#Amasa Townsend

[clarkfamily]

Pic 1: looks like a field, probably on Storrs Hill, with a pile of rocks plowed up out of the soil. Pic 2: "Looking east from my room on Storrs Hill-P.N.Townsend" Pic 3: Looks like an outbuilding on Storrs Hill, maybe a sugar house. Pic 4: "Amasa W. Townsend" Pic 5: "Looking east from my room on Storrs Hill-P.N.Townsend"

[clarkfamily]

"Born Feb 25, 1857, Died Oct 25, 1935" This is Amasa Watkins Townsend, Philip's father. He is buried in the School Street Cemetery in Lebanon, NH

[clarkfamily]

Pic 1: hives in snow, maybe at Honey Gardens Pic 2: "Old Bill" East door of honey house Pic 3: "Old Bill" A.W. Townsend, my father, raised him. I used him at Honey Gardens 1915. I used him one year on milk rout. 1916. Began March 16. He died of colic in the kitchen where the sink is now. 1917. Bought an old Ford T. We still live in the barn

[clarkfamily]

A Bad Boy’s Diary - Chapter 2

CHAPTER II.

THE PHOTOGRAPHS

I've been 2 sick too write in my diry for most a week.  It was gettin drownded made me ill, an' gettin' out o' bed when I was swetty.  Docktor Moore he's been up to see me twist a day.  He's been so good to me I'm sorry I fritened him that night.  I herd Bess tell Lily this morning she was glad I was sick, 'cause there was some piece in the house now;  she hoped I'd stay in bed a month.  I wonder wot girls don't like their little brothers for.  I'm sure I'm real good to Bess.  I go to the post-offis fur her twist a day when I am well.  I never lost morren three letters fur her.  Golly!  ain't I glad she don't know about them!

This afternoon I felt so much better I wanted to get up, so when I heard Betty comin' with my supper, I slipped out o' bed an' hid behind the door.  I had mamma's shawl around me, an' I jumpted out as she come in, an' barked as like I was a big black dog, an' that careless creture just dropped the server on the floor.  Such a mess!  The china bowl was broke, the beef-tea was spilt on the carpet, an' the hull family rushed up-stairs to hear her scream as if the house was on fire.  I didn't know betty was such a goose.  They all blamed me -- they always do.  I believe when I get well I'll run away, an' be a buf'lo bill, or jine a ship.  There never was a boy got such tretement -- so unjust.

To-day I was let sit up, tucked up in a quilt in a arm-chare.  I soon got tired o' that, so I ast Betty to get me a glass o' ice-water to squench my thirst, an' when she was gone I cut an' run, an' went into Susan's room to look at all them fotografs of nice young men she's go there in a drawer.

The girls was all down in the parlor, 'cos Miss Watson had come to call.  Betty she came a huntin' me, but I hid in the closet behind a ole hoop-skirt.  I come out when she went away, an' had a real good time.  Some o' them fotografs was written on the back, like this:  "Conseated fop!"  "Oh, ain't he sweet?"  "He ast me, but I wouldn't have him."  "A perfeck darling!"  "What a mouth!"  "Portrait of a donkey!"

I kep about two dozen o' them I knew, to have some fun when I got well.  I shut the drawer so Sue wouldn't notice they was took.  I felt as if I could not bare to go back to that nasty room, I was so tired of it, an' I thought I'd pass my time a playing I was a young lady.  So I got on Sue's old bustle, and a pettycoat with a long tale on it, and Sue's blue silk dress, only it wouldn't be big enuff about the waste.  I found a lot o' little curls in the buro, wich I stuck on all around my forehead with a bottle of mewsiledge, and then I seen more red stuff on a sawcer, wich I rubbed onto my cheaks.  When I was all fixed up I slid down the bannisters plump againste Miss Watson, wot was sayin' good-by to my sisters.  Such a hollerin' as they made!

"My best blue silk, you little imp!" said Sue.

Miss Watson she turned me to the light, an' sez she, as sweet as pie:

"Where did you get them pretty red cheeks, Geordie?"

Susan made a sign, but I didn't know it.

"I found some red stuff in Sue's drawer," sez I, and she smiled kind o' hateful, and said:

"Oh!"

My sister says she is an awful gossip, wich will tell all over town that they paint, wich they don't, 'cause that sawcer was gust to make roses on card-bord, wich is all right.

