USA > Massachusetts > Middlesex County > Malden > Memorial of the celebration of the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the incorporation of the town of Malden, Massachusetts, May, 1899 > Part 22
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OLD MALDEN
he did not anticipate the proclamation of emancipation ; nor when William Mckinley entered the White House, did he expect that he should declare war against Spain and give liberty to Cuba and to many islands beyond the sea. The path which a nation travels, whether to ignominy or glory, is marked out by no human forethought. The record of the ages joins with the prophet when he says, " Thus saith the Lord. I am the Lord thy God . . . which leadeth thee by the way that thou shouldest go."
Our fathers did well the work given them to do. They failed to see with perfect vision ; but they turned their faces toward the light, and with feet that never faltered, eyes that dimmed not, and as brave hearts as ever beat in human breasts, moved onward, believing they were doing God's will. With the progress of all the years gone by, can we do more? The future is to us, as it was to them, an unknown land, into which we journey, knowing not whither we shall be led.
" We front the sun, and on the purple ridges The virgin future lifts her veil of snow ; Look backward, and an arch of splendor bridges The gulf of long ago."
At the conclusion of the oration, which was listened to with marked attention and frequent applause, the orchestra and chorus rendered a march and chorus from Wagner's Tannhäuser, -
" Hail, bright abode, where song the heart rejoices, May lays of peace within thee never fail."
THE PRESIDENT. - With Oratory and Music, Poesy came upon the earth. To the eloquence and power of the one she added the sweet- ness and rhythm of the other ; and thenceforth the three swayed the world, arousing passion and inciting to deeds of valor, or quelling the storm and bringing peace and love. To-day they speak to us of the past ; and as Oratory and Music have claimed our thoughts and charmed our ears, Poesy comes with sober thought or lighter play to bring her vision of the days of old. It is my pleasant duty to intro- duce to you the poet of the day, the Rev. Theron Brown.
OLD MALDEN. BY THE REV. THERON BROWN.
You came from Camelot. What lingering strain Of Briton, Roman, Saxon, Celt, or Dane May tinge the blood you drew from England's breast All traits were blended where they blended best, When first at Mystic Side and Mishawum You set the stakes of Yankee Christendom.
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You came from Camelot, whose heights had seen In arms the rugged hordes of Cymbeline, And where the ground to every river's source Bore the charmed hoof-prints of King Arthur's horse. His noble Knights in vision waved God-speed To the first exiles of their dauntless breed, And gave your ancestry that faced the sea Their lion-flag of power and victory.
Old Camelot ! No Saxon tongue would hail " Camalodunum " (with its Roman tail), But " Meldune " saved its rude syllabic sound Till English Maldon slewed its vowels round, And in the century that learned to spell, Your Malden tuned it like a minster bell. You own four letters of a kingdom grown In deathless romance to a fame full-blown ; You own all chivalry by Time's quitclaim ; You own the windfall of a town's good name.
You own the land. Your sons may study yet The deed old Mrs. Nanepashemet Made to your sires in legal white-and-black For one-and-twenty coats to warm her back, Twelve pecks of corn to make her breakfast mash, And nineteen six-foot strings of wampum cash. "I was a fair bargain ; and no man shall say Your founders stole the township where they stay.
They were God's yeomanry, the first who plied Their plowshares in these acres wild and wide, Went miles to mill and meeting, storm or sun, Watched for sly Indians, and, with club or gun, In the tall timber and the tangled brake Fought bear and wildcat, wolf and rattlesnake. Brave men they were, but men of slender cheer : Their hope was narrow, and their faith severe ; Their eyes in Nature's glorious tints and lines Saw not her poems, but her " warning signs." On wrath and judgment year by year they fed ; They took John Calvin with their daily bread, And drank, in hours forbid to fireside mirth, The awful strains of Michael Wigglesworth.
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In vain, to understand the mental loom That wove the Malden parson's Day of Doom, We search in modern thought of God or man. The book was dreamed when dreams to nightmare ran, When children's school-day glimpse thro' learning's prism Stopped at the " Three R's," and the catechism, And on the church's altars deep engraved The Christ that punished hid the Christ that saved. Blame not the rhymer, nor his horrors scorn ; He wrote for Puritans, among them born. Ill half his life, and racked with daily dole, A sick man's body ruled a sick man's soul, And wrought his fancy to a solemn rage That only softened with his healthier age. Alive to-day to feel the hopes that glow In the same scheme his vision filled with woe, And taste the holier teachings that succeed The stern soul-culture of his time and creed, His pious heart would rue the moment when Those fearful verses left his tragic pen.
