CHAPTER XXXVII.

The Old Stone House In 1788-The First Bedminster TavernJohn Malick, Innkeeper-The Practice of Medicine in the Last Century.

The drag-net of history brings to the surface both big and little fishes. Our seine no longer sinks into deep or troubled waters but explores peaceful shallows, and we must be content with such catches as these lesser fishing-grounds afford. Now that the interest of colonial times no longer attaches to our narrative, and now that the fragrant smoke of the calumet of peace has taken the place of the flaring torch of war, it is reasonable to suppose that to some extent the general reader will lose interest in these pages. The remaining chapters must necessarily be devoted to the sober, and doubtless tame, chronicles of the ordinary incidents in the lives of the members of a simple country family. Possibly those readers who remain with the writer to the end will find that their time has not been altogether misspent. Perhaps such ones may feel the satisfaction that often comes to those few favored kinsmen and neighbors who, when the guests have departed and the lights are low, linger with their host about the fire for a parting glass, and pass a final hour in social sympathy and intercourse. Such a time always opens the sluices of the heart, and brings that comfortable enjoyment of each other that can only exist between those bound by the ties of intimate friendship.

As we occasionally look upon the miniature world revolving within the narrow horizon of the walls of the Old Stone House it ever presents a different aspect. With each successive season, with each decade and generation, changes are always to be noted. Children grow to be men and women. Familiar faces alter as their lines deepen, tracing where tears have flowed, where mirth

has lurked, where sunshine and shade have chased each other across their owners' lives. As we turn again in the year 1788 to survey the Bedminster household we discover little tremulous tones in Aaron's voice which tell of the seventy-two years that have over him gone. We find that the tide in the current of his family-life, which swelled with the birth and growth of each child, now, having passed the flood, is on the ebb. Children grown to be men and women soon find homes of their own, and Aaron's offspring were no exception to this rule. His generation, like the one it succeeded, is making way for the one that is to follow, for four of his children have taken husbands and wives, and a second Aaron is playing about the hearth of the deepchested fireplace in the living-room.

Catharine, the oldest daughter, married in 1782 Peter Perine, a fellow-campaigner of her brother John. His emigrant ancestor and great-great-grandfather was Daniel Perine of the Channel island of Jersey, who came to America in 1665 on the ship Philip, with Governor Philip Carteret. Peter Perine and Catharine Melick moved to Salem, Washington county, New York, in which vicinity numerous descendants of their seven children are still living. Margaret, Aaron's second daughter, married, in about 1787, Joseph Gaston. They moved to Northumberland county, Pennsylvania, where they had seven children, whose descendants are distributed in different parts of that state. Daniel, Aaron's second son, had married his playmate from over the brook, Margaret Gaston, in 1785, their first child, Aaron, having been born in April 1786. Before this time he had entered into partnership with his father in the tannery, and their books and papers show them to have carried on at that time a large and prosperous business. Daniel spent his life on the "Old Farm." His twelve children were born in the stone house, five of them making it their homes for their lives.

Before the time of which we are now writing Aaron had come into possession of the entire tract of land originally purchased by his father from George Leslie. It will be remembered that Aaron's brother Peter inherited that portion of the land lying on the Lamington road. This property he conveyed to Aaron as early as 1772, but does not appear to have given possession until several years later. As we have

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seen, he was living on this inheritance at the time of the capture of General Lee in 1776. From two paid bonds in my possession, aggregating two hundred and sixty-seven pounds, given by Aaron to Peter in 1777, I draw the conclusion that the transfer was consummated at that time. Sometime during the war Peter left the neighborhood, living for awhile at Perth Amboy. Ultimately he settled in the vicinity of Martinsville in Somerset county, where some of his descendants are still living.

Aaron's eldest son, John the Revolutionary soldier, celebrated the advent of peace by taking unto himself a wife. In April, 1783, he married Jane Coriel, a Somerset maiden eighteen years old. Three years later his father established him in business by building for him on the corner of the Peapack and Lamington roads the first Bedminster tavern. A portion of this original structure is still to be seen in the present edifice. Large barns and sheds were erected on the opposite corner on the present site of Martin Bunn's store. So now we know how at least one of the continental soldiers occupied himself when campaigning was over. We may readily imagine that while comfortably seated before his tap-room fire he shortened winter evenings by re-fighting his battles for the benefit of friends and admiring neighbors. In those old days, when all travel was in the saddle or on wagon wheels, the innkeeper was a man of much consequence in the community, and the door of the village tavern was not considered the entrance to a bridge connecting vice and morality.

