The daily morning journal and courier., 1898-04-22
MRS. sIGouRNEY.
Donald G. Mitchelrs Estimate of This Mother of the Late Mrs. Franics T. Trcea11


 Mother of the Late Mrs. Franics T.
 Russell.
 Mrs. Sigourney--who bore the maid en name of Lydia Huntly-was born in the picturesque old town ofNorwich and was of right Daughter of the Revolution" her father having, fought and upon the right side; indeed, she made show very early of an acute Americanism-du largely, perhaps, to the influences of a stately colonial dame of wealth and position, who had made of her a protegee and pet. Un- der such conditions, good education was secured, and she began early to warble those pleasant rythmical num- bers, in the weaving of which very few women of her day could equal her ease ana grace. The mellit1uous roll of the
 odd Indian names caught her quick
 ear, and she cast "Ontario's billow,"
 "Niagara's thunder" and the "hoar forehead of Monadnock'' into the puls-
 es of accommodating, yet picturesque verse, long before "Hiawatha" had
 wrapped the savage nomenclature into
 more beguiling music.
 The young singer had her experiences
 at school keeping-first i'll her native
 town and again in Hartford, whither
 the poetically minded seemed to drift
 by some powerful attraction-as Ill the
 day of the Wits" and in more recent
 times-while as yet no guardian genius
 looked down from the capitol dome and
 no retreat for the "unwise'' invited the
 feeble.
 She not only wrote in verse, but in
 prose-voluminously the total number
 of her books counting among the 40's;
 there were Narratives" Sketches"
 Memoirs of these having his-
 toric value, by reason of her truthful
 presentment of scenes and characters
 she had known in her young days.
 There was stiffness perhaps. She was
 too conscientious to rub out irregulari- ties; so true she could not tone down
 the harshness. Like those old photo-
 masters who put the heads of their
 subjects between pads of iron arms,
 she made her portraits show all the
 sharp lines of truth-but it was truth suffering a grievous pinch, from over- lacings of propriety.
 In the year 1919 Miss Huntly became the wife of MT. Sigourney, a wealthy merchant of Hartford, and for many years thereafter was in the enjoyment of an elegant home, Joking down upon that interval where Little river coiled (and still coils) though the city, and where now a beautiful park delights the eye of every passing traveller. Through all her wifely, as through her
 maidenly days, she guarded her punc- tiliousness-was over-careful in lan- guage-minding her stops-not ventur- ing upon common-sense name; calling a pig "the animal to whom the Evange- list alluded" or the adjunct of every economical household; wary of any, thing-though honest and hearty | which had smack of vulgarity; and educating both lip and pen to the | ''prunes and prisms" of a large but | somewhat narrow propriety.
 | And yet, for all this, her unswerving rectitude of life and action, her untir- | ing advocacy of all good causes, won | for her a respect and consideration which were better worth than praises | of over-dainty critics. On her English ! travel-of which she pleasantly told the | story, there were attentions paid her at once earnest and abounding. Nor did l these attentions fail at home. There were those who detected in the occasional verse of this Connecticut | poetess an echo of the notes of Mrs. l Hemans, who at about the same period l was piping musically from her home | af YoJa | Yet her sterling New Englandism was ! always emergent; in some sense, she | might have been reckoned the laureate | of Connecticut ritanism-illustratin | the royalties of her bailiwick by ode, | lines, memorials, epithalamiums, fam | fly pictures-putting vrai-sembance and great kindliness into each and all I with a setting of earnest and pronounce 1 ed piety.
 1 A little confirmatory incident, to | which the present writer was witness, may be detailed: She chancd to be in l Washington q think in the winter of | 1S4S-49) when an important case was to | be argued by MT. Webster before the l supreme court. She was anxious to be l present, and came with young friend, 1 at late hour, when the old cavernous l recesses of the court were nearly filled | with eager attendants. MT. Webster, ! rolling his great eyes around the cham 1 ber as was his wont-noticed the late | arrival of the poetess, and rising, left | his briefs, strode up the crowded alley /, way, and greeting her in his largest | manner, insisted upon escorting her | as if she were queen, and he, master | of royal ceremonies-down to the very l front of the chamber, where he found 1 her place among the distinguished ad- 1 vocates. The old lady bore the unusual | and marked attention with a little ner- | vous trepidation, yet with a glow of l qualification that lighted beamingly her 1 fine matronly face. I think she never | felt more touched by any public recog- | milton of her literary or social tribute by our greatest master of forensic -elo- l auence to the modest Connecticut mis- l tress of the crafts of poesy.
 1 A single touch of the quality of this | forgotten songstress I cull from her Alpine Flowers:
 ] Did some white-winged messenger l On Mercy mission trust your timid ! germ
 l To the cold cradle of eternal snows? | Or, breathing on the callous icicles, l Bid them with tear-drops nurse ye?