USA > Connecticut > Litchfield County > Winchester > Annals and family records of Winchester, Conn.: with exercises of the centennial celebration, on the 16th and 17th days of August, 1871 > Part 52
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And now that myself and others enter into your places, we do not come so much to be agents of change as we come to learn the lessons which these grand hills, with their hallowed memories, may teach, and to enter into possession of the influences which the lives of good men and women in the past have established here.
It is not right that I should intrnde myself too long upon your attention, or inter- rupt the greetings more appropriate to this occasion. We have the evidence before us, not merely in historical statements of what has been here, but in the living examples, in the institutions, the church, the schools, the homes, and the scenes which the Great Creator calls upon us to admire, that these have not been in vain. Poets are born here ; they learn to think here. They may go away from us to the crowded city, to the din and hum of busy life ; but they are born here. Such men cannot be born in the great Babylons, and we are thankful that they delight to return to us and lay their garlands of triumph before our feet. I do not intend to try to prove it by any arguments of mine, but we shall prove it in a better way, and I shall now intro- duce to you the poet of the day, Dr. W. J. Wetmore. But I would not have you think we bring forward all our poets to-day. Those of you who know the place know something of what we can do in this direction. I know it was said of an old Greek who had a house to dispose of, that since he could not carry around the house to show he took a brick of the same material as that with which the house was con- structed as a specimen, and desired the people to look at it. We bring you now our chosen poet, only as a specimen brick. (Laughter and applause.)
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CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION.
POEM BY WM. J. WETMORE, M. D., New York City.
Kindred and friends, why are we met together Within this tent this lovely summer weather ? Why gather here on this delightful day, To pass a few reflective hours away ? "Tis not to boast of martial conquest here, Bought at the price of blood that costs so dear, But 'tis the song of peace that floats around, And where we stand seems consecrated ground. Here did our fathers their first altar raise, Where hearts sincere could join in prayer and praise ; Here they first met, their pious zeal to show, Their trust in God a hundred years ago.
A hundred years ago! from thence we date The birth of this old town, so fixed by fate, When law and order over chaos reigned, And with increasing age new vigor gained. Young hearts, strong arms, here strove with fresh delight, When rising beauties checred the welcome sight ; Bright dwellings rose to glad the traveler's way, Though Winter frowned, or smiled the flowcry May.
A hundred years ago! like swallows on the wing Come floating back loved scenes of boyhood's Spring ; And forms and faces scem to gather here, Long since departed, but forever dear ; Here on these rugged hills, with artless grace, Our fathers lived and toiled, a sturdy race; They tilled the soil so rough in its repose, And made the fields to blossom like the rose. Among the many well-tilled farms I see, With rock and hillside, meadow, brook, and tree ; One with its fond associations well I know, My grandsire's home a hundred years ago : Though somewhat changed with steady lapse of time, "Tis much the same as when in early prime ; The old domain, some buildings yet the same, And dearer still, my old aneestral name. These still remain a pleasure and a joy, And make me almost feel again a boy ; These add a priceless value to the placc Of one's own birth, his kindred and his racc.
The church our fathers reared beneath the hill, The first, though humble, had its comforts still : From summer's heat and winter's piercing cold, It shielded both the shepherd and his fold : And though the tempest scowled along the sky, O'er those true hearts the storm swept harmless by : But soon that little church proved far too small,
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To hold the crowd within its narrow hall, When farther north a better site was found, To rear a shrine where faith might more abound : Our ancient fathers planned with cunning skill, Another church with zealous hands and will, When soon a beauteous temple rose to view, Where faith might light her vestal flame anew : There oft the faithful worshipers repaired, And all its blessings, all its comforts shared. The saintly Knapp there ministered awhile, And Bogue with pleasant voice and winning smile; Then Marsh new courage, new existenee gave To fainting hearts, and made the thoughtless grave. To him a debt of gratitude I owe, For favors past, for kindness long ago : With him I studied first the poet's art, When Virgil's lines I scanned and learned by heart; And as the days sped happily along, I loved the teacher and the poet's song.
