Annals from the Old Homestead

One of the most treasured artifacts in the archives of fhe Jackson Homestead Museum in Newton, Massachusetts is s manuscfipg titled "Annals from the Old Homestead," dated 2895, written by Ellen Dorinda Jackson Cover page Annals from The Old Homestead EDJ. 1895. “The very walls seem to have Become sensitive to unsee presences.” J. G. Whittier

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Page 1 Annals from the Old Homestead.

I have been thinking as I sat quietly in my arm chair, as I now do much of my time, and many of my thoughts are of the past, that it might be pleasant for the coming generations should I put some of my recollections into writing that they may know part of the interesting events and memories

Page 2 that cling around the “Old Homestead” like mosses on an old tree. But first let me introduce you to the “Old Homestead. It was built in 1809 by Maj. Timothy Jackson, on the site of an old house that was built by Edward Jackson in 1670 and enlarged in 1690. The first “Jackson Homestead” was built in 1640 by Edward Jackson, when he first came over with his brother John, near the old Brighton line, in the part of Newton now called Hunnewell, the two brothers building opposite each other. Three of the old

Page 3 pear trees planted by John were standing two years since and bearing much fruit. He bought his land from Thos. Mayhew, built a house with a large hall, capable of being used as a place of worship, and it was used in that way till a Church was erected at Newton Centre. The house that preceded the present Homestead was two stories in front the roof sloping to the back to only one story high. A well with and the water drawn by a sweep[?] stood on the west side of the house

Page 4 under a huge spreading elm tree, which as Maj. Timothy wised to have his well inside the house, he cut down and placed the new house further west. That well has been used ever since till the advent of the water being brought into the City from Charles River, made it unadvisable. A part of the old house was used in the construction of the new one, it being the ell, and forms the laundry-store room, and bedroom formerly occupied by the house man. The outside door of the laundry which is solid unadorned

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[an ink drawing of house, tree and well, labelled “The old house build in 1682.”]

plank an inch and a half thick was the front door of the old house, and two of the windows of the hold house remain with their small panes of glass and their almost flat sashes. The building of the present house was an event of public interest it being a fine house for the time, and being so small a town that but few houses were built in a year. Indeed it was no light matter building a house.

Page 6 There was but little machinery to help, no planing mills no stair or window factories, all must be made by hand. The granite underpinning was all hauled by oxen[?] from Quincy, the beams which support the house, which by the way are a foot and a half thick, were drawn in the same way. The gutters were a single trunk of a tree hollowed out with an adze, the door steps are a solid beam a foot and a half thick. All the window glass called crown glass was imported from England. All was done in a most painstaking and thorough way. When Maj. Timothy built, his family at home was but a wife and one son at home, Edmund, who

Page 7 he hoped would marry and bring his wife home to care for them in their old age and the house was planned accordingly. You entered by a large front door into a good sized hall from which opened on either side doors into a parlor on the left and a sitting room on the right and from those rooms, doors opened in to two kitchens each of them having outside doors, huge fireplaces, brick ovens, high mantle pieces, with doors leading up backstairs and down cellar and into the other kitchen. One of the kitchens had a large dresser for dishes, and a closet under the front stairs and a

Page 8 door from this led into the laundry and storeroom, with a bedroom beyond where the indoorsman slept. On the second floor were four large chambers and large front and back halls. Above these was a large garret extending over all the house. The mantles in the parlor and sitting room were prettily carved as was also the frieze, and all was cut with a knife by Mr. Jesse Hall father of Mr. Lewis Hall. Maj. Timothy’s farm was large extending over Mt. Ida front and from a spring on the hill, water was brought down through the hollowed logs into the barnyard where it always ran a cool stream into the trough.

Page 9 The land extended back to Walnut Park and Waban Place, and to the east as far as Hovey St. A huge barn was near the house, and close by a corn barn with sloping sides standing on high granite posts to keep the rats out. The garden was mostly given up to fruit trees, but there were on its outer edge lilacs grown in the shape of trees which are still standing and there is also a rose, a provence rose planted by Grandmother, doubtless she had many another sweet flower, but not as abiding, so we know not of them. Grandfather had a stroke of paralysis very soon after being settled in his new house and lived but two years, and

Page 10 Grandmother died in consumption a few months after, so Edmund never married and brought his wife home as they had planned. He took the tenderest and most untiring care of his parents while they lived, assisted as far as he might be by his four brothers and sister, who were married with families living in Boston, at the south end of Washington St. then called “the Neck.” All the last part of their parents’ lives one or other of the brothers came every night to take care of them. After their death the brothers united and sent Edmund [on] a voyage to England to travel on the Continent a great affair in 1811.

Page 11 They had one sister Lucretia, who married Col. Wiswall and lived in Watertown, and had two daughters Harriet and Lucretia, of whom all the uncles and cousins were very fond. She died at about the same time as her father & mother when her third child was born and died. Maj. Timothy Jackson who received his title in the War of the Revolution was a distinguished man, clear brain excellent business capacity, leaving a large fortune for those days. He was for fifteen years representative to the state legislature, and at various times held every post of honor the town of Newton had to confer. He was witty, full of fun, greatly beloved by his family.

Page 12 Grandmother was quite unlike him she was tall large and stately with awe inspiring dignity but very intelligent. After the death of Maj. Timothy and Sarah Winchester Jackson, my father who was the oldest son, William, removed from Boston with his family who were already numerous, six girls and one boy, to the Homestead, where he passed the rest of his life, and where his other children were born. His first wife, and mother of five of his children was Hannah Woodward of Newton, who was born in the old Woodward Homestead at the Upper Falls. It is still standing and is the oldest house in Newton. His second wife and mother of

Page 13 twelve of his children was Mary Bennett of Lunenberg, and the old homestead where she was born was burned down only eight years since. The coming of my father into the house with his numerous children, necessitated changes in the house. Two of the large chambers were divided making four and one of the kitchens was made into a nursery which was arranged on one side with five berths as on a steamboat, while in the bed slept one of the older sisters with the child next older then the baby, Mother always keeping the baby with her. There has been plenty of fun and riot in that nursery, for great liberty was

Page 14 allowed the children there. An outside door led into the garden so it was easy to go in and out. There was also a door that opened into the kitchen, but there we were not allowed to go. There was a narrow passage way between the two rooms, so one could see but a small part of the kitchen when the door was open. Sometimes when there was extra work going on, like cake making because there was to be company, and mother and the older sisters all busy and talking we would hear it, open the door lie flat on the floor keeping one foot in the nursery, and would thus make our heads reach into the kitchens so, “we could

Page 15 view the landscape o’er” and before we were discovered take in the whole situation. Mother would exclaim “Go rightly back in” and we would answer “we were in the nursery one foot” but back we had to go and shut the door. Mother was much of her life an invalid too ill to go out in the evening and when father and the older sisters were away from home, her evenings would often be spent with us in the nursery, and what delightful stories she told us then. She would ask, “Shall it be a true story, imaginary or when I was a little girl?” The sisters nearly always chose the latter, no matter how oft repeated,

Page 16 these memories never lost their charm. The boys oftener chose “imaginary” for then there was no limit to the size and glories of the castles and stables, and the hair breadth escape were blood curdling. Often too she would have prepared for us some little treat. Oh, mother was lovely and unselfish, she knew how to make her children happy, yet her government was firm, and all the governing devolved upon her invalid as she was, for father was too public spirited, too much in politics, church work and business to be much to his family except as an example it would be safe for them to follow. We were so large a family

Page 17 and rarely a meal at which there were not one or more visitors, that the children always ate by themselves until they were twelve years old, and their living was simple, porridge, gruel, bread & milk something of that kind, and as well as I can remember it was perfectly satisfactory. We each had our own bowl, chosen by ourselves and mine I recall, a sugar bowl and between each spoonful I put on the cover. Sabbath day the whole family ate together and fared alike. The earlier part of mother’s married life the younger children were taught by a governess in the house, and when older were sent to a boarding school. Sarah to Wethersfield, Conn., Marian to Ipswich, Lucretia and

Page 18 Timothy to Bradford, and after, Timothy was sent to Woburn where he was fitted to enter Amherst College. But later, we smaller children were sent to the public school which was less than half a mile from us, small, with good teachers mostly, then when older we attended the Female Seminary at Newton Centre two miles away. If pleasant we usually walked and staid [sic] all day taking out lunch with us, but if it rained or there was any other good reason we were carried forth and back. One summer we had a stupid little horse which was harnessed into a chaise and we drove ourselves to school keeping the horse there and if that chaise was not

Page 19 full, for we picked up all the girls we came to on the road as long as they could hang in or on. Father was interested in all public education, and was largely influential in starting the Female Seminary in Newton Centre and the boys & girls Seminary at West Newton. He took a steep interest in the public schools especially the one near us. Examination days were great affairs in the public schools when we were young. A week or ten days before the auspicious occasion, our minds and hands were largely given over to the cleaning the school room, an affair not much less weighty than Hercules with the Agean Stables. [bottom right hand corner has a drawing of the school house and a tree to the right of it, labelled “Old district School house at Newton Corner.]

