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 (iX-'i^v ^ 
 
 BUCKLAND CENTENNIAL, 
 
 September 10, 1879. 
 
 -o- 
 
 ADDRESSES, POEMS, SONGS, &c. 
 
 The celebration of Bnckland's Centennial on Wednesday, Sept. 
 10, 1879, will long be remembered as one of the most pleasant 
 occasions in tlie history of Franklin count}'. The day dawned 
 beautiful after a night of clouds and storm, and thus contributed 
 in no small degree to the grand success. Although no appropria- 
 tion to defray the expenses of the Centennial had been made by 
 the town, interested citizens had taken the matter in hand, and had 
 by their individual efforts arranged for a celebration becoming so 
 important an event in its annals. The Committee who had the 
 matter in charge were, Frederick Forbes, J. B. Frost, J. A. Rich- 
 mond, G. K. Ward, R. W. Field. 
 
 The exercises were inaugurated about half past 9 in the morning 
 by forming a column near the bridge in Shclburne Falls. It was 
 headed by a squad of mounted police under Deputy Sheriff H. S. 
 Swan ; then followed the Shelburne Falls Band, Henry Sweet, 
 leader ; Chief Marshal, Frederick Forbes ; Aids, Captain F. W. 
 Merriam, E. C. Frost, E. J. Stockwell, A. W. Ward ; the Green- 
 leaf Guards, commanded by Lieut. T. Cronan. A cavalcade oi 
 citizens brought up the rear, and under the escort as above pro- 
 
r' 
 
 :^f 
 
 ceeded to Bowen's Grove, about three-quarters of a mile up the 
 Deerfield river on the Buekland side. This grove is now owned by 
 Joel Thayer, is surrounded b}' open fields, with the merry waters 
 of the Deerfield close by and the green wooded hills of Coleraiue 
 looming up beyond. It was soon apparent that the good people 
 were coming from all the country' around, not only from the hills of 
 Buekland and her neighboring towns, but from a distance as well. 
 Among the latter were Prof. W. F. Sherwin, of Newark, N. J., 
 once a Buekland boy and now famous in the musical world ; Dr. 
 Gardner Wilder, of Circleville, Ohio, Rev. Samuel W. Clark, of 
 Holyoke, Samuel Tobej-, of Michigan, and others, who desired to 
 show their filial love for the old town b}^ joining in the celebration. 
 One of the guests of the day was Miss Julia Ward, the present 
 Principal of Mount Hol3"oke Seminar}^, who sought in this way to 
 pa}^ a tribute to the memory of Mar^- Lyon, the founder of the 
 Seminary and Buckland's most ftimous daughter. The longevit}" of 
 Buekland people is proverbial, and among those present who had 
 grown up with the town almost from its incorporation, were Moses 
 Nelson, alluded to in the address of the orator of the day as the last 
 pupil who was under the instruction of his mother, and wlio is now in 
 his eighty-eighth year ; Dea. Silas Trowbridge, who is now eight}'- 
 two ; Luther Pratt, about eighty-three ; Hiram Dodge, who lives 
 just over the line in the "edge of Hawley," eighty ; Andrew But- 
 ler, eight3'-two ; Ezra Sherwin, seventy-five ; MissParney Brooks, 
 eighty-two, and Mrs. Fanny Richmond, eighty-one. It is estima- 
 ted that the gathering numbered upwards of three thousand people. 
 A portion found room on the seats provided, but many sat upon 
 the ground, forming a semi-circle about the speakers's stand, while 
 others stood or sat in their vehicles on the borders of the throng. 
 The people were finally called to order, and rising, luider the di- 
 rection of Prof. Sherwin sang "America" with true heartiness and 
 fervor. Divine blessing was invoked by the Rev. Mr. Jagger, of 
 Shelburne Falls. Capt. J. A. Richmond, the President of the 
 Da}', then made the following i \ 'I '■ ^ f^ 
 
 ADDRESS OF WELCOME. 
 The record of the century for the town of Buekland is finished. 
 The clock of centuries has struck one, — its echoing peals yet float 
 along our valle3's and linger on our hill-tops. _ Under the length- 
 ening shadows of the old we sweep into the new. Standing to-day 
 upon the threshold of tlie young century, we would fain pierce the 
 
 ( ?898. ■ 
 
misty veil just before us, and read tlie prospectus. But tlie eye of 
 man cannot penetrate the veil, the hand of man cannot turn the 
 page. But we ma^' look back, and review and live over the past 
 scenes of the old. 
 
 We may look back to the time when the wild beast roamed at 
 will over the length and breadth of this town ; to the time when 
 the ax of Naham Ward first awakened the echoes and startled the 
 wild beasts in this unbroken wilderness ; to the time when the first 
 child was born ; to the time when the first grave was dug ; to the 
 time when the church bell first awakened the echoes of these hills 
 and valleys. For this we have gathered to-da}', and assembled on 
 the banks of the historic Deorfield, once the highway of the red 
 man over the Hoosac Mountain to the Mohawk Valle}', now the 
 highway of the nation under the Hoosac Mountain, from the east 
 to the west. We have gathered here to-day to live over and bid 
 adieu to the old and hail the new. We are happy and proud to 
 have with us here to-day some of the sons and daughters of Buck- 
 laud, who went forth from amongst us to fill places assigned them 
 Jby destiny in other parts of our common country. Yon have come 
 back to us to-daj', from the bus}', hurrying city that your energ}' and 
 talent have helped to build up. You come from the sunny South 
 and from the gi-anite hills of the North ; 3'ou come troni the shores 
 of the sounding sea, and from the almost boundless and majestic- 
 prairies of the west, — from wherever there is a demand for the ex- 
 ertions of vigorous and skillful men. In behalf of the present 
 residents of Buckland I bid 3'Ou welcome back to 3'our native town, 
 — back to the scenes of j-our childhood ; back to these beautiful 
 vallej's and majestic hills ; back to the banks of this beautiful river 
 upon which you have stood in youth, and pondered and wondered 
 if any mightier existed ; back to all the hallowed recollections that 
 cluster around childhood and 3'outh, which stamped their impres- 
 sions upon 3'our character and through you upon the world ; back 
 to the cot where 3'ou were born ; back to the gi'aves of 3'our fathers ; 
 back to the hearts of 3'our townsmen, who have watched with pride 
 the problem that 3'ou have been solving on the l^lackboard of the 
 world. In the name of j'our native town I greet 5'ou and bid you 
 welcome. But we turn sadl}' from these happ}' inspirations and 
 pleasant recollections as we remember townsmen that will come 
 back to us never again ; but especially as we remember our sons 
 and brothers who formed a part of that glorious band of patriots 
 and martyrs Avho gave their Ua'CS for the honor of our town and 
 the salvation of our countr}'. We miss them to-da}-, although 
 they may not have gained sounding titles or national distinction 
 yet they gave their lives for their country. Greater love than this 
 hath no man. Although marble monuments maj' not tell how ihay 
 fought or where they fell, although manj' of them sleep in unknown 
 graves, they are not forgotten. Could my voice reach their ears to- 
 daj', as they file out on the ramparts of the sky to see what we do here , 
 
I would sa^'to them: "Behold the fruits of your sacrifice, 3'ou died 
 not in vain ; although unmarked yetj'our graves may be, somewhere 
 in God's quarries yet hidden from view — somewhere in the uncut 
 granite there is a monument for 3'ou." To friends, natives of other 
 towns and states who have come here to-day to assist us by their 
 encouraging presence, and we expect eloquent words, to make 
 this daj^ one of the happiest and proudest in the history' of our town, 
 whether you come from the north, the south, the east or the west, 
 we extend to 3'ou a brother's hand and a brother's welcome. 
 
 As we shall hear from our honored and venerable former towns- 
 man, the story of the rise and progress of our town, the story of 
 the trials and privations of our fathers, of their energy and perse- 
 verance in hewing for themselves homes from these forest hillsides ; 
 as we look back through and beyond the century and see through 
 what trials, privations, disappointments and dangers our fathers 
 have brought our town, let us realize our obligations and endeavor 
 to raise the standard to a higher plane than it now occupies. Let 
 us at least on this glad Centennial day lay aside and forget all 
 personal and pett^^ annimosities, if any exist, and unite to-day as 
 a band of brothers, and endeavor to make this one page of our 
 record, which will go down from generation to generation ; let us 
 make it clean and bright, without a blot or an erasure. 
 
 Music was finely rendered by the band, then it was announced 
 that Rev. W. A. Nichols, of Lake Forest, HI., who had written an 
 historical poem, which was to have been read at this time, was pre- 
 vented from filling the engagement by reason of illness. He had 
 been stopping for a few days with friends in Charlemont and had 
 taken a sudden cold. He had sent a letter of regret, which was 
 read by Hon. Hcmy Winn. Another poem, written bj' Mrs. Snow, 
 of South Meriden, Ct., (formerl}' Miss Sophia P. Woodward, of 
 Buckland,) which was to come later in the da}', was read by Sena- 
 tor Winn. 
 
 Centennial Poem. 
 
 Bv sorniA p. SNOW. 
 One hundred years ! How great Uie cliaiigc 
 
 They've wrought throughout tlie earth 
 Since that eventful Autumn day 
 
 When Buckland had its birth. 
 Could we behold the town as then, 
 
 What wonder and surprise 
 Would penetrate our inmost souls 
 
 And flash from out our eyes. 
 Tlic panther unmolested roamed 
 
 Witli boldness through the Avood, 
 While liere and there in solitude 
 
 A rude log cabin stood. 
 Ihc deer climbed o'er tliese rocky hills 
 
 And bounded tlirough the glen, 
 While in the mountain's dark ravine 
 
 The bear sought out his den. 
 The Indian once roamed through this vale 
 
 With scalping knife and bow, 
 
On sonic relentless errand bent 
 
 Against the pale-laced foe. 
 No Sabbath bells were ever heard 
 
 Upon that sacred morn ; 
 Tlie only signal of alarm, 
 
 The shrill, resounding horn. 
 No magic wire had then been taught 
 
 Its skillful part to play. 
 And Grcenlield seemed almost as far 
 
 As Canton does to-day. 
 The mode of traveling with the poor 
 
 And those of high renown 
 AVas after the John Gilpen style 
 " Of famous London town." 
 The dashing brook, all tinrestraincd, 
 
 Leaped down the craggy hill. 
 Nor dreamed that human hands had power 
 
 To chain it at their will. 
 Old Deerfleld waters, then as now, 
 
 Swept onward soft and low; 
 September's sun shone just as bright 
 
 One huudred years ago ! 
 To-day how changed these hills and valcB, 
 
 How diil'erent is the scene ; 
 Where once the mighty forests stood 
 
 liise landscapes lair and green. 
 The cabins of the olden times 
 
 Have long since passed away; 
 AVith pleasant cottages our hills 
 
 Are dotted o'er to-day. 
 The dashing brook long since has learned 
 
 To yield to human Avill, 
 And meekly turns tlie noisy wheel 
 
 Within the busy mill. 
 Instead of Avar-whoops, blasts of steam 
 
 Kesound this valley through. 
 And bridges spanned the rapid streams 
 
 Where crossed the birch canoe. 
 The iron horse, with lightning speed. 
 
 Goes thundering through the vale, 
 Where once the trees, with bark chipped oil", 
 
 Were made to mark the trail. 
 Where once the wild beast had its lair. 
 
 And savage leet oft trod. 
 Our public schools in grandeur rise, 
 
 Our church spires point to Goil ! 
 
 Oh had these hills and vales a tongue, 
 
 What mysteries they'd unfold, 
 Wbnt daring deeds they'd bring to light 
 
 That never have been told. 
 Fair Clesson, conld'st thou speak to-day, 
 
 What wonders thou woidd'st tell, 
 What dangers that our fathers braved, 
 
 What hardships them befell. 
 Say, did the red man roam thy banks, 
 
 Fish in thy crystal flood. 
 And cause thy waters sweet and pure. 
 
 To drink the white man's blood? 
 And did the dusky maiden then 
 
 Koam by thy silver stream. 
 And dream as maidens now ai"e wont, 
 
 Love's sweet, enchanting dream? 
 Although 'tis known thou hast a mouth. 
 
 Thou dost no secrets tell. 
 Except unto the Deerlield's ear. 
 
 Who ever guards thcni well. • 
 
 And since these hills and vales no light 
 
 On liuckland's history cast, 
 AVe can but hope her future '11 be 
 
 As prosperous as her past. 
 
Her sons and daughters have gone forth 
 
 To win for them a name; 
 ner Hons. and LL. Ds. 
 
 Are not unknown to fame. 
 Her Taylors, Porters, Sherwins, Wards, 
 
 Her Putnams, Smiths and Trows, 
 Her Grahams, Ballards, Forbes and Fields, 
 
 Shall live till time shall close. 
 Nor ever, too, shall be forgot. 
 
 Her Trowbridges, Towuslcys, Tliayers, 
 Her Butlers, llichmonds, Allis, Frost, 
 
 Her Woodwards, Williams, Wares. 
 Her Griswold's and her Lyon's fame 
 
 Will ever sacred be ; 
 Her Cummings, Spaulding, Allen, Long, 
 
 Still live in memory. 
 'Tis well to pause upon our way, 
 
 Look back adown the years. 
 Review the scenes through wluch we 've passed 
 
 With all their smiles and tears. 
 We love to live again the days 
 
 AVhen we were blithe and young, 
 Tell stories that our parents told, 
 
 And sing the songs they suug. 
 And now in our maturer years 
 
 We love to live them o'er — 
 Those apple-parings, spelling scliools 
 
 We had in days of yore, 
 
 O, golden past! for happiest hours 
 
 The palm is ever thine; 
 No days will ever be to us 
 
 Like those of "Auld Lang Sync." 
 In later years our country's call 
 
 For men to quell the strife 
 Was answered by our valiant sons, 
 
 Who risked for her their life. 
 Tiieir graves are scattered far and wide, 
 
 Upon the Southern plain. 
 Throughout the valleys of the West, 
 
 And by the roaring main. 
 Though absent from our ranks to-day. 
 
 They who for freedom bled. 
 Let us devote a moment's time 
 
 Unto our honored dead ! 
 And thus, though dead, they speak to us 
 
 In music's solemn strains; 
 Their memory ne'er shall be forgot 
 
 As long as life remains. 
 And there are others, O, so dear. 
 
 We cannot pass them by. 
 Although with meekly fokicd hands 
 
 So silently they lie. 
 We saw them robed in snowy white. 
 
 Borne out the homestead door ; 
 Clods fall upon their coffin lids. 
 
 And they were ours no more. 
 This festal day brings back our loss 
 
 With all its old time power. 
 For were they living, would they not 
 
 With us enjoy this hour? 
 And yet we M^ould not wish tlicni back. 
 
 Life's ills to longer bear; 
 Eternal, not centennial, is 
 
 Their celebration there! 
 Another hundred years, and we 
 
 Wno tread these haimts to-day, 
 With all our joys, our hopes and fears. 
 
 Shall then have passed away. 
 But if our children's children then 
 
 Are faithful to their trust. 
 
They'll celebrate this day when vre 
 Lie mouldering in the dust. 
 
 Old Buckland ! precious, honored name— 
 
 We look on thee with pride; 
 Land where our infancy began, 
 
 And where our fathers died. 
 
 No matter where thy children sti'ay, 
 
 Whate'er their lot may be. 
 Home of our birth, no spot on earth 
 
 Can ever equal thee ! 
 
