USA > New Hampshire > Merrimack County > Northfield > History of Northfield, New Hampshire 1780-1905: In Two Parts with Many Biographical Sketches and. > Part 13
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 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39 | Part 40 | Part 41 | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44 | Part 45 | Part 46 | Part 47 | Part 48 | Part 49 | Part 50 | Part 51 | Part 52 | Part 53 | Part 54 | Part 55 | Part 56 | Part 57 | Part 58 | Part 59 | Part 60 | Part 61 | Part 62 | Part 63
O, those merry, jolly days or rather evenings of forty or fifty years ago, when girls and boys were as thick as grasshoppers in summer time!
A word about husking parties, once an important institution in these regions. When the days had begun to shorten and the nights to grow frosty, and the corn had been gathered and piled in huge heaps in the barns, instead of sitting solitary and alone for weeks, stripping the husks from the ears, the thrifty farmer would invite his neighbors, young and old, male and female, to a husking party and have his corn husked in a single night. And it was an invitation in most cases gladly accepted. The joke, and the laugh, and the song went round-and sometimes the cider. And the fortunate finder of the red ear had his reward; while all were rewarded at the conclusion of the work with a bountiful meal, such as the farmers' wives of those days, and their daugh- ters, knew how to provide. At those supper tables the pumpkin pie usually held the place of honor. With its surface of a rich,
126
HISTORY OF NORTHFIELD.
golden color, deep, luscious, melting, with crispy circumference, no husking party was held to be complete without the pumpkin pie.
I had designed to speak of the militia trainings, with their wonderful evolutions and equipments, and of the muster field, to which our Northfield warriors marched once in the year, and of a famous character always there found, by the name of Foster, whose continual repetition of "yes'm, yes'm" gained him the nickname of "Yes'm" the country over, and whose war cry of
"Crackers and honey, Cheap for the money,"
brought many a dollar to his cart, and many a meal of crackers, honey, gingerbread and oranges to the hungry crowd. But want of time forbids and an abler pen than mine would be required to do the subject justice.
Coming down to the present time, a few statistics must suffice. On the Northfield side of Tilton village, cloth is manufactured to the value of $276,000 annually from two woolen mills. There are smaller mills besides, wheelwright shop, etc. There is a large graded school building there and over fifty dwelling houses.
The Gazetteer of 1874 says the valuation of the productions of the town is $95,000; mechanical labor, $46,500; stocks and money at interest, $9,648; deposits in savings banks, $50,911; stock in trade, $6,425. There are nine schools in town, one of which is graded.
By this we see that the manufactures are respectable and they can be increased to an indefinite extent. But agriculture is the principal employment of the inhabitants, and they possess many fine farms under excellent cultivation. One or two facts will illustrate the fertility of the soil. The trunk of a pine tree for many years formed part of a highway fence below Mr. Clisby's, so large that steps were cut in it to assist in climbing over. And years ago there was another large pine tree cut near the old meeting-house. Mr. Hiram Glines, a citizen of the town, states that he once saw a pair of six-feet oxen driven upon the stump and turned around on it without stepping off.
Having thus presented a few outlines of the history, and slight sketches of the manners of the past, allow me a few words on the natural features of this town.
.
127
NORTHFIELD CENTENNIAL.
Northfield was originally a part of Canterbury, from which it was cut off by the act of incorporation in 1780. Military au- thorities say that mountains and rivers make the best defensive boundaries against invasion, and that, perhaps, was the reason why the boundary line was run over the summit of Bean Hill- over, I think, the topmost pinnacle-while a barrier was put be- tween the people and their neighbors on the north and west by the Merrimack and Winnipiseogee rivers. If such was the design, it was not a complete success, as is shown by the successive losses of territory the town has suffered. And it is said that many a fair daughter of the town has been lost to her parents for ever and aye by the daring of some marauding young man from across the border.
Northfield has a diversified aspect. It has hill and vale, up- land and low plains, waving woods, smooth rolling fields, rich intervale and the craggy rock. At the first glance you would hardly imagine anything to be in common between this town and the metropolis of New England. But in one respect there is a resemblance, in which, however, we are decidedly superior to the Hub. Boston was formerly called Tri-mountain, from the fact that it was built on three hills, and the name still survives in one of their principal streets-Tremont. . Now Northfield has just that number of hills Bay, Bean and Oak-the least of which would surpass all the city's Tri-mountains gathered into one. Theirs, they say, are mountains, but mountains are so abundant up this way that we call ours hills.
