NIOTES title S S ’Tis hard, methinks, that a man cannot publish a book but he must presently give the world a reason for it, when there is not one book of twenty that will bear a reason. Sir Roger L’Estrange. SO I do now offer my excuses, and leave a generous public to the decision whether this book may be regarded as the one of all the twenty, or shall be counted among the unhappy nineteen. Very many there are who never hear a story but they must at once know if it be true; and if it be but partly true, they fain would know just how much is fact and how much fancy. It is to satisfy such curious folk, so far as relates to three He who reads “The Courtship of Miles Standish,” and, later, learns something of the true lives of its characters, must confess to a slight shock in the discovery that the scholarly John Alden, of Longfellow’s lines, was but a cooper at Southampton. Then, too, the romance that surrounds the martial Miles Standish is somewhat dulled, when one reads of his parley with the Indians and of his killing of some of them. And so, though we must confess that the tale is not wholly true, we may adopt the Italian saying, “So much the worse for truth.” Sharp eyes might see, even were it not here confessed, that Priscilla alone bears not the dignity of her full name on the half-titles of this book. Despite the eloquence of Juliet, one cannot feel the need of Mullins. Yet, after all is said, we cannot love the poem less, but love the poet more. His genius the brighter shines, the while our curiosity is satisfied. Old houses An old English church First to Hopkinton, from Winchester, by bicycle,—a way which lay by the “Wayside Inn.” Nothing is more disappointing than such a search for oldtime scenes, but yet it is a joy, for one sees so much that is delightful, if not closely related to the object of the quest. The road wound always to new beauties. The way led by old houses and picturesque barns, shaded by lofty trees, past fertile farms and modern dwellings, bristling with gables and rising picturesque barns But here no manor-house rose proudly above the trees, no coat-of-arms was sculptured over the cottage doors. Indeed, the picturesque cottages The Weston flag staff This is the one distinctive feature of the typical New England village. Always upon the village green is seen the flag-staff, although the town-pump may have long ago gone, and the bandstand not yet come. Houses sheletered by great elms The ride continued, and still I found comparisons between Old and New England, but not to the discredit of either. Now are more old houses sheltered by great elms; stone walls, green fringed; merry children coming from school; pastures, with grazing cattle; and so lies the way through Wayland, by the fields and rivers, over picturesque stone bridges, up hill and down, until we come to Sudbury. another fertil farm Over picturesque stone bridges Here is a noble elm Sudbury is connected with our Martha Hilton, for her story makes one of the “Tales of the Wayside Inn.” The old hostelry does not look particularly antique now. It reminds me of what a friend of mine once said, “’Tis wonderful what one can do with a little putty and paint.” There are some who would, doubtless, prefer to see the old inn without that fresh coat of yellow; and yet all will commend that generous public From thence to Hopkinton is a matter of a dozen miles, the last four of which are exceedingly rough and hilly. At Ashland, it is said that it is four miles to Hopkinton, and three miles back. From this it may be inferred that the village is one of those which, “set on a hill, cannot be hid.” Little of bygone days is left for the sight of the pilgrim to this village. Here is a noble elm, said to measure twenty-five feet in circumference. It The Wayside Inn, Sudbury The Frankland mansion stood upon the old highway, now a country road, pleasant and shady, midway between Hopkinton and Ashland. The old mansion was destroyed by fire in 1858, and in its place now stands a modern structure, said, though questionably, to bear a resemblance to the original building. A bit of the ancient woodwork is seen in a shed, at the rear; and at the side is a beautiful and gigantic flower vase, made from the upturned stump of one of Frankland’s great trees. This is the tree to which Dr. Holmes refers in his poem, “Agnes,” where he says,— “Three elms, high arching, still are seen, And one lies stretched below.” This elm, too, is said to have had a girth of twenty-five feet. Indeed, this is the legend which attaches to all of the ancient trees hereabout, so Great Elms, Hopkinton Since Dr. Nason’s time the old box of Sir Harry’s borders, described as having a height of ten or twelve feet, has nearly