1884 numbers of the Bay state monthlyBe the first and subjects of first 10 volumes and List of por.

The Granite monthly, a New Hampshire magazine, devoted to literature, history, and state progress (Volume 53) online

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Divine blessing was asked by Rev.
Ephraim Peahody, D. D., rector of
King's Chapel, Boston, native of the
town of Milton.

was the



The following



BILL OF FARE

Boiled

Ham,

Tongue,

Saltpetred Beef,

Turkeys — Oyster Sauce,

Mutton — Caper Sauce



Entrees

Fricando Veal — -Tomato Sauce,

Fricasee Chicken,

Fscalloped Oysters,

Curried Chickens,

Oyster Patties,

Sweet Breads — Larded,

Chicken Salad,

Boned Turkeys

Roast



Beef,


Chickens


Veal,


Ducks


Lamb,


Mongrel Geese


Turkeys,


Mountain Geese




Game


Black Ducks,


Partridges


Wood Ducks,


Quails


\\ kigeons






Vegetables


Squash,


Turnips


Potatoes,


Celery




Pastry


Washington F


ies, Custards


Mince Pies,


Charlotte Russe


Apple Pies,


Meringues


Cranberry Pie


?, Cocoanut Cakes


Peach Pies,


Pound Cakes


Squash Pies,


Fruit Cakes


Quince Pies,


Charlotte D'Orcey




Desserts


Ice Cream,


Raisins


Jellies,


Figs


Apple-,


Grapes


Oranges,


Pears



Nuts
Lemonade and Coffee

At the conclusion of the repast, at
about six o'clock, thanks were re-
turned by Rev. Baron Stow, D. D.,
of Boston, eminent Baptist clergy-
man, native of Croydon, who, by the
way, delivered the oration at the
Centennial celebration in the latter
town in 1866.

Immediately after Mr. Webster
arose and delivered the opening
speech, in the nature of an address
of welcome. He spoke for more than
half an hour with his accustomed



328



THE GRANITE MONTHLY



eloquence, recounting, to some ex-
tent. New Hampshire's part in the
history of the nation, and the record
of some of her distinguished sons.

Following Mr. Webster, many
other speakers were heard in res-
ponse to toasts prepared by a com-
mittee appointed for the purpose.

The first of these was:

New Hampshire! Our common
mother! Home of our brightest, hap-
piest hours! Thy hills and valleys, thy
woods and streams, and all the pleas-
ant memories are ever with us.
"Where'er we roam , whatever realms

we see,
Our hearts untrammelled, fondly turn to

Thee."

This was responded to by Hon.
Levi Woodbury, Associate Justice of
the U. S. Supreme Court, native of
Francestown, who but for his un-
timely death would undoubtedly have
been New Hampshire's candidate for
the Democratic nomination for Presi-
dent of the United States in 1852,
which honor ultimately went to Gen.
Franklin Pierce.

The second toast was "The Com-
monwealth of Massachusetts," res-
ponded to by Hon. Marshall P. Wild-
er, of the Executive Council of that
State, native of the town of Rindge ;
while the third was "Boston and its
Inhabitants," responded to by the
Mayor of that city. Hon. John B.
Bigelow, not a New Hampshire
native, who in the course of his fe-
licitous remarks expressed his sur-
prise at seeing so many men, well
known to him, and prominent in all
the walks of life in the New Eng-
land metropolis, who claimed New
Hampshire as their birthplace.

The fourth toast — "The Govern-
ment of our Native State"-— was res-
ponded to by Hon. Joel Parker,
Royall Professor of Law in the Har-
vard Law School at Cambridge,
formerly of Keene, and Chief Justice
of the Supreme Court of New Hamp-
shire from 1838 to 1848.



( >ther speakers called out included
Gen. Henry A. S. Dearborn, son of
Gen. Henry Dearborn of Revolution-
ary fame, Ex-Governor and U. S.
Senator Henry Hubbard of Charles-
town, Senator John P. Hale, Gen.
James Wilson of Keene, member of
Congress, William Plummer, Jr., and
Hon. Levi Chamberlain of Keene.

