USA > Connecticut > Hartford County > Newington > Early days in Newington, Connecticut, 1833-1836 > Part 5
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field, a woman of great strength of character. For a few years I knew the son Martin well. He was my seat-mate at the Newington Academy. I have never ceased to think of him with interest, though the fortunes of life soon separated us. More than half a century afterwards I called upon him in his handsome, stately farmhouse, shadowed by beautiful trees at Stanley Quarter, a suburb of New Britain. He was then a fine, venerable man, greatly honored by his relatives and friends. A widowed daughter, with her two children, resided with him. As I gazed upon the elderly man it was hard to recognize in him my early friend Martin Brown. We had much to say to each other of the varied experiences of fifty years. I then learned that my friend had married, in 1846, Elizabeth Cook Kirkham, a most charming and highly-culti- vated young lady, who had been for seven years a teacher in Newington and Hartford. So eminently worthy was she of the admiration freely accorded her for her lovely character and many accomplishments that it is no reflection upon her brothers and sisters to say, as did one free-spoken critic among the neighbors, that Elizabeth was "the flower of the family." Mr. and Mrs. Brown went directly to the fine farm at Stanley Quarter, which was ever after their home. Of their eight children, death took one, and another in infancy. The rest grew to maturity. One son, Albert K., has long been at the head of the American Express office in Boston. Another, educated at Yale College and the Union Theological Seminary, has held various important positions at home and abroad. He married Emma L. Bishop of New Haven, and has three children. One daughter of Martin Brown, a brilliant girl, died at the age of 22. Her sister, the second daughter, married a son of Dr. Bronson of New Haven, and now resides in that city. The youngest of Martin Brown's daughters is unmarried. One of the sons died early, leaving a wife and two children.
Some eight years ago I visited the home of Zaccheus Brown. One of the sons of the blacksmith and squire then occupied it, and he had long before brought there as his bride my own good friend, Elizabeth Seymour. There remained little to remind me of my early associations with the spot. There was no ring of anvil and hammer. Gone was the bustle and stir of the old days; gone the hum of neighborly chat and the glow of the
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blazing forge. The men whom I had known had passed over the river. A new generation was upon the stage of action, and all around was changed.
The large farm and pleasant homes of the Robbins families lay still farther to the south. The three brothers, who were prosperous and successful men of affairs, in the prime of life at the time of my early acquaintance with Newington, repre- sented the third generation of the family in that village. A Newington friend, learned in such matters, has given me some interesting items concerning the family history, drawn from the old records, which I am permitted to use to supple- ment my memory of this important family. Probably some of the bluest blood in Newington flows in their veins, for their ancestor, one of the first settlers in the town of Wethersfield, was John Robbins, "gentleman," and the first of the name in Newington was "Ensign" Thomas Robbins, who is mentioned in the old records as early as 1748. He married Prudence Welles, and their descendants have intermarried with many of the best families of the town.
When I first knew them, two of the Robbins brothers, Lowrey and Martin, were unmarried and occupied the old mansion on the farm, with their widowed mother at the head of the household. Unni, the youngest brother, had married Sarah Dunham, and they, with their three children, resided in the brick house which had been built by Timothy Stanley, the husband of Abigail Robbins, who was an aunt of the young men whom I knew. It is the same brick house in which Henry . M. Robbins now dwells with his wife, Sarah Kellogg. The records show that the property, still owned and occupied by the Robbins family in Newington, has been owned and oc- cupied by that family continuously for almost 150 years. The three brothers whom I knew seemed to work admirably to- gether. I judged that Martin was the financier of the firm, while Unni and Lowrey were especially active upon the farm. Unni seemed to be the one charged with the responsibility of marketing the annual produce of the farm. I often met him in Hartford engaged in that business, when I was similarly occupied in disposing of the products of the Kellogg farm. Indeed, that was the beginning of our acquaintance, and it was at one of our meetings in Hartford that Mr. Robbins first
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invited me to call at his home. I was not slow to accept the proffered kindness, and was received with great cordiality by both Mr. and Mrs. Robbins. The latter had the pleasing gift of making every one feel at ease and at home in her house. I can remember attending several little parties at that pleasant home, when merry games were played and a royal "good time" enjoyed by all. I can recall going once for such an entertain- ment to the old mansion. None entered more heartily into the merry sports of the youngsters than did Unni and Lowrey Robbins, but their brother Martin was more sedate and seemed to enjoy better to sit in his armchair, watching and laughing at the rest. I called once upon Mrs. Unni Robbins, when time had rolled those merry days half a century into the past. The years had left their mark upon her, but she had not forgotten me, and, with her old, cordial thoughtfulness, she kindly sent a little memento of her own handiwork to my wife. Her husband had preceded her to the spirit land, and she was living with her son, Henry Martin, whose wife was a granddaughter of General Kellogg. To the old mansion Lowrey had brought a wife, in 1835, and five children had grown up around them. One of these, David Lowrey, settled near the old home, after Lowrey and Martin and their mother had passed away. He died suddenly, leaving a wife and one daughter.
