Class, Pl j^ 
 
 Goppght l^" - 
 
 CBPXBIGHT DEPOSm 
 
GLIMPSES OF NEWTON'S PAST 
 
 IN HISTORY AND DRAMA 
 
 AGNES BERYL CURTIS 
 
 '^ 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 PRESS OF GEO. H. ELLIS CO. 
 1918 
 

 Copyright 1918 
 Agnks Beryl Curtis 
 
 SEP 21 m% 
 
 •4i'CI.A5(i;!779 
 
To Miss Mary A. Laselle 
 
 I affectionately dedicate 
 
 my first book 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. 
 
 The author desires to express thanks for criti- 
 cism and advice to Superintendent U. G. Wheeler, 
 Miss Mabel C. Bragg, assistant superintendent of 
 Newton schools, and Miss Mary A. Laselle of the 
 Newton Vocational School. 
 
 I 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Newton has been peculiarly fortunate in her his- 
 tory. 
 
 Here John Eliot, the greater teacher, taught the 
 Indians of a vast wilderness the way of civilization. 
 At a later date, Governor Claflin and his gracious 
 wife entertained at *'The Old Elms" men and 
 women who were noted throughout the w^hole 
 world. 
 
 Newton has always been a strong, vigorous com- 
 munity, placing above everything else religious in- 
 struction, the welfare and the education of her 
 children. To the State of Massachusetts she has 
 furnished many men who have contributed to her 
 glory and fame. 
 
 If this little book gives the children of our city 
 a greater appreciation and a greater love for New- 
 ton, if it arouses devotion and loyalty in the hearts 
 of her coming citizens, its purpose will have been 
 accomplished. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1. Separation of Newton from Cambridge .... 1 
 
 (a) Historical Sketch ........ 1 
 
 (&) Play 3 
 
 2. The Early Life of Newton 10 
 
 (a) Historical Sketch 10 
 
 (&) Play 17 
 
 3. The Early School of Newton 30 
 
 (a) Historical Sketch 30 
 
 (&) Play .33 
 
 4. John Eliot Preaching to the Indians .... 41 
 
 (a) Historical Sketch 41 
 
 (&) Play 47 
 
 5. The Underground Railroad 55 
 
 (a) Historical Sketch 55 
 
 (&) Play 59 
 
 6. Under the Old Elms 68 
 
 (a) Historical Sketch 68 
 
 (6) Play 71 
 
THE SEPARATION OF NEWTON FROM 
 CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 Once upon a time, Newton was a part of the city 
 of Cambridge. At first Cambridge wasn't called 
 "Cambridge/' but bore the name of "Newtowne.'' 
 It was only after the noted university was estab- 
 lished there that the name of the place was 
 changed to Cambridge. 
 
 Some distance away a small settlement sprang 
 up that was destined to become the Newton we 
 know. Because it belonged to Cambridge, it was 
 christened ''New Cambridge" or ''Cambridge 
 Village." 
 
 Although the Village belonged to the town, yet 
 it desired to be free and independent. As time 
 went on, a spirit of rebellion began to permeate the 
 place. They wanted their own church. Their 
 horses, weary from a week's labor, had to travel a 
 long journey to Cambridge, so that the farmers 
 might attend religious ser^dces. They wanted their 
 own school. Their boys had to walk too far in 
 order to secure an education. 
 
 Cambridge was amazed at the attitude of the 
 Village. Didn't the people know how far they 
 were from the church and the school before they 
 settled in Cambridge Village? 
 
 In 1656, two leading citizens, John Jackson and 
 Thomas AViswall, appeared before the General 
 Court and asked that they be free from paying 
 
church taxes to Cambridge. Cambridge refused, 
 but just a year later the Court announced that no 
 farmer should be taxed who lived over four miles 
 from the meeting house. 
 
 The work of independence had begun. 
 
 During the next few years, a bitter struggle took 
 place between Cambridge and Cambridge Village. 
 Then an Indian War broke out and the petition 
 of Cambridge Village was forgotten. At the close 
 of the war, James II made Andros governor of New 
 England. When the petition for separation came 
 up again (for Cambridge Village would not let the 
 matter rest ) , there was no opposition. 
 
 So on January 11, 1688, Cambridge Village at 
 last won her desired independence. For a long 
 period of time she had been bravely striving 
 for freedom, and she had finally come out victori- 
 ous. You can see what pluck and determination 
 will accomplish. 
 
 Of course, the people immediately wanted an- 
 other name for the town, so they called their village 
 "Newtowne,'' the name that originally belonged to 
 Cambridge. Eventually, ^'Newtowne" was changed 
 to "Newton." 
 
DRAMATIZATION. 
 
 Place — At the home of Deliverance and Con- 
 stance Bartlett. 
 
 Scene — The living room. There is a large fire- 
 place at the right. Over it is a mantel on which is 
 arranged, in a neat, methodical row, a few pieces 
 of pewter. Rush seat chairs and wooden settees 
 are arranged comfortably about the room. On the 
 table are lighted tallow candles. A spinning wheel 
 is near the fireplace. Also two low benches for the 
 children. A corner cupboard displays rare china 
 and pew^ter. 
 
 Ti7ne — January 11, 1688. Formal separation of 
 Newton from Cambridge. 
 
 Characters — 
 
 John James, a leading man of the town, who has 
 gone to Cambridge to get the decision of the 
 Court in regard to the separation of Cambridge 
 Village from Cambridge. 
 
 Edward Hull^ his companion. 
 
 Deliverance Bartlett^ a large man. A leader of 
 Cambridge Village. Wears a Colonial suit of 
 black cloth, dark gray stockings, white collar and 
 cnffs, a hat of black felt with small silver buckles 
 and low shoes with silver buckles. (This is the 
 costume for all the men and boys. ) 
 
 Oliver Winters^ a tall, dark, vehement man. 
 Strong supporter of Deliverance Bartlett. 
 
 Noisy John, light, hot-tempered and impetuous. 
 
 Thomas Fryb, an unobtrusive, quiet observer. 
 
Old Peter, a tottering old man with a long 
 white beard. Leans on a cane. 
 
 Martin Held, indolent and easy-going. 
 
 Rosin the Beau, an old man who plays the fiddle. 
 
 George Grand, very boastful. 
 
 Abraham Bartlett, i children of Deliverance 
 
 David Bartlett, | Bartlett. 
 
 Sammie Winters, son of Oliver Winters. 
 
 Constance Bartlett, wife of Deliverance Bartlett. 
 Gown of either gray or brown or dark purple. A 
 white apron. A falling collar and white cuffs 
 turned back over the sleeves. A kerchief. ( This 
 is the costume for all the women and girls. ) 
 
 Abigail Winters, John Winters' wife. A sharp- 
 tongued woman. 
 
 Temperance Sewall, wife of Noisy John. A stout, 
 easy-going, good-natured woman. 
 
 Penelope Daniel, a widow. Modest and retiring. 
 
 Goody Gade, a little bent-over woman, who looks 
 about with curious eyes. The town gossip. 
 
 Kate Frye, who endeavors to imitate the manners 
 of old England. She wears a bright colored cape 
 and a bright bow in her hair, showing her incli- 
 nation toward frivolous and worldly things. 
 
 June Ford, a pretty young girl. 
 
 Rebecca, 1 
 
 HoPE^ > children of Penelope. 
 
 Patience, ] 
 
 Alicia, daughter of Thomas and Kate Frye. 
 Dressed more gaily than the other children. 
 
 The curtain goes up showing Deliverance Bart- 
 lett seated in a rocker by the fire and David is 
 near him. His wife Constance is spinning. 
 
 4 
 
Constance : (pausing in her work) Where can 
 Abraham be? Perhaps some Indian or a wild beast 
 has attacked him. 
 
 Deliverance: (soothingly) He is at the school, 
 that's all. Nothing's happened to a sturdy lad like 
 Abraham. Run, David, and get some more wood 
 from the wood-box. It's getting a bit chilly here. 
 
 (David rims out and soon returns with a log 
 that he puts on the pre. A loud pounding out- 
 side is heard.) 
 
 Constance : (jumping up nervously) Who's 
 that? 
 
 Deliverance : David, open the door. 
 
 (David runs to the door and opens it. Oliver 
 Winters^ his wife and child enter.) 
 
 Deliverance: (rising) Well! Well! This is an 
 unexpected pleasure. 
 
 Oliver Winters: To tell the truth, Brother De- 
 liverance, this is not a friendly visit only. 
 We came here to await the decision of the Court. 
 (Puts his hat on the chair.) I say it's about time 
 that Cambridge did something in this matter ! 
 
 Deliverance : I think so, too ! 
 
 Oliver Winters: (emphatically) I think we'll 
 get our freedom this time. 
 
 Constance : We mustn't be too optimistic. 
 
 Deliverance: I say the Court'll give us our in- 
 dependence. They must. 
 
 Constance : (opening the door and peering out) 
 But I don't see where Abraham can be. He should 
 have been here two hours ago. 
 
 Deliverance: That is another matter. Having 
 
the school so far away ! Think of those boys walk- 
 ing so far. Then Cambridge tells us when we com- 
 plain about it that we knew before we came here 
 just how far we were away from the school. 
 
 Abigail: (speaking quickly) Well, / say, we'd 
 have been free long ago if every one had done as 
 he should. Some one's been bribed by the Court. 
 
 Constance: (indignantly) How absurd! We 
 were glad enough to have our own church but now 
 we want to be absolutely free and independent. We 
 want our own school. 
 
 (A loud knock sounds on the door.) 
 
 Deliverance: Come in! 
 
 (Noisy John^ Temperance^, Thomas Frye^ 
 Kate Frye and Alicia enter.) 
 
 Noisy John : (stamping his feet) Ah, it's a bit- 
 ter cold day, Brother Deliverance. We ought to be 
 home, but w^e couldn't resist the temptation of 
 coming in and waiting to hear the decision of the 
 Court. 
 
 Kate Frye: (untying her hood) I've been won- 
 dering about this all day. We must win our inde- 
 pendence this time. 
 
 Constance: (breaking in) I don't see where 
 Abraham can be! 
 
 Temperance: Hasn't he come home yet? 
 
 Constance : No ! 
 
 David: (excitedly) I think old Peter's coming 
 and Rosin with his fiddle. (Flings the door open.) 
 
 ( Martin Held^ Old Peter and Rosin stand on 
 the threshold.) 
 
 Alicia : Oh, Rosin has brought his fiddle ! 
 
Rosin : (smiling) I never go anywhere without 
 it. 
 
 Abigail: (irritably) 1 wish you'd close the 
 door ! You're letting a lot of cold air in. And my 
 rheumatism hasn't been very good this winter. 
 
 David: (still holditig the door open) There are 
 others coming. 
 
 (Penelope^ Rebecca^ Hope^ Patience^ Goody 
 Gade and June all enter.) 
 
 Deliverance: (shaking hands ivith them) Well, 
 this is indeed a fine party ! 
 
 Goody Gade: (in a high-pitched voice) We all 
 came here to await the decision of the Court. 
 
 Deliverance: I myself can't do anything until 
 I hear how this matter comes out. 
 
 Constance : I hear footsteps ! (Runs to the 
 door.) Oh! It's George Grand! 
 
 (George Grand enters.) 
 
 George Grand: Um! A nice day! I suppose 
 you all came for the same reason I did. 
 
 Goody Gade: (sarcastically) Why did you 
 come? To tell us how we could become separated 
 from Cambridge and then never do anything to 
 help? 
 
 George Grand: Well, I never! There's Martin 
 here — 
 
 Martin: (lazily) I always say, let well enough 
 alone. 
 
 Abigail: Where'd you be now if we all felt that 
 way? 
 
 7 
 
June: Play us something while we're waiting, 
 Rosin. 
 
 (Rosin plays a lively air.) 
 
 Noisy John : (breaking in) I tell you, we've got 
 to win our independence this time ! (Pounding the 
 table,) After the part we have taken in the Indian 
 war with our men fighting side by side by the men 
 of Cambridge, surely the Court will not refuse us. 
 
 Uncle Peter: (musingly) Cambridge Village 
 has always wanted to be free. 
 
 Constance : Oh, it's growing darker and darker ! 
 Where can Abraham be? 
 
 (Abraham dashes in. He looks dazed and 
 frightened. ) 
 
 Abraham : (crying) O mother ! 
 Constance: (rushes to him) What is it? 
 
 (They all gatlier round him.) 
 
 Abraham : (breathlessly) On the way home I — 
 when — I stayed after school so that the master 
 could help me with my sums. I didn't think how 
 quickly it became dark ! When I was going through 
 Fuller's woods an Indian jumped out at me and 
 chased me. He was all painted and he looked 
 terrible ! 
 
 Constance: I say you shan't go to that school 
 another day. The idea of having it so far away. 
 I say, you shan't go to school another day until we 
 have a school of our own ! 
 
 Noisy John: You're right, Mistress Constance. 
 I wouldn't let him go if I were in your place. 
 
 8 
 
Deliverance: (taking his gun from over the 
 fireplace) I'll go after that Indian ! 
 
 Temperance: (calmly) Don't be so hot-headed, 
 Brother Deliverance. You'd only get yourself into 
 trouble ! 
 
 Uncle Peter: (striking the floor violently with 
 his cane) Aye ! Aye ! 
 
 Abigail: (irritably) Prithee, stop pounding the 
 ground like a madman! 
 
 Constance: (who has opened the door a very 
 little) Who's that coming down the hill? 
 
 (They all crowd around the open door.) 
 
