Blakes of 77 Elm Street : a family sketch

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B57604h
1847948

GENEALOGY COLLECTION

ALLEN COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY

3 1833 01205 2442

THE ELAKES

OF

77 ELM STREET

A FAMILY SKETCH

BY

Alida Blake Hazard

QUINNIPIACK PRBSS, INC.
NBW HAVEN, CONN.

AO^d-^^J^iO

To Pierre and Nancy,

their children and all the younger

generation

PU have always seemed interested,
dear Pierre and Nancy, to know
something of your mother's family,
°=^ so I have here set down what I hope
will be a picture of an interesting group, the
central figure being my beloved grandfather,
Eli Whitney Blake.

This is not a genealogy, neither does it
make any claims to accuracy. Dates and names
are all to be found in large volumes which
trace the history of the family way back to
England. So I shall not be disturbed if anyone
calls my attention to such a slip as, for ex-
ample, the order in age of our grandfather's
brothers.

Of Elihu Blake, my great-grandfather, I
have no personal recollection, but he was still
in the memory of his grandchildren when I
was young, and from the many stories told of

him he must have been quite a remarkable,
if very quaint, old gentleman. His wife was
Elizabeth Whitney, sister of Eli Whitney,
inventor of the cotton gin, for whom our
grandfather was named. They had ten chil-
dren, all of whom lived to grow up — seven
sons and three daughters. The sons were
Philos, Eli Whitney, Josiah, Elihu, John,
George and Edward. The three daughters
were Elizabeth Whitney, Maria and Frances.
How our great-grandparents ever brought up
this large family, educated them and started
them in life is a mystery. Besides the small
farm on which they lived near Westboro,
Massachusetts, the only other source of in-
come appears to have been our great-grand-
father's talent in mathematics. Today he
would be called an expert accountant. In
those, he was called a "mathematician," and
his services were in great demand through
the country side and even in far away Boston.
It was on one of these business trips, which
he always made on horseback, that an ad-
venture befell him which became a family
byword. At a crossroads an Indian, in full
war paint, suddenly leaped from the bushes
and seized the bridle of his horse. Pointing
in one direction the Indian said, "Old Injun
come dis way, 'quire me gone dat way, tell

44 ►

him me gone t'other way, would ye?", and
disappeared, probably to the relief of the
traveler. In the notice of the death of Elihu
Blake in the church records he is described as
a "Worthy, Pious and Very Learned Man".
Wherever could he have acquired his learn-
ing? However, he saw to it that his sons had
such advantages as were possible. Our grand-
father was sent to Yale by his uncle and name-
sake, Eli Whitney. Josiah went to Harvard.
The other sons were content with graduating
from the academies of Massachusetts. Not
only did our grandparents do well by their
children, but they provided for their own old
age.

Elizabeth Whitney died when her husband
was nearly seventy. He soon married again
and had some twenty years of quiet life in a
simple but comfortable home. His second
wife was always known in the family as "the
Widow Holbrook"; more than that about her
I was never able to discover. I once asked
my grandfather what her name was. He
seemed surprised at the question and replied,
"Sarah, or Susan, or something like that. I
don't know which. Ask your Uncle John."
Whatever her name; she seems to have had
patience with her husband's hobbies. He
turned his inventive faculties to odd uses.

When a guest came to call he was taken into
a summer-house. No sooner was he seated
on a bench than the lid of a chest opposite
flew open and a stuffed tiger jumped out at
the startled visitor! To calm his nerves he
was then taken to admire a view. As he sat
on a chair to rest jets of water spouted on him
from all directions to the amusement of his
host. Rather a trying old gentleman! Never-
theless the children of Westboro adored him,
and it was his habit to frequently invite all
the school children to spend a happy afternoon
being frightened by tigers, wet with water,
and to enjoy a feast of cookies at the close.

After his death his son Josiah bought the
house and place from the widow, but what
became of the tiger and the other practical
jokes I don't know. They were not in evidence
when I saw the place many years later. Neither
do I know what became of "the Widow Hol-
brook." She fades out of the family picture
as nebulously as she came in.

Two of my grandfather's brothers went into
business with him later under the firm name of
Blake Brothers, manufacturing the Blake
Stone-crusher, which was the invention of our
grandfather. These two brothers were Philos
and John.

■«j{ 6 }*<•

Philos married Esther Babcock. He was a
very tall, large man, well over six feet, and
she was very small. She was a very old lady
as I first remember her but always very active.
She wore a black silk dress the year around,
a very ornate cap, and a black front, which
probably concealed gray hair. She wore about
her waist a silver chain, from which hung a
bunch of keys. As soon as guests were seated
these keys were used to open a large sideboard
and bring out the cake and wine which were
always offered regardless of the hour of the
day at which the visit was paid. Children
were treated to oranges and cake, so a visit
to Aunt Esther was rather a popular proceed-
ing. There were several children, none of
whom are now living and only one of whom
was survived by children and these have now
passed away.

Uncle John married Sarah Hotchkiss. She
was a niece of Aunt Esther though not very far
from her in age — a tall, blonde woman, who,
we were told, had been a beauty in her day.
They had four daughters and two sons. George
the younger of the sons, was drowned while
boating on Lake Saltonstall. John, the other
son, was a very clever man, and my father
always thought would have done much in
scientific work had he been willing to work
4 7 ]^

along recognized lines. He was very erratic,
however, and his inventions and discoveries
all went to the advantage of other people.
The sisters were all rather unfortunate in their
marriages and their children are none of them
living now, I believe.

Josiah Whitney Blake was for a time in-
terested in the South American trade and had
several vessels which sailed from Boston. He
married Clarina Lord. Her sister married
Michael H. Simpson, who was the owner of
the great carpet mills at Saxonville, Massa-
chusetts. In later life Uncle Josiah became
treasurer of these mills, which position he
held for over thirty years until his death. He
had two daughters, one of whom died very
young and the other, Mrs. Miner, soon after
his own death, leaving no children.

Uncle Elihu started as a surgeon, but having
the Blake talent for invention became in-
terested in inventing dental appliances, and
finally took that up altogether. He married
Adelaide Mix of New Haven. His practice,
however, was in New York, where he lived
until he was a very old gentleman, when he
retired to his farm at Cherry Hill near New
Haven. He was the father of William Phipps
Blake and Theodore A. Blake. Cousin William
was a very well-known geologist and was the

father of Joseph A. Blake, the surgeon; Frank
Blake; Theodore Whitney Blake and Con-
stance, who was Mrs. Toomey, and who died
very young. Uncle Elihu also had two daugh-
ters, Adele, who married George Panton of
Jamaica, West Indies. She was a great beauty
but died in her early twenties. The other
daughter was Emma, who many of you should
remember.

Uncle George was in the South American
business and spent most of his time in the
Argentine. He died there of yellow fever,
leaving one daughter, Cousin Isabel. She lived
very much at our grandfather's and we are
all much attached to her, as I am glad to say
she is still with us.

Uncle Edward lived in Pittsburgh all his
life and seemed to have very little to do with
the rest of the family. He came on once and
made a visit in New Haven, but he was so
erratic that I doubt if anyone regretted that
the visit was never repeated. I think that all
his family have now died out.

That completes the list of grandfather's
brothers. Now for the sisters.

The oldest, Elizabeth Whitney, married Rev.
John Barstow, D.D., minister for fifty years
at the Congregational Church in Keene, New
Hampshire. They had two sons, John Bar-

stow, who went to California as a young man,
lived and died there; and Dr. J. Whitney Bar-
stow of New York, who was an authority on
mental diseases and was much beloved by the
whole family circle. He married Flora Mac-
Donald of Flushing, Long Island, and three
daughters still survive.

Maria married a Mr. Burgess, who was a
New Hampshire man, but I know very little
more about him. As far as I know none of
their descendants are living.

The younger sister, Frances, married Rev.
William Orcutt, D.D., who was the executive
secretary for years of the African Colonization
Society. This was formed in the days before
the Civil War to send freed negroes back to
Africa, and was the foundation of the present
Republic of Liberia. After Mr. Orcutt 's death
Aunt Fanny made her home with our grand-
father, to the joy of us all for she was a very
delightful old lady. They had one daughter,
who died as a child.

As I have said, his Uncle Eli Whitney sent
our grandfather through Yale, where he grad-
uated in the class of 1814. He taught in all
his vacations, helping thus to meet his ex-
penses. At that time there was a long vacation
of ten weeks in mid-winter. During that
period students taught in the country schools,
•»*{ lO p-

which was all to the good of the children.
Grandpa used to tell amusing stories of his
scholars. In those days while men were dis-
carding the pigtail and letting their hair grow
naturally, the boys were still bound to the
' 'que' ' . One day my grandfather noticed a small
boy sitting with his mouth wide open and a
very distressed expression on his face. When
Grandpa said, "Henry, shut your mouth", he
replied, "I can't; my que's tied too tight"!
On another occasion a boy was sent from an
adjoining school with high recommendation
from the teacher. He failed to live up to this
and was a dull scholar, so grandfather ques-
tioned him as to his general deficiency when he
had been called a bright boy. His answer was,
"Can't help it, Mr. Blake. I ain't got the hang
of the schoolhouse yet". There was always
Bible reading at the opening of the school and
one day the teacher's gravity was sorely
tested when a small boy read in sonorous tones,
"These twelve sat upon rhoms judging the
twelve tribes of Israel". Grandpa used to say
that the boy spoke more wisely than he knew
for certainly any twelve who had to judge
the twelve tribes of Israel would sit upon
thorns, metaphorically at least!