The surface of the town is dotted with gem-like ponds. Near Mr. Winslow's on the level plain is Sondogardy, blinking at each railroad train as it dashes by; and Chestnut, near the residence of Mr. Knowles, lies down deep in the bottom of a cavity, like the crater of a volcano.
The principal rivers, I believe, wholly within the limits of the town are the Skenduggardy (not Sondogardy-the Gazetteer is wrong) and the Cross Brook, which ought to be named Sondo- gardy, as it flows from the pond of that name, and without doubt was formerly so-called. The first named river is formed by the union of a branch flowing from Chestnut Pond with another from the heights of Bean Hill, and empties into the Winnipiseogee. It was once something of a manufacturing stream, as it carried two sawmills, and more anciently, by flow-
128
HISTORY OF NORTHFIELD.
age, manufactured the Smith and Thurston meadows, but of late it has given up the sawing and flowing business and seems only solicitous to find its way to the Winnipiseogee, while its few trout lead a hard life in dodging the misguided anglers-who are often forced to retire from its banks, sadder, if not wiser men. . Its sister river flows into the Merrimack, and was once noted for manufactures. Nor is Northfield devoid of scenic beauty. In- deed, I believe it stands pre-eminent in that respect, even among the towns of New Hampshire. The view from Bay Hill, in quiet, rural beauty, will compare favorably with anything of the kind it has been my good fortune to see. Before you on the north is spread the valley of the Winnipiseogee-with its lake of that name, that "Smile of the Great Spirit"-a sail over which Ed- ward Everett declared to be more charming than any he had ever taken over the lakes of Switzerland-and flowing from it, with a succession of bays and rapids, the river hastening forward to bathe your northern boundary and to meet her sister river on your western border. The valley is oval, and as you look over its longest diameter you see it walled around by Gunstock, Belk- nap, Ossipee, Red Hill and others, like giant warders, while farther away, peering over their heads, are Chocorua, Cardigan, Mount Washington, and his brothers, while directly west, on your left, Kearsarge raises its broad shoulders the most symmetrical of mountains, as seen from that position. The whole Winni- piseogee valley probably was once filled by the waters of the lake-Bay Hill reaching over to and connecting with a similar elevation on the Sanbornton side-till worn down by the river, which drained the valley. Dividing, one branch passed on to Franklin, and the other through the middle of Northfield, making Oak Hill an island. Possibly a branch passed still further east converting Bean Hill into another island much larger. Thus Northfield probably once consisted merely of two island hill tops.
From various parts of Bean Hill, though possibly not quite so beautiful, are views more extensive and well worth seeing.
And Oak Hill with a patronizing air looks down on stalwart Franklin, which nestles under its shelter.
Bean Hill is the highest elevation between this part of the valley and the Atlantic. Its shoulders support many a goodly farm, while the pinnacle is mostly bare rock, with stunted trees in the crevices.
,
129
NORTHFIELD CENTENNIAL.
The Winnipiseogee is said to fall two hundred and thirty-two feet before meeting the Pemigewasset. At the confluence of the two in Franklin, the united streams take the name of Merrimack, a river which is said to propel more machinery than any other in the world. A Gazetteer tells me that the original name was Merrymake-and a very appropriate term it would appear to be to all who have seen its waters. Others say it was named from Merry Mac, a dweller on its banks; while another authority says it is an Indian word and signifies a sturgeon.
Wonderful stories were told by the fathers about the fish in our beautiful rivers. Not the lean, attenuated specimens of piscatory life now represented by degenerate dace, chubs and perch, with occasionally a lonely pickerel, but shad and salmon- fat, luscious and huge, and in such vast numbers at times as to blacken the river with their backs. And what was singular in their habits was that though they migrated from the ocean through the whole length of the Merrimack in company, yet, on reaching the fork of the two rivers at Franklin, they invariably separated, the shad passing up the Winnipiseogee to deposit their spawn in the lake, and the salmon up the Pemigewasset. Thus the inhabitants of one valley ate shad and those of the other, salmon.
Northfield contains about twent-seven square miles or seven- teen thousand acres. She was formerly larger, but within the last quarter of a century she has suffered a considerable contrac- tion of her circumference, owing to the affectionate regard of her neighbors. She has become reduced-lost flesh. But for all this, she's a hale, healthy, active old lady today-for a centen- arian.
