Old Andover days; memories of a Puritan childhood

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

THE .Ni:\V YORK

PUBLIC LIBRARY

AST.^^,!-^-^'^ AND
\ -pn-DP.N fntJNDATIONS

THE NEW Y^iRK
PyBLIC LIBRARY

775589 A

ASTOR, LENOX AND

TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

^ 1»35 L

Copyright, 1908
By Sarah Stuart Rob bins

THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.

TO
THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER

MOSES STUART

ee

o
o

5^

FOREWORD

THE world of my childhood has
passed away. Puritanism, with
its virile asceticism, its restrained but
lofty and concentrated fervor, is not
only obsolete but misunderstood. Puri-
tan Andover, once a leader in missions,
theology, and religious life, by clinging
too long to ancient good, has in great
measure lost its ascendency, and is at
last wisely turning to new fields of
labor. There are few left now, of the
world that is gone, to interpret Puritan
Andover to the new world of to-day.
No formal interpretation is attempted
here ; the memories of an Andover
childhood, as they have been sifted
by fourscore passing years, are plainly

FOREWORD

written down, in the hope that these
simple facts of our every-day hfe may
carry with them some message warm
from the heart of that once Hving and

vigorous age.

S. S. R.

[viii]

CONTENTS

Page

I Andover Hill 1

II The Sabbath of Old Ando\^r . 29

III The Schools on Andover Hill . 56

IV Andover Week-Day Meetings . 73
V Andover Holidays 89

VI Andover Women 110

VII Andover Trysting-Places . . . 128

VIII Some Men of the Olden Time . 142

[ix]

ERRATA

The illustration facing page 174 should be entitled
" The Phelps House," not " The Moses Stuart House,"
and the picture of " Old Main Street " faces page 38,
not page 94.

ILLUSTRATIONS

• ■

Page
Seminary Buildings (1870) . . . Frontispiece

Shawsheen River 44

Old Main Street 94

Indian Ridge 136

Moses Stuart House 174

[xi]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

I. ANDOVER HILL

Andover Hill! are there many still
living, I wonder, who know what those
words meant in the old days? Pisgah,
the Anniversary discourses used to call
it, or Sinai, or the Hill of Zion, where
Siloah's brook did flow fast by the
oracles of God. Oh, they used to
compare our Hill to every height men-
tioned in the Bible, — except, of course,
the mountain of the temptation!

It was not that our Hill was so very
lofty: it was high enough to afford wide
views of plain and river and distant de-
lectable mountains ; high enough to get
the full glory of sunrise and sunset and
of the nightly hemisphere of stars ; high
enough, also, to receive the purifying

m

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

and flesh-mortifying sweep of all the
long, cold winds of winter. But when
they called it Pisgah and Zion, they
had rather in mind the presence there of
Andover Theological Seminary, which
was set on a hill in men's thoughts as
is no similar institution in these widely
different days.

On that broad-topped hill there was
a row of three severely rectangular brick
buildings, extending north and south;
a long, wide common, with lines of
young elms along the straight, gravel
walks; and opposite the Seminary
buildings, on the other side of the com-
mon, a row of simple but dignified
white colonial houses where the pro-
fessors lived. Behind these, and stretch-
ing off toward the brow of the Hill, were
the wide fields and gardens where " the
sacred plow employed " those " awful

m

ANDOVER HILL

fathers of mankind " — through the
hired man. There were also on the Hill
the recitation-hall of Phillips Academy,
and, a few other buildings; but the
heart of Old Andover was the Semi-
nary Common, over which trod intent
black figures, passing between chapel
and home or dormitory.

Severely plain and utterly quiet An-
dover was, but it was not stagnant.
The tides of intellectual life ran strong
and high. The sense of being above and
aloof resulted there in a feeling of proud
responsibility and zeal for serious work.
Professors and students alike felt them-
selves anointed kings and priests, with a
momentous task to perform for the
world. They did not quite think their
Mount Zion "the joy of the whole
earth,'* but their thoughts certainly
tended in that direction.

[3]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

In 1810 my father was called to An-
dover from a pastorate at New Haven,
to be professor of Greek and Hebrew;
and there most of his children were born.
The Hill, with its great common, its
severe buildings, its monastic human
figures, made up our whole child world.
Sometimes, indeed, we strayed as far
as Indian Ridge or the banks of the
Shawsheen at Abbott's Village ; but such
rare excursions merely accentuated our
seclusion. Our only associates were the
other " Hill children," sons and daugh-
ters of professors and of the principal of
the Academy, with now and then, as a
rare exception, some favored Academy
boy. We never went to the circus or to
dancing-school ; but we were always ex-
pected to take our silent and attentive
part in whatever went on of services or
celebrations within those studious walls.

[4]

ANDOVER HILL

The buildings upon the Hill formed
so characteristic a setting for our life,
that I will try to picture them somewhat
in detail. The middle one of the three
Seminary buildings, which we called
the Chapel, looked very much as it does
to-day, except that instead of the pres-
ent tower it had a small round cupola.
It was in those days divided into three
stories instead of two, as now, the floors
having since been shifted, and the win-
dows of the middle story blocked up.
This building had many uses. On the
right, the chapel filled the lower story;
and above was the library, which, with
its books, portraits, and busts, was a
most attractive place. The left side of
the building was occupied by recitation-
rooms.

The dormitories, Abbott and Bartlett
Halls, though externally very much

[T]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

what they are at present, by their do-
mestic arrangements, or by the absence
of such things, conduced to a Spartan
simplicity of life and character on the
part of the students. There was no
water in the buildings; the young men
must bring it in their pitchers from out-
side. There was no steam heat; they
must tend their own stoves, carrying
their fuel from a wood-pile which at first
was not even protected from the rain
and snow, up the steep flights of stairs
to their rooms. They had to make their
own beds, do their own sweeping, and
fill their own lamps. But there was
little complaint among the theologues of
eighty years ago. They had done the
same things in college; and most of
them had been in the habit of perform-
ing similar offices at home. That these
hardships, which students of to-day

[7]

ANDOVER HILL

would doubtless think severe, did no
harm to those then subjected to them, is
proved by the quality of the graduates
sent out by Andover in those early days.
Behind the Seminary buildings
proper was the structure known as the
" Commons." It was well named, for
nothing could be more common than
both the outside and the inside of the
building. Every vestige of the low, two-
storied brown house is gone now; but
there it stood, just back of the chapel,
year after year, spreading their only
table for scores of young men studying
for the ministry. I have no doubt that it
was kept as well as many similar eating-
houses, — perhaps it was kept better;
but it had this peculiarity: the cheap,
poor food it offered was not accom-
panied by the pleasant words that are
as the honeycomb, sweet to the soul and

m

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

health to the bones. Instead there were
disquisitions on Edwards and Emmons,
on eternal punishment and redemption
by free grace. Think of the clatter of
knives and forks, dealing with tough
meat and soggy vegetables, to the ac-
companiment of these and kindred
themes !

There used to be a story — but, mind
you, no physician or nurse has been
found who will swear to its truth —
about a young man who, during one of
the dietetic spasms to which the Com-
mons was subject, when meat was ex-
cluded and molasses substituted in its
place, had some ailment for which, in
accordance with the medical practise of
those days, the doctor resorted to blood-
letting. All the skill of the physician
could draw from his veins nothing but a
sweet, thick liquid resembling syrup!

m

ANDOVER HILL

The long tables, the blue and white
dishes, the capacious water-pitchers, the
dingy tumblers, the patched table-cloths,
the piles of brown and white bread, the
crackers, mush, and buckwheat, the
poor joints and cheap vegetables, have
passed away ; and so have most of those
who ate of them. But there remains the
memory of the quaintness and chill of
the old dining-room, of the sun strag-
gling in through the little cracked win-
dow-panes, of the shadows made on the
low walls by the swaying boughs and
glancing leaves of the near elm- trees;
and through the hush which the years
have dropped upon the place there come
tolling in the warning notes of the soft
chapel bell.

At the north end of the Common stood
a plain stone building called the carpen-
ter shop. It was later the residence of

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

Professor and Mrs. Stowe, and now
forms part of the Phillips Inn. The
purpose for which it had been built
proves that the Andover authorities
early caught some dim foreshadowing
of modern theories of physical devel-
opment. The plain statement that a
healthy body makes a healthy mind and
a healthy soul, would probably have
been considered in the Andover of those
days as rank heresy. Indeed, the body
and the soul were often looked upon as
the two ends of a seesaw, so to speak,
of which, when one was up, the other
was necessarily down. It was vaguely
felt, however, that the students, in spite
of the fact that they had to take care of
their own rooms, and although their serv-
ices were requisitioned on occasion to
chop Professor Porter's wood, or to mow
some other professor's hay, yet, take

ANDOVER HILL

the year through, did not get a sufficient
amount of exercise. Mr. Bartlett, him-
self a man of iron frame and iron nerves,
with a common sense that told him how
much these had contributed to his suc-
cess, could easily understand that physi-
cal strength would increase a man's
effectiveness, even in the holy ministry.
A project adapted to strengthen the
bodies of the students he readily agreed
to further; and a stone shell of a build-
ing was erected, and within its great
bare walls there were carried benches,
tools, lumber, and all the et cetera that
go to make up a regular carpenter shop.
Thither were led — for I am sure very
few ever went there of their own accord
— the Juniors, Middlers, and Seniors,
to grow into the full stature of a glori-
ous, rounded manhood. And what do
you suppose the authorities chose as

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

among the chief objects, in the construc-
tion of which the theological students,
weary, perhaps, from a lecture on the
future of the wicked after death, should
relax their minds and invigorate their
bodies? You will hardly believe me
when I assure you that they were set to
making — coffins! There you have a
theological consistency worthy of John
Calvin himself!

Very ludicrous pictures come up be-
fore me, of scenes which we children
used to see there, when we stole in dur-
ing work hours, to adorn our straight
hair with the beautiful shining curls of
shavings. There were pale, puzzled,
weary faces, bending over corners that
wouldn't fit, and over boards that were
too long or too short, too narrow or too
wide. There were failures to hit nails
on the head ; there was dulling of saws,

[Til

ANDOVER HILL

breaking of hatchets, and rasping of
files ; — oh, the ignorance and incom-
patibihty are as funny to remember as
they must have been hard to bear! To
the participants there was nothing amus-
ing about the scene. Each man was as
solemn as if the coffin he was making
were his own. We hear of theological
workshops! Here was one, the hke of
which had never existed before, and
probably can never exist again. Ham-
mered in were the Greek and Hebrew,
homiletics and ecclesiastical history,
election, free grace, natural depravity,
and justification by faith, — hammered
down tight, and the nail clinched on
the other side.

Of the row of professors' houses on
the west side of the Common, the one at
the southern end was that built for my
father. Mr. Bartlett had bought for the

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

Seminary the six acres of land on which
it was to stand, and had given my father
carte blanche to "build a dwelling house
thereon according to his pleasure." The
house, though perfectly simple, was
large and commodious. Behind and
about it were the barns, sheds, and store-
rooms made necessary by the conditions
of existence in those primitive times. It
should be remembered that the produc-
tion of the necessaries of life was then
much less specialized than it is to-day.
We had to keep our own cow, and our
own hens. We had to raise and store
many of our supplies. We depended
besides upon our own horse and car-
riage. All this necessitated, even for a
professor in a theological seminary, a
certain amount of stock, implements,
and service; and it called for an array

of outbuildings which have since fallen
_

ANDOVER HILL

into disuse and have been torn do^vn.
When the estabhshment was finished,
and Mr. Bartlett came to inspect it, he
said in his simple, brief manner, —

" This is exactly such a house as a
professor ought to have."

The house was painted a pure and
austere white. In fact, there was no
building on the Hill which was painted
any other shade, until my sister and I,
as young ladies, having seen, on a visit
to Newburyport, that the fashionable
color for houses was then a delicate
drab, went to the painter, procured a
sample, and on our return to Andover,
without consulting our parents, ordered
our house painted in the worldly shade.
My father only looked at us and
drew his red silk handkerchief across
his mouth.

No separate view of the house as it

fTT]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

used to be is in existence; and various
changes and additions, with the removal
of the outbuildings, have made the pres-
ent structure almost unrecognizable.
Some idea of how it used to look may-
be obtained from the view opposite
p. 38, in which it is the last house on
the left.

Such a home as it was for children I
The sheds and haymows, the three yards,
the fields and gardens, afforded fine
places for play. And then the fruit-
trees I They bore cherries and plums,
apples and pears and quinces, such as
Massachusetts can no longer boast.

The next house to the north of us was
for some time the Mansion House, of
which I shall speak later. In the wide
space between there was built in 1832
a brick building called the " book store."
It is the middle building in the view op-

ANDOVER HILL

posite p. 38. Successive firms of printers
made it their headquarters; and there
many of my father's books were pub-
hshed. The house to the north of the
Mansion House was the residence of
Professor Woods. It was a box-hke
building, very square and plain. In the
old days it was without blinds.

In striking contrast to this house was
the one beyond it, which was occupied
by the professors of rhetoric. It was
presented to the Seminary by Mr. Bart-
lett, who had given Dr. Griffin, who was
to be the first professor to occupy it, the
same privilege that he gave my father,
of building his house to suit himself. Dr.
Griffin, who had come from Philadel-
phia, was a man of cultivated and expen-
sive tastes. He built so many of these
tastes into his house that the expense
not only astonished and mortified Dr.

i [rT]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

Griffin himself, but was a source of
trouble to every one concerned in the
affair. It is said that after signing
check after check to pay bills connected
with the construction of the house, Mr.
Bartlett gave Squire Farrar, the treas-
urer, authority to pay whatever further
bills might be presented, and forbade
him ever to let him know how much the
dwelling cost. The crowning extrava-
gance of Dr. Griffin, to Andover minds,
was his having put upon the parlor walls
a paper which cost a dollar a roll. When
he was remonstrated with for this lavish
outlay, he tried to cover his mistake by
ordering another paper, at twenty-five
cents a roll, and having that put on over
the other, — still at the expense of Mr.
Bartlett. Dr. Griffin stayed in An-
dover less than two years, when he was
permitted to return to the elegance of

fisl

ANDOVER HILL

Philadelphia. The house was then as-
signed to Dr. Porter, who occupied it
through the years of my childhood. It
is often spoken of as the " Phelps
house," sometimes as the " president's
house"; and it has always been the
handsomest among the residences of
the Andover professors.

Next beyond this house was a low,
unpretentious building occupied by the
Seminary steward. Next in order stood
the large, dignified square house occu-
pied by Samuel Farrar, or Squire
Farrar, as he was always called. This
man was the " honest treasurer " whom
Holmes called " the good old, wrinkled,
immemorial squire." In his yard was
a small building used as the treasurer's
office. The house is still in existence,
but has been moved back to the western
brow of the Hill.

[19]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

During my early childhood this was
the last house in the row opposite the
Common; but in 1833 a brick house was
added at the end. This was the home
first of Dr. Skinner, and afterwards for
many years of Professor Park.

A few other buildings not in this row
must have mention. Nearly opposite
my father's was the house of Dr. Mur-
dock. This was a simple structure with
a gable roof. In the yard was an old-
fashioned well, with a sweep; and be-
side the well hung a gourd, for use as
a drinking-cup. In this house Oliver
Wendell Holmes was for some time a
boarder. My most vivid remembrance
of him as a boy is as he stood by the
well-sweep, drinking from the gourd.

A little way down the hill toward
Boston from Dr. Murdock's, and on the
same side of the street, stood Shipman's

ANDOVER HILL

store. Here we were often sent on er-
rands, and here we spent our pennies
on candy, swxet-flag, and slippery-elm.
Even the stronghold of trade in the
guise of this little country store was in
Andover made to pay tribute to the re-
quirements of theology and learning;
for in this same building my father had
his printing-press. This may seem a
strange possession for an Andover pro-
fessor; but when my father began to
teach Hebrew, he found that he must
write a Hebrew grammar, there being
nothing adequate on the subject in the
English language. When the granmiar
was written, because there were no He-
brew characters in American printing-
offices, and no printers capable of setting
up Hebrew type, he had to solicit con-
tributions, buy a press, and import He-
brew type. He even set up some of the

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

grammar himself, until he could train
compositors capable of doing such work.
As the first home of what was called,
from the chief contributor, the Codman
Press, Shipman's store has my lasting
interest.