 David: (excitedly) There are John James and 
 Edward Hull from Cambridge! 
 
 (The two men dash suddenly into the room; 
 David slams the door, and they all gather 
 about the newcomers.) 
 
 Deliverance : (shaking John James by the arm) 
 Speak, man ! Give us the news ! 
 
 Noisy John (impatiently) Art thou a graven 
 image that thou has lost thy voice? 
 
 The People : Give us the news ! The news ! 
 
 Edward Hull: We are tree! The Court has 
 granted us our independence ! We are free ! 
 
 (A general hubbub of joy and relief follows.) 
 
 Deliverance: {to Rosin) Come, Rosin. Play us a 
 lively tune for this day have we won our separa- 
 tion from Cambridge. 
 
 (Rosin plays.) 
 
 curtain. 
 
THE EARLY LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 In the early days of Newton, the people lived on 
 large farms. As is true in nearly every new coun- 
 try, agriculture was the leading occupation. More- 
 over, manufacturing was discouraged by England. 
 Some years later, however, manufacturing sprang 
 up and flourished. 
 
 Picture to yourself Newton in the early days. 
 On either side of the stately Charles stretched wide 
 fertile farmlands. Near the center of the town 
 stood the meeting house and at the foot of Institu- 
 tion Hill was the school. 
 
 Among the largest farm owners were the Fullers, 
 the Jacksons, William Robinson, Deacon John 
 Staples and the Woodwards. 
 
 The old colonial homestead was wonderfully at- 
 tractive. Sturdy elms guarded the roadway lead- 
 ing up to the house, which was very often painted 
 white with green shutters. The frame was square, 
 with projecting windows in the roof. In order to 
 allow the snow to slide down easily, the roof was 
 built high and steep. 
 
 In the front yard was the wellsweep with the 
 old oaken buckets about which so much has been 
 written. Here flourished fragrant lilacs, pink and 
 white roses, snowballs and snowberries. Morning- 
 glories and sweet honeysuckle clambered over the 
 low lattice. Near by stood hives of droning bees. 
 On either side of the homestead were orchards of 
 
 10 
 
apple, cherry and plum. All about stretched fields 
 of growing crops, bathed in the soft glow of the 
 warm sunshine. Cows mooed gently in the pas- 
 tures, hens cackled loudly in the barnyard and fat 
 porkers grunted contentedly in the pen. The barns 
 fairly burst with plenty. An air of abundance per- 
 vaded the place. 
 
 The farmer produced his own meat, vegetables, 
 eggs, butter, molasses, cheese and fruit. Conse- 
 quently neither he nor his good wife ever worried 
 about food conservation. 
 
 The work of the men was for the most part farm- 
 ing. Of course there were some blacksmiths, ma- 
 sons and carpenters. But the majority of the men 
 followed farming as an occupation. The work of 
 the spring, summer, and fall consisted mostly in 
 planting, tilling and reaping the harvests, but in 
 the winter the men tended the animals and cut 
 the wood. 
 
 Let us enter one of these old-time homes. The 
 first room beyond the threshold was the entry. 
 There was a striking lack of furniture. The wind- 
 ing staircase ascended to the rooms above. Open- 
 ing from the entry was the large kitchen contain- 
 ing the huge fireplace. The kitchen w^as the living 
 room, the keeping room, the sitting room, the din- 
 ing room of the family. The bedrooms might be 
 bare and icy, the entire house damp and chill but 
 the kitchen with its glowing fireplace always 
 radiated good cheer and hospitality. 
 
 Over the fireplace on the mantel was an orderly 
 row of candlesticks with their accompanying snuff- 
 ers. From the end of a string dangled a soot- 
 blackened almanac that bore the mark of frequent 
 
 11 
 
handling. On either side of the fireplace were the 
 big ovens used for baking. By the hearth stood the 
 high-backed settle and within the fireplace itself 
 benches were built for the children. Brass and- 
 irons supported the heavy logs and the fire pan 
 and bellows stood conveniently near. At bedtime, 
 the andirons were drawn aside and the brands and 
 coals were covered with ashes in order to keep the 
 fire during the long winter night. 
 
 Near by stood the spinning wheel ready for the 
 busy hands of the housewife. 
 
 Round tables, rush and flag seat chairs and low 
 settees made up the furniture. 
 
 In autumn, the kitchen was adorned with fes- 
 toons of dried apples, red peppers, sage, mint, 
 savory, seed corn and rows of crook-neck squashes. 
 
 The attic, the cellar and the kitchen were all used 
 as storerooms in which to keep herbs and vege- 
 tables that would not go into the sheds or barns. 
 
 Across the hall was the ^^best" room. Here often 
 stood the guest bed and the chest containing the 
 family linen. The special pride of the housewife 
 was the corner cupboard. In it were neatly ar- 
 ranged a few delicate pieces of china, a silver tea- 
 pot and some teaspoons finely wrought, showing 
 by their beauty and antiquity that the owner 
 claimed genteel ancestry. 
 
 The ceilings of all the rooms were very low. In 
 the early Colonial days, the people used oiled paper 
 for window panes but later, tiny panes of glass 
 were substituted. They told the time by sun-dials 
 and hour-glasses. 
 
 The work of the housewife was never finished. 
 She made all the clothing for her large family ; she 
 
 12 
 
made the soap and she made candles for lights. 
 All those things which we now buy at the store 
 without giving any thought to their production the 
 woman herself used to make with a great expendi- 
 ture of time and labor. Then there was the baking 
 and the cooking and the washing and mending to 
 do that falls to the lot of many a busy mother. 
 But although she had these tasks to perform, she 
 always found time to care for a sick neighbor or to 
 welcome guests to her home. 
 
 In those days, the children had to show^ respect 
 to their elders. To their parents they never failed 
 in respectful obedience. The father taught his sons 
 all the work connected with the farm and the 
 mother instructed the girls in all branches of 
 housework. Very often a little child would begin 
 to knit at the early age of four. The girls worked 
 samplers and learned many good rules in conduct. 
 The boys alone attended school. 
 
 The clothing was very substantial and simple. 
 There was so much leather that the women often 
 had leather aprons and the men leather shirts. 
 The men's suits were of dark cloth with hose of 
 dark gray or green wool fastened at the knees. A 
 falling band and cuffs of white Holland lightened 
 the somber hue of the costume. Their hats were 
 made of black felt finished with a narrow band 
 of ribbon and small silver buckle. 
 
 The women wore gowns of either purple, gray 
 or brown. The apron was of Holland linen. They 
 also wore white linen collars and cuffs. For out- 
 door wear, my lady donned a kerchief and a little 
 hood of dark silk lined with soft silk or fur to 
 match her muff. 
 
 13 
 
The children's dress was like their parents. 
 
 Much of the food was served in the form of 
 soups, stews and hashes that could be eaten with 
 spoons of wood and pewter. Silver eating uten- 
 sils were very rare. For drinking cups hollo wed- 
 out gourds were used. The family dined sump- 
 tuously on hot corn bread, salt pork, milk, butter, 
 cheese, fruit waffles spread generously with maple 
 syrup, apple, custard, mince, and pumpkin pies. 
 The active outdoor life created a fine appetite and 
 an irreproachable digestion. 
 
 The people of Newton have always laid great 
 stress on religious education. Every one was sup- 
 posed to attend church services. Often the ser- 
 vices were very long. Farmers who came from a 
 distance brought their lunches and in winter the 
 traditional footwarmer to add to their physical 
 comfort. 
 
 You ask what your forefather did for good 
 times. In winter, there was the singing school 
 with the accompanying sleigh ride over the soft 
 snow. 
 
 Then there were the husking bees. These husk- 
 ing bees were a friendly effort on the part of neigh- 
 bors to help out a man who had more husking 
 than he could do. 
 
 On a soft autumn moonlit night, the buskers 
 would gather in the old barn and by cracking 
 many a merry jest and singing rollicking songs 
 they would make the husking of the corn seem 
 more like play than work. 
 
 We must not forget the w^omen's quilting bees. 
 When the women had finished their quilting, they 
 invited in the "men folks" to partake of a de- 
 
 14 
 
licious supper of cold ham, hot biscuit and lus- 
 cious preserves. 
 
 The young people played fox and geese, blind 
 man's buff and solved conundrums and riddles. 
 Then there were the church socials and donations 
 which every one enjoyed. 
 
 The children did not have the many amuse- 
 ments that you have nowadays. They were forced 
 to fall back on their own resources. The boys used 
 to play Indian, and the girls would make dolls out 
 of corn husks and play house with them in the 
 corner of the woodshed. 
 
 The gathering place of the family was the old 
 colonial fireplace. Here it was that all the house- 
 hold, big and little, would gather on cold winter 
 nights to listen to the aged grandfather relate the 
 stories of his youth. The busy housewife would 
 ply her spindle while the father with the older 
 boys w^ould fashion from wood the farm imple- 
 ments and the household utensils. Some of the 
 younger children would make rush or flag seats 
 for the chairs. Clustered about the family hearth, 
 they would watch the burning pine-knots and 
 imagine all kinds of wonderful pictures in the 
 sparkling flames. They ate the mellow rosy ap- 
 ples and sweet roasted chestnuts and drank the 
 clear brown cider. 
 
 Outside the wind howled through the trees and 
 leaped with ferocious glee down the throat of the 
 huge chimney. But what cared they for wind or 
 weather when secure in the affection of their own 
 family. 
 
 The family was preeminent. If guests came, 
 they were hospitably received by the family. What- 
 
 15 
 
ever affected one member of the family affected all. 
 They sorrowed together, rejoiced together, worked 
 and played together. The family was a miniature 
 community bound together by ties of common in- 
 terests. The children, taking part in all these 
 activities, learned to know and love a real home. 
 
 16 
 
DRAMATIZATION— THE HUSKING-BEE. 
 Characters — 
 
 Jonathan Allen^ in wliose barn the husking bee 
 is given. He wears a coat of frieze, leggings and 
 woolen jerkins and a coarse felt hat. This is 
 the costume for all the men except the school- 
 master and parson. 
 
 Isaac Allen^ about 10 years old, ) sons of 
 
 Philip Allen^ about 8 years old, ) Jonathan Allen. 
 
 Peter Pardon^ the schoolmaster. Wears a green 
 coat and breeches witJi green hose and buckled 
 shoes. 
 
 Anthony Sewall^ the colored servant. 
 
 John Brewster, , , , K . , , ,„ 
 
 Jack Fuller, ^^^^^ ^^^' \ ^'^'^""'^^ ^^ ^"^^ ^^^^- 
 
 Blue Feather, an old Indian wearing a tattered 
 blanket and a blue feather thrust through his 
 black hair. 
 
 Rosin the Beau, an old man who plays the fiddle. 
 
 Uncle Peter, an old man wiio is very popular be- 
 cause of his songs and stories. 
 
 Farmer Brown, neighbor of the Aliens. 
 
 Elisha Winslow, swiftest corn husker in the 
 country. 
 
 Job Pettijohn, neighbor of the Aliens. 
 
 Parson Smith, the minister of Newton. 
 
 Tabitha Allen, wife of Jonathan Allen. A bus- 
 tling busy woman. Wears a dark gray dress 
 with white apron and cuffs and gray cape. This 
 is the costume for all the women and girls. 
 
 Penelope Allen, the eldest daughter. Short, 
 
 17 
 
dark, vivacious. Wears' a cherry-colored ribbon 
 
 in her hair. 
 Deborah Allen^ quiet, shy, demure. 
 Aunt Mary^ stout, placid, easy-going. Carries a 
 
 basket of sweetmeats for the children. 
 RosETTA PERKINS;, the traveling dressmaker. 
 Grandmother Allen^ an old lady interested in all 
 
 the affairs of the day. Very deaf. 
 Phyllis Alden_, friend of Penelope's. 
 
 Curtain goes up on all present except Rosin the 
 Beau, Aunt Mary and Blue Feather. Every one 
 is busily engaged in husking corn. Even Grand- 
 mother Allen is doing her share. 
 
 Jonathan Allen : (springhig up and pointing 
 at the pile of husked corn) Well, my friends, to- 
 night you have done a goodly piece of work ! 
 
 Farmer Brown : It's about time we had a little 
 fun! 
 
 Every One: (clapping) Uncle Peter! Uncle 
 Peter ! 
 
 Uncle Peter: (unconcernedly) Yes? 
 
 Phyllis: A song! 
 
 Uncle Peter: ^'Five Kernels of Corn?" 
 
 Penelope: (eagerly) Yes! Yes! 
 
 Uncle Peter: (clearing his throat and singing 
 without any accompaniment) 
 
 " 'Twas the year of tlie famine in Plymouth of old. 
 The ice and the snow from the thatched roof had 
 
 rolled, 
 Through the warm purple skies steered the geese 
 o'er the seas 
 
 18 
 
And the woodpecker tapped in the clocks of the 
 
 trees. 
 And boughs on the slopes to the south wind lay 
 
 bare, 
 And dreaming of summer the buds swelled in 
 
 air. 
 The pale Pilgrims welcomed each reddening 
 
 morn. 
 They were left but for rations, Five Kernels of 
 
 Corn ! 
 
 Five Kernels of Corn! 
 Five Kernels of Corn! 
 They were left but for rations, Five Kernels of 
 
 Corn !" 
 
 Grandmother Allen : (nodding her head 
 toward the pile of husked corn) There's plenty 
 here. 
 
 Tabitha : May there always be ! 
 
