,4 o. o ^ . $illl£. V Mt ^ • *°° . V * life °^ O v v 0°' v>> <■»■ oV ■r- /. v ^ ^" ^ ■ *W *. ^ ** *« ° "^ ^ %> ' V :■• J*V JOHN MUNROE an d Old Barnstable 1784-1879 SKETCH OF A GOOD LIFE AN ANNIVERSARY TRIBUTE By ELIZABETH MUNROE C. W. SWIFT PRINTER fi vmm* VJ PREFACE. BRIEF history of the Munroe Family before their coming to America is given in a Gen- ealogical Record from which 1 quote the following: William Munroe was the first person of the name known in America. In one of the bloody contests be- tween the crown and the people in the reign of Charles 1st, William .Munroe, who was a soldier in the King's army and a loyalist, was taken prisoner by Cromwell at the Battle of Dun- bar on the heights of Scotland. For this he was exiled from his country and with a shipload of soldiers sent to America. This was in 1640, twenty years after the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth. As prisoners of war they were compelled to work three days in the week for their masters and three for themselves. After- a time they were a hie to buy their Freedom, and from this were called Redemptioners. They established their homes in Lex- ington, and History t'-lls us that being an united family, they limit their houses together, each one making his house an addition to the next, so that the long row of one story buildings resembled a Rope work. Though William Munroe championed a cause that failed and was sacrificed to the will of a tyrant, he was a true patriot to his King and country, and for his loyalty banished with many others from home and exiled to Ameriea. Though in England the established author- ity was overthrown and kingly rule assumed by a usurper, it nevertheless proved the begin- ning of a Constitutional Govern- ment and gave the people their first authority in the making of laws and later establishing the Parliament of two houses, Lords and Commons, the established rule of England today. CHAPTER I. My Father's Family. HIS is the thirtieth anniversary of my dear father's death, and as the years go by I feel im- pelled to put on record some events of what from a retrospec- tive view, was a remarkable life. This I do especially for the pleas- ure, and also as 1 hope profit, of his grandchildren and great- grandchildren, and take up the pleasant task for love of him and them. As the youngest of his family, 1 regret to have but little better authority than what memory furnishes, as many events of his early life are only hearsay. i-Iohn Munroe was born in West Roxbury, October 11, 1784. He was one of five sons and two daughters, who died in infancy. The sons grew to manhood. My fa flier's father was Genl. Jon- athan Parker, one of the leading soldiers in the Revolution. He mustered one of the first com- panies to resist the British at Lexington, and was present at the famous Tea Party in Boston. 1 H N M U X R o E He belonged to the family from whom Rev. Theodore Parker descended, and lived on the hill at Brookline which takes its name from the family of Parker Hill. My father's mother Abigail Parker was born in 1753, and .it the age of twenty was married to my grandfather Daniel Mun- roe, born in Lexington and also of Revolutionary descent." Col. Robert Mnnroe was in the skir- mish at Lexington with the Brit- ish when on their way to Con- cord for the capture of military stores they were met by the Colonists, and was said to have fired the first shot on the American side. He was wounded in the morning in the elbow, and while still bleeding he remounted his horse and con- tinned on the field till the after- noon, when fainting from loss of hlood he was compelled to retire from the field. Among Conti- nental relics at the Old South church, Boston, may be seen the musket from which the shot was fired. This brief outline is taken from a book of more explicit de- tails owned by our cousin, Miss 2 AND OLD BARNSTABLE Mary Munroe of Concord, recent- ly deceased. My grandfather's family lived for many years in Roxbury and some of his children were born there. Their names, which I give according to ages, were William, Daniel, Nathaniel, John, Charles and Abigail, who was named for her mother, all of whom 1 recall having seen at my father's house in Barnstable. William Munroe lived in Concord and had four sons and three daughters. William the father was the first and only maker for many years of the lead pencil, by which with his business as cabinet maker he amassed a handsome fortune. Nathaniel lived in Baltimore and had one son and three daughters. His descendants live now in Bos- ton, the children of Franklin Haven Who built the large house on the corner of Mt. Vernon and West Cedar Sts. Daniel Munroe lived in Boston and has one daughter and granddaughters still in its vicinity. When quite young my father, being in poor health, was advised by the elder Dr. Warren to make a home in 3 JOHN M U N R E the country, embarked on a ves- sel for a trip to Virginia, where he was advised to go for the win- ter. A severe storm arose, when the vessel anchored at Hyannis. While waiting for an abatement of the storm my father took a trip to the village of Barnstable, and being favorably impressed with the place decided to settle there. To go back a little T must tell from certain hints that he was always active, courageous and fond of certain kind of amusement. As a boy I am sure he was fond of games, and after he gave up business and retired for several years in the winter to Cambridge he often wandered to the Common where he was always interested in seeing the baseball games, and even to the last hours of his life he was men- tally and physically alive and alert. After he was past ninety I often went with him to call on Mr. Samuel Curtis of Boston, who was the same age, and with great .joy they talked of trundling hoop together when boys around Jamaica pond. I have often since living in Boston driven with 4 AND OLD BARNSTABLE a friend around the edge of the hill which overhangs the pond, and recognize the very path close to the pond where he must have trundled his hoop when a little boy. My grandfather removed his family to Boston when his children were young. They lived at the North End, which in those days was the Court End of the town. My father recalled that in conversation with his father and a friend he remembered hearing said that the North End was getting so crowded he feared he might have to go out to Beacon Street, where the land in the country was cheaper. My grand- father however remained at the North End until his death, until after my sister Susan went to Boston to school, as she recalled her experiences in dancing school, etc., when she lived with my grandmother. Later on she re- moved to Allen Street at the West End. 1 regret not to know on what street was my grand- mother's home at the North End, but as she was an attendant at Dr. Parkman's church, now standing at the corner of Clark 5 J O II N M U N R E and Hanover Streets, it could not have been far away from that point. This Dr. Parkman to whom I have alluded was one of two brothers whose dwelling was the large gray stone house within my memory facing Bowdoin Square. The two brothers were Francis and Henry, one a minis- ter and the other a doctor. Henry being accosted in the street one day as Doctor, an- swered, "I am the one who preaches and my brother prac- tices." The latter afterwards be- came famous as the man Webster murdered, for which crime he suffered the extreme penalty of the law. My father distinctly re- membered the two men, brothers Parkman, and always felt had Dr. Webster confessed his crime at once, the sympathy of the people would have been for him, for Dr. Parkman, though a strict- ly honorable man, had an uncom- promising nature and one entire- ly unable to cope with the loose, easy going morals <»!' Webster. In a fit of passion he committed the crime to which he was (i AND OLD BARNSTABLE aggravated, and he would have repented, but he had not the moral courage to confess it. After awhile my grandmother removed to make a home with her son in Concord, and from there my father took her to his home in Barnstable, where she died May 1, 1844. Here I will diverge a little from our family sketch to tell the children who cannot recall her of her appearance. She was a tall, stately woman with pierc- ing black eyes and a ruddy com- plexion. She was quite fond of dress and nothing that could be bought was too good for her. On her arrival we were quite im- pressed with the elegance of her long satin cloak with its double capes trimmed with thread lace. When her caps which she always wore were renewed she was quite distressed, fearing in the country she might not find the thread lace to trim them. Her big leg- horn bonnet, more in shape like some hats of present style, was kept in the largest band box in the house, and seldom saw the light of day as she never went 7 .1 II N M D N R E out. Although a woman with courage enough to live alone in a Boston house, she nevertheless was wildly distressed at the sight of a spider, and 1 amusingly re- call the frantic jig she performed one day in the