Bay State Monthly

CONTENTS

Abbott, Josiah Gardner John Hatch George

An Incident of Sixteen Hundred and Eighty-Six Mellen
Chamberlain

Ansart, Louis Clara Clayton

Arthur, Chester Alan Ben: Perley Poore

Beacon Hill Before the Houses David M. Balfour

Boston Tea-Party, The

Boston, The First Schoolmaster of Elizabeth Porter
Gould

Boston, The Siege of, Developed Henry B. Carrington,
U.S.A., LL.D.

Boston Young Men’s Christian Association, The Russell
Sturgis, Jr.

Boundary Lines of Old Groton, The Samuel Abbott Green,
M.D.

British Force and the Leading Losses in the Revolution

British Losses in the Revolution

Bunker Hill Henry B. Carrington, U.S.A., LL.D.

Butler, Benjamin Franklin

Chelsea William E. McClintock, C.E.

Defence of New York, 1776, The Henry B. Carrington,
U.S.A., LL.D.

Dungeon Rock, Lynn Frank P. Harriman

Early Harvard Josiah Layfayette Seward, A.M.

Esoteric Buddhism.—A Review Lucius H. Buckingham,
Ph.D.

Fac-Simile Reprint of Daniel Webster’s Fourth-of-July
Oration, Delivered in 1800.

Family Immigration to New England, The Thomas W. Bicknell,
LL.D.

First Baptist Church in Massachusetts, The Thomas W.
Bicknell, LL.D.

First Schoolmaster of Boston, The Elizabeth Porter
Gould

From the White Horse to Little Rhody Charles M.
Barrows

Fuller, George Sidney Dickinson

Gifts to Colleges and Universities Charles F. Thwing

Groton, The Boundary Lines of Old Samuel Abbott Green,
M.D.

Groton, The Old Stores and the Post-Offices of Samuel
Abbott Green, M.D.

Groton, The Old Taverns and Stage-Coaches of Samuel Abbott
Green, M.D.

Harvard, Early Josiah Lafayette Seward, A.M.

Historical Notes

Historic Trees: The Washington Elm; The Eliot Oak L.L.
Dame

Lancaster in Acadie and the Acadiens in Lancaster Henry S.
Nourse

Lovewell’s War John N. McClintock, A.M.

Lowell

Loyalists of Lancaster, The Henry S. Nourse

Massachusetts, The First Baptist Church in Thomas W.
Bicknell, LL.D.

Massachusetts, Young Men’s Christian Associations of
Russell Sturgis, Jr.

New England, The Family Immigration to Thomas W. Bicknell,
LL.D.

New England Town-House, The J.B. Sewall

New York, 1776, The Defence of Henry B. Carrington,
U.S.A., LL.D.

Ohio Floods, The George E. Fencks

Old Stores and the Post-Office of Groton, The Samuel
Abbott Green, M.D.

Old Taverns and Stage-Coaches of Groton, The Samuel Abbott
Green, M.D.

One Summer.—A Reminiscence Annie Wentworth Baer

Perkins, Captain George Hamilton George E. Belknap,
U.S.N.

Poet of the Bells, The E.H. Goss

Railway Mail Service, The Thomas P. Cheney

Reuben Tracy’s Vacation Trips Elizabeth Porter Gould

Revolution, British Force and Leading Losses in the

Revolution, British Losses in the

Rice, Alexander Hamilton Daniel B. Hagar, Ph.D.

Siege of Boston Developed, The Henry B. Carrington,
U.S.A., LL.D.

Town and City Histories Robert Luce

Webster, Colonel Fletcher Charles Cowley, LL.D.

Webster, Daniel, Fourth-of-July Oration of

Wilder, Marshall P. John Ward Dean, A.M.

Young Men’s Christian Associations Russell Sturgis,
Jr.

Young Men’s Christian Associations of Massachusetts
Russell Sturgis, Jr.

Bells of Bethlehem, The James T. Fields

His Greatest Triumph Henrietta E. Page

Rent Veil, The Henry B. Carrington

Song of the Winds Henry B. Carrington

Tuberoses Laura Garland Carr

Yesterday Kate L. Brown

Hon. MARSHALL P. WILDER, Ph.D.

BY JOHN WARD DEAN, A.M.

The editors of THE BAY STATE MONTHLY, having decided to begin
in its pages a series of articles devoted to the material
advancement and prosperity of Massachusetts, and the record
of her past greatness, have selected the Honorable Marshall
Pinckney Wilder as a representative man, and have decided
that his memoir shall be the initial article in the series,
and also in this periodical. He has as a merchant won for
himself a high position, and by his enterprise has
essentially advanced the business of the city and the State.
He has also been active in developing our manufacturing
industries, while his name is first on all lips when those
who have increased the products of the soil are named. His
life affords a striking example of what can be achieved by
concentration of power and unconquerable perseverance. The
bare enumeration of the important positions he has held and
still holds, and the self-sacrificing labors he has
performed, is abundant evidence of the extraordinary talent
and ability, and the personal power and influence, which have
enabled him to take a front rank as a benefactor to mankind.

MARSHALL PINCKNEY WILDER, whose Christian names were given in
honor of Chief-Justice Marshall and General Pinckney, eminent
statesmen at the time he was born, was the eldest son of
Samuel Locke Wilder, Esq., of Rindge, New Hampshire, and was
born in that town, September 22, 1798. His father, a nephew
of the Reverend Samuel Locke, D.D., president of Harvard
College, for whom he was named, was thirteen years a
representative in the New Hampshire legislature, a member of
the Congregational church in Rindge, and held important town
offices there. His mother, Anna, daughter of Jonathan and
Mary (Crombie) Sherwin (married May 2, 1797), a lady of great
moral worth, was, as her son is, a warm admirer of the
beauties of nature.

The Wilders are an ancient English family, which The Book of
the Wilders, published a few years ago, traces to Nicholas
Wilder, a military chieftain in the army of the Earl of
Richmond at the battle of Bosworth, 1485. There is strong
presumptive evidence that the American family is an offshoot
from this. President Chadbourne, the author of The Book of
the Wilders, in his life of Colonel Wilder gives reasons for
this opinion. The paternal ancestors of Colonel Wilder in
this country performed meritorious services in the Indian
wars, in the American Revolution, and in Shays’ Rebellion.
His grandfather was one of the seven delegates from the
county of Worcester, in the Massachusetts convention of 1788,
for ratifying the Constitution of the United States, who
voted in favor of it. Isaac Goodwin, Esq., in The Worcester
Magazine, vol. ii, page 45, bears this testimony: “Of all the
ancient Lancaster families, there is no one that has
sustained so many important offices as that of Wilder,”

At the age of four, Marshall was sent to school, and at
twelve he entered New Ipswich Academy, his father desiring to
give him a collegiate education, with reference to a
profession. When he reached the age of sixteen, his father
gave him the choice, either to qualify himself for a farmer,
or for a merchant, or to fit for college. He chose to be a
farmer; and to this choice may we attribute in no small
degree the mental and physical energy which has distinguished
so many years of his life. But the business of his father
increased so much that he was taken into the the store. He
there acquired such habits of industry that at the age of
twenty-one he became a partner, and was appointed postmaster
of Rindge.

In 1825, he sought a wider field of action and removed to
Boston. Here be began business under the firm-name of Wilder
and Payson, in Union Street; then as Wilder and Smith, in
North Market Street; and next in his own name at No. 3
Central Wharf. In 1837, he became a partner in the commission
house of Parker, Blanchard, and Wilder, Water Street; next
Parker, Wilder, and Parker, Pearl Street; and since Parker,
Wilder, and Company, Winthrop Square, having continued until
this time in the same house for forty-seven years. Mr. Wilder
has lived to be the oldest commission merchant in domestic
fabrics in active business in Boston. He has passed through
various crises of commercial embarrassments, and yet he has
never failed to meet his obligations. He was an original
director in the Hamilton (now Hamilton National) Bank and in
the National Insurance Company. The former trust he has held
for fifty-two years, and the latter for forty years. He has
been a director in the New England Mutual Life Insurance
Company for nearly forty years, and also a director in other
similar institutions.

But trade and the acquisition of wealth have not been the
all-engrossing pursuits of his life. His inherent love of
rural pursuits led him, in 1832, to purchase his present
estate in Dorchester, originally that of Governor Increase
Sumner, where, after devoting a proper time to business, he
has given his leisure to horticulture and agriculture He has
spared no expense, he has rested from no efforts, to instil
into the public mind a love of an employment so honorable and
useful. He has cultivated his own grounds, imported seeds,
plants, and trees, and endeavored by his example to encourage
labor and elevate the rank of the husbandman. His garden,
greenhouses, and a forest of fruit-trees have occupied the
time he could spare from business, and here he has prosecuted
his favorite investigations, year after year, for half a
century, to the present day.

Soon after the Massachusetts Horticultural Society was
formed, Mr. Wilder was associated with the late General Henry
A.S. Dearborn, its first president, and from that time till
now has been one of its most efficient members, constantly
attending its meetings, taking part in its business and
discussions, and contributing largely to its exhibitions.
Four years since, he delivered the oration on the occasion of
its semi-centennial. One of the most important acts of this
society was the purchase of Mount Auburn for a cemetery and
an ornamental garden. On the separation of the cemetery from
the society, in 1835, through Mr. Wilder’s influence
committees were appointed by the two corporations, Judge
Story being chairman of the cemetery committee, and Mr.
Wilder of the society committee. The situation was fraught
with great difficulties; but Mr. Wilder’s conservative
course, everywhere acknowledged, overcame them all and
enabled the society to erect an elegant hall in School
Street, and afterward the splendid building it now occupies
in Tremont Street, the most magnificent horticultural hall in
the world. It has a library which is everywhere acknowledged
to be the best horticultural library anywhere. In 1840, he
was chosen president, and held the office for eight
successive years. During his presidency the hall in School
Street was erected, and two triennial festivals were held in
Faneuil Hall, which are particularly worthy of notice. The
first was opened September 11, 1845, and the second on the
fiftieth anniversary of his birth, September 22, 1848, when
he retired from the office of president, and the society
voted him a silver pitcher valued at one hundred and fifty
dollars, and caused his portrait to be placed in its hall. As
president of this association he headed a circular for a
convention of fruit-growers, which was held in New York,
October 10. 1848, when the American Pomological Society was
formed. He was chosen its first president, and he still holds
that office, being in his thirty-third year of service. Its
biennial meetings have been held in New York, Philadelphia,
Cincinnati, Boston, Rochester, St. Louis, Richmond, Chicago,
and Baltimore; and it will hold its next meeting in Detroit.
On these occasions President Wilder has made appropriate
addresses. The last meeting was held, September, 1883, in
Philadelphia, when his last address was delivered. In this
address, with his usual foresight, he proposed a grand reform
in the nomenclature of fruits for our country, and asked the
co-operation of other nations in this reform.

In February, 1849, the Norfolk Agricultural Society was
formed. Mr. Wilder was chosen president, and the Honorable
Charles Francis Adams, vice-president. Before this society
his first address on agricultural education was delivered.
This was a memorable occasion. There were then present,
George N. Briggs, the governor, and John Reed, the
lieutenant-governor, of the State, Daniel Webster, Edward
Everett, Horace Mann, Levi Lincoln, Josiah Quincy, president
of Harvard University, General Henry A.S. Dearborn, Governor
Isaac Hill, of New Hampshire, the Reverend John Pierpont,
Josiah Quincy, Jr., Charles Francis Adams, and Robert C.
Winthrop,—of which galaxy of eminent men, the last two
only are now living. It was the first general effort in that
cause in this country. He was president twenty years, and on
his retirement he was constituted honorary president, and a
resolution was passed recognizing his eminent ability and
usefulness in promoting the arts of horticulture and
agriculture, and his personal excellence in every department
of life. He next directed his efforts to establishing the
Massachusetts board of agriculture, organized as the
Massachusetts Central Board of Agriculture, at a meeting of
delegates of agricultural societies in the State, held at the
State House, September, 1851, in response to a circular
issued by him as president of the Norfolk Agricultural
Society. He was elected president, and held the office till
1852, when it became a department of the State, and he is now
the senior member of that board. In 1858, the Massachusetts
School of Agriculture was incorporated, and he was chosen
president; but before the school was opened Congress granted
land to the several States for agricultural colleges, and in
1865 the Legislature incorporated the Massachusetts
Agricultural College. He was named the first trustee. In
1871, the first class was graduated, and in 1878 he had the
honor of conferring the degree of Bachelor of Science on
twenty young gentlemen graduates. He delivered addresses on
both occasions. In 1852, he issued a circular in behalf of
several States for a national meeting at Washington, which
was fully attended, and where the United States Agricultural
Society was organized. Daniel Webster and a host of
distinguished men assisted in its formation. This society, of
which he was president for the first six years, exercised a
beneficial influence till the breaking out of the late Civil
War. On Mr. Wilder’s retirement he received the gold medal of
honor and a service of silver plate. He is a member of many
other horticultural and agricultural societies in this and
foreign lands.

Colonel Wilder, at an early age, took an interest in military
affairs. At sixteen he was enrolled in the New Hampshire
militia, and at twenty-one he was commissioned adjutant. He
organized and equipped the Rindge Light Infantry, and was
chosen its captain. At twenty-five five he was elected
lieutenant-colonel, and at twenty-six was commissioned as
colonel of the Twelfth Regiment.

Soon after his removal to Boston he joined the Ancient and
Honorable Artillery Company. In 1856, he was chosen commander
of the corps, being the one hundred and fifty-fifth in
command. He had four times previously declined nominations.
He entered into correspondence with Prince Albert, commander
of the Royal Artillery Company of London, founded in 1537, of
which this corps, chartered in 1638, is the only offspring.
This correspondence established a friendly intercourse
between the two companies. In June, 1857, Prince Albert was
chosen a special honorary member of our company, and
twenty-one years later, in 1878, Colonel Wilder, who then
celebrated the fiftieth or golden anniversary of his own
membership, nominated the Prince of Wales, the present
commander of the London company, as an honorary member. Both
were commanders of the Honorable Artillery Company of London
when chosen. The late elegantly illustrated history of the
London company contains a portrait of Colonel Wilder as he
appeared in full uniform on that occasion.

In 1839, he was induced to serve for a single term in the
Massachusetts Legislature, as a representative for the town
of Dorchester. In 1849, he was elected a member of Governor
Briggs’s Council, and the year following a member of the
senate and its president, and he is the the oldest
ex-president of the senate living. In 1860, he was the member
for New England of the national committee of the
“Constitutional Union Party,” and attended, as chairman of
the Massachusetts delegation, the national convention in
Baltimore, where John Bell and Edward Everett were nominated
for President and Vice-President of the United States.

He was initiated in Charity Lodge, No. 18, in Troy, New
Hampshire, at the age of twenty-five, exalted to the Royal
Arch Chapter, Cheshire No. 4, and knighted in the Boston
Encampment. He was deputy grand master of the Grand Lodge of
Massachusetts, and was one of the six thousand Masons who
signed, December 31, 1831, the celebrated “Declaration of the
Freemasons of Boston and Vicinity”; and at the fiftieth
anniversary of that event, which was celebrated in Boston two
years ago, Mr. Wilder responded for the survivors, six of the
signers being present. He has received all the Masonic
degrees, including the 33d, or highest and last honor of the
fraternity. At the World’s Masonic Convention, in 1867, at
Paris, he was the only delegate from the United States who
spoke at the banquet.

On the seventh of November, 1849, a festival of the Sons of
New Hampshire was celebrated in Boston. The Honorable Daniel
Webster presided, and Mr. Wilder was the first
vice-president. Fifteen hundred sons of the Granite State
were present. The association again met on the twenty-ninth
of October, 1852, to participate in the obsequies of Mr.
Webster at Faneuil Hall. On this occasion the legislature,
and other citizens, of New Hampshire were received at the
Lowell railway-station, and were addressed by Mr. Wilder in
behalf of sons of that State resident in Boston.

The Sons celebrated their second festival, November 2, 1853,
at which Mr. Wilder occupied the chair as president, and
delivered one of his most eloquent speeches. They assembled
again, on June 20, 1861, to receive and welcome a New
Hampshire regiment of volunteers, and escort them to the
Music Hall, where Mr. Wilder addressed them in a patriotic
speech on their departure for the field of battle.

The two hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary of the
settlement of Dorchester was celebrated on the Fourth of
July, 1855. The oration was by Edward Everett; Mr. Wilder
presided, and delivered an able address. On the central
tablet of the great pavilion was this inscription: “Marshall
P. Wilder, president of the day. Blessed is he that turneth
the waste places into a garden, and maketh the wilderness to
blossom as a rose.”

In January, 1868, he was solicited to take the office of
president of the New England Historic Genealogical Society,
vacated by the death of Governor Andrew. He was unanimously
elected, and is now serving the seventeenth year of his
presidency. At every annual meeting he has delivered an
appropriate address. In his first address he urged the
importance of procuring a suitable building for the society.
In 1870, he said: “The time has now arrived when absolute
necessity, public sentiment, and personal obligations, demand
that this work be done, and done quickly.” Feeling himself
pledged by this address, he, as chairman of the committee
then appointed, devoted three months entirely to the object
of soliciting funds, during which time more than forty
thousand dollars was generously contributed by friends of the
association; and thus the handsome edifice at No. 18 Somerset
Street was procured. This building was dedicated to the use
of the society, March 18, 1871. He has since obtained
donations, amounting to upward of twelve thousand dollars, as
a fund for paying the salary of the librarian.

In 1859, he presided at the first public meeting called in
Boston, in regard to the collocation of institutions on the
Back Bay lands, where the splendid edifices of the Boston
Society of Natural History and the Massachusetts Institute of
Technology now stand. Of the latter institution he has been a
vice-president, and the chairman of its Society of Arts, and
a director from the beginning. General Francis A. Walker, the
present president of the Institute, bore this testimony to
his efforts in its behalf at the in banquet to Mr. Wilder on
his eighty-fifth anniversary: “Through all the early efforts
to attract the attention of the legislature and the people to
the importance of industrial and art education, and through
the severe struggles which so painfully tried the courage and
the faith even of those who most strongly and ardently
believed in the mission of the Institute, as well as through
the happier years of fruition, while the efforts put forth in
the days of darkness and despondency were bearing their
harvest of success and fame, Colonel Wilder was through all
one of the most constant of the members of the government in
his attendance; one of the most hopeful in his views of the
future of the school; ever a wise counsellor and a steadfast
ally.”

He was one of the twelve representative men appointed to
receive the Prince of Wales in 1860, at the banquet given him
in Boston, Edward Everett being chairman of the committee;
also one of the commissioners in behalf of the Universal
Exposition in Paris, 1867, when he was placed at the head of
the committee on horticulture and the cultivation and
products of the vine, the report of which was published by
act of Congress.

In 1869, he made a trip to the South, for the purpose of
examining its resources; and in 1870, with a large party, he
visited California. The result of Mr. Wilder’s observations
has been given to the public in a lecture before the
Massachusetts State Board of Agriculture, which was repeated
before the Boston Mercantile Library Association, Amherst
College, the Massachusetts Agricultural College, Dartmouth
College, the Horticultural Society, the merchants of
Philadelphia, and bodies in other places.

His published speeches and writings now amount to nearly one
hundred in number. A list to the year 1873 is printed in the
Cyclopaedia of American Literature. Dartmouth College, as a
testimonial to his services in science and literature,
conferred upon him, in the year 1877, the degree of Doctor of
Philosophy.

The Honorable Paul A. Chadbourne, LL.D., late president of
Williams College in a recent Memoir of Mr. Wilder remarks:
“The interest which Colonel Wilder has always manifested in
the progress of education, as well as the value and
felicitous style of his numerous writings, would lead one to
infer at once that his varied knowledge and culture are the
results of college education. But he is only another
illustrious example of the men who, with only small
indebtedness to schools, have proved to the world that real
men can make themselves known as such without the aid of the
college, as we have abundantly learned that the college can
never make a man of one who has not in him the elements of
noble manhood before he enters its halls.”

