USA > New Hampshire > Cheshire County > Dublin > Dublin days, old and new ; New Hampshire fact and fancy. > Part 4
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11
Mr. Josselyn took orders for rubber boots, hot water bottles, and rubber blankets. His wife was a little woman who suffered miserable headaches during a thundershower-"tempests," she called the storms.
During her husband's absence she engaged a neighbor to cut the branches from some of the maple trees which shaded the house. When the work was finished, the neighbor inquired, "Will Mr. Josselyn like it?"
"No," she replied, "but he can't put them back."
George Towne came from Pottersville to sell spectacles. He made a house-to-house canvass, carrying a thin black case con- taining dark-colored steel frames. An eye examination was not required; all that was needed was a try-on with each pair until a set was found with which the prospective customer could see better than without. The problem of correct vision was solved then and there at a cost of two dollars.
DIPLOMACY
Father held various town offices at different times-moder- ator, selectman, town agent, school board member; and he was Deacon of the Unitarian Church for forty-three years.
53
The town agent must collect all money due, and make a financial report in season for the annual settlement. A small mortgage loan of town funds had been made in Nelson to Mr. Scripture, an unusually tall man, who drove down and made his interest payment in person, arriving about midday.
Mr. Scripture was always asked to stay to dinner and in- variably accepted the invitation. If his payment became over- due, the subject of money was not mentioned, but Father sent him a courteous note asking if he would "come down and take dinner with me next week."
The message was understood and generally complied with. Invited to a second helping when spareribs were served for dinner and he seemed to have consumed most of his, Mr. Scripture said, "No, I have plenty-the nigher the bone the sweeter the meat."
Father told of the farmer and the owl which lighted on the ridgepole of his barn. Anxious to shoot the bird, he got his gun and fired.
The burning gun-wads landed on the dry roof, set the shingles on fire; the building burst into flames; tons of hay went up in smoke, his cattle were burned to a crisp-the loss was staggering!
A silent bystander had listened with rapt attention. When the story was concluded he exclaimed, "Well, what I want to know is, did he get the owl?"
DEXTER DERBY
One of Dublin's best liked and most substantial citizens was Dexter Derby, born one hundred forty years ago. His wife, Mrs. Julia Piper Derby, was a woman of marked mental ability, an old-time schoolteacher. They had two talented children, both teachers, Miss Emily, and Samuel Carroll Derby, graduate of Harvard, President of Antioch College, and professor of Latin at Ohio State University.
Mr. Derby served on the board of selectmen; during one presidential election year, he was one of three Dublin citizens to cast a Democratic vote. He was not always a Democrat at
54
heart, but had changed parties one year because he disliked the Republican candidate, then felt that he could not consist- ently change back without indicating a weak and vacillating attitude.
Mr. Derby frequently prefaced an important statement by exclaiming, "I vum!" When riding in his sleigh during the cold winter weather, drawn by his slow, plodding horse, he looped the reins around his neck and held the whip over his right shoulder. If he stayed to dinner, he turned over his plate at the conclusion of the meal and left a twenty-five cent piece underneath.
When the territory was set off from Dublin to form the new town of Harrisville, the division was ratified by an act of the Legislature, but details of the arrangement were made by the Board of Selectmen of each town.
Henry C. Piper, Dexter Derby, and James Allison repre- sented Dublin; and Darius Farwell, Samuel D. Bemis, and George Wood acted for Harrisville.
THE ROAD TO THE VILLAGE
The road to the village ran downhill from our house, across the flat, crossed the bridge over the brook, and continued to the corner, a quarter of a mile distant, to the Charles Fiske place, where the Dublin Golf Clubhouse is located now. It was a thrill for the boys to stand in the shallow brook under the bridge and listen to the carriages drawn by fast trotting horses speed over the loose-fitting planks, shaking down a cloud of dust on our heads.
Deacon Jesse Morse lived on the farm at the corner after Thomas Morse, a first settler, had resided there. The Deacon was a man of deep religious convictions. He made brick in his coal kiln, an operation which required seven or eight days of smouldering fire, but declined to attend his fires on Sunday. In consequence, the fire sometimes went out and he lost a con- siderable number of brick. Two boys in the neighborhood went to the kiln on their way home from church one Sunday, re-
55
newed the fire, and said nothing. Eventually, an excellent yield of good brick was produced.
The Deacon spread the glad news throughout the neighbor- hood, happy over the successful result. He said he thought the Good Lord had justified him in refusing to attend to the fire on Sunday.
