Plymouth memories of an octogenarian

by William T. Davis

With them to rise to everlasting day.”

Isaac P. Davis, born October 7, 1771, was for many years an extensive manufacturer in Boston, owning a rope walk on the mill dam, now Beacon street, and perhaps was more widely known socially in Boston than any man of his time. He was a friend of artists, and a patron of art, whose judgment and taste were freely consulted by purchasers. Stuart, the portrait painter, was his intimate friend, and the horse in the Faneuil Hall picture of Washington, is a portrait of a horse owned by Mr. Davis. After the completion of the picture he presented the study from which it was painted, to Mr. Davis, a picture about 20 by 24 inches, which after the death of Mrs. Davis was sold by Josiah Quincy, and myself, her executors, to Ignatius Sargent, for three thousand dollars. The friendship between Mr. Davis and Mr. Webster may be judged by the following affectionate dedication to him of the second volume of Mr. Webster’s works, published in 1851.

My dear Sir:

“A warm, private friendship has existed between us for more than half our lives interrupted by no untoward occurrence, and never for a minute cooling into indifference. Of this friendship, the source of so much happiness to me, I wish to leave, if not an enduring memorial, at least an affectionate and grateful acknowledgment. I dedicate this volume of my speeches to you.

Daniel Webster.”

Wendell Davis, the youngest brother of my grandfather, born February 13, 1776, graduated at Harvard in 1796, and was clerk of the Massachusetts senate from 1802 to 1805. He studied law with his brother John, and settled in Sandwich. He served by appointment of the Governor as sheriff of Barnstable county, and died, Dec. 30, 1830. He was the father of Hon. George T. Davis of Greenfield, whom Thackery declared the most brilliant conversationalist he had ever met.

My grandfather, William Davis, born July 15, 1758, was trained in the business of his father, Thomas Davis, who was largely engaged in navigation and foreign trade, and with whom he became associated. After the death of his father, March 7, 1785, he continued the business of the firm of Thomas and William Davis with marked success until his death. Notwithstanding the depressing effects of the embargo, and the war of 1812, from which many suffered, I have been unable to discover in his files of business letters any indications of serious injury to his vessels or his trade. My father, William Davis, who died March 22, 1824, at the age of forty-one, was for some years associated with his father in business. My grandfather was representative and member of the executive council, and twenty-five years a member of the board of selectmen. It is perhaps worthy of mention that the services of members of four generations of my family as selectmen, cover a period of fifty-two years. Mr. Davis was also one of the founders of the Plymouth Bank, and its President from 1805 until his death, and one of the founders of the Pilgrim Society, and its first Vice-president.

Before leaving my grandfather’s family I trust that I may be excused for referring to his daughter Betsey, or Elizabeth, as she was called late in life. She was born in the house under discussion, October 28, 1803, and until thirteen years of age attended private schools in Plymouth. After that time for three years, until she was sixteen, she attended the school of Miss Elizabeth Cushing, in the family of Deacon Wm. Cushing of Hingham. Miss Cushing’s school was probably not surpassed by any ladies’ school in the country, and there a solid foundation was laid, which served my aunt so well as the wife of Mr. Bancroft, during his services as minister at London and Berlin. History, geography and public affairs were her special subjects of study, and while in London it was said by Englishmen, that she was so familiar with English politics as to be able to discuss them, and hold her own with the leading statesmen of the Kingdom. To show the extent of her early reading, when a girl, or a young woman, she listened one Sunday to a sermon preached in the Plymouth pulpit by a minister of a Plymouth County town exchanging with Dr. Kendall, which was much admired. It seemed to her that she had read it somewhere, and on going home, succeeded in finding it in a volume of sermons by Rev. Newcome Cappe, an English clergyman, who became pastor of a dissenting congregation in York and served from 1756 to near the end of the century. After looking the sermon over and verifying her suspicions of a wholesale plagiarism, she laid the book down on the centre table with the title in plain sight. In the evening the clergyman called at the house, and during his visit, much to the embarrassment of the hostess, and doubtless to his own bewilderment, sat with the book at his elbow, and the title staring him in the face. I prefer not to mention his name, but my older readers may identify him when I say that invariably when he preached in Plymouth, as he often did, he selected for one of his hymns that from Peale Dabney’s collection, with the familiar verse:

“Mark the soft falling snow,

And the diffusive rain;