Frederick Tupper Jr. ²

   FamilySearch ID: M7FP-2NN.

  Noted events in his life were:

1. He appeared in the household of Samuel Lord in a census in 1880. ^{5 5} The 1880 census recorded at 106 Lamboll Street in Charleston: Saml. B. Lord, lawyer, 50, living with wife K. T., 46; father Saml. Sr. 81; and step mother L. C., 81. Also in the home is brother-in-law F. Tupper, insurance agent, 44; nephew F. M. Tupper, 8; nieces Nonie D., 6; Caroline F., 2; and Mary, 1. Everyone was born in South Carolina except Samuel Sr. in Massachusetts.

2. Census in 1900 in Burlington, Chittenden, VT. ⁶

3. Occupation: professor at the University of Vermont in 1900 in Burlington, Chittenden, VT. ⁶

4. Book: Speech by Professor Frederick Tupper: The Tupper Homes, 1939.
From
The Tercentenary Dedicatory Volume of the Tupper Family Association of America, Incorporated
Pages 69-90

BY PROFESSOR FREDERICK TUPPER, UNIVERSITY OF VERMONT

HOMES OF THE TUPPERS

"Any son of the Puritans standing upon the rock, whence he was hewn and looking into the mouth of the pit whence he was digged must speak with all the frankness and honesty that are in him." So I began twenty-four years ago (August 1915) an address delivered here in Sandwich to a gathering of our clan. As I turn over the yellowing leaves of that half-forgotten manuscript, I find myself in substantial agreement with much that I said then, particularly with my laughing hint of a doubt of certain theories of the Continental origin of our race. Passing years have deepened my skepticism. May I repeat what I wrote on November 23, 1935 to Frank Tupper of Hollywood from the heights above Santa Fe in a sunshine that seemed to penetrate the dusky corners of the brain clearing them of cobwebs:

"I have long questioned the tradition of a German origin of the Tuppers. The derivation of the name from Topp-hcrr or Top-lord is not only bad etymology (quite bad, top-heavy), but inconsistent with the other conjectural derivation (probably equally spurious) from "Tout Perdu", "All is lost" a phrase fashioned in a moment of chivalrous despondency" - (by Francis I, who was presumably a Tupper in disguise). Indeed Martin Farquhar Tupper, who, as you say "broadcast the legend of our origin in Hesse Cassel" is inconsistent, when he finds the helmet of a knightly ancestor among the Norman relics in Battle Abbey. I was amazed and amused to find that after the Great War our English namesakes had for patriotic reason frankly disregarded the Teutonic theory of descent and found our beginnings in Bohemia (doubtless the fabled Coasts of Bohemia, of which Shakespeare writes)." Indeed, wherever we turn on the maps of Germany, France, England, the Holy Land, we detect that ubiquitous and polyglot ancestor of ours topping the table and consistently losing beyond the recovery of most of us all save honor.

There seems to be little doubt that the ancestor of the Guernsey folk, whom I have visited on their island and whom I have known in London (counting some of them as dear friends) was Henry Tupper of Chichester, Sussex, who came to the Channel Islands in 1592, I think- certainly in the late sixteenth century. I asked myself "why not seek our origins in Sussex?" So I turned, in the British Museum in July, 1929, to the records of Sussex parishes in a ponderous volume by Dallavvay, "History of Western Division of Sussex", 1819, and was richly rewarded. Here, in the sixteenth century annals of many churches I met the name repeatedly. Indeed Dallaway noted that in 1410 one John Tupper or Tuppere was the priest of Stopham Church. If this record was correct, then the theory of a sixteenth century German Origin was flatly disproved. I got into my car and drove down into Sussex. Happily the present incumbent of Stopham was Chaplain in the flagship of Admiral Sir Reginald Tupper during the Great War and he rendered me ready aid. In the list of early Stopham priests, posted in the portico of the church, we found the name I sought - but here it was spelled, "Toppere", evidently an early variant of the name, as there are today Tuppers in the neighborhood. At the clergyman's suggestion I drove over to the nearby parish of Bignor, where, on the farm of one of these Sussex Tuppers, was unearthed a famous Roman villa in the early nineteenth century. I visited the villa, but as the farmer was away, and the woman of the place inhospitable, I did not gain access to the house. But Mr. Geoffrey Tupper, son of Sir Lewis Tupper, and grand-nephew of Martin Farquhar, told me that he had seen the Tupper coat of arms over the mantel in this home - a very ancient dwelling. I think that there is ample evidence to show that the roots of Tuppers are in Sussex. And there is a strong probability - a certainty if "Tuppers" and "Toppere" are one (and Dallaway had no doubt of this) - that men of the name were in Southern England a hundred years before the supposed coming of the German refugees to England at the time of the Reformation.

