USA > Massachusetts > Essex County > Newbury > Reminiscences of a nonagenarian > Part 2
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REMINISCENCES
her husband's death, was left with this large family of young children. John was apprenticed to learn the trade of a shoe-maker to Mr. Josiah Bartlett of Newbury. Upon coming of age he es- tablished himself at the main road. In addition to the shoe trade, he set up a general furnishing store. March 30, 1791, he married Anna, second daugh- ter of Joseph and Mary (Johnson) Little, of Newbury. The young couple set up housekeeping in a house contig- uous to the shop, which stood next be- low the residence of Dea. John Osgood. The Peabodys date back to Boadie, a gallant British chieftain, who, in the year A. D. 61, came to the rescue of his noble and chivalrous Queen and kinswoman, Boadicea, when "bleeding from the Roman rods." From the dis- astrous battle in which she lost her crown and life, he fled to the Cambrian mountains, in Wales. There his pos- terity lived and became a terror to the Lowlands. From their frequent raids into the Roman territory, he was desig- nated Pea Bodie (Mountain Man ; Pea signifying mountain, and Bodie man). Some members of the family retained the British name, Peabody ; others an- glicysed it into Hillman, some as the German Bergmann, while others divid- ed it into its constituents, thus origin- ating the names of Hill and Mann. There was a Peabody among the. ·Knights of the Round Table, the name being registered with due heraldric honors, by command of King Arthur.
Boadie, with his own hand, killed Galbuta, a distinguished Roman gener- al, and, following the custom of assum- ing the arms of the vanquished if he were a person of note, Boadie copied the two suns proper from the armor of
Galbuta and adopted them as his own arms.
MURUS
SANA %
ÆREUS
CONSCIENTIA
PARTY PER FESS NEBULE, GULES, AZURE, TWO SUNS PROPER, WITH A GARB, CREST AND EAGLE.
Dinner was immediately set upon the table. Grace having been said, due justice was given to the turkey and plum pudding. Aunt Sukey received many encomiums upon her cooking, part of which Aunt Hannah declared she should appropriate. "Sukey never would have basted that turkey as I did, for fear of injuring her fine complexion." Then the wild little minx, as her sisters termed her, fell to clearing the table, having first stirred the kettle of boiling dish-water with the knives and forks, "in order that it should not boil away the beaux." The girls washed the din- ner things ; the others repaired to the "fore room", where Uncle Ben had a bright fire blazing across the shiny black fire-dogs, with nigger faces, which my roguish young uncle wished me to admire. Aunt Hannah called me to go with her up stairs, to see the girls dress.
When Nannie was married, their father had given his two next oldest daughters silk dresses. This had called forth severe animadversion from his sisters. "To think of Brother
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OF A NONAGENARIAN.
Jose's extravagance ; and he had bought all of them, but Hanner, gold necklaces, ear-drops and a finger ring ! Well, they allers said he never could be forehanded when he married Mollie Johnson, she was so high bred and had so much 'Port' company." These and similar speeches, which, somehow, al- ways got reported to the subject of them, caused my grandfather's family much diversion. Miss Betty Brad- street, a wealthy cousin of my grand- mother, a maiden lady, and a resident of the "Port", had upon a recent visit brought my two aunts cach a brooch to match their;ear-drops, and the girls made themselves very merry over what their father's sisters would say to this addition to their finery, each devoutly hoping that they would never know but their brother had purchased them. The brown silks were vastly becoming. They were made with full skirts, tight waists, low square necks, with tight sleeves reaching just below the elbow, finished by a ruffle, with an under one of lace. The neck was covered by a square white muslin handkerchief, doub- led and tucked under the dress, im- mensely puffed out in front, long black net mitts covered the hands and arms, and when the jewelry was added, to my childish eyes my two girlish aunts pre- sented the very acme of splendor.
My mother and aunts were very hand- some women. Never did six sisters more closely resemble each other. I have often heard it remarked, that in after years, when dressed alike in mourning, at a funeral, it was difficult to distinguish onc from another. I would that their portraits were extant ; they would form a rare galaxy of beauty. Of medium hight, trim fig- ures, small hands and feet, black
hair and eyes (with the exception of Nannic's, whose were deep blue), fair skin, cherry lips, white teeth, a brilliant color, the eyes sparkling, with much ex- pression in conversation, a lively mien, tempered by much grace and sensibili- ty, great courtesy and kindness of heart-little wonder that the six Little girls should become the reigning toasts of the period. Their toilets completed, my aunts joined the rest in the parlor. Nuts were cracked, apples roasted, a mug of flip was made, songs sung and stories told. At dusk father went home to do his chores ; soon after, Amos Chase and Stephen Bartlett came to take their affianced to the party. These young gentlemen were arrayed in blue coats, with brass buttons, buff vests, satin breeches, silk stockings, silver knee and shoe buckles, their hair frizzled, pow- dered and cued.
