USA > Maine > Oxford County > Buckfield > A history of Buckfield, Oxford County, Maine, from the earliest explorations to the close of the year 1900 > Part 23
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I came to grief but conquered all its ills, And learned to love the cruel chastening rod ; I had grown patient cured by bitter pills, Nor walked abroad.
She knocked at length upon my hovel door And begged an entrance, bade me go with her, Out from the smoky walls and dusty lore Where shadows were.
I said, my solitude is better far Than all thy pomp and pageantry and "tone,"
I have no fancy for thy glittering car, Leave me alone.
AMANDA MAXIM VINING.
Amanda Maxim Vining is the 6th child of Capt. Benjamin and Susan (Harlow) Maxim and was born Nov. 3, 1848. Both her parents had the natural gift of writing poetry which this daughter with four others of the family, inherited. Her productions are
Rose Maxim -
Amanda Maxim Vining
Martha Maxim
Mary Maxim -...
Wallace Maxim
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characterized by simplicity of style, richness of tone and sweetness of rhythm. She married Mr. Bernard E. Vining and now resides at Farmington, Me.
STREAKED MOUNTAIN.
Where skies bend down with smiling glance O'er forest, hill and stream, O'er waters in the sunlight Flashing back an azure gleam, 'Tis there with visage calm, serene, Ne'er heeding wind or storm, In grave and silent majesty Old Streaked rears his form.
Ever the same : Time's changes leave No furrows on his brow :
The grey old cliffs still beckon As in years long vanished now ; And through his dim and shady groves The wild deer loves to roam, Above, where sweep their loftiest boughs The eagle has his home.
Full many a time in days gone by Our youthful feet have strayed Through winding paths, o'er ledges bare, Alternate sun and shade,
Till high upon the rocky steeps
We stood with bated breath
And viewed the scene that stretched afar Our wondering gaze beneath.
And long we tarried on the mount, Reluctant to depart ; The wind of heaven upon our cheeks Life's joy in each young heart ; Till shades of evening, falling fast, Warned us, without delay To seek again the twilight path, Adown the homeward way.
Dream on, old crags and towers sublime! Dream on without a fear ; Though strangers deem unworthy All thy children hold so dear, And though we dwell in lands apart, Or roam the distant sea, With thoughts of pride our loyal hearts Still fondly turn to thee.
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BEAUTIFUL EVENING STAR.
Musing alone in the silence After the close of day. My thoughts go out to the loved ones And friends who are far away. Faintly the twilight glimmers Over the dusky walls, And into the gloom of my shadowy room
The silvery starlight falls.
Shine on, O beautiful star ! Shine o'er the dear ones afar. Are they watching for thee, Are they thinking of me, O beautiful evening star?
Sweet was the home-life together, Glad were the songs that we sung, There in the glow of the firelight When the day's labors were done. Some have gone out from its shelter, Life's sterner duties to share, And some are asleep where the low grasses creep, In a valley so sweet and fair.
Softly, O beautiful star Shine on their rest from afar- Shall we meet where no word Of farewell e'er is heard. O beautiful evening star?
ROSE MAXIM.
Rose Maxim, daughter of Capt. Benjamin and Susan ( Har- low ) Maxim, was born in Buckfield, Aug. 30, 1850, the 7th of a family of ten children. Iler oportunities for obtaining an educa- tion were only what the district school afforded, but the family though living on a farm was an intellectual one, and good books and newspapers constantly found their way into the home. She commenced writing poetry very young. That she came to write real poetry and not simply rhymes, her productions demonstrate. When her two youngest sisters went to reside at Cambridge, Mass., she went there with them. While there she published a book of her poems. There can be no question of her taking rank with the very first of writers of poetry in Maine. She died Feb. 26, 1898, much lamented.
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PRAYER FOR THE NATION !
Ruler Supreme, our help and consolation, Our King and Sovereign grand, To Thee we cry, Oh save this blood-bought nation By thine all-powerful hand, From every form of slavery and oppression,
From every act of treason and secession,
From unwise rulers, tyranny, transgression, God save our native land.
Grant that the blood poured out on fields of slaughter May not have been in vain ; Grant that so many tears, that flowed like water, May not be shed again ; O patriots, heroes, martyrs, gone before us, We trust that still ye too are watching o'er us,
Help us as when through strife ye bravely bore us, Our flag without a stain.
May human hands be strengthened, hearts united, For good not partisan ;
For common interests, may these wrongs be righted By thine eternal plan. Crush out the wrong by one supreme endeavor ; Break down our idols, from them let nis sever ; Teach us but this-to know and feel forever- The brotherhood of man.
