USA > New Hampshire > Grafton County > Canaan > The history of Canaan, New Hampshire > Part 52
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thing about that home is old and cheerful. The old lady who worries herself about labors which she ought to resign, but which her habits will never allow her to forego; the old books, whose well-read pages are familiar to all of us ; the old apple trees, from which until this year, we have always made cider; the old neigh- bors, who all feel an interest in each other's business; the old graveyards where our fathers and brothers lie; and the old church, whose gospel is now preached out, and closed up. But doubtless our Christian people will not permit so great a means of salvation to fall by the wayside, and after I am gone their hearts will become softened, and the old fires will be again re- kindled - oh, there are a thousand associations clinging like ivy around the old home, that fill me with regrets to leave. But this is a world of eternal changes; we are always having to say good-by to some friend. I had flattered myself that my travels were over, that weariness and fatigue were for somebody else and I should henceforth enjoy a euthanasia of happy reflections under the shade of my own trees, clearing the rocks from my fields, and watching the growths of my pigs and garden. The old longings to be in wild and strange places would occasionally come over me powerfully but they would soon be checked by my pleasant surroundings."
On the 10th he wrote: "The crowd in this town depends upon the New York papers almost exclusively for their news. I be- lieve we are farther from the news than you are at home. We see the soldiers here all the time, but we hear no guns, and no battle is near us. The squads of soldiers that file in the streets hurry through without stopping, and we know no more of them. I have heard it intimated in high circles that Mr. Lincoln is not equal to his position, that he allows himself to listen to the cautious counsels of covert traitors, and his constitutional scruples are an attribute to these counsels. It is said that he puts much con- fidence in James Guthrie and James R. Speed of Kentucky, who pretend to be Union men but who are, in fact, traitors, and are using their influence upon the President to delay the advance of the Federal armies." He returned home the last of December to go back again to Washington on January 3, 1862. On Jan- uary 17, he wrote: "I get disgusted with the administration, at
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the millions of money that have been wasted upon its favorites, and I have written to the Alta such letters as will, if they are published, show that one man, at least is not afraid to write against corruption. I can't express all my sentiments in lan- guage of sufficient force. But probably it will be just as well as if I did, for I presume any who might care for what I would say under other circumstances would now count me a sort of fanatic, an enemy of the government or something else or worse."
On January 22 he wrote : "I have just received a dispatch from the Alta, telling me I must not leave here for sickness or small- pox. The work is hard and tiresome. I have to travel in all weathers and since I came here have, on but few occasions, re- tired before 12 o'clock at night. There is an end to all things and I suppose there will be an end to my staying in Washing- ton, and when the end comes I will go cheerfully to work on the old farm." On February 19 he came back from Washington but returned. On March 29 he was offered the position of col- lector of revenue for southern California, and refused it. In April he returned home and the Alta wished him to live in Wash- ington and be their correspondent, but in June he returned to Canaan and did not again take up the pen as war correspon- dent of the Alta. On January 8, 1865, he married Mary Duncan Currier and settled down to peace and quiet on the old place, writing for various papers and magazines, picking stone and building wall. In 1870 he began to collect historical matter for the town history which he kept up all his life. Nothing can better illustrate his life from this time than his own writing. In 1880 he wrote: "The record says it is sixty-five years since I came hereabout. It hardly seems so long, and yet the events I recall took place in another generation, so many years since I was a boy, and used to think our horizon bounded the work, and were it not for the graves of the old people, whose lives I recognize, all the life would appear a dream. I had a father, mother, brothers, sisters, a houseful of us. One by one they are gone, scarcely a footprint upon the sands remain; only Har- riet, and she so far away and so silent that she seems to have gone with the rest out of sight. I loved them all, but it did not keep them here. Do they ever, any of them, or any person, come
.
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about me ? I almost doubt it, although I have wanted for many years to believe it. There is but one event which makes it certain to me, when I go to that Unseen Country, I shall realize all the life there may be in it. I shall know if friends recognize each other, or if it be only spirit intercourse, or if it be the silence of the grave from whose solemn darkness no soul ever returned."
