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"Family permanence is promoted by the careful training of successive 
generations in truth, gentleness, purity and honor. It is a delight- 
ful fact that these noble qualities are in the highest degree hereditary 
and just as much so in a democratic as in an aristocratic society. 
They are to be acquired also by imitation and association; so that a 
good family stock almost invariably possesses and transmits some of 
these."— jfi'/Zoi. 










*'Truth Stranger Than Fiction" 







This work now presented to the public is a tale of truth. 
The writer has herself witnessed most of these scenes in the 
course of a long and eventful life. When the young shall read 
these serious truths they may, perhaps, be led to ponder 
deeply and consider well how frequently our actions, even 
here, are either rewarded or punished. There could have been 
no earthly inducement for the writer to present these facts 
and sad realities, concerning some who were as dear to her as 
earthly ties could make them, save the hope that they might 
prove as a beacon from the lighthouse of truth to warn others 
of the dangerous reefs and quicksands in this brief life of 
ours. The virtuous examples mentioned here are true. The 
lives of those Avhose actions are here delineated mere words 
are inadequate to picture except in faint outline. That they 
really lived and walked amid their fellow men, setting an ex- 
ample for good or evil, may perchance influence some whO' 
are now preparing to enter upon the stage of action. While 
therefore fully sensible of the imperfections of this little work, 
she nevertheless intrusts it to your kindly notice, praying 
always for His blessing who is "the Life, the Truth and the 

Belinda A. Foster. 


"1 pause and turn my eyes, and looking l)ack 
I see 
The silent ocean of the past — 

There shall be 
A present in whose reign no grief shall gnaw 
The heart, and never shall a tender tie be broken." 

— Bryant. 

My grandfather, Ebenezer Butler, was born in the State 
of Connecticut. The family were originally from Ireland, and 
as a race were marked with that quick perception and energy 
which characterized their forefathers. When the Revolution 
of 76 broke out, my grandfather was but eighteen years of 
age. The call was made, after the method of that time, by 
sending out runners from the city of Boston. The messenger 
went in hot haste and found my grandfather in the field, 
plowing, with a yoke of oxen. He immediately left his i)low 
standing in the furrow, drove his oxen to the house, and told 
his mother the startling news. She went into the house, 
brought his gun. and said, "Take this, mount your horse, and, 
if need be, die for your country. Think not of your father or 
of me — we can work the little farm without your help — 
though you are our tirst-born son and have been our great 

Away he sped for Boston, and was among the earliest 
volunteers to reach Bunker Hill. General Putnam was already 
there. He ordered the boys to defend the hill until the last 
cartridge in their boxes was spent, "and then," said he, "re- 
tire in good order. Remember not to hre until 1 give the 
word of command, that you may not waste your ])owder." 

My grandfather said his knees trembled so much that he 
could scarcely stand. He stole a hasty glance about him to 
observe the aj^pearance of his fellow soldiers. Every man 
was white as a ghost. General Putnam reverently lifted his 
sword and implored help from the God of battles. Then came 
the word of command, "Fire!" and the memorable battle was 


The man who stood by my grandfather's side was shot 
dead instantly, his brains falling on his hat. \\'he:i the ammuni- 
tion was spent, their brave commander led them from the hilh 
amid shouts of Aictory. 

Grandfather remained with the army until stricken down 
with camp fever. Washington afterward changed his head- 
quarters, leaving his sick and wounded, however, well cared 
for. As soon as able, grandfather went home. In the reck- 
lessness of army life Ebenezer had learned to swear. His 
good mother thought this the very climax of wickedness and 
was greatly troubled. He was their eldest son and so an 
example for the rest of the family. Well did she know that 
unless he abandoned this dreadful habit he could never inherit 
a blessing. What could be done? She talked the matter 
over with his father and they decided to seek advice from 
an aged aunt who was known for miles around and most 
highly respected. 

I well remember hearing my grandfather tell this circum- 
stance to my mother when I was a child. He said it was a 
bright moonlight night and he was lying awake on his pillow, 
gazing intently at the moon. About twelve o'clock he saAv 
a tall figure dressed in long, flowing white garments gliding 
slowly into his room. In relating it to my mother he said : 
"I was not afraid of old Nick himself, and never did believe 
in ghosts. So suddenly it occurred to me that my mother 
must have told my aunt to make her appearance in this garb. 
The form, like hers, was tall and graceful, and very dignified. 
I watched until satisfied that it must be really her, but con- 
cluded to feign sound sleep. She then called me in a solemn 
tone. 'Ebenezer,' but the only answer she received was loud 
and continued snoring. After repeated calls she said: ' 'Nezer, 
you are not asleep ; you may as well hear what I have to say, 
and I shall say it whether you hear or forl)ear.' Then I burst 
out laughing and told her, 'If I had been a believer in ghosts 
I should certainly have thought you were one.' 'Well,' said 
she. T have come to tell you that you can not know how 
grieved I have been to hear from your mother that you take 
God's name in vain. Because you fear not man, will you 
have no fear of vour Maker, who has said, 'Thou shalt not 


take the name of the L^rd tli_\' (lod in \ain, for lie will not 
hold him guiltless who lakcth liis nanie in vain'? lli> 
threatenings are indeed fearful, and not to be desjjised. Now 
I want you to promise me solemnly, before I leave this bed- 
side, that with God's hel]i you will forever renounce this 
terrible sin. Remember, my dear boy, that trusting in yom" 
own strength you can do no good thing. P>e not too proud to 
humble yourself before the Almighty King of Kings and ask 
His pardon and grace for the future.' I was fully convinced 
that she was right and then and there gave her the desired 
promise, and never from that day have I even wished to 
break my vow. I feel truly thankful that throughout my 
life, wdienever my judgment has been convinced of error, I 
have had strength given me from above to turn aw-ay from 
the evil." 

After the war was over my grandfather married a Miss 
Rebecca Davis. This family came originally from Wales and 
made their home near one of the small lakes in western New 
York. In after years, when speaking of his wdfe, he always 
called her his "angel Rebecca." When a child I saw a picture 
of her profile. This is said to be the most trying view^ of 
"the human face divine." Indeed, it indicates the true char- 
acter far more plainly than any other view. The outlines of 
her mouth were faultless. The eyelashes were long and you 
could almost picture the mild blue eye they shaded. My 
mother said that she never remembered seeing her even 
rufiflled in temper or spirit. She had a large family, six daugh- 
ters and two sons. Slavery was at that period permitted in 
the State of New York. And slaves are always the most 
trying help even when they do their best. Grandfather was 
never obliged to correct his slaves, for his uniform sternness 
of voice, look and manner held them in awe. Mother said 
she once heard one of the house slaves called Tony say to 
her father, "Strike me, massa, but don't look at me." At one 
time wdien my grandfather came home from a journey he 
found that some special order had been neglected. Calling 
his wife, he said to her in haste, "My dear, why have you not 
attended to this as I requested?" She made no answer. Im- 
mediately he went out and upon further inquiry found that 


she had made every effort toward it, but had failed owing to 
the faults of others. Quickly he returned, sought his wife 
and, folding her in his arms, begged her forgiveness. As he 
turned away my mother said that she noticed the tears falling 
upon her cheek, but the same sweet smile illumined her coun- 
tenance as she calmly resumed her accustomed duties. 

The sick and afflicted were by her never forgotten. Many 
a delicacy did she prepare for them with her own busy hands. 

The eldest daughter was shortly after attacked with a 
disease prevalent at that day, affecting the tonsils and palate, 
and to many it proved fatal. My aunt finally recovered, but 
lost the use of her natural speech, owing to the decay of 
some organs of the throat. Not being able to pronounce 
words, she made peculiar sounds and talked mostly by signs. 
My grandfather's farm lay just between tAvo tribes of Indians, 
the Oneidas and the Onondagas. As she was remarkably 
bright, they at first thought she was trying to imitate their 
language. Then my grandfather, becoming alarmed, called 
in the family physician. He examined her and told them the 
true state of the case. They then thought perhaps a teacher 
in the house might be able to instruct her in the language. 
For two years he labored faithfully, but mostly in vain. He 
taught her to write her own name, the meaning of a fcAV 
words in the Bible, and some other little things, of which 
she was always very proud. The name of "Jesus" she knew 
wherever she saw it, and even in her old age would kiss it 
with the greatest veneration. Both parents naturally re- 
garded her very tenderly on account of her infirmity. If her 
sisters ever ventured to complain of her, or treat her with 
harshness, they were always reminded that she was their 
unfortunate sister and so deserving of their forbearance and 
tenderest care. 

Grandfather was at one time a])])()inted land agent for 
that ])ortion of the State. This called him often away from 
home, frequently to the large cities. When he returned he 
uniformlv brought tlie family liandsome presents. Once when 
in Xew ^'<lrk city he met a cousin who had just returned 
from China, bringing with him many choice and costly 
silks. Grandfather purchased superb patterns for each of his 


daughters. He allowed the deaf sister to make the first 
choice, and, although deaf, she had an exquisite taste for the 
beautiful. She chose the loveliest, a pale blue silk, very 
heavy, elegant and chaste. After her each sister took her 
turn according to age. 

He brought up all his children in the strictest sense of 
what he considered right — insisting upon a thorough knowl- 
edge of the Catechism and daily reading of the Bible. His 
house, indeed, was always called "the Clergyman's Home."' 
I loved to hear him tell, in his old age, with great pride how 
he used to have the minister examine his daughters in order 
concerning the Catechism, and the one who excelled the rest was 
always praised most highly. At one time the clergyman was 
giving them a lecture on pride, greatly condemning it, when 
my grandfather spoke out in his abrupt way and said, "No, 
no ; I want my daughters to have pride, but it must be that 
laudable pri<le which will lead them to do their best at all 

Grandmother, by her own method of signs and sounds, 
told my deaf Aunt Martha all the most interesting stories of 
the Bible, and after we removed to Ohio she would endeavor 
to repeat them to us children. Above all, she delighted to tell 
us about the death and resurrection of our blessed Lord and 
Saviour. Whether she fully understood its exact import I 
know not. 

They were also required on going home from church to 
tell the text of the minister and something of the sermon. 
Grandfather never tired of descanting upon the matchless 
beauty of the Bible, and as each one grew old enough she 
was encouraged to read it daily, and when it was finished 
some valuable present was given. 

My grandmother's health was always frail, and to lessen 
her cares grandfather begged his own mother to take charge 
of my mother, Belinda Butler. She was too young to send 
away to school and his mother was rejoiced to take charge 
of her. She was then about seven, and she remained there 
until nine years of age. It was of great advantage to her, 
as her grandmother gave her special care and delighted in 
teaching her in every way possible. She taught her to repeat 


the one hundred and third Psahii, "Bless the Lord, Oh, My 
Soul," and even when my mother was nearly seventy she 
could repeat it perfectly. When seven years of age a very 
•dear uncle made a little chest with his own hands. On the 
outside he had placed the English coat of arms in gold leaf, 
""the lion and the unicorn, lighting for the crown." He prom- 
ised her that wdien she had completed the reading of both 
Old and New Testaments this chest should be her's. She 
accordingly did so and became the proud owner of the chest. 
She always preserved it as a choice memento, but told me 
she would give it to me on the same conditions upon which 
she had received it. I did not rest after this promise, and 
when about seven years old I claimed it as my own. It has 
now passed into other hands, but is still a precious memento 
of those olden times. 

iNIother, in speaking of her grandmother, said that she 
had always thought her handsome until one day some one 
remarked to another friend in her hearing, "What a pity 
Grandma Butler is such an uncommon humbly woman, for she 
is so good." When she went home she took a good look at 
lier grandmother and found it was indeed the truth. 

One excellent rule her grandmother always practiced. 
After her regular morning work was done she always dressed 
"herself neatly and then, before commencing any undertaking 
for the day, she sat down with the Bible and read a chapter 
reverently. Sometimes a maiden daughter, Dessie, would say 
to her, "Now, mother, don't you think we have too much to 
do today to take the time to read?" "Dessie, my dear," she 
would say. "there will be work enough for us to do every 
■day as long as we live, but I shall never fail to do this work,^ 
fur it is to me 1)}" far the most important." 

At another time when grandfather returned from the city 
Tie brought my mother a beautiful little book bound in red 
morocco, with gilded leaves. It was "Dr. Gregory's Advice 
to his Daughters." and had been printed in England, gotten 
up in a style then unknown in this country, as art was in 
those days onl}- in its infancy here. The ])rint was that of 
those early times, having the old-fashioned "f" for "s" and 
the last word at the bottom of the page reprinted underneath. 


It was some time before I learned to read it intellig-ently, 
the meaning being" in some parts beyond my childish com- 
prehension. Mother was often puzzled to convey it to my 
mind. But the modesty he recommends to the yomig, and 
especially to the female sex, I shall never forget. Then, toi), 
grandfather gave my mother a large locket set in a gold case, with 
a ring at the top on purpose for a chain or ribbon to pass 
through in order to wear around the neck. On one side was 
a painting most exquisitely finished. It represented a beauti- 
ful voung girl dressed in the fashion of those days, with her 
hat and plumes resting partly on one side of her head, a short 
cloak hanging loosely about her delicate form, thus adding to 
its sylph-like grace. In the background was a farmhouse on 
a little rise, while at the foot of the hill flowed a silvery 
brook. Woods and sky alike lent their charms to this inimi- 
table little picture. As a great treat mother would occasion- 
ally permit me to wear this locket sus])ended from my neck 
by a blue ribbon. 

"Fond memory brings the light 
Of other days around me." 

I would here like to describe one of my mother's loveliest 
youthful friends as she often pictured her to my imagination 
in the days of my childhood. 

Electa Jerome was the daughter of a Presbyterian clergy- 
man. My mother often said that when she thought of her 
she was half inclined to believe in the doctrine of perfection. 
As she was nearly the same age as Electa, she saw much of 
her in every situation of her busy life. She inherited her 
grandmother's almost matchless beauty, form and figure com- 
bined. But the chief beauty, after all. lay in Electa's charac- 
ter. She possessed an intuitive sense of propriety under all 
circumstances. As she was the eldest of a large family, and 
the daughter of a clergyman, she of course had to contend 
with straitened circumstances. To her the parents looked 
for constant hel]) and comfort, and also sympathy. When 
her mother was sick Electa moved about ever lovingly amid 
the vounger children, and her commands seemed always joy- 
fully obeyed. No matter where she was called, or what was 
to be done. Electa was ever readv — not in the least aft"ected 


Avith that sickly timidity, which often in the most trifling" 
emergency says in pretended dehcacy, "Oh, I can not." And 
yet she was the antipodes of that bold and forward spirit 
which asks no advice from age and experience. Mother said 
it mattered not what she wore, for the very moment she 
attired herself therein it became invested with a surpassing 
charm. Her father, being a clergyman, never of course per- 
mitted Electa to go to public balls, but to all the little home 
circles of private dancing he allowed her not only to go, but 
often attended her himself. It was the fashion of those days to 
'wear the hair combed back from the forehead and turned 
over a high roll, then powdered to look like snow. In the 
middle of this roll was placed a black velvet band covered 
with spangles of silver. At one of the last parties my mother 
ever met her. Electa wore her hair dressed in this way. She 
wore in addition three snowy white ostrich plumes set daintily 
on one side of her beautiful head, the spangles glittering like 
silver on the black velvet band. Her dress was of faultless 
white, with short sleeves, displaying an arm and hand which 
were fit models for a sculptor. Added to this she wore a 
train in the fashion of that day. She was indeed crowned 
the peerless queen of the evening. And moving gracefully 
along in the mazy dance, she seemed like some fairy being 
sent down from other skies. When the feathery plumes 
nodded in graceful dignity it was as though Electa was in- 
deed doing homage to her youthful friends. Yet in the midst 
of all the admiration she excited, she never appeared in the 
least elated, or unduly conscious of her charms. She shortly 
after engaged herself to a gentleman of the neighborhood ; 
• inc. however, far from being her equal in mind or person. 
But after some months had passed she was stricken down 
with a fatal disease. The physician soon pronounced her case 
hopeless. All their skill was exerted to save her, but with- 
out avail. They then informed her of her true condition. 
She heard the news with wonderful composure, said adieu 
to those she so frmdly loved, sent for the gentleman to whom 
she had ]:)lightcd herself, placed their engagement ring on 
his finger, and bade him when he looked upon that token of 
licr love to remember her, and, placing his trust in Him wdio 


said "I am the resurrection aiul the hfe," endeavor so to hve 
that he might meet her in the far world of bUss. Some years 
after this gentleman met a lady whom he thought resembled 
£lecta, and asked my mother if she did not agree with him. 
She told him she could perhaps trace a faint outline of re- 
semblance, although as she thought far inferior in ])oint of 
beauty or grace of manner, lie, however, was so impressed 
with the fancied resemblance that he married her. The union 
proved a most unhappy one. 

Soon after this my grandfather went into the milling busi- 
ness and also bought a store. He was shortly after elected a 
member of the Legislature and then made Judge — quite a dis- 
tinguished honor in those early days. He employed in his 
business a number of clerks. Among these was a young man 
who fell in love with my deaf Aunt Martha. She had now 
reached womanhood and though she conversed in her own 
peculiar way, mostly by signs, she was quite graceful, pretty, 
and apt to learn. She returned the affection of her lover and 
they asked the parents' consent to their marriage. But they 
for some reason were deeply opposed to the union. My aunt, 
however, had l)een indulged too much all her life to brook 
opposition now. It finally preyed upon her health to that 
extent that the family physician told her parents they must 
■either lose their daughter or give their consent. When this 
was given she rapidly recovered her health and they were 
married. My grandfather owaied a small farm and he placed 
them on this. My aunt took great delight in the occupations 
it aft'orded — making butter and cheese and raising poultry. 
An active nature found full employment, and being of an 
affectionate disposition she was now^ very happy. Upon the 
advent of a daughter, my mother was called upon to furnish 
it a name, and being an ardent admirer of Shakespeare, she 
chose the name of Juliet. She was a bright and beautiful 
child and their cup of happiness seemed full to running over. 

My grandparents had in the meantime formed an intimate 
acquaintance with a minister's family living in Connecticut 
whose name was Gilbert. About this time Mr. Gilbert wrote 
them, telling them he would be glad to have his daughter 
])av them a visit. Receiving a corcHal invitation, she accord- 


ingly came, full of life and innocent gaiety. After making: 
a lengthy visit she returned to her home, where her parents 
almost idolized her. Some months after they wrote the sad 
news of her melancholy death, with all the particulars. Lydia. 
(for that was her name) had retired to her chamber one night 
apparently in her accustomed health. About one o'clock they 
were startled from a sound sleep by hearing some one singing 
loudly. They listened intently and were convinced that the 
sound came from their daughter's chamber. The father 
struck a light and hurried up to the room. It was indeed her 
voice, but she was a hopeless maniac. Without cessation she 
continued to dance and sing until entirely exhausted. The 
physician came and administered his most powerful opiates,, 
but without avail. Everything that science could suggest, or 
the most devoted care could supply, was resorted to, but all 
in vain. She knew neither parents nor friends and continued 
her maniacal screams vmtil death came to her relief. Being 
an only child, and reared in luxury, she had been the idol of 
the household and it was many weeks before the heart-broken 
parents could even write the sad story. They had the con- 
solation of believing that for her the exchange had been a 
happy one, as she had long been a devout Christian and lived 
a life of ])urity and goodness. In pursuing her education her 
brain had doubtless been overtaxed and this was the result. 
They could only bow submissively to the mysterious Provi- 
dence who "doeth all things well." 

