The Shoemaker's Shop

     The shoemaker's shop, to which allusion has been made, and of which we have a few specimens still extant among us, cannot boast of a great antiquity. It came into use about the middle of the last century or a little earlier. The size of these shops varied from the "ten-footer" - as one measuring ten feet in length by ten feet in width was called - to those measuring fourteen feet each way. These last were regarded as of almost palatial dimensions. The average was nearer twelve by twelve. They were generally finished six and a half feet clear in height, a few being below that figure and a few above it, so that a tall man with a tall hat on ran no small risk of damaging his head gear on entering the door, as the stove-pipe hat was then generally worn. The garret was left unfinished, and was the common receptacle of all kinds of litter and of everything not wanted for use, or wanted only occasionally. This was reached by a perpendicular ladder, which was more easy of descent than of ascent. The contents of some of these garrets were a mitigated museum. Old lasts - some of them of styles dating back a quarter or a half century - candle rigging, old umbrellas, broken chairs, old boots, occasionally an old clock, old hats, the bottoms of two or three old boots - the tops cut off very near the sole and used as a receptacle for wax - besides a miscellaneous assortment of all sorts of trumpery, the accumulation oftentimes of two or three generations, made up in part the stock of odds and ends found in these "cock-lofts," whose owners believed that everything comes in use once in every seven years.
     The number working in one of these shops ranged from four to eight, according to the size of the edifice and other circumstances, and taken collectively was called the shop's crew. The space occupied by each "jour" was called his "berth." This was the space covered by his "seat" or "bench" - "seat" was the more common name in Lynn - and a foot or two, more or less, in front and at the left. There must, of course, be room to swing the arms in sewing. When each workman had space to "swing out," the most essential condition was complied with. Sometimes grave disputes would arise respecting the limits of some of these berths, which were doubtless settled oftentimes by diplomacy, as subtile and as significant within its narrow range as that characterizing the settlement of the boundaries of empires.
     For the first half century, or thereabouts, shops were built with fireplaces to secure the needed warmth in cold weather, as heating by stoves was an invention of a later period. When the weather was excessively cold it became a question whether it would pay to heat up the shop; or, in other words, whether they could earn the cost of fuel. If not, the crew went gunning. The test was said , to be made by sprinkling water on a lapstone; and applying it to some tender part of the body. If the experiment was not too disastrous, a fire was built and work was attempted.
     It is impossible to tell when the first stove was used in heating one of these shops, but it is probable that they were introduced gradually for a short period before the close of the last century. As new shops were built, the little fireplace in the corner was dispensed with and the newly-invented stove took its place.
     What kind of a stove was first used is a matter of some doubt. Something like a huge brick box projecting from the chimney near the floor was among the early contrivances to secure a greater degree of heat than could be obtained from the open fireplaces, and was called a "Dutch stove." This, however, is not the invention that usually goes by that name.
     There seems to be some evidence that the first stove used was like that which came into more general use some time later. The sides, ends, top and bottom of this stove were cast separately and held together with rods.
     One of the first stoves used was cylindrical, or drum-shaped, and hence called a "drum-stove." The box-stove was soon after introduced. This stove was cast entire, except the bottom, which probably explains the circumstance that one was rarely or never seen that was not cracked. This crack was generally stopped up with mortar.
     Wood was used for fuel, eked out by leather scraps. Upon the introduction of coal in 1833 the small cylindrical-shaped coal stove, or salamander as it was called, gradually took the place, to a considerable extent, of the box-stove, both on account, of the smaller cost of coal as fuel, and of the greater steadiness of the fire, which not only required much less care but which gave a less spasmodic heat. The arrangements for ventilation were neither scientific nor complicated. On the contrary, they were of the most primitive character. When a full crew were at work, and the windows and door had been closed for some time, the miscellaneous odors arising from tobacco smoke, burning leather, shoemaker's wax, and deoxygenated air, made a compound which no chemist ever undertook to imitate, and which did not remind one of the Spice Islands. When this odor was unendurable a window or door would be opened, to the great risk of any rheumatic victim who might be seated near. In cold weather it was customary for the crew to take turns in building the fire. This was sometimes a weekly and sometimes a daily arrangement. The exception to this was when a boy was one of the crew. In such cases the boy was expected to build the fire. This, however, was often a mere theory. A knowing boy always fell back on his inalienable rights. When the theory was first announced to such a boy he would proceed to examine the grounds on which the claim rested; and a discussion of first principles followed, unless the debate was cut short, by reminding him that he was a boy, and it was expected that he would perform the duty. "Not at present," would be the calm reply, and he would usually carry his point by the mere momentum of genius. These were the days before friction matches were introduced or coal used in this part of the country. As it was not practicable to keep a fire over night in the stoves used, as is now done in coal stoves for weeks together - and as was then commonly done in the old-fashioned fireplaces where "fire was raked up o' nights" - a fire had to be built each morning; and flint, steel and tinder-box were resorted to, or it was necessary to bring a "brand's end" or a shovel of live coals from a neighboring house. A man didn't knock the skin off of his knuckles every time he tried to strike fire - a boy was more likely to - and the tinder was likely to catch when it was not too damp. One can imagine the situation of a man sitting over a tinderbox when the thermometer - if there had been one within three or four miles - would have indicated five or ten below zero, and trying to strike off a few sparks and make them go in the right direction. The interest of the picture is heightened if we imagine that he had poor mittens on his hands as he walked a mile or more - as was sometimes the case - from his house to the shop; and the interest is heightened still more if we suppose he didn't have any mittens at all. In this case his fingers were a thermometer showing a lower figure than the mercury ever reached. After a while, even under the most discouraging circumstances, the fire was built and the shop heated - or "het up" as it was usually expressed - sufficiently to "work the wax." This was the grand test. If the wax did not "fly" from the thread on a cold day in the operation of sewing, the temperature was thought to be about right, supposing, of course, that the wax was tempered properly. In the meantime there were ranged around the stove paste-horns of frozen paste, blacking-bottles, gum-bottles, and all other bottles containing any liquid that froze during the night. In severe weather it generally took pretty much the whole forenoon to "thaw out the corners." It was amusing to see a boy make a thread before the shop was fully warmed. He would hold the wax to the fire; then he would breathe on it; then he would attempt to draw his thread through it; then the wax would break into a dozen pieces and part of it would fly in his face, part stick to his apron, and the rest get all over his hand and between his fingers. He would then present a picture of helplessness and despondency such as would rarely darken his pathway in after life. Then he would try to get the wax off of his hands. Then one of the crew would make an encouraging remark and tell him that if he couldn't get rid of the wax any other way he might cut his hand off.
