Litchfield County CT Archives History - Books .....Happy Days Of Yore 1882

***********************************************
Copyright.  All rights reserved.
http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm
http://www.usgwarchives.net/ct/ctfiles.htm
***********************************************

************************************************************************
The USGenWeb Project makes no claims or estimates of the validity of the
information submitted and reminds you that each new piece of information
must be researched and proved or disproved by weight of evidence.  It is
always best to consult the original material for verification.
************************************************************************

File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by:
Joy Fisher sdgenweb@yahoo.com May 24, 2005, 12:20 pm

Book Title: HISTORY OF THE TOWNS OF NEW MILFORD AND BRIDGEWATER, CONNECTICUT, 1703-1882

CHAPTER XVII. 
THE HAPPY DAYS OF YORE.

PERPETUAL are the changes transpiring in the world, as is realized in the sad
and joyful experiences of the children of the human family, and since it is and
must be so, it is not wise to make these changes the criterion for bitter
complaint and dissatisfaction, nor for high expectation of rapid future
progress. Whether Joshua's sun stood still or not, it is very certain that, at
times, the onward progress of events appears to stand still with an utter
indifference to long-needed reforms, or that the dial-hand turns backward on the
face of time, and the hearts of the hopeful sons of improvement grow weary with
waiting for the days of victory and triumph. Again, when a few rays of
progressive sunlight break through the slowly yielding clouds of superstition
and the night of ignorance, the great powers for the elevation of men move
forward in one grand step, reviving all hopes, ambitions, and aspirations, as if
the midday light would soon come, and men become buoyant and expectant of great
things; then again the shadows fall across the valley of time, as if night were
approaching, and the former years were about to return. But such is life as it
travels through the vale of the years that is allotted to man, to the great
untried future, from which "none ever return."

  The days of the early history of New England were full of danger and fear, and
there were so many obstacles to overcome in making new homes and preparations
for the comfort of families; in settling proper foundations for society and
religious organizations, and in earning a comfortable livelihood, that character
was more early and strongly developed, and personal traits became more
distinctly marked. These things were peculiarly true of New Milford, and they
continued so until within forty years, when new elements began to be introduced.
Almost every man and woman had a marked personality, that stood out from others
as a distinctive quality of mind, taste, habit, and education.

  Some particular occurrences will illustrate these statements as well as afford
a true historical record.

A Case of Conscience.

  In the early history of the First Church, about 1739, a division of sentiment
arose in relation to the singing, some desiring a choir to lead instead of the
deacons standing in front of the pulpit. It was agreed to permit the use of the
new way at the last singing before the close of the services, and that if any
who were opposed to the new way desired, they could go out before the last
singing. On the next Sabbath, at the appointed time, Old Dick, a stalwart slave
belonging to Parson Boardman, came down from his pew in the extreme corner of
the gallery with his frozen brogans with great deliberation pounding along the
stairs, while the congregation waited for the end. The next morning the Parson
sent for Dick, to whom when he came with hat under his arm, in obedient style,
eyes wide open and mysterious, the Parson delivered a definite reprimand for
going out of meeting as he did, and then asked, "Why did you do so and disturb
the congregation?" Dick replied, "Conscience, Massa Boardman, conscience." Said
the Parson; "Dick, what do you know about conscience?" "O, Massa Boardman, I
don't know zackly, but it is something or odder right in here (placing his hand
on his breast), Massa Boardman, that says, I won't."

Power of Habit.

  It having become a Christian duty, as was supposed, two of the brethren of the
Church were appointed to labor with Brother B_____, who from early and
long-continued habit had not been able to refrain from using the term, "I
swear," in ordinary conversation. At the appointed time the Committee called on
Brother B., and made known the object of their visit. After an earnest
reprimand, followed by prayer, the two brethren arose to go, and each clasping
the hand of the remiss brother, urged him to promise that he would not again
offend, saying, "Now, brother, we wish you to pledge most faithfully not to do
it." Upon which Brother B. said: "I won't do so anymore, I swear I won't." From
this time the case seemed settled.

A Town Vote.

  "Dec. 9, 1771. Voted that a Black Bonnet, a red Woman's Cloak and Woosted Gown
belonging to the estate of Hannah Beaman, deceased, be kept for and given to her
daughter Hannah Beaman when [of] age, and if she dies under age, the town to
have them."

The Boardmans and Taylors.

