Yale Uniyeisiti Library

39002030270244

"^ :/¦¦>,' «^'

liXUprcegter

Pipi

• .-/

4tt ^

.^U.V*.

Ck 2-9- 532

i - fan/ffle fading of. if Cfitkge,. m fflif. Qobnyfl

LIEUT. SAMUEL HATHAWAY.

A SKETCH

OF

HISTORICAL REALITY

WITH THE

Blendings of the Romance

of Ideality.

Pm S. rh^iMA-a^-Lt/VM

TOovcestev, flDasa.:
F. S. Blanchard & Co., Printers.

COPYRIGHTED BY LIEUT. S. HATHAWAY.
: Published by a Subscription Guarantee, but will be on Sale .
Book Stores. Price, 60 cts. per Copy.

C-h 2 ) /"^ z <i

DEDICATION.
1 heard a voice saying unto me, "Write," and I said, "What
shall I write?" and it answered, "Reminiscences of Old Times,
Old Friends, and Old Memories." And I wrote, and as I wrote,
the fire burned and warmed the soul until I had an encyclo
pedia of wisdom, wit and nonsense so blended that the wis
dom is undiscernible, the wit unseen, and the nonsense promi
nently visible.
As the barber is the only man who pulls our noses with im
punity, so you must respect the historian pledged to the truth,
however personal.
To the ancient Worcesterites and their followers, and the
book-buyers in general, this history is respectfully dedicated,
with the New Year's good wishes of the author.
January 1st, 1897.

A SKETCH OF HISTORICAL REALITY

WITH THE

BLENDINGS OF THE ROMANCE OF IDEALITY.

Through the mists of the past I see the sturdy form, with
broad brow serene, and a face that betokens a kindly heart,
with a flash-light eye that reveals wit and humor lurking
within — Christopher C. Baldwin, Esq., librarian of the Ameri
can Antiquarian Society, with another genial soul of wit and
comradeship, Hon. William Lincoln, historian. In 1853 a
series of letters was printed in the PaUadmm, S. J. C. Knowl-
ton editor, with the title of "Carl's Tour in Main Street,"' pre
pared by Clarendon Wheelock, Esq., and which can be found in
book form at Putnam, Davis & Co.'s book store, in which is
given their most laughable encounter with a jackass in Lin
coln square, omitted here for want of room.
Again, through the mists of time I see the form of Christo
pher, with a maiden fair by his side, and they walk side by
side through years, with the word unspoken his lips did not
dare yet to speak, but which she knew was thrilling his soul.
And anon, he said, "Good bye. I am going to see the great,
broad, wild, undeveloped West," and that he might the better
see its boundlessness, he mounted the stage-coach top, and
took in the vision broad and fair, when lo ! there came a star
tled cry, and the frightened steeds ran wild, and overturned!
A shriek! a crash, and, bleeding, there lay his lifeless form,
with his great soul gone out of it, its great heart-beatings
stilled with its secret all untold. Oh! who can tell the pangs
of secret woe of that other soul ?
Again, through the mists of time I see that female form

sailing o'er the seas to become the Countess of Italy; later I
see her brave spirit transmuted into her sailor-boy, whose
proud ships led the columns of the nation's floating navy,
with Admiral Gherardi's f la*g floating from its masthead.
Through the mists of years I see her noble brother, Hon.
George Bancroft, ere yet he had dreamed of fame's immortal
ity, ere yet the plaudits of the world had welcomed his im
mortal history; as a boy he had the run of my mother's kitch
en, and her good cookery fed his body as later, noble ambi
tion fed his soul.
I see another sister, pledging faith, love, life, to a young
lawyer, who later won his way to the Senate of the United
States, and to the governor's chair of Massachusetts, and
' earned the title of "honest John Davis." His son, John C. Ban
croft Davis, still maintains the honors his father won, as a
diplomat and a judge of the higher courts of international law.
I see the reverend father. Dr. Aaron Bancroft, D. D., in
short breeches and high-top boots clad, who came as an assist
ant to Priest Maccarty of the Old South Orthodox faith of
eternal punishment ; but his soul was too full of love for his
fellows to take in the full creed of endless wrath. It is a long
way of time and faith from the Rev. Dr. Maccarty to the Rev.
Dr. Conrad, in which the fires of eternal wrath have burned
low and changed their glow to paternal love, that holds and
warms and shields and lights and guides, but does not in
wrath destroy.
Elder Going, who broke the winter's ice to baptize the
saints, whose zeal of soul kept the body warm, was followed
by those who believe that a sprinkling of God's grace sancti
fies their faith. And all believe in a cread that changes not,
a faith in God's love and in man's endeavor to live up to the
law written on the tablets of every conscience, "Do ye unto
others even as ye would that they should do unto you."
And the reverend doctor built a church in this creed of milder
faith; and from the pulpit of the old church on Back street,
he uttered that oft-repeated prayer as though his soul had had
admonition of the coming horror of Baldwin's fate, "So let
us live that a sudden death may be uuto us the most happy."
And later, I seem to hear that standard prayer of his young

colleague, Dr. Hill, "So let us live that our lives may be like
unto the rising sun, shining brighter and brighter unto the
perfect day." Oh, venerable sire! living sanctification of god
liness, whom his people almost worshipped as a representa
tive of all things lovable.
Well I remember one day, when on the way to school with
comrades, one boy, for some reason, ripped out a good, round
oath just as we met him on the street, and then they ran away,
and I stood like a guilty culprit, and said, "Oh, doctor, it
wasn't me!" and he recognized m6, and laid his hand on my
shoulder and said, "I am glad." I can almost feel that touch
now, as in my humiliation then, I contemplated the evil of evil
company. And he puckered his lips into just an audible
whistle, as was his wont, and passed on. I see him again in
confab with that incorrigible wit and humorist, Theo Western,
a painter of signs of the times, and who was about to under
take to paint tablets for his church. And the doctor, in his
anxiety to have them as perfect as possible, said to him, "Be
sure to have them of good, clear stuff, without any knots in
them," and Western, with a twinkle in his eye,answered, "Yes,
I understand, doctor, you want all the knots left out, so they
will read, "Thou shalt steal; thou shalt bear false witness.
Thou shalt break all the commandments that Moses wrote on
the tablet of stone" (as has many times been told by others).
The doctor smiled and said, "Oh Theo, you are nothing if not
witty." And that same wit was in the United States Hotel
one noon when a terrific thunder-storm delayed the stage
coach passengers from Springfield to Boston, who exclaimed,
as the thunder roared and the lightning flashed, "Terrific!
Awful! Sublime!" when Theo, with a face as serene as a
full moon, said, "It is generally conceded that Worcester has
the most vivid lightning and the most terrific thunder of any
place in the country, according to its population."
United States Hotel was built by William Hovey, Esq., a
man of great mechanical, inventive genius, and with a great
interest in the growth of Worcester, and built many monu
ments of his zeal and good taste, the beautiful Corinthian
mansion on Front street, long occupied by Rejoice Newton,
Esq., and later by Osgood Bradley, Esq. ; a double brick man-

sion on Nobility hill, and others. He was a man of positive
opinions, to which he gave good,' round expression.
He once described a piece of real estate he sold as bounded
north, east, south and west, so-and-so, "running sky-high and
hell-deep."' He was of a combative disposition, never so hap
py as when in a suit-at-law.
The new hotel took the stage-coach business from the old
"Sikes" tavern, later known as "Exchange Hotel," which still
stands as a monument of departed glory.
Major Simeon Burt was one of the stage-coach proprietors,
and its ruling head. He, was a man of active energy and a
strict discijilinarian, and the drivers understood that they
were to start at the word "Go!" no matter who was climbing
aboard. There was a sturdy blacksmith, Samuel Boyden, with a
shrill voice and stout frame, but with a heart as warm as the
coals ou his glowing forge, and a character as upright as a
plumb-line. His shop was on Mechanic street, near Carlton.
One day xMajor Burt sent a horse in hot haste to have a shoe
set, to make up a team; but it did not come back, and the
major went himself, in white heat, and found the horse in
line with others, and he said, "Mr. Boyden, why didn't you
shoe my horse?" and he replied, "He will be shod when his
turn comes, major." The major roared out, "If you don't shoe
my horses when they are sent, I will put up a shop of my
own!" "Put her up. Major Burt, put her up," was all that the
blacksmith said. The major went out as mad as a March
hare; but the shop did not go up.
The Major ran the lines until the railroads absorbed the
routes, and he retired from the stage.
An old driver, Elliott Swan, Esq., has just died (in Septem
ber), in Spencer, at 77 years of age.
Mr. Boyden moved to Oxford, where he died.
The United States Hotel was kept by James Worthington,
from Springfield, with his beautiful doll wife. One day he
invited her to take some pop beer, and either by accident or
design (presumably the latter), the cork flew out and the beer
flew all over her, and while she screamed, Jim roared with
laughter.

