History of the town of Milford, Worcester county, Massachusetts, from its first settlement to 1881, Part 54

Author: Ballou, Adin, 1803-1890
Publication date: 1882
Publisher: Boston : Rand, Avery, & co.
Number of Pages: 1328

USA > Massachusetts > Worcester County > Milford > History of the town of Milford, Worcester county, Massachusetts, from its first settlement to 1881 > Part 54

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At Gettysburg that regiment made one of the most gallant charges of the war into the enemy's works, and had to fall back, though in perfect order, with the loss of half its men and officers, and found shelter part way back under a stone wall. I quote now the words of Lieut .- Col. Morse, then commanding the regiment after Lient .- Col. Mudge was that day killed : "Col. Morse called for a volunteer to go back to Col. Colgrove, over the rest of the meadow, under a mur- derous fire. A private promptly volunteered ; with cool nonchalance threw his gun to right shoulder shift, and started under fire, a con- spicuous mark ; went coolly, double-quick ; returned with orders to fall back, and for bravery was mentioned in general orders, and made corporal of the color-guard. A bullet passed through one side of his canteen. Then the regiment moved back, a movement witnessed by thousands of the soldiers of both armies." That private was Amos L. Madden of Milford, son of our old friend Africa Madden.

487

GENERAL UNDERWOOD'S ORATION.

The younger business and professional men of this generation have not been more idle than their elders who are still busily at work here, or have passed off the stage, or behind them in energy and thrift ; are modestly learning to take the lead, and are relied upon, and deemed indispensable in every public, social, or religious enterprise. The newer names, as well as the others I have mentioned, come at once to your lips ; and you can call the roll much better than I can. If you need to be reminded of what they have been doing here the past few years, compare your statistics in the last census with those before. Your record in 1875 was a town of nearly 10,000 inhabitants, with a valuation of $5,000,000 ; your people successfully engaged in fifty different occupations ; with eighty manufacturing and mechanical establishments ; twenty-one boot and shoe factories, all turning out $4,000,000 worth of goods per year, one concern making 1,500,000 pairs of boot-heels ; the Hopedale machine-shops supplying the whole world with machinery ; three railroad and several stage lines ; two banks and one savings bank ; a gas-light company ; three printing- offices, and the Messrs. Cook printing a live "Milford Journal ; " eight lawyers ; ten ministers ; thirteen physicians ; and no end of tailors and milliners. Look at the improvements inside your factories and workshops, and note the comforts in your houses.

FELLOW-CITIZENS, - Thus the different generations in the century, who are passing in review before us to-day, and whom you see better doubtless with your eyes than mine, have performed their appointed tasks. They are standing silently before our bar for judgment ; and we, with our brief authority, sit in the judges' seats. Let us remem- ber we are to judge them by their light, and not ours. Let us not forget, too, the divine warning, " with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged."

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what say you of the defendants at the bar? Did they not do their work well? Do we not owe them gratitude and reverence? Could we have done any better? Are we doing as well? Your verdict on your consciences.

Soon we shall dismiss these people of the past to the sleep from which we have summoned them. But their work remains behind, and we reap its fruits. Let us not forget their names, or the debt we owe them. Let their memories be treasured forever in these hills and valleys and streams that they loved to look upon as do we of to-day. As long as they shall remain here, let a grateful remembrance of our fathers and predecessors here endure. And may their useful deeds and the good in their lives be gratefully remembered long after all we

488

HISTORY OF MILFORD.

of the present shall have gone, when others shall turn their eyes as fondly and longingly as do we wanderers from home here to far-seeing Magomiscock, dear old Bear Hill, dark-shadowed Maspenock, and busy Mill River, and the long-winding Charles, and to these now green fields, beautiful in our eyes to-day, as ever in our memory, with fra- grant June roses, and the gold and silver of buttercups and daisies.

Music by the Milford Brass Band.

ORIGINAL POEM

BY CHARLES THURBER, ESQ., OF PHILADELPHIA, ONCE PRECEPTOR OF THE MILFORD ACADEMY.

The preacher in the sacred desk, ere getting under way, Informs us kindly what his text, and what he means to say.

My text is Milford: and I, first, will give a sketch or two Of Milford as she used to be, and what she used to do; And secondly, I wish to speak of some old pioneers, Who waked themselves and others up, in Milford's younger years; And thirdly, of some wayward boys who left their native plains, And what they've done in other fields with Milford-lighted brains; And fourthly, I propose to show, if time and you allow, How this old town appears to-day, and what she's doing now; And then I fondly hope to reach, as other parsons do, The improvement of the subject which I now present to you.