At a late hour, after all the re<ju-
lar toasts had been responded to.
President Webster, again addressed
the assembled company at some
length and called the first vice presi-
dent, Hon. Marshall P. Wilder, to
the chair, who upon assuming the
duties of his position, offered the
following sentiment, which was re-
ceived with enthusiastic applause :

"The President of the Day! It re-
quired the united wisdom of the Con-
federacy to frame the Constitution. It
was reserved for our native state to fur-
nish its ablest expounder and defender."

Several other speakers were heard
before the gathering separated and
many letters and sentiments, for-
warded by prominent men invited,
but unable to attend, were read.

It will he noted that only men were
in attendance, it being characterized
as a meeting of the "Sons of New
Hampshire," but one woman con-
tributed a poem for the occasion,
Airs. Sarah J. Hale, native of New-
port, later for many years editor of
"Godey's Lady's Book, " the first im-
portant woman's magazine in the
country. The poem was as fol-
lows :

Our Granite Hills

What glowing thoughts, what glowing
theme

To mountain tops belong!
The law from Sinai's summit came.

From Sion sacred song.
And Genius on Parnassian height

His banner first unfurled,
And from the seven hilled city waved
^ The sword that swayed the world.
Then let us raise the hymn of praise;

To us the hills were given;
And mountain-tops are altars set

To lift the soul to heaven!



SONS OF N. H. FESTIVAL



329



Though Europe's plains are crushed
with chains.

As every tyrant wills,
Yet Freedom's light is flashing bright

Along Helvetia's hills;
And should our eagle stoop his wing

O'er prairie, plain or sea,
Mount Washington an eyrie holds

Of deathless Liberty!
Then let us raise the song of praise;

To us the heights are given;
Our granite hills are altars set

To lift our hopes to heaven.

The reading of this poem follow-
ed the presentation of the following
sentiment, offered by the Rev. Dr.
Stow:

"Mrs. Sarah Josepha Hale: A gem
from the primitive rock of our native state
set in the coronet of a Nation's literature."

Among the writers of the many
letters received, some of which were
read, while all were printed in the
volume of reported proceedings, were
Hon. Samuel Appleton, founder of
Lowell, native of New Ipswich, Hon.
Lewis Cass, Senator from Michigan,
native of Exeter, Hon. Moses Nor-
ris. Jr., Senator from New Hamp-
shire, Gen. James Miller of Temple,
hero of Lundy's Lane. Hon. William
Plumer, Ex-Governor of New
Hampshire, Hon. Samuel Dinsmoor
of Keene, Governor; Hon. Arthur
Livermore of Plymouth, Ex-Chief
Justice New Hampshire Supreme
Court; Hon. Charles H. Atherton of
Amherst, ex-Congressman ; Hon.
Charles G. Atherton, Ex-United
States Senator; Hon. John Sullivan
of Exeter, Attorney General; Gen.
Franklin Pierce, Ex-Senator and
later President of the United States;
Hon. Joseph Healey of Washington,
Ex-Congressman; Hon. Andrew S.
Woods of Bath, Justice of the Sup-
reme Court; Hon. Matthew Harvey
of Hopkinton, Ex-Governor; Hon.
Edmund Burke of Newport, Ex-
Congressman and Ex-Commissioner
of Patents, then editor of the Wash-
ington Union, with many others.

In the latter part of the volume
in which the account of this festival
is published is a list of the names
of all the men present, with the



towns of their birth, their occupa-
tion, and the years in which they
(the most of them) left the state for
Massachusetts, the same occupying 28
pages of fine type.

