USA > New Hampshire > Cheshire County > Dublin > Dublin days, old and new ; New Hampshire fact and fancy. > Part 6
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A Boston Herald editorial thus comments on "Old Cellar Holes":
Long years ago pioneers left the security of small coastal villages and trekked westward and northward. They made farms in virgin forests and built the foundation of a new form of government-a foundation as strong as the granite rock that lined the cellars of homes and barns. Now the farms are abandoned and only the old cellar holes are left.
A smooth granite doorstep tells of the generations that went in and out a home. This clump of lilacs in front of what was once the ell may have been planted by a bride of two centuries and more ago who came to the hills with her mate from Salem, Boston, or Newburyport.
The cellar holes will long remain, as eternal as the granite that forms their sides, they are memorials to men and women who fought a good fight when a nation was young.
From the magazine Appalachia-
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EIDOLONS
The trail led faintly, twisting through the brush Of tangled woods, a forest now regrown; The startled partridge whirred, there sang the thrush, Two wanderers traced the sylvan path alone.
Yet it, like everything, needs have an end, And in due time it brought them to their goal, A now forgotten place where roses blend With clematis around a cellar hole.
They rested on a stone of broken shale, A doorstep, feet had worn in sun and snow; In reverie they reconstrued a tale Of those who'd lived there in the long ago.
And as they wove dream fancies in the wild, Two shades, a man, a woman, listened, smiled. -HILDRETH M. ALLISON
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TOWN FACTIONS
When the town hall was built in 1881, it was without a piano for several months. Consequently, if an entertainment was arranged for the hall, a small group of stalwart citizens got together, took the piano from the vestry at night, carried it across the street, and up the winding stairs into the hall.
It was a difficult problem to guide it around the narrow curve in the stairway; the instrument had to be raised to nearly a vertical position which threw the weight almost wholly upon two men in the rear.
When the piano was again needed in the vestry, an oppos- ing group took it out of the hall, carried it back across the street into the vestry. The change, in each instance, was made in the evening. Eventually, the town hall had its own piano.
Some of the Mason adherents organized a singing school and hired George Foster, of Keene, to teach it. The Gleason contingent were interested in a school but preferred not to attend Mr. Foster's class; accordingly, they hired Mr. Merrill, also of Keene, to conduct a school of their own, so there were two singing schools being held in town that winter.
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But there had been two singing schools going on in Dublin at the same time a hundred years before.
In 1820, the selectmen arranged to spend $50 for a school of sacred music, taught by a Mr. Robbins. Some of the singers didn't like the style he was teaching; they said his pupils sang too loud, and without suitable expression. They formed another choir with their own leader and each intended to do the sing- ing at the church service on Sunday, when a new candidate for the ministry was to preach.
One choir took their places in the regular singing seats, the other occupied free seats in the side gallery. The minister read the hymn, the two choir leaders gave the pitch-different ones -and the two sang different tunes at the same time; there was much unpleasant discord.
When the second hymn was announced, one leader selected a tune with slow movement; the other chose a faster one. The choir singing the faster tune finished first so the slower singers had the satisfaction of rendering the last stanza alone, to the relief of the congregation.
Before the minister could go on with the service, Alexander Eames arose, addressed the singers and reproved them for so unfortunately conducting themselves in the house of God.
Eventually, both choirs agreed to unite if Mr. Henry Whit- comb would lead them. Mr. Whitcomb consented.
Fortunately, this rivalry faded out with the departure of many of those determined, strong-willed citizens, and a much more harmonious community feeling exists now.
The most serious disturbance comes at town- and school- meeting time. Practically every town, big and little, has this situation to contend with. Town meeting in Dublin occurs at the time of year when there is little else to occupy the attention of its citizens. The aftermath dies down when spring and sum- mer activities engage the attention of its people.
Previous to the division of the town in 1871, the election of town officers at the annual March meeting sometimes pre- sented an unusual situation.
All three selectmen were elected annually, to serve for a period of one year. Perhaps the Dublin board had proved un-
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satisfactory to the voters in the northern part of the town, Pottersville, Harrisville, and Handyville. By combining the forces of these three villages, they might defeat the old board and elect an entirely new one from their own section. The same procedure could be reversed the following year, which was gratifying to the winning faction but, perhaps, detrimental to the best interest of the town.
Thus, small-town politicians played the same game one hundred years ago as goes on in our national capital today. Human nature hasn't changed, nor have politicians.