There were only five houses located over the two-and-a-half mile stretch from our home to the village. In these lived the families of Charles Fiske, once the home of Deacon Eli Morse; Mr. Josselyn, in the Peter Morse cottage, now called "Five Maples"; Thaddeus Morse; William Phillips; and Thomas Wait.
When Daniel Fiske bought the Deacon Eli Morse farm, he built a new barn on the property. As was the custom at the time, he used big, hand-hewn sills, beams, and rafters, which required considerable help to put together. An invitation to the "raising" was sent out and the task was made easier through the aid of many strong, capable, and willing hands.
Daniel Fiske, Wilfred's grandfather, was a small, wiry man. Mr. Fiske was so elated with the success of the raising, that, when the last timber had finally been put in place, he climbed to the top of the frame and stood on his head on the ridgepole of the barn.
Thaddeus Morse's old gristmill still stands at the outlet of the lake. Had the poet, Saxe, permitted the substitution of "Thad," for "Jerry," his poem would have well described the structure as it appears today :
Beneath the hill, there stands the mill Of wasting wood and crumbling stone, Its wheels all dripping and clattering still, But Thad the miller, is dead and gone.
As a boy of twelve I drove to the mill with a grist of corn to be ground into Indian meal. Mr. Morse assisted in backing the wagon up to the door, viewed the well-filled bags, and said, "We'll see what we can do with these." He shouldered one of them, carried it inside, untied the string, and emptied the con-
56
tents into the hopper, ready for milling, then finished unloading the remainder.
Part of the bags contained corn on the cob, the rest was shelled. It was necessary to break up the ears into small pieces before they were ground into meal.
The miller opened the gate; a rush of water followed and put in motion the breaking-up machine. What a tremendous noise resulted! It seemed as if the entire foundation of the mill was being washed away!
Finally, the broken pieces of corn and cob were ready for the large millstones. Cob-meal was not of the best quality and was generally fed to the hogs.
In due time the last bag of corn was ground and Mr. Morse took his wooden measure, dipped out the required toll to pay the cost of milling, filled and tied the bags, and loaded them into the wagon. My errand finished, the old horse Jack was turned into the road and headed toward home with the grist of freshly ground meal.
Mr. and Mrs. Morse were New Englanders of the old school, of Puritanic character, sincere, kindly, and beloved. Four splen- did children grew up in their home, of which parents in what- ever station of life could well be proud. They lived in one of the town's most charming spots, close to the outlet of the lake.
In its waters, years ago, a peculiar variety of trout was caught, and in plentiful numbers. It has been related that fish weighing four pounds were sometimes taken and were so plen- tiful they were fed to the hogs.
Some ninety years ago, Professor Agassiz, of Harvard, ex- amined specimens sent to him and reported that they belonged to an undescribed species. After comparing them with all the trouts he had been able to secure from Lake Superior to Lab- rador, he found they differed specifically from all others.
Unfortunately, as the fish decreased in numbers, the lake was restocked with a square-tail variety of trout which grow to considerable size but which are of much inferior quality for the table.
Mr. and Mrs. Thaddeus Morse, who lived at the outlet of
57
the lake, had three sons, William, John, and Francis, all of whom enjoyed distinguished careers as teachers in or near Bos- ton. A daughter, Amelia, married George W. Gleason.
John was superintendent of the Farm School at Thompson's Island. Boys from the school worked for Thaddeus Morse on his Dublin farm at intervals. One of them, Fred Blanchard, was a young man in his late teens, of sandy hair, florid complexion, and wore "sideburns," closely cut. He taught a class of young boys in the Sunday school.
On the settee back of him sat a class of twelve-year-old boys, with Milton Mason, the teacher. The Rev. Mr. Rice's son William was a member of this class. The older boys finished their lessons a few minutes before closing time.
Without attracting Fred's attention, Will leaned forward, took the long tails of Fred's black Prince Albert coat, looped them around a spindle in the back of the settee in which Fred sat, and securely pinned them together.
Lessons over, the whole school rose to sing the closing hymn. Fred started to get up with the others but was suddenly twitched back into his seat amid some confusion. He hurriedly made a second attempt but again, in bewildered surprise, was forced to sit down. The noise caused by the peculiar behavior of the settee attracted the attention of the whole assembly.
The Reverend Mr. Rice glanced inquiringly in the direction of his younger son. Suddenly the pin gave way and Fred got to his feet. With heroic effort Will struggled to conceal his em- barrassment and joined in singing the last line of the closing stanza. His father pronounced the benediction!
