John Hathorne - Life

Life

Hathorne's father, Major William Hathorne, was among the early settlers of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in the 1630s and held a number of military and political positions for several decades. John was born in Salem in August 1641; his father's surviving records give the date as August 4, but the records of the First Church of Salem indicate he was baptized on August 2. John married in Salem, March 22, 1674/5, Ruth Gardner, granddaughter of "Old Planter" Thomas Gardner, a settler of Salem who arrived as part of colonization efforts funded by the Dorchester Company in 1625.

Hathorne expanded on the successes of his father in building a small empire based on land and merchant trade to England and the West Indies. In addition to lands in the Salem area he also had interests in the lands of what is now Maine. He assumed positions of authority in the town, and was appointed a justice of the peace of Essex County, and served as a member of the colony's council of assistants (a combination of legislative upper house and high court). In this role he was called on to mediate disputes in the county's towns, including Salem Village (present-day Danvers).

Read more about this topic:  John Hathorne

Famous quotes containing the word life:

    We are all conceived in close prison; in our mothers’ wombs, we are close prisoners all; when we are born, we are born but to the liberty of the house; prisoners still, though within larger walls; and then all our life is but a going out to the place of execution, to death.
    John Donne (c. 1572–1631)

    I feel nothing but the accursed happiness I have dreaded all my life long: the happiness that comes as life goes, the happiness of yielding and dreaming instead of resisting and doing, the sweetness of the fruit that is going rotten.
    George Bernard Shaw (1856–1950)

    How many women ... waste life away the prey of discontent, who might have practised as physicians, regulated a farm, managed a shop, and stood erect, supported by their own industry, instead of hanging their heads surcharged with the dew of sensibility, that consumes the beauty to which it at first gave lustre ...
    Mary Wollstonecraft (1759–1797)