MYRON HOLLEY MILLS. BY L. B. PROCTOR. One of the most interesting features of the Livingston County Historical Society is its annual reports. Their interest is enhanced by the manner in which they perpetuate the memory of the members who during the year have left the scenes of earth and whose names are recorded on the cold marble above their graves. Memorials to the dead are sacred things. They have been so regarded in all ages of the world and by all nations. It is a custom to lay fresh green garlands of memory on the tombs of our departed members, and to bring up to the Society's annual meetings reminisences of those who were with us the preceeding year, whose hands we then grasped in friendship, but whom we will meet no more on earth. Some one has said that memorials to the dead are inspirations of our immortality. It is a beautiful expression of Holy Writ "Blessed are the dead." It is the angel within the breast of man that prompts him to forget the faults of those who have ceased to live, remembering only their virtues. During their lives eminent, useful men are not always properly appreciated. Society is not always swift to comprehend them, associates often look with torpid indifference upon their good qualities; their enemies search for a place of attack upon them, and their equals often regard them with jealousy or envy. But, when the grave covers them, rivalry is at an end, jealousy, envy, and hatred, ashamed of themselves, hide their heads and slink away into the thin air. Since the last annual meeting of the society, and within a com paratively few months, one of the most eminent members, and one of its founders, an occupant for one year, of the Presidential chairwho during a lapse of twenty-one years, was identified with its growth, prosperity and usefulness, ceased to be numbered with its living members. One year ago he was with you here, participating in your proceedings, greeting you with the warm grasp of his hand; to-day that hand is cold and lifeless. When we think of this, the solemn question comes to each and every one of us. Who among this pleasant gathering is here for the last time? I need not say that the lamented departed member to whom I have alluded was Dr. Myron H. Mills, of Mt. Morris. To devote a short time to memorializing him, free from undue panegyric and lavish eulogy, is a sacred duty, consonant with one of the primal objects of our society, the observance of which imbues its history with peculiar interest. There was something touchingly beautiful in the death of Dr. Mills. The last moments of his life, moments when the dread messenger was hovering over him, were spent in social, affectionate converse with his wife and daughters. The charming summer morning seemed to inspire him with its soft breath. It was a scene as holy as it was delightful. When it closed he left the room, and in a few moments Death laid his hand upon him, and the husband and father, though he lingered insensible a few hours, left wife and children forever. Who shall say that in the last moment, when the celestial messenger came to his peaceful home announced, and touched his heart and bade it rest forever, the acts of kindly beneficence, and a well spent life, were not transformed into rays of living light, illuminating to the freed spirit the pathway to the realm of the infinite and immortal. Myron Holley Mills was a native of Mt. Morris, Livingston County, where he was born December 8th, 1820. His father was General William A. Mills, who, in his long and useful life, in the various positions of honor and trust he occupied, in the many public duties committed to him, which he discharged with practical ability and marked success, exhibited the characteristics that rendered him a true representative of American citizenship, adapted to the time |