A Tribute To The Home of His Childhood

Maine, 1916

By Rev. George B. Ilsley.

Where was it? In Limerick — one of the best of all the towns in York county, Me., encircled by hills on every side — with excellent farms and orchards, having "fine variety of hard and soft wood growth." The old academy stood upon one of its most sightly hill tops — with the village just below it to the north. From this eminence a splendid view of Mt. Washington was obtained. Except for the climb, it was an ideal spot for scholars. It was a High school, indeed! The village with its three meeting-houses and numerous stores was a centre for trade to surrounding towns. Stages ran daily to Portland, Saco and every other to North Berwick via Alfred.

Not a mile south was the home of my childhood. In 1825 grandfather and father bought one of the Felch farms, and lived together upon it, till 1856, when within three weeks they both died. Until then for 16 years it was my happy home. Working on the land was conducive to physical health and vigor.

Going to the summer and winter terms at the old schoolhouse, developed our mental abilities from the A B C's up to admission to the academy where I began to fit for college in 1856.

"How dear to my heart are those scenes of my childhood!" The making of maple-sugar was strenuous recreation — to lug up the sap from the woods and the boiling of it down to syrup! But, oh how sweet it was! Then came the putting up the gaps in the walls which the frosts had made all around the fields and pastures. It was an early spring task. In haying 5 and 6 would be mowing one after the other. It was fun for us boys to follow up and spread it; and then ride the horse to rake it with "the old revolver."

Sometimes it would be September ere we finished.

The old farm of 200 acres seemed immense to my childish comprehension. It was two miles around it. To go through the woods to the Marr's pasture, where the sheep and oxen were kept, was quite an expedition. But it was always a delight to go with father to salt the sheep!

The farm was well located, all in one solid block, bounded on the west by the Main road, on the north by the county road to Limington, on the east by Peter Fogg's pasture, and south by Isaiah Guptil's farm. (He had six boys, Moses, the triplets, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Hiram and Stillman, and five girls. At one time five in the family could not walk alone.)

To the south Ossipee Mt., 4 miles away, was the highest point to gaze upon. Shapleigh hills and plains were beyond. To the north those of Cornish and Limington appeared. The outlook, going back and forth to the village was always beautiful and inspiring. It is still so as I return to it. No other scenery is quite like it. II. No neighbors were quite so good as those just at a near by "Felch Corner". Shall I name them? Across the garden, below, was uncle Jeremiah's house, with cousins Ben and Ed. The Allen sisters, who sold out to Stoddards and moved to the village, one was my earliest school teacher. Then the Meserves, and aunt Polly and son, Nathaniel L. The Brackett Leavitt family with Shubel, Sarah and Louise; across on the corner. The FelcheS, Amos Gene, Amos Jr, and Alvan, the preacher, then beyond Major his son, Moses Fogg. Westward a bit the little Knowlton home, and then the Pierce family, Daniel and Josiah brothers; then the old wooden school house now since 1858, the brick one then, Albion Bradbury, mother and sisters, then the Doles and Gilpatricks, just on the brow of Favor's hill, where we had our best coasting in winter. Half a mile from Felch's Corner to the East way Tufts bridge. Here was the trout brook running through Bradbury's and Tufts field above the road and through Fogg's pasture south of it, and then into Cradbourne's, then into Pierce, and Gilpatrick's meadows. Do I not still see the hole where I caught my first one? Yes indeed, and going back to it 40 years later cutting away the alders I took another out of the same place. I may do it again before I'm eighty.

The new Dole, Gilpatrick, and Hodgdon saw-mill in which father had a share was a place of great attraction to me and all the boys of the neighborhood. In early spring we could get a big trout, and in summer pickerel. It was a fine place for swimming also, and for building rafts to paddle over the pond to fish and dive from when in bathing.

Many a pleasant picnic was held here, as well as on the old farm when the cousins came in summer time from Portland and Chelsea. But now the old mill is all gone.

Planting time always had some excitement about it, carting out the barn dressing, then plowing it in. Breaking up new ground required all the oxen and steers we could muster. It was a big team sometimes.

One year, Abe Guptil was the hired man, one of the twins. We began spring work April 9th and got all the planting done on May 13th. Then came the sheep washing when the flock was driven to the County Bridge over a mile away. Sometimes we boys, in ducking the big lambs, got plunged in ourselves by their vigorous resistance. This with the shearing and the marking of the lamb's ear, by splitting them was a time of great interest to us. There was nothing dull or dreary about such childhood days.

