USA > Massachusetts > Essex County > Danvers > Centennial celebration at Danvers, Mass., June 16, 1852 > Part 6
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* An ancient name for South Danvers.
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And Quakers among us are walking to-day, Who believe all-sufficient their old simple creed To live by and die by, and so they well may, For theirs is the Gospel of Jesus indeed.
See Foster at college, commanded to write On the rite of Baptism a theme ;- The heretic-Baptists to turn to the right- From their baseless delusions redeem.
The subject he studied, and straightway became A convert to dogmas he could not refute ; And doctrines believed in, he dared to proclaim, How little soever old friends it might suit.
He preach'd them at home, and upon Skelton's Neck A church was soon gathered, which cherishes now The tenets he taught, and still holds in respect His name,-and his creed is their covenant vow.
Still people would think, read their Bibles, embrace Other doctrines than those we have named ;
Deacon Edmund,* with new-fangled views of God's grace, Universal salvation proclaim'd.
It found little favor, his converts were few, When he with his forefathers slept. Still the seed he had sown died not, the plant grew, Reproduced till it thousands accept.
Unitarians, Methodists, Catholics here, And comeouters, act, think as they please ; All of every name, who are pious, sincere, The reward win of piety, PEACE.
Minds, morals improved by sectarian strife, Draw strength from the battle of creeds. Let all live together, embellishing life With the charm of beneficent deeds.
* Edmund Putnam.
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The Pilgrims, we know, were not always exempt From the vexatious promptings of sin ; They sometimes were angry, and looked with contempt On humanity's dictates within.
In neighborhoods, feuds, I am sorry to say, Were sometimes long cherished by law ; Where rights oft contested, and tiresome delay, On purses did cruelly draw.
And no less on morals, religion, and peace, Without which enjoyment is not ; When vengeful and angry emotions increase, Duty, piety, love are forgot.
But let us not dwell on their errors ; 'tis well, If they teach us like errors to shun ; Let their virtues excite us to stand by the right- Guide our feet in their foot-prints to run.
VII.
The PURITAN-there's in that name Much that must ever rev'rence claim Of all mankind-especially Of people struggling to be free. Bred amid scenes of cruel wrong, He grew pugnacious, firm and strong ; He was not yet entirely freed From his ancestral heathen creed, ' That death in battle gains for all Admission into Odin's hall !' Hence heroes are, by honor's laws, Deemed saints, however bad the cause In which their bloody wreaths are gained, If by some sov'reign power sustained. Somewhat Judaical, too, he took, For his life's law, the Holy book,- But from it rules of conduct drew To suit his own peculiar view
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Of duty,-ruthlessly pursued His enemies in bloody feud ; And such peculiarly deemed he Agents of his arch-enemy. Witches and wizards .- What, forgive ! Moses forbad that such should live. And such not doubting he had found Encumbering God's holy ground, He hung them up ;- an insane fury Possessing priest, judge, sheriff, jury ! And other crimes I need not namc, Which mortal ne'er committed, came To be adjudicated here, And innocence with conscience clear, In some few cases, suffered on The gallows. Sad, most sad mistake, Which should be pondered well upon Until the gibbet, like the stake, Be banished-all machinery Life to destroy, be done away, And human life be valued far Too high to take by law or war. Yet was the Puritan sincere, Truth was to him than life more dear, For truth, or what he thought was such, He could not sacrifice too much ; Ease, country, kindred, all were nought Compared with the high good he sought ; Hardship and danger evils light Compared with compromising right, And conscience by obedience to Whatever despots bid him do. Statesmen of ev'ry age, this trait Should study well and imitate. VIII.