After his graduation our grandfather at-
tended the law school of Judge Gould in
^ II ]^

Litchfield, Connecticut. He was admitted to
the Bar but never practised, though he always
conducted his own cases for infringement of
patent both for his uncle and the cotton gin,
and for his own stone-crusher. He was re-
garded as such a successful patent lawyer that
he was frequently consulted in other patent
cases.

Deciding not to make a career of the law,
he traveled in the south for his Uncle Eli
Whitney in the interest of the cotton gin.
The south in those days was rather a troublous
part of the country and our grandfather's
travels were not without adventures. On
one trip he was in a stage-coach in which
were two young ladies traveling alone. They
were insulted by a young man and were very
frightened. Grandfather intervened and after
some altercation the persecutor left the stage
threatening that my grandfather should "hear
more of this." As it turned out that the man
was James Watson Webb, a weJl-known fire-
eater in the South and afterward a truculent
editor in New York, grandpa was not at all
surprised to receive a visit, a day or two later,
from a man who presented himself as Second
for Mr. Webb and challenged grandpa to a
duel. As the challenged party grandfather had
the choice of weapons, and when, with the

^{ 12 1^

usual formalities, he was asked what they
would be, he replied, his fists! Greatly shocked
the Second demurred and suggested pistols or
swords. Grandfather said he disapproved en-
tirely of duels, but if attacked he should cer-
tainly defend himself with the weapons which
nature had given him. The would-be duelist
looked the tall, vigorous Yankee up and down
and evidently did not like the prospect. Per-
haps also James Watson Webb thought the
better of it, for grandfather never heard of it
again.

It was during these travels that our grand-
father acquired his horror of cards, which he
never lost. Gambling was very prevalent in
the south, and seeing the misery that it en-
tailed grandpa could not forgive even the
innocent medium. Liberal as he was, for his
day, letting his children dance, go to the
theater, and even have plays at home, cards
were and remained anathema.

Soon after our grandfather's return from the
South he was made superintendent of his
uncle's works at Whitneyville, and not long
after that was married to Eliza Maria O'Brien.

To understand our grandmother and to fully
appreciate all that she meant to her husband
some account must be given of her family

4i3>

and especially of that extraordinarily domi-
nant personality, our great-grandmother.

The Pierrepont family had been among the
first settlers in the New Haven colony, and
the old maps and deeds describe them as
"Gentlemen", whatever that meant — probably
a tribute to their Stuart descent and kinship to
the then Duke of Kingston. At all events they
fully appreciated their social standing, and
none more so than great-grandmother. From
the time when as "Pretty Polly Pierrepont"
she had been the "toast" of the day, and made
a runaway marriage with a French-Irish, or,
Irish-French stranger, to her later days as the
discreet and severe wife of that most respecta-
ble (if somewhat dull) citizen, Edward Foster,
she ruled not only her own family but all who
came within her orbit.

Her first marriage turned out better than
might have been expected. Edward O'Brien
was a descendant of an Irish gentleman, who,
remaining loyal to James II., followed him to
France and was attached to the forlorn little
court at St. Germain. There he married a
French lady and became the grandfather of
our maternal great-grandfather. This grand-
son, Edward O'Brien, was quite French, speak-
ing but little English when he first reached
New England. He came out to Maine (then a
•»*{ 14 ]p-

province of France), and from there drifted
down to New Haven, where he became a
publisher and assisted Noah Webster with the
famous dictionary. He also published a
pocket-dictionary of his own, the first ever
published in America. It is now extremely
rare and copies bring enormous prices.

This marriage only lasted about five years.
There were two children, our grandmother,
Eliza Maria, and a son, Henry. Edward
O'Brien was sent by the Federal Government
on a mission to the French West Indies. There
he died of yellow fever. The son, Henry,
lived to grow up and took to the sea. He
made several voyages and was finally lost
somewhere off the South American coast.

Great-grandma did not remain long discon-
solate. She had suitors by the score, but this
time she picked out a worthy man, much
older than herself, and one who would ap-
preciate her right to rule. That being estab-
lished they lived in harmony for a number of
years. They had three sons, Pierrepont,
Eleazer K. and Edward Foster: also four
daughters; Harriet, Mary Ann, Jane and Caro-
line. These ladies (our grandmother's half-
sisters), as "the aunties", played quite a
part in our family life. Although they were
middle-aged women at the time of their

4 ^sh

mother's death, they were quite submerged
as long as she lived. After that they made a
happy and useful household. Aunt Harriet
devoted herself to w^hat w^ould now^ be called
social service. She w^as the founder and
for many years president, of the New Haven
Orphan Asylum, which is still a flourishing
institution. Aunt Mary Ann took the society
end, made the formal visits which etiquette
demanded in those days, received callers and
generally upheld the tradition of social pres-
tige. Aunt Jane was the housekeeper, and a
wonderful little housekeeper she was too.
Aunt Caroline was the gardener and her
plants, even in winter, v\^ere a wonder to see.
Pierrepont Foster, irreverently knov/n to
the younger members of the family as "Uncle
Pip", married three times, but beyond the
fact that two of his wives, were sisters and
that their names were Bishop and that he had
one son, Will Law Foster, I know little of
the family. Uncle Eleazer was a very dis-
tinguished jurist in Connecticut and is quoted
with much respect in so important a book as
Bryce's, American Commonwealth. He mar-
ried Mary Codrington, daughter of Governor
Codrington of Jamaica, West Indies. He had
three sons, Eleazer, who married a Miss San-
ford and founded Sanford in Florida; William,
^{ 1 6 }?*

who married Miss Betts and was for many-
years editor of the Buffalo Express and Courier;
and Dr. John P. C. Foster, well-known even
to your generation as "Cousin John." He
married, as you well know, his second-cousin,
Josephine Bicknell, whose mother, cousin
Teresa Pierrepont, was the granddaughter of
Uncle Hezekiah, our great-grandmother's
brother. Uncle Eleazer was a most delightful
person. He was very out-spoken even as a
child. The story is told of him that he was
taken to see some religious waxworks. The
other children were all much impressed, but
Uncle Eleazer, pointing at a figure representing
David and his Harp, demanded to know loudly
"Who's the old devil playing on a fiddle?"
Though his sisters, the aunties, were in a
chronic state of being shocked at Eleazer,
they all missed him sadly enough when he
passed on, as indeed did we all.

Edward, the youngest son, lived always in
Potsdam, New York. He was married and had
one daughter, Mary, but I do not know the
maiden-name of his wife.

One other member of great-grandma's house-
hold must be included in this brief account,
as his wanderings and adventures thrilled two
generations of nephews and nieces. This was
UncJe John Pierrepont, a brother of great-

^i{ 17 )?«-

grandmother's, but whether older or younger
I don't know. His history, for us, began in
India. He had gone out as supercargo on a
ship, but left to engage in some business for
himself. This enterprise was apparently suc-
cessful as after some years he sailed for home,
this time as a passenger, bringing his treasure
with him. Unfortunately the captain of the
ship was a villain, and finding out about the
treasure, concocted a scheme to get hold of it.
So one fine day he sailed into a port on one of
the Malay Islands. There he persuaded Uncle
John to land with a mate and some sailors,
saying the vessel would stay some time. Very
soon, however, the men slipped away, returned
to the ship, and off they sailed, leaving Uncle
John marooned. The ship finally arrived in
England and reported that the passenger, John
Pierrepont, had been lost at sea, and so the
news came to his family in this country. The
captain got nothing by his treachery, as all
the time Uncle John had his "treasure" on his
person and not in his sea-chest, where the
captain counted on finding it. For nearly
twenty years Uncle John lived on that island
and many and marvelous were his adventures,
according to his own account at least. One
day great-grandma was told a gentleman wish-
ed to see her. On entering the room she was

greeted most affectionately by an apparent
stranger. When she demanded to know what
he meant and who he was, the man cried,
"Good God, Polly, don't you know your own
brother!", at the same time holding up his
left hand. This convinced Great-grandma
as her brother was born with no little finger
on his left hand. How glad she was to see
him after the melodramatic return, I don't
know, but she took him in and he made her
house his headquarters for years. Toward
the end he became a victim of gout and ex-
cessively irritable, so perhaps the poor lady
may have regretted that the Malays did not
keep him altogether.

When our grandparents were married they
went first into a small stone house in Whit-
neyville, just opposite the Whitney Works,
of which grandpa was superintendent. This
house was still standing when I was young
and we children took great interest in it as
"the house Aunt Mary was born in". My
impression is that the two eldest children were
born there, but I am not sure. The house was
small for a growing family. Grandpa also was
working on his invention of the stone-crusher,
and with Uncle Philos and Uncle John had
formed the firm of Blake Brothers, with a
foundry at Westville. A house had recently
^(19 }^-

been built next door to great-grandma's and
had now come into the market. Grandpa
bought the house, which, as 77 Elm Street,
was to be not only his home, but the heart
of the family as long as he lived. No one was
ever turned away from its door, and under
its roof any of the clan knew they had always
a kindly refuge.

