Rev. Charles S. Cliffe a pastor of Christian Churches in Eastern Ohio for a period of 30 years, passed away at his home in Girard on Friday evening. The death of Rev. Cliffe followed a prolonged illness with complications. He was 63 years old and was born in Jeromesville, o., and ordained a minister in the Christian Church there. He supervised charges in Bellville, Galion, Mineral Ridge, New Castle, Pa., and Girard. His health failed when he was serving as pastor of the Christian Church in Girard.
For the past five years his health had been impaired and while unable to preach every Sunday regularly he still maintained his interest in religious and civic work and frequently appeared on religious programs of church and bible school gatherings.
He was married twice, and is now survived by his second wife, and eight children. He also leaves seven brothers and sisters. Funeral services in his memory will be held at the Christian Church in Girard, Sunday afternoon at 3 o'clock. On Monday morning the remains will be taken to Jeromesville for burial.
~ ~ ~ ~
Speech by Charles Stephen "C. S." Cliffe to the Ashland Genealogical Society
Mr. President, members of the Cliffe family, Ladies and Gentlemen, I wish to congratulate those who had to do with the fixing of the date and place of this re-union. The day is bright and auspicious and I trust prophetic of the future of this young society which I trust will take her place at the head of the class among thousands of similar organizations. The place, as it should have been, chosen here where the Old Family Tree took root, that has spread its branches and sub-branches over the land.
I cannot suppress a mingled feeling of joy and sadness as I stand once more amid the early scenes of my childhood where truant boys with laughing eyes chased the winged butterflies and did a thousand things dreamed of only in the boy world.
I am not insensible to the high honor conferred upon me in granting me the privilige of writing the history of this family, bearing such a lofty and illustrious name. Not that the members of this family tree have yet, to any marked degree, made the name illustrious; but that the name has made them illustrious, and yet we are sometimes asked, "what is there in a name?" It is this name that brings us together and finds our hearts in the sweet and happy fellowship of the day.
Let me say that had I been called upon to give you a brief report of one of the cradle roll departments of this old family tree, the contriburion would have been ready. In this particular I claim no little distinction. The medal belongs here, since my eyes opened to the beauty and historic scenes, my hand has not been far from the cradle.
This reminds me of a story that I must tell. It was a beautiful summer day in June.. Father and uncle Dan were shearing sheep in the old barn. It is the delight of a boys heart to watch the men shear sheep, and I arose early that morning expecting to enjoy the event fully. My mother and aunt Catherine wanted to work in the garden that forenoon. Around the garden was a paling fence with a wide base board at the bottom. Mother set me to rocking the old fashioned sutee cradle with the owner of this farm, Samuel B. in one end and Flora May in the other. Their melodious voices were anything but harmonious and they seemed bent on each out doing the other in quantity rather than quality of tone.
I rocked for a full hour but still the band kept playing. After they had played it through with all sorts of variations and had repeated again and again they both sank into a sweet sleep. Bless my stars I knew nothing of Shakespeare then. But even now, as I look back to that event, I can appreciate the feelings of him who first invented sleep. "Hush, do not wake them yet."
I tiptoed across the floor in my bare feet, siezed my old slouch hat from its accustomed corner, rolled it up, and stuck it into my trousers pocket. A great difficulty was before me. I must pass the garden to reach the barn. Mother might see me. Down I crept in the dust, turtle fashion, until I passed the garden. Then I sprang to my feet and ran like a "white head" and on reaching the barn perched myself on top of the old whiting clover-huler, a most commanding position.
Father just had caught a sheep and was carrying it forth to shear when lo, Mother's voice rang out on the summer breeze, "Charlie!" Father's trained ear caught the melody. He understood. With a look and command that bared all appeal, he said, "boy, you get down there and go to the house and rock that cradle." Oh my, but I got it! I went, not like a lamb to slaughter, for I opened my mouth and went more like a sqealing pig. I reached the house and was rocking the cradle. The music was on. Aunt Catherine, then a large woman, was standing in the doorway between her apartment and ours. As I stepped over the threshold, I siezed my old slough hat with my right hand and flung it in its accustomed corner saying, "I'll rock these two, but Frank's got to rock the next two."