On the eastern side of the Common
was the Academy building where my
brothers went to school. It was a plain
brick building with a cupola. In the
corner of the Academy yard was the res-
idence of the principal, — a dear house
to me, for I was very fond of Mrs.
Adams, and one of the Adams children
was my most intimate girl friend. Just
the other side of the Academy building
stood the modest schoolhouse where Miss
Davis taught the little girls living on the
Hill. On a street running west from
Main street, close by Squire Farrar's
house, was a row of homely barracks

ANDOVER HILL

which served as dormitories for the boys
of Philhps Academy.

It will be seen that the buildings on
Andover Hill had almost all of them an
academic, and in many cases a theolog-
ical association. There was one house,
however, which brought us in some de-
gree into contact with the big outer
world. This was the Mansion House,
built by Judge Phillips in Revolution-
ary days. Standing in the line of houses
opposite the Common, it was much the
largest and stateliest among them. It
was for years separated from our house
only by grass and trees, so that we could
see it from our windows. We heard
tales of the public offices and high social
position of Judge PhiUips. We looked
with awe on the windows of the room
where Madam Phillips had received the
great George Washington. The house

[IT]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

had become an inn ; and before it every
afternoon drew up the stage that was
our only public means of connection
with Boston and the world at large.

Living in my father's family was a
strong, noble-minded New England
woman who occupied at once the place
of " help " and of friend. In her youth
she had been a member of Madam Phil-
lips' household; and our earUest hours
of story-telling were filled with descrip-
tions of the grandeur of the Mansion,
and with accounts of the fine doings that
had taken place there in its palmy days.
Our own home was plain with an almost
Puritanic severity ; but at Madam Phil-
lips' there had been such silver, such
table-cloths, such pomp and ceremony of
gubernatorial life! Who had the finest
lace that human fingers ever wove?
Whose muslin frills and bordered caps

fiT]

ANDOVER HILL

were a miracle of plaiting? Whose stiff
silks and heavy, broidered satins came
rustling down to us through the years?
Who was the lady of Andover Hill, to
whom the great and the small alike did
reverence? Madam Phoebe Phillips.
Her youthful romance was one of the
very few to come to our carefully
guarded ears. The attic window where
she had prayed for her husband when he
was away at the war was one of the
Meccas of our youthful imagination.
Indeed, so real a woman was Madam
Phcebe Phillips to my childhood, that
although I know she died before I was
born, I cannot divest myself of the idea
that I saw her as a living woman, and
that she led me with other little girls
over her great house, sho^ving us the dif-
ferent rooms, and pointing out with
pride the crepe-hung chair in which

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

George Washington had once sat
down.

The dignity of Madam Phillips' social
station, and the munificence of her char-
ities, certainly counteracted in some de-
gree the unworldly traditions in which
we were brought up ; and under the cir-
cumstances such an influence was per-
haps not unw^holesome. Yet this stately
dame, we were told, had had for the es-
tablishment of the Seminary a deep per-
sonal concern. She had contributed of
her property toward its establishment.
In the southeast parlor, the very room
once dignified by the presence of Wash-
ington, she had assembled the company
which had inaugurated the new institu-
tion. And her chief consolation in dy-
ing was that she could see from her win-
dow the Seminary buildings, and realize
that within them thirty-six students

ANDOVER HILL

were already gathered. Thus the influ-
ence of the Mansion House was not so
antagonistic as might have been ex-
pected to that of the other buildings
with which we were surrounded.

Andover Hill, it must be admitted,
was in some ways a strange place for
children to grow up. We were not the
center of interest, with our environment
carefully adapted to every need and
whim. Even the old adage, " Children
should be seen and not heard," was
amended in Andover to " Children
should not be heard, and should be seen
only on stated occasions, such as family
prayers and Sabbath services." But,
after all, a measure of repression has its
educational advantages; the sense of
pride is a comfortable inheritance; the
gardens, fields, and woods were near
and free ; and, as I have said, there were

fiT]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

thirty-two of us children together there.
Besides, is it not an advantage to be born
and bred where one unconsciously im-
bibes the deep conviction that it is vul-
gar— not perhaps to be rich — but at
least to spend one's life and thoughts in
slaving after wealth? Yes: it is some-
thing to be born on a Hill.

28]

II

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

Among the most marked and charac-
teristic institutions of the Andover of
my childhood was the Puritan Sabbath.
The day threw its long, gloomy shadow
before it, beginning with religious exer-
cises in school on Saturday morning.
For three long hours our teacher, Miss
Davis, held us prisoners over Bible les-
sons, and over the mystical pages of
the Westminster Shorter Catechism.
Hymns we learned also, and sang; the
quavering of Miss Davis' thin, cracked
voice comes back to me through the
years. The singing was always followed
by a prayer. Of this nothing remains
to me but the wonder how she could
always time her " Amen " so as to pro-

[29]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

nounce the last syllable precisely with
the last stroke of twelve from the chapel
belfry.

That stroke set us free, and gave us
our holiday afternoon. This was as
reckless and merry a time, as gay and
careless, on Andover Hill, as anywhere
else, — perhaps even more so, since it
was in contrast with so much that seemed
to press us down and hem us in. All the
swiftly moving hours now belonged to
us, until the sun shot its last rays from
the long, low, mountain-bound horizon;
but the moment its disk dropped below
the hills, the time was God's, and of
course was sacred. "Remember the
sabbath day, to keep it holy," was often
written in letters of purple and gold all
over the western sky. No matter where
we were or what we were doing, the
least infringement upon this Sabbath

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

time was a sin, and was treated as such.
" Be home at sunset," — these words
come ringing down to me now, stern and
commanding, as they sounded then.

There was a remarkable similarity in
the family habits and customs of the
Seminary faculty. We cherished the feel-
ing that we were one body, separated
from the rest of the world. On Satur-
day night, except in case of illness, not
a light burned in any of our dwellings
after nine; for Saturday night was the
preparation for a day of rest. On Sun-
day morning one bell might have sum-
moned us all to our early breakfast. At
nearly the same moment there went up
from the family altars the prolonged
prayers ; and in precisely the same way
the solemn stillness which followed the
"Amen" settled down upon us all.
There came a Sunday hush upon every

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

child's voice, a softening of the step, a
smile for a laugh, a pent, scared feeling,
as if Satan in bodily shape was waiting
near to gobble up any poor, unlucky
sinner who should venture ever so little
way from the strait and narrow path.
I doubt whether there dawned upon us
a glimmering of the great and beautiful
truths the day was intended to shadow
forth.

Let me, however, make a single ex-
ception. To my father, Sunday was the
social day of the week. Study was set
aside. A chapter or two in his Hebrew
Bible, or an epistle in the Greek Testa-
ment, — and the remainder of the day
was hterally rest. In the morning, for
an hour or two before breakfast, he
walked up and down the garden he loved
so well, with quick steps, head erect,
arms swinging, every muscle of his tall.

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

thin frame in active motion. Bent ap-
parently upon the one object of secur-
ing his exercise, he yet had eyes and ears
for everything that surrounded him.
Not a flower had budded or bloomed in
the trim little beds of which he had the
general care, not a vegetable had grown
or ripened since his last visit, but he
knew all about it. Very quick and keen
his senses were, sources of great pleasure
to him, as well as of much pain. In sum-
mer he allowed us to pick flowers and
carry them with us to church; but they
must always be of the rarest and best,
for we were laying them upon God's
altar. Under the drawing-room win-
dows grew some damask roses. Every
Sunday morning while they were in
blossom he gathered them and gave
them to us, always with some apprecia-
tive word and one of his own beaming

3 [33 ]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

smiles. The fragrance of those roses is
around me now, making a June in my
memory of those Andover Sabbath days.
At nine in the morning we children
all left our homes, wending our way
across the bare, open Common to the
schoolhouse. It always seemed as if
Sunday had gone before, and had crept
in and taken possession of our familiar
schoolroom, and was waiting for us
there. We children on Andover Hill
had, in a sense, fewer of what are called
" religious privileges " than any other
set of beings out of heathendom. It
must be remembered that we were not
a legitimate part of the secluded reli-
gious, literary life to which we were at-
tached. The founders of the Seminary
had made no provision for the young
growi:h that had thrust itself without
leave into the very midst. Pastorless,

fill

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

the life and heart found only in an ac-
tive, working church wanting, we grew
up with no personal interest in our
chapel or attachment to it. Sabbath-
school was not introduced among us
until it had become a settled institu-
tion elsewhere; and it failed to influ-
ence and mold us as such an institu-
tion should. Our teachers were students
from the Seminary; and the transitori-
ness of our connection with them les-
sened the good we might have received.
Our recitations were brief. Then, to the
slow tolling of the bell, we were marched
along the road back of the Seminary to
the chapel, the superintendent in front,
we all following decorously, our teachers
beside us.

In the chapel of those days there was
nothing of old Solomon's magnificence.
The walls were dingy blue, the pews,

[17]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

gallery, and desk were yellow white.
Between the windows tarnished cande-
labra swung out, holding long, thin
tallow dips, which had a sacerdotal habit
of dropping large, round, hot drops
upon unsanctified heads. A small
cushion in the pew of the invahd pro-
fessor. Dr. Porter, was, I think, the only
one upon the hard, bare seats; and the
cold floor was without a carpet. To
make amends, there were plenty of
Bibles and " Watts and Select " hymn-
books. In winter a great iron stove
on one side of the pulpit with pipes
running around the entire chapel formed
the only means of heating. Into this
the sexton, who had a seat near the
wood-box, on the other side of the pul-
pit, was continually shoving large sticks
of well-seasoned wood. With the hot
coals, foot-stoves were filled; and pass-

{IT]

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

ing these stoves from one to another
made the principal diversion during the
service.

The front pew on the right-hand side
as you entered was Dr. Porter's. Every
Sunday until sickness kept him away,
he was there with his quaint little wife.
He was a tall man, with a large head
covered with stiff, gray hair; a pale face;
immobile eyes, deep-set; and a mouth
drawn as if from suppressed pain. He
was a man who never wandered within
the precincts of our child world ; we be-
held him from afar, venerated him, and
always thought of him with a yellow
bandana tied about his throat, and a
long, dark cloth coat hanging from his
narrow shoulders.

Dr. Woods sat next, a noble-looking
man, decidedly the handsomest member
of the faculty. It was a saying in those

fin

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

old times, that no man could be a pro-
fessor at Andover who was under six
feet in height. Dr. Woods was every
inch of this, and of rather stalwart pro-
portions, which added to his personal
dignity. His head was round, and sin-
gularly even in its development; his
forehead was high, sloping a little back-
ward; his hair thin, gray, and always
cut short ; his large eyes of a quiet blue ;
his other features rather delicate than
pronounced; and the whole presence
that of a slow, quiet, dignified, entirely
reliable man. There were some of us
who had an undefinable dread of him
because we heard him called " Old
School." What that meant probably
none of us knew; but we had a dim
idea that it had something to do with
his being a nephew of Cotton Mather,
and that it made us, in his presence, par-

fisl

■^^^c Li:ii;ARy

I

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

ticularly on Sunday, practical illustra-
tions of original sin, native depravity,
free agents gone far astray. And yet
not one of the grave, preoccupied men
by whom we were surrounded had a
pleasanter word for us, or a more kindly
smile.

Professor Stuart sat third in order.
Four-fifths of the year he carried his
long blue cloth cloak on his arm to
church. Spreading it carefully over the
back of the pew, and .sitting on it, he
was the most attentive and the most rest-
less listener there. To keep still seemed
to be a physical impossibility to him.
If the sermon was poor, his impatience
showed itself in shrugs, in opening and
shutting his large white hands, in mov-
ing in his seat, and in a lengthened
face pitiable to see. If it was good, no
one doubted his appreciation, or the

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

social feeling which made him wish to
share his enjoyment. At the utterance
of any especially pertinent remark, he
would often rise in his seat, and, turn-
ing round upon the young men, his stu-
dents, draw his red silk handkerchief
across his mouth several times, express-
ing in every feature the keenness of
his pleasure. If he differed theologi-
cally from the sentiments uttered, no
words could have expressed his dissent
more strongly than did his looks and
gestures.

In the next pew was Dr. Murdock,
an impassive man, living far more in the
past than in the present, caring little for
the pulpit utterances of the day in com-
parison with those of centuries ago.
Small, with delicate features, thin brown
hair, and brown eyes, he seemed to us
like a hermit who had wandered away

[lol

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

from his cell. A great scholar we were
told he was, with all the history of the
world at his ready command; and we
looked upon him as we should have
looked upon a walking cyclopedia, not
much pleased with the binding it showed
us, or in the least attracted by the won-
derful lore treasured within. He was
to us a literary curiosity, and nothing
more ; therefore we heeded him less than
any other of the professors.

John Adams and Samuel Farrar
occupied seats on the left of the pulpit.
John Adams was principal of Phillips
Academy, thus holding a post to us
much more important than that held
by any other of the dignified men in the
assembly. Yet he had not the dignified
look of these other men. Shorter and
stouter, with a florid complexion, a large
nose, and a live blue eye, he stepped, up

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

the broad aisle with the carriage of one
used to command. Before him he held
a great ivory-headed cane, which came
ringing down into the corner of his well-
filled pew with an emphasis not to be
misunderstood.

Samuel Farrar was not a common
man to any of us. With his delicate
face, his long gray hair falling back
from a rather peculiar forehead, a shy,
retiring manner, and a very sweet,
grave expression, even of his hands, he
was to us by turns, Moses, David, Isaiah,
John whom the Blessed One loved —
any and almost every Biblical saint.
He was a responsible man, carrying on
his shoulders not only all the great pe-
cuniary interests of the Seminary, but
also, seemingly, the responsibility for
its theology. He listened to every word
spoken in the small wooden pulpit as if

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOYER

for one and all he must give account at
the last great day.

What a peculiar audience that was!
With the mysteries all unfolded, the
glass lifted, seeing face to face, how, I
wonder, do they feel about their old
differences now?

Services ended, we filed out. The
students by the door went first. Pew
after pew was emptied, one by one,
slowly, solemnly, as if it were a funeral,
and somebody in the entry were beckon-
ing to us in turn. Then, still more sol-
emnly and slowly, we walked over the
broad, graveled pathways homeward,
families silently by themselves. If se-
clusion were in truth sanctity, we were
all near heaven on this holy day.

An intermission of two hours deco-
rously passed at home, with a cold din-
ner and a pious book, another walk

[43]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

along the narrow foot-paths across the
Common, more prayers and psahn-sing-
ing, and our church Sabbath was over.

During the vacations of the Theolog-
ical Seminary, the chapel in which we
ordinarily "went to meeting" was
closed; and we Hill children were sent
to the Old South Church. This made
one of our infrequent holidays, — a time
to look forward to with longing, and back
upon with regret. A grave little pro-
cession we were, as we dropped into line
from house after house, each child with
a decorous basket in the hand, and each
basket filled with some choice Sunday
dainty expressly prepared for the occa-
sion. We were conscious, too, of some
extra touch of toilet ; it may have been
a fresh ribbon for a sash, an embroidered
pair of pantalettes, or the new hat which
had been impatiently kept for the spring

[44]

Il

THE NEW VORK
PUBLIC U3RARX

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

vacation. Even the boys made them-
selves a shade more jaunty, tipped their
caps at a little greater angle, brushed
their cropped hair until its pomatumed
surface shone with a higher brilliancy,
and polished their boots until Day &
Martin might have been glad to send
them as advertisements around the
world.

This Old South Church was typical,
in its architecture, of the meeting-houses
of its time. It had been built in 1788,
and it remained until the building of the
present church in 1860. It is therefore
not difficult to recall it as it was, with
its galleries around three sides of the
house, its square pews, — those near the
pulpit being reserved for deaf people
and deacons, — its high pulpit with the
round sounding-board suspended above,
and over it, in great gilt letters on a

[IT]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

black ground, the solemn words, " Holi-
ness becometh Thine house, O Lord,
forever." The size and prominence of
that " O " gave it something mystical.
Over it our childish eyes traveled. Sab-
bath after Sabbath, while we wondered
whether it was not a round in Jacob's
ladder, up which the minister's prayers
mounted to heaven.

To the gallery, of course, we were
sent, the boys to one side, the girls to the
other. The church was a wide one; but
was there ever a distance across which
young eyes could not send a message,
or young lips a smile? Our only dread
was of the tithing-man, but my memory
bears no record of any arrests; it may
be that as guests we were treated with
special indulgence.

