small octavo 20 x 13 cm

Pages 1-109

Today’s book is quite a treat, It is an unique (as far as I call tell at this point) Illustrated Common Place Friendship Album 1825 Danvers Ma. made for Rebecca P. Fowler. .

It consists of 190 pages,

Rebecca Fowler. Danvers Ma Dec 6th 1825. Small octavo 20 x 12 cm: pages 1-109

Scribes :

Friendship: Mrs Perley p6. 

 Virtue Harriet Mrs Fowles p8

  Wit is a Feather Page p10 

 Sage Cadimus Clarissa Fowler p12  

Refecetion S.Pitman Mrs Tapley p14

 A Brighter Region R.P. Goodale p15 


The Evening Hour p20-21. 

 To Rebecca Mrs Morarty p22. 

 To a Friend Mrs Daland p23 

 Rebecca M. Page p24 

 The Album  Mrs Pitman pages 25,27,29,31,35,38, 

And false the Light on Glory’s plume Nancy p26  

Oh Know’st thou why Mrs Tyler/Mrs Swan p28  

Go Idle days! Tell her whose joyous heart beats high Mrs Williams p30  

A morning Soliloquy J.P. Portsmmouth p32-34  

Sweet moans of life! all hail, ye lovers of ease Mrs Moody p36-37 

 My Young Friend p39-41 

Happiness Mrs (Sarah) Hunt p42 

 Hymn p48  

Home p44

  But thou art here p45.

 A Reflection p46 

[very hard to read] ‘Died 1819 at St Antåo Cape de Verd Island p 47* 

 There are two periods in the life Mrs Pitman p48  

How sweetly could I lay my head F.P.S.p49 

 Full many a Gem Rebecca p49  

The Hour of Peace Mrs Slocum p50 

 To Rebecca Mrs Chapman p51 

 Heaven Lydia W. Pitman p52 

 The Ruins p53,59  

Home Mrs Porter p58 

 Life a dull dance p59  

 I saw when the sun sunk Mrs Ober p60 

 To Rebecca Mrs Ober p61 

 The Rural Meditation Mrs E Pitman p62 

 The Wounded Eagle Eliza Page Fowler age 9 p 63 & 69

  The Buriel of the young Mary P. p64-67 wds

 Female Dignity Ctf p68. 

Provdence Mrs Howe p70

Boat SONG P71

The Bird p72

Life N. York p73-74


Saint Augustine to his sister Mrs Davenport p76

Madam, Esteeming it a privilege. SPS p 77-76

On Parting with friends Mrs Dalan P77


Page 1 Morning Prayer

This seems bo be an original combination of a lot of Church of England themes.

Page 4 The close of Summer

So at first I wanted Keats, but no, then Charlotte Smith, Both at the right time alas same subject but no , rather this one looks original as well 1826

Page 6 Friendship

Sacred FRIENDSHIP! heav’nly flame!

Faithful FRIENDSHIP! lovely name!

Her’s are all the joys of life,
Free from trouble, free from strife :
Confidence with placid air,

Her, Honour waits, with a heady look ;
Virtue by no misfortune Shook ;

Gratitude with joyful eye; Kindness that passes Error by ;
Sympatby that measure keeps,
As Pleasure smiles, or Sorrow weeps
Calm Content, a heavenly guest,

And Peace the treasure of the breast. These to FRIENDSHIP all belong, 

Objects of immortal  Song.

Danvers January 27/8 1826. Al… MrsPerley




This one also seems to be vacation upon a theme, it it signed Harriet P… (Putnam) later Mrs Fowler.

Page 9 MORNING PRAYER continued from the 7th page and continued over 10, and restarts on page 11, then over 12 to continue on 13.

PAGE 10 “Wit is a feather” Signed by G. Page Salem 1826.

Wit is a feather, Pope has said And females never doubt it. For those who’ve least within the head. Display the most without it.

PAGE 12 “Sage Cadmus Hail” signed Clarrine FowlerDanvers 1825

with a painting of shells.

 Sage Cadmus, hail ! to thee the Grecians owed The art and science, that from letters flowed;  To thy great mind indebted sages stand,  And grateful learning owns thy guardian hand.

Without th’ invention of a written tongue, E’en Fame herself no lasting notes had sung ; Thy brow she crowns with tributary bays, And sounds thy glory in immortal lays.

PAGE 13 continued from page 11 Morning Prayer

also Page 13. Days of Absence sad and dreary

Quoted from Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Days of absence, sad and dreary, Clothed in sorrow’s dark array , Days of absence, I am weary; Her i love is far away. …..


