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[p. 75] stands the parsonage occupied by Rev. Ebenezer Turrell. His wife, young and fair, is just adjusting the bands at the neck of his gown when the last call for worship sounds. Old and young, on horseback and afoot, are passing. A young man and maid loiter on the bridge over the brook. In these days the weekly assembling at the meeting-house for worship gives also the opportunity to learn of each other's welfare, for many of their homes are far apart and the busy daily life forbids much intercourse. Within, the meeting-house is plain, with high pulpit and sounding-board, and a gallery at the end opposite. The people sit upon uncushioned seats. Toward the front, a few pews, square enclosures, nun-like pens, with seats around three sides and a door opening into the aisle, contain the deacons or some prominent citizens and their families. The service is long—the sermon of extraordinary length. It is unnecessary that I give you more than this simple outline in words. The memories of many here reach back to earlier days and ways; and, nature-born, you have received from worthy ancestors those things that make you somewhat familiar with that period in Medford's history. I cannot better express the thoughts that have come to me, as I have sauntered up and down this brook and loitered near the sight of the old Meeting-house and reflected, studied and pencilled at intervals during some three years than to show you this result, and then proceed in detail to give you an account of the building and carrying on of the Second Meeting-house.
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