During Mr. Cleveland's residence in Nova Scotia three children were born to him, they being the last of a family of ten. All these survived the father's death. The widow removed to Salem, Massachusetts, and there made a future home for her children and herself. Aided by a relative, Judge Stephen Sewell, Mrs. Cleveland supported her family in comfort and respectability until the time of her death, in 1788. Aaron (5th), who was also the fifth of the children, was born in Haddam, Conn., February 3, 1744. He lived in Halifax with his parents from his sixth to his eleventh year. He became a member of the legislature of Connecticut in 1799. Subsequently he followed the early calling of his father and became a Congregational minister, and was known throughout New England as a statesman, an orator, and a wit. Twice married, this Aaron (5th) was the father of William, one of fifteen children. Said William was grandfather to President Cleveland.
Aaron was a poet. He never claimed to be such, and the few verses that he allowed to find their way into print were published anonymously. Many of them have been lost. The authorship of others was never given to the public. A few, however, of his poetic word-creations passed into the possession of his grandson, the Rev. Arthur Cleveland Coxe, of Hartford. Illustrating Mr. Cleveland's appreciation of personal merit and personal exertion over that of ancestry, we insert the following satirical composition from his pen:
THE FAMILY BLOOD: A BURLESQUE.
"Genus et proavos et quod non fecimus ipsi
Vix ea nostra voco."
Four kinds of blood flow in my veins,
And govern, each in turn, my brains.
From Cleveland, Porter, Sewell, Waters,
I had my parentage in quarters;
My fathers' fathers' names I know,
And further back no doubt might go.
Compound on compound from the flood,
Makes up my old ancestral blood;
But what my sires of old time were,
I neither wish to know, nor care.
Some might be wise—and others fools;
Some might be tyrants—others tools;
Some might have wealth, and others lack;
Some fair perchance—some almost black;
No matter what in days of yore,
Since now they're known and seen no more.
The name of Cleveland I must wear,
Which any fondling too might bear:
Porter, they say, from Scotland came,
A bonny Laird of ancient fame:
Sewell—of English derivation,
Perhaps was outlaw from the nation;
And Waters—Irish as I ween,
Straight—round-about from—Aberdeen!
Such is my heterogeneous blood,
A motley mixture, bad and good:
Each blood aspires to rule alone,
And each in turn ascends the throne,
Of its poor realm to wear the crown,
And reign till next one tears him down.
Each change must twist about my brains,
And move my tongue in different strains;
My mental powers are captive led,
As whim or wisdom rules the head;
My character no one can know,
For none I have while things are so;
I'm something—nothing, wise, or fool,
As suits the blood that haps to rule.
When Cleveland reigns I'm thought a wit
In giving words the funny hit;
And social glee and humorous song
Delight the fools that round me throng;
Till Porter puts on the crown,
And hauls the Cleveland banner down.
Now all is calm, discreet, and wise,
Whate'er I do, whate'er devise;
What common sence and wisdom teach,
Directs my actions, forms my speech;
The wise and good around me stay,
And laughing dunces hie away.
But soon, alas, this happy vein
May for some other change again!
Sewell perchance shall next bear rule:
I'm now a philosophic fool!
With Jefferson I correspond,
And sail with him, the stars beyond:
Each nerve and fibre of my brain,
To sense profound I nicely strain,
And thus uprise beyond the ken
Of common sence and common men.
Thus great am I, till Sewell's crown
About my ears comes tumbling down.
Wise fools may soar themselves above,
And dream in rapturous spheres they move;
But airy castles must recoil,
And such wild imagery spoil.
But who comes now? Alas! 'tis Waters,
Rushing and blustering to headquarters:
He knows nor manners nor decorum,
But elbows headlong to the forum;
Uncouth and odd, abrupt and bold,
Unteachable and uncontrolled,
Devoid of wisdom, sence, or wit,
Not one thing right he ever hit,
Unless, by accident, not skill,
He blundered right against his will.
And such am I! no transmigration
Can sink me to a lower station:
Come, Porter, come depose the clown,
And, once for all, possess the crown.
If aught, in Sewell's blood, you find
Will make your own still more refined;
If found in Cleveland's blood, a trait
To aid you in affairs of state;
Select such parts—and spurn the rest,
No more to rule in brain or breast.
Of Waters' blood expel the whole,
Let not one drop pollute my soul:
Then rule my head—and keep my heart
From folly, weakness, wit apart:
With all such gifts I glad dispense,
But only leave me—Common Sense.
As a wit, Mr. Cleveland's reputation has been immortalized by a few sentences that are frequently quoted, and which the writer furnished to the Editor's Drawer, Harper's Monthly Magazine, August, 1885. Mr. Cleveland was a Federalist of the school of Jay and Hamilton, whom he supported with more than ordinary zeal, and perhaps not without something of the prejudice which ranked all Jeffersonians with French fatalists and infidels. On horseback one day Mr. Cleveland was riding from Middletown to Durham; a little stream bounded the limits of the townships. He halted to water his horse; meanwhile a young man, having come from the opposite direction, drew rein so suddenly in the midst of the brook as to render the water unfit to drink.
"Good-morning, Mr. Minister," said the youth.
"Good-morning, Mr. Democrat," replied the reverend gentleman.
"And pray why do you take me for a Democrat?" queried the young man.
"Pray why did you take me for a minister?" rejoined Mr. Cleveland.
"Oh," said the fellow, "that is plain enough—by your dress."