     The shop was often infested with mice; and original measures were sometimes resorted to by the crew to protect the various articles subject to the depredations of the vermin. The paste-horn would be rolled up in a leather apron and stowed away in a drawer of the "seat." Some would suspend the horn by a string from the ceiling. Then the lap-stone would be put over the grease-box, and everything eatable would be guarded against the ravages of this puny though by no means insignificant nuisance. The simple mouse-trap was not then invented; and various contrivances called traps were constructed - mostly by boys - designed to bring some unwary mouse to an untimely end. As it was generally harder to get into one of these traps than it was to keep outside, the mice held their midnight revels while the young inventor lay dreaming that he had carved for himself a name - with a shoe knife - before whose brightness the fame of Arkwright was to fade in dim eclipse.
     A boy while learning his trade was called a "seamster;" that is, he sewed the shoes for his master, or employer, or to use one of the technicalities of the "craft," he "worked on the seam." Sometimes the genius of one of these boys would outrun all limits. One of this kind, who may be called Alphonzo, worked on the seam for a stipulated sum. He seemed to regard his work as an incidental circumstance. When he left the shop at night he might be expected back the next morning: but there were no special grounds for the expectation. He might drop in the next morning, or the next week. He left one Saturday night and did not make his appearance again until the following Thursday morning. On entering the shop he proceeded to take off his jacket as though there had been no hiatus in his labor. His master watched him with an amused countenance to see whether he would recognize the lapse of time. At length he said, "Where have you been, Alphonzo?" Alphonzo turned his head in an instant, as if struck with the preposterousness of the inquiry, and exclaimed, "Me? I? O, I've been down to Nahant." The case was closed.

THE SHOEMAKER'S KIT.

     It may be interesting at some future time to know what constituted the"kit" of the shoemaker of the olden time. The following tools and appliances were regarded as essential : - A lap-stone, hammer, stirrup, whet-board, pincers, nippers, - sometimes - shoulder-stick, (one or more), longstick, pettibois, toe-stick, fender, bead, scraper, knives of different descriptions, such as skiver, paring-off knife, heel-knife, etc., awl, bristles, tacks, wax, a piece of sponge, paste-horn, bottles for blacking, gum - and acid in later times - chalk, dogfish skin (till within the last fifty years when sandpaper took its place), stitch-rag, grease, channel-opener - usually called an open-channel - and apron. As might be supposed some workmen required a more elaborate outfit in the way of tools than others. Some would be satisfied with two knives, while others thought it needful to have half a dozen. The ambition of some would be satisfied with one shoulder-stick, while others had quite an assortment. The lap-stone, which is so often considered the emblem of the shoemaker's craft, was frequently a possession having a local interest and value that gave to its possessor the reputation of unknown wealth. It may have been brought by a near relative from the coast of Java, or from some of the beaches washed by the Pacific Ocean. It was so perfect in shape, so smooth upon its face, and so completely adapted to its purpose, that it was the envy of the whole neighborhood. Nobody had any clear idea of the wealth of the man that owned such a lap-stone. It was never computed, but remained in a shroud of mist until the owner passed beyond the reach of prices current, and the executor, in administering upon the estate, brought the incomputed treasure within the range of measurable values. 
     Other pieces of kit would sometimes be invested with an historic value unknown if indeed computable. One would possess a "shoulder-stick" made from a club with which a sailor uncle had knocked down a Sandwich Islander when Commodore Porter visited the Pacific Islands in the war of 1812; or, possibly, some other owned one that was made from a tomahawk brandished by some red Indian in the colonial wars. These men died in the possession of unestimated wealth.
     In almost everyone of these shops there was one whose mechanical genius outrun that of all the rest. He could "temper wax," "cut shoulders," sharpen scrapers and cut hair. The making of wax was an important circumstance in the olden time. To temper it just right so that it would not be too brittle and "fly" from the thread, or too soft and stick to the fingers, was an art within the reach of but few, or if within reach, was attained only by those who aspired to scale the heights of fame, and who, "while, their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night." Such a one eyed his skillet of melted rosin as the alchemist of old viewed his crucible wherein he was to transmute the baser metals into gold. When the rosin was thoroughly melted, oil or grease was added until the right consistency was supposed to be nearly reached, the compound being thoroughly stirred in the meantime. Then the one having the matter in charge would first dip his finger in cold water and then into the melted mass, and taking the portion that adhered to his finger, would test its temper by pulling it, biting it, and rolling it in his hands. If found to be too hard, more oil or grease would be added, but very cautiously, as the critical moment was being reached. Then the test would be again applied. When the right result was supposed to be nearly gained, a piece of wax would be passed around among the crew for a confirmatory verdict. If the judgment of the master of' ceremonies was indorsed, the experiment ended, and the mixture was poured into a vessel of cold water  -usually the "shop-tub " - to cool sufficiently to be "worked." This was done by "pulling," which bleached it as candy is whitened by the same process. The opinion was held by some that the "working" of the wax injured its quality. The wax was usually kept in the bottom of an old boot or shoe, the top of which had been cut off near the sale. In some cases it was allowed to remain at the bottom of the shop-tub. The shop-tub was an indispensable article in every shop. In early times, before the manufactures of wooden ware had become plenty and cheap, some rudely-constructed wooden vessel of home manufacture served the purpose. Afterwards a paint-keg or a firkin with the top sawed off, and still later a second-hand water-pail, was made to do service.
     The theory was that the water of the shop-tub was to be changed every day. As this water was used for wetting the "stock " - which meant all the sole leather put into the shoe - and also often used for washing hands, it was somewhat necessary that it should be changed occasionally. The shifting of the "tub" often devolved upon the boy of the shop, except when he was too bright. In that case he "shirked" with the rest of the crew. This was the sort of boy that looked out of the attic window of the dormitory where he slept, to see if the smoke was gracefully curling from the shop's chimney, in the gray of the morning as he stretched himself for a supplementary snooze.     
