  reply  as  I 
did :  'Ah,  my  dear  Commodore,  not  Che- 
valier Bayard  nor  Charles  the  Bold  himself 
could  have  laid  his  helmet  at  a  lady's  feet 
with   such   knightly   grace.'  " 

But  the  time  of  feasting  and  play- 
ful dalliance  was  soon  to  be  over  for 
Marie  Adelaide. 

Although  during  the  Reign  of  Ter- 
ror she  was  the  only  one  of  the  royal 
family  allowed  to  remain  in  France, 
how  could  her  generous  soul  enjoy  an 
exemption  in  which  no  dear  one  had 
a  share.  After  the  execution  of  her 
husband  and  the  exile  of  her  sons,  even 
Paris  had  no  attraction  for  her,  and  she 
took  refuge  in  Spain,  where  she  re- 
sided until  1 814,  when  the  era  of  the 
Restoration  lured  her  back  to  her  be- 
loved country.  Napoleon  also  honored 
himself  by  extending  more  than  one 
invitation  that  she  should  return  to 
Paris,  thus  acknowledging  her  as  a 
public  benefactress.  Moreover,  during 
Napoleon's  hundred  days'  reign  after 
his  return  from  banishment  to  Elba, 
he  had  settled  upon  the  widowed 
Duchesse  d'Orleans  an  annuity  of 
200,000  francs,  at  the  instance  of  the 
ever  generous  Hortense,  Queen  of 
Holland. 

From  1 8 14  to  1821,  when  Marie 
Adelaide  died  from  the  effects  of  a  sad 
accident,  her  home  was  in  Paris,  but 
we  cannot  imagine  her  life  to  have 
been  otherwise  than  dark,  so  fraught 
was  every  scene  with  painful  memo- 
ries. If  even  goodness  cannot  bring 
happiness,  at  least  her  existence  must 
have  been  filled  with  the  calm  peaceful- 
ness  that  results  from  a  quiet  con- 
science. 


An  Early  Coronation  Sermon 


By  George  H.  Davenport 


ON  the  9th  of  August,  1727,  the 
first  Sunday  after  the  pro- 
claiming of  George  II.  King 
of  England,  the  Reverend 
Benjamin  Colman,  minister  of  the 
Brattle  Street  Church  in  Boston, 
preached  a  powerful  and  interesting 
sermon  from  the  text  I  Chron.  XII.  18. 
Its  subject  was  "Fidelity  to  the  Prot- 
estant Succession  in  the  Illustrious 
House  of  Hanover."  At  the  request 
of  his  parishioners  it  was  printed,  and 
the  pamphlet  bears  this  inscription : 

"Boston  in  New  England" 

"Printed  by  T.  Fleet  for  T.  Hancock, 

at  the  Bible  and  Three   Crowns 

Near  the  Town  Dock. 

1727." 

In  1689  William  succeeded  to  the 
throne  of  England,  and  in  1701  gave 
his  consent  to  an  act  of  settlement 
which  secured  the  succession  of  the 
crown  to  the  House  of  Hanover,  to 
the  exclusion  of  all  Roman  Catholic 
claimants.  On  March  8th,  1702,  Will- 
iam was  thrown  from  his  horse  and 
killed,  and  Queen  Anne  came  to  the 
throne.  In  1708  a  purely  whig  minis- 
try was  formed,  and  in  1714,  on  the 
death  of  Anne,  the  whigs  proclaimed 
the  Elector  of  Hanover  king,  as  George 

I.  In  1727  George  I.  died  and  George 

II.  came  to  the  throne. 

The     New     England      colony      of 

faithful  subjects  was  interested  in  all 

that  pertained  to  Old  England,  and  es- 
476 


pecially,  of  course,  to  who  was  to  be 
their  king  and  ruler ;  and  their  clergy- 
men kept  in  touch  with  the  religious 
and  civil  life  across  the  sea,  as  is  every- 
where evident  in  the  records  and  writ- 
ings of  the  time. 

The  introduction  to  this  special  ser- 
mon is  so  quaintly  and  seriously 
written,  and  sets  forth  so  forcibly  the 
feelings  for  the  Mother  Country  prev- 
alent in  the  New  England  colonies,  that 
it  is  worth  giving  it  in  full. 

To  The 
"Loyal    Protestant   Reader." 

"If  I  had  not  been  persuaded  that  the 
Text  and  this  short  Discourse  upon  it  here 
presented  to  thee,  breathes  the  heart  and  soul 
of  the  Churches  in  New  England,  both  Pas- 
tors and  People,  I  should  not  have  brought 
the  one  into  the  pulpit  on  the  present  occa- 
sion, nor  have  permitted  the  other  to  go 
into  the  press  at  the  desire  of  those  who 
heard  it.  But  as  I  am  conscious  of  no  mo- 
tive in  the  choice  of  the  Subject,  but  I 
trust  a  sincere  and  fervent  zeal  for  the  Re- 
ligion of  Christ  and  the  Protestant  Suc- 
cession in  the  Royal  Family ;  so  I  am  con- 
fident that  the  Gentlemen  who  have  asked 
this  copy  of  what  they  heard,  did  it  on  no 
other  motive.  And  if  it  may  in  any  measure 
help  to  confirm  and  increase  a  dutiful  and 
loyal  affection  to  Christ,  his  truths  and  spir- 
itual worship ;  and  to  our  rightful  King 
as  the  Defender  of  them ;  I  shall  not  re- 
pent the  making  so  minute  an  offering  at 
the  Temple  on  so  great  an  Occasion." 

"The  name  of  the  great  King  William 
was  ever  dear  to  these  his  loyal  New  Eng- 
lish Colonies,  and  that  beyond  expression ; 
but  there  is  no  one  thing  by  which  his  Im- 
mortal Memory  is  more  endeared  to  us, 
than   the  wise  and  just  provision   by  Him 


made  for  the   Succession  of  the   Crown   in 
the  Protestant  Line." 

"When  we  saw  it  take  place  in  a  manner 
so  peaceful,  after  so  much  reason  to  fear 
the  contrary,  our  mouths  were  filled  with 
laughter  and  our  tongues  with  singing.  Our 
Churches  rang  with  the  high  praises  of  God, 
and  with  continued  prayers  for  the  Life  of 
the  King  and  of  his   Son.     We  trusted  in 


God  that  he  was  building  a  Sure  House 
for  the  Protestant  cause,  and  speaking  of 
it  for  a  great  while  to  come  in  the  Person 
of  His  Royal  Highness  and  his  numerous 
illustrious  offspring ;  as  the  Lord  gave  to 
David  a  lamp  in  Jerusalem,  to  set  up  his 
Son  after  him  and  to  establish  his  people." 

"But   we   were   soon    struck   with   horror 
and  just  detestation  at  the  hellish  plots  and 

477 


478 


AN  EARLY  CORONATION  SERMON 


*#P^-y^r 


{/    fidelity  tojb0 
'Proteftant  &cty 


i 


* 


IN    THE 

flluftrious  Houfc  bi  HANNOVER 

■SlR'MCiN, 

PreacSie-i  at  Beftett  in  tfeto-£»$0tttt  $t$ 

I.ord's-4ay '  after  .  the    proclaiming  of 
'King  GEORGE   the .Second 


ft,': 


;4,j3y  ^Benjamin  Cohmn, 
Mot' of  a. Church  m  Bo/ion. 


l\     ?i     Kt  j  »Jw  tt>m,the  LORD 
end  tbs ,fc;. 


B  0  S  T  Ci  tl  in  IKE* 

J    ,  *'            and  Tk«  C«uw  r.e»r  the  Town  Dock, 
M  ..  •     .         y?ii - : • - 


\     "• 


rebellions,  formed  by  the  restless  party  in 
the  Nation,  whom  no  oaths  could  bind,  nor 
clemency  conquer,  nor  the  rebukes  of  a 
righteous  Providence  deter:  Nor  were  we 
from  time  to  time  less  affected  with  a  sin- 
cere and  dutiful  joy,  to  show  how  God 
brought  their  wicked  devices  to  light,  and 
covered  the  abetters  of  them  with  infamy; 
while  at  the  same  time  the  fame  of  the 
felicity  of  the  Nation  under  the  King's  wise 
administration  reached  us,  and  of  the  vast 
influence  of  his  Majesty's  Counsels  and 
power  upon  the  grand  affairs  of  Europe." 
"When  some  of  the  Clergy,  doubly  sworn 
to  the  King  and  the  Faith  he  defended,  ap- 
peared to  head  the  vile  attempts  to  disturb 
a  Protestant  Reign,  we  readily  took  the  oc- 
casion given  us  to  declare  our  astonishment 
at  the  abhorrence  of  the  perfidy  and  im- 
piety. For  what  were  those  Englishmen 
and  Protestants,  falsely  so  called,  plotting  to 
introduce,  but  the  two  transcendent  plagues 
of  popery  and  slavery  upon  the  Nations? 
With  amazement  and  disdain,  the  protestant 
Dissenters  beheld  the  villainy,  and  cried  to 
the   God    of    Heaven    against    the   men,   his 


enemies  more  than  ours.  The  meanwhile- 
it  was  their  humble  trust  in  the  mercy  of 
God,  that  while  his  Majesty  was  asserting- 
the  rights  of  conscience,  and  restoring  to- 
God  his  Throne  in  the  soul  of  man,  God 
would  not  fail  to  defend  his  Servant  on  the 
British  Throne.  God  answered  the  faith 
and  prayer  of  his  people,  and  returned  the- 
wickedness  of  the  King's  enemies  on  their 
own  head." 

"This  was  the  language  of  the  Addresses 
from  the  Ministers  of  the  Province  at  their 
annual  conventions ;  and  I  have  presumed 
to  transcribe  a  paragraph  or  two  of  them, 
for  an  abiding  testimony  of  their  fervent 
loyalty  to  Christ  and  the  Protestant  Royal 
Family." 

"Thanks  be  to  Gcu  the  Protestant  Suc- 
cession lives  in  his  present  Majesty,  King- 
George  II;  and  accordingly  the  tide  of  joy 
has  run  as  high  among  us  in  the  happy- 
Succession  of  the  Son,  as  it  did  on  the 
Accession  of  the  great  King  his  Father." 

"May  the  Clemencies  of  his  Majesty's- 
Government  extend  always  to  these  Ameri- 
can Churches,  which  know  not  of  one  single 
person  in  their  Communion  that  is  not  loy- 
ally affected  to  Him  and  to  his  House.  May 
he  shine  long  at  the  head  of  the  Protestant 
interest,  its  powerful  Friend  and  Protector ;. 
and  reign  always  in  the  hearts  of  his  protes- 
tant subjects,  being  ever  to  them  as  the  light 
of  the  morning,  and  as  the  breath  of  their 
nostrils.  Benjamin    Colman. 

Boston,  N.  E.,  August  16,  1727." 

Then  follows  the  sermon,  in  which 
he  sets  forth  the  truth  that  "Our  faith- 
ful zeal  for  and  adherence  to  the  Pro- 
testant Succession  in  the  House  of 
Hanover  is  our  Fidelity  to  Christ  and 
His  Holy  Religion." 

The  Rev.  Benjamin  Colman  was- 
quite  a  remarkable  man.  Born  in 
Boston  October  19,  1673,  he  entered 
Harvard  College  in  1688,  and  under 
the  Presidency  of  Dr.  Increase  Mather, 
received  in  1692  his  A.  B.,  and  in  1695 
his  A.  M.  Three  weeks  thereafter  he 
sailed  for  England,  then  in  the  heat  of 
the  Kiner  William  war  with  the  French 


The  Brattle  Street  Church 
From  Drake's   "Old  Landmarks  and  Historic   Personages  of   Boston,"   published  by   Little,   Brown   &   Co. 


King.  At  the  end  of  seven  weeks  of 
storm  and  trial,  a  French  Privateer 
sighted  them,  gave  chase,  and  captured 
them,  and  he  was  carried  to  France, 
subsequently  released,  and  after  many 
trials  reached  England. 

In  July,  1699,  tne  Brattle  Street 
Church  in  Boston  sent  for  him  to  be- 
come their  minister ;  this  call  was 
signed  by  Thomas  Brattle,  Benjamin 
Davis,  Thomas  Cooper,  John  Leverett, 
and  others.  He  accepted  the  call,  and 
sailed  for  home  August  20th,  1699,  ar- 
riving in  Boston  November  1st.  On 
the  24th  of  December  of  that  year  the 
newly  built  Brattle  Street  Church 
was  opened  to  public  worship,  Mr.  Col- 
man  choosing  for  his  text  II.  Chron. 
VI.  8. 

For  forty-eight  years  he  ministered 
to  this  people.  On  November  18, 
1724,  upon  the  decease  of  Hon.  John 


Leverett,  President,  he  was  chosen  by 
the  corporation  of  Harvard  College,  his 
successor,  but  declined  the  honor,  sub- 
mitting to  the  desire  of  his  church  and 
people,  that  he  remain ;  but  for  many 
years,  however,  he  was  a  fellow  of  the 
corporation  and  an  overseer  until  his 
death.  In  November,  1731,  the  Uni- 
versity of  Glasgow  conferred  on  him 
the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity.  He 
died  in  Boston,  August  29,  1747,  in  his 
seventy-fourth  year,  honored  and  be- 
loved by  all  New  England. 

The  Brattle  Street  Church,  over 
which  he  ministered  for  almost  half  a 
century,  was  built  in  1699,  of  wood, 
and  was  called  the  Manifesto  Church 
being  the  first  to  adopt  the  rule  that  the 
choice  of  the  minister  should  not  be 
confined  to  communicants,  but  enjoyed 
by  everyone  who  belonged  to  the  so- 
cietv.      This  edifice  was  in  use  for  sev- 


48o 


AN  EARLY  CORONATION  SERMON 


enty-three  years.  In  1773  the  new 
brick  church  was  consecrated,  and  was 
occupied  by  the  congregation  until  its 
demolition  in  1872.  To  the  building 
of  this  new  church  in  1773,  Governor 
Hancock  donated  one  thousand 
pounds,  and  gave  the  bell  on  which 
was  inscribed, — "I  to  the  church  the 
living  call,  and  to  the  grave  I  summon 
all." 

On  March  16,  1775,  a  twenty- four 
pound  shot,  from  our  guns  at  Cam- 
bridge, struck  the  tower.  This  can- 
non ball  was  picked  up,  and  1824  was 
imbedded  in  the  masonry,  where  it  re- 
mained until  the  work  of  tearing  down 
began  in  1872. 

An  array  of  clerical  talent  unsur- 
passed in  any  Boston  pulpit  stands  as 
the  record  of  this  church. 

Benjamin  Colman,  1699  to  1747. 

William  Cooper,  1716  to  1743. 

Samuel  Cooper,  1746  to  1783. 

Peter  Thatcher,  1785  to  1802. 

J.  S.  Buckminster,  1805  to  1812. 

Edward  Everett,  1814  to  1815. 

John  G.  Palfrey,  1818  to  1830. 

S.  K.  Lothrop,  1834  to  1876. 

One  hundred  and  seventy-five  years 
have  passed  since  Benjamin  Colman 
said  to  his  congregation  in  the  Brattle 
Street  Church,  "The  name  of  the  great 
King  William  was  ever  dear  to  this  his 
loyal  New  English  Colonies,  and  that 
beyond  expression."    Another  King  is 


to  be  proclaimed  on  June  26th  of  this 
year,  and  what  the  good  minister  was 
thankful  for, — the  Protestant  Succes- 
sion— has  been  maintained  in  England 
up  to  this  time.  But  the  English  Col- 
ony is  no  more.  A  great  Nation  has 
arisen,  and  if  Benjamin  Colman  should 
come  forth  from  his  tomb  in  Kings 
Chapel  burying  ground,  and  revisit  the 
scenes  of  his  ministry,  instead  of  the 
thirteen  churches  within  its  borders,  he 
would  now  find  two  hundred  and 
eighty-nine  of  every  sect  and  name  un- 
der the  sun ;  instead  of  a  city  contain- 
ing 17,500  inhabitants,  he  would  find  a 
city  of  560,892.  He  would  be  able  to 
find  the  Common,  and  many  of  the  old 
streets  and  lanes,  the  Old  State  House, 
the  Old  Corner  Book  Store,  and  Fan- 
euil  Hall,  but  of  the  churches,  only  five 
remain  on  the  same  sites  and  substan- 
tially as  he  left  them  when  he  died  in 
1747:— The  Old  South,  West  Church, 
Kings  Chapel,  Christ  Church,  and  the 
New  North  Church.  But,  of  these, 
only  the  last  three  are  used  for  serv- 
ices at  the  present  time. 

With  the  Protestant  Succession  still 
maintained  in  a  large  proportion  of 
these  Boston  churches,  and  in  the  great 
country  at  large,  Mr.  Colman  could  re- 
turn again  to  his  quiet  resting  place 
under  the  Kings  Chapel  trees  for  an- 
other one  hundred  and  seventy-five 
years,  in  peace  and  contentment. 


The  Professor's  Commencement 


By  Willa  Sibert  Cather 


THE  professor  sat  at  his  li- 
brary table  at  six  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  He  had  risen 
with  the  sun,  which  is  up 
betimes  in  June.  An  uncut  volume  of 
"Huxley's  Life  and  Letters"  lay  open 
on  the  table  before  him,  but  he  tapped 
the  pages  absently  with  his  paper-knife 
and  his  eyes  were  fixed  unseeingly  on 
the  St.  Gaudens  medallion  of  Steven- 
son on  the  opposite  wall.  The  pro- 
fessor's library  testified  to  the  superior 
quality  of  his  taste  in  art  as  well  as  to 
his  wide  and  varied  scholarship.  Only 
by  a  miracle  of  taste  could  so  unpre- 
tentious a  room  have  been  made  so  at- 
tractive ;  it  was  as  dainty  as  a  boudoir 
and  as  original  in  color  scheme  as  a 
painter's  studio.  The  walls  were  hung 
with  photographs  of  the  works  of  the 
best  modern  painters, — Burne-Jones, 
Rossetti,  Corot,  and  a  dozen  others. 
Above  the  mantel  were  delicate  repro- 
ductions in  color  of  some  of  Fra  An- 
gelica's most  beautiful  paintings.  The 
rugs  were  exquisite  in  pattern  and 
color,  pieces  of  weaving  that  the  Pro- 
fessor had  picked  up  himself  in  his 
wanderings  in  the  Orient.  On  close 
inspection,  however,  the  contents  of 
the  book-shelves  formed  the  most  re- 
markable feature  of  the  library.  The 
shelves  were  almost  equally  appor- 
tioned to  the  accommodation  of  works 
on  literature  and  science,  suggesting 
a  form  of  bigamy  rarely  encountered 
in  society.  The  collection  of  works 
of  pure  literature  was  wide  enough  to 


include  nearly  all  the  major  languages 
of  modern  Europe,  besides  the  Greek 
and  Roman  classics. 

To  an  interpretive  observer  nearly 
everything  that  was  to  be  found  in  the 
Professor's  library  was  represented  in 
his  personality.  Occasionally,  when 
he  read  Hawthorne's  "Great  Stone 
Face"  with  his  classes,  some  clear 
sighted  student  wondered  whether  the 
man  ever  realized  how  completely  he 
illustrated  the  allegory  in  himself. 
The  Professor  was  truly  a  part  of  all 
that  he  had  met,  and  he  had  managed 
to  meet  most  of  the  good  things  that 
the  mind  of  man  had  desired.  In  his 
face  there  was  much  of  the  laborious 
precision  of  the  scientist  and  not  a 
little  of  Fra  Angelico  and  of  the  lyric 
poets  whose  influence  had  prolonged 
his  youth  well  into  the  fifties.  His 
pupils  always  remembered  the  Pro- 
fessor's face  long  after  they  had  for- 
gotten the  things  he  had  endeavored 
to  teach  them.  He  had  the  bold, 
prominent  nose  and  chin  of  the  oldest 
and  most  beloved  of  American  actors, 
and  the  high,  broad  forehead  which 
Nature  loves  to  build  about  her  finely 
adjusted  minds.  The  grave,  large 
outlines  of  his  face  were  softened  by 
an  infinite  kindness  of  mouth  and  eye. 
His  mouth,  indeed,  was  as  sensitive 
and  mobile  as  that  of  a  young  man, 
and,  given  certain  passages  from 
"Tristram  and  Isolde"  or  certain  lines 
from  Heine,  his  eyes  would  flash  out 
at  you  like  wet  corn-flowers  after  a 

48! 


482 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  COMMENCEMENT 


spring  shower.  His  hair  was  very 
thick,  straight,  and  silver  white.  This, 
with  his  clear  skin,  gave  him  a  some- 
what actor-like  appearance.  He  was 
slight  of  build  and  exceedingly  frail, 
with  delicate,  sensitive  hands  curving 
back  at  the  finger  ends,  with  dark  pur- 
ple veins  showing  prominently  on  the 
back.  They  were  exceedingly  small, 
white  as  a  girl's,  and  well  kept  as  a 
pianist's. 

As  the  Professor  sat  caressing  his 
Huxley,  a  lady  entered. 

"It  is  half  past  six,  Emerson,  and 
breakfast  will  be  served  at  seven." 
Anyone  would  have  recognized  her  as 
the  Professor's  older  sister,  for  she 
was  a  sort  of  simplified  and  expur- 
gated edition  of  himself,  the  more 
alert  and  masculine  character  of  the 
two,  and  the  scholar's  protecting 
angel.  She  wore  a  white  lace  cap 
on  her  head  and  a  knitted  shawl  about 
her  shoulders.  Though  she  had  been 
a  widow  for  twenty-  five  years  and 
more,  she  was  always  called  Miss 
Agatha  Graves.  She  scanned  her 
brother  critically  and  having  satisfied 
herself  that  his  linen  was  immacu- 
late and  his  white  tie  a  fresh  one,  she 
remarked,  "You  were  up  early  this 
morning,  even  for  you." 

"The  roses  never  have  the  fragrance 
that  they  have  in  the  first  sun,  they 
give  out  their  best  then,"  said  her 
brother  nodding  toward  the  window 
where  the  garden  roses  thrust  their 
pink  heads  close  to  the  screen  as 
though  they  would  not  be  kept  out- 
side. "And  I  have  something  on  my 
mind,  Agatha,"  he  continued,  nerv- 
ously fingering  the  sandalwood  paper- 
cutter,  "I  feel  distraught  and  weary. 
You  know  how  I  shrink  from  changes 
of  any  sort,  and  this — why  this  is  the 


most  alarming  thing  that  has  ever  con- 
fronted me.  It  is  absolutely  cutting 
my  life  off  at  the  stalk,  and  who  knows 
whether  it  will  bud  again  ?" 

Miss  Agatha  turned  sharply  about 
from  the  window  where  she  had  been 
standing,  and  gravely  studied  her 
brother's  drooping  shoulders  and  de- 
jected figure. 

"There  you  go  at  your  old  tricks, 
Em,"  she  remonstrated.  "I  have 
heard  many  kinds  of  ability  attributed 
to  you,  but  to  my  mind  no  one  has  ever 
put  his  finger  on  the  right  spot.  Your 
real  gift  is  for  getting  all  the  possible 
pain  out  of  life,  and  extracting  need- 
less annoyance  from  commonplace  and 
trivial  things.  Here  you  have  buried 
yourself  for  the  best  part  of  your  life 
in  that  High  School,  for  motives 
Quixotic  to  an  absurdity.  If  you  had 
chosen  a  University  I  should  not  com- 
plain, but  in  that  place  all  your  best 
tools  have  rusted.  Granted  that  you 
have  done  your  work  a  little  better 
than  the  people  about  you,  it's  no  great 
place  in  which  to  excel, — a  city  high 
school  where  failures  in  every  trade 
drift  to  teach  the  business  they  cannot 
make  a  living  by.  Now  it  is  time  that 
you  do  something  to  justify  the  faith 
your  friends  have  always  had  in  you. 
You  owe  something  to  them  and  to 
your  own  name." 

"I  have  builded  myself  a  monument 
more  lasting  than  brass,"  quoted  the 
Professor  softly,  balancing  the  tips  of 
his  slender  fingers  together. 

"Nonsense,  Emerson!"  said  Miss 
Agatha  impatiently.  "You  are  a  sen- 
timentalist and  your  vanity  is  that  of  a 
child.  As  for  those  slovenly  persons 
with  offensive  manners  whom  you  call 
your  colleagues,  do  you  fancy  they  ap- 
preciate you  ?      They  are  as  envious  as 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  COMMENCEMENT 


483 


green  gourds  and  their  mouths  pucker 
when  they  pay  you  compliments.  I 
hope  you  are  not  so  unsophisticated  as 
to  believe  all  the  sentimental  twaddle 
of  your  old  students.  When  they 
want  recommendations  to  some  school 
board,  or  run  for  a  city  office  and  want 
vour  vote,  they  come  here  and  say  that 
you  have  been  the  inspiration  of  their 
lives,  and  I  believe  in  my  heart  that 
you  are  goose  enough  to  accept  it  all." 
"As  for  my  confreres,"  said  the  Pro- 
fessor smiling,  "I  have  no  doubt  that 
each  one  receives  in  the  bosom  of  his 
family  exactly  the  same  advice  that 
you  are  giving  me.  If  there  dwell 
an  appreciated  man  on  earth  I  have 
never  met  him.  As  for  the  students, 
I  believe  I  have,  to  some  at  least,  in  a 
measure  supplied  a  vital  element  that 
their  environment  failed  to  give  them. 
Whether  they  realize  this  or  not  is  of 
slight  importance ;  it  is  in  the  very  na- 
ture of  youth  to  forget  its  sources, 
physical  and  mental  alike.  If  one  la- 
bors at  all  in  the  garden  of  youth,  it 
must  be  free  from  the  passion  of  see- 
ing things  grow,  from  an  innate  love 
of  watching  the  strange  processes  of 
the  brain  under  varying  influences  and 
limitations.  He  gets  no  more  thanks 
than  the  novelist  gets  from  the  charac- 
ter he  creates,  nor  does  he  deserve 
them.  He  has  the  whole  human  com- 
edy before  him  in  embryo,  the  begin- 
ning of  all  passions  and  all  achieve- 
ments. As  I  have  often  told  yon,  this 
city  is  a  disputed  strategic  point.  It 
controls  a  vast  manufacturing  region 
given  over  to  sordid  and  materialistic 
ideals.  Any  work  that  has  been  done 
here  for  aesthetics  cannot  be  lost.  I 
suppose  we  shall  win  in  the  end,  but 
the  reign  of  Mammon  has  been  long 
and  oppressive,      You  remember  when 


I  was  a  boy  working  in  the  fields  how 
we  used  to  read  Bunyan's  "Holy  War" 
at  night?  Well,  I  have  always  felt 
very  much  as  though  I  were  keeping 
the  Ear  Gate  of  the  town  of  Mansoul, 
and  I  know  not  whether  the  Captains, 
who  succeed  me  be  trusty  or  no." 

Miss  Agatha  was  visibly  moved,  but 
she  shook  her  head.  "Well,  I  wish 
you  had  gone  into  the  church,  Emer- 
son. I  respect  your  motives,  but  there 
are  more  tares  than  wheat  in  your  crop, 
I  suspect." 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  the  Professor, 
his  eye  brightening,  "that  is  the  very 
reason  for  the  sowing.  There  is  a 
picture  by  Vedder  of  the  Enemy  Sow- 
ing Tares  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  and 
his  seeds  are  golden  coins.  That  is 
the  call  to  arms ;  the  other  side  never 
sleeps ;  in  the  theatres,  in  the  newspa- 
pers, in  the  mills  and  offices  and  coal 
fields,  by  day  and  by  night  the  enemy 
sows    tares." 

As  the  Professor  slowly  climbed  the 
hill  to  the  High  School  that  morning, 
he  indulged  in  his  favorite  fancy,  that 
the  old  grey  stone  building  was  a  fort- 
ress set  upon  the  dominant  acclivity  of 
that  great  manufacturing  city,  a 
stronghold  of  knowledge  in  the  heart 
of  Mammon's  kingdom,  a  Pharos  to  all 
those  drifting,  storm-driven  lives  in  the 
valley  below,  where  mills  and  factories 
thronged,  blackening  the  winding 
shores  of  the  river,  which  was  dotted 
with  coal  barges  and  frantic,  puffing 
little  tugs.  The  High  School  com- 
manded the  heart  of  the  city,  which 
was  like  that  of  any  other  manufactur- 
ing town — a  scene  of  bleakness  and 
naked  ugliness  and  of  that  remorseless 
desolation  which  follows  upon  the 
fiercest  lust  of  man.  The  beautiful 
valley,    where   long   ago   two   limpid 


484 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  COMMENCEMENT 


rivers  met  at  the  foot  of  wooded 
heights,  had  become  a  scorched  and 
blackened  waste.  The  river  banks 
were  lined  with  bellowing  mills  which 
broke  the  silence  of  the  night  with 
periodic  crashes  of  sound,  filled  the 
valley  with  heavy  carboniferous  smoke, 
and  sent  the  chilled  products  of  their 
red  forges  to  all  parts  of  the  known 
world, — to  fashion  railways  in  Siberia, 
bridges  in  Australia,  and  to  tear  the 
virgin  soil  of  Africa.  To  the  west, 
across  the  river,  rose  the  steep  bluffs, 
faintly  etched  through  the  brown 
smoke,  rising  five  hundred  feet,  almost 
as  sheer  as  a  precipice,  traversed  by 
cranes  and  inclines  and  checkered  by 
winding  yellow  paths  like  sheep  trails 
which  lead  to  the  wretched  habitations 
clinging  to  the  face  of  the  cliff,  the 
lairs  of  the  vicious  and  the  poor,  miser- 
able rodents  of  civilization.  In  the 
middle  of  the  stream,  among  the  tugs 
and  barges,  were  the  dredging  boats, 
hoisting  muck  and  filth  from  the 
clogged  channel.  It  was  difficult  to 
believe  that  this  was  the  shining  river 
which  tumbles  down  the  steep  hills  of 
the  lumbering  district,  odorous  of  wet 
spruce  logs  and  echoing  the  ring  of 
axes  and  the  song  of  the  raftsmen, 
come  to  this  black  ugliness  at  last,  with 
not  one  throb  of  its  woodland  passion 
and  bright  vehemence  left. 

For  thirty  years  the  Professor's 
class-room  had  overlooked  this  scene 
which  caused  him  unceasing  admira- 
tion and  regret.  For  thirty  years  he 
had  cried  out  against  the  image  set  up 
there  as  the  Hebrew  prophets  cried 
out  against  the  pride  and  blind 
prosperity  of  Tyre.  Nominally  he 
•  was  a  professor  of  English  Litera- 
ture, but  his  real  work  had  been  to  try 
to  secure  for  youth  the  rights  of  youth  ; 


the  right  to  be  generous,  to  dream,  to 
enjoy;  to  feel  a  little  the  seduction  of 
the  old  Romance,  and  to  yield  a  little. 
His  students  were  boys  and  girls  from 
the  factories  and  offices,  destined  to  re- 
turn thither,  and  hypnotized  by  the 
glitter  of  yellow  metal.  They  were 
practical,  provident,  unimaginative, 
and  mercenary  at  sixteen.  Often,  when 
some  lad  was  reading  aloud  in  the 
class-room,  the  puffing  of  the  engines 
in  the  switch  yard  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill  would  drown  the  verse  and  the 
young  voice  entirely,  and  the  Professor 
would  murmur  sadly  to  himself :  "Not 
even  this  respite  is  left  to  us ;  even  here 
the  voice  of  youth  is  drowned  by  the 
voice  of  the  taskmaster  that  waits  for 
them  all  impatiently  enough." 

Never  had  his  duty  seemedto  call  him 
so  urgently  as  on  this  morning  when 
he  was  to  lay  down  his  arms.  As  he 
entered  the  building  he  met  the  boys 
carrying  palms  up  into  the  chapel  for 
class-day  exercises,  and  it  occurred  to 
him  for  the  first  time  that  this  was  his 
last  commencement,  a  commencement 
without  congratulations  and  without 
flowers.  When  he  went  into  the  chapel 
to  drill  the  seniors  on  their  commence- 
ment orations,  he  was  unable  to  fix  his 
mind  upon  his  work.  For  thirty  years 
he  had  heard  youth  say  exactly  the 
same  thing  in  the  same  place;  had 
heard  young  men  swear  fealty  to  the 
truth,  pay  honor  to  the  pursuit  of  noble 
pleasures,  and  pledge  themselves  "to 
follow  knowledge  like  a  sinking  star 
beyond  the  utmost  bound  of  human 
thought."  How  many,  he  asked  him- 
self, had  kept  their  vows?  He  could 
remember  the  occasion  of  his  own  com- 
mencement in  that  same  chapel;  the 
story  that  every  senior  class  still  told 
the  juniors,  of  the  Professor's  humilia- 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  COMMENCEMENT 


483 


tion  and  disgrace  when,  in  attempting 
to  recite  "Horatius  at  the  Bridge,"  he 
had  been  unable  to  recall  one  word  of 
the  poem  following 

"Then  out  spake  bold  Horatius 
The  Captain  of  the  gate;" 

and  after  some  moments  of  agonizing 
silence  he  had  shame-facedly  left  the 
platform.  Even  the  least  receptive  of 
the  Professor's  students  realized  that  he 
had  risen  to  a  much  higher  plane  of 
scholarship  than  any  of  his  colleagues, 
and  they  delighted  to  tell  this  story  of 
the  frail,  exquisite,  little  man  whom 
generations  of  students  had  called  ''the 
bold  Horatius." 

All  the  morning  the  Professor  was 
busy  putting  his  desk  and  bookcases  in 
order,  impeded  by  the  painful  con- 
sciousness that  he  was  doing  it  for  the 
last  time.  He  made  many  trips  to  the 
window  and  often  lapsed  into  periods 
of  idleness.  The  room  had  been  con- 
nected in  one  way  and  another  with 
most  of  his  intellectual  passions,  and 
was  as  full  of  sentimental  asso- 
ciations for  him  as  the  haunts 
of  his  courtship  days  are  to  a 
lover.  At  two  o'clock  he  met 
his  last  class,  which  was  just  finishing 
"Sohrab  and  Rustum,"  and  he  was 
forced  to  ask  one  of  the  boys  to  read 
and  interpret  the  majestic  closing  lines 
on  the  "shorn  and  parceled  oxus." 
What  the  boy's  comment  was  the  Pro- 
fessor never  knew,  he  felt  so  close  a 
kinship  to  that  wearied  river  that  he 
sat  stupefied,  with  his  hand  shading  his 
eyes  and  his  fingers  twitching.  When 
the  bell  rang  announcing  the  end  of 
the  hour ;  he  felt  a  sudden  pain  clutch 
his  heart;  he  had  a  vague  hope  that 
the  students  would  gather  around  his 
desk  to  discuss  some  point  that  youth 


loves  to  discuss,  as  they  often  did,  but 
their  work  was  over  and  they  hurried 
out,  eager  for  their  freedom,  while  the 
professor  sat  helplessly  watching  them. 

That  evening  a  banquet  was  given 
to  the  retiring  professor  in  the  chapel, 
but  Miss  Agatha  had  to  exert  all  her 
native  power  of  command  to  induce 
him  to  go.  He  had  come  home  so 
melancholy  and  unnerved  that  after 
laying  out  his  dress  clothes  she  literally 
had  to  put  them  on  him.  When  he 
was  in  his  shirt  sleeves  and  Miss 
Agatha  had  carefully  brushed  his  beau- 
tiful white  hair  and  arranged  his  tie, 
she  wheeled  him  sharply  about  and  re- 
treated to  a  chair. 

"Now  Emerson,  say  your  piece,"  she 
commanded. 

Plucking  up  his  shirt  sleeves  and 
making  sure  of  his  cuffs,  the  Professor 
began  valiantly: 

"Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium 
By  the  nine  gods  he  swore" 

It  was  all  Miss  Agatha's  idea.  After 
the  invitations  to  the  banquet  were  out 
and  she  discovered  that  half-a-dozen  of 
the  Professor's  own  classmates  and 
many  of  his  old  students  were  to  be 
present,  she  divined  that  it  would  be  a 
tearful  and  depressing  occasion.  Em- 
erson, she  knew,  was  an  indifferent 
speaker  when  his  heart  was  touched,  so 
she  had  decided  that  after  a  silence  of 
thirty-five  years  Horatius  should  be 
heard  from.  The  idea  of  correcting 
his  youthful  failure  in  his  old  age  had 
rather  pleased  the  Professor  on  the 
whole,  and  he  had  set  to  work  to  mem- 
orize Lord  Macaulay's  lay,  rehearsing 
in  private  to  Miss  Agatha,  who  had 
drilled  him  for  that  fatal  exploit  of  his 
commencement  night. 

After  this  dress  rehearsal  the  Pro- 


486 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  COMMENCEMENT 


fessor's  spirits  rose, and  during  the  car- 
riage ride  he  even  made  several  feeble 
efforts  to  joke  with  his  sister.  But 
later  in  the  evening  when  he  sat  down 
at  the  end  of  the  long  table  in  the  dusky 
chapel,  green  with  palms  for  com- 
mencement week,  he  fell  into  deep  de- 
pression. The  guests  chattered  and 
boasted  and  gossiped,  but  the  guest  of 
honor  sat  silent,  staring  at  the  candles. 
Beside  him  sat  old  Fairbrother,  of  the 
Greek  department,  who  had  come  into 
the  faculty  in  the  fifth  year  of  Graves's 
professorship,  and  had  married  a 
pretty  senior  girl  who  had  rejected 
Graves's  timid  suit.  She  had  been  dead 
this  many  a  year;  since  his  bereave- 
ment lonely  old  Fairbrother  had  clung 
to  Graves,  and  now  the  Professor  felt 
a  singular  sense  of  support  in  his  pres- 
ence. 

The  Professor  tried  to  tell  himself 
that  now  his  holiday  time  had  come, 
and  that  he  had  earned  it ;  that  now  he 
could  take  up  the  work  he  had  looked 
forward  to  and  prepared  for  for  years, 
his  History  of  Modern  Painting,  the 
Italian  section  of  which  was  already 
practically  complete.  But  his  heart 
told  him  that  he  had  no  longer  the 
strength  to  take  up  independent  work. 
Now  that  the  current  of  young  life  had 
cut  away  from  him  and  into  a  new 
channel,  he  felt  like  a  ruin  of  some  ex- 
tinct civilization,  like  a  harbor  from 
which  the  sea  has  receded.  He  real- 
ized that  he  had  been  living  by  external 
stimulation  from  the  warm  young 
blood  about  him,  and  now  that  it  had 
left  him,  all  his  decrepitude  was  hor- 
ribly exposed.  All  those  hundreds  of 
thirsty  young  lives  had  drunk  him  dry. 
He  compared  himself  to  one  of  those 
granite  colossi  of  antique  lands,  from 
which  each  traveller  has  chipped  a  bit 


of  stone  until  only  a  mutilated  torso  is 
left. 

He  looked  reflectively  down  the  long 
table,  picking  out  the  faces  of  his 
colleagues  here  and  there,  souls  that 
had  toiled  and  wrought  and  thought 
with  him,  that  simple,  unworldly  sect 
of  people  he  loved.  They  were  still 
discussing  the  difficulties  of  the  third 
conjugation,  as  they  had  done  there  for 
twenty  years.  They  were  cases  of  ar- 
rested development,  most  of  them.  Al- 
ways in  contact  with  immature  minds, 
they  had  kept  the  simplicity  and  many 
of  the  callow  enthusiasms  of  youth. 
Those  facts  and  formulae  which  inter- 
est the  rest  of  the  world  for  but  a  few 
years  at  most,  were  still  the  vital  facts 
of  life  for  them.  They  believed  quite 
sincerely  in  the  supreme  importance  of 
quadratic  equations,  and  the  rule  for 
the  special  verbs  that  govern  the  dative 
was  a  part  of  their  decalogue.  And 
he  himself — what  had  he  done  with  the 
youth,  the  strength,  the  enthusiasm  and 
splendid  equipment  he  had  brought 
there  from  Harvard  thirty  years  ago? 
He  had  come  to  stay  but  a  little  while 
— five  years  at  the  most,  until  he  could 
save  money  enough  to  defray  the  ex- 
pense of  a  course  in  some  German  uni- 
versity. But  then  the  battle  had 
claimed  him ;  the  desire  had  come  upon 
him  to  bring  some  message  of  repose 
and  peace  to  the  youth  of  this  work- 
driven,  joyless  people,  to  cry  the  name 
of  beauty  so  loud  that  the  roar  of  the 
mills  could  not  drown  it.  Then  the 
reward  of  his  first  labors  had  come  in 
the  person  of  his  one  and  only  genius ; 
his  restless,  incorrigible  pupil  with  the 
gentle  eyes  and  manner  of  a  girl,  at 
once  timid  and  utterly  reckless,  who 
had  seen  even  as  Graves  saw ;  who  had 
suffered  a  little,  sung  a  little,  struck  the 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  COMMENCEMENT 


487 


true  lyric  note,  and  died  wretchedly  at 
three-and-twenty  in  his  master's  arms, 
the  victim  of  a  tragedy  as  old  as  the 
world  and  as  grim  as  Samson,  the 
Israelite's. 

He  looked  about  at  his  comrades  and 
wondered  what  they  had  done  with 
their  lives.  Doubtless  they  had  deceived 
themselves  as  he  had  done.  With 
youth  always  about  them,  they  had  be- 
lieved themselves  of  it.  Like  the  monk 
in  the  legend  they  had  wandered  a 
little  way  into  the  wood  to  hear  the 
bird's  song — the  magical  song  of  youth 
so  engrossing  and  so  treacherous,  and 
they  had  come  back  to  their  cloister 
to  find  themselves  old  men — spent 
warriors  who  could  only  chatter 
on  the  wall,  like  grass-hoppers  and 
sigh  at  the  beauty  of  Helen  as 
she  passed. 

The  toasts  were  nearly  over,  but  the 
Professor  had  heard  none  of  the  ap- 
preciative and  enthusiastic  things  that 
his  students  and  colleagues  had  said 
of  him.  He  read  a  deeper  meaning 
into  this  parting  than  they  had  done 
and  his  thoughts  stopped  his  ears.  He 
heard  Miss  Agatha  clear  her  throat 
and  caught  her  meaning  glance.  Real- 
izing that  everyone  was  waiting  for 
him,  he,  blinked  his  eyes  like  a  man 
heavy  with  sleep  and  arose. 

"How  handsome  he  looks,"  mur- 
mured the  woman  looking  at  his  fine 
old  face  and  silver  hair.  The  Profes- 
sor's remarks  were  as  vague  as  they 
were  brief.  After  expressing  his 
thanks  for  the  honor  done  him,  he 
stated  that  he  had  still  some  work  to 
finish  among  them,  which  had  been 
too  long  incomplete.  Then  with  as 
much  of  his  school-boy  attitude  as  he 
could  remember,  and  a  smile  on  his 
gentle  lips,  he  began  his 


"Lars   Porsena   of   Clusium,    by   the   Nine 

Gods  he  swore 
That  the  proud  house   of   Tarquin  should 

suffer  wrong  no  more." 

A  murmur  of  laughter  ran  up  and 
down  the  long  table,  and  Dr.  Maitland, 
the  great  theeologian,  who  had  vainly 
tried  to  prompt  his  stage-struck  fellow 
graduate  thirty-five  years  ago,  laughed 
until  his  nose  glasses  fell  off  and  dan- 
gled across  his  black  waistcoat.  Miss 
Agatha  was  highly  elated  over  the  suc- 
cess of  her  idea,  but  the  Professor  had 
no  heart  in  what  he  was  doing,  and 
the  merriment  rather  hurt  him.  Surely 
this  was  a  time  for  silence  and  reflec- 
tion, if  ever  such  time  was.  Memor- 
ies crowded  upon  him  faster  than  the 
lines  he  spoke,  and  the  warm  eyes 
turned  upon  him,  full  of  pride  and  af- 
fection for  their  scholar  and  their 
"great  man,"  moved  him  almost  be- 
yond endurance. 

" the  Consul's  brow  was  sad 

And  the  Consul's  speech  was  low," 

he  read,  and  suited  the  action  marvel- 
lously to  the  word.  His  eyes  wan- 
dered to  the  chapel  rostrum.  Thirty- 
five  years  ago  he  had  stood  there  re- 
peating those  same  lines,  a  young  man, 
resolute  and  gifted,  with  the  strength 
of  Ulysses  and  the  courage  of  Hector, 
with  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  and 
the  treasures  of  the  ages  at  his  feet, 
and  the  singing  rose  in  his  heart;  a 
spasm  of  emotion  contracted  the  old 
man's  vocal  cords. 

"Outspake  the  bold  Horatius, 
The  Captain  of  the  gate." 

he  faltered; his  white  hand  ner- 
vously sought  his  collar,  then  the  hook 
on  his  breast  where  his  glasses  usually 
hung,  and  at  last  tremulously  for  his 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  COMMENCEMENT 


handkerchief;  then  with  a  gesture  of 
utter  defeat,  the  Professor  sat  down. 
There  was  a  tearful  silence;  white 
handkerchiefs  fluttered  down  the  table 
as  from  a  magician's  wand,  and  Miss 
Agatha  was  sobbing.  Dr.  Maitland 
arose  to  his  feet,  his  face  distorted  be- 
tween laughter  and  tears.  "I  ask  you 
all,"  he  cried,  "whether  Horatius  has 
any  need  to  speak,  for  has  he  not  kept 
the  bridge  these  thirty  years?  God 
bless  him!" 

"It's  all  right,  so  don't  worry  about 


it,  Emerson,"  said  Miss  Agatha  as 
they  got  into  the  carriage.  "At  least 
they  were  appreciative,  which  is  more 
than  I  would  have  believed." 

"Ah,  Agatha,"  said  the  Professor, 
wiping  his  face  wearily  with  his 
crumpled  handkerchief,  "I  am  a  hope- 
less dunce,  and  you  ought  to  have 
known  better.  If  you  could  make 
nothing  of  me  at  twenty,  you  showed 
poor  judgment  to  undertake  it  at  fifty- 
five.  I  was  not  made  to  shine,  for 
they  put  a  woman's  heart  in  me." 


Washington-Greene 

Correspondence 


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  two  issues.  A  printed  copy  of  the  letter  here- 
with appears  on  page  493. — Editor. 


489 


& 


490 


/%«m»J*.&wi»,  /^t^eJ-t'^ 


^l^?- 


:^  j 

;■/;'•'  .\,<  ■'.:■.'  ':■:..;,  y*;  >■■■•.  '••"■■■ \      ^/    -    •  ,      0    "  ?" 

^       ^-^    ■  V'-      -  .  ■        .■:■;..■•-"■  '  :  .    ^    •    ■;.'-  •■    )    '  '. 

fytjZl-iSy,,  *,  JL^s^^  ^£^M  /%x?  .^4^1^ 

'  v  "  ,  ■     '  •      '    '  ^ 

.V5n^^_   __   <*>  /f?^-*.*~zU&<S    u^rfC> '&v  /4*-tj£p£  't^tCC^  #isz*x~*. 


^^M 


&*^r?&?*S::  fc&^-&fe#^  /s2£^siUe<*&£/ ,    ~0~'J<^-  2Jt*k*&r  ^j&rft***:  /fusi&*^jte:\ 

\--:\"--'   >  ;  ■  ."Wn-.       '■:/?'-.  [      .'■"'..■.'""■  /     •  -v,  ■  j  ^     ■;"•. ;"i    •■'■      :y 


491 


ivS?4£SKr"~ 


A^   <??t-<!rz^>.<l 


X^^y<^^^^^?  -u&z-?^  g<*yt&n-4St<£j£*J  z*r-&%&  +?&us> 


i^cA^-  a^e^A^f-  ~^cZ^_ <z^-&    P&d/ie^?^. 


f  V 


■  f  • 

f  •       y 


V^ 


->    <i'^*dty^^jJ'j£C04hJ) 


492 


Gen.  Washington   to  Gen.  Greene 

Mount  Vernon,  16th  Novem'r,  1781. 
Dear  Sir, 

I  wrote  you  so  fully  and  freely  by  Lieut.  Colo.  Lee,  who  left  me  about  the  29th  ulto.  that  I 
have  at  this  Time  but  little  else  to  say,  than  to  acknowledge  the  Receipt  of  your  Letter  of  the  25th  ulto. 
which  came  to  hand  two  Days  ago,  and  by  which  I  am  surprized  to  find  that  you  have  received  nothing 
from  me  later  than  the  28th  of  Septem'r. 

Since  my  last,  the  American  Troops  destined  to  the  Northward,  except  the  2d  N.  York  Reg't,  who 
march  with  the  prisoners  by  Land,  have  all  embarked,  with  their  stores,  &  are  I  fancy  by  this  Time  arrived 
at  the  head  of  Elk — Those  under  the  Command  of  Maj'r  Gen'l  St.  Clair,  who  are  ordered  to  join  your 
army,  began  their  march  on  the  5th  and  I  hope  are  well  advanced. — The  French  fleet  left  the  Bay,  as  I 
am  informed,  about  the  6th  or  7th — and  from  the  last  accounts  I  have  been  able  to  obtain  of  the  British, 
who  were  last  seen  stand'g  Southerly  on  the  N.  Carolina  coast,  there  is  but  a  possible  Chance  of  the  two 
fleets  meeting. — L'd  Cornwallis,  with  the  British  Officers  going  to  N.  York  &  Europe,  fell  down  the  River 
York  on  the  4th.  The  Prisoners  who  are  to  remain  in  the  Country  are  all  marched  to  Winchester  &  Fort 
Frederick,  except  such  sick  as  remain  too  bad  to  remove — of  these  there  are  still  a  considerable  Number. — ■ 

I  am  thus  far  myself  on  my  Way  to  the  Northward — I  shall  remain  but  a  few  Days  here,  &  shall  pro- 
ceed to  Philadelphia,  where  I  shall  attempt  to  stimulate  Congress  to  the  best  Improvement  of  our  late  Suc- 
cess, by  tak'g  the  most  vigorous  &  effectual  Measures,  to  be  ready  for  an  early  &  decisive  Campaign  the 
next  Year. — My  greatest  Fear  is,  that  Congress  viewing  this  stroke  in  too  important  a  point  of  Light,  may 
think  our  Work  too  nearly  closed,  &  will  fall  into  a  State  of  Languor  &  Relaxation — to  prevent  this  Error, 
I  shall  employ  every  Means  in  my  Power — and  if  unhappily  we  sink  into  that  fatal  mistake,  no  part  of  the 
Blame  shall  be  mine — 

Whatever  may  be  the  Winter  politics  of  European  Courts,  it  is  clearly  my  opinion,  that  our  Grand 
Object,  is  to  be  prepared  in  every  point  for  War — not  that  we  wish  its  Continuance,  but  that  we  may  be  in 
the  best  Situation  to  meet  every  Event. — 

I  am  anxious  to  know  whether  the  British  fleet  drops  a  Reinforcement  at  Charlestown — before  this 
arrives,  you  will  be  informed  from  my  last  that  a  chain  of  Expresses  will  be  established  from  Philadelphia 
to  So.  Carolina,  by  which  means  I  hope  to  hand  a  more  frequent  Communication  of  Intelligence  than  has 
hitherto  been  experienced  with  your  Army. 

With  very  great  Regard  &  Esteem, 

I  am, 

Dear   Sir, 

Your  most  obedient  and 

most    humble    Servant, 
G.  Washington. 
Hon.  Major  Genl.  Greene.  |        \ 


^3 


The  Don  Who  Loved  a  Donna 


By  Will  M.  Clemens 


THIS  is  the  Story  of  a  Brave 
Man,  who  some  years  ago 
was  known  to  the  hundred 
or  more  persons  composing 
the  population  of  San  Juan,  a  mining 
camp  in  Arizona.  He  was  a  Mexican, 
this  brave  man,  named  Don  Juan 
Cubebico,  and  he  was  without  question 
the  ugliest  "greaser"  who  ever  stole  a 
horse  or  ate  a  tamale.  He  was  short 
and  thin,  blackhaired  and  pockmarked, 
garlic  scented  and  tobacco-stained, 
and  in  the  making  of  his  pure  white 
soul  bleaching  powder  must  have  been 
freely  used. 

The  Don  claimed  to  be  of  Spanish 
blood,  but  my  instinct  taught  me  to 
trace  his  lineage  through  an  Apache  on 
his  mother's  side  and  a  horse  thief  at 
the  fraternal  end  of  his  genealogy.  He 
once  boldly  declared  before  a  well- 
filled  bar  room  that  he  was  heir  to  the 
Spanish  throne,  and  it  is  easily  re- 
membered how,  for  a  brief  moment,  he 
was  in  danger  of  falling  heir  to  a  rope 
dangling  from  the  limb  of  a  cotton- 
wood  tree.  That  brief  moment  and 
the  noble  bearing  of  the  Don  saved  his 
funeral  expenses. 

His  noble  bearing  was  the  secret  of 
his  bravery;  he  related  stories  of  how 
he  had  slaughtered  Gringos  in  the  ear- 
ly days  and  accompanied  his  recital  by 
whetting  his  hunting  knife  on  a  pair  of 
boots  that  he  had  stolen  from  the  camp 
at  Red  Creek  three  years  before.  When 
he  could  borrow  tobacco,  he  would 
nimbly  roll  it  in  corn-husks  and  smoke 

494 


cigarettes .  with  great  gusto.  I 
have  often  thought  how  it  would 
have  pleased  the  soul  of  a  Mad- 
rid cavalier  to  observe  the  Don 
blow  smoke  through  his  nose — always 
with  that  same  outward  indication  of 
nobility.  He  was  ever  a  brave  man — 
in  telling  of  deeds  of  the  past,  and  of 
the  hosts  of  men  he  had  killed  "too 
dead  for  smelling." 

Of  the  hundred  men  in  San  Juan, 
including  of  course  the  four  Chinese 
and  the  six  women,  there  were  others 
almost  as  brave  and  self-assuring  as 
Don  Juan  Cubebico.  It  could  not 
have  been  otherwise  in  that  typical 
town  of  a  typical  state  of  a  typical 
nation.  There  was  Patrick  Far- 
relly,  for  example,  another  brave 
man,  who  died  not  from  a  want  of 
nobility  of  character,  but  merely  from 
a  lack  of  common  sense.  In  an  evil 
moment,  Mr.  Farrelly  conceived  the 
idea  that  a  little  powder  thrown  upon 
some  green  hemlock  would  facilitate 
its  burning.  Thereupon  he  directed  a 
small  stream  from  his  powder  keg  up- 
on the  burning  wood,  but,  not  possess- 
ing a  hand  and  a  presence  of  mind 
quick  enough  to  cut  off  the  stream  of 
powder  at  the  proper  moment,  he  was 
blown  into  a  thousand  fragments; 
whereupon,  Judge  Barton,  himself  a 
brave  man,  who  was  also  coroner,  was 
called  upon  to  render  a  verdict,  which 
he  delivered  with  great  gravity  as  fol- 
lows:  "Patrick's  death  can't  be  called 
suicide,  'cause  he  didn't  mean  to  kill 


THE  DON  WHO  LOVED  A  DONNA 


495 


himself.  It  wasn't  a  visitation  of  God, 
'cause  he  wasn't  struck  by  lightning. 
He  didn't  die  for  want  of  breath,  for 
he  hadn't  anything  to  breathe  with. 
It  is  very  plain  he  didn't  know  what 
he  was  about,  so  I  will  bring  in  a  ver- 
dict that  the  deceased  died  for  want 
of  common  sense." 

Shorty  French  was  another  brave 
man,  who  in  his  day  was  the  champion 
cow-puncher  of  Rhubarb  Creek.  Soon 
after  his  arrival  amongst  us  at  San 
Juan  he  proposed  the  formation  of  a 
Society  for  the  Preservation  of  Sani- 
tary Measures,  and  for  two  weeks  he 
didn't  dare  lay  down  his  gun,  for  fear 
some  one  would  "get  the  drop  on  him." 
After  the  excitement  had  somewhat 
abated,  Mr.  French,  who  was  a  born 
organizer,  suggested  the  formation  of 
an  Olive-branch  Benevolent  Associa- 
tion, with  meetings  to  be  held  monthly 
in  Murphy's  saloon.  At  the  first 
monthly  meeting  three  members  were 
killed  and  four  others  badly  knifed. 
For  a  long  time  it  was  thought  that  the 
president,  Pete  Riley,  could  not  recov- 
er, for  his  skull  was  badly  mashed  by 
a  billiard  cue  as  a  result  of  his  decision 
on  a  point  of  order.  The  billiard  cue 
was  turned  over  to  the  sheriff  as  evi- 
dence in  case  Pete  did  not  recover. 
Well,  he  did  not  die,  and  the  sheriff  re- 
tained the  billiard  cue  waiting  for  Pete 
to  die  a  natural  death.  The  sheriff 
was  always  looking  forward  for  the 
impossible  to  happen. 

Out  of  the  four  Chinese  in  San  Juan 
only  one  could  be  called  a  brave  man. 
He  was  Lee  Chung,  aggressive  and 
consequently  successful.  When  there 
was  war  in  the  Chinese  end  of  the 
town  and  the  air  was  filled  with  Hong 
Kong  swear  words  Lee  Chung  was 
nearly  always  the  victor  in  the  dis-. 


putes.  On  a  certain  occasion,  when 
Lee  landed  "a  good  one"  on  Ah  Wong's 
nose  with  a  flat  iron,  the  whole  camp 
acknowledged  Lee's  bravery,  for  Ah 
Wong  was  not  able  to  smell  for  a 
month. 

Recalling  the  six  women  in  San 
Juan,  the  less  said  the  better.  Two, 
however,  were  undoubtedly  brave  to 
the  extent  of  a  brief  mention.  Rose 
Jenkins  was  a  white  woman  who  won 
the  bitter  enmity  of  the  Chinese  be- 
cause she  was  in  the  habit  of  taking 
home  washing.  She  was  a  lame  girl 
and  far  from  beautiful,  but  she  was 
brave,  else  she  would  have  never  con- 
sented to  marry  Bill  Badger.  The 
entire  town  admired  her  for  this,  and 
when  the  marriage  ceremony  took 
place  at  the  water-tank  she  was  the  re- 
cipient of  many  beautiful  presents,  in- 
cluding a  pair  of  brass  knuckles  and  a 
hog-ringer.  The  new  preacher  per- 
formed the  ceremony.  They  called 
him  Parson  Brown.  I  understand  he 
was  allowed  to  remain  in  town  under 
one  condition :  he  was  handy  with  the 
fiddle  and  thus  helped  out  on  festival 
occasion.  Well,  he  married  Bill  and 
Rose  at  the  water-tank,  and  every  one 
in  camp  turned  out  to  make  the  event 
a  complete  success.  Rose  had  attired 
herself  gaily  for  the  occasion,  having 
smuggled  into  the  camp,  a  yachting 
cap  and  a  new  pair  of  overalls.  After 
her  marriage  Rose,  at  her  husband's 
request,  continued  to  take  in  washing. 

The  other  brave  woman  was  a  half- 
breed  from  the  Sioux  tribe  across  the 
range.  One  day  in  early  spring  she 
drifted  into  camp  with  her  aged  father, 
along  with  the  first  robins,  so  we  called 
her  Princess  Birdie.  It  was  a  hard  life 
for  her  and  all  the  worse  after  she  met 
\vith    a    serious    accident,    losing   her 


496 


THE  DON  WHO  LOVED  A  DONNA 


right  foot  by  falling  between  two  cattle 
cars.  After  that  she  was  forced  to 
earn  her  living  as  best  she  could.  For 
an  entire  season  she  made  money  by 
giving  music  lessons  on  a  police  whis- 
tle which  was  a  present  from  the  sher- 
iff. Birdie's  great  failing  was  the 
weakness  displayed  by  women  every- 
where: all  the  money  she  earned  she 
spent  on  dresses.  In  the  dug-out,  half 
a  mile  from  town,  where  she  and  her 
father  lived,  she  hoarded  her  posses- 
sions— all  sorts  of  things,  from  rubber 
boots  to  army  overcoats.  Birdie  would 
bloom  out  every  now  and  then  in  a 
hoop-skirt  or  a  plug  hat,  while  her  poor 
old  father  would  sit  around  the  dug- 
out waiting  for  night  to  come,  when  he 
could  paint  his  trembling  legs  with 
pitch,  in  order  to  slide  into  town  after 
dark  and  get  a  supply  of  chewing  to- 
bacco. 

But  of  all  these  brave  ones  in  San 
Juan,  the  "greaser,"  Don  Cubebico,  was 
the  bravest  of  the  brave.  He  had  one 
fault  and  only  one — with  all  his  brav- 
ery he  was  brutal.  He  loved  to  see  his 
fellow  man  suffer  pain  and  sorrow ;  his 
heart  was  hard  and  his  brutality  al- 
ways seemed  to  assert  itself.  Doubtless 
the  horse-thief  blood  in  his  paternal 
ancestry  had  much  to  do  with  this 
peculiar  trait  in  his  character.  The 
little  burro  upon  which  he  rode  in  and 
out  of  camp  was  a  patient  beast,  and 
it  stirred  one's  blood  to  see  him  choke 
the  animal  with  his  infernal  Spanish 
bit,  or  to  observe  the  way  he  dug  his 
ugly  spurs  into  the  burro's  scarred  and 
battered  flank. 

The  sweetheart  of  Don  Cubebico — 
wherever  you  find  the  "greaser"  you 
also  find  a  sweetheart — lived  across 
the  arroyo,  where  she  raised  red  pep- 
per in  a  bit  of  a  garden  patch.     The 


dusky  Donna  Bettina  occupied  a  small 
adobe  house  with  her  old  mother,  who 
was  very,  very  old,  very  wrinkled,  and 
very  blind.  In  many  ways  the  Donna 
was  a  counterfeit  presentment  of  Don 
Cubebico,  but  inasmuch  as  the  Don 
loved  her  devotedly  she  differed  from 
him  in  this  one  respect,  for  she  was  in- 
constant. She  deceived  him  and  toyed 
with  his  heart  in  a  manner  that  boded 
her  nothing  but  evil,  and  the  result  of 
her  folly  was  sure  to  come  sooner  or 
later.  Would  that  we  had  had  a  poet 
in  San  Juan  better  able  to  tell  this  sad, 
strange  tale  of  Gringo  love,  for 

When  the  Don  had  gaily  gone, 
Marauding  in  the  valleys, 

His  donna  fed  some  other  Don, 
Frijoles  and  tamales. 

Sufficient  to  the  night  is  the  danger 
thereof,  and  there  must  come  an  end 
to  all  deception  and  to  wronged  love. 
Women  cannot  play  with  the  hearts  of 
men  forever  and  forever;  there  must 
come  a  day  of  retribution. 

One  evening  late  in  the  month  of 
October,  there  was  a  tragedy  in  San 
Juan.  Just  as  the  moon  was  peeping 
over  the  Cuyamaca  Range  and  the 
tarantulas  were  closing  the  front  doors 
of  their  dew-covered  nests  and  the 
coyotes  were  slinking  out  from  the 
mountains,  Don  Cubebico  rode  in  from 
the  far  south  mounted  on  a  stolen 
horse.  He  brought  with  him  a  phe- 
nomenal appetite  for  supper,  as  he  had 
had  a  hard  day's  ride.  Across  the 
arroyo  he  rode,  a  cigarette  clinched  be- 
tween his  teeeth.  In  the  garden  of  red 
peppers  he  found  his  Donna  at  the  gate 
bidding  adios  to  a  stranger — a  Gringo 
he  had  never  seen  before. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  moment.  The 
Don  alighted  from  his  stolen  horse, 
crept  stealthily  as  the  wild  cat  upon  the 


HOMESICKNESS 


497 


two  at  the  garden  gate,  and  then  with 
the  grunt  of  a  Sioux  he  plunged  his 
knife  into  the  back  of  his  rival,  who 
dropped  at  his  feet  without  a  murmur. 
The  scream  of  fright  and  agony  that 
the  Donna  essayed  to  utter  was  stifled 
before  it  could  be  given  birth,  for 
Cubebico,  true  to  his  race  and  birth- 
right, choked  her  to  death  with  his  long 
and  sinewy  fingers. 

The  Don  stood  there  a  moment  in 
the  presence  of  the  two  dead  ones,  and 
then,  calmly  rolling  a  fresh  cigarette 
and  lighting  it,  he  wiped  the  blood 
from  his  hunting  knife  on  the  pampas 
grass  at  the  side  of  the  garden  gate, 
and,  remounting  his  stolen  horse,  he 
again  crossed  the  arroyo  on  a  gallop  to 
the  town.  At  the  stage-house  he  broke 
down  the  door,  robbed  the  till  of  the 


gold  he  found  there,  added  a  new 
blanket  and  a  Colt's  revolver  to  the 
pommel  of  his  saddle,  and,  remount- 
ing, dug  his  spurs  deeply,  and  flew 
away  like  the  wind  to  the  mountains 
beyond  the  plain. 

The  other  brave  man  in  San  Juan 
buried  the  Donna  and  her  lover  side 
by  side  with  their  feet  to  the  south.  It 
required  no  special  reasoning  to  couple 
the  murder  with  the  burglary  at  the 
stage-house,  and  Don  Cubebico  from 
that  time  was  a  marked  man,  a  much- 
wanted  man.  I  believe  the  sheriff  of 
San  Juan  is  looking  for  him  even  to 
this  day.  But  when  the  Bravest  Man 
in  San  Juan  left  the  camp  he  left  it 
never  to  return,  and  now  only  the 
memory  of  his  daring  lingers  like  a 
dream  among  the  miners. 


Homesickness 

By  Ethelwyn  Wetherald 

AT  twilight  on  this  unfamiliar  street, 
With  its  affronts  to  aching  ear  and  eye, 
I  think  of  restful  ease  in  fields  that  lie 
Untrodden  by  a  myriad  fevered  feet. 

O  green  and  dew  and  stillness !     O  retreat 
Thick-leaved  and  squirrel-haunted !      By  and  by 
I  too  shall  follow  all  the  thoughts  that  fly 

Bird-like  to  you,  and  find  you,  ah,  how  sweet ! 


Not  yet — not  yet !     To-night  it  almost  seems 
That  I  am  speeding  up  the  hemlock  lane, 
Up  to  the  door,  the  lamp,  the  face  that  pales, 
And  warms  with  sudden  joy.      But  these  are  dreams. 
I  lean  on  Memory's  breast,  and  she  is  fain 
To  soothe  my  yearnings  with  her  tender  tales. 


The  Pennsylvania  Germans 


By  Lucy  Forney  Bittinger 

(Continued  from  May  number) 

E   have   now   reached   an- 
other, in  many  ways  a  new, 


\  \  period  in  the  annals  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Germans ;  the 
Province  was  being  settled  up;  the 
frontier  had  passed  the  Susquehanna; 
"the  Mountains"  were  now  the  new 
country,  whence  came  tales  of  Indian 
invasion.  In  this  settlement  the  Ger- 
mans had  taken  the  lead  and  it  was 
only  later  that  the  Scotch-Irish  gained 
a  place  at  their  side. 

The  Pennsylvania  Germans  were 
not  only  settling  up  the  State  which 
has  given  them  its  name,  but  Virginia 
and  North  Carolina  had  many  emi- 
grants from  Pennsylvania.  In  1746 
Shenandoah  and  Rockingham  Coun- 
ties, in  Virginia,  were  being  settled 
by  them.  A  letter  from  Lawrence 
Washington,  about  1750,  speaks  of  his 
endeavors  to  get  "Pennsylvania  Dutch" 
settlers  for  the  lands  of  the  Ohio  Com- 
pany, in  which  he  and  his  brother 
George  were  so  much  interested.  An- 
other like  project  was  more  success- 
ful ;  Col.  Shepherd  (his  name  had  been 
Schaeffer  and  he  was  himself  a  Penn- 
sylvania German)  induced  many  colo- 
nists of  his  own  race  to  settle  in  Vir- 
ginia and  so  Shepherdstown  was 
founded,  in  1742.  Six  years  later,  we 
hear  of  Germans  at  Redstone  (now 
Brownsville  on  the  Monongahela)  a 
famous  point  of  departure,  for  the 
"great    West"    of    pre-Revolutionary 

days. 

498 


"What  Pennsylvania  owes  to  her  German 
farmers  has  been  freely  acknowledged.  In- 
deed the  farm  of  a  German  or  Pennsylvania 
German,  betrays  at  the  first  glance,  that  in- 
telligent management  and  honest  labor  have 
gone  hand  in  hand  to  make  a  fruitful  and 
beautiful  property.  Their  superiority  in  the 
tillage  of  the  ground,  the  breeding  of  fine 
cattle,  the  building  of  suitable  stables  and 
barns,  as  well  as  their  unpretending,  suit- 
able and  simple  style  of  living,  induced  the 
well-known  Doctor  Benjamin  Rush  to  make 
them  the  subject  of  an  ethnological  study, 
which  he  published  in  1789  in  the  Colum- 
bian Magazine,  not  only  to  do  them  justice, 
but  to  spur  on  others  to  imitate  them.  The 
Germans  in  Pennsylvania  had  gained  an 
honorable  reputation  in  many  kinds  of  man- 
ufacturing. *  *  *  German  millers, 
brewers,  tanners,  sugar-refiners,  merchants, 
innkeepers,  butchers  and  bakers  were  pro- 
portionately as  numerous  as  now.  The 
Pennsylvania  Germans  particularly  dis- 
tinguished themselves  as  iron-masters.  Ten 
years  after  the  first  forge  was  begun  in 
Pennsylvania,  we  find  the  furnace  of  the 
German  Mennonite  Kurtz  in  Octarara  in 
Lancaster  County.  In  Berks  County,  which 
was  early  the  center  of  the  iron  manufac- 
ture, most  of  the  iron-masters  were  Ger- 
mans. The  Oley  Smithy  was  erected  in 
1745  by  two  Germans  and  an  Englishman." 

In  the  Indian  wars  which  desolated 
the  once  peaceful  frontiers  of  Penn's 
colony  during  the  long  struggle  be- 
tween France  and  England  for  the  pos- 
session of  America,  the  Pennsylvania 
Germans  bore  an  active  part.  Their 
leader,  in  war  and  diplomacy,  was  Con- 
rad Weiser,  whom  we  last  saw  falling 
under  the  influence  of  the  mystic 
Beissel ;  but  this  was  only  a  passing 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


499 


phase  of  the  stirring  career  of  Weiser. 
He  had  been  brought  up  among  the 
Indians  of  New  York  and  adopted  into 
the  Six  Nations;  he  was  at  all  events 
known  and  trusted  by  them.  The  Prov- 
ince of  Pennsylvania  employed  him 
again  and  again  to  negotiate  with  his 
"Indian  brothers"  until  the  plottings  of 
the  French  made  all  negotiations  use- 
less, and  Braddock's  defeat  brought 
down  clouds  of  confident  Indian  war- 
riors upon  the  frontier  settlements. 
Among  the  pioneers  killed  or  taken  as 
prisoners  were  many  Germans  ;  it  is  es- 
timated that  in  the  Indian  attacks  of 
the  next  eight  years,  three  hundred  fell 
victims.  There  were  massacres  at 
Tulpehocken  (Weiser's  home)  and  at 
Gnadenhutten,  the  Moravian  town  of 
Christian  Indians.  There  is  no  evi- 
dence that  these  Indians  took  part  in 
the  atrocities  of  their  heathen  kinsmen. 
But  the  white  men  suspected  them,  the 
Indians  hated  them,  and  a  wandering 
band  of  Munseys  fell  upon  the  settle- 
ment, set  fire  to  the  houses,  and  mur- 
dered missionaries  and  converts  alike, 
as  they  sought  to  escape.  The  coun- 
ties of  Lancaster,  Berks  and  North- 
ampton were  invaded.  Then  Weiser 
took  up  arms  with  such  a  host  of  other 
Germans  that  the  provincial  legislature 
ordered  that  all  officers  of  its  militia 
should  be  chosen  among  those  able  to 
speak  German.  A  chain  of  forts  was 
established  along  the  line  of  the  Kit- 
tatiny  mountains ;  the  Moravian  bishop 
at  Bethlehem  put  his  town  in  a  state 
of  defence  which  commanded  the  ad- 
miration of  the  authorities,  and  the 
savage  tide  was  held  back,  but  only 
for  a  time.  Treaties  and  conferences, 
destruction  of  Indian  towns  and  build- 
ing of  frontier  forts  alternated  with 
massacres  and  plunder,  scalping  and 


capture,  for  eight  years.  Weiser  died 
in  the  midst  of  this  misery,  and  was 
buried  in  the  graveyard  of  Wo- 
melsdorf. 

Weiser's  mantle,  as  a  negotiator 
trusted  by  white  men  and  Indians  alike, 
fell  upon  another  German  Christian, 
Frederic  Post.  Let  us  hear  for  him 
and  his  fellow-missionaries  of  the  Mo- 
ravian church,  the  witness  of  the  his- 
torian Parkman — not  prepossessed  in 
favor  of  Pennsylvania  Germans  or 
missionaries  to  the  Indians: 

"He  had  been  sent  at  the  instance  of 
Forbes  as  an  envoy  to  the  hostile  tribes 
from  the  Governor  and  Council  of  Penn- 
sylvania. He  spoke  the  Delaware  language, 
knew  the  Indians  well,  had  lived  among 
them,  had  married  a  converted  squaw,  and 
by  his  simplicity  of  character,  directness 
and  perfect  honesty,  gained  their  full  con- 
fidence. He  now  accepted  his  terrible  mis- 
sion and  calmly  prepared  to  place  himself 
in  the  clutches  of  the  tiger.  He  was  a  plain 
German,  upheld  by  a  sense  of  duty  and  a 
single-hearted  trust  in  God;  alone,  with  no 
great  disciplined  organization  to  impel  and 
support  him,  and  no  visions  and  illusions, 
such  as  kindled  and  sustained  the  splendid 
heroism  of  the  early  Jesuit  martyrs.  Yet 
his  errand  was  no  whit  less  perilous.  And 
here  we  may  notice  the  contrast  between 
the  mission  settlements  of  the  Moravians 
in  Pennsylvania  and  those  which  the  later 
Jesuits  and  the  Sulpitians  had  established. 
.  .  .  The  Moravians  were  apostles  of 
peace,  and  they  succeeded  to  a  surprising 
degree  in  weaning  their  converts  from  their 
ferocious  instincts  and  warlike  habits ;  while 
the  Mission  Indians  of  Canada  retained  all 
their  native  fierceness,  and  were  systemati- 
cally impelled  to  use  their  tomahawks 
against  the  enemies  of  the  Church." 

Post's  first  journey  was  successful, 
amid  perils  that  rival  those  enumerated 
by  the  apostle  Paul.  He  and  his  com- 
panions lost  their  way,  they  lost  each 
other;  they  came  upon  scalps,  "one 
with  long  white  hair,"  hung  to  dry 


500 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


upon  a  bush ;  when  he  reached  the  In- 
dian town  the  young  warriors  rushed 
at  him  to  kill  him,  pressing  their  knives 
against  his  undaunted  breast ;  war  par- 
ties hung  in  the  dark  skirts  of  the  for- 
est to  take  his  scalp  if  he  ventured  from 
the  friendly  radiance  of  the  camp-fire. 
Yet  from  all  these  dangers  he  brought 
back  an  answer  of  peace.  The  "Great 
Council"  of  Easton  called  to  all  the 
tribes  on  the  Ohio  to  stand  neutral, 
while  Forbes  moved  against  Fort  Du- 
quesne.  Post  was  chosen  to  bear  this 
message  and  plunged  again  into  a  wil- 
derness in  which  the  soldiers  who  es- 
corted him  part  of  the  way  were  mur- 
dered by  lurking  Indians  as  soon  as 
they  left  him,  where  "wolves  made  a 
terrible  noise"  at  night,  and  Indians 
"were  possessed  by  a  murdering  spirit 
and  with  bloody  vengeance  were 
thirsty  and  drunk."  The  message  was 
received;  the  tribes  sat  quiet,  and 
Forbes  was  left  to  descend  on  Fort 
Duquesne,  unmolested  by  the  Indians 
who  had  hitherto  been  the  most 
dreaded  auxiliaries  of  the  French. 

In  1 761,  Post  built  a  block-house  and 
established  a  mission  to  the  Indians  in 
what  is  now  the  State  of  Ohio.  But 
the  Indians  were  suspicious,  even  of 
Post ;  then  begrudged  him  the  little 
piece  of  garden-ground  which  was  all 
he  asked;  and  in  the  next  year  Post 
returned,  while  Heckewelder,  his 
young  assistant  (at  the  time  of  his 
first  missionary  journey  but  nineteen 
years  old)  left  the  block-house  in  Stark 
County  and  went  to  assist  Zeisberger, 
"the  apostle  of  the  Delawares,"  in  his 
work.  The  mission  was  thus  aban- 
doned, but  the  block-house,  of  which 
a  few  remains  still  exist,  was  the  first 
habitation  of  civilized  man  in  the  pres- 
ent State  of  Ohio. 


Another  of  these  "plain  German" 
heroes  deserves  more  than  the  passing 
mention  I  can  give  him;  this  was  Da- 
vid Zeisberger.  Born  in  Bohemia  and 
taken  thence  when  a  little  child,  on  his 
parents'  flight  to  the  protection  of 
Count  Zinzendorf,  he  grew  up  in  an 
atmosphere  of  hardship  and  self-sacri- 
fice. He  early  consecrated  himself  to 
work  among  the  Indians,  but  always, 
through  his  long  life,  refused  any  sal- 
ary, preferring  to  serve  "without  any 
view  of  a  reward  other  than  such  as 
his  Lord  and  Master  might  deign  to 
bestow  upon  him."  He  studied  their 
language  in  Pyrlaeus'  school  for  In- 
dian missionaries,  at  Bethlehem;  then 
went  to  Onondaga,  the  capital  of  the 
Six  Nations,  to  perfect  himself  in  their 
tongue.  Here  he  was  adopted  into 
the  Iroquois  clan  of  the  Turtle,  and 
was  made  "Keeper  of  the  Wampum" 
(or  records  of  treaties)  to  the  con- 
federacy. His  life  is  the  history  of 
the  Moravian  mission  among  the  Dela- 
wares— a  history  "full  of  sadness,  of 
faithfulness  and  of  discouragement." 
The  little  flock  which  he  had  gathered 
fell  under  suspicion  resulting  from  the 
acts  of  their  heathen  kinsman  in  Pon- 
tiac's  conspiracy;  they  were  requested 
to  come  to  Philadelphia,  that  the 
provincial  government  might  better 
protect  them.  Arrived  there,  a  howl- 
ing mob  pressed  upon  them  and  their 
faithful  Zeisberger,  who  had  accom- 
panied them,  and  threatened  their  lives. 
Presently  they  were  exiled  to  New 
York,  but  the  authorities  of  that  prov- 
ince refused  to  receive  them.  They 
came  back,  dragging  wearily  through 
the  snow,  for  it  was  now  December. 
Their  missionaries  remained  with 
them  through  an  epidemic  of  small- 
pox and  an  imprisonment  of  more  than 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


501 


a  year;  then  the  poor  creatures,  only 
half  of  whom  survived,  were  permitted 
to  go,  but  not  to  their  homes.  They 
sought  a  new  asylum,  farther  from  the 
white  man,  on  the  Susquehanna,  and 
gave  it  the  pathetic  name  of  "Frieden- 
shiitten,  "the  Tents  of  Peace."  And 
it  was  the  abode  of  peace  for  a  few 
years. 

It  was  not  till  the  French  were 
finally  driven  from  Fort  Duquesne  and 
Pontiac's  conspiracy  crushed,  that 
there  was  any  security  from  scalping- 
knife  and  tomahawk  for  the  pioneers 
of  Pennsylvania;  and  this  was  chiefly 
accomplished  by  Colonel  Bouquet  and 
his  regiment,  the  "Royal  Americans," 
largely  recruited  among  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Germans.  This  regiment's  part 
in  the  "Old  French  War"  is  today  for- 
gotten in  the  land  which  they  helped 
to  save  for  England;  but  it  was  none 
the  less  a  brave  part.  Raised  the  year 
after  Braddock's  defeat,  when  two 
years  old  and  become  the  60th  of  the 
Line,  it  helped  to  take  Louisburg  in 
the  north,  and,  under  Forbes  and  Bou- 
quet, drove  the  French  from  Fort  Du- 
quesne and  made  it  Fort  Pitt,  thus 
breaking  that  chain  of  French  forts 
erected  and  maintained  with  such 
proud  dreams  and  deep-laid  plans  by 
the  men  of  New  France.  In  that  same 
year  it  was  their  desperate  valor  that 
hurled  itself  against  Montcalm's  abatis 
at  Ticonderoga,  where  their  gallant 
foe  wondered,  as  they  attacked  him  six 
successive  times — "masses  of  infuri- 
ated men  who  could  not  go  forward 
and  would  not  go  back ;  straining  for 
an  enemy  they  could  not  reach,  and 
firing  on  an  enemy  they  could  not  see ; 
caught  in  the  entanglements  of  fallen 
trees,  tripped  by  briers,  stumbling  over 
logs,  tearing  through  boughs;  shout- 


ing, yelling,  cursing,  and  pelted  all  the 
while  with  bullets  that  killed  them  by 
scores,  stretched  them  on  the  ground, 
or  hung  them  on  jagged  branches  in 
strange  attitudes  of  death."  (Park- 
man.)  In  the  following  year,  they 
were  with  Wolfe  at  Quebec;  it  was 
their  imprudent  gallantry  which  was 
beaten  back  in  the  assault  at  Montmo- 
renci;  but  afterward  came  that  sad, 
triumphant  day  when  Wolfe  and 
Montcalm  died — the  one  in  his  victory, 
the  other  murmuring  in  defeat  and 
death,  praises  of  the  steadiness  of  his 
English  foe.  No  wonder  that  "the 
60th  of  the  Line"  still  bears  proudly 
the  motto  "granted  for  distinguished 
conduct  and  bravery  under  Wolfe" — 
Celer  et  Audax.  The  Royal  Ameri- 
cans helped  to  garrison  their  conquest 
during  the  bitter  winter  of  1760  and 
to  hold  it  when  its  fate  trembled  in  the 
balance  as  the  French  tried  to  retake  it. 
It  was  their  colonel  who  received 
the  surrender  of  Canada,  when  Mon- 
treal, the  last  stronghold  of  France, 
dipped  the  lilies  to  St.  George's 
cross. 

Again,  it  was  the  Royal  Americans 
who  garrisoned  the  little  forts  through- 
out the  wilderness  on  which  fell  the 
horrors  of  Indian  massacre  in  Pon- 
tiac's conspiracy.  Perhaps  men  more 
experienced  in  Indian  treachery  would 
have  been  able  to  cope  with  the  deceit- 
ful savages  successfully;  the  men  of 
the  60th  fell  helpless  victims  in  many 
cases,  though  not  without  gallant,  un- 
availing resistance ;  and  many  of  them 
died  bravely,  horrible  deaths  of  mur- 
der and  torture.  One  of  their  bat- 
talions had  been  in  the  army  that  took 
Martinique  and  Havana.  Returning, 
much  broken,  from  their  tropical 
campaign,  they  found  yet  harder  work 


t^02 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


before  them.  Pontiac's  plot  had  set 
the  whole  frontier  ablaze  and  one  of 
the  two  forts  which  held  out,  was  their 
own  conquest,  Fort  Pitt.  Colonel 
Bouquet  ventured  to  lead  an  expedi- 
tion for  its  relief.  Plunging  into  the 
woods  which  had  entrapped  Braddock, 
with  a  little  handful  of  his  Royal 
Americans,  a  few  invalided  soldiers  just 
from  Havana,  and  some  provincials, 
he  was  surrounded  by  a  mob  of  "howl- 
ing and  yelping"  savages,  a  few  miles 
from  Fort  Pitt.  For  two  days  his  men 
fought  against  a  foe  they  could  not 
see  and  who  simply  disappeared  when 
attacked.  The  second  day  a  pretended 
retreat  was  devised,  and  the  joyous 
savages,  pursuing  their  prey,  were 
drawn  into  an  ambush  and  destroyed. 
"The  behavior  of  the  troops,  on  this 
occasion,"  wrote  Bouquet,  "speaks  for 
itself  so  strongly,  that  for  me  to  at- 
tempt their  eulogism,  would  but  de- 
tract from  their  merit."  Five  days 
after,  the  distressed  and  exhausted 
garrison  of  Fort  Pitt  were  relieved  and 
Pennsylvania's  frontiers  saved  from 
farther  Indian  warfare.  Bouquet  and 
his  men  remained  at  Fort  Pitt  a  year, 
during  which  time  he  marched  into  the 
wilds  of  Ohio  and  at  the  Muskingum, 
made  a  treaty  with  the  now  humble 
conspirators  of  Pontiac  and  forced 
them  to  restore  all  the  captives  taken 
during  the  last  eight  years  of  savage 
warfare. 

Among  the  prisoners  a  young  Ger- 
man girl  was  recovered  and  brought 
to  Carlisle.  Her  mother  had  come 
with  the  hope  of  rinding  her  daughter, 
but  was  unable  to  recognize  her,  after 
the  years  of  separation.  Telling  her 
trouble  to  Colonel  Bouquet,  he  asked 
if  there  was  nothing  by  which  her  child 
might    remember    her.      Recalling    a 


hymn  she  used  to  sing,  at  his  advice 
she  sang : 

Einsam,  und  doch  nicht  ganz  alleine 

.bin  ich  in  meiner  Einsamkeit, 

Denn  wann  ich  gleich  verlassen  scheine, 

Vertreibt  mir  Jesus  selbst  die  Zeit: 

Ich  bin  bei  Ihm  und  Er  bei  mir, 

So  kommt  mir  gar  nichts  einsam  fur." 

(Alone,  yet  not  alone  am  I,  tho'  in  this 
solitude  so  drear.  I  feel  my  Jesus  always 
nigh;  He  comes,  my  dreary  hours  to  cheer. 
I  am  with  him  and  He  with  me ;  I  cannot 
solitary  be.) 

As  the  old  mother  finished  this  hymn 
of  the  wilderness  the  girl  threw  her- 
self into  the  singer's  arms. 

The  authority  and  the  machinations 
of  France  in  the  Western  wilderness 
alike  were  ended.  The  Royal  Ameri- 
cans were  reduced  to  a  peace  footing; 
and  manv  of  the  officers  and  men,  leav- 
ing the  service,  settled  in  the  colonies 
they  had  defended — a  body  of  German 
soldiery  which  England  had  enlisted 
and  trained — for  what?  When  the 
Revolution  came,  they  knew ;  and  per- 
haps England  knew  also. 

In  the  time  of  peace  between  the 
close  of  the  old  French  War,  and  the 
approach  of  the  Revolution,  the  Ger- 
mans of  Pennsylvania  seem  to  have 
given  themselves  especially  to  the  de- 
velopment of  what  was  to  be  the  great 
iron  industry  of  their  State.  John 
Pott,  the  founder  of  Pottstown,  made 
stoves  there  in  1749  which  he  deco- 
rated with  Scripture  scenes,  and  de- 
signs of  pots  of  flowers,  in  punning 
allusion  to  the  English  meaning  of  his 
name,  and  with  such  verses  as  this : 

"Wer  daruber  nur  will  lachen, 

Der  soil  es  besser  machen. 

Tadeln  konnen  ja  sehr  viel, 

Aber  besser  machen  ist  das  rechte   Spiel." 

But  the  bright  particular  star  in  this 
field — call   him   rather  a   comet — was 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


W 


"Baron"  Stiegel;  whence  he  came,  no 
one  knows.  In  1763  he  bought  a 
quantity  of  land  in  Lancaster  County 
and  purchased  Charming  Forge,  which 
dated  back  to  the  beginning  of  Potts' 
iron  manufactures,  and  also  another 
German  forge,  the  Elizabeth,  started 
in  1750  and  renowned  for  remaining 
in  blast  for  a  hundred  years.  Stiegel 
built  two  "castles"  on  his  extensive 
property,  which  are  said  to  have  been 
decorated  with  enamelled  tiles  and 
tapestry, — wonders  in  those  days.  A 
cannon  was  fired  to  announce  the  com- 
ing of  the  "Baron,"  his  workmen  left 
the  forge  and  took  up  musical  instru- 
ments to  welcome  him.  But  the  in- 
habitants called  one  of  the  mansions 
"Stiegel's  Folly,"  and  prophesied  a 
ruin,  which  was  not  long  in  coming. 
Stiegel  is  said  to  have  cast  on  his 
stoves  the  boast, 

"Baron  Stiegel  ist  der  Mann 
Der  die  Oefen  machen  kann." 

It  is  certain  that  he  was  the  first  to 
make  flint-glass  in  Pennsylvania,  and 
that  he  founded  the  pretty  town  of 
Manheim  in  Lancaster  County,  in  con- 
nection with  his  works.  The  out- 
break of  the  Revolution,  combined 
with  his  visionary  extravagances, 
ruined  him. 

Christopher  Saur  the  younger,  who 
inherited  his  father's  business,  made 
paper,  printer's  ink,  and  lampblack, 
and  was  the  first  type-founder  of 
America;  the  excellence  of  his  types 
was  attested  by  the  Provincial  Conven- 
tion of  1775,  which  advised  patriots  to 
use  them  in  preference  to  imported 
types.  He  is  said  to  have  been  also 
the  originator  of  the  stoves  which  were 
afterward  developed  by  Benjamin 
Franklin  and  bore  the  latter's  name. 


When  the  Stamp  Act  drew  from  the 
merchants  of  the  colonies  the  decision 
not  to  buy  any  English  wares,  among 
the  names  signed  to  the  Philadelphia 
declaration  of  such  intentions,  are 
those  of  many  prominent  German  mer- 
chants. Their  paper,  the  "Staatsbote," 
was  so  rejoiced  at  the  appeal  of  the 
Act,  that  it  "dropped  into  poetry"  and 
headed  its  jubilant  "extra"  announcing 
the  fact,  with 

"Den  Herren  lobt  und  benedyt, 
Der  von  der  Stempel-Act  uns  hat  befreit." 
^The  Lord  be  praised,  who  has  freed  us 
from  the   Stamp  Act.) 

"The Germans," says  Bancroft,  "who 
formed  a  great  part  of  the  inhabitants 
of  Pennsylvania,  were  all  on  the  side 
of  Freedom."  High  praise,  but  borne 
out  by  no  less  an  authority  than  Dr. 
Franklin,  who,  when  examined  before 
a  committee  of  Parliament  as  to  the 
American  dissatisfaction,  was  asked, 
"How  many  Germans  are  there  in 
Pennsylvania  ?"  "Perhaps,"  said 
Franklin  with  characteristic  caution, 
"a  third  of  the  whole  population,  but  I 
cannot  say  certainly."  "Have  any  part 
of  them  served  in  European  armies?" 
inquired  the  British,  anxious  to  esti- 
mate the  strength  of  their  opponents. 
"Yes,"  said  Franklin,  "many  of  them," 
probably  in  allusion  to  the  Royal 
American  regiment.  "Are  they  as  dis- 
satisfied with  the  Stamp  Act  as  the  na- 
tives?" "Yes,"  responded  Franklin, 
"even  more  so." 

When  the  British  measures  against 
Boston  showed  that  war  could  not  be 
far  off,  all  over  the  country  the  Com- 
mittees of  Safety  and  Committees 
of  Correspondence  sprung  up  and 
addressed  themselves  to  the  task 
of  organizing  resistance  to  the  British 
with  that  energy  and  fertility  of  re- 


5°4 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


source  which  we  have  now  learned  to 
call  American.  Whoever  takes  the 
trouble  to  look  through  archives  and 
county  histories  of  Revolutionary 
times  will  find  the  Pennsylvania  Ger- 
mans well  represented  on  all  these 
Committees;  to  give  the  names  which 
prove  it  would  be  tedious,  but  in  this, 
which  might  be  called  the  civic  part  of 
the  resistance  to  England,  they  bore 
their  full  share.  A  document,  import- 
ant for  the  light  it  throws  on  the  feel- 
ings of  the  Germans  of  Philadelphia, 
was  sent  out  by  the  German  churches 
and  the  Deutsche  Gesellschaft  in  that 
city.  It  was  addressed  to  the  Ger- 
mans settled  in  New  York  and  North 
Carolina,  and  its  spirit,  as  well  as  its 
expressions,  are  interesting.  It  shows 
a  confidence  in  the  reasonableness  of 
the  whole  body  of  patriots,  that  ap- 
peals such  as  these — argumentative, 
grave,  unimpassioned — were  relied  on, 
instead  of  the  frothy  rhetoric  which 
characterized  the  French  Revolution, 
ten  years  later. 

"We  have  from  time  to  time  been  daily 
witnesses,  how  the  people  of  Pennsylvania, 
both  rich  and  poor,  approve  the  resolution 
of  Congress;  especially  the  Germans  of 
Pennsylvania,  far  and  near,  have  dis- 
tinguished themselves  and  not  only  raised 
militia,  but  formed  select  corps  of  Yaegers 
who  are  in  readiness  to  march  wherever 
they  are  ordered ;  and  those  among  the  Ger- 
mans, who  cannot  serve  themselves,  are 
thoroughly  willing  to  contribute  for  the 
common  good,  according  to  their  means. 
Therefore  we  have  been  sorry  to  learn,  that 
Congress  had  received  news  that  different 
German  people  in  Trion  County,  and  some 
few  in  other  parts  of  the  colony  of  New 
York,  have  shown  themselves  unfriendly  to 
the  common  cause  and  that  many  Germans 
in  North  Carolina  are  of  the  same  way  of 
thinking.  But  one  can  easily  excuse  the 
people  of  Trion  County ;  they  live  too  far 
from  those  great  cities  and  ports,  where  one 


can,  week  by  week  and  often  day  by  da>, 
read  and  hear  reliable  intelligence  of  ail 
that  happens  in  England  and  the  colonies;" 

and  the  letter  proceeds,  on  the  dignified 
assumption  that  information  is  all  that 
is  wanting  to  those  lukewarm  Ger- 
mans, to  give  a  short  account  of  the 
causes  of  the  rebellion,  of  Lexington, 
"where  the  first  blood  was  split  in  this 
unnatural  war,"  of  the  "yet  greater 
blood-bath"  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  of  the 
burning  of  Charlestown. 

The  Staatsbote  was,  in  those  times, 
a  trumpet  giving  no  uncertain  sound: 
"Think,"  it  said,  "and  tell  your  families 
of  this,  how  you  came  to  America  with 
the  greatest  hardships  and  toil,  to  es- 
cape from  servitude  and  to  enjoy  the 
blessings  of  freedom.  Remember,  that 
the  English  statesmen  and  Parliament 
would  have  America  in  the  same  case 
and  perhaps  worse  off."  Miller,  the 
publisher  of  the  Staatsbote,  was  the 
printer  to  Congress;  and  Steiner  and 
Cist,  a  German  firm  of  booksellers, 
published  translations  of  Paine's  "Cri- 
sis" and  his  "Common  Sense." 

Another  German  who  served  his 
adopted  country,  was  Michael  Hille- 
gas,  who  was  chosen  treasurer  of  the 
United  Colonies  ;  he  remained  for  some 
time  "the  Spinner  of  the  Revolution." 
The  manufacturers  of  powder  for  the 
war  were  chiefly  Germans,  to  judge  by 
their  names.  Ludwig  Farmer  was,  in 
later  Revolutionary  times,  the  Com- 
missioner-General of  the  Continental 
forces;  and  the  sturdy  "Baker-Gen- 
eral," Christoph  Ludwig,  deserves 
more  than  a  passing  mention. 

Born  in  the  little  university  town  of 
Giessen  in  1720,  he  had  a  life  full  of 
adventure  behind  him  when,  in  I754> 
he  settled  in  Philadelphia.  He  had 
fought  the  Turks,  he  had  served  the 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


505 


great  Frederick,  he  had  been  to  India 
and  sailed  the  seas  for  seven  years,  be- 
fore he  was  a  baker  in  Pennsylvania. 
He  was  an  imposing  soldierly  man  and 
people  called  him  jestingly  "the  Gov- 
ernor of  Letitia  Court."  When  the 
Revolution  broke  out,  he  was  a  man  of 
more  than  fifty,  but  he  gave  himself 
to  the  cause  of  freedom  with  youthful 
ardor.  He  was  a  member  of  many 
conventions  and  committees;  when 
resistance  was  resolved  upon  and  the 
Convention  hesitated  at  the  cost  of  the 
proposed  army,  the  old  soldier  rose  and 
said,  "Mr.  President,  I  am  only  a  poor 
ginger-bread  baker,  but  put  me  down 
for  two  hundred  pounds."  The  shamed 
Convention  at  once  resolved  to  appro- 
priate the  money  needed.  In  spite  of 
his  age,  he  served  in  the  militia,  but  re- 
fused pay  or  rations.  When  some  of 
his  fellow-soldiers,  disheartened  at  the 
hardships  which  they  had  to  endure, 
were  about  to  quit  the  camp,  the  old 
man  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before 
them  and  pleading  with  the  deserters, 
shamed  them  into  return  to  duty. 
"Comrades,"  he  said,  "when  there  is  an 
alarm  of  fire,  how  we  all  run  to  put  it 
out  and  save  our  own  homes.  Now 
save  Philadelphia  from  a  worse  fire, 
the  British  army."  It  is  said  that  he 
went  in  the  character  of  a  would-be  de- 
serter to  the  Hessian  camp  on  Staten 
Island  and  "drew  so  enchanting  a  pic- 
ture of  the  life  of  the  Pennsylvania 
Germans  that  thousands,  filled  with 
longing  for  the  flesh-pots  of  Penn- 
sylvania and  the  blessings  of  freedom, 
embraced  the  first  opportunity  to  de- 
sert." And  Ludwig  served  the  coun- 
try, also,  in  the  exercise  of  his  calling 
In  1777  he  was  appointed  Inspector 
General  of  Bakers  for  the  army.  His 
predecessors  had  contracted  to  deliver 


100  pounds  of  bread  to  every  100 
pounds  of  flour,  not  taking  into  ac- 
count the  weight  of  the  water  in  the 
bread.  The  same  contract  was  offered 
to  the  new  baker.  "No,"  answered 
the  honest  old  man,  "Christoph  Lud- 
wig will  not  grow  rich  by  the  war. 
From  100  pounds  of  flour  one  bakes 
135  pounds  of  bread  and  that  will  I 
give,  no  less."  Small  wonder  that 
Washington,  made  acquainted  with  this 
unique  specimen  of  an  army  contractor, 
entitled  him  his  "honest  friend."  The 
baker  was  often  invited  to  the  Gen- 
eral's table,  frequently  consulted  in 
matters  pertaining  to  his  department, 
and  became  a  great  favorite  with  the 
officers.  A  certificate  given  him  by 
Washington,  testifying  to  the  General's 
respect  and  good  will  for  him,  was 
carefully  framed  and  formed  one  of  the 
veteran's  most  cherished  possessions. 
He  lived  to  fourscore,  a  sturdy,  cheery 
figure  on  the  streets  of  Germantown, 
known  to  the  inhabitants  in  affection- 
ate jest  as  "our  General."  A  table 
gravestone  in  the  churchyard  there, 
and  the  Ludwick  Institute,  a  school 
which  he  endowed,  perpetuate  his 
name,  but  the  story  of  Washington's 
"honest  friend"  and  baker  is  wellnigh 
unknown  to  modern  Americans. 

Mere  chronological  mention  of  the 
battles  of  the  Revolution  in  which  the 
Pennsylvania  Germans  took  part  may 
give  some  idea  of  their  patriotic  ef- 
forts for  the  freedom  of  the  land  which 
had  given  them  refuge  from  the  grind- 
ing oppression  of  their  Fatherland. 

Among  the  first  troops  from  outside 
of  New  England  which  hastened  to 
join  Washington's  army  before  Bos- 
ton in  1775,  were  a  company  from 
York  County,  Pennsylvania,  com- 
manded by  Captain  Michael  Doudel. 


506 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


It  is  said  that  so  many  wished  to  join 
it  that  the  captain  chalked  the  outline 
of  a  nose  upon  a  barn-door  at  some 
distance  and  ordered  the  volunteers  to 
fire  at  it.  Only  those  who  hit  the 
mark  were  permitted  to  enlist.  "Gen- 
eral Gage,  take  care  of  your  nose!" 
commented  the  provincial  papers.  A 
German  company  went  from  Cumber- 
land County,  under  the  command  of 
Captain  William  Hendricks  on  the  ill- 
fated  expedition  to  Quebec  in  the  same 
year,  and  their  commander  was  shot 
down  at  the  side  of  General  Montgom- 
ery, just  at  the  moment  of  what  might 
have  been  victory.  Hendricks  was  "tall, 
of  a  mild  and  beautiful  countenance, 
his  soul  animated  by  a  genuine  spark 
of  heroism. "  He  was  buried  as  he 
fell,  beside  his  general,  and  the  Brit- 
ish officers  marked  their  funerals  with 
every  honor  which  a  soldier  can  show 
to  a  gallant  and  fallen  foe. 

The  luckless  regiment  of  Col.  Miles's 
which  was  cut  to  pieces  on  Long  Island 
in  1776,  had  many  Germans  in  it,  as 
the  list  of  losses  testifies.  At  Fort 
Washington  the  Germans  in  the  "Fly- 
ing Camp"  suffered  severely,  being 
captured  and  subjected  to  the  barbari- 
ties exercised  upon  "rebel"  prisoners 
in  the  British  prisons  of  New  York. 

On  the  same  day  that  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence  was  signed,  the 
Pennsylvania  German  Associators" 
of  Lancaster  County  were  meeting  at 
Lancaster,  choosing  their  officers  and 
passing  rules  for  their  association,  for 
they  made  their  Revolution  "decently 
and  in  order."  The  participation  of 
so  many  Lancaster  County  Germans  in 
these  war  measures  is  the  more  re- 
markable in  that  a  large  part  of  the 
population  of  this  county  were,  as  they 
still     are,  Mennonites,  Dunkers     and 


other  non-resistants.  Christoph  Saur 
the  younger,  the  son  of  the  publisher  of 
Germantown,  who  was  himself  an  ar- 
dent non-resistant,  a  Dunker,  laments 
that  "whole  companies  of  Mennonites 
are  formed  in  Lancaster  County  and 
Quakers  are  drilling." 

So  marked  was  the  patriotism  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Germans  that  Congress, 
in  1776,  resolved  to  form  a  German 
Regiment.  It  was  to  consist  of  eight 
companies,  four  from  Pensylvania  and 
the  same  number  from  Maryland ;  but 
so  many  offered  from  Pennsylvania 
that  a  fifth  company  was  enlisted  under 
the  command  of  David  Wolpper.  This 
man  was  a  good  specimen  of  the  class 
from  which  came  the  best  fighting  ma- 
terial of  the  Revolution,  the  bushrang- 
ing  soldiers  of  the  "Old  French  War." 
He  had  served  in  Germany  under  the 
great  Frederick,  had  made  several  cam- 
paigns with  Washington  before  Brad- 
dock's  expedition,  was  well  known  and 
valued  by  him  and  through  him  recom- 
mended to  Congress.  A  German 
nobleman,  Baron  v.  Arendt,  was  its 
first  active  colonel,  succeeded  by  Lud- 
wig  Weltner.  The  German  regiment 
took  part  in  the  retreat  across  the  Jer- 
seys; it  shared  the  dramatic  success 
which  closed  that  gloomy  year,  the  dar- 
ing surprise  of  Trenton ;  it  fought  at 
Princeton  and  Brandywine,  and,  at- 
tached to  the  German  brigades  com- 
manded by  Muhlenberg  and  Weedon, 
it  nearly  defeated  the  British, — indeed, 
would  have  done  so,  had  not  the  Amer- 
ican army  retreated  in  a  panic,  "fright- 
ened at  their  own  success,"  and  left  the 
two  brigades  unsupported.  It  shared 
the  hardships  of  Valley  Forge,  and  the 
next  year  made  a  campaign  in  the  "In- 
dian Country." 

During  the  occupation  of  Philadel- 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


507 


phia  by  the  British  troops,  while  the 
Continentals  were  freezing  and  starv- 
ing at  Valley  Forge,  their  sympathizers 
in  the  city  were  made  to  have  their 
share  of  suffering.  The  Deutsche 
Gesellschaft  has  already  been  men- 
tioned as  sending  out  addresses  to  the 
Germans  in  America  to  inspire  them 
with  some  portion  of  its  own  Revolu- 
tionary ardor;  in  this  it  was  joined  by 
the  principal  men  of  the  Philadelphia 
German  churches,  so  the  attention  of 
the  British  was  drawn  to  these  patriots. 
The  Deutsche  Gesellschaft  had  just 
given  out  the  contract  for  the  building 
of  a  hall  for  the  society ;  the  materials 
were  already  deposited  on  the  site,  and 
the  society  had  "resolved  that  the  work 
be  begun  to-morrow,"  when  the  Brit- 
ish occupation  interrupted  it.  The 
English  troops  took  the  building  ma- 
terials to  construct  stables  for  their 
horses.  They  wrecked  the  printing 
office  of  Heinrich  Miller,  the  printer  to 
Congress,  plundered  the  house  of  the 
sturdy  patriot-baker,  Christoph  Lud- 
wig,  broke  into  the  German  Zion's- 
church  and  turned  it  and  the  Reformed 
church  into  hospitals.  The  pastor  of 
Zion's-church,  Ernest  Henry  Muhlen- 
berg, took  refuge  in  the  country,  where 
he  employed  his  exile  in  the  study  of 
botany  to  such  purpose' that  he  became 
one  of  the  first  of  American  botanists, 
in  point  of  time  and  attainments.  His 
brother,  Frederick  A.  Muhlenberg,  had 
already  fled  from  his  pastorate  in  New 
York,  on  account  of  his  dangerously 
outspoken  patriotism.  Pastor  Schmidt 
of  Germantown  was  another  of  these 
refugee  patriots;  while  the  preachers 
of  the  Reformed  church,  Schlatter  and 
Weyberg,  were  imprisoned,  Schlatter's 
house  sacked  and  a  reward  was  offered 
for  the  apprehension  of  a  third  rev- 


erend rebel,  Pastor  Nevelling.  The 
sugar-refinery  of  the  Schaeffers  was 
demolished,  probably  because  they 
were  connected  by  marriage  with  the 
patriotic  Muhlenbergs. 

It  was  not  only  the  patriots  who  suf- 
fered at  this  time ;  the  fortunes  of  war 
brought  ruin  on  a  man  as  honorable, 
an  enterprise  as  well  founded  and 
widely  known  as  any  among  the  Penn- 
sylvania Germans, — Christoph  Saur 
the  younger,  and  his  printing  office. 
The  elder  bearer  of  that  name  had  died 
twenty  years  before;  his  business  had 
been  carried  on  by  his  son  of  the  same 
name,  a  fact  which  has  been  a  source 
of  endless  confusion  to  the  few  Eng- 
lish writers  who  have  alluded  to  the 
Saurs  and  their  publications.  The 
younger  Christoph  Saur  was  brought 
up  in  Germantown  under  his  father's 
care;  his  mother,  as  has  been  previ- 
ously mentioned,  had  entered  Beissel's 
cloister  at  Ephrata  as  Sister  Marcella. 
Her  son  was  a  devoted  Dunker  and  be- 
came a  minister  in  this  body  of  non-re- 
sistant Baptists,  of  which  Beissel's 
flock  was  an  eccentric  offshoot.  On 
his  father's  death,  the  son  took  up  the 
publishing  business  which  the  former 
had  made  so  successful,  saying,  how- 
ever: "I  indeed  would  rather  earn  my 
bread  by  the  book-binder's  trade  as 
heretofore,  and  be  spared  the  burden 
of  the  printing-office,  which  would  be 
much  easier ;  but  so  long  as  there  is  no 
one  here  to  whom  I  can  entrust  the 
printing-office,  I  find  myself  compelled 
by  my  duty  to  God  and  my  neighbor, 
to  carry  it  on  until  it  may  please  Prov- 
idence to  give  me  a  helper  who  will  not 
let  himself  be  moved  by  gold  or  flattery 
to  print  anything  opposed  to  the  glory 
of  God  and  the  welfare  of  the  country ; 
for  to  the  welfare  of  the  country  and 


508 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


the  glory  of  God,  this  printing-house 
is  dedicated  and  I  shall  always  seek  to 
maintain  this  aim."  Among  many 
other  publications,  he  brought  out  the 
second  and  third  editions  of  the  "Ger- 
mantown  Bible,"  as  it  is  called  by  col- 
lectors; and  as  one  of  these  editions 
was  a  source  of  considerable  profit  to 
him,  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  share  these 
profits  with  his  customers  and  so 
printed  and  distributed  (gratis)  for 
two  years  the  monthly  publication 
called  the  "Geistliche  Magazien,"  the 
first  religious  periodical  which  ap- 
peared in  America. 

A  nobly  conscientious  man  in  every- 
thing, he  was  a  determined  opponent  of 
slavery;  that  some  Pennsylvania  Ger- 
mans now  held  slaves,  was  a  grief  and 
a  reproach  to  Saur.  A  certain  master 
advertised  in  Saur's  paper  his  runaway 
slave,  who  had  departed  "barefoot, 
with  a  white  shirt,  an  old  hat,  old  linen 
small-clothes,"  etc.,  whereupon  Saur 
printed,  in  larger  type,  beneath  the  no- 
tice these  observations:  "It  is  a  won- 
der, that  the  above-mentioned  negro 
was  so  foolish,  and  went  off  barefoot 
and  in  nothing  but  old  clothes;  he 
ought  to  have  put  on  new  ones  (if  he 
had  any.)  If  masters  oftener  did  what 
is  right  and  just  to  their  servants,  and 
remembered  that  they  also  have  a  Mas- 
ter in  heaven,  many  would  not  think  of 
running  away.  But  the  love  of  money 
is  the  root  of  all  evil." 