William Rice eventually studied dentistry, practiced his pro- fession in Boston, and became Dean of the Tufts College Den- tal School.
While Fred Blanchard was working with a construction crew which was building the Henry M. Flagler railroad to Key West, he was washed into the sea and drowned during a Florida hur- ricane. A short time previously he had visited at the home of Prof. Charles Simpson in Miami, and renewed acquaintance with an old-time neighbor in Dublin, the professor's wife, whom he had known in former days as Flora Allison, my sister.
58
Richard Phillips, "Uncle Dick," was a musician of natural ability. He had played his bass viol in church and for dances in Dublin and surrounding towns. There was a son William, re- ferred to as "Bill," and a sister of exceptional character and ability who devoted her life to nursing-Mrs. Freelove Souther.
Mrs. Souther built the house at the top of the village hill east of the Rice residence in 1881; afterward it was owned by the John Gleason family.
The Phillips farm included the land on the "point" of the lake where the Joseph Lindon Smith residence now stands, and extended south over the high ground. The old road was origin- ally laid out several rods south of the present highway, and the Phillips house stood beside it, near the site of the summer home afterward owned by Professor Hill.
Bill had three children, the youngest and toughest of whom was Bill Junior. Walking to the village with two younger boys he told them he "had chewed in two a ten-penny nail the other day." Nails were square and rough, there were then no round wire nails. Asked how long it took, he replied, "About ten minutes."
The credulous boys were not a bit surprised-Bill was four- teen, big and husky, and they believed him capable of almost anything.
The Wait family lived at the top of the second hill, west of the village, where the roads divide to encircle the lake.
Mrs. Wait was the daughter of John Snow, soldier of the Revolution, after whom "Snow Hill" was named and was an excellent, much respected woman.
There were six rugged boys in the family, of whom it was said each one "squared accounts" with his father before quit- ting home. John, the oldest, was the dependable support of the family and worked for Charles Wilder at his thermometer fac- tory in Peterborough until his death.
The youngest brother, Ed, was a sturdy fellow; his brothers taught him to swim by taking him into a boat, tying a rope around his body, and throwing him into the lake. For the youngster, it was a case of "Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish," he swam-and survived.
59
Ed became an excellent cornetist and was a member of Davis and Wait's orchestra which played for dances in Dublin and in adjoining towns. He was the most capable and efficient brick mason in the area, built the cement work around the vil- lage oval, plastered the walls, and laid the chimneys in a great many of the new homes erected here and in surrounding places.
Two daughters, Fannie and Julia, completed the Thomas Wait family of eight children. It was interesting to watch Fan- nie, a plump, attractive girl, put her algebra problems on the blackboard at school with her left hand; she was an excellent scholar. All the Waits were good dancers and none of the girls in town could so gracefully do Petronella, and so perfectly ex- ecute its complete solo turn at the head of the set at the right moment as Fannie. She knew all the changes in those enjoyable old contradances, some of the most intricate of which include Chorus Jig, French Four, Money Musk, and the Highland Fling.
FOOD AND WAGES
It is an absorbing experience to look over ancient records and note the changes which have taken place over a period of years.
In 1850, previous to setting off the northern part of Dublin to form the new town of Harrisville, there were 290 working oxen in town. A century later, 1950, there are now, no oxen whatever.
In 1850, the town had 190 horses, 618 milch cows, 758 other cattle, 2,316 sheep, 336 hogs, 495 bushels of wheat, 19,145 bushels of potatoes, 42,940 pounds of butter, 21,325 pounds of cheese, 17,300 pounds of maple sugar. On hand, also, were sup- plies of corn, rye, oats, barley, grass-seed, wool, and hops.
Farm laborers, carpenters, and female domestic help were paid according to the following table:
The average monthly wages for farm hands, including board $13.00
The average wages of day laborer with board 0.75
60
The average wages of day laborer, without board 1.50
The average wages of day carpenter, with board 1.50
The average wages of day carpenter, without board 1.75
Weekly wages to female domestic, with board 1.75
In the year 1777, town price of corn was 50¢ per bushel; oats 28¢; beans, $1.00; cheese, 8¢ per pound; butter 121/2¢ per pound; men's shoes, 50¢ a pair; beef, 4¢ per pound; pork, 7¢ per pound; potatoes, 13¢ per bushel; and a yoke of oxen could be hired for 25¢ per day. In 1781, Deacon Eli Morse recorded in his account book a charge of 51¢ against Ebenezer Twitchell for "two bushels of potatoes and a crowing biddie."