disappeared except a few plants remaining before the house, and on the terraces built by Sir Harry’s slaves. One who knew some of the descendants of Agnes and Frankland well says that, in her youthful days, the young girls were wont to gather this box, for Christmas greens, with which to deck the old church. A bright, sunny day will serve to dispel the terrible ghost of Dr. Nason’s early days, and the bewitched pump no longer displays its weird waywardness, Shirley Place The pilgrim to the places that knew Agnes would naturally first visit Marblehead, her birthplace; yet, on my quest, I reached it last. Others, in a similar pilgrimage, would go first where fancy or opportunity leads; and this is the true spirit of roaming. So next to Roxbury, to visit Shirley Place. The reader remembers how delightfully Mr. Bynner introduced Mrs. Shirley into his romance, and will recall his story of Agnes’s ride there, in the collector’s coach. In my boyhood days in Roxbury, the old mansion was called the Eustis House, and it stood in a great field given over to goats and burdocks. There are those living who remember it when Madam Eustis still lived there. This grand dame wore a majestic turban; and the tradition still lingers of madam’s pet toad, on gala days decked with a blue ribbon. Now the old house is sadly dilapidated. It is “’Tis a great city,” said Goody Surriage, as she peered at Colonial Boston, over the shoulders of Agnes and Mrs. Shirley. Now, it is truly a great city, wreathed in smoke and steam; and all about are churches, school-houses, and factories, while the “broomstick train” of Dr. Holmes’ fancy whirls along, close by the ancient mansion. The engraving is from a sketch made many years ago. Since then the old house has been entirely surrounded by modern dwelling-houses. The pilgrim who searches for it will leave the Mt. Pleasant electric car at Shirley Street. The Royall House Medford In Medford is a house often visited by Sir Harry and Agnes, known as the Royall House. This house, also, to-day shelters more than a single tenant. Here is a little drawing of this home of hospitality, which was forsaken so hastily by its Medford Square And now to Marblehead, by road or by rail as Street leading to Moll Pitcher's Moll Pitcher's House and the Graveyard Just where the road turns to skirt the burying-ground at the left, is Moll Pitcher’s house. Whittier draws the portrait of our New England witch in one of his poems, handling her no more gently than he does her fellow-townsman, old Floyd Ireson. This house is the home of her youth; as a Across the way stood the Fountain Inn. Here, upon its site, and overlooking the harbor, are two cottages, in front of which is the well of the old hostelry, from whence Agnes drew the draught of water which she offered to Sir Harry. This fountain has been recently brought to light, and still refreshes the traveller as of yore. Beneath the apple-trees which shade it is found a restful seat, from which one may look out over a scene of singular beauty. As often as one looks upon this scene, it meets the eye with an added charm. We little realize the beauty of our sea. In summer time it is ofttimes as blue as the waters of the Mediterranean, a dark, intense blue, broken by purple patches, by beautiful streaks of emerald, dotted with warm, glowing rocks, and accentuated by snowy, foaming breakers. Below the hill, to the left, are some fishermen’s huts, surrounded by nets, drying in the sunshine, boats ashore, old lobster-pots, and anchors, all in picturesque confusion, ready to be sketched and painted. Away up above the well and the cottages, is the old burying-ground, with restful benches here as well. Here, one can look across the little harbor to old Fort Sewall, and here, just at the base of the fort, so says Mr. Bynner, is the probable site of the home of Agnes Surriage. Some fisherman's hats A walk to the old fort is full of interest. Many shady spots are there, in which to rest, and watch the waves breaking on the rocks below. From this point it is but a step to the terminus of the electric cars, at the foot of Circle Street. In this street, upon the right, is old Floyd Ireson’s house, dark and weather-beaten. But the tourist is advised not to ask too many questions concerning From this point, it is interesting to walk up the hill, following the windings and turnings of the street. Let the traveller not fail to look into the queer old back-yards, and at the gardens, filled with old-fashioned flowers, gorgeous in their splendor, nor to turn and view the prospect toward the town. The quaint streets here are filled with old and picturesque houses. Some are fine examples of colonial architecture, and some are interesting