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Note: Sarah was born with certain physical deformities and a cleft pallette. Sarah was an author of Poetry and songs. Doctor (Sarah) Ida Cottew, her daughter, published her mother's poems, "Mother's Poems", in 1901 and 1906, 177 pages, 8 leaves of plates. As of 2002, copies of the book reside at the following Libraries: Heritage Trail Library System Illinois State Historical Library Reddick Library, Ottawa, IL Minnesota Historical Society University of Southern California Loyola University, Chicago Kent State University, Kent, Ohio Brown University, NY McMurry University Kendall Young Public Library, Webster City, IA Excerpt from Pages 138-139 of: Publication Number 13 of the Illinois State Histrorical Library: Transactions of the Illinois State Historical Society for the year 1908 Ninth Annual Meeting of the Society, Springfield, lll., January 30-31, 1908. Published by Authority of the Board of Trustees of the Illinois State Histrorical Library, Springfield:Illinois State Journal Co., State Printers, 1909 "About the same time, in the northern end of the State, another poet was sighing over the sad fate that condemned her to live and die unappreciated. Sarah Lett was born in Chatham, Ontario, in 1824, afflicted with a frail body, and, in her early years, an impediment in speech. Nevertheless she possessed an intelligent mind and a poetic nature, as the sequel showed. Having lost both father and mother, the remnant of the family, after various wanderings, drifted to the northern part of LaSalle County, where Sara married a young farmer named Cotteau, whose family had settled a short distance from the Lett homestead. Being of a sensitive disposition, she lived among her books and flowers, as quiet a life as was compatible with the manifold duties of a pioneer farmer's wife; reading her weekly newspaper at night by the light of fireplace and tallow candle. And all the while, she was singing blithely or sadly, her own little songs, almost as spontaneously and unconsciously as the birds sang in the trees about her door. Some of these little poems found a haven in the columns of the weekly newspapers of the day, and a few were set to music, that she never heard sung. She sang of the every-day things that hedged her in-of her joys and sorrows, but most of all she sang of patriotism-of the heroes of her own Canadian home, of her adopted country's flag,' of the gallant deeds of the boys in blue, of the sorrow and pity of slavery and oppression everywhere. That she longed for a larger audience and more intelligent appreciation is shown by her half-ironical, half-sad author's preface: "Oh, isn't it hard to be a poet, And live and die, and let nobody know it! To sing your songs to the passing breeze, Or jot them down when nobody sees,- Poor little pitiful things like these!" Years after her death, her poems were painstakingly gathered from hither and yon, by her daughter, Ida Cotteau, of whom she sang, as a child: "She stood by the pasture bars, And she looked so pretty and sweet; Her eyes were like luminous stars; There was dust on her little bare feet." The problem of finding a publisher for the little old-fashioned songs, was solved by means of an advertisement in a Chicago paper; and, after half a lifetime, (Dr. Sarah) Ida Cotteau had the satisfaction of completing her labor of love, and only just in time, for, a few weeks ago, she, too, passed away. The poetry of early Illinois may need an occasional twist in the pronunciation to help out a rhyme, or it may now and then be necessary to use artificial means to keep its metrical feet from "interfering," but three characteristics it undoubtedly possessed-religious fervor, patriotism and appreciation of the beauties of nature. That some of our early Illinois poets were crude in their manner of expressing the message that clamored "to be heard of mankind," there is no use denying; but, when all is said and done, I doubt very much whether the newspaper jingles of the present day will stand very much higher in the estimation of coming generations than those perpetrated by our forefathers and mothers. Our aim nowadays, seems to be solely to amuse, but these pioneer verses, almost without exception, bring in their hands some underlying admonition, precept or moral to justify their presence upon the sea of literature. It may be more practical to hitch your Pegasus to a fence-post, but even the frustrated attempt to hitch him to a star ought to be more uplifting."
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