dining room, where with her dress upraised and her eyes wild with fright she rushed about the room. My father was very happy to have her under his roof, and as the years went on and she was unable to come down stairs to the table he never failed to make his daily visits to her room, where before her open fire she re- counted the events of her youth with much zest, while my dear father listened delighted. She had an affectionate nature, and I recall her saying with much feel- ing, "Oh John, how I did love my five little boys." I think she had a happy ending to her long life in our family of mother, father and six daughters, and on gala occasions when my sisters dressed for their village halls and parties, she must al- ways have them come to her room to be approved and ad- 8 AND OLD BARNSTABLE mired. In the winter of 1843 she had a slight shock of paralysis, after which she never left her bed, most of the time in a semi- conscious condition, in which she died, May 1, 1844. I was twelve years old at that time and re- member my sister Caroline and I were dressed in black as were all the other members of the fam- ily. It was evidently the custom of the times, and I recall the de- light we had in our dark laven- der mousseline de lane skirts and black velvet waists. It may have been conventional in those days to dress children in mourning, but the feeling in my father I think was not to omit the small- est respect due to his beloved mother. I have alluded to Samuel Cur- tis as an acquaintance of my father, which he renewed at nine- ty years of age in Boston. His wife was quite a remarkable horseback rider in her youth, often mounting a horse in the riding school for the first time and training it for ladies' use. One day when about seven years old, on my return from school 1 !) .1 O II N M 17 X R E AND OLD BARNSTABLE was surprised to find Grand- mother sitting in the parlor in her best black satin dress before an open fire entertaining two fine ladies from Boston. They were Mrs. Curtis and her niece Mrs. Briggs, who had come all the way from Boston on horse- back to visit Grandma. They re- mained over night and the next morning left to proceed on the trip to Chatham. In those days of sandy roads the enterprise was considered quite heroic, and after they left we heard their hus- bands started from Boston, but on reaching Plymouth turned back discouraged at the long tire- some journey. 10 CHAPTER II. Early Life in Barnstable. IS advent to Barnstable occurred in 1809. His work as watch maker was the first, and for very many years the only one, of its kind on Cape Cod, so that he had all the patron- age from Falmouth to Province- town. He seized the opportunity and then and there with only his own two hands began his life's work. He first introduced the tall mahogany eight day clocks, manufactured by his brothers Nathaniel, Daniel and William, several of which are still stand- ing in the old homes of Barnsta- ble. Soon after his coming there he met my mother, to whom he was married the following year. My mother's father, Timothv Phin- ney, was keeping at that time the large family store now standing at the corner of Hyannis Road, in the west ell of the house after- wards owned and occupied by David Crocker, Esq., for many years sheriff of Barnstable Coun- 11 ■ I o II N M U N R E ty. My grandfather was living at that time in the large house now occupied by Miss Sarah Bacon, in the north parlor of which my mother was married in 1810. The house in Pine Lane was their home for a year, when my father purchased the house now in Barnstable which from 1811 to this time has heen the home of that grandfather whom his grandchildren remember. When first occupied by my father and mother as a young couple, it was a low single house, and remained such till 1834, when it was raised to its present size. As a low house the walls were of unusual height. It was built by a carpen- ter by the name of Jabez Allen, for his own use, and the timbers of old oak are today unusual in size and still perfeetly sound. To this home my father took 1 his young wife and beneath its roof all the nine children were born. The furniture now in the rear parlor was their first, and con- sists of eight flagged seated chairs, a mahogany sofa, two mahogany card tables, two small 12 AND OLD BARNSTABLE mahogany light stands, so called in the days when brass lamps and candles only were used. The gilt framed mirror with a land- scape picture at the top, and the landscape in floss work wrought by Nancy Phinney are the two wall decorations that have been there from the time of my earli- est remembrance. A large Frank- lin fireplace (so called because invented by Benjamin Franklin) helped essentially in lighting as well as heating the room, which was the family sitting room. On the top of the fire frame was a large sheet iron drum bound with brass, from both sides of which pipes extended to the chimney, which thoroughly warmed the room and bedroom adjoining. In the left corner of this room is the French brass student lamp which my father called his watchmaker's lamp. Many and many an evening has he sat by it plying his fingers at the work which employed his hands — hands that were never idle in the early days of his life when he followed his diligent 13 J II N M U N R E trade to keep his flock warmed, clothed and fed and to drive the wolf from the door. In his frequent trips to Boston he took always with him a full memorandum of family wants and needs, partly from the neces- sity imposed and more that he felt the country did not furnish the best, which he was always ambitious of in everything we wore, — shoes, stockings, dresses, hats, bonnets, etc., were impor- tant items in his long and gen- erous list of family wants. My father's work began in a little shop nearly opposite, on the eornei' of what is now the driveway to the residence of Mr. Henry Mortimer. An incident in my father's early life illustrates so fully the integrity of character elemental in my father that I must give it here a brief paragraph. The house was near the Crocker Tav- ern, and as cardplaying was the favorite pastime of those days, he and the village young men frequently assembled there for that pleasure. He had been mar- ried about a year, and having U AND OLD BARNSTABLE been several evenings in the week to play cards, one Saturday night he put on his coat to go as visual. I could imagine as he related the incident to me the gentle way in which my mother reminded him that he had been very often, and he said, "I real- ized the habit was controlling me," and with his characteristic earnestness he told me, "] took oft' my coat and I never went again." Trifling as this was in itself it meant an instinctive in- tegrity which governed him in all the acts of his long life, in which duty and conscience con- trolled in the small as well as the larger duties that came to him. After his business increased, and with that his responsibilities, he never hesitated in his visits to Boston in the interests of his bank, to do the smallest favors to please us young children, who, I fear, did not realize what it meant to him ; but if irksome, it always seemed to him the great- est delight to gratify us in every possible wish and way. 15 CHAPTER I if. Early Days. Piano, etc. OUNTRY life in early days, if somewhat narrow and self- centered, seems in retrospect much more individual and in- teresting than now, when rail- roads bring one in constant touch with larger life and blend coun- try and city into one. Until the middle of the nineteenth century communication with the city was made three-fourths of the year in sailing vessels. Three neat and comfortable packets made tri-weekly trips to Boston, often in summer steamboats alternating between from June to October. They were filled with passengers, who from the deck in' comforta- ble cushioned chairs enjoyed the lovely blue water and pretty green shore, which at intervals were seen all the way from wharf to wharf. The last trip was usually made in November, just before the yearly Thanksgiving. How vividly I recall that happy time when my father made his 16 JOHN M IT N R E AND OLD BARNSTABLE last season's trip! With what eager eyes we children watched from our high attic window to catch a first glimpse of the ves- sel's topsail, bringing to us our dear father with all his winter treasures, and then what excite- ment when the carts came up the yard filled with stores of good things, barrels, boxes, etc. For he bought besides these all our winter clothing, dresses, bon- nets, shoes, cloaks, beside the at- tractive purchases for his jewelry shop, which stood at the end of our yard on the street. The little shop still stands, though removed back from the street to meet a demand for wider roads. The sight of it still recalls memories most dear as the hallowed place where, day after day, year in and year out, he plied his busy fingers to keep his big family warmed, fed and clothed. The joy of those youth- ful days, so scant of resources as compared with present times, and yet full of all the best that makes life worth