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The New England Magazine, Volume 1, No. 5, Bay State Monthly, Volume 4, No. 5, May, 1886
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Transcriber's Note: Table of Contents / Illustrations added.

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TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD. BY SAMUEL HART, D.D., PROFESSOR OF LATIN. Illustrations: Trinity College In 1869. T. C. Brownell. Trinity College In 1828. J. Williams. Statue Of Bishop Brownell, On The Campus. Proposed New College Buildings. Geo Williamson Smith. James Williams, Forty Years Janitor Of Trinity College. Bishop Seabury's Mitre, In The Library. Chair Of Gov. Wanton, Of Rhode Island, In The Library. Trinity College In 1885. (Signature) N. S. Wheaton (Signature) Silas Totten (Signature) D. R. Goodwin (Signature) Samuel Eliot (Signature) J. B. Kerfoot (Signature) A. Jackson (Signature) T. R. Pynchon The New Gymnasium. College Logo.

THE WEBSTER FAMILY. BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN. Illustration: Marshfield—Residence Of Daniel Webster.

TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR EUROPE. BY EDWARD P. GUILD.

A ROMANCE OF KING PHILIP'S WAR. BY FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN.

THE PICTURE. BY MARY D. BRINE.

NEW BEDFORD. BY HERBERT L. ALDRICH. Illustrations: Old Whalers And Barrels Of Oil. City Hall And Depot. Front Street And Fish Markets Along The Wharves. The Head Of The River. Along The Wharfs And Relics Of The Last Century. New Station Of The Old Colony Railroad. Custom House. Court House. Grace Episcopal Church. Looking Down Union Street. Unitarian Church, Union Street. Mandell's House, Hawthorne Street. Residence Of Mayor Rotch. The Stone Church And Yacht Club House. Fish Island. Seamen's Bethel And Sailor's Home. Merchants' And Mechanics' Bank. Residence Of Joseph Grinnell. Friends Meeting-House. Public Library.

HENRY BARNARD—THE AMERICAN EDUCATOR. BY THE LATE HON. JOHN D. PHILBRICK.

A DAUGHTER OF THE PURITANS. BY ANNA B. BENSEL.

JUDICIAL FALSIFICATIONS OF HISTORY. BY CHARLES COWLEY, LL.D.

DORRIS'S HERO. A ROMANCE OF THE OLDEN TIME. BY MARJORIE DAW.

EDITOR'S TABLE.

HISTORICAL RECORD.

NECROLOGY.

LITERATURE.

INDEX TO MAGAZINE LITERATURE.

Illustration: MARK HOPKINS, D.D., LL.D.

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THE

NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE

AND

BAY STATE MONTHLY.

————————————————————————————————————- OLD SERIES, MAY, 1886. NEW SERIES, VOL. IV. NO. 5. VOL. I. NO. 5. ————————————————————————————————————- Copyright, 1886, by Bay State Monthly Company. All rights reserved.

TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD.

BY SAMUEL HART, D.D., PROFESSOR OF LATIN.



The plan for the establishment of a second college in Connecticut was not carried into effect until after the time of the political and religious revolution which secured the adoption of a State Constitution in 1818. Probably no such plan was seriously entertained till after the close of the war of Independence. The Episcopal church in Connecticut had, one may almost say, been born in the library of Yale College; and though Episcopalians, with other dissenters from the "standing order," had been excluded from taking any part in the government or the instruction of the institution, they did not forget how much they owed to it as the place where so many of their clergy had received their education. In fact, when judged by the standards of that day, it would appear that they had at first little cause to complain of illiberal treatment, while on the other hand they did their best to assist the college in the important work which it had in hand. But Yale College, under the presidency of Dr. Clap, assumed a more decidedly theological character than before, and set itself decidedly in opposition to those who dissented from the Westminster Confession of Faith and the Saybrook Platform of Discipline. Besides, King's College, which had been lately founded in New York, drew away some Episcopal students from Connecticut and made others dissatisfied; and had not the war with the mother country rudely put a stop to the growth of Episcopacy in the colony, it would seem that steps might have been soon taken for the establishment of some institution of learning, at least a school of theology, under the care of the clergy of the Church of England.



At any rate no sooner was it known that the war was ended than the churchmen of Connecticut sent the Rev. Dr. Seabury across the ocean to seek consecration as a bishop; and it was not long after his return that the diocese, now fully organized, set on foot a plan for the establishment of an institution of sound learning, and in 1795 the Episcopal Academy of Connecticut was founded at Cheshire. It was sometimes called Seabury College, and, under its learned principals, it fitted many young men for entrance upon their theological studies, and gave them part at least of their professional training. But its charter, which was granted by the General Assembly of the State in 1801, did not give it the power of conferring degrees, and the frequent petitions for an extension of charter rights, so as to make of the academy a collegiate institution, were refused. For a time, owing to determined opposition in the State, to the vacancy in the episcopate, and to other causes, the project was postponed. But a combination of events, social, political, and religious, led at length to the great revolution in Connecticut, in which all dissenters from the standing order united in opposition to it, and secured in 1818, though it was by a small majority, the adoption of a State Constitution containing a clause which admitted of "secession" from any ecclesiastical society and secured perfect religious equality before the law.



In the following year, while the enthusiasm of the victory was still felt, the vacant episcopate was filled by the election of the Rev. Dr. Thomas Church Brownell, who had been for ten years tutor and professor in Union College, a man of learning, profoundly interested in education, and qualified for the varied duties which lay upon him as Bishop of Connecticut. He soon availed himself of this favorable opportunity for renewing the plans for the establishment of a college. There was much strong opposition to be encountered, and the student of the pamphlet literature of the day finds much to excite his interest and his wonder in the attacks upon the proposed "Second College in Connecticut"—"Seabury College," as it was sometimes called. The whole matter was curiously complicated with discussions as to political and financial matters, the many questions between the recently disestablished order and its opponents not having been fully settled as yet. At last, on the 13th day of May, 1823, a petition for a college charter was presented to the General Assembly, and the act of incorporation of Washington College passed the lower house three days later, and soon received the assent of the senate and the approval of the governor. The name selected for the institution was not that which its friends would have preferred; but the honored name of Washington was adopted partly, as it would appear, because others than Episcopalians united in the establishment of the college, and partly that there could be no ground of opposition to it on account of its name. Among the corporators associated with Bishop Brownell were some of the prominent clergy and laity of the diocese, such as the Rev. Drs. Harry Croswell and N. S. Wheaton, Gov. John S. Peters, the Hon. Nathan Smith, the Hon. Elijah Boardman, the Hon. Asa Chapman, Com. McDonough, and Mr. Charles Sigourney; and there were added to them representatives of the other opponents of the old establishment, among them the Rev. Samuel Merwin and the Rev. Elisha Cushman. It was expressly provided in the charter that no religious test whatever should be required of any president, professor, or other officer, and that the religious tenets of no person should be made a condition of admission to any privilege in the college. Even before the charter containing this clause was granted, it produced a most important effect; for, on the 12th day of May, 1823,—it was believed, as a last effort of opposition,—the corporation of Yale College met in Hartford, and repealed the test act which required of all its officers, even of professors in the medical school, a subscription to the Saybrook Platform.



The trustees of the new college were authorized to locate it in any town in the State as soon as $30,000 should be secured for its support; and when it was found that more than three-fourths of the sum of $50,000, which was soon subscribed, was the gift of citizens of Hartford, who thus manifested in a substantial way the interest which they had previously expressed, it was decided to establish Washington College in that city. A site of fourteen acres on an elevation, then described as about half a mile from the city, was secured for the buildings, and in June, 1824, Seabury Hall and Jarvis Hall (as they were afterwards called) were begun. They were of brown stone, following the Ionic order of architecture, well proportioned, and well adapted to the purposes for which they were designed. The former, containing rooms for the chapel, the library, the cabinet, and for recitations, was designed by Prof. S. F. B. Morse, and the latter, having lodging-rooms for nearly a hundred students, was designed by Mr. Solomon Millard, the architect of Bunker Hill Monument. The buildings were not completed when, on the 23d of September, 1824, one senior, one sophomore, six freshmen, and one partial student were admitted members of the college; and work was begun in rooms in the city. The faculty had been organized by the election of Bishop Brownell as president, the Rev. George W. Doane (afterwards Bishop of New Jersey), as professor of belles-lettres and oratory, Mr. Frederick Hall as professor of chemistry and mineralogy, Mr. Horatio Hickok as professor of agriculture and political economy (he was, by the way, the first professor of this latter science in this country), and Dr. Charles Sumner as professor of botany. The instruction in the ancient languages was intrusted to the Rev. Hector Humphreys, who was soon elected professor, and who left the college in 1830 to become President of St. John's College, Maryland. The chair of mathematics and natural philosophy was filled in 1828 by the election of the Rev. Horatio Potter, now the venerable Bishop of New York. The learned Rev. Dr. S. F. Jarvis soon began his work in and for the college, under the title of Professor of Oriental Literature; and the Hon. W. W. Ellsworth was chosen professor of law. The provision which was announced in the first statement published by the trustees, that students would be allowed to enter in partial courses without becoming candidates for a degree, was a new feature in collegiate education, and a considerable number of young men were found who were glad to avail themselves of it. It is believed, also, that practical instruction in the natural sciences was given here to a larger extent than in most other colleges.