 Grandmother Allen : (shaking her head sadly) 
 It wasn't always so. I can remember when Jona- 
 than here was but a lad when we had very little 
 to eat. The crops had been killed by wind and 
 rain. Then grandfather went out to hunt wild 
 turkey, and on his way home he started to cut 
 down a big dead tree for the fire. The tree fell on 
 him. He never came back. 
 
 Jonathan: There, there, mother! Don't thinlv 
 of such things. Have you children ever heard 
 how the Indians planted gunpowder? (Glances 
 about the group.) No? The Indians used to think 
 that powder could be planted the same as corn. 
 So they stole some from Jake Brewster's house and 
 planted it. When it didn't come up, they were 
 
 19 
 
angry, and the next time they saw Jake Brewster 
 they asked him how the white man got his powder. 
 
 ^'Why do you ask?'* 
 
 ^'Because we planted it in the ground and it 
 didn't grow." 
 
 ^'Oho!" laughed Jake. "You stole the powder. 
 Powder isn't corn, my friends. It doesn't grow. 
 It's made in England !" 
 
 "Umph !" said the Indians. "The ugly laughing 
 white man!" And they went off. 
 
 Farmer Brown: That story reminds me of 
 "The Wonderful Pitcher." This happened when I 
 was a little boy and lived on the other side of New- 
 ton by the river. My father and mother were very 
 kind good people and no one was ever turned hun- 
 gry from their door. 
 
 My father used to give the Indians hard cider to 
 drink and that wasn't always good for them. 
 
 One night my mother dreamed that an angel 
 came to her and told her never to give the Indians 
 any more cider. So she made a firm resolve to 
 obey the angel's command. 
 
 That very morning, Rain-in-the-Face, a poor old 
 Indian, made his appearance at our door. He had 
 a wicker basket over liis arm. 
 
 "Me want old cider." said Rain-in-the-Face. 
 "Me drink old cider.'* 
 
 I remember how old he looked in his tattered 
 red blanket and scraggly yellow feather. 
 
 "Me drink old cider," he repeated. 
 
 "No, no, old Rain-in-the-Face," said my mother, 
 very firmly. "I will not give you any. It is not 
 right. You come back on Thanksgiving Day and 
 I will give you all the basket will hold." 
 
 20 
 
^'Of hard cider?" said Rain-in-the-Face, eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, of hard cider.'' 
 
 Rain-in-the-Face laughed to himself and went 
 away. 
 
 "Why did you tell him tliat?" asked ray father, 
 
 "That wicker basket won't hold much cider," 
 laughed my mother. 
 
 Well, Rain-in-the-Face came with his basket on 
 Thanksgiving Day. What do you suppose he had 
 done? 
 
 Chorus: What? 
 
 Farmer Brown: (impressively) He had dipped 
 the big wicker basket into the water several times 
 and it had frozen. The wicker basket had turned 
 into an ice basket and it would hold quite a good 
 deal of hard cider. 
 
 Sally: Well, what did your mother do then? 
 
 Farmer Brown : For a moment she didn't know 
 what to do. 
 
 Then suddenly an idea flashed across her mind. 
 
 "Come in, old Rain-in-the-Face," she said. 
 "Come in. It's cold outside." 
 
 Rain-in-the-Face came in. 
 
 "Old cider!" said he, extending the ice basket. 
 "It hold plenty of old cider." 
 
 "Come sit by the fire and hear the kettle sing." 
 
 "Yes ! Yes !"' echoed my father. "Hear the kettle 
 on Thanksgiving Day." 
 
 Rain-in-the-Face looked uneasy but he did as 
 he was bid. He became so much interested in 
 listening to the teakettle singing that he did not 
 notice that his beautiful ice basket was all melting 
 away. Suddenly he looked doAvn and found that 
 his basket was nothing but a pool of water. 
 
 21 
 
Well, Kain-in-the-Face knew he was beaten. So 
 my mother filled his wicker basket with some good 
 food and he went away. 
 
 Peter Pardon: Fine! By the way, look at De- 
 borah working on her sampler! 
 
 Jonathan Allen: Oh, she's always a very in- 
 dustrious little girl. Her mother can always de- 
 pend upon her to help make the candles and do the 
 spinning and the sewing. 
 
 Peter Pardon: {turning to Elisha Winslow) 
 See here, Elisha. You're a man of distinction since 
 you husked more corn than any one else this even- 
 ing. Sing us a song. 
 
 Elisha Winslow: (Sings "There was a jolly 
 miller"— page 181— "Songs of England"— Vol. I.) 
 
 "There was a jolly miller once 
 Lived on the river Dee. 
 He worked and sung from morn till night. 
 No lark more blithe than he, 
 
 And this the burden of his song 
 
 Forever used to be, — 
 
 I care for nobody, no, not I, 
 
 If nobody cares for me." 
 
 (They all applaud the singer.) 
 
 Parson Smith : It's lucky more of us are farm- 
 ers than millers. 
 
 Jonathan Allen: Anthony! I say, Anthony! 
 Bring in the cider and the apples! 
 
 Anthony : Yassir ! Yassir ! (Goes out.) 
 
 Tabitha Allen : Do you remember that story of 
 the Little Girl Captive? 
 
 22 
 
Deborah: (clapping her hands) Tell it, mother! 
 Tell it ! 
 
 Tabitha : One day Mercy Young's two little chil- 
 dren were playing out by the garden when they saw 
 tw^o big beady eyes staring at thera between the 
 leaves of tlie underbrush. They screamed and ran 
 in to their mother. Their mother told them that 
 they had imagined the big beady eyes and told 
 them to go back to play. They went back and 
 forgot all about what they had seen when they 
 w^ere suddenly seized by strong hands. They were 
 captured by the Indians! 
 
 The Indians took them away to their village and 
 would not let them go home. Oh, how the poor 
 children cried! But the Indians said they must 
 stay with them. Then one day, ten years after- 
 wards, when Mercy, poor sad Mercy, was spinning 
 all alone, an. Indian girl came up to the cabin to 
 sell baskets. Mercy began to talk to her and she 
 discovered that the Indian girl w^as her daughter! 
 How glad she was! Mercy asked for her son and 
 tlie girl said that the brother had been killed in a 
 fight with another tribe of Indians. '^Oh, but I 
 have you now," cried Mercy. ^'I will never let 
 you go.'' 
 
 And that girl is living today w^itli her mother 
 in Cambridge. 
 
 Parson Smith : Penelope, you can sing. 
 
 Penelope : (shyly) Not very well. 
 
 Tabitha: (sternly) Penelope! 
 
 Penelope: (meekly) Yes, ma'am. (Sings "Fly 
 away, pretty Moth"— page 58— "Songs of Eng- 
 land"— Vol. II.) 
 
 23 
 
^'Fly away, pretty Moth, to the shade, 
 Of the leaf where you slumbered all day. 
 Be content with the moon and the stars, pretty 
 
 Moth, 
 And make use of your wings while you may." 
 
 Anthony: (breaking iriy his eyes distended with 
 terror^ his apples rolling from the basket and the 
 pitcher trembling violently in his hand) Oh, Massa! 
 Massa ! There sure is somethin' strange goin' round 
 here! 
 
 Jonathan: (sternly) What is the trouble, 
 Anthony? 
 
 Anthony : The black cat was turnin' round and 
 round and her eyes look like a ghost was here. 
 (A loud knock at the door.) 
 
 John Brewster: Who's that? (Opens the door. 
 Aunt Mary stands there,) 
 
 Jonathan: (laughing) There's your ghost, 
 Anthony. 
 
 The Children: (all flocking around Aunt 
 Mary^ crying) Aunt Mary! Aunt Mary! 
 
 Tabitha: (in astoyiishment) How'd you get 
 here? 
 
 Aunt Mary: (somewhat reproachfully) Why, I 
 had Farmer Blake bring me as far as the bridge 
 and then I walked up. I heard how you had a 
 husking bee and I never miss one. I gave sister 
 Cynthia a little bit of motherwort and wintergreen 
 and she feels all right, so I came. 
 
 Tabitha: We're glad to see you. Here's a seat 
 beside me. (Makes room for her.) 
 
 (Anthony recovers himself and passes out 
 the apples and cider.) 
 
 24 
 
Peter Pardon : What do you tliink happened in 
 school the other day? 
 
 RosETTA Perkins: (leaning forward curiously) 
 What? 
 
 Peter Pardon : We needed wood for the fire — 
 it's pretty chilly these days. I sent Isaac out to 
 cut some wood, and after he had been gone some 
 time I told Jack Fuller to go out and ''spell" him. 
 Jack went out, and pretty soon I heard loud shout- 
 ing. I went out, and there I saw Jack on top of 
 the woodshed and reading out words from his book 
 while Isaac was spelling the words and making the 
 wood fly at the same time. 
 
 "I told you to give Isaac a rest !" I said. "Isaac's 
 tired out." 
 
 ''I'm 'spelling' Isaac," said Jack. "You told me 
 to teach him how to spell !" 
 
 (They all laugh.) 
 
 Grandmother Allen : (with her hand at her ear) 
 Wliat say? What say? The rye growing fine this 
 year? 
 
 Uncle Peter : That reminds me. (Keeping time 
 with his sticky he sings.) 
 
 "The corn is golden yellow. 
 
 The wheat grows tall and high, 
 The barley and the waving oats. 
 But there's nothing like the rye. 
 
 Wlien the bloom is on the rye, oh, 
 When the bloom is on the rye; 
 
 There's nothing like it — no, I'm sure, 
 When the bloom is on the rye." 
 
 (Strains of a violin sound outside.) 
 25 
 
Philip: (jumping up delightedly) Oh, there's 
 Rosin. 
 
 (Rosin enters^ playing ^^ Money Musk/^) 
 
 (When he finisheSy they all clap.) 
 
 Jonathan : Why, Rosin, we thought you weren't 
 coming. 
 
 Rosin: (shaking his head decidedly) I wouldn't 
 miss a husking bee. 
 
 RoSETTA Perkins: (leaning forward) What do 
 you think! Eliza Green was ducked in the river 
 last week for scolding her poor husband! She 
 screamed when they tied her in the ducking chair 
 but it didn't make any difference. And her little 
 boy Johnnie has been put four times in the stocks 
 this last month for telling falsehoods! 
 
 Aunt Mary : Do you think that is worse, Rosetta 
 Perkins, than to go to sleep right in church and 
 have your nose tickled by the tithing man as you 
 did one Sunday? 
 
 (They all look at Rosetta and laugh.) 
 
 Uncle Peter : Did I ever tell you how my father 
 wrestled with an Indian? 
 
 (They all shake their heads.) 
 
 Uncle Peter : (clearing his throat impressively) 
 My father was the greatest wrestler of his time. 
 He was big and strong. 
 
 One day when he was cutting down a tree near 
 the edge of the forest, suddenly he was confronted 
 by a tall Indian. My father had never seen him 
 before. 
 
 26 
 
^'You big fighter?-' asked the Indian. "Me hear 
 yoii big fighter. Me big fighter too. Me fight 
 you.'' 
 
 My father's heart was in his mouth. He knew 
 that if he wrestled with the Indian and the Indian 
 threw him^ the Indian would kill him. He 
 couldn't get away, either. 
 
 Well, he gritted his teeth and made up his mind 
 to beat that Indian. For a long time they wrestled. 
 My father became very tired. He thought he would 
 never throw that Indian. 
 
 At last, the Indian fell and lay flat on the ground. 
 
 My father could scarcely believe his eyes. 
 
 The Indian rose up very slowly and said: "You 
 big fighter! Me big fighter! You bigger fighter 
 than me ! Ugh !" 
 
 And he disappeared into the forest. 
 
 My father never saw him again. 
 
 (A dark figure lurks in the doorway.) 
 
 Tabitha: (nervously) Who's that? 
 
 Blue Feather: (timidly) Blue Feather. Blue 
 Feather smell good smells and hear good noises. 
 
 Jonathan : Why, come on in. Blue Feather. 
 Don't stand out there in the cold. 
 
 (Blue Feather comes slowly in.) 
 
 (Penelope gives him a doughnut and a cup of 
 cider. ) 
 
 Peter Pardon : (begins to sing. Rosin the Beau 
 softly accompanying him with his fiddle) 
 
 "In the chimney place near the roaring fire 
 Stands a treasure most rich and rare: 
 
 27 
 
It's battered and worn; it's marked with the 
 years ; 
 It's my grandmother's old rocking chair. 
 
 Oh, the years may come and the years may go, 
 
 Some joyous, some full of care. 
 I shall always remember — I ne'er can forget — 
 
 My grandmother's old rocking chair." 
 
 (Every one applauds with great enthusiasm.) 
 (Rosin the Beau strikes up a lively tune.) 
 
 Elisha Winslow: (springs to his feet and he- 
 gins to clog; sings to the tune of ^'Killarney over 
 therer) 
 
 "Oh ! potatoes they grow small 
 Over there ! Over there ! 
 Oh! potatoes they grow small 
 
 Over there ! Over there ! 
 Oh ! potatoes they grow small 
 'Cause they plant 'em in the fall 
 And they eats 'em top and all 
 Over there! 
 
 Oh ! I wish I was a geese 
 
 All forlorn ! All forlorn ! 
 Oh ! I wish I was a geese 
 
 All forlorn! All forlorn! 
 Oh ! I wish I was a geese 
 'Cause they lives and dies in peace 
 And accumulates much grease — 
 Eating corn ! 
 
 28 
 
Oh ! they had a clam pie 
 
 Over there ! Over there ! 
 Oh ! they had a clam pie 
 
 Over there ! Over there ! 
 Oh ! they had a clam pie 
 And the crust was made of rye. 
 You must eat it or must die, 
 Over there!" 
 
