Commemorative biographical record of Middlesex County, Connecticut : containing biographical sketches of prominent and representative citizens, and of many of the early settled families, Part 86

Author: Beers (J.H.) & Co., Chicago, pub
Publication date: 1903
Publisher: Chicago : Beers
Number of Pages: 1502

USA > Connecticut > Middlesex County > Commemorative biographical record of Middlesex County, Connecticut : containing biographical sketches of prominent and representative citizens, and of many of the early settled families > Part 86

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Now look with me across the lapse of time, And listen, friends, with patience to my rhyme, While I attempt to bring before your view Some of the scenes which they have journeyed through. First we will take a glimpse of yonder hill, Where stood an old brown house; I see it still, Though years ago, its frame-work torn away, Another took its place, is there to-day, How many of us can the vision see ! Old-fashioned house and leaning cherry tree, The garden fence both sides, and up the hill The barn and hay-stack, much as they are still. Dear ancient house, with thy low leaning roof, Time wove within thy portals many a woof; Four generations lived within thy walls, Each after each, and echoed through thy halls Their several notes of sorrow and of joy, Ere time and progress touched thee to destroy. And thou wert builded on a sacred spot, A grant of land that should not be forgot; The voice of gospel power, than sound more strong,. Proclaimed by son of him to whom belong

BUILT BY SAMUEL HART IN 1759, THE HOME OF FOUR GENERATIONS OF THE FAMILY. ORIGINAL HART HOME, DURHAM, CONNECTICUT.

WE Hart

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AND IN WHICH MR. HART TAUGHT.

THE ANNEX WAS ONCE A SCHOOLHOUSE IN WHICH SHE ATTENDED THE DISTRICT SCHOOL,

THE CHILDHOOD HOME OF MRS. WM. A. HART, NORTH MADISON, CONNECTICUT.

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COMMEMORATIVE BIOGRAPHICAL RECORD.

Honor and praise from all the good and true; John Elliott ! that honor was thy due. This precious heritage of goodly land, Passing by change of time from hand to hand, Was steadily transferred along the line Of honored ancestry, till walls of thine, O house of ancient birth, thereon were reared, And 'neath thy sheltering roof there first appeared The husband and his bride, an altar here Of home amid the wilderness to rear. Here children grew, from hence to battle's strife The husband went and left his weeping wife; Brought back again his honor, and his wounds, And slept no more to wake to mortal sounds. Another reign of threescore years and ten, And death, the reaper, at his work again. This aged husband found his birthplace there, 'Mid all the pride which greets the first-born heir ; 'Tis true that other children followed fast, But yet, I think that nothing can outlast The first glad joy that fills a parent's breast When only one has come into the nest. A taste for knowledge grew with growing time, But science was a hill full hard to climb; Yet what he could he gathered by the way, And so it grew upon him day by day. .With pluck and energy he fought along And finally attained his manhood, strong In every principle of truth and right That goes to make a man a man of might ; The Bible, loved by him from early youth, His hope and constant guide in ways of truth. Behold him at the portals of the door That enters manhood, and with me turn o'er Another page in memory's wondrous book, And at another picture take a look.

I went one day in June to get the view Which I will do my best to give to you. You cross yon hill and thence through many a dale, And find yourself within a quiet vale, Where stands another old brown house, alone. Its being was, till then, to me unknown. The faithful wife wc greet with smiles to-day Was with me when I took my lonely way To view it, nearer than the spot she showed, Where we could see it, from the rough old road, Too rough for her, and for the horses, too, But not too rough for me, and I went through And came upon the spot, and there, alone, [ stood and gazed. where generations gone, Whose blood flowed in my veins, had stood before, Neath that same roof, in that same open door. This aged woman, with the silvery hair, Ope'd her blue baby eyes and first smiled there. Her grandfather, when all that land was ncw, Built there his home, the house I've showed to you, At one end of which, now, there is an Ell, Of which I have a little tale to tell; It had a schoolhouse been in days gone by, Which gives it place within my history. [ learned this much from one who lived there then ; "'Twas drawn," he said, "from further down the glen." I saw the corner where he said it stood; [ passed it when I came down through the wood. [ saw the babbling brook that rippled near, Reflecting beauties in its waters clear : The over-hanging vines, the bridge, the log. Pond-lilies that I sought through marsh and bog, The place had all so many charms for me, [ left it when I must, reluctantly.

