USA > Massachusetts > Essex County > Saugus > History of Lynn, Essex county, Massachusetts: including Lynnfield, Saugus, Swampscot, and Nahant > Part 54
USA > Massachusetts > Essex County > Nahant > History of Lynn, Essex county, Massachusetts: including Lynnfield, Saugus, Swampscot, and Nahant > Part 54
USA > Massachusetts > Essex County > Lynnfield > History of Lynn, Essex county, Massachusetts: including Lynnfield, Saugus, Swampscot, and Nahant > Part 54
USA > Massachusetts > Essex County > Swampscott > History of Lynn, Essex county, Massachusetts: including Lynnfield, Saugus, Swampscot, and Nahant > Part 54
USA > Massachusetts > Essex County > Lynn > History of Lynn, Essex county, Massachusetts: including Lynnfield, Saugus, Swampscot, and Nahant > Part 54
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39 | Part 40 | Part 41 | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44 | Part 45 | Part 46 | Part 47 | Part 48 | Part 49 | Part 50 | Part 51 | Part 52 | Part 53 | Part 54 | Part 55 | Part 56 | Part 57 | Part 58 | Part 59 | Part 60 | Part 61 | Part 62 | Part 63 | Part 64
As my eye ranged over the prospect before me, I was insensibly led to con- trast its present appearance with what it might have been two centuries ago. I seemed to behold the dark forests covering the hills and plains-the coast curving naturally round, or broken into points and headlands, where now the stiff squares, wharves, or artificial banks, proclaim that a civilized people reside here. In this very spot, thought I, the Indian bent his bow against the wild beast of the forest; or here, perhaps, the Indian girl might have stood, listen- ing for the sound of the returning oars of an absent brother or lover. A speck appeared among the waves - it seemed the light canoe of the savage, bound- ing to land.
What dreams of light and beauty might have filled the soul of that Indian girl; in what clear tones might the harmonies of nature have sounded their sublime truths to her ear. She heard the voice of the Spirit she worshiped, in the sea, in the thunder, and in the wind. She poured forth her rejoicing songs with the birds, and the anthem of her deeply felt gratitude might have gone up to the throne with as much acceptance as if accompanied by swell- ing organ tones, and echoed back by marble temple walls instead of rocks and hills. She might have read His purity and goodness in the wild flowers of the wood, in the wide and grand scenes around her, in her own happy and free existence, and the existence of all the joyous creation she beheld. Untu- tored, unacquainted with the thoughts of others, or the wisdom stored in the pages of antiquity, she might have possessed intuitive powers, of which we know nothing; pure rills of thought, gushing in beauty, amid solitude and silence ; realms of fancy, brighter than we can imagine.
Or here, perhaps, the tree of peace may have thrown out its strong branches, and nations may have assembled around it; warriors may bave smoked the calumet in its shade. The same moon and stars looked upon them, which are now shining on me; the sound of the mighty rush of the ocean fell on their ears as it now falls on mine. Years have glided silently by, and where are they? The dust reveals not the spot where a nation of proud hearts have
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mingled with it. The maiden, the hunter, have long since gone to their rest. The wave of existence in which they were particles has rolled away, and its sound died upon the air. Surely our country is full of poetical associations. Have we no Ossian to behold the spirit of the warrior on our misty hills? - to sing the forgotten glories of a departed race ? The bustle of a strange people is going on in the land of their fathers.
There is a tinge of melancholy in such reflections; and when the mind glances forward to succeeding ages, and a sense of our own brief course amid these changes of being comes in its reality over the soul, we wonder at the eagerness with which we pursue its trifles, and resolve to chase them no more. The whole human family then appear to us as brethren, and the wider our survey extends through the past and future, the more are we impressed with the folly of those jarring interests which take away the warm and holy dispo- sitions of our hearts, and embitter those waters of life which were intended to flow on in fragrance and sweetness through their short course. We arise from such reflections with renewed desires to dispense our own small measure of happiness around - that though we and the generation to which we belong pass away and are forgotten, our life may be a summer of joy, and our deatl but the welcome entrance into a new and more glorious existence.
- THE FROSTED TREES. Spring, Summer, and Autumn! what witching charms, Ye wear to the poet's eye ! Ye pour forth your wealth to his raptured gaze As ye pass so swiftly by. But Winter comes with his scowling skies, And rudely piping wind ; What beauty or music to waken song, Can the wandering poet find ?
