USA > Massachusetts > Franklin County > Conway > History of Conway (Massachusetts) 1767-1917 > Part 15
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I scarcely know of a greater pleasure than on some charming morning, with rod in hand, and with basket on one's arm, to stroll along your water-brooks, and fill the basket with flower
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and fern, with a lower tier of speckled trout gathered by many a rock and shady nook. I rarely find a day which brings me more quiet pleasure than when I wander through these forests and listen again to the songs of the wood birds, the drumming of the partridge, the barking of the squirrel. It is restful on a quiet summer day to repose on some hillside in the shadow of a great rock, where it was placed by its Creator. It is interesting and suggestive to sit by some crumbling hearthstone, by the old cellar of a deserted and forgotten home, now given over to the wood- chuck and the fox, where happy children once played, where old flowers still grow, where the rose and the lilac linger; or, it may be, to repose in the shade of some old elm or maple planted there long ago by loving hands long since at rest.
With this fine building, whose plans we all admire, the street and the town should be in harmony, both well kept, each a thing of beauty. How can the beauty of this town be increased? In no way better, I think, than in the cultivation and preservation of your trees.
Years ago in the old academy, which stood up there on yonder hill, I learned to translate from the Latin this sentence, "The good husbandman plants trees the fruit of which he may never enjoy." It is said that Webster's advice to young people about to establish a home was, "Plant trees. Adorn your grounds. Live for the benefit of those who shall come after you." Down in the river towns of Connecticut valley their chief adornment is found in their fine old elms which it has taken centuries to pro- duce. . I have referred to the old elms which parson Emerson once planted in front of his Conway home. I have said that he preached in this town for more than forty years, and he was a man of ability and of power. I have in my young days occa- sionally found a sermon of his laid away on some closet shelf quite forgotten. I have seen somewhere a list of his personal expenses preserved as a curiosity. But after these many years, and as a result of his long and able pastorate in this town, I know of nothing to-day more beneficial, more beautiful, more enduring than the two old elms, which in one-half day, he may have planted.
Down at my early home there are several maples, which were planted by two boys nearly one hundred years ago. Two of them
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are trees of unusual beauty. Those two boys lived their long lives here in Conway, each lived to be more than eighty years of age, and several years ago both of them passed away. Five generations have played beneath their shade, but those fine old maples still wave their branches in the summer air, and give to the old home one of its chief adornments.
I knew another tree, a maple that once stood in this town, large, old, and beautiful. It was a shapely tree. It was strong and healthy, an ornament and a delight. It must have stood there more than one hundred years to have reached such full perfection. It stood on a neighboring farm, and many a time in my happy boyhood I have climbed into its branches, or rested in its cooling shade. A subsequent owner, who has also passed away, cut it down for fuel one winter's day, and only a decaying stump marks its side. I feel in passing like "Walking backward with averted gaze to hide the shame." To remove such a tree is a calamity beyond description. I remember another; an elm of later growth and of unusual promise. It spread its fine branches with wondrous symmetry. It was young and thrifty, and shaded not a foot of valuable soil. That, too, has gone. It is, indeed, a pity to remove so charming an ornament.
And so I say, citizens of Conway, observe your Arbor Day, plant your trees, and guard their growth. There is no other and better way to make this town beautiful. At my distant home in the West, men are employed on account of their discernment and taste to beautify and care for the parks and boulevards. They plant forest trees, the elm, the maple, the birch, the oak, and the ash, and water and tend them well. The trees are regarded there, and I think everywhere, as the finest ornament a park or boule- vard can have. Here in Conway the elm, the maple, the ash, and the birch thrive and flourish in their native soil. Spare then your trees, and they in turn will reward you with their surpassing beauty. I have read that the chestnut, the walnut, and the maple may be planted here with fine success on barren hills. It is well worth a trial.
Pardon one more suggestion. Fine state roads are being built in Massachusetts. You have able men in Conway. Bring this road to your town; and then on some fine day drive out among your valleys and hills and thank the good Lord that your
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"lines are cast in such pleasant places, and that you have so goodly a heritage."
