TriTiliiiliiniiiliirni LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF < -M IKORNIA DfEGO / IN DOVER ON THE CHARLES A CONTRIBUTION TO NEW ENGLAND FOLK-LORE BY ALICE J. JONES "A man may go back to the place of his birth He cannot go back to his youth.'' 1906: THE MILNE PRINTERY NEWPORT, R. I- Copyrighted BY ALICE J. JONES 1906 GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ARE DUE TO MB. FRANK SMITH OF DEDHAM, THE PUBLISH- ERS OF " OUTDOORS," AND TO THE BOSTON TRANSCRIPT. IN DOVER ON THE CHARLES CHAPTER ONE "Holds fast the golden mean, And lives contentedly between The little and the great." OVER, a small town in Norfolk County, Massachusetts, is about six- teen miles from the State House in Boston. It borders upon the Charles River and possesses natural features of remarkable interest and beauty. Its fertile farms and comfortable homes illustrate a seldom por- trayed type of New England life. Some aspects of home and village life belonging to the first half of the last century are presented in these pages, in which customary forms of expression, and the names and uses of common things are recorded with fidelity. John Battle, born 1716, married Mehitable Sher- man of Connecticut. Josiah, their son, born in Dover, married Lucy Richards, and their second daughter, Lucy, was my grandmother Griggs. 6 In Dover on the Charles In the archives of the State House at Boston, as I am informed by a recent writer, is preserved the original muster roll of the company which marched from Dover to Lexington, April 19, 1775, under Captain Ebenezer Battle of Dedham. The name of Josiah Battle, private, appears on that muster roll. My grandmother has told us that her father was ploughing in his field some distance from home, when the messenger arrived with the summons to join his company. The "Minute Man" left his plough in the furrow, put his horse into the barn, and then found that his young wife had gone after the cows. He took his powder horn and musket, filled his knapsack with "rye and ingin" bread and sausages, and was on his way to meet the British before she returned. Josiah Battle owned a large tract of land on the east slope of Pegan Hill, divided by the road lead- ing from Medfield to Natick. He lived on the site from which John Adams removed to Elmira, about forty years ago. His six children grew up, married, and settled on portions of his land, within such distance of his own house that he could visit them all in a morning stroll. Lucy Battle, my grandmother, married Reuben Griggs of Ashford, Connecticut, the son of Nathan Griggs, whose uniform and sword hung in our garret, In Dover on the Charles f and whose Bible, knives, and queer old spectacles are now in my possession. Reuben Griggs was a shoemaker, and worked at his trade in Dover. After his marriage he took his wife away from Dover for several years. Between the years 1810- 1815, he lived in Amherst, Massachusetts, and in Wilmington, Vermont, and afterwards in Ashford, Connecticut. In Amherst he pastured his cow on the present site of Amherst College buildings. Noah Webster, the lexicographer, lived in Amherst, and my mother, then five or six years old, used to peer through the garden fence to watch his two pretty and amiable daughters among their flowers. I have a letter written to my grandmother by Mrs. Catherine Whiting of Wilmington, Vermont, in 1815. They were in Ashford on my mother's tenth birthday, and a friend whom my mother always held in loving remembrance made for her a little wooden rocking-chair which her grandson now has in his possession. Great-grandfather Battle offered such inducements that his daughter returned to Dover and settled upon the farm next to that of Uncle Rufus. I have never known when and by whom the house was built. I have the original deed given by the heirs of Josiah Battle to Reuben Griggs and Lucy, in settling the estate in 1834. In later years the name came to be 8 In Dover on the Charles spelled Battelle. The Battelles of Strawberry Hill and the "West End of Dover," were not of this family. Lucy, only child of Reuben and Lucy, married Hiram Walker Jones, April 4, 1830. My grandfather, Samuel Jones, of South Natick, seventh in the line of descent from John Alden, married Mary Walker of Marlboro. His sister Polly became the second wife of Lee Claflin, of Hopkin- ton, and step-mother of William Claflin afterward governor of Massachusetts, my father's manhood friend. Lucy, another sister, was the mother of "Cousin Sally" of Milford, Massachusetts, who mar- ried the Colonel Johnson for whom I was named. Sarah, "Aunt Parkhurst," was the mother of our valued and intimate friends, the "Parkhurst Cousins" of Milford. My father was born in South Natick, September 4, 1807. The scenes of his boyhood are depicted in Mrs. H. B. Stowe's Old Town Folks, but the Jones family of that book are not our connections. At the present time, my sister and I have no knowledge of any relation, however remote, bearing the name of Jones. When my father was very young, his mother died, and he was brought up in the family of Mr. Nathan Phillips, in West Dedham. Mr. Phillips was a car- In Dover on the Charles p penter and builder, and from him my father learned the trade which he followed until the year 1839. He built church edifices in many of the surrounding towns, among them the Unitarian Meeting House in Sherborn, and the Orthodox, afterward the Cath- olic Church in North Natick. It was customary for employers to furnish their men with liquor. After listening to a lecture by John B. Gough, my father resolved to depart from the custom, and duly informed his men of his purpose. He was about to "raise" a barn for Uncle Rufus Battle. All went well until the "ridge pole" was wanted and then it was not to be found. After much search, my father was informed that it would be forthcoming as soon as the men were supplied with their "grog." He stood firm, the men yielded, and the barn was raised. On that day and occasion the question of liquor was forever settled between him and his men. While his men were at work on the North Natick meeting house, he went to Boston with his team to buy lumber. While his wagon was loading on T Wharf, he was struck senseless by a falling tim- ber, and on the third day after was brought home accompanied by a physician. He recovered after months of critical illness, but, one side having been paralyzed, he was never again able to carry on his trade. io In Dover on the Charles He took up farming, added to the land which my grandfather owned, and altered and improved the buildings. For many years he was agent for the Dedham Mutual and other fire insurance companies, and Justice of the Peace. He held many town and county offices, including those of Selectmen and Town Treasurer. He was spoken of as Mr. Jones or Squire Jones. I feel safe in saying that, an up- right, self-respecting man of "good judgment," he was honored and trusted by all who knew him. In his family he was loved and obeyed, not feared or dreaded. I never knew him to fly into a passion, and never heard anybody say "father is cross," but he could show displeasure, and administer deserved reproof. He had the gift of managing men so as to secure the best results from their efforts. This power was doubtless due to his own mental and moral poise, and to the care with which he planned all the details of work. To my mother he was in- variably courteous and considerate, and as devoted as a lover. Any differences of opinion between them were discussed and adjusted in private. We never dreamed of appealing from one to the other. "Your mother knows best," or "Your father is the one to decide that," is all we should have gained by so doing. As I look back upon my mature inter- course with my parents, I realize the truth of Miss In Dover on the Charles n Mulock's saying that the real friendship between us must have had its root and nurture in respect on both sides. His sense of humor made my father a most entertaining companion, and those who knew him, even now refer to "Mr. Jones's stories." These stories included no low jokes or injurious personali- ties, and I never knew him to utter an oath. After my brother Waldo's death, followed by that of both grandparents, my father sold the farm to Mr. Slavin, the present owner, and removed to the Stephen Jones place opposite the old Josiah Battle farm. This Mr. Jones was no connection of ours. In 1867, he sold this place to H. R. Stevens, and bought a house in Franklin, Massachusetts, where he died December 2, 1875, and was buried in the family lot in the cemetery in Dover. My mother, born in 1809, was contemporary with Darwin, Gladstone, Tennyson, Lincoln and Holmes. The Boston known to Dr. Holmes she knew; the public events which he noted were the events in which she was interested. She attended district schools, for the most part under male instructors, some of whom were men of marked character. Her taste for reading, and her intelligent interest in the world's progress, she owed to "Master" Whitney, and to the hours in which she read aloud to her father. To the last year of her life she regularly 12 In Dover on the Charles perused the daily and weekly newspapers, not only the local and news columns, but the leading article and editorial notes, prices current, and especially the records of the legislature and the "doings" of Congress. She knew the "views" of all the prom- inent members of Congress, and was familiar with the President's policy. She had her opinion of public men and measures, and her reasons for that opinion. Fairy tales, and purely imaginative writ- ings of any sort had no interest for her, from lack of plausibility. "It is not reasonable" was her sweep- ing condemnation of any story which she considered untrue to life. In advanced age, when she was too feeble to read columns of fine print, she would look over the evening paper, and by means of headlines, select the articles which she wished to have read to her. She enjoyed poetry of religion, patriotism, and sentiment, and had. many favorites in verse. By those who knew her in youth, I have been told that she had remarkably beautiful dark brown hair, and that in the "square dances" of that period she excelled by her ease and grace. I often imagine her growing up in these days of colleges and clubs, where she would have been able to take a high place among educated women. As it was she did not lack scope for her abilities. Married