 Next upon the programme came an original song b}' Prof. Slier- 
 win, which he had written and composed for the occasion. He sang 
 in excellent voice, and as the last refrain died away among the 
 hills, the audience expressed their appreciation with hearty ap- 
 plause. 
 
 The Days of Long Ago. 
 
 I'm thinking of the old times. 
 
 The days of long ago, 
 When you and I Mere young, boys, 
 . With spirits all aglow. 
 
 We built our " castles in the air," 
 
 With many lofty towers, 
 And hope's bright rainbow spanned the schemes 
 
 Of Childhood's dreamy hours. 
 He/rain — I'm thinking of the old friends, 
 And singing of the old songs. 
 And dreaming of the old times — 
 The days of long ago. 
 I'm thinking of the old songs ' 
 
 We sung in days of yore. 
 The melodies that linger 
 
 In memory evermore! 
 From holy hymn or anthem grand. 
 
 To home songs breathed at even — 
 Sweet preludes to the nobler songs 
 
 And harmonies of heaven ! 
 lief.- 
 I'm thinking of the old friends 
 
 Who gathered with us then. 
 From alto boys to patriarch 
 Of three-scoi-e years und ten. 
 
 When hearts "were linked in sacred bonds 
 Of friendship strong and true, 
 
 In joy and sunshine, or when grief 
 Its darkening shadow threw. 
 lief.— 
 I'm tlunking — yes, I'm thinking. 
 
 Amid the olden scene. 
 The hills, the vales, the meadows, 
 
 The same old village green; 
 Yet weird and plaintive melodies 
 
 Are breathing through my soul, 
 And blending in a saddened tone 
 
 Beyond tlie heart's control. 
 nef.- 
 Wc sing to-day the old songs. 
 
 But ah ! the voices gone ! 
 We meet to-day as old friends, 
 
 But miss an absent throng! 
 God grant that in the Better-land 
 
 Where they have gone before. 
 Old friends may meet, while love and song 
 
 Flow on forevermorc. 
 lief.- 
 
8 
 
 The orator of the day, Joseph Gris wold, Esq., of Griswoldvillc, 
 was now introduced as one of Biickland's boys who had discovered 
 and utilized the power of one of the tributaries of the Deerfield, 
 which was now turning 17,000 spindles. Mr. Griswold is seventy-five 
 j-ears old, but still possesses a clear head and all the fire and enthusi- 
 asm of his 3'outh. For an hour and a half he held his audience in the 
 closest attention, notwithstanding the fact that clouds gathered over- 
 head and the rain-drops fell thicklj' upon the unsheltered people. He 
 avoided the dry statistics usually compiled b}- orators for such oc- 
 casions, and painted with the skill of a master, pictures of the olden 
 time, and portraits of the fathers and mothers who had peopled the 
 hills of Buckland. He uncorked a fund of traditions, stories and 
 anecdotes which was apparently inexhaustible, and thus kept his 
 hearers in merry humor from beginning to close. 
 
 THE HISTORICAL ADDRESS. 
 
 Mr. President and Ladies and Gentlemen : — 
 
 Bucklaud was incorporated as a town April 11, 1771). We luivc assem- 
 bled to-day to commemorate the centennial of that event. It is not ex- 
 actly within my province to go farther back than this date, and I will 
 simply state the little that is known of its earlier history. There seems 
 to have been a gore of land lying between Ashfleldand Charlemont, which 
 before this incorporation and christening went by the name of "No- 
 town." Grants had been made to the Wards in the west part, to the Wil- 
 ders, Taylors and Carters in the center, and in the eastern section to the 
 Johnsons and Spragues; but no exact dates can be discovered except 
 that of a deed dated in 1771, to Captain Gai-duer Wilder of land bordered 
 by Charlemont on the north, and Ashfleld on the south and indefinitely 
 cast and west. It is claimed by some that it began to be settled as early 
 as 1740-50, but as the birth of the first child is given in 1770, we cannot 
 reconcile these statements. Our fathers did not wait twenty or thirty 
 years before beginning on their large families; if it were in this genera- 
 tion we could more easily credit it. 
 
 Clcssons river, running through tlie center and taking its rise in Haw- 
 ley and Ashfield, was named by a mill owner near its soui'ce, and the town 
 is presumed to have been called Buckland from the fact that Squire Sam. 
 ucl Taylor, the early pioneer had a deer-park between the mill-yard and 
 the Deerfield river. I have myself seen some of the old hurdle fence, 
 and can recollect hearing Mr. Taylor talk of this park. When the town 
 was incorporated, the north line was pushed back to the Deerfield river, 
 and the south to the Four-corners, the west to Hawley "No. 7," and east 
 to Conway, making a town of about 10,000 acres. 
 
 It is proper for me to commence by saying that Buckland was born in 
 the midst of the Revolutionary struggle and many were oft" to the battle 
 field. It was a time of hardship and trouble; yet the hardj^ race of peo- 
 
9 
 
 plo who head already settled here Ibuudcd I'aniilies, who have grown up to 
 honor the place of their birth and have filled positions of usefulness in 
 all parts of this wide and rapidly growing country. When tlie war closed, 
 poverty and the taxes made men discontented, and hence arose the Shays 
 insurrection, which seemed at one time as though it Avould overthrow the 
 State government. It is said that while the insurgents iu this rebellion 
 were stationed near Springfield, and iu the midst of a revel, the order was 
 given to disperse. This order being met with derision, a blank volley 
 was fired, follov/ed by another of balls over their heads. This producing 
 no eflect the balls were lired into the crowd, and a number fell. One of 
 the Buckland boys, Don Sprague, said to his father, "Dad, do they fire 
 balls here?" "To be sure," he replied, "what the devil do you suppose 
 they fire, hasty-pudding?" Then Don started, and did not slack his 
 speed till he found himself iu Hog Hollow. 
 
 Time assuages everything ; and a few years after the war, Buckland 
 was an industrious and thriving town.- It was interesting to hear these 
 old Revolutiouary soldiers relate their experiences. I knew most of 
 them, and can well x'ecollect their countenances and voices. They were 
 a fine set of jolly old fellows, long since gone to their final rest; and 
 when we of this generation pass away, their pleasant faces arid jocuu(_l 
 voices will live only in historj^; but the the nation that tiiey fought and 
 laid down their lives for, let us hope, may long live and maintain the 
 spirit of '761 Of those engaged in the war of 1812, a few uov^' remain 
 with us. In lsl4r, Buckland was called upon suddenly to send a draft of 
 soldiers to Boston. On a Sunday morning (Daniel AVebster said there 
 were no Sundays in Revolutionary times) the candidates marched up to 
 draw either blanks or prizes. Moses Kelson slowly came up, put iu his 
 hand and drew — a prize. Then all went to the meetinghouse to hear Mr. 
 Spaulding, and I remember well how Moses' mother wept and cried be- 
 cause her boy had been drafted for the war. Capt. Mayhew used to tell 
 of the jolly times they had in Boston, and how Moses became frightened 
 at some of the city society they saw and started to run for the barracks, 
 falling headloug down the stairs. I am incliued to ask Mr. Nelson, as he 
 used to crack so many jokes on me, whether the pension he now gets is 
 for the hurt of that fall, the cries of his weeping mother, or the fifteen 
 days he spent idling iu Boston? 
 
 Buckland had no soldiers, that I know of, stowed away in the Calcutta 
 death hole or the Dartmoor prison, but Coleraine had several. In the late 
 war, when brother fought brother and the country was filled with lamen- 
 tation aud blood, this town sent her full share, and many a household 
 mourns to-day the lost ones who never returned. I am not going to har- 
 row your feelings by expressing anj' opinion iu regard to the late strug- 
 gle ; the time has not come for that. It will take a century from the close 
 of the war to settle this question correctly in the light of history. I will 
 only say that slaver}^ is forever abolished on our soil, and we are a nation, 
 and may God grant that we never drift into an empire. "War is a terri)>le 
 
10 
 
 calamity, and leaves in its train moral degradation and enormous taxes, 
 but Ave hope we are slowly coming back to prosperity. The soldier lias 
 had enough of war, and is glad to return to the peaceable pursuits of 
 life ; once a year he rests from his labor ; and how beautiful and appropri- 
 ate it is for him to go and decorate the graves of his companions in arms, 
 and in the revolving years his grave also willl be decorated. 
 
 And in our own homes we all mourn the absence of our lost ones. We 
 open the drawer and look at the mementoes of those long passed away — 
 of the girl just blooming into womanhood, the hope and joy of the moth- 
 er ; the mementoes are there ; so is the aching void in the mother's bo- 
 som. Here are the mementoes of the boy ripening into manhood, the 
 joy and pride of his father; the mementoes, the pictures arc there: so is 
 the void in the father's heart. We go into the yards and look at our beau- 
 tiful flowers that loving bauds have trained, and loving eyes have looked 
 upon with pleasure ; the flowers are there in all their beauty; but the 
 smiling face, the hand that trained and plucked those flowers is not. Let 
 us gather them freely, and with the wild flowers of the valley, let us go 
 as the sun is seting and strew profusely the new-made grave. 
 
 At the time of this incorporation there was no such thing known in the 
 wide world as steam power; no such thing known as spinning and vreav- 
 ing by machinery; uo steamboats, no railroads — not even a pleasure car- 
 riage here ; and as for family likenesses in which we so much delight at 
 the present time, their photographs were little black profiles, cut by Ezra 
 AVood, to hang around the chimney piece I remember, as but yesterday, 
 when the improvement was made in the wheel head of our mother's time, 
 by having three whirs instead of one, so the girls could do three times as 
 much work. How mothers rejoiced and sisters danced; but before the 
 bearings were worn smooth machinery was invented to spin by water 
 power, and the wheel heads were laid away in the garrets, where you may 
 find some of them to-day. 
 
 About sixty-seven years ago the shakers l)rought the first corn brooms 
 to Buckland. Before that, the brooms Avere peeled by the Brackets, the 
 Perkins, blind Sam Carter, old Mr Negress, Butler, Temple, and many 
 others, who used to carry them to the store on horseback, tied behind 
 them, and sell for six to ten cents apiece. 
 
 Buckland had in those early days a very superior class of mechanics, 
 especially workers in wood; Col. John Ames Avas the first, and was a 
 prominent man Avhen the tOAvn Avas incorporated. He built the first meet- 
 ing house in 1794, and framed it by try-rule. His apprentices Avcre Col. 
 HoAvland of Conway, Col. SnoAv of Heath, Charles Pelton, Capt. Chand- 
 ler Carter, his son John, and my father, Avho closed his apprenticeship 
 Avith him in 1798. My fother's apprentices Avere Elisha Smith, Simeon 
 Wood, Lyman Wood, Josiah Ward, Asa Davis, Asa Ruddock, (Avho left 
 out of health at twenty years of age and studied medicine) Edmund Che- 
 ney, A. llathaAvay and three of his OAvn sons; and then Mr. Smitli had his 
 own son, Mr. Frost, Mr. Pelton and others. The intelligent and capable 
 
11 
 
 joiner, now at Shclburne Falls, came down from this same tuition and I 
 may say that to be a thoroughly good carpenter requires a sense of the fit- 
 ness and proportion of things as well as skill in handiwork, and you have 
 but to go to Griswoldville and see the street they have lately built up for 
 us to prove that these workmen have both. 
 
 Then we had the old blacksmith, "Sir" Brooks, at the center, whose 
 brother Jabez took his place and left his own by the Bachelor bridge. Af- 
 terward White and Philip Jones had this shop, and it was here Josiah 
 Pratt made the first cast-steel axes he became so noted for. John Carter 
 had a shop in the north part of the town and Amos Wood in the south part. 
 There was also the old grist and saw-mill of Mr. White at the mill-yard, 
 and another just below the present one near the Bachelor bridge, and then 
 came the John Ward mills which had been previously owned by Uncle Ja- 
 cob Whiting's father. I think some of us can remember going to this mill 
 Avith three full bags and two empty ones, and when the grist was ground 
 and packed on the horse, and Uncle John took the boy by collar and pos- 
 terior, it was a pretty close shave whether the boy landed on the bags or 
 on the ground. 
 
 At the Four-corners have been numerous shops and mills. It was here 
 that Ezra AVood made so many shaving boxes and manufactured combs; 
 Butler & Smith, augers, butts and gimlets ; and mj^self, sash, doors and 
 blinds. In the bend of the river above was the long-noted cardlug and 
 dressing mill of Mr. Pomeroy, and every few rods up the stream was a 
 mill site for turning, sawing, grinding, &c., till you come to the Upper 
 City, and there, in the earliest of mj^ recollections, were substantial mills 
 for grinding, sawing, and, in point of fact, the west part of the town, 
 sixty years ago, carried on the most business. 
 
 The account of the suft'ering and poverty that these early families en- 
 dured would fill a volume for each; but I will speak particularly of but 
 one, and this one the direct ancestor of so many of us present : Grand- 
 father White was otf for the war and grandmother was dying. She lifted 
 up her eyes and exclaimed, "What will become of these four little motli- 
 erless girls ! I leave you in the hands of your Heavenly Father," and so 
 died. Oh, the struggles and sorrows of poverty! They sewed and knit 
 and carried to grandfather Nichols, who had land and sons but not daugh- 
 t'irs, and in return brought away a peck or half bushel of grain, which 
 they carried on their backs to the mill. They studied by the light of pine 
 Ivuots — for thei-e never was a White but Avould have learning, and one of 
 them very early in life began to keep school, and I have heard her tell her 
 experience in boarding around ; how at the table the pie and the cako 
 would be passed uncut, and the head of the family did not wish for any, 
 of daughters the same, and what could the bashful girl teacher say? So 
 she went to bed hungry and she lay cold. I am glad to be able to say that 
 this was uot in the first fiimilies of Bucklaud. These girls also did house- 
 work over the river, and to their latest days always spoke well of the 
 llawkses of Charlemont. The last school my mother kept was in 1799, 
 
• . 12 
 
 near Bucklaml Coiuinoii, where the old graveyard now is, and which 
 huildiug was afterward burned. Mr. Nelson is, so far as I know, the onlj^ 
 living pupil of that school. She kept twentj^-four weeks for flftj^ cents a 
 week, and with her wages she bought for a wedding dress six yards of silk 
 at two dollars a yard, and I have here a sample of the silk which is eighty 
 years old. Who could foresee the destiny of those four little girls whom 
 the dying mother gave back to their Maker? One of those motherless 
 infants became the wife of Sir Brooks, one of Major Griswold, one of 
 Lieutenant Hastings aud one of Captain Booth. In the aggregate they 
 gave to the world fifty-two children, and though the graveyard claimed 
 its share, there is scarcely an old family in Buckland that is not connect- 
 ed either by blood or marriage ties ; — the Wards, the Forbes, the Butlers, 
 the Woods, the Pomeroys, the Brackets, the Frosts, the Pratts, the Pel- 
 tons, the Smiths, theDavises, the Tobeys, the Perkins, theRichmonds, the 
 Sherwins,the Taylors imd Carters, the Grahams, the Putnams, the Towns- 
 leys and Wilders, the Ballards aud Mayuards, aud hosts of others I do not 
 now recall ; and as the expanding wave rolls out the uevi^ comers are absorb- 
 ed, the Trows, the Caswells and Warfields, the Johnsons, and the Spragues 
 and the Wares, Samuel Taylor and his brother Lemuel, and Mr. Nichols 
 married into the same blood, so it takes in the Longleys, the Mantors and 
 Grouts of Hawley, and the Cooks of Ashfield. So over the river it con- 
 nects with the Averys, the Ballards, the Leavitts, the Hawkses, and also 
 Dr. Bates by intermarriage with the Hunts of Heath. Tiiese descendants 
 aud connections are to-day scattered from the extreme Pacific coast to 
 the Gulf of Mexico, and along the Atlantic to the British possessions, and- 
 westward to the setting sun and the line of civilization, — so numerous 
 that you cannot count i_them — yea, almost as the sands of the sea shore. 
 At the close of this century it may be presumed that their blood will be 
 llowing in the veins of a million of human beings. Well may I repeat, 
 who can forecast what will be the future of little motherless girls when 
 the dying mother gives them back to her God. 
 