The  younger  Saur  was  one  of  the 
founders  of  the  still  existent  "German- 
town  Academy," — in  short  he  was  an 
unselfish,  courageous  sympathizer  with 
all  good  things, — all,  at  least,  but  the 
Revolution,  which  he,  as  a  non-resist- 
ant, regarded  as  an  unchristian  taking- 
u p  of  carnal  weapons.  When  Ger- 
mantown  was  filled  with  troops,  he  left 


their  hated  neighborhood  and  took 
refuge  with  his  sons  in  Philadelphia. 
Returning  to  Germantown  in  the  next 
year,  he  was  arrested  by  the  Conti- 
nentals, shamefully  maltreated  and 
finally,  when  delivered  by  the  interpo- 
sition of  "the  noble  Gen.  Muhlenberg," 
as  Saur  calls  him,  ordered  to  reside  in 
the  little  village  of  Metuchen  so  long  as 
the  British  were  in  the  city.  During 
his  absence,  he  was  declared  a  traitor, 
and  when  he  came  back  to  his  home,  he 
was  put  under  arrest,  his  house,  types, 
presses,  etc.,  confiscated,  and,  with  all 
his  property,  sold  by  the  Commissioner 
of  Confiscated  Estates.  Saur  was 
completely  ruined.  He  might  have 
saved  his  property,  had  he  been  willing 
to  take  the  oath  of  loyalty  or  appeal  to 
the  courts  for  justice,  but  these  things 
being  against  his  religious  principles, 
he  submitted  without  a  word;  though 
the  reproach  of  being  declared  a  traitor 
he  deeply  felt.  The  few  remaining 
years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  the  house 
of  a  friend  who  gave  him  shelter,  and 
in  the  exercise  of  his  office  as  one  of  the 
unordained  and  unpaid  ministers  of  his 
peaceful  sect,  for  whose  doctrines  he 
had  literally  suffered  "the  loss  of  all 
things." 

In  these  disastrous  years  of  the  Rev- 
olution many  suffered  besides  patriots 
in  captured  cities,  conscientious  men 
like  Christoph  Saur,  and  shivering  sol- 
diers at  Valley  Forge.  On  the  fron- 
tier were  Indian  attacks  or  massacres, 
instigated  by  the  British  at  the  western 
posts,  often  by  means  of  such  rene- 
gades as  Simon  Girty,  the  "White  Sav- 
age," whose  name  was  one  of  terror 
and  execration  all  along  the  border.  It 
was  he  who  led  the  attack  on  Wheel- 
ing, then  Fort  Henry,  and  defended  by 
Colonel   Shepherd  and  but  forty-two 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


309 


men  and  boys.  More  than  half  of 
these  were  cut  off  in  an  ambush  early 
in  the  fight.  Girty  had  with  him  about 
four  hundred  Indians,  and  taking  post 
at  one  of  the  cabins  outside  the  fort, 
— deserted atthe  first  alarm, — he  called 
to  the  garrison  to  surrender  and  go 
over  to  the  British,  as  he  had  done; 
but  Col.  Shepherd  answered  that  they 
would  neither  desert  nor  yield,  and  the 
unequal  fight  went  on  through  the 
whole  of  a  "warm,  bright  September 
day."  The  next  morning,  a  body  of 
militia  relieved  the  fort  and  chased  off 
the  discomfited  Indians.  Many  ot 
these  border  fighters  showed  so  merci- 
less a  spirit,  when  chance  gave  them 
an  opportunity  to  take  vengeance  on 
their  savage  enemies,  that  it  is  a  pleas- 
ure to  record  of  Col.  Shepherd  that, 
three  years  later,  when  with  a  party 
under  Gen.  Brodhead,  making  a  foray 
into  the  "Indian  country,"  his  fellow- 
soldiers  planned  the  massacre  of  the 
Christian  Indians  of  the  Muskingum, 
the  defender  of  Wheeling  dissuaded 
the  rest  from  the  attack  and  saved  the 
Moravian  mission,  for  the  time. 

The  history  of  these  missions  be- 
longs to  the  story  of  the  Germans  of 
Pennsylvania,  for  their  most  devoted 
workers  were  Germans,  Zeisberger  and 
Heckewelder.  The  latter  was  a  most 
self-sacrificing  man,  a  man  who  once 
rode  three  days  and  two  nights  to  pre- 
vent an  Indian  outbreak,  and  suc- 
ceeded ;  who  escaped  perils  of  savage 
ambush,  and  wild  animals ;  who  was 
the  friend  and  associate  of  Washington 
and  of  Rufus  Putnam ;  the  author  of 
valuable  philological  works  on  the  lan- 
guage of  his  "brown  sheep,"  the  Dela- 
wares — a  useful,  cheerful  man,  sim- 
ple and  transparent  in  his  character, 
who  closed  a  long  life  at  Bethlehem 


and  was  buried  there  among  the  Indian 
converts. 

Of  Zeisberger's  early  life  and  labors 
we  have  before  spoken.  After  many 
dangers  and  discouragements,  he  had 
led  his  converts  again  westward  and 
had  founded  Gnadenhiitten.  This 
was  the  golden  age  of  the  mission.  For 
ten  years  they  had  peace ;  several  other 
villages  were  founded  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. The  first  Protestant  sermon 
preached  in  the  state  of  Ohio  was 
preached  at  one  of  these  mission  sta- 
tions, in  1771 ;  the  first  church  and  the 
first  schoolhouse  in  the  state  were  built 
by  these  German  missionaries ;  the  first 
white  child  of  Ohio  was  the  daughter 
of  Heckewelder,  born  at  Schonbrunn 
in  1773.  Thus  these  Moravians  were 
pioneers,  and  pioneers  of  the  best  type, 
nearly  a  score  of  years  before  the  set- 
tlement of  Marietta. 

But  when  the  Revolutionary  war 
was  nearly  at  its  close,  a  band  of  Wy- 
andots,  instigated  by  the  British,  burst 
upon  the  settlement,  drove  away  the 
converts  and  burned  the  houses  and 
the  church.  Zeisberger  was  taken  to 
Detroit ;  some  of  his  Indians,  starving, 
stole  back  to  gather  their  harvests, 
when  a  band  of  militia, — white  men, 
Christians,  Americans — fell  upon  them, 
penned  them  in  two  cabins  to  which 
they  gave  the  appropriate  name  of 
"slaughter-houses,"  and  killed  them, 
many  of  them  women  and  children. 
The  converts  had  given  themselves  to 
prayer  and  singing,  when  they  found 
their  death  resolved  upon,  and  so  they 
died.  For  fourteen  years  the  little 
remnant  that  escaped  wandered  about 
with  their  faithful  pastor — to  Michi- 
gan, to  Canada,  and  back  to  the 
shores  of  Lake  Erie.  Then  the  Gov- 
ernment offered  them  the  site  of  their 


5io 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


old  home,  when  they  went  back,  to  the 
overgrown  fields  and  blackened  ruins. 
But  Zeisberger  was  old,  many  of  the 
converts  were  dead,  the  faith  of  many 
had  failed  among  their  trials  and  wan- 
derings. The  new  home  was  but  a 
feeble  echo  of  the  old,  and  when  Zeis- 
berger, nearly  ninety  years  old,  died, 
the  settlement  perished  with  him.  A 
remnant  of  Christian  Delawares,  who 
have  joined  their  brethren  in  Kansas, 
are  all  that  now  remains  to  tell  of  a 
work  as  self-sacrificing  as  Christianity 
can  show,  a  destruction  as  cruel  as  his- 
tory ever  told. 

We  must  return  from  this  sad  inci- 
dent of  the  war,  to  the  services  of  other 
Germans  in  the  patriot  armies.  At  the 
battle  of  Monmouth,  fell  Col.  Rudolf 
Bonner  of  the  Third  Pennsylvania  reg- 
iment,— distinguished  by  his  gallantry 
in  the  fight.  This  regiment,  and  the 
Second,  Fifth,  Sixth  and  Eighth  Penn- 
sylvania, were  filled  and  officered  by 
Pennsylvanian  or  foreign  Germans. 
The  First  Pennsylvania  was  the  sec- 
ond regiment  to  enlist  under  Washing- 
ton. It  was  more  than  half  made  up 
of  Pennsylvania  Germans,  being  re- 
cruited in  Reading.  Its  colonel  was 
Philip  de  Haas,  an  old  soldier  of  Bou- 
quet's of  the  French  and  Indian  war. 
He  was  subsequently  in  command  of  a 
brigade.  The  adjutant,  David  Ziegler 
had  fought  in  Russia  against  the 
Turks,  then  emigrated  and,  when  the 
Revolution  broke  out,  entered  its  army. 
Pater  he  fought  the  Indians  on  the 
western  frontier,  and  died  as  the  first 
mayor  of  Cincinnati,  in  i8tt. 

A  Reading  family  of  Pennsylvania 
Germans,  the  Hiesters,  deserves  men- 
tion for  the  number  of  its  members 
who  entered  the  Continental  service. 
One  of  them  had  alreadv  aided  in  de- 


fending his  town  against  Indian  in- 
vasion at  the  time  of  Pontiac's  con- 
spiracy. Four  sons  of  the  family  were 
Revolutionary  officers :  Col.  Daniel 
Hiester,  Majors  John  and  Gabriel,  and 
Captain  William  Hiester.  Daniel  and 
John  became  Major-generals  of  militia, 
and  a  cousin,  Joseph,  was  in  the  "Fly- 
ing Camp,"  was  captured  at  Long  Isl- 
and became  a  colonel  and  later  a  ma- 
jor-general of  militia. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  war,  a  Saxon 
nobleman,  Baron  von  Ottendorf,  came 
to  this  country  with  Kosciusko.  He 
had  served  under  Frederick  the  Great 
and  his  services  were  gladly  accepted 
by  Washington.  He  was  directed  to 
raise  an  independent  corps,  which, 
filled  in  Pennsylvania,  became  a  dra- 
goon regiment  and  subsequently 
served  as  a  nucleus  for  various  unat- 
tached commands  composed  of,  or  offi- 
cered by,  Germans.  It  was  merged 
into  Armand's  "Legion."  After  the 
heroic  death  of  Pulaski,  his  command, 
which  contained  many  Pennsylvania 
Germans,  was  united  with  the  Legion. 
Another  of  the  Great  Frederick's  sol- 
diers, Capt.  Schott,  had  recruited  a 
company  of  dragoons  among  the  same 
folk,  and  after  Schott  was  captured  (at 
Short  Hills,  in  1777),  the  remnant  of 
his  command  was  likewise  incorpo- 
rated in  the  all-embracing  Legion. 
After  Schott's  release  he  resumed  com- 
mand of  his  company,  which  mean- 
while had  made  a  campaign  on  the 
frontier  with  the  "German  regiment" 
of  Col.  Weltner. 

Another  organization  which  con- 
sisted largely  of  Pennsylvania  Ger- 
mans, was  Washington's  provost 
guard,  dragoons  commanded  by  Major 
von  Heer,  also  a  pupil  of  Frederick  II. 
The  Prussian  kind's  indirect  services 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


5" 


to  the  cause  of  American  liberty  in 
training  officers  for  its  army  have  been 
overlooked  even  by  his  determined 
panegyrist,  Mr.  Carlyle. 

One  of  the  "mountain  men"  who 
drove  the  British  from  the  South  by 
their  brilliant  border  fight  of  King's 
Mountain  was  a  Pennsylvania  German, 
Hambright,  a  colonel  of  militia,  who 
was  wounded  in  the  action  but  kept  on 
fighting  and  helped  to  gain  that  victory 
of  the  Rear-guard  of  the  Revolution. 

The  most  distinguished  officer  among 
the  Teutonic  soldiers  of  the  Rev- 
olution was  a  Pennsylvania  German, 
Gen.  Peter  Muhlenberg.  He  was  born 
in  Montgomery  County,  Pennsylvania, 
and  was  the  son  of  that  patriarch  of 
the  Lutheran  Church  to  whose  labors 
I  have  already  alluded.  The  three 
sons  of  the  venerable  clergyman  were 
destined  for  the  church,  but  Peter, 
who  was  lively,  fond  of  hunting,  and  a 
general  favorite,  seemed  little  inclined 
by  nature  to  this  profession.  He  was 
educated,  partially  in  Germany,  where 
he  ran  away  and  enlisted  as  a  soldier, 
earning  among  his  comrades  the  nick- 
name of  "Peter  the  Devil."  But  on 
his  return  home,  he  settled  down,  was 
ordained,  threw  himself  with  charac- 
teristic ardor  into  ministerial  work, 
and  became  the  pastor  of  a  church  in 
the  Shenandoah  Valley  colony  of 
Pennsylvania  Germans.  Here  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Patrick  Henry, 
and  often  hunted  with  Washington. 
When  the  first  stirrings  of  resistance 
to  Great  Britain  were  felt,  the  Rev. 
Peter  Muhlenberg  was  made  the  chair- 
man of  the  Committee  of  Safety  for  his 
county,  and  it  was  his  eloquence  and 
the  votes  of  the  German  delegates 
from  the  "valley"  that  turned  the  scale 
in  Virginia  when  measures  of  armed 


resistance  were  first  discussed.  Muh- 
lenberg, still  pastor  of  the  Woodstock 
church,  was  made  colonel  of  one  of  the 
regiments  raised  at  this  time.  Then 
occurred  that  thrilling  moment  which 
is  perpetuated  in  the  statue  of  the  pa- 
triot in  the  Capitol.  I  quote  Seiden- 
sticker's  description : 

"The  intelligence  that  Col.  Muhlenberg 
would  preach  his  farewell  sermon  drew  to- 
gether an  extraordinarily  large  audience ; 
not  only  the  Woodstock  church,  but  the  sur- 
rounding church-yard  was  filled  with  people. 
In  the  most  impressive  manner,  the  speaker 
referred  to  the  duties  which  their  country 
and  its  good  cause  laid  upon  all,  and  con- 
cluded with  the  ringing  words :  'There  is  a 
time  to  preach  and  pray,  but  also  a  time 
to  fight;  and  the  time  to  fight  is  come.' 
Then  he  pronounced  the  benediction.  His 
career  as  a  preacher  was  closed.  There  fol- 
lowed a  scene,  unique  of  its  kind.  He  threw 
off  the  Genevan  gown  which  he  wore  and 
stood  before  them  in  the  full  uniform  of  a 
soldier.  Then  he  descended  the  pulpit  and 
ordered  the  drums  to  be  beaten.  The 
enthusiasm  burst  into  flame ;  many  of 
his  hearers  enlisted  in  his  regiment ; 
old  men  brought  their  sons,  women  their 
husbands,  as  fellow-combatants  with  him 
for  freedom.  Nearly  three  hundred  men 
from  Woodstock  and  its  neighborhood 
placed  themselves  under  Muhlenberg's  ban- 
ner that  day." 

To  tell  of  his  services  to  his  country 
would  almost  be  to  write  the  history  of 
the  war.  He  was  fortunate  in  being 
almost  always  in  active  service  and  wa? 
exceptional  among  the  officers  of  the 
Revolution  by  remaining  in  the  army 
until  the  close  of  the  war.  At  first  in 
Virginia  he  was  soon  attached  to 
Washington's  army ;  the  deeds  of  his 
men  at  Brandywine  and  Germantown 
have  been  described,  their  suffering's  at 
Valley  Forge  and  their  valor  at  Mon- 
mouth. A  characteristic  scene  oc- 
curred at  Brandywine,  where  the  Ger- 


5I2 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


mans  under  Muhlenberg  and  Weedon 
held  back  the  victorious  advance  of 
the  whole  British  force  and  gave  the 
shattered  remants  of  the  Continentals 
time  to  escape;  again  and  again  they 
drove  back  the  English  with  the  bayo- 
net, when  some  Hessian  officers,  see- 
ing their  tall,  fiery  leader  at  the  head 
of  these  stubborn  defenders,  cried  out 
in  sudden  recognition,  "There's  Peter 
the  Devil. "  When  the  South  became 
the  theatre  of  war,  Muhlenberg  was 
sent  to  Virginia  to  organize  an  army 
out  of  discouragement,  apathy  and 
poverty,  and  succeeded  in  performing 
the  impossible  so  far  as  to  furnish  Gen. 
Greene  with  a  respectable  body  of  pro- 
vincials.    He  was  present  at  the  con- 


cluding scene  of  the  war  at  Yorktown. 
His  Germans  of  Steuben's  division 
were  allowed  to  storm  one  of  the  re- 
doubts, and  being  frontiers-men,  accus- 
tomed to  help  themselves,  they  did  not 
wait  to  have  the  abatis  removed  in 
regular  military  style,  but  tore  it  away 
with  their  hands  and  scrambled  over, 
carrying  the  redoubt  at  the  point  of 
the  bayonet;  while  the  French  at  the 
other  redoubt  waited  under  a  withering 
fire,  until  their  abatis  was  properly  re- 
moved by  their  pioneers.  In  five  min- 
utes more,  both  redoubts  were  carried, 
and  Washington,  looking  on,  summed 
up  the  War  for  Independence  in  the 
grave  words,  "The  work  is  done,  and 
well  done." 


(To  be  concluded.) 


Photograph  by  Cassill 


Hmerican  Sbrines    X 


Dorcbester    Ibetgbts 

"  Dorchester  Heights  witnessed  that  'more  than  victory'  commemorated 
in  the  first  medal  of  our  minted  history,  with  its  proud  motto,  Hostibus  primo 
fugitas :  the  first  rout  of  the  enemy." 

Edward  Everett  Hale. 


New  England  Magazine 


New  Series 


JULY 


Vol.  XXVI  No.  s 


Whale  Oil  and   Spermaceti 

By  Mary  E.  Starbuck 

"I  know  an  Isle  clasped  in  the  Sea's  strong 

arms, 
Sport  of  his  rage,  and  sharer  of  his  dreams ; 
A  barren  spot  to  alien  eyes  it  seems, 
But  for  its  own  it  wears  unfading  charms." 
Emily  Shaw  Forman. 


I"  OYALTY,  with  the  islander,  is 
rather  an  instinct  than  a  prin- 
V  ciple.  With  the  Nantucketer  it 
is  a  passion.  And  this  is  hardly 
to  be  wondered  at,  for  from  that  far- 
off  day  when  the  Indian  deity,  Man- 
shope,  after  eating  his  whale  roasted 
over  the  volcanic  fires  of  Gay  Head, 
carefully  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
after-dinner  pipe  into  the  sparkling 
waters  of  the  Sound  and  called  the  arid 
little  heap  "Nantucket,"*  this  low-ly- 
ing island  has  been,  nevertheless,  a 
conspicuous  object  on  the  horizon  of 
the  New  World. 


*Nantucket  signifies  "it  is  heard"  or  "it 
is  sounding,"  referring  probably  to  the 
booming  of  the  surf — or  possibly  to  the  hiss- 
ing of  the  hot  ashes  as  they  fell  into  the  sea. 


The  story  has  been  told  many  times 
of  how,  less  than  forty  years  after  the 
landing  of  the  Mayflower t  the  island 
was  bought  and  settled  by  a  sturdy  lit- 
tle company  of  Englishmen  led  by 
Thomas  Macy  and  Edward  Starbuck 
who,  with  the  boy  Thomas  Coleman, 
spent  here  the  first  winter,  testing  the 
physical  hardships  differing  only  in 
degree  from  those  of  the  mainland,  re- 
joicing in  the  freedom  from  petty  of- 
ficial tyranny  which  had  driven  them 
hither,  and  learning  to  know  the 
friendly  Indians — first  inheritors  of 
the  pipe-ashes — whose  hour  was  soon 
to  strike. 

As  the  tale  unfolds  we  learn  that 
upon  these  wave-washed,  wind-swept 
sands,  life  is  not  only  sustained  and  en- 

515 


dured,  but  in  spite  of  drawbacks  and 
disadvantages,  becomes  vigorous 
enough  in  course  of  time  to  pour  out 
streams  of  colonial  energy  southward 
and  westward,  meanwhile  maintaining 
a  home  city  of  some  nine  or  ten  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  carrying  on  countless 
industries,  sending  ships  to  every 
known  port  and  to  the  hitherto  undis- 
covered countries  of  the  islands  of  the 
Pacific ;  and  at  last,  in  its  special  busi- 
ness of  the  whale-fishery,  leading  the 
world. 

Then  the  tide  turned.  Within  ten 
years  the  "Great  Fire,"  the  decline  of 
whaling,  owing  both  to  the  necessarily 
longer  and  more  expensive  voyages 
and  to  the  introduction  of  petroleum, 
and  lastly  the  discovery  of  gold  in  Cali- 
fornia, combined  to  sweep  away  Nan- 
tucket's wealth  and  population,  and 
brought  her  low  before  her  rivals. 


During  the  ebb  of  the  tide,  the  civil 
War  claimed  the  last  generation  of  the 
men  who,  too  young  for  participants, 
had  been  at  least  eye-witnesses  of  the 
prosperity,  picturesqueness,  and  intel- 
lectual productiveness  of  the  whaling 
days. 

Then  it  was  that  many  a  brave  and 
well-known  Nantucket  ship  "made  a 
good  end,"  as  she  obediently  sank 
by  order  of  Government,  to  block  the 
entrance  to  Charleston  harbor.  Since 
that  time,  Nantucket  is  no  longer  a 
force  to  be  reckoned  with,  but  a  dear 
thing  to  be  loved  and  cherished  by  her 
own.  Her  part  is  no  longer  to  lead  but 
only  to  remember.  And  it  is  this 
sentiment  of  pride  and  tenderness,  so 
strong  among  the  few  surviving  isl- 
anders at  home  and  the  many  more 
"abroad,"  that  has  led  to  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  Historical  Association.  And 


if  with  the  islander's  loyalty  there  ex- 
ists also  a  keen  perception  and  enjoy- 
ment of  his  island's  idiosyncrasies,  let 
no  presuming  ''stranger"  think  that  he 
may  freely  share  such  enjoyment — it 
is  for  the  elect  alone. 

Hospitality  has  its  limits,  and  the 
old  insular  pride  flames  even  more 
fiercely  now  than  when,  in  the  cosmo- 
politan days  of  the  island's  ascendancy 
and  power,  her  children  making  their 
way  all  over  the  globe,  hailing  from  a 
home  port  whose  name  was  the  open 
sesame  to  all  harbors,  could  afford  a 
hearty  give-and-take  with  aliens  whom 
in  their  island  hearts  they  despised. 

But  the  days  of  gay  badinage  are 
over.  These  are  new  times,  and  new 
people  are  coming  in  who  do  not 
know,  who  may  not  understand.  With 
these  new-comers  we  do  not  discuss 


our  island  home,  though  to  the  rever- 
ent and  receptive  mind  often  found 
among  them,  we  may,  when  the  mood 
takes  us,  reveal  some  of  the  reasons 
for  our  love  and  pride.  And  so  we 
gather  the  symbols  of  the  old  life — 
and  a  motley  collection  it  is. 

There  are  household  utensils  from 
the  days  when  wants  were  few  and 
shops  were  none,  and  the  necessity  of 
the  hour  was  manufactured  and  in  use 
before  the  hour  was  up.  Those  were 
the  times  when,  whatever  might  be  the 
quality  or  qualification  of  a  man's 
brain,  his  hands  must  be  trained  to 
some  practical  use ;  when  a  surveyor 
was  also  a  tailor,  a  school  teacher  was 
a  day  laborer  in  other  men's  fields ; 
when  blacksmithing  and  coopering  at- 
tained the  importance  and  dignity  of 
the  learned  professions  in  this  almost 

517 


Old  Meeting  House 


ideal  community  where  everybody  was 
related  to  everybody  else,  with  only 
twenty  grandfathers  among  them, 
whose  names  were  repeated  over  and 
over  again  on  the  outmost  curve  of 
the  fan  shaped  family  charts. 

Of  a  later  date,  there  are  more  beau- 
tiful articles  brought,  however,  from 
foreign  lands,  for  the  time  came  when 
the  well-to-do  housewife  sent  directly 
to  St.  Petersburg  for  her  six-yard  dam- 
ask tablecloths  and  "long  towels,"  to 
Navarino  or  Leghorn  for  her  big  poke 
bonnets,  to  Lyons  for  her  velvet  capes 
and  satin  pelerines,  to  Callao  and  Tal- 
cahuana  for  exquisite  embroidery  and 
drawn-work. 

Her  messenger,  the  gallant  captain 
of  a  gallant  ship  of  which  he  was  per- 
haps part  owner,  would  order  in  Yo- 
kahama  or  Canton  the  long  sets  of  fine 
china,  dropping  in  at  England,  may  be, 
on  the  way  home,  for  the  decoration  of 
monogram,  or  coat-of-arms  to  which 

there  was  legitimate  claim. 

518 


However,  to  the  true  Nantucketer 
domestic  manufactures  are  always  the 
most  interesting,  and  in  truth  the  isl- 
ander could  turn  his  hand  to  anything, 
from  harpooning  a  whale  to  discover- 
ing a  comet — having  first  invented  the 
telescope  that  made  this  latter  feat  a 
possibility. 

In  these  early  days  of  home  produc- 
tion, when,  for  instance,  George 
Swain's  wife  needed  a  pricker  for  the 
appetizing  biscuits  baked  in  the  cov- 
ered kettle  over  the  coals — and  under 
too,  since  the  cover  with  the  turned 
up  rim  was  filled  with  hot  embers — it 
was  George  himself  who  deftly  whit- 
tled out  two  thin  discs  of  wood, 
pierced  one  with  sharp  pointed,  hand- 
made shingle  nails,  tacked  the  second 
disc  firmly  over  their  clumsy  heads, 
and  in  the  centre  of  the  bristling  nail 
points  fastened  trie  carved  initials  "G. 
S.,"  which  thus  proclaimed  both 
ownership  and  skill. 

From  the  same  little  Swain  house  at 


Interior 


Polpis — until  its  total  collapse,  a  few 
years  ago,  the  "oldest  house  on  the 
island" — on  the  south  side  of  the  love- 
ly harbor,  came  this  cradle  which 
rocked  the  first  white  child  born  on  the 
island,  little  Mary  Starbuck,  daughter 
of  the  "Great  Mary"  whose  influence, 
according  to  history,  seems  to  have 
been  equally  powerful  in  spiritual  and 
secular  affairs. 

Near  the  cradle  stands  a  home-made 
loom,  for  weaving  tape,  holding  still 
a  bit  of  the  stout  web.  Among  the 
house  furnishings,  besides  the  ordi- 
nary lamp  stands  and  ladder-backed, 
rush-bottomed  chairs,  we  see  also 
handsome  three-cornered  arm-chairs 
made  at  home  for  an  island  bride,  a 
"swift"  for  winding  her  yarn,  and 
even  the  embroidered  satin  slippers 
worn  at  her  wedding;  samplers  and 
"mourning  pieces"  which  can  hardly 
be  said  to  have  "adorned"  her  walls, 
though  the  latter  are  exquisite  speci- 
ments  of  silk  tapestrv  work,  beautiful 


in  color  if  not  wholly  satisfactory  in 
composition. 

Of  course  one  finds  in  this  museum  a 
complete  line  of  whaling-irons,  com- 
passes, signals,  models  of  ships,  and  all 
the  various  odds  and  ends  connected 
with  shipping,  for  at  one  time  Nan- 
tucket not  only  built  ships  but  fitted 
them  in  every  detail  from  stem  to  stern, 
from  keel  to  truck. 

Fascinating,  too,  for  a  rainy  morn- 
ing are  the  log-books  recording  the 
voyages  of  these  said  ships  and  holding 
between  their  stained  leather  or  canvas 
covers  most  thrilling  tales  told  simply 
in  outline  by  the  day's  jottings. 

As  a  rule  the  first  mate  kept  the  log 
and  usually  followed  time-honored 
precedent  in  beginning  with  the  direc- 
tion of  the  wind,  then  stating  the  course 
of  the  ship,  events,  if  any,  like  the  rais- 
ing of  a  sail  on  the  horizon, a  "gam,"  or 
the  boarding  of  a  derelict,  the  pursuit 
and  capture  or  loss  of  a  blackfish  or  a 
whale,  the  position  of  the  ship  as  to  lati- 

519 


520 


WHALE  OIL  AND  SPERMACETI 


tude  and  longitude,  and  winding  up 
with  the  familiar  "so  ends,"  whose  full 
form,  sometimes  wholly  written  out, 
reads :  "So  ends  the  day  by  the  grace 
of  God." 

The  margins  of  these  journals  are 
enlivened  with  silhouettes  of  whales 
printed  with  a  wooden  die  about  two 
inches  long;  in  case  of  capture  the 
entire  figure  is  given,  with  a  square 
white  space  left  in  the  centre,  in  which 
is  written  the  number  of  barrels  of  oil 
obtained;  in  case  of  failure  the  flukes 
only  are  printed  by  one  end  of  the  same 
die. 

Occasionally  the  illustrations  of 
these  old  logs  are  done  free-hand,  and 
to  the  whales  are  added  outline  sketches 
of  islands  or  carefully  drawn  miniature 
portraits  of  the  ships  that  were  met. 
We  use  the  word  portrait  advisedly,  for 
a  ship  comes  to  have  in  time  a  person- 
ality almost  human.  It  gives  one  a 
curious  sensation  to  come  across  a 
package  tied  up  in  a  yellow  newspaper 
of  1809  and  carefully  marked,  "Papers 
belonging  to  the  late  ship  Thomas" — 
lost  on  the  "west  coast"  (of  South 
America,  of  course). 

On  the  other  hand,  the  consideration 
shown  to  the  human  individuality  of 
the  crew  as  "crew"  may  have  left  some- 
thing to  be  desired  either  in  degree  or 
mode  of  manifestation,  probably  both. 
Like  the  rigging,  the  crew  belonged  to 
the  ship  and  were  used  with  the  same 
disregard  of  consequences,  and  in  case 
of  damage  or  loss  were  replaced  with 
the  same  impersonal  spirit.  Outgoing 
short-handed  ships  often  stopped  at 
the  Azores  to  recruit  with  Western  Isl- 
anders, and  the  following  entries,  taken 
verbatim  from  a  log-book  are  full  of 
suggestion  to  the  initiate  who  under- 
stands that  the  three  entities  at  sea  in 


order  of  importance  are  captain,  ship, 
mate ;  everything  and  everybody  else 
having  merely  a  relative  significance. 

"Sunday,  Aug.  2nd, 

First  part  strong  winds  and  squally  from 
N.  W.  Lying  off  and  on  the  north  side  of 
Flores.  Boats  on  shore  for  recruits.  At 
6J^  p.  m.  boats  came  on  board  and  take  our 
departure,  steering  S.  S.  E.  under  moderate 
sail.     Thick  weather. 

Middle  part  steer  S.  E.  by  S.  Make  all 
sail. 

Latter  part  steer  S.  S.  E.  to  S.  Saw 
breeches.  Fayal  in  sight  bearing  E.  S.  E. 
30  miles  distant.  At  noon  strong  winds 
from  N.  N.  W." 

"Monday,  Aug.  3rd. 

First  part  strong  winds,  thick  weather 
from  N.  N.  W.  bteer  S.  to  S.  S.  W.  by 
compass  2  points  variation.  Furl  mainsail, 
fore  and  miz-topgallant  sail  and  jib. 

Saw  killers.*  Middle  part  strong  winds, 
latter  part  much  the  same. 

Overhaul  recruits,  etc.  Lat.  36.00  north. 
Long.  28.52  at  4  p.  m." 

An  imaginative  mind,  especially  if  it 
be  feminine  and  more  familiar  with  the 
absolute  ways  of  a  ship  with  a  man 
than  with  the  animus  of  the  denizens  of 
the  "far-off,  flashing,  bright  Azore," 
naturally  wonders  if  the  new  recruits 
feel  no  regrets  when  they  find  them- 
selves on  board  ship  in  rough  weather, 
about  to  undergo  the  operation  plus 
the  "etc."  thus  briefly  referred  to 
above. 

Visions  of  the  night  are  often  found 
in  the  logs,  carefully  marked  for  his- 
torical verification  on  arrival  home,  for 
the  annals  of  the  whaling  days  contain 
enough  accounts  of  remarkable  coinci- 
dences and  mysterious  happenings  to 
keep  any  number  of  psychological  so- 


*A  species  of  Orca.  Cosmopolitan,  car- 
nivorous, living  on  marine  mammals,  often 
attacking  the  Right  whale.  Sometimes 
called  the  "wolves  of  the  sea." 


WHALE  OIL  AND  SPERMACETI 


21 


cieties  in  a  pleasant  state  of  excitement 
for  an  indefinite  time. 

Just  one  more  log-book  item,  and 
we  will  leave  the  library  for  another 
day. 

"Remarks  on  board  ship  Washington,  184. 
Nine  months  out. — 25bbls.  sperm  oil. — Oh, 
dear!" 

But  think  not  that  the  momen- 
tary feeling  of  discouragement  was 
anything  more  than  that.  The  Nan- 
tucket captain  was  made  of  sterner 
stuff.  Defeat  was  rarely  encountered 
and  never  recognized.  Tradition  tells 
us  that  one  of  these  captains,  returning 
from  a  three  years'  cruise  with  an 
empty  hold,  met  the  pilot's  hail  of 
"What  luck?"  with  the  cheerful  an- 
nouncement, "Haven't  got  any  oil,  but 
I've  had  a  mighty  good  sail !"  The 
Historical  Association  does  not  happen 
to  possess  the  documentary  evidence  of 
the  truth  of  this  statement,  moreover 
it  is  a  matter  of  history  that  never  an 
empty  hold  was  brought  back  to  the  bar 
by  Nantucket  captain ; — but  we  all  be- 
lieve the  essential  truth  of  the  story, 
revealing  as  it  does  the  undaunted 
spirit  of  the  man  whom  we  all  know. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  interesting 
of  these  collections  is  the  string  of  lan- 
terns extending  quite  across  the  room, 
just  under  the  gallery — a  portion  re- 
maining of  the  second  floor  where  were 
taught  the  girls  of  the  Quaker  school, 
the  boys  being  on  the  ground  floor. 
This  was  the  original  purpose  of  the 
building  which  was  later  used  as  a 
Meeting  House,  the  gallery  enclosed 
with  movable  partitions  serving  for  the 
business  meetings  of  the  women 
Friends. 

From  the  lanterns,  pathetically 
empty  and  wickless  as  they  are,  pale 
rays  of  light  still  slant  backwards  on 


the  island  life.  For  the  seeing  eye,  their 
power  of  illumination  has  not  quite 
vanished  with  the  oil  and  spermaceti 
that  fed  them. 

The  perforated  tin  deck-lantern  near 
the  middle  blinked  its  countless  eyelids 
at  the  salt  spray  through  some  of  those 
early  and  dangerous  experimental  voy- 
ages ;  though  with  a  light  behind  them 
of  literally  one  candlepower,  as  it 
swayed  in  the  rigging  in  the  night's 
darkness,  it  could  hardly  have  given 
light  enough  to  show  more  than  its 
good  intentions. 

Rebecca  Sims  carried  the  next  lan- 
tern at  the  right,  on  her  merchant  voy- 
ages about  1850,  and  the  handsome 
brass  mountings  and  chains  of  the  mid- 
dle lantern  once  brightened  even  the 
gloom  of  daylight  in  the  cabin  of  a 
Macy  whaler. 

Third  from  the  brass  chains,  and  be- 
longing to  the  period  of  fine  houses  and 
lavish  entertainments,  is  suspended  a 
hall  lantern  containing  an  elaborately 
fluted  sperm  oil  lamp,  while  on  its  left 
might  hang  the  very  lantern  of  Dog- 
berry and  Verges,  for  it  is  truly  made 
of  horn,  scraped  to  the  pearly  translu- 
cence  of  the  Nantucket  fog.  It  really 
does  not  date  from  Shakespeare's  time, 
being  but  a  modern  affair,  not  more 
than  fifty  or  sixty  years  old.  It  was 
made  by  the  last  elder  or  overseer  of 
the  "Fair  St.  Meeting;"  a  man  of 
genius  and  of  Quaker  sanctity  as  well, 
who,  one  stormy  First  Day  a  few  years 
ago,  held,  together  with  one  woman 
Friend,  the  last  service  in  the  old  meet- 
ing-house where  his  lantern  now 
hangs. 

Alone  he  sat  on  the  men's  side  of  the 
elder's  raised  bench  facing  the  meeting, 
and  after  a  few  minutes  of  silence  he 
was  moved  to  ask  Friend  H.,  alone  on 


z>22 


WHALE  OIL  AND  SPERMACETI 


her  side  in  the  body  of  the  house,  to 
come  up  and  sit  on  the  elder's  bench, 
but  she  refused,  feeling  that  she  was 
not  "worthy."  So  for  the  hour  these 
two  sat  in  the  stillness.  At  last  the 
Elder  rose  and  came  down  the  steps 
and  with  a  grave  hand-shake  the  meet- 
ing "broke  up"  and  the  two  old  wor- 
shippers, the  last  of  their  sect,  passed 
out  into  the  storm  never  more  to  meet 
in  the  beautiful  silent  communion  of 
the  Friends. 

But  this  is  a  digression.  Let  us  to 
our  lanterns  again.  The  Nantucket 
ship  Rose  carried  the  fourth  lantern 
from  the  left  on  both  whaling  and  mer- 
chant voyages.  Artists  seem  to  agree 
that  this  is  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
the  lanterns,  on  account  of  its  propor- 
tions and  of  the  exquisite  openwork 
design  of  the  copper  mountings. 

The  tiny  lantern,  fifth  on  the  right,  is 
nothing  more  than  a  glass  chimney 
with  bottom  and  cover  of  metal,  but  it 
was  a  great  improvement  upon  the  tin 
lanterns,  and  its  first  owner,  arriving 
late  at  his  own  wife's  tea-party,  gave 
as  his  excuse  that  his  new  lantern,  be- 
ing so  much  brighter  than  the  moon, 
had  bewildered  him  so  that  he  had  lost 
his  way  among  the  sand  dunes  of  the 
cliff. 

In  the  corner  of  the  big  fire-places  of 
long  ago,  there  used  to  hang  a  slender 
iron  rod,  and  from  a  hook  at  the  end 
there  was  suspended  a  little  tin  lamp 
like  the  third  in  the  row,  holding  no 
more  than  a  gill  of  sperm  oil,  and  by  the 
light  of  this  "coffee-pot"  lamp  the  won- 
derful old  embroidery  was  done,  as  well 
as  the  coarser  household  sewing.  A 
larger  sized  lamp  and  also  a  more  elab- 
orate one  of  the  same  style  was  used 
aboard  ship.  The  latter  had  four  tubes, 
each  with  a  cotton  wick  which  fed  the 


oil  too  freely  for  entire  combustion,  so 
the  surplus  trickled  over  into  the  little 
troughs  under  each  tube  and  ran  down 
into  the  lower  compartment  of  the 
lamp.  This  method  was  thrifty  and 
clean,  even  if  odoriferous,  but  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  the  fo'castle  or  the  blub- 
ber-room, one  smell  more  or  less  was 
probably  a  matter  of  no  importance. 

The  big  lantern,  Number  9,  used  to 
swing  aloft,  "long  in  the  forties,"  at  the 
bow  of  a  hand  fire-engine,  not  differing 
greatly  from  some  still  in  use  on  the 
island.  One  of  these  ancient  "tubs" 
lately  condemned  by  the  town  is  now 
anchored  fast  to  the  old  Meeting 
House.  This  machine  is  painted 
shrimp  pink,  its  brass  balls  and  bells 
are  kept  beautifully  polished,  its  age  is 
respected,  and  it  is  also  carefully  pro- 
tected by  a  capacious  tarpaulin  for 
nights  and  wet  days. 

From  the  lanterns,  one  naturally 
drifts  to  the  lamps,  to  which  an  entire 
case  is  devoted.  This  pewter  lamp 
hung  with  a  swivel  was  in  constant  use 
and  perpetual  motion  for  forty  years  in 
the  cabin  of  the  South  Shoal  lightship, 
forty  miles  off  Nantucket  to  the  south, 
whose  mast-head  lanterns  are  the  last 
seen  and  first  sighted  by  the  outgoing 
and  incoming  European  steamers. 

The  tiny  pewter  lamp  in  the  fore- 
ground of  the  first  group  was  the 
prophecy  of  the  double-flounced  "petti- 
coat" lamp  in  the  second  group.  And 
the  pear-shaped  ground  glass  lamp  in 
the  latter  illustration  is  one  of  a  pair 
still  holding  the  molasses-colored  whale 
oil  with  which  it  was  filled  by  one  of 
the  famous  Folgers  some  "thirty  odd" 
years  ago.  It  must  not  be  inferred, 
however,  that  it  has  burned  steadily 
ever  since  that  time. 

Among   the   first   group   mentioned 


■HHHMH 


•  *  -'■•■■    -  '      i       , 

i  JH  R  H     '    rTijj(}iji 


In  the  Harbor 


above  are  two  rather  unusual  designs 
— the  200  year  old  pewter  lamp  with 
thick  bull's  eye  reflectors,  and  the  one 
of  gaudily  painted  tin,  with  a  flat  wick 
and  a  tin  shade,  one  of  the  last  patented 
for  sperm  oil. 

Between  the  two  is  a  lamp-picker  for 
raising  the  wick,  made  on  board  ship, 
the  standard  and  handle  shaped  from  a 
bit  of  whale's  tooth ;  in  the  foreground 
is  another,  with  the  steel  picker  along- 
side. 

The  candlestick  in  whose  covered 
saucer  is  contained  flint,  steel,  and  tin- 
der and  also  home-made  matches  of 
shavings  dipped  in  melted  sulphur,  is 
doubtless  a  familiar  object  to  all  New 
Englanders  at  least,  and  the  snuffers 
are  not  at  all  uncommon  in  the  East. 
The  glass  "dolphin"  candlesticks  be- 
longed to  the  last  resident  member  of 
the  orthodox  Wilerite  Friends  who 
owned  the  Meeting  House.  The 
lamp  next  the  "petticoat,"  white 
glass  with  blue  dots,  is  of  inter- 
est as  being  the  first  kerosene  oil 
lamp  used  in  a  private  house  in  Nan- 


tucket, probably  in  the  year  1853, 
though  previous  to  that  a  public  exhi- 
bition had  been  given  at  the  Ocean 
House  of  the  new  discovery  for  illu- 
mination. It  was  not  sufficiently  satis- 
factory, however,  to  convince  the  Nan- 
tucketer,who  preferred  the  aromatic  at- 
mosphere to  which  he  was  accustomed, 
until  the  time  came  when  the  odor, 
smoke,  and  danger  of  kerosene  had 
been  greatly  modified. 

Between  whale-oil  and  kerosene 
there  was  a  short  and  exciting  period 
of  "fluid"  which  was  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  a  preparation  of  alcohol.  An 
elaborate  lamp  of  this  time  is  at  the  left 
of  the  "petticoat." 

We  must  not,  as  we  leave  the  lamps 
pass  the  corner  devoted  to  foot-stoves 
and  fire-dogs  without  a  brief  glance  at 
the  pair  of  Dutch  smokers  once  the 
property — whence  acquired,  who  shall 
say? — of  that  Quaker  importer  and 
financier,  Miriam  Coffin.  In  a  little 
case  near  by  is  her  husband's  book- 
plate, the  cause  of  almost  as  much  anx- 
iety, when  he  brought  from  England 


524 


SHEPHERD 


this  significant  bit  of  worldly  vanity, 
as  was  aroused  when  Miriam  built  their 
ostentatious  house  in  town.  From  that 
house  came  her  thousand-legged  table, 
and  just  above  it  hangs  the  blue-edged 
platter  on  which  she  served  the  much- 
prized  calf's  head  dinner.  There  is  on 
the  wall  a  faded  ambrotype  of  this  fa- 
mous woman,  copied  doubtless  from 
an  oil  painting.  The  firm,  strong  fea- 
tures, the  direct  gaze,  the  expression 
of  power  and  determination  make  us 
wonder  to  what  extent  her  remarkable 
business  ability  was  held  in  check  by 
the  ribbon  strings  of  that  dainty 
Quaker  cap. 


The  portraits  would  require  a  day  by 
themselves.  Just  a  moment  before  the 
row  of  life-size  silhouettes,  all  descend- 
ants of  Ruth  Gardner,  who  heads  the 
procession. 

True  Nantucket  faces  all,  of  a  van- 
ishing type  never  to  be  reproduced. 
This  early  race  served  its  turn  in  the 
one  great  scheme  and  the  world  is 
stronger  because  of  it. 

The  old  Nantucket  is  a  thing  of  the 
past,  along  with  the  useless  lanterns 
and  the  empty  lamps,  the  folded  hands 
and  the  closed  eyes.  A  new  Nantucket 
is  being  evolved,  but  what  shall  be  its 
character  no  prophet  may  yet  foretell. 


Shepherd 

By  Stephen  Tracy  Livingston 

SWEET  word   from  old  Judsean   time, 
And  Arcady  of  gentle  ways, 
What  part  hast  thou  in  this  our  grime 
And  haste  and  roar  of  modern  days? 

No  peaceful  swain  with  trebling  reed 
Pipes  to  his  flock  by  sunny  rills ; 

Our  sheep  no  guardian  watcher  need, 
To  fold  them  on  the  starlit  hills. 


And  yet,  oh  name  forever  blest, 

Thou   still  art  ours  to  keep  and  love,- 

While  mothers  guide  small  feet  to  rest, 
And  God  doth  shelter  us  above. 


3«     :-%:- 


Bridge  in  Peaslee  Meadows 


The  King's  Highway,  Known  as  the 

Common  Road  From  Swan's 

Ferry  to  Back  River  Mill 


By  Charles  W.  Mann 


IN  these  days  of  modern  road  build- 
ing, of  Town,  County,  and  State 
Highways  (and  even  private 
ways)  built  of  gravel  and  stone 
with  the  aid  of  heavy  machinery  under 
the  control  and  management  of  able 
and  specially  educated  men,  and  with 
large  and  increasing  expenditure  of 
public  money  for  the  construction  and 
maintenance  of  our  thoroughfares; 
when  all  are  interested  in  and  many 
are  studying  the  subject  of  good  roads  ; 
when  everybody  travels  with  all  kinds 
of  vehicles,  from  the  twenty  ton  steam 


roller  to  the  twenty  pound  bicycle; 
and  all  unite  in  desiring  perfection  in 
their  highways  (even  if  not  reaching 
that  point  in  all  their  ways),  it  will, 
perhaps,  be  of  interest  to  look  back  in- 
to the  very  early  history  of  our  town 
and  study  the  ways  of  our  forefathers. 
Our  good  old  town  of  Methuen, 
Essex  County,  Massachusetts,  lying 
between  the  Merrimac  River  and  the 
New  Hampshire  line,  and  reaching 
from  Haverhill  to  Dracut,  was  incor- 
porated in  1725  because  of  the  great 
difficulties  under  which  the  inhabitants 


Gage's  Tavern,  Methuen 


labored  on  account  of  "their  remote- 
ness from  the  place  of  Publick  Wor- 
ship." 

The  first  public  building,  if  it  may 
be  called  so,  was  the  pound  on  Powder 
House  Hill,built  the  same  year  ( 1725  ) , 
one  wall  of  which  is  still  standing. 

The  first  board  of  selectmen  laid  out 
a  road  from  Hawkes's  meadow  brook 
to  James  How's  well,  which  probably 
extended  from  near  the  mouth  of  the 
brook,  where  Elder  Runels  had  his 
farm  in  later  years,  connecting  with 
the  path  from  Richard  Messers'  Ferry, 
established  two  years  before  and  later 
known  as  Gage's  Ferry,  and  continu- 
ing up  over  the  hill  by  the  old  road. 
This  road,  now  long  neglected  and  al- 
most forsaken,  is  one  of  the  most  beati- 
526 


tiful  of  the  many  "woodsy"  drives  in 
the  vicinity.  With  a  small  expenditure 
of  money,  it  might  be  made  safe  for 
pleasure  travel,  and  would  add  one 
more  to  the  many  attractions  that  our 
town  now  possesses.  Following  on 
through  Currier  Street,  where  are  the 
ruins  of  several  very  old  houses, 
around  past  Tozier's  Corner  (the  cor- 
ner of  How  and  Hampstead  Streets) 
to  the  How  Farm,  where  the  highway 
connected  with  the  path  running  west- 
erly, to  the  south  of  what  was  later 
called  World's  End  Pond,  and  now 
known  as  Stillwater,  it  continued  to 
Mistake  meadows  and  beyond,  and 
was  known  as  the  Dracut  Path. 

One  other  public  way  might  be  called 
a  main  line  of  travel  at  this  time.    This 


THE   KINGS  HIGHWAY 


537 


was  the  path  leading  from  Haverhill 
to  Spicket  Meadows  above  Salem  Vil- 
lage, as  we  now  call  it,  though  at  that 
time  a  part  of  Methuen  and  called  the 
Spicket  Path,  first  laid  out  in  1659 
and  relocated  in  1685,  as  it  had  be- 
come somewhat  doubtful  where  the 
line  was  at  that  time.  The  Spicket 
Path  is  probably  now  known  as  North 
Broadway.  Other  paths  or  trails 
there  were  though  few  if  any  that 
could  be  called  roads.  Travel  at  that 
time  was  on  foot,  on  horseback,  or  with 
ox-teams,  and  thirty  years  later  we  find 
only  one  two-wheeled  chaise  and  nine 
calashes  in  Haverhill,  and  probably  not 
one  four-wheeled  carriage. 

The  next  year,  1726,  after  much  dis- 
cussion, the  church  was  begun  and  the 
frame  raised  on  land  across  the  path 
from  the  pound.  Now  in  those  days 
the  centre  of  the  town  was  where  the 
church  stood,  for  there  all  the  people 


met  for  their  business  with  each  other 
as  a  town,  as  well  as  to  worship  God, 
and  it  soon  became  necessary  to  have  a 
public  way,  instead  of  a  path  over  pri- 
vate property,  to  the  place  of  "Pub- 
lick  Worship." 

It  had  been  the  custom  in  Haverhill 
to  lay  out  a  path  for  owners  of  out- 
lying meadow  or  timber  land  by  ap- 
pointing two  men  at  a  town  meeting 
to  lay  the  bounds,  and  they  often  had 
to  appoint  committees  to  rediscover 
and  readjust  them,  they  were  so  nu- 
merous. Roads  from  one  town  to  an- 
other were  thus  laid  out,  the  road 
"from  Andiver  to  Haverell"  being  laid 
by  John  Osgood  and  Thomas  Hale  in 
1647,  tne  road  to  Salisbury  in  1651, 
and  to  Rowley  in  1686,  showing  Hav- 
erhill and  Andover  to  be  well  con- 
nected with  the  lower  part  of  the 
county,  but  with  no  roads  inland  or 
northward. 


The  Swimming  Hole  on  the  Road  to  Messers'  Ferry 


y 


THE  KING'S  HIGHWAY 


Of  course  there  was  much  discussion 
of  the  new  road  to  the  church,  and  it 
would  seem  that  it  became  so  warm 
that  the  old  methods  of  laying  out  by 
the  selectmen  or  a  committee  would 
not  satisfy,  and  an  appeal  was  taken  to 
"his  Majestis  Court  of  Generall  Ses- 
sions of  the  Peace"  to  summon  a  jury 
of  twelve  good  and  lawful  men  to  lay 
out  the  road,  and  from  the  action  of 
the  court  comes  "The  King's  High- 
way," the  first  road  in  our  town  laid 
by  an  authority  greater  than  that  of  the 
town  meeting,  and  the  first  road  of  any 
great  importance  in  our  history. 

Among  the  "Barker  Papers"  given 
to  our  Historical  Society  by  Deacon 
Foster  of  Milford,  N.  H.,  we  find  the 
"Return  of  the  Jury,"  which  is  as  fol- 
lows: 

Essex  ss.  Anno  Regni  Regis  Georgii 
nunc  Magna  Britania, 

Francesca  &  Hibernia  Deccimo  Tertio. 
At  his  Majesties  Court  of  Generall  Sessions 
of  the  Peace  begun  &  held  at  Salem  for  & 
within  the  County  of  Essex  on  the  last 
Tuesday  of  December  being  the  twenty 
seventh  day  of  said  month  annoque  Dom- 
ini 1726. 

On  Reading  the  Return  of  the  Jury  who 
were  Summoned  to  lay  out  a  high  way  or 
Common  Road  from  Swan's  ferry  so  called 
through  the  Town  of  Methuen  and  part  of 
Haverhill  up  to  Londonderry  and  the  sher- 
iffs Return  of  the  warrant  Directed  to  him 
for  summoning  of  them  which  is  as  fol- 
lows vizt. : 

Essex   ss.     Decern.   3,   1726. 

In  obedience  to  the  within  warrant  I 
have  Summoned  Jeremiah  Stephens,  Lieut. 
Thomas  Hoyt,  Lieut.  Orlando  Bagley,  Jun., 
Ensign  Daniel  Morrel,  Ensign  Jacob  Sar- 
gent, Jarvis  Ring  Jun.,  Ephraim  Brown, 
John  Bagley,  Benjamin  Currier,  Sam'l. 
Reynolds,  John  Harvey  &  Nathaniel  Fitts  a 
jury  of  Twelve  good  &  lawfull  men  to  lay 
out  the  high  way  or  Common  Road  in  the 
within  written  Warrant  mentioned  to  appear 
at  Haverhill  on  the  fifth  day  of  December 


Currant,  who  accordingly  Appeared  and 
were  Sworn  before  John  White  Esqr.  one 
of  his  majesties  Justice  of  the  Peace  for  the 
County  of  Essex  to  lay  out  the  Said  high 
way  According  to  law  &  their  best  Skill 
and  Judgment,  who  upon  the  Sixth  day  of 
this  instant  December  went  upon  the  Spot 
&  viewing  the  Same  have  laid  out  Said 
high  way  or  Common  Road  from  Swan's 
Ferry  so  Called  to  a  pitch  pine  Tree  marked 
H  Standing  near  Back  River  mill,  and  have 
Also  Estimated  the  Damages  that  Particular 
Persons  have  Sustained  by  the  same  as  by 
their  Return  under  their  hands  &  seal  here- 
unto Annexed  may  at  large  Appear  Mr. 
Swan  has  paid  the  Justice,  the  Jury  &  my 
fees.  In  witness  of  all  above  written  I 
have  hereunto  Set  my  hand  the  7th  day  of 
Decemb.  1726. 

Benj.   Marston,   Sheriff. 

We  the  Subscribers  being  Appointed  and 
Sworn  a  Jury  to  lay  out  the  high  way  or 
Road  within  mentioned  According  to  our 
best  Skill  an  '  Judgment  and  Agreeable  to 
law  having  met  on  the  Spot  on  the  Sixth 
day  of  Decemb.  1726  id  lay  out  the  Said 
way  as  follows,  vizt. : 

To  begin  at  Swan's  ferry  so  Called  and  to 
Run  four  rods  wide  as  the  path  now  goes 
untill  you  Come  to  the  meeting  house  frame 
and  so  Along  by  the  west  End  of  the  Said 
frame  to  the  path  at  Jonathan  Emmersons 
land  and  so  through  Said  Emmersons  land 
about  fifty  Six  rods  to  a  small  Black  oak 
marked  Standing  on  the  East  Side  of  the 
Road  so  long  about  One  Hundred  and 
Twenty  rods  as  the  line  now  Runs  between 
land  of  Kimball  &  others  &  Thomas  Silver 
laying  four  rods  wide  in  upon  the  Said 
land  of  Kimball  and  Others  &  So  upon  a 
Straight  line  to  a  Town  highway  &  through 
the  said  way  to  a  large  white  oak  markd 
and  from  thence  to  a  Black  oak  markd  and 
from  thence  on  a  Straight  line  to  Mud- 
dy Brook  Bridge  so  Called,  thence  through 
Sam'l.  Clarks  land  to  his  house  by  Severall 
markd  Trees  then  through  Thomas  Eatons 
land  About  Thirty  Six  rods  by  Two  black 
oak  Trees  markd  thence  to  Run  between  the 
land  of  Said  Eaton  &  Ephraim  Clarks  two 
rods  wide  in  upon  each  of  their  lands  then 
through  Said  Clarks  land  about  Forty  rods 
bounded   by   Two   white   oaks   markd   then 


Messers'  Ferry 


about  fifty  rods  thro  Sainl.  Curriers  land 
bounded  by  a  Walnut  tree  markd  a  great 
rock  &  a  black  oak  stump  all  being  on  the 
west  side  of  the  way  &  so  to  Run  between  the 
Said  Samuel  Currier  &  John  Baileys  land 
About  Twenty  Two  rods  and  to  be  Two 
rods  wide  in  upon  Each  of  their  lands. 

Then  to  Turn  Northeasterly  round  the 
said  Bayley's  land  till  you  Come  to  a  white 
oak  tree  markd  Standing  by  a  Brook  upon 
Evan  Jones  land  and  so  thro'  the  Said 
Jones  land  to  an  heap  of  Rocks  by  the  Town 
high  way  and  so  by  the  said  way  to  Spicket 
River,  then  over  Said  River  through  Jos- 
eph Peaslee  meadow  then  through  Nathan- 
iel Peaslee  land  along  by  Severall  markd 
trees  to  the  Bridge  by  Peaslee  mill  so 
Called,  so  over  Said  Bridge  through  the 
Said  Peaslee  land  by  marked  trees  till  you 
Come  to  the  End  of  Said  Peaslees  land 
then  through  land  of  the  Proprietors  of 
Haverhill  by  markd  Trees  till  you  Come 
(to)  a  pitch  pine  tree  markd  H.  near  the 
Back  River  mill  where  we  Ended  the  work. 

The  markd  Trees  Referred  to  in  the 
Above  written  Stand  on  the  Westerly  side 
of  the  road  &  the  Said  Road  is  to  be  under- 
stood to  Keep  Four  rods  wedth  throughout 
the  whole  way  from  Swan's  Ferry  to  Back 
River  mill  before  mentioned. 

In  laying  out  of  the  Above  said  way  we 


have  had  Regard  to  the  Committee  Return 
and  the  Conveniency  of  the  Publick  And 
have  as  little  Prejudiced  Particular  Per- 
sons as  was  Possible.  But  some  Persons 
being  unavoidably  damaged  We  Estimate 
their  Damage  thus  To  Samuel  Clark  for 
Running  through  his  land  Ten  pounds  and 
to  Evan  Jones  for  Damage  to  him  Ten 
pounds  and  to  Joseph  Peaslee  for  crossing 
his  meadow  four  pounds  and  as  for  the 
Other  lands  through  which  the  Afore  men- 
tioned Road  or  highway  Passes  We  are  of 
Opinion  that  the  Respective  Owners  thereof 
are  Rather  benefitted  than  damnified  by  the 
same.  In  witness  whereof  We  have  here- 
unto Set  our  hands  &  Seals  the  Seventh 
day  of  December  1726. 

Jeremiah  Stevens 

Danl.  Morrel. 

Ephm.  Brown. 

Saml.    Runnels. 

Thomas  Hoyt. 

Jacob  Sargent. 

John  Bagley. 

John  Harvey. 

Orlando  Bagley,   Jr. 

Jarvis  Ring.  Jr. 

Bent.   Currier. 

Nath  Fitts. 


What  an   interestiru 


old  document 

5 -'9 


The  Eaton  House 


we  have  here !  As  we  study  it  we  gain 
a  great  deal  of  information  from  it. 
We  find  that  this  King  George,  whose 
"Court  of  Generall  Sessions  of  the 
Peace"  issued  it,  was  the  first  George, 
King  of  Great  Britain,  France,  and 
Ireland,  a  German  unable  to  speak 
English,  and  the  grandfather  of  the 
George  III.  who,  fifty  years  later, 
brought  on  the  war  of  the  American 
Revolution  and  was  defeated  by 
George  Washington.  From  all  of 
which  we  begin  to  realize  that  this 
"King's  Highway"  is  a  very  old  way 
indeed. 

Even  the  date  of  this  old  paper  is  of 
interest,  for  some  of  the  great  nations 
of  the  world  as  we  know  them  now 
were  but  in  their  feeble  infancy  at  the 
time.  It  was  in  the  thirteenth  year  of 
the  reign  of  Frederick  William  of 
Prussia,   the   father  of   Frederick  the 


Great,  the  famous  general  who  brought 
his  country  to  a  commanding  position 
among  the  nations  of  Europe,  and 
ruled  for  forty-seven  years.  (One  of 
his  last  public  acts  was  the  conclusion 
of  a  commercial  treaty  with  the  United 
States  of  America,  then  in  their  fifth 
year  of  freedom  from  England.)  It 
was  scarce  a  year  after  the  death  of 
the  greatest  of  all  Russians,  Peter  the 
Great,  who,  like  Frederick,  was  the 
"Father  of  his  Country,"  and  who 
founded  and  built  the  city  of  St.  Pet- 
ersburg only  twenty  years  before. 
Again,  when  we  realize  that  James 
Watt,  who  watched  the  tea  kettle  and 
invented  the  steam  engine,  did  not  see 
daylight  till  ten  years  later,  we  sure- 
ly have  right  to  claim  that  this  road 
was  laid  out  in  an  age  remote  from 
our  day.    . 

Coming  again  to  our  own  local  his- 


THE  KING'S  HIGHWAY 


53* 


tory,  we  find  that  the  year  before  a 
scouting  party  was  in  service  during 
September  and  October  as  a  defense 
against  the  Indians  who  were  lurking 
among  these  same  old  black  and  white 
oaks,  and  the  firing  of  guns  was  heard, 
to  distress  and  annoy  the  settlers. 
Only  after  four  years  more  was  it 
thought  safe  to  remove  the  fort  from 
around  the  Haverhill  parsonage ;  and 
but  ten  years  previously  five  full 
grown  wolves  were  killed  111  Haverhill. 
A  year  later  occurred  the  great  fall 
of  snow,  driving  the  deer  from  the 
woods,  followed  by  the  wolves  that 
killed  many  of  them.  Thus,  with  dan- 
gers from  Indians  and  wild  beasts 
hardly  past  and  keenly  remembered, 
we  see  that  the  laying  out  of  a  road 
eight  miles  or  more  in  length,  and 
much  of  it  through  an  unbroken  forest 
of  old  growth  timber,  was  no  small 
undertaking  and  required  a  great  deal 


of  that  courage  and  push  for  which  our 
forefathers  were  so  noted.  These  vir- 
tues have  descended  in  some  degree  at 
least  to  the  present  generation,  who  in 
that  vicinity  are  still  pushing  for  new 
and  better  roads,  and  getting  them  too, 
just  as  they  did  one  hundred  and  sev- 
enty years  ago. 

Let  us  now  trace  the  line  of  this 
King's  Highway  which  was  "under- 
stood to  Keep  Four  rods  wedth 
throughout  the  whole  way,"  but  today 
has  been  so  encroached  upon  that  it 
varies  from  forty  feet  to  little  over  fif- 
ty feet,  and  so  never  has  become  the 
broad  thoroughfare  that  its  projectors 
desired.  It  is  perhaps  of  interest  to 
note  that  previous  to  this  the  road  in 
Haverhill  from  Holt's  rocks  to  San- 
der's Hill  was  laid  twelve  rods  wide, 
and  in  1754  cut  down  to  four  rods, 
while  in  1744  what  is  now  Merrimac 
Street  was  laid  only  fortv  feet  wide. 


The  Joel  Porter  Place 


The  Grfat  Rock 


The  King's  Highway  begins  at 
Swan's  Ferry  (which  crossed  the  Mer- 
rimac  from  Andover,  now  North  An- 
dover,  to  Methuen)  at  a  point  near 
what  is  now  the  Lawrence  city  farm, 
and  followed  the  path  "untill  you 
Come  to  the  meeting  house  frame." 
This  part  of  it  is  still  known  as  Ferry 
Street  in  Lawrence,  but  is  at  present 
called  Prospect  Street  in  Methuen, 
though  commonly  termed  the  How 
Road  for  many  years.  Then,  follow- 
ing Prospect  Street  to  Marston  Cor- 
ner it  becomes  How  Street  to  the  cor- 
ner of  Hampstead  Street,  whence  it 
follows  the  latter  to  the  Salem  line, 
where  we  lose  our  interest  in  it  without 
tracing  it  to  the  "pitch  pine  marked  H 
near  the  Back  River  mill." 

It  seems  that  this  road  was  not  for 
local  convenience  only,  but  was  a  part 
of  the  road  to  Londonderry,  which 
place  had  been  incorporated  four  years 
before,  although  settled  three  years 
earlier    still     by     sixteen     families    of 


Scotch-Irish  under  the  name  of  Nut- 
field.  These  people  brought  the  potato 
with  them,  and  Wra.  White  of  Haver- 
hill raised  the  first  ones.  Having  a 
crop  of  four  bushels  he  greatly  over- 
stocked the  market.  This  also  may 
have  been  a  part  of  the  road  from 
Haverhill  to  Pennacook  (now  Con- 
cord, N.  H.),  which  was  settled  by 
Haverhill  men  the  year  before,  one 
condition  of  the  grant  being  that  a  road 
should  be  cut  through  from  Haver- 
hill. 

Of  the  metes  and  bounds  described 
we  recognize  but  three  in  what  is  now 
Methuen ;  the  two  brooks  and  the  great 
rock,  the  former  apparently  "going  on 
forever"  while  the  latter  seems  to  have 
"forever  stood."  It  should  forever 
stand  as  an  ancient  landmark,  with  a 
proper  inscription  and  date  showing 
its  history.  "Muddy  Brook  so  called" 
is  the  one  near  the  corner  of  the  Slough 
Road  at  the  Worthen  place,  and  the 
great  rock  is  near  the  house  of  Charles 


THE  KING'S  HIGHWAY 


533 


Merrill,  while  the  brook  upon  Evan 
Jones's  land  is  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
a  short  distance  beyond. 

It  cannot  be  claimed  surely  that 
there  is  even  one  house  now  standing 
that  was  built  before  the  laying  out  of 
this  road,  though  the  old  house  on 
Ferry  Street  toward  the  river  from 
East  Haverhill  Street  dates  well  back 


Weed  Eastman  as  pastor  of  the  First 
Church.  The  Eaton  house  next  above 
"Grovesnors  Corner"  still  stands  on 
land  once  belonging  to  the  Thomas 
Eaton  mentioned  in  the  Jury  return, 
and  descending  in  his  family  to  the 
father  of  one  now  living,  Mrs.  Emily 
Eaton  Davis,  who  may  claim  as  direct 
descent   from   the   original   settlers   of 


Hastings   Ela\ 


toward  that  time,  and  was  once  occu- 
pied by  old  "Master  Isaac  Swan"  who 
was  related  to  Asie  Swan,  one  of  the 
first  selectmen  of  the  town,  and  lived 
near  by.  "Gage's  Tavern,"  for  many 
years  past  occupied  by  Eben  Whittier, 
is  one  of  the  old  mansions,  though 
probably  not  reaching  back  quite  to  the 
times  before  the  road.  Eighty-two 
years  ago  a  council  of  twelve  churches 
met    there    to   settle    the    Rev.    Jacob 


Methuen  and  the  dwellers  upon  the 
King's  Highway  as  any  one.  The  old 
Hastings  house  near  "Muddy  Brook 
Bridge"  must  have  been  built  long  ago, 
though  perhaps  not  the  first  house 
built  at  that  place.  We  can  locate  the 
sites  of  some  of  the  old  houses  by  the 
cellars  and  wells  found  along  the  line. 
The  old  well  on  Powder  House  Hill  in 
land  belonging  to  Mr.  Edward  F. 
Searles  marks  the  spot  where  Phineas 


Marston's  Corner 


Messer  lived,  who  was  born  in  1750 
and  died  in  1836,  being  for  many  years 
the  leading  musician  of  the  town  and 
the  head  of  the  musical  society  then  in 
existence.  The  house  on  the  Marston 
place  is  the  fourth  one  built  on  the 
same  site,  the  first  one  being  a  house  of 
refuge  built  of  heavy  plank,  with  loop- 
holes for  defense  against  the  assaults 
of  Indians,  and  probably  standing  by 
the  path  (the  Indian  trail  of  a  few  years 
previous)  before  the  road  was  laid  out. 
The  cross  roads  at  the  Marston  place 
now  goes  by  the  name  of  "Marston 
Corner,"  as  shown  by  a  suitable  stone 
monument  in  memory  of  the  Marston 
family  whose  home  was  there  for  more 
than  a  hundred  years,  and  whose  lives 
and  fortunes  are  closely  identified  with 
the  early  history  of  our  country  and 
our  town.  To  this  family  we  are  for- 
ever indebted  for  the  courage,  ability, 
and  usefulness  they  displayed  in  their 


day  and  generation,  which  preserved 
much  that  we  enjoy  in  ours.  This 
family  was  represented  in  the  army,  in 
the  Indian  wars,  at  the  siege  of  Louis- 
burg,  and  through  the  battles  of  the 
Revolution,  and  the  war  of  1812.  Some 
of  its  members  are  pioneer  settlers  in 
many  towns  in  New  England,  and 
some  went  farther  west  and  south.  At 
this  corner  stood  the  old  blacksmith 
shop,  one  of  the  first  in  the  town,  for 
half  a  century  or  more,  and  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  road  was  the  old  red 
school  house  of  our  childhood  days. 

Among  the  names  of  the  abutters 
mentioned  in  the  document  we  find  six 
who  soon  after  became  members  of  the 
First  Church,  four  of  them  at  its  for- 
mation in  1729,  one  in  1731,  and  one 
in  1734.  They  were  Thomas  Silver, 
Samuel  Clark,  John  Bailey,  Thomas 
Eaton,  Samuel  Currier,  and  Evan 
Jones.     James  How  lived  on  that  part 


THE  FRUIT  OF  HIS  BRAVERY 


535 


of  it  which  had  been  laid  out  the  year 
previous,  and  was  chosen  a  deacon  in 
1732.  Of  these  men  we  know  but  lit- 
tle. We  find  their  names  on  the  church 
roll  and  most  of  them  on  the  early  tax 
lists  of  the  town  among  the  well-to-do 
citizens  of  the  time.  Thomas  Eaton 
was  one  of  the  first  schoolmasters  of 
the  town,  besides  owning  one  of  the 
best  farms,  it  being  taxed  one  shilling 
and  eight  pence,  while  his  personal 
property  tax  was  only  four  pence  less. 
His  father  witnessed  the  will  of  Rev. 
John  Ward,  the  first  minister  of  Hav- 
erhill, in  1692,  was  selectman  of  Hav- 
erhill in  1675,  was  killed  by  the  Indians 
in  1697.  The  How  Farm  was  evi- 
dently then  as  now  the  best  on  the  road, 
as  James  How  paid  the  heaviest  real 
estate  tax,  being  assessed  two  shillings ; 
but  while  rich  in  land  he  was  not  so 
blessed  with  personal  property,  which 
was  taxed  only  one  shilling.  The  one 
resident  of  the  "King's  Highway"  at 
this  time  bearing  the  family  name  of 
any  of  those  mentioned  in  the  return, 
is  Isaiah  How,  a  descendant  of  Deacon 
James  How. 

Richard  Currier,  being  one  of  a 
family  of  fifteen,  removed  from  Hav- 
erhill in  1735,  only  nine  years  after  the 
laying  out  of  the  road,  to  land  on  or 
near  the  road.       He  was  a  neighbor 


to  Thomas  Eaton,  and  the  same  land 
has  descended  in  the  family  to  its  pres- 
ent owner  Stephen  Currier;  but  we 
can  hardly  trace  it  back  nine  years 
more  to  Samuel  Currier,  whose  land 
was  crossed  by  the  new  road.  In  re- 
pairing the  road  at  the  How  Farm  a 
few  years  ago,  at  the  brook,  we  found 
three  stone  culverts  built  one  above 
another,  as  the  grade  was  raised  from 
time  to  time. 

About  thirty-five  years  after  the  lay- 
ing out  of  the  road  Robert  Hastings 
watched  his  father  set  a  small  elm 
tree  by  the  roadside  near  his  house 
just  north  of  Muddy  Brook  Bridge. 
When  Robert  was  a  small  boy  he  at 
times  amused  himself  by  climbing  the 
little  tree  and  swinging  down  as  the 
boys  often  do  now  upon  the  birches. 
Robert  Hastings  was  born  in  1750, 
lived  four  score  and  six  years,  and  was 
gathered  to  his  fathers ;  the  little  elm 
still  stood  to  shelter  and  protect  his 
household,  and  now,  after  three  score 
years  more  have  passed  away,  there 
stands  the  noblest  elm  of  the  country 
round,  the  most  interesting  landmark 
of  the  King's  Highway,  a  noble  monu- 
ment of  the  love  and  care  of  one  of  the 
early  settlers  who  planted  not  for  him- 
self, but  for  the  blessing  of  many  gen- 
erations vet  to  come. 


The  Fruit  of  His  Bravery 


By  D.  H. 

THE  Pacific  Overland  was  due 
to  leave  the  Union  Station  at 
8 124.    At  7  :oo,  Express  Mes- 
senger  Tom    Wilson    closed 
the  front  door  of  the  modest  dwelling 
in  which  he  lived.    He  did  not  slam  the 
door  as  some  men  would  have  done ;  he 


Talmadge 

latched  it  gently,  thus  displaying  a  fine 
sense  of  consideration  for  the  nerves  of 
those  within.  Once  or  twice  before 
reaching  the  avenue  which  led  direct  to 
the  station,  he  stopped  and  looked 
back,  as  if  hoping  that  some  one  might 
call  to  him.     But  the  door  remained 


536 


THE  FRUIT  OF  HIS  BRAVERY 


closed  and  no  one  called.  He  went  on 
to  the  long  night's  work. 

He  had  eaten  supper  that  evening., 
as  was  his  custom  when  at  the  home 
end  of  the  run,  in  company  with  his 
wife  and  his  wife's  mother,  and  he  had 
not  enjoyed  the  meal  keenly  for  the 
reason  that  he  and  the  elder  lady  were 
not  congenial.  They  jarred  upon  each 
other.  There  was  between  them  a  lack 
of  that  respect  which  is  so  essential  to 
pleasant  relations  among  all  animals. 

The  conversation  that  evening  had 
turned  upon  the  subject  of  foreign 
travel,  Mrs.  Wilson  having  mentioned 
in  a  purely  incidental  way  that  a  friend 
of  hers  was  on  the  verge  of  a  trip  to 
Europe. 

"I  think  it  is  just  lovely,"  she  said. 
"I  told  Grace  I'd  give  anything  if  I 
could  take  such  a  trip." 

"Grace  married  a  successful  man," 
said  her  mother,  casting  a  significant 
glance  at  Tom.  "Your  father  and  I 
visited  Europe  in  the  fall  of  '81,  and 
I  had  hoped  that  you  would  be  able 
some  day  to  do  the  same,  but" — con- 
centrating her  gaze  upon  Tom,  who 
was  looking  steadfastly  at  his  plate — 
"I'm  afraid  you  never  will." 

She  gave  vent  to  a  dismal  sigh,  and 
Tom  shuffled  his  feet  uneasily  but  said 
nothing.  He  was  used  to  such  things. 
Scarcely  a  day  passed  that  some  re- 
flection was  not  made  upon  his  failure 
to  provide  as  much  money  for  his 
wife's  disposal  as  she  had  been  pro- 
vided with  in  her  girlhood.  True,  her 
father  had  failed  at  last.  Nothing  re- 
mained of  the  former  vast  estate  but 
the  cottage  in  which  they  lived.  He 
had  carried  a  small  insurance  on  his 
life — not  enough  to  suport  his  wid- 
ow in  comfort ;  and  when  he  had  died 
Tom  and  his  wife,  who  was  an  only 


child,  had  sacrificed  the  greater  portion 
of  their  honeymoon,  foregoing  their 
dream  of  happiness  unalloyed,  and  had 
taken  up  their  abode  with  the  old  lady, 
who  had  declared  that  she  positively 
could  not  live  alone. 

"It  is  my  duty,  dear,"  Mrs.  Wilson 
had  said  to  her  husband.  "I  must  take 
care  of  mamma." 

"Why  of  course,"  Tom  had  assented, 
although  he  felt  certain  misgivings. 
"One  of  us  may  be  old  and  alone  some 
time.    We'll  move  in  at  once,  my  love." 

And  move  in  they  did.  Tom  did  not 
like  it,  but  he  never  said  so.  When  the 
fact  was  made  much  of  that  the  shoes 
he  bought  for  his  wife  were  poor,, 
cheap  things  compared  with  those  she 
thought  she  had  to  have  when  she  was 
a  girl,  he  flushed  and  swelled  a  bit  un- 
der the  ears  but  held  his  peace.  When 
the  husband  of  one  of  his  wife's  friends 
was  promoted  for  conspicuous  gallan- 
try in  the  Spanish  war  to  a  lucrative 
position  in  the  War  Department,  he 
listened  to  a  series  of  acrid  comments^ 
directed  squarely  at  his  own  face  be- 
yond possibility  of  error,  and  curbed 
the  desire  to  answer  back.  And  so  it 
went  on  for  many  weeks  and  months. 

The  strain  told  upon  him  somewhat. 
More  than  once  the  plethora  of  his  sup- 
pressed temper  was  visited  upon  his 
wife,  for  whom  he  had  no  sentiment  in 
his  breast  but  love.  Such  demonstra- 
tion was  unjust,  but  it  was  really  nec- 
essary for  the  preservation  of  peace. 
He  took  it  for  granted  that  she  would 
understand,  and  he  was  pained  because 
she  did  not  seem  to  do  so.  Gradually 
the  honey  oozed  out  of  their  life  and 
only  the  comb  was  left. 

Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better 
had  he  asserted  himself  more  forcibly. 
There  were  moments  during  the  nights 


THE  FRUIT  OF  HIS  BRAVERY 


537 


when  he  was  alone  in  the  express  car 
that  he  worked  himself  into  a  state  of 
indignation  quite  tremendous,  resolv- 
ing with  many  frowns  and  clutchings 
of  the  hands  to  adopt  a  different  and 
less  pacific  policy.  But  he  had  never 
done  so.  His  nature  forbade,  not  be- 
cause he  was  afraid  but  because  he  was 
not  afraid.  And  it  came  to  pass  that 
the  wisdom  of  his  course  was  proven 
good. 

His  thoughts  were  dwelling  upon 
the  matter  that  night,  long  after  the 
Pacific  Overland  had  left  the  Union 
Station.  The  rush  of  work  was  over, 
and  he  was  sitting  in  front  of  the  ex- 
press safe,  his  chin  upon  his  breast, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  legs  out- 
stretched. Suddenly  the  train  came  to 
a  standstill,  and  he  aroused  himself 
wondering  what  was  wrong,  for  they 
were  far  from  a  station  in  a  rough 
country. 

Caution  prevented  him  from  opening 
the  door  or  looking  from  the  barred 
windows.  So  he  waited,  hearing  the 
sound  of  voices  faintly,  feeling  the  jar 
as  the  car  was  uncoupled  from  the  rest 
of  the  train,  nervously  handling  his 
two  pistols.  He  had  not  long  to  wait. 
The  car  was  drawn  forward  possibly 
a  mile,  then  stopped,  and  the  door  was 
pounded  upon. 

"Open  up  here  or  we'll  blow  you  to 
pieces  !"  called  a  voice. 

Tom  gave  no  reply  nor  made  a 
movement  to  obey  the  demand. 

"Hurry  I"  called  the  voice  with  an 
oath. 

Two  minutes  later  the  car  rocked 
from  the  force  of  an  explosion,  and 
the  door  was  splintered. 

"Come  out !"  called  the  voice.  "Come 
out  or  we'll  dynamite  you !" 

Then  for  the  first  time  Tom  spoke. 


"Dynamite  and  be  d — d!"  he  said,  dis- 
charging his  pistols,  one  in  either  hand, 
at  the  doorway. 

One  of  the  robbers  uttered  a  yelp  of 
pain,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  si- 
lence. Then  a  fusilade  of  rifle  shots 
penetrated  the  wall  of  the  car.  Tom 
sprawled  upon  the  floor,  not  failing  for 
an  instant  to  cover  the  doorway  with 
his  pistols,  and  was  not  hit.  Again 
an  attempt  wras  made  to  enter  the  car, 
and  again  the  attempt  failed.  Tom  was 
upon  his  feet  now  by  the  side  of  the 
safe  upon  which  he  had  placed  his  am- 
munition. The  pistols  were  hot  to  the 
touch.  The  atmosphere  reeked  with 
powder  fumes.  He  was  wet  with 
sweat. 

A  dynamite  bomb  with  a  sizzling 
fuse  attached  was  thrown  in  at  the 
doorway  and  rolled  almost  to  his  feet. 
He  picked  it  up  and  threw  it  back  with 
scarcely  a  wink  of  time  to  spare  before 
it  burst. 

The  concussion  was  followed  by  a 
chorus  of  howls  and  groans.  The  bat- 
tle was  over. 

Presently  the  engineer's  face  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway.  He  grinned 
grotesquely,  holding  up  his  thumbs. 

"The  devils  have  gone,  taking  their 
wounded  with  them,  Tom,"  he  an- 
nounced, "and  the  whole  fruit  of  their 
labors  amounts  to  just  fifty  cents,  be- 
ing thirty  cents  handed  over  at  a  gun's 
point  by  the  fireman  and  two  dimes 
that  I  coughed  up  myself  under  the 
same  influence.  My  God,  boy,  you've 
earned  your  salary  this  night !" 

"I  believe  you,"  said  Tom,  quietly, 
drawing  his  sleeve  across  his  grimy 
face. 

Then  they  returned  for  the  balance 
of  the  train  and  went  on  again,  two 
hours  late. 


538 


THE  FRUIT  OF  HIS  BRAVERY 


The  story  was  in  the  papers  the  next 
day  under  great  black  headlines.  Tom 
was  the  hero  of  the  hour.  Crowds 
cheered  him  at  many  stations  by  which 
the  train  passed.  His  passage  through 
the  streets  at  the  home  end  of  the  run 
amounted  to  a  continuous  ovation.  At 
the  door  of  his  home — the  door  which 
he  had  closed  so  gently  the  night  be- 
fore— his  wife  welcomed  him  with 
open  arms,  and  sobbed  upon  his 
shoulder. 

Supper  was  steaming  upon  the  table, 
and  they  had  seated  themselves  in  their 
accustomed  places,  before  the  old  lady 
appeared.  Her  face  wore  the  severe 
expression  habitual  to  it.  She  greeted 
Tom  in  the  same  even  tone  of  conde- 
scension that  had  characterized  it  in 
the  past.  But  she  was  less  talkative 
than  had  been  her  wont. 

She  listened  without  show  of  emo- 
tion or  especial  interest  as  Tom  an- 
swered the  questions  his  wife  asked. 
Yet  when  she  raised  a  teaspoon  to  her 
lips  it  might  have  been  observed  that 
her  hand  trembled.  It  was  evident  also 
that  she  had  contracted  a  cold,  for  she 
cleared  her  throat  many  times  and 
coughed  frequently,  one  paroxysm  be- 
ing so  severe  that  tears  started  from 
her  eyes. 

"Mary,"  said  she  to  her  daughter 
when  napkins  were  being  folded,  "I 
wish  you'd  run  upstairs  and  get  my 
crocheted  shawl.  'Tis  on  my  bed,  I 
think." 


Airs.  Wilson  departed  obediently, 
and  Tom  drew  an  evening  paper  from 
his  pocket,  half  turning  his  back  to  the 
old  lady,  and  began  to  read.  But  the 
sheet  was  struck  to  the  floor  at  his  feet 
in  that  instant,  and  two  old  knees  were 
upon  it,  and  two  old  hands  were  upon 
his  hands. 

"O,  Tom!"  cried  his  wife's  mother, 
her  voice  shaking  miserably,  "I 
thought  you  were  a  man  of  no  spirit, 
and — and — you  were  only  a  gentle- 
man !  Forgive  me,  Tom !  Will  you 
forgive  me  ?" 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  Tom  bewil- 
deredly.  "Good  Lord!  Of  course! 
Please  get  up !" 

She  glanced  apprehensively  at  the 
doorway  through  which  her  daughter 
must  come,  and  arose  to  her  feet. 

"And  Tom,"  she  whispered  rapidly, 
"won't  you  please  talk  back  when  I  say 
things  you  don't  like?  Won't  you 
p-1-e-a-s-e,  Tom?  I  can't — I  can't  be 
meek  before  Mary.  I'm  her  mother, 
and — and — I've  just  got  to  keep  up. 
You  won't  mind,  will  you,  now  that 
you  understand  ?" 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Tom,  "not  a  bit." 

He  was  gasping  from  astonishment, 
and  the  fingers  which  a  few  hours  be- 
fore had  pressed  the  triggers  of  great 
grim  weapons  hung  limp  at  his  sides. 

When  his  wife  returned  he  was  still 
in  that  attitude,  and  there  was  a  damp 
spot  upon  his  forehead  where  two  old 
lips  had  dabbed  a  kiss. 


The  Stars  and  Stripes  a  Boston  Idea 


By  George  J.   Varney 


THE  troops  of  which  General 
Washington  took  command, 
standing  under  the  great 
elm  in  Cambridge,  Massa- 
chusetts, in  July,  1775,  were  a  motley 
aggregation  of  hastily  formed  militia 
regiments  or  companies,  undisciplined 
and  undrilled,  variously  and  insuffic- 
iently armed,  and  imperfect  in  all 
sorts  of  equipment.  Scarcely  were  the 
companies  in  a  single  regiment  in  sim- 


ilar uniform ;  for  the  picturesque  and 
elegant  military  costume  known  as  the 
"Continental"  had  not  then  come  into 
use. 

In  flags,  the  deficiency  in  number 
was  more  than  compensated  by  variety 
oi  design.  The  most  acceptable  stand- 
ard among  the  Massachusetts  men  was 
a  red  or,  sometimes,  a  white  flag  bear- 
ing the  figure  of  a  pine  tree.  The  cross 
of  St.  George  had  continued  in  use  on 

539 


540 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES  A  BOSTON  IDEA 


Massachusetts  vessels,  but  it  was  ban- 
ished from  the  camp  of  the  besiegers ; 
though  possibly  a  newly  arrived 
Maine  or  New  Hampshire  company 
may  have  borne  a  St.  George's  cross 
with  a  yellow  or  gilt  crown  at  the  cen- 
ter, and  the  king's  monogram  below  it 
in  black — banners  which  their  prede- 
cessors had  borne  in  the  French  and 
Indian  wars  or  in  the  glorious  cam- 
paign against  Louisburg. 

The  first  Connecticut  regiment  pa- 
raded that  Colony's  insignia  of  a  vine 
having  beneath  it  the  pious  and  cour- 
ageous motto  "Qui  transtulit  susti- 
net,"  on  a  white  field ;  while  the  ban- 
ners of  the  other  two  (one  green,  the 
other  red)  had  to  be  made  and  sent  af- 
ter them.  When,  after  the  evacuation 
of  Boston  by  the  British,  Washington 
transferred  his  headquarters  to  New 
York,  the  hostility  had  become  too 
deeply  fixed  for  patriots  to  march  will- 
ingly under  any  British  banner.  Some 
New  Yorkers  displayed  a  flag  of 
Dutch  origin;  but  by  the  time  Ameri- 
cans found  it  necessary  to  retreat 
across  New  Jersey  and  into  Pennsyl- 
vania, still  another  flag  had  become 
quite  popular.  It  bore  the  words  "Lib- 
erty or  Death"  on  a  white  field,  over  a 
sword  crossed  with  a  staff  bearing  a 
liberty  cap.  This  was  the  principal 
standard  at  the  battle  of  White  Plains. 

At  least  two  of  the  flags  carried  by 
American  Patriots  in  the  first  and  part 
of  the  second  year  of  the  war  were 
the  same  as  those  chiefly  used  by  the 
British  army  and  navy  about  Boston. 
Evidently  the  Americans  had  no  com- 
mon visible  standard  around  which  to 
rally;  and  companies  sometimes  found 
themselves  in  awkward  and  dubious 
positions.  Naturally  this  diversity  in 
standards  tended  to  disorder,  jealousy, 


and  insubordination.     The  matter  cer- 
tainly   gave    Washington    some    con- 
cern ;  for  two  of  his  correspondents  in 
the  Congress  received  from  him  let- 
ters dated  at  Cambridge,  October  20^ 
l775>    eacn    containing    the    request, 
"Please   fix  on   some   particular   flag,, 
and  a  signal  by  which  our  vessels  may 
know  one  another."    To  this  was  add- 
ed the  question,  "What  do  you  think 
of  a  flag  with  a  white  ground,  a  tree 
in  the  middle,  with  the  motto,  'An  Ap- 
peal to  Heaven  ?  '        Evidently  Wash- 
ington had  no  strong  predilection  for 
his  own  ensign  armorial  as  the  stand- 
ard   for    the   people   who,    he   hoped, 
would  form  themselves  into  a  nation. 
The  cruisers  fitted  out  by  the  Conti- 
nental Congress  sailed  during  the  au- 
tumn and  most  of  the  following  win- 
ter under  flags  of  nearly  this  descrip- 
tion ;  and  in  the  spring  the  Massachu- 
setts  Council   adopted   this   form   for 
the  Colony's  vessels — making  the  tree 
a  pine.     Had  northern  and  southern 
troops  been  massed  at  this  time,  the 
rattlesnake,   crescent,   and   other   ban- 
ners of  the  latter  section  would  have 
"made  confusion  worse  confounded." 
That  Congress  appreciated  some  of 
the  difficulties  of  the  situation  in  this 
respect  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  the 
committee  of  their  own  number  sent 
by  that  body  to  confer  with  General 
Washington  in  regard  to  the  reorgan- 
ization of  the  army,   were  instructed 
also  to  devise  a  flag  for  the  United 
Colonies.    The  committee  consisted  of 
Dr.  Benjamin  Franklin  of  Pennsylva- 
nia, Colonel  Thomas  Lynch  of  Caro- 
lina, and  Hon.  Benjamin  Harrison  of 
Virginia.    A  letter  of  General  Greene, 
then    in    command    at    Prospect   Hill, 
Somerville,  says,  under  date  of  Octo- 
ber  16,   1775,  that  the  committee  ar- 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES  A  BOSTON  IDEA 


541 


rived  "last  evening;  and  I  had  the 
honor  to  be  introduced  to  that  very 
great  man,  Dr.  Franklin." 

The  journals  of  Congress  show  that 
this  service  of  the  committee  caused  an 
absence  of  six  weeks  from  their  seats. 
Belknap  writes  of  a  conference  on  the 
plan  of  campaign,  in  which  Judge  Na- 
thaniel Wales  of  Connecticut  partici- 
pated ;  that  Lynch,  Harrison,  and 
Wales  wanted  to  give  Boston  to  the 
flames,  so  as  to  expel  the  British, — to 
which  plan  Hancock  had  previously 
given  his  consent;  but  Washington 
found  a  better  way. 

The  journal  of  a  Cambridge  lady, 
who  was  the  hostess  of  the  committee 
during  a  portion  of  their  sojourn,  says 
that  they  arrived  on  December  13 — 
which  may  have  been  a  return  from  a 
trip  to  other  colonies,  or,  merely  a  re- 
moval to  her  residence.  The  only  de- 
tailed account  which  we  have  of  the 
proceedings  at  Cambridge  in  regard  to 
the  flag  is  in  her  memoranda — which 
were  added  to  and  completed  in  1777, 
at  the  request  of  Dr.  Franklin,  then  in 
Paris.  This  lady's  husband  was  a 
highly  respected  citizen,  and  his  house 
was  deemed  the  most  secure  place  for 
the  discussions  which  must  occur  in 
the  conferences ;  wherefore  Washing- 
ton was  desirous  that  the  committee 
should  lodge  there.  Two  of  them 
therefore  took  the  only  spare  room, 
while  Dr.  Franklin  shared  another 
room  with  an  old  professor  of  the  col- 
lege, then  staying  with  the  family. 
The  Doctor's  room-mate  was  a  firm 
patriot  of  extensive  information  and 
philosophic  mind.  #It  is  mentioned 
that  an  utterance  of  his  which  had  be- 
come familiar  to  many  of  his  acquaint- 
ances was,  "We  demand  no  more  (of 
England)  than  our  just  due;  we  will 


accept  and  be   satisfied   with   nothing 
less  than  we  demand." 

The  professor  and  their  host  were 
invited  by  the  committee  to  become 
their  associates  in  designing  an  Amer- 
ican standard.  The  professor  then 
proved  himself  one  of  the  earliest 
advocates  of  woman's  equality  by 
proposing  to  the  visiting  statesmen 
that  the  graceful  sex  be  represented 
on  the  flag  committee  by  their  hostess. 
These  Congressmen  promptly  adopted 
the  suggestion,  and  carried  it  out  fully 
by  appointing  the  professor  and  the 
lady  a  special  committee  to  furnish  a 
design.  When  at  evening  the  party 
came  together  again,  the  design  was 
presented.  It  consisted  of  alternate 
red  and  white  stripes,  thirteen  in  num- 
ber, for  the  field ;  with  the  union  jack 
in  a  white  ground  in  the  upper  staff- 
corner,  as  a  union.  Other  insignia 
had  been  suggested  and  discussed. 
The  stripes  corresponded  to  the  bars 
with  stars,  so  familiar  to  Washington 
in  his  family  escutcheon;  and  those 
very  fitting  emblems  could  scarcely 
have  failed  of  respectful  considera- 
tion. 

In  placing  the  design  before  the 
committee,  the  professor  made  a  some- 
what formal  address  in  its  explanation 
and  advocacy,  the  main  points  of 
which — much  condensed — were  the 
following : 

"We  are  now  self-acknowledged  Colonies, 
— dependencies  of  Great  Britain  ;  which  gov- 
ernment we,  as  loyal  subjects,  humbly  sue 
for  justice.  These  demands  will,  of  course, 
in  the  future  as  in  the  past,  be  neglected  or 
denied.  Yet  we  must  not  alienate  our  com- 
panions ;  but  our  justice-demanding  and 
freedom-loving  countrymen  will  soon  learn 
that  there  is  no  hope  for  us  as  British  Col- 
onists, and  that  we  can  secure  the  rights 
we  contend  for  only  as  the  loyal  and  united 
citizens  of  a   free  and  independent  Ameri  • 


542 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES  A  BOSTON  IDEA 


can  nation.  The  flag  which  we  now  offer 
must  testify  in  its  design  to  our  present  loy- 
alty as,  English  subjects,  and  yet  have  a 
form  to  be  easily  modified,  so  as  to  an- 
nounce and  represent  the  new  nation  that 
is  rapidly  forming.  .  .  .  The  field 
of  our  flag  must,  therefore,  be  an  entirely 
new  one, — because  it  will  represent  a  new 
nation;  second,  the  field  must  be  one  hith- 
erto unused  as  a  national  flag, — because  it 
will  represent  a  nation  with  an  entirely  new 
principle  in  its  government, — the  equal 
rights  of  man  as  man." 

It  was  then  explained  that  the  thir- 
teen longitudinal  and  horizontal 
stripes  would  be  readily  understood  to 
represent  the  thirteen  existing  Colo- 
nies ;  and  that  their  equal  width  typi- 
fied the  equal  rank,  rights,  and  respon- 
sibilities of  the  several  Colonies;  and 
the  union  of  the  stripes  in  the  field  of 
the  flag  would  announce  the  unity  of 
interests  and  the  co-operative  union  of 
efforts  which  the  Colonies  recognize 
and  put  forth  in  their  common 
cause.  The  white  stripes  will  signify 
that  we  consider  our  demands  just  and 
reasonable,  and  that  we  seek  to  secure 
our  rights  through  peaceable,  intelli- 
gent, and  statesmanlike  means,  if  pos- 
sible ;  and  the  red  stripes  at  the  top 
and  bottom  of  the  flag  will  declare 
that  first  and  last  and  always  we  have 
the  determination,  the  enthusiasm,  and 
the  power  to  use  force  whenever  we 
deem  force  necessary.  The  alternation 
of  the  red  and  white  stripes  will  sug- 
gest that  our  reasons  for  all  demands 
will  be  intelligent  and  forcible,  and 
that  our  force  in  securing  our  rights 
will  be  just  and  reasonable.  He  said 
further : 

"There  are  other  reasons  for  making 
this  the  field  of  our  flag;  but  it  will 
be  time  enough  to  consider  them,  when,  in 
the  near  future,  we,  or  our  successors,  are 
considering — not  a  temporary  flag  for  asso- 
ciated  and   dependent   colonies,   but  a  per- 


manent   standard    for   a   united   and   inde- 
pendent nation." 

No  doubt  the  conversation  previ- 
ously held  on  the  subject,  including 
suggestions  of  General  Washington, 
furnished  the  basis  of  this  discourse; 
yet  there  is  a  terse  strength  in  its  pas- 
sages which  the  reader  will  scarcely 
fail  to  note — as  well  as  the  clearness 
with  which  the  professor  sets  forth 
the  fitness  of  the  emblems  to  represent 
harmoniously  abstract  principles  and 
existing  conditions.  The  design  pre- 
sented a  progressive  flag,  one  that 
would  not  offend  American  citizens 
who  were  slower  to  apprehend  the  in- 
evitable trend  of  events,  and  yet  one 
that  could  be  fully  developed  by  a 
slight  change  in  the  canton — such  as 
the  substitution  of  a  constellation  of 
the  heavens*  for  the  union  jack. 

This  new  American  flag  was  not, 
however,  the  first  banner  that  bore 
alternate  red  and  white  stripes;  for 
they  constituted  the  figure  on  the 
standard  presented  to  the  Philadelphia 
Light  Horse,  in  the  autumn  of  1775, 
by  Captain  Abraham  Markoe,  a  well- 
known  merchant  and  ship-owner  of 
that  city.  The  field  of  both  flags  was 
doubtless  suggested  by  that  used  by 
the  British  East  India  Company,  haif 
a  century  before, — then  still  remem- 
bered by  some  in  both  ports.  The  flag 
with  stripes  alone  had  only  a  commer- 
cial meaning  to  the  world  until  the 
Americans  flung  it  out  with  thirteen 
of  the  stripes — the  number  in  the 
other  flags  not  exceeding  ten. 

The  diminutive  model  prepared  by 
the  professor  and  their  hostess  proved 
satisfactory  to  the  committee,  and  was 
formally  adopted  by  them.   As  quickly 

*  There  is  elsewhere  evidence  tending  to  support 
the  belief  that  the  constellation  Lyra  was  mentioned, 
but  it  is  not  conclusive. 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES  A  BOSTON  IDEA 


543 


as  possible,  full-size  garrison  flags 
were  made  in  exact  accordance  with 
the  design  presented. 

Now  comes  a  conflict  in  dates.  A 
memorial  stone  set  up  on  Prospect 
Hill,  Somerville,  a  few  years  ago  by 
the  local  historical  society,  bears  the 
inscription,  "On  this  hill  the  Union 
Flag  with  its  thirteen  stripes,  the  em- 
blem of  the  United  Colonies,  first  bade 
defiance  to  an  enemy,  January  i, 
1776."  This  date  is  doubtless  taken 
from  Frothingham's  "Siege  of  Bos- 
ton," whose  authority  appears  to  have 
been  the  letter  of  a  Lieutenant  Carter, 
who  was  with  the  British  on  Charles- 
town  Fleights  when  the  new  flag  was 
run  up.  Writing  under  date  of  Janu- 
ary 26,  1776,  Lieutenant  Carter  says: 

"The  king's  speech  was  sent  by  flag  to 
them  (the  Americans)  on  the  first  instant. 
In  a  short  time  after  they  received  it,  they 
hoisted  a  union  flag  (above  the  Continental 
with  thirteen  stripes)  at  Mt.  Pisgah  (the 
name  by  which  Prospect  Hill  was  known 
to  the  British)  ;  their  citadel  fired  thirteen 
guns,  and  gave  the  like  number  of  cheers." 

The  account  by  the  Cambridge  host- 
ess places  the  first  raising  of  this  flag 
on  the  second  day  of  the  month,  and 
also  mentions  the  salute — which  was 
fired  on  Prospect  Hill.  A  letter  of 
General  Washington,  however,  will 
generally  be  regarded  as  settling  this 
doubt.  Writing  under  date  of  January 
4,  1776,  to  Colonel  Joseph  Reed,  the 
General  says : 

"We  are  at  length  favored  with  the  sight 
of  his  Majesty's  most  gracious  speech, 
breathing  sentiments  of  tenderness  and  com- 
passion for  his  deluded  American  subjects; 
the  speech  I  send  you  (a  volume  of  them 
was  sent  out  by  the  Boston  gentry,  the 
British  officers  and  the  Tories)  ;  and  far- 
cical enough — we  gave  great  joy  to  them 
without  knowing  or  intending  it ;  for  it  was 
on  that  day  (the  2nd)  which  gave  being  to 


our  new  army  (the  reorganization  of  the 
hitherto  heterogeneous  force  having  just 
been  completed)  ;  but  before  the  proclama- 
tion came  to  hand  we  hoisted  the  (new) 
union  flag  in  compliment  to  the  United 
Colonies.  But,  behold !  it  was  received  at 
Boston  as  a  token  of  the  deep  impression 
the  speech  made  upon  us,  and  as  a  signal  of 
submission.  By  this  time  I  presume  they 
begin  to  think  it  strange  that  we  have  not 
made  a  formal   surrender."* 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  troops  tore 
up  the  copies  of  the  speech  and  made 
little  bonfires  of  them. 

The  account  by  the  lady  afore-men- 
tioned says  that  the  flag  was  raised  by 
the  hands  of  Washington  himself,  with 
appropriate  ceremonies,  in  which  the 
military  participated,  "the  commis- 
sioners"— perhaps  from  Connecticut, 
Rhode  Island  and  New  Hampshire — 
being  present.  The  staff,  according  to 
the  same  account,  was  a  towering  pine- 
tree  liberty  pole,  specially  erected  for 
the  purpose.  Another  letter  of  Wash- 
ington says  "soon  after  the  flag-rais- 
ing at  headquarters,  we  marched  to 
the  citadel  on  Prospect  Hill,  and  par- 
ticipated in  the  ceremonies  there."  On 
March  4,  1776,  there  was  issued  to 
the  army  from  headquarters,  the  fol- 
lowing order : 

"The  flag  on  Prospect  Hill  and  that  at 
Laboratory  on  Cambridge  Common  are  or- 
dered to  be  hoisted  only  upon  a  general 
alarm." 

By  this  it  appears  that  while  head- 
quarters and  the  chief  citadel  had  each 
a  union  flag,  we  may  fairly  infer  that 
other  points  were  still  without  them, 
after  two  months  had  passed.  The 
fact  is,  that  the  troops  still  looked  to 
their  own  Colonies  to  prescribe  their 
colors. 

There  is  no  record  of  any  action  by 


American  Archives,  4th  series,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  1126. 


544 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES  A  BOSTON  IDEA 


Congress  upon  a  report  of  this  Cam- 
bridge Committee ;  but  the  flag  was 
used  thereafter  to  some  extent  by  the 
army,  and  it  was  flown  by  the  belated 
portion  of  the  fleet  of  Commodore 
Hopkins,  which  did  not  sail  from  the 
Delaware  until  February  17th.*  Hon. 
John  Jay,  in  a  letter  dated  in  July, 
1776,  expressly  states  that  Congress, 
up  to  that  date,  had  made  no  order 
"concerning  Continental  colors,  and 
that  captains  of  armed  vessels  had  fol- 
lowed their  own  fancies"  in  respect  to 
standards.  It  is  well-known  that  pre- 
vious to  the  summer  of  1777,  all  ves- 
sels, especially  privateers,  generally 
bore  the  colors  of  their  ports  or  of  the 
colony  which  chartered  them,  some- 
times with  devices  peculiar  to  their 
mercantile  or  to  their  family  connec- 
tion. 

Scanning  these  various  flags  the 
philosophic  eye  can  now  see  that  the 
people  at  large  were  gradually  putting 
aside  old  forms  and  attachments,  and 
developing  by  degrees,  through  one 
phase  of  sentiment  after  another — not 
always  noble — better  conceptions  of 
popular  liberty  and  loftier  national 
ideals. 

According  to  the  records  and  recol- 
lections of  the  family  of  Mrs.  Eliza- 
beth Ross  (the  worthy  maker  of  a 
great  number  of  American  flags  for 
the  army  and  navy)  and  of  Mrs.  Wil- 
son, her  niece,  who  succeeded  to  her 
business,  it  was  in  June,  1776,  that 
General  Washington,  together  with 
Colonel  George  Ross  and  Hon.  Robert 
Morris,  brought  to  Mrs.  Ross  the 
rough  design  of  a  flag  with  thirteen 
red  and  white  stripes,  bearing  a 
union  with  thirteen  stars,  from  which 


"  Scharf    and    Wcstcott's    Hist,    of    Philadelph 
Vol.  T,  p.  303. 


she  was  directed  to  make  a  flag.  Mrs. 
Ross,  it  appears,  pointed  out  the  un- 
usual number  of  six  points  in  the  stars 
in  the  drawing,  which  Washington,  at 
her  suggestion,  at  once  changed  to 
five.  The  tradition  is  believed  to  be 
trustworthy. 

From  the  same  source  we  learn  that 
the  exact  form  of  the  canton,  or 
"union,"  in  this  particular  flag  was  a 
blue  field  bearing  a  spread  eagle  with 
thirteen  stars  in  a  circle  of  rays  sur- 
rounding its  head.  Was  this  the  way 
the  eagle  got  into  the  American  insig- 
nia, and  came  early  to  be  regarded  as  a 
sacred  bird,  the  killing  of  which  was 
an  omen  of  ill  ? 

It  can  scarcely  be  doubted  that  a 
union  of  stars,  as  in  our  present  flag, 
was  proposed  at  Cambridge,  but  con- 
sidered premature — for  reasons  given 
by  the  professor  for  the  temporary  use 
of  the  union  jack — and  was  at  this 
time  carried  out  by  General  Washing- 
ton. 

Various  historical  publications  state 
that  General  Washington  was  sum- 
moned to  Philadelphia,  in  May  of 
1776,  to  confer  with  Congress  on  the 
conduct  of  the  war.  These  absences 
of  Washington  from  headquarters 
were  without  jeopardy,  as  there  were 
no  British  troops  in  any  of  the  thirteen 
colonies  from  the  day  of  the  evacua- 
tion of  Boston  until  almost  the  date  of 
the  adoption  of  the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence. 

It  would  be  no  suddenness  in  con- 
duct for  Washington  to  put  forth  a  de- 
sign for  the  flag  of  a  new  nation  at  this 
time ;  for  it  was  known  by  his  associ- 
ates that  as  early  as  January  1,  1776, 
he  confidently  expected  and  desired 
independence  to  be  avowed  at  an  early 
day.      Neither    would   the    display  of 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES  A  BOSTON  IDEA 


545 


such  a  flag  at  this  time  forestall  the 
action  of  Congress ;  for  John  Adams 
had  on  the  6th  of  May  previous  of- 
fered the  resolution  which  was  passed 
on  the  ioth;  the  preamble  to  which, 
presented  subsequently  and  adopted 
on  the  15th,  plainly  declares  the  pur- 
pose of  independence — as  Adams 
himself  remarks  in  a  letter  to  his  wife, 
under  date  of  May  17,  1776.*  It  would 
seem  as  though  the  Commander-in- 
Chief  should  have  been  too  much  in 
earnest  to  wait  longer  for  a  standard 
about  which  all  his  troops  would  rally, 
even  if  Dr.  Franklin  did  not  suggest 
to  him  that  it  was  time  a  proper  flag 
was  ready  for  Congress  to  authorize. 

One  writer  on  the  flag  (whom  a  few 
others  seem  inclined  to  follow)  con- 
tends that  the  Ross  date  is  erroneous, 
and  that  Washington's  visit  was  not 
until  the  following  year;  but  in  1777 
the  enemy  was  giving  the  Commander- 
in-Chief  all  he  could  attend  to  and 
more — in  New  York  and  New  Jersey, 
so  that  he  had  no  time  to  travel  to 
Philadelphia  for  the  manufacture  of 
flags.  Indeed  I  do  not  think  that 
Washington  was  once  in  Philadelphia 
from  early  spring  until  the  23d  of 
August,  in  that  year, — on  which  day 
he  marched  his  army  through  the  city 
on  the  way  to  Wilmington,  with  the 
British  forces  following  quickly  on 
his  movements.  The  year  1777,  in- 
stead of  1776,  appears  to  have  been 
fixed  upon  by  the  afore-mentioned 
writer,  mainly  because  it  was  in  that 
year  that  the  design  of  the  flag  was 
formally  adopted  by  Congress. 

Were  one  of  these  early  flags,  made 
by  Betsy  Ross  under  the  direction  of 
Washington,     now     in     existence,     it 


would  be  worth  its  weight  in  gold — 
staff  and  all.  But  these  interesting 
emblems  of  the  new  republic,  pierced 
by  the  shot  of  many  a  battle-field, 
stained  by  the  sulphurous  smoke, 
soaked  by  the  rains,  stiffened  in  the 
freezing  sleet,  buffeted  by  many  winds, 
were  torn  into  ribbons  and  shreds  long 
before  that  terrible  seven  years  of  war 
were  over  and  the  independence  they 
signified  nobly  won.  There  is  one  flag 
still  existing — not  hitherto  so  noted  in 
its  origin  as  that  first  one  of  Mrs.  Ross 
— which,  probably,  is  the  only  ensign 
made  under  Washington's  supervision 
that  living  eyes  have  ever  seen.  It  is 
the  "Paul  Jones  starry  flag"  worn  by 
the  Bon  Homme  Richard — the  first 
stars  and  stripes  ever  flown  upon  the 
sea. 

Admiral  Preble  in  his  history  of  our 
country's  flags  says  that  the  official 
documents  place  the  identity  of  this 
flag  beyond  a  doubt.  He  further  says  : 
"It  was  made  in  Philadelphia  by 
Misses  Mary  and  Sarah  Austin,  under 
the  supervision  of  General  Washing- 
ton and  Captain  John  Brown"  (of  the 
informal  navy  department),  "the  de- 
sign being  mostly  from  General  Wash- 
ington's family  escutcheon."  *  The 
principal  authority  for  this  detailed 
statement  is  Mrs.  Patrick  Hayes,  niece 
of  the  Sarah  Ross  just  named, — who 
was  subsequently  the  wife  of  Commo- 
dore John  Barry,  of  the  Revolutionary 
and  United  States  Navies. 

