Teaching the Family Tradition: George Washington Adams and John Adams II Learn to Write and Preserve Letters

By Miriam Liebman, Adams Papers

In the summer of 1809 as John Quincy Adams prepared to set sail for St. Petersburg, Russia where he would serve as U.S. minister until 1814 with his wife Louisa Catherine and their son Charles Francis, he made plans for his two older sons, George Washington Adams and John Adams II, to stay with family in Quincy, much to his wife’s protest. While John Quincy had spent brief periods away from his children when he served as a U.S. Senator for Massachusetts in Washington, D.C., this would be the longest and furthest away he would be from his two older sons.

While he was in Russia, John Quincy wrote letters to his sons, who were now eight and six years old, for the first time. Previously, he would include brief notes or pieces of advice to them in letters addressed to either his wife or parents. As with his other letters from Russia, these were long letters filled with information and advice. In the letters to his sons, he focused on their education, writing, and penmanship, all highly valued skills by the Adams family. He also reminded his sons of their place in the world. He wrote, “you should each of you, consider yourself, as placed here to act a part— That is to have some single great end or object to accomplish; towards which all the views and all the labours of your existence should steadily be directed.”

Within these letters, he explained to his sons the family mandate: writing and recording one’s correspondence. This family practice went back to when his father, John Adams, first wrote of this idea to his mother Abigail Adams, on 2 June 1776 explaining how he had not kept a record of his correspondence and now purchased a folio book to keep track of his letters. John Adams did not wait long to pass this now family tradition on to John Quincy Adams. On 27 September 1778, John Quincy, while abroad in Europe, wrote to Abigail Adams about how his father taught him this same mandate. He wrote, “My Pappa enjoins it upon me to keep a journal, or a diary, of the Events that happen to me, and of the objects I See, and of Characters that I converse with from day, to day.” As he was only eleven years old at the time, he continued, “altho I am Convinced of the utility, importance, & necessity, of this Exercise, yet I have not patience, & perseverance, enough to do it so Constantly as I ought.”

detail of a handwritten letter
John Quincy Adams’s letter to his son George Washington Adams, 3 September 1810.

John Quincy did not wait until his sons were eleven years old to teach them the family practice and used his letters to his sons from Russia to introduce them to the family mandate. John Quincy provided practical advice for how George Washington Adams should keep track of his letters, a key part to preserving and recording one’s letters. The first step, according to John Quincy, was to keep all the letters he received from his parents. As part of this step, he advised his son to follow his lead and number the letters he sends. John Quincy wrote, “I have therefore numbered this letter at the top, and will continue to number those that I shall write you hereafter— Thus you will know whether you receive all the letters that I shall write you, and when you answer them you must always tell me the number or the date of the last letter you have received from me—.” In case George Washington Adams was not sure what his father meant, John Quincy told him to ask his uncle Thomas Boylston Adams how to number them, but also how to endorse and file them. He then suggested storing them in “some safe place” so that he could read them again if he wanted.

John Quincy provided similar instructions to John Adams II. Upon receiving his first letter from his second son, John Quincy “marked it down, number one, and put it upon my file.” While not providing the same detailed instructions, which George Washington Adams likely explained to his younger brother, John Quincy did have similar expectations that his second son would write him letters demonstrating his improved penmanship. He noted that since this began their individual correspondence, he noted it as number one, and that he was “very well pleased that you have resolved to keep your own file; and hope that it will be followed by an entertaining and instructive correspondence between us.”

John Quincy Adams’s letter to his son John Adams II, 15 June 1811.

With these letters sent to his sons thousands of miles away, John Quincy began to teach the next generation of Adamses the important family tradition of writing, recording, and preserving correspondence.

The Adams Papers editorial project at the Massachusetts Historical Society gratefully acknowledges the generous support of our sponsors. Major funding of the edition is currently provided by the National Endowment for the Humanities, the National Historical Publications and Records Commission, and the Packard Humanities Institute.

Posted in From Our Collections Tagged

Of Sun and Sand: Beaches in the MHS Collections

By Meg Szydlik, Visitor Services Coordinator

As this very rainy summer winds down and fall peeks its head out from around the corner, I find myself thinking wistfully about going to the beach. Growing up in NJ meant that summer was full of trips to the shore and the boardwalk. I formed a strong affinity for the beach. This wet and dreary summer has made taking a trip out to one of the many beaches around Boston difficult. Instead, I decided to take a virtual visit to some of the beach scenes that the MHS has in its archives. There are quite a few! It’s not quite as good as getting the sand between my toes, but it is delightful to see people from all different times enjoying themselves at the beach just like I do.