Oh Sacred star of even

From Disembodied Spirit by O.W.B. Peabody

William Bourne Oliver Peabody (1799–1847) and Oliver William Bourne Peabody (1799–1848) were twin brothers, natives of Exeter, N. H., and sons of Judge Oliver Peabody. They entered Harvard College together at the early age of thirteen, and graduated in 1817. Both were men of fine intellectual endowments, gentle and affectionate, keenly sensitive to all that is beautiful and good in nature and in art. Both brothers studied divinity, and became clergymen. William was settled over the Unitarian Church in Springfield, Mass., in 1820, and continued in his pastorate till his death, Oliver was settled, in 1845, over the Unitarian Church in Burlington, Vt. Both brothers wrote poetry, very similar in style ; and both were so indifferent to fame that neither made a collection of his writings. A selection from the sermons and poems of William was published in 1849. The noble “Hymn to the Stars” (see page 544) is believed to have been from the pen of O. W. B. Peabody, but is not in his MS. collection.

PAGE 15 A Brighter Region.

PAGE 16-19 Jephate’s rash vow

The battle had cease and and the victory was won , The wild cry of horror was o’er;. Now arose in his glory the bright-beaming sun, And with him his journey the war-chief begun, With a soul breathing vengeance no more. The foes of his country lay strew’d on the plain, A tear stole its course from his eye;

The warrior disdain’d every semblance of pain; He thought of his child-of his country, again, ; And suppress’d, while ’twas forming, a sigh. _________

PAGE 20-21 The evening Hour

PAGE 22 To Rebecca 

Be not hasty in forming friendships


When, casting many a look behind, 
I leave the friends I cherish here– 
Perchance some other friends to find, 
But surely finding nong tell….

e so dear– 

Haply the little simple page, 
Which votive thus I’ve traced for thee, 
May now and then a look engage, 
And steal one moment’s thought for me. 

(Thomas Moore) 

24 Rebeca 

PAGE 26 And false the light on Glory’s plume,There ’s nothing true, but Heaven!

And false the light on Glory’s plume,
There ’s nothing true, but Heaven! (Thomas Moore 1779-1852)
 1826 Nancy 

PAGE 28, Oh Know’st thou why

Oh! know’st thou why-to distance
driven, Consequently, by the end of the day,
When lovers weep the parting hour; Dr. Birch triumphed in

pride of
The simplest gift that moment given, victory; pulled off his cork legs, unbarked his lower extremities, shook Still, when it meets my Mary’s view,
Long, long retains a magic power. the leafy honours from his brow, and
Can half the theft of time retrieve; inhumanly cooked his captive enemy Can scenes of former bliss renew, with the vhery same materials by which
And bid each dear remembrance live ; he had ensnared him. Whether this
It boots not if the pencilled rose, plan has been followed, we cannot Or sever’d ringlet meets the eye ; say; if it were a little more honest
Or India’s sparkling gems inclose we should not dislike it. Instead of a The talisman of Sympathy. few sneaking, solivagous, thievish, rat
• Keep it-yes, keep it for my sake,’ like looking anglers, creeping and On fancy’s ear still breathes the sound, stealing atbout the river and aits, Ne’er time the potent charm shall break, like peevish and perfidious otters, we Or loose the spell affection bound.”

Danvers march i8th 1826 Mrs Tyler ,Mrs Swan.

PAGE 30 Go idle lays

PAGE 32: A morning Soliloquer

43) Hymn

PAGE 46 A Reflection


I’ve seen the dark ship proudly braving, With high sail set, and streamers waving, The tempest roar and battle pride; I’ve seen those floating streamers shrinking* The high sail rent, the proud ship sinking, Beneath the Ocean tide; And heard the seaman farewell sighing, His body on the dark sea lying, His death prayer to the wind! But sadder sight the eye can know, Than proud bark lost and seaman’s wo, Or battle fire and tempest cloud, Or prey bird’s shriek and ocean’s shroud — The shipwreck of the mind!

Signed Augustus 1826: copied fromThesaurus Poeticus, Or, Poetical Treasury of the Choicest Descriptions, Similes, and Sentiments, of the Most Celebrated Foreign and American Poets. ClergymanG.C. Morgan, 1826

PAGE 47 Hard to read

Written by N …. who died 1829 at St Iago, Cape de Verde Island.

PAGE 48 “There are two periods in the life of man 

There are two periods in the life of man in which the evening hour is peculiarly interesting,— in youth and in old age. In youth, we love it for its mellow moonlight, its million of stars, its thin, rich, and shooting shades, its still serenity; amid those who can commune with our loves, or twine the wreaths of friendship, while there is none to bear us witness but the heavens and the spirits that hold their endless Sabbath there,— or look into the deep bosom of creation, spread abroad like a canopy above us, and look and listen till we can almost see and hear the waving wings and melting songs of other worlds. To youth, evening is delightful: it accords with the flow of his light spirits, the fervour of his fancy, and the softness of his heart. Evening is also the delight of virtuous age: it seems an emblem of the tranquil close of busy life,— serene, placid, and mild, with the impress of its great Creator stamped upon it: it spreads its quiet wings over the grave, and seems to promise that all shall be peace beyond it.

