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 American Education

American Education: A History, 5th edition is a comprehensive, highly-regarded history of

American education from pre-colonial times to the present. Chronologically organized, it
provides an objective overview of each major period in the development of American
education, setting the discussion against the broader backdrop of national and world events.
In addition to its in-depth exploration of Native American traditions (including education)
prior to colonization, it also offers strong, ongoing coverage of minorities and women. New
to this much-anticipated fifth edition is substantial expanded attention to the discussions of
Native American education to reflect recent scholarship, the discussion of teachers and
teacher leaders, and the educational developments and controversies of the 21st century.

Wayne J. Urban is Professor of Education and Associate Director of the Education Policy
Center at the University of Alabama, USA.

Jennings L. Wagoner, Jr. was Professor of the History of Education and received the
University’s Distinguished Professor Award by the UVA Alumni Association at the University
of Virginia, USA.
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American Education
A History

Fifth Edition

Wayne J. Urban
University of Alabama

Jennings L. Wagoner, Jr.

University of Virginia
First edition published by McGraw-Hill 1996
Second edition published by McGraw-Hill 2000
Third edition published by McGraw-Hill 2004
Fourth edition first published 2009 by Routledge
This edition published 2014 by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Simultaneously published in the UK
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2014 Routledge
The right of Wayne J. Urban and Jennings L. Wagoner, Jr. to be identified as
the authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with
sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or
utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or
registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation
without intent to infringe.
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
CIP data has been applied for.

ISBN: 978-0-415-53912-8 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-0-415-53913-5 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-0-203-10852-9 (ebk)

Typeset in Minion
by RefineCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk
 For Judy and Shirley
who shared the journey with us
IN MEMORIAM
Jennings Wagoner, Jr. died in late January of 2013, shortly after he had turned in his revisions
for this fifth edition. As noted in the Preface, Jennings and I were graduate students together
at Ohio State in the 1960s. We kept in touch regularly after we both left Columbus, and I was
honored when he asked me to work with him on this textbook. We have seen that book
through five editions in a little less than twenty years. Jennings was a gentleman, an
accomplished scholar, and a dear friend to me and to many others in the field of history of
education. We will all miss him.
 Contents

Preface ix
About the Authors xiii

1. Education in Precolonial America: Native American

Cultural Traditions 1
2. Colonization and Cultural Transplantation: 1607–1776 11
3. Education and the Building of a New Nation: 1776–1830 55
4. The Common Man and the Common School: 1820–1860 83
5. Class, Caste, and Education in the South: 1800–1900 109
6. Beginning a Modern School System: 1865–1890 145
7. Organizing the Modern School System: Educational Reform
in the Progressive Era, 1890–1915 175
8. Completing the Modern School System: American
Education, 1915–1929 209
9. The Effects of Depression and War on American Education:
1930–1946 231
10. Education During and After the Crucial Decade: 1945–1960 257
11. The Pursuit of Equality: 1960–1980 281
12. From Equality to Excellence: American Education, 1980–2000 309
13. American Education in the Twenty-First Century 349

Index 371

vii
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 Preface

In a very real sense, this book had its beginning in the late 1960s. As fellow graduate students
at Ohio State University, we were part of a group of passionate if not always enlightened
graduate students caught up in the turmoil of that era. Questions forced on us by scholarly
debate and social and political events of the day challenged us to question long-held values
and beliefs while trying to make sense of a world caught up in ideological and generational
whirlwinds. Personal and professional contact through the years enabled us to pursue that
dialogue as the tides of change have continued to ebb and flow.
This book is a continuation of the dialogue. In it, we invite you, our readers, to join in the
conversation. Running throughout our conversation is a question: What is the point of
studying the history of American education (or any other history)? Does it really make any
difference if we understand what has happened in the past? For that matter, can we with our
postmodern consciousness really know what happened in the past and why things happened
as they did?
Some people are prone to agree with Voltaire that ‘‘history is a pack of tricks the living play
on the dead,’’ or with Henry Ford that ‘‘history is bunk.’’ Still others find merit in Harry
Truman’s observation that ‘‘the only thing that is new is the history that we don’t know’’ or
resonate to George Santayana’s aphorism that ‘‘those who do not know the past are doomed
to repeat it.’’
It occurs to us, however, that history’s most ardent detractors and defenders are both
wrong. The critics appear to expect too little from history and the proponents too much. As
historians, we must confess to occasional ambivalence and to finding ourselves sometimes
caught in tangled webs of disagreement regarding matters of interpretation. Making sense of
the past is difficult. In our continuing dialogue, we try to confront each other and our sources
in as direct a manner as possible in an effort to wrestle with the demands of historical
explanation.
One concern that we share after having taught history of education courses for four
decades is that educators, like most people, tend to ‘‘use’’ history to prove their own particular
point of view. Some history of education authors do this by pronouncing at the outset that
their purpose essentially is to show either how wonderful or how terrible American schools
and school people are and have been down through the years. Some choose to see only
successes and triumphs; others focus on the failures and mistakes.
We find such orientations to be reductionist and worrisome. They bring to mind H. L.
Mencken’s observation that ‘‘for every complex problem there is a simple answer—and it’s
wrong.’’ We tend to have little sympathy for those who cling to neatly packaged answers in
their history and close their minds to alternative explanations of the past. For us, the fabric
and design of history, like the threads of experience in our own lives, are woven in intricate
and complex patterns. Moreover, we regard history as an ongoing process. Not only does the
past influence the present, but the concerns and issues of the present prompt historians to
reform and rephrase questions about the past and to think in new ways about old problems.
History is thus fluid, dynamic, and shifting. The past properly understood is far from being
a simple story of linear events that led us to some inevitable present or that has determined
in some fixed sense a single direction in which we must now go. All of us are very much in the

ix
x • Preface

stream of history and, like those who lived in earlier times, face decisions and make choices
that define our present and shape the history that others will someday seek to understand. All
history, therefore, is to some degree socially constructed.
In this book, we have tried to set forth as honestly as we can our examination of the tremendously
important and diverse phenomena of our nation’s educational experiences. While striving to be
conscientious in our research and adhering to the accepted conventions of scholarship, we
recognize that our interpretation at times differs in detail and tone with some other histories
of American education. As already noted, we hold that there is no single interpretation of
facts, no single story, to which all need give assent. Every history represents an attempt to
‘‘make sense’’ of the past from the perspective of the present. And for every historian, the way
one experiences the present affects to some degree the way one comprehends the past. Facts
need not be in dispute in order for the story to vary in important particulars or in general
viewpoint. The way the facts are sorted and arranged to form the structure of a story produces
a mosaic that varies from historian to historian, and from reader to reader. Every reader, like
every historian, has an individual past and a particular present that color perception.
Each of us sees the world through a different set of lenses—and with varying degrees of
clarity. It is natural, when at times our vision seems fuzzy and out of focus, to strain to rid
ourselves of the blur. However complex are life and history, each of us has a need to see
clearly, to understand, to make sense of it all.
We share the conviction that clear vision and making sense are vitally important. We
believe too that it matters greatly how each of us makes sense of ideas and events, past or
present. One’s own understanding in itself becomes part of history, part of the story. Each
person’s view of the past heavily influences his or her view of the present and the future; it
shapes one’s conception of what is desirable or undesirable, possible or impossible.
How people conceive of the reality of the past or see their own times thus takes on a
dimension of validity. What people think, feel, and believe determines both their values and
behavior patterns. Quantitative data of various kinds may demonstrate what is ‘‘real’’ in a
measurable sense—and thus are important in helping us to make sense of past and present—
but belief patterns and myths are also a measure of reality. If we are told often enough that
our system of education is the best in the world—or among the worst—or that, whatever our
national problems, schools can—or cannot—help solve them, then our actions will tend to
reinforce that conventional ‘‘wisdom.’’ It may matter little or not at all that evidence to the
contrary can be readily found.
Our own approach has been to try to avoid one-sided judgments and to look at evidence
that supports multiple views of particular events and individuals. Thus, we stress the narrative,
the story of American educational history, as well as the interpretive, in our treatment.
Furthermore, we try to examine the interplay between social reality and perceptions of
that reality as defined and described by participants. The lives lived in earlier times, like our
own, reflect perceptions of reality that influenced choices, defined options, and both limited
and expanded horizons. It is this more complicated, complex, and unsettled sense of reality
that we have attempted to reconstruct and to interpret.
The history in the pages that follow adheres for the most part to a chronological ordering,
but the reader will quickly discover that it is clearly not a rendering of straightforward linear
development, a simple story of progress (or decline) from then to now. Rather, we have
undertaken to present a narrative history of men and women who tried to understand and
order and improve their lives and their world as best they could, given their perception of the
facts and fears and hopes that characterized their world. We should be prepared to extend a
bit of compassion and sympathy to those who in an earlier time made decisions whose
 Preface • xi

outcomes even now can be understood only partially. We might hope for the same
understanding from those who follow us.
This Fifth Edition
When we began work on this book in the 1990s, we had no idea that it would go into multiple
editions. As we complete work on this fifth edition, we want to thank Routledge, our publisher,
for this edition and for the fourth edition. More specifically, we want to thank Lane Akers for
his work with us on the two Routledge editions, and Catherine Bernard, who has stepped in
to finish work with us on the fifth edition. We worked with Lane Akers on developing the first
edition of this book for McGraw-Hill and we were delighted to be reunited with him for
work on the fourth and fifith editions.
The fifth edition features changes in several chapters. Endnotes and Further Reading sec-
tions have been updated in many chapters. Discussions of Indian education in several chapters
have been expanded to reflect recent scholarship in that area. A new Chapter 13 has been
added to highlight the educational developments and controversies of the twenty-first century.
We would like to address a suggestion that has been made to us before publication of this
edition that we have not embraced. The suggestion and our resistance to it merit an
explanation. Almost from the beginning, some readers of our book have sought the addition
of a chapter or long section of a chapter that deals exclusively with competing educational
philosophies or theories. We have considered this suggestion seriously, but have chosen not
to extract and rarify various philosophies of education out of their historical context.
Philosophies such as traditionalism or essentialism, perennialism, and social reconstructionism
were given definition and substance in reaction to the progressive education movement and
were grounded in specific social, economic, and political settings. Each theory deserves
attention, critical analysis, and debate. However, we contend that progressive education and
the various reactions to it need to be addressed as historical phenomena. We believe that
progressive education is the reigning ideology in professional educational circles today, and
further that reactions to progressivism constitute one of the more potent critiques of
professional education. Our treatment of progressive educational theory begins in Chapter 3
with our discussion of the Enlightenment. In the last several chapters of the book our focus
moves to progressive education in both theory and in practice. We attempt to account for
variations among advocates of progressive education as well as critical reactions from
opponents who have advocated alternative approaches to education. We have elaborated on
the growth and appeal of progressivism in most of these chapters in the hope that readers
will more clearly understand the concept and its development in schools (and in the family
and the larger society), appreciate its significance both conceptually and in practice, and
conclude that we have treated progressive education and opposing philosophies fairly, neither
automatically embracing nor denigrating them condescendingly. Inasmuch as the funda-
mentals separating different philosophies of education are still quite alive and meaningful,
current debates within the current context are most appropriate. The historian’s task is to
explain how those fundamentals emerged and developed over time.
In this edition, a point from the Preface to the third edition is still worth repeating. There
we noted that the interpretive aspect of our work invites serious consideration. We continue
to be attentive to the challenge of interpretation. As we stated before, we choose not to use
our text to wage war with other historians or social scientists or philosophers on interpretative
questions. We certainly have our own points of view, and they are not always identical
between the two of us. More importantly, however, we are interested in presenting the
evidence behind interpretations, both our own and the judgments reached by others. In the
xii • Preface

final analysis, we hope our readers will gain information and insights on which to draw their
own conclusions.
Over the years we have been heartened by the positive reception of our book by colleagues
and students across the country. We sincerley hope that this new edition, with its additional
material and updating, will merit the same reception that was given to earlier editions. It is
the teachers of the history of American education and allied subjects and their students who
animate our effort at improving this work. We salute both groups and look forward to
continuing positive interaction with them.

Wayne J. Urban Jennings L. Wagoner, Jr.

University of Alabama University of Virginia
 About the Authors

WAYNE J. URBAN, since January of 2006, has served as Associate Director of the Education
Policy Center and Professor of Education at the University of Alabama. Prior to going to
Alabama, he taught for over three decades in the Department of Educational Policy Studies
and the Department of History at Georgia State University. His other books are Accountability
in American Education: A Critique (1976); Why Teachers Organized (1982); Black Scholar:
Horace Mann Bond, 1904–1972 (1992); More than the Facts: The Research Division of the
National Education Association, 1922–1977 (1998); Gender, Race, and the National Education
Association: Professionalism and Its Limitations (2000); and More than Science and Sputnik:
The National Defense Education Act of 1958 (2010). He has served as president of the History
of Education Society and of the American Educational Studies Association, and as vice
president of Division “F” (History and Historiography) of the American Educational
Research Association. He is also the immediate past president of the International Standing
Conference for the History of Education. In 2011, he received a Distinguished Alumnus
Award from Ohio State University and in 2009, he was chosen as the Paul Bryant Professor in
the College of Education at the University of Alabama.

JENNINGS L. WAGONER, JR. is Professor Emeritus of the History of Education at the

University of Virginia. He is author of numerous articles in educational history and has a
special interest in the educational views of Thomas Jefferson. Previous books include Thomas
Jefferson and the Education of a New Nation (1976), The Changing Politics of Education (1978),
and Jefferson and Education (2004). He taught at the University of Virginia from 1968 through
2005 where he also served as Director of the Center for Higher Education for ten years and
as Chair of the Department of Leadership, Foundations and Policy for twelve years. He is a
past president of the History of Education Society and has served as a member of the Editorial
Board of the History of Education Quarterly and Educational Studies. He has served as vice
president of Division ‘‘F’’ (History and Historiography) of the American Educational
Research Association. In 1987 he received the Outstanding Professor Award from Virginia’s
Curry School of Education, and in 1996 he was honored by the University of Virginia Alumni
Association with its Distinguished Professor Award.

xiii
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 1
Education in Precolonial America
Native American Cultural Traditions

Overview: The Indigenous Foundations of American Education

As soon as the first groups of Europeans began establishing outposts in the new world,
they became learners as well as teachers. They and the Native Americans with whom they
came in contact engaged in a process of cultural exchange that was educative in the broadest
meaning of that term. Two “old worlds” had met and the inhabitants of neither would be the
same again.
The cultural roots from which old world and new world people had drawn their
nourishment were, of course, markedly different. Although humans everywhere have the
same fundamental needs and share many of the same basic hopes and fears, what was believed
and valued by those who lived on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean was by no means the
same during the Age of Discovery. In the process of encounter, the beliefs and values of those
separate worlds were shared and altered, but not in equal measure. European cultural
traditions and values rather quickly became dominant, as confrontation and conquest soon
followed initial contact.
With this understanding in mind, perhaps we can disabuse ourselves of the notion that
education and knowledge were brought to the new world by the small bands of Englishmen
who dropped anchor along the coast of North America in the early seventeenth century.
Neither should we argue that earlier Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, or French explorers,
missionaries, or traders should be credited with introducing learning, culture, and religion as
they penetrated the vast American continent. Well-established societies and rich cultural
legacies existed long before anyone “discovered” anyone else, as is dramatically exemplified
by the great civilizations of the Aztecs, Incas, and Mayas.
Cultural Diversity in Pre-Columbian America
Until recent years, archeological scholarship has held that the first inhabitants of the North
American continent crossed over the Bering Land Bridge around 13,000 b.c. Today that
notion is contested. The most current research findings suggest that Native Americans were
here far longer and in greater numbers than previously thought. Archeological digs in Chile
over the past few years have yielded evidence of artifacts dating back more than 30,000 years.
In 2003, archeologists discovered ancient seeds from cultivated squashes in coastal Ecuador
that may be older than any other agricultural remains thus far identified. It now appears that
the Euroasians who traversed across the 55 mile-wide Bering corridor some 13,000 years ago
may have constituted the most recent of three such migrations. However far back in time
“Native” American origins may be, before their encounter with Europeans some 500 years
ago, these people shared the land only with the animals that were native to the Western
Hemisphere or that, like their own ancestors, had migrated from the steppes of Asia and
Siberia before the last glacial melt turned the Bering Land Bridge into the Bering Strait.1