I have in mind another way in which this town can be made more attractive. There is a Fish Commission in this Common- wealth, and Conway is entitled to its share of the spawn. Secure that share. Place them in your clear, cool brooks and ponds, and then there will be enough for all.
In various ways this town can be made, not only more attractive, but exceedingly beautiful. Nature has done so much. Keep all in harmony with the fine adornment about to be erected here.
Many a loyal son of Conway shared in your indignation a few months ago when some unhappy writer wrote his article on the decadence of New England towns, and published his unkind criticism. He could not have made his observations here. He could not have been familiar with your growth, your prosperity, and your people. He could not have noticed your new reservoir while speeding along on your electric cars. It may be that these cars propelled by invisible power would have impressed the writer less than the old stagecoach of a past generation, drawn by its six prancing horses, as it hastened through your village. That, however, was the show, but this the substance. The invisible powers are often the mightiest. The quiet depths of ocean are more potent than the foaming spray.
It may be that there have of late been greater opportunities in the West for financial success or for professional distinction than are to be found in the Eastern states; but we are all thankful if we were born in Conway. We are thankful to have had around us, in our early days, the sweet and pure influences of New England. We like to send our children here that they may attend your schools, become attached to your hills, and have the same quiet, ennobling joys that we are so glad to remember. Every man who is out in life's busy whirl looks back with fondness to his origin, and longs for the time when he can return and be one of you again. I can still recall some of the places we selected when we were boys in Conway as the sites for our future homes in our maturer years; and now, when we speak of "home," we still refer to Conway, and when we speak of Heaven, we often think of those who have passed up yonder from your hills.
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Those of us who were born in Conway remember well the fine old men and charming women of the last generation, grand men and beautiful women. Let me recall some of their individual and family names. There were Deacon Avery, Colonel Rice, Deacon Clary, the Drs. Hamilton, old and young, General Howland, General Whitney, Captain Childs, Captain Parsons, Dr. Rogers, Colonel Billings; and then there were the Clarke family, the Fields, the Arms, the Bartletts, the Boydens, the Newhalls, the Packards, and many more whose lives and whose memories are closely identified with the history of this town.
A few years ago a loyal old resident of Massachusetts, one of her leading citizens, was returning from the West by the Hoosac Tunnel route. On his journey he had made the acquaintance of a bright newspaper man of the West, who had been invited to come East and take charge of one of your leading papers. He was then on his way, for the first time, to look this country over, and was examining all closely and with great interest. In the early morning, as the train emerged from Hoosac Mountain, and came winding along down among the rugged hills of Zoar, he called my aged friend to the platform and asked him to look around. "What a country!" he exclaimed. "All woods, rocks, and barrenness. What is it good for? Nothing. What will it produce? Nothing." "Wait a moment," replied the loyal old son of Massachusetts, "let us see. Did you ever hear of Mary Lyon, the founder of Mount Holyoke Seminary?" "Oh, yes." "Those hills up there to the right are the hills of Buckland. It was her native town. Do you see those fine hills beyond?" "Yes." "They are in Cummington. It was there that William Cullen Bryant was born, and there he still loyally and lovingly maintains his summer home. Just beyond us here (he said as the train was flying on) we shall come to the handsome hill town of Conway. It was there that Marshall Field and William C. Whitney were born." And then this loyal old statesman, with pardonable pride, exclaimed, "I tell you, my friend, this country has produced something."
The gift of a free public library is an event of the greatest moment in your history. Filled with books and pictures, and with things of beauty, it will stand here at the head of this, your principal street, as a help and an inspiration long after those who
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have gathered here to-day have passed away, and most of us been forgotten. In the years to come it will be a constant reminder to the young men and women of Conway of life's great possibilities. It will stand here, an ornament, an incentive, and a guide. It will place, within reach of all, the means whereby each one can choose more intelligently, the path which to him will be the most attractive, the pursuit in life which will please him best. "Free to all" will be its welcome. It will recognize no privileged class. It will be a blessing, alike to all. When this gift was first announced, I read in your papers this simple direction: "Make it as large as necessities require, and make it as fine as any in New England."
