The earlier records of New England have preserved the memory of an incident which deserves mention as showing how the historian’s life was saved by a quickwitted handmaid, more than a hundred years before he was born.  On the 29th of August, 1708, the French and Indians from Canada made an attack upon the town of Haverhill, in Massachusetts.  Thirty or forty persons were slaughtered, and many others were carried captive into Canada.

The minister of the town, Rev. Benjamin Rolfe, was killed by a bullet through the door of his house.  Two of his daughters, Mary, aged thirteen, and Elizabeth, aged nine, were sleeping in a room with the maid-servant, Hagar.  When Hagar heard the whoop of the savages she seized the children, ran with them into the cellar, and, after concealing them under two large washtubs, hid herself.  The Indians ransacked the cellar, but missed the prey.  Elizabeth, the younger of the two girls, grew up and married the Rev. Samuel Checkley, first minister of the “New South” Church, Boston.  Her son, Rev. Samuel Checkley, Junior, was minister of the Second Church, and his successor, Rev. John Lothrop, or Lathrop, as it was more commonly spelled, married his daughter.  Dr. Lothrop was great-grandson of Rev. John Lothrop, of Scituate, who had been imprisoned in England for nonconformity.  The Checkleys were from Preston Capes, in Northamptonshire.  The name is probably identical with that of the Chicheles or Chichleys, a well-known Northamptonshire family.

Thomas Motley married Anna, daughter of the Rev. John Lothrop, granddaughter of the Rev. Samuel Checkley, Junior, the two ministers mentioned above, both honored in their day and generation.  Eight children were born of this marriage, of whom four are still living.

John Lothrop Motley, the second of these children, was born in Dorchester, now a part of Boston, Massachusetts, on the 15th of April, 1814.  A member of his family gives a most pleasing and interesting picture, from his own recollections and from what his mother told him, of the childhood which was to develop into such rich maturity.  The boy was rather delicate in organization, and not much given to outdoor amusements, except skating and swimming, of which last exercise he was very fond in his young days, and in which he excelled.  He was a great reader, never idle, but always had a book in his hand,—­a volume of poetry or one of the novels of Scott or Cooper.  His fondness for plays and declamation is illustrated by the story told by a younger brother, who remembers being wrapped up in a shawl and kept quiet by sweetmeats, while he figured as the dead Caesar, and his brother, the future historian, delivered the speech of Antony over his prostrate body.  He was of a most sensitive nature, easily excited, but not tenacious of any irritated feelings, with a quick sense of honor, and the most entirely truthful child, his mother used to say, that she had ever seen.  Such are some of the recollections of those who knew him in his earliest years and in the most intimate relations.