  These families were by natural endowments quite unlike, although not to
extremes, unless it was on the occasion when, as is told, that Parson Taylor
started after a flying hen and caught her before she could cross the garden. But
the Boardmans were calm and guided by the cool exercise of judgment; and what is
remarkably true, neither of the families have ever had an erratic, "crooked
stick" or "black sheep in it." Guess that's about as high as it is best to go,
but it is true as "true blue."

  On one occasion an alarm being given that hostile Indians were coming, a
neighbor ran to the parsonage of the Rev. Daniel Boardman, to help Madam
Boardman and her children reach the fort. He found her quietly engaged in
knitting and told her the danger and the necessity of hastening in the work of
safety. Waiting a moment and seeing that she did not hurry, he became more
earnest in urging her departure, to which she replied with perfect
self-possession that she would go "as soon as she had knit into the seam-needle."

  A part of this coolness should be credited to the exercise of clear, good
judgment, for there had been many alarms of coming Indians without any Indians
to be found.

  The daughter of Madam Boardman, the wife of the Rev. Nathaniel Taylor,
possessed the same characteristics. While visiting a friend at some distance, a
messenger came and informed her that one of her children had been badly scalded,
and obeying the call she returned home at her usual moderate and dignified step.
On arriving, she found her husband running about in an excited manner, but
without paying attention to him, she went quietly to work, and had done all
things necessary for the child before the doctor arrived. Afterwards, on being
asked why she did not hurry, she replied, that she had to think over what it was
best to do, and where all the things were which would be wanted, and in this way
she would be prepared on reaching home to do the work without delay and confusion.

  The Taylor and Boardman families were of opposite temperaments,—the former
quick and mercurial, active intellectually and physically, but the latter
moderate and imperturable, with minds moving not rapidly but surely.

  A member of the family related that Rev. Mr. Taylor would come across the lot
where the Congregational Church now stands, which was between his house and his
son's, burst in at the kitchen door and break out passionately, blaming his son
for something he had done, declaring, "If you do so again. Natty, I will
disinherit you," and rush off again. When half-across the lot, he would stop,
turn back, come quietly into the house and say, as if nothing had happened,
"Natty, Natty, I forgot to tell you,"— and would go on with a long and pleasant
talk. But this was not the way he treated his work as a minister, for everything
regarding this was arranged by the most careful forethought, discretion and
cautiousness, so that amidst the conflicting powers of the Quakers, the
Episcopalians, and the Separates, in a limited community he successfully
prosecuted his work. Only once in fifty years was he called to an account of his
stewardship. Then the society sent a committee to ask him what he was doing so
much out of his study, and he sent word back to this effect that the town,
instead of giving him bank dividends had bestowed on him a large tract of land,
and he had to attend to it personally or he should not have enough for his
family to eat. Upon which the society voted that they were satisfied, and Mr.
Taylor went to his study, also satisfied.

  It must have been a little bewildering to the good people of New Milford about
1760, when the four societies had attained to working order, there being just
enough people in the town to make one good church. Baptism was the great subject
of logical discussion. The Quakers were calling for no baptism but the inward;
the Separates denied baptism to all except believers and their children; the
Episcopalians stood ready to baptize all the nations, and Mr. Taylor, a young
man at the head of the legal Church, poured forth the wonderful eloquence of
Mather's Dissertations on infant baptism. No wonder after that the Baptists came
as near as Bridgewater at the south, and Miss Jemima Wilkinson a little way up
north! At this time—1760—the Quaker meeting-house stood half a mile below the
"Great Bridge" on the west side of the river, the Episcopal Church at the south
end of the Green, the Congregational meeting-house (the new one) in the center
of the Green, and the Separatists' meeting-house in the street at the
Burying-ground—now the old part of the Cemetery.

The Story of "My Goose" Never Told.

  Ladies' tea parties were a prominent feature of social life. On one occasion
Mrs. Nathaniel Taylor had a small company of friends to spend the afternoon and
take tea. They were in the parlors, each with her knitting or other handiwork
(there were no stockings to be bought at that time), and talking, as
housekeepers still like to do, of their domestic affairs and dairy success. One
began to tell of her spinning, when a quiet sister, who could not hold her own
as well as others, also began—"My goose"-— when she was interrupted by another,
who gave an account of her weaving, but when barely through, the former,
starting again with "My goose," tried, but vainly, to be heard. Every one had
something to say of her cheese, or her chickens, or other interests, each in
turn being interrupted with an attempt to tell the story of "My goose," until
the summons to tea came, and Parson Taylor came down from his study. "I have
been greatly interested, ladies, in your conversation, which I overheard up
stairs. I thought it worth preserving, so I wrote down what was said, and I will
read it to you."