Since 1935, when I wrote that letter, much evidence has been presented by Richard Leach (quoting such original records as a letter from Thomas Mayhew of Martha's Vineyard, and such recent authorities as Bank's History of Martha's Vineyard, 1937, to show that Thomas Tupper came from Bury, county Sussex.

Now what of the environment of Bury ? It is in die rape or rope of Arundel (following the old Teutonic practice of measuring land by the rope), on the river Arun, which flowed into the English Channel a few miles to the south and thus provided ready communication with Normandy. At Arundel was built an imposing castle of which the keep is still standing. This was first owned by the Montgomerys and later by the Howards, of whom the head is the Duke of Norfolk, first peer of England. Our investigators seem inclined to think that our forefathers had been living in this neighborhood for hundreds of years before Thomas Tupper sailed into the West and found a home for himself and his descendants in strange lands beyond the sea.

Let us say something of this original home of the race - Sussex, the land of the South Saxons, one of the oldest parts of England. How old, and how closely linked with great scenes from English History, Kipling shows in his delightful Puck's song:
See you our little mill that clacks,
So busy by the brook? She has ground her corn and paid her tax
Ever since Domesday Book.
See you our stilly woods of oak,
And the dread ditch beside? O that was where the Saxons broke,
On the day that Harold died.
See you the windy levels spread
About the gates of Rye? O that was where the Northmen fled,
When Alfred's ships came by.
See you our pastures wide and lone,
Where the red oxen browse? O there was a City thronged and known,
Ere London boasted a house.
And see you, after rain, the trace
Of mound and ditch and wall? O that was a Legion's camping place,
When Caesar sailed from Gaul.

It was in this ancient land of Sussex that our forefathers dwelt, doubtless for many centuries - perhaps even before the Norman came. May I paraphrase from the Nineteenth Century of August 1884, a passage or two in an article on "The County Characteristics of Sussex" by Henry Hewlett. On the second page, I was delighted to find an account of the famous Roman villa, which was unearthed on Tapper land. "Enough remains to attest the judgment and taste as well as the opulence of its owner. The high ground which lie chose for its site faces a group of hills and valleys more picturesque than at any point of the South Downs. Here, upon an anole some four acres he planned his house on a grand scale, its rooms being ranged round an inner court with baths on one side. The mosaic pavement of the banqueting hall, decorated with Cupids engaged in gladiatorial combat, with dancing nymphs and other graceful designs is among our best-preserved relics of Roman art." If this had been unearthed three centuries ago, instead of one, those dancing nymphs would have driven to America all the Puritans in Sussex. Not only Roman remains but relics of the dark ages are found in many places. Horse-shoes are nailed over doors to avert witches - such witches as the Puritans persecuted in their new lands. Fairies or "Pharisees" as the peasants call them dance in the moonlight. Century-old superstitions still have power to alarm. And above this pleasant countryside rise the wonderful wind-swept Southdown ridges, extending nearly the whole length of the Sussex seaboard, some fifty miles in length and five in width, - little changed since Thomas Tupper of Bury left Sussex for the New World over three hundred years ago.