In December, 1880, before starting for the golden wedding an- niversary of Mr. Foster in Putney, Vt., he wrote : "I told him we should certainly meet him, and many other old and dear friends, after we get through here. His own ideas and beliefs in the future state might make him doubt our assertion, but we ex- pected some time in years to come to give him a joyful greeting, and that he, before that day comes, would see the inconsistency of a great and good Creator, resolving in cold blood to send nine tenths of all his children into endless torment, because two of them, many thousand years ago discovered that there were pleas- ures in the world hidden from them, and a sight of their own nakedness brought them to light. I think Mr. Foster is too good a man to treat his own children under the laws he lays down for the use of his God, and I don't believe his God is any worse than he is. He has been preaching endless torment sixty years and he is the father of a family. I think he has more faith in God's love and affection than in his wrath and justice, which were the attributes of the God of Elder Wheat and Richard Clark."
"September 29, 1883. I am alone tonight in this great house, and the rooms seem peopled with silent memories of all the busy lives that have thronged it in the long years since we entered its walls. My father was a stern man, unapproachable to young persons, I feared him more than I loved him. My mother was a patient worker and a sincere Christian all her life. She had positive opinions, and expressed them fearlessly; she loved her children and made many sacrifices for them. She ought to wear a crown of glory in the bright home she now owns. And my brothers and sisters - they flit around me like shadows and disappear, leaving only my Mary and my boy, as the living active representatives of all who have gone before. And I have got to that point in life when I can almost see the end, when they will be looking back upon me as I look upon the already departed.
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I only wish that my life may be such that they will remember me with affectionate respect, and feel some pride in recalling the associations that linked us together in life.
"January 8, 1884. Our nineteenth marriage anniversary ; but unlike the first a strong southeast wind prevails, driving a wet snowstorm before it. That night John drove us down, and after staying round with mother and Mrs. Tilton awhile by the kitchen fire he went off timidly and shyly to bed. Tonight we sit here with nineteen years of varied experiences behind us, and while looking forward for a few days and looking back over all these years, and the long road we have traveled, with the rough hills and deep valleys, that sometimes obstructed the way, and the gently undulating plains, that stretched far on and far on, it seems now that it had all the way been plains, green with pleas- ant memories, that stretch way on in the future farther than the keenest vision extends. God bless us as He has done, and keep us from doing foolish things, and make our mutual faith and confi- dence strong and lasting. Amen !
"January 13, 1884. Minister preached a sermon on the devil. I wanted to ask him if he had ever seen that devil, and if he re- sisted him, so that he fled. The strongest proof of a devil is that he is so often mentioned in the Bible, devil, satan, adversary, enemy, all these names pointed to a person. I fear if I believed in him that I should become a dreadful coward, and should al- ways be looking under the bed nights before getting into it.
"February 4, 1884. It seems to me life is not long enough to spend even a year of it in sulking at the envious and jealous remarks of neighbors whose numbers are not so great, that we can well spare even one from our social circle. If the past could only bury itself, and be forgotten, what a happy time we would all have in the near future. It seems as if to hate and slander were the normal conditions of human nature, and as long as men are happy in it, there will not be much change in our lives.
"September 28, 1884. My anniversary comes around again, oh, so quickly. I don't think I am any better than I was a year ago, perhaps not so perfect. I am not a Methodist so I don't go on to perfection, neither do I 'fall from grace,' but I rather promised myself a year ago, that if I was here another year,
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I would congratulate myself on being a good reformer, but I rather failed in my own estimation. Twice I've been madder than a disturbed hornet. First when F- G- played dignity on poor Etta, second when the Silver Lake livery broke into my garden and destroyed the fruit of my toil and of my season's labor. Then I raged, but I shed no tears. I said 'for the future you will board your own horses, or I shall arrest them,' and they have not frequented our house since. I will make no pledges for the year to come, only I hope these horses will not compel me to tie them up in my yard.