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In olden times, the people here Were chiefly tillers of the ground, A calling to which most severe Labor attaches ;- but makes sound
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The body, and it schools the mind In honest purposes, and where Men till their own lov'd lands, we find A noble yeomanry, who are The firmest pillars of the State, The purest patriots of the land,- The stronghold of religion, great In all that can respect command. Here plastic clay the potter turned To pitcher, dish, jug, pot, or pan. As in his kiln this ware was burned, So burned the patriot in the man Into persistent shape ; which no Turning could change back into dough ! It might be broken, ground to dust, But ne'er made ductile as at first. Here coopers wrought-housewrights a few, Tanners, who all were curriers too ;- Shoemakers, and some tailors, who,
From house to house news-bearers went,
Making, where'er they chanced to go, A joyous day ; for while intent On fitting small clothes, coat or shoe, Some thrilling tale they told unto Ears thirsting for the strange and true.
The blacksmith's shop did oft dispense With iron wares, intelligence -- Food, recreation for the mind, Which civilized, improved, refined. The mills, too, in those early times,
Were schools, wherein much more was taught Than simply grinding corn ;- there minds Some clue to useful knowledge caught.
Well, well do I remember when Our millers were distinguished men,- The honor'd Colonel Hutchinson, Foster, and Deacon Gideon,*
* Gen. Gideon Foster and Deacon Gideon Putnam, Esq.
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Than whom this town, in worth or fame, Few nobler as her sons can claim, Oft serv'd their mills, as faithfully As elsewhere, Freedom, Liberty. And did not boys, who weekly went To get their corn made meal, intent, Receive from millers such as these Impressions that would make them wise, -- Whose influence would never cease To check false pride and save from vice ?
The clergy, too, made reverend by Their office, and the dress they wore ; By band and surplice. O how high Above their flock these shepherds soar ! Yet preachers of humility, And humble too allowed to be ; Assuming dignity, that they Might wield a salutary sway, O'er minds forever prone to bow To rank, to pomp, to empty show ; To whom this truth is seldom known- " Where least of state, there most of love is shown."
Schoolmasters, too, were oft austere, They ruled by birch and not by love ;- Men of great courage, using fear As the chief instrument t' improve The minds and hearts of docile youth- To drive them to the Fane of Truth ! Fear, fear, which has in every age, From every stand-point on life's stage, From pulpit to primary school, Been used the multitude to rule,- At best is a debasing power Fitted the intellect to lower, Rather than elevate. The soul, Unless praise, courage, hope control Its destinies, must ever be Sinking in helpless misery.
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O preacher, teacher ! 'tis by love God rules, in mercy rules above. More and more like him strive to be ; From every fear your pupils free. By love alone excite, persuade To duty, calling to thy aid Whatsoever things are true, Of good report, just, honest, pure. These with untiring industry pursue, Discard the rod, your scholars' love secure.
IX.
One hundred years ago, or more, I ween, Fashions, unlike the present here, were seen,- Less luxury in diet, habitude, and dress ; More industry, and nerve-ache vastly less ; Greater exposure to the sun and air, Fewer pale cheeks ;- consumptions far more rare. One hundred years ago, the spinning wheel, Hatchel and cards, the loom, the old clock reel, On which her daughters and the serving maid, From morn till night, far sweeter music made, To thrifty housewife's ears, than now proceeds From thrum'd pianos, and wind-fretted reeds, Vibrating, whistl'ing to the nervous touch Of amateur performers, overmuch Luxuriating in the lap of ease ;- Feasting on dainty sounds,-sweet melodies, Which neither fit the head or hand to wield, In life's great battle, either sword or shield ; But leave the helpless, enervated thing We call a lady, subject to the sting Of every puny insect that she meets ;-- Robbing her life flowers of their choicest sweets. Music, however good, was ne'er designed To be the daily task of woman kind ;- To take the place of labor, which alone Can give the nerves a sound, right healthy tone ;- Can give the cheek the glowing tints of beauty, And fit the body for a mother's duty.
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To some, 'tis true, rare faculties are given To lift, by song, th' enraptured soul to heaven ; Excite to love, soothe pain, or banish care, To fire the soul heroic deeds to dare : To such, let music be their daily food ; ' Go, follow Nature,' is a maxim good. But, few can hope, by modulating wind, To make themselves resemble Jenny Lind ; Nor can the mass of lower crust, or upper, Expect by song to win their daily supper ; Which to win somehow, we must hold to be The very essence of morality. God ne'er intended that an idle hand Should waste the plenty of hard toil-till'd land. To eat the fruit of the well cultur'd tree, By others planted, and not truly be Planting for others, is a shame and sin, And no one guiltless is, who rests therein.
