USA > Connecticut > Hartford County > Suffield > Celebration of the bi-centennial anniversary of the town of Suffield, Conn. : Wednesday, Oct. 12, 1870 > Part 5
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NOTE.
. By reference to the books of the Auditor's Office for the Post Office Department it is ascertained that the post-office at Suffield began to make quarterly returns on the 1st of October, 1796, and Hezekiah Huntington was the postmaster. It i- probable, therefore, that the office was established in August or September of that year. Since that time the names of postmasters and dates of appointments are correctly ascertained, which are as follows :
SUFFIELD. Established, probably, in August, 1796.
William Gay, appointed postmaster July 31st, 17DS.
Odiah L. Sheldon, appointed April 25th, 1535.
Horace Sheldon, 2d, appointed Feb. 5th, 1811.
George A. Loomis, appointed Angust 31st, 1812.
Samuel B. Low, appointed July 1st, 1550.
George Williston, appointed May 23d, 1553.
David Hale, appointed June 29th, 1561.
Richard Jobes, appointed July 6th, 1569, who is the present incumbent.
The following named persons, natives of Suffield, have held office as indicated in the Post Office Department of the United States:
GIDEON GRANGER, Postmaster General, appointed Nov. 28th, 1501.
FRANCIS GRANGER, Postmaster General, Appointed March 6th, 1841.
SETH PRASE, Assistant Postmaster General.
James Hitchcock, Clerk.
Harvey Bestor, Clerk.
James Pease, Clerk.
Oliver Phelps, Jr., Clerk, living in Canandaigua, N. Y.
Gamaliel Pease, Clerk.
Chauncey Bestor, Clerk, living in Washington City, D. C.
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Photo by M Mouthrap N Haven " one
Deydre Theled
POEM,
BY S. D. PHELPS, D. D.
Two HUNDRED YEARS! we're in the past to-day, Where thought and memory, fondly lingering, stray. The generations linked to us we trace ; As each appears behold them face to face ; Men of the stalwart heart and toiling hand, Women well worthy by their side to stand,
Children the image of their noble sires,
Whose blood and will the blended virtue fires. They wrought how well ! they made the glorious past ; From them the treasure that all time shall last.
Two hundred years ! ah, these are now secure, And naught can waste a heritage so sure. We speak of fleeting epochs, vanished days, As airy nothings or a meteor blaze. Not merely shadows we, nor vapors dim- The dying echoes of a vesper hymn. The Springtime flits, the Summer glories fade, Autumnal tints o'er all the fields are laid ; But the rich harvest grew; in the warm sun It ripened, and was to the garner won.
Yonth's blooming years and manhood's stronger day Go like the seasons, but their lessons stay ! No past have we, the boon is never ours, Till pale and drop the earliest, fairest flowers. Our minds take not life's true and deep intent, Till from beyond we sean their history spent. The problem's solved in sorrow; joy and toil; In these we learn, and gather thence our spoil. We lose the time, the bliss and pain it brings, To get them back in deeper, nobler things. There's our true heritage, and naught can wrest Away the glorious past when once possessed ; Its precious lessons, its affections pure Will, withont change, for evermore endure.
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Oh, mourning mother ! the sweet child you gave So soon to Heaven, so carly to the grave, Is yours, a child for ever, through all change Of carthly scene, or vast unmeasured range ! A parting pang, a past-these were the cost By which you keep the tender bloom you lost.
Two hundred years ! how like a tale that's told Each lengthened life on to its limit rolled. The words are gone, the very sounds have died, But lives the story yet-`twill e'er abide. In what they were, in noble acts they did, The generations past can ne'er be hid. Our own they are, because they're here no more, But with us leave the mantles once they worc. The richest wealth, our best emotions felt, Are wisdom, patience, love, that in them dwelt. Without the hallowed past, O, what were we ? We are the fruit of the ancestral tree.
Upon life's ladder to a higher stage Have we ascended in this later age ? Built from our manhood, with a better art, A grander temple of the human heart ? We'll not ignore the steps, moss-grown and grey, Nor scorn the scaffolding that falls away. As well the lake, from its full crystal bed, Disdain the humble streams by which 'tis fed. The tree, to large and fine proportions grown, Was nursed by fallen leaves and boughs its own ; From its decays a broader verdure springs, And richer fruit on every branchlet swings. With this great law humanity is rife- From ashes beauty and from death comes life. In us, through labors, sufferings, hopes and fears, Behold the harvest of two hundred years !