Page 20 When this was satisfactorily accomplished, perhaps three days before the day the boys went in a body to the woods, coming home laden with hemlock boughs, it was early in spring, there were no flowers, and with these boughs we decorated the room, and how beautifully it looked and how delicious and woodsy was the odor. At the appointed hour in the afternoon of the day we the scholars assembled excited, flush in our best “bibs and tuckers” all the scholars crowded on one side [of] the room, and the visitors on the other. Heaven help them, for the seats were wooden, not more than a foot wide, with high straight backs and a desk in front, so near that only a child

Page 21 could slip in with ease. Father had the seat of honor in the desk with the committee men, but oh! Our pride was to see mother with the other visitors. During our recitations, our writing and drawing books were passed around from seat to seat to be inspected by the visitors and when one of our books came into mother’s hands she would look to us with such a loving smile. Then there were pieces to be spoken dialogues and orations and singing, which latter for many years was led by George Bacon and Sister Caroline, and well done too. When the recitations were over then one or two of the committee men would

Page 22 address the school. When all else was over, father would rise and say “This has been such a happy occasion, we would like to prolong the pleasure, and Mrs. Jackson and myself would be very happy if the visitors would all adjourn to our house to take tea with us.” Most of the visitors would accept the invitation. Of course no table would hold them, and the supper was passed around on waiters, we children taking each a small tray, with sugar, cream and hot water up on it and while the ladies and gentlemen were helping themselves from the tray, they would be piling on the compliments

Page 23 for the wonderful way in which we had performed our parts at the exhibition. From the public school Edward was transferred first to a boarding school at the Upper Falls, then to Warren. Steve’s boarding school was at Framingham, and the home comings from these various schools were high times indeed in the family. Mouse went to the Lassell Seminary at Auburndale but she came home every Friday night returning Monday morning laden with eatables with which to treat the other scholars. You will have already surmised that the “homestead”

Page 24 was very hospitable, notwithstanding the large family and mother’s delicate health, the house was overrun with visitors and parties, tea drinkings and dinner parties were often given. Many distinguished people have been familiar within its doors, so that associations glad as well as sad crowd its rooms. Beside these festivities, for years before there was any church nearer than Newton Centre, a prayer meeting for the neighbors was held every Saturday night in the parlor, while a small band of ladies

Page 25 were wont to assemble often for prayer in mother’s room when she was well enough to have them do so. At the time I am writing, 1894, there have been nine weddings in the house. First Sarah, the oldest daughter married Thos. A. Davis of Boston, who at the time of his death was Mayor of Boston, 1846. They were married in 1824 when she was seventeen years old. Her bridal dress was bishop [ ] straight, [ ] skirt, decorated around the bottom with welts and points about a foot deep.

Page 26 No wedding journey was taken but they drove into Boston in a chaise to their boarding place on Hancock St. The next wedding was Marian’s to the Rev. Lyman Gilbert of West Newton in 1833, when she was twenty four years old. Her bridal dress was plain white silk straight skirt, leg o’mutton sleeves with wide capes over them. They were married in the evening standing opposite the door of the hall about three yards back. The day after the wedding a slice of wedding cake of generous size folded in white paper and tied with narrow Page 27 white ribbon was sent to each of Mr. Gilberts parishioners. This wedding was followed by that of Louisa to Lewis Hall of Cambridge Oct. 3rd 1839. Her dress was corded white silk and her veil was [ ] lace. One of her bridesmaids, Caroline, was dressed in corded pink silk. Her groomsman was Frank Hall. The other bridesmaid was cousin Mary Jackson who wore a very elegant [light?] green and faun colored brocade, she was attended by her cousin Charles Jackson. After the wedding the bride and groom drove directly to their pretty home Page 28 in East Cambridge. The following year Hannah married Henry W. Fuller in a dress of white sewing silk, a stripe of thick width raised flowers upon it and a stripe of lace work of the same width. Her bridesmaids were Elizabeth Smallwood and Ann Elizabeth Eddy with Dexter Brigham and Mr. Pratt of Baltimore for groomsmen. They also went directly to their home half a mile away where they lived ever after until they had celebrated their golden wedding and her death in 1891. That was a dreary wedding to the family for mother was very sick and had to be carried on a bed by four men on that day to Timothy’s across the street. At night it was a pouring rain and darker than Egypt. In the year 1847 there was a double wedding of Lucretia who married Henry B. Williams of Boston Page 29 and Mary B. who married Charles A. Curtis of the Lower Falls. They were married in embroidered India muslins and the bridesmaids were Eliza Stevens and sister Ellen who were also dressed in embroidered muslins. This was a very large and pleasant wedding, the house being profusely decorated. The nursery was lined with hemlock boughs which formed grottoes in which were placed tete-a-tete seats while a chandelier suspended in the middle of the room was covered with gilded box leaves and all looked like fairy land. There were three officiating clergymen. In 1853 came Frances wedding to Edwin A. Smallwood of Newton. There were no bridesmaids. The wedding dress was white corded Page 30 silk. The wedding was small, (and in November) for less than half a year before Louisa had died, our dearly loved sister, wife of Lewis Hall. After the marriage they took a wedding journey to Washington. The following year 1854 Sister Sarah, whose husband Thos. A. Davis had died eight years before was married again to Lewis Tappan of New York. She wore a faun colored silk trimmed with an exquisite matching lace, and notwithstanding their age they were a fine looking couple. After a lapse of thirty seven years, the “old homestead” doors were again thrown open to wedding guests at the marriage of the youngest daughter of Frances and Edwin A. Smallwood, Fanny [ ], Page 31 who married Herbert M. Bacon of Newton. She was dressed in a rich white silk with long train and flowing veil. There were hundreds of guests, the night was beautiful, the garden, in which flowers abounded, it was Sept 17th, was illuminated with Chinese lanterns, the path from the gate to the house was carpeted, a band filled the air with music while a glorious moon shone over all. A table with refreshments was in the nursery and her presents which were many and beautiful were displayed in the north west chamber. Her maid of honor dressed in pink crepe Page 32 carrying a basket of pink roses, was Louise J. Fillebrown. Her best man was Edwin F. Smallwood. The house was profusely decorated with flowers and plants in pots. This was the first wedding at which a table was set for refreshments. The old way was to have trays of refreshments carried round among the guests every fifteen minutes. After the wedding a trip was taken to Lake George. The next year Oct 4th, 1892 another of the Misses Smallwood, Louise J. was married to Henry H. Keith of Newtonville. Louise’ dress was the same as Fanny’s. She had the two Misses Samson for bridesmaids Page 33 and Margaret Pope for “Maid of honor,” Mr. Wm Keith was “best man.” Otherwise the wedding was in all respects like Fanny’s. Their wedding journey was to Halifax, among the points of interest there. The old homestead has opened its doors for many parties, and receptions of all kinds, more or less gay. Some given in honor of a new coming Governor of the State. These were Gov. Briggs, with whom father was very intimate in Congress and every after, and Gov. Boutwell. Gov. A. H. Rice was also an intimate friend but I do not recall that father gave a reception for him. A new pastor being settled over either of the Churches of Newton Page 34 was always the occasion of a reception to which all the neighboring clergymen were invited, as well as the President and Professors of the Baptist Theological Seminary at Newton Center, to be introduced to the new minister. Indeed while father lived the receptions, tea parties etc. were very frequent and one or more visitors were usually stopping in the house. Then there were the Christmas parties, with a tree on which hung presents for all, those have always been joyful occasions. At the Christmas of 1893 Mouse contributed a poem which was sung by all to the tune of America which I will insert.

Page 35 “Jackson Homestead” This homestead ‘tis of thee Sweet home of liberty, Of thee I sing!

I love the memories dear Of those no longer here, Still in our minds so clear, Of them I sing.

I love the nieces all, The great as well as small, Their praise I sing!

I love the nephews strong Long may it be our song That they are free from wrong, Of them I sing.

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I love each flower and tree Each one are dear to me, Of them I sing!

I love the rooms and hall Garret, and cellars all Each one of them I call Most dear to me.

I love the stories old, Of times we hear them told Of those we love!

I love the aunts all three Living at this house tree [??] Of them I sing! Long may they welcome here Nieces and nephews dear Coming from year to year, Of them I sing.

