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^ :i. Ve S U ESSEX COUNTY HERALD PRESS, ISLAND POND, VT. 1903. PREFATORY. Jny Y father sought the essential quality back of the •-'■^ form, and dwelt upon it with admiration. Be- cause of his seeking, he found it among all classes, and, therefore, he expressed an almost universal friendliness toward his fellowmen. Reading this volume, one must perceive this, and realize that he was greatly blessed to gain such friends. It was a rare element in his nature by which he recognized the best qualities in men and women, and appreciated children; and by which they were drawn within his friendship. Such friendships are eternal. They were this side the grave ; and they are beyond it. "All is this side the grave or beyond. There is nothing in it." His sketches teach a faith — without assumption or speculation — a reasonable and logical convi<5lion. A friend dies, "But he goes not into darkness. He travels with the ever circling light and leaves us in shadows." He knew this book would be published, and read the proof sheets to the ninety-sixth page, the concluding sentence of which is a check on the otherwise incessant regret that the work had not been earlier completed. The collection of these sketches was commenced in the hope that he would take a cheerful interest in their publication, and that others would welcome them, both for sake of him and in memory of their friends whom he appreciated ; it became a memorial to him, builded of the words he wrote of many friends, and is concluded in the hope that all who read may feel his reasoning force, and find it less terrible "To lift the veil that hides from us tiie eternal world, and look and go beyond." PORTER H. DALE. /-^^ .-^^.^K^^^-^^i;^ Wc are followino tbe Dear olD aesoctates of swift auD arDent lives into a more genial clime. Ibope teacbes us tbis is sOt anD we listen to ber anxiously anD approvinall?, because it is sbe wbo bas maDe life so aranD anD Deatb so consistent. 6. m. 2). AN ALLEGORY.* ♦fTN olden times wlien gods and demi-gods were said to " rule tlie world a fond motlier bitterly complained to Jupiter because death bad cruelly and causelessly in- vaded Her sacred association and taken ber most cberisbed idol, a little girl of supernal beauty and loveliness, wbile otbers, rude and indifferent, were suffered to remain alive. Jupiter replied tbat it was not intended tbat tbe cbild sbould live long, else sbe could not have done ber little errand on wbicb sbe was sent to eartb; tbat sbe was simply sent to inspire finer, tenderer and purer senti- ments in otbers, and tbat could only be accomplished by tbe purity of cbildbood. Besides sbe bad become just wbat sbe was intended to be, a sad, sweet memory, season- ing all tbe emotions of a mother's heart and filling all her life. Still supplicating, tbe applicant begged to be re- lieved of the load of bitter memories which it seemed to her she could not endure. "Be it so" replied tlie deity ; aud all tlie memories of tlie bright beautiful little being vanisbed. Witb momen- tary gladness tbe motber turned, but only to face a vast void. Sbe stood an instant but saw no ray of liglit and felt no atmosphere of love, or Hope, or agony. Then in the midst of barren, pulseless and emotionless nothing- ness, and with a long, lonesome sigh, she fell in a swoon at the feet of deity. When consciousness and reason came again, she begged to be restored to all the living memories she had lost in order that she might, walking amid her sorrows, see the figure of her hope pressing a little cheek against a window pane in one of the many mansions so grandly reflecfted in sacred song and story. The cruel decree was reversed. * Lines suggested lij the death of Helen Genevieve, daughter of Mr. Wm. H. and Mrs. Jennie Merrill Shurtleff, of Lancaster, N. H. GEN. GEORGE P. FOSTER. MHKN an eminent statesman falls, tlie common- wealth sliudders. Wlien a brave soldier wins renown, and escapes all tlie perils of war, and His fall is unbroken by tlie excitement of battle, an inexpressible sadness settles upon bis comrades. When a fit repre- sentative of tbe family, society, tbe civil service of tbe country, tbe grand army men, and tbat beroic period tbrougb wbicb we bave just passed, goes to bis long bome, tbe news of bis deatb travels far and wide and pierces tbe bearts of us all. And now, long, very long, and deep, are tbe shad- ows wbicb fall across tbe land, for General George P. Foster is dead. His deatb brings more of personal sorrow tban usually comes to us, because be was tbe representative of so many interesting phases of life. It comes with startling effe(5l, because it follows so suddenly bis strong and bealtby appearance among us, 3 and because his attachments to life ran in so many directions. A kind husband, a generous, careful father, a genial, pleasant companion, a firm, faithful friend, a good citizen and a brave soldier, an important actor in an intensely interesting period ; all these, and more than these, were fitly represented in him. His connedlion with all that was interesting in life was intimate and ex- tensive. His social relations were joyous and happy. His official life was harmonious and without reproach or suspicion. No situation can hardly be conceived in which death, in the midst of a desirable life would seem to be more unwelcome, and yet, with the fortitude which bore him through the perils of war, he was able to sub- mit with resignation. His indeed was a fortunate career. When we look at his successful achievements in the army, and especially at that scene in his own native State, and see the kindness of that swift winged fortune which bore him through crowds of Fenians amid swiftly marshalled circumstances sent by a kind, quick chance to contribute to the accomplishment of that act which quickly solved the ugly problem on which the govern- ment was laboring, and brought to its actor a bright fame, adorned with active, dashing courage, romance and mystery, we are lost in wonder. And when we look back to the time when Vermont called for fitting representatives of her Aliens and her Warners, and find his name high up in the roll of those who so completely responded to that call, and who so effedlually reproduced and secured tlie continuance of Vermont's ancient military renown, our Hearts are more tlian ever filled with grati- tude and thanksgiving at the result, and with the deepest sadness at this irreparable loss. While the Grand Army in silent sadness closes its broken ranks and his companions and friends mourn his sudden taking off, the rich consolation still remains that we never have and never shall be called upon to bid fare- well to his good reputation, which shall ever live, or to his military fame, which shall ever last, while the institu- tions he fought to sustain shall endure. ELIAS LYMAN. ^^HE subject of this sketcli was born in Chester, Mass., ^^ May 25, 1804. At the age of 12 years lie came with liis father to live in Columbia, N. H. When 24 years of age he married Clarissa C. Smith, who, after a happy and contented life, went just before him into the great hereafter. Directly they were married they went to Dixville, P. Q., where with characteristic energy they constructed a rude log cabin and commenced clearing for a farm ; but the forests were unyielding, circumstances and seasons unfavorable, the soil rigid on account of being uncultivated, and the young couple were away from all the accustomed associations of their lives. At length after four or five years, their strong determination to build a home in those wild woods, yielded, and they turned their faces toward their old associates and into the produ6live Connedlicut valley, to which they had be- come attached, and the softer or more willing soil of which yielded less reluctantly the comforts of a home and 6 gave riclier promise of prosperity. From the time young Lyman returned from Dixville until 1847 lie resided at Columbia, struggling witH limited means and a rapidly increasing family. He then moved to Lemington and purchased a farm on which he resided as long as he lived. Thus located, by strict economy, honest industry and fair dealing, in a short time he surrounded himself with all the comforts of a New England home, and soon saw numerous and enterprising sons go out into the world in every direction, who, never forgetting him, now one, and again another returned to live with him on the farm. And while one daughter located very near him and within call, another, with the truest filial devotion, remained in his home and never deserted the old man while he lived. He had now become a fortunate man, simply because he had come to comfortable circumstances. He looked upon the cheerful prospects resulting from so many years of waiting and toil, with grateful satisfaction and happiness. He looked upon his comfortable farm, and little, but well cared for stock, and upon his many sons as they came and went, with just pride; and it all gave immense satisfaction to his social nature. He saw with pleasure the friendly faces of his townsmen, who con- stantly kept him in office, where he carefully and hon- estly looked after their interests. In 1869-70 he was Associate Judge of Bssex County Court and saw there- in a widening circle of pleasant acquaintances ripening into lasting friendship in every part of the county, for liis genial presence was always welcome. He saw, witli ardent devotion to country, tlie name of tlie old Wliig party fade and go out, but lie liailed with joy tlie new Republican party with which he always acted, with no blind devotion to party, but with an intelligent apprecia- tion of its uses to the country, as he conceived. He had reached a point in his humble life at which he saw with satisfaction a country in which he felt safe to leave the lives and fortunes of his numerous family. He saw the accomplishments of a reasonable and humble ambition. He saw all these things with the delight peculiar to age, and then he saw nothing. A sad accident had occurred and all through the twilight he saw nothing. The next day dawned to others, but not to him. Once only during its long hours as the sun shone bright on the face of the old clock it mockingly threw the familiar objects of his home into his soul, but only an instant, for they vanished as quickly as they came, and he went out from the bright light into total darkness and remained entirely blind until his death. During the short remainder of his life, although compelled to grope his way along where he could almost touch the familiar objects and acquaintances of his life without being permitted to view them, he never lost his cheerful and good old-fashioned social