This notable gathering of the
Sons of New Hampshire, in Boston,
nearly 72 years ago, the first of the
kind of which there is any record,
and the like of which has never since
been held so far as known, though it
was resolved at the time that another
be held in three years, was un-
doubtedly the precursor of the "New
Hampshire Club." so called, made up
mainly of New Hampshire men in
Boston and vicinity, which was or-
ganized some years later, and main-
tained an existence, on paper at
least, up to the beginning of the
present century, with regular meet-
ings in some years, and occasional
ones in others, at which the mem-
burs got together for dinners and so-
cial intercourse.

It was through his association with
this club, undoubtedly, that the late
Gov. Frank W. Rollins, conceived
the idea of "Old Home Week" in
New Hampshire, with the attendant
reunion of the sons and daughters
of the several towns during that
festival period, and which led him,
soon after to take a leading part in
the organization of the New Hamp-
shire Exchange Club, made up of
New Hampshire men and women,
which opened headquarters in the old
Norwell house on Walnut Street in
Boston in 1903, and attained a mem-
bership of several hundred, with an
interesting career for several years,
but has for some time past been in
a condition of "innocuous desue-
tude;" so that it has fallen to the
women alone to keep New Hamp-
shire "on the map" in the social life
of the metropolis, which is done
through the activities of the Society
of "New Hampshire's Daughters,"
which is a live organization,
thoroughly inbued with the spirit
of the old Granite State.



HIGH LAND



By Kenneth B. Murdoch



When the Judge began to build bis
bouse on the bill, Simon Murray
still lived on, deep-eyed and silent, in
tbe quaint broad-roofed farmhouse
across tbe road where his father's
death bad left him master thirty
years before. Beyond his stone
walls nothing remained of old Edge-
ware except the unkempt pastures
where garden roses wantonly strag-
gled in the coarse, long grass, and an
occasional gaping cellar hole was
decently veiled by ragged lilac
bushes. Progress for the village had
been downward; tbe pastures and
sheep pens on the high land had given
way to the freight ho'use and tbe
spool factory in . tbe valley. From
tbe sturdily built square houses on
the bill pastures, tbe village had
sought first the stage line and then
the railroad beside the river, until
modern Edgeware came to be clus-
tered neatly along tbe the sandy road
beneath the electric lights strung
from their unpainted poles.

Yet old Simon still clung to the
hillside, and "the people from down
below," led by the Judge, had passed
the village by, to build their summer
bouses on the slopes above. Public
opinion in Edgeware for once found
no expression for its feelings, for
tbe Judge's fame, heralded even
there, and the same shrewd kindli-
ness that had won him success in tbe
cities, bad achieved for him in the
village a reticent but admiring fol-
lowing. He became, unconsciously,
the champion of the "summer folks,"
and convictions as to their folly, how-
ever deeply felt, were rarely heard
expressed. More important still,
and even less to be spoken of, Simon
Murray's devotion to tbe hill farm
made criticism of the new comers im-
possible unless some injury was to be
done to local pride. The village was
strongly conscious of its identity — a



native was a native — and that Simon
was Edgeware through and through
no one could doubt. Tbe Murray
family story was common knowledge,
and their pride of ancestry, like tbe
social supremacy of the Congrega-
tional Church, was a fact to be un-
hesitatingly accepted. So "old Mur-
ray" and the Judge, in quite different
ways, saved some prestige for the
bill in Edgeware eyes.

Whatever their partnership in this,
the Judge found Simon curiously be-
yond reach. To the old man, as his
early neighbors had been deserters, so
tbe newcomers from the city were
invaders without right. He hotly
refused to sell tbe Judge an inch of
his land, and the Ford farm that he
bad bought when the last of the old
hill families bad moved down into
tbe valley, was no less fiercely cher-
ished. Inclined to resent bis attitude
at first, with more knowledge of Si-



mon the



fudge's



feeling



:bantred.



There were times, indeed, when the
story of tbe Murrays and this last
tenant of their hill farm seemed to
him profoundly stirring.