DR. SMITH
While Dr. Smith was actively practicing medicine in Dublin, he was considered an excellent physician. During the Civil War he served aboard the naval vessel Freeborn on the Potomac River, as Acting Assistant Surgeon, U.S.N.
The Doctor made his home in the village at the residence of 'Squire Thomas Fisk. During the winter, when the snow had piled up and drifts made traveling by sleigh impossible, he visited his patients with difficulty, making the trip on horse- back.
The doctor was a good horseman and enthused over the Vermont Morgans, so hardy, round, trim, and intelligent, the ideal horse for the hills of New England. Both his own horses answered the description mentioned, and, while they were not extremely fast, the doctor had the faculty of making them appear much speedier than they really were. He seemed to be constantly holding them down to a gait considerably slower than they were capable of doing.
In his black leather bag he carried his most commonly prescribed remedy-a yellowish brown powder, which he dipped out of a big-mouthed bottle, and deposited with the aid of a knife, upon small, square-cut pieces of paper, which he folded and doubled over at the ends.
These powders seem to have been good for almost every ailment. He had excellent success with his patients, however, and, except in hopeless cases, they generally improved or
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recovered. The consensus of opinion throughout this and ad- joining towns was that Dr. Chase, of Peterborough, Dr. Brad- ley, of Jaffrey, and Dr. Smith, of Dublin, were the most capable physicians within this immediate area.
The doctor was given a gray bathrobe, trimmed with blue, by a friendly summer resident. But instead of wearing the garment at home, he used it as a topcoat and could occasionally be seen climbing the village hill, wearing the gray coat and carrying one of his many self-made canes.
For a considerable time it was not definitely known whether the doctor and Miss Belle Fisk were married or not; but, even- tually, all doubt was removed when an announcement came from the young lady's parents, saying the happy event had finally taken place.
Doctor and Mrs. Smith were very regular attendants at church in later life. They sat on the west side, well toward the front, and took part in the responsive reading with vigor, Dr. Smith finishing each sentence one or two words behind the rest of the congregation. He sang with enthusiasm, and lagged so far behind that it was noticeable. On one occasion his tenor voice reached a volume quite unusual. Fred Pierce, sitting in the pew directly in front, laid down his hymn book, turned around suddenly, and glared savagely at the doctor.
John Mason said that Rev. Mr. Rice was as good a baritone singer as was his son, Dr. George B. Rice, member of the Apollo Glee Club in Boston. The entire Rice family were musi- cal, and after Laura had attended the New England Conserva- tory of Music she taught singing school. The attractive young lady became the wife of Dr. Henry H. Piper.
Rev. and Mrs. Rice sang duets delightfully. Mrs. Rice was an excellent piano accompanist, a talented, and much beloved woman in the community, and filled the difficult position of minister's wife ideally.
Before marriage, Mrs. Rice was Persis Fayette Weeks, of Lancaster, New Hampshire. Her nephew, John W. Weeks, visited at the parsonage in Dublin while a student at the Naval Academy in Annapolis. He attended church with his cousin
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George, dressed in his Naval suit of white-a fascinating figure to my youthful eyes. The young man had a notable career in pub- lic life and eventually became Secretary of the Navy of the United States.
Mrs. Rice once told my sister Mabel that she was organist in the church in Lancaster where Mr. Rice came to candidate. It was winter, bitterly cold in the organ loft, and she froze the tips of her fingers. When he knew, afterward, that the young lady played the organ with frostbitten fingers, she supposed he thought she had the qualities which fitted her to become a minister's wife.
THE OLD HOMESTEAD
Denman Thompson began his Old Homestead theatrical season at the city hall in Keene each year. Swanzey, Mr. Thompson's home town, is justly proud of the distinguished actor's career, of his famous play, and of the accomplishments achieved with it since his death in paying off a church mortgage and financing other worthy projects through its revival by local talent.
Annually, during the last decade, The Old Homestead has been presented in the "Potash Bowl," and attracts visitors from near and far. But, however well the play is presented now, it can never match the excellence of its original performance, it seems to me, when Mr. Thompson himself took the part of Joshua Whitcomb. He was the incomparable star of the show. Those who remember it, with its splendid cast, love to recall the play as they saw it in the 1880's and '90's, when it was at the height of its popularity.