 Job : Come on, everybody. We'll have a Virginia 
 Reel. Gentlemen, choose your partners. 
 
 (Every one dances except Grandmother Allen 
 and Blue Feather^ icJio watch ivith much in- 
 terest.) 
 
 (To the merry strains of the fiddle and gay 
 laughter, the curtain goes down.) 
 
 29 
 
SCHOOL. 
 
 Did you ever stop to wonder how your fore- 
 fathers were educated? 
 
 In those early days of Newton, the first school 
 was erected north of Institution Hill near Joseph 
 Bartlett's home in what is now known as Newton 
 Centre. Abraham Jackson, son of John Jackson, 
 gave to the town one acre of land for the school 
 grounds. John Staples was the first schoolmaster. 
 Other schoolhouses soon sprang into existence, for 
 New England laid great emphasis on learning and 
 education. 
 
 Picture to yourself the old-fashioned school- 
 house. There it stood in the fragrant meadows, its 
 bark roof higher on one side and its square shape 
 clearly outlined against the blue sky. A beaten 
 footpath meandered up to the door. 
 
 There was just one main room which was six- 
 teen feet long and fourteen feet wide. Here all the 
 classes were held. The seats were hard, backless 
 benches. How the poor children's shoulders must 
 have ached! The master with a goose quill stuck 
 behind his ear sat behind a high narrow desk 
 where he could sternly survey his flock. 
 
 The floor was uneven, the walls were roughly 
 plastered and on one side of the room was the 
 glowing fireplace. 
 
 In those days, the chief subjects of education 
 were reading, writing and arithmetic. Above all 
 things, the schoolmaster must be a good penman. 
 The copy books were made of foolscap paper sewed 
 
 30 
 
into book shape and ruled by hand. Sometimes, 
 when paper was scarce, they wrote on birch bark. 
 For pens, they used the goose quill with the feath- 
 ers left in the handle. Oh, how carefully and well 
 our forefathers wrote ! It makes us ashamed when 
 we look at some of our careless, slovenly penman- 
 ship. The study of geography was considered not 
 as an essential but as an accomplishment. 
 
 Even after the schools had been some time es- 
 tablished, the girls did not attend. Indeed it was 
 deemed unwise to burden the feminine mind with 
 ^'book education." Even the minister looked 
 askance at ^'learned women." They argued that 
 intense mental application would injure their deli- 
 cate brains and urged them to look well to the ways 
 of their household, which was woman's divinely 
 appointed sphere. 
 
 Little children attended dame schools. These 
 dame schools were conducted by old women who 
 were often very ignorant. The pupils learned their 
 letters from a hornbook. This hornbook was made 
 by placing a thin piece of wood behind a sheet of 
 printed paper and over the paper putting a piece 
 of horn so thin that the letters were easily read. 
 
 In those days, discipline was exceedingly strict 
 and severe. The birch rod was much in evidence. 
 Every one thoroughly believed in the old saying, 
 "Spare the rod and spoil the child." 
 
 The schoolmaster led a roaming life. He would 
 spend two or three weeks at one home and then 
 he would go on to another. This was called "board- 
 ing round." You can imagine with what care the 
 good housewives prepared for the schoolmaster's 
 visit. The family pewter was proudly brought 
 
 31 
 
forth, the table boasted wonderful pies and cakes 
 and puddings, and the best bedroom, seldom used, 
 was made ready for the illustrious guest. 
 
 The pay of the teacher was often very meager. 
 Sometimes he was not recompensed in money at 
 all, but in wood, apples, corn and the like. The 
 fathers of the children furnished the large logs 
 for the fireplace in payment for their children's 
 tuition. 
 
 The crowning episode of the school year was the 
 final examination day when the selectmen and the 
 parents visited the school to see just w^hat the 
 scholars had accomplished during the year's work. 
 
 The schools were not as well equipped as they 
 are nowadays. The manner of learning was often 
 harsh and forbidding. But in the memory of some 
 old man there often lingered a far-off dream of a 
 small boy in the old-fashioned school sitting by 
 the open window, listening to the drowsy drone 
 of the bumble-bee as he hummed from flower to 
 flower, and idly watching the fleecy clouds drift 
 by in the blue sky. 
 
 Although we have now an elaborate system of 
 education, I doubt if we know as much about the 
 real experiences of life as did our forefathers who 
 reflected and meditated on the few things they 
 had to such a degree that the wisdom derived be- 
 came a part of their very being. 
 
 32 
 
DRAMATIZATION— AN OLD-TIME NEWTON 
 SCHOOL. 
 
 Characters (all dressed in Colonial costimies) — 
 
 Stephen Ray^ the schoolmaster. A tall man. Wears 
 a wig. 
 
 Thomas Parker^ shorty fat boy. 
 
 Joe Tucker^ mischievous and boastful. 
 
 Edward Cook^ slight and fair. 
 
 Nathaniel Hall. 
 
 Abraham Bacon. 
 
 Jonathan Brown. 
 
 Tim and Tom Brown^ only members of the pri- 
 mary class. 
 
 Parson Smith^ the visitor at the school. 
 
 Five Indians^ including an Indian boy. They are 
 all painted and decked with feathers and carry 
 tomahawks. 
 
 Opening scene in the schoolroom before school. 
 The boys are gathered together talking. The mas- 
 ter has just stepped out. Behind his desk hangs a 
 birch rod. A pile of neatly arranged copy books 
 and an hour glass are on his desk. 
 
 Joe Tucker : (courageously) No, sir. I wouldn't 
 be afraid if I saw a whole tribe of Indians right 
 this minute! 
 
 Edward : (incredulously) Not after they chased 
 Sam Felter and nearly killed him? 
 
 Joe : No, sir. I'd fight. I can figlit any one. 
 
 Thomas: You can fight, but you couldn't whip 
 
 33 
 
Master Ray as you did the last teacher. That last 
 teacher was easy. When he boarded at our house, 
 my mother told him so. She's always saying, 
 ^'Spare the rod and spoil the child.'' 
 
 Stephen Ray: (coming in and rapping firmly 
 on his desk ivith his ruler) Boys, take your seats! 
 (The hoys obey.) 
 
 Abraham Bacon: (raising his harid) Mr. Ray? 
 
 Stephen Ray : Yes, Abraham. 
 
 Abraham: Joe says that if a tribe of Indians 
 came here this very minute, he'd fight 'em. 
 
 Stephen Ray: (smiling indulgently) 'Tride 
 goeth before a fall." Take out your pens. Thomas, 
 pass out the copy books. 
 
 (Thomas does so.) 
 
 (A loud knock sounds at the door. The 
 Schoolmaster looks startled for a moment, 
 settles his wig and arranges his collar.) 
 Schoolmaster: Open the door, Edward. 
 
 (Edward opens the door and reveals Parson 
 Smith. ) 
 
 Joe: (ifi an awed whisper) It's Parson Smith 
 come to visit the school. 
 
 Schoolmaster: (coming down and greeting his 
 guest) GoocZ-morning, Mr. Smith ! Step in ! Step 
 in! 
 
 Parson Smith : I was riding by, so I thought I'd 
 stop a minute to see how you are getting along. 
 
 Stephen Ray : That's right. Take a seat. 
 
 (The Parson sits down.) 
 
 Stephen Rx\y: We were just about to begin 
 writing. 
 
 34 
 
Parson Smith : (impressively) Good penman- 
 ship is the thing that should be most emphasized 
 in tlie school. Just think how ignorant some peo- 
 ple are. They can only make their marks! 
 
 Stephen Ray: (politehj) Won't you look at 
 some of them? 
 
 Parson Smith: Certainly. (Goes down the rows 
 of seatSy looks over the shoulders of the hoys and 
 reads in a loud voice) ''Resignation is good for the 
 soul." Um — Edward. Very fine writing, indeed! 
 (Looks at Joe's and reads) ''Good penmanship is an 
 art not to be despised." That is very true. 
 
 Stephen Ray: You might like to hear a recita- 
 tion. Edward, give yours. 
 
 Edward: (Goes up to the front ^ hows ahritptly 
 and hegins.) 
 
 "The boy that is good 
 
 Does mind his book well — 
 And if he can't speak, 
 He will strive for to spell. 
 
 His school he does love, 
 
 And when he is there. 
 For play and for fun 
 
 No time can he spare." 
 
 Parson Smith : (ruhhing his hands in apprecia- 
 tion) Very good. Now I want to ask a question. 
 Who is the bravest boy here? 
 
 (Thomas Parker raises his hand. The others 
 all look at Joe.) 
 
 Parson Smith: Well, Thomas? 
 Thomas: Joe is. 
 
 35 
 
Parson Smith: Why? 
 
 Thomas : Because he says he*d fight if a tribe of 
 Indians came up. 
 
 Parson Smith: (smiling) Is that so? 
 Schoolmaster: Jonathan, your recitation! 
 
 ^'How proud we are I how fond to show 
 Our clothes and call them rich and new ! 
 When the poor sheep and silkworm wore 
 That very clothing long before. 
 
 The tulip and the butterfly 
 
 Appear in gayer coats than I. 
 
 Let me be drest fine as I will 
 
 Flies, worms and flowers exceed me still. 
 
 Then Avill I set my heart to find 
 Inward adornings of the mind. 
 Knowledge and virtue, truth and grace — 
 These are the roles of richest dress." 
 
 Nathaniel: (glancing at the window ayid jump- 
 ing up excitedly) They're coming! They're 
 coming ! 
 
 SctiooLMASTER : (severely) What do you mean? 
 
 Nathaniel: The Indians! 
 
 (They all look out for one breathless moment.) 
 
 Schoolmaster : Be quiet ! (The ferule trembles 
 in his hand.) 
 
 (They sit in tense silence.) 
 
 Parson Smith: Maybe they'll go by. 
 
 (The door opens slowly and reveals a dark face.) 
 
 36 
 
Stephen Ray: (harshly) What do you want? 
 
 (The door opens wider and the five Indians 
 including a boy can he seen.) 
 
 Leader of Indians : (insistently pushing the door 
 hack as far as it will go) We come see school. 
 We come see how white man learn. (He comes in 
 and the others follow. They calmly survey the ter- 
 rified hoys and then squat down on the floor in one 
 stolid row.) 
 
 Nathaniel: (in a loud whisper to Joe) Fight, 
 Joe, fight! 
 
 Joe : Fight yourself. 
 
 (The Schoolmaster is evidently nervous for 
 the Indians are painted^ hcfeathered and carry 
 tomahawks. He turns his hack and vohile the 
 attention of the Indians is engaged on the 
 teacher, Joe slij)s out the ivindow. The other 
 hoys appear too paralyzed with fright to move.) 
 
 Parson Smith: (ifi a loud whisper to the 
 Schoolmaster^ Don't let them know we're afraid. 
 Go on with the lessons. 
 
 Schoolmaster : (trying to he calm) Perhaps, Mr. 
 Smith, you would ask the primary class some ques- 
 tions in number work? 
 
 Parson Smith : Let me see. (Thinks a moment.) 
 How many hands has a boy? You, Tim. 
 
 Tim : (stammering) Two — two, sir. 
 
 (The leader nudges the Indian boy and jah- 
 hers something to him.) 
 
 Parson Smith: If a boy works three days a 
 week, how many days has he left, Tom? 
 
 37 
 
Tom: (also stammering) Four, sir. Four. 
 (The Indians all stare stolidly at each new 
 speaker.) 
 
 Stephen Ray: Now the spelling. How do yon 
 spell cucumber? 
 
 Abraham: (tremhling with fright) C-u-c-u-m- 
 
 b-e-r. 
 
 [The Schoolmaster looks at Jonathan.) 
 
 Jonathan: (hursting out) Not I, sir. Not I. 
 (The Indians stare at him.) 
 
 Schoolmaster: (suddenly) Where's Joe? 
 (A dead silence follows.) 
 
 Schoolmaster : (nervously) Thomas, begin 
 reading and pass the book along. 
 
 Thomas: ''He that will not help himself, shall 
 have help from nobody." (Passes the hook to Ed- 
 ward Cook. Edward reads.) 
 
 ''As a wagoner was driving his team, his wagon 
 sank into a hole and stuck fast." (Hands the hook 
 to Jonathan. Jonathan reads.) 
 
 ''The poor man immediately fell upon his knees 
 and prayed to Hercules that" — (Hands the hook to 
 Nathaniel. Nathaniel reads.) 
 
 " — he would get his wagon out of the hole again." 
 (Gives the hook to Abraham. Abraham reads.) 
 
 "Thou fool," said Hercules, "whip thy horses 
 and set thy shoulder to the wheel and then if thou 
 wilt call upon Hercules, he will help thee." 
 
 Second Indian: (rolling his eyes and gesticu- 
 lating) Ugh I Ugh! Great Spirit. 
 
 Schoolmaster: (evidently very nervous) We 
 
 38 
 
have introduced a little geography — as an accom- 
 plishment, yon know. 
 
 (Parson Smith nods approvingly.) 
 
 Stephen Ray : Well, Abraliam, tell us what you 
 know about Massachusetts. 
 
 Abraham : (in a loud voice^ evidently endeavor- 
 ing to conceal his fear) The people of this State are 
 industrious and sagacious. Tliey are generous and 
 liospitable to strangers and they are good neigh- 
 bors. The changes of weather are great and fre- 
 quently sudden. On the whole, it appears that the 
 climate is a compound of most of the climates of 
 the world. (Pauses breathless.) 
 