And so amid the dark clouds and the breakers, Firm as a rock we'll stand, If, when the dangers threaten to o'ertake us, We feel thy guiding hand. Oh, by that peace foretold in ancient story, By that good will proclaimed by prophets hoary. By justice, love, and liberty's true glory, God bless our native land !
A WISH.
I wish that I could feel once more, The strength and joy of youth ; For hope which is delusion Is happier than truth. Give me a beauteous spot where I Can on the greensward lie, O'ershadowed by the greenest boughs, Beneath the bright blue sky.
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Forgetting all life's tumult there In solitude and peace, For living would be weariness, If love of Nature cease ; For human ills are many, And each must bear his sting, So would I be, where harmony Abounds in everything.
MARY AND MARTHA MAXIM.
Mary and Martha Maxim, the youngest children of Capt. Benjamin and Susan ( Harlow ) Maxim, were born in Buckfield, April 16, 1857. While attending the district school both began writing poetry and showed great aptitude for composition and drawing. They were easily first in their classes. Both were natural musicians and since leaving school took up music as a profession and have only occasionally written poetry.
Several years after they moved to Cambridge, Mass., where they have since resided. Martha plays the violin with rare skill, as in fact any stringed instrument. Mary has devoted more time to drawing and painting, and is an artist of much talent. She is a teacher also of both vocal and instrumental music. Since re- siding in Massachusetts, they have studied with the best teachers in Boston and Martha with noted musicians in Paris, France. They are a credit to themselves and an honor to the good old town, where they were born and reared. In 1897 Martha visited Europe-going to England and France. The next year she went to Ireland and Scotland. She wrote of her experiences in for- eign lands which are very delightful reading.
MARY MAXIM. A NOVEMBER IDYL.
The fields in somber garb are sleeping, 'Neath leaden skies that cheerless scem. The tall pines, faithful watch are keeping Over meadow, hill and stream.
The maple's gold and crimson splendor Which but yesterday seemed complete- And song of wood-thrush low and tender Now, are only memories sweet.
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Down by the swiftly flowing river, In russet garments, rich and deep, Tall ferns in chilly breezes quiver And sigh, as they lie down to sleep.
And yet, there's charm in this sweet sadness, Brooding o'er the dear, dead flowers, Tho' no bird-note of joy and gladness Echoes through the leafless bowers.
Tho' lovely May brings scenes alluring, Glad songs of hope and promise sings, November, rich reward, enduring. To the toiling reaper brings.
In the giant oak, dismantled, standing With outstretched arms against the sky, In sovereign majesty, commanding Reverence, none can e'er deny.
Strength, beauty, grace, we see-undying Through winter's blust'ring storms and sleet- That tempers with content, our sighing For flowers that blossomed at his feet.
And tho' the thrush's song at even -- That for aye, we fain would keep- Brings the soul to the gates of Heaven, There is joy in Silence deep,
That folds, with tender, fond caressing The brown earth, to its placid breast Breathing benediction, blessing. Whispering of peace and rest.
And for this sweet calm that enfolds us For the peace that crowns our land, We, thankful, bow to Him who holds us In the hollow of His hand.
WHERE I WOULD REST. When for me, the unseen boatman Piles his silent oar, When to Nature's wondrous glories These eyes shall ope no more, When these weary hands no longer Seek their earthly task, Not for praise or worldly honor, Be the boon I ask.
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Where sweet wild flowers bend o'er me, May I calmly rest. Where the tall and fragrant grasses Wave above my breast, Where a singing brook glides swiftly O'er mossy stones away, And song birds fill with melody Each long sweet summer day.
Thro' winter's frost, and summer's sunshine- O'er my dreamless sleep May a pine tree, tall and stately, Faithful vigil keep. While a graceful birch, low bending My grassy bed above, Answers to the west wind, fondly Whispering tales of love.
There to sleep, 'neath Nature's bosom, Watched with loving care, By her children, softly breathing Hymns of praise and prayer Would sweeter be than commendation Phrased hy pen or tongue. Sweeter far. than highest tribute E'er to mortal sung.
MARTHA MAXIM. AT HOME ONCE MORE.
My native hills! I stand once more
Upon your sacred sod,
And for this glorious heritage I thank our father's God.
The echoings of other lands But call to me in vain,
For the longings of the heart reach out To the dear old hills of Maine.
I
Where'er my footsteps wandered By castle or palace gate, seemed to see the hills and vales Of the grand old Pine Tree State.