In 1826 there were fifty undergraduates. A library had been obtained which, in connection with Dr. Jarvis's, was called second in magnitude and first in value of all in the country. The professor of mineralogy had collected a good cabinet. There was a greenhouse and an arboretum; and, besides gifts from friends at home, the Rev. Dr. Wheaton had been successful in securing books and apparatus in England for the use of the college.



A doctor's degree was conferred in 1826 upon Bishop Jolly ("Saint Jolly" he was called), of Scotland, but the first commencement was held in 1827, when ten young men were graduated. Of these, three died in early life, and but one, the Rev. Oliver Hopson, survives. To a member of this class, the Hon. Isaac E. Crary, the first president of the alumni, is due no small share of the credit of organizing the educational system of Michigan, which he represented both as a territory and as a State in the Federal Congress. The Athenaeum Literary Society was organized in 1825, and the Parthenon, the first president of which was the poet Park Benjamin, in 1827. The Missionary Society, still in successful operation, was founded in 1831, its first president being George Benton, afterwards missionary to Greece and Crete, and from it, primarily through the efforts of Augustus F. Lyde, of the class of 1830, came the establishment of the foreign missions of the Episcopal Church of this country.



When Bishop Brownell retired from the presidency of the college in 1831, in order to devote all his time to the work of the diocese, he was succeeded by the Rev. Dr. N. S. Wheaton, an early, steadfast, and liberal friend of the institution. He secured the endowment of two professorships, and among the many good things which he planned and did for the college should not be forgotten the taste with which he laid out and beautified its grounds. To him succeeded, in 1837, the Rev. Dr. Silas Totten, professor of mathematics. During his presidency of eleven years, additions were made to the scholarship fund, and the foundation of a library fund was laid; and in 1845 a third building, Brownell Hall, was built, corresponding in appearance to Jarvis Hall, and, like it, designed for occupation by students. In the same year, on the petition of the corporation, who acted in the matter at the desire of the alumni, the General Assembly of the State changed the name of the college to TRINITY COLLEGE. The change was intended in part to prevent the confusion which arose from the use of a name which the college had in common with other institutions, in part to attest the faith of those who had founded and who maintained the college, and in part to secure a name which (especially at Cambridge in England) had been long associated with sound learning. At the same time the alumni were organized into a convocation as a constituent part of the academic body.



In 1848 the Rev. Dr. John Williams, a graduate in the class of 1835, who, though he was less than thirty-one years of age, had given ample promise of extraordinary abilities, was chosen president, and he held the office until 1854, when the duties of assistant bishop, to which he had been consecrated in 1851, forced him to resign. He did much to increase the library funds and to develop the course of academic instruction. He also began instruction in theology, and an informal theological department grew up, which was organized in 1854 as the Berkeley Divinity School and located in Middletown. He was succeeded by the Rev. Dr. D. R. Goodwin. In 1860 Prof. Samuel Eliot was chosen president, and in 1864, the Rev. Dr. J. B. Kerfoot, who was called in 1866 to the bishopric of Pittsburgh. Under the care of these scholarly men the college maintained and strengthened its position as a seat of learning (though in the time of the civil war it suffered from depletion in numbers), additions were made to the funds, and a new professorship was founded. Among those whom the college gave to the war were Generals G. A. Stedman and Strong Vincent, and the "battle-laureate of America," Henry H. Brownell.



In June, 1867, the Rev. Dr. Abner Jackson, of the class of 1837, formerly professor here, then President of Hobart College, was elected president. Under his administration, in 1871-72, the number of undergraduates, for the first time, reached a hundred. In 1871 the legacy of Mr. Chester Adams, of Hartford, brought to the college some $65,000, the largest gift thus far from any individual. In 1872, after much discussion and hesitation, the trustees decided to accept the offer of the city of Hartford, which desired to purchase the college campus for a liberal sum, that it might be offered to the State as a site for the new capitol, the college reserving the right to occupy for five or six years so much of the buildings as it should not be necessary to remove. In 1873 a site of about eighty acres, on a bluff of trap-rock in the southern part of the city, commanding a magnificent view in every direction, was purchased for the college, and President Jackson secured elaborate plans for extensive ranges of buildings in great quadrangles. The work, to which he devoted much time and thought, was deferred by his death in April, 1874, but the Rev. Dr. T. R. Pynchon, of the class of 1841, who succeeded him in the presidency, entered vigorously upon the labor of providing the college with a new home. Ground was broken in 1875, and in the autumn of 1878 two blocks of buildings, each three hundred feet long, bearing the old names of Seabury and Jarvis Halls, were completed. They stand on the brow of the cliff, having a broad plateau before them on the east, and, with the central tower, erected in 1882 by the munificence of Col. C. H. Northam, they form the west side of the proposed great quadrangle. Under Dr. Pynchon's direction the former plans had been much modified, in order that this one range of buildings might suffice for the urgent needs of the college, provision being made for suitable rooms for the chapel, the library, and the cabinet, as well as for lecture-rooms and for suites of students' apartments. During his presidency the endowments were largely increased by the generous legacies of Col. and Mrs. Northam, whose gifts to the college amount to nearly a quarter of a million of dollars; large and valuable additions were made to the library and the cabinet, and the number of students was, in 1877-80, greater than ever before. By a change in the charter, made in 1883, the election of three of the trustees was put into the hands of the alumni.



In 1883 the Rev. Dr. George Williamson Smith was elected to the presidency, and was welcomed to his duties with much enthusiasm. In the following year considerable changes were made in the course of instruction, including arrangements for four distinct schemes of study, introducing elective studies into the work of the junior and senior years, and providing for practical work in the applied sciences. An observatory has been built, for which a telescope and other apparatus have been presented; and the funds have been secured for the erection of an ample gymnasium, with a theatre or lecture-hall.

Of the nearly nine hundred men who have received the bachelor's degree from Trinity College no small number have attained eminence in their respective walks in life. The class of 1829 gave a governor to Michigan and a judge to Illinois; the class of 1830, a member of Congress to Tennessee, a judge to Louisiana, and two prominent divines to Ohio; the class of 1831, a bishop to Kansas; the class of 1832, three members of Congress, one to North Carolina, one to Missouri (who has also been governor of the State), and one to New York, a distinguished clergyman to Connecticut, and a chaplain to West Point; the class of 1835, an archbishop to the Roman Catholic Church, and a chairman to the house of bishops of the American Episcopal Church; the class of 1840, a president to St. Stephen's College and a supreme-court judge to Connecticut; the class of 1846, a member of Congress to New York, another (also lieutenant-governor) to Minnesota, and a president to Norwich University; the class of 1848, a bishop to Massachusetts, a lecturer, a tutor, and three trustees to the college; and this list seems as a sample of what the college has done and is doing, in the spirit of her motto, for the Church and the country. The bishops of Connecticut, Kansas, Georgia, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Washington Territory, and Indiana are among her alumni; with them some three hundred others have entered the ministry of the Christian Church; and representatives of the college are found holding honored positions in the State, in institutions of learning, in the professions of law and medicine, and in the business of life. Her course of instruction unites the conservatism of experience with adaptation to the needs of modern scholarship, all under the acknowledged influence of religious nurture; her well-stocked library and ample museum, with her unrivalled accommodations for students, furnish her for her work, so that she is, in reality as well as in name, in the affections of her members as well as in her profession, a home of sound learning. And as her needs are supplied by the generosity of alumni and friends, she will be still better qualified for her work and will draw still closer to herself those who are entrusted to her care.

The elaborate plans for the new buildings, prepared by the eminent English architect the late Mr. Burgess, were such as to provide for all the present and prospective needs of the college. As finally arranged they included a large quadrangle six hundred feet by three hundred, at either end of which should be a quadrangle three hundred feet square. It was not expected that all of the great pile could be built at once, and, in fact, all that has been erected as yet is the west side of the great "quad." This includes, as has been said above, two long blocks of buildings connected by a large tower some seventy feet square. The style of architecture is that known as French secular Gothic; the buildings are of brown Portland stone, liberally trimmed with white sandstone from Ohio. Jarvis Hall contains forty-four suites of rooms for the students and the junior professors, unsurpassed for beauty and convenience by students' quarters elsewhere; they are so arranged that each suite of rooms runs through the buildings, and that there is plenty of sunlight and air in every study and bedroom. The Northam tower is also fitted for students' apartments. In Seabury Hall, the plan of which was modified under Mr. Kimball, the American architect, are the spacious lecture-rooms, finished, as is all the rest of the buildings, in ash and with massive Ohio stone mantel-pieces; and also the other public rooms. The chapel is arranged choir-wise, after the English custom, and will accommodate about two hundred people; the wood-work here is particularly handsome. It is provided with a fine organ, the gift of a recent graduate. The museum contains a full set of Ward's casts of famous fossils, including the huge megatherium, a large collection of mounted skeletons, and cases filled with minerals and shells; while the galleries afford room for other collections. The library extends through three stories, and is overrunning with its twenty-six thousand books and thirteen thousand pamphlets; large and valuable additions have been made to its shelves within a few years. The erection of a separate library building, probably at the south end of the great quadrangle, will be a necessity before many years. The laboratories for practical work in physics and chemistry are at present in Seabury Hall; but there is a demand for larger accommodations. The St. John observatory is a small, but well-furnished building on the south campus. The present gymnasium is a plain structure on the north campus, between the dormitories and the president's house; but the funds have already been obtained for a handsome and spacious gymnasium, and the generous gift of Mr. J. S. Morgan, of London, has provided for the erection of an "annex," under cover of which base-ball and other games may be practised in the winter. As new buildings rise from time to time, the spacious grounds will doubtless be laid out and beautified to correspond with the lawn in front of the present buildings. Mention should also be made of the halls of the college fraternities, three of which are already erected.