From ~Edward Bulwer–Lytton

PAGE 49 from Elegiac Stanzas

Quoted April 1826 by Mrs Putnam from Thomas Moore (1779–1852) Elegiac Stanzas

5 How sweetly could I lay my head
Within the cold grave’s silent breast;
Where sorrow’s tears so more are shed,
No more the ills of life molest.

6 For, ah my heart! how very soon
The glittering dreams of youth are past!
And long before it reach its noon,
The sun of life is overcast.

fps 1827 

Also on PAGE 49: from An Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard

Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom’d caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”

― Thomas Gray,

PAGE 50: The Hour of Peace

There is abhor of sacred peace

By, Angels blessed by saints reser’d ….

Mrs. (Mary) Slocum Danvers April 1826

PAGE 51: To Rebecca,

PAGE 52: Heaven

Lydia W. Putnam 1826

PAGE 53: The Ruin

By Selleck Osborn was editor of The Witness, Litchfield, Connecticut; The American Watchman, Wilmington, Delaware; the New York Patriot. Osborn was imprisoned for his political libellous publications. He published a collection of his verse entitled Poems (1823).

 I ’VE seen, in twilight’s pensive hour,
The moss-clad dome, the mouldering tower, 
In awful ruin stand;That dome, where grateful voices sung,
That tower, whose chiming music rung,     
   Majestically grand! 

I ’ve seen, ’mid sculptured pride, the tomb
Where heroes slept, in silent gloom,  
Unconscious of their fame;Those who, with laurel’d honors crown’d,      
Among their foes spread terror round,    And gain’d—an empty name!

 I ’ve seen, in death’s dark palace laid,
The ruins of a beauteous maid,  
  Cadaverous and pale!         
That maiden who, while life remain’d,
O’er rival charms in triumph reign’d, 
   The mistress of the vale.

 I ’ve seen, where dungeon damps abide
A youth, admired in manhood’s pride,    
 In morbid fancy rave;
{Over Page to 59}
He who, in reason’s happier day,
Was virtuous, witty, nobly gay,
Learn’d, generous and brave.

Nor dome, nor tower, in twilight shade,
Nor hero fallen, nor beauteous maid,
To ruin all consign’d—
Can with such pathos touch my breast
As (on the maniac’s form impress’d)
The ruins of the mind! Life a dull dance But steps with you

PAGE 60 I saw when the sun had sunk down in the west

Danvers May 23 1826 Mrs Ober

I saw when the sun had sunk down in the west

PAGE 61: To Rebecca


“ Tis worth an age of wandering to return,

‘Tis worth an age of wandering to return
To souls that still can feel, and hearts that burn;
We have not bent the chasten’d brow in vain,
To hear the whisper, ” Thou art mine again!”
To see in eyes we love the tear-drop swell
With more of feeling than the lip could tell.
The weary pilgrim’s wish-the exile’s prayer,
Breathe of their home-that they may wander there,
And like the sun when summer days are past,
Sink into rest, their calmest hour their last,

Heave the death-sigh where those around will weep, And sleep for ever where their fathers sleep

Nov 1826 Mrs Porter

59) Jan 3 1828 

PAGE 62. A rural Meditation

(The following reflections on a Flower Garden, were written by a young lady 

Anne Steele? [Anne Steele was born at Broughton, Hampshire, in 1717. Her father was a timber merchant, and at the same time officiated as the lay pastor of the Baptist Society at Broughton. Her mother died when she was 3. At the age of 19 she became an invalid after injuring her hip. At the age of 21 she was engaged to be married but her fiance drowned the day of the wedding. On the occasion of his death she wrote the hymn “When I survey life’s varied scenes.” After the death of her fiance she assisted her father with his ministry and remained single. Despite her sufferings she maintained a cheerful attitude. She published a book of poetry Poems on subjects chiefly devotional in 1760 under the pseudonym “Theodosia.” }

What soft delight the peaceful bosom warms, When nature, dress’d in all her vernal charms, Around the beauteous landscape smiles serene, And crowns with every gift the lovely scene! In every gift the donor shines confess’d, And heavenly bounty cheers the grateful breast. Now lovely verdure paints the laughing meads, And o’er the hills wide waving plenty spreads ; -There woodbines climb, dispensing odours round, There smiles the pink with humble beauties crown’d; And while the flowers their various charms disclose,  Queen of the garden, shines the blushing rose.  The fragrant tribes display their sweetest bloom, And every gentle whisper breathes perfume.