Black and white scene of a beach. There is a little boy in the foreground. In the background there is a pair close to the water and a group of people playing with a ball further from the water.
North End Bathing Beach, Boston, possibly by Arthur A. Shurcliff, circa 1920s

Heather Rockwood wrote a blog last year about some of Boston’s beaches but these are far from the only beaches in the MHS collections. One such example is the image of a bathing beach in the North End. The little boy in the foreground drew me in immediately with the mischievous glint in his eyes as he looks at the camera and the mostly empty beach in the background. He is not alone, though. On the other side of the beach, some more people are in view, including a group that looks like they are playing some kind of game and an older pair looking out at the water. However, instead of the bathing suits I grew up wearing, everyone is fully dressed in normal clothing. Despite that, this is very recognizable as a scene at a beach today, just as the crowded beach labeled as “probably in Boston area” from the same collection elicits a sense of salt air and giggling as children run through the crowds of people and umbrellas. Despite being from the 1910s, the image is familiar and nostalgic to me more than 100 years later.

Scene of a beach. There are lots of people sitting under umbrellas and playing in the water. The image is black and white
View of crowded beach, probably in Boston area, unidentified photographer, circa 1910s.

Now that’s what I call beach!

Beach paintings are also a theme I recognize. I love the paintings of blue skies and oceans and charming beaches that show up in MHS collections, including a collection by Henry Adams. A watercolor of a beach in the Caribbean is especially interesting to me. It’s not terribly sophisticated but it captures the sense of peace that I always feel at the beach. Adams also created sketches of people and palm trees on the beach. It almost makes me want to dive in myself! The romance of sunny beaches in faraway lands is enticing and looking through these examples is delightful.

Watercolor of a beach. The bulk of the beach was created by the page intentionally left blank. There is darker coastline to the left. The water is very blue and the sky is a slightly lighter blue. The scene does not have any people.
[A beach on the Caribbean. Nassau? 1894-5], by Henry Adams.

If you haven’t been to the beach in a while, looking through some of the MHS collections can be a great way to “go to the beach” virtually. I know I enjoyed flipping through all the beautiful pictures! If beaches are not your scene, though, the Beehive has explored plenty of other places, including the White Mountains, New Zealand, Europe, and cross-country trips. Explore our archives and blogs to plan your virtual vacation!

Posted in From Our Collections

Edward Atkinson, Eleazer Carver, and the Ginning of Port Royal Cotton during the Civil War

By Ian Delahanty, Springfield College, MHS Suzanne and Caleb Loring Fellow

Much was riding on the cotton crop that flowered on Port Royal Island in the autumn of 1862.  Occupied by Union forces since November 1861, Port Royal soon became the focal point of a radical experiment in the employment of free Black labor.  One of the people at the center of this experiment was Edward Atkinson, a Massachusetts industrialist and reformer whose status as a wunderkind of cotton textile manufacturing was preceded only by his reputation as a proponent of free labor.  By 1857, the 30-year-old Atkinson managed six textile miles in New England.  He had also devised a scheme to establish a colony of free Black laborers in western Texas and, in 1859, he would attempt to prove that imported African-grown cotton could supplant slave-grown southern cotton in the American market.[1]  Secession and the outbreak of civil war in 1860-61 disrupted those plans.   

But in 1862, Atkinson and dozens of other like-minded abolitionists and missionaries in Boston and New York concluded that African Americans’ productive and moral capacities in freedom could be demonstrated by the 8,000 or so newly freed people around Port Royal.  In June, they formed The Educational Commission for Freedmen, an organization dedicated to the industrial, social, intellectual, moral and religious uplift of newly freed slaves.  As one contemporary put it, “the success of a productive colony there [at Port Royal] would serve as a womb for the emancipation at large.”[2]  In October, as boles of Sea Island cotton blossomed around Port Royal, Atkinson looked to have the cotton ginned in a manner that would render it as clean and as valuable as possible.  He had one man in mind for the job: Eleazer Carver. 