     The man who had an "eye" for cutting "shoulders" occupied a niche of distinction among his fellow-craftsmen. If it was not necessary that he should have a "microscopic eye " - which Mr. Pope tells us man does not need because he "is not a fly," - it was needful that he should have a "geometric eye" when called upon to adjust the "shoulder" to "convex" and "concave" edges. To do this successfully required little less than a stroke of genius. Two cents was the usual price for cutting a "shoulder ," and an experienced cutter would gather in each week quite a pile of the large-size coppers of those days, whose purchasing power of many things was twice as great as at present.
     Next to the man who could "make wax" and "cut shoulders," was he who could sharpen "scrapers." It was a very difficult thing to get a good blade for a scraper. It required a peculiar toughness and "temper," otherwise it would "break" in "turning, " and show an edge full of fine "gaps," instead of that smoothness which was indispensable in scraping the bottoms of fine shoes. When a man was fortunate enough to own one of these well-tempered blades it was not considered a marketable commodity. The rash and envious might skirmish around the outposts of commercial values, and end their fruitless attempt by naming some sum before unheard-of in the purchase of any such article ; but they were pooh-poohed aside with lofty disdain that shut the gates of traffic and locked them on both sides. Sometimes a venturesome youth would suggest to such a man, the owner of such a scraper, that he lend it to him, the aforesaid youth, "just to try." The inexpressible glance of the owner was such as the conqueror of the world might be supposed to have given had a small-headed Greek corporal proposed to borrow the helmet of Alexander. A boy never tried such an experiment but once.
     There were several things connected with the shoemaker's art, besides those already mentioned, requiring the skill of the expert and the trained hand of the practiced workman. The making of "fenders" was an important job. These were at first made of discarded horn combs - then much more worn than at present - and went by the name of "stitch-bones." They were made by soaking the combs in hot water until they could be bent into any shape required and easily cut. They were then cut into strips about an inch wide, and four or five inches long, and scraped thin at one end so that it could be inserted between the upper and the sole as a protection against the point of the knife in paring off the edge. Sometimes a hole was discovered in one of these "fenders," but not until one or more pairs of shoes had been cut, and possibly spoiled, thus materially reducing the wages of the week. These fenders were afterwards made of lead and pewter, or block tin, (later still fenders were made of copper,) melted together in such proportions that they would not be too hard and brittle on the one hand, nor too soft and easily cut on the other; these were generally called "stitch-leads." They were usually run in a "mould" cut in a piece of pine board, and a boy's first attempt at this experiment filled him with a responsibility as great, perhaps, as that felt by Brunnel when he constructed his model for the Thames tunnel.
     The man who could cut hair had more opportunities to display his talent than were profitable; as a recognition of this talent was considered an equivalent compensation for the service rendered; and as most of this work was done on Sunday, the wielder of the shears did not consider himself  "out" much. It might also be mentioned as bearing incidentally on this point, that there were some in those days, as now, that did not attend church on rainy Sunday forenoons. The hair-cutting of that time was hardly a decorative art.
     As already hinted, some were much better provided with "kit" than others. A man with three or four boys at work was often obliged to economize in this particular, and certain tools were passed round from one to the other as each had occasion to use them. Accordingly one would hear "shoulder-stick, Joe," "long-stick, Jim," "pastehorn, Jed," which had a marked effect in breaking up the monotony, if there ever was any monotony in a shoemaker's shop. At such times it was unsafe to cross the shop, as the danger from flying "kit" varied according to the size and weight of the tool that happened to be in the air at a given time.
     The apron of the old-time shoemaker was made of leather - sometimes of calf-skin, but generally of sheep-skin. The old settlers in Lynn who came from Marblehead - and there were many such here - called these aprons "barvels" (pronounced "borvul.") Most of these workmen were fishermen in early life who made their summer trip to the "Grand Banks," or up the "Straits," and employed their winters in working at the "craft." The" barvel "was a short apron worn to protect the knees from the splashing of water in washing out the fish preparatory to curvng them or drying them upon the "flakes." As might be supposed, there were a good many sea phrases, or "salt notes," as they were called, used in the shops. In the morning one would hear, "Come, Jake, hoist the sails," which was simply a call to roll up the curtains. When it was time to "quit work" in the evening some one would say, "I guess it's about time to 'douse the glim,'" which meant in more classic English to put out the lights. This phrase is used by Walter Scott ; Webster marks it as slang. "Glim" is provincial German for light or spark. "Douse," Webster says, is from "dout,", an old word signifying to extinguish. These "salt notes" were adapted to all occasions. If a boy got upon his "tantrums," and displayed his enthusiasm in too marked a manner, he would be suddenly checked with the authoritative cry, "Avast there; avast!" If debate ran high upon some exciting topic, some veteran would quietly remark, "Squally, squally to-day. Come, better luff and bear away."
     The long winter evenings were considered equal to half a day. Work was often continued as late as ten o'clock, and not unfrequently the glimmering light would be seen in the dim distance at a much later hour. The light was obtained in early times from tallow candles, then made in almost every household. In later times, as whale oil became cheaper, lamps were used to some extent. Snuffers were indispensable to keep the wicks "snuffed," and when the lights were in good trim, all that were burning in one of these shops would give nearly as much light as one good kerosene lamp. When the candles needed "snuffing" a man with good eyesight could see all the way across the shop. How work, requiring the nicety of the shoemaker's art, could be carried on in those days of candles and dim-burning oil lamps, is a mystery to those living at the present time.
     One boy in a shop made a good deal of amusement; three or four made an entertainment. Sometimes one of these boys would be unusually precocious. He was ready for any emergency. He was full of information, and had a word of comment or suggestion on every occurence likely to take place. He generally gained the title of  "old man." When some important matter was under discussion, some one of the crew would remark. "What does the 'old man' say about it ?" When this advanced youth had made some exceptionally wise observation, some one would improvise a song, beginning, "old age came on" - or something of similar import - the rest of the crew joining to swell the chorus. This was the sort of boy of whom it was said that "his father boarded with him." He never went after a left-handed whetstone but once. One of these boys had occasion to do an errand at the old "Union store" - an establishment of which more will be said hereafter. He was accompanied by a younger brother. Amos A., who was often present at the store, and who had a quiet vein of humor running through him, watched their movements with a good deal of interest. After making the several purchases for which they were sent, they concluded to regale themselves with oranges. The supply not proving quite sufficient, "they held a consultation," as A. relates the story, "whether it was best to have a second slap at 'em." This was decided upon, and the older concluded the arrangement by telling the man in the store to charge the goods to his father. A. looked at the boy with gravity imprinted upon every lineament of his countenance and inquired, "Have you a father living.?" The boy saw through it in an instant, and showed himself equal to the emergency, "Yes," said he, "but he's a pretty old man." The bystanders roared with laughter, and A. gave in beat.