PAGE 63 & 69  The Wounded Eagle

The Wounded Eagle

Eagle! this is not thy sphere!Warrior-bird, what seek’st thou here?Wherefore by the fountain’s brinkDoth thy royal pinion sink?Wherefore on the violet’s bedLay’st thou thus thy drooping head?Thou that hold’st the blast in scorn,Thou that wear’st the wings of mourn. Eagle! wilt thou not arise?Look upon thine own bright skies!Lift thy glance! the fiery sunThere his pride pf place has won,And the mountain lark is there,And sweet sound hath fill’d the air:Hast thou left that realm on high?—Oh, it can be but to die!Eagle! Eagle! thou hast bowedFrom thine empire o’er the cloud!Thou that hadst ethereal birth,Thou hast stoop’d too near the earth,And the hunter’s shaft hath found thee,And the toils of death have bound thee,Wherefore didst thou leave thy place,Creature of a kingly race? Wert thou weary of thy throne?Was the sky’s dominion lone?Chill and lone it well might be,Yet that mighty wing was free!Now the chain is o’er thee cast:From thy heart the blood flows fast,Woe for gifted souls and high!Is not such their destiny? Felicia Hemans

Elvira Page Fowler aged 9 years March 1828

PAGE 64-67 The burial of the Young

The Burial of the Young.
[Mrs. Sigourney.] 

THERE was an open grave–and many an eye Look’d down upon it. Slow the sable hearse Mov’d on, as if reluctantly it bare The young
unwearied form to that cold couch Which
age and sorrow render sweet to man. -There seem’d sadness in the humid air, Lifting the long grass from those verdant mounds Where slumber multitudes..
There was a train Of young, fair females, with their brows of bloom, And shining tresses. Arm in arm they came, And stood upon the brink of that dark pit, In pensive beauty, waiting the approach
Of their companion. She was wont to fly,
And meet them, as the gay bird meets the spring.“
Brushing the dew drop from the morning flowers,
And breathing mirth and gladness. Now she came
With movements fashiond to the deep-ton’d bell;
She came with mourning sire and sorrowing friend,
And tears of those who at her side were nurs’d
By the same Mother.

1Ah! and one was there 

Who ere the fading of the summer rose
Had hop’d to greet her as his bride. But death
Arose between them. The pale lover watch’d
So close, her journey through the shadowy yale,
That almost to his heart the ice of death
Enter’d from hers. There was a brilliant flush
Of youth about her and her kindling eye
Pour’d such unearthly light, that hope would hang
Even on the archer’s arrow, while it dropp’d
Deep poison. Many a restless night she toild
For that slight breath which held her from the tomb,
Still wasting like a snow-wreath, which the sun
Marks for his own, on some cool mountain’s breast,
Yet spares and tinges long with rosy light.
-Oft o’er the musings of her silent couch,
Came visions of that matron form which bent
With nursing tenderness to sooth and bless
Her cradle dream; and her emaciate hand
In trembling prayer she rais’d, that He who say’d
The sainted mother, would redeem the child.
Was the orison lost ?-Whence then that peace
So dove-like, settling o’er a soul that lov’d
Earth and its pleasures ?–Whence that angel smile

With which the allurements of a world so dear
Were counted and resign’d? That eloquence
So fondly urging those whose hearts were full
Of sublunary happiness, to seek
A better portion? Whence that voice of joy,
Which from the marble lip, in life’s last strife,
Burst forth to hail her everlasting home? 

Lydia Huntley Sigourney (1791-1865) was an enormously popular nineteenth-century writer, the author of around 60 books. Her prose and sentimental poetry appeared in many periodicals for children and for adults; she also published at least one piece in every volume of the Token from 1828 to 1840.)

PAGE 68 Female Dignity

Happy the female who, amid the bloom
And brilliant promise of life’s early day,
Raises her kindling eye beyond the tomb, Refulgent with hope’s ever-living ray;  Intent on higher objects than assu

Enchantment in the day dreams of the gay,
Till death dissolve the dream,and tear the mask away.

Firm in her purpose, in her faith sincere;

Redeemed from every low and grovelling aim; Aspiring to a purer, happier sphere;

Nobly aspiring, struggling still to claim Companionship with angels, rising near

Eternal glories, with ingenuous shame, Seeing her defects still—herself alone to blame.

Noble indeed the mind, that thus can look

On life, as on the restless rapid stage,
Revolving much, I deem, the Sacred Book

To count it so) of heavenly pilgrimage!
O, can she pause on her high path, and brook

70 Provdence* As the fond parent over her offspring hands”

Novels, and plays, and balls ?— With ‘noble rage’

She spurns them as the vile corrupters of the age !

