President, CHARLES H. PRESTON. Vice Presidents, GEORGE B. SEARS, LESTER S. COUCH. Assistant Secretary, MISS MABEL I. GILLILAND. Treasurer, WALLACE P. PERRY. Curator, CAPT. HENRY N. COMEY. Librarian, MRS. EMILIE D. PATCH. Historian, EZRA D. HINES. Executive Committee, MRS. ANNIE G. NEWHALL, WALTER A. TAPLEY, MISS FIDELIA J. BOWDOIN, LORING B. GOODALE and GEORGE W. EMERSON. Committee on Publication, EZRA D. HINES, ANDREW NICHOLS and MISS HARRIET S. TAPLEY. NOTES. Attention is called to our two sources of income at the Page house from the afternoon teas served during the summer season, and from the fine collection of photographic post cards of the house, also views of other Danvers houses and scenery. We solicit the patronage of members and friends of the Society. The post-cards include: Five views of the Page house (interior and exterior), Page house (old location), Memorial Drinking Fountain in Danvers Square, Oak Knoll, Gen. Israel Putnam house, Entrance to the Endicott farm, Town Hall and High School, Peabody Institute, Spring street, Frost Fish brook bridge, Rebecca Nurse house, Pedrick's woods, Putnam's pond, George Jacobs house, and others, all are 5 cents each; photograph, Nichols chair (American Colonial, about 1650), 25 cents; "Her Garden," a poem of the Page house, by Lucy Larcom, illustrated, 50 cents; printed picture of Mrs. Mary Page, 5 cents; Handbook and Guide to Danvers' historic places, 10 cents, 3 for 25 cents. Mail orders, with postage enclosed, will receive prompt attention. The Society's greatest need is money, of which it can use to advantage small sums as well as large. See "Our Financial Needs" by the President, on page 96. We must provide for the future, and to this end we earnestly beg you to consider the following FORM OF BEQUEST. "I hereby give, devise and bequeath to the Danvers Historical Society, a Massachusetts Corporation, its successors and assigns, to its and their own use and behoof forever." OF THE DANVERS HISTORICAL SOCIETY VOL. 4. DANVERS, MASS. 1916. REV. CHARLES B. RICE.-A MEMORIAL. BY REV. AUSTIN RICE. READ AT A MEETING OF THIS SOCIETY, JAN. 19, 1914. I thank you for the respect and honor which you are showing to the memory of my father in devoting this evening to a review of his life. He thought much of the Danvers Historical Society, and it would be pleasing to him to think that you so kindly recalled his presence and his interest. I could earnestly wish, however, that the task of speaking about him had been given to some one else one who could speak without the limitations which make it difficult for a son to tell about his father. But on the other hand I esteem it as a sacred privilege. When I was a little child, we were taught in our home to regard Moses as the greatest man that ever lived. On general principles I supposed that this must be correct, but in my secret heart I had grave doubts whether my father were not superior to Moses, though of course it would hardly do to admit it. You will not expect me to attempt any appraisement of my father, but perhaps you may be interested in an informal sketch of his life and of some events and incidents which were characteristic. Charles Baker Rice was born in Conway, Massachusetts, June 29, 1829. His great-grandfather, Israel Rice, had been one of the first settlers of Conway. He was still living at the age of ninety, and was dimly remembered by Charles, so that these two lives carry us back far beyond the Revolution, and well into the French and Indian wars. The grandfather, Joseph Rice, was a jolly, witty man; genial and companion (1) able, and a Democrat in politics. In manner and temperament, Charles Rice resembled his grandfather. The father, Col. Austin Rice, was an able farmer, a lover of horses and trees and a fine judge of both. He was a colonel of the militia, active in public affairs in both town and county, a Whig in politics and a devout Christian. The mother, Charlotte Baker, was the daughter of a neighboring farmer, and was a capable and intelligent woman of a sprightly temper and generous nature. Charles Rice was brought up to the hard work and steadfast self-reliant toil of a New England farm three-quarters of a century ago. Col. Austin Rice was firm and austere; he did not have to speak twice to his children. He had the reputation among his neighbors of being stern, but I have often heard my father say he did not regard his father as having been too strict. In those days what a boy earned went into the family purse. It was common toil. Spending money was scarce. My grandfather Rice was not what we would call poor. His farm was mortgaged when he inherited it, or bought out an interest in it, but it was a good farm and it became under skillful care one of the best farms in the whole town. But in those days sober-minded people were apt to be careful of money. Since father's death your president has told me a story which I can hardly believe, and indeed if it had not come to me directly from him-and I know that the president of an Historical Society must be accurate in names and memoryI should not credit it at all. And while having perfect confidence in your president in all these things, I still asked my father's younger sister if it could be true, and as she thinks that very possibly it was true, we will take it for true. Your president once asked Mr. Rice how he was able to make the moderate salary of the parsonage go so far in educating his children and providing for his home. He answered with this story. "When I was a boy I had but two ways of making money. I got a cent for