USA > New Hampshire > Cheshire County > Dublin > Dublin days, old and new ; New Hampshire fact and fancy. > Part 10
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Mark Twain's household was one united, loyal family. Katie Leary lived with them till the end-over a period of more than thirty years, and Patrick McAleer died in his employ.
At the Majestic Theatre in New York, he spoke to the Young Men's Christian Association on the subject of "Reminiscences." During his speech he opened a telegram in which the sender inquired "in which of your works can you find the definition of a gentleman."
He had recently returned from Hartford, where he had paid his last tribute to a faithful servant. He went on to say:
No, he was never old-Patrick. He came to us thirty-six year ago. He was our coachman from the day that I drove my young bride to our new home. He was a young Irish- man, slender, tall, lithe, honest, truthful, and never changed in all his life. He really was with us but twenty-five years, for he did not go to Europe; but he never regarded that as a separation.
As the children grew up he was their guide. He was all honor, honesty, and affection. He was with us in New Hampshire last summer, and his hair was just as black, his eyes were just as blue, his form just as straight, and his heart just as good as on the day we first met. In all the long
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years Patrick never made a mistake. He never needed an order; he never received a command. He knew.
I have been asked for my idea of an ideal gentleman, and I give it to you-Patrick McAleer.
Just before Mr. Clemens' family had closed the Upton house for the season, to depart for New York, I was asked by telephone to come to the house in person.
Mr. Clemens had ordered a complete set of his works sent to him, had written his own name in all, added a special in- scription in two, and presented me with the entire set-"In ap- preciation for what you have tried to do in making my Dublin stay comfortable," he said.
In one volume he had written my name and this thought: "Let us save the tomorrows for work," and signed-"Truly yours, MARK TWAIN."
The second inscription read: "It is better to deserve credit and not receive it, than to receive it and not deserve it .- MARK TWAIN."
Mr. Paine said, "You should be especially proud, I doubt if half a dozen others have ever received a similar gift from him."
Mr. Clemens frequently hired a pair of horses and carriage from Hiram Carey's livery stable for a ride about the country- side. Accompanying him were his daughter Jean, and his sec- retaries, Miss Lyon and Miss Hobby. Occasionally, he enter- tained the party with a humorous story. Hiram recalls this one:
A trip through the Southwest during early railroad days found Mark riding in a boxlike car, heated, to a limited degree, by a big-bellied coal-burning iron stove located at one end. Seated close to it, in an apparent effort to absorb some of its meager heat, was an elderly individual who presently opened conversation.
He confided to Mark that he was making a pleasure trip and was going to see the country. "I've made money," he said, "and don't mind telling you that I've been smart and cheated everyone I could. Did you ever cheat anyone?" he asked.
"Why no," Mark replied, "I don't think so." Then, with a
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desire to place himself in a more equitable category with that of his self-revealed unscrupulous fellow traveller, he said, "Well, yes, I think I do remember that once I cheated an old blind colored man out of a dime."
They were passing through an agricultural belt where grain was the universal crop. "How's your rye?" the stranger inquired.
"Fine, coming along just fine," Mark replied. "I've taken off two crops already this year which averaged four hundred bushels to the acre; the new growth is up thirteen feet high now and bids fair to be just about as good as the other two."
This preposterous answer was too much for the old fellow: he registered disgust and contempt and muttered, "You'd better go back to the bug-house and get into the cell where they kept you before."
Mr. Clemens built a new home in Redding, Connecticut, after his Dublin stay, and named it "Stormfield." Thieves carried off from his home some bundles of silver; they were caught and the silver returned. He tacked the following notice on his door afterward:
NOTICE To the next burglar
There is nothing but plated ware in the house now and henceforth. You will find it in that brass thing in the dining room over in the corner by the basket of kittens.
If you want the basket, put the kittens in the brass thing. Do not make a noise-it disturbs the family.
You will find rubbers in the front hall by that thing which has the umbrella in it, chiffonier, I think they call it, or pergola, or something like that
Please close the door when you go away.
Very truly yours, -S. L. CLEMENS*
* Quotations in this chapter, except for the metropolitan reporter's inter- view, are taken from Albert Bigelow Paine's Mark Twain: A Biography. courtesy of Harper & Brothers,
Let us save the to mo rows for work .
mark twain
her. Henry D. Allison with the button kind regards -
Dublin, 1906 .