But seriously, though our town be contracted in dimensions, it is a goodly town still. Its most picturesque, its most homelike, its most rural portions, its upland farms, its brooks, ponds, groves, and its three mountains yet remain to you. It is a beau- tiful town, and though small, one to be proud of.
A greater loss, however, and one more to be deplored than that of territory, which your town has sustained, has been the constant drain for the last half century of your young men, notably of your young farmers, to the cities, and especially to the Far West. Some of your best lifeblood has been lost in this
*
10
130
HISTORY OF NORTHFIELD.
way. Had all remained, and divided and subdivided your large farms into smaller ones, and employed on them the same energy they have applied elsewhere, what a garden Northfield would have been, and how your schoolhouses would have been filled, in this year of 1880!
There was in imagination, half a century ago, more than at present, I think, a halo-a romance cast around the journey towards the setting sun. Men felt sure of fortune and fame the moment their feet should touch prairie land. The great West was in their thoughts, in their talks, dreams, and even their sports. Why, I remember well, that one of the most popular songs we sung and to the music of which we marched with the greatest zest, in those gatherings of the young at the houses of the substantial farmers thirty or forty years ago, of which I have already spoken, was this:
"Arise, my true love, and present me your hand, And we will travel to some far distant land, Where the girls card and spin, and the boys rake and mow, And we will settle on the banks of the pleasant O-hi-o."
Yes, many since that time have left Northfield and gone to the Ohio and beyond. And many more who remained had a desperate longing to travel the same road. Thousands were the influences operating, of course, but I have no doubt that even this little song to some extent quickened the impulses of your young men to desert this beautiful town, and travel to the level, monotonous, muddy, fever-stricken, homesick, strange, far- away expanses of the West. Yes, that was what they sung:
"We will settle on the banks of the pleasant O-hi-o!"
But girls and boys, young men and maidens, don't you do it. Don't you settle on those banks, nor on the banks of any other Western river! Don't put faith in the "beautiful O-hi-o"- I've seen it-as long as you have the beautiful Merrimack, spark- ling, rushing, full of life, compared with which the "beautiful O-hi-o" is nothing but a muddy, lazy canal, or ditch, good for navigation. For beauty, for purity, for exhilarating effect, give me, a thousand times give me, your Winnipiseogee! Settle where there are healthful skies, pure air, sparkling streams. Settle in New England; settle in Northfield; or, what is better, remain settled there !
181
NORTHFIELD CENTENNIAL.
Happiness is what we are all in search of. And happiness de- pends, much more than we are aware, upon local attachment. And it is proverbial that local attachment is stronger in a moun- tainous country than in one of plains. The Swiss are said to be so afflicted with homesickness sometimes, when in foreign coun- tries, such a longing to see their mountains once more, that they commit suicide. Walter Scott said if he could n't see the hills of Scotland once a year, he should die. Now a plain country has no power. On the priaries, everything is like everything else; there is no variety; the farms are as like each other as two peas. Whereas, in a hill country like this, every farm has an individ- uality, a decided character, that distinguishes it from every other. Each man's farm is like no other man's farm. As we choose a friend, or a sweetheart, not because they are just like other people, but for the exact opposite-him because he is like no other man and her because she is like no other woman-so, in pro- cess of time a man becomes attached to his farm, especially if he has lived on it long enough to become acquainted with its peculiarities, because it is unlike any other man's farm. He ex- periences a home feeling when he visits the hillside pasture, sees an old acquaintance in every hollow, tree, brook, spring and even . every rock of respectable size has an individuality and a charm for him, that in the course of a long life adds no small amount to the sum total of his happiness. Why, said a New Hampshire man to me in Iowa once, "I would give half my farm to run my plough against a big rock."
O, but this is nothing but sentiment ! some one says. Perhaps it is, but you will find that the most of our likes and dislikes are founded on sentiment. But grant that it is sentiment-noth- ing more and nothing worth, yet, if you look at the comparative profits simply of eastern and western farming, I surmise that you will not find the table of profit and loss to be so very much against the Northfielder-even on his upland farm, to say noth- ing of the intervales. Why, there are ten farms under mortgage at the West to one in the East. That tells the story of profit and loss. Much might also be said here of the mistake of leaving a country for a city life. But time is rapidly passing and I must hasten to a close. I will only say that the experience of the past five or six years has wrought a change in the minds of thousands on this subject. Many a man during the past twelve months has
182
HISTORY OF NORTHFIELD.
left behind the din, the turmoil, the uncertainty of the city, and gone back to where he can be blessed with
. "The low of cattle, and song of birds, And health, and quiet, and loving words."