1824. (John Newton Brown, Published in Concord NH 1824

PAGE69 And the hunters shaft hath found thee

And the hunter’s shaft hath found thee,
And the toils of death have bound thee!
-Wherefore didst thou leave thy place, .
Creature of a kingly race ?
Wert thou weary of thy throne ?
Was thy sky’s dominion lone ?
Chill and lone it well might be,
Yet that mighty wing was free!
Now the chain is o’er it cast,
From thy heart the blood flows fast,
–Woe for gifted souls and high!
Is not such their destiny?

copied by Elisa Page Fowler Aged 9 yrs March 1828: The Poetical Works of Felicia Hemans: Complete in One Volume Felicia Dorothea Browne Hemans.  ‎Andrews Norton · 1828. J. B. Smith, 1860:

PAGE 70: Provence

“As the fond parent to her offspring lends .

Mrs Howe Danvers june 6th 1826

72 The Bird 

1 The bird let loose in eastern skies,
Returning fondly home,
Ne’er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam.

2 But high she shoots, through air and light,
Above all low delay,
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way.

3 So grant me, Lord, from every snare
Of sinful passion free,
Aloft, through faith’s serener air,
To hold my course to thee.

4 No sin to cloud, no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs,
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom in her wings.

Thomas Moore

73 &74

PAGE 73-74: LIFE

What is life? an airy dream,
Whose painted visions, fancied Joys Burst on the view, float on the stream,
my Bible almost Exclusively; and from this I derived great
spirituality of mind com ad the Bible with a proper frame of mind. Nothing, Vanishes ere yet possess’d;
if we except prayer, lends so much to promote a spirit of Twinkles like the evening star,
calmness and devotion, as the study of the Scriptures.
We say study-for it is of very liule use to burry over a And sinks to rest.
chapter or iwo, without reflection, as we would read a Hope, that gilds the prospect fair,
paragraph in a newspaper or magazine. A friend lately Glitters in the distant view ;
remarked, that there were many other books, which las Recedes into the deep despair,
intellect perhaps to as great a degree as the Bible ; Of blackest hue.
and there were some which as much excited his sensibil
ily ; but that there were none wbich so much raised his Beauty, like an op’ning flow’r,
devotional feelings and diffused so sweet a calm through Blooms upon the youthful cheek ;
his breast. And he gave as a special reason for this er Fades and withers by the pow’r
fect, ‘that God honours His own word; and designs His Of breezes bleak.
people should learn by experience, that they can there
Gind peace and joy better than in the writings of men.
But even joy, and beauty’s bloom,
And hope that dazzles on the eye,

“In prosperity, the bountiful Giver is obscured by the Are blossoms gather’d for the tomb,
multiplicity of his own gifts, but when the tempest of ad. Soon, soon to die.

There is a land of sweet repose,

weakness and dependence, his hopelessness, and need of Where flow’rs and fruits immortal bloom,

Jivine aid ; aod returns repentant to duty, lo happiness
Possess’d by him whose pleasure flows

and to God.”
Beyond the tomb.
There is a haven of the soul,



The Religious Intelligencer, Volume 10

Front Cover
N. Whiting., 1825)


76) St Augustine to his sister*

77 & 78 ) Madam,

PAGE 79 On parting with friends.

PAGE 80-82 Description of the deluge

From (Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse. By Lydia Huntley. Hartford, 12mo-.pp. 267.1811)

(Lydia Huntley Sigourney (1791-1865) was an enormously popular nineteenth-century writer, the author of around 60 books. Her prose and sentimental poetry appeared in many periodicals for children and for adults; she also published at least one piece in every volume of the Token from 1828 to 1840.)

Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse by Lydia Huntley
Source: The North-American Review and Miscellaneous Journal, Vol. 1, No. 1 (May, 1815)

TION BY REV. W: 1. BOWLES. (Except Burns and Cowper, no poet of!’*

the present day has been so gener. that bury’d deep 11 ally admired as Mr. Bowles. The Earth and its multitudes : the ark alone, beautiful imagery and natural feeling, High on the cloudy van of Ararat,.. with which his poems abound, have Rested ; for now the death-commisfound their way to the heart of those
sion’d storm for whom poetry was written The Sinks silent, and the eye of day looks out poem opens with the resting of the Dim through the haze, while short successive gleams upon [Aratat.] : . asis,’ng

