USA > Maine > Oxford County > Paris > History of Paris, Maine, from its settlement to 1880, with a history of the grants of 1736 & 1771, together with personal sketches, a copious genealogical register and an appendix > Part 23
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I take pleasure in again possessing my birthright by which I become a citizen if not a resident of Paris. My home feeling has never left me, though sad the changes and long the absence. I can as easily remember the events of the last sixty years as I can recall the last ten.
Of those of my age are Hamlins, Rawsons, Clarks, Emerys, Cummings's, and Marbles, Hubbards and Hammonds, Coles and Browns, of the Hill, and Prentisses, Kings, Stowells, Maxims and Thayers, of other parts of the town.
Miss Eliza Hamlin and Miss Sarah Jane Prentiss, long residents here, and both distinguished for their patriotism, would proudly float the stars and stripes from their houses, if their valuable lives had reached this first centennial anniversary.
My first appearance on a stage was Feb. 5th, 1823, the day I was twelve years old, fifty-three years ago. I have seen six of that company here to-day. Another time, nearly on this spot, I assisted in the ceremonies of presenting a flag to the Paris Rifle Company ; some of that company march with the "ancients" to-day ; how many, I do not know.
I am in full sympathy with reminiscences of Hon. Hannibal Hamlin- the cold meeting house in the days of Rev. James Hooper, and the impatience we felt with all sermons longer than the twenty minutes used by him. The story is told of Mr. Hooper saying that "man went abroad doing business and looking out for his family, with his dog following him ; the women and cats staid at home." There is some change now. Some men sit in the corner with the cats, and smoke. Women and dogs are subject to taxation but neither can vote.
Another anniversary may mark as great changes. What can they be?
In this connection, the following poem written by Mrs. Hannah (Maxim) Allen of Michigan, was presented :
Mrs. Abigail A. Prentifs.
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HISTORY OF PARIS.
A GREETING TO MY NATIVE HILLS.
Ye grand old hills that round my childhood's home Keep watch and ward in solemn majesty, To-day, my spirit spurns the bounds of space, And stands once more upon your sunny slopes And greets you, hail, all hail! I love you still With love as steadfast as your own calm strength. To-day, I gaze on your familiar forms, And drink the airs that fan your lofty brows, And trace, with kindling eye, the first faint sign, Of autumn with his slow, transfiguring touch, The charm and pathos of his mellow days, On your broad uplands, and your fair, sweet vales, Where Androscoggin winds, a silver chain With jewelled links of murmuring waterfalls. Anon my eyes grow dim, for while I gaze, The memories of long bygone years sweep in, A full flood-tide upon my soul, and lo ! The gray-haired woman is a child again. I see my father with the thoughtful brow That hid a life-long hunger of the soul ; My gentle mother with her patient eyes, Treading her household ways with tireless feet, A cheerful burden-bearer through the years ; The brother, in whose whitening locks to-day The frosts of more than fifty winters lie, Sits in the winter fireside's genial glow, - A youthful student delving patiently, For the rich ores of knowledge; by his side, The fair, blue-eyed child-sister, bending low, With her rapt face above the thrilling page. I see the humble cot that sheltered us ; The hill-slope, smooth and fair whereon it stood ; The moss-grown ledge, and the old apple trees, Where sang the bobolinks, the long June days; Again I sit by the west window small, Where I was wont, "a dreamer born," to watch The sunset's crimson banners streaming wide Above Mount Washington's sky-piercing peak, Or muse away the balmy summer eve, With crowding thoughts too deep for utterance- Strange, haunting visions of those radiant heights, Where Fame flung wide her gilded temple-doors, And beckoned from afar. Ah, idle dreams That vainly mocked the eager heart of youth, And left behind a long unrest and pain.
