Solomon Hoxie : a biography

Introduction

Whenever I think back upon my association with Solomon Hoxie, some of the words that Tennyson wrote as he thought of his lost friend, Arthur Hallam, come fittingly to mind :

"How pure at heart and sound in head, With what divine affection bold Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead."

With most of us, affection can chiefly be spoken of as expressed for certain persons only, or at most for the comparatively small circle that we best know and that we suppose best know us. Anything beyond this, like the people outside ancient Palestine, we are apt to look upon as mere Gentiles, with whom we need have only necessary dealing.

But with Solomon Hoxie the case was different. All during the nearly forty years that I knew him, he was a constant inspiration to greater breadth of sympathy and deeper interest in universal welfare, such as I have felt from scarcely any other person. Not alone his family and friends and business acquaintance; not alone the church or political party with which he might be acting; not alone the country that gave him birth and home and opportunity, filled the measure of his affection for mankind. The whole world, rich and poor alike, fortunate and outcast, honest men and rogues, fellow partisans and opponents, righteous men and women and wallowers in sin and wreakers of vengeance — all had a place not only in his hope that they would eventually fulfill their true mission on earth, but in an affectionate regard that prompted always to his doing what he could to help them to their eternal realization, as well. How long ago, at first — how often since — I have heard him read or quote from the Gospel and letters of St. John the definition of God as love, and the injunctions to love our fellows as the prerequisites to heavenly companionship. How often, too, have I heard him mellow his voice as he tried to express the softening of his heart toward those who had wronged himself, or were wronging others. "God is love," was no mere theological definition, one among many others, with him; it was a breath from the divine All-Father himself, a living force, a compensatory joy, an enticing and invigorating hope, a resurrection before death — it was the very Life of Life to Solomon Hoxie, to be thought upon, expressed in every prayer, taken by the hand at every crisis, leaned upon through every trial and radiated everywhere unto the ends of the earth. When, during the time that he was trying to rid his neighborhood of a pestiferous saloon, someone attacked him maliciously to his bodily hurt, he was heard to say of his assailant: "He was crazed — he didn't mean to hurt me." And it was not very long after, that he might be found on the street corner any evening fellowshipping with the Salvation Army in loving endeavor to save those who were under the sway of intemperance and kindred vices.

Solomon Hoxie's soul simply could not hate even those that hurt him, much less attempt to hurt them in return. He could explain away, excuse and forgive everything, even while his heart was sinking and tears would appear. In all his relations he was a magnificent exemplar of the doctrine that "He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him."

Sturdily through all his declining years did Solomon Hoxie continue to live in generous answer to the revelation, "Whoso hath this world's good at heart and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?" Whether cultivating vacant lots in Chicago and dispensing their produce to whomsoever needed it, or bending his back to weed the gardens of helpless neighbors in Edmeston; whether preaching in the church near his ancestral home or laying the foundations of the recently organized one in Yorkville ; whether buying or selling, or advising or working or visiting, you could always be sure of his right feeling heart, his sound judgment, his instructed conscience and his unswerving devotion to the right as he might see it at the time. Neighbor might misunderstand and laugh at or revile him, Prohibitionist or Abolitionist might differ seriously with him as to aim or method, orthodox church people might condemn his liberalism, or familiar friend might criticise or turn from him; he would hold on to his aims and course until the moment when he could really see clearly and then, if advisable, act accordingly. Much as he loved his friends and much as he "loved approbation," as he once said to me, clear as some altruistic course might appear and hopeful as he might be of the triumphant outcome of any cause in which he might be interested; yet he could never be cribbed within limits that could not be extended whenever the "light" should indicate that expansion or variation should be entered boldly upon. Politically, socially, religiously, he was thus ever growing into the universality that is the disgust of narrow partisans and the perplexity and confounding of shallow conservatives everywhere.

Mr. Hoxie never trusted in his own intuitions alone, or to instruction that he had once received as authoritative. He always sought further light, read new discoveries and discussions, and latterly turned to Royce and James and Bergson, as he had formerly turned to Bushnell and Parker and Martineau and Beecher, and read and reflected and prayed until whatever of light such expositors had appeared to his hospitable soul and helped him on his developmental way. A favorite book, one by Henry M. Alden, entitled "God in His World," he read to the wearing out of at least three copies, every one of which is written all over with his questions and comments and acquiescences. Solomon Hoxie did not stop growing at some premature stage, as is the case with so many of us. His soul and heart were ever responsive to the spirit within. With him God was always in his world, in humanity not alone, but in the cattle upon a thousand hills, in all the operations of nature, in the flowers he loved to cultivate and generously give away, in the yearnings of his own soul, in all genuine poetry from Bryant to Browning as well as in all the strifes and commotions and horrors that so perplexed and depressed him. As a child of God he would give his all — to friends, to neighbors, to missions of every sort, to sufferers over seas, to unfortunates at home, in order that his Father's love might be made manifest as fully as possible unto men.