1
2 • American Education

As the original Americans spread across the continent and southward into Central and
South America, they developed a variety of indigenous societies. Although some societies
remained rather simple hunting-and-gathering communities, others evolved into large and
complex agarian settlements. During the period when English barons were securing limited
rights under the terms of the Magna Carta (1215), the Cahokia federation was supporting a
“city” with a population of some 30,000 inhabitants at the confluence of the Illinois, Mississippi,
and Missouri rivers. Today, within sight of the Gateway Arch and skyscrapers of downtown St.
Louis, Missouri, one can still walk to the top of Monk’s Mound, a terraced 100-foot high
ceremonial site that was the centerpiece of this Cahokian city that flourised five centuries
before Columbus found his way to the new world. Other tribal groups left their mark with
earthworks by the thousands spread from southern Canada and the Great Plains to the Atlantic
coast and the Gulf of Mexico. While most of these mounds took the form of rounded pyramids,
some were sculped into the shapes of gigantic birds, lizards, bears, and alligators with long
tails. In southern Ohio the remains of a 1,330-foot earthen serpent are still visible.2
Other impressive reminders of the communial achievements of some pre-Columbian
inhabitants of North America attest to their survival skills and social sophistication. By the
first half of the eleventh century, a people the Navajo called the Anasazi (“the ancient ones”)
were building five-story stone houses, with 500 rooms each, into the walls of Chaco Canyon
in what is now New Mexico. Thirteen major housing complexes and several hundred smaller
ones were constructed, linked by a remarkable system of roads and irrigation canals. Granaries
were erected to store surplus corn, and pottery and basket remains indicate artistic as well as
utilitarian skillfulness. Two centuries later and 80 miles to the north, at Mesa Verde, Colorado,
the Anasazi created another extensive network of stone dwellings, these built into a huge
cave on a high cliff. Hand- and toe-holds dug into the cliff face provided the only means of
entering and leaving the community dwelling area to farm or hunt on the mesa above or in
the valley below.
Climatic changes that resulted in long periods of drought brought an end to these elaborate
farming cultures of the Southwest just two or three centuries before the arrival of the first
Spanish explorers. The Anasazi moved on in search of more arable land. Indigenous peoples
in the Southwest became hunter-gatherers, adopting a nomadic lifestyle much like their
distant kinsmen along the Eastern seaboard. When European colonists began arriving in
North America, they had no comprehension of what the Native Americans had achieved in
the interior. As one historian put it: “They saw not the great cities that once had been, but
tribal societies with a subsistence economy, [people] living in wigwams and mud huts, and
deserving, it seemed to them, the designation of savages.”3
Native Americans in both the Northern and Southern Hemispheres had long endeavored
to “make sense” of their world and to prepare themselves and their children for survival in
that world and happiness in the next. In this respect they were no different from Europeans,
Africans, Asians, and other peoples in distant parts of a largely uncharted world. The essentials
of sense-making produced a variety of social and cultural arrangements as the widely
scattered groups of Native Americans adapted to the varied requirements of life in the
American wildernesses, deserts, and plains. Although they were indiscriminately called
“Indians” (los Indios, les Indiens, die Indianer) by the European invaders, the separate native
societies revered their own special identities and cultures, identifying only members of their
own group as “the original people” or “the humans.” All others, even other native groups,
were considered outsiders or nonentities.4
The hundreds of Native American tribes and scores of nations developed ways of living
that in many respects were as distinctive as those that characterized various European ethnic
 Education in Precolonial America • 3

and national groups similarly separated by barriers of terrain, language, and traditions.
Among the native inhabitants of North America alone, for example, more than 160 language
families, with 1,200 or more dialects, are known to have been spoken. Warfare and trade
among native groups provided opportunities for the exchange of material goods as well as
some aspects of nonmaterial culture, but basically, each group lived in a separate and insular
world. Within this special world everyone spoke a common language and shared a common
spiritual outlook, a common past, and a common set of customs. The young were taught
what they needed to know in order to belong, that is, to be “human.”
Education among the Native Americans
Although education among the Native Americans differed in particulars from tribe to tribe,
the basic elements were similar. Boys and girls had to master certain skills and gain specific
understandings before they could be accepted as mature members of the tribal society.
Survival skills were, of course, essential. For many boys, survival depended on their abilities
as hunters and warriors. A Jesuit priest in the eighteenth century observed that Abenaki boys
began practicing with bows and arrows as soon as they began to walk, and by the age of 10 or
12, “they do not fail to kill the bird at which they shoot.”5
Hunting skills alone, however, were hardly sufficient for survival. Adaptations dictated by
place of dwelling—coastal, inland forest, plains, or desert—as well as seasonal and ecological
changes meant that, in some groups, skill in agriculture; fishing; gathering edibles from fields,
forests, and waterways; and making implements for all of these activities became essential
knowledge. Moreover, food, regardless of how it was obtained, had to be preserved and
prepared; shelter and clothing had to be provided. In all indigenous societies, subsistence
6
alone required that the young be well instructed in the ways of their elders.
Spiritual lessons were no less critical to survival than manual and physical skills. Native
youth had to learn of the spirits that governed the world and of the accustomed ways of living
in harmony and balance with all living things. Among some groups, such as the Cherokee,
daily personal prayers and rituals were an essential part of life. Festivals and rites closely
linked to the agricultural seasons, hunts, and special events of life and death were integral
aspects of existence and education among all Native Americans.
Acknowledging a “creative force” in all things, native cultural groups typically did not separate
the spiritual from the material, the natural from the supernatural, or the human from the animal.
Illustrative of the closeness of the spiritual world to the world of physical existence was the
practice among the Iroquois, Otos, and Omaha, among others, of cutting a hole in the
moccasins of infants on the cradleboard, lest they be enticed back to the spirit world by an
unseen spirit following the mother on the forest path. The hole would inform the messenger
from the spirit world that the child could not accompany him because his moccasins were
worn out.7
Native American children learned of the essentials of life by being exposed from infancy
to the shared wisdom and heritage of their group. Down through the generations, children
were surrounded by concentric circles of people who served as teachers. The immediate
family was most important, but members of the extended family and the entire tribe also
played significant roles in perpetuating traditions and directing the footsteps of youths along
the proper path. Education was not something special and separate from life; it was integral
to life itself.
Instruction in cultural and spiritual matters often took the form of storytelling. The elders
held in memory all that was retained of their people’s past. Through repeated tellings, this
store of knowledge was passed from one generation to the next. Cultural ideals and moral
4 • American Education

attitudes were formed by means of the oral tradition. Youth who exhibited, among other
talents, a keen memory and storytelling abilities were selected to become the anointed
“culture bearers” among the people: the ceremonial leaders among the Hopi, the medicine
men among the Navajo, or the ritual leaders among the Seneca.
The onset of puberty symbolized a sharp dividing line between childhood and adulthood.
Significant coming-of-age rituals occurred at this time. Among some tribes, youth were
initiated into secret societies responsible for some aspect of the group’s ceremonial life. The
duration of the initiation rites varied from a few days among the Pueblos of the Rio Grande
area to more than a year among the Taos Pueblos. Other tribes tested and isolated their young
men and women for a period of time during which the youths fasted and went in quest of a
guardian spirit. The quest involved overcoming physical hardships and discomfort until, in a
vision or dream, a “spiritual guide”—an animal or some other living thing—would appear
that would aid and guide the youth for the remainder of his or her life. At this time, the
maturing youth also would often be given a new name, symbolic of his or her new status or
guardian spirit.
Despite the rigorous demands of many aspects of life, in matters of discipline most Native
Americans tended to be lenient, at least in terms of avoiding corporal punishment. Because
most native cultures idealized the ability to withstand pain, suffering without flinching was
seen as a sign of maturity. Among some southeastern tribes, for example, boys would
deliberately anger yellow jackets to see who could withstand the most stings. Instead of
physical punishment, which might have been counterproductive, ridicule, praise, and appeals
to supernatural forces were employed as means of behavioral control.8
Patterns of ridicule or shame varied, but among the Blackfeet a particularly embarrassing
means of exposing a youth’s misdeeds was sometimes employed. The Blackfeet made a
person who had committed an especially offensive act the subject of community verbal
abuse. At night one person would loudly announce the act of wrongdoing. The story would
then be shouted from teepee to teepee until it had circulated throughout the tribe. The
disgraced youth often tried to remain hidden until he or she could complete some feat that
might help erase the memory of his or her mistake.
This type of public humiliation was extreme. Derisive laughter, taunts, mild ridicule, or
admonition from friends, relatives, or elders were usually sufficient to bring one into
conformity. The supernatural also was used as a means of controlling the behavior of
children. For many tribes, different varieties of owls were omens of danger. Children were
warned that if they misbehaved, the large birds would swoop down and snatch them away.
Other animals and evil spirits, including “masked beings” such as “Solid Face” among the
Delaware or the hideous “Spotted Face” of the Flatheads, became part of the legends and
ritual dances that frightened children into obedience.
Praise and rewards for good deeds were also used effectively as means of character
development. The Yakima acknowledged a boy’s first deer with a feast in his honor. Among
the Blood, people of the northern plains, a young man who had proved himself in battle no
longer had to carry wood and water or tend the fire; these were the chores of boys who were
as yet untested as warriors. Szasz notes that “in many groups, marriage was prohibited until
the youth had met certain tests—the killing of the first seal, proven proficiency as a hunter,
or the preparation of skins.”9
Native peoples, then, despite varying customs and conventions, developed specific
traditions through which they inculcated essential skills, understandings, and attitudes
among their children. The rearing of children was everyone’s concern, for they understood
that the life of the tribe—the life of “the people”—could be preserved and extended only for
 Education in Precolonial America • 5

as long as the rising generations followed the ways of the old. However, native life, instead of
enduring for “as long as the rivers may run and the wind may blow,” began to be forever
altered once European explorers found their way to the Atlantic coastline and began to
penetrate into the vast wilderness beyond.
Conquest, Colonization, and the “New Americans”
At Christmastime in 1492, Christopher Columbus addressed a journal entry to the Spanish
sovereigns under whose flag he had sailed. The Italian navigator penned a description of the
inhabitants of the new world and his intentions toward them:
I assure Your Highnesses that I believe that in all the world there is no better people nor
better country. They love their neighbors as themselves, and have the sweetest talk in
the world, and gentle, and always with a smile. They go naked, men and women, as their
mothers bore them. But . . . they have very good manners. . . . Your Highnesses should
feel great joy, because presently they will be Christians, and instructed in the good
manners of your realms.10
However benign Columbus’s designs may have been, his arrival on the eve of the sixteenth
century profoundly affected native life in ways he could not have anticipated. His crews and
the European explorers who followed not only introduced strange cultural patterns and alien
ways of thinking, but also brought new diseases and weapons of war. As Euro-Americans
established villages in areas once inhabited only by natives, they began to insist that native
children be civilized and Christianized. This meant undergoing a new and different kind of
education, adopting new customs and manners, and embracing new spiritual doctrines and
practices. Those native inhabitants who were not killed by guns or disease or who were not
immediately driven from their lands were henceforth to be educated for life and death on
new terms. It mattered little that many natives objected and resisted. The invading European
explorers, missionaries, traders, and settlers considered themselves superior people. Their
duty to God and their king, if not to the financial backers who subsidized their undertakings,
was to impose their cultural and religious views on everyone who came into their sphere
of influence and survived—especially the “savages,” who in their eyes were backward,
superstitious, and lacking in the skills and sensibilities of “civilized” people.11
European Outposts along the American Frontier: The Sixteenth Century
Spanish and English Settlements
Three-quarters of a century separated Columbus’s initial voyage to America in 1492 from the
establishment of the first permanent European settlement in the territory that eventually
became the United States of America. St. Augustine, Florida, was founded in 1565 under the
leadership of Pedro Menéndez de Avilés, a veteran of earlier treasure-seeking expeditions to
Mexico. Spain’s Philip II financed Menéndez’s colonization effort in hopes of dislodging the
French, who a year before had established a small outpost on the Florida coast near present-
day Jacksonville.
Unlike previous Spanish forays into Mexico, this Florida colonization venture was to be
more than a “land and loot” undertaking. Five ships loaded with 600 men, twenty-six of
whom brought their families with them, left Spain in June and arrived in Florida in August
1565. Two hundred and fifty soldiers were in the party, at least half of whom were labradores,
experienced farmers who could immediately begin the process of planting crops and
providing food for the colonists. Others who made the voyage with Menéndez also possessed
6 • American Education

useful skills: stonecutters, blacksmiths, carpenters, smelters, weavers, tanners, weapons

makers, coopers, bakers, brewers, and barbers who doubled as surgeons. This ready-made
urban population came prepared to reproduce down to the last detail a Spanish municipality,
complete with priests, church bells, and even a notary supplied with twenty-four reams of
paper and a pot of ink.12
Within a month after the settlement of St. Augustine, the Spanish Catholics had rid the
territory of the French Huguenots forty miles to the north. Franciscan friars began establishing
missions along the coast and into the interior. Each mission became a school of instruction
for the natives in the cultural and religious doctrines of the colonizers. A classical school for
the children of Spanish settlers was in existence in St. Augustine at least as early as 1606.13
Farther west, the village of San Gabriel in northern New Mexico, which was approached
overland from Mexico rather than by sea, was settled by Spaniards in 1598. A decade later,
Philip III declared New Mexico a royal colony and designated the newly founded town of
Santa Fe as its capital. Gradually, missions spread into what later became the territories of
Texas and Arizona. By the beginning of the eighteenth century, Jesuits as well as Franciscans
were planting missions along the California coast. These mission communities laid the
foundation for the extension of Spanish religious and cultural influence throughout the
western region of the country.14
The first English attempt to gain a foothold in North America occurred in the mid-1580s
and came to an abrupt if temporary halt with the disappearance of the “Lost Colony.” A small
band of settlers sent to the new world in 1585 by Sir Walter Raleigh survived for almost a year
on Roanoke Island off the coast of North Carolina before returning to England. A second
group recruited by Raleigh reestablished the colony in 1587. Virginia Dare, the first child of
English parents born in America, made her appearance within a month after the colonists
arrived on the island. Running low on supplies, the governor of the colony, John White, then
departed for England with a small crew, expecting to return with ample provisions by the
spring. However, war with Spain delayed White’s departure from England for three years.
When he did return in August 1590, he found the settlement abandoned. No trace of the
colonists could be found; only the word CROATOAN carved on a tree offered an
undecipherable clue as to what may have happened to the Lost Colony. Whether they were
killed by neighboring Indians or by Spaniards from St. Augustine, or whether they died in an
attempt to sail back to England or moved inland and mingled with the Croatans (the present-
day Lumbee Indians of Robeson County), or met some other fate will never be known with
certainty. What can be said is that the failure of Raleigh’s venture stymied English colonization
attempts until the Jamestown settlement in Virginia almost two decades later.15
French, Italian, and Dutch Exploration
French and Italian explorers also passed along the Atlantic shoreline during the sixteenth
century. As early as 1524, Giovanni da Verrazano, an Italian navigator sailing under a
commission from the king of France, made landfall on the coast of North Carolina and then
sailed northward to Newfoundland. During the 1530s, the French explorer Jacques Cartier
laid claim to portions of Canada, but no lasting settlements were made. As the seventeenth
century dawned, however, Samuel de Champlain began a series of voyages between France
and Canada in the service of the Company of New France.
Champlain crossed the Atlantic twenty-nine times between 1603 and 1635—averaging
almost a crossing a year over a span of thirty-two years. A series of government-sponsored
French trading camps appeared in Acadia (now Nova Scotia), but only in 1608 did the first
enduring French settlement get underway on Canadian soil. In that year, Champlain directed
 Education in Precolonial America • 7

