He is buried in a field
between Hobart and Stamford.
My grandfather Eden married Rachael Avery, and shortly afterward
moved over the mountain to the town of Roxbury, cutting a road
through the woods and bringing his wife and all their goods and
chattels on a sled drawn by a yoke of oxen. This must have been
not far from the year 1795. He cleared the land and built a log
house with a black-ash bark roof, and a great stone chimney, and
a floor of hewn logs. Grandmother said it was the happiest day of
her life when she found herself the mistress of this little house
in the woods. Great-grandmother Avery lived with them later. She
had a petulant disposition. One day when reproved for something,
she went off and hid herself in the bushes and sulked--a family
trait; I'm a little that way, I guess.
Grandfather Burroughs was religious,--an Old-School Baptist,--a
thoughtful, quiet, exemplary man who read his Bible much. He was of
spare build, serious, thrifty after the manner of pioneers, and a
kind husband and father. He died, probably of apoplexy, when I was
four years old. I can dimly remember him. He was about seventy-two.
Grandmother Burroughs had sandy hair and a freckled face, and from
her my father and his sister Abby got their red hair. From this
source I doubtless get some of my Celtic blood.
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