As I write this, I look at my motoring guide to Sussex, a section of Bartholomew's "Half-Inch-to-Mile Map of England and Wales" and find, as I remember, that these Tupper places in Sussex are very near together. Bury, the birthplace of Thomas Tupper, is less than two miles from Bignor the site of the Roman Villa, and Stopham, where John Tupper or Topper preached in 1410, is four or five. Chichester, the home of the founder of the Guernsey line, is ten miles away and is the cathedral town of this region - with a population of perhaps fifteen thousand. We Tuppers are all of the same Sussex stock, as indeed were many others of the early settlers of Sandwich (Leach).

"It is indeed a lovely land. Depression of the spirit is impossible in an atmosphere so fresh and exhilarating, with a prospect so wide and ever-shifting, now forward or behind, over curving uplands and shelving valleys, now downward on one side over an endless succession of fields and woods clustered round their churches and scattered farmsteads - on the other side through gaps disclosing glimpses of the sea, bright or dark."

Until the recent investigations of Mr. Richard E. Leach, it was supposed that our emigrant ancestor, Thomas Tupper, came over on the Abigail to Lynn in 1635. In the last few years, the full list of the 220 persons who made the voyage on the Abigail has become known, and of the entire number only three heads of families (and Thomas Tupper was not one of these) settled at Sandwich. Moreover this fruitful study by a trained genealogist has revealed that in 1635 Thomas Tupper was already in New England - as were also Benjamin Nye and Thomas Greenfield who went with him to Sandwich at the beginning of the settlement: there in 1635. These companions of Thomas Tupper were also Sussex men, coming from the same neighborhood - "in parishes in the same hundreds and their family lines had run together from several generations (I am still quoting Mr. Leach). Thomas Tupper had made several voyages to New England and West Indies and was first in Cape Ann and Cape Cod in 1624. It appears that Henry Tupper of Bury, the father of Thomas, was related by marriage to the Mayhews. It was a daughter of this house, Martha, that the younger Thomas Tupper married - and thus became the ancestor of all the Tuppers of America.

So much for the origins of our American family. There are in England, at the present time, two branches of Tuppers: (1) the Sussex farmers, yeomen of the Chichester-Bignor-Stopham neighborhood, still close to the soil from which the race sprang and displaying on its walls the family coat of arms. (2) The Guernsey people whom I have visited on their island and with whom my immediate family has been in close touch for the past thirty years, including Martin Farquhar Tuppers' represented by Sir Reginald Tupper, Admiral of the Western Approaches during the Great War.

Of the Sussex folk, I have already spoken. Of Martin Farquhar Tupper, the English poet, Author of Proverbial Philosophy, I shall repeat in substance what I said here in Sandwich twenty-five years ago. He came to America in the autumn of 1876 and to Charleston in February, 1877. As I was then at the somewhat youthful age of five, I must be mistaken in my abiding impression that I was Chairman of the Reception Committee, that I personally introduced him to his Charleston audience and that I often sat late with him over the coffee and cigars. So vivid, however, is my secondhand recollection that every incident of his sojourn is rooted in my consciousness. All his doings soon became family traditions: how his enthusiasm over the crowded hall, which had been packed with dead-heads of every sort, Confederate veterans, old ladies, helpless children, by large drains upon the family purse, waxed so intense that he announced at the close of the lecture, to the visible consternation of the almost bankrupt Tuppers, that he would repeat his reading a second evening; how his disgust at the critical appreciation of this same lecture, carefully prepared for the newspaper by one of the cousinhood showed itself in his breakfast table comment, "What a nasty report of my reading"; how he insisted upon being duly stimulated before his talk to the Y.M.C.A.; and how, upon his departure on the midnight Pullman, he complained bitterly that 'no one had put for him any lunch in the bed.' And, best of all, is the story of the foiled attempt to render tribute to poetic genius out of the mouth of babes. Two of the youngsters of the family were to enter hand-in-hand and sweetly lisp into the ears of the proverbial philosopher that memorable line- of his own making, "A child in the house is a well-spring of pleasure." Alas, there was in those days one Tupper with a boyish sense of humor. And the sad result of his private coaching appeared in the revised version that was duly presented to the poet by his youthful kinsfolk: "A child in the well is a houseful of pleasure!"

