hide Sorting

You can sort these results in two ways:

By entity
Chronological order for dates, alphabetical order for places and people.
By position (current method)
As the entities appear in the document.

You are currently sorting in ascending order. Sort in descending order.

hide Most Frequent Entities

The entities that appear most frequently in this document are shown below.

Entity Max. Freq Min. Freq
Galen James 78 0 Browse Search
Caleb Brooks 38 0 Browse Search
New England (United States) 34 0 Browse Search
Asher Sprague 24 0 Browse Search
Stephen Willis 19 1 Browse Search
Dudley C. Hall 18 0 Browse Search
John Whitmore 17 1 Browse Search
Massachusetts (Massachusetts, United States) 16 0 Browse Search
Edward Bangs Brown 16 0 Browse Search
Aaron Porter 15 3 Browse Search
View all entities in this document...

Browsing named entities in Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 11..

Found 1,341 total hits in 674 results.

1 2 3 4 5 6 ...
ences. It was the so-called Know-Nothing period, when the silly and credulous people of the community professed to believe that the Roman Catholics were going to make an armed attempt to overthrow the government, and formed a political organization, which for a time, shame be it said, obtained a strong hold here in Massachusetts. The Angel Gabriel was an apostle of this movement, and wandered from town to town, blowing his horn and stirring up the people with his crazy utterances. It was a July Saturday when he entered Medford. It was just after supper when he first sounded his horn, and it did not take long for him to gather a crowd. Later the doors of the Town Hall were opened, and the room was soon packed with people, out of curiosity. I have never heard a more insane farrago from the lips of any living man. It was a call for the people to rise and drive the Roman Catholics from the country. He declared that every servant girl was provided with a package of poison, ready to d
e Mystic after colonial times was baptized in the blood of this New Hampshire boy, and as one of the results of his tragic and untimely fate I am sitting here and talking to you tonight. When I left my New Hampshire home fifty years later to seek, as my uncle did, my fortune, my mother exacted a promise from me that I sometime would visit Medford, find the grave, and mark it with a stone, no matter how humble. It was a year or two before the opportunity came. One beautiful day in early October, in 1853, I started out from my Boston boarding-house on my long delayed mission. It was a day to be remembered. The sky was clear, the air bracing, and my lightheartedness was altogether unbefitting the solemnity of my errand. After leaving Charlestown Neck it was a plunge into the real country. Winter Hill was bare of buildings, save here and there a farmhouse, and on either side were fields of corn and spacious gardens, pastures, and green trees where are now paved streets and rows
s a quiet and God-fearing people. At that time I do not think there were a dozen families of foreign parentage in town. The inhabitants were of pure New England stock, whose blood ran from old English sources. Go through the records of the names of the first settlers and you will see what I mean. There are the Lawrences, the Halls, the Tuftses, the Ushers, the Bishops, the Adamses, the Stearnses, and a score of others equally familiar to your ears, all of whom lived in the good old Anglo-Saxon way, and left a permanent impress on the social and business life of the town. But to come back. Fifty years ago there was no Y. M. C. A. I am not sure that you have one now. If not, there is a gap to be filled. There was no Historical Society. No one thought of such a thing. There was no literary club, and you will pardon me if I say it, although there was much genuine literary taste, it was put to little practical use. I was at that time anxious to come in contact with people of lit
a portion of their wages, thus relieving the stress upon the little community. My uncle was then young in years, but a man in size and intelligence. He begged to be one of those chosen, and his prayer was granted. With his companions, carrying his little bundle, he walked a hundred miles to Boston. That was in the year 1802. In that year Thatcher Magoun was building his first vessel on the Mystic, and thither the young lad hurried in pursuit of work, which he at once obtained. On the second day after his arrival he fell from the deck to the ship's bottom and was instantly killed. All the rest of the remaining years of her life his mother was filled with a longing to visit and look upon his last resting place. But that comfort was denied her. The hard days of the pioneers were not yet past, and a few years later she, too, was taken. At the time my mother was three years old—too young, one would suppose, for even so sad an event to make a permanent impression, yet so heavy a
r than ever, I wandered down Salem street, when Withington's bakery caught my eye. They make things to eat, here, I said to myself, and of course they sell them. A course of reasoning I subsequently found correct. I shall never forget that dinner, which I ate off the counter, while the girl in attendance watched me as if she expected I was going through the whole stock. Three doughnuts, half a dozen cookies, quarter of an apple pie, with a glass of milk. I have eaten dinners at Parker's, Young's, the Touraine, and the Waldorf-Astoria since then, but never one with a better appetite, or which went so directly to the spot. I remember it, too, for another reason. There was a third person present, who watched my gastronomic performances with evident astonishment and admiration. His floury appearance and white jacket showed him to be a baker, probably one of Mr. Withington's employees, and as soon as he opened his mouth I knew that he was an Irishman. As I wiped my mouth with my ha
