This document appears here with the permission of the Wallingford Historical Society. It was produced using an Epson flatbed scanner and optical character recognition (OCR) software. To improve readability, page breaks were removed, and lines were reflowed, but other than the addition of hyperlinks no other editing was done.
Printed copies should be ordered from
The Wallingford Historical Society 180 South Main Street Wallingford, CT 06492 (203)294-1996
| WALLINGFORD HISTORICAL SOCIETY, Inc. | |
| WALLINGFORD, CONNECTICUT | |
| Publication No. 1 | July 1, 1957 |
When you next go by 123 South Main Street you can look at the house and remember that the things I am telling you happened there. Most of us here have lived a good many years--for instance I opened my eyes here in Wallingford over 83 years ago--in 1872. My mother was born 121 years ago in 1834 and her mother, about whose life I will relate some happenings, was born on the North Farms 161 years ago in 1794.
Many of you are familiar with the Cornelia Killam farm on the North Farms east of the so called reservoir, which was formerly the Blakeslee Farm 150 years ago. My grandmother, who was Merancy Blakeslee, was, as I have said, born there in 1794 about nine years after the close of the Revolutionary War when with the abandonment of the Mother Country we were launched on our perilous journey towards independence.
These happenings which were recalled by my mother and jotted down as she remembered them, happenings which greatly influenced her life show us all what we owe to our own forbears for what they bequeathed us and what we should not fail to pass on to our descendants as well.
My mother in this account tells us about her mother in these words.
January 1956
In these notes and reminiscences I do not pretend to write a history of my mother, Merancy Beadle, but simply to record such recollections as I have of her, and such facts concerning her as are matters of common belief in our family, without claiming to put them in chronological order. I am persuaded that those of her living descendants who had the privilege of knowing her personally, will be pleased to recall her admirable traits of character; and this persuasion is accompanied by the hope that those who have only heard of her may be profited by her recorded example of faith and heroism.
My first distinct recollection of my mother was on my fifth birthday. Visiting with her at my eldest sister's Mrs. Julius Ives, who then lived in Meriden, I came in from my play and leaned over her knee, when she playfully spanked me, saying, "My great five-year-old girl."
She was then forty-five years old; was born August 26, 1794, was married May 9th, 1814, became a widow July 9th, 1834, and died November 25th, 1885, aged ninety-one years. My father, Harry Beadle of Cheshire, died of apoplexy induced by sunstroke, only six hours after the attack. The circumstances surrounding this experience were peculiarly trying. I was born on October 21st, 1834, only three months after this terrible blow, which she bore with a fortitude begotten of a firm faith in God, and dependence on His promise, "As thy days are so shall thy strength be."
My father was a carpenter and builder, and in association with * * * Punderford of New Haven, and Leander Parmelee of Wallingford built, in 1825-30, the brick Congregational church which occupied the site of the present structure, and which was removed to make a place for this later one. He also built the house No. 123 South Main St., into which he took his bride in 1814, before it was completed, and where their seven children were born. Conditions of work at that time were different from those of the present day, and he constructed articles of furniture as well as houses, such as tables, bedsteads, etc., and the quality of his work was such that "Beadle's joints" had a reputation which was not confined to his own town. At the time of his death he was making "Beadle's Fanning Mills," an invention of his own for winnowing grain, and for which he had received letters patent from Washington: but a little while before, a North Haven man had made a small, but real improvement, which he patented and commenced manufacturing, and this spoiled my father's business. My father had no capital, and was in debt, but hoped by the profits on his invention, to meet his liabilities. This turn in affairs, however, destroyed these hopes, and when he died, he had a number of unsold machines in his shop. My mother was able to dispose of most of them, but at greatly reduced prices. His estate being insolvent, it became necessary that the house should be sold, and a day was appointed for the sale. My mother was advised by a friend to bid it off herself, "For," as he said, "you must have a shelter for your children." But she replied, "I cannot; I haven't a cent to pay for it." Still he urged it, advising her to apply to her mother, Mrs. Mary Blakeslee, who was also a widow, but in comfortable circumstances, for help to do so. She was adverse to this for the reason that her mother was not pleased with her marriage to my father because he was a poor man, and had not succeeded in making money, nor had he prospects of better conditions. But the situation was urgent, and, swallowing her pride, she borrowed a sum of money for immediate payment, and obligating herself to discharge the indebtedness as she should be able. On the day of the auction, when bids were called for, my mother bid the price of appraisal, and no one followed her. Of course it was knocked down to her. Among those assembled at the auction, one man said to another, "I thought you wanted that house." "I did," he answered, "but I was not going to bid against a widow." This kind friend was Mr. Wooster Martin, the same who advised her to buy the house. I like to think that perhaps others in the assemblage were actuated by the same friendly consideration. Then began the years of effort to pay for the house which she occupied as long as she lived with the exception of one year, when it was rented and occupied by Mr. Jared P. Whittelsey, during the erection of his house, the square-roofed dwelling which now stands on Whittelsey Avenue.