at twenty, she bore eight children, of whom five grew to In Dover on the Charles ij womanhood, in a household which included old people, children, menservants, womenservants, and frequent guests. In my father's absence or illness, she carried on his work. During a serious illness, her head was shaved, and her soft brown hair changed to snow white bristles. Although only thirty-three years old, she conformed to the inexorable custom, and donned the "false front" and close cap which she wore for the next twenty-five years. Then her white hair had become fine and soft, her face had aged to correspond, fashion had changed, and she thankfully discarded cap and false front. In temperament she was truly fearless, recogniz- ing danger, and taking all possible precautions, after which it was of "no use to worry." Carelessness, forgetfulness, and foolishness, in her eyes, were with- out excuse. Foolishness meant the failure to do under certain circumstances the best we knew or might have known had we used "common sense." Praise from her was a reward, and blame a long remembered punishment. Both mother and father had a horror of debt, and a realizing sense of the value of "ready money." A bargain or contract made, just so much money was then considered to have been withdrawn from their available resour- ces. To be entirely out of any one household ne- 14- In Dover on the Charles cessity, or to be reduced to one set of napery or bedding was never within my mother's exper- ience. She was accustomed to say, "Do your work first, then play." "Always dress when about your work so that you will not be ashamed to go to the door if anybody comes." "Go just as you are" "Do your part." "Pay him what he asks" "There is as much in saving as in earning." "Because you have money by you is no reason why you should spend it." "Always keep some money by you." "Be neighborly but do not meddle." "If you can- not keep a secret, how can you expect your con- fident to do so ?" What Senator Hoar in his Auto- biography says of his mother's true democracy is equally true of my mother. Captain William Sher- man the great grandfather of Mrs. Hoar, was my mother's great, great grandfather. In her later years, my mother's courage, forgetful- ness of self, cheerful patience under infirmities and sorrows, her interest in an ever widening circle of friends, all are among the memories which we cherish. She died in Franklin, April 14, 1897, aged eighty-seven. Eveline, the oldest child, after her marriage to Mr. J. Q. A. Nichols, lived first in East Randolph, now Holbrook, afterwards in Dover, and about 1862 In Dover on the Charles 15 removed to Elmira, New York, where she died in 1895, surviving her husband fourteen years. Parthena taught the district school in West Ded- ham at the age of fourteen. After one year in the Charlestown Female Seminary, she taught in Lan- caster, Massachusetts, and later attended the Normal School with which Dana P. Colburn was connected in Providence. About 1855 she went to Newport, R. I., to be assistant in the Boy's High School, Mr. I. W. R. Marsh, Principal. In May 1864, she be- came the wife of Mr. Charles E. Hammett, Jr., of Newport. She died in 1896, and her husband's death followed in 1902. Mary and Arabelle, the children next in age, died in early youth, and infancy. Waldo, the youngest child and only son, died when eight years of age. Inez Lenore remained with her parents during their lives, and now resides in Franklin. Alice, a teacher in the public schools, lived for many years in Newport, and now lives in Franklin. CHAPTER Two. "Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood." ROM a country road which curved around the base of a steep hill, a circling carriage-drive crossed a grass plot between a rounded maple and a drooping elm, and almost touched the doorstone of a spacious white farm-house. Some portions of the structure had been erected at a later date than that indicated by the great stone chimney and the broad roof which, in the rear, sloped to the height of the lower story. Natural features, gentle slopes, sudden descents, and level spaces, all had been considered in choosing sites for the house and the detached farm buildings. "The white rose tree that spent its musk For lover's sweeter praise." Across the south front a narrow grassy yard was enclosed by a white picket fence. On either side of the gateway stood a tree-like purple "laylock" bush, whose branches were not so far above the ground that children could not pluck the thick, smooth leaves, to rend them with a "smack." The up-springing sprouts under these trees were often In Dover on the Charles 17 cut with scythe or sickle, as was the grass, other- wise cared for by the dew, rain, sun, and snow. The old peach tree in the corner showed its age in the peeling bark and yellowed leaves, and its late-ripening fruit was blotched with mildew even on its sunny side. Blush roses faded too soon; cinnamon rose petals, at their best, were faded, crumpled, and set awry; "single" red roses fell at a touch; and yet the thorny thicket against the house was a pretty sight. One tall bush beside the parlor window bore old-fash- ioned white garden roses, of stock brought from France, delightful to sight and smell in their morn- ing freshness, and delightful to the taste as well in the mysteriously compounded and delicious sweet- meat known to us as Grandmother's "consarve of roses." Close by the house nestled a compact little bush bearing many crimson blossoms among its tiny leaflets, the Burgundy or Hundred-leaf rose, prettier far than its kindred, Province or Cabbage roses of modern gardens. Rose-bugs were the enemies of the roses them- selves, but slug-eaten foliage was happily unknown. Hips of various shapes and colors succeeded the roses, and decorated the leafless branches which stood out against their background of white-painted clapboards. i8 In Dover on the Charles Short blades of wide grass hid the edges of the sunken door stone, on one side of which grew abed of grass pinks, overhung by drooping sprays of flowering almond. No blossoms ever appeared among the fragrant, finely cut leaves of southern- wood or boys' love, and I often wondered at the fact. I know now that Artemesia Abrotanum really blooms, though I have never seen its flower. Of the annuals which filled the borders, all have passed from my memory except tne white and crimson "globes," the eternal flowers. Often in the daytime, always at dusk, toads, large and small, came out from their hiding-places and hopped over the door-stone. From one direction or another the monotonous music of unseen tree toads sounded throughout mid-summer days. "We see but what we have the gift Of seeing; what we bring, we find." A portion of the door-yard boundary was formed by the front yard fence, next to whose corner post came the "gap," then the "great gate," and, paral- lel with a row of young shade trees, the rail-sur- mounted bank wall which ended at the stone steps near the corner of the "mill-house." Once, within my remembrance, a cider press was set up in this mill-house, but its horse power wheel was mainly used to run the threshing machines In Dover on the Charles ig and winnowing mill. When the men were upstairs busy with falling grain and flying chaff, one of the children was stationed below stairs to start and to stop the horse, and to see that he kept a steady pace in his journey around the track under the great wooden wheel. Sometimes duty grew irk- some to the child, and the wide open door tempted to a comfortable seat upon its broad threshold. Then the horse moved slowly and more slowly still, until his sudden start as he passed the door within reach of the flourished whip gave a corresponding jerk to the machinery, and betrayed the culprit to deserved reproof. In the east end of this building the "covered carriage" and best harness were kept in one room, and the open "express wagon" in another. Heavy timbers, empty barrels, harrow, cultivator, wheel- barrows, wooden horses, and other cumbrous tools were stored in the power room, the "lower part of the mill-house." Some years before, the red- painted carpenter's shop had been removed from its site near the road. Then bench, tool-chest, and all implements of the craft were placed in the upper story of the mill-house, where newly planed boards, curling shavings, and scattered saw dust testified to the never ceasing repairs and improvements in which my father found delight; 20 In Dover on the Charles * Horserake and mowing machine, alternating with the roomy yellow sleigh, occupied another corner of this "mill-house chamber." An ideal place for play on a hot summer morning was found in this spacious room, when the wide double doors stood open upon a grassy plot, among whose gravelly spaces May-weed, sorrel, rabbit-foot clover, and five-finger straggled to the wheelruts of the road beyond. Under the pear tree, at the foot of the stone steps, stood the carefully supported "grin stone," its lowest point just touching water in the moss-covered trough beneath. "Upon the budded apple trees The robins sing by twos and threes, And ever, at the faintest breeze, Down drops a blossom." A "pair of bars," in the fence extending from mill- house to "corn-house" gave entrance to the apple orchard, separated by stone-walls from the high- way, the next estate, and "our lane." Its sloping ground effectively displayed the green, white, and rose-colored canopy above the dandelion sprinkled grass. Early "jinctins" (June-eatings?) small, yellow, and shiny, were the first among the "early" apples, followed by "early sopsy vines" (Sops-of-wine ?) Heavy, bulging, purple-lined "fall sopsyvines" no In Dover on the Charles 21 other baked apples had such color, such juice, or such flavor. Metcalf sweetings, baldwins, Roxbury russets, Rhode Island greenings, porters, Newton pippins, crow's eggs, and Peck's pleasants, on bend- ing boughs and fruit-strewn ground, I seem to see them now. "The kindly fruits of the earth." As a protection against rats and mice, the corn- house was raised upon four pillars, and entered by removable steps. Always in perfect order, the well-filled interior made a pretty picture, which in memory's reproduction, shows my Grandfather as the central figure. Scorning one of the new patent cornshellers, close at hand, and discarding the customary iron shovel, he preferred to "shell" corn by means of an iron-edged