the construction of a fortified log village on the St. Lawrence River. He braved the
winter there with twenty-eight men. Eight lived to see spring come to this bare-bones
settlement they had named Quebec.
Henry Hudson, an English navigator, was hired by the Dutch East India Company to give
the people of the Netherlands a chance to explore and exploit the new world. In 1609 Hudson
entered New York Bay and sailed 350 miles up the river that was to bear his name. He reached
the point at which Albany now exists without discovering a passage to the Northwest. Finding
instead a water level of only seven feet, he turned his ship around and headed back down
the river.
Hudson’s explorations proved valuable to the Dutch, however. In 1625, Peter Minuit,
representative of a second Dutch joint-stock company, the West India Company, bought an
island at the mouth of the Hudson River from the local Native Americans and began a
settlement. The island was named Manhattan; the settlement, New Amsterdam; the colony
surrounding the area, New Netherland.
New Netherland might be said to be the first truly multicultural society in North America.
In addition to the Dutch, who by 1643 made up less than half of the population of 1,600,
Germans, French, and Scandinavians also settled in the area. The population included
Protestants, Catholics, Jews, and Muslims; eighteen European and African languages were
spoken. The people drawn to the New Netherland colony were clearly motivated by the lure
of profits in the fur trade rather than religious freedom. In 1642, the colony had seventeen
taverns but not a single house of worship.16
The search for riches continued to spur French adventurers to explore and chart the rivers
and bays of the Northeast in search of a passage to the Orient. French frontiersman failed in
that endeavor, but they eventually found their way to the Mississippi River and from there to
New Orleans. Unfortunately for the French, their reliance on river routes did not motivate
them to establish permanent settlements as the English were doing along the Atlantic coast
and into the interior. By the time these two powers finally collided in the eighteenth century,
the English had established a dense settlement with a population of 2 million. The French, by
contrast, numbered less than 100,000 and controlled only Quebec on the St. Lawrence and
New Orleans on the Mississippi. Only a handful of forts linked these two settlements that
were separated by 2,000 miles of wilderness.
It should be stressed that the settlements established by the English, French, and other
nations before the seventeenth century—except for the ill-fated “Lost Colony” of North
Carolina—were intended to be temporary commercial outposts, not permanent communities.
Churches, schools, and other institutions of fixed societies were not considered necessary in
trading camps and frontier outposts.
As the sixteenth century drew to a close, then, Spain was the only European power with
established colonies within the territory that would become the United States. Contrary to
conventional Anglocentric versions of American history, the first white men to establish
permanent settlements in the United States were not the Protestant religious dissidents of
Plymouth or the agents of English mercantile companies in Jamestown. The first settlements
were put down by the loyal and orthodox emissaries of the Catholic empire of Spain.
Contrary, too, to the oft-told stories of the first American schools as New England institutions,
Catholic mission schools in Florida and in the “New Spain” of the West were established well
before the Pilgrims came ashore near Plymouth Rock.17
In a somewhat different fashion, French missionaries had begun living among the Hurons
of Georgian Bay as early as 1615. French missionaries tended to become immersed in tribal
society, learning a great deal about Native American languages, culture, and skills even as
8 • American Education

they were trying to teach and convert their hosts. Indeed, had it not been for Native American
efforts, however inconsistent, to share their survival skills as well as food with early Spanish,
French, English, and other migrating groups, the European conquest of the continent would
have been delayed considerably.
The Consequences of Cultural Exchange
Contact with Europeans, even when on friendly terms, increasingly proved to be disruptive
and finally disastrous to large segments of the Native American population. The always
precarious balance of nature became even more strained as the fur trade encouraged Native
Americans as well as colonists to overhunt and overkill. In exchange for guns, knives, and
trinkets, some tribal groups abandoned their religious rituals and hunting taboos. For
example, to satisfy the demand of French fur traders and their own newly acquired tastes and
desires, some Iroquois tribes began breaking into beaver dams, releasing water and tons of
stored-up topsoil as they searched for more and more animals. As ponds were drained and
beaver and other animal populations were decimated, the ecology began to shift, and with it
ways of life that had endured for centuries. Moreover, fierce competition over shrinking
hunting grounds superimposed on traditional rivalries provoked intense intertribal warfare.
After a half-century of conflict known as the “Wars of the Iroquois,” the powerful (and
flintlock-supplied) Iroquois had annihilated the Illinois, nearly wiped out the Hurons, and
pushed tribes of the Great Lakes and Ohio Valley farther west.18
Diseases of epidemic proportions added to the destruction of Native American life as
families and entire villages succumbed to diphtheria, measles, typhus, and numerous other
alien illnesses. Smallpox, the deadliest malady to strike the Native Americans, reduced some
tribes by as much as 90 percent in a single outbreak. Even whooping cough, mumps, and
chicken pox, childhood diseases now considered relatively benign, turned deadly among
the native peoples lacking prior exposure and natural immunization. According to some
estimates, by the midpoint of the eighteenth century, the Native American population in the
New England area had been reduced by disease by at least 80 percent. Alcohol brought
additional devastation to North American Indians in terms of the disease and the violent
actions it sometimes triggered—the latter outcome being aggravated all the more as European
firearms became staples of trade and bounty of warfare.
New lessons were thus being taught and learned all along the American frontier. Some
lessons were helpful, some not; some were offered in friendship, others in hatred. The
exchange worked both ways. As Indians and the new Euro-Americans increased contact with
each other, they not only made biological and material exchanges but cultural adaptations as
well. Members of each group redefined themselves in reaction to what they were learning of
the other. At the time, of course, no one could anticipate fully the outcome.
Conclusion
Long before the beginnings of recorded history, the inhabitants of the American continent
developed cultural traditions and social organizations that formed the core of education for
successive generations. Gradual adjustments and alterations occurred over time as
environmental conditions, spiritual insights, and cultural change seemed to warrant. By and
large, however, the education of children proceeded down through the centuries along the
same lines and involved the same learnings as had long been the pattern. Education served to
unite the generations and to define one’s place among “the people.”
One need not romanticize the hardships and limitations of life faced by the Native
Americans in order to appreciate the disruptive changes that occurred as a consequence of
 Education in Precolonial America • 9

the European invasion of the Western Hemisphere. Although the Europeans overpowered
Native Americans in scientific, technological, and literary sophistication and formality of
religious doctrine, the latter tried to preserve cultural and spiritual traditions based on
customs that had proved effective as far back as their collective memories could recall. In the
process of encounter, however, both Native Americans and Euro-Americans experienced
change. If some elements of education continued to tie new generations to those of the past,
other lessons were being pressed to the fore as new challenges forced both old and new
inhabitants to adjust to the demands of two worlds undergoing the process of cultural
transfer and transformation. Although they were themselves willing teachers, Native
Americans typically found themselves cast in the role of unwilling learners. Although the
European colonizers had much to learn, from the outset they assumed the role of master.
Over the course of the next century, patterns of life changed markedly in North America.
English Protestants, dissenters and Anglican conformists alike, brought to the eastern shores
of the continent linguistic, political, social, and religious traditions and beliefs that eventually
enabled them to establish cultural hegemony in thirteen diverse and far-flung colonies. Other
European colonists (in growing numbers), as well as Indians (in declining numbers),
continued to share the land with the English settlers, but increasingly on terms laid down by
the British Crown and its colonials.

Further Reading
Axtell, James. The European and the Indian: Essays in the Ethnohistory of Colonial North America. New York: Oxford
University Press, 1981. A cultural and historical interpretation of early encounters that draws on a wide
variety of sources, including archaeological findings, linguistics, accounts of colonists, art, and published
scholarship.
Axtell, James. Natives and Newcomers: The Cultural Origins of North America. New York: Oxford University Press,
2001. An ethnohistory of the cultural consequences resulting from the encounters that marked Indian and
European interactions in the colonial era.
Crosby, Alfred W., Jr. The Columbian Exchange: Biological and Cultural Consequences of 1642. Westwood, CT:
Greenwood Press, 1972. A “biohistorian’s” analysis of the important interplay between biological and cultural
forces that followed in the wake of European-Indian contact.
Grumet, Robert S., ed. Northeastern Indian Lives, 1632–1816. Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press, 1996.
The history and culture of northeastern Indian tribes from the time of their initial encounter with white
settlers to the early nineteenth century, with an introduction by the anthropologist Anthony F. Wallace.
Jennings, Francis. The Invasion of America: Indians, Colonialism, and the Cant of Conquest. Chapel Hill: University of
North Carolina Press, 1975. A pro-Indian/anti-European assessment of colonial “imperialist” policies toward
the Indians.
Krech, Shepard III, The Ecological Indian: Myth and History, New York: W. W. Norton Co., 2000. A carefully
researched and reasoned probe by an anthropologist into the myth that Indians lived in complete harmony
with nature and did no ecological harm.
Kupperman, Karen Ordahl. Indians and the English: Facing Off in Early America. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press,
2000. A vivid reconstruction of the impressions English migrants (based on their writings) and Algonquin
natives (based on their oral traditions) formed of each other as they interacted and tried to make their way
into an uncertain future.
Mann, Charles C., 1491: New Relevations of the Americas Before Columbus. New York: Vintage, 2006. An engaging and
provocative disclosure of new facts and interpretations about human origins and life in the New World before
the arrival of Europeans.
Morgan, Ted. Wilderness at Dawn: The Settling of the North American Continent. New York: Simon and Schuster,
1993. An engaging account of the ordinary people—Indians and Europeans—who from prehistoric times to
the formation of the new nation confronted the challenges of the American wilderness.
Reyhner, Jon and Jeanne Eder. American Indian Education: A History. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press,
2004. The authors briefly examine pre-Columbian native life and then focus the rest of the book on
nineteenth- and twentieth-century boarding schools and government policies.
Richter, Daniel K. Facing East from Indian Country: A Native History of Early America. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 2002. A recasting of early American history from the Native American point of view, which
provides an alternative view of early American history. Takes its cue from historian Carl Becker’s famous
assertion that history is an “imaginative creation.”
Sale, Kirkpatrick. The Conquest of Paradise: Christopher Columbus and the Columbian Legacy. New York: Alfred A.
Knopf, [1990], 2006. A revised view of the myths surrounding the journey of Christopher Columbus, with
new translations of historical documents that reveal the European motivations for exploration.
10 • American Education

Szasz, Margaret Connell. Indian Education and the American Colonies, 1607–1783. Albuqerque, NM: University of
New Mexico Press, 1988. The varieties of Indian cultural traditions and values prior to and following contact
with European settlers.
Wilson, James. The Earth Shall Weep: A History of Native America. New York: Macmillan Co., 1998. A reassessment
of the Native Americans’ struggle for survival against the tide of invading peoples and cultures that reduced
their numbers from an estimated 7 to 10 million to only 250,000 today.

Notes
1. Charles C. Mann, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas before Columbus. New York: Vintage, 2006, pp. 18–19,
passim.
2. Mann, pp. 284–290; Ted Morgan, Wilderness at Dawn: The Settling of the North American Continent. New York:
Simon & Shuster, 1993, pp. 18–30, 30–40, passim.
3. Morgan, pp. 44–46.
4. We use the terms Native American and Indian interchangably throughout this text. It should be kept in mind
that both terms are “imposed” in that neither is derived from an indigenous tribal language.
5. An excellent general account on which much of the following discussion is based is Margaret Connell Szasz,
Indian Education in the American Colonies, 1607–1783. Albequerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1988,
pp. 1–24.
6. European invaders, insensitive to the ethnocentrism inherent in their views, often criticized Native American
men for engaging in “pleasurable” pursuits such as hunting and fishing while “their wives set their corn and do
all their other work.” See James Axtell, The European and the Indian: Essays in the Ethnohistory of Colonial North
America. New York: Oxford University Press, 1981, pp. 52–54.
7. Among the Omaha, the hole in the moccasins was also a form of “prayer” (i.e., an appeal to the spirit world to
allow the child to live long and travel far). See Szasz, pp. 7–8, 266; William N. Fenton, “Northern Iroquoian
Culture Patterns,” in William C. Sturtevant (gen. ed.), Bruce G. Trigger (ed.), Handbook of North American
Indians, Northeast, vol. 15. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution, 1978, p. 314.
8. Charles M. Hudson, The Southeastern Indians. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1976, p. 324. Cf. Szasz,
pp. 18–21.
9. Szasz, pp. 20–22.
10. Christopher Columbus, Journal, December 24 and 25, 1492, in Samuel Eliot Morrison (ed.), Journals and Other
Documents on the Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus. New York: Heritage Press, 1963, pp. 133, 136.
11. Of course, native groups also sought to impose their cultural patterns and values on those who came, voluntarily
or otherwise, into their midst. For a dramatic account of a Puritan minister’s daughter who chose to stay with
her Mohawk captors, see John Demos, The Unredeemed Captive: A Family Story from Early America. New York:
Alfred A. Knopf, 1994.
12. Morgan, p. 79.
13. On southeastern missions, see Mary Ross, “The Restoration of the Spanish Missions in Georgia, 1598–1606”,
The Georgia Historical Quarterly, vol. 10, 1926, pp. 171–199.
14. James A. Burns, The Principles, Origin and Establishment of the Catholic School System in the United States. New
York: Arno Press, [1908], 1969, pp. 39–65.
15. See Karen Orhahl Kupperman, Roanoke: The Abandoned Colony. Totowa, NJ: Rowan & Allanheld, NJ, 1984;
Hugh Talmage Lefler and Albert Ray Newsome, North Carolina: The History of a Southern State. Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press, 1954, pp. 3–12.
16. In 1638, New Sweden was established in the lower Delaware Valley and was annexed by New Netherland in 1655.
In turn, New Netherland was taken over by the British in 1664 and renamed New York. Paul S. Boyer, Clifford
E. Clark, Jr., Joseph F. Kett, Thomas L. Purvis, Howard Sitkoff, and Nancy Woloch, The Enduring Vision: A
History of the American People. Lexington, MA: D. C. Heath, 1990, p. 35.
17. Morgan, pp. 88, 100, passim; Burns, pp. 39ff.
18. See Axtell, The European and the Indian, pp. 245–315, for an illuminating analysis of both the English colonial
impact on the Indians and the Indian impact on the English colonials. Axtell’s text and references provide useful
guides to sources drawn upon in the commentary that follows. See also Alfred W. Crosby, Jr., The Columbian
Exchange: Biological and Cultural Consequences of 1492. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1972; Francis Jennings,
The Invasion of America: Indians, Colonialism, and the Cant of Conquest. Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1975; and Kirkpatrick Sale, The Conquest of Paradise: Christopher Columbus and the Columbian
Legacy. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1990.
 2
Colonization and Cultural Transplantation
1607–1776

Overview
Over the course of the first six decades of the seventeenth century, a massive number of
people migrated from England, Scotland, and Wales and sailed west and south across the
Atlantic. Beginning slowly, perhaps 25,000 to 30,000 people ventured toward Ireland, the
islands in the Caribbean, and the North American continent during the first thirty years of
the exodus. Over the next thirty years, however, from 1630 to 1660, the “great migration”
occurred. Probably no fewer than 240,000 and possibly as many as 295,000 people left Britain
between the century’s dawn and the year 1660.
The first contingent of adventurers to create a permanent English settlement in North
America arrived in Jamestown, Virginia, in 1607. Virginia, along with its neighboring
Chesapeake colony, Maryland, founded in 1634, became the destination of approximately
50,000 settlers by 1660. Farther up the Atlantic coast, a small band of Pilgrims migrated to
Plymouth in 1620, thus initiating the settlement of the New England seaboard. Between 1629
and the early 1640s, an additional 20,000 to 25,000 English people, many dissatisfied with
social and economic as well as religious conditions in their native land, poured into
Massachusetts Bay and began to spill over into the new colonies of Connecticut, Rhode
Island, and New Haven.1
In Search of American Beginnings
The dominant interpretation of American history, including its educational history, has long
maintained that our most important and enduring cultural and ideological legacies are of
New England origin. Perry Miller’s pronouncement that, in order to understand America,
one must begin with the Puritans and Puritanism, contains a great deal of truth. So ingrained
is this notion that generations of historians have told the story of America largely from a New
England perspective. The prevailing assumption has been that the main line of political and
cultural development extended from Plymouth and Massachusetts Bay southward and
westward. The histories of other regions of the country, particularily the South and Midwest,
have fostered the view that development in those regions were merely rude copies of New
England’s established social, religious, and educational institutions adjusting to frontier
conditions. As far as the South was concerned, its institutions and mores were set aside as
being deviations that had to be overcome before America could finally realize its true self and
live up to its New England legacy.2
A process of revisionism in educational history initiated by Bernard Bailyn and Lawrence
Cremin in the 1960s only partially called this dominant interpretation into question. Bailyn,
Cremin, and others condemned historians of earlier generations, and especially the pioneer
educational historian, Ellwood P. Cubberley, for a host of scholarly sins. Cubberley was
criticized for locating in the “Puritan mind” and the New England experience the intentional

11
12 • American Education

foundations of American public education—and much else that is accepted as “typically