In 1820, Mr. Wilder married Miss Tryphosa Jewett, daughter of
Dr. Stephen Jewett, of Rindge, a lady of great personal
attractions. She died on a visit to that town, July 21, 1831,
leaving four children. On the twenty-ninth of August, 1833,
Mr. Wilder was united to Miss Abigail, daughter of Captain
David Baker of Franklin, Massachusetts, a lady of education,
accomplishments, and piety, who died of consumption, April 4,
1854, leaving five children. He was married a third time on
the eighth of September, 1855, to her sister, Miss Julia
Baker, who was admirably qualified to console him and make
his dwelling cheerful, and who has two sons, both living. No
man has been more blessed in domestic life. We know not where
there would be a more pleasing picture of peace and
contentment exhibited than is found in this happy family. In
all his pursuits and avocations, Mr. Wilder seems to have
realized and practised that grand principle, which has such a
bearing and influence on the whole course of life—the
philosophy of habit, a power almost omnipotent for good or
evil. His leisure hours he devotes to his pen, which already
has filled several large volumes with descriptions and
delineations of fruits and flowers, proved under his own
inspection, and other matters pertaining to his various
relations in life.

Colonel Wilder has shown us by his life what an individual
may accomplish by industry, perseverance, and the
concentration of the intellectual powers on grand objects.
Without these, no talent, no mere good fortune could have
placed him in the high position he has attained as a public
benefactor. He has been pre-eminent in the establishment and
development of institutions. Few gentlemen have been called
upon so often, and upon such various occasions, to take the
chair at public meetings or preside over constituted
societies. Few have acquitted themselves so happily, whether
dignity of presence, amenity of address, fluency of speech,
or dispatch of business, be taken into consideration. As a
presiding officer he seems “to the manner born.” His personal
influence has been able to magnetize a half-dying body into
new and active life. This strong personal characteristic is
especially remarked among his friends. No one can approach
him in doubt, in despondency, or in embarrassment, and leave
him without a higher hope, a stronger courage, and a manlier
faith in himself. The energy which has impelled him to labor
still exists.

Mr. Wilder is now president of the New England Historic
Genealogical and Society, the American Pomological Society,
and the Massachusetts Agricultural Club. He is senior trustee
of the Massachusetts Agricultural College, and senior member
of the State Board of Agriculture, and of the executive
committee of the Massachusetts Horticultural Society. He is
senior director in the Massachusetts Institute of Technology,
the Hamilton National Bank, the New England Mutual Life
Insurance Company, and the Home Savings Bank. He is an
honorary member of the Royal Historical Society of Great
Britain; a corresponding member of the Royal Horticultural
Society of London, and the Société Centrale d’
Horticulture of France; and a fellow of the Reale Accademia
Araldica Italiana of Pisa.

Well did Governor Bullock on a public occasion speak of Mr.
Wilder as “one who has applied the results of his well-earned
commercial earnings so liberally that in every household and
at every fireside in America, when the golden fruits of
summer and autumn gladden the sideboard and the hearthstone,
his name, his generosity, and his labors are known and
honored.” He is also known and honored abroad. The London
Gardener’s Chronicle, the leading agricultural paper in
Europe, in April, 1872, gave his portrait and a sketch of his
life, in which is introduced the following merited
compliment:—

“We are glad to have the opportunity of laying before our
readers the portrait of one of the most distinguished of
transatlantic horticulturists, and one who, by his zeal,
industry, and determination, has not only conferred lasting
benefits on his native country, but has by his careful
experiments in hybridization and fruit-culture laid the
horticulturists of all nations under heavy obligations to
him. The name and reputation of Marshall P. Wilder is as
highly esteemed in Great Britain as they are in America.”

In closing this sketch, we may remark that complimentary
banquets were given him on the eightieth and the eighty-fifth
anniversaries of his birth. On the former occasion, September
22, 1878, the Reverend James H. Means, D.D., his pastor for
nearly thirty years, the Honorable Charles L. Flint,
secretary of the Board of Agriculture, the Honorable John
Phelps Putnam, judge of the Massachusetts Superior Court, and
others, paid tributes to the high moral character, the
benevolent disposition, and the eminent services, of the
honored guest of the evening.

The last banquet, September 22, 1883, on his completing the
ripe age of eighty-five, was a much more important occasion.
The banquet was held, as the former was, at the Parker House,
in Boston, and over one hundred gentlemen participated, among
whom were some of the most distinguished persons in this and
other States. Charles H.B. Breck, Esq., vice-president of the
Massachusetts Horticultural Society presided, and the
venerable Reverend Dr. George W. Blagden invoked a blessing.
Mr. Breck addressed Mr. Wilder, who responded. Addresses were
then made by a number of Mr. Wilder’s friends, among them the
Honorable Alexander H. Rice and the Honorable Nathaniel P.
Banks, ex-governors of Massachusetts, his Honor Oliver Ames,
lieutenant-governor of the State, his Honor Albert Palmer,
mayor of Boston, General Joshua L. Chamberlain, ex-governor
of Maine, the Honorable Frederick Smyth, ex-governor of New
Hampshire, Professor J.C. Greenough, president of the
Massachusetts Agricultural College, General Francis A.
Walker, president of the Institute of Technology, the
Honorable Francis B. Hayes, president of the Horticultural
Society, the Reverend Edmund F. Slafter, corresponding
secretary of the New England Historic Genealogical Society,
John E. Russell, secretary of the State Board of Agriculture,
and Major Ben: Perley Poore, secretary of the United States
Agricultural Society, and ex-commander of the Ancient and
Honorable Artillery Company. Other societies with which Mr.
Wilder is connected were also represented, as the
Massachusetts Society for the Promotion of Agriculture, the
New England Agricultural Society, the New England Life
Insurance Company, the Hamilton Bank, the Home Savings Bank,
the Grand Lodge of Masons, and the Second Church of
Dorchester. Letters were received from the Honorable Robert
C. Winthrop, president of the Massachusetts Historical
Society, his Excellency Benjamin F. Butler, governor, and the
Honorables John D. Long, William Claflin, and Thomas Talbot,
ex-governors of the State, Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, the
Honorable Dr. George B. Loring, United States Commissioner of
Agriculture, and the Honorable Francis W. Bird, president of
the Bird Club, The addresses and letters are to be printed in
full. A few extracts follow:

Dr. Holmes referred to Mr. Wilder as: “The venerable and
venerated friend who has outlived the fruits of fourscore
seasons, and is still ripening as if his life were all
summer.”

Mr. Winthrop wrote: “No other man has done so much for our
fields and gardens and orchards. He has distinguished himself
in many other lines of life, and his relations to the
Legislature of Massachusetts and to the Historic Genealogical
Society will not soon be forgotten. But his name will have
its most enduring and most enviable association with the
flowers and fruits for whose culture he was foremost in
striving, both by precept and example. He deserves a grateful
remembrance as long as a fine pear is relished or a brilliant
bouquet admired.”

Governor Rice said: “There is hardly a public enterprise of
the last three generations, scarcely a pursuit in life, or an
institution of patriotism, discipline, or charity, that does
not bear the signet of his touch and feel the vigor of his
co-operation. Why, sir, it may be said, almost with literal
truth, that the trees which this great arborist has planted
and cultivated and loved are not more numerous than the
evidences of his handiwork in all the useful and beneficent
departments of life; and all the flowers that shall grow to
the end of time ought to bear fragrance to his memory.”

Mayor Palmer said: “Time would fail me to recount his great
and honorable services to society and the State. It must
suffice to say that no name of this century is written more
imperishably in the affection and esteem of Boston and
Massachusetts than the name of him, our honored guest.”

Dr. Loring wrote: “It is with pride and satisfaction that the
business associations of the city of Boston can point to him
as a representative of that mercantile integrity which gives
that city its distinguished position among the great
commercial centres of the world.”

Governor Banks said: “I can scarcely enumerate, much less
analyze, the numerous and important social and national
enterprises which make the character and career of our
distinguished guest illustrious.”

Governor Chamberlain said: “We rejoice in this honored old
age,—this youth, rounded, beautified, and sweetened
into supreme manhood; and we rejoice also that it shall
remain for after times an example and inspiration for all who
would live true lives, and win the honor that comes here and
hereafter to noble character.”

President Greenough thus spoke:—”The line of buildings
which to-day at Amherst graces one of the fairest landscapes
in New England, and the sound and practical education which
they were built to secure, are to be a lasting monument to
his foresight, his patriotism, and his eloquent persuasion.”

Mr. Russell said: “To him the agriculture of the Commonwealth
owes a debt that can never be paid; the records of our board
are a monument of his good works more enduring than brass.
And, sir, in view of his venerable years, so lightly borne,
his interest in all the active affairs of men, and his
continued powers of social enjoyment, I may well repeat the
wish of the poet Horace, expressed in one of his invocations
to the Emperor Augustus: ‘Serus in coelum redeas.'”

Major Poore said: “Mr. President, I am confident that the
distinguished gentlemen around these tables will long
remember to-night, and recall with pleasure its varied
homages to Colonel Wilder, thankful that we have so pure a
shrine, so bright an oracle, as the common property of all
who reverence virtue, admire manhood, or aspire to noble
deeds. Succeeding years will not dim the freshness of Colonel
Wilder’s fame; and the more frequently we drink at this
fountain, the sweeter we shall find its waters.

THE OLD TAVERNS AND STAGE-COACHES OF GROTON.

BY THE HON. SAMUEL ABBOTT GREEN, M.D.

It has been said that there is nothing contrived by man which
has produced so much happiness as a good tavern. Without
granting or denying the statement, all will agree that many
good times have been passed around the cheerful hearth of the
old-fashioned inn.

The earliest tavern in Groton, of which there is any record
or tradition, was kept by Samuel Bowers, Jr., in the house
lately and for a long time occupied by the Champney family.
Mr. Bowers was born in Groton on December 21, 1711, and,
according to his tombstone, died on “the Sixteenth Day of
December Anno Domini 1768. Half a hour after Three of the
Clock in ye Afternoon, and in the Fifty Eight year of his
age.” He kept the house during many years, and was known in
the neighborhood as “land’urd Bowers,”—the innkeeper of
that period being generally addressed by the title of
landlord. I do not know who succeeded him in his useful and
important functions.

The next tavern of which I have any knowledge was the one
kept by Captain Jonathan Keep, during the latter part of the
Revolution. In The Independent Chronicle (Boston), February
15, 1781, the Committee of the General Court for the sale of
confiscated property in Middlesex County, advertise the
estate of Dr. Joseph Adams, of Townsend, to be sold “at Mr.
Keep’s, innholder in Groton.” This tavern has now been kept
as an inn during more than a century. It was originally built
for a dwelling-house, and, before the Revolution, occupied by
the Reverend Samuel Dana; though since that time it has been
lengthened in front and otherwise considerably enlarged.
Captain Keep was followed by the brothers Isaiah and Joseph
Hall, who were the landlords as early as the year 1798. They
were succeeded in 1825 by Joseph Hoar, who had just sold the
Emerson tavern, at the other end of the village street. He
kept it for nearly twenty years,—excepting the year
1836, when Moses Gill and his brother-in-law, Henry Lewis
Lawrence, were the landlords,—and sold out about 1842
to Thomas Treadwell Farnsworth. It was then conducted as a
temperance house, at that time considered a great innovation
on former customs. After a short period it was sold to Daniel
Hunt, who kept it until 1852, and he was followed by James M.
Colburn, who had it for two years. It then came into the
possession of J. Nelson Hoar, a son of the former landlord,
who took it in 1854, and in whose family it has since
remained. Latterly it has been managed by three of his
daughters, and now is known as the Central House. It is the
only tavern in the village, and for neatness and comfort can
not easily be surpassed.

In the list of innholders, near the end of Isaiah Thomas’s
Almanack, for 1785, appears the name of Richardson, whose
tavern stood on the present site of the Baptist church. It
was originally the house owned and occupied by the Reverend
Gershom Hobart, which had been considerably enlarged by
additions on the north and east sides, in order to make it
more suitable for its new purposes. Mine host was Captain
Jephthah Richardson, who died on October 9, 1806. His father
was Converse Richardson, who had previously kept a small inn,
on the present Elm Street, near the corner of Pleasant. It
was in this Elm Street house that Timothy Bigelow, the rising
young lawyer, lived, when he first came to Groton. Within a
few years this building has been moved away. Soon after the
death of Captain Jephthah Richardson, the tavern was sold to
Timothy Spaulding, who carried on the business until his
death, which occurred on February 19, 1808. Spaulding’s widow
subsequently married John Spalter, who was the landlord for a
short time. About 1812 the house was rented to Dearborn
Emerson, who had been possession of it for a few years.

During the War of 1812 it was an inn of local renown; and a
Lieutenant Chase had his headquarters here for a while, when
recruiting for the army. He raised a company in the
neighborhood, which was ordered to Sackett’s Harbor, near the
foot of Lake Ontario. The men were put into uniforms as they
enlisted, and drilled daily. They were in the habit of
marching through the village streets to the music of the
spirit-stirring drum and the ear-piercing fife; and
occasionally they were invited into the yard of some
hospitable citizen, who would treat them to “the cups that
cheer but not inebriate,” when taken in moderation. William
Kemp was the drummer, and Wilder Shepley the fifer, both
noted musicians in their day. Sometimes his brother, Moses
Kemp, would act as fifer. William is still alive, at the
advanced age of nearly ninety-five years, and gives many
reminiscences of that period. He was born at Groton on May 8,
1789, and began to drum in early boyhood. His first
appearance in the public service was during the year 1805, as
drummer of the South Company of Groton, commanded by Luther
Lawrence, afterward the mayor of Lowell. He has been the
father of nine children, and has had thirty grandchildren,
thirty-three great-grandchildren, and one
great-great-grandchild. Mr. Kemp can even now handle the
drumsticks with a dexterity rarely equaled; and within a
short time I have seen him give an exhibition of his skill
which would reflect credit on a much younger person. Among
the men enlisted here during that campaign were Marquis D.
Farnsworth, Aaron Lewis, William Shepley, and John Woodward,
of this town; and James Adams, and his son, James, Jr., of
Pepperell.

It was about the year 1815 that and Dearborn Emerson left the
Richardson tavern, and moved down the street, perhaps thirty
rods, where he opened another public house on the present
site of Milo H. Shattuck’s store. The old tavern, in the
meantime, passed into the hands of Daniel Shattuck, who kept
it until his death, which occurred on April 8, 1831. The
business was then carried on during a short time by Clark
Tenny, who was followed by Lemuel Lakin, and afterward by
Francis Shattuck, a son of Daniel, for another brief period.
About the year 1833 it was given up entirely as a public
house, and thus passed away an old landmark widely known in
those times. It stood well out on the present road, the front
door facing down what is now Main Street, the upper end of
which then had no existence. In approaching the tavern from
the south, the road went up Hollis Street and turned to the
left somewhere south of the Burying-Ground. The house
afterward was cut up and moved off, just before the Baptist
meeting-house was built. My earliest recollections carry me
back faintly to the time when it was last used as a tavern,
though I remember distinctly the building as it looked before
it was taken away.

Dearborn Emerson married a sister of Daniel Brooks, a large
owner in the line of stage-coaches running through Groton
from Boston to the northward; and this family connection was
of great service to him. Jonas Parker, commonly known as
“Tecumseh” Parker, was now associated with Emerson in keeping
the new hotel. The stage business was taken away from the
Richardson tavern, and transferred to this one. The house was
enlarged, spacious barns and stables were erected, and better
accommodations given to man and beast,—on too large a
scale for profit, it seems, as Parker and Emerson failed
shortly afterward, This was in the spring of 1818, during
which year the tavern was purchased by Joseph Hoar, who kept
it a little more than six years, when he sold it to Amos
Alexander. This landlord, after a long time, was succeeded in
turn by Isaac J. Fox, Horace Brown, William Childs, Artemas
Brown, John McGilson, Abijah Wright, and Moses Gill. It was
given up as a hotel in 1856, and made into a shoe factory;
and finally it was burned. Mr. Gill had the house for eight
years, and was the last landlord. He then opened a public
house directly opposite to the Orthodox church, and called it
The Globe, which he kept for two years. He was succeeded by
Stephen Woods, who remained only one year, after which time
this also was given up as a public house.

Another hostelry was the Ridge Hill tavern, situated at the
Ridges, three miles from the village, on the Great Road to
Boston. This was built about the year 1805, and much
frequented by travelers and teamsters. At this point the
roads diverge and come together again in Lexington, making
two routes to Boston. It was claimed by interested persons
that one was considerably shorter than the
other,—though the actual difference was less than a
mile. In the year 1824 a guide-board was set up at the crotch
of the roads, proclaiming the fact that the distance to
Lexington through Concord was two miles longer than through
Carlisle. Straightway the storekeepers and innholders along
the Concord road published a counter-statement, that it had
been measured by sworn surveyors, and the distance found to
be only two hundred and thirty-six rods further than by the
other way.

The first landlord of the Ridge Hill tavern was Levi Parker,
noted for his hospitality. He was afterward deputy-sheriff of
Middlesex County, and lived in Westford. He was followed, for
a short time, by John Stevens, and then by John H. Loring,
who conducted the house during many years, and was succeeded
by his son Jefferson. After him came Henry L. Lawrence, who
kept it during one year; he was followed by his
brother-in-law, Moses Gill, who took the tavern in April,
1837, and kept it just five years. When Mr. Gill gave up the
house, he was followed by one Langdon for a short time, and
he in turn by Kimball Farr as the landlord, who had bought it
the year previously, and who remained in charge until 1868.
During a part of the time when the place was managed by Mr.
Farr; his son Augustus was associated with him. Mr. Farr sold
the tavern to John Fuzzard, who kept it for a while, and is
still the owner of the property. He was followed by Newell M.
Jewett; the present landlord is Stephen Perkins, a native of
York, Maine, who took it in 1880. The house had been vacant
for some years before this time. A fair is held here
regularly on the first Tuesday of every month, for the sale
of horses, and buyers are attracted from a long distance. At
one time this property was owned by Judge Samuel Dana, who
sold it to John H. Loring.

As early as the year 1798 there was a tavern about a mile
from the Ridges, toward Groton. It was kept by Stephen
Farrar, in the house now standing near where the brook
crosses the Great Road. Afterward one Green was the landlord.
The house known as the Levi Tufts place in this neighborhood
was an inn during the early part of this century, conducted
by Tilly Buttrick. Also about this time, or previously, the
house situated south of Indian Hill, and occupied by Charles
Prescott,—when the map in Mr. Butler’s History was
made,—was an inn. There was a tavern kept from the year
1812 to 1818 by a Mr. Page, in Mr. Gerrish’s house, near the
Unitarian church in the village. There was also a tavern,
near the present paper-mills of Tileston and Hollingsworth,
kept for many years (1825-55) by Aaron Lewis, and after him
for a short time by one Veazie. It was originally the house
of John Capell, who owned the sawmill and gristmill in the
immediate neighborhood. Amos Adams had an inn near
Squannacook, a hundred years ago, in a house now owned by
James Kemp.

Just before and during the Revolution a tavern was kept by
George Peirce, in the south part of the town, within the
present limits of Ayer. This landlord was probably the
inn-holder of Littleton, whose name appears in The
Massachusetts Gazette, of August 8, 1765. The house was the
one formerly owned by the late Calvin Fletcher, and burned
March 25, 1880. It was advertised for sale, as appears from
the following advertisement in The Boston Gazette, September
27, 1773:—

The gristmill and sawmill, mentioned in the advertisement,
were on Nonacoicus Brook. In the Gazette, of November 15,
1773, another notice appears, which shows that the tavern was
not sold at the time originally appointed. It is as
follows:—

The following advertisement appears in The Independent
Chronicle (Boston), September 19, 1808; the site of the farm
was near that of Peirce’s inn, just mentioned. Stone’s tavern
was afterward kept by one Day, and subsequently burned.

About a generation ago an attempt was made to organize a
company for the purpose of carrying on a hotel in the
village, and a charter was obtained from the Legislature. The
stock, however, was not fully taken up, and the project fell
through. Of the corporators, Mr. Potter and Mr. Smith still
survive. Below is a copy of the act:—

In the spring of 1852, a charter was given to Benjamin Webb,
Daniel D.R. Bowker, and their associates, for the purpose of
forming a corporation to carry on a hotel at the Massapoag
Springs, in the eastern part of this town, but the project
fell through. It was to be called the Massapoag Spring Hotel,
and its capital stock was limited to $30,000. The act was
approved by the Governor, May 18, 1852, and it contained
similar conditions to those mentioned above in regard to the
sale of liquors. These enterprises are now nearly forgotten,
though the mention of them may revive the recollections of
elderly people.

