USA > New Jersey > Morris County > Dover > Dover dates, 1722-1922 : a bicentennial history of Dover, New Jersey , published in connection with Dover's two hundredth anniversary celebration under the direction of the Dover fire department, August 9, 10, 11, 1922 > Part 27
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Then, quick, snatched her darlings to safety! returned; Drew the sheet by the corners, the snake slipping down, Was held there: she stirred up the fire till it burned With a blaze fierce and hot as the mother's stern frown;
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Then slid the dread copperhead into the flame- He squealed like a pig !- so this New Jersey dame Saved her home from that shadow of heartrending woe In that cozy log cabin, so long, long ago!
OVENS
Illustrating the History of Industry
We make stoves in Dover ; the moulders prepare Trim molds shaped of sand with the greatest of care; When ready, the iron is poured into each mold, Where it hardens and cools into shapes manifold. So parts of a stove are first cast, then assembled, To make our new models of cook stoves so fine: The old-fashioned oven of ancient design-
The open-air oven-but little resembled Our new Perfect Range, polished up, spick and span : The pride of the housewife, this stands in the van Of inventions sought out to rejuvenate Man ; But your open-air oven, built out in the yard, Was an ancient device, all unsung by a bard, 'Most as old as the hills, we might say-Mother Eve Was the first one to use it, I really believe, When she made pies and cookies for Abel and Cain, After moving from Paradise Row, where, of course, No cook-stoves were known. I have searched, all in vain, For the earliest, primitive, way-back first source Of arts culinary-in vain I inquire For Adam's First Lessons on Lighting a Fire. The Dover Library, though quite up-to-date, Can give me no light on the ultimate fate Of Cain, who ate everything raw; there's a hint That his wife couldn't cook-did I see it in print? Eve didn't approve of her! Poor Cain! the man Whose wife cannot cook must fall under the ban! But somehow, sometime, Man invented a way To cook and be civilized in that far day, And the oven on stilts, right out there in the yard, Came down through the ages, unsung by a bard Till I found this great subject, unhackneyed, unworn, Fresh, fair as a rose in the dew of the morn. 'Twas my Lady of Wharton who gave me the cue To this wonderful theme, so old-timey, so new! I pause just a moment to bow and to greet her, And now I must finish my task in short meter. Four crotched sticks you drive in the ground; other sticks Are then laid across; thereupon sods you fix,
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And earth over that; then flat stones; next you build An oven of stones, loose, the cracks to be filled With clay, arched a-top; leave a mouth, make a door And a hole for a draft; make a flat oven floor ; Put in wood, light your fire; when the oven is hot Take out all the ashes, bake bread or what not- Roast turkey, roast pig, pies and cakes-tell you what ! That oven could soften a hard heart of stone! Poor Cain! if his poor, shiftless wife had but known The secret to soften the heart of a brute By cooking up victuals !- that diet of fruit Might do for a while, but-roast turkey in season, Has charms, I must say, and no doubt "there's a reason." One thing Eve regretted-that apple ?- Oh, yes! But another thing weighed on her spirits, I guess; The records don't say so-I've searched 'em in vain; But I guess she repented the day she raised Cain. She pondered the matter and hit on a plan To soften the heart of too primitive Man: She invented the oven, as sure as I'm human! Or-could it be ?- was it the man or the woman Who first hit upon this great, wondrous invention? Eve, Eve must have done it, without contravention ! The Richardson-Boynton folks took up the story And covered themselves and old Dover with glory By making the Perfect Cook Range for our nation, And that's why we stand at the head of Creation, Because of our toothsome, well-cooked, perfect ration!
UNCLE BYRAM.
O Muse, help me sing, not of mythical kings, Blood-curdling adventures and such thrilling things,
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Nor of love and romance, of fond courtship and wooing, Of Cupid and Dido, of billing and cooing :
All these I renounce-for the moment-to sing Of a plain, staid old bachelor. How can I fling A halo of glory about such a man ? Looks dubious, does it ?- I'll do what I can. He lived with his brother, the wheelwright, whose shop Was a place where old wagons and coaches must stop For repairs when they weakened with age. At the corner Of Dickerson street and the old Lampson road It stood in its day, near his humble abode. You see, Gentle Reader, my Muse is no scorner Of quiet old people who worked at a trade, Respected for character, not what they made.
