Hayter, James 1851-1903

HAYTER, WINANS

Posted By: Janice Young (email)
Date: 1/26/2004 at 11:27:12

James Hayter

The Newton News, Tuesday, July 21, 1903

Page 1, Column 3

Although he had been sick for long months the death of James Hayter today came as a shock to our people. It is so short a time since he was among us in the full strength and vigor of manhood. The following tribute is written by a friend.

James Hayter was born in Kington Magna, Dorsetshire, England, April 10, 1851, and therefore reached the age of 52 years, 3 months and 11 days. He came to America when a lad of 15 years, landing in New York on his birthday, April 10, 1866. He proceeded to Wisconsin, where he remained four years when he moved to Wenonah, Ill. He was united in marriage Sept. 20, 1877 to Eva Winans, and on April 19, 1887, removed to Newton, Iowa, where he resided until his death, July 21, 1903. He leaves besides his wife and two daughters, Lulu and Beryl, one sister now residing in London, England, and one brother, Thomas, of Galesville, Wisconsin. His only brother was with him during his last illness and death. Mr. Hayter was one of a family of eleven children. He was a member of the M. E. Church of this city, the Woodmen of the World and of Newton Lodge No. 59, A. F. & A. M., Gebal Chapter No. 12, Royal Arch Masons, and Oriental Commandery No. 22 Knights Templar.

Mr. Hayter was a man of keen intellect and noble heart and up to one year and a half before is death, a fine type of physical manhood. He was genial to a degree and bright as the morning sun, a prime favorite among his fellows, who are as numerous as his acquaintance was extensive. In the home, which he loved so endearingly, he was a ministering as well as a guardian angel, where the faithful, trustful wife of his early and latest years, the loving and dutiful children reposed an unfaltering confidence in his paternal care and interest in all that make home happy and blessed. When such a man dies there is left an “aching void” in many a human breast and many a circle of admiring friends can only write his virtues on tables of enduring memory that they may learn to imitate them.

The simplicity which mirrored his life was far more beautiful in the eye of his family and friends than the studied elegance of the courtier, or him who lives unto himself. It is well to pause and contemplate the character of one who has ever been a bright and shinning light in our midst – a life like the placid water upon which the dying swan glides to the shore, full of the fragrance of the flower and the beauty of its leaves, without the thorns, that remind us that “it is not all of life to live nor all of death to die.”