American.” He was chastised also for being too narrow and parochial in his focus on schools
and formal education and for ignoring other educative forces such as the family, church, or
community. His acceptance of the “providentiality” of public schooling was considered
anachronistic, moralistic, and too “celebratory.”3
The revisionist history proposed by Bailyn, Cremin, and others called for a broader view
of education. The history of education, said Bailyn, should consider not only schools and
“formal pedagogy,” but “the entire process by which a culture transmits itself across the
generations.” Cremin likewise emphasized the need to understand all the agencies and
institutions that educate—all the elements that comprise the “configurations of education”
present in society at particular points in time.4
In all of the clamor for reconceptualization, however, the “New England origins” concept
has not been fundamentally challenged. Neither the “liberal” or “cultural revisionists” who
followed the lead of Bailyn and Cremin, nor the more “radical revisionists” who joined the
fray a few years later, questioned seriously the “Massachusetts myopia” syndrome that has
long dominated discussions of American life and education. Recent historical research and
interpretation, however, are suggesting that reassessment may be long overdue.
Reassessing Our Origins
In the examination that follows, we side with those who suggest that the New England
experience of the seventeenth century ought to be viewed as atypical rather than prototypical
of American development. Much of New England history—and this certainly includes its
educational traditions—can be best appreciated as a series of reactionary efforts aimed at
fostering and preserving a rigidly homogeneous or “tribal” way of life. By contrast, the
Chesapeake region and the Middle Atlantic colonies, marked from the outset by dissent,
diversity, individualism, and economic competition, reflected the upheaval and change that
were coming to characterize “old England” and other parts of Europe as well as other regions
of Atlantic settlement. Seen in this light, it is New England, with its attempts to create static,
intimate, and rigidly cohesive enclaves, and not the other colonies, that appears to have been
at odds with the dominant patterns of development in both the changing “old world” as well
as the new.
Historian Jack Greene has argued that the most important element in the emerging
British-American culture was not a vision of a closed and homogeneous religious society on
the New England model. Rather, it was the conception of the country as a place in which free
people could pursue their own individual happiness in safety and with a fair prospect of
success. The American colonies eventually forged a new nation by moving away from, rather
than toward, the New England model of social and religious conformity. As New Englanders
gradually relinquished their grand vision of creating a new holy commonwealth, they worked
their way back into the mainstream of British-American social and cultural development.5
To say that New England’s influence in terms of America’s “origins” has been exaggerated
is by no means to suggest that it lacked significance. Far from it. Nor are we about to suggest
that the southern or the middle colonies, or the western empire of “New Spain,” or any other
section of the country holds “the key” to defining the American experience. What we do
suggest is that those who seek to understand our educational past must try to comprehend
the people who lived in earlier times and places on their terms, not ours. We also stress the
need to keep in mind that most if not all people who came to this country in the seventeenth
century intended in one degree or another to re-create societies here that were recognizably
European. There were indeed differences among colonists and colonies, and dissimilar
 Colonization and Cultural Transplantation • 13

geographic and climatic conditions forced still other adjustments that had telling
consequences. However, the new arrivals to America expected to build societies that in most
respects were like those from which they had come.
To understand both the continuity and the change that marked their efforts, including
educational transplantations and transformations, we must first attend briefly to the patterns
of settlement that were attempted. It is to the Chesapeake region and the experience of the
settlers of that section that we now turn in our efforts to comprehend the predominantly
English underpinnings of the American social and educational experience.
Jamestown and the Chesapeake Experience
The Formative Stage: Struggle for Survival
The English settlers who established Jamestown in 1607 had no intention of creating a new
society, religious or otherwise. Their motive for coming to the new world was much less
grandiose. They were, first and foremost, Englishmen who were restless, hungry for adventure,
and in search of economic opportunities they lacked at home. They set sail for the Virginia
shores in hopes of obtaining riches for themselves and turning a profit for their financial
backers, the stockholders of the London Company. The London Company operated the
colony as a private venture for the first seventeen years of its existence. In 1624, Virginia
became a royal colony and control was transferred to a Crown-appointed governor.
The Englishmen who had obtained a charter creating the London Company in 1606 were
speculators willing to put their capital at risk in the hope that a passage to the Orient might
yet be discovered or, failing in that, at least realizing some profit from their investment in a
colony in the new world. Their dream that a quick passage to the East might still be found
was reflected in the company’s instructions to the adventurers they recruited. They were told
to establish their base on the river “which bendeth most toward the Northwest, for that way
you shall soonest find the other sea.”6
Three ships carrying just over a hundred male adventurers and thirty-nine crewmen
sailed into Chesapeake Bay in late April 1607, and, as instructed, entered one of several broad
rivers that curved toward the northwest. After several weeks of searching for a suitable site to
establish a fort, they began erecting a settlement on the north shore of the river that had been
named for King James I. English adventurers were once again attempting to plant a colony in
the new world. Their survival this time was no more assured than it had been for Raleigh’s
fateful adventurers on Roanoke Island two decades earlier.
As Christians, the Jamestown colonists and investors believed that without God’s favor the
enterprise was hopeless. Moreover, religious justifications for English expansion were
expressed from the outset of the venture. In the original charter granted in 1606, James I had
instructed the leaders of the expedition to carry the Christian religion to the “Infidels and
Savages” who “as yet live in Darkness and miserable Ignorance of the true Knowledge and
Worship of God.” Numerous sermons preached on behalf of the backers of the colonization
scheme emphasized the need for settlers whose concerns were Godly rather than worldly. In
1609, for example, the Reverend William Crashaw sermonized to a group about to make
passage to Jamestown: “if you should aime at nothing but your private ends, and neglect
religion and God’s service, looke for no blessing, nay looke for a curse.”7
Curses were certainly abundant during the first several years of the colony’s life. The site
picked for the settlement was surrounded by marshlands and brackish water, a suitable
breeding ground for mosquitoes but not for humans. Typhoid, malaria, dysentery, and other
illnesses took a heavy toll, as did periodic attacks by the native Powhatans with whom
14 • American Education

Figure 2.1 John Smith’s Voyages of Exploration: June 2–21, 1608.

Credit: Map courtesy of the National Park Service.

relations alternated abruptly between periods of civility and outbreaks of hostility. The
situation deteriorated to the point at which, noted George Percy in his journal in September
1607, they were “in miserable distress.” Day and night for week upon week, there was
“groaning in every corner of the fort, most pitiful to hear . . . some departing out of the
world, many times three or four in a night.” At daybreak, those who could walk pulled the
bodies of the dead out of their cabins “like dogs to be buried.” When replacements arrived in
January 1608, they found thirty-eight settlers alive of the original 104. Percy closed his
account of this tragic episode by commenting that, had it not been for aid given them by
sympathetic Indians—“our mortal enemies”—all would have perished.8
Successive waves of new recruits replenished the colony, at least temporarily. By the fall of
1608, the colony numbered about 200, including the first two women and a few German and
Polish glassmakers. A year later there were close to 500 settlers in Jamestown. The winter of
1609 to 1610, however, became known as “the starving time.” As famine and disease inside
 Colonization and Cultural Transplantation • 15