In course of time the boy that met Martin Farquhar in Charleston became a man and he crossed the ocean many times and he never saw the Island of his early dreams. Often standing on the Southern shore of England or on the northern Coast of France he would look wistfully over the Channel and say: "Not now but some time I shall go to Guernsey." And the time came at length thirty years ago, when his wife and he (they had been married in England the year before) were lounging away some dull October days in London. So from the Bloomsbury Hotel diere traveled to Col. Basil de Beauvoir Tupper of Hauteville House a request that two Americans of the Southern branch might pay their respects to the head and home of the English family and the answer came in a woman's hand that Col. Tupper himself was too ill to write, but that the Americans would be very welcome in Guernsey.

Years ago, when memories were fresh, I was wont to speak long of this visit to the island of the Tuppers: of the dim church of St. Peter's filled with the tombs of ten generations of the family and their kinsmen, the Le Marchants and Le Mesuriers and Careys, for it is said in Guernsey that, if you are not born a Carey, you will die one. There too is the rich monument of General Gaspard Le Marchant Tupper on which are emblazoned the family arms - three wild boars and many escallops - a Greyhound for a crest, a passant ermine, etc. etc. - all which may be irreverently rendered according to my father - the pigs and the oyster shells. These emblems were everywhere in the quiet houses in which women dwelt. The greyhound crest appeared not only on the massive silver christening bowls but on the plate and knives and forks. The arms stood forth on mantels and furniture.

Late in my visit I was told that old Colonel Basil de Beauvoir would speak with me for a few moments, so I went to his chamber. He was sitting swathed in a heavy dressing-gown, in a large arm-chair and looked a very ill man indeed. He held in his hand a morocco case. "I thought that you would like to see these," he said, and handed me the William and Mary chain and medal granted to his ancestor. I took them most reverently, you may well imagine, and gazed at them very long without a word. Presently, I heard him say: "I have no boy, you know, no boy - only girls, three very nice girls. And those things go from Guernsey, they have been here 200 years, to the British Museum." A pause which he at length broke: "You Americans had a general at Bunker Hill, hadn't you, when General John went over with his marines." "Yes," I answered, "He was a major then; and we had a general too, in 18l2, when sonic others of you came over." He smiled, and I could swear to the twinkle in his eye. "But I hear that you treated Martin very well during his visit to America." I picked my words, now, for the time was short:- "You see, sir, whenever you English Tuppers have come across the water, whether in peace or in war, there have always been American Tuppers ready and eager to greet you." He smiled again but grimly, and I was sure that I guessed his thought. If ever in the future, any American Tuppers came to Guernsey, there would be no man of the name to greet them there. And so I passed from the presence of the old soldier, the last man of his Guernsey line. He died within the year.

It was our hope that the old Colonel's eldest daughter, Frances, would visit us this summer and would come with us to Sandwich. But fears of war dissuaded her from the voyage. It would have been a great pleasure and privilege to have introduced that splendid Englishwoman to all of you- at this gathering of the Clans.

May I add that since my last visit to Sandwich, twenty-odd years ago I have seen not a little of the Tupper family on the English mainland. In 1922, I ran down into the country near London for a day with Martin Farquhar's nephew, Admiral Sir Reginald Tupper, who had commanded the Fleet guarding the Western Approaches during the Great War. He had now retired and was playing the role of J. P. somewhere in Sussex. With his family and his neighbors, I had a happy visit. I was to meet him and his daughters again - for Lady Tupper had died in the interim - seven years later when I was once more in England. He was a fine type of the British naval officer.

