“Mr. Editor—The following lines were written by a lady of this village, and have been heretofore published, but on reading in your last paper the interesting extract relating to the late William Wood, Esq., it was suggested that they be again published, not only for their merit, but also to keep alive the memory of one who has done so much to ornament our village.

When first on this stage of existence we come Blind, deaf, puny, helpless, but not, alas, dumb, What can please us, and soothe us, and make us sleep good? To be rocked in a cradle;—and cradles are wood. When older we grow, and we enter the schools Where masters break rulers o’er boys who break rules, What can curb and restrain and make laws understood But the birch-twig and ferule?—and both are of wood. When old age—second childhood, takes vigor away, And we totter along toward our home in the clay, What can aid us to stand as in manhood we stood But our tried, trusty staff?—and the staff is of wood. And when from this stage of existence we go, And death drops the curtain on all scenes below, In our coffins we rest, while for worms we are food, And our last sleeping place, like our first, is of wood. Then honor to wood! fresh and strong may it grow, ’Though winter has silvered its summit with snow; Embowered in its shade long our village has stood; She’d scarce be Canandaigua if stripped of her Wood.

Stanza added after the death of Mr. Wood

The sad time is come; she is stript of her Wood, ’Though the trees that he planted still stand where they stood, Still with storms they can wrestle with arms stout and brave; Still they wave o’er our dwellings—they droop o’er his grave! Alas! that the life of the cherished and good Is more frail and more brief than the trees of the wood!

1858

February 24, 1858.—The boarders at the Seminary had some tableaux last evening and invited a great many from the village. As we went in with the crowd, we heard some one say, “Are they going to have tableaux? Well, I thought I smelt them!” They were splendid. Mr. Chubbuck was in nearly all of them. The most beautiful one was Abraham offering up Isaac. Mr. Chubbuck was Abraham and Sarah Ripley was Isaac. After the tableaux they acted a charade. The word was “Masterpiece.” It was fine. After the audience got half way out of the chapel Mr. Richards announced “The Belle of the Evening.” The curtain rose and every one rushed back, expecting to see a young lady dressed in the height of fashion, when immediately the Seminary bell rang! Mr. Blessner’s scholars gave all the music and he stamped so, beating time, it almost drowned the music. Some one suggested a bread and milk poultice for his foot. Anna has been taking part in some private theatricals. The play is in contrast to “The Spirit of ’76” and the idea carried out is that the men should stay at home and rock the cradles and the women should take the rostrum. Grandmother was rather opposed to the idea, but every one wanted Anna to take the part of leading lady, so she consented. She even helped Anna make her bloomer suit and sewed on the braid for trimming on the skirt herself. She did not know that Anna’s opening sentence was, “How are you, sir? Cigar, please!” It was acted at Mrs. John Bates’ house on Gibson Street and was a great success, but when they decided to repeat it another evening Grandmother told Anna she must choose between going on the stage and living with her Grandmother, so Anna gave it up and some one else took her part.

March.—There is a great deal said about spirits nowadays and a lot of us girls went into one of the recitation rooms after school to-night and had a spiritual seance. We sat around Mr. Chubbuck’s table and put our hands on it and it moved around and stood on two legs and sometimes on one. I thought the girls helped it but they said they didn’t. We heard some loud raps, too, but they sounded very earthly to me. Eliza Burns, one of the boarders, told us if we would hold our breath we could pick up one of the girls from the floor and raise her up over our heads with one finger of each hand, if the girl held her breath, too. We tried it with Anna and did it, but we had such hard work to keep from laughing I expected we would drop her. There is nothing very spirituelle about any of us. I told Grandmother and she said we reminded her of Jemima Wilkinson, who told all her followers that the world was to come to an end on a certain day and they should all be dressed in white and get up on the roofs of the houses and be prepared to ascend and meet the Lord in the air. I asked Grandmother what she said when nothing happened and she said she told them it was because they did not have faith enough. If they had, everything would have happened just as she said. Grandmother says that one day at a time has always been enough for her and that to-morrow will take care of the things of itself.

May, 1858.—Several of us girls went up into the top of the new Court House to-day as far as the workmen would allow us. We got a splendid view of the lake and of all the country round. Abbie Clark climbed up on a beam and recited part of Alexander Selkirk’s soliloquy:

“I’m monarch of all I survey, My rights there are none to dispute: From the center, all round to the sea, I’m lord of the fowl and brute.”