The youth we left at manhood's open door Went out from home, and brought his gathered store. Of knowledge with him, there to take the rule Of boys and girls who formed the district school. The first schoolhouse in which he ever taught, That Ell, long time since from the corner brought. In those days every teacher boarded 'round, And much enjoyment from the changes found; Tho' families, in general, were not small, And one might stay, ofttimes, some weeks for all. The baby eyes of blue that ope'd to light, In yon old house, now grown so clear and bright With eighteen years of healthy country life, Were earnest getting in the busy strife, With ways and means to make the two ends meet, Which moved her parents' hearts, and heads, and feet To steady toil, as with the years there came Full many another child their care to claim. So many younger ones there were to clothe and feed, Of service she could give there was such need. She went no more to school, but in the care Of home and family took ample share. The schoolmaster was coming there to board! No doubt she conned anew the knowledge stored In her few years of school life, wished it might Have been much more, looked forward to the night Of his appearance, curious and shy, Half longing, half afraid, she knew not why. They met, and I should like if I could tell Of all the fascination of the spell Which grew up round them as the time went on, And found the months of winter quickly gone.

I fancy that it marked an era new

In both their lives, and oft the teacher drew, On one pretext or other, to the spot Where glowed a face that could not be forgot. The days went on, until two years had passed Since first their paths had met and touched; at last, At last there came a day, when, full of joy and pride, He led her from her home, to be his bride.

O year of eighteen hundred twenty-eight ! To nine of us thy ripening June was freighit With promise of a good outlasting time; The chance to live and make our lives sublime. Thus, both their lives apart when life begun, Henceforth were merged together into one. They builded here this humble little cot. Than which to-day the whole round earth holds not A mansion, howsoever grand it be, That human hearts regard more tenderly,

Because the sacred name of home it bears, And thousand fond associations wears. Here, one by one, their children blessed their eyes, Nine individual, separate destinies, In each of which, somewhat anew again. They lived their own youthtime of joy or pain. Some from the father claiming most of life, Some bearing closest kinship to the wife; Each with some deep-set want its very own, Some claim to love by all the rest unknown ; The best they could for them they've always done, Giving a share of good to everyone. Not of corruptible, which moth and rust Have power to melt away and turn to dust, But pure example, elevated thought, And truths of highest meaning. They have taught A love of nature, mountains, trees, and brooks, No less than knowledge to be found in books ; A sacrifice of self. a courage strong. To fight against the mighty powers of wrong

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COMMEMORATIVE BIOGRAPHICAL RECORD.

That all along the bivouac of life Engage the heart in fierce and deadly strife ; A love for all things high and true and pure, A heritage unfading, priceless, sure. A greeting now to each who holds a part, An heirship, in this long united (Hart) heart.

Elizabeth, the child of hope and pride First in parental fondness to abide, We greet you with the love and honor due The eldest child and sister kind and true; The memory of a fair and youthful face, Hair like the raven's wing, o'er lofty brow Where time has set his certain signet now- Perhaps you do not know the place you hold Within our hearts, and need it should be told ; 'Tis next the shrine on which our parents stand. Most true and honored leader of the band, We thank you for your pure and noble life, A loving mother and a faithful wife, Yet sister fond, and daughter all the same, While recognizing every other claim. We tender you most loving sympathy, In recollection of the broken tie, The only one in all the fifty years The record of this family history bears; May comfort from above your spirit stay Until you meet again in perfect day. From you I turn to greet the eldest son :

We hail you, Frank, most gladly, every one; The oldest boy! the father's hope and stay, When time shall take him in his onward way In the down-hill of life; and failing strength Shall make him wish to lean on you at. length. All this is gathered in a father's thought, As to his arms his first-born son is brought ; All this beams from a mother's loving eye As to her ear is borne his earliest cry ; All this and more is realized in you, As, in the prime of manhood, now we view With untold pride, your kindly face, our Frank, Whom all of us have so much cause to thank ; So much good cheer to all our lives you've brought, So constantly the good of each you've sought ; We constitute you counselor and friend, And ask the best for you that Heaven can send.

I am the next; I cannot greet myself, And so will lay my name upon the shelf.

Lewis, we hail your face with much delight, So long time banished from our longing sight. It brings us back again to childhood's days, So fraught with memory of prankish ways, In which you had no little part to play ; Of mischief, fun and frolic, day by day, Before life's stern realities begun To dawn o'er childish joys, and love of fun. At last when early manhood's morning broke And let its light upon you, you awoke To purposes which brought a great unrest, And bade you set your face toward the West. In vain, with pleading tone and argument, We strove to hinder you from such intent ; Your purpose fixed, you took your westward way, And there is your adopted home to-day. We welcome you more gladly for the years Your voice was lost in silence to our ears ; And in the time to come we hope to hear Its music oftener resounding near.