  Their surprise was great, but their amusement greater, when he read of the
unwearied and unsuccessful efforts of their friend to introduce the story of "My
goose."

  New Milford, certainly as far back as Parson Taylor, has been known for its
good living, including all the refinements of the table then enjoyed. Families
lived well at all times, but when there was company, the tables fairly groaned
with the good things piled upon them. During the prevalence of the New Milford
fever in 1812, Doct. Eli Ives, a prominent physician in New Haven, who was
called here for consultation, remarked to a friend on his return, that he had
often wondered at the fastidiousness in regard to food of some patients of his
who were born and reared in New Milford; but the mystery was solved since he had
been there and learned that the people there were all "brought up on chickens'
backs."

  At a family Thanksgiving dinner on one occasion, sixteen large dishes of
poultry and meats made a long line from one end of the table to the other,
including turkeys, chickens, ducks, geese, roast beef, and spare rib, with
dainties and delicacies to correspond.

  At another similar dinner, about the same time—more than forty years ago—there
were present children and four of their great-grandparents; the latter were Col.
William Taylor and his wife and Mr. Ithamar Canfield and his wife."

  The residents of this town have always had a strong attachment to the place,
regarding it, and justly, as better than neighboring towns in point of beauty
and social advantages, which latter were given it by a number of wealthy
families, whose style of living and position in relation to public affairs, gave
them prominence.

  Many of these intermarried and remained here instead of removing, and thus a
select and, perhaps, somewhat exclusive society was naturally formed and
continued until the village began to grow rapidly after the railroad through the
town was constructed. Some of these still remain, and give character and dignity
to the standing and influence of the town abroad.

The Epidemic of 1812.

  This disease, referred to above, was a fever, denominated the New Milford
fever, and sometimes called the black vomit fever. It began on the 8th of
January, 1812, as recorded by Davis Baldwin, which paper is still preserved
complete, and prevailed until July 21st of the same year, during which the name
and date of the death of ninety-nine persons were recorded.

  On each day—the 25th and 26th of January—there died six persons, making twelve
in the town in the two days, ten of them being adults. On the 3d of March five
died, four of them being adult persons. During March, April, and the half of
May, deaths occurred almost daily, and on two days five deaths each; so that,
during the two and a half months, fifty-eight persons died, and only six of them
were children. On the 7th of May the mortality suddenly ceased, so that, from
that time until the 21st of July, only a few (16) cases occurred.

  This "New Milford fever" was a malignant type of lung fever, and baffled the
skill of the best physicians, they being, also, unable to find the occasion for
its outbreak, although seven came from a distance at one time to search for the
cause. The deaths being so numerous, the bell was tolled two and three times in
rapid succession. It is said there were eight corpses lying on Second Hill at
one time, and for two months terror and grief usurped all other feelings. It
first appeared on Second Hill, and spread rapidly to the village and other parts
of the town. It was not contagious, but epidemic.

Social Entertainments.

  In those earlier days the social enjoyments were entirely different from those
of the present day. The ladies had their afternoon visits and early
tea-drinkings, and in Winter, when the men and women were less occupied than at
other seasons, they engaged in sleighing parties, visiting friends a few miles
away, and often large companies, filling twenty or thirty sleighs, would go to
Danbury or Brookfield, and enjoy a supper arranged for beforehand. They went in
the afternoon, and were safe at home by ten o'clock; though when young people
went by themselves for a dance, the hours were later. These sleighing parties
are still well remembered by the elderly people.

  The following is a copy of a card still preserved among a bagful of like
remembrances:

"BALL.

  The pleasure of Miss Caroline Boardman's company is requested at Mr. Lyman
Keeler's Assembly Room, on Friday evening, 3d July next, at 6 o'clock P. M.

John G. Noble, 
G. Taylor,
H. Buckingham,
R. I. Canfield,
J. Wells,
S. Lockwood.
Managers.

"QUARTER BALL.

