IT is remarkable that neither Brooks's nor Usher's history makes any mention of Deacon Samuel Train, who was for many years a well-known and highly respected citizen of Medford. He was born at Weston, Mass., on the twenty-first of July, 1781.1 His first wife was Mary Nickerson, of Provincetown, who was born June 26, 1784, and died in Boston, July 24, 1800, leaving three children, Elijah Nickerson, and twin brothers, who died in infancy. Mr. Train's second wife, Hannah Putnam Flint, of North Reading, died in Medford on the thirty-first of December, 1850, leaving seven children. Mr. Train moved from Boston to Medford in 1827 and died in this town April 7, 1874, at the age of ninety-two. His business was in Boston, where he began life as a merchant at No. 1 Codman's wharf in 1806. He was an importer of hides and leather and afterwards established a large shipping business and foreign trade with South American and Cuban ports. His partner was the late Enoch Train, and after some years of great activity in business and the building of ships for their trade, Samuel Train retired from the firm, his son, Elijah N. Train, taking his place. Mr. Train went to Boston nearly every week day, and even up to his last and fatal illness he personally managed all his affairs, and maintained his interest in all the mercantile,
This text is part of:
Table of Contents:
Bridges in Medford .
Medford in the War of the Revolution .
Births, Deaths and Marriages from early records.
Medford Historical Society .
Births, Deaths, and Marriages from early records.
Report of the School Committee made March 8th 1838 .
[p. 167] Mr. Hall at a Saturday evening gathering in the rooms of the Medford Historical Society.]
1 I am indebted to Mr. Train's daughter Rebecca (Mrs. George H. Lemist, of Sheffield) for much valuable information. I quote from her letter, dated May 23, 1899: ‘He was a man of few words, but he was always interested in all the young men, who enjoyed his quaint and bright chat on different subjects. I wish I could do his character justice, but we never value our parents until they are gone or until we ourselves are nearing the close of life. The memories of those days are sweet and precious. I am hardly the one to write of my father. To me he was a most remarkable man, retaining to the very last, at ninety-two years of age, his fine intellect, his strength of purpose, his judgment unimpaired.’—H. D. H.
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