USA > New Hampshire > Hillsborough County > New Boston > History of New Boston, New Hampshire > Part 2
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We thank thee, Father, for the love And care which thou hast given ; For friends who meet as here at home, . And those who wait in heaven. For Auld Lang Syne, dear friends, For Auld Lang Syne ; Our hearts with one affection beat, For Auld Lang Syne.
For all, accept our humble praise, Still bless us with thy love, That we may all united be Within thy home above. For Auld Lang Syne, dear friends, For Auld Lang Syne ; We'll keep this union in our hearts, For Auld Lang Syne.
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. After brief addresses from several gentlemen, the following was sung, and the guests retired from the tables : -
WELCOME OF THE FATHERS.
Hear ye not the soft, low whispers, Breathing upward from the ground ? 'Tis the voices of the fathers, Wafting their sweet welcome round.
Welcome to these tents so goodly, Planted by our toilsome care ; Welcome to this breath of heaven, Soul-refreshing, native air.
At our coming none said welcome ; All was lonely, drear, and wild ; In the midst we built our altar, Soon an Eden round us smiled.
Homes we sowed along the valley ; Learning's dews we bade distil ; And the church, with wing o'ershadowing, Hovered on the highest hill.
Slowly up the pathway climbing, Heaven grew nearer, and more sweet, And a glory filled the temple, Opening to receive our feet.
Inward peace and outward trials, - We accepted both with praise : With our blessings take our counsel ; Children, keep the good old ways.
Having reassembled in the church, the choir sang the follow- ing, by Mrs. Wason : -
OUR EARLY FRIENDS.
Our childhood's friends have met once more This side the shadowy land ; With cordial, earnest, youthful love, We'll grasp each proffered hand.
Each dear remembered face we see, Wakes memory's slumbering chain ; 3
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Bids us tread back the lapse of years, And we are young again.
'Tis here our homes of long ago Yet lift each humble head ; The brown moss creeps o'er ancient walls That echo strangers' tread.
The gray-haired sire is laid aside, And she who loved us best ; Naught but the archangel's trump shall break Their peaceful, quiet rest.
Here Moor and Bradford fed their flocks, With earnest, Christian trust ; Breathed out their lives among our hills, And mingle now with dust.
Our hearts grow tender yet at sound Of Bradford's cherished name, Whose noble form sleeps now with those Whose souls to bless he came.
And she who walked beside his path, With patient, gentle love, Is waiting yet the summons, " Take Thy starry crown above."
The everlasting hills remain Unchanged by time's decay ; Their towering cliffs point heavenward, As in our childhood's day.
Warren R. Cochrane pronounced a spirited poem, and was followed, in response to various sentiments, by exceedingly interesting addresses from Josiah W. Fairfield, Esq., Perley Dodge, Esq., Dr. James H. Crombie, William Colburn, A. B., and Dr. Thomas H. Cochran, all of which, together with oth- ers for which there was not time, will appear in the following pages. After music by the band, and the singing by the choir of the following hymn by Mrs. Wason, the exercises of the day were closed amid the rejoicings of a nation over the victory at Gettysburg, and the fall of Vicksburg : -
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OUR FATHERS.
Our fathers' God, who dwell'st on high,
Beyond the star-gem'd, azure sky, Behold what wondrous change appears, - The harvest of a hundred years.
A hardy band of pioneers Hewed down the mighty forests here, And reared their church amid the wilds Where now the ripening harvest smiles.
Along these hills and valleys green Their schools of learning soon were seen, Whose worth will gild our country's page With living light in every age.
Those noble-hearted sires are gone, Their memories sweet will yet flow on, Their stern, deep-toned religious faith Outlives the mighty conqueror, Death.
Our fathers' God, oh ! grant that we, Scions of noble ancestry, May imitate their virtues rare, And write our names in lines as fair.