It may seem odd that the young couple
should have chosen to settle down so near the
autocratic mother-in-law. It seems grandpa's
brothers and their families were not without
misgivings on that subject. However it
worked out very well. Great-grandma had a
high regard and evidently a sincere respect for
her quiet, dignified son-in-law, always ad-
dressing him as Mr. Blake. He, on his side,
treated her with the courtesy he always paid
women, and spoke of her and to her as "Ma-
dame". Years after her death I had a chance
to ask grandpa about her. We had been talk-
ing over old times, and, finding him to be in a
confidential mood, I asked him what sort of
person great-grandma really was, so many
stories had grown up about her memory. He
paused for a little to consider and then replied
judicially and deliberately, "She had a fine
character, and she carried her burdens
bravely". I have often thought that is as good

20 ]^

4 20 ]^

an epitaph as one need to have. There you
have the fundamentals, the peculiarities were
extraneous after all.

Now what sort of a place was New Haven
in the days when our grandparents started
their home at 77 Elm Street? It makes it easier
for us to imagine it all, as the two houses,
great-grandmother's and grandfather's, are
still standing and, outwardly, not much
changed. The Pierrepont house, built in 1767,
is owned by Yale and is used as a Faculty Club,
for the ladies as well as the men, while 77,
also owned by the University, is the Graduate
Club.

In those early days Elm Street was really a
country road, the Green opposite assured a
southern outlook and the beautiful elms must
have been in their prime. The houses stand
quite near the street, the gardens being in the
back. As I remember all that came out of that
garden I marvel. A straight path led down to
the end where there was a square of grass
(not big enough to be called a lawn) and a
summer-house. On either side of the path ran
a bed of flowers, always gay and sweet. Back
of these came vegetables, and such vegetables!
I have yet to see lima beans to equal those.
Along the side fences grew currant and rasp-
berry bushes. In one corner was our Grand-

'4 21 h

mother's herb garden, for, like most gentle-
women of her day, she was learned in the use
of herbs and simples and her remedies had a
great reputation. All this was cared for by
one man of all-work and, when they had the
time, by members of the family. Both grandpa
and grandma loved gardening, and they cer-
tainly had what is known as a "growing
hand."

Across the street the Green was a very differ-
ent place from the Green of these days. Uncle
Henry Blake has written a delightful book
on the "History of the Green", so I will only
say here that even in our generation it was a
lovely, shady place. You will recall that
Connecticut used to have two Capitols, New
Haven and Hartford. The State House stood
almost opposite grandpa's in the Green and
some little distance back from the street. We
children regarded it with admiration, and
thought it very impressive, though, as I think
of it now, it must have been already dilapi-
dated. It had a portico and columns and was
supposed to be Grecian, but it really looked
more like a magnified tomb than anything else!
Some years after Hartford was finally made
the sole Capitol the structure was pulled down.
We youngsters mourned its going as a cannon
was always fired from its doorsteps at sunrise

^{ 22 ]^

on the Fourth of July. The joy of this some-
what rackety performance was greatly en-
hanced by the fact that on the evening before
a policeman in resplendent uniform always
called at the house with a caution as to
leaving all windows open so that the glass
might not be broken by the concussion!
Probably the elders in the family were quite
reconciled to the passing of this custom.

The College campus faced on the Green, and
in those days seemed to be almost a part of it.
Even as I remember it the campus was beauti-
ful, with very simple, colonial buildings, grass
and trees, instead of being the overbuilt, over-
ornate piece of ground it is now.

The three churches in the Green held a more
important place in the life of New Haven of
those days than is now the case. Centre Church
held the supremacy for years. Then, as the
town grew, some of its members felt they
were not accorded sufficient recognition and
they set up for themselves in a new church
called the North Church. Trinity represented
the comparatively few Episcopalians. Our
grandparents belonged by inheritance and con-
viction to Centre Church. Great-grand-
mother's second husband, Edward Foster,
seceded to North Church, and two of his
daughters with him. Uncle Eleazer Foster

4 23 h

became an Episcopalian, as did his sister,
Aunt Mary Ann. So the family was represented
in all three churches, which was rather
unusual.

It is easier to imagine the material New
Haven of the early 1800's than it is to picture
the social life. Of course Yale College played
an important part in the little community.
The College was small, not as large as several
of the fashionable preparatory schools of our
day, the faculty was limited in numbers but
composed mainly of men well qualified to
influence, not only the young lives entrusted
to their care, but the whole town in which
they lived. They were poorly paid, few had
any private means and they and their families
set an example of high thinking and plain
living which survived (as a tradition at all
events) down even to my generation. The old
families were closely bound together, often
by kinship and often by generations of faith-
ful friendship. It is a temptation here to name
a few of the families whose steadfast friend-
ship still survives, but this is only a family
sketch and all that must be for another time.
As one reads the letters of those days the
impression one gets is of an atmosphere of
friendliness. The pioneer days, when all the
settlers were dependent on each other, had

424^-

passed, but the tradition of helpfulness re-
mained. There were no rich people (as riches
are measured now) and there were no suffering
poor. That generation knew nothing of or-
ganized charities, but each well-to-do family
had, as a matter of course, a group of pen-
sioners. These might be worthy or they might
be unworthy, but in any case they were cared
for. These dependants played quite a part
in family life. Some of them were real char-
acters, as for example, one of grandmother's
proteges, Sylvester Potter. He was a very
unworthy person, who lived on a small farm
at the edge of the town, his chief claim to
celebrity was the fact that he drove a cart to
which was harnessed a pair of trotting bulls.
This was considered a great curiosity and he
was pointed out to visitors as one of the local
sights. Unfortunately he was often withdrawn
from public life by sojourns in jail, owing
to his addiction to New England rum. This
weakness lost him many friends, but dear
grandma persisted in believing the never-
failing protestations of his reform. My uncles
used to tell with glee of one interview between
grandma and "Vet", as he was called, Potter.
He had emerged from jail and was assuring
his listener of his conversion; "Yes, Mrs.
Blake, I sure am reformed this time. When

I was in jail I felt so terrible to think how
I had disappointed all my friends that I made
up my mind to kill myself. I was just getting
ready to do it when I hern a voice from the
ceiling, and the voice says, 'Vet', it says,
and I says 'Yes, Lord', and the Lord says,
'Don't do it. Vet, don't do it, good men is
skase' ".

Another character was Mrs. Bemis. She
was a very pious person and was so addicted
to religious observances of the camp-meeting
type that her husband left home and disap-
peared. Two of her hon-mots were especially
cherished in the family. She was telling
grandmother of a visit of condolence she had
paid to a friend: "Yes, Mrs. Blake, I says to
Betsy, I says, now Betsy I know you feel
bad to lose your husband, but you got a lot
to be thankful for. You know where Truman
is and I never know when Bemis might turn
up any minute." Her daughter Maria had
been ill and Uncle George went to take her
for a drive with grandma's gentle pony. Maria
hesitated about going, but Mrs. Bemis de-
cided the matter by saying, "Now Maria,
you'd better go with Mr. George; like as not
enough the next ride you g^x. will be in your
hearse".

^{ 26 ]*^

Mention must be made of Lois Thompson,
whose great claim to distinction was that she
was the last slave to be sold in Connecticut.
Three or four men, our grandfather among
them, bought her in and gave her her freedom.
She seemed to feel that this gave her some
special hold on them. They had made her
free, now it was up to them to look out for
her, and that attitude she maintained quite
successfully throughout a long life. She was
a strange looking old negress and could have
posed as a Voodoo priestess. She made great
claims to medical knowledge and her remedies
were strange enough. On one of her visits
she found one of our aunts suffering with a
severe headache. She stood looking at the
victim until Aunt Eliza, vexed at the scrutiny,
said, "Well Lois, can't you do something for
this pain in my head?" "No, Miss Eliza,
no I can't, and no one else can; dare's only
one cure for such headaches and dat's grave-
yard mold." To another patient in the family
she earnestly prescribed, "black cat's blood
in cream, be sure and take it on the full of the
moon". She had many so-called husbands,
and was, I fear, quite an unworthy old person.
Indeed worthiness seems to have had little
to do with these cases. There was no idea of
charity on either side. The group were like

household pets, sometimes amusing, frequently
annoying, but always to be cared for.

Of course the small size of the industrial
plants at that time made it possible for the
owners to be in much closer touch with
their work-people than they could be now.
Grandpa and his brothers took a great in-
terest in the men working in their Westville
foundry. They cared for them and their
families, and often played the part of surgeon
in the injuries the men received at their work.
Doctors were few, widely scattered, and not
to be had in a hurry. Employers were often
called upon for "first aid", though that term
was not then invented. So successful was
grandfather in his treatment of burns that he
was twice invited to address the State Medical
Association on that subject. The men had
great confidence in his skill and expected him
to cure their children as well as themselves.
One day a workman brought a small boy in
to grandfather's ofhce. The poor child had
stuck a stone into its ear vv^hich resisted all
efforts to take it out. The stone could be seen
but the forceps the doctor had used in trying
to extricate it had only inflamed the ear and
the poor little thing was suffering terribly.
Grandfather had them apply hot water until
the inflammation had somewhat subsided.

