January, 1842. TH£ FARMER'S MONTHLY VISITOR^ 



liKi-etifter. Mv iiilentiuii whs attracted liv the ijerpRncliculiirly tVoiii liislbreliead, pondered well, space or occiiu 



13 



li»:rearter. My aileiitiiiii was attracted liy the 

 oldest-looking tahle 1 liad ever seen, aud of so 

 dark a hue that it was difficidtto tell whether it 

 was inaliogany or walnut. — When opened out it 

 must have been circidar ; but now that the leaves 

 were let down, it exhibited a top so stranf,'ely 

 nurrow (not more than half a foot in width,) that 

 it was ijiipossibic to divine the object in making 

 it so ; unless indeed, it was the fasliionnble table 

 of the time. And fashion, at all periods, has been 

 considered reason sufficient for any thing, how- 

 ever inconvenient, ugly or absurd. To support 

 the narrow top and the wide leaves, this table 

 seemed to be endowed with a hundred legs and 

 a proportionate nuinber of bars crossing among 

 them, in every direction, all being of very elabor- 

 ate turned work. I opine thai this must have 

 been a great table in its day. 



My coni[iaiiion inquired after the health of 

 Miss Catherine Byles. tlie youngest of the ladies. 

 Miss Mary replied that sister Catherine was quite 

 unwell, having passed a bad nicfhtwith the rlieu- 

 matism. Regret was expressed at our losing' the 

 pleasure of seeing her. IJut Miss Mary iiolitcly 

 assured us that her sister would exert herself to 

 appear, rather than forego an opportunity of pay- 

 ing her respect to the ladies; and we as politely 

 hoped that, on our account, slie would not put 

 herselfto the smallest inconvenience. VVhih; 

 compliments were thus flying, the door of the 

 next room opened, and Miss Catherine Byles 

 mad'' her entrance, in a manner wliich showed 

 us that slie went imicli by gracefulness. 

 ■ Miss Catherine was unlike her elder sister,both 

 in figure and face ; her features being much 

 sharper, (in fact,excessively sharp,) anil her whole 

 person extremely thin. She also was arrayed in 

 a black bombasin petticoat, a short gown, and a 

 close lined cap, with a deep border that seemed 

 almost to bury her narrow visage. She greeted 

 us with much cordiality, and complained of her 

 rheumatism with a smiling countenance. 



My eyes were soon rivettedon a fine portrait of 

 Dr. Mather Byles, from the wonderful pencil of 

 Copley — wonderful in its excellence at a period 

 when the divine art was scarcely known in the 

 provinces, and when a good picture rarely found 

 its way to oin- side of the ocean. And yet under 

 these disadvantages, and before he sought im- 

 provement in the schools of Europe, did Copley 

 achieve those extraordinary fac-similes of the hu- 

 man face, that might justly entitle him to the ap- 

 pellation of the Reynolds of America, and are 

 scarci'ly excelled by those of his coiiteniporary,the 

 Reynolds of England. 



The moment I looked at this picture I knew 

 that \lmust be alikeness ; (or I saw in its linea- 

 ments the whole character of Dr. Byles, particu- 

 larly the covert humor of the eye. The face was 

 pale, the features well-formed, and the aspect 

 pleasantly acute. He was represented in his 

 ecclesiastical habiliments, with a curled and 

 powdered wig. On his finger was a signet ring 

 containing a very fine red cornelian. While I 

 was contemplating the admirably depicted coim- 

 tenance, his daughters were both very voliible 

 in directing my attention to the cornelian ring, 

 which they evidently considered the best part of 

 the picture; declaring it to be an exact likeness 

 oflhat very ring, and just as natmal as lite. 



Before I had looked half enough at Copley's 

 picture, the two old ladies directed my attention 

 to another portrait which they seemed to prize 

 still more highly. Tliis, they infoi med me, was 

 that of their ne|)hew, "poor boy," who)ii they 

 had not seen for forty years. It was painted by 

 himself His name was Mather Brown, and he 

 was tlie only son of their deceased elder sister. He 

 had remoi-ed to London, where, as they inform- 

 ed me, hehad/a/fcn the Prince of Wales and the 

 Duke of York— "and, therefore," said one of the 

 aunts — "he is painter to the royal family." They 

 both expressed much regret that they had not 

 been able to prevail on their father, after the rev- 

 olution, to give up America entirely, and remove 

 with his family to England. "In that case," said 

 Miss Mary, "we should all have been introduced 

 at comt; and the king and queen %vould have 

 spoken to us ; and I dare s;iy would have thank- 

 ed lis kindly for our loyalty." 