There were but few institutions of learning of any special 
note in those early days. But one had then been opened 
somewhere near the home, called Clinton Academy, now 
Hamilton College. This institution was intended for both 
sexes, and here my grandfather sent his daughters. Young" 
ladies at that day were not taught advanced mathematics or 
tlie classics, but 1 njoice that now sex is no barrier to woman. 
She is free to attain tlic liighest instruction of which the 
mind is ca])able. At tliis academy they, however, taught the 
English language in its ])urity, ancient and modern history,. 
elocution, oratory ancl literature, with all the solid branches. 
My mother aKva^'s fav()red the jjlan ot liaving both sexes 
attend the same institution and haxing their recitations heard 

FAMIL y MEMOIRS^ A Til \ 1 TF.R 19 

together. It imparted, as she thought, a softness to the 
sterner sex, whilst in young- ladies it produced a strength of 
character which added greatly to their n()l)leness and wom- 
anly graces. The essays they were re<pured to furnish ancj 
speak in public called forth whatever of genius or imagmation 
they possessed, and of course they strove constantly to excel 
each other. Grandfather had a strong desire to have his 
daughters educated thoroughly, both mentally and physically. 
As the keeping of slaves precluded their doing housework at 
home, he now insisted that during their unoccupied hours at 
boarding school they should each wash and iron their own 
clothing. Often did he say to them : "Who knows what 
may be in store for you in the future? You may yet be called 
ui)on to go into the far West, where help can not be obtained. 
Mow important, then that you should learn those habits 
which may yet be called into requisition. I want you to be 
prepared for whatever in God's providence may be before 
you." Another regulation he enforced in the family was 
this : That every child after five years old must make an 
appearance at the breakfast table unless positive sickness 
prevented. If too unwell to remain up they might then go 
back to their room and bed. For all of these excellent habits 
my mother thanked him long after he had gone to his rest. 
After a few weeks' vacation they returned again to the acad- 
emy until their education was fully completed. At the close 
•of the term their preceptor singled out the most finished 
■compositions of each j^upil and required them to learn and 
•deliver them at the public exhibition. This gave them con- 
fidence in themselves. After my mother and sisters had 
been at home for about two years there came into their vil- 
lage a young gentleman who shortly commenced ]iaving 
attention to the sister next in age to my mother. He pro- 
fessed an ardent love for her. but was unfortunately of a 
roving disposition. He had left college without the knowl- 
■edge of his parents. Grandfather, however, remembering his 
former trouble, decided to give his consent to their marriage. 
The young lover then said it was necessary to return to his 
Iiome in order to make preparations for the happy event. 
Accordingly he did so, leaving my aunt in good spirits and 


full of ambition. They all volunteered to help her in pre- 
])aring- for her new and untried life. Even the linen was spun 
and woven for table use,- the blankets and coverlets made, 
and the furniture purchased. A set of exquisite china also 
Avas ready for the joyful occasion. But day after day passed 
and yet no tidings from the expected bridegroom. Grand- 
father finally wrote to his father in Connecticut, inquiring the 
reason for this long delay. He received an answer, saying 
that this was the first news he had received concerning his 
son since leaving college. My aunt still hoped against hope 
and for two long years she looked for his return. At last, 
however, she concluded that some accident must have surely 
befallen him. His parents never after heard anything of him, 
and my aunt's life for many years was saddened by his 
strange desertion. The beautiful china grandfather had pur- 
chased for her he afterward presented to my mother, and she 
brought it with her when she came to Ohio. Many a time in 
my childish days have I looked at this delicate w^are. The 
roses and buds on the tiny cups looked as natural as though 
they had grown there. The cream pitcher was of an ex- 
tremely quaint shape, and that, of all the set, is the only piece 
. which now remains. The set was considered as quite a curi- 
osity in our far Western home. 

As I have before said, my grandmother's health had been 
for many }ears very frail and precarious. About this time 
grandfather was re-elected to the New York Legislature. 
While there another daughter was born, and immediately 
after grandmother failed rapidly. The ])hysician found that 
she could not rally, and calling my mother aside he communi- 
cated to lu'r the sad fact and advised her to acquaint her 
mother with the truth. She accordingly did so, almost heart- 
broken as she was. But her mother received the message 
with her usual composure. Meekly folding her hands, those 
hands which had d(;ne so nnich for others, she lifted her eyes 
to heaven and breathed a silent ])rayer. while the same an- 
gelic smile lighted her coimtenance and illumined her fea- 
tures, '{"his was near niicjnigln. ."^he then told them to call 
Toney. the faithful old black servant, have him take their 
swiftest horses and go immediately tf) Albanv for grand- 

FAMILY MI'.MOINS .mi.l'riih' 21 

father, for, said she, "I must see him before I die." Next 
she asked them to briii"^ her precious babe to her bedside. 
Calliiii.;' my mother and the sister next y()un<4er llian herself, 
she told them to place it in their arms and give her a solemn 
promise to care for the little sister now committed to their 
faithful trust. fhen re(|uesting mother to miclas]) from Iut 
neck the two bands ot gold beads she always wore, she gave 
one to ni} mother and with her own trembling hands she 
placed the other on the neck of her infant babe as the last 
token of her dying love. Mother now inquired if she had 
anv directions to leave for grandfather, as she feared she 
might not live until his arrival. But she still insisted that 
she would yet see him. In the meantime she prayed fervently, 
often re])eating this petition, "Oh, blessed Savior, care for my 
beloved ones and lead them, even though thrt)ugh hery trials, 
to Thvself; that we may all finally l)e united in that hap])ier 
world where sorrow and death can never come." The phy- 
sician said it was indeed a marvel that she still continued to 
linger, but she often whispered to the faithfvd friends sur- 
rounding her, "I shall yet see my husband." And her words 
proved true, for he came in time. Passing directly to her 
bedside, he bent over her fading form, convulsed with anguish. 
She kne^v him ]ierfectly, and drawing him down she whis- 
pered in his ear. For a few moments she would pause for 
rest and then whisper as before, while he would nod as if in 
assent. This she continued to do until nature was exhausted, 
and she gently breathed her peaceful life away. Not (me 
word did he distinguish of all she had tried to tell him. but 
she was satisfied, believing that he fully understood her. 
She was not forty-five years old and still retained much of 
her surpassing beauty. As she lay in death a blush as of 
youth seemed to rest upon her cheek. They could never ac- 
count for this strange phenomenon. As friends and neighbors 
pressed around to look upon her. robed for her last resting 
])lace, they exclaimed, "She is indeed too lovely to be hidden 
in the silent tomb." How often had they heard her sweet 
voice uniting with that of their old pastor in singing these 
words of Eeattie : 


"See truth, love and mercy in triumph descending 
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom, 
On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending 
While l)eaut}' immortal awakes from the tomb." 
At some distance from the house there was a favorite spot 
to which in the cool of the evening she would often retire, 
seating herself in the shade of a large elm tree. Here they 
laid her, amid the gentle whispering of the forest leaves and 
the song of the Avild birds which she loved so well, and there, 
while sighing" winds chant their mournful requiem above her 
grave, she sweetly sleeps until bidden by her Saviour to arise 
on the resurrection morn. Peace to her gentle memory ! 

Shortly after my grandmother's death grandfather became 
greatly involved and met with a serious reverse of fortune. 
His partner in business, a man named Phillips, after many 
acts of dishonesty, finally absconded, leaving grandfather to 
meet the liabilities of the firm. This absorbed the greater 
portion of his fortune and with the little that remained he 
decided to remove to what was then called the far West, the 
young and promising State of Ohio. About this time my 
father presented himself to my mother as a suitor for her 
hand. She had already sufifered a disappointment of the heart 
and parted forever from the lover of her youth. For him 
she entertained the warmest afifection, and his image indeed 
was never eft'aced from her memory. But her beloved mother 
had ])assed away, her father was threatened with poverty and 
forced to seek a home and shelter in a strange land. Under 
all these circumstances and with her father's advice she de- 
cided to acce]>t the proposal made her and thus married my 
father. The uninn was one of hands, but not of hearts so 
far as she was concerned. But notwithstanding this, she 
ever faithful]}- endeavored to perform a wife's entire duty. 
Grandfather removed soon after with the residue of his 
familv to f)hio, whither she eventually followed him. 

ll ma\ not l>e amiss here to give some account of my 
father's history u]) to the time of his marriage with my 
mother. Caleb Atwater was born in the town of North 
Adams, Massachusetts. His mother died when he was but 
five years of age. He distinctly remembered the taking of 



the first census, and was himself one of the first children to 
be enrolled. His good mother, before her death, taught him 
to repeat verses of hymns, and so faithfully were they en- 
graven on his memory that they were never forgotten, llis 
memory was indeed marvelous, as all who ever knew him 
will testify. He has often related to me an event which 
made a strong impression upon his youthful mind. A 
captain in his native village, with the help of his little com- 
pany, captured a squad of British soldiers with their chief 
officer. He stripped the gayly dressed officer of his uniform 
and donned it himself; then tying a Tory (as the British were 
called in derision) to each of their horses' tails, he marched 
the company proudly through the village. He never knew 
what disposition Washington finally made of them. 

Father lost his two uncles in the Revolutionary War. 
After the death of his mother, his father went to the State 
of New York, and for some reason never returned. His 
mother, however, had left a small sum of money in charge 
for her children. The overseers of orphans now cared for 
them and placed each one in some good family, with written 
articles binding them until they should become of age. My 
father was placed in the family of a Squire Jones, who was 
considered wealthy, but extremely hard and close-fisted. In 
taking care of the stock in the bitter cold of the winter father 
had his hands badly frozen, so that they were almost useless 
for life. They had few amusements in that family. The 
younger ones employed the long winter evenings in paring- 
pumpkins and apples, running them on strings and suspend^ 
ing them from the rafters of the old kitchen ; and sitting 
around the blazing log fire they worked faithfully, glad to be 
sheltered from the howling winter storms without. My 
father lived here until his eighteenth year. About that time 
Williams College became quite a flourishing institution: 
Many young men of the neighborhood attended there, and 
my father so longed to go that he persuaded Squire Jones 
to release him from the remaining years of his indenture. 
He finally did so, though with great reluctance. His mother's 
means now assisted him. His only brother went with him.- 
and by their united exertions, doing odd jobs of many kinds. 


they succeeded in obtaining the wished-for education. In his 
later years he hved to tell how often he had lain in his bed on 
bright moonlight nights, repeating his lessons from memory 
while gazing upon the grand old mountain tops which lay 
near, eternally capped with snow. He studied faithfully and 
strove to obey implicitly every regulation. One severe rule 
he often mentioned. It was this — that every student was 
ref[uired to be present at chapel prayers at 4 a. m. both 
summer and winter. Often after a heavy snowstorm they 
were obliged to clear away the path leading to the college 
in order that the chaplain could get there in time to read 
prayers. No fire was permitted in the chapel even in the bit- 
terest weather. Father throughout a long life retained the 
habit thus formed in youth of early rising, and in after years, 
when so'me one asked him the reason, he answered : "Train 
up a child in the way he should go, and when old he will 
not depart from it." He made rapid progress in college, 
always keeping in the front rank. He graduated with high 
honors as the valedictorian of his class, receiving both de- 
grees, and was always proud and pleased to tell of this, for 
so many failed, inasmuch as the examinations were both thor- 
ough and searching. He now went into the State of New 
York and opened a seminary for young ladies, in which he 
was successful; studying in the meanwhile for the ministry, 
he was then ordained a Congregational minister. 

Soon after he married a Miss Diana Lawrence, a beautiful 
and accom])lished woman. But in one year from the day 
they were married she died, with her infant son. My father 
seldom mentioned this passage of his life, and never without 
much emotion. Mis health declined after her death and he 
had several hemorrhages of the lungs, so that his physicians 
advised him to leave the ministry in order to save his life. 
l'])(in liis recovery he decided to enter the profession of the 
law, and was admitted to the bar. Shortly after he met and 
married my mother. Directly after the marriage a large 
])art\' was given in lionor of the bridal ])air. Among the in- 
vited guests was a Miss Gilbert, an intimate friend of my 
mother's, who had been highly educated in Boston. For 
some reason she was unal)le to attend and, as was the univer- 

FAMILY MfiMO/h'S . l/ir. IT/ih' 25 

sal fashion of that (hiy. ])cniu'(i an excuse. Tliis littk' note 
I now hold in my possession, and ])reser\e it as a threat curi- 
osit}'. It was most beautifully written, equal to a coi)])er])late 
eng-ravinq-. Her story was indeed a sorrowful one, althou<?h 
at that time her future seemed fairly gilded with smishine. 
She afterward married a gentleman by the name of Stone, 
who was one of the first merchants of the village where they 
lived. Many envied her good fortune, for he was a man both 
elegant in apjjearance and polite in manners, but not a Chris- 
tion. In a short time he went to the city of New York to buy 
goods and after returning was taken with a severe illness. 
She nursed him most devotedly, until he finally recovered. 
During his illness she had a habit of walking out every day 
for a short time for rest and exercise. Often would she direct 
her steps to a picturesque spot at the edge oi the village. 
There was a steep bluff overhanging the swiftly flowing river 
beneath, and here she loved to ^vander, gazing down into its 
clear waters. Her friends had of late remarked an unusual 
melancholy, but still thought nothing special of it. She often 
brought her sewing here, and it must have been here that 
she made the dress which served as a winding sheet. .She 
had placed a wide hem around neck, sleeves and skirt. One 
day as usual she took her walk, and as it proved, she care- 
full}- tied the ril^bons placed in these hems tightly about her 
and jumped over the high cliff" into the river, leaving her 
parasol and bonnet lying on the grass. When her hi:sband 
went home he looked for her in vain. He then sought the 
girl and inquired for his wife. She said she had gone to her 
room a short time before to ask her some question, but lis- 
tening at the door heard her praying most earnestly. She 
retired and shortly after saw her going out for her accus- 
tomed walk. Going back to her room, he found a note on 
her table addressed to himself. In it she spoke of her deter- 
mination to commit suicide, adding that life had become to 
her an intolerable burden ; that he alone knew her reasons for 
taking this step, and she was certain he would never disclose 
them. .She closed by bidding him an aft'ectionate farewell. 
He foitnd a friend, and together they fairly flew down to the 
cliff, as they knew that to be her favorite resort. There lay 


her bonnet and parasol on the grass, but they called her 
name in vain. Her husband was frantic with grief and took 
ever}' means to discover her body. Three days after it was 
found some miles distant from the spot where she had cast 
herself. She was the only child of devoted parents, who were 
almost heart-broken by this sorrow. Her husband soon 
closed up his business, shut himself up from all society, and 
shortly after went into a decline and died of grief. The 
whole affair created a great sensation, enshrouded as it ever 
must be in the deepest mystery. 

After my grandfather removed to Ohio, bringing with 
him his family, my mother was very lonely and unhappy and 
anxious to follow them. Father had invested his all in a glass 
factory, which unfortunately was burned to the ground and 
so both he and his partner were beggared. They then decided 
to join those who had removed to Ohio. Mother was forced 
to part with most that she held dear, as my father who had 
borrowed money to invest in his business was owing heavily. 
One day the daughter of one of these creditors came to the 
house in father's absence and cruelly taunted my mother. 
I was lying a babe in the cradle wearing round my neck the 
very gold beads which had been left my mother as her 
mother's dying legacy. She saw these and coveted them, and 
my mother in a moment of anguish and despair gave them 
to her. She left the house and mother then fully realizing her 
loss and sick at heart as the precious memories of the past 
swept over her, sank down beside my cradle, giving way to 
bitter but unavailing tears. My father soon after left for 
Ohio. After he had made what preparation he could he sent 
word to a cousin of his, who had long desired to see the new 
State, to bring mother and the children, and join him. I was 
the second child, my brother older than myself, and my little 
cousin Juliet comprising our family. We came in a large 
wagrin, and they placed therein all that they could conven- 
iently carry, as there were but few comforts in the new land 
to which they were going. And thus, parting with much that 
made life desirable, mother ventured on her untried journey. 
Often the roads were so rough and terrible that they feared 
the wagr)n wovdd break down and at such times she would 

FAMILY MEMOIRS^-i'ni'A'ri'R 27 

walk for many weary miles carryins^- her little ones in her 
tired arms. Once during the journey she missed her pocket- 
book which contained the only money she possessed and her 
sole dependence with which to finish the remaining i)ortion of 
her .trip. She had already had occasion to suspect the honesty 
i)f the family with whom they had been lodging. In her 
despair she gave way to hitter lamentations, not faiUng also 
to hint l)roadly of her suspicions. On returning to the spot 
where it had been carefully concealed, she, to her great joy, 
found the missing pocket-book and was always convinced 
that it must have been quietly returned. Be that as it may, 
she certainly went on her way rejoicing and finally reached 
her journey's end in peace and safety. 

Grandfather was now living near the Capitol of the State, 
Columbus, having bought a farm about seven miles north on 
what was called Alum creek. Four unmarried daughters came 
with him. But two of them had already gone farther into 
the flourishing town of Lancaster and there opened a school for 
young ladies. Added to the solid branches, they taught 
embroidery, fancy work, drawing and painting, in which 
accomplishments one of my aunts particularly excelled. It 
seemed with her to be almost second nature to make with her 
fingers what she admired with her eyes. While thus engaged, 
a gentleman of the place became greatly enamored of her. 
As she had no watch and he had an office near the school 
she frequently sent one of her scholars to inquire the time 
of day. On one such occasion he enclosed his handsome gold 
watch in a small package and sent it over by the messenger, 
begging her to accept the same with his compliments. She 
immediately returned the gift with her thanks, and a message 
to the eft'ect that it was against her principles to receive 
presents of even trifling value, from gentlemen who were 
merely acquaintances. This only seemed to fan the flame of 
his already ardent admiration, and he speedily made her an 
ofifer of himself which was accepted, and the happiness of a 
life-time attested the wisdo'm of her choice. After her mar- 
riage her younger sister continued the school. But shortly 
after in attending a social party she met a Mr. Douglas, a young 
and promising lawyer of the town of Chillicothe, and married 


him. The next eldest sister also united herself to a lawyer of 
Columbus and thus my mother was made happy by having' 
her three sisters settled in neighboring towns, and conse- 
quently near enough to exchange frequent visits and enjoy 
each other's society. 

I cannot forbear paying just here a tribute of affection to^ 
one who has long since passed far beyond earthly praise or 
censure. I allude to my mother's sister, x\unt Mary Douglas, of 
whom I have already spoken. I once asked her husband to- 
relate to me something of his early courtship, and what he- 
saw in her to win his admiration. He said, "It was not that 
she was so beautiful, although her expression of countenance- 
was strikingly intelligent, and her form both stately and 
graceful." Indeed, he said he never looked at her without 
being reminded of Milton's description of Eve : 

"Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye ; 
In every gesture dignity and love." 

Throughout a long life she was remarkable for her clear un- 
biased judgment, her charity toward others in thought, word 
and deed, her wondrous love of order, her intellectual attain- 
ments, in Avhich indeed she had few equals, and her happy 
faculty of imparting to others what she knew herself. Her 
circumstances in life were such that her exquisite tastes of 
so varied an order, could be lavishly gratified, and an indul- 
gent husband spared no pains to meet her wishes in every 
regard. If she desired books, however rare or costly, they 
were obtained and the contents speedily made her own. My 
mother delighted to point to her as an example for her chil- 
dren to imitate. She said, that even as a child, it gave her 
more pleasure to hear Mary relate the contents of a book,. 
than to read it herself. With all these marvelous gifts she 
was naturally retiring and diffident. Often have I heard my 
uncle say to her in his enthusiastic way: "Why, Mary, I do 
not know your equal in anything." Ah, how many good wives 
need, and hunge-r for just such encouragement to cheer and 
stimulate them amid their daily cares and struggles. She 
was truly "a crown unto her husband" and surviving him 
by some years she ever cherished his memory with loyal 
affection. To the poor and needy she was always a faithful 

I'AMILY MliMOlKS .i'llWil'liK 29 

and generous benefactor, tier's might indeed have been the 
language of Job. "When the ear heard me. then it l)lessed me, 
and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me. Because I 
dehvered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that 
had ntme to help him. The blessing of him that was read}' 
to perish came upon me, and I caused the widow's heart to 
sing for joy." 

Let me now return to the family history. Upon coming to 
Ohio, then a new and formative State, they encountered the 
miasma consequent upon the clearing of all new settlements. 
Poverty, sickness in different forms, and the birth of a sec- 
ond son, all served to increase my mother's cares. When this 
new brother was born he was so feeble that there appeared 
to be no life in him. The kind neighbors folded him in a 
blanket, and laid him aside, to give their attention to the 
mother, supposing that he cotdd not live. When my father 
came in he asked to see the boy. "There he is on the bed," 
said they, "but we thought it not worth while to dress him." 
^'Oh yes," said father, "put him in a warm bath as soon as 
possible, and do all you can for him. Who knows but he may 
V'Ct live and make a fine man." These words were a prophecy, 
for this son did live to brighten and comfort the last days 
of their earthly pilgrimage, and do much good in his day and 
generation. /\s I have before said, my mother had brought 
my cousin Juliet with her when she came to Ohio. But my 
Aunt Mary Douglas had just lost her eldest son, and now, seeing 
mother's many cares, she begged to take the little Juliet, as 
she had more time to devote to her. Still my mother parted 
with her very reluctantly, and they were always tenderly 
attached to each other. 