■4 28 ]^

He then painted the exposed surface of the
stone with some very strong glue. Taking
one of the small, round lamp wicks of the day
he unraveled the end and put the unraveled
surface on the glue covering the stone. Leav-
ing this for several hours to be sure it was fast
grandpa then applied warm grease all about
the stone and very gently pulled on the lamp
wick until little by little the stone came away.
This was deemed such a clever method of
meeting an emergency by simple means that
the stone and lamp wick were preserved for
a long time by the New Haven Medical
Society and may be there yet for all I know.

It was into this extremely simply, demo-
cratic but at the same time highly intellectual
community that the twelve children of our
grand-parents were born. Ten of them lived
to grow up, and a happier household never
existed. They were very individual but also
very congenial; they often agreed to disagree
in the most cheerful manner and one of the
favorite family amusements was a "Blake
argument", v/hich Vv^as conducted with a
vigor which gave outsiders the impression
that a violent quarrel was waging but which
meant nothing at all.

These children were Mary Elizabeth, Hen-
rietta Whitney, Charles Thompson, Henry
■4 29>-

Taylor, Frances Louise, George Augustus,
Eli Whitney, Jr., Edward Foster, James Pierre-
pont, and Eliza Maria. The two children
who died young were Robert and another
Eliza.

Mary Elizabeth (whom you knew as your
Grandmother Bushnell) was a second mother
to the younger children. My father often
spoke with gratitude of her care and affection.
She was a clever woman and in some way
managed to carry on her studies after she had
left school and was taking her full share in
the burdens of such a large family. Grand-
mother sent Mary and Henrietta to a famous
boarding school of the day for two years,
though it must have been a sacrifice to her to
part from her two eldest daughters just as
they were becoming really helpful. Grand-
mother was ahead of her age in many ways
and one was in a desire to have her children
acquire foreign languages. When Charles and
Henry came to school age they were sent to a
French gentleman who had opened a school
for boys at Litchfield. All the lessons were
conducted in French and so thorough was the
teaching that the two men preserved a perfect
command of the language all through their
lives. Uncle Henry told me, when he was
well over ninety, that he often caught himself

■»*( 30 }^

thinking in French. The French school did
not receive the patronage it deserved and w^as
given up. So the younger sons were sent to
the New England academies, mostly to
Leicester Academy in Massachusetts. By the
time the two younger girls came along there
were good schools in New Haven and they
were not sent from home.

All of the six brothers went to Yale and all
graduated with honors except dear Uncle
George. He was always delicate and after a
severe breakdown in his Sophomore year it
was decided he had better not go on with his
college course. The Senior Societies were not
in existence while Uncle Charles and Henry
were in college, but my father, Eli Whitney
Blake, Jr., and his brother Jim were both
in Bones. Uncle Ned and some of his class-
mates founded Scroll and Key.

When not being educated the young people
seem to have found plenty of amusement. As
I have said before our grandparents were very
liberal in their views, and that generation was
allowed many pleasures from which their more
strictly brought up friends were debarred.
While grandfather was a great believer in
temperance in all things, he was much op-
posed to prohibition (I don't know what
he would have said in these days !) he believed

that young people should learn to control
themselves, and that anything to which they
were accustomed in everyday life would offer
less temptation when they went out into the
world than if it were a novelty. So there was
always beer, or ale, or wine on the table at
dinner and never (as far as ever I heard) was
its use in any way abused either then or in
later life.

The New England Sunday, which was such
a bugbear in many strict households, was
rather a pleasant day at 77 Elm Street. There
was but one rigid rule in regard to its ob-
servance and that was that nothing should
be done w^iich entailed work on other people.
The girls and boys might go for v/alks, but
there must be no driving, as that meant taking
out the horses and work for some servant.
Sleighing and skating in winter; rowing,
sailing and picnics in summer were the chief
out-of-door diversions.

From vv^hat old friends have told me from
time to time I infer that the adventures and
misadventures of the Blake boys provided
friends and neighbors with plenty of material
for conversation. Praise of their mother,
her patience and courage was always included
in the remarks which usually ended with dire
predictions of the ultimate fate of these

■4 32 1*-

"harum scarum youngsters." Predictions
which fortunately were not fulfilled, though
truth compels us to admit that they came
within a narrow margin of fulfillment more
than once. The first recorded excitement was
caused by Mary (your Grandmother Bushnell)
at the age of three. By some means or other
she got hold of a whole nutmeg, and managed
to eat it. When it was found what she had
done old Doctor Ives was sent for in hot
haste. When he came he said the danger was
from the narcotic attributes of the nutmeg and
that on no account must the child be allowed
to go to sleep. Strong coffee was brewed and
fed to her. It was summer and nearly all night
she was kept out of doors and in motion.
After dawn the doctor decided it would be
safe to let her sleep. What modern physicians
would say to this treatment I don't know.
Edward (Uncle Ned) was reported as
drowned and was only resuscitated by a
miracle.

Eli Whitney Jr. (my father), in experiment-
ing with gunpowder, blew himself up so
seriously that he lost the ends of two fingers
and for some days it was not known if his
eyes could be saved. This happened on the
day that grandfather was giving a men's
supper party to some magnates of the Ameri-

4 33>-

can Association of Science, which was holding
a conference in New Haven. Poor dear grand-
ma, how did she ever put it all through!
With all her cares and anxieties, and down-
right hard work, for things were not made
easy for the housewife in those days, she was
determined that grandpa should not be sub-
merged by his family or his work. It was
really owing to her courage that grand-
father kept up his scientific interests and
friendships. Such a tiny little lady too,
slight and graceful. Still pretty as I remember
her in her sixties, with very brilliant dark
blue eyes. She did not talk much, but when
she did speak all listened. Grandma was
asked by Harriet Beecher Stowe to contribute
to a symposium on the best way to bring up
children to be conducted by well-known
women with large families. Grandmother
wrote that her experience with ten taught her
that there was no general rule. Each child
was a case by itself. Answering a request
for a "guiding maxim" she replied, "It
might be summed up into "What Not To
See." Needless to say, all that was far too
unorthodox to be published in those days.
Clever as she was and well educated for her
generation, grandmother had a strong vein
of superstition which came to her probably

through her Irish ancestry. For example,
the warning of the O'Brien Banshee in the
form of a bird was a very real thing to her,
and, as I shall have occasion to show further
on, she was not without striking examples
to prove her contention.

Grandmother was devoted to poetry, and
having a wonderful memory, she could repeat
pages of Milton and long passages of Shake-
speare. Wordsworth, among the moderns,
held the first place in her esteem, and I well
remember her endeavor to teach me his
"Ode to Immortality". Alas in vain!

To Mary, (your Grandmother Bushnell,)
fell the lot of not only being the eldest daugh-
ter in a large family, but of being the eldest
child. That meant she was her mother's
chief assistant from very early years. This
may account in part for her serious nature.
She was serene and she was ever cheerful (as
you will remember) but she lacked the buoy-
ancy which was a marked characteristic of
the three other sisters. A sad early love affair
may have helped to give her a different
outlook on life. She was engaged to Mr.
Robert Rumsey of Buffalo. He came of
excellent family and seems to have had a
charming personality. All our family liked
him very much and nothing could have been

< 35 1^-

more hopeful than the prospects of the two
young people. Unfortunately Mr. Rumsey
was taken ill with what was then called
"consumption". There v/as but one remedy
then known which was a change to a mild
climate. So he sailed to spend a v/inter in
the West Indies. His letters to Mary v/ere
cheerful and he seemed to be steadily improv-
ing. One day in late spring a letter came
saying he should sail for home by the next
vessel. Mary sat in the wide hall, which ran
through the house, reading this letter, the
doors at either end were open and through
one of them flew a bird. Grandmother,
much upset, begged that the bird be put out
very carefully, but the bird did not go. It
circled around Mary and finally fell at her
feet quite dead. When it was picked up it
proved to be of unknown species. Taken up
to the College it was identified as a West
India bird, only one other specimen ever
having been seen in New England. When
the sailing vessel came in, on which Mr.
Rumsey was expected, it brought the news of
his death which had taken place suddenly
on the very day the bird came. Of course
grandmother was convinced that it was the
warning Banshee. At all events the bird was
stuffed at the College and placed in their

collection, where, as a child, I saw myself,
"Aunt Mary's Bird".

Your dear Grandmother Bushnell had a
very close friend Eliza Skinner, in whose love
affair she took a great interest. Eliza was
engaged to a young clergyman, the Rev.
George Bushnell. She died very suddenly after
a brief illness, and the two bereaved young
people agreed to console each other. Your
mother means to write her own reminiscences
some day and the history of her parents will
come in there, so I will only say that after
two very successful pastorates in New England
Dr. Bushnell took a church in Beloit, Wis-
consin, then really the West. While the
family vv^ere, for those days, far off, they
never lost touch with the old home to which
they returned to live after our grandfather's
death. Of course you know the children,
but I put them in as a matter of record:
Colonel George E. Bushnell, Medical De-
partment U. S. Army and an authority on
tuberculosis; Eliza S. (Aunt Lila), who mar-
ried George S. Merrill; Mary (your mother),
vv^ho married Rowland G. Hazard 2d, and
Dotha, who never married.

