[Illustration: JANUARY]
THE
NEW ENGLAND
COUNTRY
[Illustration]
TEXT AND ILLUSTRATIONS
BY CLIFTON JOHNSON
BOSTON LEE AND SHEPARD
PUBLISHERS MDCCCXCVII
COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY CLIFTON JOHNSON
THE NEW ENGLAND COUNTRY
PRESS OF
Rockwell and Churchill
BOSTON
CONTENTS
PART I
PAGE
OLD TIMES ON A NEW ENGLAND FARM 1
PART II
THE NEW ENGLAND OF TO-DAY 34
PART III
NEW ENGLAND AS THE TRAVELLER SEES IT 57
PART IV
CAMPING AMONG THE NEW ENGLAND HILLS 82
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
JANUARY _Frontispiece_
OLD FIREPLACE 1
A FOOT-STOVE 1
CANES AND UMBRELLAS 1
THE CHURN 2
YE ENTRANCE OF OLD FASHION 2
FARM TOOLS 2
A LOOM 3
FANS AND BACK-COMB 3
OLD CHAIRS 3
ONE OF THE OLD HOUSES 4
A SILHOUETTE PORTRAIT 5
A RIVER-BOAT BEFORE THE DAYS OF RAILROADS 5
REELS 6
A COMFORTABLE FARM-HOUSE 6
THE FLAX-WHEEL 6
FEBRUARY 7
KITCHEN UTENSILS 9
GOURDS AND PIGGINS 9
THE WINDING ROADWAY 10
A MILL-YARD IN THE VALLEY 11
A SUNNY GLEN 11
A QUIET DAY 12
A BARN-DOOR GROUP 13
A TURN IN THE ROAD 14
A COUNTRY STAGE COACH IN WINTER 14
A HILLTOP VILLAGE 15
A LITTLE LAKE 16
A VILLAGE SCENE 17
SNOW-FIELDS ON THE HILLS 18
MARCH 19
CLEARED LAND 21
GATHERING SAP IN THE SUGAR ORCHARD 22
WAYSIDE BERRY-PICKERS 23
A FARM AMID THE BIG HILLS 24
A LITTLE HOME ON THE HILLSIDE 25
AN OLD MILL 25
A SAW-MILL 26
A SPRING MORNING 27
A WILLOW-LINED RIVER 28
APRIL 29
A LOOK DOWN ON THE CONNECTICUT 31
THE SPRING HOEING 32
AN OLD TAVERN 33
THE FRIENDLY GUIDE 34
A HILL TOWN 34
THE BACK SHEDS 35
WINTER TWILIGHT--GOING UP FOR ONE MORE SLIDE 36
A HILL-TOWN VILLAGE 37
HOMES AND OUT-BUILDINGS BY THE WAYSIDE 38
NEW ENGLAND ROCKS 39
HOLDING THE HORSES WHILE HIS FATHER GOES IN TO GET A DRINK OF WATER 40
MAY 41
A DAM ON THE CONNECTICUT 43
AT THE RAILROAD STATION 43
A MANUFACTURING VILLAGE 44
THE RAILWAY-CROSSING IN THE VILLAGE 45
A STONE BRIDGE 46
A GROUP OF LITTLE FISHERMEN 47
A WAYSIDE WATERING-TROUGH 48
A COUNTRY SCHOOL WATCHING A TEAM GO BY 48
AN OLD BURYING-GROUND 49
BELOW THE DAM 50
A MASSACHUSETTS MOUNTAIN 51
THE FERRYBOAT 51
A FALL ON THE CONNECTICUT 52
JUNE 53
THE GROWING BOY IN HIS LAST YEAR’S CLOTHES 55
AT THE BACK-DOOR 55
THE ACADEMY 56
A HORSE-CHESTNUT MAN 57
AFTERGLOW 57
THE VILLAGE CHURCH 58
ONE OF THE HUMBLER HOUSES 59
A DESERTED HOME 59
GETTING A LOAD OF SAWDUST BACK OF THE SAW-MILL 60
A MEADOW STREAM 60
A HOME UNDER THE ELMS 61
A DOOR-STEP GROUP 62
A ROADSIDE FRIEND 63
BETTER THAN HOEING ON A HOT DAY 64
JULY 65
THE PET OF THE FARM 67
A RAINY DAY 68
A HAMLET AMONG THE HILLS 69
SUMMER SUNLIGHT IN A “GORGE ROAD” 70
ONE OF THE LITTLE RIVERS 71
THE VILLAGE GROCERYMAN 72
AN OUTLYING VILLAGE 73
A VILLAGE VIEW IN A HALF-WOODED DELL 74
THE OLD WELL-SWEEP 75
IN HAYING TIME 76
THE STREAM AND THE ELMS IN THE MEADOW 77
UNDER THE OLD SYCAMORE 78
AUGUST 79
ONE OF THE OLD VILLAGE STREETS 81
THE HOUSE WITH THE BARN ACROSS THE ROAD 82
A WARM SUMMER DAY 83
AT WORK IN HER OWN STRAWBERRY PATCH 84
SEPTEMBER 85
EVENING 87
A LOAD OF WOOD ON THE WAY UP TO THE VILLAGE 88
A WATERFALL IN THE WOODS 89
A PANORAMA OF HILLS AND VALLEYS 90
A PASTURE GROUP 91
OCTOBER 93
A PASTURE GATE 95
A ROAD BY THE STREAM 96
AT THE PASTURE GATE 97