The evening's entertainment was at Deacon Tenney's. Mrs. Tenney, my father's eldest sister, like my grand- mother Little, had a house full of girls. The deacon, though honoring his office, was the prince of hospitality, and an in- vitation to his house gave occasion for much satisfaction. After the young people had gone, Mr, and Mrs. Pca- body and Uncle Bill having accompan- ied them, grandsir, grandma'm and my mother drew. round the fire for a quiet chat. We children went into the kitch- en to play blind man's buff, aunt Su- key, much to our delight, condescending to join in the sport. At seven o'clock, my father having returned, supper was served. Soon after, as my eyelids, not- withstanding strenuous exertions to the contrary, would shut, mother declared it was time for home.
The next day we dined and spent the evening in my grandmother Smith's
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room. Unele and aunt Thurrell came to tea, and other neighboring relatives dropped in for the evening. Saturday afternoon mother had company, but as Saturday night was considered holy time, they left at an early hour. The next week was one continued festival. Visiting was general throughout the parish. Each one's skill in cooking was discussed, and the merits of differ- ent persons' mince pies and plum cake pronounced. Nor was the visiting con- fined to the females, the gentlemen of- ten came alone. Two of four neigh- bors for years made it a practice to come together to take tea with us the week following Thanksgiving. Never shall I forget the gusto with which they demolished the huge piles of dipped toast, or the way they smacked their lips over the pies and cake, all the while declaring "that for cooking, little Prudy Smith bore the palmn."
CHAPTER IV.
The Puritan Sabbath commenced at sunset Saturday night-a literal inter- pretation of the scripture text "And the evening and the morning were the first day." Supper eaten, silence and rest settled over the household. To most this was a grateful period of re- pose, in which, in the long evenings, they were only to happy too fold their hands and doze away the hours till the early bedtime, eight o'clock being the usual hour for retiring on that night. Others were glad of this leisure for read- ing, but many could not have been in- duced to peruse anything save the Bible, psalm book, a sermon or some religious treatise. My father and mother were
less strict. Father usually passed the time in conning the columns of the "Independent Chroniele and Universal Advertiser," a weekly sheet of small size, printed by "Nathaniel Willis, Boston, opposite the New Court House," which was taken conjointly with Uncle Amos Dole. In 1793 ."The Impartial Herald," ( Newbury- port Herald) was established in New- buryport.
Deacon Tenney had a thriving tobac- conist business, and he went to Boston two or three times a month, with snuff and cigars ; upon his return he usually brought some reading matter. This was a rare treat, especially to my moth- er. Saturday evening was an oasis in her life of toil; the one space of soul refreshment eagerly anticipated through the week, but I fear her studies would not always have been pronounced can- onical. Great-grandfather Johnson's youngest daughter married Master Si- mon Chase, a school teacher of much renown, and a man devoted to litera- ture. Besides many books of his own, to which he was constantly adding, he had, through his wife, come into poses- sion of most of her father's library. This couple resided in the former par- sonage, everything still remaining as it had been in the minister's lifetime. Mother, being a frequent visitor at her aunt Hannah's, was usually supplied with a book from their shelves, and father sometimes brought her one of the love-laden romances of the period, loaned to her by some of her "Port" friends.
Sunday, if in health, everybody was expected to attend public worship. In warm weather, grandmother and Aunt Sarah drove together in the square topped chaise. Uncle Enoch usually
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OF A NONAGENARIAN.
walked ; my father rode on his hand- some horse, my mother riding on the pillion behind him. At a very early age, as I was a quiet little girl, much to my joy I was permitted to go to meeting, and usually rode between my grandmother and aunt in the chaise, but sometimes was perched on mother's lap, a ride I vastly enjoyed, espescially if father put his horse to a gallop.