Henriette Whitney (Aunt Hettie), the
second daughter and next in age to her sister
Mary, was quite a contrast to her. Mary

<37>

was one of the fair Blakes, Henrietta belonged
to the dark branch. Dark brown hair, dark
eyes, a tall lithe figure, all helped to make
her an attractive young woman. She was
very clever too. The most intellectual of all
the four sisters, but not perhaps the most
intelligent. She had a quick mind and a
passion for absorbing learning, the more ab-
struse the better. She was an excellent Greek
and a fair Hebrew scholar. Had she lived in
this generation she would probably have
utilized her gifts as a professor in some
woman's college, but no such fields were open
in her day. So she lived at home and took her
share in the work of a busy household, help-
ing in the care of the younger children, if not
always as expertly as her sister Mary, at all
events always cheerfully and kindly. It must
not be supposed that her erudite studies made
her either solemn or pedantic. On the con-
trary she had the family sense of humor in a
highly developed form, and was a great
favorite socially. She had many friends and
correspondents among learned men. One of
our University lights once amazed me by
saying, "I thought at one time I was going
to marry your Aunt Hettie but unfortunately
in a Greek ode which I wrote to her she
found two misplaced accents, and so she

turned me down". I don't know if this was
meant for a joke or not, but at all events it
typified her love affairs.

None of this generation, it is safe to say,
ever heard of the Yale "Gallinipper" much
less ever saw one of the four copies it published
in its brief but brilliant career. Nevertheless
it achieved a success at the time, a tradition
which lasted for years, which has never been
attained by any other college publication. It
appeared mysteriously, it poked fun at all
indiscriminately. Neither the callow under-
graduates nor the reverend college magnates
escaped its sting. At first it was ignored, by
the powers that be, then, much irritated an
investigation was begun which ended no-
where. Had the authorities only known
enough of insect life to know that only the
female mosquito, the gallinipper, had a sting
they might have held the clue. But alas,
Sherlock Holmes was still to be born! A
group of clever young women were responsi-
ble for all this excitement, and chief editoress
was Henrietta! It was never easy to get Aunt
Hettie to talk of her share in the enterprize,
but two of her special friends, Lizzie Baldwin
(Mrs. William D. Whitney) and Louisa Tor-
rey (Mrs. Alphonzo Taft, mother of ex-
President Taft), were much less reticent and

<Z9>

gave most entertaining accounts of it all.
They both declared that Henrietta planned it
and wrote much of the material. The girls
were helped, at the business end, by four
young men, all seniors. They were suspected
and finally brought before the Faculty.
Among these was Leonard W. Bacon, the
grandfather of your cousin Leonard Bacon.
Your Uncle Nat used to relate with great
glee how the four were questioned and how
they "lied like gentlemen" denying any
knowledge of the guilty screed. Then came
the hat, "Very well, we believe of course
that what you say is true. You know nothing
of the publication, you are and always have
been perfectly unable to control it in any
way, but we only remark that it would be
most unfortunate for you if other copies
should appear as in that case you would all
be expelled". Needless to say another copy
did not appear.

As so often happens when a girl has many
admirers, Henrietta made a strange choice in-
deed when she married. Alexander McWhor-
ter was the only son of a well-to-do widow of
Baltimore. He was brought up to believe
that he was above the need of work, and
apparently only took Orders in the Episcopal
church because it looked better to have a

^{ 40 }f^

profession. How he came to drift to New
Haven I don't know, or how so clever a
woman as Aunt Hettie ever was taken in by
him I can't imagine. The only especial sym-
pathy between them that I can think of was
their love for unusual and useless learning.
Our grandparents were not pleased with the
match, but there was no interference, and so
they were married. In a few years they were
back at 77 Elm Street. Two positions in
Episcopal theological seminaries which Mr.
McWhorter had held he had lost by his
incorrigible disinclination to work. His prop-
erty, inherited from his mother, had slipped
through his hands through sheer inefficiency.
Of course they were taken in, ostensibly, for
a brief visit, and there they stayed for over
twenty years. My grandfather, with all his
kind heart, was too sincere to profess a
cordiality he did not feel, and a more sensitive
man than Mr. McWhorter might have felt
the situation intolerable. However, he had
very comfortable quarters; the brothers and
sisters, for Aunt Hettie's sake, made things
as smooth as might be and a casual visitor
would never suspect that there vv^as anything
amiss. The only thing we ever heard of his
ever attempting to do in all those years was
to act as one of the consultants in the new

•>*f 41 >■

version of the Bible, and it was suspected that
in that case his wife had done most of the
work.

A most incongruous member of the house-
hold was the Rev. Alexander McWhorter,
and a quite impossible one in any family less
truly tolerant and for-bearing. At last he was
taken from this world after a mercifully brief
illness. Aunt Hettie had been a loyal wife
and she was a truly grieving widow. She
lived on with grandfather and managed every-
thing for him until his death. In those years
he reaped the reward of his long patience.
After her father's death Henrietta went out
to California to her brother Charles. Though
they were lovely to her she was not con-
tented; California did not appeal to her. So
she went abroad. There in Siena, Italy, she
joined forces with a cousin of your's but not
of her's, Anna Vernon. The two elderly
ladies lived together for some years, and then
Aunt Hettie passed away, far indeed from
New England. She is buried in the English
cemetery in Siena.

The oldest son and third child was Charles
Thompson, so named for an uncle of great-
grandmother's, Elizabeth Whitney. This
Charles Thompson was an important person
in his day as Signer of the Declaration of

•^ 42 J^

Independence, Secretary to the first Congress,
selected to notify George Washington of his
election as first President. Should anyone be
lucky enough to find in the family archives
a package of his letters it would be a treasure-
trove indeed. Next to Button Gwinnette the
autographs of Charles Thompson bring the
largest prize of any of the Signers. Uncle
Charles belonged to the fair Blakes and was
the one stout member of the family. He was
always kind hearted and enterprising and was
adored by his younger brothers and sisters.

As has been already said he had two or
three years at a French school in Litchfield,
then went to the Hopkins Grammar School
until he entered Yale. He had many friends,
but his special chum was Charles Palmer of
Stonington. They were in school together,
classmates in college, and as soon as they
graduated were off to California together.
These were "The days of old, the days of
gold and the days of '49". It is impossible
here even to hint at the wonderful stories of
those days, Uncle Charles used to tell so
delightfully. It is certainly up to his sons,
Anson or Edwin, to write down the history
of their father's early days in California and
Idaho.

4 43 h

It was nearly twenty years before Uncle
Charles came back to New Haven and then
he came on a visit with his bride, who,
strangely enough, had been almost a daughter
of the house at our grandfather's all through
her school life. Harriet Stiles was related to
many old family friends and was beside a
devoted friend of the youngest daughter,
Eliza. So when her parents went out to San
Francisco and she was left to finish her edu-
cation, what more natural than that 77 Elm
Street should become her second home. When
at last she left to rejoin her family the steamer
she was on was captured by the Confederate
raider, the '' Alabama \ and Aunt Hattie used
to tell us interesting tales of the adventures.
She had not been long in San Francisco when
Uncle Charles went to call on the young girl
who had so recently left his relatives. Small
wonder that a romance grew out of that first
meeting and that before very long they were
married. Uncle Charles was much older than
Aunt Hattie, eighteen years if I remember
rightly, but this disparity made no difference
in a singularly happy marriage. Uncle Charles
had a youthful spirit and an active mind
which rose superior to mere physical age.

They lived for many years in San Francisco
at 4 Vernon Place. When that part of town

A 44 ]^-

was utterly spoiled by the cutting down of
hills and putting streets through, they moved
across the Bay to Berkeley. Their house,
wherever it was, was a second 77 Elm Street
in its hospitality to all visiting relatives.

Their surviving children are Anson Stiles,
who married Anita Symmes; Eliza S, who
married Sherman D. Thacher; Edwin Tyler,
who married Harriet Corson; and Robert
Pierrepont, who married Nadja Lezinsky, a
charming little Russian lady. All of these
you know but I put them in for record.

Henry Taylor, the second son and the fourth
child in age, was named for our grandfather's
classmate and beloved friend. Judge Taylor.
Uncle Henry was a curious contrast in ap-
pearance to his brother Charles. Uncle
Charles, fair and stout; Uncle Henry, dark
and always very thin — one of "Pharoah's lean
kine" he often called himself. He was tall,
over six feet, but had a "scholar's stoop",
that, with an abstracted expression some-
times deceived those who did not know him.
Uncle Henry was fond of telling his adven-
tures with confidence m^en. On one occasion
a man came up to him in the Grand Central
Station in New York and extending his hand
cordially exclaimed, "How are you, Mr.
Clarke?" Uncle Henry gave the stranger one

4 45 >

of his piercing glances and replied, "How are
you, Mr. Bunco?" He used to add that the
man disappeared as suddenly as if the earth
had swallowed him.

At one time in his life it looked as if Uncle
Henry was to carry on the line of inventors
in the family. In his senior year in college
he perfected a machine for fastening hooks
and eyes on cards. Just as it was finished the
foreman at the Westville foundry, who had
helped him with the working model, died
very suddenly. At the same time a change
in fashion substituted buttons for the before
almost universal hook and eye. These two
things coming together so discouraged Uncle
Henry that he gave up the project altogether,
left off inventing and devoted himself to the
law.

