File:New England in letters (1904) (14598046888).jpg

Identifier: newenglandinlett00wils (find matches)
Title: New England in letters
Year: 1904 (1900s)
Authors: Wilson, Rufus Rockwell, 1865-
Subjects: American literature -- New England History and criticism New England -- Description and travel New England -- Intellectual life
Publisher: New York, A. Wessels
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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oodworth wrote the song that hasmoved the hearts of three generations. He was livingthen in Duane Street, New York, and had his officeat the foot of Wall Street. Walking home to dinner ona sultry August noontide, he drank a glass of waterwhile heated with the exercise, and exclaimed, as hereplaced the glass on the table: That is refreshing,but more refreshing on this hot day would be a good,long draught from the old oaken bucket I left hangingin my fathers well at home. Hearing this, his wifeasked, Selim, why wouldnt that be a pretty subjectfor a poem ? The poet took the hint, and, under theinspiration of the moment and at a single sitting,penned the lines of The Old Oaken Bucket. The visitor to Scituate, where in a later time anotherpoet, Thomas William Parsons, ended his days, findsthe orchard, the meadow and the deep-tangled wild-wood celebrated by Woodworth little altered by theyears. The cot has disappeared, and a modern cot-tage stands near its site, while the bucket and the 25i
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THE L A N D O F THE PILGRIMS sweep long ago succumbed to wear and use; hut thereis a new sweep of the same pattern, and the old wellstill yields water as pure and fresh as when the poetsang its praises. Woodworth visited his early homebut twice after writing The Old Oaken Bucket,and now takes his rest beside another sea. He died inIS-i^, and his widow spent the remainder of her daysunder the roof-tree of a son in San Francisco. Whenshe, too, died, the son had the remains of his fatherremoved from New York and placed by her side inLaurel Hill Cemetery, San Francisco, so that in deaththey might not be divided. When the writer left Scituate behind him he shapedhis return to Boston by way of Hingham, Quincy,Milton, Dedham and West Roxbury, all rich in his-toric and literary memories. Hingham, called afterthe English home of its founders, is one of the loveliestof towns, and boasts the oldest and quaintest meeting-house in the land. This venerable church, sometimescalled the Ship, stands o

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