Page 37 These lines were sung with a will, and at the end three cheers were given for the “Old Homestead” which would have ruined the roof only that it had a long experience in noise. At a Christmas many years prior a poem was sung written by Ellen and set to the tune of “When Johny comes marching home again,” which I will here copy. When Christmas comes with its Joy again, Hurrah! Hurrah! We’ll give it a hearty welcome then Hurrah! Hurrah! The Aunts will cheer, the Uncles shout Each grandchild then will sure Turn out, And we’ll all feel gay As Christmas comes round again.

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The old porch door we’ll open wide, Hurrah! Hurrah! To welcome home with loving pride, Hurrah! Hurrah! The bravest lads and lassies sweet That e’er at grandmama’s you’d meet, And we’ll all etc. etc.

Get ready for the Jubilee Hurrah! Hurrah! We’ll give Grandmother three times Three, Hurrah! Hurrah! The Christmas cake is ready here The pies and pastry too my dear, And we’ll all be gay, etc. etc.

There’s Henry, Fred and sisters five Hurrah! Hurrah! There’s Fullers three, three Halls That’s nine, Hurrah! Hurrah! Brave Will Curtis, Kittie the pet And Emma welcome to the set And we’ll all be gay etc. etc.

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Let love and friendship on this day, Hurrah! Hurrah! Their choicest treasures now display Hurrah! Hurrah! And let each one perform their part To fill with joy some other’s heart, And we’ll all be gay, etc. etc.

But whatever was done or left undone, mirth and jollity was the rule. Never were there gayer or more charming companies than met at the Thanksgiving dinners, that brought all the family together. Proud was the young mother who could produce a new baby to be admired and petted on that occasion, and great was the rivalry among the mothers over the lovely embroidered [ ] of various pretty colors in which the little girls were dressed. And

Page 40 were ever finer or larger Turkeys perfectly roasted, than graced the feast. At one of the Thanksgiving dinners, Marian Gilbert had prepared a capital poem on the oldest chair in the house, one made for Joseph Jackson probably in 1757. As the poem was read father was seated in the chair and all the family around him. [image titled “The old chair”]

Poem on the Old Arm Chair

That Chair, that chair, that good old chair, Which nestles in the corner there,

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Where did it hide this many A year? And now what chance has brought It here? A broad old fashioned polished Thing With velvet seat it would suit A king. Ah! Never a king has been Seated there

Tis a thorough going republican chair, That lived in its beauty and pristine worth When our grandone’s grandone* Walked this earth [ ] walked alas affliction came And fell disease her iron chain Clasped on his limbs, and made Him stay An idler all the live long day! Oh how for wearing toil he sighed; But no this boon must be denied;

• Joseph Jackson

Page 42 In tedious rest the lengthened day, Chained to his chair, he dragged Away. While through the casement stretching wide, He saw the laborers side by side, Their cheerful toils with joy Prolong, And with the breezes blend their Song, Sitting one morn with sadness [ ] A cheering thought waked in his Heart, To ask some kind supporting aid And seek the cooling garden Shade. There in a chair made large and Wide, To sit and hoe around the side. A happy thought; the purchase Made, A kindly neighbor lent his aid; And when the day was bright And fair,

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And breezes stirred the morning Air, You’d see the good man seated There. The deep dark forests round him Stand The yellow corn is close at hand While fields of waving wheat And rye In rivalship of beauty vie. The fleecy clouds float through The sky The happy birds sail softly by With music’s [thrill?] the gentle breeze Sifts through the ever varying Trees His heart its grateful [ ] Brings And silently upon the wings Of the clear heaven [ ] Air Goes up his heartfelt morning Prayer. The to his toil with arms stretched Wide, He’d how around on every side, Then rest himself and sit and sing

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Until he made the forest ring That good old song “God save The King.” His toils are o’er his labors done The chair forsaken and alone Stand in some distant corner Where, It patiently waits the future heir. The good old chair it stretches Wide Its sheltering arms on either side, Rest for the ever wearied limb With kindly zeal it offers him. He comes; but on his sorrowing head Years have not strewn the silver Thread No trembling limbs no furrowed Cheek Death’s ever grasping agents speak

• Disease is bearing **him away

And while it finds an easy prey [ ] does it need divining [ ] To know there is a grief at heart? Oh see him in that well worn chair

• Consumption
  • Lieut. Timothy – Joseph’s son.

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And mark that sad dejected Air His oaken cane before him stands Pressed on its head his folded Hands On those poor fingers page and thin, He bends and rests his ashey chin. His speaking eyes with pain reveal What he has struggled to conceal. His country feels the oppressors hand A blight upon her prospects stand; What anguish stirs within him when He thinks of what she might have Been; He has no heart to sit and sing As did his sire “God save the King.” Deeply he grieves in her distress That his own arm is powerless; But from that venerable chair Goes up the deep and earnest Prayer That God, the good, the wise the Great His righteous cause would Vindicate;

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That though the sod his bosom Pressed [?] Before her wrongs should be Redressed Yet soon might ample vengeance Dread Descend upon the oppressors head His prayer was heard, but e’er He knew The lot that for his country grew He slept where dreams [ ] anxious Care “Can reach the peaceful sleeper There.” He rested, but the angry strife Demanding fiercely life for life In one broad stream swept through The land, Who had been friends now foe[ ] Stand; For home no more our sires must Care, Its quiet joys no longer share. Do they not see the oppressors hand Forging the shackles for their Land? Do they not hear their country’s sigh On evening breeze that passes by?

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Their bosoms swell their hearts Beat high On, on to conquer, or to die! In their right hand they feel the Power, Freedom shall be their country’s Dower. No sister stood with tearful eye, And trembling heart, and [ ]ing Sigh, No mother’s warm caresses, held Their footsteps from the dangerous Field. All, all were brave, the [ ] Child Held up his father’s gun and Smiled A race of heros in a day Sprang forth to be their country’s Stay; To God, their homes and friends Were given, Their feet on earth, their hearts In Heaven. “The fought like brave men long And well” And to this day our firesides[??] tell

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What they achieved, for us, for us They fell. And did our *grandsire hear in vain The sounding bugles swelling strain? Did he around the hearthstone cling A humble suppliant of the King? Or did he to the impulse yield And [ ] him for the battlefield Away base doubt! He spurned the Chair That link by link was forgiving then, And hastening at his country’s call Yielded his heart, his hand, his all. Now thought of home must be Repressed All shrinking hushed within his Breast, Deep in the furrow stands the Plough, For harvest friends he cares not now, Scorning to [ ] a moistened check Blend with the farewell he must Speak; He seeks his arms and hastes to Give, His life, that liberty may live. Dark were those days but darker still

• Maj. Timothy, son of Lieut. Timothy.

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Fell shadows of the coming all, That nerved his arm and fired His soul To spurn the tyrants base control.

The war is passed. The gentle reign Of smiling peace has come again; Our grandsire from the sickening Field Returns for joys that home can yield. The homestead now [ ] beauty wears With cheerful wife and gladsome Cares. He hopes in peace to wear away The sunlight of departing day. No longer idle stands the plough, The broad green fields are waving Now, The forest falls at his command And orchards spring beneath his Hand. While all around him nature pours Her rich and ever varying stores. Ah! Happy change, but who can tell The thoughts his heaving bosom swell When resting at the close of day

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He wiles the eveinging hours away? The past, the present richly fraught With food for deep and stirring Thought While the loved children hovering Near Impatient wait some tale to hear. Hoping their sire will draw once more Upon his never failing store. The story told, the evenings close, Warns them to seek the nights Repose And slumber till the barnyards Strain Wakes them to pleasing toil again. Thus year by year flies swiftly by Bringing increased prosperity. Years in such sweet contentment Cast That shadows gathered o’er the past. But not unmixed are pleasures here The smile is blended with the tear. When gladness spreads her sunlight Round A mingling shade of grief is found. So for our reverent grandsires head Sickness her thorny pillow spread; With pain and anguish deeply pressed No change of posture brought him rest.

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Mild evening could not wile away The lingering tortures of the day. And when the sunlight cheered The plain He waked to sorrowing hours again. ‘Twas now the good “old chair” came Forth Our heirloom of unrivaled worth; Rocked in its arms the softened Pain Yielded to slumbers gentle reign And many a lingering hour the while This soothing resting place did wile. One bright and sunny summers day

• His boys, (or men I ought to say)

(For years had passed since bright And free) (They’s gathered gladsome round his Knee) Had planned to spend a good long day Fishing for haddock in the bay. Such sports were once his joy and Pride But now long since had been Denied, Palsy had chained him to his Chair

• William, Stephen, Francis, George & Edmund

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But all the spirit yet was there, And while he saw the glad Array And bustle for the busy day And heard the frequent merry Shout Which fun and mirthfulness Drew out A wish rose on his faltering tongue That he could join the happy throng. “Well you shall go,” they gaily cried Then in his chair they snugly tied There[sic] helpless sire, And in a wagon placed the chair Then carried him with gentlest Care And lifting him securely out Set down the chair safe in the Boat The western breezes filled away Waving them gaily down the bay With merry hearts they passed the day In mirth and jest and frolic Gay Their happy sire forgot his pain And felt himself a boy again.

