Mrs Lute Hart Memorandum


This typescript (of an old and crumbling newspaper clipping -- no date, place, or publisher 
indicated) provided by A. Gayle Hudgens, PhD, aghudgens at earthlink dot net 
Note: C. H. Hart was Cassius 'Cash' Harrison Hart, son of William H. Hart, one of the earliest 
settlers in the area


IN MEMORIAM

HART -- Died at her residence near Gilmer, on the night of March 11th, 1889, of erysipelas, 
Mrs. Lute Hart, aged 32 years.

The subject of this notice was born in Quitman, Wood County, Texas, November 25, 1856, and 
was a daughter of John E. and Mary E. Lemon. Her father was a native of Illinois, and, in 
1859, moved back to his old home, his sympathies not being with the South upon the question 
of slavery. He entered the Northern army, but died in the Andersonville prison. Her mother 
moved back to Quitman in 1868, where Lute Lemon was married to C. H. Hart on the 4th of 
January, 1877. To them were born five children, three of whom are left to live this mortal 
life without the tender touch of a mother's love and the sacred blessings of a mother's care. 
Mrs. Lute Hart was a mother kind in the fullest meaning of the word, a wife devoted as love 
can make a wife. She was a lover of literature and science. Her leisure hours were spent in 
reading books on various subjects. Her religion was simply kindness. If ever mortal lived 
who treated all people as she would have them treat her, that mortal was Mrs. Lute Hart. She 
spoke evil of no one; every one of her acquaintances esteemed her as a friend. It is sad that 
one so good and true should be called by Mother Nature to sleep the long, long sleep of death. 
But death came with his scythe and his promise of repose. He found a ready slumberer – she 
fell asleep. The writer of this stood at her bedside while she was passing away. The clock 
was striking ten. There was a wondrous silence between the strokes like that between the 
lightening's flash and the thunder's roar. The life of a good and true woman was going! The 
ten sad strokes of the old clock were ended, and she was dead. The group of friends around 
the bedside looked sadly on the still, cold form and watched with silence for a returning 
breath. No breath came. The death was gentle. Calmly, with folded hands, she died, like one 
going to sleep.