USA > New Hampshire > Merrimack County > Northfield > History of Northfield, New Hampshire 1780-1905: In Two Parts with Many Biographical Sketches and. > Part 14
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"The old hand-stove in every pew was set, On which the toes of all the family met, And generous neighbors heaped their fireplace higher To furnish them with needed Sunday fire. The deacons from their seat 'neath pulpit, now, Read for the choir in accents strange and slow One line of good Old Hundred; then they sung Till every corner of the temple rung; Then waited for a second, and again Took up anew that ever sweet refrain, Till choir and deacons, to their duty true, The tune, by turns, had bravely struggled through.
"The sermon long, and long the prayers they said, As all with reverence stood and bowed the head; Down with a clatter came the seatings, when The firm, set lips had reached at last, 'Amen.'
"Thus worshipped sire and son for many a year ; Then ties grew weak that bound these brethren dear, New creeds and ways the worshippers divide, No longer in the pathway, side by side, They journeyed to the gates of endless day ; Some sought the same bright goal in different way. For all of this, indeed, I little cared, A nice new edifice was then prepared, Part of the flock rejoiced in shepherd new, And blessings came to pulpit and to pew. That new brick church was long my best delight; On life's dark sea a trusty beacon light.
"The other went, and so did this at last; And then another came; another passed Beyond the river, where our loved ones go, Yet full in sight, to mock us in our woe. . What hurt us most, they did not care to stay,- So winning were our neighbors o'er the way,- Till not one spire to Heaven points the way, To guide my people to the 'Realms of Day.'
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"And then came Mammon with his purse in hand, To buy a railroad through my precious land. With oily tongue, he told of dividend, Of stock and tariffs, stories without end, Said that Dame Fortune, if we scorned her now, Would never come again, with sunnier brow; And so to make our fortune in a day, We took this sure, this expeditious way, We looked in vain for dividends to swell 'Our coffers; and we learned at last full well, That stocks are well enough in broker's hands, But a poor exchange for houses and for lands. But still, dear John, I wore no angry frown, 'Twas good to have a railroad through the town, The whistle for the boys was very nice, But then we bought it at too dear a price.
"And then, it grieved my heart full sore To miss the stage coach daily from my door, With smart, gay horses, and with driver Smart, They seemed like friends when we were called to part. Besides, the friendly postman called no more, But all our letters dropped at Tilton's door, And worse than this: those written home of late, Have even met with a more cruel fate; Back as 'Dead Letters' they are sent each day, 'No such Post Office in the State,' they say.
"And Jane and Susan and Mehetabel, And all the rest we loved so long and well, Say that forbearance is no virtue more, And never send a token to my door; Scold their old mother for her want of care, And make my burden harder still to bear.
"Then came Squire Franklin; not the sage of old, The one who grasped the lightning in his hold, But a spruce young fellow, famed for legal lore And full of bows and smiles, approached my door; 'My northwest pasture he would like to buy,
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He hoped his suit I sure would not deny.' I quickly told him I could never sell, I loved each fruitful acre far too well; That was my broadest. and my richest field, That, of all else, my fairest harvests yield ;. That long ago I gave it all away To children dear, that wished at home to stay; That they would ne'er consent to have me sell What we had prized together, long and well. Alack-the-day ! I know not how 'twas done, Each daughter fair, and every mother's son Turned from the rising to the setting sun And moved off, land and baggage, every one! But still I lived, and still I got along; For Hope 'mid blackest woe still sings. her song, And though for years I greatly was annoyed, I learned to bear, what I could not avoid. Another trouble followed soon, dear John, My heart still burneth with a deeper wrong. The Seminary ! best of all my joys! The where to educate my girls and boys, On which I lotted with a fonder pride, Than all my other blessings far beside ! When yearly came the noble and the fair, I guarded them as with a mother's care, And when from out its walls by duty sent Forth to the world, on love's best errand bent, I almost thought them mine; and when to fame Familiar grew full many a cherished name, I looked upon each noble word and deed. As treasures, stored against my hour of need Years passed away; and broader grew the walls, And more responded to my yearly calls. Wise men held council; wisdom, hand in hand With God and right, went forth to bless the land; Years, happy years, all fleeted far too fast, Of sweet security too full to last. I little dreamed of such untimely fall, Nor could I see the 'writing on the wall.' How shall I tell you of that dreadful hour,
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HISTORY OF NORTHFIELD.