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The contemplated joy of his new home was of short duration. Jean was found dead in her bathroom-from heart cessation caused by the cold shock of her bath, the doctors said. Of family members, his daughter Clara, alone, was left to comfort him during his few remaining years.
His last work for publication, The Death of Jean, was a eulogy on his daughter, Jean Lampton Clemens. Afterwards he wrote, "I have just finished my story of Jean's death. It is the end of my autobiography; I shall never write any more."
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THE OLD FARMER'S ALMANAC
It was an event of importance when Robb Sagendorph brought The Old Farmer's Almanac to Dublin. He purchased the Dexter Mason buildings and land to the north, a seemingly fitting environment for the home of his Almanac, to which he added the Yankee magazine; and his newest venture, The Dublin Opinion, dealing with local news.
A fresh coat of white paint adorns the Dexter Mason house, and red shutters and doors-the first of that color to appear on the street-embellish it.
Traditions of the past are represented there-great hewn beams and rafters frame the buildings; most of them as sound now as when first installed, the huge scaffold beams in the barn placed so low that the unwary may bump into them and re- ceive such a terrific blow on the head as to bring forth spon- taneous exclamations unsuitable for recording.
Ebenezer Greenwood lived there a hundred years ago. He was town clerk, town treasurer, postmaster, and, for a time, managed the little store next to it.
Ebenezer wrote a nice hand and must have kept his records
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neatly. He was born in a log cabin in the south part of the town, near Robbin's mill. His grandfather, Moses, came to Dub- lin from Newton, Massachusetts, in 1750. There was a large num- ber of Greenwoods here during the town's early settlement- an excellent family name.
Dexter Mason bought the property in 1852. He, too, was town clerk, purchased the store nearby, then sold it to his son Milton, who raised it to a two-story structure, enlarged and modernized it.
Dexter's brother, Charles, delivered the town's Centennial address in 1852. Born in Dublin, he was a Harvard graduate, attorney in Fitchburg, Massachusetts, married to Caroline Ather- ton Briggs, whose poems and hymns have been highly regarded. The Masons were admirers of Charles Sumner and sometimes entertained the distinguished statesman in their Rollstone Hill home.
In an old autograph album which had belonged to my wife, then nearing teen age, Caroline Atherton Mason penned this original verse:
We cannot all be heroes, And thrill a hemisphere With some great daring venture, Some deed that mocks at fear; But we can fill a lifetime With kindly acts and true;
There's always noble service For noble souls to do.
-AUNT CARRIE
July 17, 1884
As a little girl Florence Mason gave her grandfather Gowing an Old Farmer's Almanac for Christmas. It was an annual custom thereafter, continued for scores of years until his death. At home, old numbers were never destroyed but tied up and carefully laid away in the attic.
The Almanac has been published now for one hundred fifty- nine consecutive years. My father said it gained great favor in
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its early days when the founder, Robert B. Thomas, was pre- paring material for his next year's edition. His small boy came into the room, picked up a pencil, and wrote Snow upon one of the slips which lay all over the paper-strewn table. The slip pertained to the weather forecast for the month of July-"Snow" went into the almanac!
This prediction created a great deal of comment. Snow in July was unthinkable. Yet this seeming error proved a reality. The weather changed suddenly during the day; it grew cold; and, from an overcast sky, flakes of snow drifted down in some sections of New England. The Old Farmer's Almanac seemed infallible!
In his newspaper column "Our Berkshire," Walter Pritchard Eaton acknowledged receipt of his sister's gift of an Old Farmer's Almanac and said that when he was a boy the back page, containing puzzles and conundrums, fascinated him "but it was necessary to wait twelve long tantalizing months for the correct answer." The Old Farmer delayed printing solutions for a year.
"Noah's Ark was made of gopher wood and Joan of Arc was Maid of Orleans." "Why is a hot pancake like a cocoon? Be- cause it makes the butter fly." Mr. Eaton said, "The same people who read the Old Farmer's Almanac also read the Bible."
Assisting Mr. Sagendorph in the compilation of the last issue were David Morton, B. M. Rice, Professor Loring B. Andrews, while the venerable Abraham Weatherwise arranged weather predictions and prognostications.
YANKEE MAGAZINE
The Yankee Magazine originated in Dublin. With the passing of time it has increased in size and grown in favor. Attractively illustrated, it is manned with a capable staff: Robb Sagendorph, President; Phyllis Worcester, Secretary and Treasurer; B. M. Rice and Robert Foote, Vice Presidents; Richard Merrifield, Editor; Edward B. Van Zile, Director of Advertising; Nancy Dixon, Food; Natalie Miller Morrison, Fashions; Richard D.
