Of my mother I can scarcely write without emotion, though she died more than forty years ago. Her maiden name was Mary Hoyt. She was a member of a family, mostly merchants and sailors, who had lived in Norwalk, Connecticut, since its first settlement. At the period of the American Revolution the Hoyt family, composed of several brothers, was divided in their allegiance, some as Tories, some as Whigs. My mother's grandfather was a Whig. It is a tradition in the family that one of the Tory brothers pointed out the house of his brother, at the capture of Norwalk by the British and Tories, as the nest of a rebel, and it was burned to the ground. In this it shared the fate of the greater part of the town. The Tories of the family went to St. Johns, but years after the war was over they and their descendants returned to Connecticut and New York, and many of them became prominent and respected citizens. Isaac Hoyt, my grandfather, was a prominent citizen of Norwalk, possessing considerable wealth for those days. My mother was carefully educated at the then famous female seminary at Poughkeepsie, New York. I remember the many embroidered pictures, made with the needle and silk thread by the handicraft of my mother, as a school girl, carefully framed, that decorated the old house in Lancaster. The women of that day were trained more for the culture and ornament of the house, more to knit stockings and weave home spun than to make speeches on woman's rights. Soon after her graduation she married Charles Robert Sherman, as before stated, and their lives were blended. She sometimes rode with him when on the circuit, and always on horseback. It was an adage in the family, even to her grandchildren, that she was always ready for a visit. I never knew her to scold, much less to strike, her children. She was our sure refuge against grandmother, between whom and my mother there was, however, the warmest affection. When Aunt Elizabeth married Mr. Parker, grandmother followed her daughter to their home in Mansfield.