And may this return tide long continue to flow upon the old homesteada.
But not to the young men alone, but to the fathers of the town, allow me a word. I would say, take all means to improve your town. Make it desirable as a place of residence. You have good land, a strong soil, better, buch better than the average of New Hampshire land. Feed this soil. Beautify your farms. Make your homes pleasant and strive in all ways to stop this constant drain of your young men to the West, or to the cities. You have a beautiful town, as I have before said, varied, picturesque, and richly endowed with capacities for improvement. Increase its beauties. Adorn it in every conceivable way. And by so doing, not only increase the beauty but greatly enhance the market value of our town. Plant trees, make good roads, set out orchards, have trim gardens, ornament your grounds, make your houses neat, convenient and picturesque; in short, make every farm a paradise-for you can do it-with health, industry and taste. Set your faces as a flint in favor of morality and temper- ance throughout your borders in every nook and corner of the town- among all classes, and especially among the young. Es- tablish a public library and lend a helping hand to every good work. What if all these should cost a little more money ? Money is of no value in itself, but for what it procures. Let it procure what will give you enjoyment and improve and bless you and yours, your life long. See to it that your public schools are as good as they can be made. And when your children have grad- nated from the district schools, don't forget that what would do in your great-grandfather's days, would be totally insufficient now. Then man was chiefiy employed in subduing nature-in felling the trees and in establishing for himself a residence. Now times have changed. Knowledge is increased. Skilled labor and scientific learning give power to its possessor above all his fellows. A higher education is now required to keep us on a level with the general intelligence of the world.
And glad am I to be able to say, that you fortunately have the means of obtaining this higher education at your very doors.
.
188
NORTHFIELD CENTENNIAL.
The New Hampshire Conference Seminary and Female College is a daughter of Northfield, whose birth took place on this side of the river thirty-five years ago. Many before me have ex- perienced her beneficial influence, and are nobler men and nobler women today from having come in contact with her moulding power. To be sure, she has moved out of town, but only across the border, to a brother hill facing the one she left, and, in fact, only the northerly part of the same hill, before the river wore a channel between. So that you can still claim her as a daugh- ter of Northfield, who has only stepped across the way. And long may she continue her influence, not only in Northfield and Tilton, but throughout New Hampshire, and even extend it to the remotest corners of New England. This subject of education, in connection with the prosperity of your town, or of any town, is no small thing. My life's work has been in this cause. Thirty years almost have I, in a humble way, stood in my place of teacher, and every year increases my conviction of its vast im- portance. For twelve years nearly has it been my fortune to find a home in my present location on the seaboard. There, on many a prominent headland, you will notice that a lighthouse has been erected; a lighthouse that shall send its beams far over the water to guide the mariner in the dark. In the fog, or the storm, or in the dim starlight, shaken by huge billows, or in the calm, that light gleams forth, and tells him where he is, and guides him in the right course. So may the New Hampshire Conference Seminary, seated on yonder headland, that beautiful headland, send forth the light of education all up and down the Merrimack valley, and not stopping there, cross Kearsarge on the west and Bean Hill and Gunstock on the east, and extend its beams to the lake and the ocean, enlightening, guiding, blessing, as long as your three hills shall stand, or the Merrimack run.
And finally, cultivate town patriotism. Love your town. Ren- der it more and more worthy of your love with each passing ยท year. Teach your children to love it, and make it such that they must love it, ardently, devotedly, so that whether they sojourn within its limits or settle far away, or wander with no fixed abode, their native town will be the one bright, loved, home-like spot of all the earth.
And, dear old Mother Northfield, who wearest thy centennial garments so well today, we, thy children, native and adopted, bid
.