Ellen, dear invalid, with patient face, Most tenderly we greet you in your place ; We wish your face were fresh as when a child All nature looked on you, and you on it, and smiled, When careless, free, with bounding health and joy, A hatless girl, and coatless, shoeless boy, Brothers for your companions, one each side, You roamed the hills, and scoured the meadows wide, In search of wild flowers, berries, treasures rare, The mysteries of earth, and sky, and air. I seem to hear again the merry glee Resounding in your laugh, so glad and free. Though now your tones in deep-locked silence lie, Much of the old light glistens in your eye. We wish to see it all return again, With freedom from disease and gnawing pain ; We trust you to His care who doeth well All things; and would by faith a mighty spell Might give you back, this very hour, Full health, and faculty of every power.

A baby face comes up before me now; Sweet lips, blue eyes, a high and snowy brow ; A fair embodiment of childish grace, Some look of likeness to which I can trace In Charlie, next in turn, to manhood grown, With thought, and look, and bearing all his own; The prime of manhood scarcely yet attained, Though much development of purpose gained ; Rich fields are opening to his daily view, With stores of thought and feeling ever new, And life seems golden with its promised hope Of love and labor, widening in its scope. May Heaven's richest blessings on him rest, And calm enjoyment ever fill his breast.

The youngest son, and tallest, of the four Comes next to view; I see him, as of yore He tried to make machines and engines rare Of spinning wheels, old clocks, legs of a chair ; Dammed up the brooks to make his mill-wheels go, Sailed his small boats on water gathered so; Loved studying to whittle something new, A little better than the dryer view Obtained from grammar and arithmetic; Better than books, a jackknife and a stick ; I scarcely recognize the boy in Fred ; I almost see an artist in his stead. The germs of thought that in this life begin, Will, if we let them grow our minds within, In time bud out, and bloom and fruitage bear, Some good for use, some beautifully fair. If life is ended ere the fruitage come, Or ere the thought has even reached its bloom, The immortal spirit on the other shore Will just take up the work to end no more; So may it be, my brother Fred, with you, In all the possibilities you view Within yourself, were circumstances right To grant results they promise to your sight.

My sister Kate, to you what shall I say. In later years my comrade by the way ; In childhood days my little chosen friend, Whose every fault I labored to defend. More than the rest your lot has been to cheer Our parents' hearts, by being present here When others had to leave them, one by one, Until, save you, each of the nine were gone. Many a day that would have seemed more long And sad and lonely has been borne along

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COMMEMORATIVE BIOGRAPHICAL RECORD.

At quicker pace and happier estate For them because you chose at home to wait. And all, I know, have envied you your lot, Sometimes to be at home when we could not. We thank you for the love of home you bear, And all the benefit of service there; And may you only part with it for one Which shall be more entirely your own.

The pet of all the household, Alice dear, No longer little Alice, meets me here, A woman grown, with energy and skill To meet the world, in readiness of will For business, with a courage high and strong; Enjoyment of the shifting scenes among Which she is thrown upon her varied way, Gleaming some sunshine in the darkest day. The common lot of every youngest child, To which she must, ere this, be reconciled, To be advised by every older one, Without the power the sage advice to shun. With eight besides her parents to advise, How perfectly her future destinies In all appointed ways should be marked out; What wonder if she understand which route Will be the best, and surest one to lead To such results as meet her spirit's need. She turns upon us such a smiling face, And wins our hearts with such a sweetened grace, That after we have each said out our say, We all consent to let her have her way. I think we all rely upon her strength, Although unconsciously, believing that at length, In some way, she is going to be a stay, And prop, along life's down-hill way ; A sunbeam shining over later years, Brightening our hopes and driving off our fears.

I said there were but nine, but now I see 'Six more who claim our parents facing me. Another brother Charles sits by the side Of our Elizabeth, long time his bride. An Adaline, who has helped Frank along, The two together making each more strong. A Harriett, whom Lewis found out West, And only lately brought to join the rest. An Isaac, Ellen's lover, husband, friend ; A Belle with Charlie's wedded life to blend; A Juliet to cheer and comfort Fred ; These six to join our circle have been led. To each of them we reach a greeting hand, As children, brothers, sisters, here they stand.

