USA > Massachusetts > Middlesex County > Reading > Genealogical history of the town of Reading, Mass., including the present towns of Wakefield, Reading, and North Reading, with chronological and historical sketches, from 1639 to 1874 > Part 42
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1835. - December 20th. - The Baptist meeting-house was burnt.
1836. - New Baptist meeting-house erected : dimensions, 68 by 48 feet, 26 feet posts, granite basement. Building committee : Burrage Yale, Hiram Sweetser, Lilley Eaton, Adam Wiley, N. C. Wright. . Town tomb constructed this year.
1837. - Congregational meeting-house remodelled.
South Reading paid its debt. Surplus revenue.
1838. - Crescent Street laid out.
1839. - First Universalist meeting-house was dedicated, November 2Ist.
ORDER OF EXERCISES. Voluntary. Introductory prayer. Reading of Scriptures.
DEDICATORY HYMN BY P. H. SWEETSER.
"God of eternal, boundless love, To thee we raise this house of prayer, Here may thy truth salvation prove, Here long may Christian friends repair.
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" This temple now we consecrate To thee, the universal King ! Accept the tribute - Lord ! we wait Our offering at thy feet to bring.
" May no strange sacrifice profane This sacred altar of our God, --- No heathen rite, nor homage vain, Lead from the way the Saviour trod.
"In solemn prayer and sacred praise, Our feeble voices here we blend, - Celestial choirs loud anthems raise, To worship thee, the sinner's friend.
"Glory to God ! the angelic song Inspires our souls with heavenly love ! Glory to God ! the strain prolong In lofty notes, like those above !
" Joy to the world ! light from on high Reveals to earth salvation's plan ! O ! catch the anthem from the sky, Peace to the earth, good-will to man !"
Dedicatory prayer. Original hymn, by Rev. Henry Bacon. Sermon. Concluding prayer. Original hymn, by Miss E. T. Barker. Voluntary. Benediction.
Pleasant Street laid out this year. Report from the committee in favor of a high school. North School District was formed, and new school-house erected. Town ordered the purchase of a new hearse.
1840. - New hearse-house erected this year.
1841 .- Eaton Street was laid out as a town way, two and a half rods wide.
1842. - South Reading Ornamental Tree Society was organized, by- laws adopted, and ornamental trees planted.
1843. - Celebrated especially for the wide-spread excitement, con- nected with a belief in the speedy second appearing of the Son of
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God, and the end of the world, which prevailed extensively in this as well as many New England towns ; a belief which seemed to be firmly and honestly embraced, but which failed of realization.
1844 .- Work commenced upon the so-called Boston and Maine Railroad Extension, between Wilmington and Boston.
This year completed two hundred years of the town's history, and of the church history of the First Parish.
At the Bi-Centennial Celebration by the said parish, the following hymn was sung, the composition of the late Rev. Reuben Emerson :-
"'Two hundred years have passed away, And brought the Bi-Centennial day, Which now we celebrate. In mystic numbers will we sing The honors of our heavenly King, With joys divinely great.
" Our fathers occupied the ground, When savage natives prowled around, Tho' harmless they remained ; God did their honesty reward,
While, in his house, with one accord, His worship they sustained.
" He gave them pastors as he chose, When one expired, another rose, And were with union blest. From age to age they stood secure From inward broils and foreign lure, By God's divine behest.
" While in his covenant they dwell, Not all the powers of earth and hell Can move them from their place. The Lord, who planted long ago This vine, his praises here to show, Will not their name efface.
" Then let the Church his Truth maintain, His Institutions well sustain, Their hearts with Love adorn ; As many hundreds here, of men, Have, by the word, been born again, Will hundreds more be born,
" May Church and Parish still live on, Till adverse novelties are gone, And time shall be no more ;
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Then rising to the Church above, Triumphant in the Savior's love, Still live, and still adore ;
" Where nothing shall excite their fears, Nor joys, by measured months and years, Shall interrupted be ; Their praises, in harmonic song, With well-tuned voices shall prolong, To all eternity.
" Then let our grateful hearts repeat, When coming to the mercy-seat, His mystery of love ; That when our days on earth shall end, On seraph's wings we may ascend, And live and reign above !"
In the first part of the month of December, 1843, the primary step towards celebrating the anniversary of the incorporation of Old Read- ing was taken by issuing a call for a public meeting at Reading.
The subsequent result of a conference with the citizens of South Reading, was the appointment of a joint committee of the two towns, for the purpose of making the necessary preliminary arrangements for the proposed celebration.