During the first half of the present century Groton had one
characteristic mark, closely connected with the old taverns,
which it no longer possesses. It was a radiating centre for
different lines of stage-coaches, until this mode of travel
was superseded by the swifter one of the railroad. During
many years the stage-coaches were a distinctive feature of
the place; and their coming and going was watched with great
interest, and created the excitement of the day. In early
times the drivers, as they approached the village, would blow
a bugle in order to give notice of their arrival; and this
blast was the signal at the taverns to put the food on the
table. More than a generation has now passed away since these
coaches were wont to be seen in the village streets. They
were drawn usually by four horses, and in bad going by six.
Here a change of coaches, horses, and drivers was made.

The stage-driver of former times belonged to a class of men
that has entirely disappeared from this community. His
position was one of considerable responsibility. This
important personage was well known along his route, and his
opinions were always quoted with respect. I can easily recall
the familiar face of Aaron Corey, who drove the accommodation
stage to Boston for so many years. He was a careful and
skilful driver, and a man of most obliging disposition. He
would go out of his way to bear a message or leave a
newspaper; but his specialty was to look after women and
children committed to his charge. He carried, also, packages
and parcels, and largely what is to-day entrusted to the
express. I recall, too, with pleasure, Horace George, another
driver, popular with all the boys, because in sleighing-time
he would let us ride on the rack behind, and even slacken the
speed of his horses so as to allow us to catch hold of the
straps.

Some people now remember the scenes of life and activity that
used to be witnessed in the town on the arrival and departure
of the stages. Some remember, too, the loud snap of the whip
which gave increased speed to the horses, as they dashed up
in approved style to the stopping-place, where the loungers
were collected to see the travelers and listen to the gossip
which fell from their lips. There were no telegraphs then,
and but few railroads in the country. The papers did not
gather the news so eagerly, nor spread it abroad so promptly,
as they do now, and items of intelligence were carried
largely by word of mouth.

The earliest line of stage-coaches between Boston and Groton
was the one mentioned in The Columbian Centinel, April 6,
1793. The advertisement is headed “New Line of Stages,” and
gives notice that—

Another Carriage drives from Richardson’s tavern in
Groton, on Monday in each week, at six o’clock in the
morning, and passing by Richardson’s tavern in
Concord at ten o’clock in the forenoon, arrives at
Charlestown at three o’clock in the afternoon. From
Charlestown it drives on Tuesday and Thursday in each
week, at three o’clock in the afternoon, and returns back as
far as Richardson’s tavern in Concord—and
from that place it starts at 8 o’clock in the mornings, of
Wednesday and Friday, and runs again to Charlestown.
From there it moves at six o’clock on Saturday morning, and
returns to Richardson’s tavern in Groton, in
the evening of the same day.

It was probably one of these “Carriages” to which allusion is
made in Mr. Winthrop’s Memoir of the Honorable Nathan
Appleton,[Footnote: Proceedings of the Massachusetts
Historical Society, v, 249, 250.] as follows:—

It has been said that the first public conveyance between
Boston and Groton was a covered wagon, hung on chains for
thoroughbraces: perhaps it was the “Charlestown Carriage,”
mentioned in the advertisement. It was owned and driven by
Lemuel Lakin, but after a few years the owner sold out to
Dearborn Emerson.

The following advertisement from The Columbian Centinel, June
25, 1800, will give a notion of what an undertaking a trip to
Boston was, at the beginning of the century:—

The given name of Emerson was Dearborn, and not “Danborn,”
which is a misprint. Two years later he was running a
stage-coach from Groton to New Ipswich, New Hampshire, and on
the first return trip he brought three
passengers,—according to the History of New Ipswich
(page 129). Emerson was a noted driver in his day; and he is
mentioned, with pleasant recollections, by the Honorable
Abbott Lawrence, in an after-dinner speech at the jubilee of
Lawrence Academy, on July 12, 1854. Subsequently he was the
landlord of one of the local taverns.

It is advertised in The Massachusetts Register, for the year
1802, that the

It seems from this notice that it took three hours longer to
make the trip down to Boston than up to Groton,—of
which the explanation is not clear. In the Register for 1803
a semi-weekly line is advertised, and the same length of time
is given for making the trip each way.

About the year 1807 there was a tri-weekly line of coaches to
Boston, and as early as 1820 a daily line, which connected at
Groton with others extending into New Hampshire and Vermont.
Soon after this time there were two lines to Boston, running
in opposition to each other,—one known as the Union and
Accommodation Line, and the other as the Telegraph and
Despatch.

One of the drivers for the Telegraph and Despatch line was
Phineas Harrington, known along the road as “Phin”
Harrington. He had orders to take but eight passengers in his
coach, and the trip was made with remarkable speed for that
period. “Phin” was a man of small size, and the story used to
be told of him that, on cold and stormy nights, he would get
inside of one of the lamps fixed to his box in order to warm
his feet by the lighted wick! He passed almost his whole life
as a stage-man, and it is said that he drove for nearly forty
years, He could handle the reins of six horses with more
skill than any other driver in town.

William Shephard and Company advertise in The Groton Herald,
April 10, 1830, their accommodation stage. “Good Teams and
Coaches, with careful and obliging drivers, will be provided
by the subscribers.” Books were kept in Boston at A.M.
Brigham’s, No. 42 Hanover Street, and in Groton at the
taverns of Amos Alexander and Joseph Hoar. The fare was one
dollar, and the coach went three times a week.

About this time George Flint had a line to Nashua, and John
Holt another to Fitchburg. They advertise together in the
Herald, May 1, 1830, that “no pains shall be spared to
accommodate those who shall favor them with their custom, and
all business intrusted to their care will be faithfully
attended to.” The first stage-coach from this town to Lowell
began to run about the year 1829, and John Austin was the
driver. An opposition line was established soon afterward,
and kept up during a short time, until a compromise was made
between them, Later, John Russ was the owner and driver of
the line to Lowell, and still later, John M. Maynard the
owner. Near this period there was a coach running to
Worcester, and previously one to Amherst, New Hampshire.

The following is a list of some of the old drivers, who were
well known along their respective routes. It is arranged in
no particular order and by no means complete; and the dates
against a few of the names are only approximations to the
time when each one sat on the box:—

Lemuel Lakin was among the earliest; and he was followed by
Dearborn Emerson. Daniel Brooks drove to Boston during the
period of the last war with England, and probably later.

Aaron Corey drove the accommodation stage to Boston, through
Carlisle, Bedford, and Lexington, for a long time, and he had
previously driven the mail-coach. He was succeeded by his
son, Calvin, the driver for a few years, until the line was
given up in 1850. Mr. Corey, the father, was one of the
veterans, having held the reins during thirty-two years; he
died March 15, 1857, at the age of seventy-three.

Isaac Bullard, 1817-30; William Smart, 1825-30; George Hunt,
Jonathan Buttrick, Thomas A. Staples, Obediah Kendall, Albert
Hayden, Charles Briggs, Levi Robbins, James Lord, Frank
Brown, Silas Burgess, Augustus Adams, William Dana, Horace
Brown, Levi Wheeler, Timothy Underwood, —— Bacon,
Horace George, 1838-45; Lyman W. Gushing, 1842-45, and Joseph
Stewart. These drove to Boston. After the stages were taken
off, “Joe” Stewart drove the passenger-coach from the village
to the station on the Fitchburg Railroad, which ran to
connect with the three daily trains for Boston. The station
was three miles away, and now within the limits of Ayer.

Among the drivers to Keene, New Hampshire, were Kimball
Danforth, 1817-40; Ira Brown, Oliver Scales, Amos Nicholas,
Otis Bardwell, Abel Marshall, the brothers Ira and Hiram
Hodgkins, George Brown, Houghton Lawrence, Palmer Thomas, Ira
Green, Barney Pike, William Johnson, Walter Carleton, and
John Carleton. There were two stage routes to Keene, both
going as far as West Townsend in common, and then separating,
one passing through Ashby, Rindge, and Fitzwilliam, while the
other went through New Ipswich and Jaffrey.

Anson Johnson and Beriah Curtis drove to Worcester; Addison
Parker, Henry L. Lawrence, Stephen Corbin, John Webber, and
his son, Ward, drove to Lowell; the brothers Abiel and Nathan
Fawcett, Wilder Proctor, and Abel H. Fuller, to Nashua; Micah
Ball, who came from Leominster about the year 1824, drove to
Amherst, New Hampshire, and after him Benjamin Lewis, who
continued to drive as long as he lived, and at his death the
line was given up. The route to Amherst lay through
Pepperell, Hollis, and Milford.

Other drivers were John Chase, Joel Shattuck, William
Shattuck, Moses Titus, Frank Shattuck, David Coburn,
—— Chickering, Thomas Emory, and William Kemp,
Jr.

The sad recollection of an accident at Littleton, resulting
in the death of Silas Bullard, is occasionally revived by
some of the older people. It occurred about the year 1825,
and was caused by the upsetting of the Groton coach, driven
by Samuel Stone, and at the time just descending the hill
between Littleton Common and Nagog Pond, then known as
Kimball’s Hill. Mr. Bullard was one of the owners of the
line, and a brother of Isaac, the veteran driver.

Besides the stage-coaches the carrier wagons added to the
business of Groton, and helped largely to support the
taverns. The town was situated on one of the main
thoroughfares leading from Boston to the northern country,
comprising an important part of New Hampshire and Vermont,
and extending into Canada. This road was traversed by a great
number of wagons, drawn by four or six horses, carrying to
the city the various products of the country, such as grain,
pork, butter, cheese, eggs, venison, hides; and returning
with goods found in the city, such as molasses, sugar,
New-England rum, coffee, tea, nails, iron, cloths, and the
innumerable articles found in the country stores, to be
distributed among the towns above here. In some seasons, it
was no uncommon sight to see forty such wagons passing
through the village in one day.

In addition to these were many smaller vehicles, drawn by one
or two horses, to say nothing of the private carriages of
individuals who were traveling for business or pleasure.

For many of the facts mentioned in this paper I am indebted
to Mr. Moses Gill, an octogenarian of Groton, whose mind is
clear and body active for a man of his years. Mr. Gill is a
grandson of Lieutenant-Governor Moses Gill, and was born at
Princeton, on March 6, 1800. He has kept several public
houses in Groton, already mentioned, besides the old brick
tavern situated on the Lowell road, near Long-sought-for
Pond, and formerly known as the Half-way. House. This hotel
came within the limits of Westford, and was kept by Mr. Gill
from the year 1842 to 1847. In his day he has known
personally seventy-five landlords doing business between
Davenport’s (opposite to the celebrated Porter’s tavern in
Cambridge) and Keene, New Hampshire; and of this number, only
seven are thought to be living at the present time.

THE FAMILY IMMIGRATION TO NEW ENGLAND.

BY THOMAS W. BICKNELL, LL.D.

The unit of society is the individual. The unit of
civilization is the family. Prior to December 20, 1620,
New-England life had never seen a civilized family or felt
its influences. It is true that the Icelandic Chronicles tell
us that Lief, the son of Eric the Red, 1001, sailed with a
crew of thirty-five men, in a Norwegian vessel, and driven
southward in a storm, from Greenland along the coasts of
Labrador, wintered in Vineland on the shores of Mount Hope
Bay. Longfellow’s Skeleton in Armor has revealed their
temporary settlement. Thither sailed Eric’s son, Thorstein,
with his young and beautiful wife, Gudrida, and their
twenty-five companions, the following year. His death
occurred, and put an end to the expedition, which Thorfinn
took up with his marriage to the young widow, Gudrida; with
his bride and one hundred and sixty-five persons (five of
them young married women), they spent three years on the
shores of the Narragansett Bay, where Snorre, the
first white child, was born,—the progenitor of
the great Danish sculptor, Thorwaldsen. But this is
tradition, not history. Later still, came other adventurers
to seek fortunes in the New World, but they came as
individuals,—young, adventurous men, with all to gain
and nothing to lose, and, if successful, to return with gold
or fame, as the reward of their sacrifice and daring.

Six hundred years pass, and a colony of one hundred and five
men, not a woman in the company, sailed from England for
America, and landed at Jamestown, Virginia. Within six months
half of the immigrants had perished, and only for the courage
and bravery of John Smith, the whole would have met a sad
fate. The first European woman seen on the banks of the James
was the wife of one of the seventy Virginia colonists who
came later, and her maid, Anne Burroughs, who helped to give
permanency and character to a fugitive settlement in a
colony, which waited two hundred and fifty years to learn the
value of a New-England home, and to appreciate the
civilization which sprang up in a New-England town, through
the agency of a New-England family.

An experience similar to that of the Virginia
settlers—disappointment, hardship, death—attended
the immigrants who, under George Popham, Raleigh, and
Gilbert, attempted to make a permanent home on the coast of
Maine, but their house was a log camp, with not a solitary
woman to light its gloom or cheer its occupants. Failure,
defeat, and death were the inevitable consequences. There was
no family, and there could be no permanency of civilization.

The planting of Plymouth and Massachusetts Bay Colonies was
of another sort. Whole families embarked on board the
Mayflower, the Fortune, the Ann, the Mary and John, and other
ships that brought their precious freight in safety to a New
World. Of the one hundred and one persons who came in the
Mayflower, in 1620, twenty-eight were females, and eighteen
were wives and mothers. They did not leave their homes, in
the truest sense,—they brought them with them. Their
household goods and hearthstone gods were all snugly stowed
beneath the decks of the historic ship, and the multitude of
Mayflower relics, now held in precious regard in public and
private collections, but testify to the immense inventory of
that one little ship of almost fabulous carrying capacity. To
the compact signed in Plymouth harbor, in 1620, John Carver
signs eight persons, whom he represents; Edward Winslow,
five; William Brewster, six; William Mullins, five; William
White, five; Stephen Hopkins, Edward Fuller, and John Turner,
each, eight; John Chilton, three,—one of whom, his
daughter Mary, was the first woman, as tradition says, to
jump from the boat upon Plymouth Rock. In the Weymouth
Company, under the leadership of the Reverend Joseph Hull,
who set sail from Old Weymouth, England, on the twentieth of
March, 1635, and landed at Wessaguscus,—now Weymouth,
Massachusetts,—there were one hundred and five persons,
divided into twenty-one families. Among these were John
Whitmarsh, his wife Alice, and four children; Robert Lovell,
husbandman, with his good wife Elizabeth and children, two of
whom, Ellen and James, were year-old twins; Edward Poole and
family; Henry Kingman, Thomas Holbrook, Richard Porter, and
not least of all, Zachary Bicknell, his wife Agnes, their son
John, and servant John Kitchen.

Families these,—all on board,—households,
treasures, all worldly estates, and best of all the rich
sympathies and supports of united, trusting hearts, daring to
face the perils of an ocean-passage of forty-six days’
duration, and the new, strange life in the wilds of America,
that they might prove their faith in each other, in their
principles, and in God. “He setteth the solitary in
families,” says the Psalmist; and the truth was never better
illustrated than in the isolated and weary life of our
ancestry, two and a half centuries ago.

To the Pilgrim and the Puritan, wife, children, house, home,
family, church, were the most precious possessions. Nothing
human could divorce ties which nature had so strongly woven.
And whenever we think of our honored ancestry, it is not as
individual adventurers; but we see the good-man, the
good-wife, and their children, as the representatives of the
great body of those, who with them planted homes, families,
society, civilization, in the Western World. They came
together, or if alone, to pioneer the way for wife and
children or sweetheart by the next ship, and they came to
stay, as witness the names of the old families of Plymouth,
Weymouth, Salem, Boston, Dorchester, in the leading circles
of wealth and social position in all of these old towns.
“Behold,” says Dr. Bushnell, “the Mayflower, rounding now the
southern cape of England, filled with husbands and wives and
children; families of righteous men, under covenant with God
and each other to lay some good foundation for religion,
engaged both to make and keep their own laws, expecting to
supply their own wants and bear their own burdens, assisted
by none but the God in whom they trust! Here are the hands of
industry! the germs of liberty! the dear pledges of order!
and the sacred beginnings of a home!” Of such, only, could
Mrs. Hemans’s inspired hymn have been written:—

To understand the reasons why thirty-five thousand loyal and
respectable subjects of Charles I should leave Old England
for the New, in family relations, between 1620 and 1625, let
us look, if we can, through a chink in the wall, into the
state of affairs, civil, social, and religious, as they
existed in the best land, and under the best government, the
sun then shone upon.

Charles I succeeded his father, James I of Scotland, in 1624.
The great, good act of James was the translation of our
English Bible, known as King James’s Version, a work which,
for the exercise of learning, scholarship, and a zealous
religious faith, has not been surpassed in any age. Take him
all in all, James was a bigot, a tyrant, a conceited fool. He
professed to be the most ardent devotee of piety, and at the
same time issued a proclamation that all lawful recreations,
such as dancing, archery, leaping, May-games, etc., might be
used after divine service, on Sundays. An advocate of
religious freedom, he attempted to enforce the most abject
conformity in his own Scottish home, against the well-known
independence of that section of his realm, and drove the
Puritans to seek an asylum in Holland, where they might find
liberty to worship God.

In the county of Somerset, the old king consented to an act
of tyranny which would grace the age of Henry VIII. One
Reverend Edmund Peacham, a clergyman in Somersetshire, had
his study broken open, and a manuscript sermon being there
found in which there was strong censure of the extravagance
of the king and the oppression of his officers, the preacher
was put to the rack and interrogated, “before torture, in
torture, between torture, and after torture,” in order to
draw from him evidence of treason; but this horrible severity
could wring no confession from him. His sermon was not found
treasonable by the judges of the King’s Bench and by Lord
Coke; but the unhappy man was tried and condemned, dying in
jail before the time set for his execution. Just about this
time was the State murder of Overbury, and the execution of
Sir Walter Raleigh, one of England’s noblest sons, brave and
chivalric, who, at the executioner’s block, took the axe in
his hand, kissed the blade, and said to the sheriff: “‘Tis a
sharp medicine, but a sound cure for all diseases.” These and
kindred acts serve to illustrate the history of a king whose
personal and selfish interests overruled all sentiments of
honor and regard for his subjects, and who publicly declared
that “he would govern according to the good of the
commonweal, but not according to the common will.” With such
a king as James on the throne, is it a wonder that the more
intelligent and conscientious of his subjects—like the
Pilgrims and Puritans—sought a home on this side the
Atlantic, where wild beasts and savage men were their only
persecutors?

We are told that “the face of the Court was much changed in
the change of the king” from James to Charles I; “that the
grossness of the Court of James grew out of fashion,” but the
people were slow to learn the difference. Of the two evils,
James was to be preferred. Charles ascends the throne with
flattering promises, attends prayers and listens to sermons,
pays his father’s debts and promises to reform the Court. Let
us see what he does. The brilliant but profligate Buckingham
is retained as prime minister. Charles marries the beautiful
Henrietta Maria, the Roman Catholic princess of France. He
fits out fleets against Spain and other quarters, and demands
heavy taxes to meet his heavy expenses. Parliament is on its
dignity, and demands its proper recognition. He dissolves it,
and calls another. That is more rebellious, and that he
summarily dissolves. Men of high and low degree go to prison
at the king’s behest, and the disobedient were threatened
with severer penalties.

The people of England are aroused, as the king of the earth
sets himself against their claims in behalf of the royal
prerogative. The king and the people are at war. Which will
come off conquerer? There is only one answer to that
question, for the battle is one between the pigmy and the
giant. The contest grows sharper as the months go on, and the
people are in constant alarm. Murders are common, and even
Buckingham, the favorite minister, dies at the point of the
assassin’s knife, and the murderer goes to the Tower and the
scaffold accompanied by the tumultuous cheers of London. Soon
comes the Parliament of 1629, in which the popular leaders
make their great remonstrance against the regal tyranny. In
that House sat a plain young man, with ordinary cloth
apparel, as if made by an old-country tailor, “his
countenance swollen and reddish, his voice sharp and
untonable,” with “an eloquence full of fervor.” That young
man is yet to be heard from. His name is Cromwell, known in
history as Oliver Cromwell. His briefly-reported speech of
six lines is destined to be weightier than the edicts of a
king. The session was brief. Popery and Arminianism, unjust
taxation and voluntary payment of taxes not ordered by
Parliament, were declared treasonable and hostile principles
in Church and State,—so said Parliament. “You are a
Parliament of vipers,”—so said the king; and, on the
tenth of March, Parliament was dissolved, not to meet again
in the old historic hall for eleven long years; until, in
1640, the majesty of an outraged people rises superior to the
majesty of an outraging ruler. Now follow the attempted
riveting of the chains of a despotic and unscrupulous power,
which does not understand the temper of the common people,
nor the methods of counteracting a great popular upheaval in
society.