Outwardly Uncle Henry's long life seems
very uneventful. He became Clerk of the
Court for Fairfield County and held that
position for many years, commuting to Bridge-
port from New Haven daily. He took much
interest in politics, and as a young man had
several opportunities to enter public life, but
his was a too independent character to brook
party dictation. It is told of him that he
greatly puzzled some party leaders who wished
him to express his adherence to certain poli-
•^f 46 ]?«•

i

cies. When he declined to do so one of them
exclaimed, "You're a queer Republican. What
are you anyway?" To which Uncle Henry
replied, "Oh, I'm a Radical Conservative".
Which, if they did but know it, was a pretty
good definition.

He wrote much. While in his early thirties
he published a book called, "The Rise of the
Fall". It's thesis was that vv^ork was not a
curse pronounced on man, but the greatest
of blessings, without which there could be
no development. Very unorthodox then, al-
most a commonplace now. He was an author-
ity on Colonial history, especially of Con-
necticut and the New Haven colony. His
comments on our Puritan ancestors were often
more caustic than laudatory, but always en-
tertaining and informing. Read his book
"The History of the New Haven Green".
After he retired from active law practice he
became head of the Park Board in New Haven
and did much valuable and interesting work
for the City.

He married Elizabeth Kingsley, daughter
of James Kingsley, and they lived in a brick
house on the corner of Grove and Temple
Streets belonging to his wife. The bricks
in the house were brought from England,
and they must have brought English tradi-

4 47 h

tions with them as the house inside and out
was a perfect example of late Georgian or very
early Victorian ideals. It was so perfect that
it seems a pity it could not have been kept
as an example of that era. Aunt Lily (as she
was called) was very English in her ways
and views and very loyal to her English
antecedents. She was quite nearly related to
the English novelist, Charles Kingsley. Her
English relatives always came to her, when
they visited this country, as a matter of
course, and very interesting many of them
were.

Uncle Henry and Aunt Lily had three sons.
Edward F., who died as a young man; Henry
W., who married Ida Jewett; and James
Kingsley, w^ho married Helen Putnam. He
died before his father. Henry W. survived
his father, and he and his wife were devoted
in their efforts to make Uncle Henry's last
days happy. Aunt Lily passed away some
ten years before her husband, who lived to
be ninety-three.

In any large family there is always one who
is regarded as the ultimate arbiter in all
differences or perplexities, and that position
was filled by Uncle Henry. His time, his
thought, were ever at the disposal of his kith
•448>-

and kin, and neither his heart or purse were
ever closed when there seemed need of aid.

The next in the family, in order of age, was
the third sister Frances Louise (Aunt Fanny).
She was named for grandfather's sister, Aunt
Fanny Orcutt. She was the dramatic member
of the family. As quite a young girl she wrote
plays to be acted by her friends, and after
her marriage she wrote another, which,
though never printed, survived as an acting
play for two generations. In this she satirized
her own propensity to magnify the small
troubles of life in the character of "Mrs.
Worry". It is long since I saw a copy of the
play but I recall it as being very entertaining.

In one of Bernard Shavv^'s plays he says of a
character, "She is such a born wife and
mother that she is hardly human". This
description comes into my mind when I
think of dear Aunt Fanny. She was too de-
voted and too unselfish for the good of those
around her. Her husband, Arthur D. Os-
borne, came of a well-known Fairfield County
family. His father, Judge Thomas B. Osborne,
was a prominent man in Connecticut's po-
litical life. It was rather a curious coincidence
that Uncle Arthur Osborne and Uncle Henry
Blake were born on the same day. They were
classmates in Yale. Uncle Arthur married

< 49 >

Uncle Henry's sister. Uncle Henry became
Clerk of the Court in Fairfield County, from
which County Uncle Arthur came; and Uncle
Arthur became Clerk of the Court of New
Haven County, where Uncle Henry belonged.
They were lifelong friends as well as brothers-
in-law and both lived way on into the nineties.
Uncle Arthur was an able man, rather
conventional perhaps, but friendly and hos-
pitable. He was really devoted to his wife,
but his was rather an exacting nature and the
more he asked the more she gave. The house
and their lives revolved entirely about his
pleasure and convenience. There were two
boys; Thomas B., named for his grandfather,
and Arthur, named for his father. Both parents
were devoted to these boys though not always
in the wisest way. From what I have said
it must not be inferred that there was foolish
overindulgence in the training of the children.
They were very intelligent, bidable boys, al-
ways doing well in school and taking honors
at Yale where both made Bones. Their
home bringing up was sensible and, in the
view of today, strict. It was when the supreme
sacrifice came, the sacrifice all parents are
called upon to make, the willingness to let
the young go out into the world for them-
selves, to stand on their own feet, to make

4 50 h

or mar their own lives, that Aunt Fanny and
Uncle Arthur failed. With ample means
they seemed to feel that there was no occasion
for the boys to leave home and were quite will-
ing to make it worth their while to stay here.
For Tom I doubt if this made much difference.
He was such a steadfast character, so fine and
so dependable and, even as a very young man,
so wrapt up in his scientific work that en-
vironment played but a small part in his life.
With Arthur, or "Ard" as he was called, it
was very different. A delightful young fellow,
and a great favorite socially, he had neither the
strength of character or the ambition of his
brother. He realized that himself and knew
that his one chance lay in having to work.
He was anxious to go west with his friend
and classmate, Sherman D. Thacher (who
much later married our cousin Eliza S. Blake),
but his parents would not hear of it. He made
an attempt at practicing law, drifted into idle
ways and into not the best class of friends
and deeply to the regret of us all frittered
away a wasted life.

But you will say this is not about Aunt
Fanny, it is about her family. In defense I
again quote Bernard Shaw. Her life was
in her family and for them she lived and
breathed. She was a delightful conversa-

tionalist and was much sought after socially.
She died comparatively young after a brief
illness of pneumonia. Uncle Arthur would
have been entirely at a loss had not Tom and
his devoted wife, Elizabeth Johnson, given
up most of their lives to his care. He lived
to be way over ninety. Tom, whose work in
biological chemistry won him many honors
abroad as well as in his own country, died
much younger than he should. We have al-
ways felt that the strain of his unselfish
life added to the strain of his scientific re-
search was more than anyone should have
been called upon to bear.

The sixth child and third son was George
Augustus (Uncle George). The story of the
way he came by his name is rather amusing.
He was to be named for grandfather's brother
George. That seemed simple enough and quite
natural. When, however, grandmother realiz-
ed that the whole name was George Washing-
ton she decidedly objected. Not that she did
not revere the Father of Our Country, but the
name was not only hackneyed, it had been
adopted so frequently by the colored popula-
tion as to seem to belong to them. Apparently
in those days a boy must have a middle name,
so various substitutes were suggested but not
accepted. Finally, just as the baby was

to be taken to church to be baptized, it was
realized that the name-question was still un-
settled. Grandfather then took the matter
in hand, "Bring a college catalogue", he
commanded. That being produced, he an-
nounced, "The first middle name after George
is the name the baby shall have". That name
turned out to be Augustus, and so Fate wished
on our dear Uncle a name he especially dis-
liked and never used!

Uncle George was the least vigorous of a
very sturdy family. He was delicate as a boy
and his frequent enforced absences from school
handicapped him very much. He entered
college, but in his Sophomore year had a very
serious breakdown. He was slow in rallying,
and it was decided, to his great disappoint-
ment, that it was better for him not to re-
turn. He had much artistic ability and his
architectural drawings were beautiful. He
was also a really learned botanist and was
passionately fond of flowers and all growing
things. With these gifts it seems hard that
his always constant ill health prevented his
making a career for himself. He lived on at
77 Elm Street, and never was there such a
delightful invalid. It was hard to believe,
when with him, that there was anything
amiss. He not only never complained, but

< 53 >

always seemed to be in the best of spirits.
It was Uncle George who was always ready
to help in any family emergency. If there
was a tiresome guest it was Uncle George
who took the entertaining of them on his
hands. Were any of the children ill it was
Uncle George who read to them or told them
stories. He it was who visited the sick and
afflicted, especially in the dependent class,
and always left them cheered and consoled.
With all his sweetness of disposition he had
a keen insight into human nature and his
shrewd comments alvv^ays hit the mark when
needed. We had in the family connection a
really great beauty whose ability to keep a
number of devoted suitors on the string was
a never-failing topic of family gossip. Some-
one said, "She weighs all the advantages of
her admirers so carefully". Uncle George
replied, "Well Louise has a queer set of
weights. She may have ounces and grams too,
but she certainly has no scruples"!

We are often told in modern teaching that
it is far more important to be than to do.
If that is so, no one ever achieved more
than Uncle George. His Being was a blessing
and its remembrance an inspiration.

Eli Whitney Blake, Jr., (my father) was,
of course, named for his father, and it is

4 54 >

interesting that he should have inherited his
father's strong scientific bent as well as his
name.