We saw The Old Homestead in Boston in 1888; a yoke of oxen, sometimes summered in Dublin, drew a load of hay across the stage in the Boston Theatre, and later on we had dinner in the dining room of the old Adams House, where Mr. Thompson sat at a nearby table; but never have we enjoyed this wholesome, absorbing play as much as when it was given in City Hall, Keene, some sixty years ago.
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The town of Swanzey has set an example of enterprise and cooperation which a great many other communities could emu- late to advantage.
AGRICULTURAL FAIRS
Interesting agricultural fairs were held in Keene seventy years ago. There were excellent exhibits of livestock, vegetables, fruit, and homemade products. The Chickerings, of Chester- field, and Bill and Martin Cheever, raced fast trotting horses, hitched to high-wheeled sulkies. Bill stretched his horse's tail back on the sulky seat, sat on it, and his blond, full beard, was blown in all directions as he rounded the half-mile track.
There were foot races, high-wheel bicycle races, and a baseball game; a tight-rope walker cooked an egg in a small tin stove, and ate it, sitting high up on the tightly drawn rope over the track near the judges' stand.
"The champion collar-and-elbow wrestler of the world" and the "catch-as-catch-can champion" put on a splendid exhibition of really scientific wrestling, less brutal and much more enjoya- ble to watch than the present-day "grunt and groan" variety, which allows slugging and kicking.
Three or four riders raced around the track on old-fashioned high-wheel bicycles, and a hawker offered an opportunity to throw tennis balls at an "African Dodger," a Negro whose head was thrust through a hole in a tightly stretched sheet of canvas.
"Hit him once, we give you one cigar; twice, two cigars, and three times a half a dollar; and remember, if you kill him, you get a hundred dollars in gold and a brick house down in Keene."
Our brother John enjoyed telling tall stories to the youngest members of the family. He said one fellow practiced till he could hit the dodger's head about every time with a tennis ball, then, suddenly, pulled a concealed baseball from his pocket, threw terrifically, cracked the dodger smack on the head, and finished him on the spot.
He got his hundred dollars, and, with his wife and children, lived ever after in one of Keene's finest brick houses.
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John told us about the bear which prowled into Thaddeus Morse's sawmill, with its old-fashioned up-and-down saw, dur- ing the noon hour. The sawyer sat on the carriage which car- ried the logs to the saw, eating his dinner, when a big black bear strode in and made for his dinner pail. The man slipped quickly away and rushed for the lever which started the car- riage toward the saw.
Bruin, sitting on the carriage, had begun eating the lunch from the dinner pail. The carriage neared the saw-its sharp teeth caught his fur and the bear growled savagely. Angrily, the bear rose to his haunches, threw his huge paws around the fast-moving saw, and was sliced in two quickly and cleanly.
He skinned the animal, cut him up, and carried home the newly acquired meat supply. Together with his wife and chil- dren, he ate tender roasts and juicy steaks of bear meat through- out the remainder of the winter.
Another bear, he said, was of a kindly disposition and quite intelligent; he had been trained by his keeper to brush away the flies when the man was taking his midday nap in the cool shade of a leafy tree. One day while the bear's master was sleeping, a fly lighted on the tip of the man's nose. The bear brushed him off but back he came again to exactly the same spot. Time after time that bothersome fly returned after being brushed away.
Bruin finally became so exasperated that he seized a rock and waited for the fly to come again. When the little insect re- turned and lighted once more on the tip of the master's nose, the bear heaved the stone and flattened the fly to a pulp. That was the end of the fly. But the man? Poor fellow! He was never again annoyed by a fly lighting on the tip of his nose.
Brother Frank searched in a book of poems for a piece to speak in school. He finally found an acceptable one, copied it with ink, and left the sheet of paper on the table. Each verse ended with the words: "Make your Mark." John came in during Frank's absence, read the poem, and proceeded to carry out instructions. He took the pen, dipped it in ink, and made a very
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heavy black mark at the conclusion of each verse. When Frank returned he indignantly threw away the selection and hunted up another piece.
THE OLD HARRISVILLE ROAD
Professor Henry W. Rolfe built the house on the old road now owned by Mr. and Mrs. Sagendorph. The spot on which it stands was formerly a part of the Henry Kendall farm, as was the Rand property adjoining it.
Professor Rolfe prepared his lectures to be given before the students of Oxford University, England, at his Dublin home. He is said to have been the first American ever to receive that honor. He said the entire winter devoted to their preparation was the pleasantest he had ever experienced. Mr. Rolfe accepted a chair at Leland Stanford University after his return from England, sold his place here, and eventually made his home in Palo Alto.