January 8th. - At a meeting of the citizens of Reading and South Reading, convened at Union Hall, in the South Parish of said Read- ing, it was
Voted, "That the towns of Reading and South Reading unite in celebrating said anniversary, in or near the village of the South Parish, in Reading, on Wednesday, the twenty-ninth day of May, A. D. 1844."
The following persons constituted the committee of arrangements : - Capt. Ebenezer D. Batchelder, Thaddeus B. Pratt, Esq., Thomas Pratt, Dea. Eben Eaton, George Flint, Esq., Dea. Eliab Parker, Jr., Thomas Sweetser, John Adden, Jr., Charles Newman, Col. Jacob S. Rayner, Charles F. Flint, Amos Batchelder, J. B. Leathe, Maj. Oliver Swain, Dr. Solon O. Richardson, Benjamin B. Wiley, Esq., Capt. Aaron Foster, James Eustis, James Emerson, John White, Franklin Poole, Dea. Caleb Wakefield, Dr. Thaddeus Spaulding, Daniel Pratt, Jr., Samuel Gardner, Jr., Lilley Eaton, Esq., Dea. Addison Flint.
NOTE. - Capt. Thomas Emerson was afterwards elected a member to fill the vacancy occasioned by the decease of Dr. T. Spaulding, who died while the prepara- tions for the festival were in progress.
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A POEM,
DELIVERED AT THE
READING BI-CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION,
MAY 29, 1844, BY LILLEY EATON, OF SOUTH READING.
" Of all the nations, far or near, I count my native land most dear; Of all the cities, east or west, I love my native town the best."
AND when I heard of your command, That I should sing this glorious land, And celebrate, on this great day, With poetry's inspiring lay, The deeds antique, each worthy name Of ancient and centennial fame ; Should brush the cobwebs and the dust From the fair records of the past, Hunt up the ancient settler's staff, And sing the old, quaint epitaph ; Should cull the flowers that still unroll About the ancient cellar hole, Wasting upon the desert air Their beauty and their fragrance there ; Rehearse the progress of that race, Who first made this their dwelling-place, Drove out the savage, wolf, and bear, And made the forest to retire ; Who scattered fruits and flowers abroad, Who raised the temple to their God, And made this western wilderness A pleasant, quiet resting-place ; My heart beat high with honest pride, That you should thus in me confide ; That I should have the noble trust, To celebrate the sacred dust Of those who liv'd, and toil'd, and died, Where we, their children, now reside.
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Rapt with the thoughts of my great charge, Fancy within began t' enlarge Imagination's kindling fire, My willing soul with zeal to inspire ; With haste I hied me to the place
The Muses with their presence grace ;
Inhal'd Parnassian breezes there, And sought to catch poetic fire.
Before Apollo's shrine I knelt,
Pour'd forth the longings that I felt,
My offrings on his altar laid, And to the oracle thus pray'd : " Give me old Hercules, his zeal And strength, to roll old Time's great whee Back on the ages of the past,
And turn up centuries, at least ; Give me the wingèd horse, whereon, O'er the long track of times by-gone, High-mounted, I may ride and see The wonders of antiquity ; Give me Briarean hands, and skill T'employ them all, with ready will ;
To dig, mid dust of years gone o'er, For ancient, curious, valued lore ; To chisel new upon the stones, Which tell where rest our fathers' bones, The odd inscriptions wrote thereon, The old death's head, the angel's horn, - And O, that I possess'd, beside, Old 'Zekiel's power, who prophesied ; That I might call the slumbering dead To rise from their long, darksome bed ; And live again, a mighty host, To grace this our centennial feast. Give me, at least, to ascend thy seat, And, standing humbly at thy feet, Show me old Time's perspective glass, Make pristine years before it pass, That I may see, and learn and tell What wonders our old sires befell."
Apollo smil'd, and struck his lyre, - Bright sparkled forth poetic fire ; Sweet " music of the spheres " I heard, And soon I caught this gracious word : -- " Enter my courts ; to you the old Historic page I will unfold : - Your native land, your ancient sires, To gratify your warm desires,
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I'll bring before your wond'ring view, As they appear'd long time ago. Four different views, each different stage, As Reading look'd from age to age, I'll draw from th' old ancestral halls, Where now they grace the dusty walls. Select the years that best will please you, I'll spread them on a map before you." I thank'd the oracle divine For words so gracious and benign ; " Give me. for picture number one, The year our township first begun ; Then number two, and three and four, As each half century circled o'er."
Within a temple, large and high, Where stores of antique science lie, Within a dark recess, I found Th' historic priestess of the ground, With magic lantern in her hand, Of compound lens and flaming brand ; And on th' illumined plane she threw A diagram of brilliant hue, Whereon, the face old Reading wore In sixteen hundred forty-four.