The trntj) was, us 1 afterwards found, that a 

 much longer period than forty years had elapsed 

 since their nephew left America ; Imt tliey al- 

 ways continued to give tliat date to liis depajture. 

 He had puinted..hitnself with his hair rearod up 



perpendicularly from his forehead, pow dered well, 

 nd tied behind — and, in a wide blue coat with 

 yellow buttons, and a very stiff hard-plaited shirt- 

 frill with hand rufHes to iriatch. In his hand he 

 held an open letter, which, both his aunts inform- 

 ed me, contained the very words of an epistle 

 sent by one of them to him, and, therefore, was 

 in exact likeness of that very letter. To gratify 

 hem, I read aloud the pictured missive, thereby 

 )roving that it really contained legible words. 



Having looked at tlie (lictures, I was invited by 

 Miss Mary Byles to take my seat in the large arm- 

 chair, which she assured me was a great curiosity, 

 being more tiian a hundred years old, having been 

 sent over from England by ' government,' as a 

 iresent.to their maternal grand-father. Governor 

 faylor. The chair was of oak, nearly black with 

 age, and curiously and elaborately carved. Tne 

 back was very tall and straight, and the carving 

 on its top terminated in a crown. This chair was 

 furnished with an old velvet cushion, which was 

 Ivvays (by way of preservation) kept upside 

 down, the underside being of dark calico. Miss 

 Mary, houever, did me tlie honor, as a visitor, to 

 turn the right side up, that I might sit upon vel- 

 vet ; and as soon as 1 had placed myself on it, 

 she inquired if I found it an easy seat? On my 

 ng in the affirmative, "I am siu'prised at 

 that' — said she, with a smile — " I wonder how a 

 epuhlican can sit easy under the crown." Be- 

 (iiiniiig to understand my cue, I, of course, was 

 iroperly diverted with thig piece of wit. 



Miss Catharine then directed my attention to 

 the antique round table, and assured me that at 

 this very table Dr. Franklin luul drank tea on his 

 ast visit to Boston. Miss Mary then produced, 

 i'om a closet by the chimney-side, an ancient ina- 

 ;hine of timber and iron in "the form of a bellows, 

 which she informed me was two hundred years 

 old. It looked as if it might have been two thous- 

 and, and must have been constructed in the very 



(itncy of bellows-making, about the time when 

 people first began to grow tired of blowing their 

 fires with their montlis. It would have afforded 

 a strange contrast, and a striking illustration of 

 the march of intellect, if placed by the side of one 

 of those light and beautiful, painted, gilt and var- 

 nished fire-improvers which abound in certain 

 shoos ill Washington-street. This bellows of 

 other days was so heavy that it seemed to require 

 a strong man to work it. The handles and sides 

 were carved all over with remarkable cumbrous 

 devices; and the nozle or spot was about the size 

 and shape of a very large parsnip with the point 

 cut oft: 



Miss Mary now asked her sister \i she had no 

 ciniositios to show the ladies? Miss Catharine 

 modestly icplied that she Itjared she had nothing 

 the liidies would care to look at. Miss Mary as- 

 sured us that sister Catharine had a box of extra- 

 ordinary things, such as were not to be seen every 

 day, anil that tliey were universally consiilered 

 as very great curiosities. Miss Catherine still 

 seemed iiicckly inclined to undervalue them. 



My companion, who had seen the things re- 

 peatedly begged that their Philadelphia visitor 

 might lie indulged with a view of these rarities — 

 and, finally, after a little more coquetry, a sort of 

 square lianil-box was produced, and Miss Cathe- 

 rine did the honors olher little museum. 

 [To be cniilinued.] 



BICMARKS BY THE EDITOR OF THE VISITOR. 



The nine years that have passed since tlie visit 

 of Miss Leslie at Boston, have carried to their 

 graves both of the venerable maiden ladies who 

 are the subjects of her story ; and in the yeai 

 1840, the old house, exposed and " darkenec 

 nearlv to the blackness of iron" by alternate heats 

 and fieezings, has been torn away so that the re- 

 membrance of it will soon be forgotten. In our 

 early moriiimr walks, while a temporary resident 

 in Boston little more than a year ago, we saw the 

 old house at first attacked and torn down, and 

 afterwards in successive mornings the ground 

 and soil on which it stood were gathered up as 

 manure in dirt carts.aiid carried away. The old 

 mansion was calculated to attract attention from 

 the liict that it had stood outside of the line of 

 buildings on the two streets where it cornered. 