Not born in Milford, if a fault, it is no fault of mine: I was a passive passenger upon another line; And, though it brought me to the State, with all a mother's care, As far as Brookfield, I was dropped to set up business there; And I was more than twenty years upon my winding way Before I reached the pleasant town where we convene to-day. I've named this unimportant fact, that Milford might not fear Because I'm singing, some might think that I'd my birthplace here. And all the reason why I'm here, I'm willing all should know, Is, I was Milford's pedagogue some fifty years ago; And I can say with perfect truth, and under perjury's pains, That I have four good Milford years still running in my veins; And that they were as pleasant four as I have ever passed, And whose aroma still exists, and will forever last. And so I hope you'll bear in mind, as I shall pass along, That 'tis the Milford part of me that sings the present song.

Some fifty years ago to-day, from history it appears,

Live Yankees had been living here at least for fifty years.

489

HON. CHARLES THURBER'S POEM.

They'd felled the forests, ploughed the fields, and blown away the rocks, And, on the fertile acres, fed their lowing herds and flocks. They'd built the schoolhouse (red, of course), in every corner where Their little sinners might, for truth, in all its shades, repair. They'd built their churches where they all, according to their views, Might hear John Calvin's doctrines preached, or listen to Ballou's, Or, sighing for a livelier time, with joyful hearts might turn Where Wesley's spirits all aglow, and kindred bosoms burn; But John the Baptist had not yet appeared upon the scene, And made his crystal Jordan run between its banks of green; Nor had old Rome the fiat sent that bade the faithful flock Pile yonder grand cathedral up as solid as a rock. And now all these are hard at work to baffle sin's assault, And if all Milford is not saved, it will be Milford's fault.

There were some grand old pioneers who'd heard the people snore; And they resolved they must wake up, and they did sleep no more. And so they bade the stages run 'twixt everywhere and town, As swift as lightning, so we thought, when riding up and down. And then the people could not sleep, and could not stay at home, For merry Levi's whip would crack, and tell the town he'd come; For whene'er Johnson swung the lash, the legal-tender snap Was sharp enough to rouse the deaf, and break the soundest nap.

And Milford then had two good inns, where travellers loved to rest; For all the people far and near deemed them among the best. And there the neighbors used to flock, and pass the hours till late, To hear the news and tell the news, and fix affairs of state. And if, perchance, it was too hot, or if too cold a night, They brought the matter to the bar, and set the mercury right. And when the curtain-lecture came, they smoothed the matter down With the assurance that they'd met with leading men in town.

And Milford had two villages, and fifty years have run ; And, although she has grown so fast, she now has only one.

The string of tombs that lined the street which we forever saw, Sometimes with careless, thoughtless gaze, sometimes with solemn awe, At every moment of the time all the seasons through, Looked out upon the villages, and kept them strictly two: And that no inharmonious fact might find the slightest room, The doctor, with his medicines, lived nearest to the tomb.

Her public schools had been her pride e'er since her race begun, And now the fitting time had come to found a higher one; And it was built beside the church, upon the village green; And Milford's son was asked to come, and start the new machine.

490

HISTORY OF MILFORD.

And he did come, and started it, and made it run so smooth 'Twould really almost run alone, and teach the pupils truth; And Milford girls and Milford boys flocked to it, day by day, And many a young outsider came to join the glad array. But soon another teacher came, and on the platform stood; And if he did not do as well, he did the best he could. And if he did not aid as much the pupils that he taught, As he himself desired to do, or they believed he ought, One thing I know, that teacher learned more rapidly and more Than in as many studious hours he'd ever learned before. These pleasant reminiscences of fifty years ago I'm not afraid to sing about, for they are things I know. Ideals, unsubstantial things, the poets of old days Preferred to every other thing, to weave within their lays; But on this gay centennial day, reminded of old times, The real and substantial things get tangled in my rhymes. Young Milford had, so long ago, about three thousand souls, Divided nearly equally when coming to the polls: And when the contest grew so warm that victory hung in doubt, The pedagogue and parson came, and worked the problem out.

There were, I knew them very well, in Milford's early years, Among her active citizens some fearless pioneers. These gallant spirits, rivals oft, and always fighting well, But in a way that victory should for Milford's interests tell; And though they fought for number one, as prudence bade them do, The added means of number one assisted number two.