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The day was spent; the fading Sun Sank to his rest. The breeze went Down. With anxious hearts becalmed They rest Upon the ocean’s gla[ ] breast But space for anxious thoughts Was brief A hand unseen brought quick Relief And guided straightway to Their side A vessel that might safely ride. Then wind around their father’s Chair A sturdy rope, the careful bear Their much loved sire with tender Care Then hasten with a kind adieu Their daily labors to renew Consigned to loneliness again He half forgets the withering pain In feasting on the happy thoughts That duteous love this pleasure Brought.

Page 54 And oft in memory’s fond review He lived those precious hours Anew But time its onward current swept Our grandsire with his fathers Slept. Empty and lone the good “old chair” Sage lessons to the mind could bear Three generations had found rest Upon its ever friendly breast. Forgetting in their noiseless life The distant hum of busy strife Oh had it voice its strain Distressed Would waken echoes in the breast Even of the careless passer by, But silence was its destiny It stood against the kitchen Wall Neglected now unused by all; But noisy urchins clambered o’er The topmost bar and wished For more. Sat on the arms with restless feet Dangling above the nutbrown Seat.

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And when it chanced as chance It would Among the every changing brood, Some curly pate fell over plump And gave his precious skull A bump One general chorus filled the air Of joy and grief from that “old chair.” As years passed on the children Grew And sought as they were wont To do More noisy games and plays to Share And quite forgot the ancient chair. Obstrusive now and in the way A cumbrous thing it must not stay So in a [ ] nook its placed And with a pile of [ ] Graced Here dust and mice contend For sway And settle round it day by day. Who can foretell the changes [ ] brings? There came a time when all old Fashioned things,

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So precious seemed that those who Could not raise Some treasure from the dust of Bygone days, Would seek a cunning workman Of the land And bring all glistening from His skillful hand A new made relic of departed Days, To grace the parlor and solicit praise When through the land this fancy Fever flew Our long forgotten chair was brought To view And now how precious all at once it Grows Into a treasure, how nobody knows. Fashion thy freaks are strange but We all bend And to thy changing vagaries close Attend. So varnished bright and in the Parlor placed Its seat a velvet cushion now Has graced Oh while it stands in all its Beauty there Say where is he who next shall Sit and share The fostering wing of this respected Chair?

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Too soft, too quiet this for him to greet, A railroad car, would be his chosen Seat, So strong is he in mind, so strong in Limb, Old age in vain may [??] her Bar on him He flings her chain from his Untiring feet And hastens o’er the earth fresh Toils to meet Long may it stand a lone and Empty chair, Unworn and useless to be gazed At there May his loved form not press that Cushioned seat Until his fourteen children all Can meet And gather in a circle round Him there With faces deeply lined and Frosted hair. __________ __________

Timothy, Marian, Louise and Mouse were all poets and contributed often to the pleasure of the family parties. At the last Thanksgiving dinner in the homestead

Page 58 two or three months before father’s death, there were thirty-eight present, seated at a table which was set as a hollow square. Since father’s and mother’s death the most notable reception given was one to celebrate Caroline’s seventieth birthday. All the relatives and most intimate friends were invited, a company of one hundred and thirty were present. Very many beautiful gifts were brought beside a profusion of flowers with which the house was decorated. On her seventy fifth birthday her nieces and nephews combined to decorate the parlor with cut flowers and plants in bloom, till it was a

Page 59

bower of beauty, there were more than thirty pots of plants in bloom besides [hosts?] of cut flowers. Another very pleasant company was that given to celebrate the coming of age of Edwin Francis Smallwood at which there were a hundred or more pretty young ladies and fine young men. There have been nine births in the “homestead.” Adaline Baldwin, William, Mary Bennett, Ellen Dorinda, Edward, Frances Elizabeth, William Ward, Stephen Winchester Dana and Cornelia Wiswall. The little baby left by Lucretia Williams, three weeks old when her mother died, named Lucretia Eliza

Page 60 was taken to her grandmother’s home and heart and lived with her until she was four years old, when her father married again to Eugenia Giblert, daughter of Dr. Gilbert by his first marriage, and took her home. This was hard for us all as we loved her dearly as she did us. There has been one baptism in the “old homestead.” Mary Louise the eldest child of Louis and Lewis Hall was brought from Cambridge to be christened by old Dr. Homer who married them. Lewis [Augusta??] and Caroline Jackson the other two children were christened at their mother’s deathbed. Ever after Mary Louise’ baptism

Page 61 she was a frequent and welcome visitor. After her marriage to Charles B. [??????] they made their home on Mt. Ida in sight of the “homestead” so the connection was never severed till her death July first 1887 She was greatly beloved by all who knew her, coming into a house like a fresh west wind giving pleasure to all. She was also a glorious singer. One of her friends and neighbors Mrs. J. G. Wi[?????] wrote the following verses after her death. M.L.F. She drew us with her sweet, sweet voice She charmed us with her gracious ways She held us with the [affluent??] heart That made a blessing of her days.

Page 62 Dear heart that held another’s pain Before her own, and sought to hide With smiling face and cheery words The shadow creeping to her side.

The shadow that with soft sweet touch For pain and weariness gave ease, From this life’s fevered restlessness, Drew her to the immortal peace. Bereaved we are who loved her well No mor in places where we met To grasp her cordial hand, for The sorrow of a long regret.

But ah! For her, her Father’s house In the celestial mansions fair The rapture of a risen soul That breathes at last the Heavenly air. A.F. W.

Page 63 Death you may be sure has not failed to enter these doors many times and left behind a mourning household. “There is no hearth howe’er so well defended” “But hath its vacant chair” “There is no flock howe’er so well attended” “But one dead lamb is there.” The first death in the “homestead” was as might be expected, its builder, Maj. Timothy Jackson who died in 181? after two years sickness, of paralysis. He was a man of unusual intelligence, fought in the War of the Revolution from the battle of Concord and Lexington to its close.

Page 64 He was for many years a member of the Legislature and at different times held all the offices of [???] in the [???] of Newton. A large, very jolly man, exceedingly fond of his sons and daughter, and liked well to joke with them, while their mother, who was a Winchester, tall stately and dignified, was more reserved with them, yet they all loved her well. His death was followed by that of grandmother within six months of his, being worn out with the care of grandfather and grief at his loss. The “homestead” was then unoccupied except by the

Page 65 farmer and his wife, who cared for the place, for two or three years, perhaps less, when father come from Boston with his already numerous family, and they have lived in it ever since, seventy four years. [drawing of a chair labelled “One of Maj. Timothy Jackson’s parlor chairs”] In 1806, father married Hannah Woodward who died in 1814 leaving five children. In 1815 he married Mary Bennett of Lunenberg, he still living in Boston. After the death of grandfather and grandmother, death came not again till 1821 when he took away a

Page 66 beautiful little girl, nine months old, Adaline Baldwin, who died of dropsy on the brain. Again he came a little more than a year after and claimed a lovely baby six months old, named William who also died of dropsy of the brain. Many years passed before death again entered the portals of the “homestead” but he did not spare the family. *Lucretia (Mrs. Williams) died one year from the day of her marriage in 1848, leaving a baby girl Lucretia Eliza who for four years was the pet of the “homestead.” In 1846 Sarah’s husband Thomas A. Davis, who was at that time Mayor of Boston, died. Louisa,

• Lucretia was an intelligent and interesting lady, great executive ability, embroidered beautifully and painted well. Very energetic and a devoted Christian.

Page 67 Mrs. Hall, died in June of 1853 leaving two daughters and a son. Louisa was small, quick, affectionate, unselfish, a capital talker, throwing out her bright sayings like sky rockets, she also wrote much and excellent poetry. Mary’s husband Charles A. Curtis died in 1855. Soon after his death mother took the oldest boy Charles Edward home and kept him most of the time, till he died of water about the heart, when fourteen years old. There were two funerals in the homestead of those who were not residents. The first was that of Edwin Trowbridge who was killed by lightening

Page 68 as he stood in the doorway of father’s factory. Every effort was made to restore him; a man jumped upon one of the horses and rode at break neck pace for the Doctor at Watertown, attracting attention as he went, so the sad news was spread abroad, and the cars coming at that time, the intelligence was carried to father in Boston who was at that time connected with the Boston and Albany R.R. He took one of the engines, which had already its steam up and came home very quickly. All efforts to resuscitate Edwin was in vain he had been instantly killed.

