1864
1864
April1.—Grandfather had decided to go to New York to attend the fair given by the Sanitary Commission, and he is taking two immense books, which are more than one hundred years old, to present to the Commission, for the benefit of the war fund.
April18.—Grandfather returned home to-day, unexpectedly to us. I knew he was sick when I met him at the door. He had traveled all night alone from New York, although he said that a stranger, a fellow passenger, from Ann Arbor, Mich., on the train noticed that he was suffering and was very kind to him. He said he fell in his room at Gramercy Park Hotel in the night, and his knee was very painful. We sent for old Dr. Cheney and he said the hurt was a serious one and needed most careful attention. I was invited to a spelling school at Abbie Clark’s in the evening and Grandmother said that she and Anna would take care of Grandfather till I got back, and then I could sit up by him the rest of the night. We spelled down and had quite a merry time. Major C. S. Aldrich had escaped from prison and was there. He came home with me, as my soldier is down in Virginia.
April19.—Grandfather is much worse. He was delirious all night. We have sent for Dr. Rosewarne in counsel and Mrs. Lightfoote has come to stay with us all the time and we have sent for Aunt Glorianna.
April20.—Grandfather dictated a letter to-night to a friend of his in New York. After I had finished he asked me if I had mended his gloves. I said no, but I would have them ready when he wanted them. Dear Grandfather! he looks so sick I fear he will never wear his gloves again.
May16.—I have not written in my diary for a month and it has been the saddest month of my life. Dear, dear Grandfather is dead. He was buried May 2, just two weeks from the day that he returned from New York. We did everything for him that could be done, but at the end of the first week the doctors saw that he was beyond all human aid. Uncle Thomas told the doctors that they must tell him. He was much surprised but received the verdict calmly. He said “he had no notes out and perhaps it was the best time to go.” He had taught us how to live and he seemed determined to show us how a Christian should die. He said he wanted “Grandmother and the children to come to him and have all the rest remain outside.” When we came into the room he said to Grandmother, “Do you know what the doctors say?” She bowed her head,and then he motioned for her to come on one side and Anna and me on the other and kneel by his bedside. He placed a hand upon us and upon her and said to her, “All the rest seem very much excited, but you and I must be composed.” Then he asked us to say the 23d Psalm, “The Lord is my Shepherd,” and then all of us said the Lord’s Prayer together after Grandmother had offered a little prayer for grace and strength in this trying hour. Then he said, “Grandmother, you must take care of the girls, and, girls, you must take care of Grandmother.” We felt as though our hearts would break and were sure we never could be happy again. During the next few days he often spoke of dying and of what we must do when he was gone. Once when I was sitting by him he looked up and smiled and said, “You will lose all your roses watching over me.” A good many business men came in to see him to receive his parting blessing. The two McKechnie brothers, Alexander and James, came in together on their way home from church the Sunday before he died. Dr. Daggett came very often. Mr. Alexander Howell and Mrs. Worthington came, too.
He lived until Saturday, the 30th, and in the morning he said, “Open the door wide.” We did so and he said, “Let the King of Glory enter in.” Very soon after he said, “I am going home to Paradise,” and then sank into that sleep which on this earth knows no waking. I sat by the window near his bed and watched the rain beat into thegrass and saw the peonies and crocuses and daffodils beginning to come up out of the ground and I thought to myself, I shall never see the flowers come up again without thinking of these sad, sad days. He was buried Monday afternoon, May 2, from the Congregational church, and Dr. Daggett preached a sermon from a favorite text of Grandfather’s, “I shall die in my nest.” James and John came and as we stood with dear Grandmother and all the others around his open grave and heard Dr. Daggett say in his beautiful sympathetic voice, “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” we felt that we were losing our best friend; but he told us that we must live for Grandmother and so we will.
The next Sabbath, Anna and I were called out of church by a messenger, who said that Grandmother was taken suddenly ill and was dying. When we reached the house attendants were all about her administering restoratives, but told us she was rapidly sinking. I asked if I might speak to her and was reluctantly permitted, as they thought best not to disturb her. I sat down by her and with tearful voice said, “Grandmother, don’t you know that Grandfather said we were to care for you and you were to care for us and if you die we cannot do as Grandfather said?” She opened her eyes and looked at me and said quietly, “Dry your eyes, child, I shall not die to-day or to-morrow.” She seems well now.