How my Aunt laughed. She laughed until she shook. To me it was not a laughing matter. I never understood why Aunt laughed until I grew to manhood. Young as I was, I unconciously entered the role of prophet. Perhaps that is why I am a preacher today. Strange to say my prophesy came true in that the next two came. Well, I rocked the next two and I kept on rocking. In fact, I am rocking yet. It is the noblest occupation that ever honored and dignified the toils of mortals. If you have never experienced it, get busy and try it. The future success of this old Family Tree depends upon each one doing his and her duty.
But let us come down out of this tree to the ground, to the foundation, to the beginning. Let us turn our eyes back over the years that have come and gone, back to when this tree was less than a sapling, a mere sprout, planted on American soil back in the early period of the 19th century.
"Could storried urn of accumulated bust
Back to its mansion call fleeting breath
Could honors voice provoke the silent dust
Or flattery soothe dull cold ear deaty-"
I might be prompted to give you history full of rememberances and fact that would fill you with delight and honor. As to positions of fame, chivelry, illustrious deeds, and as to statesmen of the highest position, generals of first rank, posts, painters, artists, explorers, inventors, philanthropists, writers, orators, singers, musicians, lawyers, preachers, and doctors of the first magnitude, the ancient history of the family here represented today is largely blank.
For the past five years his health had been impaired and while unable to preach every Sunday regularly he still maintained his interest in religious and civic work and frequently appeared on religious programs of church and bible school gatherings.
He was married twice, and is now survived by his second wife, and eight children. He also leaves seven brothers and sisters. Funeral services in his memory will be held at the Christian Church in Girard, Sunday afternoon at 3 o'clock. On Monday morning the remains will be taken to Jeromesville for burial.
~ ~ ~ ~
Speech by Charles Stephen "C. S." Cliffe to the Ashland Genealogical Society
Mr. President, members of the Cliffe family, Ladies and Gentlemen, I wish to congratulate those who had to do with the fixing of the date and place of this re-union. The day is bright and auspicious and I trust prophetic of the future of this young society which I trust will take her place at the head of the class among thousands of similar organizations. The place, as it should have been, chosen here where the Old Family Tree took root, that has spread its branches and sub-branches over the land.
I cannot suppress a mingled feeling of joy and sadness as I stand once more amid the early scenes of my childhood where truant boys with laughing eyes chased the winged butterflies and did a thousand things dreamed of only in the boy world.
I am not insensible to the high honor conferred upon me in granting me the privilige of writing the history of this family, bearing such a lofty and illustrious name. Not that the members of this family tree have yet, to any marked degree, made the name illustrious; but that the name has made them illustrious, and yet we are sometimes asked, "what is there in a name?" It is this name that brings us together and finds our hearts in the sweet and happy fellowship of the day.
Let me say that had I been called upon to give you a brief report of one of the cradle roll departments of this old family tree, the contriburion would have been ready. In this particular I claim no little distinction. The medal belongs here, since my eyes opened to the beauty and historic scenes, my hand has not been far from the cradle.
This reminds me of a story that I must tell. It was a beautiful summer day in June.. Father and uncle Dan were shearing sheep in the old barn. It is the delight of a boys heart to watch the men shear sheep, and I arose early that morning expecting to enjoy the event fully. My mother and aunt Catherine wanted to work in the garden that forenoon. Around the garden was a paling fence with a wide base board at the bottom. Mother set me to rocking the old fashioned sutee cradle with the owner of this farm, Samuel B. in one end and Flora May in the other. Their melodious voices were anything but harmonious and they seemed bent on each out doing the other in quantity rather than quality of tone.
I rocked for a full hour but still the band kept playing. After they had played it through with all sorts of variations and had repeated again and again they both sank into a sweet sleep. Bless my stars I knew nothing of Shakespeare then. But even now, as I look back to that event, I can appreciate the feelings of him who first invented sleep. "Hush, do not wake them yet."
I tiptoed across the floor in my bare feet, siezed my old slouch hat from its accustomed corner, rolled it up, and stuck it into my trousers pocket. A great difficulty was before me. I must pass the garden to reach the barn. Mother might see me. Down I crept in the dust, turtle fashion, until I passed the garden. Then I sprang to my feet and ran like a "white head" and on reaching the barn perched myself on top of the old whiting clover-huler, a most commanding position.