Thus the college, though it needs an increase in its funds for various purposes, is well fitted for its work. In its courses of instruction it provides for those who wish to secure degrees in arts and in science, and also for special students. The prizes offered in the several departments and the honors which may be attained by excellence in the work of the curriculum serve as incentives to scholarship. Nor is it least among the attractions of Trinity College that it stands in the city of Hartford.



[Webster Historical Society Papers.]

THE WEBSTER FAMILY.

BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.

II.

The feeling between the settlers and the Indians, as narrated by Dr. Moore Russell Fletcher, became so bitter that the Indians determined on the total annihilation of the villagers, and with that intent seventy-five or eighty Indians left their tribe in the vicinity of Canada, and came down the head waters of the Pemigewassett as far as Livermore Falls, and there camped for the night. All were soon sound in sleep except one Indian, who was friendly to the settlers. He made his way to Plymouth, aroused the villagers, and informed them of their dangerous situation. The settlers, in dismay, asked each other, "What can be done?" The Indian heard their inquiries, saw their alarm, and in his Indian way, said, "Harkee me, Indian,—you no run away, no fight so many Indians. Go up river a mile, quick, make um up fires by camp-ground (holding up his fingers, five, ten, twenty), cut um sticks, like Indian roast him meat on, lay um ends in fires, put fires out. When Indians see and count um sticks he shake his head,—no fight so many pale-faces; they go back home to camp-grounds." Next morning the villagers waited in great excitement, fear, and hope. No Indians appeared, and there was little trouble from them afterwards. Comparative peace reigned, although the Indians at times (three or four in number) passed through the quiet town of Plymouth on their way to their old camping-grounds. The villagers buried their animosity, having been told of the ill-treatment of the Indians by the State, and, instead of driving them from their houses, they fed and kept them over night when they signified a desire to stop and rest.

After many years other settlers went there; passable roads and bridges were made, and the settlement was extended up along Baker's River almost to Rumney, and down the river nearly to Bridgewater, now called Lower Intervale. They brought in from the lower towns oxen, cows, horses, pigs, geese, and turkeys. Their furs and moose and bear-skins found ready sale in the lower towns, and afforded them the means of the most common luxuries and groceries, which could not be provided in their incomplete rural settlement.



A Mr. Brown, of that part of the settlement known as the Lower Intervale, was one night returning from a neighbor's house. In the darkness he lost the footpath, and dropped upon his hands and knees to feel for it. Instantly he felt the hair of some animal touch his face. A quick thought told him that his companion was none other than an immense bear. Mr. Brown's presence of mind did not desert him. He knew that all domestic animals like to be rubbed or scratched, so he began rubbing up and down his companion's breast and neck, continuing as far as the throat, while with his other hand he drew out his long hunting-knife and plunged it in to the handle, at the same instant jumping backwards with all his might. As soon as he could he made his way back to his neighbor's house; his neighbor and another man, armed with gun, axe, long hay-fork and lantern, returned to the place of encounter, where they found Bruin already dead. Bear-steak was served all around the next morning.

Ebenezer Webster, the father of Daniel, settled at Salisbury about the time that Stephen went to Plymouth, and the hardships they underwent were very similar.

Daniel was born ten years after the Revolutionary War, and had to pass through many of the privations of the first settlers.

The clearing of the land was a tedious process, in which all boys had to participate. The forest trees were felled generally when in full foliage, about the first of June, and laid thus until the next March, when the "lopping of the limbs," as it was called, went on, in which boys, with their small hatchets, took part.

About the middle of May, when perfectly dry, they were set on fire, and the small limbs, with the leaves, were burned. In the midst of the tree-trunks, as they lay, corn was planted in the burnt ground, and usually yielded some sixty bushels, shelled, to the acre.

In the early autumn, when the corn was in milk, bears, hedgehogs, and coons were very troublesome, for they trampled down a great deal more than they ate. Later in the autumn the chopping was infested by squirrels. All practicable means were used for killing these visitors. Bears were caught in log traps, hedgehogs were hunted with clubs, and coons were caught in steel traps. Squirrels generally visited the chopping in the daytime, and were killed with bows and arrows, and sometimes caught in box traps. All of these animals were considered good food.

Just before the frost came the corn was gathered and shucked, and afterwards husked and put into the granary. During the winter the felled trees were sometimes cut for firewood, and those remaining in the spring were "junked," as it was called, and rolled into immense piles and burned, after which a crop of rye or wheat was sown, and hacked in with hoes, the roots of the trees preventing the movement of the harrow. The process of "junking" was a tedious one, as the burnt logs soon covered the axe-handle with smut, drying up the skin of the hands so they would often crack and bleed.

It is said that young Daniel disliked this toil very much, and was among the earliest to devise "niggering," as it was called. In this process a stick of wood was laid across the log and lighted with fire, so it would burn down through the larger log, when fanned by the breeze, cutting it in two.

In the early spring great preparation was made for tapping the maple-trees and boiling the sap down to sugar, which was always an agreeable employment for young Daniel. Another occupation of the boy on the farm was in weeding, pulling, and spreading flax, which boys generally dislike very much.

After sheep were introduced in this locality there was a general washing of them in the brook about the first of May, after which sheep-shearing came on.

Planting, hoeing, and haying was very hard work for the boys, and very few liked it. After the harvest something was done in lumbering, and the Websters, having a small saw-mill on their farm, made shingles and boards; although for many years shingles and clapboards were mostly split by hand. Daniel was peculiarly fond of hunting and fishing, a passion which lasted his whole lifetime. Minks, musk-rats, and now and then a fox, were caught in traps, though the latter was oftener shot. Small game, such as partridges and squirrels, were very plenty in the woods, and the skins of gray squirrels were most always used for winter caps for the boys. Larger game, like moose, deer, bears, wolves, and sometimes panthers, were taken.

The schooling of boys was often among these scenes, where at home the evenings were spent in studying by the light of a pitch-pine knot.

Itinerant ministers, in those days, mostly supplied the rustic pulpit, and visited their scattered flocks through many miles of travel.

The boys were expected to be very decorous not only to the visiting ministers but to all older than themselves. Reverence was natural to Daniel Webster, and was not with him a mere matter of cultivation.



TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR EUROPE.

Good Doctor, what has put it in your head To sail away across the ocean blue? Have you got tired of Boston? or, instead, Do you mistrust that we are tired of you?

You wanted to see England, and you thought That you might go for once in fifty years: Well, your own way—just make your visit short; So here's bon voyage,—and also a few tears.

We hope that you will have a joyful time, Meet hosts of friends, and sit at many a feast; And when, with all your wit and all your rhyme, You once are back in this your native clime, Don't ask to sail again off to the East For—well, for five times fifty years at least.

Edward P. Guild.



A ROMANCE OF KING PHILIP'S WAR.

BY FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN.

CHAPTER II.

The first day or two after her meeting with the captain Millicent worked with a light heart and renewed strength, and though Ninigret now never assisted her in carrying water, as he had formerly done, the thought of her new friend and of freedom sustained her. When after a week, however, there was no sign of the approach of friends, she grew restless. Her work tired her more than it ever had; the water-bucket seemed to hold twice the usual quantity; there was double the amount of food to prepare, and the women all seemed to want clothing made. Doubtless all was as it had been in her surroundings, only the hope that had dawned one June day in her heart had died out. She tried to reason with herself. Why was she so impatient? Did it not take time in this season of war to accomplish anything? Why, after all, should he return? Her story may have interested him at the time, even aroused his sympathies; but, afterwards, it was but natural he should, on returning to his duties, forget about her and her misery. What did she know of him? They had met but once; still her belief in him was strong, though wavering at the same time. Had he not said the unfortunate had a claim on all honorable men, and surely he was a man an unfortunate might apply to, if any man was? Such is the effect of imagination upon all poor mortals; it may be a grand gift, but is often a most uncomfortable one.

Upon the tenth night after the meeting with the captain quiet reigned at the Indian camp, where all slumbered except Millicent, to whom, in her anxiety, sleep was denied. She sat meditating upon recent events, her bosom stirred with the hope of speedy deliverance, and fear lest untoward circumstances should prevent the captain from executing his plan for her rescue. After a time her attention was attracted by peculiar sounds breaking upon the stillness of the night. These, at first faint and distant, gradually grew nearer and louder, till, trembling, she recognized the yells of the savages, who were returning through the woods rejoicing over the atrocities they had committed. She aroused the women to prepare for the wanderers, who, bounding like deer through the forest, soon burst into the clearing and threw themselves on the ground in front of the wigwam, calling upon the women for food and drink. In order to help the squaws provide for their impatient lords Millicent offered to carry out some provisions. As she appeared the warriors greeted her with a shout, calling her Philip's pretty maid. She did not reply, but moved about silently among them, horrified at their revolting account of an attack upon a lone country-house, where, having murdered the inmates, they had possessed themselves of all of value in the house. Exultingly they told their tale of horror, their painted faces and blood-stained garments looking ghastly in the moonlight. One man threw an ornament, torn from the person of a white woman, to his squaw, who had brought his supper; and another, with a fiendish laugh, tossed a scalp to Millicent, calling out in coarse tones, "Here little white-skin, take that for a remembrance of your race."

