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 43
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A little south of Smith's was seen The ancient seat of Major Green. Down in that portion of the town, Where Charles and Nathan live, and Brown ; Two special traits appear'd to be
Peculiar to this family ; The first, a strong desire to gain Broad acres of the hill and plain,
A heart-case purse, well fill'd and lin'd With gold and silver well refin'd ; And some are present here, who 've seen That curious miser, Nathan Green,
Who liv'd a bach'lor's lonely life, To shun th' expenses of a wife ; Who " would not give one whole hen's egg
To cure the dropsy in his leg"; Who hoarded thousands in the funds, And said, for so tradition runs, "If those, to whom my funds descend,
Take half the bliss my cash to spend, That I've enjoy'd in its pursuit, Why then forsooth they 're welcome to 't."
Another feature of this race, 1. That time does scarcely yet efface, Was this : to give their whole estate Unto their sons, however great ; While daughters had no cash or house To buy a living, or a spouse. These ancient people us'd to wear A wig of artificial hair, - Here's one old Thomas Greene once wore,' Who own'd the mill in days of yore, And who to customers would say : , " I'll promise you, no grist to-day."
Another view the map unroll'd, And show'd what's now call'd " Little World"; Where once an iron furnace stood, That made the castings strong and good ; And where John Wiley's house appears, Its humble, clay-built wall uprears ;
* Old Thomas Greene's wig was here exhibited.
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'T was situated near the ground, Where Ellis Wiley now is found, And occupied those ancient lands, That in his children's children's hands, Have now two hundred years been seen, - The instance sole, 'cept Major Green, Excepting also one more case, Namely, old Thomas Hartshorn's place, Where his descendants still abide, And Joseph Hartshorn does reside. From father John a num'rous race Have spread about from place to place. And for one trait that must be nam'd, This family has long been fam'd : Music, the fair and heavenly maid, Inspiring song and serenade, Breathing, within her vot'ries' ear, Sounds sweet, harmonious, and clear, Has long made members of this race The chosen objects of her grace ; And even now you still may see Sweet singers in this family.
Recurring to another part Of this old entertaining chart, I see, upon the self-same ground Where Abra'm Emerson is found, Josiah Dustin's cottage door, In which there liv'd, in days of yore, Two daughters of this same Josiah, Who caught fierce witchcraft's raging fire, - That horrid madness they were curs'd in, Their names were "Sal " and " Lydia Dustin "; The people thought that they possess'd The devil's power within their breast, And could infernal shapes assume, Could ride on rails or on a broom, And send all sorts of woe and pain, To seize the maiden and the swain ; At length, howe'er, the magistrate These girls arrested for the State, Imprison'd them in Boston jail, Where they their misery bewail ; New light at last the jury reaches, And they acquit these harmless witches.
A little farther north, appear'd The house John Batchelder first rear'd ; It stood upon that pleasant site Since own'd by Evans, now by White.
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At my old map I look'd again, And found the house of Major Swayne ; 'T was situated near the ground Where Stowell, Issachar, is found. This Major Swayne, the records say, Was a great warrior in his day, And in our ancient Indian wars, A victor chief, beloved of Mars ; And when King Philip with his troop, With tomahawk and dread war-whoop, With poison'd arrows and fire-brand, Bore down upon the pilgrim land, Old Major Swayne, with courage true, Forth to the post of danger flew, Was made commander of the free, And led them on to victory. And once, 't is said, it so fell out, While Major Swayne was on a scout, Exploring swamps and other by-land, Within the State of old Rhode Island, He found the Indians, whom he sought, Gathered in force, within a fort. Our hero's numbers being few, He wish'd to hide them from their view, So lurking near their palisade, Conceal'd them there in ambuscade ; Then, bold as e'er a lion was, His glitt'ring steel the Major draws, And, mounting on a rising stone, He cries, in loud, undaunted tone : " We've found the foe, let's storm the fort, To drive them thence will be but sport : Come, Captain Poole, and Sargent Brown, Wheel up your squadrons into line." The Indians heard this fearless boast, And thought there came a mighty host : With terror struck, and wild dismay, They quit the fort and ran away ; Our little band with triumph then Into the empty fortress ran, Unfurl'd the flag of liberty, And gain'd a bloodless victory.
A little farther east, I found The mansion of old Nich'las Brown The same old house, for aught I know, That still is standing down there now.
