USA > New York > Suffolk County > Southold > Griffin's journal : first settlers of Southold, the names of the heads of those families, being only thirteen at the time of their landing; first proprietors of Orient, biographical sketches > Part 18
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Mrs. Wells possessed an excellent mind, which was improved by early and much reading. But few of her sex more justly appreciated genius, or more warmly admired the intellectual, true, and the beautiful in let- ters ; herself a scholar, she valued learning, and was at home with its lovers. Of the virtues of this rare wo- man, it may be said, without misgiving, her entire brief life was an example to her sex of all that is pure, and
lovely, and of good report.
As a daughter, it might be
said of her, " many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all ;" and as a wife and mother, " she opened her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue was the law of kindness." She looked well to the ways of her household, and eat not the bread of idleness. " Her children arise up and call her blessed ; her hus- band also, and he praiseth her." But she has gone now; the grave has opened to receive her mortality, and closed forever upon it ; and her spirit has ascended to Heaven, and now rests in peace in the bosom of her Father and her God. To part with one so accomplished in mind, so amiable and so good, caused many a bitter pang; and the tear of regret and sorrow fell plenteously and fast from a community of troubled friends, in the performance of the humbling and sad office of sepul- ture. Even now we cannot say farewell, for we feel that she yet lives with us, that her voice is still heard, and her example still before us. 'Twas hard to die.
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And if a husband's and daughter's solicitude, a mother's and father's prayers and tears could have saved, Death's shafts would have fallen harmless; humanity would have spared the blow, and she would not have died. As if an angel spoke, "Don't forget me !" is remem- bered ; and yet green, and young, and fresh, and vigor- ous, O, Harriet ! shall be that wish, while life and mem- ory last.
Died, at Southold, on Friday morning, 4th Novem- ber, 1842, my grand-daughter, Miss Deziah Lavinia Wells, in her twentieth year. Thus, in three weeks from the decease of the mother, has the daughter been called to follow; and fulfilling, with the certainty of inspiration, the truth of the remarks of that mother, when each lay upon their beds of death beneath the same roof, and the daughter requested to be taken into the room to see, for the last time on earth, her dying parent; that mother, who contracted her disease by her intense anxiety over the sick bed of that daughter, even in the last agonies of the dissolution of her expiring na- ture, still felt for the welfare of the child. She declined a compliance with the request, and replied, "It had better not be done; it can do no good; our separation will be but short !" and soon after expired.
From such a scene, human nature might learn a more instructive lesson than from all the luxuries, and ease, and wealth, and splendor of our world. A lasting bene- fit could be derived by the former, while all experience teaches the latter to be as fleeting and evanescent as the dew.
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To my dear wife, in her last sickness :
Come now, my love, lean on my breast, My true and virtuous wife ; O, come, and let us now forget Each shaded point of life. Oh, I will kiss those tears away, In retrospection, see Those bygone days when hope's bright rays Made you a world to me.
Sweet seasons of our early love, Sincerity our mark ; All was delight-our hearts were right- With scarce one spot of dark.
The sea of life is sometimes rough ; Yet while with you I sail, Waves can't o'erwhelm while at the helm Love guides us through the gale.
I love to part those fading curls, Gaze on thy pleasant brow ; It is a joy without alloy- Tis mine, dear wife, just now.
Earth's joys we know are few and brief, But Hope the spirit cheers --- Lends us relief from wasting grief, And mitigates our fears.
Dear, fainting wife ! let me sustain Thy cheerless, painful lot ; Thou art Divine-amidst decline, I see Love's fadeless spot.
How sweet to recollect the place Where first our hearts did join ; Naught can efface the time and place Where thou didst say, "I'm thine !" Come, rest thy head upon my breast, My drooping, faithful dove : Don't weep, my dear -- come, O, come here, A refuge for thy love.
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We know our noon of life is past, And night draws nigh, we see ; Yet while 'tis day, with joy I say, I have a world in thee !
Died, in New York, December, 1851, aged sixty- seven years, Roger Williams, a native of Norway, in the kingdom of Denmark. Mr. Williams came to this country (America) about the year 1801, at the age of sixteen. After some time, he returned to the land of his birth, where, after a short tarry, he returned to this country again, spent some time, about 1807 or '8, at Stonington, Conn., and followed the sea a year or so. In 1809, or near that date, he married Mrs. Maria Crum, a widow lady of the city of New York, a kind and peaceful companion through life. He was for many years, and at his decease, one of the elders of St. James Lutheran Church in that city, and one of the most in- dustrious, frugal, and laborious of men. He left a widow and children-Margaret, Matilda, Christopher C., Anna M., Louisa T., Eliza J., Charles F., George S., and Caroline F. He was successful in life, and accu- mulated a large fortune.