With loathing she crept back to her tent, and, stopping her ears, tried to keep out the sound of their diabolical cries.

Toward morning the noise ceased, as they, weary with carousing, one after another, fell into a heavy slumber. Allured by the silence, Millicent slipped out into the forest to quiet her aching brow in the fresh morning air. What if the English should come now, when these warriors are all at home? Would they be prepared for the fierce resistance they would encounter, she murmured, and, lost in thought, gazed mournfully at the waters of the lake, cold and gray in the early daylight. Suddenly she was startled by the tall form of Ninigret appearing like a phantom at her side.

"I have come to join you in your morning walk, Millicent," he said, with meaning in his dark eyes, as he watched her narrowly.

"You need not have come; I prefer to be alone," she answered, drawing herself up haughtily.

"I know you do; but you are out early, and need a protector."

A look of disgust swept over her face as he spoke the word protector. As if comprehending the expression, he said, hurriedly:—

"Have you considered what I said to you? Have you had enough of this life, and are you ready to come with me?"

"No, never! I would rather die at the hands of the warriors up there"—but the words died on her lips, for, as she spoke, the sounds of fire-arms reached their ears, mingled with the war-cry of the half-aroused Indians. With an exclamation of joy Millicent started in the direction of the firing, but had advanced but a step before the lithe Indian had her in his grasp.

"You shall not escape me now. Resign yourself. The white men have found the camp, but they will not rescue you. Dare to utter a cry, and I will kill you," he added, brandishing a gleaming knife before her eyes.

Terrified at this menace she allowed herself to be dragged unresistingly into the forest.

Immediately after his interview with Millicent Captain Merwin returned to Boston to secure the force necessary to his purpose. This required some days, during which he found himself becoming very restless. The story of the fair captive had strongly excited his sympathy, and her sweet face had made a deep impression upon his imagination, and he longed, with an impatience he could hardly control, to be again by her side. He was also fearful lest harm should befall her during his absence.

All this gave him a stimulus to action, and caused him to use every endeavor to prepare for his undertaking. When everything was at last ready he departed with all possible despatch.

In the evening after leaving Boston, as the English approached Lake Quinsigamond, when more than a mile from the Indian head-quarters, they heard the shouting of the warriors above described.

Merwin commanded his men to conceal themselves in a thicket in the dense wood, whence they could observe the Indians as they passed. He found they considerably outnumbered his own force. As they evidently had no suspicion of the presence of an enemy, he determined to follow them cautiously, wait until weary with revelling they should fall asleep, and then surprise them after their own mode of warfare. He deployed his men, and held them in readiness. Toward day dawn, when the Indians had sunk into a profound slumber, he ordered the attack.

The English advanced stealthily, and were almost in the camp before they were discovered by the sentinel, who gave the alarm.

This came too late. The English rushed forward with cheers, and were among the surprised Indians before they were fairly awake. The latter hurriedly seized their weapons and made what resistance they could; but this was ineffectual. The struggle was sharp and brief. Many of the best warriors were soon killed, and the rest fled precipitately, following the women and children who escaped into the woods when the combat began.

Merwin, as soon as he saw that his men were fairly engaged with the Indians, called a few trusty fellows, and went in search of Millicent. Not finding her at the wigwam, he plunged into the wood, following luckily the path taken by Ninigret.

After dragging the girl ruthlessly with him, until she fainted with fright, Ninigret laid her on the ground for a moment, in order to arrange his weapons, so that he might bear her away in his arms. While doing this he espied Merwin advancing, and, taking hasty aim at him with his musket, fired. The ball missed its mark and struck one of Merwin's companions. As the Indian bounded off Merwin raised his rifle and fired in return, with deadly effect. Ninigret, leaping high in the air, fell dead, pierced through the heart. The English bore his body a short distance into the forest, and, leaving it to such a burial as nature might grant, hurried back to Millicent, who still lay in a swoon. They then carried her to the scene of battle and placed her in one of the wigwams lately occupied by the Indians.

For a week Capt. Merwin and his men remained in the vicinity to intercept any band of Indians that might be passing westward. Merwin, although often away upon scouting expeditions, found ample time to improve his acquaintance with his rescued charge, in whom he was fast becoming deeply interested. It was the evening before their departure for Boston. The air was soft and laden with the fragrance of flowers; the lake, its surface unruffled by a ripple, lay spread like a great mirror, reflecting the lustre of the full moon. Two persons stood near the water's edge contemplating the beauty of the scene. The quiet harmony of nature seemed to possess their souls, and for a time neither spoke. Millicent was the first to break the silence.

"What serenity after the strife of last week!"

"It is, indeed, a contrast this night. Let us sit here awhile and enjoy its beauty," said Merwin; and, assisting Millicent to a seat upon the trunk of a fallen tree, he placed himself at her feet.

"How strange it all seems! Here I am in the forest, as I was a week ago, yet under such different circumstances,—free from my enemies and surrounded by only friends."

"And another week will change your surroundings entirely; and the new friends made now will, like the Indians, be present but in memory. You know to-morrow we are to leave here."

"I can hardly realize it. Ah, Captain Merwin! can it be that I shall so soon leave Wigwam Hill, the scene of my trying life of captivity, behind me?"

"Yes; by to-morrow at this time, I trust, you will be far from this spot where you have suffered so much. This beautiful lake will always recall unpleasant associations to your mind, I fear, while to mine it will recall some of the pleasantest hours of my life."

"No; I, too, shall have pleasant recollections of these shores. The memory of your noble kindness to me will not be effaced. But tell me, where do we go then?" Millicent asked, rather seriously.

"It cannot matter to you where I and my men go; but you I hope to take to your sister."

"To Martha, Captain Merwin? Is my dear sister then alive? Is there no doubt of it?"

"None."

"Is it possible? What happiness!" breathed Millicent, with tears in her eyes. "I cannot believe it. I cannot believe that I shall again see my dear sister, whom I have so long supposed dead. How did you know she was alive; and why have you not told me this before?"

"Because I wished to surprise you just before our departure. You will not deprive me of that last pleasure, would you?" asked the captain in a low voice, smiling faintly. "I made all possible inquiry when in Boston, and, just as about to depart with the troops, received accurate news of her whereabouts."

"I see; and so she is safe, and we shall meet before many days. Where is she, please?" asked Millicent, smiling divinely upon Merwin.

Drinking in the sweetness of the smile the captain gave her an account of her sister's fortune, and of her surroundings.

"The Stantons, with whom she is, are friends of mine," he observed, rather gloomily.

"Ah, indeed; then it will be a pleasant meeting all around!" and she clapped her hands with joy. Then, noticing the captain's gravity, she said, "Why are you so sad, Captain Merwin?"

"Oh, I don't know. I did not mean to be," and he tried to smile. "Yes, I think I do appear rather glum,—don't mind the word, it is so expressive of my feelings. You see, this last week has been so pleasant, we have become such good friends, and learned to know each other's tastes so well, and I have enjoyed so intensely giving you your freedom and sharing it with you, that the thought that it must all end, that I must take you back to interests which I can know nothing of and have no share in, is just a little hard to bear at present. You will think me selfish; forgive me, I did not mean to mention it, but you asked me."

She held out her hand to him and said, "You are my trusted friend, and will be my sister's when she knows what you have done for me; so do not say you will have no share in our interests."

"You are very kind," he replied, pressing her hand tightly in his, then dropping it suddenly.

"Captain Merwin," said Millicent, in turn looking grave, "the past year I have lived in an atmosphere of treachery and revenge; the minds of those with whom I have been associated were filled with anything but Christian thoughts. Unkindness and ill-feeling have found a fertile soil upon which to thrive in their hearts; but deep in my own I ever kept a spot green, where the plant of gratitude could again grow should the occasion offer. It did offer. The seeds were sown by a kind and generous hand; the plant grew quickly, and to-day it blossomed in full. Deeply grateful for what you have done for me, I beg you to accept its flowers." And, with tears in her eyes, she held toward him a small exquisitely selected bunch of fragrant white azalias.

Taking the blossoms tenderly he lifted them to his lips. "What a pretty idea! Who but you would have thought of rewarding a common deed of kindness so sweetly? I shall cherish these flowers, they are so like you. Did you really pick them for me?"

"Yes, and selected them out of many. It was all I had. If ever I can reward you better tell me, for I would willingly do you any favor to pay the debt of gratitude I owe you. I assure you I feel my obligation deeply," said Millicent, blushing.

"There is a reward you could give me now; but I scarcely dare ask it, for I know it to be more than I deserve." And the captain gazed at Millicent with a look that brought a bright blush to the young girl's cheek.

"Perhaps it is not," she replied, hesitatingly. "I don't think I understand you."

"Well, then, Millicent,—may I call you that?—the drawing-room term of Miss does not suit our simple life here." And, as she nodded assent, he continued, "Will you answer a question, even a hard one?"