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Zenas Pruden made wagons ; his wife was "Aunt Sally," And now to my story my wits I must rally. My hero was born on the Old Pruden farm Near Morristown. There more than one generation Of Prudens grew up. Amid war's rude alarm, When our soldiers were camped there they found Pruden's farm A Godsend in helping them eke out their ration. A brick kiln was there and my hero made brick For the County Court House. But life's changes come quick. At twenty young Byram enlists for the war. On Governor's Island he helps to defend New York from the British until the war's end.
Peace comes : Byram Pruden, a warrior no more, In time comes to Dover and uncles the brood Of Aunt Sally's children in Dickerson street. Their love makes his bachelor life passing sweet .. Thus have I the life of my hero reviewed To the day when he was, as historians say, - The hero, in truth, of a notable day. .
The Morris Canal, that renowned waterway, From Dover to Rockaway then was complete. Friend Pragnall, boat-builder, has built the first boat, To be christened The Dover, a marvelous feat Of Jersey ship-building. To set it afloat Was a grand ceremony-a launching, in fact. A great celebration it was. From afar The people flocked in to behold this great act In the drama of Dover, and nothing could mar The joy of that day. Uncle Byram was staged For the proud role of Captain, to take full command Of the boat and the launching, and he had engaged To take this new craft, on her brave maiden trip, To Rockaway, then the far end of the ditch. I tell you! Excitement was at a high pitch When The Dover of Dover set out at a clip That vied with an ox-team! A red-letter day For Dover it was! Uncle Byram looked back All his days to that voyage. An admiral may Be proud of his Flagship; but when the long slack Of the rope of The Dover of Dover grew taut, As the mule on the towpath stepped off-you just ought To have stood on the deck with the Captain to steer, While the Basin resounded with cheer upon cheer!
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A RACE
A race ! a race! a race, I say ! The strangest race in many a day ! Not striplings in their 'teens who try To make quick time and show they're spry: No, something better, greater, this! A race no youngster ought to miss. Three old folks here in Dover town Once ran this race and won renown. One runner was an ancient dame, And Mistress Chrystal was her name, On Patrick Chrystal's farm, you know, Where Jordans lived not long ago. Another was good Elder Ford, James Ford, a man who loved the Lord. And Byram Pruden was the third- Of such a race who ever heard? They took their time and ambled on Till ten and four-score years were gone. The race began to be exciting When ninety-five was reached and passed.
Each wondered who would be the last. The Home-stretch now, at last, they're sighting. Who'll reach the goal, the century mark, Still cherishing the vital spark? Will Uncle Byram win? His span Of life is ninety-five and more. He's out ! Now Elder Ford's the man ! He may win yet! Ah, no! his score, That Man's allotted span defies, Is closed at ninety-eight : the prize Our Dover Atalanta wins. Undazzled by life's orbs of gold, As once the ancient tale was told, Her thread of life she slowly spins ; She does not swerve, but pushes on And almost sees the century's dawn. She fails to reach the hundred line, But makes a score of ninety-nine !
A DOVER CHRISTMAS-1866
As Narrated by Major Andrew Baker Byram Ting-a, ling-a, ling-a, ling ! Hear the merry sleigh-bells ring ! Father Byram's at the door, And this is Christmas Day, what's more!
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"Get in, good wife, and children all ! Come, take a ride and make a call! We'll drive to Dover this fine day : Let's get the good of our new sleigh !" Well-wrapped and snug, away they glide Down Mine Hill's icy mountain side, Through Dover now they take their way, Up Lampson's Road; then stop and stay. "Jump out ! Jump out !" says Father B. "Walk in! Walk in, good wife, and see Your Christmas gift-this house is yours And here we stay henceforth, as sure's You find it furnished, fit and ready ; So make yourself at home, my Steady !" His wife got out, the place to view ; The eager children fairly flew From room to room-"New tables, chairs !" "New stoves! Fires lit!"-They climb the stairs. "Which room is mine?"-"And mine?" "And mine?"" "I tell you what, this place is fine !" "Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye, Mine Hill! "Stay here we must! Stay here we will!" "This Christmas present suits us all !" "We've come to stay, not make a call !" "And here's the check that pays the bill- Six thousand ! Stay we must and will!"