THE SHEEP PASTURE 98
A QUIET POND 99
HUSKING-TIME 100
SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW 101
NOVEMBER 103
THE VILLAGE ON THE HILL 105
A MILL IN THE VALLEY 106
CLOUD SHADOWS 107
A LOG HOUSE 109
AN EARLY SNOW 110
ON A MOUNTAIN CRAG 111
ONE OF THE GREEN MOUNTAIN PEAKS 111
AMONG THE BIG HILLS 112
A DESERTED HUT IN THE WOODS 113
CHARCOAL KILNS 114
ROUGH UPLANDS 115
DECEMBER 117
A PATH IN THE WINTER WOODS 119
WINDY WINTER--ON THE WAY HOME FROM SCHOOL 120
AFTER A STORM 121
[Illustration: OLD FIREPLACE]
PART I
OLD TIMES ON A NEW ENGLAND FARM
[Illustration: A FOOT-STOVE]
About “old times” there always hovers a peculiar charm. A dreamland
atmosphere overhangs them. The present, as we battle along through it,
seems full of hard, dry facts; but, looking back, experience takes on
a rosy hue. The sharp edges are gone. Even the trials and difficulties
which assailed us have for the most part lost their power to pain
or try us, and take on a story-book interest in this mellow land of
memories.
[Illustration: CANES AND UMBRELLAS]
To speak of “the good old times” is to gently implicate the present,
and the mild disapproval of the new therein suggested is, from elderly
people, to be expected. We grow conservative with age. Quiet is
more pleasing than change. The softened outlines of the past have
an attraction which the present matter-of-fact hurry and work have
not, and the times when we were young hold peculiar pleasure for our
contemplation. To actually prove by logic and rule that the old times
were better than the new would not be easy. They had their lacks. The
world learns and gains many things as it ages. It is to be hoped that
it grows better as it grows older; but even so the past has its charm,
whether one of memories in which we ourselves were actors, or of story,
which shows the contrast to the present which is the out-growth of that
past.
[Illustration: THE CHURN]
[Illustration: YE ENTRANCE OF OLD FASHION]
In writing of “old times” we have a definite period in mind. All times,
in truth, but the present are old, but wherever the phrase is met with,
it refers to the years when the grandfathers and grandmothers then
living were young. Ever since there were grandfathers and grandmothers
there have been “old times,” and these times have kept even pace with
the ageing of the world, following, shadow-like, the accumulating
years, and always nearly three-quarters of a century behind the
present. It therefore follows that the “old times” pictured in this
volume have to do with the early part of this century.
[Illustration: FARM TOOLS]
This old life as it ran then in our New England farmhouses was the
typical American life, and was not essentially different from country
life in any of our Northern States. Even with that of the city it had
many things in common. The large places had much the character of
overgrown villages, and were not yet converted into the great blocks
of brick and stone, now familiar, where business may throng miles and
miles of noisy streets. Factory towns, too, with their high-walled
mills and grimy, crowded tenements huddling about, were of the future.