 Second Indian: (nodding and shaking his head) 
 Heap big white maul Him big chief! (Looks at 
 the others. They all shake their heads with grave 
 solemnity.) 
 
 (A tense pause follotvs. Finally the leader of 
 the Indians gets upy the others also rise.) 
 
 Leader of Indians: (pushing the Indian lad 
 forward) He red child. He learn from the stars 
 (points upivard) and from the wind in the willows. 
 He not learn like white child. (Shakes his head in 
 disgust and they slowly file out. Stephen Ray 
 closes the door after them.) 
 
 Parson Smith : (drawing a deep sigh of relief) 
 I'm sure you never had such visitors ! 
 
 Stephen Ray : (emphatically) I should say not ! 
 But where is Joe? 
 
 (Joe^s head appears above the outside of the 
 windotv and in a faint voice replies.) 
 
 Here I am. 
 
 39 
 
Abraham : (starting) And he was going to fight 
 Indians ! 
 
 (They all laugh uproariously.) 
 
 Stephen Ray: Well, come on in, Joe. You 
 weren't the only one frightened this time. (Joe 
 jumps over the casing.) I'm sure we never had a 
 family of Indians visit our school before. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 40 
 
JOHN ELIOT'S CONNECTION WITH 
 NEWTON. 
 
 The seal of the city of Newton stamps upon all 
 official documents the most dramatic and pictur- 
 esque event in Newton's history, — the first gather- 
 ing of the Indians under Chief Waban to listen 
 to the preaching of John Eliot. 
 
 The historic picture thus brought to mind is that 
 of a group of dusky Indians standing under a 
 grand old oak with their faces turned towards the 
 noble figure of the white man who is speaking to 
 them. 
 
 As this picture is stamped indelibl}^ upon all 
 important city documents, so is the figure of John 
 Eliot stamped upon the somber background of the 
 story of the . relations of the colonists with the 
 Red Men. 
 
 This noble and scholarly man came to the New 
 World fired with a zeal that enabled him to over- 
 come the tremendous difficulties in translating the 
 entire Bible into the Indian language, and that 
 caused him to carry on successfully his work of 
 Christianizing and civilizing these Red Men of the 
 forest. Though filled with his great idea, he waited 
 fifteen years, preaching faithfully during this time 
 to his congregation in Roxbury, before he ventured 
 to preach to the Indians. During this time In- 
 dian interpreters taught him the Indian language, 
 and he visited the Indian camps, studying their 
 customs and learning their ways so that he might 
 know just how to deliver his great message. 
 
 At last, he felt that the day had arrived when he 
 
 41 
 
•might speak. He gathered together a little group 
 of Indians at Dorchester Mills and preached to 
 them. But the Red Men paid little heed to the 
 great teacher. They cast glowering glances at him 
 and occasionally an old chief would hiss with 
 contempt. 
 
 No one could call that meeting a success. Even 
 John Eliot who was always hopeful felt somewhat 
 discouraged. But after a time he decided to have 
 another meeting with the Indians. In the autumn 
 of 1646 a herald went through the land, proclaim- 
 ing far and wide that on the twenty-eighth of 
 October, the Reverend John Eliot would preach 
 again to the Indians, this time at Nonantum. Mr. 
 Eliot was anxious about the results of this meet- 
 ing, but with three companions he proceeded 
 bravely to Nonantum, determined to carry out his 
 great idea of helping the Red Men. 
 
 Imagine his surprise and pleasure when he saw 
 a great crowd of Indians eagerly awaiting his ar- 
 rival. When they caught sight of him, they nodded 
 their heads to show their approval. In the midst 
 of this multitude John Eliot took his place. Let 
 us imagine the sight that met his eyes! A large 
 number of Red Men adorned with plumes and 
 feathers, squaws decorated with beads and rings, 
 and the little children gathered around to hear the 
 white man preach. Near by in the doorway of his 
 tent sat the chief Waban, gazing down upon his 
 people with paternal pride. Above spread the clear 
 blue sky of an autumn day, while the trees, stripped 
 of their leaves, stood round like faithful sentinels. 
 
 When John Eliot began to speak all became 
 silent. 
 
 42 
 
He had chosen for his text the ninth verse from 
 the thirty-seventh chapter of Ezekiel : 'Trophesy! 
 unto the wind, prophesy, son of man! And say to 
 the wind, Thus saith the Lord God, Come from the 
 four winds, O breath; and breathe upon these 
 slain, that they may live !" 
 
 Spellbound the Indians listened to his words. 
 They hung upon his words as he explained the Ten 
 Commandments. He said that God was not 
 pleased witli them for fighting each other, but if 
 they would repent and try to do better, God would 
 forgive them and receive them as his children. 
 
 Finally he ceased speaking. Not a sound had 
 been made by the Indians during the entire ser- 
 mon. Mr. Eliot asked them if they knew what he 
 had said. With one mighty shout they showed 
 that they had understood. 
 
 When John Eliot heard this great response, he 
 lifted up his heart in thanks to God for now he 
 knew that his life's mission had begun. 
 
 After this meeting at Nonantum, John Eliot 
 preached very often to the Indians. Little groups 
 and large gatherings equally welcomed his pres- 
 ence. These simple children of the wilderness be- 
 came so deeply interested in the new religion that 
 they used to ask all kinds of questions. At one of 
 the meetings, a tottering man, bent with age, hob- 
 bled forward and inquired in a quavering voice if 
 he were too old to be saved. 
 
 You can see what a great work John Eliot was 
 doing when you read that a great many Indians 
 became converted to Christianity. People called 
 them 'Traying Indians.'' No longer did these 
 Indians, painted with horrible colors and wildly 
 
 43 
 
brandishing the tomahawk, follow the war path. 
 They forsook their cruel and barbarous ways 
 and settled down to peaceful contented lives. So 
 eager were they to learn the white man's ways that 
 they begged John Eliot for teachers and schools. 
 
 Many influential white men supported this great 
 work. Even the people across the sea in England 
 sent over money to help educate the Indians. 
 
 John Eliot was a very wise man and firmly be- 
 lieved that civilization should go hand in hand 
 with Christianity. He thought that the Indians 
 should be taught the old homely virtues. He often 
 quoted that saying which perhaps you have heard 
 your own mothers repeat: "Cleanliness is next to 
 Godliness." He also planned to teach the Indians 
 to work, and as a beginning, he suggested that 
 they build a town at Nonantum. 
 
 Such a large number of Indians flocked to this 
 place that there was not room for them all. So 
 they settled at Natick. Here John Eliot helped 
 them lay out a little village with streets and or- 
 chards and vineyards. They even built a strong 
 bridge over the river and they fashioned a rough 
 fort from the trunks of numerous trees. 
 
 How the effects of his influence grew ! The men 
 learned to till the soil and plant their crops while 
 the women spun and wove cloth to make warm gar- 
 ments for their families. All the time they at- 
 tended the schools, studying hard to learn as much 
 as they could about the new language and the new 
 religion. 
 
 John Eliot thought that the young Indians 
 should be trained to lead their own people. So he 
 educated several of them for the ministry. Finally, 
 
 44 
 
after years oi* waiting, the first Indian church was 
 established at Natick. 
 
 The work of John Eliot did not end with the 
 civilizing of the Indians. As has been said, he 
 translated the entire Bible into the Indian language. 
 You can well imagine that this was a most difficult 
 task, because the Indian language is so very 
 meager. John Eliot had to borrow from our own 
 language many words such as ^'testament," ^'book" 
 and '^Christ." This translation is considered a 
 most prodigious piece of work, and the few copies 
 that are now in existence are among tlie most in- 
 teresting relics of the Colonial period. One of 
 them is now in the Old South Church on Washinsr- 
 ton Street, Boston. 
 
 How the Indians loved and respected John 
 Eliot! During all the years that he went among 
 them, he was never harmed, but w^as always wel- 
 come wiierever he w^ent for they looked upon him 
 as one sent by God to lead them along the right 
 way. This noble man will always be remembered 
 everywhere as the great Apostle of the Indians. 
 
 His son became the first pastor of the First 
 Church in Newton and is buried in the old ceme- 
 tery on Center Street. A famous Newton church 
 and several streets have been given the name of 
 Eliot and while John Eliot is famous throughout 
 the world the city of Newton will always speak the 
 name with especial pride and reverence. 
 
 On the southern slope of Nonantum Hill in New- 
 ton stands the Eliot Memorial on wiiich is written 
 tlie following inscription, — 
 
 45 
 
"Here at Nonantum, October 28, 1646, in 
 Waban's Wigwam, near this spot, John 
 Eliot began to preach the Gospel to the In- 
 dians. Here was founded the first Chris- 
 tian community of Indians within the 
 English colonies." 
 
 46 
 
DRAMATIZATION— JOHN ELIOT PREACH- 
 ING TO THE INDIANS. 
 
 Characters — 
 
 Waban^ the dignified Indian Chief. His feathers 
 and blanket should be more conspicuous than 
 the others in order that he may be readily rec- 
 ognized as the leader. 
 
 Red Feather^ messenger. A bright red feather 
 thrust through his hair. 
 
 Running Bird_, messenger. 
 
 Big Eagle^ 
 
 Little Snake (a snake's skin 
 wound loosely around his neck), 
 
 White Horse (a string of white [Indian 
 feathers around his neck), [performers. 
 
 Bear Ghost^ 
 
 Wolf Plume_, 
 
 Fleet Foot^ 
 
 Fire Eyes^ medicine man. Clad in a buffalo robe 
 whitened with chalk and ornamented with hiero- 
 glyphic symbols. 
 
 Yellow Moon^ an old man who sits in a humped 
 and dejected position. His blanket is worn and 
 tattered. 
 
 Red Cloud. 
 
 Gray Owl^ reflective, grave Indian. Sits some- 
 what apart from the rest. 
 
 Little Fern^ Indian mother with an Indian doll 
 swung over her shoulder to represent a real 
 infant. 
 
 47 
 
Flower op the Wigwam, a very pretty young In- 
 dian girl. 
 
 Blue Bird, a little Indian girl. Blue feathers in 
 her hair and a string of blue beads around her 
 neck. 
 
 Meadow Lark, Indian woman. 
 
 Yeij:.ow Dawn, Indian woman. 
 
 Waving Willow, slender girl. 
 
 South Wind, Indian woman. 
 
 John Eliot, wearing an English dress coat, small 
 clothes, long boots and broad-brimmed hat. 
 
 Daniel Gookin, dressed as John Eliot. 
 
 Edward Jackson, dressed as John Eliot. 
 
 George Devin, dressed as John Eliot. 
 
 Time— October 28, 1646. 
 
 Scene opens at Nonantum, Mass., on the hillside 
 near the wigwam of the chief Waban. Logs and 
 branches of trees may be arranged so that the 
 scene may appear as realistic as possible. 
 
 The curtain rises to the tremolo of the drum. 
 The Indians are all grouped in a circle with their 
 faces turned expectantly toward the left. Waban 
 sits in the doorway of his tent. 
 
 (Red Feather and Running Bird dashing in 
 breathlessly at the left.) 
 
 Red Feather : The great white man is here ! 
 (Waban rises and walks down in the middle 
 of the circle.) 
 
 Waban: Conduct him hither! 
 
 (The two messengers turn and disappear. The 
 
 48 
 
tremolo grows a little louder. The Indians 
 remain perfectly still. Preseyitly John Eliot 
 appears, escorted hy Red Feather and Run- 
 ning Bird. His three English companions 
 follow. A low murmur of approval runs 
 through the Indian audience.) 
 
 (Waban advancing toward John Eliot.) 
 
 Waban : 
 
 Oh, great wliite man, who comes thus far 
 
 Across the sea so gray and cold. 
 We welcome you and wait to hear 
 
 The message that tliou wouldst unfold. 
 
 As chief I welcome you here now. 
 
 Oh, may our friendship never cease. 
 To you we give the kindly hand, 
 
 To you we give the pipe of i^eace. 
 
 John Eliot: (insihly affected) God's blessing 
 be upon you and all your people, great chief of the 
 Nonantum tribe. 
 
 Waban : May the Great Spirit breathe peace 
 upon you. 
 
 (Waban gives a slight signal, John Eliot and 
 his companions seat themselves and the six 
 Indian performers tvhile sitting on the ground 
 turn so that the first and second Indians, the 
 third and fourth, and the fifth and sixth face 
 each other. To the very soft piano music of 
 the Omaha Tribal Prayer, the performers act 
 out the folloiving in pantomime: 
 
 With folded arms, each Indian inclines very 
 
 49 
 
slowly toward the person facing him, bending 
 twice to each measure. Then the couples hend 
 to the left eight times and then to the right 
 eight times. The entire performance should 
 he very slow and solemn.) 
 (Waban rises and turns to John Eliot.) 
 
 Waban : 
 
 How often in the early morn 
 
 I've listened to the wind's soft breath, 
 And while I watched the bright stars fade 
 
 I've pondered much on Life and Death. 
 
 The bird flits far across the sky, 
 
 She streaks her way in eager flight. 
 
 I see the black speck grow more dim, 
 The bird has flown into the night! 
 
 Oh, thus is Life! Oh, thus is Death! 
 
 Old Age comes trembling after Youth. 
 We've asked our questions all in vain — 
 
 Explain to us the hidden truth. 
 
 (Sits down. The Indians nod their approval.) 
 
 John Eliot: (rises, and the eyes of every one 
 present are turned toward him. Holds up his 
 Bible) In answer to your many questions and 
 longings I bring you good tidings of great joy ! 
 