every rat I caught, and a cent for every four dozen eggs I brought in." "How many hens did. you have"? asked Mr. Sullivan. "Four," was the reply. It was with such drill that this farmer's boy learned not to be wasteful! I still have some difficulty with this story because I have myself repeatedly heard father say that at Thanksgiving time they killed anywhere from a dozen to twenty hens! I leave the reconciliation of these facts to you, only affirming that both must be true. Possibly the "four" hens were the boy's own, while the dozen or twenty unfortunate hens belonged to the farm. The fattening of sheep was profitable. Sheep would be brought from western New York, and Austin Rice, who was a good judge of sheep, together with some neighbors, partners in the enterprise, would be gone from home a few weeks. On one occasion the father had started west in the early morning. Evening came after the long day, and the little boy, his son, perhaps three or four years old, sat down on the stone steps at the south door. He gazed wistfully across the valley of the South river toward the hills where his father had gone and across which he would return. "What are you doing, Charles?" asked his mother. "I'm watching for father." "But you know father will not be back for several weeks." "Yes, but I'm watching slowly." It was a great day for the lad when he was allowed to go on these excursions, and a still greater day when he was trusted to drive home the sheep. Four farmers would pool their interests, make a common purchase, and on their return they would have a sorting at Savoy, a town fifteen miles from Conway where the roads forked. The sheep would be divided roughly into three grades. Each farmer in turn would pick a sheep from the first grade, until these were distributed, then from the second, and finally from the poorest. The lads enjoyed these trips very much, and they learned to prize the hospitality along the way, and to tell which of the farmer's wives made the best pies and doughnuts, and especially that kind of doughnuts known as nut-cakes. Once my father and a boy of about the same age—a guess, sixteen-were trusted with bringing home some sheep on the very last stage of the journey; they had a small flock, and one very handsome bell-wether. A bystander offered them what the boys considered a good price for this latter. They sold him with satisfaction, and returned with the rest of their flock, proud of their bargain. But the father was not pleased, partly because they had no right to sell the sheep, being boys, and not having received permission, and partly because they had got too little for the fellow. So the boys were required to drive back the fifteen miles, with a letter to the farmer explaining that they were under age, and had acted without orders, and asking for the return of the sheep. It was a salutary but most painful lesson, and their feelings on the second trip were somewhat different from those on the first. In my father's boyhood the mowing machine had not come into general use. Work of mowing and pitching was done by hand, and "Charley" Rice was known among the young men for his strength and swiftness. There was only one other young man in Conway, a town of one thousand inhabitants, who, father has told me, would have beaten him at this, and perhaps two or three more practically his equals. Up to the time when he had rheumatic fever at about forty-six years of age, father still retained this gift of exceptional physical strength. Some large stories used to be current in Danvers Center of a hugh stone which he lifted easily-I am not sure but with one hand-over which two or more men had tugged in vain. This story in course of time grew to larger proportions than the stone itself, and father was apt to disclaim it. But there can be little doubt that he had the gift of marked physical strength, and also the power to work without feeling the loss of sleep. At sixteen years of age father entered Williston Seminary, at Easthampton, remaining three years. The time from 1848 to 1856 was spent partly in teaching. He taught in the public schools of Conway, and in Natick. In those days the Bible was frequently used as a general text-book in reading, and the scholars made some amusing mistakes. One Natick boy was stumbling through the passage which describes the healing of the impotent man at Lystra. The lad read it thus:-"And there sat a man at Lystra important in his feet.” That expression has become a byword in our family. Among boys and in college circles there is sometimes danger that this may become the important part; but members of an historical society doubtless keep the true sense of values. This young school teacher always retained a deep respect for the simple country school. He recognized its defects; but he maintained that it had its advantages. A bright boy could go ahead as fast as he was able to learn. Ambition was rewarded. He was not held back by the necessity of completing a certain fixed course of study, or by keeping step with a laggard. When he mastered a subject he could pass on to the next one. There was not nearly so much red tape in the conduct of the school, or such tedious making out of reports which often sap the originality and strength of a teacher. I do not know how exactly to describe the other quality which father liked in the country school. Perhaps it was more sincere; more elastic; more personal. There may have been less of what might be called "school fixings" and more boy and more teacher! Again and again father has said to us-a school may |