So it was, that not only the chance traveller, catching sight of John's swinging sign, found rest and comfort at his little hostelrie; here, on the sanded floor of his old-fashioned bar in cold weather, or on the long benches flanking the front porch in summer, were to be found all grades of rural society, from the village magnate to "Boots" and the hostler. Here came federalist and republican to dispute and argue over their glasses on politics and party; here came old soldiers to tell over and over again how the day was won at Princeton and at Monmouth; here came the gossiping doctor to bait his horse and only too ready to disseminate the news gained in his daily peregrinations; even the ministers thought it no sin to go out of their way in order to stop for a chat with John and his wife; nor did they consider that they

were putting an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains, while enjoying honest libations of liquor that had mellowed within their host's oaken staves.

That some of the doctor's visits to Bedminster tavern were professional is shown by the following bill, which is an interesting exhibit as to the generous doses prescribed by old-time physicians:

Doctor William McKissack was at that time a resident of Pluckamin, but he subsequently removed to Bound Brook, where he died in 1831, aged seventy-seven. He enjoyed an extensive practice and was widely known and esteemed for his professional judgment and skill. The country physician of colonial days, and of the years ending with the last century, led a laborious life. Most of his waking hours were spent in riding long distances over bad roads. He was obliged to be hail-fellow well-met with every one in the county, for on his popularity largely depended his professional success. In those toping-days there was always something on the sideboard for the doctor, of which he was rarely loath to take advantage; consequently, he generally mellowed with the years, grew rotund in person, and, like Hawthorne's middle-aged Englishman, "his legs abbreviated themselves, and his stomach assumed that dignified prominence which justly belonged to that metropolis of his system." His eye contracted a merry twinkle, a chuckle lurked in his full throat always ready for use, and gradually he grew to be known as a peripatetic story-teller, and often the best gossip in the county.

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So it was with Doctor McKissack. At the time of his visits to John Malick's family he was already a large, burly man with an expansive girth. Owing to his great popularity he was welcomed by every one, and, being a generous liver, it is said that sometimes he too frequently accepted the invitation of his friends and patients to recoup himself after arduous hours on the road. Doctor A. W. McDowell, in writing of old times in Pluckamin, says that on one occasion Doctor McKissack drove from that village to Somerville. Starting for home after nightfall, a little exhilarated, he mounted his horse forgetting that there was a sulky behind. On the way back, disturbed by the noise of the wheels, he continually cried out, "Turn out! Turn out behind! don't run over me!" Still the rattle of the wheels continued, and in constant fear he journeyed on. It was not until he reached Pluckamin that the discovery was made that he was astride of a harnessed horse hooked to his own empty sulky.

The gradual growth of medical knowledge in New Jersey is an interesting study. The beginning of things for the healing art may be said to date after the year 1670, for it was of then that Oldmixon, the ancient historian, wrote that the province had no lawyers, physicians, or parsons. To have been without a curer for soul, body or estate suggests a society in its most primitive stage. Even early in the last century New Jersey possessed few or no regular medical practitioners. We have already made the acquaintance of John Johnstone of Perth Amboy, who about the year 1700 stood almost alone as a skilful physician. But he held too many public offices within the gift of the people and of the crown to find time for medical practice, except when without pay he alleviated the ills of the poor. At that time wherever a church was planted there was apt to be a fair physician in the minister, but the people, generally, were obliged to doctor themselves, or, what was worse, to rely upon the services of ignorant old women and their herbs. Even up to the middle of the eighteenth century in the sparsely settled portions of the country the healing art was almost wholly in the hands of such persons. The basis of most of their remedies was sassafras and other simple roots and herbs from which decoctions were made, infused with much ignorance and not a little superstition. Professor Kalm makes mention of medical women