My dear father had a troublous childhood.
When about four years old he had scarlet
fever. He was making a good recovery when,
through the carelessness of a nurse, he had
some exposure, which resulted in a lameness
which lasted all his life. He was always
experimenting with dangerous things, and on
one occasion (as has already been mentioned)
blew himself up with gun powder. The result
of that adventure was the loss of the tips of
two of his fingers. He bemoaned this chiefly
because it obliged him to give up his violin
playing, to which he was devoted.

My father went to the Academy in Leicester,
Massachusetts. He always spoke well of the
teaching he had there, and gratefully of the
pleasant holidays at his sister Mary's (your
Grandmother Bushnell), then living in
Worcester, where Dr. Bushnell had a large
church.

Though Eli Whitney, Jr., had already de-
cided on a scientific career and Yale offered
little in that line, he never the less took a
high stand in his class. His Societies were
D. K. E. and Bones. When he graduated it
became a question where he could go in this

country to pursue the studies he was so
anxious to continue. Even then he had de-
cided to specialize in acoustics and electricity,
the last named subject being almost in its
infancy. While he was looking about for
an opening he went into mechanics from the
high mathematical angle and from the prac-
tical side as demonstrated in his father's
foundry. These studies were afterwards of
great use to him when Professor of Mechanics
at Cornell and Brown.

His marriage to my mother, Helen Mary
Rood, was a turning point in his life in many
ways. Helen Mary Rood was a sister of
your Grandmother Hazard. Now you see
how I come to be such a near cousin, and able
to tell you about all sides of your family.
Your Grandmother Bushnell and my father
were brother and sister, which makes your
mother and me first cousins. Your Grand-
mother Hazard and my mother were sisters,
which made your father and me first cousins.
Add to that the fact that I married your
father's cousin Barclay Hazard, and it is no
wonder that I have to keep in touch with all
sides.

My mother was a comparative stranger in
New Haven. Her Aunt Mary Ogden came
there, bringing with her my mother and her
^{ 56 }^

brother Ogden N. Rood, that the latter might
go to Yale. Uncle Ogden was a brilliant
man but always very temperamental. In his
Sophomore year he distinguished himself by
shooting an arrow into the face of the College
clock, thereby stopping the hands to the great
disturbance of academic routine. Perhaps
I should explain here that the face of the
clock in those primitive days was of wood as
were also the large and ponderous hands. Of
course no one had seen the arrow fired and no
one knew anything about it. Unfortunately
when the arrow was retrieved it bore the
initials of its owner who was promptly
"rusticated"as it was called in those days,
suspended we should say now. This so in-
furiated our hot-tempered uncle that he de-
clined to return and was sent to Princeton
to finish his college course. He spent the
greater part of his life as Professor at Colum-
bia and it might be thought that recollection
of his own early escapades might have made
him tolerant of others, but he was always
known as the most severe disciplinarian on
the faculty. While disappointed that her
nephew did not return to Yale, Aunt Mary
Ogden, who had settled down and built a
house, decided to stay where she was. My
mother (your Aunt Helen Blake) soon found

<S7>

her way into the inner circles of New Haven
and became great friends with our Blake
aunts. She was a very intellectual woman
and took the deepest interest in her husband's
studies.

Soon after their marriage her Aunt Mary
Ogden died and then the young couple decided
to go abroad to give my father the oppor-
tunities for scientific training that he could
not have in this country. I was a small baby
when they made the move. The Civil War
was just beginning. My father's lameness
prevented his going to the Front, as did his
best beloved brother Ned, the colleges were
almost deserted for the four years of the War,
so it seemed that the best thing for them to
do was to stay abroad until the war was over
and in the meantime for my father to acquire
as much learning as possible along his own
line, which he foresaw even then would be of
value to the country in its development. He
studied at Heidelberg, Marburg, Leipzig Ber-
lin, Munich. Not only did he learn much
in those years but he made many scientific
connections and friendships which lasted as
long as he lived.

On his return to this country he held a

position in Burlington, Vermont, and for one

year substituted for Uncle Ogden Rood at

-«{ 58 }*-

Columbia. It was during that year that his
son Eli Whitney Blake, 3rd, was born. About
this time Ezra Cornell was founding
the university which was to bear his name.
The staff was composed mostly of young
Yale men, and my father joined the group.
He was greatly interested in the work and
most enthusiastic, but unfortunately my
mother, always delicate, could not stand the
cold climate and rather primitive conditions.
She was taken to her sister's house in Provi-
dence (your Grandmother 'Hazard's), and
there she died. My father returned to Cornell
for a year and then went to Brown to fill the
Chair of Physics just founded by your great-
grandfather, R. G. Hazard. There he remained
for twenty-five years. This is no place to record
his scientific work. All that is on record
elsewhere. I must, however, mention his
labor on the telephone in its early days. In
the "Precious Heritage" your Aunt Caroline
has told of the early experiments with the
telephone at Peace Dale. That same year,
while at 77 Elm Street, my father. Professor
Brush and Professor Wright rigged up a
wire from the parlor of the house, down the
long garden to the summer house at the end.
Our grandfather took the greatest interest in
these experiments and was most helpful in

< 59 >

his suggestions. An outgrowth of the tele-
phone was my father's success in photograph-
ing sound waves. The first time it was ever
done.

After my marriage to your cousin Barclay,
in 1881, my father married for a second time,
his wife being a cousin of yours, Elizabeth
Ellery Vernon, a sister of the Miss Vernon
with whom Aunt Hettie McWhorter lived in
her last years.

My father always felt that his talent lay
along the lines of research work and deplored
the fate that he was born too early to profit
by the wonderful laboratories of the great
electrical companies. He found teaching
exhausting and always looked forward to the
days when he should be free to do his own
work. He resigned at the end of twenty-five
years, but alas too late. He died that autumn.

Interested and absorbed as he was in his
scientific studies he was intensely human and
sympathetic. Old and young, rich and poor,
clever and stupid, all alike found in him a
true friend and very often a wise advisor.

Of my immediate family it is very difficult
for me to write and the little account I gave
of my dear brother, Eli Whitney Blake, 3rd,
was greeted with protest from those who
saw the sketch. There was an unanimous de-
^{ 60 ]^

mand that I should give a fuller account of
what all joined in calling a unique and bril-
liant personality. Eli Whitney Blake, 3rd, was
never physically very strong. He was tall,
over six feet, but very slight and his active
brain was always too much for his body.
He graduated at Brown with honor and during
his college course was one of the editors of the
Brunonian and very active in all dramatic
affairs of the College. On graduating from
Brov/n he had three years in the Harvard
Law School. While there he was one of the
editors of the Harvard Lampoon. Although
he took a high stand in the Law School he
decided not to practise law. On looking back
I can see that it would have been better if he
had taken a position as an instructor in a law
school as he always said that he thoroughly
enjoyed the theory of law but the practise
did not appeal to him. He went to Hampton
for a year where he had charge of the Indian
boys, in whom he was much interested. He
also was the first executive secretary of the
Charity Organization Society in Providence.
He was in Syracuse in the Solvay works there
for a time and then in New York. He was still
young when he passed on and it is very hard
to g{\e an idea of his charm, which not only
made friends but has kept them. It is very

^{ 6 1 ^

touching to me to find how generally and
lovingly he is remembered by all his con-
temporaries. I am constantly meeting some-
one who says, "You know, there never was
anyone just like your brother Whitney". I
feel this but how can I make you all under-
stand it.l

Edward Foster (Uncle Ned) named after
Grandfather's stepfather, was next in age to
my father and was his very best beloved
brother. So, though I have no personal
recollection of Uncle Ned, killed in the War
while he was still a baby, he has always been
to me a very vivid individuality.

Until he was nearly four years old his
parents were greatly worried lest he should
be dumb, "tongue-tied" they called it then.
He evidently heard, so he was not deaf, evi-
dently understood what was said to him so
his brain vv^as all right, but talk he would not.
The first Harrison presidential campaign was
on with much shouting for "Tippicanoe and
Tyler Too", log cabins, hard cider, and all
the rest of it. Undoubtedly the older boys
echoed the excitement and at least even Uncle
Ned was m.oved to cry, "Hoorah for Harri-
son"! After which he talked perfectly with
no intermediate stage of baby talk.
•»j( 62 }^

He stood high in his class in Yale and was
one of the founders of Scroll and Key. After
he graduated he studied law and had just
been admitted to the Bar when — came the
War!

We who have lived through the World War
think we know what War means, but the
scene of that was far away. The Civil War was
in our own front yard, so to speak. Just as
no quarrel is as bitter as a family quarrel so
no war is so bitter, so relentless, as that
waged between two sections of the same
country.

I am well aware of the rule which does not
admit as evidence a statement alleged to have
been made by a person now deceased unless
corroborated by written testimony. Never-
theless I must try to give you an idea of the
state of our dear grandfather's mind when
confronted with this terrible menace. I feel
the more assurance in doing this as in a talk
I had with Uncle Henry, not very long before
his own death, his memory of his father's
sentiments agreed exactly with what I re-
; membered grandfather saying to me.