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To-day I smile a tranquil smile above Their buried ashes, saying, it is well. Another face beloved comes back to me- Oh, Sarah! friend of youth! inspirer, thou Of all high thoughts and gentle charities ; Martyr to that pure zeal to bless thy kind That burned within thy soul, a vestal flame ; To-day I seek thy grave to lay thereon The late thank offering of grateful love. Long live thy name, a rich inheritance, As some rare melody that, though it cease Upon the outward ear, the soul still keeps, A haunting sweetness that can never die. Still other forms and faces, loved of old, I see again in memory's magic glass ; Some whose warm hands might clasp my own to-day ; And some to whom the sunset gates have ope'd, Whose eyes, no longer holden, penetrate The mystery our souls stand dumb before. Once more, all hail, my own loved native hills ! The inspiration of our majesty,
The charm of every changeful tint and tone The shifting seasons shed from year to year, Still glow within my soul, a sacred fire; And if the humble flower of poesy
I bring to-day, some transient sweetness breathe,
Your wandering child would ne'er forget it sprang Within the shadow of your granite walls, And blossomed in your fostering suns and dews.
"The Press," was responded to by the following letter from Rev. Geo. K. Shaw of Biddeford :
S. P. Maxim, Corresponding Secretary of the Committee of the Centennial Anniversary of Paris :
"Permit me to thank you, and through you, the committee for the invita- tion to be present at the Paris Centennial Anniversary, and "respond for the Press." Nothing could afford me greater pleasure than to comply with your request ; but for reasons I need not mention here, I am' obliged to decline, so I must be content to respond only by letter. Whoever may be selected to respond in my stead, will of course give special attention to the history of the press in the town of Paris, interspersed with such remarks, incidents and anecdotes as may occur. I need then simply to speculate a little on the press generally-its power and influence, including those asso- viated with it. Being a native of Paris, and having many relatives there, I have always had a very high appreciation of the people of that town. No town in the county, if in the State, ever had a better class of citizens
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than were the early settlers of Paris. Most of them became independent farmers ; and what added greatly to their success, the women, wives and daughters were their equals in mental capacity and energy. The press is indebted to some of them for many very superior literary contributions. Paris people have not been unmindful of the importance of the press, and have done much to sustain it for many years ; and a long time ago fur- nished type-setters and journalists. Some of them since that time have attained to high positions under the government, and will probably honor your anniversary with their presence.
A learned philosopher once defined man to be an animal that laughs. And the press sometimes developes the mirthful powers, and makes merry its readers. But nobody has yet discovered how animals communicate their feelings or information from one to another, and yet we all know that in some way they do it. The language of flowers is laid open to us, at least, it is so far known to the young botanists of both sexes, that they can readily convey to whom they will, the deepest impressions, and the most ardent sentiments, in a vocabulary whose words are flowers. The poets, however, decried they may be by hard, practical people, who pride them- selves upon taking only common-sense views of things-people who think they are wisest when dryest and dullest-the poets, I insist, frequently get at the truth, and tell it, when acutest logicians and reasoners fail to catch a glimpse of it. And these poets, with the knowledge that comes from intuition, speak everywhere, and all of them, of laughing eyes and laugh- ing hair, and laughing breezes, and laughing meadows, and laughing plains, rills, fields, hills and skies ; all of which means that these various objects, animate and inanimate, convey by some sign or movement, or expression, the same idea of laughter which man evinces by cachinatory sounds. The press announces the beautiful poetic sentiments, and they are telegraphed to the uttermost parts of the earth, and the whole universe resounds in one grand song of praise. The philosopher was wrong when he thought that his characterization of man as "the animal that laughs" was just or pre- cise. A better definition would be, the animal that gives dinners. Men are social beings, as the school philosophers say. They believe in having a good time together. This is perfectly natural. A large portion of animals like to go in herds, droves or flocks, and live in company ; and man is not an exception. He is the only animal that deliberately goes to work, and collects a lot of good things, desirable and delightful to eat and drink, and then calls to himself a lot of his kind to help him devour them. This has been characteristic of the citizens of Paris from the beginning. I can remember when more than sixty years ago the Paris people were noted for giving dinners, tea-parties and social gatherings for amusement. Grand old times were these. Even the good minister, if he only made a call, was expected to take a social glass. Perhaps he suffered no apparent incon- venience from the practice; yet the evil consequences extended to those who came after him. But the tongue and the press has done much to avert the evil.