 It may be expected that I should speak at some length of the politics 
 and geography of this town, but I do not choose to do so. For those 
 statistics I refer you to the "History of the Connecticut Valley," just 
 published. The A^aluable records of Buckland were burned in your late 
 fire, and though we know they had town meetings and political strifes and 
 animosities, those old strifes are over aud their conflicts ended, and it 
 matters little to-day to them or to us, who was selectman or field driver 
 in the different years. In the spring of 1780, it was said that the snow 
 was so deep that old 'Stpiire Taylor, Capt. Gardner Wilder and Elias Car- 
 ter alone turned out and adjourned the April meeting, aud they reached 
 there on snow shoes. The Taylors and Carters were prominent in town 
 matters and the Sherwins, Bemans and Pratts in the church. Here were 
 these hills and streams in our fathers' time and here they are to-day ; they 
 speak for themselves and need no compliments from me. But it is our 
 ancestors, the early settlers, whose names and faces we would call up to- 
 dav. Thov are not here to speak for themselves, so let us talk a little 
 
13 
 
 about onr old ii' ran dp a rents, how thoy looked and what they said and did 
 — the good old fathers and mothers who built np this town and raised 
 those large families. In those early times there were few books and few- 
 er newspapers in onr old homes. In our infancy we gathered around 
 grandmother or aunt to hear the nursery tales. "What will we have for 
 a story to-niglit?" "Oh, Kid and his master going over London bridge." 
 Link by link she Avouhl add, and adding revolve back to the beginning, 
 and for the hnndredtli time close by saying, "time kid and I were home 
 an lioui\and a half ago," and we Avent to l)ed witli pleasing dreams. The 
 stalwart bo_ys would go to hear old grandfather Ward tell stories — I mean 
 the great grandfather of any Ward now living — but the girls Avere too timid 
 to listen, and even brave boys would stop their ears and hurry liome in 
 the dark to get inside before the boogers caught them. I say we would 
 go down to John Ward's, the miller that ground the rye meal that made 
 the nice bread that our raotliers kneeded and baked on the old oven bot- 
 tom. Oh, that old rye bread that we grew upon! what would you give 
 to-day, old white haired men and women, if you could have the old wood- 
 en bowl or pewter porringer, the old iron spoon filled with the same old 
 rye bread and good new milk, and the same old appetite ! Well, we would 
 go down to hear grandfather Ward tell his marvelous stories, but would 
 first stop in the kitchen to oat some of the nice apples Aunt Lois always 
 had for us, and then lile into Grandfather Ward's room. He was a nice 
 old gentleman, well dried up and preserved ; his limbs about the size of 
 candle moulds, his tight pants stopped at his knees, where they were met 
 by his long stockings and silver knee buckles. He also had buckles for 
 his slippers. His vest was cut round, his hair powdered, and a nice old 
 gentleman was he. Mrs. Ward was also a well-preserved old lady. She 
 sat in the corner in a low rocking chair, bottomed by the blind Mr. Car- 
 ter. Her dress was tlic tow and flax, a-, oven in the plaid and stripe as 
 our mothers wove them; apron and handkerchief the same, and cap of 
 white check linen. She would rock and she would knit, and she Avould 
 knit and she would rock, and occasionally lay down her knitting and take 
 up the little box, put in her thumb and finger and take a pinch. We 
 would sit around the fire-place and Grandfather Ward Avould begin about 
 a family in a new country with two little children and a little new baby 
 in the cradle asleep; how a great slimy snake crawled into tlie house, put 
 his head over the cradle and sucked the breatli and the life away from that 
 little baby; and when the mother came in and found her little darling 
 dead, oh, there was weeping and mourning in that house! And then Ave 
 Avould hear of another family on the borders of a wood, Avitli tAvo little 
 boys and a sister, ofl" picking berries, and just as they had got their bas- 
 kets full and Avere joyously starting for home, a great she Avolf came out 
 of the Avoods and siezed the little girl and carried her ofl' to its den ; and 
 the little boys ran home and all they could tell their parents Avas that the 
 Avolf took little sister in her mouth and ran aAvay Avith her, and she 
 screaming "Ma! ma! ma!" at the top of her voice, and she AA'as never 
 seen or heard of more. Then grandpa would rest a little, take out his 
 
14 
 
 ,siiull-box, tap it aud take ;i pinch; then tell us of some boys in a new 
 countrj'- ^vho were out at play, aud played till they were tired, aud theu 
 began to quarrel, fight aud swear ; aud some bears came out of the wood 
 and each took a boy and carried him ofl' to their cub?, aud those boys 
 Avere never heard of forever. At that, the little fellow sitting next me, 
 hunched my elbow aud whispered, "same old she bears in the Sunday 
 School lesson." 
 
 Aud then he would tell of emigrants in their log cabins surrounded by 
 Indians; how they would fire and kill, and the more they killed the more 
 would come, till ammunition would give out, and theu the Indians would 
 smash iu the doors and scalp the whole family. The evening was waning, 
 and Uncle John would come in from the mill. Louis had his mug of cider 
 ready, aud after drinking he would look into grandfiither's room and say, 
 "Oh, he's telling those same old stories for the hundredth time, aud the 
 children believe every word he says. He has told them so often that I've 
 no doubt he believes them himself " 
 
 In those times we had a variety of holidays— the squirrel huut, turkey 
 shoot, ball playing, husking and apple bees, dancing parties, training and 
 muster, aud we also attended the conference and prayer meeting. Some 
 of the deacons, like the Pharisees, invariably made long prayers, and it 
 was safe for us boys to steal out for at least an hour, while one would re- 
 main on picket guard to warn us when to return After the Jews and 
 heathen were let off, he would pray that "all might redound to the glory 
 of God." That was the signal to gather iu, for the deacon was about to 
 wind up. Our dodge game finally leaked out, and one of the f;\thers in- 
 quired what his boy went out for, during prayers. He said his legs got 
 asleep sitting so long. "Go and cut me a good stout switch," said his 
 father, "I'll wake 'em iip so thej'^ won't go to sleep, I guess ;" and he did. 
 
 In those days when a person had a good story to relate, he would wait 
 for a rainy day, and theu rendezvous at Uncle Ned Forbes. I frequently 
 went, not so much for the story perhaps, as to chat with Billy and Sally. 
 They wouUl take me into Aunt Eunice's buttery, cut off a slice of rye 
 and Indian bread, spread with her good butter and delicious honey, and was 
 not that nice eating? I thought so. Theu we would sit on the dye-tub — 
 Billy and Sally on each side — aud the men Avould range rouud the room 
 eager to begin. After sending Billy down for a gallon of cider, which 
 was soon quaffed, Mr. Carter at once told the following Vermont story : 
 A hunter iu the Green Mountains took his dogs ann gun and sti'oUed off 
 at a season when to kill deer was forbidden by law under a heavj' fine. 
 He followed his dogs who had started a deer till he found himself in a 
 Dutchman's yai'd. Calling back 'his dogs he peeped into the barn aud 
 found the owner dressing 'J\ax. The Dutchman had just spied the deer, 
 and he raised his swingling knife and pointing with it exclaimed, 'Mine 
 Gott, how I could shoot that deer if only I had my gun?" The hunter, 
 overhearing this speech, fired himself, and the deer fell, when he rushed 
 in aud told the Dutchman he had caught liira killing deer contrary to law. 
 
15 
 
 Dutcliy scratched Iiis head. Said he, "Tell you what I do; you take the 
 deer and say uothiug." So the man took it over his shoulder, Avhistled 
 to his dogs, slyly picked up his gnu and started for home. He had not 
 gone far when he was shouted at to stop, and coming up to him the Dutch- 
 man laid his hand on his shoulder and said: "Mr. Hunter, who would 
 have thought the damn old swingling knife would have gone off so !" 
 
 As we grew up, we had our out-door gatherings, or as you would now 
 say, our pic-nics. Wc called them then, "frolics," and we would take our 
 girls and gather around the old grape-vine rock, and have a jolly time. 
 There would be Pratts, Perkins, Bracketts, Wards, Forbes, Pomeroys, 
 Pntuams, Whitings, Lazells. Grahams, Taylors, Carters, Brooks, Aliens, 
 and others, all bringing fruit from their orchards, and wc would sit do.vn 
 and eat apples and snap the seeds at the girls, and the girls Avould snap 
 the seeds at the boys and toss the cores over their shoulders to the next 
 couple. Then came the pears, Avhich were in every orchard in those days, 
 and wc would eat awhile on them, and the girls would snap the seeds to 
 the boys, and the boys back again to the girls, and toss the cores over 
 their shoulders to the next couple. Then we would have the red-cheeked 
 old rare-ripes and white malcautoons, which luscious fruit grew l^esidc 
 the rocks and stones as plenty as are the bushes to-day. Of these we eat 
 and eat till we were full. The boys tossed the stones to the girls and tire 
 girls tossed the stones back to the boys ; and then wc had the blue plums. 
 Oh, those beautiful old blue plums ! We eat and eat, till our teeth were 
 set on edge. The girls tossed the stones over to the boys and the boys 
 tossed the stones to the girls behind them. Then came the butternuts, 
 cai't-loads of them on the ground. Each boy would get a big stone and two 
 small ones to crack with, and then with his girl on one side and himself 
 on the other, they would crack and eat, and eat and crack jokes, and when 
 the young bean conld get a meat whole, they would blush and divide. So 
 we cracked and eat and threw the shucks over our shoulders to the next 
 pair; and with walnuts we would do the same, always looking out to give 
 as much as was sent. When we were thirsty, there was the old, cold 
 spring down in the dell below the rock. How many times have I been 
 down on all -fours to drink at that cold, sparkling spring, but. when wc 
 were going in genteel couples. Aunt Eunice had Sally wash up the small 
 goui-d and give Billy to carry to frolic, and Aunt Ruth would tell Emmons 
 to take the piggin, not the large one in the shed but the little one by the 
 spring, so we had the piggin and the gourd. By pairs we went down to 
 the cold spring, and the boys dipped the gourd and hauded it to the girl, 
 and dipped the piggin and they drank; then the girl handed the boy the 
 gourd and the boy hauded the girl the piggin ; so they both drank out of 
 the piggin and the gourd, and handed it to the next pair waiting. O, who 
 ever drank anything that tasted so good as that water at the old spring 
 out of the gourd and the piggin — unless it may be to put your forehead 
 under the iron bail of the old oaken bucket with the chimb poised on the 
 edge of the well-curb, and this is about the same thing! And then we 
 would scatter off in uroups and pairs among the wild grape-vines, and 
 
1(5 
 
 uliea the day \Yaiicd and we all met together agaiu, to go homo, lo ! on 
 the checks of the girls were many purple stains, and no wonder; for the 
 boys had eaten so heartily of the grapes. It was no trouble to make ready 
 for home, nothing to pick up but the gourd and the piggiu, neither had 
 we been to any expense for railroad fare, nor did father meet us with a 
 scowl that the wagon was broken, the whip lost, and he was afraid old 
 Dobbin was foundered. No ! it had cost us nothing to go on foot, and our 
 caterer at the pic-nic had been the cook of Nature, and we cat freely of 
 her abundance arid were satisfied, and had no occasion to find fault. O, 
 those were pleasant excursions, full of youthful merriment and fun, and 
 wlio will say they did not yield more solid enjoyment than the higher 
 priced ones of to-day? 
 
 There was a good deal of courting here in those times, bul I cannot 
 speak much from experience, as I was not out of my teens when I left 
 the town. I will acknowledge that two pretty lasses showed the pro- 
 verbial shrewdness of the Buckland girls bj' giving me the mitten — flat. 
 Did I feel bad? Oh yes, so?ije bad: but in our teens we are apt to get 
 over these feelings about as soon as liome-sickness, when we come in 
 sight of the old home. 
 
 One afternoon when my mother had for company Mrs. Pomeroy, Mrs. 
 Pratt, Aunt Sophia and Widov/ Trowbridge — all godly women of godly 
 families — I sat in the door-waj' whistling and whittling, and hearing them 
 talk of the church and town matters, and of their own families and chil- 
 dren; also of their daughters, and Mrs. Trowbridge spoke of her godl.v 
 son. That evening as father and motlier v.cre talking over the visit, it 
 was suggested that the godly son and one of ilrs. Pomeroy's daughters 
 would make a good match. Soon after at some public meeting at Ash- 
 field, behold, the godly son and his sister and Miss Pomeroy drive up ! I 
 stop here; if you wish to know further ask my old friend there, Mr. Silas 
 Trowbritlge. 
 
 But I must tell you of one of tliose old weddings from the liomestead 
 of Deacon Toi cy, who lived across the river in Granny McNutt's hollow. 
 The bridegroom was Tommy Carter, son of old Grandfather Elias Carter, 
 ;>nd a sprfice little fellow he was, somewhat haughty, and proud of his 
 horsemanship, though he always rode with his legs stretched straight out. 
 His horse was well groomed, and his saddle, l)ridle and spurs all toady; 
 and with his mother's pillion covered Avitli red velvet for his girl to sit 
 behind him, he cut a very gay appearance. The day of the wedding had 
 come. Mr. Spaulding had tied the knot; the bowl and the cake had been 
 passed around, and the groolned horses had been mounted. A saddle and 
 pillion v.ith the young man and his mate was what equipped each horse, 
 and ten of these with ten gay couples made up the cavalcade. They 
 swei)t down by Mr. Putnam's anil Mr. May's, and across the John Ward 
 mill bridge, and Uncle John shut down the gate, looked at Tommy, hitch- 
 ed up his breeches but said nothing, for Tommy's fiither brought good 
 grists to hi- mill. They went on till they passed Dr. Ilolbrook's, -where 
 
17 
 
 Abijah Tliaj^cr now lives, and were Hearing the Brooks' blacksiuith sliop, 
 when au unearthly yell met their ears which resounded from hill to hill- 
 top. At the shop Avas Tommy's cousin John Carter, who had not been 
 Invited to the wedding; so he had got a lever about thirty feet long, and 
 stationed himself and Kilborn ready to pry, and was screaming at the top 
 of his voice for them to "stop ! Soon they \oould pry the shop out of the 
 way so they could pass /" 
 
 Deacon Tobey had another fair daughter, who married Mr. Ephraim 
 Williams, and I can almost hear his shrill voice and loud laugh mingled 
 with that of Calvin Nelson, as they were laying wall. Mr. Williams al- 
 ways said he would raise a girl for me, but the girl never came to time. 
 I believe, however, he filled the liill for my friend, Abijah Thayer. 
 