The hoeing, when the twitch-grass was stout I never enjoyed very much. But I recall one time when grandfather was about 80 and I 15. We had a race to see who would hoe his row out first. I did my best, but he beat me. Up to 83 he was a smart man to work, no matter whether it was hoeing or mowing, digging potatoes or husking corn, he was sure to do his part.

Seventy years ago we as boys had no boughten toys. We had to make our traps for squirrels, skunks and woodchucks if we caught them. Our bows and arrows to shoot with, and our kites to fly we made.

Grandpa being a cabinet-maker in Portland brought many of his tools to Limerick, and had a shop for them. This was our resort on rainy days; and we were not slow about using them to make what we felt we wanted most. At one time I strove hard to construct a violin, but failed in glueing it together. At bow-guns, stilts, traps and sleds, we became quite proficient.

When grandpa found that we had dulled his saws, planes or chisels, and each of us answered that "I didn't do it," he would make his earnest reply to us, "Nobody did it." "Nobody did it."

But we loved him if sometimes he did seem to scold us. We knew he loved us. He was a kind and great hearted, Christian man.

Every morning just before gathering about the big, round breakfast table, when all were present, was his time to furnish devotion. A chapter was read from his Bible, taken down from the dinning room shelf, then he knelt in prayer on our behalf. At every meal it was his custom to ask God's blessing on the food before us.

When the weather was too cold for the Sunday evening prayer meetings to be at the school house our dining room was the usual place for them, at early candle light, where 50 or more, by opening the sitting room, could be seated. In this he always took some part by prayer or testimony. He was a good singer and joined in every song. As a small boy I remember how I helped bring in the chairs and arrange them in rows, for men on one side and women on the other. The light-stand with the Bible and hymn book for the minister was always near the sitting-room-door. The young folks used to gather and those who were not church members used to take the sitting room.

It was grandfather's custom to have a song service after the people had gone.

It was his delight to rehearse many of the old hymns, and have us gather round and help him. With my three sisters and two brothers we had a good time of it; especially when he got out the old bass viol, and uncle Jeremiah came in with his clarionet, and if Aunt "Nodie" was there with her excellent soprano voice, those to me were pretty fine concerts. Here I took my first lessons in music. One of his favorite hymns was "How Firm a Foundation Ye Saints of the Lord." Such influences tended to draw me early into Christian life, and later all my brothers and sisters.

Our aged grandpa's example and life were a constant benediction upon us, filling the home with the sweetest of good influences. His benignant face stills hangs upon my study wall.

It was always a pleasure to be with him in the field, in the carriage, or in the old meeting house on the Hill. One of my boyish amusements in the square pew at the right of the pulpit, with closed door was the getting of flies and wasps into a paper box which was made for that purpose. In the winter Grandma had her foot stove there. Old Elder Flanders of Buxton, who had a very big nose, whom my father used to shave, before he went to church Sunday morning to supply, was one of the first I can remember. He used to put up at our house. When he blew his nose with a big red bandanna handkerchief he made a loud noise of it. In the "40's" when Josiah Tilton was pastor I remember going to the Donation Party at the parsonage and the eating of blancmange of which I still have a fondness. Then came Elder Tripp who taught one term of winter school, whereby my thirst for knowledge was much strengthened. After he came Rev. Jeremiah D. Tilton under whom I joined the church in 1854.

It is with grief I think now of the diminished membership and the closed doors on Lord's Day of the Little White church on the Hill.

Most of the people of 70 years ago are buried in the cemetery close by. What a joy it would be to go back and meet them there again as in the days of childhood.

"Backward, turn backward,
O Time, in your flight,
Make me a child again
Just for to night!"
***. (To mother)

"Many a summer,
The grass has grown green
Blossomed and faded,
Our faces between;
Yet with strong yearning
and passionate pain
Long I tonight
For your presence again.
Rocke me to sleep mother
Rocke me to sleep."
—Earnest Leslie.

"Be it ever so humble,
there is no place like home;
A charm from the skies
Seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek thru the world,
Is ne'er met with elsewhere.
Home, home sweet, sweet home."
— John Howard Payne.

—The Fryeburg Post, Fryeburg, Maine, Sept. 12, 1916, p. 8.