In 1815, Mr. Roger Welles took a wife, in the old Robbins mansion, Electa, the daughter of Abigail Robbins and Timothy Stanley. Thirty-eight years later their son, Edwin Welles, was married to Lucy Lowrey, daughter of Unni and Sarah Dunham Robbins. So do the family lines in Newington cross and recross. Surely there can never be dissensions in Newing- ton, for all ye are brethren.
Grinnell, Iowa, April 1, 1895.
XIII.
Speaking of the Robbins family brings to mind one of my Newington experiences which did not seem to me a matter of much consequence, but which some of my friends made much of in after years. I have been asked to tell the story, and to redeem a promise I insert it here at the risk of seeing a trifle egotistical.
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It was in 1834 when in the employ of General Kellogg, I was mowing in the Williams lot south of the Academy. One day James Kirkham-then a boy in his teens, living at home near the mill-pond, came and asked me if I would mow the grass on the Kirkham lot-about three-quarters of an acre, or more. I replied that I was employed by the month, and could not take jobs for others. But James came a second time to urge the matter. He said his father was away, at Spring- field, and he could find no one to do the mowing. I was then saving every possible cent to pay my expenses at the Academy in the fall, in the hope of teaching in the winter. The op- portunity to add a little to my small store was a tempting one. The nights were just then brilliantly lighted by the full moon. I could mow in the meadow all the forenoon and pitch hay all the afternoon for General Kellogg, without knowing the meaning of the word weariness. The thought came to me, Why not use a little of this glorious moonlight and a little of my superfluous strength to help on my education without any injury to my employer? I began to bargain with James. The clear-headed boy was father to the splendid business man which he became in after years, in banking and other business in Springfield, Mass. We finally agreed upon 75 cents, or 41/2 Connecticut shillings, for the job, and I was to do the work the following night. I stipulated that the matter should be kept a profound secret. Of course it came out before many weeks, as secrets have a way of doing, though I never knew how. For a time, however, James and I kept it securely to ourselves. That very day I received an invitation to a small party given by Mrs. Unni Robbins, the following evening. I hesitated, thinking of my promise to James. I must not disappoint the boy or break my word. But I did not hesitate long. What were a few later hours of work to my strong young manhood! So I was among the guests at the pleasant Robbins home, entering eagerly into all the games and sports, and cheered like the rest by bright smiles and kindly speech of our hostess. Delicious refreshments crowned the evening's pleasure, and I partook of them with as keen a relish as any, though not for a moment did I lose consciousness of the task before me. Among the gay faces and amid the shining lights of the parlor I had constantly before me a vision of that bit of lush grass lying still
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in the moonlight, or waving softly in the summer breeze. "Never mind," I would say to myself, "my scythe is sharp. I will work the harder. On with the fun! Let joy be un- confined!" Ten o'clock came, and the company began to disperse. I was about to dash away to my labors, when Mrs. Robbins's light touch fell upon my shoulder .. Would I do her the favor of escorting her friend, Miss-to Mr. Chap- man's, where she was visiting? It was two miles away on the north side of the town. The lady was an entertaining com- panion. I felt honored by the request, yet I could not help saying to myself: "I hope she is a good walker." Having seen her safely within Mr. Chapman's door, I was at last free to attend to the real business of the night. I could only guess at the time when I heard the first swish of my scythe in the tall grass, but it could not have been far from midnight. I bent to my work with a will, but the number of stones lying hid in the grass, on which my scythe continually struck fire, far ex- ceeded my calculations. As the blade grew dull a verse of Scripture floated through my mind, which to my uncertain recollection ran thus: "If the scythe be dull, put forth more strength." Obeying the injunction of Holy Writ, for I had correctly remembered the spirit of the passage though not quite accurate as to the letter, I labored away with all the energy of my big frame, and just as the dawn was brightening in the east, the last swath was laid low. My scythe was hung in its place, and when the