After morning service we were ex-
pected to enter decorously the " noon

[lei

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

house," and having eaten our lunches
with Sabbath propriety, to go to the
vestry-room, and Hsten to a second ser-
mon read by one of the deacons. There
was no Sabbath-school to fill the inter-
mission, and I am afraid we Hill chil-
dren played truant from the regular
gatherings oftener than our highly reli-
gious bringing-up would have led the
Old South community to expect. We
were found oftener out among the
graves in the adjoining churchyard,
down by the pretty brook that sang its
song all the livelong week to the ears
of the dead as merrily as it did on Sun-
day to us children tired with psalm-
singing and prayer and sermon. There
were no tithing-men out there, — only
the blue sky, the pleasant grove, the
birds with whom it was always God's
day, and the flowers, one of which in

[171

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

that holy church would have been con-
sidered a desecration.

The old church has gone now, and
with it the pulpit, the sounding-board,
the square, unpainted, straight pews,
the solemn motto, and the storied gal-
leries. Near by in the churchyard, sleep
pastors and parishioners, deacons, tith-
ing-men, constables, all together there,
waiting peacefully for the glad resur-
rection mom.

What of the day remained after serv-
ices were over was the pleasantest part
of the whole week. There was a social
tea, with toast, doughnuts, preserves, —
a sort of family thanksgiving tea, dear
to us all. Then, as on the beautiful
yearly holiday, our father was our
father, not the quiet, grave student,
but a companion, talking with us,

interested in what we were doing, ready
—

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

to laugh with his keen sense of amuse-
ment at our innocent jokes, and, though
never under any circimistances utter-
ing one himself, enjoying them most
of us all.

After tea came prayers — prayers
which were ours, for in them we all took
part. The old mahogany bookcase,
with its open door; the shelf holding
seven small black and gilt Bibles, all
alike ; the twelve brown leather " Cod-
man's Hymns "; the tall " Scott's Fam-
ily Bible," — all come back to me with
a distinctness no canvas could rival.
From these Bibles we read by turns,
the eldest child at home droning out the
practical reflections with which the eru-
dite Scott finished his conmientary on
the words of Holy Writ. Then we
sang a dear, familiar hymn to a dear,
familiar old tune. Mear, Dundee,

I [49I

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

St. Martin's, Old Hundred, — ladders
these, touching heaven, up which the
father's soul followed his deep, drawling
notes triumphantly. The rite ended
with a long prayer and its welcome
" Amen."

Then the low sun of an Andover Sab-
bath evening glinted through the west-
ern windows of a large upper room,
upon a group of seven children gath-
ered round a delicate, heaven-eyed
mother, holding in her hand the "West-
minster Shorter Catechism." West-
minster was the golden clasp which
bound those sacred hours together. We
began and ended them over its mysteri-
ous revelations. A hated old book it
was to us, dog-eared, tear-blistered, full
of restraints, chidings, and an infinite
number of " must nots." Pity that we
could not have seen then, as we can see

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

now, that, understand it or not, it was
the stuff from which true men and
women are made, the real old Puritan
nourishment for sinew, muscle, and
strong backbone!

" Now, children," says our mother,
looking around lovingly upon us, " I
want you to be quiet and attentive.
Jamie, let your sister alone! Sit here,
at my right hand."

Jamie darts into a chair close beside
her, throwing an arm far out of a short
coat-sleeve, around her neck, drawing
down the delicate lace cap until it
touches his brown curls, then giving her
a kiss so loud and hearty that we all
laugh.

A tap on the floor. " Will, * What is
the chief end of man? ' Stand up, my
son, and answer properly."

" * The chief end of man,' " answers

[IT]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

Will, looking over the lace cap, out of
the window, " ' is to glorify God and, en-
joy him forever.' Look there, quick!
I saw a bobolink! "

Fourteen eyes look for the bobolink.
Another tap on the floor, and the next
question.

" Jamie — " But Jamie has gone.
He is swinging on the lightning-rod,
watching the bird.

" My son! " sorrowfully.

Two eyes, blue as the mother's, stray
from the bird to meet hers. They see
the troubled look, and a voice shouts
merrily back, " ' The word of God
contained — ' "

"'Which is — '"

" * Which is contained in the Scrip-
tures of the Old and New Testaments '
— Hullo, there's his mate! See them
on the very tip-top of that pear-tree! "

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVEU

"Jamie!" this time with much
authority.

" ' Is the only way ' — hear that, will
you? " He gives a whistle that perfectly
imitates the bird's notes, and six other
mouths are puckered up to follow his
example.

"Boys!" The voice that calls from
the window below every child knows.
The room is the " keeping-room," name
redolent of associations with old Con-
necticut. There, at this hour, sits the
father. Little heads, girls' as well as
boys', are turned down to see a thin,
pale face with a serio-comic expres-
sion. One long finger points toward
the singing bobolink, and, " Put salt on
its tail and catch it," the professor says.

It is leave granted. There is a scam-
per of feet across the room. Westmin-
ster, farewell! — but no.

[Til

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

" Come back, all of you," the mother
says. " Don't you see, the sun is not
down yet? "

"It is only old Joshua commanding
it to stand still," says Jamie, with an
irreverent laugh, balancing his eager
feet on the threshold.

Bobolink bhnks and carols in such
a tempting, wicked way I — But the
lesson begins again:

" Moses, * What do the Scriptures
principally teach? ' "

" ' The Scriptures principally teach,' "
answers a grave boy, whose large, seri-
ous gray eyes have seen less of the bird
than any others there, " * what man is to
believe concerning God, and what God
requires of man.' "

"Elizabeth, 'What is God?'"

Bobolink answers the question with
one wild, long burst of praise; and just

THE SABBATH OF OLD ANDOVER

at this moment, slowly, majestically,
down drops the big, red disk of the sun.

A shout from the seven prisoners,
" Go behind us, dreary old Sabbath, for
six happy days more! "

Dreary old Sabbath? We have since
come to remember it as blessed!

[55]

Ill

THE SCHOOLS ON ANDOVER HILL

The sons of the Andover professors
were well cared for at Phillips Academy ;
for the daughters, special provision was
made in a school kept on Andover Hill
by Mary Ayers Davis. I give her full
name, for in the initials we one and aU
took a peculiar delight. When an auda-
cious child was very angry she would
first say them forward, and then, with
saucer-like eyes that looked around
stealthily for the cloven hoof, she would
think them — only think them — in re-
versed order. In saying this, I do not
mean to give a key to the woman's char-
acter; if the angel Gabriel could have
been sent to stand in that little brown

THE SCHOOLS ON ANDOVER HILL

desk, I am sure we should have " poked
fun " at his wings. Miss Davis had
some of the very first requisites of the
good teacher; and her theology was in-
vulnerable. I do not think she could
have heard us spell " baker " without
impressing on us the fact that this veri-
table baker " in Adam's fall sinned all,"
or " brier " without suggesting the
roughnesses of predestination and free
grace. To teach us arithmetic by the
number of sheep on the right hand and
goats on the left; grammar, by an in-
stinctive reverence for rules which could
not be broken, and which admitted of
no exceptions; geography, by a classi-
fication of countries into lands irradi-
ated by the glad gospel light, and those
lying in the night of heathendom; read-
ing, by the use of passages resonant with
a power emanating from no human

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

mind, — to educate us thus was her
task, and she performed it well.

In appearance she was a small
woman, wdth a face like a half-baked
apple, twinkling hazel eyes, a large
black front, and a close black cap.
Without bodily presence, she yet man-
aged to make us hold her in great per-
sonal regard. I do not know that any
child ever gave her a flower, or even an
apple ; yet we valued her smile or word
of approbation above rubies. If our
lessons were well learned, we did not
move out of the way as we saw the green
" calash " come nodding towards the
Hill ; but if we had missed, or if we had
a stick of candy or a bit of cake to be
eaten surreptitiously in school hours,
little feet trotted nimbly in an opposite
direction. In a way utterly unknown

in these days, she was our conscience.
—

THE SCHOOLS ON ANDOVER HILL

To US all, from the large girls in the
back seats to the little ones in front, she
represented, sitting demurely — nay,
more, severely — in her desk, the Judge
on the great white throne.

We were early taught to read and
spell accurately; and we were not back-
ward in our arithmetic or geography.
We had occasionally what would now
be called lectures in astronomy and even
botany. Our text-books were few, and
had small woodcuts that would look
quaint enough to the school children of
to-day. Whatever else may have been
omitted, be sure we were well taught in
the " Westminster Shorter Catechism."

I can see now a row of little girls
wearing long, dark dresses, long panta-
lettes, of the same material as the
dresses, coming well down over strong,
useful boots, and dark calico aprons,

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

with large, well-filled pockets ; with not
a frill or cuff anywhere, but with bright
eyes fixed intently on Miss Davis, and
fidgety hands, as she asked us from
"What is the chief end of man?"
through the long and difficult questions
to the very end. " What is election? "
was a favorite with all of us; for we
had a private understanding that it
meant not the long, hard words we must
repeat without misplacing a syllable,
but that beautiful May holiday when
the state officers were chosen, and some-
body in Boston preached an Election
sermon. On that day, ^dth our pennies,
saved by much self-denial for the occa-
sion, in our pockets, we trooped off, a
merry party, down to Pomp's Pond,
and spent some of our money in " 'Lec-
tion cake," which Dinah, Pomp's wife,
had spread upon a table covered with a

THE SCHOOLS ON ANDOVER HILL

snow-white cloth, before their cottage
door. Pomp used to stand beside her,
a large stone jug at his right hand, and
a row of shining glasses before it, w^ait-
ing for our three cents, for which he
would dispense to us his sparkling root
beer. An election this, well suited to
our juvenile comprehension!

Was it necessary, we can wonder now,
that we should sit on straight wooden
benches, brown and knife-chopped, with
straight desks, brown and more knife-
chopped, before us, not daring to move
our tired limbs, not daring to whisper,
rigid little automatons, every one of us?
The ferule, and the steel thimble with-
out a top, though never indiscriminat-
ingly used, were conspicuous on the
desk before us, ready for emergencies.
The thimble was a unique help in teach-
ing, graduating the required punish-

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

ment in a droll way. For a serious of-
fense we received so many blows with
the ferule — never hard ones, for Miss
Davis had a tender heart, and loved the
little ones committed to her charge. For
a lesser offense, two or three snaps of
the thimble, innocuous but salutary,
were administered upon some part of
the child's head. That the teacher
would have liked to kiss away the tears
that followed the snaps there is no
doubt ; but she was too much of a mar-
tinet for that, so she contented herself
with sniffs so loud and peculiar that we
came to consider them a natural and
necessary part of the proceeding.

From the entry of the schoolhouse
opened a closet a few feet square. This
closet held the chimney, piles of wood,
and children's prayer-meetings. I
doubt whether there is another closet in

[62]

THE SCHOOLS ON ANDOVER HILL

all this wide world that could tell the
tales this one could tell, if it had the
gift of speech. Sent to school in all
weathers, on stormy days we carried our
lunch, and no royal tables ever gave half
the enjoyment we experienced when,
upon our well-worn and not immaculate
desks we spread our rows of doughnuts,
biscuits, bread, cheese, cold meats, fried
apple pies, nuts, and pop-corn — often
some one of us asking a blessing before,
hungry as we were, we ate a mouthful.
Our repast ended, — tell it not in
Gath, — the one amusement to which
we most naturally turned was a prayer-
meeting. Looking back, I am at a loss
to understand precisely how the custom
could have originated. Prayer-meet-
ings, under circumstances which will be
noticed hereafter, we certainly had ; but
they were not, one would have thought,

fesl

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

SO attractive that we should have been
led to imitate them. At any rate, ac-
count for it or not, the fact remains that
we turned to these meetings where other
children would have resorted to noisy
games. So many of us entered into our
closet and shut our door, that we stood
shoulder to shoulder in the pitch dark-
ness of our chosen sanctuary; and there
we lifted up our childish voices in some-
thing which, if it was not prayer, cer-
tainly was intended for it. On these
occasions a number of conversions were
supposed to have taken place; and the
hero-worship which we paid to the new
convert on emerging from our obscu-
rity, had in it something so true, that I
cannot look back upon it, even now,
without emotion. To be sure, we were
not free from the surprises which often
attend these phenomena. The younger

fell

THE SCHOOLS ON ANDOVER HILL

among us were astonished, after such
a miraculous event, to find the convert
with the same hair and eyes and smile,
and even more wonderful still, to see
her, that very afternoon, perhaps, miss
in her lessons, and, it may have been,
alas ! commit some overt act of naughti-
ness which brought down upon her de-
voted hand sundry blows from Miss
Davis' long brown ferule.

At the side of our little schoolhouse,
but separated from it by a large yard,
was Philhps Academy. There is some-
thing in its constitution which has been
stable enough to preserve it to this day,
and will probably hold it firm for years
to come. Here it is :

" It shall be the duty of the Master,"
so the constitution runs, " as the age and
capacities of the scholars will admit, not
only to instruct and estabhsh them in

5 [65 1

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

the truth of Christianity, but as early
and diligently to inculcate upon them
the great and important doctrines of
the one true God, the Father, Son, and
Holy Ghost, of the fall of man, the de-
pravity of human nature, the necessity
of an atonement, and of our being re-
newed in the spirit of our minds, the
doctrines of repentance toward God,
and of faith toward our Lord Jesus
Christ (in opposition to the erroneous
and dangerous doctrine of justification
by our own merit, or a dependence on
self -righteousness) together with the
important doctrines and duties of our
Holy Christian Religion."

Our Saturday lesson in " Westmin-
ster Shorter Catechism " fades into in-
significance when compared with those
awaiting the boys in the tall brick
building so near us.

THE SCHOOLS ON ANDOVER HILL

It is a wonder that with such a pon-
derous load of theology to carry, we
children were yet light-hearted enough
to amuse ourselves with the regular boy
and girl intercourse which has been in
vogue ever since the world began; but
there were thirty-two of us Hill chil-
dren, and we were young. If at times,
when we girls and our brothers parted
company upon the Common, they to take
the broad, graveled walk that led up to
the imposing Academy, we to follow the
narrow foot-path that wound away
toward the little brown schoolhouse,
there was forced upon us a comparison
not wholly agreeable to our self-esteem,
several happy ways of solacing our-
selves were afforded by the vicinity of
the buildings. Will it, I wonder, be con-
sidered telling tales out of school if I
describe a few of the opportunities of

[67]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

which we took full advantage? Just
back of our schoolhouse there was a
rock, not high or lichen-covered, but
filled with convenient crevices, in which
small fingers dug out post-office boxes.
There, independent of Uncle Sam, we,
our own postmasters and mistresses,
used to deposit various notes, some of
which I can copy from that tablet which
knows no erasure.

"My dearest Love,

"I'm going to be a minister and preach the
gospel. Will you be the minister's wife is the fond
hope of your loving D. S. "

To which went back this answer :

"I guess I won't. I don't like going to meeting
awfully, so you must excuse yours respectfully

"P.M."

Here is one more:

"Old A. is a cuss! I should like to kick him
better than to see you on the ice to-night, which I
hope to do. Your devoted Sam."

The devoted Sam dropped the note
out of his pocket. " Old A." picked it

THE SCHOOLS ON ANDOVER HILL

up. There was no meeting on the ice
that night, but something else which
neither of the young people concerned
ever forgot. The future minister turned
into a dishonest politician in the West,
and ended his days in disgrace. The
boy who used the disreputable word
and showed such sanguinary tendencies
grew into the gentlest and most patient
of popular ministers, and went home
only a few years ago to receive the
crown of his rejoicing.

The meetings on the ice to which
his note invited the little private school
pupil were among the pleasantest of
our coeducational opportunities. The
" meadow," remembered by all Andover
children, was a piece of land back of
both schoolhouses, to which we claimed
right and title, — which, however, was
far from being undisputed. A little

feT]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

brook, if dammed at the proper time,
could be made to overflow the meadow,
and also, unfortunately, the cellars of
contiguous houses. Phillips Academy
had boy engineers always ready in the
face of law, and, as it was Andover,
gospel, to dam it at the proper time;
and our skating and sliding place was
of the best. Girls upon skates were un-
heard of then; but we had feet of our
own, and knew well how to use them.
Sitting on these feet, our short skirts
tucked well out of the way, we would
clasp in our little red-mittened hands
a long stick held out to us by some chiv-
alrous boy on skates. Thus prepared,
the couples went swiftly flying over the
smooth glare ice, happy being too tame a
word to describe their blissful condition.
Nor was it in winter only that our
coeducation was carried on; summer

THE SCHOOLS ON ANDOVER HILL

had even more opportunities for us.
There were Saturday afternoon meet-
ings at Pomp's Pond, when the girls
carried lunches, and the boys paddled
out on rickety rafts for the pond-lilies
that grew plentifully in the water.
There was wading in with shoeless and
stockingless feet, there was fishing from
the rocks, strolling together through the
thick, shadowless grove, picking check-
erberry leaves, hunting wild straw-
berries, and making wreaths of ground-
ivy for heads which have since worn
laurel.