I stepped on to the front o' Sue's dress goin' up stares agen, an' tore the front bredth acrost.

She was so mad she boxed my ears.

"Aha, missy!" sez I to myelf, "you don't guess about them fotografs wot I took o' your drawer!"

Some folks think little boys' ears are made on purpose to be boxed -- my sisters do.  If they knew wot dark an' desprate thoughts come into little boys' minds, they'd be more careful -- it riles 'em up like pokin' sticks into a mud puddel.

I laid low -- but beware tomorrow!

They let me come down to brekfast this mornin'.

I've got those pictures all in my pockets, you bet your life.

"Wot makes your pockets stick out so?" ast Lily, when I was waiting a chance to slip out unbeknone.

Oh, things," sez I, an' she laughed.

"I thought mebbe you'd got your books and cloathes packed up in 'em," sez she, "to run away an' be a Injun warryor."

I didn't let on anything, but ansered her:

"I guess I'll go out in the backyard an' play a spell."

Well, I got off down town, an' had a lot of fun.  I called on all the aboriginals of them fotografs.

"Hello George!  Well agen?" said the first feller I stopped to see.

Oh, my!  when I get big enuff I'll hope my mustaches won't be waxed like his'n!  He's in a store, an' I got him to give me a nice cravat, an' he ast me "Was my sisters well?" so I fished out his fotograf, and gave it to him.

It was the one that had "Conseated Fop!" writ on the back.  The girls had drawed his musttaches out twict as long with a pencil, an' made hime smile all acrost his face.  He got as red as fire, an' then he skowled at me.

"Who did that, you little rascal?"

"I guess the spirits did it," I said, as onest as a owl, an' I went away quick cause he looked as mad as thunder.

The nex plaice I come to was a grocery store, where a nuther young man lived.  He had red hair an' freckles, but he seemed to think hisself a beauty.  I said:

"Hello, Peters!"

He said:

"The same to yourself, Master George.  Do you like raisins?  Help yourself."

Boys wot has three pretty sisters allers does get treted well, I notiss.  I took a big hanful of raisins an' a few peanuts, an' sot on the counter eating 'em, till all at oncest, as if I just thought of it, I took out his fotograf an' squinted at it, an' sez:

"I do declare, it looks like you."

"Let me see it," sez he.

I wouldn't for a long time, then I gave it to him.  The girls had made freckles all over it.  This was the one they wrote on the back, "He asked me, but I wouldn't have him."  They'd painted his hair as red as a rooster's comb.  He got quite pale when he seen it clost.

"It's a burning shame," sez I, "for them young ladies to make fun o' their bows."

"Clear out," sez Peters.

I grabbed a nuther bunch o' raisins an' quietly disappeared.  I tell you he was rathy!

Mister Courntenay he was a lawyer, he's got a offis on the square by the cort-house.  I knew him very well, 'cause he comes to our house offen.  He's a awful queer-lookin' chap, an' so stuck up you'd think he was tryin' to see if the moon was made o' green cheese, like folks sez it is, the way he keeps it in the air.  He's got a depe, depe voice way down in his boots.  My harte beat wen I got in there, I was that fritened;  but I was bound to see the fun out, so I ast him:

"Is the What is It on exabishun to-day?"

"Wot do you mean?" sez he, a lookin' down on me.

"Sue said if I could come to Mister Courtenay's offis I would see wot this is the picture of," sez I, given' him his own fotograf inskibed, "The Wonderful What is It."

It's awful funny to see their faces wen they look at their own cards.

In about a minit he up with his foot wich I doged just in time.  I herd him muttering suthin' 'bout "suing for scandal."  I think myself I oughter arrest her for salt an' battery, boxing my ears.  I wishst he would sue Sue, 'twould serve her right.

I'll not get to bed fore midnight if I write enny more.  I'me yawning now like a dying fish.  So, farewell my diry till the next time.  I give them cards all back for dinner-time.  There'll be a row I expect.  I've laughed myself almost to fits a thinkin' of the feller wot I give "Portrait of a Donkey" to.  He looked so cress fallen.  I do believe he cried.  They were teazin' ma to let 'em give a party nex week wen I got home to dinner.  I don't believe one of them young gentlemen will come to it;  the girls have give 'em all away.  I don't care wuth a cent.  Wot for do they take such libertys with my ears if they want me to be good to 'em.