the fort and hostile natives outside reduced their numbers, some colonists turned in
desperation to eating horses, dogs, cats, and rats, even humans, in hopes of staying alive.9
Sixty colonists somehow managed to survive the winter. With the arrival of Lord De la
Warr in June 1610, much-needed supplies and still more settlers brought new life and
renewed hope to the fragile colony. The following year a new governor, Thomas Dale, arrived
with 300 more men. Dale initiated a policy of giving land to settlers who, having come as
indentured servants, completed the terms of their contract. Private initiative began to take
root in Jamestown as men now worked for themselves on their own lands in a way they
would not when all had shared from the common stores.
Two other events within the next couple of years placed Jamestown and the expanding
Virginia colony on more secure footing. John Rolfe, whose baby daughter had died in passage,
was doubly grieved by the death of his wife soon after their arrival in the colony in 1610.
When in 1613 the Indian maiden, Pocahontas, daughter of Chief Wahunsonacock (whom
the English called Powhatan) was taken as hostage, the lonely Rolfe soon succumbed to love.
His marriage to Pocahontas resulted in a hostage exchange and a truce with the neighboring
Indians that lasted for eight years.10
Rolfe was instrumental in another momentous event as well. With seeds acquired from
the West Indies, Rolfe began cultivating a variety of tobacco that came to be in great demand
in Europe. The production of tobacco became the salvation for Virginia, and, in time, its
curse as well. Tobacco depleted the soil, was labor-intensive, and led to the installation of
slavery in the American colonies. But the leaf that turned gold when properly cured became
to Virginians and their English investors a welcomed substitute for the gold ore that they had
little success in finding. On large plantations that began to line the major river routes and in
scattered fields cleared by yeomen farmers who began arriving in ever larger numbers,
tobacco spread across the coastal plain of Virginia and into Maryland to the north and down
into the Carolinas to the south. By 1630, Virginia was annually exporting 500,000 pounds of
the “joviall weed.”
Historian Ted Morgan has asserted that shipping the first barrels of tobacco to England
“was the most momentous fact in the history of Virginia, and one of the most momentous
for all America.”11
As tobacco became the staple crop of the Virginia colony, all aspects of life began to reflect
its dominion. In 1619 a Dutch ship unloaded the first Africans to come to North America.
These indentured servants were followed by others whose eventual enslavement became
inexorably tied to the emerging plantation economy. In the same year, ninety “mail-order
brides” arrived in Jamestown, each of whom was claimed by payment of 120 pounds of
tobacco leaf. Families, both free and slave, were henceforth to become indispensable
components of Virginia’s destiny.
Representative government also made its appearance in the expanding colony in 1619.
Under terms of a new charter, delegates were elected from each of the major settlements in
the Virginia colony to join with the governor and his six counselors in order to regulate the
affairs of the colony. The Virginia House of Burgesses thus became the first elected legislative
body in the English colonies.
The Burgesses drafted legislation fixing the price of tobacco and instructed the settlers to
plant grapes, hemp, and mulberry trees, the latter necessary for silkworm cultivation. Of
more immediate importance than diversifying the economy, however, was the need to rescue
the growing colony from barbarism. The assembly enacted a statute requiring everyone to
attend worship services twice on Sunday. Laws against idleness, gambling, drunkenness, and
other breaches of Christian decorum were restored or established. That such laws were
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Mn Llliliy Harnli E Lovrjuy Binma A I.UM Joaanh M lauvajoy
Mil tie* R Lonell.N'.imy K l.Miverin K'niira Liir* N.iinv Lucy
MarlaM Lyfurd Eaiily O U Magrath Marr Ami MaiaUll KHea
Maa«*ld AIniir* Mnnin llilun M Maratau llaaaak Mama Polly
Maloin' t^Hiiaa Maifiy Lydia B M..aun Huaiin P Man.ll. Id M A
B Mra Mi.un Flira MalMii Mai« B Manaliehl Olive Maaaur
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Cat^iarlB* B.-Chlry Jan* Melleruimi Mary Mel'uv Loviaa
MoManaal Khaa Mraaaile KaUMt Mel.lu l.ouiaa J Mercer
I'.nlbia Midgely Maiy Mllar* W B Parker Etilahell. B Patoier
Bli>ab.lk Paal t«uwa A * Parker MeNase Pag* Mary C Pwrk
Mra Um H Ferkina t'arwliae M |*r< aroll l.o«iu« K Pie*.ai
Ellen party M..rll..i A Prearoll Ell** M IVrkina Harrw-t N 9
Peilea Ruweia Peaae Ma.y W P.-rry II nnali F PH-r»a Etlva
Pre«eo.ni4i Manba J pyki. «;arolia« H Pika Mary A Fierce .\
ney A Poor E-aline L Pirtlar Rllialielh 9 Poller Lucietla K
Piilriar Liiev Plynipl... Ellen Fniaam Maraelk Pwdar Eaily
PluinOMr HoMab R RayaMMd Msry Rae Hkrah J R I'ud
Rtisabelh Bar A H Read Margaret N lUadef Bu|ihla P R..aMHI
Hrl.lgell n ...I Klir ilieth Km*. Mart A IL.iuJua Mary M
KichardMMi Asa Rnliinaoa Haaa ■ It.etg.-r* J.ne E
Ko'wrtaMiry KlUa KeynoMe Mary Raw* H A eg dials Kulnrl.
A>ia J Knaaell KleeU L Ku'aell Mary J Bo** Cordelia R
lawyer Araihuaa B:ivage Aan B B*ralton Hamell I Bpnaidmg
Byhtl P BtratOtrt Jnannah C hawlell Ahby HkallBck PrUMla
Btt^liiir Mary Bwailew Barab B Bawyer Ana ISenter Hannah
F9 Itiaarn* Ml* E Btevcna Praneea M Htearna Mr. t*alhertBe
T I*h«rman Euiiloe R Binlth EllralN-lh U tamitk Joanna K
Hmith B B Smith Mary B K Bmtlh lletleii Bmilh Mr* I'hrlallna
BwifV Mra ItiiiMiab B HInipaoii narah M Blmp^M) Mn Jane
Bkltlinga Hannah Btmut llannali J Harlwell Mra LB Bnltivaa
Mary Tayh'i Ahnlra A Thmnton Rather Tliotniia Ann E "Tornr
Marv A Tower Meltllahle Tnrker EIruheik P Turner Merr^y
11 Thiiraion Laura A Turner Mia fluaan A Tyler Miav IV
Waterhouau Lnvlna 8 Warren Mn Ann Jenatta Wavmmnh
Mra BoaSn WailMih Mary Wrilcwoml (';ailierias-0 Wheeler
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\Vlla.in mra llarriat A Whitner Elvira II Willeughliy .Marv E
While mra llarrlel L Whiirnioh Maiiah B Whitahouaa Martns
M Whitlsmore nin Bary Wijaon ftarrist WIM*r Jan* White
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Wrigm Harriet B \^'lnn Olive Wiitht Morglana Wight Polly
Wood* nirv Barak P Wood Laura Woorlley Wealth*
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Bergeron* Danqae BatrMi Tlioaas Bmdelww Jumpb Am** 1)
P Rrody MichasI Baker A II Brniiiion Tho* Blai k Tho* W
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Butturftetd Ueorge Hiirna (Iwrn Hrynnt BarUiula. wew
Burn* Rlias Rylnaion Huhsr.iudwin NathI U llaU PraBkli*
Haakel N B Hall Wni E llarleii pHlrIck llanilluliHi Tlw* Ham
Joeeph P Harrbi Mlaum Halt Jamea C II liargiavea Win Hail
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llovay Hirlroa* Uavid Howard iirv L lloyl Huhen tl llolden
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Huichlnaon Exra Hyde It B HucbiueRodnryM ' J Johnaon J W
9 lonsa Baaiiel Jone* J F K Kidder John H Kidder Jeremiah
Ketley Kobert Kearney Micha* I Kingaley Krioa t> Kriley
John KelioB Cha* II Kallry leraal ia Lawrenee ioaaIhaa O 9 f
jiwrence JaaM lt.awaen t'heaier !l.ang Heniall ^l.*uMtt JohB
O l..'rinln* Tridey iliCWkr Andrew t.eej W Cruikeii Henry
0rea*er Peter O Hwlre A E lluoiy Hiraro Parker l«aiMi
Psiaapter Joha Pkftardia B A Per kmaMwlftaBB Ps Sereon
MaRl A Fslrtsfc BO Pag* Jamea Y Page Abrahaa Pairlck
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Birnard Bkiwrda II II Hicliardnon JubaR Hice A C Kichardaon
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Mnllh llHiiiel E hinlih ItavMl I Hnillh l>lmeon Fi I rtmlth I. ,
tiuinh D T l>ini|h John I Hllmaun I hnrlea ; Hiniuna II tt I
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fJeorre W 'Tralnirr Jamea Taylor John M J Tanirk) Kiirene
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David Flandan P Parrell Jabs Farewr Wilmartk Neamith
KlikCv O .Nuniae J P Paaaetl Aleiaioler .V'urtuii Ellhu
Freeman Tlromaa Nw-hola Henry Frrui h JaualliauH .Neat
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C I Ilia TwornblvAndvwJ Towie 'l^heodoreM ! Tucker Hllaa B
Turner t'aniel Tsi* Pairwk W Wilah Piercji Water* helwitrd
Warren Jaiioa L Warden Uuberl Jaaiaa F Walker N WaltuB
lllraai Wardwrli 7.e»aaC Wehh William W*dgew>nMiJohn9
Welherell l.urin Weniworih Ttui* Wiley liallliMil F Wright III
lavin* Whipiile J.din M Wilkin* Henry Wilder Allen M
WhItraHBk laaa Wilal.B Harvey Whitlaker Daniel WttkiB*
C'barlaa Wtaaion c P Wi.ulwwd Ana* W Worraatar Iteary E9
4* I' V T tininn J.iaiea I t'lrir-k Wm T Vile* Atharl I Valler
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.OILMAN. P. M. AWKVAV BfRBTIMO. fBlHB ANNI'AL
MKETINU of the I.aveall TraI dera aad Merkantra' Malual
Plre laaaranre CoBaapanyr will he hvlden at iheir 1 ithca, ia
Appleiun m.ick.uu MilNDAV.IIn twelfih 4ay of May Belt, at 9
o'clock, P. M., In hanr Ib* report of their Tr*a mrer, ckmiae
a Board of Director* fur itK anauing year, and trie the
tranaaclkia of any iHlier buaiBea* that may .one befor*
them. JAMEM DINHMOUR. t«ec'>. Lowell. April 99. IBSI.
apijed* PATBBT laACTBAl., OR ASTiriCIAL BREAST. di
PM^HI." article ta Intended to lake Ihe |il.r C*.:4a' (AsrsA.
ADIFJ*' *B* *llkbuiiagiialt*rlln.4a: l.adiea'f>«grca* H.nita ;
ladle*' Polka Brvita , IjHtiea' Jenny Riaiia) t.a4lr*' Jennv
I,lnd Oatiara: l.adlee' Jenny Llad T«ea; Latdae*' Eaaetaior ;
BaMkina ; Kllppat*. Ac. Alao. Mi**e* and i^httdren'* R<
art* and Blkwa, m every variety Alwt.tioallaaeB'B BBd
Youth'* Bant* aiKl Ithrww, ol avrcy deecripttoo. R:^ Tb*
abiive riioda I am crmalantly reeeiTing direct fVom Ihe
nianiifariiirrra . ronaeqiiaotly purchaeara wtU nM kae«ap*y
twe ee (krayead'' aprlM Lind Rl Celrbrl N. Parker laATB
PVBLiiCATIONB. HIIRRY-UKAPHH, or Kkeiche* ..f Hcenary
llee aad Boaiety.— lakan from Mf* Willia. Havaeaek, a laW,
bv Henry Wadawaih t.rmgfetlow. Ttie Manufactare ni Inm Ib
all lu varioiiab anch**, lacludiMg a deacilption f.f
Wond'Calttng. Cr.aMigting and ttie burning of t*barrrwl ar.4
Coke ; the digging and maa Ing of Iran, to wbleh la added
an enaay on th*- manufac lure of Hteel, b\ Prrrtrrirk
llverman. Ileeelved at aprSS MERRILL k HTBAW 93 I'enirst
M JRNBfV I.INir OAITKRB. ' JUHT RECEIVED, a l<4 of Jinny
LindRsllcra.s asw and bsanllful srtirle ror Ijidiea' wear — hy
P. A Ol.ADWIN, IW Merrimack al., apr98 Fira dmir eaal of Dr.
Childa' Church. FRRRCH CAI.P BOOTR. Genttenien'a Priwa
French Catf Bnoia aelling at R^ per pair, by P. A. nt.ADWIN,
im Mr-ritmack a.. aprW Flrat door eaal of Dr. Chlld'a Church.
On* Tenement hi North Franklin Coart, being In iIm
pieaaanieat pert of I a city, sad vsry convenient for s amsll
fsmiir. Enquire of B. T, HARDY, Wetia Block. Apcil tt»ib.
S|ir9ll rv^o t.BT. MOi OoaA l^nasaaat Ta Raat. tl lei, a
genteel irmeinent, on Ash areel, Belvldere — a very plea-ant
location, and mrMlefat* rent. Inquire of t^olby * Trwrnrin.
41 l>Biral Mreel. 4lf April 93 fbundat lap AI*o 1,00(1 loiinda
Cngllab !'•"„ „«„ — -- I Rgak Biiiw<.sa pbarbon=""
havwfs="" i="" llinklay="" ilumkhj="" llnlilen="" ptivlm=""
m="" hiirner="" mary="" aliu="" huwii="" harriet=""
llulini-a="" nanr-y="" mn="" lln-iner="" harnli=""
howard="" harah="" b="" hul="" mr="" huwaid=""
maltha="" an="" hull.="" aitetine="" llnlund=""
dultoway="" a="" unit="" o="" ll="" marv="" j="" hnirh=""
hublmrd="" llairiei="" abhti.b="" lalbt.="" adaiaa="" k=""
harrmi="" bimen="" h="" amriek="" wa="" aank=""
versel="" baker=""> (^harl** R Aiaalmng Rh-h'd Bradley J
B Aiihnt John Avery Bhradrlrh RInnchardMnrrlsB AikBH A 1.
Aeery Bytveeier Bsl<f Merrlaack and Kick aireele— an
eicellent eland for an Aprnheeary, or a llBARABaB Of MR
iM^ THIB RVnnilO, MAT1, WIN be preeaaiad (9a4 Uaaa la
U>w*ll) tla grsm NsuU sal Drama loundad kpoa tla.«lH I Or,
Tkt C*pla*'« JUa**a / MYNHEER VONii'RAHl'. MRW
H.CURTIR. c^apl. Buwsn, of lbs V. 1. FrUate OonailaUan, Mr
O R. Lotke. Jask Hanruek Bea light, aa Amerlcnn Mid
aklpawn, (wttb song*.] Ml* Baalk. ARaswiaab. A Nsw Cmad
Ovsitiua, eeapeard by Fruf. BekbardL Tn MiiKluds wilb Iha
RglmvseaHs* salltlsd JKNNY LINUI Jrnap LMtberlangg, allaa
Jenny LInd, MraJB. Boolb. la preparalhin a grand Mnalcal
and Mein Dramallc snd H|iectarii,Hr Eltr'iva|lani(S,cnlled
Tks World's PaU*. or THI^ OttVBTAL PALACIL f^ TIrketa V>
cent*. Privste bole* and reaerved aeais M ciinui. Cbildrea
when accum|iaulcd by psrents or guar diuiia half price,
Piirfortoanco to coinninnra al B o'clock preclaslv. BUmi'B
SF.\V:X .Mini MlUKOVli OR. A TOUR OF -i2000 Milea on the
Lakes : THB MIAOARA, RT. LA^VRBMCE, AUD BAUURNAY
RIVKRN t llliiatrated on lU^gt ACKK^Ii OP MOVINU
CANVAM., With s Frogratawa ol Flssw and Dh>raala