 Waban: Speak, Messenger of the Great Spirit! 
 (Seats himself where he can catch every tvord.) 
 
 John Eliot : (slowly opens the Bible and reads) 
 'Trophesy! unto the wind, prophesy, son of man! 
 And say to the wind. Thus saith the Lord God, 
 
 50 
 
Come from the four winds, O breath; and breathe 
 upon these slain, that they may live !" 
 
 (John Eliot pauses. The Indians sit as if 
 spellbound.) 
 
 John Eliot : I bring to you a great message. A 
 message that will set you free. I bring you great 
 hope. The Great Spirit sent me to you and I speak 
 the words that the Great Spirit has spoken to me. 
 
 Yellow Moon : (who sits on the front row, rises 
 ayid takes a tottering step forward. He looks im- 
 ploringly at John Eliot) Oh, great white man, 
 Old Age has brushed me with his withered plume. 
 Like the bird, I will soon go out into the dark- 
 ness. Tell me, am I too old to understand? 
 
 John Eliot : None are too old to understand. 
 
 Yellow Moon: (sinking hack into his seat with 
 a sigh of relief) Ah ! That is good. 
 
 Little Fern: (holding up the little Indian 
 papoose so that John Eliot can see it) And this — 
 little one? 
 
 John Eliot : ''Suffer little children to come unto 
 me and forbid them not, for of such is the king- 
 dom of heaven." 
 
 Little Fern: (smiling happily) The Great 
 Spirit is very good. 
 (Flower of the Wigwam slips shyly forward.) 
 
 John Eliot: What is it. Flower of the Wig- 
 wam? What question do you wish to ask? 
 
 Flower of the Wigwam : (evidently confused) 
 Oh, none. I only wanted to give the great white 
 man this little present. 
 
 (She shyly extends a string of heads to John 
 Eliot and then slips hack into her place.) 
 
 51 
 
John Eliot : Little Flower of the Wigwam, thy 
 gift bespeaks to me an open heart and an open 
 mind. 
 
 Wolf Plume: (suddenly pointing upward) See 
 yonder cloud? 
 
 John Eliot : (glancing upivard) Yes. 
 
 Wolf Plume : (in an agitated voice) See, it 
 sinks right over my head. The cloud is turning 
 gray. The Great Spirit is angry! A trouble will 
 come upon me I (He trembles violently.) 
 
 John Eliot: (quickly) The cloud looks gray to 
 you, Oh Wolf Plume. But see! It is really soft 
 and shining. The Great Spirit smiles upon you. 
 It is His blessing ! 
 
 Wolf Plume: (earnestly) Is that true? 
 
 John Eliot : (ivith conviction) It is true. 
 
 (Wolf Plume settles hack satisfied.) 
 
 White Horse: (pointing proudly to the feathers 
 around his neck) Wolf Plume should have white 
 feathers if he is afraid. They protect me from the 
 evil spirits that glare out at me in the darkness. 
 
 John Eliot : It is the Great Spirit who protects 
 you. 
 
 Fire Eyes: (jumping up impetuously) Oh, great 
 white man, I, above all, know the magic of the 
 white feather. I cannot understand all your Eng- 
 lish talk, but I understand the white feather. Not 
 many moons ago. Waving Willow here fell sick 
 with a fever. Day and night she moaned and 
 would not cease. They sent for me. I waved the 
 white feather over her head, I sang the song of the 
 ghost and she went to sleep. It was the white 
 feather that cured her. The white feather! 
 
 52 
 
John Eliot : Was it not the Great Spirit in the 
 white feather, Fire Eyes, that cured Willow? 
 
 Willow: It was the white feather! 
 
 John Eliot: Your Great Spirit and my Great 
 Spirit are the same. The Great Spirit speaks in 
 the wind, shines in the stars and blossoms in the 
 flowers. He was in the white feather ! 
 
 (Fire Eyes shakes his head wonderingjy.) 
 
 Owl: (rising slowly and deliberately ) The sun 
 is looking at us through the trees. Every day the 
 sun comes out of the east and travels to the west 
 and is never weary. All the animals, all the birds, 
 all the fish, all the growing plants turn to him for 
 warmth and light. Is your Great Spirit as power- 
 ful as the Sun? 
 
 John Eliot: Yes, and even more, for at His 
 command the Sun himself would stand still in the 
 heavens ! 
 
 Owl: (reflectively) He must be very wonderful. 
 
 Ked Cloud: (eagerly) I know! I know! The 
 stars are the eyes of the Great Spirit and the sigh- 
 ing in the pines is his voice. I know, for the forest 
 and the prairie have told me. I know! 
 
 John Eliot: Yes, Red Cloud, you have heard 
 his voice. You have understood his words. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 Waban: (rising) Oh, great white man, your 
 words have fallen like rain on thirsty fields. (The 
 Indians gaze intently at John Eliot.) Give us 
 more! Give us more, that we may understand. 
 
 John Eliot: The Great Spirit calls me yonder 
 now to speak to his white people. Another day I 
 will return to you. 
 
 53 
 
Waban: (earnestly) Soon! Soon! For my peo- 
 ple hang anxiously upon your words. 
 
 John Eliot: Yes. (Nods to his companions.) 
 Farewell, Waban. May the blessing of the Great 
 Father of all rest upon you and all your people.^' 
 
 (The curtain slowly descends to the tune of 
 "^The Gift of Peace: ^ The actors remain im- 
 movable^ giving a final picture of John Eliot 
 preaching to the Indians.) 
 
 John Eliot : (reverently) Now, Father, I thank 
 Thee that at last the day has come when Thou 
 hast used me to bring to Thy Indian children a 
 knowledge of Thee. 
 
 54 
 
THE JACKSON HOMESTEAD. A STATION 
 OF THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD. 
 
 ^^ Somewhat back from the village street 
 Stands the old-fashioned country seat. 
 Across its antique portico 
 Tall poplar trees their shadows throw; 
 And from its station in the hall 
 An ancient timepiece says to all, 
 ^Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !' " 
 
 On Washington Street, half way between New- 
 tonville and Newton, stands the old Jackson home- 
 stead. It is one of the most historic spots of New- 
 ton, for about the time slavery was creating such 
 bitter dissension between the North and the South, 
 this house served as one of the many stations of the 
 far-famed underground railroad of the time of 
 the Civil War. 
 
 A low white swinging gate opens on to a 
 narrow path bordered with old-fashioned flowers. 
 On the sunny doorstep dozes a yellow cat and from 
 the high old windows peep scarlet geraniums. Can 
 you imagine that this peaceful homestead was once 
 the harboring place of fleeing terror-stricken 
 slaves? 
 
 You will ask what the underground railroad 
 was. Now the "railroad" wasn't underground at 
 all. Slave owners gave it that name because the 
 escape of their slaves was shrouded with so much 
 mystery. They could track the fugitives as far as 
 
 55 
 
a border city, but from there on they were com- 
 pletely lost. Consequently the bewildered pur- 
 suers declared that there must be an underground 
 railroad. 
 
 The "railroad" extended from the South to the 
 free States and to Canada. The "stations" were 
 homes of abolitionists who aided the slaves to es- 
 cape. This railroad stretched from Kentucky and 
 Virginia across Ohio and from Maryland through 
 Pennsylvania, New York and New England to 
 Canada. Moreover, the territory of the Middle 
 States and all the Western States east of the Mis- 
 sissippi were dotted with stations. So you can 
 readily see liow extensive was this system for aid- 
 ing slaves to freedom. It was no formal organiza- 
 tion with regular membership and officers of dif- 
 ferent ranks. These terms were used by the 
 friends of the slaves merely to mystify the public 
 mind. 
 
 The penalty for harboring or assisting a run- 
 away slave to escape was very severe, so the men 
 who did this were forced to be most secretive and 
 cautious. The abolitionists were very severely 
 criticised and abused. Sometimes they were even 
 expelled from church. 
 
 The network of routes formed intricate and zig- 
 zag routes of escape. In their flight for freedom, 
 the fugitives were guided by the steady rays of the 
 North Star, for night was the safest time for them 
 to travel. After they had fought their way 
 through swamps, underbrush and over mountains, 
 they finally would arrive at a "station." The fam- 
 ily could readily recognize the light nervous rap- 
 ping of the runaway slaves. They were quickly ad- 
 
 56 
 
mitted, cared for and secreted until it was time 
 for them to resume tlieir long perilous journey. 
 Oftentimes, the abolitionist concealed slaves in a 
 covered wagon and carried them from one station 
 to another. One man had a w^oodpile with a room 
 in the center for tlie hiding place. Another put 
 them in the belfry of a high church. 
 
 Often disguises were assumed. A certain Quaker 
 kept a quantity of garden tools on hand for this 
 purpose. He would give the negro a sc^^the or a 
 rake to carry through the town. Having reached 
 a certain bridge on the way to the next station, 
 the pretending laborer would hide his tool under it 
 and journey on. Then some one returning would 
 carry it back. Many a mulatto concealed his iden- 
 tity by blackening his face and hands with burnt 
 cork. Among the Quakers a woman's costume was 
 a favorite disguise for fugitives. 
 
 Many people of prominence admitted tlieir dis- 
 regard for the Fugitive Slave Law. There was 
 Theodore Parker, a famous theologian of Boston, 
 who publicly denounced this law. Then Harriet 
 Beecher Stow^e wrote ^'Uncle Tom's Cabin," a book 
 that aroused the indignation of the entire North. 
 The story of Eliza crossing the river on cakes of 
 ice is absolutely true. 
 
 As has been said, the old Jackson homestead in 
 Newton w^as one of the stations of the underground 
 railroad. Many times, Mr. Jackson went out witli 
 a covered wagon and returned, carrying with him 
 slaves who were seeking freedom. There was a 
 place in the cellar wiiere they could be carefully 
 concealed. There was also a well in this cellar 
 and when tlie i)ursuers were very near, the slaves 
 
 57 
 
got into the buckets, were lowered into the well 
 and kept there until all danger was over. 
 
 Now quiet broods over the old Jackson home- 
 stead. The cat stretches herself lazily on the door- 
 step and resumes her nap. The red geraniums peep 
 coyly from the windows. The old homestead seems 
 to be dreaming of the past. 
 
 58 
 
DRAMATIZATION. 
 
 Time — The early part of the nineteenth century. 
 Summer. About ten o'clock at night. 
 
 Place — The drawing room of the Jackson home. 
 A marble-topped table stands in the center of the 
 room. On it are lighted candles and a few books 
 carefully arranged. In the two windows are or- 
 derly rows of plants. In one corner stands a book- 
 case, and in the other, a slowly ticking grand- 
 father's clock. On one side of the room is the 
 melodeon. Family portraits hang on the wall. 
 There are three entrances. The one at the left 
 leads outdoors ; the one in the middle into the hall- 
 way and from there into the cellar and the en- 
 trance on the right opens on to the stairway. 
 
 The occupants of the room are seated in old- 
 fashioned high-back chairs and on a settee, while 
 Ellen is seated at the melodeon. Mrs. Jackson, 
 who is knitting, occupies an old-fashioned rocker. 
 On the floor are circular braided rugs. On one of 
 them a cat is curled up. 
 
 Characters — 
 
 William Jackson^ head of Jackson home. A 
 ^'keeper" of one of the stations of the under- 
 ground railroad. Wears a black suit and high 
 hat. 
 
 Jacob Jones^ an inquisitive neighbor. Wears a 
 dark suit, high hat, and carries a cane. 
 
 59 
 
Edward Jackson, ) sons of William Jackson. 
 
 Timothy Jackson, [ Dressed same as father. 
 
 Gregoky, I slave owners. Thick set, and over- 
 
 JoHNSON, ( dressed. Great air of pretension. 
 
 Mrs. Jackson wears a flowered dress with hoop- 
 skirt ; hair parted in the middle with long curls 
 on each side. 
 
 Sarah, bright dress; costume somewhat like her 
 mother's. 
 
 Ellen, hoop-skirt ; dressed very quietly. 
 
 Caroline, wears figured lawn dress ; hair in plaits, 
 twisted and tied with lilac ribbon. White pan- 
 talets. 
 
 Eliza, colored slave woman with child in her arms. 
 
 Joe, her husband. Both of them wear tattered, 
 soiled clothing to show that they have fought 
 their way through brambles and underbrush. 
 They are fugitives from the South and are on 
 their way to Canada. 
 
 The scene opens with all the Jackson family 
 present except the father. Ellen is seated at the 
 melodeon, Edward and Caroline are reading, Mrs. 
 Jackson and Sarah are knitting while Timothy is 
 wandering restlessly about the room. 
 
 (Ellen smgs the first verse and chorus of 
 ''Nellie Gray/') 
 
 Edward : (lifting his eyes from his hook) That's 
 all right, Ellen. You almost make me feel sorry 
 for Nellie Gray. 
 
 Sarah: I should think you would be! Any- 
 body with any heart couldn't help feeling that 
 way. 
 
 60 
 
Caroline : (running to the window^ pushing 
 aside the curtain and peering out) I wonder where 
 father can be! 
 
 Timothy : It takes some time to bring slaves 
 away through to Newton in a market wagon. 
 
 Mrs. Jackson : (glancing nervously around) Oh ! 
 Don't speak so loudly ! Some one might hear ! 
 
 Edward : (laughing) Nobody but the mice, and 
 they won't tell. 
 