sun peeped above the horizon I was at work as usual in General Kellogg's garden. I went through with the usual labors of the day without feeling the worse for my exertions, and without hearing any complaint that I was less than ordinarily efficient. The four shillings and sixpence earned by the labor that night was carefully saved toward my expenses at the East Windsor Academy. The secret came out, as I said, before long, and I was often asked about my mowing feat of that beautiful night. Even forty years afterwards I remember being asked by a Newington lad, when I was on a visit to the scenes of those days, whether it was true, as he had heard reported, that I had once mowed all night. But it was a surprise to learn that the tale had lingered in the memories of Newington people for more than half a century. On the occasion of the celebration, in a far distant western State, of the
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golden wedding of myself and my good Newington wife, a gifted friend in Newington kindly contributed a poem to the entertainment which contained an allusion to that night's work, and I will close my long story by quoting the verse:
Now he wanted to fill both his pockets and brains, So he labored and studied with wonderful pains.
His sinewy arms swung his scythe with delight, And once he continued the sport all the night.
Grinnell, Iowa, May 6, 1895.
XIV.
My acquaintance with those residing in the southern portion of the town was much less than with those of the Center and the northern part, and I have to thank some of my Newington friends for refreshing my memory upon many points, and for some statements of facts which were unknown to me. For such favors I am under special obligations to Deacon Jedediah Deming, Deacon Levi S. Deming and John S. Kirkham, Esq.
The first house south of the Robbins estate was owned by Anson Whaples, farmer and shoemaker. As was not unusual in those days, he was successful in carrying on the two lines of business. In his family were six or seven children. I remember that his pretty twin daughters resembled each other so closely that the neighbors could not always tell Mary from Martha. About 1840 Mr. Whaples sold his property and re- · moved to "York State.'
Three Deming families lived within a stone's throw of each other near the South schoolhouse. No doubt many a gray- haired man of to-day, who was a boistrous school boy in the old days, will recall the jolly sport enjoyed in and around the barns on good-natured Francis Deming's farm. Though an old man, he had not lost his sympathy with youthful spirits. Toward the south, Barzillia Deming, who was a stone mason, pursued his trade. As the boys stood watching him at his work, he would sometimes say, when he came across a stone of peculiar shape, "We will leave that out, for it would be no sin to worship a thing in such shape." The school children went to his well for their drinking-water, and were kindly
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treated to an apple now and then. On the east was the home of Deacon Levi Deming, who is described as "a pillar in the church-of ardent temperament, faithful in the performance of duty, conscientious, doing what he thought to be right toward God and man." He died in January, 1847. This was a large and sturdy branch of a worthy family. Deacon Levi Deming had six brothers, three of whom settled in Newington. His own family, as I knew it in 1834, consisted of his good wife, two daughters and a son. Caroline was an invalid, whose patient sufferings continued until 1842, when she en- tered into rest. Maria was one of the best and most useful girls in the town. A few years later she became the honored wife of Daniel H. Willard, and I may have more to say of her in connection with her husband's family. Levi S., the only son, was then about 18, an intelligent, interesting young man with whom I became intimately acquainted while we were both pupils at the Newington Academy, during 1833 and 1834. I
have pleasant recollections of a visit made to the interesting old home of my school-fellow when he once invited me to spend a night with him. The house, though in most excellent repair, was, at least, a hundred and fifty years old, having been built in colonial times. After supper we boys set out for a walk and strolled on, chatting as school-boys will, as far as the Lusk tavern, then kept by Fairchild. Resting there, we continued our talk so long that we were rather late in reaching home. The good deacon was waiting for our return, and gave us some gently reproving words about late hours. He said it was the custom, in this excellent New England home, for the master of the house to see that all the household were safe under his roof-tree and close the door for the night himself. As we sat down to breakfast the next morning, Deacon Deming re- marked, "We make no apologies," and went on to tell a story which I have often repeated at my own table. It was of a woman who was always profuse in apologies concerning all that she set before her guests. On one occasion she wearied the patience of her visitors by her accustomed fishing for com- pliments, lamenting as each dish appeared, that the meat was not a better cut, the bread not properly baked, etc. At last, as she was about to serve a most excellent pie, she once more regretted that she could not supply her company with any-