board which was placed across the large red tub, and upon which he sat. In time with his rhythmic rasping, yellow kernels fell into the bushel measure, and white cobs flew through the air. Crevices in the high-slatted bins showed closely packed ears of yellow "field" corn, and of rice-like popping corn. By standing on tiptoe, or upon an overturned wooden measure, we could bury our hands deep in bins of winter rye, spring rye, buck- wheat, or oats. Great white ears of sweet corn, dried and wrinkled, and seed corn of other sorts 22 In Dover on the Charles were tied together and suspended by their turned- back and braided husks. Harvesting implements, cradles, flails, rakes, pitch- forks, scythes, and sickles; corn-dropper, and canvas bags for the sower's grain; clean baskets, wooden measures, and great piles of grain bags; in racks overhead, or on pegs against the bins, all were ready for use. Heavy roller, stone-drag, horse-sled, tip-carts, and farm-wagon, were "under cover" in the "corn house cellar" which was entered from the lane. "Bursting with hay were the barns." Carefully located, commodious,and well-equipped^ the barn and adjoining buildings were planned with a view to saving labor in necessary work, and with consideration for the needs of the sheltered animals. Tom and Bill, the black farm-horses, stood side by side, opposite Kate's stall and the usually vacant ox-stalls. In winter all the mows were rilled to the roof above the scaffolds, and two "hay-riggings" stood against the barred north doors; but in sum- mer, when both doors were thrown open, the dangerously tempting hay-cutter and ladders pru- dently set aside, and the whole wide space awaited the incoming loads of new-mown hay, then the barn floor, furnished and peopled by our imagination, became a charmed spot. In Dover on the Charles 23 "Mowing away" had great interest for us; rye, oats, buckwheat, and bush-beans were threshed under our supervision. Grandfather was expert at "cradling" grain, and one of the last to give up the old-time implement; nor was he less skilful in swing- ing the flail with the hired men on the threshing floor. Later in the year, corn ears were piled high between the mows. Except as an excuse for party, and occasional frolic, husking-bees belonged to the past, and the men husked the corn on rainy days and in the autumn evenings. On one side of the barn floor, under high mows of English hay, cornstalks, meadow-hay, and bed- ding straw, were openings through which "feed" and "litter" were put down for the cows in the light and airy basement, known as the barn-cellar. Just at the foot of the stairs was a row of stanchions, and clean dry stalls, where milking-stools, hoe, fork, and shovels hung on high pegs, and where air and sunlight streamed through open doors and windows. In one corner of this basement was the first of adjoining hog-pens, the third and last being adjacent to the cow-yard. This corner pen contained the main feeding-trough with a contrivance for keeping back the squealing swine until their food was ready, and the trough filled. Near by was an overflowing tub of running spring-water, the clean swill-pails, 24. In Dover on the Charles and the huge meal-chest, which held cotton-seed meal, shorts, or corn. Calf-pens, in the north end, could be entered from outside, and the downward slope to the door, just reversed the adjacent ascent to the north barn-door. Sprinkling-pot, brooms, and shovels were in daily use, and children could play anywhere on the premises in the absence of the cattle. The large "cow-yard" was enclosed on the west by the barn which overhung the yard, and formed a covered porch for the cow-stable; along the north end, on rising ground, a barn-roofed shed, open to the south, sheltered the salting-trough; on the east was an embankment, topped by a high stone wall; at the south end, between the "lane gate" and the smaller door-yard gate, was the watering-tub which stood one-half within and one-half without, because the horses were watered on the door-yard side of the fence. "The noisy masons of the eaves, The busy swallows circling near." Adjoining the barn on the west, and on a line with its south front was the "harness-house," in which a waiting horse and vehicle could stand pro- tected from the weather. It contained a work- bench and all appliances for mending and cleaning harnesses. Working harnesses, chains, ropes, pulleys, In Dover on the Charles 25 short ladders, pickaxes, spades, shovels, crowbars, mud shoes for horses, horseblankets, nose feed- bags, and other equipments for farm-work were arranged upon pegs, shelves, brackets, and racks about the room. A small cupboard held leather straps, strings, balls of "crow-line" and other twine, grease for boots and for axles, and bottles for veterinary use. Litters of young pigs in the cellar basked in the sunshine which streamed in upon them through the opened scuttle in the floor. "Be sure to close the scuttle if the wind changes or a shower comes up" was the frequent injunction when the men started for a distant field. Barn-swallows made their mud nests under the eaves over the wide doorway. When the birds were busiest at their work, we watched them from a seat in some wagon, left for the time in the middle of the door-yard. "The perched roosts And nests in order ranged Of tame villatic fowl." Next to the harness-house came the hen-house, clean as whitewash-brush, broom, and fresh gravel could make it. On one side of the sunny outer room was the large stone upon which oyster-shells, "scraps," and bones were pounded; the shallow, oval iron kettle of water; and the dough-board. On the 26 In Dover on the Charles other side were the roosts, both high and low. "Laying" or "setting" hens retired to the inner room, where box-nests were ranged on a long, wide shelf. The methodical fowls walked up an inclined and cleated board to enter the nests from a corri- dor at the back. Dropping the hinged fronts of of these boxes, gave access to the nests and their contents. Setting hens were "broken up," by temporary imprisonment under a barrel. Mother hen and her brood were transferred from the nest to a portable coop, set upon the grass not too far from the kitchen door. Through spaces in the slatted front the chickens could run in and out, and the hen could stretch out her neck to cluck a warning, to eat grass, or to reach the dough-dish and the shallow not too shallow dish of water. Fresh water and shoots of tender grass besides other food, were supplied several times aday. A wide board laid on the top of the coop projected to form an awning, and was kept in place by the weight of a stone. At the first sign of an impend- ing shower, somebody ran from the house to "see to the chickens," to hurry them into the coop, and shut them in, as for the night, by placing the awn- ing board upright against the slats with the stone for a prop. To save the valuable time of one hen, if two small broods "came off" the same day, they In Dover on the Charles 2f were usually placed in one coop. Rats, weasels, and skunks sometimes invaded the coops at night. In the day-time by a peculiar signal which was in- stantly obeyed by the huddling chicks, the hen gave noticethat a dreaded, sailing, swooping pigeon-hawk* or a stronger, fiercer hen-hawk was circling overhead. Neither hens nor chickens were allowed to run at large. In summer the sashes were removed from the latticed doors and windows of the hen-house and all sorts of green food was "saved for the hens." Temporary runs were made for the half-grown chickens. One of our regularly assigned tasks was "watching the hens" when they were let out to ramble for an hour just before dark. Whenever turkey eggs were "set" they were placed under hens, since turkeys reared by the more domestic fowls were less likely to wander and die in the wet grass or become the prey of prowling enemies. Guinea fowls were interesting but unprofitable. No Committee sent by the Agricultural Society could more surely select the premium flowers and vegetables, and the soil in highest state of cultiva- tion, than could an escaped hen in search of a place to "muffle." "This is the cock that crowed in the morn." A tiny, disowned chick, just out of the shell, Dick was brought into the house, wrapped in cotton, kept 28 In Dover on the Charles in a basket for a few days, and then provided with suitable quarters in the wood-house, under my charge. He became my pet, and I became his out door companion. Grandmother enticed him to her room to eat flies which she killed and laid between sheets of brown paper. Fully grown, long-spurred, gorgeous in plumage, Dick would escape from his coop and revisit the scenes of his chickenhood days. However often repeated, it was somewhat startling to have a bird of such a feather alight on one's shoulder or top of the head, or try to perch confidingly upon a fore- finger. Dick appeared to much better advantage when he ceased his canary bird tricks, and strutted into the middle of Grandmother's room, where he would give a lusty crow and fly upon the desk to seize his well-remembered paper of flies. "1 know he will go up all manner of streets." Tuxus, the pig, was literally brought up by hand. His first meal was obtained by sucking milk from my forefinger, and I afterwards fed him with a silver teaspoon until he was able to drink from a cup, after which time it must be confessed that he ate like a pig. He grew and thrived in his little pen, from which I released him for an occasional frolic. Once I put him back into his pen on the east side of the house, passed through the L, and sat down in the Ik Dover on the Charles 29 west doorway just as Tuxus, having made the cir- cuit of the main house, came through the gap in the fence and jumped into my lap. Weeks after this occurrence, I was sent on an errand, and a group of boys began to laugh and jeer as I passed them in the road some distance from home. Looking back, I saw Tuxus, no longer a little pink-white pig, making the dust fly from the middle of the road, and grunting a lesson on manners for the benefit of the boys, as he raced after me. "Not Bruce of Scotland, Not the Bruce of Bannockburn." Bruce, the black Newfoundland dog, must have come to the farm not far from the time when I be- gan to run about out of doors, for he took the charge of me from that time. He went to school with me every morning, keeping close by my side, unmoved by the torments