Father, in coming to Ohio, had been attracted toward 
Pickaway County by hearing of the curious mounds and forti- 
fications made there by the Indians of former days. The 
most perfect of these ancient works had been chosen, strange- 
ly enough, for the county seat — and from the peculiar man- 
ner in which the town was built it was called Circleville. In 
the center was a large mound, surrounded by a fort. Father 
never ceased to regret that it was not left in its original con- 
•dition, as manv would doubtless have been attracted thither 


to view these singular antiquities. He afterward wrote a_ 
book descriptive of them, which was in its day greatly praised 
and sought after. The title of this book was "Western An- 
tiquities." The surveyors for the county, finding the center 
to be in this mound, demolished it and placed there the Court 
House, building the town around it. About this Court House 
they intended to place a row of maple trees, and have the 
streets radiate from the circle. Some years after they at- 
tempted to "square the circle" and thus the original design 
of the town has been entirely changed. The town lay lower than 
the surrounding country and in the rainy season became ex- 
tremely unhealthy on that account. The fort was in time 
leveled in order to fill in the town, thus wholly destroying all 
these ancient relics. 

Among my earliest remembrances after we settled in 
Circleville are those concerning the little brother older than 
myself. He had been sick with measles, but had apparently 
recovered. He then begged mother to allow him to go back 
to the little school he had been attending. Supposing him 
about well, she gave her consent. That day the boys went 
to wade in a pool near by, taking my brother with them. 
He accidentally fell into the water and they brought him 
home. Mother immediately changed his clothing, but, as it 
proved, too late to prevent the sad consequence. Fever and 
inflammation set in and after a few days they saw that he 
must die. Mother was plunged in grief, and the little fellow, 
seeing her tears, seemed to divine its cause, and looking 
earnestly at her he said, "Oh, mother, don't let me die." 

One evening when she supposed him sleeping he called her 
and asked her to hear him say the Lord's Prayer, which, to- 
gether with several little hymns, she had taught him. Just 
as he finished the last words he breathed a long sigh and was 
in the presence of his Saviour. Mother often afterward told 
us of the strange phenomenon which occurred. It was in the 
dusk f)f the evening when he died, and for some moments 
before the breath left him there was an unearthly brightness- 
in his eyes and a light or radiance shone about his head, some- 
thing as we often see in representations of the Saviour, rays 
diverging imtil they were lost in the surrounding twilight. 


At first she thought it niii;iu he her dwii indistinctness of 
vision from her tears, hut slie foimd that all who stood around 
him saw the same. She afterward learned that such things 
had been seen before, althcni.^h of very rare occurrence. .She 
always thought him a remarkably ])recoci()Us child for his 
years, and never wearied in telling us of his rare beauty of 
mind and person. He died on the third day of July. They 
afterward placed above him a little stone on which was en- 
graved these words, which I have never forgotten: 

"This lovely bud, so young and fair. 
Called hence by early doom, 
just came to show how sweet a flower 
In Paradise can bloom." 

I was at that time only four years old. Having been 
placed in my little bed, I knew nothing of his death that night. 
The next day I saw mother crying bitterly and my little 
brother lying as if asleep in a pure white dress. I wondered 
at my mother's tears, and, child-like, thought. Why does 
not she wake brother? I was afraid to ask, for so many 
strangers were all about her. I was filled with amazement. 
What could it all mean? Shortly after a man came carrying 
a strange-looking box, in which he placed my beautiful 
brother. While I gazed with intense interest he closed the 
box, and, taking it, placed it on a little bier and the neighbors 
took it up. Then came father and mother, and some one took 
me by the hand and led me along to the churchyard. There 
in a green grassy spot they had dug a deep hole. Into this 
they lowered the box which held my brother. This was 
too much. When the first shovelful of earth told me that 
they were hiding him from my sight I shrieked, "You shall 
not, you must not cover up my brother in the dark, cold 
ground." The kind neighbors hurried me from the spot, but 
never while memory lasts shall that first childish agony be 
forgotten. And ever since that day eternity has been to me 
invested with an awful solemnity. 

Soon after this mother took a young girl to work for her 
who was called Nannie. She was one of the best of girls 
and as they were anxious I should go to school they placed 
me in her care. Father had already taught me my letter.? 


at home. I was always a timid child and was greatly afraid 
of the new and strange teacher. He tried to conquer my 
fear and gave me a silver sixpence if I would come up to 
him and say my letters. When recess came I went with 
Nannie into the kitchen. There sat the teacher's wife spin- 
ning at a little wheel. My first thought was that the wheel 
must be some strange bird, and putting out my hand to 
catch it I caught the fliers with my fingers. In an instant 
they were all bleeding and torn. His wife wrapped them up 
tenderly, while Nannie exclaimed, "You were a little too 
quick for me that time." 

The teacher kept a number of rods, for in those days 
corporal punishment was the strong feature of school, as 
well as parental discipline. Very soon a large boy was called 
up for correction. Taking one of his longest rods, he began 
the work. But I ran between them, and the stroke came 
down with some force on my bare neck. This saved the 
boy for that time. Explaining matters, the teacher strove 
to pacify me, telling me, however, that I must never after 
interfere. Finally I dried my tears and concluded it must 
be all right. 

A young lawyer had taken an office next door to my 
father, and having left his home in far New England, he 
was doubtless very lonely. Seeing me often playing about 
his door, he endeavored to win my confidence. To induce 
me to come into his office he paraded maps and picture books 
before me. Finally he overcame my timid fears, and in sur- 
veying his treasures I was supremely happy. One day, how- 
ever, he caught me up and kissed me. The moment he put 
me down I ran like a deer, saying "My mother told me I must 
never kiss gentlemen." This was the last time he ever could 
induce me to enter his office. Many years after we renewed 
our acquaintance, as we were members of the same church, 
and he then told me that he had always approved of my 
mother's advice. In those early days we lived in a part of 
the town called High North. The little stream flowing be- 
low this ridge was named Hargus creek, and on its banks I 
passed many lia])py liours. One of our nearest neighbors 
was a Mrs. !'.. wlio luul come to Ohio about the same time 


with my mother. She was a Quakeress. Iler huslKiiul tol- 
lowed the same honorable calhiig as that of his Master before 
him, being a earpenter. Mrs. P. was a model of neatness. 
Her husband made her, out of white pine, a table, cupboard, 
safe and bread tra}-. This last stood on legs, and the leaf 
could be lifted and thrown back at jileasure. When ncjt in 
use it was kept tightly closed, and was an object of special 
interest to my young eyes. All these pieces of furniture 
were scoured every Friday until they were as white as snow, 
for she believed that "cleanliness was next to godliness,"' 
which, as St. Paul has told us. is, with contentment, "great 
gain." She had been a teacher in her native State, New 
Jersey, and now kept all her husband's accounts. Her hus- 
band soon bought some land and built them a comfortable 
house thereon. At one time she was taken quite sick and 
sent word to my mother that she longed for some of her 
old-fashioned crackers. So mother made them, sending me 
to carry them to her. "Give her my love," said mother, "and 
say that I will gladly do anything for her that I can." When 
I gave her the message she said that if her girl was only neat 
and clean she believed she would soon get well. She sent 
this girl into the garden for two of her finest nutmeg melons, 
giving them to me to take home, telling me to ask mother 
to come and see her as soon as possible. 

On the other side of us lived a Mrs. H., whose parents 
were old settlers of Ohio. Her husband was a cabinetmaker. 
I now have an old bureau and small table made by him which 
I value highly because he was one of onv earliest neighbors. 
His wife belonged to that body of Christians called Metho- 
dists. When our Quaker friend thought that she could not 
get well she sent for Mrs. H. and begged her to accept her 
white satin bonnet and wear it for her sake. It was made 
in the style worn by both Quakers and ^I,ethodists of that 

During the first few years of our sojourn in Ohio we had, 
as I have before mentioned, a great deal of sickness and 
trouble. Night and day did mother watch and toil for her 
little family, knowing comparatively little about housework, 
as her father had owned slaves. Toney, the old colored house 


servant, had taught her some things in the way of cooking, 
but she had never known anything about the dish so greatly 
in favor in the West — cornmeal mush, or hasty pudding. 
However, she asked no questions, but went to work to make 
it herself. It proved a perfect failure, tasting raw and un- 
palatable. What could be the matter? Finally she went to 
a neighbor with her trouble. "Why," she said, "perhaps you 
put your meal all in at once when the water boiled. "Oh, 
yes, said she, of course I did. "Well, now, try it again. When 
youv water begins to boil, stir in a little of the meal, then wait 
a little before you put in any more, and keep on slowly in 
this way until as thick as desired, adding salt to season prop- 
erly." In such ways as these she gradually learned to be a 
prime cook. Her beefsteak and chicken pie were beyond all 
praise, as also her corn bread, with many other dishes. As 
to obtaining help in that day, it was unthought of — unless in 
case of sickness or death. Then all the neighbors were ready 
and willing to do for each other. Mother had no idle time. 
Her spare moments were employed in teaching her children 
the Catechism, AVebster's Spelling Book and Murray's Eng- 
lish Reader, which were the text-books of those days. And even 
now. to my mind, I can see no modern schoolbooks that sur- 
pass them. Washday was my great delight, for then mother 
would permit me to sit down by her, after I was tired of 
helping her wash, and read aloud to her. In this way I read 
most of the standard works — Thompson's Seasons, Milton's 
Paradise Lost, Young's Night Thoughts, and Pollock's Course 
of Time were among these. What I could not clearly under- 
stand she would patiently explain, so that unconsciously I be- 
came a thinker at an early age. When I read a passage 
incorrectly she would have me read it over very slowly, some- 
times repeating it two or three times until I read it aright. 
Shakespeare's plays were also a great favorite with her. We 
all knew something of his best plays long before we could 
read them for ourselves. When we were able to read suf- 
ficiently well she woukl ])(iint out or mark for us some of 
his finest passages. I well remember Milton's invocation in 
Paradise Lost, beginning "Hail, holy Light, offspring of 
heaven's firstborn" from hearing it. and then reading it when 


only a child. That so great a poet as .Milton was blind af- 
fected deeply our young hearts and called forth our warmest 
sympathies. Father was for years a subscriber to the Xorth 
American Review, and I used to pore over its pages, although 
1 was obliged to look out the meaning of many words in order 
to read it intelligently. Parents perhaps have but little idea 
of the lasting happiness they confer on their children by 
])lacing good books within their reach. Those of history I 
rank first on the list, because the minds of children can draw^ 
inferences from the past and thus it influences even uncon- 
sciously all their later life. It also gives them an insight into 
hinnan nature, which is of great value as they move among 
their fellows. We were far from rich in this world's goods, 
but father would say to us, "Enrich your minds ; then you wnll 
be prepared for any station or employment and will possess 
that wdiich can never be taken from you." In his profession 
as a lawyer he was obliged to make a circuit of at least fifty 
miles to attend the different courts held throughout the year. 
These were widely separated, as Ohio was thinly settled at 
that day. My two uncles in the neighboring towns being of 
the same profession, they almost always traveled together, 
so that in case of sickness they could look after each other. 
At one time father was taken quite ill so'me forty miles from 
home. And as mother could neither take nor leave her 
children, she could only trust in God and wait, hoping for 
the best. Often when father came home he would bring 
new books with him. Then with what delight would we 
devour their contents. I shall never forget the joy with 
w^hich we hailed the first sight of Audubon's Birds, and what 
a lively dispute arose amongst us as to which was most to 
be admired. Mother quieted the noisy wrangle by saying 
that each one had a right to an opinion of his own. I have 
no doubt, as I look back upon those days, that father enjoyed 
the pleasure of thus seeing our innocent happiness even more 
than we who received his gifts. 

About this time mother went on a little visit to my Aunt 
Mary Douglas whom I loved so well, taking me wdth her. After 
we had been there about a week, my father wrote that he 
was very unwell, and anxious for her to come home. She 
received the letter late Saturdav night and as the coach re- 


turned next day she said to m}- aunt, "Now, although as you 
know it is against my principles to travel on Sunday, yet as 
my husband is sick I suppose I must go." Accordingly we 
started. There were no passengers in the coach except my 
mother, myself and two little brothers, the youngest only 
four months old. When we came to the little village of Jef- 
ferson, some three miles from home, the driver carelessly 
threw the lines back on the seat and jumped down to carry 
the mail into the little postoffice. There had been a black 
cloud just above us and the storm was gathering. Just after 
the driver entered the office a vivid flash of lightning flashed 
across the heavens, followed by a terrific peal of thunder. 
The horses started to run and flew like the wind. Mother, 
awfully frightened, clasped her children to her arms and 
screamed "Oh, Lord, have mercy on us !" They ran about a 
mile when, turning suddenly, they upset the coach against 
the fence. One horse was instantly killed and we were all 
thrown out in the mud, which doubtless saved our lives. The 
baby Avas thrown violently against the side of the coach and 
his face badly cut, but fortunately no bones were broken. 
The villagers came running as quickly as they could, sup- 
posing we would all be killed before they reached us. But 
no one was seriously hurt except the poor animal. The coach 
was literally a mass of rubbish. It was indeed for us a most 
miraculous escape. The villagers took us kindly to their 
homes and next day landed us safely at our own door. But 
I well remember how sore and bruised we were for many 
days. Mother had ever after a fear of riding in a stage 
coach, and nothing could induce her to make another journey 
on Sunday. 

There was a young lady in our village whose parents 
had sent her away to a boarding school. While there she 
learned to draw and paint most beautifully. When she came 
home she visited our house and begged mother to let me 
come and see her in return. I did so, and she brought out 
her drawings. Among them she had painted a beautiful 
bluejay, with a tuft of feathers on his head. I was enraptured 
over the bird and told her that I once saw one in our apple 
tree when it Avas covered with pink blossoms. She saw how 

FAMILY MliMOIRS- Al'llWriiK 37 

delighted I was, although I did not venture to say too much, 
as mother had always told me not to ctjvet what did not 
belong to me. However, in a few days after this sweet young 
girl came over, bringing w^ith her not only the lovely picture 
of the bluejay, but also a doll which she had dressed with 
her own hands. I was about eight years old and she thirteen. 
I kept these pretty presents for many years. 

"Jesus sought me when a stranger 
Wandering from the fold of God ; 
He, to save my soul from danger. 
Interposed His precious blood." 

This was the first verse I ever committed to memory. I 
felt very proud when I repeated it to my mother without one 
mistake, and she praised me highly because I had learned it 
without her knowledge or assistance. About this time a 
nund^er of ladies and gentlemen in our village read an ac- 
count of Robert Raike's Sunday school, and what an aston- 
ishing success it had proved. They soon opened one in our 
town, all denominations uniting in the good work. I finished 
also the reading of the Old and New Testaments. In the 
midst of all this we were passing through sickness, suffering 
and work — yes, hard work, too. I strove to lighten the tasks 
of my poor faithful mother, as I was the eldest daughter by 
many years. Mother was my first and last thought. For 
many successive summers she had the prevailing fever of the 
country and climate. When taken the fifth summer I was 
old enough to fully realize her dangerous condition. Father 
was away at court as usual. I begged mother to allow me 
to write to Aunt Mary to come up, as the neighbors around 
us were also sick and help was almost impossible to obtain. 
The only way she could come was on horseback. There was 
no bridge over the Scioto, but as it was summer she could 
cross the river at the ford. When she came mother w^as 
unconscious of her presence. But she went to work in good 
earnest, bathing and nursing her, and finally succeeded in 
allaying the scorching fever. She secured an old colored 
woman as nurse, but did not leave her until she was on the 
way to recovery. This was only one of her manifold acts 
of kindness. She saw how manv comforts mother needed, 


and as soon as she could, came back, and brought them. 
^\'hen I was about ten years old I had a little sister and I 
was mother's chief nurse. The following summer father was 
obliged to leave home. He told mother he had found that 
cream of tartar was very wdiolesome as a summer drink, and 
advised her to use it. So accordingly she sent me to the 
place wdiere they sold drugs of various kinds. "Now if the 
physician is not there," she said, "ask the young student to 
give you the cream of tartar. Tell him to be sure and give 
you the right medicine." I went and obeyed her directions 
to the letter. When I returned she mixed up a couple of 
teaspoonfuls in half a tumbler of water and drank it down, 
leaving a little in the glass for me. As soon as she had swal- 
lowed it she said, "How strangely it tastes, not sour, but 
sweet." Hardly had she spoken w^hen it began to act as an 
emetic. I sent my little brother directly for the physician, 
w^ho came quickly. He found upon inquiry that the student 
had given tartar emetic instead of cream of tartar. For 
many hours we feared she would die, wdiile I too was sick 
from the little I had taken. The neighbors came in and 
fanned and rubbed her, giving her various things to counter- 
act the poison. It was a desperate struggle for life. The 
names w^ere so similar that the ignorant student had mistaken 
one for the other, but providentially her life was saved. Not 
a great while after, in the following winter, mother had an 
attack of pleuris}^, w^hich was very dangerous and confined 
her to her bed for many long weeks. Often while w^aiting on 
her day and night have I fallen asleep over my work, but I 
strove to keep up a brave heart, knownng how much depended 
on me, and fearful of losing my dear mother, whose life was 
so necessary to her little family. 

As I have before mentioned, one of mother's sisters had 
married a lawyer living in Columbus. Grandfather's farm 
lay a few miles distant on Alum creek. When my grand- 
father came to visit us he said that he had been obliged to 
work harder in his old age than ever before in his life. Farm 
hands were scarce, and he had now no slaves to work for 
him. But my Uncle Roswell, his youngest son, about eighteen 
years of age, was so industrious that grandfather was obliged 

FAMILY MliMOlRS .mr.lTh.h' 39 

to check his anihitiuus spirit. \\ ith his help ihcy liad ah-eady 
put up a two-story log house with an adji )inin,L;' kitchen and 
set out a larg"e orchard of fine Iruit trees, hesides clearing 
land to plant their crops, i have oniittecl [n nientinn that 
grandfather had hefore this taken to himself a second wife. 
But as lu}- mother had long since left the home, she knew 
ver_\- little of her. I laving idolized her own mother, she cared 
not to see another hll her place, and thus, although courteous 
when they met. she sought no intimate relations with her. 
( irandfather, ho\ve\er, before he left our house on this \isit 
insisted that mother should come up and see his farm, bring- 
ing the children with her and we were as happy as birds at 
the prospect of going. Accordingly we went soon after, but 
never again saw our dear Uncle Roswell. Some two years 
before, he had visited us. and pleased us by showing us his 
new watch which he had earned with his own money. When 
we reached there, grandfather met us, but was completely 
overcome b\- his feelings, h^ir some time he could not say 
a word — but tinally mastering his emotion, he told the sad 
story. Roswell was mild and gentlemanly in deportment, 
and in looks much resembled my grandmother. He was 
greatly respected by all who knew him. T lay awake in the 
little trundle-bed and listened as he told about the son of 
his old age. He said it was on one of the last days of har- 
vest. There had been weeks of hard work, because in those 
(lavs there were no modern improvements to lighten the 
toil of the farmer. He said the reaping was done, the shocks 
all bound and standing in the fields, when in the evening 
Roswell said to his father, "I believe I \\-ill go down to the 
creek with twt) of the young men of the neighborhood and 
bathe." Accordingly they all went. "It was a bright, moon- 
light night," grandfather said, "and I lay here just as I do 
now, looking down at the creek. They had been gone but 
a short time, when the young men came running rapidly 
toward the house, saying 'Roswell is drowned. He went 
into the water with us, but must have been taken with the 
cramps, and we have lost sight of him.' I ran down to the 
spot they pointed out, and wading into the water stumbled 
over his bodw We raised him and carried him to the bank. 