Flit o’er the face of deluge as it shrinks, Though visionary, rise; and sometimes
Or the transparent rain-drops, falling few Distinct, and larger glisten. So the ark A moment’s sadness, when I think of Rests upon Aratat ; but nought around thee,
Its inmates can behold, save o’er th’ expanse Of boundless waters, the Sun’s orient orb ·and thy character, Stretching the hull’s long shadow, or (Though some few spots be on thy flow. the Moon
ing robe) In silence, through the silver-cinctura’d clouds,
Sailing as she herself were lost, and left
But oh, sweet Hope,
the youths Thou bidst a tear of holy extacy, Start to their eye-lids, when at night the Dove,
Weary returns, and lo ! an olive leaf. Wet in her bill : ‘ again she is put forth, Where the poor peasant feels, his shed When the seventh morn shines on the
though small, hoar abyss :
An independence and a pride, that fill Due ev’ning comes ; her wings are His honest heart with joy-joy such as heard no more !
they The dawn awakes, not cold and dripp. Who crowd the mart of men may never ing sad,
feel. But cheer’d with lovelier sunshine : Such England is thy boast : When I
[ked peaks
have heard The dark-red mountains slow their na The roar of Ocean bursting round thy Upheave above the waste :
IMAUS rocks, gleams :
Or seen a thousand thronging masts Fame the huge torrent on his desert aspire,
Far as the eye could reach, from every Till at the awful voice of Him who
port RULES
Of every nation, streaming with their The store, the ancient father and his
train On the dry land descend.”. {

The Monthly Anthology, and Boston Review, Volume 4
edited by David Phineas Adams, William Emerson, Samuel Cooper Thacher 1807

PAGE83-85 Friendship :

that the human heart is susceptible of friendship

The History of Miss Greville … By the Author of Interesting Memoirs [i.e. E. Keir]. [Sometimes Wrongly Attributed to Susanna Harvey.

PAGE 86 To Rebecca  Mrs Gibson Salem feb 1827 

PAGE 87 Auld lang syne.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne.

Robert Burns.

PAGE 88 Look forth upon the sullen sky

Martha Page 1827

PAGE 89/90: The Grave

 Nature appeared desolate and mournful, the clouds passed heavily on, shroud-in ” all things ? in their gloom. The winds sighed sadly through the dark bousrhs that  .

Mrs Elizabeth Hunt 1827

PAGE 90: The cottage Girl 

[Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Amulet, 1827  (1826) ]

A Child beside a hamlet’s fount at play, 
Her fair face laughing at the sunny day; 
The cheerful girl her labour leaves a while, 
To gaze on Heaven’s and Earth’s unsullied smile; 
Her happy dog looks on her dimpled cheeks, 
And of his joy in his own language speaks; 
A gush of waters, tremulously bright,  Kindling the air to gladness with their light; 
And a soft gloom beyond, of summer-trees, 
Darkening the turf, and, shadowed o’er by these, 
A low, dim, woodland cottage:—this was all! 

copied by Maria Luisa Fowler aged 10 years may 1833

PAGE 91: Lady, when years have found a time hath laid

Lady, when years have found a time hath laid A crown of bright grey upon thine head…

Mrs Williams 1827

PAGE 92: To the Autumn Leaf

Lone trembling one ! Last of a Summer race, withered and sear, And shivering–wherefore art thou lingering here?
Thy work is done.
Thou hast seen all The Summer flowers reposing in their tomb, And the green leaves, that knew thee in their bloom,
Wither and fall!
Why didst thou cling So fondly to the rough and sapless tree? lath then existence aught like charms for thee,
Thou faded thing!
The voice of Spring,
Vhich woke thee into being, ne’er again
Vill greet thee-nor the gentle Summer’s rain

New verdure bring.
The zephyr’s breath
No more will wake for thee its melody
But the lone sighing of the blast shall be

Thy hymn of death.
Yet a few days, few faint struggles with the Autumn storm, And the strained eye to catch thy trembling form
In vain may gaze.
Pale Autumn leaf! Thou art an emblem of mortality, l’he broken heart, once young and fresh like thee,
Wither’d by grief

Whose hopes are fled, Whose loved ones all have drooped and died away, till clings to life-and lingering loves to stay

Above the dead !

But list-e’en now hear the gathering of the Autumn blast, it comes–thy frail form trembles-it is past ! And thou art low !

Quoted from :The Casket, Or, Flowers of Literature, Wit & Sentiment, Volume 2 by Mrs Williams

Atkinson & Alexander, 1827 

PAGE 94: Like dews upon the meadow.

Ye roses blow your bonny blooms,
And draw the wild birds by the burn,
For Luman promis’d me a ring.
And ye maun aid me should I mourn:
Ah! na, na, na, ye need na sing,
My een are dim and drowsy worn;
Ye bonny birds ye need na sing,
For Luman never can return.