X.
Old Time rolls backward, we have said, and lo ! Danvers, as 'twas one hundred years ago, Appears before us. Let us walk around, And see what's doing on this well-lov'd ground. We, if you please, will first direct our steps Unto the mansion of 'Squire Daniel Eppes ; An old farm house, two seven-feet stories high, A lean-to on behind, a spacious chimney too, Which ten feet square at least must occupy ;
A lesser space would never, never do ! A well-stock'd barn, and a good well near by, Which, with its curb, crotch, sweep, pole, bucket, all Is picturesque, and quite poetical. Near by is seen a winter-sweeting tree, Destined, in after-times, renowned to be Parent of apple orchards, widely fam'd, And for our town, the Danvers Sweeting nam'd. Here in armed chair, before a cheerful fire, Writing, or reading, sits the worthy 'Squire ; 10 j
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Beside him sits his consort, plump and fair, Sewing or knitting in her cushion'd chair- Their comely daughter Mary carding tow, Large heaps of rolls her strength of muscle shows, And that her cards she has learn'd well to play, Good proof is given by her work to-day. The younger Daniel's robust consort too Is doing much, and still has much to do ; In every task she takes an ample share, Altho' the loom is her peculiar care. Obedient to her feet, her hands, her eyes, The treadles move, slaie swings, and shuttle flies ; The growing web beneath her magic sway, Strip'd, check'd or damask-draper'd, each day Gives joyous promise, to the inmates there, Of raiment fit, and good for them to wear On all occasions, through the coming year ;- Better than boughten stuffs, tho' not so dear. Her oldest son is winding quills,-one more Plays with the kitten on the chamber floor,- Now spins his top, now turns the swifts, or reel,- The busiest urchin of the commonweal. But now the day is closing upon all, One runs, obedient to her duty's call, To milk the cows ; another, o'er the fire Hangs the good kettle, sifts the yellow meal, And as the flame does lovingly aspire Around the cauldron, stirs the pudding well.
Upon another trammel hangs a pot, Containing good bean porridge, piping hot, From which the 'Squire his ev'ning meal will make, In preference to the fare the others take. The second Daniel comes, all over tow,
With the last bundle of well-swingled flax, His winter's hardest task accomplished now ;
His face, to beam with gladness, nothing lacks Save a good washing, which is quickly done ; As quick, a change of raiment is put on ; And the Town Clerk of Danvers takes his chair And bowl of pudding, with a graceful air ;-
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Pats his boys' heads, as they beside him stand,- Meets his wife's look of love with smile as bland, Greets his sweet sister, as, with busy broom, She sweeps the floor, and sets to rights the room ; Observes her nervous movement, and suspects That she some wooing visitor expects. Their evening meal is gratefully enjoyed- Around the table, busily employed, All hands are seated, and the book or pen, Sewing or knitting, is resumed again. A rap comes on the door ;- Lo ! Mary's face Cover'd with blushes indicates a case Not yet develop'd. To the kind "Walk in," Door opes-voice enters, " Mr. Eppes within ? I want to see him." Mr. Eppes goes out To see who 'tis, and what he's come about. There learns, by stammer'd words and bashful look, John Osborn wants to marry . Mary Cook ; And that the banns should duly published be ; But, until published, kept most secretly. Another rap. Blushes again spread o'er Sweet Mary's face now deeper than before ; In, Mr. Proctor, a young neighbor, drest In Sunday-suit, comes as an evening guest,- Bows to the ladies,-shakes hands with the men, Says, "Spring-like weather's come,"-and then Sits down, coughs chokingly-essays To speak,-hems,-awkwardness displays In posture,-sits uneasy,-answers slow Some questions asked him,-simply yes or no ; Until assur'd by meeting their kind looks, That he at least is among friendly folks, He talks of farmers' prospects,-sheep and kine,- Oxen and horses,-and prolific swine ; How best to plough his lands, and how manure,- How right good crops to cultivate, secure ;- Until the evening, wearing fast away, Suggests the question, how long will he stay ? But why does Mary silently retire, And in the best room kindle up a fire ?