Some years before her marriage, but I do not know at what age, my mother became a Christian at a time of general religious interest. She lived at the time with her parents, Joseph and Mary Blakeslee, who were Congregationalists; but most of her neighbors and acquaintances were Baptists, and strenuous efforts were made to capture her for that church. But she was a clear-headed, intelligent, and independent thinker, and she joined the Congregationalists.
For years it was a source of grief to her that her husband did not come into the church as a member; but he was a regular church-goer,and a man of high moral tone and unexceptional life, and was universally esteemed. He never used tobacco, and though he kept his decanter like every one else in those days, he partook of its contents with great moderation: and when the Washingtonian (temperance) movement began, he was one of the first to embrace its doctrines. In 1833 he became a Christian and united with the church of which my mother was a member, and I can imagine the joy this brought to her heart. His high sense of justice and simplicity of heart may be judged by the fact that at this time, he gathered his children together and asked their forgiveness for anything he had done which seemed to them unjust or wrong. He was then forty-nine years old, and he died July 9th, 1834, aged fifty years. According to the custom of those days, a funeral sermon was preached by the Rev. E. R. Gilbert, from this text, "Be ye also ready."
Having no income, my mother resorted to many and various expedients to procure the money for the necessary expenses of daily living, and in addition, to meet the payments on her indebtedness as they became due. Amelia, the oldest daughter, was married to Julius Ives of Hamden, was settled in a home of her own. Julia, the oldest at home, commenced teaching school, and continued the occupation for many years. James was apprenticed to Ezra Ives, a carriage painter of Meriden. Mary learned the trade of tailoress, which occupation she followed till she was married to George Andrews of this town. Joseph Blakeslee and Harry Hobert were still too young to leave school, but later, Joseph was "bound out" to Mr. Jared Allen, a farmer living on the turnpike west of the town, and Harry H. went to work in a shop in Prattsville, Meriden, making ivory combs. Before Amelia's marriage, she and Julia worked at toothbrush cases, in a shop standing at Campbell's pond, to which they walked daily, but I do not know by whom they were employed. As for my mother, there was hardly anything a woman could do that she did not turn her hand to. She made boys' cloth caps, braided and sewed boys' straw hats, braided husk mats, dried and sold apples in their season, dyed yarn and stockings, and wove rag carpets and woolen blankets. She kept silkworms and spun and made sewing-silk. She made regalias for a Society, cut labels and packed screws by the thousands for a manufacturing company. She quilted bedquilts at one dollar a spool, the number of spools used being her measure of the amount of work on the quilt. She took boarders and did their washing. She let furnished rooms, and at one time had the care of an invalid baby. She made soap and tallow candles. She kept a cow, and paid for its pasturage with a neighbor's cows by sending her little children to drive them to and from the pasture.
In 1837 she let her house for a year to Mr. Jared P. Whittelsey who occupied it while building the house which is still called by his name, and which formerly stood on Main St., nearly opposite St. Paul's Rectory. During this year she occupied a few rooms in Dea. Carter's house, now owned by M. J. Butler, opposite Town Hall. She did much of the work in her garden, and even sawed and split much of her own wood, saving every expense possible, and turning into money the work of her hands.