FORD'S POND
There once was a dear little pond, fair to see, In the "sixties" renowned as a "lake"-can it be? But now 'tis a rank bed of weeds, with a rill Of water that flows from the Chrystal street hill, Except when it rains ; a big mud puddle then You may find on this spot-till it dries up again. "Ford's Pond" is the name of this woe-begone spot In the good town of Dover-a pond it is not.
Beside the stone wall that you see over there Once stood William Ford's famous shop, a place where Young Vulcans were trained to the blacksmithing trade; Here axes were ground and all edge tools displayed; Gunsmithing and turning were done on demand, And axes were made, of the very best brand. Further down was his house, near the tracks as now seen, With garden and pear-trees and plum-trees, I ween. How changed since that day when the anvil rang loud And the master mechanic of Dover, so proud, Labored here in his smithy from morning till night: His monument's yonder, off there to the right.
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How often, in winter, when Jack Frost had crowned The pond of those days with firm ice, here were found The boys and the girls, all so blithesome and gay, Now sliding, now gliding the swift hours away!
Released from the schoolhouse there under the hill, They coasted and skated with hearty good will, Nor dreamed of the day when the pond should go dry And the shop pass away and the railroad come by !
But hold !- when mosquitoes no longer decide Their eggs to its stagnating shoals to confide And keep all the neighbors awake, summer nights, With music that banishes slumbrous delights ; When the cold gathers keen and the winter grows grim We'll flood the old pond again, up to the brim, And merry young voices shall ring out so free And challenge the ghosts of the past in their glee!
WILLIAM YOUNG A Ballad of Dover in 1847.
When William Young to Dover came In eighteen-forty-seven It was a quiet rural scene- To him it seemed like heaven.
He came upon a pleasure trip ; He looked the village over : "Twas love at sight-he pulled up stakes And came to live in Dover.
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A tiny house he found, quite cheap ; He made a bake-shop there, And soon began to thrive; in thrift His good wife did her share.
'She loved her good man; for his sake She cheerfully forsook The city life, the ballrooms gay Of Brooklyn, and betook Her pilgrim footsteps to these wilds- Ford's Pond was o'er the way- "The frogs in solemn chorus croaked Their wish that she might stay.
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And so she did and minded well Her household and the shop; And to her loving William she Failed not to be a prop.
A rustic little village then Was here-a rolling mill, A furnace, factory, some stores, Boatyard, some land to till, With gardens fair and shaded streets Where now are marts of trade, While seven hundred souls in all, Their home in Dover made.
There was no railroad in those days, But William prophesied That through the quiet village soon The noisy trains would glide.
The neighbors laughed his words to scorn; He vowed that he was right ;
And in a year or so 'twas plain- He had Scotch "second sight."
Oh, what a day of days was that When on the new-laid track
The cars came rumbling on their way And then went rumbling back!
The people came from miles away The strange new sight to see ; They ushered the New Era in With wonderment and glee.
That was in '48; next came The gold year, '49!
When Neighbor Hurd and "Sandy" Young Went west to find a mine.
But William bided by his shop And baked his cakes and bread, And found more gold in Dover here Than "Sandy"-it is said.
And William proved himself a man, A citizen of worth, A school trustee, a pillar he ; In brief-"salt of the earth."
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Within his shop he made a place For books, the S. of T. Library found a haven here- Snug quarters, cosy, free.
And so he fed the inner man With bread and dainties sweet. While doctrines of the "S. of T." Gave strength to wavering feet.
One night there was a snow-storm drear ; A stranger came that way And asked a shelter from the storm- The good wife said him nay.