     The vocabulary of the shoemaker was Shaksperean in two particulars - it was expressive and comprehensive. Besides being enriched with "salt notes," already mentioned, it was supplemented with foreign words and phrases, brought home by those who had been in foreign lands; for many of these had tempted the "briny" in their early days. Many had taken one trip to the "Banks," or up the "Straits," or possibly made a voyage to a distant foreign port - to Bilboa, and, perhaps, even to the East Indies. With many of these their first voyage was their last, in which case they were said to have "killed the sailor." Most of these youths, on their return, were going right away on a second trip. One of the reasons often given was, they wanted to get a chance to "lick" the second mate. But it was noticed that there was usually a good deal of delay about the second voyage. It was found to be more difficult to get a "good chance," -  and so the enthusiasm gradually died away and they settled down to work at the "old craft." If one of these was quite young, he would appear in the streets for a few days after his return dressed in "salt rig" - a jaunty cap on one side of his head, and a pair of pants very tight just below the waist and very large at the lower part of the legs. One of these, dressed in such a "rig" that made it really perilous for him to stoop, was heard to remark that there was one trouble with his pants - they were n't quiet tight enough across the hips, and were too small in the legs. For many weeks such a youth would enchant his more juvenile companions with tales of peril by sea and land, with hair-breadth escapes from starvation and shipwreck, of strange sights in the heavens above and in the sea beneath. Perhaps he had sailed in an old " hide-drogher " to California for hides, and had been lowered down the sides of the precipice that almost jutted into the sea to dislodge a few hides that had caught in the crevices of the rocks as they were flung from the top to be picked up by the crew on the beach below - as Mr. Dana in his " Two Years Before the Mast" tells us was his experience. Or, perhaps, he had "shipped" in a whaler, and sailed in all seas and landed at all the ports wherever traffic directed them, or stress of weather drove them. Then he would have pitiful tales to tell of harsh treatment on shipboard; of the danger in capturing whales; of what a brave harpooner they had on board, who was n't afraid of anything that ran on the land or swam in the sea. Then he would wind up with a thrilling recital of an encounter with a wounded whale, which, with one sweep of his tail, sent the boat into the air with all its crew, who would have been drowned if they had not been picked up.
     These "salt yarns" and Robinson Crusoe adventures were generally told in the evening as the boys sat on some convenient doorstep, or on a grassy bank under a fence; and the imagination of many a boy was doubtless fired by the recital of these thrilling tales, until he burned to witness for himself the wonders he had heard related. And so it is not surprising that the "sea fever" raged occasionally. When the disease got fairly hold of a boy, there was no cure but a sea voyage. Dark hints were at first thrown out, and then muttered threatenings to "run off" were heard. If paternal warnings and maternal pleadings were alike unavailing to check the fever, a reluctant consent was sometimes given by the parents, and the boy was put on board some vessel for a trip supposed to be most in accordance with his wishes; but with how many misgivings and crushing fears some who read these pages can tell. It is not to be supposed that the captain was always charged to keep the boy from getting wet, and to see that his sleep was not disturbed o' nights. When consent was not given, the boy who had the fever "bad" would lay his plans to run away. He would slowly collect a stock of doughnuts, and putting his scanty wardrobe in a bandanna handkerchief, and softly creeping down stairs in the night, would be several miles from home before breakfast the next morning. As this was before railroads, considerable walking had to be done. Search would be made in Salem, Marblehead, Boston, perhaps New Bedford·; but oftentimes, before the exploring party returned, the boy came back with a smaller bundle. The bandanna handkerchief was the same, the wardrobe was the same, but the doughnuts had been transferred. But though the number that timed it to get home while the doughnuts lasted made quite a per cent. of those who wandered off under the influence of the "salt fever," there were many who eluded the vigilance of their pursuers and found their first opportunity in Fayal, or some more distant port, to send to the old folks at home an account of their sights and sufferings since leaving the paternal roof. As these letters were not for the public eye, they often contained an intimation that a sea voyage in a whaler or a hide-drogher was not exactly a pleasure trip. When some of these boys returned from their first voyage they knew less of their native town than Ulysses of his native land after his ten years' wanderings. One of these, just returned from a three years' trip, had utterly lost all recollection of early scenes and former associates. The conveyance landed him within twenty rods of his father's house. Taking a small silver piece from his pocket, he handed it to the first boy he met, with the remark, "Here, boy, take me to the old man's house."
     The sea experience of many of these shoemakers gave a "salt" aspect to some of these shops, especially in the eastern portion of the town, that was noticeable at a glance. They would accost each other as "shipmates," and in wet weather would wear their tarpaulins. They would go to the door and take an "observation," and in threatening weather would predict that it would "blow great guns." They would read the signs in a "mackerel-back sky," and give warnings of the changes likely to follow the appearance of a "sun-dog" or a "low dawn."

BLACK-STRAP.

     Webster defines "black-strap" as a beverage made of some kind of spirituous liquor and molasses. Bartlett says that this name was given by English sailors to common Mediterranean wines. In Lynn - and probably in New England generally - black-strap was made of New England rum and molasses, modified to suit the taste of those most interested in compounding it. It must be borne in mind that these were the days when temperance organizations were hardly known; before the controversy between "moral suasionists" and "legal suasionists" had begun; before the fifteen gallon law was enacted; when the history and literature of the "striped pig" were unwritten; and when the Washingtonian movement, so wide-spread in its influence, was several years in the future. All classes used spirituous liquor as taste or inclination suggested; and as the shoemaker was included in that comprehensive category, he drank with the rest. There were, of course, some individual exceptions to this rule; and in some neighborhoods the custom of keeping a supply of black-strap, or other liquor, in the shoemakers' shops was not so common as in other localities. Some, doubtless, thinking this custom pernicious in its influence on the boys, kept their supply of stimulants at home; and a very few, even at that early day, abstained, from the use of liquor entirely.
     Black-strap might be regarded as a steady drink, though other methods of mixing "New England" were often employed. Some preferred their rum sweetened with sugar - in which case it was called "grog" or "a horn" - especially by those who had had sea experience. Others had theirs dashed with hot water. This was called "toddy" - in later years abbreviated into "tod." This was a favorite drink on cold winter evenings, from which circumstance it probably took the name of "nightcap."