The greatest of all Christian virtues, charity, came at last to possess his mind and heart even to its fullest capability.

And there is no wonder that, as the days of his pilgrimage grew less in number, his soul already had arisen so that it lived complacently in touch with the Divine Source of his great love for humanity. "God bless you all," and soon after, "I love you all," were almost his last words. His only abiding sorrow seemed fully expressed in, "I am so tired of war," and again in, "Cry out against this war, O my people !" And as he seemingly looked over into his land of promise, how expressive of his whole life — its ambitions, its endeavors, its hopes and now its nearby realizations — was this : "Open the window, I want to see Jesus and Lincoln, when they pass by." Yes; Jesus, the ideal Son of God, and Abraham Lincoln, the ideal son of his own kind, these two constituted the embodiment of the creed and polity that had commended themselves unreservedly to the mind and heart of Solomon Hoxie. And as I looked upon his face, reposeful in death, there came to mind what I would put on his monument in the gold that could never tarnish: Here lies god's good man!

Smith Baker.

Chapter I Childhood

"To be human; to give, not take; to serve, not rule; to nourish, not destroy; to help, not crush, if need be to die, not live." This motto of Charles Kingsley, written in many of Solomon Hoxie's books, seemed to him to express the ideal of useful living, and well did he exemplify it in his life. To give, to serve, to nourish, to help, these were the purposes of his life, the key to his every thought and act. It was this spirit of service that so endeared him to all who knew him best and any interest that may attach to the story of his long life is due, not to varied or unusual incident, but to this actuating motive of unselfish love.

In Central New York, in the little town of Brookfield, on July 29, 1829, was born Solomon Hoxie. He was of English descent and his earliest paternal progenitor, Lodowick Hoxie, settled in New England about the year 1650. "This first known ancestor," says Solomon, "established himself in Sandwich, Colony of Plymouth, along the shores of Cape Cod Harbor. His motives in coming to this country were undoubtedly the same as those of other settlers of that locality at that time, a desire for freedom of religious thought and worship. From the form of the birth records of his children, he was thought to have held to the Quaker faith and the fact that many of his descendants were Quakers strengthens this belief. Such being the case, he must have passed through that period of severe trial, the persecution of the Quakers which began in the colony in 1655, and which resulted in the death of several of those deeply conscientious, and harmless religionists."

The descendants of Lodowick Hoxie and of his wife, Mary Presbury, are now to be found in every State in the Union,, and engaged in nearly every vocation in life. But, wherever they are located or whatever their occupations or professions, these descendants seem to have inherited and maintained the honesty, courage, independence and conscientiousness which appear to have characterised their first mother and father amidst those troublesome times in the early settlements of New England.

Stephen Hoxie, the paternal great-grandfather of the subject of this sketch and the forebear whom he is said to have most strongly resembled, moved from Rhode Island, about 1792, by means of ox teams, to a spot in central New York on the banks of ithe picturesque Unadilla, now known as Leonardsville. At that period few settlements had been made in the central or western part of the state. The location chosen by Stephen was then almost an unbroken wilderness, but he was a man of force and ability, well able to cope with the exigencies of a pioneer life.

"Stephen," says Solomon, "never sought office or political preferment of any kind but he was chosen a member of the state convention that was held in Albany in October, 1801, pursuant to an act of the Legislature, to settle the controversy which had arisen regarding the relative powers of the Governor and Council of Appointments respecting nominations for office, and to consider the expediency of altering the Constitution of the State. The president of that convention was Aaron Burr. It was composed of 107 members, among whom were DeWitt Clinton and Daniel Tompkins, both of whom were afterwards governors of the state. He was also chosen a member of the Assembly of New York State for two terms, in 1803 and 1804. He was an influential and consistent adherent of the Society of Friends or Quakers. His home was not only a home for himself and his children, but it was a home for his friends as well and a refuge for all who were worthy and who needed his help. He lived on the spot first chosen for that home to celebrate his one hundred and first birthday." Solomon Hoxie remembered his great-grandfather, Stephen, vividly, and many were his reminiscences of the old gentleman.