It is not easy to resist the iron pressure of a tyrant; but,
to our ancestors, it was far better than to accept the peace
and profit which might follow abject submission. To borrow
the words of De Tocqueville: “They cling to freedom for its
native charms independent of its gifts,—the pleasure of
speaking, acting, and breathing without restraint, under no
master but God and the Law.” The Englishmen of the first half
of the seventeenth century were the fathers of the men who
fired shots at Lexington and Concord, “heard round the
world.”

But how do the royal prerogatives affect our ancestors in
England? Our fathers were of common mould, and feel the
unjust demand of the tax-gatherer and the insolent demeanor
of the Crown officers, who threaten fines and imprisonment
for a refusal to obey. The people are aroused and are united;
some are hopeless, some hopeful. The Crown seems to have its
sway, but the far-sighted see the people on the coming throne
of righteous judgement. What troubles our ancestors most is
the interference with their religious life. Archbishop Laud
is now supreme, and the Pope never had a more willing vassal.
Ministers are examined as to their loyalty to the government,
their sermons are read to private judges of their orthodoxy,
the confessional is established, and the alter-service is
restored. It is a time when earnest men and women cannot be
trifled with on soul concerns. Their property may perish or
be confiscated, but the right to unmolested worship is older
than Magna Charta, and as inalienable as life itself. What is
to be done? Resistance or emigration—which? Resist and
die, say Cromwell and Wentworth, Eliot and Hampden. Emigrate
and live, say the men and women who came by thousands from
all parts of England during the reign of this monarch, and
made possible the permanent establishment of a new society,
on the basis of social order and family life.

AN INCIDENT OF SIXTEEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-SIX.

BY THE HON. MELLEN CHAMBERLAIN.

On the afternoon of the twenty-sixth of May, 1686, two
horsemen were riding from Boston to Cambridge. By which route
they left the town is now known; but most probably over the
Roxbury Neck, following the path taken by Lord Percy when he
went to the relief of Lieutenant-Colonel Smith’s ill-starred
expedition to seize the military stores at Concord, on the
nineteenth of April, 1775. Of the nature of their
errand—whether peaceful or hostile,—of the
subject of their conversation, as they rode along the King’s
highway, neither history nor tradition has left any account.
But when they had reached Muddy River, now the beautiful
suburb of Brookline, about two miles from Cambridge, they
were met by a young man riding in the opposite direction,
who, as he came against them, abruptly and without other
salutation, said: “God save King James the Second!” and then
rode on. But soon turning his horse towards the travelers he
most inconsequentially completed his sentence by adding, “But
I say, God curse King James!” and this malediction he
repeated so many times and with such vehemence, that the two
horsemen at last turned their horses and riding up to him,
told him plainly that he was a rogue. This expression of
their opinion produced, however, only a slight modification
of the young man’s sentiments, to this form: “God curse King
James and God bless Duke James!” But a few strokes of their
whips effected his complete conversion, and then, as a loyal
subject, he exclaimed: “God curse Duke James, and God bless
King James!”

Such is the unadorned statement of facts as sworn to the next
day in the Council by these riders, and their oath was
attested by Edward Randolph, the “evil genius of New
England.” I present it in its legal baldness of detail. The
two horsemen are no reminiscence of Mr. James’s celebrated
opening, but two substantial citizens of Boston, Captain
Peter Bowden and Dr. Thomas Clarke; and the young man with
somewhat original objurgatory tendencies was one Wiswell, as
they called him—presumably not a son of the excellent
Duxbury parson of the same name; and for the same reason,
even less probably, a student of Cambridge University, as it
was at that early day sometimes called.

The original paper in which the foregoing facts are recorded
has long been in my possession; and as often as my eye has
rested on it, I have wondered what made that young man swear
so; and by what nicety of moral discrimination he found his
justification in blessing the Duke and cursing the
King—”unus et idem”—in the same breath. Who and
what was he? and of what nature were his grievances? Was
there any political significance in that strange mingling of
curses and blessings? That his temper was not of martyr
firmness was evident enough from the sudden change in the
current of his thoughts brought about by the tingling of the
horsewhip. All else was mystery. But the commonest knowledge
of the English and colonial history of those days was
sufficient to stimulate conjecture on these points. At the
date of the incident recorded James II had been on the throne
more than a year, and for a long time both as duke and king
had been hated and feared on both sides of the ocean. The
Duke of Monmouth’s ill-fated adventure for the Crown had
failed at Sedgemoor, and his young life ended on the block,
denied expected mercy by his uncle, the king: ended on the
block: but not so believed the common people of England. They
believed him to be still living, and the legitimate heir to
the British crown, and that his unnatural uncle was only Duke
James of England. In those days English affairs were more
closely followed by the colonists than at present, and for
obvious reasons; and it is quite open to conjecture at least
that the feelings of English yeomen and artisans were known
to, and shared by, their cousins in Massachusetts Bay, and
that Master Wiswell only gave expression to a sentiment
common to people of his class on both sides the water.

This, however, is mere conjecture. But there are important
facts. On the preceding day, in the Town House, which stood
at the head of State Street, where the old State House now
stands, events culminated, in comparison with which the
causes which led to the war of the Revolution sink into utter
insignificance. On the twenty-third of October, 1684, in the
High Court of Chancery of England, judgment was entered on
the writ of scire facias, by which the charter of
Massachusetts Bay was vacated; and as a consequence, the
title to the soil, with all improvements, reverted to the
Crown, to the ruin of those who had wrested it from the
wilderness, and guarded it from the savage foe. The old
government, so endeared to the people, and defended against
kingly assault with the truest courage, was swept away by
arbitrary power, and in its place a new one established,
under the presidency of Joseph Dudley, and he a recreant son
of the colony. It was the inauguration of this government
which had taken place on the day before Captain Bowden and
Dr. Clarke encountered John Wiswell, Jr., on their ride to
Cambridge. There ceremonies of the inauguration were not
without circumstances of pomp, and are set forth in the
Council records at the State House, from which I transcribe
the following incidents: When the new government, the
president, and Council were assembled, the exemplification of
the judgment against the charter of the late governor and
company of the Massachusetts Bay, in New England, publicly
(in the court where were present divers of the eminent
ministers, gentlemen, and inhabitants of the town and
country) was read with an audible voice. The commission was
read and the oaths administered, and the new president made
his speech, after which, proclamation was openly read in
court, and commanded to be published by beat of drum and
trumpet, which was accordingly done.

The people in the Forum heard these drum and
trumpets—young Wiswell, doubtless, with the
rest—and knew what they signified: the confiscation of
houses and lands; the abrogation of existing laws; taxes
exacted without consent or legislation; the enforced support
of a religion not of the people’s choice; and navigation laws
ruinous to their foreign commerce, then beginning to assume
importance; and from these consequences they were saved only
by the revolution, which two years later drove James II from
his throne. It is difficult to credit these sober facts of
history, and still more to fully realize their destructive
import; but they should always be borne in mind; for if any
one reflecting on the causes assigned by the leaders of the
great Revolution, as justifying the violent partition of an
empire, is led for a moment to question their sufficiency,
let him then consider that they were assigned by a people
full of the traditions of the long struggle against kingly
injustice, in the days of the second Charles and the second
James.

A few words—the result of later investigation—as
to the actors in the events of this ride to Cambridge. When
Bowden and Clarke had attested their loyalty by horsewhipping
young Wiswell, they took him in charge to Cambridge, and
vainly tried to persuade Nathaniel Hancock, the constable, to
carry him before a magistrate. This refusal brought
him into difficulty with Council; but his humble
submission was finally accepted and he was discharged on
payment of costs, on the plea that upon the change of the
government there was no magistrate authorized to commit him
to prison. Not quite so fortunate was John Wiswell, Jr., for
on the third of August the grand jury found a true bill
against him for uttering “these devilish, unnatural, and
wicked words following, namely, God curse King James.”
That he was brought to trial on this complaint I cannot find.
And so the actors in these scenes pass away. Of Bowden and
Clarke I know nothing more; and the little which appears of
John Wiswell’s subsequent life is not wholly to his credit, I
am sorry to say, and the more so, as I have recently
discovered that he was once a townsman of mine, and doubtless
a playmate of my kindred at Rumney Marsh.

These actors have all gone, and so has gone the old Town
House; not so, as yet, let us heartily thank God, has gone
the old State House which stands where that stood; on the one
spot—if there is but one—which ought to be dear
to the heart of every Bostonian, and sacred from his
violating hand. For here, on the spot of that eastern
balcony, looking down into the old Puritan Forum, what epochs
in our history have been announced: the abrogation of the
First Charter—the deposition of Andros—the
inauguration of the Second Charter—the death and
accession of English sovereigns—the Declaration of
Independence, and the adoption of the Constitution of the
United States; and here still stands the grandest historic
edifice in America, and within it?—why add to the
hallowing words of old John Adams?—”Within its walls
Liberty was born!”

ONE SUMMER. A REMINISCENCE.

BY ANNIE WENTWORTH BAER.

It was a beautiful morning in June. The sun was just peeping
through the pines fringing the eastern horizon; fleecy mists
were rising, like “ghosts of the valley,” from every brook
and low place in field and pasture, betokening a warm, fair
day. As I opened the heavy front door of Mr. Wetherell’s old
gambrel-roofed house, and stepped out onto the large flat
stone at the door-sill, every blade of grass was glistening
with dew-drops; such a sweetness pervaded the air as one only
realizes when the dew is on the grass and bushes. At my
right, close to the door-stone, a large bush of
southern-wood, or man’s-first-love, was growing; just beyond
it and under the “middle-room” windows two large, white-rose
bushes were bending beneath the weight of a multitude of
roses and buds. A large yellow-rose bush claimed the left,
and spread itself over the ground. Single red roses were
standing guard at the corner of the house. A rod or more
below the front door the garden fence stood and looked as if
it had been standing for many a year. It was made of palings,
pointed; I should think it was five feet high. The posts had
begun to lean into the garden and the palings were covered
with a short green moss, which seemed soft and growing in the
dew. The old gate swung itself to after me with a bang, and I
noticed that a string with a brick fastened to it and tied to
the gate at one end, and twisted around a stake driven into
the ground a few feet from the gate, was the cause of its
closing so quickly. Red-cherry trees loaded with small green
cherries were growing on one side of the garden; purple-plum
trees skirted the other side; and I knew full well how two
months later those creased, mouldy-looking plums would be
found hiding in the short, green grass beneath the trees.

Peach-trees were leaning over the fence in the southeast
corner; a long row of red-currant bushes ran through the
middle of the garden; English gooseberry bushes threw out
their prickly branches laden with round, woolly fruit at the
north end. Rows of hyssop, rue, saffron, and sage, and beds
of lettuce, pepper-grass, and cives, all had their place in
this old-fashioned garden. In the southwest corner an immense
black-currant bush was growing on both sides of the fence.
Out in the field below the garden two Bell-pear trees, as
large as elms, were bending their branches, loaded with
fruit, a luscious promise for the autumn-time. A button-pear
tree, just beyond, was making up in quantity what its fruit
lacked in quality.

While I was exploring this well-cultivated spot, Mrs.
Wetherell called me to breakfast. The kitchen was a large
room, running across one end of the house; it had four
windows in it, two east and two west. All this space was
filled with the fragrance of coffee and cornmeal bannocks.

Mrs. Wetherell said: “I don’t know as you will like your
coffee sweetened in the pot, but I always make ours so.”

I assured her I should.

During breakfast Mr. Wetherell passed me some cheese, and I
asked Mrs. Wetherell if she made cheese.

“Not this month,” she replied, “in July and August I shall. I
am packing butter now.”

“Do you think you are going to be contented back
here?—you won’t see as much going on as you do at
home,” Mr. Wetherell asked me.

“O, yes,” I answered; “I expect to enjoy myself very much.”

Samanthy, the daughter, now well advanced in life, seemed
very solemn and said very little. I wondered if she were
sick, or unhappy. A little later in the day, while I was
watching Mrs. Wetherell salt a churning of butter in the back
porch, she said to me: “You mustn’t mind Samanthy, she isn’t
quite right in her head: a good many years ago she had a sad
blow.” She hesitated; I disliked to ask her what it was, so I
said “Poor woman!” “Yes,” said her mother, “she is a poor
soul. She was expecting to be married to Eben Johnson, a
young man who worked on our new barn. She got acquainted with
him then, and after a year or so they were promised. Eben was
a good fellow, a j’iner by trade. He lived in the village. In
the fall before they would have been married, in the spring,
he had typhoid fever, and they sent for Samanthy. She went
and took care of him three weeks, and then he died. She came
home, and seemed like one in a maze. After a little while she
was took with the fever, and liked to died, and my two girls,
Margaret and Frances, both had it and died with it. Samanthy
has never been the same since she got well. Her health has
been good, but her mind is weak.” I had noticed that Mrs.
Wetherell seemed very much broken in health and spirits, and
after hearing this story I did not wonder that the blows of
Providence had weakened her hold on life.

Samanthy was very shy of me at first, but after a few days
she would talk in her disjointed way with me.

One morning I was out in the well-house. The well was very
deep, and by leaning over the curb, and by putting one’s arms
around one’s head, one could see the stars mirrored in the
bottom of the dark old well. Samanthy came out for some
water, while I was star-gazing in this way. She said: “What
you lost?”

“O, nothing. I am only looking at the stars.”

Samanthy looked as if she thought I might be more profitably
engaged. I took hold of the handle of the windlass, swung off
the great oaken bucket, and watched it descend its
often-traveled course, bumping against the wet, slippery
rocks with which the well was stoned.

Samanthy said: “You can’t pull that up; it’s heavy.”

“Let me try,” I said. “I never drew water with a windlass.”

I had a much harder task than I supposed, but succeeded in
swinging the bucket onto the platform of the curb, and turned
the water into Samanthy’s pail. I never asked permission to
draw another bucketful.

I noticed below the well a large mound, grass-grown, with an
apple-tree growing on its very top. I wondered how it came
there, and one day asked Mr. Wetherell.

He said: “That’s where we threw the rocks and gravel out of
the well fifty years ago; we never moved it. It grassed over,
and the apple-tree came up there; it bears a striped apple,
crisp and sour.”

I thought, What a freak of Nature! and I wished that many
more piles of rubbish might be transformed into such a pretty
spot as this.

Below the mound stood the old hollow tree; its trunk was low
and very large, one side had rotted away, leaving it nearly
hollow. Still there was trunk enough left for the sap to run
up; and every year it was loaded with fruit.

Close by the path across the field to the road stood the Pang
apple-tree. This tree was named Pang because a dog by that
name was sleeping his last sleep beneath the tree. He was
much beloved by the family. I thought, What a pretty place to
be buried in! and a living monument to mark his grave. From
the stories I heard of Pang, I know he must have been a fine
dog, and I should have liked to have known him.

Just back of the house stood the cider-house. At this season
of the year the wood for summer use was stored there, but in
autumn all the neighbors brought their apples, and ground
them into cider. Samanthy told me how she used to clean the
cider nuts with a shingle; this was when she was small.

She said: “A cousin of mine, living at Beech Ridge, got his
arm caught while cleaning the pummy out, and ground it all
up. After that father was afraid for we children to do it.”

Back of the building I saw thousands of little apple-trees,
growing from the pomace which was shoveled out there year
after year.

The loft, over the part where the cider-mill was, was the
corn-house. I went up over the wide plank stairs and looked
around.

Traces of snapping-corn and of white-pudding corn were
hanging over a pole at one end. A large chest, filled with
different kinds of beans, stood at one side. On the plates
which supported the rafters, marks made in this
wise—[Symbol: Tally mark of 5]—told of the
bushels of corn carried up there and spread on the clean,
white floor.

These marks had been made by many hands, and I wondered where
they were now. Some undoubtedly were sleeping the

Others, perhaps, were making their mark somewhere else.

“Independence Day,” as Mr. Wetherell called it, was observed
in a very liberal manner on the farm. A lamb was slaughtered,
green peas were picked, and a plum-pudding made.

Lemonade, made of sparkling spring water, was a common drink.
Mr. Wetherell told me how his father always kept the day. He
brought out the large blue punchbowl and square cut-glass
decanters, which his father used on such occasions.

The next morning after the Fourth, I started out through the
field for the pasture. The grass was tall, and it waved
gently in the morning breeze. The whiteweed and clover sent
forth an agreeable perfume. In the low ground buttercups were
shining like gold dollars, sprinkled through the tall
herdsgrass. Yellow-weed, the farmer’s scourge, held up its
brown and yellow head in defiance.

On a knoll, a little before I reached the graveyard, I passed
over a piece of ground where the winter had killed the grass
roots. Here I found sorrel, cinque-foil, and a few bunches of
blue-eyed grass growing. Nature seemed to try to conceal the
barrenness of the spot with beauty. It was a grave,
decorated.

Off to my right, in a piece of rank grass, where branches of
dock had sprung up, bobolinks were swinging the pale, green
sprays, filling the air with melody. “Bobolink, bobolink,
spirk, spank, spink, chee, chee, chee!”

I knew that “Mrs. Robert of Lincoln” was sitting contentedly
on her little round nest, under a tuft of grass, very near
the sweet singer. I paused at the graveyard, and looked over
the wall. I read: “Margaret and Frances Wetherell, daughters
of John and Hannah Wetherell, aged 18 and 20 years.” I knew
these were the girls who had died of the fever; a twin
gravestone had been put up to their graves. Another stone
told of a little girl, two and a half years
old—Catherine. I reckoned up the date, and had she been
living, she would have been over forty years old. Many other
stones stood there, but I left them without reading the
inscriptions, and hastened on to the pines.

I stepped over the low wall between the field and pasture and
walked down by the brook until I came to the Stony Bridge.
This I crossed and followed up on the broad wheelpath. The
pines smelled so sweet: the grass was short and green:
everything seemed calm and cool. I sat down by a large Norway
pine and watched the birds. Right below me I saw a fox-hole,
with the entrance so barricaded with sticks and stones, that
I felt very sure poor Reynard must have been captured unless
he dug out somewhere else. I began to walk around. Six or
seven feet to the south of the besieged door, I discovered
another entrance. I don’t know whether some animal was still
living in the old house, or no: but this hole looked as if it
were used. A little pine grew in front, a juniper made its
roof and spread its fine branches over the door, squaw vines
and checkerberry leaves grew on either side.

I walked on in the wheelpath. On the north side many tall
Norway pines were growing, with white pines scattered here
and there. Crimson polygalas were carpeting the ground in
open spaces; pale anemones and delicate star-flowers were
still blooming under the protection of small pines; wild
strawberries were blossoming in cold places; and I wondered
when they would fruit.

Finally I came to an open field, or what looked like land
that had been cultivated. Hosts of bluets and plots of
mouse-ear everlasting, had taken possession of the land.
Small pines were scattered here and there, like settlers in a
new country. Junipers were creeping stealthily in, as if
expecting the axe. There were traces of where a fence had run
along. I concluded that this was years ago a field, but now
the cows roamed over it at will.

Going around in the edge of the woods I came to four pines
growing from one root; two grew on each side close together,
and left a fine seat between the pairs. I sat down there, and
felt thankful that I was living, and that my abiding-place
was among the granite hills of New England.

Soon I saw something move a few rods beyond me in the woods.
I looked again and saw the finest woodchuck I ever saw. He
stood in a listening attitude. I suppose he had heard me, but
had not seen me. His fur was yellow and brown mixed; his nose
and feet were black; his countenance was expressive of lively
concern. He disappeared and I left my sylvan seat, and walked
up where the woodchuck had been standing. I found his home
and numerous little tracks around the door. I hastened off,
because I feared my presence would worry him.

I knew it must be near noontime, so I began to retrace my
way. I walked up through the pasture and passed the “Great
Ledge.” This ledge was on the side of a steep hill. One side
of it was perpendicular thirty feet. It was covered with
crisp, gray moss. In the chinks and crannies on the top,
short grass was growing in little bunches.