Inscribed in my diary:
“They are passing away, they are passing away,Not only the young, but the aged and gray.Their places are vacant, no longer we seeThe armchair in waiting, as it used to be.The hat and the coat are removed from the nail,Where for years they have hung, every day without fail.The shoes and the slippers are needed no more,Nor kept ready waiting, as they were of yore,The desk which he stood at in manhood’s fresh prime,Which now shows the marks of the finger of time,The bright well worn keys, which were childhood’s delightUnlocking the treasures kept hidden from sight.These now are mementoes of him who has passed,Who stands there no longer, as we saw him last.Other hands turn the keys, as he did, before,Other eyes will his secrets, if any, explore.The step once elastic, but feeble of late,No longer we watch for through doorway or gate,Though often we turn, half expecting to see,The loved one approaching, but ah! ’tis not he.We miss him at all times, at morn when we meet,For the social repast, there is one vacant seat.At noon, and at night, at the hour of prayer,Our hearts fill with sadness, one voice is not there.Yet not without hope his departure we mourn,In faith and in trust, all our sorrows are borne,Borne upward to Him who in kindness and loveSends earthly afflictions to draw us above.Thus hoping and trusting, rejoicing, we’ll go,Both upward and onward through weal and through woe’Till all of life’s changes and conflicts are pastBeyond the dark river, to meet him at last.”
“They are passing away, they are passing away,
Not only the young, but the aged and gray.
Their places are vacant, no longer we see
The armchair in waiting, as it used to be.
The hat and the coat are removed from the nail,
Where for years they have hung, every day without fail.
The shoes and the slippers are needed no more,
Nor kept ready waiting, as they were of yore,
The desk which he stood at in manhood’s fresh prime,
Which now shows the marks of the finger of time,
The bright well worn keys, which were childhood’s delight
Unlocking the treasures kept hidden from sight.
These now are mementoes of him who has passed,
Who stands there no longer, as we saw him last.
Other hands turn the keys, as he did, before,
Other eyes will his secrets, if any, explore.
The step once elastic, but feeble of late,
No longer we watch for through doorway or gate,
Though often we turn, half expecting to see,
The loved one approaching, but ah! ’tis not he.
We miss him at all times, at morn when we meet,
For the social repast, there is one vacant seat.
At noon, and at night, at the hour of prayer,
Our hearts fill with sadness, one voice is not there.
Yet not without hope his departure we mourn,
In faith and in trust, all our sorrows are borne,
Borne upward to Him who in kindness and love
Sends earthly afflictions to draw us above.
Thus hoping and trusting, rejoicing, we’ll go,
Both upward and onward through weal and through woe
’Till all of life’s changes and conflicts are past
Beyond the dark river, to meet him at last.”
In Memoriam
Thomas Beals died in Canandaigua, N. Y., on Saturday, April 30th, 1864, in the 81st year of his age. Mr. Beals was born in Boston, Mass., November 13, 1783.
He came to this village in October, 1803, only 14 years after the first settlement of the place. He was married in March, 1805, to Abigail Field, sister of the first pastor of the Congregational church here. Her family, in several of its branches, have since been distinguished in the ministry, the legal profession, and in commercial enterprise.
Living to a good old age, and well known as one of our most wealthy and respected citizens, Mr. Beals is another added to the many examples of successful men who, by energy and industry, have made their own fortune.
On coming to this village, he was teacher in the Academy for a time, and afterward entered into mercantile business, in which he had his share of vicissitude. When the Ontario Savings Bank was established, 1832, he became the Treasurer, and managed it successfully till the institution ceased, in 1835, with his withdrawal. In the meantime he conducted, also, a banking business of his own, and this was continued until a week previous to his death, when he formally withdrew, though for thelast five years devolving its more active duties upon his son.
As a banker, his sagacity and fidelity won for him the confidence and respect of all classes of persons in this community. The business portion of our village is very much indebted to his enterprise for the eligible structures he built that have more than made good the losses sustained by fires. More than fifty years ago he was actively concerned in the building of the Congregational church, and also superintended the erection of the county jail and almshouse; for many years a trustee of Canandaigua Academy, and trustee and treasurer of the Congregational church. At the time of his death he and his wife, who survives him, were the oldest members of the church, having united with it in 1807, only eight years after its organization. Until hindered by the infirmities of age, he was a constant attendant of its services and ever devoutly maintained the worship of God in his family. No person has been more generally known among all classes of our citizens. Whether at home or abroad he could not fail to be remarked for his gravity and dignity. His character was original, independent, and his manners remarkable for a dignified courtesy. Our citizens were familiar with his brief, emphatic answers with the wave of his hand. He was fond of books, a great reader, collected a valuable number of volumes, and was happy in the use of language both in writing and conversation. In many unusualways he often showed his kind consideration for the poor and afflicted, and many persons hearing of his death gratefully recollect instances, not known to others, of his seasonable kindness to them in trouble. In his charities he often studied concealment as carefully as others court display. His marked individuality of character and deportment, together with his shrewd discernment and active habits, could not fail to leave a distinct impression on the minds of all.