  Miss Mary Ann Boardman: You are respectfully solicited to attend a Quarter
Ball, at Mr. G. Booth's Assembly Room, on Thursday, the 3d day, of June next, at
3 oclock P. M.

R. I. Canfield,
S. Lockwood,
G. S. Boardman,
D. H. Boardman,
G. Taylor,
W. C. Blackney.
Managers.

New Milford, May 26, 1819."

  The now beautiful Main street of the village with its smooth green, asphaltic
sidewalks and paved gutters, well-kept grass, and general air of order and
neatness was, until forty or fifty years ago, in a very different condition.

  After heavy rains, the water poured in torrents from the Aspetuck hill north
of the village, and rushed in a muddy stream, making a deep and unsightly gully
through the green, which was seldom dry, and along whose course unsightly weeds
and brambles grew luxuriantly. It went the whole length of the street and
emptied into Great Brook below. This continued thus until a few years since. The
pigs and geese belonging to the residents lived in the street, to its great
disfigurement and the discomfort of passers-by, and cows were not unfrequently
pastured on the green in front of the houses. A generation previous, wood-piles
ornamented the front dooryards and were often placed outside of the fences. So
late as 1831 or 2, the Congregational and Episcopal churches stood on the lower
part of the green, not far apart. The former was a fine edifice for the times,
being large and of good proportions, having square, high-sided pews, and high
pulpit and sounding board. Many of the farmers unaccustomed to sitting during
the week were obliged to stand during the sermon to keep awake, and often in
their shirt sleeves, having only heavy coats, thin ones being then unknown.

  The horses which brought people from outside the village to the churches were
fastened to large rails set in heavy posts on the outside of the walks along the
street, which posts and rails were used, also, for the same purpose during the
week when the people came to the stores, which added greatly to the
uncleanliness in front of the houses. The stores were all in Main street, which
on a fine day would be lined with wagons, which had brought people from the
outer districts and neighboring towns for "trading," as it is called. New
Milford was then, and until the Housatonic Railroad was built, the business
center for a large population, comprising the lower part of Litchfield County.
There was a long brick store standing on the west side of Main street just below
Mrs. Judge Sanford's present residence, kept by Dea. McMahon, who was for many
years an influential man in society and a prominent member of the church. [1]
This store was standing as late as 1842. A little lower down was another store,
kept by Mr. Eli Mygatt for many years, and across the street on the site of the
new Episcopal Church was the store of Dea. George Whittelsey, the only one on
the east side of the street, and which remained the only place of business on
Main street for many years after all others were removed to the new street
opened to the railroad station. Mr. Whittelsey died less than four years ago,
having spent here a long life, except his early youth. He was an active deacon
in the Congregational Church, an earnest Christian and an influential member of
society.

  [1] His only son, Henry C. McMahon, became a Christian during the four days'
meeting held here in 1827 or 8, and was sent soon after as one of the delegates
to a similar meeting held in the Center Church in New Haven, where, standing at
the Communion table, he addressed a large audience with great effect. His
account of His own experience and earnest appeal to the young to come to Christ,
coming from a youth of eighteen years, and of uncommon beauty of person and
powers of voice, was impressive to a high degree.

Doct. Williams's Quiet Opinion.

  Doct. Jehiel Williams was one of the most highly esteemed men that ever
resided in New Milford. Of his kindness and attentive good will there was never
any end. At the sound of his name, all who ever knew him, high or low, rich or
poor, all unto this day are ready to pay the most sincere and profound homage.
Perry Smith lived near neighbor to the doctor, was a man of large political
influence; very wealthy, had been Senator of the United States, but had obtained
his wealth by methods which seemed often objectionable to his fellow-citizens.

  One day it was told to Doctor Williams that somebody had given Perry Smith a
horse-whipping. "Well," said the Doctor, in his slow, quiet way, "I don't know
as I want any body to be horse whipped, but if somebody must be, I'd about as
lieve Perry Smith would get it as anybody."