As I followed down in the lane which led from the pasture to
the cow-yard, striped squirrels were playfully skipping
through the dilapidated wall, coming out, and disappearing;
sitting down and putting their forefeet up to their faces as
if they were convulsed with laughter to think how the old
black-and-white cat had gone to sleep lying on the wall in
the sun, only a few rods below them.

Dinner was ready, as I expected. I told Mrs. Wetherell of my
walk over the Stony Bridge.

“Yes,” she said. “Years ago, when I kept geese, one night I
went out to feed them and I found that they hadn’t come. I
knew something must be the matter. I started for the brook.
When I got out on the hill by the graveyard, I heard the
gander making an awful noise. I hurried on, and, when I got
to the corner of the field, I found a fox jumping at the old
gander as he was walking back and forth in front of the geese
and goslings. I screeched and the fox run. The geese came
right up to me. I was pretty pleased to save them. I had two
geese and thirteen goslings beside the gander.”

I said: “Is that a ledge out in the field where sumachs and
birches are growing?”

Mrs. Wetherell said: “Yes; and that piece of ground is where
Father Wetherell raised the last piece of flax. I don’t
suppose you ever saw any growing?”

“No,” I said. “Only in gardens. A field must be very
handsome.”

“Yes, the flower is a bluish purple, with a little yellow dot
in the middle.”

I asked her when they cut it.

“O, they never cut it; they pulled it after the seeds got
ripe; then they would beat the seeds out of the pods. These
pods look like little varnished balls. When the seed was out,
the flax was laid in a wet place in the field for weeks;
occasionally the men would turn it over. When it was well
rotted they dried it and put it up in the barn until March.
Then Father Wetherell would take it down and brake it in the
brake. After that he would swingle it over a swingling-board,
with a long knife; then he made it into hands of flax. The
women used to take it next and comb it through a flax-comb;
this got out all the shives and tow. There was a tow which
came out when it was swingled, called swingle tow. Mother
Wetherell said that, years before, when she was young she
used to use this to make meal-bags and under-bedticks of. But
I never used any of it.”

I asked her how they used the flax after it was combed.

“Then it was wound onto the distaff.”

“What was that?” Mrs. Wetherell smiled at my ignorance, but
proceeded kindly to explain.

“A distaff was made of a small pine top. They peeled off the
bark, and when it was dry, tied down the ends, and put the
other end onto the standard of the wheel. Then they would
commence and wind on the flax. A hand of flax would fill it.
I used to be a pretty good hand to spin tow on a big wheel,
but I never could spin linen very even. Old Aunt Joanna used
to spin linen thread; and Mother Wetherell used to buy great
skeins of her. She said it was cheaper to buy than to spend
so much time spinning.”

Mrs. Wetherell told me that I should go up in the garret and
see the wheels and all the old machinery used so long ago.

That evening I asked Mr. Wetherell: “Has there ever been a
field beyond the pines?”

“Yes,” he said: “Father cleared that piece nigh onto eighty
year ago. We always called it ‘the field back of the pines.’
When father got old, and I kinder took the lead, I said we
better turn that field out into the paster. He felt bad about
it at first, but when I told him how much work it was to haul
the manure over there, and the crops back, he gave in. Them
Norrerway pines are marster old; I s’pose they’d stood there
a hundred and fifty year.”

I felt a thrill of pity for the old man, now at rest. He must
have been nearly at the base of life’s western slope, when he
rescued those few acres from the forest. The little field was
his pride, I think it ought to have been left, while he
lived.

One morning when Lucy, as Mrs. Wetherell called her, was
washing at the farm, she said to me: “Did you ever have your
fortin told?” I answered, “No.”

“Well,” she said, “I dunno as I b’lieve all they say, but
some can tell pretty well. Did you ever try any projects?”

“No. How is that done?” I asked.

“O! there’s ever so many! One is, you pick two of them big
thistles ‘fore they are bloomed out, then you name ’em and
put ’em under your piller; the one that blooms out fust will
be the one you will marry. ‘Nuther one is to walk down cellar
at twelve o’clock at night, backwards, with a looking-glass
in your hand. You will see your man’s face in the glass. But
there! I don’t know as its best to act so. You know how
Foster got sarved?”

“No. How was it?”

“Why! Didn’t you never hear? Well, Foster told the Devil if
he would let him do and have all he wanted for so many year,
when the time was out, he would give himself, soul and body,
to the Devil. He signed the writing with his blood; Foster
carried on a putty high hand, folks was afear’d of him. When
the time was up, the Devil came: I guess they had a tough
battle. Folks said they never heard such screams, and in the
morning his legs and arms was found scattered all over the
cowyard.”

I recognized in this tragic story, Marlowe’s Faustus. I was
much amused at Lucy’s rendering.

A few weeks afterwards she told me how the house where she
lived was haunted. I asked her, “Who haunts it?”

“Why!” she said, “it’s a woman. She walks up and down them
old stairs, dressed in white, looking so sorrowfullike, I
know there must have been foul play. And then such noises as
we hear overhead! My man says that it’s rats. Rats! I know
better!”

I thought that Lucy wanted to believe in ghosts, so I didn’t
try to reason with her,—

Lucy was quite an old woman; and I used to think that washing
was too hard work for her; but she seemed very happy. All the
while she was rubbing the clothes over the wooden washboard,
or wringing them out with her hands, she would be singing
old-fashioned songs, such as Jimmy and Nancy, Auld Robin
Gray, and another one beginning “In Springfield mountain
there did dwell.” It was very sad!

These songs were chanted, all in one tune. If the words had
not been quaint, and suggestive of a century or more ago, I
think the entertainment would have been monotonous,

Lucy brought the news of the neighborhood. One morning she
came in, and said: “John King’s folks thinks an awful sight
of themselves, sence Calline has been off. She has sot
herself up marsterly. They have gone to work now and painted
all the trays and paint-kags they can find red, and filled
them with one thing another, and set them round the house. No
good will come of that! When you see every thing painted red,
look out for war; it’s a sure sign.”

One evening late in summer, when I came in from a walk
through the fields, I found in the back porch all the
implements for cheese-making. Mrs. Wetherell said: “It’s too
warm to make butter, now dog-days have come in, so I am going
to make cheese.”

That night all the milk was strained into the large tub. The
next morning this milk was stirred and the morning’s milk
strained into it. Then Mrs. Wetherell warmed a kettleful and
poured into the tub, and tried it with her finger to see if
it was warm enough. She said: “My rennet is rather weak, so I
have to use considerable.”

After she had turned the rennet in, she laid the cheese-tongs
across the tub, and spread a homespun tablecloth over it, and
looking up to me, she said: “In an hour or so that will
come.”

I made it my business, when the hour was out, to be back in
the porch. Mrs. Wetherell was stirring up the thick white
curd, and dipping out the pale green whey, with a little
wooden dish. After she had “weighed it,” she mixed in salt
thoroughly. She asked me to hand her her cheese-hoop and
cloth, which were lying on the table behind me. She put one
end of the cloth into the hoop and commenced filling it with
curd, pressing it down with her hand. When it was nearly full
she slipped up the hoop a little: “to give it a chance to
press,” she said. After this, she put the cheese between two
cheese-boards, in the press, and began to turn the
windlass-like machine, to bring the weights down.

“Now,” said she, “I shall let this stay in press all day,
then I shall put it in pickle for twenty-four hours. The next
night I shall rub it dry with a towel, and put it up in the
cheese-room. Now comes the tug-o’-war! I have to watch them
close to keep the flies out.”

The forerunners of autumn had already touched the hillsides,
and my thoughts were turning homeward, when one Saturday
morning Mr. Wetherell came in and said: “Miss Douglass, don’t
you want to ride up to the paster? I’m going up to salt the
steers.”

Mrs. Wetherell hastened to add: “Yes, you go; you hain’t had
a ride since you been here. Old Darby ain’t fast, but he’s
good.”

Eagerly I accepted the invitation, and in a few minutes we
set off.

Darby was a great strong white horse, with minute brown spots
all over him. Mr. Wetherell told me stories of all the
people, as Darby shuffled by their houses, raising a big
cloud of dust.

When we came to a sandy stretch of road, Mr. Wetherell said:
“This is what we call the Plains. Here is where we used to
have May trainings, years and years ago. Once they had a
sham-fight, and I thought I should have died a-laughing. I
was nothing but a boy. We always thought so much of the
gingerbread we got at training; I used to save my money to
spend on that day. Once, when I was about thirteen year old,
a passel of us boys got together to talk over
training. Jim Barrows said that old Miss Hammet (she lived
over behind the hill there) had got a cake baked, with plums
in it, for training, and was going to have five cents a slice
for it. He said: ‘Now, if the rest of you will go into the
house and talk with her, I will climb into the foreroom
window, and hook the cake out of the three-cornered
cupboard.’ We all agreed. I went in, and commenced to talk
with the old woman; some of the boys leaned up against the
door that opened into the foreroom. After a little while we
went out and met Jim, down by the spring, and we ate the
cake. Some way a-nother it didn’t taste so good as we
expected. There was an awful outscreech when she found it
out. Jim was a mighty smart fellar. He married a girl from
Cranberry Medder, and they went down East. I have heard that
they were doing fust-rate.”

After riding for some time through low, woody places, where
the grass grew on each side of the horse’s track, we came to
the main traveled road. Thistles were blooming and going to
seed, all on one stock. Flax-birds were flying among them
filling the air with their sweet notes. Soon we turned into a
lane, and came to the pasture-bars, Mr. Wetherell said: “You
stay here with Darby, and I will drive the steers up to the
bars, and salt them.”

I got out of the wagon, and unchecked Darby’s head, and led
him up to a plot of white clover, to get a lunch. Nature
seemed to have made an uneven distribution of foretop and
fetlock in Darby’s case, his foretop was so scanty and his
fetlocks so heavy. A fringe of long hairs stood out on his
forelegs from his body to his feet, giving him quite a savage
look. As I looked down at his large flat feet, I felt glad
that he didn’t have to travel over macadamized roads.

I sat down on some logs which were lying at one side, and
listened to the worms sawing away, under the bark.

Soon Mr. Wetherell came back with the steers, and dropped the
salt down in spots. We watched them lick it up.

I asked Mr. Wetherell why those logs were left there.

“O, Bascom is a poor, shiftless kind of a critter. I s’pose
the snow went off before he got ready to haul them to the
mill; but if he had peeled them in June or July, they would
have been all right; but now they will be about sp’iled by
the worms.”

Mr. Wetherell got Darby turned around after much backing and
getting up, for the lane was narrow, and we started homeward.

As we rode slowly along, Mr. Wetherell asked me: “Have you
ever been to the beach?”

I told him, “Yes, and I enjoyed it.”

He said: “I always liked to go, but Mis’ Wetherell has a
dread of the water, ever since her brother Judson was
drowned.”

“Was he a sailor?” I asked.

“Yes, he was a sea-capt’n. He married a Philadelphy woman,
and they sailed in the brig Florilla. She was wrecked on the
coast of Ireland. She run on a rock, and broke her in two
amidships. Her cargo was cotton, the bales floated in ashore,
and formed a bridge for a second or so. The first mate and
one of the sailors ran in on this bridge, but the next wave
took them out and scattered them, and there was no way to
save the rest. Judson and his wife, and all the crew, except
the mate and one sailor, were all drowned. The mate stayed
there for some time, and buried the bodies which washed
ashore. He found Judson’s body first, and had most given up
finding his wife’s, when one day she washed into a little
cove, and he buried them side by side. He came here to our
house, and told us all about it. It was awful. It completely
upsot Mis’ Wetherell. Her health has been poor for a good
many year. She has bad neuralgy spells.”

“Come, Darby, get up! you are slower than a growth of white
oaks.”

After several vigorous jerks, Darby started off at a long,
swinging gait, and we soon reached home.

Only once more did I watch the sun go down behind the western
hills, lighting them up with a flood of crimson light; while
a tender, subdued gleam rested for a moment on the eastern
summits, like the gentle kiss a mother gives her babe, when
she slips him off her arm to have his nap.

THE BELLS OF BETHLEHEM.

James T. Fields, in The Granite Monthly.

THE SIEGE OF BOSTON DEVELOPED.

BY HENRY B. CARRINGTON, U.S.A., LL.D.

By order of the President of the United States, a national
salute was fired, at meridian, on the twenty-fourth day of
December, 1883, as a memorial recognition of the one hundreth
anniversary of the surrender by George Washington, on the
twenty-third day of December, 1783, at Annapolis, of his
commission as commander-in-chief of the patriotic forces of
America. This official order declares “the fitness of
observing that memorable act, which not only signalized the
termination of the heroic struggle of seven years for
independence, but also manifested Washington’s devotion to
the great principle, that ours is a civil government, of and
by the people.”

The closing sentence of Washington’s order, dated April 18,
1783, may well be associated with this latest centennial
observance. As he directed a cessation of hostilities, his
joyous faith, jubilant and prophetic, thus forecast the
future: “Happy, thrice happy! shall they be pronounced,
hereafter, who have contributed anything, who have performed
the meanest office, in erecting this stupendous fabric of
freedom and empire, on the broad basis of
independence,—who have assisted in protecting the
rights of human nature, and establishing an asylum for the
poor and oppressed of all nations and religions.”

The two acts of Washington, thus associated, were but the
fruition of deliberate plans which were formulated in the
trenches about Boston. The “centennial week of years,” which
has so signally brought into bold relief the details of
single battles and has imparted fresh interest to many
localities which retain no visible trace of the scenes which
endear them to the American heart, has inclined the careless
observer to regard the battles of the War for Independence as
largely accidental, and the result of happy, or even of
Providential, circumstances, rather than as the fruit of
well-considered plans which were shaped with full confidence
in success.

Battles and campaigns have been separated from their true
relation to the war, as a systematic conflict, in which the
strategic issue was sharply defined; and too little notice
has been taken of the fact that Washington took the
aggressive from his first assumption of command. The title
“Fabius of America” was freely conferred upon him after his
success at Trenton; but there was a subtle sentiment embodied
in that very tribute, which credited him with the political
sagacity of the patriot and statesman, more than with the
genius of a great soldier. All contemporaries admitted that
he was judicious in the use of the resources placed at his
command, that he was keen to use raw troops to the best
possible disposal, and took quick advantage of every
opportunity which afforded relief to his poorly-fed and
poorly-equipped troops, in meeting the British and Hessian
regulars; but there were few who penetrated his real
character and rightly estimated the scope of his strategy and
the sublime grandeur of his faith.

The battles of that war (each is its place) have had their
immediate results well defined. To see, as clearly their
exact place in relation to the entire struggle, and that they
were the legitimate sequence of antecedent preparation,
requires that the preparation itself shall be understood.

The camps, redoubts, and trenches, which engirdled Boston
during its siege, were so many appliances in the practical
training-school of war, which Washington promptly seized,
appropriated, and developed. The capture of Boston was not
the chief aim of Washington, when, on the third day of July,
1775, he established his headquarters at Cambridge. Boston
was, indeed, the immediate objective point of active
operations, and the issue, at arms, had been boldly made at
Lexington and Concord. Bunker Hill had practically
emancipated the American yeomanry from the dread of British
arms, and foreshadowed the finality of National Independence.
However the American Congress might temporize, there was not
alternative with Washington, but a steady purpose to achieve
complete freedom. From his arrival at Cambridge, until his
departure for New York, he worked with a clear and serene
confidence in the final result of the struggle. A mass of
earnest men had come together, with the stern resolve to
drive the British out of Boston; but the patriotism and zeal
of those who first begirt the city were not directed to a
protracted and universal colonial resistance. To the people
of Massachusetts there came an instant demand, imperative as
the question of life or death, to fight out the issue, even
if alone and single-handed, against the oppressor. Without
waiting for reports from distant colonies as to the effect of
the skirmish at Lexington and the more instructive and
stimulating experience at Breed’s Hill, the penned the
British in Boston and determined to drive them from the land.
Dr. Dwight said of Lexington: “The expedition became the
preface to the history of a nation, the beginning of an
empire, and a theme of disquisition and astonishment to the
civilized world.”

The battle of Bunker Hill equalized the opposing forces. The
issue changed from that of a struggle of legitimate authority
to suppress rebellion, and became a context, between
Englishmen, for the suppression, or the perpetuation, of the
rights of Magna Charta.

The siege of Boston assumed a new character as soon as it
became a part of the national undertaking to emancipate the
Colonies, on and all, and thereby establish one great
Republic.

From the third of July, 1775, until the seventeenth of March,
1776, there was gradually developed a military policy with an
army system, which shaped the whole war.

Many battles have been styled “decisive.” many slow tortures
of the oppressed have prepared the way for heroic defiance of
the oppressor. Many elaborate preparations have been made for
war, when at last some sudden outrage or event has
precipitated and unlooked-for conflict, and all preparations,
however wisely adjusted, have been made in vain. “I strike
to-night!” was the laconic declaration of Napoleon III, as he
informed his proud and beautiful empress, that “the
battalions of France were moving on the Rhine.” The march of
Lord Percy to Concord was designed to clip off, short, the
seriously impending resistance of the people to British
authority. With full recognition of all that had been done,
before the arrival of Washington to assume command of the
besieging militia, as the “Continental Army” of
America, there are facts which mark the months of that
siege, as months of that wise preparation which ensured the
success of the war. Washington at once took the offensive. He
was eminently aggressive; but neither hasty nor rash. Baron
Jomini said that “Napoleon discounted time.” So did
Washington. Baron Jomini said, also, that “Napoleon was his
own best chief-of-staff.” So, pre-eminently, was Washington.

The outlook at Cambridge, on the third of July, 1775,
revealed the presence of a host of hastily-gathered and
rudely-armed, earnest men, well panoplied, indeed, in the
invulnerable armor of loyalty to country and to God;
fearless, self-sacrificing, daring death to secure liberty;
but lacking that discipline, cohesion, and organized
assignment to place and duty, which convert a mass of men
into an army of soldiers. Washington stated the case, fairly,
in the terse expression: “They have been accustomed, officers
and men alike, to have their own way too long already.”

The rapidly succeeding methods through which that mass of
fiery patriots became a well-ordered army, obedient to
authority, and accepting the delays and disappointments of
war with cheerful submission, will stand as the permanent
record of a policy which cleared the way for an assured
liberty.

As early as 1775, Lord Dartmouth had asserted, with vigor,
that Boston was worthless as a base, if the authority of the
Crown was to be seriously defied by the colonies, acting in
concert. He advocated the evacuation of Boston, and the
consolidation of the royal forces at New York. Washington,
early after his arrival at Cambridge, saw that the British
commander had made a mistake. His letters to Congress are
full of suggestions which citizens could only slightly value,
so long as they saw Boston still under British control. It is
difficult to see how the war could have been a success, if
New York had been occupied, in force, by Lord Howe in 1775,
and the rashness of Gates had not precipitated the skirmish
at Lexington and the battle of Bunker Hill. It is no less
hard to see where and how Washington could have found time,
place, and suitable conditions for that practical campaign
experience which the siege of Boston afforded.

The mention of some of these incidents will suggest others,
and illustrate that experience.

A practical siege was undertaken, under the most favorable
circumstances. The whole country, near by, was in sympathy
with the army. The adjacent islands, inlets, and bays swarmed
with scouting parties, which cut off supplies from the city.
The army had its redoubts and trenches, and the heights of
Bunker Hill were in sight as a pledge of full ability to
resist assault. As a fact, no successful sortie was made out
of Boston during the siege; but constant activity and
watchfulness were vital to each day’s security. Provisions
were abundant and the numerical strength was sufficient.
System and discipline alone were to be added.

The details of camp life in the immediate presence of skilled
enemies compelled officers and men, alike, to learn the
minutest details of field engineering. Gabions, fasces,
abattis, and other appliances for assault or defence were
quickly made, and all this practical schooling in the work of
war went on, under the watchful cooperation of the very
officers who afterward became conspicuous in the field, from
Long Island to Yorktown. THE CAMP ABOUT BOSTON MADE OFFICERS,
Its discipline dissipated many colonial jealousies; and there
was developed that confidence in their commander, which, in
after years, became the source of untold strength and solace
to him in the darkest hours of the war.

