Authors and Writers Associated with Morristown Part 9

The "Crown Prince Gun." Captured from the British at Springfield. Used as an alarm gun at Short Hills to end of Revolutionary War. Given in charge by General Benoni Hathaway to Colonel Wm. Brittin on the last training at Morristown, and by his son, Wm. Jackson Brittin, with the consent of the public authorities, presented to the a.s.sociation in the year 1890.]

[Footnote D: The list of officers of the Revolutionary army mentioned in the poem is taken from a printed placard which hangs in the hall of the Headquarters.]

[Footnote E: Knox is called a roaring chief because when crossing the Delaware with Was.h.i.+ngton his "stentorian lungs" did good service in keeping the army together.]

[Footnote F: The reference to the fiddlers is based upon an old subscription paper for defraying the expenses of a "Dancing a.s.sembly,"

signed by several persons, among them Nathaniel Greene and H. Knox, each $400, PAID.

This paper may be seen in the collection made by Mrs. J. W. Roberts.]

Mrs. Julia R. Cutler.

Mrs. Cutler's graceful pen has already contributed to this volume the sketch of Mrs. Mary Lee Demarest and also another to follow of Mrs. Julia McNair Wright. Her pen has been busy at occasional intervals from girlhood, when as a school-girl her essays were, as a rule, selected and read aloud in the chapel, on Friday afternoons, and a poem securing the gold medal crowned the success.

Living since her marriage, in the old historic house of Mr. Cutler's great-grandfather, the Hon. Silas Condict, fearless patriot of the Revolution, and President of the Council of Safety during the whole of that period that "tried men's souls", it is little wonder that the traditions of '76 clinging about the spot should nurture and develop the poetic spirit of the girl. It was in 1799, after Mr. Condict's return from Congress that he built the present house familiar to us all, but the old house stands near by, full of the most interesting stories and traditions of revolutionary days.

Mrs. Cutler has written many articles, often by request, for papers or magazines, and verses prompted by circ.u.mstances or surroundings, or composed when strongly impressed upon an especial subject.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, 1791,

SESSION HOUSE AND MANSE.

MORRIS COUNTY SOLDIER'S MONUMENT, 1871.]

Before us lies a lovely poem of childhood, ent.i.tled "Childish Faith", founded on fact, but we select from the many poems of Mrs. Cutler, the Centennial Poem given below and written on the occasion of the Centennial of the old First Church.

CENTENNIAL FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH.

The moon s.h.i.+nes brightly down, o'er hill and dale As it shone down, One Hundred years ago, On these same scenes. The stars look down from Heaven As they did then, as calm, serene, and bright-- Fit emblems of the G.o.d, who changes not.

Only in him can we find sure repose 'Mid change, decay and death, who is the same To-day as yesterday, forevermore.

Through the clear air peal forth the silvery notes, Of thy old Bell, thou venerable pile, Thou dear old Church, whose birthday rare, We come to celebrate with tender love.

One Hundred years! How long; and yet, how short When counted with the centuries of the past That help to make the ages of the world: How long when measured by our daily cares, The joys, the sorrows that these years have brought To us and ours. "Our fathers, where are they?"

The men of strength, one hundred years ago, As full of courage, purpose, will, as we, Have gone to join the "innumerable throng"

That wors.h.i.+p in the Father's House above.

Their children, girls and boys, like the fair flowers, Have blossomed, faded, and then pa.s.sed away, Leaving their children and grandchildren, too, To fill their places, take their part in life.

How oft, dear Church, these walls have heard the vows That bound two hearts in one. How oft the tread Of those that bore the sainted dead to rest.

How oft the voices, soft and low, of those Who, trusting in a covenant-keeping G.o.d Gave here their little ones to G.o.d. A faith Which He has blessed, as thou canst truly tell, In generations past, and will in days to come.

How many servants of the most high G.o.d, Beneath thy roof have uttered words divine, Taught by the Spirit, leading souls to Christ And reaping, even here, their great reward.

Many of these have entered into rest Such as remains for those who love the Lord.

