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Bay State House,

Worcester, Massachusetts,

May Tenth.

I slept soundly at the South Framingham House and was up and out to the hotel stable at an early hour in the morning. I found Paul Revere, my equine companion, in good spirits and fancied that the significant look he gave me was an assurance that he would be ready for the road when called for.

After a hearty breakfast and a few questions concerning the beautiful little city in which I had spent the first night of my journey, I mounted Paul and rode out towards the Boston and Albany Turnpike. Being impressed with the appearance and enterprise of the place, while passing through some of its streets especial inquiry was made concerning its population, schools and industries. I learned that South Framingham is twenty-one miles from Boston, at the junction of the Boston and Albany and Old Colony Railways. Its population at that time was about 10,000. Its graded schools are among the first in the State. It supports several banks and newspapers and is engaged in the manufacture of woollens, rubber goods, boots and shoes, harness and machinery.

The ride from South Framingham to Worcester was uneventful if I except the pelting rain which from drizzle to down-pour followed me from start to finish. Indeed, it really seemed as though the first days of my journey were to be baptismal days and I regret exceedingly that these early stages of the trip were not more propitious; for, had the weather been less disagreeable, I should have seen Eastern Massachusetts under much more favorable circumstances.

The city limits of Worcester were reached at four o'clock in the afternoon and a half hour later I was registered at the Bay State House. Many relatives called upon me here, most of whom were residents of the city and vicinity. Lectured at the Opera House in the evening, being introduced to my audience by Colonel Finley of Charlestown, to whom previous reference has been made, and with whom I had arranged to accompany me as far as Syracuse, New York, and further if my advance agents should think it advisable for him to do so.

The fact that both my father and mother were natives of Worcester County and that most of our ancestors for several generations had been residents of Worcester and vicinity made that city of unusual interest to me, and I trust the reader will be indulgent if I allot too much space or seem too partial in my description of this early landmark in my journey.

Worcester, nestling among the hills along the Blackstone River, the second city in Massachusetts, the heart of the Commonwealth, has a population of about 85,000.

Shut in by its wall of hills, it seemed, as I first came into it, something like a little miniature world in itself. It possesses some share of all the good we know. Nature, that "comely mother," has laid her caressing hand upon it. Art has made many a beautiful structure to adorn its streets. Commerce smiles upon it. While its wonderful manufactures seem to form a great living, throbbing heart for the city.

VIEW IN WORCESTER MASSACHUSETTS.

Sauntering up from the depot, through Front street, five minutes' walk brought me to the Old Common. There I found, what one so frequently finds in Massachusetts towns and cities—namely, a War Monument. Apparently that mighty five years' struggle, that brilliant victory, bringing freedom to two million fellow-creatures, bringing power, union, glory to the nation, has burned itself into the very heart of the Old Bay State; and lest posterity might forget the lessons she learned from 1861 to 1865, everywhere she has planted her war monuments, to remind her children that

"Simple duty has no place for fear."

In the shade of Worcester Common is another object of interest. A little plot of ground, wherein stands a grand old tomb. It is the resting-place of Timothy Bigelow, the early patriot of Worcester. Here in the sunshine and the twilight, in the bloom of summer, and under the soft falling snows of winter, he perpetually manifests to the world

"How sleep the brave, who sink to rest

By all their country's wishes blest."

A sturdy old New Englander was Colonel Bigelow. "When the news of the destruction of the tea in Boston Harbor reached him, he was at work in his blacksmith shop, near the spot now called Lincoln Square. He immediately laid aside his tools, proceeded directly to his house, opened the closet, and took from it a canister of tea, went to the fire-place, and poured the contents into the flames. As if feeling that everything which had come in contact with British legislative tyranny should be purified by fire, the canister followed the tea; and then he covered both with coals.

"Before noon on the nineteenth of April, 1775, an express came to town, shouting, as he passed through the street at full speed, 'To arms! to arms!—the war's begun.' His white horse, bloody with spurring, and dripping with sweat, fell exhausted by the church. Another was instantly procured, and the tidings went on. The bell rang out the alarm, cannon were fired, and messengers were sent to every part of the town to collect the soldiery. As the news spread, the implements of husbandry were thrown by in the field; and the citizens left their homes, with no longer delay than to seize their arms. In a short time, the 'minute-men' were paraded on the green, under Captain Timothy Bigelow. After fervent prayer by Rev. Mr. Maccarty, they took up their line of march to the scene of conflict." Such was Bigelow's zeal and ardor in the great cause of the times, that he appeared on the following morning, at the head of his "minute-men," in the square at Watertown, having marched them there, a distance of over thirty miles, during that one short night.