humor. He de- lighted to greet his old friends and loved to live in the past which yielded to him a warmer atmosphere than most men enjoy. His death occurred as fortunately to him as one could wish, for it was unexpected, sudden, almost instan- taneous. The death of Judge Lyman brings not only his numerous family but nearly all the dwellers in the valley and in our county very near to the shadow of that great valley through which he passed so suddenly. Even kindly nature, which for some wise purpose had cast deep, long shadows upon him for four years, with a gentle hand quickly relieved him at last, and we all feel that the last representatives of that old school of men who represent the pioneers of this country are fast passing away, and taking with them much of that romance, hearty sociability, strict probity, and deep indignation at petty and low lived characteristics, which were so peculiar to the early settlers of this country and made them so worthy of imitation in many things by their children, who, let us hope, will be equally fortunate in honest lives and happy deaths. PORTER HINMAN. A moment's reflection upon the life and deatli of a man so extensively connected witli tlie business and social interests of a community as was Mr. Hinman, can- not be unprofitable. Being a descendant of the early settlers of Derby, (a son of the very first settler,) and consequently connected with a large, but now somewhat scattered family, gives the subject more or less of general interest. He was born in Derby, January 26, 1812, and mar- ried Mary P. Wilder, August 19, 1836. The circum- stances of his father's family at the time of his birth were somewhat peculiar. His father was one of those who left their bloody footprints in the snows of Valley Forge, and who in his lifetime had been of stern and regular habits, and was a man of sterling worth, uncom- promising probit}^ and dignity of character. He occupied positions of trust. Among others, that of trial judge in 10 II tlie County Courts. But at the time of the birth of the subject of this sketch, solely through misfortune, occa- sioned by the perfidy of a trusted agent, and a stern re- fusal to take advantage of circumstances, and by any questionable means shift the responsibility of his obliga- tions, he was a victim to that cruel law which permitted imprisonment for debt. Under these circumstances, the dawn of Porter's life was upon misfortune and abso- lute want. After struggling along with his father and mother until their death, he began business in a small way, living in Derby for a time, then at Beebe Plain, where his sister, Mrs. Horace Stewart, lived ; from there he moved back to Derby, and soon after to Charleston, where he actively engaged in the mercantile business and farming. He resided in Charleston, with the exception of a short time during which he was engaged in business at Morgan, until he moved to Island Pond about the year 1866, where he immediately entered into business, taking the liveliest interest in all the little village enterprises and industries connected with our community. Looking along the line of his work, the eye is con- stantly passing from one to another of the enterprises back to the old town of Derby, and scarcely one is to be found with which he has not in some way been connected. And seldom is a man met on the route who has not known him intimately or had business relations with him. His last enterprise was the completion of the Stewart House in our village. He never owned a place 12 that he did not improve and give it an air of comfort, ex- ercising the best judgment and the strictest economy in respect to it. His busy life bringing him in contact with so many, it would be singular if he escaped criticism from some. But under the circumstances he was peculiarly fortunate, escaping more differences and controversies than most any other man would in so busily traveling the same road. He was always accommodating. No man ever came to him in financial embarrassment, to whom he did not lend a willing ear, and no man in the community was ever applied to more frequently in such cases. Imbibing strong puritanical and somewhat old-fashioned notions, he often ran counter to the more modern style of thought and life. His education being limited, and his nature re- tiring and undemonstrative, his motives were often mis- apprehended. This made life at times hard. He never sought public promotion, and because of his diffidence and distrust in his abilities to perform the duties of office, al- ways shrank from them. When elected by the people of this county to the office of Assistant Judge of the County Court, he hesitated about attending Court at all. His success lay in his strong common sense, and in the pos- session of a memory seldom equalled. His loss was not anticipated, but is now felt. Scarcely, if ever, have the active business men of our community been so moved by death as now. He died — as most men would like to die — in the harness. Nature 13 was very kind to Him. In mercy slie instantly severed his connection with the world. Trained in the school of adversity, educated by a father's fortunate example, taught by a mother of remarkable piety, and associated with a wife of untiring devotion to his interests, and con- stant supplications for his spiritual welfare, he was brought from darkness to light, and about three years since made a public profession of religion, thus leaving to his companion the richest inheritance she could pos- sibly possess on earth — the assurance that it is well with him. We have endeavored to speak of him as he was. Whether we have or not, as he lies peacefully asleep in his dear old native town, it will be entirely immaterial to him. In any event, we cannot err in saying that we can learn from his life lessons of untiring industry, tender heartedness, warm friendship, and the kindly care and sympathy of a husband, father and true friend. RUSSELL LYMAN. ®UR community was startled by tlie intelligence that a fearful accident had occurred to Russell Lyman at the Butters' mill. While he was winding some spun yarn on to a shaft, which was making over 300 revolutions per minute, his hand was wound in, and he was thrown over the shaft. While being whirled round, he caught a post, and held on for life. His shouting attracted the attention of a workman, and the mill was stopped, but not until his arm was completely wound round the shaft, to his body, forming an arbor, in which the shaft played until it burned to the bone. When help arrived, he directed about extricating the arm with as much coolness as he would about any piece of work, and when released, he walked out over the difficult passages of the mill, de- clining all help, and going to his work bench, laid his arm upon it and calculated about the chances of saving it. He then walked to the house, a surgeon was sent for, and 14 15 his arm was amputated. He survived the operation less than forty-eight hours, and was fifty years old when he died. A rarer exhibition of courage and presence of mind is seldom seen than that shown by Mr. Lyman. He was a true friend and disdained falsehood. He had just spent two or three years in leading his aged father, from whom the light of day was shut out, while he was taking life's last steps. He came among us, an artisan of more than common skill, a fine musician, a genial companion and an honest man. He busily engaged in the details of his trade, and during his stay he provoked no censure, no criticisms and no resentments. He made many warm friends. With a characteristic enterprise he was working and fighting the battles of life amid some misfortunes, but with a courage equal to them all. He was away from home, but among the warmest friends, whose expectation of his life was undoubted, and who little dreamed that they would look out on the morning of the i8th and find their surroundings so solemnly quiet. Seldom have the middle aged men of our village been brought to such suddenly sad reflections, as by this event, and when he, who had been a close friend, perhaps the most intimate, took the hand of the dying man, it was plainly visible on that friend's face that he was being led very near the shades of the eternal world. When death comes to us in our homes, there are i6 many compensations for suffering. When men die in battle, tlie enthusiasm of the cause, and the surrounding circumstances, mitigate its woes. But when torn and crushed by cruel machinery, swung in the air, and thrown violently down, it seems to be all cruel, with no mitiga- tions. And as we look to his warm and genial inter- course of a week ago, and then at his mangled form as it lies so still, among strangers, it is unutterably sad, re- lieved only by that token of respect very feelingly ex- hibited by his employer. In all events Providence has concealed deep lessons. In wandering amid the mysteries of this one, let us seek to learn what it teaches. EUNICIA L. HUDSON. '^^HH subject of tHis notice was the daugliter of Russell ^^ Hosford and tlie wife of S. S. Hudson. Slie was bom in Bast Haven in 1835, was a member of the Baptist cliurcli, bad always lived an exemplary life, and in some respects was a remarkable woman. Sbe went witb her husband into the forest and they began to clear up a farm and build a home, which by patient industry they had accomplished at the time of her death. Her sympathy with suffering, and her sacrifices for the sick and afflidled, were unlimited. Her mother being feeble, she took her husband to her home and re- mained until the object of her care had gone beyond the line, over which human aid or sympathy never will go. She willingly, though sadly, submitted to the absence of her husband, who was in the army for three years; and when her brother, from whom she had parted in equal grief, was wounded in the battle of the Wilderness, 17 i8 slie could not endure the idea of sitting idly down at liome, with her husband at far off Petersburg, and her brother dying at Baltimore, where she found him unable to move, as soon as flying trains could reach there. She remained with him days and weeks, and until he was brought to Burlington and placed under that kind and careful treatment so characteristically exercised by Ver- mont toward her stricken defenders. Last fall Mrs. Hudson was in feeble health, but had recovered and was in apparently good health until Saturday evening, when she was attacked with a sudden distress about the heart. Everything that kind- ness and presence of mind could do for her, was done promptly, but the nearest neighbor was alarmed in time only to see her breathe her last. It was indeed a sad "Cotter's Saturday night." And when that still, cold