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Original Tribes "Originally the Maine Indians were of three natural groups speaking somewhat different dialects. In southwestern Maine and New Hampshire were the Saco Indians, called also Sokokis and Sokwakiaks by the French and Indians respectively. On the three central rivers of Maine were the true Abenakis, whose name for themselves is not known. In southeastern Maine were the seafaring Indians, who called themselves Etechemins. The so-called 'tribes' into which these have been subdivided were more properly 'bands' under dif- ferent chiefs and merit no special distinctions, being correctly enough designated by the locality they most frequented.
Abenakis "The Maine Indians were Abenakis, belonging to the great Algonquin stock. At the beginning of the seventeenth century they were numerous and powerful and federated under a single chief, the great Bashabes. They occupied all the most desirable loca-
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A RED PAINT GRAVE Opened by Professor Moorehead of Andover Museum
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THE MAINE BOOK
tions along the coast and up the lower sections of all the Maine rivers. The interior of the state was their hunting ground.
"Disease, revolutions, wars with the Micmacs and the
Cause of Mohawks, the encroachments of the English settlers and
Disappearance their allegiance to the French, diminished their numbers, disintegrated their tribes and drove most of them eastward or to Canada. Before the Revolution, Maine was cleared of all recognizable tribes except the Penobscots and the Passamaquoddies.
Indian "Dummer's war from 1722 tc 1725 marked the climax in Indian warfare in Maine. Before this, aggressors upon
Wars
defenceless and weak hamlets, now the Indians themselves were hunted. The old town at Old Town and the new town at Eddington Bend were burned, Norridgewock was taken by surprise with great slaughter and its priest, Father Rale, was killed. A little band of English soldiers, in Lovewell's fight at Fryeburg, May, 1725, surrounded and out- numbered, with everything against them, held out in an all-day fight and not only held the ground against a large fighting band, but practically broke it up. After this Indian warfare in Maine was sporadic and after the French were defeated at Quebec, it ceased altogether. When the French joined the colonists in the Revolution, the Maine Indians became entirely friendly and never since have they disturbed the peace of their white neighbors.
Indians of Today "Of the original tribes the Saco Indians have been extinct fully a century and a half and their language is dead. The Abenakis proper are now represented only by the Penob- scot Indians of Old Town and the islands above it, who speak a modernized form of their ancient tongue. The Passamaquoddies of Point Pleasant (near Eastport) and Princeton, who, with the St. John River Indians, speak the Maliseet dialect, are the descendants of the ancient Etechemins. Together the Maine Indians number about one thousand, living in two prin- cipal towns, after the manner of the whites. They have their own churches, schools, convents for the resident Sisters of Mercy, who teach and care for them, the ministrations of priests and their own local government. Though not citizens they are loyal and law-abiding residents of the state and many of them are now serving in the army and navy, as their pred- ecessors served in the Revolution and in the Civil War."
Bibliography Information about the Maine Indians may be found in the following books:
of Maine Indians Williamson's History of Maine; much authentic informa- tion about history, dress, habits and political customs.
Sylvester's Indian Wars of New England. Three volumes.
Varney's Brief History of Maine; good account of customs, dress, etc., of aborigines.
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THE MAINE INDIANS
John Josselyn, Two Voyages of New England, and New England's Rarities Discovered; contemporary writer, gives considerable information about Indians of southwestern Maine.
Leland's Algonquin Legends of New England; gives much Passama- quoddy, Micmac and a little Penobscot Indian folk-lore.
Miss Abby Alger's "In Indian Tents"; continues Leland's work, prin- cipally Penobscot.
Necolar's The Red Man (printed not published, Bangor, 1893), an Indian's own account of his traditions and beliefs.
Hubbard's Woods and Lakes of Maine; appendix, gives many place names with meanings.
William F. Ganong, the greatest authority on Indian place names, has published many pamphlets in Transactions of the Royal Society of Canada ; Maine place names are included among others.
Reports of Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology.
Journal of American Folk Lore.
Publications of Maine Historical Society.