George Young, Esq., Avas a porter in the hotel and went
to Boston, and established Young's Hotel; and though he has
long since retired with a fortune, his name still stands as a
sign of the famous good cheer of his eating-house.
Jack Granger was a scullion in the hotel, but a mighty
power in the Democratic ranks, chumming with its party mag
nates, Levi A. Dowley, Esq., Judge Merrick, Colonel Barker,
Isaac Davis and others. And the way he bet was a sure indi
cation of the way the impending election would go. He was a
great hunter and fisher; knew where the speckled beauties
lived and where game was to be found, and supplied the hotel
larder in a large degree.
There was another wit, Joe Turner, who lived on Main
street, near where is now the new Post-office, and coming
down town one morning, he saw meii. at work with jack-screws
raising a barn. He asked the owner what he was trying to
do, and he said he was trying to fix his barn so it would not
settle. "I'll tell you how to do it," says Joe. "How?" was the ques
tion. "Put it upon Captain Lewis Bigelow. He never settles !"
There was a Frenchman named Alexander Vottier, who
kept a candy store on Main street, near School street. He was
one of the hoys, and used to say, "Let us go down to old Mont-
roes' and roll the ten-pins and get some good flip." There
were many at lager-heads there.
Dr. John Green, the good old doctor, the household god of
our family, I see through the mists of time, sitting in the old
arm-chair by the fireside, in the sick chamber. The barome
ter of the rise and fall of the patient's case, if serious, if very
ill, he attended strictly to business, and went away immedi
ately; but if convalescent; he would draw the chair up by the
fireside and tell old stories of old times, old friends, and old
memories ,of the long ago; while the old bay horse, to the
open gig attached, roamed outside at his own sweet will, and
when, as, alas! it happened to the weary patient, came the
fatal hour when weeping friends at the bedside said "farewell,"
and as he passed out to let the reverent man of prayer come
in, what benediction of love followed him, for we knew that
all human skill could do had been done, and he resigned the
charge to the Holy One.

Often that form was seen at the book-stalls scanning their
treasures o'er, and when a gem rich and rare was found, it
went into his overcoat pocket to join other thousands gone
before, until he had gathered hosts of the best thoughts of
the best brains of many lands, an army invincible to fight the
battles of truth, pen-arnied with that weapon mightier than
the sword. How he fondled them as children of his love!
How he loved after a hard day's ride to listen to the essence
of their wisdom, wit and eloquence, as portrayed by the actors,
"who strutted their brief hour upon the stage" at the little
theatre of Flagg's hall.
God made him childless — like Washington — that he might
make his fellowmen children of his love.
When we enter the sanctuary where the green leaves of his
memory are gathered, guarded with loving care by his descend
ant, "nephew of his uncle," to whom each leaf, like the leaves
of the tree, is beautiful in detail, but sublimely grand as a
gathered forest, as we see his colossal form sitting there, we
love to think he is telling old, old stories of old times to the
listening ears of the youth gathered round him there, telling
of some loving deeds of kindness done by others, with looks
as innocent as though he himself had never been guilty of one
act of love to his fellows.
Fresh and green may his memory be through all the
springtimes of love's immortality.
Behind the doctor's gig I see a procession of practitioners:
Dr. Heywood, Dr. Chapin, Dr. Fiske, Dr. Butler, Dr. Martin,
Drs. Joseph and George Bates, Dr. Andrews, and later. Dr.
Joseph Sargent, Dr. John E. Hathaway, all of the old school
of big doses of camomile and salts and senna; with Drs. Kelly
and Barnard with their lobelia and hot drops; Dr. Van Rens
selaer, who cured by laying on of the hands. Dr. Joe (as he
was familiarly called) was great on heart failure, for a visit
from him made the sluggish heart beat, the pulses dance with
pleasure. He had notions of his own, as, for instance, when a
box came to the office by express and they had no chisel to
open it with, Samuel L. Bigelow, a student in the office (who
later became a famous physician at Paris, and who died in the
service of the United States as a medical director in the army),
said: "I will go out and borrow one."' "No, no, Sam," said

Dr. Joe, "steal if you must, but don't borrow;" and he stole
our hearts away. Dr. Nichols was the pioneer homeopa-
thist, who, with his sorrel horse and one-horse shay, carried
his little pellets of faith to work their wondrous cures, but
none of all these doctor's own medicines could prevent their
following the decrees of faith. When Dr. Nichols passed on,
his mantle descended upon his son. Dr. Charles L. Nich61s, who
continues to minister minute pellets to stir the iinagination to
work its cures, and his sweet doses of love, hope and faith
cure the sick soul and make the body whole. -Of late years,
whole armies of doctors have come down upon the city with
their scalpels and their prescriptions which prescribe the
chances of general health, and the epidemic of M. D. sign
boards in the windows on Pleasant street gives one a grave
apprehension that the cemeteries of the city may be not ade
quate to the demand.
Through the mists of time I see a close friend of my father
and my mother and the friend of humanity, whose tireless
energy never flagged at the call of duty, who fought only
peaceful battles of life, because he never had an enemy; who
pulled the wires of his manufacture not as a politician pulls
in selfishness, but in broad benevolence, and as his wealth
grew larger, his generosity grew broader; and he said to his
sister unfortunates: "Come ye to my home," and to the
churchless wanderers, he said : "Come ye to my mission !" And
unto his brother mechanics he said: "Let us build a temple
worthy of the craft." And he laid the foundation, broad and
deep, in his beneficence, and the temple rose, and stands to
day a crowning glory to the name of Ichabod Washiaurn ; and
all the Building Committee were honored by their connection
with the rearing of Mechanics hall — Elbridge Boyden as ar
chitect; Horatio N. Tower, master builder; Henry W. Miller,
Wm. A. Wheeler, William T. Merrifield, James S. Woodworth.
Mr. Boyden, who planned the working ways, builded better
than he knew when he laid the blocks of to-days and yesterdays
in the walls of time, solid, strong, secure, that this temple of
brains, by brains and for brains, should for time endure. The
master builder, a tower of strength and skill, builded better
than was e'er dreamed of save "in thy philosophy, Horatio."

The honest Miller, who in the grist of life ne'er took unlawful
toll, who betwixt the upper and nether stone ne'er ground the
face of the poor; who, like the waters that turned the wheel,
never went back on his friends; who of honesty, of industry
and charity, gave measures heaping full and running o'er.
though the hard wear of life wore the body out, — yet the soul,
like solid gold, refined and pure, will forever endure. The
strong Wheeler, also a leader, poured the red-hot metal of his
indomitable will and energy into the sand flasks of life to
form the cast-iron solidity of his character.
We heard the heart-beat of the great engine of power that
in the merry fields of mechanical skill gave life and energy
and motion to the shafts and counter-shafts of manufacturing
crafts, and we knew that the heart that made its first pulsa
tion start was as warm and true as its own.
James S. Woodworth, carpenter, to whom Sir Christopher
Wren was the god of architecture, builded with industry and
skill temples of beauty and mansions for happy homes. And
all rejoice that their united zeal and devotion found expres
sion in the beautiful workshop of the brains — Mechanics hall,
where high art in all its phases finds a welcome home: paint
ings of heroes dead, and of living sons ;- music, that for the
holy week of song lays at its lover's feet gems, the kings and
queens of genuine wear in their souls of song, while Carl
Zerrahn's baton guides the chorus in anthems almost divine.
With Edward Hamilton's noble presence standing in mem
ory's shadowy form at their head,
But not to foreign gems alone !
There's genius native and to the manor born,
Who gathers her sweet wild flower notes
And wreatljies them in harmonious song.
The southern rice fields yield. food for the hungry throng.
Ours feeds their hungry souls with her free gifts of song.
When our rice steps out in bridal shoes, ah ! the happy man,
rice and old shoes will be in great demand.
William A. Smith, Esq., guardian, who wears at his girdle
its keys, opens its doors to everything beautiful, good and
pure, but keeps them fast closed to the gutter slum shows.
In the chair as librarians of the Antiquarian Society have