The field is beautiful whereon it grew, Erst Southfield called, the time its bounds were new. But carlier still it had its Indian names, Too rough to place in smooth, poctic frames ; Then, as its winding pathways white men took, They named the region from its " Stony-brook."
'From the " Great River," at its eastern bound, It spreads abroad in undulating ground, Sweeps the bold range of Talcott Mountain's crest, And on the Manituck it finds a rest.
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These wild and almost trackless solitudes Bore on their bosom the primeval woods ; The sturdy oak, like pillars of the realm, Vied with the grandeur of the gothic elm ; Birch, maple, chestnut, ash, and more like these Made the vast army of majestic trees; While here and there, along the serried lines, Stood, like brave chieftains, tall and tufted pines. How fierce the battle when the winter tempest loud Swept through the ranks and the stern leaders bowed ! No wonder those who carly sought a farm Should from this mighty legion take alarm, And say, as courage failed to enter in, "A very woody place and difficult to winne." Others, of braver hearts and stronger hands, Began the conquest of these forest lands. They felled the foe ; they reared their humble homes ; They knew through patient toil the victory comes.
Was it from stock thus trained and strong, the fame Of Suffield enterprise and people came, Known the land over for their Yankee skill, Shrewdness of intellect and power of will? Or was't because we bordered on the State Of Massachusetts, long renowned and great, Were held by her for threescore years or more, Until at length, all disputations o'er, Its wish and right secured, the town was put Within the lines of old Connecticut; And so its people reached their virtues great, The blended product of cach noble State ?
Two hundred years ! and how does Beanty crown The whole broad surface of our lovely town. What thrifty farms, and tasteful dwellings fair ; What well-tilled fields return their harvests rare. Look from this hill, or youder ridge more high, Enchanting landscapes meet the gladdened eye ; The rising ground, the intervening vales, The fruitfulness that everywhere prevails, The crystal streams that thread their way and sing. The lingering trees that grateful shadows fling, The cheerful homes that speak of wealth and art, And richer treasures of the cultured heart ; O happy spot and dear! go where we will, This scene of beanty lives, unrivaled still !
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Scarce had the settlers here their cabins placed, Ere the first meeting house the common grace 1. Afar, along the ample street cach way, This humble building in the vision lay. As nigh the holy hour of worship drew, Waved from the roof a flag of crimson hue ; It bade them come, the aged and the young, And praise their Maker with the heart and tong ie ; Not with the equipage of modern days, Not c'en the wagon rude or richer chaise, But in pedestrian groups who near abide, Those from a distance in their saddles ride; Nor failed the loving spouse, with willing mind, To take a pillion-seat her lord behind, While boys and girls, to hardy lives inured, With nimble feet the Sabbath walks endured. So for a hundred years these paths they trod, And thus together sought the House of God, Till generations passed, and others came To feel the warmth of the dear altar-flame, Till sanctuaries old and strait decayed, ' And others rose in ampler art arrayed. After the first they fitly graced the hill Crowned by the splendid church this day we fill.
Beside the third-which often met my eye- Before 'twas finished, 'neath the open sky, The wondrous Whitefield preached to thousands there ; First on a joiner's bench he knelt in prayer, And such the unction and the fervor given, He seemed, tradition says, to pierce the heaven ; And such the sermon's power that ere he'd done, The hearts of many to the Lord were won.
As passed the years another order grew, And to its humble home adherents drew ; Then, in an ampler temple o'er the way, It flourished well and is a power to-day. These honored churches, ranged each side the street, Sing the same songs, the same good news repeat : As richest blessings crown them from above, Be they, though differing still, alike in love.
Two hundred years ! How faithfully have wrought God's ministers, as precious souls they sought,
FIRST CHURCH ERECTED IN SUFFIELD. ABOUT 1650.
Extract from the Town Records, April 6. 1655 :- "That the Townsmen shall upon ye townes' cost procure a ladder and alsoe a red flagg to hang out for a signe that persons may know the time for assembling together."
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From Pastor RUGLLES,* of the earliest fold, To those who now the sacred office hold. YOUNGLOVE * is with us still, and no age knows; Remains DEVOTION,* and the fervor glows ; In long GAY * times, with Ebenezers raised, Our HASTINGS * have been heavenward-God be praised ! Forgive the tempted pen to pun these names, . Portraits beloved in memory's sacred frames. How much is due to them, their toils and prayers, The seed they sowed and watched with tears and cares : From thence the richest fruitage of the past- The purest blessings that shall longest last.