Page 69 He was a fine young man, a beautiful singer and player on the flute, twenty one years old and almost like a brother to us. His father was killed by being caught in the machinery of a factory, leaving his wife poor with six boys all young. Mrs. Trowbridge was a friend of mothers, and she took Edwin home giving him a mother’s care and affection, he being but six years old. His funeral was from the “old homestead”; that was in 1838. The next funeral from the “homestead” was in 1851, Aunt [Nabley’s ??]. She was a maiden sister of grand-

Page 70 father’s eighty eight years old, who had for many years owned and lived in a house on North Bennett St. Boston all alone. In her youth she was very beautiful and even at the time of her death was fine looking, her teeth were like pearls, never having lost one, and her complexion fair and delicate. She was remarkably intelligent and smart with a keen tongue and very entertaining. She was buried beside her brother in the old burying ground where her ancestors were buried and her name was cut on his monument.

Page 71 Then her possessions were sold at auction and a rare lot of antiquities there were for which the grand nephews and nieces contended. From aunt [Nabley?] we had the much valued family Bible published in 1771 and owned by Lieut. Timothy Jackson father of Maj. Timothy Jackson out grandfather. In 1854 father went to New York on business, stopped in Springfield to dine, and ate oysters, which poisoned him, was ill a week or more in New York at his daughter’s, Mrs. Tappan’s, and then returned home, became much better and in a few weeks

Page 72 attended to business, but was not well. At the funeral of his son in law Charles A. Curtis, he took cold and from this he never recovered but died in six weeks of a heart difficulty. His death was a fearful loss to his family – his church, the town of Newton and to many philanthropic enterprises, and business connections. Not alone was his death mourned by his family as such a man* would be mourned, but it was found that by the fluctuations of business and the depression of railroad and other stocks the family was left penniless.

Page 73 From a life of luxury they were obliged in any and every way that came to them (mother and the three unmarried daughters) to earn money for their support. Mother sewed, Caroline gave music lessons and also sang in the choir of Park St. Church, Boston, Ellen gave lessons in painting and also sold pictures and Mouse taught school. The “homestead” was filled with boarders mostly with young gentlemen, so an entire change came over their lives and the

• I write no more of fathers character and life of which so much might be truly said in praise as there is an autobiography of him.

Page 74 ways of the “old homestead.” In 1863 Charles Edward eldest son of Charles & Mary Curtis, died of water about the heart, a beautiful boy of fourteen. His dea mother’s death in 1867 was the next to fill the house with mourning, and a vacancy made in home and hearts, that never could be filled. It was a comfort to fee, that the unusually heavy load of cares and worries of her declining years was laid down, and she at rest. Though for more than thirty years an invalid, she was always cheerful and in every way a most superior woman. With an affectionate warm heart, she was

Page 75 wholly unselfish. Notwithstanding her many children and cares, she at different times took to her home and heart, three children who needed homes. The Newton Library being founded about this time Caroline, Ellen and Mouse were all occupied in preparing for its opening, and Mouse at its start became one of its librarians, but her health failing in a few months Caroline took her place, and filled it most efficiently for sixteen years when her cousins Mr. & Mrs. G. F. T. Reed thinking she had worked quite long enough, took her from it

Page 76 and settled upon her a sum sufficiently to yield her an income as large as her salary had been. All this time the house was full of boarders in summer, and usually one or two in winter. A few months after mother’s death our sister Marian – wife of Rev. Lyman Gilbert died in Brooklyn N.Y. and her body was brought on to once more lie in her old home and to be buried in the Newton Cemetery. Marian was intellectual, fond of using her pen having written and published two books and many [????] articles for magazines

Page 77 and papers, she was also an artist, her mantle having fallen upon her daughter Sarah. The following June, Frances E. wife of Edwin A. Smallwood died in consumption, leaving three daughters, all children, and a baby boy, an incomparable loss to her family. Ever after some of her children had a home in the “old homestead” first one then another, whichever needed the most brooding and care, and all of them always found a welcome and comfort, and they in return kept the house lively bringing their young friends around them.

Page 78 In 1876 Timothy died leaving a *widow two sons and two daughters. He had been ill for two or three years and was fifty nine years old. He was a handsome man, quietly intelligent and refined. In 1884 Sarah the eldest daughter, wife by her first marriage of T.A. Davis and by the second of Lewis Tappan, died of paralysis, Mrs. Tappan having died three years previously. She died in Brooklyn and was buried beside Mr. Tappan in Greenwood Cemetery. She was handsome, gentle, intelligent, religious, highly educated

• Hannah, daughter of Josiah Stedman of Boston

Page 79 writing much for periodicals and papers and published some books. In 1881 *William was called away after but a few days sickness with erysipelas. He was fine looking fresh and hearty, a most affectionate father, husband and son greatly mourned by his family and his memory is treasured by them. Edward died in St. Louis, MO of dysentery in 1882, leaving a wife (who was Nannie [?] O’Brien of Washing[ton?] D.C.) and a daughter and son. He was a wholly unselfish affectionate man, his hand ever ready to help, genial and earnest, tall and commanding and full of fun. In the first years of the

• William married Adelaide M. Garfield daughter of M. Garfield of Newton Lr Falls.

Page 80 Rebellion he was one of the home guard of St. Louis. Returning from church one Sabbath day he saw three soldiers harassing and abusing a colored man. He ordered them to desist, when one of them caught up a stick of wood and struck him on the head crushing his skull and nearly killing him. He ever after was blind of one eye, lost his sense of smelling and at times lost consciousness. Dr. Lyman Gilbert died in Brooklyn in 1885 and his body was brought to Newton and the funeral ceremonies solemnized in the “homestead.” In 1884 Stephen W. D. returned from the Isthmus of Darien, where he had

Page 81 been in business for the past twenty years, to end his days in the old home. Here he lived five years, five years of great comfort and pleasure to us all. Then he gave up his life after but four days of sickness of a disease contracted in that deadly climate, and he went out of the home to come no more in forever, beloved and mourned by all who knew him. A man of rare intelligence, warm affections, a great lover of nature, familiar with every flower and tree, a refined and sensitive organization. He was a wonderful letter writer, and had contributed to various papers at times, his

Page 82 articles being always bright original and to the point. At the time of his death June 1889 his cousin Emeline C. Jackson wrote the following poem which expressed rarely[??] the feeling of his friends. Since then death’s footsteps have been turned from the door.

In Memoriam S.W.D.J. The asters nod beside the road But where’s their friend and Lover, Whose eager eyes their earliest Blooms, Could always first discover? The lobelia reddens by the brook; Behind the low stone wall Like a flag of yellow sunlight Waves the golden rod so tall.

Page 83 And soon the gentians will unroll Their fringed cups of blue, He knew them well and all their Haunts, Where they in beauty grew.

Patiently they wait his hasty feet And bending seem to him, Perhaps invisible to us He pauses with a greeting.

He may behind that misty veil, Through which we try to peer, See, and smile upon the flowers He always held so dear. August 1889. E.C.J.

Now a most joyful visitor comes often across the threshold of the “homestead.” Another generation is filling it with pleasure, the baby of Harry H. and Louisa J. Keith

Page 84 Miss Barbara has made a place for herself. Doubtless she will be followed by many another treasure as the years go on, land the “old homestead” be kept alive. In a household where the head of the family were both generous and kind, there could not fail to be a constant daily charity to the needy. But in 1878 was begun a large and continued philanthropic work organized and kept in motion by the continuous and systematic efforts of Mouse. It is called the Santa Claus Agency, and is at its highs [??] at Christmas. Like many great enterprises it had a small beginning. A few weeks before Christmas

Page 85 in 1878 she was walking in a part of Newton where the people are mostly poor, and found one family of many children who looked not forward with any pleasure to Christmas, as Santa Claus had never visited them. Mouse wrote an article for the Newton Journal appealing to those children who would be surfeited with gifts, to send some of their abundance they already had, that these and many other poor children might not be forgotten, and she would be Santa Claus’ agent. Her appeal was heeded and she had many gifts to gladden the

Page 86 hearts of the little people. She then wrote a cute story of Santa Claus visits to the children. This Stephen had printed for her at the office of the “Star and Herald” at Panama, in a pamphlet, and before another Christmas she sent it out among her friends and the result was a generous contribution for the poor. The nursery of the “homestead” was given up to the toys and comforts that might be sent for the poor, and it is always filled to overflowing by Christmas. Two days before, six or eight young ladies, friends, come in and pack them all in baskets

Page 87 labeled for the family to which they are to go. Besides the toys there are stockings, mittens, hoods, clothes, etc. candy, nuts, fancy crackers in lace bags. The day before Christmas, the Expressman takes them to their destination, making glad more than a hundred poor children. A few years after this joyful charity was begun, Mrs. Charles Lord commenced the excellent charity of furnishing shoes for the poor, collecting them from those who had an abundance, and also a sum of money, to have them repaired. She soon joined her good work to Mouse,

Page 88 and now, the week after Christmas all the poor children would come to the “homestead” to be fitted to shoes, there were beside the second hand shoes, cases of new ones and rubbers. Ten or a dozen ladies would be gathered in the large old kitchen to try the shoes on to the children, and many a heart rending case would be there. Each year she sent a circular to her friends something new and original, sometimes a painting on stain, oftener a poem with a report of what was given away the year before. I will copy the one sent in 1888. It purports to

Page 89 be written by Santa Claus. Dear friends, Ten years ago this Christmas, I was in trouble over the little people of Newton. The rich ones were having more and more, and the poor ones less and less. I had such bags of toys to carry to the rich, and so little for the poor. What could I do? Just about that time I read a story in the Newton Journal written to help poor children. So thinks I to myself how would it work to send for the author of that story and see what she advises.