13
sat: Samuel Jcunison, Worcester, 1S25; William Lincoln,
Worcester, 1S27; (,'hristopher C. Baldwin, A^'orcester, 1830;
Samuel M. Burnside, ^Vorcester, 1831; Christopher C. Bald
win, ^A'orcester, 1835; Maturin L. Fisher, ^^^n•oeste^, 1838;
Samuel F. Haven, A^'orcester, 1838; Edmund M. Barton, Wor
cester, 1881, to date, of whom it is enough to say that he is
the right man in the right place.
IMoses Spooner, an anti-lawyer, who refused to join the bar,
but claimed the right to argue in court, and when Rejoice New
ton, Esq., objected and the judge sustained the objection, he
twisted his nose in open court. He was anti-Banks and anti-
monopolist in any form, and established an anti-mail from
Worcester to New York, with John C. A\'yman messenger. He
removed to Boston, where his anti-soul went out, let us hope,
to a world of anti-sin and sorrows.
Through the mists of time and history Middle river at South
Worcester ran free; but soon those sturdy pioneers. White and
Boyden, harnessed the foaming steeds of the rushing waters
to their chariot wheels to begin that unequal but never ending
strife betwixt the puny hand power of man and the tame,
obedient, harnessed power of the gods.
Through the mists of the past I see a young law student
from Concord's Plains, with the blood of his honored sires
coursing through his veins, the teachings of the little red school-
house, and the red-cheeked schoolma'am, made him a law unto
himself, and the democracy of the little town meetings gave
him an independent spirit that brooks no guiding will save his
own. He trod no trampled zig-zag path of political fame, lit
by the dark-lantern of experience, but he blazed his way by
the light of a broad intelligence to the Alpine heights, with
only one higher peak to climb. The hoar-frosts of age have
whitened his brow, but have not chilled his heart ; the fires of
his youth burst from his lips of eloquence in after-dinner speech
es, and in great Plymouth Rock orations in the unswerving
spirit of liberty that led the Pilgrims over the sea, and guided
the Grand Army from Sumter to Appomattox's crowning vic
tory of universal liberty! whose text was the sentiment of their
andhis own soul, "Above all, liberty !" "Above all, faith !" "Above
all, duty!" In his late wanderings o'er the sea, he hob-nobbed

with royalty; sailed a whale among the codfish aristocracy;
held chop logic with the Grand Old Man; axed that tree of
knowledge Yankee questions of the future fate of the nations
and the world; and felt that the great Gladstone was a mighty
loadstone that draws unto himself the best souls of humanity.
May he watch, and wait, and pray! for they say "everything
comes to him who waits," and when the voice of the United
States shall call him, he will know how to obey.
In the halls of Congress, I see a disciple of the old Amphis-
bitonian Society, whose exercises in oratorical debate with
such opponents as S. V. Stone, Dexter F; Parker, George Evans
and others, fired his ambition to get out of the thick boot pro
fession and step into the political shoes of his predecessor.
He has practiced so long in political athletics that the young
walker has become a good runner in the political race, and
his large experience in private finances made him head of the
Finance Committee, and his interest in the honest dollar made
him a gold bug among the big bugs of the land.
Way back through the mists of time, I see a white-haired
man, with "merchant of strict probity and lofty honor" written
upon his brow, and as he passed from his long life of honor
and usefulness, he left an only son behind, a young man of
large wealth, of great usefulness, of broad sympathies for his
fellowmen, bringing to his home his young bride, beautiful as
an angel, alas! she soom became, leaving her being just
renewed in an infant life, who years later took up his fa
ther's work to build monuments of beauty, temples of knowl
edge, museums of art and workshops of industry, to keep alive
that name that may so soon die out in living form, to liye in
grateful hearts forever — the name of Stephen Salisbury.
There is an anecdote connected with the old Salisbury man
sion which will be new tomanyreaders. Years ago at the spring
time cleaning. Madam Salisbury desired to whiten the ceiling
of her parlor, and she sent for Benjamin Conant, a mason, who
had much to say about the mucous membrane; when you met
him he would say: "How is your mucous membrane this morn
ing?" He called, and she explained what she wanted, and she
said, "I'll have the carpets taken up and the room prepared,"
but he said, "Oh, no, you needn't do that ; I won't spill a drop ;

15
all I want is a rug to set my pail on;" and she finally but re
luctantly consented, and he went to work; but by some acci
dent, he tipped the pail of whitewash over and he jumped out
of the window, ran like a whitehead, and I don't know but he's
running yet, as he never came back after his pail or brush.
Moral: Whitewash with pure brains and not with mucous
membranes. There was another generous soul who linked his name and
fortune with a university that should become the pride of the
land and make the name of "Clark" as immortal as science and
knowledge are. Its Hall of science teaches of the evolutions
of the body from its animal ancestors — and of the evolution
for the upbuilding of the soul.
Back through the past I hear the clanging bells and the
loud-mouthed cannon's roar; I see the good ship of state, the
Lady Carrington, sailing through the heart of the village, pro
pelled by its two-horse, tow-line power, while her engineer
worked his passage by going on foot and driving the steeds.
I hear the shouts of the assembled multitudes go up as the
orator, Emory Washburn, Esq. — afterwards governor of Mas
sachusetts — told of the mighty hopes of the future and of the
magnitude of its populations, "twenty-five thousand, at least,
within the next ten years," and the people cried, "Amen!
Amen!" But alas! a dream, the vision of great dividends to
the stockholders, for it was soon found that the waters, creep
ing through the dull canal, like the blood in a sick man's
veins, dammed with locks and chains, and "thrice doubly
damned" by disappointed stockholders, were too slow for the
progress of the age; then came the mighty pulse of steam, and
the old Heart felt its power, and she sprang forward on her
iron pathway, with her throttle wide open and her whistle
shrieking. Onward! forward! upward! excelsior! And
she flew up steep grades, around sharp curves, but firm upon
the track, up to that bright but disastrous meridian of June,
18.o4; then, its whistle shriek had changed its tone; then, it
sounded the alarm note of disaster and woe; and the great
Merrifield fire destroyed the gathering of years.
Back in the thirties, there was a beautiful place at the junc
tion of Park and Green streets, owned by the widow Foxcraft,
who had a son, George, wild and foxy, but bright as a button.

i6
Her daughter married Moses D. Phillips, Esq., the genial
bookstore man and the basso profundo of Dr. Hill's choir, who
went to Boston and established the Atlantic MontliJii Magazine.
through which the autocrat of the Breakfast Table preached
to the world, and which has been followed by a whole army of
magazines of every shade and hue: "The White Woman's
Home Journal," and the "Black <at,"" too; but Mr. Phillips did
not long enjoy the fruits of his industry; he died iu Dorchester,
mourned by all who knew him.
Later the grand opening of the Boston &, Worcester rail
road, 1835, with depot on the Stiles place on Main street,
with a bell on the tree, to ring fifteen minutes and five min
utes before the starting of every train. There was a hilarious
time at its opening, with many silver tops emptied, and some
young heads and silver tops full.
1 see Through the past a great assembly at the old Town
Hall; it was a town meeting, with F. W. Paine, Esq., father
of the town, as moderator. I hear Otis Corbett, Esq., com
mittee-man, propounding in the affirmative, and the thin,
shrill voice of Abijah Bigelow, Esq., attorney and county
clerk, crying out, "Mr. Moderator,"" and then blazing into his
opponent with hot shot of wrath and sarcasm; then the cool
judgment of Judge Allen, Kinnicutt, Pliny Merrick, Isaac
Davis, "William Hovey — red hot, — Deacon Samuel Perry,
Abiel Jaques, and the soft voice of Rejoice Newton, Esq., pour
ing oil on the troubled waters. The coolest head of them all
was the moderator, who carried his equanimity and business
energy in his daily rounds; first to the Rural cemetery as
president, to direct his ornamentation and care; then to the
old court house, to the Mutual Insurance Company as presi
dent; then to the Citizens' Bank as president to say a, word
with its genial cashier, George A. Trumbull, Esq., or to hear
him storm against one "limb-of-the-law" Bartlett, who, he
said, "came in smiling, but before he went out wheedled me
into endorsing another note;" then to the old Town Hall, regu
lating the town clock by his regularity; and we can imagine
the old cock on the steeple sajing, about eleven, "He"s com
ing!" Yet never too busy with public affairs to slight private
trusts, as guardian of my father and other estates, the richest