Father just had caught a sheep and was carrying it forth to shear when lo, Mother's voice rang out on the summer breeze, "Charlie!" Father's trained ear caught the melody. He understood. With a look and command that bared all appeal, he said, "boy, you get down there and go to the house and rock that cradle." Oh my, but I got it! I went, not like a lamb to slaughter, for I opened my mouth and went more like a sqealing pig. I reached the house and was rocking the cradle. The music was on. Aunt Catherine, then a large woman, was standing in the doorway between her apartment and ours. As I stepped over the threshold, I siezed my old slough hat with my right hand and flung it in its accustomed corner saying, "I'll rock these two, but Frank's got to rock the next two."
How my Aunt laughed. She laughed until she shook. To me it was not a laughing matter. I never understood why Aunt laughed until I grew to manhood. Young as I was, I unconciously entered the role of prophet. Perhaps that is why I am a preacher today. Strange to say my prophesy came true in that the next two came. Well, I rocked the next two and I kept on rocking. In fact, I am rocking yet. It is the noblest occupation that ever honored and dignified the toils of mortals. If you have never experienced it, get busy and try it. The future success of this old Family Tree depends upon each one doing his and her duty.
But let us come down out of this tree to the ground, to the foundation, to the beginning. Let us turn our eyes back over the years that have come and gone, back to when this tree was less than a sapling, a mere sprout, planted on American soil back in the early period of the 19th century.
"Could storried urn of accumulated bust
Back to its mansion call fleeting breath
Could honors voice provoke the silent dust
Or flattery soothe dull cold ear deaty-"
I might be prompted to give you history full of rememberances and fact that would fill you with delight and honor. As to positions of fame, chivelry, illustrious deeds, and as to statesmen of the highest position, generals of first rank, posts, painters, artists, explorers, inventors, philanthropists, writers, orators, singers, musicians, lawyers, preachers, and doctors of the first magnitude, the ancient history of the family here represented today is largely blank.
Rev. Charles S. Cliffe a pastor of Christian Churches in Eastern Ohio for a period of 30 years, passed away at his home in Girard on Friday evening. The death of Rev. Cliffe followed a prolonged illness with complications. He was 63 years old and was born in Jeromesville, o., and ordained a minister in the Christian Church there. He supervised charges in Bellville, Galion, Mineral Ridge, New Castle, Pa., and Girard. His health failed when he was serving as pastor of the Christian Church in Girard.
For the past five years his health had been impaired and while unable to preach every Sunday regularly he still maintained his interest in religious and civic work and frequently appeared on religious programs of church and bible school gatherings.
He was married twice, and is now survived by his second wife, and eight children. He also leaves seven brothers and sisters. Funeral services in his memory will be held at the Christian Church in Girard, Sunday afternoon at 3 o'clock. On Monday morning the remains will be taken to Jeromesville for burial.
~ ~ ~ ~
Speech by Charles Stephen "C. S." Cliffe to the Ashland Genealogical Society
Mr. President, members of the Cliffe family, Ladies and Gentlemen, I wish to congratulate those who had to do with the fixing of the date and place of this re-union. The day is bright and auspicious and I trust prophetic of the future of this young society which I trust will take her place at the head of the class among thousands of similar organizations. The place, as it should have been, chosen here where the Old Family Tree took root, that has spread its branches and sub-branches over the land.
I cannot suppress a mingled feeling of joy and sadness as I stand once more amid the early scenes of my childhood where truant boys with laughing eyes chased the winged butterflies and did a thousand things dreamed of only in the boy world.
I am not insensible to the high honor conferred upon me in granting me the privilige of writing the history of this family, bearing such a lofty and illustrious name. Not that the members of this family tree have yet, to any marked degree, made the name illustrious; but that the name has made them illustrious, and yet we are sometimes asked, "what is there in a name?" It is this name that brings us together and finds our hearts in the sweet and happy fellowship of the day.
Let me say that had I been called upon to give you a brief report of one of the cradle roll departments of this old family tree, the contriburion would have been ready. In this particular I claim no little distinction. The medal belongs here, since my eyes opened to the beauty and historic scenes, my hand has not been far from the cradle.