     The authorities tell us that "grog" originally meant rum diluted with water, and took its name from the following circumstance: - It seems that Admiral Vernon, of the English navy, was the first who gave an allowance of rum to British sailors. Vernon wore a "grogam " cloak in rough weather, and "Old Grog," at first applied to him as a nickname by his men, was afterwards applied to the liquor which the Admiral's generosity had supplied.
     The shoemaker's vocabulary of terms applied to drinking and drunkenness was quite extensive, and some of them were peculiar to the locality and the craft. If a man was very drunk, he was "blind as a bat," or "well corned," or "well stove in," or ,. slewed," or "cocked,", or "well smashed." In later times such were said to "carry a heavy turkey," or a "brick in their hat." As showing how history repeats itself, even in what seems to be the peculiarities of an age or a class, it is only necessary to read the records which have preserved the expressions and epithets that characterize the vice of drunkenness. Heywood, an English author, writing in 1635, gives the following phrases then in use for being drunk : - " He is foxt, he is flawed, he is flustered, he has swallowed a tavern-token, he has whipt the cat, he is bit by a barn-weasel, he is somewhat whittled."
     Various expedients were resorted to, to keep up the supply of black-strap. The one who made the most or the fewest shoes, the best or the poorest, paid the "scot." Bets were made on all occasions admitting the element of chance, or on which hung a possible future contingency. Small games of chance, the stakes of which were black-strap, were frequently made. A common game was played with a "shoulder-stick." This was called "trolling the tog." These "sticks" were marked on the several sides, beginning with one, and going up to four, making ten in all. Each player was allowed three twirls, or "trolls," of the "stick" as his turn came, an arrangement that made twelve the highest number attainable at a single trial, and whoever showed the lowest figures, paid the bet. When a young man attained his majority, on birthdays, on wedding days, and many other days, the supply was expected to be ample. At "house-raising" and "pig-killing" occasions, nothing short of a large quantity was sufficient to meet the demand. In those days it took something less than a hundred men to "raise" a large building. All the carpenters from far and near, and all the men in the neighborhood were generally summoned to the herculean task. A whole side of a building was "raised" at a time, and the degree of responsibility felt by the "boss" carpenter was hardly less than that experienced by the master-builder at the launching of a ship. When the critical point was passed, a general feeling of relief and a good "swig" of black-strap came pretty close together.
     In warm weather a sail or ride to the" Pines," or Nahant, or Phillips' Point, was frequently the programme for the day. The fifth of July was commonly selected for this purpose. This was considered a "tapering off" to the more formal and ostentatious celebration of the "glorious Fourth." A good supply of potatoes, crackers, salt pork, pots, pans and kettles, besides minor articles necessary for the indispensable "chowder" and" nipperfry," were got on board the boat or wagon, at the end of which extended the "nipper-poles," clearly indicating the character of the trip. One or more jugs were put on board, the contents of which no one seemed to know. They were too large for vinegar. One contained black-strap, which was usually prepared by an expert. Three things were requisite - good rum, good molasses, and just enough of each. Water was put in as a less important element, and the rule concerning its use, as in making lemonade, was purely negative - not too much.
     These excursions were conducted in the most democratic manner. The most perfect equality prevailed. Nobody was allowed to "put on airs," or "show off." If Nahant was the point of destination, and the conveyance was by wagon, a short ride across the incomparable beaches brought the party to "Bass Point" or "North Spring," the two chief objective points for a Nahant "fish mess." The harbor-side road was then unknown. Once there, they were monarchs of all they surveyed. They could roam unchecked from "Bass Point" to the most easterly limit, and from "North Spring" to "Swallows' Cave," with but few obstructions, except here and there an old wall, the ancient boundary that marked the lands then owned by the few proprietors of that noted peninsula. Only here and there a cottage was seen; and in place of those sloping lawns and magnificent gardens that now adorn that unrivaled spot, scanty pastures and ragged ledges stretched from shore to shore. The transforming hand of man has since added the beauty of art to nature's sublimest work, and strangers from distant lands now come to look upon this "jewel by the sea."
     But not much time could be spent in strolling around, as there was considerable work to be done. There was a division of labor, each doing what taste or talent suggested. Some went to catch fish, some to dig clams, and some to gather wood to make the needed fire; while he who had charge of the cooking began the necessary arrangements for the first meal. The man who was invested with this responsibility was supposed to know how to make a chowder. He was generally assisted by one or two boys, who were not utterly indifferent to the issue of that day's events - especially to those culminating in dinner. Prof. Blot might have told these men something about cooking, but they would have something to say in reply. They would have asked him if he knew how to fry a "watery halibut" without breaking; if he could tell a " loga cod" if he saw one; and whether he would have fried or broiled a "bloater" mackerel.
     As already remarked, fastidious tastes were not much indulged in. Not many ate exclusively with their forks, and principally for the reason that there were no forks there; and there were not many waiters standing around. The dinner was one - as Daniel Webster said of a "scrod" - " fit for a king." During its progress jokes were perpetrated and stories told, some of them good enough for Harper's Drawer. After it was disposed of, there was leisure for any diversion that might be suggested, such as quoits, wrestling, etc. By the merest accident - apparently - some one would produce a pack of cards, and a quiet game was played, broken only by an occasional explosive "guffaw," that followed the firing off of a joke. Often one or more fine singers were among the party, and songs, patriotic, sentimental or festive, enlivened the hours and varied the entertainment. But no day was so crowded either with incidents or accidents that the black-strap was forgotten. Its mellowing influence was everywhere seen as night approached, and anyone who had a genial streak in his nature, or a note of music in his soul, now gave full utterance to the impulse struggling with-in him.
     The ride home was the culmination of the day's experiences. The height of mellowness was reached, and each man's traits - if he had any - shone forth in full blaze. This high state of mental exaltation generally found utterance in song. This performance could not be called a concert without the grossest violation of the etymology of that word. The only condition that was fulfilled was, they all sung at the same time. Songs of the most miscellaneous and diverse character, each sung to a different tune, and pitched to a different key, made an entertainment which, if not strictly musical, had variety, expression and volume. Perhaps some one would start a fugue tune, and all would attempt to join; but the parts would follow at irregular intervals until they telescoped into each other, leaving a chasm which some one having the reputation of being "great on a slur" - musically speaking - would attempt to bridge over by prolonging his part until the dilatory forces should fetch up. This indescribable performance usually ended in a climax of explosive laughter half-way between a "guffaw" and a musical howl. Besides this general entertainment there were sundry side plays. Perhaps some one, overcome with the exertions of the day - and something else - would be in that "balmy" state that lifted him high above the cares and sorrows of his earthly lot. His perfect contentment would now crop out in a sentimental ditty or "pennyroyal" refrain, the burden of which was that he was at peace with all the world.