living ! One special event looms before 17 JOHN M U N K E my memory even to this day as I recall the arrival of my father one Sunday morning in summer, bringing to my sister Carrie and myself our first parasol. The handle was ivory, with a ring in it, and the end had a twisted top. .My sister Jane told us that it was made of Levantine satin, and we spent most of the day in trying to spell Levantine. We were much too excited to go to church, but we walked all over the house with them over our heads till afternoon, when we took them into the fields, the only place children Avere allowed to walk on Sunday. The next morning mother said we could take them to school, but we must let the girls (most of them in the neigh- borhood had come to see the parasols) carry them a part of the way. I think we both ven- tured to wish they had been blue, but my mother said that green was better for our eyes, so we were reconciled. Years have passed with their many joys as well as sorrows, hut nothing eclipses to this hour the joy of my first parasol. As a rival IS AND OLD BARNSTABLE treasure I remember among other delights that of a pair of white kid shoes, which T took off in Sunday school and showed to the girls in my class the name of •John Reed, Washington street. My dear sister Sarah when in her teens was afflicted for a long time with lameness in her right arm, which rendered it useless. The sympathy of my father was always so touched by any sick- ness of his dear children that she became for the time being the pet of the family. On the return from one of his visits to Boston he brought a large, mysterious box, which he opened and displayed a most beautiful blue satin bonnet, trimmed with lovely blue and white marabout feathers. I re- member to this day how my sis- ter Carrie and I held our breath as we regarded with admiration, (though not with envy, I am sure) on this dream of beauty. We were a most happy family, I know, and through life have shared each other's joys and wept each other's tears. The next most delightful event I recall was the arrival of a 19 JOHN M U N R E piano. It was made of mahogany and as a piece of furniture was an ornamental addition to our parlor. It came without an ink- ling of its arrival and we were wild with delight. My sister Ahhy, who was ahout returning from a visit to Barre, was in- formed of the new piano and ex- tended her visit that she might have lessons. On her return she brought several pretty songs from her teacher, Miss Perry, which we thought very beautiful, especially "Oh Where Do Fairies Hide Their Heads?" From time to time every member of the family availed themselves of op- portunities for music lessons, in New Bedford and elsewhere, as we could find teachers. The first sorrow in my father's family circle was the death of little Sarah, as my mother always called her. She died in May, 1826. My sister Jane described her as fair-haired, with soft blue eyes and pink cheeks, and the youngest in the home at the time of her death. The event made a sad and lasting impression on my sister -lane who was then 20 AND OLD BARNSTABLE eleven. She in later times often spoke of the inconsolable sorrow- she felt and with what grief and despair her young heart was touched. In 1832 my father's oldest daughter Susan was married to Albert Alden, a lineal descendant of John Alden. The young couple went immediately to Lan- caster, where they made a de- lightful home in one of the old families there. Lancaster was a charming town where artists and people of some note resorted, and in the refined atmosphere of the place my sister and her husband spent several years of their first married life. In the house where they made a tem- porary home for five years lived Gen. Lee, the English consul, also Jerome Thompson, quite a noted artist of his time. He painted the portrait of sister Susan, which now hangs in the hall of the Barnstable house. I wish my nieces and nephews who do not remember their Uncle Albert, to know that he had a refined artistic taste, which he devoted to the art of lithography. 21 J II N M U N R E This became his occupation, and some of his work was the illus- trating of the first pictorial mag- azine in this country. Steel en- graving was not then known in America, and all the illustrated books such as Heath's Book of Beauty Annuals and the like were imported from England. Photography was not thought of till many years after, when what is equivalent to it now were first called Sun pictures. Daguerre- otypes were named from a Frenchman by the name of Da- guerre, who first discovered the art of what is now the negative from which a photograph is transferred to paper. From Lan- caster they moved to Barre, where they made a pleasant home and many delightful friends and where also all our family from time to time loved to visit for the invigorating atmosphere and agreeable society. The Lancaster Unitarian church had as its pas- tor Dr. Nathaniel Thayer, a type of dignified clergymen in the Unitarian faith whose legacy to this world has been an example to copy and respect. Rev Paul 22 AND OLD BARNSTABLE Frothingham of the Arlington street church is a lineal descen- dant. From Lancaster he came to Boston and preached in the First church in Chauncey street. In the present First church on Marlboro street is a tablet to his memory. 23 CHAPTER IV. My Sister Susan's Children. ARY Alden, my sister Susan's oldest child, was born in Barre, September 8, 1840. She was a girl whose loveliness of charac- ter and person it is easier to un- derrate than to overrate. Her charm of face and manner at- tracted many friends, and in her school life, especially with her teachers, she was a beloved favor- ite. She loved poetry and before ten years old wrote several pretty verses, and at the time of her death at twenty-four her mother collected her poems and published them with a picture of her sweet face as a frontispiece. At school she took prizes in all her studies and at her graduation from the Cambridge high school was chosen to write the Class Ode, on which occasion William Everett wrote the Class Oration. She had a sweet temper, though highly sensitive and affectionate. Ilcr nature was religious and when young she became a mem- ber of the Unitarian church in 24 JOHN M U N E E AND OLD BARNSTABLE East Cambridge. Rev Mr Hol- land, its minister, was deeply in- terested and aided her much in her reading- and study. .She was almost inner without a book in her hand and had a taste for reading much beyond that of her years. But even before her school days were ended her health failed and her mother, hoping change of air and climate might save her, took her to the highlands of the Hudson. But she perceptibly declined and was brought to Barnstable, where six 1 died on the 24th of May, 1865. Lizzie Munroe Aid en was in some ways more remarkable than her sister Mary. She was full of life and spirit with a keen sense of the ridiculous, and possessed a mind and taste so beyond her years that to say she was a genius seems the best explana- tion of her talent. At ten years of age she would hear a hymn at church that pleased her and repeat every word of it after a second reading. At one time her sister Mary had been to the theatre and heard a performance 25 •I O II N M U N R E of the "Merchant of Venice," and in describing Portia to her mother she hegan to repeat "The quality of mercy," etc., when Lizzie interrupted her, "No, Mary, that isn't right." So up she jumped into her ehair and with gesticulation she went through the whole speech with- out her mother's knowledge that she had ever read a word of it. She had a great love of flowers, and with her little chair would march out into the garden and crossing her knee sit with her pencil and paper drawing perfect outline pictures of pansies (which she said was her favorite flower). She was never without a flower pinned to her waist. During her illness, which was what we called an old-fashioned consumption, she was never without a flower and often would wake in the night and ask for a flower to hold in her hand. Her tempera- ment was vivacious to a degree, and she and Charlie Allen, who were mutual admirers, would sit on the doorstep by the hour to- gether, amusing themselves and us with their merry giggle. 