For several years she had the care of the "meeting house," sweeping and dusting it with the help of her boys and myself, while the boys built the fires, shovelled the paths, and rang the bell. At that time the bell in the "brick church" was the only one in town, and besides being rung for meetings, it was rung every day at noon, and at nine o'clock at night. I might recount some of the tricks played on the young bell-ringers by the other boys, but this chronicle especially concerns my mother.
Until a comparatively recent date, there stood in front of the homeplot owned by my mother, an immense maple tree, which, from its shape and variety (sugar maple) we used to call the "Sugar loaf." Its sap product was profuse, yielding in favorable weather several gallons in a day. This was carefully gathered, boiled, and "sugared off," and used for sweetening our coffee, which was often made of well-toasted bread. A frequent supper was water-gruel, into which we used to crumb our bread, thus saving the expense of butter. The little children usually had bread and milk. Cheese sometimes took the place of butter, and sometimes we had a supper of Indian hasty pudding, or of "Pop Robin," a dish we all liked. It consisted of boiled salted milk to which a little water was added if the milk was not abundant, and the whole thickened with a batter of wheat flour which was dropped into it gradually from a spoon, and these lumps of scalded flour formed the 'pop' of which we were very fond. For several years my mother kept a pig, of which at 'butchering time' she sold a half, reserving the other for use in her own family, smoking the ham, cheek and shoulder, salting down the pork, and making sausages and head cheese. Those were busy days, and so, indeed, was every day the whole year round.
Thus, while we had very simple food, we generally had an abundance, and were not encouraged in fastidiousness regarding our diet which was always wholesome. Mother used to say "Eat what is set before you," and the habit thus created saved expense and avoided discontented complaint. During these years of struggle and monetary stress, the most careful economy was practiced on all lines, and so dollar by dollar, almost penny by penny the savings grew. I do not think she ever missed a payment when it was due. Repeatedly, when interest day came, she took her little girl (myself), and suiting her pace to the little footsteps, walked the whole distance to her mother's house on North Farms, nearly four miles, to make the payment. Generally the return trip was made in the same way unless some one offered her a ride.
That she was undaunted by disaster was well-showed when she cut the cord of her 'thimble finger' and it became stiff so that it could not bend. She immediately set to learning to wear her thimble on her third finger, for sew she must with her three little children: the difficulty of the task will be appreciated by anyone accustomed to using the middle finger.
I do not know where she obtained the eggs for the hatching and cultivation of silk-worms, but once in hand, they increased rapidly, and became a source of quite an income. She kept them in the attic on boards covered with paper and laid on the heads of barrels. They were fed on mulberry leaves which I gathered from bushes growing in the fence rows between the meadows back of the gardens belonging to our neighbors who kindly gave us permission to do so. The worms grew rapidly, developing an enormous appetite which kept me very busy in the endeavor to supply. When they arrived at maturity and began to show a disposition to form their cocoons, she hung up old garments and branches within their reach which were immediately appropriated and decorated with cocoons, and from these cocoons the silk was spun. The process of manufacture from beginning to end was very interesting.
In her girlhood, my mother, like all her companions learned to spin both flax and wool, making linen thread for tablecloths, sheets and towels and for common sewing, and yarn for weaving into flannel for dresses, and cloth for men's apparel. There was a loom in the east end of the attic where she wove woolen blankets, rag carpets, etc.
The flax wheel was so small that it was not uncommon for a girl to carry it with her to a neighbor's for an afternoon's visit. It was operated by the foot while sitting. The wool wheel was between three and four feet in diameter, and was operated by the right hand of the spinner as she walked to and fro by its side, while the wool was held in her left hand. The wool was made into "rolls" for spinning into yarn at the old Humiston mill which stood on the west bank of the Quinnipiac river, just below the present dam. These rolls were about three feet long, and of uniform size as large as a woman's little finger, and were lapped together in the spinning to make a continuous thread. Having no conveyance other than her own feet, she would walk down there in the edge of evening, and bring the bundle home in her arms, taking me along with her for company and such help as I could give. For the same reason, on having some new chairs for the parlor, as she could not afford to pay for their cartage, she and her children went down to the station and brought them up in their hands by moonlight, and thought it great frolic.