But the Englishman of the family whom I liked the most was the Admiral's brother's son, Geoffrey, - a graduate of Brazenose College, Oxford, and a lawyer in Lincoln's Inn. He lunched with me at my London Club, the Auditors and I dined with him at his suburban home. I ran across him, too, at a bumping race of the Oxford Colleges. He was a splendid specimen of the English gentleman - very gracious and kindly - and an honor to his name. Thus I have seen much of both the English branches - the Channel Island people and diocese on the mainland.

There was one book of my boyhood, which did me far more real service than the thrilling chronicles of faraway fighters, a book of peace, Frederick Freeman's "History of Cape Cod." It was a very rare book in my own country, for in the fateful year of its publication, i860, South Carolinians were otherwise occupied than in cementing family ties with Massachusetts. I find, indeed, by consulting the list of subscribers, that, of the eight copies of the work sold south of the Potomac, four were purchased by members of my immediate family. Over one of these four copies - two massive quarto volumes admirably printed by Rand's Boston press - I read with delight in the early eighties. Freeman's extensive and accurate researches humanized for me the Eldads and Elishas and Eliakims who had seemed so shadowy in the bare genealogical annals. Old Thomas Tupper, the immigrant, first of our line in America, emerged from the pages a full-blown aggressive personality, whom age could not wither. His young descendant saw him, at the ripe age of sixty, coming in 16^7 with nine other men from Saugus or Lynn and founding at Sandwich the first settlement on the Cape, and beheld him playing a leader's part in the young community, a member of the council of war, a selectman, a deputy for nineteen years. But these services in no way differentiated this good man from his steeple hatted fellows, as did his churchly functions. This was the ecclesiastical situation in Sandwich in 1654. The Rev. William Leverich, graduate of Emanuel College, Cambridge and a "man of great piety and meekness," was forced to leave his church here for Long Island, because the people at Sandwich as in the other colonies began "to be indifferent to the ministry and to exercise their own gifts, doubting the utility of stated preaching." Now, at this point Thomas Tupper who is fully seventy-six comes into the story, revealing himself to the core. Listen to Freeman (I, 247) : - "After the departure of Mr. Leverich from Sandwich, there was no regularly settled minister in the town for some years. Mr. Thomas Tupper, known more prominently as Captain Tupper, undertook, although not acceptable to the staunch friends of Mr. Leverich, to conduct religious services in the meeting house; and, strange to say, though he was without ordination and withal somewhat fanatical and ranting, if we are to credit tradition, and often in difficulties with his neighbors, was in favor with the government, (of which few of the respectable inhabitants could at that time, boast) so that no objection to his officiating was made by court influence. His prophesyings were neither approved nor countenanced by large numbers of the best people in the town, nor by a majority of church members." There you have Thomas Tupper Sr. drawn to the life, and you know him as well as if you had lived with him for years in the old house - a godly, honest, untrained, obstinate, quarrelsome man, unweakened and unmellowed by age, never doubting himself or his ability, ever resolutely bent on doing his duty as he saw it, and finding, like the true Puritan that he was, a larger satisfaction in that duty when it was distasteful to everybody around him. The loyal descendant reads on, with very real relief, that quiet was at length secured for the neighborhood by the appointment in 1658 of the Rev. Joseph Smith. A deep hush must have fallen upon Sandwich when, in the significant words of the historian, "Mr. Tupper turned his attention to the Indians." The career of Indian missionary, confidently undertaken at eighty by this wonderful member of the church militant, had a rich harvest not only in his own church near Herring Pond but in the later labors of his son, Thomas, and his grandson, Eldad, among the redskins. Thomas Tupper Sr. died March 28, 1676, upward of 98 years, and in the same year died Ins wife, Anne, who could not then have been ninety, as Freeman tells us, since she was the mother of an only son, Thomas Tupper Jr. born in January 1638. Not she, but an earlier wife, of the elder Thomas, was the mother of that Katharine Tupper who crossing with her father from the old home in England, became, as every reader of the Sandwich monument knows, the ancestress of the American Nyes. Young Thomas, one of the first babies to be ushered into this little Sandwich world, followed closely in his father's footsteps. During his life of seventy years, he was weighty in councils of war and peace and mighty in Christian labors among the neighboring tribes. But our chief concern is not with his work and worship, but with his wooing. Like his far-off cousin, John of Guernsey, he married the daughter of an island governor, who was, moreover, something of an heiress, for her father, that sturdy worker among the Indians, Governor Thomas Mayhew of Martha's Vineyard and the neighboring islands, obtained a grant from Lord Stirling 1641, and conveyed to his daughter Martha by deed of gift in 1666, five years after her marriage, much valuable estate including among other lands an estate at Chapaquidick"; half of "the island Nunnemisset bought of Isaac sachem of Manomet"; and also a share "of Cuttayhunck which was given by the said sachem." By the way, who of us own that property now ? Have we let it all slip through our fingers? And a still more vital question regarding Martha Mayhew's wooing: 'What if three hundred years ago Those close-shut lips had answered No, Should I be I or would it be One-tenth another to nine-tenths me?"