When beauty yielded to the spoiler's power, When ruin, blackness, woe, and bitter tears, Fell swiftly o'er the hope and pride of years Oh! how I prayed, that from the ruin there, Another shrine might rise, more grand and fair. But ah! dear John, when rose the Phenix fair, Its pinions sought to try the upper air, With many a flap and flutter sought the skies, And perched on yonder hill before my eyes.
"The children never call me mother, more, Since they departed to that further shore; And the silvery ripple of our beauteous stream Has turned to wailing, mocks me in my dream; Like death's dark river now it rolls between Me and the staff on which my age did lean. With jealous eye, dear John, I can but look On her, who, one by one, my blessings took; Some gloomy twilight, I expect to see That Tilton ferryman come for the rest of me.
"And now of troubles let this be the last, We'll close the page and seal anew the past. I did not mean to pain you with my fears, Nor did I call you home to feast of tears; I gave my blessing when you went away, I give another that you come today. I know the fruitful acres of the West, For those who till them, surely must be best. Today from South, and West, and everywhere, A thousand benedictions fill the air. I'm not a mother of her sons bereft, Of true and tried ones, I have many left; And when tomorrow's sun shall gild the skies, You'll find no tears within your mother's eyes."
"Good night, dear boy," at length, she smiling said, Put out the light, and early went to bed. And so we turn from prelude, sad and long, And tune the harp for our
NORTHFIELD CENTENNIAL.
CENTENNIAL SONG.
Sing, brothers, sisters, sing exulting lays, With restless ardor your thanksgiving raise; Let your rejoicings tell with what good cheer We hail the closing of our hundredth year. Sweet Peace her full dominion sways the while, Waves her white banner, wears her fairest smile; Our well ploughed acres smile with harvest fair, The year's best blossoms load the summer air. And with familiar visage fresh and sweet, Prosperity is pouring treasures at our feet. Sing praises then, for gifts that prosper you, Sing for our homes, and their defenders true, Sing of the happy hours now far away, Sing of the century we complete today.
The great events that filled these circling years, To count then e'en, as each in turn appears, Would far exceed the little hour I claim. I touch, and leave them; whisper but their name. In loftier language, easier verse than mine, Some readier pen shall tell to future time.
Fair-browed Invention, though, presents her claim, And bids me give to song each honored name, As she with pride her children leadeth forth : "Behold my jewels! each of priceless worth."
First born and noblest, thousand-sinewed Steam, Whose vast achievements shame our wildest dream; Born of the rushing torrent, and the heat Of fierce volcanoes, when in wrath they meet; Whose advent to the busy mart of trade The world's resources at our feet has laid. On land and sea, and down to deepest mine We own its might, its power, almost divine. Postman and horse we buried long ago, The rattling coach became a thing too slow, . And ere a century dies, we must prepare To walk the seas, and navigate the air. .1
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The forked Lightning, chained to do our will, Speeds through the forest, leaps from hill to hill, And round the earth in lines of lustrous light, Counts space as nothing, in its magic flight. Bright flash a thousand fingers in the field, And startled earth her fairest harvests yield; No more with sweat of brow we till the plain, . The wand of Progress turns it all to grain. Old Winter, when the heat the summers bring, Slinks into corners, yet he still is king; Seated on icebergs, with his gelid cheer Dispenses coolness through the livelong year, With steam and furnace held in equipoise, Adds to our comforts, heightens all our joys.
But why delay ! the hours are passing on; And ere we think, our festal day is gone. Then let's devote the hours as fast they roll, Not all to "feast of reason"' but to "flow of soul."
All are not here, alas; we know too well, Many are gone; indeed, the numbers tell. The sad detainments of each absent heart, On festal days, is but a bitter part Of the unwritten history of such days; Our guesses ne'er can penetrate the maze.
What brings us here? why meet we thus today ! Why come the loved from near and far away! Why beat the drums? why hang the banners out! Why wake the hills with many an answering shout? Why comes the aged leaning on his staff? And youth and middle age, with cheer and laugh!
To distant firesides came the summons sweet To meet once more, where friends and kindred meet; And so today, with open hand and gates, Our Mother Northfield at her banquet waits. With face as fair and spirits just as gay, As when in sunny childhood's happy day
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Our childish eyes first scanned her genial face, Our childish feet began life's weary race. On wings of love she sends a smile today To those, the unforgotten, far away. May those, who pain and weary suffering bear, Find "Balm in Gilead and physician there;" And such as pine and sigh in sorest need, God's hand to them the "Bread of Life" shall feed.