[Illustration: A LOOM]
[Illustration: FANS AND BACK-COMB]
But the dawn of the new century was the herald of change. Everywhere
was activity. The country was new, and we had many needs which the
Old World did not feel. Necessity made us inventors, and ingenuity
became an American characteristic. A long line of towns stretched
along the Atlantic coast and occupied an occasional interval along the
larger streams, and houses were beginning to appear and hamlets to
grow farther inland. The adventurous were pushing westward. The heavy
canvas-topped wagons drawn by the slow-moving oxen were trundling along
the road toward the setting sun. Under the white arch of canvas were
stored the furniture and household supplies of a family. Behind were
driven the sheep and cattle which should form the nucleus of new flocks
in the new home.
[Illustration: OLD CHAIRS]
The century was seven years old before Fulton’s steamer made its trial
trip. Advantage was quickly taken of this new application of power,
and soon steam vessels were puffing up and down all the larger rivers
and along the coast, though a dozen years elapsed before one ventured
across the Atlantic. Railroads were still unthought of. Even wagons
were not common for some years after the close of the last century.
There were very few places in the United States whose inhabitants
exceeded ten thousand in 1800; but the building of factories shortly
commenced, and these became the magnets which drew a great tide of life
from the country and from foreign shores into the cities. The factories
gave the deathblow to the multitude of handicrafts which up to this
time had flourished in the New England villages.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE OLD HOUSES]
The New England town of the period was made up of a group of houses
about an open common. At least, it started thus. As the town grew, a
second street or a number of them were laid out parallel or at right
angles to the first, or houses were erected along the straggling paths
which led to the surrounding fields; and the paths in time grew to
the dignity of roads, and linked the scattered houses and hamlets to
the parent village. The central village, where the lay of the land
permitted, was built on a broad hilltop, partly, as in the case of the
older towns, for purposes of defence, partly because here the land was
less thickly overgrown with trees and underbrush and was more easily
cleared. Another reason was that the Old World towns were built thus,
and the emigrants to this country naturally did likewise, even though
the Old World life in feudal times which gave reason for this was
entirely of the past.
[Illustration: A SILHOUETTE PORTRAIT]
Here was the meeting-house, a big, quiet building fronted by the spire.
A group of weather-worn sheds were close behind it, where parishioners
living at a distance might shelter their horses during services. Not
far away was the tavern, a substantial and roomy building whose sign
swung from the front or dangled from a tree or pole close by. Then
there would be four or five little shops and stores among the lines of
comfortable two-story dwellings.
[Illustration: A RIVER-BOAT BEFORE THE DAYS OF RAILROADS]
People in general neglected ornamental trees, though there were before
this occasionally persons who had set out shade trees, and places
which had started lines of elms along the village streets. About this
time Lombardy poplars became fashionable. The poplar was a French
tree, and was therefore championed by the Jeffersonian Democrats, who
had for France a decided partiality. For the most part these trees
have disappeared. Still, here and there their tall, compact, military
forms are seen standing dark and stiff, and with a still lingering air
about them of foreign strangeness. The appearance of the common or the
village in general was little thought of. Sidewalks received almost no
attention, and such paths as there were had been made by the wear of
travel.
[Illustration: REELS]
[Illustration: A COMFORTABLE FARMHOUSE]
[Illustration: THE FLAX-WHEEL]
What fine buildings those houses of old times were and still are!--not
in the least pretentious, but having a certain distinguished air of
comfort and stability; no suggestion of the doll-house which so many
of our Queen Anne cottages bring to mind, but withal an appearance
of quiet and attractive dignity. The supreme effort of the builder
seems to have centred in the doorways, which are often quite intricate
in their ornament; yet they are never reckless in design, and are
always pleasing in effect. Often, too, the decoration of the doorway
was echoed in the ornament of the window-frames and the cornice
under the eaves. Piazzas were rare, but many houses had a porch
before the entrance. The finer residences had knockers on the front
doors. Door-bells came into use a little later. Instead of the modern
door-knobs, iron latches were used, or in some cases wooden ones. If
the latch had no thumb-piece--and the more primitive ones had not--a
string was attached and run through a hole bored for the purpose just
above. The latch was on the inside, and there was no way of raising it
except the latchstring hung out. Locking was readily accomplished by
pulling in the string. Some houses had wooden buttons on the doors just
over the latch, which, when turned down, held the latch in its notch
and thus locked the door. In still other cases doors were locked by
means of a fork thrust in just above the latch, but for the most part
doors of buildings, both public and private, went unlocked.