Never shall I forget my first advent at meeting. Great had been the prep- aration for this public appearance, for mother had a good share of wholesome sort of pride, and, as was natural for a youthful matron, wished her little daughter to look as pretty as possible. Grandmother Little owned a famously embroidered, linen cambric christening frock, and this garment having done ser- vice at all the baptisms, was now remod- elled for my Sunday dress. Mother con- structed a tasty green silk bonnet, and Grandfather Little presented a pair of red shoes, of his own make.
The meeting house, a square, weather embrowned structure, without steeple or bell, crowned a high hill, up which a stony road wound in steep ascent. A horse block for the convenience of the pillion riders stood by the front steps, and a long row of low sheds, shelter for the horses, extended to the left. The interior was a handsome specimen of the ecclesiastical architecture of the . period. The wide front door led through a broad aisle to a high pulpit furnished with green cushions. A sounding board depended from the ceil- ing above, and the communion table stood in front. A sounding board usu- ally was about eight feet in diameter, and shaped like an inverted wine-glass flattened toward the brim; it hung some six feet above the pulpit cushion.
Generally this adjunct to the sacred desk displayed gracefulness of design and beauty of decoration. A circular moulding enclosed the suspending rod where it entered the ceiling. This ap- pendage was to aid the speaker by equally diffusing the sound of the voice in every part of the building.
The broad aisle was intersected by a narrower one, into which side entrances opened. Another aisle ran around the edifice, separating the wall pews from those in the body of the house. These pews were enclosed by handsomely turned balusters. Front of the pulpit were rows of seats, for the accommo- dation of those wishing to be near the preacher, or elderly persons who were not pew holders. The benches to the right were for females, those to the left for males. The singers occupied the front gallery, to which a flight of stairs led each side of the front door. The side galleries were furnished with one long pew, extending the length of the wall ; the space in front was filled with benches. The wall pew to the right was set apart for the young wom- en ; girls occupied the centre tier of benches, while the front was filled by middle-aged women. The opposite gal- lery was similarly occupied by young men in the wall pew, boys and men on the benches. The large, square pews, in addition to the seats, were furnished with one or two high-backed chairs, which stood in the centre. These were commonly of rich wood, handsomely carved, with flag seats. These chairs were the posts of honor, and were usu- ally occupied by elderly ladies. Be- sides the chairs, there was generally one or more high stools, for the accom- modation of the more infantile portion of the congregation. Ours was a wall
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pew, the second to the right from the front door. My grandmother led me in and placed me on a stool beside her chair. Mother, somewhat flustered, but looking proud and pleased, seated herself behind me, and Aunt Sarah fidgeted around, placing the highest footstool beneath my feet. How vast and splendid everything seemed ! At length I began to take in details and recognize my relatives and acquaint- ances. There were Grandsir's and Uncle John Little's pew ; Uncle Thur- rell's ; the Doles' ; those of Aunt Sara, Col. Thomas ; Mr. Stephen and Enoch Noyes, Deacon Osgood, Mr. Newell, the Emerys, Carrs, Bartletts, Follans- bees, Baileys, Uncle John and Deacon Abel Merrill, Dr. Sawyer ; the parson- age pew, to the left of the pulpit ; those of the Plummers, Woodmans, Chases, Ilsleys, Brieketts, Hills, Adamses, Carletons and Jaques. The pew match- ing that of the parsonage, to the right of the pulpit, had several owners, and bore the designation of "Everybody's pew". Elderly women in close, black silk bon- nets, and thick silks or bright chintzes, quietly seated themselves, with demure, "Sabba' day" faces. More youthful matrons and maidens glided in, radiant in lighter silks, white muslins or cam- bric calicoes, and silk hats of various hues, gaily trimmed with ribbons, flow- ers or long, waving plumes. Little folks, like myself, stared about, or twirled the balusters of the pews. The three deacons-Tenney, Merrill and Osgood-entered and took their places beneath the pulpit. Par- son Toppan, in his black gown and white bands, accompanied by his wife and family, walked majestically up the broad aisle. There was the clatter of many feet, as the minister's entrance
was the signal for the men and boys who had been grouped around the meeting-house, to come in. Tithing- man Tewkesbury, his long pole in hand, took his place amidst the boys in the gallery ; Sexton Cooper tip-toed to his seat on the pulpit stairs. Parson Top- pan rose and read two lines of a psalm ; Deacon Osgood stepped forward and repeated them ; mother's cousin, Ed- mund Little, with a pitch-pipe, set the tune ; the choir sang the lines ; the two next were given out, and thus the psalm was sung. This was followed by a long prayer and a longer sermon. The benediction pronounced, there was a moment's pause ; then the minister descended from the pulpit, took his wife upon his arm, and, followed by his children, proceeded down the aisle, the clerical cortege gracefully returning the respectful bows and courtsies of the congregation. The clergyman's family was followed by the more aristocratic persons from the pews ; these by the remainder of the audience. Many peo- ple, especially in cold weather, took their dinner, and staid at the meeting- house during the short intermission. In winter we rode in the large, high- backed sleigh. Sometimes, when storm and wind had prevented the breaking of the paths, father and Uncle Enoch walked to meeting on their snow shoes, and Mr. Josiah Bartlett would yoke his oxen and take his large family thither on the sled.
