True Stories From History and Biography

In writing this ponderous tome, the author's desire has been to describe
the eminent characters and remarkable events of our annals, in such a form
and style, that the YOUNG might make acquaintance with them of their own
accord. For this purpose, while ostensibly relating the adventures of a
Chair, he has endeavored to keep a distinct and unbroken thread of
authentic history. The Chair is made to pass from one to another of those
personages, of whom he thought it most desirable for the young reader to
have vivid and familiar ideas, and whose lives and actions would best
enable him to give picturesque sketches of the times. On its sturdy oaken
legs, it trudges diligently from one scene to another, and seems always to
thrust itself in the way, with most benign complacency, whenever a
historical personage happens to be looking round for a seat.

There is certainly no method, by which the shadowy outlines of departed
men and women can he made to assume the hues of life more effectually,
than by connecting their images with the substantial and homely reality of
a fireside chair. It causes us to feel at once, that these characters of
history had a private and familiar existence, and were not wholly
contained within that cold array of outward action, which we are compelled
to receive as the adequate representation of their lives. If this
impression can be given, much is accomplished.

Setting aside Grandfather and his auditors, and excepting the adventures
of the Chair, which form the machinery of the work, nothing in the ensuing
pages can be termed fictitious. The author, it is true, has sometimes
assumed the license of filling up the outline of history with details, for
which he has none but imaginative authority, but which, he hopes, do not
violate nor give a false coloring to the truth. He believes that, in this
respect, his narrative will not be found to convey ideas and impressions,
of which the reader may hereafter find it necessary to purge his mind.

The author's great doubt is, whether he has succeeded in writing a book
which will be readable by the class for whom he intends it. To make a
lively and entertaining narrative for children, with such unmalleable
material as is presented by the sombre, stern, and rigid characteristics
of the Puritans and their descendants, is quite as difficult an attempt,
as to manufacture delicate playthings out of the granite rocks on which
New England is founded.

Grandfather had been sitting in his old arm-chair, all that pleasant
afternoon, while the children were pursuing their various sports, far off
or near at hand. Sometimes you would have said, "Grandfather is asleep;"
but still, even when his eyes were closed, his thoughts were with the
young people, playing among the flowers and shrubbery of the garden.

He heard the voice of Laurence, who had taken possession of a heap of
decayed branches which the gardener had lopped from the fruit trees, and
was building a little hut for his cousin Clara and himself. He heard
Clara's gladsome voice, too, as she weeded and watered the flower-bed
which had been given her for her own. He could have counted every footstep
that Charley took, as he trundled his wheelbarrow along the gravel walk.
And though Grandfather was old and gray-haired, yet his heart leaped with
joy whenever little Alice came fluttering, like a butterfly, into the
room. She had made each of the children her playmate in turn, and now made
Grandfather her playmate too, and thought him the merriest of them all.

At last the children grew weary of their sports; because a summer
afternoon is like a long lifetime to the young. So they came into the room
together, and clustered round Grandfather's great chair. Little Alice, who
was hardly five years old, took the privilege of the youngest, and climbed
his knee. It was a pleasant thing to behold that fair and golden-haired
child in the lap of the old man, and to think that, different as they
were, the hearts of both could be gladdened with the same joys.

"Grandfather," said little Alice, laying her head back upon his arm, "I am
very tired now. You must tell me a story to make me go to sleep."

"That is not what story-tellers like," answered Grandfather, smiling.
"They are better satisfied when they can keep their auditors awake."

"But here are Laurence, and Charley, and I," cried cousin Clara, who was
twice as old as little Alice. "We will all three keep wide awake. And
pray, Grandfather, tell us a story about this strange-looking old chair."

Now, the chair in which Grandfather sat was made of oak, which had grown
dark with age, but had been rubbed and polished till it shone as bright as
mahogany. It was very large and heavy, and had a back that rose high above
Grandfather's white head. This back was curiously carved in open work, so
as to represent flowers and foliage and other devices; which the children
had often gazed at, but could never understand what they meant. On the
very tiptop of the chair, over the head of Grandfather himself, was a
likeness of a lion's head, which had such a savage grin that you would
almost expect to hear it growl and snarl.