My Luman’s love, in broken sighs,
At dawn of day by Doun ye’se hear,
And mid-day by the willow green,
For him I’ll shed a silent tear.
Sweet birds, I ken ye’ll pitty me,
And join me with a plaintive sang,
While echo waits and joins the mane,
I make for him I look’d sae long.

PAGE 97 Finis

Here the paper is slightly different in quality and size yet the text is certainly of the same age

PAGE 98-103 Father said the beautiful marianne as she stood weeping

“Father!” said the beautiful Marianne, as she stood weeping by the side of the old man, who was gazing upon her with looks full of admiration and tenderness: “Daughter,” said he, “why do you weep? believe me there is nothing in this world worthy of your tears, unless it is, there is nothing in it worthy of your genius;–it is, my child, a fair and beautiful world, and there is much of happiness in it.— All nature is varied and beautiful around us;– the seasons in their change, each brings some new pleasure; they sky, the ocean, and the tempest—sunshine and flowers, all are sublime and beautiful, and speak eloquently to us of that wise and beneficent Creator, who formed them in their grandeur and loveliness, and they ought to awaken in every heart feelings of admiration and of gratitude “The spirit of genius still breathes its celeslestial sentiments in a thousand books, and the fine arts are a source of wonder and of delightful study; music is like a sweet intoxicating dream, which cheats us perhaps of hours of sorrow; science, in a thousand wonderful and mysterious ways, proves the stupendous powers of intellect, and the noble efforts and success of man ; the rich and glowing treasure of imagination may be an inexhaustible source of enjoyment—it may be a parterre of eternally blooming flowers, and its splendid images and its slattering promises throw their rich light even over the actual misfortunes of life, and we gather from them many an enchanting dream “Who, my child, that is gifted with genius, dares to call this a world of tears and of sorrow P Who, that possesses that splendid attribute of the Deity, dares to call himself unhappy? And yet you, gifted as you are with talents and genius, with imagination and enthusiasm, born at the foot of Vesuvius, in the midst of the most sublime wonders of nature, where the breath of heaven is poetry, and music, and perfume—Yet you, my daughter, with all these blessings and advantages, call yourself unhappy, and weep over the foolish visions of your fancy, as though pleasure would never wake again. “Look at the farewell rays of the setting sun, as they linger yet a moment on the blue waves of the ocean: the sky is without a cloud : the atmosphere is filled with fragrance from the thousand wild slowers which are drinking the night dews in the wildness of their beauty:floods of light seem rolling over the sea from the * silver crescent” that has just burst, as from her bosom, in the splendor of her beauty; it is indeed a brilliant sight, and who can gaze upon it, and not feel the spirit of divine inspiration kindling in their bosoms? “The connecting link between nature and the affections of the soul, is finely woven; it is a mysterious chain thrown around the heart, which keeps it pure, and leads it often to Heaven, even in the fullness of its despair, and saves it from rebellion by her sweet sympathy, which she makes felt at the very bottom of the soul.”

“Yes, (replied the maiden, mournfully,) I have gazed long upon it; it is both brilliant and beautiful, but I find nothing there to respond to the deep and troubled thoughts of my soul! “You speak eloquently, Father, upon the enjoyments of life, but you touch not upon its misfortunes; and has your life then been so happy that you have escaped all the sufferings of the heart P” The old man passed his hand over his eyes, and I saw tears glistening there;—the past wasections at the foot-stool of the Eternal, and am at peace with all the world. The heart is like a lyre, finely strung; it vibrates to the echo of the passions, which are in youth all powerful, but they must be subsued: and yet, I know, that many a proud and lofty spirit is broken, before the task is accomplished;—life has its sorrows, it is true, but they must be borne and overcome; it has its trials too, but they must make us wiser and happier.” Marianne replied—“The beautiful visions of youth pass away and leave the heart sad and desolate, the most cherished dreams fade away and leave but the darkness of the hour of dreams; if we tenderly confide in them, if we repose our whole soul upon them, our tears wash away the illusion, and we wish we had not so blindly yielded to their delightful influence. The most enchanting sentiments, the most impassioned af. fections, the purest, the holiest, and the most devoted love, seem all the sport of circumstances, and the youthful aid the glowing heart, cherishes its reminiscences of happiness, while the future lies cold and dark before it; and why then, Father, may not this be called a world of tears, and of sorrow Po Father Paul said, with a melancholy smile, “There is much to fear from the impetuosity of youthful feelings, when the heart cherishes, as necessary to its happiness, that sentiment which has power to sadden all its light and joyous thoughts; when we see and hear but one object in all creation; when we see in the glowing sun-set, and trace on the wave, warm with its radiant hues, the image of the being beloved. But, my child, time chastens those illusions, and brings back to the heart the reality of more sober enjoy inents : it is a fair and beautiful world: all nature invites us to be happy and grateful, and the light of genius gilds the clouds which adversity and disappointment gather around us!” She turned upon him a look full of sadness and said, “It may be so, Father, but___________



  1. i. CHARLES PUTNAM8 PRESTON, b. September 24, 1820; d. October 27, 1887.

