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 a specific section of Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 11.. Search the whole document.

Found 106 total hits in 45 results.

1 2 3 4 5
Withington (search for this): chapter 1
know that Betsy Baker's was the Medford House. Now, half dollars were not as plenty then as they are today, and besides, if the truth must be told, I had n't half a dollar in my pocket. 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 attendt. 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 handkerchief after finishing my meal, he opened upon me. Our conversation ran something like this:— Ye come out here from Boston?
Parker (search for this): chapter 1
. 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
Timothy Cotting (search for this): chapter 1
s been rotten for fifty years, and that nobody remembers? Well, and what would ye do if ye found 'em? Tell me that! I could not tell him, and our conversation ended. I returned to Boston that afternoon, but I was n't satisfied. There was something about the atmosphere of Medford that appealed to me, and the following week I packed my carpet bag and went back, this time by train. I found a boarding place in the square, in the house on the corner of Forest and Salem streets, where Timothy Cotting afterward erected his brick block. A baker named Richardson occupied one half, while the other was lived in by Mr. Gibbs, the worthy watchmaker, whose store was just opposite. On the opposite corner of the same streets stood an ancient building, the Tufts house, I think it was called, with one or two immense trees in front. At that time it was occupied—the lower half, at least—by a Mr. Peak, whose family later toured New England as the Bell Ringers. Mr. Peak was a skilful barber,
Betsy Baker (search for this): chapter 1
the means of satisfying it. Walking back to the square I began hunting for a restaurant. I soon found that my search was labor lost. There was no restaurant, but a man whom I asked furnished the information that I could get a good dinner at Betsy Baker's for fifty cents, and appeared surprised that I didn't know that Betsy Baker's was the Medford House. Now, half dollars were not as plenty then as they are today, and besides, if the truth must be told, I had n't half a dollar in my pocket.Betsy Baker's was the Medford House. Now, half dollars were not as plenty then as they are today, and besides, if the truth must be told, I had n't half a dollar in my pocket. 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 Par
Boston (search for this): chapter 1
ustom was the same in Boston. The modern generation supposes that mattresses are as old as the Christian era. In reality they came into use within the memory of many members of this society. And sewing-machines and carpet 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 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 times a day, or by private teams, or on foot. Nearly all travel was by the first. The cars were small and dirty, and a single one sufficed on most trips. Horse-cars and electrics were yet undreamed of. West Medford existed in little more than name. I used frequently to walk out there. The houses were few along High street after leaving Thatcher Magoun's. In the summer of 1853 the number of dwellings within the borde
G. V. Maxham (search for this): chapter 1
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. But of all the clergy I loved best to listen to the Unitarian minister, John Pierpont, whose fervency and honesty endeared him to many who were not of his faith. He was a sturdy abolitionist, a warm advocate of temperance, and an ardent worker in every movement which led to the uplifting of the human race. He
Charles E. Hurd (search for this): chapter 1
Medford fifty-four years ago. by Charles E. Hurd, Boston. [Read before the Medford Historical Society, May 4, 1907.] WHEN, a few months ago, in a conversation with one of your members, I expressed a willingness to give your Society, not a lecture, but a heart-to-heart talk on Medford, as I Knew It Fifty Years Ago, I did not realize what I was taking upon myself. The limitations of my subject as implied in my promise did not once occur to me. The whole history of the town seemed back of me, and I had vague visions at the moment of the references I should be able to make to eminent citizens of the past; to the great captains of industry in the way of ship-building, who had laid the foundations of the town's prosperity; to the leaders of public thought, and, in the purely intellectual line, to those two famous daughters of the town, Maria Gowen Brooks and Lydia Maria Child, who years before had shed a permanent literary flavor over the place. Surely there was an embarrassment o
Alonzo A. Miner (search for this): chapter 1
n Boston, and used to go often to the college and watch him at work. A drearier place than the college grounds were at this time can hardly be imagined. It was simply a bare, barren hill, without a shrub or bush to break the monotony of the surroundings. The building itself was far from attractive. It stood square and alone, and was repellent to any one of artistic tastes. But see to what it has grown, and what a place of charm its surroundings have become. Its second president, Dr. Alonzo A. Miner, I knew from my earliest boyhood. He was born on the farm next that of my father, and though much older than I, that fellowtownsman sort of feeling made him seem near. I have referred to the Medford House. In the wintertime it used to be the objective point of sleighing parties from Boston. Occasionally these were of a hilarious character, and gave the place a rather unpleasant reputation. Like all country hotels, it had its regular hangers — on who were always ready to drink a
Winneck (search for this): chapter 1
opposite side of High street and near the City Hall was the residence of James M. Usher, the latest historian of Medford, and the first, I believe, to establish a newspaper in town. Just above Mr. Usher's, in a modest little store, kept by a Mr. Winneck, was the postoffice. It may be that I was a trifle impatient at times, but it used to seem to me that Mr. Winneck took his duties too seriously. There were no letter-carriers in those days, and everybody had to come to the office to get orMr. Winneck took his duties too seriously. There were no letter-carriers in those days, and everybody had to come to the office to get or send letters. I recall, even now, with a feeling of irritation, the deliberation of the postmaster in handling the mails, and how he rebuked the impatience of the waiting people with a gleam of his glittering eye. The low brick block which curved from Main street round into Ship street is much the same as it was then, though I think not one of the old-time tenants remains. Most of them are probably dead. The old railroad station has changed little. The City Hall maintains the same respe
Thatcher Magoun (search for this): chapter 1
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 thand dirty, and a single one sufficed on most trips. Horse-cars and electrics were yet undreamed of. West Medford existed in little more than name. I used frequently to walk out there. The houses were few 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 have been over thirty. The streets that had been laid out were mere country roads and were unpaved and unsidewalked, and what is now one of the mo
1 2 3 4 5