Thomas Solley and his descendants, the story of a hunt for an ancestor . the natives Kettletown,which tradition says was purchased from the Indians for anancient brass kettle. There my Grandfather Solley, in thedays of primitive hand industries of New England, once hada shop for the making of old-fashioned, napped stove-pipe I used to go on my annual visit as a child to my Grand-father Woods, who lived just beyond Kettletown at HullsHill, I remembered seeing as a child the remains of this oldhat shop, which was then standing. I had known some of thevirile old stock who lived and thri
Thomas Solley and his descendants, the story of a hunt for an ancestor . the natives Kettletown,which tradition says was purchased from the Indians for anancient brass kettle. There my Grandfather Solley, in thedays of primitive hand industries of New England, once hada shop for the making of old-fashioned, napped stove-pipe I used to go on my annual visit as a child to my Grand-father Woods, who lived just beyond Kettletown at HullsHill, I remembered seeing as a child the remains of this oldhat shop, which was then standing. I had known some of thevirile old stock who lived and thrived in this region, men whohad known my Grandfather Solley, but year after year deathhad taken them, until now I learned that only one resolved to see him before he died. While spending the month of August, 1903, at my old homein Bethel, Connecticut, I determined to fulfil my long deferredwish of taking a carriage and driving through this broken tombstone at Georges Hill, and my grandfatherswish, drew me to the spot. With a strong horse and buggy. THOMAS SOLLEYS HOUSE AT KETTEETOWX DISTRICT,SOUTH BURY. THOMAS SOLLEY and John Todd Andrews, son of my old friend Edgar T. An-drews of Bethel, for my driver, I started on my tour throughthe Housatonic valley. After crossing Bennetts bridge, wedrove along the Housatonic River for three miles to the Kettle-town road, which is now in a deserted region. Here and there,it is true, stately old mansions are still standing, but with littleor no signs of life around them. The farm-lands looked des-olate or deserted, and Nature herself, running rampant, wasgrowing a thick bank of gorgeous wild flowers beside theancient road. As we turned towards Kettletown not a manwas seen, and on reaching the old house which stands at thejunction of the Kettletown and Georges Hill roads, we foundit also deserted. It was to this house my grandfather, ThomasSolley, brought the bride of his youth, and to this house, afterthe death of Melind
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