The miser's wealth would be a curse if hoarded where it could Do neither him who hoarded it, nor anybody good: The wealth in active service, though it swell the owner's pelf, Promotes the public good as well as e'en the owner's self; And Milford's wealthiest kept their wealth in action, all the way, Or Milford then would not have been the Milford of to-day.

That good old Book, a present sent from heaven's Eternal King, As undisturbed and quiet, oft, as if a worthless thing, Would tell us, if we'd let it tell, how men, for centuries gone, Still live and speak, and counsel us, and urge the living on; And so methinks the counsel comes from Milford's pioneers, And falls, like magic, gently down, and lights in filial ears.

There was the doctor, always charged with something he'd to say About the glory yet to come upon the latter day; Who had as generous, kind a heart, as woman ever bore, Who'd give for sorrow all he had, and give a good deal more. And though, not holding, as to wealth, a very lofty niche, He always was just on the point of being very rich,

Aaron Ldafliv.

491

HON. CHARLES THURBER'S POEM.

And always gave as cheerfully as if the wealth to come Were ready in his pocket-book, or in his vaults at home. Forever planning for his own or his dear Milford's sake, Or bringing up some new device for keeping folks awake, And trying, with consummate skill and hygienic lore, To keep them from that dreadful sleep that knows no waking more. And now, of all those pioneers whom I can here recall, Although he lived a checkered life, he yet outlived them all.

Among them was a solid 'Squire, reliable as the sun, Who never said he'd do a thing and leave the thing undone. He was a favorite of good luck, the people used to say, Because his pile, however large, grew larger every day; But doubtless shrewdness, industry, good judgment, care, and nerve Assisted him to make a hit and very seldom swerve. That gravel-hill, whose inner wealth was ready for a slide To fill up any vehicle that backed against its side, If some one else had owned the land, the people nsed to say, It would have been down underground or been a hill of clay. But, probably, God placed it there according to his will, And knew who would be shrewd enough to own the gravel-hill; But let that pass. Whate'er he gained was not in vaults concealed, But kept at work, as hard as he, in Milford's fertile field. He bade those little homes start up, where strangers used to come, And grow forthwith to Milford boys, each in his own " sweet home; " And he so trained his merry sons, 'midst all his other cares, They scarcely could help turning out two solid millionnaires.

Up yonder, where the velvet fields were little else than rocks, More numerous than the spires of grass that fed his herds and flocks, Where ne'er a plough had dared to go since Time his race begun, And foxes always had to walk, because they could not run, A Milford boy has bid the rocks dive down to depths below, And earth rise up, where crops may wave, and flowers may bud and blow. And now there are not stones enough, in all the field, alas! To drive away the trespassers that walk across the grass; And then, his walls are built so thick, that, if they should tip o'er, They would be somewhat higher walls than they had been before, And might, if they were vain enough, ask any passer-by Who happened just to glance at them, " Say! how is this for high ? " Oh! if the former pioneer, who used to own the rocks, Should re-appear, some pleasant morn, within his usual walks, And tell some neighbor, " That's my farm; but where has he who owns Put my aristocratic rocks, and my plebeian stones ? " He'd answer, what he's done with some, these solid walls attest; But Aaron's rod, his golden-rod, has swallowed up the rest.

492

HISTORY OF MILFORD.

A costly feat? 'Tis cheap enough, and yet a precious one; It shows how almost any thing can easily be done; How labor makes the desert smile, and blossom like the rose, While gold does nothing but supply the victuals and the clothes. The yellowest gold would starve to death or ask the town to aid, If labor did not lend a hand, with sickle, hoe, and spade; But labor can both live and laugh without a single sou, For it can get whate'er it wants with what it has to do. Thus, work is richer far than wealth. Oh, yes! a thousandfold; And yet we sometimes really think we'd rather have the gold. A costly feat ! And what if 'tis? he has his millions spread At every point where it can aid in pushing things ahead. Now, if he dies before I do, he'll please leave me enough To compensate for giving him this most important puff.

In Gotham, where the nations swarm, and traffic wakes the fray, And rogues and sharpers, day and night, are watching for the prey, And competition, Argus-eyed, looks o'er the board to scan How others move, before 'tis safe to move a single man, A Milford boy is moving on, as gay and calm and cool As when he played upon the green, or maybe played at school. And though still merry as a lark, when throwing off his cares, He is a solid millionnaire 'mongst Gotham's millionnaires. There he has acres piled with goods, as much as they can hold, Which, tumbled over once or twice, leave acres of pure gold; And though in every busy street, 'twixt Worth and pious Wall, He has to feel of Traffic's pulse and diagnose it all, Yet when the sun goes down the west, and leaves the azure dome, He's jovial as old Horace was in his Pompeiian home. Now, as we look along the past, and with its scenes commune, And trace its actors all the way to this glad day of June, We see what princely fortunes would in all your coffers flow, If you'd attended Milford's school some fifty years ago.