NEW ENGLAND RUM.

     It is hardly necessary to say that the commodity known as New England rum was a favorite liquor in this section from an early period in our history. Besides the fame it had acquired upon its own merits, it had a high renown as the basis of numerous popular beverages. The manufacture and sale of New England rum reached a magnitude during the fifty years following the Revolution that rose above almost every other manufacturing industry of the land. Nearly all the rum distilled in the country was made in New England; hence its name; and Massachusetts distilled more than all the rest of the New England states. In 1783 she had sixty distilleries in full blast. In 1821 Salem had eight distilleries. In 1831 she had six.
     In Newport, in the last century, there were thirty places where new rum was manufactured. In Medford large quantities were made even before the Revolution; but "old Medford" did not acquire that special renown in Lynn, which it had had for many years elsewhere, until a period later than that to which these papers relate. Medford rum gained its high fame - so history tells us - from the fact that a spring of water of great excellence was found near where the first distillery stood. Perhaps this was the reason why some, when they took it, were not inclined to dilute it with water of an inferior quality.
     Salem was noted for the quantity and quality of its "New England," and her manufactures of this staple date back to early times. Fifty years ago, and even less, Salem rum stood at the top. Boston rum stood high, but the Salem article outranked it. Accordingly Salem rum was a frequent quotation. The sight of boys going along the streets with tin pails and jugs was not a rare one; and these were not all milk pails and vinegar jugs. The mistake of such a supposition might have happened some years later when the following incident took place; but it would not have occured many years earlier. An original character, well known in this vicinity as a joker and a judge of  "New England," was seen bending beneath the weight of a three-gallon jug that was evidently filled with something. "I suppose," said he, "that some folks will think this is vinegar,. but it ain't." As the boys with their jugs and pails entered the stores where Salem rum was sold, there was no particular bashfulness or reserve on their part, or any winking or special wariness on the part of the vender. If the boy wanted Salem rum, he said so. He did n't call Holland gin "Scheidam Schnapps," or new rum "orange balm" or "plum juice."
     Large quantities of anise seed and snake-root cordials were drank in the olden time. Fifty years ago these cordials were peddled round the streets, as milk is now peddled, and were besides found in almost all the stores where the common necessaries of life were sold. These were used by persons in delicate health, whose constitutions could not bear the stronger national beverage. Cases were known of the use of these cordials by persons whose constitutions were not particularly affected, or whose health was not seriously undermined. In Felt's "Annals of Salem" we, are informed that Peter Jones distilled cinnamon, snake-root, clovewater, anise seed, orange, etc. Medford also distilled large quantities of these cordials. Every important event, whether political, social, or domestic, created a special demand for new rum.
     The day when a pig was to be killed was an important occasion. Three or four men - generally assisted by several boys - could kill and dress one pig in an afternoon. In those days almost every man kept a pig, and one or more "hog-butchers" were found in every neighborhood. As about the same preparations were needed for the killing of a single animal as were required for half a dozen, there was a stirring time on many a Saturday afternoon, the day usually chosen to change the pig into pork. The bringing of something less than a barrel of water was the first step. This was often brought two pails at a time, the pails separated by an iron hoop resting against the bails, the carrier standing in the center. It was often necessary, however, to take a good many steps in getting the water, as not every house had a well on the premises, and water had to be brought from a neighbor's more or less distant. Then a large fire had to be built to heat the water sufficiently hot to take the bristles off of the hog, (he generally got to be a hog before he was killed,) and some rosin pulverized to be used in making the cleaning more complete. This was a great event for the boys belonging to the establishment, who, taking domestic view of the matter, saw with a clear vision the bearing of that day's event upon the larder for many weeks to come. Besides spareribs, sausages, hams, etc., which occupied the forefront of the picture so full of solid comfort, they saw the incidental relations of the event in progress to doughnuts, pies, baked beans, etc., which make up, severally and collectively, so large a part of a boy's Elysium.
     A story is told of one of these occasions that illustrates the spirit of the times in more senses than one.
     The hero of the occasion may as well be called "Barnes" as anything else. Barnes could have given no very satisfactory explanation of the precession of the equinoxes, but he kept a pig and performed the various duties of a neighbor and citizen to the general satisfaction of those most interested. In due course of time this pig became a hog. The "pig committee" had taken their last look at him, and the day was set for his exit from the sty to the dressing-tub. The party who had charge of the affair assembled, and the spokesman gave Barnes timely warning that two quarts of "New England" were needed to start with. The rum was furnished; one quart was drank, the other poured into the well. "Barnes, the rum is all gone," said the spokesman; "we shall want two quarts more." "Tar blow it, is that rum all gone?" said Barnes. "All gone," was the response. Two quarts more were supplied; one quart was drank, the other poured into the well. The process was repeated as the process of changing the conditions of the hog went on, and as night approached it was currently reported that Aunt Sally's well furnished pretty good rum.
     In this case rum played the most conspicuous part in Barnes' experience; but he had an adventure in which a pig, or the pig (for tradition does not inform us whether it was the identical pig above alluded to) played by all odds the most important and attractive part. This pig broke loose from his sty one day, and rejoicing in his freedom, careered around the yard and garden, whose bounds now checked his desire for a larger liberty. Barnes, who had received notice of the enlarged view which the pig was taking, gave chase. As was usual in such cases the chase was watched with a good deal of interest by the crew who witnessed the spectacle from the windows of the shop near by. The chase proceeded with ever-varying prospects of success. Sometimes the pig would be dangerously near Barnes' legs; and then with an "oof" he would "scoot" off at the sharpest possible angle to the remotest corner of the garden. One of the crew, named Downing, became much interested and put a question, or rather proposed a conundrum, which Barnes, in his excited frame of mind, was in no condition to answer -" Why do n't you catch him, Barnes?" Barnes stopped, and with great deliberation, exclaimed, "I believe it's just seventy-five."