"I will try."

"Tell me, then, if ever in the heart where the plant of gratitude grew another far sweeter flower has grown?"

"That of friendship do you mean?"

"Yes; the plant might be called friendship, but its blossom is love. Ah, Millicent! may I not take the fairest of these sweet flowers, and, placing it in the centre, call it love surrounded by gratitude? Then would my nosegay be perfect indeed."

Millicent looked, beyond the ardent gaze of the captain, into the lake, and made no reply.

"Throwing off the language of flowers, and all language but that of simple truth, the reward I desire above all on earth is yourself. I know my request is a bold one, and I ought, I suppose, not to make it for months, if ever. But come it must, and to-night my heart has forced it to my lips."

"It is very sudden," Millicent answered, faintly.

"I know that, but, after all, most deep feelings are sudden. In the savages, with whom you have been associated, have you not seen hate and other strong passions develop in a moment? Why, then, should not love, in a more appropriate soil, spring to life? It certainly has taken deep root in my heart. Give me some answer, Millicent, if it be but that of hope deferred. Can you ever love me?"

"What if I do now?" said Millicent, demurely.

"Do you really, Millicent? Then I am the proudest, happiest man alive," said Merwin. And, possessing himself of both her hands, kissed them vehemently.

"I trust I am doing right, Captain Merwin; I am almost sure I love you."

"Thank you, dearest, thank you, for your sweet words. Your reward for them shall be my life devoted to your service." And he drew her to him and kissed her lips.

"You deserve a whole life of thanks, Captain Merwin"—

"Call me Harold."

"—for releasing me from such a captivity, Harold, and, lastly, from death, or worse than death." And weeping, she threw her arms about his neck and buried her head on his shoulder.

"My brave darling, I hope and believe your troubles are at an end. I only wonder your strength has survived the hardships of such a life as yours has been the past year."

"Think of how much has happened in the last short weeks!"

"True, ours has been a courtship in which the bitter and the sweet have been equally mingled, but now the peace complete is coning love, for King Philip is dead and the war is over."



THE PICTURE.

BY MARY D. BRINE.

It was only a simple picture, The simplest, perhaps, of all The many and costly paintings That hung on the parlor wall; But it held my gaze the longest, And it touched my inmost heart With a pathos in which the others Held neither place nor part.

It showed me a lonely hill-side, Where the light of the day had fled, And the clouds of an angry twilight Were gathering overhead; And under the deepening shadows, Tired and sore afraid, A sheep and her lamb were grieving, Far from the sheepfold strayed.

Only a simple picture; But oh, how full of truth, Which silently spoke from the canvas Its lesson of age and youth! For are we not sheep, sore needing The safety of Christ's own fold? And do we not often wander Far from his loving hold,

Heedless of where we are straying Till the light of day has fled, And perchance a storm is gathering With the shadow of night o'erhead? My little one came beside me, And climbed to my waiting knee, And lifted her gaze to the picture, Which told its story to me.

"Tell me about it, mamma; Why does the sheep wait there?"— So I told my own wee lammie (So tender, and sweet, and fair), How the poor white sheep had wandered Far from its fold away, And was tired, and sad, and lonely, And afraid, at the close of day.

"But the lamb couldn't help it, mamma, 'Cause its mother led it, you see."— Oh! there was another lesson Brought silently home to me: We mothers, who love our babies, Guarding them day and night,— Are we always careful to lead them In ways that are best and right?

I gathered my darling closer, With an earnest unspoken prayer, That the tender Shepherd above us Would help me with special care To lead my little lamb onward Thro' pastures prepared by him, That naught could harm or afflict us When the light of our day grew dim.

And I know he will graciously answer, And, though come storms and cold, He will gather his own in safety Within one blessed fold. And my baby still talks of the picture, And pities the lamb so white, Which was led by its careless mother Out into the dark, cold night.



NEW BEDFORD.

BY HERBERT L. ALDRICH.

No visitor to the shore of Buzzard's Bay has really done his duty, or shown due respect to the inhabitants, who has not learned to say in one breath, and without a break or hesitation,—

Nashawena, Pesquinese, Cuttyhunk and Penekese, Naushon, Nonamesset, Onkatonka and Wepecket.



These are the names of the islands along the south entrance to the bay which Bartholomew Gosnold, the English navigator, named for his queen the Elizabeth Islands when he entered the bay in 1602. Fortunately his attempt to substitute his own English names for these of the Indians was futile. When Gosnold landed at Cuttyhunk in the early summer of that year he found it densely wooded and abounding in game. To-day there is hardly a tree there. In the west part of this island is a pond of fresh water, in the waters of which is a considerable island, and it was on this that these adventurers built the first habitation in this section of New England of which there is any authentic account. There they were, in a sense, safe from the Indians and from wild animals.

When Gosnold prepared to return to England in his vessel, the "Concord," with a cargo of native products, such as sassafras, cedar, etc., those who had planned to remain and settle returned with him, fearing that they might not share in the expected profits. But they could not take back with them the cellar to the house they had built, and what little vestige of the hole that still remains in that island within an island is to-day pointed out as the spot where the first white settler's house was built hereabouts. Unfortunately for the picturesqueness and poetry of this historic incident, modern civilization has utilized the island as a hen-yard, and the historic cellar as a chicken-roost.



The real history of Southern Massachusetts began in June, 1664, when the General Court of the Plymouth Colony passed an order that "all that tracte of land called and known by the name of Acushena,[1] Ponogansett, and Coaksett, is allowed by the court to bee a townshipe, and said towne bee henceforth ... called and knowne by the name of Dartmouth." In November, 1652, Wamsutta and his father, Massasoit, had signed a deed conveying to William Bradford, Capt. Standish, Thomas Southworth, John Winslow, John Cooke, and their associates all the land lying three miles eastward from a river called the Coshenegg to Acoaksett, to a flat rock on the western side of the said harbor, the conveyance including all that land from the sea upward "so high that the English may not be annoyed by the hunting of the Indians, in any sort, of their cattle." The price paid for this tract was, thirty yards of cloth, eight moose-skins, fifteen axes, fifteen hoes, fifteen pairs of breeches, eight blankets, two kettles, one cloak, two pounds wampum, eight pairs stockings, eight pairs shoes, one iron pot, and ten shillings in other commodities. This immense tract had twenty miles of sea-coast, not to mention harbors, etc., and represents, besides the present township of Dartmouth, New Bedford, Fairhaven, Westport, and Acushnet.[2]

[1] In the old records this name is variously spelled Acushena, Accushnutt, Cushnet, Acushnett, Acushnet, etc. The spelling now always used is Acushnet. Apponegansett was often spelled without the initial A.

[2] The original township of Dartmouth was owned by thirty-six proprietors at the time of its settlement. This old proprietorship was a quasi corporation, which existed for 170 years. It conveyed all the lands sold until at last nothing remained. Its meetings were then mere formalities, and they finally died for lack of attendance.



In a brief article it is impossible to give more than the cream of the whole story of the growth and existence of this settlement. It experienced the vicissitudes of Indian depredations and wars. In the King Philip war it was nearly obliterated, only the little settlement of Apponegansett surviving. But at the return of peace the settlers took up their old avocations, and gradually, but surely, made the old town of Dartmouth. The story of nearly every other outlying settlement in those days is the story of this one, so that all that concerns us are the historical events peculiar to this.



These early inhabitants combined tilling the soil and extracting the wealth of the sea, only, however, as shore fishermen, and an occasional off-shore whaling voyage in small boats. One event in early history shows that the people were possessed of something more than the traditional courage and bold seamanship for which southern Massachusetts was ever famed, and shows a spiritual courage as well as that deliberate manly determination to overcome all physical obstacles to existence with which the early settlers were permeated.



This was the dispute between the General Court at Plymouth and the town authorities regarding a settled minister. A good two-thirds of the people were Friends, and one of their number provided for their spiritual wants without compensation. Those remaining were mostly Baptists, who also had among them a quasi minister who acted as pastor. But the General Court at Plymouth wanted the settlers to have their kind of a minister; so in 1671 they ordered the settlers to raise L15 by taxation "to help towards the support of such as may dispense the word of God." But as the settlers were satisfied with their own ministers they refused to obey the order. Fortunately they were far away from the court. Then about that time King Philip's war broke out, and absorbed the whole attention of the court; although time enough was found to warn the people that the calamity of war was due to the "lack of a dispenser of the word of God" among them. But no sooner had the war ended than the old dispute was taken up just where it was left off. The court pleaded and persuaded, then commanded, and finally threatened; but year after year the colonists continued doing as they pleased, regardless of the court. Finally, in 1722, as a last resort, the court ingeniously combined the provincial and ministerial tax, L181 12s. in all, with the intention of providing a minister by that means. The town called a meeting, and, after promptly voting the provincial tax of L81 12s., as promptly refused to raise the extra L100, which they recognized as the ministerial tax in a new garb. Such defiance led to the arrest of the selectmen, and they were imprisoned at Taunton. This thoroughly aroused the town. A meeting was immediately held, and L700 was unanimously voted to support the selectmen. This enormous sum for those days was used partly to support the selectmen and their families, but mostly to send an embassy to England to seek redress from the King and his council. In this the colonists were successful, for not only were the selectmen ordered released from prison, but the province of Massachusetts Bay was ordered to remit the obnoxious taxes which it had in vain tried for thirty-one years to collect. It was not until about this time that what is now New Bedford was settled. Joseph Russell had been practically the sole inhabitant. He was succeeded by his twin sons John and Joseph. The latter lived near the heart of the site of the present city, and is regarded as its real founder. For some time vessels of all classes had fitted out in the Apponegansett river, but he sent his from the Acushnet. His merchantmen sailed all over the seas. At the same time he fitted out whaling vessels. These whalers were small sloops and schooners, which only went off-shore, captured a whale or two, then returned to try out the oil. In connection with this business Mr. Russell had built try works, and he started a sperm-oil factory. The infant whaling industry began about 1760 to attract a boat-builder, then a carpenter, a blacksmith, and so on until gradually there became quite a little settlement. Larger vessels were built, voyages were extended to some two or three weeks, and sometimes to as many months, the seas being scoured from Newfoundland to Virginia for whales.