The  flag  was  presented  by  the  mak- 
ers to  John  Paul  Jones,  who  placed  it 
on  a  small  vessel  and  sailed  up  and 
down  the  Schuylkill  to  show  to  sailors 
and  to  maritime  people  on  the  wharves 
the  future  ensign  of  the  nation. 


*  Familiar    letters    of    John    Adams    and    Abigail  *  Preble's    History    of    the    Flag    of    the    United 

Adams,  p.  173.  States,  p.  281. 


546 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES  A  BOSTON  IDEA 


This  brilliant  naval  warrior  had,  at 
the  last  of  December,  1775,  as  senior 
first  lieutenant  of  the  frigate  Alfred, 
the  flag-ship  of  Commodore  Hopkins' 
fleet,  run  up  to  the  masthead  of  that 
vessel  the  first  flag  which  had  any  dis- 
tinct recognition  from  the  general  gov- 
ernment, though  the  Massachusetts 
flag  bearing  a  pine  tree  and  the  motto, 
"An  Appeal  to  Heaven,"  may  have 
shared  the  approval  of  the  Naval  Com- 
mittee. This  banner  was  of  yellow 
silk,  and  bore  the  figure  of  a  pine  tree 
with  a  rattlesnake  coiled  at  its  root , 
underneath  which  was  the  motto, 
"Don't  tread  on  me." 

The  resolution  adopting  the  stars 
and  stripes  was  passed  by  Congress  on 
June  14,  1777;  and  on  the  same  day 
this  body  appointed  Captain  Paul 
Jones  to  the  command  of  the  ship 
Ranger,  "upon  which  he  soon  after 
hoisted  the  new  flag  at  Portsmouth, 
New  Hampshire.  He  did  not,  how- 
ever, get  to  sea  until  the  first  of  No- 
vember." *  Victories  had  in  the  mean- 
time been  won  under  this  flag  on  land ; 
and  it  is  inconceivable  that  this  re- 
markable cruise  could  have  been  con- 
ducted under  any  other  standard.  On 
the  way  over  to  the  coast  of  France, 
the  Ranger  captured  two  prizes,  and 
was  chased  by  a  British  man-of-war 
of  the  largest  class.  About  the  middle 
of  the  following  February,  Captain 
Jones,  then  in  a  French  port,  wrote  the 
American  Commissioners  in  Paris  as 
follows : 

"I  am  happy  to  have  it  in  my  power  to 
congratulate  yon  on  my  having  seen  the 
American  Hag  for  the  first  time  recognized 
in  the  fullest  and  completest  manner  by  the 
flag  of  France.     I  was  off  this  bay  on  the 


*  B.  F.  Prescott  (Secretary  of  State  of  New 
Hampshire,  187=;)  in  "The  Stars  and  Stripes:  The 
Flag  of  the  United  States  of  America." 


13th  inst.  (February,  1778)  and  sent  my 
boat  in  the  next  day  to  know  if  the  Admiral 
would  return  my  salute.  He  answered  that 
he  would  return  to  me  as  the  senior  Ameri- 
can Continental  officer  in  Europe  the  same 
salute  as  he  was  authorized  to  return  to  an 
admiral  of  Holland,  or  any  other  republic, — 
which  was  four  guns  less  than  the  salute 
given.  I  hesitated  at  this,  for  I  demanded 
gun  for  gun.  Wherefore  I  anchored  in  the 
entrance  to  the  bay  at  some  distance  from 
the  French  fleet ;  but  after  a  very  particular 
inquiry,  on  the  14th,  finding  that  he  really 
told  the  truth,  I  was  induced  to  accept  his 
offer;  the  more  as  it  was  an  acknowledge- 
ment of  American  independence.  The  wind 
being  contrary  and  blowing  hard,  it  was  af- 
ter sunset  when  the  Ranger  was  near 
enough  to  salute  Le  Motte  Piquet  with 
thirteen  guns, — which  he  returned  with 
nine.  However,  to  put  the  matter  beyond 
doubt,  I  did  not  suffer  the  Independence 
(another  vessel  of  Jones'  fleet)  to  salute 
until  the  next  morning,  when  I  sent  word 
to  the  admiral  that  I  would  sail  through 
his  fleet  in  the  brig  (the  Independence) , 
and  would  salute  him  in  the  open  day.  He 
was  exceedingly  pleasant,  and  returned  the 
compliment  also  with  nine  guns."* 

An  American  ensign  was  recognized 
by  Johannes  de  Graef ,  Governor  of  the 
Dutch  Island  of  St.  Eustachius,  in  the 
West  Indies,  on  November  16,  1776; 
but  this  was  a  flag  of  stripes  without 
the  stars;  so  that  the  "Paul  Jones 
starry  flag"  is  undoubtedly  the  verita- 
ble piece  of  bunting  first  saluted  by  a 
foreign  power  as  the  colors  of  the 
United  States  of  America. 

The  testimony  in  the  case  of  the  Bon 
Homme  Richard  leaves  no  room  for 
doubt  that  she  not  merely  wore  the 
stars  and  stripes,  but  flew  the  identical 
flag  presented  to  Paul  Jones  by  the 
Misses  Austin.  During  the  hard- 
fought  battle  by  which  Jones  made  the 
British  ship-of-war  Serapis  his  prize, 
this  flag,  which  floated  at  the  masthead 


*  Maclay's    History    of   the    United    States    Navy, 
Vol.  I,  p.  73. 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES  A  BOSTON  IDEA 


547 


of  the  Bon  Homme  Richard,  was  shot 
away  and  fell  into  the  sea ;  when 
James  Bayard  Stafford,  a  lieutenant 
on  that  vessel,  instantly  plunged  into 
the  water,  recovered  the  flag,  and 
nailed  it  to  the  mast. 

After  the  war  the  flag  was  pre- 
sented by  the  Naval  Committee  of 
Congress  to  Lieutenant  Stafford ; 
from  whom  it  has  come  by  gift  and  in- 
heritance  to   its    present   possessor. 

Miss  Sarah  Smith  Stafford,  daugh- 
ter of  Lieutenant  Stafford,  and  pos- 
sessor of  the  flag  for  many  years,  has 
described  it  as  follows : 

"This  flag  is  six  feet  wide,  less  five  inches, 
— and  was  originally  about  fifteen  feet  long; 
but  has  been  so  long  at  the  mercy  of  the 
patriotic  relic-hunters  that  it  has  lost  two 
yards  of  its  length." 

The  flag  is  of  English  bunting, 
sewed  with  flax  thread.  It  is  now 
barely  two  and  a  half  yards  long  and 
two  yards  wide.  It  contains  twelve 
stars  in  a  blue  union,  and  the  thirteen 
stripes,  alternately  red  and  white.  The 
stars  are  placed  in  four  horizontal 
lines,  with  three  stars  in  each  line. 

"Paul  Jones'  starry  flag,"  the  reader 
will  note,  is  not  so  elaborate  and  well- 
developed  as  the  one  made  by  Mrs. 
Ross,  of  which  we  have  the  special  ac- 
count, and  it  may  have  been  an  earlier 
essay.  In  design,  it  is  more  like  the 
Washington  coat  of  arms,  which  has 
three  stars  in  a  line  above  three  bars, 
or  stripes. 

Another  point  in  the  flag  itself  ap- 
proximately fixes  its  date.  As  stated, 
this  flag  bears  but  twelve  stars ;  and 
the  explanation  has  come  down  to  us 
that  the  number  was  limited  to  twelve 
because  Georgia,  the  thirteenth  colony 
to  enter  the  union,  had,  at  the  time, 
vacated  her  membership.     This  action 


of  the  colony  was  on  account  of  the 
emission  of  bills  of  credit  by  Congress 
to  the  amount  of  3,000,000  Spanish 
milled  dollars,  to  defray  the  expenses 
of  the  war.  Georgia  refused  to  be  re- 
sponsible for  her  part,  and  the  whole 
sum  was  apportioned  to  the  other 
twelve.*  From  how  many  flags  the 
star  of  Georgia  was  omitted  cannot  be 
known ;  but  her  defection  occurred  in 
1775.  This  repudiation  having  become 
known  to  the  British  they  thought  it 
a  favorable  omen  for  their  recovery 
of  the  colony ;  consequently  an  army 
and  fleet  were  dispatched  against  her ; 
and  Georgia  became  again  a  subject  of 
Britain.  The  forces  of  our  General 
Greene  drove  her  conquerors  out  of 
Georgia  territory,  and  the  name  of  the 
colony  took  its  place  with  the  other 
twelve  on  the  next  apportionment  list. 
On  June  14th,  1777,  Congress 
passed  the  following  resolution : 

"Resolved,  that  the  flag  of  the  thirteen 
United  States  be  thirteen  stripes  alternate 
red  and  white;  that  the  union  be  thirteen 
stars,  white  in  a  blue  field,  representing  a 
new  constellation."  (See  stanza  near  the 
close  of  this  article). 

The  inattentive  habit  of  Congress  in 
regard  to  what  seemed  minor  matters 
is  further  seen  in  the  fact  that  the 
official  adoption  of  the  flag  of  stars 
and  stripes  as  the  national  ensign  was 
not  formally  announced  until  eighty- 
one  days  later,  that  is,  on  September 
3d,  following;  and  even  the  news- 
papers did  not  mention  the  matter  for 
six  or  eight  weeks. f$ 

*  Holmes'  Annals  of  North  America  (ed.  of  1829) 
Vol.  2,  pp.  212,  336. 

f  Campbell  ("Our  Flag")  11.  56;  Boston  Gazette 
and  Country  Journal,  Sept.    15,   1777- 

X  Preble  states  that  a  thorough  examination  under 
the  direction  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  shows 
that  the  foregoing  resolution,  found  in  the  Journal 
of  Congress,  is  the  first  record  of  Congressional 
action  for  the  establishment  of  a  national  flag  for 
the  United  States  of  America. 


548 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES  A  BOSTON  IDEA 


It  must  be  surprising  to  those  un- 
familiar with  the  methods  of  the 
period,  that  Congress  should  have 
adopted,  as  it  did,  a  resolution  fixing 
the  design  of  a  flag  for  its  armies  and 
navies,  without  modification,  debate, 
or  objection;  but  this  appears  to  be 
what  was  done.  It  seems  therefore  a 
necessary  inference  that  a  flag  of  this 
design  was  familiar  to  the  members, 
and  that  it  had  long  been  a  subject 
of  approving  conversation  among 
them.     Says  Preble : 

"Beyond  a  doubt  the  thirteen  stars  and 
thirteen  stripes  were  unfurled  at  the  Battle 
of  Brandywine  (September  nth),  eight 
days  after  the  official  promulgation  of  them 
at  Philadelphia." 

But  the  first  conflict  waged  under 
them  on  land,  after  their  direct  author- 
ization, is  known  to  have  been  at  Fort 
Stanwix  (subsequently  re-named  Fort 
Schuyler),  in  Rome,  New  York.  The 
fort  was  invested  by  the  British  on  the 
2d  of  August, — at  which  time  the  gar- 
rison was  without  the  authorized 
standard ;  but  they  had  a  description 
of  the  design,  and  soon  formed  a  flag 
from  materials  in  the  fort.  Victory 
perched  upon  their  rude  and  hastily 
constructed  banner ;  and  in  one  sortie 
made  by  the  Americans  they  captured 
five  of  the  enemy's  standards. 

By  an  order  of  Congress,  approved 
by  the  President  January  13,  1794, 
the  flag  was  changed  on  the  first  day 
of  May,  ensuing,  so  as  to  consist  of 
fifteen  stripes  and  the  same  number 
of  stars.  This  continued  to  be  the  de- 
sign of  our  flag  until  the  year  1818, 
when  the  Union  embraced  twenty 
states.  On  the  25th  of  March,  in  that 
vear,  nn  the  motion  of  lion.  Peter  H. 
Wendover,  of  New  York,  Congress 
passed  an  act  entitled  "An  act  to  es- 


tablish the  Flag  of  the  United  States." 
It  read  as  follows : 

"Section  I.  Be  it  enacted,  etc.,  that  from 
and  after  the  Fourth  day  of  July  next,  the 
flag  of  the  United  States  be  thirteen  hori- 
zontal stripes  alternate  red  and  white;  that 
the  Union  have  twenty  stars,  white  in  a  blue 
field. 

Section  II.  And  be  it  further  enacted, 
that  on  the  admission  of  every  new  state 
to  the  Union,  one  star  be  added  to  the 
Union  of  the  flag;  and  that  such  addition 
shall  take  effect  on  the  Fourth  of  July  next 
succeeding  such  admission.  Approved, 
April  4,   1818." 

The  flags  of  the  United  States  have 
since  continued  to  be  of  this  construc- 
tion ;  so  that,  whatever  their  varia- 
tions to  indicate  the  branch  of  the 
government  service  to  which  a  special 
flag  belongs,  every  one  shows  by  its 
red  and  white  stripes  the  number  of 
Colonies  which  originally  formed  the 
nation,  while  its  white  stars  in  a  blue 
ground  will  tell  the  number  of  States 
now  embraced  in  our  local  Union. 

The  earliest  recorded  suggestion  of 
stars  as  a  device  for  an  American  en- 
sign— even  before  Washington's — «is 
to  be  found  in  an  issue  of  the  "Massa- 
chusetts Spy,"  published  in  Boston, 
March  10,  1774.  It  is  in  a  song 
(author  unknown),  of  which  the  lines 
referring  to  the  device  are  as  follows : 
"As  a  ray  of  bright  glory  now  beams  from 

afar, 
The  American  ensign  now  sparkles,  a  star 
Which  shall  shortly  flame  wide  through  the 

skies." 

This  brief  stanza  is  good  evidence 
that  by  one  group,  at  least,  of  our 
countrymen,  the  future  American  na- 
tion had  been  forecasted,  and  that 
there  had  been  a  thought  of  stars  as 
a  most  suitable  emblem  for  a  nation 
then  unique  in  its  form,  character,  and 
ideals 


The  Things  That  Were 

By  Agnes  Louise  Provost 


Mc ADAMS  leaned  against  one 
of  the  plain,  square  pillars 
of  his  veranda  and  stared 
out  toward  the  horizon  at 
a  distant  speck  there  which  might  ulti- 
mately resolve  itself  into  humanity. 
The  wide  sweep  of  his  own  range  lay 
before  and  around  him  as  far  as  he 
could  see, — hundreds  upon  hundreds 
of  acres  stretching  away  in  gentle  un- 
dulations, innocent  of  human  habi- 
tation save  for  this  ranch  house  and 
the  few  shanty-like  buildings  back  of 
it,  and  desolate  indeed  save  for  the 
scattered  herds  of  horned  beasts  which 
roamed  this  wide  pasture-land  at  will, 
and  the  handful  of  rough  men  who 
worked  for  McAdams  and  belonged 
here  when  they  were  home  at  all. 

All  day  the  sun  had  beaten  down 
out  of  a  brazen  sky,  unmarked  by  so 
much  as  the  slow  sweep  of  a  vulture. 
McAdams  had  just  come  in  from  a 
long  ride  of  inspection  over  his  range, 
and  he  was  hot  and  tired,  but  a  fresh 
horse  stood  saddled  near  him,  ready  to 
go  out  again. 

"I  wonder  if  they  will  come?" 
McAdams  speculated  to  himself.  "It 
will  seem  queer  to  have  her  here. 
Three  years  ago  she  was  to  have  come 
as  mistress,  and  now  she  comes  as 
another  man's  wife — rich  chap,  trav- 
elling in  the  Southwest  for  his  health. 
That  sounds  like  lungs — that's  what 
they  always  come  out  here  for.  Dim- 
mick  said  in  his  letter  that  'Mr. 
Thatcher  contemplates  taking  a  well- 


equipped  ranch  and  settling  out  here 
if  it  agrees  with  him.  It  must  be 
lungs,  and  it  must  be  recent.  I  don't 
believe  she'd  ever  have  married  a  half 
dead  man." 

The  distant  speck  grew,  and  became 
two  specks,  flat  and  broad,  which 
meant  wagons.  These  must  be 
strangers  of  some  sort,  travellers  of 
course,  since  plains  people  would  have 
been  on  horseback.  McAdams  watched 
the  two  specks  with  growing  interest, 
feeling  uneasy,  now  that  it  seemed 
possible  that  his  invited  guests  were 
on  their  way. 

"That  looks  like  them — one  rig  for 
them  and  one  for  a  lot  of  cumbersome 
luggage,  which  no  plainsman  would 
bother  with  for  two  minutes.  I  sup- 
pose she  thinks  this  is  a  God-forsaken 
country,  where  gently  bred  people 
have  to  travel  like  that.  It  would  be 
a  grim  sort  of  justice  if  she  had  to  live 
out  here  after  all.  Shouldn't  exactly 
call  it  a  punishment,  I  suppose,  since 
she  hasn't  committed  any  crime — just 
been  a  little  cruel.  It's  queer  how  peo- 
ple can  hurt  you  and  grind  your  life 
into  little  bits,  and  still  keep  the 
decalogue  and  the  law  of  the  land 
unbroken.  Perhaps  she  never  cared — 
as  I  cared.  Anyway,  I'm  glad  Dim- 
mick  wrote.  So  long  as  they  are  pass- 
ing this  way,  I'm  glad  of  the  chance 
to  offer  them  the  hospitality  of  my 
quarters  on  the  way,  and  show  them, 
her  at  least,  that  I'm  still  man  enough 
to  pick  up  the  pieces  of  my  old  life  and 


530 


THE  THINGS  THAT  WERE 


make  a  fairly  decent  new  one  out  of 
them.  Thatcher  must  have  been  sur- 
prised at  my  friendliness,  since  he 
never  knew  me  at  all,  but  he'll  prob- 
ably like  the  chance  of  talking  ranch 
with  a  ranchman,  and  in  these  days, 
husbands  seem  to  take  rejected  suitors 
rather  as  a  matter  of  course,  sort  of  a 
walking  credential  as  to  the  super-ex- 
cellence of  their  own  choice." 

McAdams  stopped,  smiling  bitterly, 
and  looked  out  again  toward  the  dis- 
tant travellers,  little  bobbing  blots  now, 
which  only  the  trained  eye  of  the 
plainsman  could  translate  into  horses 
and  men. 

>jc  >5<  ;}s  ^ 

"And  this  is  your  home?"  Mrs. 
Thatcher  paused  on  the  veranda  and 
looked  out  over  the  billowing  plains 
by  which  they  had  come,  a  wide, 
monotonous  ocean  of  grass  lands  and 
mesquite,  cupped  by  a  limitless  arch 
of  sky.  When  she  turned  toward  the 
house  again,  it  was  with  a  bright  grace 
which  seemed  to  glorify  the  long, 
plain  building.  Mrs.  Thatcher  was 
gifted  with  a  radiant  presence. 

"Yes,  this  is  where  I  hang  out." 
McAdams's  practical  reply  and  frank 
hospitality  did  not  suggest  his 
thoughts  as  he  busied  himself  in  at- 
tending to  the  comfort  of  his  guests. 
Had  it  occurred  to  her  that  this  was 
the  house  he  had  built  expressly  for 
her  occupancy,  that  he  had  toiled  for 
in  a  country  where  building  materials 
arc  scarce  and  high,  that  much  of  it 
had  been  the  work  of  his  own  hands, 
in  those  dear,  tense,  hard-slaving 
days?  One  end  of  it  was  still  rough 
inside,  just  as  he  had  dropped  his  tools 
when  her  letter  came  three  years  ago, 
and  just  a  month  before  the  day  they 
were  to  have  been  married.     That  was 


long  enough  ago,  and  she  was  another 
man's  wife  now,  but  a  queer  sort  of 
breathlessness  had  come  over  him  as 
he  had  met  her,  and  his  ringers  had 
tingled  as  they  had  closed  over  hers. 
Three  years  ago  he  might  have  lifted 
her  bodily  from  the  wagon  here  at  his 
own  door — her  door,  too — and  held 
her  to  him,  close  and  tight,  but  that 
was  Thatcher's  place.  Poor  Thatcher 
— he  was  past  lifting  people  bodily 
without  ruing  it.  McAdams  looked  at 
him  with  the  wondering  compassion 
which  a  strong  man  bestows  on  a  sick- 
one. 

"It  seems  a  good  sort  of  country  for 
worn-out  city  men  to  toughen  up  in, 
doesn't  it?"  Thatcher  said  thought- 
fully, after  his  wife  had  retired  with 
her  maid — unprecedented  luxury  on 
the  plains — to  remove  the  dust  of 
travel.  He  looked  from  his  stalwart, 
browned  host  to  the  free  sweep  of 
prairie,  and  something  remotely  like  a 
sigh  of  envy  trailed  off  from  his  last 
word.  He  was  weary  and  haggard, 
and  the  hollows  in  his  cheeks  and  at 
his  temples  told  their  own  tale.  Two 
years  ago  he  had  not  dreamed  of  such 
a  thing  as  this,  but  the  down  grade  had 
been  steep,  once  started.  McAdams 
felt  vaguely  sorry  for  him,  and  all  pos- 
sible hint  of  bitterness  toward  a  suc- 
cessful rival  faded  before  the  sight  of 
this  tired,  stricken  man.  He  caught 
himself  wondering  if  Marion  were 
used  to  it,  or  if  the  sight  of  this  creep- 
ing disease  wrere  not  a  horror  to  her. 

"It  is  that,"  McAdams  answered 
heartily.  "Why,  I've  four  times  the 
strength  and  endurance  I  had  when  I 
was  a  city  man.  I  suppose  it's  the 
open  air  life  and  primitive  habits. 
Civilization  takes  an  awful  toll  on  our 
systems." 


THE  THINGS   THAT  WERE 


?? 


"Yes,  the  inevitable  law  of  com- 
pensation. I  was  thinking  of  taking 
a  ranch  myself,  just  a  small  one,  you 
know,  more  for  recreation  than  profit. 
This  is  pretty  large,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh,  no,  it  isn't  a  large  holding  as 
they  go  here,  about  forty-five  hundred 
acres.  Part  of  it  is  Government  land, 
free  range,  you  know,  which  left  me 
more  money  to  invest  in  a  superior 
breed  of  cattle.  I  began  on  borrowed 
money  and  had  to  go  slow,  but  I've 
made  it  back  now,  and  feel  like 
branching  out.  You  can  get  a  small 
holding  right  easily." 

Whereupon  McAdams  proceeded 
patiently  to  explain  the  problems  of 
cattle-ranching  to  this  pathetically  in- 
capable invalid,  who  didn't  know  a 
Hereford  from  a  Durham,  and 
couldn't  ride  ten  miles  on  horseback 
without  being  laid  up  the  next  day. 
But  in  the  midst  of  these  things  there 
was  the  rustle  of  a  womanly  presence 
behind  them,  and  Marion  Thatcher 
came  out  and  stood  before  them  both, 
with  the  light  of  the  plains  sunset 
slanting  like  a  glory  across  her  hair. 
She  dropped  her  fingers  lightly  on  her 
husband's  shoulder  in  passing — had 
McAdams  been  super-sensitive,  he 
might  have  construed  it  into  a  tactful 
reminder  to  him  that  these  were  not 
the  days  that  had  been — smiled 
brightly  upon  them  both,  and  the  sub- 
ject of  ranch  holdings  was  tacitly 
dropped. 

*  *  ^  * 

The  quiet  grass  lands  lay  bathed  in 
the  white  radiance  of  a  perfect  moon- 
light, silence  was  upon  them,  a  still- 
ness as  breathless  as  the  night  before 
resurrection,  and  silence  was  back  in 
the  ranch  house,  and  the  low  buildings 
clustered  near  it.     There  was  one  hint 


of  human  presence,  a  smell  of  tobacco 
stealing  out  from  the  veranda  where 
McAdams  sat  alone,  the  veranda  he 
had  built  for  her  to  sit  on,  to  watch  for 
him  as  he  came  in  from  a  long  day  out 
on  the  range.  He  liked  the  silence  to- 
night, and  the  loneliness,  because  in  it 
he  seemed  like  another  man.  The  last 
two  days  had  been  disturbing. 

Thatcher  was  in  bed,  done  up  by  his 
ride  over  the  range  that  morning. 
Poor  Thatcher,  what  a  pitiful  madness 
to  think  that  he  could  do  anything  on 
a  ranch  but  sit  huddled  in  an  easy 
chair  and  watch  himself  die.  The 
man  ought  never  to  be  beyond  five 
minutes'  call  of  a  physician.  He  could 
not  be  good  for  more  than  six  months, 
or  a  year  at  most.  McAdams  wanted 
to  get  away  from  that  thought.  Was 
he  sorry — or  glad? 

"Oh,  you  are  here?" 

A  murmur  of  smiling  surprise  from 
the  doorway  where  Marion  Thatcher 
stood  like  a  spirit  woman  in  the  silver 
light,  gowned  all  in  white,  a  clinging 
creation  with  which  she  had  graced 
their  evening  meal  as  meals  had  never 
been  graced  in  that  house  before.  And 
she  had  been  so  frank,  so  sunny,  so 
altogether   friendly. 

"I  may  come  out  also,  if  I  do  not 
intrude?  It  is  so  glorious,  I  could  not 
sleep  if  I  tried." 

Marion's  questions  were  always 
mere  suggestions  with  a  rising  in- 
flection. The  effect  was  odd  at  first, 
but  singularly  pleasant. 

McAdams  made  place  for  her 
promptly,  but  felt  that  the  atmosphere 
had  become  suddenly  charged.  Po- 
litely he  would  have  laid  aside  his 
beloved  pipe,  but  she  raised  her  hand 
in  a  pretty  deprecating  gesture. 

"You  will  continue  to  smoke?"  she 


352 


THE  THINGS  THAT  WERE 


suggested.  "If  I  am  to  disturb  your 
quiet  comfort,  I  shall  feel  that  I  must 
go  in,  and  I  do  want  to  enjoy  a  few 
breaths  of  this  wonderful  night.  My 
husband  must  miss  this,"  she  added 
regretfully  after  a  pause,  during  which 
McAdams  had  returned  to  his  pipe, 
feeling  more  comfortable  behind  that 
non-committal  refuge.  "The  ride 
tired  him  so,  although  he  wished  to 
take  it." 

"Mr.  Thatcher  seems  to  be  inter- 
ested in  ranching,"  commented  Mc- 
Adams, looking  at  her  thoughtfully. 
She  sat  near  him  on  a  low  chair,  her 
hands  clasped  negligently  before  her, 
and  the  white  folds  of  her  gown  seem- 
ing to  melt  into  the  white  moonlight. 
She  was  not  a  real  woman  to-night ; 
rather  the  visible  memory  of  a  remote, 
dear  dream. 

"Yes,  we  may  be  neighbors  some 
day,  if  the  interest  continues.  At 
least,  I  hope  he  can  buy  near  enough 
to  call  ourselves  neighbors.  It  is  so 
much  nicer  to  feel  that  some  one  you 
know  is  near." 

"You  will  be  lonely,"  he  suggested. 
He  had  no  formulated  intention  of 
being  cruel,  but  he  could  not  forget 
that  this  woman  had  dropped  him 
from  heaven  to  the  nethermost  pit  one 
day,  because  at  the  eleventh  hour, 
when  all  things  were  ready,  she  could 
not  face  the  isolation  of  the  life  she 
had  promised  to  share  with  him.  Be- 
fore she  answered  she  arose  with  slow 
grace  and  stood  before  him,  with  no 
apparent  prcconsidered  motive  but  to 
lean  lightly  against  one  of  the  nn- 
painted  pillars  of  the  veranda  and  look 
thoughtfully  out  at  the  wide  sweep  of 
sky  and  plain,  with  the  brilliant  silver 
light  upon  them. 

"T  shall  not  mind.     It  is  a  loneliness 


which  has  a  weird  fascination  of  its 
own.  It  is  mysterious,  almost  haunt- 
ing.   I  never  dreamed  it  was  like  this." 

Inferentially,  this  was  waking  an 
echo  of  the  past,  which  had  received 
its  mourning  and  deep  burial  three 
years  back.  McAdams  wished  she 
would  sit  down,  where  he  could  not 
see  her  standing  against  that  limitless 
background.  He  wondered  uneasily 
whether  it  were  her  pure  good-will  in 
the  present,  or  a  love  of  the  old  power 
which  would  assert  its  sway,  which 
made  her  add  softly : 

"And  we  shall  be  friends  then,  is  it 
not  so?" 

"I  have  never  been  your  enemy," 
McAdams  answered  bluntly,  still  shy 
of  committing  himself,  but  unfitted  by 
nature  to  conduct  a  dangerous  con- 
versation along  the  trails  of  am- 
biguous allusion.  "You  certainly  need 
have  no  fear  that  I  would  make  myself 
unpleasant  because  of — of  the  way 
things  used  to  be." 

"Ah,  please!"  She  made  a  little 
gesture  of  protest,  and  he  remembered 
with  shame  that  he  was  her  host,  and 
had  been  rude.  "I  did  not  mean  that, 
Dick.  I  knew  you  would  never  be 
that.  What  I  meant  was  something 
very  different.  Why,  I  knew  when 
you  wrote  that  you  had  left  that  far 
behind  you,  as  I  had.  It  isn't  that  we 
would  belittle  the  things  that  were,  but 
that  we  have  outgrown  them.  We 
learn  differently,  is  it  not  so?" 

"Oh  yes,"  assented  McAdams  prac- 
tically. "It  isn't  in  nature  to  stand  still 
in  one  spot.  It  takes  a  lot  of  experi- 
ences to  make  up  a  lifetime,  and  I 
suppose  they  all  have  their  peculiar 
value  in  shaping  us  out." 

"To  be  sure.  And  it  is  just  because 
we  have  both  taken  experience  at  its 


THE  THINGS  THAT  WERE 


553 


just  value,  and  have  developed  accord- 
ingly, that  I  would  prefer  your  neigh- 
borly friendship  here  to  that  of  others 
I  might  meet.  I  need  it ;  Wilfred 
needs  it.  I  am  his  wife,  but  I  could 
not  entirely  fill  the  place  of  men 
friends  to  him  when  we  are  out  here. 
Why," — she  threw  out  her  hands  and 
laughed  aloud,  not  mockingly,  but  as 
though  filled  with  a  delicious  humor 
which  he  must  share — "how  ridicu- 
lous it  would  be,  Dick,  if,  after  three 
years,  we  should  sit  and  sulk  and 
glower  at  each  other,  just  because  we 
made  a  mistake  once.  Just  as  though 
we  could  not  both  afford  to  smile  at 
that  now !  How  beautifully  our  tiny 
problems  work  out.  To-day,  I  have 
my  husband,  and  you " 

She  paused  again,  with  the  faintest 
of  upward  inflections.  McAdams  fin- 
ished the  sentence  for  her. 

"And  I  am  not  without  ambitions 
of  my  own." 

"So?  Is  it — oh,  do  tell  me!  Is  it 
a  girl,  Dick?" 

"Yes." 

McAdams's  eyes  were  looking  out 
over  the  prairie  again,  and  did  not 
meet  hers  as  he  answered  her  half 
teasing  question.  It  would  never  be 
for  him  to  know  whether  his  answer 
was  a  generous  gratification  or  a  dull 
pain,  a  proved  suspicion  or  a  shock. 
Neither  was  it  for  him  to  understand 
whether  her  coming  here  had  been  a 
joy,  an  annoyance,  or  a  dread,  nor 
what  comparison  her  mind  and  heart 
might  make  between  her  husband  and 
him.  She  would  hold  her  dignity  in 
any  case ;  of  that  he  might  be  sure. 

"You  will  tell  me  about  her?"  she 
said  gently. 

"Well — if  you  wish.  There  isn't 
much  to  tell,  for  it  is  only  an  ambition 


after  all.  She  is  a  plains  girl,  raised 
from  childhood  at  the  army  post  which 
affords  my  nearest  glimpse  of  civilized 
society,  and  she  is  also  the  daughter 
of  one  of  the  finest  old  officers  that 
ever  breathed.  I'd  be  proud  to  have 
him  call  me  his  son.  She  loves  the 
plains  as  I  do,  because  they're  home  to 
her,  and  have  been  always,  except 
when  she  was  East  at  school  and  col- 
lege, and  she  is  a  gentlewoman  in 
heart  and  breeding.  I'm  not  good  at 
describing,  you  see,  but  I've  done  my 
best." 

In  truth,  McAdams  looked  sorely 
uncomfortable  as  he  blundered  out  his 
description.  Her  request  had  taken 
him  unawares.  Mrs.  Thatcher  was 
not  yet  satisfied. 

"I  know,  but  somehow,  you've  left 
out  the  most  important  part.  Those 
are  the  surroundings,  the  incidents. 
And  she,  Dick?" 

"Oh,  now  you  are  pinning  me  down. 
Well,  she's  awfully  bright,  you  know, 
reads  books  that  give  me  the  shivers  to 
look  at,  but  never  rubs  it  in.  And  she 
sings  some,  and  rides  horseback  like  a 
breeze,  and  has  a  laugh  that  warms  you 
right  up,  and  she's  earnest  and  cordial 
and,  m'm — sort  of  saucy,  sometimes, 
but  gentle  too.  There,  I've  made  a 
beastly  mess  of  it,  but  it's  the  hardest 
thing  on  earth  to  describe  a  woman." 

"Behold  an  honest  man !  I  knew  not 
that  they  ever  confessed  it.  Rut  I 
thank  you,  Dick.  Perhaps — I  shall 
meet  her  sometime,  if  we  come  out 
here,  and  I  shall  like  her,  because  an 
old  friend  of  mine  likes  her  too.  I 
fear  I  must  go  in  now,  fascinating  as 
this  outlook  is  to-night.  If  Wilfred 
awakens,  I  should  not  like  to  be  away. 
He  may  wish  something.  Good-night, 
and  good  fortune  in  your  wooing." 


3=>4 


THE  THINGS  THAT  WERE 


There  might  have  been  a  pin-prick 
in  that,  had  it  not  been  for  the  cordial 
hand  she  held  out  to  McAdams.  He 
took  it,  forgetting  to  rise  as  he  held 
it  for  an  instant  and  looked  from  it  to 
her  with  thoughts  which  were  ob- 
viously abstracted.  It  was  a  frail  little 
hand.  How  easy  it  would  be  to  pull 
her  down  to  him  as  he  sat  there,  to 
hold  her  close,  with  the  silence  of  the 
plains  around  them,  and  the  madden- 
ing white  moonlight  upon  them  both ! 

But  McAdams  did  nothing  so  fool- 
ish He  merely  said,  "Thank  you," 
smiling  in  a  half  embarrassed  way, 
and  rose  tardily  to  his  feet  as  she 
turned  away  and  went  into  the  house, 
pausing  by  the  door  for  a  light  fare- 
well gesture  of  her  hand,  the  one  he 
had  held. 

When  she  had  gone,  McAdams  re- 
turned to  his  chair  and  pondered  these 
and  other  things.  With  a  side  glance 
at  the  door  he  took  from  his  pocket  a 
worn  leather  case.  Opening,  it  showed 
a  woman's  face  within,  and  as  Mc- 
Adams looked  at  it  he  saw  her  as  she 
had  been  on  the  day  they  had  parted  at 
her  home,  she  to  wait  for  him,  years, 
if  need  be,  he  to  go  forth,  buoyant  and 
determined,  to  recoup  his  shattered 
fortunes  in  the  far  Southwest,  biding 
hopefully  the  time  when  she  should 
come  out  to  him  and  share  the  best 
that  love  and  labor  could  give.  She 
had  given  him  that  picture  then, 
sturdily  protected  in  leather  to  with- 
stand the  roughness  of  his  new  life, 
and  he  had  carried  it  ever  since,  even 
after  her  letter  had  come,  a  year  and 
a  half  later,  and  after  he  had  heard  of 
her  marriage  to  Thatcher. 

With  sudden  resolution  lie  carefully 
pried  the  picture  out,  brushed  his 
fingers  across  it  with  a  curious  regret- 


ful gentleness,  because  it  had  been  his 
companion  for  so  long,  and  striking  a 
match,  held  it  deliberately  to  one 
corner  until  the  cardboard  broke  into 
flame.  So  he  held  the  little  picture  un- 
til it  had  burned  almost  to  his  fingers, 
wondering  why  it  did  not  hurt  him  to 
see  the  little  creeping  flames  writhe 
over  her  face,  and  when  only  a  corner 
was  left  he  ground  out  the  last  spark 
under  his  heel  and  arose  to  lean 
against  one  of  the  posts  of  his  veranda 
• — as  it  happened,  the  one  at  which  she 
had  stood — and  to  stare  thoughtfully 
across  the  moon-drenched  plains. 

He  had  lied.  There  was  no  other 
girl.  At  least,  there  had  not  been  up 
to  that  night.  To  be  sure,  so  far  as 
flesh  and  blood  existence  and  prox- 
imity went,  she  was  real  enough,  and 
she  was  all  that  he  had  said,  and  more, 
but  he  knew  that  it  was  not  merely  this 
which  he  had  intended  to  convey. 

What  sudden  instinct  of  pride  or  re- 
sentment had  impelled  him  to  speak 
so,  he  could  not  tell ;  he  was  thinking 
now  of  the  discoveries  he  had  made. 
The  touch  of  Marion  Thatcher's  hand 
had  thrilled  him,  the  sight  of  her 
standing  in  the  moonlight  had  made 
mad  notions  flicker  through  his  mind, 
but  they  were  unrealities,  born  of  his 
memories  of  the  past.  They  were  the 
lingering  echoes  of  what  she  had  been 
to  him,  rather  than  what  she  was  now, 
or  could  ever  be.  He  knew  that  he 
had  appeared  sulky  and  stupid  and  not 
altogther  polite,  and  he  was  sorry ;  he 
would  make  amends  in  the  morning. 

Years  ago  he  had  thrust  his  love 
roughly  into  the  hidden  recesses  of  his 
soul  and  had  grimly  held  it  there, 
while  it  burned  and  smarted.  To- 
night she  had  come  and  lightly 
stretched  forth  her  hand  to  that  hidden 


THE  THINGS  THAT  WERE 


i?-) 


spot,  and  lo,  there  were  but  dead  white 
ashes,  where  he  had  thought  a  treach- 
erous volcano  slumbered. 

"Perhaps  she  wanted  to  probe  me," 
he  thought  resentfully,  "to  put  her 
finger  on  a  raw  spot  and  see  if  I 
winced.  I  didn't  think  she  would  do 
that.  It's  such  a  needless  sort  of  a 
hurt.  I  suppose  it's  just  the  love  of 
power  that  people  can't  seem  to  let  go 
of." 

He  thought  again  of  the  girl  who 
was  sweet  and  merry  and  whole- 
souled  and  strong,  whom  he  had  met 
but  a  few  times  at  the  army  post  which 
had  provided  his  only  glimpses  of  so- 
cial life  for  nearly  five  years.  He  liked 
her,  so  far  as  he  knew  her,  but  it  had 
taken  the  shadow  of  what  he  had  lost 
to  quicken  his  pulses  at  the  thought  of 
what  he  yet  might  gain.  Mc Adams 
was  slowly  awakening,  and  his  drowsy 
soul  still  rubbed  its  eyes  and  lingered 
between  dreams  and  action. 

"It's  worth  a  try!"  he  said  suddenly, 
and  felt  unaccountably  foolish  at  the 
sound  of  his  own  voice. 

The  next  day  the  Thatchers  left. 
They  were  going  up  to  Pasadena. 
Thatcher  said,  explaining  their  sudden 
change  of  plans.  He  and  Mrs. 
Thatcher  had  talked  it  over  together. 


and  had  decided  that  perhaps  it  would 
be  best  to  winter  there,  but  they  had 
enjoyed  McAdams's  hospitality  im- 
mensely, and  would  remember  his 
good  advice  if  they  decided  to  settle 
out  here. 

A  year  later,  when  Marion  Thatcher 
received  McAdams's  wedding  an- 
nouncements, she  was  in  the  East 
again,  in  sweeping  widow's  weeds. 
There  were  many  who  said  that  she 
had  never  looked  so  fair  as  in  this  sor- 
rowful garb,  with  the  dignity  of  grief 
sweetening  and  subduing  her  charm- 
ing vivacity  of  manner.  She  let  the 
announcement  lie  in  her  lap  for  some 
time  after  she  had  read  it,  unheedful 
of  the  rest  of  her  morning's  mail,  and 
she  smiled,  a  trifle  wearily,  as  she  took 
it  up  again  and  put  it  in  its  envelope. 

Her  husband's  picture  was  on  her 
writing  table,  and  behind  it,  a  little 
locked  drawer.  Letters  were  there  as 
she  opened  it,  a  tiny  trinket  or  two, 
and  a  photograph  showing  its  edge 
from  beneath.  She  placed  the  an- 
nouncement with  these  things,  brush- 
ing her  fingers  over  them  with  linger- 
ing touch,  locked  the  drawer  again, 
and  turned  slowly  back  to  the  un- 
opened letters  awaiting  her. 


Dancing  Flowers  and  Flower  Dances 


By  Alice  Morse  Earle 


"When  as  tradition  teaches 
Young  Ashes  pirouetted  down 
Coquetting  with  young  Beeches, 


THERE  has  ever  been  a  close 
kinship  in  my  mind  of  flow- 
ers with  dancing,  nearly  as 
close  as  music  and  dancing — 
"that  married  pair,"  as  Lucien  calls 
them.  This  association  is  more  vivid 
to  me  than  to  some  blind  souls  be- 
cause, when  a  child,  I  knew  that  blos- 
soms were  not  constantly  attached  to 
their  stems  and  roots  ;  they  had  feet, 
and  perhaps  wings,  and  could  fly  and 
walk  and  dance  of  their  own  power 
and  volition.  I  felt  sure  that  by  dusky 
twilight  and  brave  moonshine,  flow- 
ers danced  away  from  their  restrain- 
ing leaves  and  stems  and  branches, 
that  they  visited  and  talked  with  each 
other,  and  played  games,  and  gave 
flower-balls,  and  danced  together 
gayly.  I  used  to  look  at  the  sly 
things  hanging  their  heads  demurely 
in  the  noonday  sunlight,  but  blowing 
back  and  forth  in  the  breezes,  as  if 
taking  little  dance  steps,  and  plainly 
longing  to  be  whirling  away. 

Trees  dancing  after  the  pipes  of 
Amphion  have  been  oft  sung  of  the 
poets,  and  though  I  never  saw  trees 
dancing  (as  I  did  often  flowers  in  my 
childhood)  I  find  much  spirited  sug- 
gestion and  action  in  Tennyson's  tree 
dance,  "when  legs  of  trees  were  lim- 
ber." 
556 


"The  Linden  broke  her  ranks  and  rent 
The  Woodbine  wreaths  that  bind  her 

And  down  the  middle,  buzz  !  she  went 
With  all  her  bees  behind  her." 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

Flowers  are  like  people :  some  are 
much  better  dancers  than  others ;  some 
have  a  certain  carriage  of  the  head 
and  gesture  like  pretty,  vain  women; 
others  have  a  bold  expression  ;  some 
look  unkempt,  untidy ;  others  are 
precise  and  formal  to  a  degree ;  others 
show  extreme  refinement ;  some  are 
awkward ;  long  pendant  racemes,  such 
as  the  wistaria  or  locust  or  laburnum, 
linger  heavily  and  move  slowly,  and 
clusters  of  bloom  like  the  lilac  stand 
stiffly  upright.  Flower  heads  like 
hollyhocks  or  foxgloves  are  too 
crowded  to  dance  well ;  but  all  disc- 
shaped  blooms    or    single    flowers   on 


long    stems    dance    bravely 


Single 


flowers  dance  better  than  double  ones, 
who  wear  too  many  petticoats.  A 
certain  purple  clematis  and  its  starry 
white  sister  used  to  take  many  pretty 
short  steps  all  day  long;  waving, 
sidling,  peeping  in  our  windows,  until 
at  night  the  great  flowers  all  vanished 
to  the  sound  of  fairy  music,  to  join  the 
dance.  I  was  told  that  the  morning- 
glory  led  many  a  jolly  country-dance 
in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning 
Scarlet  poppies  made  gay  Spanish 
dancers,  strewing  their  silken  ruffles 
and  petticoats  by  the  wayside.  Single 
dahlias  and  sunflowers  danced  the  reel. 
Dora  and  William  Wordsworth  both 


DANCING  FLOWERS  AND  FLOWER  DANCES 


557 


noted   the    dancing   daffodils   as   they 
pirouetted    in    the    wind     in    English 
meadows. 
He  wrote : 

"A  host  of  golden  Daffodils 
Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 
Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance, 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance." 

Her  description  of  them  is  far  more 
poetical :  "They  grew  among  the 
mossy  stones ;  some  rested  their  heads 
on  those  stones  as  on  a  pillow,  the 
rest  tossed  and  reeled  and  danced,  and 
seemed  as  if  they  verily  laughed  with 
the  wind,  they  looked  so  gay  and 
glancing."  It  is  such  word-painting 
as  this  that  makes  me  convinced  of  the 
great  debt  William  Wordsworth's 
poetry  owes  to  Dora  Wordsworth. 

I  don't  know  what  fanciful  associa- 
tion in  my  childish  mind  made  the  col- 
umbine to  me  ever  the  gay  jester  of 
the  garden.  It  was  certainly  long 
before  I  saw  a  ballet  of  harlequins  and 
columbines,  because  it  seemed  to  me 
perfectly  natural  to  find  these  dancers 
in  the  Christmas  pantomime  garbed  in 
yellow  and  green  peaked  caps,  and  gay 
scarlet-pointed  petticoats,  with  golden 
bells,  just  like  the  flowers  in  our  gar- 
den. Look  at  columbines  the  next 
time  you  see  them  in  the  ledges  of  a 
rocky  field  or  in  a  garden.  What  bright 
and  happy  things  they  are !  Pierrot 
and  Pierrette !  Listen,  you  hear  their 
jingling  bells,  their  castanets,  as  they 
laugh  and  dance,  such  cheerful  merry 
flowers !  it  is  good  to  see  them. 

Columbines  are,  according  to  Park- 
inson, "flowers  of  that  respect  as  that 
no  gardener  would  willingly  be  with- 
out them  that  could  tell  how  to  have 
them."  These  English  aquilegias 
were  not,  however,  our  own  dashing 
scarlet  columbines,  but  the  duller  col- 


ored English  ones,  who  are  more 
clumsy  dancers. 

Emerson  had  a  fine  comprehension 
of  the  columbine's  nature,  and  named 
a  rock-loving  columbine  as  a  "salve  for 
his  worst  wounds."  How  many  Wor- 
cester flower-lovers  can  recall  the 
special  magnificence  of  the  rock-loving 
columbines  which  grew  in  the  rich 
woods  near  the  Tatnuck  Cascade! 
And  a  picture  of  my  childhood,  as 
vivid  as  if  of  yesterday's  sight,  as 
vivid  as  the  color  of  the  flowers,  is 
of  an  old  quarry  left  untouched  by 
man's  hand  for  years,  but  which  had 
never  remotely  approached  being  field 
or  pasture — not  even  one  of  our  New 
England  pastures  of  rocks  and  stones. 
It  was  simply  a  shallow  hollow  of 
broken  stone,  filled  scantly  with  dead 
leaves  and  wind-blown  earth,  and 
grown  round  about  with  cedars ;  but  it 
was  hung  in  gorgeous  color  with  ori- 
ental gold  and  scarlet,  in  flowering  col- 
umbine.  I  was  with  my  father;  we 
had  driven  to  Rochdale,  a  little  village 
near  our  Worcester  home,  and  I  can 
recall  his  delight  as  he  saw  the  rough 
stones,  so  scant  of  earth,  so  rich  of 
fluttering,  dancing,  brilliant  blossoms. 

This  columbine  quarry  thereafter  be- 
came one  of  the  regular  haunts  of  my 
father  and  mother,  visited  yearly  as 
were  scores  of  other  fields  and  for- 
ests, upland  pastures,  meadows,  and 
swamps,  by  this  flower-loving  twain. 
They  had  their  own  cherished  spots 
where  they  greeted  their  beloved  flower 
friends  and  gathered  for  scores 
of  successive  years  trailing  arbu- 
tus, hepatica,  bloodroot,  anemone, 
polygala,  twin-flower,  azalea,  the  var- 
ied lady's-slippers  and  violets,  orchids, 
Arethusa,  calopogon,  lady's-tresses, 
pitcher-plant,     grass     of     Parnassus, 


558 


DANCING  FLOWERS  AND   FLOWER  DANCES 


fringed  gentian,  and  many,  many  oth- 
ers. All  the  flowers  of  field  and  for- 
est knew  these  their  human  friends,  as 
did  the  flowers  of  their  garden,  and  al'i 
gave  to  them  freely  and  gladly  of  per- 
fume and  beauty. 

Many  years  ago,  a  little  child  ran 
out  into  the  June  gloaming  and 
brought  into  the  house  an  apron  half 
full  of  the  blossoms  of  a  sulphur-yel- 
low rose,  which  had  large  blooms  that 
were  scarcely  double,  and  were  much 
prized  by  her  mother,  who  had  received 
this  rare  rose  from  an  author  who 
knew  as  much  of  roses  as  of  Ameri- 
can history,  George  Bancroft.  The 
child  was  sharply  reproved  for  pick- 
ing these  stemless  roses,  but  was  sent 
to  bed  in  far  deeper  disgrace  for  as- 
serting that  "the  roses  picked  them- 
selves," adding,  what  her  mother 
deemed  a  specious  invention  of  Satan, 
that  the  roses  were  dancing  on  the 
grass.  But  to  this  day  the  child 
knozvs  she  saw  those  yellow  roses 
dancing. 

The  dances  of  all  primitive  peo- 
ples, were  associated  with  flowers  ; 
many  tied  dancing  garlands.  A  mod- 
ern Egyptian  dance  called  "The  Bee" 
is  acted  in  pantomime  by  the  dancer, 
who  appears  to  be  stung  while  gather- 
ing flowers.  The  nightly  moon-dances 
of  eastern  Africa  are  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  graceful  of  measures,  in  which 
the  dancers,  garlanded  with  wreaths, 
circle  round  the  opening  night  flowers. 

Among  many  savage  races  in  New 
Mexico,  South  America,  and  Ceylon, 
a  man  takes  part  in  formal  dances 
dressed  in  green  branches,  like  the 
English  "Jack  in  the  Green."  A 
charming  dancing  petticoat  is  made 
for  the  male  dancers  of  Torres  Straits  ; 
the  pale  yellow  green  sprouting  leaves 


of  the  cocoanut  palm  are  arranged  in 
rows  of  fringes,  and  the  man  wears 
gorgeous  flowers  in  his  hair ;  others 
personify  the  beautiful  red  and  black 
pigeons  of  that  country.  The  ancient 
Greeks  and  Romans  had  special  flower 
dances  ;  one,  the  Anthema,  had  a  flower 
chorus  with  special  steps  indicative  of 
flower  gathering,  and  these  dancers 
sung: 

"Where's  my  lovely  parsley,  say, 
My  violets,,   roses,   where  are  they? 
My  parsley,  roses,  violets  fair, 
Where  are  my  flowers?    Tell  me  where?" 

All  dances  were  originally  a  part  of 
religious  worship  and  the  Maypole 
Dance  was  foreshadowed  in  the  Cult 
of  the  Tree;  in  arid  countries  to-day 
the  tree  is  revered  as  an  emblem  of  en- 
durance and  fertility.  Christian  mis- 
sionaries in  Thibet  and  other  coun- 
tries found  it  wise  to  adapt  themselves 
to  many  local  religious  customs,  espe- 
cially in  tree  worship.  In  Goa,  in 
1650,  a  dance  of  converts  to  Jesuitism 
was  held  around  a  huge  tulip-shaped 
flower  which  opened  and  showed  the 
figures  of  the  Virgin  and  Child. 

Dancing  and  flowers  have  been  asso- 
ciated in  English  life  since  Chaucer's 
day,  when  "knights  and  ladies  daunced 
upon  the  greene  grass ;  and  the  which 
being  ended,  they  all  kneeled  downe 
and  did  honor  to  the  daisie — some  to 
the  flower,  some  to  the  leafe."  The 
Mayday  dances  of  old  England,  with 
Morrismen,  and  scores  of  characters 
dressed  in  "green,  yellow,  and  other 
wanton  color,"  formed  a  festival  of 
importance.  Parts  of  the  mummery 
and  dancing  still  survive  in  Lancashire 
and  Cheshire.  The  Mayday  dancers 
wear  knee-breeches  and  ribbons,  and 
carry  stick  swords,  and  wear  garlands 
on  their  straw  hats.       The  garland  or 


DANCING   FLOWERS  AND  FLOWER  DANCES 


nosegay  was  ever  imperative ;  with- 
out it  the  dancer  was  '  unmorrissed." 
Originally  the  nosegay  was  of  the  herb 
thrift,  then  called  "Our  Lady's  Cush- 
ion." The  old  dance  music  which 
was  used,  "Staines-Morris,"  is  very 
cheerful  and  catchy. 

Sweet  was  the  music  and  sweet  the 
names,  even  of  the  simplest  dances. 
"The  Milkmaid's  Delight,"  "Cheshire 
Round,"  "Nonesuch,"  "I  loved  thee 
once,  I  love  no  more,"  "The  Beginning 
of  the  World,"  "John,  kiss  me  now," 
and  the  famous  "Greensleeves" : 

"Greensleaves  was  all  my  Joy, 
Greensleaves   was   my   delight, 
Greensleaves  was  my  Heart  of  Gold, 
Who  but  Ladie  Greensleaves !" 

A  kiss  was  the  established  fee  for  a 
partner.  King  Henry  VIII.  says, 
"Sweetheart !  I  were  unmannerly  to 
take  you  out  and  not  to  kiss  you."  A 
custom  still  exists  among  country 
fiddlers  in  England,  when  tired  of  fid- 
dling, they  close  with  two  squeaking- 
notes  which  all  rustics  understand 
thus,  "Kiss  her !"  Even  the  poet 
Wordsworth  noted  this : 

"They  hear  when  every  dance  is  done. 
When  every  whirling  bout  is  o'er, 
The  fiddles  squeak — that  call  to  bliss 
Ever  followed   by   a   kiss." 

The  first  of  May  was  scarcely  the 
time  in  New  England  for  open-air 
dancing  around  a  Maypole,  unless 
with  vigor,  in  order  to  keep  warm  ; 
yet  several  Maypoles  were  erected  in 
colonial  towns  in  early  days.  They 
were  promptly  destroyed. 

In  New  England  it  has  ever  been 
the  custom  of  children,  not  to  demand 
gifts,  as  did  English  children,  but  to 
give  them,  of  May  baskets.  But  the 
closest  approach  to  any  Mayday  cele- 
bration was  the  annual   gathering  of 


the  exquisite  blooms  of  the  trailing  ar- 
butus. Gay  parties  of  young  people 
went  on  these  excursions  together,  but 
any  thought  of  dancing  would  have 
been  frowned  upon.  The  more  watch- 
ful among  our  parents  did  not  favor 
these  Maying  parties,  as  we  were  prone 
to  sit  down  upon  logs  and  stones,  and 
in  New  England,  April  and  May  are  ill 
suited  for  such  loiterings.  To  one 
rough  field,  just  beyond  Tatnuck,  full 
of  vast  boulders,  tree  stumps,  and 
brushwood,  I  went  each  year  with  my 
father  to  gather  the  pinkest  Mayflow- 
ers. I  remember  the  exact  scent  of 
that  field  under  the  spring  sun,  and 
the  intense  heat  among  the  bushes. 
And  there  we  always  saw  a  huge  black 
snake,  the  same  snake  every  year,  I 
do  believe.  And  there,  when  fourteen 
years  old,  I  took  cold,  and  had  the  on- 
ly severe  illness  of  my  life,  and  was 
never  permitted  to  go  Maying  again. 
The  beautiful  blossoms  thus  gathered 
were  tied  in  tight  little  bunches  with 
an  encircling  edge  of  ground  pine, 
and  were  deemed  the  choicest  of  gifts 
for  a  friend,  or  to  carry  to  school  to 
our  teacher.  Some  thrifty  boys  made 
these  knots  for  sale,  at  a  penny  each  ; 
and  displayed  them  in  baskets  upon 
beds  of  green  moss  with  partridge 
berry  vines,  in  most  attractive  fash- 
ion. 

Dancing  was  in  ancient  times  a 
classic  endowment,  a  stately  accom- 
plishment, but  little  short  of  a  fine 
art,  as  was  the  arranging  of  sig- 
nificant garlands,  and  the  wreathing 
of  the  head  with  flowers.  Even  so 
profound  a  thinker  as  Sir  Erancis 
Bacon  could  write  of  dancing  as  "a 
thing  of  great  state  and  pleasure." 
The  fair  and  daring  maid  who  now 
tries    to    wear   a    garland    must    have 


560 


DANCING  FLOWERS  AND  FLOWER  DANCES 


classic  beauty  and  bearing,  and  even 
then  is  usually  a  guy.  Not  less  ven- 
turesome is  she  who  attempts  any  for- 
mal art  of  dancing.  We  have  now  on 
our  stage  the  skirt  dance,  a  pretty  but 
monotonous  series  of  poses  which  are 
hardly  dancing  steps,  in  which  many 
yards  of  material  are  gracefully  whirl- 
ed about,  and  the  attraction  seems  not 
in  the  dancing  but  in  the  skirt,  a  pret- 
ty diaphanous  material  of  artistic  tints, 
which,  with  carefully  thrown  lights 
and  clever  mirrors,  supply  the  charms 
of  skirt  dancing.  There  be  those  who 
long  for  a  real  ballet,  such  as  the  de- 
lightful Butterfly  Ball,  which,  some 
years  ago,  we  saw  with  gratitude 
danced  in  New  York  after  each  opera 
performance.  It  wasn't  danced  very 
well,  but  people  enjoyed  it  neverthe- 
less. The  weary  hours  of  spectacular 
plays  have  been  endured  for  the  sake 
of  the  few  minutes  of  ballet.  How 
eagerly  we  gaze  on  some  nervously 
agile  little  dancer,  beating  her  tiny  feet 
and  her  heart  out  in  a  few  graceful 
and  delightful  steps,  in  some  vaude- 
ville show.  I  think  had  we  good  dan- 
cers, we  should  have  dance  enthusi- 
asts and  lovers  as  of  yore.  Read  of 
the  craze  over  Taglioni  and  Fanny 
Ellsler:  elderlv  folk  raved  till  the  dav 


of  their  death  over  the  charms  of  those 
dancers  of  their  youth.  In  America 
Fanny  Ellsler  was  adored ;  clergymen 
saw  and  admired  her  grace,  purity, 
and  goodness,  and  vied  with  each  other 
in  offering  her  pew  seats  for  her  Sun- 
day church-going.  Whole  families 
attended  her  performances,  and  gazed 
on  her  in  edification  as  well  as  delight. 
It  is  told  on  somewhat  vague  author- 
ity, that  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  and 
Margaret  Fuller  sat  entranced  through 
one  of  her  pas  senles.  "Margaret," 
said  he,  as  the  vision  vanished  from 
the  stage,  "this  is  Love."  "Nay,  Wal- 
do," she  answered  with  solemnity,  "it 
is  more  than  Love,  it  is  Religion."  The 
dancer  wore  rather  long,  scant,  and 
clinging  petticoats.  A  wreath  of 
flowers  rested  on  her  coal-black  hair 
which  was  drawn  over  her  ears  in  the 
primmest  fashion  ever  known  to 
woman ;  usually  she  danced  with  a 
garland. 

Flowers  no  longer  dance  for  me. 
They  grow  firmly  and  properly  on 
their  stems,  and  die  where  they  are 
born,  like  quiet,  dull,  stay-at-home  cit- 
izens. I  don't  know  why  they  should 
dance  when  no  one  else  does ;  but  I 
am  glad  they  did  dance  when  I 
was  young. 


Sea-Born 

By  Virna  S heard 

A  FAR  in  the  turbulent  city, 
•"•     In  a.  hive  where  men  make  gold, 
He  stood  at  his  loom  from  dawn  to  dark, 
While  the  passing  years  were  told. 


And  when  he  knew  it  was  summer-time 

By  the  gray  dust  on  the  street, 

By  the  lingering  hours  of  daylight, 

And  the  sultry  noon-tide  heat —       -//'  !:v^ 

Oh!  he  longed  as  a  captive  sea-bird 
To  leave  his  cage  and  be  free, 
For  his  heart  like  a  shell  kept  singing 
The  old,  old  song  of  the  sea. 

And  amid  the  noise  and  confusion 

Of  wheels  that  were  never  still, 

He  heard  the  wind  through  the  scented  pines 

On  a  rough,  storm-beaten  hill; 

While,  beyond  a  maze  of  painted  threads 
Where  his  tireless  shuttle  flew,  ^T® 

In  fancy  he  saw  the  sunlit  waves 
Beckon  him  out  to  the  blue.  ■    -*"" 


m  ■ 


<;6i 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Old  Town 


An  Historic  Town  in  Connecticut 


By  Clifton  Johnson 
With  illustrations  by  the  author. 


MY  acquaintance  with  Say- 
brook  began  rather  unpro- 
pitiously at  its  one  hotel. 
This  was  a  shapeless,  yel- 
low structure,  evidently  an  old  resi- 
dence remodelled  and  enlarged.  Its 
busiest  portion  was  the  bar-room 
adorned  with  a  heavy  cherry  counter 
and  an  imposing  array  of  bottles  on 
the  shelves  behind.  When  I  entered 
the  adjoining  office  several  men  were 
in  the  bar-room  running  over  their  vo- 
cabularies of  swear-words  in  a  high- 
voiced  dispute,  while  in  the  office  itself 
sat  two  young  fellows  drowsing  in 
drunken  stupor.     The  whole  place  was 


permeated  with  the  odors  of  liquor 
and  with  tobacco  fumes,  both  recent 
and  of  unknown  antiquity. 

But  if  the  aspect  of  local  life  as  seen 
at  the  hotel  was  depressing,  the  village, 
the  evening  I  arrived,  was,  to  my  eyes, 
quite  entrancing.  In  the  mild  May 
twilight  I  walked  from  end  to  end  of 
the  long  main  street.  The  birds  were 
singing,  and  from  the  seaward 
marshes  came  the  piping  of  the  frogs 
and  the  purring  monotone  of  the 
toads  ;  lines  of  great  elms  and  sugar 
maples  shadowed  the  walks,  and  the 
latter  had  blossomed  so  that  every 
little  twig  had  its  tassels  of  delicate 


AN    HISTORIC  TOWN  IN  CONNECTICUT 


S63 


yellow-green,  and  a  gentle  fragrance 
filled  the  air.  Among  other  trees,  a 
trifle  retired,  were  many  pleasant 
houses  of  the  plain  but  handsome  and 
substantial  type  in  vogue  about  a  cen- 
tury ago.  In  short,  the  place  furnish- 
ed an  admirable  example  of  the  old 
New  England  country  town  and  im- 
parted a  delightful  sense  of  repose 
and  comfort. 

The  most  incongruous  feature  of 
the  village  was  an  abnormal  modern 
schoolhouse  that  in  its  decorative 
trickery  matched  nothing  else  on  the 
street.  From  this  it  was  a  relief  to 
turn  to  the  white,  square-towered  old 
church  near  by,  which  gave  itself  no 
airs  and  cut  no  capers  with  architec- 
tural frills  and  fixings.  On  its  front 
was  a  bronze  plate  informing  the 
reader  that  here  was 

The  First  Church  of  Christ 

in  Saybrook 

organized 

in  "the  Great  Hall"  of  the  fort  in  the 

summer  of   1646. 

Thus  it  was  one  of  the  earliest 
founded  churches  in  the  common- 
wealth. 

An  odd  thing  about  the  town  was 
that  it  seemed  the  greatest  place  for 
bicycles  I  have  ever  visited.  Every- 
one rode — old  and  young,  male  and 
female.  Pedestrianism  had  apparently 
gone  out  of  fashion,  and  I  got  the  idea 
that  the  children  learned  to  ride  a 
wheel  before  they  began  to  walk. 

Another  odd  thing  was  that  the  vil- 
lage looked  neither  agricultural  nor 
suburban.  It  is  in  truth  the  dwelling- 
place  of  a  country  aristocracy  pos- 
sessed of  a  good  deal  of  wealth,  and 
labor  is  not  very  strenuous.  The 
people  are  content  if  they  have  suffi- 
cient capital  safely  invested  to  return 


them  a  comfortable  living  and  save 
them  the  necessity  for  undue  exertion. 
Yet,  to  quote  a  native,  "They  are 
nothing  like  as  rich  as  they  were  fifty 
years  ago." 

Much  money  has  been  lost  in  one 
way  and  another.  The  decrease,  how- 
ever, is  particularly  due  to  removals 
and  to  the  division  of  large  individual 
properties  among  several  heirs.  But 
whatever  the  ups  and  downs  of  for- 
tune, the  town  apparently  changes 
slowly  and  the  inhabitants  cling  to  the 
customs  of  their  forefathers.  This  I 
thought  was  evidenced  by  the  reten- 
tion of  miles  and  miles  of  unnecessary 
fences  about  the  dwellings,  some  of 
them  of  close  boards,  suggestive  of 
monastic  seclusiveness. 

The  oldest  house  in  the  town  and 
one  that  still  presents  in  the  main  its 
original  aspect,  dates  back  to  1665. 
It  is  painted  a  dingy  yellow  and  has  a 
high  front,  from  which  the  rear  roof 
takes  a  long  slant  downward  until  the 
eaves  are  within  easy  reach  and  you 
have  to  stoop  to  go  in  at  the  back 
door.  The  windows  have  the  tiny 
panes  of  the  time  when  the  dwelling 
was  erected.  The  rooms  all  have 
warped  floors,  and  low  ceilings  crossed 
by  great  beams,  and  the  heavy  vertical 
timbers  assert  themselves  in  the  cor- 
ners. The  upper  story  has  only  two 
apartments  finished.  As  was  usual  in 
houses  of  this  kind  the  rest  was  left 
simply  garret  space  bare  to  the  rafters. 
In  the  heart  of  the  structure  is  an 
enormous  chimney  that,  on  the  ground 
floor,  takes  up  the  space  of  a  small 
room.  There  are  fireplaces  on  three 
sides,  but  their  days  of  service  are 
past,  though  they  never  have  been 
closed  except  with  fireboards. 

At  the  rear  of  the  house  under  an 


564 


AN    HISTORIC  TOWN  IN  CONNECTICUT 


apple-tree  were  two  vinegar  bar- 
rels, each  of  which  had  an  inverted 
bottle  in  the  bunghole.  The  contents 
of  the  barrels  in  their  cider  state  had 
been  allowed  to  freeze  and  then  were 
drained  off.  A  highly  concentrated 
beverage,  much  esteemed  by  the  well- 
seasoned  cidier-lover,  was  in  this 
manner  obtained.  I  was  offered  a 
chance  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
the  liquor,  yet  not  without  warning 
that,  as  it  was  almost  pure  alcohol, 
■there  was  some  danger  of  overdoing 
-the  matter. 

To  the  north  of  the  town  one  does 
not  follow  the  highways  far  without 
encountering  country  that,  with  all  the 
years  passed  since  the  settlement  of 
the  region,  is  still  only  half  tamed. 
Here  are  rocky  hills,  brushy  pastures, 
and  rude  stone  walls  overgrown  with 
poison  ivy.  The  work  is  carried  on  in 
a  primitive  fashion.  Many  of  the 
homes  are  ancient  and  dilapidated  and 
the  premises  strewn  with  careless 
litter.  A  landowner  of  this  district 
with  whom  I  talked  affirmed  that 
farming  did  not  pay,  and  the  reason 
he  gave  was  the  competition  of  the 
West — it  had  knocked  the  bottom  out 
of  prices. 

I  wondered  if  there  were  not  other 
reasons.  He  was  furrowing  out  a 
half-acre  patch  on  which  he  intended 
to  plant  potatoes.  His  hired  man  was 
leading  the  horse  while  he  himself 
held  the  plough-handles.  It  seemed 
to  me  his  patch  was  not  large  enough 
to  work  economically  with  a  view  to 
profit,  and  that  the  profit  was  also 
being  dissipated  by  having  two  men 
do  work  that  might  be  done  by  one. 
Down  the  slope  was  a  long  stretch  of 
marshes  that  swept  away  to  the  sea 
with  a  muddy-banked  creek  wander- 


ing through  the  level.  On  the 
marshes  the  man  said  he  would  cut  salt 
hay  later  in  the  year,  and  as  the  soil 
was  too  boggy  to  bear  the  weight  of  a 
horse,  not  only  would  the  mowing 
have  to  be  done  by  hand,  but  he  and 
his  helper  would  be  obliged  to  carry 
the  hay  to  firm  land  between  them 
on  poles.  Here  again  it  was  not  easy 
to  discern  much  chance  for  profit. 
The  process  was  too  laborious  where 
the  product  was  of  so  little  value. 
Then,  at  the  man's  house,  I  noted  that 
the  stable  manure  lay  unprotected  by 
any  roof,  leeching  in  the  sun  and  rain, 
that  the  mowing-machine  and  other 
tools  were  scattered  about  the  yard, 
accumulating  rust,  and  that  things  in 
general  looked  careless  and  easy-go- 
ing. I  did  not  wonder  that  he  took  a 
pessimistic  view  of  farming. 

The  places  of  many  of  his  neighbors 
were  akin  to  his,  and  as  a  whole  this 
outlying  district  had  an  air  decidedly 
old-fashioned — an  air  that  was  empha- 
sized by  the  presence  of  an  occasional 
slow  ox-team  toiling  in  the  fields,  and 
now  and  then  an  antiquated  well- 
sweep  in  a  dooryard. 

A  well-sweep  was  an  adjunct  of  one 
house  in  the  town  itself — a  gray, 
square  little  house  far  gone  in  de- 
cay. Lights  were  missing  from  the 
windows,  clapboards  were  dropping 
off,  blinds  were  dilapidated  or  gone 
altogether,  and  the  out-buildings 
either  had  fallen  and  been  used 
for  stovewood  or  were  on  the 
verge  of  ruin.  The  shed  used  as  a  hen 
house  leaned  at  a  perilous  slant.  Near 
it  was  a  scanty  pile  of  wood  and  a  saw- 
horse  made  by  nailing  a  couple  of 
sticks  crosswise  on  the  end  of  a  box 
so  that  the  tops  projected  above  the 
box-level  and  formed  a  crotch.    Along 


ON     THE    WALK 


565 


At  Work  in  the  Garden 


the  street-walk  staggered  a  decrepit 
picket  fence  with  a  sagging  gate.  The 
yard  was  a  chaos  of  weeds  and  riotous 
briers  and  the  place  looked  mysterious 
— as  if  it  had  a  history. 

A  tiny  path  led  around  to  the 
back  door,  so  little  trodden  I  was  at 
first  in  doubt  whether  the  house  was 
inhabited  or  not  until  I  saw  a  bent 
old  woman  coming  from  the  grass  field 
at  the  rear  of  the  premises.  On  her 
head  she  wore  a  sunbonnet  of  ancient 
type  and  over  her  shoulders  a  faded 
shawl.  She  was  hobbling  slowly 
along  with  the  help  of  a  cane  and  bore 
on  her  arm  a  basket  with  a  few  dan- 
delion greens  in  the  bottom.  I  stood 
leaning  on  the  fence  hoping  chance 
would  give  me  an  opportunity  to  know 
more  about  this  strange  home ;  and, 
to  avoid  an  appearance  of  staring,  I 
now  looked  the  other  way.  But  my 
loitering  had  attracted  the  woman's 
attention  and,  instead  of  going  into 
566 


the  house,  she  set  her  basket  on  the 
back  doorstep  and  came  feebly  down 
the  path  and  spoke  to  me.  She  was 
a  mild-eyed,  kindly  old  soul,  and  in  the 
chat  which  followed  I  learned  that  she 
was  eighty  years  old  and  that  her 
brother,  aged  seventy-six,  the  only 
other  member  of  the  household,  was  a 
"joiner."  Presently  I  asked  about 
some  of  the  garden  flowers  which  had 
survived  in  their  neglected  struggle 
with  weeds  and  brambles. 

"They  need  the  old  woman,"  she 
said,  "  but  I'm  most  past  such  work- 
now.  My  lameness  is  getting  worse. 
I  have  it  every  winter  and  it  doesn't 
leave  me  until  warm  weather  comes. 
I  shall  have  to  get  my  brother  to  hoe 
some  here.  He  isn't  much  for  taking 
care  of  flowers,  but  he  likes  'em  as  well 
as  anyone,  and  if  he's  going  to  make 
a  call  he'll  pick  a  bunch  to  carry  along. 
I  used  to  have  more  kinds  and  I'd  keep 
some  of  'em  in  the  house  through  the 


AT    THh    WELL 


567 


568 


SPRING     WORK 


r  f  I 


Furrowing  for  Potatoes 


winter,  but  when  I  did  that  I  had  to 
see  the  fire  didn't  go  out  nights  and  it 
got  too  hard  for  me." 

"What  are  those  white  flowers 
spreading  all  through  the  grass?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"Those  are  myrtle — white  myrtle. 
Want  one  ?" 

My  reply  was  affirmative  and  I  was 
invited  into  the  yard.  I  picked  a  myr- 
tle blossom  and  the  old  woman  said, 
"You  can  have  more  just  as  well." 

"Thank  you,  one  will  do;  and  what 
are  these  little  flowers  at  my  feet?" 

"Those  are  bluebottles.  I  got  the 
first  plants  of  them  at  my  cousin's  up 
in  Tolland  County.    Want  one?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  would  like  one." 

"Take  some  more  if  you  care  to." 

"No,  I'd  rather  have  just  the  one. 
Here  are  some  pink  flowers  in  a  bunch. 
What  are  they?" 

"Those  are  polyanthus.  You  can 
have  a  root  to  take  home  with  you  if 
you  can  carry  it." 

Thus  our  talk  rambled  on  while  we 


considered  double  violets,  "daffies," 
bloodroot,  mandrakes,  "chiny  asters," 
tiger  lilies,  "pineys,"  tulips,  hya- 
cinths, etc.  The  garden  had  formerly 
been  very  tidy  and  I  could  trace  its 
decorative  arrangement  of  beds  and 
paths.  The  borders  of  the  beds  were 
outlined  with  rows  of  big  "winkle" 
shells  which  the  brother  had  brought 
up  from  the  seashore  a  mile  or  two  dis- 
tant, where  he  sometimes  went  "clam- 
ming and  oystering." 

Close  about  the  house  were  blue  and 
yellow  lilies,  bunches  of  ferns,  and  a 
good  deal  of  shrubbery,  including 
roses,  a  "honeysuckle"  bush,  and  a  tall 
"li-lack."  This  last  carried  its  blos- 
soms so  high  they  were  far  beyond  the 
woman's  reach  as  she  stood  on  the 
ground,  and  she  only  picked  such  as 
she  could  reach  from  an  upper  win- 
dow. Near  the  back  door  was  a  big 
butternut  tree  and  a  grapevine  over- 
running a  shaky  trellis.  Here  too  was 
the  well-sweep  with  its  rickety  curb 
and  its  oaken  bucket. 

569 


570 


AN    HISTORIC   TOWN  IN  CONNECTICUT 


I  was  made  welcome  to  step  inside 
the  house  and  see  the  old  dwelling,  but 
I  did  not  find  it  especially  interesting. 
The  barren,  cluttered  rooms  with  their 
suggestion  of  extreme  poverty  were 
depressing.  In  the  parlor,  which  was 
used  as  a  sort  of  storeroom,  were  a 
number  of  antiquated  pictures  on  the 
walls,  most  of  them  in  heavy  frames 
that  the  woman  had  contrived  herself 
■ — some  of  cones,  some  of  shells  stuck 
in  putty.  The  cones  and  shells  varied 
much  in  size  and  kind  and  the  pat- 
terns were  intricate  and  ingenious. 
Then  there  was  a  specimen  of  hair 
work,  dusty  and  moth-eaten,  which  she 
took  out  of  its  frame  that  I  might  in- 
spect it  closer.  "I  used  to  be  quite  a 
hand  at  these  sort  of  things,1'  she  ex- 
plained, "but  now  I  don't  have  the 
time.  It's  all  I  can  do  to  get  enough  to 
eat." 

I  came  away  wondering  what  the 
trouble  was  that  the  brother  and  sis- 
ter were  so  poorly  provided  for  in 
their  old  age,  and  when  I  inquired 
about  it  I  was  told  that  the  brother 
was  "one  of  the  smartest  men  in  Con- 
necticut," an  architect  and  builder  of 
great  ability,  but  "he  had  looked 
through  the  bottom  of  a  glass  too  of- 
ten." 

The  most  historic  portion  of  Say- 
brook  is  what  is  known  as  "The 
Point,"  a  seaward-reaching  projection 
a  half  mile  across,  connected  with  the 
mainland  by  a  narrow  neck.  Here  the 
first  settlers  established  themselves  in 
1635.  The  leaders  of  the  expedition 
had  in  October  of  that  year  reached 
Boston  from  across  the  sea.  There 
they  collected  twenty  men  and  hired  a 
small  vessel  in  which  they  sailed  about 
the  middle  of  November  for  the  mouth 
of    the    Connecticut.      Thev    brought 


with  them  materials  for  the  erection  of 
homes  to  accommodate  both  them- 
selves and  others  who  were  to  follow ; 
and  they  were  prepared  to  construct  a 
fort,  in  part  to  prevent  the  Dutch,  who 
aspired  to  control  the  river,  from  ac- 
complishing their  purpose,  and  in  part 
to  defend  themselves  against  the  In- 
dians. 

They  arrived  none  too  soon ;  for  a 
few  days  after  they  landed,  a  vessel 
from  New  Amsterdam  appeared  off 
shore  with  intent  to  take  possession  of 
the  region  and  build  fortifications. 
Luckily  the  English  had  mounted  a 
couple  of  cannon,  and  the  Dutch 
thought  best  to  return  peaceably 
whence  they  had  come.  Winter 
soon  set  in,  and  the  settlers  could 
do  little  beforehand  save  to  pro- 
vide themselves  with  shelters  of  the 
most  primitive  kind.  In  the  spring, 
work  was  taken  up  in  earnest,  and 
other  settlers  came ;  but  for  a  long  time 
the  colony  grew  very  slowly,  and  the 
earliest  years  were  years  of  annual 
struggle  with  the  stubborn  earth  and 
the  hard  winters.  One  of  the  first 
tasks  of  the  pioneers  was  to  build  a 
wooden  fort  and  to  set  up  a  line  of 
palisades  twelve  feet  high  across  the 
neck  of  the  peninsula.  Like  all  the 
early  towns  Saybrook  suffered  at  the 
hands  of  the  Indians.  A  number  of  its 
inhabitants  were  slain  in  the  immedi- 
ate vicinity  and  the  cows  sometimes 
returned  from  pasture  with  arrows 
sticking  in  their  sides. 

By  1647,  while  the  population  was 
still  less  than  one  hundred,  a  church 
was  erected.  Up  to  that  time  the 
meetings  had  been  held  in  what  the 
records  speak  of  as  "the  great  hall"  of 
the  fort.  The  church  stood  at  one  end 
of  a  public  square  called  "The  Green." 


In  the  Old  Cemetery 


To  assemble  the  people  for  service  a 
drum  was  beaten,  and  it  was  voted  that 
at  the  front  door  of  the  church  should 
be  "a  gard  of  8  men  every  Sabbath 
and  Lecture-day  compleat  in  their 
arms."  A  sentinel,  too,  was  stationed 
on  a  turret,  or  platform,  built  on  the 
meeting-house  roof.  The  necessity  of 
this  protection  against  savage  assault 
is  seen  when  one  remembers  that 
an  average  of  over  four  score  English 
are  estimated  to  have  been  slain  yearly 
by  the  Indians  during  the  first  half 
century  of  Connecticut's  settlement. 
This  seems  distressing  enough,  but 
from  the  Indian  viewpoint  the  slaugh- 
ter was  far  worse ;  for  twenty  of  their 
number  were  killed  to  one  of  the  white. 
A  second  meeting-house  was  com- 
pleted in  1681  near  the  site  of  the  first. 
Of  this  structure  it  is  known  that  the 
seats  in  the  body  of  the  house  were 
plain     wooden    benches    assigned     to 


members  of  the  congregation  accord- 
ing to  age,  rank,  office,  and  estate. 
Several  leading  men  were  given  per- 
mission to  build  square  pews  against 
the  walls  of  the  audience  room,  and  the 
minister's  family  had  a  square  pew  at 
the  right  of  the  pulpit.  The  pulpit  it- 
self was  a  high,  angular  construction 
furnished  with  a  Geneva  Bible,  a  Bay 
Psalm  Book,  and  an  hour-glass  with 
which  to  time  the  service.  The  two 
deacons  faced  the  congregation  sitting 
on  a  seat  at  the  base  of  the  pulpit,  and 
the  tithing  man  with  his  fox-tail  rod 
of  office  took  his  position  where  he 
could  best  oversee  the  behavior  of  the 
worshippers. 

The  original  settlement  of  Saybrook 
Point  about  the  fort  gradually  over- 
flowed to  the  mainland,  until  presently 
the  center  of  population  and  the  chief 
village  were  a  mile  or  two  from  the 
earlier  hamlet.     Thus,  when  the  third 

571 


On  the  Outskirts 


church  was  built  in  1726  at  a  cost  of 
$1,600  a  new  and  more  generally  con- 
venient location  was  chosen. 

Until  near  the  end  of  the  century 
this  edifice  had  neither  steeple  nor  bell. 
After  these  were  added  it  was  custom- 
ary, down  to  1840,  to  ring  the  bell  ev- 
ery noon  to  announce  to  the  people 
the  arrival  of  the  dinner  hour.  The 
bell  was  also  rung  during  the  winter  at 
nine  in  the  evening  as  a  notification  it 
was  bedtime.  Neither  of  the  previous 
churches  were  ever  warmed,  nor  was 
this  for  more  than  one  hundred  years. 

The  chief  feature  of  the  church  in- 
terior was  the  high  pulpit  overhung  by 
a  huge  sounding-board,  both  much 
elaborated  with  panels  and  mouldings. 
On  Sunday  the  pulpit  stairs  were  filled 
by  small  boys  who  were  always  eager 
to  get  the  upper  step,  for  this  position 
gave  the  occupant  the  honor  of  open- 
ing the  pulpit  door  to  the  minister 
when  he  ascended  to  his  place.  The 
pews  were  square  with  seats  on  three 
sides  so  that  a  portion  of  the  worship- 
pers sat  with  sides  or  backs  to  the 
preacher.     A  wide,  heavy  gallery  ex- 


tended clear  around  the  room  except 
on  the  north,  where  rose  the  pulpit 
Its  east  wing  was  exclusively  for  wom- 
en, the  west  for  men.  The  front  tier  of 
seats  was  reserved  for  the  singers. 
Behind  them  on  the  south  side  were 
four  box  pews  regarded  by  many  as 
most  desirable  sittings.  Some  of  the 
young  people  of  both  sexes  found  these 
especially  attractive,  though  more  be- 
cause the  seclusion  was  adapted  for 
social  purposes  than  because  of  any 
religious  ardor.  Finally,  in  each  of 
the  remote  rear  corners  of  the  gallery 
was  still  another  box  pew  for  the  oc- 
cupancy of  the  colored  people,  who 
were  not  allowed  to  sit  elsewhere. 

Perhaps  Saybrook's  strongest  ap- 
peal to  fame  is  the  fact  that  the  town 
was  the  first  domicile  of  Yale  Uni- 
versity. It  was  characteristic  of  the 
settlers  of  New  England  that  no  soon- 
er had  they  set  up  their  homes  on  the 
soil  than  they  began  to  make  provis- 
ion for  the  education  of  their  children. 
Not  content  with  establishing  primary 
schools,  they  founded  Harvard  College 
within  seven  vears  of  the  settlement  of 


AN  HISTORIC  TOWN  IN  CONNECTICUT 


573 


Boston.  Connecticut,  in  proportion 
to  its  population  and  means,  bore  its 
full  share  in  Harvard's  support ;  but 
after  the  lapse  of  some  fifty  years  the 
people  of  the  colony  began  to  feel  a 
need  of  having  a  collegiate  school  of  its 
own.  The  idea  took  definite  form  at 
a  meeting  of  Connecticut  pastors  in 
September,  1701,  when  each  one  pres- 
ent made  a  gift  of  books  to  the  pro- 
posed college. 

The  infant  institution  which,  sub- 
sequently, in  honor  of  a  generous  ben- 
efactor, took  the  name  of  Yale,  was 
thus  started,  and  shortly  a  citizen  of 
Saybrook  gave  it  the  use  of  a  house 
and  lot.  This  house  was  quite  suffici- 
ent, for  during  the  first  six  months 
the  college  community  consisted  of 
the  president  and  a  single  student,  and 
only  fifty-five  young  men  were  grad- 
uated in  fifteen  years.  The  trustees 
were  far  from  unanimous  in  locating 


the  College  at  Saybrook,  and  its  affairs 
continued  in  an  unsettled  state  until 
1716,  when  it  was  transferred  to  New 
Haven.  The  change  was  not  accom- 
plished without  turmoil,  a  curious  ac- 
count of  which  is  found  in  the  Rev. 
Samuel  Peters's  General  History  of 
Connecticut }  published  in  1781.  He 
says : 

"A  vote  passed  at  Hertford,  to  re- 
move the  College  to  Weathersfield ;  and  an- 
other at  Newhaven,  that  it  should  be  re- 
moved to  that  town.  Hertford,  in  order  to 
carry  its  vote  into  execution,  prepar(ed 
teams,  boats,  and  a  mob,  and  privately  set 
off  for  Saybrook,  and  seized  upon  the  col- 
lege apparatus,  library,  and  students,  and 
carried  all  to  Weathersfield.  This  re- 
doubled the  jealousy  of  the  saints  at  New- 
haven,  who  thereupon  determined  to  fulfill 
their  vote ;  and  accordingly  having  collected 
a  mob  sufficient  for  the  enterprise,  they  sat 
out  for  Weathersfield,  where  they  seized  by 
surprise  the  students,  library,  etc.,  etc.  But 
on  the  road  to  New  Haven,  they  were  over- 


A  Seaward  Look  Across  the  Marshes 


S74 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  A  MINISTER 


taken  by  the  Hertford  mob,  who,  however, 
after  an  unhappy  battle,  were  obliged  to  re- 
tire with  only  a  part  of  the  library  and  part 
of  the  students.  The  quarrel  increased 
daily,  everybody  expecting  a  war;  and  no 
doubt  such  would  have  been  the  case  had  not 
the  peacemakers  of  Massachusetts-Bay  in- 
terposed with  their  usual  friendship,  and 
advised  their  dear  friends  of  Hertford  to 
give    up    the    College    to    Newhaven.      This 


was  accordingly  done  to  the  great  joy  of 
the  crafty  Massachusetts,  who  always  greed- 
ily seek  their  own  prosperity,  though  it 
ruin  their  best  neighbors. 

"The  College  being  thus  fixed  forty  miles 
further  west  from  Boston  than  it  was  be- 
fore, tended  greatly  to  the  interest  of  Har- 
vard College ;  for  Saybrook  and  Hertford, 
out  of  pure  grief,  sent  their  sons  to  Har- 
vard, instead  of  the  College  at  Newhaven." 


The  Resurrection  of  a  Minister 


By   Edith  Copeman 


LIKE  millions  of  diamonds, 
against  a  background  of  deep- 
1  est  blue,  the  stars  were  gleam- 
ing. Among  the  leaves  of  great 
oak  trees  on  the  campus,  the  wind 
whispered  softly ;  and  beneath  the 
branches  two  figures  paced  slowly  back 
and  forth. 

"It's  hard  to  realize,"  Dr.  Halstead 
was  saying,  "that  six  years  have 
passed  since  we  walked  here  together 
and  talked  of  our  future  on  Com- 
mencement night.  Six  years !  You 
have  'Reverend'  prefixed  to  your  name, 
I  'M.  D.'  added  to  mine.  Truly  a 
wonderful  six  years !  Philip,  I  can 
only  wish  for  that  young  brother  of 
mine,  for  whose  sake  we  have  come  so 
far,  a  future  as  bright  as  ours  seems 
to-night ;  for  yours  will  be  bright  in 
spite  of  this  year's  enforced  idleness." 
Silence  for  a  moment, — then 
"Perhaps  it  was  not  'enforced'  idle- 
ness," the  other  answered  ;  "and  con- 
cerning my  future,  Fred,  it's  as  dark 


as  that  sky,  and  there  is  no  light  to 
brighten  it.  Shall  we  sit  down  here? 
Smoke,  if  you  like,  as  you  did  the  last 
time  we  sat  here,  six  years  ago.  And 
now — I'm  lame — " 

"Not  very,"  the  Doctor  interrupted; 
"and  you  have  your  work,  and  Mar- 
ion  •" 

"Don't !"  broke  in  his  companion 
sharply.  "Fred,  I  have  nothing:  not 
Marion — not  my  work." 

The  Doctor's  hand  dropped,  and  the 
cigar  fell  unnoticed  to  the  ground. 

"You  don't  mean — "  he  said,  amaze- 
ment in  every  syllable,  "that  Marion, 
to  whom  you  have  been  engaged — al- 
ways, it  seems " 

"Declined  to  marry  me,"  the  other 
finished,  his  voice  vibrating  with  pain. 
"You  know  that  my  horse  threw  me  a 
year  ago,  and  you  know  that  I  shall 
always  be  lame.  I  never  dreamed  it 
could  make  a  difference  to  Marion ; 
but  one  day,  more  to  hear  her  tell  me 
that  it  did  not  matter  to  her  than  for 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  A  MINISTER 


375 


anything  else,  I  asked  her  if  it  would 
hurt  her  to  walk  through  life  with  a 
man  who  limped.  She  answered,  evas- 
ively, that  of  course  I'd  recover,  and 
we  would  wait."  The  voi'ce  faltered 
then. 

The  Doctor's  hand  was  on  his  shoul- 
der. "Don't  tell  me  now,"  he  said ; 
"some  other  time  if  you  care  to." 

But  Philip  recovered  himself  in  a 
moment. 

"I'll  tell  you  now,"  he  said  steadily. 
"I've  seen  you  only  once,  you  know, 
during  those  six  years.  Perhaps  as 
many  more  will  slip  by  before  we  meet 
again,  and  I  want  you  to  know.  I 
could  not  recover,  and  I  knew  it ;  and 
the  next  day  I  offered  to  release  Mar- 
ion. She  cried,  of  course,  as  women 
all  do — doubtless — when  they  are 
crushing  a  man's  heart  and  wrecking 
his  life ;  but  she  said,  'it  must  be  for  the 
best.'  Can  you  understand  that  ?  Her 
'best,'  no  doubt ;  but  for  me — .  That's 
all,"  he  added  in  a  moment,  "except,  as 
I  told  you,  I  have  no  work ;  for  I  gave 
it  up." 

"Surely  not  your  ministry,  Phil," 
exclaimed  the  Doctor. 

"My  ministry  and  my  church,"  came 
the  answer  in  hard  tones.  "Do  you 
remember  the  day  I  was  ordained  three 
years  ago?  You  came  five  hundred 
miles  to  see  me  then,  and  we  stood  to- 
gether near  the  altar  after  the  services 
that  night.  You  held  out  your  hand 
and  grasped  mine.  'Keep  the  faith, 
old  man,'  you  said.  'I'll  keep  the 
faith,'  I  answered.  But  I  have  not 
kept  it.  The  faith  of  my  boyhood  and 
manhood  is  gone.  Called  to  preach? 
No!  I  left  my  church  a  year  ago, — 
not  as  you  thought,  and  as  others 
thought,  because  I  needed  a  long  time 
in  which  to  regain  my  strength, — but 


because  I'll  never  preach  a  gospel  of 
love  and  peace  and  good-will,  when 
with  all  the  power  of  my  being  I  rebel 
and  protest  against  the  midnight  dark- 
ness that  has  come  to  me." 

Dr.  Halstead's  outstretched  hand 
and  warm  grasp  voiced  the  sympathy 
his  lips  refused  to  express ;  and  the 
two  men  left  the  seat  under  the  oaks 
and  walked  slowly  towards  the  college 
buildings. 

"But  surely  you  have  something  in 
mind,"  the  Doctor  said.  "What  next, 
Philip?" 

"Europe  for  the  next  few  months : 
then  I'm  going  to  look  after  my  fath- 
er's interests  in  Jacksonville.  That 
will  take  but  a  few  days,  however.  I 
have  no  plans  beyond  that.  I  wish 
you  were  going  with  me." 

"So  do  I,"  answered  the  Doctor 
heartily;  "but  I  can't,  not  even  to 
Jacksonville.  That's  a  temptation, 
however,  for  my  cousin  lives  just 
across  the  river  from  there.  She  was 
Margaret  Leslie :  you  remember  her, 
do  you  not?" 

"Perfectly,"  Philip  answered,  "a 
slender  slip  of  a  girl  with  wonderful 
hair  and  eyes,  who  attended  our  Col- 
lege Commencement." 

"Yes,"  Dr.  Halstead  replied,  a 
strange  expression  stealing  over  his 
features.  "Margaret  isn't  Margaret 
Leslie,  Phil.  She  is  Margaret  Ham- 
mond ;  and  the  'slender  slip  of  a  girl* 
whom  you  knew  has  disappeared. 
You  will  find  her  changed — much 
changed :  but  go  to  see  her.  Promise." 

"I  shall  be  most  happy  to  go,"  Philip 
responded,  wondering  at  the  Doctor's 
earnestness.  And  as,  side  by  side, 
these  two  men  walked  up  the  steps  of 
the  College  chapel,  the  Doctor  said  to 
himself. 


576 


THE   RESURRECTION  OF  A  MINISTER 


"He  must  see  Margaret.  Margaret 
will  help  him  as  no  one  else  can." 

Months  passed  :  and  the  Easter  lilies 
were  blooming  when  Philip  Douglass, 
having  reached  Jacksonville  the  day 
before,  left  his  hotel  and  stood  at  the 
river's  edge  looking  for  some  one  to 
row  him  across. 

"Massa  Douglass,  sah?"  a  voice 
called,  accompanied  by  a  vigorous 
splashing  of  oars.  "Gwine  to  cross, 
sah?  Miss  Margaret  say  be  sho'  to 
look  fo'  yo',"  and  a  woolly  head  was 
bared,  and  two  strong  hands  steadied 
the  boat  as  Philip  climbed  in,  under- 
standing at  once  that  Dr.  Halstead, 
whom  he  had  seen  a  week  before,  had 
written  his  cousin  of  his  coming. 

"How  did  you  know  me?"  Philip 
asked  curiously  as  they  glided  away. 

"Miss  Marg'ret  'scribe  Massa," 
came  the  answer ;  "  'Massa  Douglass 
look  like  dat,  Ben,'  Miss  Marg'ret  say, 
'less  he  much  changed — an'  he  come 
from  dat  hotel.'  " 

Swiftly  the  man  rowed ;  and  they 
neared  the  green  bluffs  of  the  opposite 
shore.  Then  the  long  strokes  sent  the 
boat  up  one  of  the  creeks,  and  soon 
the  rower  turned  his  head. 

"Dat's  de  house,  sah,"  he  said,  "an' 
dat's  Miss  Marg'ret  up  dar." 

Far  back  from  the  water  Philip  saw 
the  rambling  many-windowed  house, 
sheltered  on  all  sides  by  cypress  and 
pine  trees.  Near  the  water's  edge, 
great  trees  stood  in  stately  beauty — 
their  branches  bearing  proudly  their 
burdens  of  heavy  moss,  which  hung 
over  the  water.  Beyond  the  house 
stretched  acres  of  woodland,  and  over 
all  the  blue  arch  of  the  heavens  re- 
flected itself  in  the  water,  over  which 
the  light  boat  flew.  Hundreds  of  the 
fair    while     lilies    of    the     Southland 


nodded  their  pure  heads  between  the 
water's  edge  and  the  two  women 
standing  halfway  up  the  gently  slop- 
ing bank,  and  the  air  was  heavy  with 
the  perfume  of  the  flowers. 

The  girl  had  disappeared ;  and  the 
figure  on  the  bank  was  that  of  gra- 
cious, well-rounded  womanhood.  The 
softly  waving  brown  hair  was  un- 
changed, but  the  wonderful  eyes — 
dark  as  midnight — held  in  them,  not 
the  light  of  the  stars  as  of  old,  but  a 
certain  indefinable  something  that 
made  the  tears  spring  unbidden  to 
one's  eyes,  only  to  be  checked  as  one 
became  conscious  of  the  rare  strength 
and  sweetness  of  the  softly  curved 
lips. 

Beside  her  stood  a  woman  with  skin 
like  brown  satin,  with  eyes  full  of 
adoration  and  love.  She  said  some- 
thing to  her  mistress  as  the  little  boat 
came  near,  and  a  smile  lighted  up  the 
face. 

Philip  glanced  at  his  companion. 
The  negro's  head  was  bare,  and  his 
features  twitched. 

"Your  mistress  is  very  beautiful," 
the  passenger  said,  half  to  himself, 
when  Ben  had  pulled  past  the  two  and 
towards  the  landing  a  little  way  up  the 
stream. 

"She's  the  kin'  wot  de  Lawd  lub 
bes',  sah,"  the  man  answered. 

"Why?"  queried  Philip  in  surprise. 

"Cos  she  lub  His  will,"  came  the 
answer  reverently.  "O,  Massa,  many's 
de  time  Fs  seed  her  standin'  dar  wen 
I's  rowed  Massa  Hammon'  obcr ;  an' 
she  wave  her  han',  an'  smile,  an'  her 
lubly  eyes  (ley  sparkle  like  de  sunshine 
on  de  watah.  O,  Miss  Marg'ret — 
honey " 

"And  he  died !"  Philip  said  under 
his  breath. 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  A  MINISTER 


S77 


Ben  nodded. 

"He  ketched  de  scarlet  feber  up 
Xo'th,  sah,"  he  said.  "Miss  Marg'ret 
she  take  car  ob  him — get  it  too ;  Massa 
die,  an'  Miss  Marg'ret  get  well, 
but " 

He  hesitated,  then  went  on,  his  voice 
almost  a  whisper:  "Ob  cose  de  gen- 
'leman  know,  ebber  since  den  Miss 
Marg'ret  blinV 

"Blind  !"  Then  he  understood  the 
note  of  pain  that  had  crept  in  the  Doc- 
tor's voice  when  he  spoke  of  his 
cousin. 

He  left  the  boat,  and  a  moment  later 
walked  along  the  path  to  where  a 
white-robed  figure  advanced  with  out- 
stretched hand  to  meet  him. 

"You  are  very  welcome,  Mr.  Doug- 
lass," his  hostess  said ;  "Dr.  Halstead 
wrote  that  you  were  coming  to  Jack- 
sonville yesterday,  and  would  come 
over  here  to-day.  And  you  have  so 
lately  seen  the  Doctor,  whom  I  have 
not  seen  for  over  three  years.  Will 
you  tell  me  all  about  him?" 

They  were  walking  towards  the 
house ;  and  Philip  understood  perfectly 
that  Mrs.  Hammond  was  talking  in 
order  to  give  him  time  to  recover  from 
the  shock  he  felt  at  the  change  that 
had  come  to  her. 

He  was  quite  himself  when  they 
reached  the  house ;  and  he  told  her — 
and  few  could  tell  as  well — of  the  Doc- 
tor's work,  his  new  home  and  his 
charming  young  wife. 

"You  make  me  see  it  all,"  Margaret 
said  softly.  "I  knew  he  would  suc- 
ceed— that  the  world  needed  him — but 
we  did  not  dream  that  success  would 
come  as  soon  as  it  has.  He  deserves 
it." 

"He  does,"  responded  her  guest  em- 
phatically ;  "more  perhaps  than  others, 


because  he  thinks  less  of  success  than 
cf  his  work." 

Not  a  word  that  day  of  himself,  not 
a  word  of  the  change  that  had  come 
in  her  life;  but  before  he  was  rowed 
back  across  the  St.  Johns  he  knew  he 
would  not  leave  Jacksonville  in  six 
days  as  he  had  planned. 

Day  after  day  he  crossed  the  river, 
conscious — in  a  strange,  vague  way — 
that  hope  and  help  lay  in  Margaret 
Hammond's  hands  ;  and  each  day  he 
wondered  what  that  day  would  bring. 

Two  weeks  slipped  by.  He  was  row- 
ing across  in  the  white  moonlight,  and 
Mrs.  Hammond  was  sitting  on  her 
porch,  with  Nellie  a  few  yards  away. 

The  splash  of  the  oars  made  music, 
far-reaching  and  sweet,  and  across  the 
still  night  air  it  stole  and  reached  her 
ears.  Her  lips  parted  and  a  low  sob- 
bing breath  came  from  them. 

"Nellie,  do  you  hear  that?"  she 
asked,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

The  woman  came  close  to  her  chair. 

"Yes,  Miss  Margaret,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"Is  it  moonlight,  Nellie,  bright 
moonlight?"  came  from  the  white  lips. 

"Yes,  Miss  Marg'ret.  O  honey, 
don't  listen !" 

But  her  mistress  did  not  hear  her. 
She  rose  from  her  low  chair  and 
walked  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda. 
From  head  to  foot  she  trembled. 

"Oh!"  she  whispered.  The  sound  of 
the  rowing,  then  the  footsteps,  the 
bright  moonlight  and  the  scent  of  the 

lilies "O   Nellie,   Nellie,  take  me 

in." 

Silently  the  woman  led  her  into  the 
house  and  to  a  softly-cushioned  chair. 
She  knelt  beside  her,  the  tears  falling 
over  the  dark  face :  full  well  she  knew 
the  memory  it  brought  to  her  mistress. 


578 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  A  MINISTER 


On  moonlight  nights  her  lover  had 
rowed  himself  across  the  silvery  river, 
and  the  girl  on  the  porch  had  waited 
with  love-lit  eyes  and  smiling  lips 
while  the  voice  of  the  water  had  told 
her  of  his  coming. 

Since  Mr.  Hammond's  death  no  one 
had  rowed  to  that  landing  at  night,  for 
a  little  way  down  the  stream  was 
another,  where  by  tacit  understanding 
they  moored  their  boats. 

Steps  came  up  the  porch — not  the 
eager,  springing  ones  of  old,  but  the 
halting  steps  of  a  lame  man.  Directly 
Philip  Douglass  was  announced,  and, 
in  spite  of  Nellie's  tearful  protest, 
Margaret  rose,  her  face  as  white  as  the 
moonlight  without,  and  left  the  room 
to  receive  her  guest  on  the  veranda, 
which  was  also  a  most  delightful  sit- 
ting-room. 

"I  came  over  to  say  good-bye," 
Philip  said,  after  the  first  greetings. 
"I  am  going  on  to-morrow." 

"On  to  New  Orleans,  or  back  to 
your  work?" 

"To  New  Orleans,"  he  answered 
quickly.  "I  have  no  work,  Mrs.  Ham- 
mond.    Did  not  the  Doctor  tell  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  quietly.  "He  told  me 
of  your  sorrow  and — all  he  knew.  But 
you  have  your  work  nevertheless." 

"I  think  not,"  he  replied. 

"Pardon  me,"  she  said,  as  she  turned 
towards  him.  "You  may  not  accept  it ; 
you  may  cast  it  aside  and  let  it  go  un- 
done forever — for  your  work  no  one 
else  can  do:  but  it  is  yours,  and  you 
are  not  doing  it." 

"T  was  ordained  a  minister,  Mrs. 
Hammond,  as  you  are  aware,"  he  re- 
sponded, "and  that  part  of  me  is 
dead." 

"The  dead  shall  live,"  she  answered, 
only    half    aloud;    and    her    face    was 


turned  towards  the  spot  acioss  the 
river  where  her  dead  lay  sleeping. 

"Mr.  Douglass,  will  you  let  me 
speak  very  plainly  to  you?  Because  I 
have  suffered,  because  I  too  have  seen 
all  that  was  best  and  dearest  pass  out 
of  my  life,  will  you  let  me  touch  this 
wound  of  yours  ?  Listen !  You  can 
see,  I  cannot — but  I  know  just  how  the 
leaves  of  the  trees  are  waving  softly 
out  there.  I  know  well  how  the  white 
moonlight  is  playing  through  them, 
and  how  it  is  gleaming  on  the  water 
beyond,  making  it  look  from  here  like 
one  mass  of  moving  silver.  One  night, 
a  night  like  this  three  years  ago,  when 
they  had  laid  my  husband  across  the 
river  there,  and  when  I  knew  that  1 
must  live  all  my  life  in  the  dark,  I 
slipped  away  from  the  house  when  I 
thought  no  one  knew,  and  I  walked 
down  there  to  the  edge  of  the  water. 
You  call  the  taking  of  one's  physical 
life  sin,  do  you  not?  I  did  not  care 
then.  I  only  knew  that  the  sunshine 
and  the  daytime  had  become  darkness 
and  midnight.  I  had  turned  to  stone: 
I  did  not  hate  or  love.  My  love  was 
buried  in  the  grave  with  my  husband, 
and  only  one  thought  filled  me — to 
leave  it,  all  the  misery  and  suffering 
and  horror — and  I  hoped  that,  turning 
my  back  on  this  life,  God  would  give 
me  in  another  world  a  glimpse  of 
light." 

She  shivered  and  paused,  living  over 
again  the  night  of  which  she  told  him. 

"T  walked  out  in  the  stream,"  she 
went  on,  her  voice  hardly  above  a 
whisper.  "When  the  water  reached 
my  waist  1  let  myself  fall,  and  felt  it 
close  over  me.  Then  two  strong  arms 
were  around  me,  and  some  one  half 
dragged,  half  carried  me  back  to  the 
shore.     Then  T  was  picked  up  bodily 


THE    RESURRECTION  OF  A  MINISTER 


^79 


and  carried  into  the  house,  where  I  lay 
unconscious  for  hours.  They  said  the 
fever  had  not  left  me,  that  1  was  not 
responsible :  but  Nellie  knew  better — 
Nellie,  who  had  dragged  me  out  of 
the  water.  'Miss  Marg'ret,'  she  said 
to  me,  'de  Lawd  sen'  fo'  yo'  wen  He 
want  yo'  up  dar.  Spec'  He's  got  lots 
ob  wuk  fo'  yo'  'mong  de  common  folks 
down  heah.'  And  then  I  knew  I  was 
a  coward." 

He  could  hear  her  quick  breathing 
in  the  silence  that  followed.     Then — 

"Do  you  know  why  I  have  told  you 
this?"  she  asked.  "Because  I  want 
you  to  know  that  I  learned,  or  am 
learning,  that  our  lives  are  not  our 
own  to  use  as  we  choose.  Mr.  Doug- 
lass, will  you  go  back  to  your  work?" 

"Not  to  that  work." 

"Why  ?  Are  you  willing  to  lose 
your  opportunity  ?" 

"J  do  not  see  it." 

"Do  you  not?"  she  asked  quickly: 
and  he  felt  the  depth  of  earnestness  in 
her  voice.  "Oh,  do  you  not  see  that  if 
you  accepted  this  sorrow  bravely  and 
manfully  you  would  be  worthy  to 
preach?  But  you  were  not  worthy 
when,  at  the  first  burden  laid  upon 
you,  you  faltered  and  turned  back. 
How  could  you  disappoint  God  so 
when  He  had  trusted  you  ?  You  told 
your  people  of  Divine .  strength  and 
power  and  goodness :  but  when  dark- 
ness came  in  your  sky,  you  said  there 
was  neither  sun  nor  moon  nor  stars ! 
Think !  You,  a  man,  God-made  and 
God-endowed,  to  have  looked  only  for 
happiness,  only  for  self,  when  perhaps 
hundreds  of  people  are  waiting  for  the 
help  you  can  bring  them  !" 

Then  the  voice  faltered.  A  lash 
could  not  have  stung  more  than  the 
words  she  had  spoken,  backed  as  they 


were  by  the  scorn  and  pain  in  her 
voice. 

The  man's  face  was  white.  He  rose 
and  stood  beside  her  chair. 

"You  think  me  a  coward!"  he  said. 

A  moment's  intense  silence. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  quietly,  "I  think 
you  a — coward." 

"I  am,"  he  responded  :  "good  night." 

To  which  she  replied, 

"Will  you  come  over  again  in  the 


morniner 


?•' 


"Yes,"  he  said:  "good  night." 

She  heard  the  halting  footsteps  die 
away.  He  had  gone— not  down  to 
the  water's  edge  where  his  boat  was 
fastened — but  had  turned  aside  and 
taken  the  path  through  the  pines,  to- 
wards the  lower  landing,  intending — 
Margaret  thought — to  get  Ben  to  row 
him  across  from  there. 

There  was  a  moss-covered  rock  in 
the  shadow  of  the  trees ;  and  hardly 
knowing  where  he  went,  he  found 
himself  half  kneeling,  half  lying 
against  it,  and  there  in  the  stillness 
Philip  Douglass  came  face  to  face  with 
himself.  All  that  was  best  and  noblest 
in  the  man's  nature  arose  and  stood  a 
merciless  judge  over  all  that  was  weak 
and  small  and  selfish. 

Like  a  panorama,  scenes  of  his  life 
passed  before  him,  and  always — every- 
where— was  Marion.  He  looked  back 
to  his  school-days,  and  Marion  walked 
beside  him  and  he  carried  her  books ; 
back  to  the  days  when  he  had  planned 
his  future,  and  Marion  had  beggedr 
with  eyes  shining,  "lie  something 
great,  Philip.  Be  someone  in  the 
world   who   'counts.'  ' 

Through  his  college  days,  Marion's 
letters  and  Marion's  self  had  stood 
like  a  shield  between  him  and  evil :  for 
her  he  had  overcome  temptation,  that 


s8o 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  A  MINISTER 


he  might  look  in  her  eyes  unshamed. 
He  heard  again  her  answer  on  the 
wonderful  white  day  when  he  had  told 
her  what  she  had  always  known,  and 
she  had  answered  as  he  had  always 
known  she  would.  And  during  his 
theological  course,  and  during  the 
time  he  preached,  Marion  had  been 
the  bright  light  in  which  he  walked, 
the  faith  by  which  he  lived,  and  the 
gift  of  which  he  tried  to  be  worthy. 