The young men ran to the house for blankets and brandy, 
hoping to revive him, but all in vain, for life had already 

Roswell's death had a wonderful eliect on his stepmother. 
He was uniformly kind and devoted to her. Indeed had she 
been an own mother he could not have treated her more 
tenderly. After his death, she acted strangely. All her talk 
was of Roswell, and of her early New England home. One 
day after dinner, she made signs to my Aunt Martha (who 
was now a widow and living with them) that she wished 
to go and spend the afternoon with a neighbor some two 
miles distant. Aunt tried to prevail upon her to wait until 
next day, but she said, "No, no," and soon after started out. 
As soon as grandfather came in, which was near night, my 
aunt told him, and he went immediately over to the neigh- 
bor's house, but she was not there. He then went in other 
directions but she had not been at any of their houses. At 
last one neighbor said she had seen her in the early part 
of the afternoon going by, carrying a l^undle and had Avon- 
dered where Mrs. Butler could be going in such haste. Grand- 
father then went back home, got the carriage and following 
directions, inquired at every farm house he passed. Several 
had noticed her, and at one place she had rested quite a 
while. Finally, after going some miles he saw her in the 
distance walking very swiftly. Her clothing was wet and 
muddy. Coming near her, he called out, "Why, my dear, 
where are you going?" "Well," she answered very pleas- 
antly, "I am going home to Connecticut." He then jumped 
out and said, "All right, but don't you want me to go along 
with you?" "Oh, yes," she said, "but I have so often asked you 
to go, and your answer would always be, 'After awhile. Now 
Mr. Butler I am tired of waiting and am going by myself.' " 
He immediately saw by her wild manner and frantic gestures 
that reason was dethroned. But he finally succeeded in per- 
suading her to get in the carriage and go back with him. 
vShe was naturally of a mild and amiable disposition. But 
now her cheeks Avere flushed with fever and she was quite 
unmanageable. My aunt after a time induced her to go to 
l)efl wliilc granclfather went directly for a physician. He 


found that it was an attack of l)rain fever, and slie never after 
had a rational moment, dying- in about two weeks, d'hus 
was my poor grandfather left a second time companionless 
and desolate. 

My Aunt Mary Douglas still had with her my Cousin Juliet, 
who came with mother to Ohio. She was near my own age 
and we loved each other dearly, x^fter a time I went down 
to make her a visit. Before leaving home mother charged 
me to be obedient to every wish of my aunt's, even as though 
it was herself. Mother was extremely indvdgent to me, as 
1 was an only daughter until ten years of age and she felt 
toward me more as a companion than she could to her 
younger children. I thought, as a matter of course, I could 
have the hame liberty at my aunt's as I had at home, appro- 
])riating all the surroundings to my own use. One day my 
cousin had shown me a beautiful necklace of beads belonging 
to herself. They were curiously fastened together, four or 
hve strings being attached a finger's length apart with a 
scjuare of beadwork. It was over a yard long and fastened 
with a beautiful gold clasp. One day when she was out of 
the room, I placed them around my neck winding them about 
a number of times and then going to the large mirror, sur- 
veyed myself with great satisfaction. After that I ran dowm 
into the garden dancing and singing in great glee. My aunt, 
seeing me, called me to her and asked me whose beads I had 
on my neck. I said they were Covisin Juliets. "Did she tell 
you that you might wear. them," said she. "Oh no," I said, 
she does not know anything about it." "Well," said aunt, 
"now suppose you should be so unfortunate as to break 
some of those delicate strings?" Then drawing me lovingly 
to her she added, "My dear niece, I know how grieved both 
you and she would be if you should happen to spoil them. 
Then is it right for you to meddle with what is not your 
own?" This was a lesson for me which I never forgot in 
after life. Soon after this my Cousin Juliet was married to 
a gentleman who established himself as a merchant in our 
village. Mother was greatly rejoiced for she had always 
felt towards her as a daughter, and I loved her as an elder 


Shortly after her marriage Aunt Mary came to see us. 
She made her home with my mother, though spending a part 
of her time with my cousin. She soon noticed that I did not 
alwa3's help my mother with the work, often going into the 
sitting room and taking up a book while she was engaged in 
the kitchen. So one day she said, "My dear, does not your 
mother need you to help her? "Oh no," I said, "she did not 
tell me so." "Well," she said, "dear, good girls never wait 
to be told or called. They say, "Mother, do let me do some- 
thing more for you, instead of going where she can not see 
them, and yet perhaps she is in the greatest need." Then patting 
me on the shoulder, she added, "I want you to cherish your 
dearest earthly friend. No other mother can you ever have. 
Remember whatever you do from love to her, she will prize 
more than a diadem of rubies. Let all you do for her be 
a labor of love. This will make the task an easy one. You 
know, I am sure, who to ask for help to aid you." I looked 
up at her and saw her loving countenance beaming with 
goodness and said, "Aunt, I mean to try, yes I will." Thus 
was she ever imparting to me some lesson which influenced 
me in after life. 

The husband of my Aunt Douglas was a self-made man. In 
early life he had, to be sure, the advantages of a good New 
England school, but not a collegiate one. His brother older 
than himself was a sea captain. When he went on his voy- 
ages my uncle accompanied him, first as a cabin boy. Here 
he learned to cook and was always very proud of his accom- 
plishments in this line. Very often he would insist on get- 
ting u]) a meal at home when they happened to be out of 
help, and boasted that he could do better than half the cooks 
in the country. His brother had on board the ship a choice 
collection of standard English works. When the vessel was 
becalmed and little could be done he would take a book and 
go aloft either to study or read. In this way he read Shakes- 
peare and indeed knew most of his plays by heart. After 
going on several voyages with his brother he concluded to 
leave the sea and come out West. Passing through varied 
ex])eriences he at length settled down as a lawyer, and in 
his profession Avas astonishingh- successful. He was one of 


the wittiest of men. Wherever he went he was sure to draw a 
crowd around him. To young people more especially was he an 
unfailing source of amusement and delight. When he omitted 
to make his appearance at their social gatherings the cjuestion 
was sure to go round, "Where is Mr. Douglas? We can not get 
along without him." And yet I never knew him personally 
to wound the feelings of any one. Some wit is so sarcastic 
that one can only compare it to poisoned arrows shot from a 
golden cpiiver. He was an inimitable mimic and could copy 
so perfectly any peculiarity of voice or motion that you might 
suppose the identical person to be before you. His favorite 
hour for jollity and fun was at the table. Many a time have 
I laughed until my sides fairly ached at his comical repre- 
sentations and mirth-provoking sallies. Once when I was 
there he came in and said to my aunt, "Well, Mary, it is 
getting about warm enough for my summer coat." "W^hy. 
Mr. Douglas," said my aunt, "I told you when you laid it oil last 
summer that it would not be even decent to wear another 
season. How long do you suppose you have w^orn that bom- 
bazine coat?" "Well," said he. "let me see — not more than 
ten years, I am very sure." She went to the clothes press 
and. taking it down, handed it to him. "Now, Mary," said he, 
"I mean to wear this coat just as it is. This coat is my 
delight." Then putting it on, and raising his arms to show 
the under part of the sleeves, which were one mass of darns, 
he said, turning to me, "This is my royal coat of arms." Here 
he stepped out proudly in front of my aunt. "This coat, I 
say, has helped your husband to maintain his reputation. 
While I have worn this coat I have never had occasion to 
face that most miserable word in the Enghsh vocabulary, 
'duns.' I owe not one cent for the stitching done to this 
coat by Lo Smith, the tailor, nor one dollar to Sam Campbell, 
the merchant, for the bombazine of which it is made. Be- 
sides, and above all other considerations, it has been darned 
and redarned by the woman I most sincerly adore, which 
makes it unspeakably precious to my eyes." My aunt lost 
a daughter whom she greatly mourned, as much because he 
seemed to feel it so deeply as on her own account. I well 
remember how. when I was a child, he took me home once 


in a sleigh. I was so cold that I cried and he sang to me this 
old ditty : "Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater, had Belinda and 
could not keep her ; he put her in a pumpkin shell and there 
he kept her warm and well." Thus he beguiled me by the 
way until I reached home, all unmindful of the cold. Never/ 
during the many years in which I almost made their house a 
second home, did he once lead me to doubt his love and 
kindness. At another time he accompanied me home in the 
coach. There were several other lawyers with us going up 
to attend court in a neighboring town. Our ride was indeed 
a joyous one, as his presence always diffused mirthfulness 
about him. When within a short distance of the little village 
of Jefferson we added another passenger in the person of a 
Miss Betty Clark, an antiquated maiden of some sixty years 
who resided in the little village before mentioned. My uncle 
knew her well, as she had lived there ever since he first came 
to Ohio. She possessed one peculiarity, a dislike to all un- 
married gentlemen. Indeed, she professed to even hate them 
most thoroughly. The moment she entered the coach my 
uncle took upon himself even more than his accustomed gal- 
lantry, expressing his sincere delight in thus having the 
unexpected pleasure of introducing to the gentlemen his 
3^oung and handsome friend. Miss Betty Clark. He then told 
her that he esteemed himself especially fortunate in meeting 
her at this time, as he wished to relate to her a most remark- 
able dream he had a few nights previous concerning herself. 
"And now, Miss Betty," said he, "with your permission I 
will relate this wonderful dream." Miss Betty said she had 
no objection, certainly. "Well," said he, "I thought I was 
standing in the door of my office, looking toward the south, 
when what should I discover in the distance but a horseman 
coming at a furious rate. As he drew near who should it be 
bvit my honored friend, Colonel Bostwick. 'Whither away so 
s\\iftly.' cried I. As he appeared not to hear I called again at 
the top of ni}- voice. 'Whoa, Rosinante !' The horse, more 
obedient than his master, then halted in front of my office. 
I saw at a glance that the poor animal was in a lather of 
foam. The rider looked haggard and worn. 'Dismount, good 
friend,' said I, 'and come and dine with me. Whv this furious 


haste? I tell \uu it will kill both man an<l beast.' lie hjoked 
at me, oh, so despairingly. 'Well,' said he, linally, '1 have 
failed to get one good night's slumber for more than three 
weeks past for thinking both night and da}- of my earliest 
and only sweetheart. Miss Betty Clark. Tell me, oh, tell me. 
have you seen her lately?' I told him that I had had the exquis- 
ite pleasure of meeting her some three months since and assured 
him she was still young, lovely and blooming as ever. With 
that he caught the bridle from my grasp, raised himself in 
his stirrujis and then, waving his lily-white hand, he said, 
'Hinder me not. I press on to win my beauteous prize.' And 
in an instant he was oti", his coat tails fluttering in the breeze. 
No doubt. Miss Betty, you have had an interview with him 
long ere this and the nuptials are already arranged." I al- 
most held my breath as he was telling this story and really 
caught myself looking toward the south for the furious horse- 
man. The narrative was accompanied with his own peculiar 
gestures and the twinkling merriment of his bright black eyes. 
It was greeted by a continued roar of laughter, in which how- 
ever. Miss Betty failed to join. "Mr. Douglas," she said, "you 
dreamed that with your eyes wide open, you know you did, 
and your imagination must surely be in a very disordered 
condition." My uncle begged a thousand pardons and said, 
"Indeed, Miss Betty, the dream seemed so real that if he 
fails to come I shall set him down as 'a false-hearted lawyer 
that's worse than a thief,' which is a line of an old-fashioned 
song I used to sing in my young days." 

While visiting my aunt she heard me each day recite a 
lesson from history, giving me her assistance and explana- 
tions. The truth and beauty of many of her remarks have 
been to me a source of pleasure that no words can adequately 
describe. "And," said she, "let me enjoin you, my dear, al- 
ways to seek a friend older than yourself of whom you may 
ask advice. Be sure to guard your words at all times, as in 
the presence of that Great Being to Whom we must all give 
account. This will help you to act and converse 'as seeing 
him who is invisible,' and will prevent your indulging in many 
silly conversations that you would remember with morti- 
fication and sorrow." Dear young girls, you may never know. 


and eternity alone can tell, what effect your words and ex- 
amples may have in either injuring others or leading them in 
paths of virtue and happiness. 

There were three young friends whom I shall ever love 
to remember. Years ago my father brought home a paper 
in which was a piece of poetry written by Chateaubriand. I 
have now forgotten the verses, but the chorus was this, "The 
sweet young girl, the sweet young flower." I can truly re- 
peat this of these my youthful friends. Two of them were 
sisters. One had hair dark as the raven's wing, with brilliant 
black eyes and complexion clear and rosy. Her sister Mary 
was the reverse of this — pale blue eyes, golden hair, and fair 
as the lily. The beauty of their characters was their constant 
thoughtfulness for each other's welfare. All of them were 
near my own age, about thirteen. Betty M. was not as hand- 
some as the other two, yet she could not be looked upon, or 
her conversation listened to, without leaving the impression 
that in truth there dwelt a rare soul therein. We all went 
to the academy situated at the edge of the village. Once a 
week we attended dancing school. But they in some way 
neglected to protect themselves sufficiently against the cold, 
and one after another declined in health. Spring opened and 
then the summer. But autumn came only to number these 
lovely ones with the dead. And indeed it seemed not unmeet 
that these dear young girls "so gentle and so beautiful, should 
perish with the flowers." 

About this time there was great commotion in Ohio con- 
cerning the granting of money for the support of Common 
Schools. Father was extremely interested in this object, feel- 
ing the great importance of educating the 'masses. Governor 
DeWitt Clinton was one of the prominent men of that day. 
lie warml}- advocated this measure, as also the laying of a 
canal tlirough the State. He persuaded my father to edit a 
])ai)er to further the object, called the "Friend of Freedom." 
1 1, liowever, was unsuccessful pecuniarily, and was shortly 
after abandoned. Father was then elected to the State Legis- 
lature in order to bring forward the Common School question. 
He hel])ed t<i push through the money appropriation. After 
this came the Canal project. There was great opposition to 
this measure, but its advocates finally gained the day. My 


father and some of the leadini;- men miw invited (iovernor 
DeWitt Chnton to come to Ohio and participate in the initial 
ceremonies. The engineers of the work decided on com- 
mencing the canal at what was caUed Licking Snmmit. He, 
with many others, went up to meet him. From the wonder- 
ful emigration of Irish the laborers were already prepared. 
This Western world has indeed proved a glorious land for 
foreign laborers. With no inducements for work at home, 
they have found here the Eldorado of their hopes, gaining by 
their industry not only the comforts, but also the luxuries 
•of life. Governor Clinton came and with great pomp and 
ceremony gave to Ohio, in the name of the State of New 
York, the right hand of fellowship in this great undertaking. 
After this was over he turned his steps southward, coming 
home with my father. I well remember his appearance, and 
he was indeed a noble specimen of humanity. Though but 
.a child I distinctly remember hearing him converse on the 
topics of the day. Railroads were talked of as the hope of 
•coming times. My father, being a great geologist, had col- 
lected many valuable curiosities, forming a beautiful cabinet. 
Specimens had been sent to him from every part of the world 
— cjuartz from different points, beautiful marbles and a va- 
riety of minerals. He marked every specimen with care, 
giving the name and locality of each. There were Indian 
relics, idols and flints of various kinds, beautiful petrified 
fishes with scales and fins perfectly preserved, also some 
Avonderful coal formations. The impressions of fern leaves 
■on these coal deposits were most wonderful, shining" like 
satin. These came from near Zanesville and were among the 
most perfect ever found. There were specimens of mammoth 
teeth and also a large piece of Peruvian cloth. This was of 
a buff" color and used by the Peruvian women for clothing. 
It was found in one of their ancient sepulchres, but there 
were no hieroglyphics to tell certainly of its origin. There 
were fine specimens of lava from old volcanoes, and frankin- 
cense from the Holy Land, which when burned would fill 
the whole room with fragrance. Many distinguished for- 
eigners called at our house to examine this cabinet, but father, 
meeting wdth some reverses, was finally obliged to dispose of 


it. It was placed in the Cincinnati Museum, where, however,, 
it was finally destroyed by fire some years after. Father was 
always an enthusiast when speaking of the wealth of America 
hidden in her immense coal fields and the endless supply of 
minerals treasured in the bosom of the earth. He praised 
God that he had been permitted to live in this age and nation. 
If the faith taught by the lowdy Jesus of Nazareth were but 
the corner stone of this grand republic, its greatness would 
ere long "cover the whole earth, as the waters cover the sea."" 
Soon after this General Jackson was elected President 
of the United States. Being an old friend of father's, he 
recommended him to Congress as a suitable agent to treat 
with the Indians of the Northwest. He was accordingly 
appointed, in addition to two others, to form a treaty with 
them. They w^ent on to Prairie du Chien and there met the 
Indian chiefs, buying of them land for three States. Congress 
also appointed several scientific men to go with them. One 
of these w^as an English artist to make sketches for them. 
Father requested several of these chiefs to get up a war dance 
that this artist might paint their costumes arrayed for these 
evolutions. They accordingly exhibited themselves in their 
grandest manner. He brought home with him, and afterward 
carried to Washington, one of these costumes. It was made 
of beautiful white deerskin, soft as silk. The wives of these 
chiefs had dressed the skins. One could hardly believe that 
it had been done by Indians. It consisted of a hunting shirt 
coming half way to the knees, at the bottom of which was 
a trimming of fawn-colored skin made to resemble fringe, 
about a quarter of a yard in depth. The leggins were also 
made of a similar material and trimmed in a like beautiful 
manner. The wanqium l)elt was adorned with elaborate bead 
work, as were also the moccasins, and these all together made 
a splendid costume. The artist copied portraits and pictures 
of savage life with wonderful fidelity. The portraits of these 
chiefs were, father said, true to nature. This was many years 
previous to the discovery of ])hotography. The paintings, 
as well as costumes, were all sent to the "great father," 
General Jackson, in Washington. The Indians were ver}^ 
anxious to learn of father the number and ages of his family- 


Before he left ihem they presented liim with a ])air (if nioe- 
casins for every one, inchiding- himself and wife. And, 
strang-e to say. they fitted each as well as thoug-h they had 
taken a measure. They sent, hesides, necklaces of heads, 
exquisitely made, and all different in ])attern. Ivither said 
the squaws were an example of industr\- for our cnvn ladies, 
and might he imitated by them with profit. 

After father's return mother received a letter from my aunt 
in Columbus, containing the sad news that grandfather's house 
on Alum creek had been burned to the ground. No one could 
discover in what way the house took fire. The smoke awoke my 
grandfather, and he had barely time to awaken the family and 
save them and himself. Nearly everything in the house was 
turned. He went to one of the houses near, belonging to a 
tenant but the fright and exposure brought on a fever. My aunt 
lived seven miles south of the farm in the city of Columbus. 
Mother was unable to go to Columbus herself but sent me, telling 
me to write her the true state of the case. When I reached 
Columbus my aunt told me he was seriously ill. She had used 
■every argument to persuade him to come home with her but he 
was so feeble that the physician advised them not to remove him. 
It was the latter part of the month of August, and the intensely 
liot weather, fatigue and excitement were too much for him at 
liis time of life. He grew gradually worse. My uncle told us 
that the night he died he called him to his bedside, and asked 
him to say for him the Lord's Prayer, repeating it after him in 
a firm, clear voice. After which he turned himself in his bed, 
dying without one sigh or groan. Next morning my aunt sent 
for all his friends and neighbors to come to the funeral. I went 
with them. There he lay in the little humble cottage of his 
tenant. All about him was calm and peaceful, and in his last 
sleep he looked as though no trouble had ever come near him. 
The day of his burial was one of the loveliest of autumn. The 
orchard was bending with its luscious fruit, the very trees his 
hands had helped to plant. There were seats provided in the 
large barn for all the friends. The folding doors were thrown 
open and my grandfather was brought in and placed in front of 
the clergyman. On one side of the barn lay stacked the bundles 
of yellow grain and oats. On the other hung bridles, saddles 


and gears. There too were the plows, harrows and other imple- 
ments of farming. But the master who had so long directed 
their use had now been called away. The clergyman's text was 
this "For what is our life, it is even as a vapor, which appeareth 
for a little time and then vanisheth away." To me the whole 
scene was unspeakably solemn and affecting, and will ever live 
in my memory. He who once held a high and honored place 
among men, with servants and wealth at his command, now lay 
in this humble place — all unmindful of the change. Let us hope 
that his many sorrows and trials had made him ready for that 
blessed home above, where re-united to the loved ones gone be- 
fore, his tears were forever wiped away. 

"The path of sorrow and that path alone. 
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown." 

Grandfather was but sixty-eight when he died. His farm is 
now one of the most valuable in the state. It is situated on 
rolling ground. The little creek where my poor Uncle Roswell 
found a watery grave flows directly through it and adds greatly 
to its beauty. It may be that I am prejudiced in favor of early 
associations but this farm had to me a charm which none other 
can ever possess. Often have I there listened to my grandfather 
as he recalled the pleasing reminiscences of his early youth. Two- 
of these little stories I will now relate. He said that when a 
boy his father once gave him a beautiful pig. This was a great 
pet with him, and he watched and tended it very carefully, learn- 
ing it many amusing tricks. As it was winter he called it every 
morning to be fed at the back door of the house. From some 
cause the pig failed to come up to the barn for shelter one night 
as usual. The winters are most bitterly cold in New England, 
and that night proved the coldest of the season. When he arose 
in the morning and opened the door, what should he see but his 
poor pig standing in the accustomed place, but frozen stifle and 
dead. He had remembered the place where his master fed him, 
and instinct had led him to the spot, but the severity of the 
weather had frozen him at his post. "Well," said grandfather 
as he mourned over the loss of his favorite, "you are indeed a 
brave pig. Stand up and die, if die you must, but never give up. 
Those are my principles, the real sentiments of your master." 
And such was indeed, my grandfather, brave and determined 


througli lite, he shrank from no duty however (Hfficult or un- 
pleasant and with cowards had but little sympathy. 