For more than sixty years he transacted business in one place here, and his long life thus teaches more than one generation the value of sobriety, diligence, fidelity and usefulness.
In his last illness he remarked to a friend that he always loved Canandaigua; had done several things for its prosperity, and had intended to do more. He had known his measure of affliction; only four of eleven children survive him, but children and children’s children ministered to the comfort of his last days. Notwithstanding his years and infirmities, he was able to visit New York, returning April 18th quite unwell, but not immediately expecting a fatal termination. As the final event drew near, he seemed happily prepared to meet it. He conversed freely with his friends and neighbors in a softened and benignant spirit, at once receiving and imparting benedictions. His end seemed to realize his favorite citation from Job: “I shall die in my nest.”
His funeral was attended on Monday in the Congregational church by a large assembly, Dr. Daggett, the pastor, officiating on the occasion.—Written by Dr. O. E. Daggett in 1864.
May.—The 4th New York Heavy Artillery is having hard times in the Virginia mud and rain. They are near Culpeper. It is such a change from their snug winter quarters at Fort Ethan Allen. There are 2,800 men in the Regiment and 1,200 are sick. Dr. Charles S. Hoyt of the 126th, which is camping close by, has come to the help of these new recruits so kindly as to win every heart, quite in contrast to the heartlessness of their own surgeons. They will always love him for this. It is just like him.
June22.—Captain Morris Brown, of Penn Yan, was killed to-day by a musket shot in the head, while commanding the regiment before Petersburg.
June23, 1864.—Anna graduated last Thursday, June 16, and was valedictorian of her class. There were eleven girls in the class, Ritie Tyler, Mary Antes, Jennie Robinson, Hattie Paddock, Lillie Masters, Abbie Hills, Miss McNair, Miss Pardee and Miss Palmer, Miss Jasper and Anna. The subject of her essay was “The Last Time.” I will copy an account of the exercises as they appearedin this week’s village paper. Every one thinks it was written by Mr. E. M. Morse.
A WORD FROM AN OLD MAN
“Mr. Editor:“Less than a century ago I was traveling through this enchanted region and accidentally heard that it was commencement week at the seminary. I went. My venerable appearance seemed to command respect and I received many attentions. I presented my snowy head and patriarchal beard at the doors of the sacred institution and was admitted. I heard all the classes, primary, secondary, tertiary, et cetera. All went merry as a marriage bell. Thursday was the great day. I made vast preparation. I rose early, dressed with much care. I affectionately pressed the hands of my two landlords and left. When I arrived at the seminary I saw at a glance that it was a place where true merit was appreciated. I was invited to a seat among the dignitaries, but declined. I am a modest man, I always was. I recognized the benign Principals of the school. You can find no better principles in the states than in Ontario Female Seminary. After the report of the committee a very lovely young lady arose and saluted us in Latin. I looked very wise, I always do. So did everybody. We all understood it. As she proceeded, I thought the grand old Roman tongue had never sounded so musically and when she pronounced the decree, ‘Richmond delenda est,’ we all hoped it might be prophetic. Then followed the essays of the other young ladies and then every one waited anxiously for ‘The Last Time.’ At last it came. The story was beautifully told, the adieux were tenderly spoken. We saw the witheredflowers of early years scattered along the academic ways, and the golden fruit of scholarly culture ripening in the gardens of the future. Enchanted by the sorrowful eloquence, bewildered by the melancholy brilliancy, I sent a rosebud to the charming valedictorian and wandered out into the grounds. I went to the concert in the evening and was pleased and delighted. So was everybody. I shall return next year unless the gout carries me off. I hope I shall hear just such beautiful music, see just such beautiful faces and dine at the same excellent hotel.Senex.”