This reminds me of a story that I must tell. It was a beautiful summer day in June.. Father and uncle Dan were shearing sheep in the old barn. It is the delight of a boys heart to watch the men shear sheep, and I arose early that morning expecting to enjoy the event fully. My mother and aunt Catherine wanted to work in the garden that forenoon. Around the garden was a paling fence with a wide base board at the bottom. Mother set me to rocking the old fashioned sutee cradle with the owner of this farm, Samuel B. in one end and Flora May in the other. Their melodious voices were anything but harmonious and they seemed bent on each out doing the other in quantity rather than quality of tone.
I rocked for a full hour but still the band kept playing. After they had played it through with all sorts of variations and had repeated again and again they both sank into a sweet sleep. Bless my stars I knew nothing of Shakespeare then. But even now, as I look back to that event, I can appreciate the feelings of him who first invented sleep. "Hush, do not wake them yet."
I tiptoed across the floor in my bare feet, siezed my old slouch hat from its accustomed corner, rolled it up, and stuck it into my trousers pocket. A great difficulty was before me. I must pass the garden to reach the barn. Mother might see me. Down I crept in the dust, turtle fashion, until I passed the garden. Then I sprang to my feet and ran like a "white head" and on reaching the barn perched myself on top of the old whiting clover-huler, a most commanding position.
Father just had caught a sheep and was carrying it forth to shear when lo, Mother's voice rang out on the summer breeze, "Charlie!" Father's trained ear caught the melody. He understood. With a look and command that bared all appeal, he said, "boy, you get down there and go to the house and rock that cradle." Oh my, but I got it! I went, not like a lamb to slaughter, for I opened my mouth and went more like a sqealing pig. I reached the house and was rocking the cradle. The music was on. Aunt Catherine, then a large woman, was standing in the doorway between her apartment and ours. As I stepped over the threshold, I siezed my old slough hat with my right hand and flung it in its accustomed corner saying, "I'll rock these two, but Frank's got to rock the next two."
How my Aunt laughed. She laughed until she shook. To me it was not a laughing matter. I never understood why Aunt laughed until I grew to manhood. Young as I was, I unconciously entered the role of prophet. Perhaps that is why I am a preacher today. Strange to say my prophesy came true in that the next two came. Well, I rocked the next two and I kept on rocking. In fact, I am rocking yet. It is the noblest occupation that ever honored and dignified the toils of mortals. If you have never experienced it, get busy and try it. The future success of this old Family Tree depends upon each one doing his and her duty.
But let us come down out of this tree to the ground, to the foundation, to the beginning. Let us turn our eyes back over the years that have come and gone, back to when this tree was less than a sapling, a mere sprout, planted on American soil back in the early period of the 19th century.
"Could storried urn of accumulated bust
Back to its mansion call fleeting breath
Could honors voice provoke the silent dust
Or flattery soothe dull cold ear deaty-"
I might be prompted to give you history full of rememberances and fact that would fill you with delight and honor. As to positions of fame, chivelry, illustrious deeds, and as to statesmen of the highest position, generals of first rank, posts, painters, artists, explorers, inventors, philanthropists, writers, orators, singers, musicians, lawyers, preachers, and doctors of the first magnitude, the ancient history of the family here represented today is largely blank.
For the past five years his health had been impaired and while unable to preach every Sunday regularly he still maintained his interest in religious and civic work and frequently appeared on religious programs of church and bible school gatherings.
He was married twice, and is now survived by his second wife, and eight children. He also leaves seven brothers and sisters. Funeral services in his memory will be held at the Christian Church in Girard, Sunday afternoon at 3 o'clock. On Monday morning the remains will be taken to Jeromesville for burial.
~ ~ ~ ~
Speech by Charles Stephen "C. S." Cliffe to the Ashland Genealogical Society
Mr. President, members of the Cliffe family, Ladies and Gentlemen, I wish to congratulate those who had to do with the fixing of the date and place of this re-union. The day is bright and auspicious and I trust prophetic of the future of this young society which I trust will take her place at the head of the class among thousands of similar organizations. The place, as it should have been, chosen here where the Old Family Tree took root, that has spread its branches and sub-branches over the land.