The Fourth of July occurred on Saturday, and, as those who had come to the old homestead would naturally desire to re- main over the Sabbath, appropriate arrangements had been made for continuing the services through the fifth ; and, though the rain fell abundantly, a good congregation convened in the morning. The services began with invocation and reading the 78th Psalm, by Rev. Mr. Russell, of the Baptist church, and the singing a part of the 148th Psalm, P. M., by the choir ; after which prayer was offered by Rev. William Clark, of Am- herst, and the 78th Psalm, C. M., first part, was sung, and Hon. Gerry Whiting Cochrane, of Boston, member of Governor Andrew's council, made an exceedingly impressive address on the religious character of tlie early settlers, followed by delight- ful reminiscences of Rev. Mr. Bradford, by Rev. Mr. Buxton. After singing the Doxology, the morning services closed with the benediction by Rev. Mr. Buxton.
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It had been arranged that the Sabbath Schools should be ad- dressed in the afternoon, and the services were appropriate to that object. Accordingly, though the storm continued, the house was well filled, and after singing by the schools, and prayer by Rev. Royal Parkinson, of Vermont, Rev. J. A. Good- hue made an interesting address on the advantages of rural homes to the young, and was followed by pertinent addresses from Rev. Messrs. Clark and Buxton; and after them J. W. Fairfield, Esq., spoke of contentment with our lot as being a great source of happiness. The substance of his remarks we here give : -
There were some things with which we ought not to be content, but should try to rid ourselves of them. Every new generation ought to strive to surpass the preceding in intelligence, enterprise, and thrift; in deeds of be- nevolence, and excellence of moral character. With imperfections and evils which can be remedied we are never to be content ; but, we are often discon- tented with what is for our highest interest to retain. I have been a superin- tendent of a Sabbath school thirty years, and have been brought much into contact with children, and have observed that they are apt to become dissat- isfied with the Sabbath school, and leave; but the result is always painful. They forsake the sanctuary, and trample upon the law of the Sabbath. Then they yield to temptations to dissipation, become assimilated to vicious com- panions, and soon are utterly ruined. Sometimes children become dissatisfied with the restraints of home, and break loose from them, and the same painful results are reached.
Grown-up people become dissatisfied with their homes and neighbors, Sell out, and seek new ones, but are seldom at rest afterwards, for the reason that they carry themselves -the real cause of their discontent - with them. If they could leave themselves behind, there might be some chance of improvement; but, taking with them their moral characters, modes of thought, habits, and tastes, they only change the place, while they keep the pain. To improve their happiness, they must rectify themselves, and then discontent will cease. So men become dissatisfied with the gospel. Dr. Lord said, some years since, that the gospel had proved a failure. But it is not so ; there never was a time when the gospel was a greater power for good than now; nor when its advocates wielded it with greater success. Some people become dissatisfied with it when it insists upon a holy life; when it demands justice and benevolence ; and at first refuse to pay anything for it, then to hear it at all, - not because the gospel has changed, but because its demands exceed what they are willing to yield ; because it condemns their principles and conduct, and exposes the turpitude of their hearts, and the wrongness of their lives. They charge the blame of all this to the change in the gospel, or its wrong interpretation, when the fault lies within themselves.
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They allowed the fire that ought always to burn on the altar of the heart, to become extinguished, and the light that was once in them to become darkness ; and how great that darkness is, may be seen by the fact that they negleet the gospel with its ordinances, and refuse to aid in sustaining the worship of the sanctuary ; and thus, in respect to them, the gospel does prove a failure ; it fails to make them just, benevolent, and useful to others, and lovely in the sight of God. If there ever comes upon New England a fearful night of moral darkness and woe, it will be when the people are unwilling to have the practical doctrines of godliness pressed home upon their conscience, and refuse to put their hands deep into their pockets for the support of the institutions of religion. The greatest calamity that ever befell any community was the conviction that the gospel was worth nothing, and the corresponding neglect of it. Woe to my native town when she comes lightly to esteem the Sabbath and the sanctuary, and to look upon the minister of the gospel with suspicion, and his messages as of no weighty importance. Then, the glory of the town that boasts of an ancestry distinguished for their appreciation of the institu- tions of religion, will have «leparted, and the names of godly men and women will be disgraced by children and grandchildren who hallow not the Sabbath nor enter the sanctuary ; but who bear about with them the evidences of self- ruin. Here, now, and probably for the last time, and just upon the close of this great feast and commingling of hearts, with the teachings of the past and spirits of the venerated fathers around us, we, who have returned to enjoy this blessed pentecost, lift up our voices, and bear our testimony to the value of the gospel, and warn you who remain of the danger and fearful calamity which will inevitably come upon you if you prize not the institutions of reli- gion. If you neglect them, you neglect your own souls ; if you reject the teachings of the gospel, you do your own souls a fearful injury, and entail upon other generations inconceivable misery.