Chamberlain's Maliseet Vocabulary and Joseph Laurent's New Famil- iar Abenakis and English Dialogues, with Rale's Indian Dictionary.
Rale's Indian Dictionary.
CHAPTER XXVII MAINE IN POETRY
IT'S HOME UP HERE
HOLMAN F. DAY
AMY RAND
HOME son or far son, - Mountain, sea, or plain, - From coast to coast let's have the toast, "Our Motherland of Maine! " Far son, oh, fond son, Is other land as dear ? There 's fame and gold to coax and hold, But it's home -it's home, up here.
By permission Small, Maynard & Company.
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MAINE
You're just a rugged, homespun state Perched on the nation's edge, A stretch of woods, of fields and lakes, Of ocean pounded ledge. But rugged deeds and rugged men You've nurtured for your own:
Much good the world has harvested From broadcast seeds you've sown. And so, we love you, rugged state, We love your smiling skies, We love you for your deep-piled snows, Your jagged coast we prize.
We love you for the lofty seat You've reared 'neath Heaven's dome:
But best of all, we love you, Maine,
Because you're Maine-and Home!
Lester Melcher Hart.
MAINE
My father's state to thee, First state of all to me, My love I bring. In thy sweet woods I'll roam, Thy name to me is home,
Pine trees and ocean foam, ‘ Thy praise I sing.
June Wheeler Bainbridge.
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MAINE IN POETRY
MAINE
State of the Eastern Frontier, Guarding the paths of the sea,
Guarding the homes of the free, Guardian of all that is dear!
Restful thy lakes in calm,
Fearful thy shores in storm;
Winter, thy firesides warm,
Summer, thy breezes and balm!
Deep are thy forests, and still,
Swift are thy rivers, and clear;
Large are the gifts of the year, Orchard and meadow and mill.
Brave are thy sons, and strong, Fair are thy daughters, and true, Pure as thy skies are blue, Sweet-voiced as birds in their song.
Noble thy story of old,
Glorious the years that await!
Honored the names of thy great, Welcome the tasks that unfold!
E. E. Harris.
VERSES FROM THE OLD HOMESTEAD
O State beloved of the Pine Tree, We pledge thee our troth again! 'Tis the struggle with thy stern nature That makes us women and men.
The olden paradox brightens, Thy barrenness is our health; Thy granite heart is our glory; Thy poverty is our wealth.
Dip low the old-time well-sweep, Hallowed with sun and with rain. Let us drink, with lips that are loyal, One toast: To the homes of Maine!
Emma Huntington Nason.
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DIRIGO
It's not her deep green pine trees against her cool blue sky, It's not her ragged, rocky coast where ships at anchor lie, It's not her slow, sweet springtime which tears your heart in twain, It's not her mad, glad autumn with its windy, wild refrain, It's not her lakes and forests or her quaint deserted farms, It's not the scenery summer seekers count among her charms, And all her lonesome loveliness of woodland, field, and shore Is not what calls her children home and home again once more.
It's just the being born there; without her proud domain, No matter what the radiancy of mountain, sea, or plain, But let her name be whispered, with a passion almost pain, Her sons, wet-eyed, rise up to cheer the sturdy State o' Maine.
Barnard Monroe.
MAINE
Like Eden planted eastward in the soul Filled with bright memories of youthful days O headland state thy orient influence sways All after years with its benign control, Sending, like thee, upon the mighty roll Of foreign seas and to the blinding maze Of worldly conflict twixt man's blame and praise, Of manful thought and song its generous dole.
How turns like Tyrus' prince thy exile's mind From fortunes glitter and the art of knaves, Envy's sharp pangs and proud ambition's shocks, Yearning in thy pine-perfumed woods to find The balm of morning's peace and see the waves Of sapphire breaking on thy garnet rocks!
Frank Sewall.
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MOTHERLAND
Tonight across my senses steals, The perfume of the pine, O sweeter far to homesick hearts, Than draughts of fragrant wine; Again uplift the sea-girt isles, Where sylvan beauties reign, And dreams of thee come back to me, O motherland of Maine.