These social gatherings inspire conversation which embraces the range
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of communication between intellect and intellect. Through the medium of speech, the interchange of our ideas, knowledge and emotions are improved. Conversation propelled by truth and wafted on the waves of virtue and good will to man, is one of the most charming and happifying blessings with which human nature is endowed. The press, that potent engine of thought, receives its tone and general tendency from the current of conversation. In vain we attempt to push its influence beyond the chan- nels or away from the direction opened and pursued by its pioneer, the more potent and lordly energy of the tongue! Yes, there would lie the treasures of the press, in unbroken neglect, did not the spirit of inquiry, awakened by conversation, recall them to life. Let conversation demand a change in the character of the press, and the press will prove itself sub- servient. Let common talk consign a portion of it to contempt, and that portion ceases to live. The man who can talk well need not fear the press. But to talk well he must be well read. He can engage living books to speak his merits, and lisping newspapers to publish his fame. He can exclude the unsavory gazette from the circle of his influence, or make the printed herald welcome where it was once a stranger. Let it then be under- stood, that we who talk, and not they who print, are responsible for the character of the press. The press must ascertain the will of the public voice, in most instances, before it can speak with safety or success; and it generally does. Then it provides something for its readers to talk about ; and then conversation and the press become mutual helps in society. As our domestic animals prove unprofitable unless well fed, so if the press is not well provided with the sinews of enterprise, it will die.
No doubt every citizen in Paris will admit that the products of the press, so far as he has been favored with the reading, has done him good, has enlarged his views, has brought him in nearer relation to his fellows, and to appreciate the printer and journalist whose existence and growing power and prosperity is not the least amazing of the great facts of the great century during which Paris has lived. The press is the great unifier, the great centralizer. Lightning and steam have so nearly annihilated time and space that those two things which have heretofore prevented intercourse among men and so kept them in everything apart and unlike, can hardly be counted in estimating the elements which will work hence- forward to change the ways and the political force of the world. To-day Maine is nearer to the centipedes than she was to the capital of our nation when she became one of the States of the Union. To-day any citizen of your town can get a message from a friend in India as quick as he can from Portland. The daily newspaper lays before you, fresh every morning, the events of the preceding day in every quarter of the Globe. Even your local weekly paper can furnish you with all the news and events from abroad as readily as it does the items and incidents from the several towns in your county. Moved by the sympathy enlisted by the press, which facility and intercommunication making the whole world a neighborhood, inevitably produces the same tendency to united action which has brought your sons and daughters together in honor of the Centennial Anniversary
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of Paris. It promotes international action, and moves local and State and National societies to form connection and work together with similar socie- ties abroad in international Unions-as do your union societies in town for reform. And it is a good thing that it is so. The better nations and peo- ple know one another, the more individuals of each are united in familiar relations with individuals of the other the less inclined they are to war. The more people know the less apt they are to fight. Intelligent business nations do not go to war if they can find any other way to settle the differ- ence. Had the people of the several States of our Union known each other better, we should have had no war. But that event has past. Let it rest. And so has our late annual election past. All, no doubt, did their best, not excepting the press. Now it is well for us to see what manner of men we ought to be, and know what clever fellows in the main all of us are.
All of these tendencies will grow. The world of the printing press, the steam engine and the telegraph can never retrograde. We must go with it. We must recognize and appreciate our position on the very pinnacle of the greatest time in the history of the world. We must be true to the duties of our wide and widening citizenship. We must work together.
Then we may live more in one year, so far as our mental and spiritual powers are concerned, which is alone of ultimate value to ourselves and the world, than Methuselah did in the nine hundred and sixty-nine years of his tedious life. When the last of Arthur's knights, the bold Sir Bedvere, bore the wounded King from the fatal field in Lyonness, where all save he had fallen, man by man, about their lord, on that fatal day whose sequel unsoldered "all the goodliest fellowship of famous knights whereof the world holds record," he, not having insight into the future, and not aware that Merlin had sworn that Arthur should come again to rule once more, ยท lamented that the whole Round Table was dissolved, "which was an image of the mighty world," and moaned :
"Now I see the good old times are dead,
When every morning brought a noble chance,
And every chance brought out a noble knight."