The details of the personal work of the commander-in-chief
read more like some magician’s tale. Every staff department
was organized under his personal care, so that he was able to
retain even until the end of the war his chief assistants.
Powder, arms, provisions, clothing, firewood, medicines,
horses, carts, tools, and all supplies, however incidental,
depended upon minute instructions of Washington himself.

A few orders are cited, as an illustration of the system
which marked his life in camp, and indicate the value of
those months, as preparatory to the ordeal through which he
had yet to pass.

To withhold commissions, until some proof was given of
individual fitness, involved grave responsibility. He did it.
To punish swearing, gambling, theft, and lewdness, evinced a
high sense of the solemnity of the hour. He did it. To rebuke
Protestants for mocking Catholics was to recognize the
dependence of all alike upon the God of battles. He did it.
To repress gossip in camp, because the reputation of the
humblest was sacred; to brand with his displeasure all
conflicts between those in authority, as fatal to discipline
and unity of action, and to forbid the settlement of private
wrongs except through established legal methods, showed a
clear conception of the conditions which would make an army
obedient, united, and invincible. These, and corresponding
acts in the line of military police regulations, and touching
every social, moral, and physical habit which assails or
enfeebles a soldier’s life and imperils a campaign, run
through his papers.

It is in the light of such omnipresent pressure and
constraint that we begin to form some just estimate of the
relations which the siege of Boston sustained to the
subsequent operations of the war, and to the work of Lee,
Putnam, Sullivan, Greene, Mifflin, Knox, and others, who were
thus fitted for immediate service at Long Island and
elsewhere, as soon as Boston was evacuated.

It is also through these orders that the careful student can
pass that veil of formal propriety, reticence, and dignity
which so often obscured the inner, the tentative, elements of
Washington’s military character.

While the slow progress of the siege afforded opportunity to
study the contingencies of other possible fields of conflict,
a double campaign was made into Canada: namely, by Arnold
through Maine, and by Montgomery toward Montreal. This was
based upon the idea that the conquest of Canada would not
only protect New England on the north, but compel the British
commanders to draw all supplies from England. The fact is
noted, as evidence of the constant regard which the American
commander had for every exposed position of the enemy which
could be threatened, without neglecting the demands of the
siege itself. Frequent attempts were made to force the siege
to an early conclusion. The purpose was to expel or capture
the garrison before Great Britain could send another army,
and open active operations in other colonies, and not, merely
in the indolence of the mere watchdog, to starve the enemy
into terms. “Give me powder or ice, and I will take Boston,”
was the form in which Washington demanded the means of
bombardment or assault, and gave the assurance that, if the
river would freeze, he would force a decisive issue with the
means already at command.

Meanwhile, he sent forth privateers to scour the coast and
search for vessels conveying powder to the garrison; and soon
no British transport or supply-vessel was secure, unless
under convoy of a ship-of-war.

At last, Congress increased the army to twenty-four thousand
men and ordered a navy to be built. Washington redoubled his
efforts, confident that Boston was substantially at his
mercy; but seeing as clearly that the capture or the
evacuation of the city would introduce a more general and
desperate struggle, and one that would try his army to the
most.

At this juncture, General Howe was strongly reinforced. When
he succeeded Gates, on the tenth of October, 1775, he
“assumed command of all his Britannic Majesty’s forces, from
Nova Scotia to Florida,” and thus indicated his appreciation
of the possible extent of the American resistance. It was a
fair response to the claim of Washington to represent “The
Colonies, in arms.” Howe’s reinforcements had reported
for duty by the thirty-first of December. During the
preceding months, and, in fact, from his arrival at
Cambridge, Washington had freely conferred with General
Greene. That young officer had studied Caesar’s Commentaries,
Marshal Turenne’s Works, Sharp’s Military Guide, and many
legal and standard works upon government and history, while
drilling a militia company, the Kentish Guards, and following
the humble labor of a blacksmith’s apprentice. He fully
appreciated the value of the hours spent before Boston.
Together with General Sullivan, who, as well as himself,
commanded a brigade in Lee’s division, he looked beyond the
lines of the camp rear-guard, and spent extra hours in
discipline and drill, to bring his own command up to the
highest state of proficiency.

The following is the theory which he entertained, in common
with Washington, as to the proper method for prosecution of
the war; and he so expressed himself, when he first encamped
before Boston and united his destinies with those of America.

His words are worthy of double recognition by the citizens of
the United States, because they not only furnish a key to the
embarrassments which attended the uncertain policy of
Congress during the Revolution, but they illustrate some of
the embarrassments which attended the prosecution of the war
of 1861-65.

First. “One general-in-chief.”

Second. “Enlistments for the war.”

Third. “Bounties for families of soldiers in the field.”

Fourth. “Service: to be general, regardless of place of
enlistment.”

Fifth. “Money loans to be effected equal to the demands of
the war.”

Sixth. “A Declaration of INDEPENDENCE, with the pledge of all
the resources of each Colony to its support.”

Such was the spirit with which the American army hastened its
operations before Boston. Every week of delay was increasing
the probability that Great Britain would occupy New York, in
force. The struggle for that city would be the practical
beginning of the war anew, and upon a scientific basis.

Lord Dartmouth alone had the military sagacity to give sound
advice to the British cabinet. He maintained that by the
occupation of New York, and the presence of a strong naval
force at Newport, Rhode Island (within striking distance of
Boston), and the control of the Hudson River, the New England
Colonies would be so isolated, as neither to be able to
protect themselves, nor to furnish aid to the central
Colonies beyond the Hudson River.

For the same reason, an adequate garrison at New York might
detach troops to seize the region lying on the waters of the
Delaware and Chesapeake, and thereby separate the South from
the centre. When General Howe, in 1775, formally urged the
evacuation of Boston and the occupation of New York and
Newport, he also advised the seizure of “some respectable
seaport at the southward, from which to attack seacoast
towns, in the winter.”

Washington never lost sight of the fact, that, while an
important issue had been joined at Boston, its solution must
be so worked out as to conserve the general interests of the
Colonies as a Nation, and that the delay which was incident
to scarcity of powder, and the resulting inability to assault
the city, was to be employed, to the utmost, in preparing the
troops for an ultimate march to New York, there to face the
British in the field.

The reinforcement of General Howe, at midwinter, when an
attack upon the American lines would be without hope of
success, quickened Washington’s preparations for crowding the
siege, while constantly on the watch for some manifestation
of British activity in other directions.

Within a week after the garrison of the city had been thus
strengthened, Washington learned that Clinton had been
detached, to make some expedition by sea. General Lee, then
in Connecticut on recruiting service, was ordered to New York
to put the city in a condition for defence, and arrived on
the very day that Clinton anchored at Sandy Hook. Clinton,
however, neglected his opportunity, and sailed southward to
attack Charleston. Lee also went South, to co-operate with
Governor Rutledge, in the defense of that city. The repulse
of that expedition at Fort Sullivan (afterwards called Fort
Moultrie) could not be known to Washington; but the knowledge
that the British had enlarged their theatre of active war was
a new stimulus to exertion.

The strain upon the American Commander-in-Chief, in view of
this rapid development of hostilities beyond the reach of his
army, was intense. Clinton had been authorized to burn all
cities that refused submission. In a letter to Congress,
Washington wrote: “There has been one single freeze, and some
pretty good ice,” but a council of war opposed an assault. At
last he conceived an alternative plan, in the event that he
would not have sufficient powder to risk a direct assault,
and the two plans were balanced and matured in his own mind
with the determination to act promptly, and solely, at his
own independent will.

Few facts testify more significantly of the value to the army
and the American cause of that long course of training, in
the presence of the enemy, than the preparations thus made by
Washington, without the knowledge of most of the officers of
his command. He collected forty-five batteaux, each capable
of transporting eighty men, and built two floating batteries
of great strength and light draught of water. Fascines,
gabions, carts, bales of hay, intrenching-tools, and two
thousand bandages, with all other contingent supplies, were
gathered, and placed under a guard of picked men.

Three nights of mock bombardment kept the garrison on
the alert, awaiting an assault. “On the night of the fourth
of March, and through all its hours, from candle-lighting
time to the clear light of another day, the same incessant
thunder rolled along over camps and city; the same quick
flashes showed that fire was all along the line, and still,
both camps and city dragged through the night, waiting for
the daylight to test the work of the night, as daylight had
done before.”

When daylight came,—

By the tenth of March, the Americans had fortified Nook’s
Hill, and this drove the British from Boston Neck. Eight
hundred shot and shell were thrown into the city during that
night. On the morning of March 17, the British embarked for
Halifax.

Five thousand American troops entered the city, under General
Ward (the venerable predecessor of Washington) as the last
boats left.

On the eighteenth of March, and before the main army had
entered Boston, General Heath was ordered to New York with
five regiments of infantry and a part of the field artillery.

On the twenty-seventh, the whole army, excepting a garrison
of five regiments, was ordered forward, General Sullivan
leading the column.

On the evening of April fourteenth, after the last brigade
marched, Washington started for his new field of duty.

The siege of Boston is indeed memorable for that patient,
persistent pressure by which the Colonists grasped, and held
fast, all approaches to the city, until a sufficient force
could be organized for a systematic siege; but, as the eye
rests upon an outline map of the principal works of the
besieging force, and we try to associate Ploughed Hill,
Winter Hill, Prospect Hill, and other memorable strongholds,
with the surroundings of to-day, we are glad to find an
abounding source of comfort in the assurance, that the whole
struggle for our National Independence is indelibly
associated with the names, the vigils, and the experiences
which belong to those long months of education in the art and
appliances of war.

Swiftly as that well-instructed army moved to New York, they
had only time to gain position, before they realized the
value of their training in the trenches and redoubts around
Boston; and no battle or siege, including the capture of
Yorktown, is without its tribute to the far-reaching
influence which that training assured.

The echoes of the national salute which have so recently
commemorated the one hundredth anniversary of the close of
the official career of Washington as commander-in-chief of
the army of the Revolution, may well be associated with those
midnight salvos of artillery which crowned his first campaign
with an enduring success, and, once for all, rescued the soil
of the Bay State from the tread of a hostile foot.

THE RAILWAY MAIL SERVICE.

BY COLONEL THOMAS P. CHENEY.

It is not the purpose of this paper to give a history of the
growth of this important branch of the government service, so
much as to impart, perhaps to an indifferent degree, the
methods of its intricate workings, and the care and study
employed to expedite the vast correspondence of the country.
A system as colossal as the Railway Mail Service of this
country is, could not be organized but through a process of
development meeting needs as they arise. This development is
best shown by a comparative illustration from an early date
to the present time.

In 1811, there were 2,403 post-offices, and during the year
the mail was carried 46,380 miles in stages, and 61,171 miles
in sulkies and on horseback. In Postmaster-General Barry’s
report for the fiscal year ending November 1, 1834, it is
said, that, “The multiplication of railroads in different
parts of the country promises within a few years to give
great rapidity to the movements of travelers, and it is a
subject worthy of inquiry whether measures may now be taken
to secure the transportation of the mail upon them. Already
have the railroads between Frenchtown in Maryland and New
Castle in Delaware, and between Camden and South Amboy in New
Jersey, afforded great and important facilities to the
transmission of the great Eastern mail.” The lines of railway
at that time, 1834, amounted to seventy-eight miles.

In 1838, the Railway Mail Service began with 1,913 miles of
railroad throughout the country. In 1846, mails were carried
over 4,092 miles of railway, which increased in 1882 to
100,563 miles.

The miles of annual transportation of mail by railroad in
1852 amounted to 11,082,768, which increased to 113,995,318
in 1882, with an increase in the number of Railway Mail
Service employees from 43 in 1846 to 3,072 in 1882. This
wonderful expansion was but proportional with the development
of the country at large. At the close of the war of the
Rebellion, business was at its height. Industry and
intelligence were seeking together new channels for their
diffusion. The Pacific Railway was the grand conception that
met this demand, and by its means were united the borders of
the continent, and communication thus made more frequent and
rapid between our interior, the West, and Europe: the most
ancient civilization of the world in the Orient greeted the
youngest in the Occident, and completed the girdle about the
earth.

The lumbering stage and caravan laboring across the plains,
and the swift mustang flying from post to post, frequently
intercepted by the wily savage, were but things of yesterday,
though fast becoming legendary. When those slower methods by
which correspondence was conveyed at a great expense and
delay, and current literature was to a great extent debarred,
were supplanted by a continuous line of stages, it was
considered a revolution in the wheel of progress, and the
consummation. The possible accomplishments of the present
day, if entertained at all at that time, were in general
considered Munchausen, and not difficulties to be surmounted
by practical engineering and undaunted perseverance. The
civilization of the world has kept pace with its channels of
communication and has accordingly rendered invaluable aid to
it. In our country the field in this direction is exceedingly
broad.

There is no branch of the government service that reaches so
near and supplies the wants of the people as the Post-Office
Department, and whose ramification may not be inaptly
compared to the human system with its arteries filled with
the life-current coursing through the veins and diffusing
health and vigor to the various parts; in the same manner the
people in the different sections of the country interchange
their information. The centres of art and literature,
conveying to the vast producing region in the West the
products of their refined taste, scientific research, and
mechanical achievements, keep alive and propagate the spirit
of inquiry, making remote parts of the nation homogeneous in
tastes, knowledge, and a common interest in all matters of
national advancement.

If a map of the United States with every railway that crosses
and recrosses its broad surface were laid before us, it would
appear that a regulated system for an expeditious
transmission of the mails in such an intricate confusion of
lines, apparently going nowhere yet everywhere, would be an
impossibility; but by study and untiring energy this has been
accomplished.

The machinery of the Post-Office Department is a system of
cog-fitting wheels, in all its component parts; and were it
not so, in the necessarily limited period and space allotted,
the work in postal-cars could not be successfully
accomplished.

The interior dimensions of postal-cars vary, from whole cars
sixty feet in length, to apartments five feet five inches in
length by two feet six inches in width. The most
comprehensive conception of the practical working of the
postal-car system, can be formed in a railway post-office
from forty to sixty feet in length; with this in view, we
will make a trip in one. A permit to ride in the car, signed
by the superintendent of the division of the service, is
necessary to allow us the privilege; and it is also required
of clerks belonging to other lines. This rule is necessary,
in order that the clerks may perform their work
uninterruptedly and correctly; and also to exclude
unauthorized persons from mail apartments. After a hasty
exchange of salutations with the four clerks, the “clerk in
charge” notes our names on his “trip report,” and we are
assigned a spot in the contracted space, where, we are
assured, we will be undisturbed, at least for a while. The
trip report mentioned is used in noting connections missed,
and other irregularities that may occur. The interior of the
car is fitted up with a carefully-studied economy of space,
upon plans made under the supervision of the superintendent
of the division, or chief clerk of the line. Occupying one
end of the car are cases of pigeon-holes, or boxes, numbering
from six hundred to one thousand, arranged in the shape of a
horse-shoe, for the distribution of letters. These boxes are
labeled with the names of the post-offices on the line of
road, connecting lines, States, and prominent cities and
towns throughout the country. A long, narrow aisle passes
through the centre of the car, on both sides of which are
racks for open sacks and pouches, into which packages of
letters and pieces of other mail matter are thrown; on the
sides above are rows of suspended pouches, with their hungry
mouths open. By this plan, in this contracted space, upwards
of two hundred different pouches and sacks can be distributed
into between the termini. On one side of the aisle is a
narrow counter, upon which the mail matter is emptied from
the pouches and sacks; this is hinged to the pouch-rack, and
can be swung back, to enable the clerks to get at the pouches
more easily. The space beyond, divided by stanchions, is for
the stowage of mails, and for their separation into piles.

In order that a minute may not be lost, when passing through
tunnels or standing in dark railway-stations, the lamps are
kept burning from the start to the finish. The last wagon,
gorgeously suggestive of a circus, has arrived with its load
of mail, and the busy work receives at once a new impetus.
Several loads, however, have already arrived, and have been
disposed of as much as possible; for the work begins, in some
cases, several hours before the starting of the train.
Transfer clerks and porters deliver the pouches and sacks
into the car, the label of each being scanned and checked by
the clerks, to detect if all connections due are received,
and that no mail may be delayed by being carried out on the
road with the other mail and returned. The last pouch is
scarcely received, when a sudden, but not violent, shock
announces that the locomotive is attached to the train, and
the start about to be made. The sound of the gong, seconded
by the electrifying and resonant “Aboard!” of the conductor,
and the post-office on wheels is under way. Now, all is a
scene of bustle, but not confusion. The two clerks, to whom
are assigned the duty of distributing direct packages of
letters and newspaper mail, including merchandise, deftly
empty the pouches, out of which pour packages of letters and
circulars, to be distributed unbroken into pouches, and
others labeled to this route and different States, which are
in turn to be separated into packages by routes, States, and
large towns, at the letter-case. To the clerk in charge is
assigned the sorting of such letters as are destined to
distant routes or terminal connecting lines; and his
associate, or second clerk, is busy distributing letter mail
for local delivery, and into separations for intermediate
connections.

In addition to sorting letters, the clerk in charge has
charge of the registered mail, which requires special care in
its reception and delivery, booking and receipting therefor.
Large pouches of registered mail are also placed in his
charge, en transit between large cities, and represent
great value. The peculiar tooting of the whistle, or a
peculiar movement of the train around a curve, warns the
fourth clerk, who is on the alert, of a “catch” station; the
letter mail for that post-office is quickly deposited by the
local clerk in the pouch, the lock is snapped, and he is
standing at the door not a minute too soon or too late; the
pouch is thrown out at a designated spot and one deftly
caught an instant after without a slackening of the speed of
the train. The pouch thus caught is taken to the counter,
opened and emptied by the fourth clerk, and the letters
immediately placed in the hands of the second clerk, who
assorts the local mail; the through letters, or those
destined to go over distant lines beyond the terminus, are
sorted by the clerk in charge; the local, or second, clerk
distributes his mail as rapidly as possible, with a watchful
eye for letters, etc., to be put into the pouch to be
delivered at the next station; the pouch is locked and
everything is ready for the next delivery and “catch.” When
the stations at which pouches are caught are within a mile or
two of each other, the greatest activity is needed to assort
the mail between stations, to avoid carrying mail by
destination and subjecting it to considerable delay before
its delivery by a railway post-office on the train to be met
at a point perhaps many miles ahead.

The manner of taking or “catching” the mail from the
trackside by some invisible power on a railroad train
plunging through space has seemed to many a feat of almost
legerdemanic skill, when all that is required is a simple
mechanical apparatus and a quick, firm movement of the arm in
using it at the right moment. A crane similar in appearance
to the oldtime gibbet is erected near the track, and may have
served as a warning by its suggestive appearance to some
would-be train-wrecker. Its base is a platform two feet and a
half square, with two short steps on top to assist the person
hanging the pouch; a post ten feet in height passes up
through this platform near the edge; a stout joist about five
feet in length is fixed across the top of the post and so
balanced that when relieved of the weight of the pouch it
flies up perpendicularly against the post. The pouch used for
this purpose is made of canvas and is somewhat narrower than
the ordinary leathern pouch. It is lightly suspended by a
slender iron rod projecting from the horizontal joist, passed
through a ring at the top and lightly held at the bottom in
the same manner as at the top.

When the pouch is snatched from the crane, the top piece
flies up as described, and a parallel short joist at the
bottom of the pouch drops. The pouch is strapped small in the
middle, resembling an hour-glass, where the catcher-iron on
the car is to strike it. This “catcher” consists of a round
iron bar across the door of the car, and placed in a socket
on each side about shoulder high; a strong handle, similar to
a chisel-handle, projects perpendicularly from this bar; on
the under side of the bar projects, at an angle of about
forty-five degrees, a slender and strong iron rod, slightly
turned at the end to prevent its tearing the pouch, of about
three feet in length. As the train approaches the crane, the
operating clerk with a quick, steady throw delivers the mail
at a given point, usually near the crane; he then grasps the
handle with his right hand, swinging the handle over inward;
the arm when thrown outward, the horizontal bar turning in
the sockets, comes in contact with the pouch, striking that
part of it narrowed by the strap and striking the arm near
the vertex of the angle into which it is driven by the
momentum of the train; the greater the speed the more
securely it is held there; but the clerk is on the qui
vive, and as soon as it strikes the catcher-iron, grasps
the pouch to make sure of getting it, as sometimes if the
pouch is not hung properly, the arm will strike it at such a
part as to require the most agile movement on the part of the
clerk to secure it and to prevent its falling to the ground
or under the wheels of the train and being torn to pieces;
these cases, however, are rare, but pouches have lodged on
the trucks and have been carried many miles.