“Educational Commission List of Officers, 1862.jpg”: Included in Atkinson’s papers at the MHS is this list of officers and committees of the Educational Commission for Freedmen, which lists Atkinson as the organization’s secretary.  Ms-298: Edward Atkinson Papers, General Correspondence, Carton 1: 1819-1871. Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston.

Carver is one of the central figures in my study of New England’s cotton gin manufacturers, which I’ve pursued at the MHS as the 2023-24 Suzanne and Caleb Loring Fellow.  By 1862, he had nearly half a century of experience manufacturing cotton gins and was the proprietor of E. Carver Cotton Gin Company in East Bridgewater, Massachusetts.  Having established himself as a reputable gin repairman and manufacturer after arriving in the Mississippi Valley in 1806, Carver returned to his native Bridgewater in 1817 and, with capital invested by the town’s thriving iron manufacturers, incorporated Carver, Washburn, & Co. as New England’s first gin factory.[3]    

“Eagle Cotton Gin Directions.jpg”: Illustration of and directions for assembling a cotton gin produced by the Eagle Cotton Gin Co., one of several gin manufacturers in Bridgewater, Massachusetts during the nineteenth century.  Bdsese n.d. Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston.

Carver-made gins set the industry standard in antebellum America.  In 1853, the New York Exhibition of the Industry of All Nations, a sequel to London’s Crystal Palace Exhibition of 1851, awarded its second-highest highest honor to Carver’s gin.  Alluding to a model of the gin patented by Eli Whitney in 1793 that stood at one end of the exhibition’s arcade, the prize jury noted that Carvery’s gin failed to win its highest recognition “only because Whitney did not leave room for improvements worth that reward.”  This would have come as news to Carver, who over the previous quarter century had in fact patented numerous improvements on the cotton gin.[4] 

Thus, with Sea Island cotton waiting to be ginned in October 1862, Edward Atkinson instructed one of the Port Royal colony’s superintendents to “have Carver … engaged to attend to the gins.”  Upon learning that another official contracted to have the cotton ginned in New York, Atkinson was perplexed by this “adverse decision” and urged one of the colony’s superintendents to arrange for Carver to ship gins to Port Royal.  Unfortunately, Atkinson’s papers yield no further information on whose gins cleaned the Sea Island cotton crop of 1862.

Why was Atkinson so intent on having cotton gins made in East Bridgewater, Massachusetts shipped to Port Royal, South Carolina?  Part of the reason was that ginning the 90,000 pounds of cotton in New York at a premium of two to three cents per pound amounted to a loss of roughly $2,250.00 in profits.  Then too, once the cotton was shipped to New York, the seeds separated from the fiber by the gins—seeds prized by Sea Island planters who knew the fickleness of long-staple cotton—could not be planted for next year’s crop.[5]

But Atkinson’s hopes of procuring gins specifically from Carver’s factory in East Bridgewater are also telling.  As Atkinson noted in a May 1862 letter to one of the colony’s superintendents, the longer fibers of Sea Island cotton were prized by lace and muslin weavers in Britain.[6]  But those fibers were severely damaged by the saw gins typically used to deseed the short-staple upland cotton that grew across most of the American South.  Perhaps Atkinson planned to have Carver produce roller gins that, while less efficient than saw-toothed gins, left intact the longer fibers that were so valued by the agents of British muslin and lace factories. 

Admittedly, this is speculation.  But we do know that by the end of the Civil War, the E. Carver Cotton Gin Co. was producing roller gins.  In fact, in April 1866, as 81-year-old Eleazer Carver gazed out of his bedroom window at the mill he had built, he asked an employee when a certain new roller gin model would be completed.  Informed that it would be finished within a week, Carver replied, “I can live but a little longer, but do wish very much to see its operation.”  He died the next day on April 6.[7] 

“Eleazer Carver Gravesite, Mount Prospect Cemetery”: Eleazer Carver’s gravestone in Mount Prospect Cemetery, Bridgewater.  Author’s personal photograph.  

[1] Frederick Law Olmsted to Edward Atkinson, May 5, 1858; Edward Atkinson to Thomas Clegg, April 20, 1859. Ms. N-298: Edward Atkinson Papers, Volume 1: Letterbook, 12 April 1853-28 December, 1860. Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston. 