And  then — in  the  stillness  of  the 
night  he  breathed  hard  and  fast  at  the 
remembrance  of  the  day  when  he  had 
known  that  over  and  above  all  else 
towered  the  pride  of  the  girl  who  had 
promised  to  be  his  wife — a  pride  that 
left  no  room  for  sacrifice  in  one  whose 
life  had  been  all  sunshine. 

He  had  taken  a  certain  melancholy 
satisfaction  in  the  belief  that  life  for 
him  was  over.  But  to-night  Margaret 
Hammond  had  torn  the  veil  from  his 
eyes,  and  he  stood  forth  as  he  was. 

"You  have  called  yourself  a  servant 
of  God,"  his  stern  judge  said,  "and 
you  have  been  serving  self.  You 
called  on  your  people  to  worship  a  liv- 
ing, real  Father,  and  you  set  up  for 
yourself  an  idol  of  clay  and  wor- 
shipped it.  You  taught  men  to  be 
brave,  and  told  women  to  endure :  but 
you  proved  traitor  and  coward  at  the 
first  test." 

Dimly  there  came  to  him  the 
thought  of  One  who  long  ago  for  the 
sins  of  others  endured  the  darkness  of 
Gethsemane.  One  to  whom  angels 
ministered.  To  this  man,  seeing  his 
own  sin  and  hating  himself,  would  an 
angel  of  hope  draw  near? 

He  never  knew  how  long  he  stayed 
there.  He  knew  it  was  hours :  and 
then,  like  one  hopeless,  he  slowly  left 
the  still  woods  and  rowed  back  across 


the  river.  And  he  never  knew  that  the 
faint  splash  of  his  oars  reached  Mar- 
garet's ears  and  made  her  start  up  sud- 
denly in  her  sleep. 

Xo  rest  came  to  him  that  night; 
but  in  the  early  morning  he  fell  into 
a  heavy  dreamless  sleep  from  which  he 
did  not  awaken  until  nearly  noon.  He 
would  have  to  take  the  night  train,  or 
else  break  his  promise  to  see  Mrs. 
Hammond  again,  which  was  quite  im- 
possible. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  he  rowed 
over.  Half-way  across  he  met  Ben. 
He  saw  the  man  start  at  sight  of  his 
wdiite  hopeless  face ;  and  to  avoid  the 
question  he  knew  was  trembling  on 
the.  old  man's  lips,  he  asked, 

"Is  Mrs.  Hammond  at  the  house, 
Ben?" 

"No,  sah ;  Miss  Marg'ret  up  to  ok 
Susie's  cabin.  Susie's  lil  boy  dead. 
Ps  gwine  across   fo'  de  pa'son,  sah." 

Then  Ben  rowed  on,  and  Philip 
pulled  on  towards  the  other  side,  and 
up  the  creek  past  the  landing. 

Under  the  spreading  branches  of  the 
trees  he  laid  his  oars  down  and  let 
the  boat  float.  He  was  unwilling  to 
go  up  to  the  house  until  Margaret  re- 
turned, or  to  join  her  in  the  negro's 
cabin.  He  had  heard  of  Susie's  little 
child.  Margaret  had  gone  every  day 
to  help  care  for  it,  and  two  days  be- 
fore had  told  him  of  its  death. 

An  hour  passed.  Through  the 
trees  he  could  see  little  groups  of  peo- 
ple going  towards  Susie's  cabin.  Then 
he  saw  Ben  come  back  alone.  Vague- 
ly he  wondered  what  Ben  would  say 
if  he  knew  he  had  once  been  a  minis- 
ter. He  would  be,  he  knew — even  in 
the  eyes  of  this  ignorant  black  man — 
an  object  of  scorn  and  pity:  and  in 
the  depth   of  his  self-loathing,  he  al- 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  A  MINISTER 


most  wished  the  old  man  did  know. 
He  was  puzzled  that  Ben  should  have 
returned  without  the  minister ;  and 
after  all,  he  thought  he  might  as  well 
go  up  to  the  cabin  and  walk  back  with 
Mrs.  Hammond. 

The  room  was  full  when  he  entered 
it,  ten  minutes  later.  Margaret  stood 
near  the  sobbing  mother  and  father, 
and  made  room  for  him  when  Ben,  who 
had  caught  sight  of  him,  whispered 
his  name. 

"It's  very  sad,"  Margaret  said  in  a 
low  tone.  "Their  minister  could  not 
come.  He  fell  this  morning  and  was 
hurt,  and  Susie  did  not  receive  the 
message  he  sent." 

"Is  there  no  one  else — your  own 
minister,  for  instance?"  Philip  asked 
quickly. 

"He  is  away,"  Margaret  answered 
sadly.  "He  would  come  if  he  were 
here.  I  will  sing  for  them,  and  old 
Ben  will  talk  to  them." 

Then  in  another  minute  the  full,  rich 
contralto  filled  the  room. 

Philip  looked  about  him.  On 
every  side  his  eyes  met  dark  wet 
faces,  and  sobs  that  they  vainly  tried 
to  check  because  "Miss  Marg'ret"  was 
singing — broke  from  those  who  had 
loved  the  tiny  boy  lying  so  quietly 
there.  He  looked  towards  the  white 
flower-covered  casket,  and  needed  no 
one  to  tell  him  it  had  been  Margaret's 
gift.  Beside  it  stood  a  small  wooden 
table  covered  with  a  white  cloth,  and 
on  it  an  open  Bible.  He  could  touch 
it  if  he  reached  out  his  hand.  "Nearer, 
My  God  to  Thee,"  he  heard  the  voice 
sing,  and  it  seemed  far  off.  He  for- 
got his  shameful  fall — the  agony  of  the 
night  before — all  the  years  of  his  life ; 
and  all  his  world  was  the  space 
bounded    bv  the  walls  of  the  cabin. 


The  voice  of  the  singer  died  away. 
Then  in  the  hush  that  followed,  Mar- 
garet felt  some  one  pass  her.  Old  Ben 
rose  slowly ;  but  a  tall  figure  stood  be- 
fore the  table,  and  white  hands  turned 
the  leaves  of  the  Bible. 

"Massa  Douglass  gwine  to  read 
from  cle  scripters,"  Ben  whispered  to 
Margaret. 

And  she  answered  as  softly :  "Mr. 
Douglass  is  a  minister,  Ben.  Tell 
Susie." 

"Bress  de  Lawd !"  exclaimed  Ben: 
and  soon  everyone  in  the  room  knew 
that  a  white  man  and  a  minister  was 
conducting  the  funeral  service  of  the 
little  negro  baby. 

Verse  after  verse  he  read — the 
low-toned,  perfectly  modulated  voice 
speaking  comfort  to  the  sore  hearts; 
but  Margaret  knew  that  the  words 
held  in  them  for  him  no  life  or  hope. 
Then  a  strange  tone  crept  into  his 
voice. 

"  T  am  the  Resurrection  and  the 
Life,'  "  he  read :  "  'he  that  believeth 
in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall 
he  live.'  " 

The  sobbing  was  hushed.  Not  the 
sound  of  a  breath  broke  the  silence  that 
fell.  Margaret  Hammond's  hand 
was  pressed  over  her  heart  as  if  to 
still  its  wild  throbbing;  and  she  won- 
dered what  the  Voice  speaking  to  him 
in  this  lowliest  of  places  had  said. 
She  understood  a  moment  later :  for — 

"  T  am  the  Resurrection  and  the 
Life,"  he  repeated,  faith  and  confi- 
dence in  his  tones.  '  'He  that  be- 
lieveth in  me,  though  he  were  dead, 
vet  shall  he  live.'  '  And  the  voice 
rang  with  triumph  over  death  itself, 
conquered. 

Softlv,  slowly,  reverently,  he  closed 
the  Book  and  reached  out  his  hands. 


=,82 


THE  QUEST 


"My  friends,"  he  said,  "let  us  pray." 

Margaret  Hammond  was  a  guest  in 
Dr.  Halstead's  home  a  year  later,  and 
he  stood  beside  her  with  an  open  letter 
in  his  hand. 

"From  Philip  Douglass,"  he  said. 
"You  hear  from  him,  I  know,  and 
know  of  his  work ;  but  I  wish  you 
could  talk  to  him  and  know  his 
people." 

"Tell  me  about  him,"  she  said:  "he 
writes  of  his  church — of  his  people — 
nothing  of  himself." 

The  doctor  seated  himself  beside 
her. 

"You  know  of  the  church  to  which 
he  was  called,"  he  said  "a  month 
ago  I  heard  him  preach  there. 
Margaret,  a  power  not  of  earth 
Alls  him  ,  and  he  stands  before  a 
congregation  as  cultured  and  intellect- 
ual as  any  in  his  city,  and  he  holds 
them  spellbound — not  because  of  rare 
eloquence — not  because  of  anything 
one    can    understand ;    but    he    speaks 


straight  from  his  heart  to  the  hearts 
of  his  people,  and  they  drink  in  his 
words  like  thirsty  ones  drinking  pure 
water.  'You  should  work  among  the 
needy,'  I  said  to  him  after  church.  T 
do,'  he  said  quickly,  'they  are  needy — 
the  rich.'  But  the  poor  belong  to  him 
too :  and  that  afternoon  I  went  with 
him  to  the  homes  of  those  in  depths 
of  poverty  and  sin,  and  heard  him  tell 
hopeless  ones  of  hope,  and  broken- 
hearted ones  of  Divine  peace  and  love. 
How  they  love  him !  They  say  he's 
killing  himself  with  work,  and  I  told 
him  so  too.  Margaret,  his  face  was 
wonderful  when  he  turned  to  me,  full 
of  earnestness,  full  of  faith  and  cour- 
age. Tin  not  killing  myself,'  he  said: 
T'm  living.  And  to  live  is  what  I'm 
trying  to  teach  others.'  ' 

Then  silence  reigned,  for  Margaret 
heard  again  the  sobs  in  the  negro 
cabin,  the  rustling  leaves  of  the  Bible, 
and  the  wonderful  ring  in  the  voice 
that  read,  and  then  repeated,  "  T  am 
the  Resurrection  and  the  Life'." 


The  Quest 

By  Charlotte  Becker 


SEARCHED  the  world  in  quest  of  happiness, — 
*     Through   crowded   places,   and   through    ways   apart, 
Unsatisfied — nor    knew    till   your   caress, 

It    waited,   hidden    safe,    in   my   own    heart! 


Washington-Greene 

Correspondence 


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 in  the  following  issue.  A  printed  copy  of  the  letter  herewith  appears 
on  page  587. — Editor. 


qSi 


*    ^£ 


yyty  d&ztt-sz^ 


J&e  V8<*  ./**/7*/. 


'<CsZ* 


'<£ 


^-^CL-^i^c  . 


'&eJDt 


;84 


4<^  <£^*~ 


£sz~ 


-H 

^•A. 


585 


<3tf*?-*)<^£_tf^,   ^s^  aJsa-^y  tt^s-i-^-^  s^Ca^L. 


^ 


<* 
4 


<2 


Gen.  Washington   to  Gen.  Greene 


Phila.,  Dec'r   15th,    1781. 
My  dear  Sir, 

Your  private  letter  of  the  22A  ulto.  came  to  my  hands  the  day  before  yesterday, — and 
giving  fresh  assurances  of  your  attachment  &  regard  for  me  was  received  with  gratitude  and  affection. — 
As  I  feel  myself  interested  in  everything  which  concerns  you  it  is  with  unfeigned  pleasure  I  hear  the 
plaudits  which  are  bestowed  on  your  conduct  by  men  of  all  description — public  &  private — and  I  commu- 
nicate them  to  you  with  heartfelt  pleasure — There  is  no  man  that  does  not  acknowledge  your  eminent 
services,  nor  is  there  any  one  that  does  not  allow  that  you  have  done  great  things  with  little  means. 

I  wish  the  detachment  commanded  by  Genl.  St.  Clair  may  not  be  much  reduced  before  it  reaches  you 
— from  what  I  have  heard  this  is  much  to  be  feared. — ■ 

Mrs.  Greene  is  now  in  this  City  on  her  way  to  So.  Carolina — She  is  in  perfect  health  and  in  good 
spirits — and  thinking  no  difficulty  too  great  not  to  be  encountered  in  the  performance  of  this  visit,  it  shall  lie 
my  endeavor  to  "strew  the  way  over  with  flowers" — Poor  Mrs.  Washington  who  has  met  with  a  most 
severe  stroke  in  the  loss  of  her  amiable  son  &  only  child  Mr.  Custis,  is  here  with  me,  a^d  ioins  me  most 
cordially  in  every  wish  that  tends  to  your  happiness  and  glory. — Most  sincerely  and  affectionately 

I  am — Dr  Sir, 

Yr.    most   obed   Ser., 

G.    Washington. 
Maj'r.  Genl.  Greene. 


Rowayton  Harbor 


Norwalk,  Connecticut 


By   Angeline   Scott 


NORWALK,  the  only  town 
save  one  in  Connecticut 
which  bears  its  original  In- 
dian name,  claims  its  rank 
among  New  England's  oldest  towns, 
having  celebrated  the  250th  anni- 
versary of  its  recognition  as  a  town- 
ship on  September  11,  1901.  It 
is  undistinguished  in  history  by  In- 
dian massacres,  persecutions,  battles, 
or  literary  associations ;  and  its  peo- 
ple seem  to  be  blessed  because  they 
have  no  history  in  the  annals  of  Con- 
necticut, as  read  by  the  world  in  gen- 
eral, save  in  a  bare  mention  of  Nor- 
walk as  one  of  the  coast  towns  burned 
by  General  Tryon  during  the  Revolu- 
tion. But  a  little  research,  stimulated 
in  these  days  by  patriotic  and  histori- 
cal societies,  brings  to  light  quaint 
reminiscences  of  the  forefathers'days, 
typical  of  every  Connecticut  town  200 
years  ago.  The  first  settlement  was 
begun  in  1650  after  the  planters  had 
588 


purchased  rights  from  Roger  Ludlow 
and  signed  an  agreement  "to  set  upon 
the  plantinge  of  the  saved  Norwalke 
with  all  convenient  speed."  The 
names  mentioned  in  this  document  are 
those  of  Nathaniel  Eli,  Rithard  Olm- 
stead,  Rithard  Webb,  Nathaniel  Rith- 
ards,  Matthew  Marvin,  Rithard  Sea- 
mer,  Thomas  Spencer,  Thomas  Hales, 
Nathaniel  Ruskoe,  Isacke  Graves, 
Ralph  Keeler,  John  Holloway,  Edward 
Church,  John  Ruskoe  associated  with 
others  not  named,  constituting  thirty 
in  all.  The  little  company  came  from 
Hartford  in  the  spring  of  1651,  having 
been  preceded  by  a  few  of  the  hardiest 
spirits  in  the  previous  autumn.  They 
made  a  camp  one  night  on  Blue  Moun- 
tain, in  the  northern  part  of  the  town, 
where  they  must  have  looked  eagerly 
upon  the  lovely  landscape  of  their 
promised  land,  with  the  bright  blue 
waters  of  Long  Island  Sound  spark- 
lino-  in  the  distance.     The  site  of  the 


NORWALK,  CONNECTICUT 


,89 


earliest  settlement  is  in  East  Norwalk, 
very  near  the  present  railroad  station. 
In  1894  the  Norwalk  Chapter  Daugh- 
ters of  the  American  Revolution 
marked  the  place  with  a  block  of  na- 
tive granite  suitably  inscribed.  Roger 
Ludlow  was  led  to  purchase  Norwaik 
from  the  Indians  in  1640  by  the  beauty 
of  its  situation  and  diversified  hills  and 
valleys  "butting  on  the  sea,"  intending 
probably  to  plant  another  colony  as  he 
had  previously  done  at  Fairfield.  He 
at  first  reserved  two  lots  for  his  sons 
in  Norwalk,  but  finally  relinquished 
all  title  to  Norwalk  lands  before  his 
sudden  departure  from  Connecticut 
with  his  family  in  1654.  Roger  Lud- 
low is  nevertheless  claimed  as  the 
Founder  of  Norwalk,  and  a  handsome 
monument  of  Quincy  granite,  adorned 
with  a  bas-relief  in  bronze  represent- 
ing Ludlow  treating  with  the  Indians, 
was  dedicated  to  him  a  few  years  ago, 
bearing-  this  inscription:  "This  stone, 
erected  December,  1895,  commemo- 
rates the  purchase  from  the  aboriginal 
inhabitants,  made  February  26,  1640, 
by  Roger  Ludlow,  deputy  governor  of 
the  colony  of  Connecticut,  framer  of 
its  first  code  of  laws  and  founder  of 
Norwalk,  of  all  the  lands,  meadows, 
pasturings,  trees,  whatsoever  there  is, 
and  grounds  between  two  rivers,  the 
one  called  Norwalk  and  the  other 
Soaketuck,  to  the  middle  of  saved 
rivers,  from  the  sea,  a  day's  walke  into 
the  country." 

The  settlers  shortly  afterward  pur- 
chased a  tract  on  the  west  side  of  the 
Norwalk  River  from  Capt.  Daniel 
Partrick,  "as  far  as  the  brook  Pampa- 
skeshanke"  (now  known  as  Roton 
Brook)  which  is  the  present  western 
boundary  of  the  city  of  South  Nor- 
walk.    The  Norwalk  Islands  and  the 


Founder's  Stone  on  Site  of  First 
Settlement 


part  of  the  town  now  called  Rowayton 
were  purchased  from  the  Indian  Sach- 
ems Runckinheage,  Piamikin,  Ma- 
gise,  Townetom,  Winnepucke,  and 
others,  in  1708-9.  Within  the  first 
year  of  occupation  Norwalk  was  rec- 
ognized by  the  Connecticut  Court  in  a 
decree  dated  September  11,  1651, 
"Ordered,  that  Norwalke  shall  bee  a 
Towne,  and  that  they  provide  an  in- 
habitant, according  to  order,  who  shall 
seasonably  be  tendered  to  take  the  oath 
of  a  constable."  And,  in  the  following 
month  the  first  tax  was  laid.  The  set- 
tlers had  their  hardships ;  a  wilderness 
cannot  become  available  for  crops  until 
trees  have  been  hewn,  swamps  drained, 
and  prodigious  effort  expended  in  sub- 
duing the  soil ;  and  they  had,  in  addi- 
tion, the  task  of  building  their  dwell- 
ings from  the  trees  of  a  virgin  forest, 
thatching  them  with  the  grass  of  the 
marshes.  All  of  their  implements  and 
provisions  other  than  fish   and   game 


S9o 


NORWALK,  CONNECTICUT 


Old  Town  House 

were  necessarily  brought  from  Hart- 
ford until  the  first  crop  was  harvested. 
There  were  no  difficulties  with  the  In- 
dians to  harrass  the  pioneers.  The 
Norwalk  forefathers  peaceably  treated 
with  the  few  sachems  round  about  and 
found  them  honorable  in  keeping  their 
word.  The  rights  of  the  townsmen 
and  of  the  Indians  were  well  defined, 
and  strict  account  was  kept  of  bound- 
aries. When  "bad  coats"  were  inad- 
vertently given  to  Mamachimon  in  pay- 
ment for  land,  the  wrong  was  redressed 
on  his  complaint.  There  was  sometimes 
a  little  friction  occasioned  by  com- 
plaints of  the  "arrowes,  gunnes,  and 
dogges"  of  the  red  men,  but  nothing 
which  could  not  be  adjusted  by  the 
town  officials. 

Winnipauke,  an  Indian  sachem,, 
deeded  lands  to  the  Rev.  Thomas  Han  - 
ford,  calling  him  his  "beloved  friend." 
There  were  wolves  in  the  forest,  and  a 
bounty  for  killing  them  is  an  item  in 
town  accounts  for  a  number  of  years. 
When  the  log-cabins  had  become  com- 
fortable homes  and  the  meeting-house 
was  built  and  the  training  band  organ- 
ized, a  period  of  typical  New  England 
town  life  ensued.  All  the  men  were 
obliged  tq  attend  town-meeting  under 


the  penalty  of  a  fine  of  a  shilling  for 
absence.  All  meetings,  both  religious 
and  secular,  were  summoned  by  beat- 
ing the  "drumb,"  and  one  drummer 
was  "rewarded  for  his  Service  with  the 
drumb."  Later  a  bell  was  hung  in  the 
meeting-house  "for  to  be  wrung  ther 
for  the  probation  of  the  goodness  of 
the  bell."  When  it  became  a  perma- 
nent acquisition  the  bell  was  ordered 
"to  be  rung  by  Zerubabell  Hoyt  at 
nine  of  ye  clock  every  night."  A  law 
had  previously  been  made  that  no  pub- 
lic transaction  should  take  place  after 
nine  at  night.  Thomas  Lupton  was 
chosen,  in  July,  1668,  "to  look  after  the 
young  people  in  the  meeting-house  on 
the  Lord's  day  and  to  doe  his  best  en- 
deavor to  keep  them  from  playing  and 
unsivill  behavior  in  time  of  public  wor- 
ship." Thomas  Barnum  undertook 
the  same  task  in  1681,  "to  keep  good 
decorum  amongst  the  youth  in  times 
of  exercise  on  the  Sabbath  and  other 
publique  meetings  ;  and  the  Towne  doe 
impower  him,  if  he  see  .any  disorderly 
for  to  keep  a  small  stick  to  correct  such 
with,  only  he  is  desired  to  do  it  with 
clemency." 

Questions  of  boundaries  and  high- 


A  Revolutionary  House 


NORWALK,   CONNECTICUT 


SQI 


Old  House  in  Winnepucke 

ways  required  grave  and  judicious 
committees.  Stamford  was  very  quar- 
relsome over  bounds  and  the  question 
was  carried  finally  to  the  Court,  and 
there  was  a  similar  difficulty  with 
Fairfield.  The  site  of  the  meeting- 
house was  changed  three  times  from 
1 65 1  to  the  Revolution;  carrying  with 
it  the  center  of  population  away  from 
its  original  place.  Each  time  the 
change  was  proposed  strenuous  objec- 
tions were  made,  but  the  movement 
northward  began  with  the  building  of 
the  bridge  at  the  "Point  of  Rocks  near 
the  mill"  (now  the  heart  of  the  city  of 
Norwalk),  and  the  progressive  spirits 
carried  the  day.  Later  generations 
sometimes  wish  they  had  not,  for,  after 
the  N.  Y.,  N.  H.  &  H.  Railroad  was 
built  a  new  community  grew  up  about 
the  station,  resulting  in  two  centers  of 
population  divided  by  a  mile  of  resi- 
dential district,  resulting  finally  in  two 
municipalities  in  one  township  of  20,- 
000  population;  while,  if  the  first  set- 
tlers had  remained  at  East  Norwalk 
the  town  would  have  grown  larger  in  a 
compact  way.  Before  building  each 
meeting-house  the  two  parties  were  so 
evenly  divided  that  it  became  neces- 
sary to  submit  the  question  to  arbitra- 
tion   committees     from    outside    who 


could  give  impartial  judgment  on  the 
matter,  "the  honored  deputy  Governor, 
the  honored  Major  Goold  with  the 
Rev.  Elder  Buckingham"  served  on 
one  committee,  and  the  resolution  ap- 
pointing them  reads,  "the  town  in- 
gages  to  sit  down  satisfied  with  there 
detarmination  as  to  the  place  of  its 
standing."  In  1718  "Major  Peter 
Burr,  Major  Samuel  Ealls  and  Mr. 
Jonathan  Law,  Esq.,"  served  on  a  sim- 
ilar committee.  Norwalk's  first  min- 
ister, the  Rev.  Thomas  Hanford,  was 
tutored  by  Dr.  Charles  Chauncey,  sec- 
ond president  of  Harvard.  He  was 
the  typical  Puritan  clergyman  of  his 
day,  a  gentleman  and  scholar,  possess- 
ing, too,  a  turn  for  practical  affairs, 
since  he  is  rated  in  1671  as  the  pos- 
sesser  of  £300,  the  second  largest  es- 
tate on  the  list  of  tax-payers.  His 
ministry  covered  a  period  of  41  years; 
and,  in  1686,  when  he  was  grow- 
ing old,  the  town  passed  a  reso- 
lution desiring  "Mr.  Hanford  to 
proceed  in  the  work  of  the  min- 
istry, and  therein  to  continue  in  the 
sayd  work,  until  the  Lord  by  his  provi- 
dence shall  dispose  of  him  otherwise ; 
—promising  to  indeavor  to  our  ability 
for  to  give  him  due  incouragement." 
His  salary  at  first  (1656)  was  "three 
score  pounds  allowed  for  the  yere  in- 


Old  House,  Norwalk 


i.  First  Congregational  Church.    2.  Methodist,  Norwalk.    3.  Trinity,  Episcopal,  South  Norvvalk. 

4.  .    5.  Congregational,  South  Norwalk.    6.  First  Methodist, 

South  Norwalk.    7.  St.  Mary's.  Roman  Catholic.    8.  St.  Paul's,  Episcopal 


59^ 


NORWALK,   CONNECTICUT 


W 


suing,  to  be  paid  as  followeth — 30 
pounds  in  wheat  pease  and  barley  at 
the  prices — 4  shillings  per  bushel  for 
wheat  and  barley,  and  for  pease  3 
shillings  per  bushel,  the  other  30  pounds 
to  be  payed,  8  pounds  in  (obliterated) 
and  the  other  22  pounds  is  to  be  payed 
in  beefe  and  pork  at  the  common  cur- 
rint  prise  that  it  brings,  when  it  is 
dew." 

The  common  school  was  early  estab- 
lished, of  course.  In  1678  the  town- 
meeting  "voted  and  agreed  to  hier  a 
scole  master  to  teach  all  the  childring 
in  the  towne  to  lern  to  reade  and  write, 
and  that  Mr.  Cornish  shall  be  hired  for 
that  cervice  and  the  townsmen  are  to 
hire  him  upon  as  reasonable  terms  as 
they  can."  While  the  schoolmasters 
were  engaged  by  the  town,  it  appears 
in  1 701  that  the  parents  of  the  children 
had  to  pay  at  a  certain  rate  for  their 
tuition.  "All  children  from  the  age  of 
five  years  old  to  the  age  of  twelve 
years,  shall  all  pay  an  equall  propor- 
tion ;  excepting  the  feamale ;  all  that 
doe  not  goe  to  school,  and  all  youths 
above  the  age  of  twelve  yeares  as  goe 
in  the  day  shall  pay  equally  with  the 
others  above  saved ;  and  all  night 
schollers  shall  pay  a  third  part  so  much 
as  the  day  schoolers ;  and  the  schoolers 
to  pay  fifteen  pounds ;  and  the  remain- 
der of  the  charge  of  the  schoole  mas- 
ters sallary  shall  be  paid  by  the  towne 
according  to  their  list  of  estate  in  the 
publique  list  of  the  Collonie."  We 
have  a  glimpse  of  Norwalk  in  1704  in 
the  diary  of  Madame  Knight,  who 
made  the  difficult  journey  from  Boston 
to  New  York  and  return  on  horseback 
in  the  inclement  season  of  the  year. 
She  came  into  Norwalk  by  the  old 
Stamford  Path,  which  was  the  high- 
wav  between   Stamford  and  Fairfield 


:■<.?•:,.,-      , 


Unithd  Bank  Building 


250  years  ago,  "marked  by  barked 
trees,  heaps  of  stones  and  staddle 
patches."  Madame  Knight  says, 
"About  nine  at  night  we  came  to  Nor- 
walk, having  crept  over  a  timber  of  a 
Broken  Bridge  about  thirty  foot  long 
and  fifty  to  ye  water.  I  was  exceed- 
ingly tired  out  and  cold  when  we  came 
to  our  Inn,  and  could  get  nothing  there 
but  poor  entertainment  and  the  imper- 
tinant  Bable  of  one  of  the  worst  of 
men,  among  many  others  of  which  our 
Host  made  one,  who  had  he  bin  one 
degree  Impundenter,  would  have  out- 
done his  Grandfather,  and  this  I  think 
is  the  most  perplexed  night  I  have  yet 
had.  From  hence,  Saturday,  Decem- 
ber 2^,  a  very  cold  and  windy  day,  af- 
ter an  intolerable  night's  lodgings,  wee 
hasted  forward,  only  observing  in  our 
way  the  Town  to  be  situated  on  a  Nav- 
igable River,  with  indifferent  Build- 
ings, and  people  more  refined  than  in 
some  of  the  Country  towns  wee  had 


Grumman's  Hill 


passed,  tho  vicious  enough,  the  church 
and  Tavern  being  next  neighbors." 
The  Rev.  Stephen  Buckingham  was 
the  minister  from  1697  to  1727,  a  man 
of  exceptional  culture,  possessing  a 
library  of  a  thousand  volumes.  These 
books  were  destroyed  fifty  years  after 
his  death,  when  the  British  burned  the 
town.  His  wife  was  a  grand-daughter 
of  the  Rev.  Thomas  Hooker,  and  it 
was  said  of  her  "she  was  the  most  ac- 
complished lady  that  ever  came  to 
Norwalk."  Mrs.  Buckingham's  moth- 
er was  the  daughter  of  Capt.  Thomas 
Willett,  first  mayor  of  New  York 
City,  and  her  grave  in  the  old  "Down 
Town"  cemetery  has  been  suitably 
marked  by  her  Hooker  descendants. 
All  of  the  early  generations  of  Nor- 
walk are  buried  in  this  cemetery  at 
East  Norwalk,  which  has  been  so  in- 
effectually guarded  that  many  old 
graves  have  been  encroached  upon  by 
modern  burials.  It  is  proposed,  how- 
ever, by  the  I listorical  Association,  to 
protect  those  that  remain,  and  a  plan 
has  been  started  to  build  a  wall  about 
the  grounds  with  a  memorial  arch  at 
594 


the  entrance  composed  of  blocks  of 
stone  inscribed  with  the  names  of  the 
founders  of  the  town,  contributed  by 
their  descendants. 

When  one  begins  a  search  into  Nor- 
walk history  the  most  interesting  relics 
and  traditions  seem  to  relate  to  the 
burning  of  the  town  by  British  invad- 
ers on  July  12,  1779.  To  follow  the 
course  of  the  enemy  through  the  town 
on  that  day  of  terror  one  should  start 
at  Fitch's  Point,  where  the  troops 
landed  on  the  evening  before  and  en- 
camped for  the  night.  The  place  has 
been  marked  with  a  metal  tablet 
mounted  on  a  wayside  stone  by  the 
Norwalk  Chapter  D.  A.  R.  Uncertain 
of  the  strength  of  the  Americans,  Gen. 
Tryon  divided  his  forces,  one  wing 
commanded  by  Gen.  Garth  crossing  to 
the  west  side  of  the  river,  and  landing 
at  Old  Well  (South  Norwalk),  while 
the  main  body  under  Tryon  himself 
marched  up  the  east  side  to  the 
heart  of  the  town,  taking  Grumman's 
Hill  for  headquarters.  The  chair  in 
which  Tryon  sat  that  day,  watching 
the    flames    kindled    bv    his    soldiers' 


NORWALK,  CONNECTICUT 


595 


torches  spreading  from  farm  to  farm, 
is  now  the  property  of  the  Rev.  C.  M. 
Selleck,  author  of  "Norwalk/5  a  very 
complete  history  of  the  town,  pub- 
lished in  1896.  Only  a  small  number 
of  men  were  available  for  the  defence 
of  the  town,  so  many  were  enlisted  in 
the  war.  Capt.  Stephen  Betts,  who 
commanded  the  patriots,  in  an  affidavit 
made  by  him  July  26,  1779,  says  he 
had  "less  than  fifty  Continental  regu- 
lars and  some  militia  with  which  to 
resist  a  superior  force."  They  seemed 
to  hold  their  own  for  five  hours,  yet 
were  driven  slowly  toward  "the 
Rocks"  on  France  Street,  where  from 
ten  o'clock  till  noon  they  resisted  the 
enemy.  Two  Americans  were  killed 
and  one  wounded,  while  the  British 
loss,  reported  by  Tryon,  was  twenty 
killed,  ninety-six  wounded,  and  thirty- 
two  unaccounted  for.  The  burning 
was  accomplished  as  the  British  re- 
treated, and  the  loss  in  this  way  was 
135  houses,  eighty-nine  barns,  twenty- 
five  shops,  five  vessels  in  the  harbor, 
and  four  mills.  None  of  the  houses 
off  the  line  of  march  were  burned. 
The  detachment  under  Gen.  Garth  lost 
three  men  in  a  sharp  skirmish  on  Flax 
Hill.  From  there  they  marched  up 
West  Avenue  to  join  Tryon  at  the 
northern  end  of  the  town.  On  the  way 
it  is  said,  they  came  to  grief  at  the 
home  of  Deacon  Thomas  Benedict, 
who  had  placed  wine  and  cider  on  his 
porch  for  the  refreshment  of  the  patri- 
ots who  had  watched  during  the  pre- 
vious night.  The  British  soldiers 
drank  of  the  liquor  too  freely  and,  the 
deacon  used  to  say  when  he  told  the 
story,  "a  drunken  person  is  as  harm- 
less as  a  corpse."  Owing  to  this  delay 
the  Americans  from  Flax  Hill  joined 
their  comrades  at  "the  Rocks"  before 


PI 

Flax  Hill  Revolutionary  Boulder 

Garth's  men  reached  the  place.  The 
Norwalk  Chapter  D.  A.  R.  has  marked 
the  scene  of  the  battle  with  a  granite 
boulder.  The  taxable  property  in 
Norwalk  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution 
amounted  to  three  hundred  thousand 
pounds,  and  the  amount  of  damages 
allowed  by  the  assembly  was  about  one 
hundred  and  sixty  thousand  dollars, 
paid  in  grants  of  land  in  the  Connecti- 
cut Western  Reserve  in  Ohio,  known 
as  "sufferer's  lands."  The  inventory 
of  the  claim  of  Fountain  Smith's  es- 
tate shows  what  a  typical  house  of  the 
times  contained.  This  yellow  time- 
stained  document  was  found,  not  long 
since,  in  a  secret  compartment  of  an 
old  chest  in  the  attic  of  one  of  his 
descendants. 

Fountain    Smith's    Loss    By    Burning    of 

Norwalk.     July  ye  11,  1779. 

One  house  28  by  26  one  story  and 

a  half  well   finished  below L65.0.0. 

One  Shop  20  feeat  by  18  wide  fin- 
ished     L5.0.0. 

Two  Load  of  Good  English  hay 
two    ton L4. 10. o. 

One  Chest  of  Curld  Maple  draws.  .L2.0.0. 

Two    Square    Table    one    Wallnut 

and   one   White   Wood Li.o.o. 

Eight  Black  Chears  part  Worn.  . .  .L.o.10.0. 

One  Large  Pott  Iron  about  4  Gal- 
lons     L.o.  12.0. 


596 


NORWALK,  CONNECTICUT 


Commemorating  the  "  Battle  of  the  Rocks." 

One  Brass  Cittle  of  30  We L.1.10.0. 

One  Larg  Iron  Cittle  about  2  gal- 
lons     L. 0.6.0. 

One   pair   of    Styllards L.o.3.0. 

One   Frying  pan L.o.6.0. 

One    Small    Looking   Glass L.o.10.0. 

Two  good  Duck  Whealls  at  15  pr 
peas    Li.10.0. 

One    Reall L.o.4.0. 

One  Large  Wheall L.o.6.0. 

Two  Bedsteads  and  2  cords  at  10.  .L.1.0.0. 

One    Large    Duftail    Chist    with    a 

lock    L.o.12.0. 

Two  puter  plates  and  2  porringers. L.o.4.0. 

One  Dozen   of   Spoons L.o.2.0. 

Two   woden   beads L.0.12.0. 

Two  Good  Pillows  filed  with  feth- 

ers     'L.o.8.0. 

One    Iron    Ladel L. 0.3.0. 

One  Brass  Skinner L.0.4.0. 

Six   Butter  Tubs  at  3/  pr  peace.  ..  .L. 0.18.0. 

One  Hundred  Weight  of  fish L.o.10.0. 

Three   Pork  Barrell  at L.o.12.0. 

One  Barrel]  of  Tobacco  About  60 
Wc  L.1.10.0. 

Two  Good  Sedar  Tubs L.0.10.0. 

Seventy-five  il* »nr  casks  at  1/6/2.  ..  .L.5.12.6. 

Eight  sets  of  barrells  Trushpops.  .L. 1.4.0. 

Twenty  Two  Flax  Sceads  Cacks  at 

3/  pr  P L.3.6.0. 


Six  Hundred  White  Oak  staves  and 

heading     L.1.10.0. 

One  Thousand  black  oac  sheaves.  .L.1.0.0. 

Three   sinter   stocks L.4.0.9. 

Four  hundred  black  oak  staves  for  fox 

Seed  Casks  at  5/  pr  hundred L.1.0.0. 

Two  Shaving  horses L.o.6.0. 

One  hundred  hoop  poales L.o.4.0. 

One  Sedar  Tub  Half  Barrell L.o.4.0. 

One    Churn    at    4/   per L.o.4.0. 

One  half  Dozen  of  round  bottles.  .L.0.2.0. 

Three  Athorn  pals  1  Gallon  Each.  .L.o.3.0. 

Six  Wooden  boles  2  Quarts  Each.  .L.o.6.0. 

One    Bread    Tray L.0.30. 

One  Long  Salt  Morter L.0.60. 

One  Weaned  Calf L.1.0.0. 

Fifteen  Geas  at  1/6  p.  p L.1.1.0. 

Two  Iron  Candlesticks L.0.30. 

Fifteen  Pounds  of  Soape  Grees.  ..  .L.o.3.0. 

One  Half  Barrel  of  Soape L.0.10.0. 

Six  pounds  Tallow  at  6/ L.o.3.0. 

One  Hundred  of  Chestnut  Rayls.  .  .L.1.10.0. 

Thirty  weight  of  Good  Flower.  . .  .L.o.5.6. 

Three  Large  Bee  hives  at  1/6 L.o.3.6. 

One   half   hogshead    Tub L.o.3.6. 

One  half  Barrell  Cask L 

Vinegar    Barrell    and    all L.o.18.0. 

One  Box  Iron L.0.30. 

Two  wooden  Bottles  of  /3 L.o.6.0. 

Two  outside  Jackets  half  worn  both 
wooling L.o.15.0. 

Six  pair  of  Good  pillow-bears  at  3 
pr   pair L.o.  18.0. 

One    large    Earthen    platter L.o. 1.6. 

One  Cradel  White  Wood L.o.  16.0. 

One  pair  of  hand   Bellows L.0.30. 

Three   Crows   Stocks   for  hogsheads. 

And  2  barrell  Crows  at  Stocks  1/6.  .L.o.7.6. 

Fountain  Smith  was  taken  prisoner 
when  the  town  was  burned,  and  died 
of  hardship  in  one  of  the  wretched 
British  prisons  in  New  York.  He  was 
a  cooper  by  trade,  and  the  inventory 
includes  his  stock  as  well  as  house- 
hold furnishings.  Late  in  the 
eighteenth  century  there  was  an  im- 
portant carrying-trade  between  Nor- 
walk  and  the  West  Indies.  Horses, 
hoops,  staves,  flour,  hams,  butter,  and 
earthenware    were    exported     in     ex- 


g^T^lllggg 


Knob  Outing  Club 


change  for  sugar,  molasses,  and 
liquors.  There  is  no  evidence  to  show 
that  Norwalk  contained  any  stately 
mansions  in  Colonial  days ;  the  houses 
of  the  wealthiest  and  best  born  fam- 
ilies seem  to  have  differed  from  the 
humbler  ones  only  in  size.  They  were 
all  of  the  farmhouse  type  of  architec- 
ture. The  description  of  the  Esaias 
Bouton  house  on  Wilson's  Cove  ac- 
curately given  by  W.  S.  Bouton,  a  lo- 
cal antiquarian  of  twenty  years  ago,  is 
probably  typical  of  the  houses  of  the 
Revolutionary  period.  "It  was  a  two- 
storied  frame  structure  with  a  long 
roof  sloping  to  the  rear,  the  main  tim- 
bers were  of  oak,  fourteen  inches 
square  and  covered  with  chestnut 
shingles,  with  the  butts  fourteen 
inches  to  the  weather.  The  chimney 
was  situated  in  the  center  of  the  build- 
ing, constructed  of  rough  stone,  plas- 
tered with  lime  made  of  clam  and 
oyster  shells  found  at  Naramake,  now 
Wilson's  Point.  The  windows  were 
few  and  small."  This  particular  home 
had  a  Tory  owner,  and  the  fire  on  its 


wide  hearth,  facing  the  front  windows, 
was  used  as  a  beacon  to  British  for- 
aging parties  from  Long  Island,  only 
eight  miles  away  across  the  Sound, 
on  which  the  house  faced.  When  the 
building  was  torn  down  a  workman 
found  in  the  wall  an  order  signed  by 
General  Tryon,  which  read,  "Deliver 
the  beef,  grain,  and  vegetables,  previ- 
ously ordered  to  my  commissary.  Send 
them  to  the  usual  place  of  shipment." 
The  chimney  of  the  Bouton  house, 
drawn  by  William  Hamilton  Gibson, 
appears  in  "Picturesque  America," 
published  about  twenty-five  years  ago. 
For  years  it  served  as  a  landmark  for 
fishermen  and  surveyors  of  the  oyster 
beds,  but  is  no  longer  in  existence. 
Naramake,  the  Indian  village  men- 
tioned above,  was  occupied  before  the 
settlement  of  Norwalk  by  a  tribe  of 
Mohegans.  Traces  of  it  were  long  vis- 
ible, and  heaps  of  shells,  graves,  and 
arrow-heads  were  abundant.  A  doc- 
tor of  two  generations  ago  discovered 
an  Indian  herb  garden  there,  which, 
he  declared,   contained   a   remedy   for 

597 


398 


NORWALK;  CONNECTICUT 


Surf,  Roton  Point 

every  ill  to  which  flesh  is  heir.  That 
has  disappeared,  but  the  botanist  finds 
all  the  flora  of  this  region  in  the  Wil- 
son Point  woods,  and  the  pink  mallows 
in  the  marshes  are  one  of  the  glories 
of  the  place.  The  Knob  Outing  Club 
controls  the  beach  and  a  wooded  knoll 
at  Wilson  Point,  with  private  bath- 
houses, boat-houses,  and  casino,  where 
the  families  and  visitors  of  the  club 
find  recreation  and  social  pastimes  for 
eight  months  in  the  year.  The  Nor- 
walk  Yacht  Club  has  an  attractive 
boat-house  at  Hickory  Bluff  on  Wil- 
son's Cove,  which  is  another  rallying- 
point  for  Norwalk  society  people  in 
the  summer  time.  Bell  Island,  near 
by,  is  a  summer  colony  of  cottages 
whose  occupants  come  from  New 
York  or  inland  Connecticut  to  enjov 
the  sea  breezes  on  its  rocky  cliffs  and 
beautiful  beaches.  Following  the 
coast  line  we  come  next  to  Roton 
Point,  a  pleasure  resort  for  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  men  from  every- 
where.     Two   iron    steam -boats    from 


New  York  bring  daily  excursion  par- 
ties from  the  city  to  the  hotel,  groves, 
and  magnificent  beaches  of  Roton ;  and 
all  the  seaside  pastimes  are  provided 
for  them.  Rowayton  is  a  village  at 
the  mouth  of  Five  Mile  River,  whose 
chief  industrial  interest  is  oyster  grow- 
ing. Artists  find  it  very  paintable, 
with  its  wharves  and  water  craft  and 
picturesque  location.  John  Kensett 
painted  some  of  his  best  pictures  at 
Contentment  Island,  near  Rowayton, 
and  one  often  sees  the  easel  and  um- 
brella or  the  sketch-book  in  the  hands 
of  summer  visitors. 

Adrian  Block  discovered  the  Nor- 
walk Islands  in  1614,  styling  them 
"the  Archipelago."  Rocky  and  cedar- 
grown  they  are  a  picturesque  feature 
of  the  harbor.  Sheffield  or  Smith's 
Island,  one  of  the  largest,  is  distin- 
guished by  a  lighthouse,  which  is  soon 
to  be  superseded  by  a  new  light  fur- 
ther out  on  Green's  Reef,  for  which 
Congress  has  appropriated  $60,000. 
At  night  Eaton's  Neck  light  on  Long- 
Island,  directly  opposite,  winks  across 
the  water  at  its  neighbor  lio-fit  in  Con- 


Roton  Point 


Oak  Hill,  Norwalk 


Residence  of  Henry  Lockwood 


Residence  of  Hon.  J.  H.  Ferris 


Residence  of  T.  H.  Vanderhoef 


The  G.  B.  St.  John  House,  Norwalk 


Residence  of  T.  J.  Raymond 


Mouth  of  Five  Mile  River 


necticut.  Long  Island  is  always  vis- 
ible by  day,  a  blue  mass  on  the  horizon 
with  white  sand  banks  flashing  in  the 
sun.    An  old  saw  runs, 

"When  Long  Island  goes  to  sea, 
Then  fair  weather  there  will  be. 

When  Long  Island  comes  ashore, 
Then  the  storm  will  surely  roar." 

From  the  Knob  at  Wilson's  Point 
one  sees  Keyser's  Island,  on  which  is 
a  monastery  known  as  Manresas  In- 
stitute, a  retreat  for  Roman  Catholic 
priests.  The  island  was  purchased 
about  forty  years  ago  by  John  H.  Key- 
set;, a  New  York  business  man  and 
philanthropist,  who  spent  thousands 
of  dollars  in  building  a  road  across  the 
marsh  connecting  it  with  the  main- 
land and  converting  the  rocky  island 
into  a  park  with  rare  trees  and  shrubs, 
greenhouses  and  orchards  surrounding 
a  fine  house.     About  twelve  years  ago 

it  was  sold  to  its  present  owners.  Tav- 
600 


ern  Island  is  the  home  of  Xorwalk's 
oldest  pilot,  Joseph  Merrill,  who  is 
saluted  daily  by  the  New  York  steam- 
boat in  its  passage  out  of  the  harbor. 
Two  picturesque  red  cottages  perch  on 
its  rocky  bluffs  belonging  to  summer 
residents.  Norwalk  harbor  is  a  diffi- 
cult one  to  enter  on  account  of  the 
islands  and  reefs  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Norwalk  River;  and,  when  Tryon's 
fleet  brought  the  invaders  from  Long 
Island  in  1779,  he  had  to  find  a  Nor- 
walk Tory  to  serve  as  pilot.  Greg- 
ory's Point,  nearly  opposite  Keyser's 
Island,  is  another  favorite  resort  in  the 
summer.  A  good  hotel  furnishing 
shore  dinners  and  excellent  bathing 
facilities  are  the  attractions  of  the 
place.  In  T878  the  steamboat  A  del  phi, 
which  had  just  started  from  its  wharf 
for  New  York,  was  blown  up  by  a 
boiler  explosion  off  Gregory's  Point, 
and  about  30  persons  were  killed  and 


Opening  Oysters 


Curling  Room  in  Hat  Factory 


601 


602 


NORWALK,  CONNECTICUT 


many  injured.  Another  fearful  acci- 
dent which  gave  Norwalk  notoriety  for 
years  afterward  among  people  who 
had  never  heard  of  it  otherwise,  oc- 
curred in  1853,  when  an  express  train 
plunged  into  an  open  draw,  and  45 
passengers  were  killed  and  many  more 
injured,  the  engineer  having  failed  to 
notice  the  signal.  Such  a  thing  could 
not  happen  to-day  with  the  modern 
system  of  signals,  in  addition  to 
which  the  railroad  has  further  pro- 
vided    an     automatic     switch     which 


place.  Its  industries  are  numerous. 
Hats,  locks,  shoes,  air  and  gas  com- 
pressors, and  cigars  are  some  of  the 
products,  and  the  firms  are  known 
throughout  the  country.  The  bustling 
little  city  is  about  forty  years  old,  and 
it  may  be  said  to  have  been  brought 
into  existence  by  the  New  York,  New 
Haven  &  Hartford  Railroad  ;  for,  when 
the  first  train  went  through,  Old  Well 
was  a  hamlet,  and  it  has  to-day  about 
7,000  inhabitants.  South  Norwalk  is 
proud  of  its  municipal  electric  plant, 


Smith  Island  Light  House 


would  derail  the  locomotive  if,  by  any 
chance,  the  engineer  should  disregard 
the  signals.  At  the  wharfs  in  South 
Norwalk  one  may  count  a  dozen  oyster 
steamers  on  Sunday,  when  they  are 
not  at  work  on  the  oyster  beds  of  the 
Sound.  It  was  a  South  Norwalk  man, 
Captain  Peter  Decker,  who  first  ap- 
plied steam  to  oyster  dredging  in  1872, 
by  fitting  up  the  sloop  Early  Bird  with 
an  engine  and  tackle  for  the  purpose. 
From  the  deck  of  a  steamboat  entering 
the  harbor  one  gets  a  general  view  of 
South    Norwalk   as   a   manufacturing 


which  is  a  model  of  its  kind,  and  fre- 
quently visited  by  committees  from 
other  cities.  Strangers  are  always 
puzzled  to  find  two  cities  in  the  town- 
ship of  Norwalk,  for  a  mile  separates 
South  Norwalk  from  the  City  of  Nor- 
walk, which  is  the  older  section  of  the 
town,  and  an  earlier  center  of  popula- 
tion. As  a  background  to  the  business 
portion  of  South  Norwalk,  is  a  ridge 
of  high  land  with  many  beautiful 
streets  on  which  are  some  of  the  pleas- 
antest  homes  commanding  an  outlook 
on  Loner  Island  Sound.  West  Avenue, 


NORWALK,  CONNECTICUT 


603 


which  is  the  principal  highway  be- 
tween Norwalk  and  South  Norwalk, 
is  lined  with  beautiful  homes  sur- 
rounded by  lawns  and  shade  trees.  The 
handsomest  residence  in  Norwalk  is 
"Elmenworth,"  on  West  Avenue, which 
was  built  about  thirty  years  ago,  by 
Legrand  Lockwood,  at  a  cost  of  a  mil- 
lion dollars.  The  house  is  of  granite, 
and  situated  in  a  beautiful  park.  It  is 
owned  at  present  by  Mrs.  C.  D. 
Matthews  of  New  York,  who  uses  it 


Norwalk  is  full  of  houses  of  local  his- 
torical interest,  and  its  streets  have  an 
air  of  olden  times  which  is  most  attrac- 
tive. Passing  through  its  business 
portion  and  climbing  up  Mill  Hill  past 
the  picturesque  Town  House,  sur- 
rounded by  an  ancient  burial  ground, 
we  find  ourselves  on  "The  Green," 
shaded  by  noble  elms.  Norwalk  used 
to  be  famous  for  its  great  elm  trees, 
but  the  finest  specimens  succumbed  to 
the  ravages  of  the  beetles  a  few  years 


.  w&im 

'"        "  '-r     Ml 


'f>* 


Jg*$$ 


--Ife^^^e^fc^,'- 


Pilot's  Cottage,  Tavern  Island 


for  her  summer  home:  In  South  Nor- 
walk a  soldiers'  monument  and  three 
churches  are  on  this  avenue.  In  front 
of  the  Armory,  between  the  two  cities, 
is  a  memorial  drinking  fountain,  after 
a  design  by  McKim,  Mead  and  White, 
erected  by  the  Norwalk  Chapter,  D. 
A.  R.,  in  honor  of  Nathan  Hale.  The 
Connecticut  hero  obtained  a  disguise 
in  Norwalk  and  embarked  for  Long 
Island  on  his  fatal  errand  from  its 
shores,  so  that  Norwalk  claims  an  es- 
pecial  interest  in  him.     The   City  of 


ago,  and  only  the  younger  trees  re- 
main. The  old  First  Church  and  St. 
Paul's  Episcopal  Church,  the  edifices 
of  the  oldest  religious  bodies  in  town, 
face  the  Green,  and  also  the  First  Bap- 
tist Church,  founded  in  1837.  The 
South  Norwalk  churches  are  off- 
shoots of  those  in  Norwalk,  though 
they  are  of  equal  size  and  importance. 
In  the  case  of  the  Methodist  churches 
the  case  is  reversed,  and  the  First  M. 
E.  Church,  founded  in  1790,  is  in  South 
Norwalk.    The  Roman  Catholics  have 


e>o4 


NORWALK,  CONNECTICUT 


Connecticut  Military  Academy 


Hillside— Mrs.  Mead's  School 


Franklin  School,  South  Norwalk 


two  churches  in  Norwalk, 
housed  in  expensive 
buildings,  and  a  club- 
house on  West  Avenue. 
On  East  Avenue,  near 
Grumman's  Hill,  is  the 
University  School,  which 
occupies  the  building  for- 
merly used  by  the  Selleck 
School,  founded  by  Rev. 
C.  M.  Selleck,  A.M.  Mrs. 
M.  E.  Mead's  School 
sends  many  fair  girls  to 
Vassar  and  other  colleges, 
and  Miss  Baird's  School 
for  girls  has  been  in  suc- 
cessful existence  for 
twenty  years.  Of  pub- 
lic schools  there  are  ten 
graded  schools,  four  of 
which  have  high-school 
departments,  and  a  num- 
ber of  district  schools  in 
the  outlying  suburbs.  A 
well-appointed  hospital  oc- 
cupies a  site  on  a  hill  with 
a  beautiful  outlook.  There 
are  picturesque  drives  in 
every  direction  around 
Norwalk,  and  the  electric 
cars  afford  delightful  trips 
to  all  the  towns  and  re- 
sorts along  the  Sound, 
since  it  is  possible  now  to 
travel  from  New  Haven 
to  New  York  by  tramway, 
and  the  scenery  is  pretty 
all  of  the  way.  When  one 
tires  of  the  sea  it  is  pos- 
sible to  drive  to  the  hills  of 
New  Canaan.  Ridgefield, 
and  Weston,  about  ten 
miles  into  the  country. 
The  latter  place,  quite 
away       from      all      rail- 


NORWALK,   CONNECTICUT 


60s 


Residence  of  E.  Beard 

roads,  and  thinly  populated,  reminds 
one  of  nooks  in  the  Catskill  Moun- 
tains, especially  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Forge,  where  the  falls  of  the  Sauga- 
tuck  River  dash  over  great  boulders 
beside  an  ever-green  forest.  Or,  if 
one  searches  for  human  touches  in  a 
quiet  country  landscape,  West  Nor- 
walk  will  reward  him  with  glimpses  of 
old  New  England  homes,  some  of 
which  have  stood  unchanged  for  over 
a  hundred  years,  their  shingles  silvered 
by  the  weather,  with  porches  draped 
in  vines,  and  door  yards  a  mass  of 
shrubbery.  All  of  the  country  roads 
are  rich  in  flora  and  bird-life,  and  na- 
ture lovers  need  not  go  far  to  find 
these  things.  The  shallow  reaches  of 
the  Norwalk  River,  running  over  a  bed 
strewn  with  boulders,  its  banks  em- 
bowered in  a  wealth  of  shrubbery  and 
moisture-loving  plants,  delight  botan- 
ist, bird-lover,  and  artist  alike ;  while 
the  Camera  Club  of  Norwalk  found 
subjects  for  a  year's  work  in  the  va- 
riety of  scenes  afforded  by  the  river 
through  the  country,  from  the  city  to 
the  salt  waters  of  the  Sound. 

Close  at  hand,  for  an  afternoon 
drive,  are  Gregory's  Point,  Fitch's 
Point,  and  Calf  Pasture  Beach,  where 
the   carriages    drive   to   the   brink   of 


the  waters  of  Long  Island  Sound. 
Calf  Pasture  is  unspoiled  by  ''im- 
provements," and  its  crescent-shaped 
beach  of  white  sand  affords  a  lovely 
view  of  sea  and  sky  and  rocky  is- 
lands just  off  shore.  One  reaches  it 
by  the  Pine  Hill  road,  near  the  Lud- 
low Monument,  crossing  the  Marvin 
lands  on  the  ridge,  which  have  de- 
scended directly  to  their  present  own- 
ers from  the  first  generation  of  Nor- 
walk settlers.  The  ridge  commands 
one  of  the  loveliest  views  imaginable, 
showing  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and 
Long  Island  Sound  for  miles  to  the 
south  and  east,  with  South  Norwalk 
below  its  green  hill  on  the  west. 

Danbury,  New  Canaan,  Wilton, 
Westport,  and  Ridgefield  are  all  in 
some  sense  daughter  towns  of  Nor- 
walk, being  largely  settled  by  Norwalk 
families.  The  list  of  illustrious  men 
of  Norwalk  ancestry  is  a  long  one,  in- 
cluding two  presidents  of  Yale,  Rev. 
James  Lockwood  and  Timothy 
Dwight,  26. ;  the  three  famous  Perrys, 
Commodore  Christopher  Raymond 
Perry,  Commodore  Oliver  Hazzard 
Perry,  of  Lake  Erie  fame,  and  Com- 
modore Matthew  C.  Perry,  who 
opened  the  ports  of  Japan  to  com- 
merce;  Rev.  Elizur  Goodrich,  D.  D.. 


Elmenvvorth 


6o6 


NORWALK,  CONNECTICUT 


and  Right  Rev.  Abraham  Jarvis, 
Henry  J.  Raymond,  who  founded  the 
New  York  Times;  A.  H.  Byington, 
war  correspondent  of  the  Tribune,  and 
American  Consul  at  Naples,  as  well 
as  editor  of  the  old  Norwalk  Gazette ; 
Capt.  Moses  Rogers,  commander  of 
the  first  steamship  which  crossed  the 
Atlantic;  the  two  famous  brothers, 
Hon.  John  Sherman  and  Gen.  W.  T. 
Sherman ;  Gen.  Rufus  King,  Briga- 
dier-General E.  F.  Bullard,  and  Col. 
Wolsey  R.  Hopkins,  U.  S.  A. ;  S.  T. 


unique  honor  upon  Nbrwalk  by  hav- 
ing both  branches  of  the  legislature 
presided  over  by  Norwalk  men,  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor E.  O.  Keeler  and 
Speaker  John  H.  Light.  General  Rus- 
sell Frost,  of  the  State  Militia,  is  also 
a  Norwalk  man.  Hon.  E.  J.  Hill,  of 
Norwalk,  is  serving  a  second  term  as 
member  of  Congress  for  the  Thir- 
teenth district,  and  is  a  member  of  the 
financial  committees  of  the  House  of 
Representatives.  Norwalk  of  to-day 
and  the  future  differs  from  the  Nor- 


Norwalk  Hospital 


Goodrich,  "Peter  Parley" ;  Horatio 
Seymour,  L.L.  D.,  Judge  O.  S.  Sey- 
mour of  the  Superior  Court,  and  ex- 
Governor  T.  H.  Seymour ;  Chancellor 
James  Kent,  "the  Blackstone  of 
America" ;  ex-Governors  P.  C.  Louns- 
bury  and  George  Lounsbury ;  the  three 
Warren  brothers,  who  founded  Troy, 
N.  Y. ;  Nehemiah  Rogers,  founder  of 
St.  John,  New  Brunswick;  these  are 
only  a  few  of  the  eminent  men  who 
have  Norwalk  blood  in  their  veins. 
Hon.  Clark  Bissell,  of  Norwalk,  was 
Governor  of  the  State  in  1846-49. 
In      1 90 1     Connecticut     conferred     a 


walk  of  the  first  two  centuries  of  its 
history.  The  colonists  were  English- 
men, the  two  generations  succeeding 
the  Revolution  were  Americans ;  but 
fifty  years  ago  new  elements  came  in, 
and  a  new  type  of  citizen  is  making. 
First  came  the  Irishman,  and  he  and 
his  children  are  already  assimilated ; 
then  came  the  German,  and  he  is  one 
of  us ;  the  children  of  the  first  Italians 
are  taking  their  place  in  public  affairs ; 
the  Scandinavian,  the  Hungarian,  and 
the  Russian  Jew  have  followed,  and  all 
these  are  to  influence  the  future  of  the 
good  old  Town  of  Norwalk. 


$£  f^ 


Thomas  Jefferson  and  Higher 
Education 


By  George  Frederick  Mellen 


THE  many-sided  Franklin  had 
his  counterpart  in  the  many- 
sided  Jefferson.  From  what- 
ever point  of  view  the  latter 
may  be  scanned,  he  is  found  almost 
equally  as  interesting  as  Franklin,  if 
not  always  so  original.  His  activities, 
bestowed  upon  widely  diverse  fields 
and  questions,  were  marked  by  surpris- 
ing thoroughness ;  his  achievements 
were  the  results  of  clear  vision  and 
cautious  experiment.  Though  known 
to  fame  as  statesman  and  diplomatist, 
the  work  done  and  the  influence  ex- 


erted by  him  in  the  cause  of  education 
are  becoming  better  known  as  educa- 
tional movements  and  problems  are 
more  carefully  studied.  More  than 
any  other  American,  Franklin  not  ex- 
cepted, he  was  instrumental  in  interest- 
ing foreign  scholarship  in  America  and 
in  inducing  foreign  educators  to  make 
this  country  the  scene  of  their  labors. 
In  thus  doing  he  affected  vitally  educa- 
tional ideals  and  changed  radically 
some  of  the  current  educational  prac- 
tices.     The  contribution  made  by  him, 

directly     and      incidentally,      to      the 

607 


bo8 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND    HIGHER  EDUCATION 


educational  forces  of  America  through 
men  and  influences  from  across  the  At- 
lantic Ocean  must  always  command 
grateful  interest  and  recognition. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  religious 
persecutions  and  political  revolutions, 
from  the  outset,  have  been  the  great 
feeders  for  the  intellectual  life  of 
America.  Liberty,  civil  and  religious, 
has  been  the  inspiration  and  the  watch- 
word guiding  the  movements  of 
colonists  and  the  consciences  of  indi- 
viduals. In  Jefferson,  victims  of  un- 
just oppression  found  always  a  ready 
sympathizer  and  ardent  advocate.  Es- 
pecially was  this  true  in  the  case  of  men 
of  the  highest  intellectual  gifts.  From 
the  dawn  of  his  intellectual  life  to  its 
serene  setting,  he  was  dominated  most 
by  men  of  foreign  birth  or  education 
and  by  the  literature  and  science  ema- 
nating from  European  sources.  In 
this  there  was  a  singular  breadth  of 
vision  instead  of  a  narrow  provincial- 
ism. To  him  civil  liberty  and  indi- 
vidual freedom  found  their  most  con- 
genial atmosphere  and  exercise  in 
America ;  but  the  highest  forms  of 
learning  and  the  truest  expositions  of 
philosophy  had  their  seat  in  the  Old 
World.  The  combination  of  these 
upon  American  soil  in  richest  measure 
and  under  the  guidance  of  leading 
scientists  and  scholars  was  the  task  set 
for  a  lifetime,  and  it  was  followed  with 
unwavering  purpose. 

This  preference  for  foreign  educa- 
tors and  this  attitude  towards  foreign 
learning  are  easily  explainable  from 
early  training  and  environment  and 
from  subsequent  official  position.  Jef- 
ferson's first  teacher,  who  introduced 
him  to  the  study  of  Latin,  Greek,  and 
French,  was  a  scholarly  Scotchman. 
His    second    teacher,    of    considerable 


reputation  in  the  province  of  Virginia, 
was  a  highly  educated  English  clergy- 
man. The  man  whom  he  credited  with 
fixing  his  destinies  for  life  was  Dr. 
William  Small,  his  professor  of  mathe- 
matics and  philosophy  in  William  and 
Mary  College,  a  native  of  Scotland  and 
a  graduate  of  Edinburgh  University. 
Williamsburgh,  the  seat  of  the  College, 
in  manners  and  customs,  in  history  and 
traditions,  and  in  culture  and  society, 
was  a  miniature  reproduction  of  Lon- 
don. The  first  men  of  Virginia  were 
educated  almost  wholly  by  teachers  im- 
ported from  Scotland,  England,  and 
Ireland.  Madison,  Monroe,  and  Mar- 
shall were  the  trained  products  of  such 
men.  This  was  none  the  less  true  of 
the  post-Revolutionary  era,  when 
Henry  Clay,  Winfield  Scott,  and  Edgar 
Allan  Poe  were  thus  schooled ;  and  it 
continued  so  until  the  foreign  school- 
master was  displaced  by  the  New  Eng- 
lander  with  his  diploma  from  Harvard, 
Yale,  or  some  other  New  England  col- 
lege. As  an  occupation  or  means  of 
livelihood  teaching  was  not  looked 
upon  with  favor  by  the  average  Vir- 
ginian. 

In  1779,  appointed  Governor  of  Vir- 
ginia, Jefferson  was  made  a  visitor  to 
William  and  Mary  College.  Influ- 
enced no  doubt  by  the  alliance  made 
the  year  before  with  France,  he  revo- 
lutionized the  course  of  study  in  the 
college  and  introduced  a  distinct  chair 
of  modern  languages.  By  this  step 
he  infused  a  new  element  into  educa- 
tional practice  and  became  the  first 
champion  of  modern  language  studies 
in  an  American  college  curriculum.  In 
1784,  made  joint  commissioner  with 
Adams  and  Franklin  to  negotiate 
treaties  of  commerce  with  foreign  na- 
tions, he  took  up  his  residence  in  Paris. 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND  HIGHER  EDUCATION 


609 


Soon  he  was  appointed  Minister  to 
France.  In  this  station  and  in  Paris, 
the  intellectual  capital  of  the  world,  his 
zeal  and  activity  in  familiarizing  him- 
self with  the  best  institutions  and  meth- 
ods of  instruction  were  commensurate 
with  his  opportunities  for  study  and 
observation.  Association  with  distin- 
guished scientists  and  scholars,  and  dil- 
igent investigations  into  those  institu- 
tions offering  the  greatest  advantages, 
were  utilized  for  the  benefit  and  in- 
formation of  inquiring  students  and 
officers  of  instruction  and  discipline  at 
home.  To  J.  Bannister,  Jr.,  asking  in- 
formation concerning  "the  best  semi- 
nary for  the  education  of  youth  in  Eu- 
rope," he  answered,  after  weighing 
their  respective  merits,  Geneva  and 
Rome ;  to  President  Stiles  of  Yale  Col- 
lege he  wrote  giving  accounts  of  the 
latest  movements  and  discoveries  in 
science,  the  results  of  the  researches 
of  astronomers,  chemists,  and  physi- 
cists ;  to  President  Willard  of  Harvard 
College  he  wrote  advising  him  as  to  re- 
cent publications  in  science,  language, 
and  history,  and  citing  the  questions  at 
the  time  absorbing  the  attention  of  Eu- 
ropean scientists.  While  living  in 
Paris  he  became  a  subscriber  to  the 
dazzling  scheme  of  Chevalier  Quesnay 
to  found  at  Richmond,  in  Virginia,  an 
academy  of  arts  and  sciences  for  the 
United  States  of  America.  Projected 
as  a  memorial  of  the  friendly  relations 
between  America  and  France  and  as  a 
bond  of  future  amity,  in  the  magnitude 
of  its  scope  and  aim  it  surpassed  the 
wildest  dreams  of  any  educational  pro- 
moter or  enthusiast  in  the  New  World. 
That  the  movement,  conceived  the  year 
of  the  French  alliance,  revived  after 
the  declaration  of  peace,  and  prose- 
cuted with  vigor  up  to  the  outbreak  of 


the  French  Revolution,  should  have  re- 
ceived such  strong  countenance  as  the 
names  of  the  subscribers  indicate  and 
such  financial  support  as  to  enable  the 
founder  to  erect  a  building  in  which  to 
begin  operations,  bespeaks  the  enthusi- 
asm of  its  originators  for  the  higher 
education  and  their  confidence  in  the 
possibilities  of  the  higher  culture  in 
America. 

Having  shown  the  historical  basis  of 
Jefferson's  admiration  and  preference 
for  European  scholarship,  there  re- 
mains to  be  seen  how  his  successive 
and  long-continued  efforts  led  to  the 
final  achievement  of  his  purposes  to 
transplant  some  of  its  best  representa- 
tives to  American  soil.  This  determi- 
nation increased  the  farther  in  years  he 
was  removed  from  his  European  so- 
journ. When  hopes  for  realization 
seemed  bright  and  he  hastened  to  un- 
fold his  plans  to  fellow  Virginians,  he 
was  met  with  indifference,  discourage- 
ment, or  opposition.  The  picture  of 
this  great  man  working  persistently 
and  waiting  patiently  for  the  fruition 
of  his  desires  is  one  of  the  inspiring 
and  instructive  lessons  of  educational 
history.  In  his  last  years,  seizing  on 
the  hopes  inspired  by  the  younger  gen- 
eration of  educated  Virginians,  he 
brought  them  into  hearty  sympathy 
with  his  efforts  and  used  them  for  tHe 
accomplishment  of  his  great  aims. 

Returning  to  America  Jefferson  was 
urged  by  Washington  to  become  Secre- 
tary of  State  in  his  cabinet.  He  re- 
luctantly yielded,  protesting  that  it 
meant  the  abandonment  of  a  purpose 
to  retire  to  private  life  and  give  him- 
self over  to  studies  congenial  to  his 
tastes.  While  in  this  office  he  was 
called  upon  for  information  touching 
foreign  universities,  and  gave  it  as  his 


6io 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND  HIGHER  EDUCATION 


settled  conviction  that  Edinburgh  and 
Geneva  were  the  best  in  Europe. 
When,  therefore,  in  1794  the  faculty  of 
the  latter,  at  variance  with  the  tyranni- 
cal aristocracy  recently  come  into  con- 
trol of  the  Genevan  Republic,  proposed 
through  their  representative  D'lver- 
nois  to  transfer  the  university  to  Vir- 
ginia, it  was  the  prospective  gratifica- 
tion of  his  hopes  and  aims.  Taking  up 
the  proposition  with  lively  interest  and 
bent  on  trying  its  practicability,  he  laid 
it  privately  before  influential  members 
of  the  State  Legislature,  intending  with 
encouragement  to  push  the  measure. 
Though  received  with  some  warmth,  it 
was  deemed  too  expensive  and  imprac- 
ticable. Not  disheartened  by  this  re- 
fusal to  consider  overtures  or  ways  and 
means  he  pressed  the  matter  upon  the 
attention  of  Washington,  who  was  now 
impressed  with  the  need  of  a  national 
university.  Washington  had  expressed 
his  purpose  to  make  a  liberal  donation 
to  this  end,  and  Jefferson  hoped  to  di- 
vert it  into  this  new  channel.  At  the 
same  time  he  appealed  to  the  patriotism 
and  state  pride  of  the  President,  urging 
that  he  give  it  for  an  institution  to  be 
located  in  Virginia  and  within  easy 
reach  of  the  Federal  capital.  Wash- 
ington refused  to  consider  the  offer  of 
the  Genevan  professors,  and  that  with 
reasons  so  cogent  as  to  make  Jeffer- 
son's enthusiasm  appear  trivial  and  his 
espousal  ill-advised.  While  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  importance  of  the 
higher  education  and  the  necessity  of 
immediate  organized  action  for  its  pro- 
motion, the  views  of  these  distin- 
guished men  appear  in  striking  con- 
trast. Both  were  agreed  in  objections 
to  sending  young  men  to  Europe  to  be 
educated,  Washington's  objections 
being     chiefly     political,      Jefferson's 


moral.  The  ideas  of  the  former  were 
practical  and  national,  investing  the 
whole  country  with  a  proprietary  inter- 
est in  a  university,  while  those  of  the 
latter  were  sentimental  and  sectional, 
the  proposed  institution  benefitting 
Virginia  chiefly  and  the  nation  inci- 
dentally. Washington  dying  at  sixty- 
seven  years  of  age,  it  cannot  now  be 
conjectured  what  he  might  have  ac- 
complished towards  the  realization  of 
his  plans  and  ideals,  had  he  lived  to  the 
age  of  Jefferson,  who  was  eighty-two 
years  old  before  he  saw  the  University 
of  Virginia,  the  ripened  product  of  his 
brain  and  genius,  opened  for  the  recep- 
tion of  students. 

Jefferson  readily  acquiesced  in  these 
judgments,  and  frankly  wrote  the 
Swiss  professors  the  decision  reached. 
With  this  scheme  abandoned,  he  is 
found  next  planning  new  measures  for 
Virginia's  educational  welfare  and 
turning  to  English  sources  for  in- 
formation and  advice.  In  1792  one 
of  the  periodic  attempts  made  for  par- 
liamentary reform  in  England  was  re- 
newed, given  impetus  by  the  French 
Revolution.  The  drastic  measures  em- 
ployed by  the  government  to  suppress 
the  growing  sentiment,  and  the  un- 
friendly attitude  of  its  partisans  tow- 
ards all  dissenters,  drove  to  America 
some  men  distinguished  in  letters  and 
science.  Among  these  Jefferson  was 
brought  into  confidential  relations  with 
Joseph  Priestley,  scientist  and  theo- 
logian, Thomas  Cooper,  scientist  and 
jurist,  and  Henry  Toulmin,  a  man  of 
great  learning.  Their  political  and  re- 
ligious views  were  in  harmony  with  his 
own,  all  being  staunch  republicans  and 
Unitarians.  He  expressed  a  feeling 
of  regret  that  Priestley  and  Cooper  set- 
tled in  Pennsylvania,  intimating  that  a 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND  HIGHER  EDUCATION 


611 


wider  and  more  needy  field  was  offered 
in  Virginia.  He  sent  Toulmin  to  Ken- 
tucky with  strong  letters  of  endorse- 
ment, which  put  him  into  the  presi- 
dency of  Transylvania  Seminary,  the 
germ  of  Transylvania  University. 

In  framing  the  educational  system 
of  Virginia  Jefferson,  in  the  spirit  of 
loyalty  and  gratitude  to  William  and 
Mary  College,  which  had  proved  itself 
a  school  of  statesmen,  intended  to  make 
that  institution  the  capstone  of  the 
structure.  However,  conscious  of  its 
charter  limitations  and  local  disadvan- 
tages, he  entertained  little  hope  of 
carrying  out  the  scheme.  By  the 
opening  of  the  new  century  all  cur- 
rents, commercial,  political,  social,  and 
religious,  had  turned  adverse  to  the 
venerable  seat  of  learning.  His  prac- 
tical wisdom  and  prophetic  sense  saw 
Virginia's  need  to  be  an  institution 
which  should  attract  by  the  learning  of 
its  faculty,  by  the  adequacy  of  its 
equipment,  and  by  the  favorableness 
of  its  location.  While  dictating  the 
creed  and  policy  of  a  new  party  he 
found  time  to  plan  for  a  new  institution 
at  the  very  dawn  of  a  new  century.  He 
began  to  correspond  and  to  converse 
with  distinguished  scientists  personally 
familiar  with  European  universities, 
trusting  from  their  combined  wisdom 
to  formulate  a  plan  suited  to  a  new 
country  and  to  new  conditions;  at  the 
opportune  time  he  hoped  to  receive  the 
support  of  the  State  Legislature  in  car- 
rying it  out.  In  the  request  for  plans 
he  invariably  sought  to  impress  the 
idea  that  the  institution  was  to  be  lib- 
eral in  policy  and  modern  in  ideas.  In 
1800,  in  a  letter  to.  Dr.  Priestley,  he 
indicated  the  source  whence  he  in- 
tended to  draw  his  professorial  ma- 
terial thus:   "We   should  propose  to 


draw  from  Europe  the  first  characters 
in  science  by  considerable  temptations. 

*  *  *  From  some  splendid  char- 
acters I  have  received  offers  most  per- 
fectly reasonable  and  practicable."  The 
same  year  the  French  economist,  Du- 
pont  de  Nemours,  landed  in  the  United 
States,  a  political  exile,  and  visited  Jef- 
ferson while  Vice-President  in  Phila- 
delphia. From  so  eminent  an  author- 
ity views  were  eagerly  sought,  and  out 
of  them  was  evolved  an  elaborate 
treatise  on  a  complete  system  of  educa- 
tion for  North  America,  from  the  com- 
mon school  to  the  university.  Three 
years  later,  after  he  had  become  Presi- 
dent, Jefferson  wrote  to  Professor  Pic- 
tet,  of  the  Genevan  faculty,  a  letter 
practically  of  the  same  tenor  as  that  ad- 
dressed to  Priestley.  For  little  more 
than  ten  years  the  interests  were  held 
in  abeyance,  crowded  out  by  the  cares 
of  state  and  by  international  complica- 
tions. With  the  burdens  of  the  Presi- 
dency removed  and  the  War  of  1812 
virtually  ended  he  resumed  the  task 
with  a  firmer  grasp  and  a  wider  out- 
look. 

Albemarle  Academy,  practically  the 
germ  of  Jefferson's  "pet  institution," 
was  coincident  in  inception  with  his 
conviction  that  Europe  should  be  the 
resort  for  teachers.  To  note  how  the 
one  kept  a  sluggish  pace  with  the  other 
it  will  be  necessary  to  retrace  our  steps 
somewhat.  In  1783  he  was  requested 
to  find  a  principal  for  a  proposed  gram- 
mar school  in  his  home  county,  Albe- 
marle. After  unsuccessfully  appeal- 
ing to  President  Witherspoon  of 
Princeton  College,  and  trying  in  vain 
to  find  in  Philadelphia  an  Irish  gen- 
tleman of  satisfactory  habits  and  qual- 
ifications, he  finally  deemed  it  would  be 
necessary   to   secure   a   teacher   from 


12 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND  HIGHER  EDUCATION 


Scotland,  feeling  well  assured  of  the 
sobriety  and  attentiveness  of  one  from 
that  quarter.  Albemarle  Academy 
was  chartered  in  1803,  but  only  nomi- 
nally existed  until  1814,  when  Jeffer- 
son was  placed  on  its  board  of  trustees. 
The  University  of  Virginia  opened  its 
doors  in  1825.  The  history  of  the  in- 
tervening years  is  one  of  masterful 
purpose  and  orderly  progression. 
There  was  no  wavering,  no  faltering. 
The  temporary  obstacles  met  served 
but  to  give  time  for  the  gathering  of 
fresh  strength  with  which  to  make  a 
more  vigorous  advance.  There  was  at 
times  a  change  of  base  or  tactics;  but 
always  the  same  end  was  kept  in  view. 
Virginia  was  to  have  a  real  university, 
manned,  in  the  main,  by  European 
specialists. 

Immediately  upon  the  acceptance  of 
the  trusteeship  Jefferson,  with  wonted 
energy,  applied  himself  to  the  endow- 
ment and  organization  of  the  academy, 
intending  it  as  the  crowning  act  and 
service  of  his  last  years.  Thomas 
Cooper,  the  eminent  scientist,  was  se- 
lected as  chief  adviser,  and  Joseph  C. 
Cabell,  the  young  scholar  in  politics, 
was  his  chosen  representative  in  the 
State  Legislature.  Cooper,  who  was  a 
graduate  of  Oxford,  England,  had 
been  twenty  years  in  America,  had  sat 
on  the  bench,  and  was  professor  of 
chemistry  in  Dickinson  College.  In 
science  Jefferson  esteemed  him  the 
ablest  man  in  America,  and  had  pro- 
found regard  for  his  legal  knowledge. 
The  propriety  of  taking  one  of  the  sev- 
eral professorships  in  the  contemplated 
institution  had  been  suggested  to  him. 
Cabell,  after  graduating  at  William 
and  Mary  College  and  three  years  of 
study  and  travel  in  Europe,  where  he 
attended  famed  universities  in  France 


and  Italy,  had  chosen  a  professional 
career,  and  was  just  beginning  to  con- 
secrate his  culture  and  talents  to  the 
service  of  the  state.  With  financial 
aid  from  the  State  and  from  private 
sources,  Jefferson  counted  confidently 
upon  establishing  "the  best  seminary 
of  the  United  States."  This  was  not 
an  empty  claim.  College  education  in 
America  had  not  advanced  beyond  the 
grammar  school  of  England.  The 
standard  north  and  south  was  prac- 
tically the  same;  in  181 1  A.  B.  Long- 
street,  author  of  the  inimitable 
sketches,  "Georgia  Scenes,"  and 
George  McDufne,  the  fiery  orator  and 
statesman  of  South  Carolina,  left  the 
academy  of  Moses  Waddell,  the  former 
to  enter  the  Junior  class  in  Yale  Col- 
lege, the  latter  the  same  class  in  South 
Carolina  College.  For  his  professor- 
ships he  declared  that  he  had  in  hand 
three  of  the  ablest  characters  in  the 
world,  surpassing  in  scholarship  any 
three  professors  in  any  European  uni- 
versity. These  were  Jean  Baptiste 
Say,  one  of  the  world's  celebrated 
economists,  Thomas  Cooper,  and  pos- 
sibly, in  the  opinion  of  the  late  Pro- 
fessor Herbert  B.  Adams,  the  historian 
of  the  beginnings  of  the  University  of 
Virginia,  Destutt  de  Tracy,  the  noted 
metaphysician, — two  Frenchmen  and 
one  Englishman. 

Fortunately  for  the  coming  univer- 
sity the  Legislature  was  not  brought 
over  to  all  the  demands  made  upon  it. 
In  the  course  of  the  next  three  years  it 
changed  the  name  of  the  institution  to 
Central  College,  reorganized  the  board 
of  visitors,  and  granted  substantial 
privileges.  In  1817  matters  had  pro- 
gressed so  far  as  to  encourage  the  be- 
ginning of  faculty  organization.  There 
is  also,  on  the  part  of  the  guiding  spirit, 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND  HIGHER  EDUCATION 


6.3 


a  change  of  point  of  view  concerning 
the  source  of  supply  for  professorial 
material.  Instead  of  employing  only 
educated  Europeans,  with  a  decided 
preference  for  Frenchmen,  men  of  Eu- 
ropean training  are  preferred  and  New 
Englanders  are  invited  to  hold  chairs. 
The  first  choice  of  the  board  fell  on 
Rev.  Samuel  Knox,  a  Maryland  edu- 
cator presiding  over  Baltimore  Col- 
lege. Many  interesting  and  signifi- 
cant factors  entered  into  the  selection. 
He  was  a  native  of  Ireland  and  a 
graduate  of  Glasgow  University,  a 
Presbyterian  minister  of  the  strictest 
order,  who  had  preached  and  pub- 
lished a  sermon  condemning  the  views 
of  Dr.  Priestley.  In  advocacy  of  Jef- 
ferson for  the  Presidency  he  had  vin- 
dicated his  religious  conduct  and  prin- 
ciples before  the  American  public,  and 
was  the  author  of  a  treatise  on  educa- 
tion supposed  to  have  influenced  Jeffer- 
son in  planning  his  university.  The 
nomination  of  Knox  never  reached 
him.  More  than  a  year  had  passed 
when  Knox  heard  incidentally  that  Jef- 
ferson desired  to  have  him  in  the  new 
college.  He  wrote  instantly  and  ap- 
plied for  a  position.  Jefferson's  reply 
gave  no  encouragement,  and  put  him 
aside  on  the  plea  that  plans  were  im- 
mature, and  that  he  had  given  them 
over  to  other  hands.  Jefferson's  action 
would  appear  inexcusable  and  inexpli- 
cable, were  it  not  known  that  at  the 
time  he  was  greatly  distressed  by  the 
storm  which  had  broken  over  his  head. 
Rescinding  its  action  in  electing  Knox, 
the  board  had  chosen  Cooper,  a  Uni- 
tarian, professor  of  natural  science  and 
law.  Though  irreproachable  in  life 
and  character,  his  religious  views  were 
so  obnoxious  to  orthodoxy  in  Virginia 
as  to  outweieh  all  considerations  of 


preeminent  scholarship  and  distin- 
guished reputation.  Indignant  protest 
was  made;  charges  were  rife  that  the 
institution  was  to  be  committed  to  irre- 
ligion.  The  pressure  brought  to  bear 
forced  Cooper's  resignation.  This 
was  a  sore  disappointment  to  Jeffer- 
son, and  for  a  brief  season  dampened 
his  ardor.  The  comfort  he  took  to 
himself  was  in  the  possibility  of  bring- 
ing "from  Europe,  equivalents  in 
science"  to  take  Cooper's  place,  whom 
he  followed  with  good  wishes  and  pat- 
ronage to  South  Carolina  College. 

In  casting  about  for  a  faculty  Jeffer- 
son was  not  averse  to  the  employment 
of  New  England  men  whose  qualifica- 
tions complied  with  his  requirements. 
In  181 5  George  Ticknor  had  visited 
him  at  Monticello  previous  to  going 
to  Germany  for  study  and  travel.  From 
this  intercourse  mutual  admiration  and 
sincere  affection  developed.  The  in- 
timacy, in  subsequent  years,  bore  fruit 
in  the  broadening  and  liberalizing  of 
the  work  at  Harvard  College.  The 
Harvard  professorship  of  French  and 
Spanish  Literature  tendered  to  Ticknor 
while  abroad  was  accepted  before  his 
return.  Despite  this  fact,  from  time 
to  time,  Jefferson  continued  to  write 
pressing  upon  his  attention  Virginia's 
coming  institution  and  the  hope  in- 
dulged of  having  him  in  its  faculty. 
By  formal  action  of  the  board  of  visit- 
ors, one  year  after  Ticknor  had  en- 
tered upon  his  work  in  Harvard,  he 
was  called  to  the  chair  of  languages 
in  what  was  now,  1820,  the  University 
of  Virginia.  At  the  same  time  Na- 
thaniel Bowditch,  another  New  Eng- 
lander,  a  noted  mathematician,  was  in- 
vited to  accept  the  chair  of  mathe- 
matics. These  offers,  declined  by 
both,  discredit     an     unfathered  storv 


614 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND  HIGHER  EDUCATION 


which  has  appeared  in  print.  Jefferson, 
it  is  said,  when  it  was  suggested  to  him 
that  he  could  find  able  professors  for 
his  chairs  in  New  England  colleges, 
replied  that  he  could  not  think  of  de- 
priving those  colleges  of  their  pro- 
fessors, but  privately  said  that  he  did 
not  desire  to  have  any  "Connecticut 
Latin"  in  the  University  of  Virginia, 
In  this  connection,  it  is  interesting  to 
note  that  it  was  while  returning  from  a 
visit  to  Jefferson  that  Ticknor  sought 
out  two  scholarly  young  German  ref- 
ugees in  Philadelphia,  who,  dis- 
appointed in  their  efforts  to  find  con- 
genial employment,  were  in  the  act  of 
engaging  themselves  as  farm  hands  in 
the  interior  of  Pennsylvania.  Im- 
pressed by  their  scholarship  and  other 
qualifications,  Ticknor  induced  them  to 
accompany  him  to  Massachusetts, 
where,  in  time,  both  became  professors 
of  distinction  in  Harvard  College. 
These  were  Dr.  Charles  Beck  in  the 
chair  of  Latin,  and  Dr.  Charles  Follen 
in  that  of  German. 

The  successive  failures  to  secure 
professors  worked  in  the  end  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  new  university.  The 
following  four  years  were  eventful  in 
preparation  and  consolidation.  In- 
creasing appropriations  were  made  by 
the  legislature ;  popular  prejudice  was 
minimized  or  overcome  ;  religious  sects 
were  won  over ;  the  various  sections  of 
the  State  were  united  in  support  of  the 
young  institution,  and  buildings  were 
erected  which  Ticknor  praised,  de- 
scribing them  as  "a  mass  of  buildings 
more  beautiful  than  anything  architec- 
tural in  New  England,  and  more  ap- 
propriate to  a  university  than  can,  per- 
haps, be  found  in  the  world."  Some 
years  before  Jefferson  had  felt  that  it 
would  be  nccossarv  to  send  an  ardent  to 


Europe  to  find  suitable  men  with  whom 
to  fill  the  chairs,  and  wished  Cabell  to 
undertake  the  mission.  Writing  to 
Ticknor  he  suggested  that  these  would 
likely  be  selected  from  Edinburgh. 
From  under  the  French  spell,  he  had 
become  convinced  that  the  best  results 
were  to  be  secured  only  from  pro- 
fessors who  could  communicate  their 
instruction  to  students  in  the  latter's 
language.  A  kinship  of  race  and  lan- 
guage carried  with  it  a  knowledge  of 
customs  and  manners,  and  a  guarantee 
of  better  understanding  and  readier  ap- 
proach. Cabell  declined  to  go,  when 
Francis  W.  Gilmer  was  selected  for  the 
delicate  task.  Though  not  edu- 
cated abroad,  he  was  accredited  by  Jef- 
ferson as  "the  best-educated  subject 
we  have  raised  since  the  Revolution." 
In  1824,  bearing  letters  to  Richard 
Rush,  minister  to  England,  and  to 
John  Cartwright,  English  politician 
and  reformer,  he  set  out  on  his  mo- 
mentous errand.  Oxford,  Cam- 
bridge, and  Edinburgh  were  the  ob- 
jective points,  with  London  as  a  base. 
At  this  time,  from  the  practice  of  fa- 
voritism in  the  bestowment  of  profes- 
sorships, Edinburgh  occupied  a  very 
different  rank  in  Jefferson's  esteem 
from  that  held  when  he  wrote  to  Tick- 
nor saying  that  this  seat  of  learning 
would  be  largely  drawn  on  for  ma- 
terial. The  man  who  declined  to  con- 
sider his  own  kinsman,  universally  held 
to  be  fully  qualified,  in  connection  with 
a  chair  in  the  university,  could  not  tol- 
erate nepotism  even  in  an  institution 
which  he  had  venerated  and  praised  a 
generation  before  as  one  of  "the  two 
eyes  of  Europe." 

At  this  late  day  Jefferson's  ex- 
pressed dread  of  the  average  testi- 
monials of  srholarshin  and  character. 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND  HIGHER   EDUCATION 


6.5 


and  his  cautious  measures  to  evade 
the  presentation  of  such  make  interest- 
ing reading-.  By  this  time  he  had 
grown  too  wise  to  suppose  that  he 
could  draw  from  Europe  "their  first 
characters  in  science,"  as  twenty  years 
before  he  had  written  to  Priestley.  Men 
whose  reputations  and  positions  were 
secure  he  did  not  hope  to  entice  to  the 
outposts  of  civilization  by  any  consid- 
erations, pecuniary  or  otherwise.  His 
hope  now  was  to  attract  ambitious 
young  scholars  who,  in  teaching  power 
and  scholarly  research,  were  treading 
eagerly  in  the  footsteps  of  older  pro- 
fessors, crowding  them  too  closely  for 
comfort,  and  showing  themselves 
abundantly  able  to  take  their  places. 
The  comprehension  of  this  sound  prin- 
ciple in  university  supply  and  adminis- 
tration proved  all  the  more  the  prac- 
tical wisdom  of  the  man  and  his  su- 
preme fitness  for  the  work  he  was  set- 
ting on  foot. 

Gilmer  did  his  work  thoroughly  and 
satisfactorily.  In  the  chair  of  ancient 
languages  the  selection  fell  on  George 
Long,  a  graduate  of  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge;  in  mathematics,  on 
Thomas  Key,  a  graduate  of  the  same 
college;  in  modern  languages  and 
Anglo  Saxon,  on  George  Blaettermann, 
a  native  of  Germany  then  living  in 
London ;  in  natural  philosophy  and  as- 
tronomy, on  Charles  Bonnycastle,  a 
graduate  of  the  Royal  Military  Acad- 
emy at  Woolwich  ;in  medicine,  on  Rob- 
ley  Dunglison,  an  Englishman  and  a 
graduate  of  Erlangen  University  in 
Germany.  For  patriotic  reasons  the 
chairs  of  law  and  of  ethics  and  political 
economy  were  reserved  by  Jefferson 
for  Americans,  or  rather  for  Virgin- 
ians. The  standards  set  by  these  men 
were  high  and  rigidly  maintained,  and 


conformed  to  the  pronounced  wishes 
and  ideas  of  the  founder. 

The  infusion  of  new  ideas  and  meth- 
ods and  the  large  liberty  hitherto  un- 
known in  American  college  life  were 
unappreciated  and  misunderstood  by  a 
large  and  influential  element  of  the  stu- 
dent body.  These  gave  unceasing 
trouble,  becoming  so  untractable  as  to 
cause  the  professors  to  contemplate 
seriously  the  resignation  of  their  po- 
sitions. It  may  have  been  that  they 
were  not  so  far  removed  from  the  war 
of  1812  as  to  forget  the  bitter  wran- 
glings  and  struggles  with  Great  Brit- 
ain, and  resented  the  wholesale  intro- 
duction of  English  educators.  A  stu- 
dent insurrection  was  the  occasion  of 
one  of  the  most  dramatic  incidents  in 
Jefferson's  life.  So  violent  in  out- 
break and  ungovernable  in  disposition 
had  the  students  become  that  the  board 
of  visitors  felt  it  necessary  to  intervene. 
In  a  body,  the  aged  rector  at  their  head, 
they  adjourned  from  Monticello  to  the 
University,  four  miles  distant,  to  sum- 
mon the  students  before  them.  There 
sat  Jefferson,  Madison,  Cabell,  Chap- 
man Johnson,  and  others.  In  the  hush 
and  suspense  of  the  throng  Jefferson 
arose  and  declared  that  he  confronted 
the  most  painful  event  of  his  life.  Then, 
overcome  with  emotion  and  unable  to 
proceed,  he  yielded  the  floor  to  John- 
son requesting  him  to  give  expression 
to  what  he  felt.  The  speech  of  John- 
son, supported  by  the  dramatic  act  and 
distressed  feelings  of  Jefferson  and 
marked  by  impassioned  outbursts  of 
oratory,  by  bitter  denunciation  and 
stirring  appeal,  so  swayed  the  stu- 
dents as  to  bring  about  the  instant 
reformation  of  the  culprits  and  good 
discipline  afterwards.  Only  a  few 
months  elapsed  before  Jefferson  passed 


6i6 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND  HIGHER  EDUCATION 


away.  In  the  meantime  he  witnessed 
the  pleasing  spectacle  of  harmonious 
relations  between  faculty  and  students, 
and  of  steady  devotion  to  scholarly 
work.  Among  his  last  declarations 
was  the  high  estimate  placed  upon  the 
quality  of  the  work  done,  and  approval 
of  the  conduct  of  the  students. 

The  terms  of  service  of  these  educa- 
tors were  comparatively  brief.  Long, 
after  three  years,  accepted  a  call  to  the 
University  of  London,  leaving  a  record 
no  less  enduring  from  the  beneficent 
results  of  his  labors  than  the  fame 
achieved  in  England ;  Key  returned 
after  two  years,  became  a  professor  in 
the  same  university  and  a  philologist  of 
reputation;  Dunglison,  after  eight 
years,  was  attracted  to  the  University 
of  Maryland,  and  thence  to  Jefferson 
College  in  Philadelphia ;  Blaettermann 
was  removed  in  1840  from  his  chair, 
and  Bonnycastle  died  the  same  year — a 
year  otherwise  memorable  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  institution,  inasmuch  as 
Professor  Davis,  chairman  of  the  fac- 
ulty, was  murdered  by  one  of  the  stu- 
dents. Jefferson's  intention  that  "the 
first  set"  of  professors  should  not  only 
give  reputation  to  the  institution,  but 
also  prepare  "fit  successors"  was  ful- 
filled in  a  measure. 

The  foundations,  however,  had  been 
well  laid  and  the  general  policy  defi- 


nitely fixed.  Degrees  based  upon  broad 
scholarship  and  certificates  of  gradua- 
tion or  proficiency  based  upon  narrow 
specialization,  as  honors  to  be  obtained 
and  conferred,  became  the  options 
opened  to  students.  In  permitting 
freedom  of  teaching  and  of  learning, 
in  adopting  a  scheme  of  independent  or 
coordinate  schools,  in  eliminating 
the  idea  of  sectarian  control  or  inter- 
ference, and  in  establishing  the  honor 
system  of  discipline,  the  institution  ex- 
hibited the  rich  mature  fruit  of  real 
university  life  and  experience,  and 
pointed  to  the  consummate  flower- 
ing of  true  university  ideals.  In  the 
years  that  have  passed,  the  high  hopes 
of  Jefferson  have  been  to  a  large  extent 
realized,  his  unselfish  toil  has  been  gen- 
erously rewarded  ;  as  the  years  flow  on, 
the  significance  of  that  portion  of  the 
inscription  on  his  monument,  "Father 
of  the  University  of  Virginia,"  widens 
and  deepens.  In  the  outcome  of  his 
laborious  efforts  and  multifarious 
plans  to  give  Virginia  a  complete  sys- 
tem of  education,  the  introduction  of 
the  foreign  educator  stands  a  lasting 
credit  to  his  prescience  and  wisdom,  a 
permanent  monument  to  his  fame  and 
genius.  From  the  university  he 
founded  and  fashioned  an  influence 
went  forth  which  was  soon  felt  in 
the  East  and  throughout  the  South. 


The  Pennsylvania  Germans 


By  Lucy  Forney  Bittinger 
(Continued  from  June  number.) 


THE  Revolutionary  War  be- 
ing over,  the  Indian  inva- 
sions, stimulated  so  largely 
by  the  British,  ceased  on  the 
frontier.  This,  and  the  activity  which 
had  been  aroused  by  the  war  and  was 
now  turned  into  peaceful  channels,  en- 
couraged Western  emigration,  and  in 
this  movement  the  Pennsylvania  Ger- 
mans had  their  part.  There  had  long 
been  a  German  settlement  on  Dunk- 
ard's  Creek,  in  what  is  now  Fayette 
County,  and  from  this  region,  the  head- 
waters of  the  Monongahela  River, 
commerce  took  its  rise.  In  1782  Jacob 
Yoder  set  out  from  "Redstone  Old 
Fort"  (Brownsville)  with  a  flatboat 
loaded  with  goods,  and  floated  down 
to  New  Orleans  to  trade.  When 
Michael  Fink  arrived,  in  the  same 
year,  the  French  officials  had  never 
heard  of  Pittsburg,  their  starting-place. 
These  two  men  seem  to  have  been  the 
pioneers  of  the  keelboatmen  who  sub- 
sequently made  such  a  figure  in  the  de- 
velopment of  the  West. 

Ten  years  later,  a  German,  George 
Anschutz,  made  the  first  iron  ever 
made  in  the  "Iron  City,"  in  a  little  fur- 
nace where  is  now  Shadyside. 

Many  of  the  Western  pioneers  were 
Pennsylvania  Germans,  though  they 
often  emigrated  directly  from  the  Val- 
ley of  Virginia  or  from  Maryland,  both 
of  which  had  received  their  German 
settlers     from     Pennsylvania.       Some 


were  daring  guides  or  Indian  fighters, 
some,  simple  frontiersmen.  One  is 
glad,  for  the  honor  of  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Germans,  to  say  that  there  were 
few  among  them  of  the  type  of  pitiless 
and  bloodthirsty  borderers  represented 
by  Lewis,  or  Ludwig,  Wetzel.  His 
father  had  been  killed  by  Indians  at 
Wheeling,  sacrificing  his  own  life  to 
save  his  comrades,  and  Ludwig,  then 
a  young  man,  vowed  eternal  vengeance 
on  the  whole  red  race.  He  had  four 
brothers  who  were  inspired  by  the 
same  hatred ;  one  of  them  sunk  his 
tomahawk  in  the  head  of  an  Indian 
chief  who  came  under  a  safe-conduct 
to  treat  with  Gen.  Brodhead.  Ludwig 
did  the  same  in  Harmar's  expedition 
in  1790,  was  promptly  arrested,  but  had 
to  be  released,  as  the  excitement  of  his 
comrades,  who  intensely  admired  him, 
was  so  great.  He  was  indescribably 
fearless  and  daring;  would  hunt  alone 
a  hundred  miles  in  the  depths  of  the 
"Indian  Country,"  with  numberless 
hair-breadth  escapes  from  his  enemies, 
as  savage  and  merciless  as  himself. 
He  took  more  scalps  than  did  the  two 
armies  of  Braddock  and  St.  Clair ;  and 
with  all  this  ferocity,  he  was  something 
of  a  dandy  and  was  proud  of  his  long 
hair,  which,  when  he  unloosed  it,  hung 
like  a  mane  to  his  knees.  He  often 
served  as  a  guide  and  guard  to  parties 
"coming  out,"  as  the  phrase  was,  and 
his  name  was  a  tower  of  strength.    He 


6i8 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


died  in  Texas  and  is  buried  on  the 
banks  of  the  Brazos. 

It  is  strange  to  turn  from  this  wild 
and  bizarre  character  to  the  peaceful 
life  of  German  settlements  in  eastern 
Pennsylvania.  Here  the  toils  and  dan- 
gers of  pioneer  life  were  over;  the 
Pennsylvania  Germans  had,  as  has 
been  shown,  borne  their  part  bravely  in 
the  struggle  which  had  made  the  scat- 
tered colonies  a  nation,  and  men's 
minds  were  now  occupied  with 
questions  of  government,  of  science,  of 
commerce,  of  education.  In  all  these, 
the  leading  men  among  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Germans  distinguished  them- 
selves. 

One  of  the  first  scientific  men  of  the 
United  States  was  David  Rittenhouse, 
the  astronomer  of  Germantown.  He 
was  the  great  grandson  of  that  Wil- 
li elm  Rittenhouse,  who,  in  1690,  erect- 
ed in  Germantown  the  first  paper- 
mill  in  America.  David  Ritten- 
house was  born  in  Germantown 
in  1732,  and  was  brought  up  a  farmer, 
but  showed  an  astonishing  genius  for 
mathematics.  When  he  had  made, 
without  any  help,  a  wooden  clock,  it 
was  concluded  that  he  should  give  up 
farming  for  clockmaking.  While 
working  at  his  new  trade  by  day,  he 
used  to  give  his  nights  to  the  study  of 
the  higher  mathematics ;  early  in  life, 
he  had  made,  independently,  the  dis- 
covery of  fluxions,  and  thought  it,  for 
some  years,  a  knowledge  peculiar  to 
himself.  Presently  he  constructed  an 
orrery,  which  seems  to  have  excited 
among  the  philosophers  of  the  prov- 
ince much  the  same  quality  of  wonder 
which  the  wooden  clock  had  among  his 
simpler  friends.  He  came  to  the  no- 
tice of  the  provincial  authorities,  who 
employed  him  to  survey  their  south- 


ern boundary,  which  had  been  many 
years  in  dispute.  Rittenhouse  had  no 
instruments,  save  those  of  his  own 
manufacture,  and  must  have  been 
largely  self-taught,  but  when  the  sur- 
veyors, Mason  and  Dixon,  who  have 
given  their  names  at  the  once  famous 
"Line,"  came  to  review  his  work,  they 
found  it  faultless,  and  used  it  as  the 
basis  of  their  work.  Rittenhouse  was 
afterwards  employed  in  settling  the 
other  boundaries  of  his  State,  south, 
east,  and  west,  and  his  labors  extended 
over  many  years,  before  and  after  the 
Revolution.  He  was  for  a  time  Treas- 
urer of  Pennsylvania;  he  succeeded 
Franklin  as  President  of  the  American 
Philosophical  Society,  having  intro- 
duced himself  to  their  notice  by  a 
communication  on  the  transit  of 
Venus  in  1769,  which  he  viewed  in  an 
extemporized  observatory  of  his  own ; 
so  interested  was  he,  that  at  the  mo- 
ment of  contact  he  fainted  from  ex- 
citement, but  recovered  and  made  some 
valuable  observations.  He  was  the  first 
Director  of  the  United  States  Mint, 
holding  the  office  until  almost  the  time 
of  his  death,  in  1796. 

Two  Pennsylvania  Germans  did 
themselves  honor  in  the  beginnings  of 
our  government,  in  what  Fiske  has 
well  called  "the  critical  period  of 
American  history ;"  these  were  Gen. 
Peter  Muhlenberg  and  his  brother, 
Frederick  Augustus.  After  the  war, 
Gen.  Muhlenberg's  old  congregation 
wished  him  to  return  to  their  pulpit, 
but  he  refused,  probably  feeling  him- 
self better  fitted  for  civil  life ;  and  in- 
deed he  had  in  this  sphere  a  long  and 
honorable  record.  His  brother,  Fred- 
erick, we  last  saw  banished  from  his 
New  York  pulpit  by  the  Tories  on  ac- 
count of  his  patriotic  sentiments,  and 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


619 


his  fearless  declaration  of  them.  Since 
that  time,  he  had  served  in  the  Conti- 
nental Congress,  been  Speaker  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Legislature,  and  Presi- 
dent of  the  "Council  of  Censors,"  a 
venerable  institution  of  which  the  State 
of  Pennsylvania  made  a  short  trial  in 
the  governmental  chaos  succeeding  the 
Revolution.  When  this  was  to  be 
ended,  he  and  his  brother,  the  general 
(who  had  been  the  acting  Governor  of 
the  State),  threw  all  their  influence  on 
the  side  of  the  new  constitution,  and  its 
adoption  by  Pennsylvania  was  secured. 
One  or  the  other  of  these  brothers,  and 
sometimes  both,  sat  in  the  First,  Sec- 
ond, Third,  and  Fourth  Congresses. 
Frederick  was  chosen  Speaker  of  the 
Third  Congress.  It  was  his  casting 
vote  which  decided  the  acceptance  of 
the  Jay  treaty  and  averted  a  war  with 
France.  Gen.  Muhlenberg  was  also 
elected  to  the  United  States  Senate  in 
1 80 1,  but  soon  resigned  to  take  the 
office  of  collector  of  the  port  of  Phila- 
delphia, in  the  incumbency  of  which  he 
died. 

A  third  of  this  remarkable  brother- 
hood found  his  distinction  in  a  very 
different  sphere.  Henry  Ernest  Muh- 
lenberg was,  like  his  brothers,  educated 
for  the  church,  but,  unlike  them,  con- 
tinued in  the  ministry  through  life.  His 
faithful  labors  in  his  vocation  did  not 
procure  him  the  celebrity  which  was 
won  by  his  scientific  accomplishments. 
It  was  during  his  patriotic  exile  from 
his  pulpit  in  Philadelphia  that  his  at- 
tention was  first  called  to  botanical 
study.  Afterwards  becoming  pastor 
of  a  church  in  Lancaster,  he  published 
there,  in  1813,  one  of  the  earliest  bo- 
tanical catalogues  of  Pennsylvania.  He 
corresponded  with  the  Hessian  sur- 
e-eon and  botanist.  Schoof.  and  gener- 


ously allowed  him  to  use  the  scientific 
materials  he  had  collected.  He  ex- 
changed specimens  with  European  bot- 
anists and  was  a  member  of  various 
Continental  societies,  as  well  as  the 
American  Philosophical  Society,  of 
which  his  fellow-countryman  Ritten- 
house  was  the  president.  The  botanist 
Engelmann  gave  his  name  to  a  North 
American  oak,  the  Quercus  Muhlen- 
bergii,  more  familiarly  known  as  the 
"Yellow   Chestnut  Oak." 

Botany  seems  to  have  been  pecu- 
liarly attractive  to  such  Pennsylvania 
Germans  as  had  scientific  tastes.  In- 
deed the  first  American  professor  of 
botany  was  Kuhn,  of  Philadelphia,  a 
pupil  of  Linnaeus,  but  he  did  little  for 
the  science.  A  little  later  than  Muh- 
lenberg, lived  Lewis  David  de 
Schweinitz,  a  Moravian  clergyman,  a 
great-grandson  of  Count  Zinzendorf 
and  the  author  of  several  botanical 
works,  the  most  important  of  which 
was  published  in  1823.  He  particularly 
devoted  himself  to  the  abstruse  depart- 
ment of  cryptogamic  botany  and  is 
said  to  have  added  twelve  hundred 
species  of  American  fungi  to  those  al- 
ready known. 

The  mention  of  this  Moravian  botan- 
ist naturally  brings  up  the  subject  of 
education  among  the  Pennsylvania 
Germans.  Prof.  Seidensticker's  re- 
marks on  their  intelligence,  apropos 
of  Saur's  publications,  will  be  remem- 
bered. The  early  efforts  of  the  her- 
mits of  the  Wissahickon,  Brother 
Obed's  Sunday-school  at  Ephrata,  and 
the  title  of  Conrad  Weiser,  "the 
schoolmaster  of  Tulpehocken,"  have 
been  mentioned.  Many  schools  had 
been  established  in  connection  with 
churches.  Immigrants  frequently 
broup-ht     their     schoolmasters     with 


620 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


them;  indeed  the  schoolmaster  often 
conducted  services  when  there  was 
no  minister  and,  conversely,  the  pas- 
tor often  taught  in  the  schools.  And 
the  ministers  of  German  Pennsylvania, 
in  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century  were,  many  of  them,  well  edu- 
cated— university  men  who  com- 
pelled the  admiration  of  the  Harvard 
professors  for  their  learning  and  their 
Latinity.  One      enthusiastic      his- 

torian has  said  that,  owing  to  the 
clergymen's  supervision,  the  schools 
were,  in  early  times,  often  better  in 
the  German  districts  of  the  State  than 
in  the  English  ones ;  but  this  is  prob- 
ably a  hasty  generalization.  Who- 
ever has  read  Judge  Pennypacker's 
delightful  account  of  the  old  school- 
master, Christopher  Dock,  must  think 
that  the  children  who  were  taught  by 
that  Pennsylvania-German  Pestalozzi, 
were  highly  favored  in  their  educa- 
tional advantages.  The  Moravians, 
in  particular,  gave  great  attention  to 
education,  and  had  early  established 
several  excellent  schools,  as  had  Luth- 
eran pastors  in  Philadelphia  in  their 
congregations. 

