110. JAMES⁶ SEYMOUR (John⁵, John⁴, John³, John², Richard¹), born at West Hartford, Conn., 12 May 1751, died there 28 Feb. 1814; married Jan. 1795, HANNAH COLLINS, born 29 Jan. 1769, died at West Hartford, 29 Oct. 1848, daughter of Seth and Lucy (Sedgwick).

He served as a naval officer in the Revolution; was in fifteen engagements with British vessels; was three times taken prisoner and once escaped from the prison ship in New York. But according to his widow's pension application he was a corporal; and received a bullet through his hat in the battle of Long Island.

The will of James Seymour of Hartford, dated 18 May 1810, proved 21 Mar. 1814, named wife Hannah and only child Harvey Seymour, now about thirteen years old. The inventory amounted to $4656.01.

The family of HARVEY⁷ SEYMOUR belonged to the literary circle in Hartford which acclaimed Lydia H. Sigourney as its poetic genius. His second wife had no children, and made many public bequests in her will. She left $2,000 for a window in Center Church, Hartford, in memory of her first husband, Harvey Seymour; $1,000 for the poor of New London; $1,000 for a drinking fountain in New London; and $5,000 to St. James' Episcopal Church, New London. Miss Sigourney's lines to her friend, the first Mrs. Seymour, follow:

MRS. REBECCA H. SEYMOUR
Wife of Harvey Seymour
Died, Sunday, May. 5th, 1861

She found a painless avenue to make
Her great transition from a world of care
To one of rest.

It was the Sabbath day,
And beautiful with smile of vernal sun
And the up-rising fragrance from the earth,
And all that soothing quietude which links
The consecrated season unto Him
Who bade the creatures He had made, revere
And keep it holy. From her fair abode,
Lovely with earthly flowers, she took her way
The second time unto the House of God,
Side by side with her life's chosen friend
Walked cheerfully.

Within those hallowed courts,
Where holds the soul communion with its Sire,
She listening sate.

Yet then she leaned her head
Upon her husband's shoulder, and unmarked
By one distorted feature, by the loss
Or blanching of the rose-tint on her cheek,
Or even by the quivering of a lip
Rose to a more perfect worship.

It might seem
As if a sacred Temple, purified
By prayer and praises, were a place sublime,
Of fitting sanctity, wherein to hear
That inexpressive call which summoneth
The ready spirit upward.

But the change
In her delightful home, what words can tell?
The shock and contrast, when a mind so skilled
With ardor and efficiency to fill
Each post of woman's duty and of love
Vanished from all its daily ministries,
And the lone daughter found the guiding voice
Silent forevermore.

Her's was the heart
For an unswerving friendship, warm and true
And self-forgetful; her's the liberal hand
For those who pine in cells of poverty;
The knowledge of their state, the will to aid,
The thought that cared for them, the alms that blest.
Hence, tears o'er rugged cheeks fell fast for her,
And the old white haired pensioner knelt down
Beside her lifeless clay, and crossed himself,
Pouring his desolate prayer; for her kind heart
Saw in the creed of different sects no bar
To charity, but in their time of need
Held all as brethren.

'Twas a pleasant spot,
Amid fresh verdure, where they lay her down,
While the young plants that on a dear one's grave
Took summer rooting, seemed in haste to reach
Their yet incipient buds and tendrils green
To broider her turf-pillow.

Sleep in peace,
Ye, whom the ties of nature closely bound,
And Death disparted for a little while,
Mother and Daughter, sleep ye here in peace,
Your forms engraven deep on loving hearts,
As with a diamond point, till memory fades.

L. H. Sigourney
Hartford, May 10th, 1861

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