loddanu. Now on Eihiblllon at aWjyjiac«.w.«, Admleairm US
eta, TIckela for aale al the prlnrlpal ilutcla and UiH.katorea.
J. PERHAM, Pro|irleiut. PLEASUEE~EXCUESI01I PKUAI
UOkTUN TU NKW VURK. BOBTON, WtiRCKaTBR AND
NORWICH RAIL ROAD AND BTKtMBOAT LINE, rito leave
Hoaton on MONDAY, May 6ih,or any day a iliai week, at 5 19
P M , of each day, Iruni the Wurcs'lcr Hull Krad Deptrt, and
irliirn hy the tame route, lo reach Boeton. a* early a*
TucMlav Morning, Mat I3(h. JurllAH PEKIIAM. * Froprletiw
i»even Mile Mirror. TIckela fur the E curslun, (gimd stao for
one admit Innce to the Mirror In l^well,) $4.00. For aale at
the MRKKIMACK HALL. apr94 JAUNl)I(7fr, NERVO or
PLAINT, SraiA, CHRONIC OR LITY, DIBEA8£ 'IDMKYB, oaBia.
■ acH, s«;eif 41 CunriirariOB, InwsBB '■>■*•. FtiLLaati,
A8SESS0BS' NOTICE. f IIMK itiliuljiitiiila uf'tliB Cily i»(
UuwnU, •ml sll nthcrt, m oHiiinji, •■mijiyiny, ur holjttijr in
Iruil, Rtml Ejitntti in •11141 I 'ity, art* (ii'rwtiy imiIiAciI tu
liriiig in lu allll^r of ihv »iiliHriil»«ia. Arkomoib fiC amd Ci(>,
on or Ijrfors ihi TP.NTH DAY UP J^NK i>«ii, trut nn4 peKori
lUta of titrir Pull* and Kalal'-a, both RenI niifl P«r«uuiil,
liMbli* lu Ukrillun lit Hiil'l Ciiyg wtiick Ihttjr wale
pMfl**iM)d ol wii lh« liui lUf ol Ma) iiiAt ml, Ry ftn An,
iiMprd Mtrcli, l-''40, to aK«rt«iii Iti* rRtnatiU E«l iiua wiUiiii
Ihia CoiMiiHiiiwt-aliti, %km AM4-«tvui« may p*- rvr hb a
;|yid. Bf>|>i fwinr, Uitittt, Carrlafwa ol' all kiiida , Inoumc
rruiu TtM feaaifHi, 1'rHdf or Kwployatunl. lly ilif Rf^iBvit
itiatolv*, p«r«(ina wbu n«gl#r.t to tiring in lu Ilia
Ai««*»ong liaia of ihi«ir Pitlla and l^uUa, luv« nu rijrlil lu
rltditti a^atam^nia oflltair Tmi'-b Hy a Hialulo uf IKf7, **
All liou««-liop|>^a who roAiM lu Kivi< tlif naitioa of
(Miraona rviiilin;^ with itirm, tiatikr tu (m* ■BBOMnrI fuf
T«1M«, wti'-d PKlltid Opun hy lhwll, t>iiiw.Mrn Ihl- ug**R
taf Ifi and 4k >oai», who m« UM oaomptad Hjr \%w fruiii i-
iiii>linrnl ; aikI nil iiOuif« hwrp* rn, wliu #h>tll rffunp tu
gt\M (lii> ntiuwi nf all |>«*r-uii« rxaitling wiib tiirm wlui
atn TtitMc III du Miliiarv dnt>,ur wlw ati.ill (iv^
iHruniiiittoii wImcIi I' tal*«, ur wtiu aliall gi^a lulurmaiion
wbicb i* faltv, liltall be puni«li'- a Alia oftwrlvi* ibilLirM. Tbti
Aaaua^uf* i|H-rlv h«iM U\ ih^m un thf> rtrot di? wf M>ty,
in oflfr *hai 'I (ill nrtd #u> A»o««»Mr« will alirtul il flirir
uif>ri>, Ciiy Hutl, no Hondas . 'I trPeiHiAV imi THirR.-iDAV
••♦^fimita i^r 9.ich wittk, fruin ilia iwU •( M.iv to th«> KHb
of Jiina, ftvoi 7 tu 9 uVbirli, III rrcaivsi frmn rtll poraoaa
liabU to b« Ma«»«aJ,llto li-i* ul iltcir pulls iiid BatdUcs
HA2KN KI.LIOIT, M M Till AH PARK III7lt«T.{ Aaaoaaora.
JEPrKRSOS DA.Ni BOPT, leuwajl. Mav I, IttaM. niayldtiolf
285 WASHINGTON ST., BOMI'O.%. TIIR aubarrlbar
roapoctfully annuuncoa that he continiir« tlt« UPHOLSTEBT
AHD FUBHTrUBE ^fltni-ia. mm h«*rriaforo carrtid un by th«
into Arm of Law•nfl At llnrrlBrti*n, In ihr aama prrmia«*«.
and having now Cumplaii'il vnrliHia arranr^m^nla which
greatly Incronao hi lurlliUra (i»r mamirarturing. Ac , and
mahlo hini Ui •rll al a radiicilon rn>m furturr prtrra.and a«
tuw aa ruinpitlble with thf) prrtducdon uf artirloa of thr brat
alyle and work man*hip,lir Invitea an ia«prcikMi uf hW
oBtircly New ISlock of Fnrnitarc — ANI>— UPHOLSTERY
GOOD8, arbirh r.oeipri*ea a aelectioa of miir^hat la evecv
way aeelrahle m Kt'K.NITCRK generally. CIIKTAIN ami
CilVKRI.NIi MATKKlALiI, i.'UllMCK.I, t;UUI'AiN BAMiH, Ac.Ac
Cairgala aaA Oamperjr lV»rk« efall grade*, eiecuteit on Ibe
he*t term*. WINDOW SHADES tltmd r. ' OS BuioD TO TNB
HsAP, At lUITt S^^. THS Hio«*cn, Navsaa, llaaii ai'ss, BUk^
auBT roa PoOn, Pm-i-nsii, oa kbiuht is nlaitw 8TuM>t'M,
Bovja raociatiuia, finaiau us FtuT- ' ' TBSisu ar THB riT or thb
Htuhich, Hwih«|*e or THB HaaB, HuasiXB tan Digsicult
BsaaTHinn, FLi'TTasiao ai tmb HaasT, CMuaif u us
HurrocaTiaa aasBaTioag vaae in a ltisu rsBTvaa'. DiMsai* or
Viaion, lloTB oa uiaaa eajruaa ihb RlBHT. Paras asD pvix saib
is ths llaaD, Dsrictsacr or fas artsaTion, YsixewirBaa ur thb
Haia aau Ciii paia la THa rtiua, Baca, Chsbt, '•■••a*i ''i .,
fuuoaa FLixHBt or HsaT Buanino is tms ftBtii, t'oniTaMT
iHauiainuaur (Srii., ana osbst DBrssaaiua ur MrisiTi, can bs
elTectaslty carM bjt Dlt HOOFLANDS CKI^BBHATBD
OKRHAN UlTTKRHt PRftPAHKI) ttV DR« C. It. JACKKON, AT
THE GEHMAN MKUli INK 8TORE, 140 Arvk fttVMt,
HblUd«l|ikl». ThstF pm^ar nMr lAa oAova dtstoMtt i« mot
trtUtd—i fmU$4 i$ ««v oUar pr^pmrmtt^n in IA« (huted
tit*t9$, m$ rA« »r«« oKeal, in oMay ««wn i>( divaiiaea of
iha Liver iiiid It-aaer glaiida^ viarcialng tba moat acHrrhing
|miwara 10 woakiioaa uml nflictioua ul itif ili^uatWa
orgaua, ihay ara withal. aiilV. rrrtitin nint pIpiiRani. BEAD
ANO HH CONVINCED. Fiuni tho '* lluaruN Hon *' Tiir fditur
aiiid, Dar. 9^1— *• DR HUOKLANU'tt < RLCHUATKD
(iERMAN BITTBEH for ibo i:o«|^ aia. t'bruiHc ur N'-rt una
Dubillly, la il> ri.l, .||y unu uf Iho muat |M>pul4ir
inodiclnoa of tho ilay. '1'Im aa Riliuro lia«« Imon usivd bv
thonaaii^, and a Iriand ul our nlbuw anya bo liaa biniaulr
rticcivail uu aCaotnal and |i«rniaimni ruro of laivar
Cuniplaiiil fioin the uan nf llua mncdy. Wa aiO ruiiviucoU
ibo*, in ttto aao oi tkeaa Hiiiam, Iha |*atia»t ounatanily
guiiia alrun^flli miil vigor —u l.ii l ^«uittit ul'tfriiat
ronaiderulioii. Tlwy ara |)loaMtat in tuain and anitain a
U>tila, mid thua aava lliamialvna much atckuaaa. Prraoiw ul
dnbililaUid cooatii«. tiuna will find lliaaa Biitara
advaiiliijffutit lu tliair haalita, na wa know fiuin exfiartaneo
tlio aalutuiy aA'acIa tbay hava upon w«ttk ajalama'* Juui^n
M. M. NuAH, a gantluninn Mitti tfreat •olanlilto and literary
uttaiuturnU, laid in J.ia " Nhw YoaK WsnaLT MaaBKnuKR."
January (>« Ib&ti. *' Dr ii9i(/l»n*l'g Oormtmit BUUra. lUtv
la a preparoUon wlitch tho IfisJing (iruaaua in tin* Uiiiun
.i(tfi«ar to bo unnni triuui in rct-uuimoiMling, aod tht?
n«AU'i m o>iv»ooa. It la miidf> utif't H pioarripiMtn
furniahrd l>y una uf the ntnal aolobralmt |>b)aK-i|leiic**g
nnd aevrral 01 tin* nlitura afiaak uf ita eff«4:U fMHii Ihair
owu iiidi\idui(l ri)H>nfnrr. f/itdt r ihrao rirrnnialuiicfa, wr
ferl warrauleil, nol utily in rallioK Ilia ailiiitiun uf uur raadvra
tw tlu* piuarnt prtipneinr'a (l>r. C M. Jal that wo ; air ii'it
A|>a.ikintf ui tha iMMtrunia uf ihi tiav. tbAiare iioiawd I
aliout thr N hn< f (I'lriod luid ihin f>>r|i'iu-n an« r it
huaduua I tt«guiltf ra of miachiof. hni uf n im-ilirma
hmgeaUblialiI nl, aniver«atly priKfd and whirb ha* met tba
huwrty nppru^ v.il Ml Iha rkciiliv ilai'tf '* Ev-i'loni-c upoit
ifvid«*0('a ho* li«*<>n ramvi^d fliku Iha loraguinf > rrnm
nil of'ctiuiui uf llif I'litun. ilii- luat thfi**' vaara, aad tM*
stroma est Ustiiummn it itsfsvor, m, that ll»*rr Muwro of it
u#ftd la thn pritclir*^ nf llu* rt xMilur Pbaaiciana of
Pbilai>«lidii.i than ull uihrr nnatrniii* runitiiaratiun will
mact with ihrir quirt approval wlioo proat* Iliad evt>n in
thia forrO. Thjl thi* inadinna will «ura Liver Cooiphint and
Dyapt'pai iii;t ii aa dirMrtcd. |i acta ap"! lliraltv n|inn Ihf
au>in ir-h and lit*-r , |i i* m«iarablo •• rnlonu'lln ai/
kthomt diiia«#ra— llm • ir d m immadiaf.— Pttay f-Bii Ut-
iiilinlnialarad lu iBMALaufinraliTwith aafaly and rrliohlr
lians-ht, ut aiiv (iinr. RKWABEOP ror.STKIlPKITH. Thia niailii
ma hiia uttninrd that hi^'li cliurar*lar wliirh ta ai*raaan«y
fVir all mrdtrioi*! tu iiliain i>i induce ciwntorfalt era tu p«it
birth a apurinua anide al the riak of the livoa al thuaa who
are inrKfcantly dTi-ivrd. JUa* vaU lo tMa mmrkt •/ Ika
ramiaa. Th^v have Iho written aigntlura of C. M. JACKPOlf
OfKin the wrnpps^r, Oftd tho nitnni hluwii in Ihohottia, mitk
9ut wkiek tk*y mrt spurisms. r**r «i«la Whs>|r« ila tnd
Rrtail al tho i;KH.\IAN MEDItlNESTOHE, Na. ISO arch
Htreat.one duur Uulow tfitihg ' btta ofttTfl RAfceiraai,)
PhilahiK. awJ by reaprctabla doalora gan aratlv Ihioughuui
Ihf cnunlrv. Pm aala hy C. H. EAHTMAN *. Co., eomer of
Gaatral •ltd Marri«ack aU. Luwrll, Maaa. nwyl^ty PPM fe^R
»AIaB!! eO^Acna of Land in fia City of lowriL lafui ■ ;bb sa
Ibr aalSi r|w*ll, I li la>w*ll, 0**^^1114, Nl tak. N*«r fork
aaa Hi a Mask at Ibaas eiMn hi4a << MMg lol. Neg s bsaaeh
mbi||o Iub llinHt( i?tfci£Kt&S, aad la eraer. oratt kindaand
FiiTvaa*. liu aal* with car*. ■eriaces, Ulaaps, Tasaala, Anit
Trini*lnga geoerall)i, for aal* nnil ma4e lo order. Klaetlc
Mattraaaaa, ofeuiierlm msk*. and otker Bedding. |-
^CA*l'K'r!i MADK anil all other irpbotatery Work tn or oel of
Ihe cily, aueaded to priMapity. Pole Manaraciarer of Ibe
PATKNT BACK A.NH PINION EXTENSION DlN'iNG TABLES,
Tlie h*M Kilanainn TaM* in u**. PHAKCm IIAHRI5IOTO!f,
(Ljiie l.awat,a H Harrtn8ii*a, ManuiacUiriBg UpUoMarer and
Importer April 1«, IMI. apr-il TO FEUIT OBOWEBS. planter*
are re*i>er.inilly InfoTRind that Ri>HeRT O. BELL
puaaeaeea an eitenaire mock of *tning llby Trie* of Ihe
P«ar, Apple, Plnm, Cherry. Peach and irther Fruit Tnea,
BaaplMrrlea, flu.i*rtierile*. Currania, Onipe Vinea,
Htrswkerrlra, Kbubark, Aaparaga* Rorsa, He. Alan, Jnal
rereired from Pranre.aareral ibuuaand PRAR TKI'^K-* on
III. Uulnie om4, a* Pyrarolda anilDwarfa, Dwarf Apide* on
the l'Kr.i>tiae ator k. for -roall aardena — all rarefillly
aelrrleil li> lilinaelf. Pi-ar* at price* from ill CI. to 9a *).eh,
ararrrtnied true In name. Likewiae, a aplendid rottectiun of
tile n*weat Mo** and Mhei Rl I8I> nnd lirrtn lliHiee Planu
of lb* eery cboiceat kinda ll«iiii)iM*ta anil V\'ri-aiha made
l.i urdar. tisrdena dune up is ihr nrairai manner. Pawtiii kci
Garden and Nnraery, Oracui, iieiu LiiHell, Maa*. April i, IKl.
aprSdtf TKUI:;.**. ^M Now on ai^le, al the Did Ktand nn
PreacMi al., a MO eoperinr atock and varletr nf Pniii, Puceat
and t>r■ namrnlal TKF.IX, Phreba. Plowera, Vine*, tc , freah
from the auh*crlh*r'a ewn Nnraerv, In Prihain, Tlioae In
want of reliable Tree*, i*ler ufler* fie aale at bl* Farm aa
|Ba Oine alreel, a very large aaaocWMHl of Pear, Ap.3^ pie,
Plum snd Uuinca Trse*. Alao, Dwarf Penrand AppI*,
Franrnnia and Paalcdt Ra.pherry I'lanta, Red and White
Dutch Currania, Htrawberry Vine*. Ae. Hfwae chealaut,
Mounuin Aah and Bcoieh MreB. CHAK. F. PtlTN\. BprMMI or
KK-IIPEI^Il^W ! ! .^j Ojr OLD SA ^r 1»« MkRRIMACK
HTRtRT. rrBBTABIalRHBD \U31.JOt Fi':nRUARY l»l.
RRMnVRD TO 198, b Where 1 now otTer an entire new slock
nf Oents* ^Frcnrh and American CALF BiiDTW; t>ontrea*.
Jenny LInd, I'atenl l.enther, I'atf snd Kip IkHDEH of very
deairahle (Hitterna— limelher with Ijidlea* ./aaag Ltnds,
Ftttmnf* Tt*M. r-andal and Patent Tipiied tialln l.aaitng
tJniirra, French slipa, Itoya'. Miaaea aad Cbiidr.-n'al>HilFJ»
Alan, TRCNKia, VALlBBtl, CARPET RAflB, UMBR P.I J. AH,
PARAltDLB, Bhrll and nuinilo COMBS, mieersad other Mirror
Minor aad Mirrabsau FANS, Ac-, Ae. IBB Merrimack at.,
directly opimeile Kirk aC. Lowell, Nell dw*-ll and Ihinimer
atreda. In JEafi Ixiwetl, a douhle two *ti.ry liinia* with
about IKItIO feet of Land, arune fruii and toceat uee*, and a
goiMl arell of water, central ami n >liurl dlataoce froui
Railroad SiatloD. Fur paiiirulara linjulca of WM. DAVIDttUN,
No. 198 Merrimack *t. Lowjll, ApfU II, l«5l. a»rll<9swtfe3w
TO 1.BT, ^^A A dedrskleTeni-nient nn Cabot atreel. Inquire
aOot H. i;. F. t:iiKLl!4!l, 48 Central at. aprltMltf BBU BOOBt
BROBVOBti THB Bwt Hug andCaickmach F.iteraiinatiirls
rtwsper, ■lore eflhriual, and caa he applied with leae irnohln
Ikin aay other article of tb* kind. No hmliy who uee* II will
be iroiiliind »iih the above noiinu* vermin. Por aale in any
quantiiv. Prepared only nnd aold by It A ML KIIHiKR, Ja,
Merrimack, rorner of John au. A liberal diasaim aude to
thoa* who buy to esH sgala. apH'i ACBATB OF TOILBT W
ARK, Jnal opened snd for sale cheaper than ever, by E-
BBOW.N, marM 43 Merrlasck street. BPBCIAI. NOTICR. ALL
peranna Indebted bv note or areount ta Ihs tsts Arm of
Wooli k HK.MKNWAY, are reqaesled te make payment nn or
before the ftr.i of May, sa all sc cetinta will be left for
rolleciioo after that date. l»well, March 98, 1841. marWtf
aBVad UwrsBfs. Maahaa aai tjuweil, $i.icuia, Vnoctk ara aad
MotiMfcl. Blaay ■soak. New fork and Halsai BallroadBsfg
JuuMMMr th* mldA of IsWdoBlRBr Ba4lke laata Mask af
Ihars eiunslsa akBMl aair hi4a << MMg l.d. NegaUa
WAMTBD, A MAN AND WIFE, cspai>le of Uk lag Chans of a
Farm. Uuod refrienesa wHI be raqntred. For fixIber
particular* inquire of N. CRITCHE11', 13e MerrlBiack at.,
aaai City Hall. aiaUlf FlftKEk NORCRt"'!' have a lullmpply of
new Ixy* from their new liriv,e, and are prepired to till
order* promptly, ol the be«t of oid"Wkiu Pine, Bapling Pine,
[lard Pine, Spruce and A.ak. l.oisall,Jane i9.1l»0. ' Jel9dtf
^MromiBt COOOHBII — Tlie IMaamIc Bllstr %^ gIvea
tmmedisie relief and often rares Ih* nsosi ob atlnate i;. al •
otiagk, al aSm.-A ■MRS M af arw aa4 sasM«'haa4 ruraloAa
aa* Houss kfaptaa aon4«, Biavas, 4*raraNais aale evere