When my brothers were still little boys and occupied the same bed, they got to quarreling one night over something, as boys have been apt to do from time immemorial, and indulged in a kicking contest. When my mother discovered the state of affairs, with a wise diplomacy she laid a good-sized stick of hickory from the woodbox in the bed between them, and this effectually quelled the disturbance, the proceeding fortunately taking on a humorous aspect to the two boys.
Among some papers left by my youngest brother at his death which occurred in December 1902, when he was 74 years old, was one written by my mother, which illustrated her method of dealing with refractory boys.
"A contest for superiority. October 11th, 1835.
"My two youngest sons, being set to studying their Sabbath School lesson, have frequently claimed the right of asking the questions, one to the other; one because he is the oldest, the other, because he wished to have authority; therefor, they could not agree. The contest is generally so strong that I have to decide the case by telling which shall ask them, and sometimes make them take turns. But I find they grow no better, and this morning it began in the same way. I thought best to write it down that they may have it to look at and refresh their memory.
"Joseph, the oldest, was determined to ask them, or not answer them. Hobert had the book, and began to ask the questions; Joseph refused to answer, till I found something must be done. I sent one child to get a piece of paper. Hobert then gave up the book, which Joseph took, feeling in some measure that he had gained his point, and began the questions, evidently without much feeling of sorrow, though some of shame. I told them my design in writing down their conduct, that they might see it after I was dead and gone; then they would remember how much they had grieved me by such conduct. I told them also, that God kept a book of remembrance, and that all would be brought into judgment; which seemed to have some effect, and they both wept."
I do not know how it came into my brother's hands, but the effect of the discipline may be judged by the fact that it was cherished so many years.
Here I may mention her original method of impressing on my mind the duty of coming to a decision in the matter of personal religion. When I was about seventeen years old there was in the church a period of mild religious interest, but I was not particularly affected by it. In her solicitude for me, she told me one morning, that she wanted me to go to my room for an hour and read my Bible. Being habitually obedient, at least outwardly, I complied, but with a feeling of resentment at the compulsion. The next morning her request was repeated, and I went as before, but with growing irritation. For three or four more days this occurred, culminating in a crying spell. I finally came to the conclusion that if this was to be a daily experience, I would begin to read the Bible through, considered then to be a desirable undertaking, and thereafter I went with more alacrity. I had read to the 8th chapter of Genesis, when that morning it flashed upon me how foolish and unreasonable I was to be angry (for I still cherished my ill-temper) when I well knew the only motive my mother had, was to do me the greatest good. Instantly I realized that my attitude towards her was my attitude towards God, and a sense of shame at my ingratitude broke me down completely, and I prayed as I never prayed before for forgiveness. Opinions may differ as to the wisdom of her course, but I have never ceased to be thankful for its result.
To return to earlier years. All the time her hands were busied with her homely undertakings, her heart and mind were full of prayerful solicitude for her children whom she was so suddenly left to rear and train alone: and many a time, when the boys were eager to go to the street in the evening to play, though tired with her hard day's work, she would take them to some neighbor's to spend the evening with their boys where they would have games and apples and molasses candy and popped corn. "The devil keeps school in the street," she used to say. Her dependence in her arduous life was on the "God of the widow and the fatherless," and she sought His help in every day's beginning, gathering her children about her, and reading in turn with them some chapter of the Bible in regular course. To this I owe in large measure such familiarity as I have with the Bible: but in addition to this, we were taught whole chapters and Psalms in connection with the Mother's Meeting, held by an association of Christian mothers, who assembled once a month to pray for the conversion of their children. Once in three months the children came with their mothers, and recited to the pastor who was present on those occasions, the lesson learned at home during the interval. Her own intelligent knowledge of the scripture was illustrated on an occasion when the rescue of Lot by Abraham was referred to, I think in an adult Bible class, as a bloodless battle, because there was no record that any were slain, and the statement passed without refutation, till my mother said quietly, quoting from both Genesis and Hebrews, "he returned from the slaughter."