 In every history of Buckland, writers have uniformly spoken Avell of 
 her schools, and from the earliest times her citizens seem to have paid 
 earnest attention to the education of their children, and fitting them for 
 the duties and struggles of life. Their summer schools, in my early days, 
 were taught by the Misses White, of Heath, and the winter terms by Mr. 
 Erastus Taylor, Mr. Shepard, Mr. Tobey and Mr. Porter. Later than 
 this, you know as well as I, and still later, you had teacliers of your own 
 sons and daughters, whom you know better than I do. I should also 
 mention a class of about twenty young men who were taught arithmetic, 
 by Uncle Ned Forbes, at his own house. The earliest select school in my 
 memory was taught by Mr. Daniel Forbes, of Furbush, who was called 
 by the boys "little holy Daniel." He was a teacher by nature, mild and 
 pleasant ; I never saw a scholar out of place, nor saw him use the ferrule 
 or switch ; while in Mr. Tobey's school, I have the most lively recollec- 
 tion of both. Mr. Forbes kept school in both of my father's shops, and 
 in his upper hall, also at Mr. Benjamin Carter's, and I think in the large 
 shed room of Jabez Brooks. He also taught in the west, south and 
 east part of town, but perhaps those were exclusively writing schools. 
 He wrote a beautiful, round hand, and in it made out many of the family 
 records in those days, — oftentimes adding beneath a suitable verse. I 
 have seen Miss Mary Lyon sit behind one of the work benches in my 
 father's shop, and write and study under his instruction. She also wrote 
 that flue, old fashioned round hand, acquired through his copy. 0. I re- 
 vere the memory of Mr. Forbes and Mr. Porter! They did more to lift th? 
 young men from ignorance to information than any others I ever knew. 
 
 Who remembers the old spelling schools in Buckland, when we collect- 
 ed from the north and the south, and the east and the west, and were 
 called up and spelled down, and jolly good times we had, both with the 
 spelling and going home with the girls. Is it not so? And then our de- 
 bating schools, which the fathers attended, for a little fun ; how well I 
 remember them all, and, particularly the first in which I myself took a 
 part, not yet in my teens. Late in the evening I was called upon, when 
 I returned that I thought the question had already been fully disgusted. 
 This raised a titter, and Mr. Porter sprang to his feet, said the boy was 
 3 
 
18 
 
 not far out of the way, for tlio question had been very poorly hautUed. 
 Mr. Porter would always come to the assistance of the boys in a school, 
 but as a church tithiug-man, we had a terrible dread of him. I have seen 
 him take a l)oy by the ears, and with his legs dangling carry him half way 
 across the meeting house, and sit him down beliind him, haixl, in the 
 singer-seats. Uncle Levi Taylor, the shoemaker, was also a tithing man, 
 and he never looked so pleasant to me on Sunday as he did when I was 
 sitting long evenings in his shop in my stocking feet, having ray boots 
 mended. He tooted out of the same tooter that Mr. Porter did to pitch 
 the tune, and wore the same linscy vest the first time I ever saw him and 
 the last. The last debating school I attended was at the Four Corners, and 
 I remember well the leading disputants — Calvin Pomeroy and Andrew 
 Butler, on the question, which was the least risk, to lend money on in- 
 terest, or invest it in farming or trade? Mr. Pomeroy, who was keen and 
 full of fun, turned on Andrew, who had never had much experience in 
 lending money, and, said he, "did you ever in your life time lose ft cent 
 of interest?" "Yes," replied Adrev>^, "I have lost a good deal, and I am 
 now losing more than i\ thousand dollars every year for the want of the 
 principal to draw it." According to Mr. Butler's logic, are we not all 
 sustaining heavy losses to-day? 
 
 Who does not remember the old speaking school kept by Mr. Porter, 
 usually at the Mill Yard? Over from Charlemont came the Averys, the 
 Ballards, the Maxwells and others to join us. These schools did much to 
 develope the young men and help to overcome their bashfulness, and Mr. 
 Porter is mainly entitled to the credit of it. I would not be afraid to ask 
 my old friend, Silas Trobridge, to-day, if those schools did not do a great 
 deal to bring diliident boys, like him and myself, out of this diftideuce in- 
 to public speakers. 
 
 We had at one time Avhat was called the "mad dog scare." A boy went 
 to Jabez Brooks' shop to have his horse shod, seeing a dog lying on 
 the floor, roused him with a stick, whereupon he ran out of the barn. 
 Afterwards Mrs. Brooks discovered the dog with glaring eyes and froth- 
 ing mouth lying in front of the cow. By means of a pitchfork she kept 
 him at bay as he snapped at her, while she ran to the shop to notify Mr. 
 Brooks. Kilborn jumped upon the horse, half shod, and took down the 
 old long gun, that was always loaded and hanging upon the l)rackets, with 
 powder horn and pouch full; the dog ran toward the Mill Yard, snapping 
 at every thing he passed, and Kilborn followed, punching his heels into 
 the horse and yelling at the top of his voice : "Look out for the mad do(j." 
 Passing the Mill Yard, Charles White was bringing out a grist for a boy 
 on horseback. He dropped the grist, and catching the gun from the wall, 
 mounted the horse, and it being fresh, he was soon neck and nought with 
 Kilborn. They ran, and the dog ran, but the men pushed so closely that 
 at the Thayer road the dog turned up ; the riders just twitched the reins 
 and dropped back, brought up the old guns, fired, and the dog fell dead. 
 The cow was put in the pound behind the sheds and was soon running 
 mad, as was evident from her red eyes and shaking head, tongue hanging 
 
Ill 
 
 out of her mouth, aud keeping up au uueartiily bcUowinj;. Mr. Brooks, 
 Samuel Taj-lor aud Mr. Bachelor came -with a rope that they used to draw 
 in oxen to be shod, got on top of the pound, made a uoose in the middle 
 of the rope, dropped it on to her horns, and opened the gate. Mr. Tay- 
 lor was at one end and ilr. Bachelor at the other to keep her at bay, Mr. 
 Brooks following- with gun, and Kilborn with ax aud shovel, and the boys 
 on behind. Down the hill and about half way to the Batcheler bridge, 
 the grave was waiting. Mr. Brooks fired and she dropped dead in the 
 grave. The rope was thrown in, the grave was filled up, aud that was 
 the cud of the mad dog scare. Years after, a freshet washed out the 
 skeleton of that cow, but in my day I never knew a boy Avith courage 
 enough to touch one of those bones. 
 
 Many of yon remember tjhe bitter and exciting lawsuit witli Conway 
 about the Renifl' family — three years in court and then left to reference 
 and lost. I remember, as yesterday, when Mr. Chapiu, tlie agent, came 
 back, — Ave Avere building the Graham house aud all stopped to hear the 
 story. There Avas loud talk and some swearing about hoAv Buckland had 
 l)cen tricked and Avrongeil ; but the first thing Avas to raise the money — 
 $350— and settle before additional cost of judgment. Eight then and 
 there a note Avas made out to the Northampton bank. Esquire Ch.lpiu 
 and Major GrisAvold signed it Avith Sir Brooks for surety. Mr Brooks 
 required tlie Selectmen to give him a note to secui'e him against loss. 
 Here are the two notes and they appear to be paid. But calamities never 
 come single-handed. Mrs. Renifl' increased the population and also the pau- 
 pers tAvo in one night. Then there Avas another storm, and how Dr. Allen 
 ipped aud scolded that "she ought to know better; it was outrageous for 
 paupers — two at a time !" This raisedher dander, and she retorted : "Don't 
 you see I have the worst of it, and don't you know tAvins can't be liad 
 for the asking, or stopped for the Avislnng?" Well, in those days Avheu 
 the paupers were getting too plenty, the citizens clubbed together, got 
 two yoke of oxen, Mr. Trowbridge's great ox wagon covered Avith tow 
 cloth, packed in Jim McNutt and his family, and started them west to 
 grow up Avith the country. Brigham Carter took the Avhip, and was or- 
 dered not to give it up till they Avere beyond North river. Jim Avas the 
 only man I ever kneAV that could put a quart of cider into his stomach 
 Avithout sAvalloAving. Long years after, in passing through Buckland, who 
 should I meet but Jim McNutt ! Said he had prospered, "raised fourteen 
 hundred bushels of Avheat last year, built a good barn this season, and 
 daughter Eoba was Avell married, Avith children as plenty as her mother's." 
 Would it not be Avell to send more Jim McNutts to grow up Avith the 
 country? 
 
 Who does not remember Uncle Zenas Graham Avith his pleasant face, 
 Avho Avas always ready to buy the sheep skin when you had the avooI pull- 
 ed otr, and give you 12^ cents for it, and 25 cents for every deacon-skin. 
 Mr. Graham tanned good leather, and so did Mr. ToAVUsley after him, and 
 Mr. Caswell after him. I know, for I bought it for beltiug. But don't 
 
20 
 
 you remember those uice velvet-soft deacou-skins that Uncle Zenas and 
 Uncle Niiel used to dress? These were made into slippers for the girls to 
 dance in, and Avere always bought for the Aveddiug shoes. Uncle Nnel 
 once had an extra uice one finished, and called me in to ask if I "didn't 
 think that deacon-skin would make shoes good enough for one of Aunt 
 Sophy's girls." "Yes," I told him, "or for any other girl." I do not 
 know positively, but am of opinion that Aunt Mit stepped up to be mar- 
 ried in that same deacon-skin. Now I want to digress here to say that I 
 know of no possible connection or comparison between the first officer in 
 the church and a young calf's hide. If your Committee can explain why 
 I was selected to deliver this address over the shoulders of a hundred 
 more competent, they may be able to solve this riddle ; but I confess they 
 are both inexplicable to me, and I am particular to say so, for I do not 
 want your children's children at your next Centennial, to come and rap 
 on my mossy grave-stone to enquire if it is a fact, that in my time the 
 deacons were killed and skinned, and their hides tanned to make slippers 
 and wedding shoes. 
 
 I come now to Miss Mary Lyon, who surpassed all the female teachers 
 we ever had in Bucklaud. She rose from a lowly origin, spent her youn- 
 ger years in family industries, spinning and weaving like other girls of 
 those times. I have often seen her, horseback, carrying her cloth to Mr. 
 Pomeroy's to be dressed, and her reeds to Fobes to be repaired. She was 
 a rosj% robust-looking girl, and spent most of the time in her youth at the 
 old homestead, which you must well remember. Much of her early school- 
 ing she received at the corner near Mr. Clark's — sometimes coming from 
 home two miles, and sometimes boarding at Uncle Spencer Woodward's, 
 doing chores for her board. Mr. Porter mostly kept these schools, and 
 procured for Mary her first situations to teach. She first kept in what 
 was called Thayer district, in 1814, and at the close of the term there was 
 some disappointment at the lack of progress, and Mr. Porter hired her 
 again in 1815 to keep the same school, and her friends were happily dis- 
 appointed to see the progress made both by herself and her scholars. In 
 18 IG she kept the Centre school. My father was then making the brick 
 for his house, and she would often come up to the yard and say to me 
 that she wanted to learn to make brick, and would help me turn them up 
 and put them on the wheel-barrow, and afterwards on the hakes. Who 
 can tell what was in her mind, and if she had not, even then, a glimmering 
 of the great future for which Providence was fitting her. She taught a 
 school I think, at Baptist Corner fi-om 1817 to 19, and in Alpheus Brooks' 
 house, when she went to Byfleld. I next met her at Ashfield academy in 
 1821, where she was both teaching and studying. In 182-t she opened the 
 first of her select schools in Bucklaud. Two of them were kept in my 
 father's hall, and two in Mr. Graham's; and I challenge you to-day to 
 point me out any schools in Western Franklin that equal them in inteili- 
 gencc and progress. After she had kept two seasons in my father's hall, 
 the Ashfield people beset her to come back there, which she agreed to do 
 
21 
 
 if she could have a suitable place in ■which to teach. J. Lilly, Mr. Pratt 
 and m3'self were emplo3'ed to turn the old academj' building back and put 
 a hall iuthe top of it, which made a very good room. Hei-e she kept two 
 winters, when Ashfleld insisted that she must also remain summers, as it 
 almost vacated the academy while she was away with Mrs. Grant. Then 
 Buckland stepped in and offered a chance, and as father's hall was high 
 up and not large enough, it was agreed to fit up a new place, and all the 
 old joiners chipped in and Graham's hall was built about as quick as Jo- 
 nah's gourd grew. Here she kept two schools, tvnd, in the meantime, a 
 plan was maturing to make a permanent school here bj^ buying the place 
 now occupied by Dr. Trow and extending to the Griswold line, and also 
 to take in the then AVhitc Jones place. The funds were forthcoming; but 
 whether it was her foresight or the direction of Providence, the location 
 was placed in a more suitable place. I would like to review the life of 
 Mary Lyon as written by Miss White, but first let me state the facts. Mr. 
 Ferry, who married this Miss White, first courted Mary Lyon, and ex- 
 pected to marrj' her and she fully expected to marry him ; but Mrs. White, 
 a keen, thin-faced, long-nosed woman, persuaded him that her daughter 
 Amanda would be more suitable fo^- the wife of a missionarj' to Macki- 
 naw, and he left Mary and took Amanda. It was a Providential change, 
 for Amanda made a good missionary, and Miss Lyon greatly excelled in 
 the field she herself occupied. But Miss White's book says "she sold 
 her linen, being in straitened circumstances, to get the means to con- 
 tinue her studies." Now Miss Lyon never was in reduced straits, nor did 
 you ever see one of the name that was. She sold her accumulations be- 
 cause she saw the uncertainties of man's promises, and she then and there 
 decided to devote her life to the great cause of education, and to her God 
 who never deceived or forsook her. The book also undertakes to prove 
 that she was a slattern— for you can't make much less of it. Now I knew 
 Mary Lyon from a girl down to near the close of her life, and I never saw 
 her when she was not dressed neat and tidy, and good enough for the 
 position which she occupied. I also knew Ashfleld Plain well. The 
 Paines and Whites were aristocratic families with whom I lived for two 
 years. They treated m.e well, and I have no quarrel with them to-day ; 
 but when I first went to Ashfleld they sneered at me on account of my 
 dress. I wore the home-made suit my mother had spun and wove in her 
 house. Mr. Pomeroy had dressed the cloth, and Aunt Patty Whiting 
 made it up, — and I wore it out, too, in spite of the jeers about the pepper 
 and salt suit ; and I will add that after I had been there two years, dig- 
 ging away with all my iuferior talent, I did not have to go to the broth- 
 ers and sisters of this historian to find out how to analyse an intricate 
 Latin phrase, or to work a hard problem in mathematics. This book also 
 claims that her tuition was given her at the academy, but the truth was 
 that she heard recitations enough to more than balance her tuition. Miss 
 Lyon was a Buckland woman, and her attachments were here until she 
 gathered up all for her Hadley home ; and so long as Clesson's river runs 
 seaward, and her borders are surrounded by the old Buckland homes, so 
 long among these hills will linger the fragrance of her memory. 
 