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Estes, Assistant Editor; Beatrix Sagendorph, Art; and Laurie Hillyer.
This popular monthly carries columns of unusual advertising and offers a feature original and unique in its Swoppers De- partment.
"A Good Trade on Every Page"
The town recognizes it as an important factor, and hails its going forth to points both near and far away, as a valuable ambassador of good will.
THE DUBLIN OPINION
A new venture, published four times monthly, May to Oc- tober, and twice a month, November through April, by Yankee, Inc.
It is a desirable sheet and records Dublin history in the making. The Opinion provides an editorial column, deals with town affairs, features general news of interest taking place throughout the surrounding area, has a column of subscribers' correspondence, and offers cards of most of the town's business concerns, the last item of considerable value to new arrivals.
The Opinion's bulletin board outside the office building is kept up-to-the-minute with news items posted immediately upon receipt.
Fifty years ago Gerard Henderson published, throughout the summer season, The Dublin News
Gerard died at the beginning of a career which promised to be brilliantly successful.
The present second generation of the Henderson family have been almost lifelong summer residents of Dublin. The brothers Ernest and George are respectively President and Field Repre- sentative of the great Sheraton Hotel chain, now owners of thirty-four American and Canadian hotels, largest hotel-owning company in America.
Photo by Herbert W. Gleason, courtesy of Roland W. Robbins
Thoreau's 1860 Camp on Monadnock From Above, Looking Through the "Two Spruces"
Dublin's Lovely Lake, With Monadnock Mountain Beyond
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The Mountain House, Jaffrey Side
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SUMMER ACTIVITIES
Summer life in Dublin is carefree and cheerful. The Lake Club entertains members with concerts, lectures, and dances. Their tennis courts are well kept and much used; a professional instructs. There is boating on the lake under auspices of a sailing organization; golf is played upon an excellent nine-hole course; horseback-riding is over shady paths laid out and main- tained by the Walking and Riding Club; the Garden Club is active and holds an annual Flower Show; and Joe Smith presents an occasional original play to entertain both adults and children.
Many weddings have taken place during various summer seasons; summer months are not without romance. Some years ago a youthful swain believed he had seriously impressed an attractive young lady. After the season was over and she had returned to her winter home, she sent her admirer an announce- ment of her engagement to another man. Keenly disappointed, he returned congratulations upon heavily black bordered mourn- ing stationery.
In years past, the Horse Show was one of the season's out- standing events. It was originated by Dr. Burton Russell, lover of horses, a skillful and daring rider in the saddle.
The Show was held on the MacVeagh field and afforded a grand display of carriage horses, differently classed: ladies' and gentlemen's saddle horses, for pleasure, hunting, and steeple- chasing.
The Jenckses exhibited, and the Footes, Dr. Russell, Robert Woodward, the Pumpellys, Miss Amy Peabody, the Catlins, Leightons, Durfees, McKittricks, Maurans, MacVeaghs; there were entries from surrounding towns, Peterborough, Jaffrey, and from Miriam Winslow, of Francestown. Four-horse coaches were shown by Mr. Jencks, Mr. Catlin, Colonel T. Nelson Hastings, of Walpole, and Winston Churchill, of Cornish. Colonel Hastings and Mr. Churchill cleverly handled their own reins.
A coachmen's ball followed the horse show, held in the town hall, at which big, gleaming silver cups were awarded members of the coachmen's fraternity for "meritorious service performed, far beyond the line of duty"; an important banquet was then
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in order, with guest speakers in attendance; and, eventually, a series of house-to-house parties ended the season's festivities.
George Witherton, Mr. Jencks' coachman, brought the silver cups to town from New York, or Baltimore, and upon his arrival each season, announced that "this year the cups are bigger and better than ever."
After a week of celebration, entailing late hours, loss of sleep, and undue gastronomical indulgence, combined with an excess of liquid refreshment, big, burly Jim Monohan, who worked for Mr. Charles MacVeagh, said he should be glad to get back to New York "where things were quieter and he could get rested up."
THE GAY NINETIES
Never has there been a period in town so gay and glamorous as that of the good old horse and buggy days during the 'eighties and 'nineties. The Leffingwell hotel was at the peak of its popularity, filled with a happy throng, most of whom re- mained throughout the season. The two Boulderstone cottages, under the management of Miss Bertha Estey, were highly re- garded; applicants were fortunate to find a room available.
