Annals and family records of Winchester, Conn.: with exercises of the centennial celebration, on the 16th and 17th days of August, 1871, Part 57

Author: Boyd, John
Publication date: 1873
Publisher: Hartford : Press of Case, Lockwood & Brainard
Number of Pages: 724


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 57


Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).


Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39 | Part 40 | Part 41 | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44 | Part 45 | Part 46 | Part 47 | Part 48 | Part 49 | Part 50 | Part 51 | Part 52 | Part 53 | Part 54 | Part 55 | Part 56 | Part 57 | Part 58 | Part 59 | Part 60 | Part 61


The Doctor, in those days of old, On Narragansett steed behold ! His leathern saddle-bags he fills With plasters, powders, and with pills, All made in doses big enough A corps of cavalry to stuff, His stirrups short bring up his knees


76


598


ANNALS OF WINCHESTER,


At angles with his saddle trees, And thus he rides, by night and day, To kill or cure, and get his pay In cheese or pumpkins, corn or hay.


The modern Doctor in his gig, With team and harness, best of rig, Dispenses finer, smaller pills, And sends in oft the biggest hills, To be all paid in good greenbaeks, Unless we choose the cheaper quacks.


The Lawyer, politic or proud, Still oraele to all the crowd, Looks out with hawk-eye for his prey, To get from clients richer pay ; E'en parsons preach and pray full well, When salaries fat their pockets swell, And worshipers in peace are bent, If they for cash get twelve per cent !


The old economy of life When, as 'twas said, to kiss his wife On Sabbath-day a man was fined, Is somewhat changed ; men now scarce mind Week days to kiss their wives enough ; But more delight in other stuff, And oftener kiss some lawless lips, Or make a few frail " free-love" slips ; Wives get divorce, through lawyers bold, From husbands who refuse them gold, Fortunes are made by hook or crook, Seldom by rules of Heaven's own Book ; And Sabbaths are not strictly kept, As when, if e'er we played or slept, Into hay-mows or nut-trees erept, We felt the rod and sorely wept ; When, as 'tis said, barrels were whipt For working beer in cellar crypt, Whipt now that they may work the more, And fuller make the beer outpour.


The Parson comes, no demi god of fright, With name to silenee children in the night ; Ile questions not with catechism dread To pound sound doctrine in the urchin's head ; His frown gives not the sinner Sinai-quakes, His hand the sword of justice seldom shakes ; With white cravat and ivory headed cane, He moves no more, of youthful joys the bane, Less pope and ruler ; more the equal friend, He teaches how those joys with Heaven's to blend, And thither pleasantly our footsteps bend.


599


CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION.


Not yet forgot are old " Thanksgiving-days," Though spent with more of guzzling than of praise ; The sermon finds its hearers, few and dull, But turkeys laek no eaters to the full ; Our children's stomachs, like those of our sires, Need to be greased and stretched at kitchen fires ; And night-mares horrible disturb our rest, With giant chicken-pics upon our breast, Oysters and lobsters ope their shelly jaws, Snapping at us for breaking Nature's laws.


But conscience makes things equal now we think, For gin-slings, toddies, and each fuddling drink Curse not the festive board or burn the brain, And thus our age hath made some social gain. Oh! that from low saloon and tavern-room, Such evil spirits might be hurled to gloom, Or only used when mixed with poison lead, To kill the bugs that blight the traveler's bed.


The land is free ; it feels no curse of Cain, Free let it be from vice and sordid gain, Free from the rule of rascals and of rum, Free from the martial din of fife and drum, Free from the bands of party-power and strife, From bigot hands with persecution rife, From trucklings low of office-men of note, Who throw a sop to Cerberus for his vote ; Why should not we make all these hill tops ring With Freedom's fullest music while we sing ?


Freely the sweet lark springs from earth, To sing his matin song of mirth, And plays amid the gathered dew That white clouds hold in th' ether blue; Freely the cool drops fall to earth, O'er fonts where first they gushed to birth ; That like the tinkling feet of fay, In shades and moonbeams chainless play.


Freely the light of sun and star Through myriad worlds of space from far, Journeys along the paths of God, Alone by angel footsteps trod ; Freely the sea's white surges pour, O'er sandy beach and rocky shore, Where in its depths of skiey blue, The dolphin plays with changing hue.


Freely through woods or over waves, The zephyr breathes or storm-wind raves, Each quivering leaf a pulse of life, Or every tree a foe in strife ;


600


ANNALS OF WINCHESTER,


Freely the heart within us beats, The ear sweet tones of nature greets, The eye, all beauteous things beholds, The memory every joy unfolds.


