him forget the young lady, for he says: “She is never out of my mind, though it seems Fortune has not been so favorable as to allot us to the possession of each other in this short transitory life, or if she has, parents seem to clash. … I wish I had time to write you fully on a subject that floats in my head, the last when I go to bed and the first when I awake, but must omit it till a future opportunity.”
After the war was over and the country had become settled, Major Jones, with his body servant, journeyed on horseback from his Virginia home to New Milford; but the journey was in vain, and he went sorrowfully home alone. Pretty Temmie Taylor seems not to have been inconsolable, for she was happily married later to the Hon. Nicholas Masters of this place. Mrs. Carr still cherishes the ring and locket given her grandmother by the earlier lover; and when we touched the ancient tokens, the long years fell away, and we, too, seemed to live in the love story of olden time.
New Milford was on one of the regular post roads from Philadelphia to Boston, and, if the old highways could speak, they might tell many stories of distinguished men who have travelled over them. We read in the letters of John Adams of his going through this town on his way to the Congress in Philadelphia. During the war there was frequent passing through the place of both British and Continental troops.
When the war was over there was still further expression of the patriotic sentiments of the people in a vote “that none of those persons who have voluntarily gone over and joined the enemy, shall be suffered to abide and continue in the town during the present situation of our public affairs.” A committee was appointed to carry out these resolutions, with the result that several never came back, and their lands were confiscated by the State.
We learn of much pleasant social life in the peaceful days following the war. There were the “assemblies.” An invitation card for one of these functions is for “Friday Evening, July third next, at six o’clock.” What would the young people of our day think of that? Another is for a “Quarter Ball, at Mr. G. Booth’s Assembly Room, on June 3d at three o’clock, P. M.”! In winter there were merry sleighing parties to neighboring towns. Often large companies in twenty or thirty sleighs enjoyed an early supper together, getting safely home before ten o’clock.
Afternoon teas were frequent; not like yours, dear up-to-date woman of to-day, but “tea-drinkings,” where the women took their knitting work and spent long afternoons in visiting. Mrs. Nathaniel Taylor had on one occasion such a company. The parson, in his study overhead, was greatly interested in the fragments of conversation that floated up to him. Each woman had some exciting tale of her domestic experiences to relate. One quiet sister, unable to hold her own in the babel of tongues, tried again and again to tell her story, beginning, “My goose——.” But each time the quiet voice was drowned, and the story never proceeded further.
When good Parson Taylor was summoned to the tea table he said: “Ladies, I have been so interested in your conversation, I thought it worth preserving. So I wrote it down and will read it to you.” Great was the amusement when he read the persistent efforts of their friend to tell the story of “My Goose.” After all, human nature is much the same in all generations.
The town enjoyed in the old days quite a reputation for good living, and many were the notable feasts cooked over the great fireplaces and in the huge brick ovens before the days of stoves and ranges. What an amount of seasoned hickory logs went up the chimney in smoke to cook them! Forty cords of wood, the record gives, as one item of the minister’s salary for the year.
The means of transportation in early times furnished one of the most serious problems. The Housatonic Railroad was not completed till 1840. Before this, all transportation of produce and merchandise was by wagons to Bridgeport, and thence by sloop to New York. The mail also came in much the same way, being brought here from Bridgeport by a carrier on horseback. Our old friend, the late Colonel Wm. J. Starr, remembered the postman of his childhood days, who announced his arrival by shouting as he rode, “News! News! Some lies and some trues!”
We owe to Colonel Starr a vivid picture of the Main Street of the village nearly a century ago, as he recalled it. It is not an agreeable picture. Pigs were kept in the street, and before almost every house was a long trough, where twice a day they were fed. We can hardly wonder that fevers broke out mysteriously. Geese also roamed at will, and mischievous youths were known to play a practical joke on some unpopular man by penning all the geese in the village into his front porch during the night.
Many of the front yards were adorned with huge wood-piles. A part of the street was a swamp, through which ran a crooked water course that, after a shower, left pools of mud, in which pigs and cattle cooled themselves, for “The Green” was also a cattle pasture. The story is told of a dignified gentleman of the old school, who, dressed in immaculate white on a summer Sunday, was hastening across “The Green” to church, making his way among the puddles, when a large hog, frightened from a pool, ran violently against him. He had an unsought ride on its back across the street, and was deposited in a puddle, in full view of the waiting congregation gathered on the church steps.
In 1838 the open-paved watercourse through “The Green” was constructed and was regarded as a grand improvement.
The Village Improvement Society as organized in 1871,
and, a little later, under its auspices, “The Green” was put in its present attractive condition, a covered brick sewer being laid to replace the open-paved watercourse which previously ran through the center of the street. This was accomplished on the initiative, and largely though the instrumentality, of Mr. and Mrs. William D. Black, whose efforts and energies were always directed for the benefit of the village. A large and successful fair to raise money for this purpose was held in a tent on “The Green” in July, 1872, and the residents of Main Street accepted a voluntary assessment of a large amount to perfect the work.
A familiar and welcome sight of long ago was the village doctor on horseback with his saddlebags. He was the friend of everyone, beloved and venerated next to the minister. His store of huge pills and herbs and simples carried healing and comfort to all the countryside. Dr. Jehiel Williams was the last of these old-time doctors in New Milford. He is still remembered by many with reverent tenderness. His kindness knew no bounds, and his hearty laugh carried cheer wherever he went. A cautious man he was. Even his most cherished opinions were always prefaced with “I ’most guess.” He was cautious also in his remedies, and the overworked woman of this busy age would hardly accept his cure for nerves and sleeplessness: “Take a hop, put it in a teacup and fill the cup with hot water. Drink it at night and I ’most guess you will feel better.” It was whispered that his huge pills were often made of bread, when he felt none were needed.
He rode up and down the hills for a lifetime, charging twenty-five cents for a visit, fifty cents when the journey was long—afterwards sixty-two and a half cents! On one occasion he rode five miles to find that his patient had been already relieved by some housewife’s simple remedy. He declined any fee, merely saying, “What I have learned in this cure is worth far more to me than the trouble of coming.”
He was friend and helper to three generations, and when, at last, full of years and honors, he went to his well-earned rest, every household of the town mourned his departure.
Slavery existed here, as elsewhere in New England, in the first century of the town. A written advertisement for a runaway slave, offering a reward for his capture, and signed, “Gideon Treat, New Milford, September, 1774,” is still in existence. It sounds strange enough to twentieth century ears. Judging from