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Now Proctor bids the family good-bye,- Meets Mary in the entry, but O why Goes he not out directly, but till late Holds with the buxom girl a tete-a-tete ? Experienced lovers might perhaps explain, How moulding into oneness are the twain,- A process by life's richest feelings blest,- Feelings, which cannot be by words exprest,- Or to the sagest human mind made known, Till by experience they shall be his own. No further then into their doings pry, Which are too sacred for the public eye. One word of caution only will I add To the pert damsel and the thoughtless lad. Indulge in no flirtations ; they destroy The power to relish life's most luscious joy ; Those only wedlock's highest bliss can know, Who on one object all their love bestow ; When once you've fix'd your choice, O never, never, Indulge the thought that you can change it ever. Hark, do I not a whisper'd murmur hear, -- ' ' O call you that a picture of the past ? ' If so, it often has been copied here ; ' I've known one like it made since April fast !
' Yonder the couple sit, who now are feeling ' All the fresh rapture of young love's revealing.'
XI.
Next, to the Village Church let us repair,- A queer old sombre structure, nearly square, With a four-sided roof, surmounted by Its own epitome, a square belfry, In which a little bell, securely hung, Is by depending rope in broad aisle rung ; With " lime and hair," side walls are overspread, But there's no plaster'd canopy o'erhead ; There naked timbers meet the vagrant eye, And ornamental posts, in number four, Depending from the lofty tower on high, Point threat'ning downwards to the central floor :
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On one side of the aisle are seats for men, And on the other, seats and a sheep pen For good old women. There to warm their feet Was seen an article now obsolete,- A sort of basket tub of braided straw,
Or husks, in which is placed a heated stone, Which does half-frozen limbs superbly thaw,
And warm the marrow of the oldest bone ; Side galleries, too, there are for boys and men, And women young ;- a cock-loft negro pen, Where the degraded slave might sit and hear Truths, which the bondsman's sinking heart might cheer ; Beneath the pulpit is the deacons' seat, Where faces shine with piety replete ;- Reflect the lights, which from the pulpit fall,- Reflect and send them to the hearts of all. Good parson Clarke, in pulpit preaching there, Gives full two hours to sermon and to prayer ; And the long psalm, by lined-out couplets sung, The tune more model'd by the nose than tongue, Made a protracted meeting in cold weather, More penance-like than pastime altogether. The morning meeting o'er, good boys and men, Who cannot well go home and come again To worship in the afternoon, repair To Mrs. Cross', and eat luncheon there, Which they have bro't from home ; but buy and sip A mug of toddy or of well-spiced flip ; Some gingerbread or biscuit ;- thus they give Some compensation for what they receive, The room that holds them, and the fire that warms,- Cozy asylum, full of quiet charms. Here the long sermon well they criticise,- Discuss the various topics which comprise The lore of village farmers,-get the news, And useful knowledge seek, acquire, diffuse. Albeit, rev'rence for the holy day Puts all light thoughts and vanities away. By girls and women too the noontime's spent At Mrs. Dempsy's, who is well content
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To gather round her fire the shivering dames, For they bring with them what will feed its flames. Here as they pack away their bread and cheese, They give imprison'd thoughts a free release,- The current scandals of the day con o'er, Despatch the old, and manufacture more. The little bell now calls them in again, To shiver two hours more in seat or pen ; Then somne on foot go wallowing thro' the snow,
Two on one horse, or many in a sleigh, To their dear homes ; whose firesides warmly glow. And supper waits ; there sanctify the day. And to confirm their faith in their own ism, · Read Bible, Psalm-book, and the Catechism ; And thus secure a week's supply of good, Hard to digest, tough theologic food.
XII.