[Illustration: FEBRUARY]
[Illustration: KITCHEN UTENSILS]
Houses in town, and the meeting-house as well, were painted red or
yellow. Many houses, especially those belonging to the poorer people
and those outside the main village, were unpainted. On some of our
old buildings may yet be seen suggestions of these former brilliant
hues, though sun and storm have been softening the tones all through
the years, so that only a shadowy tint of the old red or yellow still
clings to the weather-worn clapboards. Most houses changed color to
white, when that became the fashion fifty years ago. Blinds of the
modern pattern were not much used before the century was well begun.
In the Indian days heavy wooden doors were swung to across the window
openings to bar the passage, but after 1750 the Indians were no longer
objects of terror to New England people.
[Illustration: GOURDS AND PIGGINS]
The larger wild animals were almost altogether gone by this time in the
regions longest settled. The sheep pastured on the hills were not now
in danger from prowling wolves or bears. Some of the old farmers had
perhaps in their younger days heard the dismal cry of the former far
off in the woods, perhaps had shot a black bear or two, or caught a few
in traps; but now a bear, wolf, or wildcat was rarely seen anywhere
in the vicinity of the older towns. Deer had almost disappeared. Wild
turkeys could still be shot in considerable numbers, and in the fall
great flocks of pigeons made their flights in sufficient numbers to
darken the sky.
To the boys, that seems the golden age when the Indians lurked in
the deep woods, when bears and wolves and other wild beasts had to
be fought with. At such a time who would not be a hero! Hoeing corn,
digging potatoes, bringing in wood, milking cows, where is the chance
to show our talents in these things? The heroes are in the West, the
North, or in the Tropics now. These present times are slow and dull,
and hold no such opportunity as had the fathers, for the valiant youth
to show his quality. But this feeling is a mistaken one. The lives of
the fathers were many times dull to them; they had much monotonous
labor; wild animals were nuisances, which caused loss and worry; while
the Indians gave them many a scare, and awakened little feeling in
the youngster of that day beyond one of terror. At the time of which
I write the pioneer epoch was past in New England, but many stories
of Indians and wild beasts were told about the firesides on winter
evenings.
[Illustration: THE WINDING ROADWAY]
[Illustration: A MILL-YARD IN THE VALLEY]
[Illustration: A SUNNY GLEN]
In a country town the coming of the stage-coach was one of the events
of its daily life. Some places were visited by the coaches once or
twice a week, others once a day or even oftener. When the lumbering
coach swept down the village street with crack of whip and blast of
horn, everybody tried to see it as it rumbled past. Happy was the man
or boy whom business or pleasure called to the tavern when the driver
with a flourish brought his horses to a standstill before the door.
The driver was a very important person in the eyes of most of the
villagers, and by none was his importance more highly appreciated than
by himself. His dignity was made the more impressive by the high beaver
hat he wore. News was slow in travelling, and the papers of the day
were rather barren of the gossipy items which the average human being
craves. This man of the world, therefore, who, in his journeyings,
saw and heard so much of which his fellowmen were ignorant, assumed a
magnified importance. He always found ready listeners, and his opinions
had much weight. If inclined to be reticent he was questioned and
coaxed to divulge his knowledge of the happenings in the outside world
with no little anxiety. When railroads came, the coaches travelled
remoter ways. Some found a last resting-place in backyards, and there
amid other rubbish, grasses, and weeds gradually fell to pieces.
Others, pushed onward by the iron horse, went West, getting farther
and farther from their old haunts, till at last the Rocky Mountains
were reached. It may be that some of the old New England coaches are
still at work in those rugged regions.
[Illustration: A QUIET DAY]
Another characteristic vehicle of the times was a long, heavy wagon
with an arched canvas top and high board sides, drawn by from four to
ten horses, which travelled between Boston and towns inland, conveying
tea, coffee, and store goods, and returning with a load of pork,
butter, cheese, and grain. These wagons were useful when families
wished to travel long distances. When the railroads began to do their
former work the wagons were utilized by the emigrants, and finally on
the Western plains were given the name of “prairie schooners.”
When an inland town was in the neighborhood of a navigable stream the
heavier supplies, such as sugar, rum, and molasses, were brought up the
river in big flat-boats. These boats were clumsy, square-ended affairs,
with a narrow cabin across the stern just high enough for a man to
stand up in, where were a couple of bunks and a rude stove. A big,
square sail on a thirty-foot mast moved the craft, but when the wind
failed it was necessary to resort to poling. The helmsman had his post
on the roof of the cabin, and he with one other man made up the crew.