Lo! the earth is sown with precious pearls, And the flashing diamond shines,
And gems that glistened far down in the sea, Or gleamed in the dismal mines. And the graceful boughs like rainbows bend, And spirits are resting there, Having veiled the light of their radiant forms, In the blue of the mantling air.
O! rare, beyond the alchymist's skill, The spell the poet doth hold, For by it the snow and icicle, Aro changed to gems and gold ; And the ice-girt boughs to dazzling thrones, And the folds of the vapor dim Are white-robed angels, whose starry wings Are revealed to none but him.
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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. - MARIA AUGUSTA FULLER.
TO THE LOVED DEPARTED. Ye Spirits of the Dead! Ah! whither are ye fled ? Mid the dim fields of space where do ye roam? O, that through the deep gloom, That gathers o'er the tomb, Some ray of light might shine from your far distant home.
Where is the beaming smile, That lighted, for a while, Our weary feet along life's cloudy way ? The voice, whose lightest words Thrilled the soul's silent chords,
Till the deep hidden strings grew tuneful from its sway.
We watched your parting breath, We saw the chill of death Blanch the fresh cheek, and fix the glazing eye; Shade upon shade fell deep, Of that mysterious sleep, Mantling all that remained - fearful mortality!
We know those forms must change; Perchance amid the range
Of varied forms of beauty, ye may live In fragrant springing flowers, Fairest in forest bowers; Such loveliness to dust renewing power can give.
Where shall we go to find ?- Hath the dull earth enshrined
That smile ?- or doth it beam in the sunlight, Dwell with the rainbow's hues, Or mid morn's sparkling dews, The moonlight pale, or stars that cheer the silent night? That tone have we not heard, When sang spring's earliest bird ? Or when the winds awaked the warbling lyre ? In murmurs of the waves, O'er their deep ocean caves ? The whispering wood ?- each voice of nature's varied choir ? Hath the light ceased to burn? Shall not that tone return
To cheer us as we tread our pathway lone? The spark that lit the whole, That thought, that loved-the soul ! There is a mourning void - where has the spirit gone ? Q2*
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Trust, doubting spirit, trust, When this enclosing dust Thou shalt, upspringing, from thee cast away ; When, with new eye and ear, Thou shalt both see and hear, That smile - that gentle tone- shall greet thee on that day!
There, mingling with the rays Of the eternal blaze, The welcome beam again shall bless thine eye ; And where hosannas ring, When blessed spirits sing, The well-remembered tone shall sound, no more to die!
Thou Sun of Righteousness ! Thy rays can warm and bless E'en the chill cloud that gathers o'er the grave; Till its dark folds grow bright, Changed to a robe of light ! O! shine on us, bright Power! to heal us, and to save. -
TO A SEA BIRD.
Why hast thou left thy ocean home ? What seek'st thou here with wandering wing? Thou loved'st the bounding wave, the foam ; Thou would'st not love the bowers of spring.
The land birds, in their gilded plumes, Tune forth their songs from every stem,- With wild, sad notes, and dull hued wings, Thou may'st not come to dwell with them.
In our green woods the scented flowers Look pure as shells in thine own sea, And blue lakes slumber, fountains gush, --- But these can have no charms for thee.
Back to thy native home! behold! Yon pink and purple clouds have thrown Upon its calm, unrippled breast, Colors scarce fainter than their own.
And see thy mates - how swiftly o'er The mirrored waters now they glide ; Their white wings take the roseate dyes. And shine reflected in the tide.
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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. - CHARLES F. LUMMUS.
Still onward, onward! would'st thou seek Those billowy clouds far in the west? Mid their bright waves perchance thou dream'st Thy weary, toilsome wing may rest.
For thou hast seen the strong wind sweep All beauty from the changing sea, And leave for all yon loveliness, A terrible deformity. '
Methinks e'en now thy sad voice calls In vain upon thy hapless mate - Ah! wreck'd and lost -for thee and her The welcome calm has come too late.
And thou hast left in weariness, The lone sea for the lonelier air Seek not earth's bowers, or clouds, for peace; Alas! thou wilt not find it there.
Know. thou, the green, sun-lighted earth Thou passest o'er with wing so free, Holds many a prisoner, who would joy, Could they but fly away with thee.
For darker than the ocean storm, O'er joy's soft morn doth sorrow close,
And woe-worn mortals seek like thee, A calmer haven of repose.
But not like thee in vain. For them, More glorious than the clouds of even, A realm of joy and bliss appears - An isle of rest - a promised heaven.