Sabbath morning dawned, and her companion would fain have gone with her to those sacred exercises to which she was so devoted, she was so silent, that he was oppressed almost to the point of murmuring against that stern inevitable, which would have little heeded him if he had. And why should it? Reason teaches that death is an essential element in the nature of man, and one step in the accomplishment of his hopeful destiny. Her extraordinary devotion to her friends while she lived, and her complete preparation for her departure, ought to have earned a resignation to her going early to those great rewards which are so surely in store for her. 19 This is said not unfeelingly, nor without great sympathy, but in obedience to that reason which also instructs us that resignation to Him, Who is kinder to her than earthly friends, is their great duty. We can only commend the lonely to Him Who will never lose sight of the wise purposes to be accomplished by this event. HORACE STEWART. ♦JC^ORACE Stewart was born in Derby, September 25, "^ 1804, and died at Beebe Plain May 25, 1883. He was a son of Major Rufus Stewart who came to Derby in tbe beginning of tbe town. About 1836 he went to Beebe Plain and commenced business. February 2, 1830, he married Miss Catherine Hinman, a woman of remarkable benevolence and possessing the fine qualities of a wife and mother, with whom he toiled and worked amid diffi- culties and sorrows, including the loss of three out of four children, their only surviving child being Mrs. Martha Haskell of Derby Line. Mr. Stewart was a remarkable business man. He was a man of commanding figure and very gentlemanly deportment. In appearance he was a fine type of the old school gentleman. Beginning at Beebe Plain, by his tact, energy, and industry he soon outstripped all com- petitors, and stood foremost among the business men of 20 21 the vicinity. He was methodical, painstaking, and always had a care to his business in general and in detail. He did business to the best advantage financially and rapidly grew rich. He had probably more extensive and varied relations to, and connections with, men than any other man in this vicinity. It is not a little remark- able that with his extensive business, reaching from the Connecticut river far into Canada, and involving all kinds of men, he had next to no litigation, and what he did have, usually grew out of the relations and difficulties between others. When a child dies it is as if a little, growing twig had been plucked up by the rude hand of a passing man; when some men die it is like the dropping of a branch- less tree, disturbing little; but when a man like Horace Stewart goes, it is as when a large, live tree, with its branches extending far and wide among others, and its roots reticulating from the center to the circumference of a great circle, falls, and its fall affects others, even to the extent of tearing them up or breaking them down. It was considerations somewhat analagous to these that moved so many on the day of the funeral to express such sincere regrets that this remarkable business man had fallen. Business men, fast friends, the community in which he lived, and enterprise in general, all will greatly miss him. ALEC CABANA.^ JOHN FOWLER.* ^^HE going of any one of our friends or acquaintances ^^ into the vast unseen is an event whicli creates in us sensations akin to none produced by any other cause, even if the departed went gradually out of sight, and his going was not expected. But to what tension is every faculty of mind or body strung when more than one type of health and strength is hurled in an instant to the end of that journey "whence no traveller returns." When two honest, industrious men, in the prime of life, surrounded each by a pleasant family circle to which he was coming from a day's honest toil with joyful anticipations of happiness and rest, and when nothing exists in the lives of either to justify a particle of enmity in the minds of anyone, is it any wonder that men are struck dumb and speechless at the tidings of their cruel taking off ? Is it a thing incredible that men wept who for many years had not shed a tear ? 22 23 Never before did so long, deep shadows fall upon our village, never before was there such a lull in business or pleasure, or did such lonesome stillness pervade our community, as on the days which succeeded that terrible night of darkness in which Alec Cabana and John Fowler met their fearful deaths. None seemed to have any consolation to give to others, or to the poor stricken families. The sudden crash that made widows and orphans in an instant, so paralyzed all that it seemed impossible to recover. People begin to say what all knew before, "they were honest," and then reflect that that fact makes the loss to the community all the greater ; that "they were industrious," and that again makes the loss to wives, children and friends still greater. Words of sympathy are powerless to assuage the grief of a home circle bereft, but the sorrow felt by everyone, bring- ing hundreds from a distance to pay a last tribute to the memory of the dead, will, in these sad cases, be some slight gratification, we know, to the mourning. We can pay no tribute of respect to the departed that is not already in the minds of all who knew them. We can offer no consolation to the heart-stricken families except an as- surance of the sincere and heartfelt sympathy of the whole community, and to commend them to the will of a Providence "Who doeth all things well." *KiUed in the railroad accident at Stratford Hollotr, May 31st, 1883. JONAS CARRUTH. ^^^ HE longer a man lives and tlie more intimately we ^^ are associated with him, the greater is the shock and the keener our regrets at his death. This is the situation of this community on being startled with the intelligence from Burlington that "Jonas Carruth is dead." His life and character were such as to make a momentary reflection upon them profitable. He spent his early life on a farm in Concord, and afterwards engaged in mercantile pursuits in Hardwick and Hast Charleston, at which latter place his strict in- tegrity, ripe and candid judgment, his remarkable ability as an accurate accountant and his tasty penmanship, attracted attention, and he was invited to a position in the Custom House at Island Pond, which he occupied for several years, and then was called to service in the revenue department at Washington, where he remained until some ten years since, when he was called to the 24 25 cHef office of customs in this district, at Buriington. It has been his lot to be called to those positions in which there was the most labor to be done, and the most diffi- culties and intricacies to be overcome. He mastered them all with a fertile brain and facile pen, until he en- countered the inevitable. His positions exposed him to all kinds of temptation and to available oppor- tunities, for an unscrupulous man, to obtain wealth, but he never yielded to the former nor acquired the latter. Modest, unassuming, of the finest literary taste, and possessing a logical mind, he was yet content to live comparatively unknown, earn what he had, and to enjoy the pleasures of domestic life, in which he was peculiarly fortunate, possessing an amiable and accomplished wife and two interesting daughters. His friendship was firm and lasting as his indomitable will. His sincerity secured him, as much as possible to human nature, against deviation from fidelity to his friends, or truth. His courage was unbending, and his sympathies as tender as a woman's. He never recovered from the keenest grief at the loss, many years ago, of his little boy, of whom he could never speak but with tremulous tones. And now that he has gone, his associates in office, in business, "and in the communities in which he has lived, with unusual unanimity join in saying, he lived "to give the world assurance of a man." PATRICK FOLEY. 'Jf^HE solemn tones of tlie tolling bell Have died away, ^^ and as we write, tlie funeral train is passing. Mov- ing slowly and sadly along we see tlie banner of tbe Friendly Sons, — that beautiful type of the memories of that unfortunate and romantic country, whose sons and daughters are semi-exiles, and who have fought success- fully every battle but their own, — but more proximately the type of that fraternal feeling which cements in one common bond that little band who are bearing Patsey Foley to his long resting place. Death in any form is filled with a deep mysterious gloom by reason, perhaps of the uncertainty beyond ; and it seems to the living terrible (it is hard to see why it should) to lift the veil that hides us from the eternal world, and look and go beyond. But when it comes in the form this did, and to one so energetic, so full of life, so accommodating and kind, the shadows fall very long 26 27 and dark. But if his acquaintances feel his death keenly, how must that mother feel who saw her son go out from his home buoyant and hopeful, and then in one short hour see his lifeless form brought back crushed between two cruel, relentless cars 1 Tears for the boy who has gone to his long home are unavailing. But it is the hour of sympathy for the living, and the hour of deep and serious reflection for the men and boys all along the line. WILLIAM H. BURNS. ^T^HHRK are periods in each life when mortality seems ^^ greater than at other times. This probably grows out of the fact that one loses a greater number of personal friends in quick succession during those periods. At this time it seems to me that individual friends are hurrying after each other into the unknown faster and more unexpectedly than ever before in my experience. Among them I am startled to learn of the death of Hon. William H. Bums of Lancaster, N. H. The more brilliant and cheery the light, the quicker it is apt to go out, and the greater the darkness and the still gloom which succeeds its extinguishment. Mr. Burns, in every essential and desirable quality that goes to make up the man socially and mentally, was the peer of any man who ever lived in Coos county. Socially delicate, modest and refined, he was polite and courteous to all, without regard to position. This does 28 29 not imply that lie was tame, by any means, for his life was full of zest. His sarcasm was keen in debate, but always of that pure quality which placed it beyond coarseness, vulgarity or criticism. As a lawyer, he had not to depend on one quality alone. He was not deficient in any. He combined a thorough knowledge of the law in all its details, with a brilliant and logical advocacy. Many years ago he was injured in a collision of trains on a railroad, and was crippled for life. But