From town legend and printed his-
tory he already knew of the days
when Edgeware bad meant tbe bill,
and when tbe Murray elms bad been
tbe tallest, their lilacs the sweetest,
and their roses tbe pride of tbe
county. Tbe migration to the val-
ley, the coming of the mill, and tbe
yielding of tbe old houses to storms
or fire, were matters of common re-
cord. It was Ellen, though, who
gave tbe Judge most of what he
sought, for her shy speeches outlin-
ed vividly for him the picture of
Simon Murray. Through her eyes
he first knew the stern and silent
father whose loneliness she had
shared through the twelve years since
her mother's death. At first when
be used to find her picking berries



HIGH LAND



331



near his wall, she had been too timid
to speak, but little by little under his
gentle eyes she had found soft voic-
ed answers to his greetings.

Simply as she spoke he thought he
could see behind her words the fear
she knew in the face of her father's
tense devotion to his land and the
stony bill, and he fancied that at
times Ellen must have found Simon's
words harsh in her ears.

"He says we're in mourning," she
told him, "Mourning for the folks
who used to have these farms. He
says they're cowards to leave the
clean hills and move down to the
valley. When he talks so, and points
down the hill, sometimes he fright-
ens me."

The Judge, fearful of disturbing
the directness of her revelation,
never knew quite what to say to her.

"Is he always sad," he asked
once, "Doesn't he ever smile or
laugh with you?"

She smiled at the thought.

"No, he never does. Never with
me, that is. Rut," her voice told of
her patient failure to understand,
"when he looks out at his sheep up
in the top pasture, he sometimes
kind of smiles."

And one day while she was tell-
ing him of Simon's years of strug-
gling to plough the Ford fields and
to save the dignity of the old farm-
house from decay, there came the
note of the noon whistle at the fac-
tory in the valley. The sound was
very mellow and soft in the clear
west breeze, but Ellen shivered.

"I hate to hear it," she explained,
"It sets him off so. He can't bear
that whistle. When it blows I'm
afraid to look at him."

However much these scraps of her
talk revealed, it was not till the last
bitter drop of his defeat drove Simon
blindly, desperately, to the new neigh-
bor he scorned, that the Judge found
the story taking shape. Suddenly he
found that what he knew, and what
he guessed at, wove themselves to-



gether till the old man's strange visit
seemed simply their inevitable climax.

From the valley had returned
Clark Ford, son of the last»Ford, to
live in the old hill homestead. He
came not to buy back the farm his
father had sold to Simon, but to
walk the grass grown hill road with
Ellen. Often the cold moonlight
showed the Judge the couple under-
neath the boughs of the gaunt grey
orchard, and the tongues of gossip
wagged bravely in the village, until
one evening beside the old rose-
bushes his fathers planted, Clark won
from Ellen a half revealed and timid
promise.

To Simon the news had brought
one wild moment when hope flamed
high in his heart. Kindly he greet-
ed the young man, stifling the mem-
ory of his father's desertion of the
hill, and almost tenderly he pat-
ted Ellen's hand with his hard, brown
fingers. Boldly at first, then tremu-
lous with the power of his dream,
he gave voice to his longing, and told
Clarke to take her if he would pro-
mise to maintain the hill farm.

"I'm old now," he went on, while
Clark and Ellen both paled before his
eagerness, "But I've fought too long
to give in. Take her and the farm,
too. Keep it up, make it grow, and
with young blood it will grow. Give
me that to die on. Let me know I've
left my job in strong hands. And
Ellen'll help you. She's a good girl,
and she's never lived anywhere else—
and, by God ! she never shall !"

Shamefaced at his own heat, he
stopped. What Clark said the
Judge could only guess. Somehow
Simon's amazed perception had
seized the fact that a man dared to
dream of marrying his Ellen only
to abandon the hill and the farm, and
with them, as he would have sworn,
life and honor. Take his daughter
down to the village, down to that
swarm of traitors to the soil — blind-
ly he left the house, crossed the door-
yard, and somehow found his way



332



THE GRANITE MONTHLY



across the road. In his eyes was the
vision of the collapse of his world,
and in his passion he may have for-
gotten the hitter changes and dream-
ed that the light on the knoll still
sin me from a loyal farmer neigh-
bor's lamp. Whatever the reason,
a moment later he burst into the
softly lighted living room of the
Judge. It was thus he paid his first
visit to his nearest neighbor, and it
was here in this quiet room beneath
the eyes of his shrewd but puzzled
host, that he last saw Clark.