In the old chapel ten yards long and wide, Where Wigglesworth preached forty years - and died, No other fire religion dared to use Than pulpit zeal could kindle in the pews. From fall to spring the air with stinging search Shot Sunday agues thro' the Malden church, Congealed their breath, ran races down their spines, And curled the children up like porcupines. Nay, later, when the missed communion board In winter Pastor Emerson restored, King Cold with hand profane usurped the spread, And on the table froze the sacred bread ! The pastor yielded. No device was found To serve the Eucharist the seasons round. In vain, to save the rite, with sad desire He thought of all expedients - all but fire. Tho' Satan's covenant twins were sin and cold, A stove in church was heresy too bold. No less that worthy parson's heart was warm : He knew alike to suffer and conform. All praise of faithfulness and godly skill Is praise of Joseph Emerson ; and still The great-grandfather of the Concord sage Immortal stands on Malden's holiest page.
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By one sly whim of fate a village boy Who shared those shivering Sundays' doubtful joy Grew up to conjure with his frozen hands, And made a fortune selling warming-pans ! He left his mother church a round bequest, But when the cynic's smile and witling's jest Proclaim " Lord " Dexter, with his odd renown, The proof of greatness born in Malden town, You know another name no joker's fun Has ever tossed in travesty or pun, - A name whose serious weight is foolery's foil, Whose lustre vindicates your pride of soil. Yon ancient parsonage, where half a score Of preachers housed a hundred years and more, Became the birthplace of a world-wide man When Adoniram Judson's life began.
At the gate of the golden East, Where the Irrawaddy falls, Stood a lonely Christian priest, And watched by the dragon walls.
In the hour of his spirit's strife Christ's Angel over the lands,
With a seed of the Tree of Life, Had flown to his waiting hands.
With a zeal no peril would cool, Forearmed for sorrow and stress,
He had come from the white man's school To the brown man's wilderness, -
From the home of a faith too deep For vows unmeaningly made, To the temples of gods who sleep In precepts never obeyed.
Far out of the West he came, In the bloom of his brave young days, From a realm where sin is shame To a people who sang its praise.
He sowed the miracle-seed, And the heaven-tree sprouted small
In the tangles of demon-weed, By the stones of the pagan wall.
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In the age-worn scars it grew Of the arches giant-spanned, And it fed on the breath and dew Of the prayers of his native land ;
Till he saw the rampart bar To its swelling strength unpin, And the grim gate swung ajar, And the Knight of the Cross went in.
Then the " lord of the golden foot " Swore doom to the tree unknown, For the heave of its awful root Was shaking his idol throne.
He smote its planter in wrath, But its shining leaves took wing Where the slave in the tiger's path Chose death for dread of a king.
They flew to the sick man's pain, To the toiler's task in the sun - And Bethlehem's angel strain Was written on every one.
O'er the flamen's muttering muse, And the lote-flower worshipper's hum, The song of the world's glad news To the Burman soul cried, " Come ! "
And the hunger of hearts increased For the Crucified Son of Man, For the wounded Christian priest Was wiser than Ah-rah-han.
In the groves where Gautama sat He talked, and the heathen heard For the tales of the Be-ta-gat The music of Love's first word.
And the eyes of a race looked up From the gloom of a faith inane, Where smiled no pardon or hope, And sorrow for sin was vain.
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He called at the idol's feet In the shadow of Shway-san-gau,
" The Star of Mercy is sweet, And it beams on Burma now.
" Break, Athor's measureless Dark, That hid in your Pali scrolls
Religion's heavenly spark From a hundred million souls,
" And rise, O Sun of the world, And spread, unwithering Tree,
Till the dragon temples are hurled From the land the Christ makes free ! "
We carve on the soldier's stone The fame of his derring-do,
But the fields God's witness won Are wider than Waterloo.
Fit home are the heavenly plains For the spirit that greatly gave,
Fit rest for his great remains The ocean's infinite grave.
And well that Christendom rears, Where the swarthy Gentiles swarm,
In its glory of fruitful years, The work that his hand left warm.
And the piled pagodas lean As the plumes of the Life-tree rise,
And its strong roots cleave unseen The shrines of the ancient lies.
They are coming, whose life unlearns The prate of the old kyoungs, And the prayer of a dead man earns A harvest of tribes and tongues.