O pine trees, radiant pine trees! In your stately, fair array You are dearer yet, and nearer When I am far away.
Sometimes you're crowned with snowflakes
Sometimes thru branches free The song of woodthrush was wafted Over the ocean unto me.
And I heard again the music With its ceaseless sad refrain Of the "murmuring pines and hemlock"
Of my dear old State of Maine.
7 I've looked upon thrones of kings
Whose fame has spanned the sea, But to sit beneath thy pine trees' shade Is throne enough for me.
I've gazed on scepter and crown On gems that monarchs wear But the jewels from thy rugged glens Are far more rich and rare.
O glorious hills of Homeland! O beautiful woods of Maine Again I how in thankfulness To be with you again.
And for this safe return to thee From lands of ancient lore But most of all, that I am here At home, at home once more!
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ARDELIA II. PRINCE.
Ardelia H. Prince, daughter of Noah Prince, is today the most cultivated woman in town. A graduate of the old fitting school at South Paris, she became a teacher and followed that profession in Brooklyn, N. Y., for many years. Retiring therefrom, she has since resided in Buckfield, at one time teaching in its schools. She is trustee of the Zadoc Long Free Library. Her fine literary tastes, her interest in all that tends to the good
Ardelia H. Prince
of the town, her refined home and her still youthful and vigorous seventy-seven years of useful life make her a distinguished figure in society.
Miss Prince has always been an extensive reader of good, clean literature and the classics and is a fine writer of both prose and poetry. Her two little gems of verse here given will attract the attention and interest of all who read this history.
IN SUMMER-TIME.
In summer-time white lilies blow, And in the sun red roses glow. Blue hazes cap the distant hills, And hum of bees the soft air fills Where tall the scarlet poppies grow.
The shifting winds drive to and fro. Across blue skies, light clouds that go Like thistle-down on grassy rills, In summer-time.
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In these glad days, our footsteps slow Fall light by fair Nezinscot's flow : Sweet speech, or sweetest silence, fills The happy hours. The frost that kills,- The love that dies,-how can we know In summer-time !
IN WINTER-TIME.
In winter-time fair trac'ries grow On window panes while smoke-wreaths go, In early morn, far overhead In billowy, amber clouds that shed Pale tints athwart the wastes of snow.
In steely skies the star points glow ; 'Neath ice is lost the river's flow; While creaks the passers hurried tread In winter-time.
Thro' bitter days the fierce winds blow And drive the ever deepening snow Across bleak plains where lie the dead, In narrow house, on coldest bed, 'Neath marbles white, row after row, In winter-time.
SEBA SMITH. (See Sketch)
ON AN EVENT OCCURRING IN THE GREEN MOUNTAINS.
The cold winds swept the mountain's height, And pathless was the dreary wild, And 'mid the cheerless hours of night, A mother wandered with her child. As through the drifted snow she pressed, The babe was sleeping on her breast.
And colder still the winds did blow, And darker hours of night came on, And deeper grew the drifts of snow ;
Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone; O God, she cried, in accents wild, If I must perish, save my child !
She stripped her mantle from her breast, And bared her bosom to the storm, And round the child she wrapped the vest,
Seba Smith ~
Elizabeth Oakes Smith
Anna Crossman Smith
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And smiled to think her babe was warm; With one cold kiss, one tear she shed, And sunk upon a snowy bed.
At dawn a traveler passed by, She lay beneath a snowy veil, The frost of death was in her eye, Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale; He moved the robe from off the child, The babe looked up and sweetly smiled.
ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.
Elizabeth Oakes ( Prince) Smith was born in North Yar- mouth in 1806. She was a remarkable child. Early acquiring a taste for literature she began writing essays and poetry when eight years old. She became acquainted with Seba Smith, who had taken up his residence in Portland and was connected as a contributor with the principal newspaper of the city of which he afterward became editor and in her seventeenth year she married him. It was the most fortunate event of the author's life. All his literary projects received from her hearty support and as- sistance. She assisted him in establishing the Portland Daily Courier and contributed to its columns both prose and poetry. She developed rapidly and seemed to grasp many subjects intui- tively and handle them in a masterly manner. Mrs. Smith could talk in public as well as use the pen in her sanctum. The anti- slavery cause and the rights of women found in her an able cham- pion. Hawthorne and Lowell highly complimented her for her literary productions while her oratory won the praises of Sumner and Phillips. She was the pioneer speaker among American women. In religious faith she was a Swedenborgian. After the family moved to New York she wrote and published her first novel. Their lovely home at Patchogue, L. I., was for many years a social center for people of literary culture and attain- ments. She was one of the most beautiful and charming of women. It has well been said of her that "she long stood before the public eye as essayist, poet, novelist, lecturer and preacher. In her poem of 'The Sinless Child,' which she called her best production, there are some of the most beautiful passages to be found in English literature." One who personally knew her has
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left this statement about her : "She outshone every other person in her grace, beauty and literary attainments." Her fame is more enduring than her distinguished husband's. She outlived him for many years and died at Long Island in 1893 at the age of 87. She left several children and grandchildren, several of whom as might be expected are poets.
