| May 9, 1836, Captain Amos Bartlett.
With the birds and blossoms making manifest the change of seasons, we miss the Captain more and more. Every day in winds and weather, he was seen driving or motoring along the roads, not always the well traveled pathways, but the obscure country roads that he knew so well. There he could live over again the years that had passed there among familiar surroundings that had changed as had his positions in life, the past was ever fresh in his memory. It was on these trips that many a knotty problem was solved, many an inspiration that would help out some difficulty so fast pressing in upon him of late years May be there lingered among the trees and running brooks, the spirits of other days when he drove among them with the men whose confidence he enjoyed, whose plans he was a part of. And who knows but he went among the old pathways to keep fresh in his memory the trusts that had been placed with him long before the world knew of them. The Captain was a man of great sentimentality, almost womanly in his attachment to old custom, old books and old friends. To those who knew him as a stern business man, almost brusque in manner, with an explosive nature, it is hard perhaps to recognize the hidden virtues of the individual. When but a lad he went into the woods for a tramp with a companion and his father. They brought home among other things a small elm stripling, which they planted in the door yard of his friends home. The tree grew and thrived, and as the years grew apace and their changed positions in life separated the two boys, the tree was always there as a reminder. When he heard of the friends death, the Captain planned to erect a stone to mark his grave, but changed his mind when he met the mans daughter, and instead gave to her a sumptuous wedding gift. But the tree was growing strongly, as strangers were living in the house, so that (it) was trimmed, a wall built around it, and its appearance greatly improved. There in the South Village across from his own home, still stands the old elm that speaks of Tim Callahan and his boyhood tramp with the Captain that May day long ago. Just such acts as this which served to keep the Captain from forgetting his friends, and will serve to keep his memory always fresh. Many there are who rest in the Garden of Sleep, who welcomed him, their good friend, when he joined them in the world beyond. Many there are who are left here who can ad their paeans of praise when his name is mentioned among us. During his last years when his health failed and the bitter strife which closed in upon him, never did he loose his dignity, and manfully stood by his post, to prove to the world that his life was an open record, and that all might know that he served his masters faithfully. The position which he attained in life was through his own efforts, not by favor or heritage, but from heard work, adaptability and many sacrifices. His friends were many as he was most democratic, and his last days were made cheerful, when the men and women who knew him from boyhood, who had worked with him, and under him, gave him always a friendly bow or stopped for a word while the carriage waited. That was assuring to him of their loyalty, that the Captain was always to them a man of honor, and they would serve him to the end. His obituary has been written, his name places upon the list of honored dead. His friends paid him tribute on his birthday, but on this, his birthday, let us stop in the passing to speak of the man who lived among us. “O band in the pine woods cease, |