he was very, very graceful even in his disfigurement. For a few years he had retired from the bar, but not to gloom, despondency or churlishness ; but patient and cheerful, with his wonted courtesy, he accepted the inevitable, and lived as he might, with noth- ing to look forward to, but to live in the past upon a short but brilliant career, cheered by the care of one whose devotion to and love for him, is truly admirable. As one after another the lights are extinguished the world gradually grows dim, but when the light of such a life as his goes out, a quicker and deeper darkness sudden- ly falls upon our eyelids. But he has gone, and we are glad that he lived, for we can fondly cherish the pleasant memories of his life, and his death seeming to hasten the transition of our associations, and to center them in the great house of mysteries, will make us the more recon- ciled to go to them. HARRIETTE GONYA. J||V RS. Harriette Gonya was born in Quebec in the •■'■*' year 1812, married there to Jean Baptiste Gonya September 5, 1832, and was buried at Island Pond, after a long residence here, on September 5, 1885, the fifty- third anniversary of her wedding. The excellent and womanly qualities exhibited in the unpretending and modest character of the deceased incline us to a moment's recognition due to them. In the presence of death we are inclined to feel and act honestly. Many times we show respect for the departed in obedience to conventional rules of society, at other times from feelings of personal friendship, and again we do homage to the dead out of pure and just respect for the character of the deceased. The subject of this sketch went from the walks of humble life respected by such considerations and many more. Her natural kind- ness of heart and deep sympathy with the sick and 30 31 afflicted led her many times to beds of sickness when the care and wants of a large family rendered her going almost too great a sacrifice to be entirely consistent. In the midst of these cares and helpful offices, her steps were suddenly arrested and her cheerful voice is silent. The procession has passed and the last rites are over ; passed with no pomp or show, and no vaunting of her virtues, but deep in the hearts of many are pleasant recollections of her cheerful manners in life, her generous and womanly exertions for neighborly peace and welfare, and her charity for all. Standing aloof from impertinent meddling with the affairs of others, her quick ear caught any call for help, to which she always responded, regard- less of personal consequences. Many today stand by her grave, who owe their own, and in some cases their children's lives, to her care, with hearts filled with tender grief. In tears of gratitude, to her quiet resting place come the living with unmistakable tokens of the purest, truest, and most sincere regret at her departure, and the warmest appreciation of her generous life. To be so truly and pleasantly remembered is a fortune denied to queens. It ought to reconcile the living to her death, for under its seal these memories are secured forever. LILIAN MARIAN BUCK. 'Jf^ENDER and delicate tlie dying girl lay on her ^^ coucli. The terrible struggle in the hearts of those who surrounded her, against the decree that had silently gone forth, moved her not. She was all uncon- scious of her surroundings as she lay there in the sweet innocence of childhood. It was the morning and the evening of her brief day. Quietly she seemed moving away. The cords of life were not being rudely snapped. They were softly disengaged by the kindly offices of nature. The form was so still and the air so subdued and silent that all seemed to be listening. At last a message comes from the unseen world, sweet as the song of angels: "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not ; for of such is the kingdom of God." It was a beautiful picture of death. Let us accept the heavenly invitation and let the little favorite go. It would be unkind to strive to keep her now. The delicate 32 33 and sensitive being has been kept by kindly hands thus far from gross contact with the world, but her little life- boat was too frail to weather the storms. The plucking of the tender branch from the parent vine takes a part of the very vine of its paternity and maternity; still it would be selfish even in father or mother to desire to have their wounds healed with a life of suffering for her whose sensitive nature could not withstand the unpity- ing things of this world. " Why was she not of a differ- ent nature then ? " Idle question ! Why then you would never have had the being you have loved and lost. *' Then why was she sent at all ? " When you ask that you know you would not put out the light her being has brought to you — for your lives you would not. As she sinks in the grave to the level of kings, and the mighty of earth, her little errand here will rise to the grandeur of theirs in the eternity of things, and exceed them all in the supernal beauty of its nature. She may have been unconsciously sent after some one whom she is waiting to welcome to and lead in the land of the here- after. Who knows ? But it is quite enough to fulfill the wisest purpose if this being of matchless beauty was sent to earth only to show how fair a flower in paradise might bloom. HUGO JORDAN. T^IED in Washington, D. C, May 2, 1886, of typhoid ^^ fever, Hugo, son of Mr. and Mrs. Chester B. Jor- dan, of Lancaster, N. H., aged two years. There are childish little arts and incidents, which, coming from the nature of childhood, tenderly play around the heart and linger in the memory of strong men longer than those things which the world would call more important, and like the finest and most delicate tones of music weave themselves into the coarser fabric of our being. When the strong man, one of the promi- nent characteristics of whose strength is paternal affec- tion, and when the mother, under most favorable circum- stances, each blend into their very being an object of affection, the connecting links are of a different nature, but are equally strong ; and when snapped the worshipers are left alone powerless, and are inclined to yield to the wounds. In their weakness they can see no reason in it 34 35 all. They struggle in vain to find any compensation for the loss. But when reason asserts her sway they begin to reconcile and harmonize their different circumstances. They chide themselves for having almost said, " Why was this blessing sent to torment us ? " They begin to see that they have almost made the pleasant little visit unwelcome, and to realize that there is much of subtle mystery in the tender influences which those fleet, tiny beings exert in their flying visits to earth. At last, with softened and subdued but never dying grief, they become reconciled in gratitude for the delicate and tender memo- ries left behind. JUDGE POLAND. HEN a person dies wlio tlirougli weakness excites sympathy, and consequent affection, or whose amiability finds a way to tlie hearts of associates, such death creates a sorrow more passionate than deep ; but when a man dies who is connected with his friends by the most tender and interesting bonds of friendship, who possessed a great intellect and an intense and active mind which animated all around him, and made every one feel his existence, then his going stirs the hearts of his survivors as nothing else will. I do not mean that it cuts as keenly as sorrow for one's offspring which often turns the after life even of strong men awry, but that when we lose friendship, a wonderful intellect, and a great mind — the sunlight of which develops pride and admira- tion for the man — the sorrow has many sources and comes to us like the voice of many waters. Such are the feelings and sentiments awakened by the death of Judge 36 37 Poland. We look at his massive intellect, strong will, and at him so full of life. It does not seem possible that such a life can go out ; but suddenly he disappears, sum- moned by the messenger against whose errand the intellect and genius of man is unavailing ; and so we follow him into the eternal shadows farther than any other man who has gone in a long time. His going startles us and we stand almost in awe of life and death. The greater and more extensive the light of man's life, the more deep and wide is the darkness that succeeds. We are startled by the stillness, and turn to see where that old school of gentlemen which he represented (and taught I might say) are now. Where is Bartlett, Slade, the two Cahoons, Stoddard, Brown, the Davises, Hale, Potts, Rogers, Burke, and enough more to make a long line who are but our file leaders marching to final destiny ? What one of the present judges occupied a seat upon the bench a few years ago in the times which we (exaggerating the length and importance of our own lives) call " those early days ? " But Judge Poland has gone, and it is not for us to moodily reflect upon his going. Let us be grateful that his life has contributed so much to the justice, enterprise, industry and broad common sense of the Bench and State generally. MRS. J. B. GRANT. OW tliat deatli lias passed away with his victim, (tliougli not to be long gone) the gloom and terror inspired by his actual presence has so far subsided as to enable those left behind to look more calmly on the visitation. Sadness has not gone. It has only sunk deeply and quietly down into the silent hearts of the sur- vivors, to be awakened, even after long years, by the slightest recollections. Unusual grief fills the circle of the life of her whose death suggests these reflections, and although it will re- main as long as her memory lasts, its intensity is now. Sad hearts move around amid the memories of a quiet, amiable Christian woman. Grief for the dead is dependent much on circum- stances. But to human considerations the dark angel has no regard in making his visits. To the quiet, and perhaps neglected old man he 38 39 comes perhaps without noise, or disturbance of his victim, or even of those around him. His coming is then re- garded by mortals almost universally as an errand of mercy. But when he suddenly snatches his victim, for whom the world is filled with the most interesting asso- ciations of earth, from a companionship which has ripened by years of cultivation and association, and from a group of young life surrounded and filled with the intensest love and enthusiasm, it stirs to life every emotion of grief, terror and dismay, and it seems for the moment the most ill-timed visit ever made to earth by any messenger from the spirit land. It seems do I say ? Yes ; and what seems to be (to the mourners) is. There is no occasion for sad