To PORTLAND.
O City of my heart ! in dreams, Sweet dreams, I see thee as of yore, And catch the light's first early beams Glint o'er White Head's roar ; Old Ocean's Daughter ! beam with smiles, And wear thy royal crest, Three hundred sixty-five green isles Sleep on old Casco's breast.
And each is fair and bright to see, With tuft of breezy pine, Where I have often longed to be In these long years of mine : Accept, fair daughter of the sea, A simple, loving rhyme, For thou hast always been to me A tender, solemn chime,
Such as the mariner has heard Far out upon the sea, Where bell of church or song of bird Could never hope to be. But village bell and song of bird Had furnished memory's cell With many a whispered sound and word Remembered over-well.
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Farewell! oh, daughter of the sea, Right royally thy throne O'erlooks the isles that wait on thee, Where White Head sits alone ; Thy regal head bears not a scar From all the perils past ; Thine is the glory of the star, When skies are overcast !
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ANNA CROSSMAN SMITH.
Anna Crossman was born in Raynham, Mass., Oct. 30, 1734. She married Lieut. Jasiel Smith, an officer in the Revolutionary war. They moved to Turner, Me., late in life (1786) from Taunton, Mass. Their nine children married and settled in Tur- ner, Buckfield and adjoining towns. She died in Boothbay, Me., May 18, 1823 in her 89th year. She was a remarkably intellect- ual woman and much of her famous grandson's (Seba Smith, Jr.) talent is thought to have been inherited from her.
The following poetical farewell to her relatives and friends was found in her clothing after her death and read at her funeral :
MY 88TH BIRTHDAY. This day my years are eighty-eight, An unexpected age : O may I now with patience wait My weary pilgrimage.
O gnide me down the steps of age, And keep my passions cool,
To understand thy sacred page And practice every rule.
May I with those in realms above, That here are my delight, Forever sing redeeming love In glory infinite.
Upon a poor polluted worm, O make thy grace to shine !
O save me for thy mercy's sake, For I am doubly thine !
GILBERT TILTON.
Gilbert Tilton was born in Livermore, Maine, Nov. 16, 1828. He was educated in the public and private schools of his native town and upon attaining his majority chose farming and the me- chanic's trade for an occupation. He went West in 1868, but came back the next year to Maine and settled in Buckfield village. He died Jan. 9, 1907.
THE SCHOOL OF NATURE. When the apple is in bloom, We'll inhale the sweet perfume And revel in the beauties of the spring ; When the spring is come and gone And the summer-time is on, Old Nature will her choicest blessings bring.
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When the autumn doth return, Nature's lessons we will learn, And garner up her treasures by the way; Then the journey of our life, With the closing of its strife, We'll compass in the doings of a day.
Then we'll wonder, wonder still Whether good or whether ill Shall be the lot of mortals here below ; While the sage will oft declare There'll be trouble over there,
But ne'er we'll heed his ruling thus and so.
'Tis with virtue we'll enshroud, Seek to have our claims allowed
By Him who is vested with all power ; All sufficient is the day, As we travel on our way,
The Golden Rule to guide us evermore.
We'll banish every thought By imagination wrought Of impending evils held in store, For the nations who were sent Without knowledge or consent
To a cold and cheerless desert shore.
FLORA E. WHITMAN.
Miss Flora E. Whitman is the daughter of Ellis and Cora (Record) Whitman and was born in Buckfield, April 30, 1889. She is a graduate of Buckfield High School and the State Nor-
Flora E. Whitman
mal School at Farmington. For several years she has been a suc- cessful school teacher. Only recently has she turned her atten- tion to writing poetry. Her productions show remarkable talent and give great promise of future prominence in this field of literature.
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A TRIBUTE TO OUR SOLDIERS. 'Tis the month of buds and blossoms, Ushering summer on her way, "Tis the time of tender memories, For it's now Memorial Day.
Here and there the soldiers gather, Growing fewer with the years. Now their steps are slow and feeble. Now their eyes are dimmed with tears.
