George Smith Hay was the son of Dr. Charles Hay and Chloe Smith.
Written by George Smith Hay, From a paper read by CarrieThompson Lowell for her grandfather, at a dinner for the "Aged Brotherhood of Portland" at Peak's Island House. A newspaper clipping, dated in pencil, 1901, in the
collection of Carrie Thompson Lowell.
In that far away time when I was a boy and my life was bounded by the narrow horizon of youth, I looked forward to the time when I should be a man and enjoy to the full the ripe pleasures of manhood and if, occasionally, my thoughts strayed still further ahead, I may have seen myself as an old man of, perhaps, sixty years of age with children and possibly grandchildren about me.
As I advanced in years the horizon receeded, old age seemed as far away as ever, and a man must be at least seventy to earn the title of "Old Man."; and so it is that we are continually setting ahead the time when we shall be really old. But now that I have passed my ninetieth birthday and have seen growing up around me not only children and grand children, but many great grandchildren, I feel that I may fairly lay claim to that title.Especially as it was borne in upon me when I received a notice from your honorable body stating that I was the oldest member of your brotherhood, not only in years, but in order of membership.
It is but the habit of age to link the past with the present, making a circle of the years, and as one nears the completion of the circle, the boyhood days and the days of old age are brought close together. It will not seem strange, then, that as I look back into the years that have gone, my first thought is of a boy driving a cow along a country road on a bleak January day; for in such fashion did I, a lad of sixteen, travel from Waterford to Portland, a distance of fifty miles, making only one stop for the night at Raymond. My mother and the other members of the family, having journeyed by team,were
awaiting my arrival at our new home.
And it was thus that a fresh chapter in my life began in this beautiful city of Portland. It was not, however, the city of the present, with its delightful parks and attractive suburban resorts which make it the Mecca of the tourist. Many who are present will be able to remember it as a little city of great natural advantages and possibilities, and they have, no doubt,
watched with keen interest its increasing facilities and the development of its industries.
Recall then, if you please, the time when you read your weekly Advertiser (for there was no daily paper) by the light of a tallow dip or chimneyless whale-oil lamp, out of which protruded one or perhaps two little round wicks about the size of an ordinary lead pencil. Matches were unknown.The fireplace provided all the heat for cooking and for warming the house.
The first stove used in Portland was made by Nathan Winslow and sold by him in his store at the junction of Middle and Federal Streets. It was a small cook stove, and the oven was directly over the fire. One day Mr. Winslow was explaining the merits of the stove to a prospective customer, whose negro servant was even more interested than he was. When Mr. Winslow said that one of these stoves would save half the wood used in preparing a meal, the old darkey could stand it no longer, and cried out, "Fur de land sakes,Massa! Better buy two and save all de wood!"
Wood was the only fuel used at this time; there was no coal, nor gas, and no convenient water supply. What a contrast to the modern city house,lighted by gas or electricity and having its coal and gas ranges, furnace, hot water or steam heating apparatus, bathroom, laundy and telephone.
If you went out into the streets of that older Portland, you might see ox-teams which had come from twenty or fifty miles back in the country,or if it was in the winter time, big horse-drawn sleds which had come down through the mountains from New Hampshire or Vermont bringing a load of freshly killed hogs to be exchanged for salt, salt fish, rum, and molasses. Street cars had not been heard of, and steamboats and steam railroads had yet to make their appearance.
Well do I remember a journey I made by stage to Boston in May of 1832, which required two days time. The return trip I made by schooner. The weather was fine, and everything was delightful until, on nearing Portland Head Light, a tremendous squall of wind and hail came down across the city, breaking many windows on the north side and capsizing in our sight a scooner that had been in our company from the time we left Boston. The entire cargo was lost, but
the passengers, with one exception, were rescued. Four years later, Imade the same journey by steamer and thence up to Providence by rail. The train at that time was made up of a number of platforms on which were placed hack and
stage bodies, usually three on each platform.
Five years ago (about 1896), I made the journey to Chicago in a spendidly equipped vestibule train, leaving Portland Sunday evening at nine o'clock and arriving in Chicago Tuesday morning after.
With increased facilities for travel, our State has become widely known and is tapidly coming to the front as a summer resort; this is as sit should be, for there is not a State in the Union that has greater natural advantages than Maine has. Her ocean, forests, mountains and streanms afford excellent fishing and hunting. She has one of the best harbors int he world. Her scenery is most picturesque, and taken all together, her climate is about right.
It has been my privilege to live in an age of wonderful scientific developemnt. Electricity and steam have become common carriers. It is left for liquid air to make the third in this powerful trio.
I have witnessed in my ninetieth year the birth of a new century. What that century will bring forth, no living man can tell. But I am content to leave the revealing of further wonders to those who come after me.