which the larger children who joined us managed to inflict upon him, but ready to fly at the throat of the first who tried to interfere with me. On the first morning, he followed me in- to the school-house, but his reception was so boisterous that afterwards he was satisfied to see me safe within the yard. A sick man, who watched us from his window, noted the contrast between the dignity with which Bruce ignored his tormentors while I was under his jo In Dover on the Charles protection, and the manner in which he bounded through the fields at a safe distance from the road, on his way home. "Beeves and homebred kine." Black Jenny Lind, light-red Fanny Elscler, dark- red Ruth, old Line-back, Jessie Fremont, and Myra Clark Gaines, our bovine friends, how well I re- member, not their looks alone, but their character- istic ways, for they were born on the farm and lived long in our service, while many other cows were bought and sold. Men drove the cows to pasture in the early morn- ing, but one of the children, with Bruce, often went after them at night. The "old Plain" was an out- lying pasture within sight across a neighbor's field, but this line of vision was the hypothenuse of a triangle whose other two sides were formed by the public road. Usually all the cows were waiting at the "bars," and as one end of the upper rails fell to the ground, the impatient animals clattered over the lowest rail and filed down the road toward home. Jennie and Line-back had the trick of staying far down in the cranberry-meadow, com- placently feeding until we came to look them up. Bruce barked long and frantically at their heels before they would start on a run to overtake their companions, long out of sight. Our door-yard and . In Dover on the Charles Ji grass-plot needed no lawn-mower, for the cows were "watched" and allowed to feed, sometimes without the "great gate," and sometimes within the enclosure, that they might become cool and rested, and be in proper condition when the men came to the barn at milking time. "The steeds were champing in their stalls." Tom and Bill, the equine brothers, worked through- out their lives in double harness, and occupied stalls side by side except for two nights upon a memor- able occasion. It was long before the Air-Line Rail Road was built, and these horses went regularly with heavy loads to and from Boston, over the Mill Dam, stopping at the "Corner" for luncheon and rest. On one of these trips Bill was sold, and soon after delivered at his new home, the "Corner." Bereaved Tom refused to eat, but watched and listened and waited for the coming of his mate. On the second morning, ungroomed Bill, dragging a broken halter, was found at the stable door. Their next separation was caused by Bill's death many years later. A small ambrotype shows Tom and the farm-wagon, my father and Bruce inci- dentally included in the picture. Grown old, faith- ful Tom was released from labor, and at length placed in a marked and honored grave. J2 In Dover on the Charles I was allowed to drive Kate harnessed to the "top buggy," but my father was accustomed to say that a woman could drive a horse wherever a horse wished to go. "The harmless necessary cat." My old Hodge was named for Dr. Johnson's pet cat. Hodge was a "good mouser," and he could not understand why he was scolded for catching song-birds, and praised for bringing in rats and mice. "All duties, when thoroughly and perfectly done according to a standard in the soul, become works of art." At the time of which I write, my Grandfather's active labors were chiefly confined to the "chip- yard," a large, well-defined plantain-bordered space, beside the path between the house and barn. While the "sledding was good," great loads of wood and logs were brought from the "Deacon Haven lot" and the Clark lot woods." Oak, hickory, hard pine, soft pine, birch, "fencing stuff," and "apple-tree brush" ranged in high piles at the lower end of this yard. Toward the house, splitting log, sawhorse, and chopping block, woodsaw, axe, and bill hook, bettle and wedges, wheelbarrow and baskets, all were brought into use. In due time, the well-seasoned hard wood, oven wood, split wood, round wood, pine knots, "air tight chunks," "little" In Dover on the Charles jj wood, and kindling wood, with the pine needles, shavings, and chips were systematically housed in the capacious wood-shed. "To pick up a basket of chips" was one of the regular duties of a summer's day, and one which we often dallied over rather than return to less agree- able tasks. Standing upon the wood-shed chopping block enabled one to reach the light ladder, clothes- line poles, long-handled caterpillar brush, and snow shovel, which were kept in the racks overhead. "How could such sweet and wholesome hours, Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers?" Passing from the chip-yard through the back room to the "west door" brought us under the great horse-chestnut tree, and near to the bench where tin cans and pans were set out to dry. Of the two diverging paths, the one close to the house led by flower beds and currant bushes to the Well Curb. This tall white frustum of a pyramid was erected over a quicksand well which was used solely as a refrigerator where cans of milk, and pails of butter, and food were lowered far out of sight by four stout ropes. Nothing in this well was ever molested, though the gate in the adjacent picket fence was but a few yards from the public road. Milky-juiced cypress spurge sprang up under the fence. Among the stones at the base of the curb 34 In Dover on the Charles grew luxuriant stalks of live-for-ever (Sedum Tele- phium,) from whose carefully bruised leaves we made and inflated tiny watery bags. No sedum blossoms were ever seen. Years had passed before I understood why I found myself able to recognize so many plants by their leaves with no recollection of having seen their blossoms. My father never tolerated weeds, and he cut short their career before they had time to "blossom and go to seed." A small butternut tree grew near the well, beside the currant bushes. Impatient fingers were stained "butternut color" by the juicy covering of the un- dried nuts. Circular brooches, sawed from the nuts and supplied with bent-pin fastenings, were at one time much in vogue among schoolgirls. This must have been the period of peach and cherry-stone baskets, and of braided horsehair rings. Not far from the butternut tree, flower-beds held love-in-the-mist; red and "variegated poppies" old maid pinks and velvet marigolds; gillyflowers; Canter- bury bells; balsams; single petunias, purple and white; yellow daffies;prince's feather; honesty; ladies' delights; and a light-blue star-flower which we called Star of Bethlehem. I have never seen that star-flower elsewhere, nor have I seen any recog- nized description of the plant under that or any other name, Seed-bearing stalks of honesty, re- taining only the oval, satiny, dividing membrane of the pods were carefully gathered, and combined with dried grasses for winter bouquets. "It is not simply beets and potatoes, and corn and string beans that one raises in his well-hoed garden, it is the average of human life." Below the horse chestnut tree, half way down the grassy slope, two "orange sweeting" trees almost touched the ground with their wide-spreading branches. Then came more currant bushes, red and white, a porter apple tree, peach trees, white and purple plums, quince bushes, more young apple trees, pear trees, the tub of running water, and then the vegetable garden. Much below the level of the road, the garden was enclosed on that side by a bank wall surmounted by a four-inch rail held edgewise in iron supports. Against this wall, behind the well curb, was a sort of wild garden, where tall black currant bushes, and red raspberry canes grew among brakes and stalks of caraway, and bent over low lying bloodroot, coltsfoot, and gold thread. All sorts of vegetables for our table were suit- ably distributed from the rich, heavy soil next to the road to the higher, drier ground beside the clothes drying yard. Beets, turnips, onions, pars- nips, carrots, radishes, newly introduced tomatoes, j6 In Dover on the Charles peppers, squashes, cucumbers, cabbages, cauli- flowers, lettuce, sweet corn, string beans, peas, early and late, rhubarb, strawberry tomatoes, and shell beans, kidney, lima, cranberry, and horticultural; all these were "handy to the house." A small plot was devoted to peppermint, spear- mint, and sage; saffron, valuable for its medicinal yellow petals, which must be pulled off every morn- ing; and sives, whose tender, finely chopped leaves were food for hens. I have forgotten most of the "roots and herbs," and their uses. Thoroughwort, tansy, pokeroot, hardhack, mullein, penny royal, yellow dock, yarrow, wormwood, and pumpkin seeds I remember to have seen hanging, in paper bags, against the garret rafters. "The golden buttercup, the grass, the leaves." A wide red gate opened from the door-yard into the "lane," a long, wide, level, grassy, cart-path, bounded on the east by well-fenced fields of "grass land" and "ploughed ground," and ending at the "Clark Lot bars." Along its stone wall, on its orchard side, wild red raspberry and thimbleberry bushes were allowed to grow. Few berries plucked from these bushes found their way to kitchen or dining-room. They were destined to be strung like beads upon long stems of timothy grass, and fated to be eaten In Dover on the Charles 37 as soon as strung. Young children liked to play in the sand heap under the corn-house, where they were out of doors, protected from the sun or rain, and we all roamed the lane at will. Here we picked great bunches of yellow-eyed bird-foot violets, or made bouquets of dandelion "curls." Buttercups held under each other's chins usually cast a yellow shadow and proved that we "loved butter." Fortunes were told by means of "white weed" petals, but I could never decide whether "rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief," referred to four or eight possible husbands, and "chief" in my mind, was always associated with scalplock and tomahawk. When three puffs of breath failed to blow all the tufted seeds from a dandelion globe, the shout arose, "Your mother wants you ! " If the drop of juice pressed with thumb nail to the top of one grass stalk "took off" the drop from the one held against it, then your "wish would come