We personally recall the time when the town paid 1623 cents per hour for working on the roads.
THE RURAL TELEPHONE
Many excellent farms have been sold to summer residents, but only a few of them are still carried on. The eastern part of the town is less affected, where a considerable number of Fin- nish families reside and continue to operate the farms once owned by native townspeople.
Back in the early '90's, a telephone line was extended into this eastern area where, at one time, the rural circuit included twenty-seven farmer subscribers, each of whom was signaled by a designated number of "longs and shorts."
Any call on this line was quite sure to be followed by click- ing receivers lifted from their hooks by subscribers eager to get word from the outside, or to receive a new slant on the neighborhood news.
Tom Hall was a notorious offender-he married Mary Doyle; they were a worthy couple and good neighbors, but Tom sel- dom missed a telephone conversation.
61
One day Al Baldwin rang central and was presently greeted by the inevitable click of a receiver being lifted from its place. "Hang up your telephone, Tom Hall," Al demanded authori- tatively. "I haven't got it down, sir, by God, sir, so I haven't, sir," was Tom's indignant retort.
5
THE CHURCH VESTRY
The town hall was built in 1881. Until that time the vestry of the Unitarian Church provided the only hall in town avail- able for public gatherings
It was the meeting place for Sunday school, singing school, high school sessions, lyceums, and lectures. The annual town meeting, Grange, concerts, traveling shows, and dances were held here.
"Comical Brown" opened his program singing "Come rise with the lark in the early dawn," playing an accompaniment upon the vestry's small melodeon. With the assistance of "Miss Margaret Bragdon," who, we presume, may have been Mrs. Brown, his wife, he provided an evening's entertainment, such as it was.
Sullivan and Stratton staged Uncle Tom's Cabin upon the platform's limited space, presenting Uncle Tom, Simon Legree, and Little Eva; a savage bloodhound chased Eliza across the river, over the wobbly cakes of ice.
At another time, Chief "Rolling Thunder," his squaw, and their small papoose, "Little O'Cunning," entertained an audi- ence, sold Indian medicine, and showed truly surprising feats
63
of marksmanship. His squaw, sitting with back toward the chief, rifle on her shoulder and pointed toward him, looked into a mirror and shot the ashes off the lighted cigar held in his mouth.
Professor Monroe, who established Monroe School of Ora- tory, Boston, now Emerson College, gave readings in the vestry. He was the author of Monroe's series of School Readers, used in Dublin during my boyhood days. His talented family, wife and four daughters, rendered musical numbers delightfully upon piano and wood-wind instruments, some of them of unusual design, which they had brought from Europe.
Two of the professor's pupils, preparing for the stage, as- sisted: Georgia Cayvan rendered "The Bobolink," and Maida Craigin, afterward starring in "Harbor Lights" at the old Boston Museum, displayed dramatic ability with pleasing recitations.
Upon another occasion, Henry H. Piper announced Percy Mackaye, who charmingly read "Seven Times One," while it was being prettily enacted in pantomime on the stage.
Steele MacKaye, his actor-father, summered in Dublin for several seasons, with his large family of children. Some years after, we saw him at the Globe Theater, in Boston, in the play, The Still Alarm, when firemen slid down brass rods to mount a fully equipped fire engine, drawn by a pair of handsome white horses.
A recent copy of the Boston Herald stated:
For six years, poet-dramatist Percy MacKaye lived a hermit's life in a Shirley farmhouse so that he might com- plete a work to which he had devoted, in less concentrated manner, 50 years of his life.
Today, 73 years old, Percy MacKaye is the winner of the 1948 Fellowship Award, given by the Academy of American Poets, and the recipient of many plaudits for the work which was completed between 1939 and 1945, at Shirley, where his brother Benton still resides. The vol- ume is a tetralogy. 'The Mystery of Hamlet, King of Den- mark, or What We Will,' a sequence of four plays in pro- logue to Shakespeare's Hamlet.
64
Ambassador Henry White obligingly consented to address a vestry audience after a church supper. The Ambassador was serving in France when former President Theodore Roosevelt returned from his African hunting trip, and, at the Kaiser's re- quest, stopped in Germany to review his army with him.
Mr. White went to Germany to attend the meeting and wit- nessed the review. He said the Kaiser was infatuated with T.R., and the German people were thrilled and excited at his visit. There was a tense feeling everywhere.