[2] Circular, “The Education Commission for Freedmen” (June 1862). General Correspondence, 1819-1920. Carton 1: 1819-1871. Ms. N-298: Edward Atkinson Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston; quote in Willie Lee Rose, Rehearsal for Reconstruction: The Port Royal Experiment (New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1964), 31.

[3] M.C. McMillan, “The Manufacture of Cotton Gins, 1793-1860,” Cotton Gin and Oil Seed Press 94, 10 (May 15, 1993), 6-8.

[4] New York Exhibition of the Industry of all Nations, Official Report of Jury D: Machinery and Civil Engineering Contrivances (New York: DeWitt and Davenport, 1854), 12-13. Box 1854. Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston; Angela Lakwete, Inventing the Cotton Gin: Machine and Myth in Antebellum America (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003), 80-92.

[5] Edward Atkinson to Edward Philbrick, October 14, 1862.  Ms. N-298: Edward Atkinson Papers.  General Correspondence, 1819-1920, Carton 1: 1819-1871.  Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston; Rose, Rehearsal for Reconstruction, 204.

[6] Edward Atkinson to Edward Philbrick, May 19, 1862.  Ms. N-298: Edward Atkinson Papers.  General Correspondence, 1819-1920, Carton 1: 1819-1871.  Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston.

[7] D. Hamilton Hurd, History of Plymouth County, Massachusetts, with Biographical Sketches of Many of Its Pioneers and Prominent Men (Boston: J.W. Lewis & Co., 1884), 866.

Posted in From Our Collections, Research fellow

“Mostly Without a Ripple”: The Journal of Howard J. Ford, Part VI

By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

This is the sixth installment in a series. Click here to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, and Part V.

We return to the story of Pvt. Howard J. Ford of the 43rd Massachusetts Infantry, as told in his Civil War journal at the MHS.

On 21 December 1862, after ten days of hard fighting and marching in the Goldsboro Expedition, the 43rd Regiment returned to New Bern, North Carolina, just in time for Christmas. What followed was a period of relative quiet for Howard. Instead of writing about bullets whizzing over his head, he was free to write about—what else?—food! For example, on Christmas day, Howard had a dinner of hard tack, salt beef, sweet potatoes, and cracker pudding. For supper, he ate boiled rice.

He also had time to reflect on his recent experiences in battle, writing,

Some may wonder how I felt while the balls and shells run across my back, and I knew not but that the next minute would be my last. I admit that I had rather been at home. But still I felt cool and knew everything that passed. […] I could only think of portions of the 91st Psalm. “A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand but it shall not come nigh thee.[”]

You can tell how relieved he was to be out of immediate danger. He took walks to local gardens and wrote with great appreciation of the natural world, the smell of English violets, the roses “bursting out.” He noticed the many beautiful birds wintering around New Bern, including robins, blackbirds, and woodpeckers, and was amused one morning to be awakened by a rooster. The woods teemed with game, and the river flowed “mostly without a ripple.”

On 11 January 1863, Howard’s company was assigned picket duty about seven miles south of New Bern at a place called Evans’ Mill, formerly the plantation of Col. Peter G. Evans. Its job was to protect the operation of the mills. Howard drew a detailed map of the location.

Map of Evans’ Mill from the journal of Howard J. Ford

Personally, I think the “Impassible Swamps” (at the top right) sound like something out of Tolkien. Notice, also, the row of buildings along the bottom labeled “Negro quarters formerly.”

Detail of a building at Evans’ Mill “probably used by the overseer of the plantation slaves”

Howard was bunking with three other soldiers: his brother George and two fellow Cantabrigians, Pvt. Russell L. Snow and Cpl. James K. Odell. When the four men were assigned the “meanest” of the barracks, they decided to rebuild from the ground up. Fortunately, Pvt. Snow was a carpenter, and they finished in just over a week. They were proud of their “little hen house” and enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in a bunk and sitting at an actual table to write letters. Russell L. Snow, incidentally, would go on to build many buildings in and around Cambridge after the war.

But even in the relative comfort of camp, the life of a soldier was hard. Picket duty was particularly nerve-wracking, standing at alert for hours, fearing every night-time noise presaged an attack, “a twig crack here, a limb break there, a yell – a screech – a howl – a cry like a baby.” By now, Howard was accustomed to hardship and usually tried to make the best of things, but he had lost all patience for empty talk of patriotism.