P.S. -- I bet their left ears are burning wuss'n ever mine did! 

[clarkfamily]

A Bad Boy’s Diary - Chapter 1

CHAPTER I.

HOW HE BEGAN IT.

I Was ate years ole yesterday, an' mamma she says to me:

"George, wot would you like for a burthday present?"

So I said a "diry", cause all my growed-up sisters keep a diry, an' I thought it would be about the figger.  So mamma she got me one.  I wanted to begin it all rite, so I stole up to Lily's room to copy suthin out o' hern;  but she keeps it locked up in her writing-desk, an' I had a offal time getting a key that would fit.  At last I found one, an' set down when Lil was out a calling an' coppied oph a page good as I could.

I've got three sisters what all kepes their dirys an' writes into 'em every night after their hair is took oph an' put in the buro drawer, 'xcept what is put in crimps.  So to-nite Mister Wilyem Smith he comes to see Lil, like he does most every evening, a big, ugly ole bashlor that my sisters makes fun of behind his back, an' I was in the parlor with my diry in hand an' he ast me wot I got, an' give me some candy, an' I showed him my diry, an' he red this out loud to Lil and Bess, which was in the room all fixed up to fits:

"I wish that stupid ole Bill Smith would keep himself to home.  He came agen Sunday night.  I never, never, never shall like him one bit, but mother says he's wrich an' I must accept him if he offers.  Oh, how cruwel it is to make me practis such dooplicity!  It seems as if my heart would brake.  What awful grate big red hands he's got an' can't talk about nothin' but how many houses he owns, an' his cravats is in retched taste.  I wish he'd stay away an' done with it.  He tride to kiss me wen he was goin' Sunday night, but I'd just as soon have a lobster kiss me.  Oh! he is so different from my sweet, sweet Montague De Jones.  Wot a pity Montague is a poor clerk!  I can not bare this misery much longer.  Montague is jellus an' reproaches me biterly.  Oh, wot a fraud this life is!  I'm wery of it."

Lil was a screechin' an' a tryin' to snatch it all the time, but Mr. Smith he held it up high, an' red it all;  then he sed to me wot made you rite such stuff?  I sed it wan't stuff -- I got it out of my sister Lil's diry, an' I gess she knew enuff to keep one, an' he took his hat an' went and Bess sez to me:

"Now you've done it, George Hackett!"

Lil mad a grab at me, but I dodged an' run.

I never see such a boy as I am fur gettin' into scrapes.  The hull family is down on me, an' say I've spiled the match an' lost 'em a hundred thousand dollars, but I can't see how I am to blame for jest takin' a few lines out of Lily's diry.

One thing is sure -- the rest o' this book will be my own composishun good or bad.  I'm disgusted with the fool-stuff in them girls' dirys.

There was such a row to home 'bout it to-day I didn't seem to want my dinner, so I went fishing.  It wasn't cloudy, so they wouldn't bite.  A man come along an' he sez:

"Got any bites, sonny?"

I wish folks wouldn't call me sonny -- it makes me mad;  so I hollered:

"Confound the fish!"

And he sez:

"Wot a wicked boy!"

And I sez:

"Not a tall, the fish is in the dam."

And he scratched his head and went on.  Just then suthin' bit, an' I leaned over too far an' fell in.  You oughter seen me go right over the wheel, but it w'n't until I got into the shute that I thought I guess they'd be sorry, now they'd never have Georgie to scold no more.  I don't know what I thunk wen they got me out, coz I was drowned dead as a door-nale;  but they roled me on a barel, an' blowed into my inside with a bellows, an' I come to an' ast 'em if they'd saved my fishpole.

I don't know wot made mama cry when they brougtht me home, coz I was all right then, an' I told her so.  I was awful glad I fell in, coz they got over bein' mad at me.  Lil made me some real good toaste an' tea, an' 'bout dark they all went down to supper an' left me rapped up in blankets that I thought I should smother, so I got up an' put on my best sute -- my other one was gettin' dry.  I betted they'd scold me for gettin' up, an' I crawled down into the parlor, an' got behind the curtains of the bay winder.  I was that tired I fell asleep, an' wen I woken up I heard voices, an' I made out 'twas Susan an' her bow a settin' together on the sofy.  Bess she was ratling away at the peano t'other end o' the room.  Lil was upstairs, 'cause she knew Mr. Wilyem Smith wouldn't come no more.