26 AND OLD BARNSTABLE Charlie Allen was Lizzie's ideal, and their comradeship was very real and a sweet memory of them both. She was only ten when she died, and I always felt her big mind was too much for her little delicate body. All these misfortunes touched my father's heart very deeply and there was no occasion when he could show his sympathy and love that he failed to do so. My sister Susan's deafness gave him much excuse for unusual expres- sions of sympathy in every way, and after the loss of her children he never came to Boston thaf he would not steal a few moments to go to East Cambridge for a call. My brother-in-law, Albeit Al- den, retained a long service in the Custom House and with my sister lived their quiet but lone- ly lives in Cambridge till late in the year 1882 my brother de- veloped a heart trouble, from which he died in 1884. This left my sister very lonely and help- less, and in the spring following she removed to Cambridge and from thence to Barnstable, which 27 J UN M U N R E AND OLD BARNSTABLE was a permanent home till her death in 1895. She accompanied us to and from Cambridge and her last years were, though lone- ly, occupied with her favorite employment of needlework and reading, with which the Barnsta- hle library kept her furnished. She was a constant reader and it was good to feel that she with all her sad losses could spend her last days in her own chosen way. The cemetery at Barnsta- ble was the spot where my broth- er Albert often said he hoped his bones would be laid. So on the green hillside which overlooks the sunrise and sunset, he and his whole family sleep. As he was especially fond of Gray's Elegy I will close this brief ac- count with the words he so much loved : «> "The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way And leaves the world to dark- ness and to me." 28 CHAPTER V. Aunt Mercy. N early New England days be- fore the coming of foreigners for domestic service, every family had a helper. Usually was a village girl who Avent into large families to assist in all kinds of work, such as the care of children, sewing, knitting and usual housework. In our village lived an interesting char- acter whom we children called Aunt Mercy, and whose memory is that of a unique personality and old friend whom all children loved. When young, from an attack of measles she lost the sight of one eye, hut nothing es- caped the notice of the one left and all her faculties, especially her speech, were ready and quick. With a sense of humor she at all times regaled herself and her friends. After years of service were over she took care of her father and mother until their death. Subsequently a kind rel- ative left her a little apartment, which she neatly kept till her 29 •I II N M U N R E death. Occasionally after her working days were over she would put on her bonnet and ap- pear at our house saying she had come down to spend the after- noon in Heaven with my father and mother, who welcomed her cordially. Nothing perished with her for want of utterance and she had a most reckless way of telling any and everybody her opinion of them, which with her good- natured frankness and the amuse- ment it gave her was taken in good part. She was a regular Mrs. Partington in her twisting of words, and would tell my mother she had found a beauti- fulsome rule of cake with all the ingregements. One day she en- countered in the street a gentle- man, formerly one of the Barn- stable boys, who had become a merchant prince of Boston. As he had grown to a six footer and naturally somewhat changed he accosted her with, "Aunt Mercy, do you remember me:'" She re- peated, "Do I remember you? I guess T shall never forget when you sat on my lap and I warmed 30 AND OLD BARNSTABLE your little toes at the fire. You had some pretty curls then and your mother thought you was beautiful. You are homely enough now, but folks tell me you are awful rich." She had a brother who was a Methodist minister and in a series of revival meetings was supposed to have made a convert of Mercy, a rumor she rather re- sented and which she secretly confided to my father. Because it was her brother Ben she seemed to distrust his ability to do the thing properly. "lie told me," she said, "I must have a new heart, but 1 said, 'Fiddle- stick, 1 rather have a new wash- tub,' " and added, "I'll be whipped if he isn't trying to make me join his church." A short time after this interview my father and I took a walk to the Methodist church on Sunday. The minister preached from the text "Go to the ant, thou slug- gard, and be wise." After the service she discovered our pres- ence (for if she wanted to see, her one eye was quite equal to the occasion) and in a tone aud- 31 J UN M U N R E ible all over the small church she said, "Well, well, Mr. Mun- roe, I don't take any of that kind of sermon to myself, for you know I never was lazy, and as for preaching- about ants, I suppose it's well enough to crack them up but I think they are pesky tilings enough and no good anyhow. ' ' She took a trip to Boston in the packet. When she returned Boston was having a scare about small pox and she came home quite excited about it. "I couldn't help laughing," she said, "to think if I had got it and died how grand it would have been to be| brought home in the packet with me on board sail- ing up the harbor with colors half mast." You would have thought her rather disappointed that she had missed the chance of such a grand reception in the village. She kept house at one time for a bachelor in the town who had long been feeble and failing, so slowly that she became very impatient, apparent- ly seeming to feel he had lived 32 AND OLD BARNSTABLE unreasonably long. So quite in earnest she said to my father, 'Do you suppose, Mr. Munroe, the Lord has forgotten all about him?' Her entire faith in the Lord she always kept and made him responsible for what she ap- proved as well as what she con- sidered his mistakes. A means of grace to her was a sister mem- ber of the Methodist church who was inclined to be frivolous and always twitting Mercy about get- ting married, etc. One day she met Mercy in the street and an- nounced her own engagement. This was like an electric shock to poor Mercy but she was equal to the occasion and with rather an original congratulation said, ' ' Marry ! Who for Heaven 's sake is going to marry you?" The man was a stranger to Mercy but she said, "Well I hope I am thankful you have got a beau at last, for it has been nothing but marry, marry, till you have wor- ried the flesh all off your bones. Do for pity's sake marry him quick before he gets off the notion of you." Her flowery account she gave 33 J II N M U N R O E of a wedding she heard described was the most amusing tangle; she got the bride's trousseau all mixed up with the bridegroom's and had the bride dressed in black laee and the man in white satin, the narrative which she re hearsed at the village tavern much to the amusement of an audience she drew around her. They laughed and they laughed, she said. To laugh at Life and Death and Immortality was Aunt Mercy's way of covering much really tender serious feeling, for she could cry as easily, and in her own sympathetic way use the same endearing tone to a cat or dog as to a human being. The man in the village who kept the typical country store with its usual incongruous vari- ety occasionally made an innova- tion upon the undertaker's spe- cialty, and on going into his place one day Mercy discovered a coffin in readiness apparently for a funeral. "Well! Well!" she said to the man, "what wont you keep next? Is this one of the things you have marked down?' If it is, I don't know but I will 34 AND OLD BARNSTABLE speak for it. All I am afraid of is that I shan't have good clothes enough to wear with all this satin lining that looks so nice. It would make my back ache to have to lie so still." One bitter winter morning she came to spend the day with my mother and father and to pay her respects to my sister Jane, who was visiting them. Toward night she grew feverish and was persuaded to spend the night. She grew very ill and the doctor who was called to her early in the morning pronounced her case malignant erysipelas. She re- mained six weeks and was cared for by my good sister Jane as if she had been our very own. The last years of her life were in ber own home, where she died, and where in every home she was known and loved and missed. The service that succeeded the old-fashioned helper were from the village of Mashpee. This was a large Indian settlement in the extreme southwest town of Barnstable, where from the town's earliest existence these natives lived. For many years 35 •T II N M U N R E the people were wards of the state. Later, when schools were established and they had ac- quired an elementary education, the legislature granted them the rights of citizenship, with the privilege of voting and rep- resentation. The town had a large territory of cranberry bogs, which yielded them money, and as they had much intelligence as workers they subsequently became pros- perous and enlightened. Latter- ly they intermarried with negroes and as a natural result have deteriorated physically. They were naturally large and strong and made excellent capable ser- vants. The last of the race whom I remember was a tall, nice look- ing Indian by the name of Dinah, with a small, insignificant look- ing husband of whom she seemed to be in mortal dread. Invari- ably he would make his appear- ance soon after she came to us and demand all her money, which she; never dared refuse. Her last visit was about forty-six years ago, when she came to us and gave a most timely service during 36 AND OLD BARNSTABLE the last illness of my dear niece Mary Alden. She was a gentle and devoted nurse, and at that time was a great assistance and comfort to us all. In our own town lived a family of Greenough by name. They