It will stand here in Conway a monument to its founder, but those who know him well, know that this is not his purpose. He needs no such monument. In the memory of his early home, he builds this library, and in the upbuilding of the town, he will find his reward.
He is to-day placing in your midst the finest, the most beauti- ful of all your material possessions.
When, then, the history of this town shall be written, when the record is completed, of those sons and daughters of Conway who in this generation have done the most to adorn and beautify this town, and to bring happiness and blessing to its citizens, I am sure we all admit that first on that list of the deserving shall be placed the honored and honorable name of
MARSHALL FIELD.
A copper box had been prepared to be deposited within the corner foundation stone. It contained a catalogue of the Town Library, as it then existed, a copy of the Chicago Times Herald of May 24, 1900, which contained a description and picture of the Field Memorial Library; a copy of the Springfield Republican of April 15, 1900, with a picture and description of the library; a copy of the Greenfield Recorder of May 16, 1900, containing an illustrated article fully describing the library and giving a sketch of Marshall Field; a copy of the Gazette and Courier of Greenfield of June 30, containing an announcement of the laying of the corner stone July 4, 1900; a copy of the Springfield Republican of July Fourth containing a programme of the day's observance;
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pages of "Picturesque Franklin" illustrating and describing Conway; a copy of the Act of Incorporation of the Library, and photographs of Marshall Field, the donor, and of his father and mother, in whose memory the library was to be built.
The box was deposited in its place by Mrs. Helen Field James amid the applause of the people. Words of dedication and invocation were spoken by Rev. Eugene F. Hunt of the Congrega- tional church. The hymn, America, was sung by the assembly, with the leadership of the band, and Rev. William F. Avery pro- nounced the prayer of benediction.
The work of building went on with skill and with generous carefulness. Messrs. Shepley, Rutan & Coolidge of Boston were the designing architects, the construction being under the special direction of Mr. Coolidge.
The library, which is of purpose distinctly monumental in character, is built in the classic style of architecture in Greek detail. The exterior is of limestone with copper dome and roofs. The building measures 41 feet from sill to the top of the dome. The dome is 25 feet in diameter. The vestibule opens into the rotunda, which is 30 feet square, with floor of marble mosaic in rich colors and surrounded by Ionic columns of solid Brescia Violet marble with a high dado of Brescia Violet marble between the columns.
There is a reading room, rectangular in shape, about 21 feet by 23 feet on either side of the rotunda. In the rear of the rotunda is the stack room, which will accommodate 25,000 or 30,000 volumes.
With the early summer of 1901, the building was ready for its use. Friday, July 13, was appointed for the opening services of dedication. Our native town gives us beautiful days for great observances, with air and sunlight befitting to the occasion. Many recalled the enlivening skies and fields of that day in June, twenty-four years before, when the One Hundredth Anniversary of the incorporation of the town was commemorated. It is probable that no other events since the first occupation of the place have awakened such universal interest, or brought together assemblages so large, as these two. But from the early times there have been many gatherings in Conway in the groves and open fields, and our thoughts go back on these occasions to the
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reports of the great patriotic and political celebrations on Independence Day, especially in the opening years of the nineteenth century; or we have in mind, perhaps, the traditional memories of that sterner call which brought every able bodied man to the Common by the old Meeting House when the cry of Burgoyne's coming ran through the land. The record is long and varied, but thus far there has been no observance that is likely to hold about itself associations and remembrances more pleasing and grateful than those which belong with the opening of this Memorial Library.
Special invitations had gone to all throughout the place; the occasion was for all; all, almost, were there. Many sons and daughters of the town long absent had returned; many strangers were there but not as strangers; county and town officials were there, and librarians, in numbers, from towns near and distant; many personal friends of Mr. Field were with him. A stand had been erected and seats prepared upon the green in front of the library-upon the spot, where long before had been the open playground about the old Brick Schoolhouse.