  The doctor enjoyed a joke with the finest kind of relish and sentiment, and
when pleased he had a way of laughing that was so hearty and full of glee as to
set everybody into the same mood. He used some phrases in such a habitual way of
thoughtless repetition that often the repetition was a joke in itself. If he was
to give an opinion he always said, "I most guess." A Mr. Peet brought him some
wood, and while unloading it, asked the doctor what he should do for a bad sore
he had on his leg. The doctor examined it and told how to proceed in the matter
by some simple remedies which he himself could make. Upon this, Mr. Peet, more
as a matter of respect than otherwise, asked the doctor how much he should pay
him. "Well," said the doctor, slowly, "I most guess, twenty-five cents."
Afterwards while riding where a citizen was gathering his turnips the doctor
stopped, looked at the turnips, and proposed to buy a few bushels. While
discussing the matter Mr. Peet came along, and the doctor called to him to look
at the turnips and give his opinion of them. Mr. Peet in response very quietly
examined the vegetables and with considerable formality pronounced his opinion
in favor of the turnips, and the doctor bought them.

  In the spring the doctor proposed a settlement with Mr. Peet for several loads
of wood and asked him to present his bill, which he did. As the doctor was
looking it over, he called out, " What's this, Mr. Peet, I see you have a charge
here of twenty-five cents for advice. What is it for?" "O," said Mr. Peet,
"don't you remember you wanted my advice last fall on some turnips?" After a
second's thought the doctor straightened himself to his utmost height, and in
his most fun-provoking laugh exclaimed: "Ha—ha—ha,—I most guess I'll pay that
bill."

  In the sale of the "Western Reserve" lands in Ohio, Elijah Boardman and
Ithamar Canfield were personally interested, having invested considerable sums
in the purchase. Mr. Boardman was in Ohio much of the time for some years,
actively engaged in disposing of the lands so as to realize advantageous
returns. While at home, after a long term of such labor, he and Mr. Canfield
were discussing the best methods of managing these interests, when Mr. Canfield
gave the opinion that there should be no hurry in selling the land, and
remarked, "these lands will eventually make our grand-children independently
rich." "Yes," replied Mr. Boardman, "but we shall all be in heaven long before
that." "Yes," said Mr. Canfield, "and that's the devil of it!"

  Judge David S. Boardman was very much given to the enjoyment of pleasant and
witty sayings, to which he had an inexhaustible store of illustration. Being of
a very even temper, and possessing' a memory that never forgot anything, he had
a story about every family and almost every person in the town, and every public
man in the nation.

  When the professors of religion became very much elated in view of the
assurance of a final happy place of rest, the judge would tell the story of a
little girl whom he knew very well, and who dreamed that she died and went to
heaven; and who very innocently remarked, that "it was a very beautiful place;
that she saw a great many very beautiful, and very happy people there; and that
she saw some people there that she had seen in church here."

  One of the richest and most prominent men, whose name stood second on the
tax-list for twenty years from 1800, was Abel Hine, or Squire Hine as he was
always called, who owned and occupied a dwelling which stood partly on the site
of the present Town Hall. He was son of Lt. James Hine, the first of the name in
New Milford. He was merchant, farmer, justice of the peace, represensative; a
leader in the enterprises of that city; a man of sterling integrity and honesty,
and was known in all this region for his habits of system, order, and
punctuality, and for two generations his name was a proverb for all of these
qualities. No greater praise would be given than to have it said that such an
one was as punctual or systematic as Squire Hine; and when a descendant of the
fifth generation appeared to have the same peculiarities strongly marked at a
very early age, the grandparents said, "She is a chip of the old block; Squire
Hine over again." His shrewdness and good judgment made him the counselor of all
who needed advice or help, and though the "Well, well, well," with which he
greeted any unusual statement may have seemed a little harsh, he was
kind-hearted, generous, and ready to assist others with his matured wisdom.

  His house, like others of that day, was plainly furnished only with chairs,
tables, and beds; and, as in all good houses, the inevitable "chest of drawers."
There was no carpet on the floor, but those of the parlors were kept neatly
sanded. It is said there was not a carpet in all New Milford until the next
generation. There was an uneveness in the floor of the room where the family
table was always set, and for more than twenty years before his death, the same
chip was used under one leg of the table to make it stand even.

  A gentleman still living tells the story of his going into Mrs. Hine's when he
was a small boy, and seeing the floor of the room scrubbed so clean and white
that he was afraid to step on it; that he remembered it very definitely, for
Aunty Hine gave him a large piece of bread, spread with the rich butter for
which she was celebrated in the making, and this covered with honey, just the
most perfect morsel to suit his taste, and on taking it, being exceeding careful
to conduct himself as he should, by some mysterious mishap he dropped the piece,
which fell—of course— honey-side down on the shining floor. This so frightened
him that he fled with all the force his legs could muster to his home, and did
not go near Aunty Hine's again for many weeks; but when he did she was just as
nice and kind as ever.