Oliver Wendell Holmes was a pupil
at the Academy in those days. I re-
member how small he looked, walking
beside my three tall brothers. He used
to mind being so short; but no one else
thought the less of him for it, he was
always so good-natured and merry.

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

Never for a moment suppose that Old
Andover gave its children only gloom
and a severe, monastic life! We had
prayer and catechism, rigid rules to
keep, and little change of scene; but
in our veins strong young blood ran
riot, from our happy hearts merry mis-
chief bubbled out continually, blithe
songs filled the still Andover air, and
bright-eyed, sunny faces gladdened the
student at every turn. It seems to me
now, in looking back, as if we were all
of us, Phillips Academy boys and girls
of the humble private school, God's
smile upon the isolated, exclusive, rather
gloomy life of the grave Seminarians,
the sunlight coming in through the
dim, cloistered windows, making their
lives more cheerful, and therefore more
effective.

[72]

IV

ANDOVER WEEK-DAY MEETINGS

E\^RY evening in the week had, on An-
dover Hill, its occasional religious or
literary meeting. On certain Monday-
nights was held the " Monthly Concert
of Prayer for Foreign Missions." To
go to this meeting was as obligatory
upon us as to be found in our chapel
seats on the Sabbath. With it no
worldly business or pleasure was ever
allowed to interfere. Punctually when
that bell (it used in old times to strike
the note A) gave the first warning
sound, dressed in suits which were a sort
of compromise between the tempered
frivolity of the week and the solemnity
of the Sabbath costume, we started, as

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

families, for two long, worship-filled
hours.

As we tripped over the quiet Common
or under the arched elms, we children
felt a freedom about these not quite
Sabbatical occasions which we always
enjoyed. The heathen were a great way
off, and a devotional frame of mind did
not seem of any great consequence as
far as their conversion was concerned.
And then the moonlight or the starlight,
the long, flecked, curious shadows on
the broad graveled walks, the little
groups dropping into line here and
there, and the occasional merry greet-
ings— these things were very week-
day-like, and full of human interest.

Our chapel was but dimly lighted.
The tallow dips in the candelabra threw
only a few poor, scared beams down
upon the sitter directly beneath them.

FT]

ANDOVER WEEK-DAY MEETINGS

They often, guttering and sputtering
as was their wont, dropped also some-
thing far less agreeable. Upon the
faded red velvet covering of the pulpit
stood three branched candlesticks, which
always had for me a wonderfully holy
association. They were kept, when not
in use, in a small closet in the entry.
Scores of times I have opened the door
and peeped in at them with awed curi-
osity. They were, I fancied, made after
the very pattern David gave to Solo-
mon for that other altar: "Even the
weight for the candlesticks of gold, and
for their lamps of gold, by weight for
every candlestick, and for the lamps
thereof."

Imagine the room, dingy even in sun-
light, thus dimly illuminated, and see
us gathering demurely to our appointed
seats. One of the professors generally

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

took charge of the meeting; and I do
not think the exercises differed much
from what they might be to-day. But
to this there was one great exception.
Mission work is now an accomphshed
fact; then it was only a prayer, or at
best a hope ; the results were all hidden.
Yet I doubt if even with the record of
to-day any more interest is awakened,
or any greater certainty felt that it is
a God-appointed institution. Never a
shade of doubt or questioning crept
into the opening prayer. The men who
led the meeting were in earnest as
men, and as full of beautiful faith as
little children. Reports were brought
in from every mission station, but so few
and so weak were the laborers, fight-
ing single-handed against principalities
and powers, against the rulers of dark-
ness, and spiritual wickedness in high

[76]

ANDOVER WEEK-DAY MEETINGS

places, and so slender were the results
to be reported, that the wonder is, how
sensible men could rise and go through
the meager detail, expecting to arouse
the hearer's sympathy, or even gain the
assent of his common sense as to the
propriety of continuing efforts appar-
ently so fruitless. And yet I suppose
that there were always at least a dozen
among the men sitting on those hard
seats, listening in that still, dim room,
who felt that every story told might,
and probably would, come true in their
own lives, and express the result of all
their work, their prayers, their self-
abnegation. Richards and Spaulding,
Goodell and King, Poor and Smith, sat
there and listened, and yet went into the
whitened field, boimd up their harvest
sheaves, and have gone home with them,
richly laden.

[rT]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

I am not surprised as I look back
upon these meetings that so much was
demanded from prayer and music, the
one in the way of comfort, the other as
a means of arousing hope. Whether the
hymn

*'From Greenland's icy mountains,**

and others similarly filled with mission-
ary associations, were extant then, I do
not remember, but

"Jesus shall reign where *er the sun,"

certainly was, and when it rolled out to
the tune of " Old Hundred," it is no
wonder that lips dumb at other times
joined in the strain. It was like a
clarion sounding the joy of certain vic-
tory, suggesting that though the poor
dead warriors lay stiff and stark upon
the field, the glorious banner of Jesus,
King of Hosts, was still flung out to the
breeze.

[78]

ANDOVER WEEK-DAY MEETINGS

Tuesday evening brought the " So-
ciety of Inquiry." Knowing that the
objects of inquiry were questions of re-
ligious interest, we cared less to see the
large windows of our chapel glimmer
with their dull lights. Still we went
often, and listened to things which were
no doubt good, but which, shame to our
unregenerate hearts, failed to interest
us, or call forth in us any deep sympathy.

On Wednesday evening the lights
struggled out again, and the bell tolled,
but now to summon only the professors
and students to a " conference meeting."
It was a prayer-meeting, naturally;
and, as I understood it, — of course, I
never was present, — it was a social,
informal gathering where the mental
and moral needs of the students came
under the teachers' kind supervision.
Of the depth and height and breadth

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

of the needs of their hearts, I doubt
whether even the faintest suspicion ever
dawned upon the minds of those devoted
men.

Thursday evening came the " Porter
Rhetorical." That was the occasion we
looked forward to and back upon. On
Thursday we watched daylight fade,
and evening shadows creep on, and al-
most counted the moments that brought
nearer our intellectual treat. We were
to hear orations and a debate, perhaps
a poem! And in all these we should
feel a certain dash of life and worldU-
ness, very taking to us secluded ones.
At these rhetoricals, I suppose, weapons
were forged which have since done great
work on the broad fields of theological
warfare. I know that Professor Por-
ter, sitting in his cushioned seat with
two yellow bandanas around his neck

Tsol

ANDOVER WEEK-DAY MEETINGS

and an overcoat unt^er his blue cloak,
used to smile most b^nignantly on the
wit and repartee which now and then
threw its flash of light over the dim
room.

In many respects these professional
gatherings were not very different from
similar occasions to-day. But what
would they think in Andover now,
should a young man make his appear-
ance upon the platform to deliver an
oration, in the costume described to me
as his by a city clergyman?

" I used," he said, " to button up my
vest and spread out the white cotton
handkerchief I wore around my neck
so as to hide my unbleached, bosomless
shirt; and I always put a few fresh
tacks into the holes of my boots to make
sure my stockingless feet should not ob-
trude themselves upon the public gaze."

6 [81]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

He looked back upon those rugged steps
by which he had cHmbed as almost
flower-covered, and spoke to me with
tears in his eyes of " the blessed days
when your mother was an angel of light
to me." And this man lived to fill for
years one of our most prominent pul-
pits, and to exert an influence no one
can measure.

Most peculiar, as an Andover week-
day meeting, was the " Jews' Meeting,"
held on Friday evening at the house of
Professor Porter. That house was very
different then from what it is to-day.
If it had been hermetically sealed from
foundation to roof, the sun and air would
have found almost as ready admittance.
Closed doors, closed outside shutters
and inside window-blinds, and a general
shut-down and shut-in air made it seem,
to us children at least, like a great

ANDOVER WEEK-DAY MEETINGS

wooden tomb. Here every Friday even-
ing a few young people were gathered
together to pray for the conversion of
the Jews. I do not know but that some-
where in this wide world meetings are
held for this same object now, but simi-
lar to these they cannot be.

Mrs. Porter, the wife of the professor,
was the sole originator, and if I may so
express it, the sole proprietor of these
meetings. What charm she could have
thrown around them to draw us young
people thither, I cannot now even im-
agine; but charm there was, so that on
Friday evening, particularly in winter,
when our other diversions were so few,
we often climbed up the icy granite
steps, swung open the two carefully
closed outside doors, groped our way
through the large, desolate hall, by the
aid of the one tallow candle in the bright

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

britannia candlestick, to a small room,
separated by a wooden partition from the
piazza, of which it had originally formed
a part. In this bit of a room was a light
stand, upon which were placed two tall
plated candlesticks, holding the inevi-
table tallow dips, a pile of " Village
Hymn-Books," and a Bible. Close by
there was a red-hot stove, and almost
touching the stove a little woman dxessed
in a plain, old-fashioned black dress. A
tight lace cap, with narrow black strings,
surmounted a face so singularly placid
and quiet that Mrs. Porter might have
passed for some old saint stepped out
from a picture-frame. Two small hands
were always folded softly together in
her lap, and two small brown eyes
twinkled out the only welcome we ever
received. Yellow wooden chairs were
arranged in close and solemn order

ANDOVER WEEK-DAY MEETINGS

along the walls of the room, and before
each of those intended for the smaller
children was always carefully placed a
carpeted footstool. No matter how
early we came, not a syllable was ever
allowed to be spoken; any attempt at
a whisper was always followed by a
denunciatory trotting of Mrs. Porter's
little moccasin-covered feet upon the
bare floor.

Generally three or four of the Semi-
nary students came in to carry on the
meeting, choice spirits, chosen by Mrs.
Porter because they had evinced much
fervor in regard to the conversion of the
despised, downtrodden Hebrews; and
upon these students, as well as upon us,
seemed to fall the magnetism peculiar
to the occasion. The Jews did not seem
cold, formal, or distant objects of
prayer; they were living, suffering,

[17]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

sinning fellow mortals, nearer and
dearer, in that Christ had lived among
them, and had been himself a Jew.
Prayer, singing, and the reading of
chapters from the Bible and a few per-
tinent newspaper cuttings found during
the week usually made up the services.
The associations my memory holds of
these meetings are these: the desolate-
ness of the house, the gathering of so
many young people for such an object,
the demure, devotional, little central
figure, and over all a peculiar Oriental
glamour, so quickly to be felt, so impos-
sible to describe — a glamour rendered
more effective by the religious, literary
atmosphere in which it was developed.

Saturday night brought a social
prayer-meeting in the lower lecture
room of the chapel. To this, when little
girls, we were never invited; but when

ANDOVER WEEK-DAY MEETINGS

years made the need of such religious
intercourse more apparent, the front
seats were set apart for ladies and their
presence tolerated — or perhaps I may
truthfully admit any extra shade of wel-
come that may be implied in the word
allowed. But, little girls or grown
women, we were never legitimate parts
of this Andover life. We listened in
these meetings; we sang with fear and
trembling, lest our thin voices should
in any way disturb the Lockhart So-
ciety, which in so dignified and classical
a way conducted the musical part of the
services; we joined in the prayers in
the half-hearted manner of those who
feel themselves outsiders. When the
" Amen " had dismissed us — shall I
dare to confess it? — we sometimes
went out through the entry with "lin-
gering steps and slow," not expecting

[¥1 "^

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

escort — of course not ! — but still al-
lowing to ourselves the possibility that
our walk home might not be solitary.
That it was not always solitary, no better
proof can be given than the fact that
of all the young ladies born and bred
on Andover Hill, only one, that I can
recollect, married a man who was not
a minister. Many other religious serv-
ices have had a similar outcome; let
us not lay up the fact against the life
or the meetings on Andover Hill.

[88]

V

ANDOVER HOLIDAYS

That not all the variations in our An-
dover life were afforded by our different
religious meetings will appear from a
short account of our holidays. They
were few, but they were true holidays.
There was Election Day, reference to
which has already been made. There
was Fast Day, if so religious an occa-
sion ought to be called a holiday; at
least we had no school, and if not a
regular dinner, a wonderfully good
luncheon, and the freedom of the day
after the morning service in the chapel.
Christmas was ignored. There was too
much Puritan blood in the faculty to
allow any such " popish recognition of
a doubtful date." As for New Year's,

OLD ANDOYER DAYS

perhaps it is enough for me to say that
one of my most YiYid childish recollec-
tions is of a sermon preached on the
first of January from the text, " This
year thou shalt die." The preacher
spoke of the opening year as the narrow
neck of land between the two unbounded
seas of past and future, and brought out
the inexorable moral:

*'A point of time, a moment's space.
Divides you from your heavenly place.
Or shuts you up in — .'*

The Seminary Anniversary and
Thanksgiving were the two main occa-
sions of our full enjoyment. Anniver-
sary, the week when the senior class
graduated, was our great jubilee. It is
difficult now, with the crowding of sim-
ilar events and the changed status of
the ministry, to realize the significance
of such occasions when theological sem-

[90]

ANDOYER HOLIDAYS

inaries were few, religious and literary
gatherings rare entertainments, and the
" ephod of gold, blue, and purple, and
scarlet, and fine twined linen," as yet a
priestly garment of God's appointing,
pure and unspotted from the world.

The bustle of preparation began in
the families of the faculty at least two
weeks before the appointed date. We
children were sent out to scour the coun-
try for miles around, in search of eggs,
chickens, and such nice fruits as were
afforded by early September and the
rather crude state of Andover horticul-
ture. " Help " (that was the Andover
term), trained by service in previous
years, was duly notified of the coming
need. Gardens were weeded, grounds
were raked. Joe Pearson was put to
work upon the broad walks leading up
to the chapel. Stray rails were replaced

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

in fences and gates, dead branches were
lopped from tree and bush; and a gen-
eral air of Sabbatical jubilee pervaded
the very atmosphere.

And then the cooking! I am almost
afraid I should be considered exagger-
ating if I should recount the loaves of
richest, rarest, most delicious cake that
crowded every pantry, and in my
mother's house filled a little room up-
stairs, set apart for this use. And the
pies! hiding within their dainty cover-
ings fruits flavored by the potent sun-
shine, nowhere brighter in its brief
season of shining than on this chosen
Hill. To gaze on these pies, ranged on
long rows of impromptu shelves, came
almost hourly eager-eyed children on
little tiptoeing feet. It is beautiful to
recall this lavish hospitality, this bring-
ing of the very choicest and best and

ANDOVER HOLIDAYS

piling it up so whole-heartedjy to do
honor to the occasion. There was some-
thing more than met the senses in the
savory smells of roast and boiled and
baked that day after day issued from
the crowded, busy kitchens. These fam-
ilies were in earnest in their belief that
their work, even in so small a matter
as entertaining, was ordered by their
great Taskmaster, and that to help them
perform it well all they had in the world
was not too much to bring.

Every inch of space in all the houses
near the Seminary was devoted to the
accommodation of guests. The rooms
of state in the different households were
assigned to the " visitors," and to the
" members of the corporation," the " vis-
itors " being honored first. Capacious
garrets were transformed into long
sleeping-rooms. Beds were put up.

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

and draped in white by my mother's
skilful fingers, in our airy wood-house
chamber. The boys were assigned soft
spots on the haymow. Extra " help "
was tucked away in places imaginable
or unimaginable, but strictly comfort-
able. " Use hospitality without grudg-
ing " ; never, even in Andover, was a
Bible maxim more rigidly enforced than
this one, by the hanging out of the latch-
string at Anniversary time.

I have no recollection that Sunday
brought to the graduation class parting
words of affection and counsel; still, it
was the last Sunday to be spent here
with those who had borne an important
part in our prayers and praises for three
long years — the very last until we
should all meet

'Where the assembly ne'er breaks up.
The Sabbaths never end."

[94]

ANDOVER HOLIDAYS

On Monday morning Andover was
astir with the first dawning of the gray-
September light. The final touch was
to be put on house and grounds; and
such of the culinary preparations as
could not be attended to during the pre-
vious week must be hurried to an im-
mediate consummation.