Others to-day, have gathered here to tell What G.o.d has done in years gone by, and bear Glad testimony to the truth, that in this place His name has honored been.--'Tis sad to say Farewell. But 'tis decreed, that thou must go.

Time levels all; and it will lay thee low.

But o'er thy dust full many a tear shall fall, And many a prayer ascend, that the true G.o.d, Our Father's G.o.d, will, with their children dwell, And that the stately pile which soon shall rise, Where now, thou art, a monument shall be Of generations past, recording all The truth and mercies of a loving G.o.d.

Oct. 14th, 1891.

Miss Frances Bell Coursen.

The rhythmic, airy verses of Miss Coursen, full of the spirit of trees, flowers, the clouds, the winds and the insinuating and lovely sounds of nature, charm us into writing the author down as one of Morristown's young poets. The verses have attractive t.i.tles which in themselves suggest to us musical thoughts, such as "To the Winds in January"; "June Roses"; "In the Fields"; and "What the Katydids Say". We quote the latter for its bright beauty.

WHAT THE KATYDIDS SAY.

"Katy did it!" "Katy didn't!"

Doesn't Katy wish she had?

"Katy did!" that sounds so pleasant, "Katy didn't" sounds so bad.

Katy didn't--lazy Katy, Didn't do her lessons well?

Didn't set her st.i.tches nicely?

Didn't do what? Who can tell?

But the livelong autumn evening Sounds from every bush and tree, So that all the world can hear it, "Katy didn't" oh dear me!

Who would like to hear forever Of the things they hadn't done In shrill chorus, sounding nightly, From the setting of the sun.

But again, who wouldn't like it If they every night could hear, "Yes she did it, Katy did it", Sounding for them loud and clear?

So if you've an "awful lesson", Or "a horrid seam to sew", Just you stop and think a minute, Don't decide to "let it go".

In the evening, if you listen, All the Katydids will say "Yes she did it, did it, did it!"

Or, "she didn't". Now which way?

Miss Isabel Stone.

Miss Stone, long a resident of Morristown, has published many poems in prominent journals and magazines, also stories, but always under an a.s.sumed name. She will take a place in another group, that of _Novelists and Story-Writers_. She is represented here by her poem on "Easter Thoughts".

EASTER THOUGHTS.

Sometimes within our hearts, the good lies dead, Slain by untoward circ.u.mstances, or by our own free will, And through the world we walk with bowed head; Or with our senses blinded to our choice, Thinking that "good is evil--evil good;"

Or, with determined pride to still the voice That whispers of a "Resurrection morn."

This is that morn--the resurrection hour Of all the good that has within us died, The hour to throw aside with pa.s.sionate force The cruel bonds of wrong and blindness--pride-- And rise unto a level high of power, Of strength--of purity--while those we love rejoice With "clouds of angel witnesses" above, And all the dear ones, who before have gone.

And we ascend, in the triumphant joy And peace, and rapture of a changed self That now transfigured stands--no more the toy Of circ.u.mstance--or pride, or sin, to blight-- Until we reach sublimest heights-- And stand erect, eyes fixed upon the Right-- Strong in the strength that wills all wrong to still, Will--pointing upwards to th' ascended Lord, Bless, aye, thrice bless, this fair, sweet Easter Dawn.

Rev. G. Dougla.s.s Brewerton.

The Rev. Mr. Brewerton was pastor of the Baptist Church in Morristown in 1861, and during the early years of our Civil War. He was very patriotic and public-spirited and founded a Company of boy Zouaves in the town, which is well remembered, for at that time the war-spirit was the order of the day. He wrote a number of poems which were published in the Morristown papers and others. Of these, the following is one, published January 30, 1861.

OUR SOLDIERS WITH OUR SAILORS STAND.

A NATIONAL SONG

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE VOLUNTEERS OF BOTH SERVICES, BY ONE WHO ONCE WORE THE UNIFORM OF THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT.

Our soldiers with our sailors stand, A bulwark firm and true, To guard the banner of our land, The Red, the White, the Blue.