Written by George Smith Hay, From a paper read by CarrieThompson Lowell for her grandfather, at a dinner for the "Aged Brotherhood of Portland" at Peak's Island House. A newspaper clipping, dated in pencil, 1901, in the
collection of Carrie Thompson Lowell.
In that far away time when I was a boy and my life was bounded by the narrow horizon of youth, I looked forward to the time when I should be a man and enjoy to the full the ripe pleasures of manhood and if, occasionally, my thoughts strayed still further ahead, I may have seen myself as an old man of, perhaps, sixty years of age with children and possibly grandchildren about me.
As I advanced in years the horizon receeded, old age seemed as far away as ever, and a man must be at least seventy to earn the title of "Old Man."; and so it is that we are continually setting ahead the time when we shall be really old. But now that I have passed my ninetieth birthday and have seen growing up around me not only children and grand children, but many great grandchildren, I feel that I may fairly lay claim to that title.Especially as it was borne in upon me when I received a notice from your honorable body stating that I was the oldest member of your brotherhood, not only in years, but in order of membership.
It is but the habit of age to link the past with the present, making a circle of the years, and as one nears the completion of the circle, the boyhood days and the days of old age are brought close together. It will not seem strange, then, that as I look back into the years that have gone, my first thought is of a boy driving a cow along a country road on a bleak January day; for in such fashion did I, a lad of sixteen, travel from Waterford to Portland, a distance of fifty miles, making only one stop for the night at Raymond. My mother and the other members of the family, having journeyed by team,were
awaiting my arrival at our new home.
And it was thus that a fresh chapter in my life began in this beautiful city of Portland. It was not, however, the city of the present, with its delightful parks and attractive suburban resorts which make it the Mecca of the tourist. Many who are present will be able to remember it as a little city of great natural advantages and possibilities, and they have, no doubt,
watched with keen interest its increasing facilities and the development of its industries.
Recall then, if you please, the time when you read your weekly Advertiser (for there was no daily paper) by the light of a tallow dip or chimneyless whale-oil lamp, out of which protruded one or perhaps two little round wicks about the size of an ordinary lead pencil. Matches were unknown.The fireplace provided all the heat for cooking and for warming the house.
The first stove used in Portland was made by Nathan Winslow and sold by him in his store at the junction of Middle and Federal Streets. It was a small cook stove, and the oven was directly over the fire. One day Mr. Winslow was explaining the merits of the stove to a prospective customer, whose negro servant was even more interested than he was. When Mr. Winslow said that one of these stoves would save half the wood used in preparing a meal, the old darkey could stand it no longer, and cried out, "Fur de land sakes,Massa! Better buy two and save all de wood!"
Wood was the only fuel used at this time; there was no coal, nor gas, and no convenient water supply. What a contrast to the modern city house,lighted by gas or electricity and having its coal and gas ranges, furnace, hot water or steam heating apparatus, bathroom, laundy and telephone.
If you went out into the streets of that older Portland, you might see ox-teams which had come from twenty or fifty miles back in the country,or if it was in the winter time, big horse-drawn sleds which had come down through the mountains from New Hampshire or Vermont bringing a load of freshly killed hogs to be exchanged for salt, salt fish, rum, and molasses. Street cars had not been heard of, and steamboats and steam railroads had yet to make their appearance.
Well do I remember a journey I made by stage to Boston in May of 1832, which required two days time. The return trip I made by schooner. The weather was fine, and everything was delightful until, on nearing Portland Head Light, a tremendous squall of wind and hail came down across the city, breaking many windows on the north side and capsizing in our sight a scooner that had been in our company from the time we left Boston. The entire cargo was lost, but
the passengers, with one exception, were rescued. Four years later, Imade the same journey by steamer and thence up to Providence by rail. The train at that time was made up of a number of platforms on which were placed hack and
stage bodies, usually three on each platform.
Five years ago (about 1896), I made the journey to Chicago in a spendidly equipped vestibule train, leaving Portland Sunday evening at nine o'clock and arriving in Chicago Tuesday morning after.
With increased facilities for travel, our State has become widely known and is tapidly coming to the front as a summer resort; this is as sit should be, for there is not a State in the Union that has greater natural advantages than Maine has. Her ocean, forests, mountains and streanms afford excellent fishing and hunting. She has one of the best harbors int he world. Her scenery is most picturesque, and taken all together, her climate is about right.
It has been my privilege to live in an age of wonderful scientific developemnt. Electricity and steam have become common carriers. It is left for liquid air to make the third in this powerful trio.
I have witnessed in my ninetieth year the birth of a new century. What that century will bring forth, no living man can tell. But I am content to leave the revealing of further wonders to those who come after me.