On the north side of the hill beyond, where Dr. Stewart resides, stood the large brick house owned by Gilman Kendall, Henry Kendall's son.
The Dublin Grenadiers used this field in olden times for a training ground. It was said the entire company made a disor- derly retreat on one occasion when a bull made his appearance and assumed a menacing attitude. Miss Emily Sears, of Boston, bought the property and erected her summer residence there in 1884.
The Cottons-brothers Jim, Dudley, and Dana, and sister Lizzie-lived across the road in a square brick house, farther west, until they sold their place to Dr. Goldthwait, of Boston, and Rev. Dr. Thayer, of Portsmouth. Mrs. Goldthwait and Mrs. Thayer were sisters. A third home was built on the prop- erty for Mrs. Rand, their mother.
The Cottons were tall-all of them-unmarried, quite home- ly in appearance but pleasant of manner, typical Yankees who came from "Cotton Valley," Wolfeboro, whither they returned after selling out. All were religiously inclined and Dana became
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a minister. He worked for Daniel Fiske in the village to help pay for his ministerial preparation.
Jim, the oldest, was fully six feet tall, of florid complexion, and wore a full beard of sandy hue. He laughed heartily and with ease, but, at rare intervals, succumbed to the temptations of John Barleycorn. Jim made reference to his transgressions by saying he "slipped off the rock." With true spirit of repentance he struggled earnestly to regain a firm foundation.
The Cottons were in no sense a brilliant family but were kindly disposed-good neighbors-and none of them ever harmed a soul intentionally.
WHEN YOU RETIRE
If you are an active business or professional man, or hard- working mechanic, who believes you have earned a rest and concluded that you will enjoy the luxury of retirement, decide upon something to do which will occupy and interest you, lest you become miserable from inactivity.
A community forgets quickly. If an active man is no longer seen performing his accustomed duties, and someone else has taken his place, how natural it is for the public to accept the impression that, perhaps, the gentleman they used to know may have passed on. Don't become inactive!
Driving through the town of Antrim, some years ago, I noticed the sign "Daniels Drug Store," stopped, went in, and inquired of the elderly proprietor if he was the Daniels who used to operate a similar store in Keene.
"Yes," he replied, then went on to explain that after he had completed its sale, he decided to retire. He sat in the lobby of the Cheshire House, watched the crowds pass on the sidewalk outside, and, in the afternoon, he and his wife took their car and went for a ride.
In the course of two weeks' time, they had covered about all the nearby routes, got tired of going over the same old roads, and sick of watching the people on the sidewalk. During a visit to friends in Antrim, he found the store for sale, bought it, and said he would operate it to the last.
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IDLE HANDS
The days would never come, she often thought, When she could sit and rest-no work to do, No littered rooms to clear: no rain-smudged paint To scrub; no mud-tracked floors to clean. The children-ah, she loved them dearly, but They were so thoughtless of the work they made. Each dawn brought for her hands the endless tasks; Each dusk found countless ones still left to do.
The day is come-she sits with idle hands Held lonesomely against her spotless dress. No gay young laughter wakes her quiet rooms; No dancing feet swirl dust across the floors. The day of rest she hungered for is here- A day that's long, with loneliness and tears. -ESTHER HOUGHTALING
DUBLIN, NEW HAMPSHIRE, TO DUBLIN, IRELAND
On August 27th, 1942, Dublin, New Hampshire-population about six hundred-broadcast a good-will message to the peo- ple of Dublin, Ireland, from the town hall, before an interested audience.
The broadcasting service was arranged by station WRUL, Boston, and the principal address was given by Harold Stearns, a teacher in the Hackley (New York) School, whose home was here. Mr. Stearns had resided in Dublin, Ireland, for a time, and sent personal messages to friends.
Henry Gowing, descendant of Henry Strongman, weaver, from Dublin, Ireland, one of the town's first permanent settlers to reside here with his family, spoke briefly, as did Henry Alli- son, representing the Board of Selectmen.
The Lord Mayor afterward pleasantly acknowledged the greeting and Irish newspapers commented favorably upon the occasion.
* From The Saturday Evening Post.
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The Irish Times said:
There must have been, of course, some connection be- tween the founders of these American Dublins and the Irish city. The Vikings, who pulled their boat ashore at the mouth of the River Liffey, called the place Dubh-linn, be- cause of the black pool then marking the entrance of the bay.
