Plymouth memories of an octogenarianDavis, William T. (William Thomas)
History
Plymouth memories of an octogenarian
Davis, William T. (William Thomas)
Plymouth (Mass.) -- History
He died at his home,
September 15, 1843, and she on the 7th of the next month, and both
are buried in Vine Hills cemetery, united at least in spirit, where
“they neither marry nor are given in marriage.”
It is not worth while to consider the occupancy of the remaining
estates between the Isaac Bartlett house and the brook. It will be
sufficient to say that the first building next to the Bartlett House
was at one time occupied by Oliver Keyes, and again by Martin Myers,
who kept a harness store on the corner of Leyden street. Two stores
have been erected in front of the building which are occupied by
C. T. Harris & Son, and by the Co-operative store. In 1828 a man
named Joseph D. Jones, kept a tinman’s shop on Market street, but
its precise location I cannot define. He advertised bulbous roots
for sale, and we boys, always ready to adopt nicknames, called him
bulbous Jones. He deserved a better name, for he was one of the best
of men, conscientious in all his dealings, and a valuable citizen. At
a later date he moved to a one story building on Main street, where
Leyden Hall building now stands, after Dr. Isaac LeBaron, apothecary,
had moved from it to the corner of North street. Rev. Adiel Harvey,
pastor of the Baptist Society from 1845 to 1855, and superintendent
of public schools from 1853 to 1859, married his daughter. About
forty years after he left Plymouth I met him one day in Boston, and
instantly recognizing him, called him by name, and had a pleasant
conversation with him. Of course he failed to recognize me, but he
expressed great pleasure at meeting some one from Plymouth, who could
tell him about the doings in the old town. Twelve or fifteen years
ago I was advertised to deliver an address before the Young Men’s
Christian Union, and the old man considerably over ninety years of
age, seeing the advertisement, came escorted by his daughter to hear
me. He died not many years ago at the Old Men’s Home, on Springfield
street, where he had been for some time an inmate, nearly if not
quite, a centenarian.
CHAPTER XVI.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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