Sketches from Concord and Appledore | Page 2

did he come there for peace and repose after a religious
controversy in Boston? No doubt the sloping hillsides and broad sunny
plain with the sluggish river winding through it looked very restful to
him, after the rugged country through which he had passed; but we fear
that he found discord and contention already before him, as many have
who came there since for a like purpose. Was there a strange fatality in
the name, so that Patrick Henry might say with added force,
"Gentlemen may cry peace, peace, but there is no peace"? Is it true that
peace and war are reciprocal like night and day,--one a rest and
preparation for the other, and at the same time its natural consequence?
Certain it is that no individual life is interesting or valuable in which
there has not been a severe struggle; and periods of warfare have often
proved to be powerful stimulants for human energy and intellect. In one

respect, however, the Rev. Peter Bulkley was fully justified, for
Concord has become more famous in the arts of peace than if a
Marengo or Gravelotte had been fought there. It has a place in the
history of literature, and its name is pleasant either to speak or think of.
The town is beautifully situated and seems to sleep in the hollow of the
hills. It is now a suburb of Boston, with artistic bridges, water from
Sandy Pond, a bronze statue of the minute man, and a good deal of
suburban elegance; but thirty years ago it was one of the neat,
unpretending, yet so respectable looking, New England villages, such
as are still to be met with in the central part of Massachusetts. The
country roads wound into the town and wound out of it; the river crept
lazily by with only a slight swirl or eddy on its surface; and the wild
flowers on its banks bloomed and faded without attracting more
attention than in the days of the Indians. Early in the morning ten or a
dozen well-dressed gentlemen might be seen hastening to the railway
station; then after the children had gone to school there was a nearly
unbroken silence until they came out again. Occasionally a farmer in
his hay-cart or other rude vehicle would jingle through the village, or a
woman with a shawl and sun-bonnet would call at one of the stores,
make some small purchase, and return as she came.
Towards evening the children would come out of school, and fill the
streets with noise and excitement for a time; the gentlemen would
return from Boston looking quite as much fatigued as if they had been
working all day in a cornfield. The houses on Main Street were mostly
so white as to be hardly distinguishable from the snow in winter,
though many of them belonged, architecturally at least, to the last
century, and had brass knockers on the doors. Yet there was a certain
harmony among them; and it seemed as if the place must always have
been as it was at that time.
There is, however, a compensation in the dullness of country life,
which may be expressed in the word nature. The real architecture of
Concord was not in private or public edifices, but in its magnificent
elms, whose branches spanned the streets like the arches of a Gothic
cathedral. The largest of them stands in front of the town hall, and its
trunk measures just sixteen feet in circumference; though Doctor
Holmes has failed to enumerate it in his list of the great trees of the
State. Another on the road to Lexington is remarkable for its straight

stem and perfect wineglass form. In autumn the scarlet maples set
between the elms are no bad substitute for stained-glass windows.
There were no fine pictures in the town, but every turn of the river
disclosed a landscape equal to a Claude or a Kenset. It is rare good
fortune to live by a river of clear, pure water which serves equally well
for boating and swimming or skating. There are very few such rivers.
In the larger ones the current is usually too strong to make a long
rowing expedition pleasant entertainment, and tide rivers are always
inconvenient. In small rivers shoals and sand-bars commonly abound.
River skating, also, is a science by itself, and requires, like Alpine
climbing, well-seasoned knowledge and experience. It is a very
different matter from whirling around in a city rink with half an inch of
snow on the ice. The young men of Concord used to skate to Lowell,
on favorable occasions, and back again, nearly thirty miles in all, and
thought nothing of it. Concord River with its grassy banks, picturesque
bridges and continual change of hill and meadow scenery is one of