There were no railroads in those early
days. Distance was overcome by fa-
tigue, and long-considered, well-laid
plans. The journey to an Andover
Anniversary seemed as great an under-
taking to the scattered sons and friends
of the Seminary as would appear to us
now a trip to Europe or even a tour
around the world. There was pinching
and deprivation in many a poor min-
ister's family in order to allow the hus-
band and father to go up with the other
elect to this tabernacle of their Lord.

[95]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

There were long, weary miles trodden
by weary feet, rough roads driven over
with a thin, hungry horse in the old
" one hoss shay," and rusty saddle-bags
mended and packed with scanty, seedy
wardrobes, always containing, however,
no matter what they might be without,
the immaculate white cravat. Oh, there
was such a shaking of the dry bones of
the poor country clergy, that their rattle
comes down to me now. I write it rev-
erently, with a smile which has in it far
more of sadness than of mirth.

Any time after breakfast on Monday
morning guests were expected to arrive.
Our drawing-room chamber was set
apart for Mr. and Mrs. William Reed
of Marblehead. Wending its way along
the pleasant Salem turnpike, there came
in sight, about noon on Monday, Mr.
Reed's handsome carriage. Mr. and

[96]

ANDOVER HOLIDAYS

Mrs. Reed were people of wealth, taste,
and cultivation, and everything con-
nected with them possessed a charm.
Faultless in all their appointments of
dress and equipage, with a certain air
of refinement and high life, they brought
into the professional world, the Anniver-
sary of which they attended, an urbane
influence that made itself immediately
felt. With warm Christian hearts,
ready sympathies, and open purses, they
touched this strange life at points no
others seemed to approach, — touched,
and touching, blessed.

Up the Boston turnpike, at about the
same hour, came John Codman, d.d.,
with his stout English horses, his stout
English coach, his stout English coach-
man, his ruddy, cordial English self,
and his noble little wife. He was one
of the cloth, this nature's nobleman; yet

7 [97]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

the white cravat and the clerical air did
not sit quite naturally on his round,
portly form. An old English manor-
house, with escutcheons emblazoned on
portal and hall, with rich carvings in
time-honored oak, shining plate deeply
graved with the family arms, packs of
hounds, stables full of hunters, retinues
of retainers, — this would seemingly
have formed his natural environment ;
but here he was, a meek, working coun-
try minister, rich in every good word,
work, and deed, richer far in these than
in the gold that turned the glebe lands
into richest pastures, and the simple par-
sonage into a tasteful, old-world home.
If he had been absent, the Anniversary
would have lost one of its brightest or-
naments, and Andover one of its warm-
est friends.

There would also come driving up the

ANDOVER HOLIDAYS

Hill about noon a large, old-fashioned
stage-coach drawn by four horses. In-
side upon the back seat sat Mr. Bartlett,
one of the most generous benefactors
of the Seminary. Thickly stowed away
upon the other seats were as many of his
grandchildren as the big vehicle could
be made to hold. The coach drew up
before the house of the Bartlett pro-
fessor, who was always expected to en-
tertain his illustrious guest. Generally
one or two of his grandchildren re-
mained with him, and the rest were
eagerly sought for by the different fam-
ilies connected with the faculty.

Mr. Bartlett's most evident charac-
teristic on these occasions was his child-
like simplicity. There was in him an
utter absence of any demand upon the
gratitude of those he had so nobly
helped, — indeed, no man could have

["991

775589 A

OLD ANDOVER DAY

been more humble and retiring. A
stranger asked to select from the group
who occupied the seats of honor the
principal benefactor, would in all prob-
ability have passed him by.

Another guest was Jeremiah Day,
president of Yale College, high of fore-
head, delicate of form, smiling benig-
nantly over the assembly. He singled
out the sons of his alma mater, watching
and advising them from the wisdom of
his great fatherly heart, proud of their
success, and full of blessings.

Daniel Dana, d.d., brought hither
the reputation of being " Old School,"
and. for that reason never ceased to be
to us children a living wonder. Our
father was to him a heretic ! — an awful
word, of which only children bred on
Andover Hill can conceive the full
significance.

[100]

ANDOVER HOLIDAYS

On Monday there was held the public
meeting of the Society of Inquiry. It
was never crowded, its specific interest
being of a missionary and not of a liter-
ary character. On Tuesday came the
public examination, which tried young
men's souls then as now, but which was
then considered a little more final in
settling the question of the student's
fitness for the ministry.

On Tuesday, too, the social character
of the holiday began to manifest itself.
The throng of visitors had well-nigh
gathered. Every house was full, every
table crowded; and the assembling of
friends — reunions, we should call them
now — began. Guests were rapidly
transferred from one house to another
for dinner, for tea, and for the early
breakfast. If there is a profession given
to extreme sociability in its interviews

OLD ANDOYER DAYS

it is the ministry. After the saying of
grace, always solemn with the sudden
hush of voices and the cessation of the
click of china, a more hearty and cordial
abandon could not be found anywhere
among any class of people than used
for an hour to fill the various rooms.
All theological differences were put
aside; grim old, specters of natural de-
pravity, original sin, election, redemp-
tion, predestination, and free grace were
relegated into the obscurity from which
they came, and man met man, his fellow
man.

Tuesday evening drew a crowd to
listen to popular speaking by the Porter
Rhetorical Society. There was a poem,
and there were orations, with the
worldly, literary smack of which I have
already spoken as peculiar to the meet-
ings of the society throughout the year.

[102]

ANDOYER HOLIDAYS

To d.0 well was to be assured of a pulpit,
perhaps of a good parish. The hero of
the occasion, if he had done well, was
the distinguished individual who de-
livered the address. If he had failed —
well, failure was no worse then than
now; only in those primitive days
hearers were a trifle more honest.

Wednesday was the day of the week.
Then every one who meant to come up
to the Passover had gathered. All
along the fences leading from the
crowded Mansion House up and down
the streets stood carriages of every de-
scription, which had brought in heavy
loads of visitors. Scores of horses were
tied inside the fences, and busy boys
and men were hurrying from one to an-
other, big bundles of hay under their
arms, and measures full of oats in their
hands. Cheat a horse out of a spear of

[103]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

oats on Andover Hill? The very sug-
gestion is absurd.

Long before the chapel door was
opened a dense crowd filled the walk and
the steps. People huddled under the
windows, sometimes irreverently climb-
ing up to them and peeking in to see
how soon entrance would be allowed.
When the door was at last thrown open,
what an orderly rush there was, how re-
spectful and silent, but how decided!
Though it was Andover, there was no
thought that the first should be last.

When the " Honorable Corporation
and Board of Visitors " were ready to
make their slow and dignified entrance,
a peculiar and distinguished-looking
audience awaited them. Men and
women were there whose names go down
to posterity, who were powers, work-
ing here in America, working in Europe,

[ 104 ]

ANDOVER HOLIDAYS

Asia, and Africa, and in the many
islands of the sea; God's workmen,
guided, upheld, ministered unto, and
finally gathered to the great Anniver-
sary above.

Wednesday night the holiday was
over. After one large tea-party, held at
an early hour, the lines of horses and
carriages quickly disappeared from
fences and posts. Farewells were
spoken, and even to us reluctant chil-
dren came the consciousness that the
great Anniversary was over. By Thurs-
day noon nearly every guest had de-
parted, and a stillness, an Andover still-
ness, settled down over the peaceful
Hill. Neighing of horses, ratthng of
carriage wheels, trampling of many
feet, greeting of friendly voices, — all
were over now; and in the hush the
chirping of noisy insects, the rustling

noT]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

of falling leaves, spoke the soft on-
creeping of the autumn time.

But Thanksgiving still remained to
us, and even among the earliest of Old
Andover Days it was a joyful holiday.
Coming at the end of November, when
autumn had changed her golden robe
for one of glittering hoarfrost, when
sleigh-bells were ringing merrily over
our snow-bound streets, and when boys
and girls, red-mittened, with gaudy
comforters tied close around their necks,
were exchanging their hoarded stores of
walnuts and butternuts, swapping ears
of pop-corn, and trading Baldwins for
greenings, with much close attention to
their relative values, — all this wdth an
eye to a more worthy celebration of
the coming festival, — it was only sec-
ond in importance to the more public
Anniversary.

[106]

ANDOYER HOLIDAYS

It was then, as now, a family occa-
sion. There were few wanderers to
come home; for in the famihes of the
faculty the children were young and
had not yet scattered; and to travel
to Massachusetts from other states, in
the old, slow stage-coaches, was con-
sidered almost an impossibility at this
inclement season of the year; for in-
deed winter came earlier then, and
with a usurpation of entire right to
land and water that would be disputed
now.

It is wonderful, in looking back, what
a holiday we made of it ! Weeks before,
preparation began in kitchen and pan-
try. If Anniversary had shown shelves
of pies and jars of cakes, Thanksgiving
at least doubled the number. Mince
pies lasted, even with hungry boys and
girls who were never denied their piece,

TTotI

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

well into spring. Frozen hard they
were, but none the worse for that.

If any idea came into our heads that
the day was in any sense a religious fes-
tival, it has completely faded from my
memory. To church we had to go on
Thanksgiving morning, but we carried
with us the fragrance of the roasting
turkey, the warming pies, and the boil-
ing vegetables ; and instead of the grave
professor who was offering thanks for
us all, I am afraid we saw rows of cran-
berry tarts, currant jellies, piles of nuts,
rosy apples, and pretty twists of mo-
lasses candy.

What a jolly meal the dinner was!
Every child's plate was piled high with
delicacies until it could hold no more;
and the fun and frolic were unsubdued
by a look or word from the heads of the
table. And then after dinner came the

108 ]

ANDOVER HOLIDAYS

customary sleigh-ride, when, having
hired a double sleigh from Ray's stable,
we would pile it full even to the runners,
and drive out to some small country
tavern. There we played merry games,
heated our soapstones, refilled our
bottles of hot water, and paid for our
blazing wood fire. At an early hour
we went singing home. A decorous
young party we were, but a very happy
one.

The festival has become sacred now.
Very hallowed are its memories, for the
white-winged angel has borne one after
another from the father's house here to
the great Father's home above.

[109]

VI

ANDOVER WOMEN

Among the women known to the chil-
dren of Andover Hill, Mrs. John
Adams, as an embodiment of the typical
mother, must have the first place. She
was a large woman, with a full, frank,
beaming face, and soft hair, which,
when we lost her, had silver threads run-
ning through it. I write "we," for she
was the mother of us all, as well as of
her own nine children. When my child
friend Emily sat on one of her knees
and I on the other, her broad lap seemed
to us the most cheerful and restful place
in all our little world. If we hurt us, we
tumbled incontinently into her nursery,
and cried it out in her loving arms. If

ANDOVER WOMEN

we were overflowing with love and joy
we took her by storm, pulled her down
among our rag babies and block houses,
fed her with our mud-pies, and grew
wise and good as she petted us. I can-
not remember that she ever told us that
we were sinners, or prayed with us ; but
she gave us big red apples, the biggest
and reddest that ever grew out of the
Garden of Eden; and she would tell us,
as she watched us greedily devour them,
how much better it was to be good and
have such nice things given us, than to
be naughty and for that be shut up in
some dark, cold closet.

She loved flowers, and her little gar-
den was always ablaze with the bright-
est and sweetest. It seems to me now
that her delight in their fragrance and
color was characteristic, and that she
was always watching for a chance to

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

drop them before us on the strait and
narrow road, thus making it more allur-
ing to our beauty-loving eyes. Dear
human children we were to her, — not
angels, and not fallen beings born under
the curse, with the trail of the serpent
over us all, — but little ones to be
taken into her great motherly arms, and
brought to Jesus for his blessing.
Brought, that was it, not driven. And
so, when we stood, a large weeping
band, around her grave, heaven seemed
very near and dear, very homelike to
us, because she was there; and I doubt
whether even to this day there is one
of us who does not look forward to her
warm welcome, if perchance we may go
to her, with something of the yearn-
ing with which, as little ones, we used to
anticipate a visit to her sunny home
here. A mother of the olden time, this ;

fnil

ANDOVER WOMEN

can our " women of the period " show
any better?

In sharp contrast to Mrs. Adams was
Mrs, Porter. I have abeady had occa-
sion to refer to her in the chapter on the
week-day meetings; but these sketches
would be incomplete without a fuller
notice of this unusual woman. That
she is in heaven I have no more doubt
than that Hannah is there. Like this
dolorous character, she was " a woman
of a sorrowful spirit," who might em-
phatically have declared, " I have drunk
neither wine nor strong drink, but have
poured out my soul before the Lord.
Count not thine handmaid for a daugh-
ter of Belial : for out of the abundance
of my complaint and grief have I spoken
hitherto."

Looking back through the years and
trying to analyze her character, I find

8 [ 113 ]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

myself taking refuge in a legend which
was told among us. It was said that
the demure little figure gliding about
in her old-fashioned clothes, with her
brown eyes generally fixed upon the
ground, and her hands clasping the
strings of an odd-shaped black silk bag
in summer, and in winter buried deep
in the recesses of a big yellow fur muff,
was once upon a time, the time of a
woman's life, clad in a black velvet
cloak, a black velvet hat surmounted by
a sweeping ostrich plume being upon
her head; and that thus attired she
stood by the side of the grave and rev-
erend Professor Porter, and then and
there became a bride. This delightful
hint of worldliness, touching, if only
in a legend, our common humanity,
formed the one link between us and her,
and may have helped to give her the

ANDOVER WOMEN

influence which she certainly did exert
over us all. Every one of us children,
without regard to sex or age, did she
strive to make into little Samuels, en-
deavoring to gird us with linen ephods,
and bring us to minister before the
Lord.

Just where the dividing line may
safely be drawn between common sense
and rehgious fervor it would be difficult
to say. That the two things are often
un^dsely separated, no one who knew
Mrs. Porter can ever doubt. Living en-
tirely sequestered from society, occu-
pying the great house alone with her
husband and one servant, until, late in
life, she brought into it two adopted
children, shutting out from it sun and
air and even God's beautiful light, she
made it a place in which the " sorrow-
ful spirit '* brooded over everything.

r 115 1

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

" Eternity! " " Heaven! " " Hell! "
These three words seemed to be written
on the doors; they met you at the
threshold, sat with you in the darkened
rooms, and haunted your memories of
the old house. To send us there on an
errand was to compel us to obedience;
for to lift the brass knocker, resplen-
dent in its shining glory, the work of
black Myra's hands, was to see visions
of carpetless rooms, long ranges of
wooden chairs, a table in the center
holding Bibles and hymn-books, and
ourselves drawn down on our unwilling
knees, while Mrs. Porter prayed fer-
vently that God would forgive us, mis-
erable sinners!

" God can listen as well to a few
words as to a longer petition," she would
say, when we pleaded the command for
haste; and, "No time is ever lost in

[TTel

ANDOVER WOMEN

seeking the divine blessing." Escape
her we could not ; and perhaps the bless-
ing did come ; God moves in a mysteri-
ous way! A religious enthusiast may
be as much one of God's chosen work-
men as the quiet and steady worker who
reaps noiselessly in the harvest-field;
and that our repugnance was not our
fault, or that in the end Mrs. Porter's
influence was deleterious, I should be
reluctant to say.

The intellectual woman of Andover
Hill was Mrs. Farrar. A grandchild
of President Edwards, she inherited in
a remarkable degree those traits of mind
and character which made him re-
nowned. Theology was to her like
prayer, in the good old hymn:

*' — the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air;
His watchword at the gates of death,
He enters heaven with" — theology.

[117]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

Coming to Andover in mature life, she
was yet as thoroughly rooted and
grounded in the sterner doctrines as
if she had been indigenous to the
soil.

You could not swing back the gate
that opened upon her scrupulously nice
domain without perceiving the odor of
sanctity. You felt like leaving the
world, the flesh, and the devil behind
you, and rousing into active exercise
whatever dormant goodness in you lay.
We children, even, instinctively felt her
blood and her breeding. She was a
lady, -v^dth the somewhat stiff, old-time
courtesies and courtliness. No rude, or
— if we could help it — awkward thing
was ever allowed to obtrude itself upon
her presence. Her snow-white cap, fine
and delicate, her handsome black dress,
and the stomacher so purely white, were

ANDOVER WOMEN

outward signs of inward refinement,
and as such we recognized them.