Freely all things of being secm To bring the end of life's sweet dream ; Why should not we, with all things be In body and in spirit free ? Oh! may the high, benignant God, Ordain to break each tyrant-rod, And teach our souls for aye to hate The abject lot and servile state !


The free-born voter yet may go With ballot to the polls, e'en though Election sermons, balls, and cake, No thoughts of old and young awake; These ancient ways leave us to find Joys other than theirs left behind. The four horse stage-coach comes no more, " OLD LINE AND NEW,"-to many a score Of gaping villagers a thing of pride, In which to take a wedding ride Was bliss indeed for rustic bride, Whom Hartford merchants could but bless, In selling her a marriage-dress. The driver's horn, with shrilling toot, The urchins hanging to the boot, The letters, bundles, papers, all For which each eager lip would call, Are of the past ; and in their place The locomotive runs its race, With mail-car and the express-train, And crowds, for pleasure or for gain ; The steam-pipes shriek, the smoke, and rush, The start, and sometimes fearful crush ; The hurry, scurry, flurry, here And there, of throngs from far and near, --- Oh ! how unlike are all these ways To those that charmed our boyhood's days ; They wake sensations wild and bold, But bring not half the bliss of old !


Oh! the huskings and the quiltings, And the bussings and the jiltings, And the huggings and the hidings In the hay-loft, and the bidings By the gate in evenings starry, Where 'twas bliss with one to tarry Near to midnight,-whom to marry Was we thought, a life-long blessing Made up only of caressing,


601


CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION.


With no ills for our confessing, Needing not the law's redressing.


Loving lips that trembled greeting, Finger-tips that tingled meeting, Horseback trips with maiden rider, Autumn straws for sucking cider, Nutting days and squirrel chasing, Blind man's buff with warm embracing, Feats of fun and youthful daring, Talking times of apple-paring, Sharp snow-balling, and the boasting Over sleds the swiftest coasting ;- These for us the years are bearing To the past, always unsparing !


Over yon grave-yard, where each tomb A marble record gives of gloom, We wander sadly, reading names Of those with whom we cherished aims Of future good and glorious fames, Or talked our boyish mischiefs o'er, And shared the orchard's stolen store; Oh ! as we think of them, the waves Of memory surge up o'er their graves, And from each heart this sad lament · Tells of a love as yet unspent.


Ye days of blessed boyhood ! The better time of life ! Now lost amid the whirlpool Of earth's absorbing strife ! Ah ! never more returning, Its halcyon moments come, For toward old age a pilgrim, "Tis journeying from its home !


Far fled art thou, my boyhood ! I miss your morning sheen, With eyes all dim and tearful, Though fruitlessly I ween ; For gone with years departed, Are all its joys and hopes, Since life has changed to manhood, And thro' dark caverns gropes.


I grieve o'er thee, my boyhood ! I want your bounding heart, Your shout of gleeful music That made old bosoms start; I want your step elastic, Your buoyancy of hope, Your oft unrivaled vigor, That with each arm could cope.


602


ANNALS OF WINCHESTER,


Oh ! I am lone, my boyhood ! Where are my playmate friends, Who with me blithely sported O'er all these hills and glens ? Where is the bird-like echo Of all their uttered joys ? Where are their jocund faces ? Where are those happy boys ?


Oh ! many friends of boyhood Far from these homes have gone ; Some tread earth's devious pathways, And some life's task have done ; Some sleep in caves of ocean, Some bleach upon its shore,


Some rest on fields of battle, Who weltered in their gore !


Where art thou gone, my boyhood ? Why come my friends no more To share the joys so guileless, That filled my bosom's core ? Alı! some look on mne coldly From Alpine heights of pride, Some pass me by despairing, Since all their hopes have died.


I mourn, I mourn my boyhood, Because my heart's dear ones Are not now round me moving, Nor on me shine like suns ; That in earth's burial places All silently they sleep, Here never more to bless me, Or o'er my follies weep.


Yet soothed am I, my boyhood, For hope hath not all died, E'en though your days have perished Your font will be supplied ; For from the crystal river That flows in yonder Heaven I'll drink new youth immortal, In dranghts exhaustless given !


Oh, then, thou deathless boyhood, There in thy new-born days, I'll meet the dear departed, And with them join in praise. Oh ! it will be all blissful Around God's throne to move, And chant in hymns celestial With them of Jesus' love !