My mother as I knew her was a woman of strong faith and cheerful courage, and never seemed to have fluctuations of interest in God's service. Whatever she believed to be his will she accepted without question. While economizing rigidly as has been seen, to pay her indebtedness, she always had something to give to the various benevolences which made their appeal, regarding this equally a privilege and a duty. She was regular in attendance on church services and the Sunday School as long as she was physically able to go, and for many years had a membership and was actively interested in the Sewing Society connected with our church. She loved the prayer-meeting, and found rest and strength and courage in the hour thus spent in fellowship with God and His People. She endeavored to cultivate in her children the habit of "going to meeting," and took me with her, rather than stay at home merely to keep me company, even though I slept the time away, being too little to keep awake during the hour. Women at that time wore long loose cloaks without sleeves, enveloping the whole figure; and coming home, she would take me under its shelter, and with our arms around each other, I made the trip even in cold weather in comfort. On one occasion, however, when she was putting me to bed, I heard the church bells ring, and suspected that she was going to meeting without me; but as she sat down to her sewing, my suspicions were allayed, and I fell asleep. Waking awhile after, I found that the light was out. I called several times, but got no answer, and began to be afraid. Then I got up, and finding that I was alone, I went out the front door into the night, and skipped, barefooted and in my nightgown across the road to Mr. Noyes' (George Dickerman's), and opening the side door, called "Miss Noyes! Miss Noyes! " but getting no reply, I ran back across the road to Mr. Benjamin Foote's (corner Main and Prince streets), crying. On the way I met Philander Hall, who asked me what was the matter. I told him as well as I could for crying, and he said, "You would better go home." But I ran on and burst in upon Mrs. Foote, who sat there sewing. She was a beloved neighbor, of whose sympathy I was very sure, and I felt comforted when she took her sewing and went home with me, promising to stay until mother came home. In those days there was no lock on the door, but it was fastened by putting a big nail over the latch. Thus when we went out it was not fastened at all. So when my mother came home, she was not surprised to be able to walk right in: but when she saw a light under the door of the inner room, she rushed in under great trepidation, thinking of fire. I was reprimanded mildly, but I never had the experience repeated, as she always took me with her after that.
My mother believed sincerely in the duty of teaching to her children early, the truths of religion, which to her mind included the theological doctrines held by the Congregational church. The Westminster Assembly's Shorter Catechism, consisting of 107 questions and their respective answers, contained the statement of religious truth accepted by that church and this she faithfully and persistently taught to her children. I do not so well remember about my brothers and sisters, but I learned the 107 questions so that I could answer them correctly, and more or less intelligently at one sitting, and actually came to experience a good deal of pride in performing these mental gymnastics. There was also a Historical Catechism, dealing with Bible characters, which sometimes alternated with the profounder things of the Assembly's Catechism. Sunday night after supper, which usually came at 4 p.m., was her favorite time for drilling us in these recitations, as was Saturday night for studying the Sunday School lessons together. We had but two meals on Sunday, as there were two sessions of church service, and the intermission was too brief for more than a light lunch consisting of a piece of pie or cake, especially as part of the time was taken up with the Sunday School. My mother did not go home at noon, but contented herself with a piece of gingerbread or plain bread and cheese. These were the days when Saturday night was regarded as part of the Sabbath, after the Jewish or Biblical custom, and, logically, when it was right to resume at sundown of the Sabbath, the work we had laid by at sundown the night before. My mother was quite strict in her observance of the Sabbath, sometimes even gathering on Saturday the fennel she wanted to carry to church the next day. Occasionally, as a special indulgence, we were allowed to go down to the "burying-ground" after supper, and wander about, reading the inscriptions on the stones.