sympathy for her who has gone. Her life was such that it is well with her. Sor- row is meet only for the living. Mourn only because the silver cords are loosed, because the Eolian tones of a life whose harmony could be disturbed only by death, are gone. To struggle for an explanation of the mystery of this affliction, under the circumstances, would be vain and unavailing, and would only bring pain. Let not sorrow defeat courage, nor turn away any from moving along on the line followed thus far in their lives. Let it not disturb by its seeming unreasonable- ness the faith of any in the things on which their hopes are founded, and which have been cultivated and cherished through many years of comfort and undisturbed reason and affection. DAVID H. BEATTIE. <« Art is long and time is fleeting, Aud our hearts though stout and brave, Still like muffled druns are beating Funeral marches to the grave." ^p^EATH seems a shadow, yet it moves and works ^^ witli a silent yet irresistible power. Noiseless it comes. It says no audible word to its victim. It gives no cheer, no hope of release. It is a power to which mortals do not presume to appeal for delay. It seems impossible that the consciousness of a large mind should ever cease to be. But this power, moving swiftly amid concealed mysteries, lays the princely intellect beside that of the idiot, and that of the pauper beside that of the millionaire ; and they are the same inanimate substances so far as the world is concerned. All animosities, envies, jealousies, and prejudices connected with them become mean and contemptible in its presence. Without passion this power is inexorable. No reproaches are addressed 40 41 to it except sucli as come from the lips of those who are unbalanced and delirious with grief. Its visits are un- welcome to most of us, yet agreeable to many. It gives repose and ends all sorrow, suffering and pain. In what manner, or how long, we cannot tell. We know by sleeping and waking the existence of inanimation and revival, and so we know that death and resurrection is no greater mystery, only less familiar. But to what nature that final awakening shall be we cannot tell. And so, through all its silent mysteries, that invisible power moves and works — that old, old death; as old as time and as mysterious as eternity. And now it has come with more than usual awe and hushed sadness in the decease of Hon. David H. Beattie, at his residence in Lancaster, N. H., December 24, 1889. " Turn backward, O ! time in your flight," and let us see him coming through half a century, starting with the hopes and ambitions of early life and with quick, elastic step, then settling down to calm, consistent yet thorough work, and then rousing himself for life's final struggle, and walking with nervous and enfeebled gait to the grave buoyed up by an unwonted courage. He was hunted even to his grave like a fretted stag whose horns are entangled in the branches of a forest. He was bayed by cruel circumstances. He was followed to the door of his tomb by a whole kennel of ugly events, which were sometimes controlled by those who eagerly fol- low even honest misfortune as if it was a generous chase. 42 Mr. Beattie was a man of very strong and marked characteristics. He liad Held almost every position of lionor or trust that the confiding people of " Gallant Little Essex " could bestow. He lived an active, ener- getic and honest life. But he has gone, and the places once occupied by him are filled by others. He was a man of more than ordinary mind. His researches were logical and thorough, and his reading (especially of current events) was very extensive. While Assistant Judge of the Essex County Courts he did more than assent to the opinions of the presiding judge, and often he maintained an opposing position and frequently his views were sustained by the supreme court in those cases. Energetic, courageous, and possessing the very soul of honor, he was respected by all who knew him, whether they were in accord with his views or not. His solicitude for his own was unbounded, and his friendship only ended with his life. Did it end there ? We hope not. He never under any circumstances let go the hand of a true friend. His resentment of an injury was very strong, but it did not betray him into boisterous or un- dignified demonstrations, nor swerve him from an honor- able course. He had no shade of hypocrisy in his being. He was a descendant of that Scotch race whose convictions were unyielding, and with parents rigorous, even to practicing and exacting those things from all around them which belonged to the most austere days of religious discipline. 43 lie was early imbued with deep settled principles wliicli lie carried through life, and which were in his mind the foundation of absolute fidelity and veracity, and prompted him to the exercise of evenhanded justice in all his do- ings. He was always genial, yet peculiarly reticent in respect to his deeper thoughts, and private or personal connections. He was not perfect, but would that none were less so. His energetic life brought him in contact with many, and into collision of interests and pursuits, yet seldom does a man die amid more universal and profound respect than he did. He has silently passed from our view. He was, and in a moment is not. For nearly half a century he has contributed extensively to the enterprise of Essex county, and has been a part of its associations and mental strength — associations so long and harmoniously con- tinued that they seem to be a part of our lives, even of ourselves, and while we imagine that they are immortal, they are gone, leaving nothing but their rich memories which we will cherish, until we too shall be shrouded in those deep mysteries which, if explored by our lamented friend, he will not be permitted to reveal to any living man. His intellect lightened and cheered our pathways, and his energy and strong characteristics encouraged us in life's pursuits. All there was, or is, of him was in his life and is in the memories of him, and they are all this side of the grave. All is this side the grave or beyond. There is nothing in it. 44 Deatli seems impossible, but we know tbe fact is different, and the nearest we come to realizing it is wben we look after those borne away by it as far as we can see their faint receding outlines. And in this way many of us have never followed a friend farther into the shades of eternal night than now, nor did longer or deeper shadows ever fall on us before. But life's duties awaken us from the sad reveries of the hour. And so we turn from the grave to speak a word of consolation to the true and faithful companion, who, stricken, sits in her arm chair thinking of the joys of long ago, and the hopes of the coming morning that shall dawn in the bright hereafter ; and a word of com- fort and encouragement to the large group of sons and daughters, and then go to imitate our late friend's virtues and to avoid and forget his errors. WARREN NOYES. " On many ears my words of weak condoling, Must vainly fall ; The funeral bell which in those hearts is tolling, Sounds over all." ♦|C%OW different are the ties whicli bind each of us to ■■•^ earth, and how various are the causes of grief when they are sundered ! From the tiny little one whose innocent, artless nature stirs to life the delicate sensibili- ties of our nature, to that strong over mastering man- hood, which gives us such a sense of protection, care, confidence and respect, run all the intermediate tones and touches of life. When the delicate and amiable go, their departure excites a subdued and gentle sorrow, and though deep and poignant, it is often soothed with the reflection of the happy state into which the life has gone with only the beginning of life's troubles. These frail beings just touch the borders of life, and then go gently back, noise- 45 46 less, as if dissolving into the moonlight of death. But when the strong man dies, going in all the strength and glory of manhood, the sound of his going is heard afar off. It awakens a sentiment that runs through all the veins of large communities. It casts a deep shadow far and wide. When a strong man comes in contact with the world he stirs and enlivens all his surroundings, and imparts an abundance of life to individuals and communities ; wakes drowsy enterprise, gives greatest zest to friendship, speedily sends benevolence to want, charity to error and misfortune, and from a stem and stirring nature, sheds a strong yet mellow light upon the charmed circle com- posed of wife, children and friends. When such a man, in the full vigor of manhood, with a step keeping time with every laudable enterprise and purpose of life, and a heart beating in full sympathy with every noble hope and aspiration of the human soul, is hurried away, many and many are the hearts that are shocked at the sound of his going. They stand in awe before the power that can so suddenly remove so much of life which seemed created to live forever on earth. They look with tearful eyes on the last struggle with nature, in which (as if in admiration of his heroic endur- ance) she gently and by slow degrees disarms him, and at last reduces him to a quiet sleep, in which he has no share in the terrible grief in the midst of which he lies. And now what I have written of manhood is but a 47 faint picture of the life and death of Capt. Warren Noyes. He was born with the most sterling qualities. He in- herited a most wonderful physique which possessed re- markable motive power, but which was controlled by a most generous nature, so that if he ever pursued or punished a wrong or contemptible act, his large heart made ample amends for any over zeal he might have manifested. Thus strongly equipped he started in life in that school which rigidly taught frugality, honesty, and the most thorough industry. He was born into the great railway enterprise of the country and, as it grew in the confidence of the public, he grew with it. His engine became his favorite. He seemed to enter into the very life of it, (for engines some- times seem to be alive,) and with his own broad common sense he had not only learned her mechanism, but also her nature and wants to the minutest details. But when he rose to the position of Master Mechanic, and so quickly saw the nature of the work, and read the nature of his men, as to be able to effect the most perfect organization and harmony in his department, he was fixed in the confidence of the company and the public, and in the gratitude of his workmen, where he will live in memory till the expiring breath of the last one, who will die blessing the " Father of the Gorham shopmen." He was urged into the legislature, and was a vigor- ous and effective legislator, but he declined to go farther. He loved the chosen business of his life. He had learned 48 much the books did not tell, and learned it better than books could teach. Nothing but his country's peril would tempt him from his family and his life work, and he bore the same characteristics in the army that possessed him in early and home life. The many qualities which I have attributed to Capt. Noyes always must beget perfect fidelity. No influence tending in the least degree to divorce him from his family or friends could possibly enter his great heart. A truer friend never lived, and his friendship was perfectly un- selfish and self sacrificing. But he has left them all. It seems still and lonesome where he was. The sound of the hammer is heard farther off. The forge fires seem less glowing; and when consciousness calls back his memory each engine bell seems a funeral bell. His Knightly brethren weep for him, but they have the consolation that on his heart was deeply graven, " Fidelity," encircled by the sub- lime motto, ^' In hoc Signo Vinces.