603


CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION.


Though changed the times and faces, yet cach hill Is high and green, tree-clad and rocky still, The laurel, clover, butter-cup all bloom On them with beanty, shedding sweet perfume. The myriad stone-heaps in the fields yet rest, We miss but few from off their rugged breast ; Each lake spreads out its bosom bright and clear, And sends its currents downward to the mere ; Its pike and pickerel, perch and bass and eels, Oft tempt the fisher's skill to test his reels ; The brooks shine as of old in summer sheen, Though trout in them are few and far between. Through chasms long-time cut, Mad River flows When swelled by showers or spring-time melted snows, Flooding its banks, its bridges sweeping off, And covering plains, of human skill in scoff, Upon whose ruin-rush and wildering trend, These lines, one time, a bilious poet penned :


" Mad River, glad river, leaping 'mid mountains, Gathering the echoes that roll from their caves, Mingling the owl-hoots with song of the fountains, In the weird music that peals with thy waves.


" Mad River, sad river, moaning the losses Of the grand forests that shaded thy sides, Floated away to the rock-realms where tosses Ghost-foam of ocean's wild storm-haunted tides.


" Mad River, bad river, fierce in thy pleasure, Over the toiler's dear homes and rich fields, Sweeping away to the deep every treasure, Never to him a new harvest that yields.


" Mad River, glad river, sad river, bad river, Thou art the type of each tide changing soul, Either with joy or with grief made to quiver, Ever as tides, good or ill, in us roll."


Yet in the time of drought or further flow Down to the eastern meadows miles below, Mildly " Mad River" smiles o'er happy homes, Becomes " Still River " as it southward roams, Turns mighty wheels of mills that make men's bread, Moistens the sods that cover up the dead, And tells the living how that youth's wild rage May bring the work of art or calm of age.


As nature is-our hearts, are they the same ? Or are we changed, in life, and deed, and name ? Our fathers had their faults ;- these do we keep And leave their goodness in the past to sleep ? They had their fierce ecclesiastie fights, Their orthodox discussions, and their flights


604


ANNALS OF WINCHESTER,


Of eagle logie to celestial heights ; Parson and parish equal were in sin, When half-way covenants let church-members in, Or when disputing loud of Adam's fall, They proved that in him they had sinned all ; Oft by Hopkinsians with the doctrine crammed That to be saved you must wish to be damned ! Their Federal and their Democratic speech Caused in their households many a widening breach, When party spirit and New England rum Made their lot doubtful in " The kingdom come." Their hard-earned means and economic thrift, Oft made them chary of a lavish gift ; Yet were they just and honest, true and pure, Patient and hopeful, trained well to endure The hard rubs of the world and break the wiles Of evil, coming e'en with angel-smiles.


Such rougliness, toughness, toil and carking care, Nature and Time do not to us now bear ; With strong machines we pull out stumps of trees, We clear our fields from rocks that blast with ease; The scythe and sickle we in scorn ignore, And cut our meadows with a patent mower ; No tall well-sweeps their burdened buckets bring, To us come now, we go not to the spring ; The telegraph our message swiftly sends ; By lightning flash we gain our money ends. Volumes are writ and grand ideas we catch By pregnant words in one concise despatch.


In self-conceit we boast that we all are Than our good fathers, keener, richer far, More quick at bargains, sharper at a note, With bigger barns ashore or ships afloat ;--- No wonder wealth and wisdom here are found, " Barkhamsted Lighthouse " shines on all around !


Are we so strong of thought ? On Faith's great wing, Up to the heights of Truth soar we and sing ? With earnest spirits dive we down so deep, Where pearls divine of wisdom darkly sleep ? Or have our ease and luxury made us weak, The things of God with throes of soul to seek ? Are we as bold to grapple with great themes, To them so real-to us more like past dreams ? Are we in love with sacrifice of self, Or, chained to earth, in love with petty pelf ? Shall Darwin prove a monkey was our sire, Or Huxley mix us in material mire ?


What moral progress parallel with these Inventions of our day that so much please,


605


CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION.


Do we now make ? What loftier stand of good Do we now take, as Duty bids we should ? Higher and truer, purer, nobler, we, Than were our Fathers, in our life, must be.