 Mrs. Jackson : Well, we must be safe. Rev- 
 erend Holmes, you know, upheld the Fugitive Slave 
 Law in last Sunday's sermon. You know the pen- 
 alty for helping slaves to escape. Only today Mr. 
 Brewster told Timothy that an abolitionist was 
 a criminal. But God forbid our ever thinking of 
 ourselves when the poor black man suffers such tor- 
 ture and anguish. (Wipes her eyes.) 
 
 Sarah : (indignautly) Think of fatlier being a 
 criminal ! How can those slave owners separate 
 wives and husbands and tear little babies from 
 their mother's arms! And when the poor things 
 try to escape, hiding all night in a strawstack or 
 an old barn, they set the bloodhounds on them. 
 They're treated worse than dogs! I suppose an 
 abolitionist is a criminal because he doesn't help 
 throw the poor things back into slavery. 
 
 Edward : (admiringly) Well, Sarah, you'd 
 make a good abolitionist yourself! 
 
 Sarah : I am one already and I don't see why 
 people shouldn't express their opinions. 
 
 Ellen: (gently) But you know the Fugitive 
 Slave Law, and it isn't wise to antagonize people. 
 Then the underground railroad wouldn't be half 
 so useful. 
 
 61 
 
Mrs. Jackson : Ellen is right. We must be very 
 careful or people will know that this house is a sta- 
 tion of the underground railroad. The slaves 
 could be easily caught. 
 
 Sarah: (stubbornly) I think slavery is wicked. 
 
 Ellen: So do we all. 
 
 Timothy: (vehemently) It's the crudest thing 
 that ever existed. 
 
 Mrs. Jackson : It is cruel. I wonder that Rev- 
 erend Holmes could get up in the pulpit and de- 
 fend it. 
 
 (A knock at the door.) 
 
 Ellen: (quickly) I wonder who that is! 
 Mrs. Jackson: (quietly) Timothy, open the 
 door. 
 
 (Timothy opens the door, Mr. Jacob Jones 
 appears. ) 
 
 Mr. Jacob Jones : (walking in and looking about 
 suspiciously) Good-evening. Mr. Jackson not 
 home? 
 
 Mrs. Jackson : He's gone to market. 
 
 Mr. Jones: (in a disappointed tone) Gone to 
 market. Um! Gone to market. 
 
 Mrs. Jackson: Won't you sit down? 
 
 Mr. Jones : Um ! No, thank you. I expected to 
 find Mr. Jackson at home. Have you seen the Rev- 
 erend Holmes? 
 
 Mrs. Jackson : (evenly) I have not seen him 
 since Sunday. 
 
 Mr. Jones: Well, he's right about the Fugitive 
 Slave Law. (Thumps the floor with his cane.) Any 
 man who helps a slave escape ought to be shut up 
 in prison. 
 
 62 
 
Sarah : Well, if you had to be tracked about like 
 a wild beast, I guess you wouldn't like it very well. 
 
 Mr. Jones: (gazing at her intently) Um! An 
 abolitionist. 
 
 Mrs. Jackson: (quickly changing the subject) 
 How is your wife, Mr. Jones? 
 
 Mr. Jones: Very well. Um! {Gazes at Sarah.) 
 Um! Good-night. (Goes out.) 
 
 Mrs. Jackson : Sarah, you must be more careful. 
 
 Caroline : Thank goodness he's gone ! 
 
 Timothy : If fathered come while he was here, 
 there'd be a pretty kettle of fish. 
 
 Sarah: Listen! I hear wheels. 
 (They all listen.) 
 
 Mrs. Jackson : (rising softly) Yes — they're com- 
 ing into the yard. (A pause.) They've stopped at 
 the door. 
 
 (Three soft taps sound outside.) 
 
 Caroline : (whispering) There he is now. 
 Mrs. Jackson : (quietly opening the door) All 
 right, William. There's no one here. 
 
 ( Mr. Jackson conies in with a lighted lantern. 
 
 Eliza ivith her baby and Joe folloiv. They 
 
 looked dazed and frightened.) 
 
 Mrs. Jackson: You poor things! 
 
 Eliza : (falling down on her knees) Oh, save us ! 
 Save us ! They are following us ! 
 
 Mr. Jackson : (hurriedly) Hush ! Your only 
 salvation lies in your keeping quiet. (Turns to his 
 wife and speaks rapidly.) They are following us. 
 Quick, Timothy. Take the lantern. Down to the 
 cellar ! 
 
 (The fugitives appear unable to move.) 
 
 63 
 
Mr. Jackson: (impatiently) Cornel Follow me! 
 There is no time to be lost. Into the cellar. And 
 Eliza, you must see that the baby does not cry. 
 
 (They go out.) 
 
 Sarah: Didn't they look dreadful! 
 
 Mrs. Jackson: (dosing the door softly) ^Now, 
 children! Not a word of this to any one. If any 
 one comes, don't show by any sign that you know 
 anything about this. Remember! 
 
 (They all return to their former occupations.) 
 (Mr. Jackson and Timothy reenter the room.) 
 
 Mr. Jackson : Those poor creatures ! They have 
 traveled two days with scarcely anything to eat! 
 But the hunters are on the track this time. I 
 wouldn't wonder if they'd be here any minute. 
 
 Mrs. Jackson: Sit down! Quick! Read this 
 book! 
 
 Mr. Jackson: (laughing) Why, mother! You've 
 given it to me upside down. 
 
 Mrs. Jackson: Never mind. You do as I tell 
 you. 
 
 (He appears to he reading. A heavy hanging 
 sounds on the outside door. They pay no heed 
 arid the intensity of the knocking increases. 
 Mr. Jackson rises slowly and opens the door.) 
 
 Mr. Jackson: Who's there? 
 
 (Gregory^s heavy voice from the ontside.) 
 
 We want the slaves that are here in your house. 
 
 Mr. Jackson: (yawning^ as he slowly opens the 
 
 door) Oh, what did you say? (Peers sleepily iiito 
 
 64 
 
the darkness.) Pardon me. I don't believe I have 
 the pleasure of knowing you. Won't you come in? 
 
 (The two meUy Gregory Jeadifig, enter with an 
 air of defiance.) 
 
 Gregory: (loudly) We want those slaves that 
 you've hidden here in your house. You know it's 
 a risky matter, Mister Jackson, to try that sort of 
 thing. It won't work with me, I can tell you that ! 
 
 Mr. Jackson: (i^i a dazed manner) Slaves? 
 (Yaivns.) My good man, what do you mean? 
 
 Gregory : (roughly) You know well enough 
 what I mean! (Snaps his whip angrily.) Oh, you 
 abolitionist ! You hide them and think you can de- 
 ceive us! (Glances sharply about the room.) 
 
 Mr. Jackson : (with dignity) You see no one 
 here but my family, gentlemen. 
 
 3 ou^N^O^ '.- (somewhat taken hack) Oh, come on, 
 Gregory. This is a great time o' niglit to break 
 into a man's house. 
 
 Gregory: (stuhhornly) I am going to see this 
 thing through. (Turns abruptly to Mr. Jackson.) 
 Can we search the house? 
 
 Mr. Jackson: (howing) Certainly. 
 
 Gregory: (leading the way to the door that 
 opens on the stairway) Upstairs? 
 
 Mr. Jackson: Yes. 
 
 Gregory: Come on, Johnson. (Insists.) We'll 
 go through this house. 
 
 (William Jackson^ following them^ lifts a 
 warning hand to his family as he goes out. 
 Heavy footsteps are heard overhead as the two 
 intruders go from room to room. Presently 
 a hahy cries.) 
 
 65 
 
Mrs. Jackson: (rising and going out) Oh, 
 they've frightened the children! 
 
 (Johnson, Gregory and Mr. Jackson returning.) 
 
 Johnson: (weakly protesting) You see, no one 
 is there. 
 
 Gregory: (almost shouting) That doesn't prove 
 they aren't in the cellar! 
 
 (Sarah glances in dismay at her mother, who 
 has just entered. Her mother shakes her head 
 very slightly.) 
 
 William Jackson : (opening wide the door lead- 
 ing to the cellar) This way, gentlemen. 
 
 (They go down into the cellar.) 
 
 Sarah : (clasping her hands) Oh, mother, I hope 
 they don't find them! 
 
 Mrs. Jackson: (sternly) Hush, child. Go on 
 with your knitting. 
 
 (Gregory, Johnson and William Jackson 
 presently reappearing. ) 
 
 Gregory : (irritably) They do not seem to be 
 here. 
 
 Johnson : (in a determined tone) Come on, now. 
 We've had enough of this. 
 
 Mrs. Jackson: (rising and howing politely) 
 Good-evening, gentlemen. 
 
 Johnson : (awkwardly) Come on, Gregory. Good- 
 night. 
 
 Gregory : (talking as he goes out) Well, those 
 slaves. We've got to find 'em ! We — 
 
 (The door closes behind them.) 
 
 m 
 
William Jackson : (quickly) Yon see how careful 
 we must all be about this matter. Those slaves 
 never made a sound in the cellar. Lucky for 
 tliem! We'll have to get them out by tomorrow 
 night, though. I'm a little bit afraid of that fel- 
 low Gregory. 
 
 Mrs. Jackson : (fervently) Thank goodness, for 
 the time being those poor things are safe! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 67 
 
UNDER ''THE OLD ELMS." 
 
 ''As if to music tlie^^ had grown, 
 
 Stately and fair the elms uprise, 
 Their swaying shadows earthw^ard thrown, 
 
 Their tops rejoicing in the skies. 
 What life and death, what love and pain. 
 
 What nights of gloom and days of gold, 
 Have passed beneath their leafy reign! 
 
 Yet still their ancient pride they hold. 
 Still tower o'er roof and slope and plain, 
 
 And link the new years to the old." 
 
 On the corner of Walnut Street and Elm Road 
 is the Clatlin Estate known as "The Old Elms." 
 Here once lived General Hull. After him came 
 Governor Claflin, who erected a beautiful home 
 amid the sheltering branches of the stately elms. 
 
 Throughout the land. Governor Claflin and his 
 wife were known for their kind and gracious hos- 
 pitality. To their friendly doors came many 
 guests of world-wide fame. 
 
 Doctor Campbell, the noted philanthropist for 
 the blind; Horace Mann, the great educator; Dr. 
 Lyman Abbott; Elizabeth Stuart Phelps; Rever- 
 end James Freeman Clarke; and Doctor Smith, 
 Avho wrote our national hymn, "America," were 
 frequent visitors at "The Old Elms." 
 
 The noted author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," the 
 book that aroused such intense feeling against 
 slavery, was ever a welcome guest. In the shade 
 of the "Old Elms," Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe 
 
 68 
 
and her famous brother, Henry Ward Beeclier, 
 used to play croquet. So fond were they of this 
 pastime that they would play in the pouring rciin, 
 and when darkness came they would place lighted 
 lanterns near the wickets to guide the path of a 
 wayward ball. 
 
 Mr. Whittier, the gentle Quaker poet, and Mrs. 
 Stowe used to relate wonderful stories of ghosts 
 and goldins which so terrified some of the guests 
 that they were afraid to retire for the night. 
 
 Lucy Larcom, the i^oetess, composed many of 
 her lovely poems to the music of the breezes among 
 the old elms. 
 
 Horace Greeley lectured in Newton and was the 
 guest of Mr. and Mrs. Claflin during his stay. He 
 was so intent upon what he had to say that he 
 would have worn his huge ^'artics" on the plat- 
 form if the committee in charge had not suggested 
 that he remove them. 
 
 Principal Fairbairn of Mansfield College, Ox- 
 ford, England, and Professor Henry Drummond 
 of world-wide fame were among the guests at the 
 Claflin homestead. To the little girls who gathered 
 weekly on the broad lawn to learn sewing. Princi- 
 pal Fairbairn would talk, telling them how they 
 could make themselves useful and how they might 
 help less fortunate children. 
 
 A company of warlike Indians was brought by 
 the Indian Commissioner to Boston. Sitting Bull, 
 Thunder Cloud and Red Jacket wanted to see how 
 the ^'big chief" of Massachusetts lived, so they were 
 driven out to ''The Old Elms." Dressed in their 
 blankets, feathers, beads and wampum, they were 
 presented to Mrs. Claflin. Stolidly they acknowl- 
 
 69 
 
edged the greeting of their hostess, not betraying 
 by either word or look that they had not been ac- 
 customed to this hospitality all their lives. 
 
 On the 12th of June, 1882, Messrs. Houghton 
 and Mifflin proposed a lawn fete in honor of Mrs. 
 Stowe's seventieth birthday. Mrs. Stowe decided 
 to have the celebration on the lawn of the Claflin 
 Estate. A large tent was spread under the old 
 elms and many who had written a book or had 
 sung a song came to do her homage. 
 
 Doctor Holmes, Mr. and Mrs. E. P. Whipple, T. 
 B. Aldrich, Louise Chandler Moulton, Dr. Lyman 
 Abbott, Mr. and Mrs. James T. Fields, Eliza- 
 beth Stuart Phelps and John Greenleaf Whittier 
 were among the invited guests. 
 
 The swaying boughs of the old elms nodded 
 gently over the heads of the illustrious company. 
 
 Some years have passed since those gracious days 
 of Claflin hospitality. 
 
 The old house has been moved further down Elm 
 Road and in its place stands the Technical and Vo- 
 cational Schools to whose doors throng the eager 
 youth of Newton. Amid all this activity, there is 
 little time for remembering the old Claflin days. 
 
 But once in a while, when the little brook mur- 
 murs a gentle accompaniment to the wind that still 
 sighs among the old elms and when at eventide the 
 crickets chirp plaintively and stars gleam softly 
 in the dark sky, there seems to brood over all a 
 remembrance of the golden days that have gone by. 
 