Nor in vain glad history paints The hero with praise and pride, And the three fair, faithful saints Who served and smiled at his side ;
1649-1999
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FIRST CORPS CADETS IN LINE
THE GOVERNOR ARRIVING AT THE REVIEWING STAND
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For the ardor of Christian search, By his summons kindled to flame, Still burns in the mighty church That rallied to Judson's name.
And Burma shall see her star By his finger of hope supreme When the last Boodh's avatar Has welcomed the nigban dream ;
For the Lord's own accolade Of fire gave Judson the van In the host of the world's crusade, In the mission of man to man.
The peaceful trophies of your foremost son Surround the globe; but worthy work was done By other sons, whose eulogies belong In local story and provincial song. No warriors stung with lust of fight were they Who turned your virgin sod ; but, night or day, If meddlers with colonial rights grew bold And armed defence must wall the civic fold, Their course they never waited to discuss, But dropped the spade and seized the blunderbuss.
Ere down the Naumkeag footpath came the Spragues, The poor Pawtuckets, swept by mortal plagues And butchered by the ravening Tarratines, Had shrunk to shadows in the oaks and pines, Too shy to face, too weak to overthrow, Or rouse the white man to a real foe ; But when King Philip hurled his vengeful ban And cried his summons to each savage clan, The men of Malden, and their Charlestown kin, Saw racial hate in every copper skin. Their weapons met the danger at the door, With foot and horse they joined the gathering war, Thro' drifted snow, in vengeance sternly dumb, They marched, unthrilled by eager fife and drum, And, borne to battle with no scarlet pomp, Met death with death in Narragansett Swamp.
15
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Another generation held the van When cannon took Port Royal for Queen Anne ; Another mustered when a merchant led The venture drafted in a lawyer's head, And shared at Louisburg the naval feat That shook the Frenchman from his Scotian seat.
The day the blood of Bunker Hill o'erflowed The Half Moon Tavern on the Salem Road, Where, 'mid the gleanings of death's harvest grounds, Knelt surgeon-landlord Porter dressing wounds, That day, and not till then, from threats to blows The passion of the Revolution rose, And o'er the ashes of her sister town Malden broke bondage to a hateful Crown.
(As if a witness to the deed must stand Between the people's and the King's command, That ancient tavern, jolliest of its kind, Where many a Tory, and his horse, had dined, With its last service to those wounded guests Shut stable, bed, and bar to all behests, And never, night or day, to thirsty men Sold rum and cider-syllabub again.)
The boast of blood that pulsed in patriots' veins At Bunker Hill, at Trenton, at White Plains, No higher speech or fonder faith requires Than praise of fathers by their altar-fires, Who stood as citizens thro' good or ill To shield the State and shape the public will. Nor aught in fearless honor more could be, Cheever on land or Waters on the sea, Than stalwart Thacher's spirit in the air Cheering the sad and scaling heaven with prayer. Behind the bulwarks of the Bible set, He taught his flock their priv'lege and their debt, And ere in Congress Hall the crucial hour Of Freedom struck, the people knew their power. The question came - the test of long renowns - And, first of all the Massachusetts towns The oath of Independence to confess, On that May morning Malden voted "Yes."
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Your social story needs no flag to wave. Your sires were modest, and as good as brave. Their homes are sacred, but my reverent pen On dead leaves that deserve to live again For Mystic Side may trace its years of peace, And say its virtues were its best police.
One man was there whom Satan never fooled, The workhouse master, "Honest John," John Gould, Who watched his conscience with unsleeping eye, And paid his debts, and never told a lie - And always, when he felt his anger frown, Fled to the woods and prayed the devil down. It means no cavil at their moral trim To think his neighbors were not all like him, No slur on ancient piety to say Good men " got mad," as good men do to-day ; But truth was in them ; not a bone would lean, And honor kept their family records clean. With foot on hearthstone, learned in patriarch law, And Bible-ripe when politics were raw, They mounted guard ; and in his castle wall Each ruled his household for the good of all. Your great-grandmothers, handsome, keen, and quaint, Were watched as daughters with austere restraint, And parents, quick to chide and slow to soothe, Cared less that humor laughed or love ran smooth Than for such manners, doctrine, dress, and grace As proved a damsel of the Roundhead race. Well for the " stiddy," orthodox young man Who boldly sparked a pretty Puritan, But woe to stripling gay in coxcomb gear Who buzzed soft flatteries in her bashful ear When private search exposed his cloven track And judgment wrote " Upharsin" on his back ! No match that contravened the household nay Was " made in heaven." It came the other way. Between the sly Philistine, plunder-bent, And girl of Israel in her sacred tent, Domestic statute dug a ditch as wide As mad Leander swam to Hero's side, And raised a rampart hopeless as the bound Priscilla Upham and Paul Wilson found.