. Hungrier than ever, I wandered down Salem street, when Withington's bakery caught my eye. They make things to eat, here, I said to myself, and of course they sell them. A course of reasoning I subsequently found correct. I shall never forget that dinner, which I ate off the counter, while the girl in attendance watched me as if she expected I was going through the whole stock. Three doughnuts, half a dozen cookies, quarter of an apple pie, with a glass of milk. I have eaten dinners at Parker's, Young's, the Touraine, and the Waldorf-Astoria since then, but never one with a better appetite, or which went so directly to the spot. I remember it, too, for another reason. There was a third person present, who watched my gastronomic performances with evident astonishment and admiration. His floury appearance and white jacket showed him to be a baker, probably one of Mr. Withington's employees, and as soon as he opened his mouth I knew that he was an Irishman. As I wiped my mouth w
he town as I knew it when, a boy of nineteen, I wandered into its precincts, and that my area of treatment lay wholly between the autumn of 1853 and the summer of 1854. All the rich material of the past was thus barred out, and all the still richer material of the years which followed I could make no use of. At first I felt sle interested in music. But to those without ear it counted as nothing. Strange to say, there was no Masonic lodge, although one was established in the autumn of 1854, a month after I left town. There was no lodge of Odd Fellows. There had been one some years before, but owing to internal dissensions its charter had been surret if there were either of them known in Medford in 1853. The first sewing-machine I ever saw was at the Mechanic's Fair in Faneuil Hall, in Boston, in the fall of 1854, and that would work only imperfectly. At that time there was no communication with Boston except by the trains on the Medford Branch, which came and went four ti
of a collation, which consisted of crackers and cheese and a pail of hot coffee, in which everybody shared. There was no red-tape in those days. The collation— they called it co-lation then—was everywhere the custom, and a conflagration was not considered legally extinguished until the crackers and cheese had been properly served and eaten. There was, in 1853, no military organization of any kind. The Brooks Phalanx, which had enjoyed a nine years existence, had resigned its charter in 1849, and the Lawrence Light Guard was not formed until October, 1854. In 1853 there was no regular police force in town. If you wanted a thief caught you had to catch him yourself or get your neighbors to help you. And there really didn't seem to be much need of policemen. It was only when the village grew larger and a new element came in that the need became apparent. In the late fifties, I think it was, three constables were appointed to keep the peace, and they used to carry their badges
ncts, and that my area of treatment lay wholly between the autumn of 1853 and the summer of 1854. All the rich material of the past was thusbefore the opportunity came. One beautiful day in early October, in 1853, I started out from my Boston boarding-house on my long delayed miss so-called modern conveniences were altogether unknown. In the year 1853, I venture to say, there was not such a thing as a bathroom or a batkers and cheese had been properly served and eaten. There was, in 1853, no military organization of any kind. The Brooks Phalanx, which had the Lawrence Light Guard was not formed until October, 1854. In 1853 there was no regular police force in town. If you wanted a thief ca sweepers! I doubt if there were either of them known in Medford in 1853. The first sewing-machine I ever saw was at the Mechanic's Fair in along High street after leaving Thatcher Magoun's. In the summer of 1853 the number of dwellings within the borders of West Medford could not
fluid. Kerosene, which is a product of petroleum, did not come in until after the discovery of the oil fields in Pennsylvania ten years later. There was, however, a fire department. Not a paid department, but purely volunteer. If I rightly remember, there were three companies, all friendly. I do not recall their names, but one of them had a house on High street near the Unitarian church, and it was a favorite lounging place of the members and their friends in the evenings. I think Captain Teel headed this organization. All these companies did good service, no doubt, when the need came. I remember only a single instance when it was called out. A fire broke out in somebody's shed. It took but a few minutes to subdue it, and then the whole populace adjourned to the engine house to partake of a collation, which consisted of crackers and cheese and a pail of hot coffee, in which everybody shared. There was no red-tape in those days. The collation— they called it co-lation then—
1 2 3 4 5 6 ...