Oh! as we onward sweep, by spark and steam, To the blest heights of some Entopian dream, Where temporal ill, and human strife shall cease, Where nations may from bondage find release, So let us mount, by footsteps all divine, And on the hills celestial brighter shine, The noble sons of fathers noble-born, Bcholders of a better generation's morn, The grander offspring of the grand old times, Who hear the music of millennial chimes Come floating o'er the far off Future's sea, And to the rhythm of their crystal wave March forth in power, humanity to save, Along the ways our strong-souled fathers trod To wield the force-the enginery of God, The culture, treasure, wisdom of the age, In full accord with Revelation's page, To launch the world upon that truth-lit sea, To float the nation. great, and true, and free,


On to the shores where bliss and glory wait To usher souls through Heaven's love-gnarded gate,


And bring them, star-bright, to their thrones on high,_ Amid the God-crowned circles of the sky !


The reading of the Poem was often greeted with cheers and laughter, as the telling points impressed themselves upon the eagerly listening au- dience. This was followed by an Anthem by the Choir.


THE PRESIDENT. Ladies and gentlemen, we have placed in the vestry of the church before us our mementos of the past and our curious works of art, for your in- spection ; but we have placed upon this platform onr Jewell, His Excellency, the Gov- ernor of Connecticut,-God bless him. (Long continued applause.)


Thus introduced and thus welcomed, His Excellency proceeded to respond, as follows :


ADDRESS OF GOVERNOR JEWELL.


MR. PRESIDENT, LADIES, AND GENTLEMEN :- When I accepted the invitation of my honored friend, the historian of the day, to be present at this centennial celebra- tion, I knew I should derive both pleasure and profit by so doing, but to what extent I did not, could not anticipate. It is far beyond my most sanguine expectations. It is always a pleasure for me to mingle with my fellow-citizens, either in a public or private capacity, and it is particularly so on occasions like this.


When in a community like this, renowned alike for its intelligence, its thrift, its de- votion to those fundamental principles of equality and justice which underlie the re- public, and insure its success ; when in such a community, an epoch has been reached,


77


606


ANNALS OF WINCHESTER,


or a period has been marked on the great cycle of time, and the people meet together to compare notes, and to give as it were an account of their stewardship; when this nappens, as in the present instance, it is the best of all times to see what real, genuine New England character is, what it has done, what it may do. Connecticut is, and has a right to be proud of its history, and of its long line of illustrious men. Not the least of these have been its Governors, of whom your county has furnished four during the century, whose names lend additional lustre to the already bright page of the his- tory of the State.


This town was settled during the most eventful period of American history. One hundred years ago Connecticut was in a ferment of preparation for anticipated hostili- ties with the mother country. Jonathan Trumbull was Governor, one of the most wise and sagacious men America has ever produced, whose name and fame became so nationalized by the confidence reposed in him by Washington, that the country adopted for itself in honor of him, as one of its pet names, that of Brother Jonathan, by which endearing title he was called by the father of his country. The State was agitated by those apprehensions which reached their crisis in the spring of 1774. By this time the obnoxious tea had been thrown overboard in Boston harbor and British vengeance had concocted by way of retort the Boston port b II, and had struck · by legislative act at the charter and government of Massachusetts. The first recorded evidence on the part of Connecticut, that indicated the general peril, was a proclamation issued by Governor Trumbull in May, 1774, which, after reciting the threatening aspect of Great Britain, enjoined a day of fasting and prayer. This proclamation was soon followed by an order to all the towns to double their quantity of powder, balls, and flints, and by resolutions passed in various town meetings, which declared the meas- ures of the British parliament to be usurpations which placed life, liberty, and property at utter hazard, and nnalterable determination of the people of Connecticut to main- tain and transmit those rights to the latest generations. It is a matter of no surprise that the grand old Governor should have earned the title of rebel Governor, which was given him in London, in 1771, four years before the Declaration of Independence.


It was amidst such commotions as these stirring events would indicate, that this now thriving town was settled, twenty years after the organization of Litchfield county. How well it was located, how brave and hardy were its pioneers, through what dangers they passed, and what magnificent results crowned their efforts, strug- gles, and trials, has been ably and happily told you here to-day. It may not be amiss to briefly note how nobly the people made good the gallant Governor's prediction in the struggle for independence which ensued. During the revolution, Connecticut ranked fifth of the old thirteen States in population, Massachusetts, New York, Vir- ginia, and South Carolina, being ahead of her.