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thing better than such a poor pie. A waggish guest, munch- ing with relish his first toothsome morsel of the delicious dish turned to his hostess with a solemn face and replied, "Yes, it is a poor pie." A mighty surge of indignation rose in the proud bosom of the accomplished housewife. "Sir," she exclaimed with the tremendous emphasis of a royal wrath, "it's as good a pie as you ever put into your head in all your life!"
My friend, Levi S. Deming, remained at home and in- herited the farm, which he greatly improved. When I visited him-some time in "the fifties"-I made the acquaintance of his estimable wife and their little ones. Some years ago he removed with his family to Middletown, much to the regret of the Newington church, and society. But Newington has always been rearing the best of men and women to send out to do the work which the world most needs. One by one the descendants of Levi S. Deming have passed over the river till only one son and some of the grand-children remain. He himself is greatly loved and honored by all who know him.
The South school-house, near the homes of the Demings, was also known as the "Bell School-house." For a long time it was the best school building in all the region, and the only one which could boast of a bell. The bell was the generous gift of General Lusk.
"Aunt Katy" Wells had a son, William whom I knew as a boy. On one of my visits to Newington from my western home, I found that the boy had grown to manhood, had married a daughter of Deacon Jedidiah Deming and was re- siding near the South school-house with a lively family of little children. William was an enterprising man and a good far- mer. Next south of Deacon Levi Deming's home was the old Churchill mansion, which is now in ruins. It is a pity it could not have been preserved, for about it clustered many most interesting memories of early times. Deacon Charles Churchill built the house about 1754, and it was considered one of the finest residences in all the country round. There is a tradition that Deacon Churchill once entertained at his home both Washington and Lafayette for a day during the Revolutionary War. The sumptuous character of the enter- tainment is detailed by the ancient story, which goes on to say that the four ovens which the roomy old mansion con-
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tained were called into requisition, an ox being roasted whole in that very spacious one found in the cellar.
It is also said that at one time a number of men were employed here in making shoes for the Continental army. In my time the house was occupied by Mr. Solomon Churchill, a son of the deacon. His dignity and fine bearing preserved the associations of colonial days, and he was a great favorite with the schoolboys, who delighted to do him favors. They were accustomed to bring his mail from the post-office and leave it at his door as they passed on their way to school. And they never failed to receive from the courtly old gentleman some token of his appreciation of their thoughtfulness,-a bit of candy, a few peppermints or raisins.
Next beyond lived Reuben Whaples, a small farmer and the happy father of a numerous progeny. I think there were seven boys and two or three girls. We all knew him as "Uncle Reuben." His near neighbor was Ebenezer Steele, one of the few Methodists in town. He was a fluent speaker in ex- hortation and prayer. He owned and operated a shoe-shop, and did considerable business for some years. The old place is now occupied by his son, who is a lawyer of some practice.
Just below the Steele homestead, Seth Kilbourn carried on a successful business for years. He was a skilled black- smith, whose industry had laid the foundation for permanent prosperity. But misfortune came to him through the pur- chase of a lottery ticket, which unhappily drew him a prize of $1,000. He is not the first nor the only man whose prospects for success and happiness in life have been ruined by such a stroke of mis-called "good luck."
Grinnell, Iowa, May 13, 1895.