Emotional outbreaks are rare in
Edgeware, and persistence a common
virtue. Accordingly, Clark, mildly
wondering, but shaken far more by
Ellen's terror than by her father's
outburst, had followed patiently
across the road, knocked, and then
walked silently in. He found the
old man ready to meet him. The
sight of the strange room, the mem-
ory of it when it had served a fellow
townsman, brought back to him in a
hot wave of shame and bitterness the
consciousness of where he was and
what had happened. But he had
dignity enough to master the situa-
tion and to face Clark before this
strange fireside, calmly, and with
some memory of what was due his
host. Out of his ancestry shrewd
thoughts came to him, and with them
inspiration.

"Judge," he said, "I've got some
law business with him. Can you
draw me up a paper?"

With the instinct born of the
habit of generations, he sat down be-
side the Judge's littered table, for
your true Edgeware native can never
bargain till he is seated. Facing him
across the hearth sat Clark, ill at
ease in strange surroundings, but with
his puzzled attitude slowly harden-
ing into one of defiance.

"Write me a paper where 1 can
promise him," said Simon, nodding
across the hearth toward Clark, "to
give him without payment the Ford
house — his family's old house before



his father left the hill — with all the
land. Set down that with the house
I give him Ellen as his wife." He
stopped, and then, gazing steadfast-
ly down at the hearth, went on, "But
make it say that this gift is only on
condition that he agrees to live either
on my place or the Fords', and that
he agrees to work them both, for
twenty years. If he don't agree, he
gets nothing, house, land, or Ellen."

Simon stood up.

"And if he don't agree I warn him
now before you that if he ever sets
foot in my house or on my land
again, I'll shoot him. And one
thing more. He knows if he don't
agree it's because he's a coward, and
because his blood's too thin to stick
by land and homes that are worth
more than any clap-trap mill town
that ever grew out of mud and saw-
dust. It's because he's ashamed to
work like a man for what he gets and
the woman he loves. It's be-
cause he's content to see his town and
his state go to mill-men and shop
girls and money grubbers without
one decent man who knows the land
and loves it. You hear that, Judge,
and when he answers let him answer
me before you."

He was standing very stiffly, and
his face was hard, but the Judge al-
ways said that his eyes were sad, and
that he saw him tremble.

Clark was plainly uneasy, but af-
ter the manner of his race, he knew
how to hide emotion behind a mask
of indifferent inattention. Only his
tapping fingers on the arm of his chair
and a slow flush that rose to his
cheeks, gave warning that in his pla-
cid nature there glowed a lingering
spark of feeling. He spoke dully,
taking refuge in a worn and familiar
phrase, "I don't know's I care to



sign.



The Judge confessed afterward
the situation was beyond him. Not
a word on any legal aspect of the
question had he been able to inter-
ject, and his amazed interest had



HIGH LAND



333



carried him far beyond the point of
wishing to interrupt. But he was
fascinated by Simon's immobility and
the rigid intensity of the look he
turned on Clark. Silence fell, and it
seemed as though the little watch in
its case 011 tic mantel ticked more
deliberately and more loudly than the
most venerable grandfather's clock
that had ever graced the oldest house
on the hill. Clark crossed his knees
nervously. Simon still stood staring
slowly at him. The Judge picked up
a pen and a sheet of paper.

"I don't know's you'll need that,"



said Clark again.



"I



gue be



going along." He rose and turned
toward the door.