22 
 
 We now couiu to the merchcints, ministers aud j^hysiciaus of Bucklaud 
 — thankful to say we had no lawyers. Our tradesmen Avere Brooks, Jones, 
 Hubbard, MaJ. Tyler, Capt. Mayhew, Lazell, Hitchcock, Wells, Ward, 
 Maynard and Ballard, and since their time I am unacquainted. They 
 went to market twice a year and all tluit we had then was fresh and new. 
 Now-a-days if we do not replenish every other day from the drummer, 
 our goods are called counter- Avorn. Well, tliese men supplied the families 
 with dry goods and groceries, and if wives aud daughters did not have 
 the variety they do to-day* it was just as well — they never missed it. Dress- 
 making did not cost Avhat it does now, taut when we grumble at our bills, 
 let us remember that the sewing-girl is perhaps like Aunt Delia Thayer, 
 keeping father and mother or aunt away from piiblic charity ; and if her filial 
 devotion does not merit reward, what can we expect? In the way of trade 
 we hadone corn speculator that I must not omit to mention. While my 
 father's brick house was ))uilding,andthe workmen slept in the garret of the 
 great shop, in the dead of the night Ave heard a fearful scream. All got 
 up and hurried out, David Taylor on ahead. When we reached the meet- 
 ing house Ave could hear the distant cry of "murder." On Ave Aveut, till 
 at the bridge over Taylor's brook, Ave found Stephen Nelson on his back 
 at the bottom of the brook, ten bushels of corn on top of him, and his 
 horse and Avagon on top of the corn. We extricated him from his difficul- 
 ty, found him uninjured and it leakod out that Uncle Stephen had heard 
 that corn Avas eighty cents a bushel a few miles below the Falls, and only 
 seventy cents at the Falls, so he Avas going to make a dollar by a specula- 
 tioi. Perhaps you may think a dollar Avas a small margin, but I tell you 
 a dollar in those days looked as big as a cart Avheel does now. IMr. Hub- 
 bard always blackguarded Mr. Nelson about his corn speculation, and he 
 never lieard the last of it. For a generation or more I have been ac- 
 (luainted Avith that great speculating Wall street in New York, and have 
 seen multitudes Avith their pockets full of rocks, go in and take a flyer. 
 Some few have become millionaires, taut most of them liave returned pen- 
 niless, cursing the ingratitude, the clieat, deception and Avrong practiced 
 upon them; taut Avho cares for their Avail? In the light of to-day I look 
 upon Mr. Ncjsou as a successful speculator. He took ten bushels of corn 
 and went out to speculate, aud, Avith all its hazards, he returned at night 
 Avith the same amount increased in bulk, like most speculations, by being 
 Avatered. 
 
 With the exception of Dr. llolbrook, who passed aAvay l)cfore my day, 
 the medical men of Buckland Avcre all known to me. He, Avith Drs. Allen, 
 Long, Axtell and l)rothers TroAV, constitute the Avhole from the settlement 
 of the tov,-n. Of ohl Dr. Allen only will I speak. He Avas a Avasjiy old 
 fclloAV, Jiated boys, and Avould swear at them like a piper in liis younger 
 (Uiys. Many a time has he threatened to sieze me by the nose and dose 
 me Avith jalap and calomel. I suppose the modern M. D. would Aveaken 
 this a^ little and call it " salts and senna," but so far as the taste and smell 
 arc concerned it Avould be about the same thing. If a person Avas ailing 
 in tliixse days and called in tlie doctor, no matter Avhat the difliculty Avas, 
 
23 
 
 tlic main practice was to stick the lancet intoliimtlie first thing and draw 
 oft' what little vitality he had. Often have I seen persons faint holding- the 
 dish for blood, but /never fainted, and used to think as a prejudiced boy 
 that I could hold the dish calmly if the old doctor's jugular vein had been 
 tapped. One Saturday night he was called to see Eoswell Butler, who 
 liad been well and at singing-school the night before. As usual he stuck in 
 his lancet, not knowing what ailed him, but coming up early the next 
 morning found he had the spotted fever, and exclaimed at once, " I swear, 
 Ivoswell, I've killed you !" and before nine o'clock he was a corpse. "When 
 the matter was first agitated of putting a stove in the meeting house the 
 doctor opposed it bitterly; Avould rather they should keep up a tire on the 
 common for the boys and girls to toast their shins Sunday noons ; but the 
 stove was put in. Later in life he became a professed christian and used to 
 say he was educating his only son for a minister and hoped the Lord would 
 prepare his heart. Joseph built better than his fiither thought : he turned 
 ont a fair farmer. On the whole let us speak well of Dr. Allen. He had 
 his faults and his good qualities, toiled for the sick to the last and drop- 
 ped in his harness. Peace to his ashes in the old burying ground ! Of the 
 doctor's wife, Mrs. Allen, I will say that her train when she first came to 
 Luclcland was even longer than the ladies have them at the present day, 
 and required the services of a negro boy to carry it handsomely behind her. 
 The first church society in Buckland dates with the settlement of the 
 town, and Mr. Josiah Spaulding, who was settled between 1780-90, was 
 the first permanent minister. I knew him perfectly well and worked for 
 iiim a great deal. A noble old man he was. I have in my day heard many of 
 the noted preachers of this country, but none of them have inspired me 
 with the respect I have for the memoi-y of old Mr. Spaulding. His oddi- 
 ties no man could number, and I must mention a few. It is related of 
 him that being at Ashlleld at an association he hitched his horse at the 
 end of the shed by the bars, and when he came to go home he found his 
 bridle run through two post holes, and some other wrinkles which he ditl 
 not understand. Mr. 8. looked and looked ; and said " the horse had un- 
 doubtedly gone through the post-holes, but he didn't think he could get 
 him back and so he would have to cut tlie bridle." The boys were doubt- 
 less mischievous, but I will vouch that three of those boys made good 
 Congregational ministers. Once when they were laying wall up that 
 steep hill between .Mr. Pratt and himself, and they were lifting one end of 
 a heavy stone and Mr. Hall the other, Mr. Hall, who you know was a very 
 profane man, sang out, " Damn you ! why don't you lift?" Mr. Spaulding 
 let go, saying, "Oh, you mustn't swear!" and down went the stone to the 
 bottom of the hill. On the Carter & Negress place was a great quantity 
 of peaches, which somehow or other the boys would get. Mr. Spaulding 
 said he "did not care so much about the peaches, but it was wrong to 
 leave so much terapta,tiou for the boys to steal ;" so he picked and carried 
 them up to Israel Williams' and had them distilled into brandy, about ten 
 "•aliens. Now here is a ciuestion for your debating society, " Whicli is 
 th!^ greater wrong, to steal peaches or drink the brandy?" Mr.Spaulding 
 
24 
 
 was very liberal with his pulpit. Elder Ward, brother to John, used to 
 come around occasionally and Mr. S. would let him have the use of it for 
 half a day. Mr. Ward was one of the noisy kind, and pounded aw^ay hard 
 on the pulpit, and I always kept ray eye close on the man's hand that held 
 up the sounding-board, expecting every moment he would scare him so as 
 to let it fall, Init he held on faithfully for about seventy years, when I sup- 
 pose modern philanthropy relieved him. The town records being de- 
 stroyed, we can never know with certaintj^, but we should like to be in- 
 formed whether this sounding-board man was retired on a pension or Avas 
 cast aside as having outlived his usefulness. All the old people must re- 
 member the great revival called the Clary rievival, because Mr. Clary of 
 Conway was engaged in it for a long time. Everything was at a fever 
 heat, a great many inquiring and many more shouting Hosanna. The 
 meetings in all parts of the town were held to a late hour at night and 
 again at an early hour in the morning. Business was greatly suspended 
 and land left untilled. Mr. Spaulding was getting old and declined to at- 
 tend these extra meetings. He was a cool old gentleman and carried a 
 level liead in many things and it was a bomb-shell thrown in that heated 
 community when he remarked in his pulpit that "these too-numerous and 
 late nightly gatherings were not in keeping with the public good or the 
 best morals of the people." After sixty years of reflection I am inclined 
 to think Mr. Spaulding was right and we young folks wrong. O, that we 
 could go back to the halcyon days of Mr. Spaulding! You would see 
 Moses Nelson come to meeting with his oxen, bringing his mother and 
 sisters, and Mr. Ned Forbes go in at the front door with his leather apron 
 on and turn to the left to his pew ; all the congregation plainly dressed — 
 myself barefoot at tifteen years of age, for those were the days when fami- 
 lies were reared in industry, frugality and simplicity. Mr. Spaulding was 
 sorely afflicted in the calamity which befel his only son. The long years 
 of naked idiotcy in his wooden cage are familiar to you all. The care and 
 attention he received were all and more than could be expected, for when 
 a human being is bereft of reason he sinks immeasurably below the brute. 
 In nothing perhaps do the times show more intelligent advance than in 
 the understanding and treatment of the insane. 
 
 Of the Eaptir-it society the record says : "a feeble church about half a 
 century ago and finally died out." This record may seem correct but it 
 gives a wrong impression. The fact is that among the earliest settlers 
 of this town was a large number of Baptist people, the Putnams, Mays, 
 Lackeys, Forbes, Batchelors, Taylors, Whitings, Lyons and many more ; 
 but the church building happened to be over the line in Ashfield, as yon- 
 der church is now in Shelburne ; but stand with me on that long iron bridge 
 of a Sunday and see how many cross over to that brick church from this 
 Buckland side. Just so in those times. The Baptists Avere here as nu- 
 merous as the others, and they helped build up this town and rear those 
 large families from the llrst settlement. 
 
 So of the Methodists. The record says, " uo public place of worship 
 till about fifty years from the incorporation of the town." The record is 
 
2,) 
 
 eorrect, yet the facts are tlic.se : lu early times the Methodists tlid not be- 
 lieve in meeting houses. They were a people of great plainness and sim- 
 plicity and preferred to hold their meetings in bai*ns and sheds, in the 
 public highway, or in the forest about Catamount den ; they met as they 
 did in apostolic days wherever thej' could collect a crowd, no matter if it 
 was simplj' under the canopy of heaven. Bat they have changed and now 
 conform moi'e to the general customs of other societies. The women 
 became tired of sitting all day in a partly-cleaned stable, with their boys 
 dangling their limbs over the high beams overhead, as I have many times 
 seen them. Well, the Baptists have modified that nasal twang so pecu- 
 liar to them seventy years ago, and the Methodists have lowered the tone 
 in which Elder Ward spoke when I was woiTied about the soundihg- 
 board. So all have had their modiiications, and to-day you cannot tell a 
 Methodist or Baptist from the old order; and the old order, though back- 
 ed up by the whole power of the State until recently, has been greatly 
 modified and changed. Our old Methodists were Father llawsou,.one of 
 the sixty to storm Stony Point, the Davises, the Peltons, some of the 
 Wards, all the Woods, Forbses, some of the Tobys and Bracketts, the 
 Perkins, the Woodwards, the Clarks, the Mallories, the Spragues and the 
 Johnsons, and others whom I do not now think of, — these all have con- 
 tributed to the building up and support of this tov>u, and their descend- 
 ants are scattered far and wide over our populous country. Of children, 
 I believe Josiah Johnson scored 20, against Uncle Brooks 17, the next 
 highest, and from that luimber down to a baker's dozen the fiunilies were 
 numerous. Your Speaker, not having very high aspirations in building 
 up a community, has rested where Ms own ftither and Samuel Taylor, 2d, 
 rested, and was satisfied by scoring a baker's dozen. 
 
 Of Shellvaruc Palls it becomes me to say a very little. NVhen I left 
 Buckland the two Coleman farms and Lieut. Ellis' constituted the village 
 of Shelburne Falls on the Buckland side, 3Ir. Nims' in the bend, — Mr. 
 Eddy's, Mr. White's and Mr. Field's, the two Thayers' and P'ulJers', and all 
 the land behind. The bridge Avas built about ten years before I left. It 
 was a Burr bridge and built by Mr. Sheldon of Deerlield, Capt. Johnson 
 doing the stone work. Mr.Ellis was the main man that pushed the project 
 through. Scott's bridge was built by Consider Scott about ten years lat-r, 
 under contract, by which he lost considerable money. Allen Barnard did 
 the wood work and Capt. Johnson the masonry. About the last of my 
 work in Buckland was to help build this bridge. Before the time of these 
 ])ridges we nse>l to ford the ri\er at Taylor's in Charlemont, and, if the 
 water was low, cross and come by the Hotchkiss place, and if extremely 
 low, have crossed just above the bridge, but it Avas not safe. I once un- 
 dertook it here when the water was higher than I had expected, and my 
 horse and wagon had to swim. I stepped on the king bolt to keep it in, 
 and got out safely, but received a reprimand from my mother for wetting 
 the grist. When the w^ater was very high Ave went by Ashfield, CouAvay 
 and Deerfield to Greenfield. Every little Avhile came up the ringing cry 
 that somebody had gone over the Falls, and once T recollect of going a 
 1 
 
•2{> 
 
 long- way down below the Falls where a deeaj-ed body had been found. 
 The services were held on the spot and the body buried in the sand. Since 
 I left Bucklaud you have built up a beautiful village, and have factories 
 and workshops that are a credit to the builders and the town. You have 
 industrious mechanics and intelligent merchants. You have supported 
 excellent schools and raised your own teachers. This is well. I have 
 recently looked over the old ledgers of several towns, and Avhat do I And? 
 Toddj', toddy, toddy, flip, flip, flip, rum, brandy and sugar for ministers 
 and all. Perhaps the seller made money, but it often made him a drunk- 
 ard, and his sons, too. Now, your fine equipages, j'our horses and car- 
 riages, your nice houses and furniture are all legitimate outlaj's, and mark 
 the advanced stage of civilization and refinement. The laborer gets every 
 dollar you spend, and there is nothing any plainer in the arrangements of 
 Providence than that he who has more talent must lay out work for him 
 that has less. The trouble is not that you spend, but j-our idleness. 
 When the low descending sun goes down on your misspent day, all the 
 power that you possess, and all that your Maker has given you, cannot 
 recall the misspent day. It is lost — forever lost, to you, to the world, 
 and to your God. 
 
 At the close of the address there was an interinissioii for dinner. 
 S. A. Little, of Shelburne Falls had a large tent erected in the ad- 
 jacent lot, where plates were laid for five or six hundred people. 
 A good dinner was furnished, but the caterer was not overcrowded 
 with patrons. The frugal people chose to reh' upon their lunch 
 l)askets rather than the public "spread," and gathered in little 
 knots and family- groups about the grove and picnicked after the 
 old fashion. It was a very pretty scene. The clouds, which for a 
 time had overcast the sky, Avere dispelled, and everybody was put 
 in his holiday humor. Old people got together and talked over 
 •'Auld Lang Syne:" ''city cousins" had a taste of genuine riu'al 
 enjoyment, and in the outskirts of the grove lovers walked and 
 talked, quite as oblivious of the outside world as were their grand- 
 parents in the days of Mr. Griswold's gourd and piggin. A. L. 
 Ward, a Fall Eiver pohtographer, a native of Bucklaud, l)y the 
 way, improved the occasion to take pictures of a group, composed 
 of the Centennial Committee of Arrangements, the orator and otll- 
 i'er.s of the daj'. He made two negatives — one for a stereoscopic 
 view and the othi-r a larger picture suitable for framing — and was 
 quite successful in his Avork. 
 
 In the afternoon the people reassembled at the speaker's stand 
 for another feast of good things. Hon. Henry Winn was the 
 master of ceremonies, and first introduced Mrs. Ella C. Drabble, 
 who read the following poem: 
 
27 
 
 Mrs. Drabbles' s Poem. 
 
 Sweet gift of song- to most denied 
 
 And richly given to few, 
 U))on these "lips, devoid of grace. 
 
 Descend like twilight dew. 
 Some worthier hand should lift the lyre 
 
 And sound your glorious themes,— 
 Lips that are touclied by heavenly fire, 
 
 IJreatlie music sweet as dreams"! 
 Would, Buckland, that to-day lor thee 
 
 Some rock of song was riven. 
 And words, like streams of water, free. 
 
 Forth from its heart were given. 
 O, then in notes of purest sound 
 
 Tliy grace and worth we'd sing, 
 AVhile the hills our peaceful vale surround, 
 
 U'ith echoes glad should ring. 
 But take each line, 
 Each faltering line, 
 
 (>, waiting hearts, and call them thine;— 
 Supply their dearth. 
 And make them wortli 
 
 The joyful day tliat gives them birtli. 
 
