VIII
"THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET"
Its Home in an Unspoiled Corner of Pilgrim Land
It is not often that the scenes of a man's
childhood remain measurably intact when that
childhood occurred something over a century
ago. Yet that is the case with Samuel Woodworth,
whose detached name I fancy not one
man in a thousand would recall, even among well-read
people. Yet you have but to mention "The
Old Oaken Bucket" and you get an answering
smile of recognition from the veriest ignoramus.
Even if he cannot recall the words he can whistle
the tune.
People given to moralizing are apt to take instances like this for a topic and wind up with the familiar aphorism, "Such is fame!" And such it seems to be, rightfully enough I dare say. Here was a man of journalistic training and