"We'll haf to wate", says he, "at leste a year.  Old Docktor Bradley wants a younger man to do the ridin', an' he's promised to take me in as a pardner this fall.  Can you wate for me, my darlin'?  You'll haf to haf lots of pashunts," sez he.

"An' so will you," says Sue, and then they laughed.

"We'll better kepe it a profound secret for the present," sez he.

"Yes," sez she, "of course.  It's the best policy to kepe long engadgements secret, suthin' mite happen, you know."

And then she jumped up as if she was shot, an' run acrost the room, an' set down in a chair jist in time, for some folks come in, and then some more.  Everybody wanted to know how poor little georgie was, an' then mama came in an' said I'd run away -- she was awful 'fraid I was dellerius out of my head, my brane might be effected.  So I jest gave them curtains a whop, an' fumped right out as if I was a playin' leap-frog, an' the way they hollered would a made you laught.

"Oh, Georgie, Georgie!" groaned poor mama, "you'll be the deth of me, I know you will."

"Were you in the bay-winder all the time?" ast Sue, a turnin' red an' pale.

"You bet," sez I, an' then I wunk at her an' wunk at him.  "I knowed honesty was the best pollicy," I begun:  "but wot makes it the best pollicy not to let on when your engaged, lik you was talkin' about?"  Then Sue she yerked me out o' the room, an jis' as we got to the door I hollered:  "Let go my arm!  I'll go without bein' grabbed.  Say, Sue, I wonder wot made you hop off the sofy when those folks rung the bell!  Did Docktor Moore --"

But she put her hand right over my mouth and slammed the door.

"I have as good a mind as ever I had to eat to whip you, Georgie!" she sez, beginning to cry.  "You have let the cat out of the bag, you horid, horid boy!"

"Wot cat?" ast I.

"Docktor Moore will never forgive you," sobbin' as if she'd dropped her only stick o' candy in the well.  "We didn't want a sole to dreme of it for the next six months."

"Ime sorry I did it, sis," sez I, "I'll never do it agane if you'll stop blubberin'.  What did I do, anyhow?  If I'd a knowed he was so easy fritened I wouldn't a jumped out so sudden for the world.  I wouldn't marry a feller wots so 'fraid o' things.  He might get scart into a fit some time if he saw a white sheet on the closeline in the night.  I don't belive in gosts, do you?"

By that mamma she came an' took me up to bed agane, an' tole Betty, the chamber-made, to stay by me ti'l I fell aslepe, an' I got Betty to write this in my diry for me, cause I felt so tired and sleepy.  Betty's bow's got red hair and a crost eye.  I peked through the ary winder onest, and seen him kepe one eye on the cook -- that's ill-tempered as she can be -- an' one on Betty, an' I wished I had crost eyes, so I could keep one on my book, an' one on Tommy Fuller wen he puts pins in the schollars' seats.  Crost eyes would be the convinyuntest things fur boys that have to go to school.  Betty yawns like the top of her head would fall off.  So I must close. 

[clarkfamily]

Here’s an important book for me. My mom had a copy that had belonged to her grandfather, Amasa Townsend, and she gave it to me to read when I was 12 or 13. She had taken me up to Philo with her to get away from it all and she gave me the book to occupy and amuse me. It is a kind of 19th century version of “Dennis the Menace”. It was a cheapo pulp book of the time. It was written by a woman, Metta V. Victor. The spelling in the text is all messed up in order to make it seem like the work of a careless and carefree young lad. All the misspellings gave me a headache but I ploughed through it. I didn’t find it that amusing. I’ll post a couple chapters to give you a feel of it. - Sid

[clarkfamily]

A house in Springfield, VT. Probably where Frederick Townsend lived. He was a grandfather of Philip Townsend.

[clarkfamily]

Birth: May 15, 1807 Lebanon, Grafton County, NH. Death: 1902, Lebanon, Grafton County, NH. Abel was born on the old homestead on May 15, 1807. Abel graduated from Kimball Union Academy and Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. He became a professor of Geology, Mineralogy, and botany at that same institute. He was invited to fill prominent positions for which he was well qualified; he declined these positions and came home and cared for his parents who were in declining years. Abel married 1st: Sarah Almira Storrs (2nd cousin) of Argyle, NY on 9.9.1839; she died June 3.1840. He married 2nd: Eliza Charlotte Hoyt, who was born in Craftsbury, VT. They had 3 daughters. Their daughter Nellie married A.W. Townsend, her classmate at Kimball Union Academy; and a graduate of Dartmouth College. He was a successful lawyer in Iowa. Mr. Townsend helped Abel Storrs in his declining years. From "The Granite State Free Press", 1902.

