USA > Massachusetts > Worcester County > Princeton > Celebration of the one hundredth anniversary of the incorporation of the town of Princeton, Mass., October 20th, 1859 : including the address of Hon. Charles Theodore Russell, the poem of Prof. Erastus Everett, and other exercises of the occasion > Part 9
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
-
108
ful, and that even the leanness and meagreness of my part of the forenoon service, has been made very palatable, by the rich and superb material in which you have this after- noon " fried it."
As I came up here, with an address prepared under the pressure of so recent an invitation, I relied upon the same security as that Princeton boy, who consoled his companion, who, with torn pantaloons, was snivelling along home from school. Said his sympathizing mate : "Have not you got any good old grandmother at home, who will make all straight there ?" So I knew, from long experience, I had a most excellent and indulgent grandmother here, in my native town, who would forgive anything herself, and make anybody else forgive it, too.
I have, to-day, aimed only to tell you a plain and simple story-homely, but not wholly useless and uninteresting to us, I hope. I have felt, all day, much like apologizing to you in the language of an old friend we all knew, now long dead and gone, but whom you will recognize at once. He went to one of the militia reviews, and when the inspector (I believe I get the right officer-Major Cobb ?) came along, presented his gun and accoutrements for examination. Everything required by law and custom was there. There was the priming-wire and brush, flint, box, and everything to complete the equipment. "But," said the inspector, "your gun looks rather rusty and black." " Yes," said he, "I know it; but I use it for hunting sometimes, and thought it wa'nt best to scour it-make it glammer so it wouldn't kill no squirrels." For the same reason, I came bringing the old gun just as it was. I thought I wouldn't scour it, lest it should "glammer so," I shouldn't even hit a squirrel with it.
Indeed, so rusty and old-fashioned am I, that I cannot quite catch the step with all my young friends, who have preceded me this evening, and who have spoken so eloquently on their favorite topics. Much as I dislike the evils of which some have spoken,-and I do, most exceed- ingly,-I cannot quite agree with everything that has been
L
109
said upon men and measures. So you will allow me to dissent wherever I like, our's being a free atmosphere, and free highways, where every man is permitted to ride his own hobbyhorse, provided no one is asked to get up behind him. Perhaps I am like an old friend and towns- man, in the memory of many younger than I am. For years he beat the martial drum here for the militia, so pleasantly alluded to by my friend, the poet, to-day. I I believe he did so, back, even, almost to Revolutionary days. All went well, till, in turn, the more enterprising youngsters got up the Light Infantry, in blue trousers and shiny buttons. They must needs have drumming of a more stirring, exciting, fashionable, quickstep style. So they got a modern drummer of skill, to their liking, who put in every modern beat, with all its fantastic elegance. You remember, Mr. President, how, one day, the old drummer stood in your store door, when the company went by, in all the gay movement of a recent march. " Ah !" said he, " Squire Russell, I like the good old common time rub-a-dub-dub; but Cobb puts in the flourishes-the Old Harry couldn't march after him." I cannot say how it may be with that distinguished personage. He is quite apt to get the lock step even with us, if we are not pretty careful when we put in our extra flourishes. Now, some of our young friends " put in the flourishes," of most modern style, and if I can't march after them, I hope it is not because I resemble the " Old Harry," but because old- fashioned and conservative, I prefer " the good old common Revolutionary time rub-a-dub-dub."
Mr. President, some who have preceded me, have dwelt upon the ancient institutions of the town. Allow me a word, for what I may call some of the medieval ones. My friend Wilder has spoken of his old school-master, Woods. I remember an old school-master here, too; and when I saw that same master, my friend Wilder himself, I seemed to sink right down into the little green petticoat I used to wear, and my perpendicular master stood right
110
before me, teaching me my A B C. There was the very book, with all the pictures :
" A, was an archer, and shot at a frog ; B, was a butcher, and kept a great dog."