But time rolls on and other change takes place, That church is gone, and strange seems every face ; The dear old congregation is no more, The sweet old songs that pleased so well are o'er; And those we knew and met from day to day, Are now in other lands far, far away, Or down on Burial Hill, cold, slumbering clay ! Sleep on, beloved dust ! till that blest morn arise, To waft your souls, redeemed, beyond the skies : Where kindred spirits in rennion sweet, In bliss immortal shall each other greet : May none be lost, but all through grace and love, Meet their kind Father God, in realms above !
But, dear old town ! you've had your joys and cares, Your men severe, your wit that never spares : And as we feared the one, we loved the other, And laughed to hear their jokes of one another. One man I knew, whose heart seemed e'er inclined To call men fools or ignorantly blind, Who dared to say this globe did not stand still, And sun and moon rolled through the sky at will ; For, if the world turned over, on his head He sure must stand or tumble out of bed : Long Lake, alas! its oozy bed must leave, And thirsty turtles for lost waters grieve; The pereh and pickerel mourn the absent flood, And eels and bullheads flounder in the mnd, But this was only one particular CASE, The last, if I mistake not, of his race.
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Another, skilled in mythologie lore, Brought spirits forth at will, from Stygean shore; Old Pluto's realms he studied well, by heart, And knew each god and goddess on the chart; And while he read and learned their wondrous power, He sought the graces in their native bower ; But oft like Orpheus mourned with unfeigned woe, His fair Eurydice in shades below. The planets, too, that glittered in the sky, Their names he called as each one met his eye : And in their course astrology sublime Rang on his heart its planetary chime. His home was humble, but his heart sincere, And what he lacked in wealth made up in cheer: Indecd, the Dugway would have been forgot, But Alvord's name immortalized the spot.
O'er these old hills my footsteps oft have strayed, Where I, with youthful friends, delighted played ; Their names on memory's tablet brightly shine, And fleeting time but makes them more divine : Oh Beebe ! how I loved your generous heart, Devoid of guile or hypocritic art : But ever true and faithful to defend From envy's spite misfortune or a friend. And other names I dearly, fondly trace, With joy recall each pleasant, smiling face ; The Blakes, the Hubbells, and the Coits appear, With Hurlbuts, Marshes, and McAlpines dear ; Wade, Nash, and Bronson in our circle shine, While Platt and Hoyt to sanctity incline; Chase, Goodwin, Murray put the blues to flight, While Hills and Benedict gave fresh delight ; Miner and Clarke, as ancient dates will show, Here pitched their tents a hundred years ago. Everitt and Brooks in youth we often met, Nor can we ancient Chamberlain forget! Who built his home upon the coldest hill,- (I wonder if that old house stands there still !) Andrews and Loomis, kindly and sincere, Like Hatch and Adams, left their impress here; Humphrey and Riggs, both noblemen and peers, Their names shall live along the flight of years. But why recall the varied names of old, Their life's career is briefly, quickly told ; Stern in their duty-honesty their pride, They lived respected, and lamented died. These were the good old times, when virtue shone, And men had merits honestly their own; Though Joel Beach and Lent Mott wake a smile, Blue street without them would been bluer still :
71
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So many a visage with expression droll, Provokes a smile we scarcely can control : Even now we see them dance before the eyes, A motley crowd of every form and guise : The Prestons, Jacklins, Ellwells now appear, With Gurdon Root, the pundit and the seer; While Church and Tucker gave peculiar grace To every spot where'er they showed their face : Around the Little Pond the chattering jays Made Rattling Valley vocal with their lays ; While Beckley whistled as he trudged along, And charmed the wood nymphs with his rustic song. But let us not forget one hero brave, Who fought and bied, his country's life to save; His name was Leach -his fame we all well know As warlike scars he proudly loved to show :
ยท Gained, as he said, on bloody fields of strife, Where many times he died -then came to life, To fight again till legions ran away, And left him victor, hero of the day : But spare the muse-this record nobly won, Was blasting rocks from morn till set of sun; Blown out of wells and hurled from many a rock, He fell, at last, reduced by nature's shock : Brave soldier, let him rest, life's toils are o'er, He'll blast out rocks, and battles fight no more.