The year 1765 was an eventful one, as it brought Joseph Rotch, a man of means and experience, from Nantucket,—or Sherburn as it was called up to 1790,—to carry on the whaling business here; and his vessels, together with those of other new-comers, materially increased the size of the little fleet sailing from the Acushnet river. The settlement had now become quite a little village, and needed a distinctive name, as it had always been regarded as a part of the village of Acushnet; so it was christened Bedford, and in after years the New was added to distinguish it from the Bedford near Boston.



Being deeper, broader, and a safer harbor than the Apponegansett, the Acushnet river gradually absorbed most of the fleet that had sailed from there, so that the little fleet of a few vessels in 1765 had become one of fifty vessels in 1773. Among these vessels was one owned by Mr. Rotch,—the "Dartmouth,"—which will be remembered as long as the American republic stands, for it was this vessel that took the tea to Boston which was thrown overboard at the time of the famous Tea Party in 1773.



But the Revolution put a stop to a continuance of this marvellous growth, and during the following eight years in the struggle for liberty, decay, fire, and the English did fatal destruction to the vessels in Buzzard's Bay. Mr. Rotch returned to his off-shore island home, taking his vessels with him, and one or two other merchants followed his example and moved away. What vessels remained after these desertions were moored along the wharves. But the people did not settle down in idleness to wait for the war to be over. While the women were working for the soldiers, in providing them clothing, etc., the men young and old proved that their sea-training in the catching of whales was invaluable in manning the little navy of the colonies. With such men behind him, John Paul Jones scoured the ocean and even defied the English in their own harbors, and the little navy became a powerful and dangerous foe to the proud mistress of the seas. Not the least destructive vessels of the brave American navy were the whaling vessels from Buzzard's Bay made over into men-of-war. The frequent and astonishing victories of these vessels caused many valuable prizes to be brought into the bay, and the natural consequence was the raid of Major Gen. Gray, accompanied by the ill-fated Andre, on the fourth day of September, and the day following, in 1778, by which nearly the whole town of Bedford was laid in ashes and property to the value of over half a million of dollars destroyed, together with seventy vessels, including eight large ships with their cargoes, and four privateers.



At the first whisperings of peace, Capt. Moores, of the good ship "Bedford," with a cargo of oil, set sail for London, and first displayed to the defeated English, in their great metropolis, the stars and stripes of the infant republic of the western world. This promptness of Capt. Moores is a fair sample of the manner in which the village of Bedford grasped the return of peace and rushed into its former industries. The greater part of the village had been rebuilt; the vessels that survived the war—most of them as men-of-war—were refitted, and whaling and commerce resumed, although it was years before whaling fairly got on its feet again. This was owing to the lack of a market for oil, as England and France had passed laws practically prohibiting its importation. Some merchants were forced to live in French or English territory and sail under those flags, in order to pursue whaling with any profit.



In 1787 the General Court of Massachusetts incorporated the town of New Bedford, and in 1847 it became a city. The census of 1790 reported a population of 3,313 in the new town. But there was nothing at this time to cause the town to grow, nor was there until 1804, when, through the intercessions of William Rotch, Sr., Great Britain remitted her alien duty on oil. From that year New Bedford began to assume her distinctive character as the whaling port preeminent of the world. The stock in trade to begin with was no meagre one, as it consisted of fifty-nine vessels of 19,146 tons' burden, about thirty of them being brigs and ships employed in the merchant service with Europe, South America, and the West Indies. This fleet suffered terribly from the impressment of seamen, then the embargo, and finally by the second war with England, during which many vessels were captured. This over, the place began in earnest its distinctive career.



A few words as to the history of whaling in America. Capt. John Smith makes mention of catching a few whales on some of his voyages, and it is known that the Indians had quite a passion for hunting the whale, or powdawe as they called it. The Montauk Indians regarded the fin or tail of a whale as a rare sacrifice to their deity. As the early settlers began to spread throughout New England, it became quite an industry along the sea-shore to hunt stranded whales for their oil and blubber. This naturally led to hunting them in their native element, and the industry extended along Cape Cod and Long Island, and, about 1672, was introduced on the islands of Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard. About fifty years later the brave Nantucket seamen began whaling in large boats, and within the following twenty-five years Nantucket had direct communication with England in her ships. These brave early mariners were the first who understood and made use of the Gulf Stream, and by them it was explained to the English admiralty. At the opening of the Revolution there were one hundred and fifty vessels that sailed from Nantucket; but at the close of the war one hundred and thirty-four of these had been captured and fifteen more wrecked. The war also cost this island twelve hundred sailors, and was the making of two hundred and two widows and three hundred and forty-two orphans.



In the year 1815 there sailed from Nantucket fifty whalers, while only ten sailed from New Bedford. But the New Bedford fleet increased rapidly year by year, reaching the climax in 1852, when two hundred and seventy-eight sailed. From that date there has been an almost uninterrupted decline in the whaling industry. Nantucket's decline began many years earlier. In 1860 she had only very few vessels left, and in 1872 her last whaler, the bark "Oak," was sold. In 1835 whaling was at its height, the whole fleet of the United States consisting of six hundred and seventy-eight ships and barks, thirty-five brigs, and twenty-two schooners, valued at twenty-one millions of dollars; while the foreign fleet consisted of only two hundred and thirty vessels of various kinds. From the off-shore fishing as practised in the early days of the industry, voyages had extended to all parts of the Atlantic, and before the opening of the nineteenth century a considerable fleet was cruising in the Pacific Ocean. By 1820 these voyages had extended to Japan, and in 1836 they reached what is known as the Kodiak Grounds. In 1848 the wonderful field in the Arctic, by way of Behring's Strait, was discovered by bark "Superior." Three years later two hundred and fifty vessels took advantage of the "Superior's" discovery and entered the same grounds. The largest catch in these grounds was in 1852, when two hundred and seventy-eight vessels got three hundred and seventy-three thousand, four hundred and fifty barrels of oil. Since then there has been a very great decline; the Arctic fleet of 1876 consisting of only twenty vessels, which caught five thousand, two hundred and fifty barrels of oil. The fleet of 1885 consisted of forty-one vessels, more than half hailing from New Bedford; but four of the fleet were lost.



Seven years before the wonderful catch of 1852, disasters and other reverses had caused many serious failures, and from that date really begins the decline in whaling, which was rapid after 1860. But meantime San Francisco had worked into the business. For years vessels had fitted out from the Sandwich Islands, returning home only about once in five years. But there were many abuses and disadvantages in this; hence San Francisco as it grew in importance became the head-quarters for fitting, and one ship after another was transferred from the New Bedford fleet to that of San Francisco, until now she is next to New Bedford in the whaling business. It is doubtful if the fleet sailing from Buzzard's Bay twenty-five years hence is half the size of the fleet of to-day; for vessels that are lost, sold, or broken up are seldom replaced. The astonishing decline in this industry is shown by the fact that three hundred and eleven whaling vessels were owned in New Bedford in 1855. Thirty years later, in 1885, only one hundred and thirty-five such vessels were owned in the whole United States, eighty-six of which hailed from New Bedford, twenty from San Francisco, and the rest from Provincetown, New London, Edgartown, Boston, Stonington, and Marion.

The disasters which have befallen the whaling industry are many and fearful. During the late war rebel cruisers captured fifty vessels, forty-six of them, with their cargoes and outfits, being burned. Twenty-eight of them were New Bedford vessels. These, with other losses, show what New Bedford had at stake before the Court of Commissioners of Alabama Claims. Her slice of the Geneva Award will approximate, when all paid, three millions of dollars. The "stone fleets," sunk off Charleston and Savannah harbors in 1861, drew heavily on whaling vessels; for more money would be paid by the Government for vessels than they could earn in whaling. In the first stone fleet were twelve New Bedford whalers, and in the second, eight. Then there were the horrible calamities of 1871 and 1876. In the former year thirty-three vessels were crushed or abandoned in the Arctic, twenty-two belonging in New Bedford. The direct loss from this was one million, one hundred thousand dollars. Twelve hundred and nineteen men were thrust out on the ice to perish from cold and hunger. Nothing but the bravery of Capt. Frazier, of one of the abandoned vessels, in journeying seventy miles over the ice-fields to the fleet outside for rescue, prevented untold suffering and death. In the calamity of 1876 twelve vessels were abandoned, causing a loss to New Bedford merchants of about six hundred and sixty thousand dollars. But a greater horror was added to this calamity, some fifty lives being lost.