The breezes whisper many a cherished name Well known to love, indeed, if not to fame; And specter lips, from out the dusty grave, Ask of the legacies they dying gave. What of the birthright Freedom! prize it yet ? That sun that rose in glory, has it set ? What of the acres that we loved to till,
Do sons, or grandsons, occupy them still? Hangs the old firelock o'er the mantle yet! Has tyrant's blood our trusty blade e'er wet! The family Bible old, that graced the stand, And bore the marks of many a toil-stained hand, Does love's pure light still gild its every page,- The guide of youth, the staff of faltering age?
How crowd the questions; answer ye who dare, Whisper your thoughts upon the throbbing air, And dare to tell of one, in all this throng, Who has not sold some birthright for a song. Make new resolves; for these the hour demands, And wash in innocence your faithless hands.
Now childhood, youth, manhood and age,
· Each in your turn my loving thoughts engage; I fain would leave upon each mind and heart, Some lasting impress as we sadly part. Time passes. Youth should find no hours to weep, 'T were better far that those be spent in sleep. Laugh, shout and drive away the coming cloud, Let not the future on your present crowd; The coming years may bring you sad surprise,
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But bar the vision from your childish eyes. "Quaff Life's bright nectar from her mountain springs, And laugh beneath the rainbow of her wings."
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The launching ship knows naught of storm or gale, Knows not the uses of her mast or sail; With glistening cordage and with streamers gay We sadly cut the cable, drift away To sterner things; to learning's dull routine, To days of study, sleepless nights between. But learn of nature, she ne'er leads astray ; Ne'er stop to question where she points the way; She has rare treasures for your questioning eye In caverns deep and on the mountain high. Learn to be thoughtful, then her features stern Shall with the glory of her Author burn; For through her mantling folds He deigns to show The only glimpse we catch of Him below.
O! Manhood strong, perplexed with cares and fears, How debt and credit fill your weary years! You buy and sell, yet find the balance small, And think, if this, of human life life, is all ! Look to the red-leaved tablets of the soul, Scan every item, balance then the whole; Happy if one entry on the credit side Shall balance debtor column, long and wide; Yet spite of labor's routine, ever grant A tear to pity, and a hand to want.
And now to those upon whose wrinkled face Age sits quiescent in her comely grace, Whose silver locks, the marks of well-spent years, .Tell not. of life's great harvest reaped in tears; Go o'er the summit bravely, ne'er look back To envy those who crowd along the track; Nor grieve, that time has brought too soon The evening coolness o'er the heat of noon. What though. your humble graves shall bear no name Save what the eternal record shall proclaim,
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LUCIEN HUNT.
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And though you mourn with tears your lowly lot, And stretch your hands for that which cometh not, Know that all beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Ne'er can one heart the final trial save, For "paths of glory lead but to the grave." .
In parting, let a mother's blessing fall In benediction; "Peace be with you all.".
PROF. LUCIAN HUNT. (From Portland Board of Trade Journal, June, 1902.) (See portrait.)
About a century since, there stood in the town of Woodbury, in northern Vermont, a tall and dense primeval forest of maple and cedar, sloping from a lofty ridge on the north for nearly a mile to the boun. dary line of Cabot on the south.
Into this wilderness there emigrated, near the beginning of the last century, a mixed colony of old and young from Central New Hampshire, numbering, perhaps, 25 or 30 individuals, and among them came Anthony C. Hunt and wife, Mary, with their daughter, Sarah.
On the above-mentioned northern ridge there towers an enormous perpendicular granite crag, several hundred feet in height.
A few rods south of this Mr. Hunt raised his humblest of dwellings, built of rough logs, with the bark unpeeled and with the cracks and crevices stuffed with moss. Uneven stones of various sizes, dug from the ground, formed the fireplace and chimney, while the cellar was simply an unwalled hole in the ground.
In this lowly abode the subject of our sketch, Prof. Lucian Hunt, was ushered into existence 80 years ago, on the 17th of January, 1822.
Two or three years thereafter, a substantial framed house, nearby, took the place of the log cabin as a dwelling-said log cabin being then advanced to the dignity of a barn.
Here, when about five years old, Lucian commenced his education in another log cabin, used as a schoolhouse, and at the same time took his primal initiation into the mysteries of his future vocation, by a thorough anointing with the oil of birch-in other words, was soundly whipped because he obstinately refused to read the alphabet.
