TIMOTHY WAS BEFORE YOU
BY whatever road you return to Dartmouth, from north, south, east, or west, the last turn to Hanover Plain is always upward. At this desired ending the road takes a final climbing quirk of anticipation. However long you have been away, that sense of upward turning is yours as you come at last to the long summer sunlight over the green square, the changed yet unchanged and familiar shadows and trees and belfry. You are back. The years are nothing.
You may feel this in this year of 1955. But others were before you in that, and here is the story of one of them. He was Timothy Dickinson, Class of 1785, in 1786 Preceptor of Moor's Indian Charity School, long Pastor of the Church of Christ in Holliston, Massachusetts, and great-uncle of Emily Dickinson. He came back to Hanover to attend the graduation of his brother, Samuel Fowler Dickinson, at the Commencement of 1795, and in diary he recorded not only what he saw and heard and did but also something deeper that still has meaning for us.
This Timothy was born in Amherst, Massachusetts, in 1761 and, like many of us since, was a war veteran. He signed up first in '77, and helped lick Johnny Burgoyne at Bennington; and he served nine months in 1779, enlisted in the Continental Army for a three-year hitch but was invalided out. He went home, but there was something beyond the Amherst acres of the farm. And he prepared under Timothy Dwight, later President of Yale College, and entered Dartmouth in 1781. Of his years here we have no record. What he studied was minor; what he carried away was of major importance. He was to tell that, in this diary; during those years he found a necessary place in the world. Again, here he is like many of us. Perhaps Dartmouth is best remembered for that.
Later, at Newburyport, he studied under Dr. Tappan, later Hollis Professor of Divinity at Harvard. He was ordained, and for a time filled the pulpit in Hopkinton, New Hampshire. In 1789 he was called to the church at Holliston, married a daughter of his predecessor, moved into the old manse, and started keeping a diary.
This Timothy was no pale parson, cloistered in his study; the man revealed in his brief entries had an extraordinary vitality. He comments on world events, and his times like ours were troubled. A new world was in the making; we had set up a republic; now France followed. He refers time and again to "The Rights of Man," and Tom Paine's phrase does not come oddly from this parson's pen. "Europe trembling to the center - the Rights of Man asserted successfully." "Great things brewing in England; the Rights of Man the question." "The Rights of Man more studied in the world. Vivat Republica."
The rights of man were liberty, property, security, and resistance to tyranny - the Four Freedoms of that day. But as the long shadow of Napoleon darkened the world the tone of his entries changes. "Bonaparte chosen First-Consul for life. Not a Republickan." He condemned the English Court: "Being a Republickan, I am sentimentally & heartily opposed to the whole System of their Politicks." Yet he kept a rare poise. He writes, "There must be something always in agitation, while men are men in mundo." And, after a vigorous entry, "I make an individual of this selfish and unrighteous world!" You begin to get glimpses of what Timothy carried away from Dartmouth.
He is a commentator on world affairs, a parson involved in bickerings with his deacons, and he is a farmer as well. His farmer's eyes saw the earth-colored years pass; his preacher's quill set it down. The years began with snow; the roads were packed and hauling was easy. "In my study. My ears are almost continually saluted by the Gingle of Sleigh bells."
He got in wood, he plowed. Timothy had usually a hired man; many times a boy or two studied with him, preparing for college. "With my Scholars in the morning. Then laid Wall. Barzillai plowed my rye field above the Burying Yard." In mid-summer his diary entries dwindle to brief lines. "Everybody that can labor is engaged in husbandry. Nobody goes to market from us." He "got in three loads of hay." "Two loads got in." And, thankfully, "Got in my last load, just before the shower." The year deepens and ripens. "The neighbors came in, husked my Corn." "Took up my Bees." "I have swapped my Steers, giving boot, and begin to. fatten my old Oxen by giving them Provinder." So pass seedtime and harvest, wet summers and Septembers when the corn rolled tight and the brooks shrank.