Having a keen interest in everything
touching the religious life, whether in
the closet, the church, or the universe at
large, she kept herself intelligent with
regard to passing events. She despised
nothing as too small, and did not often
overrate the magnitude of what was
taking place; only she saw everything
through a glass of the same color. She
has left us the memory of one of those
strong-minded women who for prin-
ciple's sake would have crossed the win-
ter's sea in the " Mayflower," or sung a
Te Deum at the stake.

Two other women, although they
crossed our horizon only at Anniversary
time, left deep impressions upon our
young minds. One of the chief orna-
ments of the great occasion, as it seemed

rii9i

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

to US, was Mrs. William Reed. Born
and bred in affluence, she was singularly
fitted by nature to fill precisely the posi-
tion she held. Tall and stately, graceful
and dignified, she carried with her,
wherever she went, an air of command
and high breeding which no one could
resist. Something in her own refine-
ment seemed to draw out the refinement
in others. So it came about that many
were raised by the touch of her hand into
a higher and nobler life. It is some-
thing to find a Christian clown, and
leave a Christian gentleman; and this
she often accomplished. A philan-
thropist whose wisely benevolent hands
never wasted the gold she distributed;
she was a philanthropist also by virtue
of conferring that indescribable charm
that makes life good because it is beau-
tiful. I will not answer for the theol-

[120]

ANDOYER WOMEN

ogy of this sentence; I only assert its
truth.

Mrs. Reed's niece sends me an anec-
dote about her which is quite in har-
mony with the impression she made in
earher years upon her young observers.
After the election of President Harri-
son, in 1840, the enthusiastic Whig
voters of Marblehead, who had always
been in the minority there, got up a
torchlight procession, followed by ad-
dresses and a dinner in the Hall. A
niece of Mrs. Reed, whose house was
nearly opposite this Hall, determining
that the women should have a share in
the festivities, assembled all the ladies
belonging to the large family connec-
tion, with many others, to see the proces-
sion, and to enjoy themselves as best
they might in the absence of the mascu-
line element. The house was brilliantly

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

illuminated, making the street for some
distance very bright.

As the procession approached, with
torches, banners, and bands of music,
they halted before the house, saluting
the ladies with three times three cheers.
The ladies responded by waving their
handkerchiefs.

After the procession had passed into
the hall, a noisy crowd gathered, and
^dth abusive epithets began to assail the
house by throwing mud, sticks, and at
last stones, so that one or two windows
were broken. The ladies were much
alarmed, as their natural protectors
were all in the hall, unconscious of what
was going on outside.

At this juncture Mrs. Reed suddenly
opened the door and stepped out upon
the porch. She spoke not a word, but
looked with dignified surprise and re-

[ 122]

ANDOVER WOMEN

proof upon the mob. Instantly the
noise was hushed, some hands, still hold-
ing missiles, remaining uplifted. Every
eye was fixed upon her, as she stood at
the most perfect ease and in unbroken
silence. After a few moments she
turned, and closed the door.

Immediately a shout arose, " Three
cheers for Mrs. Reed!" They were
given with a will, and the crowd dis-
persed to burn General Harrison in
effigy.

To all who knew Mrs. Codman, the
other guest of whom I shall speak, her
yearly visit to Andover was like taking
down from the windows of their lives
the eastern shutters, and letting in whole
floods of morning sunlight. A small
woman, without any of the natural pres-
tige Mrs. Reed so eminently possessed,
she yet came as near the hearts of others,

[123]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

and affected their lives with as lasting
an impress. Of coarseness and rough-
ness she showed no consciousness if she
found a suffering human heart. Com-
ing very near to such a heart and min-
istering to it was her mission, — speak-
ing appreciative, loving words, giving
liberally, not as a donor, never as a
patron, but as a tender mother, who felt
every want more deeply than if it were
her own. Young men would sit down
by her side and tell her secrets of their
inner lives hidden before from every one
but the All-Seeing, — tell them, often,
with tears in their eyes, nor feel one
whit of their manhood abated because
she saw them there. When she died
she could hardly have needed angels to
conduct her through the valley of the
shadow, so many of those to whom she
had ministered here and who had gone

[ 124 ]

ANDOVER WOMEN

before her must have been waiting
eagerly to bring her through with shouts
of welcome.

In closing, let me touch lightly on her
who to me was nearest, dearest, best, —
my mother. As I look back, and try
out of the Madonna-faced images that
come at my call, to choose the one that
shall be most characteristic, I remember
that one of her sons, when the mists of
death were shutting out his busy life,
said while he looked for her with yearn-
ing, trusting love in the gathering dark-
ness, " My mother, from whose lips was
never heard a word of disparagement
of any human being."

Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, who
came to live in Andover after I had left
it, and was a family friend and neigh-
bor for many years, wrote at the time of
my mother's death a poem which gives

r 125 1

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

SO sympathetic a glimpse of her that I
will include it here :

**How quiet, through the hazy autumn air,

The elm-boughs wave with many a gold-flecked
leaf!
How calmly float the dreamy mantled clouds,
Through these still days of autumn, fair and
brief !

**Our Andover stands thoughtful, fair, and calm,
Waiting to lay her summer glories by.
Ere the bright flush shall kindle all her pines.
And her woods blaze with autumn's heraldry.

**By the old mossy wall the golden-rod

Waves as aforetime, and the purple sprays
Of starry asters quiver to the breeze.

Rustling all stilly through the forest ways.

**No voice of triumph from those silent skies
Breaks on the calm, and speaks of glories near.
Nor bright wings flutter, nor fair glistening robes
Proclaim that heavenly messengers are here.

**Yet in our midst an angel hath come down.
Troubling the waters in a quiet home ;
And from that home, of life's long sickness healed
A saint hath risen, where pain no more may come.

**Calm, like a lamb in shepherd's bosom borne.
Quiet and trustful hath she sunk to rest;
God breathed in tenderness the sweet, ' Well done ! *
That scarce awoke a trance so still and blest.

ANDOVER WOMEN

"Ye who remember the long, loving years.
The patient mother's hourly martyrdom,
The self-renouncing wisdom, the calm trust,
Rejoice for her whose day of rest has come !

"Father and mother, now united, stand,

Waiting for you to bind the household chain ;
The tent is struck, the home is gone before,
And tarries for you on the heavenly plain.

"By every wish repressed and hope resigned.
Each cross accepted and each sorrow borne,
She dead yet speaketh, she doth beckon you
To tread the path her patient feet have worn.

"Each year that world grows richer and more dear
With the bright freight washed from this stormy
shore ;
O goodly clime, how lovely is thy strand.

With those dear faces seen on earth no more !

"The veil between this world and that to come
Grows tremulous and quivers with their breath;
Dimly we hear their voices, see their hands.
Inviting us to the release of death.

"O Thou, in whom thy saints above, below,
Are one and undivided, grant us grace
In patience yet to bear our daily cross, —
In patience run our hourly shortening race !

"And while on earth we wear the servant's form,
And while life's labors ever toilful be.
Breathe in our souls the joyful confidence

We are abeady kings and priests with thee." *

^ "Lines on the Death of Mrs. Stuart." Religious
Poems: Boston. Ticknor and Fields. 1867. p. 53.

127

VII

ANDOVER TRYSTING-PLACES

There is hardly a spot in New England
over whose quiet beauty the morning
breaks and the sun rises with such grand
solemnity as on Andover Hill. It is
not difficult there to imagine God sit-
ting behind the high altar listening to
the prayers and praises which ascend to
him with the earliest light from so many
pious hearts. At evening, too, not even
Italy can rival the rich draperies of
gold and purple and amethyst, of crim-
son and scarlet, gray and azure, in which
the setting sun wTaps itself as it sinks
slowly to its bed beneath the wide, hilly
horizon. Otherwise, however, Andover
has little of which to boast in the way of
natural scenery. It was no wonder.

ANDOVER TRYSTING-PLACES

therefore, that we thought and made so
much of the few spots that offered any
allurements in the way of outdoor enjoy-
ment. The first of which I shall write
is Prospect Hill. This hill lies about
two miles southeast from the Seminary
buildings, a little off what used to be
called the old Salem turnpike. It is not
high, yet it well deserves its name; for
when you have climbed its smooth green
sides, the panorama is soft and beauti-
ful. Small farms, with stone walls, neat
white houses, and large barns, each with
cattle feeding everywhere upon the
broad meadow lands, creep up to the
foot of the hill. Here and there are
dense woods ; and small patches of birch
or beech-trees dot the open spaces. The
crowning glory of the view is the dis-
tant ocean fifteen miles away. On a
clear day ships can easily be seen with

9 [ 129 ]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

the naked eye. To stand there and
watch them while hke white birds they
skim along the blue is reward enough
for climbing to the top.

Hither, during many years of his life,
Professor Stuart used to come, once a
sunmier, with the young men of his
class. A pleasant holiday it was to him,
one of the few he ever allowed himself;
and into it he entered with a zest which
those who shared it with him did not
soon forget. He laid aside the pro-
fessor, and made the students his boon
companions, with whom he talked in his
inimitable way. Not a thing in field or
sky escaped him. The birds sang for
him, and for him the wayside flowers
bloomed along the road. The fields
ripening for the harvest had their word
of approbation or of condemnation, as
he thought they deserved. The people

[130]

ANDOVER TRYSTING-PLACES

met along the way he recognized by-
some words of hearty good-will. And
when at last the top of the hill was
gained, not an eye caught the points of
the landscape more quickly than his, or
with greater appreciation.

The distance of this trysting-place
from home caused it to be less fre-
quently sought than others that were
nearer; but still not a summer passed
that the more adventurous among us did
not plan our little parties thither, when,
standing on the top, we felt as we might
had we climbed Mont Blanc, and beheld
from its summit the glories of the world.

Next to Prospect Hill in popular
favor came the North Parish Pond.
This was three miles from the Semi-
nary Hill, and was not considered within
walking distance; yet its beauty and
availability when reached made it a

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

favorite picnic ground; so that a sum-
mer which passed and left it unvisited
was counted among the lost years. Sa-
cred beyond any other trysting-place is
this to the memory of those who once
sang their merry songs to the dip of
oars in its clear waters, and whose barks
have now floated far away on the great
unknown sea.

Picnics have come into disrepute of
late, and well they may, with the elabo-
rate preparations now customary; but
in the olden time they had a simplicity
and freedom charming to enjoy and no
less charming to remember. We awak-
ened on the day appointed for a visit to
the pond, exhilarated and happy. It
was to be a general holiday, and all the
families on the Hill were astir with the
dawn. Smoke rushed out from every
chimney, great fires blazed and crackled

[132]

ANDOVER TRYSTING-PLACES

in the ample fireplaces and ovens. Per-
sis and Betsy, Phoebe and Myra, our
long trusted, well-beloved " help," with
their deft fingers were preparing good
things for an early bake; and with
quick steps and anxious, housewifely
tact, our mothers were arranging bas-
kets and pails to hold what the ovens
were soon to yield. When at last, all
being in readiness, the carriages stood
before our doors, and we rushed pell-
mell into them, it would have been hard
to find a merrier or a happier party.

This pond, visited only on warm,
bright summer days, had a tree-girt
shore, a few small islands, and a crystal
sparkle that shone and danced upon its
little waves, with a beauty not to be for-
gotten. Rowing out upon Lake Mag-
giore in the glory of an Italian morn-
ing, I saw the same sparkle, and was in

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

an instant far away from the scenes
around me, back upon the shores of this
Httle New England lake.

The avowed purpose of our excur-
sion was to fish. There were a few leaky-
old boats always to be hired, and boys
proud to do the work of rowing, while
the hands whose daily task it was to
turn the leaves of ponderous theological
tomes, baited the hooks, or with more
than a boy's enthusiasm drew up and
secured the fluttering little fish. Many
flounders we caught, and — but I will
not tell tales. After the catching came
the cooking, and what a jolly time it
was! I hope the word " jolly " will not
be considered irreverent; for it was a
jolly time, and our fish were — but, as
I said before, I will not tell tales. If
one only looked in the right places, one
might doubtless find now the rough fire-

fiill

ANDOYER TRYSTING-PLACES

place wherein we cooked them, the
rudely built seats that surrounded the
rudely built table upon which we served
them, and, perhaps, the footprints of
those who kept tryst there so long ago!
But it is around the two trysting-
places. Pomp's Pond and Indian Ridge,
both nearer the Hill and therefore easier
of access, that there cluster the most nu-
merous associations. Indian Ridge is
an embankment about twenty feet high,
which runs along at a short distance
from the western bank of the Shaw-
sheen River. It is broad and level at
the top, and is carpeted by a short, thin
greensward. Its sides are thickly cov-
ered with trees. As children, we firmly
believed it to be a vast mausoleum within
which reposed the bones of vast Indian
tribes. Their dusky ghosts, we thought,
haunted their resting-place, looked

[135]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

down frowningly upon us palefaces
from the high tree-tops, or stealthily
glanced out from behind the old moss-
covered trunks. I doubt whether you
could have induced one of us to remain
there after the shades of evening crept
over the Ridge.

At certain hours of almost every day
you would be sure to see other dusky
forms, not quite so ethereal as those of
the dead Indians, but almost as grave,
moving around among the shadows and
the flickering sunbeams. Sometimes
these figures threw themselves prone
upon the ground, and taking a book
from their pockets were soon lost to all
the happy external world. Sometimes
they shouted bits of deep discourse, sang
pious hymns, or uttered disjointed sen-
tences of ejaculatory prayer. Some-
times, — and this it is pleasant to re-

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^v.pv AND

Til-

ANDOVER TRYSTING-PLACES

member, — they ran, and sang every-
day songs, whistled merry tunes, and
leaped back over the years of manhood
to the happy boy days. O Indian
Ridge! if you could only tell the story
of the unbending you have seen ; if you
could whisper to us the sallies of ready
wit, the jocundity, the heart merriment
of which vou have been the hearer, what
a revelation you would make !

Since the Ridge is silent, let us hear
the testimony of one of the old-time
theologues:

" For many hours each day it was the
custom to study closely, severely, if you
please, but when the hour of rest came
it was greeted by a company as light-
hearted and happy as is often found in
this world. In long-drawn files we hur-
ried by the back road toward the North
Parish, or to Frye Village, or across the

[137]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

Shawsheen to Indian Ridge, and by
other pleasant and well-known paths;
and when the faithful muezzin on the
chapel summoned us to commons, we
hasted with wilhng feet not more eager
to satisfy our hunger than to enjoy
the social feast that awaited us. The
tumblers were transparent, the joints
could not have been tough, the vege-
tables, i. e., the potatoes, were fair to
look at, and all were partaken of by a
company as thankful and as happy as
good principles and young life could
make them."

To Pomp's Pond I have referred in
a previous chapter. It was only a small
pond, so small that we could love every
drop it held, could sit upon its green,
sloping banks and count the little waves
that broke along its pebbly beach, could
venture out in a cockle-shell to float on

[138]

ANDOVER TRYSTING-PLACES

its tranquil bosom, and feel no more
fear than the wise men who went to sea
in a bowl. The shadows and the lilies
were the two great attractions here.
Upon the still bosom of this lake, in the
gloaming of a summer day, there were
pictures of tall pine-trees, each needle
dancing up and down as if in for an
evening bath, pictures of sturdy oaks,
their sturdiness lost in the rollicking
waves, pictures of bending larches
stooping over the bright mirror with a
pleased smile at their own loveliness,
and, most beautiful of all, clouds float-
ing as quietly in the blue beneath as in
the blue above. With all these mingled
the lovely pond-lily, its white blossoms
waiting, it seemed to us, to be gathered
by boys and girls to whom the risk of
a life seemed a small matter in compari-
son to becoming the possessor of a

[139]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

long, drooping bunch of these favorite
flowers.

Old Pomp and Dinah, with their
happy black faces, and their careless,
*' never mind " hearts, were fit patron
saints for the place. Neither cold nor
hunger nor sickness disheartened them.
They had smiles for you if Pomp was
" bad, with the rheumatiz," or Dinah was
" laid up for a spell." They took life
as God sent it, trusting him in summer
and in winter alike; and when, old and
feeble, they were taken home, they went
with the same good cheer, leaving their
blessing on the pretty pond to brood
over it unto this day. What a trysting-
place it was ! I am not going to tell of
the words of love first spoken there, of
the vows that were made, the promises
registered and sealed there, and, let us
hope, bravely and loyally kept to the

[140]

ANDOVER TRYSTING-PLACES

end. If ever such natural retreats were
needed, they were needed in Andover;
for the life of a student is often the life
of a recluse. The ponds, the Ridge, the
hill, had each a mission work to do, and
they did it well.