Thy glories gleam before my eyes, As in the olden days, I see again the labyrinths Of Casco's lovely bays; The sea-gull's cry rings in my ears, As o'er the foam he flies, And Memory sets her signal lights Along the darkened skies.
There's laughter in the swaying pines, There's music in the gale. Each ship upon the sea tonight Is some remembered sail; And peering through the flying mist That folds me in its spell, I cry, "What, ho! O, Mariners!" The answer is, "Farewell!"
Like phantom ships before the wind They to their havens flee, While I, the Wanderer, must drift Upon a shoreless sea; But while the lights of being burn Within the conscious brain, My eyes will seek thy far-off coast, O motherland of Maine.
Robert Rexdale.
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STATE OF MAINE, MY STATE OF MAINE
From north to south, from sea to sea, State of Maine, my State of Maine, Thy name shall ever honored be, State of Maine, my State of Maine, So guard it from all wrong decree, Let there be none from blot more free In this sweet land of liberty, State of Maine, my State of Maine!
Thy sons are known from east to west, State of Maine, my State of Maine, We hail thee and we call thee blest, State of Maine, my State of Maine, Land of the Pine Tree and of rest, To thee we give our very best, Extending welcome to each guest, State of Maine, my State of Maine!
Thy name is great, thy fame is long, State of Maine, my State of Maine, Thy name stands high among the throng, State of Maine, my State of Maine, Thou'st given us men both brave and strong To fight for right, or right a wrong; So let us sound thy praise in song, State of Maine, my State of Maine! 1
(Copyright 1913, by George Thornton Edwards.)
Permission of Abington Press
THE MURMUROUS PINES
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THE PINE
Let others have the maple trees, With all their garnered sweets. Let others choose the mysteries Of leafy oak retreats. I'll give to other men the fruit Of cherry and the vine. Their claims to all I'll not dispute If I can have the pine.
I love it for its tapering grace, Its uplift strong and true. I love it for its fairy lace It throws against the blue. I love it for its quiet strength, Its hints of dreamy rest
As, stretching forth my weary length, I lie here as its guest.
No Persian rug for priceless fee Was e'er so richly made As that the pine has spread for me To woo me to its shade. No kindly friend hath ever kept More faithful vigil by A tired comrade as he slept Beneath his watchful eye.
But best of all I love it for Its soft, eternal green; Through all the winter winds that roar It ever blooms serene, And strengthens souls oppressed by fears, By troubles multiform, To turn, amid the stress of tears, A smiling face to storm.
John Kendrick Bangs.
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MAINE
Far in the sunset's mellow glory, Far in the daybreak's pearly bloom. Fringed by ocean's foamy surges, Belted in by woods of gloom, Stretch thy soft, luxuriant borders, Smile thy shores, in hill and plain, Flower-enamelled, ocean-girdled, Green bright shores of Maine.
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Rivers of surpassing beauty From thy hemlock woodlands flow,- Androscoggin and Penobscot, Saco, chilled by northern snow; These from many a lowly valley Thick by pine-trees shadowed o'er, Sparkling from their ice-cold tributes To the surges of thy shore.
Bays resplendent as the heaven, Starred and gemmed by thousand isles, Gird thee,-Casco with its islets, Quoddy with its dimpled smiles; O'er them swift the fisher's shallop And tall ships their wings expand, While the smoke-flag of the steamer Flaunteth out its cloudy streamer, Bound unto a foreign strand.
Bright from many a rocky headland, Fringed by sands that shine like gold, Gleams the lighthouse white and lonely, Grim as some baronial hold. Bright by many an ocean valley Shaded hut and village shine; Roof and steeple, weather-beaten, Stained by ocean's breath of brine.
Isaac Mclellan.
MOUNT KATAHDIN
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MAINE IN POETRY
A SONG TO MAINE
A song to Maine we sing who stand On the sunrise outpost of the land, For we love our state with a love as great As her forests wide and grand. Earliest flees the night in Maine; Earliest dawns the light in Maine; At the gate of the East, as morning's priest, Vigil forever keeps Maine.