"Sure?" asked the Judge. "I
can't advise till I know what this is
all about, but it seems as though
something might be done, and I'm
sure Mr. Murray's threats— — ."

lie felt Simon's hand on his arm,
and Simon's voice checked his. "Let
him go !"

A step took the old man to Clark's
side.

"Let him go! But mind me! One
foot on my place and your life's not
worth the powder it'll cost to take it.
But you won't come. Not you.
You're like all the rest. You're no
man. You're a coward! If you
ever turn a hand for good to the land
that made this town and this state,
it'll he because you're scared into it.
And until you do, never climb this
hill again !"

Clark had turned, his back against
the door, and now he smiled, a faint,
dull smile.

"Well, Squire Murray," he said,
"can't say's 1 see your point, and it
don't seem to me as if your w r ay's
the best way. I ain't so sure your
town's all there is in this world, or
this state, and I ain't so sure your hill
is all there is to Edgeware. But
Ellen—

The smile had died out, and his



face seemed colder than the dead
ashes on the Judge's hearth. •

"She says she won't come with me,
unless you say, and that I ain't to
come here till you do. Perhaps I
ain't so scared of your gun as I
might he, hut I don't think I'll bother
you much from now on, and I doubt
if I'll he hack till you'll be glad to
have me."

He fumbled a little awkwardly
with the latch, and let himself out
into the quiet starlit dooryard. For
a moment he stooped and sniffed the
rosebush by the door. Then be
walked steadily to the road, and the
Judge and Simon together watched
him disappear behind the apple tree
at the bend.

How the story got out no one
knows to-day. It was not till the
postmaster gave him a distorted ver-
sion of what he had heard and seen
three days before, that the Judge ad-
mitted any knowledge of the affair.
Clark had left town on the morning
train the day after his strange fare-
well to the hill, and had spoken to no
one before his going. Simon was
chopping fiercely in his woodlot, and
did not come near the village. Yet
everyone talked of it. Every woman
in town either pitied Ellen or blamed
her for "leading Clark a rig," and
every man commented in more or less
characteristic fashion on the vagaries
of "< )ld Murray" or the "foolheaded-
ness" of young Ford.

By the time Ellen fell sick, the
verdict of the village had been pro-
nounced. ( )ld Murray, once re-
garded merely as "queer," was now
confidently summed up in the
phrase, "he ain't right." Clark was
declared to have done wisely in re-
fusing to bind himself for the sake
of a "little slip like Ellen," but to
have erred grievously in deserting
Edgeware to disappear suddenly as
he had done. Ellen's pneumonia
gave more fuel for gossip at the dull-



334



THE GRANITE MONTHLY



est time of the year when the ice has
heen cut and the roads are still too
soft for travel. For three days in-
terest in the case ran high, hut the
patient old village doctor was as un-
communicative as his solemn horse.
Then came a cold spring day when
the Congregational minister went up
to the old upland cemetery with its
crumbling stones, and prayed with a
tall, gaunt, white-haired man over
the plain pine box which served as a
coffin for his only daughter. So El-
len was buried on the hillside and so
Edgeware learned of her death.

Somewhere out of the more tender
recesses of the village heart came a
great and abiding pity for the girl,
and a shamefaced recognition that
here had perished romance, and that
in Edgeware a girl had died of a
broken heart. Yet gossip was still,
for no one who saw Simon in his in-
frequent visits to the store could fail
to realize that tragedy was here, but
that it was his, and that it was in the
nature of profanation for other lips
than his to speak of it beyond the
old house near the little graveyard on
the hill.

The Judge, alone, could not settle
things as easily as did the village.
Night after night he saw again the
scene by his hearth, and night after
night he thought differently of it.
Pity for Clark and admiration for
his independence took possession of
him at times, but he could never rid



Online Library1884 numbers of the Bay state monthlyBe the first and subjects of first 10 volumes and List of porThe Granite monthly, a New Hampshire magazine, devoted to literature, history, and state progress (Volume 53) → online text (page 35 of 57)