Sometimes they ate their meals on board, sometimes stopped at a village
on the banks and went to the tavern. When darkness settled down they
hitched somewhere along shore, but at times, when the wind was fair and
the moon bright, would sail on all night.
[Illustration: A BARN-DOOR GROUP]
Post-offices were in the early days far less common than now, and
postage was expensive, varying in amount with the distance the missive
travelled. Letters were not stamped, but the sum charged was marked
on the corner and collected by the postmaster on delivery. Envelopes
were not in common use till about 1850. Letters were usually written
on large-sized paper, and as much as possible crowded on a sheet. The
sheet was dexterously folded so that the only blank space, purposely
so left, made the front and back of the missive. Then the letter was
directed and sealed with wax, and was ready for the mail. Towns not
favored with a post-office would get their mail by the stage-coach,
or, if off the stage routes, would send a post-rider periodically
to the nearest office. As the post-rider came jogging back with his
saddle-bags full of newspapers and letters, the sound of his horn
which told of his approach was a very pleasant one to those within the
farm-houses, who always looked forward with eagerness to the day which
brought the county paper with the news.
[Illustration: A TURN in THE ROAD]
[Illustration: A COUNTRY STAGE COACH IN WINTER]
The out-door farm life of that time was distinguished by its long hours
and the amount of muscle required. The tools were rude and clumsy,
and the machines which did away with hand labor were very few. From
seed-time to harvest, work began with the coming of day light in the
morning, and only ceased when in the evening the gray gloom of night
began to settle down.
[Illustration: A HILLTOP VILLAGE]
Up to this time little fencing had been done about the pasture land,
that being common property on which everybody turned loose their sheep
and cattle. Many of the creatures wore bells, which tinkled and jingled
on the hillsides and in the woods from morn till night. But now the
towns were dividing the “commons” among the property-holders, fences
were built, and the flocks separated. On rocky land many stone walls
were built, but in the lowlands the usual fence was made by digging
a ditch, and on the ridge made by the earth thrown out making a low
barrier of rails, stakes, and brush. Gradually more substantial fences
were built, for the most part of the zigzag Virginia rail pattern.
Oxen did most of the heavy farm-work, such as ploughing and hauling,
and it was not till after 1825 that horses became more general. The
common cart which then answered in the place of our two-horse wagon was
a huge two-wheeled affair having usually a heavy box body on the “ex.”
But when used in haying, the sides of the box were removed and long
stakes were substituted.
In the summer the men were out before sun up, swinging their scythes
through the dewy grass, and leaving long, wet windrows behind them for
the boys to spread. Mowing, turning, and raking were all done by hand,
which made the labor of haying an extended one. In the busiest times
the women and girls of the family often helped in the fields “tending”
hay, or loading it, or raking after. They helped, too, in harvesting
the grain and flax, and later in picking up apples in the orchard.
They did the milking the year round, using clumsy wooden pails, and
for a seat, a heavy three-legged stool or a block of wood. The smaller
children drove the cows to pasture in the morning and brought them back
at night, often a distance of a mile or two along lonesome roadways or
by-paths.
[Illustration: A LITTLE LAKE]
When the grain ripened, it was reaped by hand with the slender,
saw-edged sickles. The peas and oats, which were sowed together, had
to be mowed and gotten in; the flax had to be pulled and rotted;
there was hoeing to be done, and the summer was full of work. In the
fall the corn had to be cut and husked and the stalks brought in, the
pumpkins and squashes gathered, potatoes dug, the haying finished, and
the apples picked. Most farms had large orchards about them, and many
barrels of apples were stowed away in the cellar, but the larger part
was made into cider. There would usually be several little cider-mills
in a town, whose creaking machinery could be heard on many a cool
autumn day groaning under its labors. The shaking of the apple-trees
and carting the fruit to mill, and the taking copious draughts of the
sweet liquid through a straw from the tub that received it from the
press, and then the return with the full barrels--all this had more
of the frolic in it than real work, particularly for the boys. The
sweet apples, in large part, were run through the mill by themselves,
and the cider was boiled down at home into a thick fluid known as
apple-molasses, used for sweetening pies, sauce, and puddings. When
harvesting was done, the cellar was full of vegetables in barrels and
bins and heaps, and heavy casks of cider lined the walls, and little
space was left for passageways. Even in broad daylight it was a place
mysterious, gloomy, and dungeon-like; yet its very fulness which made
it thus was suggestive of good cheer.