This seems a little amusing from the fact that one of Professor Hunt's strong points in after years was the teaching of reading. Few excelled him in that department at that time. It is a matter of fre- quent occurrence for him, when journeying, to be accosted by middle- aged men, his former pupils, with the remark: "Prof., all I ever knew about reading I learned from you."
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. HISTORY OF NORTHFIELD.
Prof. E. B. Andrews, former president of Brown University and, later, superintendent of schools in Chicago, and now president of a Western university, and who was under the instruction of Professor Hunt at Powers Institute, Bernardston, Mass., for a year or more, said not long since, at a public gathering of the alumni of that insti- tution, "I have a pretty extensive acquaintance with academies, high schools and colleges, and I can say with justice that I have never known one yet where the teaching of reading was carried to such perfection as it was in Powers Institute while, under the charge of Professor Hunt." .
About four years after the framed house went up, his father and the family removed to what is now Tilton, in central New Hamp- shire. Here Lucian enjoyed much better educational advantages than in the thickly-wooded Woodbury country. He read through the Bible when eight years of age, made satisfactory progress in English branches, and when 15 commenced the study of Latin in the spring under the instruction of Rev. Enoch Corser, finished Virgil the follow- ing autumn and reviewed it during the evenings of the ensuing winter while teaching his first school at the age of 16.
From this time he became a close student, receiving no pecuniary help from any quarter, but paying his way by teaching winters and earning what he could summers. One summer he went to Boston and drove a milk cart four months .. The product of this, with that of his winter school, tided over what threatened to be a fearful dearth of pocket money, and carried him swimmingly through another year. In process of time, he received his degree at Wesleyan University of Middletown, Conn., and not long after commenced his life work-that of teaching. He was now on a level plane with the world-owing nothing and owning nothing-so that whatever he earned beyond his expenses was clear gain-no interest to pay, no debts to liquidate.
His first five winter schools were taught in Northfield-two at Bay Hill and three at the Centre old meeting-house. The whole period of his teaching covered nearly 40 years.
After having acquired the blessings of an education, a handsome competency and a life vocation, Professor Hunt added to these another blessing-a wife a kind, prudent, benevolent, Christian wife-of one of the finest families in Standish, Me,-in short, a helpmeet in every sense of the word.
Several years ago he gave up teaching and retired to a pleasant home in the beautiful village of Gorham, Me., where he passes his time in reading, writing, correspondence, pursuing certain favorite studies, and in rearranging, sifting, examining and introducing rare books into his valuable library.
This is a collection of nearly 3,000 volumes of first-class works of standard literature-in the English, Latin, Greek, French and German languages, with many rare books which it would be hard to duplicate- all in large type, substantial bindings, and which forms, doubtless,
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one of the choicest private libraries in the state. In this the professor declares he has enjoyed some of the happiest hours of his life.
Professor Hunt has been trustee of the New Hampshire Conference Seminary, at Tilton, N. H., for 25 or 30 years, also, trustee of McCol- lum Institute, at Mont Vernon, N. H .; is trustee of the old Seminary and public library in Gorham, Me., and of various other institutions.
He is a prudent financier, his investments have turned out success- fully and he now stands as one of the solid, substantial, moneyed men of Gorham.
It may not be amiss to mention that as a public speaker or lecturer he stands deservedly high. When but 16 a grand celebration took place at Sanbornton, now Tilton, N. H. The principal event was the presentation of a beautiful silk flag to a military company, artistically worked by the ladies, who marched, white-robed, in long procession, and presented the colors to the soldiers drawn up in martial array. To Lucian was assigned the honor of receiving the flag and returning thanks in behalf of the company. His speech was published extensively in New Hampshire papers.
He was the orator at the centennial celebration of Northfield, N. H., June 19, 1880, where he addressed an assembly of many thousands in the open air. His oration and illustrated sketch of his life were pub- lished in the Granite Monthly. We omit many other occasions of a similar nature, which might be adduced.
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CHAPTER VIII. PROFESSIONAL MEN AND WOMEN.
PHYSICIANS.
Northfield seems to have been a natural breeding place for doctors. There were two reasons for this. In the Dearborn and Hall families the "penchant" was hereditary; and many others, pupils of Dr. Hoyt, the first, or among the first, physicians in town, were led to it by their acquaintance through him with the medical school at Hanover and the Crosbys, his brothers-in-law, there.