The wealth that was brought to New Bedford by whaling in its palmiest days was enormous, and gave the city the reputation of being the wealthiest of its size in the world. The catch of 1853, the banner year, was over one hundred and three thousand barrels of sperm oil, valued at four millions, fifty thousand, five hundred and forty dollars; two hundred and sixty thousand, one hundred and fourteen barrels of whale oil, valued at four millions, seven hundred and sixty-two thousand, five hundred and twenty-five dollars; and five millions, six hundred and fifty-two thousand, three hundred pounds of bone, valued at one million, nine hundred and fifty thousand, forty-four dollars,—bone that year averaging only thirty-four and one-half cents per pound; while it now sells at from $2 to $2.50 per pound. The catch of the one hundred and thirteen vessels arriving in the following year brought into the city some over six millions of dollars. In 1866, when prices were very high, the cargoes of the forty vessels that arrived aggregated over four millions of dollars. All was not always palmy, however. Forty-four of the sixty-eight vessels that arrived home in 1858 made losing voyages, causing a direct loss of a million of dollars. Other disasters of less importance have never been uncommon.

It is estimated that between seven hundred and twenty-five and seven hundred and fifty whaling vessels have been owned and sailed from New Bedford. Of these at least two hundred and fifty are known to have been lost. This means immense losses, for not only did the vessels cost from fifteen to seventy-five thousand dollars each, but the outfittings and catches were also partially or wholly lost. At the beginning of this century it cost somewhere about twelve to fifteen thousand dollars to fit out a vessel for a good voyage. In 1858 the cost had increased to about sixty-five thousand dollars, voyages were of longer duration, and catches had increased only about twofold in value. To-day a good outfit falls but little, if any, below fifty thousand dollars. The cost of fitting out the sixty-five vessels that sailed in 1858 was estimated at one million, nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars.[3] The catch since 1800 is believed to have been at least a quarter of a million of sperm whales and nearly as many more right whales, the total value being approximately one hundred and fifty millions of dollars.

[3] This included, besides, $130,000 in advance wages, 13,650 barrels of flour, 10,400 barrels of beef, 7,150 barrels of pork, 97,500 gallons of molasses, 78,000 pounds of sugar, 39,000 pounds of rice, 39,000 pounds of dried apples, 19,500 pounds of cheese, 16,300 pounds of ham, 32,500 pounds of codfish, 18,000 pounds of coffee, 450 whale-boats, 205,000 yards of canvas, etc.

Volumes might be told of the experiences of whalemen, of their contests with the natives of many an island in the Pacific, of wrecks, of the bravery with which masters have stood by one another in times of need or trouble, of the great benefits whaling has been to commerce, of the discoveries by masters in their searches for new grounds, of the fields opened for the missionaries, of the men rescued from danger and bondage, etc., etc.[4]

[4] The world will ever be grateful to whaling for having rescued from penal servitude John Boyle O'Reilly, the gifted Irishman, who has given to the world so many beautiful poems.

Up to the time of the war, and perhaps till its close, the history of New Bedford and the whaling industry was identical. But the discovery of petroleum, the scarcity of whales, and at the same time the low price of oil, necessitated an entirely new field for the capital and energy so long devoted to whaling. For a period of ten years or so the city was in a transition state, the conservative element contending for a continuation of the old order of things, while the younger blood demanded the necessary changes to keep abreast of the times. At one time it did look as though the conservatives would succeed; but gradually one industry after another got a foothold. Then the panic of 1872 demonstrated that a man who has money must invest it where he can watch it, instead of trusting to luck in some wild-cat railroad scheme out West. By the concentration and investment at home of some of the money saved from the wreck, the Wamsutta mills have become a corporation with a capital of three million dollars. The Potomska mills have accumulated a capital of fifteen hundred thousand, the Grinnell mill has eight hundred thousand, the Acushnet mill six hundred thousand, the Yarn mills three hundred thousand. In addition to these cotton mills other industries have sprung up, so that the total capital represented by the various corporations is over nine millions of dollars. Banking also proved profitable. Of the five national banks three have a capital of a million dollars each, another has six hundred thousand, and the fifth half a million; making a total capital of four millions, one hundred thousand. Add to this the surplus funds, premiums on the stock, etc., and the amount of money represented by these five national banks falls little short of ten millions of dollars. The Institution for Savings has deposits of over ten millions, and, with over three millions of deposits in the other savings-bank, the seven New Bedford banks represent some twenty-three millions of dollars.

But New Bedford is not, or never has been, devoted entirely to the scramble for wealth. Her public schools have been given a place among the best, their cost last year being one hundred thousand dollars. She has given to the world many scholarly as well as smart men. During the war she did her duty bravely, sending eleven hundred more men than her quota. With all of her business she has not neglected her duties to her country or to her own citizens. One of the prides of the city is the Public Library, established under an act of the State Legislature of May 24, 1851, authorizing the incorporation of public libraries. A year and twelve days afterward the common council appropriated fifteen hundred dollars for its support. Before the action of the city government the library had existed a long time as the old Social Library, and before that time as the Library Society, but when the State authorized the incorporation of such institutions it immediately entered the wider field. To-day it has fifty thousand volumes. It has the income of the Sylvia Ann Rowland fund of fifty thousand dollars, the Charles W. Morgan fund of one thousand dollars, the George Rowland, Jr. fund of sixteen hundred dollars, the Oliver Crocker fund of one thousand dollars, and the James B. Congdon fund of five hundred dollars. Besides the culture of books, New Bedford has always been blessed by the presence and words of ministers far above the average in talent and earnestness. The dispute of the early settlers with the General Court showed that the people were particular as to the quality of their spiritual food, and this fastidiousness seems to have been handed down from generation to generation, judging from the personnel of the men. Dr. Samuel West, who preached at the Head of the River from 1761 to 1803, was of just that material to satisfy the spiritual wants of his time. Especially should his name be honored for the vigor and determination with which he threw himself, body and soul, into the struggle for independence. Nor should the names of George L. Prentiss, Moses How, and others be forgotten. One branch of the parent church, the First Congregational (Unitarian) Society, which built its present substantial edifice in 1836-7-8, has had a continuity of pastors hardly equalled anywhere for real spiritual living, thinking, and teaching. Dr. Orville Dewey, who was settled in 1823, was much beloved by everybody, and in his last years, at his home in Sheffield, among the Berkshire hills, he won the hearts of all there by his beauty of character, as he had done here. While Dr. Dewey was abroad, in 1833, and a year or so following, Ralph Waldo Emerson supplied the pulpit. The present church was dedicated in 1838, and Rev. Dr. Ephraim Peabody and Rev. J. H. Morison were installed as pastors. The former remained with the society until 1845, and the latter until 1844. In 1847 Rev. John Weiss became pastor, remaining until ill-health compelled him to resign, in 1857. Two years later Rev. William J. Potter, who is not only the typical preacher but the typical practitioner of his preaching, was installed, and yet holds the pastorate. The bell of this church, tradition says, was formerly in a Spanish convent. Whether this be so or not, its clear, musical tone gives evidence that it is of high pedigree.

Nothing could more fittingly close this article than a notice of that monument to the charitable souls of New Bedford, the Union for Good Works. This is a noble institution, not only because it cares for the poor, but because it aids them to be self-reliant and self-supporting by tiding over times of need. It provides sewing or other work for needy women; it maintains a sales-room for the handiwork of the indigent or the gentlewoman reduced in circumstances, whether the work be preserves, needle-work, or anything that is salable; it has a large reception-room well stocked with the best papers, periodicals, and magazines, books, all the parlor games, etc.; it provides throughout the winter season a series of popular entertainments of high order and little cost; in short, it endeavors to lighten the burdens of those in dependence of distress, and to make pleasanter the life of those whose existence is a continuous struggle. It has the spending of about three-quarters of the income of the one hundred thousand dollars left by James Arnold for the aid of the worthy poor of the city of New Bedford. Besides that it has accumulated a fund of about thirty thousand dollars, by donation and otherwise. This will not be touched, however, until it has reached at least fifty thousand dollars. It will then provide sufficient income to meet the expenses of the Union. There are the various branches of work, the relief committee, the sewing-women's branch, the fruit and flour committee, the prison committee, the hospitality section, and others. The Union is the outgrowth of the sermon preached by Rev. William J. Potter at his tenth anniversary, but it is not sectarian in any sense.



HENRY BARNARD—THE AMERICAN EDUCATOR.

BY THE LATE HON. JOHN D. PHILBRICK.[5]

The career of Henry Barnard as a promoter of the cause of education has no precedent and is without a parallel. We think of Page as a great practical teacher; of Gallaudet as the founder of a new institution; of Pestalozzi as the originator of a new method of instruction; of Spurzheim as the expounder of the philosophy of education, and of Horace Mann as its most eloquent advocate; but Mr. Barnard stands before the world as the national educator. We know, indeed, that he has held office, and achieved great success in the administration and improvement of systems of public instruction in particular States. But these labors, however important, constitute only a segment, so to speak, in the larger sphere of his efforts. Declining numerous calls to high and lucrative posts of local importance and influence, he has accepted the whole country as the theatre of his operations, without regard to State lines, and by the extent, variety, and comprehensiveness of his efforts has earned the title of the American Educator. It is in this view that his course has been patterned after no example, and admits of no comparison. But if in his plan, equally beneficent and original, he had no example to copy, he has furnished one worthy alike of admiration and imitation.