In  spite  of  these  efforts  and  of  Pro- 
vost Smith's  unlucky  project  of  the 
"German  schools,"  there  was  doubt- 
less much  truth  in  Pastor  Kunze's  de- 
scription : 

"The  Germans  consist  for  the  most  part 
of  such  Palatines,  Wiirtembergers,  and  Al- 
satians as  in  their  native  land  were  op- 
pressed by  the  greatest  poverty,  and  lived 
in  the  meanest  fashion.  There  are  hun- 
dreds and  thousands  of  these  (I  heard  last 
week  of  a  ship  on  which  there  were  1,500 
Germans,  of  whom  1,100  died  at  sea;) 
packed  like  herrings  on  shipboard,  and, 
when  they  arrived,  sold  as  slaves  for  a  cer- 
tain time.  When  they  arc  free,  they  nat- 
urally want  to  grow  rich;  and  there  are 
those  who  have  done  so :  but  the  fundamen- 


tals of  education  concern  rich  and  poor 
alike.  The  Germans  here,  taking  them  al- 
together, are  not  very  desirous  to  gain 
knowledge,  chiefly  because  they  see  little 
opportunity  to  get  outward  advantage  there, 
by;  besides,  they  have  little  comprehension 
of  real  learning.  And  the  English  here 
judge  all  Germany  by  them." 

Almost  all  the  early  educational  ef- 
forts perished  in  the  storms  of  the 
Revolution.  In  the  last  years  of  the 
war  the  University  of  Pennsylvania 
had  a  large  and  flourishing  German 
department;  but  its  prosperity  was 
short.  It  is  now  impossible  to  un- 
derstand why  this  department,  which 
for  a  few  years  had  a  greater  number 
of  students  than  the  English  section, 
should  have  declined  and  perished  so 
suddenly.  Perhaps  the  departure  of 
the  energetic  and  learned  Kunze  had 
something  to  do  with  it;  he  went,  in 
1784,  to  New  York,  where  he  was  the 
first  to  introduce  the  study  of  Hebrew 
and  Oriental  lansrua^es  into  the  United 
States.  Another  cause  for  the  fail- 
ure may  have  been  the  competition 
of  the  Lancaster  High  School,  founded 
in  1787  by  the  State  Legislature,  and 
under  the  auspices  of  the  botanist 
Muhlenberg,  as  a  reward  to  the  Penn- 
sylvania Germans  for  their  services 
to  the  cause  of  Independence.  This 
institution,  after  very  various  for- 
tunes, became  a  part  of  the  present 
Franklin  and  Marshall  College  of  the 
German  Reformed  Church. 

In  this  connection,  it  must  not  be 
forgotten  that  the  founder  of  the  pub- 
lic school  system  of  Pennsylvania  was 
a  Pennsylvania  German,  Gov.  Wolf, 
who  established  it  in  1832,  in  the  face 
of  opposition,  of  penuriousness  and 
sectarianism.  He  well  deserves  the 
memorial  arch  raised  by  the  school 
children  of  his  state  to  his  honor. 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


621 


Many  of  the  governors  of  Pennsyl- 
vania have  been  of  its  German  race. 
That  Gov.  Ritner  of  whom  Whittier 
writes — "The  fact  redounds  to  the 
credit  and  serves  to  perpetuate  the 
memory  of  the  independent  farmer 
and  high-souled  statesman,  that  he 
alone  of  all  the  Governors  of  the  Union 
in  1836  met  the  insulting  demands 
and  menaces  of  the  South  in  a  man- 
ner becoming  a  freeman  and  hater  of 
Slavery,  in  his  message  to  the  Legis- 
lature of  Pennsylvania" — was  a  Penn- 
sylvania German.  To  this  the  poet 
alludes,  in  his  "Ritner"  ; 

"And   that   bold-hearted   yeomanry,    honest 

and  true, 
Who,    haters    of   fraud,    give    to   labor   its 

due; 
Whose  fathers,  of  old,  sang  in  concert  with 

thine, 
On  the  banks  of  Swatara,  the  songs  of  the 

Rhine, 
The  German-born  pilgrims,  who  first  dared 

to  brave 
The  scorn  of  the  proud  in  the  cause  of  the 

slave ; 
Will  the  sons  of  such  men  yield  the  lords 

of  the  south 
One  brow  for  the  brand,  for  the  padlock 

one  mouth? 
They    cater    to    tyrants?      They    rivet    the 

chain, 
Which  their  fathers  smote  off,  on  the  ne- 
gro again?" 

How  widely  the  Pennsylvania  Ger- 
man race  is  scattered  and  what  share 
of  influence  it  has  contributed  to  the 
development  of  the  country,  is  difficult 
to  decide  and  impossible  to  tabulate. 
The  practice  of  changing  German 
names  to  English  ones,  easier  to  spell 
or  pronounce,  is  responsible  for  much 
of  this  obscurity,  and  also  the  tra- 
ditional opinion  of  the  Pennsylvania 
Germans  as  a  stolid,  unprogressive 
race   makes  their   descendants   some- 


times ashamed  to  confess  and  glad  to 
conceal  the  tie. 

The  most  obvious  field  in  which  to 
seek  the  influence  of  the  Pennsylvania 
Germans  is  afforded  by  the  State's  rec- 
ord in  the  Civil  War;  and  it  is  cer 
tainly  not  a  record  of  which  to  be 
ashamed — rather  one  of  which  to  be 
proud. 

It  is  impossible  to  treat  the  share  of 
the  Pennsylvania  Germans  in  the  Civil 
War  as  we  have  treated  their  part  in 
the  Revolution — to  discriminate  from 
the  rest,  German  organizations.  They 
served  in  all  the  regiments  that  their 
native  State  sent  to  the  field;  and  it 
was  the  largest  contribuion  given  by 
any  State  to  the  suppression  of  the  Re- 
bellion. From  a  carefully  taken  aver- 
age of  the  Pennsylvania  German  names 
on  the  rosters  of  the  two  hundred  and 
fifteen  regiments  given  in  Bates's  five 
portly  volumes,  "History  of  the  Penn- 
sylvania Volunteers,"  I  draw  the  con- 
clusion that  more  than  one-fifth  of 
Pennsylvania's  soldiers  bore  un- 
doubtedly Pennsylvania-German  names 
and  hence  were  of  this  race.  Some 
regiments,  raised  in  the  southeastern 
counties,  contained  twice  as  high  a  per- 
centage. This  calculation  purposely 
excludes  all  with  such  names  as  would 
indicate  foreign-born  Germans;  and 
necessarily  counts  out,  as  well,  men 
who  were  allied  to  this  people  only  on 
their  mothers'  side.  Neither  does  it 
include  such  names  as  "Long,"  "Mil- 
ler," etc.,  which  might  be  English  af* 
well  as  anglicized  German. 

Of  the  regiments  which  Rosengar- 
ten,  in  his  "German  Soldier  in  the 
Wars  of  the  United  States,"  gives  as 
Teutonic,  many  were  composed  princi- 
pally from  the  Pennsylvanian  branch 
of  the  race. 


622 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


The  ''First  Defenders" — the  five 
companies  of  Pennsylvanians  who 
reached  Washington  at  the  very  out- 
set of  the  rebellion  and  by  their  pres- 
ence prevented  the  capital  from  tailing 
into  the  hands  of  the  insurgents — were 
preponderantly  of  this  race.  Their 
services  were  not  brilliant,  but  they 
were  very  important ;  none  knows  how 
timely  was  their  arrival,  and  at  their 
discharge,  they  received  the  rare  com- 
pliment of  a  vote  of  thanks  from  Con- 
gress, as  follows : 

"Resolved,  That  the  thanks  of  this  House 
are  due,  and  are  hereby  tendered  to  the  five 
hundred  and  thirty  soldiers  from  Pennsyl- 
vania, who  passed  through  the  mob  of  Bal- 
timore, and  reached  Washington  on  the 
eighteenth  of  April  last,  for  the  defence  of 
the  National  Capital." 

Nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  later 
they  received  gold  medals  from  the 
Government  as  a  testimonial  of  its 
gratitude  and  an  heirloom  to  show 
their  children  that  the  Pennsylvania 
Germans  were  first  in  defence  of  the 
country,  the  capital,  and  the  flag  of  the 
Union. 

A  large  proportion  of  the  "three 
months  men"  were  Pennsylvania  Ger- 
mans; and  many  of  them  afterwards, 
when  the  magnitude  of  the  task  of  re- 
pressing the  Rebellion  had  dawned 
upon  our  peaceful  people,  re-enlisted 
for  the  three  years  service ;  one  of  these 
regiments,  the  Eleventh  Pennsylvania, 
being  permitted,  as  a  special  mark  of 
favor  for  its  soldierly  qualities,  to  re- 
tain its  old  number. 

The  fifteen  regiments  of  the  Re- 
serves— "the  largest  organized  force, 
indeed  the  only  division,  sent  by  one 
State  to  the  field,"  contained  many  of 
these  Germans. 

The    Forty-eighth    Pennsylvania — 


which  contained  many  of  the  "First 
Defenders"  from  Schuylkill  County, 
was  largely  composed  of  miners,  who 
turned  their  craft  to  account  in  the 
construction  and  explosion  of  the 
famous  mine  at  Petersburg. 

The  Fiftieth's  gallant  colonel, 
Brennholz,  killed  in  the  Vicksburg 
campaign,  was  a  Berks  County  man; 
his  Pennsylvania  German  regiment 
was  the  one  chosen,  on  the  recom- 
mendation of  Gen.  Grant,  to  represent 
the  infantry  at  the  dedication  of  the 
National  Monument  at  Gettysburg,  in 
1865. 

The  Fifty-first,  under  Hartranft — 
afterwards  a  general,  then  governor  of 
his  native  State  and  organizer  of  its 
present  admirable  National  Guard — 
fought  with  distinction  through  the 
whole  war,  the  carrying  by  assault  of 
the  bridge  at  Antietam  being  one  of 
their  most  gallant  exploits. 

The  Fifty-sixth  Pennsylvania  was 
the  first  regiment  to  fire  at  Gettysburg. 
Its  division  commander  says,  "That 
battle  on  the  soil  of  Pennsylvania  was 
opened  by  her  own  sons ;  and  it  is  just 
that  it  should  become  a  matter  of  his- 
tory." 

The  Seventy-ninth,  a  Lancaster  regi- 
ment, whose  colonel  bore  the  name  of 
the  Revolutionary  soldier,  Hambright, 
fought  in  the  West  and  marched  with 
Sherman  to  the  sea. 

The  Ninety-seventh  "gained  credit 
with  and  for"  Pennypacker. 

The  Sixty-fifth  (Seventh  cavalry) 
and  the  One  Hundred  and  Thirteenth 
(Twelfth  Cavalry)  had  many  Penn- 
sylvania Germans  in  their  ranks ;  and 
the  same  was  true  of  the  notably  well- 
drilled  One  Hundred  and  Fifty-second 
(Third  Artillery)  ;  from  its  ranks  "all 
the  field  and  nearly  all  the  line  officers 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


623 


of  the  One  Hundred  and  Eighty- 
eighth  were  promoted  and  the  excellent 
discipline  and  soldierly  bearing  of  the 
command  was  the  frequent  subject  of 
remark  and  commendation  by  its  su- 
perior officers."       (Bates.) 

Largely  Pennsylvania  German  in 
their  composition  were  the  One  Hun- 
dred and  Thirtieth  and  the  One  Hun- 
dred and  Thirty-first,  which  fought  so 
bravely  and  suffered  so  heavily  at  An- 
tietam  and  at  Fredericksburg.  So 
was  the  One  Hundred  and  Fifty-third, 
which  withstood  the  terrific  charge  of 
the  "Louisiana  Tigers"  at  Gettysburg. 
In  parting  from  these  "nine  months 
men"  its  brigade  commander,  Col.  von 
Gilsa,  said : 

"I  am  an  old  soldier,  but  never  did  I 
know  soldiers,  who,  with  greater  alacrity 
and  more  good-will,  endeavored  to  fulfill 
their  duties.  In  the  battle  of  Chancellors- 
ville  you,  like  veterans,  stood  your  ground 
against  fearful  odds.  In  the  three  days' 
battle  at  Gettysburg,  your  behavior  put 
many  an  old  soldier  to  the  blush,  and  you 
are  justly  entitled  to  a  great  share  of  the 
glory  which  my  brigade  has  won  for  itself. 
In  the  name  of  your  comrades  of  the  First 
Brigade,  and  myself,  I  now  bid  you  fare- 
well." 

No  Pennsylvanian  German  soldier 
of  the  Civil  War  was  so  picturesque 
and  interesting  a  figure  as  the  Revo- 
lutionary general,  Muhlenberg;  but 
among  the  soldiers  who  did  themselves 
and  their  race  honor  may  be  mentioned 
such  men  as  Zinn  of  the  One  Hundred 
and  Thirtieth,  killed  at  Fredericksburg 
while  exhorting  his  men,  "Stick  to 
your  standard,  boys,"  and  Heintzel- 
man,  who  was  born  in  Lancaster 
County  in  1805.  He  was  a  West 
Point  graduate,  "was  promoted  and 
brevetted  for  his  gallantry  in  the  Mexi- 
can War  and  at  the  outbreak  of  the  Re- 


bellion became  colonel  of  the  Seven- 
teenth U.  S.  Infantry.  At  Bull  Run 
he  was  wounded ;  on  the  Peninsula  he 
commanded  a  corps,  and  throughout 
the  war  he  was  always  on  duty." 

The  services  and  honors  of  Hart- 
ranft,  "the  hero  of  Fort  Stedman," 
have  already  been  mentioned ;  not  so 
those  of  Bohlen,  the  son  of  a  Philadel- 
phia merchant,  whose  strong  bent  for 
the  military  life  found  its  consumma- 
tion and  honor  in  raising — at  his  own 
expense — the  Seventy-fifth  Pennsyl- 
vania; he  died  at  their  head,  leading 
his  men  to  the  attack.  Seidensticker 
fitly  closes  his  sketch  of  him  with  the 
couplet,  from  a  song  of  his  German 
regiment : 

"Und  opferst   du   dich   auch,   wohlan. 
Vergebens   stirbt   kein   Ehrenmann." 

Gen.  Herman  Haupt,  a  West  Point 
graduate,  served  in  the  Civil  War,  and 
has  since  distinguished  himself  in 
trans-continental  railway  building. 

Nearly  twenty  per  cent,  of  President 
Lincoln's  body-guard  were  of  this  race, 
as  the  names  testify;  and  one  of  the 
treasures  of  the  company  was  an  auto- 
graph letter  of  his,  in  which  he  said: 
"Capt.  Derrickson  and  his  company, 
are  very  agreeable  to  me ;  and  while  it 
is  deemed  proper  for  any  guard  to  re- 
main, none  would  be  more  satisfactory 
to  me." 

There  were  many  families  among 
the  Pennsylvania  Germans  who 
rivalled,  in  the  Civil  War,  the  records 
of  the  Hiesters  and  Graybills  of  the 
Revolution.  The  wide-spread  family 
of  the  Pennypackers  gave  eighty-nine 
of  its  members  to  the  Union  army.  The 
most  distinguished  scion  of  this  old 
German  stock  was  that  Gen.  Penny- 
packer  of  whom  Rosengarten  says : 


624 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  GERMANS 


"At  the  age  of  eighteen,  after  he  had  be- 
gun life  as  a  printer,  young  Pennypacker 
became  a  member  of  a  local  volunteer  com- 
pany, and  marched  with  it  to  Harrisburg 
on  the  first  summons  for  troops  in  1861, 
serving  with  it  in  the  Ninth  regiment.  He 
soon  became  captain  and  then  major  of  the 
reorganized  regiment  in  the  three  years'  ser- 
vice, the  Ninety-seventh,  and  bravely  fought 
his  way  through  the  war,  became  colonel  of 
the  regiment,  was  soon  put  in  command  of 
a  brigade,  won  his  star  as  a  brigadier-gen- 
eral for  his  gallantry  at  the  capture  of  Fort 
Fisher,  at  twenty-two  was  the  youngest 
general  officer  in  the  war,  and  was  brev- 
etted  a  major-general.  He  was  the  young- 
est colonel  in  the  regular  army,  and  finally 
retired  in  1883  at  an  age  when  with  most 
men  a  career  of  distinction  such  as  his  is 
usually  just  beginning." 

Gen.  Pennypacker's  sufferings  from 
the  terrible  wound  received  at  Fort 
Fisher  and  for  which  he  has  unavail- 
ingly  sought  relief  from  the  surgeons 
of  Europe  and  America,  are  probably 
the  cause  of  his  premature  retirement 
from  active  life. 

Col.  Schall  of  the  Fifty-first  Penn- 
sylvania, was  one  of  eight  brothers  in 
the  army.  "The  Wisters,"  says  the 
author  of  the  "German  Soldier,"  "who 
served  in  the  war  by  the  half  a  score, 
were  all  of  that  good  old  German  stock 
whose  representatives  are  so  well  and 
honorably  known  in  every  walk  of  life." 
And  the  Vezins  and  Muhlenbergs  may 
be  added  to  this  roll  of  honor. 

Surely  these  facts — a  few  only,  se- 
lected from  the  ignored  annals  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Germans — show  that  it 
is  not  a  race  to  be  ashamed  of.  A  re- 
cent American  writer  has  called  them 
stolid  and  ignorant.  But  is  that  race 
ignorant  which  printed  the  first  Bible 
in  any  European  tongue,  on  this  conti- 
nent ;  which,  in  the  person  of  Kunze, 
introduced  to  America  the  learning  of 
the  Orient ;  which  gave  us  scientists 


like  Melsheimer,  "the  Father  of  Ameri- 
can Entomology,"  and  Muhlenberg 
and  De  Schweinitz;  philologists  like 
Zeisberger;  forest  diplomatists  like 
Post  and  Weiser ;  which,  in  the  persons 
of  the  Moravians,  founded  some  of  our 
oldest  schools,  and  in  Gov.  Wolf  gave 
their  State  its  school  system,  as  anoth- 
er Pennsylvania  German,  Gov.  Hart- 
ranft,  created  her  National  Guard; 
and  which,  with  humble  "Brother 
Obed,"  founded  a  Sunday-school  be- 
fore Robert  Raikes  founded  his? 

Is  that  race  stolid — intent  only  on 
monkey-getting,  on  sleek  cattle  and  good 
farming — which  was  the  first  to  raise 
its  voice,  with  Pastorius,  for  the  free- 
dom of  the  slave?  It  has  fought,  as 
well  as  spoken,  for  liberty.  It  helped 
to  break  France's  power  at  Fort  Du- 
quesne;  to  withstand  the  circling  sav- 
ages at  Bushy  Run ;  it  fought  from  the 
siege  of  Boston  to  that  of  Yorktown; 
it  retreated  through  the  Jerseys,  suf- 
fered at  Valley  Forge,  and  starved  in 
the  prison-ships  and  "the  Sugar- 
house."  It  all  but  saved  the  day  at 
Germantown  and  did  save  the  wrecked 
army  at  Brandywine.  In  the  later  con- 
flict for  freedom,  it  was  the  first  to  de- 
fend the  capital  and  there  was  no  bat- 
tle in  which  Pennsylvania  s  soldiers 
fought,  where  Pennsylvania  Germans 
did  not  have  their  share.  It  took 
the  bridge  at  Antietam  and  held 
Cemetery  Ridge  at  Gettysburg, 
stormed  Fort  Fisher  and  Fort  Sted- 
man,  was  at  Vicksburg  and  went  with 
Sherman  to  the  sea. 

Such  a  race  is  not  stolid,  though  they 
may  be  deliberate  and  slow  to  rouse; 
but  thev  have  done  much  for  their 
country  in  time  of  peace  and  in  her 
hour  of  need  have  never  been  found 
lacking. 


Hazel 


By  Mary  Teprell 


HAZEL    toyed    idly    with    her 
fan. 
''Who  is  that  young  wom- 
an?" she  asked. 

"The  Princess  Las  Casas,  Made- 
moiselle/' answered  the  maid  defer- 
entially. "She  it  is  that  is  contracted 
to  Monsieur  the  Earl  of  Darnwood. 
He  arrives  to-day.  Quite  rich,  they 
say,  and  handsome  —  ah!"  Hazel 
sighed  and  twisted  the  corner  of  her 
white  silken  shawl  between  her  fin- 
gers. Monte  Carlo  somehow  lost  its 
charm  when  viewed  exclusively  from 
a  Bath  chair. 

"He  must  be  brought  to  me,  Sophie, 
for  inspection!"  said  she  with  a  lan- 
guid smile.  "I  believe  a  good,  old- 
fashioned  flirtation  would  almost  make 
me  well  again — I'm  so  bored !  And 
I'm  sure  the  Princess  has  plenty  of 
admirers  —  has  she  not?"  Sophie 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Mademoi- 
selle sees !"  said  she. 

The  Princess  was  coming  down  the 
path  toward  them — a  tall,  handsome 
woman  with  rather  large  features  but 
fine  eyes  and  an  exquisite,  cream-tint- 
ed complexion,  through  which  the 
the  rich  red  surged  now  and  again  as 
she  talked  with  the  gentlemen  on 
either  side  of  her.  The  man  on  the 
Princess's  right  was  the  handsomest 
Hazel  had  ever  seen.  He  was  over  six 
feet  tall,  with  a  fine  head,  light  curl- 
ing hair,  and  frank  gray  eyes.  He 
had  evidently  just  arrived,  for  he  was 
in  travelling  suit,  and  a  servant  fol- 


lowed   closely    behind    carrying    his 
portmanteau. 

"If  that  is  the  Earl,"  said  Hazel 
when  they  had  passed,  "he  isn't  bad. 
She  must  be  rather  fond  of  him." 


Three  weeks  later,  one  July  evening, 
while  soft  strains  of  music  floated  out 
from  the  ball-room  of  the  Casino  and 
died  away  amid  the  roses  and  orange 
blossoms  of  that  wonderful  garden, 
while  the  moon  was  rising  over  the 
summer  sea,  Hazel,  robed  in  white  and 
with  a  single  rose  in  her  auburn  hair, 
was  sitting  in  a  summer-house  a  little 
to  one  side  of  the  loggia.  Beside  her, 
looking  into  her  face  as  if  held  by  a 
charm,  was  the  nobleman  with  the 
curling  hair  and  the  frank  gray  eyes. 
He  held  one  of  her  hands  in  his. 

"I  love  you,  Hazel,"  he  said.  "Will 
you  marry  me?"  Hazel  gave  a  little 
laugh  and  tried  to  withdraw  her  hand. 

"But  the  Princess?"  she  said. 

"I  have  thought  of  her,  dear,"  said 
Darnwood.  "She  is  one  of  the  finest 
women  I  have  ever  known.  I  became 
betrothed  to  her  because  I  thought  I 
never  could  love  anyone  and  I  wanted 
to  please  my  mother.  But,  Hazel, 
since  I  have  seen  you  I  have  known 
what  love  is  and  even  if  I  were  unsel- 
fish— which  I  am  not — I  could  not 
offer  the  Princess  less  than  I  woula 
ask  of  her  in  return — all  my  heart, — 
and  that  is  yours,  dearest,  dearest 
Hazel." 

625 


626 


HAZEL 


"Do  you  love  me  so  much?"  Hazel 
almost  whispered. 

"More  than  I  ever  thought  that  I 
could  love  anyone/'  said  he.  "Oh  be 
kind  to  me,  Hazel !"  He  bent  over  and 
kissed  her  hand  and  his  golden  locks 
brushed  her  sleeve. 

"You  are  nothing  but  a  boy  at 
heart,"  said  Hazel  softly,  and  she  laid 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder  as  he  knelt 
there — "a  big,  handsome  boy.  You 
ought  not  to  be  thinking  of  engage- 
ments and  marrying  yet.  But  I'm 
proud  that  you  love  me,  Darnwood, — 
indeed  I  am!  It  is  a  great  honor  to 
me.  No,  I  cannot  tell  you  to-night," 
she  added,  in  response  to  the  appealing 
look  in  his  eyes.  "I'll  tell  you  to-mor- 
row. You  must  go  now.  The  music 
has  stopped  and  Mrs.  Allen  will  come 
for  me  here." 

He  went  out,  brushing  through  the 
masses  of  jessamine  and  honeysuckle 
that  perfumed  the  night  air,  and  Hazel 
settled  herself  comfortably,  her  head 
on  her  hand,  looking  out  upon  the 
calm,  dark  slumber  of  that  southern 
ocean.  A  light  step  sounded  on  the 
threshhold.  Hazel  looked  up.  A  ra- 
diant vision  in  softest  pink,  with  a 
garland  of  roses  gleaming  like  stars  in 
her  dark  hair,  stood  before  her — 
the  tall  figure  of  the  Princess  Las 
Casas. 


"Mademoiselle,"  she  said,  in  the 
saddest,  most  melodious  voice  that 
Hazel  had  ever  heard,  "may  I  talk 
with  you  for  a  few  minutes?" 

*I*  *!■  *P  I*  H*  *f» 

"What  did  you  tell  him?"  asked 
Mrs.  Allen  excitedly.  She  and  Hazel 
were  sitting  on  the  after-deck  of  La 
Bretagne  watching  the  stars  as  the 
ship  ploughed  steadily  through  the 
water  on  its  way  back  to  the  land  where 
there  are  no  earls  and  no  princesses. 

"I  told  him,"  said  Hazel  quietly, 
"that  it  had  been  merely  a  flirtation  on 
my  part — that  I  had  wanted  to  see 
whether  I  could  get  him.  It  was  hu- 
miliating but  I  said  it." 

"Poor  boy!"  said  the  older  woman. 
"You  treated  him  badly,  Hazel." 
Hazel  looked  out  toward  the  very 
farthest  line  of  the  horizon  and  there 
was  a  suggestion  of  hardness  in  her 
light  laugh. 

"I  know  you  began  it  as  a  mere  flir- 
tation, Hazel,"  pursued  Mrs.  Allen, 
"but  did  it  end  so  ?  What  did  the  Prin- 
cess say  to  you  that  night  in  the  gar- 
den?" 

"That  must  be  our  secret,  dear  Mrs. 
Allen,"  said  Hazel  with  one  of  her 
sweet  smiles.  As  she  spoke  she  choked 
back  something  very  like  a  sob  in  her 
throat  and  added,  "Let's  talk  about 
something  else!" 


Beautiful  Death 

By  S.   H.  M.   Byers 

gEAUTIFUL  death— that  is  what  it  is; 

And  that  very  day  I  had  told  you  so, 
When  you  stooped  to  give  me  a  one  last  kiss, 

And  your  eyes  filled  up ;  oh,  you  did  not  know 
Hoav  sweet  and  sudden  a  dream  was  mine, 

Without  a  pain  or  a  pang,  at  the  last, 
One  single  sip  of  the  nectared  wine, 

And  out  of  the  there  to  the  here  I  passed. 

Still  for  a  little  the  clouds  were  cleft, 

And  there  behind  me  I  still  could  see 
The  flowers,  the  room,  and  the  friends  I  left, 

And  the  beautiful  body  God  gave  to  me. 
And  just  a  moment  I  waved  my  hand 

From  the  rosy  heights  of  the  newer  dawn, 
To  tell  you,  dear,  did  you  understand, 

That  I  was  not  dead,  but  was  living  on. 

Now  there  is  nothing  of  pain  or  pride ; 

Rapturous  beings  are  everywhere, 
And  the  dear,  dear  dead  who  have  never  died, 

They  are  just  the  same  as  they  were  back  there. 
The  very  mountains  and  lakes  you  see, 

Oh,  all  that  gladdens  your  mortal  eyes 
Are  a  thousand  fold  in  their  joy  to  me, 

For  I  see  them,  dearest,  in  Paradise. 

In  the  scented  grove  when  the  night  is  near, 

And  the  pine  trees  murmur  a  low  sweet  song, 
It  is  I  that  speak — do  you  sometimes  hear? 

That  you  stand  so  still,  and  you  stand  so  long? 
What  do  I  tell  you  ?    Oh,  this,  no  more  : 

Beautiful  Death,  it  is  sweet,  so  sweet, 
Not  the  death  that  we  thought  before, 

But  the  miracle  death  that  is  life  complete. 

Out  on  the  lawn  when  the  rose  is  red, 

And  its  breath  an  odorous  ecstacy, 
It  is  not  the  rose — it  is  I  instead — 

When  you  kiss  the  rose  you  are  kissing  me. 
Oh,  I  often  speak  in  the  voice  of  things 

That  move  your  soul,  and  you  know  not  why ; 
In  the  evening  flute,  and  the  sound  of  strings, 

And  the  radiant  isles  of  a  summer  sky. 

When  the  nightingale  on  the  hedge-row  sings, 
Till  the  very  trees  in  the  woods  rejoice, 

And  a  nameless  rapture  around  you  clings, 
It  is  I  that  speak  in  the  sweet  bird's  voice. 

Oh,  could  you  hear  me ;  oh,  could  you  know ; 
Oh,  could  you  breathe  of  this  joyous  land, 

You  would  long  for  the  beautiful  death,  and  go 
So  glad,  so  glad,  could  you  understand. 


Boston  Schools  One  Hundred  Years 

Ago 

By  George  H.  Martin 


ONE  hundred  years  ago  Boston 
was  a  town  of  about  twenty- 
five  thousand  people.  There 
were  some  who  called  it  an 
old-fashioned  town.  These  were  per- 
sons who  had  come  in  contact,  during 
the  war  or  after  it,  with  the  freer  liv- 
ing and  freer  thinking  people  of  the 
Southern  and  Middle  States.  Some  of ' 
them  had  become  acquainted  with 
French  officers  and  soldiers,  had  fol- 
lowed with  interest  the  tragic  fortunes 
of  France,  and  had  learned  to  talk 
more  or  less  openly  of  liberty,  equality, 
and  fraternity. 

The  sympathies  of  these  people  were 
sufficiently  outspoken  to  awaken  alarm 
in  the  minds  of  the  more  conservative, 
that  is,  of  most  of  the  substantial 
classes, — ministers,  lawyers,  judges, 
and  merchants. 

The  first  families  were  intensely  con- 
servative. These  were  in  reality  sec- 
ond families,  as  most  of  the  first  fam- 
ilies of  provincial  days  had  been  loyal- 
ists, and  had  gone  with  Lord  Howe  to 
Iialifax  on  the  evacuation.  The  new 
comers  had  formed  the  social  aristoc- 
racy of  the  smaller  towns,  and  in  their 
new  home  were  maintaining  those  so- 
cial distinctions  which  had  been  as 
marked  in  New  England  as  in  old  Eng- 
land. They  had  brought  with  them  con- 
siderable wealth,  to  which  the  African 
trade  in  rum  and  slaves  had  contributed 
not  a  little,  and  they  were  adding  to  it 


by  the  new  commerce  which  flourished 
between  the  close  of  the  war  and  the 
embargo.  They  lived  well,  had  fine 
furniture  and  plate,  rode  in  their 
coaches,  and  gave  grand  entertain- 
ments. To  these  people,  living 
their  life  in  the  mam  on  the 
old  lines,  worshipping  in  the  old 
churches  under  the  old  creeds, 
feeling  some  contempt  for  the  poor, 
and  some  distrust  of  the  lower  classes, 
all  suggestions  of  change  brought  a 
vague  feeling  of  uneasiness  which 
caused  them  to  range  themselves  in 
open  hostility.  They  inveighed  against 
the  ''spirit  of  innovation,"  which 
seemed  to  threaten  the  stability  of  the 
established  order.  They  saw  in  the  ex- 
cesses of  the  French  Revolution  omens 
of  disaster  at  home.  This  made  them 
Federalists  in  politics.  There  must 
be  a  strong  government  to  restrain  the 
people  and  to  maintain  the  old  social 
institutions  intact.  Against  this  sea- 
wall of  conservatism, — social,  political, 
and  religious,  the  rising  tide  of  nine- 
teenth century  thought  beat  for  a  gen- 
eration. 

On  the  side  of  public  education  the 
first  break  was  made  in  1790.  Dur- 
ing the  colonial  and  provincial  periods 
schooling  had  been  simple.  For  sev- 
enty years  the  first  grammar  school 
had  held  the  field  alone,  teaching  Latin 
for  its  chief  work.  Early  in  the  eigh- 
teenth  century   another   Latin   school 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


629 


was  established,  and  three  Writing 
schools,  where  boys  whose  parents  had 
no  social  ambitions  could  learn  the  sim- 
ple arts  of  writing  and  arithmetic. 
Children  learned  to  read  at  home,  or  at 
the  private  schools  that  flourished 
through  the  period. 

But  if  the  formal  education  was 
scanty  and  narrow  during  the  pre- 
Revolutionary  period,  that  dynamic 
education  which  comes  through  the  ex- 
periences of  life  was  broad  and  liberal. 
The  children  were  always  in  close 
touch  with  men  and  things,  and  novel 
and  instructive  events  were  following 
each  other  in  rapid  succession. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  period  they 
had  the  experiences  of  the  wilderness, 
and  throughout  they  were  close  and  in- 
terested observers  of  the  rapidly  chang- 
ing life.  Natural  objects  and  processes 
were  all  about  them.  They  lived  a 
rural  life  by  the  side  of  the  sea,  a  most 
happy  combination  of  conditions.  Each 
house  had  its  garden,  and  the  wealthy 
had  outlying  farms  in  Brookline  and 
Braintree.  Market  days  were  early 
established  when  the  people  from 
neighboring  towns  brought  in  their 
produce.  Trade  by  sea  began  early, 
and  from  the  time  when  Gov.  Win- 
throp  built  the  Blessings  of  the  Bay, 
vessels  in  increasing  numbers  were 
coming  and  going — some  to  England 
and  the  West  Indies,  and  others,  before 
the  navigation  laws  were  strictly  en- 
forced, to  the  ports  of  Southern  Eu- 
rope. 

The  children  saw  the  first  log-houses 
built  and  they  saw  these  give  way  to 
frame  buildings  and  later  to  those  of 
brick  and  stone.  All  industries  were 
in  sight.  When  Franklin's  father 
wanted  to  keep  Benjamin  from  the  sea 
he    took    him    about    the  town    and 


showed  him  all  kinds  of  mechanics  at 
work,  hoping  to  find  among  them  one 
that  would  attract  the  boy. 

Religious  influence  was  strong  and 
constant.  The  schoolmasters  were 
ministers  or  theologians.  "He  taught 
us  Lilly  and  he  gospel  taught,"  wrote 
Cotton  Mather  of  Master  Cheever. 
Religious  observances  were  strict, — 
Sundays,  Fasts,  and  Thanksgivings. 
The  catechism  was  learned  by  all. 

Civil  life  was  carried  on  in  the  open. 
There  were  town  meetings  in  the  First 
Meeting-house,  in  Faneuil  Hall,  and  in 
the  Old  South  Meeting-house,  and  the 
Provincial  Legislature  met  in  the  old 
State  House.  Public  functionaries 
were  coming  and  going,  with  more  or 
less  of  parade.  The  jail  was  next  to 
the  school  house,  and  the  stocks,  the 
pillory,  and  the  whipping  posts  were  in 
the  most  public  places.  Hangings 
were  a  public  spectacle.  There  was 
always  more  or  less  of  military  life, — 
the  early  train-bands,  the  later  minute- 
men — and  news  of  wars  with  Indians 
and  the  French.  The  town  was  so 
small  and  so  compact  that  everything 
happened  within  sight  and  sound  of 
everybody.  The  children  grew  up  in 
the  midst  of  this  bustling,  vigorous, 
healthy  social  and  public  life.  They  en- 
tered it  early,  but  they  were  prepared 
for  it.      They  were  educated  by  it. 

In  1789  the  Legislature  framed  a 
school  law  more  complete  than  any 
that  had  preceded  it.  It  embodied  the 
ancient  principles  and  gave  authori- 
tative sanction  to  new  practices  which 
had  grown  up  in  the  towns.  Its  most 
significant  feature  was  the  broadening 
of  the  work  of  the  common  schools  by 
the  mandatory  study  of  English  in  the 
form  of  grammar  and  spelling.  It 
marks  the  beginning  of  modern  in  dis- 


630 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE  HUNDRED    YEARS  AGO 


tinction  from  the  renaissance  ideas  in 
education.  For  three  hundred  years 
in  Europe  and  America  so  complete 
had  been  the  domination  of  classical 
learning  that  a  grammar  school  every- 
where meant  a  Latin  school.  The 
most  conspicuous  change  wrought  by 
the  nineteenth  century  in  all  the 
countries  of  Europe  as  well  as  in  our 
own  has  been  the  enthronement  of  the 
vernacular  as  the  chief  means  of  cul- 
ture for  the  masses. 

In  1790  a  town-meeting  was  held 
in  Boston  to  consider  a  petition  from 
numerous  "respectable"  citizens  for  a 
revision  of  the  system  of  public  in- 
struction. In  this  petition  these  re- 
spectable citizens  asked  that  provision 
should  be  made  for  "youth  of  both 
sexes."  That  the  town  should  be  asked 
to  admit  girls  to  the  public  schools 
showed  that  the  "spirit  of  innovation" 
was  abroad,  and  having  come  to  pos- 
ess  "respectable"  citizens,  must  be 
reckoned  with. 

Samuel  Adams,  then  Lieutenant- 
Governor,  was  a  member  of  the  com- 
mittee appointed  to  consider  the  sub- 
ject. He  was  not  afraid  of  innovation, 
and  the  committee  in  their  report  gave 
the  girls  a  chance,  or  rather,  half  a 
chance,  for  they  recommended  that 
girls  be  allowed  to  attend  the  schools 
from  the  twentieth  of  April  to  the 
twentieth  of   October. 

The  new  scheme  which  the  com- 
mittee recommended  and  which  the 
town  adopted  provided  for  one  Latin 
school,  three  Writing  schools,  and  three 
new  schools  called  Reading  schools. 
There  were,  for  the  first  time,  certain 
structural  elements  of  a  system,  in  that 
conditions  of  admission  and  a  leaving 
age  were  fixed.  Boys  might  enter  the 
Latin  school  when  ten  years  old  and 


might  remain  four  years.  They  must 
have  studied  English  grammar  before 
entering.  Boys  and  girls  might  enter 
the  other  schools  at  seven  and  remain 
until  they  were  fourteen.  But  they 
could  not  enter  unless  they  had  pre- 
viously received  "the  instruction  usual 
in  women's  schools."  This  proviso 
was  the  root  of  much  subsequent 
trouble.  Children  must  be  taught  to 
read  at  home  or  in  private  schools. 
The  children  of  the  illiterate  poor  who 
needed  school  most  were  wholly  de- 
prived of  it. 

The  Reading  and  Writing  schools 
were  established  as  distinct  and  inde- 
pendent institutions,  occupying,  at 
first,  separate  buildings.  The  pupils 
were  the  same  in  both,  spending  a 
half  day  in  each  by  alternation.  When 
the  boys  were  in  the  Reading  school 
the  girls  were  in  the  Writing  school. 
In  the  winter,  when  the  girls  were 
not  present,  the  upper  and  lower 
classes  of  boys  alternated  in  a  similar 
way. 

This  unique  arrangement,  called 
later  "the  double-headed  system,"  was 
the  result  of  a  compromise.  One  pur- 
pose of  reorganizing  the  schools  was  to 
secure  a  higher  grade  of  teachers  than 
the  old  writing-masters  had  been,  who 
had  been  chosen  chiefly  for  their  beau- 
tiful chirography.  They  had  too  little 
education  to  carry  on  the  new  work, 
but  they  had  been  too  long  in  the  ser- 
vice to  be  easily  displaced.  So  they 
were  allowed  to  continue  to  do  their 
old  work  in  their  old  way,  while  col- 
lege graduates  were  selected  for  the 
new  schools. 

School-keeping  and  school-going 
were  meant  to  be  serious  business  a 
hundred  years  ago.  The  daily  ses- 
sions were  seven  hours  long  until  1802, 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


6ji 


when  they  were  reduced  to  six.  The 
holidays  and  vacations  were  only  those 
in  which  the  public  shared,  so  closely 
were  the  schools  and  their  interests 
identified  with  the  social  life  of  the 
time.  There  was  no  school  on  Thurs- 
day and  Saturday  afternoons,  nor  on 
Fast  and  Thanksgiving  Days,  April  1, 
June  1,  Christmas,  and  the  Fourth 
of  July.  For  vacations  there  were  the 
four  afternoons  of  Artillery  training, 
six  days  in  Election  week,  the  four 
last  days  in  Commencement  week,  and 
general  training  days. 

The  merit  of  these  occasions  for 
vacation  purposes  lay  in  the  fact  that 
they  furnished  for  the  children  not 
only  freedom  but  entertainment  and 
occupation,  things  sadly  missed  in  the 
modern,  more  extended  holiday  peri- 
ods. 

The  work  prescribed  for  the  Writ- 
ing schools  was  the  same  that  they  had 
always  done — writing  and  arithmetic. 
In  all  the  early  records  of  New  Eng- 
land towns  by  a  "ritin  skule"  was 
meant  a  winter  school  kept  by  a  man 
who  taught  writing  and  arithmetic 
chiefly  to  boys  and  young  men.  In  the 
Boston  schools  the  children  were  not  to 
begin  arithmetic  until  they  were  eleven 
years  old.  Then  they  were  to  study  in 
order  Numeration,  Addition,  Subtrac- 
tion, Multiplication,  Division ;  Com- 
pound Addition,  Subtraction,  Multi- 
plication, and  Division ;  Reduction, 
the  Simple  Rule  of  Three  (direct), 
Pratice  (including  Tare  and  Trett), 
Interest,  Fellowship  and  Exchange, 
Vulgar  and  Decimal  Fractions. 

The  Reading  schools  which  repre- 
sented the  advanced  thought  of  the 
day  in  education  were  expected  to 
teach  spelling,  accent,  and  reading, 
English   grammar,  and,  to  the   upper 


classes,  epistolary  writing,  and  compo- 
sition. The  masters  might  introduce, 
when  expedient,  geography  and 
newspapers,  occasionally. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the 
fault-finding  about  an  overloaded  cur- 
riculum began  at  once  when  boys  were 
required  to  study  spelling  and  gram- 
mar. Only  two  years  after  the  new 
plan  went  into  operation  there  was  a 
petition  from  some  parents  praying 
that  their  boys  might  be  excused  from 
attending  the  Reading  school  and  give 
all  their  time  in  the  last  year  to  arith- 
metic. Their  idea  of  a  practical  edu- 
cation was  expressed  by  the  New  Eng- 
land farmer — "The  Bible  and  figgers 
is  all  I  want  my  boys  to  know." 

The  prescribed  books  were  few. 
For  reading  there  were  the  Bible  and 
a  small  book  by  Noah  Webster  called 
"American  Selections  for  Reading 
and  Speaking."  For  spelling,  "Web- 
ster's Spelling  Book"  was  designated, 
and  for  grammar,  Caleb  Bingham's 
"Young  Ladies'  Accidence,"  a  small 
book  of  sixty  pages,  simple  and  sensi- 
ble, and  much  better  than  the  bulky 
volumes  which  succeeded  it.  No  text 
book  was  prescribed  in  arithmetic  un- 
til Daboll's  was  introduced  in  1819. 
School  life  began  with  attendance  up- 
on the  dame  schools,  kept  mostly  in 
their  own  homes  by  women  who  found 
it  a  respectable  way  to  earn  a  liveli- 
hood. Some  of  the  teachers  were 
gentlewomen  who  had  known  better 
days,  to  whom  their  old  friends  sent 
children  out  of  kindness.  Others  were 
by  no  means  gentle,  and  children  in 
their  hands  were  victims  of  what  Rich- 
ter  in  his  "Levana"  calls  "the  sour 
malevolence  of  antiquated  virginity." 
Some  were  like  the  English  dame  who 
said  to  an  inspector,  "It's  but  little  thev 


6j2 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


pays  me  and  but  little  I  learns  'em.' 
The  "instruction  usual  at  women's 
schools,"  the  pre-requisite  for  admis- 
sion to  the  public  schools,  was  meagre 
at  its  best.  All  that  was  attempted 
was  to  teach  the  alphabet,  the  mean- 
ingless syllables  a-b,  ab,  and  the  rest, 
and  to  read  easy  words  of  one  syllable. 
To  this  was  added  much  memorizing 
of  Bible  verses. 

General  Henry  K.  Oliver  has  left 
some  interesting  pictures  of  his  own 
early  school-days.  He  went  first  to  a 
dame  school  kept  on  Hanover  Street 
by  a  man.  "The  old  gentleman  hold- 
ing an  old  book  in  his  old  hand  and 
pointing  with  an  old  pin  to  the  old 
letters  on  the  old  page,  and  making 
each  one  of  us  chicks  repeat  their  sev- 
eral names  till  we  could  tell  them  at 
sight,  though  we  did  not  know  what  it 
was  all  for." 

He  went  next  to  Madame  Tileston's, 
where  he  was  taught  reading  and  spell- 
ing. Each  child  had  about  twenty 
minutes  of  instruction  each  half  day — - 
"forty  minutes  worth  of  teaching  and 
three  hundred  and  twenty  minutes 
worth  of  sitting  still."  This  scanty 
ratio  of  learning  time  to  sitting  still 
time  is  by  no  means  confined  to  "a 
hundred  years  ago."  A  very  few  years 
ago  a  visitor  to  a  country  school  saw 
the  little  ones  called  forward  to  spell 
out  their  little  lesson  at  the  teacher's 
knee.  Two  or  three  minutes  for 
each,  fifteen  minutes  for  all  sufficed, 
and  they  were  sent  to  their  seats. 
The  visitors  mildly  inquired  what 
other  work  they  would  have  that  after- 
noon. He  was  told,  "Nothing."  What 
did  they  do  this  forenoon?  "The 
same."  Then  he  rashly  ventured  the 
question,  "What  is  the  use  of  keeping 
them?     Why  not  let  them  go  out  and 


play  ?"  The  teacher  replied  with  great 
decision  and  some  contempt,  "It 
learns  'em  to  set  up !" 

Having  reached  the  age  of  seven,  the 
children  were  allowed  to  enter  the  pub- 
lic school.  Here  they  found  them- 
selves in  a  great  bare  room,  lighted 
on  three  sides  and  holding  from  two 
hundred  and  fifty  to  three  hundred 
children.  There  were  no  separate 
class  rooms  and  no  cloak  rooms.  The 
outer  garments  of  the  children  were 
hung  on  hooks  about  the  room.  Mrs. 
Mary  A.  Livermore  has  told  us  how 
in  her  day,  much  less  than  a  hundred 
years  ago,  the  streams  from  the  wee 
clothing  ran  along  the  floor,  and  made 
fun  for  the  girls,  as  they  tried  to  keep 
their  feet  above  the  water.  There 
were  no  shades  to  the  windows,  no 
blackboards,  no  maps  or  pictures.  The 
seats  were  narrow  and  without  backs. 

The  schools  were  divided  into  four 
classes.  The  two  lower,  comprising  the 
larger  part  of  the  school,  were  taught 
by  an  usher,  the  two  upper,  by  the 
master.  In  the  Reading  school  the 
younger  children  in  the  two  lower 
classes  spent  their  time  in  reading, 
spelling,  playing,  and  being  whipped. 
The  last  two  exercises  were  also  a 
regular  part  of  the  Writing  school 
routine. 

Each  read  one  verse  from  the  Bible 
or  a  sentence  from  "Webster's  Spell- 
ing Book,"  called  sometimes  "Web- 
ster's First  Part."  This  contained 
long  lists  of  "easy"  words  of  one,  two, 
three,  and  four  syllables,  grouped 
according  to  accent.  Then  followed 
some  short  pieces  for  reading,  Bible 
verses,  fables,  and  easy  dialogues; 
after  this  came  the  harder  spelling — 
words  of  "learned  length  and  thunder- 
ing sound." 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO 


633 


At  the  end  of  the  list  of  so-called 
easy  words  there  was  a  note  which 
said :  "If  the  instructor  should  think 
it  useful  to  let  his  pupils  read  some 
of  the  easy  lessons  before  they  have 
finished  spelling  he  may  divide  their 
studies,  let  them  spell  one  part  of  the 
day,  and  read  the  other."  So  the 
teacher  might  keep  the  children 
studying  spelling  without  reading,  un- 
til they  had  spelled  through  the  book. 

The  second  class  had,  for  new 
work,  to  commit  the  grammar  to  mem- 
ory, taking  lessons  of  six  lines  or  more 
at  a  time  and  going  over  the  whole 
book  three  or  four  times.  The  first 
class  applied  the  knowledge  so  ac- 
quired to  parsing.  This  class  also 
read  occasionally  in  the  geography. 

The  difference  between  a  course  of 
study  on  paper  and  the  same  in  prac- 
tice, a  difference  even  now  familiar  to 
all  school  people,  was  illustrated  early 
in  the  matter  of  composition.  When 
these  schools  were  established  the 
upper  classes  were  to  be  instructed  in 
"epistolary  writing  and  composition." 
William  B.  Fowle,  who  received  all 
his  early  education  in  these  schools, 
from  dame  school  to  Latin  school, 
avers  that  he  was  never  required  to 
write  a  sentence  or  a  word  of  English. 
He  says  that  for  twenty  years  there 
was  not  a  word  written  in  any  school 
in  Boston.  In  the  Writing  schools 
the  work  of  the  children  between  the 
ages  of  seven  and  eleven  was  writing, 
and  learning  and  saying  arithmetical 
tables.  The  "cipherers,"  about  one- 
third  of  the  school,  spend  the  first  hour 
of  the  school  session  in  writing,  and  the 
other  two  in  ciphering.  The  copies 
were  set  by  the  master.  While  he 
mended  pens  the  children  brought  up 
their  exercises  for  inspection.     During 


this  writing  hour  the  lower  classes 
were  studying  their  tables,  usually 
aloud,  and  reciting  them  in  concert. 
It  was  not  uncommon  for  the  tables 
to  be  sung  to  some  familiar  tune,  as 
"Yankee  Doodle." 

For  the  cipherers  the  "sums"  were 
set  in  a  manuscript  book  from  the 
master's  own  manuscript  book.  This 
practice  was  universal  before  the  intro- 
duction of  text-books  in  arithmetic. 

The  scholars  worked  on  their  sums 
until  they  were  right.  The  Connecti- 
cut artist,  Jonathan  Trumbull,  who 
spent  a  short  time  when  a  boy  at  one 
of  these  Boston  schools,  is  said  to  have 
spent  three  weeks  on  a  sum  in  long 
division.  These  sums  were  no  trifles. 
Examples  in  multiplication  exist  hav- 
ing as  many  as  fifteen  figures  in  each 
factor,  and  in  long  division  quintillions 
were  divided  by  billions. 

This  work  offered  two  advantages. 
It  furnished  to  the  pupils  occasions 
to  learn  by  practice  "patient  continu- 
ance," and  it  gave  to  the  master  some 
assurance  that  he  had  provided  suffi- 
cient "busywork"  to  keep  his  pupils 
out  of  mischief. 

There  was  one  interesting  feature  of 
this  early  arithmetic  work.  It  made 
little  demand  on  the  reasoning  pow- 
ers of  the  pupils.  The  work  on  the 
processes  with  simple  and  compound 
numbers  was  done  by  rules  easily 
learned  and  applied.  The  same  was 
true  of  the  Rule  of  Three,  with  its 
cabalistic  phrase,  "If  more  requires 
more  or  less  requires  less."  Fractions 
were  studied  last,  and  by  many  chil- 
dren, perhaps  by  most  children,  were 
not  studied  at  all.  Nearly  all  the  work 
consisted  in  applying  the  rules  di- 
rectly to  examples  constructed  for  the 
purpose  of  illustration. 


634 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


With  the  introduction  of  text-books 
came  "problems"  testing  the  inge- 
nuity of  scholars.  At  first  these  were 
few,  but  they  increased  in  number  and 
complexity  with  each  new  book  and 
with  each  new  edition,  until  they  came 
to  be  considered  the  supreme  test  of  in- 
tellectual ability.  In  its  tax  upon  the 
mental  power  of  children  the  arithme- 
tic work  a  hundred  years  ago  was 
play  compared  with  the  modern  re- 
quirements. 

The  work  in  all  the  schools  consisted 
chiefly  of  memorizing  words.  In  the 
Reading  and  Writing  schools  there  was 
nothing  during  the  first  three  or  four 
years  of  school  life  but  oral  spelling, 
writing,  and  arithmetic  tables.  It  is 
not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  schools 
are  said  to  have  been  characterized 
by  "listlessness,  idleness,  and  disorder." 

General  Oliver,  in  writing  of  his  ex- 
perience in  these  schools,  says:  "I  do 
not  remember  that  my  powers  of  per- 
ception or  observation  were  ever  awak- 
ened or  drawn  out  or  cultivated.  I 
do  not  remember  that  my  attention  was 
ever  called  to  the  consideration  of  any 
object  great  or  small  in  the  great  world 
into  which  I  had  been  born,  or  in  the 
little  world  by  which  I  was  sur- 
rounded." Mrs.  Livermore  says  that 
she  never  heard,  except  from  one 
teacher,  any  explanation  or  definition 
of  rules  or  difficult  passages. 

The  work  in  the  Latin  school  was  no 
different.  On  entering  at  ten  years  of 
age  (afterwards  at  nine)  boys  were  set 
to  learning  "Adams'  Grammar"  by 
heart.  Oliver  speaks  of  "month  after 
month,  forenoons  and  afternoons  of 
dreary  monotony."  "This  grim  and 
melancholy  work  was  only  relieved  by 
an  occasional  lesson  in  spelling  *  *  * 
or  a  weekly  exercise  in  declamation." 


Of  the  later  work  in  Latin  he  says : 
"Translating,  parsing,  and  scanning, 
with  unmitigated  drill  but  with  no 
more  knowledge  imparted  of  Roman 
history,  Roman  life  and  manners,  and 
the  genius  of  the  Latin  language  than 
was  imparted  to  me  of  the  manners 
and  customs  and  language  of  the  Choc- 
taws." 

The  work  in  Greek  was  similar.  It 
began  with  committing  to  memory  the 
Greek  Grammar.  "Nine  dreary  and 
weary  months  of  tedious  memorizing 
did  I  spend  at  this  fearful  and  exhaust- 
ing job,  hating  Greek,  with  no  love 
for  those  who  taught  it  with  a  book  in 
one  hand  and  a  cowhide  in  the  other." 

Rev.  James  Freeman  Clarke,  speak- 
ing once  of  his  experience  in  the  Latin 
school,  said :  "I  can  repeat  passages 
from  the  Latin  grammar  which  I 
learned  fifty  years  ago  and  which  I 
have  never  had  occasion  to  use  from 
that  day  to  this."  Hon.  William  M. 
Evarts,  speaking  on  a  similar  occasion, 
said :  "I  certainly  was  taught  to  say  in 
the  most  perfect  manner  the  longest  list 
of  Latin  names  and  prepositions,  be- 
came intimately  acquainted  in  their 
whole  pedigree  and  relation  with  large 
nouns  and  words  that  I  never  expected 
to  meet  in  my  subsequent  life  at  all." 
One  of  the  masters  of  the  Latin  school 
says  of  the  work  that  the  boys  were  re- 
quired to  learn  "much  that  they  did  not 
understand,  as  an  exercise  of  the  mem- 
ory and  to  accustom  them  to  labor." 
This  kind  of  work  served  scholars  and 
teachers  in  good  stead  when  the  school 
committee  came  to  make  the  annual  ex- 
amination. 

The  school  committee  was  one  of 
the  new  features  that  came  in 
with  the  reorganization  in  1790.  Be- 
fore   that    the    selectmen    had    been 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


635 


the  guardians  of  the  public  interests 
In  school  affairs  as  in  most  others 
that  belonged  to  the  "prudentials"  of 
the  town.  Beginning  with  1790 
the  town  annually  chose  twelve  men 
of  professional  and  business  standing, 
who,  with  the  selectmen,  formed  a 
permanent  body  of  officials.  The 
first  committee  consisted  of  three 
ministers,  three  doctors,  three  judges, 
two  senators  and  one  rising  young 
lawyer,  who  afterward  became  Gov- 
ernor of  the  State.  They  attended 
faithfully  to  the  duties  imposed  upon 
them.  They  chose  teachers,  fixed  sal- 
aries, selected  books,  made  regulations, 
heard  complaints,  and  established  new 
schools.  Sub-committees  made  quar- 
terly visits  to  the  schools  to  inquire  into 
their  condition  and  needs. 

The  annual  visitation  of  the  boys' 
schools  in  July  or  August  and  of  the 
girls'  schools  in  November  was  a  sol- 
emn affair.  The  selectmen,  the  school 
committee,  and  such  specially  invited 
guests  as  they  delighted  to  honor  went 
in  imposing  procession  to  all  the 
schools.  The  time  allotted  to  each 
school  was  brief,  but  the  masters  knew 
they  were  coming  and  had  everything 
ready  to  show  when  they  appeared. 
Thirty  minutes  were  allowed  for  a 
Writing  school,  fifty  for  a  Reading 
school,  and  from  fifty  to  sixty  for  the 
Latin  school.  The  visitors  inspected 
the  copy-books,  and  the  "special 
pieces,"  which  had  been  prepared  un- 
der a  formal  vote  of  the  Board,  allow- 
ing them  to  be  presented  as  "beneficial 
to  the  spirit  of  emulation."  Later  they 
found  themselves  obliged  to  restrict 
the  number  of  pieces  to  be  presented  by 
any  one  pupil  to  two.  Evidently  the 
chirographic  artists  had  been  laying 
themselves  out  in  this  sort  of  work. 


Each  year  when  the  masters  were 
notified  of  the  date  of  the  intended 
visit  they  were  requested  to  confer 
together  as  to  the  pieces  to  be  read, 
"to  avoid  needless  repetition."  The 
girls  were  forbidden  to  read  dia- 
logues. Perhaps  such  reading  sug- 
gested the  theatre,  one  of  the  in- 
novations not  yet  fully  domesticated. 
At  the  Latin  school  the  same  kind  of 
work  was  shown.  One  who  was  there 
says:  "A  very  few  pages  of  the  book 
we  were  to  be  exercised  in  were 
marked  off  and  regularly  drilled  into 
us  day  after  day."  "No  one  could 
doubt  an  instant  of  the  exact  passage 
he  would  be  called  on  to  show  off  be- 
fore the  fathers  of  the  town."  A  boy 
who  had  been  drilled  on  the  declension 
of  duo  was  called  on  by  mistake  for 
tres.  "That's  not  my  word,  sir!" 
The  mistake  was  promptly  corrected 
and  he  went  through  duo  in  triumph. 

The  exercises  closed  with  a  Latin 
oration.  From  this  the  dignitaries 
marched  to  Faneuil  Hall,  where  they 
recuperated  themselves  with  a  dinner 
at  the  public  expense.  In  "Dwight's 
Travels,"  when  speaking  of  amuse- 
ments in  Boston,  the  writer  says,  "A 
considerable  amusement  is  also  fur- 
nished by  the  examinations  and  exhibi- 
tions of  the  superior  schools."  Cer- 
tainly the  most  rigid  Puritan  could 
have  found  no  fault  with  an  amuse- 
ment so  mild  and  so  innocent. 

These  annual  official  visitations  had 
a  value  as  a  recognition  of  education  as 
a  public  function  and  of  the  schools  as 
public  schools  and  as  an  expression  of 
public  interest  in  their  success.  As  such 
they  furnished  an  incentive  to  teachers 
and  scholars.  But  by  the  encourage- 
ment they  gave  to  show  work,  to  exer- 
cises of  the  verbal  memory,  they  fas- 


636 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


tened  on  the  schools  narrow  and  me- 
chanical notions  of  education.  They 
set  up  false  standards  which  genera- 
tions have  not  outgrown. 

To  such  work  as  has  been  described 
the  pupils,  from  the  dame  school  to 
the  Latin  school,  were  held  by  sheer 
force.  The  school  dame  wielded  a 
long  rod,  with  which  from  her  chair  of 
state  she  could  reach  the  most  distant 
child.  This  interesting  functionary 
always  sat.  She  was  a  veritable  "Ma- 
donna of  the  chair."  In  all  other  schools 
flogging  was  universal  and  perpetual. 
It  had  been  so  from  the  colonial  days 
and  continued  to  be  so  until  a  much 
later  period.  Indeed  the  practice  was 
one  "wherof  the  memory  of  man  run- 
neth not  to  the  contrary."  If  at  any 
time  during  the  first  two  hundred  years 
Boston  boys  had  thought  of  complain- 
ing of  their  treatment,  they  would  have 
been  silenced  by  the  sanctions  of  Scrip- 
ture and  the  examples  of  history.  Had 
not  Solomon  said,  "Foolishness  is 
bound  in  the  heart  of  a  child  :  the  rod  of 
correction  shall  drive  it  far  from  him"  ? 
Had  he  not  also  said,  "Spare  the  rod 
and  spoil  the  child,"  and  "Chasten  thy 
son  while  there  is  hope  and  spare  not 
for  his  crying"?  The  old  schoolmas- 
ters heeded  well  this  injunction. 

General  Oliver  says :  "Of  the  eight 
different  teachers  before  I  went  to  col- 
lege, but  one  possessed  any  bowels  of 
mercy."  Mrs.  Livermore  remembers 
to  have  seen  a  master  in  her  day  rattan 
in  turn  fifty-two  girls  standing  in  a 
row  that  reached  across  the  school- 
room. Of  the  school  experience  of 
Robert  Treat  Paine  there  is  an  account 
in  the  Historical  Sketch  of  the  Boston 
Latin  School. 

"Before  going  to  the  Latin  School  Mr. 
Paine  went  to  Mr.  J.  Snelling  to  learn  to 


write.  This  was  in  Court  Square.  The 
s-cene  there  was  a  perfect  farce  of  teaching. 
There  was  no  sort  of  instruction.  J.  S.  told 
the  whole  school  when  school  began  to  write 
four  lines.  If,  in  looking  round,  he  found 
anyone  had  written  his  lines  before  the  time 
was  over,  he  thrashed  him  for  writing  too 
fast.  If  he  had  written  none  he  whipped 
him  for  laziness.  But  this  was  only  with 
beginners,  for  more  experienced  youngsters 
wrote  two  lines  and  then  began  their  fun — 
which  was  unlimited  and  almost  unrestricted 
— and  the  next  two  at  the  close  of  the  exer- 
cise. When  the  copies  were  done  they  all 
passed  in  procession  with  them  through  a 
narrow  gangway — quite  equivalent  to  run- 
ning the  gauntlet,  as  J.  S.  stood  ready  with 
a  blow  with  a  word.  Paine  was  there  six 
or  eight  weeks  to  write  a  little." 

Of  the  masters  of  the  Latin  school 
there  is  abundant  evidence  that  they 
too  did  not  spare  the  rod.  Of  the 
best  of  them  it  has  been  said,  "he 
swayed  even  the  ferule,  which  he 
rarely  used,  with  singular  dignity  and 
grace."  "Good  master  Gould  used  to 
flog  us  in  a  noble  way,  but  it  was  over 
very  soon."  Of  the  worst  some  graphic 
accounts  exist. 

"One  of  them  was  a  wholesale  dealer  in 
tortuous  leather  and  torturing  blows,  whose 
image  is  that  of  a  stalwart  man  of  six  feet  in 
his  stockings,  with  the  sweet  poet  of  Man- 
tua in  his  left  hand,  and  a  twisted  thong  in 
the  other,  striding  across  the  floor  of  the 
Boston  Latin  School  to  give  some  luckless 
blunderer  over  back  or  shoulder-blade  sun- 
dry savage  wales  from  fearful  sweeps  of  his 
tremendous  right  arm." 

This  man  was  profuse  in  his  epithets, 
—"idler,"  "blockhead,"  "dolt,"  "blun- 
derhead." A  boy  has  committed  some 
indiscretion,  and  the  rattan  rushing 
through  the  air  descends  on  his 
shoulders.  "I  won't  be  struck  for 
nothing !"  screams  the  urchin.  "Then 
I'll  strike  you  for  something !"  and  the 
rattan  whizzes  again  about  his  ears. 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


637 


Another  scene: — "Bangs,  what  is  an 
active  verb?"  Bangs  hesitates  and 
looks  imploringly  to  his  neighbors,  who 
cannot  or  will  not  help  him  out  of  his 
difficulty.  "Well,  muttonhead,  what 
does  an  active  verb  express?  I'll  tell 
you  what  it  expresses,"  bringing  down 
the  stick  upon  the  boy  with  emphasis ; 
"it  expresses  action,  and  necessarily 
supposes  an  agent  (cane  descends 
again),  and  an  object  acted  on.  As 
castigo  te,  I  chastise  thee.  Do  you  un- 
derstand now  ?" 

This  man  had  an  odd  habit  of 
dropping  into  rhyme : 

"If  you'll  be  good  I'll  thank  you, 

If  not,  I'll  spank  you." 

"If  I  see  anybody  catching  flies 

I'll  whip  him  till  he  cries 

And  make  the  tears  run  out  of  his  eyes." 

Of  all  this  work  it  has  been  said 
"The  highest  motive  and  the  one  most 
prominently  held  out,  with  its  porten- 
tous instruments  kept  in  full  sight, 
was  to  be  the  best  scholar  under  fear  of 
punishment." 

During  the  early  part  of  the  century 
the  records  of  the  school  committee  re- 
fer to  frequent  complaints  by  parents 
of  excessive  punishments  by  masters  or 
ushers.  The  complaints  were  signs 
that  the  "spirit  of  innovation"  was  be- 
coming dangerously  active.  Hearings 
were  common  and  the  details  of  flog- 
gings are  recorded  in  full.  School 
whippings  produced  less  impression 
then  than  now  from  the  severity  and 
publicity  of  all  civil  penalties.  There 
were  three  whipping  posts,  one  on 
Queen  Street,  another  on  the  Common, 
and  still  another  on  State  Street.  A 
writer  speaks  of  seeing  from  his  school- 
house  windows  women  brought  in  an 
iron  cage,  stripped  to  the  waist  and 
punished  with  thirty  or  forty  lashes, 


their  screams  only  partly  drowned  by 
the  jeers  of  the  moh.  The  pillory, 
too,  was  in  sight  of  the  school.  In 
this  frequently  could  be  seen  poor 
wretches  confined  by  heads  and  hands, 
and  pelted  by  the  unfeeling  crowd 
with  rotten  eggs  and  all  manner  of 
garbage. 

When  we  hear  people  sighing 
for  a  return  of  the  good  old- 
fashioned  New  England  education  we 
should  know  that  it  consisted  chiefly  of 
memory  tasks,  mostly  meaningless,  to 
which  children  were  driven  by  fear  of 
the  rod.  The  work  and  the  rod  always 
went  together.  This  point  needs  to 
be  especially  emphasized  just  now 
when  from  many  quarters  are  heard 
complaints  of  modern  theories  and 
practices  in  education.  There  is  talk 
of  "soft  pedagogics,"  of  a  lack  of  ro- 
bustness in  the  modern  training,  of  a 
disposition  to  turn  work  into  play. 
There  is  a  fear  that  school  life  is  be- 
ing made  too  pleasant,  and  that  stu- 
dents brought  up  in  modern  ways  will 
lack  disposition  and  power  to  grapple 
with  the  difficulties  of  life. 

That  it  is  possible  for  children  to 
learn  and  to  exert  themselves  to  the  ut- 
most in  learning,  and  to  do  it  con 
amore,  many  people  cannot  understand 
and  will  not  believe.  But  this  state  of 
mind  is  not  new.  When  Horace  Mann 
made  his  urgent  appeals  for  less  sever- 
ity in  school-keeping,  the  weight  of 
great  names  were  used  to  overbear  his 
arguments.  They  quoted  Augustine, 
"Discipline  is  needful  to  overcome  our 
puerile  sloth,"  "From  the  ferules  of 
masters  to  the  trials  of  martyrs  the 
wholesome  severities  may  be  traced." 
Melancthon  wrote,  "I  had  a  master 
who  was  an  excellent  grammarian.  He 
compelled  me  to  the  study ;  he  made 


6^8 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE    HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


me  write  Greek,  and  give  the  rules  in 
twenty  or  thirty  verses  of  theMantuan. 
He  suffered  me  to  omit  nothing,  and 
whenever  I  made  a  blunder  he  whipped 
me  soundly,  and  yet,  with  proper 
moderation,  he  made  me  a  grammar- 
ian." Dr.  Johnson  explained  his  own 
excellence  as  a  Latin  scholar  by  say- 
ing, "My  master  whipped  me  very 
well;  without  that,  sir,  I  should  have 
done  nothing."  One  of  the  clerical 
pamphleteers  in  the  Mann  controversy 
wrote :  ' 'Knowledge  may  be  compared 
to  a  garden  full  of  delicious  fruits  and 
flowers,  but  surrounded  with  a  thorny 
fence.  We  must  break  through  with 
painful  scratches  before  we  can  sit 
under  the  comfort  of  its  shades  or  hear 
its  waterfalls  break  upon  the  ear." 
"The  incipient  stages  of  education 
never  can  be  made  delightful." 

In  all  these  discussions  there  is  never 
an  intimation  that  the  kind  of  work 
that  went  by  the  name  of  education 
could  be  dissociated  from  youthful 
repugnance,  nor  that  that  repugnance 
could  be  overcome  in  any  other  way 
than  by  corporal  punishment.  If  we 
were  to  return  to  the  grind  of  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  we  should  need  to 
bring  out  the  old  instruments  of  tor- 
ture, and  resurrect  the  old-fashioned 
school-masters. 

Although  the  people  of  Massachu- 
setts appreciated  fully  the  value  of 
popular  education,  and  expressed  their 
feeling  eloquently  in  all  their  public 
utterances,  the  more  influential  classes, 
especially  in  the  commercial  towns, 
were  very  unwilling  to  make  such  edu- 
cation universal.  They  believed  in 
educated  leaders,  and  their  loyalty  to 
the  Latin  school  never  flagged,  but  it 
required  an  act  of  the  General  Court 
in  1683  to  induce  the  selectmen  of  Bos- 


ton to  open  writing  schools  for  the 
boys  of  less  distinguished  social  posi- 
tion. The  bickerings,  sometimes  break- 
ing out  in  open  hostilities,  between  the 
Latin  school  boys  from  School  Street 
and  Master  Carter's  Writing  school 
boys  from  Scollay  Square,  reflected 
something  of  the  feeling  of  their  el- 
ders. A  childish  doggerel  serves  to  in- 
dicate the  prevailing  sentiment: 

"Carter's  boys  shut  up  in  a  pen, 
They  can't  get  out  but  now  and  then ; 
And  when  they  get  out  they  dance  about, 
For  fear  of  Latin  School  gentlemen." 

Boston  was  the  last  town  to  admit 
girls  to  the  schools,  and  it  kept  them 
on  short  allowance  of  schooling  longer 
than  any  other.  The  narrowness  and 
illiberal  spirit  of  the  social  aristocracy 
of  the  capital  is  shown  in  its  dealing 
with  three  classes, — young  children, 
girls,  and  children  of  African  descent. 
Only  after  the  most  persistent  efforts, 
continued  in  the  case  of  African  chil- 
dren more  than  fifty  years,  and  in  the 
case  of  girls  more  than  half  that  time, 
was  equality  of  opportunity  secured. 

In  1800  there  were  in  Boston  1,174 
persons  of  African  descent.  Many  of 
these  were  children  of  the  slaves  of 
pre-Revolutionary  times.  Others  had 
escaped  from  the  South  during  the 
war.  Some  had  come  from  the  West 
Indies.  They  were  generally  poor, 
shiftless,  and  ignorant.  There  were, 
however,  some  among  them  who  had 
aspirations,  and  these  had  started  by 
subscription  a  school  in  a  private 
house.  This  was  in  1798.  A  gleam  of 
light  upon  the  sanitary  condition  of 
the  town  is  thrown  by  the  fact  that 
the  school  was  dispersed  by  the  prev- 
alence of  yellow  fever. 

In  1 801  the  school  was  revived, 
largely  through  the  influence  of  Pres- 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


639 


ident  Kirkland  of  Harvard  College, 
who  secured  the  co-operation  of  phil- 
anthropic people.  After  fourteen 
years  of  struggles  with  poverty  a  small 
contribution  was  secured  from  the 
town,  and  in  181 5  the  town  assumed 
the  whole  support  and  placed  the 
school  in  charge  of  the  school  com- 
mittee. 

The  general  character  of  the  Afri- 
can population  and  the  indifference  of 
the  white  people  had  withheld  the  op- 
portunity for  education  so  long,  that  it 
was  found  impossible  to  break  up  the 
habits  of  vagrancy  and  idleness  which 
the  children  had  acquired.  There  was 
no  law  to  compel  attendance,  and  no 
gospel  of  winning  it  by  making  the 
place  and  the  work  attractive.  So  the 
school  was  always  a  "thorn  in  the 
flesh"  to  the  committee. 

A  special  report  on  the  school  de- 
scribes the  accommodations  (in  the 
basement  of  a  colored  Baptist 
church)  as  very  inferior.  The  dis- 
tinction between  the  condition  of  the 
colored  and  white  children  was  pro- 
nounced "invidious  and  unjust."  The 
signers  declared  that  if  either  were  to 
be  less  favored  it  should  be  the  white 
children.  The  city  council  was  asked 
to  build  a  school  house,  but  refused. 
In  1835  a  building  was  erected  with 
money  left  for  the  purpose  by  Abiel 
Smith,  and  the  school  was  named  the 
Smith  School.  It  early  became  a  bone 
of  contention  between  the  anti-slavery 
people  of  Boston  and  their  opponents. 
Efforts  were  made  to  abolish  the  school 
and  to  admit  the  pupils  to  the  schools 
for  whites.  The  fiery  eloquence  of 
Wendell  Phillips  was  enlisted  in  sup- 
port of  this  change.  But  all  efforts  to 
give  equal  opportunity  to  the  colored 
children  with  the  whites   failed  until 


the  Legislature,  in  1855,  enacted  a  gen- 
eral law  forbidding  the  exclusion  of 
children  from  public  schools  on  ac- 
count of  race,  color,  or  religion. 

The  metropolis  was  far  behind  the 
rest  of  the  State  in  making  public  pro- 
vision for  the  beginning  of  education 
of  those  whom  the  old  English  deeds 
of  foundation  quaintly  called  "petties 
and  incipients."  The  country  towns, 
some  of  them  for  a  hundred  years,  had 
paid  for  the  tuition  of  children  by 
school  dames. 

Boston,  serene  in  the  contemplation 
of  its  great  school-houses,  and  impres- 
sed by  the  showy  exhibitions  of  copy- 
books and  Latin  orations,  was  blind  to 
the  fact  that  hundreds  of  children  were 
growing  up  in  illiteracy,  because  their 
parents  were  too  poor  or  too  negligent 
to  patronize  the  private  schools,  and 
too  ignorant  to  give  even  the  elemen- 
tary instruction  demanded  for  admis- 
sion to  the  public  schools. 

When  the  facts  had  been  discovered 
they  failed  to  make  much  impression 
on  the  social  leaders.  It  required  the 
strenuous  efforts  of  philanthropists  to 
secure  equal  opportunities  for  the  poor, 
as  it  did  to  secure  the  same  for  chil- 
dren of  color.  Even  by  those  who 
were  influential  in  starting  them,  pri- 
mary schools  were  intended  for  the 
lower  classes.  When  early  in  the  cen- 
tury children  had  been  gathered  into 
Sunday  schools,  by  the  Society  for  the 
Moral  and  Religious  Instruction  of 
the  Poor,  the  good  people  were  sur- 
prised to  find  that  in  Boston  there  were 
some  who  could  not  read,  and  did  not 
even  know  their  letters.  That  this  had 
been  the  case  in  New  York  was  not  to 
be  wondered  at,  but  in  Boston — 

The  town  was  asked  to  do  something 
about  it.     The  school  committee  and 


640 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


Selectmen  made  a  thorough  canvass 
of  the  situation  and  found  several  hun- 
dren  children  not  attending  any  school. 
They  reported  eleven  public  schools 
with  2,365  pupils  and  162  private 
schools  with  4,132  pupils.  They  found 
283  children  between  four  and  seven 
years  of  age,  and  243  above  seven,  not 
in  any  school.  In  the  face  of  these 
facts  they  advised  against  any  action, 
alleging  a  variety  of  reasons.  The 
schools  were  already  a  great  expense. 
They  were  in  a  flourishing  condition. 
The  school  committee  was  wise  and 
good  and  might  be  depended  on  to 
do  all  that  was  really  necessary.  The 
number  of  children  out  of  school  was 
not  very  large.  The  older  ones  might 
go  if  they  wanted  to.  The  younger 
children,  now  at  private  schools,  fur- 
nished employment  and  support  to  a 
very  useful  and  respectable  class  of 
citizens  of  both  sexes.  It  was  good  for 
the  parents  who  could  afford  it  to  pay 
something,  and  the  overseers  would  pay 
for  the  poor.  New  schools  would  have 
to  be  numerous  and  expensive.  Most 
of  the  parents  had  time  enough,  and 
Boston  parents  were  intelligent  enough 
to  teach  children  their  letters.  The 
office  of  instruction  belonged  properly 
to  parents,  and  the  retirement  of  do- 
mestic life  was  the  most  fitting  place. 
The  final  argument  is  a  felicitous  ex- 
pression of  that  narrow  view  of  the 
scope  of  public  education  characteris- 
tic of  social  aristocracy  everywhere. 

"It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  free  schools 
should  be  furnished  with  so  many  instruct- 
ors and  be  conducted  on  so  liberal  prin- 
ciples as  to  embrace  the  circle  of  a  polite 
and  finished  education.  They  have  refer- 
ence   to  a  limited  degree  of  improvement." 

The  advocates  of  the  new  schools, 
not  impressed  by  the  multiplicity  of 


excuses  for  inaction  appealed  directly 
to  the  town  in  a  special  meeting,  and 
in  spite  of  the  arguments  of  the  re- 
spected Harrison  Gray  Otis  and  Peter 
Thacher,  whose  services  had  been  en- 
listed by  the  selectmen,  the  voters  ex- 
pressed their  approval  of  the  new 
movement  by  an  overwhelming  major- 
ity. So  public  primary  schools  came 
into  being  in  18 18.  Under  the  foster- 
ing care  of  a  special  committee  they 
soon  began  to  rival  the  older  schools 
in  loading  the  memory  with  meaning- 
less symbols.  The  school  held  up  by  the 
committee  as  a  model  presented  on  the 
examination  day  a  child  of  six  years 
of  age  who  repeated  all  the  rules  for 
spelling  and  pronunciation  in  the  pre- 
scribed book — fifty  or  sixty  in  num- 
ber. Another  repeated  all  the  reading 
parts  of  the  book.  Rules  for  "stops 
and  marks,"  for  the  use  of  capitals, 
long  lists  of  words  pronounced  alike 
but  spelled  differently,  several  pages 
of  "vulgarisms,"  as  "vinegar,  not  win- 
egar,"  "vessel,  not  wessel,"  and  a  mul- 
titude of  abbreviations,  these  were 
given  by  different  children,  though 
learned  by  all  as  a  condition  of  promo- 
tion to  the  first  class.  As  we  read  the 
enthusiastic  report  of  the  visiting  com- 
mittee we  cannot  help  thinking  of  Dr. 
John  Brown's  highland  minister — 
commending  the  parish  school  as  a 
"most  aixlent  cemetery  of  aedication." 
In  striking  contrast  with  this  was 
the  primary  school  attended  by  Mrs. 
Livermore,  where  the  children  used  to 
amuse  themselves  by  rocking  back  and 
forth  on  the  high  and  narrow  benches 
until  they  fell  in  a  delightful  tumult 
of  confusion  into  the  laps  of  the  row 
behind  them.  When  the  mistress  was 
asleep  they  threw  their  spelling  cards 
out  of  the  window,  and  then  protested 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


641 


that  they  had  not  had  any,  and  every 
forenoon  they  went  to  the  neighboring- 
store  for  the  teacher's  morning  dram. 

We  may  place  all  other  schools  be- 
tween these  two  extremes.  They  con- 
tinued for  many  years  to  be  thought 
of  as  somewhat  eleemosynary  in  their 
character,  and  as  being  justified  by 
the  beneficent  results  in  improving 
the  morals  of  the  lower  classes.  When 
they  were  finally  merged  in  the 
general  system  in  1855  (only  by 
legislative  interference),  it  was  de- 
clared to  have  been  their  object  "to  ex- 
tend the  blessings  of  education  to  the 
children  of  poverty  and  ignorance, 
and  by  this  means  to  qualify  the  chil- 
dren of  poor  emigrants  for  intellectual 
citizenship." 

As  evidence  of  the  good  they  had 
done  it  was  said  within  a  few  years  of 
their  starting: 

"The  character  of  the  lower  classes  has 
been  effectually  reached  and  elevated  by  this 
important  improvement  in  the  free  educa- 
tion of  their  families.  *  *  *  The 
numbers  of  begging  children  have  sensibly 
diminished,  and  there  has  been  great  im- 
provement in  neatness  of  dress  and  pro- 
priety of  manners." 

When  we  compare  the  schools  of  a 
hundred  years  ago  with  those  of  to-day 
we  see  that  the  most  important  change 
is  not  the  superficial  one  that  first  at 
tracts  us.  The  great  aggregations  of 
children  and  the  lavish  expenditure 
for  physical  convenience  and  comfort 
are  not  peculiar  to  the  schools.  They 
are  characteristic  of  modern  social  life 
in  all  departments.  Slowly  through 
the  century  there  has  been  developed 
in  the  public  mind  a  new  idea  of  edu- 
cation as  a  process,  of  the  conditions 
necessary  for  its  successful  progress, 
and  of  its  scope  as  a  function  of  so- 
ciety.    When  the  nineteenth  century 


began,  that  education  was  a  process  of 
imparting  and  receiving  knowledge 
had  been  an  immemorial  and  a  uni- 
versal belief.  "A  good  scholar,"  said 
the  Talmud,  "is  like  a  well-plastered 
cistern  that  lets  no  drop  escape." 

The  business  of  the  teacher  was  to 
set  lessons  to  be  learned.  The  business 
of  the  pupil  was  to  learn  them ;  this 
was  study.  The  next  business  of  the 
teacher  was  to  examine  to  see  if  they 
had  been  learned ;  this  was  recitation. 
Failure  to  study  and  learn  was  rebel- 
lion against  constituted  authority  and 
must  be  punished  as  such.  The  teacher 
was  judge  and  executioner.  The  whole 
process  was  simple  in  conception,  the 
relation  of  the  parties  to  each  other 
obvious,  and  their  mutual  obligations 
unmistakable. 

For  the  purpose  of  this  education  all 
knowledge  had  been  formulated.  It 
was  expressed  in  definitions,  rules,  and 
exact  propositions,  in  catechisms  and 
grammars.  These  were  the  same  for 
all,  for  truth  was  one  and  all  were 
alike  in  their  natural  ignorance  and 
natural  sin.  Now  and  then  a  voice  had 
made  itself  heard  in  question  of  the 
theory  and  of  the  practice,  and  in 
doubt  whether  education  were  so  sim- 
ple a  matter.  But  the  voices  had  died 
away  and  left  no  impression  on  the 
prevailing  thought.  Not  until  the 
nineteenth  century  was  well  under 
way,  and  then  not  widely  until  the 
doctrine  of  Evolution  had  gained  as- 
cendancy, did  the  modern  theory  of 
education  get  itself  expressed  in 
schools. 

Now  education  is  seen  to  be  the 
most  complex  process  in  the  universe. 
It  is  deemed  to  be  not.  something  done 
to  a  child  but  something  done  by  him 
and  in  him.     It  is  thought  to  be  from 


642 


BOSTON  SCHOOLS  ONE    HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


within,  so  that  there  is  no  education 
but  self-education.  Its  instruments 
are  not  the  old  ones,  a  book  and  a 
stick,  but  a  world  of  people  and  things. 
With  the  prevalence  of  this  new  no- 
tion, the  old  figures  of  rhetoric  have 
lost  their  meaning.  Those  familiar 
metaphors  which  did  duty  at  school 
functions  for  so  many  generations, — 
the  teacher  an  artist,  the  child  a  block 
of  marble  to  be  hammered  into  a  form 
of  beauty,  or  a  mass  of  clay  to  be 
molded  into  one,  have  been  laid  aside. 
The  new  figures  suggest  life-processes. 
Froebel  ventured  to  call  his  school  a 
garden  of  children  (kindergarten), 
and  this  idea  underlies  all  modern  edu- 
cational theory  from  kindergarten  to 
college.  The  essential  conditions  are 
seen  to  be  similar  to  those  demanded 
by  every  living  and  growing  organism. 
There  must  be  suitable  mental  and 
moral  food,  and  social  warmth  and 
sunshine.  It  is  these  elements  that 
differentiate  a  good  school  of  to-day 


from  the  schools  of  a  hundred  years 
ago.  Nor  is  it  expected  that  all  will 
need  the  same  food  in  kind  or  quantity. 
A  new  meaning  has  been  read  into  the 
old  injunction,  "Train  up  a  child  in 
the  way  he  should  go."  Now  the  em- 
phasis is  on  the  he,  implying  that  there 
is  for  every  child  a  way  which  is  pe- 
culiarly his  way,  in  which  he  should  be 
taught  to  go ;  and  that  only  as  that  way 
is  found  and  followed  is  the  education 
successful.  And  the  public  has  come 
to  see  that  it  cannot  afford  to  neglect 
any  class  of  its  members.  Social  safety 
is  seen  to  lie  in  the  most  complete  de- 
velopment of  every  member  of  the  so- 
cial whole.  So,  means  of  education 
are  multiplied  in  number  and  variety 
to  meet  the  needs  of  all  classes  and  all 
ages  as  fast  as  those  needs  are  dis- 
covered. The  new  education  is  scien- 
tific in  its  ground  and  rational  in  its 
methods.  It  is  everywhere  defensible 
in  general,  even  when  it  is  vulnerable 
in  particulars. 


r«U— _ 


^Rwa^B 


£^ 


New  England  Magazine 


New  Series 


AUGUST 


Vol.  XXVI  No.  6 


The  Charles  River  Valley 


By  Augusta  W.  Kellogg 


A 


UTHORITIES  agree  that 
this  land  was  once  covered 
by  an  ice-sheet  from  one 
to  two  thousand  feet  in 
In  grinding  its  way  to 
everything     that     impeded 


thickness 
the     sea, 

its  course  was  torn  up  by  the 
roots.  Valleys  were  raised,  moun- 
tains brought  low,  boulders  loos- 
ened and  swept  far  from  their  moor- 
ings. Sometimes  these  rocks  fell  apart 
and  showed  exactly  corresponding 
cleavages.  A  single  one  has  furnished 
building  material  for  a  factory,  the 
walls  of  which  are  thirty  by  sixty  feet 
and  two  stories  high,  besides  the  un- 
derpinning and  steps  of  a  church. 
The  small  stones  and  neve  swirled 
about  in  the  tumultuous  waters, 
scooped  out  deep  kettle-holes,  or 
carved  the  shallow  basins  that  were 
the  beginnings  of  the  numberless  reedy 


marshes  of  the  neighborhood.  Mov- 
ing sheets  of  successive  glacial  peri- 
ods thus  played  havoc  till,  the  ice-age, 
removed  far  back  beyond  all  save  the 
scientific  memory,  the  present  fair 
configuration  emerged  from  chaos. 
Then  nations  came  and  went.  The 
Norseman  may  have  moored  his  gal- 
leys, built  stone  dams  and  fortifica- 
tions, and  laid  his  hearthstones  in  no 
mean  city.  He  passed  away.  Bretons 
succeeded — perhaps,  and  passed  also. 
Indians  roved  over  the  country — and, 
passing,  their  heritage  has  become 
ours. 

On  the  southwestern  border  of 
Middlesex  County,  in  Massachusetts, 
is  the  town  of  Hopkinton,  among  the 
hills  of  which,  within  a  radius  of  half 
a  mile,  rise  three  rivers :  the  Sudbury, 
an  outlet  of  Lake  Whitehall,  flows 
northward,    till,    mingling    with    the 

645 


Cambridge 


Ashlano 


THE 
CHARLES 

RIVER 
VALLEY 


Concord,  it  joins  the  Merrimac  at 
Lowell ;  another  takes  a  fairly  direct 
southerly  course  from  North  Pond  to 
Long  Island  Sound,  uniting  itself 
meanwhile  with  the  Blackstone  on  its 
way  to  swell  the  Pawtucket  River ; 
and,  lastly,  the  Charles,  bubbling  to  the 
surface  of  the  same  marshy  tract,  be- 
gins its  winding  way  to  the  Atlantic 
Ocean.  The  pre-historic  drift  imposes 
characteristic  conditions,  which  add 
greatly  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the 
river.  Following  the  line  of  least  re- 
sistance it  tumbles  down  sharp  de- 
clivities, broadens  over  shallows,  seeks 
the  bosom  of  convenient  ponds  from 
which  it  runs  to  join  forces  with  a 
score  of  brooks,  curls  under  the  cliff 
and  circles  in  closest  convolutions,  till, 
its  frolicsomeness  spent  in  thus  doub- 
ling upon  itself,  at  a  distance  of  more 
than  eighty-five  miles,  and  with  a  de- 
scent of  four  hundred   and   thirtv-twn 


feet  from  its  highland  source,  it  lapses 
into  the  waters  of  Boston  Harbor. 

In  many  of  the  munificent  land- 
grants  bestowed  by  royal  charter,  the 
Charles  was  named  as  boundary  line, 
and,  in  sooth,  its  crookedness  served 
well  for  that  purpose  from  any  point 
of  the  compass.  Stimson,  in  his  de- 
lightful "King  Noanett,"  makes  the 
jolly  Irishman  exclaim:  "The  river  is 
like  its  master,  our  good  King  Charles 
of  sainted  memory ;  it  promises  over- 
much, but  gets  you  nowhere." 

The  vastness  of  the  Colonial  posses- 
sions bred  prodigality,  and  an  indefi- 
nite tract  "north  of  the  Charles,"  or  a 
wilderness  to  the  "south  of  the  same" 
stretching  more  or  fewer  leagues  made 
little  difference  to  the  royal  grantor. 
The  Indians  had  called  this  river  the 
Quinobequin,  but  Professor  Horsford 
satisfied  himself  that  its  earliest  name 
was    the    Nornmhep-a.      Be    that    as    it 


The  Source  of  the  Charles  River 


may,  when  Captain  John  Smith  be- 
took himself  to  England  in  1614,  he 
carried  the  map  he  had  so  laboriously 
drawn  "from  point  to  point,  isle  to 
isle,  harbor  to  harbor,  soundings, 
sand,  rocks  and  landmarks."  This  he 
laid  before  the  King,  with  the  request 
that  his  young  son,  the  Prince  Charles, 
would  rechristen  the  localities.  Smith 
supposed,  naturally  enough,  that  the 
Indian  names  were  designations  mere- 
ly, without  special  significance,  but,  in 
reality,  they  were  in  the  aboriginal 
splendidly  descriptive,  and  in  euphonic 
charm  much  exceeded  the  common- 
placeness  of  the  Prince's  selection.  To 
the  river  Quinobequin,  or  Norumbega, 
he  gave  his  own  name ;  to  Cape  Ann 
on  the  coast,  that  of  his  mother ;  while 
Elizabeth  and  Plymouth  are  among 
the  few  others  that  still  exist.  But 
commonplace  as  it  is,  our  associations 
have  endeared  this  terminology,  and 
in  truth  "the  Charles"  himself  "writes 


the  last  letter  of  his  name"  so  often  in 
his  meadows,  that  we  almost  feel  that 
he  perforce  really  named  himself. 

The  Charles  was  early  described  as 
"one  of  the  most  beautiful  rivers  in 
the  world,"  but  without  waxing  so 
enthusiastic  as  that,  it  is  safe  to  say 
there  is  no  more  picturesque  water 
course  in  New  England,  nor  one  that 
runs  through  more  historic  ground. 

No  account  has  come  down  to  us  of 
any  exploration  of  the  valley  during 
the  first  decade  after  the  establishment 
of  the  Bay  Colony,  but  it  was  early  in 
our  history  that  the  several  falls  in- 
vited industries  for  which  the  pres- 
sure from  the  Mother  Country  made 
the  necessity  imperative.  Several  men 
from  Winthrop's  party  pushed  three 
leagues  up  the  river  in  1631  and  es- 
tablished themselves  at  Watertown, 
Roxbury,  and  Newtowne.  Using  the 
waterway  for  a  road  and  the  canoe  for 
vehicle,  the  hardy  pioneers  gradually 

647 


THE  CHARLES  RIVER  VALLEY 


penetrated  farther  and  farther  inland. 
If  we  follow  their  footsteps  in  the  re- 
verse order,  i.  c,  from  the  source  co 
the  mouth  of  the  Charles,  we  must  be- 
gin with  the  town  of  Hopkinton, 
which  has  a  history  unique  in  our 
annals. 

A  London  merchant,  Edward  Hop- 
kins, came  to  this  country  in  1637, 
settled  in  Hartford,  Connecticut,  of 
which  state  he  was  governor  for  many 
years.  He  returned  to  England,  where 
he  died  twenty  years  later.  Of  his 
New  England  estate  he  willed  five 
hundred  pounds  "for  the  upholding 
and  promoting  the  kingdom  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  in  those  parts  of  the 
earth."  After  the  death  of  his  widow 
in  1699,  the  legacy  was  paid,  but  the 
executor  and  the  residuary  legatee 
both  being  dead,  a  suit  was  brought  in 
the  Court  of  Chancery,  which  resulted 
in  a  decree,  that,  with  the  consent  of 
the  Society  for  Propagating  Christian- 
ity, the  original  amount  with  accrued 
interest  should  be  laid  out  in  lands,  the 
rental  of  which  should  go  to  Harvard 
College  and  Cambridge  High  School. 
The  trustees  of  the  "Donation  Fund" 
petitioned  the  General  Court  for  li- 
cense to  purchase  from  the  Natick  In- 
dians "a  tract  of  waste  land  known  as 
Magunkaquog."  Six  hundred  pounds 
were  paid  in  bills  of  credit,  and  a  deed 
of  warranty  was  executed  by  the  In- 
dians. Thus  eight  thousand  acres  ly- 
ing between  Sherburn,  Mendon,  the 
Province  Lands,  and  Sudbury  became 
the  property  of  the  trustees.  To  this 
territory  twenty-five  thousand  acres 
were  added,  and  all  called,  in  honor  of 
the  donor,  Hopkinton.  From  the  first, 
and  until  1742,  an  annual  rental  of  a 
penny  per  acre  was  paid ;  later  the 
price    was     advanced     to     threepence 


"from  that  time  forward  forever,"  an 
arrangement  however  that  was  ter- 
minated by  mutual  consent  nine  years 
later,  when  the  commonwealth  paid 
eight,  and  the  tenants  two  thousand 
pounds,  for  which  sums  the  trustees 
gave  full  release  to  the  tenants. 

Joseph  Young,  father  of  Brigham, 
the  Mormon  leader,  was  a  native  of 
Hopkinton,  as  was  also  Patrick  Shays, 
whose  misguided  son  conducted  the 
Rebellion  in  the  attempt  to  coerce  the 
courts  of  the  state. 

Closely  associated  with  this  region 
is  the  honored  name  of  John  Eliot,  that 
"morning  star  of  missionary  enter- 
prise," as  Bancroft  called  him.  This 
good  man  held,  in  common  with  many 
another,  that  the  North  American  sav- 
age was  the  descendant  of  the  ten 
lost  tribes  of  Israel.  Coming  from 
England  in  1631,  he  applied  himself 
so  diligently  that  in  twenty  years  he 
was  able  to  translate  the  Bible,  or,  as 
Mrs.  Stowe  wrote :  "the  harsh,  gut- 
tural Indian  language  in  the  fervent 
alembic  of  his  loving  study  was  melted 
into  a  written  language."  Winthrop 
said  of  this  stupendous  achievement, 
that  "no  more  marvelous  monument  of 
literary  work  in  the  service  of  either 
God  or  man,  can  be  found  upon  the 
earth.  Allibone  calls  it  "the  monolith 
of  a  race  that  has  passed."  This  Bible, 
the  first  to  be  translated  into  a  savage 
tongue,  was  the  first  of  any  kind  to  be 
printed  in  America.  It  bears  the  im- 
print of  Cambridge  1661-3.  It  went 
through  two  editions  of  two  thousand 
copies  each.  The  first  edition  was  in- 
scribed to  the  English  Parliament,  and 
the  second  to  Charles  II.  Several  of 
these  copies  are  still  in  existence.  One 
in  perfect  condition,  save  for  a  miss- 
ing    title     page,     was     presented     to 


THE  CHARLES  RIVER  VALLEY 


649 


Wellesley  College  by  Dr.  Bonar  of 
Glasgow,  Scotland,  in  whose  posses- 
sion it  had  been  since  1840.  The  Len- 
ox Library  of  New  York  has  a  copy  ot 
each  edition,  and  Mr.  Trumbull  of 
Hartford,  Conn.,  has  one  in  his  valu- 
able collection  of  books.  South  Natick 
also  possesses  one.  The  title  of  the 
New  Testament  is  Wuskuwuttester- 
mentum,  and  words  of  twenty  even 
thirty-five  letters  were  not  uncommon. 
The  present  market  price  is  quite  one 
thousand  dollars. 

John  Eliot  began  his  mission  in 
1646,  when  forty-two  years  of  age. 
When  his  little  company  of  converts 
begged  to  be  organized  into  a  religious 
body,  they  represented  that  they  "were 
trying  to  observe  the  ordinances  of 
God,  in  observation  whereof  we  see 
the  goodly  Englishmen  walk."  Such 
organization  was  deemed  inexpedient 
till  the  petitioners  should  acquire  more 
civilized  habits.  When  they  applied 
for  a  form  of  civil  government,  Eliot 
referred  them  to  Jethro's  advice  to 
Moses :  "Moreover  thou  shalt  provide 
out  of  all  the  people,  able  men,  such 
as  fear  God ;  men  of  truth,  hating  cov- 
etousness,  and  place  such  over  them 
to  be  rulers  of  thousands  and  rulers  of 
hundreds,  and  rulers  of  fifties  and 
rulers  of  tens."  This  was  done,  and 
the  historian  remarks  that  "the  titles 
remained  fairer  than  those  of  any 
belted  Earl."  The  slope  of  Magunco 
Hill  in  the  easterly  part  of  Hopkinton 
was  chosen  as  a  suitable  place  for  this 
settlement.  The  deed  of  sale  was 
signed  by  the  two  chiefs,  Waban  and 
Pegan. 

The  rude  wigwams  of  these  "Pray- 
ing Indians"  gave  way  a  century  later, 
to  a  handsome  country-seat  owned  by 
Sir  Charles  Henry  Frankland,  Collec- 


tor of  the  Port  of  Boston.  This  scion 
of  nobility  bore  in  his  veins  the  blood 
of  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  Horace 
Walpole,  and  Oliver  Cromwell.  He 
was  young,  handsome,  and  selfish. 
With  his  beautiful  but  unfortunate 
mistress,  Agnes  Surriage,  he  lived  on 
his  lordly  estate  of  four  hundred  and 
eighty-two  acres  the  life  of  a  Southern 
planter  or  English  nobleman.  He 
planted  extensive  orchards  and  pleas- 
ant gardens,  imported  trees,  shrubs, 
fine  furniture,  and  the  choicest  wines 
to  fill  his  ample  cellars.  The  romantic 
tale  has  been  too  often  told  in  verse 
and  story  to  require  more  than  the 
merest  mention  here.  When  Sir 
Henry  took  his  mistress  to  England, 
his  family  refused  to  recognize  the 
connection.  His  affairs  called  him  to 
Portugal,  where,  in  the  terrible  earth- 
quake of  1755,  he  was  buried  in  the 
debris  of  falling  buildings  in  the 
streets  of  Lisbon.  Agnes  Surriage  had 
the  happiness  to  arrive  upon  the  scene 
of  horror  before  life  was  extinct,  and 
by  her  efforts  her  lover  was  rescued. 
As  soon  as  he  recovered  from  his  in- 
juries they  were  married,  and  lived 
happily  until  his  death  in  1768.  Lady 
Frankland  returned  to  America,  where 
she  witnessed  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill 
from  a  window  in  her  town  house  on 
Garden  Court  Street  corner  of  Ball 
Alley,  now  Prince  Street.  Naturally 
she  was  regarded  with  suspicion  by 
the  Patriots,  and  she  returned  to  Eng- 
land, where  she  contracted  a  second 
marriage  with  a  wealthy  banker  of 
Chichester.  The  Frankland  mansion 
was  destroyed  by  fire  first  in  1856  and 
again  in  1902.  As  Upton  and  Ash- 
land have  been  set  off  from  Hopkinton, 
the  Frankland  estate  is  now  (in  more 
senses  than  one)  in  Ashland  .  The  few 


650 


THE  CHARLES   RIVER  VALLEY 


remaining  magnificent  elms  shading 
the  box  paths  of  the  terraced  lawn, 
are  within  gunshot  of  the  buzzing 
trolley  as  it  nears  Hopkinton. 

A  long  and  pleasant  street  with  its 
own  post  office,  called  Haydon  Row, 
leads  out  of  Hopkinton,  and  carries 
the  Charles  River  directly  from  its 
birth  spring  through  a  culvert  into  a 
sloping    field,    where,    under    its    first 


bridge  it  makes  its  way  into  Echo 
Lake,  whence,  emerging  over  Willow 
dam  it  becomes  a  full-fledged  river.  It 
then  enters  Milford  in  Norfolk  Coun- 
ty and,  parallel  to  the  Pawtucket 
River,  flows  with  great  dignity  the 
length  of  the  town  from  north  to 
south,  over  the  straightest  part  of  its 
entire  course.  The  whilom  beautiful 
Cedar  Swamp  Pond  is  merely  the 
broadened  river.  Milford,  like  most 
New  England  towns,  has  been  so  cut 
up  into  smaller  ones  that  to  separate 
histories  is  not  an  easy  matter.  It  was 
originally  the  NFeck  Mill  of  Mendon, 
but  was  set  off  as  an  independent 
township  late  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. Today  it  is  a  busy,  clattering 
little  village:  water,  steam,  and  horse 
power  are  employed  to  turn  wheels  for 


the  manufacture  of  a  score  of  useful 
articles, — cabinet  and  tinware,  straw 
goods,  varnish,  wagon-irons,  whips, 
curried  leather,  clinching  screws,  and 
shoe  heels. 

These  industries  are  the  outgrowth 
of  a  few  dozen  hand-made  shoes,  ped- 
dled by  their  maker  from  house  to 
house.  Milford  also  possesses  fine 
rose  granite  quarries,  the  quality  of 
which  commends  the  material  for 
building  purposes.  Whoever  has  en- 
joyed the  faint  flush  of  the  Boston 
Public  Library  fagadc  on  bright  days 
or  at  sunset  may  readily  conclude  that 
no  richer  suffusion  of  color  can  well 
be  given  out  from  gray  granite. 

From  the  very  first  the  Milfordians 
proved  themselves  both  thrifty  and 
shrewd.  It  was  decreed  that  "all  such 
persons  who  should  transport  them- 
selves into  the  Province  of  New?  Jersey 
within  time  limited  by  said  concession, 
should  be  entitled  to  grants  or  patents 
under  seal  of  the  Province  for  certain 
acres  for  said  concessions  expressed, 
paying  therefor  yearly  the  rent  of  a 
half  penny  sterling  money,  for  every 
acre  to  be  so  granted."  Another  de- 
cree was :  "that  all  lands  should  be 
purchased  by  Governor  or  Council 
from  Indians,  as  there  should  be  oc- 
casion, in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Pro- 
prietor, every  person  to  pay  his  propor- 
tion of  purchase  money  and  charges." 
This  was  intended  as  a  just  protection 
to  Indian  rights.  It  was  conceded  that 
they  should  receive  compensation  for 
their  lands,  and  therefore  must  both 
sell  and  buy  through  responsible  per- 
sons, viz.,  the  proprietors.  They  also 
offered  a  bounty  of  seventy-five  dol- 
lars for  the  importation  of  each  able 
slave.  This  was  in  compliment  to  the 
Duke  of  York,  who  was  a  patron  of 


The  Dam  at  South  Medway 


the  Slave  Trade  and  President  of  the 
African  Company. 

The  early  annals  of  New  England 
villages  are  little  more  than  records  of 
church  and  parish  organizations.  In 
1841  Milford  church  as  the  result  of  a 
schism,  was  divided  against  itself,  and 
one  division,  led  by  the  Rev.  Adin  Bal- 
lon, founded  the  Hopedale  Commu- 
nity. It  was  situated  on  Mill  River, 
and  had  about  thirty  zealous  but  poor 
persons  enrolled  upon  its  books. 
Their  object  was  "to  establish  a  state  of 
society  governed  by  divine  moral  prin- 
ciples with  as  little  as  possible  of  mere 
human  constraint,  in  which  while  the 
members  may  be  sufficiently  free  to 
associate  or  separate  their  secular  in- 
terests according  to  inclination  or  con- 
geniality, no  individual  shall  suffer 
the  evils  of  oppression,  poverty,  igno- 
rance, or  vice  through  the  influence  or 


neglect  of  others."  The  Community 
was  a  joint  stock  company,  having  its 
savings  bank,  lyceum,  and  an  "Indus- 
trial Army"  which  corresponded  to 
our  Village  Improvement  societies. 
"The  streets,  squares,  and  cemeteries 
were  to  be  beautified,  by  combined 
labor  and  pleasure,  usefulness  and 
recreation,  friendship  and  public  spirit, 
that  the  Community  may  become  a 
dear  home  for  all  its  inhabitants." 
This  declaration  has  been  summed  up 
as  an  enlightened,  practical,  Christian 
aim  to  regenerate  the  world. 

It  happened  that  in  the  "Dale"  on 
the  Jones  farm  there  was  standing  an 
old  house  built  entirely  by  one  man's 
hands.  This,  with  barns,  and  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty-eight  acres  of  land, 
the  Company  purchased  for  four 
thousand  dollars.  In  1850  the  num- 
ber  of  families   was   thirty-four,   con- 

651 


6^2 


THE  CHARLES  RIVER  VALLEY 


sisting  of  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  souls,  living  on  five  hundred 
acres.  Fourteen  years  after  its  estab- 
lishment there  were  fifty  families  and 
three  hundred  individuals.  This  at- 
tempt to  set  up  the  Kingdom  of  God 
on  earth,  came  to  an  end  in  1856,  when 
the  Hopedale  Parish,  as  its  heir  and 
assign,  inherited  the  property. 

The  Roman  Catholic  St.  Mary's 
Church  inherited  an  ancient  bell  of 
exceedingly  rich  tone  cast  in  Ireland 
and  weighing  four  thousand  pounds. 
In  1878  the  same  parish  bought  the 
organ  of  the  Old  South  Church  of 
Boston. 

At  South  Milford  the  Charles  enters 
Bellingham,  also  in  Norfolk  County, 
and  at  the  center  of  the  town  makes  a 
broad  northward  curve.  Bellingham, 
named  for  Sir  Richard  Bellingham, 
was  an  unimportant  part  of  Dedham 
until  1719.  It  never  had  a  corporate 
charter,  but  came  into  existence  solely 
on  the  proviso  that  a  learned  minister 
should  be  settled  within  three  years. 
The  land  was  drawn  by  numbered  lots, 
and  many  conditions  were  attached  to 
the  quality  of  persons  participating  in 
the  lottery.  The  town  warned  away  all 
persons  likely  to  become  public  charges 
in  these  words :  "To  the  Constable  of 
the  town  of  Bellingham — Greeting. 
In  his  Majesty's  name  you  are  re- 
quired forthwith  to  warn  ,  his 

wife  and  children  out  of  our  town 
within  fourteen  days,  as  the  law  di- 
rects, and  make  return  of  this  warrant 
unto  the  Selectmen."  And  further  to 
sift  the  town  of  persons  with  undesir- 
able habits,  the  records  show  that  in 
1777  it  was  voted  that  "all  persons  were 
forbidden  to  have  the  small-pox,  and 
in  the  houses  of  Daniel  or  Silas  Penni- 
man,    except   said    Silas   now   sick,    if 


any  person  in  either  of  the  two  houses 
be  so  presumptuous  as  to  have  the 
small-pox,  shall  forfeit  to  the  town  £10 
to  be  recovered  by  the  treasurer." 
Discussion  for  and  against  inoculation 
became  very  heated.  In  1722  a  ser- 
mon had  been  preached  from  the  text, 
"So  Satan  went  forth  from  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Lord,  and  smote  Job  with 
sore  boils  from  the  sole  of  his  foot  to 
the  crown  of  his  head,"  and  it  was  ar- 
gued that  the  devil  was  the  first  inoc- 
ulator  and  Job  his  first  patient. 

"We're  told  by  one  of  the  black  robes 
The  Devil  inoculated  Job, 
Suppose  'tis  true,  what  he  does  tell, 
Pray,  neighbors,  did  not  Job  do  well?" 

Men  patrolled  the  streets  with  hal- 
ters in  search  of  Dr.  Zabdial  Boyls- 
ton,  who  had  taken  the  suggestion  of 
inoculation  from  Cotton  Mather.  He 
was  hidden  in  his  own  house  for  four- 
teen days,  only  his  wife  knowing  his 
whereabouts.  Hand-grenades  were 
thrown  in  at  the  windows.  He  treated 
his  own  child  and  two  servants,  for 
which  he  was  cited  before  the  Boston 
authorities.  Of  the  one  hundred  and 
eighty-six  persons  inoculated  that 
year,  only  six  died.  Dr.  Boylston  was 
the  first  American  made  Fellow  of 
the  Royal  Society  of  England.  Inocu- 
lation was  succeeded  by  vaccination 
and  practised  by  Dr.  Waterhouse  of 
Cambridge  and  Dr.  Aspinwall  of 
Brookline.  The  system  of  the  patient 
was  prepared  by  medical  treatment, 
the  skin  scarified,  and  virus  applied 
under  a  nut-shell. 

When  the  General  Court  made  its 
first  call  for  a  member  in  1755  Belling- 
ham refused  to  send  one  and  was  fined 
for  contumacy.  In  1757  and  again  in 
'6 1  the  same  thing  occurred. 

Beaver  Brook  is  the  outlet  of  Bea- 


THE  CHARLES  RIVER  VALLEY 


653 


ver  Pond,  which  unites  with  the 
Charles  and  leaves  Bellingham  at  the 
extreme  northeast  corner  of  the  town, 
forming  a  boundary  line  between  the 
adjacent  towns  of  Franklin  and  Med- 
way.  It  does  not  touch  Holliston,  but 
receives  so  many  affluents  from  that 
town  that  it  may,  properly  enough,  be 
considered  a  part  of  the  valley.  Hop- 
ping and  Chicken  brooks  both  rise 
there  and  find  the  Charles  at  Medway. 