  Esquire Abel Hine died in 1820 in his ninetieth year.

  His son Beebe Hine was also a very influential man in the town for many years,
and possessed the same qualities as his father. He was so honest that he did not
suspect others' dishonesty, which fact proved his financial ruin.

Breaking the Sabbath.

  A peculiar case of Sabbath-breaking was brought before one of the justices of
the peace in New Milford, soon after the Housatonic railroad was put in running
order, about thirty-five years ago. The rails used at first on the road
consisted of flat bars of iron spiked to long pieces of timber. A man, who is
still living, was walking from Gaylordsville on the railroad on Sunday morning,
and seeing the end of one of these iron rails bent upward, and supposing it
endangered the safety of the train, bent the rail to its proper place with
stones, and anything he could obtain, to accomplish the object, and then
proceeded quietly on his way home. On Monday morning he was arrested for doing
this work, and brought before a justice of the peace. After hearing the
testimony the justice remarked that it was a clear case of Sabbath-breaking, but
that the case was not as bad as he had heard it was, and therefore he would
impose-the fine of only one dollar and the costs. To sum up such a case, we
would say that for obeying the instincts of humanity, in saving a railroad train
from being wrecked, this man had to pay what would take him at that time a whole
week to earn.

A Premonition of Death.

  The following is an abbreviated account written by Miss Electa Bostwick, whose
five brothers and sisters died, the manuscript being preserved by Judge David S.
Boardman. The writer and ,the children who died were first cousins to Judge
Boardman. They were the children of Reuben Bostwick of Brookfield, who was the
son of Capt. Nathaniel Bostwick, and brother to David S. Boardman's mother. This
narration was very much talked about for many years.

Lois Bostwick's Discourse with her Sister Electa.

 " A few months before her death Lois was often found with her book in her hand
reading and talking with Electa about dying. One day she said 'I believe there
will be sickness in our family, before long, and I believe I shall be sick and

shall die, and one of the family will die and be buried with me, but which of
them I cannot tell.' Electa asked, 'Will I be sick?' She said 'I believe you
will, but I don't think you will die.' Then she said to Electa, 'How will it
make you feel if I should die and Reuben, Ezra, Almon and Mabel?' Not long after
this she related to Electa that she awoke in the night and 'lay awake some time,
and heard a knocking at the chamber door. At first it knocked three times; the
second time twice. Then a light appeared in the chamber for a quarter of an
hour, which exceeded daylight and then vanished away.'

  "A night or two after this she related: 'I dreamed that a man came to me and
taking my hand, led me into a dark room, exceeding all darkness I ever saw, then
into another which appeared lighter, then into a third room which was very
light, and the pleasantest I ever saw; then he led me into a fourth room which
exceeded all the rest in brightness. Then I was led up four steps which appeared
to lead to a high mountain; when we stopped the man said, "Look down and see
hell," and I saw it, for it looked terrible, and I heard the dreadful crying of
them that were there. While beholding this, I saw a man pitch headlong down into
the lake of fire.' [1] Electa asked if she knew him. She said, 'No, but I
thought I had seen him in our meeting-house.' 'Then I was led along until I came
to the gates of heaven, and I saw the glory, exceeding all that I had ever seen,
and I heard the singing, which exceeded all the music I ever heard. And I heard
the words they sang, but I have forgotten them. Then I thought of Dada and Mamma
and all of the family, and wished they were all with me. Then I asked the man if
I might go into heaven. He said, "Not yet, but before long you may." The man
said, "I shall let go of your hand and you will awake," and I did, and was sorry
to part with him for he was the pleasantest man that I ever saw, and he talked
with me all the time he led me by the hand. When I awoke out of sleep I could
not help feeling of my hand with my other hand, and I thought it felt warm.'

[1] Just like some of the pictures in old religious books.