     As this oracular sentence is something of an enigma, it may be well to explain. Barnes held the position of creditor among the crew, some of whom - Downing among others - were in the habit of borrowing small sums, the amount of which was duly chalked upon the door. Downing's stood at seventy-five cents. When a dispute arose that ran into personal reflections, and Barnes was twitted of any delinquency, he would close the debate by pointing with impressive silence - and his finger - to the figures on the door. As this was not practicable while chasing a pig, he substituted the less impressive oral statement given above. In cases of emergency Barnes was in the habit of using expletives, and occasionally employed an adjective more appropriate to theological writings. On one occasion Barnes had lighted his candles for his evening's work. As was often the case with poor candles, they burned blue for a while, then sputtered, and then went out. Young Martin, a youth who had arrived at that aggravating age too old to claim the exemptions of boyhood, and too young to take on the responsibilities of maturer age, saw the performance, and evidently felt an interest in the experiment. Barnes lighted the candles again, and left the shop for a few minutes. Martin blew out the lights, and'with a wet sponge squeezed a drop of water upon the wick of each candle. Barnes, on his return, found his lights out, and supposing the tallow-chandler to blame, renewed his efforts to light up, but with no success. Martin held in as long as he could, but, boy-like, at last "snickered." Light dawned upon the mind of Barnes, though he got none from the candles, and fixing a penetrating gaze upon Martin, thus addressed him: -" You're an - adjective - i gnorant young man!" He then examined his candles, with the view of getting more light upon the subject.

BREAKING AWLS.

     Perhaps one of the sorest experiences a boy had in old times in learning the "craft, " was that which came from breaking awls. In order to fully appreciate the situation, the reader must take a survey of the whole field. It was a period of low wages. Awls were the most expensive "kit" used by the shoemaker. There were two kinds chiefly used at that time - Woodward's and Hayes'. Woodward was the old manufacturer to whom Hayes was an apprentice; but the " 'prentice hand" was soon able to turn out an article superior to that of his masterat least, this seemed to be the opinion of many among the "jours" of Lynn. But Woodward was for a long time unrivaled. The common price was five cents each. Some time after the price was reduced to four cents. These awls were introduced something more than sixty years ago. They were manufactured by Thomas Woodward, of Reading, Mass. A few years later his son, Thomas Woodward, Jr., set up the manufacture, and it was a question among the shoemakers which were the best.
     The awls were of two kinds, diamond and round, so called from the shape of their points. The diamond-shaped were usually preferred, as they were thought to be less liable to become dulled by use; but the so-called round awls - these were rather flattened at their points - were often used by "don" workmen, as they were less liable to "cut" the "upper." The awls first in use in this country were of English manufacture. The name of the manufacturer was stamped upon each awl, and there were three kinds, more or less in use, some fifty or more years ago when those of American make began to take their place. These were known as the Allerton, Wilson, and Titus awls, respectively. After the introduction of the American awl, the English article was not held in very high esteem by workmen employed upon ladies' shoes. They were badly shaped, and the points were left unfinished. The Allerton and Wilson had usually too long a crook, while the Titus was faulty in the opposite direction, being too straight, especially for certain kinds of work. They had, however, two important recommendations - they were better tempered, and therefore less liable to break, and their cost was only one-half, or less, that of the American awl.
     Before the English awl was used, it was necessary to finish the points. This was sometimes done by grinding, sometimes by filing, and sometimes by sandpaper; and the points were smoothed off on a "whet-board," or by rubbing them on the pine floor. The man who could do this job skillfully was considered something of a genius. As already intimated, a boy could spoil a day's wages by breaking a few awls. If he was working on the seam on "long reds," and had a lot of extra hard soles on hand - some hemlock tanned leather for instance, - he had gloomy forebodings of the peril of the situation. If the master was a "hard" one, and the boy somewhat careless, there would most likely be an appeal to the "stirrup," whenever accidents of this kind rose above the average in frequency. History tells us that small events have often turned the tide of battle - that a fit of indigestion was said to have lost to Napoleon an important battle. Victor Hugo informs us that if the French peasant, Lacoste, had not failed to warn Napoleon of the "sunken road" near the field of Waterloo, the destiny of Europe might have been changed. In the same line many humbler examples might be given. An elderly citizen imformed the writer that it was to one of these awlbreaking experiences that he owed one or two years' additional schooling. How much this modified his future life who can tell ?

THE STIRRUP.

     As might be expected, boys working in a shop together would often "skylark." One of this sort of boys was seated upon the shop-tub. This "tub" was a tall, firkin-shaped vessel, about one-third full of water at the date in question. By careful managing the boy kept himself from going down too far. Boy number two, seeing the precariousness of the situation, made a dive for his comrade, which resulted in seating him so far into the tub that he could not start without taking the tub with him. In the tussle he was rolled over with the shop-tub, and the boy, and all the surrounding "berths" were drenched with a gallon or two of nasty water. In such cases the "stirrup" generally settled the matter to the satisfaction of all except those most interested. The "stirrup," as an emblem or instrument of authority, held the same place in a shoemaker's shop as the horsewhip or cowhide maintained on a more extended scale on the farm, and in agricultural districts generally; and probably for the same reason, it was near at hand. Boys are generally flogged when it is most convenient, and with what comes handiest. Accordingly a "stirruping" frequently made up a part of a day's programme, and when "down in the bill" could more generally be depended upon than the more dainty items on a bill of fare. A boy in the eastern part of the town was once murmuring some repinings over his earthly lot. "What do you want?" asked his master. "I want something else," said the boy, in a high tenor voice. "I'll give you something else," said the master, and taking a stirrup made the case so plain to the boy that he could see no flaw in his master's statement.
     Boys were sometimes sent on errands in those days, as now. Occasionally a domestic crisis would arise demanding haste on the part of the boy. Perhaps the tinder was wet, and he was sent after a "brand's end;" or some other article was wanted, indispensable in a well-regulated family which had entered upon the second quarter of the nineteenth century. The reader can imagine any number of such cases, more or less momentous, that have come to his own knowledge. In some such an emergency a boy was sent on an errand some time during Jackson's administration. No tidings were heard from him, at least by those most interested in his safe return. If a boy was ever known to do such a thing when he was strictly charged to "make haste," he might have stopped to have a game of marbles, or "two old cat." His father thought it was time to hunt him up; and taking his stirrup and stowing it away in the outside pocket of his green jacket, started in pursuit. In his haste he had left the end of the stirrup hanging out of the jacket pocket. The boy espied from afar somebody who had a familiar look, and whose movements showed that he was not out for a stroll, or to observe the beauties of nature. He also espied at the same instant the end of the stirrup hanging out of the jacket pocket aforesaid. This was a signal showing a low barometer and approaching storms. Without stopping to finish the game, or appoint a substitute to take his place, he started and reached home by a route whose boundaries had not been marked out by the selectmen as a public highway. He never told what were the precise terms of the final settlement after reaching the paternal roof; but in after years he used to relate with great gusto how the signal of danger streaming from the jacket pocket had given him timely warning of impending peril. He had escaped the humiliation of a public castigation in the presence of his juvenile peers - and what humiliation can be greater in the eyes of a boy?