Rev. Mr. Goodhue made remarks suggested by the inquiry, Where will be our home a hundred years hence ? The chil- dren then sung " A Hundred Years to Come," and the services were closed with prayer and benediction by Rev. Mr. Goodhue, after a few farewell words from the President to the great num- bers who had so cheerfully responded to the invitation to visit the homes of their earlier days.
All the exercises of the Sabbath were highly appropriate, and all the utterances of the day were words fitly spoken ; were " apples of gold in pictures of silver." Several of the addresses will appear in the ensuing pages, and will serve to keep alive the remembrance of the day. When the services were ended, all lingered long, as unwilling to leave a scene so fraught with interest. Many kind wishes were expressed, and tender adicus
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uttered, all saying, " It has been good to be here." During the two days, great quiet and the utmost order prevailed, and nothing occurred to detract from the enjoyment of the occasion ; but it will be remembered ever as the richest feast of reason and flow of soul which a lifetime is permitted to enjoy.
HON. CLARK B. COCHRANE.
MR. COCHRANE was born in 1813, the son of Mr. John Coch- rane, who resided on the north declivity of Joe English, where his youth was spent in labor upon the farm, and attendance at the district school. He commenced fitting for college in 1832, at Atkinson Academy, under John Kelly, Esq., and completed his preparation at Francestown Academy, under Mr. B. F. Wallace, and at Nashua, under Mr. Crosby, having read Latin one or two terms with Mr. Edward Buxton. He entered Union College in 1835, and graduated in 1839. He was admitted to the bar in 1841, and commenced the practice of law at Amster- dam, N. Y., removing in 1851 to Schenectady, and thence in 1855 to Albany, where he now resides. In 1844, he repre- sented in the State Legislature, Montgomery County, and in 1856 was elected to represent in the United States Congress, the counties of Schenectady, Schoharie, Montgomery, and Ful- ton, and was reëlected in 1858. Mr. Cochrane was married in 1839 to Miss Rebecca Wheeler, of New York, and has one daughter, Mary Frances. By his legal skill, Mr. Cochrane has gained an enviable position among honorable competitors, and is widely known as a Christian gentleman, with a heart and hand for every good object. In politics he is a Republican, embracing the cause of the Union with an undivided heart. In selecting one to prepare and deliver the historical address on the Centennial occasion, Mr. Cochrane seemed in all respects fitted for the duty, and the rich feast which he prepared for that day is now spread for the reader.
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J. H. Bufford's Lilh.
AlarmBleochrane vrane
ADDRESS.
THERE is a sentiment in the human heart answering to the summons which brings us to this feast of memory. We gather at this centre of interest and friendship, from distant homes and varied lines of life, in obedience to a common instinct of our nature. Attachment to the place of birth, the scenes of childhood, the home of kindred, and the burial-grounds of our fathers, springs from an affection inherent in our humanity. As the exhausted tides, by an irresistible law of nature, roll back to their ocean home, so through their deepest channels the warm and wearied currents of the soul return to the asso- ciations, the play-grounds, the companions, of early years. When the patriarch Joseph, looking to the promised exodus, though wearing the second honors of Egypt, gave his brethren " commandment concerning his bones," he did but express a desire instinctive and common to mankind under all conditions and in every age.
" Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself has said, This is my own, my native land ! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand !"
You, who have continued to occupy the old domain, and in- herit the paternal soil, have never felt, and therefore cannot appreciate, the power of those ties which link the heart of the emigrant to the home of his youth. It is recorded of Abraham, as a test of eminent faith, that when the command came, "Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father's house," he " departed, as the Lord had spoken." It is the wanderer whose dreams are of the "fireside afar." "Tis
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in the land of strangers, remote from former friends, away from all that had been loved and left behind, in the distant pursuits of fortune or fame, and amid the perplexities of trade, the exhaustion of mind, the disappointments, toils, and tumults of hurried life, that our thoughts dwell in the past and our weary spirits pant for the green fields of youth and the spring-time of life.