Elizabeth Tift, the wife of Stephen, was no less able and forceful than her husband. She was conceded to be a woman of unusual character and attainments, long known in the country districts around about her home, as an earnest expounder of the Quaker faith, a Quaker preacher of no mean ability.

Stephen Hoxie's fourth son, Solomon, in honor of whom the subject of this sketch received his name, which had been handed down from generation to generation for many years, married Lois Brown. Neither he nor his wife was distinguished for aggressiveness or force of character, but rather for mildness and sweetness of disposition.

Nathan Brown, the eldest of the nine children of Solomon and Lois, and the father of the Solomon of our story, inherited the qualities of his parents, rather than of his grandparents. A prominent characteristic was his keen sense of humor. Apropos of this trait of his father's, Solomon was wont to say in later years : "I can remember numerous instances when it flooded over all barriers and made the poor environment of our lives glow with brightness." He was liked and respected by all with whom he came in contact and was known through life as a kindly neighbor, an unselfish friend, a devoted husband and a gentle and unexacting parent. He was an industrious man, by trade a farmer, but he was a versatile man also, much skilled in the handling of tools and doing the work of shoemaker and carpenter with the ease of a trained craftsman, but he had little worldly wisdom and barely succeeded in gaining a meagre competency for the maintenance of his family.

On the maternal side, Solomon Hoxie was scarcely less fortunate than he was in the forebears of his father. Andrew and Rachel Hubbard Langworthy were the founders of his mother's family in America. They, too, possessed the sturdy virtues of the successful pioneer. They, too, migrated from England about the middle of the seventeenth century and they also made their first home in the new world in New England. The surname, Langworthy, was originally spelled Longworthy in the mother country, where it had been bestowed upon a remote member of the family by some English ruler in recognition of his long and faithful service to king and country.

Solomon Hoxie's maternal grandmother, Abigail Langworthy, loomed large in his memories of childhood. He often referred to her, even in old age, as a potent influence for good in his early life and as a character possessed in no small degree of the virtues of patience, strength and gentleness.

Solomon's mother, Eliza Langworthy, was an aspiring, temperamental creature, with a highly developed nervous organization, not well equipped physically or mentally for the rugged life of privation which was the portion of most members of large families inhabiting the country districts of the newly settled sections of New York State. Her early marriage, the birth of her three children and the untimely death of the eldest, the responsibilities, hardships and duties incident to her husband's poverty and to their endeavor to wrest a subsistence from the soil, together with the lack of a naturally hopeful and elastic disposition, conspired to undermine her sensitive organization and she gradually sank into a state of chronic nervous invalidism from which she never recuperated during her long life.

Brookfield, the earliest home of this pair and the birthplace of Solomon, was the typical country village of nearly a century ago. It had been largely settled by New England colonists and most of its inhabitants preserved the sturdy qualities and the intellectual and religious traditions of their forefathers. The community was made up largely of self-respecting tillers of the soil who lived independently upon their own land. The village church and school formed the center round which revolved the social life, while the town meetings, or company training days, as they were called, made the village a political as well as a social center.

But this desirable and wholesome atmosphere was not destined long to be the environment of the little Solomon. When he was only four years old, his parents moved and established the family upon a small tract of land in a partially cleared wilderness, in the Unadilla Valley, not far distant from the then recently settled town of Edmeston Center. Here conditions were primitive in the extreme, and privation became the rule and not the exception of everyday living. Here the scream of the "panther," or "painter," as this animal was locally called, was no novelty to the childish ears of Solomon, and he sometimes heard and caught glimpses of less formidable wild beasts in the surrounding forests. The

THE LIFE OF SOLOMON HOXIE ll

physical features of this section are strikingly picturesque, and it is probable that Solomon Hoxie owed his intense love and admiration for all that is beautiful in nature and his feeling of fellowship with nature to the influence of his early life among the hills and dales of the romantic Unadilla.