Then there are others who our parents greet ; "Grandmother" and "grandfather" they repeat. Each one, there are not many, I will name, And lovingly present each separate claim To all we give to them of love and care, Though hard to tell which seems to us most fair. First, children of Elizabeth we mention o'er ; There have been, yes, to-day there still are four. Anna, the eldest, I remember you, When as a baby, to my partial view, No child on earth seemed ever half so bright, Or with its eunning ways gave such delight ; Nellie, a young Elizabeth we see, In all the grace which sits so well on thee. Frankie, with rev'rent lips thy name we breathe, And to thy memory loving tribute wreathe; For thou art lost to sight, just gone before, And waiting for us on the other shore. Charlie, the last one of the quartette band,

Completed yet in heaven may it stand. Frank's Horace, oldest heir there is to claim The honorable, much respected name Your father's ancestors have brought to you, The name of Hart, may you as such be true To all the lofty manhood it may bring ; We look to see, from you, much promise spring. Alice, the Buckeye girl, child of the West, It gives us joy at length among the rest To see you take your place; grandchildren here Are not so plenty as we wish they were. Edith and Willie. Charlie's only two, We cannot tell the love we bear to you; Edith, the elder, leading by the hand The timid boy, who scarce can understand What men were made for, and who dearly loves His parents, and his sister, and who proves His fondness in a thousand baby ways, So sweet that we who know him sing his praise. -

Others there are, who with our youthful days Are linked by memory in ten thousand ways. There's Uncle Samuel, always living near, Our father's youngest brother, he is here, And him I greet with gratitude to-day For all the cheer he's lent us by the way. Aunt Lydia, too, and then I hasten on To give a hand to Walter, Jane and John. Our comrades they in every sort of fun, But oftenest, when at the set of sun, Dishes all washed, and chores finished up, We made the valley ring with shout and whoop; Played till the darkness coming on apace, Parental calls would end the mad-cap race. Together, oft, we at the fireside met, And heard the tales we never shall forget, Which grandfather delighted to relate, Then laughed to see the eager wonder wait In our wide-open eyes, as we took in The wondrous narratives he loved to spin. Together, O how often, have we trod, With book, and slate, and dinner pail, the road After you joined us at the Bartlett lot, Over "great bridge" and up the hill "Back bone," So oft we went, we knew its every stone, And landed at the schoolhouse just beyond. Where through the day our various tasks we eonned ; At night, sometimes we took another route, And by the old road, after school was out, We loitering came, and full enjoyment drew From what, because less frequent, seemed more new. Together. till our varied walks apart Began to widen, not much at the start, But more and more, till now our busy feet Along the old home track but seldom meet. Our father's only sister has a claim That I should take her hand and speak her name. Aunt Mary, gentle woman. bearing trace So much of grandmother, in form and face : So many other aunts and consins all. We cannot separately each one call. And so we say to all the rest, believe That you our heartiest good-will receive. Old friends and neighbors, all who gather here. Receive our greetings that to you we bear. May every married couple here to-day Live on to celebrate in such a way Their golden wedding : and may every one, Married or single, find life's setting sun Shine on a spirit ripened for the rest That waits beyond in mansions of the blest.

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COMMEMORATIVE BIOGRAPHICAL RECORD.

The balance of the program was then car- ried out, as follows :

Toast: Durham and its landmarks, Paug and Totoket mountains, faithful sentinels of the Hart do- main, the boundaries of our youthful visions, shutting out the great mysterious world; in winter dazzling in, snowy mantles and glistening diamonds, in spring clothed in soft verdure, fragrant with bloom, joyous with music of forest birds, in summer a cool retreat under their overhanging shadows, in autumn gorgeous with color, alive with the sound of the whirring part- ridge, the chattering squirrel, and the bark of the hunt- er's dog.

Response: Song.

Written by Mrs. Elizabeth A. Hart Camp.

This is our home, our native home, Though poor and rough the soil- The home of many a noble Hart, The land of care and toil ; Her rivers and her rocks we'll love, Till death our quick blood stills; For Cochinchaug, Hurrah! Hurrah! With her woods and vales and rills.

CHORUS : Hurrah for old Totoket, With its green and lofty hills; Hurrah for grand old rocky Paug, With its green and lofty hills.

Shall not this old ancestral home, For Puritan service given, With pride step forth and take her place, With the brightly golden leaven? Then for these Harts, whose rising fame Our farthest boundary fills, We'll shout and sing for Cochinchaug, With her woods and vales and rills.