This house, when first erected, must have stooil 

 without tlie compact part of the town of Bos 

 ton; for since our recollection the giound of the 

 beautiful row of buildings tionting the Boston 

 common on tho north-eust was either vacant 



pace or occupied by inferior wooden tenements. 

 If we remember aright, as long ago as 1798, the 

 Haymarket Theatre stood somewhere near that 

 position. About that time the selectmen of the 

 town exchanged a small lot of ground in what 

 was then called Cornhill, being now a part of 

 Washington street, and received as part pay sev- 

 eral acres of land at the lower end of the beau- 

 tiful common of which the burial ground is now 

 a part ; and at the time were reproached by their 



udging opponents as having made a had bar- 

 gain, paying more than its worth for ground too 

 far out of town to be occuj)ied for any usefiil pur- 

 pose. This purchase, could it now be used for 

 buildings, would readily sell for several hundred 

 thousand dollars. 



The house of Mather Byles stood out of the 

 settled part of Boston ; it is .said there was a frog 

 pond and niudhole directly in front of it. He re- 

 peatedly petitioned the town authorities to abate 

 the nuisance. The " fiithers of the town," in 

 passing in a very wet time, went over the ground 

 up to the knees in this mud; and the fiicetious 

 divine accosted them from his front door : " Aye, 

 gentlemen, I am glad at last to see you moving m 

 this business.' 



Our readers will excuse a little vanity, if we 

 hold conversation now of the recollections of ex- 

 treme youth ; and on this point Mather Byles 

 conies to us as long ago as forty-seven years 

 when the editor of the Visitor was first aide to 

 spell out a sentence of wiiting. 



Mather Byles once owned the premises on 

 which our ancestors were born, anil where sever- 

 al generations of our name have lived and died. 

 The reader will have remarked our repeated ;d- 

 lusions to the garden farms in \Vest Cambridge ; 

 and in another part of this nuinber will be found 

 the ilescription from the pen of Mr. Colmaii of 

 the largest farm in that town owned by Amos 

 Hill, the greater part of which has been reclaim- 

 ed by its present owner and occupant from n 

 swamp nearly useless into arable and grasj land 

 worth $200 per acre. 



Abraham Hill, grandfather to the editor of the 

 Visitor, was the uncle of Amos Hill, of Jairies 

 Hill and David Hill, three among tho very best 

 practical garden fin-mers in the State of Massa- 

 chusetts : the two former are brothers, and James 

 Hill now owns the premises vvliich Abraham Hill 

 owned at the commencement of the war of the 

 revolution. There are eight acres of the home- 

 stead whose annual cultivation can be traced 

 back more than a hundred years, which in all 

 that time have never been " worn out," and which 

 to this day continue to return a net annual profit 

 I'requenily of over a hundred dollars the acre. 



Abraham Hill inherited this ground from his 

 immediate ancestor: the property was divided 

 among several of eleven sons and daughters, 

 leaving quite a small patrimony to him who was 

 the eldest son. Abraham was a soldier of the 

 French war of 1756 returning from which he 

 married and occupied one-half the house of his 

 father, which, metamorphosed into a more mod- 

 ern shape, is still standing almost under the 

 shade of one of the largest elms in the country, 

 which seems neither to have increased or dimin- 

 ished in size for the last fifty years Abraham 

 Hill, at the close of the French war, pursuing the 

 occupation of farmer and inarketer, was well ac- 

 quainted with Mather Byles. With a family of 

 three sons and four daughters, he was anxious to 

 increase his quantity of land : he had not suffi- 

 cient pasturage fi>r his cattle. To complete pay- 

 ment for the purchase of the "Stedman lot," he 

 borrowed of Mather Bvles thirty pounds lawtiil 

 money, a little less than .$100; and to assure pay- 

 ment, mortgaged not only that, but the home- 

 stead. Soon after this time the revolutionary 

 war broke out ; and the great drama opened at 

 Lexington within hearing and almost in sight of 

 this ground : this was in April, 1775. Abraham 

 Hill and his two elder sons were in this fight — - 

 all three of them on the I7th June following were 

 at Bunker Hill ; the eldest son. Abraham, had his 

 hat pierced viith a musket ball from the enemy. 

 The youngest son, father to the e'oitor of the 

 Visitor, then only nine years of age, tarried at 

 home in sight of the flames of Charlestown and 

 within hearing of the cannon ; and with his 

 mother and Sisters spread and took care of some 

 liimdred copks of hay which had been mowed in 

 the beautiful field whose recollection is associated 

 with the firat lispings of childhood. Abrnhain 