[5] "Massachusetts Teacher," January, 1858.

Mr. Barnard was a native of Hartford, Conn., where his family had lived from the first settlement of the colony. He was born on the 24th of January, 1811, in the fine mansion where he now resides. The son of a wealthy farmer, and living within half a mile of the centre of a considerable town and the State capital, he was placed in the most favorable circumstances for early physical and mental development.

His elementary instruction was received at the district school, which, with all its imperfections, "as it was," he remembers with gratitude, not indeed on account of the amount of learning acquired in it, but because it was a common school, "a school of equal rights, where merit, and not social position, was the acknowledged basis of distinction, and therefore the fittest seminary to give the schooling essential to the American citizen."

While pursuing the studies preparatory for college at Monson Mass., and at the Hopkins Grammar School in Hartford, his proficiency was brilliant; and such was his eagerness for knowledge that, in addition to the prescribed course, he extended his reading among the works of the best English authors.

Having entered Yale College in 1826, he graduated with honor in 1830.

The five subsequent years were mainly devoted to a thorough professional training for the practice of the law, the severer study of the legal text-books being relieved by the daily reading of a portion of the ancient and modern classics. This course of study was fortunately interrupted for a few months to take charge of an academy, where he improved the opportunity to acquire some knowledge of the theory and practice of teaching. This experience had considerable influence in determining some of the most important subsequent events of his life.

Before entering on the practice of his profession he spent some time in Europe, for the twofold purpose of study and travel. Already well fitted by study and natural taste to profit by the opportunities of foreign travel, he made further and special preparation by a tour through the Southern and Western States, and a visit to all the most interesting localities in New England. "Leaving home like a philosopher, to mend himself and others," he returned with his mind enriched by observation not only of nature and art but especially of the social condition and institutions of the people.

In the first public address which he had occasion to make after his return he said, "Every man must at once make himself as good and as useful as he can, and help at the same time to make everybody about him, and all whom he can reach, better and happier." This was the sentiment which controlled the motives of his conduct. Fidelity to this truly grand and worthy aim induced him, not long afterwards, to abandon the flattering prospects of professional eminence which were opening upon his vision, to retire from all active participation in political affairs, after a brief but brilliant career in the Legislature of his native State, and to devote himself to the great work of educational reform and improvement. To him the credit is due of originating and securing the passage, by the Legislative Assembly, while a member, in 1837, of the resolution requiring the Comptroller to obtain from School Visitors official returns respecting public schools in the several School Societies, and in 1838, of an "Act to provide for the better supervision of Common Schools."

This was the first decisive step towards the revival of education in Connecticut. The Board of Commissioners of Common Schools established by this act, was immediately organized, and Mr. Barnard accepted the office of secretary, Mr. Gallaudet, who was first elected on his motion, having declined. He devoted his energies to the arduous duties of this office till 1842, when the Board was abolished. These duties as prescribed by the Board were:—

1st. To ascertain, by personal inspection of the schools, and by written communications from school officers and others, the actual condition of the schools.

2d. To prepare an abstract of such information for the use of the Board and the Legislature, with plans and suggestions for the better organization and administration of the school system.

3d. To attend and address at least one meeting of such parents, teachers, and school officers as were disposed to come together on public notice, in each county, and as many local meetings as other duties would allow.

4th. To edit and superintend the publication of a journal devoted exclusively to the promotion of common-school education. And,

5th. To increase in any practicable way the interest and intelligence of the community in relation to the whole subject of popular education.

Possessing fine powers of oratory, wielding a ready and able pen, animated by a generous and indomitable spirit, willing to spend and be spent in the cause of benevolence and humanity, he had every qualification for the task but experience. Speaking of his fitness for carrying out the measures of educational reform and improvement in Connecticut, and of the results of his efforts, Horace Mann said, in the "Massachusetts Common School Journal," "It is not extravagant to say that, if a better man be required, we must wait, at least, until the next generation, for a better one is not to be found in the present. This agent entered upon his duties with unbounded zeal. He devoted to their discharge his time, talents, and means.

"The cold torpidity of the State soon felt the sensations of returning vitality. Its half-suspended animation began to quicken with a warmer life. Much and most valuable information was diffused. Many parents began to appreciate more adequately what it was to be a parent; teachers were awakened; associations for mutual improvement were formed; system began to supersede confusion; some salutary laws were enacted; all things gave favorable augury of a prosperous career, and it may be further affirmed that the cause was so administered as to give occasion of offence to no one. The whole movement was kept aloof from political strife. All religious men had reason to rejoice that a higher tone of moral and religious feeling was making its way into schools, without giving occasion of jealousy to the one-sided views of any denomination. But all these auguries were delusive. In an evil hour the whole fabric was overthrown."

The four volumes of the "Common School Journal," issued during this period, and the four reports presented by him to the Legislature, with other contemporary documents, justify the remarks quoted from Mr. Mann. The reports have been eagerly read and highly prized by the soundest educators. Chancellor Kent, in his "Commentaries on American Law" (edition of 1844), after devoting nearly two pages to an analysis of his first report, characterizes it as "a bold and startling document, founded on the most painstaking and critical inquiry, and containing a minute, accurate, comprehensive, and instructive exhibition of the practical condition and operation of the common-school system of education." In referring to his subsequent reports, the same distinguished jurist speaks of him as "the most able, efficient, and best-informed officer that could, perhaps, be engaged in the service;" and of his publications as containing "a digest of the fullest and most valuable information that is to be obtained on the subject of common schools, both in Europe and the United States."

It should be stated in this connection, as evidence of the disinterestedness of his motives, that these labors were performed without any pecuniary compensation; for although the amount allowed him out of the treasury of the State, for the service of nearly four years, was $3,747, this sum he expended back again in promoting the prosperity and usefulness of the schools.

The year following the abolition of the Board of Commissioners of Common Schools in Connecticut he spent in visiting every section of the country, to collect the material for a "History of Public Schools and the Means of Popular Education in the United States." Just as he was about to commence this history of education he was invited to go to Rhode Island, and there achieve a work which is destined to form one of the most interesting and instructive chapters in the history of education in America, when it shall be written. Reluctant to accept the invitation, as it would make it necessary to postpone the work in contemplation, Gov. Fenner met his objection with the reply, "Better make history than write it." He accepted the task, and soon organized a system of agencies which, in four years, brought about an entire revolution in the condition of the schools in the State. It is not easy to fully appreciate the difficulties and magnitude of the work undertaken in Rhode Island. From the foundation of the colony the common school had been excluded from the care and patronage of the government, and for more than a century and a half there is not the slightest trace of any legislation whatever for this great interest.

To compel a citizen to support a school or educate his children was regarded as a violation of the rights of conscience. Twenty years ago an old Rhode Islander, well to do in the world, assigned as a reason for refusing to aid in supporting a district school, "It is a Connecticut custom, and I don't like it."

The plan of operations adopted was substantially the same as that pursued in Connecticut. The first great work was to enlighten the popular mind on the subject of common schools, and create a public opinion in favor of right action. The next step was to frame and secure the enactment of an efficient school code, adapted to the wants of the State, which was accomplished in 1845. Then came the difficult task of organizing the new system and of carrying out its provisions; in a word, of bringing into existence in every school district the conditions of a good school. This process was progressing with a rapidity scarcely ever realized elsewhere, in the erection of better school-houses, in the employment of better teachers, in the establishment of school libraries, and in the increase of the means provided by law for the support of schools. But before accomplishing all his plans for the improvement of public education in Rhode Island the state of Mr. Barnard's health rendered it imperatively necessary for him to resign his office. On his retirement the Legislature, by a unanimous vote, adopted a resolution, giving him their thanks for the "able, faithful, and judicious manner" in which he had for five years fulfilled the duties of his office. The teachers of the State, through a committee appointed at the several institutes, presented him a handsome testimonial of their "respect and friendship, and of their appreciation of his services in the cause of education, and the interest which he had ever taken in their professional improvement and individual welfare."[6]

[6] Mr. Mann, in his Report to the Board of Education in Massachusetts, in 1846, refers to this work as follows: "Within the last year the State of Rhode Island has entirely renovated her school system. Under the auspices of that distinguished and able friend of common schools, Henry Barnard, she is preparing to take her place among the foremost of the States." In 1856 he speaks of Mr. Barnard's work in Rhode Island "as the greatest legacy he had left to American Educators; the best working model of school agitation and legal organization for the schools of the whole country which had yet been furnished."

Mr. Barnard returned to his old home in Connecticut. He was soon invited to professorships in two colleges, and to the superintendence of public schools in three different cities. But a more congenial work in his own State awaited his restored health. In 1849 an act was passed to establish a State Normal School, the principal of which should be the superintendent of common schools. Mr. Barnard was elected to this office, and accepted on condition that an assistant should be appointed to take the immediate charge of the Normal School. He soon had the satisfaction of seeing long-cherished hopes fulfilled. After many struggles and efforts he saw his own State taking her appropriate place among the foremost of the educating and educated States.

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