true." "I wander in the woodland paths once more." On the left of the "bars" stretched the dim recesses of the "Clark Lot Woods." We spent hours at a time among the hollow trunks, the fallen branches, the gnarled and mossy roots, and the shifting shadows, on the borders of these woods. Acorns, partridge berries, bearberries, checker- j 8 In Dover on the Charles berries, wild strawberries, low blueberries, puff balls, curious fungi and cup mosses, besides Indian pipes, and many familiar but unnamed wild flowers, were our successive playthings. Beyond the woods and the open fronting space, in boggy regions when entering horses must wear the clumsy, square, wooden mud-shoes, was the meadow, the place of turtles, water snakes, musk- rats, and of historic beavers. There we could not venture, but were glad that grandfather dared go after yellow-blossomed cowslip sprays, a dainty unsurpassed by young beet tops, "milk weed sprouts" or "dandelion greens." We went far enough to find white violets hidden under the leaves of skunk-cabbage. "Where the freshest berries grow." "John Ricker Hill, "long and narrow, the base of Brown's Hill, was opposite our house and orchard. What had been left an unsightly gravel bank when the road was cut through, my father had improved by building a "face wall" at its foot, and planting a row of evergreen trees half way up to its level top. Along its boundary wall, and in many a grassy nook, the largest strawberries and high blackberries were gathered as fast as ripened. The reddest, thorniest of barberries succeeded the wild roses in the south wall thicket. In Dover on the Charles jp "However small it is on the surface, it is four thousand miles deep, and that is a very handsome property." A trip to Grandmother's valued inheritance, the Natick Pasture, was an event to be enjoyed in an- ticipation, as well as in the excursion itself. There was the bustle of preparation at the barn, varied with the season and the project. "Salting" the young cattle; picking sweet apples or juicy, coarse-grained, puckery "baking" pears; cutting hay or mowing bushes; mending a "post and rail" fence, or building a stone wall: any one of these may have been the serious object of the expedition. The pleasure seekers in the party had in mind the short ride through the village street to the Cleave- land place, and the long, delightful ride, "by right of way" through fields, woods, and berry pastures, where jolt succeeded jolt as the wheels passed over embedded rocks into deep worn ruts. Arrived at Pegan Hill Lane and the pasture, we revelled in its berries, fruits, and flowers, gathered hickory nuts and acorns, and explored the "Indian cellar hole," ever with a wholesome dread of snakes. Tired out at last we sat in the shade to watch the birds and squirrels, or rehearse the tales of vanished Indians, until it was time to go home. "I come to pick your berries." 4-O In Dover on the Charles Cranberry picking began early in September. Before the bogs were ready for the men and their rakes, the fruit on the "upland," exposed to the frosts, lay among the dry and grassy hummocks like great crimson-purple beads, strung on a woody thread. Mother and children alike looked forward to these September days, and the best outdoor ex- cursions of the year. The first "good" day, before the dew was "off," found us in the "old plain" pasture. Blueberry and huckleberry bushes, sweet fern, "mountain cranberries" (bearberries), acorns, lichens, stalks of pennyroyal, and life everlasting, goldenrod plumes and aster panicles, all were brushed aside, or trampled under foot, when we wandered from the narrow wagon road which led to the low-lying meadow. Luncheon baskets, and wraps safely bestowed under the old oak tree by the boiling spring, we hastened to the remembered spots where shining fruit was scattered over the brown grass among autumn-tinted leaves, on low-creeping vines. "Pick- ing by hand" was the rule, but my small, short- handled rake would sometimes scoop a double handful from a hollow between hillocks or moss-cov- ered stones. Our small baskets filled, they were emp- tied into bags under the oak tree, and filled again. In Dover on the Charles 4.1 Besides spots "thick" with berries, we found solitary wild roses blooming among the reddened hips, fringed gentians, cardinal flowers, curious burs and pods on leafless stalks, ground birds' nests, and countless living, crawling, hopping, running, flying things. Our baskets filled rapidly in spite of all these side attractions, because we were paid the highest market price for all we picked. One year my quarts became bushels, and my bushels more than filled a barrel. Late afternoon brought my father and the farm-wagon, into which the tired, sun-burned, happy pickers clambered among the heavy bags and baskets, and we went home with the cows. The entire crop gathered and spread in the "barn chamber" until dry and ''turned red," the hand pow- er winnowing mill was brought from the mill house chamber into the door yard, and the cranberries were freed from dirt and tiny leaves. A trough- like sieve, set upon trestles of unequal height, received the berries which were passed along the incline from one compartment to another, until, screened and "picked over," they fell into barrels which were well shaken and then "headed up." All this was men's work, but women and children were welcomed as helpers in the tedious picking over. "To every sweet its sour." 42 In Dover on the Charles A high.well-lighted basement under the woodshed and pumproom was known as the vinegar cellar. It was furnished with hogsheads, barrels, kegs, bungs, plugs, spigots, taps, mallet, auger, gimlet, measures, "tunnels," skids, and pails. In a long row, on a sort of platform, lay hogsheads of cider in the successive stages of the process by which new cider was arrested on its way to become "hard" cider, and was made into sharp vinegar. A suitable quantity of molasses was added to the new cider to promote fermentation; froth issued from the open bung hole in a towering meringue, a color scheme in cream, yellow, brown, and black; the first "working" ended, and impurities precipi- tated or thrown off at the bung, the liquid was carefully "drawn off," and filtered through a straw- filled wooden tunnel into a clean cask, and allowed to work again. This process was continued with great care and frequent testing until that which entered the first cask as sweet cider, left the last hogshead pure cider vinegar which was sold to regular customers, the principal being Billings' Store, Roxbury. "We may build more splendid habitations, fill our rooms with paintings and with sculptures, but we cannot buy with gold the old associations." Once on the broad stone doorstep, it was easy In Dover on the Charles 4.3 to press the thumb piece of the great iron latch, open Grandmother's door, step across the entry, dimly lighted from above the winding stair-case, and come into Grandmother's room. In summer the green blinds were partly closed, but in winter the south sun shone through the many-paned white curtained windows upon the box of growing lavender which stood beside the "noon- mark" on the window sill. The wooden clock between the windows, the brass ornamented ma- hogany desk, the round-cornered two-leaved table, the long, high-backed red settle, the iron "fire frame" trimmed with shining brasses, all had be- longed to preceding generations. Grandmother valued the old, and took kindly to the new. Her cooking stove stood at some distance from the chimney, and the funnel entered the flue high above the ancient fire place, where she had an occasional fire upon the hearth. The kettles were hung from pot hooks on the crane, and bannocks were baked upon the "bannock boards" set upon the hearth before the fire and supported by a flat- iron at the back. She never indulged us with the sight of meat roasting on a "spit," but she used the "bake oven," and set the little iron basin on its three-legged "trivet" over the coals in one corner of the hearth. This iron basin was always used on 44. In Dover on the Charles the stove when cream toast or chicken fricassee was prepared, and beef-a-la-mode could be "warmed up" just right in no other vessel. The small brass kettle, bright as gold, guarded by a flat iron ring, was used on the stove, and no hasty pudding, rye pudding, or samp can ever equal that which it contained. When the round-bottomed three-legged "iron pot" was used as a doughnut kettle, it also required the encircling ring, being too small for the hole in the top of the stove. The tiny "iron skillet" which had three tall legs and a rat-tailed handle was even then called ancient, and I never saw it used. Many more quaint and convenient utensils and much old china and pottery were in Grand- mother's neat "buttery." The stone mortar and pestle which the Pegan Indians had used; covered, wooden hooped pails of different sizes, painted red or blue, which held corn meal, buckwheat flour, or dried apples; the "blue piggin" which resembled a small wooden pail except that one stave rising above the rest was shaped as a handle; a tall, "brown earthern pailful pot" held "biled cider apple sauce.". One queer high-shouldered green glass bottle was kept filled with balm of Gilead buds steeped in rum, a sovereign balm indeed for cuts and bruises. From this remedy I first learned one of life's useful lessons, bravely to bear the In Dover on the Charles 4.5 present smart for the sake of future healing. Petty-morel berries (Aralia racemosa) steeped in New England rum, elderberry wine, blackberry cordial, cherry rum, black currant jelly, and other medicinal supplies were always at hand. Amongthedishesof shining pewter, the large plate, thequartbasinof hammered metal, and the porringer, all bore my great, great grandmother's initials, H. R. An ancient round iron "waiter" hefd the white teapot which would contain a cupful of water, used in the time of the Revolution when tea was scarce and high, an old Delft cup and saucer of corres- ponding size, and a graceful pointed-nosed cream white pitcher whose lower half was emerald green. The beautiful silver teaspoon marked H. R. is four inches long, and shows that it was wrought by hand, and the bowl welded to the handle. Another tea- spoon, belonging to the next generation, is somewhat larger. The greater the grandmother, the smaller the spoon. My grandfather always ate from a large white