Another story my grandfather delighted to tell was this : One 
of his New England neighbors was a farmer. Only once in a 
number of years could he succeed in raising a crop of melons. 
One season had, however, proved very favorable, and although 
the land was so hilly and full of rocks and stones he had by 
dint of great industry succeeded in bringing forward some un- 
usually tine ones. But each morning some were missing. As 
he was anxious to reap the fruits of his toil he determined to 
watch for the thief. So loading his gun with buckshot he sallied 
out, concealing himself behind a corner of the stone fence, where 
unseen he could yet discover the depredator. He watched 
patiently till near midnight and was about concluding that the 
theft must have been committed by some wandering animal, when 
lo, stalking along in the moonlight he beheld one of the deacons 
of his own church coming steathily forward looking all about 
him. Then trying a melon with his jack knife to see whether it 
was fully ripe he thus solilocjuized, "Well, green and bitter as 
a gourd. Good enough for you Deacon Clark, if you will be 
guilty of so mean a trick. Stuff it down your miserable throat. 
Another, and no better. Tho, bitter as Aloes you shall eat it. 
Perhaps it may prevent you from ever again disgracing the name 
you bear in the church. Let this experience be a lesson to you." 
So saying he ate another slice and then left the patch. The story 
was too good to keep and Deacon Clark did not soon hear the 
last of that midnight expedition. 

I was now about fifteen years of age and soon after the death 
of my grandfather I went back to my Aunt Mary's to resume my 
studies. Some days after, aunt and uncle were invited to a large 
party. My aunt sent the lady a note asking permission to take 
me with her which was most cordially granted. But when the 
evening came she was too unwell to venture out, and I accord- 
ingly went with my uncle. The next morning aunt asked me how 
I had enjoyed the evening. "Not very well," I said, "for I 
missed my old friends Betty Mead, Jane and Mary C. whom I 
loved so well. Very few spoke to me except to ask after you. 
or regret your absence." "As to those dear friends whom you 
mourn," she said, "they are, we trust, in a far happier place, 


while doubtless you are left here for some wise purpose, and ta 
render happy those around you." "Well, aunt," I said, "I was 
afraid to speak, not knowing just what was best to say." "My 
dear," said she, "you must strive to forget yourself, and think 
only of how you can interest others. Ask them about their 
friends, their health and surroundings. Every one loves a good 
listener, who is said to be far more attractive than a good 
talker. Do not expect all your words to be like gold coin. If 
we truly love others, we will not fail to keep plenty of light 
change, called small talk, to make the hours pass pleasantly on 
such occasions. The next party you attend look around and see 
if there is not some one there whom you know to be burdened 
with care. Perhaps you can speak a word of comfort or cheer 
to such and in that way lighten their hearts. Thus fulfilling the 
royal law of love." 

While engaged in studying history, my aunt permitted me to 
read sometimes in Scott's novels. When my uncle had time to 
join us she often read them aloud. I heard in this way Guy 
Mannering and Ivanhoe, which we all greatly enjoyed. But 
she soon found that I became remiss in my lessons, and when 
the hour for recitation came I would fain be excused. However, 
she did not then reprove me. One bright morning I arose early, 
swept and dusted my room, and went down to the family apart- 
ment where uncle was relating a story. It had in it some ex- 
pressions of profanity. My aunt did not join in the general mer- 
riment it caused, but finally looking up, said, "Father, that pro- 
fanity spoils the whole story. Some persons seem to think that 
strong language gives zest to an anecdote, while I always con- 
sider it the height of vulgarity. It looks as though the person 
telling it only wanted some excuse to say these words." "Well, 
Mary," he said, "You must forgive me. I am sorry I told it." 
Thus did she never lose an opportunity to live out daily and 
hourly her religious principles. Oh that every Christian pos- 
sessed a like courage ! 

After breakfast aunt asked if I knew my history lesson. 
I said I did, and followed her into the library. Pointing to 
the shelf where were Scott's novels, I said, "Aunt, if I promise 
to learn my lessons w^ell will you let me read the rest of 
these?" "Mv dear," she answered, "I have already allowed 


you to read and hear the portions of his works most worthy 
of remembrance. Vou know your dear mother deprives her- 
self of your help that you may improve this precious time." 
She looked at me and saw that my eyes were filled with tears, 
for I had set my heart on reading these books. Then, ten- 
derly placing- her arm around me, she added, "You are not 
aware how much the reading of these has already distracted 
your mind, rendering you incai)able of retaining more impor- 
tant knowledge. Works of fiction do not, like history, aid 
you in your religious life. And you have not forgotten those 
lines you repeated the other day." "Oh, no," I said, "I can say 
them now, 'Religion, wdiat treasures untold reside in that 
heavenly word, more precious than silver or gold or all that 
the world can afford'." And quickly wiping away my tears 
I listened while she went on to say, "When you have finished 
your studies, if you still desire to read these or similar works. 
I have no objection, but my impression is that you will find 
you derive more real and lasting enjoyment from the solid 
truths of history, the enchanting facts contained in chemistry 
and botany, with the wonders only half revealed in astron- 
omy, not forgetting geology, and combining all these with 
the study of rhetoric, w^hich enables you to put into language 
what you have already learned, than in the mere momentary 
I)leasure experienced in reading works of the imagination." 
I looked forward with great delight also to the obtaining 
of a musical education, not merely for the accomplishment 
itself, but from the innate love I possessed for the harmony 
of sounds. Painting I" had already been taught on a small 
scale, enough indeed to foster within me a love of the beauti- 
ful, as seen in the excjuisite penciling of our wild flowers, of 
which the Saviour declared that "even Solomon in all his glory 
was not arrayed like one of these." There were, however, few 
musical instruments in our village. The only piano was a 
little old-fashioned affair, owned by one of our neighbors, 
brought with them from Germany. I looked even at that 
as something wonderful, but my ambition to possess a scien- 
tific knowledge of music was unfortunately never attained. 
For in those days time was precious as gold. There was 
house work and sewing always to be done. The sewing 


machine had not then been invented to shorten woman's 
ceaseless toil. Mother sometimes kindly relieved me and per- 
mitted me to visit one young girl who was a great favorite 
with us all. She was nearly a year older than myself and 
her parents came to Ohio some seven years later than mine. 
Her father had formerly been a merchant in Philadelphia, 
and, being an only daughter, her every wish thus far had been 
gratified. I had been industrious through the week and helped 
mother in every way, as well as cared for the little ones. 
I was permitted, as a great treat, to go and visit Eliza on a 
Saturday afternoon, after dressing myself neatly. Then per- 
haps Eliza would return the visit on the foUoAving Saturday. 
Thus for several years our pleasant intercourse continued. 
Those happy days passed swiftly away and we looked for- 
ward with fond anticipation to the future, forgetting in our 
joyousness the true words of the poet, "The trail of the ser- 
pent is over them all." In looking back at those blissful 
days I can now realize how wise is the Providence that has 
cast a veil to hide the future fro'm our eyes. For if in youth 
we could but know the sorrows and trials awaiting us in after 
life,- how tinged with gloom would many an hour be, and 
how earnestly would we pray for strength and guidance to 
Him who has promised to hold us "in the hollow of His hand." 
East of our house there was a forest, and to the north 
lay the village churchyard. Here were three or four large 
elms and near these my little brother was buried. I almost 
fancy I can scent the perfume of the sweetbriar which grew 
near his grave. I often carried my little brothers and sisters 
there in the cool of the evening after my work was done. 
Often, too, have I watched the sunset from this spot, and in 
the autumnal evenings how glorious were its fading lights, 
as the stars came peeping out from their hiding places in the 
sky above, clothing the scene with surpassing beauty. Some- 
times on such evenings my dear friend Eliza would join me 
and we would converse together freely of our hopes and 
plans. Some vears later Eliza married, and in the companion- 
ship of a kind, indulgent husband and precious children re- 
alized much of earthly happiness, but consumption finally 
settled upon her naturally frail and delicate form and before 


many years had i)assed 1 was called to mourn the last of m)^ 
earliest and dearest earthly friends. She, with so many others 
I have loved, now waits for me, I trust, on the other shore. 
After her death lier mother gave me a heautiful white chrys- 
anthemum which she had left for me, and whenever I saw its 
fine white blosso'ms it served to remind me of the friend whose 
spotless life it so nearly resembled. 

It was near this period of my life that I was baptized and 
confessed faith in the blessed Saviotir, becoming a member of 
the Episcopal Church. I used to dread making a profession 
before the world but this now no longer troubled me. I asked 
my dear Cousin Juliet to stand with me, together with another 
friend, and was then Confirmed by the Bishop. How joyfully 
did I take the step w4iich bound me to be "Christ's faithful 
soldier and servant to my life's end." Little did I realize the 
many conflicts, both within and without, which I should be 
called upon to endure. How often I must strive in agony of soul 
to say "Thy will, not mine, be done." I ever dearly prized our 
precious liturgy which has been a source of comfort not only 
to the present church militant, but to untold millions, now mem- 
bers of the church triumphant. I once met a good Presbyterian 
friend who said to me, "Are you not going the wrong way to 
church?" "W'ell," said I, "with all the helps I find, I am only 
following Jesus afar ofif, but I must go where I meet with the 
greatest aid to send me on my way to the land I love." The 
language I need is here already prepared for my benefit and 
every year these beautiful prayers become more dear to my 
heart. While I recognize fellow Christians of every name, and 
gladly oiTer them the right hand of fellowship, yet my own 
church and its liturgy w^ll ever hold the supremest place in my 

My Aunt Parrish, living in Columbus, now wrote to me to 
come up and make her a visit, telling me that my uncle had just 
purchased a new work on chemistry, with a number of other 
interesting books. Mother accordingly gave her consent. My 
Uncle Parrish was at this time in good health. He did a pros- 
perous business in his profession and all seemed to go well 
with him. He had then been appointed Judge and had built 
himself a comfortable home just east of the State House. 


The new work on chemistry of which my aunt wrote had 
just been pubHshed and contained many new and valuable 
discoveries, among- which was that of Sir Humphrey Davy's 
lamp, which has been the means of saving many valuable 
lives. This work was w^ritten in the form of a dialogue. I 
commenced taking notes of its most interesting points and 
my good aunt was frequently obliged to tell me to go to 
rest, reminding me that other days were yet coming. In 
studying this work I was reminded of Shakespeare's Glen- 
dower when he says, "I can call spirits from the vasty deep." 
These grand discoveries in science only prove to us that there 
are wonders all about us which only infinity can fathom. But 
we can still continue to learn, to wonder and adore. One morn- 
ing while in Columbus there came to the house an uncle from a 
distance, in company with two strangers. I was very shy and 
diffident and no one thought of giving me a formal introduc- 
tion to the strangers. But I conversed with my uncle and 
often found one of the strangers watching me intently. This 
uncle was unmarried and quite a beau among the ladies. At 
last the stranger said to my uncle, "Come, Butler, suppose we 
go and call on Miss C. I promised if I ever came here to 
call upon her." "All right," said uncle, where is my hat?" 
So oft they started. It was a long walk, but very shortly 
after they returned. As they came in uncle seemed quite out 
of patience. "Now, Foster," said he, "I hope you are satisfied. 
After calling on that lady just to please you, you would not 
stay long enough to pay for the trouble of going." He made 
some laughing reply, and they shortly after left for their 
home. The stranger, however, seemed to linger at the door, 
whither I went to say good-by, and kept looking back as far 
as I could see him. I, however, soon forgot this little incident. 
On that same day my father came, bringing wnth him a 
brother of mine. He had just returned from a trip to Ken- 
tucky, having taken him there for his health. He had been 
ailing for some time with chronic rheumatism. When about 
twelve years of age he learned to skate. One bitter cold 
day he remained too long on the ice and became chilled 
through. The next morning he complained of a stiffness on 
one side of his neck and finallv grew so much worse that it 


was (litlicult f»ir liini to rest in any ])()siti()n citlu-r day (jr 
night. Father consulted a phwsician immediately, hut he 
hnally expressed the ojjinion that medical prescriptions were 
useless. He recommended an entire change of scene. This 
would lead him to forget himself and thus gradually hring 
every part of the system into action. Accordingly father 
decided upon this journey. Every means was resorted to 
in order to alleviate his suffering. He was allowed to rtm 
about and exercise as he pleased, and rest whenever he felt 
dis])osed. Father greatly appreciated the kindness of these 
friends, who did so much for his relief, as they were not rela- 
tives. After a time he grew l)etter, though still weak. At 
last he became tired and said he wished to go home to his 
mother. From that time he began to improve and finally 
recovered. Of six brothers, he is today the only one living. 
I had scarcely finished my visit, but returned with my father 
and brother, as mother was at that time in poor health. We 
were very shortly after obliged to move into another part 
of the village. I was now very well and insisted that mother 
should take the little ones and go to spend the day with 
Cousin Juliet while I and the young girl living with us would 
attend to the moving. "Mother," said I, "you need give your- 
self no itneasiness. I know we can do it all, and have your 
rocking chair and tea all ready when you come home this 
evening." The young girl was about my age, but I soon found 
she cared more about chatting with the young man who was 
helping to move the furniture than she did about helping me. 
She busied herself riding back and forth in the wagon most 
of the afternoon. I now concluded to take good Dr. Franklin's 
advice, "Help yourself, and heaven will help you," forgetting 
that Nature could not be overtaxed without resenting the 
abuse. 1 was so ambitious to show mother how industrious 
I had been, and to have all ready for her when she came, that 
I moved the furniture about as though I were made of iron. 
Finally, in lifting a bag of flour, I became suddenly dizzy 
and came near fainting away. Indeed the result of this over- 
work was, that during all the rest of that summer, I was pale, 
thin, and almost helpless. 

In the meantime, the same young gentleman, the stranger who 


noticed me so intensely at my Aunt Parrish's had returned to 
the town of Lancaster and was living with my uncle there. As 
I had never made any lengthy visit to this aunt I had not, of 
course, ever met him. When at Columbus he said he intended 
going to Cleveland, having bidden good-bye to my uncle and 
aunt though he had been living with them some four years. 
But it appeared that a sight of 'me had changed all his plans. 
He went back to Lancaster, and told them he had concluded to 
remain with them. Soon after he spoke to my aunt about me, 
and begged her to give him some little present as a commis- 
sion, in order to have an excuse for paying me a visit. She 
gave him a beautiful sash of scarlet watered ribbon, shaded 
with white. And also a silk lace Bertha to wear around my 
neck. Armed wnth these presents he came over to our village. 
He went into the store of my cousin Juliet's husband, Mr. 
Rogers. There he found my young brother Douglas, who was at 
that time a clerk in the store, and soon ventured to ask Mr. 
Rogers if he would be kind enough to allow my brother to go 
with him to see his sister and do the errand given him by my aunt. 
"No," said Mr. Rogers, "1 can not possibly spare him even for 
one-half hour. You see the store is full of customers. Leave 
your message with him, and as you say you will be obliged to 
return today, he will take it over this evening, that is the best 
I can do for you." He went home most sadly disappointed. 
Our physician now advised mother to send me from home, as 
the change might benefit me. Aunt King hearing of my delicate 
health had sent an urgent invitation for me to come and stay 
with her until I should be restored. In the meantime I had 
in some way received an invitation that the stranger was by 
no means averse to me, and I rather dreaded accepting the 
invitation on that account. But finally went. It was dinner 
time when I arrived, and I found him at the house watching 
for me, and looking very happy. He remarked that he had 
heard of my ill health, but was glad to see me looking better 
than he expected. "Now," thought I to my self, "I will wait 
after this until the clerks are gone, before going down to my 
meals, then I shall miss seeing him." So I did, until the din- 
ner hour of next day when going in I found William seated 
there. My aunt said to him, "Why, William, what keeps you 


here so long?" "Wei!," said he, "I have been wailing for my 
dessert," nodding his head toward me. I mean to have the 
pleasure of seeing Miss Belinda before I go back to the store." I 
soon found it of no use for me to wait. "Face the music" I 
must. With William it was only a question of time. My aunt 
having found that I had never made a fine shirt by myself told 
me that she thought my education cjuite deficient, and as her 
son was in need of some, set me to work. Accordingly I was 
very busy all the week, and glad to rest when Sunday came, 
more especially as I had found an entertaining book to read. 
But inasmuch as William made himself at home all over the 
house I found some difficulty in selecting a spot where I 
would not be disturbed. At last I oi)ened the large dining 
room door, and planted myself behind it. Secure as I thought 
from all intruders. Soon after I heard some one going up 
stairs and down in all directions over the house. I w^ell knew 
the springing footstep, and that William was eagerly looking for 
me. Finally I heard him say to my aunt. "Do you know^ where 
Belinda is? I have been looking everywhere for her." "Cer- 
tainly, she must be in the house." said aunt, "as this is Sun- 
day. Look about. She is hidden somewhere with a book I 
expect." All at once he thought of this door, and suddenly 
threw^ it back exclaiming "There. I have found you at last." 
I jumped U]) saying "Is it possible that even Sunday is not 
safe from your intrusion?" Looking at me for a moment he 
said : "Doubtless I was wrong, forgive me and I will ofi:end 
no more." And quickly turning on his heel he left me. I 
went to the window, and loking out saw him hastily striding 
down the street. But his anger was of short duration for 
love can not long cherish animosity. 

I went out almost every evening with the young gentle- 
uien and ladies of the village, and received considerable atten- 
tion. There were two gentlemen, however, who came more 
especially to see me, A\^illiam Foster and a Mr. K. One evening 
as the clock struck ten, Mr. K. turned to William saying, "Well, 
the hour has come when politeness bids us retire." "Very well," 
said William, "you can go if you wish, but I am not yet ready." 
AVhen Mr. K. left William said, "Now, Belinda, do you know I 
have half a mind to poison him with some of his own drugs. 


He has no business here, and I intend to come every time he 
does, and be the last to go home." Next day Mr. K. sought 
an opportunity to explain to my uncle his intentions with 
regard to me, intimating that AMlliam Foster was endeavoring to 
supplant him. "I have the means" said he "to make your niece 
comfortable while he has not." "Well," said my uncle, "I can 
soon settle that difficulty. I will ask Belinda which she prefers. 
She shall decide the question for herself. I will ask her this 
very day, and tell you her answer." That evening 'my uncle 
said to me : "I have a question to ask you, and I wish you 
to answer me truly." I looked at him, wondering why he 
looked so grave. "Well now," he said, "which gentleman do 
you prefer, Mr. Foster or Mr. K? "Uncle," I said, "I respect 
them both." "Now," said he, "that won't do. I must have a de- 
cided answer. Mr. K. is a druggist in good business, in fact is 
what the world calls rich, and I believe him to be a Christian. 
William Foster has nothing. Which do you love the best?"' 
"Well, uncle," I said, "I prefer William Foster." "All right,"" 
said my uncle, "I have now done my duty. You have chosen 
the man poor in this worlds goods, but if you think you can be 
happier with him I have nothing to say." 