XV.
The Hartford and New Haven turnpike was in the early part of the century the great thoroughfare which connected the two most prosperous cities in the State. Two miles south of Newington Center the turnpike crossed the village highway. Here lay the fine farm of Major-General Levi Lusk, and at the intersection of the roads stood his excellent inn. In those transition days, when good roads and the rapid travel which
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carried passengers at the astonishing rate of six miles an hour had hardly lost their novelty; when telegrams were not and newspapers were few and infrequent, the village inn, or tavern, was the great center of news and gossip. People talked the news, and listened to current information as it passed from lip to lip, instead of reading all, as now, in dull, uninteresting silence. To the hospitable inn came those who wished to know what was going on in the world. The genial landlord (was he ever other than genial?) was sure to have the latest news from near and far. Often, as in the case of General Lusk, he was a man of intelligence and of experience in affairs, a man of prominence in all matters which concerned the general in- terests of the people. General Lusk had been chief in com- mand of the troops stationed in New London, and vicinity, for the defense of that region during the war of 1812. He was a leading man in all the affairs of the town, which he had repre- sented in the State Legislature. His tavern was the stopping point for the several four-horse stage-coaches which passed daily each way between New York and Boston, so that it was constantly filled with travelers, tarrying for a longer or shorter time at this "half-way house," and it was also for many years the only post-office for Newington.
The mighty change which has been wrought in all our ways of living and of thinking by the introduction of railways, is clearly seen by one who can look back to the days when stage- coaches were almost the sole means of land travel. We look now upon the noisy passage of a dozen loaded trains of Pull- man cars without half the wholesome human interest and kindly curiosity that was aroused in the bosoms of the quiet villagers who gathered at the Lusk tavern to see the evening coach come down from Boston with its load of entertaining travelers, full of important information upon matters of in- terest, gathered in that great center of business activity and learning. One whose ears are now hourly smitten by the un- earthly screech of the thundering locomotive may well sigh as his memory recalls the musical winding of the coachman's horn, echoing from the hillsides and dying away along the valleys, as the proud driver dashed gloriously along the last mile of his stage and drew his smoking steeds up beside the stopping-block of the tavern, where rest and good cheer and
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hearty welcome awaited both passengers and driver. Horses were soon changed, travelers refreshed, news given and re- ceived, and again the silver notes of the horn rung out upon the still air, and merrily on rolled the coach toward the next welcome rest.
Mail wagons in those days were plain, rough-looking boxes on wheels, which carried no passengers. Many heavy wagons passed this Lusk inn daily, laden with merchandise. Express news was brought by horsemen, who ran their horses at the top of their speed for a stage of eight or ten miles. A fresh horse was kept ready saddled and bridled at the inn, and it was but the work of a moment for the rider to throw himself from one to the other and speed away on his mission, dropping, no doubt, a word or two of news before he vanished from sight. Ah, how full of fresh interest it all was, day by day! and how completely is the whole method and manner of it swept from the face of the earth, with all its joy and beauty! A lively place was the old inn during the war of 1812. I have been told how the people were wont to assemble there to watch for tidings, and how eagerly every messenger was met and questioned as he paused to exchange his fagged and foaming steed for the fresh one waiting. Sometimes two sets of expresses were employed on this line by rival newspapers, each rider striving to outrun the other with his news.
The Lusk tavern was headquarters for the troops and militia and all the fascinated lookers-on, on annual "training day." There were gathered the men, women and children of the village and from neighboring towns to gaze upon the marvelous evolutions of the gaily dressed soldiers, and to partake of the dainties to be had at the tavern. Rum and sugar with hard-boiled eggs and a little gingerbread seemed to be favorite fare with the soldiers. A good old man, not now living in Newington, tells me this story of those old training days. "When the gaily-clothed troopers and soldiers were dismissed, there was a crowd in and about the travern, en- gaged in eating and drinking. It was thought the right thing to do to give the sugar left in the bottoms of the glasses to the boys. A little fellow 8 years old, son of one of our good dea- cons, lingered with the rest, and was literally treated with the rum-saturated sugar. When his parents sent for him at the
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