After the review, Roosevelt returned to his hotel and was packing up his belongings, preparatory to leaving, when a rep- resentative appeared, and Roosevelt was asked for a further conference with the Kaiser
"How much time does he want?" Roosevelt inquired.
"He wants to see you for an hour," was the reply.
"I can't give him an hour," Roosevelt said.
"How much time can you give him?"
T.R. pulled out his watch, looked at it quickly, and snapped back, "I'll give him just fifteen minutes!"
"Mark Twain" (Samuel Langhorne Clemens) spoke in the vestry, too. At one of the Sewing Circle suppers he gave a half hour's talk, and recited a somewhat thrilling story.
Sitting beside me was Orvis Fairbanks, familiarly called "O.K." in Peterborough, his home, and in Keene, where he eventually established a successful grocery business.
Orvis clerked in my store and served the Clemens family with its needed food supply. He listened with rapt attention to Mr. Clemens, and sat tensely upon the very edge of the settee. The story was running along upon a fairly even keel, when, suddenly, the climax came. A quick, loud shout from Mark so startled Orvis that he lost his balance, slid off the settee, and landed on the floor.
CHRISTMAS
Again the Yuletide carols bring In gladsome song the old, old story; Rime-frosted chimes their message fling
65
Across a landscape white and hoary; A holly sprig, a hemlock spray, . A merry Merry Christmas Day!
- HILDRETH M. ALLISON
What a grand affair the service was at the church and vestry, seventy-five years ago!
On Christmas eve the church was lighted with kerosene lamps; the choir loft had special handmade chandeliers sus- pended from the ceiling, a lighted lamp rested on each of the four ends of short six-inch-wide boards, crossed in the center in X fashion. Rev. Mr. Rice conducted the service.
The pulpit was festooned with evergreen and, overhead, a white dove was suspended from the ceiling. High in the East appeared The Star which guided the Wise Men to the manger.
An excellent choir sang Christmas carols, under the direc- tion of Joseph Morse, "Joy to the World," "Silent Night," and several other beautiful selections. There were many good singers taking part: Henry Adams, Henry C. Piper, Rufus Pierce, John Mason, Minnie Piper, the Powers twins, Sabrina and Lavinia; Viola Powers, Ella Mason, Mary Eastman, and Laura Rice. Mrs. Amelia Gleason played the organ.
The church service over, all hands repaired to the vestry below where George Tarbox and Dwight Learned were pop- ping corn on top of the hot, oblong-shaped, wood-burning, cast- iron stove, to be distributed later in the evening.
The first sight of the Christmas tree was enthralling! It was festooned with strings of popcorn, laden with gaily wrapped presents, and ornamented with cornucopias, colorful yellow oranges, clusters of raisins, popcorn balls, and bags of candy. Lighted candles helped to dazzle the eyes.
Henry C. Piper acted the part of Santa Claus; he wore a buffalo-fur coat, a string of sleigh bells fastened around his waist, which, given an occasional vigorous shake, added realism to the festivities. A tall, pointed red cap with white tassel at the peak completed his picturesque costume.
There were two Henry Pipers in town-father and son, "Old Henry" and "Young Henry"-sometimes "Big Henry" and "Little
66
Henry"; the father was Henry Curtis, the son Henry Hildreth, Piper.
As a preliminary to the exercises, Santa related his exper- ience in making the trip from the frozen North Pole with his team of reindeer, then proceeded to distribute the eagerly awaited gifts. He called the recipient's name loudly as the pres- ents were cut from the tree by a bevy of young ladies and then passed on to eager, expectant owners by a younger set of boys and girls.
Some of the older and more sedate citizens were occasionally remembered with an oddity or inappropriate award from a face- tious friend, causing a good deal of laughter and much merri- ment.
A few improbable gifts were announced: an envelope marked as containing $25 was handed to my oldest brother. At the early age of seven. I believed the gift a reality and concluded it must have come from Mr. Rice, the minister, who was said to receive $600 for his year's salary. I knew of no one else in town so able to make such a generous contribution. The en- velope actually contained but 25 cents and was given by a thoughtful neighbor. Nearly every boy would have been satis- fied with the gift of a jackknife or any one of such items as a harmonica, pair of skates, drum. mittens, or pair of stockings. A new sled was an unusual present.
Festivities over. the return trip seemed long and cold; small children were sleepy and tired. The youngest could be tucked under the buffalo robe, completely covered, and allowed to sleep until the slow old horse had drawn the pung sleigh over the glistening white snow-covered road and turned into the doorvard at home. It had, indeed, been a Merry Christmas!
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.