Why, upon earth, the archer shot at such game, I could never understand; it seemed to me poor business. If it would not have been a couplet that nobody would have believed, I always fancied it would have been :
" A, was an archer, and shot at a peep, And B, was a butcher, and sold his meat cheap."
(Laughter.) Then came C; and he was " A captain all covered with lace."
That was our Captain Merriam.
" D, was a drunkard, and had a red face."
That fellow was a stranger, and lived out of town, and only came up here "'Lection days ;" (laughter) and so on, to the end.
Then there was the now defunct Light Infantry. I remember the first time they came out. O, how my mili- tary admiration burst out at May training, and culminated in the sham fight, at Lancaster muster, when the Princeton boys put it to the Sterling fellows, to the last cartridge, and till they were all as dry of ammunition as the old con- tinentals of Bunker Hill. We put it to them just as we have to the men of old Sutton, and Barre, and Marlboro', every Cattle-show day, for twenty-five years back, and just as we mean to for a hundred to come-only more. (Laughter and applause.)
Then there was the Engine Company. We had an engine once,-a distinguished citizen gave it to the town. I remember when it was brought out, and you, Mr. Presi- dent, and Colonel Whitney, and Captain Dana and Merriam, and divers of those patriotic citizens around me,
111
were at the brakes, and, I think, the late Mr. Boylston held the " nozzle." (Laughter.) So they worked at it, steady up and down, and it dreadfully screeched, and screamed, and squeaked, but not the drop of water would the ungrateful machine squirt. And so it went on, till a facetious towns- man came along, and inquired whether that was " really an Ingun or only a Mulatto." (Laughter.)
Then there was the Singing School, kept by the father of our friend Howe, where I spent three days, trying to bring the singing of that excellent singer into harmony with mine. But I could never get, for one moment, his " fa, sol, la," to agree with my " fa, sol, la," howsoever I tried, so I gave it up; but not the Singing School. Ah, no ! I could not forego that for mere musical disagree- ments. I went on to the end; and at the close of many a Winter evening, while they were pouring forth Coronation, Old Hundred, Dundee, or Plaintive Martyrs, (I couldn't exactly tell which,) in a harmony, compared with which, " Italian trills were tame," I was distressing myself with the embarrassing question, which young lady I should offer to go home with,-a question, sir, neither then nor now, among the rosy cheeks of these hills, so mighty easy of settlement, for a sensitive heart, just emerging from its teens. (Applause.) There was music here I could under- stand,-time, tune, scale and expression-" piano, dolce, affettuoso, lentando, pianissimo," from soft and plaintive, to the very softest.
Then, of an October evening, came the glorious huskings. That needs no description. What quantities of Indian pudding here, I stowed under my jacket, on some of these memorable occasions, at my good old grandfather's. In the remembrance of those boyish achievements, how annoyed I have sometimes been, at the capacity of the human organs, on extraordinary occasions.
Again, I have almost listened, since I came here, to hear the familiar old rattle of the six-horse Albany stage, going like lightning down yonder hill, with Joe Maynard
112
on the box, cracking his whip over the leaders. And it was not till I recollected that it was Thursday, and not Wednesday, that I ceased to look about for old Basset's post, peddling some ten score of the " Massachusetts Spy," from West Boylston line to the boundaries of Westminster.
If I were to give you a sentiment, I would say :
The Institutions of Princeton-Not the ancient. nor the modern, but the medieval,-the District School, the Light Infantry, the Engine Com- pany, the Singing School, the Husking, and Joe Maynard and old Bassett's Stage.
And I think they were of a pretty good kind of institu- tions too. In the lighter frolics and humors of their day, our grandfathers and all about us participated. But they engaged in all these sports and amusements in a way consistent with a deep and fervent piety. They did not suppose that religion made men morose and unhappy, but induced a reverence for God and a respect for man. And thus, while we have ever had a moral and religious community, as such communities always are, I will venture to say there was not a happier, perhaps, I might say, merrier, community on the face of the earth. Certainly we boys can say that we did not suffer in that respect. But my time is quite gone, and I ought not to trespass another moment on your patience. I only add : Princeton -How I love her; God bless her forever. (Applause.)