fciviAar. floods «g]r irin ks SOU Ike Best day. wBhoe
Maatilkelocy.(M' OB*** Mag pniRt ua fcr l»o ss aalslBflalhi
aiM as our city kUe there le ao each Tkaneiy Ir Mta sl >
,|mugga oWlged al aa sitra eapafg* t" aaak «4her mar
"lows. n ng sll Ib* sdvsntsass, U Is Wi**e4 thai I hs
aaaulhelured hem ehsapar tkan la say oiHr pkMa la iba Uaif
Btalaa, and caniul Ml of (iroe iii(#ratUabls sb4 pennsnenl
Mcaptullsu thai are ac qiikBUsi with tbe busiaeee. The
sabasalbai WIN epars Bo patiiskafaa4a« every a«al*t*nce
wiihin his BHaaa liu aay Wlahlllg to enilNKe lii lllla ^rofil
thle hn.lnea*. {.^•t No 9 coiiiaiii* i acrea,lur a Hnrk,
Woud,C'oal and Lanker Vard. 1.0I No. 3, ft Bcrs*. for the
aisnuAiciurs of Uarii Ware and Cutlery. lx>t No. 4, about 4
acres lor the msnufkelure of Olsaa Ware. t lad No. 9, stioNI
A acres. Air s I'alll* Market. tan No. It, ahiMt 4 y> 100
act**, lor a Butcbecf bop,Po(fc and l.jird Packiag. Let No. 7,
abinil I arr»,Air a Moii**llu dalJiiaerssiery. Lot No. 8, about
1 I 9 sere, fur the uianafai lure af Flag Cotioo. UM Nu. B,
about 4 T-8 acre*, fur Wootlea Wars MaBu fkeiery. lait Nu.
Ill, about 4 1 8 acrea.lor Maniinictafy of Hartksn Wsre and
l.ead Pipe. l,ol .No. II, Bh^LM«ren.AfgH4.M»l. OAUIk. ^-
^fc^t— *"* *^' ••■ '"' ^^'f^" *"»''' respectfully
|^^^^2flBHliiforiii Ilia frii-nita niiit Ihe public geoeratly
^^^^^P^^Tllhi»t havini ht-i-.Miie H iii'riii.iMenl reaiileni
VI a If ij Uof |.awell, ke la now prefraied lo give in SIruction
on the ITano Forte or lirjun lie will atii nd p.ipll* at their
reaelenca*. Purticiilac atlcntiou paHl to tuning Plaiio Forte*.
All order* left at A Wat'on'a ltnol.*u>t*, 149 Mvrri Black at.,
will he priini|illy aiiended to. |*n I4dtf Bmrmt (MSses md
Umd ss OasM at ,e) Oa BATUBUA Y. Msy S, sl « o*eluek . aa
One hair tt Mhu kaiM aaua«s aa Iks aaia and t 'eairsi stiasls,
MRSlbar with akaal OBB Ibel ef lend The hKalloB aTlfea
BhBva Mapaily naisis It very de*ira tfiH Ib (4 ispalt sl a aaull
oiUloB Fritke sreal a/ Dbarlae A good two-Hlory iHMaee,
etmtriulag B room*, with an 1. , alao Iwrn, 911 hy 94 feel,
together with about an anc III land, well Blocked with
choice paaae and ap|d« ireea — rtald property la attnaled
In Draeal, iM the Mammoth road, iiImiui three milea fnim
Pawlucket bridge , I* iitea. aiiily aiiihiied and le a deelrable
hicailun for a pbyairim. Tbe premiaea may be knotarn bt two
large elaia slaniliiig In Irunl ut ihe hone* KM|alts of K. B.
FaUb, ur of Koh «rt M. 11*11, un Ihe |iremlees. maiSil
OaaarSllisa'a Bala at Real Wmtrnta, Uni.L be aold al Puhll*
Auethm on MUNDAV, ths 19th day of MA V nett, at ten ol the
clock In Ih* forsnooa, ky Llr*n*« from the Hun. Ciuirt ut
Prale for Ike C^iunty of Middie**i. the enn undivided
helfpert of* aeMeio Irnct of land aiiunt* in l.aiwell, on th*
weeieriy aide of Fenwirk atreel, and tuMindnd *outb«rly by
land occupied by Ibe Ht. Patrick'* Church ; asaiacly ky
Fenwlck alreel; norlhsrly by a paaaagrv way , and w**l*rly
by land formsriy ul l.uliier ttlchardaoa, with half ot ilie
building* thcrwin. Thia property h*lung* tu John Mct'nr IV,
a ininui, undei my guardlanahip, and will b* aold uu tbe
preniiee* aa alMive Cen4Hlan* laad* kaoirn at the aale.
THI>MAil MoUARTV. naardlan. Lowell, April 9ih, ISSI.
spr«4dlaw3w Iklai ^sBssally I Bkav* dwetUBR
.fdmuMMealar's BsM ^ Mml Oa RATURUAV, May IB, IIM, al t
iIm proMltaoOtf t.ot No. t- A lot of laad allaaisd oa tks
AppteUi* •tnel, eonialnmiSlil aquai* Iksl, leel oti said atreel.
I ait No 9 . A U* of laad allnslati oa Ihs amilk North auael,
eoauiaiag MS? sqtMM Ibal, BB Isst i sMssT Lot No. 1- A let uf
Iaa4 sthMMsd sa Ike wssi sMa at Ml. Vernon Ml**!, In
roaonr nflho firain, and thti anrcfaaiitl rrflulau*r nf fhf*
Narvnia Hva trMiM hnM lilt) |it(>a«iira ol aNnndhrlni that
h^ haa lahrn fiwtmm Nl No. 1 m M«*rrlni(rli «in*H.
fCfm»^* Mall Ifaildinf.J whrrt* hi- la |irr(iar«d h> Irttal,
wiiHdHH modwln^, thoa*' atftiftnd with Nr«rvcHifl
|lia««»«-a. and tha following eomtilaini*: llciidarh#>, fold
riiMla, Putna in lh«> rhrntt nr •Idr, Diffrull Hr«*ailtitt|.
K|tinal AMtN-tlftria, Wrnh nona, Ar, Ar,4*f million in thr
llmha, r<.ld kcoi="" whiii="" of="" ftlfrp="" woak=""
kvt="">«, K|iitiinf of HhMid, >|Ma(na Irrfffiilar CIrcnIaiion
nf Ihr HIimuI, iH-rnnind Hffnaniuin, ronliiartf frt ImK in Ih^
hrad. th** aclivK) , rrtrntiVftnraa nnd rrrr|itirtiy (>t tti**
brain tnrr'*Hai-d. ^^ Mr Pftfrn>n*a Kianmmtiona nf Ihf
Narvniia ^*v■•pm and llrad ran br rolivd on, a« itwjr arr
baard on ocl OMttttc prihciplflM. and In iba roaatitotioii ul
tho Rmm. Lowall, March !« I«ai. marldiin MIDDLESEX THF.
anbarrilirr ccnilnun* In r^trry on tbe Marbla huatn*-«« In
all ii« variiHia bnuicbea, at lila aland on Mlrfdlracv atreet*
Having tind ««■« fpjru' iirnftiral rf|»erVfirv at thf hnaliiooa
In iha clly ol l^»Wf*ll . and lutvini honiht hia ainrli tn tnr|r
qnariiiiie** ai r*iah (irir^a. inirfihrr wilii Mitirr li cihltaa h*
haa foe diifM*>*a, hfinc aaaiaiod by nblo ■nd aoMiprirnt
workmon, ha i* |irfi|»ara«d to anawrr or* drra of any
drarnirtinn at iht" ^horirat nottco. Ho baa at ihf prraonl tinir
an unnaoallv larffo ■irnt ff MMNrMKNTH aittl i;KAVK
MTllMKaK. whtrh h« ta dotrrminvd i4i ooU nt |»ric«a which
wlU onrv comratiTioM. rillMNKY PIKCRt*. A larta lot on hand
of dlfffronl •tyhM and pnilrraa, whkh will ho auM nl Iho
Lownrr MAHHI.K rMdf*fn BOirOHT AND SOLD!
HAVINGirtjrrhaaodof J l>. Pllnipttm hia oit#n«tvt< aloch of
W. I fiooda ani addrd them In my |»rrvl oua ainck, on tho
rurnf r of ijmmtlt aad Wmrtktm streHs^ I am now
|>ro|itifed lo acc4>oiuifMlalo ail who may f'lvnr ino wiih
lUir iMirunair. JOHN WAlfuil, Ja. Ilavini dlapoard nf my atork
of Grnktm, I wmild rraBprrirully rri- omin« nd J. Wai'sm, Jr
u> all niv pavini ma loiiirra during my ahaoMM frtsm tho
cHy. I ahall hr in atwadanw at h*a atnrv until tha 90ih,
prrparnd tn aotllo with thoao who may favor nir Hrith a tall ;
aftor which ■y niHra and acconnia will be kft at J. Wauih*a
aioro for immodhilarcdiartlon. J. O. Pl.lwPTON. Lowell. AprtI
IS, 1851. aprlftdlni ifirw' oooDSe • JUST rMrlvod by M. C.
U8AN, a chotco a^oeilon of the moat faahionable rolora and
dealrablr Fahrlfa, mnawtmR of An««riraii. Kngliah. Krrnch
and at. At €mst aad Ivrmtf ptr em( tsss (Am cssL
Bahc(»ck*a fbouldor Brar«M, aelling chrnp. Having bought
mit my late partner, ard bring daalroua of a«*llihg inorr
giNMla than I rvrr liavr dona, I laha Ihia inetbofl to inviir
iImmbt who liavr herrtortr" iMUntnliu-d mr, tn conithur t4i
call nt thr iHd .-iiaad. an lo acll chomp and aa mLnUikr. Is'-
niirmaHi wholivr In the adjarrnt towna. and are vmiiingoor
city to get work donr, arr invitrd lo givo aM a CAll, aa I Ihink
It will br to thru brneAl. My culling will ho taatrfully rir
cuted.andthr be«t of workiitra will he oMphiyod. 7'lto work
when donr will ah»w whethrr my aaorrtlkma are pffivrd
trae. Cutting for fithrra tu Biake, wMf he rarrfully attrndrd
to, and warrantrd in At if |irn|irrly made up — llie brill i)f
irimniinga conatanlly on hai>d. at NO. 3 WYaAN*8 ££( if
kNGlC« H (\ URAN. I^well. Marrh 94th. l«St. marliltf FOR
MAKING TIUHT KOOrs. TTIRauhacrtlM-r would cnll attrnllon
to the fart, thai hr U now In ^oaaraalnn of a new niribod of
making tight roofa, which la both brttrr and cheaper Ihaa
Rnjr procf-a* herrtoforr aaod. Thnoo who have loaky roola
can aatiafy thrmaelvoa wllh a trial. Tho auhacrihor haa alo»
a nf«w paleal PAlffT FOR Fj$BLOK8, which fi^ whttenraa,
beautv and durability, haa nover horn equalled. It duea mK
lade, llkr moM palnla. Hoiiao Palnilni Sign and Pancj tt^
Palnta, Dlla, Olaaa, Uluo and Pa|irr llangtnga, for aalorhrap.
J. Kl l-TREDl^E, mprfhlbm Prracotl atreH, nndrr the r
Hnalneaa —or for ihr aciontifle departiHonta ul Harvard and
Hruwa UitlvoraiiloN. Thr Inninlrv l>rill will be a regular
riorcia*) of the inipila. Milton ta within right mlira of Rt|..
Mllfoit ; Thatcher T Payne Rati,, M Wall al . Nrw York ; N.
TilliiighHat, K.aq , Principal of the Hiaie Noriiini Hrliool at
Hrldgewater, Ma«a ; Hon Rm hanf W. (JrvHiie, Prnvidrnrr, R.
li Idnr^da (i.HidaIr, Kaq , t'olMwhua, Ohio | Hon W'lllinin
Orrrno, Cincinnati, Ohio. April B, lltaM. a|»rl4d3tawlm To
the Honorable li* P. P. Pay, Kp(|.. Judge uf the Tourt
ofPruhatr, In and (br Ilia iVnoty of klMldloarif tn iha
roniHiunwrallh of Maaaachua«Ua. 'pllK (trittion ul JihI
Adania, of Ijuwill, In anld eouniv, i Adiiiialalrai«tr of the rata
le of (iKikRUK N VAH NUM. latr tifDracul, in aaid county uf
Mlddloaoi, t ar pentrr. decn aiiiouni to Ihe auiii nf uiie
Ihunaaad nnd (wrnty rtva didlara, thai ihr vnlor uf Ihe
(irraonul rainta of thr aald drroaaed hy thr lovrnlury
Ibrreofduly exhihl led IP the Probate (I 111 re. la forly-lwo
doMara. and thr value III Ihr rritl oatala or aald dai oaaiHl,
by the nuI'I in vriitory, iii olevrn hundrod dollara, and hy a
partial tale the roaidue of aald eaiaii would l>« grrally
improved. Wlinrrlwri* >tMir prtitioiier prn>st dohia, nnd
chargea uf adminlatrafinn, and for the reaami >ifnir>nld
JtlEI. AllAMM. MUU>nRt«eX, aa.-sAta Court dl ProMlt holdm
at V> o burn, in and Ibr aaid rouiuy uf Middleoea, oo the
twcn to-oecond day uf April. A. U- IH61 pfiN Oioprtitkm
BforodaMthkadajr preforrcdV t>M above namt*d Jool
Adama, l>nlrrrd. Iliat the $a\4 iiiol Adaina rurttfy aU
peramta Inlorrated therein, loapfwar at n Coo rl uf Probale
to ha holdrn al < 'twihrldar, in and for aakl t.'ounty, oft (Imi
ihird Tnneday of May oexi. by public 'iiiiMt isf^lho Wregoing
|»rtititin. With ihia uid«-r thcrouii, lliM u Werfea aut « eaal
vol y , tn ll*r nrwNpajHiraaMed tlle teowrll iMIiy Jt>«irnal
and i'«>arirr. prliilrd at l.fkwell, the liiat puhlirNiion tnbr
arv< n daya al Irii*! hrftnr llir aaitl iIhkI I'urcday of Mny,
when and wht-r« Ihry ntay Ih- lirord roiH' rntng Uteaaniv,
and inaka rotura uu dcr uatli ol hia doluga li«r*-in, iinin aaid
t'unil M P. P. PAYgJiidgr Probate. Copy.AUoal— IdAAC
F1«KI£, Rrglaior* aprfll dlaw3w l^OTK'B la hereby
glvrn.thnt tlieaubacrlbrr liaaby of Middl*-Mii, rariwhtrr,
dacraard, lalraiale, and haa takrii upon hiiiiaalf Ihai irual by
flvlog lMinda,aa Ihr law dirn u. All |>rrxona, having
drmanda Mfisin ih« eatair ol Ihr aiiid drccarod, air r««|uirrd
lu rAhihu Ihr aame , and all prr aoiia, Midrlticd lu ihe aald
oatala, aro called upon lo uiako payment to jOiSLADAMH.
^dm'r. bracul, Apfll fit, lt5L aprtMlawJw FVRHiaUllVO MAIL
LOCKS AMD KKVM. PuoT Orrica UaraaTHanT, MaaiH 14,
1H&I. IT BPalNO DPefflRABIsBluaubailtulo hjcka and beya
of aome uther kind fur ithNe now in uae for ihr mail atr vicr
uf iha nnilrd Hiaiea. aprrlmen tocka and kr'ya, wilh pn 4100a
la 141 furniah the aame, will ba rocrivr*. aad tun aide red at
thoPualllAco Uopartment antll Iha iral d-y of July noil Tho
diffrrent ItHka will be aulioiMled lu a ctmimiaion (or
eiaiatn*ti«>n and rrport Cpnn ihiara|Nirt. coniracia will, aa
•trntu aa praclit able, he entered inin for fu'niahing auch
h>clia and krya fur four yeara, with the right on llir (tart of
tite Poatmaalrr (aaaeral fur the tuna briiiK tu riirnd aad
r^mtinnr ihr rnnlrart in force fur an additional larm u> foor
yeara, by giving to Ihr cuntractnr a writirn noCicr In iliat
rlTrct. ni»t nmrr than n>ne uwr Iraa than aix monlha befura
ailtpU'il f |ti>rtt|o will ba tr(>l> «ill dr[M-nil un ihr
dnrahilily of ihr lock* aud kt-ya ad*Mi«e oontfa' I'-d lor, fur
any albor poriMwa ur oar than ihatt of it»«« Pnat Of|f
DapMrimoOta Tit*- kind of Ivrk adatpletl HHiat he paUnlod,
and thr pn lanirr will tM- lenolrod, on autrimg niio mntrart,
In ntr>kr an aa«i:rn'ni'ni of hia patent fur iNe atrloaiva v«e
mid l>rnaAi of the |> cartOMint, II Ihr Puatmaator ia» uf
the failurr rtf Ihr ronlmefor at an* iiina In fnlhl faMlifnllv
Iha term* and rnnilitiuoa Of hia rnnir n t, lh tin- ii^hi,
h««idai a rernri lu the (Mual rt-ioedv hereiaaflar mrnlionad.
te anaiil aaM etvntmrt, aiHl to rontrari artaw with any other
parly or |Hirlira Iia h* mar arn til, fair furiiuhlii^ alniiUr Itn-
ka aad k*-ya. In deriding u|>«n Ihr pcupnaata and afM-
imena ofl'rred, Ihr Poalnsiatrr U'-nrral may derm il
ri|wd»enl «o aelert M the thruuyh ni'itl* ihr lock «>f nti**
hid.lrr. arkd for the way oiaiU ih^l »f another. Ha reaervoa,
iherrfore, the rigid uf cueirartmg tklih difTeri-ni imlividnala
lor awrh dilTrrrnl kinda nf lorka aa he ftiMy arlrri, and al«e
ihn rtghl In rrje« | all l)>0 aptrtmena and prupitaala, if be
ahall alarm Ihai roorav fur thr iiiterral of Uo* Pr|»ar1ieea1,
Tha p»rty iM pMrtira rnnirnrting »dl l»e rrr)uirrd to (ive
bonowaaiHl dollura, for a taillilul (f 1 hnmnnrr of Ihr ii.iitinrt
Thr rimtra'l ka le e(»ntaln pf ] viamn* fni the diir and proper
inHprriiminf the lorka aii'l | k*-va, Bod alao frr haiHl- ; ihr
it-rtn- uf^lh»*»f proMnooa to hr arranr"*! j liflwern lbl {
with aallatiClmy « vldrrirr of the lfu«lworlhy rhnrarttr nl the
biddrr, and uf hia Juliiy tn fulfil fhr cnniraet. N. K. HALL.
Poatioaaler Oenrral. marll dlawHwPr MARnLEHBAD