Once a year the church gave a "Donation Party" at the home of the minister, which was the event of the winter. The salary of the minister being small, the deficit was supposed to be made up to him by the contributions in cash, firewood, and household stores brought in by the parishioners on this occasion, which was free to them all, the refreshments such as pie, cake, biscuits, etc., being furnished by the guests themselves. It was always a merry time, but involved much work, and my mother was always there the day before to assist in making preparations, and the day after to help clear away. As all the rooms of the lower floor were given up to the guests this involved taking down the bed in the bedroom, and setting it up the next day. Dishes were brought in from the neighbors and these had to be washed and returned. It was a time to be remembered, for my mother was always given a pan of the fragments, from which she made puddings such as we did not see every day. She delighted to carry little gifts according to her ability to her pastor's family, once taking a pie to the door, where she set it down, rapped and ran away.
She was a good neighbor, helpful and friendly, ever ready to lend a hand if any were sick, going to "watch" with them nights, and when the last offices were required, helping to "lay out" the remains, i.e., to prepare the body for burial. As will be seen, this was when there was no professional undertaker to be had, and people were dependent on the services of neighbors. On one such occasion my mother took my brother Joseph, then a baby, and on another, when she went to perform this service for Miss Roxy Hall, one of our neighbors, she took me along with her for company, and I helped by lifting the feet when the body was placed in the coffin. The shroud of those days was made of sarsenet cambrie, than which no fabric is colder, and I can never forget the chill which struck through my little hands.
While she enjoyed company she was not a gossip, and if any of the family indulged in unkind strictures, she used to admonish us, "Either say nothing of the absent or speak as a friend," and she lived up to her teaching. She was frequently sowing the seed of good morals and righteousness by repeating certain wise, quaint sayings of which she had many at her tongue's end, such as these:
She derived many of these sayings from "Poor Richard's Almanac" which was published by Benjamin Franklin, and found its place next to the Bible in many a household. Every one who was brought in frequent and intimate contact with her was impressed with her undoubted sincerity, justice, and cordiality.
In the daily family devotions of which I have spoken, she invariably gave thanks for our reason, and prayed that it might be continued to us; and this prayer was literally answered to her, for, living to the age of ninety-one years, her mind continued clear to the very last. She used often to recite this verse, whose origin I do not know:
Sometimes the presence of boarders proved a hindrance to the regular "Family prayers," and then she would take us into her bedroom for the purpose, for they were never omitted; and when we chanced to have Christian men as members of our family, it was a great satisfaction to her if they were willing to lead in prayer, or ask a blessing at table.
She never had a so-called "hired girl," but she had at different times the assistance of some half a dozen young girls from neighboring families in needy circumstances, furnishing board and clothes and schooling in return for their services. This was a genuine charity, for she made it a real home for them, and instructed them in household arts as she did myself. The last one of these girls, lived with her 28 years, and was married from there into a home of her own.
My mother was a good singer, and it was a favorite custom of hers on Sunday afternoons towards twilight, to pace the room from one corner to the other, singing quaint old hymns which she had learned when she was a girl. We were all singers, and in this way we learned many of these hymns, and carried the different parts with much enjoyment. (I have made a collection of these hymns in connection with this story.) Being very fond of music, I learned by myself to play on an instrument that we had for a time in our parlor--I think it was called Seraphine--and later was given one term of piano lessons, practicing, sometimes on a piano standing in the lecture-room of our church, and sometimes on one or the other belonging to two of our neighbors, who seemed fond of me, having no children of their own. But this could not continue indefinitely, and when I was thirteen years old, my mother bought a "Chickering" piano for me, borrowing 120 dollars to add to her own resources for the purpose. I was not at that time acquainted with her finances, but I am sure from her doing what she did, that her indebtedness for the house must have been fully met, for she was very sensitive about contracting unnecessary debts. One summer day, when I was between six and seven years old, an elderly gentleman came to the house, and was closeted in the parlor a long time with my mother. After awhile she came out and went into her bedroom with my sister Julia. Then she went back into the parlor, and Julia looked very sober. When supper was ready, and mother came to the table, I saw that she had been crying. The man did not come out. I did not know when he went away. It was all very mysterious to me, but in after years I learned that she received an offer of marriage that day, and refused it. She never referred to it in my presence, and I never dared try to penetrate the privacy of her reasons; but this I know, that the gentleman was of excellent character, and possessed of ample means, and the marriage, if consummated, would have been the end of her many privations.