 Dear Buckland, round thy name we twine 
 
 Thine own staunch oak and feathery pine : 
 
 With willing feet we gather here. 
 Our hearts elate, 
 To celebrate 
 
 Thy happ.v liuntlredth year! 
 Thy sons and daughters at thy call. 
 Have left their pleasure and their toil; 
 Their welcome be our glad refrain 
 Till breeze and stream repeat tl'ie strain. 
 Our mother bids them welcome Iiome, 
 As to tliese old time scenes they come; 
 She folds us all within her amis, 
 T^nveils for us her sv/eetest chai'ms. 
 Dear are her forests old and grand, 
 Her hills tliat rise on every hand, 
 Her rocky pastures, meadows fair. 
 Brooks that with music fill the air. 
 Dear are her churches, — in their walls 
 Wliat sacred scenes to-daj- recalls ; 
 What happy brides have trod their aisles. 
 When eartli to them was wreathed in smiles ! 
 Oft did the man of sorrows meet 
 AVithin their gate the mourners's feet; 
 AVhat words of comfort and of grace 
 Still echo from each holy ])lace ! 
 Dear are her schools, for round them twine 
 Bright hopes that on our future sliine; 
 These nurseries call for fondest care. 
 Our licartiest aid, our tenderest care ; 
 Their power for good or ill, how great? 
 For in them lies the nation's late.! 
 Dear are her graveyards, quaint and old. 
 Where honored forms have tiu-ned to mold ; 
 Root out the nettle and the thorn, — 
 With rarest flowers those graves adorn. 
 .Shame on the town, whate'er her name. 
 That imfulfilled leaves the claim. 
 The sad, sweet claim the dead may ask ! 
 Say, shall our hands refuse the task? 
 O, "brightly let God's acre bloom. 
 And roses crown the darkest tomb. 
 
 All peacefully the years glide by 
 Within our" quiet vale; 
 
 The record of our early days 
 Lives but as an evening tale 
 
 We tell to the children by the Are 
 When blows the wintry gale. 
 
 Think not, because our lives are calm. 
 They flow in sluggish round : 
 
 Yon stream is deep, its waters pass 
 With scarce a murmuring sound. 
 No life so narrow but its love 
 
 Some other life hatli crowned. 
 Brave hearts within our midst have beat, 
 
 Great souls have here been born ; 
 And some have wandered far from wlierc 
 
 They passed life's <lewey morn ; 
 Their gifts a wider range have souglit. 
 
 And larger fields adorn. 
 A gnarled old tree, a broken wall. 
 
 Are all that mark the place 
 Where first the daylight softly fell 
 
 On Mary Lyon's face. 
 So like a star that name hath shone 
 That none hath failed to trace. 
 Embalm their names with memory's dew. 
 And bare the head with reverence true 
 In honor of the hardy few 
 Whose strokes resounded through and 
 
 through 
 The wooded hill, the silent glade. 
 As first their lonely homes they made. 
 Those names alone make Buckland strong. — 
 In hearts they live, uncarvod on stone; 
 She matches them in deeds of « orth. 
 The honest life, the tranquil hearth; 
 And if her faults arc plain to name. 
 Shall children speak a mother's blame? 
 How freely in her country's need 
 Has Buckland bid her sons God-speed; 
 Thrice hath she given her young, her brave, 
 The Nation's honor fair to "save. 
 Say not that love has made us blind ; 
 That is not love of truest kind 
 Whose eyes are blinded by the power 
 Of passions for a fleeting hour. 
 The highest love doth never pass 
 Unnoticed faults of any class ; 
 But seeing all, loves on, forgiving; — 
 'Tis this which makeslife wortji the living. 
 A sigh for the past, the good old days 
 Of simple joys and healtliful ways, 
 AVith little to blame, and much to jiraise; 
 
 Much wc with pride recall. 
 Our feet may tread a wider ])lnin. 
 But many a weary heart would lain 
 Take up "the simple faith again 
 
 In which our fathers dieil. 
 Their happy spirits downward glance 
 To-da}-, antiall our joy enhance; 
 And if they smile on us", perchance 
 Our hearts sliall catch the thrill. 
 A song for the present, — a song of praise 
 As clear and fresh as a morning breeze 
 AVhen it whispers through the budding trees 
 
 In the sunny month of May. 
 O, happy homes! that nestle snug 
 In Buckland's pleasant nooks! 
 O, happy children, born beside 
 
 Her rippling, l)abbling brooks! 
 Blest are tlie hearts that in such homes 
 Have found their joy and rest; 
 Thrice blest the souls that win from life 
 
 The truest and the best. 
 The homes and hearts are ours. 
 To shape the future as we will. 
 And dark or fair the dawning year.^ 
 As we our niches fill. 
 A wish for her future, O, brigliter by I'ar 
 Than light of the moon or ves|)er star. 
 Brighter than sunset's radiant hue. 
 Or the glittering drops of early dew, 
 lirighter than flowers in dark, "drear days. 
 Or pearlj' snow in tlie sunlight's rays. 
 That roiuid her name like atarry wreath 
 
28 
 
 ?J,"^>'l?V' '''-° l'o»^^''s, yeai-s be(iue:it:i, q ty^fit the rich within the gate 
 
 That all her coming days shall be jvught jveely want and care abate, 
 
 Marked by a true prosperity, xhe poor no more in euvy pine 
 
 riuit hope and joy for her shal sing. Because his friend drinks fortune's wine, 
 
 And peace brood solt with lolded wing, ^or we in selfishness, alone 
 
 inviner lile her churcncs show, ^,301^ oj, tjig thiuys that are our own. 
 
 And more ol heaven on earth bestow, ^o drunkard on our streets be found, 
 
 .1 charity on them f.escend Our Sabbaths broken by no sound 
 
 Chat sliall new grace their dealings lend. rj^,,^.^t ^^ the restful air shall jar, 
 
 1 neir ways reveal (they have not yet) j>^^ pejice and order everywhere. 
 
 j\tore love ot God than love oJ sect. ,, , , ^ ^ - , 1 , , 
 
 Our stiongest hope that we mav be ^^"'^e haste, O, gracious days, make haste ; 
 
 A nation strong, and clean and" free Thy Iruits thoug;li we may never taste. 
 
 Lies in our schools ; withhold no more This fervent wish our hearts shall hoid 
 
 The nid that shall aucrment their power, ^ "V' "^ l^'^'^"^ ">^®° hearts are cold; 
 
 Nor think an effort viiinlv made ■ Althougli our eyes may tad to see 
 
 That moves them towards a higher grade. } '^»t the blest time shall surely be 
 
 Book lore alone is small, indeeTl ; When ot the living, or o'er the dead 
 
 Kitt free from partv sect or creed, ^^"^'^ ^ithtul prais^e cannot be said. 
 
 Their future shall be rich, and they ^'" '^vorils of higlier, just renown 
 
 Shall rise to bights unknown to-day. ^^^^^ '^'"'^ • ^^^ ''^'°'^' '" I3ucjdand town. 
 
 Next caiHG letters from absent Biicklantl sous who found it im- 
 possible to respoud iu persou to the Committee's iuvitatiou. The 
 \yriters were Jiidson S. Browu, iu one of the departments at '\Vash- 
 ington, Rev. Lathrop Taylor, President of Wheatou College, of 
 Wheaton, Illinois, and. Hon. Bushnell White, U. S. Marshal at 
 Cleveland, ()hi(^. 
 
 Mr. White's Letter. 
 
 Clevel.vnd, June 0, 187;). 
 Frederick Forbes, Esu., Dear Sir : Your favor of June 4th is just re- 
 ceived. It ■would give me the greiltest pleasure to be present, could I 
 command my own time, but my business and other arrangements for the 
 summer and early fall Avill, necessarily, prevent my attendance. I hope 
 you will persevere in your efforts, for I am sure you will have good times. 
 The old town and its former inhabitants have never been forgotten. Ev- 
 ery foot of ground from the Tails and Deerfleld river to AshtieUl and 
 Ilawley are as fomiliar now as they were flfty years ago. I can recall 
 every house on the old road from tlie Falls to Ward's saw-mill south of 
 tlie Center, and each face looking out from them, as clearly as an event 
 of yesterday. First, came Uncle Oliver Coleman, then Lieutenant Ellis, 
 next Sam Ellis, M'ho married Aunt "Nabby Johnson, my school teacher, 
 when a small, bare-footed boy of six ; and tho'se same feet yet tingle at 
 the recollection of her tall, spare figure, and the switch never out of her 
 hand ; how I wished for boots iu those days. Now we pass Eddy's, and 
 ascending somewhat, leave Capt. Zebulon White on the lefb, with whom 
 lives his son-in-law, Field; down the hill, across the pine woods brook, 
 we come where my grandfather Thompson lived and died. A few rods 
 farther, going up a small hill, you will still sec, I think on the left, a stone 
 wall fence, laid up by my fatlier ;vnd I in 1829. Fingers and back ache at 
 the thought. Now we pass Little brook and Clesson's river, and arrive 
 at the mill-yard. Father's house, saw and grist mill on the left, Josiah 
 Thompson's, Major Taylor's and Barney Wells' on the right; next comes 
 my old friend Silas Trowbridge. Does he still live? Now comes the stay, 
 the defence, the pride of Massachusetts, a school-house, the old brick 
 
2!) 
 
 school-house of the north district. I love and revere It still. IJound 
 ftist in its recollections is the fragrant memory of John Porter, the heat 
 teacher I have ever seen. We have famous teachers and famous schools 
 in this city, but none of the former equalled Deacon John in his method 
 of teaching, in the interest excited, and in the results accomplished. He 
 taught in that house in Avinters of 1826-27-28. He was a good and great 
 man ; lieutenant and captain of the artillery, the best drilled company in 
 the county or state; superintendent of the Sunday-school and leader of 
 the church choir. The first thing that attracted my childish notion in 
 church, was the sounding board just ready to fall on the gray head of 
 good old Parson Spaulding; tlie second astonishing thing was the tuning 
 fork of Deacon Porter. He will not need it upon the "other side.". His 
 goodness and honesty, his love and labor for his fellow-men will rightly 
 pitch his voice to the melody of heaven. Passing from this, to me, deap 
 spot, I come to Levi Taylor's, then to Enos Taylor's, and follov/iag the 
 road around the curve of the river, we find another bridge across the 
 Clesson's river. There is no dwelling on the side-hill upon the right, for 
 Gardner Wilder was a scliool-boy then, and lived with his father. Captain 
 Wilder, forty rods further on, on the left of the road. Kcxt, we pass 
 Nathaniel Wilder's ; over another bridge we come to the poor house. Just 
 beyond this, leaving the river road, and turning to the right we cross a 
 small brook, and commence creeping up the hill, (as hard to climb as the 
 ascent to Heaven by the Orthodox road) and find the old church in the 
 angle formed by two long rows of horse sheds. Horse sheds ! for our 
 fathers Avere kinder to tlieir animals than they believed God could be to 
 man. Indeed, fear of that "hot place," or something else, made them 
 refuse for years to have a fire in church, even in the coldest weather. Per- 
 haps it was too suggestive of the possib'fe outcome in the next world. 
 Tyndall and Huxley, and Farrar and Beecher were not around in those 
 days. On the right was the dwelling of Mr. Graham, whose daughter 
 Laura was once a teacher of mine. Her sister Mary, was a beautiful girl, 
 and great favorite. Across the road from here, stood the school-house, 
 and next lived Mr. Hubbard, a merchant: opposite Hubbard's lived our 
 good Doctor Allen. What a wonderful vehicle to us boys was that two 
 wheeled "s/iay*" of his. He had three children, Joseph, Lucretia and 
 Louisa; the latter a black-eyed beauty. Just beyond his house was a 
 narrow ravine, deep as Tartarus, the sides covered Avith apple trees in full 
 bearing. Just beyond lived "Uncle" Jabe Brooks, who had no children. 
 Next to hina was the house of liev. Mr. Clarke, a graduate of Williams 
 College. Elijah Thayer was his classmate; born in Buckland in 1795, and 
 dying in 1824. He was one of the best Greek scholars of his day. Next 
 to Hubbard's was his store, where the farmers' eggs and butter were cx- 
 cliiinged for brown sugar and tea. Beyond, a blacksmith shop and a small 
 house, and then, upon an eminence, stood the fine brick residence of Mr. 
 Griswold. One of his sons, Wayne Griswold, was a distinguished phy- 
 sician, and prominent citizen of this State, and died at Circleville, Ohio, 
 a few years since. Some little ways beyond this, lived Uncle "Alf" 
 
30 
 
 Brooks, the richest m;iu of the towu, and the father of seveuteeu chikl- 
 reii. Let the Yankee couples of Massachusetts follow his example, If 
 they would not see the state overrun with foreigners. He sent two sons 
 to Amherst, and was much envied by us, poor boys, for his great wealth. 
 I liave since learned that he Avas worth about $4,000. 
 
 In those days, as most of the people came from a distance to church, 
 we had a short intermission of half an hour between services, conse- 
 quently everybody carried a lunch. In the fall and winter, Graham's, Dr. 
 Allen's and "Uncle" Jabe's, were the favorite places of eating it, since 
 there we were always furnished with apples, and at "Uncle" Jabe's with 
 nice cider. " Uncle" Jabe was much beloved. Plain and simple and 
 scanty was our fare in those daj\s ; and, yet, we had one dish that the 
 whole West can't equal. '■'■ Byeandincjin" bread, made of rye flour and 
 Indian meal, not sifted at the mill, but at home, kneaded for a whole hour, 
 baked in iron skillets, placed in a brick oven at three o'clock in the after- 
 noon, and not taken out till the next morning; it was bread tit for the 
 gods. 
 
 By the way, Deacon Porter brought the iirst barrel of wheat flour to 
 Buckland about 1829. Gathering and buying a quantity of chestnuts and 
 walnuts, he took them to Troy, and exchanged them for flour. He was 
 never tired of telling nor we of hearing of the wonders of that far oil" 
 city. One of the great wonders Avas the ferry boats propelled by horse 
 power, throwing into the shade the wooden horse of ancient Troy. In- 
 deed the Deacon's story was more interesting to the boy, than Schleiman's 
 story of his excavations to the man. But I am getting garrulous, yet 
 young enough to stop with my tenth sheet. 
 
 Please give my respects to all Avho remember me, and believe me 
 
 Truly Yours, B. White. 
 
 Rsv. William W. Johnson, of (rreeufield, Wisconsin, sent as his 
 contribution to the CeutGiinial a book entitled " Records of the 
 Descendants of David Johnson, of Leominster," a work of no little 
 valne to the Johnsons of Buckland, and which is to be kept in 
 the town for reference. 
 
 Senator Winn preceded the regular toasts of the afternoon Avitli 
 a tribute to the sturdy race avIio came to Buckland a century ago, 
 not llnding it as to-day, but an unbroken forest. ' They created 
 Avealth, felled the timber and drove the Indian away. Amono- 
 other things they fought against were bad habits, and here the 
 speaker referred to the drinking propensities of the olden time wlien 
 the ministers even set an example of tippling. The old Elder in 
 Whitingham, in his father's day, on one occasion, closed the bene- 
 diction by asking the Lord for mercy, grace and peace, andJAvith- 
 out a pause informed tlie people that a barrel of new rum Uiad 
 been received at his house, and he invited all to come over and par- 
 
;5i 
 
 take ol" it. The fathers in Buckland Avere not ignorant for the}' 
 read the law and discussed constitutional questions in to\yn meet- 
 ing. The}' had a stern theology but successful villiany never found 
 a foothold here. 
 