     Sometimes a high degree of despotism was maintained over the boys working in some of these shops. They were regarded as having no rights that the men were bound to respect. They were expected to build the fire, "shift the tub," go for the black-strap, and run all the errands which the changes of circumstances required as the whirligig of time rolled on. If he objected, or remonstrated, he was called an "old man," prefixing an adjective the use of which is not countenanced in any manual of good behavior. An old veteran, now living and well known in our city, relates the following chapter in his own experience:
     He was then a boy whose fourteenth birthday was near at hand. He had been domineered over and imposed upon by the shop's crew where he worked, and he resolved to end his degrading vassalage. He was a stout, muscular boy, and had a grip in his hands like that of a polar bear. When his birthday arrived he resolved to declare his independence. He informed the crew that henceforth he was not to be at their beck and call, and he gave them very emphatic warning that if they attempted to drive him he was ready for any emergency. One of the crew had the temerity to make the trial; but before he had proceeded far, he found himself laid out upon his seat, his throat in the grip of the left hand of the young athlete, who informed his prostrate victim that no quarter would be given until he promised to respect the rights of his juvenile assailant. The workman, half choked and wholly frightened, made all the promises demanded. He was then allowed to get up. "Now," said the boy, "if there are any more who want to try their hand at this experiment, come right on." None felt like coming on. "From that day," said the old veteran, "I was free."

UNCLE PERKINS.

     "Uncle Perkins," as he was familiarly called, was well known to the shoemakers of Lynn. As he entered one of these shops - whether a "tenfooter," or one of larger size - he had hard work to put himself, and his two large bundles, into the entry - measuring two and a half feet by three on the floor, when it did n't measure less - at the same time; and so one of the bundles made its appearance just inside the inside-door, while the other was partly outside the outside-door. If it was a cold day, the first salutation would be - " Uncle Perkins, shut the door as quick as possible; you'll cool off the shop." But if no question of temperature overrode all other questions for the time being, then anyone of the dozen questions might arise, such as -" What kind of bristles (commonly called "brussels" by shoemakers) have you got to-day? " or, " got some soft wax? We've got some that flies; all over the shop;" or, "Uncle Perkins, I shall want some awls; my boy broke two or three this forenoon; " or, "got some fine sand-paper?" To all of which Uncle Perkins would generally be able to reply in the affirmative.
     It is hardly necessary to say to anyone acquainted with Lynn thirty or forty years ago, that these two bundles which Uncle Perkins carried were made up of all sorts of shoemakers' "kit," from a "tack" up to a "long-stick," and two bundle handkerchiefs, just alike, each made of blue-striped gingham, or of something else. Uncle Perkins would make his rounds once in a fortnight, more or less, and his advent was sometimes looked for with a good deal of interest. After the several purchases were made, and the incidental comments upon the high or low price of this or that piece of kit, the conversation would often take a wider range, and show a decided political complexion - for Uncle Perkins was thoroughly imbued with the principles and doctrines of the Democratic party. He was well informed upon political questions, a man of sterling integrity of character, and was looked up to as a sort of oracle by the members of his party  throughout the town. So it was natural for some one to say, "Uncle Perkins, how are the elections going next fall? Has Clay got any chance?" "Not much, not much," Uncle Perkins would say, and then he would follow with his comments, telling what would give Polk the vote of this state, and what would give him the vote of the other. " You see native Americanism will tip him over in New York, and it looks as though the whole thing would turn on that state. The Whigs are making a good deal of noise about carrying New York, but they can't do it. Then Clay's extreme tariff notions will damage him south. Besides all this, the people have had enough of this hard-cider nonsense."
     Like many of the Democratic leaders of those days, Uncle Perkins was opposed to the adoption of the city charter. He thought he saw lurking beneath the surface of its plausible provisions an insidious enemy of the people's rights. The concentration of power in the hands of the few, argued these leaders, was the rock upon which all the democracies of the world had split. "The old-fashioned town meeting is good enough for us," said they, "where all within the limits of our wide-spread town can meet together upon a common platform, and exercise the high prerogative of freemen without the intervention of representatives, which is a measure to be resorted to only when made necessary by uncontrollable circumstances." The proposition to accept the charter was two or three times rejected in exciting elections that called out pretty much all the voters that ever went to town meeting. But the project slowly won the public favor. As the crisis approached, Uncle Perkins showed a good deal of interest. "If the charter is accepted," said he, "I'll go to Russia." The charter was accepted. Eben S., an ingrained and irrepressible wag, heard of Uncle Perkins' declaration, and had his eye open to current events. Soon after the vote of the town had decided the question, Eben met an acquaintance, and thus accosted him: "So we've lost Uncle Perkins." "Lost him? You do 'nt mean to say that Uncle Perkins is dead?" "O, no," said Eben, "he's gone to Russia." "Gone to Russia! What do you mean?" "Why, he said he should go to Russia if the city charter was accepted. It's accepted, you know, and I suppose he's gone."
     Mr. Perkins served his fellow-citizens in the Legislature in the session of 1832-3, and of 1843-4' He was as decided an anti-mason as he was a Democrat; and it was doubtless owing to this fact that he was selected to represent his fellow-citizens in those stormy times. And he was no less zealous as a temperance man. He was tenacious of his opinions, and outspoken in their utterance. Though a strong party man, he was held in high esteem by men of all parties for the sterling integrity of his character, and his consistent Christian life. He was born in Haverhill in 1787, and came to Lynn when he was about twenty years of age. Soon after, he joined the First Methodist Church, then in its infancy, and lived to see the cherished faith of his youth prosper and spread as no other has done in our midst; for long before his death, he saw within the territory of the town, as it stood when he came within its borders, seven other flourishing Methodist churches, united by a common bond, and working together to a common end. He died January 15, 1865, at the advanced age of seventy-seven years and six months.