1045.CLARISSA7 PAGE (REBECCA6PUTNAM, WILLIAM5, DAVID4, JOSEPH3, THOMAS2, JOHN1) was born November 18, 1779 in Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts, and died April 19, 1854.She married SAMUEL FOWLER October 13, 1799, son of SAMUEL FOWLER and SARAH PUTNAM.He was born September 15, 1776 in Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts, and died February 22, 1859 in Danversport, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts.


  1. i. DEA. SAMUEL PAGE8 FOWLER, b. April 22, 1800, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts; d. December 15, 1888, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts.
    ii. CLARISSA PAGE FOWLER, b. April 14, 1802; d. May 7, 1873.
  2. iii. REBECCA PUTNAM FOWLER, b. July 9, 1804, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts; d. September 29, 1841, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts.
    iv. WILLIAM PUTNAM FOWLER, b. March 11, 1807; d. May 9, 1825, Havana.
  3. v. HENRY FOWLER, b. September 15, 1810, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts.
  4. vi. AUGUSTUS FOWLER, b. November 11, 1812, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts.
  5. vii. SALLY PAGE FOWLER, b. June 25, 1815, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts.
    viii. ELIZA PAGE FOWLER, b. April 20, 1818.
    ix. MARIA LOUISA FOWLER, b. December 15, 1822.
    x. ALBERT FRANCIS HORACE FOWLER, b. December 14, 1826; d. September 13, 1827.

SARAH PUTNAM FOWLER February 29, 1836 in Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts, daughter of JOHN FOWLER and MARTHA PAGE.She was born March 12, 1811 in Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts, and died May 29, 1843.He married (2) ELIZABETH PUTNAM POPE November 7, 1844 in Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts, daughter of NATHANIEL POPE and ABI PRESTON.She was born February 11, 1816 in Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts, and died Aft. February 1896.

i. SARAH ELIZABETH8 PUTNAM, b. June 19, 1837, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts; m. WALLACE MELVILLE FOWLER, August 6, 1882; b. February 13, 1847, Haverhill, Essex County, Massachusetts.
ii. EUGENE ANDREW PUTNAM, b. June 17, 1840, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts; m. HANNAH NEWHALL, January 8, 1866.
iii. HARRIET ADELINE POPE PUTNAM, b. June 30, 1841, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts; d. April 30, 1880; m. HARVEY HEWES PILLSBURY, October 30, 1877.
iv. LOUISA LANCASTER PUTNAM, b. May 26, 1843, Danvers, Essex County, Massachusetts; d. August 17, 1861.

FOWLER, Abigail, and Peter Eaton, at Salem, July 8, 1824.* Anna, and Amos Osborn, June 15, 1797.*
Augustus, and Emily Putnam, Dec. 28, 1837.*
Esther, of Salem, and Daniel Southwick, July 9, 1829.* Henry, and Sally H. Putnam, Apr. 17, 1838.*

John, and Patty Page, June 8, 1800.*
John P., and Lydia S. Brown of Haverhill, int. June 7, 1828. Louisa, and Eri Hayward, Mar. 17, 1837.
Martha, and John Perkins, Apr. 6, 1828. [Apr. 11, 1829. int.]* Mary, and John Page, Dec. 12, 1805.*
Mary, and Capt. John Daland of Salem, Oct. 25, 1807.* Nath[aniell], of Marblehead, and Nanna Stevens, Oct. 6, 1774.* Rebecca P., and Aaron Eveleth, Dec. 3, 1835.*
Ruth, and William Herrick, at Haverhill, Oct. 3, 1823.

*’Intention also recorded.


Fowler, Sally, and Hooper R. Stimpson, Mar. 22, 1801.* Sally, and William Duncan, Dec. 30, 1806.*
Sally Page, and James D. Black, May 30, 1839.*
Samuel, and Sarah Putnam, Mar. 4, 1773.*

Sam[ue]l, jr., and Clarisi Page, Oct. 13, 1799. [Oct. 19. dup.]* Samuel Page, and Harriet Putnam, Dec. 3, 1833.
Sarah Putnam, and Andrew Merriam Putnam, Feb. 29, 1836.

[Feb. 28. dup.]*

Granger’s Index to Poetry, Volume 2, Part 4Columbia University Press, 1918