He was far-gone-no pleasing guest ; He staggered out, astray ! But William followed through the storm And brought him back to stay.
He stayed a night, he stayed a week, From kindly host he learned The secret of a better life And to that light he turned.
How can I tell the kindly deeds, The works of William Young? From morn to night hold forth I might, But book must succor tongue.
So turn ye to the Chronicles Of Dover, where you'll find The story of this honest Scot- A lover of his kind !
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TAVE.
From Dickerson Street to the White House.
Good Aunt Sally Pruden-no better could be- Lived on Dickerson street, long ago, where you see A shoe shop these days. The front window displays A name from the land of the talented Caesar, Whose works we still study in school ; would it please her- Aunt Sally, I mean-her front window to see Littered up with old shoes, where a first familie Of Dover upheld the old town's dignitie? Aunt Sally ?- the story is long; I can't tell it Straight on-my pen stumbles; Time's changes compel it To ramble afar from those staid, quiet days
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When Aunt Sally "resided" on Dickerson street. She saw the incoming of new-fangled ways- Canal boats; the railroad, the new church. Her feet Never knew these new fashions in French taper heels. Her good man was wheelwright; he tired wagon wheels. His shop on the corner, now transmogrified, Once kept each old family coach in repair. Stage coaches, farm wagons he deftly supplied With spokes, hubs and tires-not the new rubber ware. To resume: that old house in the sketch I first gave: A picture I have of that old house when Tave Stood before it. His folks are there, too; a big tree Overshadows the homestead. Why didn't they save That tree? But the folks are gone too. Now we see A shoe shop, show windows, shoes-nothing but shoes! And a name from the land of the Classical Muse!
Octavius-Tave, as they called him, the boy Aunt Sally raised here, was his mother's true joy. He went to the war-Major Pruden, ere long ! (This tale is a history more than a song.)
But Tave was so skilled with the pen he was shifted From gun-work to pen-work and shortly he drifted Right into the White House, in '72, And stayed there and stayed : Grant, Hayes-he stayed through Their terms and four more ; six presidents he Assisted as "Master of Ceremonie," -
In ruling the White House. At banquets he knew Where notable guests should be seated, and few Ever wielded a pen with such masterly art: ('Twas right here in Dover he got his first start!)
- Commissions and dinner cards, papers of state He engrossed and illumined in colors ; so great Was his much admired skill that his work could be found Shown "on exhibition" the whole wide world 'round. So much for the little old house, where one day A great man was seen, on a visit, they say -
Secretary of State of our nation, the guest Of Aunt Sally Pruden, of memory blest!
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RAPID TRANSIT 1820-1920
When, Dover citizens of yore, Intent on making speed, Would make a rapid transit trip, They knew no iron steed.
An ox-team was their motive power, Yoked to a loaded wain ; Fast-steppers could, ere supper time. Their goal in Newark gain.
The axles may have creaked a bit, The "critters" may have lowed; But, on the whole, a quiet time They had upon the road.
Perhaps they blew a horn and cried "Fresh clams!" as they returned ; They had "Clam Classes" in those days, As I've from old folks learned.
But things have changed, we're faster now And noisier times are here; By day, by night we start in fright At shrieks that pierce the ear.
Four thrilling blasts, five ripping blasts, At dead of night or dawn, Rouse us from sleep and slumbers deep With signal cries long-drawn.
And rumbling trains go crashing by With thunderous jolt and jar ; With cars from Kansas, Frisco, freight For Buenos Aires far.
Anon a high crescendo sharp Wakes echoes round the curve, And nearer, nearer shrills the blast While tingles every nerve.
The 'Leven-twenty Flier comes- You know the time of day- And with a rush her wheels just brush The rails-and she's away !
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And now a yard-train puffs and snorts And shoots it jangling cars This way and that with noisy clat- Clat-clatter-sudden jars!
Till ghosts of those whose bones were laid To rest an Morris Street, Above Ford's Pond, awake and flee In horrified retreat.
Such are our daily symphonies, Our modes of transit fleet ; We have our moving pictures now And music halls elite.