CHARLES FREDERIC LUMMUS. - 1801-1838.
Mr. Lummus was born on the 17th of August, 1801, and was one of the ten children of Dr. Aaron Lummus, who was a pop- ular physician among us for nearly fifty years. His education was as good as could be procured at the common schools of the day ; and when at the proper age, he entered the printing office of Lincoln and Edmands, in Boston, to learn his trade.
He grew up to be a remarkably intelligent and companionable young man, though his natural eccentricities would not unfre- quently assert themselves in a manner not the most agreea-
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ble. He was for many years an intimate friend of Mr. Lewis, who, on his decease, paid the following comprehensive though brief tribute to his memory. " He was an excellent musician, and a choice spirit. Few young men in Lynn were ever more extensively beloved or more deserved to be. But thou art dead ! 'Alas ! poor Yorick !' Thine is a loss to be thought about, and thou shalt long live in our love."
Mr. Lummus was never married ; which was a little remarka- ble, considering his fondness for refined female society, and considering that it was his own conviction that a suitable mat- rimonial connection would add much to his happiness. But the slender income afforded by his business, no doubt operated to the discouragement of an attempt in that direction. It has been said, however, that an early disappointment led to a determina- tion never to wed.
After concluding his apprenticeship, he worked in Boston, as a journeyman, a year or two, and then returned to Lynn, bring- ing a second-hand Ramage press, and a small quantity of second- hand type. His next step was to issue his paper, the prospectus of which had been before the public, for some time. And on Saturday, the third of September, 1825, the LYNN WEEKLY MIRROR made its debut-the first newspaper ever printed in the town. Its appearance was certainly not brilliant, either in an intellectual or a mechanical way, measured, at least, by the publications of the present time. There were but nineteen lines of editorial matter in the whole paper. And there was no greeting to the public, nor allusion, in any shape, to the pros- pects, plans, or expectations of the publisher. An original tale occupied five of the little columns, and an orginal poem, filled another. Mr. Lewis, I think, wrote both of these. Three or four advertisements appeared on the third page; and the rest of the paper was made up of news items and short extracts. The four pages of the sheet - that is the printed part - were each a fraction less than nine inches by eleven in size ; the type was much worn, the ink poor, the paper coarse and dingy. The size of the type was long primer - a type one size smaller than that from which this page is printed - excepting about one column of brevier and two of pica. And, on the whole, the expectant public can hardly be charged with undue fastidious-
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ness for failing to bestow very high encomiums on this new-born child of the press. Mr. Lummus told me, among other things, while recounting the experiences of that eventful period, that he sent a copy to the New England Galaxy, then under the charge of Mr. Buckingham, requesting an exchange, but re- received his own back, with the second E in the word WEEKLY, changed to an A. The fifth number appeared in a somewhat enlarged form. The same width of column was preserved, but some five inches were added to the length, making a paper of much better shape. But this was done without boasting or any flourish of trumpets. There was not a line of editorial on the subject; nor was there, indeed, a line on any subject, in that number. Two of the columns were in pica-a type one size larger than that from which this page is printed - and the use of that large type was continued, to some extent, for a long time, he the publisher, taking all suitable opportunities to gravely assure his readers that it was for the benefit of the aged people whose eyes were dim; and many thanks did he receive for his kindness. The Mirror was first printed in a small wooden building that stood on the west side of Market street, just where Tremont street now opens. But in four or five years the office was removed to another small building, at the west end of the Com- mon, the most active business of the town at that time being centered there.
For a considerable time the Mirror could boast of but little in quantity, in an editorial way, though what there was, was very good in quality ; and it soon became a very readable paper ; for as the proprietor gathered confidence and became more expe- rienced, he displayed most excellent taste and judgment in his selections. He had an open eye for the substantial and useful as well as the exciting and entertaining, and was diligent in looking up matters of local interest. And his. brief remarks were often strikingly comprehensive. He seldom attempted an article more than a square or two in length, and was never guilty of spreading over half a column what might just as well be expressed in twenty lines. His first anxiety was to get at the "nub," as he expressed it. And he took full liberty with the productions of correspondents, sometimes mercilessly pru- ning out what to them seemed the grandest passages; and
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when they complained, the ready answer was, "There's no nub to it."