plate with a wavy edge of deep blue. One set of steel knives had bright green bone handles. Bright, deep blue pitcher, sugar bowl and teapot which showed upon each side a deer without antlers, were accompanied by handleless cups, and the jet black "citron sauce" bowl bore a floral pattern in relief. Close by the covered wood box stood a wooden ^6 In Dover on the Charles pail of shavings and a basket of clean chips. The long disused brick oven was then a sort of cupboard, but our interest centered in the high chimney cup- board and its treasures. Here was the wooden covered book of Indian stories which had the wood cut of Mr. Dustin and his children;the"American Pre- ceptor;" the old "Third Part," a school reading book in my mother's day; "Reuben Kent;" "Little Henry and his Bearer;" "The New England Primer;" "The Badge;" and an ancient broadsheet of poetry, "Cat- skin." Besides these books the cupboard contained the clasp knife, brass-handled pen knife, and the pocket Bible which great grandfather Nathan Griggs carried through the Revolutionary War. Grandfather's arm chair stood beside the stove where the light came over his left shoulder as he sat reading, a blue and white bandanna handkerchief thrown over his bald head. The green wooden chairs were decorated with gilding and painted shells and flowers. Braided rag mats were placed here and there upon the carpet where the "wear" was likely to come. Across the plastered ceiling ran a large painted beam. The walls were made of wide, matched boards which like the prominent corner posts, had received many a coat of lead- colored paint. In Dover on the Charles 4.7 In the adjoining bedroom stood the tightly-corded four-poster, straw-bed, feather-bed, bolster, pillows with long, overhanging "cases," snowy valance, and patchwork quilt. The other furniture consisted of a mahogany bureau over which hung a small mirror, a low chair, an arm chair, and an ancient table which folded so that one leaf would double upon the other or stand upright against the wall. The edges of the leaves and the front legs were prettily inlaid with bits of wood. The blue and white woven counterpane was even then laid carefully aside because of its associations. "O how full of briars is this working-day world." Work inside the house was termed house-work, earning, and sitting-work. Kitcheti, back room, and cellar, like all other parts of the house, were arranged and furnished with a view to "making work easy." Soon after my mother was married, one of the earliest made cooking stoves was set up in front of her enormous kitchen fire-place. Its huge cylindri- cal sheet iron oven threw out overpowering heat upon the head of the person who used the "elevated oven," and it was replaced by one improved pattern after another. From the lettered hearth of the "Bay State" stove, I took my first lesson in the alphabet. Spring water was drawn from a faucet at one kitchen sink, next to which was a large, built-in j.8 In Dover on the Charles case of drawers under a wide shelf, a dish closet, and then the large dry-sink, where dishes were al- ways washed, and cooking operations carried on. Pump-room it was always called, but a wooden faucet took the place of a pump in the large un- plastered room adjoining the kitchen. One corner of this room was the laundry and held the necessary utensils, and supplies. Often used steel-yards, large and small, hung on convenient nails. Pantry, store- room, and milk-room combined, occupied an ad- joining space in this wing. No cruel "one-step down" led to our wood-shed. Children's arms were scarcely able to throw back the wide top of the long meal chest. Standing on tip-toe, we contrived to reach the wire sieve on the corn-meal side, and the hair-cloth sieve on the rye-meal side, but we could not run a sieve along the horizontal bar in the middle of the sifting section of the chest. A hugh brick oven, and chimney had, at some recent date, been built out into the room on one side. An ancient brass kettle, immense in size and beautiful in proportions had been deprived of its bail, and ears, and had become a "set" kettle, in which clothes were boiled over the fire in the brick chamber underneath. Although my mother always "kept help," most of them women who could be spared from neighbor- In Dover on the Charles 4.9 ing families, yet she tried to instruct her daughters in the art of house-keeping. "Cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a feast." Baking day saw long sticks of pine oven wood burned to coals on the floor of the brick-oven, the ashes removed, and the "oven broom" plied with energy, before the long handled shovel placed cakes, pies and bread within the remotest recesses of the fiercely heated oven. Later the somewhat cooled oven was filled again, this time with loaves of brown bread, rye-bread, fruit cake, pots of beans, and a brown earthern dish of Indian pudding. White "bonny" beans were picked over on Friday afternoon, washed and soaked over night in more water than could be absorbed. Early Saturday morning this water was poured off, and the beans boiled in a large quantity of water, until the wrink led skins were ready to burst. With a skimmer, the beans were drained and placed in an eathern pot, with a small piece of salt pork, selected for its streak of lean, and gashed across the rind. A little soda, molasses and mustard were added, and some- times a morsel of sausage. When put into the oven, the pork was almost hidden by the beans, and a sheet of tin was laid over the uncovered bean pot. A spoonful or two of water was added from time to jo In Dover on the Charles time, and, presently, the pot was uncovered, and the pork brought to the surface to shrink, grow crisp and flavor the beans, until supper time. Unless the steam were allowed to escape from the uncovered pot, the beans might be boiled or stewed, they surely would not be baked. Baked sweet apples and milk, very cold, made a delicious and hygienic supper dish. Hulled corn, with milk or molasses was a favorite form of food. Great kettles full of hasty-pudding were easily disposed of, as "pudding and milk," and too little remained to serve as "fried pudding" at breakfast. It was not really fried but was browned on a hot greased "spider." Buckwheat was never made into griddle cakes, but into a sort of muffins cooked in the oven. Roast spare-rib was eaten cold, preferably with hot baked potatoes. All fat was carefully lifted from the bowl of cold "drippings," to which water was then added, with a thickening of flour and water. The resulting "roast pork gravy" was not greasy, but savory and wholesome, with potatoes. For "invited company" mother was sure to make great piles of those cream-white hot biscuits which accorded so well with "quartered quince" or "whole peach" preserve. Muslin toast was a favorite supper dish, prepared with nicety and precision. A rye short cake the In Dover on the Charles 51 full size of the griddle iron, was browned to a deli- cate crisp, on each side, the thin crust deftly flayed from the hot side, the denuded surface returned to the griddle, and the crust placed in the waiting basin of hot, thickened and salted milk. This process was repeated until the upper crust of the cake was reached and ready to be "dipped." "Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended." No butter and cheese were made within my recollection, except for home use. Milk was some times sold to collectors for city markets, but as a rule calves were bought and fattened for veal. Grandmother made sour milk, new milk, sage, four meal, and "white oak" or skimmed milk cheeses. Having brought milk to the desired temperature by setting it in the huge tin kettle on the back of the stove, it was poured into the immaculate "cheese tub," with a small quantity of soaked rennet, a substance prepared from the inner membrane of a calf's stomach. When the curd was well "set," it was cut across with the "cheese stick," to allow the whey to rise and be ''dipped off." Bowls of "curds and whey" were served at this point to those who had been impatiently waiting for them. Meanwhile, the "cheese tongs," a sort of ladder with two rungs, had been placed across the "whey tub" to support the large meshed, splint "cheese $2 In Dover on the Charles basket" over which the ample cheese cloth "strainer" bad been spread. The "wheyed off" curd having been put into the basket, upon the cloth, and allowed to drain dry, it was then ready to be "broken up" with the hand, and mixed with salt. Again the children begged for "just a taste." A square of strong cotton cloth, placed over a "cheese hoop" of suitable size, was well filled with the crumbled curd. The cloth was tightly twisted on the top, held in place by the "follower," a wooden disk smaller than the hoop, and then the cheese was placed under the requisite number of "blocks" in the curious wooden cheese press and a heavy weight hung upon the arm of the press. By the next morning the follower had followed the cheese into the hoop, and a corresponding amount of whey had run out across the grooved shelf of the press. When the hoop was removed in order to "turn" the cheese and wrap it in a dry cloth, a ridge of curd was found to have rilled the space between the edge of the follower and the hoop. This was carefully cut off, and the delicious morsels called 'cheese parings" were the children's perquisites. Removed from the hoops, placed upon thin boards, and added to the rows upon the shelves, "new," or "green" cheeses, were regularly "greased" and In Dover on the Charles 53 "turned," until the rind became thoroughly dry, smooth, and almost impervious. Dutch or sour milk cheeses were made by a simple process for imme- diate use. Within my recollection, the dasher churn, the round wooden butter bowl, and the stone butter jars were seldom removed from their pantry corner, but Grandmother had little dairy ways all her own. A certain ancient brown-glazed jar was half filled with rich cream, and steady stirring with a white-wood paddle soon "brought" a lump of yellow butter, which she "worked" with the same paddle-like "spatter" on a wooden plate kept for the purpose, and then the salted and "printed" pat was set on a certain Ridgeway plate, in its own stone jar. Making, and, incidentally, eating a "buttermilk cake" followed as in natural sequence. "As dry as a remainder biscuit after a voyage." Hermetically sealed cans and jars had not been