With us, from whom the bloom and blessings of young ex- istence have long since departed, the memory of its scenes, the attachments it formed, the places it loved, and the objects it cherished, retain a freshness and power which years and ab- sence serve only to increase.
" Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear."
As the dreary winds and falling leaves of autumn force a sigh for the balmy air and vernal glories of the opening year, so the weariness and burdens of ripening age drive our thoughts back to the sunny season of youth and hope, when, exempt from cares and sheltered by a mother's love, the present had no sor- rows, and, to the eye of young ambition, the future no clouds.
" Who has not felt how growing use endears The fond remembrance of our former years ; Who has not sighed, when doomed to leave at last The hopes of youth, the habits of the past, The thousand ties and interests that impart A second nature to the human heart, And wreathing round it close, like tendrils climb, Blooming with age and sanctified by time."
The present is an opportunity long wished for, -at length enjoyed. We are here for no purpose of gain or ambition, to inaugurate no enterprise which might hold out to the greedy eye of capital promised returns of wealth and power ; we come to contend for none of those glittering but delusive prizes which tempt the feet of this world's votaries to the arena of · discord and strife. Far different is our mission. Ours is a pilgrimage of the heart, an errand of friendship, the presenta- tion of a united social offering to the homes and the days of " lang syne." The selfish passions of the soul are left behind,
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and all its nobler impulses, all its kindlier sensibilities, are called' into highest activity.
It would be difficult to imagine an occasion which, for us, could possess greater interest.
New Boston, our native town, the home we loved and left, has made a banquet for her absent children, and we are here. Driving along the distant avenues and dusty ways of life, we heard the mother's call, and we have hurried home to partake of her hospitality, and receive her grateful welcome.
Fellow-townsmen, neighbors, kinsmen, friends, we thank you for this public expression of your kind remembrance, -for this most generous greeting, this grand and affectionate reception, -for this " feast of reason and flow of soul." The table which you have with so much liberality spread before us is wanting in no luxury which may tempt the social appetite. Decked and perfumed with the choicest flowers of memory, sparkling with nectar which the gods yield only to the lips of earliest and truest friendships, and twined with evergreens connecting the present with a cherished past, we approach it as the one entertainment, the crowning festival of our lives.
After long years of separation and varied vicissitudes, we meet again at the place from whence we went out. We parted as friends, as friends we meet ; we left in the bloom of life and hope, we return faded by time and worn by cares. Our several ways have led us in widely divergent lines. Our lots have been cast in places remote from you and from each other. But neither absence nor distance, prosperity nor adversity, suc- cesses nor disappointments, have served to wean our hearts from the friends and firesides we left behind, nor make us forget the woods and the streams, the hills and the valleys, the rocks and the glens, with which we communed when life was new. From the western prairies, from the shores of the great lakes, from the valley of the Hudson, from the commercial me- tropolis of the continent, from the cities and villages of the Atlantic seaboard, from the manufacturing towns and along the rivers and among the mountains of our own New England, animated with one spirit and impelled by a single impulse, we have hastened to join this reunion of kindred hearts, and here, at the common source of our several life-streams, once
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more drink together at the pure fountains of childhood, and renew our strength for what remains of life's battle amid the bracing air and among the bracing friends of our rocky home.
The circumstances under which we are reassembled are peculiarly happy in their combination, and are such as can rarely occur in the history of any local community. The day, the year, the preparation, the gathering, the scene, all unite in crowding within the limits of a few passing hours the highest social pleasures, the most hallowed recollections of a lifetime.
It is, indeed, a genial and joyous occasion ; a grateful halt- ing-place by the wayside of life ; a green spot, to which we gladly turn aside from the heated and bustling ways over which we are driven along, to pass a brief season in fraternal saluta- tions, in happy greetings, in pleasant and cheerful intercourse ; to. meet old friends, and revive former friendships; to recall the innocent sports, the delightful scenes, the genial memories of early years ; to inquire of you and each other how it has fared with us during these many years of separation ; what joys, what sorrows, what successes, what reverses, what lights, and what shadows have checkered life.
