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hall was taken and the Selectmen's room and the kitchen on either side of the entrance were full of standing listeners. Music of the outdoor band concert drifted in, many voices hummed, there was a homely, happy sound of low laughter. Then, escorted by members of the Reception Committee, the speakers of the afternoon climbed the steps to the platform. Talking to that audience was talking to one's own family. There was no alien there. We had met to show our pride and love for the town, and we found with a sort of happy surprise that the town had woven us into one fabric, that we who were many, were in a very deep and real sense, one. Mr. Parker, minister of the Baptist Church, offered prayer. Mr. FarmMr. Farmer then introduced the speakers, binding together with skill and tact, the different addresses.

Reverend Elvin J. Prescott spoke on the history of the town. He emphasized the liberality of the ting in. liberality of the fathers, their hearty independence both of the Puritan colony at the south, and the commercial settlement at Strawberry Bank. He used the church records, the most trustworthy source for those early days. He was followed by Miss Mary Chase, who sang to a justly enthusiastic audience.

The next speaker was Dr. Ralph Adams Cram of Boston and Sudbury. Dr. Cram told of his pride and love for his birthplace and "fellow-citizens." He touched on the past, saying "Although I hold no brief for the unlovely qualities of the Puritans, they did develop here in New England a certain high character that has influenced and to a large extent moulded the whole country." He sketched the town life of forty or fifty years ago when all necessities were raised on local farms. Wheat and vegetables, beef, pigs, sheep for food, wool and flax for clothes, candles, soap, shoes,


dyes, all these came from the land, and the householders created from their own raw materials the finished articles. All that has changed with the development of machinery and the hordes of foreign-born, congesting our cities. Mr. Cram said a city of over 100,000 is a mistake, and a city of a million is a crime. With this increase in the size of the cities, and dilution of our racial stock, have come different morality and ideas. Along with these economic and social changes has come a political change. For one reason or another the small town has relinquished or had taken from it, its earlier powThe town, instead of being ruled by its own people, is directed by the state or by Washington. This political situation is full of danger, and already there are signs that centralization of authority has gone as far as it can, and that a new tide of decentralization is setting in. In this new tide, Dr. Cram sees great hope for the future of the small town. With responsibility and power restored, the town can meet its own problems and develop as a unit. Transportation difficulties, manipulation of crops, all the dangers of the present intricate and perilous economic structure, vanish in a self-supporting town. Dr. Cram closed by pointing out the great opportunity that awaits. such towns as Hampton Falls, where the farms are owned and managed by descendants of the early settlers, unhampered by the assimilation of an alien population.

The town showed its hearty approval and enthusiasm for its distinguished townsman by prolonged applause. He had touched a chord in all hearts, for he had said the thing we believed and had longed to hear put into words by a man of power. It was this note of hope and of faith in a living future for Hampton Falls that dominated the

entire day, and to Dr. Cram belongs the honor of putting it into words.

Mrs. Walter B. Farmer read the following poem written by another famous child of Hampton FallsAlice Brown:


O pleasant land of field and stream,
Down-dropping to the sea!

No words could weave a dearer dream
Than your reality.

The sunbright mists bewitch the air
Above your bowery grace.
And fair you are,-but ten times fair
The veil upon your face

Of spin-drift, salt, and fragrance blent,
The ocean's benison,

Mixed for a moment's ravishment,
And, with the moment, gone.

And you are fair when driven snow
Lies hollowed, darkly blue,
And fair when winds of morning blow,
And drink the morning dew.

And fair when orchards richly hang
Beauty on bending trees,
Become, where late the bluebird sang,
A bright Hesperides.

Mirror of England's Midland bloom
Ribbed with New England rock!
Our sires, who framed our spacious room,
That staunch, enduring stock,

Were not more leal to you than we
Who love you,-nor forget
The faiths that kept our fathers free
Are yours and England's yet.

The final address was given by Rev. Charles A. Parker. He too

looked toward the future, and saw the town growing in success as the ideals of cooperation grow. Miss Frances Healey read a prophecy concerning Hampton Falls in 2122 A. D., and the afternoon meeting closed with the singing of America, led by Joseph B. Cram.

For a few hours the Town Hall was deserted as duties of farm and house and "company" called the people home. But at eight o'clock every seat was again taken, chairs and settees in every available spot giving added room. The program of the day was given by townspeople, that of the evening by distinguished guests. No one who was there will forget that he has heard Arthur Foote play, and the town will always remember that he helped make the day one that the town recalls with pride. Mr. Charles T. Grilley of Boston read and was very generous to the enthusiastic audience. Mrs. Alvan T. Fuller of Boston and Little Boar's Head sang alone and in duets with Mr. Charles Bennett of Boston and Kensington. Mr. Bennett, accompanied by Mr. Foote, sang two of Mr. Foote's own compositions. "It was a wonderful audience to play to," one of the artists said. Fittingly, the celebration closed with a dance of the young people, to whom the future belongs.


The east wind blows in from the sea
Across the town eternally.
Two hundred years ago it passed
Through virgin timber. And the last
Old house it whispered over then
Is gone.
Has this new age of men
Built more enduring homes than they,
Our fathers of an earlier day?

What will the east wind blow across
These coming years? There will be loss
Of landmarks known to you and me.
Of all these orchards, scarce a tree
With roughened, gnarled boughs, will bear
Apples, where once great orchards were.
And houses, homes of joys and tears,
Will be forgot uncounted years.

Yet dear, quaint names will last. Who can
Forget Drinkwater Road, and Frying-Pan?
Or Brimstone Hill, its smoking lid
Clamped with the starry-pointing pryamid
Of Holy Church? The Common too.
Shaded by antic maples, through
Whose leaves, windswept, the sun pours down
On sons and daughters of the town.

The sons and daughters! They will bear
Names dear to us. And they will share
This fair town's honor and heritage
Binding them to our earlier age.
Sanborn and Batchelder, Prescott, Brown,
These are the names that built our town.
Janvrin and Farmer, Dodge and Weare,
Cram and Moulton, Lane, Pevear,
Healey and Merrill, Greene, all these
Names endure in our histories.

The east wind sweeping in from the sea
Will find strange houses where ours be.
More and statelier, shadowed by wings
Of swiftest airplanes. The ether sings.
Hums and whirrs in myriad keys
Perpetual, vibrant mysteries.

Men will hear echoing clear and far
Ethereal voices from some bright star.
And shouts of heroes centuries dead
Will be caught up and heard and read.
Caesar, rallying legions in Gaul,
Boadicea, the thin, shrill call

Of Jericho trumpets,-every man,
Every sound since the world began.

Then men will acknowledge, as men now should. One holy, eternal brotherhood.

And they will look back on this age of ours
That slowly conquers physical powers
As an age of beginnings, of gropings blind.
For the holier, mightier powers of mind.

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