The children had seen Grandfather sitting in this chair ever since they
could remember any thing. Perhaps the younger of them supposed that he and
the chair had come into the world together, and that both had always been
as old as they were now. At this time, however, it happened to be the
fashion for ladies to adorn their drawing-rooms with the oldest and oddest
chairs that could be found. It seemed to cousin Clara that if these ladies
could have seen Grandfather's old chair, they would have thought it worth
all the rest together. She wondered if it were not even older than
Grandfather himself, and longed to know all about its history.

"Do, Grandfather, talk to us about this chair," she repeated.

"Well, child," said Grandfather, patting Clara's cheek, "I can tell you a
great many stories of my chair. Perhaps your cousin Laurence would like to
hear them too. They would teach him something about the history and
distinguished people of his country, which he has never read in any of his
school-books."

Cousin Laurence was a boy of twelve, a bright scholar, in whom an early
thoughtfulness and sensibility began to show themselves. His young fancy
kindled at the idea of knowing all the adventures of this venerable chair.
He looked eagerly in Grandfather's face; and even Charley, a bold, brisk,
restless little fellow of nine, sat himself down on the carpet, and
resolved to be quiet for at least ten minutes, should the story last so
long.

Meantime, little Alice was already asleep; so Grandfather, being much
pleased with such an attentive audience, began to talk about matters that
had happened long ago.

But, before relating the adventures of the chair, Grandfather found it
necessary to speak of the circumstances that caused the first settlement
of New England. For it will soon be perceived that the story of this
remarkable chair cannot be told without telling a great deal of the
history of the country.

So, Grandfather talked about the Puritans, as those persons were called
who thought it sinful to practise the religious forms and ceremonies which
the Church of England had borrowed from the Roman Catholics. These
Puritans suffered so much persecution in England that, in 1607, many of
them went over to Holland, and lived ten or twelve years at Amsterdam and
Leyden. But they feared that, if they continued there much longer, they
should cease to be English, and should adopt all the manners and ideas and
feelings of the Dutch. For this and other reasons, in the year 1620, they
embarked on board of the ship Mayflower, and crossed the ocean to the
shores of Cape Cod. There they made a settlement, and called it Plymouth;
which, though now a part of Massachusetts, was for a long time a colony by
itself. And thus was formed the earliest settlement of the Puritans in
America.

Meantime, those of the Puritans who remained in England continued to
suffer grievous persecution on account of their religious opinions. They
began to look around them for some spot where they might worship God, not
as the king and bishops thought fit, but according to the dictates of
their own consciences. When their brethren had gone from Holland to
America, they bethought themselves that they likewise might find refuge
from persecution there. Several gentlemen among them purchased a tract of
country on the coast of Massachusetts Bay, and obtained a charter from
King Charles, which authorized them to make laws for the settlers. In the
year 1628, they sent over a few people, with John Endicott at their head,
to commence a plantation at Salem. Peter Palfrey, Roger Conant, and one or
two more, had built houses there in 1626, and may be considered as the
first settlers of that ancient town. Many other Puritans prepared to
follow Endicott.

"And now we come to the chair, my dear children," said Grandfather. "This
chair is supposed to have been made of an oak tree which grew in the park
of the English earl of Lincoln, between two and three centuries ago. In
its younger days it used, probably, to stand in the hall of the earl's
castle. Do not you see the coat of arms of the family of Lincoln, carved
in the open work of the back? But when his daughter, the Lady Arbella, was
married to a certain Mr. Johnson, the earl gave her this valuable chair."

"Who was Mr. Johnson?" inquired Clara.

"He was a gentleman of great wealth, who agreed with the Puritans in their
religious opinions," answered Grandfather. "And as his belief was the same
as theirs, he resolved that he would live and die with them. Accordingly,
in the month of April, 1630, he left his pleasant abode and all his
comforts in England, and embarked with the Lady Arbella, on board of a
ship bound for America."