"January, 1885. Twenty years we have been going on to- gether ! I remember many years ago before that quiet event, of reading with avidity, 'The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table,' the best of Holmes' books; the young man was called John, and the schoolmistress took a walk, and the conversation becoming per- sonal, after a severe struggle he asked the young woman, would she like a longer walk over the long road. It recurred to me one day when walking with my Mary and I asked her the question more than once before she consented, and we fixed the day for the first of January, 1865, when we would start out on that road. But for some untoward event we did not come to time, but dur- ing the week the cake was made, Mr. Dearborn was invited and a few minutes after seven in the evening, he closed the service and excused himself saying we had no further use for his ser- vices, and he had another engagement, and then we started out on that road. And for twenty years, which today seems but a short time, we have traveled on, with no turning. Sometimes it has been rough and shadows have flitted about, but sun- shine and the consciousness of honest purposes have prevailed. Twenty years we have had close communion together, in health, sickness, pain and distress, and we are here today to thank God, for the pleasures and happinesses that has been our lot. Is life all joy ? is it only one great hope! O, no; no life is like that, sorrows come and misfortunes, and pains and deaths. We have laid old friends away in the ground to await resurrection in some brighter form, hours and days have seen us anxiously watching, almost hopeless, the doctor's fees have been paid and life flows smoothly on again. The long road grows longer, but it is fra- grant with sweet confidences and pleasant hopes, and still the
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years go by and the burden of age is growing heavier day by day. "January 18, 1885. We have been packing up for a little trip to Concord tomorrow, to the printers' banquet, and so long it is since we went anywhere, it seems a great effort to start. Once I could go round the world with a satchel and not be half so worried as this makes me. It is because the years are rolling on.
"September 28, 1885. Seventy times the years have rolled round in my life, and looked me in the face. A man at seventy ought to be a good man. He ought to have completed his char- acter and won the respect, reverent esteem or otherwise of the people with whom he mingles. Pretty much all his life is be- hind him. He has not much to look forward to except the end, which may be nearer than he thinks. And I thank God that my good habits have enabled me so far to take care of myself, to be no burden nor care nor anxiety to any one. I hope I may have the courage to see and face the end, as fearlessly as for years I have been looking towards it.
"November, 1885. And here I am now just entering upon that eventful period of life called old age, and the boys and girls still call me Allen. Isn't that rather calling me back to 'youth and that time when first I heard the tuneful chime ?' It seems as if, counting years, my life was all behind me, merely that I have not much now to live for, except to get ready to live forever. And who knows for what port we are bound when we put on immortality. I cannot lift the veil that hides the beyond, nor do I believe any one else alive can do it, but I want so to employ my days, that when the change comes, and I pass out of human sight, if there be any spirit relation in another sphere, I may find myself in the company of good men and women, whom love of God and man has made blest. I have no desire to go where they sing hallelujahs forever; not I. But I should like pleasant music and quiet converse. I have no time to speculate upon hereafter, let us live so that its coming to us shall cause no anxiety. But I am glad to be here now; that the Indians did not kill me in the mountains nor the rebels in Virginia. We will live hopefully for the future and pray that all changes may bring us nearer to one another. Selah.
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"September 28, 1888. My anniversary ; shall I ever see an- other ? Who can tell ? Will my work ever be done ? Very doubt- ful. I can see and feel the changes which friends either do not see or they are considerate not to mention. I am glad to have lived so many years, and to have left a mark that will do honor to the name. Life may be long, but we will make it serene.
"September 28, 1815, 10 o'clock p. m .- September 28, 1890, 10 p. m. All other hours between these two dates I have been here. When a person has reached the age of 75 years, what is there in the future for him to look forward to? Only to see that his affairs are in order, and live in peace and charity with all mankind. The next journey may be to the graveyard. I have seen so many changes in this world that nothing surprises me. My boy is, I hope, so far settled in life that he will only need my good wishes in the future. My dear Mary whom I have loved and honored for thirty years, and to look back they seem so short ! She is here always by my side ; she looks at me anxiously at times. Perhaps she sees my failing strength, certainly I am losing the strong grip I once held on my muscles. Memory is still clear, eyes poor, dimness comes over them, hearing strong, voice grows tremulous at times, and singing sometimes tires me. I walk upright and neighbors speak of my activity as boyishly wonderful, but they don't see the weariness that comes over me after even slight exertion. There is small desire to go into com- pany, home seems to be the happy place. Many things do not in- terest me today as of yore, politics are stale, with no honesty. Re- ligion seems a great sham, its votaries are inconsistent, unchari- table, hypocritical, given to slanders and defamation. The Chris- tianity of the world seems to be all outdoors. I fully realize there can be but little more work here for me. I realize, also, that I shall never, perhaps, be able to finish what I have begun, and I realize more than ever that I have not and never had the power of continuity of thought that would have led me on to suc- cess. Like Hyatt Smith I just fall short of achieving the de- sired end. But who knows whether in the great accounting a man's capacity will be considered. 'I am nearer my journey's end that I have been before.' I am thankful for all the pleas- ures vouchsafed me.