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Paul Wilson's years were twenty-five - (With many a blot between) ; The lass he wooed and thought to wive Was turning sweet sixteen ; And frowning friends in prudent part Gave warning, cool and wise, Her lover had no grace of heart Beneath his grace of size.
" I like him not," quoth Deacon John, " A youth of rash renown -
His wild and grievous goings-on Have scandalized the town. He brawleth with the men of sin, He loveth rum too well,
His lawless feet go out and in Where Sabbath-breakers dwell.
" 'T was he who led the midnight rout That shamed Thanksgiving-tide, When fires and plunderings round about Upset all Charlestown side. A wight so graceless, heart and head - A son of Belial he ! Should such my daughter woo and wed? Go to ! It shall not be !"
Priscilla hung her head. Her cheeks From pink to scarlet blazed To hear her handsome suitor's freaks Like deadly sins dispraised, And half resolved and half demurred Her giddy school-girl brain To dare her angry father's word Or jilt her madcap swain.
Her brother Phineas blamed her plight : The smart was all too new Of mockeries on his marriage night By Wilson and his crew, When late for wildcat mischief met Their mirth and mad ado, His bridal window sore beset From one till half-past two.
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" What whim the silly chit hath struck ? Be all the good men dead ? The betters of yon roystering buck Grow on the trees ! " he said. " Tho' built with lesser length and girth, And scanter flesh and bone, Tom Crosswell's lightest ounce is worth Paul Wilson's 'leven stone."
Still round the damsel's heart and house The dogged lover hung, And smiled his smiles and vowed his vows, And swore with stubborn tongue No power should push his schemes amiss ; If maid with man would go, His stolen wedding should be yes To all New England's no.
The father heard : his wrath waxed hot. He faced the swaggering blade. " What wolf within my fold hath got To ply his wicked trade ? Thy song is sung, thy laugh is laughed ; Bold runagate, begone ! The law shall stop thy pestering craft Henceforth," quoth Deacon John.
Bound over in ten sterling pounds To keep the public peace, The " wolf" withdrew to safer grounds - Without his lambkin's fleece. Time taught him next on Cupid's scout To score a winning run ; And Philip's winter war froze out His last unruly fun.
Paul Wilson's check was Crosswell's chance ; Priscilla's heart was young. Her wilder beau could only dance The tune the tame one sung. She married Tom - and lives would pass As sweet as theirs to-day If every lad would court his lass The same old honest way.
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The silent elders lie beneath the loam,
Those strong, stern guards of virtue, peace, and home. No sign their vanished presence has bequeathed Save some faint hand-mark where they walked and breathed, Or sad, slim relic from oblivion plowed, Like the three pins of Phineas Upham's shroud. Yet here their lives thro' filial channels stream In multitude beyond their boldest dream. Your ten " town fathers," when with sturdy arms They ran a parish fence round seventy farms Nor knew nor guessed their little hamlet hives Within the measure of four human lives Would swarm a history, on foot and wing, That asks a song of epic length to sing. Not mine. Your private right to read his rhyme Transcends the poet's claim to public time. Your library invites. Its cool purlieu, Fair City, thanks a name your village knew, In that stored cloister greet the past, and hold Your Converse with the saints and sages old ; Admiring, forage thro' the long between From Goodman Thomas Squire to Mayor Dean,
Then rise refreshed to push your proud careers Down the home-stretch of your three hundred years.
The succeeding number, written for the occasion, was conducted by the composer. It is intended as a recognition of the hand of Divine Providence in the affairs of men. In the performance, voices and instruments gave expression to the words of the psalm by the various musical devices employed by composers, during which the trumpets and trombones were heard playing Old Hundred. At the close, the audience, rising, joined in singing the doxology.
A FESTIVAL ANTHEM.
BY OBADIAH BRUEN BROWN.
For Quartet and Chorus.
Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem ; praise thou thy God, O Zion. For. He hath strengthened the bars of thy gates ; He hath blessed thy children within thee. He maketh thy border peace ; with the finest of the wheat He filleth thee. He sendeth forth his commandment upon earth : His word runneth very swiftly. He giveth snow like wool : He scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes. He casteth forth His ice like morsels : who can stand before His cold ? He sendeth out His word and melteth them: He causeth His wind to blow, the waters
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flow. He sheweth His word unto Jacob, His statutes and His judgments unto Israel. He hath not dealt so with any nation : and His judgments, they have not known them. - Ps. cxlvii. 12-20.
