its removal a necessity.
On Forest street, leading to Pine Hill, there were but two or three houses on the left.
On the right were half a dozen, with the Universalist church.
And speaking of churches reminds me.
I was never particularly attracted toward any one church, but I was always fond of good preaching, and so used to distribute my Sunday visits among the places where I was pretty sure to hear it. Medford, in those days, was well supplied with preachers of ability.
The Rev. Jacob M. Manning, of the Mystic Congregational Church, was one of these.
Later he was called to the pulpit of the Old South, in Boston, where he remained until his death.
The Rev. E. P. Marvin, of the Second Congregational Church, was another of local reputation.
The pastor of the Universalist Church, G. V. Maxham, was a man of fine presence, a gentleman, and beloved of his congregation.
He had the poetic instinct, and was the author of some fine poems, which found place in the magazines.
y an aged person or invalid was afforded the only chance to go to church by this same old carriage.
One room in his house was called the prophet's room, and visiting ministers were always lodged there unless invited elsewhere.
Divinity students often spent the summer with him, saving the money that they would have had to pay for board during vacation for college expenses.
He was a tower of strength and sympathy to his own pastor.
Quoting again from Mr. Todd: I recall one time Rev. J. M. Manning, D. D., the former pastor of the Mystic Church, Medford, afterward pastor of the Old South Church, Boston, came to his office, with his usually sunny face clouded.
The deacon glanced at him, and said, My dear pastor, something is weighing your soul down, and it must be lifted.
Let us have a talk together.
They went into an inner room, and what was said is not known to the writer, but when they came out the cloud was lifted from the face of the dear pastor, and he seemed his old sunny s