The airplane circles overhead, We ride in motor cars, A team of oxen can't be found, We hob-nob with the stars.
THE TOWN CLERK, 1922
The Town Clerk is a busy man- All day and eke at night He toils and moils to do the work That falls to him by right.
Upon his shoulders men bestow Their multifarious cares ; He lifts the load and with it all A dimpling smile he wears.
Tall and erect, he strides along With quick and springy pace ; Upon our streets and in parades He has a leading place.
For he is of the Firemen, now Exempt by service long, And yet his youthful gait reveals A man alert and strong.
And he is of the Elks. a clan That has a chapter here; A "mixer" with "the boys" is he, Abounding in good cheer.
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When Council meets, 'tis then he shines ; He reads the minute book, And gallops through the last report More swift than babbling brook.
He calls the business by the card, He takes notes with dispatch; He keeps things moving, brisk and sure --- In town is not his match.
How to proceed, what to record, To keep a strict account Of bills and monies he is keen, Of large or small amount.
When Bicentennial Days draw near, He hoes the longest row, And does his very level best To make all smoothly go.
Chief Carhart finds in him a prop, A staff that never breaks; Committees march and countermarch --- J. B. the minutes takes.
"JOE BAKER" is the current name By which this Clerk is known; His deeds I cannot all declare- These few hereby are shown.
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THE FIREMEN
The Firemen are the gallant lads Whose deeds deserve a song ; They've caught the Bicentennial tune And swung it right along.
I shall not tell of their good work In fighting smoke and flame Nor how they love a timely lark- Their spirits are not tame.
But when they tackle Old Home Week Or Bicentennial Years They surely show a level head Befitting engineers.
They know the ropes, the ins and outs, Each pitfall and each snag, Nor do they dilly dally long Or vainly chew the rag.
Right to the point they drive with clear Shrewd sense and mother wit,
And shoulder loads that well might give Less sturdy men a fit.
Concessions, street parades and shows Are playthings ; Hookies are At home in contests, prizes, fairs, Music or gay bazaar.
Comrades in danger or in fun, They work to beat the band ; Protracted meetings are their forte When such things are on hand.
They've asked our friends and neighbors 'round To help us celebrate A BICENTENNIAL for all- No lonely "Dover Date."
The DOVER FIREMEN, gallant lads ! They are the lads who got up steam They shine at fires or fetes : To publish DOVER DATES.
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THE SONG OF DOVER 1722-1922
My birthplace was an iron-forge Beside a flowing stream; The murmuring pines and hemlocks stood On either hand in deep amaze And could but stand and gaze and gaze And whisper, "Bodes it ill or good Or is it but a passing dream, This clanging iron-forge? The startled trout from shaded nook Came out to take a wondering look. Then darted back in deep dismay To hear the knell of that long day When Red Men roamed the forest here And fished the streams and stalked the deer, When wolfpacks ranged the hill and glen, When bruin found himself a den Far up the stream, above the Falls, 'Neath overhanging rocky walls.
The Red Man came and saw the doom Of his slight weapons tipped with stone; Time, with his ever-shifting loom, Has changed the pattern-weak, outgrown, The pointed flint, the axehead crude Must yield to better art; the change From Stone to Iron begins this hour ; This forge points out the way to power.
But hope of better days is born Beside this stream, for Plenty's horn Shall overflow when plowshares bright Prepare new harvests and the might Of steam shall drive the iron horse On, thundering, with resistless force; When men shall speed from East to West And garner with untiring zest New fruits and riches from the land Where roamed the untaught Indian band. Dread wars shall rise, and shot and shell Drawn from these hills shall break the spell Of naked warriors and their arts Of dealing death by spear and bow. Science its wondrous power imparts. This forge shall deal a mightier blow For Freedom than has yet been dealt By scalping knife and tomahawk. The mind that can the iron ore smelt
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Shall make new magic; wires shall talk. Strange, humming-birds shall circle high Above Mine Hill and onward fly; Munitions from these hills, and men Shall cross the wide Atlantic sea And do their part to uphold again The law of right and keep Man free.