But in our day Merlin's oath has been fulfilled. King Arthur has come again. His throne is the Press and we are the Round Table. His warfare is a more glorious one than he ever waged against a lawless subject or invading Dane; and every morning again brings to us a noble chance, and every chance brings out a noble knight. May none of those corruptions which wrought the dissolution of the first Round Table find place among the men of the press or other citizens, and that they may not, let each of us strive to wear
-- "Without abuse, The grand old name of gentleman, Defamed by every charlatan, And soiled with all ignoble use."
As you will get up a history of Paris at an early day, I would suggest that the citizens, to make a better history of the future, collect all the copies they can of the older papers, and let every member of the community
L
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HISTORY OF PARIS.
be requested to give as complete files as he can of his own paper. It won't take you long to make a valuable library. Some time you will get rich and powerful, and you can have a permanent abiding place for your archives, to which you can refer for any document contained in them; and also, when at your leisure, find it pleasant to roam around and have a good time together. G. K. SHAW.
Mr. George W. Hammond's response to the toast, "Agriculture, -though pinioned to earth may she prove in future, as in the past, the bulwark and real foundation of all industries," was as follows : Mr. President, and Fellow Citizens of the United States :
"We are members of the same family, children of a common parent ; then let us cast off undue restraint and make this, Paris' first centennial, a social season. Should we picture our fields more verdant, gardens more abundant, trees more fruitful and their rich offerings more delicious, deem us not vain in our imaginings, but bear in mind that this is our centennial ; when you, our esteemed neighbors, invite us on a like occasion we will grant you the same latitude. Some three days since I was invited by the committee to respond in the interest of agriculture; this compliment was more valued because unsought. This genii so fraught with meaning laid at the feet of agriculture, thanks to the author, comes clad with the inspir- ation of prayer, it beats in unison with the instruction given in the good Book, "Give us this day our daily bread."
We would not speak disparagingly of any of the industries ; the mechanic, the artist, the merchant, gentlemen of the learned professions and numer- ous other pursuits, calculated to make us a free and happy people, receive our hearty approbation and applause.
Agriculture, horticulture, floraculture and the whole family of cultures are only nicknames ; tilling the earth is our real occupation, our calling is time-honored. He who said "Go out and till the ground," also said "In the sweat of the face shalt thou eat bread." God's laws are immutable and can never change. The moon is a satellite and borrows its pale light from the great luminary of day ; you too are satellites to the tillers of the soil and are dependant on their labor for your daily support. The Prince, though a millionaire, answers to the same tribunal as does the tramp who begs bread from door to door. Palsy the arm of the earth laborer, and down comes the whole superstructure; you cannot run a train nor float a ship. We have listened to Literature, History and Poetry, to Gospel, Law and Medicine, heard eulogies on statesmen, clergymen, and others, but very little about the poor laboring man, and not one word about the gen- erous hearted sailor who plows the rough main. One year at sea behind the mast taught me what those brave fellows endure for our comfort and sup- port. Cheer up then my brave tars, you are waiters, transporting our rich bounties to starving garrisons ; without your aid our boasted castles would be but a defenseless mass of ruins ; you are waiters at the great banquets of the world. Then cheer up, my jolly fellow.
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HISTORY OF PARIS.
Fit out your ship from the Forest City, let her crew be picked men, place her under the command of as stern a Captain as ever trod a quarter- deck, doubly armed, fortified by the strong arm of the law, her clearance from the seat of customs A 1, spread her sails to the breeze, course due East, booked for Liverpool. Four bells, "Aye, aye, sir." The ship moves on. Eight bells, "Aye, aye, sir." Eight bells changes the watch and stands for twelve o'clock, when the craft should be called from labor to refreshments. The stewards inform the craft that by mishap the supplies are left behind ; the stevedore has been through the cargo, no rations on board ; there is but one course for the Captain, take back tracks or find a watery grave. "Tack ship, tack ship." "Aye, aye, sir." The ship is safe, all's well.
Our calling is so cheering to the tired and over-taxed that many throw down the chisel, brush or quill, and, taking up the spade, become for a time tillers of the soil. In this way, many who hold one acre, produce more luxuries for the table than small, lazy farmers. Horace Greeley, not content to tell us what he knew about farming, thought to put his philoso- phy to a test, and, as a result, produced oats at the cost of only 87 cents per bushel. Mr. Beecher, standing at the head of his class, thought to bring his theology to bear, and by hiring men who could live on bread and water, 'raised oats at $1.123 cents per bushel. But, fellows, this is not your style : you prefer to live on profit rather than die on loss. I would have said more to the toiling husbandman, but you are weary.