One has sought the Western clime; He says 'tis passing fair, That sunny are its deep blue skies, And soft its balmy air ; We'll linger round our childhood home, Till, aye, our warm blood chills, Then we'll rest in old New England, And sleep beneath her hills.

Toast: The Golden Chain, 1828-1878.

Response, by Rev. A. C. Dennison : The past, the present and the future. The past bound to the pres- ent by a golden chain; its links forged with honesty and integrity. May it reach forward to the future in a constant looking to the recompense of reward to be received when it shall be snapped asunder here, to be welded again within the gates of the Golden City.

After appropriate remarks prompted by the events, and association and surroundings of the hour, the speaker closed in these poetic words :

The tireless steeds of Father Time Their fiftieth round have run Since he has seen this chain entwined, Two loving (hearts) Harts in one; Joined by no fragile, irksome bond, But by the chain of love;

A chain so bright and strong that nought But death can e'er remove.

The damp of all these fifty years Has rusted not this chain ;

The shocks that so much else have rent,

Have rent it not in twain ; Brighter and brighter year by year Its golden lustre shines ; Closer and closer round these hearts Its welcome coils it twines.

What strange mutations have there been, In customs, church and state, Between that former wedding scene And this of seventy-eight.

The bride and bridegroom, then fair-haired,

Now wear a crown of gray,

And but a few that wedding shared Can share in this to-day.

And while with heartfelt joy we greet These earthly friends we love, We'll not forget dear Frank, who's gone To join the throng above. 'Twill not be long before our names Are numbered with the dead.

Who of us here will walk the earth When fifty years have sped?

Toast: The New Connecticut, the adopted home of members of the family.

Response, by William Lewis Hart, resident of Brighton, Ohio.

Toast : The Old Homestead. Located near the ancestral home of the Harts, humble in appearance, rural in location, cherished for its childhood memories, its green fields, beautiful mountain slopes; a fountain of health with its pure water and bracing mountain air; framed by the cedar and hemlock-may it to-day and in the future be to us an asylum, where we can flee from the care of life, and gather new strength from its pure air, feast on its beautiful scenery, and enjoy. its quiet and rest.

Response: Song, The Old House at Home.

Come, sire and children, all unite In words of Hart-y cheer ; While friends and neighbors we invite, To sing of this golden year ; O chain of love! O links of gold ! That have the years defied, And still in happy bondage hold The old man and his bride.

Once golden locks are silvery white, Their steps have feebler grown, Though fifty years have dimmed the sight, The heart has held its own; O chain of love! O links of gold! That time could not divide, Has kept through changes manifold The old man and his bride.

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COMMEMORATIVE BIOGRAPHICAL RECORD.

That sweet June day with roses bright, In eighteen twenty-eight, Still sheds o'er us its golden light In eighteen seventy-eight; O fifty years! O links of gold! O marriage true and tried, That binds with tenderness untold The old man and his bride.

Four sturdy sons, the father's pride, Harts worthy of the name; Five daughters, too, who near reside, Nine links of the golden chain ; Grandchildren fair, "We are but seven ;" One on the other side, Waits at the golden gate of Heaven

. For the old man and his bride.

We give you joy, dear, loving friends, The heartiest we can say ; For when this weary journey ends There still is a golden day ; O land of rest! O streets of gold! O love beatified- Joined in a brighter home, behold The old man and his bride.

Toast: The Samuels. Numerous, venerable, hon- orable, may the name never die out, but the last repre- sentatives embody the honors and virtues of their an- cestors.

Response: Song, Uncle Sam's Farm.

Toast: Our Ancestors. Being among the earliest settlers of New England, foremost among the colonists in planting towns and establishing churches and schools, patriotic in the defense of their country, numerous in the armies of 1777 and 1862, influential in the councils of state, honored in the humbler walks of life, may we ever cherish their memories and with an earnest zeal practice their virtues.

Response, by Franklin H. Hart, song, Landing of the Pilgrims.

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Commemorative biographical record of Middlesex County, Connecticut : containing biographical sketches of prominent and representative citizens, and of many of the early settled families, Part 86

Author: Beers (J.H.) & Co., Chicago, pub Publication date: 1903 Publisher: Chicago : Beers Number of Pages: 1502

Author: Beers (J.H.) & Co., Chicago, pub
Publication date: 1903
Publisher: Chicago : Beers
Number of Pages: 1502