I cant help thinking of Mr. Mason, Richard H. Dana or any other of our big guns who think it a fine thing to be one of those “who fought, bled and died” for the country, how patriotic they would look lugging down Magazine Street all day wood and water for the cook house, or perhaps taking their turn at washing the dirty pans and pails […] A person ought to have practical experience in those things of which he talks. Nothing like cold toes or a hungry stomach to make ones patriotism dwindle down.

In my next post, I’ll tell you what happened on 20 February 1863, what Howard described as “a great day in my term of service as a soldier.”

Posted in From Our Collections

Amusing Hairstyles of the Past

By Heather Rockwood, Communications Manager

When I am taking a long drive, I find ways to amuse myself, such as counting how many log cabins I see or catching snatches of the mooing and neighing farm animals or singing songs at the top of my lungs. I’ve started to notice a similar tendency as I look through the MHS’s archival collection. My latest focus has been hairstyles of the past and how many different or repeated ones I can find.  A number of these styles made me chuckle, and I hope they also bring you a smile.

The only hairdo in this selection of styles that uses the subject’s actual hair and not a wig is A. Alfaro, who had his photograph taken in Washington, DC, on 28 June 1911. I love how the swoops of his hair above his forehead match the swoops of his elegant mustache.

Photograph of a man in a jacket and tie. The man wears a handlebar mustache.
A. Alfaro, by unidentified photographer, from the Dall-Healey Family Photographs

This engraving of John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, shows an older man wearing a very long wig. Because I am a lifelong Star Wars fan, I can’t stop seeing Darth Vader’s helmet in this wig!

Image of a man wearing a long, white wig.
John Wesley, engraving by J. Posselwhite, from a print engraved by J. Fittler, after a miniature painting by J. Barry, from Portraits of American Abolitionists.

Caption: This wig, belonging to Henry Bromfield, came to the MHS with all its accoutrements. Wigs were a lot of work to care for and maintain, and they were made of human hair and horsehair. It took a lot of effort and expendable income to be in style!

Wig, unknown maker, England, 18th century, human hair, horsehair, silk thread, silk ribbon.

One of my favorite hairstyles of the MHS collection—featured in the recent Our Favorites exhibition―is Lucy Flucker Knox’s wig, which could rival Marie Antoinette’s wigs. The part that amuses me with each new viewing of the image is how the hat defies gravity in its precarious perch atop a towering hairdo!

Lucy Flucker Knox, Robert Morris, Silhouette, circa 1790.
Posted in From Our Collections

Censorship in Boston  

By Rakashi Chand, Reading Room Supervisor

On August 1, 1878, thousands gathered at Faneuil Hall in Boston to fight for Free Love.   

A century before the sexual revolution of the 1960’s, Ezra and Angela Heywood were leading a movement to fight for the rights of women, against the oppression and constraints of marriage, and for sexual self-governance. But, how did 19th century Boston react to these ideas? For some, it was an eye-opening revelation, and they turned out in droves at the ‘Indignation Meeting’ to protest the arrest of Ezra Heywood on obscenity charges. For others, such ideas needed to be stopped by any means possible. Hence the New England Society for the Suppression of Vice was born. A precursor to the Watch and Ward Society, the Society for the Suppression of Vice was determined to enforce moral policing of society.  

Ezra Heywood was on the road to a career as a minister when he became disaffected with organized religion and its control of people’s private lives. In 1865, he married Angela Tilden of Worcester, MA, a radical feminist. Following the Civil War, the Ezra and Angela began a life-long fight for women’s rights. While they believed in long-term monogamous unions, they argued that the institution of marriage was nothing more than a contract meant to subdue and control women. They advocated for a woman’s right to choose in areas like sexual relations, birth control, and abortion. In 1872, they launched The Word, a “Free Love” publication sent out to like-minded people across the country. People who read the journal were grouped with Ezra and Angela as anarchists. 

By circulating the journal by mail, Ezra Heywood was in knowing violation of the Comstock Laws, a set of anti-obscenity laws lobbied for by U. S. Postal Inspector Anthony Comstock and passed by Congress in 1873. As a result, Heywood was arrested, imprisoned, and in June 1878 sentenced to two years hard labor in the Dedham Jail. In protest to his imprisonment, the National Liberal League organized the “Indignation Meeting” at Faneuil Hall. While most of the people who turned out were there to defend free speech, some were also there to support “Free Love” as defined by the Heywoods, and vilified by Comstock.  The rally at Faneuil Hall was enough to convince President Rutherford B. Hayes to pardon Ezra Heywood and secure his release from prison.  