In the first place grandfather felt no sym-
pathy with the extremists of either side of
the controversy. He had served, some years
earlier, on a federal commission whose object

<i 63 ]^

was to find some rational way out of the
slavery issue. That commission recommended
the buying of all slaves by the Government
and their very gradual emancipation, much
the plan which was later adopted by Brazil.
This plan, my grandfather always felt, would
have had a good chance of going through
had it not been for the Abolitionists who
raised a great cry of ' 'compromising with evil' * .
Of course the opponents of the measure at
the South caught at that to justify themselves
and it all came to nothing. Then our grand-
father had been much at the South, knew
the people and realized how deadly in earnest
they must be to take such a desperate step
as war. Never for a moment was he deluded
by the Northern cry of early war days. "A
ninety-day war". He foresaw only too clearly
what was before the country. When, how-
ever, the step was taken and the die cast he
realized there was nothing to do but put
it through. He showed his patriotism in the
most practical way; he canceled profitable
business orders to do Government work at the
foundry at the lowest possible price. Even this
price, by the way, he could not collect in full
until twenty years after the war. So while
profiteers were making fortunes our dear grand-
father, if not ruined, was very seriously
^{ 64 1^

crippled financially by his endeavors to help
an ungrateful Government. But that was as
nothing to the sacrifice he was called upon to
make when Uncle Ned decided to enlist.
Grandmother could not be reconciled. She
told me herself how, when Uncle Ned told her
he was going and she was begging him to
reconsider, a bird came and tapped on the
window. A little later when he came to her
with his Commission as Major the bird again
appeared and, "Then", said poor little Grand-
mother, "Then I knew he would be killed",
and so he was, in the second Battle of Cedar
Mountain. He had been at home for three
days* leave and had been gone only forty-
eight hours. Grandmother went into his
bedroom to get something and there, perched
on the headboard of the bed, was an owl.
She came out and meeting one of her daugh-
ters said, "Ned is dead". "Oh no, mother",
was the answer, "he was to go to Washing-
ton". Even as they talked came the telegram
with the news. He had been sent directly to
the front instead of stopping in Washington
as first ordered.

Forty years or so after Uncle Ned's death
we heard some particulars of the end. This
came about through a remarkable series of
coincidences. Uncle Henry was at the south

4 65 ►

and, falling in one day with a Confederate
veteran, they talked over the war. The Con-
federate officer mentioned the fact that he
had been in the battle of Cedar Mountain
and Uncle Henry said that he had lost a
brother in that battle. The veteran was at
once interested and said that he remembered
they were opposed by Connecticut troops and
then told of finding a Connecticut officer, a
major he thought, dying and giving him water
and what comfort he could. More questions
made Uncle Henry quite confident that this
officer was Uncle Ned, but he sent north for
photographs of Connecticut officers in those
regiments. From these, over twenty in num-
ber, the Confederate unhesitatingly picked out
the picture of Uncle Ned. So there was no
doubt at all of the identity.

Of course his parents were both dead, but
your Grandmother Bushnell was still living
and was much overcome by the opening of the
old wound. To us who had not known him
it was a comfort to think that kindly (even
if enemy) hands had ministered to him in
those last moments, but to dear Aunt Mary
it was as if her darling young brother had died
over again and she begged us not to speak to
her about it.

^[ 66 ]^

"Those whom the Gods love die young**.
That is true in many ways and not least
in the halo of the memories they leave. It is
easy for us to discount the personality of a
young man of twenty-four and ascribe part
at least of its charm to his early and tragic
death, but there must have been a real founda-
tion for the love which he inspired, not only
in his devoted family but in a large circle of
friends who never seemed to forget him.

James Pierrepont (Uncle Jim), the youngest
of the six brothers, and next in the family to
Uncle Ned, was one of those bright sunny
natures that seem born to attract friends. The
only black mark against his childhood was
an incurable propensity to run away. The
first time he indulged in this wanderlust he
was only a little over three years old. The
whole family were thrown into a panic when
he was found to be missing and the town
was ransacked. An hour or two later he was
discovered a mile or more from home, down
on Meadow Street, absorbedly watching a
blacksmith at work, a half peck basket
gracefully draped on his head in place of a
hat. Finally the family became used to his
vagary and neighbors and friends often brought
back Jimmy who had turned up in the most
unlikely places.

"**( 67 ]^

He was a great favorite in College and when
he graduated was voted the handsomest and
most popular man in the class. Bones, of
course.

The war was over and the young men just
graduating were thinking how best they
could help in binding up the wounds of the
terrible conflict. Uncle Jim had taken much
interest in the colored race and their past
and present status. So he offered his services
to the Freedman's Bureau, organized to help
and protect the negro on their new path.
With his friend, Daniel H. Chamberlain, Uncle
Jim was put in charge of the work in South
Carolina, with headquarters at Charleston.
He had been there for some six months and
the charm of his personality was breaking
down the hostility and prejudice of the
Charleston people to the Northern Bureau
and its object, when he was drowned in
Charleston Harbor. Uncle Jim was an ex-
cellent oarsman, had been a member of one
of the college crews. One evening he, with
another young man and two girls, went for a
row in the Harbor. In some way the boat
upset. Uncle Jim, a fine swimmer, could
easily have saved himself but he went to the
rescue of one of the girls, she, terrified
4 6SP-

clutched him about the throat in such a way
that they both sank.

So ended a life which had not much more
than begun but which left only happy mem-
ories behind.

The youngest of this family of ten was our
dear Aunt Eliza, named, of course, Eliza
Maria for her mother. Coming as she did
after the older brothers and sisters were
practically grown up, she was naturally a
great pet, not only to her parents but to them
all. It was a wonder she was not completely
spoiled, but she had a very unselfish disposi-
tion which kept her sweet and unexacting.

She was extremely pretty. Slight, small,
graceful, dark hair, dark eyes and a brilliant
complexion. So much coloring in fact that
its naturalness was sometimes questioned
by the envious. She married, quite young,
Frank Seeley. He came of the Connecticut
family of Seeleys who had moved west. The
young couple went out to Des Moines, Iowa,
where Mr. Seeley expected to practise
law. Des Moines was in those days a frontier
community and the bride found herself in a
very different atmosphere from staid New
England. The Civil War was raging, and the
outlying western communities were in con-
stant danger of attack by guerrilla bands.

-41 69 p'

However, her stay there was of short dura-
tion. Soon after the birth of her son (Edward
B. Seeley, now of Berkeley, California) Mr.
Seeley died after an illness of typhoid fever.
So she returned to her father's house, a young
widow with a baby. Of course she was made
more than welcome and all that love could
do was done to console her.

Such an attractive widow could not remain
without suitors and Aunt Eliza's were nu-
merous. However, she seemed so determined
never to marry again that it came as a surprise
to everyone when after some twelve years
she married Mr. John Rice of an old Massa-
chusetts family. They had two children;
Elizabeth, who lives in Northampton, and
Professor John P. Rice (who married Ethel
Poole) of Buffalo University. They should
write of their mother's later life — how they
lived for some years in Santa Barbara and
then went abroad — how after Mr. Rice lost
most of his property Aunt Eliza bravely put
her shoulder to the wheel — how after his
death she returned to this country and became
the House-mother of Albright House at Smith.
Her years there were happy and useful and the
women who as girls came under her influence
never ceased to love her. She had two major
operations and years of suffering but was

always her cheery, amusing self. The last
time I saw her she said, "If you don't see me
again, dear, I want you all to remember that
I had a very happy life". Braver words were
never spoken.

Our grandfather had always said that he
should retire from active business at seventy
and give the rest of his life to his scientific
studies. This plan he virtually carried out,
though he was a few years beyond the seventy
mark when he felt entirely free. At eighty-six
he published a treatise on Aerodynamics,
which attracted much attention in the
scientific world on both sides of the ocean.
Lord Kelvin (then Sir William Thompson)
wrote my father, thinking from the name that
he was the author, that it was "a remarkable
performance". "It takes a young man like
yourself to have the courage to make such a
new path." My father wrote at once to say
that it was written by his father at eighty-
six! Sir William Thompson could hardly be-
lieve it possible but the British Association
of Science gave grandfather a gold medal for
his brilliant work. Only the other day I
saw it quoted in some scientific article on
flying problems. How grandfather would have
reveled in airplanes ! He had full twenty years
of the study he loved and these were happy
•»^( 71 ]**•

years, though he missed our grandmother
sadly. They celebrated their golden wedding
and in 1876 she passed on. At first we feared
grandfather would break under the blow, but
with his usual courage he rallied and never
allowed his own sorrovv^ to cloud the lives of
those about him.

So the life at 77 Elm Street went on. Aunt
Hettie took beautiful care of grandfather, the
children who lived in New Haven came al-
most every day to see him and there were long
visits from the families who lived aw^ay. It
was a beautiful old age, the sort you read
about but rarely see in real life. When the
end came it was no long illness, only two or
three days and then release. At over ninety
we ought to have been reconciled to have
him taken but we were not. We knew only
too well that never could the family life be
the same again.

How I hope, dear Pierre and Nancy and all
you other young people, how I hope I have
succeeded in giving you some idea of what
this side of your family was like — have made
you feel how loveable and how human they
were. They are all gone now, but they who
lived such lives of the spirit, who cared so
little for the material things, can never really
die. They had great sorrows, great losses,
-4 72 ];>

great cares, but through their indomitable
courage they rose above them, and through
their buoyancy and cheer they helped count-
less others on the road.

<73>

N. MANCHESTER
INDIANA