^^ His comrades in arms are waiting the sound of that eternal reveille which will take them to join the gallant and lamented Captain. His lodge mourns his loss, but rejoices that he is not forever lost, and that he has found a greater and truer word than ever was pronounced on earth. The brethren of the mystic tie see through deep shadows of grief his chains fall to earth, while the Angel of Mercy shadows him and proclaims the three mystic words immortal. His family and friends are glad that he has lived and filled so 49 large a space with usefulness, and poured so mucli into tHe world's cup of benevolence and liumanity. They are not so ungrateful as to repine at his going, and exercise no gratitude for his coming and the rich inheritance which he has left. He lived and bore the great responsi- bilities of life with magnificent courage and fidelity. His death was heroic, firm and consistent. And so we sadly leave him to his rest. long life of industrious accumulation garners up mucli of the mental tilings wliicli belong to life, and wliicli are so interesting and useful, and wliicli we fondly hope will survive the grave and be enjoyed beyond the borders of time ; for it cannot be that all the results of the care and toil bestowed in the cultivation of the human mind are to go out with an expiring breath. To the individual his own conceptions and his own conscious- ness of himself is all there is of him, (or all there seems to be). All external objects are to him merely incidental to his being. But his existence is very much to others ; and the larger and the more complete space he fills in the world the greater is the void when he goes. Seldom has there gone a man who left so much of friendship, respect and reverence, as has the Christian gentleman whose loss we now deplore. When he died at Bryant's Pond, Me., on the 27th day of September, 1890, 50 51 the Rev. L. H. Tabor took from the world a presence which can never be replaced. The reaper then bore away a much richer harvest of all that pertains to men- tality, fraternity and humanity than usual. Our friend has gone beyond the sound of human voice, and beyond the reach of approval or blame by the living. And now what we say, we say to and for ourselves, and for our own consolation. For the sake of ourselves and his memory we would speak of him as he is and was. His life is now among the things which affect the living only. It has crystalized into a mass of grand and inter- esting memories. Looking backward we see him vigor- ous in body, more rugged in mind and immensely strong in personal and religious influence. He was, and still is. He was a living reality. He is in the deep, grand mem- ories of his lifelong friends. We once thought with him. We now think of him. We then walked with him. We now grope along the paths marked by him. Those who do not follow his religious courses, endeavor to imitate his Christian and gentlemanlj^ ways in going their own. Fori iin n te Scnex ! Yes, fortunate old man ! Fortunate in all his pleas- ant relations. Those silver cords, strong paternal threads, that bound him to his own loved daughter were never lost or loosed. His marital relations too were always tuned to a harmony produced by loving hearts and will- ing hands, which were reciprocated by a gallant and chivalrous man. His friendships lasted through life, 52 and live, like liis influence, right on beyond his death. He was a man of decidedly masciiline tendencies, with a most vigorous physique and lionlike voice, while in his symyathies he was as tender as a girl. He could denounce what he disapproved with a storm of denuncia- tion, and yet portray the love of the Creator in terms most gentle, pathetic, and becoming. Probably no man in Vermont, in his day, made a more deep or lasting im- pression on his denomination than did Mr. Tabor. Original in thought and expression he moved his people with great influence nearer to the middle and more con- servative and consistent doctrines of his church, especially to the benefits and necessities of repentance, the expedla- tion of a reasonable punishment, and the restraining in- fluence of such belief, as well as to the bright hopes which keep the souls of men from despair. He formulated much which he thought to have existed in too indefinite conceptions. He was neither a recluse nor a man of the world. He never shrank from the duties of a citizen, or sought preferment. In i860 he was urged to represent his town (Concord) in the Legislature owing to the pendency of a matter of great importance to his constituents. He commenced by gaining the respect and esteem of his op- ponents which he retained through life. He soon became one of the first men of the House, and especially one of its strongest debaters. He never had else to do with politics (as it occurs to the writer now) except to vote and express his opinion as a good citizen always should. 53 As a busy, a(5live, enterprising man lie filled the minds of many. His energy was admirable. His genial presence enlivened all. He inspired an affection, height- ened and intensified by respedl. But the exercise of all his manly qualities has ceased ; and we stand around his grave awed into silence, and submission to a power before which the strongest man is turned to dust. As we mentally follow him from an animated life, to the great darkness that even overshadows our understand- ing, it seems to us like going out from a bright, sunlit day, and from all the animated sounds produced by man and nature, into the cold, damp and darkness of a night hushed to absolute silence. So still ; oh, how still ! And here we stand crying with voices that startle us in the dread stillness : Oh ! what shall the morning be ? Through what deep mysteries shall kindred hearts be reunited ? But before the fiery darts of scorn and pride, faith never retreats. It always remains above the dead and amid the dying. But to him how vain are all the utterances of the living! Our emotions move him not, and they should be controlled and directed with reference to ourselves alone. Then, paying a last sad tribute of respe<5l to his memory, let us turn from the grave to live our little time, thankful that heaven has vouchsafed to us in enduring form rich memories of him who seems to be going along with us yet. «' Nor further seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hopes repose) The bosom of his Father and his God," LEVI SILSBY. HEN we look upon life or nature in its varied forms we observe certain objects, like trees in tbe forest, wliicb distinguisb tbemselves from their sur- roundings. They are distinguished in our observation and memory from those which make up their environment. And so it is with men. After long and active lives they become imprinted on the minds of communities. I/Ooking back thirty or fifty years we see men iden- tified with the history and the interests of Essex County ; men like Dr. Dewey, the Beatties, Hartshorns, Judge Brooks, the Darlings, the Silsbys, and many others that will take their places in the minds of Essex County peo- ple at a suggestion. Not most prominent of all, perhaps, was the late Hon. Levi Silsby, of Lunenburg, but no more characteristic man ever lived and died in the county. Hardy, energetic, absolutely and uncompromisingly hon- est, industrious and faithful to his friends, terribly tena- 54 55 cious of Ills opinions, but with a mind broad enough and generous enough to respect the rights and opinions of others. As a public man he was very useful. The pre- dominant attribute in his character was perfect fearless- ness in relation to public or private matters. He ex- hibited great courage in announcing his views and main- taining them, and he contributed to every department of society the results of his energies. As a politician he was somewhat partisan, but was always consistent and loyal, and these qualities gave him a real influence be- yond what was apparent. As a representative of his town he was a thorough working member, and whatever he touched felt his influence. The expression that would seem to best convey an idea of his prominent qualities would be, " the elements were so mixed in him that nature might stand up and say, this was a man." As an Assistant Judge he exercised a superior financial ability in respect to the affairs of the county, which is the most essential qualification for the position. His social qualities were fine, and beneath a rough and somewhat stormy exterior there played the finest sentiments of friend ; and in all his domestic relations he was tender and considerate. Living in the good old New England style, always in the same town, rearing a large and interesting family, he lived and died as one might well wish to do himself. He had reached his three score years and ten and gradually, with all the attendance the world could give, he went to rest. » 1 am glad that lie has lived thus long, And glad that he has gone to his reward ; Xor deem that kindly nature did him wrong, Softly to disengage the vital cord " WILLIAM S. LADD. MHHN death comes to one who is indifferent to social, literary or forensic life, to one who has not taken hold of life and appropriated all its interesting incidents with lively zest, and has not been keenly alive to its importance, he will go away amid corresponding indifference. But when, with the scythe and the hour glass, the messenger runs by all such, and reaches the front ranks in social and intellectual life and suddenly severs countless cords that bind the victim to a world of beating hearts, then the keenest sensations are stirred to life and