Mr. Field was early upon the ground. In a walk with Mr. Hunt toward the tent which had been spread for dinner he spoke of the perfect day, of the decorations, of his appreciation of the interest shown in the occasion by the people of the town, and of his own strong affection for the town of his birth. He expressed his belief also that farming, the leading occupation of the town, could be made as profitable as ever, and as profitable in Conway as anywhere else.
Referring to the exercises of the day Mr. Hunt expressed his deep appreciation of the fact that Mr. Field had consented to present the library in a brief address. To this Mr. Field replied that he had much doubt as to the wisdom of his promise to do that. He said that he had never made a speech in his life. He referred to the fact that the young people at the present time become accustomed to speaking in their religious societies and elsewhere more than they did when he was a boy. He said that it was too late for him to begin to make speeches, but that he had promised to say something, and that he was quite willing to do it if it would give the people of the town any pleasure. He added that he had purposed to give the day to Conway,
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and that he had told his Chicago friends that they would have to take care of themselves.
While the assembly was gathering, and before the formal opening of the service, a concert was given by the band of the Second Regiment from Springfield.
Upon the speakers' stand were :-
Marshall Field.
Mr. and Mrs. Lyman D. James.
Mr. and Mrs. Dwight James and Mrs. Lizzie James. Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dibblee, Miss Bertha Dibblee. Mrs. Delia Spencer Caton.
Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Eddy. Mrs. Helen Wells Field. Mr. and Mrs. John W. Gillette.
Mrs. Z. M. Humphrey. Mr. D. P. Clapp and Family.
Mrs. Captain G. D. Sigsbee.
Mr. Hezekiah S. Russell.
Mr. Franklin W. Russell.
Miss Jane A. Russell. Mr. Harry R. Russell.
Mr. Charles Coolidge.
Rev. Eugene F. Hunt and Mrs. Hunt.
Mr. Henry W. Billings.
Miss Mary A. Billings.
Mr. William G. Avery and Mrs. Avery.
Rev. Wm. F. Avery.
Rev. Charles S. Pease and Mrs. Pease.
Rev. E. B. Hinchliffe.
Rev. Charles B. Rice and Mrs. Rice.
Prof. Charles E. Norton and Daughter.
Mr. Arthur P. Delabarre and Mrs. Delabarre.
Mrs. Belle H. Johnson.
Miss Esther Owen.
Mrs. Julia A. Ray.
William G. Avery, Master of Ceremonies, made an appro- priate opening and welcoming address; and he directed the order of procedure.
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Prayer was offered by Rev. Edward B. Hinchliffe, pastor of the Methodist church. Selections of Scripture were read by Rev. Charles S. Pease, pastor of the Baptist church. Rev. Charles B. Rice of Danvers, a native of Conway, gave the Address of Dedication which here follows :-
ADDRESS OF MR. RICE.
Mr. Chairman and Friends :-
We are here again together in the town we love. An occasion of common interest and common gladness brings us from our homes far away or near at hand. Again the summer sun shines here upon us. Again we see around us the bending lines of all these graceful hills, clothed with woods and grasses to their tops. Again we hear the sound of the rapid river that never sleeps, and the voices of the sweet springs and brooks that run among the valleys. Again the place puts its spell upon us with all its changing aspects and its everlasting beauty. Here are the trees the fathers planted, or the forests the fathers spared. Here are the fields they tilled. Here are the houses they built- or the spots where the houses stood. Here they kept the Sabbath days, and met to worship God. Here are the graves in which they from whom our natural lives are sprung were laid in sorrow and in hope. Gathering around us here are the sentiments, the memories, and the imaginations that mark our human lot, the associations and influences of every sort that lighten our days and that hallow the life of man.