Three livery stables were active, Gowing's, Gleason's, and Carey's. Twelve and fourteen in help assisted the household work in the large establishments. A gardener, with his family, resided all year 'round, in the farmhouse on the more pretentious estates.
The coachman, erect and immaculately attired in spotless livery, wore a fawn-colored suit, tall hat to match, gloves, white linen collar, and polished boots. His groom sitting beside him, high up on the driver's seat, was similarly costumed.
The smart pair of high-stepping, bob-tailed thoroughbreds, wearing handmade black harnesses, trimmed with gleaming silver, made a pretty picture as they sped over narrow, dirt- surfaced roads, tree-shaded and winding, hitched to a luxuriously cushioned open carriage.
All types of vehicles were in use, two-wheeled carts, buck-
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boards, democrat wagons, with two removable seats, phaetons driven by 'teen-aged young ladies wearing wide-brimmed sailor hats trimmed with wide white ribbons. Accompanying, perhaps, may have been a young man in casual dress, knee-length knicker- bockers, long stockings, and belted Norfolk jacket. There were Concord buggies, with box-type bodies, covered carriages having a top which could be tilted back or let down, and open three- seated Watertowns for a pair.
In Louis Cabot's stable were kept eighteen horses; he devoted a great deal of time to hunting and fishing and bought up a considerable number of farms which he developed into breeding places for woodcock and patridges, to improve his chances of better shooting.
Following the feeding of the horses, early morning cleaning was in order. The animal stood in the open floor, hitched two ways, from side to side, and received a good half hour's groom- ing from the hands of an expert stableman. Then a thin, netlike blanket was thrown over him, kept in place by a tightly buckled surcingle, to keep off troublesome flies, and he was led back to a freshly cleaned stall or turned loose into a larger box-stall, its floor thickly covered with crisp new straw.
Of the men who conducted a livery business during the "horse and buggy days," Hiram Carey alone survives. He is now 90 years old, the oldest man in town and holder of the Boston Post cane. He married Warren Fiske's daughter, Idella. On May 9th, 1951, they celebrated their sixty-third wedding anniversary.
Hiram recalls his customers of the past, regular and periodic, both desirable and difficult. He classed a foreign-born Count with the undesirables and conferred upon him the dubious title of "Count de No Account." He remembers, too, the two ladies who engaged a horse and carriage for a pleasure ride. They drove up to a watering tub, common in those days, and one of them got out, unbuckled the crupper instead of unhooking the checkrein, in order to let the thirsty animal drink.
If you're a neighbor, as likely as not you may have received a visit from Hiram when he called to leave you something out of his garden-cucumbers, lettuce, or a few ears of sweet corn- just a friendly gesture on his part, such as was customary in days
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gone by, when people seemed to have had more time to be good neighbors than now.
He may have stayed to tell you a funny story, or to have recited an amusing incident, like that of the small boy, for instance, who couldn't remember whether his father was five feet ten inches tall, or ten feet five.
IN RETROSPECT
The well-sweep, wood stove, kerosene lamp, have gone from scores of houses, and modern homes in the country are now equipped with city conveniences; oxen no longer draw sleds with plows attached to keep open winter roads; horse-drawn vehicles have been replaced with luxurious automobiles; time will continue indefinitely to bring changes.
We should like to be able to say that people of today, who have more of the comforts of life than formerly, better educa- tional advantages, and more diversified sources of amusement, are happier now than they were a century ago; that they are better neighbors; increasingly interested in the welfare of the community; that they respond to an invitation from the church bell on the Sabbath day, and send their children to Sunday school as in times of yore; that people drink less liquor now, and have improved their moral standards, and have made the town a better place in which to live. Unfortunately, we cannot answer in the affirmative.
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MONADNOCK Mountain of the Great Spirit "The sun shines longest on the mountain peaks."
My first trip to the top of Monadnock was made when I was a barefooted youngster of seven, going along with my grand- father, William Darracott, who carried a fourteen-quart tin milk pail.
After hours of busy work he filled the pail with firm, light- blue-colored berries which grew close to the ground upon dwarf, short-stemmed blueberry bushes a quarter or half mile below the summit. They were sweet, of solid texture, and longer lasting than the dark-blue sort which grew on the bushes at home.