One pioneer, we thought him old, - he did seem aged then, For we had scarcely reached the time when people called us men, But yet the time, the very time, when it so much annoys Whenever people speak of us to have them call us boys; And you might think, from what I said upon a former page, That even I have come to be some fifty years of age; But as to this, there is one truth that is exceeding clear, 'Tis very dangerous to believe all that we see or hear. But whether that grand pioneer was either young or old, One thing is clear, - whate'er he touched, it seemed to change to gold; But howe'er fast the gold came in, and that was never slow, In streams almost as large and fast the treasures used to go; And though o'er all the wealth acquired he kept strict watch and ward, He ne'er forgot to show his love for learning and the Lord.

493

HON. CHARLES THURBER'S POEM.

Then, with his spirit kindling up, his boy, then grown a youth, Went plucking, as he passed along, the precious gems of truth, And darting out, with buoyant tread, from his own home and hearth, Became an earnest factor in the industries of earth.

And wealth woke up where'er he went, and tumbled in his till, Not at the bidding of good luck, but labor, care, and skill; And then he mounted, step by step, np that meridian straight, Through many a post of honor till he reached the chair of state; And there he sat for many a year at Massachusetts' helm, And steered the gallant frigate safe through party's rocky realm. And now we've seen him shoot away where right and wrong are mixed So thoroughly, the keenest eye scarce sees the line betwixt. And stocks are shrewdly placed among the legislative brood Where sure to be in friendly hands, and certain to do good. But he will move in honor's path, and not in interest's curves; For he has taken with him there the Captain whom he serves. Whatever bribery undertakes, he's sure to be untried, For he permits the world to see who's walking at his side.

'Twas some years since, one summer day, within a cool retreat Where all, that could leave home a while, had come to shun the heat; Among them two young ladies roved, from where I knew full well A son of Milford, long ago, had left his home to dwell. I asked them if they knew my friend; both uttered, with a start, " What ! father Cleveland ? bless your soul! I know him all by heart ! When all looks dark, and things go wrong, and duty's path is dim, We go for counsel nowhere else so gladly as to him; And when we follow his advice, though all looks dark as night, We walk by faith, and always find that we are going right. And Dedham, when her Milford boy shall, at the last, lie down, Will be a mourner at his bier beside his native town."

A few days since, at Germantown, where I absconded last, I sat at dinner; for you know we never love to fast. A stranger sat upon my right, and bended o'er his plate, And spoke about his native State, - 'twas just my native State. He mentioned Marlborough. "What !" said I, "did you know Albee too ? "

" Of course I did! he taught me all I ever learned or knew." He was a quiet, thoughtful man; but made his influence felt Beyond the boundaries of the town in which he taught and dwelt, Till, by sheer merit's gravity that triumphs soon or late, He settled down a senator in our dear native State." So if this pupil felt so well, it cannot be denied Both Milford and myself may feel a little touch of pride; For he was born and grew a man in this his native town, And went to her academy to find the way to Brown.

494

HISTORY OF MILFORD.

Who can that gallant man forget who was, in those far years, One of the bravest business men among those pioneers? Whose prancing steeds and chariot-wheels were busy, night and day, In bringing people into town, and carrying drones away; He brought in light, and took out light, till people far and near Knew if there was a busy place, that busy place was here. He knew the world, and felt at home where'er he chanced to go; He never said an unmeant "yes," nor yet a timid " no." The miser's spirit never found an entrance in his heart; And, giving for the public good, ne'er caused the slightest smart. He freely gave and freely spent; he never felt that pelf Should burn in pockets, sleep in vaults, or work alone for self: Forever active, till at last, not on a sick bed found, He leaped the river to the shore beyond it at a bound.