George Smith Hay was the son of Dr. Charles Hay and Chloe Smith.
Written by George Smith Hay, From a paper read by CarrieThompson Lowell for her grandfather, at a dinner for the "Aged Brotherhood of Portland" at Peak's Island House. A newspaper clipping, dated in pencil, 1901, in the
collection of Carrie Thompson Lowell.
In that far away time when I was a boy and my life was bounded by the narrow horizon of youth, I looked forward to the time when I should be a man and enjoy to the full the ripe pleasures of manhood and if, occasionally, my thoughts strayed still further ahead, I may have seen myself as an old man of, perhaps, sixty years of age with children and possibly grandchildren about me.
As I advanced in years the horizon receeded, old age seemed as far away as ever, and a man must be at least seventy to earn the title of "Old Man."; and so it is that we are continually setting ahead the time when we shall be really old. But now that I have passed my ninetieth birthday and have seen growing up around me not only children and grand children, but many great grandchildren, I feel that I may fairly lay claim to that title.Especially as it was borne in upon me when I received a notice from your honorable body stating that I was the oldest member of your brotherhood, not only in years, but in order of membership.
It is but the habit of age to link the past with the present, making a circle of the years, and as one nears the completion of the circle, the boyhood days and the days of old age are brought close together. It will not seem strange, then, that as I look back into the years that have gone, my first thought is of a boy driving a cow along a country road on a bleak January day; for in such fashion did I, a lad of sixteen, travel from Waterford to Portland, a distance of fifty miles, making only one stop for the night at Raymond. My mother and the other members of the family, having journeyed by team,were
awaiting my arrival at our new home.
And it was thus that a fresh chapter in my life began in this beautiful city of Portland. It was not, however, the city of the present, with its delightful parks and attractive suburban resorts which make it the Mecca of the tourist. Many who are present will be able to remember it as a little city of great natural advantages and possibilities, and they have, no doubt,
watched with keen interest its increasing facilities and the development of its industries.
Recall then, if you please, the time when you read your weekly Advertiser (for there was no daily paper) by the light of a tallow dip or chimneyless whale-oil lamp, out of which protruded one or perhaps two little round wicks about the size of an ordinary lead pencil. Matches were unknown.The fireplace provided all the heat for cooking and for warming the house.
The first stove used in Portland was made by Nathan Winslow and sold by him in his store at the junction of Middle and Federal Streets. It was a small cook stove, and the oven was directly over the fire. One day Mr. Winslow was explaining the merits of the stove to a prospective customer, whose negro servant was even more interested than he was. When Mr. Winslow said that one of these stoves would save half the wood used in preparing a meal, the old darkey could stand it no longer, and cried out, "Fur de land sakes,Massa! Better buy two and save all de wood!"
Wood was the only fuel used at this time; there was no coal, nor gas, and no convenient water supply. What a contrast to the modern city house,lighted by gas or electricity and having its coal and gas ranges, furnace, hot water or steam heating apparatus, bathroom, laundy and telephone.
If you went out into the streets of that older Portland, you might see ox-teams which had come from twenty or fifty miles back in the country,or if it was in the winter time, big horse-drawn sleds which had come down through the mountains from New Hampshire or Vermont bringing a load of freshly killed hogs to be exchanged for salt, salt fish, rum, and molasses. Street cars had not been heard of, and steamboats and steam railroads had yet to make their appearance.
Well do I remember a journey I made by stage to Boston in May of 1832, which required two days time. The return trip I made by schooner. The weather was fine, and everything was delightful until, on nearing Portland Head Light, a tremendous squall of wind and hail came down across the city, breaking many windows on the north side and capsizing in our sight a scooner that had been in our company from the time we left Boston. The entire cargo was lost, but
the passengers, with one exception, were rescued. Four years later, Imade the same journey by steamer and thence up to Providence by rail. The train at that time was made up of a number of platforms on which were placed hack and
stage bodies, usually three on each platform.
Five years ago (about 1896), I made the journey to Chicago in a spendidly equipped vestibule train, leaving Portland Sunday evening at nine o'clock and arriving in Chicago Tuesday morning after.
With increased facilities for travel, our State has become widely known and is tapidly coming to the front as a summer resort; this is as sit should be, for there is not a State in the Union that has greater natural advantages than Maine has. Her ocean, forests, mountains and streanms afford excellent fishing and hunting. She has one of the best harbors int he world. Her scenery is most picturesque, and taken all together, her climate is about right.
It has been my privilege to live in an age of wonderful scientific developemnt. Electricity and steam have become common carriers. It is left for liquid air to make the third in this powerful trio.
I have witnessed in my ninetieth year the birth of a new century. What that century will bring forth, no living man can tell. But I am content to leave the revealing of further wonders to those who come after me.