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A son of Nich'las, John by name, In ancient days, was known to fame, Was Captain, Squire, and Selectman, And liv'd on Aaron Foster's land ; He married for his second wife, To comfort his declining life, The widow Joseph Emerson, Whose husband preach'd in Mendon town ; A son of hers, whose name was Peter, Married the Captain's only daughter, - Another son was Ebenezer, Who married one Bethiah Parker ; And thus was settled in the place The Emerson's most num'rous race.
Another of old Brown's descent, To fight the French and Indians went ; Thomas,* his name ; while on a drive, In sev'nteen hundred fifty-five, To hunt the Indians at New York, And stop their big and boasting talk, Was, with his party, there surprised, And by that ruthless foe was seiz'd, Stript of his hat, and coat, and vest, And sent to grace the victors' feast ; - But Thomas had a nimble foot, As ever stepped in shoe or boot ; Desiring, too, to live and balk The scalping-knife and tomahawk, While through the forest he was led, Escap'd their hands, and homeward fled ; And, leaping like a flying deer, Outrun the foe, and thus got clear ; And when he reach'd old Reading town, Hatless and coatless, tir'd and worn, His friends laugh'd out to see the plight, In which he'd 'scap'd the Indian fight ; But Tom assures them, though they titter, " To run for life 's no laughing matter."
Tom's younger brother, Sam by name, Enjoy'd the high and glorious fame, His blood for liberty to spill At that great battle, Bunker Hill ; Of wounds he there received he died, His country's honor and her pride.
* This Thomas Brown, who was born in 1738, was the son of Jeremiah, who was the son of Samuel, who was the son of Nicholas, who was the son of Cornelius, who was the son of Nicholas, the first settler.
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Another of old Nich'las' race Was once illustrious in the place ; He liv'd where Cutler's buildings are, His name was General Brown, Esquire ; And, in our old colonial war, He shone a bright and martial star ; He fought the foe at Saratog', Crown Point, and at Ticonderog'.
At my old map again a seeker, I find the house of Thomas Parker ; He liv'd where Obed Symonds dwells, Was deacon, too, the record tells.
Another view the map doth turn up, And shows the house of Isaac Burnap 'Twas situated close by where Now live John Brown and Jeremiah.
And to the North, on Saugus River, Where Mister Newcomb's now the liver, I find the ancient Sawing Mill, First built and work'd by one John Poole ; And where soon after one for corn Was plac'd, that now it seems is gone ; This Mister Poole first owned the land Where Deacon Wakefield's buildings stand ; His son, whose name was Jonathan, Was second captain, selectman.
And last, not least, I found the site, By our old fathers consecrate ; And where that humble temple stood, By them first dedicate to God ; 'T was built upon the common lands, Near where the Wiley Hotel stands, In which were certain seats and aisles, Forbid to women, boys, and girls ; Where, if a dog dar'd venture in, Was tax'd a sixpence for the sin ; And then the sexton, with a switch, Drove him, loud-yelping, from the church ; Where Henry Green, their earliest pastor, First preach'd the truths of Christ his Master ; Where Parson Haugh, and learned Brock, Succeeded in the heavenly work.
, But I'm detaining you too long With such old subjects of my song ;
.
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To later years I'll hasten on, For fear you'll think I'd best postpone The balance of my vers'fication To next centennial celebration.
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The magic scene, on which I'd gaz'd With wonder, gratified and pleas'd, Dissolv'd away, - and in its place Old Reading shone, with alter'd face ; - Just fifty years had now pass'd o'er, 'T was sixteen hundred ninety-four.
And as with wonder I behold Our Reading, half a cent'ry old, The first great objects that attract My gaze, that mournful sighs exact, Are sad mausoleums of the dead, - Where death has made the pilgrims' bed ; Where humble gravestones mark the place Of our old fathers' burying-place ; And, as I scann'd the graves around, The solemn truth I quickly learn'd, That out of all that hardy band, Who first were settlers of the land, But four remain'd : old Major Swayne, Old Mother Kendall, of the plain, And Captain Brown, were living still, And old John Damon, of the hill. A town and school-house now is found Within this ancient burial-ground; A house, whose granite bases rest Among the bones of pilgrims blest, And children play without recoil Upon this old sepulchral soil.