141 ]

VIII

SOME MEN OF THE OLDEN TIME
I. LEONARD WOODS, D.D.

No one of the Andover professors was
a more distinct personality for us chil-
dren than Dr. Leonard Woods. To this
result there contributed in different de-
grees his handsome presence, his dark
repute as a theologian, and his benig-
nity towards us all.

The dwelling-house which he built
shortly after coming to Andover was in
strict keeping with the character of the
man. It was a large, three-story house,
plain even to the lack of blinds to shield
its many windows, but with ample and
convenient rooms, and closets large
enough to serve us children as so many

[ 142 ]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

baby-houses. In this house he hved
from the day of its completion to the
day of his death; and here a large
family of sons and daughters grew up
to maturity.

Writing of her father to me, one of
his daughters says:

" You well know my father's genial-
ity and blandness, his great tenderness
as a husband and father. I don't think
I ever heard him speak of Sarah [a
daughter who died young] without tears
in his eyes. And you know of his unsur-
passed tenderness to our mother in the
ten years of her sickness, of the wagon
he had made in which to draw her up
and down beneath the elms, and how he
used to put it on runners in the winter.
Sometimes your father used to come in
and ask, 'Where's Brother Woods?'
When told he was drawing mother, he

[143]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

would go off without another word, and,
joining them, would take hold and help
draw, while they discussed, I dare say,
some knotty point in theology. We
used to congratulate mother on her il-
lustrious team.

" I remember how I used to break
down on going away to school in very
abandonment of sorrow; but my tears
would flow afresh when I caught sight
of father's quivering lip. I knew with
a moral certainty that as soon as I had
left he would go into the study and pray
for me. And then his beaming face and
outstretched arms on my return! Oh,
how vividly does it all come before
me! Every child he had remembers all
this."

There can be no more beautiful pic-
ture than this of Dr. Woods drawing his
invalid wife in that chair-wagon. A

[ 144 ]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

stalwart, handsome man, preoccupied
moreover by the nature and demands of
his profession, he might have been sup-
posed by a stranger to be hf ted out from
the world of small kindnesses and lov-
ing tendernesses; but, in truth, no one
was here so thoroughly at home.
Wrapping the shawls around his little,
pale wife so that no wind from the bleak
Andover heavens could visit her too
roughly, and seating her carefully and
easily in the cushioned chair, he drew
her over the graveled sidewalks with a
minute attention to the spots upon which
the wheels could run most smoothly.
When the day was hot, he sought the
deepest shadows thrown by the large
elms. He passed the yards where the
flowers were the brightest, or the lawns
best kept, stopping now and then to ex-
change a word of greeting with a friend,

10 [ 145 ]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

or to do an errand that would interest
and amuse the invalid.

Writing of him in his domestic char-
acter, an old pupil says :

" During the whole of my acquaint-
ance with him, — as one who enjoyed
the privilege of occupying a room in his
own dwelling-house for the three years
of my course in the Seminary, — the
loveliness and faithfulness of his charac-
ter in this respect was continually de-
veloped, and excited my admiration and
esteem. He was a most affectionate
and faithful husband and father. I
have seen him in times of domestic
affliction and trial ; and when I think of
him as he appeared then, I am reminded
of what my imagination pictures to me
of Abraham himself, walking forth with
Isaac, or buying of the sons of Heth a
burial place for his beloved Sarah. He

[ 146]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

had much of the dignity and the ten-
derness in his dignity of the ancient
patriarch." ^

The last days of his life were peace-
ful, and filled with the faithful work
which even the growing infirmities of
years did not tempt him to discontinue.
If there had come across his vision a
glimpse into the troubled future await-
ing his beloved Seminary, this holy
calm would doubtless have given place
to deep anxieties and forebodings; but,
fortunately for him, he went home while
from the old pulpit there had been ut-
tered no heretical discourses, while
Westminster Shorter Catechism still
held its revered place by the side of the
words of Holy Writ, while second pro-
bation was a thing undreamed of, and

» Dr. Blagden: "Semi-Centennial Celebration," And-
over, 1859, p. 188 f.

[147 J

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

a trial of a member of the faculty for
heresy as impossible to anticipate as the
burning of one of them at the stake for
too close an adherence to the old the-
ology. He was an old man when he
died; and he was buried in the hal-
lowed cemetery behind the chapel which
he had loved, and in which he had
taught and preached for so many long
years.

n. WILLIAM BARTLETT

Sometimes in my childhood my
mother took me with her when she went
visiting. Two such visits I will describe,
because they gave me lasting pictures
of two of the principal benefactors of
the Seminary in the earliest days. The
first was to Mr. William Bartlett of
ISTewburyport. I remember a large,
three-story white house built directly on

[148]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

the street, and recall standing at the
front door, holding tightly to my
mother's hand, while the great brass
knocker was lifted and fell with a cheery
tone, as if it were sure something pleas-
ant was to come. Then I remember an
open door, a dark hall, with a big ma-
hogany table standing on one side, and
upon the table a black hat and a black
cane. One more open door, and a room
with an old gentleman in a large old,
chair, the man and the chair seeming to
fill the whole room. He did not rise,
but he held out two great hands toward
the entering guests, one to shake hands
with the lady, the other to pat the little
girl's head. He lifted the child upon
his broad knee, where she sat not daring
to raise her eyes, hardly daring to
breathe, until he seemed to have forgot-
ten her. Then she shyly turned her

[149]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

head half toward him, and saw a white
ruffled shirt bosom that seemed to rise
like a cloud between them and almost
shut him from her. Above the shirt
bosom there was a face surrounded by
short gray hair, some eyes that looked at
the mother but not at the child, and a
mouth that smiled so pleasantly that
little lips forgot to tremble and smiled
too. Later, there was a tea-table cov-
ered with curious old china. All stood
a moment behind the chairs with bowed
heads, while the gray-haired man ut-
tered a simple blessing. This is the pic-
ture of an old man about whom there
was a halo, though for what reason the
child's mind failed to recognize. Yet
she gave to him, there and then, in that
attitude of prayer, a hero-worship which
long years have failed to lessen, —
which, indeed, the years that have shown

[150]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

her what he was in his noble manhood,
have only increased.

I afterwards saw Mr. Bartlett many
times, when he came to Andover for the
Anniversary. I remember him as he
used to sit in one of the seats of honor
upon the stage, with his large, well-built
frame, his white hair, his expressive blue
eye, and the benign, satisfied look with
which he regarded the surging crowd
before him. Never amid all the culture
and refinement which he found await-
ing him there, and of which he was the
central figure, did he seem in the least
embarrassed or out of place. On one
of these occasions, because he had al-
ways persistently refused to have his
portrait taken, there was introduced
into the chapel a painter, who took his
likeness without his knowledge. This
portrait, which still hangs in the Semi-

ri5ii

OLD AN DOVER DAYS

nary Library, has somewhat faded with
time; and by a tradition truly charac-
teristic of Andover Hill, the fading of
the hues has been called a judgment on
the surreptitious course by which the
portrait was obtained.

Though liis portrait in the Seminary
Library has faded, the portrait in my
memory remains as distinct as ever. I
see a large man, with a well-formed
head, a mild and quiet blue eye, a Ro-
man nose, a firm mouth, and a chin that
looks as if chiseled out of marble.
Never was there another human face
where the upper and lower parts im-
plied characteristics so different. Cov-
ering the lower part, you would have
said that the man was one of the gentlest
and most lovable of human beings ; cov-
ering the upper part, you would have
knovni that there was in him neither

[152]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

pity nor forgiveness for the delinquent
who through idleness or folly had come
to grief.

m. MOSES BROWN

It was possibly during the same visit
to Newburyport that I was taken to call
on Mr. Moses Brown. I saw a little
old man dressed in small-clothes, with
buckles at his knees, long white stock-
ings, and low shoes, also fastened with
shining buckles. I recall, too, a shirt
frill of the finest plaiting, and a blue
coat with great gilt buttons down the
front. Mr. Brown had a thin face, dark
eyes, and small features. When he
smiled, which he did a great deal, the
wrinkles round his mouth seemed to
pucker up like those on a dried apple;
but the smile was winning, and drew the
little girl close by his side.

The house in which he lived bore an

[153]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

important part in causing the glamour
of the visit. It was a two-story, rather
quaint house, with many windows, and
was painted white with green bhnds. It
stood in the midst of ample grounds,
upon which grew large trees, and there
were choice shrubs in the front yard,
rose-trees under the windows, and large
lilac and syringa bushes along the path
from the gate to the front door. Curi-
ous beds were bordered with tall box,
and in the beds old-fashioned flowers, —
pinks, marigolds, and touch-me-nots,
— flourished luxuriantly.

The inside of the house was in keep-
ing with the exterior. It had large, low
rooms, with ample fireplaces holding
shining brass andirons, heavy mahog-
any chairs with claw feet, and straight-
backed sofas covered with rich damask.
It had high post bedsteads with carvings

[ 154 ]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

of flowers on the posts, and the most
dainty of dimity curtains surmounting
them. It had strange-looking toilet
sets, which one of Mr. Brown's ships
must have brought over from the far
East. Scattered about were fanciful
china toys, such as mandarins, that
wagged their heads at you maliciously
if you so much as touched them.

Among all these wonderful treasures
I recall Mr. Brown playing tag with
his little granddaughter and me, poking
after us under chairs and sofas with a
gold-headed cane, and laughing a
queer, cracked laugh whenever he
touched us. Then my mother brought
me away.

IV. WILLIAM G. SCHAUFFLER, D. D.

Standing before me as I write is a
queer-looking footstool. Its top is cov-

[155]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

ered, with black broadcloth, upon which
a dog is worked in worsteds. The top
is supported by four tall, slim, mahog-
any legs, showily turned; and a broad
black fringe hanging from the cushion
does its best to bring legs and top into
tasteful union. Time and use have ren-
dered this footstool by no means an ele-
gant piece of furniture; yet there is
hardly an article among our household
belongings which we should be more
sorry to lose; for it was made years
ago by William G. Schauffler, progeni-
tor of the well-known family of mission-
aries, while he was at Andover, prepar-
ing for his work in Constantinople.

To us children Mr. Schauffler wore
from the first a halo of romance. He
had been born in Germany, land of
vines, legends, ruined castles, and ad-
vanced theology. He had lived in

[156]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

Odessa, in the far East, probably some-
where near Jerusalem. He had been
persecuted for righteousness' sake — or
so we firmly believed — and had been
saved from prison and death by an arch-
duchess, who had conveyed him in her
escutcheoned carriage, through the
darkness and stillness of night, to a
place from which he could escape. The
source of this tale I do not know; cer-
tainly no such occurrence is related in
Dr. Schauffler's " Autobiography " !
Moreover, our hero had a wonderful
flute, the strains of which, soft, sweet,
and delicious, carried us into a dream
world.

To meet Mr. Schauffler in the street
and have him stop to pat our heads made
us happy for the day. To bring him a
flower, to offer him timidly half our
candy, or to fill his large brown hand

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

with our nuts or pop-corn, greatly en-
hanced the value of what was left.
When our parents invited him to share
the hospitality of our homes, we thought
it a joyful holiday. We even went with
blithe heart and willing step to the
weekly Jews' Meeting, drawn thither
by the hope that we might listen to the
music of his flute. As I look back, our
childish devotion seems to me a beauti-
ful tribute to the simple-hearted truth
of his character.

Now we knew that our friend was
poor. There was of course nothing un-
common in his poverty; many, indeed
most, of the young men in the Seminary
were fully as impecunious. But there
was something so touching to us chil-
dren in the poverty of our Mr. Schauf-
fler, that a few of us combined to earn a
cloak that should protect him from the

[7581

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

pinching, piercing Andover cold. To
do such a thing to-day might seem a
slight matter, even to children no older
than we ; but to attempt it in those days
was an adventurous undertaking. We
made a bedquilt, for one thing, out of
small bits of calico. No more play now
for us. Home we went as soon as Miss
Davis said " Amen "; and there we pa-
tiently plied the bit of polished steel,
until at last — a long and weary at last
— the quilt was done, and my mother
paid us for it three whole dollars ! The
bedquilt is worn out now, and most of
the little fingers that wrought at it so
patiently have been folded to their last
rest over still hearts ; but the interest of
this mite thrown into the treasury of our
Lord is still accumulating unto this day.
Some of the money we needed was
earned in a more novel manner. When

[159]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

we asked Mrs. Porter to buy some
bunches of gay lamplighters she re-
plied, " I can make my own. But,"
pushing up her spectacles and turning
her brown eyes straight upon us, " I will
give you twenty-five cents, if you will
come in every Wednesday and Satur-
day afternoon, and read aloud to me
* Mason on Self- Knowledge.' "

Think of it! That four little girls,
full of life from the crowns of their
heads to the soles of their feet, should
spend all their holiday afternoons read-
ing " Mason on Self-Knowledge " aloud
to this peculiar old lady, in the faint
glimmer of her big, vacant, tomb-like
rooms! A hurried, frightened glance
passed from one to another of us, and
some one faltered out consent. We
scrambled for the door, but the quiet
voice called, us back, and we heard :

[160]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

" I want to add, that as we should
make every occasion one of seeking
Christ, I will give you twenty-five cents
without, and fifty cents with remarks ! "

" Mason on Self- Knowledge," com-
mented upon by Mrs. Porter! But we
accepted the offer, and at the end of
many long weeks received our fifty
cents.

At last the money necessary for the
cloak had all been collected. I have for-
gotten who selected it for us, but I have
a vivid remembrance of how it looked.
The material was a red plaid. A full
skirt, gathered into a yoke, descended
to the feet; and as if this did not give
sufficient warmth, a full, square cape
came down almost as far. A large gilt
clasp fastened the garment at the neck,
and two red tassels dangled midway.
Imagine a student on Andover Hill to-
il [ 161 ]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

day in this gay plumage ! At that time
it was not considered at all showy or
out of taste, only appropriate and
becoming.

Besides working hard over his books,
Mr. Schauffler did everything he could
towards earning his way. In the work-
shop where the other students bungled
at coffins he made a variety of beauti-
fully wrought articles, for which there
was always a demand. Of these things
our O'svn parlor contained several; and
one of them at least, the stool of which
I have spoken, is still in existence.

Mr. Schauffler's eventful career after
he left Andover is well known. I have
always hoped that some of the inspira-
tion and energy he showed in his labors
among the Jews in Constantinople was
received from the Jews' Meeting at
Mrs. Porter's; that his success in help-

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

ing to translate the Bible was due in
some measure to his studies at Andover;
and that he kept a warm corner in his
memory for the four little girls who,
to buy him a red cloak, pricked their
fingers making patchwork, and on holi-
day afternoons read " Mason on Self-
Knowledge."

V. MOSES STUART

The last person connected with Old
Andover whom I shall describe is my
father, Closes Stuart, who was professor
of Greek and Hebrew at the Seminary
for nearly forty years. His home life
was only an incident in his scholarly
career. Seven children, three boys and
four girls, soon filled his commodious
house. If we could have brought, each
one of us, a trail of exegetical glory
from heaven, we should doubtless have

[163]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

met a warmer welcome; but, after all,
we found the kindest and most gen-
erous of fathers, — when he remem-
bered us. We were there, we were
to be cared for, to be loved, to be edu-
cated, to want nothing that he could
provide, but not to interfere with the
work to which he had been called, and,
children or no children, must faithfully
perform.

That we, on our part, should have
felt any particular interest in this work
could hardly have been expected; I
doubt whether, until we had left our
happy childhood behind us, we had
much idea what it was. We saw books
printed in types unknown to us crowd-
ing the study shelves and tables. We
looked with awe upon the piles of manu-
script written in the neat, characteristic
handwriting of our father, wondering

[ 164]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

what they could all be about. It was
the Bible, of course; but why the Bible?
Did God need a new interpreter? If
so, and our father had been chosen, was
that the reason he was named Moses,
the name borne by that other Moses
who wrote the Ten Commandments on
those wonderful tables of stone?

I think it must have come to us early
that we were born to no common lot.
Andover homes were, every one of them
on that sacred Hill, withdrawn in a
monastic seclusion from the rest of the
world. Strict Puritan rules governed
every household, and yet the young Ufe
obeyed the Must and Must Not of the
regime. To us as a family this was most
imperative; for our mother, wisest and
kindest of all mothers, kept the fact con-
stantly before us that our father was
chosen and set apart from the rest of

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

the world to do a great and important
work.