Prof. EVERETT, the Poet of the day, was the next speaker. He said :
"I am no orator, as Brutus is;" but if ever I wished I were, it is at this moment. I have always been proud of being a son of Princeton, and to-day I have felt more proud than ever. When, three weeks ago, I received a request to prepare a poem for this occasion, I told my friends that, as Princeton had produced so many distin- guished men, I felt greatly flattered by the compliment, and I felt the responsibility of a hundred years resting upon me.
113
Our venerable friend from Boston, (Mr. Wilder,) has referred to Master Woods, as an excellent teacher. I thank the gentleman, in behalf of the profession to which I have the honor to belong, for the merited compliments which he has paid to that profession. I left this town long since, and have been engaged in teaching, constantly providing laurels for the brows of others, though I have provided none for my own.
Last week I wrote to my brother, asking him to give me the names of all the ministers of the Gospel who have been born in this town. He gave me the names of nineteen. Last Saturday night, as I went to the Church Library, of which I happen to be the Librarian, a book was handed to me, called " The Baptist Pulpit," by Dr. Sprague. In this work, he has given the names of the most distinguished ministers of that denomination who have lived in America. Among them I found the name of Rev. Dr. Abel Woods, the oldest son of Master Woods. Master Woods had two sons who were Doctors of Divinity. Rev. Abel Woods, who began his ministry in 1790, and completed it in 1850, making a term of sixty years that he was in the Gospel ministry. His oldest son was President of a College, in Alabama, and now resides in Providence, Rhode Island. Dr. Leonard Woods was, for a long period, a Professor of Divinity, at Andover, and his son is a Doctor of Divinity, and President of a College, Then Master Woods had two sons who were Doctors of Divinity, and two grandsons who were also Doctors of Divinity. This is honor enough for one school-master.
I have one word to say about the medieval institutions, to which reference has been made. We are here acting the part of Old Mortality. Those of you who are familiar with the writings of Walter Scott, will recollect how he represents Old Mortality, as going about in the grave-yards, raising up the fallen monuments, and etching out again the characters that had become indistinct, so that they might be easily read by the next generation. We, to-day, are going among
15
114
the graves of our fathers, etching out the letters, so that the next generation may read them, and hand them down for a hundred years more. God grant that their suc- cessors may do the same, and so on, till the last syllable of recorded time.
Let me refer to one institution, which has passed away, and which we would not revive. It was not peculiar to our fathers, but to the age. It was the institution of the Wine Cup. I recollect one personification of that institu- tion, in old Mr. Elijah Rice. We all recollect him-the dear old man. Under that frock which he wore, although he sometimes carried a jug, he concealed as warm a heart as ever throbbed in a human bosom. Many a time have I sat in my father's barn, and heard him tell tales of the Revolution. The most noble ideas I have of Washington, were kindled at those huskings from the stories of old Elijah Rice. Had I half the powers of description which he possessed, I would relate one of them. Everybody, almost, used rum in those days; and one day when Mr. Rice was going home with his jug, he was met by Ephraim Beaman, Esq. He was always willing to be met anywhere. Mr. Beaman said, in a very hortatory manner, suitable to the occasion, "You love your worst enemy, Mr. Rice." " We are commanded to," was his quick response.
As I am the poet of the next hundred years, I will venture to read two brief odes, one of which, may repre- sent the emotions with which our fathers regarded the wine cup, and the other, may represent our own feelings in regard to it.
THE BACCHANAL'S ODE.
Sweet soother of my cares and cure for all my pains, Whether thou mantlest with Hispania's treasure Or juice from Rhine or brown Italian plaing, Thou art a source of purest pleasure. When blithe Burns sang his Jeanie's praise And brightened every feature, 'Twas wine inspired his lays And aided nature.