From The Proceedings of the Indignation Meeting 
(images from Harvard Libraries on Google Books) 
From The Proceedings of the Indignation Meeting 
(images from Harvard Libraries on Google Books) 

On May 28, 1878, a group of Bostonians gathered in the vestry of the Park Street Church and resolved to establish a New England Society for the Suppression of Vice, taking inspiration from none other than Anthony Comstock who served as the secretary of the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice. The MHS holds New England Society for the Suppression of Vice record book, 1878-1888, which documents some of their activities. 

The records of the society were kept by the secretary, Frederick Baylies Allen, and describe the society’s work to ban books, curtail sex work and gambling, juxtapose themselves in schools, libraries, and courts, and to stop work of people like Ezra and Angela Heywood, whose agitation for women’s rights and autonomy was seen not only as radical, but as anarchical.  

New England Society for the Suppression of Vice record book, 1878-1888

The record book begins with a set of resolutions that praise Comstock for his efforts to curtail the spread of “impure literature” and to protect “our youth from those who would defile their innocence…” 

“Resolutions (May 28th 1878.)  

First.  Resolved: that the hearty thanks of this community are due to Mr. Anthony Comstock, (Secretary of the N. Y, So. For the Suppression of Vice) for his efficient and untiring labors in the extermination of impure literature, in the protection of our youth from those who would defile their innocence, in the condign punishment of the unprincipled offenders, and the brave and unflinching defence of public morals.  

Second.  Resolved: that the circulation of sensational and demoralizing literature among the young has assumed such alarming proportions that it may be characterized as a national evil, calling for the wisest and most earnest cooperation of all good citizens for its suppression or reformation.” 

Following the August rally at Faneuil Hall and Pres. Hayes’s subsequent pledge to free Ezra Heywood, the NESSV made it their goal to block his release. On December 10, 1878, secretary of the society Allen records that 

“Messrs. French and Allen were appointed committee to prepare a petition against the release of Ezra Heywood from prison.” 

And at the society’s regular monthly meeting on December 31, the minutes record that  

Upon report of the Committee [French and Allen] to consider a petition with regard to Ezra D. Heywood’s imprisonment, it was moved and carried that a Com. be appointed to furnish facts to the Aldermen in view of the proposed request for the use of Faneuil Hall for a testimonial to Mr. Heywood. Messrs. Whiting and French were appointed as this committee. 

The minutes of the following month include mention of the work of Whiting and French, as well as some of the expanding activities of the society 

“…the committee appointed to prepare the draft of a State Law for the more efficient suppression of Vice, made a favorable report of progress. Their report was accepted and they were requested to complete their work. The Report of the committee, appointed to resist the granting of Faneuil Hall to the friends of Ezra D. Heywood for a public Reception was made and the committee discharged…” 

Later records of the NESSV demonstrate their attempts to force the Boston Public Library to censor books, and to push for the conviction of booksellers in the city for carrying works that the society deemed inappropriate. At a meeting of the society on December 4, 1882, it was  

*Moved and carried that the Agent proceed at once to obtain legal Evidence of the Sale of [Walt] Whitman’s Book- “Leaves of Grass”, sufficient to secure the conviction of the Booksellers dealing in it. 

*It was then voted that the consent of All the Booksellers shall be sought to agree not to keep or sell said book: – This to be done in the name of the Society over the Signature of the Prest. And the Sec’y… 

The NESSV grew stronger in subsequent years, gaining more supporters and hiring additional agents to carry out their decrees, the society taking it upon itself to decide what was good and what needed to be banned in Boston. In 1891, the NESSV was renamed the Watch and Ward Society, an organization that lasted through much of the 20th century, finally dissolving in 1975. 

After serving six months during his first term in prison and receiving his pardon from Pres. Hayes, Ezra Heywood was arrested and jailed four more times as he continued to fight for the rights of women and laborers, always pushing for equality. During his last stint in prison, Ezra contracted tuberculosis and, less than a year after his release, died in 1892. 

Visit the library to look more closely at the New England Society for the Suppression of Vice records.  

***** 

Further reading on Ezra Heywood 

Posted in From Our Collections