2 children:
Loretta Wood (m. George B Merwin)
Lucretia Mary Wood (m. S L Mastick)
(she was an adopted daughter, a niece of Reuben's)
Name: Wood, Mrs. Mary
Date: October 29, 1886
Source: Plain Dealer; Cleveland Necrology File, Reel #087.
Notes: Wood-In Alameda, Cal., at the residence of her daughter, Mrs. S. L. Mastick, October 19, 1886, Mrs. Mary Wood, widow of ex-Governor Reuben Wood, in her 89th year. Friends are invited to meet at Hogan & Harris' undertaking rooms and accompany the remains to Woodland cemetery at 2 o'clock Friday afternoon.
A love poem written by her husband to her:
‘Tis far, far away, from her whom I love,
O'er meadows and lawns, I pensively rove;
Directing my course to some sweet flowing stream,
Where the thrushes and linnets in harmony sing.
In my lonely retreat, I imagine I hear,
When the thrush tunes her note, the voice of my Dear;
Recollecting the music, in one pleasant hour,
When she sang me the song of the G. S. Bower.
But alas! The next moment it seems to my mind
That we all are mortal, she may be entomb'd;
Her health and her beauty, her virtue and worth,
May repose in the dust, in the cold silent earth.
The thought that's so heavy, I cannot endure,
While writing of Polly, of Polly, my Dear;
My tears are fast dropping, I cannot refrain,
‘Till I know I've not courted my Polly in vain.
August 20 - 1815
2 children:
Loretta Wood (m. George B Merwin)
Lucretia Mary Wood (m. S L Mastick)
(she was an adopted daughter, a niece of Reuben's)
Name: Wood, Mrs. Mary
Date: October 29, 1886
Source: Plain Dealer; Cleveland Necrology File, Reel #087.
Notes: Wood-In Alameda, Cal., at the residence of her daughter, Mrs. S. L. Mastick, October 19, 1886, Mrs. Mary Wood, widow of ex-Governor Reuben Wood, in her 89th year. Friends are invited to meet at Hogan & Harris' undertaking rooms and accompany the remains to Woodland cemetery at 2 o'clock Friday afternoon.
A love poem written by her husband to her:
‘Tis far, far away, from her whom I love,
O'er meadows and lawns, I pensively rove;
Directing my course to some sweet flowing stream,
Where the thrushes and linnets in harmony sing.
In my lonely retreat, I imagine I hear,
When the thrush tunes her note, the voice of my Dear;
Recollecting the music, in one pleasant hour,
When she sang me the song of the G. S. Bower.
But alas! The next moment it seems to my mind
That we all are mortal, she may be entomb'd;
Her health and her beauty, her virtue and worth,
May repose in the dust, in the cold silent earth.
The thought that's so heavy, I cannot endure,
While writing of Polly, of Polly, my Dear;
My tears are fast dropping, I cannot refrain,
‘Till I know I've not courted my Polly in vain.
August 20 - 1815
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