We saw patches of mountain cranberries growing among ledges, but the fruit, partly ripe, of white color, deepening into red as it ripened, was small and hardly worth picking.
On the highest peak, 3,165 feet above sea level, was anchored an upright staff, some ten inches in diameter; on top of the staff was attached a round, cylinder-shaped affair, resembling a nail keg in appearance and size, covered with drab-colored cloth.
We could see this signal from home on a very clear day
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without the aid of field glasses, and sometimes could make out people moving about, a distance of nearly three miles.
The New Hampshire Sentinel told of the ascent to Monad- nock of the Swanzey Unionville Brass Band in 1866, carrying with them their musical instruments with which they gave an excellent concert from the mountain top.
That same year, according to the Sentinel, a wedding took place on the summit when the Rev. J. Peabody, of Sullivan, performed the marriage ceremony which made Mrs. Rachel Tarbox, of Sullivan, the wife of Luther Richardson, of Stoddard.
Allen Chamberlain made reference to the "Monadnock Roar," in his splendid volume, Annals of the Grand Monadnock. He quotes a letter received from a Half Way House guest who pictured it as a "roar not describable, like the roar of a hundred bulls, and it was all over in fifteen seconds, or less."
This description does not apply at all to the real "mountain roar," as I know it. I recall it as a sound difficult to describe but resembling, somewhat, the onrushing air which precedes, or accompanies, an approaching thunderstorm. It was a low, con- tinuous roar coming from the direction of the great hollow mountain valley, like that of the rumble of a distant freight train, or the rush of air through pine trees, and was, invariably, the forerunner of milder weather which developed into an ef- ficient thaw.
My father was born and had lived within the shadow of Monadnock for more than half a century. He described the phenomenon as the probable result of certain air currents which varied in intensity, in direction, and rapidity of movement, mingling together.
I cannot reconcile any other description as accurately de- scribing the "roar,", which came at rather rare intervals in winter- time and doubt if the gentleman at the Half Way House could ever have heard the true "mountain roar."
Thoreau, the naturalist, who had camped on Monadnock and charmingly described his experience, reported that a Con- cord, Massachusetts, farmer had told him of a dance which was said to have taken place on the mountain sometime previous to 1860.
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The report was that a party of young men and women ascended Monadnock and carried with them a quantity of boards which they laid down and all hands danced to the music of a fiddler. Albert Annett also made reference to this unusual incident in his admirable History of Jaffrey.
The legend is described in Appalachia, the Appalachian Mountain Club's publication, by my older son:
THE PHANTOM FIDDLER A Legend of the Grand Monadnock Mountain
On a summer eve, beneath the full moon's sheen, A fiddler apeared upon the old village green.
And he called out shrill, "All ye young bucks, come, Grab some plank an' your partners an' a gallon o' rum!
"We'll climb up the mountain for a dancin' spree- Come along, shake a leg, keep a-followin' me."
And he fiddled 'em up to the top of the schist With a twitchy, tickling rhythm that they couldn't resist.
On the mountain's summit like a dancin' floor They spread down their lumber and had pleasure galore.
The men and the women faced in opposite ranks And they stepped out lively on their supple young shanks.
Oh, the boys stomped loud and the girls would squeal As they danced with verve and gusto Lady Walpole's Reel.
And that fiddlin' fool kept a-callin' the turns 'Til their toes had blisters and their feet had burns.
So they danced all night, but at break of day That Son-of-a-Satan simply vanished away.
Took a pull at the jug, gave a snort and a choke, Disappeared in a flame and a puff o' blue smoke!
Now such is the legend of the long ago; It's as true as the Gospel, insofar as I know.
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It was told by a deacon, and he never lied From the day he was born until the minute he died. - HILDRETH M. ALLISON
The summit of Monadnock is not now privately owned. A tract of thirteen hundred acres of land was conveyed to the Society for the Protection of New Hampshire Forests, in 1914.
By the terms of the deed the Society agrees to cut no timber upon the Masonian Reservation, and to make no new trails, except direct trails to the summit when these are deemed neces- sary by the officers of the Society.
It has power to protect the timber from fire, insects, and fungus disease, but any structures for these purposes are not to be placed on the sky line where they will break the natural contour of the mountain.
The Society must protect and maintain its wild and primeval condition; forest and rock to be undisturbed in their wild state where birds and game shall find natural refuge; the forests to be unmolested, free to grow and decay as of untold ages past.
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