184 HISTORY OF NORTHFIELD.
thee all hail! May many and many a centennial be celebrated within thy borders. And may each anniversary find you farther advanced in prosperity and happiness and morality than the last. "May your sons be as plants grown up in their youth; may your daughters be as cornerstones, polished after the simili- tude of a palace; may your garners be full, your oxen strong to. labor; may there be no complaining in your streets; and may you be that happy people whose God is the Lord." And
"O, our fathers' God! From out whose hand The centures fall like grains of sand, We meet to-day, united, free, And loyal to our land and Thee, To thank Thee for the century done, And trust Thee for the opening one.
O, make Thou us through centuries long, In peace secure, in justice strong; And o'er our gift of freedom draw The safeguards of the righteous law. And, cast in some diviner mould, Let the new century surpass the old."
.
NORTHFIELD. Poem Read at the Centennial of the Town of Northfield, N. H., June 19, 1880.
BY MRS. LUCY R. H. CB088.
One would suppose that, when a century dies, Some startling sign would flash upon the skies, Some meteor from its sphere in errant flight Would blaze in glory and go out in night, That conscious nature, in a storm of tears, Would pay due tribute to the dying years. . But, no! the faithful sun to duty true Went down last night as it was wont to do; The crimson glory melted into gray, . Just as it did upon our natal day, And fell the darkness over hill and plain,- The same old story, o'er and o'er again.
Yet in the kitchens there was strange portent, And "savory steams" foretold some great event,
185
NORTHFIELD CENTENNIAL.
And busy housewives looked with fondest pride On culinary triumphs scattered wide. The boys had blacked their boots with strenuous care, The girls had got new ribbons for their hair, And even while the family prayers were said, Bright thoughts and fancies flitted through each head. To restless couches then they hied away, Tomorrow's sun would bring Centennial Day.
Then Mother Northfield smoothed her apron down, Took off her specs and donned her Sunday gown, For one who years ago had chose to roam,- Had just returned to visit friends and home. I, 'neath her window, was eavesdropping then, And what I heard shall move my ready pen.
At first, she led in pleasantry and chat, Conversed at ease of this, and then of that, Told him of all the younger girls and boys, Told him of all their prospects, all their joys, Spoke of the cares that filled the passing years, Then of the "loved and lost" with many tears. And so the talk assumed a serious tone, While she, with confidence before unknown, Drew up her chair and said: "My dearest John, Thou truest of my sons and eldest born, Tomorrow we keep holiday; and not a trace of care Shall draw a furrow on my brow or cast a shadow there. I've many things, to you, I fain would tell And, since I ask it, guard each secret well!
.
"I've had great trials in my day, my son, It were a task to tell them every one! My few rough acres brought me little gold, Sometimes the heat destroyed, sometimes the cold, Sometimes the summer's sky withheld the rain, And meager harvests brought us little gain. Three times, the heralds wild called us 'To arms!' Three times our hearts were filled with dire alarms, Three times o'er hearthstones fell the pall of grief,
.
186
HISTORY OF NORTHFIELD.
,
. And but one thought could bring the least relief. Like Spartan mother, when her country's cause, Her treasured hearthstones, or her sacred laws, Called for her heart's blood, or her precious gold, . The one, nor other, I could ne 'er withhold. Our prayers went with them, and in many a fight Stayed up the hands that fought for home and right, And, when returning with victorious arms, With loud acclaim we gave the well-won palms; 'And o'er the memory of our 'fallen brave,' Who sleep at home, or in a distant grave, We drop our grateful tears like April rain, And thank our God they perished not in vain.
"You scarce remember, 'twas so long ago, Ere first my locks could show one trace of snow, When in my sixteenth summer it was said : 'The son of man hath not to lay his head.
. A temple let us build, with outlines fair, Finish and furnish it, with loving care; Where valiant watchmen, ever on the tower Of Zion, to our hearts shall call the hour, And tell us of the night; and if the day With its bright dawn is near or far away.' Today it crumbles; all its former pride, Its beauty and its worth, are laid aside, Its winding stairways long have missed the feet And faces dear, we loved so well to meet, And from the shattered sound-board resting high, The old-time voices still are heard to sigh.
.
"I dreamed last night; again it seemed to me I saw the structure as it used to be; From horse-block by the door, dismounting, came Full many a lofty sire and lovely dame, And children, perched behind by threes or twos, Marched in and filled again the ample pews. They wore the same quaint garments as of yore, With high-heeled shoes that clattered on the floor; With powdered wigs the older men were crowned, And every lass rejoiced in homespun gown.
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.