His appearance has been well de-
scribed by Oliver Wendell Holmes in
his reminiscences of his school-days at
Andover. He writes:

"Of the noted men of Andover the
one whom I remember best was Pro-
fessor Moses Stuart. His house was
nearly opposite the one in which I re-
sided, and I often met him and listened
to him in the chapel of the Seminary.
I have seen few more striking figures
in my life than his, as I remember it.
Tall, lean, with strong, bold features,
a keen, scholarly, accipitrine nose, thin,
expressive lips, great solemnity and im-
pressiveness of voice and manner, he
was my early model of a classic orator.
His air was Roman, his neck long and
bare like Cicero's, and his toga — that

[166 1

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

is his broadcloth cloak — was carried
on his arm whatever might have been
the weather, with such a statue-like,
rigid grace that he might have been
turned into marble as he stood, and
looked noble by the side of the antiques
of the Vatican." ^

It is a difficult, almost a hopeless, task
to sketch the character of one who, with
delicate, poetical, literary tastes, yet
gave his whole soul to dry, grammatical
exegesis until he considered the inter-
pretation of a word, even of a vowel, to
contain a truth of the utmost impor-
tance to the welfare of the sin-ridden
world. It was the whole-souled earnest-
ness of his work, his strong belief in it
and its importance, that made his daily
life so scholarly and set apart.

* " Pages from an Old Volume of Life," p. 149. Hough-
ton, Mifflin and Co., 189 L

[167]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

This may be better understood
through a simple and familiar record of
his every-day home life during his long
professional work at Andover. There
is little to relate of anecdote or even
of the usual experiences of a quiet New
England town. From his study to the
chapel of the Theological Seminary,
back and forth, day after day, meeting
no one, but in the silence and solitude
through which he walked hearing and
recognizing the song of every bird that
caroled on the trees ; noting the changes
in the elms which he had loved ever since
he had seen the tiny twig planted in the
rough, new ground; watching through
the brief summer days for the flowers
that sometimes dotted his path; over-
looking no slightest thing in earth or
sky that God had given, — such was
his life.

168]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

He brought into his daily life many
of the habits acquired when he was a
farmer's boy. He felt that every mo-
ment passed in sleep, after the most
rigorous demands of nature were satis-
fied, was lost time. In simimer at four,
and in winter at five, he was astir; and
the occupations of the day began. In
summer his garden was his delight. To
this he went when Andover Hill was
still wrapped in sleep. His trim beds,
whether of flowers or of vegetables,
were always in luxuriant order. To
bring in the earliest flowers for the
breakfast-table, to surprise his family
with some fine home-grown fruit, gave
him keen pleasure. That these results
were not obtained without difficulty is
plain from a reminiscence by one of his
pupils.

" I well remember," writes Dr. Way-

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

land, " that on one occasion he needed
a Httle assistance in getting in his hay,
and indicated to his class that he would
be gratified if some of us would help him
for an hour or two. There was, of
course, a general turnout. The crop
was a sorry one, and as I was raking
near him, I intimated to him something
of the kind. I shall never forget his
reply: *Bah! was there ever climate
and soil like this! Manure the land as
much as you will, it all leaches through
this gravel, and very soon not a trace
of it can be seen. If you plant early,
everything is liable to be cut off by the
late frosts of spring. If you plant late,
your crop is destroyed by the early
frosts of autumn. If you escape these,
the burning sun of summer scorches
your crop, and it perishes by heat and
drought. If none of these evils over-

[170]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

take you, clouds of insects eat up your
crop, and. what the caterpillar leaves
the canker-worm devours.' Spoken in
his deliberate and solemn utterance,
I could compare it to nothing but
the maledictions of one of the old
prophets." ^

In winter he walked to the village, if
possible, or around the square. When
walking or working in the open air was
absolutely impossible, he took refuge in
his wood-house, accomplishing in a deft
and rapid manner feats an Irishman
might en^y. The one thing that must
be accomplished was to bring his ex-
hausted nervous system into such a con-
dition that he could do hard mental
work and do it well. To this one great
end he made the most every-day inci-
dents subordinate, and amid pain and

^ " Semi-Centennial Celebration," p. 158. Andover, 1859.

OLD ANDOYER DAYS

weakness and discouragement he ac-
complished his purpose.

His exercise taken, he was ready for
his breakfast, and woe to any mischance
by which it and the whole family were
not ready for him. I have pictures in
my memory of sleepy little children
hurrying into their clothes, and rushing
pell-mell do^\Ti-stairs, when his step was
heard on the graveled walk in front of
the house. To be late at breakfast was
an offense; to be absent was not allow-
able except in case of illness. Break-
fast was often a silent meal. The hour
was still early; in winter we ate by the
light of tallow candles. The exercise
had. not yet recuperated Mr. Stuart's
tired nervous system, and stillness acted
beneficially with the smoking food.

Then followed family prayers. These
often indicated the character of the

172]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

previous night. Had it been quiet
and restful, there were uttered bright
and hopeful as well as devout words;
but had there been sleeplessness, or the
hardly less distressing visions of the
night, nothing found voice but the most
pathetic entreaties to his God for rest
and solace, " before being taken away
to be seen here no more forever." These
moods generally passed with the
" Amen." It was as if having told all
to the divine Orderer of Events, sick-
ness and death were no longer his care,
and he had nothing more to do but take
up his waiting work. From family
prayers he went directly to his study.

To show how entirely the life of the
whole family was affected by that of its
scholarly head, I may say that almost
every room in the house was known, at
one time or another, by the name of

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

" the study." The study of later years
was a large upper chamber facing south.
It was not a cheerful room: old brown
paper of a stiff pattern covered the
walls, and four yellow maps of Pales-
tine hung where they could be most
readily used. In one corner a small
bookcase stood upon a chest of drawers.
The case was full of well-worn volumes,
bound in Russia leather; and the chest
was stored with sermons, lectures, and
other professional papers. A square
study table, and a high desk beside a
window were both methodically ar-
ranged with implements for writing and
with books wanted daily, such as lexi-
cons and Bibles in various tongues.
Near by was a large fireplace, with a
plain wooden mantelpiece, crowded vA\h
books. The other furniture of the room
was plain and old-fashioned, nothing

[174]

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y:vr;ARV

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

being admitted except what was indis-
pensable. Over the mantelpiece hung
a silver watch which ticked for over
fifty years, measuring off days, weeks,
and months, rich in God's work.

When the door of this room was shut,
it was set apart from daily life as com-
pletely as if it had been transported
to another world. Immediately every
member of the household began to move
about on tiptoe; and whatever words
were spoken were uttered in subdued
tones. From that moment until twelve,
only a matter of the utmost importance
made permissible a knock upon the
study door. Visitors, no matter from
what distance or of what social and lit-
erary standing, were all denied admit-
tance. Business exigencies were ig-
nored; and any Seminary student who
unluckily forgot the hours was sent

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

away with a short if not a curt reply.
When two old friends asked him to
marry them, the hour for the ceremony
being fixed for ten o'clock, he refused,
saying, " But that is in my study
hours! " Even the ordinary housekeep-
ing sounds were made under protest.
An unlucky fall, the slamming of a
blind, a second summons from the hall
door, — all were received with a warn-
ing thump from the study, or a pull at
its bell. " I cannot be disturbed " ; no
law of Medes or Persians was ever more
absolute. The task of reducing a fam-
ily so full of life to this state of or-
derly quiet must have seemed nearly
impossible, but Mrs. Stuart succeeded
in accomplishing it for many long
years.

Out from this closed room came first
the voice of prayer. Within, one felt, a

[176]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

sensitive soul was wrestling with its
God. Rising and swelling, broken
often with emotion, his voice had a
pleading, wailing cadence, touching to
listen to, tender to recall. Then fol-
lowed the intoning of passages from the
Hebrew Psalms; and here the heart,
mellowed, and comforted by near inter-
course with the Hebrews' God, found
full utterance. Into every room of that
still house the jubilant words came ring-
ing with their solemn joy. Then came
several hours of intense intellectual
labor. In the following note, sent dur-
ing such a period of study to the student
who was for the time the librarian at the
Seminary, one can see beneath the punc-
tilious pohteness of the request the stu-
dent's utter preoccupation with his
work, and his intolerance of finding his
" way blocked up," even for a time.

12 [ 177 ]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

Wednesday Morning.

My dear Sir, — Unexpectedly I have come
upon an exigency, this morning, wh. renders an
appeal to the Coran necessary. Will you do me
the kindness to send me the II Vol. of MaracciuSy
wh. has the Arab, text, with the Versions and
Notes, (for I want both these), if I rightly
remember. Should it not be so, you may send
the copy of Sale's Coran therewith.

I am sorry to trouble you; but I must find
my way blocked up, unless I can make the
appeal in question.

Yours truly,

M. Stuart.

Another librarian, later the Rev.
John Todd, d.d., reports:

" The rapidity with which he exam-
ined books was wonderful. The whole
library was his lexicon. Being librarian
during my senior year, I had occasion
to marvel over, as well as to handle, the
whole wheelbarrow loads he would send
back on the close of every term. He
took out, I think, more books than all
the rest of the Seminary."

[178]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

It was always high holiday for his
family when there arrived in one of the
slow sailing-vessels a package of books
bearing a foreign mark. For weeks,
perhaps, it had been anxiously looked
for. Every morning the small gilt vane
on the Seminary chapel had been in-
spected to see whether the wind was
favorable for the coming ship; every
evening the last ray of daylight was
used for the same purpose; and never
did an adverse wind howl more loudly
around our house, or a storm seem more
pitiless, than when it delayed the com-
ing of the much coveted treasures.

It would have been a study for an
artist, — the face of my father, when,
the books at last his, the whole family
was called together to see and admire
them* His eyes, usually a little dull,
seemed, to flash with delight. His lips,

firT]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

always his most expressive feature,
quivered with emotion. The arrival of
the books was to him hke the coming of
much beloved, much longed-for friends,
with whom he looked forward to spend-
ing hours of delightful and congenial
companionship.

Precisely as the college clock struck
twelve there came an energetic pushing
back of chair and footstool, and the
whole family drew a long breath of
relief. Morning study hours were over,
and we were once more free I
. Coming out of his room, always with
a pale, weary face, the professor went
without delay to his exercise again;
seeking the garden, the grounds, the
wood-pile, or the walk, as the season or
the weather made most desirable. Then
home just in time for the half -past-
twelve dinner, which, like the breakfast,

[Tsol

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

must always be on the table at the ap-
pointed moment, with the family in in-
stant readiness to partake. As he was
a thorough dyspeptic, the matter of
food was of the greatest importance to
him. He was not dainty, but he re-
quired and provided the very best the
market afforded; and it was curious to
notice how even the tones and words of
the blessing he invoked were affected by
what was spread before him. Good
nourishing food braced the spent nerv-
ous system, and gave tone and elas-
ticity to the exhausted vitality, and con-
sequent sunny views of life and its
occupations.

After dinner came the social hour of
the day. If we had any plans to make,
any requests to proffer, now was the
moment. Indeed, this was the only time
when home and its needs seemed to have

fisTl

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

any place in the professor's thoughts.
Then a newspaper, a review, or some
book not connected with his studies, was
in his hand, but he was ready to put it
down if any other object of interest
presented itself. If not, the reading
continued until his lecture, which was
delivered in the afternoon, and occu-
pied about an hour, or sometimes two.
This duty over, came the exercise again,
the early tea, and family prayers; and
evening was entered upon at the first
approach of twilight. Every new lamp
that promised assistance was purchased
as fast as invented, the scholar, with his
enthusiasm for the new and convenient,
considering every one, for a time, better
than its predecessor.

Study was never severe during these
evening hours. Now he was willing to
be interrupted, and often hailed as a

[ 182 J

SOME MEN or OLDEN TIME

godsend the visit of an agreeable ac-
quaintance. Eminently social in his
literary labors, he found in nothing
greater pleasure than in discussing with
one of congenial tastes the work upon
which he was for the time engaged ; and
if he absorbed the lion's share of the
conversation, his listener was never
wearied, and seldom failed to go away
a wiser and a better man. With a
friend in whose companionship he took
especial pleasure, he read Greek plays
in the evening for several winters, show-
ing all the enthusiasm of a young man,
and the critical acumen of a ripe scholar.
This until nine o'clock; but the mo-
ment the hands of the old mahogany
clock pointed to that hour, night with
the time for needed rest had come.
After nine no guest lingered who under-
stood the regime of this student's life.

[183]

OIJ) ANDOVKR DAYS

We children would as soon have been
expected to get up a dance or a card-
party as to be from home or out of our
beds when that hour had come. Many
hairbreadth escapes we had from de-
tection, many frights, and many awk-
ward contretemps. Gentlemen callers
from the Seminary, ignorant of the nine
o'clock rule, or for some unexplainable
reason unmindful of the lateness of the
hour, have been timidly but urgently
requested by one or another of the four
daughters of the house to leave cau-
tiously by the side door. In the main,
however, the law was another of the
Medes and Persians, and kept as invio-
lable as it could have been kept by seven
young people full of occupations and
amusements. Dogs and cats, window-
blinds, gates, everything imaginable or
unimaginable, were now under the ban

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

of stillness. It was not a common still-
ness that was required; but the only-
stillness considered such by a man whose
sleep was that of a diseased nervous
system and an overtaxed brain. Often
during the wakeful hours which drew
their slow length along, there came from
the professor's room the same wailing
prayer which had ushered in his day of
work; and often he might have been
met gliding around the house, seeking
for rest but finding none.

When he had grown old and feeble,
it was a great delight to him to have
one of the young students at the Semi-
nary come in to read to him; and the
hour was often forgotten in the interest
of the book. Light literature, for the
first time in his life, he then indulged in
freely. He would often say to his
daughters when they were reading to

I 185 1

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

him, " You see the good of keeping this
till you are old ; it is a tonic to me now."
It was not an unusual thing for him to
come quietly into the room where these
books were kept, possess himself of the
novel, his interest in which could not be
postponed, and inform us of the de-
nouement at the tea-table.

That the trend of his studies did not
narrow his mind, or the quiet Andover
hfe dull his sympathies toward all the
great onward movements of the world,
is a matter of surprise; but to the last
of his busy life no one saw more quickly
or enjoyed more keenly the promise of
a wonderful future. Vividly comes the
memory of a lovely Sunday morning
when, as usual, we children, decorous in
Sunday garb, surrounded him on the
way to church. His Saturday night
weekly newspaper had contained an

[186]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

account of a telescopic discovery in the
moon. It was not his custom to allow
a weekly paper to be read on the Sab-
bath ; but certain it is that on that morn-
ing he had seen the paper, had read the
account of the discovery, and was too
full of the story to reserve it for the pro-
fane Monday so far away. His pale
face alight with his interest, looking
from one to another of us, he explained
rapidly what had been discovered. We
listened enthusiastically, while the sol-
emn bell of the chapel tolled unheeded
reproofs. When the first steam-engine
drew its train of cars through the pleas-
ant meadows that, stretching back of
his house, bordered the Shawsheen
River, we were at the dinner-table.
He started from his seat, and clasp-
ing his hands as if in prayer, said fer-
vently, "Thank God! thank God!"

[187]

OLD ANDOVER DAYS

He seemed sometimes to put aside his
usual calm judgment, and to enjoy an
improbability with particular enthusi-
asm. It seems almost hard to think how
much he lost by dying before electricity,
photography, the Atlantic cable, the
telephone. X-rays, and all the other
modern marvels had been discovered
and invented ; but perhaps in that other
life he pities us, that in our ignorance
we should pity him.

Such days stretched out into years
with little of change, and such years
into half a century of work. Time mel-
lowed the life, smoothing the rougher
edges, and ripening and perfecting the
Christian scholar. We children grew
from childhood to maturity, and one
after another dropped out from the still,
monastic life of Andover Hill into the
great working world. Often, however,

[188]

SOME MEN OF OLDEN TIME

we carried back into the seclusion of our
old home the interests of our new lives,
to gladden the faihng days of our
father. In him we always found the
same enthusiasm for the new, and the
same hopeful plans for fresh work yet
to be accomplished. But the scholar's
task was not to be finished here. In
the howling of a fierce winter storm he
listened to the summons, " Well done,
good and faithful servant, enter thou
into the joy of thy Lord."

The University Press, Cambridge, U. S. A.

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