I cannot suppress a mingled feeling of joy and sadness as I stand once more amid the early scenes of my childhood where truant boys with laughing eyes chased the winged butterflies and did a thousand things dreamed of only in the boy world.
I am not insensible to the high honor conferred upon me in granting me the privilige of writing the history of this family, bearing such a lofty and illustrious name. Not that the members of this family tree have yet, to any marked degree, made the name illustrious; but that the name has made them illustrious, and yet we are sometimes asked, "what is there in a name?" It is this name that brings us together and finds our hearts in the sweet and happy fellowship of the day.
Let me say that had I been called upon to give you a brief report of one of the cradle roll departments of this old family tree, the contriburion would have been ready. In this particular I claim no little distinction. The medal belongs here, since my eyes opened to the beauty and historic scenes, my hand has not been far from the cradle.
This reminds me of a story that I must tell. It was a beautiful summer day in June.. Father and uncle Dan were shearing sheep in the old barn. It is the delight of a boys heart to watch the men shear sheep, and I arose early that morning expecting to enjoy the event fully. My mother and aunt Catherine wanted to work in the garden that forenoon. Around the garden was a paling fence with a wide base board at the bottom. Mother set me to rocking the old fashioned sutee cradle with the owner of this farm, Samuel B. in one end and Flora May in the other. Their melodious voices were anything but harmonious and they seemed bent on each out doing the other in quantity rather than quality of tone.
I rocked for a full hour but still the band kept playing. After they had played it through with all sorts of variations and had repeated again and again they both sank into a sweet sleep. Bless my stars I knew nothing of Shakespeare then. But even now, as I look back to that event, I can appreciate the feelings of him who first invented sleep. "Hush, do not wake them yet."
I tiptoed across the floor in my bare feet, siezed my old slouch hat from its accustomed corner, rolled it up, and stuck it into my trousers pocket. A great difficulty was before me. I must pass the garden to reach the barn. Mother might see me. Down I crept in the dust, turtle fashion, until I passed the garden. Then I sprang to my feet and ran like a "white head" and on reaching the barn perched myself on top of the old whiting clover-huler, a most commanding position.
Father just had caught a sheep and was carrying it forth to shear when lo, Mother's voice rang out on the summer breeze, "Charlie!" Father's trained ear caught the melody. He understood. With a look and command that bared all appeal, he said, "boy, you get down there and go to the house and rock that cradle." Oh my, but I got it! I went, not like a lamb to slaughter, for I opened my mouth and went more like a sqealing pig. I reached the house and was rocking the cradle. The music was on. Aunt Catherine, then a large woman, was standing in the doorway between her apartment and ours. As I stepped over the threshold, I siezed my old slough hat with my right hand and flung it in its accustomed corner saying, "I'll rock these two, but Frank's got to rock the next two."
How my Aunt laughed. She laughed until she shook. To me it was not a laughing matter. I never understood why Aunt laughed until I grew to manhood. Young as I was, I unconciously entered the role of prophet. Perhaps that is why I am a preacher today. Strange to say my prophesy came true in that the next two came. Well, I rocked the next two and I kept on rocking. In fact, I am rocking yet. It is the noblest occupation that ever honored and dignified the toils of mortals. If you have never experienced it, get busy and try it. The future success of this old Family Tree depends upon each one doing his and her duty.
But let us come down out of this tree to the ground, to the foundation, to the beginning. Let us turn our eyes back over the years that have come and gone, back to when this tree was less than a sapling, a mere sprout, planted on American soil back in the early period of the 19th century.
"Could storried urn of accumulated bust
Back to its mansion call fleeting breath
Could honors voice provoke the silent dust
Or flattery soothe dull cold ear deaty-"
I might be prompted to give you history full of rememberances and fact that would fill you with delight and honor. As to positions of fame, chivelry, illustrious deeds, and as to statesmen of the highest position, generals of first rank, posts, painters, artists, explorers, inventors, philanthropists, writers, orators, singers, musicians, lawyers, preachers, and doctors of the first magnitude, the ancient history of the family here represented today is largely blank.
Bio by: Marge Counterman
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