As the present is a time for gladness, so also it is a time for retrospect and gratitude, as well. We rejoice at the multiplied evidences of your prosperity ; that the ancient character of the old town for industry, enterprise, hospitality, and intelligence has sustained no detriment at your hands. If you have re- ceived from us a less revenue of honor and credit than you had reason to expect, you cannot justly reproach us with having brought upon the names we bear, or the lineage we claim, the taint of disgrace or dishonor. Between you who have remained and us who have returned let there be the full flow of fraternal fellowship and generous gratulations, chas- tened by a grateful sense that whatever of good fortune has attended either, is due to that benignant Being, who " tempers the winds to the shorn lamb," and who, of all true, good, and right living, is at once "the friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward."
Since coming among you, we have not failed to make the most of time and opportunity ; we have lived youth over again. Leaving age and cares, we have gone back into the past. We
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have revelled in a full harvest of familiar scenes and ani- mating recollections.
The earth and air are fragrant with childhood memories. The noise of rural industry, the lowing of herds, the murmur of streams, the hum of bees, the varied song of birds, the drum of the partridge, and the voice of the whippoorwill, sounds, which, mingled with life's earliest dreams, have been again heard among our native hills. We have stood and gazed up- ward, once more, full in the face of old Joe English, whose stately form and solemn features impressed our infant thoughts, and whose rugged ascent and airy summit first tempted the ambitious adventures of our boyhood. We have again followed the famous Piscataquog, still winding its resolute way through the heart of the old township, reminding us, at every turn, of " home and friends and that sweet time " when, boys together, we listened to its music, bathed in its waters, and played along its banks. Nor have we forgotten the Meeting House Common or the sandy slope in front of the Hall, where, on training days, the New Boston Artillery, now an institution of the past, with measured tread, martial airs, and nodding plumes, was accustomed to parade, taking captive our eager hearts and stirring our young spirits to envy and admiration. We have again labored up the sides of the old "hill pastures," on every square rod of which, when boys at home, we had brushed the dew with our bare and battered feet, and amid whose end- less perplexities of heap and hollow, rock, stub, thistle, bush, brake, and fern, in hunting the cattle, or attempting to head off some antic horse or provoking steer, our young tempers had been subjected to sorest trial. We have been to the school- house to see once more the oft-remembered grounds, where, with merry voices, we had so often gamed and frolicked, when " playful children just let loose from school ; " - to the gray church-yard, through whose solemn gateway, during these long years of absence, have been borne, one after another, the remains of those whom, in life, we had known and loved, to mingle with the kindred dust of three generations of our fore- fathers ; - have gazed upon the same sky which bent over us in infancy, still floating the summer clouds, in whose fleeting shadows, emblems of human life and glory, we accept in age
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the lessons rejected in youth. Have mused where once we played, light of heart, beside the "story-telling glens and founts and brooks." Have looked out upon the same grand old woods ; - upon the fields smiling in the same variegated garniture ; - upon
" The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild wood,
And every loved spot that our infancy knew.".
" The wide-spreading pond and the mill that stood by it, The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell,
The cot of our father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well."
Turning from " all the landscape smiling near," familiar objects still remain, to which distance lends enchantment.
Within the ample circle marked by the horizon - the grand and diversified panorama, the first upon which we lifted our eyes - there's no feature we do not recognize ; not a picture, not a group we do not recall; familiar friends, old acquaint- ances all. Yonder, unchanged by time, the Uncannoonucs, sisters of one birth, still lifting their graceful forms to the clouds, stand as when we first beheld them, the same faithful sentinels at the gates of the morning. From the stormy north old Kearsearge, guarding the approaches to the enchanted regions of the White Hills, heaves as of old his huge and gran- ite shoulders high in air. Towards the quarter whence com- eth the summer shower, the same lofty pile still arrests the eye, as when, driving our father's team afield, we saw the thun- der-cloud break and recoil from the assault upon his forked summit. Standing out against the evening sky is seen the same mellow outline of hills behind which, when we were young, the sun, as now, went down to rest, drawing after him the same unfading curtains of purple and gold ; while away in the hazy distance beyond grand Monadnock towering upward in silent and solitary grandeur, bares, as of yore, his un- daunted and imperial head to the bolting artillery of the skies. To the south, the green slopes and wooded ridges of Mount Vernon, the plains of Amherst, the pine forests of Merrimack, now as formerly, sleep in peaceful repose, and, blending with the less distinct landscape beyond, form a picture of rare and
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