The overseer of the poor in our little village was in his private capacity a landlord. A certain family failing to pay their rent, he turned them out of doors in the middle of winter. They camped out on a piazza until they could find other quarters. My husband was so indignant that at the next election he ran for the office, and was duly elected. Quite a little work but no salary was attached to it. The four dollars which he received were presumably for expenses.
His friends amused themselves with guying the new overseer of the poor by sending tramps to call on him. I remember only one real pauper with whom he had to deal—a respectable old woman no longer able to maintain herself. There was outside aid to be given, notably to the family of a man in jail.
At the instigation of the owner, a woman, he had set fire to her house, and was caught in the act. When the trial came she had her children in court, and was let off. S—— had children, also, but they were at home. Hence he was sent to prison. He no doubt deserved it, but, as the civil authorities made no provision for the maintenance of his family, they had a hard time to get along. We realized the terrible injustice of taking away the breadwinner and expecting his wretched wife and children to care for themselves without outside assistance.
There were, when we came to Scotch Plains, a Baptist and a Methodist church, and a struggling little Episcopal mission. My husband and I decided to throw in our fortunes with the last named. We liked the clergyman in charge, Rev. Charles L. Sykes, very much, and we both had a tendency to take the part of the under dog. Mr. Sykes’ talents qualified him to occupy a more important position, but clergyman’s sore throat obliged him to choose a small cure. He was one of the most devout men that I have ever known. He did not read nor recite prayers, like most ministers. When he prayed we felt that his soul was lifted up to God. His wife was a woman of ability, cheery and courageous; we soon became great friends.
When the mission services were temporarily discontinued, we invited Mr. Sykes to deliver a series of parlor lectures. Miss Mead and I arranged the course, our friends and neighbors subscribing and giving their parlors. We were only able to give a small fee for the talks, but Mr. and Mrs. Sykes were so fond of literature that the preparation of the lectures was a labor of love. By and by a pretty little stone church was built for the mission. Unfortunately, the expense of the building was greater than the small congregation could afford, and for years there was a desperate struggle with a debt, which was finally paid off. My husband was too wise to advise this injudicious outlay, but he served for some years as a vestryman.
The sister who had been my mate and dear companion from early childhood, Julia Romana Anagnos, died of typhoid fever in March, 1886.
The Metaphysical Club, of which she was the founder and president, published a little volume containing the tributes to her memory. The following verses are by Dr. T. W. Parsons.
GIULIA ROMANA ANAGNOS
Giulia Romana! how thy trembling beauty,
That oft would shudder at one breath of praise,