MITTVAL riMK llfftV'RANCK COMr \S\, PBlHIf* f'ompany
givra nf»licr ihit it ia prrpared to in I euro all kinda of
Property In leOWell nnd vicintty.on aa favorable lerrrta aa
anv mher Company in thr rMitr. WM. PAHEaNr*. Praaldeot.
r>ARiat P. Gauvatnta, Brr*y. Appllcaihin maybe mftde at
I70l Merrimack at. der5d9awtr J«>M[M M AYMARD, AgOMl.
THK rFfsKBRATKn OXYGENATED BITTERS. rtl.NTAlNlNO NO
Al.i:OHOL. A SURE REMEDY FOR DYSPEPSIA, ASTHMA, rtMit
Ireea, a g^Kid two aiM(]P Boua* ssd two kaisslBfBa4 take
|»leaaiire in referring ^a ulaaika laal nine years. Af rtrrATK
i'AL*, A Farm In Tewkaliury, asar Ihe eeaira at Iha MSBBa
cutiai.iiiig uf 7U atra* nf tmp* isail, well aieias4 lata
iiiiiwing, ttllage, uaaturing sa.! wiKidlanil.wilk I fruit Ireea, a
g.Kkd II ... ciinilltitin A H *ac*ll*M Farm nf 74 acree kasi
Iaa4 ta a Mfh sNae uf culiivaihMi, WHh a great abundsnes of
sstecteB ItaR trrra Wall gniwii, with a H*»*>ury bous* aad
two sasalleiil baraa in gririM ardar. A Farm i.f HA arte* ftrat
me land, im fVall IreeejrlaMs Iriiw M Ul :«i Inn* Kiigti.b bay.
(ume JO acrea waiMllaB4. witb an eKrellenl ael da,
riiiiaiatiiig ol Frials, Al|>aecs*, lieLdiaee, ahatsis, eh««ilng,
table ('u«*M, HIbkiMis, Husisijr, Ohtsas, Has, Tbieads, lis.,
*c. — Al Nu. BMarhetag.— nn HATmiMir, .Uae S, al t
s*a«nsk,— Tka aMka Farnltiire nfa llisirdtag Huuse. la gsrt
ae Mlaars : Faaihat Bed*. >l*itrea«aa. HaBsiaada, ■areaaa,
Uaaklag Uiaaae*, Card and t'entie Taklas, Osak Blneea,
Cieshsiy and Hia** Ware, Cailery, ke , *e. //aaa* *l
Anctimu. On iaATtltlI>AY. May 3, al 3 n'clnrli,— A DweitlBg
lliHi.e UO by 30 feet. It *iiwl** high— ba* been ku 111 kai
ritiir year* Held heuaa la aMnaiaid near the fngaar af Hri'lge
and r.iae en lauea ht treat I all diaritM'B, Wllh (M-rfrri
aurrra*, uf a I'hruaic or Privatr ftalopo, having ciirod over
Ihnte hundiod wlihla Ihr larl all iHonlh«, Hianjaf>f which
had hafled Ihe aklll, and rrMiaird all rrMirdIre uf aiany uf
Ihe brac phyalcliaa timi OiNitd he pn>cured. After giving up
In deapair, ihoy were ladnred In try Ur. Morrlll'a mrdlcinra,
which, to thrir nilrr aatonMhrnrnl, prud'icod Ihe daalaaj
oihot af rfT-rting a iirrioiinrnl oire. Ati iImmt rsfnaiiliing
their rvwn IntrreoC.and wlall !• ppeaerve ihrir av«trioa and
rnn*ti(nihina frmn thr aeral' riooa nnd ronttminniing
inHiiriir^t of diarnae, win cor* liiiNly ct»w*aii ene id the
hoat ph)alciaua ihal can bo pn»cured. HOd I lint oao la Dr
Marrtil, A'o W MidiU tirtti, Lowli. Ill* inoiititty
rorreetMindenre wilh tbe Ruropenn and all eniitieM Fureign
Himpiiai* give biei *tt|j*riur fWciliUee fee S thorough
arq'ialiitAiice with tb« earioua cbangea aad HHMlitirat on*
of dl*eaNe*, sad ItM varliMia mtNte* and Irasiateiiia
adupied and paraiiad. From all parla, hia medictae* aad
m«ihod uf lr*alm*ni are dally ailding aew laiirele to lila
fnnie and eelebrHy. for bia unceeatng *Bb(ta In .nving liia
lelluw men froBi * aremature grsee. riiat netarbHia"
JKmalae. with bl* th**lrueil** l>l**a**a, wicb aa Henilaal
Wi-akne**, Hypailiii, tiiMiurrhma. l.#ueorrlMSa.
Bianereh*r\, fce , th* niu*t to Im- dreaded of aay In the
wlicda eal•giN'y of diaeaee*, aa the reeuH, If generally
knuwa.nroaM la- bigltly daatructlee in the laarala aad
duinaailc kapenea. of every one. They reantre the oMMt
thoriMigb Ifeaiai*ni In order ui **eur* a garaMaaai care ;
but. if naglae^ ed or badly treated by Ignnrani prsMlUanar*,
th* reeak la blgtily pernlf loiia and injiirMHi* — r«M»glelely
daaCroytaf haiipinea*. healili, and ev*n Ufa -, th* polsoa of
such dta•aaea may b a long Hiiie dilTiiaing iiaelf Ihroagh the
sys irni bailee devetoiong any deetructiv* proee**, btal M
wtH. m««4 anrely, eventually follow. TImi highly
aurr.e**rut K-aiill ol Dr MiKrIll'a IrsalBMnt la all ul Ihl*
claaa of dieeaae*. warrania biu. in raying. Itiat In sveryca**
h* guar, anleea • imrfacl mr*. a* aisy bi. as** by the many
Ihouaaea laalieioniala wliwh he haa In bl*
pija****l*s,IMdsaB b* *aan bv afrfiiiraium at bM nllVae,
Na. II Mlildle eiraa*. I.«eran. 1>R MtiHRII.I.M FF-MALB
OROfas are aasafgaaasd for vmiie an«l eltleaey in lemnvlng
all comglalnia, ^ whalwVer nuliire liMidenI to F»fl«*le*. He
enntMe** WNk hi* iiaiinl aitrt,-.- lo Miedienlly and
aurgreelly rmiMiee aN OlMiritfliMn*, l']Hgor|eaini|flaiau nt
tli« l.«iiga, t.iver, Hplaen, KIdneya, Madder. Sir ^irr HI*
medirtne* ran be eanl In all porta of Ihe eaaatry by eapro**
or mail, if addreoaed with aeomoMalaa.' lain, aaaitng
parliealar*, (po*< paid) arronipanled whhiks 0**1*1
coBMillaliun lee. fliey will roceiv* prumpl aMa^ Ikm. a
*,*Beard,wlik kind aadeaelaal Narnee, griietdad 1^*
panaKle term* laMltp* eaa roneah Mr* Morrill al all tlmae
oa all dia *aa**. Be careful and remember llw aamber. II—
MMaia a«**a«-ll, a»*l»a,r ^ LOWBUa. THB ITAI.IAN
RKNOVATIBO Pllalaa. KKMM.i: .MiiM'lll.r BEUUI.ATUR.
1^IU>tK. Filiaare mild, edkacmua and aafe, (iliablag a e.ire
and complete re«* ndire. No. It Middle atreel, er al No. lit '^
Middlaaea turn /Vira B& * »*a— A*if Wxw AH. Tn avfvid
lmpii ha* the written atgnatur* ofthe | eUM, F Morrill, .M.
D., N». II MIddl* *«., l.nwelt, Ur MnrrlU ha* ohulned ih*
recipe for making th* abaeB Ftlla ofthe taeenior, an Italian
physician. ThoMi Pill* can be aeni to any pnrt of tho coastry
kf Eiieess, by addresaMig Ur. F. MURR1L.L, Lowell. Ma dees
•!■ .t I acruin* •prnprUS It, Mass. " *laly < HVBKT
PUTATOKa. roa any dad sobm priaiB I Bwaet Putatoae al
PKARtlON'B. a«v« al Ihe Kavlnfa Beak BaMdtaif. ng.
Oraining, ntaaing. Paper Hanging, ' Palnling, done at abort
notice. THOMAB H. DCNHAH, JTm. 30, fataOas tiraal,
BOttTpJT, HEMP AND FLAX, COrTDN 1 WINK A.VD BtiPE
MANILLA AND TARRED i:oKI>MiE, PACKINIi, SHOP.
THRF.AD, I.INF..-<. bai.inu="" a.="" firuum="" twine=""
balf="" klipe="" tiunny="" baljfl="" deer="" and=""
baciiimf="" iatf="" to="" parmhim.="" just="" rcf.="" si=""
no.="" ur="" i="" direct="" frma="" vermont="" a=""
large="" lot="" nl="" tlkm="" ijrahs="" c1.0ver="" bbkd=""
which="" will="" be="" aold="" hiw.="" ale-="" oabukn=""
bbkim="" coantrv="" produce="" oeorerie="" een="" oa=""
kaad="" baaow="" wry="" leer="" fcrraoh.="" gprlaiitl=""
banijom="" bbbd="" iialrm="" atiegfirlea="" oifnrd=""
itim="" foi="" aale="" by="" jab="" p.="" walbbb=""
aaaisb="" dd-bility="" iiavme="" tbr="" hlohsat=""
tkhti="">I«>NIAI.H BVKR OPPRRBD IN PAVflH OK AS\
MBDICiaE IN THB WUK1.D. FUR THF. MIWT HATlsPAfTPOBT
PROOF OF KEIMAUKAUI K CUUEN, READ the Pamphltta
arconi|Hinying tbe medlrlnr which abound with rertill. ite»
from Mmeaaa oe CoNuaaat, and CiTiaaaa or thi Hii.na.v
aaaeai raaiui T», and may be oblainel giaiuMueely ol Un- I
lean • I Agenia, REEO, nATK.H A AI'STIN, WIllll.t^Al.i: lllil
lilJIHTH, NO. KB MBRCHANTM' HOW, OOBTON. Fnraale by
l>nig«i*«a g*ner illy lliri.o«iM.«i the ■•raairy. J. (• AVER
AI.'fl.fAltl.t ION » tlllVf.V. M. D. COl.ltV.t; H. EAHTMANdifo.
end rl KIDIIKR. Ja Agent* for l*w*tl _ nneUeuig BOCNTV
LAND PIIR BOI.DIRRB OF lb* War of IHI.i— .if th.' Flartda
and other Indian Wara .Ince ITtHi -mid for th*
roiiiinlwioiied olTiiir. ul the War with Memo— who aerved
♦.* one nunilh and upward*, and have reeelee.1 nn hind,—
(and if dead, lor Ihair widow* nt minur children.) obisined
under tbe new law hy JON A. t.ADD, Attorney and
Counaellar st Law, No 1 Ij'aiiat Bioek. Ceairal aireet, Lowell,
Maaa., who haa a reeponalMe Affeni al Waskila|toa. \\
rfoaiiorti. man. lo priaure aatief rtbers ID B ble Hciantinc
ami Metliaatcal Work .^14 iAil. P. WAt NEW~
M~AP~LirilOIaABBBB^ a OMN PEARSON haa Jaal leeeieed a
aawtl iBIaf I I y lo ahow bia gd* even if he does aol *al' —
Hut yoa will bay, sa ba salts tba iksspesl. Slee M>aa esii. _ ^
?re;_ niTfWABH inirilHlff-»Wsskb«rB'a"kesl,aa4 uther low
priced quatlllae, ftir aale by J. P. k. I. ROOKRB, marW* City
Hall Haaata. HBHKI.I4 sad TpHea. nr Ibe Blend of lb*
Mohewk. a Itavolutionary I^afaad, by l.awr*nca l.ubree.
tiphe Myaterle* uf th* P*«pl*, by Eugene Hue. llie
Philiieophy of Spiritual Iniarcourae, being aa *gplasaliua ol
Mo.l*rn My*ier«**. Hy Andr*w Jacksea Davia. Racsiesd st
MERRILL lb HTRAW!
 myij^ '.'^.'•'" ■• ■T'.'r— ■ j^ ^ y t. W. 4t. O. BAN(}6,
ONLV AGENTS IN LoWEI.l. a Hoiwa, Ob«t*»i. m. ^HR aukwirtbrni i-
onilaM u> wtl ik« HI-';i'• l^o" Mwrtaa«k aU, CumMti Um MaM-um.)
lai| iA» l«vat caW* oir Taaa dlraci aaaMad h' aall UwM lh«a «lMil »•
baal (asK^iWiulia '"« Uia KtUl) Tiaifa la Ikia etay, TIM tMomimt
CMBpawaa a part at alMteaal aatactioa ul », COCOA, *c>«. I* iwiM
A» w •• ,-^i;i/Q»a»««i'."'»»« wko |iiy • aaroad |«ulii ■f apaM all
yaan '"►' Mir M«>«l> wltl* V^ M triX>VI! t* ItR maitM— ao
c«naM>'rrd aaaaa all kuadrad lndl*l4Mla.«rbo hnvr ihrm In nrnxtani
aaa, «ad caa taaiiiy tn IMi a aahaa pw«ae« tl «>»in kmaiin ■■iii
Tharc aw tmr itaii 1. > I aB< 4 ; Ik* N<>. 4 li •uiiaMa for Ikr lanaM
Haaa ' ..nrluiiTrly artonly of »4J«»T"0»rs »^r S7.f7*. a.ad. la anm.
Jin>a« a*ara ar. #»a«nM. Wr »• raulN.n Sto»tMi«a*, ^ C B ii'rtia
uaia rapaMa »r^ aiaklaf all and rrrtx laipruaoaMai ^ HflCi^iary lu ilia
advanuir ol ik« Hiova. tiy- Wa kaaa aa aaud an a^Hmmrnt c>l m kar
Hiaaaa aa canha faaad In 1.4m all— ItarMuw'* I'MiahlrOraia.a^Baa;
naitk ■'■ A.T. failor. a ant liraaiirBl anir.ta 1 ra>i baaWakai i;o|ipa<
and laaa ISi nipa 1 WiHidra I'awpa : Em Mllaa, anaaiaU«4 1 wtlk a
(raaaal aaauriaMBI at Wr akould br happy to rnfat to Iba
Mhiarla(,wlM kad ibr Ha^ Hiaia la aaa far a4 WiMn, II M Wrl(M,
Akmai Piracb, laaaii NatU, ■ HBaad, Manaaj, Aadraw lliaaihrra,
(BlaaabatTj flwaual Applalun, (App-Cufp) A BTmM. (•••('■ CarpO
rekr>ka. i»\. Urn Mr Rarry, Bav Mr rtrirkar, J I'm Willianiv fkn niranin.
(44 PreacMtJ Kurdyca Cukuiii, ( VMaicaa^y , ) ■lakaad Maaaar.
(MaatlHoa,) MiaKIaal«a.Oraa(r Fl. nri I., lion I'a tilaa, UqnM aiid
Fuardar Bvata. Prari r..«dr-r. Fancy Coloina B.(l»l Pr,rT«ry \uii«-ly ul
MadI and Fanry i«oip«. Ml) W'kite, 1 noiti fowdrr.Kall, Hair, FIrah and
riotkoa Rniakm, flna Iran Oaaika, 7'anik IVta, Twnaarta, l.«M»'a
Kiimrla (a full aaMximrni). ( ba*lng t'reaaia, Haii Traaarrallrra. Hair
r>y«a. A«t Ail ika akavr artMtaa aad aiaaa othara aaaaaaaty Kh Ibr
UtHal a> paaaaaal eoMliin, aia far aala rktsap ky O S. KAhTMAM »
<:o. ayulbirartaa="" wyawn="" taekaafa.="" earaat="" uaaual=""
aail="" maraiaack="" ala.="" apfl=""> A.awacvurvwuLt, iwakkhovkb.
FlB« tiuarkoBt. •Seta, tika »iv. 3U. 40c, tua. • >■•• I.W l.na I en
1.70 t,MI m li.4ft •.a i.1w IjM I.7S l,M y.4u 9,1a Hyanii, Ntiit
uihirfanc) > kopa, ai)uaUy Kkvap, all uf wliKkamlkr (luwib uf IrSU.
OovaraatrM Ja«a, Oarfn Jaaa, Mocha, Form rakalla,
I'ualtKMo.C'Mlia.tiapa and *. Itairttafo tMIFFKeil, ohick wa Buu) aail
Uriad aaraalaaa avaay utkar da), and warraai 10 five aalMlacttaau fy-
We wmihl alao aaip, that Ihia la Ibe oi>i.j rLiri la ihiartiy wbxre Iha
ratakrated prepar«tln| rwiil rarfo, l>«. 4>ri'an 'I'aa Anew, «l,
r>«alailBf la pan of Bonflra, Nnane k Maaoa'a. Cumrr, Ik* A In *a
relehraled raal Irua PI.OWH, of eraiy 4aarripllon ; Baton'a Wmaghl
Iron Flowa. _-.-__ — Hanmrat Tranaplanliii|TmiraU| 4 and 6 Ua*4
Maaarc Parka;' Weading Oaai tlaal BpaOea ) rwiy (*ntlrra. '• ••
Hbaaala; il«r«e and llnnd Bakaaj ' •• •• Bakaa ; ' ling lluaa , auil.i,(
furalabad aiaba'iaaUoa. HTBPIICN .WA.v.oUB. •11 lluiaabalal.
CABHMRRK , LOVO Ain) SQUABE SHAWI8, IlKKi^ fiiMifM*, Rirn
8ILK^•. *r. BT. II.ARHY »i:i open Ikta day,— unr l»l af • Caabiarre
Lone Skaala ; I do. do. du. WXLDBR'B PATENT SALAMAKDER SAFES,
Ha. a.1 Maralukiata* Row, B«>liTOa, COHJ^MH or CHJITH»M
BIMKKT. Tha followlagla«lar fVnia Iha proprlatornf Iha Cbalaaa
l^uadry, Ua proof of tba aaparlorqualliiaanf' tbia Bala : CHauaa, Mav
Ik, 1848. .Aiila C ITiUtT, faf 1 — Ilea/ Sir ; la reply 10 your nola, I
ba«a Ibe piraaure u, aai ibal ihr hooka and laipera oiB tiilliad la llie .■
ilie burning uf Iha Cbalaea I aaa dry, ua ibe Bi(bl of Ibe 111^ ta
laaual. Tliara wnn impara and baak ntrfaa in Iha drawera ul ilia
(>afe, whirk bad aa Biipearanee ul bavin* paaaed Ihiuugb Kra. Tha
Safa aaaa tiu4>aed lu .,n mianaa baal fur aaveral houra Kcapecllully
yoara. dl'tPHKN Hiai.BY. Tha follawiBi Uum froai ibe Muparlnirndent
ul iba Malaa Telegraph ('nmpany, la another proof uf Iha aapa rluruy
of JuUN £. WILDEB'ti Hafauaar all mlirra: Baaaoa.flcl. «4, l»49. JWka
E. ITiidir, JCaf .— IVear l^lr : Tha Pa fa I piirrliaaad of you waa
eipoaed lu a great detrea of baal al Iba but a Ing of Iba Teiegra|ih
oAre la tbia «iiy li waa In Ibe kra ail hfHira \ ibe ko«ika ami pnpera
were uniBjarrd, dnd Iba dimaaa Ui lk« Hafe very inflinc. alihougk 11
fell from iba aeiond auiry lo Ibe baarmeni of Ibe hulliling Tka llllla r«-
p«ira aeaaaMary lo ika Mafe have haen mada. and wa ahall ad nrad
10 raiura II. It in aiill aa gi«d aa naw. Beapaclfany yoara, JAME8
F.DllV. In add M Ion lo Iba akova certiAcatea la favor of Ihaaa 8afea,
I racelved a Dipaiina and Silver Medal fu lt# bral 8«le al Iha lata Fair
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