invented. Steam-cooked, kiln-dried, and dessicated foods were not in the market. Unless fruits and berries were made into jelly or preserved pound for pound, they must be dried for winter use. Drying apples was an important part of the season's work. "Apple stagings," "ap- ple boards" and "apple cloths" were brought out from the store room. Apples were pared, thinly 54 In Dover on the Charles sliced, and spread upon cloths laid over boards which rested upon stagings in the front door yard. The boards were brought into the house at night, and on the approach of rain, and were placed upon the floor of some unused room. In case of long continued dampness the drying could be finished in the wide open stove oven. Some of our neigh- bors "strung "apples and hung the festoons upon lines over the stove. Peaches, pears, berries of all kinds, and sweet corn were dried in their season. Sugar pumpkins were first "stewed" and then spread upon boards or plates, and dried in the oven. Catsup and all kinds of pickles were "made" in due season. Sweet cider, boiled down to one half its bulk, was "bottled," and with dried apples made the spring relish known as boiled cider apple sauce. "Laying down and putting into the cellar." In slaughtering time, "Ben Sawin," an expert at the business of "pig killing" brought his "scald- ing tub" and other paraphernalia on a low wagon. Assisted by the "hired men" Mr. Sawin set about and finished his work, removed the traces, and de- parted to fill other engagements, leaving my father to "cut up" and distribute the pork at the proper time. In Dover on the Charles 55 Clean barrels were packed with firm white pork, and then filled with brine prepared according to a famous family receipt. A flat stone was placed upon the top-most layer to secure complete submersion free from "rust," and a sharp-pointed iron hook was conveniently hung on the edge of the covered pork barrel. "Leaf lard" was tried out in the kitchen, in an ancient "round bottomed iron pot." Even now I seem to hear the scrape, scrape, scrape of the tin cup, as Grandmother tried to dip the hot lard, drop by drop, from the lowest point at the bottom of the pot. Hams were cured in a neighbor's smoke house. "Sausage meat" was usually crowded into strong cylindrical cotton bags, from whose firmly pressed contents thin slices were cut for the "spider" at breakfast time. A few "skins" were sometimes "filled." Tin funnel, flat, knobbed piston, and "breast board," was the apparatus used by Grand- father with great skill, until the resulting "sausage links" festooned one corner of the storeroom. Fruits, vegetables, and winter supplies of all kinds were unloaded from wagons at the "out- side cellar door," and wheeled through the "vine- gar cellar" to their respective places in "apple cellar," "milk cellar," or "Grandmother's cellar," all 56 In Dover on the Charles suitably furnished with cupboards, boxes, barrels, bins, and "swing shelves." One flight of stairs led from vegetable cellar to kitchen, another from vinegar cellar to pumproom, and the third from Grandmother's cellar to the "front entry." Chil- dren always avoided this last mentioned stairway, because it was dark, and because a door on the upper landing opened into a dark space behind the chimney, known as the "dunce hole." "Poor lone Hannah, Sitting by the window, binding shoes." For some years previous to 1860, "binding shoes" and "closing shoes," afforded means of earn- ing money at home. The shoes were cut out, and then distributed from shoe shops in the larger towns. No "work on shoes" was ever done in our house, but I have seen it done in neighboring houses. A three cornered needle, like the common glove needle, was used in binding shoes. Thin, soft leather from which the binding strips were cut had a sort of ticking stripe in black and white. Cutting in the middle of the white stripe secured an even strip of such width that the white edge was concealed in the seam. This was wholly hand work. In "closing shoes," the counter was properly lapped upon the vamp, and inserted in an iron In Dover on the Charles 57 clamp, worked by foot power. A sharp blow upon the handle of the "marking iron" had left in the leather the marks of sharp teeth to show where a double row of awl holes should now be made, through both thicknesses of leather, close to the clamp. A length of well-waxed "shoe thread" was threaded with a needle at each end, the left hand needle passed the right hand needle in the first awl hole; the thread was drawn out equally on the sides, and the locked stitch continued to the end of the seam, and back again in the second row of holes. Sewing the seam on the other side of the shoe completed the work. The invention of sew- ing machines ended this kind of work as it did many other kinds. Braiding straw was for many years an easy and profitable kind of work for afternoons and evenings, and for visiting. Shining yellow straws from carefully selected sheaves of rye, freed from the sheath, severed at each joint, bleached in brim- stone fumes, and tied in neat bundles were ready to be "split" and "machined." First made "limber" by wetting, each straw was deftly split and flat- tened with one blade from a pair of scissors; and then, except for half an inch at one end under the left thumb, it was divided into strands of the desired fineness by the sharp teeth of the little 5<5* In Dover on the Charles "machine" which was held in the right hand. A clean white lap towel, a bundle of prepared straws in a napkin, and a bowl of water were essential in braiding straw, or "Dunstable" as it was more often called. Seven "strands" were usual, but some experts made a "fine 'leven braid." New strands were inserted at almost every turn, so that one edge of the finished braid bristled on each side with slanting ends of straw. On account of its brittle- ness, the braid could not be reeled, but was wound into balls, and sent to the "trimmer" before being sewed into bonnets. Mr. Charles Gowen of Frank- lin had a trimming machine and carried on a large business at his shop between 1840 and 1850. Every industrious woman, rich or poor, so or- dered her household affairs as to be at liberty to "sew straw" in the "season" which lasted four or five months, beginning in November. The straw shops sent out work, plaster of Paris hat blocks, straw braid, numbers printed upon cloth, and thread. Four or five different shapes, and all sorts of "stock" were brought in the course of the winter. Coarse, rough-edged Canton was hard on fingers, and so were notched braid and Coburg; Dunstable was brittle and showed stitches; Milan was sometimes easily torn, and even when "firm" In Dover on the Charles 59 was unprofitable, "paid by the hat;" lace was stiff, and the wide intricate patterns difficult to join ; hair braid showed uneven lapping, and was sewed with horse hair instead of thread. "Flor- ence" was easy to sew and profitable. When all these considerations were added to "shapes," and "price," and "length of season," straw sewers had topics for conversation in "straw time." "Stock wagons" from Medfield and other straw manufacturing centers furnished this employment. Expert sewers sometimes earned $200 or $300 in a good season. About 1862, weaving palm leaf for shaker sun- bonnets was the neighborhood industry. An out- of-town manufacturer sent out stock wagons, distrib- uted the material and collected the sheets, strips, and braid. Village carpenters made the looms; wide looms for the sheets from which bonnets were cut, and nar- row looms for the inch wide binding strips. It was no unusual occurrence for an invited neighbor to arrive early in the morning, accompanied by some male member of her family who had her loom on his shoulder, or in a wheel-barrow. Constant treadle motion was very fatiguing, continued day after day, and only robust women could use the wide looms. I had a narrow loom, but, though I saved my reputation for industry, I did not amass wealth. 60 In Dover on the Charles Those who did not weave, braided the notched braid which covered the seam where the crown joined the front of the bonnet. The split palm leaf for the looms and for braiding came in strands two or three feet long, some black and some in the natural color. These sun-bonnets were universally worn by women and children after adding wide gingham capes and strings. "The spinster and the knitters in the sun." "Sitting work" included family sewing, fancy work, and other forms of handiwork, but at the date of my story, which ends in 1864, many crafts had been abandoned. Over and over again Grandmother has explained the process of "swingling" and "hatcheling" flax, and showed us how she used to spin linen thread on the flax wheel, and yarn from wool or tow on the "great" wheel. We never meddled with these spinning wheels, but the reel upon which the spun yarn used to be wound into skeins was a fascinating plaything. The crank was twirled round and round for the sake of hearing the sharp "click," as the in- dicator marked each completed knot in the skein. "Blades," or swifts, reversed the reeling process, and held the skein while it was wound off upon wads of paper into a ball. Within my recollection spools were rarely seen. "Hanks" of thread, skeins In Dover on the Charles 61 of sewing silk, and "sticks" of button hole twist necessarily gave way to spool thread and silk when sewing machines began to be used. A pair of "wool cards," their hooked teeth pressed and locked together, lay upon the attic floor until wartime brought every sort of fibre into use. Then these old-fashioned implements did good service in "carding" matted cotton and wool wadding into fluffy rolls for a second period of usefulness. Our great-grandmothers learned "marking stitch" by working more or less elaborate samplers, linen canvas worked with colored silks. People now-a-days ''tie puffs," a few "tie com- fortables," and wadded linings are quilted by machine stitching, but the old-time art of quilting is almost forgotten. Even as one of the "revived arts," modern appliances have greatly changed the operation. Quilting frames, or bars were four strips of wood, seven or eight feet long, three inches wide, and less than one inch thick. Each bar had a strip of "list" firmly tacked to one edge, and a long row of holes bored at each end. To "put in" the quilt, the frames were laid in the form of an oblong, and fastened at the overlapping