Another object meets my view, On this old picture, number two ; The ancient church is taken down, And, in what 's now a burial-ground, Another temple rears its walls, Where " Pierpont " gives the heavenly calls ; Where his successor, Richard Brown, The next old pastor of the town, And William Hobby, learn'd and good, Within its sacred pulpit stood - Hobby - whose son of promise fair, Ere yet he'd fill'd his twentieth year, A senior in old Harvard's walls, By death is seiz'd and early falls ;
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And on his gravestone thus you 'll find His fame engrav'd in classic line : --- " Hic jacet filius Gulielmus, Reverendi, Domini Gulielmus, Et filius Luciæ Hobbi, Nam maximus Collegii, Clarus alumnus Harvardini, Juvenis optima spei,
Obiit in mense Marcii,
Magnæ, deliciæ omni,
Anno mille septengenti,
Atque sex et quinquaginta, Et ætate in viginti."
The windows small of this old house Were made, 't is said, of diamond glass ;
Instead of pews, it had long seats, Where men of age and large estates Possess'd the front and best locations, While younger men in lower stations, Sat next behind, with humble mien, And then the women next were seen, And rear of all, close by the doors, The girls appear, as well as boys.
Close by the church a school-house too, With humble roof, comes to my view, Wherein the children used to pore The spelling-book and psalter o'er.
Over the map I spread my eye, To see what changes I could spy - New fields of cultivated land, Where smiling crops abundant stand ; New houses, scatter'd here and there, Where nought but forest was before ; Apples and pears, and other fruit, Where once the oak and pine had root ; New settlers too, of various name, Have made this settlement their home.
And down where Noah Smith, Esquire, Now builds his altar and his fire, And from his boundless store-house quotes The entertaining anecdotes, "The worthy Captain Herbert " is, A man, who 'd sail'd o'er distant seas, Had "brav'd the battle and the breeze," Had sought this town to spend his days ;
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Was chosen Clerk, as it appears, Of our old town for many years, And, as the records themselves tell, Possess'd great chirographic skill.
New buildings now begin to show, Along the road, through old " North Row"; A family of Pratts is found Where now the Wakefields own the ground ; One Isaac Southwick owns the place, Where now reside the Symonds race ;
Eatons and Emersons are spread, From place to place along the road, And Batchelders upon the soil, Where still their children's children toil. And passing on beyond the river, Where Indians wild, with bow and quiver, Where savage beasts, with hideous sound, Rove fearless through the forest round, A few brave spirits now appear, In spite of perils, settling here.
And near the spot, where now you see One Jacob Gowing's family, One Flint, whose Christian name was George, First rais'd that building, strong and large, In which the early settlers flock'd, When they by Indians were attack'd, And which, for many years, was known, As the old "fort " and " Garrison." Eben and Daniel, George's sons, Were warriors, as tradition runs, Enlisted in their country's cause, And perish'd in the Indian wars. And in those times of fierce alarms, The women us'd to carry arms ; And once, 't is said, old settler Flint, To church, with wife and children went, And left two daughters, brave and fair, To guard the house and take the care ; And as these girls with courage true, Their trusty pistols charged anew, One, pointing to the other's head, Remark'd in careless, sportive mood : " Now Sis, were you an Indian foe, How I would let this pistol go !" No sooner said -than, loud and quick, The ball whizz'd deep in sister's neck ;
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And though this charge no death-wound gave, The slug she carried to her grave.
This race of Flints, in our old town, Have added much to her renown ; - Colonels and squires and politicians, Men, great and learn'd in the professions, Historians and poets too, Whose names are known the country through And now to-day the laurels grace Another of this favor'd race, Another stone from th' same old quarry, Which has, through all our ancient story, Built up so high our township's glory ; Another chip of th' same old block, A smooth, high-polish'd, sculptur'd rock, Comes up a lofty place to claim, Within the temple fair of fame, Ascends and takes the highest niche, Among the diamonds bright and rich, And like the Flint stone, sparkles thence The flash of wit and eloquence.
A little west of Flint's old place, A branch of th' old Eaton race, And scatter'd here and there I found The Uptons, Parkers, Taylors, round, And other names, to speak of now, The time, of course, will not allow.
Passing from hence, our steps we'll bend To what of old was call'd " Woodend," And some of those we 'll try to quote, Who, at this stage, were men of note.
And first, I find upon the land, Where Dana Parker's buildings stand, The homestead of the Boutwell race, A stanch old fam'ly of the place.
And 'gainst the Common, the west side, The Parker family reside, An honor'd race, from which arose The noblest names our record shows.
And on the spot, where now I see One Em'ry Bancroft's family, Old Henry Merrow and his race Long had their home and dwelling-place.
