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Updated: May 27, 2025
The service, and the usual warm grasping of hands and those pleasant social exchanges for which the Shawmut people were so noted, being over, some fifteen or twenty gathered in the hospitable library of M. F. Dickinson, Jr., whose home was but a few rods off, on the other side of Beacon Street.
Billy, where does Charlie Mills live?" "Somewhere at the South End. Shawmut Avenue, I think." "Thank you," said the assistant, and, helping himself to a time-table, he went back rejoicing to his seat in the waiting room. He had stumbled upon an unexpected bit of luck.
When wearied with the monotony of work with his pen, he would leave his study, as I remember, when living in Boston, and, having a private key to Shawmut Church, and dependent on no assistance except that of the water-motor, he would, for a half hour or more, and sometimes for hours, delight and refresh himself with this organ, grandest of all but one, in Boston, the city of good organs and organ-makers.
To-day her church spires and towers are not only numerous, but are famed for their variety and beauty. Fortunately for the future of Boston, the people of Shawmut Church found a good architect, who led the van of improvement in church architecture.
Carleton's last Sunday on earth was as one of "the days of heaven upon earth." It was rich to overflowing with joyous experiences. It is now ours to see that the shadows of his sunset of life were pointing to the eternal morning. It was the opening day of spring. At Shawmut Church, in holy communion, he, with others, celebrated the love of his Saviour and Friend.
"And Shawmut was the Boston microbe, was it?" asked Johnson. "Yes," said Emerson. "Spelt with a P, I suppose?" said Shakespeare. "P-S-H-A-W, Pshaw, M-U-T, mut, Pshawmut, so called because the inhabitants are always muttering pshaw. Eh?" "Pretty good," said Johnson. "I wish I'd said that." "Well, tell Boswell," said Shakespeare. "He'll make you say it, and it'll be all the same in a hundred years."
In the afternoon, I had the pleasure of looking into the faces of three score or more of my former Shawmut parishioners in the Casino hall in Beaconsfield Terrace. Mr. Coffin had, from the first, fully agreed with the writer in believing that a Congregational church should be formed in the Reservoir district, which had, he predicted, a brilliant and substantial future.
"Tell him," said Winthrop, "that, overlooking the insult of doubting my word, if they were to give me belts of wampompeag extending from here to the sun, and skins to cover the ground from Shawmut to his country, I could not restore his tribes-men, for I know nought of them."
"When my brother loves Sassacus more he will tell him all about these things, and they will then have one head and one heart." "They both belong to Sassacus now. But what does he intend to do? Will he return with me to Boston?" "Let my brother go to Shawmut, and if there is any danger he will let me know, Sassacus will remain." "You judge rightly. There were peril in showing thyself there now.
On our street there was not room to turn around; here the sidewalk spread out wider as it swung around to Shawmut Avenue. I played with the boys by preference, as in Chelsea. I learned to cut across the tracks in front of an oncoming car, and it was great fun to see the motorman's angry face turn scared, when he thought I was going to be shaved this time sure.
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