Another scene a gathering shows, Of people from some miles around ; Why, why are timber, boards and chips Strewn all about their meeting ground ?
Why ? Do'n't you know that Mister Smith Has bidden them, to help him raise A new frame-house, in which he hopes To spend the remnant of his days ?
And all have come, men, women, boys,- And, lo ! the timbers briskly move, And in the framework meet, embrace, United by compulsive love.
Once, twice, the merry raisers pause To take of drink each man his dole,- The work is all complete, except The putting on the ridge its pole.
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This the workmen cannot lift ! 'Send up a bottle filled with rum,' -.. They drink,-it operates a charm,- The timber to its place has come.
And on that dizzy ridge-pole high Th' excited climber boldly sits, The bottle swings, and, 'mid hurrahs, Dashes that bottle all to bits !
While thus were occupied the men, The women have a table spread
With cider, cold ham, fish and cheese, Doughnuts, baked beans, and good brown bread.
All to this table now repair, And of this cold collation eat ;
And story tellers, too, are there, To furnish forth a mental treat.
Among them, witty parson Holt, With old Jo Smith, in stories vies ; The first deals in embellished truth, The latter, in romantic lies.
A ring, a ring,-some wrestl'rs new Athletic skill, strength, prowess try,- Some run and jump, some dance and sing, And close the day right merrily.
XIII.
A husking. Heaps of gathered corn, Long rows of lads and lasses gay, Old men, boys, maids, gay or forlorn, Intent on mingling work and play.
Sweet cider goes around, and flip Makes bright eyes sparkle brighter still,- The joke, loud laughter, and the song The scene with jocund noises fill.
-
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A red ear, got by roguish swain, Gives him the right to seize and kiss Each blushing maid, unless repulsed By smutty ear, or sturdy miss.
The old men, garrulous, relate To youngsters, of old times a tale ;- Husks rustle, stalks and corn cobs crack, Mirth, love, and jollity prevail.
The labor done, the festive board Is for the hungry huskers spread ; The supper o'er, the elders all Their well-known pathways homeward tread ;
While the young folks on Pompey call, And gladly make a longer stay, The supper-room becomes a hall . Well filled with spirits young and gay.
Horsehair to catgut Pomp applies, · And, grinning much, his iv'ry shows, With foot and body keeping time,- The dancing stream of pleasure flows.
No grand cotillions brought from France, No waltz or polka then they knew ; But good old-fashioned jigs and reels They lustily could shuffle thro'.
,
XIV.
The spinning bee together calls Th' artificers of thread ; And a right merry time have they As they the pedals tread.
The humming wheels, the merry chat, Songs, riddles, and what not ? Beguile the time,-till, flax all spun, The supper in is brought.
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Then come the beaux and fiddler too,- A merry scene ensues, Which even into icy hearts Can warmth and love infuse.
Then there is old election day, To ev'ry child so dear, Which crowns the charms of flow'ry May, And gladdens half the year !
And can it be that scenes like these Will soon no more be known ? Years, actors, fashions, frolics, all Gone, gone, forever gone !
Well, other fashions, follies, fun These pastimes will replace, And triflers never lack the means To spend their day of grace.
XV.
On by-gone pastimes no more lines I waste, But to some biographic sketches haste Of sons of Danvers, known on hist'ry's page, Who've left their mark upon the passing age, Asking indulgence for omissions, while I in prosaic cataloguing style, Bring to remembrance a few honor'd names, Who have on us this day peculiar claims.
John Endicott and his descendants brave, Some on the land, some on the rolling wave Of commerce borne,-in ev'ry useful art Have battled nobly, acted well their part.