Two incidents haunted the boy's early childhood, remained vivid memories throughout his life and materially influenced his career. One, his earliest memory, was of the tears of his mother, as she bent above his crib, when he was only two years old, mourning the death of her little daughter. This occurrence was probably many times repeated for it made such an indelible imprint and stirred such pity in his heart, that, from that time to the day of his mother's death, after he himself had reached middle life, his chief care was to make his mother happy — a task in which he never succeeded because of her temperamental disabilities. But to this end he bent his energies and sacrificed almost every early personal ambition. Thus he gave up, at its very beginning, college training, although it had been the goal of his ambition and the prize toward which he had striven through all his early life of hard work and privation, because his mother feared for the effect upon his health, and consequently the reaction upon herself, of the double task of earning the money and of doing at the same time the intellectual work. His early business ambitions were also frustrated by the same deep regard for his mother's feelings and desires. He wished to make his home in the West but this desire also yielded to her opposition.

The other circumstance which so affected his early life and which helped to shape his mature convictions, resulted from the death of a little playmate. This is the story in his own words, as related to a young grand-nephew, in Solomon's eighty-third year:

"There was one playmate of whom I was very fond, little Andrew Abbott, who was a little older than myself. At this time I was about five years of age. He was suddenly taken sick. Then I was told that he was dead. Really, I doubt if I had ever thought of such a thing as dying. My father took me by the hand and led me to the couch upon which little Andrew lay. He lifted me up so that I could look into the face of my little playmate and said to me, 'He is not here. His body is here but he himself is with God. He is happy now. We must all die, but, if we are good, we, too, shall go to the place where little Andrew is and there we shall live always. God is our Heavenly Father. He loves us and knows all about us.' Then I learned to trust God. Then I learned to pray. From that day to this I have been trying to live so that I may meet little Andrew Abbott in a better life than this."

Solomon Hoxie's first ideal was his uncle Cyrus, an ambitious and studious youth who died at the age of eighteen, when the former was only a young boy. In a letter written to a cousin in Solomon's eightieth year, he refers to this uncle as follows:

"I was old enough to appreciate his character. He was my ideal man. I not only honored him but I loved as a child loves. I wanted to grow up to be like him. He talked with me about school — even about going to school with him. To do so was my highest ambition before he died. From the time of his death forward for years I wanted to be like my uncle Cyrus Richmond Hoxie. I did not care to be like any of my other uncles, but to be like him seemed to me to be perfect in character."

When Solomon was three years old, a brother, Samuel, was born. To this child he became passionately devoted, protecting and caring for him and sacrificing his own preferences, comforts and possessions to the other's will and pleasure. This spirit was stimulated and fostered by his mother and it grew and strengthened with his growing years, ceasing only with the death of his brother in old age.

As soon as the younger child was able to walk about, he attached himself to his brother and they became inseparable. Whatever the elder did the younger must do also. Together they ate and slept and worked and played, the elder always shielding the younger brother, always bearing the brunt of any work or burden that became their portion and making his path 'smooth and straight before him. Together they performed the duties that were assigned, in those early days, even to small members of a household — the collecting of fuel for the fire, the weeding and watering of garden vegetables, the gathering of those in the field, the herding of the cattle, the folding of the sheep and lambs, the husking and shelling of corn, the paring and drying of apples, the gathering of wild fruits and berries to serve as a relish to the family's rude fare, the collecting of herbs and plants for family medicines and the hundred-and-one tasks which made the child an indispensable member of the family of that day.

Together they roamed the fields and hillsides to watch small furry creatures in their native haunts, to listen to the song of birds, the buzz and hum of insects, to note the traceries upon rocks and stones and to pluck wild flowers. They dabbled and waded and splashed and played at fishing and boat-sailing in the tiny brook that babbled at their door. They watched the clouds sail overhead by daylight and together they wondered at the starry dome at night. Each morning they trudged the two-mile footpath leading to their rude schoolhouse, the elder sometimes carrying his weary small brother pick-a-back. Each evening they perused their lesson books by the flickering light of a pine-knot fire, while the elder brother untangled the problems of the small one's tasks. At night they climbed the unrailed stairway leading to the rude unplastered loft where they slept, often with the snowflakes drifting or the raindrops falling upon their upturned faces. Solomon occasionally walked in his sleep and, sometimes, in those unconscious night wanderings he would fall down the unrailed stairway to the kitchen floor below. But even in such adventures as these he was not alone. Samuel was always a close second and so determinedly did he follow his brother's example that, although he himself was wide awake at the time, he invariably fell down after his brother, replying to his mother's query, "Why did you fall, too, Samuel?" with "How could I stop, when I was already half way down?" In the winter time, so great were the rigors of the climate and so rude their surroundings, that they were forced to perform their morning ablutions in water upon which the ice had congealed during the night time, breaking through its surface for that purpose. Together they donned their rough homespun garments and ate their primitive breakfast, consisting of johnnycake made from corn meal and cold water and baked in the ashes of the wood fire.