This we may, each of us, ask and answer, for Martha Mayhew is the common mother of us all, the hundreds of Tuppers in the States and Canada.

"O lady and lover, how faint and far Your images hover, - and here we are, Solid and stirring in flesh and bone, Thomas and Martha's, - all their own, A goodly record for time to show Of a syllable spoken so long ago!"

The lot of the troop of boys and girls growing up in the old house was surely not as unhappy as their so called juvenile literature (which was really both senile and unliterary) would suggest. The New England Primer taught them not only that "In Adam's fall, we sinned all," but "As runs the glass, our life doth pass," and "Xerxes doth die, and so must I"; other manuals reminded them that "small though they be, there are many graves shorter than they in yonder churchyard and that the fires of hell are kindled with little chips as well as with big logs"; and slight comfort was afforded by Wigglesworth's poem, "The Day of Doom" - widely popular among a people who deemed Shakespeare anathema - which proclaimed that for unregenerate childhood was reserved the easiest room in hell. Mather's "Milk for Babes drawn from the Breasts of both Testaments" was their daily pabulum. "What a childhood!" we exclaim. Yet these sons and daughters of the patriarchs came to manhood and womanhood with an abiding sense, regrettably lacking in later-day youth, that there was a living God in the world and that their bodies were his temple. Somewhat owlish and solemn these youthful Tuppers may have been - with doubtless little humor in them - but they were evidently very worldly young persons, doing their duty faithfully whether preaching or teaching or farming or fishing or doctoring.

Each and every one of us derives his life from one of six sons of Thomas and Martha, - Thomas, Israel, Ichabod, Eldad, Medad, and Eliakim. There were girls, of course, - five, I believe - but girls count mightily in mating, though little in the transmission of a name. In any case, there seemed small danger of race-suicide in one Sandwich home.