[Illustration: A VILLAGE SCENE]
Winter, too, brought plenty of work, but it was not so arduous and
long-continued as that of summer. There was the stock to feed and
water and keep comfortable; the threshing to do; trees must be felled
in the woods and sledded to the home yard, there to be worked up into
fireplace length; tools needed mending; there was the flax to attend
to, and, if new fencing was to be done in the spring, rails must be
split.
Grain was threshed out with hand-flails on the barn floor. On many days
of early winter and from many a group of farm buildings the rhythmic
beat of the flails sounded clear on the frosty air as straw and grain
parted company. When it was necessary to go to mill, the farmer filled
a couple of bags, fastened them across the back of his horse, mounted
in front, and trotted off to get it ground, or perhaps his wife or one
of the children mounted instead and did the errand. The grist-mill was
in some hollow where the water paused above in a sleepy pond, and then,
having turned the great slow-revolving wooden wheel against the side of
the mill, tumbled noisily on down the ravine.
[Illustration: SNOW-FIELDS ON THE HILLS]
In the earliest days of spring, if the farm had a maple orchard within
its borders, there were trees to tap, and sap to gather and boil down.
The snow still lay deep in the woods where the maples grew, and the
sap-gathering was done with an ox-sled on which was set a huge cask.
In some sheltered nook of the woods a big kettle was swung over an
open-air fire, and the boiling-down process commenced.
Not much farm produce was sold for money; the people raised and made
much more of what they ate and wore than at present, and exchanged with
neighbors and the village storekeeper whatever they had a surplus of
for things which they lacked. Even the minister and doctor were paid
in part with wood, grain, and other produce. At the beginning of the
century accounts were kept in pounds, shillings, and pence, and the
money in use was of foreign coinage, mainly English and Spanish.
[Illustration: MARCH]
The kitchen was the centre of family life. Here a vast amount of work
was done. Here they ate, spent their evenings, and commonly received
visitors. Often it served as a sleeping-room besides. Its size was
ample, though the ceiling was low and pretty sure to be crossed by a
ponderous beam of the framework of the house, the lower half projecting
from the plastering above. A few straight-backed chairs sat stiffly up
against the wainscoted wall, and seemed to have an air of reserve that
would change to surprise if one ventured to move or use them. There
stood the dresser, with bright array of pewter, a small table, a bed
turned up against the wall and hidden by curtains, a cradle, a stand,
a great high-backed settle, and lastly, extending almost across one
end of the room, was the most important feature of the kitchen, the
fireplace.
[Illustration: CLEARED LAND]
Let us take an early morning look into one of these old kitchens. Dusky
shadows still linger; we cannot make objects out clearly; one or two
coals are glowing in the cavernous mouth of the fireplace, and a wisp
of smoke steals upward and is lost in the gloomy chimney. It is late
in the fall. When winter really sets in, the turned-up bed will come
into use. Somebody is moving about in the bedroom, and now the door
is opened and the man of the house, in frowzled head, comes from the
sleeping-room. He is in his shirt-sleeves, and the heels of his big
slippers clatter on the floor as he shuffles across to the fireplace.
He is a smooth-faced, middle-aged man, vigorous, but slow-moving, and
bent by hard work. He pokes away the ashes, throws on the coals a few
sticks from a pile of three-foot wood on the floor close by, and in a
few moments there is a fine blaze and crackle. The room is chilly, and
the man rubs his hands together, stooping forward to catch the warmth
from the fire. A scratching is heard on the outside door. He shuffles
over and opens it. The cat glides in and rubs against him gratefully as
she goes over to the fireplace, where she seats herself on the hearth
and proceeds to make an elaborate toilet.
[Illustration: GATHERING SAP IN THE SUGAR ORCHARD]
The man kicks off his slippers and pulls on a pair of stiff, heavy
boots. He takes his coat from a peg by the fireplace, puts it on and
his cap, and goes out. Every footstep falls clear and distinct on the
frozen ground. The big arm of the well-sweep in the yard creaks as
he lowers the bucket for water. Soon he returns with a brimming pail,
fills the iron tea-kettle, then goes out again.
[Illustration: WAYSIDE BERRY-PICKERS]
The kettle, suspended from the crane, seems quite shocked by this
deluge of cold water. It swings in nervous motion on its pot-hook and
shakes from its black sides the water-drops, which fall with a quick
hiss of protest into the fire. The heat below waxes greater, and the
cat moves to a cooler position.