  "A little after this in the evening Lois desired to go with Electa to Mr.
Platt's to see them. Electa was not willing to go, but Lois urged, saying she
did not think she should ever, go there again unless she went that evening, and
she wished to see them once more. They went, and stayed about two hours at Mr.
Platt's, and, on their way home, Lois said,'I believe Almon and Mabel will be
sick when we get home.' Electa asked her why she thought so, but she only
replied, 'I don't like to tell you now.' When they reached home the two children
were sick, and Lois said, 'Did I not tell you they would be sick?' Electa asked,
'What made you think so?' She replied, 'I almost knew they would, and they will
certainly die.' The children Almon and Mabel were taken sick on the 2d day of
January, 1777, and they both died on the 14th of the same month, at which time
Electa, Lois, Reuben, and Ezra were sick. Lois was asleep when Mabel died, and
when she awoke Electa asked her if she knew Mabel was dead. She said, 'No, is
she?' Electa said, 'Are you not sorry?' She replied, "No; .why should I be
sorry? for they are better off than you or I, for they are both in heaven now,
and I think it will not be long before I shall be with them.'

  "Almon and Mabel were both buried in one coffin.

  "Some time before these two little boys were sick, they got up in the morning
and told their mother that somebody knocked at the bedroom door in the night
four or five times. Their mother told them it could not be, for the doors were
all fastened. They said it was somebody, and that, directly after, the room was
light as day. After this, while yet well, they said if they should be sick, they
should die. When they were sick, and one died, the other asked to go with him,
and did not want to live here.

  "Lois and Ezra died on the 18th of January, 1777, and Reuben on the 20th, two
days later. Lois was in her eleventh year, Reuben in his eighth, Ezra in his
seventh, Almon in his fourth, and Mabel in her second."

Training in Schools.

  Before the schools of recent date, or about 1790, Prof. Nehimiah Strong had a
private school for boys in New Milford. He was professor in Yale College,
whither he went at intervening periods to give instruction in certain classes,
but residing here. The treatment of pupils in those days was often very severe,
and cuffing and whipping were constantly resorted to as the most effective
discipline. It is related that Prof. Strong, in the schoolroom, was often so
absorbed in solving mathematical problems, that, unconsciously to himself, his
wig would become awry, and, the temptation being too strong to resist, the
scholars took advantage by making faces, and cutting up capers behind his back,
and finally making noise enough to arouse him, when he would turn his attention
to them, and administer such corporeal punishment as in the judgment of the boys
was out of proportion.

  Miss Hannah Northrop kept school in the Town House at the head of Main street,
and, being a severe disciplinarian, punished one pupil so that a serious
law-suit resulted from it.

An Involuntary Ride.

  While the Second Congregational meeting-house was standing on the green, it
was customary for the men in summer time to go over to the store on the west
side of the street, and sit on the benches on the platform during intermission
on Sunday. On a pleasant day in warm weather a man, being well dressed and in
white pantaloons, having occupied the seat alone for some time, on hearing the
bell begin to ring, started suddenly as if late, and, taking a direct course
across the bogs and rough places on the green, was hurrying on his way, when a
large hog, being frightened by this traveler, jumped from the mud, and ran with
great fury against the man, who, falling on the animal, was carried some
distance, and landed safely among the bogs. It was not the bogs so much that
disturbed his anticipations just then, as the fact of the large number of his
fellow citizens standing at the church-door in full view; and this view did not
seem so objectionable, in that he could see them, as that they could see him.
Upon picking himself up gently, he seemed for a little time considerably amazed
in view of the fact that his once white pantaloons had very much the appearance
of the flying animal which had just left the mud pond where he was standing.

Convenient Balances for the Time-Being.

  In the early settlements all implements for weighing and measurement were very
difficult, and sometimes quite impracticable to obtain, in consequence of which
various expedients were resorted to in order to secure equity. It is said that
some of the very early settlers, in making purchases of furs from the Indians,
counted "the hand to weigh one pound and the foot two pounds." It is not stated
that any of them cut off their hands or feet at just such a length as to secure
this precise weight.


Additional Comments:
Extracted from:

HISTORY OF THE TOWNS OF NEW MILFORD AND BRIDGEWATER, CONNECTICUT, 1703-1882,
BY
SAMUEL ORCUTT

AUTHOR OF THE HISTORIES OF TORRINGTON, WOLCOTT, AND DERBY, AND THE INDIANS OF
THE HOUSATONIC AND NAUGATUCK VALLEYS, CONNECTICUT.

HARTFORD, CONN.: PRESS OF THE CASE, LOCKWOOD AND BRAINARD COMPANY.











File at -- http://files.usgwarchives.net/ct/litchfield/history/1882/historyo/happyday49gms.txt

This file has been created by a form at http://www.genrecords.org/ctfiles/

File size: 35.5 Kb