ONE thread that runs through these diaries of Timothy's, cropping up now and then, comes to full surface in August of 1795. That was his steady affection for the Dartmouth of his youth. Yearly he records the date of Commencement, and there are frequent references to his classmates. Through July of 1795 his diary plods along; it was haying time, and Timothy thought himself excused for preaching a former sermon. He records that "Colo. Revere of Boston passed the forenoon at my house, with Dr. Richardson. We were much entertained and interested in the Colonel's narration of the Affair at Lexington, 1775."
Then, on a mid-August Sunday, Timothy's congregation was given something to talk about. The long sermon ended, he made a brief announcement. His brother Fowler was to graduate from Dartmouth, and he would attend the Commencement. The pulpit would be supplied. There is a deal of dry New England reticence about this man; his plans were made, freshironed ruffles carefully folded away in saddlebags. He smiled a trifle, inwardly, as his people exchanged glances, swung into the final prayer.
And on Monday morning, before sunrise, he set out. The saddlebags creak with the chirping of small crickets, dust rises to powder the sky-blue of roadside chicory, and the Old North Bridge rings hollow as he crosses. "I went through Concord; experienced the civilities of Mr. Packard at Chelmsford; & rode in the Evening to Huston's in Tyngsborough, an excellent Tavern, copper-colored." A good day's travel; forty miles.
He went on, next morning, at dawn, and breakfasted at the Rev. Mr. Kidder's, in Dunstable, in company with "a .Table full of amiable daughters." Travel could be pleasant, in 1795. With a Mr. Wood he rode through a sandy land of orchards; at Bedford he fell in with Quakers going to a monthly meeting at Ware and travelled in their company toward Goffstown. There is a Chaucerian note here, a brief New England Canterbury Tale; sober Timothy in parson's black, the Quaker brown and gray, the bonneted Quakeresses riding pillion, the quaint thee's and thou's. "The dress of their women is charming to me. Simplicity is powerful." So Thoreau might have written.
He stopped that night with Brother Harris in Dunbarton, above the great westward bowl among the silent hills. The next day he came to Hopkinton, lingered there, made but twenty-five miles in two days. He had preached here before accepting the call to Holliston, and there were old friends to visit, news of crops and politics to exchange. He writes, "Since coming into New-Hampshire I have admired the Loaded Orchards, exuberant Goodness, & the wisdom of their Government in ordering Guide Posts, at the parting of Roads." So are we today, Timothy, grateful for route signs. He left Hopkinton, reluctantly, to tarry with Mr. Severan in Salisbury.
Then a last full day of riding, a good fifty miles. He dined at Bullock's, pressed on to the College, arrived at evening. Across the river the Norwich hills are dark against the last light; town and college lie below. He shakes the reins and goes down, then up that last climbing turn. His horse trudges wearily toward Colonel Brewster's tavern, where the Inn now stands. Someone stops, looks, comes over. "Dickinson, '85? Glad to see you. Here, hand down those saddlebags." Timothy swings down stiffly. He is home again.
IN Timothy's diary the entries for the following five days - with one exception ring with clear happiness. On the next day he recorded, "At College. Bells. Musick. Salutations. Invitations. Students walking, riding, & running. New Buildings. The Arts do flourish here. Spatious stores. Post & Printing Offices. I am happy to see you, will you take tea with me? etc. I delivered a Sermon, in the Chapel at Evening Prayers."
So much was new, since his time! The Chapel had been built in 1790, southwest of Dartmouth Hall, partly in front of the site of Thornton. Dartmouth Hall itself, started during Timothy's time, stood new and complete. To the north of the College Yard of that day, where Rollins Chapel now stands, the Academy and Commons Hall had been built in 1791. Here was Josiah Dunham's printing office, and Sam McClure ran a post-office in his barber and tailor shop, about where the Administration Building now stands. And Timothy, the old grad, took tea, preached at evening prayers, and rejoiced in his heart that Dartmouth had so prospered.
On the Lord's Day, August 23rd, his brother Ezekiel and sister Irene came up from Amherst; they attended three meetings in the Chapel and heard the Rev. Dr. Smith of the College, Rev. Mr. Gillet of Hallowell, and the Rev. Mr. Vaile of Haddam. And Timothy "walked on the Plain, in the Evening, with my Sister, Miss Sawyer, & others." One wonders whether Timothy discussed the sermons or told tales of his college days.