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And farther west, upon the lands, Where now Squire Prescott's mansion stands, Another of that Eaton race, - Who seem to be in ev'ry mess, - One Joshua Eaton own'd the place ; He was old Jonas Eaton's son, Whom we have seen in the old town, Went delegate to General Court, Was otherwise a man of note ; He had a grandson, Joshua, Who went to fight the enemy, And lost his life in Gates's line, At the surrender of Burgoyne.
Still further west, I find the ground, Where Deacon Thomas Bancroft own'd ; Illustrious men of this old name Throng ev'ry page of Reading's fame, I'll name but one - enough to glory in - "Esquire George Bancroft, the Historian."
And near at hand there come to view The Westons' place and Temples' too.
But I must let this picture be, And hasten on to number three. The priestess turn'd the canvas o'er, - 'T was seventeen hundred forty four.
But I'll not stop to specify The objects here that meet the eye, But simply state, in gen'ral phrase, How fifty years have chang'd the place. The fathers, where are they? they 're gone, Their children's children have come on ; Houses improv'd in form and size, New cultur'd lands before me rise. The little scatter'd company Are now a thousand, happy, free ; - Old Parson Hobby, at the South, With wig august, walks stately forth, With buckles bright of monstrous size, Upon his shoes and at his knees ; With solemn gait, his desk ascends, The gospel call of love extends. And at the North, the portals fair Of a new temple now appear, Where Daniel Putnam, their first priest, Spreads out therein the gospel feast.
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The priestess chang'd the scene once more, 'T was sev'nteen hundred ninety-four ; Bright shines our Reading at this stage, Although thrice fifty years of age.
Columbia's eagle, strong and fair, Sails proudly on, midway the air, Majestic emblem to the free, That o'er the land there 's liberty ; On ev'ry hill-top, ev'ry plain, The pole of liberty is seen, And from its gilded summit wave The starry banners of the brave ; A race of patriots now appear, The victor's laurell'd wreaths that wear, Who, when oppression's thunder roll'd Its war-cloud o'er this western world, And when their country's voice was heard, Calling her sons to seize the sword : " Strike, till the last arm'd foe expires, Strike, for your altars and your fires, Strike, for the green graves of your sires, God, and your native land, Rush'd fearless at this battle cry, To meet the foemen that were nigh,
Resolv'd to conquer them or die, Amid their country's band ; " They fought, like brave men, long and well," Thousands of foes before them fell ; They conquer'd, and their country s free, Hurra ! for them and liberty !
Among those great illustrious names, Whose valor thus our homage claims, - Heroes, who rais'd their country's name Above all Greek or Roman fame, - The Reading men distinguish'd stand, A brave, unconquerable ban d; A host, whose numbers, in amount, Exceed what now I've time to count ; These men had now return'd to plough The land they 'd rescued from the foe ; They'd come triumphant from the war, The sons of liberty and law, To walk as freemen on the soil, Enrich'd by blood, secur'd by toil ; To nourish the fair Olive there, And mingle with the fairer fair,
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With mothers and with sisters too, Who 'd help'd with pray'rs the foe subdue A remnant of these braves still live, Our gratitude and love t' receive : There's Sweetser, John, and old Cornelius Who dar'd to tyrants act rebellious ; There's Joseph Hopkins, of Bare Hill, And Ol'vr Walton, living still ; That vet'ran " Shoe Four," of " Ell Pond," Old William Emerson, lives on ; David and William Parker too Are yet among the precious few ; Old Daniel Damon lingers here ; And Wakefield, 'squire, brings up the rear .* Of all that brave and hardy band, That Reading sent to guard the land, That number'd scores, and fifties even,
They're all, we trust, gone home to heaven, Save nine alone, whose ark of life Still floats amid the tempests' strife. Long may these vet'rans live, to see Their country happy, prosp'rous, free ; And when at last the time shall come, That they must go to their long home, In heaven's strength, may they then prove Victorious o'er the monster's grave, By angel bands escorted, rise To meet their Captain in the skies, And there sit down, the vict'ry won,. With all the saints - with Washington !
A new-built church now meets my eyes, Whose top aspires to reach the skies, Where Prentiss mild, with kindly word, Entreats his friends to love the Lord.
And at the north, old Parson Stone, In plain and blunt, but honest tone : " This is the road, that God has given, Walk ye therein, and go to Heaven."
And at the West, upon the lands, Near where their present church now stands, The third old Parish have uprear'd Their earliest temple to the Lord ;
* Since writing the above, the author has learned that Samuel Damon, formerly of Reading, and now living in Lancaster, was a soldier of the Revolution.