were all unusually intelligent and capable, and I have heard my father say that a chief by that name was a wise man of good judgment and good sense, whom they called Judge Greenough. This meant that in any question of rights or disagreement he acted as adviser, and held the same wise position to his people in settling questions of right and wrong, and to his judgment they gave the ultimate decision. There still lives in Yarmouth one of the daughters who is now nine- ty-two years old. She is bright and capable and keeps her own little home as neat and clean as a new dime. She is known in the town and outside it as the premi- um maker of wedding cake, and not long since one of the village millionaires near her home would 37 .1 o 11 N M U N E E have no one's wedding cake but Susannah 's. My father told me at one time in days when mail was carried on horseback that the carrier on his way to Mashpee, ten miles from Barnstable, was overtaken by an Indian woman in the woods a little this side the village. She asked the mail carrier to let her ride on the saddle behind him. He did so, but on approaching the town, not wishing to enter with a squaw on pillion fashion, he whipped up his horse thinking to shake her off. On the con- trary the old squaw said, "That's right, Massa, when I nide I love to nide." My mother used to tell me this story, laughing till the tears ran down her cheek, without any audible sound, in which she resembled her father, our Grandfather Phinney, of whom my sister Jane used to say that in many ways she was a perfect facsimile. In this connection something occurs which I will give place to, though trivial and quite unimpor- tant save as it confirms my sis- ter's words. When I was a 38 AND OLD BARNSTABLE school girl, a sea captain brought from one of his voyages a very obstinate but mild and gentle donkey. Capt. Thomas Harris, who owned the little beast, very kindly loaned it to the village children and it came my turn to entertain him for a week's visit. Every day in the morning, at noon and after school the yard at the back of our house was a village carnival, which has never been exceeded since or rivalled even, except by the cattle show. The crisis came, however, one morning when as I was mounted for a pillion ride with one of the school boys, the little Jack, either intentionally, as I suspected, or in a moment of excitement, with which the atmosphere was charged, kicked up his heels and I was ingloriously laid low on the ground and much lower in my mind. My mother stood at her window, as she usually did when the donkey show was on, laughing with the tears running down her cheeks at this circus, until she found I had barely es- caped a broken arm, when the loved but long lost treasure was 39 JOHN M U N R E AND OLD BARNSTABLK walked out of the yard at a much more rapid pace than he walked into it, followed by a pro- cession of defeated admirers. The event was never spoken of or alluded to that my mother did not almost shake herself into hys- terics at my inglorious downfall. 40 CHAPTER VI. Education. NE of the difficult problems con- fronting my father's country life was the education of his children. I think I have pre- viously spoken of my sister Susan, who was sent to Boston to my grandmother for her edu- cation. There she was taught the accomplishments as known then, dancing, painting, drawing, etc. It was quite a trial to her parents to send her away from home, as she was the oldest daughter, but her deafness appearing when young made them doubly solicit- ous of all possible advantages to overcome the many hindrances she would naturally feel. But there were other daughters to educate, and my father came to Boston to the Temple to induce Miss Esther Sturgis to come to Barnstable to teach his little girls. She consented, and a room was procured in the Hinckley house, then in Bow Lane, where she began her school with seven 41 .1 o 11 N M r X R () E girls. Miss Esther Sturgis was the daughter of ;i Captain William Sturgis, whose family house was what is known as the Sturgis Library building. Miss Catharine Sturgis was the first who taught the older girls, and was after succeeded by her younger sister Esther, who was a fair haired lady of gentle man- ners and refinement. The beautiful sewing occasion- ally seen now is ! a revival of the beautiful bead and needlework done at that time. I recall a lovely cap embroidered by my sister Susan and especially pre- served as the christening cap, which went through the family of eight little girls at the christening ceremony before the altar of the Unitarian church. To return to the question of schools in Barnstable. A cor- poration was formed and built an academy, which for our gen ('ration was a help. Greek, Latin and French were taught, besides English branches common to all schools. The academy was well equipped with globes and chem- ical apparatus and for awhile 42 AND OLD BARNSTABLE was a prosperous school. It lasted for about ten years and then for reasons I cannot explain was abandoned. The next school my sister Car- oline and I attended was at Yar- mouthport. It was kept in the hall then used as a Swedenbor- gian church and its pastor was our teacher, Dr. Shove assisting in a French class. My sister Caro- line and I were conveyed back and forth by Mr. Eben Bacon with his two daughters Sarah and Lucretia, who attended the school. In summer we were con- veyed to the school in a small stage coach which came to Bain- stable to bring passengers to the steamboat. When thirteen years old I was sent to a girls' school in New Bedford, taught by the Misses Weston. I shall never forget my dreary journey in a lumbering stage coach, in which I set forth at four o'clock on a November morning to take alone my first long journey. To this day I re- call the dismal experience with a shudder. The school as I think of it now was an ideal one. 43 • I II X M IT N R K The teachers were women of re- finement and culture and their method of teaching in advance of the times. Instead of crowd- ing us with useless and uninter- esting work their plan was to develop from within, in other words to give work that should train us to think for ourselves. Much of the teaching was oral, besides which we had our read- ing from poetry and history, on which notes were required and examined. She did what is much neglected in these days, viz., taught to read. This kind of instruction was versatile and full of interest. Merits were given for the best answers, as well as for our time of study out- side the school, and for our music practice, drawing, painting and our progress in languages and translation exercises It was there I imbibed my first taste of Browning, which has not only never left me but has grown with my growth and strengthened with my strength. On returning from New Bed- ford a neighbor who wished to send her son to school at Har- 44 AND OLD BARNSTABLE wich consulted my father, who proposed my sister Carrie and I should take advantage of the arrangement, which we did and attended for a year. Mr Sidney Brooks was the principal, also teacher of languages and higher mathematics. The assistant taught French, music and drawing. Mr. Brooks was a delightful man and as we were from out of town he made our leisure days very agreeable. Every Saturday we took pleasure excursions, which he piloted, to various romantic places, of which there were many in the town and some most charming. Especially so were our picnics to Long pond, a lovely lake surrounded with wooded hills and groves, where in sum- mer we found sail boats at our disposal, and in winter had most exhilarating trips in iceboats around and across the pond, end- ing in a sumptuous lunch and a horsecart ride home with any amount of singing and jollity. In a large hall over the school room Mr. Brooks placed a nice piano for the use of his pupils, especially for those from out of 45 J () II N M U N R E town, and it is putting it mildly to say we made the most of our opportunities Occasionally our so-called entertainments included the village people, whom we were supposed to amuse with our so- called entertainments, tableaux, dancing, etc., in all of which various schemes for fun our good Mr. Brooks aided and encouraged in every reasonable way. Meanwhile a brisk revival was going on in the church oppo- site, and I question if the good Orthodox deacon with whom we boarded might not have had his qualms of conscience as to the propriety of our doings, but if so he shrewdly concealed it, though now and then in his morning prayers he relieved his feelings by a side thrust, which I am afraid was not heeded. These were our last school days, to which happy time every one I believe looks back as best days, for the freedom from care and lightness of heart on which no continued responsibility rests. Long after the school days of his children were passed my father still retained his interest in the 46 AND OLD BARNSTABLE village schools in Barnstable, al- ways contributing generously to efforts made for private schools, several of which were revived, though only for a short time. The public schools he did not much approve, and I remember attending only once with my sis- ter Carrie, when after a few weeks we were told we might bring our books home, which we did without any questions. 