.
115
Hail sparkling Wine ! Far dearer than the Vine. I'll drink again My bright Champagne Yet again ! Yet again ! It inspires my song,
Makes a short life long And a blessing,
A blessing, A blessing.
Still again
I'll quaff amain
With Bacchus' jolly train.
Till giddy, giddy, giddy, And quite unable To hold my cup Or e'en sit up, The lamps all whirl round
And sleepy, sleepy, sleepy, I fall beneath the table Or on the welcome ground And sunk in soft repose, I sleep in peace profound.
THE BACCHANAL'S PALINODE.
Fell author of my cares and cause of all my paine, Whether thou temptest with Hispania's treasure Or juice from Rhine or brown Italian plains, Thou poisonest every source of pleasure. Where Burns sung Highland Mary's praise,
And colored every feature, Wine ne'er inspired his lays Or aided Nature.
No : dearer are the Nine Than the most sparkling Wine. I'll ne'er drink again That cursed Champagne ! Ne'er again, Ne'er again, It hampers my verse, It makes life a curse And a burden, A burden, A burden.
116
I never again Will fever my brain, With Bacchus' swinish train, Till giddy, giddy, giddy, And quite unable To hold my cup Or c'en sit up The lamps all whirl round. And sleepy, sleepy, sleepy, I fell beneath the table Or on the cold hard ground, And lie in dead oblivion lost and sleep profound.
Mr. EVERETT, (Toast-Master) :- With your permission, I will now make a motion, full of solemn interest to all. We have reviewed to-day, the century that has just passed, and have looked into the graves of our fathers and mothers, and our grandfathers and grandmothers. I move that, after we have listened to the closing hymn, we adjourn to the call of posterity, one hundred years hence.
The motion was unanimously carried, and the following hymn, composed by William E. Richardson, of Boston, a native of Princeton, was sung, as the closing exercise. Tune-" Auld Lang Syne."
HYMN. BY WILLIAM E. RICHARDSON.
Here gathered round this festive scene,
Have met the friends of youth, To pledge once more affection's gift Of Friendship, Love and Truth ; Then ere our festive scenes are o'er, Ere we our joys resign, With hand in hand, each trusty friend Shall pledge to " auld lang syne."
We'll pledge their memories, who of old, Could home and joys forego, Who dared to found for us a home, One hundred years ago ;
117
Here on this spot their children met, To join with loud acclaim, With grateful hearts to twine a wreath Around their honored name.
Old age here blends its trembling tongue, With childhood's lisping vow, To join the song whose echoes ring, Round old Wachusett's brow ; Then swell the chorus to their praise, Join every one below, In memory of our parents dead, One hundred years ago.
Time will not grant a scene like this, To us on earth again,
Then while we pledge the parting tear, We'll trust in " auld lang syne ; " Then may our record brightly shine, Prove earthily duties done, 'Twill gild the page of past " lang syne," And gem the one to come.
-
LETTERS.
-
The following letters were received by the Committee of Arrangements, from individuals invited, but unable to be present on the occasion of the Anniversary.
WESTBOROUGH, Oct. 15th, 1859. W. B. GOODNOW :
Dear Sir :- It would afford me great pleasure to be present at the commemorative Centennial Anniversary of Princeton. Did not indispensable engagements prevent my attendance, I would most cor- dially accept your invitation. In token of the deep interest I still cherish for the people of your town, I offer the following sentiment :
Princeton-Elevated and commanding in its natural position. May its inhabitants, in time to come, as in time past, be distinguished for their physical and intellectual vigor; for firmness of purpose, and for the industrious cultivation of its mountain soil.
Yours, truly, E. DEMOND.
UXBRIDGE, Oct. 15th, 1859.