From a New Hampshire hamlet with a population of a few hundreds, fraternal greetings were sent with the help of a Boston radio station, from Dublin to Dublin.
It may be possible some day for Radio Eireann to make a round of the Dublins, in New Hampshire, Pennsylvania, Virginia, North Carolina, Ohio, Indiana, Georgia, Missis- sippi, and Texas, in the course of an evening's program. Dubliners throughout the world may become conscious of one another's existence.
THE 1938 HURRICANE
The hurricane which occured on September 21, 1938, and the high water which accompanied it caused unprecedented damage and devastation in Dublin and throughout New England.
The tremendous downpour of rain created streams of water where none had hitherto existed within memory. Boats were required for conveyance over flooded highways; buildings were unroofed and blown down, and the steeple of the Community Church was blown off and, with point down, penetrated the roof on the west side of the building.
Electric service was suspended for days until help from dis- tant states was brought in by the telephone company to repair and rebuild wrecked lines.
A special town meeting was called by the selectmen, and twenty thousand dollars temporarily borrowed to make high- ways passable.
Trees, great and small, were uprooted and toppled over, and thousands of acres of forests were laid flat, in many in- stances a complete loss to the owner.
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Thousands of acres of woodland on the eastern and northern slopes of Monadnock lay flat and have created a serious fire hazard which still exists. There is little likelihood that these devastated forests on the mountain will ever be cleared by human hands. Continual care must be exercised in order to avoid a catastrophe of terrifying proportions.
The splendid growth of sturdy old beeches-the "Centennial Woods"-on the Jaffrey road were almost completely wrecked, and were part of the destruction of one of the town's favorite and most beautiful drives.
The Centennial was held in this historic grove in 1852, but its almost complete destruction has removed it as a possible site for the 1952 Bi-Centennial observance.
Albert Bigelow Paine, Mark Twain's biographer, has de- scribed the grove as follows:
It was such a growth of beech timber as I have never seen elsewhere; tall, straight, mottled trees with an under- growth of laurel, the sunlight sifting through; one found it easy to expect there story-book ladies, wearing crowns and green mantles, riding on white palfreys .*
The contract for rebuilding the Community Church spire was awarded to R. O. Leonard, of Framingham, Massachusetts, who accomplished the task of duplicating the original spire capably, and to the satisfaction of all concerned.
A fine spirit of cooperation was shown in an effort to replace the wrecked steeple; contributions were sent by friends in various parts of the country: from far-away California, in the West, and from former residents residing in Florida, in the Southland.
The steeple dedication took place on Sunday afternoon, July 30th, 1939; Rev. Benjamin F. Andrew, minister, officiated, assisted by Rev. Charles A. Engvall, of Manchester.
* From Mark Twain: A Biography.
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ELECTRICITY, FIRE, AND WATER
Dublin was connected by telegraph in 1864; had a telephone office in 1897; Charles Appleton established an electric light plant in 1899, when the town hall, stores, and some private homes were lighted by electricity for the first time. Street lights were introduced in 1900.
The Keene Gas and Electric Company bought the plant in 1911, and, in 1915, a steel tower line was constructed between Keene and Dublin, providing twenty-four hour service, and making it possible to use the local plant as a substation.
There is a volunteer fire company and fire engines in the village, and a considerable number of fire holes, of doubtful value, scattered throughout the town, but there is no much- needed public water supply to protect the village and furnish adequate household and drinking water.
THE SOUTH SIDE ROAD
At the 1912-13 session of the Legislature, the proposed "South Side Highway" was authorized, extending from the Con-
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necticut River to the ocean, passing through Keene, Dublin, Milford, and Manchester, to Portsmouth. Quite recently the road has been given the official title of "The Horace Greeley Highway," in honor of the New Hampshire journalist, born in Amherst, through which town the road passes. It has access to points east and west, and connects with important routes in every direction.
The Vermont Transit busses cover the route from Rutland, Springfield, and Bellows Falls, Vermont, via Dublin to Boston, and afford Dublin residents an opportunity to reach the Massa- chusetts capitol in the forenoon, in a comfortable, air-condi- tioned bus, enjoy a half day's stay in the city, and return the same evening-a round trip of one hundred fifty miles, quite as easily accomplished now as was the twenty-six miles journey to Keene and back during horse and buggy days.
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