47 CHAPTEB VII. Louisa's Marriage and Grandchildren. HAVE anticipated in my fath- er's life some years of its early history which I must retrace to relate. The first break in the home was the marriage of my sister Louisa in 1837 to William II. Brown of Taunton. He kept a country store at Barn- stable, in partnership with Mat- thew Cobb, a native of the town. The firm dissolved in about ten years, when my brother-in-law removed to Taunton with his family of two children. Two others were born to him there, where they lived until, after the marriage of their only daughter, they removed to New York and made a home witli their two chil- dren when both were in estab- lished business. His oldest son Thomas married in Taunton in 1858. When the war broke out he enlisted in a military company in that town. His regiment joined ;i brigade under Gen. Nathaniel Hanks, who 4S J O H N M U N R E AND OLD BARNSTABLE ordered his company in one of the times of inaction to Mobile, where he sickened with malarial fever and died in August, 18u'3. This was the first death of my father's grandchildren, and he often said that he recognized no difference in his interest and love between them and his very own. Thomas was a most lovable son, and to his tender-hearted, affec- tionate mother his loss was ir- reparable. While she never op- posed him in the performance of what he recognized as a duty, she often said she was no Spartan mother, and his death from neg- lect was much more trying than had it been on a field of battle. She could never forgive Gen. Banks for what she felt was his unwise policy in ordering his men into a sickly climate in the hottest season. She had much, however, to console her in the report of her poor boy's kindness to many of the sick soldiers, whom he daily carried to the fields where he tried to protect them with canvass from the damp soil, even after he became so 49 •I O II X M I' X R () E weak from the same disease that it was with difficulty he crawled in and out his own tent. My poor sister lost all her own children, and after their death she took the care of her daugh- ter's three children till her death in !!)()(). She was seventy years of age when she hegan a mother's charge of her little hoy Clifford and his twin sisters, hut she took the task with a hearty cheerfulness and a real interest that no young mother could have excelled. She had a great deal of taste and for many years bought and made all their little garments in the most exquisite and elaborate style, and never seemed happier than when she sat and sewed and trimmed and embroidered their beautiful clothes. As I think of her re- markable vivacity, her celerity with needlework as her busy fingers flew to complete one task after another, I cannot but realize what her marvellous en- ergy achieved and how in her way she was a counterpart of my father's persistency and spir- it. She had outlived all her own 50 AND OLD BARNSTABLE children, but in the welfare of her little dependent grandchil- dren she put the energy of her whole heart and soul. Her hus- band outlived her by one year, when he was laid beside her in the Taunton cemetery, where the whole immediate family now re- pose. The memory of her sweet voice as she sang the pretty old songs, as the "Messenger Bird," "Child Amid the Flowers at Play," makes me realize what a charm her sweet voice had in the days before present methods had perverted the pleasure of singing into a labored effort in which the performer seems rather to agon- ize than to sing. She was a woman of rare sweetness and amiability, with a generous nature, never happier than when doing some trifling aet to give pleasure to others. She was remarkably quick and clever with her needle, and de- lighted in plying her busy fingers in making tasteful and useful gifts for her family and friends. As a child I recall to this day a sweet pink silk hat that she made for a wax doll my father 51 J () II N M U N R E AND OLD BARNSTABLE had brought me and my sister Carrie from Boston. One of our early griefs was that in taking a drive with a relative of my mother's, who had come for a few days, in his carriage his hat was taken off by the wind and in rescuing it he dropped one rein, when the horse sheered onto a side embankment on the road, tipping the carriage over and in the accident breaking our wax dolls. As I pass the same place at the east end of the village to this day I recall what seemed then a cruel tragedy ! What is the tie that binds our memories to the small woes of childhood, when between that and maturity so much that is more grievous heals without a scar and often holds not even a lingering mem- cry ! What but that youth is like wax to receive and marble to retain ! 52 CHAPTER YI1T. First Visit to Boston, Centennial, etc. Reminiscences 1839. A l\ \\ Y tirst visit t0 Boston occurred / VI 1 1 about the time ot my • sister 11 Louisa's marriage. 1 have thought a glimpse of the city seventy years ago might at least be somewhat amusing. I was the only one of the family who had never seen a city except New Bedford, and my good father de- tailed my sister Abby to accom- pany me with him to see the sights of Boston. We came to the city in the packet in the month of June. Thei chiefly rec- ognizable features now are the Park St., King's Chapel and St. Paul churches, beside the old Chauncey St. church, which stood in the spot now Dewey Square. There was no Temple Place then, only a narrow passage from Washington to Tremont Sts., where posts with iron chains sep- arated the sidewalk from a nar- 53 JOHN M U N R E row footpath not wide enough for vehicles. The Tremont St. dwel- ling houses, now business places, faced what was called the Mall : a hroad avenue surrounding the Common, bordered by beautiful English elms, a favorite mile walk before breakfast for good pedestrians. From West St. was a block of houses on Tremont called Cape Cod Row, so named from five Boston residents who originated from Barnstable, Dan- iel C. Bacon, James Davis, Prince Hawes, Thomas Grey and Lemuel Shaw. The latter was afterwards chief justice of Massachusetts and married Hope Savage, daugh- ter of the prominent physician of Barnstable at that time. The Boston Museum was then a new attraction and my father took me to see the collection of minerals, wax statuary and other curios- ities on the first floor, while above was the theatre, where we heard the Raner family of five singers in Swedish costumes. This troupe was succeeded by the Hutchinson family, who after- wards went to England and sang before the Queen. Subsequently f>4 AND OLD BARNSTABLE the museum was known as a famous theatre with a permanent stock company and was very pop- ular as the best in Boston, where its actors produced the old Eng- lish drama, such as "The Lady of Lyons," "School for Scandal,' "She Stoops to Conquer," etc. Copeland's was the famous con- fectionery store and the only place where ice cream could be had, and was near Madame Ha- ven 's restaurant. For the novelty of a ride on the steam cars my father took us on the road to Cambridge and from thence in a chaise to Lex- ington to visit my mother's cousin Elias Phinney. He was living on a beautiful farm, which was given a premium as the fin- est in Massachusetts. The love- ly fruit garden was enclosed by a hedge covered with pretty vines and foliage ; inside were ripening and flourishing the fruits of every season. Our week's visit in Boston was at a boarding house in Milk St., where I remember playing on the roof with a boy who was making firecrackers for the Fourth of 55 .1 IT N M U N R O E .July. This house was the home of my father in his frequent trips to town. Later the landlady, Mrs. Ripley, removed to Frank- lin Place, which was a charming street, in the centre of which was an oval park with statues of some prominent Boston worthies. Mrs. Ripley kept a most excellent house and was a lady of refinement and much beauty. This park which was opposite her home was destroyed by the fire of 1872. Opposite on each side lived the families of Crowninshield, AVigglesworth and other Boston men of note. Our return from Boston was in the packet on a sunny afternoon in June, and though but eight years old, I remember the lovely sail down Boston harbor. Our companions were Mr and Mrs James Jenkins and Mr and Mrs Walter Bryant, The latter couple were making their wed- ding trip to Barnstable, where they were guests at my father's house. The same year was the Barn- stable Centennial celebration, September 8, 18:}i). On the eve 56 AND OLD BARNSTABLE of the event occurred what was known (and is now) as the Great Centennial gale, which extended the length of Cape Cod coast. My memory of it is impressed by a severe cut my father received in his hand, in attempting to se- cure from destruction a row of young trees he had just planted. These were the large Abeles which remained till another