most lively acclivity. It is a wonderful thing to live ; yet death takes all when life is ended, intellect, learning, hopes, loves, fears, joys and sorrows, — everything there is of earth. And now we may speak no more to the late Hon. William S. Ladd. He is so still and irresponsive. From us his ripe learning, his true friendship, his honest and 56 57 practical counsels, are gone; all gone. His going can- not be looked upon with stoicism. It will not avail to say, "This must needs occur to us all. It is in the nature of things that he should die." These considerations do not ward off the terrible shock we feel at his sudden going. It is true as we ap- proach the brink the scenes shift. We look at the ob- jects before us with changed views, with different natures and emotions. We make our exit from the world more reconciled but not more indifferent than if from life's fresh morning, when hopes are young, when unsuspect- ing love and friendship fill the hour, when happy youth sees only the golden bowl from which they quaff the fresh cool waters of their early lives ; and when what seems to be (for all purposes of happiness to them) is. Our friend so intensely interested in life did not wish to die ; and so when kindly nature gave him notice he accepted the friendly warning and tried to avert it. He had no childish fears, but prudently and heroically tried to avoid the danger. He rode on horseback. He walked. He tried to avoid work and excitement, but his friends and clients were numerous and pressed hard upon him and he was crowded beyond life's brink. So to go when reason is ripe, and when the man is capable of looking upon the probabilities of going, having consistent views and feelings, is a blessing to any man. And so, " Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will ccme," 58 lie began to prepare for it, cautious tliat he might not disturb others. It seems to me like yesterday when I saw him first. He was fresh from college, with a rich store of learning none of which seemed to me to be cheap. It struck me that he was as well equipped for life's v/ork as any young man whom I knew. As the author of " Home, Sweet Home " wrote and sang in notes of supernal beauty of its pleasures and happiness because he conceived the loftiest notes of his song in the street without a home, and while looking through bright lighted windows into a pleasant home circle, so I, who had scarcely seen the schools, looked upon his store of learning with like in- tensity and interest. Judge Ladd was one of a few rare minds from whom I borrowed much, and to whom a poverty of learning forbade my making fit returns, but they brought rich mental gifts from colleges and generously gave to others. We walked and talked on the bank of the river. I omit much we said of interest to us that I may be as im- personal as the emotions of this hour will permit. He had that day been associated with the brilliant and accomplished Burns in the defence of a suit. Young Ladd had prepared the defence. I am not sure but it was his first case. I sought by a certain move to sur- prise him but it was no surprise. He was prepared at every point, and Burns in elegant style only ornamented the structure that the young lawyer had so strongly 59 built. His conversation that afternoon took a wide range, for his miscellaneous reading had been very ex- tensive, (and he kept it up through life) and he had very fine conceptions of belles-lettres. We talked of the grand old masters of oratory, and although he said he did not expect to excel in oratory, and should not aspire to, he had studied the old models very much, and ex- hibited rare taste in his reviews and critisims, and in his comparison of ancient and modern styles. He discovered strong and clear ideas of men and books, and showed by his talk that they had made distinct and deep impressions on his mind. Among other subjects he spoke of Lord Brougham. He admired him much. He reviewed his speech in defence of Queen Caroline, the peroration in which Brougham had re-written eight times. He spoke of it from a legal point of view, and then reviewed its literary merits and developed from it a far deeper mean- ing than I had ever seen in it, especially that portion in which he draped Jachimo in a literary illusion and pre- sented him as a sample of the bulk of " this filthy cargo " borne against the Queen. And so we walked and talked, he alwaj'^s suggesting beauties beyond what I had reached in ever};' book mentioned, although I had care- fully read it, until, as we turned to go back to the Court House, our long shadows reached far up on the grass land, and there was cemented a friendship which was secure through life. We did not think or talk of death. We were contemplating life then, its hopes, its possibili- 6o ties, and its most direct roads to success in our pro- fession. Our day was just dawning. We were just in the gray of its beautiful morning. And then the last time I saw him was the day after he had received his first warning. He saw its deep significance, but spoke of it with that courage and con- sistency which had characterized him through life. He spoke of his impressions of it as being like a dream and not unpleasant. And so I saw him at the beginning and substantially at the close of his professional life. And the interval was so full of honesty, candor, fidelity, (especially to his clients,) and work, that I could write of it for hours. But I do not quite like to be betrayed into feelings of tender friendship beyond what is con- sistent. I prefer to speak of him with more courage, to be more obedient to the golden rule. As a lawyer he knew the law. As an adviser he did not enter into the prejudices or desires of his clients. He did not seek what his less informed client wished, but what he needed. He was not swerved by his desires, nor did he become his advocate at once, but assumed the attitude of an impartial judge, looking at both sides of the case. He eliminated all that was immaterial in the client's statement, stripped it of its verbiage, and arranged the material facts in their order. His system, together with a strong logical mind, constituted him a very safe adviser. His ravenous appetitite for learning, caused by his early country home life, induced him to fill his 6i mind with a large stock, and his strong logical faculties prevented any confusion. He was absolutely independ- ent, but not obstinate, in respect to his opinions. He was honest, and never swerved from his convictions by any desire to please his clients or associates. His argu- ments in court were solid, consistent, logical, and well considered, though nervously delivered and sometimes with hesitating pauses. He was too good a lawyer to make stump speeches in court. His mind was judicial, and well stored to begin with, and constantly replenished with the current legal literature of the day. His appro- priate place, it always seemed to me, was on the bench, where his rich store of mental accumulation could be best appropriated and made most useful. But he has gone, leaving the rich results of his works to bless his survivors. I am in the beautiful village where he lies, so still and peaceful. It is sunrise to me, and reason and hope says it is to him. No one is stirring yet, and I feel lone- some, and fear I may be betrayed by my emotions into being garrulous. Judge Ladd's death brings us as near to the sacred gate that opens into the great unknown as we have ever been before. The shadows would be very deep if it were not for the great law of compensation. His fortunate life is secure. He reached a success beyond his most sanguine hopes when he started. He died as he wished. He escaped the nervous vexations of old age. He was 62 spared the long weary task of gazing listlessly, and the impressive apprehensions of a mental decline. He gave to the world the best efforts of an honest, indus- trious, faithful life ; to his family a courageous protection, wise counsels, the fondness of a devoted husband and father. He bequeathed to his own not only his earnings, which now look insignificant, but more than all, the rich memories of a life filled with all that could adorn the lawyer, the judge, and, what is higher than all, the man. And in this (although it is not full compensation for his death) we find comfort and consolation enough to banish despair and unreasonable repinings. Nothing remains to us but " hope for the dead and consolation for the living." It must be well with him for he has gone to " Swell the deep bass of duty done, And strike the key Of time to be When God and Man shall be as one." LEWIS F. BIGELOW. fljl S the sounds of soft music die away, and tone is '^^^ swallowed up in time, so Has passed away a social and melodious life. As silence succeeds song, so has the stillness of death succeeded the harmonious life of Mr. L. F. Bigelow, who died at Island Pond, on Sunday, July 26, 1 89 1, aged 51 years. In life he was possessed of that frail and sensitive temperament best adapted to the culti- vation of music, in the arrangement, execution and teaching of which he had been for many years without a local superior. He was bom and passed his childhood at Brownington, came to Island Pond early in life, and went with our brave Gen. Thomas in the 8th Vt. to New Orleans, was in the Red River expedition and at Algiers. A general debility followed him from the army, and he has had all he could do to fill his engagements since, gradually failing until he was obliged to quit work en- tirely. He leaves a wife and young daughter. Mr. Bigelow has been so intimately connected with all the social features of society, and has been so intimate socially, that he will be missed by many warm friends. 