Page 90 So I sent for the lady and we talked it over and she said she would let the rich know how things were. That it was only because they did not think, that the poor children were forgotten. Well, between you and I, I did not think her advise was good for anything but I can tell you it was, and from that day to this, I have had loads to carry to the poor, and more than a hundred children have had a jolly Christmas every year, and in the ten years over a thousand children made happy, and think think [sic] of the homes cheered and made bright and gay not only at Christmas time

Page 91 but all the cold Winter months. In sickness and in want they have been helped just because you kind people have thought of them. I only wish you could go with your gifts and see what you are doing. I wish you could have seen a poor woman stand out in the street (after I left a bundle) as long as I was in sight saying “It’s so unexpected, its so unexpected.” Another asked “What shall I pay?” ”Nothing,” said I. “Why I never had things for nothing before,” said she. And the poor little girl who took one of your dollies to Heaven with her, she had it clasped so tightly when she died they never took it away from her.

Page 92 Heaps more of these experiences I might give you. The point is just here. This is the tenth anniversary of the Santa Claus Agency in Newton, and can’t we make it ten times better than ever before? Can’t I have more coal, more brown bread and beans, more shoes and stockings, more, more of everything to comfort the poor this winter? And is [????] it among possibilities that some of you rich people will make a permanent fund for widow’s coal, or for rent or food? The Reed fund is doing so much good, can’t we have some more funds, with other names attached?

Page 93 For past favors, you have my thanks. If you have not received the interest on your previous investment in the Santa Claus Agency I can assure you the books are kept all right and you’ll all get compound interest in the next world. I am happy to say I have the same agent as formerly and all favors sent to Miss Corneilia Jackson, Jackson Homestead Washington St. Will be received and forwarded by Santa Claus and St. Nicholas. Wishing you all a Merry Christmas I am your friend, Santa Claus

Page 94 Copy of another circular. Santa Claus Agency Christmas 1892. Corneilia Jackson, Agent.

Would Christ to come again to earth How would he celebrate his Birth? To each of our homes he would Come for awhile, Cheering us all by his presence And smile. Then we should find him Among the poor Visiting them from door to door, Gathering poor children from Every land Taking them gently by the hand Helping tired mothers their Sorrows to bear, Taking from each some worrying Care. So let us keep our Christmas Day Making poor homes both cheerful And gay Then shall we hear the world Around That peace on earth again is Found. C.W. J.

Page 95 Report for 1893. What you have done in this year from Christmas time till Nov. 1893.

You made 114 children happy At Christmas and 33 homes More bright and cheerful. 244 pairs of boots and shoes were Given away and 911 garments. Coal for eleven families. Wood for six families. Groceries and meat for six families. Beans and brown bread every Sunday morning through January February, March and April. The most[??] of the time for eight Families, beside various other Things for their comfort. Cornelia W. Jackson Agent for Santa Claus

Page 96 There has always been a strong anti-slavery sentiment felt by the inmates of the “Homestead” especially by father, he did indeed give his time money and much of his thoughts to the abolition of slavery. Thus the homestead doors stood ever open with a welcome to any of the workers against slavery for as often and as long as saited their pleasure or convenience. The homestead was one of the Stations of the underground Rail Road, which was continually helping runaway slaves from the South to Canada. One night between twelve and one o’clock I well remember father was

Page 97 awakened by pebbles thrown against his chamber window. He rose and asked what was wanted. Dr. Bowditch replied it was he with a runaway slave whom he wished father to hide till morning and then help him on his way to Canada for his master was in Boston looking for him. Father took him in and next morning drove fifteen miles to a Station where he could take a car for Canada. He could not have safely left from any Boston Station, all were watched. So many were at that time escaping into Canada that a sewing circle used to meet at the homestead to make clothes for them, for they were wholly destitute

Page 98 on their arrival. This circle was doing its work at the time of fathers last sickness, as well as before, and a little incident occurred at the time so characteristic of him I will mention it. I had given a piece of flannel to be made into garments for the fugitives, but when the gift was acknowledged, is was credited to father. This troubled him greatly and after dwelling upon it for awhile, he had another piece bought and given in my name. In the War of the Rebellion after Gen. Butler had shrewedly declared all slaves coming into our lines Contrabands of War, and they were coming in by thousands, it was evident something must

Page 99 be done for them, their education and clothing. Very soon after Pres. Lincoln made his grand proclamation freeing all slaves in the United States. Then indeed were the hearts and hands of the benevolently inclined women and men of the North enlisted for them. A meeting of the ladies of that part of Newton then called Newton Corner was held at the Homestead between thirty and forty being present. A sewing circle was formed with Ellen D. Jackson for President & Mrs. Beulah Pulsifer Vice President. The first material that the Circle made into garments was the cloth used in draping the public buildings of Boston at the funeral

Page 100 Ceremonies of the much lamented Pres. Lincoln. This Society has pursued the even and successful tenor of its way ever since, meeting at the houses of its different members. In 1878 the ladies of the Circle aided by some outside friends, sent me to Hampton to be present at the graduating exercises of the Normal Institute. A more delightful trip never before was taken, and I can never cease to be grateful to the ladies and gentlemen for it. On the twenty fifth anniversary of the formation of the Circle all the present and past members of the Circle as far as might be, were invited to supper at the homestead and it proved a

Page 101 very pleasant occasion. The nieces and nephews, brothers and sisters, all have a great love and veneration for the “Homestead” and have written many nice poems about it. Here is one written by Fred’ Stenwood[???] Jackson, Timothy’s youngest son, when he was in business in New York in 1876 when he was thirty six years old.

Jackson Homestead I love to remember and let my Thoughts wander, To the days of my boyhood, it Seems like a span, To the joys of my youth to the old Jackson Homestead To the place where so oft our Voices have rang. To the orchard behind and the Garden before it, (No garden to my eyes has e’er Looked so well.)

Page 102 The green creeping vine and The porch that did bear it, They help make the picture on Which I would dwell. On a bright summer morning how Sweet were the flowers, All glistening with dew as they Rose from their bed. The reminded me then of the [????] fancy bowers Of which when a boy, I so often Had read. The lilacs and tulips and sweet Scented roses The blue belss and violets and Lilies so rare. But I fail when I try to tell half Of the glories Of all the sweet flowers I found Blooming there. The old house itself how it thrills Me with pleasure When I think of its halls through Which I have run Its nooks and it corners every One I will treasure,

Page 103 Theres no other such homestead No not in the land. The *Ivy still clings to the old “Jackson Homestead” In the room where we gathered on Bright Christmas eve It still remains green as though it Had said “I love the “old homestead” and Never will leave.” The old fashioned furniture, the Odd looking relics, The different quaint things brought From various climes. The dread we all had of the Great old attics Where together we children had many good times. And the songs that we sung that Through the house thundered The games that we played shall We ever forget? Though things are now plain at which We once wondered Green are the memories of those pleasant Times yet.

• The sitting room of the Homestead used to be entirely surrounded with an Ivy – the slip taken from a wreath that was on father’s coffin. The walls were literally covered with it.

Page 104 The children I met there are Now men and women Some we shall see no more – They are dead. But all were made better by Pains that were taken To make us all happy at “Jackson Homestead” So long may you stand thou time Honored mansion, A land mark for future ages To see Tell the man of the future While you draw his attention, “This was the home of true Nobility.” F.S.J.

I will follow this by one written by Miriam S. Smith wife of Fred B. Smith and oldest daughter of Timothy Jackson – its subject, the Garden Gate.