My son, Sidney L., on the 1st Jan., 1828, married Margaret, a daughter above named. Mr. Williams' remains rest in Greenwood Cemetery, where a monu- ment, reared by his amiable widow, marks the spot.
The following obituary on the decease of my grand- daughter, Deziah Preston Griffin, appeared in one of our public papers. She died Feb. 5th, 1847 :
How true is the declaration of an inspired writer, " that as for man his days are as grass; as a flower of
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the field, so he flourishes ; for the wind passeth over it, and it is gone, and the place thereof shall know it no more forever." Thus it is with all human kind. We are brought into existence to spend a few short years, and even in the morning of life we may seek the solemn silence of the grave, and our infant form mingle back to dust from whence it came. If we should survive to reach manhood's riper years, in an hour we know not we may slumber in death ; and if existence be still pro- longed the winter of life is approaching, when time will surely prostrate our bodies into the mouldering urn. Ex- perience teaches us that death is continually busy in our world; and his ravages extend from shore to shore, and " from the rivers to the end of the earth." The banner of the warrior is furled, his shield and buckler are laid aside, and his sword is resting in its scabbard. The student, whose time and energies was devoted to the pursuit of knowledge, has ceased to pore over the clas- sic page; the volume of science is closed, and he, too, is sleeping his " dreamless sleep." The sailor boy slum- bers in ocean's caves ; "he has made the coral rock his sepulchre, and the towering wave his monument." The lawyer refunds the fee of life, and stoops to pay obse- quious court to the despotic tomb. The arrows of death, in every country and in every clime, are flying thick and fast ; and the young and the beautiful, the mature and the aged, are falling around us on every side. Death, as in this instance, enters the family circle, where all was peace, comfort, and happiness, and intelligence had shed the brightness of her presence. His shaft is leveled, and the loved one falls. And then how many bosoms are made to heave with anguish; how many
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sighs to be breathed forth, and how many bitter tears to fall! An aching void is felt within; a sickness comes over the fond heart, and we sit us down and weep that a world so fair and beautiful should yet be a world of vanity and pain ; that loved ones should die, and the heart's dearest treasures perish forever from our sight.
Such were my reflections on being awakened at mid- night by a messenger sent to inform me of the decease of my dear friend Deziah, the young and interesting wife of Capt. Samuel Griffin, of Suffolk Court House. Her departure, though reasonably looked for by and bye, came upon me then suddenly and fearfully. Sleep for- sook me, and I remained gloomy and thoughtful until the light of the morning soothed, in a degree, the dis- turbed repose of the unwelcome call. So young, so happy, so good, so fit to live, and yet so early dead ! And what an intellect has passed with her! As a me- teor, the brightness gleamed before me was quenched, and left no sign.
How much is lost to the living in such a fall! Pale Consumption, to thy wasting embrace Deziah's poor mortality yielded ; but the immortal spirit, the pure in- telligence, remained to the last unsubdued, unconquered -- and not thine, O, Death ! but hers was the conquest and the victory ; for, although the frail texture of na- ture was given up, and mortality's debt was paid, she yet lives, and she shall live forever. So much virtue, and beauty, and mind can never die; and when suns, and moons, and stars shall be hurled from their spheres, and become the sport and prey of time, and all nature shall sink in years, thy pure and spotless spirit, Deziah,
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shall replume itself in perennial youth, "fast by the throne of God." And this is life! Another bright ef- fulgence of intellect has passed from us, and joined that luminous band which have gone before. G.
February 13, 1847.
The following was written on the anniversary of my eightieth year :
My four score years, with all their fears. Have passed, just like a dream ; My walk grows slow, my spirits low, And all now cheerless seem. Where are my mates of early bloom- My friends of manhood's age ? All, almost all, have quit this stage, And sunk into the tomb.
Well, here I am, yet on the sea Which they so late sail'd o'er ; But soon my boat will cease to float Where earthly waters roar.