The  town  was  named  for  Sir  Thomas 
Hollis  and  began  its  history  in  1724. 
Someone  has  said  that  in  New  Eng- 
land "the  town  was  the  church  acting 
in  secular  concerns,  and  the  church 
was  the  town  acting  in  religious  con- 
cerns." The  civil  and  ecclesiastical 
bodies  were  so  closely  united  that  only 
members  of  the  church  were  voters,  or 
freemen  of  the  town.  Hoyt  thought, 
"the  making  of  piety  and  church  com- 
munion a  qualification  for  civil  offices, 
a  premium  offered  to  hypocrisy."  And 
can  less  be  said  of  the  curiously  un- 
democratic custom,  which  obtained  in 
many  if  not  all  of  the  river  towns, 
namely  that  of  "Dignifying  the  Pews" 
by  joint  action  of  deacons  and  select- 
men? This  meant  "to  assign  to  fami- 
lies and  to  individuals  their  places  in 
the  house  of  God,  in  reference  to  their 
dignity,  rank,  standing,  or  worth,  but 
at  the  same  time  taking  due  care  that 
no  person  be  humiliated  or  degraded"  ! 
This  would  seem  to  be  a  work  requir- 
ing superhuman  wisdom,  and  the 
heartburnings  in  the  back  pews  must 
have  been  out  of  harmony  with  the 
spirit  of  worship.  The  schedule  was 
drawn  up  with  great  care  and  discrim- 
ination, yet  there  were  found  five  men 
who  protested  against  the  custom  "as 
not  according  to  Law  and  Reason." 

The    dissenter    from    the    dominant 


principles  of  pure  Congregationalism 
was  a  heretic  and  a  political  alien. 
The  meeting-house  served  its  religious 
purpose  on  Sunday,  but  was  used  as  a 
town-house  on  Monday,  thus  occupy- 
ing the  place  of  a  "true  communal 
core."  When  it  was  decided  that  no 
parish  was  under  obligation  to  provide 
a  town  meeting-house,  the  separation 
between  it  and  the  religious  meeting- 
house took  place.  A  "Great  sickness" 
carried  off  an  eighth  of  the  population 
in  1754  and  was  regarded  as  a  direct 
punishment  of  God  for  certain  litiga- 
tion in  the  town. 


Bridge  Between  Franklin  and  Medway 

Franklin,  separated  from  Medway 
by  the  Charles,  became  an  independent 
township  in  1778.  The  territory  be- 
longed to  the  Proprietors  as  a  Com- 
pany, in  which  each  held  shares  in  pro- 
portion to  his  property  valuation.  The 


Medway  Village 


ratio  was  one  Common  right  per  each 
£8  of  estate.  Five  sheep  counted  as 
one  cow.  Each  owned  such  a  share  of 
this  land,  or  so  many  common  cow 
rights,  as  one  eighth  of  his  property 
valuation  might  express  in  units. 

Benjamin  Franklin,  in  whose  honor 
the  town  received  its  name,  sent  in  ac- 
knowledgement one  hundred  and  six- 
teen volumes,  instead  of  a  bell,  hoping, 


as  he  explained,  "that  they  would  pre- 
fer sense  to  sound."  There  is  a  beau- 
tiful group  of  lakes  and  rivers  between 
Franklin  and  Norfolk,  viz.,  Lake  Wol- 
lomonopoag,  King  Philip's  Pond, 
Populatic  Pond,  Uncas,  Beaver,  and 
Mill  rivers.  The  region  was  a  favor- 
ite resort  of  Massasoit,  and  later,  of 
his  son  King  Philip  of  unfortunate 
memory. 


654 


Kim,  Philip's  Hridg 


THE  CHARLES  RIVER  VALLEY 


6=>S 


The  Rev.  Nathaniel  Emmons  was 
pastor  from  the  dedication  to  the  de- 
molition of  the  meeting-house.  In  the 
pulpit  he  was  grave  and  dignified,  but 
out  of  it,  his  witty  repartee  and  fund 
of  anecdote  have  left  an  abiding  mem- 
ory. When  the  building  was  torn 
down,  the  old  sounding-board  settled 
on  a  well-house  in  Ashland,  and  the 
breast-work  of  the  pulpit  found  its 
way  to  the  Chicago  Theological  Semi- 
nary. The  bell  had  received  a  coat  of 
paint  whereby  the  ring  was  virtually 
destroyed.  It  was  disposed  of  in 
Paxton,  before  the  expedient  of  re- 
moving the  paint  was  suggested  in  the 
town. 

Horace  Mann  was  born  in  1796  in  a 
house  on  an  adjoining  Plain,  bearing 
his  family  name.  When  the  Franklin 
land  was  allotted,  an  old  squaw  begged 
to  exchange  her  portion  for  Wollo- 
monopoag  Farm.  This  became  in 
1673  the  town  of  Wrentham,  but  in 
1870  received  the  name  of  Norfolk. 
Its  subdivisions  are  Pondville,  Stony 
Brook,  City  Mills,  and  Highland  Lake. 
In  King  Philip's  War  every  house  but 
two  was  burned,  and  those  two  were 
spared  because  persons  ill  of  the  small- 
pox— of  which  the  savages  were  mor- 
tally afraid — were  in  them.  Norfolk 
is  a  farming  as  well  as  a  manufactur- 
ing place.  The  Populatic  Pond  cov- 
ers seventy-four  acres,  and  is  another 
of  those  shining  river  breadths,  spread- 
ing over  the  low  lands. 

Chief  Chickatawbet  was  said  to  have 
sold,  in  1651,  certain  lands  between 
the  Charles  and  the  Neponset  rivers 
to  William  Pynchon.  If  any  deed  of 
transfer  passed,  no  record  has  ever 
been  found  of  it,  but  the  Chief's 
grandson  entered  a  claim,  which  was 
recognized  by  the  payment  of  a  small 


sum  of  money.  On  these  meadows 
and  uplands  north  of  the  Charles  and 
west  of  Boggastow  Brook  a  pretty 
hamlet  of  small  houses  with  high,  nar- 
row gables  was  built,  and  called  Med- 
field.  King  Philip  himself  inhabited 
adjoining  land.  In  an  early  morning 
in  February,  1675,  with  a  party  of  two 
or  three  hundred  painted  Narragan- 
sett  warriors,  he  swooped  down  upon 
his  neighbors,  burning  fifty  houses 
and  killing  eighteen  men. 

A  bridge  called  King  Philip's  and 
another  named  Dwight's  here  span  the 
river.  The  rock  foundation  is  largely 
gneiss  and  granite,  the  soil  a  clayey 
loam.  This  town  was  the  birthplace 
of  Mr.  Lowell  Mason,  and  also  of  the 
Mr.  Dowse  whose  name  is  associated 
with  the  foundation  of  the  Cambridge- 
port  Public  Library  and  the  Franklin 
Memorial  at  Mt.  Auburn,  as  well  as 
with  the  nucleus  of  a  library  left  to 
the  town  of  Sherborn. 

From  Medfield  the  new  and  pleasant 
town  of  Millis  receives  the  fine  chiro- 
graphical  Charles  as  it  winds  and 
turns  in  curious  convolutions  bound- 
ing the  entire  eastern  and  part  of  the 
southern  front.  Boggastow  Brook 
enters  Millis  at  the  northeast,  and 
forms  two  ponds  and  three  oxbows, 
uniting  with  the  Charles  at  the  north- 
west. At  South  End  Pond  are  re- 
mains of  the  fortifications  thrown  up 
in  King  Philip's  time.  Millis  was  a 
part  of  Medfield  until  1885.  It  has 
thriving  industries,  brush  and  broom, 
carriage  and  wagon  factories  being 
prominent  among  them. 

The  peculiar  institution  of  Sher- 
born is  the  Woman's  Prison,  opened  to 
criminals  in  1877.  For  some  years 
and  until  her  death  Ellen  Cheney 
fohnson    was    matron.      Her   life   and 


Old  Farm  Bridge  Between  Sherborn  and  Dover 


qualities  are  worthy  a  public  memor- 
ial. 

As  the  bird  flies,  Sherborn  is  four- 
teen miles  from  Dover,  but  thirty- 
eight  and  a  half  by  the  river  which 
bounds  it  on  both  the  north  and  the 
west.  Trout,  Clay,  and  Noanett 
brooks  join  it  here,  affording  delight- 
ful riparian  variety.  The  Dingle  Hole 
Narrows  and  Nimrod's  Rocks,  with 
five  hills  from  three  to  five  hundred 
feet  high,  present  very  delightful  scen- 
ery. Dover  was  set  off  from  Dedham 
— that  mother  of  much  progeny — in 
1729,  and  is  one  of  the  very  few  agri- 
cultural towns  of  the  valley. 

The  next  town  on  the  Charles  is 
Natick,  with  division  of  South  Natick, 
which,  in  the  Indian  vernacular  means 
Place  of  Hills.  Nobscott's  Height, 
Hopkinton,  Wachuset,  with  Monad- 
nock  in  New  Hampshire  are  clearly 
visible.  Its  first  settlement  was  made 
in  1 65 1  by  John  Eliot's  "Praying  In- 
dians," for,  said  that  good  man,  "The 
Lord  did  discover  that  there  it  was  his 
pleasure   we  should   begin   this   work. 

When  grasse  was  fit  to  cut,  I  sent  In- 
656 


dians  to  mow  and  others  to  make  hay, 
because  we  must  oft  ride  hither  in  the 
autumn  and  in  the  spring  before  any 
grasse  is  come."  A  round  fort  was 
built  against  Pegan  Hill,  an  outpost 
palisaded  with  trees  was  established, 
and  a  footbridge  in  the  form  of  an 
arch,  the  foundations  of  which  were 
seamed  in  stone,  was  thrown  across 
the  rapids.  To  each  family  was  ac- 
corded a  house  lot,  and  one  was  also 
set  apart  for  the  missionary.  This  was 
surrounded  by  "trees  of  friendship" 
whose  girth  well  above  the  ground  is 
today  twenty-one  feet.  A  strenuous 
attempt  was  made  to  instill  methodi- 
cal habits  of  life  and  work.  The  Indi- 
ans felled  trees,  and  made  clapboards 
and  shingles,  evincing  genuine  inter- 
est in  the  project.  The  troubles  en- 
countered did  not  come  from  the  red 
men,  but  from  the  white  man  in  the 
neighboring  town  of  Dedham.  Eliot 
was  obliged  to  protest  that  these  pro- 
fessing pious  Dedhamites  "do  take 
away  the  railles  prepared  to  fence  our 
corne  fields,  and  on  another  side  they 
have  taken  awav  our  lands  and   sold 


THE  CHARLES  RIVER  VALLEY 


657 


them  to  others,  to  the  trouble  and 
wonderment  of  the  Indians."  The 
missionary  efforts  for  the  aborigines 
continued  till  the  breaking  out  of  King 
Philip's  War,  when  it  wTas  deemed  pru- 
dent to  confine  their  residence  to  five 
out  of  the  seven  settlements  they  had 
made,  and  to  forbid  them  to  roam 
more  than  a  mile  away.  This  arrange- 
ment put  an  effectual  veto  on  their 
fishing  and  hunting  habits,  and  they 
were  soon  taken  under  guard  to  The 
Pines,  now  the  Arsenal,  at  Water- 
town,  and  finally  deported  to  Deer 
Island.  Some  escaped  to  the  woods 
en  route,  returned  to  their  people,  and 
sometimes  served  as  spies.  They  never 
returned  except  as  occasional  strag- 
glers. In  twenty  years  all  had  passed 
away,  and  in  1745  the  Natick  planta- 
tion had  become  a  parish. 

The  Charles  covers  a  hundred  acres 
in  Natick,  and  its  picturesque  rapids, 
with  Sawin's  and  Bacon's  brooks,  and 
Lake  Cochichuate,  combine  to  furnish 
lovely  views.     Just  here  too  the  vaga- 


ries of  the  Charles  are  as  fanciful  as 
anywhere  in  its  course.  It  enters 
Wellesley,  where  the  land  falls  to  the 
southwest  and  to  the  northeast  to- 
wards different  parts  of  the  river. 
The  beautiful  country-seat  of  Mr.  H. 
Hunnewell  occupies  over  four  hun- 
dred acres,  and  the  river  flows  along 
its  entire  eastern  front  and  a  short  dis- 
tance on  the  southwestern  curve. 

Wellesley  was  a  part  of  Dedham  at 
first,  and  later  of  Needham.  When  in- 
corporated as  an  independent  town- 
ship it  was  named  for  the  Welles  fam- 
ily. It  is  already  subdivided  into 
Wellesley  Hills  (originally  Grant- 
ville),  Wellesley  Farms,  Rice's  Cross- 
ing, and  Riverside.  Wellesley  Col- 
lege site  was  the  Cunningham  Pas- 
ture bordering  the  lake  named  for 
Chief  Waban.  Henry  Fowle  Durant 
was  the  donor  of  the  four  hundred  and 
fifty  acres  designed  as  a  memorial  to 
his  only  child.  The  college  was  opened 
in  1875  with  three  hundred  students 
and  thirty  professors  and  instructors. 


Wellesley  College  and  Lake  Waban 


Powder  House  Rock,  Dedham 


Great  stress  is  laid  upon  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  Bible  as  the  basis  of  all 
learning  and  of  all  true  philosophy, 
and  it  is  a  required  study  throughout 
the  course. 

Wellesley  has  hosiery,  shoddy,  and 
paper  mills,  shoe,  paint,  and  chemical 
factories  within  its  limits.  The  discov- 
erer of  ether  as  an  anaesthetic,  Dr. 
W.  G.  T.  Morton,  was  a  native  of  the 
town. 

The  whole  southern  line  of  Need- 
ham  is  washed  by  the  Charles,  which 
here  has  quirks  and  capers  innumer- 
able. It  almost  cuts  an  island  out  of 
Dedham3  an  attempt  encouraged  by 
man  in  the  ditch  across  the  narrow 
connecting  link  of  land.  This  ditch 
affords  a  saving  of  labor  to  many  a 
canoeist  whose  aim  is  to  "get  there" 
rather  than  to  loaf  around  the  bends  at 
.'ill  pi  lints  of  (lie  compass.  Nccdham 
was    named    from    Nehoiden.   a   chief 


who  had  adopted  William  for  a  given 
name.  This  was  a  friendly  custom 
with  the  Indian  tribes  living  at  peace 
with  the  settlers,  as  witness  Alexander 
and  Philip,  Massasoit's  sons.  Its  an- 
nals are  complicated  with  those  of 
Charles  River  Village,  which  separates 
the  town  proper  from  Dover.  The 
town  of  Dedham  originally  contained 
Norwood,  Walpole,  Norfolk,  Wren- 
tham,  Franklin,  Bellingham,  Medfield, 
Dover,  Needham,  parts  of  Natick  and 
Hyde  Park.  The  word  Dedham  is 
said  to  be  synonymous  with  Content- 
ment It  was  settled  as  a  plantation  by 
a  population  of  about  nine  thousand  in 

The  digging  of  Mother  Brook 
Channel  was  a  great  design  and  per- 
manently beneficial  in  its  consequences. 
About  a  third  of  the  water  of  the 
Charles  continues  its  natural  course, 
while  the  other  two-thirds   runs   in  a 


Cart  Bridge,  Dedham 


direct  line  through  the  meadows  and 
around  the  highlands  by  the  town  to 
Neponset   River. 

Newton  has  a  water  front  of  seven- 
teen miles,  being  surrounded  on  three 
sides — south,  west,  and  north — by  the 
winding  Charles  whose  course  is  a 
continuous  curving  line  for  fifteen 
miles.  A  boulder  in  the  river,  called 
County  Rock,  marks  the  abutting  cor- 
ners of  Norfolk  and  Middlesex  Coun- 
ties, and  also  the  towns  of  Newton, 
Wellesley,  and  Weston.  Baptist  Pond 
covers  thirty-two  acres  and  sends  its 
outletting  stream  southward  to  the 
Charles.  Hammond's  Pond  is  con- 
nected with  Ballon  Ponds,  which  join 
the  Charles  at  Watertown.  It  has  sev- 
eral hills :  Waban,  Oak,  Sylvan 
Heights,  Nonatum,  and  Institution, 
where  is  situated  the  Baptist  Theo- 
logical Seminary.  Newton  was  cut 
off  from  Cambridge  when  the  com- 
mon lands  were  divided  in  1662  ;  an- 
other division  took  place  two  years 
later,  when  one  Edward  Jackson  re- 


ceived four  hundred  acres,  which,  at 
his  death,  were  bequeathed  to  Harvard 
College.  Among  his  assets  were  two 
male  slaves  valued  at  five  pounds  each. 
As  Cambridge  was  unwilling  to  fore- 
go the  educational  and  bridge  taxes 
derived  from  Newtowne,  the  final  sep- 
aration of  the  towns  was  not  effected 
till  1776,  after  thirty-two  years  of  con- 
stant petitioning.  Where  the  ground 
descends  from  Nonantum  Hill  in  New- 
ton near  to  the  limits  of  Brighton  the 
Indians  had  a  settlement  with  Waban 
their  chief.  He  listened  to  Eliot's  first 
sermon  in  the  Indian  language.  It 
was  three  hours  long  and  the  text  was 
from  Ezekiel  37  :g.  "Come  from  the 
four  winds,  O  breath,  and  breathe 
upon  these  slain  that  they  may  live." 
Curiously  enough  the  Indian  word  for 
breath,  or  wind,  was  Waban,  and  all 
unconsciously  the  preacher  had  tickled 
the  vanity  of  his  Chieftainship,  who, 
as  may  be  guessed,  lent  a  willing  ear  to 
a  doctrine  drawn  from  a  book  in  which 
he  was   mentioned   by   name.     Roger 

6;q 


Echo  Bridge,  Newton  Upper  Falls 


Sherman,  a  signer  of  the  Declaration 
of  Independence  was  born  in  Newton, 
as  was  also  Ephraim  Williams,  found- 
er of  Williams  College. 

Smelt  Brook  joins  the  Charles  on  the 
south,  while  the  Sudbury  River  con- 
duit pipe  crosses  it  at  Newton  Upper 
Falls,  upon  Echo  Bridge.  The  total 
length  of  this  bridge  is  five  hundred 
feet,  and  its  main  span  one  hundred 
and  thirty  feet  long  and  seventy  feet 
high  was,  at  the  time  it  was  built — 
1876-7 — the  second  largest  on  the 
continent.  Here  is  that  most  lovely 
bit  of  scenery,  Hemlock  Gorge,  the 
steep  rocky  sides  of  which  are  clothed 
with  fine  evergreen.  The  conglomer- 
ate bedrock  makes  a  natural  dam  with 
a  perpendicular  fall  of  twenty  feet, 
and,  in  the  next  half  mile  a  drop  of 
thirty-five.  Unfortunately,  but  inevi- 
tably,  such  material  advantages  could 

not  be  ignored,  and  the  whirr  of  ma- 
660 


chinery  from  snuff,  grist,  saw,  cotton, 
iron,  and  cut-nails  mills  and  factories 
has  long  been  heard.  A  fine  silk  in- 
dustry has  also  been  established,  the 
yarn  for  which  comes  from  every  silk- 
producing  country  in  the  world : 
China,  Japan,  Italy,  and  France.  As 
early  as  1704,  two  dams  utilizing  six- 
teen and  six  feet  falls  of  water  respec- 
tively, were  placed  at  Newton  Lower 
Falls,  two  miles  beyond  the  Upper 
Falls.  Iron  works,  paper,  silk,  hos- 
iery, and  cloth  mills  have  thus  deso- 
lated the  scene.  The  Middlesex  Canal 
was  chartered  in  1793  and  was  naviga- 
ble from  the  Charles  to  the  Merrimac 
in  1803.  The  subdivisions  of  Newton 
are  Newton  Centre,  Upper  and  Lower 
Falls,  Chestnut  Hill,  Highlands,  West 
Newton,  Thompsonville,  Newtonville, 
and  Auburndale. 

At  Riverside,  where  a  branch  of  the 
Boston   and   Albany   Railroad   crosses 


The  Willows,  Newton  Lower  Falls 


the  river,  is  one  of  the  noblest  of  pleas- 
ure grounds  open  to  the  public,  with 
proper  restrictions.  Mr.  Charles  W. 
Hubbard  began  to  lay  out  a  scheme  for 
it  in  1896,  and  his  ideas  enlarged  and 


now  54,000  square  feet  of  floor  space 
in  the  various  buildings,  and  his  floats 
cover  13,500  square  feet.  There  are 
forty  acres  of  land,  a  quarter  mile  cin- 
der track,   seven    tennis    courts,    and 


improved  by  experiment  till  there  are      fully  equipped  base  and  foot  ball  fields. 


661 


^X^o. 


^: 


Weston  Bridge 


Thousands  of  canoes  are  stored  here, 
with  lockers  for  cushions  and  paddles. 
The  proximity  of  the  Newton  Boat 
Club,  the  Boston  Athletic  Association, 
and  several  smaller  organizations,  turn 
out  numberless  canoes  on  summer 
evenings.  The  Saturday  night  band 
concerts  are  delightful.  Then  the 
basin  is  often  a  solid  mass 
of  canoes,  long  strings  of  gay 
lanterns  rise  to  the  apex  of  the 
boat  house  flagstaff,  and  as  one 
lolls  back  in  the  cushioned  canoe  both 
sight  and  hearing  are  entertained.  The 
shores  are  under  the  control  of  the 
Metropolitan  Park  Commission,  and 
policemen  have  patrol  boats  to  ensure 
safety. 

Waltham,  Watertown,  and  Weston 
were  three  military  districts.  At  Wal- 
tham the  river  is  twenty  feet  above 
sea  level,  and  from  Prospect  hill-top, 
four  hundred  and  sixty  feet  in  height, 
five  miles  from  Boston,  a  view  of  the 
State  House  and  sea  can  be  obtained. 
Half  way  between  Waltham  and  Wa- 


tertown Cheesecake  Brook  joins  the 
Charles.  Beaver  Brook  runs  across 
the  lower  end  of  Waltham  Plain, 
where  it  receives  Chester  Brook 
and  takes  it  with  itself  into  the 
Charles. 

Waltham  is  a  centre  of  canoe  build- 
ing. Here,  too,  are  many  mills : 
Chocolate,  snuff,  grist,  saw,  cotton, 
woolen,  hosiery,  and  coarse  wrapping 
paper ;  also  crayon,  watch  and  clock 
factories  ;  and  watch  machine  works. 
Waltham  watches  are  a  triumph  of 
automatic  accuracy.  At  Water- 
town  was  the  first  inland  settlement. 
Roger  Clapp  from  Winthrop's  party 
was  there  in  1 636.  It  was  itself  cut 
off  from  Newton,  only  in  its  turn  to 
be  sliced  up  so  effectually  as  to  be  at 
present  one  of  the  smallest  townships 
in  the  State.  It  is  separated  from  Bos- 
ton and  Newton  by  the  Charles,  which 
here  is  about  eight  rods  wide.  Stony 
Brook,  originating  in  Sandy  Pond, 
and  increased  by  the  Stower,  or 
llobb's   Brook,   is   one   of   the   largest 


THE  CHARLES  RIVER  VALLEY 


663 


tributaries.  Cherry  Brook  also  con- 
tributes a  mite,  but  far  the  largest 
change  in  the  river  is  caused  by  the 
tides,  which  affect  it  at  this  distance  of 
twelve  miles  from  the  sea.  It  is  navi- 
gable for  small  vessels,  and  unobserv- 
ant persons  have  been  known  to  think 
it  "only  an  arm  of  the  sea."  Bishop 
Brooks  was  of  the  opinion  that  John 
Eliot  preached  here  five  years  earlier 
than  at  Natick. 

Weston  is  a  farming  town,  being 
one  of  the  several  cut  out  of  Water- 
town.  The  settlers  "built  their  homes 
on  the  gentle  slopes  rising  from  the 
two  brooks  that  flow  each  side  of  the 
village  street,"  and  the  historian  says 
that  "the  pleasant  springs,  like  rivers 
through  its  body,"  drew  them  to  Wes- 
ton. A  drum  called  the  worshippers  to 
meeting,  instead  of  the  "bells  which 
now  knoll  to  church" ;  and  tithing 
men  or  constables  kept  the  congrega- 
tion in  order  with  wand,  a  hare's  foot 
on  one  end  and  hare's  tail  on  the  other. 
Children  were  not  allowed  to  sit  with 
their  parents.  It  was  voted  "unseemly 
to  turn  ye  back  towards  the  minister, 
to  gaze  abroad,  or  to  lay  down  ye  head 
upon  ve  arms — in  a  sleepy  posture,  in 
time  of  public  worship."  The  men- 
tion of  Weston  introduces  the  the- 
ory, advanced  and  well-defended  by 
Professor  Eben  C.  Horsford  of  Har- 
vard College,  of  the  early  settlement  of 
the  Northmen  in  New  England.  It 
was  his  opinion  that  at  the  junction  of 
Stony  Brook  with  the  Charles  (or 
Norumbega)  River,  there  stood,  in 
1543,  a  fine  city  called  Norvega. 
David  Ingram  described  it  as  "having 
buildings  with  crystal  and  silver  pil- 
lars, golden  chairs  and  pecks  of 
pearls."  The  word  Norumbega  may 
apply  to  any  bay  from  the  bottom  of 


which  rises  a  narrow  tongue  (Xor- 
um),  and  this  involves  a  sheet  of  wa- 
ter with  a  peculiarly  escalloped  shore. 
The  only  one  on  the  Charles  is  between 
Riverside,  the  Boston  and  Albany 
Railway,  and  W'altham,  two  miles 
north.  Professor  Horsford  said:  "If 
1  am  correct  every  tributary  of  the 
river  will  be  found  to  have,  or  to  have 
had,  a  dam  and  a  pond,  or  their  equiv- 
alent at  or  near  its  mouth  or  along  its 
course."  There  are  rare  groupings  of 
moraines  for  some  distance  above  and 
below  Stony  Brook.  Even  as  far  as 
Millis,  and  beyond  in  Holliston  the 
Professor  found  verification  of  his 
theory.  A  stone  dam  was  discovered, 
made  of  such  boulders  as  were  used  in 
the  construction  of  churches  in  Wes- 
ton, Watertown,  and  Wellesley ;  these 
were  not  squared,  nor  split,  nor  hewn. 
It  is  at  head  of  tide  water,  and  only 
once,  in  1858,  when  Minot's  Ledge 
Light  was  swept  away,  has  the  water 
risen  higher  than  this  dam.  It  was 
certainly  there  before  1631,  five  years 
before  the  Winthrop  party's  settlement 
of  the  region.  There  are  remains  of 
wharves,  docks,  dams,  walls,  canals, 
forts,  terraces,  and  pavements,  all  be- 
lieved by  the  enthusiastic  scholar  to  be 
the  work  of  Northmen  seven  to  nine 
centuries  ago. 

To  commemorate  the  event  Prof. 
Horsford  had  built  the  stone  Tower 
shown  on  the  following  page.  A 
part  of  the  tablet  reads  thus: 

River 

The  Charles 

Discovered  by  Lief  Erikson  1000  A.  D. 

Explored  by  Thorwald,  Lief  s  brother.  1003. 

Colonized   by   Thorfinn   Karlsfinn    1007. 

First    Bishop    Erik   Gunpson    1121. 

Industries   for  350  years, 

Masnrwood   (burrs).  Fish,  Furs. 

Latest  Norse  ship  returned  to  Iceland  1347. 


664 


THE  CHARLES  RIVER  VALLEY 


The  neighborhood  around  the 
Tower  is  said  to  have  been  occupied  in 
the  15th,  1 6th,  and  17th  centuries  by 
Breton  French,  although  nothing  very 
accurate  is  known  about  the  tradition. 

The  next  town  is  Brighton,  which 
has  developed  from  a  Cattle  Fair  Ho- 
tel Corporation.  The  establishment  of 
a  market  for  the  sale  of  cattle  is  coeval 
with  the  Revolution,  originating  in  the 
demand  for  ampler  supplies  for  the 
Army.  In  1870  the  General  Court  of 
Massachusetts  endorsed  the  incorpora- 
tion of  an  association,  with  a  capital  of 
$200,000  for  bringing  under  one  gen- 
eral management  the  business  of 
slaughtering  cattle,  sheep,  and  other 
animals,  and  that  of  rendering  fat,  of- 
fal, etc.  Sixty  acres  of  dry  and  sandy 
soil  were  chosen,  with  a  frontage  of  a 
thousand  feet  on  the  River,  and  an 
Abattoir  established,  which  in  some  re- 
spects is  an  improvement  on  the  best 
in  England  and  France.    Some  one  has 


said:  "The  skill  and  industry  shown  in 
the  manner  of  conducting  the  business 
here,  if  it  do  not  make  slaughtering  a 
fine  art,  will  at  least  place  it  high  above 
its  earlier  position."  The  great 
slaughter-houses  of  the  West  are,  of 
course,  on  a  far  larger  and  more  mod- 
ern scale.  The  raising  of  fruit  and 
flowers  are  thriving  industries. 

The  Brighton  Bridge,  leading  to 
Cambridge,  was  built  in  1660,  and  is 
interesting  from  the  fact  that  it  is  the 
one  over  which  Lord  Percy  marched 
his  nine  hundred  troops  on  April  19, 
1775,  en  route  to  Lexington. 

The  beautiful  cemetery  of  Mt.  Au- 
burn is  folded  in  the  embrace  of  the 
"River  that  stealeth  with  such  silent  pace 
Around  the  city  of  the  dead." 

The  natural  beauties  of  the  ground 
were  so  many  that  it  was  long  the  re- 
sort of  pleasure  parties,  but  eventually 
was  sold  to  the  Massachusetts  Horti- 
cultural Society  for  six  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  in  183 1  was  formally  dedi- 
cated to  its  present  use. 

History  records  that  "wherever  a 
navigable  river  or  creek  swept  past  a 
gentle  slope  of  the  glacial  drift,  a  set- 
tlement of  the  colonists  was  made. 
The  creeks  were  the  first  roads,  the 
marshes  the  first  hayfields.  Cambridge 
and  Watertown  were  thus  settled." 
The  former  has  two  tidal  rivers  with 
broad  estuaries,  the  Charles  and  the 
Mystic.  Within  a  radius  of  four  miles 
there  are  the  municipalities  of  Old, 
North,  East  Cambridges  and  Cam- 
bridgeport,  so  that  after  New  York,  it 
has  a  larger  aggregation  of  popula- 
tion about  her  ocean  port  than  any  on 
this  continent.  Cambridge  was  pro- 
jected as  a  city  of  refuge  from  the  In- 
dians, and  pieced  out  from  bits  of 
Brighton,    Brookline,    Roxbury,    and 


VValtham.  Its  early  annals  are  like 
those  of  other  towns,  first  a  meeting- 
house, a  parish,  a  school,  a  town — dif- 
fering only  that  this  received  the 
crown  of  a  university.  John  Har- 
vard's bequest,  the  acorn  for  this  shel- 
tering oak,  amounted  to  only  £/"/g.- 
17.2. 

Rowing  on  the  river  became  an  ear- 
nest sport  at  Harvard  about  1844, 
when  the  class  of  '46  bought  a  six- 
oared  boat  and  christened  it  Oneida. 
It  was  "thirty-seven  feet  long,  lapstreak 
built,  heavy,  quite  low  in  water,  with 
no  shear  and  with  straight  stem.  The 
Heron,  Halcyon,  Ariel,  and  Iris  fol- 
lowed directly  and  a  Boathouse  was 
put  up  in  '46.  The  first  intercollegiate 
race  took  place  on  Lake  Winnepissau- 
kee  at  Cedar  Harbor,  the  Oneida  z's. 
the  Yale  Shawmut.  Harvard  won. 
Since  those  days  the  athletic  course 
may  be  said  to  be  included  in  the  col- 
lege curriculum.  The  noble  gift  of 
Major  Henry  L.   Higginson  to  Har- 


vard students  of  the  "Soldiers'  Field" 
goes  far  to  make  athletics  not  the  least 
atractive  feature  of  a  liberal  educa- 
tion. Cambridge  has  a  life  distinct 
from  that  of  the  University,  as  her 
many  industries  witness :  namely, 
glass,  lumber,  boxes,  bricks,  rubber, 
biscuits,  furniture,  scientific  instru- 
ments, pianos,  pork,  tanneries,  prin- 
teries,  and  distilleries. 

In  the  line  of  Cambridge  and 
just  beyond,  lies  Charlestown.  Web- 
cowit  deeded  a  part  of  the  land  in 
1632,  but  the  portion  known  as  Somer- 
ville  since  1637,  was  purchased  from 
the  Squaw  Sachem,  widow  of  King 
Nanapashamet,  or,  translated,  the 
New  Moon.  Thirty-six  shillings, 
twenty-one  coats,  nineteen  fathoms 
wampum,  and  three  bushels  of  corn 
was  the  price  paid.  The  market  is 
higher  now.  It  was  here  that  General 
Putnam  unfurled  the  new  Union  flag 
of  the  Colonies  in   1776. 

The  history  of  Charlestown  is  so 


666 


THE  STORY  OF  JESS  DAWSON 


linked  with  Bunker  Hill,  that  it  needs 
no  repetition  here.  But  it  is  at  this 
point  that  the  Charles  sweeps  its  gath- 
ered stream  by  its  namesake  city, 
unites  with  the  Mystic  and  mingles 
with  the  sea  in  Boston  Harbor.  We 
have  followed  "its  vagrancy  of  motion" 
from  source  to  mouth,  and  as  far  as 
space  permits,  from  the  time  (to  quote 
Mrs.   Stowe)    ''when  the  hard,  rocky, 


sterile  New  England  was  a  sort  of 
half-Hebrew  theocracy,  half-ultra 
democratic  republic  of  little  vil- 
lages." 

Our  river  has  had  its  poets,  Lowell, 
Longfellow,  and  Holmes,  all  of  whom 
lived  upon  its  banks.  Its  lovers  and 
friends  are  the  great  body  of  youth 
who  fill  our  halls  and  schools  from 
every  quarter  of  America. 


fhe  Story  of  Jess  Dawson 


By  Imogen  Clark 


I 


T  was  the  popular  verdict  in 
Straitsmouth  that  Dick  Hawley 
and  jess  Dawson  would  be 
man  and  wife  one  day,  but  to 
my  thinking  the  two  were  born 
comrades — nothing  more.  They  were 
about  the  same  age  and  kept  pace 
in  everything,  even  to  growing,  Dick 
only  at  the  last  shooting  up  a  bit 
above  the  girl,  who  was  unusually 
tall  for  her  sex,  so's  he  could 
tease  her  by  making  her  look  up  to 
him.  I  never  could  abide  your  great 
giants  of  women,  being  smallish  my- 
self, thank  God,  and  grudging  even 
the  amount  of  material  it  takes  to 
make  a  gown  for  one  of  my  inches; 
still,  there  was  something  about  the 
way  Jess  carried  her  height  that  made 
you  almost  forgive  it  (especially  when 
you  didn't  have  to  consider  her 
clothes)  and  you  got  a  feeling  of 
strength    from  her  yon  wouldn't   have 


had  from  one  of  lesser  stature.  Why, 
her  hands  were  as  strong  as  a  man's — 
what  a  heft  they  could  lift ! — -yet  they 
were  gentle  too,  when  it  was  needful. 
That  was  the  woman  in  her !  She 
was  awkward  and  unlike  other  girls, 
but  put  her  in  a  boat,  or  set  her  at  some 
task  she'd  learned  along  with  Dick, 
and  she  was  as  easy  as  a  fish  in  water. 
They  were  well-favored  too,  though 
there  again  Dick  had  the  advantage. 
Brown-haired,  brown-skinned,  brown- 
eyed,  both  of  them ;  but  the  lad's  eyes 
were  warm  with  laughter,  while  the 
girl's  were  full  of  an  unsatisfied 
yearning  that  made  your  heart  ache. 
When  Steven  Dawson  died  his 
daughter  Jess,  who'd  just  turned  four- 
teen, was  left  without  kith  or  kin  sav- 
ing only  me  her  cousin  three  times  re- 
moved. I'd  had  little  cause  to  care 
for  Steve — he'd  stepped  between  me 
and    his    brother    (a    man    long    since 


THE  STORY  OF  JESS  DAWSON 


667 


dead,  God  rest  his  soul!)  but  I'd  al- 
ways been  drawn  to  the  child  because 
of  the  resemblance  she  bore  her  uncle, 
so  I  took  her  to  live  with  me  and  glad 
enough  was  the  poor  thing  of  a  home. 
She'd  never  known  the  meaning  of 
one  before.  Having  her  in  my  house 
I'd  plenty  of  chances  to  see,  as  time 
went  on,  how  matters  really  stood  be- 
tween her  and  Dick,  and  that's  why  I 
always  maintained  they  were  just 
friends  like  David  and  Jonathan. 
There  are  tricks  and  signs  to  point  the 
way  of  love  to  an  outsider — blushes 
and  giggles  and  all  the  other  little 
foolishnesses — and  I  never  surprised 
any  of  them  between  the  boy  and  girl. 

Dick  went  on  a  longish  cruise  when 
Jess  was  nineteen  and  it  seemed  to  me 
then  that,  if  she  really  loved  him,  her 
true  feelings  would  crop  out  somehow, 
separation  showing  up  what's  in  a  per- 
son's heart  as  a  light  shows  hidden 
places.  But  she  went  about  her  work 
as  if  nothing  had  happened.  It  wore 
on  my  nerves  to  see  her  so  uncon- 
cerned, and  once,  being  driven  to  the 
end  of  my  patience,  for  I  like  to  see  a 
woman  a  woman  (though  not  too  par- 
tial to  tears  except  on  their  rightful 
occasions),  I  let  fall  something  about 
the  dangers  of  the  sea.  Jess  only 
laughed ;  she  hadn't  the  trick  of  much 
laughter,  but  when  it  came  to  her  't  was 
a  mellow,  twinkling  sound  that  was 
good  to  hear. 

"Oh !  the  sea  doesn't  keep  all  that 
go  out  faring  on  it,"  she  said,  "it  only 
keeps  its  fee.  What  if  some  do  lie 
down  in  its  bed  deep  in  the  dark ! 
There  are  lots  that  come  back  to  love 
and  life,  and  Dick's  one  of  them. 
They'll  put  him  away  at  the  last  be- 
neath the  grass  where  the  sun  will 
shine  all  dav  and  the  birds  and  flowers 


will  come  in  their  season,  and  he'll 
rest  easy.  He's  safe  enough,  so  I 
don't  fret.  Where's  the  use?"  She 
stopped  and  laughed  again,  then  she 
went  on  after  a  moment,  peering  out 
beyond  her  with  great  hungry  eyes  as 
if  seeing  something. 

"Yes  he'll  lie  in  the  sun,  but  I — I 
shall  be  out  there.  That's  what  the 
waves  say.  Why,  I  know  it,  as  true  as 
my  name's  Jess  Dawson,  and  I  ain't 
afraid — Heaven  isn't  any  farther  from 
the  sea  than  it  is  from  the  land.  It 
may  be  many  a  year  before  the  call  of 
the  waters  comes  to  pass — many  and 
many  a  year — but  I'm  marked  for  the 
sea  one  day  and  every  little  laugh- 
ing wave  chatters  of  it  to  its  fellow. 
The  sea  don't  take  more  than  its  toll — 
be  sure  of  that — but  what  belongs  to 
it,  it  will  take  and  keep." 

"You  wouldn't? — "  I  gasped. 

"No,  I  wouldn't,"  she  answered, 
quick  to  understand  my  meaning. 
Sometimes  her  womanishness  sur- 
prised me,  cropping  out  when  'twas 
least  expected.  "No,  I  wouldn't. 
When  the  sea  claims  its  dues  I've  got 
to  go,  but  please  God  that  won't  be 
yet.  The  sun  is  warm  and  life  is 
good  even  if  you  have  to  toil  and  moil. 
Oh!  it  mustn't  be  yet — I'm  only  nine- 
teen, cousin  Lyddy." 

And  that  wras  the  girl  I'd  taken  to 
companion  me  in  my  solitude,  the  girl 
all  Straitsmouth  was  talking  about  as 
a  possible  bride !  It  was  the  first  time 
I'd  had  so  much  as  a  peep  into  her 
heart,  and  the  next  moment  she'd 
drawn  the  curtain  again,  but  I'd 
caught  no  sio-ht  of  Dick  there ;  I'd  only 
seen  that  she  loved  life,  as  w^e  all 
start  out  by  doing,  so  I  said  "amen"  to 
her  "please  God"  and  make  a  prayer  of 
mv  own — I  couldn't  bear  the  thousrht 


668 


THE  STORY  OF  JESS  DAWSON 


of  the  hungry  sea,  that  had  been  no 
friend  to  me  and  mine,  seizing  its  toll 
of  her. 

Dick  came  back  unharmed,  and  the 
old  comradeship  was  resumed  with 
never  a  trace  of  love  on  either  side. 
The  following  March  he  went  away 
again,  but  this  time  back  in  the  coun- 
try; he'd  bought  a  lottery  ticket  and 
the  drawing  falling  due,  his  was  the 
lucky  number.  He  took  the  notion  to 
go  for  the  prize  himself;  he  simply 
had  to  go,  he  was  as  powerless  to  re- 
sist fate  as  a  straw,  caught  in  the 
swirl  of  the  waters,  is  to  resist  the  cur- 
rent and  guide  itself.  He  meant  to 
return  in  a  week,  but  I  was  full  of 
misgivings.  I  said  no  word,  however, 
to  Jess,  and  she  kept  her  own  counsel ; 
she  was  never  much  of  a  talker.  It 
was  clear  though  that  she  was  under 
a  strain,  as  if  she,  who  could  trust 
him  to  the  wind  and  waves  and  feel 
secure,  seemed  fearful  of  the  land  and 
its  unknown  ways. 

The  week  passed,  bringing  no  sign 
of  the  boy ;  then  the  days  went  on  and 
still  he  didn't  come.  Folks  began  to 
think  it  queer — we  were  like  one  big 
family  in  Straitsmouth — and  I,  watch- 
ing, could  see  Jess's  face  sharpen  with 
anxiety,  though  she  said  nothing. 
Presently  she  received  a  letter  written 
in  an  unfamiliar  hand  that  gave  the 
clue  to  Dick's  absence.  He'd  fallen  ill 
and  the  folks  who  were  caring  for  him 
sent  us  word  ;  there'd  never  been  any 
danger  and  he  was  mending  rapidly 
and  in  a  little  while  would  be  home 
again.  We  felt  our  heart  go  out  to  the 
woman  who  signed  herself  Ida  Bennet, 
and  curiosity  for  a  time  ran  pretty  high 
in  the  village  concerning  her,  but  other 
tilings  coming  up,  Dick  and  his  bene- 
factors   were    crowded    out    of    mind. 


Jess  was  the  only  one  to  remember, 
and  then  I  discovered  she'd  cared  for 
him  all  along,  unknown  to  herself. 
She  was  hungering  for  the  sight  of 
his  face,  the  sound  of  his  voice,  the 
touch  of  his  hand — and  only  a  woman 
knows  the  misery  of  such  longing. 

April  slipped  into  May  and  the 
country  about  our 'doors  showed  the 
beauty  of  new  life  in  bursting  blade 
and  blossom ;  even  the  sea  seemed  to 
feel  the  change,  for  it  took  on  a  young 
look,  and  for  days  its  murmurs  were 
like  the  voices  of  happy  children  at 
play.  News  came  about  this  time  that 
Dick  was  coming  back — and  not  alone. 
He  was  bringing  home  his  bride.  We 
didn't  need  to  be  told  that  she  was  Ida 
Bennet,  we'd  suspected  something  all 
along,  yet  our  first  feeling  was  one  of 
resentment  that  he  should  marry  out 
of  the  village.  We  were  a  clannish 
people,  and  besides  there  were  too 
many  girls  of  marriageable  age  among 
us  for  our  young  men  to  go  far  a- 
field  in  selecting  their  mates.  But  the 
feeling  passed  quickly,  so  curious 
were  we  to  meet  the  stranger,  and 
making  the  best  of  matters,  Straits- 
mouth  prepared  to  welcome  the  bride. 

Jess  and  I  put  the  simple  home  in 
order,  Dick  had  no  wTomen-folks  to  do 
for  him,  and  the  house  was  just  a  step 
beyond  mine — a  little,  low  buff  cottage 
clinging  like  a  limpet  to  the  rocks  with 
a  tangle  of  bayberry  bushes  about  its 
doors.  It  was  a  pleasant  place  where 
the  sun  loved  to  linger.  When  all 
was  in  readiness  and  we'd  closed  the 
door  for  the  night,  knowing  that  on 
the  morrow  it  would  be  opened  by 
its  owner's  hand,  we  passed  down  to 
our  home  in  silence.  At  the  threshold 
Jess  paused  and  glanced  back. 

"What  will  it  be  like  to  see  the  two 


THE  STORY  OF  JESS  DAWSON 


669 


together?"  she  demanded  with  a  fierce 
sort  of  suddenness.  She'd  never  said 
much  of  Ida  Bennet,  but  with  the  news 
of  Dick's  marriage  she'd  grown 
strangely  quiet,  and  I'd  respected  her 
mood.     She  repeated   the  question. 

"Why,"  I  answered,  "  'twill  be  a  fair 
sight  for  my  old  eyes  and  most  folks 
will  agree  with  me.  You've  been 
closest  to  Dick,  and  'twill  seem 
strange  at  first  to  have  him  prefer 
another  to  you ;  like  as  not  you'll  re- 
sent it — that's  human  nature — but 
you'll  get  over  it — " 

She  uttered  a  sound  that  was  half 
cry,  half  sob,  and  caught  my  arm  with 
her  hands. 

"But  if  a  girl  has  had  other 
thoughts — "  her  voice  shook  and  her 
face  flamed  with  her  shame.  "Tell 
me  what  then?"  she  finished  huskily. 
"I  don't  know  as  I  can,"  I  said  all  in 
a  flutter,  "nobody  can.  'Twill  be  like 
looking  on  at  a  feast  that's  spread  be- 
yond your  reach  and  you  starving, 
'twill  be  like  seeing  water  in  a  dry  land 
where  you  can  never  touch  a  drop  and 
you  dying  of  thirst,  'twill  be  as  if 
Heaven's  door  was  open  and  you'd  a 
glimpse  of  its  beauty  and  yet  must 
stand  forever  without.  By  and  by 
you'll  get  used  to  it,  but  even  then 
life'll  seem  a  long  twilight  and  you'll 
go  shivering  to  the  end." 

She  stood  still  for  a  long  minute, 
holding  my  arm  with  a  grasp  that  eat 
into  the  bone;  beyond  and  around  us 
came  the  sound  of  the  sea  with  its  per- 
sistent calling.  She  lifted  her  head 
suddenly  and  glanced  out  at  it  stretch- 
ing away  to  the  horizon  line  where  the 
purple  shadows  were  creeping  up; 
there  were  flecks  of  red  on  the  near-by 
surface  beneath  some  rosy  clouds.  She 
seemed  to  be  listening  to  its  voice,  and 


I,  choked  with  fear,  found  myself 
listening  too,  trying  to  fit  words  to  its 
unceasing  murmur.  Presently  she 
dropped  her  hands,  and  setting  back 
her  shoulders  as  if  to  readjust  some 
unseen  weight  thai  galled  her,  she 
entered  the  house.  I  waited  a  mo- 
ment. I  had  no  fear  of  the  sea  at  that 
time,  but  there  was  no  word  of  com- 
fort that  I  could  give.  Do  you  know 
what  it  is  to  see  past  all  barriers  into 
another's  soul — to  see  it  in  its  utter 
nakedness  ?     It  leaves  you  dumb. 

The  summer  wore  away  and  Straits- 
mouth,  that  had  been  so  sure  of  the 
marriage  of  Dick  and  Jess,  now  pro- 
claimed the  new  match  Heaven-or- 
dained. From  the  first  the  stranger 
won  all  hearts.  She  was  a  little,  young 
thing  with  hair  like  crinkled  gold  and 
eyes  as  blue  as  the  speedwell  at  out- 
doors. Dick  had  the  air  of  a  man  liv- 
ing in  a  dream — mystified,  so  to  speak, 
with  his  happiness  ;  and  there  was  no 
doubting  her  love  for  him — it  was 
clear  even  to  the  blindest — and  which 
feeling  was  the  prettiest  to  watch  was 
a  question.  Straitsmouth  found  the 
sight  a  fair  one,  as  I'd  prophesied, 
and,  satisfied,  it  turned  away  from  the 
little  buff  cottage,  leaving  it  with  a 
sense  of  security. 

But  something  else  turned  too.  I'd 
come  to  know  that  happiness  paints 
itself  with  soberer  colors  as  the  clays 
pass — life  teaches  us  that ! — yet  some- 
how, perhaps  because  I  was  getting 
old,  I'd  hoped  the  first  brightness 
would  last  a  long  while  with  Dick  and 
Ida — they  were  so  young.  But  some- 
thing happened  to  mar  it.  Why  was 
it?  Had  the  woman's  love,  worth 
all  of  earth  and  heaven  to  the 
man  in  the  beginning,  palled  so 
soon?       For    Dick    was  the    first    to 


670 


THE  STORY  OF  JESS  DAWSON 


change,  he  took  up  his  old  pursuits, 
and  Ida  was  left  alone.  Long 
days  she'd  sit  in  my  low  room — she 
couldn't  bear  to  be  by  herself — and 
I,  knowing  that  those  two  lives  might 
drift  so  far  apart  they'd  never  realty 
join  again  if  this  first  estrangement 
continued,  encouraged  her  to  talk  ot 
Dick  and  made  her  promise  to  take 
interest  in  what  pleased  him.  I  sus- 
pected that  was  the  real  trouble.  She 
took  what  I  said  kindly  enough  and 
things  mended  for  a  time,  then  they 
slipped  back  again  and  I  grew  accus- 
tomed to  have  her  with  me  constantly ; 
we  were  near  neighbors,  the  village 
lying  at  some  distance,  and  the  rough 
weather  had  set  in. 

One  day  I  woke  to  the  fact  that  Jess 
had  never  been  with  us  in  all  the  time 
we'd  sat  and  sewed  and  gossiped  to- 
gether ;  to  tell  the  truth  I  hadn't  missed 
her,  so  engrossed  was  I  in  Ida  and  her 
affairs.  From  the  first  Jess  had  held 
aloof  from  the  newcomer,  refusing  all 
her  pretty  offers  of  friendship,  and  I 
ought  to  have  remembered  my  poor 
girl's  sufferings.  On  a  sudden  her 
absence  filled  me  with  a  thousand 
vague  fears  ;  the  night  set  in  and  Ida 
left  me,  going  back  to  her  own  home ; 
1  tried  to  busy  myself,  but  the  fears 
began  to  take  on  form,  to  move  before 
me,  upbraiding  me  with  my  negli- 
gence, and  just  then  Jess  entered  the 
house  bringing  in  the  savor  of  the  sea 
in  her  clothes.  Her  hair,  roughened 
by  the  wind,  lay  in  a  dark  mass  far 
down  her  shoulders  and  drops  of 
moisture  caught  in  its  meshes  glittered 
like  jewels,  her  cheeks  were  crimson 
and  her  eyes  brilliant  as  stars.  It  was 
as  if  a  light  had  been  kindled  within 
her,  its  shining  lending  her  a  strange, 
unearthly  beauty.      Her  presence  filled 


the  room,  dwarfing  everything,  yet 
there  was  somthing  tremulous  and  un- 
certain about  her,  as  if  she  were  look- 
ing on  at  some  beautiful,  hidden  thing 
that,  with  the  least  jar,  would  vanish 
into  air.  Suddenly  I  seemed  to  see 
with  her  eyes.  She  was  looking  at 
happiness,  but  radiant  as  it  was  to  her 
sight,  in  mine  it  was  the  abomination 
of  abominations. 

"Where've  you  been?"  I  demanded. 

"Out  there — miles  and  miles  at  sea." 

"Were  you  alone?" 

She  glanced  down  at  me  and 
laughed  that  pretty,  unusual  laugh  of 
hers. 

"Dick  was  with  you,"  I  cried,  "I 
don't  need  your  words.  Have  you  for- 
gotten Ida?  Why  have  you  gone  off 
day  after  day,  ignoring  her?  Why 
haven't  you  taken  her  with  you?" 

She  laughed  again,  and  this  time 
it  was  an  ugly  sound  to  hear.  "That — 
woman — "  her  voice  broke.  "What 
do  we  want  of  her  ?  We  took  her  once ; 
she  came  whimpering  like  a  child, 
begging  to  go,  and  Dick  was  willing — 
I'd  no  say  in  the  matter.  But  she 
never  wanted  to  go  again.  'Twasn't 
over  and  above  rough  that  day  either, 
though  we  shipped  water  some — I 
managed  we  should  to  scare  her — the 
baby — and  she  crying  all  the  while. 
My ! — how  Dick  swore.  She  kept  on 
whining  about  drowning  till  finally  1 
told  her  pretty  sharp  to  keep  still,  if 
the  boat  upset  she  could  cling  to  the 
keel.  And  what  do  you  think?  That 
precious  landlubber  came  lurching  over 
to  me.screaming  out,' Where's  the  keel, 
Jess — for  love  of  heaven,  where's  the 
keel?'  I'd  no  words  for  the  poor  fool, 
and  no  more  had  Dick.  He  just 
turned  the  boat  and  headed  her  home — 
we  came  back  in  silence  save  for  Ida's 


THE  STORY  Oh'  JESS  DAWSON 


671 


crying.  \o,  we  haven't  taken  her  with 
us  since." 

"You  sinful  girl,"  I  sobbed,  "you 
must  give  Dick  up — " 

"Why  must  I?  Haven't  I  loved  him 
my  whole  life  long?  He  didn't  know 
how  much  he  needed  me.  Cousin  Lyd- 
dy,  for  I  was  always  here  and — and — 
he'd  never  thought  of  me  in  that  way, 
till  it  was  too  late.  Am  I  to  blame  for 
his  waking?" 

"But  her  happiness — " 

"But  my  happiness — Isn't  it  as 
much  to  me,  as  hers  is  to  her?" 

"Listen — she's  his  wife — you've  no 
call  to  come  between  now  because 
there's  been  some  little  falling-out. 
Shame  on  you,  Jess !  You  can't  help 
your  love. for  him — that's  part  of  your 
very  being — but  you  can  make  it  a 
thing  to  be  respected.  Many  a  woman 
has  lived  her  life  by  the  light  of  a 
hopeless  passion,  and  no  one  has  suf- 
fered because  of  her,  and  many  an- 
other has  thought  only  of  self  and 
the  love  that  was  so  holy  in  the  be- 
ginning has  been  trailed  in  the  mire. 
Tis  for  you  to  choose.  But  I  tell 
you  he  belongs  to  her,  and  besides" — T 
pushed  my  work  across  the  table — 
"Take  it  up,"  I  said  softly. 

She  obeyed  in  silence,  utterly  be- 
wildered ;  her  large  brown  hands 
looked  larger  and  browner  in  contrast 
with  the  white  material,  and  trembled 
for  all  their  strength  over  the  little 
garment  I'd  been  making.  Suddenly 
her  face  blanched  and  her  eyes,  half 
frightened,  sought  mine  in  a  mute 
question. 

"Yes,  it's  for  their  child — the  baby 
that's  coming  with  the  new  year, 
please  God." 

She  stood  still,  white,  haggard,  and 
old,  all  in  a  moment,  and  the  silence 


went  on  till  it  became  intolerable. 
Then  I,  looking  at  her  dumb  grief, 
saw  the  color  leap  up  in  her  face  like 
a  flame,  devouring  the  ghastly  pallor 
with  a  rush  ;  her  hands  tightened  their 
hold,  there  was  the  singing  sound  of 
rent  muslin  in  the  room,  and,  before 
I  could  interfere,  she  had  torn  the 
little  garment  from  neck  to  hem  with 
her  powerful  finp-ers.  The  next  mo- 
ment she  gathered  the  sundered  pieces 
to  her  lips  kissing  them  again  and 
again  as  if  demanding  pardon. 

"My  poor  Jess,"  I  cried,  "my  poor 
Jess." 

She  didn't  heed  me,  but  fell  on  her 
knees  by  the  table,  her  face  hidden  in 
the  baby's  dress,  sobbing  piteously, 
I  moved  nearer  and  as  I  did  so  I 
caught  the  words, "Thank  God — "  and 
then   I   knew   she'd   made  her   choice. 

There  was  no  sign  during  the  years 
that  followed  that  Jess  ever  regretted 
the  choice  she  made  that  night.  In 
some  ways,  as  if  realizing  I  understood 
her  sorrow  though  'twas  never  men- 
tioned between  us,  she  clung  to  me. 
if  one  can  use  such  a  word  about  so 
strong  a  nature.  Silent  she  always 
was,  but  she  grew  more  companion- 
able— her  silence  being  that  large,  tol- 
erant kind  that  is  often  as  satisfying 
as  speech — and  she  was  with  me  more 
than  formerly,  helping  about  the  house. 
Nor  wras  that  helpfulness  confined  to 
me  alone  ;  she  served  Ida  with  untiring 
devotion.  It  was  as  if  she  laid  herself 
and  her  time  at  the  other's  feet  in 
atonement  for  a  sin  that,  mercifully, 
had  been  averted.  Ida  took  all  service 
without  question.  If  she  read  the 
girl's  secret,  if  she  had  any  idea  how 
near  shipwrecked  her  own  happiness 
had  trembled  in  the  grasp  of  a  guilty 
love,  she  was  mute  on  her  part. 


672 


THE  STORY  OF  JESS  DAWSON 


Dick's  sudden  infatuation  for  his  old 
friend  had  had  a  speedy  termination, 
but  I  never  knew  how  matters  righted 
themselves  between  them ;  it  was 
enough  for  me  that  the  clouds  had 
lifted  and,  with  the  coming-  of  the 
child,  husband  and  wife  were  one 
again.  Nor  was  that  all.  Strange 
how  much  power  lies  in  a  baby's 
hands !  It  was  little  Dick  who  crowded 
that  other  image  from  Jess's  heart ; 
every  thought  of  hers  was  consecra- 
ted to  him.  He  was  a  big,  heavy  in- 
fant, and  Ida  gladly  relinquished  most 
of  the  care  to  Jess.  Many  a  time  have 
my  eyes  filled  with  tears  to  see  the 
way  she'd  clasp  the  little  fellow  in  her 
strong  arms — those  arms  that  I  knew 
would  never  fold  a  child  of  her  own  to 
her  breast.  She  had  her  reward  for 
her  tireless,  loving  service ;  as  the 
boy  grew  she  was  the  one  he  singled 
out  from  all  the  others,  happiest  with 
her,  and  when  he  could  toddle  about  it 
would  seem  as  if  his  feet  were  only 
made  to  follow  her. 

The  spring  little  Dick  was  three 
years  old  an  uncle  of  Ida's  died,  leav- 
ing her  the  bulk  of  his  property  on 
condition  that  she  should  make  her 
home  on  the  old  farm.  She  welcomed 
the  idea  of  the  change  gladly,  she  had 
never  cared  for  Straitsmouth — the  air 
was  too  strong  for  her — and  her  dread 
of  the  sea  had  obliged  Dick  to  find 
what  employment  he  could  on  land. 
Their  circumstances  were  in  a  bad  way 
when  this  good  fortune  befell  them, 
and  they  were  both  like  children  in 
their  eagerness  to  begin  a  new  life 
elsewhere.  When  Jess  heard  the  news 
she  went  white  as  snow  and  gathered 
the  child  in  her  arms,  looking  over  his 
head  with  wide,  defiant  eyes.  Poor 
arms  !  how  powerless  they  were  to  hold 


him !  I  think  she  must  have  realized 
that  all  of  a  sudden,  for  she  put  him 
down  on  the  floor  and  ran  from  the 
room  and  he,  not  understanding,  clut- 
tered after.  We  could  hear  his  little 
feet  going  up  the  stairs  and  his  cries 
at  her  door  till  she  opened  it  to  him — 
she  could  refuse  him  nothing. 

The  preparations  went  forward 
briskly — a  woman's  heartache  won't 
stay  the  inevitable — and  time,  wTith  its 
tale  of  weeks  and  days,  fulfilled  itself. 
Jess  offered  no  protest.  What  right 
had  she?  She  grew  white  and  gaunt 
and  crept  listlessly  about  her  work; 
mornings  she  was  up  with  the  dawn 
and  over  at  the  buff  cottage — the  first 
to  greet  the  waking  child — staying 
there  far  into  the  night,  fashioning 
little  clothes  for  him  and  going  a  hun- 
dred times  to  the  room  where  he  lay 
asleep.  Even  in  the  midst  of  the  ap- 
proaching desolation  there  were 
blessed  intervals  of  joy — those  even- 
ings when  Ida  and  Dick  were  in  the 
village  at  some  frolic  made  in  their 
honor — and  she  remained  alone  with 
the  child,  crooning  over  him,  watch- 
ing him,  fancying  him  her  own  for 
those  few  hours'  space.  Dick  laughed 
at  her  devotion,  but  there  was  no  sting 
in  his  ridicule;  with  Ida  it  was  dif- 
ferent. Sometimes  the  remarks  she 
let  fall  had  a  hidden  twist  that  cut 
Jess  to  the  quick.  Perhaps  in  that 
way  Ida  paid  her  back  for  winning 
the  full  wealth  of  the  baby's  love — 
she  was  only  human  after  all,  and  be- 
sides she'd  the  littleness  of  a  little  na- 
ture in  many  things.  To  her  had 
come  great  blessings  and  she  flaunted 
the  purple  of  her  possessions  continu- 
ally in  the  face  of  the  other's  rags ; 
still  Jess,  I  think,  would  have  felt  no 
envv  had  it  not  been  for  the  child. 


THE  STORY  OF  JESS  DAWSON 


673 


The  last  night  of  the  Hawleys'  stay 
in  Straitsmouth  we  three — Ida,  Dick, 
and  I — came  home  together  from  a 
merry-making  in  the  village  ;  the  young 
people  were  staying  with  me,  as  the 
little  cottage  had  been  utterly  disman- 
tled. I  opened  the  door  and  we  en- 
tered the  house,  which  seemed  strange- 
ly dark  and  silent  after  the  glare  and 
noise  we'd  recently  quitted ;  there  was 
a  low  light  in  the  living-room,  but  Jess 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  I  think  we 
had  all  expected  to  find  her  waiting  up 
for  us. 

"I  s'pose  she's  got  Baby,"  Ida  said 
fretfully — she  was  very  tired — 
"  please  see  if  he's  all  right,  Cousin 
Lyddy." 

"Cousin  Lyddy's  worn  out,"  Dick 
interposed,  "Don't  bother  her,  the  kid's 
safe  enough." 

But  Ida  persisted.  She  was  not  a 
fanciful  woman,  nor  one  given  to  wor- 
rying about  her  child,  yet  several  times 
on  the  homeward  walk  she  had  burst 
forth  with  some  unusual  question  con- 
cerning his  welfare.  I  had  set  her 
anxiety  down  to  fatigue,  but  it  had 
filled  me  with  unaccountable  forebod- 
ings. Without  a  word  I  lighted  a 
candle  and  went  up  to  the  girl's  room ; 
her  door  was  closed,  and  as  I  set  it 
wide  a  rush  of  damp  air  from  the  open 
window — it  was  a  raw  murky  night — 
caused  the  flame  to  flicker  and  almost 
go  out.  I  shielded  it  with  my 
hand  and  passed  quickly  to  the 
bed,  throwing  the  gleam  down 
to  rest  on  the  two  sleepers  lying 
there.  But  the  light,  cast  it  as  I 
would,  did  not  reveal  that  sight  to  me. 
The  bed  was  empty — undisturbed ! 
I  seemed  to  turn  to  stone  as  I  stood 
there — I  couldn't  move — I  couldn't 
speak — I  couldn't  breathe.     From  the 


lower  room  came  the  mother's  cry  :  "Is 
he  all  right,  Cousin  Lyddy,  is  he  all 
right?"  It  was  like  a  far-away  echo, 
almost  drowned  by  the  moaning  of  the 
sullen,  desperate  sea  without,  that  grew 
and  grew  until  it  deafened  me  with  its 
thunders.  Then  suddenly  from  the 
vanished  years  some  words  sounded  in 
my  hearing:  "When  the  sea  claims 
its  due  I've  got  to  go."  The  candle 
dropped  from  my  hand  to  the  floor, 
but  the  darkness  around  me  was  not 
so  dark  as  my  life  was  at  that  moment ; 
in  terror  of  it  I  fled  from  the  room,  my 
ears  whirling  with  the  bedlam  voices  of 
the  mighty  waters,  and  so  running, 
stumbling  down  the  stairs,  I  joined  the 
father  and  mother  where  they  stood 
waiting  for  me. 

It  seemed  as  if  we  were  searching 
for  eternities  after  that  in  every  little 
nook  and  corner  of  both  houses,  and 
the  sea  mocked  our  cries,  the  rising 
wind  gave  them  back,  the  rocks 
laughed  with  them.  I  kept  my 
thoughts  hidden  from  my  companions, 
I  wouldn't  let  them  see  the  hideous 
fear  I  carried  in  my  breast,  but  every 
moment  it  grew  into  a  deeper  cer- 
tainty. Jess  had  received  her  sum- 
mons— and  she  had  not  gone  alone. 
Finally  we  came  back  to  my  cheerless 
house  to  wait  for  the  little  time  that 
must  pass  before  the  dawn.  I  made 
Ida  lie  down  on  the  settle,  and  very 
soon,  spent  with  grief  and  fa- 
tigue, she  sank  into  a  deep  sleep, 
I  sitting  close,  holding  her  little 
hands.  In  my  care  of  her  I 
hadn't  noticed  Dick's  absence,  but 
presently  he  joined  us  again,  and  the 
moment  I  saw  his  face  I  knew  he  knew 
the  truth.  "Her  boat  is  gone,"  he 
whispered.  That  was  all,  but  I  needed 
no  words  to  convince  me  that  he  was 


674 


THE  STORY  OF  JESS  DAWSON 


familiar  with  the  strange  fancies  Jess 
had  about  the  sea. 

We  sat  in  silence ;  all  search  seemed 
so  impossible — so  unavailing.  Where 
could  we  go  on  the  trackless  waste — 
north,  south,  or  out  to  meet  the  morn- 
ing ?  How  could  we  tell  ?  And  what 
reason  had  we  to  think  that  a  girl's 
hand  had  guided  the  boat  with  its  pre- 
cious freight  safe  through  the  darkness 
of  mist  and  murk?  I  could  speak  no 
comfort  to  the  strong  man  in  his  agony, 
and  mercifully  his  wife  slept,  uncon- 
scious of  everything,  while  the  clock 
ticked  off  the  age-long  minutes — and 
the  voice  of  the  sea  went  on  calling — 
calling — calling. 

Dawn  came  at  last  chill  and  grey. 
I  got  up  and  turned  out  the  lamp  and 
Dick  started  to  his  feet;  the  hopeless- 
ness of  his  quest  made  him  seem  like 
an  old  man.  The  furniture  grew 
from  dim  shapes  into  familiar  lines ; 
ringers  of  light  touched  the  curtains  at 
the  windows  as  if  to  draw  them  aside. 
I  moved  and  let  in  the  day,  and  Ida 
awoke,  crying  with  her  sense  of  loss. 
Then  along  the  path  outside  we  heard 
stumbling,  uncertain  steps  coming 
nearer  and  nearer.  We  waited  with 
held  breath.  Some  one  tried  the 
d<  m  >r,  it  yielded  to  the  touch  and  swung 
slowly  in  disclosing  a  glimpse  of  the 
waking  world,  then  that  was  blotted 
from  our  sight  by  a  tall,  dark  figure. 

It  was  Jess  who  stood  there  on  the 
threshold,  and  in  her  arms,  his  face 
lifted  high  against  her  own,  was  little 
Dick.  For  a  moment  she  stared  back 
at  us  without  a  sound,  while  only  the 
laughing,  gleeful  child  broke  the  still- 
ness; l Inn  she  came  unfalteringly  into 
the  room.  We  were  dumb  in  our 
turn.      What    could    we   sav?      Slowlv, 


tenderly  she  unloosened  the  little  fists 
from  her  hair,  took  down  the  clinging 
arms  that  threw  themselves  rapturous- 
ly about  her  neck  again  and  again, 
silenced  the  noisy  mouth  with  a  kiss  of 
renunciation,  then,  stooping,  she 
placed  the  child  on  his  mother's  breast. 

"I  couldn't  do  it,"  she  said  broken- 
ly, "I — I — wanted  to  keep  him  with 
me  always — you  won't  understand — ■ 
but  I — couldn't  do  it." 

Ida  covered  the  baby's  face  with 
passionate  kisses  and  Dick  stood  close, 
the  great  tears  raining  down  his 
cheeks.  I,  too,  was  speechless,  glad  in 
their  gladness  and  glad  also  for  what 
they  didn't  see — the  triumph  of  a 
woman's  soul.  Once  I  had  watched 
the  home-coming  of  a  ship  after  a 
heavy  gale ;  everywhere  there  were 
marks  of  her  struggle  with  wind  and 
wave  in  broken  spar  and  trailing  can- 
vas, but  she  made  port  proudly.  The 
little  picture  came  swiftly  between  me 
and  Jess,  and  I  recognized  the  likeness 
between  them — she,  too,  had  weath- 
ered the  storm  !  She  turned  and  stum- 
bled toward  the  stairs.  Half-way 
there  Dick  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"God  bless  you,  Jess  Dawson,"  he 
cried  hoarsely. 

Her  face  softened  at  his  comprehen- 
sion, she  hesitated,  fighting  with  her- 
self, then  she  looked  bravely  at  the 
mother  and  the  little  one.  Ida  met  the 
gaze  unwaveringly,  her  own  face  set 
like  stone.  It  was  an  anxious  moment. 
The  day  grew  clearer,  the  child 
laughed,  from  somewhere  outside 
there  came  the  thrill  of  a  bird's  song. 
Then  Tda  said  very  softly:  "God  bless 
Jess,  say  it,  baby." 

"Dod  bless  Jessy,"  crowed  little 
Dick. 


The  School  Garden  as  an  Educational 

Factor 


By  Lydia  Southard 


W 


E  are  living-  today  in  an 
age  of  object  lessons. 
Close  observation  of  the 
manifold  delights  of  a 
beautiful  world  is  coming  more  and 
more  to  precede  the  study  of  books. 
The  child  is  attracted  by  the  brilliant 
flowers  on  the  teacher's  desk,  or  by 
some  bright-eyed  squirrel  waving  a 
bushy  tail  outside  the  school-room 
window.  So  much  the  better  if  the 
flowers  are  of  the  child's  own  gather- 
ing, and  the  animal  his  own  discov- 
ery. Then  the  teacher  leads  him  to 
talk  about  these  fascinating  objects, 
giving  no  information  till  the  pupil 
feels  the  need  of  it.  He  comes  to  that 
need  unurged. 

For  the  last  few  years  educators 
have  discussed  at  length  the  pros  and 
cons  of  industrial  training  in  the  pub- 
lic schools.  That  it  has  been  tried  with 
excellent  results  is  certainly  true.  That 
it  may  sometimes  fail  to  do  quite  all 
the  good  intended  by  its  advocates  is 
undeniable.  It  is  chiefly  to  those  who 
feel  that  industrial  training  makes  for 
a  broader  life,  a  better  citizenship, 
that  the  suggestion  of  a  school  garden 
usually  appeals.  Such  persons  are 
most  apt  to  see  in  it  an  admirable  op- 
portunity to  teach  the  child  by  object 
lessons ;  while  at  the  same  time  giving 
it  at  least  two  branches  of  industrial 
training — gardening  and  working. 

The     school     garden     is     no     new 


idea,  but  it  has  been  tried  surprisingly 
little  in  America.  Our  German  cous- 
ins across  the  sea  have  led  the  way. 
Those  who  have  visited  the  German 
district  schools  will  remember  the 
small  lot  of  cultivated  land  usually  at- 
tached to  each.  In  general,  this  is 
used  by  the  teacher  solely  for  his  own 
benefit.  Exceptions  exist,  however. 
In  the  Rhine  province,  especially,  the 
educational  value  of  such  a  plot  is 
realized,  and  is  made  the  basis  of  a 
wide  range  of  instruction. 

In  our  own  land  the  highly  congest- 
ed state  of  the  cities  is  bringing  its 
natural  reaction.  Philanthropists  and 
economists  alike  hope  for  a  day  when 
the  trend  will  be  away  from  the  over- 
populated  centers,  back  to  the  region  of 
pure  air  and  lower  rents.  The  wealthy 
appreciate  suburban  life,  and  are 
adopting  it  more  and  more.  The  poor 
and  struggling  who  most  need  the 
changed  conditions,  will  not  seek  the 
country  to  any  great  extent  until  they 
are  trained  to  cultivate  successfully 
that  most  natural  source  of  livelihood, 
the  soil.  It  is  to  the  public  school  that 
we  must  look,  very  largely,  for  the 
stimulation  of  a  taste  for  country  life 
and  its  employments.  We  need  profes- 
sional men,  we  need  artisans,  and  we 
need  intelligent  and  successful  tillers  of 
the  ground.  There  are  many  boys  in 
city  and  country  s-chools  today  who 
might,   if  they   realized   it,  find  better 

67s 


676        THE  SCHOOL  GARDEN  AS  AN  EDUCATIONAL  FACTOR 


openings  a  few  years  hence  in  subur- 
ban truck- farming  than  in  the  over- 
crowded occupations  of  the  city.  Our 
argument  for  the  school  garden  is 
that  it  will  show  wide-awake  boys  and 
girls  how  they  may  become  producers, 
on  a  large  or  on  a  small  scale,  and  will 
create  or  foster  a  taste  for  country 
life. 

What  should  be  the  size  and  what 
the  location  of  the  school  garden  is  in 
many  cases  a  grave  question.  In  the 
country,  the  matter  is  comparatively 
simple,  but  in  the  city,  serious  difficul- 
ties sometimes  arise.  Several  public 
schools  in  Boston  have  solved  the 
problem  by  means  of  joint  owner- 
ship. Possibly  this  might  be  done  with 
success  in  other  places ;  that  school 
which  has  the  largest  play-ground  giv- 
ing up  a  certain  number  of  square  feet 
to  the  cultivation  of  vegetables  and 
flowers  for  the  profit  and  enjoyment  of 
children  in  more  than  one  district. 
Naturally  the  ideal  place  for  a  school 
garden  is  in  country  or  suburb  where 
there  is  plenty  of  room  for  each  child 
to  have  plants  of  his  own. 

The  choice  of  soil  for  the  garden  is 
something  which  the  wise  teacher  will 
have  the  pupils  understand.  Why 
loam  is  preferred  to  gravel  or  sand, 
for  example,  is  an  interesting  question 
for  the  beginning  of  the  work.  With- 
out knowing  it  the  child  will  master 
a  simple  lesson  in  geology  and  plant 
biology. 

As  regards  the  seeds  or  slips  to  be 
planted,  two  things  must  be  borne  in 
mind,  beauty  and  utility.  While  al- 
most everything  that  grows  can  be 
made  attractive  to  the  normal  child, 
there  are  certain  forms  and  colors 
which  fill  him  with  special  delight. 
The  bright-faced  pansies,  the  gay  nas- 


turtiums, for  instance,  are  always  fav- 
orites ;  and  if  room  can  be  made  they 
should  have  a  place.  They  teach,  in 
their  way,  lessons  as  useful  as  the 
more  sombre  vegetables.  In  general, 
it  is  of  course  most  satisfactory  to 
raise  such  plants  as  shall  fulfil  their 
particular  mission,  that  of  bearing 
blossoms  or  fruit,  before  the  end  of  the 
summer  term. 

Around  the  care  of  the  garden  cen- 
ters much  that  is  of  keenest  interest  to 
the  child.  It  is  well  to  let  him  do  with 
his  own  hands  just  as  much  of  the 
preparation  of  the  soil,  the  planting 
and  the  subsequent  tending  of  beds, 
as  possible.  It  will  add  to  his  education 
and  enjoyment  if  he  is  allowed  to  keep 
the  same  set  of  tools  throughout  the 
season.  Whether  owned  by  the  pupil 
himself  or  by  the  school,  responsibility 
for  their  proper  use  is  beneficial.  It 
may  perhaps  be  found  feasible  to  teach 
the  evolution  of  the  farming  'imple- 
ment. In  such  cases  let  the  pupil  be- 
gin work  with  the  rudest  tools  imag- 
inable. He  will  soon  feel  his  limita- 
tions and  be  encouraged  to  devise  im- 
provements. Thus,  step  by  step,  he 
will  be  led,  under  the  general  super- 
vision of  the  teacher,  to  reinvent  in  a 
crude  way,  the  later  developments  in 
farming  implements.  General  princi- 
ples are  thus  impressed  upon  the  mind, 
and  training  is  given  in  thinking 
something  out  connectedly.  It  will 
be  found  possible,  by  enthusiastic 
teachers,  to  correlate  garden  work 
with  lessons  in  history,  literature,  and 
drawing. 

The  study  of  elementary  botany  im- 
mediately suggests  itself  on  the  men- 
tion of  a  school  garden.  The  child 
has -close  at  hand,  not  any  plant  from 
any  field  or  wood,  but  a  specimen  of 


THE  SCHOOL  GARDEN  AS  AN  EDUCATIONAL  FACTOR       677 


his  own  raising,  and  doubly  wonder- 
ful on  that  account.  He  can  follow 
its  entire  life  history.  A  general  study 
of  the  seed  will  probably  be  made. 
The  teacher  will  doubtless  open  some 
of  these  and  show  the  embryo,  if  the 
latter  is  large  enough,  as  in  the  bean, 
to  be  seen  by  the  naked  eye.  Enough 
seeds  of  one  kind  will  be  planted  so 
that  a  few  young  plants  may  be  taken 
out  of  the  ground  before  maturity. 
These  should  illustrate  different  stages 
in  development.  The  cotyledons  and 
plumule  will  be  observed,  as  well  as 
the  stem,  leaves,  and  root  of  older 
growth.  In  the  mature  plant  the  child 
will  enjoy  a  study  of  the  textures  of 
the  different  parts.  Some  of  the  pu- 
pils will  be  old  enough  to  take  an  in- 
telligent interest  in  the  veining  of 
leaves,  and  in  the  hair-like  tubes  which 
compose  the  stem.  The  capillary  at- 
traction by  which  water  from  the  soil 
is  conveyed  to  different  parts  of  the 
plant,  gives  opportunity  for  correla- 
tion with  physics. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  at  least  one 
flourishing  tree  will  exist  on  the  school 
ground.  If  so,  the  spring-dressmak- 
ing done  in  that  establishment  will  fur- 
nish fascinating  lessons  which  may  be 
combined  or  associated  with  those  in 
the  garden.  The  teacher  will  find 
great  help  in  drawing  comparisons 
between  these  two  sources  of  interest. 
The  tree  has  the  advantage  of  re- 
maining in  position  all  winter ;  so  that 
studies  in  buds,  closely  packed  and 
varnished  to  protect  young  leaves  from 
cold,  and  the  swelling  buds  of  early 
spring,  will  make  a  good  foundation 
for  lessons  on  the  school  garden. 

The  relation  of  perfume  to  color  in 
flowers  will  prove  suggestive  to  some 
teachers.       The    striking    sunflowers, 


the  brilliant  nasturtiums,  have  their 
peculiar  odors,  but  lack  the  attractive 
sweetness  of  the  modest  white  violet 
and  heliotrope.  The  biological  reason 
for  this  may  well  occupy  the  chil- 
dren's thought.  The  law  of  compen- 
sation, recognizable  in  ever}'  form  of 
life,  is  rarely  impressed  too  earl  v. 

It  cannot  be  out  of  place  to  call  the 
attention  of  children  to  the  color 
schemes  of  nature.  It  does  not  re- 
quire an  accomplished  artist  to  show 
the  young  the  softening  effect  of  a 
background  of  green  for  example,  and 
the  perfect  harmony  found  in  the  in- 
dividual flowers. 

There  are  children  in  every  school 
who  inherit  no  artistic  instinct,  and 
who  will  be  more  acceptable  members 
of  society  all  their  lives  for  a  few  early 
lessons  in  aesthetics.  The  school 
building  will  be  at  certain  times  dec- 
orated with  flowers.  Blossoms  may 
be  arranged  daily  for  the  instructor's 
desk.  If  the  children  be  allowed  to  do 
this  themselves,  under  the  teacher's 
guidance,  it  may  prove  a  valuable  part 
of  their  education.  One  useful  lesson 
to  be  learned  in  this  way  is  the  best 
method  of  preserving  cut  flowers.  For 
instance,  the  proper  temperature  at 
which  to  keep  them  fresh,  and  the 
principle  of  recutting  stems  under 
water  to  prevent  the  passage  of  air 
up  the  tiny  open  tubes,  are  points 
easily  grasped. 

The  day  for  the  old-fashioned  "bou- 
quet," often  a  compact  bundle  of  all 
the  different  kinds  of  flowers  within  a 
certain  radius,  is  past.  Children  can 
learn  that  blossoms  are  selected  and 
combined  with  special  reference  to 
their  form  and  color,  and  that  they 
must  be  held  in  receptacles  appropriate 
in  shape  and  harmonious  in  tone. 


678       THE  SCHOOL  GARDEN  AS  AN  EDUCATIONAL  FACTOR 


The  garnishing  of  food  with  leaves 
or  Mowers  often  interests  children,  and 
is  a  pleasing  adjunct  to  a  cooking  les- 
son. Even  young  pupils  can  some- 
times be  taught  to  do  this  tastefully. 

The  school  garden  will  of  course 
attract  to  itself  various  insects  and 
possibly  some  birds.  A  study  of  the 
appearance  and  habits  of  these  will 
come  most  naturally  into  the  work  in 
nature-study.  Children  will  quickly 
learn  the  names  of  some  of  the  more 
common  living  things,  and  a  few  strik- 
ing facts  concerning  them.  It  will 
increase  the  pupil's  powers  of  obser- 
vation. Someone  has  said  that  "The 
child  should  learn  to  listen  with  his 
eyes." 

To  return  to  the  industrial  side  of 
the  question,  the  materials  furnished 
by  the  garden  for  cooking  classes  are 
important.  Lessons  on  the  proper 
preparation  of  roots,  tubers,  and  leg- 
umes should  have  great  value  for  the 
child  as  he  grows  older.  Probably  in 
most  schools  the  instruction  in  cook- 
ing is  confined  to  girls.  This  is  per- 
fectly natural,  but  the  experience  of  at 
least  one  prominent  educator  goes  to 
prove  that  cooking  lessons  are  of  equal 
interest  and  value  to  some  boys. 

In  these  days,  when  cooking  is  stud- 
ied by  sanitarians,  and  the  proper 
feeding  of  the  human  body  is  consid- 
ered worthy  the  attention  of  all  intelli- 
gent people,  it  would  be  well  for 
school  children  to  know  something  of 
the  relative  value  of  foods.  Most  of 
them  come  from  homes  supported  on 
limited  incomes.  They,  in  turn,  will 
have  to  nourish  their  children  on  mod- 
erate sums  of  money.  Most  of  these 
pupils  will  have  no  "higher  educa- 
tion." It  is  clearly  for  the  good  of 
the  race,  however,  that  thev  should  be 


taught  which  foods  yield  the  best  re- 
turn of  body  tissue  or  of  energy,  at  the 
least  cost.  If  such  lessons  can  be 
brought  home  to  classes  in  cooking 
and  in  gardening,  it  will  be  possible  to 
correlate  the  work  of  the  school  gar- 
den with  physiology,  hygiene,  and 
economics. 

In  the  minds  of  those  who  have  giv- 
en industrial  lessons  to  children,  the 
moral  education  of  the  pupil  stands 
out  as  an  important  factor  of  the  work. 
There  are  few  better  opportunities  to 
encourage  fair  play  and  generosity. 
In  the  case  of  the  school  garden  a 
number  of  children  will  work  in  the 
same  enclosure.  They  will  see  how 
necessary  it  is  to  respect  the  rights 
and  material  possessions  of  others. 
The  practical  application  of  the  Gold- 
en Rule  alone  will  settle  their  childish 
disputes.  The  boy  who  is  generous, 
the  girl  who  is. kind,  will  find  that 
thought  for  others  yields  a  good  re- 
turn in  pleasant  feeling.  The  laying 
out  of  the  ground  and  the  distribution 
of  seeds  and  slips  will,  if  rightly  man- 
aged, cultivate  a  sense  of  justice. 

The  child  learns  other  lessons. 
Without  tools  he  can  do  nothing,  so 
they  must  not  be  broken  through 
carelessness  nor  neglected  at  night. 
He  will  see  the  fitness  of  laying  out  His 
plot  of  ground  with  due  regard  to 
order.  Rivalry  will  spur  him  on  to 
make  his  lines  straight  and  his  group- 
ings intelligent.  He  will  see  that  if  he 
is  ever  to  gather  his  tiny  harvest  or 
have  it  good  to  look  at  as  it  stands, 
he  must  be  faithful  in  his  work.  He 
must  fight  the  bad  and  cultivate  the 
good  with  a  hand  that  is  strong 
against  the  one  and  gentle  with  the 
other.  He  must  show  in  miniature 
the  promise  of  the  coming"  man. 


Old  York,  a  Forgotten  Seaport 

By  Pauline  Carringten  Eouve 

Illustrated  from  Photographs  by  W.  N.  Gougli,  and  others 


THEPvE  is  a 
picturesque 
and  roman- 
tic element 
surrounding  the 
earlier  settlements 
along  the 
Maine  coast 
that  is  quite 
distinct  from 
that  which 
invests  other  places  in  New  England 
with  historic  interest.  Here  religious 
zeal  was  not  so  primarily  the  keynote, 
as  in  the  rising  scale  of  progress  in 
the  Massachusetts  Bay  Colony,  nor 
did  social  prestige  continue  so  long  a 
dominant  factor  as  among  the  Cava- 
liers of  Virginia.  Nevertheless,  re- 
ligious predilection  and  social  ambi- 
tion were  the  motive  springs  that 
brought  into  existence  that  aristo- 
cratic little  Episcopal  settlement  of 
Gorgeana,  now  York,  in  the  Province 
of  Maine,  on  the  Atlantic  seaboard, 
latitude  43 °  10'  north,  longitude  70 ° 
40'  west. 

Although  the  first  settlement  in 
Maine  was  at  Kittery  in  1623,  the  an- 
cient town  of  Gorgeana  has  a  more 
important  claim  upon  the  interest  of 
the  student  of  American  history,  a 
claim,  indeed,  which  envelopes  old- 
fashioned  York  with  a  dignity  that 
cannot  be  shared  by  any  other  town, 
for  an  English  city  charter — the  first 


grant  of  incorporation  for  city  ever 
given  in  America — was  made  over 
to  York  by  his  Majesty  King  Charles 
I.  in  1640.  This  fact  establishes  for 
York  a  priority  right  to  some  measure 
of  national  as  well  as  local  fame. 

But  there  are  hints  of  fair-faced 
foreigners  along  this  rugged  coast  be- 
fore the  Spanish,  French,  Dutch,  Eng- 
lish came.  Five  hundred  years  be- 
fore Columbus  set  sail  to  find  a  new 
world,  the  prows  of  Scandinavian 
vessels  had  breasted  these  tides,  if  one 
may  believe  the  records  of  Thorlack 
of  Iceland,  in  which  are  chronicles  of 
Norse  voyagers  gale-driven  to  the 
coast  of  Labrador,  who  cruised  south- 
ward, reaching  the  New  England 
coast.  In  these  records  one  reads 
the  story  of  Gudrida,  wife  of  a  bold 
Northman  navigator,  who  bore  a  fair- 
haired  child  on  the  new  world's  shores. 
How  much  of  the  romance  of  the  Saga 
has  crept  into  these  ancient  Icelandic 
chronicles,  it  is  not  easy  to  say,  but 
certainly  Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert  and 
Captain  Gosnold  and  Martin  Pring 
and  doughty  Captain  John  Smith 
sailed  along  the  coast  in  the  vicinity 
of  York,  a  long  time  before  the  town 
was  in  existence. 

In  the  year  1622  the  Plymouth 
Council  granted  a  tract  of  land  lying 
within  the  Province  of  Maine  to  two 
gentlemen,  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges  and 
Captain    John    Mason.      Some    years 

679 


-68o 


OLD  YORK,  A  FORGOTTEN  SEAPORT 


later,  in  1629,  the  two  divided  their 
interests,  Captain  Mason  taking  the 
part  that  lay  north  of  the  Piscataqna 
River  and  Sir  Ferdinando,  that  which 
lay  south  of  it.  In  1635  the  Ply- 
mouth Council  gave  up  the  old  patent 
and  took  out  a  new  one,  under  which 
the  land  comprised  was  divided  into 
twelve  portions.  The  third  and 
fourth  divisions  which  lay  between  the 
Kennebec  and  Piscataqua  rivers  and 
extended  one  hundred  and  twenty 
miles  from  the  sea,  were  granted  to 
Gorges.  The  charter  to  the  Council 
was  afterwards  revoked,  but  Charles  I. 
gave  on  the  third  of  April,  1639,  the 
same  territory  to  Sir  Ferdinando 
Gorges,  whom  he  invested  with  almost 
royal  authority  and  to  whom  he  en- 
trusted the  establishment  of  Episcopal 
worship  in  a  region  where  the  power 
of  Puritan  dissent  was  already  becom- 
ing more  than  ever  obnoxious  to  the 
haughty  Stuarts.  Sir  Ferdinando, 
who  had  been  a  British  naval  officer 
and  had  held  the  important  office  of 
Governor  of  Plymouth,  England,  be- 
longed to  an  ancient  family  whose 
-fortunes  had  fallen  from  them,  so  he 
eagerly  embraced  the  opportunity  that 


now  seemed  to  be  within  his  grasp,  to 
better  his  worldly  condition  and  restore 
the  prestige  of  wealth  to  his  name. 

The  colonies  in  America  seemed  to 
be  an  asylum  for  religious  belief,  a 
stage  for  the  play  of  political  ambi- 
tion, and  an  Eldorado  where  destitute 
scions  of  noble  houses  might  retrieve 
their  fortunes,  as  the  needs  in  each 
case  might  be.  Such  diverse  elements 
made  up  one  of  the  strangest  social 
and  political  eras  that  the  world  has 
ever  seen — an  era  in  which  sombre 
fanaticism,  daring  adventure,  rapac- 
ious greed,  and  sinister  intrigue  min- 
gled in  a  wild  pageant. 

Sir  Ferdinando,  who  was  past  mid- 
dle life,  dreamed  of  founding  on  this 
strip  of  Maine  coast  a  great  seaport 
city  from  whose  wharves  armed  ves- 
sels and  ships  of  commerce  should  sail 
to  all  parts  of  the  world,  bearing  the 
victorious  arms  of  the  King  and 
bringing  back  merchandise  of  every 
description.  So  it  came  about  that 
the  King  gave  his  ambitious  emissary, 
in  1640,  the  first  English  charter  for 
a  citv  that  was  ever  issued  in  Amer- 
ica, and  so,  with  the  dream  of  a  Cathe- 
dral City  in  his  brain,  where  the  power 


York   Harbor 


York  Village 


of  stole  and  mitre  should  be  second 
only  to  that  of  crown  and  sceptre, 
Sir  Ferdinando  ordered  a  "Church 
Chapel"  or  "oratory,"  and  "Govern- 
or's palace"  to  be  built,  and  sent  his 
young  kinsman,  William  Gorges,  as 
his  deputy  until  he  should  come. 

In  1639  he  had  sent  to  the  "planta- 
tions" a  band  of  skilled  workmen  with 
all  of  the  necessary  implements  of  toil, 
and  the  tools  and  machinery  in  use  at 
that  time  for  the  building  of  houses 
and  ships,  together  with  oxen  and  the 
requisites  for  agriculture. 

A  year  later,  when  his  "cosen," 
nephew,  or  grandson  (severally  de- 
scribed by  different  histories),  Thomas 
arrived  from  England  with  the  deputy 
Lord  Proprietor,  William  Gorges,  he 
found  the  "Governor's  palace"  in  di- 
lapidation and  everything  in  a  state  of 
demoralization.  Yet  despite  this 
condition  of  affairs.  Sir  Ferdinando 
persevered  in  the  project  and  secured 
the  city  charter,  dated  March  1,  1640, 


The  territory  incorporated  comprised 
twenty-one  square  miles,  and  the  first 
city  in  America  was  named  Gorgeana. 

The  citizens  had  authority  to  elect 
a  mayor  and  eight  aldermen  each  year, 
and  could  hold  estate  to  any  amount. 
Thomas  Gorges  was  the  first  mayor, 
and  the  aldermen  were,  Bartholomew 
Barnett,  Roger  Garde,  George  Pud- 
dington,  Edward  Godfrey,  Arthur 
Bragdon,  Henry  Simpson,  Edward 
Johnson,  and  John  Rogers.  Roger 
Garde  was  also  the  recorder.  The 
mayor  and  eight  aldermen  were  ex- 
ofUcio  justices,  and  annually  appointed 
four  sergeants,  whose  badges  of  office 
were  white  rods. 

In  1643,  Thomas  Gorges  returned 
to  England,  leaving  Roger  Garde  as 
mayor,  and  in  1647  the  ambitious  Sir 
Ferdinando,  without  ever  having 
seen  the  embryo  city  of  his  dreams 
— for  the  great  warship  which  was  to 
convey  him  to  the  colonies  was 
wrecked  when     she     was  launched — ■ 

681 


Old  York  Gaol 


died  in  prison  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
five,  discouraged  but  not  yet  quite 
hopeless  of  the  ultimate  future  of 
Gorgeana.  Two  years  later,  1649, 
unhappy  Charles  I.  laid  his  head  upon 
the  block.  Meantime,  after  the  pro- 
prietor's death,  the  people  of  Gorg- 
eana, Kittery,  Wells,  and  the  Isles 
of  Shoals  (which  latter  were  in- 
cluded in  Sir  Ferdinando's  grant) 
met  together  and  after  much  squab- 
bling and  turmoil  formed  themselves 
into  a  Confederacy  for  administration 
and   protection. 

After  the  King's  execution,  the  riv- 
alry that  had  always  existed  between 
the  two  colonics,  Massachusetts  and 
the  Province  of  Maine,  was  no  longer 
held   in  abeyance,     and    in      1652  the 

stronger    colony      of     Massachusetts 
682 


made  good  her  claim  to  the  ownership 
of  her  weaker  sister  and  assumed  con- 
trol of  her.  The  city  charter  was 
revoked,  a  town  charter  was  granted, 
and  the  name  of  Gorgeana  was 
changed  to  that  of  York.  At  the 
same  time,  Roundhead  influences  were 
immediately  set  in  motion  to  suppress 
the  Royalist  feeling  that  was  very 
strong  in  the  Episcopal  settlement. 

One  of  the  first  acts  of  the  new  rul- 
ers was  the  erection  of  the  Gaol,  which 
was  in  accordance  with  the  act  passed 
in  1647  that  "Each  County  shall  have 
a  house  of  correction,"  and  these  per- 
sons committed  to  such  houses  of  cor- 
rection or  prisons  "'shall  first  be 
whipped  not  exceeding  ten  stripes." 
There  is  a  bit  of  genuine  Puritanical 
spirit    in   this  enactment,  and   in    1653 


1 


McIntyre  Garrison  House 


the  famous  old  York  Gaol  was  built, 
to  stand,  perhaps,  as  a  silent  menace 
to  those  who  might  be  secretly  in  sym- 
pathy with  the  cause  of  young  Charles 
Stuart,  the  exiled  and  fugitive  heir 
to  the  throne  of  Great  Britain. 

The  Civil  War  in  England  that 
raged  between  Charles  I.  and  the  Brit- 
ish Parliament  from  1641  to  1649  was 
a  period  of  great  inquietude  to  the  in- 
habitants of  York,  who  were  at  heart 
loyal  to  the  Stuarts,  and  who  detested 
Cromwell  and  their  Roundhead  neigh- 
bors, the  "Bostonians,"  as  the  Massa- 
chusetts Colonists  were  now  called  by 
the  French  settlers  in  Canada.  It 
was  during  the  first  year  of  this  war 
that  Cromwell  gained  a  victory  over  a 
body  of  Scotch  troops  fighting  under 
the  Royal  Standard  in  the  north  of 
England.  In  this  engagement  a  num- 
ber of  Scotch  royalists  were  taken 
prisoners,  and  among  them  were  the 
Donalds  or  Donnells,  the  Maxwells 
and  the  Mclntyres,  all  of  whom  were 
destined  to  plav  no  inconsiderable  part 


in   the   history     of     loyal   little   York 
across  the  wide  Atlantic. 

Cromwell's  officer  ordered  that  the 
Scotch  prisoners  should  be  ranged  in 
a  row  and  that  every  tenth  man 
should  be  shot  and  that  the  rest  should 
be  deported  to  the  American  Colonies. 
Micum  McIntyre,  one  of  the  prison- 
ers, counted  and  discovering  that  he 
was  a  tenth  man,  with  one  super- 
human effort  broke  his  bonds  and  at- 
tempted an  escape.  The  daring  of 
the  venture  pleased  his  captors,  and 
though  he  was  recaptured  they  com- 
muted his  sentence  to  exile.  Packing 
all  that  was  left  of  his  individual  be- 
longings in  a  small  oaken  box,  McIn- 
tyre with  his  fellow  prisoners,  the 
Maxwells  and  Donalds,  set  forth  upon 
the  voyage  to  New  England.  It  was 
natural  that  upon  hearing  of  Sir  Fer- 
dinando  Gorges'  Settlement  at  York, 
these  young  soldiers  should  make 
their  way  thither,  and  they  took  up 
their  abode  in  what  is  now  known  as 
the   second  parish,   a   little   settlement 


684 


OLD  YORK,  A  FORGOTTEN  SEAPORT 


which  still  bears  the  name  of  Scotland. 
But  Micum  Mclntyre,  "Gentleman," 
the  most  destitute  one  of  the  penniless 
Scotch  troopers,  met  good  luck  in  the 


Micum  McIntyre's  Box 

New  World.  His  story  was  told  the 
writer  by  his  lineal  descendant,  Mr. 
John  Mclntyre,  the  richest  man  in 
York  County  today.  "Micum  had  a 
neighbor,  a  sort  of  Scotch  cousin,  who 
was  in  failing  health  and  who  had 
taken  a  great  liking  to  the  young  fel- 
low. One  day  this  man  sent  for  him 
and  said,  'Kinsman,  I  am  dying,  and 
I  am  grieved  to  have  my  wife  alone 
without  protection  in  this  wild  coun- 
try. Tis  no  fit  place  for  a  woman 
without  husband,  father,  or  brother, 
so  I  will  bequeath  her  and  all  my  land 
and  property  to  you,  Kinsman,  if  you 
will  take  them  both  and  do  fairly  by 
each.  What  say  you  ?'  And  Micum 
agreed  to  the  arrangement,  so  before 
many  months  passed  he  was  the  in- 
heritor of  an  estate  and  a  wife!" 


It  was  this  same  Micum  who  built 
the  old  Mclntyre  Garrison  House  on 
York  River,  which  is  within  a  few 
rods  of  Mr.  John  McIntyre's  dwell- 
ing. This  landmark  of  a  fearsome 
and  tempestuous  period  is  the  only  one 
left  of  the  many  block  houses  that 
were  built  by  the  early  settlers  of  the 
region,  and  it  is  still  in  a  state  of  com- 
paratively good  preservation.  Like 
all  such  of  that  section,  it  faces 
south,  for  that  way  runs  York  River, 
down  whose  waters  came  the  canoes  of 
the  hostile  Indians.  As  frequent 
and  sudden  incursions  of  their  savage 
neighbors  might  always  be  expected, 
it  was  of  the  greatest  importance  to 
have  a  clear  river  view.  The  old 
house  with  its  rough-hewn  timbers 
dove-tailed  and  trunnelled  together,  its 
caulked  seams,  and  its  loopholes  for 
musketry,  is  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing relics  of  the  colonial  period  in  New 
England.  Up  in  the  loft  where  the 
flooring  is  still  intact  there  are 
"draws"   from  which  watch  could  be 


The  Best  Room 


kept  on  an  approaching  enemy,  while 
in  the  juttings  of  the  second  story  that 
projects  over  the  first  all  around,  there 
are   openings      from      which   missiles 


OLD  YORK,  A  FORGOTTEN  SEAPORT 


685 


could  be  thrown  upon  the  heads  of  the 
invaders,  or  from  which  water  might 
be  poured  if  the  enemy  should  set  fire 
to  the  house.  The  stout  wooden  bar 
that  was  held  in  place  across  the  heavy 
oaken  door  by  another  of  like  dimen- 
sions, the  latter  one  being  propped 
against  it  and  made  fast  by  the  first 
step  of  the  stairway,  did  good  service 
two  hundred  and  sixty  years  ago,  be- 
fore the  day  of  locks  in  York. 

Up  at  the  new  Mclntyre  mansion, 
the  daughter  of  the  house  shows  vis- 
itors a  smooth,  round  stone  that  is 
known  in  the  neighborhood  as  the 
"pound  stone."  When  Micum's  "in- 
herited wife,"  Hannah  Pierce,  was 
preparing  to  emigrate  to  the  Colonies, 
she  was  walking  along  the  shore  one 
day,  and  picked  it  up.  "This,  per- 
chance, weighs  about  a  pound,"  she 
said  as  she  balanced  it  in  her  palm. 
"Fll  see  if  it  does,"  and  finding  that  it 
really  did,  and  exactly  to  a  dot,  the 
thrifty  housewife  put  it  in  her  pocket 
and  brought  it  all  the  way  across  the 
broad  ocean.  "For,"  said  she,  "it 
may  chance  there  be  no  such  thing  as 


The  Pound  Stone 


scales  and  weights  for  the  fair  meas- 
ure of  cheese  and  butter  in  those  sav- 
age lands." 

Here,   too,   young   Malcolm   Mcln- 


Table  Chair  in  the  Garrison  House 

tyre,  after  a  good  deal  of  persuasion, 
arrayed  himself  in  an  ancestor's  suit 
of  clothes,  and,  holding  an  old  sword 
taken  from  the  Junkin  Garrison  in  his 
hand,  posed  for  an  illustration  of  "Ye 
olden  time."  There  was  a  bit  of  in- 
spiration in  the  boyish  freak,  for  his 
family's  arms  show  a  hand  holding  a 
drawn  sword,  with  the  prophetic 
motto,   "Through  Difficulties." 

From  the  time  of  its  earliest  settle- 
ment, the  location  of  Maine  made  it 
an  easy  prey  to  the  incursions  of  the 
savage  tribes  that  roamed  from  its 
boundaries  northward  to  the  French 
settlements  of  Acadia  and  Canada. 
Acadia,  as  the  French  understood  it, 
consisted  of  Nova  Scotia,  New  Bruns- 
wick, and  a  very  large  part  of  Maine. 
In  these  wilds,  the  Abenakis,  who 
were  converts  to  Romanism  and 
strong  allies  of  France,  hunted,  fished, 
and  harassed  the  English  trading  set- 
tlements of  Maine.  In  1689  they  en- 
tirely destroyed  the  outpost  of  Pema- 


686 


OLD  YORK,   A  FORGOTTEN  SEAPORT 


quid.  In  1690  they  and  their  French 
friends  had  made  so  many  attacks  upon 
the  New  England  ports  and  villages 
that  nothing  was  left  on  the  eastern 
side  of  the  Piscataqua  River  except 
the  towns  of  Wells,  York,  and  Kittery. 
Sir  William  Phips's  easy  conquest  of 
Port  Royal  had,  however,  somewhat 
changed  the  attitude  of  the  Abenakis 
toward  the  English  settlers,  whom 
they  began  to  fear  and  whose  trade 
was  attractive.  Five  chiefs  of  the  na- 
tion signed  a  truce  with  the  Massachu- 
setts commissioners  which  filled  the 
French  with  alarm.  If  these  Abena- 
kis made  terms  with  the  "Bostonians," 
the  settlements  on  the  St.  Lawrence 
would  be  in  danger  of  attack,  a  thing 
not  to  be  feared  so  long  as  the  sav- 
ages remained  loyal  to  France.  It 
was  French  policy,  therefore,  to  arouse 
the  antagonism  of  the  Abenakis 
against  the  English.  Some  of  the 
tribes  had  no  part  in  the  truce  and 
were  still  thirsty  for  English  blood. 
To  them  the  French  addressed  them- 
selves to  such  effect  that  the  village  of 
York  was  attacked  and  almost  de- 
stroyed by  a  band  of  savages  led  by 
French,  on  the  night  of  February  5, 
1692.  The  enemy  had  made  their 
way  along  the  frozen  streams  and 
trackless  forests  on  snow-shoes,  jour- 
neying for  nearly  a  month  toward 
hapless  little  York.  Arriving  at  Mount 
Agamenticus  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
fourth,  they  could  see  plainly  from  its 
summit  the  group  of  scattered  houses 
of  the  settlement  along  the  banks  of 
the  Agamenticus  or  York  River.  The 
attack  was  successful  and  before  dawn 
one  hundred  and  fifty  of  the  inhabi- 
tants had  been  killed  or  taken  captive, 
and  every  house  on  the  northeast  side 
of  the  river  burned,  with  the  exception 


of  the  garrison  house,  the  meeting- 
house, and  the  old  gaol.  Among  the 
captives  was  a  child  of  four,  whose 
sturdy  efforts  to  get  away  so  amused 
his  captors  that  he  was  allowed  to  es- 
cape. This  was  the  first  Indian  ad- 
venture of  Jeremiah  Moulton,  whose 
name  afterwards  became  a  terror  to 
the  red  man,  who  was  a  distinguished 
officer  in  the  French  War,  holding  the 
rank  of  Colonel  at  the  capture  of 
Louisburg  and  marching  all  the  way 
from  York  to  Quebec  with  a  company 
of  soldiers.  He  was  also  an  official 
resident  of  the  Gaol  years  after- 
wards, while  serving  as  sheriff  of  the 
Province  of  Maine.  His  son,  Jere- 
miah junior,  was  an  officer  in  the 
Revolutionary  War  and  died  of  "army 
fever"  in  1777,  while  his  grandson, 
Jotham,  was  commissioned  Brigadier- 
General  February  8,  1776.  The 
three  daughters  of  the  second  Colonel 
Jeremiah,  Abegail,  Hannah,  and  Lucy, 
were  married  to  Dr.  Job  Lyman,  Cap- 
tain Samuel  Sewall,  and  Mr.  Storer 
Sewall,  respectively,  and  the  ancestral 
home  of  the  Moultons  and  of  the  origi- 
nal Colonel  Jeremiah  is  now  the  resi- 
dence of  Judge  Putnam,  who  inherited 
it  from  his  mother,  a  daughter  of 
Captain  Samuel  Sewall  and  Hannah 
(Moulton)    Sewall. 

Although  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges 
had  dreamed  of  establishing  an  Epis- 
copal form  of  worship  in  York,  there 
was  no  clergyman  there  during  his 
government.  In  1660,  one  Burdet 
had,  indeed,  gathered  a  congregation 
about  him,  but  he  was  found  guilty  of 
improper  conduct  by  the  civil  author- 
ity and  soon  after  gave  up  the  role  of 
teacher  and  preacher.  Due,  perhaps, 
to  this  lack  of  spiritual  instruction, 
one  may  read  an  extraordinary  record 


OLD  YORK,  A  FORGOTTEN  SEAPORT 


68' 


Putnam  Coat  of  Arms 

of  "an  humble  petition  to  the  Court" 
presented  by  Richard  Cutts  and  John 
Cutting,  stating  "that  contrary  to  the 
act  or  order  of  the  court  which  says 
'no  woman  shall  live  on  the  Isle  of 
Shoals'  John  Reynolds  has  brought 
his  wife  thither,  also  a  stock  of  goats 
and  swine.  .  .  .  Your  Petition- 
ers therefore  pray  that  the  act  of  court 
may  be  put  in  execution  of  the  removal 
of  all  women,  also  the  goats  and 
swine."  The  Court  had  the  obnox- 
ious swine  removed,  but  Goodie  Rey- 
nolds was  allowed  to  enjoy  the  com- 
pany of  her  husband  "if  no  further 
complaint  come  against  her."  Two 
decades  later,  however,  the  order  of 
things  was  changed,  for  at  a  court 
held  Dec.  24,  1665,  "Joane  Ford  of 
the  Isles  of  Shoals  was  sentenced  to 
receive"  nine  stripes  at  the  post  for 
"calling  the  Constable  a  horn-headed 
and  cow-headed  rogue." 

After  the  death  of  Charles  I.  the 
Episcopal  element  seems  to  have  been 
eliminated  almost  utterly  from  the 
town    of    York,    and    the    stricter    re- 


ligious principles  of  the  Puritans  be- 
gan to  thrive  on  that  soil  that  was  in- 
tended to  nurture  Episcopacy. 

The  restoration  of  royal  government 
in  England  brought  unpleasant 
changes  to  the  people  in  the  Province 
of  Maine,  who  had  found  under  the 
administration  of  Cromwell's  Protec- 
torate more  freedom  of  thought  and 
action  than  they  had  before  enjoyed, 
for  dissolute  Charles  II.  was  growing 
jealous  of  the  Colonies.  In  1676  he 
confirmed  the  rights  of  the  heirs  of 
Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges  "both  as  to 
soil  and  government."  All  of  these 
rights  and  titles  to  the  Province  of 
Maine  the  people  relinquished  to  Mas- 
sachusetts in  1676  for  the  sum  of  one 
thousand  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds.  This  proceeding  the  king 
bitterly  resented.  Massachusetts  de- 
clined to  give  up  what  she  had  bought 
and  at  once  assumed  absolute  juris- 
diction. 