My mouth shall speak the praise of the Lord : and let all flesh bless His holy name for ever and ever. - Ps. cxlv. 21.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow, Praise Him all creatures here below, Praise Him above, ye heavenly host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.
THE BENEDICTION
was then pronounced by the Rev. Joshua Wyman Wellman, D.D. ; and
TIIE DRESDEN AMEN,
sung with feeling by the chorus, closed the exercises.
PROMENADE CONCERT AND BALL.
IN arranging the features of Malden's celebration, there was a well- considered and effective attempt made to give due and proportional prominence to the different phases of the civic life whose evolution has made the city what it is to-day. The educational, the religious, the military, the athletic, the business sides were each presented in due order. The distinctively social side of the city's life found recog- nition in the grand concert and ball which was held on Monday even- ing, in the Anniversary Building.
It is probable that if one of the typical forefathers or foremothers of the little hamlet of Mystic Side had been privileged to revisit the scenes of his life, and to view our celebration as an invisible, but (you may be sure) a deeply interested spectator, he would have been as much impressed by the ball as by any one feature. This would have filled him with a sense of novelty such as he would not have experi- enced in viewing the other features. Our splendid school system, mag- nificently as it has developed, found yet its vital germ in the quaint little square schoolhouse which was its prototype. The religious element of the community he would find merely expanded and deepened, not different in kind. Perchance some of the differences of creed and argument would have had a still familiar sound in his ear.
So in the business and military growth of our community. But in the social life of the early community there was little to suggest
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the wealth, fashion, and social pomp which were exemplified in the ball.
And yet the development thus indicated is, perhaps, as important as any shown during the celebration. If social life and prestige mean anything, they mean the very culmination, the goal of our civilization. They must be the crowning pride of the social edifice, to which the rest are but avenues of approach. The art of social deportment and interchange is reckoned by the greatest of philoso- phers as among the very highest. Emerson ranks it as scarcely second to any field of human endeavor.
But without attempting to set forth the philosophy of the matter, we may follow with interest the thoughts of the supposed ancestor, as he steps, viewing but viewless, into the great hall on Monday evening.
Coming from a community where social life was of the simplest, where men were chiefly engrossed in the sterner warfare for daily bread, and where such pleasures as were indulged were enjoyed, in characteristic Anglo-Saxon fashion, moult tristement, he would have felt queer indeed as he stepped into the hall and looked seriously about him.
He would have seen an ample and tastefully decorated building with great floor-space, given over to music and dancing in a fashion little dreamed of in old Mystic Side. That he would have been wholly pleased is not to be supposed ; but that would be his own un- avoidable misfortune. He would have been intensely interested, and would have been the last to leave.
The dancing was preceded by a concert by the Salem Cadet Band, assisted by Miss Eugenie Marie Foss of Malden, that was a feast to the lovers of music. It was the first public appearance of Miss Foss, and her singing was a notable feature of the evening. In all her numbers she sang with excellent effect, revealing the possession of a voice of a rich, mellow contralto quality. 'The generous applause which she received was well deserved.
PROMENADE CONCERT BY THE SALEM CADET BAND.
JEAN M. MISSUD, Conductor.
8.30 TO 10 P. M.
MARCH. - " Under The Double Eagle." Wagner. OVERTURE. - " William Tell," Rossini.
SONGS, with Piano. (EUGENIE MARIE FOSS) : a. " The Clover Blossoms." Rogers. b. "I'm Wearin' Awa'." Foote. c. "The Years at the Spring." Rogers.
FIRST REGIMENT HEAVY ARTILLERY, M. V. M.
THE REVIEW
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SOLO, for Cornet. (Mr. B. B. KEYES). - " For All Eternity." Mascheroni. a. "Narcissus." Nevin. b, " Minuet." Paderewski.
SELECTION. - " The Idol's Eye." Herbert. SONG. - " My Heart 's in the Highlands." Madame Helen Hopekirk. FINALE. - NATIONAL MELODIES. " The North and the South." Bendix.
At the close of the concert, at a signal from the leader, the first strains of the grand march were heard ; and more than two hundred couples, led by Chairman Elisha W. Cobb, of the committee, with Mrs. Charles H. Sprague, and Mr. Charles H. Sprague with Mrs. Elisha W. Cobb, joined in the brilliant line which with rhythmic move- ment opened the ball.
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