I?
treasure of them all that remains in his cherished memory.
I remember hearing "\Mlliam Harrington, Esq., telling his
experience in buying the property corner of Main and Front
streets, probably the most valuable ground per square foot
within the city. He called upon him and asked if he wished
to sell the i)roperty — consisting of the land and a block of
one-story wooden buildings — and he answered, "Yes; what is
your price?" "Thirty-five hundred," and he said he fairly
trembled when he heard the price, it was so much lower
than he expected. And he asked, "Will you give me the
refusal for a certain length of time at that price?" And he
answered, "Yes." "Will you please put it iu writing?" "Yes;"
but he need not have asked that, for when he had passed his
word it was as good as a covenant under seal. Mr. H. said
when he got that paper in his iands, he felt he had got a for
tune, and so he had, which his worthy descendants are now
enjoying, while the good old man is gone from all pains of
earth save the name, which lives in the hearts of all who knew
him. Al9js! of all the actors of that town meeting, only now
and then one can be remembered as living: Mason H. Morse,
Esq., Chas. Whittemore, N: Flagg, H. H. Chamberlain, Esq.,
and perhaps a few more, with John Hammond, Francis and
Jonathan Harrington and Reuben Monroe are among those re
membered actors since deceased.
Through the past I see three Worcester boys, two native,
and to the manor born, and one adopted, who went to Boston
to strike the tide of journalism at its flood to bear them on
to fortune. Rogers as the leading guiding head, Stockwell
with a nose for news, and Ben Perley Poore, a power be
hind the throne at Washington, who possessed the confidence
and affection of more great men than falls to the lot of many
in life; but though they have all long ago worked off their
last editions, the old Journal still prints on, while its humble,
long ago Heart correspondent still cumbers the earth and
vexes the public with his restless pen.
Way back in the files of the old Spy, when John Milton —
the earl — wrote his editorials of "Paradise Lost," which the
Baldwins have regained, may be found crudities of his lite
rary contributions; formerly Mr. Earle was senior partner of
the shoe firm of Earle & Chase, where we got all our family

i8
shoes, as we urchins thought, free gratis, for we had them
charged. But the quarterly bills reminded father that "truth
is stranger than fiction."
Mr. Anthony Chase became county treasurer 1831 to 1865.
His son, Charles A. Chase, followed him as treasurer, 1865
to 1876; afterwards editor Boston Advertiser, but abandoned
the chase of the phantoms of the brains in exchange for the
solid coin, as treasurer of the Worcester County Institution
for Savings, which position he now holds. It may be said of
him, as was said by a wag to Edward Hamilton, Esq., in the
same office, when bending over a column of figures, "You are
a serpent, sir." "Yes, sir; a serpent, the great American
adder," and he shot out of the door lest the missile of a ten-
dollar bill should be thrown at his head.
A new sign was put up on the bank building, "Institution
for Savings." On passing with some boys on the way to
school, John Richards looked up and read: "Instructions for
Savages !"
Through the mist of time I see the schoolmaster, Hon. Peter
C. Bacon, whose name was smoked upon the ceiling by a mis
chievous urchin, Edwin Eaton, as "Smoked Bacon." From
the pedagogue's chair he arose to the mayoralty, and ga^-e to
his country's service his beloved sous, some to die, and some
to live to bear his honored name.
Through the mists of time I see the venerable form of
Isaiah Thomas, founder of the 8pi/ and of the American An
tiquarian* Society, at his wooden office on Court hill, or read
ing the Declaration of Independence from the porch of the
Old South Church, and later, I see his descendants, who did
honor to the name — Hon. Benjamin Franklin Thomas, the
echo of whose tongue of eloquence is ringing in memory still
from the old log cabin on Grove street when he fell into line
with the Whig ranks in the battle of Tippecanoe and Tyler
too, and who later sat in judgment on the bench of Massa
chusetts with other sons of Worcester: Bangs, Chandler, Al
len, Aldrich, Williams and others, marshaled to court by the
high sheriffs, Hon. Calvin Willard, S. J. C. Knowlton, Rich
ardson, Sprague and Chamberlain, with their cockade of of
fice on their hats, the sword of justice by their sides, and the

19
brass buttons on their blue coats. H. K. Newcomb was cvier
of the court. Gen. Thomas Chamberlain cried the court
to order for many a year, and his staff of office descended to
the veteran Charles Sibley, Esq., who from four score yeai^s
cries, "Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye! All persons having any
thing to do before the honorable the justices of the Superior
Court, how sitting in Worcester, draw near, give your attend
ance and you shall be heard. God save the Commonwealth of
Massachusetts !"
There is a sweet memory connected with the Old South
Society. Its one-time pastor, 1853-1863, Rev. Horace James,
chaplain of 25th Massachusetts, and head of the Freedman's
Bureau, was a warm personal friend, who married me and
whose friendship is a precious memory.
The old Chamberlain farm has been productive of many
great men, who have left an honored name behind.
John Curtis Chamberlain, son of Deacon John, was born
at the farm on Salisbury street June the 5th, 1773; graduated
at Harvard College 1793; read law with Hon. John West, of
Charlestown, N. H.; was admitted to the bar in 1796, opened
an office at Alstead, N. H., and held a prominent place at the
bar in Cheshire county. He was representative in Congress
from 1809 to 1811; he married a sister of Governor Hubbard,
of New Hampshire (or a sister of Governor Hubbard's wife),
in 1826. He moved to the western part of the state of New
York, where he was distinguished as a lawyer, and died at
Utica, N. Y., 1834, aged 62 years.
Henry' Vassal Chamberlain, son of Deacon John, was born
at the farm January 11, 1777; entered Harvard in 1794; he
withdrew from college and studied law with Hon. Nathaniel
Paine of W^orcester, and his brother John C. Chamberlain.
In 1801 he was admitted to the bar of Cheshire county. New
Hampshire; practiced in Farmington, Me., for a few years;
married Miss Hannah Tarbell of Groton, Mass. About 1810
removed south and resided at Mobile, Ala., until his death,
1856. He acquired reputation and wealth; he held the office
of court warden, alderman, sheriff of the county, judge of the
Orphans' Court, and chief justice of the Court of Common
Pleas. His son, Harry, was a lawyer and judge, mayor of

20
Mobile, and for several years in the Alabama State Legis
lature; he added greatly to his father's wealth; he was un
usually beloved and respected, cultivated, honorable and
gentlemanly. His death in 1870 was deeply lamented by all
citizens of Mobile; he married Miss Josephine Shipley of Bos
ton; left seven daughters and one son.
Levi Chamberlain, son of Deacon John Chamberlain, was
born at the farm 1786. Entered Williams College in 1804.
After two years he ended his connection with that institu
tion and became student of law, first, in the office of his
brother John, and after that with Levi Ijincoln, "SA'orcester ;
admitted to the bar in Worcester county December, 1813;
practiced in Fitzwilliam and Keene, N. H.; was clerk of the
court and county attorney of Cheshire county, N. H., and from
1821 to 1833 member of the Legislature of New Hampshire as
representative and senator. Was a Whig candidate for gov
ernor of New Hampshire, and very nearly won the election,
when the state was largely Democratic, because of his per
sonal popularity. He was remarkable for wit and fine man
ners; was called the Sidney Smith of the Granite State. He
married Miss Harriet Goodhue of Chester, Vt.; his home in
Keene, N. H., was the center of one of the most refined social
circles of New England.
Thomas Chamberlain, son of Deacon John, born at the farm
1783, died September, 1855, aged 72. He was fitted for college,
but ill health prevented his going and he became a farmer;
lived and died in the present farm house on Salisbury street,
which he built in 1809, before his marriage with Miss Nancy
Woods of Groton, Mass. He often taught the schools in his dis
trict. He was a great disciplinarian and fine teacher. He
filled most of the military offices from corporal to major gen
eral, with the highest honor to himself and satisfaction to
those under his command. He was the first president of the Com
mon Council and the crier of the court for many years, all of
which duties he discharged with ability and faithfulness. He
was one of the trustees of the Worcester Horticultural So
ciety at its foundation, September 19th, 1842. He had eight
children by his first wife and three by his second. Miss Han
nah Blair of Worcester. All of the children are dead except