The following list includes only those who were born in North- field :
'John Kezar, 1st,
Asa George Hoyt,
Richard Molony,
George Henry Brown,
James Abbott, Lafayette Cate,
Jonathan Dearborn, Obadiah J. Hall,
John Kezar, 2d,
Darius S. Dearborn,
Hiram B. Tebbetts,
Thomas Benton Dearborn,
Jeremiah F. Hall,
Orville F. Rogers,
Nancy Gilman,
Frank A. Gile,
Henry Brown,
Charles H. Sanborn,
Adino B. Hall,
Charles C. Tebbetts,
Sam G. Dearborn,
Jonathan Dearborn, Jr.,
Hiram Tebbetts, 2d,
Sylvester Fellows,
Samuel Roby Sanborn,
Enos Alpheus Hoyt,
Jeremiah Hall,
Luther C. Bean, Alfred Gerrish,
Jeremiah H. Lyford,
Samuel Curry,
Marguerite Dennis, Sylvanus Heath,
'John Mack Gilman, Nathan Tibbetts,
Dixi Hoyt.
Henry Tebbetts,
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PROFESSIONAL MEN AND WOMEN.
SECOND LIST. This last contains the names of other physicians who have Lived or practised but were not born in Northfield :
Enos Hoyt, Parsons Whidden,
David M. Trecartin, Mark R. Woodbury,
Alexander T. Clark,
William P. Cross,
John Clark,
T. J. Sweatt,
Joseph G. Ayers, Charles Kelley, . Daniel B. Whittier,
Hiram B. Cross,
Charles R. Gould,
Tolman,
Biley Lyford,
Freeman,
Mathew Sanborn, Jr.,
Webber.
This list would be incomplete were no mention made of Mother Martha True Clough (see Clough gen.), who came from Salis- bury, Mass., and had there been known as being possessed of a "charmed hand." She brought with her the seeds for her medic- inal garden and some of her herbs are still growing wild on the farm. Her salves and bitters were known to be of great value.
. Nancy Forrest Simonds was a midwife and had an extensive practice. There were other women who claimed the "gift of healing by the laying on of hands." Mrs. Abraham Brown had the gift, as did Mrs. Sarah Waldron Rand, a woman celebrated for her lovely character and disposition, who, it was said, never saw her entire family of 10 children together.
A good story is told of her readiness in cases of emergency. She was a thrifty farmer's wife and raised large flocks of turkeys. One night, to her surprise, but one or two of her large flock came home and, going to seek the cause, found a stray one here and there staggering along the way, while others reclined at length in the ditches by the roadside. An investigation followed and their "craws" were found to be bursting full of the meat from oak acorns. Not a moment was lost; every crop was quickly emptied and both inside and outside deftly sewed up. The whole brood was given a soft, easily digested supper and early put to roost. None of them suffered any inconvenience from the surgery and were present in good form at the Thanksgiving roll-call.
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HISTORY OF NORTHFIELD.
DR. ENOS HOYT. (See portrait.)
DR. ENOS HOYT was born at Henniker, August 14, 1795, and war youngest of 11 children. He was early trained to habits of se liance, which developed a manhood of uncommon strength.
He read medicine with Dr. Asa Crosby of Gilmanton and ma his daughter. In 1821 he received the graduating honors of the 1 cal department of Dartmouth College.
He first came to Northfield to attend the funeral of Dr. Clark, or an office at once and succeeded to his practice. It was then the tom for young medical students to be with older physicians and Hoyt had under his instruction and in his office 40 young men, received medical degrees and stood well in the profession.
Mrs. Hoyt (Grace Reed Crosby) was born at Sandwich, Septe 29, 1802. They were married, October 24, 1822. She was a sweet-t social woman and she and her husband were members of the ch choir. The whole family was a great addition to the social life o town, which clustered about their sweet, cheerful, hospitable h
His practice was always large, but it was a lifelong principle him to so arrange as to be in the house of God on the Sabbath at all the regular services of the church, of which he was, more any one else, the founder. The Congregationalists then worst at the old meeting-house and he lived in the house later occupie John Mooney. It was erected by himself and here he conducted first post office in town in 1835. When the new church was bul Sanbornton Bridge in 1838 he, who had been its generous supp for 16 years, furnished more than a third of the funds required took pews to that value. He was afterwards its deacon for a ter years.
Thus he filled up the busy years, being greatly efficient in p affairs and serving the town as clerk and superintendent of its scl He represented the town in the Legislatures of 1841 and 1842. was president and secretary of the Center District and State Me societies.
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