William came that evening to plead his own cause. I told him 
I knew there were others he could easily find, who could help 
him to begin the world better than I. "Xo," said he, "while 
I have these hands I ask nothing from anyone. What is 
money without love?" I reminded him of the old Proverb^ 
"When want comes in at the door, love flies out of the win- 
dow." but all in vain. "While I live," said he, "I can take good 
care of 3'ou, and I see that you are not strong enough to work 
hard." I then said that whoever chose me must be a Chris- 
tian, for I knew myself to be a poor sinner, standing in daily 
need of help to do right, and not only that but I wanted 
one who should not only walk this short life with me, but 
continue with me in that life which knows no ending. "I 
intend to be a Christian," he said. Oh fatal delusions of too 
many tempted souls, putting ofif until 'a more convenient 
season,' what should be done today ! "I want to be honest 
with you Belinda," he said, "and will tell you where I fail. 
I am naturally quick tempered and hasty. You are dififerent 


from iiK- in this respect. Now promise to tell me whenever I 
ao offend. 1 have been an orphan for many years with none 
to tell me of my faults or take an interest in my welfare. 
With your love and guidance I shall be blest indeed." Soon 
after this 1 went home, l)Ut spent some mcjnths previous to 
our marriage with my Aunt Mary Douglas getting ready for tlie 
happy event, returning home in the fall. My cousin Juliet, 
whom I so fondly loved, asked me one day if he to whom I had 
jtromised my hand and heart was a Christian? "No," I told 
her, "but he has promised to be one." "My dear cousin," she 
said. "I can not tell you Ikhv greatly I fear for your happi- 
ness." She wrote me a loving note, which she handed me on 
the morning of my marriage, containing her kindest wishes 
and advice. And inasmuch as my father's house was small 
she now insisted upon giving me the wedding party. She said, 
"Your mother has always been a second mother to me, and 
I am rejoiced if I can save her any trouble." My Uncle Butler 
of whom I have before spoken, was now engaged to a beautiful 
young lady who had been visiting in our town for some time. 
This young lady was my bridesmaid and my uncle the grooms- 
man. About thirty particular friends were invited and all 
went off pleasantly. I am now^ the only one of that bridal 
party of four who stood together who are still living. Father, 
mother and two brothers have long since entered the land 
of the blest. Little did I dream that evening that in the noble 
form of my beloved husband, there even then lurked that 
insidious and fatal disease, consumption. 

Our wedding trip was short, only tw^enty-five miles distant 
to the capital of the State, Columbus. Southeast of there was 
to be our future home, in the town of Lancaster. While at Col- 
umbus we visited all the places of interest, the State prison and 
different asylums. Since that day, Ohio has built one of the 
finest prisons in the land and the asylum buildings will com- 
pare favorably with those of any other State. After reaching 
our new home in Lancaster I was very busy preparing for 
housekeeping. And these were some of the happiest days my 
life has ever knowm. In the devoted love of a kind husband, 
a reasonable measure of worldly prosperity, and both of us 
willing and anxious to assist my own family to the extent of 


our ability, life seemed a joyous thing to our experience and 

About four months after my marriage, my husband made 
me a present of a beautiful saddle, that I 'might go on horse 
back into the country. He had bought a small farm which 
had on it a good substantial log-house. It was about two 
miles from town near a hill called Mount Pleasant. He had 
bought this that his step-father and four step-brothers with 
their sister Nannie, might have a home. He had but one own 
sister, Sarah, older than himself, who was at this time staying 
with them. This sister had left Pennsylvania after the death 
of their mother and come out to Ohio in company with a 
widowed aunt who was as kind as a mother. Her step-father 
wrote Sarah that he wished her to come on and live with him,, 
but the aunt insisted on coming too in order to see how she 
would like the new home, intending, unless she was thor- 
oughly satisfied, to take her back again with her. The sum 
iiier before I was married, while my husband was East buying^ 
goods this aunt was taken very ill and died suddenly. Sarah 
said it grieved her deeply that her aunt must come here for 
her sake, and then die amid strangers. Soon after I went tO' 
see them and on hearing about this, and other family matters 
I passed a very pleasant day with my newly found relatives. 
Nannie, the step-sister, was only about fifteen, not only beautiful 
in person, but lovely in character. When evening came Sarah 
said, "Now I will take one of the horses and go with you, as 
you say you do not expect William can come for you." In put- 
ting on my new saddle the girls found it difficult to draw it very 
tightly, and the boys were not about at the time. My husband 
had placed on my feet a new pair of carpet shoes, and putting 
on my cloak Sarah fastened my feet in the stirrups and thus 
we started. It was near Christmas time and the weather very 
cold, ^\'hen we had gone a little distance we met my husband 
coming for me. "Why did you come?" asked Sarah. "Well,"" 
he said, "I knew the saddle was a new one and I was fearful 
you could not draw it tight enough. I had better see to that 
now." Oh. no," said Sarah, "it is all right." Hardly had she 
said this when the saddle suddenly turned and threw me with 
great force upon the frozen ground, my feet still remaining fas- 


tened in the stirrups. My husband (juickly picked me up and 
they carried me home, where I was for a long time sick and 
helpless. Indeed I was not able to get about much before spring. 
Then 1 thoughtlessly went out to help the gardener i)lant seeds, 
wearing thin shoes, and was cjuite sick again. During all this 
time my husband was very kind, waiting on me and nursing me 
tenderly, often saying to me that these were the happiest days 
he had ever known. 

Soon after this he commenced the superintending of a large 
warehouse for a tobacco factory and was away from home much 
of the time. While the carpenters were putting it up he often 
lent a helping hand, so anxious was he to see the work progress. 
One day he came home and said to me, "Belinda, I do not know 
but I have strained byself lifting, for my breast pains me so 
much." We were out in the yard at the time and as he said this 
he coughed up a little blood and turned away quickly to hide it. 
But although I said nothing to him, I had seen it. Next morning 
he went away early, to be gone all day. My heart was full of 
sorrow and sad forebodings of the future and I wept myself 
sick. He came home sooner than I expected and saw that my 
eyes were swollen. When he insisted on knowing the cause I 
told him my fears and he made light of them, assuring me that 
the cough would soon pass away, pjut I could not be so easily 
pacified and could only fervently pray for his restoration. Soon 
after he was obliged to go East for goods and I went home to 
visit my mother. When I returned I persuaded her to let me 
bring with me my youngest sister for company until my husband 
came home. So with many charges she gave her into my hands, 
telling me that should any misfortune befall her she would feet 
as did Jacob of old, "If I am bereaved of my children I am 
bereaved." Some few days after Lucy, my sister, came and 
asked if she might go with Maggie, the girl, to prayer meeting. 
Being engaged in something, I told her I would see about it. 
She went on about her play, as I thought, but some time after 
I went to call her for bed and could find nothing of her. I con- 
cluded she must have gone with Maggie, but about nine o'clock 
Maggie came in and asked, "Where is Lucy?" She said she 
had not seen her. Words can not describe my distress. I sent 
for the neighbors. Some went toward the creek and others in 


different directions, but without success. A neighbor's daughter 
said she saw her going up the hill to church. I was almost wild- 
with grief, and my husband away. Finally Maggie went for the 
sexton and he went with her to the church. Sure enough, there 
was Lucy lying on a bench in the back part of the church, fast 
asleep. A\ hen she came home I said, "Oh, Lucy, what made 
you do so?" She said, "When mother says she will see about it 
she always means to let me go." I watched her well after this 
and as soon as William came I took her home and said to mother, 
^'There, take your treasure." 

One beautiful morning in the latter part of April I went up 
street to see my Aunt King. \A'hen I came to the door to start 
home I noticed by the appearance of the clouds that a storm 
was coming on. Aunt tried to prevail on me to wait, but some- 
thing important was to be done at home and I was sure I coul'' 
reach there in time. However, I failed to do so and reache 
home quite wet through. The next day I was taken with ' 
chill and soon after typhoid fever set in. For nearly three 
v\'eeks I was very ill, most of the time unconscious. My mother 
came, and as she was one day bathing my hands my wedding 
ring slipped from my wasted finger. Mother said aloud, not 
thinking that I would notice it, "I will put this away for Wil- 
liam when poor Belinda is gone." I started up, saying, "What 
is that?" opening my eyes wide and looking at mother, whose 
face was red w4th weeping. "Yes, my daughter," she said, "we 
fear unless you are better very soon you must leave us." "Oh, 
no," said I, "I can never leave AA^illiam." Little did I know how 
many weary years I was destined to live without my dear hu 
hand. Sarah, my husband's sister, came and watched day ai 
night by my bedside. One day I felt as though my ti- 
come, and begged her to pray with me, repeating to hei 
lines of Blair : 

"In that dread moment how the frantic soul 
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement; 

Runs to each avenue and shrieks for help. 
But shrieks in vain ; how wistfully she looks 
On all she's leaving, now no longer hers ; 
A little longer, yet a little longer, 
Oh, might .she stay to fit her for her passage." 


Sarah tried to quiet me, hut in vain. Then mother sent for 
the good clergyman who married us, to pray with me until I 
became once more composed. Finally with the blessing of heaven 
and good nursing I began slowly to recover. When Sarah, wha 
had watched and tended me so faithfully, saw that there was. 
hope, she laughed for joy as she bathed my feet. "Why, Sarah," 
I said, "you remind me of Mary, who washed the vSaviour's feet 
with her tears and wiped them with the hairs of her head." 
"Oh, yes," she said, "I am so rejoiced that you are spared, for 
you see I have none of my own to love but William and yourself. 
As I grew better my anxiety for my husband increased. By 
my persuasion he began the reading of the New Testament daily 
and seemed to think much of those things. The time of year 
now came around when he must again go East for goods. My 

eart was torn with doubts and fears, but I strove to busy myself 
<bout my house while he was gone. It was in the month of 
February when he returned. \\'hile crossing the Alleghany 
mountains, the coach being full inside he rode on the top of the 
coach. A storm of sleet came on and he was exposed to the 
weather. When he reached home he could only speak in a whis- 
per and was sick for two weeks with pneumonia. After this 
he failed in health and indeed was hardly able to get about all 
summer. He tried to arrange his business, but I begged him to 
go with me on the little farm, hoping that rest and freedom 
from care would eventually restore him. He at last consented, 
superintending, while there, the building of a steam sawmill, 
"^here was a lovely spring of water at the foot of the hill near 

■ e house, and here they built a nice log springhouse. There 
-<" '^helves on each side for pies, and a large stone trough 
ihey placed their butter and milk, with various conven- 
iences for churning. The spring was deep and cold. The sand 
at the bottom was white, and you could look down into the blue 
depths of the spring and see the water as it bubbled up over 
the snowy sand, renewing itself continually. I never knew the 
spring to be frozen over, even in the coldest day of winter. 
We remained there through the fall, and that year the first 
frost was unusually late in coming. The woods were indeed 
gorgeous during the Indian summer. I shall never forget the 
surpassing beauty of those happy days. But though the season 


was so mild, and the fading of the summer days almost imper- 
ceptible, my husband's health continued gradually but surely to 
fail. I tried to hope against hope, and believe that he would yet 
be restored to me, but alas ! death was slowly claiming him for 
his own. 

xA-S winter approached I realized the necessity of our going 
back to town in order to give him the comforts he required. He 
grew more feeble and anxious every day. We left our pleasant 
summer home and settled ourselves in town. One day, having 
been out on some errand, and drawing near the house, I heard 
his voice praying earnestly. Coming to his bedside, I said, "Jesus 
has promised to help and comfort all who are weary and heavy 
laden." "But," he said, "do you think he will pardon my in- 
gratitude and f orgetf ulness of him all these many years ?" I 
brought the Testament and read to him these words : "God so 
loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that who- 
soever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting 
life." Soon after this our little boy was given us. Oh, how 
grateful were we for this gift. William said, "Now if I could 
only live to help you rear him how happy might we be." It was 
a bitter cold winter and my nurse was taken suddenly ill. She 
was obliged to leave me with only a little girl to care for me. 
One night the weather became even more intensely cold and my 
dear little babe was taken with something like croup. I was 
frightened and, calling Julia, told her to warm some water 
quickly and get the bathtub. Jumping from the bed, I placed 
my baby in the water, rubbing him well with flannel cloths. I 
thought not of the danger to myself, but had barely gotten back 
into bed before I was taken with a chill, followed by a burning 
fever. My babe grew worse. We sent for my aunt, who came 
and stayed with me. I said to her, "How often has mother told 
me that none but a mother can know the depth of the love so 
mysteriously given. Now I understand it all." My husband 
was lying on his couch looking at the little sufferer when sud- 
denly the baby was taken with a spasm. William was so troubled 
that he sobbed aloud. After awhile, when the babe seemed 
better, my aunt came to me and said they thought, on my hus- 
band's account, they had better take it home with them and 
tliere nurse it. T consented, hard as it was for me to part with it. 


That nit^ht about one o'clock it died. She came next morning 
early to tell us our treasure had gone to Him who said, "Suffer 
little children to come unto me. and forbid them not, for of 
such is the kingdom of heaven." Oh, how I begged to see it 
once more, but they said that both myself and husband were too 
weak to bear the excitemet and so we must be resigned. "Now," 
William said, "I have but one more tie to bind me to this earth. 
\\'hen I go I leave you in His hands Who has promised never 
to 'leave or forsake those who trust in Him'." 

The spring came on with its occasional warm and sultry days, 
adding to his weakness. It was now about eight weeks since we 
had buried our baby. One morning he called me to him and said, 
"'Belinda, before many days I shall go home." I burst into 
tears, sobbing as though my heart would break. He said, 'Tf 
you love me, try and bear up under it. I can not talk to you 
when I see your grief." I sat w'ith him that night until late, 
when he begged me to lie down and rest. He appeared so urgent 
that I turned to go. But he called me back, saying, "How can 
I say good-by?" Then, placing his hand on my head, he added, 
'We need not say good-by, for at the longest it will be but a 
little while before we meet there" (pointing upward). "Now 
go, but come the moment I call for you." The watchers came 
in for the night and I threw myself on a couch to be ready when 
he should call. They left at four o'clock, but I was so worn 
out I did not know when they went. About five he called me : 
"Come quick, Belinda." I was there in a moment. "Open the 
Prayer Book," he said, "and read what I asked of you the other 
day to read in my last hour." I found the place he had already 
marked, and read, he repeating it after me. It was this: "Oh, 
Lord, most holy ; Oh, God, most mighty ; Oh, holy and merciful 
Savior, thou most worthy Judge Eternal, suft'er us not at our 
last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from Thee." I held up 
his arms toward heaven, while the great drops of perspiration 
stood on his brow. The last words that fell from his lips were 
■"Wash me, dear Jesus, wash me in Thy precious blood." Had 
any one told me I could ever have passed through such an hour 
of anguish I should have said, "Never, never." All that day 
and the next I suffered more than tongue can tell, yet was un- 
able to shed a single tear, and not until we carried mv husband to 


his last resting place and I beheld the spot where lay the form 
of my darling babe beside the newly prepared grave, could I 
weep. Then the long-pent grief came in floods to relieve my 
burdened heart, a blessed change. My only thought was, "Oh, 
that there was a place ready for me, too, beside my loved ones." 
Had I been a heathen how gladly would I have laid myself there. 
In this hour of crushing grief I could only pray, "Great Healer 
of Souls, help thou me, for vain is the comfort of earthly 
friends." But I had still my parents left to me, and in a few 
days, after all was settled, I left the scene where I had been so 
happy in my wealth of earthly love and went sadly back to make 
my future home with them. When I reached there I found a 
message urgently awaiting me to go down and stay for a time 
with my Aunt Douglas. My uncle was absent from home much 
of the time on business, and aunt, being lonely, thought it would 
be well for me to come and rest with her. Only the summer pre- 
vious had William visited with me there, and we had looked 
forward to a long and prosperous future. Now all was changed 
and I must henceforth walk life's weary way alone. It was 
indeed agony to my wounded spirit. I went, however, and re- 
mained for a time. One day I said to her, "Aunt, I must go 
from here. Every spot recalls my beloved husband. I must go 
and seek some occupation to fill my thoughts and busy my 
hands." She seemed surprised and said, "Is there anything I 
can give or do for you?" "No, no," I said, "you can never know 
my utter desolation and loneliness unless you shotild one day 
be called to pass through the same deep waters. From you I 
have received infinite kindness and love, for which I am truly 
grateful, but now I must leave you." She saw for herself the 
true state of the case and said no more. In a few days after 
I left for home. In the meantime a school for young ladies was 
about to be opened there by an accomplished teacher from the 
East. An assistant was needed in the primar}^ department. My 
application for the position was accepted and thus in the care 
and instruction of these little ones my mind found the employ- 
ment it so greatly needed, while the transfer of some portion of 
my lost affections made me measurably happy and contented. 

I have before mentioned something of my brother next 
younger than myself, at this time clerking for my cousin's hus- 

I'.IMILY Ml-.MOIRS .ITir.lTIih' 69 

band. jVJr. I\o<^ers. W'lien but eleven years old he was obliged to 
go to work. l"\ither, being a man of scholary tastes, had little of 
the domestic in his composition. Charing greatly for books, he 
thought but little of the practical, and thus his family were often 
needy, sometimes even pinched for the comforts of life; so that 
this brother, being the eldest son, was early forced to do for both 
his mother and himself. He was at first placed with a merchant 
in the town who had no children of his own and therefore had 
little sympathy for the young. He proved, indeed, a hard mas- 
ter. My brother was a slender boy and growing rapidly, but 
he required him to be a boy of all work — in the store, in the 
house, in the stable, indeed everywhere, he pressed him far be- 
yond either ability or strength. One morning when my mother 
rose she saw Douglas sitting on the topmost rail of the back 
fence. Going down to speak with him. she found he had left 
his place, never, as he declared, to return ; it was too much for 
flesh and blood to bear. Mother talked long with him. using 
every possible argument, telling him how she depended on his 
exertions, and encouraging him to think that something better 
would ere long occur to brighten his path. But he was obdurate 
and unyielding. Finally her tears began to fall. Without a word 
he got down from the fence, turned and ran as swiftly as a 
deer back to his hated employer and post. What self refused 
to do, a mother's all-prevailing tears accomplished. My hus- 
band had ever been strongly attached to Douglas. Just before 
he died he left him as a remembrance his handsome gold shirt 
pin and velvet vest to recompense him for many little acts of 
kindness. Shortly after this my cousin's husband took him into 
his employ, where he remained for many years, and finally was 
made partner in the establishment. 

The cousin Juliet, whom my mother brought to Ohio, and 
with whom my brother now lived, had always been in delicate 
health, but was ever ready to befriend our family in every way 
possible, although not always able to do what she would, as her 
husband was a man of the world and devoted to the acquisition 
of money. He was many years older than she and while uni- 
formly kind was in some points rather unyielding and peculiar. 
My sister next younger was now about fourteen and backward 
of her age. Mv cousin advised sending her awav to boarding- 


school, and as I found I could secure a situation as teacher of 
a seminary in the northern part of the State, I decided to go 
and take her with me. We remained there some time until my 
sister's health failed and I was advised to bring her home. 
Shortly after I went to spend the day with my cousin. I found 
her resting on the lounge, looking pale and sick. Upon inquiry 
she told me that she thought she had taken a heavy cold from 
helping the girl bring in some wet clothes. The following day 
a fever set in, which increased slowly but surely. She would 
fall into a stupor, from which she would rouse at times, and her 
mind appear as clear as when in health. In these lucid intervals, 
she would converse very earnestly with her friends about her. 
For every one she seemed to have some special and appropriate 
message pointing them to that brighter world for which this is 
but the preparation. Finally .her summons came and she was- 
transported from earth to heaven, leaving her husband with two- 
precious children deprived of her love and tender care. Her 
husband survived for many years, finally marrying a young sis- 
ter of his wife and passing through many and varied sorrows,, 
among which was the loss of the earthly possessions for which 
he had toiled so faithfully. 

Our family afflictions seemed just about this period to be es- 
pecially mttltiplied. The husband of my Aunt Parrish living in 
Columbus, was, as I have said, also a lawyer, doing a flourishing- 
business. He was an inveterate tobacco chewer and formed a 
habit of keeping the weed constantly in one corner of his mouth. 
Finally a sore made its appearance just outside of his lower lip 
which became a constant source of irritation. He consulted a 
physician, who said it was possible that the tobacco had con- 
tained some slow poison which had produced this trouble. He 
abandoned the use of it, but it was now too late to remedy the 
evil. In about a year it proved to be a malignant form of cancer, 
spreading rapidly. The best medical advisers of the East were 
consulted, but without avail. They used the most severe out- 
ward applications and the most scientific remedies known, but 
all to no purpose. He had always been extremely careful and 
proud of his personal appearance, and his mortification was now 
so great that he refused to see his nearest friends. My aunt 
nursed him most faithfully, scarcely leaving him for an hour.. 


He was unable to eat witliout the greatest (lifficult}', and wasted 
away to a skeleton. Poor man! He had nothing to comfort 
him except the pleasures of this, present world. His wife strove 
to point his restless and agonized spirit to Him who died for 
sinners, but his mind was dark and wild, while pain of body 
was too great to permit any concentration of his mental powers. 
And thus he finally passed away. He was a man of talent and 
fine worldly address, a kind husband and father, but, alas, not 
a Christian. 

She had a son now grown, and already admitted to the bar, 
but very shortly after he, too, died very suddenly, leaving her 
lonely and desolate indeed. Her remaining children, however, 
strove to render her last days comfortable and she lived for 
many years solaced by their affectionate ministrations. 