CHAPTER V.
The fourth parish in Newbury, like its predecessor at the river side, and the parent society at Oldtown, belong-
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OF A NONAGENARIAN.
ed to what might be termed, the low church wing of Congregationalism. The Rev. William Johnson had been strongly opposed to the more rigid views of some of his brethren in the ministry. He would not admit the re- nowned Whitefield into his pulpit, and the great revivalist was obliged to preach in a private house.
I have often heard my great aunt Sara Noyes describe the sensation pro- duced by the eloquent divine. My great grandfather, Deacon John Noyes, fully sympathized in the disapproval evinced by his pastor, and he issued a strict edict forbidding any of his fam- ily attending what he termed "those disorderly assemblies." Aunt Sara, then a girl in her teens, entertained, as was natural, a strong desire to see and hear one whose name was on every tongue, and whose words and their effects were the chief topics of conver- sation on every side. At last, after much fear and trembling, she mus- tered courage to make a clandes- tine attempt to satisfy her curiosity. An evening meeting was to be held at a house in the vicinity, and she determined to brave her fath- er's displeasure, if her absence was discovered, and go. It was a dark, cheerless night, when, with a throbbing heart, stealing down the stairs and noiselessly opening the door, she ran lightly down the gravel. walk. Her hand was on the latch of the front gate, when a voice, in an authoritative tone, exclaimed " Go back !" . Startled, affrighted, she stopped, turned, and peered on all sides into the darkness. No one was in sight. Through the un- curtained window she could see her father and the other members of her family seated around the bright wood
fire. Concluding that, owing to the nervous timidity which this disobedi- ence to paternal mandates had caused, imagination had conjured up this voice, with another long and searching look around, she opened the gate. "Go back !" reiterated the voice, even more decidedly than at first, just in her ear. What could it mean? Again she stopped, waited, looked and listened. Nothing unusual could be seen, and not a sound could be heard save the wind sighing through the trees. Sara Noyes was a resolute girl, not easily turned from any purpose she had de- liberately formed, neither had she much belief in the supernatural. Thrusting back her fears, with a strong will she stilled her throbbing heart, and with a firm step, she again started forward. "Go back, go back," thundered the voice, in such a powerful and author- itative tone, that, thrilling in every nerve, the astonished girl, completely subdued, hastily turned, and fled into the house. Though she lived to a great age, and could never be reckoned a credulous person, to the last hour of her life she firmly believed that this was a Divine interposition to keep her from evil.
The Rev. David Toppan, the succes- sor of the Rev. William Johnson, enter- tained even more liberal tenets than his predecessor. A genial, courteous gentleman, ready to sympathize with his charge, in their various phases of weal and woe. Parson Toppan was a universal favorite. His marriage with a towns-woman, Miss Mary Sawyer, the daughter of Dr. Enoch Sawyer, drew him still nearer to the hearts of his people.