Memorial observances are distinctive of man. The other animal tribes that occupy the earth with us, the inhabitants of the sea, the land and the air, have indeed their powers of recollec- tion. They know the places where they have found food or shelter or rest. They come back, some of them, from long migrations to their former homes. But they do not, so far as we can tell, keep in mind, or plan to keep in mind, the events of the past, or the associations they have had with their own companions in life who have ceased to be with them. We may not know all the thoughts they have. But we see no signs with them of gatherings upon days or spots that might be memorable. The beast and the bird have no burial rites; and they do not mark with flower or twig or trodden paths the places of their
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dead. The ties of natural kinship are not strong with them. In a few days or weeks the bird and beast forget parentage and childhood. They do not appear either to look forward to the coming times, or to plan in anything as if they wished to be themselves remembered after they were gone. They have their grateful satisfactions in life; but they have not the thoughts that gather about them the events and the generations of the past, and the generations of the years that are to come. To us alone, of all the living things upon the globe, there is allotted this endowment of life in perpetual present remembrance and foresight, and in constant discernment of sentiments and sym- pathies and obligations and hopes that seem imperishable.
Thus to-day with all these remembrances and anticipations gathering upon us, we offer thanks and grateful homage to the Author of universal life for these vast distinctions He has put upon us, and for this inestimable heritage of our human and rational being. We stand in our thoughts before Him; and we consecrate this memorial in His presence and power.
These memorial acts confirm the things most strong and hopeful in our human lives. They remove our thoughts from the immediate passing days and bear them out, somewhat, upon enduring sympathies and unchangeable hopes. From the failing foothold of our natural life we seem to look abroad upon the fields of immortality; and we draw nigh to the eternity of God.
Such memorials testify also to the coming times of the most precious endowments of human life. They declare their purpose. They perpetuate the thoughts out of which they spring. Thus the man who plans and rears this building speaks to future times of things not perishable, of human affections, of human character and human hopes. Thus we who are permitted to join with him in these services of dedication join also in this testimony to the coming generations concerning the constant worth of all that is rational and sacred in man.
This building speaks for its builder. There are wonderful instruments that catch and record the tones of the human voice, and that can bring them forth again in years and it may be in ages afterward to be heard. This building cannot so preserve the sounds alone of the natural voice. But its speech is more impressive than that of talking mechanisms. It is a recording
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instrument of reason and of affection and of generous public purpose, revealing now and transmitting to the coming times the sentiments out of which it sprang. It can take and hold forever upon itself its builder's thoughts, and give them forth to be re- newed forever upon the hearts of those that look upon it.
The building testifies thus to its giver. It makes it to be known that he has cherished the remembrance of his home and the place of his early life. It shows his wisdom in the forming of a beneficent purpose, practically useful, and elevating and far reaching in its results. It records his enterprise, his capacity, his prosperity, which have enabled him to rear and fill and endow this edifice.
The building testifies to the place where it is set. It does credit to the town. The community has had some share in its purpose and rearing. The first years of the giver's life were here, and here were the lives of his father and mother. The influences of every kind pervading this community have entered into their lives and his life. There are lands and places and social conditions where there could neither be such parents nor such a son. This building implies a recognition in the giver's mind of the worth of the community itself. It expresses, I am sure, a measure of obligation to the place in which his life was nurtured; and it is in a manner a memorial not only to those of his own family stock, but also in part to the men and the women-the living and the dead-of all these surrounding households. It represents churches and schools, laws, freedom and public order. It stands for the companionship of playmates, the kindness and helpfulness of neighbors and friends in all the daily intercourse and occupation of life. It commemorates all the quickening powers of that social state which has made these New England towns to be fountains of intelligence and enterprise and public force. It is a memorial of the things common and sacred with us all.
The building testifies to the worthiness of the father and mother of the man who gives it. This is a primary purpose. This is the mark he has put himself upon it. It is erected and endowed in memory of John and Fidelia Nash Field. John Field was a man direct and distinct in purpose, of practiced sense and capacity. His wife was gracious, refined, and lovely.
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Between them both they balanced the reasons and motives and forces of life. Together they gave stock, substance, sentiment, and quality to the family they nurtured and reared. From these parents these children had the first endowments and appoint- ments of life. This memorial which their son has raised bears witness to the worth of the inheritance he received. It is a costly monument. The inheritance was of inestimable value.
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