In 1774 the population of the State was 198,010, and yet she furnished during the eight years of the war 39,831 continental troops and militia, which was the most fur- nished by any State except Massachusetts, which latter State furnished 83,092, New York furnishing 21,093, Virginia 30,835, and South Carolina but 5,508. Mr. Roger S. Baldwin said in the Senate, in reply to Mr. Mason of Virginia, "I can inform the senator that Connecticut, small as she was in territory and population compared with Virginia, had more troops in the war than the great State of Virginia. Virginia was obliged to offer tremendous bounties to induce her people to serve. The inhabitants of Connecticut rushed at once to the combat. They were at Ticonderoga, they were with Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys, himself a native of Connecticut, on an expedition planned in Connecticut, and paid for by Connecticut, before the continental congress of 1776 had assembled-capturing that important fortress almost before the blood had grown cold that was shed at Concord and Lexington. They were at Bunker Hill with Putnam and Knowlton and Grosvenor, and their brave


607


CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION.


compatriots, who needed no bounties to induce them to engage in the service of their country."


The Hon. Henry C. Deming says in a letter to George M. Brown in 1857 :- " No State contributed more than Connecticut to our revolutionary literature, to those songs, and strains, and martial airs, more potent to move and change than even laws and arms. John Trumbull rushed into the war with a pen as sharp and effective as any sword. 'McFingal' was written at the urgent solicitation of John Adams and the members of the American Congress."


Connecticut furnished more salt beef and pork, and more live cattle, than any other State. So remarkable was she in this respect that she was known as the Provision State. In the winter of 1778, the darkest period of the revolution, while our discour- aged and disheartened troops lay cold, naked, and hungry at Valley Forge, both officers and mnen nearly in despair, the commander-in-chief, as usual, turned his eyes longingly towards Connecticut, and made a strong appeal to Brother Jonathan for assistance. Nor was the call long unanswered, for, by order of the Governor, the chief commis- sary of the State, Colonel Champion, of Colchester, soon collected, and himself drove a large herd of cattle in mid winter, through almost impenetrable forests, over streams and mountains, more than three hundred miles, to the west bank of the Schuylkill, to the relief of more than ten thousand of our brave and starving men.


Such was Connecticut a hundred years ago-such in brief was the condition of affairs at the time of the first settlement of this town.


Our population small and scattered, our roads poor, and means of communication exceedingly difficult, steam and electricity still in the future, every man, woman, and child fully occupied in obtaining the means of subsistence, new towns to be laid ont, built, and organized, everybody in a hand to hand struggle with nature, yet, no sooner were any of the rights of the colonists threatened or invaded, than there were found to be plenty of men, and time, and food, and clothing, and, best of all, pluck, with which to defend themselves against all invading forces. Is the present generation up to the standard of the one of which we have spoken ? Have we the elements of national growth and strength in as large a degree as had our forefathers ? Are we as honest, as frugal, as patriotic, as self-sacrificing, as those who have given us their high example ?


In following down the century which we are now contemplating, it would be proper, had we time, to dwell for a moment upon the distinguished services which your own Litchfield county Governors have rendered to the State, covering a period of seventeen years, the two Governors Wolcott, Smith, and Holley. It is perhaps sufficient for our purpose to know that they did not detract from, but added to the high estimation in which our governors had always been held. For (nearly) ninety years after Governor Trumbull's administration, no Governor had an opportunity equal to his, in which to show his ability, integrity, and patriotism. Such opportunities are granted to but few, however much they may be longed for. Nor had the people had any occasion to show their strength and loyalty. Nothing had called out the patriotism and devotion to country which lay dormant beneath the quiet exterior of peace and a stable government. But the storm finally came. After much murmuring, threatening, and commotion, there came another time in our history that our liberties were threatened, our rights invaded, that our constitution was sought to be overthrown by traitors in our midst, a time that demanded our entire strength if we would preserve intact that inheritance which we received from our fathers. The circumstances of this last great struggle in which Connecticut did her full share, are too fresh in your minds to need recapitulation. It was then found that we had a chief magistrate second only to Washington; that Connecticut had a Governor equal to any that had gone before; and that the people, as they sprang to arms to put down a gigantic rebellion, wore worthy of both President and Governor,


608


ANNALS OF WINCHESTER,


If we may judge of the future by the past, it is safe to predict that the intelligence and patriotism of the people will be found equal to any demands which may be made upon them, and that in the future conflicts which are quite likely to come to the re- public, the people of our grand old commonwealth will be found where they ever have been found, in the front rank, fighting for freedom, for liberty, and for law.


A handsome bouquet of flowers was presented to the Governor at the close.


The address of the Governor was heartily applauded.




Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.