The above was taken from Find a Grave.

The diaries of Abel Storrs show that even with relatively low-maintenance sheep as his farm's main stock, there was plenty of work to keep Mr. Storrs and a few hired men busy through the course of the common fifteen-hour workday. Depending on the season they plowed, furrowed, planted, weeded, hoed, hauled rocks, spread manure, split rails and chopped wood, hauled more stone (a necessity if you wanted to plant anything in that rock-strewn soil), built stone walls with the rocks they hauled, mowed, mended fences, husked corn, tapped maples, boiled sap, picked apples, and cut and hauled hay. There were also cows to be milked, an assortment of other animals to be fed, and harvesting to be done when the crops were ready. Planted in the Storrs' fields were wheat, corn, oats and potatoes, all in quantities large enough to yield a surplus that could be sold. Peas, cabbage, beets, carrots, parsnips, and several kinds of beans were grown for family consumption. (Carroll, Roger, Lebanon 1761 - 1994: the evolution of a resilient New Hampshire city).

Abel Storrs got hit in the eye with a buggy shaft while unhooking the horse, and lost his eyesight in one eye. He lost sight in the other eye at about age 75. Since he lived til 95+, he was blind the last 20 years. (Info from Arthur Clark)

[clarkfamily]

Probably William Townsend on the right, top pic. He was Amasa Townsend’s grandfather. Fathered 18 children on 2 wives. 15 of them lived to adulthood and many to a ripe old age.

b.1780 d.1868

[clarkfamily]

Good bio of the author of “A Bad Boy’s Diary”, one of Amasa Townsend’s favorite light entertainment books. Excerpts of this book have been previously posted in this blog.

I was interested to see that her first book was published when she was 15(!) and that she went on to have 9 children as well as to continuing her prolific writing career. She wrote the first full-length detective novel. Her sister, Frances, was also a prolific author and they married brothers, thus sharing the same last name.

Here is her Wikipedia link.

Here’s a few more links about her:

http://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/victor_meta.html http://www.encyclopedia.com/women/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/victor-metta-1831-1885 http://saintssistersandsluts.com/tag/metta-fuller-victor/ http://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/victor_meta.html

Here is the full text of “A Bad Boy’s Diary”.

[clarkfamily]

Pic 1: "Mrs. F. V. A. Townsend mother of Amasa”. Aurelia K. Royce (1831-1906) m 1851. Pic 2: "First wife of Abel Storrs" Sarah Almira Storrs. She was his 2nd cousin. born 4/25/22, married 9/9/39, died 6/2/40. Married 9 months; may have died in childbirth. - Jean  Pic 3: Back of photo has several notes: "Eliza Charlotte Hoyt married Abel Storrs" "My grandmother P.N.T." Eliza Charlotte Hoyt" "on Meridan Road" "Her brother George in North army died of scurvy in war prisoner camp on an island."  She was Abel's second wife (b 11 Dec 1831 Mansfield, CT, married: 18 May 1851 in Hartland, VT).  She got married at 19 to a man 24 years older than she was. Abel Storrs (1807 - 1902) would have been 44 — "was old enough to be her father. “

Pic 4: Clearly the same woman as in pic 3.

[clarkfamily]

Dennis Townsend, inventor of the Folding Globe.

born: 8 May 1817 in Reading, VT married: 3 May 1849 spouse: Ray, Lizzie (b 3 Nov 1828     child: Townsend, Juliet Ann (29 Oct 1850 - 27 Jan 1851)     child: Townsend, Mary Emma (27 Nov 1857 - aft 1905)     child: Townsend, Dennis (3 Aug 1861 - aft 1905) 

"His life was mostly spent in teaching in high schools and academies, and served as County Superintendent of Schools for many years, also a noted violinist."