But what a change ! few spirits yet remain, Few living links in memory's golden chain ; Loved scenes and places change as time rolls on, Men tread life's stage, the actors soon are gone; But here again they pass in swift review, And smiles and tears alternate rise anew : And though again these scenes theatric glow, Time's curtain soon will fall on all below, Death soon will bring life's drama to a close, The final exit to earth's joys and woes. Change comes to every circle here on earth, And fond affection mourns departed worth; That dear old home so cherished in my youth, Still calls me back in tenderness and truth : For there my father, mother lived and died,- They watched my youth with all a parent's pride : But now the town to me deserted seems, And pleasures past appear but idle dreams. My playmates scattered, once a numerous band, While here, returned, almost alone I stand, Reviewing days and years forever past, Too bright for earth, too beautiful to last.
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Life is a dream, the story of a day, A flower that blooms to perish and decay, But as our friendship on love's altar burns, Youth with its pictured memories returns : And as we view each well-remembered place, We see reflected many a welcome face, That brings up joys and pleasures once so dear, That had remained forgotten many a year.
The Lake where summer days I loved to float With friends delighted in our uncouth boat, I now recall, while youth and pleasure beam, The brightest jewels in a poet's dream. O, lovely lake ! no fairer waters shine, No wave reflects a brighter sheen than thine ; No other lake a purer wave can show, No brighter skies above their waters glow. Although unsung, still round thy rocky shore, Those old-time songs seem sounding evermore : On every breeze they fondly, sweetly swell, The dear old songs we loved in youth so well ; They tell of days departed, hopes and fears, That floated off with swiftly fleeting years ; But now return on echo's airy wing, Like Heaven's own doves that bring perennial Spring. The heart seems touched as by some magie spell, A pensive charm that makes the bosom swell With fond emotion as those seenes appear With spirits of the past now gathered here; Not e'en the gondolettas of Italian seas Charm with a cadence half so sweet as these. They 're deathless as the music of thy waves, That seems to rise from ont thy hidden caves ; Far down beneath the watery depths below, Where Naiads dwell and glittering jewels glow, Where elfins gather-then at evening glide, In songs and dances o'er thy rippling tide.
Turn from this picture in antique repose, Another still upon the canvass glows ; O! Winsted, 'tis of thee I fondly sing, And to thy shrine my humble offering bring ; A few short years have scarcely rolled away, Sinee dwellings plain along Mad River lay ; A humble village one would scarcely note, A hamlet, far from busy life remote; But now a city rears its strength so great, It wields a telling power throughout the State; There toil and labor their best trophies bring, While listening ears hear numerous anvils ring ; Sloth cannot find a single foot-hold there, But every soul its bounteous wealth can share ;
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Though mountains darkly frown on either side, And brawling streamlets through the meadows glide ; There strength and beauty hand in hand repair, And each their several burdens freely bear. The church with open doors invites to peace, And bids our worldly cares and sorrows cease ; There law in justice's scales impartial weighs The felon's crimes - the penalty he pays ; And to the mind diseased or body frail, There Esenlapean skill should never fail. The Press, that source of intellectual light, The news of nations spreads before the sight ; It comes from North and South, from East and West, The " WINSTED HERALD" proves a welcome guest ; Such, such is Winsted now, and still apace, It grows and thrives in every art and grace : Its schools well taught, its teachers full of zeal, Fit men for business and the public weal; Indeed, in every part, on every hand, It seems the smiling Auburn of our land.
Who cannot call to mind the crazy mill, Hard by Long Lake that overtopped the hill ; Where grain was taken and where grists were ground, And with revolving wheels the jest went round ? There Skinner reigned, the genius of the place, And honest merit marked his genial face; Down that steep hill I've journeyed many a time, And stopped to hear the distant belfrey's chime. I scarcely dreamed that at some distant day, The men so oft I met could pass away, So noble, generous, and so good were they. That Rockwell, Hinsdale, Wakefield, Boyd, and Coe, Could join the army of a hundred years ago, But still those old and honored names remain, To show those pioneers lived not in vain.
But Winchester, thou'rt like a parent old, Whose strength has failed, whose heart seems dull and cold; Who grieves that sturdy manhood cannot last, And now sits mourning over glories past.