Good news! Good news! My grandfather is dead and has left his vast estate to his heirs, and I am one of them. This is no hoax or hocus pocus report, but it stands on the record. My grand-sire was the first man who tilled the ground, and, when quite young, was well set up in business by his father, who was able and willing to give his eldest son a good chance in the world, and who settled him on a rich and beautiful tract of land. Like a wise parent, he did not give the boy a warrantee deed but a life lease based on conditions of obedience. Gave him dominion over the fish of the sea and over the fowl of the air and over every living thing that moved upon the earth ; grass and herbs were at his disposal. He soon con- ceived an idea to marry, to which his father raised no objection, but rather helped the match by looking him out a wife, and even legalized the mar- riage, as there was no minister to tie the knot. Ministers had not then appeared and the people were moral. We generally like to see a chap do his own courting, but under all the circumstances it would have been a severe operation for the young man. Soon after marriage he showed Yan- kee traits of character ; went into the manufacture of cloth without machin- ery. dabbled with the tailors' trade, and finally he was so disobedient that his father actually drove him out of the garden, and forced him to culti- vate among thorns and thistles and put him under a constitution made by the Father.
Article 1st. Go out and till the ground.
Article 2d. Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth.
Article 3d. Thou shalt surely die.
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Man has no power to resist one of these decrees even if he had the incli- nation. The institution of death proved the salvation of the race and saved them frem a worse fate. Strike death from the trio, and such are the laws of increase compounded that ere 1,000 years had passed, the peo- ple would have been packed on the face of the whole earth deeper than the height of the Tower of Babel. A serious trouble came upon the family which nearly broke their hearts, though kept a family secret; blood was found upon the elder sons hands, but no quarrel ensued. Lawyers had not been admitted to the bar. The old gentleman made a good living, but like many of you farmers, found himself land poor; with all of his domain, controlling all the land which joined him, he could not hire one day's labor outside of his own family.
He died at the age of 930 years, never saw a sick day, died for want of breath, no disease. Doctors were not then invented.
Fellow laborers, your commission comes from Him who rules in Heaven and does his pleasure on earth. This inheritance is for you and me; there is enough for all and it can never be wrested from us. You who cultivate the soil look upward, do not look down to your cowhide boots, they will protect your feet. Place your mark high then aim above the mark.
Man may erect land marks, pile up scrids of musty paper and call them records, boys too build mud cakes and houses after the shower. Our title is recorded in heaven, aud can never, never fail. Ye tillers of the earth who guide the plough or wield the scythe, wiping great drops of sweat from your weary brow, when called to refreshments eat of the bounty of your own toil and be satisfied, but with all these rich gifts do not lose sight of the giver and remember that "Paul may plant and Apollos water, but God and God alone giveth the increase."
We differ in surroundings as in complexion and habits, but listen to a few personal reflections, and then tell me are not the facts in my case substan- tially true in yours? There was a striking occupational likeness between my father and grandfather, the latter tilled the earth and made aprons, the former was an agriculturalist and manufactured shoes. When first intro- duced to my father he was bowed with years; that impressive representa- tion of old age given in Ecclesiastes was well-nigh fulfilled in him, by no means the first but among the early settlers of Paris, coming here about 88 years since. He settled on a farm, one generous mile south-east of this beautiful village, was content to till the soil by sunnner and shoe-make in winter. His work was sewed with thread made by my mother from flax grown and prepared on the farm; the soles never seceded from the body of the shoes; he looked upon pegged boots as a Yankee cheat, and it was only after years of experience that he adopted the change and used wood . where his boss taught him to use flax. The trees planted by his own hand still produce fruit to make glad the third and fourth generations. The same door-way where my dear old mother passed out and in for more than thirty years, still stands, the old latch, forged. by the rustie blacksmith, pressed by her hand so many thousand times, sends a thrill to my heart which stirs the deepest depths of the soul. Many incidents of the depriva-
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