To return to the clerks and their work. In the meantime, the
“through” work continues, when the distance between stations
and junctions will allow of it; letters in packages are
distributed into boxes with a celerity and economy of motion
which could be acquired only by continued practice and
training of the eye to decipher an ever-varying chirography,
and of mental activity to almost instantly locate a
post-office on its proper route, its earliest point of
supply, or connecting line.

The emptying of pouches continues; package after package of
letters roll out on the counter as though they were potatoes
rather than the dumb expression of every human emotion, or
the innocent touchspring of their awakening. The pouches are
labeled to indicate those requiring the earliest attention,
as are also the packages of letters they contain; this plan
prevents, to a great extent, the carrying of mail past its
destination.

The packages of letters to be distributed by routes,
post-offices, and States, are taken to the letter-case; those
not to be so separated, that is, unbroken packages, en
transit, are placed at once into their proper pouches.

The emptying of sacks of paper mail follows that of the
pouches; the papers and packages of merchandise are faced in
a manner to be readily picked up, their addresses read, and
deftly thrown into the mouths of the pouches and sacks in the
racks; this is very skilfully done, as the want of space
requires that they shall be crowded closely together.

The swaying of the train around a curve makes little
difference, as the clerks in a short time learn to follow
every motion of the train. A quick decision, ready eye, and
economy of movement as a superstructure to a good knowledge
of his duties, are the invaluable qualities of a successful
railway postal-clerk; and one so equipped soon outstrips his
lagging seniors and associates in grade. As the train
approaches a junction, preparations are made to “close out”
that part of the mail to be delivered at that point, the
sacks are tied, the tags or labels having been attached
before starting. The clerks at the letter-case are rapidly
taking the letters from the boxes tying them into packages,
and separating them into piles, which are dropped into their
proper pouches and locked, and so on until all is ready. Let
us examine these packages of letters and at the same time
describe the slip system. On the outside of each package for
redistribution, and also inside each direct package, that is,
containing mail for a single post-office, is placed a brown
paper slip, or label, about the size of an ordinary envelope,
bearing its address or destination, which may be that of a
post-office, a group of post-offices supplied therefrom, and
labelled “dis.” (the abbreviation of distribution), or for a
railway post-office; this slip also bears the imprint of the
name of the clerk who sorted into the package and is
responsible for its correctness, the postmark with date, and
a letter, as “N.” for north, or “W.” for west, indicating the
direction the train is moving at the time. A similar slip is
also placed loose in each pouch and sack.

The errors discovered in the packages of letters, or among
the loose pieces in the pouches and sacks, are endorsed on
the proper slip, signed and postmarked by the clerk in the
railway post-office receiving it. These errors may be the
result of carelessness, ignorance, or misinformation; in the
latter case, had the clerk been properly informed, perhaps a
delay of half an hour or less might have been avoided if sent
by some other route. These error-slips are sent each day
enclosed in a trip report to the division superintendent; if
approved, the record is made, and the clerk in receiving the
error-slip at the end of the month is informed of his
mistake, and it is needless to add that the error, if one of
ignorance or misinformation, will not be repeated. This forms
a part of the record of the clerk upon which to a degree his
future advancement depends. The beneficial effect of this
system as an incentive to study, care in distribution, and a
commendable rivalry, is indisputable.

The postmarks on the letters in the package in our hands show
that they joined the current at a junction but a few miles
past, and if the location of one of them is sought on the
map, it is found to be an obscure hamlet on a remote stage
route, by which it reaches the railroad, over which a single
clerk in an office seven feet square, or less, performs local
service, and which line makes connection with the through
mail-train on the main road. The letters described are tied
in a package with others, and a label slip placed thereon
addressed to some railway post-office, perhaps hundreds of
miles distant, which is reached unbroken through a
many-linked chain of connections; with this package are
others for large cities which will be passed along intact to
destination, and also letters labeled to railway post-office
lines making connections in their turn. The pouches and sacks
into which the packages of letters and papers are deposited
will be received at the next junction into a railway
post-office car, sorted and forwarded in the manner
described. In many cases a mail is sent across by a stage
route to connect a parallel line, and thereby feeding a new
section.

Mail matter is frequently received, through error, for
post-offices on the line of road but just passed, or for
post-offices supplied only by one railway post-office train
moving in the opposite direction; to provide for such mail a
pouch is left at the meeting-point of this train; and so the
train plunges on with its busy workers, its pleasure-seekers,
and its composite humanity, The clerks have long since become
grim with the smut of the train, paling all others but the
fireman, and the long-nursed illusion that all government
positions are sinecures is rudely dispelled by their
appearance, and an insight into their arduous duties. As the
train lazily rolls into the terminal station, pouches and
sacks are ready for delivery and the clerks make ready to
leave the car.

The instant the train stops, a portion of the mail, large or
small as the case may be, is delivered into a wagon for rapid
transfer to a railway post-office train about to start from
another station. If the incoming train is late, it may be
necessary to exact the utmost speed to reach the outgoing
train, and in many cases it is always necessary to effect it
rapidly. After the transfer mail is disposed of, the labels
of the remaining pouches and sacks are examined, and as the
mail is passed out of the car we are surprised at its
quantity, filling a number of large wagons; this, however,
does not constitute the entire mail distributed en
route, as the quantities delivered at junctions and
stations aggregate, in many cases, more by far than that
delivered at the terminal station, There are many details of
work that our space forbids us to describe, that are
technical and of little interest to the reader, but are of
relative importance. These we must leave, and prepare for the
return journey on the night-train, feeling grateful that our
busy fellow-travelers are to have an opportunity to refresh
themselves.

The work performed in a railway post-office on a night-train
differs somewhat from that on a day-train, yet maintaining
the same general principle of distribution. The methods
differ, governed by the connections, and a clerk suddenly
transferred from a day-train to a night-train on the same
route, unless thoroughly informed of the train schedules, of
close and remote connections, the time of the dispatch of
direct closed pouches from many post-offices, stage route
schedules, etc.,—which knowledge, even approximating
correctness, would be extraordinary,—would be almost as
much at a loss as if transferred to another route, excepting
his knowledge of the location of the post-offices on his own
line. In all cases if a delay occurs, causing a connection to
be missed, it is the duty of the clerk to know at once the
next most expeditious route by which the mail can be
forwarded.

The hardship incurred by a night-clerk is greater in many
respects than that of the day-clerk; while in the latter case
a continual active strain is required in the performance of
local work and its multiplicity of detail, yet this is more
than offset by the handling of bulky and heavy through mail
and the unnatural necessity of sleeping in the daytime, which
at most affords but a partial rest. On many night-lines the
clerks commence work in mid-afternoon, accomplishing
considerable before the train starts, and as the train
plunges through darkness into the gray dawn and early
morning, they sturdily empty pouches and sacks, and the
incessant flow of letters and papers is only interrupted when
approaching some important junction where mail is delivered
and received from connecting lines or post-offices.
Everything presents a weird aspect in a railway-station at
midnight,—men flit about in a dazed way with satchels,
the bright light bursting through the doorway of the car
gives a ghastly look to the face of the man who throws in the
pouches and sacks, and all appear like ghosts that will
vanish with the approach of dawn; but we realize the
substance of our surroundings when we again turn our
attention to the busy scene in the car. The city distribution
of letters—a feature of the service on night-trains
which has greatly facilitated the early delivery of mails in
a few of the larger cities—has been extended to other
cities, and others are still to receive its benefit. For
instance, clerks from the Boston post-office detailed to do
this duty enter the mail-car at the Boston and Albany Railway
at Springfield, Massachusetts, and sort the city letters by
carriers’ routes, post-office box sections, banks, insurance
offices, etc. The corresponding train moving in the opposite
direction is boarded by New York post-office clerks making
similar separations.

The packages of letters thus made up go direct to their
respective divisions in the post-office, thereby avoiding the
delay that would be caused in passing through other
preliminary distributing departments. This work has been
taken up recently by the Railway Mail Service, the plan
enlarged and extended, and added to the other duties of the
clerks. Additional clerks, however, have been employed to
perform this work, yet the others are required to know it,
and on lines where additional clerks were not appointed, to
make it their regular duty.

A glance has been given at one of the many links in the
continuous chains of connections that cross and recross the
face of the country. A comparison of the oldtime method and
of the railway post-office service will show the superior
advantage of the latter. At some remote hamlet in Nova
Scotia, a letter is started for San Francisco, California. It
crosses the boundary line into the United States and enters
at once the swelling current at Vanceborough, Maine. Leaving
that place at 1.35 A.M., Monday, without delay it reaches
Boston at 5.10 P.M., is transferred across the city, leaves
at 6.00 P.M., connecting with the fast mail train from New
York City at Albany, through Syracuse, Rochester, and
Buffalo, reaches Cleveland at 6.00 P.M., Tuesday, and Chicago
at 6.00 A.M., Wednesday, where an intermission of six hours
makes the longest delay in the line of connection. The next
morning, Thursday, at 11. A.M., Omaha is reached; Friday, at
6.00 P.M., Laramie, Wyoming; Saturday, at 6.00 P.M., Ogden,
Utah; Sunday, Humboldt, Nevada; and Monday, at 11.00 A.M.,
San Francisco. This illustration has been made to show the
far-reaching continuity of connecting lines across the
country, passing through many of the principal cities but not
entering a post-office for distribution, rather than a
complexity of connections almost innumerable in a
thickly-settled country, and over which study and patient
inquiry to simplify are ever at work.

Lyons, Wayne County, New York, is located on the New York
Central Railway; a letter is started from that place for
Leeds, Franklin County, Massachusetts; it is received into
the New York and Chicago railway post-office at 8.17 A.M.,
then it is given to the Boston and Albany railway post-office
at Albany, the latter line connecting at Westfield,
Massachusetts, with the Williamsburgh and New Haven railway
post-office, arriving at destination at 9.37 that night.

Again at 6.08 P.M., from Lyons, another New York and Chicago
railway post-office train passes, but, owing to different
connections, disposes of it differently: from this railway
post-office a pouch containing a similarly addressed letter,
with other mail, is delivered at Albany for the Boston and
Albany railway post-office, due to leave Springfield,
Massachusetts, at 7.15 A.M.; this pouch is conveyed from
Albany in the baggage-car attached to an express-train, which
train, passing Westfield, connects at Springfield with the
7.15 A.M. railway post-office train East. At Palmer a short
distance east of Springfield a return mail is left for the
railway post-office that left Boston at five o’clock that
morning; into this mail the letter for Leeds is placed, as
the clerks in the latter-named railway post-office deliver at
Westfield a pouch for Leeds, which place is reached 10.07
that morning, on train in charge of baggage-master. This
illustration is comparatively a simple one. Many instances
could be given where a detour of many miles is made to gain a
few minutes in time. By the old system the letter would, in
all probability, have gone to Albany post-office for
distribution, thence either to New Haven, Connecticut, or
Westfield, Massachusetts, for the same purpose, losing trains
at each place waiting to be distributed, and consuming fully,
or more, than sixty-four instead of sixteen hours. By the old
method delays became almost interminable as the connections
became intricate, more so than on a continuous line. The
advantage of the “catcher” system described elsewhere, which
enabled towns to communicate with one another in a few
minutes, instead of by the direct closed pouch system through
a distributing office miles away, consuming hours, is not
inconsiderable.

The gain by the present method is incomparable. Intersecting
at Albany, New York, with the line from Vanceborough, Maine,
to San Francisco, just described, or perhaps what may be
called the vertebral column of the system, is the New York
and Chicago railway post-office line, known also as the “Fast
Mail” or the “White Mail,” as the mail-cars on this line were
originally painted white. A mail-train consisting of four
mail-cars and express-cars leaves New York City at 8.50 P.M.,
making the through connection to Chicago. There are two
similar trains, leaving New York at 4.35 A.M., and at 10.30
A.M., with a less number of cars; and three moving in the
opposite direction. There are twenty mail-cars on this line,
each interior is sixty feet in length, and the exterior, as
already mentioned, painted white, and bearing the
coat-of-arms of some State and the name of its past or
present governor. Each car is devoted to a special purpose:
the distribution of letters and local, or “way,” work; the
distribution of paper mail; and others for storage. The
distributing cars are built upon a different plan from the
one hereinbefore described; the packages, etc., are
distributed into large compartments or boxes slightly
pitching back one over the other in a large case, and the
clerk wishing to empty one of them passes into the narrow
aisle to the rear of the case; the pouch or sack is hooked to
the case under the door of the box, and the mail drops into
it. Pouches and sacks are also hung in racks to be
distributed into. These cars are post-offices of no mean
pretensions when the amount of work performed is considered.
When it is considered how densely populated the country is
through which this line passes many times each day, and its
numerous and swelling tributaries, the volume of mail
conveyed is enormous, yet not disproportionate.

The average amount conveyed during thirty days, in the sixty
days in January and February of 1881, that the weights of
mails were taken between New York City and Buffalo, a
distance of four hundred and forty-two miles, amounted to
4,416,451 lbs.; between Buffalo and Chicago, a distance of
five hundred and forty-two miles, 2,874,918 lbs. Over the
first section 73,607 lbs. per day, the second section 47,848
per day; while either of these amounts does not equal those
carried during the same period between New York and West
Philadelphia, on the route to Washington, a distance of
ninety miles, amounting to 6,202,370 lbs. for the thirty
days, and 103,372 lbs. per day, the great discrepancy in
miles must be borne in mind and the fact that government
supplies and public documents to the East and North
contribute no small proportion of the amount. The mail
between New York and Chicago is altogether a working mail. It
requires more than two hundred and sixty clerks to handle
this mail, who travel annually 2,030,687 miles.

The clerks on the westerly bound trains are assigned the
distributing of mails by route, for all Middle, Western,
Southwestern, and Northwestern States, and on the easterly
bound trains for the Middle and Eastern States.

When such States as New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and
Illinois, with respectively 3,070, 3,681, 2,603, and 2,568
post-offices, are taken into consideration, some idea may be
formed of the work required in preparing a system of
distribution, the vigilance required to keep pace with the
frequently changing schedules, and the study of the clerks to
properly carry its requirements into effect. Beyond Chicago,
in the new country, the work of distribution grows less
intricate, but the powers of endurance of the clerks are
severely tested. On the line between Kansas City, Missouri,
and Deming, New Mexico, a distance of 1,147 miles, the clerks
ship for a long voyage—five days on the outward trip
and the same on the inward, sleeping and eating on the train.

There are a number of lines in the far West, on which the
clerks do not leave the train for a number of days.
Throughout the country the total number of pieces of ordinary
mail handled by 3,855 railway postal clerks on the lines,
during the year ending June 30, 1883, amounted to
3,981,516,280; the number of errors made in their
distribution was 958,478 pieces, or a per centage of correct
distribution of 99.97. This minutia of detail is applied to
the distribution of a vast bulk of mail. It is estimated that
in Boston, Massachusetts, between eighty and one hundred tons
of mail matter are daily dispatched, and between forty and
sixty tons are daily received; while at New York City this
quantity is more than doubled. Even figures become
interesting when they represent the standard of intelligence
and progress, as shown by an increased correspondence and
literature. In no branch of the government service, it can be
safely said, have the tenets advanced by the advocates of the
civil-service reform been so nearly realized as in this
bureau of the Post-Office Department even at that period when
the initiatory steps now being applied to other departmental
machinery were considered all but Utopian,—a system
consisting of a probationary period preceding appointment,
and promotion from grade to grade, based upon a practical and
thorough system of examination, had long since been developed
up through an experimental stage to a well-grounded success.
The complexity of the postal system, continually varying in
detail, demanded a uniform system of giving information, and
a corresponding test of its operation. The system of
distribution for each State is compiled in tabulated form in
a book or sheet, known as a “scheme,” for ready reference
when on duty, or study when off the road. In thickly-settled
States, where numerous railroads cross and re-cross each
other in the same county, it is necessary to have the names
of the post-offices arranged alphabetically; opposite the
name of each office is given all its methods of supply and
also the hour the mail reaches that office. In more
sparsely-settled States the schemes are arranged by counties;
this is done where the majority of the offices in a county
are supplied by one or two lines, and the exceptions, which
are only specified in detail in the scheme, by other lines or
a number of post-offices. In this case the clerk memorizes
the supply of the excepted post-offices particularly, the
disposition of the remaining post-offices in the county being
the same; it is of the first importance to be properly
informed in which county an office is located, and the line
supplying the principal part of that county. A name prefixed
with “north” in one county may have the prefix of “south” in
another, or a similar name in a remote county. These schemes
are compiled at division headquarters, and the general orders
are revised almost daily, informing the clerks of changes
affecting the distribution, and also instructions as to other
duties. From the schemes mentioned, lists of distribution are
made and time computed applicable to each line or train of
the States for which mail is selected.

To return from this preliminary digression to the
examinations. These examinations are of the most practical
character and serve to develop the mental abilities and
intelligent understanding of the clerks. To clearly
understand the method, the clerk should be followed step by
step from the time of his probationary appointment into the
service, through the probationary period and his examinations
as a full-fledged clerk. After a month’s service on a line,
the clerk is assigned a day and hour for his examination;
here is laid the foundation for future usefulness, the
intelligent understanding of a service, acquired by continual
study and inquiry, that gives to all occupations that
peculiar zest when understandingly rather than mechanically
followed. A single State, with the least number of offices,
that in the course of duty he will be required to assort, is
selected at the first; it is not expected that it will be
memorized understandingly, or the location of each office
fully known at once, but it forms the basis of inquiry, and
develops either future excellence or mediocrity, or total
incapacity. The room in which these examinations are usually
conducted (excepting when a clerk on a route in a remote part
of the division is the subject, in which case he is visited
by the examining clerk) is kept quiet, and nothing that will
distract the attention allowed. He is placed before a case
containing one hundred pigeon-holes, or more, each the width
of an ordinary visiting-card, and sufficiently high to
contain a large pack of them. Cards are then produced, upon
each one of which is printed the name of a post-office,
comprising a whole State. The cards are distributed into the
case by the clerk being examined and the number of
separations made as required when on actual duty in the
railway post-office. The number of separations varies
according to the connections due to be made; when the line is
through a thickly-settled country, the separations are made
in fine detail. In the State of Massachusetts there are seven
hundred and seventy-two post-offices; and the number of
separations made by one line is upwards of eighty. On the
train it is necessary to make many (what are known as) direct
packages that the examination does not call for. Account is
taken of the time consumed in “sticking” the cards, and
questions asked to test the knowledge of connections. A large
number of questions are asked relating to the Postal Laws and
Regulations, as affecting the Railway Mail Service; these
latter questions vary in number from fifty to one hundred.
When practicable, during the probationary period of six
months, one examination is held each month, taking a
different State each time.

The results of these examinations are placed on record, and
at the expiration of the probationary term, this record,
together with the list of errors in sending mail, are
forwarded to the Honorable William B. Thompson, General
Superintendent of the Railway Mail Service, in Washington,
District of Columbia, with a recommendation that the clerk be
permanently appointed or dropped out of the service. These
examinations are held at intervals among all the clerks to
test their efficiency, and as an incentive to study, to keep
fresh in their minds the proper disposition of the important
mails passing through their hands. In these examinations a
good-natured rivalry exists, and a vigilant eye is kept by
the clerks that their line shall make as high an average per
centage, or, if possible, higher than any other. The per
centage of correctness rarely falls below seventy-five; an
average is generally made of ninety-five per cent. The list
of errors made is closely scanned by better-informed clerks,
and no stone left unturned by them to clear their record, and
to satisfactorily settle disputed points. These discussions
and inquiries are invited, not only that all may feel
satisfied with the result, but also that much valuable
information is frequently elicited from the clerks, who in
many cases are situated advantageously to see where practical
benefits may be attained.

