Vernon, a
merchant.
"Surely 'Man proposes and God disposes.' I could fill a hundred pages,
but will not bore you. A half century has passed and you, a Protestant
minister, write me a kind, affectionate letter about my Catholic wife
from Mansfield, one of my family homes, where my mother, Mary Hoyt,
died, and where our Grandmother, Betsey Stoddard, lies buried. Oh, what
a flood of memories come up at the name of Betsey Stoddard,--daughter of
the Revd. Mr. Stoddard, who preached three times every Sunday, and as
often in between as he could cajole a congregation at ancient Woodbury,
Conn.,--who came down from Mansfield to Lancaster, three days' hard
journey to regulate the family of her son Judge Sherman, whose gentle
wife was as afraid of Grandma as any of us boys. She never spared the
rod or broom, but she had more square solid sense to the yard than any
woman I ever saw. From her Charles, John, and I inherit what little
sense we possess.
"Lancaster, Fairfield County, was our paternal home, Mansfield that of
Grandmother Stoddard and her daughter, Betsey Parker. There Charles and
John settled, and when in 1846 I went to California Mother also went
there, and there died in 1851.
"When a boy, once a year I had to drive my mother in an old 'dandy
wagon' on her annual visit. The distance was 75 miles, further than
Omaha is from San Francisco. We always took three days and stopped at
every house to gossip with the woman folks, and dispense medicines and
syrups to the sick, for in those days all had the chills or ague.
Pages:
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238