notable gale in 1898, nearly six- ty years after, when the Port- land was lost, so battered that they menaced the highway, and the whole ten trees my dear father had planted were hewn down. All that remains of them are the two stumps on either side of the carriage gate which are covered with vines. To revert to the celebration. It brought many distinguished people to the old town, some of whom were lineal descend- ants of Barnstable families. Gorham Palfrey, who was one of its lineage, was the pres- ident, and Edward Everett was the orator of the day. In a pamphlet in my possession which records the event, it is stated that 57 JOHN M U N R E tie held his audience spell-bound by his eloquence for two hours and a half. As the day was raw and chilly and the church so overflowed with listeners that many of the audience were obliged to stand outside on a temporary staging against the open windows, this statement is a very creditable testimony to the patience and long-suffering of the people seventy years ago. The town was packed to over- flowing with guests, and every nook and corner was utilized to hold them. Our own house was occupied with friends and rela- tives, and my father offered our parlors as a camping ground for stranded people, who were thank- ful for a sofa or chair even to rest upon. Before night the weather softened and doors were wide opened and all the crowd were made welcome and comfort- able. The occasion ended with a grand ball, which was honored by the presence of the orators and other distinguished guests of the day. The Court house was utilized for the occasion by an extended pavilion, temporarily AND OLD BARNSTABLE built as a grand ball room. It was lighted by oil lamps placed on brackets of eagles, highly gilded, beside endless candles, which made the room bright- ly illuminated. The ball was repeated the following night, with the same cotillion band and the presence of many left-over guests. This second evening the younger people were allowed to attend. 1 was eight years old, hut remember to this day my dress of white muslin, blue sash and blue hair ribbons, with which I was decked. The young- er children were allowed to stay till nine o'clock, which was ;i riotous dissipation for those days, when as youngest of the family I hardly ever had seen the moon. As I remember, my great amusement was seeing my older sisters dress for the first ball. They entertained as a guest a tall dark lady with red cheeks and black eyes, who decked her- self in a white satin, with pearl and diamond ornaments, and who I remember was, with her beauty, brilliancy and fine clothes, con- sidered one of the belles of the 59 JOHN M U N R E AND OLD BARNSTABLE ball. Her name was Mercy- Perry, sister of the popular Dr. Perry of Boston fifty years (or more) ago. The town had a glorious birth- day party, and thirty years hence may some of my younger nieces and nephews be there to celebrate its next. 60 CHAPTER IX. Saving's Bank. MUST go back a little to recall what became to my father the most satisfactory work of his life. Coming to Barnstable as a stranger, and having a natural instinct of good citizenship, he looked about to discover what, he could do for the community. This was in 1831. His business as the only clock and watch repairer in the county brought him in con- tact with the people in all parts of the Cape, and after establish- ing his business scarcely a day passed that the stages did not stop before his little shop, bring- ing him work from Provin ?etown to Falmouth. There was no public communication in any other way, express agents, etc., not having existed till twenty-five years after, when first appointed by the railroad company. On the south side of Barnstable lived a large proportion of the seafaring class, most of whom were coasters and fishermen, he- 61 JOHN M U N R E sides many who were captains of ships in the Merchant line of foreign voyages. The occupation of the majority of young men was in summer, while in winter they were much of their time idle. With the generous and pleasure-loving disposition char- acteristic of young men who were chiefly sailors, the temptation was to spend much of their time in driving and other amusements, and so consuming most of the summer's earnings, and so my father reasoned that Barnstable was the place for a savings bank. For this purpose he called ;i meeting of the citizens of Barn- stable village and proposed Ins plan. They came together in cordial response to the call, and formed a corporation of twelve men. They applied to the legis- lature for a charter, which was easily granted, and made my father treasurer. The names of the men were David Crocker, Ebenezer Bacon, Timothy Reed, Enoch T. Cobb, Loring Crocker. Nathan Crocker, Lothrop Davis, Josiah Hinckley, Henry Crocker. (i2 AND OLD BARNSTABLE Barnabas Chipman, Isaac Davis, Thomas Percival. The nearest savings bank at the time was at Plymouth, which had a deposit of thirty thousand dollars, and while the Barnstable Institution for Savings, as it was called, did not expect to compete with the Plymouth, they hoped to succeed. Enough to say that when my father resigned his of- fice, after forty years of service, the hank had a deposit of one million and a half of dollars. It is to his credit that though there was a hoard of investment, they gave the whole responsibility to my father, and in no case where he followed exclusively his own judgment did he ever lose a dollar. In the making of notes, he required beside the legal de- mand of three names, that of collateral security to the full amount of the loan. The bank, after the first few years, paid six, seven and eight per cent. This was before the legislature had passed restrictive laws on savings bank dividends, which has been done in late years. The success of this enter- 63 J H N M T N K () E prise was the pride and chief in- terest of his life. He labored to encourage the young men in neighboring villages to deposit in small sums, and so enable them to build houses and own their homes. Sometimes he made small mortgages, which he al- lowed them to pay at intervals as they could. Frequently he was rewarded by being told with gratitude which they expressed that for their homes they were indebted to him, which was the only reward he coveted. Thus the Barnstable savings bank was pronounced by the com- missioners, who made their tri- annual visits for examination of the County banks, to have an A 1 record, much to my father's delight and satisfaction. He did all the clerical work of the bank till 1859, when, on account part- ly of my sister Abby's marriage, he was obliged to have a clerk. She had always been his right hand assistant, auditing his ac- counts with him when his annual report was made, and in his ab- sence in Boston was often called upon to pay off interest, receive (i4 AND OLD BARNSTABLE deposits and help in many other ways. The first year or two of the bank's existence he had no pay at all. After awhile he took fifty dollars, and though the work in- creased and hindered his own work, the salary was never above three hundred a year. In 1859, when he was obliged to have a clerk, the trustees allowed him fifteen hundred dollars. He gave the thousand to his clerk and took the five hundred himself, continuing this while he kept' his office, making his trips to Bos- ton and making all investments on his own responsibility. If he had the smallest errands to do for himself at the same time he paid expenses from his own pocket. lie kept the office in his workshop, till in 1857 the cor- poration erected for an office the building facing Railroad avenue, where he continued till his res- ignation in 1871, after having held the position of treasurer and done its work for forty years. In 1860, the first day of Janu- ary, the corporation presented him a silver pitcher and salver, 65 J O II N M l T N R O E engraved with a testimonial of thanks for his faithful and long- continued service as treasurer. At the presentation of this gift Ins friends were quite amused at the modest tone of his acceptance of their gift, in which he ex- pressed himself as quite un- worthy such a valuable gift in return for his services. No one could realize, save his own fam- ily, what the interests of his one beloved hank meant to him, and how next to their own welfare it was his life's one great pride and pleasure. On his retirement as treasurer, they courteously made him president of the sav- ings hank, hut as the office meant no special active participa- tion in its interest, time hung rather heavily on his hands, and for the first time in his life after his winter of leisure, he ex- pressed a feeling of discontent and proposed we should all go to Cambridge for the winter. He was then eighty-eight years of age, as I might say eighty-eight years young, for his vigor and interest in life had never abated, 66 AND OLD BARNSTABLE and never did abate up to the very day of his death. In his ninetieth year, after we had gone to Cambridge, he was one bitter cold day walking briskly as usual with one of my brothers-in-law, when suddenly he