21
Mr. Thomas Chamberlain of Boston, ^ho is an officer in the
State National Bank, and General Robert H., sheriff of Wor
cester county.
Three of his sons, Charles T., John C, and Francis H., were
successful business men in Mobile, Ala. George A. was a suc
cessful farmer, and his widow, now Mrs. Burgess, still owns
the farm on Salisbury street. George was an active member
of the Worcester Guards of 1840.
Again through the mists I see the banner of old Massachu
setts waving over the old Heart, upborne by a gallant son, a
Bullock of mighty strength and magnetic personality, who
made the whole herd of human hearts follow his lead across
the plains of affection, who in the Hazzard of matrimonial lot
tery drew a prize that kept his heart in touch with the best in
life until, alas! that heart so suddenly ceased to beat, and a rare
soul from the heights of manhood's noblest attributes went
out from life, leaving a multitude of clinging hearts behind.
I see another soul, independent and free, that could not be
bought nor sold, who, when he heard the cry of slavery, "Come
and deliver us!" threw to the winds all threats and scorn and
cried, "Follow me!" And the great Republican party was
born, with Hon. Chas. Allen at its head.
I see the robust form of Abby Kelly; I hear her cry: "Woe,
woe unto thee, hypocrites, who bind the body with chains of
slavery, but cannot chain the unfettered soul," who with her
Foster mate joined "the Hutchinson Bros.' Band, 'with a sis
ter in it,' " to set the groans of slavery as music's notes of the
song of freedom, that ere long was echoed by million-tongued
musketry that made the darkened race see the morning light
of libertj'.
And through the mist I see on the neighboring hill-top the
springtime come, and we knew it was May, who lives to-day a
hallowed echo of the song of universal freedom.
I see the millionaire Bacheldor banker picking his dainty way
in, high-polished shoes to his counting-room in the Granite
row, to make good to the commercial world anything he put
the name of Daniel Waldo to, and his maiden sister sitting
straight and prim in their high-backed chairs, with hearts
open and hands ready for suffering wherever found.

In the' onward march of progress and of luxury, they built
a mansion that was the wonder of the age, but which was
bowed to the rear to make room for the great temple. Mechan
ics hall; while all of them have gone to the temple not made
with hands, eternal in the heavens.
Now and again we read in the Spy ton mots of wit and wis
dom that made us suspect that the cashier of the old Wor
cester Bank, Samuel Jennison, Esq., had closed the vaults of
finance to issue his sweet notes of song, that attuned the heart
harp-strings his descendants still play upon. His son, Samuel,
practices law in Boston, but he practices also on the tuneful
strings stretched from father's heart to loving sons.
I see another schoolmaster, Charles Thurber, Esq., who
taught Latin and Greek, and many things Greek to the com
mon mind. He gave sight to the blind in his writing machine,
now in use in many blind asylums, and gave to the nimble
fingers power to translate the thoughts of the mind on the
typewriter, of which he was the pioneer inventor, whose model
is in the hall of the Society of Antiquity.
Later on when the old high school house on Main street
was surpassed by the temple of beauty and of faith Mayor
Blake builded, exquisite in grace as his own suave manners
were, came another schoolmaster who had rowed his own
canoe against all the adverse currents of life save the tides
of Salt river; he never rowed up that. He left the pedagogue's
chair for a seat in the Senate chamber, but the spirit of the
schoolmaster was so imbued in his soul, he could no more
stop teaching than he could stop eating; he taught his fellow
senators the architectural beauty of Bulfinch's temple of
genius and pleaded successfully for its preservation: to-day
on the Grampian hills teaching the doctrines of republicanism;
to-morrow in the church teaching lessons of patriotism by the
sufferings of the rebel prisons; anon teaching the history of a
public thoroughfare and its abutters; in the Sunday school,
in the spirit of the loving Master, lowly bending to the level
of the little ones, teaching the little things that look so big to
them; as head of a Grand Army Post, holding council fires
of blessed memory and of loving comradeship; on Memorial
days, laying on the shelter tents of beloved comrades the flow-

23
ers of tearful eloquence, ever teaching, like Holmes' preaching
(I quote from memory the substance if not the text) : "Oh, ele
ments of earth and wave! ye are something still; men never,
save in the grave." And we might quote to him the Cana
dian Boatman's song with variations:
Roe, brother, Roe, the stream runs fast,
And well we know, alas! the woe,
Thou' It be still at last.
There was an event of such rarity of Christian charity under
the sun as to be worthy of mention. When the church at the
South End in Boston on losing Dr. Huntington as head, called
the pastor of the little Church of the Unity to come and help
us, Unity said: "While we would have thee stay, yet in view
of the crown of greater usefulness offered we have no right
to charge thee to fling away ambition, but whether you go or
whether you stay, you have our hearts' best affection and our
abiding friendships," and left him to make the decision. And
in the struggle, higher duty and old loves won, and he took
not only their hearts, but the hearts of the whole community
with him and trudged back to his fatherland. And the country
preacher became the nation's teacher, and, "Hail, and wel
come Hale!" is the cry from the tri-mountain to the Rocky
mountains, and beyond.
Let us call a moment at the Browns', headquarters for tailor
ing, chess and philosophy; with William at the desk, Albert
with a measuring tape in hand to "give um fits," and Theo
at the cutting board. Perchance a customer comes in to try
on a new-made coat, and Albert pulls it down when on, pats
him on the back and says : "Look here, William, did you ever
see a better fit?" And William comes and says : "Well, you
have done it this time." Or, if at a dull hour of business, you
might find Albert with the violin under his chin courting the
dulcet strains of "Cut, and Come Again," Theo, at the old back
window seat is in a Brown study over a game of chess, and as
he makes an important move, soliloquizes, "There, now, you
are snug as a bug in a rug, and a good deal snugger than that
other bugger," or perhaps find him discussing the philosophy
of life and things with Harry Gray Otis Blake (who still sur-

24
vives), or, on rare occasions, with Thoreau as his visiting
friend. Again, when we call and inquire for Albert, William
says: "He's. gone out hunting with Bill Legget of the old har
ness shop," where August Walters and Samuel Mason were
stitching at the old bench, and a happier pair of innocents
were ne'er met by "Mark Twain Abroad." They tramped over
hill and dale to leg it for many a mile to get a shot at a snipe,
and never quailed. But alas! theBrowntriohas passedon,leav-
ing a quartet to bear the name — Albert S., J. Stewart, Henry
and young Theo. In the Brown family was a sister Abby, who
on the occasion of a canal boat celebration fell overboard and
the cry went up: "Woman overboard! Woman overboard!"
And there, floating in the turbid waters, was the fair village
belle, but a boatman jumped in, and "buffeting the waves with
lusty sinews," bore her to the shore, and contrary to all rules
of romance, she married another man, Robert A. Marsh, Esq.,
but they both have long since passed on.
There was once a storm at sea and Captain John G. Ken
dall, commander of the good sloop Dolly Ann, put into
Bigelow's Basin by the power of setting poles, with his tow-
line broken and his rudder gone, but John has sailed long
since the sea of life to a safer port above.
There was another clothier and philosopher, A. P. Ware,
Esq., who always wore his own ready-made opinion of passing
events, whose genial wits oft gave us fits of laughter as he
gave fits in clothes. 'Twixt right and wrong, he followed his
own nose; always for fair deal and never for foul, and which
is now in ware by his associates of Ware, Pratt & Co.
On the green hill-top I see the Green boys — Andrew H.,
John, Samuel, Martin — all of whom have made a name of
fame, and those who survive unite in preserving the old home
stead as a refuge from the work-a-day world, and as a shrine
of holy memory.
On the signboard of Granite row, I read E. and R. Sanger,
o'f beloved memory, in whose employ I followed Chas. Eaton
and Elisha Flagg of the famous Flagg family band, with
Fisher Flagg on the flute, Augustus and Elisha on the violin,
Uncle Marshall on the cello and young Marshall on the trom
bone, which perhaps later gave him "that breadth of back and