Blessed is the man whose virtues scan The coast where's all that cheers- There all is rife with endless life, Nor death, nor pain, nor tears.
Nine times ten revolving years, With all their weighty cares and fears, I speedily have passed. How like a visionary dream Do all these revolutions seem! How short, from first to last !
A. GRIFFIN. Ibo et est ridibo. Hempstead, Aug. 6th, 1856.
The following is an obituary on the decease of my daughter, Narcissa L. Raymond, who died March, 1847 :
The demise of this amiable woman deserves some-
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thing more from the pen of affection than the simple announcement of her early mortality. The writer of this brief eulogy may do injustice to his subject, but his apology is the many excellences of her character. In all the moralities and charities of life, she was a model for imitation; but the most prominent feature which distinguished her from her cotemporaries, was her un- bounded cheerfulness of disposition, which gave delight to all who were so fortunate as to come within the happy sphere of its influence.
"Life, with her, appeared to be a fairy pilgrimage through a garden of flowers ; and if a thorn appeared in her path, it was immediately concealed from view by the sweetness of her temper, and the blandness and courtesy of her manners. She was an affectionate wife, a kind sister, and her aged parents, trembling on the verge of life, will remember, with a grateful feeling of resignation that will tranquilize their sorrows, her un- faltering performance of duty to them, and her endur- ing affection for them ; and her many friends and neigh- bors will long recall, with a mournful pleasure, the me- mory of one who enlivened their social circle by the fascination of her conversation, and honored their com- munity by the example of her unobtrusive virtues.
" When the bright spring shall cover the place of her repose with his flowers, which she so much resembled -when the happy birds shall warble a hymn to the morning over her unbroken slumbers-how many there will be who will deeply regret that she, who was once one of their number, is forever separated in this world from friends to whom she was so greatly endeared, and
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scenes on which she bestowed so much admiration. "Orient, March 20, 1847. I. O. T."
The following elegy was written on the death of my mother Deziah Griffin, who died November, 1814. The author was Edward C. King, Esq., noticed in these pages.
And hast thou, pure and spotless spirit, flown To realms of joy and everlasting rest,
Where never more an anxious sigh or groan,
Shall interrupt the raptures of thy breast ?
O, yes ; to a frail tenement of clay, Too long enchained, and now at last, set free, Joyous and light thou tread'st the starry way, To seek thy destined home-Eternity.
Could the cold breast of him* who frames this lay, Feel but a spark of that celestial fire Which warmed thee here, not till the latest day Of time should thy loved memory expire.
For, fixed as are the shining orbs on high, And told in strains as Angels' songs divine, Striking and full, upon a vain world's eye, Thy bright examples should forever shine.
And those whose sins, enchanting pathway tread, Or life's more gay and giddy courses run, Should pause, and deeply ponder, as they read, And feel, and say, how great-if good-is man. The Christian virtues that in thee combined, Shown through thy elevated walk below,
The peace that ever filled thy clou lless mind, The joys that faith, and hope, and love bestow.
The patience, while excrutiating paint For years did wear away thy frame and breath,
* Edward C. King, Esq., died, while on a visit to New York, in 1830, a subject of that religion which Mrs. Griffin had so often urged him to procure.
t Her sufferings, by sickness and great debility for many years, were affectingly severe, but borne with a resignation and composure truly divine. A more pious, ex- emplary and devoted Christian, perhaps, this town has never known. There is not perhaps a professor, over fifty years of age, but what has heard her addresses iu public.
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That bade thee never, e'en in thought, complain,
Or, for a moment, wish relief in death.
These should this dirge in everlasting song,
Faithful to truth and worth departed, tell ;
But such a theme, the bard can only wrong,
When vain each effort, as he ought to feel.
Sally, the eldest daughter of Nicoll Haven, Esq., of Shelter Island, married General Sylvester Dering, a man of real philanthropy to the poor and distressed in and around his district. His attentions to all such were assuredly much, and were truly appreciated. His eldest son is Charles T. Dering, Esq., of Sag Harbor whose life, manner, and doings among his fellow men, show him to possess a heart humane, tender, and in the right place.
Mr. Genin, the subject of the following obituary, was a grandson of John Nicolas Genin, noticed previously : and son of Thomas H. Genin, Esq., now of St. Clairs- ville, Ohio.