On the nineteenth of April, 1861, the Bigelow Monument was dedicated. At the very hour of the consecration exercises, the Massachusetts Sixth Regiment was engaged in its memorable struggle and triumphant passage through the blockaded streets of Baltimore at the beginning of the Civil War.

A NEW ENGLAND PAPER MILL.

Along the west side of the Old Common runs Main street, just out of which, in Pearl street, is the Post Office. I have seen a curious computation with regard to that Post Office development, which aptly illustrates the rapid growth of Worcester. The number of letters sent out in 1809 was about 4,400. The number of letters taken out fifty years later was 523,808. Main street reaches Lincoln Square, where stand the two court houses. The old one has been removed a few feet, and refitted. In it the criminal courts are held; there too are the offices of the court of probate and insolvency.

The New Court House was built in 1845 of Quincy granite, at a cost of about one hundred thousand dollars. In it the civil terms of the courts are held, with numerous ante-rooms for the jurors and for consultation. The lower floor is occupied by the office of the register of deeds, and by the clerk's and treasurer's offices.

Close neighbor to the court houses is the building containing the rooms of the American Antiquarian Society, one of the leading learned bodies of our country. It was founded in 1812. It possesses a very valuable library, especially rich on subjects of local interest to Americans. The newspapers filed here include over four thousand volumes, beginning with the Boston News Letter of 1804, and closing with the great journals of to-day. This same society also possesses a very interesting collection of pre-historic American relics.

In Lincoln Square stands the old Salisbury mansion, an interesting specimen of a colonial house, which has been standing a century or so, since the time when those substantial buildings, with their wide halls, high ceilings, and strong walls, were built on honor. There it has stood in its dignity, more flimsy, more showy architecture springing up around it, until now the fin de siècle eye discovers that nothing is more to be desired than one of these same sturdy old colonial houses.

Main street contains many churches. On it is the large, ugly-looking, but justly celebrated, Clark University, which is devoted to scientific research, with its wonderfully equipped chemical laboratory.

Any one who wants a bird's-eye view of Worcester and its environments, can easily have it by strolling out Highland street to Newton Hill. It is only about a mile from Lincoln Park, but it is six hundred and seventy feet above the sea level, and from it "the whole world, and the glory thereof," seems spread out at one's feet.

On Salisbury street, one mile from the square, stands the house in which George Bancroft, the historian, dear to American hearts, was born.

A mile and a half from the square, on Salisbury Pond, are located the famous Wire Works of Washburn and Moen.

There are many buildings to interest the visitor in Worcester. The State Lunatic Asylum, with its one thousand patients; the free Public Library on Elm street, containing eighty thousand volumes; the High School on Walnut street; the Museum of the National Historical Society, on Foster street; All Saint's Church; the Polytechnic Institute; the College of the Holy Cross, six hundred and ninety feet above the sea, and many another place of interest, calling on the passers-by to look, and learn of the world's advancement.

Standing on one of the heights overlooking the little river, the surrounding hills, the busy city, throbbing with its many manufactories, it seemed to me I had before my eyes an object lesson of the wonderful resources, the vim, the power of making "all things work together for good," which I take to be the vital characteristic of American manhood.

I remembered reading that in 1767 a committee was appointed to decide whether it would be wise to attempt to locate a village on the present site of Worcester.

They reported that the place was one day's journey from Boston, and one day's journey from Springfield, that the place was well watered by streams and brooks, and that in eight miles square there was enough meadow to warrant the settling of sixty families, adding these words: "We recommend that a prudent and able committee be appointed to lay it out, and that due care be taken by said committee that a good minister of God's Word be placed there, as soon as may be, that such people as be there planted may not live like lambs in a large place."

That was only a little more than a century ago. As I stood overlooking it all, "thickly dotted with the homes of the husbandmen, and the villages of the manufacturer, traversed by canal and railway, and supporting a dense population," proving so strong a contrast between the past generation's humble anticipations, and our overflowing prosperity, I asked myself what those old Puritans would have thought of our railroads, our electric cars, our modern machines, our telephones; and I said, with a spirit of self-gratulation,

"We are living, we are dwelling,

In a grand and awful time;

In an age on ages telling,

To be living is sublime."

There is little doubt that future generations will look back upon this age as the brightest in the world's history.