NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



221 



For the New England Farmer. 

 OLDEN TIMES. 



Mr. Cole: — Sir — In reading one of your num- 

 bers of the Farmer, 1 noticed a connnunication from 

 Dr. Silas Brown, of Wilmington, (which is my na- 

 tive town,) who is a highly respectable and scien- 

 tific as well as a medical gentleman; he was not a 

 native of the town he now lives in; his father lived 

 in Tewksbury, in that part of the town adjoining 

 Wilmington, a very respectable farmer, possessed 

 of a very good property, for those days. My father 

 lived in that part of the town adjoining the above 

 town of Tewksbnry. Their farms were aboul two 

 miles apart, so that the families were acquainted 

 with eacli other. 1 never had much personal ac- 

 quaintance wilh the doctor, being some few years 

 older than he is, and having been absent from my 

 native town more than half a century. He has no- 

 ted to you some of the reminiscences of our younger 

 years. I fully agree with him in the mode of going 

 to market, and having the advantage of a few more 

 years than he has, can state some items a little fur- 

 ther back. I went to market before the bridge at 

 Charlestown was built; we went to Charlestown, 

 put our horses up in the cheapest way we could, 

 some times carrying our own hay; then taking our 

 w-allet or basket on our shoulder to the ferry way. 

 Tlie price of ferriage was two coppers, and no car- 

 riages were admitted into the boat except chaises. 



After leaving the boat, we were very frequently 

 asked what we had got for sale. One little anec- 

 dote I will mention. My father had relations in 

 Boston, and my sister went to visit them for a week 

 or two; she packed her wardrobe in a pair of sad- 

 dle-bags; she went with a cousin of my father, who 

 was of rather an eccentric turn of mind, although 

 not uncomplaisant. After leaving the boat, he car- 

 rying the saddle-bags, they had not proceeded far 

 before the question was asked, "What have you got 

 to sell?" the reply was, not anything. A little fur- 

 ther on, and the same question was asked. Being 

 willing to have a little sport, she replied, "Nothing 

 but a little paper money;" meaning the old paper 

 currency that the revolutionary soldiers were paid 

 in. Still further on, "What have you got to sell!" 

 "Nothing but a little ragged paper money." The 

 questioner willing to participate in the joke, "Well, 

 how do you sell iti" "Why, two pence a penny." 

 So they marched on to the residence of our friends; 

 bills of the above were in circulation as low as six 

 pence. With respect to going to market on horse- 

 back, when we carried butter in warm weather, we 

 used to go chiefly in the night, and to prevent the 

 warmth of the horse from operating on the butter, 

 we used to put some hay into a wide bag, and flat 

 it down, and put it on the saddle, and the butter on 

 the hay, and then mount the horse and pace off to 

 market. If we were a little belated, we used to 

 ride under the trees and break off small branches, 

 and hold them in our hands on the sunny side of 

 the horse, to keep our article cool, until we arrived 

 at the place of sale. 



The above was the general mode of going to 

 market in my young days. I will now say some- 

 thing about the cranberry business that has trans- 

 pired under my personal knowledge. Cranberries 

 were the spontaneous production of the meadows in 

 Wilmington; in patches, some large crops were 

 grown, but in my young days they were worthless. 

 They could not be sold. When a lad, I gathered 



some, and going to Boston, I took half a bu.shel 

 with me; I higged them on my shoulder after leav- 

 ing my horse in Charlestown, and oflercd them for 

 sale, but no one would buy. After some time I 

 went into a little shop a woman tended, and offered 

 my cranberries. She did not seem to want them, 

 but said she would give me eight pence in barter 

 for them, and glad was I to leave them. 



One little anecdote I will relate. There was a 

 neighborhood in Woburn which we passed through 

 on our way to Boston, known by the name of New- 

 bridge; there were several families in it by the 

 name of Thompson, who would often put little 

 jokes upon one another, all in good humor. One of 

 them had considerably many cranberries; he was 

 a market-man, and had a horse and cart. He con- 

 cluded to gather some cranbeiries and try the sale 

 of them, he gathered six or eight bushels of them, 

 and carried them to Boston and offered them for 

 sale all day, but no one would buy at any price. 

 At sun down he took his cranberries down to the 

 dock and turned them all in, and proceeded home- 

 waj'd. The next morning, one of his neighbors 

 came to inquii"e about the sale of the frnit, and 

 asked him if he turned his cranberries. He told 

 him that he did, but did not seem inclined to say 

 much about it. His neighbor had cranberries too, 

 so he went home and gathered some, not as many 

 as the first one, and went to market with his, but 

 meeting with no better sale, stored his and came 

 home. He went to the former to know where he 

 turned his; he asked him how many he had; he told 

 him, but there were not as many as the other turned 

 into the dock; he told him if he would gather as 

 many more as to make up the number of bushels 

 he had, he would tell him, as he was sure he could 

 turn as many more as he carried the first time to the 

 same place. So the one who had the less number 

 of bushels, made up to the greater, and then went 

 for the desired information, and was told by the oth- 

 er, after waiting all day, he went to the dock and 

 turned them in, and no doubt he could do the same. 



Some few years after, I had two brothers living 

 in Duxbury, Mass., who were a little concerned in 

 navigation; they owned a sloop of some sixty of 

 seventy tons burden; they chartered her for Balti- 

 more. The captain was from some town on Cape 

 Cod; a middle aged man, who seemed to under- 

 stand his business. He learning that there were 

 cranberries in Wilmington, applied to us to buy 

 the fruit. Having a brother older than myself at 

 home, we gave out w'ord that we would buy cran- 

 berries. "Well, what will you give per bushel?" 

 "Why, a pistereen or twenty cents per bushel." 

 The people thought it rather low, but they went to 

 gathering and bringing them in at that price until 

 we were obliged to stop buying, and when they 

 were ready to take them on board the vessel, I 

 went with four oxen, and we hired another man with 

 his team of one yoke of oxen and one horse, and 

 were quite fully loaded wilh the fruit; novel loads 

 as ever were driven into Boston, for they were the 

 first ox loads of cranberries that ever I knew or 

 ever heard of before going to Boston. The vessel 

 went and made a good voyage of it, and from that 

 single shipment of cranberries grew the inuncnsc, 

 profitable trade and culture of the cranberry. 



The above purchase and carrying to Boston ot 

 the berries took place about sixty yeais since; I only 

 speak from reci.lleotion, as I have no date to refer 

 to. You will find by my writing that 1 am an old 