"When a young man passes the threshold of life, and enters upon the busy and active scenes of the world, the public, as well as his immediate friends, take a deep interest in his future fortunes. Mr. Genin, whose re- cent death in a foreign land is deeply felt and mourned by all his acquaintances, commenced his career with brilliant prospects before him, and the strong hopes of a long and useful life. He possessed talents of a supe- rior order, which were cultivated and improved by a liberal education and extensive reading. He early qualified himself for the profession of the law, and was soon admitted to the bar, and commenced a successful practice. In conversation, Mr. Genin was remarkably
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gifted, and could always draw upon his varied fund of information for proper material to entertain, instruct, and enliven his friends or the social circle. His man- ners were those of a well-bred gentleman-dignified, but not ostentatious ; easy and courteous ; free in his communications, and obliging and respectful to all. In his associations he was not confined to the company of youth alone, but sought society with age and expe- rience, in which he enjoyed much pleasure and satis- faction. His systematic manner of doing business, ex- cellent moral character, and uprightness of conduct, in all the transactions of life, are models worthy of imitation.
" Mr. Genin possessed a natural taste and talent for the fine arts. In early youth-unaided, and without instruction-he indulged his pencil in drawing por- traits, landscapes, and historical scenes, which he con- tinued at intervals to the close of his life. His produc- tions have been pronounced by competent judges as finished specimens of painting, and do great credit to the art as well as the youthful artist-among which, the writer of this has observed the battle of Granicus ; the landing of Cæsar in Britain ; the battle of Arbela ; the death of Cæsar; the passage of the Red Sea by the Is- raelites ; the rescue of the American prisoners by Jas- per and Newton ; the Woman of Monterey, and others, containing from six or ten to seventy or eighty figures, in varied and expressive attitudes, harmonizing with the leading idea of the design.
"The combined oratorical and martial air of Cæsar directing the descent on Britain ; the intense action of Bucephalus and his rider rushing over the Persians ; the mingled sorrow and dignity with which Cæsar
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views the steel of Brutus ; the meek but dignified as- surance with which Moses looks to Heaven while ex- tending his wand over the sea ; the calm intrepidity of the Mexican woman, and the gratified expression of the wounded soldiers receiving water at her hands, evince great strength of conception and power of execution in the artist.
" I have been told that he aimed at anatomical ac- curacy, and would draw first the skeleton, and then gradually clothe it with arteries, veins, muscles and skin, to impress on his mind an exact idea of the human form.
" For some years before his death, Mr. Genin's health began to decline ; and, although every thing was done that paternal affection and tenderness could do, no change for the better could be produced. He derter- mined to take a journey to the South, if possible, to re- gain his health, believing that the sunny skies of the tropics, and balmy air of the sea, would arrest the dis- ease. But it was all in vain. The greatest destroyer had marked him for his own. He spent the winter at Kingston, in the island of Jamaica, gradually sinking away, until the 4th of April, when, at the age of twenty- eight, death closed his earthly existence. He was thus cut down in the morning of life, and the ardent hopes of his friends, and the presages of future eminence and distinction were blasted forever. Although he died among strangers, in a strange land, yet he was not with- out friends. His goodness of heart and urbanity of manner created for him the warmest attachments. His dying bed was surrounded by anxious and sympathizing
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hearts, until the last pulsation of life announced the fact that death had done his work, and that his spirit had fled from earth to Heaven. He was buried in the most honorable manner. The Consul of the United States, the reverend clergy, all the Americans in the city, and a large concourse of strangers, followed his remains to the grave, and deposited them in their last resting place upon earth.
"Who can invade the sanctity of family sorrow to as- suage its bitterness ? Paternal and fraternal love can never die ; the agony of severed ties will be felt ; grief must have its outpourings, and nothing but time, sub- mission, true philosophy, and the fortitude of the Chris- tian and his hopes, can give consolation. An afflicted community sympathize with the bereaved family for their irreparable loss."
" Be kind to your father," were the last words of my dear wife to her children. Mrs. Eunice Case Terry, the excellent wife of Daniel Tuthill Terry, of Southold, has written the following lines in consequence, and we cheerfully give them a place in our pages, as worthy of their talented authoress :-
Be kind unto thy father, now That age is stamp'd upon his brow ; When youthful pleasures all are past, And early friends are fading fast- Be kind unto thy father.
For he has been to me, and thee, All that the nearest friend could be ; Faithful did he his duties fill, And shielded us from every ill- Be kind unto thy father.
