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Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 15., Some errors in Medford's histories. (search)
It was afterwards the intention of some to unite Mr. Cradock's, Mr. Winthrop's, Mr. Wilson's and Mr. Nowell's lands in one township and call nted the farm in 1629 without feet, and were they blind? He (Gov. Winthrop) called his place. . . The Ten Hills Farm. . . . This favorite men had planted a farm at Medford in 1629, over a year before Governor Winthrop came to New England. The occupation of the land and the plandock's business was in charge of agents both before and after Governor Winthrop came to New England. [Register, Vol. 9, No. 1.] The 28thvey of lands, etc., and did not apply to Medford. As soon as Gov. Winthrop had settled himself on the Ten-Hill Farm, in 1630, he recommende them, both east and west. He may have first stopped opposite Winthrop's farm, at Ten Hills, and there done something in the fishing busis called Mistick. In 1631 the Court of Assistants granted to Governor Winthrop six hundred acres of land, to be set forth by metes and bound
to have an attractive and convenient home. Their remarks were followed by the poem written for the occasion by a member (who modestly wished his name withheld), and read by Miss Alice E. Curtis. Beside the banks of Mystic stream, The scene of Winthrop's toil and dream; And Cradock's pride in power of State, And Royall's house of beauty great; A home of modern day we raise With grateful thought of earlier days. Could Winthrop stand upon this spot Well might he say ‘I know it not,’ And RoyallWinthrop stand upon this spot Well might he say ‘I know it not,’ And Royall from the stately home, Whose acres broad he loved to roam, Would gaze with a bewildered look, Back to the mansion he forsook. And are we in Old Medford still, Woods, streams and pastures, vale and hill All changed in form by modern hand? Our forebears could not know this land. We miss the forms by Nature lent, We bow to change by centuries sent. Changed though the land, by Nature given, Old Medford's spirit works its leaven, And memory clings to days of old, With reverent thought their good