John Proctor, he who was for witchcraft hung, On this occasion must not go unsung ; Is it unnatural to suppose that he Was gifted with the gift of prophecy, 11 k
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As death approached ; and, looking down his line, Saw his descendants live, and life resign ;- Saw all that has transpired, or will transpire, In Salem, Danvers, till consumed by fire ; Or buried deep, 'neath mountains overthrown, All that now lives, or is, shall be unknown ? Condemned in prison, on his pallet lying,
The good man moaned, in agony of prayer, ' Upon the gibbet must I soon be dying, ' The felon's shame without his guilt to share ; ' O God, why is it ?' Banishing the gloom Exceeding glory lighted up the room ; An angel stood before him, and a voice Cried, ' Fear not, mourn not, but be glad, rejoice,
' That thou art worthy thus to have been tried,- " Worthy to die, as thy dear Saviour died,.
" In innocence,-rise, come with me, " Thou shalt God's goodness in the future see ;
" Deluded men thy body kill,-but shame " Is theirs, not thine. To thee immortal fame
' Shall be accorded. Let thy conduct brave " Check the delusion, and thy consort save.
"' Yes, wife and offspring from the grave redeem,
' God a kind Father is, however stern he seem.' With these kind words he took me to the hill, Where soon I must my destiny fulfil ; And there the future opened to my view, Proving that all his words were strictly true : Dark clouds of error slowly rolled away, And hill and dale in truth's bright sunlight lay. I saw restored my desolated home, And to its cradle a new tenant come ; Who, by his little acts of filial love, Does from his mother's heart its wo remove. For, when it rises with o'erwhelming sway, That little prattler wiles her grief away ;- And when for me her scalding tears are poured, That little urchin smiles, and, peace restored, Is nestl'ing in her bosom ;- ne'er before Knew I an infant's archangelic power.
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Time flies ;- that wife lies buried by my side, Each son has to the altar led his bride ; They too have passed thro' scenes of joy and grief, And from life's cares have found in death relief. Their children's children,-a wide-spreading stream Of human life, have come and gone ;- a gleam Flitting in vision o'er my dazzled sight, Now less distinct, now full of life and light. One of majestic form among them all,* Of stoutest frame, and stalwart mind withal, Was formed, 'twould seem, armies to train and lead. In youth a soldier,-yet thro' life, indeed, A man of peace, in peaceful scenes employed ; A farmer's life he honored, and enjoyed To good old age ;- and when the " drop serene" Shut from his ardent gaze each sunlight scene, Light still was on his mental vision poured, Thro' other mediums, and much knowledge stored Up in his mind ; a treasure, which may be Perhaps his solace through eternity. But other scenes and things before me pass, As in what seems a true prophetic glass- The anti-witchcraft people get the day, Send parson Parris and his imps away.
I see and wonder, how for principle The ever-ruling concentrated will Of a few people, can and will maintain Their rights assailed, and greater freedom gain, From every effort made to put them down, By church or state, by mitre or by crown. With what great care they guard their precious State 'Gainst French and Indians,-perils small or great ; 'Gainst adverse tenets springing up to bind, In chains of error, the immortal mind ;- 'Gainst Power-Prelatic, from which they had fled, And from whose scourge they yet have much to dread ;- 'Gainst Power-Despotic, watching for its prey, And always ready to snatch rights away ;-
Johnson Proctor, who died November, 1851, aged 86.
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Against each other's avarice and guile, Which can a brother cruelly despoil,- Yet 'mid these toils and pains, condition hard, 'Gainst bear and panther, flocks and children guard ; Labor for bread, churches and schools to plant, Provide with foresight wise for every want ; Yet, 'mid these cares and constant labors, find Time t'improve the heart, to educate the mind,- To cherish social virtue, and make home A lodge, to which the holiest pleasures come ;- A temple, where their God may worshipped be, With pure devotion, without pageantry. The followers of principle, they go Where'er it leads, be it through joy or woe. Their friends are its friends, and as enemies They treat all, who that principle despise ; Be that despiser parent, wife, or son, They should be sacrificed, and it is done ! The friend, that yesterday was held most dear, To-day apostate, banished from their sphere. The crown of England, next to God adored, Is trod in dust, dishonored and abhorr'd ; . Because that crown their principles assails, All its time-honored prestige naught avails. Without remorse, the glittering bauble spurned, Their hopes are now to a republic turned. And that republic, should it not secure
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