Sir  William  Phips,  the  hero  of  Port 


Sevvall  Coat  of  Arms 


688 


OLD  YORK,  A  FORGOTTEN  SEAPORT 


Royal,  and  the  new  Royal  Governor, 
brought  the  William  and  Mary  charter 
from  England.  This  was  dated  Oc- 
tober 7,  1 69 1,  and  went  into  effect 
May  14,  1692.  As  Parkman  remarks, 
two  giant  intellects  within  two  in- 
valid bodies  were  now  struggling  for 
supremacy  in  Acadia — the  genius  of 
Richelieu  and  the  genius  of  William  of 
Orange — and  the  Province  of  Maine 
was  the  scene  of  many  conflicts. 

It  was  the  June  following  the  ter- 
rible massacre  at  York  that  the  French 
and  Abenakis  crossed  Penobscot  Bay 
and  marched  upon  Wells,  one  of  the 
villages  of  the  early  York  Confederacy. 
This  village  had  been,  during  the  win- 
ter, crowded  with  refugees  from  pil- 
laged farmhouses,  but  famine  and  mis- 
ery had  driven  most  of  them  beyond 
the  Piscataqua,  and  the  few  left  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  five  fortified 
houses.  Of  these  that  belonging  to 
Joseph  Storer  was  the  largest  and 
safest,  as  it  was  surrounded  by  a  pali- 
sade. It  was  occupied  by  fifteen 
armed  men  under  a  militia  officer, 
Captain  Convers.  Two  sloops  and  a 
sail  boat  ran  up  the  neighboring 
creek,  bringing  fourteen  more  men 
and  food  for  the  half  starved  garri- 
son. This  was  fortunate,  for  the  next 
morning  one  of  Storer's  men,  John 
Diamond,  while  on  his  way  from  the 
garrison  house  to  the  sloops  was 
seized  by  the  Indians  "and  dragged 
off  by  the  hair."  With  veils  and 
warwhoops  some  of  the  Indians 
rushed  upon  the  garrison,  demanding 
their  surrender,  while  others  attacked 
the  sloops,  but  were  repulsed  by  the 
handful  of  men  on  board.  The  ebb- 
ing tide  had  stranded  the  vessels  and 
the  Canadians  constructed  a  shield  of 
planks  which  they  fastened  to  a  cart 


and  attempted  to  shove  toward  the 
sloops  in  the  mud ;  then  the  tide  be- 
gan to  rise,  and,  the  chief  of  the  at- 
tacking party  being  killed,  the  rest 
broke  and  ran,  many  falling  under 
the  fire  of  the  sailors.  Then  the  whole 
body,  nearly  four  hundred  in  all,  fell 
upon  the  garrison  house.  The  dis- 
parity in  numbers  was  appalling.  An 
Englishman  suggested  surrender.  "If 
you  say  that  again,"  answered  Con- 
vers, "you  are  a  dead  man."  "Had 
the  allies  made  a  bold  assault,"  re- 
marks Parkman,  "he  and  his  follow- 
ers must  have  been  overpowered ;  but 
this  mode  of  attack  was  contrary  to 
Indian  maxims."  When  the  assail- 
ants offered  terms  brave  Convers  re- 
plied, "I  want  nothing  but  men  to 
fight  with!"  The  women  in  the  gar- 
rison passed  ammunition  to  the  men, 
and  sometimes  they  fired  themselves 
upon  the  enemy.  Thirty  resolute  men 
had  withstood  four  hundred  and  foiled 
one  of  the  fiercest  and  most  formid- 
able bands  that  ever  attacked  the  set- 
tlers in  Acadia.  Poor  John  Dia- 
mond, the  prisoner,  was  tortured  to 
death.  There  is  an  archaic  simplicity, 
an  antique  heroism,  an  imperishable 
glory  in  this  story  of  Captain  Con- 
vers and  his  dauntless  band  of  thirty ! 
The  William  and  Mary  Charter  em- 
braced the  whole  territory  of  the  State 
of  Maine,  in  two  divisions :  that  ex- 
tending from  the  Piscataqua  to  the 
Kennebec  was  called  the  Province  of 
Maine ;  that  between  the  Kennebec 
and  St.  Croix  River  was  called  Saga- 
dahoc. Legislative  power  was  vested 
in  two  branches.  The  Council,  or 
Board  of  Assistants,  consisted  of 
twenty-eight  members,  and  formed  the 
upper  house,  while  the  other  was 
called  the  House  of  Representatives. 


OLD  YORK,  A  FORGOTTEN  SEAPORT 


689 


Col.  Jeremiah  Moulton's  Waistcoat  and 
Tankard 

The  ecclesiastical  history  of  York 
dates  from  the  organization  of  the  first 
Congregational  Church  by  the  Rever- 
end Shubael  Dummer,  about  1662. 
This  man  of  God,  who  was  a  native 
of  Newbury,  Massachusetts,  a  grad- 
uate of  Harvard,  and  greatly  re- 
spected, was  killed  by  the  Indians  in 
the  York  massacre.  He  married  a 
daughter  of  the  celebrated  Edward 
R.  Rishworth,  the  first  chosen  "record- 
er of  writts."  Six  years  later  a  remark- 
able man,  also  from  Newbury,  came  to 
York,  where  he  preached  until  his  or- 
dination in  1700.  This  was  the  ec- 
centric Samuel,  familiarly  known  as 
"Father"  Moody,  who  declined  a  stip- 
ulated salary  and  chose  to  live  upon 
the  voluntary  contributions  of  the  peo- 
ple. This  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  an  altogether  successful  arrange- 
ment, for  more  than  once  his  family 
came  very  near  to  starvation.  In  fact. 
Mr.  Moody  had  to  appeal  to  the  Gen- 
eral Court  of  Massachusetts  for  "such 
allowance  as  your  wisdom  and  justice 
shall  see  fit."  The  Court  "saw  fit"  to 
allow  twelve  pounds  sterling.  Father 
Moody  appears  to  have  exercised  the 


privilege  of  making  personal  remarks 
from  the  vantage  ground  of  his  pulpit 
with  appalling  frankness.  It  was  the 
Sunday  after  Judge  Sewall's  mar- 
riage, that  that  stately  gentleman  in 
small-clothes,  silver  shoe  buckles,  pow- 
der and  ruffles,  repaired  to  the  house 
of  worship  accompanied  by  his  bride 
in  her  wedding  slippers  and  arrayed  in 
one  of  her  bridal  gowns.  Father 
Moody  paused  in  his  discourse,  and 
pointing  to  the  pair  said  rebukingly, 
"Here  comes  Judge  S civall  with  his 
lady  and  his  ungodly  strut."  How 
the  poor  bride  must  have  felt !  The 
memory  of  her  gracious  and  dignified 
bearing  is  still  cherished  in  York 
where  they  point  out  the  old  Sewall 
Mansion  to  strangers  with  pride,  and 
those    historic    wedding     slippers  are 


kept   under   a   glass   case   in  the   loan 
collection  of  local  curios. 

For  half  a  century  York's  leading 
man  was  David  Sewall.  He  was  grad- 
uated from  Harvard  in  1755,  and  was 
classmate  and  life-long  friend  of  John 
Adams.  Admitted  an  attorney  in  1760 
he  was  for  sixty-four  years  identified 
with  the  town's  history-  It  was  dur- 
ing Washington's  administration  that 
the  beautiful  and  stately  residence  now 
known  as  Coventry  Hall,  the  summer 
home  of  Rev.  Frank  Sewall  of  Wash- 
ington, was  built.  Here  Judge  Sew- 
all  entertained   President   Monroe   on 


Coventry  Hall 


his  "progress"  eastward,  horses  for 
the  President's  private  coach  being 
furnished  along-  the  road,  and  the  offi- 
cers of  the  York  County  Regiment  of 
Militia  acting  as  mounted  escort  from 
the  Maine  line. 

David  Sewall's  stone  in  the  Old 
Burying  Ground  bears  the  following 
well     deserved     inscription : 

"Concecrated  to  the  memory  of  the  Hon. 
David  Sewall,  L.  L.  D.  An  elevated  benev- 
olence was  happily  directed  by  an  enlight- 
ened intellect.  Conscientious  in  duty  he 
was  ever  faithful  in  its  discharge.  Piety 
with  patriarchal  simplicity  of  manners  con- 
spired  to   secure   him   universal   esteem. 

"Having  occupied  the  Bench  of  the  Su- 
preme Court  of  the  State  and  District  Court 
of  the  U.  States  with  dignified  uprightness 
for  forty  years  without  one  failure  of  at- 
tendance, he  retired  from  public  life  in 
[8l8  and  died  Oct.  22,  1825,  aged  XC 
years. 

1  )eath  but  entombs  the  b  idy, 
Life  the  Soul." 

It  was  during  the  ministry  of  Father 
690 


Moody  that  the  "Parish  Society"  of 
York  was  organized  under  a  warrant 
issued  by  William  Pepperell,  dated 
March  5,  1731.  It  was  also  during  his 
pastorate,  in  1747,  that  the  old  meet- 
ing-house was  burned  and  the  pres- 
ent one  was  erected,  such  of  the 
timbers  as  were  sound  of  the  old  build- 
ing being  incorporated  in  the  new. 
Father  Moody  married  Hannah  Sew- 
all,  and  left  a  son  and  daughter.  The 
Reverend  Joseph  Moody  and  Mrs. 
Emerson  of  Maiden,  great  aunt  of 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

The  son's  life  story  makes  one  of 
the  strangest,  saddest  pages  of  York 
history.  Born  in  1700,  he  graduated 
from  Harvard  at  eighteen  and  soon 
afterwards  was  made  Register  of 
Deeds  of  York  County.  In  1730  he 
was  Judge  of  the  County  Cotirt. 
Father  Moody,  however,  was  anxious 
to  have  his  son  enter  the  ministry,  an  1 
with  filial  obedience  but  poor  judg- 
ment, Joseph   resigned  his   civil  office 


OLD  YORK,  A  FORGOTTEN  SEAPORT 


691 


Hannah  Sewall  Moody 

and  was  ordained  pastor  of  the  Con- 
gregational Church  of  the  Second 
Parish  of  York  in  1732,  his  father  as- 
sisting in  the  ceremony.  The  eccen- 
tric disposition  of  the  father  was  ac- 
centuated in  the  sensitive,  dreamy, 
morbid  temperament  of  the  son.  Per- 
haps the  young  minister  regretted  hav- 
ing given  up  a  profession  which  prom- 
ised a  brilliant  career.  Perhaps  over- 
work destroyed  the  equilibrium  of  a 
peculiarly  delicately  balanced  brain, 
or  it  may  have  been  that  the  morbid 
New  England  conscience  made  him 
brood  overmuch  upon  the  unfortunate 
accident  of  his  boyhood  when  he  had 
accidentally  shot  his  hunting  compan- 
ion, young  Preble,  when  they  were  out 
together  one  day.  At  all  events,  the 
brilliant  young  minister's  mind  became 
impaired.  He  resigned  his  pastorate, 
declaring  that  the  weight  of  an  unpar- 
donable sin  was  upon  his  guilty  soul 
and  that  he  was  unfit  to  enjoy  the  fel- 
lowship of  men.  Retiring  from  the 
societv  of  friend  and  neighbor,  he  cov- 


ered his  face  with  a  black  handker- 
chief. This  he  never  removed,  and 
he  became  known  far  and  near  as 
"Handke,  chief  Moody."  One  can 
imagine  the  awe  of  the  villagers,  the 
fear  of  the  children  as  they  scudded 
down  lanes  and  around  corners,  the 
hush  of  feminine  chatter  when  that 
ghost-like  figure  with  the  veiled  face 
was  seen  about  the  streets  of  the 
quaint  old  town — a  figure  of  mystery 
and  tragedy.  The  old  moth-eaten 
table  upon  which  he  took  his  solitary 
meals  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 
relics  preserved  in  the  Gaol,  now  used 
as  a  museum. 

One  day  the  black-veiled  minister, 
who  had  not  for  many  years  lifted  his 
beautiful  voice  in  song,  suddenly  be- 
gan to  sing.  Through  the  closed  door 
of  his  room  came  in  clear  melodious 
notes,  the  hymn, 

"Oh  for  an  overcoming  faith 
To  cheer  my  dying  hours !" 

The  next  morning  they  found  him 
dead  in  his  bed.  Let  us  hope  that  the 
"overwhelming  faith"  was  given  to 
cheer  the  lonely  end  of  a  lonelier  life. 

There  were  other  strange  personages 
who  used  to  wander  about  old  York. 
The  mysterious  St.  Aspinquid,  the  In- 


>  Handkerchief  Moody's  Table 


692 


OLD  YORK,  A  FORGOTTEN  SEAPORT 


dian  missionary  whose  grave  lies  on  the 
heights  of  Mount  Agamenticus,  was 
once  a  familiar  figure  in  the  vicinity. 
Tradition  says  he  was  a  native  of  York, 
England,  who  came  '  to  Maine,  and 
dwelt  among  the  Indians,  who  grew  to 
know  and  love  him,  and  to  whom  he 
was  somewhat  a  father  as  well  as  a 
teacher.  None  knew  his  name.  From 
the  date  of  his  advent  in  York  it  might 
very  reasonably  be  assumed  that  he 
was  one  of  the  English  Jesuit  priests, 
exiled  by  the  destruction  of  the  monas- 
teries by  Cromwell's  Puritans,  and  that 
as  was  the  fashion  of  that  Order,  he 
adopted  the  dress  and  manner  of  life 
of  the  savages  he  came  to  Christianize. 
How  else  could  the  title  St.  Aspinquicl 
have  originated  ?  It  would  have  been 
natural  for  the  children  of  the  forest 
to  have  learned  stories  of  angel,  mar- 
tyr and  saint  from  his  life  and  to  have 
called  their  benefactor  by  that  name  he 
had  taught  them  to  revere.  At  his 
death  his  faithful  followers  brought  a 
sacrifice  of  six  thousand  five  hundred 
and  eleven  votive  animals. 

"Old  Tricky,"  a  piratical  fisherman 
who  lived  at  Bra'boat  Harbor,  was  very 
much  feared  along  the  coast  as  a  ma- 
levolent creature  who  "laid  curses"  on 


those  he  disliked.  These  curses,  how- 
ever, could  not  take  effect  until  he  had 
bound  a  certain  amount  of  sand  with  a 
rope.  According  to  tradition,  before 
a  storm  he  used  to  be  heard  muttering, 
"More  rope,  more  rope,"  and  even  now 
superstitious  folk  say  the  figure  of  an 
old  man  with  shaggy  locks  flying  in  the 
wind  and  bearing  a  bag  of  sand  on  his 
back  may  be  seen  hurrying  along  the 
gray  sands,  and  between  the  sobbing  of 
the  wind  and  sea,  the  cry  "more  rope, 
more   rope,"   may  be  heard  now  and 


Handkerchief  Moody's  Cradle 


then.  His  bible,  wdiich  is  supposed  to 
be  haunted,  is  one  of  York's  most  cher- 
ished treasures. 

Still  later,  before  1832,  Mistress 
Betty  Potter  and  her  familiar  friend, 
Mistress  Esther  Brooks,  were  awe-in- 
spiring citizens  of  York.  These  spin- 
sters lived  on  the  dividing  line  between 
York  and  Kittery,  by  which  device  they 
escaped  paying  taxes  in  either  town. 
When,  however,  President  Jackson  had 
the  nation's  "surplus  revenue"  divided 
among  the  inhabitants  of  the  United 
States,  Betty  and  Esther,  not  living  in 
either  place,  were  the  only  people  in 
America  who  failed  to  receive  their  re- 
spective shares,  the  just  reward  of  in- 
iquity ! 

Mrs.  Emma  L.  Paul,  the  great- 
granddaughter   of   Elder  John   Brad- 


Old  Bradbury  House 


bury,  who  was  a  staunch  adherent  of 
the  King,  owns  and  resides  in  the  old 
Bradbury  house  in  York.  Elder  John 
was  a  grandson  of  Thomas  Bradbury 
who  came  to  York  in  1639  as  the  agent 
of  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges,  and  who 
afterwards  settled  in  Salisbury,  Massa- 
chusetts. It  was  Mary  Perkins,  the 
wife  of  this  Thomas  Bradbury,  who  at 
the  age  of  ninety  years  was  tried  and 
condemned  for  "witchcraft."  The  good 
lady's  escape  is  a  strange  story,  be- 
longing to  Salisbury  rather  than  to 
York  history. 

The  loan  collection  of  curios  in  the 
Gaol  Museum  owes  its  existence  to  the 
energy  and  good  judgment  of  the 
ladies  of  York  village,  who  three  years 
ago  saved  the  historic  old  building 
from  the  ravages  of  time,  rats,  and 
tramps.  The  suggestion  came  from 
William   Dean   Howells,   the  novelist, 


who,  passing  the  dilapidated  house  one 
day  and  observing  the  door  swinging 
open  over  the  rotting  sills,  remarked: 
"Why  can't  you  save  the  old  house? 
It  is  worth  saving."  This  was  the 
seed  of  the  idea.  Not  only  the  old 
Gaol  was  preserved,  but  colonial  relics, 
some  of  much  more  than  local  interest 
and  value,  were  collected  by  the  ladies 
of  the  town,  who  established  a  mu- 
seum of  York  antiquities  within  the 
walls  that  once  grimly  guarded  evil 
doers.  Mrs.  Newton  Perkins,  who  owns 
the  ancient  Pell  House,  just  above 
Sewall's  Bridge,  gave  a  lawn  party  to 
inaugurate  "doing  something  to  get 
funds  for  the  project."  Thomas  Nel- 
son Page,  John  Fox,  and  Mr.  Howells 
read  on  the  occasion.  The  idea  was 
popular  and  the  "Village  Historical  and 
Improvement  Society"  began  its  work 
of  preservation  and  rejuvenation. 

693 


694 


OLD  YORK,  A  FORGOTTEN  SEAPORT 


The  Pell  house  stands  not  far  from 
the  famous  old  "Sewall's  Bridge,"  said 
to  be  the  first  pile  bridge  in  the  United 
States,  built  in  1761  by  Major  Samuel 
Sewall,  a  great  architect  in  his  day. 
He  was  engaged  soon  after  to  build  a 
similar    bridge    between    Boston    and 

The  Pell  House 


of  old  laces  and  brocade  still  hanging 
about  it — aristocratic  York  with  its 
legends,  its  traditions,  its  historic  as- 
sociations— is  no  longer  isolated  and 
remote  ;  although  it  is  in  truth  a  forgot- 
ten seaport,  for  its  wharves  are  almost 
deserted  and  sea-traffic  has  passed  it 
by,  it  has  become  a 
Mecca  for  artists,  lit- 
erary folk,  and  sum- 
mer visitors. 

The  first  summer 
hotel  was  built  early 
in  the  seventies  and 
when  the  steam  rail- 
road came  in  1887,  to 
take  the  place  of  the 
dusty     stage     coach 


Charlestown.  The 
Pell  house,  which  is 
supposed  from  its 
architecture  to  have 
been  contemporary 
with  the  Gaol,  pos- 
sesses the  dignity  of 
antiquity  and  the 
charm  of  modern 
comfort,  and  makes 
an  ideal  country 
home.  Almost  all 
of  the  distinguished  old  Colonial  fam- 
ilies that  helped  to  make  York  hon- 
ored of  old  are  represented  in  name 
and  in  blood  today, — Moulton,  Brad- 
bury, Sewall,  Mclntyre,  Dennett, 
Moody,  Barrell,  Varrell,  Donnell, 
Bragdon,  Dummer,  Stacey,  Jenkins, 
and  many  others  of  note. 

But  this  old  town  with  the  fragrance 


The  Barrell  Mansion 

from  Portsmouth,  hotels  and  boarding 
houses  grew  in  number  and  improved 
in  quality  and  handsome  cottages  for 
summer  residents  began  to  dot  the 
shores.  The  growth  of  the  town  as  a 
summer  resort  has  been  very  fast  dur- 
ing the  last  few  years  and  has  de- 
veloped within  its  limits  four 
quite  distinct  summer  villages, — York 


OLD  YORK,  A  FORGOTTEN  SEAPORT 


Harbor,  York  Beach,  York  Cliffs, 
and  Long"  Beach.  Even  York  Village, 
always  the  town's  centre  for  business 
and  public  and  church  affairs,  gains  by 
the  summer  invasion  so  that  frequently 
the  resident  population  of  about  three 
thousand  becomes  between  the  months 
of  June  and  September  a  community  of 
ten  thousand,  and  much  has  been  done 
to  make  life  pleasant  for  the  strangers 
and  those  who  come  back  to  their  birth- 


Sfwall's  Bridge 


'      "'  "IS*"' 

I 


f] 


,      ** 


m 


,4  ■-;... 


y 


■  '.-TUlllL 

Golf  Club 


place.      The  handsome  new  Golf  Club 
House  is  a  good  example. 

The  historic  houses  of  this  quaint 
town  draw  visitors  from  the  surround- 


Thoaaas  Nelson  Page's  Cottage 


ing  neighborhoods,  and  the  witch's 
grave  in  the  old  burying-  ground, 
where  the  dead  of  many  generations 
sleep,  arouses  a  great  deal  of  specula- 
tion. As  witches,  by  an  unwritten 
law,  were  almost  never  married,  and 
as  they  were  usually  buried  either  at 
low-water  mark  or  at  the  junction  of 
three  roads,  this  grave  of  "Mary  Na- 
son,  wife  of  Samuel  Nason,  died  Au- 
gust 28,  1772,  aged  29  years,"  does  not 
seem  to  fit  the  requirements  of  a  bona 


696 


OLD  YORK,   A  FORGOTTEN    SEAPORT 


fide  witch.  In  spite,  however,  of  these 
discrepancies,  this  wide  tablet  slab 
lying  between  two  upright  head  and 
foot-stones  possesses  a  weird  interest 
to  those  who  are  inclined  to  supersti- 
tion. 

Stage  Neck,  where  the  Marshall 
House  stands,  is  the  historic  ground 
where  the  people  from  the  Isles  of 
Shoals  were  ordered  to  remove  during 
the  Revolution.  The  view  from  here 
is  one  of  the  finest  in  the  neighborhood, 
surpassed  only  perhaps  by  that  from 
Mount  Agamenticus,  the  highest  point 
along  this  part  of  the  Maine  coast. 
Northward  stretches  the  rocky  coast 
with  a  background  of  woodland,  while 
to  the  east  lies  the  blue  ocean  with 
Boon  Island  Lighthouse  clearly  visible 
nine  miles  away.  One  of  the  early 
lighthouse  keepers,  Captain  Eliphalet 
•Grover,  spent  his  time  in  making  bass 
viols,  one  of  which  he  presented  to  the 
first  Conpresrational  Church  in  York, 


June  4,  1834.  His  successor  was  also 
a  musician  and  played  upon  it  for  many 
years. 

The  old  town  celebrates,  this  sum- 
mer, its  two-hundred-and-fiftieth  birth- 
day since  Massachusetts  bought  out  the 
right  of  the  Province  of  Maine  in  1652, 
and  it  will  wear  holiday  garb  during 
the  pageant:  but  to  enjoy  the  unique 
charm  of  the  place,  one  must  visit  it 
when  the  hush  of  a  drowsy  summer 
afternoon  lies  over  the  town  ;  when  the 
shady  streets  are  quiet  and  the  grim  old 
Gaol,  the  haunted  witch's  house,  and 
the  ancient  head-stones  in  the  cemetery 
are  bathed  in  the  sunshine  and, 
like  the  land  of  the  Lotos  Eaters,  it 
seems  a  place  where  it  is  "always  after- 
noon."' 

Then  indeed  the  magic  thrall  of  his- 
tory, poetry,  and  tradition  falls  upon 
the  visitor,  and  invests  with  a  halo  of 
romance  this  quaint  old  York — a  for- 
gotten seaport. 


- 


The  Witch's  Grave 


The  Hill  Stream 

By  Alice   D'Alcho 

HIGH  on  the  hillside,  here  I  sit  and  dream — 
And,  far  below  me,  see  bright  waters  gleam ; 
Now  dancing  onward,  wreathed  with  rainbow  spray, 
Now  winding  gently  among  the  boulders  gray ; 
Hid  for  a  moment    neath  the  o'erhanging  shade, 
Then  to  the  glory  of  the  moon  displayed. 
Yet  ever  lovely — ever  giving  grace — 
Some  light  reflecting,  e'en  in  darkest  place. 


Say,  O  my  soul,  shall  this  be  said  of  thee — 
Thy  light  withdrawn,  and  dark  adversity 
O'ershading  all ;  thy  chiefest  friend  grown  cold ; 
Yet  thou  wert  fair,  as  in  the  days  of  old? 
Those  days  of  old — when  all  Earth's  joys  were  thine, 
When  thou  didst  quaff  life's  richest,  rarest  wine ; 
When  it  was  sweet  to  live — thy  way  to  trace; 
Say,  canst  thou  shine,  e'en  in  the  shadowed  place? 


697 


Washington-Greene 

Correspondence 


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.  A  printed  copy  of  the  letters  herewith  appears  on  pages  702 
and  703. — Editor. 


698 


'^    <7-7<?/*-^^£  'K-t-fA  —       *A&~  a^*  f    <-^-/* 


*sfz^j££x     /%L*     fy^*^   ^y^t^/     <^t,J^      ~S    £Z^.+J%jfe 

a^     <^~~rr.  *^~*,*S     **H^       **"*     ^^     "^    ^~°~^t'/>        *     -*~~- 
Sis  </  «-«-     esTS      &£ul 


f 


* 


&^ 


_  /?<n*^t^~  fci 


/too* 


sC 


'  /£~^?~  ^^^X'S 


^   /^J  c.^*^^    £    A 


.      /O:  -    ,\tf| 

<<*^u*s  <*y^i  &u ',^^  ,._^  ^.  '+*iZ^fc.:.J&L* 


Sy>       -/i    /C>U       & 


$f  ?&•  ^ 


/ 


V~?  Jf?.^»J?^     c^      f»       Mj. 


<^  •       Cs'^^.jt-  y^/-      fy 


<7 


'»«<-  />-      Si-**"  -^-       <!~, 


S« 


$4 


a 


699 


■' A  f&&^,l)  .■£  *r^z* 


/  r 


2^< 


a 


2L-^*-^-«-'t^y 


y 


rX+ 


^ 


s~)-^.-0  t^-e.*  • 


1 
- ! 


L--C*--> 


^/Lt^       <* 


xr-,^.-     75£Z-r*-*~<s      r.t-^Cj^-'^-      -?~*^*LSX-e*<r     ^t  ^^_ 


y  C^k-^~.   ^^       ^Cu-»~ 


;-*^u3 


*-y£- 


/$£>      *:*~<~~S^'£      ~1Z*^Z, 


«->->vX 


sT^yi*?   ^c^-   * 


^ 


m 


S/-    4>>tsL^&~~<^^c^s<-+~<-^      «^j 


u^^-^S  ^*-f£- 


^  /k^^Cf 


^~^>  /£^C   *%£*-<£   *&  c2^/CZ^<^^ 
-  *~^>  o^Z-  r£tf  ^Z^^<L.    6  Ji~& 

S^p-G—zy   A^tw      ^yf.^X-^       ^r^^^^^^^^y^^Jj    i£x~<£  *^S 


2> 


yt-A.^.   <£e* 


<yt<~£**-       t^aS^e^t,     <y*~<-~4*-^,     ^?^^<^-^4t-«^L^^y.    *^*£*r*stf 


C^*--^     yf~i^-x^$L 


'■  y£*-+*/£<*~£      <tf     *~*~+         .        /L*S>^ 


?v£*&- 


%s  s 


s., 


^~  ./^p. 


^ 


C&  jU*^*,     ^^^U-  ,r4-4L*~~s., 


o 


<s^"      "-'    jfifW^Jhif^t^i 


SM**-^~~&^Z>£P Jf*6-**- 


/ 


704 


JZ^^sy^  £~-^+-~f^L  jf^--»    /sh^-^-r  ^r^>*-    *~t—^z^>~^ 


«•>■-».,•.>.*-  ;*£;«£ 


-f**4s£r. 


Gen.  Washington  to  Gen    Greene 

Philadelphia,   19th  December,    1781. 
My  dear  Sir, 

The  president  informs  me  that  you  have  been  furnished  with  the  Resolves  of  the  10th 
instant,  requiring  the  several  States  to  compleat  the  deficiencies  of  their  respective  quotas  by  the  1st  of 
March  next — He  also  informs  me  it  is  expected  that  I  should  myself  call  for  and  transmit  the  necessary 
returns.  But  as  this  would  occasion  an  immense  delay  and  loss  of  time,  I  must  request  you  in  the  first 
instance  to  furnish  the  Executives  of  Delaware — Maryland— Virginia — North  Carolina — South  Carolina 
and  Georgia  with  the  state  of  their  several  lines,  and  give  them  Credit  for  any  men  they  may  have  serving 
in  those  Legionary  Corps  or  Artillery  under  your  command.  You  will  be  kind  enough  to  transmit  dupli- 
cates to  me.     The  returns  of  the  Pennsylvania  Line  may  be  sent  to  me  and  I  will  present  them  myself. 

That  the  Adjutant  General  may  more  easily  digest  the  whole  into  one  general  Return,  he  has  made  out 
a  form  and  forwarded  it  to  the  several  posts.  One  set  of  them  you  have  inclosed,  by  which  you  will  be 
pleased  to  direct  your  Deputy  Adjutant  General  to  guide  himself. 

Inclosed  you  have  the  Copy  of  a  letter  which  I  have  written  to  the  States  from  whence  your  Troops 
are  drawn,  apologizing  for  not  transmitting  the  Returns  myself — pressing  a  compliance  with  the  requisition, 
and  pointing  out  the  only  mode  of  preventing  the  imposition  of  improper  men  upon  the  Army. 

The  European  Fleet  consisting  of  upwards  of  one  hundred  vessels  sailed  from  New  York  the  15th.  I 
can  yet  hear  of  no  preparations  for  the  embarkation  of  any  troops  from  thence,  which  makes  me  conclude 
that  they  do  not  think  at  present  of  giving  any  reinforcement  to  the  Southward. 

I  am  with  the  greatest  esteem, 

my   dear   Sir, 
Your  most  ob't  and  h'ble  Ser't, 
G.   Washington. 
Maj'r.  Gen'l.  Greene. 


• 


Gen.  Greene  to  Gen.  Washington 

Head  Quarters,  St.  Paul's  Parish, 

January  24th,   1782. 
Sir, 

Since  I  wrote,  your  Excellency  on  the  9th  of  December  I  have  been  favor'd  with^your  despatches 
of  the  15th  and  19th  of  December.  My  letter  to  Congress  of  this  date,  a  copy  of  which  I  enclose,  will  in- 
form your  Excellency  of  the  arrival  of  General  St.  Clair  with  the  Pennsylvania  and  Maryland  troops.  The 
Virginian  officers  protested  against  marching  until  they  got  their  pay,  and  are  still  in  Virginia.  Your 
Excellency's  aprehensions  were  very  right  respecting  the  diminution  of  Gen.  St.  Clair's  command.  The 
Virginia  line  left  us  at  the  same  time  the  other  came  up  which  leaves  us  little  stronger  than  we  were  before. 
Some  reinforcements  have  arrived  lately  from  York.  It  is  said  near  400  men.  Through  a  good  channel 
of  intelligence  I  got  information  of  troops  expected  both  from  Cork  and  New  York.  I  was  so  alarmed  at  it 
that  I  sent  off  Capt.  Rosedale  to  Virginia  and  Lt.  Col.  Stewart  to  North  Carolina  to  try  to  hasten  on  sup- 
port and  wrote  to  Count  Rochambeau  for  a  1000  men  of  his  command,  but  if  more  convenient  and  con- 
sistent with  the  plan  you  &  he  had  concerted  it  would  still  be  more  agreeable  for  him  to  move  with  his 
whole  force  this  way.  Since  I  sent  off  those  despatches  the  Cork  fleet  arriv'd  without  troops  except  about 
60  artillery  men.  I  am  still  under  great  apprehensions  of  troops  coming  from  York  notwithstanding  the 
nattering  accounts  your  Excellency  gives  me.  We  are  in  a  poor  situation  to  contend  with  a  very  superior 
force.  Our  men  are  almost  naked  for  want  of  overalls  and  shirts,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  army  bare- 
foot. We  have  no  rum  or  prospect  of  any.  None  within  four  hundred  miles  of  us  and  little  or  none  pro- 
viding in  Virginia;  and  if  there  was  ever  so  much  there,  the  difficulty  of  transportation  would  prevent  our 
getting  it  as  we  were  four  weeks  without  ammunition  since  we  have  been  in  the  lower  country  and  a 
plenty  of  this  article  at  Charlotte  waiting  for  the  means  of  transportation.  Had  the  enemy  got  knowledge 
and  availed  themselves  of  our  situation  they  might  have  ruined  us. 

I  shall  agreeable  to  your  Excellency's  direction  transmit  to  the  respective  States  an  exact  return  of 
their  troops;  and  I  wish  your  representation  may  have  the  desired  effect.  But  the  States  have. become  so 
tardy  as  to  regard  representations  little  more  than  an  idle  dream  or  Eastern  tale.  Nor  Iiave  I  the  least 
hopes  of  our  difficulties  lessening  on  this  head  until  the  powers  of  Congress  are  more  extensive  and  the 
subordination  of  the  States  better  acknowledged.  When  any  State  can  be  made  to  feel  an  inconvenience 
from  disobeying  a  requisition  of  Congress  then  and  not  till  then  can  we  hope  our  measures  will  have  vigor 
and  a  combination  of  our  force  take  place.  We  may  write  until  we  are  blind  &  the  local  policy  of  the 
States  in  perfect  security  will  counteract  our  wishes.  From  the  very  same  source  I  apprehend  it  almost 
impossible  to  establish  matters  of  finance  upon  such  a  footing  as  to  answer  the  public  demands.  If  such  of 
the  States  as  refused  or  neglected  to  comply  with  the  Congressional  requisitions  were  deprived  of  the  lib- 
erty of  trade  either  foreign  or  domestic  out  of  their  own  State  it  might  serve  to  fix  a  little  obligation  to 
effect  a  compliance. 

I   perfectly  agree  with   your   Excellency  that   we   should   improve   every    moment   this   winter,   to    be   in 

readiness  to  open  the  campaign  to  advantage.     To  be  well  prepar'd  for  war  is  certainly  the  most  likely  way 

of  procuring  peace.      I  have  recommended  to  this  State  to  raise  some  black  Regiments.      To  fill  up  their 

Regiments  with  whites  is  impracticable  and  to  get  reinforcements  from  the  Northward  precarious  and  at 

best  difficult  from  the  prejudices  respecting  the  climate.     Some  are  for  it  but  the  greater  part  of  the  people 

are  opposed  to  it.     The  Assembly  are  now  sitting  at  Jacksonborough  four  miles  from  our  camp  on  the  other 

side  of  the  Edisto. 

I   am  with  great   respect. 

Your  Excellency's  most 
obedt  humble  Ser, 
N.   Greene. 
His  Excellency 
General  Washington. 

'       .■      .  •     ,  ;,■;        ■•  !     i. J-.SU  ! 

;    ;■;  >  1  '■'     w  \         V      .  ,  <       '  •••.■.•:.../■.■.   ; 

707 


A  Fair  Exchange- An  Old-Home- 
Week  Romance 


By  Emma  Gary  Wallace 


MRS.  CROMPTON  was  in  a 
flutter  of  excitement.  Be- 
sides being  one  of  the  Re- 
ception Delegation,  a  Pat- 
roness of  the  Grand  Ball,  and  Convener 
of  the  Old-Home-Week  Committee 
of  Hospitality,  she  was  to  entertain 
the  Honorable  Josiah  Hilton,  who 
was  to  come  all  the  way  from  Texas  to 
be  the  orator  of  the  week's  festivities. 
She  sighed  as  she  wondered  if  he 
had  changed,  and  she  could  not  refrain 
from  a  glance  at  her  mirror  to  satisfy 
herself  of  the  permanency  of  her  own 
charms.  It  was  a  handsome  face  that 
looked  back  at  her :  the  face  of  a  wom- 
an in  the  prime  of  a  perfectly  matured 
womanhood. 

She  had  placed  two  rooms  of  her 
finely  appointed  home  at  the  service  of 
loyal  Vermonters,  and  it  was  with  no 
small  degree  of  satisfaction  to  her  that 
the  honorable  gentleman  and  his 
nephew  had  fallen  to  her  lot.  She  was 
pleased  to  renew  the  acquaintance  with 
the  uncle,  and  secretly  hopeful  that  the 
nephew  might  interest  Sadie.  It  would 
take  her  mind  off  that  unfortunate 
school-girl  love  affair  which  had  so 
disturbed  their  summer's  peace.  Mrs. 
Crompton  smiled  complacently  as  she 
thought  how  cleverly  she  had  nipped 
that  affaire  d 'amour  in  the  bud  ;  for 
she  well  knew  her  niece  to  be  as  will- 
ful as  she  was  pretty.     As  that  young 

lady's  guardian  she  had  pointed  out  to 
708 


her  the  undesirability  of  such  an  en- 
tanglement. Sadie  argued  with  the 
fluency  of  a  second  Portia.  Then,  los- 
ing her  temper,  Mrs.  Crompton  scold- 
ed. Sadie  wept,  but  was  still  obdur- 
ate. Finally  a  prompt  discontinuance 
of  all  communication  was  ordered.  The 
letters  ceased  to  come,  and  it  was  pre- 
sumable that  they  ceased  to  go  also. 
In  place  of  spending  her  mornings 
scribbling,  Sadie  took  long  horse-back 
rides  on  "Kentucky  Belle." 

The  rides  were  doing  her  good,  Mrs. 
Crompton  reflected.  Only  that  morn- 
ing her  niece  had  gone  out  pale  and 
heavy  eyed,  and  returned  from  her  gal- 
lop across  the  hills  with  sparkling  eyes 
and  rosy  cheeks.  Clearly  she  was 
learning  to  forget  the  University  stu- 
dent, who  had  no  fortune  but  his  own 
indomitable  courage  (Mrs.  Cromp- 
ton mentally  designated  it  "cheek"). 
Some  day  Sadie  would  rise  up  and  call 
her  blessed  for  preventing  such  a 
■mesalliance.  It  was  a  relief  to  have 
the  affair  over,  and  she  paused  to  lis- 
ten to  her  niece's  clear  sweet  voice 
singing  blithely  as  she  busied  herself 
among  the  decorations.  Her  deft  fin- 
gers banked  flowers  and  trailed  vines 
until  the  house  was  a  bower  of  fra- 
grant beauty. 

"Do  you  suppose  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Hilton  will  appreciate  all  this, 
Aunt  Sarah?"  Sadie  inquired,  with 
a  wave  of  her  hand  as  she  sank  weari- 


A  FAIR  EXCHANGE 


709 


ly  into  a  chair  to  watch  her  aunt  draw 
on  her  gloves  preparatory  to  departing 
to  meet  her  guests. 

"Of  course  he  will,  child,  and  if  he 
should  not,  I  do/'  and  she  leaned  over 
and  fondly  kissed  the  fair  young  girl, 

"go  and  rest,  dear,  until  we  return." 
****** 

It  was  with  mingled  emotions  that 
Mrs.  Crompton  welcomed  the  Honor- 
able Josiah  Hilton. 

"Why — why,  Sarah,  how  handsome 
you  are  still,  and  as  young  as  ever," 
and  he  shook  her  hand  as  only  a  man 
can  shake  it  who  has  not  seen  home 
and  home  people  for  nearly  twenty 
years.  "Allow  me  to  present  my 
nephew,  Mr.  Charles  Hamilton.  He 
is  an  out  and  out  Texan,  but  when  he 
heard  that  I  was  coming,  nothing 
would  do  but  he  must  come  too,  to  see 
his  father's  old  home.  Well — well, 
how  good  it  is  to  be  back  again  among 
the  old  familiar  scenes." 

"And  such  a  pleasure  for  us  to  have 
our  friends  come  back  to  see  us.  Is 
it  not  a  delightful  idea — this  yearly 
'At  Home,'  to  renew  old  acquaintances 
and  form  new  ones?"  and  Mrs.  Cromp- 
ton turned  to  Mr.  Hamilton  with  a 
charming  smile.  She  saw  a  tall  ath- 
letic fellow,  with  a  wholesome  com- 
plexion, frank  blue .  eyes,  and  wavy 
chestnut  hair.  "Just  as  Joe  looked 
before  we  quarrelled,"  she  thought, 
"why  could  not  Sadie  fall  in  love  with 
some  well-connected  fellow  like  that?" 

"Any  children,  Sarah?"  asked  the 
Honorable  Josiah  as  he  seated  himself 
in  the  carriage. 

"None  of  my  own,  but  my  niece  lives 
with  me.  Otherwise,  since  Mr. 
Crompton  died  I  should  have  been 
quite  alone." 

Both      sighed,     and      involuntarily 


looked  over  at  the  old  elm-tree  on  the 
hill-side  where  their  own  lover's  quar- 
rel had  taken  place — the  quarrel  which 
sent  him  headlong  into  a  new  country 
and  her  to  a  marriage  of  pique. 

"And  you,  Josiah?"  she  said  timid- 

"I  never  married,"  he  answered 
slowly,  "I  was  true  to  my  love's  young 
dream,"  and  he  looked  at  her  search- 
ingly. 

Mrs.  Crompton  crimsoned  and  then 
grew  deadly  pale.  Young  Hamilton 
saw  nothing.  He  was  drinking  in  the 
pure  mountain  air,  and  feasting  his 
eyes  on  misty  highlands  and  verdant 
intervales.  He  did  not  notice  the  long 
pause  and  the  renewal  of  common- 
places, until  he  was  brought  back  to 
his  immediate  surroundings  by  the 
voice  of  his  hostess. 

"Here  we  are  at  'The  Crest.'  Wel- 
come, in  this  your  first  home-coming 
to  the  dear  old  Mother  State,  and  may 
this  be  the  precursor  of  many  happy 
reunions." 

Mr.  Hilton  hastily  drew  his  hand 
across  his  eyes.  They  were  suspi- 
ciously moist,  and  he  coughed  with  un- 
necessary violence  to  clear  his  throat. 
On  the  broad  piazza  before  him  he 
saw  a  vision  of  girlish  loveliness.  "Just 
as  Sarah  looked  before  I  went  to  Tex- 
as," he  thought,  "why  couldn't  Char- 
ley fall  in  love  with  some  sweet  coun- 
try-girl like  that?" 

In  another  moment  the  introductions; 
were  over,  and  Sadie  had  cordially 
greeted  the  Honorable  Josiah,  and 
rather  coldly  shaken  hands  with  the 
nephew.  She  quite  ignored  him  at 
luncheon,  and  studiously  avoided  him 
all  the  afternoon.  Mrs.  Crompton  was 
disappointed  and  annoyed.  She  felt  it 
her  duty  to  expostulate  with  her  niece, 


710 


A  FAIR   EXCHANGE 


but  the  opportunity  did  not  occur  until 
the  ladies  retired  to  make  their  even- 
ing toilets. 

"He  is  such  a  perfect  gentleman, 
Sadie,"  she  remonstrated,  "that  I 
can  seeuo  occasion  for  this  Arctic  frig- 
idity." 

"Why,  Auntie  dear,  I  thought  I 
had  been  perfectly  lovely  to  him.  He 
is  such  a  dear  old  soul  that  I  fell  in 
love  with  him  at  first  sight." 

"I  do  not  mean  Mr.  Hilton,  child, 
but  the  nephew." 

"Mr.  Hamilton?  Oh,  he  is  too 
young,  altogether  too  young;  besides 
young  men  nowadays  do  not  amount  to 
much  anyway." 

The  words  sounded  suspiciously 
familiar  to  Mrs.  Crompton,  and  she 
turned  sharply  to  Sadie,  but  that  young 
lady  was  gazing  out  of  the  window 
with  child-like  innocence. 

"Now,  girlie,  don't  be  naughty,  be 
nice  to  them  both  ;  they  are  my  guests, 
and,  as  an  especial  favor  to  me,  I  ask 
you  to  try  to  like  Mr.  Hamilton.  Re- 
member it  is  to  be  only  for  a  few  days, 
dear." 

Sadie's  face  was  a  study.  There 
was  a  flicker  of  a  smile  in  the  big 
Drown  eyes  and  an  expression  of  pos- 
itive pain  about  the  rosebud  mouth. 
Mrs  Crompton  thought  her  on  the 
verge  of  relenting,  but  a  moving 
shadow  in  the  rose-garden  below, 
hardened  her  heart. 

"Very  well,  Auntie,  for  your  sake 
I'll  try  to  be  nice  to  Mr.  Hamilton, 
but  I  cannot  help  thinking  his  uncle 
perfectly  sweet,  can  I  ?" 

Mrs.  Crompton  bit  her  lip  with  vex- 
ation. What  if  josiah  should  take  a 
fancy  to  this  slip  of  a  girl? 

The  shadowy  figure  below  moved 
impatiently. 


"I  will  be  good,  Auntie,  indeed  I 
will,  and  the  very  next  time  I  see  this 
much  abused  swain  I  promise  to  make 
peace  with  him.  It  is  growing  late ; 
bye-bye !  I  must  run  down  and  get  ■  a 
rose  for  my  hair."  And  with  a  snatch 
of  song  upon  her  lips,  she  ran  lightly 
down  the  broad  stairway,  across  the 
garden,  under  the  vine-covered  arbor, 
and  straight  into  the  arms  of  the  de- 
tested Mr.  Hamilton. 

"I  thought  you  would  never  come, 
Sweetheart." 

"And  I  thought  I  should  never  get 
the  chance.  Oh,  Charley,  I  feel  that  I 
am  such  an  arch-deceiver.  Aunt 
Sarah  has  just  been  lecturing  me  on 
my  treatment  of  you." 

"And  Uncle  Josiah  threatens  to  send 
me  home  at  once  if  I  do  not  proceed 
to  bow  down  and  worship  at  your 
shrine." 

They  both  laughed  in  the  joyous- 
ness  of  youth  and  love. 

"I  have  discovered  another  secret 
besides  our  own,  Charley.  This  morn- 
ing I  went  over  to  take  some  flowers 
to  old  Mrs.  Rettis  who  has  been  bed- 
ridden for  years.  The  Old-Home- 
Week  celebrations  made  her  reminis- 
cent, and  she  told  me  that  long  ago, 
Aunt  Sarah  and  Mr.  Hilton  were  lov- 
ers, and  only  through  a  foolish  quarrel 
were  separated." 

Charley  gave  a  long  low  whistle. 

"So  that  is  why  Uncle  Joe  was  so 
eager  to  join  the  Old-Home  pilgrim- 
age. You  ought  to  have  seen  how  ex- 
cited he  was.  Then  I  found  out  where 
he  was  coming  and  suggested  that  I 
join  him." 

"And  Aunt  Sarah  never  once  sus- 
pected our  medium  of  communication 
in  the  little  post-office  among  the  hills 
at  Greenville." 


A  FAIR  EXCHANGE 


711 


"None  but  the  brave  deserve  the  fair, 
It  takes  them  both  to  do  and  dare." 

laughed  Sadie,  as  she  plucked  a  rose 

and  gave  it  to  her  lover. 

"I  must  go  now,  or  Aunt  Sarah  will 

think   I   am   lost,   so  good-bye,   and   I 

intend  to  be  a  little  more  civil,  for  her 

sake,  you  know." 

*         *         *         *         *'         * 

The  ball  was  a  grand  success  from 
the  opening  strains  of  "Home  Sweet 
Home,"  to  the  moment  when  they  all 
joined  hands  in  one  big  old-time  circle 
and,  to  the  rhythmic  motion  of  clasped 
hands,  sang  Auld  Lang  Syne. 

Someway  it  brought  back  to  Sarah 
Crompton  another  ball  of  many  years 
ago,  when  Joe  Hilton  had  asked  her  to 
be  his  bride.  She  remembered  that 
she  had  worn  a  simple  muslin  gown 
with  blue  ribbons,  and  to-night  she 
was  radiant  in  heliotrope  satin  and 
diamonds. 

And  once  more  the  Honorable  Jos- 
iah  Hilton's  eyes  grew  moist  as  he  too 
thought  of  that  other  ball,  and  all  that 
life  had  promised  and  all  that  he  had 
lost. 

Together  they  walked  out  of  the  ball 
room. 

"Sarah,"  he  began  with  manly  di- 
rectness, "years  have  come  and  gone 
since  that  other  ball  when  we  two 
plighted  our  troth.  Then  you  were 
a  simple  country  maid,  but  a  sweeter 
never  lived,  and  I  was  plain  Joe  Hil- 
ton. Now  you  are  a  stately  matron 
with  wealth  and  position,  and  the 
world  accredits  me  with  having  right- 
fully won  a  place  on  its  ladder  of 
fame.  Sarah,  I  love  you  still.  Can 
you  find  it  in  your  heart  to  plight  our 
troth  anew?  To  me,  Sarah,  you  were 
Vermont,  the  old  home,  everything. 
I  have  travelled  far  to  hear  your  an- 


swer from  your  own  lips.  What  is  it 
to  be,  Sarah?" 

"The  same  as  on  that  night  so 
many  years  ago,  Josiah,  for  you  have 
not  travelled  in  vain,"  his  companion 
responded  softly.  "I  will  try  to  make 
the  sun-set  years  of  your  life  richer 
for  what  the  noonday  has  lost." 

He  bowed  reverently  and  kissed 
her  hand. 

"You  have  made  me  a  happy  man 
to-night,  Sarah — and  a  proud  one — 
the  proudest  man  in  all  the  old  Green 
Mountain  State.  How  surprised  the 
youngsters  will  be !" 

"I  am  so  sorry  they  do  not  seem  to 
like  each  other,"  Mrs.  Crompton  re- 
marked in  a  troubled  tone. 

"Well — Charley  is  still  bothering 
his  head  about  a  chit  of  a  college  girl, 
but  I  put  my  foot  on  that." 

"And  I  have  had  a  similar  experi- 
ence with  Sadie,  but  the  dear  child 
submitted  to  my  judgment  most  grace- 
fully. It  will  be  less  embarrassing  to 
tell  them  our  relationship  at  once, 
Josiah.    Why,  here  they  come  now." 

The  pair  started  guiltily  as  they  met 
their  seniors  face  to  face. 

"Charlie — Sadie — "  began  Mr.  Hil- 
ton, "we  may  as  well  tell  you  that  a 
wedding  is  to  be  one  of  the  results  of 
this  Home- Week  reunion,  I " 

"Why,  how  did  you  find  out,  Mr, 
Hilton,"  interrupted  Sadie,  "we  have 
not  told  a  soul,  have  we,  Charley?" 

Mrs.  Crompton  and  Mr.  Hilton 
looked  at  each  other  in  amazement. 

"We  thought,"  said  Charley,  "that 
if  you,  sir,  could  become  acquainted 
with  Sadie,  and  Mrs.  Crompton  could 
know  me  things  might  possibly  be  dif- 
ferent." 

"I  do  not  think  you  understand, 
children,"   Mr.   Hilton   said  with   die- 


712 


THE  POND 


nity,"  Mrs.  Crompton  and  I  have  re- 
newed an  old  engagement,  and  hope 
soon  to  be  married." 

"And  Miss  Crompton  and  I  enter- 
tain the  same  hope,  sir,"  added  Char- 
ley. 

"Sadie,"  expostulated  her  Aunt, 
"and  you  have  known  Mr.  Hamilton 
less  than  a  day." 

"No,  Auntie  dear,  Charley  is  that 
dreadful  University  student.  I'll  for- 
give Mr.  Hilton  for  taking  you  away 
from  me,  if  you  both  consent  to  my 
marrying  Charley." 


"A  fair  exchange,  Sarah,  a  fair 
exchange,"  laughed  the  Honorable 
Josiah. 

"A  fair  exchange  in  more  ways 
than  one,"  echoed  Charley  looking 
fondly  at  the  sweet  girl  by  his  side. 

And  so  it  was  amicably  decided  that 
the  Honorable  Mr.  Hilton  should  re- 
main at  "The  Crest,"  while  Sadie 
should  go  to  Texas  as  Mrs.  Charles 
Hamilton,  and  thus  both  the  Lone 
Star  and  the  Green  Mountain  States, 
were  richer  in  happy  hearts  for  the 
good  Old-Home- Week. 


The  Pond 

By   Mary  Clarke   Huntington 


SHUT  in  by  length  of  verdant  bank 
And  tree  growth,   rising  rank  on   rank 
Its  surface,  'neath  the  slanting  shine 
Of  summer  sun  in  its  decline, 
Invites   the    wand'ring   dragon-fly 
To  hover  o'er  the  water  grass ; 
Down  lures  the  swallows  as  they  fly 
To  dip  their  plumage  ere  they  pass ; 
And  tempts  the  ever  loit'ring  feet 
Of  one  who  loves  a  fair  retreat 
In  Nature's  labyrinth,  to  while 
Yet  longer  at  the  roadside  stile — 
Where  this  o'er-bending  sycamore 
Shuts  in  a  gnarled  and  leafy  frame, 
Such  vista  as  must  put  to  shame 
All  canvas  ever  artist  set 
On   world   famed   easel.     So   forget 


THE  POND  7U 

That  life  is  of  a  world  of  chance, 
With  power  to  try  us  as  before; 
Just  watch  those  midges  as  they  dance 
Above   that   clinging  water   sedge 
But  yonder  at  the  bank's  green  edge ; 
See  how  the  dropping  sun  ball  burns 
Its  track  across  the  pond,  and  turns 
To  limpid  gold  the  whole  expanse ! 
Life's  sad  defeats,  its  pains,  its  care 
Lie   now    behind    us.     Everywhere 
The  balm  of  Nature's  grand  repose 
Smiles  like  the  substance  of  a  prayer, — 
Fills  mellow  sky  and  mellow  air 
With   grand   yet   subtle   harmonies 
Which  reach  the  soul  through  gazing  eyes, 
And   soothes  as  mothers   soothe  to  rest 
The  babe   close  held   to   loving  breast. 
The  day's   soft  benediction   flows 
Through   all   our  senses   as   we  lean 
A  dream — and  dwell  upon  the  scene. 
But  hark !  a  tinkle  faint  and  far 
Tells   how   o'er  yonder  pasture   land 
The  cows  file  to  the  farmyard  bar 
And  there  await  the  milker's   hand. 
Faint,   fainter   yet   the   cow   bell   rings, 
And  o'er  our  head  a  robin  sings 
For  vespers.     Yet  the   swallows   dip 
To   preen   their   plumage   dry   again ; 
A  dragon  fly  o'er  hovers  still 
The   water   grasses,   and   our  glance 
Shows  all  the  midges  at  their  dance 
'Mong  sedge  where  lengthening  shadows   slip. 
But  we,  oh,  loit'ring  heart !  must  go — 
(Sweet,   sweet   the   robin   sings,   and   low!) 
Go  back  to  busy  haunts  of  men 
And  join  once  more  the  world  of  chance. 


Wee  Jamie's  Cab 


By  Margaret  W.    Beardsley 


-w-  "T^E      mustna      touch      him, 

"    \/     Ritchie,  but  see,  if  yill  arl 

\       wi'  that  smutty  cap  I'll  hold 

him  sae  ye  can  get  a  kiss 

onyway." 

Ritchie  Mackentyre  had  donned  his 
miner's  suit  with  some  reluctance  that 
morning.  Any  other  miner  at  Glen 
Jean  would  have  considered  the  put- 
ting on  of  clean  clothes  at  rising  and 
the  changing  again  before  going  to 
the  mine,  a  rare  waste  of  time ;  but 
the  satisfaction  of  feeling  wee  Jamie's 
weight  in  his  arms  for  the  smallest 
fragment  of  time,  with  the  liberty  to 
cuddle  and  caress  at  will,  easily  recom- 
pensed Ritchie  for  the  trouble. 

It  was  quite  wonderful  how  the 
bairn  adapted  himself  to  circum- 
stances. He  had  such  an  instinct  for 
early  rising  that  he  was  generally 
ready  to  be  taken  up  by  the  time  Ritch- 
ie had  the  fire  well  going,  and  there 
was  the  comfort  of  holding  him  all 
the  while  Janet  prepared  the  meal. 

It  was  a  disappointment  then,  that 
the  laddie  should  so  long  over 
sleep  on  this  particular  morning  that 
his  father  was  starting  for  the  mine 
when  his  first  peep  was  heard.  Janet 
had  run  in,  bringing  him  out  all  pink 
and  blinking  with  sleep,  to  hold  him 
up  with  the  exclamation  quoted  above; 
and  Ritchie  had  held  his  hands  stiffly  at 
Ins  sides  and  craned  his  neck  well  out 
that  no  part  of  his  attire  might  so 
much  as  brush  the  small  white 
"goony." 


Janet's  admonition  was  not  wholly 
responsible  for  this  extreme  care. 
Ritchie  would  as  soon  have  thought 
of  going  to  the  meeting  in  his 
bank  clothes  on  a  "Sawbath,"  as  to 
touch  wee  Jamie  with  soiled  hands ; 
for  it  must  be  understood  that  this 
small  monarch  of  the  Mackentyre  was 
no  ordinary  bairn.  Sent,  as  he  had 
been,  full  ten  years  after  the  firstborn 
had  opened  his  eyes  only  to  close  them 
in  far-away  Scotland,  to  Ritchie's 
mind  he  was  as  much  God-given  as 
the  infant  Samuel,  and  he  mingled  with 
the  father-love  a  tender  reverence 
beautiful  to  see. 

"Ah,  I  doot  feyther's  wee  mannie  is 
getting  a  bit  of  a  sluggard ;"  reproach- 
ed Ritchie  fondly,  and  Jamie  put  out 
his  pink  fists  and  caught  at  his  fath- 
er's face  as  it  went  from  him. 

''He  is  wanting  tae  gang  tae  thee, 
Ritchie !  Na,  na,  laddie,  feyther's 
ower  dirty.  Mither'll  hold  ye  for 
anither  kiss.  Eh,  the  great  lad  !  Din- 
na  ye  think,  Ritchie,  we  may  hae  Gib- 
son send  for  his  cab  come  pay-day?" 

For  all  the  question  appeared 
thrown  in  quite  carelessly,  the  note  of 
anxiety  in  Janet's  tone  betrayed  the  ir- 
relevancy to  be  more  of  speech  than 
thought ;  and  Ritchie's  face  became 
grave. 

"I  doot,  Janet,  we  canna  manage  it 
this  month  ;"  he  said,  hesitatingly.  "I 
hae  been  thinking  on  it  considerable, 
an'  I  dinna  see  oor  way  clear.  By  the 
time   we  hae  oor  rent   paid,   an'   sent 


WEE  JAMIE'S  CAB 


7i  5 


the  mither  her  bit  money,  there'll  hard- 
ly be  enuch  beyond  what  wull  carry 
us  over  anither  month.'' 

"An'  if  we  did  run  short,  is  it  sic  a 
matter  for  us  tae  get  a  scrip-book  aince 
as  the  ithers  do?" 

"Na,  na,  Janet,"  said  Ritchie,  al- 
most sternly;  "You  and  I  hae  never 
held  wi'  the  notion  o'  spending  money 
afore  it  were  earned.  Now  we 
hae  oor  lad,  we  mustna  be  getting  in- 
tae  habits  we  wadna  like  him  tae  fol- 
low. By  anither  month  we  may  man- 
age." 

'  'By  anither  month,'  "  echoed  Janet, 
in  dismay.  "There's  your  very  words 
o'  last !  Make  it  anither  year,  when 
he'll  get  no  good  o'  it.  An'  him  get- 
tin'  sic  a  weight  tae  carry  aboot,  as  far 
as  the  meeting  particular." 

"I  did  think  mysel  we  would  make 
it  afore  this,  but  there  was  things 
came  unexpectit.  The  insurance  for 
accidents  now,  I  didna  think  o'  that. 
But  as  for  carrying  him — Why  Janet, 
I  just  love  to  feel  o'  him  in  my  arms. 
It  seems  I  could  carry  him  always,  an' 
gladly." 

"Ay !  and  you  dinna  care  hoo  his 
claes  gets  wi'  the  doing  o'  it.  I  declare 
I  hae  been  pit  aboot  afore  now,  he 
was  that  crumpled;  and  ithers  taking 
their  bairns  oot  o'  their  cabs  at  the 
kirk  door  wi'  never  a  wrinkle  in  their 
frocks !" 

"But  wi'  all  the  crumpling  there's 
nane  whase  claes  look  hafe  sae  white 
an'  beautiful  as  Jamie's  ain,"  de- 
clared Ritchie.  "Your  a  master  hand 
at  making  an'  doing  up,  Janet." 

It  was  not  in  nature  to  be  displeas- 
ed with  such  appreciative  words. 
Janet  smiled  while  she  still  insisted : 

"But  Ritchie,  wi'  ten  days  lefit  o' 
the   month   ye   might   vet  hae   money 


enuch  coming.  There's  some  they  say 
get  oot  their  eight  car  a  day,  and  in 
Scotland  they  ca'ed  you  the  best  miner 
in  the  pits." 

"WTeel,  I  canna  be  as  fast  here  as 
some  then.  If  1  get  oot  six  loads  its 
a  good  day,  an'  wi  a'  the  props  tae  be 
pit  in  I  canna  count  on  more  than  five 
for  an  average." 

"Props!"  cried  Janet  sharply;  "it 
dis  seem,  Ritchie,  ye  spend  good  hafe 
yir  time  wi'  props  an'  sic  like  thing 
that  disna  count !" 

Ritchie  looked  at  her  with  opening 
eyes.  "Why,  Janet,  I  didna  think  ye 
wad  count  blame  o'  me  for  taking  or- 
dinair  precaution.  The  mine  is  nane 
sae  safe  at  best,  an'  I  wadna  like  the 
little  lad  tae  gang  orphanted." 

It  was  the  knowledge  of  wrong  in 
Janet's  heart  that  gave  an  added  bit- 
terness to  her  next  words : 

"There's  little  danger  o'  that  wi' 
all  the  fine  care  ye  gie  yirsel.  Weel  if 
ye  dinna  want  puir  Jamie  tae  hae  the 
cab,  then  he  must  juist  do  wi'oot,  an' 
there's  nae  use  tae  waste  words  wi' 
it,"  and  Janet  whirled  about  into  the 
house. 

Ritchie  stopped  a  full  minute  on  the 
step  before  it  was  clear  to  his  mind 
that  Janet  had  made  use  of  such  a 
taunt,  and  then  all  the  way  to  the  mine 
presented  arguments  to  convince  him- 
self that  he  was  mistaken.  Harsh 
words  were  not  so  common  between 
the  pair  as  to  cause  no  thought  or  hurt. 
Ritchie  and  Janet,  with  none  to  divide 
their  affections,  had  grown  more  out- 
spoken in  their  regard  for  each  other 
than  was  usual  or  indeed  was  thought 
proper  in  their  native  village,  some  de- 
claring: "The  Lord  kens  that  folks  sae 
daft  wi'  each  ither,  cud  no'  be  trusted 
wi'  the  raisin'  o'  bairns."     That  this 


7 1 6 


WEE  JAMIE'S  CAB 


child  of  their  prayers  should  be  the 
cause  of  ill-words  made  the  sting  none 
the  less  keen. 

Unthinkingly  Ritchie  tapped  the 
ceiling  of  his  room  as  he  entered,  in 
accordance  with  his  usual  custom ;  but 
when  a  place  gave  back  a  hollow  ring, 
he  hesitated,  recalling  Janet's  words 
before  fetching  a  prop  and  placing  it 
with  his  usual  care. 

At  the  home  Janet  was  still  sore 
with  the  disappointment  over  the  en- 
joined waiting  for  the  cab.  It  was  sur- 
prising what  a  matter  its  possession 
had  come  to  be  to  her.  She  would 
have  been  content  with  a  rude  cart  for 
her  firstborn  had  he  lived  to  require  it, 
but  upholstered  baby-cabs  were  un- 
known in  the  little  Scotch  mining 
town.  Here,  even  the  babes  of  the 
poorest  rode,  as  Janet  said,  ''like  kings 
in  their  chariots,"  and  surely  Jamie 
was  as  deserving  as  any. 

One  knowing  Janet,  however,  would 
feel  no  surprise  that  her  anger  had 
long  spent  itself  before  the  noon  hour, 
and  that  a  dish  especially  to  her  good 
man's  liking  awaited  his  coming.  And 
Ritchie  ate,  and  praised  to  her  satis- 
faction, but  he  went  back  to  the  mine 
full  ten  minutes  earlier  than  his  wont. 
He  had  calculated  that  much  time  had 
been  consumed  in  the  placing  of  the 
prop. 

In  the  days  following  Ritchie  took 
to  earlier  rising,  and  it  was  seldom 
Jamie  got  his  kiss  even  at  the  door. 

I  'ay-day  at  the  Glen  Jean  mine  came 
on  the  Saturday  that  ended  or  immedi- 
ately followed  the  close  of  the  month. 
The  office  was  not  open  for  payments 
until  four  in  the  afternoon.  This  gave 
the  men  an  opportunity  to  put  in  near- 
ly a  full  day  at  the  mine,  thougfh  it  was 


known  that  only  a  handful  of  men  ever 
went  to  work  after  the  noon  hour. 

The  Mackentyre  house  was  one  of 
the  nearest  to  the  company's  store  and 
office  buildings.  On  the  pay-day  fol- 
lowing Janet's  plea  for  the  baby-cab 
she  watched  the  men  from  her  window 
as  they  went  in  to  have  their  car-checks 
verified  and  to  receive  the  balance  due 
after  the  deduction  of  their  scrip-book 
account. 

Outside  the  entrance,  leaning  on  the 
railing  of  the  small  porch,  were  sev- 
eral men  whose  store  clothes  and  white 
shirts  distinguished  them  from  the 
miners.  They  kept  an  eye  on  the  door- 
way, and  first  one  and  then  another  of 
them  stepped  forward  and  spoke  to  the 
miner  as  he  passed  out  from  the  cash- 
ier's office.  This  was  kept  up  scarcely 
without  exception  during  the  after- 
noon. The  miner  got  some  sort  of  a 
coin  out  of  his  pocket,  and  handed  it 
over  to  the  person  who  addressed  him, 
who  thereupon  fell  back  to  the  railing 
and  went  on  watching  the  door.  Oc- 
casionally the  coin  appeared  unsatis- 
factory, and  an  animated  though  sub- 
dued conversation  went  on ;  resulting 
sometimes  in  the  production  of  another 
coin,  and  sometimes  in  an  evident 
warning  delivered  by  the  store-clothes- 
man.  One  out  of  the  secret  would 
have  found  this  a  puzzling  feature  of 
the  day,  but  the  familiar  knew  these 
men  to  be  agents  for  organs,  sewing- 
machines,  plush-rockers,  enlarged  pict- 
ures— and,  possibly,  baby-cabs — who 
had  sold  their  wares  on  time,  but  who 
were  shrewd  enough  to  be  on  hand  for 
the  monthly  installment. 

There  was  another  thing  that  ap- 
pealed to  the  curious.  The  village  lay 
entirely  to  the  west  of  the  office  build- 
ings, the  Mackentvre  house  being  on 


WEE  JAMIE'S  CAB 


717 


its  east  side.  There  was  little  linger- 
ing at  the  door  after  coming  from  the 
office,  but  not  one  man  in  ten  crossed 
the  filled-in  ravine  to  his  home.  In 
groups  and  pairs  and  singly  they 
struck  into  the  road  leading  down  the 
valley.  A  cluster  of  women  hung 
about  the  door  of  the  store;  and  just 
as  the  store-clothes-men  had  come  for- 
ward singly,  so  one  and  another  of  the 
women  timidly  approached  the  side  of 
the  road  as  the  miners  passed.  A  few 
were  rewarded  as  had  been  the  men  on 
the  steps,  but  others  went  back  discon- 
solate and  empty-handed,  while  their 
husbands  continued  their  way  down  the 
road.  Everyone  knew  where  that  way 
led.  There  was  no  saloon  at  Glen 
Jean,  but  Starr,  a  few  miles  below, 
boasted  of  both  a  saloon  and  a  jail ! 

Janet  caught  Jamie  to  her  with  sud- 
den feeling  when  this  had  been  many 
times  repeated. 

"Eh  mannie,"  she  exclaimed,  "if  ye 
never  get  a  cab  in  all  yir  days,  ye  ony- 
way  hae  a  feyther  that  always  hes  heid 
enuch  tae  carry  ye.  Some  o'  the  bairn's 
feythers  willna  be  able  tae  carry  their- 
sels  come  evenin'." 

Ritchie  would  not  be  coming  until 
shortly  before  his  usual  time.  He  had 
never  seen  the  necessity  of  laying  off 
half  a  day,  because  his  month's  wage 
was  to  be  paid.  It  would  be  just  be- 
fore the  sounding  of  the  whistle  that 
Ritchie  would  appear  at  the  office  to 
be  welcomed  by  the  cashier  with : 

"Here  comes  Mackentyre,  last  as 
usual,  but  he'll  carry  away  the  weighti- 
est envelope." 

Something  a  little  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary in  the  culinary  line,  by  way  of 
celebration  of  the  day,  so  occupied 
Janet,  that  the  whistle  caught  her  un- 
awares. 


"Hoots,  Jamie  lad,"  she  exclaimed, 
"that's  the  whistle,  an'  here's  mither 
with  the  supper  no'  din.  It's  a  wonder 
feyther's  no'  here  a'ready." 

She  lifted  the  babe  from  the  cradle 
as  she  spoke  and  went  to  the  window. 
As  she  looked,  a  boy,  evidently  from 
the  tipple,  ran  up  the  office  steps  and 
went  in.  Gibson,  the  book-keeper,  and 
Bristol,  the  cashier,  came  out  at  once, 
looked  anxiously  toward  the  mine,  and 
then  straight  across  to  the  Macken- 
tyre house. 

Janet  went  to  the  door. 

"Has  Richard  come  in  tonight,  Mrs. 
Mackentyre?"  called  Bristol. 

"Is  he  no'  at  the  affice?"  called  back 
Janet. 

Bristol  turned  without  reply  and 
spoke  a  few  words  with  the  book- 
keeper. The  boy  who  stood  on  the 
steps  with  them  was  evidently  given 
some  direction,  and  he  started  on  a  run 
down  the  road  toward  Starr.  Gibson 
left  the  porch  and  went  at  a  rapid  pace 
up  the  hill  to  the  tipple ;  while  Bristol, 
after  locking  the  office  door,  came 
across  the  causeway  to  the  village.  He 
turned  the  corner  without  coming  as 
far  as  the  house ;  and  Janet,  who  had 
waited,  went  back  into  the  house,  shut 
the  door,  and  sat  down.  She  held 
Jamie  close  to  her.  He  was  a  hardy 
little  fellow,  and  did  not  cry,  though 
the  pressing  kept  the  color  back  from 
his  soft  little  cheek. 

Presently  one  of  the  neighbor  wo- 
men came  in  through  the  back  door. 
Bristol  had  been  a  shrewd  man  when 
he  sent  Mrs.  Lukin.  She  came  over  to 
Janet's  chair. 

"Why,  yer  a-holdin'  that  baby  too 
tight.  Yere,  let  me  hev  him.  Come  ter 
aunty,  little  man.  La,  I  b'lieve  some- 
thin's  burnin'.     You'll  spoil  yer  man's 


7i8 


WEE  JAMIE'S  CAB 


supper,  Mis'  Mackentyre,  if  you  don't 
look  to  it." 

And  then  Janet  relaxed  her  hold  on 
Jamie,  with  a  great  sob.  Mrs.  Lukin 
took  Jamie  in  one  arm,  and  patted 
Janet's  shoulder  with  her  free  hand. 

"There,"  she  said  gently,  "you'd  bet- 
ter cry  some.  There  hev  been  a  cave- 
in  to  the  mine,  but  taint  mebbe  nothin' 
serious.  It  hev  blocked  the  way  to 
your  man's  room  but  it  mightn't  hev 
caught  him.  I  would  try  to  feel  he  was 
safe,  leastwise  till  ye  knowed  better." 

Bristol  came  in  some  time  later.  All 
the  miners  at  the  camp  had  been  set  to 
digging,  and  it  was  hoped  a  large  force 
would  be  got  in  from  the  other  mines. 
Unfortunately,  pay-day  was  uniform 
throughout  the  valley,  and  theie  were 
few  miners  of  the  Ritchie  Mackentyre 
stamp.  Almost  no  responses  of  help 
came  in  from  the  other  mines,  while  the 
Glen  Jean's  own  men  at  Starr  were 
found  incapable  of  service.  It  was, 
moreover,  unfortunate  that  the  man- 
ager and  his  bank-boss  had  been  or- 
dered before  a  meeting  of  the  com- 
pany's directors  for  a  report  on  the 
condition  of  the  mine. 

It  was  impossible  to  keep  the  state 
of  affairs  from  Janet,  who  watched 
from  the  window  all  coming  and  go- 
ing at  the  mine,  even  after  the  shadow 
of  the  opposite  mountain  had  long 
turned  everything  to  blackness.  Some- 
thing after  nine  the  twinkling  bobbing 
lights  of  the  miner's  caps  were  seen 
descending  the  hill. 

"They're  coomin'  awa',"  cried  Janet. 
"Dae  ye  think " 

"Set  still,"  commanded  Mrs.  Lukin, 
"whilst  f  bring  ye  word." 

It  appeared  that  the  digging,  entirely 
in  slate,  was  so  heavy  that  the  men  had 
been   compelled   to  abandon   it   for  the 


time 'through  utter  weariness.  They 
would  return  after  a  few  hours'  rest, 
and  it  was  hoped  by  that  time  other 
help  might  be  got  in.  The  knowledge 
that  rescue  work  had  been  stopped, 
even  for  the  time,  threw  Janet  into 
despair. 

"They  dinna  care,"  she  moaned.  "If 
only  Meester  Murray  or  the  bank-boss 
were  at  home  it  wadna  be  sae." 

"It  aint  Mr.  Murray  as  could  make 
men  work  when  they're  dead  tired," 
said  Mrs.  Lukin  somewhat  sharply, 
for  her  own  man  was  of  the  party; 
"but  as  for  the  bank-boss  it  mightn't 
hev  happened  if  he'd  been  yere  ter  see 
'at  the  props  was  right —  Land,  Mis' 
Mackentyre,  hev  you  turned  faint?" 

"I  think  I  wull  lie  doon,"  said  Janet 
feebly. 

"Shall  I  put  the  babe  down  beside 
ye,"  asked  Mrs.  Lukin  when  Janet  was 
on  the  lounge.  "There's  an  amazin' 
heap  o'  comfort  in  his  small  body?" 

"Na,  na,"  cried  Janet,  "I  dinna  want 
him.  I  dinna  want  tae  see  him  at  a' !" 
she  continued  passionately.  "I  wad 
like" — a  moment  later — "if  ye  wad 
gang  tae  bed  wi'  him  in  the  room  yon- 
ner." 

"Well  now,"  thought  the  good 
neighbor,  as  she  complied  with  the  re- 
quest;  "folks  is  surely  curious  whenst 
they  hev  trouble." 

Alone,  Janet  turned  to  the  wall  in  a 
desolation  that  shut  out  from  her  heart 
even  the  bairn  of  her  own  flesh.  The 
hardness  of  the  words  over  the  cab 
had  haunted  her  through  the  long 
evening;  but  its  peculiar  significance 
in  relation  to  the  accident  had  not  be- 
fore confronted  her.  It  seemed  prob- 
able, nay  certain,  that  Ritchie  had 
taken  her  at  her  word,  and  had  risked 
a  long  life  for  the  saving  ot  minutes. 


WEE  JAMIE'S  CAB 


719 


Always  with  the  hope  that  tiie  crush  ot 
slate  had  not  reached  him,  the  awful 
dreariness  to  Ritchie,  shut  away  from 
help  and  light,  came  to  her,  rilling  her 
heart  with  a  pity  that  made  her  own 
misery  less  evident.  Many  times  had 
Ritchie  spoken  of  the  depressing  lone- 
liness of  those  dark  holes  in  the  earth 
to  one  in  solitude. 

Janet  sat  up  suddenly,  thanking  God 
who  had  directed  her  thoughts  in  these 
channels.  It  had  been  only  a  short 
time  since  Ritchie  had  spoken  of  being 
startled,  almost  alarmed  at  first,  by 
hearing  some  one  singing  when  he  was 
at  work.  Investigation  showed  that  a 
room  had  been  worked  in  from  another 
passage  until  the  two  had  come  near 
meeting.  For  the  sake  of  strength, 
the  bank-boss  had  directed  a  change  of 
direction;  "But  I  can  hear  him  yet 
when  he  gets  tae  loading,"  Ritchie  had 
said.  "He  a'ways  sings,  an'  it's  quite 
heartening.  Baily  wad  be  a  real  good 
fellow  if  it  werena  for  the  drink." 

She  was  familiar  with  the  workings 
of  the  mine,  and  Ritchie  had  made  a 
sketch  on  the  back  of  the  almanac  to 
show  her  how  the  unusual  occurrence 
had  come  about.  She  brought  the  al- 
manac to  the  light,  and  examined  it 
carefully,  and  then  put  it  away  in  her 
dress. 

The  loud  breathing  of  Mrs.  Lukin  in 
the  adjoining  room  had  long  told  her 
that  she  watched  alone.  She  took  the 
light  and  went  cautiously  into  the  shed. 
Ritchie  had  always  an  extra  cap  and 
oil  about.  When  she  had  found  what 
she  wanted  she  extinguished  the  light 
and  went  out  from  the  back. 

Janet  always  insisted  that  the  Lord 
had  led  her,  quite  as  surely  as  He  had 
the  Israelites  with  the  pillar  of  fire  by 


night,  through  the  labyrinth  of  wind- 
ings to  drunken  Hank  Baily 's  room- 
It  was  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  as  was 
Ritchie's ;  and  the  change  of  direction 
spoken  of  by  Ritchie  was  easily  dis- 
cerned. 

She  had  gone  bravely  on  but  now 
when  she  attempted  to  raise  her  voice 
to  find  if  she  could  get  an  answer,  the 
beating  of  her  heart  drowned  the  sound 
of  her  voice,  and  she  rested  gaspingly 
against  the  black  wall  until  she  could 
still  it  a  bit. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  sounds  in 
her  ear.  In  an  instant  every  sense  was 
alert.  It  was  Ritchie,  and  he  was  re- 
peating the  twenty-third  psalm — 

'Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will 
fear  no  evil :  for  thou  art  with  me ; — '  " 

"Ay,  Ritchie,"  she  called,  and  her 
voice  rang  clear  as  a  bell,  "hand  tae  the 
Lord,  an'  we'll  sune  coom." 

It  was  scarcely  more  than  an  hour 
before  Ritchie  was  in  his  own  house, 
and  the  doctor  was  there  dressing  the 
foot  that  alone  had  suffered  in  the 
cruel  fall  of  slate.  There  was  great  re- 
joicing at  Janet's  fortunate  remem- 
brance, and  regretting  that  poor  Baily 
had  been  too  drunk  to  give  the  infor- 
mation before. 

"I  canna  understand  what  caused 
it."  Ritchie  was  saying-  the  next  day. 
"I  tapped  the  passage  the  whole  way 
as  I  went  in,  an'  there  wasna  a  fa'se 
ring." 

Janet  knelt  down  by  the  couch  and 
caught  her  husband's  hand.  "Ritchie, 
dae  ye  mean  tae  say  ye  didna  grow 
heedless  o'  the  props  aifter  thae  awfu 
words  o'  mine?" 

"Hoots,  lass,  did  ye  think  I  didna 
ken  ye  better  than  that — it  was  some- 


720  THEN! 

thing  ootside  o'  any  power  o'  mine  tae  Janet  raised  her  head.     "Ritchie,  if 

stay,  caused  it.     But  I  doot,"  and  he  ye  hae  forgiven  those  words  o'  mine, 

stroked  Janet's  hair  gently;  "wi5  this  dinna    ever   speak    o'    the    cab    again, 

foot    tae    hinder,   the   cab   mayna   be  When  the  lad  has  sic  a  feyther  spaired 

coomin'  even  next  month."  him — what  dis  he  need  o'  a  cab?" 


Then! 

By  Christene  W.   Bullvvinkle. 

CONTENT   I'll  be,   if   when   asleep 
And  in  that  last   repose, 
Some   little   child   will   softly   creep 

And   lay   a   pale   wild   rose 
On   me,   in   mem'ry   of   the   time 

When,  sitting  at  my  knee, 
I   sang  for  her  a   fairy's  rhyme ; 

Or,   'neath  some  lacy  tree, 
I  charmed  her  ear  with   shepherd's   tale 

And   legends  of   the   sea. 

Content   I'll  be,   dear  heart,  if  thou 

Wilt   say,   when   all   alone 
You    sit   beneath   the   apple-bough 

And   see   the   blossoms   blown 
Across  your  path  in  perfumed  flight, 

"Her  songs  were  songs  of  cheer; 
Where  e'er  she  walked   the  way   was   bright, 

Where   she   walked   naught   was   drear." 
And  so,  a-dream,  I'll  smile,   I  know, 

If  your  dear  voice  I  hear. 


Westborough  and  Northborough 


By  Martha  E.  D.  White 

Illustrated  from  photographs  by  Mrs.  O.  W .  Judd    and  others 


"<0 


NE  generation  shall 
praise  thy  works  to  an- 
other, and  shall  declare 
thy  mighty  acts' — the 
obvious  import  of  which  words  is 
this,  that  the  people  who  live  in 
one  age  shall  relate  the  works  and 
mighty  acts  of  the  Lord  to  their 
posterity ;  and  so  shall  each  succes- 
sive generation  do,  throughout  all 
ages  to  the  end  of  time."  Thus  did 
the  Rev.  Peter  Whitney  expound  the 
text  of  his  famous  half-century  ser- 
mon, delivered  to  his  people  in  North- 
borough  in  1796.  "The  works  and 
mighty  acts  of  the  Lord"  included  the 
secular  as  well  as  the  sacred  relations 
of  the  people,  and  to  relate  them  was 
to  tell  their  history.  Now  at  the  end 
of  another  century  the  old  minister's 
injunction  is  heard  again ;  and  the 
purpose  of  this  article  is  to  recall  to 
this  generation  the  works  of  their 
forefathers. 

Sudbury  had  been  settled  eighteen 
years  when  thirteen  of  her  young 
men,  wearied  of  that  "man-stifled 
town,"  coveted  the  land  beyond  the 
hills  toward  the  sunset.  These  men 
had  "lived  long  in  Sudbury,"  their 
children  were  growing  up,  their  cat- 
tle were  increased,  and,  in  short,  they 
said,  "Wee  are  so  straightened  that 
wee  cannot  so  comfortably  subsist  as 
could  be  desired."  The  General 
Court   was    evidentlv   moved   bv   the 


pent-up  conditions  and  wide  aspira- 
tions of  their  petitioners,  for  it 
granted  them  a  territory  "six  miles 
square,  or  its  equivalent,  under  the 
name  of  the  Whipsufferadge  Planta- 
tion." Situated  about  thirty  miles 
west  of  Boston  at  the  head  waters  of 
the  Sudbury  and  Assabet  Rivers,  this 
plantation  was  then  the  extreme  out- 
post of  civilization  in  the  Massachu- 
setts Bay  territory.  In  1660  the 
original  thirteen  families  had  in- 
creased to  thirty-nine,  and,  having 
demonstrated  their  ability  to  main- 
tain a  "preached  gospel"  in  their 
midst,  the  Plantation  was  incorpo- 
rated as  a  town  and  named  "Marl- 
borow."  Out  of  this  wide  domain 
were  to  grow  the  "borough  towns ;" 
and  although  the  mother  town  gave 
to  her  offspring  generously  of  her 
abundance,  yet  it  is  she  who  has 
"waxed  exceeding,"  and  to-day  is  an 
active  manufacturing  city,  while  her 
children  are  modest  villages  in  the 
midst  of  rich  farming  lands. 

In  the  western  part  of  the  Whip- 
sufferadge Grant  the  settlers  found  a 
beautiful  pond,  surrounded  by  a  broad, 
fertile  plain,  with  wooded  foothills,  on 
its  southern  extremities.  This  pond  was 
Naggawoomcom,  so  called  by  the  In- 
dians, meaning  "great  pond."  But 
even  before  the  "Marlborow"  man 
had  been  the  General  Court,  and  the 
land   around   the  pond  had   been   set 


722 


WESTBOROUGH  AND  NORTHBOROUGH 


apart  for  President  Chauncy  of  Har- 
vard College.  This  was  one  of  sev- 
eral similar  farms  given  to  Mr. 
Chauncy  by  the  Court,  which  was 
richer  in  lands  than  in  money. 

The  surveyor's  description  of  this 
land  is  an  interesting  geographical 
document.  Dated  August  18,  1659, 
it  reads:  "Whereas  John  Stone  and 
Andrew  Belcher  were  appointed  to 
lay  out  a  farm  for  Mr.  Charles 
Chauncy,  President  of  Harvard  Col- 
lege, we  have  gone  and  looked  on  a 
place  and  there  is  taken  up  a  tract  of 
land  bounded  in  this  manner:  On  the 
east  a  little  swampe,  neare  an  Indian 
wigwam,  a  plaine  riming  to  a  great 
pond,  and  from  thence  to  Assebeth 
River,  and  this  line  is  circular  on  the 
north  side,  the  south  line  runing  cir- 
cular to  the  South  side  of  a  piece  of 
meadow  and  so  to  continue  till  it 
reach  the  said  Assebeth  River." 

A  college  president  is  perforce  a 
wise  man,  and  doubtless  President 
Chauncy  could  have  found  his  farm, 
guided  by  this  description  ;  but  there 
is  no  evidence  that  he  even  looked  for 
it.  A  year  later,  having  been  "by 
them  repaid  all  his  charges  ex- 
pended,'' he  relinquished  his  title  to 
Marlborough ;  an  obvious  trace  of 
his  ownership  still  exists  in  the 
name  of  the  pond,  which  was  thence- 
forth called  Chauncy.  On  the  south- 
erly slope  of  this  pond  grew  up  event- 
ually a  little  settlement  called  Chaun- 
cy Village.  In  1688  it  was  of  suffi- 
cient importance  to  gain  permission 
from  Marlborough  to  build  another 
meeting-house  and  maintain  a  minis- 
ter, "if  they  found  themselves  able  so 
to  do."  Chauncy  seems  to  have 
doubted  her  ability,  for  she  continued 
"at  a  considerable  distance  from  the 


Place  of  publick  Worship,"  and  ill  ac- 
commodated, to  attend  it  in  Marl- 
borow  until  171 8,  when  "a  plat  of  the 
westerly  part  of  Marlborough  called 
Chauncy"  was  "erected  into  a  town- 
ship" called  Westborough.  This  was 
Massachusetts's  one  hundredth  town. 
In  the  days  of  Indian  occupation 
Chauncy  had  been  a  border  land  be- 
tween the  Wramesitis  and  Nipmucks. 
Hobomoc,  then,  as  now,  an  uncanny 
pond,  was  the  home  of  their  "Evil 
Spirit."  By  another  water  course 
they  held  their  corn  dance.  Their 
"great  pond"  smiled  for  them,  and  the 
many  rounded  hills  offered  sightly 
places  for  their  wigwams.  But  pes- 
tilence, wars,  and  civilization  had  re- 
duced their  numbers  so  that  the  first 
settlers  of  Chauncy  found  only  the 
residuum  of  the  tribes  once  so  power- 
ful. The  tribal  relations  were  prac- 
tically destroyed,  and  the  individuals 
either  joined  one  of  the  colonies  of 
praying  Indians  fostered  by  John 
Eliot  or  lived  in  patriarchal  sim- 
plicity, a  solitary  Indian  in  an  iso- 
lated wigwam.  In  this  manner  old 
David  Monanaow  was  living  as  late 
as  1737.  Mr.  Parkman  then  visited 
him,  and  writes  in  his  diary  that 
David  "tells  me  he  was  104  last  In- 
dian Harvest.  Says  the  name  of  Bos- 
ton was  not  Shawmut,  but  Shanwaw- 
muck."  What  experiences  had  fallen 
to  the  lot  of  this  centenarian!  He 
had  been  with  King  Philip  in  his  des- 
perate attempt  to  win  back  the  rights 
of  the  red:  men,  and  was  one  of  the 
marauding  party  that  sacked  Med- 
field.  After  a  term  of  imprisonment 
he  came  back  to  live  out  his  life,  an 
alien  in  the  midst  of  his  conquerors. 
It  is  not  necessary  to  be  an  Indian 
apologist  to  see,  in  the  swift,  noise- 


Lake  Chauncy 


less  raids  that  brought  desolation  and 
sorrow  to  the  homes  of  the  settlers, 
a  grim  kind  of  justice.  What  he 
could  not  effect  by  superiority  and 
strength  he  would  undertake  through 
terrorism  and  treachery.  From  such 
warfare  the  Chauncy  settlers  were 
heavy  sufferers.  The  episode  that 
had  the  most  far-reaching  results  is 
graphically  told  by  the  Rev.  Peter 
Whitney. 

"On  August  8,  1704,  as  several  per- 
sons were  busy  in  spreading  flax  on  a 
plain  about  eighty  rods  from  the 
house  of  Mr.  Thomas  Rice,  and  a 
number  of  boys  with  them,  seven  and 
some  say  ten  Indians  suddenly 
rushed  down  a  wooded  hill  near  by, 
and  knocking  the  least  of  the  boys  on 
the  head  (Nahor,  about  five  years  old, 
son  of  Mr.  Edmund  Rice,  and  the 
first  person  ever  buried  in  Westbor- 
ough),  they  seized  two,  Asher  and 
Adonizah,  sons  of  Mr.  Thomas  Rice 
— the  oldest  about  ten  and  the  other 
about  eight  years  of  age — and  two 
others,  Silas  and  Timothy,  sons  of 
Mr.   Edmund   Rice,  above-named,  of 


about   nine   and   seven   years   of   age 
and  carried  them  away  to  Canada." 

Asher,  four  years  after,  was  re- 
deemed ;  Adonizah  married  and  set- 
tled in  Canada ;  but  the  two  others 
lived  Indian  lives.  One  of  them, 
years  after,  came  back  to  Westbor- 
ough  under  the  imposing  name  of 
Oughtsorongoughton  ;  and  it  appears 
from  the  record  of  his  visit  that  he 
had  become  all  that  his  name  implies. 
He  was  taken  to  see  the  place 
"whence  he  was  captivated,"  but  he 
had  forgot  his  English  tongue  and 
his  memory  of  early  days  was  very  in- 
distinct. This  place  "whence  he  was 
captivated"  has  been  the  centre  of 
romance,  as  well  as  of  history.  The 
site  of  Mr.  Thomas  Rice's  old  garri- 
son house  was  later  occupied  by  the 
most  imposing  dwelling  in  Westbor- 
ough,  known  for  some  years  as  the 
Whitney  Place.  The  grounds  are  de- 
scribed by  Mr.  Howells  in  his  novel, 
"Annie  Kilburn" :  "The  wall  was 
overhung  there  by  a  company  of 
magnificent  elms  which  turned  and 
formed  one  side  of  the  avenue  lead- 

723 


724 


WESTBOROUGH  AND  NORTHBOROUGH 


"Annie  Kilburn"  House 

ing  to  the  house.  Their  tops  met  and 
mixed  somewhat  incongruously  with 
those  of  the  stiff  dark  maples,  which 
Tiore  densely  shaded  the  other  side 
of  the  lane."  Here  Annie  Kilburn 
tried  the  problem  of  life,  and  her 
ghost  of  fiction  wrestles  for  suprem- 
acy in  the  imagination  with  the 
actors  in  the  real  tragedy  enacted  un- 
der the  summer  sky  two  centuries 
ago. 

Westborough's     first     independent 


town  action  was  "to  resolve  to  build  a 
meeting  house  forthwith  the  meeting 
house  to  Be  fourty  foot  long,  and 
thirty  foot  wide,  and  eighteen  foot 
Between  Joints."  From  this  act 
stretches  out  during  six  years  the 
devious  way  of  meeting-house  build- 
ing. In  1 718  the  town  meeting  "re- 
solves to  put  a  place  to  vote  to  set  ye 
meeting  House  upon ;"  and  a  site  was 
agreed  upon  about  midway  of  the 
town's  area,  near  the  present  farm- 
house of  the  Lyman  School.  The 
next  step  in  progress  is  marked 
by  the  vote  "to  procuer  Six  Gallons 
Rhum  and  a  Barrell  and  half  of  Syder 
for  the  raising  the  meeting  house  in 
sd  town."  Even  the  good  spirit  en- 
gendered by  the  raising  did  not  ac- 
celerate the  haste  of  the  builders. 
Cautiously  they  proceeded  to  the 
next  decision,  "to  have  an  Alley  Be- 
tween ye  men  and  women  through  ye 
midel  of  the  Mett  house,"  and  "to 
sell    the   space   to    be   improved    for 


Town  Hall,  Baptist  Church  and  Soldiers'  Monument,  Westborough 


Main  Street,  Westborough 


pews."  In  1723  the  vote  "to  com- 
pleate  finishing  the  Meeting  house" 
is  recorded ;  and  Westborough  is 
henceforth  provided  with  her  civil 
and  spiritual  forum.  During  this 
troublesome  time  of  building  the  set- 


tlers had  not  neglected  to  provide 
themselves  opportunities  to  enjoy  a 
"preached  gospel."  The  Rev.  David 
Elmer  had  ministered  to  them  to  their 
great  dissatisfaction.  He  was  never 
ecclesiastically    settled,    but    through 


Catholic  and  Unitarian  Churches,  Westborough 


High  School,  Westborough 


his  possession  of  the  ministerial  farm 
he  was  enabled  to  stir  the  pool  of 
church  harmony  for  several  years. 
He  was  finally  deposed,  and  soon 
after  the  completion  of  the  meeting- 
house the  town  settled  their  first 
minister,  the  Rev.  Ebenezer  Park- 
man. 

Parkman  is  a  significant  name  in 
New  England  history.  Ebeneezer 
was  in  the  fourth  generation  of  colo- 
nial Parkmans.  Plis  father,  William, 
was  a  deacon  of  the  New  North 
Church  in  Boston.  In  Copp's  Hill 
"lyes  buried  the  body  of  Mrs.  Eliza- 
beth Parkman,  the  virtuous  and  pious 
consort  of  Mr.  William  Parkman." 
Samuel  Parkman  was  the  minister's 
twelfth  son.  He  became  a  merchant 
in  Boston,  famous  alike  for  his 
shrewdness  in  business  and  the  gen- 
erosity he  showed  toward  the  city. 
In  Faneuil  Mall  are  preserved  two  of 
his  gilts  to  Boston,  the  portrait  of 
Peter  Faneuil  and  the  Stuart  portrait 


of  Washington.*  Francis  Parkman, 
the  historian,  was  his  grandson. 
Breck  Parkman,  the  eleventh  child  of 
Ebeneezer,  remained  in  Westbor- 
ough, and  from  him  have  descended 
all  the  local  representatives  of  the 
family.  Breck  had  the  first  and  for 
many  years  the  only  store  in  West- 
borough. 

Ebeneezer  Parkman  was  a  youth  of 
twenty-three  years,  a  recent  g-raduatc 
of  Harvard  College,  and  a  bride- 
groom, when  he  accepted  his  call  to 
Westborough,  in  1724.  His  settle- 
ment was  to  be  150  pounds  and  his 
annual  salary  80  pounds.  Westbor- 
ough had  then  twenty-seven  families, 
scattered  over  twice  its  present  area. 
Jt  was  a  long  day's  journey  from  Bos- 
ton, and  the  way  difficult  for  any  con- 
veyance. Wild  beasts  and  Indian 
hostilities  filled  the  settlers  with  ner- 
vous alarms.     Mr.  Parkman  reached 


*See   New   England  Magazine,  August, 
1899. 


Along  the  Assabet 


his  parish  the  first  time  on  horse- 
back, and  walked  to  the  meeting- 
house pistol  in  hand.  These  ap- 
parently discouraging  surroundings 
might  have  been  regarded  as  tem- 
poral drawbacks  at  least ;  but  Mr. 
Parkman  had  no  eye  for  that  side  of 
the  question.  His-  own  spiritual  un- 
worthiness  seems  to  have  been  his 
only  consideration.  Filled  with  the 
sense  of  "my  multiplied  and  heinous 
Iniquities  and  particularly  unprofit- 
ableness under  Ye  means  of  Grace, 
and  Negligence  and  Sloth  in  ye  Great 
Business  God  has  been  pleased  to 
Employ  me  in,"  he  prepared  for  "ye 
awful  time  approaching." 

During  Mr.  Parkman's  long  pas- 
torate of  fifty-eight  years,  he  re- 
mained the  central  imposing  and  im- 
pelling figure  of  the  town.     He  was 


a  stanch  representative  of  the  aristo- 
cratic type  of  Puritan  minister,  and 
Westborough  under  his  guidance 
placed  her  ecclesiastical  before  her 
civil  life,  thus  earning  the  title  of 
"Westborough,  pious."  Mr.  Park- 
man  built  his  parsonage  on  the  wind- 
swept top  of  the  present  Lyman 
School  Hill,  and  in  it  centred  the  so- 
cial, the  spiritual,  the  intellectual  life 
of  Westborough.  The  church  rec- 
ords, kept  with  much  attention  to 
minute  detail,  show  that  Mr.  Park- 
man  also  kept  the  consciences  of  his 
people,  and  over  their  personal  sins 
he  sat  in  austere  and  absolute  judg- 
ment. Sixteen  times  he  records  in 
red  ink  and  large  type  the  christening 
of  a  tiny  lad  or  lassie  born  to  the 
Parkman  family.  The  hand  drawn 
in   the   margin,  with   its  index   finger 


728 


WESTBOROUGH  AND  NORTHBOROUGH 


singling  out  these  particular  and  per- 
gonal events,  witnesses  to  the  respect 
which  he  felt  for  his  holy  office,  and 
also  to  a  pardonable  sense  of  his  in- 
dividual importance. 

Early  in  life  Mr.  Parkman  began  to 
keep  his  secular  history  in  a  record 
called  "Diurna,  or  the  Remarkable 
Transactions  of  Every  Day,"  while 
his  soul  history  he  confided  to  his 
"Natalita."  Many  of  these  volumes 
still  exist.  One  volume  of  the  "Diur- 
na" has  recently  been  published  by 
the  Westborough  Historical  Society. 
Its  editor,  Mrs.  Harriette  Forbes, 
added  copious  foot-notes  explana- 
tory of  persons  and  places,  making  of 
the  book  a  veritable  gem  of  New  Eng- 
land history.  The  temptation  to 
quote  from  its  pages  is  well-nigh  irre- 
sistible;  but  once  entered  upon  that 
narrative  of  "petty  cares  and  econo- 
mies, small  jealousies  and  quarrels," 
there  could  be  no  turning  away. 

The  serenity  of  ecclesiastical  affairs 
in  Westborough  remained  unclouded 
until  about  1740.  Then  the  settlers 
of  the  north  part  of  the  township  be- 
gan a  movement  looking  to  the  di- 
vision of  the  parish.  In  1744  Mr. 
Parkman  records:  "A  number  of 
North  Side  people  met  those  of  ye 
South  Side  last  night  at  Capt.  Fay's 
to  gather  subscriptions  to  a  petition 
to  ye  General  Court  that  ye  Town 
may  be  divided.  At  ye  same  meeting 
Eliezer  Rice  broke  his  legg  by  wrest- 
ling with  Silas  Pratt."  This  irrele- 
vantly recorded  "break"  typified  the 
disruption  of  the  town.  Northbor- 
ough  became  a  separate  parish  in 
1744,  and  was  incorporated  two  years 
later. 

As  a   result  of  this  division,  West- 
borough's  centre  of  population  being 


changed,  a  new  church  became  neces- 
sary and   the   village   fathers   decided 
to  build  it  "on  the  North  Side  of  the 
Country   road   where  there   is  now   a 
Pine  Bush  grows,  about  twenty-five  or 
thirty  rods  easterly  from  the  Burrying 
Place  in  Said  Precinct."    The  "Coun- 
try road"  is  now  Main   Street ;   and 
the  meeting-house  remained  standing 
until  a  few  years  ago,  under  the  name 
of  "The  Old  Arcade."   Like  its  pred- 
ecessor the  new  meeting-house  was 
guiltless  of  steeple  and  "culler."     It 
continued  thus  unadorned  until  1801. 
Mr.  Samuel  Parkman  then  gave  the 
town   a  bell,   cast   in  the   foundry  of 
Paul  Revere ;  a  concession  was  made 
to  the  pomps  of  life,  the  gift  was  ac- 
cepted  and   the   steeple   built.        This 
bell  now  hangs  in  the  belfry  of  the 
Baptist  Church,  testifying  weekly  to 
Paul   Revere's   honest   workmanship. 
Mr.  Parkman  soon  followed  the  meet- 
ing-house, building  himself  an  impos- 
ing  house    on   the    "Cuntry   Road," 
whose  timbers  have  thus  far  stanchly 
withstood    the    onslaughts    of    time. 
This  house  was  thought  to  be  some- 
what   vainglorious    for    a    minister; 
and  Mr.  Parkman  concedes  that  there 
is  cause  for  criticism  in  the  size  of  the 
window  frames,  and  he  "would  they 
had    been    smaller."     Happily    they 
were  not,  for  the  old  minister  needed 
in    the   discouragement  of    the   final 
years   of  his   pastorate   all   the   cheer 
that  could  be  gained  from  wide  win- 
dows.    With  a  divided  people,  a  mul- 
tiplied family  and  a  depreciated  cur- 
rency, the  temporal  trials  of  his  last 
years  were  equalled  only  by  the  se- 
renity of  his  spirit.     He  was  a  man 
of  God ;  and  the  thought  comes  that 
perhaps  he  was  a  little  too  much  a 
man  of  God  to  be  in  the  highest  de- 


NORTHBOROUGH   MEETING    HOUSE 


gree  the  benefactor  of  his  community. 
He  died  in  1782.  His  tomb  in  Me- 
morial Cemetery  is  covered  with  a 
horizontal  slab  bearing  on  its  face  an 
epitaph  so  deeply  engraved  that  gen- 
erations  of  Westborough   boys   have 


been  unable  to  efface  it.     "He  was  a 

learned,  pious,  good  man  full  of  the 

Holy  Ghost  and  faith  unfeigned." 

Mr.  Parkman's  death  was  followed 

by  troublous  ecclesiastical  times.   His 

successor,  John  Robinson,  like  "Jonn 

729 


730 


WESTBOROUGH  AND  NORTHBOROUGH 


G.  Robinson,  he,"  in  the  "Biglow 
Papers,"  meddled  in  politics,  and  de- 
nounced the  Democrats  as  "Knights 
of  the  halter."  This  outrage  on  a 
congregation  largely  made  up  of 
Democrats  settled  his  fate,  and  he 
was  soon  succeeded  by  the  Rev. 
Elisha  Rockwood.  During  Mr.  Rock- 
wood's  ministry,  in  1825,  the  town 
ceased  to  act  as  an  ecclesiastical 
parish  and  entered  upon  its  modern 
era. 

The  Rev.  Peter  Whitney  gives  a 
graphic  description  of  Northbor- 
ough's  early  parish  experiences. 
"The  number  of  inhabitants  was  few 
(but  38  families)  and  their  abilities 
small.  They  met  with  great  diffi- 
culties from  without  (the  particulars 
whereof  we  do  not  wish  to  perpet- 
uate) and  many  difficulties  from 
within.  Nevertheless,  such  was  their 
zeal  in  the  cause  in  which  they  were 
engaged,  and  such  their  ardent  desire 
to  enjoy  a  preached  gospel  and  divine 
ordinances  among  themselves,  that 
they  surmounted  every  obstacle 
thrown  in  their  way ;  and  the  next 
spring,  on  April  30,  1745,  they 
erected  to  the  glory  and  for  the  wor- 
ship of  God  this  house  in  which  we 
are  now  assembled." 

From  1746  to  1766,  the  Rev.  James 
Martin  was  satisfactorily  their  first 
minister.  Closely  associated  with  him 
in  Northborough  was  a  character 
unique  in  New  England's  early  life. 
This  was  Mr.  Judah  Monis,  known  as 
Rabbi  Israel  Monis  in  his  youth,  and 
for  many  years  instructor  in  Hebrew 
at  Harvard  College.  Mr.  Monis  was 
some  time  converted  from  Judaism 
to  Christianity,  as  its  epitaph  in 
the  old  Northborough  cemetery  has 
it  : 


"A  native  branch  of  Jacob  see, 

Which  once  from  off  its  olive  broke, 
Regrafted  on  the  living  tree, 
Of  the  reviving  sap  partook." 

A  curious  legacy  keeps  the  mem- 
ory of  this  man  alive.  He  left  in  care 
of  the  ministers  of  the  First  Church 
in  Salem,  in  Hingham,  in  Cambridge 
and  in  Northborough  a  sum  now 
equivalent  to  $400,  the  income  of 
which  was  to  be  used  to  aid  widows 
of  indigent  clergymen.  This  fund 
has  survived  the  stress  of  financial 
storms,  and  at  present  four  people 
are  benefited  by  it.  Northborough 
showed  Mr.  Monis  great  honor,  vot- 
ing him  a  "foor  seat  below  in  the 
meeting  house."  He  in  turn  "left 
something  very  honourable  and  gen- 
erous to  the  Church," — "something" 
being  two  silver  cups. 

The  Rev-  Peter  Whitney  succeeded 
Mr.  Martin  in  the  ministry ;  and  his 
pastorate  continued  for  forty-nine 
years.  He  was  a  valiant,  doughty 
man  of  stubborn  principles  and  rigid 
practices.  His  ''half-century  ser- 
mon" is  an  example  of  the  best  in 
colonial  sermon  writing,  and  his  His- 
tory of  Worcester  County  is  a  vol- 
ume of  unique  value.  He  was  also  an 
aggressive  patriot.  It  is  recalled  that 
he  preached  a  sermon  in  which  he 
convicted  King  George  of  twenty-six 
crimes.  Many  years  after  Mr.  Whit- 
ney's death  his  successor  wrote  of 
him:  "His  mortal  remains,  and  his 
monument,  and  the  remembrance  of 
his  many  virtues,  are  still  with  us." 
The  house  in  which  Mr.  Whitney 
lived  still  stands,  one  of  the  oldest  left 
in  the  town. 

But  it  was  left  for  Dr.  Joseph  Allen 
to  make  the  abiding  impression  upon 
the  life  and  character  of  the  North- 


Peter  Whitney  Place,  Northborough 


borough  people.  Following  Mr. 
Whitney,  his  pastorate  extended  from 
1816  to  1873;  and  all  good  things 
seem  to  have  come  from  this  wise 
man's  influence.  A  humanitarian,  a 
"lover  of  flowers  and  of  little  chil- 
dren," a  planter  of  trees  and  modern 
ideas,  his  influence  brought  about  the 
"golden  age"  of  Northborough.  Nor 
was  Dr.  Allen's  influence  confined  to 
local  affairs.  In  connection  with  his 
wife,  Miss  Lucy  Ware  of  Cambridge, 
he  began  an  early  crusade  against  in- 
temperance, directing  his  efforts  par- 
ticularly toward  a  movement  to  enlist 
the  clergy  on  the  side  of  abstinence. 
An  interesting  incident  of  their  tem- 
perance work  in  Northborough  was 
the  re-naming  of  "Licor  Hill."  With 
pomp  and  ceremony  Mrs.  Allen,  ac- 
companied by  a  party  of  school  chil- 
dren, climbed  to  the  summit  of  the 
hill    and   in   a   baptism    of   water   re- 


christened  it  with  "the  gentler  name 
of  Assabet."  Discouraged  in  an  ef- 
fort to  win  the  Worcester  Association 
of  Ministers  to  pledge  themselves  to 
forego  intoxicants,  they  turned  their 
attention  to  the  practical  problem  of 
relief  for  the  pecuniary  affairs  of  the 
drinking  man.  Out  of  the  study  of 
this  problem  Mrs.  Allen  conceived 
the  idea  of  a  provident  institution  for 
savings.  In  1827  her  idea — it  was 
hardly  a  plan — was  confided  to  the 
Worcester  Association,  and  Dr.  Ban- 
croft, father  of  the  historian,  at  that 
time  a  Worcester  minister,  struck 
with  the  practical  side  of  Mrs.  Allen's 
suggestion,  undertook  to  work  it  out. 
The  result  was  the  Worcester  County 
Institution  for  Savings,  reputed  to  be 
the  first  institution  of  that  character 
in  this  country. 

Dr.  Allen  founded  a  lyceum  which 
was    for   manv   years    the   intellectual 


732 


WESTBOROUGH  AND  NORTHBOROUGH 


forum  of  Northborough.  He  also  be- 
came town  historian  and  a  very  prom- 
inent participant  in  the  town  govern- 
ment. Early  in  his  pastorate  he 
evinced  signs  of  a  change  in  faith.  As 
one  who  remembers  him  says,  "he 
loved  everything  too  much  to  remain 
a  rigid  Puritan."  His  growing  lib- 
eralism resulted  in  the  withdrawal  of 
a  portion  of  his  congregation  to  found 
the  Evangelical  Congregational  So- 
ciety, in  1832.  The  town  ceased  then 
to  be  identical  with  the  parish,  and  the 
old  meeting-house  became  Unitarian, 
a  character  which  it  thenceforth  main- 
tained. In  Westborough,  under  Mr. 
Rockwood,  the  same  ecclesiastical 
change  took  place  in  1825.  It  is  an 
interesting  coincidence  that  the  parish 
churches  of  both  towns  should  undergo 
the  same  change  in  theological  belief 
and  that  the  First  Church  in  each  in- 
stance should  become  the  conserver  of 
a  liberal  faith. 