25
susquidability of belly that might have done honor to the
sergeant in the horse-guard." The monument to the Flagg fam
ily stands in the beautiful block of Flagg's building.
At Granite row, I also see the sign of H. B. Claflin & Co.,
and the head of the house might have been seen propelling
his way with his elbow power (he worked his elbows in walk
ing), working all day with tireless energy and regretting that
the night should come, when he could not work. He outgrew
the little country town and went to the great Empire State's
metropolis (New York), to build a business house and make
a name that has been legally incorporated as a part of the
great city s fame; while his rival in the early days, H. H.
Chamberlin, Esq. (who still survives), stood fast to establish
with his humble associates. Page and Hathaway, the founda
tion of the present house of Barnard, Sumner &, Putnam Co.,
which leads the host to-day, though its working, guiding,
building chief's name is now preserved by his son, E. P. Sum
ner, Esq. George Sumner was something more than a mer
chant: a connoisseur of art, an antiquarian and collector of
rare, old and beautiful things to make a museum of his old
ancestral home at Shrewsbury, where hospitality was written
on the door-plate, and of which men of distinction have often
partaken as his guests. On one occasion, the officers of the
New England Agricultural Society, with General Sherman as
their guest, made a visit to Shrewsbury and to the grave of
General Artemas Ward of Revolutionary memory.
An anecdote told of that visit, whether true or false, is so
characteristic of the man as to be worth preserving. It will
be appreciated by all who know how hateful the tune of
"Marching through Georgia" had become to him, till he said
he almost wished to the Lord he had never seen Georgia.
While there, he was introduced to a pious old maid, who said in
grand, eloquent style: "Is this the great General Sherman who
'marched from Georgia to the sea?' " And he answered: "No,
madam, that is a d  lie. I rode a miserable old horse!"
and it took her down a peg.
I see another dry goods merchant, David S. Messinger, Esq.,
who left the counter to encounter the flood-tide of fortune,
awaiting his courage and judgment in real estate operations.
He bought for |22,000 a portion of the land my father sold to

26
Elisha Flagg, Esq., for |2,200, thus gaining a cipher in all
these 3'ears, but that cipher meant a fortune.
Through the mists of time I hear the war drums beat and
the tramp, tramp, tramp of marching feet. I hear Bull Run's
retreat and Ball's Bluff's blunder. I see the born commander.
General Devens, anxious most to save his command; and
when Willie Grout, saluting, said, "Is there anything more,
general, I can do?" he said, "Yes; save yourself," and he made
a heroic effort, but for the first time disobeyed the orders of
his superior and went down beneath the wave crimsoned with
his young life's blood.
I hear the groans of the wounded, and by the camp fire's light
and lantern dimly burning, I see Ward's beloved form dis
membered. Later in the culminating fight at Gettysburg, we saw all
that was left of Ball's Bluff's scattered heroes go down in
death, whose name has given title to a Grand Army Post,
and his form been cast in bronze on monumental shaft by his
loving comrades.
We see a Pickett guard of liberty, with courage so obtuse
that, like old Zach Taylor, he never knew when he was
whipped. When at the battle of Drury's Bluff, he found that
the lion's strength was too feeble to save his command, he
took to the cunning of the fox; he found the superior force
had flanked his right and was getting in the rear. Enveloped
in a dense fog, with only their legs belovs^ the knees visible,
he so instructed his command that, when he gave the order
to charge, every man should yell like three devils in one, and at
the word "halt!" to blaze at them and then follow him in a
right flank, double-quick march, and when the fog lifted, the
rebels confronted empty space and mortification, that they
had been outwitted by a cute Yankee, who held a license com
mission forbidding him to go within four hundred feet of a fail
ure. A sharp Pickett of the wicket of firm defense with level
head cool four hundred feet from school, grants a license; the
Rummies stand like mummies when he says "No," for there's
no revisal route, no back tracks; he knows what he's about
on foot or on horseback.
When Worcester evolved from the town to the city, 1848,

27
it placed at its head a name woven into its history and into
the history of old Massachusetts — Hon. Levi Lincoln. As a
young lawyer at the bar, his power of eloquence was acknowl
edged by judge and jury, and upon one occasion by an Irish
prisoner whose case he was presenting, who cried out from
the prisoner's box: "Mr. Linkhorn, Mr. Linkhorn, if you don't
leave my cha-rackter as good as you found it, I'll beat you
within an inch of your life," and he said, "I don't believe it
can be damaged," and went on.
Through the tearful lenses of a warm personal friendship,
I see as mayor, 1849, Hon. Henry Chapin, who ruled by heart
as well as head, but who in his prime said farewell to earth
to join his kind above.
I see Hon. Peter C. Bacon, 1851; Hon. John S. C. Knowlton
in command at the Orr riot, when everybody was scared to
death, but nobody hurt excepting High Sheriff Richardson,
struck on the head by a stone. But upon the appearance of
the Guards under Captain George H. Ward, and his command
to load with ball cartridges, the crowd melted like a fog away,
and the Orr war was ended.
Hon. George W. Richardson, 1855, removed his allegiance to
Nova Scotia at the suggestion of William Dickinson, Esq.,
that the climate of that section would be more congenial to
his health and happiness; and when some friends from this
state called on him, he expressed his pleasure at seeing them
as being greater than reading a chapter of Genesis. He died
in exile.
Hon. Isaac Davis, 1858-'C1, the great war mayor, who shoved
the troops to the front and ministered to their families left
behind. Hon. Alexander H. Bullock, 1862; Hon. W. W. Rice, who
passed through Congress, and later from earth away; Hon.
P. Emory Aldrich, 1862; Hon. D. Waldo Lincoln, 1864, an
honorable and successful government; Hon. Phinehas Ball,
1865, a very civil engineer, who engineered the government
with skill andtaughtthevirtuesnext to godliness, of cleanliness
and temperance, by giving it a plenty of cold water, but in short
:meter kindly made a meter to prevent the Continentals and such
from drinking it too much; Hon. James G. Blake, 1866, who

28
builded his monument in the high school building, and who,
alas! bade a sudden farewell to his legion of friends. Hon.
Edward Earle, 1871, the soft-voiced Quaker, but an efficient
officer and a good friend; Hon. George F. Verry, 1872, the
very embodiment of Continental glory, and the power behind
the throne of beauty, grace and sociability, made his court
a grand chapter of "good fellows;"' she still bears the name,
while he is pleading at the bar of the Court above.
Hon. Clark Jillson, 1873; Hon. E. L. Davis, 1874, stepped
into his fathers official shoes to find them none too big for
him to fill ; he wears the same size hat Deacon John P. Ket-
tell used to make for his honored sire. Hon. C. B. Pratt, 1877;
it grieved his soul to see the citizens making tracks on foot
through life's veil, and so he laid the trolley tracks to ride them
on a rail. Hon. F. H. Kelly, 1889, who ministered his hot
drops of energy and skill and made a healthy government;
Hon. E. B. Stoddard, 1882, of the 3rd Batt. fame, who
marches still in the ranks of life with spirit bold, but with a
halt in the gait that suggests the aristocratic rheumatics
vulgarly termed "gout."
Hon. S. E. Hilldreth, 1883; Hon. Chas. G. Reed, 1884; Hon.
Sam. "\"\"inslow, 1886, of generous fame; Hon. F. A. Harrington,
1891-'92, a descendant of that famous firm of "Francis and
Jonathan Harrington and John Gleason,"' who used to drive
a pair of old black horses that jogged along, but got there at
last, all the same. One day, they overtook Henry Paine, Esq.,
son of Judge Paine, who had a beautiful place, corner of Main
and Pleasant streets. Mr. Paine was very lame with a club
foot and walked with difficulty. JMr. Harrington said: "Mr.
Paine, won't you ride?"' "No, thank you; I'm in a hurry."
There is no wonder that the ex-mayor should retire to his
beautiful ancestral home on the banks of the beautiful Lake
Quinsigamond. Hon. Henry A. Marsh, the long term mayor
for the people, knew when they had a good thing and held
on to it until he resigned, and the people, like the Dutchman's
deceased wife, became resigned "because they had to be, you
know." Way back in time I see the familiar form of the city mar
shal, Frederick Warren, Esq., prompt and efficient in duty