 70 
 
DRAMATIZATION. 
 
 Time — June 14, 1882. Five o'clock in the after- 
 noon. Mrs. Stowe's seventieth birthday. 
 
 Place — Interior of a tent on the lawn of the 
 Claflin Estate. A platform is at the further end. 
 On the right stands a piano. Syringa blossoms, 
 buttercups and daisies give the place a festive 
 appearance. 
 
 Characters — 
 
 Governor Claflin^ imposing appearance. Dressed 
 in costume of nineteenth century, which diiTered 
 very little from modern dress. 
 
 John Greenleaf Whittier^ a tall, slender man 
 with white hair and dark piercing eyes. Dressed 
 in black Quaker costume. 
 
 Doctor Holmes^ white hair. Humorous looking. 
 
 Reverend Henry Ward Beecher^ commanding 
 appearance. 
 
 Mr. Trowbridge. 
 
 Mr. Frank B. Sanborn. 
 
 A. Bronson Alcott^ white hair; rather absent- 
 minded. 
 
 Mr. Houghton. 
 
 Judge Albion N. Tourgee^ dignified appearance. 
 
 Doctor Stowe^ gray beard ; keen eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Claflin^ wears a white dress and is conspic- 
 uous as the hostess of the occasion. 
 
 Harriet Beecher Stowe, blue eyes; white hair. 
 Wears a dark dress and a light shawl. 
 
 71 
 
Lucy Larcom, shy, retiring. Wears a plain dark 
 
 dress. 
 Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, gray eyes. Hair 
 
 streaked with gray. Medium height. Dark 
 
 dress. 
 Alice Freeman, hazel eyes. Striking appearance. 
 Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. 
 Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, Dolly Varden 
 
 dress. 
 Mrs. Humphrey Allen (soloist). 
 Miss Charlotte F. Bates. 
 Other Guests, dressed in gala attire. 
 
 ^'Through Claflin woods the west wind sighs, 
 
 The fields are red with clover, 
 The sweet-fern grows, the blackberry blows, 
 
 The rocky pastures over; 
 Its hill still looks to mount and sea ; 
 
 Its springs still feed tlie river; 
 But tlie early days and tlie simple ways 
 
 Alike have fled forever.'' 
 
 Curtain goes up, revealing Harriet Beecher 
 Stowe, Mr. Whittier, Doctor Holmes, Elizabeth 
 Stuart Phelps, Reverend Henry Ward Beecher and 
 Mr. Houghton, Avho is to introduce tlie speakers of 
 the day, seated on the platform. On the right 
 near the piano is the Germania band and on the 
 left is the Beetlioven Club. A throng of guests 
 moves about in groups, talking and laughing. Mrs. 
 Claflin is prominent among them. 
 
 Mr. Claflin : This is a day of great rejoicing. 
 Mrs. Claflin : Sli ! Mrs. Allen is going to sing. 
 
(Mrs. Allen sings ''Old Black Jo&'; the 
 guests silently take their seats.) 
 
 (At the close they all clap.) 
 
 Mr. Houghton: (rising and bowing) We have 
 met two or three times within the last few years 
 to set up, as it were, milestones in the lives of some 
 of those who are justly esteemed the creators of 
 American literature. We come together again to 
 celebrate a birthday. You know the writer, you 
 know her great book, "Uncle Tom's Cabin." 
 Crowned heads, statesmen, scholars and the peo- 
 ple have alike read, wept over and applauded the 
 simple story. Today, our own beloved country is 
 redeemed. Slavery, with all its attendant evils, 
 has disappeared forever and no one, either North 
 or South, desires it back again. But the produc- 
 tion of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" is not the only ser- 
 vice to literature by our honored guest. Her other 
 works are inimitable in their way, as illustrating 
 New England life and teaching the homely virtues 
 of truth and duty; as, for instance, "The Minister's 
 Wooing," "Oldtown Folks," "Sam Lawson's Fire- 
 side Stories," and other books which we all know 
 so well. But as the sun in his meridian splendor 
 eclipses the orbs of night, so Uncle Tom, by its 
 universal interest, eclipses these other books which 
 would make the reputation of any author. 
 
 (Loud applause.) 
 
 Mr. H0UC4HT0N : An elaborate program has been 
 prepared this afternoon for our honored guest. 
 Music and poetry will make up the day's pleas- 
 ures. (Sits doivn.) 
 
 3 
 
(The Beethoven Club plays ''Beethoven's Sonata/') 
 (Applause.) 
 
 Mr. Houghton: (rising) The first speaker is 
 the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher, brother of 
 Mrs. Stowe. 
 
 Revp]Rend Henry Ward Beecher: (rises and 
 hows) I don't know whether it is in good taste for 
 any other member of my father's family to join in 
 the laudation of Mrs. Stowe, but if it is, I am a 
 very proper one to do it. I know that for a long 
 time after the publication of ''Uncle Tom's Cabin" 
 there were a great many very wise people who said 
 they knew that she never wrote it herself but that 
 I did it. The matter at last became so scandalous 
 that I determined to put an end to it and there- 
 fore I wrote ''Norwood." It killed the thing dead. 
 
 Now I think we might have a good experience 
 meeting here this afternoon, if every one would 
 tell under what circumstances he read the book and 
 how he acted. I am in sympathy with you in your 
 rejoicing this afternoon and thank you for your 
 courtesy shown to my sister and your sister, for 
 she has won that place in the hearts of many. I 
 leave the gratulations to you. 
 
 I thank you for my father's sake and for my 
 motlier's sake for the courtesy, the friendliness, 
 and the kindness which you give to Mrs. Stowe. 
 
 (Applause. In the mean time^ Whittier gets 
 up and steals gently out.) 
 
 Mr. Houghton: (glancing around) Mr. Whit- 
 tier? 
 
 (A slight pause follows.) 
 
 74. 
 
Mr. Frank B. Sanborn : (mounting the plat- 
 form) Mr. Whittier asked me to read this for him. 
 (Turns to the audience. Reads.) 
 
 ^'Thrice welcome from the Land of Flowers 
 And golden-fruited orange bowers 
 To this sweet, green-turfed June of ours! 
 To her, who, in our evil time, 
 Dragged into light the nation's crime 
 ^Yith strength beyond the strength of men. 
 And, mightier than their sword, her pen; 
 To her who world-Avide entrance gave 
 To the log cabin of the slave. 
 Made all his wrongs and sorrows known, 
 And all earth's languages his own 
 North, South, and East and West, 
 
 Made all 
 The common air electrical 
 Until the o'ercharged bolts of heaven 
 Blazed down, and every chain was riven !" 
 
 (Loud applause.) 
 
 Mr. Houghton: I am very sorry Mr. Whittier 
 is not here to receive the tribute due him. 
 
 (Music — Mrs. Humphrey Allen sings ''My 
 Darling Nellie Gray.^') 
 
 Mr. Houghton : I take great pleasure in intro- 
 ducing Doctor Holmes. 
 
 Doctor Holmes: I became deeply interested in 
 ^'Uncle Tom's Cabin,'' so much interested that I 
 soon laid aside the novel of Dickens which I had 
 been reading and gave myself wliolly up to ^'Uncle 
 
 75 
 
Tom's Cabin" until I reached the end. (Pause. 
 Reads the following poem.) 
 
 ^^If every tongue that speaks her praise 
 For whom I shape my tinkling phrase 
 
 Were summoned to the table, 
 The vocal chorus that would meet 
 
 Of mingling accents harsh and sweet 
 From every land and tribe, would beat 
 
 The polyglots of Babel. 
 
 Know her ! Who knows not Uncle Tom 
 And her he learned his gospel from, 
 
 Had never heard of Moses; 
 Full well the brave black hand we know 
 
 That gave to freedom's grasp the hoe 
 That killed the weeds that used to grow 
 
 Among the Southern roses. 
 
 When Truth herself was Slavery's slave, 
 Thy hand the prisoned suppliant gave, 
 
 The rainbow wings of fiction. 
 And Truth who soared descends today 
 
 Bearing an angel's wreath away 
 Its lilies at thy feet to lay 
 
 With Heaven's owm benediction." 
 
 (He sits down amid great applause.) 
 
 (Band plays a lively air.) 
 
 Mr. Houghton : The next friend on the program 
 is Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. It is with great pleasure 
 that I present Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. 
 
 76 
 
Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney : (Reads.) 
 
 "Queen of the months of the year! 
 Hour of her crowning and prime! 
 Everything royal and dear 
 Comes in this bountiful time. 
 
 Everything noble and high, 
 Everything lowly and sweet; 
 
 Tree-tops are grand in the sky 
 Daisies in bloom at our feet. 
 
 Sunshine, and blossom, and song. 
 Glory, and beauty, and praise ; 
 
 Blessing and gladness belong 
 
 To souls that are born in such days. 
 
 Came she but these to inherit. 
 Signs of her nature's attune. 
 
 Joyous and affluent spirit 
 Born in that far-away June? 
 
 Into the hearts of the human 
 
 Purification of tears. 
 That was the work of the woman; 
 
 God gave the wine of the years ! 
 
 Mary, elect of the Lord, 
 
 Yield we thy praise to another? 
 He who hath w^rought for his word 
 
 Is daughter and sister and mother I" 
 
 (Applause.) 
 
Mr. Houghton: Doctor Holmes will now read 
 us a poem Avritten by our friend, Elizabeth Stuart 
 Phelps : 
 
 '^Arise, and call her blessed, — seventy years! 
 Each one a tongue to speak for her, who needs 
 Xo poor device of ours to tell today 
 The story of her glory in our hearts. 
 Precede us all, ye quiet lips of love. 
 Ye honors high of home, nobilities 
 Of mother and of wife, the heraldry 
 Of Iiappiness; dearer to her than were 
 Tlie homage of the world. We yield unto 
 The royal rights of tenderness. Speak, then. 
 Before all voices, ripened human life!" 
 
 (Solo by Mrs. Humphrey Allen^ *' ^Waij down 
 upon the Swanee River/') 
 
 Mr. Houghton: Mr. Trowbridge. 
 Mr. Trowbridge: (Reads.) 
 
 ^'Genius, 'tis said, knows not itself. 
 But works unconscious wholly, 
 Even so she wrought, who built in thought 
 The Cabin of the Lowly. 
 
 Her life was like some quiet bridge, 
 
 Impetuous tides sweep under. 
 So week by week the story grew 
 
 From wonder on to wonder. 
 
 I greet her now, when South and North 
 Have ceased their deadly quarrels ; 
 
 And say, or sing, while here I fling 
 This leaf upon her laurels!" 
 
 (Applause.) 
 78 
 
Mr. Houghton: Last but not least, Miss Char- 
 lotte F. Bates. 
 
 Miss Bates: (Reads.) 
 
 ^^Engiaiid has Eliot, France has Sand, to show, 
 America, her Harriet Beecher Stowe ! 
 Thy fame, like his whose greeting fails us now. 
 Leaving the light on his remembered brow, 
 Has spanned the earth, till both to all belong 
 One through the might of story; one, of song. 
 Would that thy genius with a kindred stroke 
 The claims of mental slavery also broke! 
 Now against that w^e fain would have thee deal 
 The massive blow that all the world shall feel. 
 And while they laugh and weep at truth's own 
 
 face. 
 Seek to burst oJ^ the shackles that disgrace! 
 However much already we may owe. 
 Make our debt larger to the name of Stowe." 
 
 (Great applause.) 
 
 (Selection of Beethoveii's played hy Beethoven 
 Club.) 
 
 Mr. Houghton: Our friend. Reverend Henry 
 Ward Beecher, suggested that we have an "experi- 
 ence" meeting. I call upon Judge Albion Tourgee 
 to tell us what effect "Uncle Tom's Cabin" had on 
 him when he first read the book. 
 
 Judge Albion Tourgee: I'm going to tell you 
 just how much I was absorbed in reading "Uncle 
 Tom's Cabin." I was so engrossed in the book that 
 I neglected my hoeing. My father was so angry 
 that he threatened to hide the book, but I fled to 
 
 70 
 
the woods where I could read it without interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 Mr. Houghton: (laughing) That is indeed an 
 experience. And now (turning to Mrs. Stowe; 
 we shall close our program this afternoon by a few 
 words from Mrs. Stowe. 
 
 (As Mrs. Stowe comes forward to the front of 
 the ijlatform, the company rise and listen with 
 eager interest.) 
 
 Mrs. Stowe: I wish to say that I thank all my 
 friends from my heart — that is all. And one thing- 
 more, — and that is, if any of you have doubt, or 
 sorrow, or pain, if you doubt about this world, just 
 remember what God has done; just remember that 
 this great sorrow of slavery has gone, gone by for- 
 ever. I see it every day at the South. I walk 
 about there and see the lowly cabins. I see those 
 people growing richer and richer. They are happy 
 and they know how to enjoy themselves. Better 
 times are coming for them. Let us never doubt. 
 Everything that ought to happen is going to 
 happen. 
 
 (They all clap. The hand plays.) 
 
 Mr. Houghton: I wish to thank Mr. and Mrs. 
 Claflin for the kind courtesy which they have 
 shown in giving their house and grounds for this 
 celebration. A rare generosity has tendered such 
 a favor and we accept it with gratitude. 
 
 (The hand plays while the company slowly 
 disperse. Some gather ahout Mrs. Stowe to 
 congratulate her. The curtain goes slowly 
 down.) 
 
 80 
 
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