It is lighter now. The tea-kettle recovers from its ill-humor, and,
half asleep, sings through its nose a droning song of contentment and
sends up the chimney quite a little cloud of steam. Now the woman of
the family has appeared and bustles about getting breakfast. She calls
the children at the chamber door. Down they come, and crowd about the
fire or scrub themselves in the wash-basin on the table. Grandfather is
up, and he and the older boys go out-doors. Grandma helps the smaller
children fasten their clothes and wash their faces, and assists about
the housework.
[Illustration: A FARM AMID THE BIG HILLS]
Some of the older girls, perhaps grandma or the mother also, soon take
their wooden pails and go to the barn to milk the cows. When they
returned, they strained the milk through cloths held over the tops of
the pails into the brown earthen pans, and then were ready to help with
the breakfast preparations. A second kettle has been hung from the
crane, in which potatoes are boiling. Coals have been raked out on the
hearth, and over them is set a long-legged spider on which slices of
pork are sizzling.
By the time breakfast was ready, the men, by reason of their open-air
exercise, had appetites which nought but very hearty food could
appease. Before they sat down to eat, the family gathered about the
table and stood while the head of the family asked a blessing. Then the
older ones seated themselves, while the children went to a small second
table at one side, about which they stood and ate, trotting over to
the main table when they wished to replenish their plates.
[Illustration: A LITTLE HOME ON THE HILLSIDE]
Many families had cider on the table to drink at every meal. Other
people would have coffee or sometimes tea, though the latter was
not much used except for company, and neither to such an extent as
at present. Coffee was sweetened with molasses ordinarily, and so
accustomed did palates become to this, that when sugar came into more
general use, it was considered by many a very poor substitute.
Breakfast eaten, the household gathered about the main table once more
and stood while thanks were returned. Then followed family worship. It
was customary to read the Bible from beginning to end,--a chapter each
morning,--all the family reading verses in turn; and then, if they were
musical, a hymn was sung. Lastly, all knelt while prayer was offered.
[Illustration: AN OLD MILL]
Work now began again. The men left to take up their labor out of doors,
while the women busied themselves in the house with their varied
tasks. As the morning wore away, preparation began for dinner. What
was known as a “boiled dinner” was most often planned. It was prepared
in a single great pot. First the meat was put in; then from time to
time, according as the particular things were quick or slow in cooking,
the vegetables were added,--potatoes, beets, squash, turnip, and
cabbage,--and probably in the same pot a bag of Indian pudding. When
clock or noon-mark registered twelve, the dinner was dished up and the
men called in. The meal was hearty and simple, and the family did not
feel the need of much besides the meat and vegetables. Even bread was
hardly thought necessary. Sometimes pie or pudding was brought on for
dessert, but not regularly. The pie-eating era began a generation later.
[Illustration: A SAW-MILL]
At six o’clock the supper-table was set. The cows had been fed
and milked; the boys had brought in the wood, and as they had no
wood-boxes, they dumped the heavy three-foot sticks on the floor by
the fire, or stood it up on end against the wall at one side, or piled
it between the legs of the kitchen table; and other odd jobs were
done, and the family gathered about the table. Bread and milk was
quite apt to be the chief supper dish. After the blessing was asked
and the elders had seated themselves, the children would fill their
pewter porringers or wooden bowls and pull their chairs up about the
fireplace. Instead, they would sometimes crouch on the stone hearth,
while the fire glowed and crackled and set the lights and shadows
playing about the little figures. Their chatter back and forth and the
company of the fire made their circle like a little world in itself,
and the grown folks and their talk seemed far, far away.
[Illustration: A SPRING MORNING]
When supper was ended and the dishes done, the women took up their
sewing and knitting. Almost everything worn was of home manufacture,
and the task of making and mending was a never-ending one. Even the
little girls of four or five years were not idle, but were taking their
first lessons with the knitting-needles. The men had less real work
to do,--perhaps were occupied with mending a broken harness or tool,
making a birch broom, whittling out a few clothes-pins, or constructing
a box-trap in which to catch mice. Sometimes certain of the family
played games. Evening, too, was a time for reading.
Just before the children went to bed, the family laid aside all
tasks and games, and read a chapter from the Bible and had prayers.
By nine o’clock all had retired except the father,--the head of the
family,--who wound the clock, pulled off his boots in a boot-jack of
his own making, and yawned as he shovelled the ashes over some of the
larger hard-wood coals, lest the fire should be lost during the night.