I scann'd the picture. thus unroll'd, To learn the story that it told, - Fair, lovely lakes, with sparkling wave, Where fowls, unscar'd, their plumage lave ; The flowing, rolling, pleasant river, All look'd as now, and will forever ; But all the balance of the map Show'd nature in its wildest shape. A forest deep, scarce yet explor'd, Where savage beasts both roam'd and roar'd, Where bears ferocious boldly prowl'd, And wolves and wild-cats nightly howl'd. But in the Southern part I see The rising smoke curl light and free, Floating above the lofty trees, Borne upward by the rising breeze ; A closer look shows here and there, Half hid by branches stretching o'er, The settler's cottage, rude and small, Its roof of thatch, of logs its wall ; On either side attach'd thereto, The barn appears, and hog-sty too ;
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In front, the children and the pig Together play, and run, and dig ; Within, the sober matrons sit, And spin, and weave, and sew, and knit ; Without, the lowing, bleating herd
Browse up such food as woods afford ; And, clearing up the fertile tracts, The sturdy settler swings his axe ; With homespun breeches, buckled tight, With hempen frock, and cock'd up hat, With leather apron, tied before, And shoes with bearskin cover'd o'er ; His loaded gun stands resting near, To shoot, if need be, wolf or bear.
I ask'd the dame, who thus unroll'd This ancient map of Reading old, To write, above each cottage door, The name its ancient owner wore ; And, lo ! forthwith, each worthy name Shone clearly on this roll of fame.
And first I saw upon the spot, - Where now, in place of lowly cot, A spacious house stands high and proudly, -- The old log hut of Deacon Cowdrey ; Where now resides the oldest man At present living in the town ; An odd, eccentric sort of creature,
Who's always call'd old Grandsir Sweetser ;
A man who 's had the fortune rare . To vote at an " Election Fair," To the surprise of every one, With son, grandson, and great-grandson ! This ancient deacon, that I nam'd,
Was long in this old township fam'd ; Was selectman and public clerk, The man to do the penman's work ; And all these trusts, as it appears, Discharg'd for more than forty years.
I farther look'd ; and on the hill, Where now the heirs of John Gould dwell, Upon the western slope or pitch, There liv'd old Zachariah Fitch ; His name he gave to hill and lane, A name they both as yet retain ; 'T was said, "so narrow was that street, That loaded teams could not there meet !" This Goodman Fitch was deacon too, And I have heard the story true,
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That when his neighbors were attack'd, As with first settlers is the fact, With chills and heat, with cold and shiver, Sure consequence of aguean fever, And so desisted from their labors, And crawled about among their neighbors, Old Father Fitch would laugh to scorn Their shiv'ring pains and looks forlorn, Would call them lazy, 'fraid of work, And thus crack on the cruel joke ; But soon it happen'd, we are told, The aguean fever, and the cold, Seiz'd Mister Fitch, to his great grief, And set him shiv'ring like a leaf. His neighbors then, with roguish haste, Came to console their friend's distress : "O, Deacon Fitch ! you lazy, too ! Come, go to work, we'll venture you !" " Ah," cried old Zachery, with a sigh, " You were not half so sick as I."
I farther search'd; and on the plains, Where now James Emerson remains, There liv'd, untouch'd by breath of scandal, Good Deacon Sergeant Thomas Kendall, And on his tombstone you may see, Inscrib'd in ancient poetry : - " Here in the earth we lay, One of the seven of this church's foundation ; So to remain till the powerful voice say, Rise in health, a glorious habitation ; A pattern of piety and of peace, But now, alas, how short his race ! Here we mourn, and mourn we must, To see Zion's stones like gold laid in the dust." His wife outliv'd for many years The partner of her youthful days, Was fam'd through all the region round, As the best nurse that could be found ; She had ten daughters, and each one, When married, christen'd her first son Kendall, and thus we may infer Why 't is these names so oft occur. This ancient mother lived to see Nine scores of her posterity, Enjoy'd the power, before she died, Of saying what's to most denied :- " Rise, daughter, to thy daughter run, Thy daughter's daughter has a son."
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A relic of this famous nurse Has been preserv'd and shown to us ; Excuse me, ladies, when I tell it, I've got old mother Kendall's skillet ! And here it is, the identic pot She used for puddings, and what not ! *
Again the diagram I scann'd ; And near the place, where now there stand The buildings own'd by Major Winn, Old Richard Walker's house was seen ; Of Reading train-band he was first Who held the Captain's lofty trust ; A man of faith and courage great, To fight the battles of the State ; And thus we find, that with his men, He went to Saugus, now called Lynn, And fought the eastern Indians there, " Whose poison'd arrows fill'd the air ; And two of which, these savage foes Lodg'd safely in old Walker's - clothes " But when the order went about To let the great guns thunder out, Old Johnson t says, " their mighty shocks, Their rattling echoes 'mong the rocks, So scar'd these Indians with the sound, That, with all haste, they quit the ground ; And, like the ancient Syrian host, In great dismay they fled the coast."