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Where Haven preach'd, who was the first Who there discharg'd the watchman's trust ; Where Parson Sanborn, his successor, Rouses the sinner and professor, And by his heavenly eloquence Calls forth the tears of penitence ; - This venerable priest and sage, The pastor of a former age, Still lives ! O, may new days be given, Late may our friend return to Heaven !
But leaving this old map and view, Let's now take up what's fresh and new ; Pass all these types and shadows o'er, 'T is eighteen hundred forty-four ; And we are met to celebrate Our fathers' home, our own dear seat. Then let us hail with joy the land, Where we, its favor'd children, stand ; "Trace ev'ry spot we love so well," In this fair city where we dwell; Shout in the breezes from its hills, And join the music of its rills ; Inhale the fragrance from its fields, And taste the fruit its garden yields ; Unfurl our canvas on its lakelets, And stroll its meads, along its streamlets ; Count up the num'rous muses' seats, Where science holds her lov'd retreats ; Go worship where those shrines appear, That number now some half a score, Whose beauteous portals, op'ning wide, Are now beheld on ev'ry side ; Count o'er the handsome cottages, Tell all the shining palaces, Enumerate the happy throng,
To whom these dwellings fair belong ; And then rejoice that we command The fairest village of the land. Now let us pray that while old Time Rolls on the ages, yet to come, And while our town, with railroad motion,
Improves its wealth and population, Let us entreat our fathers' God, Who long has blest this fair abode, To scatter light and truth abroad ; That future generations here Shall so increase, from year to year,
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In those rich treasures, stor'd in Heaven, To wisdom, knowledge, virtue given, That when the sun's revolving way Shall light our next centennial day, Spectators may with joy behold Those treasures grown an hundred fold.
THE CELEBRATION.
The morning of the 29th of May, 1844, was beautifully clear, and the day proved to be one of the finest which could have been chosen for such an occasion. The rising sun was greeted by a joyous peal from the bells in the several parishes in Old Reading, the whole place was soon alive with excitement and expectation, flags were displayed from the various flag-staffs, and the roads leading to the place of cele- bration were thronged with people wending their way, joyously, to join the great gathering at Union Hall.
At ten o'clock the procession was formed at Union Hall, in the South Parish, in Reading, under the direction of Daniel Pratt, Jr., Esq., chief marshal.
First came the escort, composed of three handsomely uniformed volunteer companies, the "South Reading Rifle Greens," commanded by Capt. Wiley, the " Brooks Phalanx," of Medford, commanded by Capt. Blanchard, and the "Woburn Mechanic Phalanx," commanded by Capt. Winn. The martial bearing of these several companies did credit to their discipline. They marched to the music of the " Malden Band " and the " Marion Band," of Woburn, whose performances sus- tained their reputation as excellent musicians.
Then came the orator and the poet of the day, the president and first vice-president, followed by the second vice-president and the chaplains. Immediately succeeding these came the committee of arrangements, with their families, four deep. Then came the coach with the soldiers of the Revolution, and just after it two gentlemen and four ladies, clad in the garb of the olden time. These "last of the cocked hats," who, while the soldiers of the Revolution seemed young again, appeared to have grown as suddenly old, attracted much attention. After the "old folks " came the choir, then the invited guests, with their ladies ; these were followed by the clergymen, physicians, and lawyers, resident and non-resident, with their ladies, and the procession closed with the citi- zens and strangers generally, with their families.
The procession passed through the main street of the village, thence
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up the Common between the elms, from which was suspended the inscription, decked with evergreens, "1844, BI-CENTENNIAL." At the entrance to the field selected for the exercises of the day an arch was erected, bearing the motto, executed in old style, "MDCXLIV incor- porated." A platform for the officers of the day, speakers, invited guests, etc., was raised, and seats for the audience erected on rising ground in the form of an amphitheatre, where about four thousand per- sons listened to the exercises with great interest.
The services on the field commenced with music from the Malden Brass Band, which, with the " Marion Band," discoursed sweet music in the field, on the march, and at the pavilion. An appropriate prayer was then offered by Rev. Aaron Pickett, of Reading, South Parish, and passages of Scripture, selected from the Psalms, and adapted to the occasion, were read in a distinct, forcible, and devout manner, by the Rev. E. W. Allen, of Reading, North Parish, the chaplains of the day. The choir then sung, to the tune of St. Martin's, the following selected hymn, with fine effect : -
" Let children hear the mighty deeds Which God performed of old ; Which in our younger years we saw, And which our fathers told.
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