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"September 19, 1891. The high wind last night blew over my mother's acacia, the only one in town. She brought it from Piermont (Jo Sawyer's) in May, 1831, when she carried me to Haverhill to enter a printing office, an event which changed the whole face of my life. Studies which it had been decided I should pursue were laid aside and never again taken up. My reading became of a desultory character such as all printers' boys fall into, and I became a man of general information and with no habit for study in any particular direction, my mind is superficial. But that old tree! I could have cried if it would have done any good. She cherished it and I grew old in the love of all things which she cherished. Trees are like people, they grow old and fall down.
"September 28, 1891. The idea of helplessness oppresses me, I want to grow old gracefully and quietly."
That was the last he wrote about himself, though he still continued to record events which interested him up to with- in a week of his death. He had kept a diary nearly all his life. His habit was to write it up at the end of the week. In later years it did not record events so much as his own thoughts upon them, the event serving as a text. My father did grow old gracefully and quietly as he wished. I think he minded it more than my mother or I. As a boy I can remember his ac- tivity as almost phenomenal. He was up at daylight, three a. m., every morning in summer and worked until breakfast in the gar- den, then all day long, only stopping to eat; no rest, rarely go- ing to bed until ten o'clock at night, and then to read himself to sleep. As he grew older he realized that he got tired quicker and would take a nap after dinner. His habits of life were very regular, if he found anything did not agree with him he did not continue its use. He smoked, chewed and took snuff, for thirty years, stopped, and not in my lifetime did I ever see him use tobacco, but he always liked the smell of it and would give me cigars, much to my mother's disgust. Our house was always a Mecca for tramps. His early experiences led him to help anyone, greatly against my mother's wish sometimes, for she had been brought up as a farmer's daughter, where everyone was expected to work. He was very fond of dumb
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animals being particularly sensitive when seeing them beaten by someone else. I have seen him threaten to chastise a man beating his horse, in language which the horse-beater resented so much that his anger was quickly changed from beast to man. Nevertheless, his temper was quickly aroused by both man and beast, and at times by his own animals. When old Josie would kick him and the pail full of milk against the side of the barn (the kick never came until she knew he was about done milking), or when old Mattie, who lived to be thirty-three years old, bit the back out of a workman's coat, "Darn you," he said, "you bit me last week," and proceeded to belabor her. What made him realize his growing old more than anything else, was the weakness of his voice when singing. Up to the time he was sev- enty, his was one of the strongest voices I can remember of hear- ing. There was not a singer in his day in town that understood music so well; his voice was a clear tenor and full. There was hardly an entertainment or funeral in town at which he was not called upon to sing. He was always interested in politics, was always a Republican, his life led him to keep in it, but he cared very little for office, his profession led him rather to criticise those in office, and many a one has felt the force of his pen. Nothing gave him more delight than to bring forth a reply from the person he attacked. My father's life after his marriage became almost entirely a home one. When business compelled his ab- sence he nearly always returned before he was expected, so great was his love of home. My grandmother tried to bring up my father as a minister; she was a strong-minded Congre- gationalist and Abolitionist. My father imbibed Abolitionism, but never became even a church member. Church creeds he had little respect for. He thought the use of common sense would obtain entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven as well as anything. Sermons preached about hell-fire and damnation were to him spectacular and without reason. He always liked to attend church, and was the leader of the choir for many years. Charles F. Livingston of Manchester, with whom he worked and roomed for nearly two years, when they were boys on the New Hampshire Telegraph at Nashua, and with whom his friendship grew stronger as they grew older, said of him: “In
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the line of his profession, he was good as a compositor, excellent as a foreman and manager, and superior as a reporter and editor. As a writer, he was clear, clean and concise." He was town clerk in 1864, '65, and '66, and superintending school com- mittee twice. He died of angina pectoris, suddenly, as he had wished, not after a long illness, February 15, 1893, at the age of 77 years, 4 months and 17 days. He was the oldest member of Social Lodge of Free and Accepted Masons of Enfield, N. H., at the time of his death, and was buried with Masonic honors in the cemetery on the Street.