During the fiscal year which ended June 30, 1882, there were
2,898 examinations of permanent clerks held, and 3,140,630
cards handled; of this number 208,736 were incorrect, 512,460
not known, making a correct average per centage of 77.05.
This record does not include that of probationary clerks.
This constant watchfulness, it can readily be seen, redounds
to the benefit of the public and results in the most
expeditious methods of forwarding the mails attainable. In
some cases a test of reading addresses of irregular or
difficult legibility as rapidly as possible is given, but
this idea has not been generally adopted. The query naturally
arises, Is there no incentive to study other than to make a
good record? There is; for upon this basis, together with a
knowledge of a ready working capacity and
application—both great considerations—are the
promotions and reductions made. Those in charge of lines are
fully cognizant of the status of the men, bearing on all
points. The clerks in the service are classified, those on
the small or less important routes according to the distance.
Our attention, however, is drawn particularly to the trunk
lines. The probationary appointee is of class 1, receiving
pay at the rate of eight hundred dollars per annum; but at
the expiration of his six months’ probation, if he is
retained, he is paid nine hundred dollars per annum, and
placed in class 2. The number of men in a crew on a trunk
line making through connections is governed by the quantity
of work performed, and generally consists of four men,
excepting the fast lines, New York to Chicago and Pittsburgh,
where more than one mail-car on a train is required. With
four men in a crew the clerk in charge is classed 5, and
others successively 4, 3, and 2, and paid at the rate of
thirteen hundred dollars, eleven hundred and fifty dollars,
one thousand dollars, and nine hundred dollars per annum. In
the event of a vacancy in class 5, the records of
examinations and errors made in the performance of work are
scanned, the relative working capacity of the eligible men in
class 4 considered, and a copy of the records, with
recommendations, forwarded to the General Superintendent. The
gap caused by the retirement of one of class 5, and filled by
one of class 4, necessitates promotions from classes 2 and 3,
and also a new appointment into class 1, probationary, and
after that period is passed into class 2, thus preserving a
uniform organization.

The selections for promotion are made from the clerks on the
entire line. Thus it will be seen that a graduated system of
promotion exists, based upon merit and competitive
examination, and which to the fullest extent is practical and
theoretically satisfactory to the most exacting civil-service
reform doctrinaire. The general supervision of the Railway
Mail Service is under a General Superintendent, the Honorable
William B. Thompson, located in Washington, District of
Columbia. It is divided into nine sections, with offices in
Boston, New York City, Washington, Atlanta, Cincinnati,
Chicago, St. Louis, San Francisco, and Cleveland, and is
respectively under the superintendence Messrs. Thomas P.
Cheney, R.C. Jackson, C.W. Vickery, L.M. Terrell, C.J.
French, J.E. White, E.W. Warfield, H.J. McKusick, and W.G.
Lovell,—men who have risen from humble positions in the
service, step by step, to their present positions of
responsibility.

It is an erroneous impression that prevails in certain
quarters that the forwarding of mails over the various
railroads is arranged by postmasters; the especial charge and
control of the reception and dispatch of mails is under the
Superintendents of the Railway Mail Service, who, in their
turn, are responsible to the General Superintendent, who, in
his turn is responsible to the Honorable Second Assistant
Postmaster-General.

It will readily be seen by the foregoing sketch that a
clerkship in the Railway Mail Service is far from being a
sinecure, either mentally or physically. As the country
increases in population and the system becomes more complex,
it is found to be important to the public that the clerks
should be insured against removal except for the following
reasons: “Intemperance, inattention to or neglect of duty,
incapacity for the duties of the office, disobedience of
official instructions, intentional disrespect to officers of
this or other departments of the government, indecency in
speech, intentional rudeness of language or behavior towards
persons having official business with them or towards
associates, and conduct unbecoming a gentleman.” In several
annual reports the General Superintendent has urged upon
Congress that some provision be made for pensioning disabled
clerks. This would seem to be only fitting justice to the
clerks, who hourly incur a risk of either limb or life.

REUBEN TRACY’S VACATION TRIPS.

BY ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD.

“Mamma, where is the old Witch House? I met on the street
this morning Johnnie Evans and his mother, who came way down
from Boston just to see that, and Witch Hill, and some other
places here in Salem that they had been reading about
together this vacation. Why, I haven’t seen these things, and
I have lived here all my life. And they said, too, that they
were going to find the house where Hawthorne was born. Who
was he, mamma? I think Johnnie said that the house was on
Union Street. Can’t I go there, too? I am tired of playing
out in the street all the time. I want to go somewhere and
see something.”

So said Reuben Tracy to his mother, as he came into the house
from his play one day about the middle of his long summer
vacation. His little eyes had just been opened to the fact
that there was something in old Salem which made her an
object of interest to outsiders; and, if so, he wanted to see
it. As his mother listened to him, her eyes were opened, too,
to her want of interest, through which her boy should have
been obliged to ask this of her, rather than that she should
have guided him into this pleasant path to historic
knowledge. But she determined that this should not happen
again. The vacation was only half through, and there was yet
time to do much in this direction. Her boy should not spend
so much time in idle play in the streets. She would begin
that very afternoon and read to him some stories of local
history, and impress upon his little mind, as Mrs. Evans was
doing with her boy, by visiting with him all that she could
of the places mentioned. She herself had not seen Hawthorne’s
birthplace; she would learn more about him and his work, so
as to tell Reuben, and then they would visit the place
together; after which they would take a trip to Concord and
see where he was buried, and also the places where he had
lived, which, she had heard, were so charming. She could then
tell her boy of Emerson and Thoreau; and, through a sight of
the place where the first battle of the Revolution was
fought, she could lead him willingly into the study of
history.

Thus Mrs. Tracy planned with herself. She had suddenly become
converted to a knowledge of her larger duty in the training
of her child—her only child now; for, nearly two years
before, death had claimed, in one week, her two other
children, one older and one younger than Reuben; and since
then she had fallen into a sad, listless state of mind which
she found hard to get out of. She was an unusually good
mother in the ordinary sense of the word, since she was
careful to have her boy well-fed, well-clothed, and
well-behaved; but now she saw more than that was required of
her.

The good resolution of Mrs. Tracy became so fruitful, that
another week’s time found Reuben and herself acquainted with
the points of interest which Johnnie Evans had mentioned, and
several more beside. Mrs. Tracy had accompanied these visits
with much interesting information, which Reuben had enjoyed
greatly. Such success led her to provide something new for
the following week. Now, she herself had never seen the old
town of Marblehead,—only four miles from
Salem,—although of late she had been to Marblehead Neck
to see a sister who was boarding there for the summer. So
with an eye to visiting the old town, she spent an hour each
day, for several days, reading and talking with Reuben on the
history and legends of Marblehead; and, through the guidance
of Drake’s New England Coast, learning what now remained
there as mementos of the past. Then, after having invited two
of Reuben’s little playfellows to accompany them, they
started, one bright morning, to drive over by themselves. As
they passed up Washington Street in the old town, Reuben’s
eyes were looking for the Lee mansion, which he said was now
used for a bank, and which, with its furniture, cost its
builder, Colonel Lee, fifty thousand dollars. They found it,
with its date of 1768 over the door, and soon were in the
main hall, where was hanging the same panel paper which was
put on when the house was built. They noticed the curious
carving of the balusters, as well as of a front room, which
was wainscoted from floor to ceiling; they wished that it had
never been used for a bank, but that it was still the old
mansion as it used to be; for then they could see, among
other things, the paintings hanging on the walls, of Colonel
Lee and his wife, which Reuben said were eight feet long and
five feet wide, and painted by a man named Copley. His mother
smiled when she heard him add, with all the spirit of Young
America: “And he painted them both for one hundred and
twenty-five dollars. Why, just my head alone cost my papa one
hundred dollars; and just think of those two big ones for
only one hundred and twenty-five dollars!”

As all three of the boys sat in the large recessed
window-seat, Reuben declared that he did not see how the
window-panes could have been the wonder of the town, for they
were not near as large as his Uncle Edward’s, and nobody
wondered at them!

They then imagined, walking in the same room where they then
were, General Washington, as he came there in 1789 to be
entertained by the Lees; and also Monroe, Jackson, and even
Lafayette, who had been there, too. When one of the boys
asked if the street in which he lived, in Salem, was named
for that Lafayette, Mrs. Tracy noted the question as a good
sign.

Soon they were in search of the old St. Michael’s Episcopal
Church, near there, which they had learned was the third
oldest in Massachusetts, and the fourth in New England, those
in Boston, Newbury, and Newport being the three older. As
Mrs. Tracy approached it, she became indignant that the outer
frame had ever been put over the original church with its
seven gables and its towers; she wondered if it could not now
be taken off and leave the old church, as it was meant to be,
pretty and unique. When from the inside she saw the peculiar
ceiling, she thought more than ever that it ought to be and
could be done. While she was thus speculating, the boys were
observing the quaint old brass chandelier, with its candles,
a gift from England, also the pillars of the church, stained
to imitate marble. Then they all examined the Decalogue over
the altar, written in the ancient letters, and done in
England in 1714. Mrs. Tracy wished that the old high pulpit
and sounding-board had never been replaced by the desk which
she now saw there. The sexton showed them the old English
Bible, which he said had been in use there about one hundred
and twenty-five years. They noticed the little organ, which
was very old, and also sent over from England. As they came
out of the church, they saw, by its side, a graveyard
containing some old inscriptions, and then went on to see the
old Town House in the square, which Reuben said was in its
prime in the days of George III. He told the boys to wait
until they should study history, and then they would know
more about this king. That was what he was going to do. Mrs.
Tracy noted this remark as another good sign.

She treated them to some soda-water in Goodwin’s
apothecary-store, nearly opposite, so that they could the
more easily remember the house, of which this was the parlor,
where Chief-Justice Story was born.

They were still driving up Washington Street, through one of
the oldest parts of the town, when, all of a sudden, Reuben
asked his mother to stop and let him and his friends get out
and run up some stone steps, which he said he knew would lead
them up through backyards into another street. So out they
jumped, and soon were up in High Street, following its
winding way over the rocky soil, and amidst old houses, until
they came out to Washington Street again, where Mrs. Tracy
had driven on to meet them. They then drove along Front
Street, where they had a fine view of the ocean, and also of
the Neck, so prettily decked with its unique jewels. Reuben
was anxious to go in Lee and State Streets because they were
old and quaint, which they soon found. The boys, much to
their delight, spied some more steps leading to another
street, and also noticed, on much of the way, the want of
sidewalks. They touched upon other streets which they were
inclined to call lanes.

So they spent a day in this old town, with its Fort Sewall;
its Powder House, built in 1755; its Ireson’s house on Oakum
Bay, where Mrs. Tracy reread to them Whittier’s poem on
Ireson; its cemeteries, where in one they found a gravestone
bearing the date of 1690. They visited the new Abbott Hall,
which Mrs. Tracy told them to consider as a historical
connecting link between the old and the new. She now felt
that they had seen enough for one day: so, with a promise to
drive over again, some time, to visit more especially the
newer part of the town, and also to drive around the Neck,
they left for home. The next day, indeed for several days,
the boys were in high spirits talking over their trip. All of
the boys in the neighborhood were interested to hear of it,
and doubtless some mother was stimulated to do as much for
her children. As for Mrs. Tracy, her sorrow was still keen,
but her interest in her living child’s growth was becoming
the means of softening its sharpest edge. She had discovered
an elixir which should renew her life to larger ends.

By another week’s time Marblehead was pretty well talked
over, and Mrs. Tracy was interested to find another subject
for the rest of the vacation, A few days before, Reuben had
asked her what an island was. She felt then, as she answered
him, that a visit to such a place would give him a much
better idea of its capabilities than any description which
she could give. So, now, in thinking over an interesting
island within easy distance, for a day’s trip, she recalled
the pleasure which, some years before, she had found in a
short stay upon Star Island, among the Isles of Shoals. When
she had decided that this should be the place, she talked the
matter over with Reuben, telling him that he might invite his
cousin Frank, a boy of fifteen years, to come from a
neighboring town and spend the rest of the vacation with him;
for he would enjoy studying with them about the Isles of
Shoals before they should all go to see them. Reuben was
delighted with the proposition; he secretly wondered what had
made his mother so extra good lately; he determined
that he would love her more and more, and do all that he
could for her; he did wish that his brother Albert was alive
to go with them, but he was so glad to have his cousin Frank,
who was certainly coming to him the next day.

The following morning brought him, after which the days flew
quickly by. Reuben not only showed to him the antiquities of
Salem, but told him much of Marblehead town. They played
together their vacation plays, and had, each day, their
hour’s talk and reading with Mrs. Tracy on the geography and
history of the Isles of Shoals. At last they were ready to
go, and the day was set. Mrs. Tracy had invited Reuben’s
school-teacher, Miss De Severn, a lovely young lady, whom sad
reverses had sent to hard work, and denied much pleasure in
travel, to join her in their trip. Reuben teased his papa to
go with them, but business engagements prevented his so
doing. But he encouraged his son in his pleasure, and told
him that whenever he could tell all that he wanted to see in
Europe he should go there on a tour, but not before. Frank,
particularly, caught his uncle’s idea, and determined then to
read all the good books of travel that he could find.

On the pleasant morning of the appointed time they were all
on hand in the Salem station to take the train for
Portsmouth; they arrived there in time to take the steamer
Appledore, as it started at eleven o’clock, for its ten-mile
trip to the Shoals. The boys were delighted with the novelty
of sailing between New Hampshire on one side and Maine on the
other. As they passed on the right the quaint old town of
Newcastle, Miss De Severn told them of the old Wentworth
house, built in 1750, which was still standing there, and
which still contained the old portraits of Dorothy Quincy and
others. She promised to read to them, on their return home,
the story of Dorothy Quincy, as told by Dr. Holmes, and also
the story of Martha Hilton, the Lady Wentworth of the Hall,
as told by Longfellow. While she was telling them of the old
Fort Constitution, which they soon passed, and other tales of
Great Island, or Newcastle, Mrs. Tracy was enjoying the
Kittery side, which also had its suggestive history. They
soon passed the twin lighthouses of Whale’s Back. Reuben was
still wondering why that name was given to it, when his quick
ear heard the ringing of a bell afar off in the distance.
What could that be? Then Mrs. Tracy told the boys of the
valuable bell-buoys, of which they had never heard. The sea
was just rough enough to cause the bell stationed there to
ring most of the time; and as they passed it, they declared
that they never heard anything more dismal. Frank said that
he should always think of that in a stormy night ringing out
to warn the sailors. After a sail of an hour and a half, they
landed at Appledore Island, the largest of the seven which
comprise the Isles of Shoals, and which altogether make a
little over six hundred acres. Reuben said that they were now
in Maine, for Appledore, Smutty Nose, Duck, and Cedar
belonged to Maine; while Star, White, and Londoner belonged
to New Hampshire. His mother was pleased to hear him apply
his geographical knowledge of the place so soon. She was sure
now that he never would forget that fact. They spent a short
time in looking around the island, with its attractive hotel,
so finely situated, and its half dozen pretty cottages. One
of them Mrs. Tracy pointed out as the home of Celia Thaster,
who, she told them, was a poetess who had written so
feelingly of the sea, and who had told, in a pretty poem, how
in the years gone by she had often lighted with her own hands
the light in the lighthouse which they could see on White
Island, a short distance from them. The boys wished to go
there, as they had never been near a lighthouse; but as Mrs.
Tracy felt that in their limited time Star Island would, on
the whole, afford them more pleasure and profit, they took
the little miniature steamer Pinafore, which constantly plied
between the two islands, and in a few minutes’ time were
landed on its historic ground.

After they had dined at the Oceanic, a hotel kept by the same
proprietors as the Appledore House, on the island which they
had just left, they found that they had an hour and a half in
which to look around before the steamer should return to
Portsmouth. As they sauntered along over the rocks back of
the hotel, they came near enough to the little meeting-house,
which was standing there, to read on its side the following
inscription:—

Through the kindness of a gentleman who had brought the key
to gain entrance into the interior, they all went in through
the little side door to see a comparatively small room, with
about twenty-five pews, and a quaint desk with a large chair
each side of it. Mrs. Tracy said that when this church was
built, in 1800, that island had only fifteen families and
ninety-two persons, while Smutty Nose had three families and
twenty persons, and Appledore had not an inhabitant upon it.
Reuben said that there was a time, more than a hundred years
before the Revolutionary War, when the town of Gosport, which
included all the islands, contained from three hundred to six
hundred inhabitants. Miss De Severn wished that they had time
to read some old preserved records of that place, which were
now to be seen at the hotel.

As they came out of the church, Reuben spied the
weather-vane, in the form of a fish, which crowned the little
wooden tower, in which was the bell, still used, although
rather dismal in sound.

As they wandered on, Mrs. Tracy noticed that the march of
improvement had torn down most of the old fishing-houses, as
well as the little old school-house, which she knew had once
been there. They soon came upon the old burial-ground among
the rocks, where they found inscribed on two horizontal slabs
the only two inscriptions which were there. On one they saw
this tribute:—

and, on the other, this high eulogy:—

Miss De Severn bowed reverently in honor of such lives having
been lived in the midst of the ignorance and corruption which
she knew to have then pervaded the islands.

From this rocky burial-ground they wended their way to the
three-sided monument, enclosed within a railing, which was on
one of the highest rocks on the island. Frank remembered that
it was erected in 1864, in honor of Captain John Smith, one
of the first explorers of the islands; but as he was ignorant
of the meaning of the Turk’s head on its top—the one
left of the three which were once there—Mrs. Tracy told
him and Reuben about Smith’s successful encounter with the
three Turks, as well as some other tales pertaining to his
brave exploits, after which they read on the sides of the
monument the words inscribed in his honor.

As they stopped to gaze around them for a moment, they saw, a
little more than half a mile off, Haley’s (or Smutty Nose)
Island, with its few black houses, prominent among which was
the one stained by an awful tragedy. Mrs. Tracy hoped that it
would soon be taken down, for it was too suggestive of terror
and wickedness to be always in sight of those seeking rest
and peace on the islands. Reuben said that Smutty Nose was
the most verdant of all the islands, and the one the earliest
settled; while Duck Island, three miles away, was noted for
its game. He also remembered, much to his mother’s surprise,
that Cedar Island was only three eighths of a mile distant,
and Londoner not a quarter of a mile away. When Frank added
that Appledore was seven eighths of a mile off, and White
Island nearly two miles distant, Reuben, not to be outdone by
him, said that Star Island was three quarters of a mile long,
and half a mile wide, while Appledore was a mile long. They
would have gone on till all their knowledge had been told, if
Mrs. Tracy had not suggested that they continue their walk
over the rocks which gave Star Island its natural grandeur.
They would have liked to have remained there all of the
afternoon, to have enjoyed the waves as they dashed up over
the rocks; but they only stopped long enough to find Miss
Underhill’s Chair, the name of a large rock, on which Frank
read aloud an inscription stating the fact, that, in 1848, on
that spot, Miss Underhill, a loved missionary teacher, was
sitting, when a great wave came and washed her away. Miss De
Severn said that her body was found a week later at York
Beach, where the tide had left it.

On their way back to the hotel they noticed some willows and
wild roses, enclosed in a wooden fence, wherein Mrs. Tracy
said would be found the graves of three little children of a
missionary who once lived upon the island; whereupon the boys
searched until they found the three following inscriptions:
“Jessie,” two years, “Millie,” four years, and “Mittie,”
seven years old. Under the name of Mittie they said was
inscribed: “I don’t want to die, but I’ll do just as Jesus
wants me to.”

Mrs. Tracy found herself looking back tenderly to this sacred
spot, as she followed the boys to the other side of the
Oceanic to see the ruins of the old Fort, which Reuben said
had been useful before the Revolutionary War.

On their way to the steamer, which was to leave in a few
minutes, they stepped into a small graveyard of dark stones,
of which Mrs. Tracy said all but one were inscribed with the
name of Caswell.

Soon they were on the steamer, bound for Portsmouth, then on
the cars for Salem, where they arrived home in time for
supper. They had seen what they went to see, and Reuben now
very well knew what an island was. Hereafter, geography and
history would be more real to him. On the following Monday,
Frank was telling in his home all that he had seen, thus
inspiring a larger circle with a desire to see and to know,
and Rueben was in his schoolroom ready to begin another
year’s school work. His teacher was glad to see that he
certainly would be a more interesting pupil for his
intelligent vacation rambles, and silently wished that more
mothers would do what his mother has done.

As for Mrs. Tracy, she not only decided to interest herself
in the studies of her boy more than she had done in the past,
but she determined to prepare the way for some little
historic excursion for every vacation which her son should
have. Another summer should bring Concord, surely, and
perhaps Plymouth too.