After  these  breaks  in  the  solidarity 
of  evangelical  institutions,  other 
changes  soon  followed.  Already  the 
Baptists  had  created  a  following,  and 
in  Westborough  and  Northborough 
churches  were  built,  and  societies 
formed,  that  are  still  doing  valiant 
service.  The  Methodists  established 
a  church  in  Westborough  in  1844. 
The  Catholic  Church  came  with  the 
advent  of  a  manufacturing  population 
to  both  villages.  An  interesting  Epis- 
copal mission  has  recently  been  estab- 
lished in  Westborough  under  the  pat- 
ronage of  St.  Mark's  at  Southborough. 
This  mission  has  attracted  much  atten- 
tion from  having  ingeniously  trans- 
formed a  stable  into  a  well  appointed 
chapel.  The  "mission  of  the  converted 
stable"  is  not  at  all  the  irreverent  title 
that  it  might  at  first  sight  appear  to  be. 


After  theology  the  New  England 
man  has  ever  considered  education. 
In  these  "borough  towns"  the  consider- 
ation was  accorded  the  correct  order, 
but  there  seems  to  have  been  no  alac- 
rity in  proceeding  to  take  the  next 
step.  In  1726  Westborough  ap- 
pointed a  committee  "to  procure  a 
suitable  schoolmaster  to  teach  chil- 
dren to  Read,  write  and  Sipher." 
Dominie  Townsend  was  provided,  and 
for  thirteen  years  he  taught  those 
difficult  branches,  receiving  in  pay- 
ment thirty-five  dollars  a  year,  part  of 
the  time  paying  for  his  "own  diet." 
There  was  to  be  no  schoolhouse  for 
forty  years,  the  school  being  held  in 
the  mean  time  in  private  houses.  Pro- 
visions for  a  grammar  school  were 
made  in  1753,  but  after  "presentation" 
by  the  General  Court  the  matter 
lapsed,  and  nearly  a  century  passed 
before  the  grammar  school  became  a 
part  of  the  school  system.  Ten  years 
later  the  first  high   school   followed. 

Northborough  was  somewhat  more 
aggressive  in  educational  matters. 
As  early  as  1779  several  men  who 
wished  broader  facilities  for  their  chil- 
dren formed  the  "Seminary  Associa- 
tion," a  kind  of  cooperative  arrange- 
ment which  permitted  the  employ- 
ment of  a  higher  grade  of  teachers. 
The  lyceum,  established  and  con- 
tinued for  years,  afforded  the  best 
type   of  University   Extension  work. 

Libraries,  perhaps  not  less  impor- 
tant than  schools,  have  been  long  es- 
tablished. In  Northborough  the 
"Social  Library"  was  begun  by  the 
Rev.  James  Martin,  and  in  1793 
greatly  increased  by  young  ladies  who 
sewed  straw  to  earn  one  hundred  dol- 
lars with  which  to  buy  books.  The 
present    carefully    selected    library    is 


Gale  Library,  Northborough 


beautifully  housed  in  a  building  given 
by  Cyrus  Gale.  In  1807  the  nucleus 
of  Westborough's  present  library  was 
formed. 

The  church,  the  school,  the  library 
— those  institutions  so  lovingly  cher- 
ished and  maintained,  ofttimes  with 
difficulty,  have  been  in  a  great  degree 
the  nurseries  of  New  England  town 
life.  To  tell  again  of  their  influence  is 
to  rehearse  a  story  that  has  been 
heard  whenever  a  New  England  town 
has  become  articulate — the  same 
story,  but  with  many  differences ; 
everywhere  the  same  end  has  been 
striven  for,  but  nowhere  have  the 
steps  been  identical. 

To  treat  of  the  honorable  military 
and  civic  record  of  these  towns  ade- 
quately would  take  one  into  a  long 
story  of  strong,  simple,  duty-doing 
persons,  accomplishing  in  a  homely, 
persistent  spirit  the  feat  of  being  true 
citizens  of  a  noble  republic.    The  first 


head  of  one  of  Mr.  Parkman's  ser- 
mons, delivered  during  the  French  and 
Indian  War,  prophesies  that  "God  is 
not  o'  mind  to  destroy  the  land  of  his 
peculiar  covenant  people ;"  and  it  is 
evident  that  his  hearers  were  eager 
to  keep  Providence  in  that  state  of 
mind.  From  all  the  "borough"  places 
valiant  young  men  went  forth  to  do 
service  for  the  king  and  gain  the  mili- 
tary spirit  soon  to  be  of  such  value  in 
the  Revolution.  There  was  no  disloy- 
alty to  Massachusetts  when  the  time 
for  independent  action  came ;  instead, 
every  movement  to  protect  the  rights 
of  the  colonists  was  faithfully  upheld, 
and  the  quiet  preparation  for  conflict 
carried  steadily  on.  Northboroug-h 
showed  the  most  aggressive  spirit — a 
spirit  doubtless  due  to  the  fiery,  patri- 
otic sermons  of  Rev.  Peter  Whitney, 
who  was  ill  inclined  to  be  ruled  by  a 
"Sinful  Monster."  Nine  months  be- 
fore the  Boston  Tea  Party,  the  voting 

733 


7  34 


WESTBOROUGH  AND  NORTHBOROUGH 


men  of  Northborough  set  the  example 
Boston  was  to  follow.  The  Massa- 
chusetts Gazette  for  February  17,  1773, 
relates  that  "one  day  last  week  a 
peddler  was  observed  to  go  into  a 
Shrewsbury  tavern  with  a  bag  of  tea. 
Information  of  which  being  had  in 
Northborough,  a  company  of  (young 
men  disguised  as)  Indians  went  from 
the  Great  Swamp  or  thereabouts  and 
seized  upon  it,  and  committed  it  to  the 
flames  in  the  road  in  front  of  said 
tavern  until  it  was  entirely  consumed." 
On  the  nineteenth  of  April,  North- 
borough's  company  of  fifty  minute- 
men,  under  command  of  Captain 
Samuel  Woods,  had  assembled  to 
hear  a  patriotic  discourse  by  Mr. 
Whitney.  "The  hurry  of  hoofs  in  the 
village  street"  transformed  tire  wait- 
ing company  into  active  patriots,  and 
with  hasty  words  of  farewell  and  a  last 
pastoral  blessing  they  were  away  to 
Lexington.  From  Westborough  also 
before  nightfall  the  march  of  the 
minutemen  had  begun.  Their  prompt 
action  that  day  was  fully  continued 
in  the  subsequent  events  of  the  Revo- 
lution. Men,  money,  blankets — no 
call  was  ever  unheeded.  In  six 
years  Westborough  enlisted  381  men, 
among  them  Henry  Marble,  who 
"enlisted  for  war  or  for  life," 
fought  in  nearly  every  great  bat- 
tle of  the  war,  achieving  the  rank  of 
lieutenant.  From  Northborough  men 
were  sent  in  the  same  ratio ;  and  to 
fill  their  empty  places  on  the  farm  the 
women  and  boys  were  ever  ready.  These 
"borough  towns"  suffered  severely 
from  the  evils  of  a  depreciated  cur- 
rency ;  doubtless  their  being  so  entirely 
farming  communities  increased  their 
liability  to  suffer  from  that  cause.  In 
Westborough   attempts   were  made  to 


control  prices  by  legal  enactments,  the 
price  of  beef  being  fixed  at  2l/^d.  per 
pound,  and  corn  3s.  2d.  per  bushel. 
They  were  soon  to  learn  that  inevitable 
tendencies  cannot  thus  be  stayed.  Three 
years  later  corn  was  worth  fifty  dollars 
a  bushel,  and  beef  four  dollars  a 
pound. 

In  the  Civil  War  the  part  played  by 
these  towns  was  if  possible  even  more 
loyal  and  energetic.  Northborough 
furnished  140  men  who  saw  active 
service  ;  and  Westborough,  337.  Many 
of  these  were  left  on  the  battlefields, 
and  others  died  in  Southern  prisons. 
It  is  idle  to  undertake  to  speak  of  the 
innumerable  activites  and  sacrifices  of 
these  towns.  Theirs  was  a  heroic,  si- 
lent service,  loyally  and  reverently 
held  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  have 
eome  after  them. 

The  institution  of  slavery  had  not 
Deen  unknown  in  Westborough.  In 
1737  Mr.  Parkman  bought  a  slave  boy 
in  Boston.  A  year  later  he  records: 
"The  sun  of  Maro's  life  is  almost  set." 
The  rigors  of  a  New  England  winter 
had  been  too  severe  for  Maro. 
Stephen  Maynard,  the  wealthiest 
farmer  of  the  town,  clung  tenaciously 
to  his  slaves.  A  heavy  stone  wall  in- 
closing the  avenue  that  led  to  the  old 
house  was  built  by  them,  and  is  per- 
haps the  last  piece  of  slave  labor  per- 
formed in  Massachusetts. 

Two  state  institutions  have  been  lo- 
cated in  Westborough,  thus  adding  to 
her  own  life  this  wider  connection 
with  the  state.  In  1846  the  legislature 
appropriated  $10,000  to  build  a  Re- 
form School*  for  boys,  and  the  site  for 
it  was  chosen  on  the  beautiful  north- 
ern slope  of  Lake  Chauncy.  The 
novel  idea  of  reforming  youthful  citi- 

*See  New  England  Magazine,  June,  1902. 


WESTBOROUGH  AND  NORTHBOROUGH 


13=> 


zens  appealed  so  strongly  to  that  wise 
humanitarian,  General  Theodore  Ly- 
man, that  he  gave  to  this  cause  at  va- 
rious times,  and  in  great  fear  lest  his 
beneficence  should  be  known,  $72,000. 
To  trace  the  history  of  this  school 
would  be  to  relate  the  evolution  that 
has  taken  place  in  the  policy  the  state 
maintains  toward  juvenile  offenders. 
The  buildings  were  partly  destroyed 
by  fire  in  1859,  the  work  of  one  of  the 
inmates.  This  fire  was  the  immediate 
cause  of  the  first  attempt  to  classify 
the  boys  according  to  their  age  and  of- 
fences, which  has  finally  resulted  in 
the  admirable  system  in  use  to-day. 
In  1885  tne  legislature  transferred  the 
buildings  then  in  use  and  the  site  for 
use  as  an  insane  hospital,  and  moved 
the  school  across  the  lake,  building  on 
the  hill  which  was  the  site  of  the  first 
meeting-house  and  parsonage.  Not 
till  then  was  the  name  changed  to  the 
Lyman  Schools  for  Boys. 

The  Westborough  Insane  Hospi- 
tal, a  homoeopathic  institution,  was 
opened  to  patients  in  1886.  The  ad- 
mirable system  of  this  institution  and 
its  high  order  of  excellence  need  no 
comment. 

To  speak  adequately  of  the  "daily 
bread"  side  of  these  towns  would  re- 
quire much  more  space  than  can  here 
be  commanded ;  for  their  industrial 
career  has  been  sadly  complicated 
and  at  times  uncertain.  The  coming  of 
the  Boston  and  Albany  Railroad,  which 
passes  through  Westborough  vil- 
lage, gave  the  first  impetus  to 
manufactures  in  these  communities 
other  than  those  purely  domestic,  and 
impressed  upon  that  place  the 
character  of  a  manufacturing  village, 
although  its  earlier  characteristics 
were  not  effaced.     This  union  of  the 


two  types  makes  the  somewhat  unu- 
sual appearance  of  the  village  de- 
scribed by  Mr.  Howells  in  "Annie 
Kilburn": 

"The  railroad  tracks  crossed  its 
main  street ;  but  the  shops  were  all  on 
one  side  of  therm  with  the  work-peo- 
ple's cottages  andboardinghouses,  and 
on  the  other  were  the  simple,  square, 
roomy  old  mansions,  with  their  white 
paint  and  their  green  blinds,  varied 
by  the  modern  color  and  carpentry  of 
French  roofed  villas.  The  old  houses 
stood  quite  close  to  the  street,  with  a 
strip  of  narrow  door-yard  before 
them ;  the  new  ones  affected  a  certain 
depth  of  lawn,  over  which  theL  owners 
personally  pushed  a  clucking  hand- 
mower  in  the  summer  evenings  after 
tea.  The  fences  had  been  taken  away 
from  the  new  houses ;  they  generally 
remained  before  the  old  ones,  whose 
inmates  resented  the  ragged  appear- 
ance their  absence  gave  the  street." 
In  Annie  Kilburn's  time  "over  the 
track"  was  social  perdition,  but  this 
aristocratic  division  has  now  been  re- 
moved by  the  re-location  of  the  rail- 
road tracks  a  quarter  of  a  mile  further 
north,  and  Westborough's  social  life  is 
reduced  again  to  a  harmonious  democ- 
racy. 

As  early  as  1828  Westborough  be- 
gan the  manufacture  of  boots  and 
shoes,  which  has  since  been  a  constant 
industry  in  the  town.  Straw  sewing 
as  a  domestic  industry  appeared  dur- 
ing the  first  half  of  the  century.  In 
1863  the  factory  system  was  intro- 
duced, and  soon  after  the  "windowy 
bulk"  of  the  present  "straw  shops" 
appeared  just  north  of  the  Boston  and 
Albany  tracks,  on  Main  Street.  The 
manufacture  of  sleighs  and  bicycles 
has  long  been  successfully  carried  on ; 


736 


WESTBOROUGH  AND  NORTHBOROUGH 


.wuia.  -*?.  &  -4' 


Chapin  Residence,  Chapinville 

but  bicycles  "have  had  their  day  and 
ceased  to  be,"  giving  away,  as  is  socio- 
logically if  not  practically  logical,  to 
the  making  of  "locomobiles." 

The  Rev.  Peter  Whitney  wrote  that 
in  1796  the  fulling  mill  in  Northbor- 
ough  annually  treated  some  7,000 
yards  of  cloth,  "the  work  being  most 
acceptable  performed  to  the  honor 
and  advantage  of  the  town."  He 
further  states  that  "great  numbers  of 
people  are  drawn  to  Northborough 
because  of  mills,  forges  and  stores." 
In  her  later  years  this  activity  has 
been  greatly  lessened,  and  the  aban- 
doned mills  are  all  that  remain  of  her 
former  industrial  period.  Large  mills 
manufacturing  satinet,  located  in 
Chapinville,  still  afford  employment 
to  a  portion  of  the  population. 

Notwithstanding  the  various  indus- 
tries that  have  appeared  in  these  "bor- 


ough towns,"  they  are  still  farming 
communities,  as  they  were  in  their 
beginnings.  At  least  the  land  is  still 
the  principal  and  the  stable  source  of 
their  wealth.  But  it  is  from  the  char- 
acter and  personality  of  their  citizens 
that  they  have  enjoyed  the  best  degree 
of  wealth,  a  competency — not  a  com- 
petency that  merely  enables  one  to 
get  along  easily,  but  with  a  generous 
margin  ever  ready  to  be  used  in  the 
service  of  state  and  nation.  "Old 
families"  have  persisted  surprisingly, 
particularly  in  Westborough,  the 
same  names  and  faces  constantly  ap- 
pearing in  local  affairs. 

Northborough  has  furnished  one 
governor  to  Massachusetts,  "Hon- 
est" John  Davis.  He  served  the  state 
two  terms  in  the  fifties.  The  Davis 
family  was  a  pioneer  family ;  the  men 
it  produced  were  strong,  muscular, 
clear  headed,  men  of  power  and  great 
personal  distinction. 

The  Gale  family  came  into  special 
prominence  in  early  abolition  days. 
Captain  Cyrus  Gale  drew  up  the  first 
call  for  the  convention  that  resulted 
in  the  Free  Soil  party.  Its  signers 
included  several  Northborough  men. 
This  circumstance  testifies  again  to 
the  powers  of  leadership  possessed 
by  these  people,  and  perhaps  marks 


The  Wesson  Place,  Northborough 


Dr.  Ball's  House,  Northborough 


the  difference  between  Northborough 
and  the  other  "borough  towns." 
They  followed  suggestions ;  North- 
borough initiated  methods. 

The  Allen  family  has  been  and  is 
famous  in  the  educational  annals  of 
New  England.  Dr.  Joseph  Allen  for 
many  years  tutored  recalcitrant  boys 
in  his  home.  If  the  bad  boy  truly 
makes  the  brave  man,  Dr.  Allen's 
mark  must  be  on  many  a  man  who  is 
making  our  present  history. 

Old  Dr.  Ball,  Northborough's  first 
medical  practitioner,  was  an  inter- 
esting character,  who  impressed  his 
personality  in  no  slight  degree  upon 
his  contemporaries.  When  asked 
why  he  put  so  many  different  things 
into  a  prescription,  he  answered:  "If 
you  are  going  to  shoot  a  bird,  you  use 
plenty  of  shot." 

Of  the  Westborough  men  who 
have  made  great  names  for  them- 
selves, Eli  Whitney  of  cotton-gin 
fame,  is  preeminent.*  On  his  ma- 
See  New  England  Magazine,  May,  1890. 


ternal  side  he  descended  from  a  first 
settler,  John  Fay.  The  farmhouse 
where  he  was  born  in  1765  was  on  a 
road  toward  Grafton,  a  mile  or  more 
from  the  centre  of  the  town,  now 
known  as  Eli  Whitney  Street.  Noth- 
ing remains  of  the  old  house.  In 
Memorial  Cemetery  the  Whitney 
monument  marks  the  graves  of  his 
parents.  Eli  passed  his  youth  in 
Westborough,  going  elsewhere  for 
his  education ;  and  subsequently 
Westborough  knew  him  only  as  a 
visitor. 

The  Brigham  family  has  especial 
claims  to  "honorable  mention."  Da- 
vid Brigham  signed  the  First  Church 
covenant.  His  grandson,  Elijah,  bet- 
ter known  as  "Judge"  Brigham,  took 
an  active  part  in  public  affairs,  serv- 
ing as  selectman,  member  of  the  legis- 
lature, state  senator,  and  later  as 
judge  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas 
for  sixteen  years.  No  generation 
since  the  "Judge's"  day  has  been 
without  its  representative  Brigham. 

737 


738 


THE  GOOD  QUEEN 


^ 


3   £ 


K" 


-%>  x 


1  W       E  l<  C  L  A  l<  L-.      C  0  V  X  t>  Kf- 

l    ;.  ::  k  S         /-'  S  &  J  G  i  A  T  I' 

.'A  i1  ccecU 


Eli  Whitney  Memorial 
Cyrus   E.    Dallin,    Sculptor. 

Westborough's  first  physician  was 
Dr.  Hawes.  The  house  he  built  for 
himself  still  stands  on  East  Main 
Street.  He  was  a  faithful  practi- 
tioner, faithful  to  his  one  treatment, 
"visit  and  venesection."  He  served 
the  town  for  many  years  as  justice  of 
the  peace  and  town  clerk,  and  was 
prominent  in  Revolutionary  matters. 


These  few  names  might  be  aug- 
mented by  many  more,  thus  making  a 
chronicle  of  faithful  servitors  and  well 
doers  that  would  bring  prideful  mem- 
ories to  the  hearts  of  all  who  love  the 
indigenous  man  of  New  England. 
Civic,  social,  and  industrial  movements 
come  and  go,  but  much  of  the  primi- 
tive man  remains.  In  this  fact  rests 
the  hope  of  our  institutions. 

I  like  to  entertain  the  idea  that  on 
fine  moonlight  nights  Parsons  Park- 
man  and  Whitney  mount  their  steeds 
for  a  gentle  amble  over  the  hills  and 
through  the  valleys  they  loved  so  well. 

Mr  Parkman  would  see  in  the  chim- 
neys and  smoke  of  factories  the  bless- 
ing of  God  upon  his  chosen  people 
whom  He  desired  exceedingly  to  pros- 
per. Mr.  Whitney  might  grieve  that 
Northborough  had  been  seemingly 
left  behind  in  the  race  toward  riches, 
and  he  would  look  longingly  for  the  in- 
dependent creative  spirit  he  had  known. 
Perhaps  in  those  shining  steel  rails 
that  stretch  out  to  the  "new  town  of 
Worcester"  and  the  "ancient  town  of 
Marlborow"  and  around  to  Southbor- 
ough  and  Westborough,  he  would 
see  the  dawning  of  a  new  era — an  era 
in  which  electricity  will  bind  again 
together  the  "borough  towns,"  as 
formerly  they  were  bound  by  ties  of 
love  and  common  needs. 


The  Good  Queen 

By  Charles  Hanson  Towne 


PALE  ruler  of  the  heavens,  with  lavish  hand, 
The   spendthrift  moon   arose, 
And   spilt   her  silver  out  across   the  land, 
Alike    on    friends    and    foes. 


A  Cape:  Cod  Roadway 


Cape  Cod   Folks 

By  Clifton  Johnson 

With   Illustrations   by   the   Author 


IT  was  densely  dark  when  I  ar- 
rived at  Yarmouth  one  October 
evening.  Viewed  from  the  plat- 
form of  the  railway  station  the 
world  about  was  a  void  of  inky  gloom. 
"If  you're  looking  for  the  town," 
said  a  man  at  my  elbow,  "you'll  find  it 
over  in  that  direction ;"  and  he  pointed 
with  his  finger.  "You  follow  the  road, 
and  turn  to  the  right  when  you've  gone 
half  a  mile  or  so,  and  that'll  take  you 
straight  into  the  village." 

"But  I  don't  see  any  road,"  said  T. 
"Well,  it  goes  around  the  corner  of 
that  little  shed  over  thar  that  the  light 
from  the  deoot  shines  on." 


"And  how  far  is  it  to  a  hotel?" 
"We  ain't  got  no  hotel  in  this  place; 
but  Mr.  Sutton,  two  houses  beyond  the 
post  office,  he  keeps  people  and  I  guess 
he'll  take  you  in  all  right." 

I  trudged  off  along  the  vague  high- 
way, and  at  length  reached  the  town 
street,  a  narrow  thoroughfare  solidly 
overarched  by  trees.  Dwellings  were 
numerous  on  either  side,  and  lights 
glowed  through  curtained  windows. 
How  snug  those  silent  houses  looked  ; 
and  how  cheerless  seemed  the  outer 
darkness  and  the  empty  street  to  the 
homeless  stranger !  T  lost  no  time  in 
hunting  up  Mr.  Sutton's,  and  the  shel- 


Mowing  on  the  Salt  Meadows 


ter  he  granted  brought  a  very  welcome 
sense  of  relief. 

When  I  explored  Yarmouth  the 
next  day,  I  found  it  the  most  atten- 
uated town  I  had  ever  seen.  The 
houses  nearly  all  elbowed  each  other 
for  a  distance  of  two  or  three  miles 
close  along  a  single  slender  roadway. 
Very  few  dwellings  ventured  aside 
from  this  double  column.  Apparently 
no  other  situation  was  orthodox,  and 
I  suppose  the  families  which  lived  off 
from  this  one  street  must  have  sacri- 
ficed their  social  standing  in  so  doing. 

Yarmouth  was  settled  in  1639  and 
is  the  oldest  town  on  the  Cape.  Its  in- 
habitants in  the  past  have  been  famous 
sea-faring  folk,  and  fifty  years  ago  al- 
most every  other  house  was  the  domi- 
cile of  a  retired  sea-captain,  and  in  the 
days  of  the  sailing  vessels  the  Yar- 
mouth men  voyaged  the  world  over. 
A  certain  class  of  them  went  before  the 
mast,  but  the  majority  were  ship's  offi- 
cers. A  goodly  number  of  the  latter 
amassed  wealth  in  the  Tndia  and  China 


trade.  This  wealth  has  descended  in 
many  instances  still  intact  to  the  gen- 
eration of  today,  and  accounts  for  the 
town's  air  of  easy-going  comfort.  But 
fortunes  are  no  more  drawn  from  the 
old  source,  and  at  present  the  ambitious 
youth  who  aspires  to  riches  turns  his 
eyes  cityward.  The  sea  has  ceased  to 
promise  a  bonanza.  Even  the  local  fish- 
ing industry  is  wholly  dead,  though  it 
is  only  a  few  decades  since  the  town 
had  quite  a  mackerel  fleet ;  but  the  little 
craft  are  all  gone  now,  and  nothing 
remains  of  the  old  wharves  save  some 
straggling  lines  of  black  and  broken 
piles  reaching  out  across  the  broad 
marshes  that  lie  between  the  long 
street  and  the  salt  water. 

These  marshes  are  of  rather  more 
economic  importance  to  modern  Yar- 
mouth than  the  sea  itself ;  for  grass 
and  rank  sedges  cover  them  and  fur- 
nish a  considerable  proportion  of  the 
hay  that  is  harvested.  I  liked  to  loiter 
on  these  wet  levels  and  watch  the 
men    swine  their   scythes.      T   noticed 


CAPE  COD  FOLKS 


741 


that  they  left  untouched  the  coarse 
grass  that  grew  on  the  strips  of  sand. 
"That's  beach  grass,"  said  one  of  the 
mowers  with  whom  I  talked.  "The 
stock  won't  eat  that,  nor  any  other 
creatures  won't  eat  it  that  I  know  of 
except  skunks.  Thar's  plenty  of  them 
chaps  along  the  shore  on  these  ma'shes 
Me  'n'  my  dog  kitch  a  lot  of  'em  here 
every  winter." 

The  route  back  to  the  town  from  the 
marsh  on  which  this  skunk  hunter  was 
at  work  led  across  a  low  ridge  of  stony 
pasture-land  where  the  blackberry 
vines  displayed  their  ruddy  autumn 
foliage  and  brightened  the  earth  like 
flashes  of  flame.  A  most  beautiful  lit- 
tle lane  threaded  along  the  crest  of  the 
ridge.  It  was  only  about  a  dozen  feet 
broad,  and  was  hemmed  in  by  stone 
walls  overgrown  with  bushes  among 
which  rose  an  occasional  tree.  The 
paths  trodden  by  the  cows'  hoofs  wan- 
dered irregularly  along,  avoiding  ob- 
structions, and,  as  a  rule,  followed  the 
line  of  the  least  resistance.  There 
was,  however,  now  and  then,  a  deflec- 
tion which  the  cattle  had  made  pur- 
posely toward  the  thickest  of  the  bor- 
dering brush,  intent  on  crowding  up 
against  the  twigs  to  rid  themselves  of 
flies.  How  shadowy  and  protected 
and  pastoral  the  lane  was !  I  envied 
the  boys  who  drove  the  cows  and  thus 
had  the  chance  to  make  a  daily  re- 
newed acquaintance  with  its  arboreal 
seclusion. 

Not  far  from  where  the  lane 
emerged  on  the  village  street  stood  a 
dwelling  that  I  looked  at  with  interest 
every  time  I  passed.  It  was  a  low  and 
primitive  structure,  and  behind  it  was 
a  little  barn  surmounted  by  a  sword- 
fish  weather-vane.  Sword-fish,  or  ships, 
I  observed,  were    the    favorite    vanes 


everywhere  for  Cape  Cod  outbuildings. 
The  attraction  of  this  home  with  its 
serious  air  of  repose  under  the  shadow- 
ing trees,  grew,  until  one  day  I  ven- 
tured into  the  yard.  Near  the  barn  a 
gray-bearded  ancient  had  just  hitched 
a  venerable  horse  into  a  wagon,  and 


was  preparing  to  grease  the  vehicle's 
wheels.  I  spoke  with  him,  and  after 
some  preliminaries  said,  "It  appears 
to  me  that  you  have  about  the  oldest 
house  in  town." 

He  gave  me  a  sudden  look  of  sur- 
prise out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes,  the 
purport  of  which  I  did  not  at  the  mo- 


742 


CAPE  COD  FOLKS 


ment  understand,  and  then  went  on 
with  his  work.  "Ye-ye-yes,"  he  re- 
plied in  his  hasty,  stammering  way ; 
for  his  thoughts  seemed  to  start  ahead 
of  his  tongue,  and  the  latter  gained 
control  with  difficulty.  "Ye-ye-yes, 
he  is  old,  but  he's  a  good  hoss  yet !" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  say  horse,"  I  remark- 
ed quickly,  4T  was  speaking  of  your 
house." 

"My  h-h-h-h-house,  hm-m-m  !  That 
— that's  one  of  the  old  settlers.  Must 
be  two  hundred  year  old ;  and  do  you 
see  that  pear  tree  thar  with  the  piece 
of  zinc  nailed  over  the  bad  place  in  the 
trunk,  and  the  iron  bands  around  up 
where  the  branches  begin,  so't  they 
wont  split  off?  I  s'pose  that  pear  tree's 
as  old  as  the  house." 

"What  kind  is  it?" 

"It-it-it  it's  wha-what  we  call  the 
old-fashioned  button  pear.  Uncle 
Peter  Thacher  that  had  this  place  years 
ago  used  to  pick  up  the  pears  and  sell 
'em  to  the  boys  for  a  cent  apiece.  They 
ain't  much  larger' n  wa'nuts.  They're 
kind  of  a  mealy  kind  of  pear,  you 
know — very  good  when  they  first  drop 
off,  but  they  rot  pretty  quick." 

The  man  had  finished  applying  the 
wheel-grease  now,  and  he  clambered 
into  the  wagon  and  drove  off,  while  I 
walked  on.  I  passed  entirely  through 
the  village  into  a  half-wild  region  be- 
yond, where  much  of  the  land  was 
covered  by  a  dense  pine  wood.  There 
were  occasional  farm  clearings;  but  I 
noticed  thai  the  houses  of  this  outly- 
ing district  were  generally  vacant.  Op- 
oosite  one  of  the  deserted  homes  was 
n  corn-field  thai  attracted  my  atten- 
tion because  the  tons  of  the  cornstalks 
nan  been  cu1  <>f(  and  carted  away,  and 
the  ears  left  on  the  stubs  to  ripen.  This 
was  a   common   wav  of  treating  corn 


years  ago,  but  is  seldom  seen  now. 
Here  and  there  in  the  field  were  scare- 
crows,— sometimes  an  old  coat  and 
hat  hoisted  on  a  stake ;  sometimes  a 
pole  with  a  fluttering  rag  at  the  top 
and,  suspended  a  little  lower  down  on 
the  same  pole,  a  couple  of  rusty  tin 
cans  that  rattled  together  dubiously  in 
the  breeze.  As  I  was  leaning  over  the 
roadside  wall  contemplating  this  corn- 
field, a  man  came  along  and  accosted 
me,  and  I  improved  the  opportunity  to 
ask  him  why  so  many  of  the  houses  of 
the  neigborhood  were  unoccupied. 

"Wal,"  said  he,  "people  don't  like  to 
live  outside  o'  the  villages  nowadays. 
Sence  the  fishin'  give  out.  the  young 
folks  all  go  off  to  get  work,  and  they 
settle  somewhar  else,  and  the  old  folks 
move  into  the  towns.  In  this  house 
across  the  road,  though,  an  old  woman 
lived,  and  she  died  thar  two  years 
ago.     She  was  kind  o'  queer,  and  some 


£ 


The  Cranberry  Pickers 


say  she  wa'n't  a  woman  at  all.  She 
wore  women's  clothes,  but  she  had  a 
beard  and  shaved  every  mornin',  and 
her  hair  was  cut  short,  and  she  carried 
on  the  farm  and  did  the  work  just  like 
a  man." 

My  acquaintance  spit  meditatively 
and  then  inquired,  "Have  you  seen 
Hog  Island?" 

"No,"  I  responded. 

"You'd  ought  to.  .  It  ain't  fur  from 
to'ther  end  of  Yarmouth  village.  You 
go  down  the  lane  along  the  creek  thar 
and  ask  the  way  of  Jimmy  Holton  that 
lives  by  the  bridge.  He'll  tell  you. 
It  aint  really  an  island,  but  a  bunch  o' 
trees  in  a  little  ma'sh,  and  they  grow 
so't  if  you  see  'em  from  the  right  place 
they  look  just  like  a  hog — snout,  tail, 
and  all." 

The  man  had  in  his  hand  a  large 
scoop  with  a  row  of  long  wooden 
teeth  projecting  from  its  base.    This  is 


the  kind  of  implement  used  in  gather- 
ing most  of  the  Cape  Cod  cranberries, 
and  the  man  was  on  his  way  to  a  berry 
patch  he  cultivated  in  a  boggy  hollow 
not  far  distant.  I  accompanied  him 
and  found  his  wife  and  children  on 
their  knees  each  armed  with  a  scoop 
with  which  they  were  industriously 
scratching  through  the  low  mat  of 
vines.  Where  they  had  not  yet  picked, 
the  little  vines  were  twinkled  all  over 
with  ripe  berries — genuine  autumn 
fruit,  waxen-skinned,  ruddy  hued,  and 
acid  to  the  tongue — as  if  the  atmos- 
pheric tartness  and  coolness  had 
helped  the  sun  to  dye  and  flavor  them. 
The  bog  was  not  at  all  wild.  In 
preparing  it  for  cranberry  culture  it 
had  been  thoroughly  tamed.  Brush 
and  stumps  had  been  cleared  off  and 
the  turf  removed.  Then  it  had  been 
leveled  and  coated  with  a  layer  of 
sand.     It  was  encompassed  and  more 

743 


On  the  Borders  of  a  Cranberry  Bog 


or  less  cut  across  by  ditches ;  and,  in 
the  process  of  clearing,  steep  banks 
had  been  heaved  up  around  the  bor- 
ders. 

"Cranberries  are  a  great  thing  for 
the  Cape,"  said  my  friend.  "They're 
the  best  crop  we  have,  but  it's  only  late 
years  we've  gone  into  'em.  When  I 
was  a  boy,  the  only  cranberries  we 
used  to  have  was  a  little  sort  that 
growed  in  the  bogs  wild  ;  and  we  never 
thought  nothin'  o'  dreanin'  the  marshes 
and  goin'  into  the  business  the  way  we 
do  now. 

"My  bog  aint  first  class.  A  man's 
got  to  put  a  lot  o'  work  into  raisin' 
cranberries  to  do  the  thing  just  right; 
and  when  you  only  got  a  small  bog  you 
kind  o'  neglect  it.  There's  one  bog 
about  a  mile  from  here  that's  got  six- 
teen acres  in  it,  and  they're  always 
tendin'  to  it  in  one  way  and  another 
the  year  around.     They  keep  it  clean 


of  weeds,  and  if  there's  any  sign  of 
fire-bug  they  steep  tobacco  and  spray 
the  vines.  If  there's  a  dry  spell  they 
rise  the  water,  though  that  don't  do  as 
much  good  as  it  might.  You  c'n  water 
a  plant  all  you  want  to,  but  waterin' 
won't  take  the  place  o'  rain. 

"Pretty  soon  after  we  finish  pickin' 
we  flood  the  bogs,  and  they  stay  flood- 
ed all  winter,  if  the  mushrats  don't  dig 
through  the  banks.  The  water  keeps 
the  plants  from  freezin',  and  seems  to 
kind  o'  fertilize  them  at  the  same  time. 
The  ponds  make  grand  skatin'-places. 
They  freeze  over  solid — no  weak  spots 
— and  they  aint  deep  enough  to  be  dan- 
gerous, even  if  you  was  to  break 
through." 

This  man's  statement  as  to  the  im- 
portance of  cranberry  culture  to  the 
dwellers  on  the  Cape  was  in  no  wise 
exaggerated.  When  I  continued  my 
journeyings  later  to  the  far  end  of  the 


peninsula  I  saw  reclaimed  berry  bogs 
innumerable.  There  was  scarcely  a 
swampy  depression  anywhere  but  that 
had  been  ditched  and  dyked  and  the 
body  of  it  layed  off  as  smooth  as  a 
floor  and  planted  to  cranberries.  The 
pickers  were  hard  at  work — only  two 
or  three  of  them  on  some  bogs,  and  on 
others  a  motley  score  or  more.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  task  engaged  the  en- 
tire population  irrespective  of  age  and 
sex ;  and  the  picking  scenes  were 
greatly  brightened  by  the  presence  of 
the  women  in  their  calico  gowns  and 
sunbonnets  or  broad-brimmed  straw 
hats.  Often  the  bogs  were  far  enough 
from  home  so  that  the  workers  carried 
their  dinners  and  made  the  labor  an  all- 
day  picnic,  though  I  thought  the 
crouching  position  must  grow  rather 
wearisome  after  a  time. 

Aside  from  the  fertile  and  productive 


bogs  the  aspect  of  the  Cape  was  apt  to 
be  monotonous  and  sombre.  The  cul- 
tivated fields  appeared  meagre  and  un- 
thrifty, the  pastures  were  thin-grassed 
and  growing  up  to  brush,  and,  more 
predominant  than  anything  else  in  the 
landscape,  were  the  great  tracts  of 
scrubby  woodland  covered  with  dwarf- 
ed pines  and  oaks,  often  fire-ravaged, 
and  never  a  tree  in  them  of  respectable 
size.  Ponds  and  lakes  were  frequent. 
So  were  the  inlets  from  the  sea  with 
their  borderings  of  salt  marsh  ;  indeed, 
the  raggedness  of  the  shore  line  was 
suggestive  of  a  constant  struggle  be- 
tween the  ocean  and  the  continent  for 
the  possession  of  this  slender  ou' reach 
of  the  New  England  coast.  The  buf- 
feting of  the  fierce  sea  winds  was  evi- 
dent in  the  upheave  of  the  sand  dunes 
and  the  landward  tilt  of  the  exposed 
trees,  which  had  a  very  human  look  of 


746 


CAPE  COD  FOLKS 


Provincetown  Wharf 


trying  to  flee 


fear  and   seemed  to  be 

from  the  persecuting  gales,  but  to  be 

retarded  by  laggard  feet. 

At  the  tip  of  the  Cape  is  Province- 
town  snugged  along  the  shore,  with 
steep  protecting  hills  at  its  back.  It 
is  a  town  that  has  an  ancient,  old- 
world  look  due  to  its  narrow  streets 
with  houses  and  stores  and  little  shops 
crowded  close  along  the  walks.  It  is 
a  fishy  place,  odorous  of  the  sea,  and 
the  waterside  is  lined  with  gray  fish- 
shanties  and  store-houses.  Many  spin- 
dle-legged wharves  reach  out  across 
the  beach,  and    there    are    dories  and 


small  sailing-craft  in  and  about  tne 
harbor,  and  always  a  number  of 
schooners,  and  occasionally  a  larger 
vessel. 

The  inhabitants  love  the  sea,  or  else 
are  involuntarily  fascinated  by  it.  They 
delight  to  loiter  on  the  wharves  and 
beach,  and  to  sit  and  look  out  on  old 
ocean's  wrinkled  surface  and  contem- 
plate its  hazy  mystery.  One  would 
fancy  they  thought  it  replete  with  ben- 
eficent possibilities  and  that  they  were 
willing  lingerers  dreamily  expecting 
something  fortunate  or  fateful  would 
heave  into  view  from  beyond  the  dim 
horizon.  The  children  seek  the  beach 
as  assiduously  as  their  elders.  It  is 
their  playground,  their  newspaper. 
They  poke  about  the  wharves  strewn 
with  barrels  and  boxes,  spars,  chains, 
ropes,  anchors,  etc. ;  they  find  treas- 
ures in  the  litter  that  gathers  on  the 
sands  ;  they  dig  clams  on  the  mud  flats  ; 
they  race  and  tumble,  and  they  learn 
all  that  is  going  on  in  the  shipping. 

The  most  exciting  event  while  I  was 
in  town  was  an  unexpected  catch  of 
squids  in  the  harbor.  Squids  are  the 
favorite  bait  of  the  cod  fishermen,  but 
at  Provincetown  there  is  rarely  a 
chance  to  get  this  bait  so  late  in  the 
year.  The  squids  sought  the  deep- 
est portion  of  the  bay,  and  a 
little  fleet  of  small  boats  collected 
above  and  captured  them  by  the  barrel. 
(  )ne  mid-day  I  stood  watching  the 
boats  from  a  wharf.  Two  men  who 
had  come  on  to  the  wharf  soon  after  I 
did  were  regarding  the  scene  from  near 
by.  "It's  queer  how  them  squids  hang 
in  that  hole  thar,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

"They  bring  a  good  price  for  cod 
bait,  I  believe,"  said  I. 

"Yes.  Willie  Scott  that  lives  next 
door  to  me   he  made  seven  dollars  this 


F  ■■■♦ 
»■■■ 


Overhauling  the  Fishing  Tackle 


mornin'  and  he  has  gone  out  again.  I'll 
bet  his  eyes  are  full  of  squid  juice  this 
minute.  The  squids  don't  trouble 
much  that  way,  but  they'll  flip  up  a 
smeller  (that's  what  we  call  their 
arms)  and  give  you  a  dose  once  in  a 
while  spite  of  all  you  can  do.  It  makes 
your  eyes  sting,  but  it  don't  last  long." 

"How  large  are  the  squids?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  they're  small — not  much, 
more'n  a  foot  and  a-  half,  smellers  and 
all." 

The  other  man  now  spoke.  He  was 
short  and  dark,  had  rings  in  his  ears, 
and  his  accent  was  decidedly  foreign. 
"Cap'n  Benson,"  said  he  to  his  com- 
panion, "I  seen  the  butt  end  of  a  squid 
smeller  big  as  this  barrel  what  I'm 
settin'  on." 

Cap'n  Benson  puffed  a  few  times 
judiciously  at  his  pipe.  "Yes,"  he  ac- 
knowledged presently,  "there's  a  good 
many   kinds   of   squids,    and   they   do 


kitch  'em  large  enough  so  one'll  last  a 
cod  schooner  for  bait  a  whole  v'yage. 
We  only  git  a  little  kind  here." 

The  wharf  we  were  on  was  nearly 
covered  with  racks  on  which  a  great 
quantity  of  salted  codfish  had  been 
spread  to  dry,  and  "Cap'n"  Benson  in- 
formed me  there  was  plenty  more  fish 
awaiting  curing  in  the  hold  of  a  slen- 
der-masted vessel  that  lay  alongside 
the  wharf. 

"She's  a  Grand-Banker,"  he  con- 
tinued, indicating  the  vessel.  "We 
aint  got  but  six  Grand-Bankers  now, 
and  only  fifteen  fresh  fishermen.  The 
fresh  fishermen  yon  know  don't  go 
farther 'n  the  Georges  and  the  West 
Banks.  Forty  years  ago  we  had  two 
hundred  fishing  schooners  in  the  town 
and  we  had  sixty-seven  whale  ships 
where  now  we  got  only  three.  Prov- 
incetown  is  played  out.  This  mornin5 
me  and  this  man  with  me  didn't  have 

747 


748 


CAPE  COD  FOLKS 


but  one  hour's  work,  and  we  won't 
have  over  two  hours  this  afternoon. 
How  you  goin'  to  make  a  livin'  at 
twenty  cents  an  hour  with  things  goin' 
on  that  way?  Forty  years  ago  you 
couldn't  get  enough  men  at  three  dol- 
lars and  a  half  a  day." 

The  man  with  the  earrings  had 
picked  up  a  piece  of  shell  and  was  at- 
tempting to  drop  it  from  the  height  of 
his  shoulder  through  a  crack  in  the 
wharf.  He  failed  to  accomplish  his 
purpose  though  he  tried  again  and 
again. 

"Mr.  Klunn,  if  you  want  to  drop 
that  shell  through  thar,  just  men- 
tion the  minister,"  advised  "Cap'n" 
Benson. 

He  had  hardly  spoken  when  Mr. 
Klunn  let  the  shell  fall,  and  it  slipped 
straight  through  the  crack.  "By  God- 
frey!" exclaimed  the  Cap'n,  "I  did  it 
for  you.  I  never  known  that  to  fail. 
When  I  been  whaling,  and  we  was 
cuttin'  up  a  whale,  you  couldn't 
sometimes  strike  a  j'int.  You'd  try 
and  try  and  you  couldn't  strike  it,  and 
then  you'd  stop  and  say,  'Minister!' 
and  it  was  done  already — you'd  hit  it 
right  off." 

"I  seen  a  whale  heave  up  a  shark 
the  half  as  big  as  a  dory,"  remarked 
Mr.  Klunn  after  a  pause. 

"To  be  sure,"  the  "Cap'n"  comment- 
ed. "Howsomever  there's  people  say 
a  whale  can't  take  nothin'  bigger'n  a 
man's  hand  ;  but  I  guess  that's  after 
he's  been  eatin'  and  had  all  he  wanted. 

"By  gosh  !  a  whale  got  a  swallow  so 
big  enough,  if  he  hungry,  he  swallow 
a  man  easy,"  Mr.  Klunn  declared. 
"Some  people  ain't  believe  about  Jo- 
nah, but  thev  believe  if  they  seen  as 
much  whales  that  T  have." 

"I'm    thinkin'    about    them    squids," 


Provincetown  Street 

Cap'n  Benson  said  as  he  shook  his  pipe 
free  from  ashes  and  slipped  it  into  the 
pocket  of  his  jacket.  "I  guess  when 
the  tide  comes  in  to-night  I'll  haul  out 
my  boat  and  see  if  I  can't  get  some  of 
'em." 

"I  aint  had  no  boat  sence  the  big 
storm,"  observed  the  man  with  ear- 
rings. 

"What  storm  was  that?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"It  was  when  the  Portland  went 
down  in  November,  1899,"  explained 
"Cap'n  Benson.  We  had  a  awful  time, 
— wharves  smashed,  boat  houses  car- 
ried off,  and  vessels  wrecked.  It  begun 
to  blow  in  the  night.  Fust  thing  I 
knowed  of  it  was  my  chimley  comin' 
down." 

"I  was  sick  that  time,"  said  the  ear- 


CAPE  COD  FOLKS 


49 


"The  doctor  had  to  give 
me  murphine  pills.  I  was  in  bed  two 
three  days,  and  I  lose  187  dollars  by 
the  storm.  You  remember  that  schoon- 
er, Cap'n  Benson,  what  the  two  old 
mens  were  drownded  on  ?" 

"Oh,  I  remember — washed  over- 
board out  here  in  the  harbor,  and  the 
wind  took  the  schooner  bang  up  agin  a 
wharf,  and  the  Cap'n,  he  made  a  jump 
and  landed  all  right ;  and  he  never 
stopped  to  look  behind  to  see  what  be- 
come of  the  vessel  nor  nobody.  He 
run  up  into  the  town  and  he  took  the 
next  train  for  California." 

"Yas,  that's  true,"  Mr.  Klunn  af- 
firmed. 

Later,  while  stopping  over  night  at 
a  Truro  farmhouse  a  few  miles  back  on 
the  Cape,  I  heard  more  of  the  great 
storm.  "Thar  was  three  days  of  it," 
said  my  landlady,  "startin'  on  Satur- 
day. It  thundered  and  lightened  on 
Sunday  and  it  snowed  Monday.  Ev- 
erythin'  that  wa'n't  good'n  strong  was 
blowed  down.  It  blowed  the  shed  off 
the  end  of  our  house,  and  it  blowed  a 
window  in  upstairs,  and  it  blowed  the 
saddle  board  off  the  roof  and  some  o' 
the  shingles.  We  had  the  highest  tide 
we've  ever  had  and  there  was  places 
where  the  sea-water  come  across  the 
roads.  Monday  the  bodies  begun  to 
be  washed  ashore  from  the  Portland, 
and  they  kept  comin'  in  for  two 
weeks." 

Truro  is  a  scattered  little  country 
place.  Its  homes  dot  every  protect- 
ed hollow.  The  only  buildings  that 
seemed  independent  of  the  smiting  of 
the  winter  blasts  were  the  town  hall 
and  the  Baptist,  Methodist,  and  Cath- 
olic churches.  These  stood  in  a  group 
on  a  bare,  bleak  hilltop.  The  church- 
yards were  thickly  set  with  graves,  and 


\ 


Village  Watchmaker's  Sign 

among  the  stones  grew  little  tangles 
of  sumachs  and  other  bushes,  but  the 
sandy  height  had  not  a  single  tree. 

On  this  hill,  years  ago,  stood  still 
another  public  institution — a  windmill. 
"It  sot  high  up  thar  sot  it  was  in  sight 
all  over  town,"  said  my  landlady. 
"You  could  see  the  miller  puttin'  the 
sails  on  the  arms,  and  then  when  they 
got  to  turnin'  we'd  know  which  way 
the  wind  blowed.  But  some  days  there 
wouldn't  be  no  wind,  and  the  sails 
might  hang  there  and  not  turn  the 
whole  day  long.  We  used  to  raise  this 
yaller    Injun    corn    then    a   good    deal 


Ibo 


CAPE  COD  FOLKS 


more'n  we  do  now  on  the  Cape,  and 
we  raised  rye,  and  we'd  take  the  grain 
to  the  mill  to  grind.  You  can't  buy  no 
such  corn  meal  or  rye  meal  now  as  we 
used  to  get  from  that  old  mill.  We  e't 
hasty  pudding  them  days,  and  it  used 
to  be  so  nice !  and  we  had  Johnny- 
cake  and  hasty-pudding  bread." 

"Hasty-pudding  bread  —  what's 
that?"  I  asked. 

"It  was  made  by  putting  some  of  the 
hasty-pudding  into  flour  and  mixing 
'em  up  into  dough  together.  We  didn't 
have  yeast  then  like  we  use  now.  In- 
stead o'  that  we  had  what  we  called 
'emptyinV  that  I  s'pose  come  from 
dregs  of  beer  or  other  liquor  got  some- 
time at  a  distillery  ;  but  they  kep'  emp- 
tying fermentin'  to  use  makin'  bread 
at  every  farmhouse,  and  if  yourn  run 
out  you  could  always  get  some  at  the 
neighbor's  to  start  again.  We'd  stir 
up  the  dough  and  set  it  behind  the 
stove  to  rise,  and  our  emptyin's  bread 
would  be  light  as  could  be." 

Of  the  churches  on  the  hill  the  Cath- 
olic was  the  newest.  It  was  a  little 
shed  of  a  building  with  a  gilt  cross 
surmounting  the  front  gable.  The  at- 
tendants were  chiefly  Portuguese,  the 
nationality  which  at  present  constitutes 
the  great  majority  of  the  coast  fisher- 
folk.  Most  of  the  fishing  is  done  in 
rowboats,  and  the  fish  are  caught  in 
nets  fastened  to  lines  of  stakes  off 
shore.  These  fish-traps,  as  they  are 
called,  arc  visited  daily.  The  crew  of 
a  row  boat  usually  consists  of  a  "Cap'n" 
who  is  pretty  sure  to  be  a  Yankee,  and 
seven  men  who  are  likely  to  be  all 
Portuguese.  Truro  had  four  rowboats 
thus  manned.  They  started  out  at 
three  in  the  morning  and  returned  any- 
where from  noon  to  eight  in  the  even- 
ins:. 


"It's  hard  work,"  explained  my  land- 
lady, "and  the  Yankee  men  don't  take 
up  fishin'  late  years  the  way  they  did. 
I  reckon  they  c'n  make  more  money 
farmin'." 

I  wondered  at  this.  The  sandy  soil 
did  not  look  productive,  and  yet  the 
houses,  as  a  rule,  were  painted  and  in 
good  repair  and  conveyed  a  pleasing 
impression  of  prosperity.  The  people 
with  whom  I  talked  seemed  to  be  sat- 
isfied. "We  git  good  crops,"  said  a 
farmer  I  questioned  about  agricultural 
affairs.  "We  c'n  raise  most  all  kinds 
o'  vegetables  in  the  hollers,  and  good 
grass,  too,  though  our  heaviest  crops 
o'  grass  we  git  off'n  the  marshes.  The 
cows  like  satt  hay  fully  as  well  as  they 
do  fresh  hay,  and  they  like  sedge  best 
of  all,  because  its  sweet ;  but  you  have 
to  be  careful  about  feedin'  'em  too 
much  of  it,  or  the  milk'll  taste.  Of 
course  we  got  plenty  o'  pasture  on  the 
higher  ground  and  plenty  o'  timber 
sich  as  'tis.  The  trees  don't  flourish, 
though,  and  you  won't  find  many  that 
are  much  bigger'n  your  leg.  This  is  a 
great  country  for  wild  berries, — blue- 
berries, blackberries, and  huckleberries. 
Our  Portuguese  here — land !  they  git 
half  their  livin'  in  the  woods.  Besides 
berries  there's  beach  plums  and  wild 
cherries.  But  the  cherries  we  don't 
use  for  common  eatin'.  We  put  'em 
up  in  molasses  and  they  kind  o'  wrork 
and  are  good  to  take  for  the  stomach 
and  the  like  o'  that." 

I  climbed  over  the  hills  round  about 
Truro  and  tramped  the  sandy,  deeply- 
rutted  roads  faithfully.  It  was  w^eary 
work  to  one  used  to  solid  earth.  Such 
lagging  progress !  I  could  never  get  a 
good  grip  with  my  feet  and  slipped  a 
little  backward  every  time  I  took  a 
step  forward.    Except  along  the  water-" 


CAPE  COD  FOLKS 


751 


courses  nature's  growths  never  at- 
tained the  least  exuberance.  The  grass 
on  the  slopes  and  uplands  was  very 
thin,  and  with  the  waning  of  the  sea- 
son much  of  it  had  become  wispy  and 
withered.  It  was  mingled  with  gold- 
enrod  and  asters  that  hugged  the  earth 
on  such  short,  stunted  stems  as  to  be 
hardly  recognizable. 

The  landscape,  as  viewed  from  a 
height,  had  a  curiously  unstable  look. 
Its  form  had  not  been  moulded  by  at- 
trition, but  the  soil  had  been  blown 
into  vast  billows  that  had  the  appear- 
ance of  a  troubled  sea  whose  waves 
were  on  the  point  of  advancing  and 
overwhelming  the  habitations  and  all 
the  green  growing  things  in  the  vales. 
Some  of  the  dunes  really  do  advance, 
and  the  state  has  been  obliged  to  make 
appropriations  and  devise  means  for 
checking  their  depredations.  The  work 
has  chiefly  been  accomplished  with  the 
aid  of  beach  grass.  This  has  an  affil- 
iation for  sand,  and  you  can  stick  one 
of  its  coarse  wiry  tufts  in  anywhere 
and  it  will  grow.  It  only  needs  to  be 
methodically  planted,  and  the  shifting 
dunes  are  fast  bound  and  the  winds 
asail  them  in  vain. 

Some  01  the  characteristics  of  this 
beach  grass  seem  also  to  be  characteris- 
tics of  the  people  of  the  Cape.  They 
have  the  same  hardinesss  and  endur- 
ance, and,  like  the  beach  grass,  have 
adapted  themselves  to.  their  environ- 
ment and  thrive  where  most  would 
fail.  With  its  omnipresent  sand  and 
dwarf  woods,  the  Cape,  as  I  saw  it  at 
the  fag  end  of  the  year,  appeared  rather 


A  Lone  Picker 

dreaiw,  but  the  prosperous  look  of  the 
homes  was  very  cheering.  These  are 
nearly  all  owned  free  from  debt,  and 
that  nightmare  of  the  agriculturists 
in  so  many  parts  of  New  England — a 
mortgage — is,  happily,  almost  un- 
known among  the  Cape  Cod  folks. 


Note  Counterfeiter's  Workshop 


The  Secret  Service 


By  W.   Herman  Moran 


IVILIZED    governments 


the 


I  world  over  maintain,  as  es- 

V^_  y  seritial  adjuncts,  corps  of 
trained  investigators  to  cope 
with  violators  of  the  National  or 
Federal  laws.  Under  foreign  govern- 
ments this  work  is  centralized — sur- 
veillance over  criminals  of  every  class 
being  exacted  of  the  one  bureau — 
while  in  this  country  independent  or- 
ganizations, employing  experts  in  the 
detection  of  specific  offenses,  are  at- 
tached to  the  several  executive  depart- 
ments. The  effectiveness  of  this  plan 
o\  pitting  specialist  against  specialist 
has  been  satisfactorily  demonstrated. 
Though  the  operation  of  all  these  bu- 
reaus arc  secret,  but  one  such  organi- 


zation is  entitled  to  the  official  desig- 
nation "Secret  Service" — a  permanent 
and  valuable  branch  of  the  Treasury 
Department,  charged  with  the  duty  of 
keeping  Uncle  Sam's  money  clean 
from  imitation. 

Counterfeiting  money  is  not  original 
with  this  generation.  Man's  cupidity 
induced  this  crime  in  America  as  early 
as  1752 ;  yet  it  does  not  appear  to  have 
become  sufficiently  prevalent  to  require 
recognition  by  the  Government  until 
i860,  when  Congress  appropriated  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  its  suppression, 
to  be  expended  under  the  direction  of 
the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  This 
sum  was  doled  out  as  rewards  to  pri- 
vate detectives,  municipal  officers,  and 


Note  Counterfeiter's  Workshop— Engraver's  Room 


others  instrumental  in  bringing  to  trial 
and  punishment  persons  engaged  in 
bogus  money  making.  A  similar  course 
was  pursued  for  several  years.  Mean- 
while the  Government  was  forced  to 
issue  paper  money,  or  "Greenbacks," 
to  meet  the  extraordinary  expenses  in- 
cident to  the  Civil  War,  and  tnese  notes 
were  being  counterfeited  to  such  an 
alarming  extent,  it  was  realized  that 
measures  more  effective  must  be  em- 
ployed. To  that  end,  in  Julv.  1864, 
the  regular  appropriation  was  in- 
creased to  $100,000,  and  with  this  the 
Solicitor  of  the  Treasury,  who  had 
been  charged  with  the  supervision  and 
direction  of  the  work,  gathered  about 
him  a  corps  of  men  experienced  in 
criminal  investigations  to  be  entrusted 
with  the  task  of  suppressing  this  out- 


put of  spurious  currency.  So  success- 
fully did  this  plan  operate  that  it  re- 
sulted in  the  establishment  of  a  per- 
manent bureau  to  be  thereafter  known 
as  the  "Secret  Service."  Information 
as  to  the  personnel  and  operations  of 
this  service  is  carefully  guarded 
against  publicity,  a  precaution  to  which 
much  of  its  effectiveness  is  attributa- 
ble. 

The  United  States  is  divided  into 
twenty-seven  Secret  Service  districts, 
each  in  charge  of  an  operative  who  has 
under  his  direction  as  many  assistants 
as  the  criminal  activity  of  his  section 
demands.  A  written  daily  report,  cov- 
ering operations  for  twenty-four  hours, 
is  exacted  of  every  operative.  Many 
fascinating  stories  are  contained  in  the 
bound  volumes  of  these  reports  filed  in 


:: 


Coin  Counterfeiter's  Workshop 


Heavy  Press  for  Minting  Quarters 


THE  SECRET  SERVICE 


755 


the  Chief's  office  at  Washington,  and 
the  collection  of  photographs  in  the 
service  "Rogues  Gallery"  would  afford 
phrenologists  and  physiognomists  am- 
ple opportunity  to  test  their  power. 

It  is  not  expected  that  the  crime  of 
counterfeiting  will  ever  be  wholly  sup- 
pressed, but  the  Government  depends 
upon  the  Secret  Service  to  reduce  it 
to  a  minimum,  and,  in  its  thirty-six 
years  existence,  this  bureau  has  hand- 
led more  than  twenty  thousand  spuri- 
ous money  makers  and  distributors. 

The  development  of  modern  proc- 
esses of  photo-lithography,  photo- 
gravure, and  etching  has  revolution- 
ized the  note  counterfeiting  industry. 
In  the  old  days  all  counterfeiting  plates 
were  hand  engraved,  and  it  took  from 
eight  to  fifteen  months  to  complete  a 
set.  Now  this  part  of  the  work  con- 
sumes but  a  few  hours.  The  famous 
Philadelphia-Lancaster  conspiracy  of 
two  years  ago  is  one  of  the  rare  in- 
stances in  recent  years  of  the  employ- 
ment of  hand  engraved  plates,  and, 
even  in  this  case,  photography  laid  the 
foundation  for  the  work.  This  change 
of  method  on  the  part  of  the  counter- 
feiter necessitated  the  abandonment  of 
the  old  lines  on  which  the  Secret  Ser- 
vice had  conducted  its  investigations 
and  the  mapping  out  of  new  ones  ap- 
plicable to  changed  conditions ;  the 
fact  that  the  yearly  average  of  arrests 
has  suffered  no  diminution  would  seem 
to  indicate  that  these  new  lines  are  as 
effective  as  the  old. 

Counterfeiting  is  acknowledged  to 
be  the  meanest  of  crimes,  because  the 
resultant  loss  most  often  falls  on  those 
least  able  to  bear  it.  It  is  not  con- 
fined to  any  particular  locality,  the 
officer  operating  in  country  districts 
being  kept  as  busily  employed  as  his 


city  brother.  The  ranks  of  those  who 
indulge  in  it  are  recruited  from  every 
race  and  condition  of  man.  One  day 
you  may  return  home  from  your  busi- 
ness to  find  that  the  neighbor  with 
whom  you  had  spent  many  pleasant 
social  hours  and  who  was  considered  in 
every  way  worthy  your  confidence  and 
esteem,  has  been  conducting  a  private 
mint,  and  is  now  under  arrest  with 
every  prospect  of  a  long  term  in  the 
penitentiary  before  him. 

Charles  H.  Smith,  one  of  the  most 
expert  and  prolific  engravers  of  false 
money  plates,  was,  until  detected  and 
arrested,  a  highly  respected  citizen 
of  Brooklyn,  New  York.  His  resi- 
dence adjoined  that  of  a  prominent 
city  official,  and  the  two  men  had  fre- 
quently engaged  in  a  friendly  game  of 
croquet  on  the  lawn. 

In  the  neighborhood  where  he  re- 
sided in  Detroit,  Michigan,  David 
Johnson  was  looked  upon  as  a  model  of 
propriety  in  all  that  constitutes  the 
honest,  upright,  dependable  citizen, 
and  as  he  was  prominently  identified 
with  church  work  and  "musical  affairs, 
the  community  was  the  more  shocked 
and  surprised  when  one  morning,  late 
in  the  summer  of  1898,  he  and  his 
brother  Edmond,  also  highly  respected, 
were  placed  under  arrest  charged  with 
counterfeiting.  The  evidence  found 
secreted  in  their  homes,  established 
beyond  question  their  responsibility 
for  the  existence  of  certain  dangerous 
counterfeit  notes  which  the  Govern- 
ment officers  had  been  endeavoring  to 
trace  to  their  source  for  nearly  eight 
years.  The  history  of  this  case  is  in- 
teresting:— In  September,  1890,  one 
of  the  Treasury  money  experts  discov- 
ered in  a  remittance  from  a  Missouri 
bank  a  counterfeit  two  dollar  silver 


756 


THE  SECRET  SERVICE 


certificate  so  nearly  like  the  genuine  as 
almost  to  defy  detection. 

The  Secret  Service  went  to  work 
immediately,  but,  try  as  they  might, 
could  get  no  clue  to  the  criminal. 
Every  counterfeiter  known  to  possess 
sufficient  ability  to  do  the  work  was  lo- 
cated and  investigated  without  results ; 
the  spurious  notes  meanwhile  contin- 
ued coming  in  with  aggravating  regu- 
larity. It  was  finally  determined  to 
recall  the  genuine  issue  of  these  coun- 
terfeits and  replace  them  with  notes  of 
different  design.  The  unknown  cul- 
prit was  not  to  be  outdone,  however, 
and  it  was  but  a  short  while  after  the 
first  of  these  new  bills  was  issued  that 
its  counterfeit  was  discovered  in  cir- 
culation. The  counterfeiter  had  fol- 
lowed the  government's  move  and  re- 
fused to  be  checkmated. 

On  several  occasions  the  officers  felt 
assured  that  they  were  near  a  solution 
of  the  vexatious  problem,  only  to  dis- 
cover in  the  suspect  one  of  the  numer- 
ous victims  of  the  real  culprit  innocent- 
ly assisting  in  circulating  the  counter- 
feits. One  such  incident  occurred  at 
Toledo,  Ohio:  The  Secret  Service 
agent  on  duty  there  was  called  to  the 
telephone  one  morning  in  the  Spring 
of  1898,  and  informed  that  a  stranger 
had  just  passed  a  counterfeit  two  dol- 
lar note  on  a  nearby  tobacconist.  On 
arriving  at  the  place  a  few  moments 
later,  he  was  told  of  a  tall,  blonde, 
heavy-set,  well-dressed  man,  sporting 
a  large  diamond  stud  in  his  shirt-front, 
coming  into  the  store  and  paying  for 
twenty-five  cents  worth  of  cigars  with 
a  two  dollar  bill  which  he  abstracted 
from  a  large  roll  of  notes  taken  from 
his  right-hand  trousers  pocket.  When 
shown  the  bill  in  question  the  agent  im- 
mediately recognized  it  as  one  of  the 


troublesome  silver  ceritficates,  and  lost 
no  time  in  going  in  search  of  the 
passer. 

Hurrying  in  the  direction  taken  by 
the  man,  he  canvassed  the  various  res- 
taurants and  business  houses  for  sev- 
eral blocks  without  success,  and  was 
about  to  take  a  car  for  the  depot  to 
look  through  a  train  due  to  depart  in 
ten  minutes,  when  he  espied  the  object 
of  his  search  coming  out  of  a  haber- 
dashery on  the  next  block. 

Quickening  his  pace,  stopping  long 
enough  at  the  furnishing  goods  store 
to  ascertain  that  a  two  dollar  bill  had 
been  used  in  making  some  purchases, 
and  to  request  that  it  be  laid  aside  until 
his  return,  he  was  right  behind  his  man 
when  the  latter  turned  into  a  saloon  at 
the  corner.  While  the  suspect  was 
drinking  his  glass  of  beer  the  officer 
stepped  up  to  the  bar  and  asked  for 
change  for  a  twenty  dollar  bill.  The 
bartender  could  not  accommodate  him, 
but  as  had  been  hoped  the  stranger  vol- 
unteered to  make  the  change.  Draw- 
ing from  his  pocket  quite  a  roll  of 
money  he  carefully  counted  out  three 
fives,  two  twos,  and  a  one,  and  adding 
the  twenty  to  what  remained,  returned 
it  to  his  pocket.  The  agent  stepped 
outside  to  examine  the  change,  and, 
much  to  his  disappointment  found  all 
the  bills  genuine.  He  did  not  entirely 
abandon  hope  however,  and  when  his 
man  appeared  in  the  doorway  he  was 
requested  to  accompany  the  officer 
back  to  the  tobacco  store  and  explain 
the  possession  of  a  counterfeit  note. 
Disclaiming  any  knowledge  of  a  coun- 
terfeit, the  man  readily  agreed  to  re- 
turn. En  route  a  stop  was  made  at  the 
furnishing  store.  The  bill  here  was 
also  genuine.  At  the  tobacco  store, 
after  the  stranger  had  acknowledged 


THE  SECRET  SERVICE 


757 


paying  the  bill  in  question  to  the  pro- 
prietor and  had  made  good  by  substi- 
tuting genuine  money,  he  handed  the 
officer  his  roll  with  the  request  that  it 
be  examined  for  other  counterfeits  at 
the  same  time,  admitting  his  inability 
!o  discriminate  between  imitations  so 
good  as  that  he  had  just  redeemed 
and  the  lawful  currency.  All  his  other 
money  was  genuine,  and  the  officer, 
with  visions  of  glory  and  promotion 
dispelled,  returned  to  the  office. 

In  July,  following  the  above  inci- 
dent, Charles  Johnson,  an  old  and  ex- 
pert counterfeiter,  who  had  just  com- 
pleted a  term  of  twelve  years  in  a 
Canadian  prison  for  imitating  the  Do- 
minion two  and  four  dollar  notes,  ar- 
rived at  the  home  of  his  sister,  Mrs. 
Baylis,  with  whom  Edmond  was  also 
residing,  on  McGraw  street,  Detroit. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  the  friends 
and  neighbors  of  David  and  Edmond 
learned  of  their  relationship  to  this  no- 
torious individual. 

As  is  customary  in  all  such  cases, 
the  Secret  Service  was  advised  of 
Johnson's  release  and  destination,  and 
a  few  weeks  later,  when  it  was  reported 
that  a  man  whose  description  tallied 
with  his  had  passed  a  counterfeit  half 
dollar  in  a  saloon  on  Woodward  Av- 
enue, the  officers  secured  search  war- 
rants for  the  McGraw  Street  house, 
expecting  to  find  the  coin  mill.  Much 
to  their  astonishment,  while  looking 
through  a  closet  on  the  second  floor,  a 
plank  was  discovered  which  bore  un- 
mistakable evidence  of  having  been 
used  in  the  process  of  "aging"  notes. 
This  find  led  to  a  more  thorough  in- 
spection of  the  premises,  and  one  of 
the  officers,  noticing  that  the  base- 
board in  the  closet  was  loose,  inserted 
his    knife    in    the    space   between    the 


board  and  the  floor,  accidental!}  press- 
ing against  an  ingeniously  contrived 
lever,  which  forced  a  section  of  the 
board  out  from  the  wall,  disclosing  the 
hiding  place  of  over  two  thousand  dol- 
lars in  spurious  two  dollar  silver  cer- 
tificates. 

Edmond  and  Charles  Johnson  and 
Mrs.  Baylis  were  immediately  placed 
under  arrest,  and  enough  information 
was  obtained  to  warrant  a  search  of 
David's  residence.  This  was  proceed- 
ed with  at  once,  resulting  in  the  finding 
of  a  panel  like  that  in  the  other  house, 
concealing  the  plates  from  which  the 
first  issue  of  counterfeits  was  printed 
and  more  than  three  thousand  dollars 
of  the  notes.  It  was  learned  that  David 
and  his  wife  were  visiting  relatives 
near  Blenheim,  Canada,  and  an  officer 
was  dispatched  to  arrest  and  bring 
them  back. 

The  mysterious  source  of  these 
notable  counterfeits  had  at  last  been 
discovered,  and  but  one  thing  remained 
to  complete  the  officers'  work — to  se- 
cure the  plates  from  which  the  second 
issue  was  printed.  These  could  not  be 
found,  though  the  two  houses  were 
thoroughly  searched  from  cellar  to 
garret.  The  hiding  place  of  the  plates 
might  have  been  a  mystery  until  to- 
day had  it  not  been  for  a  strange  strain 
of  chivalry  in  the  natures  of  the  John- 
son brothers. 

Realizing,  as  they  did,  that  the 
women  members  of  the  family  were 
apt  to  suffer  from  their  connection 
with  the  case — remote  though  it  might 
be — they  notified  the  Government  offi- 
cers, after  a  consultation,  that  if  an  ar- 
rangement could  be  made  looking  to 
the  release  of  Mrs.  Baylis  and  Mrs. 
Johnson,  they  would  surrender  the 
plates.     The  offer  was  not  a  surprise 


758 


THE  SECRET  SERVICE 


to  the  Government.  There  had  been 
previous  exhibitions  of  this  same  sen- 
timent. In  1864,  when  the  entire  fam- 
ily, consisting  of  father,  mother,  four 
sons  and  two  daughters,  were  arrested 
at  Indianapolis  for  dealing  in  spurious 
currency,  the  men  persistently  asserted 
the  innocence  of  the  women  and,  to 
obtain  their  release,  one  of  the  boys 
acknowledged  responsibility  for  the 
existence  of  a  counterfeit  twenty  dol- 
lar note  and  agreed  to  turn  over  the 
plates.  A  number  of  years  later,  when 
the  family  again  came  under  the  ban, 
the  father,  to  insure  freedom  for  wife 
and  daughters,  imparted  to  the  Gov- 
ernment information  of  the  wherea- 
bouts of  plates  for  several  dangerous 
counterfeits. 

In  the  Detroit  case,  while  the  evi- 
dence against  the  women  was  not  con- 
clusive, it  was  sufficiently  suggestive  to 
warrant  their  temporary  detention; 
but  when  the  Johnsons'  proposition 
was  presented,  the  Government 
promptly  accepted  it,  and  Edmond  was 
turned  over  to  the  officers  to  act  as 
guide. 

Going  first  to  the  McGraw  Street 
house  he  led  the  way  to  a  bed-room  on 
the  second  floor,  and  rolling  the  oak 
washstand  out  from  the  wall,  proceed- 
ed to  withdraw  two  of  the  screws 
which  held  the  ornamental  back  piece 
in  place.  Raising  the  loose  end  of  this 
back  piece,  he  cut  away  some  oak- 
stained  putty  and  removed  a  small 
piece  of  wood,  disclosing  a  mortised 
space  in  the  top  board  of  the  wash- 
stand.  From  this  slot  he  drew  out,  by 
a  string  attached,  the  back  and  seal 
plates  neatly  wrapped  in  oiled  linen. 

For  the  face  plate  it  was  necessary 
to  go  to  David's  home.  Mrs.  John- 
son's scwincr  machine  was  here  used  as 


a  hiding  place.  Lying  on  his  back, 
under  the  machine,  Edmond  unscrew- 
ed a  small  cabinet  of  drawers  and 
placed  it  on  the  floor.  In  a  space  hol- 
lowed out  of  the  top  board  of  the  cab- 
inet was  the  plate. 

The  history  of  this  family  of  John- 
sons might  be  advanced  as  an  argu- 
ment in  support  of  the  theory  that  the 
criminal  instinct  is  hereditary.  Three 
generations  of  counterfeiters  is  their 
record,  and,  with  the  arrest  of  David 
and  Edmond,  prison  doors  have  closed 
upon  the  entire  membership  of  this 
generation. 

In  a  majority  of  cases  arrests  by  the 
Service  are  so  planned  as  to  make  re- 
sistance impossible,  the  element  of  sur- 
prise being  employed  to  secure  this  re- 
sult. But  at  times  a  show  of  force  be- 
comes necessary,  calling  for  quick  and 
determined  action  on  the  part  of  the 
officers.  On  several  such  occasions 
tragedies  have  been  narrowly  averted. 
A  case  in  point  was  the  breaking  up  of 
the  notorious  "Horse  Market"  gang  of 
New  York  City:  The  Secret  Service 
agents  had  succeeded  in  arresting  in- 
dividual members  of  this  gang  while 
engaged  in  "shoving  the  queer,,,  but 
it  yet  remained  to  locate  and  shut  off 
the  source  of  supply.  Frank,  alias 
"Conkey"  Carr,  an  ex-convict,  was 
suspected  as  the  maker,  and  when  it 
was  ascertained  that  he  resided  at 
No.  95  Fourth  Avenue  a  close  watch 
was  placed  upon  the  house.  Albert 
Brown,  better  known  as  "Bill  the 
Brute,"  a  desperate  character,  and 
Harry  Kingden  spent  much  of  their 
time  at  Carr's,  and  these  two  were,  on 
several  occasions,  shadowed  to  Staten 
Island  and  other  near-by  places,  where 
they  passed  counterfeit  dollars. 

At  the  end  of  three  weeks  it  was 


THE  SECRET  SERVICE 


759 


decided  that  ample  evidence  had  been 
secured  to  warrant  making  the  ar- 
rests. When  the  raiding  party  which 
included  Operatives  Bagg,  Callaghan, 
and  Flynn  arrived  in  the  vicinity  of 
Carr's  home  they  were  informed  by 
Assistant  Stanley,  who  was  on  watch, 
that  Kingden  had  just  gone  down 
Fourth  Avenue,  but  that  the  others 
were  upstairs.  Leaving  Stanley  out- 
side to  pick  up  Kingden,  the  other 
three  quickly  ascended  the  stairs  to  the 
second  floor,  forced  open  the  door  to 
the  rear  room  and  surprised  Carr, 
Brown,  and  Carr's  wife,  Belle,  putting 
the  finishing  touches  to  a  batch  of 
coins.  Carr 'bolted  through  an  open 
window  to  the  fire  escape  and  Flynn 
started  in  pursuit.  Brown  and  Belle 
Carr  rushed  at  Callaghan  and  Bagg 
and  for  a  few  minutes  there  was  a 
lively  fight  around  the  room,  becoming 
so  fierce  that  the  woman  was  soon 
forced  to  retire.  Brown,  at  last  over- 
come, fell  on  the  bed  with  both  officers 
on  top  of  him.  During  the  lull  which 
followed,  the  apparently  much  ex- 
hausted coiner  called  to  the  woman  to 
bring  him  a  drink  of  water,  but  when 
the  officers  relaxed  their  hold  sufficient- 
ly to  enable  him  to  raise  on  his  el- 
bow he  suddenly  drew  from  his  hip- 
pocket  a  revolver  and  placed  the  muz- 
zle against  Callaghan's  stomach  before 
it  was  realized  what  he  was  about. 
Striking  the  weapon  aside  just  as  the 
trigger  was  pulled,  Bagg,  with  Calla- 


ghan's  assistance,  quickly  disarmed 
and  handcuffed  the  infuriated  crimin- 
al. Meanwhile,  what  had  happened  to 
"Conkey"  Carr?  Upon  reaching  the 
fire  escape,  he  crawled  along  to  the 
adjoining  house  and  clambered  into 
the  window,  closely  followed  by  Flynn  ; 
breaking  into  the  rear  flat  he  reached 
a  window  opening  on  Third  Avenue. 
Below  was  a  grocery  store  with  a  veg- 
etable stand  on  the  sidewalk  and  pro- 
jecting meat  hooks.  Taking  in  these 
difficulties  and  jumping  far  out  to 
avoid  them,  Carr  landed  heavily  on  the 
pavement  breaking  both  ankles.  Thus 
disabled,  Flynn  found  him  and  had 
him  removed  to  the  hospital. 

After  gathering  up  the  counterfeit 
coins  and  other  portable  evidence, 
Bagg  and  Callaghan  started  with  their 
prisoners  down  the  stairs.  About  half 
way  down  they  met  Flynn  returning 
from  his  chase  after  Carr.  ''Bill  the 
Brute,"  taking  advantage  of  the 
crowded  condition  of  the  stairway, 
made  an  effort  to  escape.  Breaking 
away  from  Bagg  he  sprang  at  Flynn, 
who  was  in  front  of  him,  and  struck 
the  latter  a  heavy  blow  with  his  man- 
acled wrists.  But  he  reckoned  withou 
his  host,  for  Flynn  promptly  returned 
the  blow,  flooring  Brown,  and  he  wa, 
landed  in  jail  without  further  trouble. 
Stanley  found  Kingden  in  a  near-by 
store,  where  he  had  been  sent  to  pur- 
chase plaster  of  Paris,  and  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  placing  him  behind  the  bars. 


Aftermath 

By  Charlotte  Becker 

AH,  faith  that  once  I  kept,  belief 
Is  hard  to  kill,  and  sorrow  long- 
Yet   I   was   mute   till   after  grief — 
I  lost  delight  to  gain  a  song! 


Pygmalion 

By  Zitella  Cocke 

[WONDERED  much  that  marble  cold  and  stern 
Its  obduracy  could  forget,  and  turn 
To  warm  and  palpitating  flesh,  and  move 
With  life,  responsive  to  Pygmalion's  love, — 
A  fancy  strange,  methought,  that  subtle  Greek, 
Grown  mad  with  thirst  for  beauty,  fain  would  seek ! 

Yet  Greek,  thou'rt  wise,  and  fond  Pygmalion's  love, 
Though  born  of  fable,  doth  thy  wisdom  prove, — 
Thy  thought,   far-reaching,  hath  discerned  the  truth. 
Immortal  and  eternal,  hid  forsooth 
From  surface  resting  sight,  but  plain  to  him 
Who  would  God's  writing  read,  though  it  be  dim! 

For  in  the  wide  and  goodly  universe, 
Love's  rule  is  mightiest,  and  primal  curse 
Shall  from  its  priestly  hands  in  blessing  fall, 
Since  Love  hath  ever  been,  and  shall  be  all ! 
Earth  shall  dissolve  like  pageantry  of  dreams, 
Love  only  shall  remain  of  all  that  seems ! 


760 


Hartman 


By  Frank  Baird 


THE  fact  that  Hartman  taught 
the  class  in  color  should  not 
be  set  down  as  a  proof  that 
he  knew  nothing  about  art. 
There  were  things  Hartman  knew,  and 
things  he  did  not  know.  But  the  real- 
ly outstanding  thing  about  Hartman 
was  neither  his  knowledge  nor  his  ig- 
norance, but  his  ambition.  That,  to 
all  sensible  people,  covered  the  multi- 
tude of  his  sins.  And  yet  it  was  this 
commendable  side  of  his  nature  that 
afterwards  pushed  him  into  strange 
difficulties. 

The  only  other  thoroughly  ambitious 
man  on  the  staff  was  Du  Vernet.  He 
liked  Hartman  because  he  understood 
him ;  and  then  most  people  hated  him. 
Further,  Hartman  had  pledged  him- 
self in  a  whole-souled,  serious  way  to 
art;  he  hated  men;  women  were  an 
abomination  to  him.  To  Du  Vernet 
this  speiled  genius.  He  believed  in 
people  who  were  strong  enough  to 
hate  what  most  men  loved.  He  took 
their  part ;  they  were  true  artists.  He 
said  they  would  do  things  before  they 
died.  In  this  latter  contention  Du 
Vernet  was  right — for  Hartman  did 
many  things  before  he  died — long  be- 
fore. 

The  term  had  slipped  around  to 
within  a  fortnight  of  its  close.  Du 
Vernet  had  wandered  into  Hartman's 
quarters  where  both  comfortably 
smoked.  A  tourist  map  of  Europe 
that  lay  on  the  table  showed  a  long 
zig-zagging  line  drawn  with  a  pencil. 


It  began  at  London,  touched  Paris, 
Rome,  Naples,  Florence,  Milan,  Mu- 
nich, Dresden,  and  ended  at  The 
Hague. 

"Claye,"  Du  Vernet  said,  "was  tell- 
ing me  last  night  it  was  generally  be- 
lieved you  were  to  marry  when 
abroad."  Hartman  swung  his  feet 
from  the  table  and  faced  his  friend. 

"Claye,"  he  said;  "Claye  told  you 
that?" 

Du  Vernet  laughed. 

"Yes;  was  he  right?" 

"I  had  some  regard  for  Claye  once. 
Before  that  woman  came  he  was  an 
artist ;  now  he's  only  a  man." 

Hartman  replaced  his   feet  on  the 
table,  drew  himself  a  little  lower  into 
his  deep  chair,  then  for  some  moment 
he  blew  drifts  of  smoke  at  the  ceiling 

"Claye  is  of  the  class  who  think  a 
man  may  be  a  papa — and  a  painter. 
Du    Vernet    laughed    a   low,    pleasec 
laugh. 

Hartman's  eyes  found  the  range  oiV 
the  single  picture  in  the  room — a  small 
Turner.  When  he  had  looked — and 
smoked — for  a  time,  he  spoke  again. 

"If  they  knew  about  Claye's  new 
girl  in  heaven,  she'd  die  wouldn't 
she?" 

Du  Vernet  again  filled  the  pause 
with  a  low,  contented  laugh.  Hart- 
man was  at  his  best  tonight.  He 
would  let  him  talk. 

"  'Goodness  is  beauty !  Beauty  is  a 
matter  of  aesthetic  individualism — the 
thing  for  a  time  some  men  imagine  to 


762 


HARTMAN 


be  beautiful!'  And  there  are  sane  men 
as  well  as  fools  like  Claye  who  think 
this.  It's  all  drivel — Beauty  is  beauty." 
He  rose  quickly  as  if  to  emphasise  his 
words.  '  'Goodness  is  beauty !'  " — the 
Devil !  Beauty  is  beauty ;  and  the  man 
who  is  in  earnest  about  art  doesn't 
marry.    Tell  Claye  that." 

He  threw  his  cigar-butt  viciously  to- 
wards the  grate.  Then  he  bent  over 
the  tourist  map.  He  did  not  speak,  but 
after  a  time  he  fumbled  for  his  pencil. 
He  drew  a  line  from  Interlaken  to 
Grindlewald. 

"Should  be  some  subtle  color  effects 
there  among  those  mountains,"  he  said 
half  to  himself;  "especially  up  where 
the  air  is  thin.  Something  done  up 
there  would  be  new — sure." 

He  turned  his  back  on  the  table  and 
took  a  step  or  two  towards  the  Turner 
on  the  wall. 

"When  is  Claye  to  marry  that  di- 
vinity of  his?"  he  said,  still  studying 
the  picture  before  him. 

"In  the  autumn  I  believe.  She  goes 
abroad  some  time  during  summer — to 
Paris  I  understand  for  — "  Hartman 
waved  his  hand  understandingly.  A 
little  later  he  said : 

"Claye!  the  poor  devil!" 

As  Du  Vernet  went  home  that  night 
he  settled  on  Hartman  as  one  of  the 
friends  he  intended  to  keep. 

Three  months  later  Hartman  had 
come  out  of  Italy  into  Switzerland. 
He  had  been  faithful  to  art  from  The 
Louvre  to  Naples  and  from  Naples  to 
Lucerne.  The  sight  of  some  Alpine 
peaks  as  the  train  emerged  from  the  St. 
Gothard  had  set  him  on  fire.  He  would 
go  up  and  out-Turner  Turner.  He 
chose  theWetterhorn  and  went  straight 
to  Grindlewald.  Pilatus,  Jungfrau, 
even  the  Matterhorn,  meant  Railways, 


crowds,  no  pleasure.  But  the  chaste 
virginity  of  the  Wetterhorn — that  ap- 
pealed to  him.  No  shrieking  locomo- 
tive panted  up  there  to  profane  the 
place;  there  was  no  funicalare.  Cam- 
eras did  not  go  up  thereon;  no  paper 
bags  would  be  found  there — for  which 
reasons  Hartman  chose  the  aforesaid 
peak — the  Wetterhorn. 

"There  are  two  ladies  and  a  gentle- 
man up  as  far  as  the  Club  House,"  the 
proprietor  of  "The  Bear"  said  as  the 
coach  carrying  Hartman  drove  off. 
"They  went  up  yesterday." 

When  Hartman  turned  there  was  a 
severe  look  in  his  face.  What  he  said 
did  not  really  violate  any  of  the  canons 
of  language;  but  it  was  not  good  En- 
glish he  spoke.  What  if  some  of  these 
people  wished  to  talk  just  when  color 
effects  were  finest?  Hartman  spent 
two-thirds  of  the  three  hours  it  took 
the  coach  to  climb  the  foot  hills  in  si- 
lently swearing.  The  other  third  he 
swore  audibly  to  the  guides. 

It  was  still  early  when  he  was  set 
down  near  the  small  mountain  hut  that 
had  been  charitably  dignified  at  the 
hotel  below  with  the  name  of  Club 
House.  In  a  few  moments  the  door 
opened  and  a  woman  came  out.  She 
advanced  at  once  toward  Hartman. 
"I — I — didn't  we  cross  the  Atlantic 
together — in  March? — on  the  Ocean- 
ic?" She  extended  her  hand.  Hart- 
man's  face  relaxed  some.  The  artist 
in  him  swore ;  but  the  man  smiled. 

"Of  course  we  did;  but  what  in — 
blazes  brings  you  up  here?"  I  came 
here  to  be — to  be — " 

Wasn't  there  something  subtle  in 
the  way  the  ground  had  been  laid  for 
her  eyes?     Wasn't  there — ? 

"I  came  with  Uncle  and  Aunt,"  she 
broke   in   vivaciously,   while   he   hesi- 


HARTMAN 


763 


t^ted.  "I'm  so  glad  of  this.  You'll 
help  me  to  persuade  them  to  go  on  up 
won't  you?" 

"I — "  As  he  looked  into  her  face 
more  thoughts  about  color  effects  came 
to  him.  She  was  fresh  from  a  long 
mountain  sleep.  She  had  the  strong, 
pure  look  of  wild  things. 

"I  didn't — expect  to  find — "  "But 
uncle  must  get  up,"  she  said.  "I'll  go 
and  hurry  him." 

The  next  instant  she  was  gone 
through  the  low  door  of  the  hut,  and 
he  was  alone  with  his  confusion.  He 
thought  some;  but  not  profane 
thoughts. 

The  coach  was  sent  back  to  the  hotel, 
and  the  party  gave  themselves  entire- 
ly into  the  hands  of  the  guides.  A  sin- 
gle rope  was  used  to  which  each  per 
son  was  securely  tied,  one  of  the  guides 
leading  and  the  other  being  in  the 
rear.  For  some  time  the  ascent  was 
easy  but  it  soon  grew  more  difficult. 
Ice  appeared  and  this  in  places  was 
covered  with  mud.  But  in  a  short 
time  this  treacherous  covering  disap- 
peared and  the  "footing"  improved. 

If  Hartman  had  thought  that  his 
companions  would  soon  tire  and  wish 
to  return,  by  noon  he  had  changed  his 
mind.  Mountain  climbing  has  strange 
ambition-stirring  effects.  Each  new 
point  attained  means  new  desires  and 
still  braver  resolves.  To  each  member 
of  the  party  the  wish  to  go  on  strength- 
ened as  the  view  widened.  Then  there 
were  the  keen,  pure  buoyancy  of  the 
delightful  air,  the  newness  of  it  all, 
trie  heroism,  the  danger! 

Hartman  grew  momentarily  more 
content.  The  thinning  air,  he  noted, 
had  strengthened  and  sharpened  the 
lines  about  the  mountain  peaks.  The 
light  on  the  green  and  gray  in  the  far- 


down  valley  was  becoming  more  sen- 
sitive and  elusive.  The  peep  cf  a  dis- 
tant lake  just  coming  into  the  picture 
between  two  horns  of  mountain  away 
to  the  south  half  maddened  him.  He 
had  seen  many  galleries — this  effect 
never.  It  was  new.  To  get  it  meant 
fame.  That  in  the  distance; — then 
this  frank,  unconventional,  piece  of 
breathing  art  beside  him.  He  had  not 
seen  this  in  galleries  either.  Were  the 
effects  in  this  case  due  also  to  at- 
mospheric conditions?  Why  had  he 
not  noticed  before  the  large  liberal 
way  in  which  her  face  was  cut?  The 
perilous  brevity  of  her  gray,  moun- 
tain-climbing skirt  convinced  him  that 
her  entire  figure  was  done  in  the  same 
spirit  of  splendid  negligence  that  al- 
ways meant  perfection.  Then  there 
were  the  bold  proportionings  of  the 
features,  the  sweeping  Greek  lines 
about  the  cheek  and  chin,  the  firm  sure 
chisel  with  which  the  brow  and  neck 
had  been  done,  the  nervous  delicacy 
in  the  cutting  of  the  nose  and  lips,  the 
full  magnificent  daring  of  the  breast — 
these  things  were  not  due  to  altitude; 
they  could  not  be.  Was  it  because  he 
had  spent  some  days  before  master- 
pieces down  in  Italy  that  he  now  saw 
their  counterparts  in  a  woman — an 
American  woman  of  his  own  City? 
Why  was  it  that  he  was  not  alone  with 
that  distant  lake — and  yet  he  was  con- 
tent? 

In  mountain  climbing  time  does  not 
pass — it  drops  out  in  blocks.  What 
Hartman  said  within  himself  was  noon, 
his  watch  said  was  three  o'clock.  The 
party  had  come  to  the  bottom  of  a 
long  roof-like  reach  of  ice.  It  was 
agreed  to  ascend  this  diagonally.  At 
the  top  a  stand  would  be  made  for  rest 
and  refreshment. 


764 


HARTMAN 


But  not  all  plans  made  are  carried 
out.  This  one  was  not.  When  a  little 
more  than  half  up  the  slope  Hartman 
felt  a  fierce  twitch  at  the  rope  about 
him.  His  companion — the  American 
girl  next  to  him  on  the  line — had  fal- 
len. The  next  instant  Hartman  was 
off  his  feet.  The  guides  drove  their 
picks  fiercely  into  the  ice.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  cord  held — for  a  moment  only 
— then  snapped.  The  guides  clung  to 
the  precipice  but  the  others  of  the  par- 
ty were  swept  madly  down  the  great 
glistening  roof  of  ice. 

Some  five  hundred  feet  below,  a 
projecting  horn  of  rock  caught  the 
rope  about  at  its  centre.  It  snapped 
again  owing  to  the  weight  of  Hartman 
and  the  American  girl  on  one  side  and 
the  other  two  of  the  party  on  the  other. 
They  were  hurled  on  down  the  steep- 
ing slope.  A  few  moments  after  the 
breaking  of  the  rope  and  the  final  sep- 
arating of  the  party  into  two,  Hart- 
man saw  his  companion  plunge  over  a 
precipice;  the  next  instant  he  was  on 
its  brink — then  over.  But  it  was  less 
high  than  he  had  feared.  The  slope  at 
its  base  was  also  less  steep  for  a  time 
than  that  above ;  but  it  dipped  sudden- 
ly, and  a  glimpse  down  it  showed 
jagged  horns  of  rock  protruding  from 
the  ice.  Down  this  the  two  persons 
swept  with  terrific  and  accelerating 
force.  Surely  death  lurked  at  the  bot- 
tom. Might  it  not  meet  either — or 
both — by  the  way? 

Hartman  saw  the  tumbling  figure 
in  front  of  him  pause  for  a  moment 
then  again  disappear  behind  the  rim 
of  another  precipice.  She  was  still 
alive.  He  shuddered  at  the  thought — 
of  when  he  might  see  her — if  he  were 
alive  to  see  her  again.  Was  she — were 
they  both — on  the  brink  of  doom?    At 


any  rate,  that  instant  another  savage 
twitch  at  the  rope  about  him,  brought 
him  to  the  brink  of  a  precipice.  Some 
fifteen  minutes  later  he  was  applying 
ice  to  the  woman's  forehead  at  the  bot- 
tom of  a  gully  over  a  thousand  feet 
deep.  He  drew  off  his  coat  and  pil- 
lowed her  head  upon  it.  Blood  from  a 
scalp  wound  oozed  through  her  heavy 
hair.  One  hand  was  crushed  and 
bloody.  Mud  and  mountain  slime  al- 
most hid  the  beautiful  face.  The  shock 
Ind  been  tremendous;  but  tnere  was 
still  life.  The  lips  quivered  apart,  the 
spirit  of  life  that  seemed  to  have  gone 
out  and  hovered  in  the  air  above  her  for 
a  time,  not  knowing  whether  to  seek 
earth  again — or  heaven — stole  back 
under  the  breast  and  sent  it  once  more 
faintly  ebbing  and  flowing. 

At  the  sight  Hartman's  own  pulse 
quickened.  He  felt  his  own  blood  throb 
warmly  up  about  his  temples.  When 
the  lids  lifted  showing  the  quiet  blue 
grays  of  the  eyes,  the  cold  sick  feel- 
ing left  him.  He  felt  to  the  full  some 
of  the  joys  of  being  alive — and  of 
being  there.  But  it  was  for  her  first 
to  speak. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  she  ventured,  "I 
must  get — ". 

But  he  forced  her  head  gently  back. 
He  bent  lower  over  her,  and,  with  his 
handkerchief  removed  some  of  the 
mountain  mud  that  threatened  the  red 
of  her  parted  lips. 

"You  must  remain  quiet  for  a  little," 
he  said;  "you  are  injured.  I  must 
bind  this  handkerchief  about  your 
head." 

With  a  murmured  protest  she  sunk 
back  quietly  abandoning  herself  to 
him.  The  pressure  of  her  weight,  the 
touch  of  her  flesh,  the  warmth  of  her 
breath, — these  things,  instead  of  being 


HARTMAN 


765 


the  signal  for  the  uprising 
of  a  host  of  wicked  imag- 
inings, now  thrilled  and  elevated  him 
to  a  plane  of  chivalrous  nobleness, 
upon  which  it  was  not  his  habit  to 
move.  Something  stung  him  sud- 
denly into  greatness.  Why  had  these 
keen,  delightful  feelings  not  come  to 
him  before?  He  was  not  a  man 
trained  in  ways  of  gentleness;  but 
something  within  taught  his  manly  fin- 
gers a  soft  nimbleness  that  made  them 
feminine.  He  lifted  the  heavy  hair 
from  the  high  brow ;  then  he  bound  up 
the  wound. 

"It  is  kind — good  of  you,"  she  said 
softly,  as  he  finished.  At  her  words 
his  heart  throbbed  up  towards  his 
mouth.  More  new  feelings  woke 
within  him. 

She  made  another  attempt  and 
raised  herself  to  a  sitting  posture. 
With  her  unwounded  hand  she 
smoothed  the  folds  of  her  dress,  push- 
ing her  skirt  further  down.  Then  she 
drew  her  feet  closer  under  it.  But  at 
this  movement  Hartman  noticed  symp- 
toms of  keen  pain  furrow  her  face. 
Were  there  bones  broken?  Must  he 
— She  sank  suddenly  back,  cutting 
short  what  from  a  man  would  have 
been  a  groan. 

"My  ankle — my  foot — oh — "  She 
drew  her  right  knee,  slowly,  painfully 
upward.  The  sharp  marks  of  suffer- 
ing again  showed  on  her  face. 

"Your — foot — is  it  broken,  do  you 
think?  May  I? — I  must  take  off  your 
— boot,"  he  stammered. 

She  drew  both  her  feet  still  closer 
and  again  made  to  push  her  skirt 
lower. 

"No,  no,"  she  said ;  "you  must  not — 
oh,  my  foot  hurts  drea — dreadfully." 

He  drew  his  arm  in  a  gentle  rough 


way  from  beneath  her  head.  He  was 
frantic  to  do  things. 

"May  I—" 

"No,  no,  you  must  not  do — anything. 
It  would  not  be — and  I  do  not  know 
you." 

"I  must  take  off  your  boot,"  he  said 
half  sternly.  "I  must  see  what  your 
injury  is  and  help  you." 

The  firmer  note  in  his  voice  was  not 
unwelcome  to  her.  Now  she  might 
yield.  A  moment  later  her  slender 
stockinged  foot  was  warm  in  his  hands. 
Was  it  pain — or  what — that  seemed  to 
pluck  it  away  from  him?  The  dread- 
fulness  of  the  situation  made  him  sen- 
sible. "Your  ankle  is  sprained,"  he 
said ;  "I  must  splinter  it." 

He  released  the  foot,  and  the  next 
instant  the  gray  skirt  hid  it.  He 
gathered  some  bits  of  wood,  then 
ripped  a  sleeve  from  his  shirt  and 
quickly  tore  it  into  shreds.  He  placed 
the  pieces  of  wood  on  either  side  of  the 
quick  swelling  ankle  and  bound  them 
strongly  to  it. 

When  Hartman  tied  the  last  knot, 
drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead. 
When  she  thanked  him  and  repeated 
that  he  was  kind  he  felt  like  leaping  the 
precipice  in  front  and  dashing  himself 
to  pieces  to  show  her  how  much  more 
he  was  willing  to  do.  But  he  didn't; 
he  only  felt  like  doing  it. 

"Will  you  now  bind  my  hand?"  she 
said;  "the  bleeding  one — fit's  cold." 
He  tied  his  other  shirt  sleeve  awk- 
wardly about  her  hand. 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  not  hurt 
yourself?  Could  I  not  now  do  some- 
thing—" 

She  suddenly  fell  silent.  At  the  end 
of  the  pause  he  noticed  her  lip  tremble. 
Her  eyes  wandered  up  the  mountain 
slope. 


766 


HARTMAN 


"Uncle,"  she  said — "and  aunt  are 
killed,  I  suppose."  The  tension  of 
pain  was  gone.  For  a  long  time  in  a 
refined,  subdued  way,  she  wept. 

Hartman  was  silent.  It  was  his  first 
opportunity  for  thinking  since  that 
savage  twitch  at  the  rope  about  his 
waist  far  up  the  mountain. 

They  were  almost  at  the  bottom  of 
a  great  cup  in  the  heart  of  the  Alps. 
The  rocks  rose  on  every  side  but  the 
one  down  which  they  had  slid,  steep  as 
the  walls  of  a  Cathedral.  The  water 
from  the  melting  ice  above  dripped 
continually.  Now  and  then  stones,  clay, 
and  immense  ice  boulders  thundered 
down.  Just  in  front,  and  far  below,  a 
few  yards  of  a  savage  muddy  stream 
showed  as  it  raced  along  the  bottom  of 
the  gorge.  Conflicting  cross-currents 
of  warm  and  cold  air  drew  fitfully  up 
and  down  the  great  gully.  Shattered 
tree-trunks,  huge  boulders  of  rock, 
blocks  of  ice,  mountain  herbs  and 
grass  that  had  been  hurled  down  from 
the  heights  to  the  top  of  the  glacier, 
branches  of  trees,  sand,  gravel,  mud — 
the  scarpings  of  the  mountains  for 
years — piled  in  the  wildest  confusion 
were  the  only  things  that  met  Hart- 
man's  eyes  as  he  looked  about.  He 
hit  upon  a  nook  in  the  rock  where  it 
was  both  dry  and  safe  from  the  falling 
debris.  He  collected  some  grass  and 
branches  of  trees.  Then  he  ap- 
proached his  companion. 

"You  are  in  danger  here,"  he  said; 
"you  must  move." 

She  did  not  speak,  but  she  rose.  Her 
breast  still  heaved ;  tears  had  cut  white 
gruesome  looking  channels  through 
the  mud  and  blood  stains  on  her  face. 
She  had  come  almost  to  an  upright  po- 
sition, when,  with  a  sudden  shriek 
she   sank   limp  and  heavy  back  upon 


him.  He  bore  her  strongly  to  the 
sheltered  nook  in  the  cliff;  then  laid 
her  gently  upon  the  hurriedly  made 
bed  of  twigs  and  mountain  grass. 

"I  had  forgotten — I  put  my  weight 
on  it  suddenly.  That  was  why  I 
fainted.  It  was  very  stupid  of  me  to — 
but  how  did  I  get  here  ?    Did  I  walk  ? 

He  wiped  the  last  of  the  blood  and 
mud  stains  from  her  face. 

"How  did  I  get  here?"  and  this  time 
it  was  a  demand. 

"I  carried  you." 

Her  eyes  looked  a  severe  rebuke 
upon  him.  Then  the  sense  of  her  help- 
lessness came  to  her  as  not  before. 

"You  will  not  leave  me,  will  you," 
she  said. 

He  wiped  her  high  Greek  brow  in  a 
gentle  way  that  would  have  done  for  a 
caress. 

"No,"  he  said,  softly;  "No,  I'll  not 
go  away.     I'll  stay  here." 

A  silence  fell  again,  and  again  Hart- 
man  felt  and  thought  some.  He  hung 
above  like  a  mother  over  the  pillow  of 
her  sick  child.  Something  whispered, 
"Pray;"  but  he  would  not  be  so  wom- 
anly. Then  Hartman  never  prayed. 
Night  began  to  settle  slowly.  What 
about  food,  rescue — everything?  He 
looked  up.  All  about  were  rocks,  mud, 
ice.  Down  below  the  stream  bellowed 
louder  than  before ;  away  at  the  top,  a 
full  mile  above  them,  the  sun  still  sil- 
ver-plated the  irregular  brim  of  the 
giant  cup  down  the  side  of  which  they 
had  slid.    On  above  that  was  the  blue. 

The  woman  fell  into  a  tired  sleep. 
When  the  moon  climbed  over  the  rim 
of  the  mountain  and  lit  her  face 
Hartman's  breath  came  short  and  un- 
certainly. He  had  spent  four  of  the 
greatest  hours  of  his  life  in  dumb  en- 
joyment  at   Florence   before   Michael 


HARTMAN 


767 


Angelo's  sleeping  figure  "La  Notte." 
That  was  marble — this  was  flesh. 
That  was  cold — this  was  warm.  That 
was  art — this  was  art — and  more.  This 
needed  him,  depended  upon  him,  trust- 
ed him.  It  was  this  latter  sense  that 
gave  the  keen  intensity  to  his  pleasure 
which  he  had  not  felt  at  Florence. 
Where  had  this  new  force  that  was 
overmastering  him  lain  through  the 
years?  Had  he  not  been  wrong  in 
thinking  that  art  had  stirred  his  na- 
ture to  its  depths  ?  Was  it  her  beauty, 
her  suffering,  her  confidence  in  him — 
was  it  any  one  or  all  of  these  together 
that  gave  him  this  new  wild  joy?  The 
delicate  subtleness  of  his  feelings 
eluded  analysis.  Why  had  not  fate  be- 
fore thrown  some  woman — some  beau- 
tiful breathing  thing  into  his  keeping 
where  he  might  work,  fight,  die,  that 
she  might  be  protected  or  ministered 
unto?  Why  had  he  not  earlier  in  life 
been  permitted  to  come  to  his  own — 
to  himself?  Might  he  not  anywhere, 
and  for  a  lifetime,  enjoy  what  he  was 
enjoying  now?  It  was  not  in  the 
mountain  alone  that  beautiful  women 
suffered,  needed  ministering  unto, 
needed  protecting.  He  had  thought  of 
marriage  as  a  cramping,  crippling,  and 
restraining  institution.  But  was  it? 
Might  it  not  enlarge  and  ennoble  as  he 
felt  this  woman's  presence  here  beside 
him  had  enlarged  and  ennobled  his  na- 
ture in  a  way  he  had  not  looked  for? 

He  thought  of  Claye,  Du  Vernet — 
Art;  of  the  cold  narrow  empty  loneli- 
ness of  his  life.  What  if  he  did  go 
home  with  something  new  in  color? 
What  if  he  pushed  on  to  the  top  in 
art?    What  if— 

The  breathing  figure  beside  him 
twitched  in  uneasy  sleep.  He  read- 
justed the  clothing  he  had  taken  from 
himself  closer  about  her.    The  warmth 


of  her  breath  blew  once  upon  him.  He 
felt  she  was  his,  but  he  drew  back 
from  her  as  something  sacred.  His 
regard  for  her  was  that  of  a  miser  for 
his  gold — so  great  that  he  would  not 
profane  it  by  touching  it.  She  turned 
her  head  and  something  from  within 
pushed  her  lips  apart.  The  moon  had 
found  better  range  now ;  he  saw  more 
than  before.  The  lines  about  her  face 
were  done  by  a  master,  the  oval  mould 
of  the  cheek,  the  firm  delicate  chisel- 
ling about  the  chin,  the  brow,  the  lips, 
the  peep  of  neck — any  one  of  these 
would  have  made  a  sculptor  immortal. 
And  then  when  the  colors  came  as  he 
had  seen  them  come — and  go!  From 
the  deeps  of  Hartman's  soul  there 
sprang  a  great  resolve.  He  rose  from 
his  leaning  posture  to  the  attitude  rev- 
erent men  assume  when  they  pray. 
Then  on  his  knees  he  vowed  a  vow. 

It  was  July ;  but  the  night  was  cool 
up  to  the  point  of  being  cold.  On 
other  occasions  when  Hartman  had 
been  in  danger  he  had  thought  of 
death — and  had  been  afraid.  But  he 
was  not  afraid  now.  They  had  no  food, 
death  might  come  in  a  slow,  awful 
form.  He  had  seen  one  of  the  guides 
clinging  to  the  slope  of  ice ;  but  if  he 
had  saved  himself  would  he  not  put 
those  who  had  fallen  down  as  dead? 
Hope  of  deliverance  was  small ;  and 
yet  Hartman  was  not  afraid.  This 
woman  had  taught  him  things  he  had 
not  known  before.  Was  it  her  presence 
that  now  took  away  thoughts  of  death, 
sin — judgment — hell?  To  die  was 
one  thing ;  but  to  die  here  quite  anoth- 
er. 

All  through  the  night  the  woman 
slept  intermittently.  Hartman  watch- 
ed her  as  a  lion  might  his  prey.  Dur- 
ing her  sleeping  moments  he  thought 
and    planned.      When    she    suffered 


768 


HARTMAN 


pain  he  suffered  also.  Once  when  she 
sobbed  out  words  regarding  her  uncle 
and  aunt  he  comforted  her.  Oh  the 
happiness  of  not  only  suffering  but 
sorrowing  with  her !  One  new  ele- 
ment of  happiness  followed  another  so 
quickly  that  the  night  hurried  away 
like  an  hour.  Once  when  he  raised 
his  head  from  bending  over  her  in  one 
of  her  quieter  moods,  and  looked  up, 
he  saw  the  sun  was  again  silver  plating 
the  peaks  which  had  all  night  stabbed 
the  blue  black  of  the  sky,  and  cut  great 
triangular  segments  out  of  the  star- 
strewn  dome  above.  Before  noon  a 
party  with  appliances  for  removing 
dead  bodies  appeared  on  the  cliff 
above.  By  sunset  Hartman  and  his 
companion  were  in  The  Bear  hotel  at 
Grindlewald.  And  they  had  not  been 
brought  on  stretchers  either. 

Three  weeks  later— when  half  way 
across  the  Atlantic — it  came  out  that 
Hartman  and  Miss  Inez  Keppell 
both  knew  a  man  by  the  name  of  Claye. 

"He  wanted  me  to  marry  him,"  she 
said.  "I  was  to  give  him  my  answer 
when  I  returned  to  New  York." 

"Claye  !  Marry  you  !"  In  the  moon- 
light, on  the  Liner's  deck  she  told  him 
a  long,  low  story. 

"There  was  one  thing  I  could  never 
quite  understand,"  she  said  in  finish- 
ing. "Mr.  Claye  told  me  two  of  his 
friends  had  cast  him  off  because  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  marry.  They 
were  artists." 

She  had  been  looking  off  where  the 


moon  played  on  the  sea ;  but  she  turned 
and  suddenly  looked  him  firmly  in  the 
face. 

"Do  you  think  they  thought  it  a  sin 
to  marry  ?" 

"I — I  think — He  didn't  tell  you 
their  names,  did  he  ?" 

"No;  they  were  artists.  That  was 
all  he  said." 

A  broad  band  of  silver  ran  from  the 
ship  away  under  the  moon. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  art — 
and  artists,"  she  went  on.  "Do  you?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "nothing."  There 
was  a  tone  in  his  voice  that  is  always 
present  when  a  man  lies  bravely. 

The  thresh  of  the  far-away  screws 
could  be  faintly  felt. 

"I  like  Mr.  Claye.  He  was  kind,  but 
I  felt  sorry  that  he  should  have  to  lose 
his  friends — for  one — so  I  hesitated — 
and  then — 

"But — but  what  are  you  going  to 
tell  Claye  when  you  get  to  New  York  ?" 
he  stammered. 

Her  eyes  ran  far  out  on  the  silver 
plated  path  towards  the  moon. 

"I  think,"  she  said — and  her  eyes 
came  slowly  in  from  the  moon,  then 
found  their  way  to  his  face ;  "I  think, 
well,  I  have  thought  over  all  you  have 
said — of  how  good  you  were  on  the 
mountain — and — and  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  tell  Mr.  Claye,  'No.' ' 

Hartman  and  Claye  are  not  on  the 
same  staff  now.  Du  Vernet  is  back  in 
France. 


3EkS 


i  m 


wt 


Tj£ 


***t