as the birthplaces of eminent men. These places should be preserved and marked with appropriate tablets. Now cross over to the hill on which sits the Abbott memorial. Here are many stately old houses, well worth the attention of the sight-seer. The electric cars or the steam railway are near at hand, on the other side of the hill, and to return to Boston by way of Salem is a pretty ride. So much for Agnes and Marblehead. Her stately house at the North End in Boston, from the windows of which she watched the battle of Circle Street and “Old Flud Orson’s” House And now, of Martha Hilton. Portsmouth was her home and the scene of her brilliant matrimonial campaign. This is one of the most picturesque of our New England towns. Aldrich’s “An Old Town by the Sea” should be read by the pilgrim on his way. No one loves the old town more, or knows it better than he. Much remains, here, to tell of Martha Hilton, but a day well suffices to see it all. A short walk from the railway-station is a pleasant, old-fashioned market square. At times it is filled with wagons of hay and loads of wood, while, all about, is a subdued bustle. From this square leads Pleasant Street, well named, and, only a few steps away, it is crossed by State Street, once Queen Street, at the foot of which once stood Stavers’ Inn, the “Earl of Halifax.” It was in the doorway of this inn that Mistress Stavers “fied” Martha Hilton circa anno Domini 1754. No print or picture of this old inn is known to exist. Beyond State Street is Court Street, with interesting old houses, and some of the ancient The neighborhood is full of old houses, with hip roofs and gables. The Point of Graves, a stone’s throw away, is sadly neglected. Children sometimes play on a large, flat tombstone, and curiosity-seekers skip from one headstone to another, in search of the oldest date. The old stones are sculptured with grim skulls and cross-bones, or with humorous cherubs. One thinks of the days Tom Bailey spent here, when he was a blighted being. Let us hope that it was a more secluded spot then than now. Close by is Manning Place, very short, and at the corner is the square, strong house, built prior This is where the sailors in pigtails and petticoats used to be From this point it is a pleasant walk to the old Wentworth mansion, where Martha came, slaved and conquered, even receiving as her guest the Father of his country. Skirt around the Point of Graves, and follow along the water side, by the Gardiner House and its big linden, over the bridge, and past the Proprietors’ burying-ground; everywhere it is picturesque. From thence let the traveller follow the left fork of the road in full view of the river for a portion of the way, and thence pass through pine groves and between great bowlders, until, with a sudden descent, a fair prospect seaward bursts upon the vision. At one’s feet, toward the left, is the old house, “malformed and delightful.” I well remember when it was venerable in appearance and in its rooms were to be seen the old spinet, the Strafford portrait, and many other things so delightful to the antiquary. But, alas! it now is “spick-span” in yellow and white paint, and set back in a well-groomed lawn. St. John's Portsmouth The Gardiner House and the Linden The visitor will, of course, wish to see St. John’s. It has an interesting interior. Here is the old plate, the “Vinegar” Bible, and other quaint and curious things. The steeple is modern. All about are fine old houses and great spreading trees. Stoodley's These are the principal points of interest connected with the life of Martha Hilton, but Portsmouth old and quaint affords much more to which the eye of the lover of the antique will surely turn. Plymouth the home of Priscilla Every one visits Plymouth, the home of Priscilla. There is little need to dwell upon this place here. A Plymouth pilgrimage, if by sea, is easy and pleasant. Of guide-books there is no lack, and all that remains of the Puritan maiden’s time is readily found. Even Plymouth Rock is carefully enclosed; and rightly, too, else it would long since have been carried away in fragments. On the hill is the old burying-ground, from which fine views may be had of the old town and of the harbor where the “Mayflower” lay at anchor, the sweeping coast here low in sandy dunes, now high in FOOTNOTE:Transcriber’s Note: Repeated major section titles were removed. Varied hyphenation was retained as printed. The list of illustrations and the captions on the illustrations varied widely. This was retained. The illustrations were moved to stop them interrupting the middle of paragraphs so the page numbers in the list will often not match the actual location of the illustration mentioned. |