cor- ners by wooden pegs, the ends of the bars pro- jecting more or less according to the size of the 62 In Dover on the Charles quilt. A chair back at each corner supported the frame, over which the lining was tightly stretched and sewed to the list on all four sides. Wool wad- ding or cotton batting of the desired thickness was spread upon the lining, and the "outside" laid upon that. "Marking out" the quilting patterns, herringbone, diamond, or shell, by snapping a chalked line, or by marking around a pasteboard design, was an art in which some women were enviably proficient. In order to "quilt" an elabo- rate pattern in one afternoon, a "quilting bee" was held, and the frames were surrounded by as many workers as could find elbow room. From time to time the pegs were withdrawn, and the sides rolled up to the last finished row, until the pattern was completed. Then the quilt was "taken out" and finished by turning in or bindingthe edges. A very large bedquilt of printed India cotton, wadded with wool, lined with homespun linen, and quilted in herringbone lines one third inch apart, was made by my great-great-grandmother, Roger Sherman's sister Mehitable, who died in 1804, aged ninety years. My mother gave a piece of this relic to each of her children. Some other heirloom bedquilts were in the house and one "album" quilt was made in my childhood. Usually patchwork was made in leisure hours, in In Dover on the Charles 6j simple designs, for the purpose of utilizing scraps of calico, gingham, or delaine, and of renewing the supply of bedding. Children were taught to sew carefully basted squares, "over and over," as one of the first lessons in needle work. Grandmother's "rag basket" always held a mat upon which she was working, and the finished rugs were worthy of her conscientious skill. Every strip was cut wide or narrow according to the thick- ness of the cloth; the strips were pieced flat and folded smoothly in braiding so as to form even strands with no raw edges on the right side of the braid. Only thick, firm, all wool cloth was deemed worth using. The completed length of braid was wound into an immense ball, so that the end in- tended for the middle came upon the outside of the ball. The unwinding, the heap of many- colored braid, and the rewinding interested us greatly. In "sewing" the mats, the needle was in- serted so that all stitches were concealed in the braid and not exposed to "wear." Home-braided palm leaf hats were worn by men in the fields. A favorite seat of mine, in the old pumproom, was an upright bark-denuded log, known as the hat-block, because these hat crowns were shaped .upon its smaller end. Husk collars, for working horses, were braided 6 4. In Dover on the Charles from the soft inner husks of the corn. The large steel needle for sewing these collars was curved at the double-beveled point, and, in use, was inserted edgewise, and pushed through by a sort of thimble fastened to the palm of the hand. Braided husk door mats were always used at our outside door. They had many of the qualities which make modern rubber and woven wire mats desirable. Yarn, once used and crinkled, or poor and slack- twisted, and two bent rusty needles were given us when we learned to knit garter stitch, and with these the most skillful knitter could not make smooth, even work, and "do a stint" in reasonable time. Patience and persistence characterized the teacher, and perseverance the pupil. At length, with the help of the whirling blades, a great skein of new yarn was wound, the stitches "cast on" three needles, and a long woolen stocking was be- gun. The first stitch was taken off upon the fourth needle, and then followed knit two, seam two, knit plain, narrow, seam one in middle needle, slip and bind, set heel, knit heel, bind off, take up stitches, knit plain, toe off, run heel and a stocking was finished from top to toe. Knitting sheaths were used only by very old ladies like my grandmother, and were pinned to In Dover on the Charles 65 the right side at the waist. They were made of double cloth, velvet or kid, almost triangular in shape, and held a quill, or quill-shaped roll of soft leather, into which one end of the fourth needle was thrust and held while in use. Sometimes the sheath was attached to a long bag or pocket which held the ball, and in which the rolled up work could be placed when the little caps joined by an elastic cord, had been slipped over the ends of the needles. We knit the mittens which we wore, durable but often clumsy. "Railroad" cotton stockings, so called either from the open work effect, or from the way in which that effect was produced, were made by knitting a plain top a certain number of inches long, and then dropping every alternate stitch, and "toeing off" with the remaining half of the stitches. Every girl knit one pair when they were the rage, but I have no recollection of wear- ing them. In my childhood crochet needles were in univer- sal use. One of my choicest possessions was a set of six hooks and a bone handle. Every imagin- able article of use or ornament was crocheted from yarn, thread, split, single and double zephyr worsted, and saddler's silk. Germantown wool afterwards replaced the costly imported Berlin 66 In Dover on the Charles wools. Thread edgings and insertion trimmed every sort of garment. "Shells" and "points," hairpin lace, serpentine and feather edged braid, and tape trimming occupied our attention. Table mats and tidies were made of knitting cotton, or fine cotton thread. Ladies wore wide flat collars crocheted from sewing cotton, and from red, blue, or drab split zephyr. Large, square Shetland wool shawls in shell stitch, were folded cornerwise, and worn by ladies as "summer shawls," not in the house, but in the street and to church. Up to the time when I was a grown woman, it was con- sidered unconventional, and even immodest, to appear in the street with "nothing over the shoulders," that is, without wearing a shawl, wide scarf or cape. Small black or garnet beads were strung upon skeins of sewing silk, and crocheted around a pencil into a long flexible bead tube which was tied in a true lover's knot and the ends neatly joined, making a very fashionable and clumsy bracelet. We worked cross stitch on canvas with colored worsteds, and we did elaborate work with tatting shuttle and fine thread. Netting had gone out of fashion, but both wooden and steel netting needles were in my great-grandmother's work- basket. All this work of fifty years ago is now In Dover on the Charles 67 revived. About this time the sewing machine came into use. The first machine was a chain stitch machine, turned by a hand crank. Grover and Baker's foot power machine came next, and then we came into possession of a Wheeler and Wilson treadle machine with a lock stitch. "Here friendship lights the fire and every heart, Sure of itself and sure of all the rest, Dares to be true and gladly takes its part In open converse, bringing forth its best." Hospitable and neighborly we certainly were, but there was no unceremonious "running in" on our part or that of our neighbors. Like all our visitors, the family habitually used the west "front" door whose entry opened into both parlor and dining room. The old "four foot" dining table had been consigned to the kitchen, and replaced by a black walnut extension table. The China closet held a rose-bud tea set, a mulberry ware dinner and tea set, an oval willow ware platter, several dark blue plates, and other specimens of English and Delft ware. "Invited company" was one thing, "unexpected" company was quite another. Instead of formal calls, card leavings, and receptions, social courtesy required that one's visiting aquaintances should be entertained at afternoon visits, or invited "to spend 68 In Dover on the Charles the day" at regular intervals. The "time was set," the guests brought their work, and "spent the day" or "spent the afternoon and took tea." Sometimes one person was invited, sometimes a "party;" some- times husbands were included and sometimes not. These visits could seldom be made "on foot." Every good housekeeper held herself in readiness to entertain company at any time without notice. "If anybody should come" was an important if in the day's work, and in the larder, too. Soon after one o'clock was the proper time to reach one's des- tination on these uninvited visits to relations or intimate friends. To delay until two o'clock was considered affectedly "genteel." Accustomed visi- tors from adjoining towns were confidently "looked for" under favorable circumstances of season or weather. Mr. and Mrs. Elijah Perry of South Natick, Mr. and Mrs. Calvin Richards of Strawberry Hill, Dover, Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Barden of Newton Upper Falls, Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Newell of Dover, and my father and mother comprised "The Old Guard." They were friends from childhood, and kept up the friendship and intimate acquaintance throughout their lives. Mrs. Richards was the last survivor, dying during the present century. They were accustomed to meet at each house In Dover on the Charles 69 by special invitation at least once a year. They often made excursions in their own carriages to Squantum Beach in summer, or went in sleighs to some distant hotel for supper in winter. When the sleighing was good, in midwinter, they always went to Newton Upper Falls, and the party assembled at our house in the autumn. No children were invited to these formal gatherings. "One's treasures always tell such secrets of oneself." Our parlor, though constantly used, was always kept ready for company. A brass-trimmed iron fire frame surrounded the closed up fire place, be- hind the air tight stove, but side brackets still held the brass "fire set," shovel, poker, and tongs. The chimney cupboard contained the family daguerreo- types and other relics, among them a colored print of the Burning of the Steamer Lexington. "Look in the candle stand drawer" was an often repeated direction. This sewing table with hinged drop leaves and two drawers was the orderly recep- tacle of all sorts of sewing implements and sup- plies. When my mother was married her "bureau," according to the fashion of the period, was placed in this parlor. The "center table" opened out square, or folded over to one-half its size, and the top turned around over the box which formed the top of the standard. 7