Mr. Lummus was very social in his disposition; was ac- quainted with every body ; was an accomplished musician, and something of a military man. He likewise interested himself in political affairs but was too honest to gain a reputation for stability as a partisan. In all intellectual and recreative enter- prises, from the dignified lyceum to the jovial chowder party, he was ready and active, and hence frequently found himself in a situation where he was able to pick up matter for useful or amusing " squizzles," as he termed his short articles. And he was able in a short time to gather around him quite a number of very acceptable correspondents. Indeed it was in the little columns of the Mirror that the beautiful effusions and essays of Lillie, Finella, and Curtin first appeared-to say nothing of the constant contributions of Lewis and others.
Mr. Lummus earned for himself the popular nickname of " Philosopher," in a rather amusing manner. Lawyer Gates - of whom something is said under date 1852 - being in the office one day, abruptly inquired -" Charles, what does the F. in your name stand for ?" "Philosopher," was the instantaneous response. The ready wit set so well on the old gentleman that he at once gave currency to the self-bestowed sobriquet.
He had a strange propensity to frequently change the ap- pearance of his paper. Every little while his sheet would appear, perhaps with a new head, a different width of column, or some fanciful display of ornamental type. His means were limited, and his office but poorly supplied with materials. An ancient Ramage press, which looked as if Franklin might have worked at it, a small font of second-hand long primer, a little brevier, and a very few little fonts of small ornamental letter, with a case of pica and a few pounds of great primer, were almost every thing he had. His three stands were so aged as to totter on their legs, and his galleys were warped or cracked. The only large type in the office, for years, were two or three alpha- bets of four line pica antique capitals, which served for the heading of handbills, and at one time for the heading of his paper. With such a fitting out, he could not, of course, be expected to turn out any very elegant specimens of the art. But
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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. - CHARLES F. LUMMUS.
at that time such displays in job printing as are now made, were not thought of. In March, 1832, the writer purchased of him his whole establishment, for two hundred dollars, paying quite as much as it was worth. He had, however, in the mean time, procured a small font of new long primer, and sent off the old press, hiring a small iron one.
As to the success of the Mirror, it may in brief be stated that small returns rewarded hard labor. The number of sub- scribers was about four hundred - sometimes running a little below, but seldom above. The amount of work in the office - jobs, newspaper and all-could be done by the publisher and one hand. But at first, in a corner of his office, and afterward in a separate room, Mr. Lummus kept a shop with a small stock of stationary and fancy articles, such as are usually sold in a country book store. A few musical instruments likewise formed a part of his stock; and he would frequently, in times of the greatest hurry, abruptly drop his composing stick to perform a solo on one of them, much to the discomfiture of his journeyman. Indeed he did not possess quite so strong an attachment for manual labor as for some other pursuits. He was fond of con- sidering the matter in a philosophical way; and I have heard him remark -" Well, I guess I wont work too hard to-day lest I should have nothing to do tomorrow ; " which remark was the sure precurser of a ride, a walk, or an interval of repose over a book. There was a vein of humor, without the sting of sar- casm, running through his conversation, and he much loved a harmless practical joke.
He had an original way of ridding himself of idlers and such disagreeable company as quartered in his office; and his way might be beneficially adopted by others ; it was, to immediately set them at some disagreeable work. No matter who the indi- vidual might be, old or young, high or low, he would be called to go for a pail of water, sweep the floor, or perform some other equally dignified service. a plausible excuse always accompany- ing the request; and when one thing was done another was ready to be commenced on, until the victim concluded to depart. I remember seeing a gentleman of the first respectability, rolling at the press, with a hand roller, his clothes, hands, and sweaty brow, all bedaubed with ink, while Mr. Lummus was pulling on .
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with all possible speed, to prevent any opportunity for rest, his countenance wearing the gravity of a sphynx, excepting when his eye happened to catch mine.
The surest source of accumulation is economy. But of the possession of this virtue Mr. Lummus had little cause to boast. His financial skill was not of a high order; and he was, more- over, of quite a liberal turn. So it is hardly probable that, had his income been ever so great, he would have become rich, for .. we do not find that the scriptural promise that the liberal soul shall be made fat, is always verified in a pecuniary way. I have known him to hire a horse and wagon and occupy perhaps . half a day in going to Salem to procure two reams of paper. And I remember of a gentleman telling me that he called at his place one forenoon, urging him, in great haste, to ride with him to Boston, whither he was bound, in a chaise, alone. It being a pleasant day, the invitation was accepted. On reaching the city, he drove directly to an eating house, and called for some favorite viand, which was speedily before them. As soon as the meal was disposed of, Mr. Lummus arose, and with an air of great satisfaction patting the natural receptacle of all good dinners, informed his friend that he was ready to start for home.