Then he, too, disappeared, and the fire snapped more feebly, with now
and then a fresh but short-lived effort to blaze, and so faded into a
dull glow and left the gloomy shadows of the room in almost full sway.
It is difficult to compare the old life with the new and say that in
any particular way one was better than the other, and decide under
which conditions character would grow most manly or most womanly.
Human nature is the same now as fifty or seventy-five years ago; but
that nature grows in a different soil, and surrounded by a different
atmosphere. Our present standards are unlike the old, the conditions
surrounding us have changed, and the way in which our feelings, our
desires, and aspirations find expression is changed as well.
[Illustration: A WILLOW-LINED RIVER]
It is certain that all the elements of life and growth are within
easier reach, and may more easily be drawn together and assimilated,
that under favorable conditions one can get a finer and broader
culture. Nature with all its forces, holding power for help and
hindrance, has been brought more under man’s subjection. Contributions
to the sum of human thought and knowledge have been many and valuable.
As the years have slipped away the upward path has been made broader
and smoother, and one can travel it in more comfort and go much faster.
But, at the same time, the downward paths have increased in number and
attractiveness, and the narrower ways and more rigid training of three
generations ago would unquestionably have held some steady who now are
deteriorating.
The fathers made the path toward virtue both narrow and rugged. It
required sturdy self-control to keep that way; but each sternly held
himself, his family, and his neighbors to the task. Any backsliding
or stepping aside called for severe reprimand or punishment. About
their lives was a certain forbidding formality and setness. They had
a powerful sense of independence, but were very conservative. Any
change of thought or action was looked upon as dangerous, and they
often made what was their independence another’s bonds. Life was to
them very serious. In it, according to their interpretation, there was
room for little else than sober years of work. What enjoyment they got
in life came from the satisfaction in work accomplished, in an improved
property, and in prosperous sons and daughters.
[Illustration: APRIL]
Men’s character moulds their features. It graved deep lines of stubborn
firmness on the faces of the men of that time. There were shown
determination and enterprise and ingenuity. In the eyes were steadiness
and sturdy honesty. But the softening which the free play of humor
and imagination would help produce were lacking. The man’s nature was
petrified into a rock which held its own, and withstood the sunshine
and the buffeting storm with equal firmness. He had ability and
willingness to bear great burdens, and the generation did a vast amount
of work in the world.
[Illustration: A LOOK DOWN ON THE CONNECTICUT]
The individual to-day is much more independent of the world close
about him than he was seventy-five years ago. He asks less of his
neighbors, they less of him. The interests of the community are of less
importance to him, and he is of less importance to the community. The
town which in the old days would have been a little world to him is now
but a small space on the earth. Man has grown more restless. A quiet
life of simple usefulness is not enough. His fingers itch for money and
he dreams of fame. He feels the swirl of the current which draws him
toward those great whirlpools of life,--our modern cities. There alone,
it seems to him, are things done on a grand scale to be admired; there
alone he sees fair scope for energy and ability. One by one the country
dwellers leave the home farms, and some there are win fame and some get
fortune, but many are forever lost sight of.
[Illustration: THE SPRING HOEING]
In times past there was less hurry and more content. To be satisfied
with what one has is to have happiness, whether one lives in a hovel
or in a mansion. To live with economy in comfort was once enough. But
the view of what constitute the necessities of comfort has changed
vastly, and what would once have been accounted luxury may now be but
a painful meagreness. The people formerly travelled very little, and
had small contact with outside life, save that of neighboring towns,
which differed little from that at home. Journeys which now, with the
aid of steam, are slight undertakings, were then very serious. In the
case of journeys of any length, prayers were offered in church for the
traveller’s safe return; and when the journey was ended, the minister
gave thanks for the happy accomplishment of the trip. The labor and
uncertainty connected with a long journey, and the unfamiliarity with
the destination, made home seem a very safe and comfortable place. The
newspapers were prosy and slow, and gave little account of the outside
world to excite and attract the young. Long reports of legislative
and congressional doings, and discussions of subjects political and
religious, filled many columns. No space was wasted on light reading.
The object was not so much to interest as to instruct the reader.
The communications and reports of news were inclined to be prosy and
pompous, but were always thoughtful and courteous, rarely abusive or
trivial. There was an almost entire lack of local news, and such things
as stories, slang, or nonsense were not allowed.
[Illustration: AN OLD TAVERN]