And on the same identic land, Where Smith, the Deacon, lately own'd, Old Richard Nichols did reside, There liv'd and labor'd, pray'd and died.
Giving the map another look, On Cowdrey's hill, near Bare-Hill Brook, I find the now forsaken spot Where Jonas Eaton rear'd his cot ;
The unfill'd cellar, swarded o'er,
. The fruit-trees shading it before, Some scattering roses, ling'ring round, On this deserted, ancient ground, Alone remain, the fact to tell, Where this old settler once did dwell.
* An iron kettle, actually owned by Dea. Thomas Kendall, two centuries ago, used for making hasty puddings, frequently loaned to the Indians, and known as Mother Kendall's skillet, was here shown to the audience.
t See Johnson's Wonder-working Providence of Zion's Saviour in New England.
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Old Eaton, as the record says, Was selectman in former days, Was farmer too - and if he fail'd To make the land a product yield, No want of crops was found inside, The children grew and multiplied. And like their ancient namesake, who The old sirname of Eaton drew Upon himself, because, by day or night, He would indulge his appetite, So they great eaters too became, And ate them out of house and home, And scattering from the homestead round, You'll find them now all o'er the town ; And as those plants will thrive the best, That, after all, are worth the least, So this old race have long been spreading O'er ev'ry part of ancient Reading.
Concerning one of this old race, A wondrous tale I must rehearse : Some seventy years ago, or more, He died, his Christian name was Noah ; He liv'd in that old honor'd mansion, That Deacon Jacob owns, his grandson ; Another house was standing near, Where now the Spaulding buildings are. 'T was owned by Ephraim Weston's heirs, The Weston homestead, it appears ; This house was haunted, it was said, And fearful noises there were heard : The startling raps, by hands unknown, The child-like cries, the horrid groan, The doors self-open'd, and the chairs, Unaided, rocking on the floors, Till soon the house deserted stands, Fear'd and avoided on all hands. About this time old Noah died, Was gather'd to his fathers' side .; And on one dark and dismal night, When moon and stars were hid from sight, The old town-clock had toll'd the hour Of midnight, some two hours before, One Thomas Richardson was found Within the old town burial-ground, Walking along among the graves, Near where the lakelet spends its waves ; With gun and game-bag, pouch and horn, And other traps to hunters known,
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Was trudging on to try his luck, In sitting for the untam'd duck, - When, suddenly, a mighty sound Came rushing fearful all around ; It seem'd as if the earth and heaven Were to one great concussion driven ; A light unearthly glimmers round ! A form starts rising from the ground ! With face all ghastly, pale and white, And body wrapp'd in winding-sheet ! The spirit shakes his palsied hand, And bids the fright'ned hunter stand ! Who quakes through ev'ry joint and pore, As he beholds old father Noah ! His hair erect stands stiff and straight, His heart with rapid thumpings beat ; He, trembling, calls on Heaven to save, And hears a message from the grave ; Agrees t'obey the dead man's prayer Who straightway vanish'd into air. The nature of this ghostly prayer Old Thomas would not e'er declare, Except that noises, heard before, Would 'larm the haunted house no more.
About one other of this race, A legend here must have a place : Of one, whose house stood on those stones, Where now John Pope, the deacon, owns ; One 'Thaniel Eaton, I've been told, Deep-blinded by the love of gold, - That cursed love which works all evil, And makes men act just like the devil, - 'T was when our fathers sought applause In the old French and Indian wars, Once saw, within his quiet home, A stranger, pale and trembling, come ; A man, impress'd perhaps to go, Against his will, to fight the foe, Had now deserted from his post, And sought to gain his freedom lost ; He to this ancestor appeal'd, Implor'd to be awhile conceal'd, Until the ardor of pursuit Should rise, pass over, and abate ; Nathaniel promis'd he would give Asylum to the fugitive ; And, hunting up a sly retreat, This poor deserter did secrete.