The intelligence that their pastor contemplated leaving for a professor-
3
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ship at Harvard, which began to be circulated in the spring of 1792, brought both consternation and grief. It could not be. A minister ought to live and die amidst the people over which he had been ordained. After many contradictory rumors the matter became at length decided. At the Thursday lecture, Parson Toppan, after a brief summary of the conflicting opinions then agitating the churches, announced the invitation he had re- ceived to a professorship at the college at Cambridge, and his intention of ac- cepting it. "This decision had been made after much hesitation and prayer- ful consideration. Heresy was creep- ing into the institution, and it was in- cumbent upon every one to put forth their full power in support of sound doctrine. Neither the honor nor the emolument had borne a feather's weight in this separation from his beloved charge, but what he considered a call to a higher duty, gave him no option but to obey." At these words, up jump- ed old Mr. Moses Newell, and with ire imprinted on his countenance, shak- ing his clenched fist at his pastor, he shouted, "you lie, Parson Toppan, you know you lie." Instantly the congre- gation was in commotion, but the min- ister by his quiet demeanor and calm tones quelled the tumult ; order was restored, Mr. Toppan closed the servi- ces, and the audience dispersed with sorrow in their hearts, and grief im- printed upon their faces, but with the firm conviction that their pastor was right ; painful as this separation was, it must be made ; inclination must be sacrificed to duty. Old Mr. Newell became pacified. His wife and son ex- erted themselves to this end. The old gentleman apologized, and invited the
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clergyman and his wife to dine, with a small party of select friends, at his house. There were many parting vis- its, and a general catechising of the children throughout the parish.
It was the custom to hold these cat- echisings annually, sometime during the spring or summer, usually on some afternoon in the middle of the week, in a house centrally located in each school district. As Parson Toppan wished to personally bid adieu to every child of his large flock, the catechising was ap- pointed somewhat earlier that year than usual. The children of our district met at my grandfather Little's. Though I was young to attend, being a pet of the parson's, who was a frequent visitor of the family, much to my delight I was permitted to go. With a throb- bing heart, clinging to aunt Hannah's hand on one side and uncle Joe's on the other, I entered the large parlor where sat my grandparents and older aunts. Parson Toppan occupied the large arm chair which he drew into the centre of the floor. The children ranged in a line in front. Having tak- en our places the recitations com- menced. With much care mother had taught me the "chief end of man," and one or two of the shortest com- mandments. Though terribly flustered till my turn came, when it was my time to speak I was so earnest to repeat the lesson right that this self-consciousness passed ; thus I was enabled to do my- self due credit. The good minister and my grandparents and aunts praised me, the elder children gathered around, petting and caressing the smallest and youngest of the class. Altogether it was as great a triumph as I ever achiev- ed or enjoyed. The catechisings and parting visits were over. The last, sad
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Sunday came and a farewell sermon was preached, the last tearful parting had passed, and the upper parish be- came a society without a pastor.
Candidates began to supply the pul- pit. Once a month one of the neigh- boring clergymen came to preach and administer the communion. The Rev. Barnard Tucker of the Oldtown socie- ty died that March. His successor, Rev. Mr. Moore, was not. settled until about two years later. At the "Port" at that period there were three socie- ties : The First Church, where Parson Cary had succeeded Dr. Lowell, the first minister ; the Old South, where the venerable and saintly Parson Mur- ray still occupied the pulpit ; and the North, where the Hopkinsian Dr. Spring poured forth his fiery zeal. There was also St. Paul's Episcopal church, of which Bishop Bass was rec- tor, but with this society ours, of course, had no communion.
I well remember the delight my mother always expressed when Parson Cary preached. He was her favorite minister, but most of her town rela- tions and friends attended on his min- istration, and many of the halcyon days of her maidenhood had been connected with this clergyman and his people. This may have induced an undue par- tiality, still from my childish impress- ion I infer that Parson Cary, until broken by ill health, was both a fine writer and an eloquent speaker.
The Rev. True Kimball was at this time pastor of the Second parish in Newbury, and the Byfield parish had recently ordained the Rev. Elijah Par- ish, afterwards the distinguished Fed- eralist divine, whose alpha and omega thundered over the land. His eminent talents and commanding eloquence had
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then just begun to attract public atten- tion. There was also Master Smith, the preceptor of Dummer Academy. He often came over to fill the pulpit when other supply failed. I was great- ly amused with this preacher. Short, stont and plethoric, with an abrupt, ab- sent air, and a most singular pronunci- ation, this gentleman was a never-fail- ing object for merriment amongst the juveniles of the congregation. One of his peculiarities was never closing his eyes when in prayer. People said he had acquired the habit of praying with his eyes open in school, keeping watch and ward over a parcel of unruly boys. Whatever the reason, he used to step forward in the pulpit, clasp his hands on the cushion, and in short, curt tones exclaim : "Ulmitty Gud !" This was the unvarying commencement of his opening prayer. The preceptor had the reputation of being a great linguist. It was affirmed that he knew so many languages that he had partly forgotten his own. Whether or no, the man was a great oddity ; one of those isolated beings whose characteristics are wholly originalities.
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