 A sentiment was given for the old men of Buckland, and Dea. 
 Silas Trowbridge of Buckland was called upon to respond. He 
 believed that the good seed sown by the temperate, industrious and 
 religious fathers of Buckland would bear good fruit in after genera- 
 tions. He had spent the whole of his long life within the limits of 
 the town. The next toast was to the young men of Buckland, 
 and Charles E. Ward was called out as their spokesman. He 
 quoted the maxim : Old men for counsel young men for war, but 
 the gathering of the day was one of peace, and the 3'oung soldier 
 had no right in the "vet's" place at the camp-fire, and he would be 
 contented to be a listener. He referred poetically to the winding 
 Clesson, the burden of whose song is forward and not back — which 
 might be adopted as a symbol of our future. 
 
 George D. Crittenden responded for "Our Town Officers." He 
 compared the habits and manners of the people of to-day with 
 those of the past. In olden time there were alwa3's two or three 
 men in town who stood head and shoulders above their fellow-citi- 
 zens. The Squire, the Deacon and the Minister were the law and 
 the gospel. Now the average man is given a share in political and 
 public affairs. To illustrate his point he told the following anec- 
 dote : Years ago a party of Buckland people settled on the Hol- 
 land Purchase, 300 miles west of here, in she state of New York. 
 Years afterwards a Buckland man went out there and they asked 
 him who Avas the first Selectman in town, and he replied, "John 
 Porter." "Who is your Deacon?" Avas the next C[uestion, and the 
 answer Avas, "John Porter." "Who leads 3'our choir?" "John 
 Porter." "-Who is Superintendent of your Sabbath-school?" 
 "John Porter." "Who is Justice of the Peace?" "John Porter." 
 "AVho commands the militia company?" "John Porter." "Who 
 did you send to the Legislature last year?" "John Porter." Out 
 of patience, the next question Avas, "For heaven's sake, who 
 ^adeyou?" And promptly came the response, "John Poiter." 
 People of the present day are far more independent in thought and 
 action. The speaker, liowever, ga^-e all honor to the sturdy men 
 Avlio founded a church Avithout a bishop and a state Avithout a king. 
 
 F^dwin A. DaA'is was called upon in behalf of "Our Mechanics," 
 and Hugo Mann Avas asked to speak for "Our Adopted Citizens," 
 but these gentlemen could not be found. Dr. Josiah TroAv, hoAv- 
 ever, was said to be always on hand and ready, and came gallantly 
 to the defence of the Medical profession. He gave the names of 
 Buckland's physicians, connnencing Avjth Dr. Holbrook, in 1800. 
 Dr. Allen was a famous man in his day and Avent into politics as 
 Avell as medicine, and the speaker gave some anecdotes of his ca- 
 reer in Buckland. His successors were Drs. Lono-, Asldey and 
 
the two Trows. Fourteen physicians had originated in town — 
 more than was claimed by an^' other proCession. Ur, Trow graphi- 
 call.y described the old time practice of bleeding and dosing with 
 calomel, and gaA'e the following as the requisites for a successful 
 practitioner in these days : He must be good looking — a handsome 
 man ; must have a foreign appearance ; wear a ring ; carry a cane 
 and soft soap enough for a whole neighborhood, and then if pos- 
 sessing an al)undance of cheek he might commence the study of 
 mediciYie. 
 
 Kev. <_'. L. Guild was asked to speak in behalf of the clergy. 
 Although not long a resident he was glad to be called upon as a 
 Buckland clergyman. In 1*4 years the town had had five pastors — 
 the speaker being the sixth. There was not a black mark against 
 any of them. Thc\y had done their work well and so were Vt'ell re- 
 membered. Pleasant anecdotes of Father Spanlding were given. 
 Buckland had sent out many young men who had become ministers, 
 and one was referred to who was soon to follow. 
 
 Rev. Samuel S, Clark of Ilolyoke responded to the toast to the 
 women of Buckland, and took occasion to pay a tribute to Miss 
 Mary Lyon, who had been an inmate of his father's house. 
 
 To Prof. W. F. Sherwin was given the closing toast — The INIu- 
 sic and Musicians of Olden Times. He thought the audience had 
 already had more toast than they could digest, and he would defer 
 liis speech until the next centennial. He, however, took occasion 
 to recall the ''old ineeting-house" — not the "church," which he de- 
 fined as an organization of believers — with its square galleries and 
 sounding boai'd ; and he told how he fenred and revered the minis- 
 ter ; and of the singing circles at James B. Taylor's, not forgetting 
 little incidents and anecdotes which were told in a happy vein that 
 put the weary audience in the best humor. And thus the good 
 times closed with Auld Lang Syne, Prof. Sherv.in leading the sing- 
 ing and all joining in the grand old song. 
 
 (h-ent credit is dv.c the Conunittec for the day's success, and to 
 the officers in charge who were pronijit in carrj'ing out the pro- 
 gramme. The Shelburne Falls Band also needs a good word, for 
 the music was one of the pleasant features of the occasion. Buck- 
 land is to be congratulated, and may her next centennial be as 
 !)ri<2;lit and jovous as tiiat of ]<S7!). 
 
38 
 
 The Buckland of a Century. 
 
 Written for the Buckland Centennial Celebration, Sept. 10, 1879. 
 
 BY KbV. W. A. KICHOLS. 
 
 Hail! present citizens of Buckland, hail I 
 
 Both you who liU the soil, and dig for gold 
 
 One furrow deep, wliere lies the primal wealth 
 
 Of States and empires old, and sinews of 
 
 The Commonwealths in future to arise; 
 
 And you who toil in shops as artisans. 
 
 Or build in architecture simple or 
 
 Elaborate, the homes of other men, 
 
 And rear the temples of the living God ; 
 
 And you who buy and sell the products of 
 
 An honest toil, which yields you wholesome gain ; 
 
 And you who teach tiie young idea how 
 
 To shoot into proportions full and strong: 
 
 And you who preach the words of lite to men : 
 
 And you who practice in the healing art 
 
 To make men whole, nor multiply their ills; 
 
 And you who doctor men with civil law 
 
 To heal their strife, nor make them strive the more ; 
 
 In answer to your hearty call Me come 
 
 From East and West, from North and South,from 
 
 homes 
 Which we have found both far anil near,to homes 
 And friends and kindred dear whicli we had Iclt, 
 And some of us to pay our compliments 
 Unto the dear old mountains and the steep 
 Side-hills— to course once more your rivulet 
 In which we've often plunged at noon-tide hour, 
 To thread your tiny brooks, which babble not 
 So loud iiswhen we strayed along tlieir banks 
 To toss the speckled troiit on rainy days. 
 Too wet for decent folks to work out doors ; 
 We come to contemplate with you, the course 
 Of time — the ways of men and providence 
 Of God, in this good town a hundred years. 
 
 II.— THIS TOWN A IICNDEED YEARS AGO. 
 
 Until one hundred years ago, 
 As civil history will show. 
 These hills, these dales and streams, for want 
 Of name, were part of Charlemont. 
 This }ivclc\viw\, where, we surely know. 
 Did also roam the timid doe, 
 AVas mostly wilderness profound, 
 Where native wildness did abound. 
 The wolf did prowl at dead of night, 
 The panther's scream did so affright 
 The mother in the cabin drear. 
 That husband's footsteps at the door. 
 Gave joy she never felt before. 
 " The bear did guard her hollow tree, 
 
 And thus defend her family. 
 
 The red man left these woods in quest 
 Of better hunting farther west; 
 And frontier settlers then were rare, 
 With dwellings scattered here and there ; 
 lu the deep wood a house appearing. 
 Surrounded by a little clearing. 
 The weary luiutsinan climbed your mountains, 
 And slaked his thirst at gushing fountains, 
 Until the sweet and tender venison 
 Was carried home, a precious benison. 
 The bridle paths, like Indian trails, 
 Led o'er these hills and through the vales ; 
 From settlement to settlement. 
 The pioneer on horseback went, 
 Or drawn bv oxen tlirough the snow. 
 With plodding steps, full sure, but slow: 
 Yet pioneers were seldom sad ; 
 Their homes were merry, hearthstones glad. 
 Except when suddenly alarmed. 
 
u 
 
 Tliey feared their liouseiiohl -woiilil be- liarined. 
 
 Ifneiglibors then were tar away, 
 Too far to visit every day, 
 'Twas rare that loneliness was felt, 
 Thongh few and far between they dwelt. 
 Too busj- in tlieir household plans, 
 Too active with their heads and hands ; 
 No modes had they of motlern sort, 
 For killing time to make it short; 
 And when the people came together, 
 in sunny or in stormy weather, 
 Kight social times were tliere, I'm sure, 
 Anil better far for being lewer. 
 Then irfcls and lasses long apart, 
 AVith cheerful flow of loving heart, 
 Would congregate in joyous bands ; 
 r.y tasting lips and shaking hands. 
 Despite the rural life they led. 
 
 Would prove that Cupid "was not dead. 
 The otter, and tlic crafty mink. 
 
 Along your crystal river's brink, 
 
 ( Jained' not their food by simply wishing — 
 
 They lived b.y industry — in fisliing. 
 
 The nimble salmon leaped your falls. 
 
 And skillful boys made lusty hauls. 
 
 Where grown up trout, in places deep. 
 
 Could not their hiiiing places keep. 
 The times were rough, the country new. 
 
 And sluggard lile, as now, was blue, 
 
 IJecause the acres would not yield 
 
 Where none would work to till the field. 
 
 A'et industry, as now, was crowned 
 
 With golden harvests from the ground, 
 
 IMade soft by sweat in patient toil: 
 
 "Tis this that fructilies the soil. 
 
 In countries old and countries new; 
 
 So I believe and so must yon. 
 
 in.— THE CONQnEST OF IXDUSTRY I>IRIXG THE 
 I'lllST FIFTY TEAKS. 
 
 How great the w(!rk of pioneers, — 
 
 But little do they ki.ow 
 Who reap the fruit in alter years. 
 
 Without their work to do. 
 The stately mansion, broad and high. 
 
 Impression makes profound: 
 Hut never tells th ■ passer by 
 
 The A\ork of underground" ; 
 What ma sive stones at the foundation ! 
 
 AVhat toil to place them there! 
 All which is needful preparation 
 
 To rear the structure fair. 
 So when a hundred years have finished 
 
 The work long since begun, 
 Eude ob-tacles are so diminished. 
 
 That farming is but fun. 
 The woodman's ax, the falling trees. 
 
 In solitude profouml. 
 With stroke and crash upon the breeze, 
 
 Echo the forest round, 
 Ifntil the forest monarc!is lie, 
 
 ]>y acres on the ground, 
 And there are left with sun to drv. 
 
 Till burning time comes round"; 
 When, through the country far and wide 
 
 Under the blazing sun. 
 Dark smoke betrays the rolling tide 
 
 Of hurnliuj now"begun. 
 During those long and tniltry davs. 
 
 In which the dog-star rages, 
 Tlie country through was in a blaze 
 
 For farms, in future ages. 
 After the rea))or'8 task was done. 
 
 And harvest home was sung, 
 
35 
 
 The work of chopping- u]> ciiiiie on, 
 
 The seared logs among. 
 Next, piling logs came on full soon ; 
 
 If corn was i-ipe lor toasting, 
 The hlack-faced boys )jy liglit of moon 
 
 Had jolly times at roasting. 
 Tliis work of which yon now arc hearing 
 
 So fnll of smut ami health, 
 In ancient phrase was called a "clearing" — 
 
 Grandfather's way to wealtli. 
 Tluis lields continued nearing. To what was told before. 
 
 Till clearing touched to clearing : Tlie postman next to view 
 
 And men of common sense Appeared, with much of neM' 
 
 Did lean on the line fence, Sut in express by steam. 
 
 And freely talk together, (A fact not thenin dream) 
 
 About the" crops and Aveather. Tint f>n a jaded nag, 
 
 Tlien housewives more at ease, lUindle in saddle bag, 
 
 ( )f batter talked and cheese ; ]>id wind his horn to tell 
 
 Hence, friendly gossip grew, What the wide world befell. 
 
 To tell of something new, A famous man was he. 
 
 And add a little more As bustling man could be. 
 
 And many-other things were done, 
 
 (The people'then were strong) 
 Which note are freely left alone, 
 
 By aged and by young. 
 The fields, of stone, both great and small 
 
 Were cleared for better liliiiig; 
 AVith lines of long and roiigh stone wall 
 
 The country then was filling. 
 I've lifted stone on that old farm, 
 
 Till I saw stars by day ; 
 And yet it never did me hann — 
 
 I'd rather work than play. 
 An orchard on the steep side hill, 
 
 Or somewhere else al)ont, 
 And notdar off a cider mill. 
 
 Were lieedful fitting out. 
 The still-worm was a constant bore, 
 
 And very hard to kill, 
 When thirst was ever craving mvrr, 
 
 And moi-e would never fill. 
 Ah ! there were some of noble blood, 
 
 Yes! tliey were truly Viraves, 
 To conquer fields and iell the wood, 
 
 But rank themselves as slaves. 
 In revolutionary day 
 
 This goodly town was horn. 
 And after that, was war with Sliay,— 
 
 Whom justice brands with scorn. . 
 Strong-minded woman then was here : 
 
 And woman's riglits were rife : — 
 Woman, who rarely knew a fear, 
 
 Yet faithful as a M'ife. 
 Gaunt war had sucked the nation's Idood, 
 
 And thinned the volunteers: 
 At home, there was a lack of food. 
 
 But not of woman's cheers. 
 Tlien, motliers often went afield. 
 
 To keep the boys in train ; 
 When harvests to her sickle yield, 
 
 They save the precious grain : 
 She lent the sire to freedom's cause. 
 
 And took his place at home: 
 'Twas thus she broke oppression's laws. 
 
 For ages yet to come. 
 She had a right to wear the crov, n 
 
 Of Ceres on the farm : 
 * And ever after renv) renown 
 
 Where valor is the charm. 
 These fifty years of tug and l:old, 
 
 To contfuer virgin soil, 
 
ac 
 
 Called for a ijcople strong aud bold, 
 To grapple "with the toil. 
 
 IV.— THE MEN AND AVOMEN'OF LONG AGO. 
 
 Wards were lirst upon the soil, 
 First in strokes of hardy toil; 
 Miller John, an upright soul, 
 Left the grist and.took'.the toll. 
 Taylors next iu;0rder came ; 
 JMany people bore this name : 
 Samuel stood up and cried 
 AVho next here should be a bride. 
 Othniel among the pines, 
 Built a park for stags and hinds : 
 William's meadow often made 
 Ample comraon'for parade.j 
 Lemuel, until quite old, 
 In the church did ofQce hold. 
 See Enos, never fond of strife, 
 A friendly neighbor all his life. 
 Levi as a quiet man, i" 
 Lived by rule and worked'ljylplau. 
 Shcrwiii, as a deacon gifted," 
 AVith the pastor ever lifted. 
 Deacon Pratt lived near to .God, — 
 Paths of love he ever ti-od. 
 Carters, always very neat. 
 Strove to make their works complete. 
 Johnsons lived as paradoxes. 
 Cutting stone aud hunting foxes. 
 lU-ooks did ever farm it well, 
 Kvery passer byVcould tell. -J 
 (jriswold was athorough man. 
 Firm to execute his plan. 
 Pomero;/ was an honored'name, 
 Never widelj' known to fame, i 
 Huhhard, thoughtful, taciturn, 
 Slow to speak and quick to learn. 
 Pntnams, every one will say, 
 Dealing justly", showed fair play. 
 Those who kiiew the Farnhfims v~e\\, 
 Can their fortunes better tell. 
 '/'roirbridge, Rufus had the skill 
 Funds to settle left by Avill. 
 E/lis, after urgent calls. 
 Helped a bridge across the falls. 
 liallard, upright, fond of scrubbing, 
 (iave rough liclds a thorough drnbbinj 
 Many others we could show, 
 Had" important work to do : 
 Doing well with hearty cheer. 
 Left a proof of being here. 
 Housework everywhere Mould tell, 
 Women lived their epics well : — 
 Carding wool and spinning Hax, 
 Keeping floors as neat as wax. 
 Clothing sons and daughters warm, 
 'Gainst the chilling winter's storm. 
 For the daughter soon to wed. 
 Picking geese for feather bed : 
 Ever at the church on Sunday, 
 Washing up on every ^Monday. 
 Saddle, pillion, pillow, three 
 Tlode one horse, as you may see; 
 •Saddle was the father's seat; 
 Pillion mother took behind; 
 (Moderns no such couple lind;) 
 On a pillow baby i-ode. 
 At the pommel "as it could. * 
 On the Sabbath let us see 
 What of tliis ancient family : 
 At the seventh day's setting sun. 
 Of the week the work was done ; 
 Playing now was desecration ; 
 Social visits profanation; 
 Night began before the day, 
 Such Mas God's appointed wav. 
 
