Conant attended public school in Sterling, Massachusetts, until he was 12 and transferred to Leicester Academy in preparation for college.

During commencement exercises at Harvard in 1829 he participated in a conference on "Natural, Civil, Ecclesiastical, and Literary History, considered in relation to the Tendency of each to improve and elevate the Intellectual Faculty".

But when I was torn from the companions of my childhood, and removed to a distance from kindred and home, and placed among strangers, I found, to my sad disappointment, that I was of little consequence to the world around me, and that none but myself cared for my comfort and welfare.

Then, and not till then, do we feel the wants of them… I want you to reflect upon the many happy hours you have here enjoyed, that you may, in after years, when surrounded, perhaps with disease, and danger, and death, receive comfort and consolation by the retrospection.

For my own part, having spent two winters with you, I am, and shall always be ready to bear testimony to your depth of sympathy and kindly feeling as friends, and your faithfulness and diligence as scholars.

During the last winter, my attention was so strongly attracted by these qualities, and by the kindness with which I was uniformly treated, that I formed an attachment to you, which not ever time, but death alone can sever… And am I no more to have my ears greeted with the endearing title of Master?

And if the cloud which some have been farsighted, or imaginative enough to believe is gathering over our heads, shall indeed burst in wrath upon us, let us not, like recreant sons of worthier sires, shrink from any exertion which liberty and country may demand at our hands.

But may heaven grant, that that demand may never be made, that successive years may but harden and cement the temple which has been reared to freedom, that here the dominion of error may be constantly narrowed and the empire of light and truth extended, that the fair model we hold up for the world to admire and imitate may ever be kept in the freshness of original beauty, that so the consummation of mans highest earthly reign of equal laws and the rightful elevation of moral excellence.” [5] He returned to reside in Sterling briefly on September 19, 1832, and opened his law office.

During this period, his Father Jacob was serving in various official posts in Sterling government, which he did the last thirty years of his life.

In 1833, Edwin Conant was promoted to Major with the Division of the Militia of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts by Governor Levi Lincoln.

The Worcester Spy reported "A light has gone out in many hearts with the death of Miss Conant, and some of us, even outside her home, cannot but feel that life is less worth living in her absence… In her was found a rare union of common and uncommon sense, of judgment in practical affairs, and thoughtful interest in the intellectual and spiritual questions which concern us all most deeply, of constant, untiring devotion to home duties, and earnest activity in helping the needy abroad, of a warm heart and quick sympathies, with a clear, penetrating, and cultivated intellect.

After Elizabeth's death, Edwin Conant donated a 100-acre (40 ha) parcel of land he owned in Holden to the inhabitants of Sterling, the proceeds of which were to be used to begin erecting a memorial building in his daughter's name.

The memorial address, by E. H. Hall ends with; “Why may we not hope that her pure presence will always be felt within the walls which to-day we dedicate, and touch with finer influence all that goes forth from them on errands of enlightenment and cheer?”[10] There are numerous letters of sympathy in Edwin Conant's files.

He was one of the most self-contained men I ever met.” The retelling of his time with us would not be complete without the words of Oliver Wendell Holmes who wrote “A Story of Twenty Nine”.

As one by one is falling Beneath the leaves of snows, Each memory still recalling, The broken ring shall close, Till the night winds softly pass O’er the green and growing grass, Where it waves on the graves Of the Boys of ‘29