WILLIAM B. GOODNOW, Esq. :
My Dear Sir :- Your circular, inviting me to attend the Centennial Celebration in Princeton, on the 20th inst., was duly received. I am very grateful for this kind remembrance of the Com- mittee of Arrangements, signified by yourself. It would give me great pleasure to be present on an occasion of so much interest. to the citizens of Princeton. I was longer in the ministry there than were any of my pre- decessors, or than have been any of my successors. It was the birth-place of my children. Though I have been away many years, my interest in,
119
and attachment to the place and inhabitants, have not ceased. But I am now very much of an invalid. I have not strength to enable me to endure the excitement and fatigue of the occasion, which I very much regret. I shall always rejoice in the temporal and spiritual prosperity of the inhab- itants of Princeton, where I spent so many years, and had so many firm friends,- friends, many of whom have passed to the better land.
With kind regards to your associates on the Committee, and hoping the occasion will pass pleasantly and profitably, I remain, dear sir,
Respectfully, yours,
SAMUEL CLARKE.
ELLINGTON, Oct. 18th, 1859. To MESSRS. EDWARD E. HARTWELL, JOHN BROOKS, JR., GEORGE E. PRATT, and others, Committee of Princeton, Mass., appointed to direct and superintend the public proceedings in that town, on the 20th inst., in commemoration of the completion of one hundred years since the incor- poration of the town.
GENTLEMEN :
Yours of the 15th inst., through the agency of Caleb Dana, Esq., of Worcester, came to hand last eve, (the one directed to me in Troy, I never heard from,) is a call upon me for my thanks for your kind and polite attention to me, in desiring my attendance on the interesting occa- sion,-an invitation I should most readily accept, if I had strength and health equal to the journey and the fatigues which must attend it. But, as my health is, I cannot think of it. On the first of May, 1859, I entered on my eighty-fifth year, and all will say, as relates to a man thus advanced, that home is the proper place for him.
With my best respects for you, gentlemen, personally, and my cordial desire that the occasion may bring together many circles of relatives, located abroad, and large numbers not related, now almost strangers, from long absence from the family mansion ; and that the festivities and exercises of the day, may be blessed for the highest good of the town, and every family in it, is the warm desire and earnest prayer of, gentlemen, yours, most respectfully,
JOSEPH RUSSELL.
DAME, STODDARD, & KENDALL,
HEADQUARTERS FOR
FINE FISHING TACKLE,
LAWN TENNIS,
TABLE CUTLERY, RAZORS, RAZOR STRAPS, DOG COL LARS, FANCY LEATHER GOODS.
374 WASHINGTON STREET,
Opp. Bromfield St.
BOSTON.
CUSTOM TAILORS.
Our stock in its entirety is the largest, best assorted, most varied, and most replete with beautiful designs, of any stock shown by any Merchant Tailor in New England.
SPRING OVERCOATS, TO ORDER, $22. BUSINESS SUITS, TO ORDER, $22 AND $25. DRESS SUITS, TO ORDER, $25 AND $28, TROUSERS, TO ORDER, $6.50.
For the same goods, combined with the elegance of style and superiority of our work, other mer- chant tailors are demanding $to more than we ask.
Notice Grand Display of Sample Garments in our Windows.
We are the largest Merchant Tailoring Establishment in New England. WE MAKE CUSTOM WORK ONLY.
CHAS. GREEN & CO., MERCHANT. TAILORS, 581, 583, 585 WASHINGTON STREET, COR. AVERY STREET, Between Bijou and Park Theatres.
Open evenings till 8 o'clock.
Business and Dress
SUITS,
Latest Styles and
Patterns. Workmanship
Guaranteed.
C. F. SWEETLAND, JR.,
Clothier & Gents' Furnisher
Nº 3 NEPONSET BLOCK, RYDE PARK.
Dress and Fancy
SHIRTS, Collars and Cuffs, Gloves, Handk., &c. Fine Neckwear
a Specialty.
8447254
6145 1
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.