How, in my earliest memories linger yet Those holy men my youthful vision met; Dear reverend forms and voice of solemn sound; I listened, and was filled with awe profound. The texts of WALDO,* simple, earnest, clear ; Of Mix,* who, oft pathetic, dropped a tear; Of MORSE,* so tender and so warm in heart, Are still in mind, nor shall they ere depart. The last was the first pastor known To me; Oft when a child I sat upon his knee ; See now his snowy hair and radiant face, As in the pulpit high he took his place, And oft with simple eloquence would thrill The throng in the old church on Zion's Hill. From my small prison, near the center aisle, A deep, square pew, I watched him for awhile, Then, standing on the seat, I twirled the slats, Or through them peeked and pranked with neighboring brats ; And then I had a curious strong desire To see and hear the pitch-pipe of the choir. The leader, with his mystic box in hand, Came to the front and took his proper stand. Raised the queer instrument and blew his toot, That each might catch the key and follow snit. No organ, with its soft or thundering tone, Led our high praises to the Heavenly Throne; "Iwas deemed, if not profane, quite out of place, And sounding viols were intensely base. I see them-in the gallery front they rise, And slightly turn their faces to the skies- Young men in Sunday best and well-kempt hair, Maidens' bright cheeks from which the bonnets flare ;
* See Notes at the close of the Poem.
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With earnest heart and unartistic voice They sang the hymns that made us all rejoice. Those plaintive tunes, how deep the minor roll That thrilled like harps of heaven the pensive soul ! Born on this soil, as sweet and wierd was one- "China"-as music of a dying SWAN. Mind
The mental culture of the rising youth, Their early need of elemental truth Impressed our thoughtful fathers, and they laid Foundations as they could the work to aid : Hence the free school, and Master AusTINt well Taught how to read and cypher, write and spell. The little school-house on the common set, The little group that first within it met, The simple studies they pursued or knew, The meagre text-books, unattractive, few, The treadmill steps to reach the lower hight Of Science' hill, so faintly then in sight- Ah ! as this olden scene to view is brought, Think of the change the passing years have wrought ! Behold the Public School, its throngs how fair, What means of mental wealth and culture there; Behold the ampler range in clustered Halls For those who list to Learning's higher calls !
Two hundred years ! In our review to-day Come the vast throngs that lived and passed away. Not the mere outward show and form of things, We trace life's deeper stream and hidden springs; Its earnest thoughts and conflicts, hopes and fears, Its holiest loves, its tenderness and tears ; The grandest attributes of human souls, In what inspires, impels, restrains, controls ; In all that manhood seeks of wealth and fame, High nobleness of life and stainless name, Pursuits well worthy the immortal mind, A glorious benediction to mankind. Here they appeared and had their day and power, Rose in their strength and found their waning hour. Some mounds on yonder slope tell where they lie, And some in places far that saw them die.
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* Timothy Swan, of Suffield, was the composer of "China." t Anthony Austin, first Schoolmaster of the Town.
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As the broad acres of a forest deep, Beneath the eye's quick undulating sweep, Reveal, along the distant range of sight, The grander trees that reach a nobler hight, And hold awhile the lingering, gladdened gaze, To mark their verdant crowns or flowering blaze- So o'er this track of centuries to-day We note the men of master minds and sway. Here honors found them in their native town, Or elsewhere gave them influence and renown. In every conflict for their country's right, Foremost they stand in the ensanguined tight ; Colonial wars, and Independence time, The later struggle, and the last sublime ; In all they bore a true and manly part, With patriot zeal and freedom-loving heart. They're found in civil life, law-learned and wise, Grasping with strength great questions as they rise, Of clear perception and forensic power, With forecast broad and fitness for the hour ; In the high office and the work it brings, Called and commissioned by the King of kings; On varied fields their faithful labors blessed, Where many souls they led to truth and rest ; In healing arts, with ready skill and ken ; In authorship, and wielding well the pen. Their names, as household words, would I record, And mete them out a well-deserved reward; But time forbids -- nor is it needful now, Your worthy orator has wreathed each brow.
Go back to the last century's closing years, Suffield among the rising towns appears, A central place, of wide extensive trade, Whose enterprise its reputation made. Of Hartford, Springfield, 'twas a rival then, And equaled them in influential men. It had large factories and well sustained, And artizans in skillful labor trained. If peddlers made their indigo of clay They had to find their market far away. It had a Weekly Press, of ample size, And editorial talent-'twould surprise You now to sean its files and columns o'er; The names, the firms, the advertisements of yore. 9
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O'er the wide land, for high and healthful tone, " The Impartial Herald" was a paper known.