Great furnaces shall gleam at night There in the North. This forge shall rend The very hills that round it bend, From rocky depth shall bring to light The wealth long hid, far, far below These wooded heights. The forge's glow. Shall be the hall-mark of the town That here is born. Time, time shall show The path that leads to world renown.
My birthplace was an iron-forge Beside a flowing stream,
Where murmuring pines and hemlocks stood On either hand: who then could see What in two hundred years would be? May coming years bring greater good That still shall follow from the gleam Of that old iron-forge?
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INDEX DOVER DATES
Abolition, 36 Account Book, 1821-30,260 Academy, 33,36 Adath Israel, 168 Advance, The, 153 Aetna Forge, 218 Agriculture, 207 Aldermen, 87 Alpers, M. E. 102 Analysis of Ores, 250 Andros, Edmund, 12, 13 Armory, 182 Atlas Powder Co., 227 Awakening, Great 25
Baker, Jos. V., 290-1 Baker Homestead, 26 Baker & Ludlow, 28 Baker, Wm. Hedges, 195 Bank, National Union, 147
Baptist Church, 165 Barclay, Rob't, 13 Barstow Management Co., 80,213 Basse, Jeremiah, 16, 20 Battery D., 191 Beach, Electa, 53 Beach Glen Mine, 244 Belcher, Jonathan, 18 Beman, David, 53 Beman's Forge, 26, 43,45,48 Beemer, Alpheus, 45 Berkshire Valley, Birch Wm. F., 233 Blackwell & McFarlan, 31 Boiler Works, 233 Bowlby, R. S. 140 Boys' Brigade, 184
Breese, Carrie A. 62, Harriet Brook, Granny's, 65 Brotherhood Overalls, 202 Brotherton, Henry, 24, 26 Brotherlon, Richard, 48, 49 Brotrerton, James W., 24, 26, 4 Buck, Peter C., 122-127 Burlington, 23 Burnet, Martha A., 129 Burnet, Wm. 17 Butterworth, Joshua H., 35 Byram, Uncle, 281 Byram Ethelbert, 88
Canal, 254 Candle Tree, 211 Campbell, Neill, 15 Canfield, Fred'k A., 35, 45, 46
Canfield & Losey, 27, 31, 43 Capitals of East Jersey, 23 Carhart, George B. 94, 95 Carteret, Philip, 11, 12, 13 Cemeteries, 175 Centennial Collections, 134 Central R. R $7, 253 Chambers, Rev. T. F., 172 Chapel, Crystal St., 166 Charcoal, 244 Charter of Dover, 37 Christmas, A. Dover, 283 Churches, 160, 167 Circuit preachers, 31 Civil War, 37 Clam Classes, 278, 289 Clergymen (See churches)
Commerce, 30 Company M., 181 Concentrating Ores, 247 Consolidated Mines, 246 Constables, 89 Constitution ,State, 35 Cook, John K., 205 Cornbury, 17 Counties, 14 Court, District, 90, Police, 89 Crane Hill, 62
Crane, Uzal Newton, 62, 63, 180 Commissions, Sewerage, 86 Commissions, Shade Tree, 85 Commissions, Sinking Fund, 85 Committees, Standing, 83 Community, Elements of, 29 Cook Range, Perfect, 281 Counterman, Chas. U., 88 Crystal Ice Co., 218 Denmark, Lake, 229 Dickerson, Jonathan, 28, 33
Dickerson, Mahlon, 46
Dickerson Mine, 21, 28, 65 Downs-Slater Iron Foundry, 238
Dover Boiler Works, 233
Dover Iron Co., 37 i
Dover, 21, 25 Dover Telephone Co., 216
Dover of Dover, 34, 282
Dover, founded, 21, Town, 45 Dover, The Song of, 293; A. Song, 70
Drying Ores, 248
Dutch Rule, 10
Dynamite,, 218, 220, 228
Education, Board of, 86, 141, 142, 134 Elizabeth Town, 11, 16, 18, 23
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