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Along life's way, through all the years From youth to age, 'mid smiles or tears, Through many trials, bravely borne, My richest jewel proudly roam - My children, was thy father.
And now, when on my failing eyes Death's heavy shadow darkly lies, The greatest grief that waits for me, My children, is parting from thee, And parting from thy father.
The earth is good, God made it so ; O'er all his works his love doth glow ; His mercies on my pathway shine, O, I am His, and He is mine -- My God, my Heavenly Father,
My children, let thy walk be just, And in the Lord put thou thy trust ; That when thy toils on earth are done, A Heavenly rest thou shalt have won, Through God, thy gracious Father.
And while upon the earth you stay, Strive to solace the lonely way- And strive to make the pathway bright, And render every burden light, Of him-thine earthly father.
Should ill invade his lonely room, Or sorrow cloud his mind with gloom,- Should sickness on his form be press'd, Or biting cares assail his breast- Be kind unto thy father.
" My son," should honor on thy footsteps wait- Prosperity be thine estate --- Should wealth and power be thine to hold, And gates of pleasure wide unfold- Remember, still, thy father.
For he is old, and fading fast ; E'en now, along his way are cast
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Dim shadows, gathering from the tomb ; Within thy heart, O, give him room, And honor thou thy father.
Such were the words of one who, more Than fourscore years, life's changes bore : Her heart, true to its early choice, Invoked with its latest voice- " Be kind unto thy father !"
E. C. T.
Died, at Hempstead, Queens county, Dec. 18, 1856, Anna Eliza, wife of my grandson, Augustus R. Griffin, Esq., and daughter of Stephen Hewlett, aged twenty- three years.
-" Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, she drew the drapery Of her couch about her, and lay down To pleasant dreams."
The following acrostic is the production of Mr. Wm. A. Overton, mentioned in the foregoing pages :-
Amidst the scenes of life, we plainly see Unerring wisdom in the deity ; Great is the work, still greater is the cause, Uniting nature by a code of laws- So formed are they, that all who do offend, Take the whole evil which those laws intend ; Unwelcome as the case to us may be, Still, each offence receives its penalty.
Grave as the subject, yet those facts appear, Resolved by nature, which mankind must bear- Is this the case? is this to be the lot For us to live, to die, and be forgot ? Far brighter scenes we humbly hope to have, In realms of bliss that lie beyond the grave. Now, aged friend, let each those talents given, Gain all they can in the sure path to Heaven.
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Extract of a letter from my grandson, John Augus- tus Preston, now deceased :-
" March 29, 1847.
" DEARLY BELOVED GRANDPARENTS :- You are again called upon to suffer, as well as to rejoice. The lesson of human instability, though so frequently and so pain- fully learned, you have again, with bitter experience, reviewed. It is thus, when death, with silent tread, en- ters the circle of our own kindred, that we feel, too surely, that we too must pass through the dreaded or- deal. But Heaven 'afflicts not willingly.' God is mer- ciful, and as 'His ways are past finding out,' why should we arraign our puny arm against his judgments ? His afflictions are mercies in a mourning garb. Heaven rarely leaves us to mourn, without affording some con- solation-some cheering light to shine upon our dark- ness, and chase away our gloom. Narcissa has joined the happy throng of angels-her sisters-in glory, the first, perhaps, to welcome her to the ever-growing de- lights of their blissful abode. She has left a world of sin and sorrow, and a life attended with disease and pain. Here, then, is your richest consolation. Yet, the ties of affection have been rudely severed, and nature mourns over the decree of unrelenting fate. We seem to forget that death is but a 'soft transition' from the vale of woe to supernal joys-that the darkness of the tomb is but the shadow which hides from our view the glories of Heaven.
" Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud, To damp our brainless ardors, and abate
That glare of light which often blinds the wise."
" How strangely insensible to the true end of exist-
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ence is man. He lays his plans as though eternity were the compass of his years. 'He heapeth up rich . es, and knoweth not who shall gather them.' I like that excellent maxim of an ancient sage, which says :- ' We should live as though every day of our life were · to be the last.' In concluding these reflections, sug- gested by the death of one whom we all loved with tender affection, let me indulge the hope that we may all meet her in that blessed world where God, himself, shall wipe away all tears from our eyes-where a closer tie than consanguinity shall unite our hearts, even, praise to our God, throughout the ceaseless cycles of Eternity.
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