who
fought at Lundy's Lane, and won distinction in 1814 at the neighboring
battle of Chippewa, towards the close of the War of 1812.

AUTOBIOGRAPHIC REMINISCENCES

This venerable grandmother had thirteen children, the youngest of whom was
my father, Mark Baker, who inherited the homestead, and with his brother,
James Baker, he inherited my grandfather's farm of about five hundred
acres, lying in the adjoining towns of Concord and Bow, in the State of New
Hampshire.

One hundred acres of the old farm are still cultivated and owned by Uncle
James Baker's grandson, brother of the Hon. Henry Moore Baker of
Washington, D.C.

The farm-house, situated on the summit of a hill, commanded a broad
picturesque view of the Merrimac River and the undulating lands of three
townships. But change has been busy. Where once stretched broad fields of
bending grain waving gracefully in the sunlight, and orchards of apples,
peaches, pears, and cherries shone richly in the mellow hues of
autumn,--now the lone night-bird cries, the crow caws cautiously, and
wandering winds sigh low requiems through dark pine groves. Where green
pastures bright with berries, singing brooklets, beautiful wild flowers,
and flecked with large flocks and herds, covered areas of rich acres,--now
the scrub-oak, poplar, and fern flourish.

The wife of Mark Baker was Abigail Barnard Ambrose, daughter of Deacon
Nathaniel Ambrose of Pembroke, a small town situated near Concord, just
across the bridge, on the left bank of the Merrimac River.

Grandfather Ambrose was a very religious man, and gave the money for
erecting the first Congregational Church in Pembroke.

In the Baker homestead at Bow I was born, the youngest of my parents' six
children and the object of their tender solicitude.

During my childhood my parents removed to Tilton, eighteen miles from
Concord, and there the family remained until the names of both father and
mother were inscribed on the stone memorials in the Park Cemetery of that
beautiful village.

My father possessed a strong intellect and an iron will. Of my mother I
cannot speak as I would, for memory recalls qualities to which the pen can
never do justice. The following is a brief extract from the eulogy of the
Rev. Richard S. Rust, D.D., who for many years had resided in Tilton and
knew my sainted mother in all the walks of life.

The character of Mrs. Abigail Ambrose Baker was distinguished for
numerous excellence