The amusements and recreations of the two brothers were simple and few indeed. Their chief joy was in their two household pets, little Pompey, a dog, belonging to the elder and a large, striped, partially tamed wild-cat, the property of the younger brother. Solomon was intensely fond of animals and his attachment to Pompey was second only to his love for his brother. In after life, he delighted to sound Pompey's praises and to relate the small dog's adventures to his children and his grandchildren. Indeed, so fondly was Pompey remembered that this pet of Solomon's early childhood days haunted even the imaginings of his death bed.

Once a year the brothers attended a function called General Training, where they listened to the music of a crude band and consumed much gingerbread. For months previous to this celebration the boys anticipated its pleasures, magnifying the joys of previous General Trainings in the exuberance of their recollections. This function, together with an occasional visit to an indulgent grandmother, their rambles about the field, their plays in the brook and the companionship of their two pets, made up the sum total of their amusements.

Solomon was but a tiny boy when he first ventured forth into the untried world of a district school. Even thus early the character of his mentality was beginning to manifest itself. He had commenced to think and to grope dimly for reasons. He must understand the meaning of a group of words before he could memorize them and repeat them to his teacher. Parroting a lesson was an impossibility with him. In after years he often laughed with relish of the humor of the childish tragedy of his first lesson at school, the difficulties he encountered in trying to commit to memory the first assignment of his teacher. This consisted of the rote learning of a high sounding, elaborate definition of language. For several days he labored untiringly, trying to remember the sequence of the long words, but in vain. At length his teacher threatened him with physical chastisement unless the task was accomplished, but even this did not avail. Finally, in desperation, the child confided in his mother and, with her co-operation, the desired result was at last attained.

This tendency to try to understand, to get at the meaning of things, to think out and reason over his problems, grew with his years and became the most prominent characteristic of his student days. He early excelled in mathematics and, after reasoning out a problem and reaching a given conclusion, he was very tenacious of his result. He used to relate an experience in connection with an arithmetic lesson, when he was still quite a young lad. He had reached a certain conclusion in reasoning out a problem. The teacher questioned his result. The problem was finally discussed by Solomon's family, friends and neighbors, all of whom took the same stand that had been taken by the teacher; but, in spite of all this opposition, the boy held firmly to his first conclusion. At length, his father threatened him with the rod because of his stubbornness and put his threat into execution, but still Solomon held on with bulldog tenacity to what he believed to be correct. Finally, wider publicity was given to the discussion; higher learning took a hand, and Solomon was vindicated.

His thirst for learning and the keenness of his ambition to secure an education were equaled only by his devotion to study and his never flagging pursuit of facts. So earnest was he that often in his sleep he prosecuted his studies, dreaming out solutions of problems that had eluded him in his waking hours. As he grew from childhood to youth he spent every spare moment in study. Hours snatched from sleep were used for this purpose. Books were perused far into the night by the light of only a dying wood fire and the hours of early dawn saw the boy again at his self-appointed tasks.

Chapter II Youth And Early Manhood

Solomon attended district school for several years in Edmeston, and later he studied for brief periods in New Berlin and DeRuyter Academies. Finally he became a special student at Madison University, now known as Colgate University. He was prevented from continuing his studies here by the insistent demands of his mother and the feeling of the necessity that he contribute to the support of his parents.

As Solomon grew in years and stature, he early became the head of the household, the self-reliant and independent leader. This was inevitable. The easy-going character of his father and the physical weakness and nervous terrors of his mother naturally shifted the family burdens and decisions upon his immature shoulders.

He early learned to put aside his own fears, such, for instance, as his natural timidity in the face of the sterner manifestations of nature. He used to say, apropos of an electric storm: "When I was a little boy I had to be brave. For instance, I had to overcome my fear of thunder and lightning. My parents were timid in the face of these. My little brother was terrified. There was no one left to be brave but me, so I just had to put my own fears aside." It is interesting to note that, later in life, Solomon seemed actually to delight in a thunder shower and appeared never to tire of its manifestations. So also with his natural fear of wild beasts. Such creatures were not uncommon visitants of the forests surrounding his early home and often they came forth at night to prowl and to give utterance to their protests against man, in the vicinity of the dwelling. At such times it seemed to rest upon the boy to calm the apprehensions of the other members of the family.