My mother survived him nearly six years, but always felt his absence. In November, 1898, when the old house was destroyed, which had sheltered the Wallaces for over eighty-one years, she was burned in securing a trunk containing valuable papers, from which she did not recover. She died, December 25, 1898.
The Wilsons.
There were four brothers, Robert, Warren, John and Levi, sons of Nathaniel Wilson, who came from Gilmanton about the year 1783, and settled in Canaan. They were told, as many of the early settlers were, that lands were cheap and of exceed- ing richness. John and Warren settled on Sawyer Hill, on the farms now owned by John D. Lovring and the old Chandler farm. Warren afterwards exchanged farms with Dea. Joshua Pillsbury, who owned the present George Ginn farm ; he m. March 25, 1783, Anna Berry; he d. October 10, 1851, aged 89; she d. October 31, 1819, aged 63. They had nine ch .: Betsey, b. Jan- uary 5, 1784; d. August 23, 1865; m. David Richardson (see him). Nathaniel, b. July 23, 1786; d. December 19, 1789; Ephraim, b. July 21, 1788; d. December 12, 1789. Nathaniel, b. April 14, 1790; d. May 7, 1873; m. March 9, 1818, Betsey Burley of Dorchester; d. September 28, 1862, aged 65. They had seven ch .: Gordon, Henry H., Warren F., one d. young, Helen, Rufus and George. Nathaniel lived on the George Ginn farm, and his first house was in the field towards Enfield line; afterwards he built the house now occupied by Mr. Ginn. His son, Warren F., succeeded to the farm, worked it for many years and then moved to Enfield. Warren F. was b. November
37
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1, 1838; d. March 18, 1906; m. Kate E. Strate, b. August 19, 1839, and had ch .: Leon W., b. January 22, 1873; d. June 23, 1894; Hattie S., b. July 2, 1863; Ida B., b. 1871; m. October 11, 1894, Will A. Hoit ; Fred B., b. 1865 ; m. September 21, 1886, Ella F. Childs, dau. of Oliver B. and Mary S. Childs.
Henry H., son of Nathaniel, bought the farm, which he aft- erwards sold to Lineius Dennis on West Farms. He was for years a prominent man in town affairs. His first term as se- lectman was in 1862, and was continued in office in 1863. He was always a Democrat, and the next year saw the Republicans in office. He was elected again in 1869 and served continuously to 1874. He served again in 1884 to '86, and in 1892, a period of twelve years; and the town showed prosperity under his guid- ance. He m. 1st., Betsey Day, and had two ch .: Frank P., d. February 6, 1862; aged 10 yrs. 4 mos., and Harriet F., d. April 23, 1862, aged 3 yrs. 7 mos. He married a second time, and during the last years of his life lived in Enfield, where he died. Ephraim, son of Warren, b. March 7, 1792; m. 1830, Lucy Harris. Levina, b. March 20, 1798. Rufus, b. April 21, 1796. Warren, b. April 20, 1798. Lavinia, b. April 8, 1800.
John Wilson, brother of Warren, m. Sarah Barber, dau. of Zebulon of Dame's Gore, July 16, 1792; and had six ch .: Washington, b. October 11, 1792; d. January 28, 1854; m. May 6, 1837, Mehitable Tucker; ch .: James, d. June 9, 1889, aged 49; m. April 19, 1889, Cynthia Atwell. George H., d. November 21, 1906, aged 59 yrs., 5 mos., 21 d. Jacob, son of John, b. October 29, 1795. Charlotte, b. January 26, 1798; Elizabeth, b. April 13, 1800. Presele, b. February 6, 1802; John B., b. May 27, 1806; d. April 24, 1877; m. Sophronia Averill, b. November 4, 1811; d. October 18, 1897; ch .: Albert H., b. September 17, 1842; d. August 1, 1885; m. Ola Smith, dau. of R. R. Smith; ch. John. Warren E., son of John B., Loraine, dau. of John B .; b. April 27, 1848; d. May 14, 1898; m. Andrew E. Bean, b. September 28, 1845. Effie A., b. December 3, 1856; d. November 1, 1895; m. Charles O. Ball, b. February 14, 1860; Angie, d. February 23, 1857 ; aged 21; m. Hiram E. Putnam, son
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