stopped and said to him, ' William, do I walk too fast for you?" much to the amusement of William. When in his eighty-sixth year he executed in one day an amount of work which I am sure most young men now would have considered beyond them. He started in the early train for Boston, wishing for certain rea- sons to return at night. His trip included collecting all his div- idends on bank stock, where most investments were made. This was before the invention of el- evators, when it involved climb- ing up and down many flights of stairs in high buildings, though not as high as now. However, it was a tiresome effort. He had occasion to make a mortgage, and to prove the title he must go to East Cambridge to examine the record. On returning he was 67 JOHN M U N R E AND OLD BARNSTABLE doubtful about its validity, and to make assurance doubly sure be went a second time. He re- turned about tbree to Boston to take the train, when he went into Cornhill to buy a fire set of tongs, shovel and poker on an iron standard. He hurried to catch a car and after placing his heavy articles on the platform, jumped on himself after the car had started. He arrived at Barn- stable after dark and finding no carriage at the station, brought his heavy iron load all the way to his door in his hand. 68 CHAPTER X. Cambridge. Anniversary Days, Father's Birthday. N the resignation of his office at the savings bank, his family were quite apprehensive of the effect upon him of the sudden relinquishing his busy life's work, but he was not the man to falter at any duty, however great the sacrifice. My brother's solicitude lest that at his age some mistake might occur was finally his chief reason for re- signing his work. He accepted the inevitable with cheerfulness of spirit and a determination to overcome the reluctance to give up his life's work. The summer passed pleasantly, for a large place employed his care and time, and he seemed to be enjoying life in a leisurely way quite contrary to his usual custom. In pleasant days I re- call him sitting in his chair in the front door yard at the foot 69 J II N M U N R E of the steps, with my mother al- ways beside him, both pictures of happy and peaceful old age. Books were an everlasting source of his pleasure, and in long sum- mer days when he rose at sun- rise, he would come to his break- fast with some historical fact to relate, as the result of his morn- ing study. He never failed after breakfast in reading a chapter from his Bible, followed by a short prayer. I have often felt, had he been in his right place he would have entered the ministry, for I do believe he had a more detailed knowledge of his Bible than many ministers. He would often criticize the mistakes made in the pulpit, and I heard him say in present times some of them studied everything but their Bible. I should say he might be called a Bible scholar. His Com- mentaries, encyclopoedias and various books and notes of ref- erence which he always kept by him are still in the house, and bring him constantly to my mem- ory where they are kept as our best treasures. When in Cam- 70 AND OLD BARNSTABLE bridge he attended with my sister an adult Bible class, whose teach- er was a professor in the Divinity school. At one meeting my father questioned the authority of a quotation the professor made, to which the professor replied "I should not think of contra- dicting a gentleman of your age, but will look it up." The fol- lowing week he informed the class my father was right. It was with a natural pride that my sister liked to tell of this. He was at this time past ninety. His proposal to go to Cam- bridge for the winter was the first intimation that time hung heavily on his hands, but the win- ter had been one of discontent, though never was a word of that expressed. He had previously bought a house in Cambridge for my sister Jane and her family, and to have a winter home for him and his family of four seemed to him as the happiest event to look forward to. His dear daughter Jane, with her large heart and motherly nature, accepted the proposition with her usual hospitable spirit, and to 71 J () UN M TT N R O E my father it seemed the happiest possible event (as it proved) to live under the same root' with her family. Though he never would admit the thought of any par- tiality towards his children, I can realize how it compensated much in the loss of his work to he with her. He took his daily trip into town in pleasant days, where he met old husiness friends, and re- turned to the cheerful evenings in her parlor, where assemhled with her children and friends, varied by a game of cards, music and chat of the younger ones, his days glided pleasantly on. 1 am sure then had he known he should pass away under her friendly roof he would have felt nothing better could happen to him. The year following he sug- gested renewing the carpets in our house in Barnstable, and took as lively an interest in buying them as if he were beginning his life again. He would have nothing but the very best five- body English Brussels, and the same carpets arc now on the floor where they were placed 72 AND OLD BARNSTABLE thirty-six years ago. He was specially eager at the same time that the pretty needlework of my clear mother's hands should be preserved, so the footrests and chair seats, her dear handiwork, stand upon the carpet, and were duly christened by his nintieth birthday party, of which I will tell in another chapter. Our anniversary days were the birthdays of my mother and father and Thanksgiving days. These were occasions of family reunions and of special interest at all times, Thanksgiving as a rule kept in the paternal home, and Xmas at New Bedford. The family, however large, was never too large to please my father, who was wont to say in his earn- est tone that his happiest time was when his children were all gathered around the family table. At Xmas all were invited to New Bedford, where my brother in the same hospitable spirit wel- comed us heartily. The united relatives of my brother's wife, who had a large family connec- tion, all joined, often made a party of over fifty guests. In 73 * JOHN M U N R E the evening more young people came in, and games, dancing and general hilarity reigned. The trains to New Bedford from the Cape were less contin- uous than now, and we had two long waits on the journey, when my brother never failed to come out from New Bedford to the junction to meet his dear father, mother and sisters, escorting us to the large, beautifully lighted house, where its attractive rooms, open fires and hospitable greet- ing awaited us. The Xmas time often tempted us to extend our visit, when great surprises that the trees contained, with numer- ous guests, added another anni- versary jubilee, the recollection of which is kept by the first gold watch, or first gold thimble, etc., which are still in preservation. On another anniversary, our Thanksgiving was kept at Yar- mouthport, where my sister Susan and her family joined us in the generous welcome given by our dear brother James Knowlcs and my sister Carrie. Our last Thanksgiving was at Cambridge, where my brother James, sisters 74 AND OLD BARNSTABLE Susan, Jane and Louisa were in- vited to meet in my sister Jane's cheerful home. This was in 1873, and if my memory faithfully serves was the last Thanksgiving party held during my father's life, or indeed ever after. Loss of many grandchildren and vari- ous events in the family which saddened their spirit had made it easier to omit than observe, while ic has ever been true that the same affectionate family love still binds the few that are left in closest affection, as when the circle narrows we come nearer together. 1 come now to my father's nine- tieth birthday, which occurred October 11, ' 1894. The event came on Sunday and was one of those ideal and perfect days when summer, loth to leave, turns back to retrieve in sunshine and glow a loving smile of fare- well. Early in the morning came friends with their gifts of fruit, flowers and various other accep- table tokens. The whole family were assembled and most of them accompanied my father to church, where the minister in his sermon 75 J O H N M U N R O E paid a tribute to him in a few brief but fitting words. In the evening our rooms were filled with kindly friends and neigh- bors who brought congratulations in many cordial expressions of respect and affection, giving him a heart-felt pleasure which for the rest of his few years was a memory he loved to revert to. Such was the enthusiasm and pleasure with which he accepted life with all that he did or thought or enjoyed, that a con- sciousness of age, infirmity, or indeed any of the ills physical or mental which long life often brings, was never expressed or apparent to himself or others. After we went to Cambridge, in the long evenings of music, to the chat of the younger people with their games and interests, he listened with eagerness and pleasure, and was often the last one to retire. His love for music was quite remarkable. 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