My mother was a warm adherent of Anti Slavery doctrines when the name "Abolitionist" was a term of reproach, and none rejoiced more than she, when, in the providence of God, and the evolution of the Nation, Slavery was done away with. Mr. Chauncey Munson was known to have harbored and helped along many a fugitive on his way to Canada. One evening when my mother was coming home from the stores, a colored man spoke to her in a low tone, asking if she was a friend to the slave. She assured him that she was, and asked him if he was a slave. He said he was. "Then," said she, "I'll show you where you can find help," and going back a little way with him, she pointed out the light in Mr. Munson's window, and told him to go for that, and he would find friends. "God bless you, Missus," he responded fervently, and went on his way. She learned afterward that he was received and kindly cared for by these friends.
She had two brothers, who bore the unusual names of Orator and Senator, whether indicative of parental ambition, I do not know. They lived, the one in Ohio, and the other in Western New York, and both attained great age, the younger one living to be 100 years, six months, and five days. My mother was of necessity not much of a traveler, but when she was about 55 years old, she went, in company with her eldest daughter, to visit these brothers. The journey was made partly by train and partly by canal-boat; and she enjoyed the trip of six weeks to the utmost, finding great pleasure after her return, in recounting her experiences. At the same time, she visited several of my father's connections, living in Oswego County and thereabouts, establishing a pleasant acquaintance which was continued by correspondence as long as she lived.
When she became too infirm to participate in the active duties of the household, her hands were still busy with sewing or knitting, and during those latter years, she pieced seventeen lounge spreads for her friends. On the eightieth anniversary of her birthday, a large number of her descendants met at her old home to offer to her their affectionate congratulations, much to her enjoyment. Her eldest granddaughter presented her with a handsome framed motto, embroidered by herself on perforated paper. The design was a large "80" in the center, surrounded by this passage of Scripture from Romans 15:13, "Now the God of Hope fill you with all Joy and Peace." Mr. Elisha Whittelsey, a neighbor, brought a beautiful floral piece, composed of pink and white "Lady's Slippers," and, dropping on one knee, presented it to her with his congratulations. "What shall I do for my neighbors who are so kind to me?" she exclaimed. "Double it up," he answered, which she laughingly deprecated. Further to mark the occasion, a fine young maple had been procured, and when a place had been prepared in the south yard to receive it, my mother held the tree upright, while the men of the family filled in the soil. The young stranger took kindly to its surroundings, and made a vigorous growth, while many who took part in the interesting ceremony have passed on.
Ten years later our mother was still with us, and again we met to renew the ties of such long standing. Twenty-five of her seventy-six descendants were present, and the assembled company united in singing to the tune of "America," the following hymn composed by her youngest daughter.
Fortunately for my mother and those dependent on her, her health was good, but the strenuous life she was compelled to live showed its effect eventually in an occasional attack of rheumatism, from which she suffered acutely; but as she advanced in years, and her life became easier, it gradually left her, and for a number of her later years, she was entirely free from it, and when she took her departure to "enter into rest," it was without any sickness. She fell asleep in her chair one afternoon, with her sewing in her hands.
The tendency to sleep increased upon her from day to day, and at noon
of the fifth day, having sat up and talked with us that morning, she fell
quietly asleep, to wake no more till the final resurrection, to which she
ever looked forward with desire and unshaken confidence in her
Saviour. "So He giveth His beloved sleep."
She was buried from the church she loved, on a gray November afternoon, and as we followed her still form to the cemetery, the clouds lifted from the western horizon letting through a flood of golden light, like a welcome from the world of rest. "At evening time it shall be light."