63 JANE A. (MORSE) MANSUR. ^^HB history of another life is told so far as it can be ^^ by mortals. Each life has its own special interest and each death its peculiar sadness. The individual possesses in himself or herself but a small part of that which makes up the earthly existence of each. We our- selves are not all there is of us. Our associations with and relations to others are a great part of our being and of what makes life interesting and death sad. The varied and intimate relations that Mrs. Jane A. (Morse) Mansur sustained until her death at Island Pond, October 24, 1891, made up a life of unusual interest and usefulness. She was born in Barnet, February 11, 1808, and was a daughter of John and Jeannette Morse, and the last of eleven children. She came on horseback forty-five miles in one day to Morgan when fifteen years of age, guided only by spotted trees. She married Warren Mansur at Morgan, August 15, 1825, and bore 64 65 him fourteen children, eight of whom survive her, and one of whom is Col. Z. M. Mansur. In humble toil she gave in earlier life a mother's anxious care, and in age received rich returns of kindest filial comfort and support. She lived in Morgan thirty-three years and in Bast Charleston twenty, and came to Island Pond in 1881. Among the earliest settlers she was intimately and extensively connected by affinity and consanguinity. Hers was an attractive though humble life. It was surrounded during many of the most interesting years by the stern romance of forests. It was supplied by those pure and fresh but scanty opportunities which the then rude but neat circumstances afforded for literary and religious privileges, and which gave keen appetite for and zest to pure and mental training. She lived in a day when little communities were supported by strong and hardy men, and influenced and sometimes controlled almost absolutely by uncompromisingly yet modest and unpretending womanly virtues. She early saw that she was born into the grandest and most worshipful sphere in social life, and labored with patience and true womanly skill until she achieved an almost perfect model of a fond self-sacrificing mother and devoted wife, deftly arranging and throwing around her family circle all those Christian virtues with which God and nature had endowed her. She constantly practiced the stern humility of the Church, of which she was a consistent member, and held her Church in such 66 esteem and fond affection as was second only to that of her family. Married to a man of numerous relations, whose traditions reflected the light far back into the past, she had a wide field for the exercise of those kindly traits and motherly cares which so happily distinguished her ; and the most queenly word "mother" will thrill more hearts than those of her own sons and daughters. But those cheerful smiles are hidden in the shades that precede a brighter morning than any on which she had yet been awakened. Her sweet counsels are secure in the storehouse of memory, but she will utter no more to earthly ears. She lies, so still and peaceful, amid memories so pure, so kind, so "good, and so secure, that they would weigh against the wealth of all the world. Shall that sad, sweet stillness be disturbed ? Not yet. Let friends stand awhile in this silence. They must and will, like a group of little children in their cottage home when the mother leaves them awhile some dark still night to gather around the fireside. Though closely grouped each seems to be alone. They listen not to each other's voices, but eagerly for the sound of her footstep for which they have such terrible longings. In childish faith they say we shall surely hear it. So shall it be with hers. You feel and know that in gladness you will hear it, but not until morning, for she will be all night with the dead. " In your ears, till hearing dies, One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of as sweet a soul As ever looked with human eves." JOHN GREGORY SMITH. fl^j more than ordinary man lies dead in Vermont. -^^ There is a lifeless form that heeds no envious thought, no cynical critcism and no self-appointed censor's utterances. He who once was a human being, as such (or in any manner or nature,) is absolutely indifferent to any judgment man can make or pronounce, and to all enquiry except that of the Great Eternal. Let any man before he presumes to pass upon the details of a great man's life, or the means by which he accomplished a great life work, observe his immediate surroundings. Let him have a care in this instance that the views he takes come not through mental cameras which distort, diminish or magnify. Let him speak of him as he was, and set down truly his opportunities and the difficulties he encountered. The primitive Green Mountain Boys had only a common foe to contend with. No one envied their work or their hardships. Their lives 67 68 from tlie very circumstances that surrounded them could create no envies or jealousies. Contrast that as a situa- tion into which nothing could come but approval, and in which everything ran in harmony with the desires and inclinations of all, with the surroundings of the foremost man in all the state, in some respects, in its development and progress. While Allen and Warner in rougher times severed certain territory from neighboring incho- ate state organizations and builded a state solid, rugged and enduring, he in more polished and systematic times established one of New England's greatest arteries of commerce through which, and its connections, rushed a mighty current to the seaports and back again, distribut- ing itself into every hamlet and every home in the land. He toward whose fresh grave the eyes of all Vermont are turned, created the setting of a commercial act, and ex- hibited to the bewildered eyes of the dwellers in all the long and rugged mountain passes a giant movement, w^hich in a superstitious age would be taken for the thunder of gods; he controlled for more than half a century more of the machinery which developed the state than any other man, and devoted his individual attention to the exclusive interests of the state and en- terprising men in it, turning aside only when " Liberty wept for the man in blue And sighed for the niaii in gray; " and when he stamped that period in the history of Ver- mont with those heroic features which distinguished it from all others. He was entrusted with more state secrets 69 by the federal government than probably any other man in like situation, and went to his work as War Governor with even greater energy than he had ever displayed in peaceful enterprises, and brought to his work an unex- pected genius, exercising that delicate skill, prudence and caution so much demanded by the crisis, yet his life touched all along innumerable antagonisms. His whole life was a constant warfare. He was so bound up in his life work that he had no time for other ambitions. It may not be said of him that he had un- seemingly political aspirations, for twice he turned aside from the highest position in the gift of the state. Most of his participation in public affairs was induced in self- defence. He was in the midst of commercial rivalries. He was in position best calculated to engender jealousies and envy. He was constantly called upon to reconcile his enterprise with conflicting interests or to defend it against them. Few men have undertaken more than he. To be successful he must needs harmonize the views of the people long accustomed to provincial ways and man- ners in business with the discipline and system absolutely indispensable in the management of railroad affairs. He was constantly called upon to encounter legislatures whose members had little practical knowledge of railroad business, and who, however friendly or intelligent, could not know practically in all cases just where or how his work touched the public interests, or how any rule of law that might be prescribed by them would affect his work. 70 He was in advance of the times in which he lived, in commercial progress. He was among a people, elevated by their customs and habits in not only a moral, but, being studious, in an educational point of view, but hid- den by mountains from a full view of their surroundings, they did not feel the direct influence of those currents of the commercial world until they were opened up and set in motion in their very midst ; and so they naturally conformed slowly to the changes which have brought Vermont into complete harmony with the commercial world ; and it is fitting that she stand in sad and respect- ful silence at the grave of one who, instead of fawning for favors or hypocritically posing as a patriot or high- toned martyr, early saw the situation, seized the oppor- tunity, and developed the greatest interests of the state. His was no place to cultivate the tender affections of the people. He dealt with stern realities and the rigid dis- cipline of circumstances, and commanded respect. His attainments in law, letters, and in a knowledge of the vital interests of the state were probably as varied as those of any man of his day. Some men in Vermont have attained greater heights than the late John Gregory Smith, in law, literature, statesmanship, war, or some other specialty, but Vermonters will turn from his grave to look in vain for a man who will be so long and so in- timately connected with her progress and material inter- ests, who will do more for her advancement in every res- pect, or whose death will take from her so much of her substance. JEAN BAPTISTE GONYA. ♦flp^OW seldom does a man fulfill the desirable condi- ■■*^ tions of his destiny ! The three principal beacons which enable life's mariner to sail safely and smoothly to harbor, are the light of his home, the light of his church, and the shining light of childhood, no matter how humble or of what kind, if they correspond to his wants and desires. To be unsettled in reference to either of the two first, or unfortunate in respect to the last, con- fuses and delays a man just in proportion to the space each ought to light. But when a man dies who has possessed and enjoyed all these conditions during a very long life, the grief which attends his going out is softened and rendered consistent by a comforting reconciliation. Jean Baptiste Gonya was born August ii, 1800; married September 5, 1832, and died May 12, 1892. His was a humble, unpretending life. He had adlive en- joyment in early years, and was livel}^ and pleasant 71 72 whether rafting on Canadian waters or in his frugal little home. Blessed with a wife equal to any emergency he never wanted for the greatest comforts of home, which are the things most needed, and which came to him just in the time they were wanted and appreciated ; and when in the natural order of nature the time came to her, on whom he so much depended, to go, he found himself in the midst of a(5live, enterprising children, ready and willing to furnish him everything to satisfy his economical desires. The man was old, but his heart was young, for his ways had been so unobtrusive that it had never been hurt in coming in contact with the world. The river was so quiet and so smooth at last, that one could not see a ripple to tell where it left off and the great waters began. Many will miss the genial and un- pretending greetings of the pleasant old man. CC/ ^4.^,-^^L.^,^.,^ ^y /^^Ll^^z^^^^^ CHARLES E. BENTON. I BATH always brings sadness, the intensity and extent of wiiicli depends upon tlie conditions and area of the surroundings of the subject. No man, in the community in which he lived and died, sustained more extensive or varied relations than did Mr. Benton. He was a