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But when soon after it was told, That a reward in shining gold Would be paid over to the man, Who this deserter should return, Old Eaton's charity gave way, And sordid mammon took the sway ; He seiz'd his lodger, bound him tight, And back to camp he bore him straight, Receiv'd the bribe his baseness earn'd, And on his journey home return'd ; But ere he quite had left the ground, He thought he would just look around, - O! dreadful sight ! the man he bare Already hanging in the air ! "T is said, that while upon their way Back to the camp the man did pray, " That Heaven its direst curse would send On him, who thus betray'd his friend ; " Fear seiz'd the traitor, inward dread, The dead man's curse was on his head ; He found no peace where'er he went, His days in misery were spent, Till, Judas-like, he quit his pelf, And straightway went and hung himself. And some there are, think they can trace, Through four successions of his race, The consequences of that curse, Pronounced upon old Eaton's house.
One story more, and I'll let be The ashes of this family : Of Reuben Eaton, I must quote One entertaining anecdote : He liv'd within those cottage walls, Where Adam Hawkes the senior dwells ; A place that once was occupied By Felches, who remov'd or died, And since by Pomp, a man of color, Than whom, ne'er liv'd a better fellow. 'T was when the tocsin, loud and shrill, Thundering along, o'er dale and hill, Among our valiant sires arrive, In se'enteen hundred se'enty-five ; And while his neighbors, bustling round, Caught up such arms as first they found, And hurried off upon the run, Our hero coolly took his gun And wash'd it out, new flint put on, Replenish'd his old powder-horn,
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His bullet-pouch he well supplied, And ev'ry preparation made ; With rapid steps he then mov'd on Along the road to Lexington. He met the foe on their return From Concord, routed, tir'd, and worn ; Forthwith he joined th' exciting chase, And choosing some sly hiding-place, Along the road, somewhat ahead, On which the flying British sped, Behind a house, a tree or wall, He there let fly th' unerring ball ; And as he said, when thereof speaking, " He did enjoy most glorious picking ;" But staying longer than he ought, To give another, one more shot, The flanking guard, with rapid march, For secret shooters making search, Surpris'd our hero at his post, And, hasting, captur'd him-almost - But our brave friend had no desire, The foeman's galling chain to wear, So, starting from the scene of strife, He "put her through," as for dear life ; The British shot came whizzing on, To bring this saucy rebel down, But he the flash perceives and falls, And o'er him pass the harmless balls ; Then springing up, he onward runs, - Again crack off the British guns - Again he drops upon his face, Unhurt amid the dang'rous chase ! The foe, supposing they had slain The man, march'd on, and he again Sprang to his feet and thus got clear, But not until he heard them swear, "That twice they 'd pierc'd that Yankee's liver, But still he'd run as fast as ever."
And near old Jonas Eaton's ground, I trace the spot, where once was found John Damon's ancient domicil, A man of note and pious will ; Was Selectman for many years, Honest and faithful, it appears ; Samuel, his son, as I've heard say, When he was feeble, old and gray, While riding 'long, 'side Reading pond, Near where A. Foster's house is found,
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His aged wife behind him sat, When by a sudden, hasty fright, They both were thrown from off their horse, And aged Samuel found a corse. A son of Samuel, John by name, Who, to this western parish came,* Built yonder ancient Damon mansion, Now occupied by his great-grandson ; A relic of the first nam'd John Has been preserv'd and handed down. It shows us how, in pristine days, Our early settlers ground their maize,
While yet the corn-mill, with its wheel, Did not exist to give them meal ; Their mills were work'd, unhelp'd by water, Here 's Father John's, a horn-bean mortar, In which he bruised his corn and rye, To make his samp and hominy.t
Again I scann'd the diagram, And soon espied the ancient home Of old Frank Smith, of whom 't is said, For jack-knife new, with double blade, He did induce an Indian chief To make conveyance of the fief Of large and valued tracts of land Into his own soil-grasping hand. They lay around that little lake, That now the name, " Smith's Pond," doth take ; His house, which now remaineth not, Was situated near the spot Where liv'd and died old Doctor Hart, A man well skill'd in Galen's art ; ' Who, in that dark and trying hour, When we defied old Britain's power, Among the first was found to go And risk his life to meet the foe. A son of Francis, Ben by name, First rais'd that apple, known to fame, So juicy, rich, of flavor fine, That still for him is called " the Ben." Ben married for his youthful wife, To be the partner of his life, Old Peter Palfrey's daughter bland, # Who planted, on her husband's land,
* The celebration was held at the West Parish of " Reading."
t A veritable horn-bean mortar, two hundred years old, the property and workmanship of John Damon, a first settler, was here shown to the audience.
# Peter Palfrey was one of the first settlers of Salem, and removed to Reading, where he died, in 1663 - his descendants remain at Salem.
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A little tree, its fruit the same They call'd Jeho'den, her Christian name, And e'en till now you still may see The old Jeho'den apple-tree.
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