Dear native town! home of my carly days, I'm glad to find in thee so much to praise ; So grand a record in the years gone by ; So much that meets to-day the grateful eye. Thou art not faultless-no, nor free from stain ; I would not palliate thy love of gain, Nor spare the blind and narrow selfishness That's been a barrier to thy best success. A generation since you turned your back On that great thoroughfare and iron track, Which sought to pass convenient to your door, And had prosperity and wealth in store. The long repentance of these thirty years, In the wee Branch you've waited for, appears. How lavish Nature on this ample ground Longs that more marks of art and taste be found ; Where wealth and culture in profession dwell Should public spirit be a living well.
Too much of life's been given to money greed, As have your lands to bear the "filthy weed." But not severities my lines shall fill ;
Suffield, " with all thy faults I love thee still." Thy children love thee wheresoe'er they stray ; Come back to prove their filial hearts to-day. God bless thee, mother dear of noble sons And noble deeds -- the present, future one3 Be yet the nobler as thy course appears Brighter, more bright, through all the coming years !
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NOTES.
RELATING TO THE MINISTERS REFERRED TO ON PAGE 63.
REV. BENJAMIN RUGGLES was the first pastor in Suffield. The Church (Con- gregational) was organized and he ordained April 26, 1698. He was born at Rox- bury, Mass., August 11, 1676. His father was John Ruggles, and his grandfather, of the same name, came from England in 1635. Benjamin graduated from Harvard College in 1693, and two years after came to Suffield. He died September 5, 1708, O. S., at the early age of thirty-two. But his brief ministry was one of great use- fulness. His wife's death took place a year before his. Her maiden name was Merey Woodbridge, daughter of Rev. John Woodbridge, of Wethersfield, and granddaughter of Gov. William Lecte. They left seven children, and many of their descendants have filled honorable and useful positions both in Church and State.
REV. JOHN YOUNGLOVE was the first minister in Suflleld. He came from Massachusetts in 1679 or 1680, and remained until his death, June 3, 1690. Not much is known of his previons history, or of the character of his ministry, and it is not certain whether he was a college graduate or had ever been ordained. He left also seven children, and his widow, Mrs. Sarah Younglove, survived him nearly twenty years.
REV. EBENEZER DEVOTION succeeded Mr. Ruggles in the pastoral office. Ile was ordained June 28, 1710, having already been with the church about a year. He was a native, it is supposed, of Dorchester, Mass., and graduated from Harvard College in 1707. He died April 11, 1741, at the age of fifty-seven, having been pas- tor of the church about thirty-one years. His ministry was very successful, result- ing in accessions to the church of three hundred and thirty-four persons, some being received every year with one exception. Mr. Devotion was thrice married. Ilis two sons, Ebenezer and John, became ministers of eminence.
REV. EBENEZER GAY, D. D., was the next pastor. He was ordained January 13, 1742. He was an able divine, and sometimes in conversation showed a vein of humor. It is said when he was a candidate for the pastoral office, being very slen- der at that time, some of the people thought he was too spare, there was not enough of him, his leg's were too small. He met the objection with a sermon from the text: "He taketh not pleasure in the legs of a man." It was a success, and he was harmoniously settled. His long ministry of over fifty-four years was closed by his death, March 7, 1796, at the age of seventy seven. His son, REV. EBENEZER GAY, Jr., succeeded him in the pastorate, being ordained March 6, 1793. He was a graduate and tutor of Yale College and a fine scholar, and in his early ministry a popular preacher. His active pastorate continued until December 13, 1826, and he was senior pastor until his decease, January 1, 1537, in the seventy-first year of his age and the forty-fourth of his ministry. Early in Dr. Gay's pastorate, November 10, 1743, the Second Congregational Church was organized in the West Parish. A few years later, as an incidental result of the " great awakening," others with- drew, under the lead of Joseph Hastings, and formed a Separate Church.
REV. JOSEPH and JOHN HASTINGS, father and son, were the first Baptist minis- ters in Suffield. A member of the Separates became Baptists, and the First Baptist
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Herekinh Spencer
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Church was constituted in 1769, with Rev. Joseph Hastings as pastor. It was located on Hastings' or Zion's Hill. Rev. John Hastings was ordained as co-pastor with his father in 1775, and after his father's death in 1785, aged eighty-two, he continued in sole charge of the elinreh until his own death, March 17, 1811, at the age of sixty-eight. Without a liberal education, he had great mental vigor and was an impressive and successful minister of the gospel.