Written by George Smith Hay, From a paper read by CarrieThompson Lowell for her grandfather, at a dinner for the "Aged Brotherhood of Portland" at Peak's Island House. A newspaper clipping, dated in pencil, 1901, in the
collection of Carrie Thompson Lowell.
In that far away time when I was a boy and my life was bounded by the narrow horizon of youth, I looked forward to the time when I should be a man and enjoy to the full the ripe pleasures of manhood and if, occasionally, my thoughts strayed still further ahead, I may have seen myself as an old man of, perhaps, sixty years of age with children and possibly grandchildren about me.
As I advanced in years the horizon receeded, old age seemed as far away as ever, and a man must be at least seventy to earn the title of "Old Man."; and so it is that we are continually setting ahead the time when we shall be really old. But now that I have passed my ninetieth birthday and have seen growing up around me not only children and grand children, but many great grandchildren, I feel that I may fairly lay claim to that title.Especially as it was borne in upon me when I received a notice from your honorable body stating that I was the oldest member of your brotherhood, not only in years, but in order of membership.
It is but the habit of age to link the past with the present, making a circle of the years, and as one nears the completion of the circle, the boyhood days and the days of old age are brought close together. It will not seem strange, then, that as I look back into the years that have gone, my first thought is of a boy driving a cow along a country road on a bleak January day; for in such fashion did I, a lad of sixteen, travel from Waterford to Portland, a distance of fifty miles, making only one stop for the night at Raymond. My mother and the other members of the family, having journeyed by team,were
awaiting my arrival at our new home.
And it was thus that a fresh chapter in my life began in this beautiful city of Portland. It was not, however, the city of the present, with its delightful parks and attractive suburban resorts which make it the Mecca of the tourist. Many who are present will be able to remember it as a little city of great natural advantages and possibilities, and they have, no doubt,
watched with keen interest its increasing facilities and the development of its industries.
Recall then, if you please, the time when you read your weekly Advertiser (for there was no daily paper) by the light of a tallow dip or chimneyless whale-oil lamp, out of which protruded one or perhaps two little round wicks about the size of an ordinary lead pencil. Matches were unknown.The fireplace provided all the heat for cooking and for warming the house.
The first stove used in Portland was made by Nathan Winslow and sold by him in his store at the junction of Middle and Federal Streets. It was a small cook stove, and the oven was directly over the fire. One day Mr. Winslow was explaining the merits of the stove to a prospective customer, whose negro servant was even more interested than he was. When Mr. Winslow said that one of these stoves would save half the wood used in preparing a meal, the old darkey could stand it no longer, and cried out, "Fur de land sakes,Massa! Better buy two and save all de wood!"
Wood was the only fuel used at this time; there was no coal, nor gas, and no convenient water supply. What a contrast to the modern city house,lighted by gas or electricity and having its coal and gas ranges, furnace, hot water or steam heating apparatus, bathroom, laundy and telephone.
If you went out into the streets of that older Portland, you might see ox-teams which had come from twenty or fifty miles back in the country,or if it was in the winter time, big horse-drawn sleds which had come down through the mountains from New Hampshire or Vermont bringing a load of freshly killed hogs to be exchanged for salt, salt fish, rum, and molasses. Street cars had not been heard of, and steamboats and steam railroads had yet to make their appearance.
Well do I remember a journey I made by stage to Boston in May of 1832, which required two days time. The return trip I made by schooner. The weather was fine, and everything was delightful until, on nearing Portland Head Light, a tremendous squall of wind and hail came down across the city, breaking many windows on the north side and capsizing in our sight a scooner that had been in our company from the time we left Boston. The entire cargo was lost, but
the passengers, with one exception, were rescued. Four years later, Imade the same journey by steamer and thence up to Providence by rail. The train at that time was made up of a number of platforms on which were placed hack and
stage bodies, usually three on each platform.
Five years ago (about 1896), I made the journey to Chicago in a spendidly equipped vestibule train, leaving Portland Sunday evening at nine o'clock and arriving in Chicago Tuesday morning after.
With increased facilities for travel, our State has become widely known and is tapidly coming to the front as a summer resort; this is as sit should be, for there is not a State in the Union that has greater natural advantages than Maine has. Her ocean, forests, mountains and streanms afford excellent fishing and hunting. She has one of the best harbors int he world. Her scenery is most picturesque, and taken all together, her climate is about right.
It has been my privilege to live in an age of wonderful scientific developemnt. Electricity and steam have become common carriers. It is left for liquid air to make the third in this powerful trio.
I have witnessed in my ninetieth year the birth of a new century. What that century will bring forth, no living man can tell. But I am content to leave the revealing of further wonders to those who come after me.
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