Dennis wrote letters from 1835 to 1868; some of the letters from the 1850s are copies of originals at the University of Texas. Dennis attended school in Greenfield, Massachusetts, at age 18, and later in Plainfield, N.H., and at his sister Aurelia’s urging he took Latin, to enable him to attend college. He attended Dartmouth, but left for financial reasons. He worked at his brother Elmer’s store in Boston. He taught school, both in New England and Louisiana, the latter in part for his health, which always seemed questionable. His letters were well written, very clear, though there seemed to be great mood swings, evidently reflecting the state of his health. At one point he was running a school in Louisiana, but by 1850 he was in Illinois, newly married. He was in California by 1853, speaking of the gold strikes, the characteristics of the Chinese, the wonders of high-speed communications. (In 1862 he got a telegraph message from the east, and compared it to the 168 days it had taken him to cross from Chicago to the west coast ten years earlier.) He was running a store in 1853, would become the postmaster of Fiddletown, California, and would teach, as well as do some photography. He voted for Douglas and Johnson in the 1860 election, but was satisfied with Lincoln, and wrote a good letter explaining why he felt the Union cause was just. He advised brothers William and Alfred to keep a low profile in the south during the war, assuming they would be pro-Union as well. He received no news from his southern brothers during the entire war, and indeed received his first post-war letter from Alfred in 1867, when he learned that William was living in absolute poverty. In 1863 he moved to Volcano, California, to teach and become county commissioner of schools. He wrote two letters in 1868 from Felchville, Vermont, giving details of his business ventures in manufacturing the folding globe he had invented, which he hoped to sell to schools and for home use. (In 1869 the University of Vermont awarded him an honorary A.M., presumably for the contributions he made to education through his globe.) Many of the letters in this collection refer to the globe enterprise, brothers hoping it would bring fortune, sisters helping to sell them.

died: 21 Feb 1874 in California

Dennis Townsend was an uncle of Amasa Townsend, Philip Townsend’s father. Unfortunately, Dennis suffered from some form of dementia and died in an insane asylum in Stockton, CA. Here’s his grave.

[clarkfamily]

Uncle of Amasa Townsend, great uncle of Philip Townsend. He wrote a Townsend genealogy book: here.

[clarkfamily]

2,000 year genealogical line of descent

This particular line of descent was provided by Jean Clark Townsend.

1. Judi, Jean, Richard, Phil, Sid, Suzanne 2. Alma Davis Townsend 3. Philip Nelson Townsend 4. Amasa Watkins Townsend 5. Aurelia Royce 6. Samuel Royce 7. Elijah Morey Royce 8. Gershom Royce 9. David Royse (I suspect a misspelling) 10. John Royce 11. Jonathan Royce 12. Robert Royce 13. Thomas Royce 14. William Royce 15. Ap G F U Rhys 16. Griffith Rhys 17. AP Thomas Rhys 18. Thomas Fitzuryan 19. G Ap Fitz Uryan 20. N Fitz Uryan 21. Philip Fitz Uryan 22. Elder Ddu 23. Elydyr Ap Jestyn 24. Jestyn Ap Gurgant 25. Gurgant Ap Glynn 26. Glynn Ap Gryffydd 27. Gryffydd Ap Rhys 28. Rhys Ap Rhodri 29. Rhodri Ap Tewdyr 30. Tewdyr Ap Trevyr 31. Trevyr Ap Gronwey 32. Gronwey Ap Eynion 33. Eynion Ap Bran 34. Bran Ap Lloarch 35. L Ap Kynhath 36. Kynhath Ap Wye 37. Wye Ap Gurwared 38. G Ap Cecylt 39. Cecylt Ap Phyne 40. Phyne Ap Lach 41. Lach Ap Mott 42. Mott Ap Pasgen 43. P Ap Kyntygwrn 44. Kyntygwrn 45. Ewaine 46. Uryan Rheged 47. Rhum Rheged 48. Kentigern Rheged 49. Ian Rheged 50. Gwyn Rheged 51. Coel Godebog 52. Godebog Colwyn 53. Colwyn Madoc 54. Madoc 55. Madoc Caradoc 56. Caradoc Bran 57. Brandus F Edunus 58. Edunus Prasutagus 59. P Romulus 60. Romulus F Flavius 61. Titus S Flavius 62. Titus F Flavius 63. Titus Flavius 64. Flavius 65. Flavius 66. Titus F I Sabinus 67. Publius F Sabinus 68. Titus Flavius Sabinus 69. Publius Sabinus