The pines of Katahdin call to the sea, And the waves make answer faithfully; Freedom and rest they promise our guest, And the healing of turf and tree. Fair are the rivers and rills of Maine; Kind are the woods and the hills of Maine, And the crystal lakes and the surge that breaks On the rock-bound shores of Maine.
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Woodsmen and farmers and fishers are we, We follow the trail and the plow and the sea; But we turn from all at our country's call To follow the flag of the free. Loyal and brave and true is Maine; Ready to dare and to do is Maine; In the van of the fight for the cause that is right Are ever the sons of Maine.
We have drained our homes at the world's demand, Our youth have poured to the farthest strand; We have given our best to the thirsty West,- Our life to the life of the land. Builders of states are the men from Maine; Makers of cities the men from Maine; On the frontier's walls, in the nation's halls, First are the men from Maine.
The Pine Tree State-may she lead the way Through twilight shades to a brighter day! With God as guide, whate'er betide, Maine leads-may she lead alway! Fair are the rivers and rills of Maine, Kind are the woods and the hills of Maine,- So we'll sing as long as we breathe our song To the dear old State of Maine.
Louise Helen Coburn.
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LEAD ON, MAINE
Maine, proud-set with walls of granite- Maine, broad-breasted as the sky, Greeted by the eyes of sunrise Where (dark-browed) the pines loom high. Verdure-bordered thy deep rivers Where men come-and where men go. Bright thy face with dreams that stir thee, Warm thy heart with hopes that glow.
Maine, beloved by all thy children, Greater days for thee shall be. Grand old Maine, rock-ribbed, crag-crested, Where the singing winds go free.
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Other souls once sought thy welfare, Peered beyond their present ken; Now the vastness of thy shadow Falls across a world of men. Mother Maine, creator, moulder, Of new men who know no fear-
Of men wise, strong-brained, advancing, Men that mighty projects steer.
Maine, beloved by all thy children, Greater days for thee shall be. Grand old Maine, rock-ribbed, crag-crested, Where the singing winds go free.
To thy sons, Maine, now and ever, Honor, power born of thee. + In thy life the blood of statesmen, Dreamers, prophets that shall be. In thy halls, and on all high hearts, Falls the ageless call to-day- Call to deeds that are eternal- Lead on, Maine, God lights thy way.
Elizabeth Powers Merrill.
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MAINE IN POETRY
THE VOICE OF MAINE
Greece, in her day of power, saw Amid her matchless forms of stone, A race, by nature's happiest law, More perfect. On her sea-swept throne She mourned the grace of which they died, And wept for sterner clay again. Be mine the nobler Spartan pride; Behold my sons, the sons of Maine!
Rome strewed the streets with garlands when Her legions came with captive bands. Those were the days of mighty men; But those, the days of wasted lands; Behold my warriors come! No sound Of wailing breaks the martial strain, No blood of slaves is on the crowned. These are my sons, the sons of Maine!
These are my sons! No mystic sage Hath reverence like those who read The prophecy on war's dark page, And bade the land be comforted. For some with counsel, some with sword, Went down, an awful cup to drain, And knew the fiat of the Lord. These are my sons, the sons of Maine!
The nation knows my children, they Who carry in their souls and wills Some mood that must command and sway A birthright of their frost-hewn hills. And those who knew no vaunted part, Still toiled in silence for my gain, All share the bounties of my heart. These are my sons, the sons of Maine!
O voices, winter-clear, awake In all the wild familiar shrines; In thunder on the great shores break, Call from the deathless inountain pines. The chant that lulled their cradle rest Is sweet to homesick heart and brain; Cry "Welcome!" down each cliff and crest For these, my sons, the sons of Maine!
Ellen Hamlin Butler.
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MY MAINE
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Your ragged hills are white with snow. Your sons and daughters love them so, My Maine! The sternness of your rocky coast In winter, battles Ocean's host, My Maine!
The ice along your meadows low
Is Gospel writ, for those who know;
We would not soften winds that blow
Across your fields of drifting snow,; My Maine! Your sons of hardy stuff are made; They wield the pen, nor shirk the spade, My Maine! Are quick with patriot arms to rise, Yet dwell beneath your peaceful skies, My Maine! The mothers of your sons are pure- The best of Heaven's gifts you lure, My Maine!