Once they were so strong and valiant, Marching to the drum and fife, Pressing forward in the battle, Glorying in the soldier's life.
O'er old memories now they ponder, Review the old scenes once again, Look upon their comrades' faces ; 'Tis the day of days to them.
Now they are on the battlefield, Where they fought so long and well. Where the cannon roared their vengeance, And the whistling bullets fell.
Now they're marching, sick and weary Through the country of their foe ; What they suffered in those old days, Only God and they can know.
Along the beautiful Potomac. .Now the armies quiet lie ; Now they are at Chattanooga ; Now at Lookout Mountain high.
Then Gettysburg and the Wilderness With other battles known to fame, Then the siege at Petersburg, And at Richmond on the James.
Then the war's great Southern leader, Taking counsel with the Lord, Near Virginia's fairest city, Surrendered unto Grant his sword.
Five days later came the tidings, Which made sad the hearts of all; That Lincoln, their noble Chieftain, Had answered to the last great call.
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In memory the bells are tolling, As they tolled upon that day, When the Leader of the People Was laid from earthly cares away.
Thus at last the war was ended, After suffering and pain ; Thousands were among the wounded, More there were aniong the slain.
Of the many thousand soldiers, Of that band so tried and true, Only a little group of veterans, Who wore the faded coat of blue.
Let us honor them while living, With our flags and garlands gay; Honor them with songs and speeches, And thus keep Memorial Day.
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CHAPTER XXII.
LAWYERS.
DANIEL HOWARD, ESQ.
Daniel Howard was the first lawyer of whom we have any account, to practice his profession in Buckfield. He came from Turner shortly after the county of Oxford was formed in 1805. Howard was no doubt the second lawyer who settled in Turner. He was employed in 1802 to defend that town which had been indicted "for neglecting to provide itself with a public teacher of piety, religion and morality" (minister ). We find his name on the petition to the General Court of the Commonwealth in 1804, opposing the incorporation of a Universalist society in Turner.
On coming to Buckfield he purchased lot No. 10 on North Hill of the heirs of Thomas Coburn. He represented the town in the first court of General Sessions in the county at Paris Ilill in 1806. These courts were opened with great formality. A fifer and drummer, after playing awhile in front of the meeting- honse in which the courts were held till a court house was built, marched to the tavern and escorted the justices to the court room. The magistrates having been ushered into their seats by the sheriff, the crier stepped to the door and in a loud voice, made the opening proclamations.
The law practice of Daniel Howard appears to have been very large. No lawyer in the county had a larger number of cases in court. At the first term he tried two actions before the . jury. One he lost but the other he won. He did not stay long in Buckfield and having sold his farm to Thomas Long and prob- ably his practice to Henry Farwell, he moved to New Gloucester. From New Gloucester, he went to Jay and from there to Vassal- borough, where he was a practicing attorney as late as 1841.
GEN. HENRY FARWELL.
Henry Farwell, who succeeded Daniel Howard in the prac- tice of the law in Buckfield, was born in Chesterfield, N. H., April 10, 1777. 1le came to Waterford about the time the coan- ty of Oxford was incorporated but soon after went to Norway where he probably read law in the office of Luther Farrar, Esq.
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He was the first lawyer to be admitted to the Oxford County Bar. This was at the June term, 1807. of the Court of Common Pleas and the same year he opened an office at Buckfield village on the southern side of the river near where the post office now stands. January 1, 1809, he married Sarah, daughter of Capt. Henry Rust, son of the proprietor of Rustfield, now the southern part of the town of Norway. She was born at Salem, Mass., Feb. 26, 1789 and died at Norway, March 6, 1852. While at Buck- field Farwell and his wife resided in the same building or in one adjoining in which he had his law office.
He seems to have prospered for a time, tried his own cases and was fairly successful. But Nathaniel Howe of Paris opened a law office in Buckfield about 1810 and in 1814 Samuel F. Brown came and began the practice of the law. For some rea- son Farwell appears to have lost the support of the leading busi- ness men. The court records show that he was often a litigant as defendant. Judge Reuel Washburn of Livermore wrote in 1877 that "Farwell had the reputation of being slow to pay over money collected for his clients and was often sued for neglect to do so." About 1820, he moved to Dixfield where he was post- master for many years and prominent in the militia, rising to the rank of Brigadier General. Gen. Farwell while at Buckfield was one of the prime movers in the organization of the first ma- sonic lodge in the county at Paris Hill and of which he was the first master. He died at Dixfield, February 21, 1847.
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