On Monday he records eagerly, "We are to expect One Scene of Exhibitions till Commencement be over. At 10 o'clock A.M. The Musical Society exhibited an Oration and 2 excellent pieces of Musick. At 2 o'clock P.M. The Social Friends' Oration, and in the Evening their Dialogue, with Musick & Epilogue Theatrick." And on Tuesday, "at 10 o'clock the P.B.K. Society assembled, marched to the Chapel - were addressed by Mr. Williston in an excellent Oration, in favour of those Animals who cannot plead for themselves. The Society returned & Dined together, in Grave's Hall. At 5 o'clock P.M. United Fraternity's Oration —in the Evening, their Dialogue. An Illumination of the College Hall closed the scene. It is to be noted, these Societies are composed of members from all classes, and they all calculate to have their annual Exhibitions at Commencement."
Whether Timothy approved entirely of the "Epilogue Theatrick" may be questioned. This was new since his day, and like all old grads he was the product of a more simple and a sterner time.
Perhaps he was a little wearied, somewhat dazed by all this splendor, for the entry for the next day was brief. "August 26th 1795. Commencement at Dartmouth College. Exercises in the New Meeting House, for the first time. Much civil company from this New Country. The Audience were entertained with Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Chaldaic Orations, Sylogisms. Forensicks etc. Some however," he notes in relief, "were in Linguavernacula. 32 Graduated A. B. I did not go to the Ball, but conversed with Tutor Fisk until very late in the evening."
Candles flicker in the cool air from the hills while Timothy and Moses Fisk, 1786 - later conductor of the local newspaper, The Eagle - talked against a murmured background of horns and violins from Grave's Hall. And, very late, Timothy crossed the Plain to Colonel Ebenezer Brewster's inn to post his diary and record the one sadness marring these five days. "I am unhappy to have heard the Students in a certain Room, swear profanely. Once swearing was not known at Dartmouth. Now, I conclude, Oaths are not strange things, in this Sacred Place. For," he wrote earnestly, "this Place is sacredly pleasant to me, for, here I saw the wonderful Works of God, in the Outpouring of his Spirit, in 1781. Here, I first rejoiced in the Divine Character & Government. Here, I thought that I first tasted that the Lord was gracious. There are several things associated in idea, with this College, which makes Profanity more Shocking to me here than any where else."
That sounds odd, today? Perhaps. But over Timothy's boyhood in Amherst still hung the fiery cloud of Jonathan Edwards' sermons, the jealous figure of a vengeful God. Nor did Jonathan's grandson, "Old Pope Dwight," preach sweetness and light. But at Dartmouth, as a freshman, Timothy experienced the religious revival of 1781, and here he "first tasted that the Lord was gracious." Here he came into the sun. He was not the first, nor yet the last, to have that happen at Dartmouth.
The next morning, "after many salutations & good wishes," the four Dickinsons rode southward toward Amherst, young Fowler with his sheepskin and the solemn thoughts of the new graduate - into which, probably, neither Amherst College, which he helped found, nor his granddaughter Emily's poems entered. And from Amherst Timothy rode eastward to Holliston, "having performed," he wrote, "a Journey of nearly 400 miles and having seen, in the country through which I passed, many Improvements in Husbandry, Science, Arts, Health, & Plenty.
Timothy was never to revisit this college of his youth, though almost yearly he attended the Commencement at Harvard, to see his students through entrance examinations. He came home shaking his head. "Shameful conduct in the Hall, after Dinner." Again, "The Exercises a Dish of Politicks." And again, "Saw the Lion, & as I rode past the Common on my way home, some were buying, some selling, fiddling, dancing." But then, Timothy was a Dartmouth man, and perhaps a Harvard man would have found a rustic simplicity in Timothy's beloved Commencement.
But he would, surely, have understood Timothy's feeling as he came up that last rise to Hanover Plain and the homecoming. We can, even more than a century and a half later.