About this time my Uncle King of the town of Lancaster, the 
same who held my precious boy when he died, was taken with 
something resembling dropsy. They went with him to consult 
some distinguished physician in Cincinnati, stopping for a few 
days with my Aunt Douglas. They also remained there for a 
time on their return, taking home with them for a visit her second 
son, Albert, now verging upon manhood, or, rather, in his teens. 
In the meantime one of my Aunt Mary's neighbors died, leav- 
ing her little family to be scattered. Her husband was a brother 
lawyer and an intimate friend of my uncle's. They sympathized 
with him deeply and my aunt finally invited the eldest daughter, 
Annie, now about twelve years of age, to make her home with 
them until her father could make arrangements to send her 
East to school. Uncle King seeming to improve as they moved 
about, they went to take Albert home, remaining again for a 
few days. Annie was now quite at home with my aunt, who 
devoted much of her time to her care and amusement. But in 
my aunt's desire to minister to the comfort of this invalid uncle 
Annie w^as for the time almost forgotten. All the loneliness of 
her motherless condition rushed upon her afresh. There was 
a shelter between the washhouse and kitchen, to which she 
(juickly fled, and there, hidden, as she imagined, she gave vent 
to her grief in sobs and tears. Suddenly some one clasped her 
around the waist and said, "Oh, Annie, wdiat is the matter?" 
"I am all alone," she said; "no one cares for me, no one loves 


me now." "Yes, Annie," Albert said (for it was he, then a boy 
about thirteen years of age), "I care for you and love you, too." 
"No," said she, "you shall not love me; I don't want your love." 
"^^'ell," he said, "you can not prevent it; I mean to love you 
always whether you care to have me or not." Shortly after she 
went away for several years to an Eastern seminary, but they 
never forgot each other. While I was with my aunt at one 
time Annie had just returned from school. Albert had also been 
absent in Kentiicky for some time, but came home and that 
evening was invited with a party of young people to meet the 
newcomer. The next morning I inquired how he had enjoyed 
the evening. "Oh, excellent," he answered; "I saw there an 
angel — yes, cousin, a veritable angel." "But, Albert," said I, 
"we have now none but fallen angels, remember." "Well now, 
cousin," he said, "I don't know about that." I then inquired the 
color of the dress she wore. "W^hite, faultless white," he said, 
"with short sleeves, hair black as the raven's wing, brilliant eyes 
to match, and smiling ruby lips." "AVell, Albert," said I, "you 
will win a treasure if she proves as lovely in mind and disposi- 
tion as you seem to think her in person." "Oh, but," said he, 
"she once told me she did not want my love." "Now mind you," 
said I, "you remember the old adage, 'faint heart never won 
fair lady'." He persevered and won the angel of his affections, 
and if I may judge aright, although many years have passed, 
yet in his eyes she is an angel still. 

My Uncle King living in the village of Lancaster, had an elder 
brotber who had made considerable money by trading with the 
Indians at an early day. He was a sharp business man and my 
uncle was for many years his partner in the mercantile business, 
accumulating with him quite a fortune. He, however, remained 
a confirmed old bachelor. Both were portly, fine-looking men. 
But this brother had an ungovernable temper when fairly roused. 
One day when something greatly displeased him he became 
furious, using the most terrible oaths. In the very midst of his 
blasphemies he was suddenly stricken with paralysis. Although 
he afterward partially recovered, he never spoke again. His 
tongue was entirely palsied. Did this happen by chance? My 
uncle waited upon him for many years, and had he been his own 
son could not ha\e been more afi^ectionate, watchful or patient. 

FAMILY MEMOIRS^.lTir.rr/'.R 73 

In this sad way he li\ed for fourteen years, dyhig only a short 
time before my uncle. This was indeed a mercy, as, heinj^ very 
headstrong and peculiar, no one else probably could have man- 
aged him. After my uncle had been down to Cincinnati to 
consult a physician they endeavored by his advice to keep him 
from any fatigue or excitement of body or mind, fearing dropsy 
would attack the heart. And for about two years he appeared 
nearly the same in health. Finally there was a suit in court in 
which it was absolutely necessary for him to appear and give 
his testimony. He seemed in no way excited, but after returning 
home seated himself to rest. My aunt, being busy, forgot him 
for a time and on sending the servant to look after him she 
found him sitting upright, looking as though asleep, but he had 
calmly passed away. He was a man of noble and generous 
character, humane and charitable to the poor, devoted to his 
family, taking an interest in the welfare of all who came under 
his roof. Indeed, he was universally beloved by all who knew 
him. I was at this period still engaged in teaching in our vil- 
lage. One day my husband's brother Reuben came over in great 
haste, inviting me to return to Lancaster with him, as his twin 
brother, Nathaniel, was very ill, ha\ing the same disease of which 
my husband died — consumption. After the death of William the 
farm had been sold, and the two brothers had rented a small 
house in town for their father and Xannie to live with them. 
Reuben was a good scribe and found employment in that way, 
while Nathaniel drove the coach between there and Zanesville. 
But the winter was severe and his exposure brought on trouble 
of the lungs. He had been ailing for some time, but as they 
knew I was engaged in teaching they had not sent me any word 
of his sickness. He kept growing weaker every day and finally 
asked them to send for me. Reuben said, as we rode over, 
"Belinda, you don't know how anxiously he has spoken of you, 
speaking especially of how often you have counseled him to seek 
an interest in the Saviour while yet in health. This morning I 
started for you before daylight to satisfy him." We arrived at 
their little home about four o'clock that afternoon. When I 
went in I found the kind neighbors about him and he propped 
up on pillows awaiting me. He looked pale, but his countenance 
beamed with joy as he saw me. "Oh, Belinda," he said, "how 


I prayed to be spared to see your dear face once more." The 
excitement appeared for a time to rouse him. He seemed so 
bright that I told him he must surely be better. "No," he said, 
"in body failing, but in spirit happy. I could not rest until I 
told you of my struggles and prayers. Jesus has heard my 
earnest petitions and now I can not describe to you my peace 
and joy." Nannie was overcome with sorrow and his old father 
groaned aloud. Reuben bathed his fevered hands and brow 
while Nathaniel w^ent on to tell me, in his weakness, how kind 
a brother Reuben had always been. "I am only sorry," said he, 
"that I took no better care of myself and have made them all 
so much trouble." "I said "Nannie, had you not better rest and 
try to fall asleep?" It was now nearly one o'clock and he closed 
his eyes and soon seemed to rest calmly. I was seated by his 
bedside and Reuben also. Finally, after some time, Reuben 
turned and looked at me, then placing his ear close to his face, 
he said, "He has gone home." I was amazed, but it was indeed 
so. He had fallen asleep in Jesus. Reuben, who had until now 
controlled his grief, fearful of disturbing his dearly loved 
brother, gave full vent to his feelings. The family gathered 
around him. I could not help exclaiming, "Oh, death, where is 
thy sting? Oh, grave, where is thy victory? Thanks be to God 
who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 
After the funeral I returned home and went on with my school. 
Teaching was our Saviour's vocation while on earth and has ever 
been to me a source of the purest pleasure. It has diverted my 
mind from my own sorrows, and has, I humbly trust, been of 
some good to others. 

During my vacations I sometimes went over to the village of 
Lancaster to visit my Aunt King and a cousin now married and 
Hving there. Soon after Nathaniel's death Nannie died and only 
a few months after Reuben also, leaving the old stepfather quite 
alone. While there for a few days some one came with a mes- 
sage that the old man had been stricken with palsy, and, having 
no children to care for him, had been taken out to the Infirmary. 
My cousin, at my urgent request, procured a carriage and we 
went out to \isit him. It was situated some seven miles in the 
country and was nicely kept. The gentleman and wife who had 
taken charge of it were well known to me in former days, and 


I was tliankful for the assurance I felt that my old friend would 
be kindly looked after. When I arrived they led me into his 
sick room. All was neat and comfortable. I went to the bedside 
and said, "Grandfather, do you know me?" "Oh, yes, Belinda," 
he said, "how could I forget you?" I>ut his next exclamation wa.s 
"Take me away from here. This is the poorhouse. Don't you 
know that.''" He had come from Ireland and had a perfect 
horror of poorhouses as they were kept in his native land. I 
told him I had talked with the physician and he said he must 
not be mo\ed, or it might be the cause of his death, and perhaps 
if properly nursed and cared for there he might yet live for 
many years. "Re patient," I said, "and as soon as you are able 
you shall be mo\ed. This is a good physician here. IMr. and 
Mrs. M. are excellent people and have promised to give you 
the best of care." But he continued to talk wildly about the 
poorhouse. "Grandpa," I said, "do you remember that our 
Saviour was born in a stable? Are you or I any better than He?" 
But he only gave vent to a flood of tears, his mind being evidently 
weakened by disease. I told them I would watch with him that 
night, but they thought that possibly he was already excited by 
seeing me and that rest and quiet wovild calm him down. The 
physician said it was doubtful whether he lived over the night 
unless he was quieted, so I left the poor old man. Next morn- 
ing I went out early, but sure enough he had died during the 
night. And thus the whole family, one after another, had gone 
to "sleep the sleep that knows no waking." 

My brother Douglas had now saved sufficient money to pur- 
chase a small cottage for his parents. From my income as a 
teacher I managed to help him paint and modernize it, placing a 
neat lattice work around the little porch in front, thus adding 
greatly to our comfort and happiness. Mother planted some 
choice flowers with morning glories and nasturtiums about the 
lattice. M'hich grew most luxuriantly, helping to shade the porch 
during the heat of the day and looking very lovely as we sat there 
at evening. That spring and summer I was quite happy teaching 
a number of young ladies, often going with them into the woods 
to search for flowers, which we copied from nature with the 

Next door to our little cottage came to live a German family. 


fresh from their native land. They could talk but little English. 
One of the brothers invested his few dollars in a grocery and 
thus they strove to earn their frugal living. The father and 
mother were aged, but still active and healthy. The old gentle- 
man was quite spry moving about the shop. All the boys in 
the neighborhood would watch when the son Fred went down 
5treet and then make grandfather a visit, as he never failed to 
give each one a stick of candy at such times. He loved children 
and delighted in thus gratifying them. Often in the morning 
I raised the parlor window, which looked into their yard, and 
saw the old grandmother with the little boy Carl on his knees 
beside her saying his morning prayer to our "Fader in Himmel." 
She kept beside her a little switch, to which she would sometimes 
resort if he failed in obedience. The grandfather almost always 
had a flower in his mouth, or in his buttonhole, occasionally 
looking at it with his kindly eyes or putting it to his nose to 
smell. The younger members of the family seemed to be in 
great fear lest the Americans would impose upon them. At one 
time Fred had been preparing their garden for the planting of 
seeds. My sister, who had been washing, carelessly threw her 
wash water out in such a way as to run into their garden and 
flow over the newly made bed, quite spoiling his labor. After 
a time I heard some very loud and excited talking, and going 
to the window saw Fred and Sophy take up a barrel of wash 
water which had been accumulated in their yard and, leaning 
the barrel over the fence, pour its contents into our garden, 
exclaiming with great apparent satisfaction, "Now see how you 
likes it." This expression afterward became quite a household 
word with us whenever we felt disposed to make any evil return 
to each other. This German family being, however, very care- 
ful and industrious, as well as honest, became finally good and 
valuable citizens. 

We lived in this cottage for quite a long period when my 
brother for some reason sold it, and after a little time bought 
another and larger home. It w^as a new brick house, but 
situated on the farther edge of the village. Several families 
■of colored people lived quite near. Nearly opposite in a com- 
fortable little log cabin dwelt a colored family by the name 
•of Decker. The old woman went bv the familiar title of 

I'.lMll.V MliMOlNS- .irWAl l:l< 77 

"Aunt IMiebe." They had three boys, EHjah. James and 
Daniel. Often in the lon^- summer evenings. Aunt Phebe 
would seat herself near the door of the little hut, and there 
endeavor to instruet the ehildren, by teaching;- them to rejieat 
and sing her favorite hymns. She provided herself with a 
long switch, which would reach across the house, ccmsisting 
of only one room, and -with this in hand, she was ready to 
begin the good work. Often one of the boys, becoming rest- 
less, would attempt to slip out the back door, when a timely 
application of the rod in question, would quickly assist him 
to resume his seat near her on the floor. She w^ould after- 
ward sing the hymn they had been repeating, coming down 
upon the chorus with wonderful animation and emphasis. 
We, Avho were listeners from our own door, directly o])po- 
site, enjcn'ed these exercises immensely. Many a moonlight 
night would the whole famil}' join in singing that familiar 
hymn 'AVhar now is de Hebrew Children" going through with 
the name of every Patriarch and prophet mentioned in Holy 
Writ, and coming down with delighted and soul stirring 
energy on the ending "Gone to de Promised Land." When 
anyone inquired of her the names of her sons, she would 
straighten up and \\\t\\ uncommon pride reply, "Wall now, 
I call de oldest (you Dan, stop your foolin dar, dis min nit, or 
ril take my shoe and war you out). I call de oldest, Elijah, 
de prophet Decker. Den de next (you Jim, behave yourself 
dar) de next is James, de postle. Decker, and de youngest, 
and de smartest of all is Dannel in de lion's den. Decker. 
Dem are, as you see, de names of all mv children, honev." 

Her husband Uncle William Decker was a highly rehned 
and educated colored gentleman in his own opinion. He de- 
lighted in high sounding words, managing to insert them in 
all his conversations with great satisfaction. Being called 
upon one day to move a stove for us he and his son placed 
it in the proper position and then standing back to survey it 
he said, "Dat, Lady, Avill now suffice, according to my suppo- 
sition in de actual removing of dat piece of furniture." They 
had all the superstitious fears common to their race. One 
dark night on the 4th of July, there was a display of fire- 
works in the town, which looked quite grand in the darkness. 


But to Aunt Phebe, they were indeed awful. In great haste 
she came running over to our house saying, "Oh honey, gist 
see. They are daring de Almighty to his very face, sending' 
dat fire into de highest hebben. I speck he be so mad he burn 
us all up for de morning light." I tried to quiet her fears, by 
telling her there was no danger and she might go home and 
sleep in peace. "Well," she finally said, "I guess honey, I is 
a poor black niggah and don't know much." My youngest 
brother, now about thirteen, was like all boys of that age — • 
full of mischievous devices. He would go up stairs and from 
the chamber window opposite her house, shoot small stones 
from a little pop-gun so that they would rattle like hail upon 
her roof, quickly concealing himself so that he could not be 
seen. "Aunt Phebe" would come out and look, then stooping 
down would collect the stones and carry them into the house. 
Thus he amused -himself for days. They finally collected a 
meeting of their neighbors and described the terrible phe- 
nomena. Going over there on an errand she called me to 
look at the stones saying. "Honey, dey fell from de sky and 
we ponded some of em up, and they smelled jest like brim- 
stone — You know de Bible tells us of signs and wonders be- 
fore dis world shall be burned up. I guess de time is a draw- 
ing nigh." Finally my mischievous brother, having amused 
himself to his heart's content, let the poor ignorant creatures 
rest, and they recovered from their fright. When we re- 
moved to another house, I engaged old Aunt Phebe to scrub 
and clean the one we had left. Coming afterwards to look 
at the result of her labors, I said, "Well, now Aunt Phebe, 
this is the nicest job of cleaning I have seen for a long time." 
■"Oh yes," she said, "plenty of good work in old Aunt Phebe 
yet, but everybody don't get it out of her. Now, Honey, 
don't you never forget dat." Some time after, hearing she 
was very sick, I went to see her and as I left asked her if 
she looked to Jesus. "Yes, honey," she said, "I's got no one 
else to look to — he knows Pse nothing but a poor black child 
anyway." After lingering some time the poor old soul died 
and the family was broken up and scattered. 

This Ijrother of whom T have spoken was a favorite with 
us all. His intellect was of the hisrhest order and he had 


naturally a noble disposition. Fie learned to read ahiK^st 
without an effort and his powers of memory were, like my 
father's, most marvelous. A knotty problem was to him 
simplv pastime. And as a linguist he had tew superiors. 
Always first in his class — both in academy and college, he was 
ever ready to lend a helping hand to those less gifted than 
himself. When only about fifteen there was a revival in the 
Presbyterian Church of our place, and George was among 
the converts. My eldest brother was an Elder in this church, 
and was of course highly gratified. In the prayer meetings 
lield by the young men, George took an active part and every 
one loved to hear him pray or speak. My elder brother in- 
dulged the hope that he 'might enter the ministry and told 
him he would do all in his power to help him if such was 
his desire. To this end he sent him away to college. But 
there he met with companions wdio sneered and scoffed at 
religion and ere long he was led to think lightly of the faith 
he had so impulsively embraced, and abandon the intention 
■once so earnestly formed. He wrote to my eldest brother 
of his change of desire and opinion, which of course greatly 
disappointed him. Cool and determined himself, and know- 
ing from his own experience or temperament so little of the 
peculiarities which marked an opposite nature, he did not 
attempt persuasion or that lenience which might have stic- 
ceeded in winning him back to the right — and the harshness 
he deemed it a duty to exhibit towards him, only drove him 
farther in the course he had entered u])on. About this time 
the Mexican War broke out, and in a moment of rashness 
George enlisted, being persuaded to the ste]) by some young 
friends who had been with him in college. My oldest brother 
was now married and the home broken up, so that mother 
had no longer a shelter of her own to offer him, and he was 
too proud spirited to ask aught of the brother who had vir- 
tually cast him off. Thus he went into the war. My mother 
mourned bitterly over it, for well she knew the temptations 
and besetments of army life. Here he fixed upon himself 
inevitably those habits which finally wrecked one ol the 
noblest minds that God ever made. Naturally witty and at- 
tractive, brilliant, generous, kindlv and free, he met the fate 


of thousands of other young men in every age and clime, 
and yet in moments of sober thought he mourned bitterly 
over his own failings. Plow often have we heard him chant 
in his peculiar way, those pathetic lines of Robert Burns : 

"Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman. 
Tho' they may gang a little wrong, 

To step aside is human. 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it. 
And just as lamely can ye mark. 

How far perhaps they rue it. 
Who made the heart, 'tis He alone, 

Decidedly can try us. 
He knows each chord, its various tone, ' 

Each spring, its various bias — 
Then at the balance lets be mute. 

We never can adjust it. 
What's done we partly may compute. 

But know not what's resisted." 

In the prime of his manhood he perished and with Infinite 
mercy we can but leave him rejoicing to believe what the 
Psalmist has told us "For he remembereth that we are dust." 

During all these years I was busy teaching, either at home 
or in the country, sometimes called away from my post by 
sickness in the family, or perhaps resting for a few weeks. 
During one of these vacations the General Convention of the 
Episcopal Church was held in the city of Cincinnati, and having 
received an urgent invitation from friends residing there I con- 
cluded to attend. It was indeed an occasion of great interest. 
Bishop Chase was jiresent, now quite aged and venerable look- 
ing. He wore a black velvet cap on his head, and in deliver- 
ing his address was obliged to sit, as he was now growings 
quite feeble. At the close of each day's proceedings, the 
friends nf the clerg}- and other strangers were courteously 
invited t(i the numberless places of interest and entertainment 
in the city. All the galleries of art were generously thrown 
open and many parties gixen by prominent citizens. As my 
.A.unt Douglas was in the city I went to many of these in 


company with her and enjoyed everythino" exceedingly. 
We also attended the State fair, then bein<^ held there. And 
altogether had a most delightful time. Our family were at 
this time living on Main street, in one of a row of brick 
houses. These were two stories high and had a l)asement 
kitchen. And base it proved in every sense of the word, for 
there I shall always think my mother laid the foundation for 
vears of sickness, suffering and eventually death. 