Then came in the third generation the migration of tribes. Several of the sons left their father's house, leading the boy reader some merry chases through the prodigious family scroll, which, however, well repaid the exertion, for they opened trails through pedigrees, which meant little, - to persons, who meant much. It was the tribe of Eliakim that found its way to Nova Scotia in 1760, producing on that far Northern soil a century later, the famous Conservative premier of Canada, Charles Tupper who had just won in these days of the eighties a well-deserved baronetcy, perhaps die greatest man of all the name; it was the tribe of Israel that migrated, in the person of "schoolmaster Silas" to Vermont, sending down to the South some generations afterward that major-general of the Confederacy, Tullius Tupper, whose people were even now living in Atlanta; (I met his grand-daughter in New Orleans three years ago) it was the tribe of Ichabod from which Dr. Henry Martin Tupper of Raleigh traced his descent. Then, too, the huge scroll patiently portrayed the origin of General Benjamin Tupper, notable not only for that Bunker Hill exploit of which even Guernsey had heard, but for his services in the French and Indian War, his expedition in Boston harbor, for which he was thanked by Washington in general orders, his presence at Saratoga and Valley Forge, his suppression of Shays's Rebellion and finally (McMaster's history was full of this) for his leadership in the founding of the Ohio Company and in the opening-up of the Middle West. Then the Charleston boy of fifty years ago turned to his own line. Eldad had bided at home about his father's business, for many years "Pastor of the Indian Church." But his son, Dr. Benjamin had migrated to Nantucket where he long prescribed pills, potions and preservatives and doubtless cupped and bled his victims in die awful fashion of his century. His son, the boy's great-grandfather, James, a physician too, was distinguished in family tradition for his loyalty to the king during the Revolution attested in a pamphlet "Ichneumon," which the boy all his life has vainly sought, and, jolly old Tory that he was, for his joyous conviviality during his visits to his son. In that son, Tristram, who had married a Southern woman and planted the household gods on a Southern hearth in the early days of the century, the boy felt a natural pride not only because this grandfather of his was the president of the first hundred miles of railroad in all the world, but because it was truly recorded of him on his monument in the family church that, during fifty years as merchant and citizen:

"His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal, Nor numbers, nor example with him wrought To swerve from truth or change his constant mind."

Such are the simple records of our American family. To them, I have devoted my space rather than to the more stirring narratives of the Guernsey race, because they are more familiar, not surely because they are less important. We must stand and fall by our own quiet achievements, not by the romantic adventures of faraway namesakes. Moreover we live and move in the sultry world of custom and the commonplace, not in the breezy air of constant change and roving; and the chief triumphs of the spirit are won amid the joys and sorrows of every day, not among the thrills of storm and battle. In our study of our forefathers we seek not only the moving incidents of their lives, but some clue to their characters, for their traits survive in our own beings. It is not so significant for us that a few, a very few of the descendants of Thomas and Martha have lived conspicuously, but that all of them have lived decently. If only one or two have made us notable, none have made us notorious. "Goodman Tupper," our ancestor was called. And good men his generations have been, dwelling in the fear of God and in the respect of their neighbors. The simple virtues of the old Sandwich home of the race, resolution and energy, truth and reverence, love and honor, the "plain living and high thinking" of homespun Thomas, Eldad and Ichabod, must be somewhere in the blood of all of us. Good faith, we must not fail that! With such a heritage, we can never be, any of us, altogether cheap and vulgar and tawdry.

But the greatest thing that our traditions have done for us has been to make us genuine Americans. We are, in every fiber, an American family, - and have been so for three hundred years, living under king for one half of these and under constitution ever since that was framed. And to colony or to monarch, to state or to country, we have ever been ardently loyal. Political philosophers may declare that as soon as an alien, any Hans or Pat or Tony, grasps the American ideals, sometimes a very vague conception, he becomes an American. With this three-year Americanism that is so often found wanting, we Tuppers may contrast a three-century Americanism, bred into blood and bone, sense and sinew, for nine or ten generations. Such is ours by right of birth; and never was such more needed by our country than in these days of so-called hyphenation. In yet another sense we are representatively American. We have been "all sorts and conditions of men," everybody's equals, living everywhere, coping with all circumstances, moving on all levels of honest thought and labor. But high or low, rich or poor, we are chips of this old Sandwich block. Is it any wonder that we return, some of us after an absence of centuries, to claim the site of the ancient home as our own and to pay our filial tribute to die good men and women, our forebears, who lived and loved and worked and worshiped under its roof so very long ago?

Frederick Tupper.
.

Frederick married Annadora Baer on 30 Jun 1908 in Yardley, WOR, England, GBR.¹ (Annadora Baer was born on 30 Sep 1877 in Charleston, Charleston, SC ⁶ and died on 24 Jun 1941 in , , VT.)