In the matter of dress, Mr. Lummus was far from being a successful imitator of Brummell, though he was always decently clad. The exterior habiliments, however, were not usually in exact keeping with the interior. I have seen him in the street with cow-hide boots, muddy and of uncouth shape, when I knew that his feet were encased in fine silk stockings. And beneath that shaggy coat of dingy white and ancient fashion, there was probably as fine linen as the wealthiest wore.
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He occasionally conceived strange antipathies and prejudices which would sometimes exhibit themselves in a manner rather amusing than injurious. I once saw him seize the list of the carrier for the eastern part of the town, and begin with an eager and merciless hand to cross off names. I asked him if so many wanted to stop their papers. "I don't care whether they do or not," he replied, " but if they want it any longer they've got to move out of Woodend to get it."
Like most editors, he was fond of having his paper talked about. and loved much to now and then create a sensation. To
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that end, he would occasionally concentrate in one of his little paragraphs enough material to serve most editors for a column- charging a perfect little bomb-shell - perhaps offensive from its personal application, or roughly divulging some private matter. He was once sued for a libel on one of our most respectable physicians, and judgment to the amount of some two hundred dollars passed against him, though I think he told me that the Doctor did not exact the penalty. The offensive matter was, however, the work of a correspondent.
Like most editors, too, he was pleased to see his articles going the rounds of the press ; and he knew well how to accom- plish this end by inserting that which from its bare oddity would be snapped up. For instance, he upon one calm summer morn- ing startled the community with the bold announcement - " Huckleberries is ripe." And the press all over the country echoed his announcement. It was customary in former days, as well as now, for people to complain of the dilatoriness of the Legislature. And Mr. Lummus once issued his paper with the usual conspicuous heading - " Legislative Proceedings " - in one of its columns, followed by a long blank space. It was thought to be a good joke; but he said the best of the joke was that it saved the setting of so many types.
The Mirror was discontinued in March, 1832, the proprietor having become involved, and the income not meeting the ex- penses. In the summer of the same year he published the first Directory of Lynn. It was a small 12mo. of seventy pages, with paper covers, and contained such information as is usually found in publications of the kind.
Mr. Lummus now passed some four years without any regular, settled employment. He worked a little at printing, kept a circulating library for a short time, had one or two classes in French, and several in music. He told me that in French, his plan was to learn a lesson one day and teach it the next, thus keeping one step ahead of his pupils, and so near them as to see all the difficulties of the way ; and his success was so satisfac- tory that one large class made him a valuable present.
In the spring or summer of 1836, he commenced a small paper, just about the size of the first number of the Mirror, which he called THE STAR, and sold at one cent a copy. They R2
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sold well. Sometimes he disposed of fifteen hundred, and gen- erally from that down to eight hundred. Yet it must have been far from a profitable undertaking, for though he might edit and do all the mechanical labor himself, but little could have been left after paying for the paper and meeting the other small expenses ; and the advertising amounted to scarcely any thing. Subsequently he changed the name of this paper from The Star to The Mirror, thus returning to his first love. And finally he, enlarged a little and raised the price to two cents. This cut down the sales very much ; and it continued in weakly existence for a few months more, when declining health obliged him to abandon it.
The sickness which now seized upon him proved to be his last. I often visited him as his life was closing-for being in sickness and adversity, he was neglected by most of those who in his brighter days were benefited by his friendship-and was usually accompanied by a dear companion, whose brilliancy he so much delighted in, and whose tender sympathy was so soothing to him, and who, in the ways of a mysterious provi- dence was destined soon to follow him into the dark valley. We found him cheerful, for his christian faith was strong; and he seemed to feel no regret at the near prospect of death. But to the last, his natural eccentricities would occasionally exhibit themselves. I remember that on an afternoon just before his death, the bell happened to toll for a funeral. He heard it, and remarked "There, there is that old bell again; well, it will toll for me, in a few days, I suppose," without any apparent conception that it would strike one as an unseemly remark. At another time, we found him sitting up, eating a piece of toast, and were surprised to hear him reply to the inquiry as to how he felt, "O, your grandsir will. be well enough in a few days, I guess." But after he had retired and we were at his bed-side to bid him good night, he explained himself by saying that his remark, as we came in, might have savored of levity, and seemed unbecoming; that it had reference to his death, which would probably take place in a few days ; and he cer- tainly trusted that all would be well with him.
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