But such is life -in youth we're filled with mirth And scarcely feel how much our being's worth : But time rolls on -old landmarks pass away, And joys, like short-lived blossoms, soon decay ; We could not dream in youth it could be so, Of change so great since fifty years ago : But when around these dear old hills I roam, I stop and ask -" Where is my dear old home ?" The pleasant faces that I used to meet, And talk and chat in accents fondly sweet ;
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They're gone forever-every well-known face,
And desolation marks each favorite place ; Still, few I greet, as friends I knew of yore, But seldom seen, - perhaps to see no more ! But when our days are ended here below, And eyes that shone have lost their cheerful glow ;
Though through life's struggle souls seem tempest-tost, May all a haven reach, no spirit lost ; But all redeemed, and through a Savior's love, Meet with our dearest friends in realms above ; Where every heart a record pure can show, To join our fathers of a hundred years ago ; And when another hundred years shall glide,
Down time's swift current, time's returnless tide, And other lips shall talk of dear ones fled, Oh! may they pay one tribute to the dead : Breathe one short prayer for those who've gone before, And now lie sleeping on death's silent shore :
Remember those in life from far and near, The friends and kindred loved now gathered here ;
And while our hearts with grateful memory's swell, To one and all I bid a kind farewell.
The reading of the poem was followed by singing by the choir, " Blow ye the trumpet, blow," &c.
REV. ARTIIUR GOODENOUGH .- We have been talking a good deal about ourselves to-day. I suppose it is proper for the most modest people to be guilty once in a while of a little glorification of themselves. I have not heard anything about our family to- day. But in the changes of these hundred years we have had a little daughter; at least she seems to be a little daughter, nov growing up and settled down in a little obscure valley, out of the way, in a place we call Winsted. After being prosperous there a little while she had another daughter, that seems to be coming up a lively sort of a girl, and has come and settled a little nearer to her old grandmother. We think they are rather promising girls, and we want to give them a chance to talk a little while now. They cannot tell much; they have not lived long enough. Perhaps they think they know almost as much as this grandmother. But I hope they will be wiser, and grow in grace. But we will not talk mueh abont them; they are able to speak for themselves.
RESPONSE BY DEACON ELIAS E GILMAN, of the First Congregational Church, Winsted
As allusion has been made by the last speaker to having a daughter residing in an adjacent valley, and as the pastor of the church residing in that village is absent for his vacation, it becomes me, as senior deacon of that church, to respond.
I am happy, in behalf of that church, to return our thanks to the parent church for the kindness and sympathy which they have this day and ever before exhibited towards that daught r, planted in that " obscure " village. But I will just s y that the church formed from this parent stock was organized in 1784, as the records show.
The first member was John Balcom, senior. Eight hundred and thirty-six ($36) additions have been made to the church. At the present time there are abont one hundred and eighty (180) members belonging to it. And we think, as young people are
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apt to think at the present day, that our grandsires did not know but a little; but still we look upon the parent church with interest and affection, and think they are what they have always manifested themselves towards us, our faithful friends, and when Father Marsh comes over to speak to us we hear him with rejoicing hearts, and we look back to-day with thankfulness that he has been spared so long, and is now per- mitted to participate in this centennial celebration. If our church is spared to see its hundredth year, we hope Father Marsh may also be spared to celebrate it with us.
RESPONSE BY REV. CHARLES WETIIERBY, Pastor of the Second Congregational Church, West Winsted.
I was married to this granddanghter of this church some five years ago, and she has made me on the whole, with a little trouble now and then, a pretty good wife. I have passed a great many pleasant days with her, and hope to a great many more. But, as the representative of the Second Congregational Church in Winsted, I come here before this grandmother to stand before this church that has carried my own in her heart's love, with something of the feeling of the college boy when returning from college days and college scenes, he comes to the old farmhouse and homestead. As I look upon the brain and hrawn that have given strength and nerve and energy to the boy, so do I feel that the virtue, and power, and strength of the Winsted Churches is the result of the culture, influence, and power that has been bestowed upon them from these old hills.