Then, when his young facsimile, with spirit all aglow, Began to work, how well 'twas done, we all, who knew him, know. In all good causes which he felt would benefit his kind, We saw him always in the van; he never lagged behind. While battling in the business world, and conquering in the fray, He had to battle with ill health, by night as well as day, And, while success was cheering him with its bewitching smile, And every moment of the time was adding to his pile,

Disease was trying, day by day, to give the deadly thrust, To quench the gallant spirit's fire, and drag him down to dust. The Jews built up their city-walls with but one hand, you know, And with the other were obliged to battle with the foe; And so he nobly fought and won in business' tented field, And fought disease, a foe that had an unseen arm to wield, Till keen-eyed Science looked within, and, taking the alarm, Left him, at last, to work and fight with but a single arm. But still he struggled, and success came in at every blow, Until he suffered martyrdom from his insidions foe. Yet did not, down the gloomy vale of silent death, descend, Till he had, for companionship, secured a heavenly Friend. Who did not sigh when tidings came, Stearns Godfrey had to die ? Who was not sad who'd known him long and well as you and I? Then Milford o'er her household looked with visions moist and dim, And saw a score she might have lost, and missed them less than him. And although sad that she had been of such a son bereft, Like Jacob, she felt comforted that Benjamin was left. Oh, may kind Heaven inspire the soul of this surviving son To do for Milford what his sire and brother would have done !

But lo! the spirit, darting down from this same pioneer, Has lighted up another heart within another sphere,

495

HON. CHARLES THURBER'S POEM.

Inspiring e'en a Milford girl to rove o'er sea and land, To find the fair creations wrought by art's æsthetic hand; And she has searched in every nook with critic eye and taste, And found the magic gems of art, and where the gems are placed. And all the almost breathing things that e'er from marble woke, And started into mimic life beneath the sculptor's stroke, - All these are grouped by Milford's girl; and all the world may look, And read each gem's biography, in her attractive book.

When Choate, all weary, on the Rhine, and wrapped in slumber fast, Was ronsed to see the Stolzenfels that they were sailing past, He waked just long enough to say, " I know just how it looks; For I have seen the Stolzenfels so often in my books."

Now, I'm not sure but tourists may, with her bewitching tone, See all the galleries in the world, without once leaving home.

I'll just suggest if 'twere not wise, in all such nice employs, To pass a law that Milford's girls should not excel her boys.

Fort Sumter spoke, and Treason thought it needed little more; The hated Union would dissolve when she should hear the roar: But lo! the Union did not melt, but more majestic rose, And said, to test her children's minds, she'd call the ayes and noes; And Milford, questioned if she'd vote to let the Union go, Rose up and made the welkin ring with her indignant No! And then her boys, like prancing steeds that paw and champ and foam, Felt, if they'd keep their sweet homes sweet, some must not stay at home; And if they wished the Union safe, and not in ruins lie, And if they would have freedom live, that some of them must die.

Sweet Duty judges for herself what she may not or may; But Duty on the battle-field knows nothing but obey. All earthly ties, however strong or sacred, pure or sweet, Are only cobwebs in his path beneath the war-god's feet; And Duty, at his heartless beck, must go and do the deed, Whatever friendly hearts may ache, or tender bosoms bleed.

1 Where Hooker had, above the clouds, been pitching down the foe From towering Lookout's sunny heights, to midnight, down below, The swarming hosts of Boys in Gray the field had overrun, Outnumbering all the Boys in Blue by three or four to one.

"Go sweep that field of all these foes, whate'er their numbers are," Said Grant, as calm as if he'd smoked his very best cigar; " Go sweep the field; " and it was swept; for Milford's gallant son Rushed with his troops through midnight gloom, and lo! the deed was done.

496

HISTORY OF MILFORD.

But where there rained upon the field the thickest shot and shell, With hundreds dropping at his side, the gallant hero fell; And felt, while there in glory's arms, beneath that midnight sky, " Oh! 'tis Heaven's will, I feel it is, that I'm not here to die. God bade the ball that sought my life decline a little, where 'Twould just escape my purple life the thickness of a hair; And now, O God! accept my thanks, 'tis all I have to give: They tell me there's a chance for me; I'll take that chance, and live." And when they'd picked the pieces up, and re-arranged the whole, The " golden bowl" proved large enough to hold a hero's soul. And though, like Israel, he may halt in every march he makes, His eulogy is being told by every step he takes.

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History of the town of Milford, Worcester county, Massachusetts, from its first settlement to 1881, Part 54

Author: Ballou, Adin, 1803-1890 Publication date: 1882 Publisher: Boston : Rand, Avery, & co. Number of Pages: 1328

Author: Ballou, Adin, 1803-1890
Publication date: 1882
Publisher: Boston : Rand, Avery, & co.
Number of Pages: 1328