Page 105 [ink drawing of front gate at top of page]

The Homestead Gate. The dear old gate! I love it well Which tales of joy and woe ‘twould tell Of all the kindred, kith and kin Who’ve heard its [clang??] as they Passed in. Of friends that came to bring good Cheer, And those with woes from far and near The bond [bound?] and free from every land Here met with love and a Helping hand. Of little children hastening home After the school and tasks are Done, Pushing it open just to see What Grandmother has got good For me. Up the walk with eager haste Trying to get the first best place At Grandmother’s side, and hear Her tell The well worn stories they love So well. The blooming flowers on either hand Nod and smile to the happy band, But a glance from the children says “If Grandmother plants you of course You grow.” And the dear old lady sitting There, On the porch, in her basket chair, Peaceful and calm gentle and Mild With a loving word for every Child.

Page 107 Oh what a delight to linger there So sure of love, sosure of care, No happier hours can fortune Give, And we shall keep them while We live. But when Thanksgiving day came Round And all the good things did Abound Oh! How it clanged! The dear old Gate! With many cousins early and late. And as it swung we seemed to hear “Welcome to all, to all good cheer” “Come in and join us in the fun” “There’s room in here for everyone.”

And so the gate swings to and fro, For those that come and those That go, While some have passed it to That “Home” Where all must go and none Return.

Page 108 and 109 seem to be missing Page 110 And here with solemn step And [???] And hearts that ached to Let them go, We have carried out beyond The portal Those who have done to the life Immortal. Bring in the logs and heaping Higher Higher yet the hearth stove fire, For we who on life’s summit stand And gaze along on every hand See maidens young in whose Bright eyes All of loves brilliant promise Lies, And *little child with curly Head Whose feet life’s ways begin To tread. For them for us build higher the fire, And let us all draw near For them life’s gladness and its hope For us who travel down the slope A thousand memories dear. To all the Christmas merr be Full of life and jollity, While the blaze goes ever higher. E.C.J.

• Louise Jackson Fillebrown.

Page 111 In 1846 father wanted to have a daguerreotype (there were no photographs known then) of all the family in a group. A daguerreotype of so many in one group as fourteen was supposed to be an impossibility. Mr. Whipple stood at the head of the profession in Boston and to him father applied and he at last consented. But when we arrived in his room and he saw that all but three were no longer children, his heart died within him. Such a restless laughing crowd the tasks of getting us all to place and all quiet was indeed a mighty task, which however after repeated efforts he performed most successfully. Mrs. Gilbert, sister Marian wrote the following poem descriptive of the scene.

Page 112 – 120

The Daguerrotype

NOW, answering to our parent’s call, We muster in the artist’s hall. O what a set of laughing faces! What an array of shining graces! See, Whipple hastes with anxious care, All things in order to prepare, That Sol may all our faces fix Just as we look in forty-six; But consternation and surprise And doubt are painted in his eyes! The parents, with their progeny, He has prepared himself to see; But thought the children young, and small, And hoped his lens would take them all; But while he hastened to prepare, And placed his frame with jealous care For fourteen romping boys and girls, Alackaday, his reason whirls, To see all ages small and great, From nine years old to thirty eight! To group so many side by side On the same plate, he never tried. With glowing cheek, and modest air, He bids the patriarchal pair Be seated by each other’s side, Behind the centre table wide;

Then, clustering round on either hand, Gather the mirthful, happy band; Arranged with skill the artist’s taste Each in his proper seat has placed. Tim and Louise at chess are playing; Hannah is near, the game surveying, While Mary, Frank, and brother Ed Are standing back of mother’s head; Cornelia next – the pet- you see, Then Caroline, and sister Kee; On a small stool, at father’s feet, Our Stephen has his quiet seat. Willie! where shall we look for him? Ah! on the sofa, next to Tim. Sarah in father’s left, and near Is Marian – now all are here; But say, can Sol his task complete? Widespread the fame of such a feat. Can sixteen, all so full of wit, Keep silence, and not move a bit? “Twas never yet; but we will see If, for a moment, it could be. Hush! all be quiet now; and will Each thought to silence – check each nervous thrill And say to every feeling, now, - be still!

‘Tis over! – what relief! Now breath, -give vent To all that for a moment has been pent. But hush! for see, the patient artist comes Pointing his finger at two guilty ones! Yes, two have moved; Stephen and Mary there Stand like a blot upon the picture fair. It will not do; so now the artist fain Would have us straightway fix ourselves again; But while we sober down, that we may be Most justly handed to posterity, Wit, merriment, and smiles, but ill suppressed, Break from the less sedate, infecting all the rest.

In vain our sire proclaims his will, Urging fresh efforts to be still, For in his eye and forehead wide Mirthfulness seeks in vain to hide; And from his own sage lips burst forth E’er and anon fresh food and mirth. At last, unmoving are we all And silence reigns throughout the hall. Oh, what a lengthened, tedious minute! How many thoughts were pent up in it! But now, ‘tis past; we wait in fear Till Mr. Whipple’s step we hear; Each one, half springing from his seat, Asks if the picture is complete. Not yet – not yet! Ah, once more try, I’ll tell you where to fix your eye. Full on that hat must Ellen look,

And Stephen on the open book; The rest at spots upon the wall, Or where the eye may easy fall. He might have said, no matter where, But shun each other’s eyes with care! For I am sure, mirth ill suppressed Filled me, in common with the rest. But once more now our breath we hold ‘Till sixty seconds could be told; Once more we brace ourselves, and try Firmly to keep the watery eye; Resolved, this time at least, we will, If it is possible, be still. ‘Tis done! And to our glad surprise, The artist now, with glowing eyes, Hold up to our delighted view The pictured group; so strictly true! Each one upon the plate is there Sketched with the most discerning care. There sits our sire; upon his brow The frosts of years are gath’ring now, While lines of deep and anxious care Have made themselves a dwelling there! Oh, while I gaze upon that face, How sadly now does memory trace Upon my thoughts the bygone days, When thoughtless of his love and care, I’ve helped to put those furrows there! Close on his right hand sits our mother; In all the world there is not other Who willingly would sit and share

The toils and cares that cluster there! E’en as she sits, she seems to say, “Oh! Must we mark the Christian way; Must all these children, by our hand, Be guided to that better land?” “Yes, wife, and we will try our best; God and our faith will do the rest!” Ah! he has blessed! Go look around; Can such a circle e’er be found Where happiness and health abound? True, there is one, upon whose head Her heavenly Father’s hand is laid; Who now with deep affliction pressed Returns in the vain search for rest, As when in childhood’s griefs, she hied To her beloved father’s side. Mysterious are the doings of His will, But to our murmuring hearts we say, “Be still!”

The rest few trials yet have known; Few thorns are on their pathway strewn; Louise and Tim, in quiet play, Are passing a spare hour away, While Frank behind them seemed to say, “I wish that I might learn to play.” But just one glance at Mary’s face And clearly there reproof she’ll trace; Her downcast eyes and solemn air Most plainly say, “Beware! Beware! Your precious hours are chased away And thoughtless feet led far astray!” No so severe is Hannah’s eye,

Who stands so calm and pensive by; Her face would say, “Well, I don’t see In playing chess, what harm can be. You need not look so melancholy; I think you overnice, Miss Molly!” Lucretia, Caroline, and Pell, Ed, and Corneille, look very well; Stephen, good boy, with down cast eye Sits reading there so quietly; While “last, not least,” is Willie – placed On the same seat by mother graced. But, stop a minute, and look here, I want to whisper in your ear; Look sharp at Willie’s foot and see That shoe, ragged as it can be, To show to his posterity! Well, I suppose that they’ll conclude, With fourteen children – such a brood – They could not always choose But take their turns with ragged shoes.