 IIB 
 
 214 
 
:57 
 
 Taking comfort at their ease, 
 Freely ate their bread and cheese. 
 Brier the liour of intermission 
 To relieve the chilled condition ; 
 Fortified with warmth and food, 
 They another cliill witlistood. 
 When this second close had come, 
 No time lost in fretting home. 
 In the ereiiinpr, by the fire. 
 Sat the children with the sire ; 
 In that circle was no scliism. 
 All must i-ay the catechism. 
 
 Miiiiern f<"ilks are wont to smile 
 At a Sabbath in this style; 
 lUit I tell you all as one, 
 Sabbath then was thoroufthly done : 
 Sabbath inttuence went then 
 Thr(Mi.2:li tlip week with boys and men. 
 Willi no Sunday ])ai)er then, 
 Telling peoi)le where and when 
 Stocks woulil fall and s'rain would rise. 
 Wlien to purcliase merchandise, 
 Men acquired a competence, 
 Rarely sufl'ered lack of pence. 
 Then it was no Yankee notion, 
 Leaving bail to cross the ocean. 
 From prison an'd disgrace to flee. 
 Hiding shame beyond the sea; 
 Francliise spurned the purchased vote, 
 Honor watched to pay the note. 
 
 Sabbatli day at half past ten, 
 
 All the women, boys and men, 
 
 Were expected in their pew 
 
 When the pastor came in vieM'. 
 
 Pulpits then were perched on high. 
 
 Like a barrel in the sky; 
 
 Sounding board Avas higher still. 
 
 Which the preaclier's voice might fill, 
 
 And convey the gospel sound 
 
 Freely all the flock around. 
 
 All tlie people stood in prayer: 
 
 Xone ever ventured sitting there; 
 
 Seats went up when people rose, 
 
 Helping them to lind repose. 
 
 Prayer once over, bang ! bang ! bang I 
 
 All around, whang, whang, wliang! 
 
 Fusillade of volunteers. 
 
 Falls not harsher on the ears. 
 Churches then, for best of reasons. 
 
 Had no lire in winter seasons. 
 
 IJest of sermons olie could liear; 
 
 Long enough in cold severe. 
 
 Kapping toes upon the heel, 
 
 ^luch discomfort did reveal; 
 
 Ketter when the text began, • 
 
 Did the children like Amen. 
 Worship over none too soon. 
 
 All went out to spend the noon : 
 
 At the neighbor's roaring lire. 
 
 Sat the mother and the sire, 
 
 Of father Spaulding now a kindly Mord : 
 
 He flrstas pastor fed the peojile iiere: 
 
 As scholar, and with charge to keep the flock. 
 
 He faithful was and true, through heat and cold ; 
 
 His words in social life were lew, but well 
 
 Selected to convey the kindness of 
 
 A warm and loving heart. A little odd. 
 
 Through absent-mindedness he sometimes caused 
 
 A smile, soon checked,tlirough reverence for the man 
 
 His most emphatic gesture was to rise 
 
 On tiptoe, with clasped hands held u|). 
 
 And face upturned, come down uiion his heels 
 
 To add importance to his sentiment. 
 
 ne;died in eighteen huiidivd twenty-three 
 
 At spring-time, after a long winter of 
 
 Kevival labor with his charge, full ageil,— 
 
 At seventy-two. How old lie seemed ! how ripe! 
 
 And richly fruited for the Father's house. 
 
 Young Abner Taylor was in college when 
 
 This swift winged century swept by the point 
 
 Hall-way. In purpose ol'd, and rich in thought, 
 
 His graduation two years past, when he 
 
 Was suddenly arrested; as the man 
 
 Who leaves tiie plough in furrow; Just begun 
 
 The field before him'left; where he liad hoped 
 
 To sow.and reap the later harvest full. 
 
 Delirium had siezed him in its wild 
 
 Embrace, that he saw neither earth nor heaven. 
 
 In its.true light;— was neither here nor there; 
 
 Till soon his waning senses lost their power 
 
 To act. As some tall vessel anchored in 
 
 The storm and rocked by winds and waves upon 
 
 A rolling sea, att'rights the men who stand 
 
 Upon the shore, without the power to help. 
 
 We thus did stand and view his agony: 
 
 rntil the shattered bark went down bener.tli 
 
 The lethal wave, and left the spirit free 
 
 To soar away to him who gave it fh-st. 
 
 And so it sometimes is, the good dU'firsi. 
 
 John Porter' was a man, all manhooil to 
 
 The core, vet he could also be a boy, 
 
 When such would best boflt the circumstiuu-e, 
 
 (A good bov to be sure, as all boys shouldlie) 
 
 The object gained, he could put on tlio man 
 
 Again, and be as manly as liofove. 
 
*■> si 
 
 Such style nl' nKinbuod best belits a world 
 Like th'is: for, so the Miin in Holy Writ 
 I'.ecnme .-ill tilings unto nil men, that he 
 
 _]\lia;lit uain the more from wrong to right. 
 
 ''I'oself-depcu lence left in early days. 
 He found a generous heart to t;die him in. 
 AVhile youth was fresh, he joined the teachers" corps 
 In winter months, and Mary Lyon had 
 For buxom pupil, in her early teens. 
 As quick in tiiought and coniprehensive in 
 His scope of men and things, more popular 
 None ever was within his sphere, nor need 
 Desire to be; and yet he ever turned 
 His popularity to Visefuhiess. 
 The trusts committed to him, sacredly 
 He held. The ollice w;is the greater for 
 The ofljcer who tilled it full, and well. 
 As teacher of the youth, and leader in 
 T'he choir, and deacon of the church, as one 
 In military life, — selectman of 
 The town,— as legislative member of 
 The House, and privy councilor of State; 
 In one, — in all, he was at home, and served 
 The people and his country ever well. 
 
 As tlje last century diew near its close, 
 Enst side of Putnam's hill, a child was born, 
 ^Vhose early thoughts were wont to swell beyond 
 The narrow'precincts of her natal home; 
 That westward hill she often climbed, because 
 It overlooked, and down into the world. 
 Enthusiastic, and yet crude was her 
 Beginning; but the world which she looked out 
 Upon in clnldhood, was to feel, to its 
 Kemotest bounds, her influence for good. 
 Tlie hundred years whicii make this century, 
 And mark this. joyous day ceniennial. 
 Had ])assed their middle point in twenty-nine; 
 And Mary Lyon then was thirty-two, 
 Tne crudities of early youth were gone. 
 Slie then had taught her schools in Graham's hall, 
 And more elsewhere. Her great ability 
 To mold and elevate the female mind 
 Was evident bj- proof beyond a doubt. 
 And, slowly, now, and surely she prepared 
 'fo meet her life-work face to face, and do 
 Her best. In thirty-seven the Holyoke school 
 r.egan. In twelve short years her" work was done. 
 Yet through her pupils she is living still. 
 In every quarter of the globe; land on 
 The islands of the sea her voice is heard. 
 So perfect was her plan of school for girls 
 To meet a wide extended want, deep fell, 
 That, years r >volving, do not wear it out 
 Of harmony with need; and tlie supply 
 Of patronage increases, ever, as 
 Tlie years go by, to show the plan correct. 
 A thorough, deep and compreliensive view 
 (^f female education ; was, at first. 
 The source and snrincr of her great enterprise. 
 That heart should, equal, share with intellect. 
 In cultivation up to womanhood, 
 Was over cardinal with her in thought. 
 Anil next to this was the vi'it/iu'tir power 
 Of her great soul in sympathy with tliose, 
 She led in toilsome progress iip the hill. 
 As great in ])lan, less perfect in detail. 
 She wrought the system into perfect whole; 
 Itatgave details to others who could work 
 The jiarts with more facility than she. 
 One major-(jCneral, alone is found 
 Among teii|,thousand who may lietter do 
 The detailed work of a suliordinate. 
 As chief commamler, very few her peers ; 
 None better knew than she, to choose her aids. 
 Within tliese facts, may often be concealed 
 The secrot of a great and useful life. 
 
81) 
 
 v.— THE UOrS AND GIUI.S OF TIIIC OT.DEX 
 TIME. 
 
 If I can tell you nothins new, 
 I sui-e will tell voii what was true 
 Of the boys and girls of the clays of yore: 
 1 lease this receive and nothinii'more'. 
 Ihe boys of sixty years ago, 
 Were much the same as boys arc now 
 The men, now woven into rhvnic 
 Were simply boys in olden time. 
 And ladies now in caps and glasse<? 
 Were gleesome maidens; bonnv lasses 
 Then youthful blood did have i'ts frolic' 
 It not by rule then sure bv rollick ■ ' 
 If boys were fonder then of slidin"- 
 Girls liked as well, the fun of ridi'n'o- 
 On goodly hand-sled drawn by boys 
 And, 111 the sport made equal noise.' 
 When one has said whate'er he can 
 "The child was lather of the man."' 
 As that was true so was this other- 
 The girl was stepping-stone to mot'lier. 
 
 Ihe elder boys dressed flax, vou knov.- 
 Girls HI their teens were spinning tow ' 
 Were also taught to use the broom. 
 And liow to practice in the loom, 
 \vniich played the tune of how to thrive- 
 I hus lioine was busy as a hire, 
 AVhere drones to working bees must turn 
 And eat the honey wliich thev earn. ' 
 
 The public schools in early days 
 Contained but little we can praise 
 (ieography was too abstruse. 
 Until JMary Lyon taught its use. 
 And grammar was as strange as Greek 
 In teaching people how to sjjoak. 
 In mathematics, hoiis must be 
 rrolicieiit to the rule of three. 
 lUit girls, as scholars passed right well 
 If they could read and write ami spell ' 
 It any wished to enter college, 
 
 These must forsooth,extend their knowledge 
 
 Ihe pastor, then, in requisition, " ' 
 
 M as put, to tit for this position 
 
 In composition, letter wriiing 
 
 Furnished practice for inditiu"- 
 
 If parents then liad better known 
 
 "Man shall not live by bread alone," 
 
 I hat human bodies are but shells 
 
 In whicli the higlier nature dwells 
 
 That after the Creator's plan. 
 
 Mind is the measure of the man 
 
 Their sons and ilaiigliters then liad found 
 
 Means lor impvoveinent more profouiul 
 
 It less of muscle more of thouglit ' 
 
 More comprehension would have brought- 
 
 luit ifUo could tell, when no one knew "" ' 
 
 The parts that lacked, or, what to do'-*' 
 
 ^tep by step improvement grows; 
 
 And if, perchance, some wise one knows 
 
 a wo steps ahead to take at once. 
 
 He is for this pronounced a dunce 
 
 >>'ot suitable to show the way; ' 
 
 And would most surely lead astray 
 
 He went too fast, as people said ; * ' 
 
 Xone, sure, would follow vhore he Jed 
 
 Yet such as these must lead the van • 
 
 And higher progress ever plan ; 
 
 Where nobler spirits lirst have gone. 
 
 Slow creeping thoim-lit may follow on - 
 
 Yet looking back lor forwanl motion," 
 
 Like ships stern foremost on the ocean 
 
 Not e'en stern foremost will those move 
 
 Until in practice you shall pFove, 
 
 IJy demonstration iilalnasdav. 
 
 Which is lor them the better way. 
 
 And, when you've made tlie case so plain 
 
r/ 
 
 40 
 
 They cannot lielp advantage ^aiu, 
 They overlook their good adviser, 
 And thank tliemselves for being wiser. 
 
 M.— SOME OF THE CIIAXGES OF REVOLVIXG 
 TEAKS. 
 
 On every hand the truth appears. 
 
 That in "tliesc swift revolving years, 
 
 The world has moved at equal rate 
 
 No tiling retains its former state. 
 
 The coach and four for locomotion, 
 
 Is )3ut an antiquated notion, 
 
 An iron kettle full of steam, 
 
 Islietter far than four horse team ; 
 
 The post to telegraph gives place: 
 
 Tiiis vies with lightning in the race 
 
 Of taking news io utmost bound 
 
 Of human lialiilation found. 
 
 What though the world through these seem 
 
 smaller? 
 Humanity is so much taller, 
 To ovcrlo"ok both things and men ; 
 And better knoAV tlie where and when. 
 
 Your hill-sides have washed and washed 
 again 
 I'.y oft repeated summer rain. 
 Have given to the lields below. 
 Where still you plough and plaut and sow, 
 Their virgin fatness to that soil. 
 Where you more easily can toil; 
 And malie the fewer acres yield. 
 The harvests of a larger field. 
 
 On hill tops once your pasture ground. 
 Returning forests will be found; 
 This second growth will moisture bring 
 To feed again the failing spring; 
 And wood, as better crop than grain. 
 The primal value will sustain. 
 This take as nature's form of fallow 
 To reimburse your soil, made shallow. 
 On fewer acres, greater skill, 
 The barn more readily will till ; 
 And better tools will supersede 
 .Some of the hands which now you neod. 
 These super-numeraries send, 
 Far westward, where their skill can lend 
 Unto the liardy pioneer. 
 Now toiling on our broad frontier, 
 Your Yankee skill from Pilgrim land. 
 Then ruder men will understaml 
 The way to do, with least, the best, 
 (Too olt a secret in the West) 
 And they will teach, as well they can, 
 Hoiv tjou can make a broader plan ;^ 
 And "when these secrets are found out, 
 lioth will be Yankees, /e»r/t/iened ont. 
 For, when, with this expanded view. 
 It is seen Mhat saving things will do. 
 With ample means, lioth sooner can 
 Fill to the iirim the larger plan. 
 Wliat though a hundred years you boast 
 Hard by New England's "rocky bound coast? 
 New lingland's e<iual self ha.sgone, 
 ]\[uch further towards the setting sun; 
 To be the frame- work of the nation, 
 And underlie its broad foundation. 
 High u|) among the Hocky Mountains 
 \Vhere fortiiucs ilow from golden fountains. 
 And o'er the vast extended plains 
 Of prairie land, are Yankee brains. 
 New England's thrifty sons and daughters 
 Surge along Paeilic waters, 
 Where I'reedom-truih, a soid do till, 
 Thei-e's I'lvmouth liock and Uuuker Hill. 
 
 Mitculi'if Compaiii/, J'rhiicrK, Xorthampton. 
 

 
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