Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 14.

‘[p. 22] Nobody could say that the dinner-table was more grave for his presence, or that it was perfect without him—he not only had sallies of wit, but whole hours of it.’

‘We became acquainted with only one lawyer¹ in this village—he was grey, but not through professional labor; not rich, for the sage economy and peaceful bent of the people would starve the most brilliant talents if confined to exercise among them; but rich in good reputation and a clear conscience. Such are his fine discrimination and ethical accomplishments, that lay preaching revived, he would probably be the first invited to the pulpit.’

‘The medical faculty are too well represented here to pass unnoticed—it embraces gentlemen not less eminent for professional skill and knowledge, than for grace and amenity that mark their private intercourse. One of their number is a Howard by nature,² and no pen can do him justice who is enshrined in the heart of every man, woman and child . . . his character can never be portrayed till the dead rise and give their account.’

‘The influence of woman is here marked with the distinctness of a sunbeam; almost every house contains that most respectable character and overseer, an old maid, sometimes two or three, and if things do not go on straight, and exactly so, it is not their fault ... Old maids have held their heads very erect since the days of the English Elizabeth, and many a forlorn biped of a bachelor has felt the shock of an Elizabethan shell as it falls upon the citadel of his comfort.’

‘Among the unmarried ladies of this rather remarkable place is one on whose head and heart a half century has set its seal, without sealing either up. Nature bestowed upon her the regal title to intellectual eminence, and the heavenly gift has neither been soiled or dishonored. Her conversation is a sort of incarnation of Johnson and Addison, and her chat, when the mood is on, not unlike what we presume to have been Horace Walpole's and not entirely free from his severity. Had fate ordained her to a wider sphere of action she might have been the “Opie” of New England.’³

‘A sterile soil and savage neighbors called upon the early settlers for thought. To live and not die, was a great motive. Thought and action were then married, and continuous labor did for the physical, what an unfailing trust in Providence did for the spiritual. . . . The great miracle of 1620 is still mightily working. The rod of the Puritan enchanter is still unbroken.’