REV. DANIEL WALDO, a native of Windham and gradnate of Yale, was the second pastor of the Congregational Church in the West Parish, succeeding Rev. John Graham. He was ordained May 23, 1792, and resigned his charge after eighteen years of service. At later times he visited this people when I heard him preach. He died July 30, 1864, lacking but a few weeks of being one hundred and two years old. He was a chaplain in Congress at the age of ninety-five, and preached his last sermon after entering upon his one hundred and second year.
REV. J. MIX was the successor of Mr. Waldo at West Suffield, and occasionally visited the school which I attended, and preached in the neighborhood.
REV. ASAHEL, MORSE became pastor of the First Baptist Church as the successor of Rev. John Hastings, in 1812. He was the son of Rev. Joshua Morse, and was born at New London, (Montville,) November 11, 1771. He preached in various places, but most of his ministerial life was passed in Suffield. He took consider- able interest in political movements, and in 1818 was a member of the convention that framed the present Constitution of the State, and drafted the article relating to religious liberty. When a child, I remember his frequently coming to my fath- er's honse, over the mountain, and preaching on a Sabbath or evening. He died June 10, 1836, in his sixty-sixth year.
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APPENDIX. .
[From the Hartford Times, Oct. 15, 1870.] SUFFIELD'S BI-CENTENNIAL.
The Celebration Wednesday, October 12th.
PROCESSION-DECORATIONS-TOASTS-ADDRESSES-POEM -- MUSIC, AND THE DISTINGUISHED GUESTS.
Suffield had on Wednesday, October 12th, a celebration of the 200th anniversary of the settlement of that township. The event had been looked forward to with pleasure by all the citizens of the town. Invita- tions had been issued to many distinguished persons to take part in the celebration, and the town appropriated funds for the proper observance of the day. A large tent was erected on the town green-the ladies pre- pared their choicest viands. A programme was arranged, comprising a procession, firing of guns, and oratorical exercises at one of the churches, and every one anticipated a fine time. The clerk of the weather was not, however, so kindly disposed, and instead of granting a fine, sunshiny, autumn day, sent a drizzling, penetrating rain that soaked through everybody, and cast a damper upon the celebration. It was decided to carry out the programme in spite of the storm, and with the exception of the rain and mud everything passed off satisfactorily.
A special train left Hartford at quarter past 7 o'clock, carrying, among others, ex-Gov. Jewell, Gen. Hawley, Dr. Collins Stone, and many other distinguished citizens. At Windsor Locks the cars were switched upon the new branch road from that point to Suffield, it being the first train over the road. Owing to the failure of the contractors to complete an . iron bridge, the cars were obliged to stop about half a mile from the de- pot, and here carriages were provided for the guests, who were mostly cared for by private citizens of Suffield. The later trains added con- siderably to the number present, and among them came Gov. English and part of his staff.
THE PROCESSION
was formed at 9 1-2 o'clock. A special police force led the way, fol- lowed by the committee of arrangements, trustees and teachers of the Connecticut Litetary Institute, the teachers of the public schools, Colt's Band of Hartford, the president and vice-presidents of the day, the
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clergy, the orator and the poet of the day, ex-Governors Jewell and Hawley, and citizens in general. The procession proceeded directly to the new Congregational church, which was already well filled, and was crowded before the exercises began.
THE DECORATIONS.
The church, which is a very beautiful edifice, was recently dedicated. It was built at a cost of $72,000, and is very elegantly finished outside and in. A fine-toned organ occupied one end of the sanctuary, the pul- pit being in a recess at the opposite end. The wood work is entirely oil finished, and the building tastefully frescoed. On this occasion the church was made even more beautiful by the profuse display of flowers and evergreens, which were tastefully arranged. In the recess of the pul- pit was the inscription in large letters :
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1670.
WELCOME, 1870.
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF SUFFIELD.
In front of the pulpit was an arch inscribed " WELCOME," worked in vari-colored flowers, and large bouquets and baskets were placed at every available point. On each side of the pulpit were hung portraits of the Revs. Ebenczer Gay, father and son, former pastors of the church. These were twined with wreaths of laurel, mingled with ripe grains, and in front of each stood large vases filled with autumn leaves, sheaves of wheat and corn and other grain. Long ivy vines were twined around the altar lamps. On the communion table stood a small bronze model of the forefathers' monument now being erected on Plymouth Rock. It stood upon a base of flowers, and on each side were large baskets of fra- grant blossoms.
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