“Mr. Editor:
“Less than a century ago I was traveling through this enchanted region and accidentally heard that it was commencement week at the seminary. I went. My venerable appearance seemed to command respect and I received many attentions. I presented my snowy head and patriarchal beard at the doors of the sacred institution and was admitted. I heard all the classes, primary, secondary, tertiary, et cetera. All went merry as a marriage bell. Thursday was the great day. I made vast preparation. I rose early, dressed with much care. I affectionately pressed the hands of my two landlords and left. When I arrived at the seminary I saw at a glance that it was a place where true merit was appreciated. I was invited to a seat among the dignitaries, but declined. I am a modest man, I always was. I recognized the benign Principals of the school. You can find no better principles in the states than in Ontario Female Seminary. After the report of the committee a very lovely young lady arose and saluted us in Latin. I looked very wise, I always do. So did everybody. We all understood it. As she proceeded, I thought the grand old Roman tongue had never sounded so musically and when she pronounced the decree, ‘Richmond delenda est,’ we all hoped it might be prophetic. Then followed the essays of the other young ladies and then every one waited anxiously for ‘The Last Time.’ At last it came. The story was beautifully told, the adieux were tenderly spoken. We saw the witheredflowers of early years scattered along the academic ways, and the golden fruit of scholarly culture ripening in the gardens of the future. Enchanted by the sorrowful eloquence, bewildered by the melancholy brilliancy, I sent a rosebud to the charming valedictorian and wandered out into the grounds. I went to the concert in the evening and was pleased and delighted. So was everybody. I shall return next year unless the gout carries me off. I hope I shall hear just such beautiful music, see just such beautiful faces and dine at the same excellent hotel.
Senex.”
Anna closed her valedictory with these words:
“May we meet at one gate when all’s over;The ways they are many and wide,And seldom are two ways the same;Side by side may we standAt the same little door when all’s done.The ways they are many,The end it is one.”
“May we meet at one gate when all’s over;
The ways they are many and wide,
And seldom are two ways the same;
Side by side may we stand
At the same little door when all’s done.
The ways they are many,
The end it is one.”
July10.—We have had word of the death of Spencer F. Lincoln. One more brave soldier sacrificed.
August.—The New York State S. S. Convention was held in Buffalo and among others Fanny Gaylord, Mary Field and myself attended. We had a fine time and were entertained at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Sexton. Her mother is living with her, a dear old lady who was Judge Atwater’s daughterand used to go to school to Grandfather Beals. We went with other delegates on an excursion to Niagara Falls and went into the express office at the R. R. station to see Grant Schley, who is express agent there. He said it seemed good to see so many home faces.
September1.—My war letters come from Georgetown Hospital now. Mr. Noah T. Clarke is very anxious and sends telegrams to Andrew Chesebro every day to go and see his brother.
September30.—To-day the “Benjamin” of the family reached home under the care of Dr. J. Byron Hayes, who was sent to Washington after him. I went over to Mr. Noah T. Clarke’s to see him and found him just a shadow of his former self. However, “hope springs eternal in the human breast” and he says he knows he will soon be well again. This is his thirtieth birthday and it is glorious that he can spend it at home.
October1.—Mr. Noah T. Clarke accompanied his brother to-day to the old home in Naples and found two other soldier brothers, William and Joseph, had just arrived on leave of absence from the army so the mother’s heart sang “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.” The fourth brother has also returned to his home in Illinois, disabled.
November.—They are holding Union Revival Services in town now. One evangelist from out of town said he would call personally at the homes and ask if all were Christians. Anna told Grandmother if he came here she should tell him about her. Grandmother said we must each give an account for ourselves. Anna said she should tell him about her little Grandmother anyway. We saw him coming up the walk about 11a.m.and Anna went to the door and asked him in. They sat down in the parlor and he remarked about the pleasant weather and Canandaigua such a beautiful town and the people so cultured. She said yes, she found the town every way desirable and the people pleasant, though she had heard it remarked that strangers found it hard to get acquainted and that you had to have a residence above the R. R. track and give a satisfactory answer as to who your Grandfather was, before admittance was granted to the best society. He said he had been kindly received everywhere. She said “everybody likes ministers.” (He was quite handsome and young.) He asked her how long she had lived here and she told him nearly all of her brief existence! She said if he had asked her how old she was she would have told him she was so young that Will Adams last May was appointed her guardian. He asked how many there were in the family and she said her Grandmother, her sister and herself. He said, “They are Christians, I suppose.” “Yes,” she said, “my sister is aS. S. teacher and my Grandmother was born a Christian, about 80 years ago.” “Indeed,” he said. “I would like to see her.” Anna said she would have to be excused as she seldom saw company. When he arose to go he said, “My dear young lady, I trust that you are a Christian.” “Mercy yes,” she said, “years ago.” He said he was very glad and hoped she would let her light shine. She said that was what she was always doing—that the other night at a revival meeting she sang every verse of every hymn and came home feeling as though she had herself personally rescued by hand at least fifty “from sin and the grave.” He smiled approvingly and bade her good bye. She told Grandmother she presumed he would say “he had not found so great faith, no not in Israel.”
We have Teachers’ meetings now and Mrs. George Wilson leads and instructs us on the Sunday School lesson for the following Sunday. We met at Mrs. Worthington’s this evening. I think Mrs. Wilson knows Barnes’ notes, Cruden’s Concordance, the Westminster Catechism and the Bible from beginning to end.