I come here to the grandmother church to preach once in a while, and as I listen to her praises to-day, and have done before, I feel that there is a great power in these old churches ; their influence has been a great power. And we send back greetings from Winsted to this old church on the hill for the piety she has endeavored to stamp upon the heart of her descendants. We send back greetings to the old church for the loving care with which she has watched over our tender years ; we send back greetings for all the New England purity and New England principle that she has sent out all over the land. I have seen men here to-day from the west, from New York, and from many places abroad. I have taken hold of the hands of those who have passed from you and taken up their abode in far off states, and they come back here, and I see as I look in your faces that the faces of the ladies are all beautiful, and those of the men all full of strength and power, and the recollection crowds upon me that such as these have planted New England institutions, and the New England churches, and I am thankful to God, who cares for all and watches over all, that he lias reared up here on these hills such a power and such an influence to go abroad into all the land.
I suppose it is true, as the speaker who introduced us said, that the grandmother thinks she knows a little more than we do who live in the humble valley. She has reason to think so, for in the first place she is up the highest in the world ; I think she is cight or nine hundred feet above ns, and that is a great deal we find when we come up here to pay her a visit. I know a little boy who stood up by the side of his father to measure his height, and he said, "Papa, I shall be bigger than you are by and bye." But we never expect, grandmother, that we shall be able to lift ourselves up to be high as you are. You are nine hundred feet above us, and you always will be. (Laughter).
I was thinking this morning, as I listened to that excellent address, how much of the history of these towns never will be told After all the eloquent account we had to-day, the real struggles, the real triumphs, and real conquests of the fathers and the mothers who planted themselves a hundred years ago along these hills will never be told. But when those men came from Hartford to settle Winchester, and when the men from Winchester went forth to settle other places, they all carried the church
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and the school with them; they carried sobriety of character, temperance, a sabbath- keeping spirit, a home spirit, a law-abiding spirit ; they carried a large-hearted, sane- tified spirit wherever they went. When we hear about new settlements in the west now, we expect to hear a good deal about whiskey saloons, about riotous proceedings generally, about western roughness ; a great deal about law-breaking, and a great deal about those activities and sentiments that are not brought under the restraint of principle and duty. And the question by contrast comes back, why do we not expect to hear of such things in the old New England settlements ? It is because every New England town, when it planted itself on these high hills, where the free air is playing ever, and where the sun is shining brightly ever, planted also the church ; and the sound of the sabbath bell, the sabbath song, and sabbath prayer went forth, reminding men of immortality.
Oh, friends, le' us thank God to-day, on this centennial occasion, for the fathers' prayers, the fathers' faith, and the fathers' hope ; and God grant that the churches you have planted down in the valley of Winsted, down where the streams are flowing, and where the workmen are so busy; where the sound of the hammer is heard all day long. Oh, may God grant that as those churches grow strong-as they are growing strong in numbers- they shall have all the love, all the purity, all that moral power, and all that sublime devotion to principle and duty which sustained the fathers when they planted, on this free New England soil, " a church without a bishop, and a state without a king," but a land governed by God.
Music by the band.
REV. JOSEPH ELDRIDGE, D.D., of Norfolk, was then introduced, and spoke substantially as follows :-
ADDRESS OF REV. JOSEPH ELDRIDGE, D.D.
Mr. President, I should not presume to appear before such an audience as this without more preparation than it has been in my power 10 make, were not the cireum- stances such as they are. I arrived home last evening, and received a notice of this meeting, and found my name down on the programme. But I am very happy to learn that it has been removed. Still, I have been called upon to say something, and I present myself before you, somewhat as the pastor of this church said he did, merely to go through with the motionis of appearing before you.
If I recollect what the programme calls for, I am to speak somewhat in reference to the pastors of this church. My memory does not go back of the ministry of our venerable father, whose presence cheers us this day. Forty years ago, the 25th of next April, was the day on which I first saw Reverend Frederick Marsh. He was then present, and took part in my examination, and in my ordination and installation over the parish where I have remained since that day. And, perhaps, as my recollec- tion goes back to this period, it might be interesting for you to know something about the ministers at that time in this region, and the state of feeling that existed during that period on varions subjects.
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