Here, then, we are, and here we must remain. Fashions will go their rounds, and come again; Changes will fall on everything beside, But we, and we alone unchanged abide! And now one word to all our future store Of children’s children, doubtless many a score; Look gently on, if nature has denied To faults of figure and of face to hide; We do not share the sin – the mind and heart To free from errors – this must be our part. Mrs. Marion Jackson Gilbert

[Half way down Page 120] My recollection of the appearance of the “Homestead” before any land was sold for house lots in 1844 is exceedingly pleasant, an ideal country residence. The land extended on the East side as far as Jewett St, a trifle farther, to the West no farther than the present boundary, only beyond our line was just

Page 121 country fields with a pond a few yards from our garden fence, from which a brook run through our garden, along the banks of which was a graveled path leading to a small pond where were rustic seats beneath and in the willows, that shaded it, and where we often went after dinner to feed the gold and silver fish as well as breams and shiners. Then too the ducks who lived in a cute little house made of cedar poles, its roof thatched with straw standing under a huge poster apple tree about midway from the house to the pond, would come waddling to the water to get their share of the crumbs, and the fish did not object. It was all very rural and very delightful not a house within sight or hearing, but our brother Timothy

Page 122 who lived just opposite. Our land ran back to Pearl St. to the north and included the lovely little grove where Sturgis Potter’s house now stands and here too we had rustic seats and occasionally in warm weather we would take baskets of supper and take our tea in the “little woods” as we always called it, which was kept clear of brush, but was carpeted with anemones violets sasifrage, adder leaved lilies, wild geranium or whatever wild flower was in season. At the foot of the hill was a boiling spring where the white sand continually bubbled up in a little fountain a foot high. While a little farther away was another spring of delicious cold water. Not far away was our horse burying ground

Page 123 and many and cute were the epitaphs that were written on its various tenants. The departed dogs and cats, which were many, were not buried so far afield but most of them found their last resting place, under some of the trees of the garden, they also received mortuary honors. One cat who we especially adored was put under a rose bush with a small white marble stone a foot high and a third of a foot wide with a verse of Wordsworth’s slightly transposed to meet the occasion. “She lived unknown and few could Know” When *Cami ceased to be” But she is in her grave, and oh!” The change “To Frank and me.”

The fruit on the place was abundant and various, apples, pears,

• named Cameo

Page 124 peaches, apricots, plums and cherries. The vegetable garden yielded all sorts of summer treasures. Beside there were small fruits, raspberries, strawberries & black berries with white and black thimble betties and mulberries. The end of the yard was fenced off and made into a grape garden through which ran an arbor on which were trained Isabella Grapes, while across one end were trellises covered with a dark purple grape, and on one side grey white sweet waters [a type of grape], and back of them gooseberries while across the end on the street was rhubarb plants and more goose berries and at the other side currants. There were many huge apple trees in the yard while by the gate was a tall old

Page 125 pear tree that bore long yellow pears and farther in the garden was another old settler which was just as large when Grandfather lived here, an iron pear tree. Against the huge trunks of this tree was built a little summer house formed partly of the drooping limbs of the tree, that would seat two or three people. The floor was paved with quahoag[sic] shells. At the foot of the garden was a large summer house, built around an apple tree, the octagon roof supported by cedar posts with the bark left on, seats on two sides for a dozen or more, and vines of different kinds trained over it. A small table was built around the center and here we used sometimes to take tea. The garden was

Page 126 beautiful, intersected by numerous paths not now here, on either sides beds filled with all sorts of flowers especially the tulip bed in which we used to count more than a thousand blossoms at once of every variety. Paths run from the garden to the brook, and occasionally beds were cut out small round ones which were set full of plants. But the plant that we have always valued most in the garden was and is a Provence Rose that Grandmother planted and prized. Much of this presents itself [ ] in my mind’s eye on a pleasant Sabbath day, for never in olden time did the garden seem as beautiful as it did in the quiet of the old Sabbaths, the very air seemed to feel that it was holy time. No ears were [???] no labor done and but little riding

Page 127 Except to and from church. Old of the family that were old enough went to church, taking our lunch with us and staying all day, the Sabbath School taking about half the morning and if the weather was fine we used to eat our lunch under the huge willows that surrounded Pa Rice’ pond. He for many many years kept a private school for boys near the old church at Newton Center where we attended. So large was our family it took a carryall and two chairs to take us all there. When we returned from church a little after four in the afternoon, we used to have a cold dinner at which we all even the smallest child sat down together. If there was to be an evening service in the school house

Page 128 near us, the clergyman used to come home with us, and after the service father used to [???] or take him home. We were taught and always did keep the Sabbath strictly, but I do not remember that it was ever burdensome to us children, the day was made pleasant to us. One thing only at family prayers we never liked, or Sunday father used to read a part of a sermon to us and we always became restless and listless. Two Sabbaths wholly unlike the usual tenor of the day I recall. The first was when one of our neighbors and friends Mrs. Fuller had died on Saturday, and she must be buried as early as possible Monday and mother offered to make her shroud and cap, as she often did

Page 129 do when a friend died. There came a tremendous snow storm Saturday which continued all night and Sabbath morning when we awoke it was to find the roads impassable, the snow over the fences so there was no going to church except father and two of the boys, started with shovels to break out the path, and a few others as adventurous or living near, held a service in Pa Rice school room. At home mother let the older children who had a bent that way, copy the birds and beasts that were in the Edinboro Encyclopedia, not a volume of which we were allowed to touch ordinarily – and the little ones had the

Page 130 chess men to play with, also usually forbidden, so we were content while she sat by and sewed on the shroud. The next Sabbath out of the usual course which comes to my memory was years after, in the time of the Civil War. After we were all assembled in church (we then attended in our own village where a church had been built) news arrived of the terrible defeat at Bull Run and the dreadful needs of the poor wounded, and dying soldiers. The audience was dismissed and all, minister and all, sat down in the conference room making [lint??] and rolling bandages. Mary went home and returned laden with

Page 131 wines and delicacies which were packed in cases and by afternoon a car load was ready and moved off “to the front” accompanied by two gentlemen. As soon as the cases were ready and nailed, I was set to marking them with a brush and printers ink, as I could do it quickly and easily. The load from Eliot church was just ready and off, when a huge wagon load of cases arrived from Newton Center which had not been marked, and two of the gentlemen lifted me into the wagon and I marked them. That was a dreadful Sabbath the whole country was in distress and it will never be forgotten

Page 132 by those old enough to realize its sadness. It is past and we gladly turn our thoughts from its contemplation, but hope we and those who succeed us may never forget the dreadful price it cost to abolish slavery. I have written in these Annals of Timothy as often writing verses and am sorry that none have been preserved but these few which I will now give you, but which I will add are by no means a fair specimen of what he could do. They were written in his younger daughter’s Sarah B.’s album.

Names of schoolmates and friends Are treasured up here All differing in ages, tho’ equally dear;

Page 133 Yes one more is requested is It a bright eyed laddie? O! sad disappointment its only You Daddy. But do not despair read but This one verse more Hope on, hope ever, tho’ your Fate you deplore. For the young, the pretty these Pages you plan, Alas! Here’s the scrawl of a bald Headed man. Now this is a shame and its Frankly confessed Who writes in an album should Of course do his best; But in talent for writing how can I be thrifty! Blind, lame, rheumatic and in Years more than fifty. But whatever others call me Whatever I be How I seem to myself or others See me,

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Through all lifes changes I’ll Unchanged be to you, Rest assured that my love flows On ever and true. I’m your guide, protector or as I much rather Subscribe myself, ever your Affectionate Father.

I have to say the same of the bit of the poetry that I place among the “Annals” that was written by Louisa (Mrs. Lewis Hall) that was said of Timothy’s. There has none been saved but this taken from an old album of Caroline’s.

To Caroline Say loveliest girl sweetest Being on earth What fairy land was it that Gave the[e] birth? Say favor’d daughter of too Partial fate?

Page 135 From what glittering world didst Thou emanate? (This piece must please you I very Well know, (“Tis the fashion to write in an Album so.)

Ah! Heavenly charmer that beau- -tious face The form of an angel would never Disgrace. Thou fairest of beings, thou faultless Creature, Perfections dwells in thy every feature. (I’m sure my piece will your soul delight)] (For I’m told ‘tis the way in an album to write)

Where, where has it been thy bright Fortune to roam? What ethereal realms doth thou call Thy home? What scenes of delight, what celestial Bliss? Did’st leave to appear in a world Vile as this? (Be sure to believe every word that I say) (Such thing in an album to write is the way.)

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Art thou happy to dwell in this Land below? One blissful hour can thy spirit Know? From thine angel heart with that Syren[sic] voice Canst say with good faith, thou Don’t ever rejoice? (Dear sister you’ll love me I know that You will, When a page in your book I so cleverly fill.)

Ah! Loveliest I’m answered, those Beautiful eyes Speak plainer than words whence Thy comforts arise “Tis by cheering poor mortals with Sympathy rare By easing their sorrows, by sharing Their care. (I never flatter dear Cutty you know, As you read the above you’ll find It so.) E. Cambridge Feby. 9. 1842 Louisa

Absolutely nothing can I find of Sister Sarah (Mrs. Lewis Tappan’s) fugitive articles, and of course in a limited space like this

Page 137 nothing could or had better be done with anything like a book. She never wrote poetry, nor in as sparkling a way as some of the others, but always with intent of doing some good, and with much common sense. Much, very much more, might be added to the “Annals of the Old Homestead” but perhaps it would detract from its interest to drag out the tale, and enough has been written to show to future generations what has been the character of its varied life thus far.

[The End]