29
and a favorite with the public; but alas! the friendly hand
from the visiting official from Charlestown, S. C, sent him to
his death by an accidental pistol shot. I see his father, "old
King Warren," who wore a half-tone shade between the Afri
can and the Caucasian. He was guardian of old Brinley hall,
that shrine of love, joy and song, alas! passed away to li^e
only in memory. His monument stands in Pearl street, as
Warren hall, builded by his friend and employer, Hon. George
Brinley of Hartford, Conn., who also built Brinley row. Dea
con Benjamin Butmau built Butman row, a wonder in its day,
which still stands as a monument to his narhe. Upon his death
the property passed into the hands of the genial keeper of the
Lincoln House, James H. Wall, Esq.
On the Buins of old Brinley hall we have seen a tower of
Babel rise skyward high, that should be surmounted with a
colossal statue of a Bullock rampant, cast in gold, as a per
manent investment, for his spirit bold "makes assurance
doubly sure," and insures fat dividends for the stockholders.
I see another city marshal, George Jones, Esq., who left a
vacuum in life when he passed on.
Just now we see another follower as head of the police, obey
ing the orders of the mayor, "Go up higher," and he doffs the
blue coat to don the raiments of the court. Major E. T. Ray
mond. We hail with gladness his successor. Colonel Drennan,
for we know that when he marches at the head of the column,
discipline and esprit de corps will follow in the rear. Colonel
Russell, officer of the court, "knows how 'tis himself," for he
has served a long time in state's prison upon the conviction
of the government that he was a fitting man for the place, as
head and keeper, but not as prisoner.
And the distinguished head of the court. Judge Utley, makes
his morning salutations to the bums before him: "What have
you to say to the charge against you?"' And they make their
little speech, "Not guilty, your honor," but the bleared eye
and tainted breath belie their words, and he says, "Thirty
days," and General Robert gets another boarder.
I see an ex-minister plenipotentiary and envoy extraordi
nary, who has retired on his honors, but who feels it good pol
icy to insure the public against any doubt of his loyal citizen-

30
ship and his gratitude, Colonel John D. Washburn, of genial,
Continental memory.
We see from far o'er the sea the arrival of the reverend
doctor of the Church Universal, that in its unbelief in fires
eternal made it to the Orthodox faith of old a band of here
tics; but now all join to hold the extinguisher of so cruel an
interpretation of God's boundless love. At his welcoming home
in the passing files to do to him reverence was the cloth of
every creed and faith joined in the broad platform of a more
generous brotherhood. In the parades of states of foreign
courts, his title of '"chaplain" with the rank of "captain," gave
him precedence, and when that uniform appeared, even
the robes of royalty were drawn aside to let him pass. There
is a universal desire to hear and see his enlightened views of
foreign travel; and the rush is so great that woe betide the
obituary man, the late Mr. Waite! Born a Gunnison, he in
herited from his father lock, stock, and barrel of a sound
faith with the polish of grace and eloquence.
In her winter robes, nature wears a yet more somber hue,
for one of her greatest lovers has bade adieu to earth and
gone home.
Her springtime flowers will offer up their morning incense
of fragrant gratitude as their tribute to the memory of our
park commissioner, Edward Winslow Lincoln, known to me
as an old school-boy friend, under the name of John W. Lin
coln, but having an illustrious uncle of that name (who set out
the trees on the Common and elsewhere), he preferred to make a
name for himself, and changed it to Edward Winslow Lin
coln. He has written his history better than pen can do in
the beautiful parks which adorn the city.
He wore a keen, Damascus sword of wit that never made
false thrusts, but struck home to the vitals of the understand
ing. The Horticultural Society unite with the public in mourning
the great loss of its long-time secretary, who has gone to add
another to the long roll who wore the honored name of Lin
coln, as president of the United States, of senators, governors,
generals, railroad presidents and as gallant officers of the
United States army and its navy.

31
While we rejoice at the recognition and reward of his zeal
and devotion, we sorrow also at the loss of the presence in our
midst of the good Father Conaty. I venture to insert herein
extracts of thought stirred in my soul by his magnificent
speech to the toast of "Our Flag" at a banquet of the Emmet
Guards at their anniversary celebration.

IRISH EMIGRATION.
One of the sublimest things of history is that of men born in a
foreign clime, under a foreign rule, yet obeying the impulses
of their soul, stirred by the spirit of liberty, following its guid
ing star over the sea to a new country to swear allegiance to a
new flag. The experience of the sire of Father Conaty, bear-
. ing his infant son over the sea, is that of thousands and tens
of thousands before and since. As he sailed the sea, he turned
his eye to the dome of night and caught sight of the Heavenly
Blue, spangled with stars of golden hue, and as he turned his
eye to the masthead, he saw fluttering there a condensed
photograph of that same heavenly blue and stars of golden
light, and his soul was moved to devotion, and he dropped
upon his knee to swear new-born devotion alike to that flag
sublime made by the Hand divine and to that other flag made
by our fathers, way back in the dark days of the Revolution,
and as he knelt, the spirit of American citizenship said unto
him, "Rise up, sir knight, throw away the shillalah of bond
age and take up the sword of liberty, and stand in the fore
ranks of the immortal host of freemen." Under the -flag, there
is room for the golden cross of Catholic faith and for the
spires of the cathedrals of every faith and creed and denomi
nation, and the pathways that lead from the doors of their
sanctuary all converge to the heavenly gates ajar; and when
a poor, life-worn pilgrim, following either path, arrives at the
gate, he needs not to present a certificate of admission into
any church of any faith, but only the pure, white soul of a lov
ing child of God to find ready and welcome admittance there;
for above the flag, above the church, above the priest, above
the bishop, above the very reverend doctor, above the pope, is

32
the ever living God, who made the heavens and the earth and
who made the soul of man for love, for faith, for hope and for
ambition"s noble aspirations.
Behind the historian, Hon. Wm. Lincoln, came a recorder
of the imagination, Chas. Hersey, Esq., and later a keen-scented
searcher of facts of ancient history, and presenting them in
attractive form for preservation — Nathaniel Paine, Esq. An
other historian and painter with the genius of his uncle, who
was drowned in attempting to swim under the bridge at Long
pond years ago, he paints pictures of beauty from life and
from the imagination, and searches out facts of the old inhab
itants and their old abodes to repeople Front and other streets
of the city — Major Frederick G. Stiles.
Franklin P. Rice, Esq., another indefatigable searcher of
the facts of historyf whose "Dictionary of Worcester"" is an in
valuable book.
I see the venerable historian, Caleb A. Wall, Esq. Never a
hound with a nose of keener sense for game than he for facts
of ancient history, or that runs closer on the scent when the
game was started. Through the jungles of the obscurity of
more than a century, he ran the history of Peter Slater to
cover and made him tell of the great Boston Tea Party of lib
erty, of December 17, 1773. He called the roll of all the hills
and gave them a "local habitation and name." He made fast
the tablets of memory to the old Bancroft home. He chased
the colt into the hole in the ground made by Colonel Binney
at the old Coal Mines, "and as he would not back out, he could
not turn round, he is supposed to be there still, sustained by the
carbon of the anthracite vein."
He called the roll of all the old abolitionists, and old John
Brown, Phillips, Garrison, Dr. Mey, Parker Pillsbury and
others answered, "Thou art our wall of defense and the vin
dicator of history. And when Caleb shall wrap the drapery
of the old Spy about him as his winding sheet and lie down
to pleasant dreams, there will be sung requiems to his memory.
Before the city was, in the far off, I see a little village of
beauty, nestling in the valley with its three thousand inhabi
tants, that has grown day by day, one step forward, never
backward; until to-day, with proud acclaim, it calls the roll

33
of a hundred thousand or more, and boasts anticipations of u
quarter of a million on its next centennial birthday.
And now and then I see a gray-haired veteran who has
traveled all the way from his first birthday to his holy sanct
uary of his affection.
And I see thousands upon thousands, native born and for
eigners, who have joined them on the way to earn a kinship
in its glories, to help bear its burden, to fill its post of duty,
which is the post of honor, whether filled by the honest hod-
carrier or by the highest officer of the municipal government,
as now, by a patriot soldier, whose valor, like his sword, has
been tempered in the hot blasts of war and found true blue.
(Swords and cutlery are tempered by the color; when true
blue, they are withdrawn from the fire.)
His soul has been schooled by a comradeship that never
forgets nor turns a deaf ear to a comrade's plaint of woe. He
knows how to command because he has learned how to obey.
I see the venerable, hard-worked treasurer, Wm. S. Barton,
Esq., standing undismayed at his post, while a long line of
tax-payers stretches across the street, armed with checks and
ready money. May he remain a great treasure to the city till
he pays the debt of nature.
I see the city solicitor, the more than busy Colonel Hopkins,
"whose opinion, as is an opinion," is none the less valuable be
cause it is on the bargain counter of the city to be had for the
asking, and who in the social game of life holds clubs as
trumps as president of the Worcester Club, backed by the
prestige of Continental glory and guarded by the anomaly of
a virtuous Gile.
Counselor F. P. Goulding, Esq., who had to take a back seat
on the steps of the new City Hall, comes to the front in any
vexed question of law, to argufy on the negative.
The city is fortunate in having its clerk in Towne all the
year round.
The list of honored mechanics is too long to be named in
full : The Washburns — Ichabod, Henry S. of poetical-soul, whose
"Vacant Chair" is in every household; Nathan, whose eye was
said (in irony) to have a cast-iron pupil that could see a wheel
within a wheel, but the wheel that pleases him most were the