Your people stand for virtue first, And next for wisdom's ceaseless thirst; Your little ones on honor nursed Can ne'er forget their native hurst, My Maine!
You lead the nation with a thong; Your sense of honor still is strong; You still can hear the temple gong That calls for prayers to right the wrong, My Maine! Thy generations of the good, Make character their holy rood, My Maine! Still fling your starry motto forth, East rampart of the mighty north- My Maine! The schoolhouse and the church uphold Upon your headlands bleak and cold, Nor bow your proud head to the gold They moulded to a calf, of old. My Maine!
J. Otis Swift.
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MAINE IN POETRY
THAT'S WHERE MAINE COMES IN
Far to the east where the winds blow keenest, Here is where the grass grows greenest; Our beautiful land with its rock-bound coast, Guarded by islands, a sentinel host. That's where Maine comes in.
Far to the east where the north winds roar, And the surf resounds on her rocky shores, Where the tall cliffs rise in majesty, ' Keeping watch o'er the looming sea, That's where Maine comes in.
Far to the east where the pine grows strongest, Where the reign of winter is sometimes longest, Where the men are noble and strong and true, Where women are brave and loving, too. That's where Maine comes in.
Where the handclasp is a little warmer, Where the heart beats are a little stronger, Where heaven seems a little nearer, And God's promise shineth clearer. That's where Maine comes in.
Where the wild bird's wing is fleetest, Where the robin's song is sweetest, Where lakes and rivers are pure and clear,
And nature sings to the listening ear. That's where Maine comes in.
Tho far thru the world our feet go roaming, Our hearts will turn homeward when comes the gloaming, And we'll long to rest where the pines are sighing, Under the star-lit heavens lying. In life, in death, our hearts within. That is the place where Maine comes in.
Lydia Lord Shedd.
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SEGUIN
She washes her sides in the cross-ripped tides At the mouth of the Kennebec; She's solid rock, 'n' if ever ye knock On her ye are safe for a wreck. She's picked 'n' jagged, 'n' wicked 'n' ragged, 'N' blacker 'n' original sin- But it a'most come to bein' to hum W'en. the Maine man sights Seguin.
Fur she is the mark we hunt in the dark, To show us the straight-up path; 'N' the beacon by day that pints the way We wan' to travel to Bath. There's reefs to stabbard 'n' reefs to labbard, Where the offshore currents spin,
But we don't care, ef we see up there, The light'ouse thet's on Seguin.
A feller that ain't case-hardened haint No business hereaway; 'N' ye will find thet that Yankee kin' Is the kin' to stick 'n' stay. Ye don' feel nice, a-kivered 'ith ice, 'N' col' 'ithout 'n' 'ithin- It takes a man to stan' his han' On a schooner off Seguin.
It blows 'n' blows, 'n' it snows 'n' snows, 'N' you're blinded 'n' choked 'n' friz, Then all the coas' looms up like a ghos' -- Jerusalem !- there she is! Though ha'f your face is a raw red place, Thet prickles ye like a pin, Ye soon thaw out w'en ye hear the shout, "Hoy, fellows, we've made Seguin!"
We may be rough, 'n' we hev to be tough, Ez it's nateral to be, But we do our bes' 'n' we leave the res' To the Lord who made the sea. He's a port aloft we have read it oft, 'N' w'en we're sailin' in, We hope we'll sight his harbor light, Ez we ust to sight Seguin.
Manley H. Pike in Youth's Companion.
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MAINE IN POETRY
O! WANDERERS OF MAINE!
O! Wanderers from the land of Maine! the perfume of the pine Is mingled with your memory-Her violet vales entwine Memorial wreaths-She calls for you-O, must she call in vain ? Come back, your mother longs for you, O, Wanderers of Maine!
From mountain heights your feet have climbed, from Abraham and Blue, She looks across the continent and strains her eyes for you. Above the prairies of the West, she calls and calls again:
"Come back, my children! Come to me, O, Wanderers of Maine!
Come back! The peaks will welcome you; the valleys laugh with joy, The snow-flakes leap to touch your hands as when you were a boy, The cow-bells' music, faint and sweet, is tinkling down the lane, To meet your footsteps coming back, O, Wanderer of Maine!
Come back! There's room enough! O, hear the voice of Kennebec! The ocean calls. She looks for you on every home-bound deck, The Androscoggin murmurs, "Come." Aroostook's fertile plain Is beckoning her Wanderers to the motherland of Maine.
"Come back!" she cries. Alas! to-night, along the west-winds' swell A bell's deep tone is echoing-"O, mother Maine, farewell!" The weary wanderer lieth low. He cannot come again To rest among the apple-blooms beneath the skies of Maine.
The west winds whisper many a name to home-folks strangely sweet, "O! Casco-cradled Longfellow!" the surf-bound billows beat.
"O! doers of heroic deeds! O, land-lamented Blaine! O! humbler souls of holy life, lost Wanderers of Maine!"
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Dear Wanderers, who wander yet! if we no more may meet Until the Land of the Beyond shall press your weary feet; We still will lift our banner high, and sing the old refrain, For ye are ours for evermore! O! Wanderers of Maine!
Julia H. May.
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From the original by Harry Cochrane
POPHAM COLONY IN 1607
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MAINE IN POETRY
POPHAM
Before the Mayflower's lonely sail Our northern billows spann'd, And left on Plymouth's ice-bound rock A sad-eyed pilgrim band,-
Ere scarce Virginia's forests proud The earliest woodman hew'd, Or grey Powhatan's wondering eyes The pale-brow'd strangers view'd,-
The noble Popham's fearless prow Essay'd adventurous deed- He cast upon New England's coast The first colonial seed,-
And bade the holy dews of prayer Baptize a heathen sod, And 'mid its groves a church arise Unto the Christian's God.
And here, on green Sabino's marge, He closed his mortal trust, And gave this savage-peopled world Its first rich Saxon dust.
So, where beneath the drifted snows He took his latest sleep, A faithful sentinel of stone Due watch and ward shall keep,-
A lofty fort, to men unborn, In thunder speak his name, And Maine, amid her thousand hills, New England's founder claim.
L. H. Sigourney.
TOMB OF GOVERNOR LINCOLN, ON THE BANK OF THE KENNEBEC RIVER, AT AUGUSTA
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE FIRST POET
The first Maine poet was also one of the early governors of the state, Enoch Lincoln, born in Worcester, Mass., Dec. 28, 1788.
The first three governors of Maine were distinguished men. William King, who resigned in May, 1821, to become a member of the Spanish Treaty Commission, was an active man of affairs, and a member of the Massachusetts legislature. William Durkee Williamson of Bangor, first President of the Maine Senate, had been a senator in the Massachusetts legislature. He was a distinguished lawyer and the author of Williamson's History of Maine. He resigned the office of governor to accept an election to Congress. Albion K. Parris was a jurist and administrator of rare ability. He was only 33 years old when elected governor, and served five years.
Enoch Lincoln was the sixth governor of Maine. Mr. Lincoln dif- fered from his predecessors in office in that, while not falling behind them in the management of practical affairs, and in devotion to public interests, he was a man of more scholarly attainments, of wider reading, of finer sensibilities and more comprehensive views of society, possessing in short some sparks of the divine fire of genius.
Enoch Lincoln came of distinguished lineage. He was one of a fam- ily of governors. His father, Levi Lincoln, served in Jefferson's cabinet as attorney general of the United States, was lieutenant governor of Massachusetts in 1807 and 1808, and on the decease of Governor Sullivan, in December of the latter year, he discharged the duties of chief magis- trate from that time till the following May. Enoch's elder brother, Levi Lincoln, Jr.,-six years his senior-an eminent lawyer and statesman, was in 1825 selected by both the political parties in Massachusetts as their candidate for governor of the state, and was elected with great unanimity by the people. In 1834, he was elected representative in Con- gress, serving three terms.
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