34
wheels to his road wagon behind a span of splendid fleety
greys. The firm of I. Washburn & Co. was blended into the in
corporated company of Washburn, Moen & Co., who have
stretched their barbed wire fence all along the nation's
boundary line to fence in the territory of their business stamp
ing ground, and in their great mowings they have cut a big
swath to make hay while the sun shines, and have stretched
from pole to pole the electric highway whereon the lightning
runs with busy feet, in fiery sandals shod, to whisper words of
love in listening ears thousand miles away.
^"S'illiam Hovey, as told before; Melver Bros, and Samuel
Bond; Wood, Light & Co.; Cromptons, father and sons;
Knowles; Heywood, always on his taps, whole-souled, and
durable. The spirit of enterprise and of energy of the past is nobly
sustained by the mechanics of to-day.
It gladdens the heart of a true lover to feel that it will ever
be the home of noble manhood, of living motherhood, of beauti
ful womanhood and of witching girlhood.
R. C. Taylor, Esq., the great real estate king, has done much
to beautify the city. He has taken Front street under his
special charge. 'Tis said he has at least one piece of ground
without a mortgage, his lot in the cemetery, where, when death
forecloses, he can retain, free from interest and taxation.
'Tis said skates have come down since the voters let them
slide. The ice was too thin; they all broke in; the rest ran
away in a General panic. Well, 'tis often so; some men al
ways Win-slow. The alphabet A. B. R. S. spells victory, and
good government.
HOME.
Word that stirs the heart beat
Where'er, on wand'ring feet,
Through the wide world we roam,
Says "there is no place lilse home."
The mother smiles the light
That through the day and the night,
Guides loving hearts that roam,
Back to the old fireside at home.

35
And when life',s uiarc-h is o'er
And weary feet tramp no inoro,
"\^'ith grateful liearts may we come
To thy mansions, Father, home.
The "SN'orcester Continentals celebrated Washington's birth
day (February 22nd) by a reunion at their headquarters. Con
tinental hall, with a fine collation, tables of whist and an ad
dress on Lincoln and Washington delivered (by invitation) by
Comrade Hathaway, and their kind flattery and their desire
to have it appear in print make him feel that it is worth pres
ervation, and it is tendered as a tribute of gratitude and af
fection from a member from their first birthday, 1876.
While all regretted the absence of their gallant commander,
Colonel Gile, yet they are resigned in the hope that he is gath
ering material for a glorious smoke talk when he comes march
ing home.
By an arrangement with them it is printed as an appendix
to this volume, without increasing the price of the book from
50 cents per volume.

BIRTHDAY ADDRESS ON LINCOLN AND
WASHINGTON.
February, the shortest month in all the year, holds the two
most important birthdays of American history — of Washing
ton and Lincoln, the opposites and in many respects the
equals: one the stately grandeur of southern chivalry, the
other the boundless humanity of the new-born west. One
born in the aristocracy of wealth, the other in the democracy
of poverty. One the polished diamond, the other the gem in
the rough. One building the temple of a new nation on the
foundation of a matchless Constitution, the other preserving that
temple with its Constitution inviolate. One rearing the glory flag
of thirteen stars, the other maintaining that flag in glory un-
dimmed, with its thirty odd stars of combined union. The
one the all-rounded human god reared on a pedestal above the
common people to be gazed at, admired and worshipped afar;

36
the other, of the people, from their loins upspringing, with
every fibre of his heart beating in sympathy with their every
hope, their every sorrow, their ever unfaltering faith in God
and the right. The new-born millions of people, heteroge
neous in birth, hailing from every clime beneath the sun, peo
pling a boundless territory, new since Washington, whose
realm of government was but a township in comparison. Both
incorruptible in integrity', of unselfish patriotism; the one
putting aside the offered crown of a king, to wear the diadem
of a private citizen; the other putting aside all the ambitions
of life, of love, of boundless patriotism, to wear the martyr"s
crown of glory.
A 9raftsman on the western rivers cultivates the inborn
sagacity that guides his craft mid the currents and counter-
currents of life's running stream, and when the hour of the
nation's doom struck, forth came the man to meet it.
Wise above his fellows with the wisdom drawn from the
open book of nature, boundless in faith in a God of love, justice
and mercy, walking humbly, seeing no reason why "the spirit
of mortal should be proud" and with vainglory puffed up;
bowing obediently the neck to the yoke of care, anxiety and
responsibility, yet exercising that God-given preservative
power of throwing off the burdens of worry and laying aside
the dignity of state, at times, to down on his knees with little
Thad to play at ten-pins and knock over the mimic-men as in
hi.s judgment he in life knocked over sycophants that fawned
upon him and the critics who would rend him. Never schem
ing for self-aggrandizement, but tenacious of the honors due
his office, teaching by quiet firmness the aspiring ambitions —
including the fiery Stanton — that the chief was the chief, and
must be respected as the chief. To the rank and file of the
army he was an idol of affection, as Washington was to the
army of the Revolution almost a god of reverence and of wor
ship. Twin brothers of immortality, with one loving Father —
God; one beloved mother — their country.
Many of the reverend clergy, men of learning, who could
translate the Lord's Prayer into Latin and Greek, said: "He
has no reverence," but they could not translate that prayer
into their souls and assimilate it into their very beings as he

37
did, and make it the daily rations of his life. When he prayed,
"Give us this day our daily bread," he knew what he was ask
ing; he knew the day's burdens and its trials, and he modestly
asked only one day's rations of God's beneficence, having faith
that each day's prayer would bring each day's sustenance.
And when he prayed, "Lead us not into temptation, but de
liver us from evil," he felt the pulling and the hauling, the back
ing and the filling of the demagogues who would sway him to
their will, and he stood up in the Fourth of July independence
of his soul, a king above them all. When sickly sentimentality
complained to him that General Grant drank whiskey, it
flashed into his soul, "Can that be the spirit that gives him his
indomitable energ'y, his oversight of the uncounted legions
of his command and keeps them all in hand, that plans great
campaigns and with bull-dog tenacity never lets go his hold?"
and he said: "Tell me the brand he uses and I will order some
for every corps commander of the army."
And when, 'mid all the duties and the burdens of command,
there came to him the wail of a little, footsore pilgrim who
had traveled her long, weary way to plead for the life of a
beloved brother, doomed to execution for sleeping at his post,
came to tell him why he slept — from sheer, physical exhaus
tion — for on the long march, he had carried not only his own
musket, but that of a poor feeble comrade by his side, scarcely
able to bear the march alone, without the burden of his gun,
his gentle tender woman heart comprehended the situation,
and he said: "We can't spare such soldiers as that," and he
flashed the lightning order to the proper officer:
"Stay the execution of Private John Wells; he is pardoned;
send him here for promotion. (Signed) "ABRAHAM LINCOLN."
Through all the storms of war, he held the halliards firm
that rung Old Glory to the topmost peak; and at the final
victory, he gazed one fill on its effulgent glory and went aloft
to make all fast in freedom's cause forever.
Strickeh down by the mad zeal of a. lunatic, and as he laid
his head in the lap of the great delineator of the tragedies of
master minds "to falter forth, gasp by gasp, his great

3«
soul" in the greatest tragedy since Calvary, the North felt it
was fortunate for the South that the event had not occurred
while the armies were in the field; or else the frenzied, mad
dened host of northern soldiers, who mourned a beloved com
mander stricken down by the treachery of crazy zeal, would
not have brooked the control of discipline; but would have left
the South a blackened, smouldering ruin, with only the dark
clouds of flap-winged buzzards hovering o'er it."
But, thank God, the better spirit of the South repudiated
the foul deed of the suicide of their cause by the murder of
their best friend. And it is well that the days of February
12th and 22d should be celebrated in every city, town and
hamlet of the land; and that the theme should be "Lincoln
and ^A'ashington," and the toast, "The humanity of divinity
and the divinity of humanity."
February 22d, 1897.

YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

9002 03027 0244