I now went again into the country to teach and found a 
])leasant home in the family of a Mr. R., a wealthy farmer 
living a few miles south of town. But shortly after mother was 
taken very ill and T was obliged to return home. This was 
in one of the great cholera years when all diseases partook 
of that type. She was dangerously ill and after nursing her 
night and day and seeing her on the way to recovery, I was 
taken down suddenly myself. Tn the meantime my brother 
(leorge had returned from Mexico. ^Mother was sick in the 
little bedroom on the porch and I was lying in one of the 
ro(ims in the third story. George came upstairs to see me. 
"I-5elinda," said he, "this is even hotter than Mexico. You will 
die if you stay here." "Well," I said, "I have no where else 
to go." "Yes," he said, "we will make a cot for you in the 
parlor, and I will carry you down." "No," I said, "you could 
not carry me." "And why not," said he. "I have helped to 
carry many a poor fellow oft' the battle field, and if you will 
])lace your arms round my neck I can soon carry you." Ac- 
cordingly he had the cot ]irepared and carried me down very 
carefully. After he had seen me all fixed to his satisfaction, 
lie fairly danced about the room for joy. "Now," he said, 
^'we will soon have you well." P.ut each day I continued to 
grow worse, until my case was almost ho])eless. A council 
of physicians was called and they told my ])arents there was 
little encouragement to give. "Well," said father, "then I 
must let her know the truth." So coming up and seating him- 
self by my bedside he communicated to me their opinion, ask- 
ing if I could be resigned. Weak as I was and scarcely able 
to speak I could only murmur. "T know that my Redeemer 
liveth, and I am not afraid to trust myself in his merciful 
hands." I then closed m}' eyes and breathed a silent prayer 


that God might spare me to care for my aged parents. Father 
went out and told mother he beheved I would yet recover. 
And so it proved, although many weary weeks rolled by be- 
fore I was fairly convalescent. Many long nights did kind 
friends watch over and nurse me — some of whom I can never 
forget. My dear cousins were unremitting in their love and 
attention. Among other friends, was a former pupil, married 
and full of cares, but she left her home to come and stay 
with me for days. Her husband went into the woods for 
game of all kinds to prepare for me, and tempt my capricious 
appetite. For all these favors I can never cease to thank 
and bless them — one and all. 

Mother, however, never recovered from that terrible summer. 
She became from that time a confirmed invalid. In those times, 
morphine was greatly used, and to quiet her pains the doctor had 
recourse to that, until finally the habit became so fixed that she 
could not live without it. My two younger brothers in the mean- 
time had removed to Iowa, the one to practice medicine and the 
other law. Mother kept her room, and much of the time her bed 
also, requiring constant care. About this time my eldest 
brother was obliged to go to Cincinnati on business. He took 
with him his wife and children, inviting m}' youngest sister 
also to join the party. While there a young gentleman board- 
ing at the hotel where they were stopping saw her and was 
greatly pleased with her. Shortly after their return he ca'me 
to visit her. He was a young man of great moral worth, and 
good family. We were all favorably impressed and the re- 
sult was an engagement which promised a truly happy union. 
Some time previous to this my dear iVunt Mary had buried 
her husband, he having been ill but a few days. Many happy 
years they had walked together and the separation was to 
her an unspeakable sorrow and irreparable loss. My eldest 
brother's business now called him again to the city. It was 
in the depth of an inclement winter. When he went from 
home, if only for a few days he always came to see his mother 
and say a parting word. She had been more feeble than usual 
and his tenderness and afifection seemed to increase with her 
sufferings. He found her propped up in the bed Avith pillows 
that she might find rest. As he bade her goodbye, she said^ 


"Well, niv son, you will go some time, and when you return, 
you will find your poor old mother gone." "Well, mother," 
he said. "If I were only as well prepared as you, I would be 
willing to go tomorrow." He told her he felt even then most 
wretchedly, but hoped the journey and the physician he ex- 
pected to see there would bring him all right again. And so 
with his usual affectionate farewell he left her. That night 
proved a stormy one and several times she waked me to 
speak of her anxiety for him and fears for his health. 

In a few days a telegram came from Cincinnati to his 
wife requesting her to come down immediately as he was 
dangerously ill. The news aft'ected my mother deeply and 
brought on a severe attack of her old complaint so that we 
feared for her life. She, however, rallied and then came a 
letter from my brother's wife saying that he appeared easier 
but the physician gave her no hope. Indeed he said it was 
impossible for him to live more than a few days at farthest. 
Next came a letter from him, or rather written by her at his 
dictation, bidding farewell to every one of his family, andl 
trusting to meet us all in a happier and better world. 

The gentleman to whom my sister was engaged, with the 
son of my Cousin Juliet, now living in the city, nursed him 
faithfully, doing all in their power to relieve his sufferings. 
His disease was a comphcated one, terminating, however, on 
the lungs. It was really consumption. Next came the sad 
news that they were about to bring his remains home. His 
work on earth was done and well done. A tender and affec- 
tionate son, a kind and generous brother, an indulgent hus- 
band, an earnest and faithful Christian, he had gone to receive 
his reward. My mother never looked upon his face again. 
She was so ill that it was thought unwise to excite her in 
any way, and she said she would rather remember him as she 
saw him when he bade her a last "goodbye," for soon they 
would meet in a far serener clime. This was indeed a bitter 
cup given her to drink. For years he had been her earthly 
protection and stay — and now in her old age and declining 
health he had "gone before" to "That unknown and silent 
shore." God only could comfort my poor bereaved mother — 
and He alone gave her strength to bear it. 


The winter of his death proved unusually severe so that my 
Aunt Mary Douglas dared not venture to come up when Douglas 
was brought home. She wrote mother begging her to allow 
me to come down there as soon as possible as she was anxious 
to learn all the partic.ilars concerning him. As mother ap- 
peared better I went, taking with me a small daguerreotype 
of my brother to give her. She had always greatly admired 
him and as he was named for her husband she often told 
mother she considered that he belonged partly to her. When 
I met her she spoke of him with trembling voice and tearful 
eyes. She pressed the picture to her lips while the tears 
streamed down her face. Soon to hide her grief she began 
talking over the interesting topics of the day. Woman's 
Rights was a subject very near her heart, and she looked for- 
ward hopefully to the day when the weaker sex, so-called, 
might be permitted to come forward and hold an equal place 
with those who have so long denied them their true privi- 
leges. After a short but pleasant visit I returned home to 
prepare for my sister's approaching marriage. New carpets 
were to be made and a general renovation and brightening 
up of the whole house to be gone through with. Aunt Douglas 
as well as Aunt King were expected to be present. My two 
brothers were still in Iowa. In our preparations for the wed- 
ding we strove to banish ever}^ appearance of sorrow and 
render all as joyous as possible. My sister had a class of 
young girls in the Sunday school, to whom she was greatly 
attached, and they were also to be present. I had, with my 
own hands, made father a new suit of clothes with which he 
was delighted. "Why Belinda," he said, "You made every- 
thing I have on, except my hat and shoes." The day before 
the wedding my sister asked father how old he thought she 
was. "About nineteen," he said. He would scarcely believe 
her when she told him she was twenty-four. The wedding 
])assed ofif pleasantly. My aunts expressed themselves highly 
]:)leased with the gentleman who had won my sister and never 
did they have cause to alter their opinion. 

After the ceremony they went East on their wedding trip, 
as all his relatives were living there. They returned in a 
few weeks and m^- sister tr)1fl us with o-reat delisfht of the 



warm welcome slie received. She met iive brothers and three 
sisters, together with the aged mother and as her husband 
had not seen them for three years, the meeting was indeed 
a joyous one. I'he evening they arrived, one of the sisters, 
a fine musician, seated herself at the piano, while they all 
gathered round her. The first hymn chosen was a favorite 
one of their father's, now gone, and they had often united in 
singing it together. It was the old familiar hymn — 

"When I can read my title clear 
To mansions in the skies." 
By the time they had finished the first verse, one of them 
broke down and left the room in tears. Soon, one after 
another gave way and followed, until none were left but the 
performer alone at the instrument. They were truly a loving 
and affectionate family, devoted to each other and ready to 
make any and every sacrifice to prove their love. 

Some months after this I took mother for a short stay 
at my aunt's, she appearing better and thinking that change 
of scene and surroundings might still more improve her. 
While on this visit I attempted to have her give up the mor- 
phine which had become so fixed a habit, but when these ter- 
rible neuralgic pains came on it seemed that nothing else 
would quiet them. The room she occupied at my aunt's was 
a very large chamber, with lofty ceilings and old fashioned 
windows. From a child, however, I had been accustomed to 
pull these windows up and dowai at pleasure never thinking 
of danger. One day I saw mother was in a profuse respira- 
tion and knowing it would never do to allow a draught to 
blow over her, I stepped up to the window to draw it down 
when suddenly a cord which moved the pulley gave way, 
and the window fell upon my wrist, shattering the glass and 
cutting a terrible gash in my arm. I ran down to find my 
Cousin Albert who had studied medicine and surgery. He at 
once bound it up, placing a large sticking plaster over the 
wound but it was many weeks before it healed, and has left 
a terrible scar even to this day. 

I brought mother home soon after and as the railroad 
through our town had just been completed we carried her 
down to see the cars, telling her that when she was strong 


enough she should go down upon them to visit my sister in 
Cincinnati. She was pleased with the thought but said she 
feared she would never be able to bear the fatigue of such a 
journey. Not long after we received a telegram from my 
brother-in-law, us thct "Douglas A. Erowii had 
arrived and that both mother and child were doing well." 
When some one jokingly asked my father how he came, he 
answered. "Well, doubtless he came like his Savioitr before 
him, in a very lowly manner — barefooted." After awhile I 
went down to stay with my sister for a time as she was far 
from strong and inexperienced in the care of children. 
George was at that time in the city, having returned from 
Iowa — and not long after was taken sick with rheumatism 
and brought home where he lay helpless for nearly six months, 
tended by m}^ sister who was still at home, while I waited 
upon mother. I had a very dear old friend in the town whom, 
whenever I was able to find time I Avent to see, as her good 
will and sympathy, as well as advice was never w-anting. 
Mother spared me to go and see her about once a week. Then 
Mrs. K. would return the visit quite often as she knew how 
much my 'mother loved to hear her cheerful voice and kindly 
talk. \\'henever T called there her first salutation w^as a 
hearty kiss and the next was to repeat the verse of the day 
from her Bible. She had one of those precious little books, a 
text for every day in the year. One New Year's day she 
made mother a present of one exactly like her own, and this 
I read ever}- morning when mother w^as unable to read it 
for herself. 

One morning when I called in on Mrs. K. I found her 
washing. "Now, I will not stay," I said, "for I will only 
hinder you." "No, indeed you will not. I was just wishing 
some one would come in for then I Avould sit down and rest. 
You don't suppose that I bow down and make an idol of my 
washboard do you?" she said, laughingly. "Conversing with 
those I love cheers me and fits me all the better for Avork." 
Directly here came a neighbor for some patches to mend her 
dress, shortl}' after another for some salve to dress a wound. 
Before I went home, she brought me some apples to roast 
for mother with some fine grapes and a little pitcher of cider. 


Thus she was ever thinking how to add to the ha])piness of 
others. She was a member of the Church Sewing- Society and 
was for many years appointed on every Thanksgiving day to 
disburse the offerings given to the ])oor. How often the 
needy blessed her for her kindness and care. Her health was 
generallv excellent up to the day before her death. And 
with all she had her own peculiar trials. The loss of her 
only daughter and a son w^ho was wanting in sense, with 
other trials, all gave her her full portion of the sorrow which' 
falls to mortals here below. She often told me she was obliged 
to pray fervently for grace and strength. One day, meeting 
father on the sidewalk she said, "Oh grandfather, I wish you 
could have been at our prayer meeting last night. Gladly you 
would have rejoiced with us in the love of Jesus." When he 
came home he said, "I love to come in contact with such a 
spirit. She is a living epistle, known and read of all men." 
When the following winter came mother grew worse. A 
running sore made its appearance on one of her feet, doubt- 
less from the effects of morphine. We were obliged to keep 
it poulticed day and night, and in order to allay the pain give 
her even heavier doses of the fatal drug. After suffering in 
this way for 'more than three months it healed. I now hoped 
she would get better as she began to walk about the room. 
She saw how pleased T appeared to be and said nothing to 
dampen my joy. But she herself knew full well she would 
never be any better and in a day or so after told me so. The 
day previous she liad insisted on having my sister go down 
to Cincinnati, telling her to remain a few days and then bring 
my married sister home with her. She gave me when we 
were left alone, a number of little commissions to execute. 
My youngest sister had a short time before sent her a purple 
chintz dress which I had made for her. This she wore the 
last day she ever set up. She said, "This. Amelia, may have 
to make her a quilt." I said, "Oh mother don't talk so, you 
are better than you have been for weeks." The next day 
Mrs. K. came in to see her, wishing her a merry Christmas 
and bringing over a supply of delicacies, as she had been 
taking Christmas dinner with her sister, and together they 
had prepared them. She said, "I told Harriet I must bring 


them to you myself." There was turkey, all kinds of vege- 
tables, cranberries, mince and pumpkin pie, custard and dif- 
ferent varieties of cake. Mother only tasted them, but prized 
them for the loving kindness v^^hich prompted the gift. Mrs. 
K. was in perfect health and spirit this Christmas day. I saw 
her no more until the day before New Year's. That day 
mother was suffering greatly and in the course of the morn- 
ing I went over to the physician to get some medicine. As 
I went by her house she was standing at the front door. She 
said, 'T hear your sister has gone down to Cincinnati ; now don't 
overwork yourself." I told her mother was worse — could get 
no rest with all I did to relieve her, and that I was glad for her 
sake that her health was so perfect. "Yes," she said, 'T am in- 
deed grateful for all my comfort. This," she went on to say, 
"has been a joyful day to me. Mrs. B. came in and read me such 
a good sermon. This afternoon I am going to the society, and 
this evening shall go to the Methodist Church and watch the 
old year out and the new one in." I saw the physician and he 
promised to come shortly. Mother still grew worse. We made 
applications of hot salt, and indeed every remedy which had 
formerly eased her, but nothing appeared to give relief. I sent 
one of the neighbors again for the doctor, and when she returned 
she said that she had just met a number of friends carrying Mrs. 
K. home on a lounge. She had gone to the sewing society as 
she had told me .she intended to do in the morning and while 
there was stricken with paralysis. When the physician came 
he pronounced the stroke a fatal one. One friend came to her 
bedside, and taking her hand, said, "Nancy, if you trust in Jesus 
press my hand." Then Mrs. K. grasped her hand closely, mur- 
muring some unintelligible words. Thus suddenly was one of 
my dearest earthly friends, who had only that morning spoken 
to me in words of cheer, stricken down. I was obliged to tell 
mother the sad news, knowing she must hear of it. "Is it pos- 
sible," she said, "that she is called before me?" Mrs. K.'s sister 
had gone directly after Christmas to Columbus and from there 
into the country to spend the New Year with a brother. She was 
sent for by telegram, but it did not reach her for two or three 
days. Aunt L. and Mrs. D., two devoted friends, sat up with 
her that night, hoping that toward morning she might rally and 


be able to speak to tlieni. 15ut about dayb^ht her breath ij;revv 
shorter and socjn without a sigh or groan she tell asleep) in Jesus. 
Aunt L. eame in to tell mtjther, saying, "W'e ean truly say of 
lier what is said of Enoeh, 'He was not. for God took him'." 
She was kept on iee until the Sabbath, that her only sister might 
reach there. Mother was so ill that 1 could only leave her long 
enough to take a farewell look at my beloved friend. She looked 
as peaceful as though she had but just fallen asleep. The house 
was thronged. Rich and poor, black and white, all united in 
testifying their respect and affection for their common friend. 

My poor mother continued to grow worse until her sufferings 
were too severe for me to bear unmoved. For three nights in 
succession I watched with her, as she was unwilling to have me 
out of her sight. The sister of Mrs. K. then came to stay with 
me, with other kind friends. Two neighbors, good nurses, of- 
fered to watch with her, and she finally consented, while I w^ent 
in to the next neighbor's house to snatch a little rest. But she 
soon missed me and began calling for me. They told her I was 
nearly heartbroken to see her suffer so intensely. Then she 
said, "Tell her to come and stand by me and I will try and not 
titter a single groan." So Mrs. T. came over for me. I had 
then rested about an hour. I fell on my knees, praying my 
Savior to help me to witness my mother's agony. I then washed 
my face and felt strengthened to go once more to her bedside 
She was moaning most piteously. "Where, mother, is your 
pain?" I said. "Oh, my head, my head," she kept saying. The 
dreadful struggle soon spent itself for the time. Taking my 
hand in hers, she said, "My daughter, promise me that you will 
never take morphine, even though assured that it will add 
forty years to your life. That is the cause of these terrible 
sufferings." Then she added, "Soon shall I meet my mother 
and dearly loved son." About an hour before she died my 
sister and brother-in-law came from Cincinnati. When I said 
to her, "Mother, Lucy and brother David are here," a smile 
came over her face and putting her hand to her head she 
said, "Put on my clean cap." It was the "ruling passion strong 
in death," for she was always anxious to look neat and clean. 
With her own hands she helped to put it on. When David 
and Lucy came in she said, "They tell me you are here, but I 


do not see you." Lucy was so overcome that they led her away, 
and in a few moments my mother's last sigh proclaimed her 
earthly sufferings over. She was but the shadow of her former 
self, only the frame which held the once active spirit remained- 
We were anxious that Aunt Mary Douglas should come up, but 
the weather was so intensely cold that she could not come. This 
dear aunt had for years given her all the nice wearing apparel 
she had and in these garments we now dressed her. A beautiful 
little cap, with a large square of the same material as an under 
handkerchief, a black silk luster dress and cape now shrouded 
the dear form which had suffered so long and so patiently, 
almost to martyrdom. She was sixty-seven when she died. A 
friend looking upon her said, "How wrong to mourn over such 
a blessed release." And so indeed we felt, for truly we could 
but rejoice for her, even while we wept for ourselves. A more 
devoted, self-sacrificing mother children never possessed. With 
a mind stronger than is often given to mortals, she had an un- 
daunted energy of purpose, and firmness in whatever she con- 
ceived to be duty. The deep waters through which she had 
been called to pass had but developed her noble nature. The 
fiery trials had indeed consumed the dross and refined the gold 
until purified by affliction she was ready for the Master's home 
above. For months after she was gone I seemed to hear her 
call when half asleep at night, and would start up, saying "What 
is it, mother?" until fairly conscious of the fact that her suffer- 
ings were ended and she had gone to dwell forever in Paradise. 
Father was now nearly eighty years of age — they had lived to- 
gether more than forty years — and I greatly feared for him. For 
the past few years he had grown daily more kind and thoughtful 
of her, never asking anything of her, but always calling upon 
others. Sometimes she would say, "Well, your father never 
thinks to ask me any more." "Why, mother," I would say. 
"he remembers that you are now unable to do for him and thus 
he shows his kindness to you." When the sad day of her burial 
came I watched him narrowly. As they carried her into the 
church 1 kept fast hold of his arm. The sexton had placed the 
seats so lliat lie could have a full view of her as she lay in her 
narrow liouse. T looked at him and his features were convulsed 
Willi anguish, while he shook like an aspen leaf. But I placed 

I'AMJLY MliMOIRS- Al'll'A'lliK 91 

liim so that he could not gaze so chrectl}- upon hvv , and saw no 
more agitation, onl}- the tears streaming down his aged face. 
I'^)r days after he was unable to eat or slee[). This tinall_\- cul- 
minated in a severe attack of illness, during which we nursed 
and tended him most carefully. At last he slowdy rallied and the 
danger was over, \\dien he recovered I went down once more 
to my Aunt Douglas, carrying with me some little mementos of 
my mother. Among the rest was a simple muslin cap, the gift 
of my Cousin Emily on the previous Christmas. It was exquis- 
itely made and trimmed with the hnest lace. My aunt was 
greatly afifected when we met. As soon as she could speak 
she said, "Belinda, you have lost one of the best of mothers. 
After my mother's death I always went to her, as my eldest sister 
for advice, and her judgment rarely erred. I can now look back 
and see how purely disinterested she was and how wise were 
ever her counsels." I now gave her the cap saying, "This she 
liad on her head when she died. I removed it, and had it done 
up nicely for you." She took it from my hands and pressing it to 
her lips said, " I will keep it while I live as a precious remem- 
brance of my beloved sister." She then began telling me about 
a letter she had been writing to a celebrated Eastern physician 
with regard to her own health. He answered, that in order to 
prescribe intelligently he must see her, and she was now making 
her arrangements to go East with her eldest son. W^hen he saw 
her he gave her minute directions as to the care she must take 
of herself, told her she must have her sitting-room and bedroom 
removed to the lower story ; avoid company and all other excite- 
ment, if she would prolong her life, all of which she promised 
to do. After leaving my aunt, I went over to Lancaster to spend 
a few days with an old friend living there. I had stood some 
years before as godmother to a son of her's, about the same age 
as my own, and of course was greatly attached to him. This son 
had lately died. The bereaved mother wrote, begging me to 
come and see her that I might sympathize with her in her loss. 
Only the Christmas before he had written me a beautiful letter, 
full of hope and youthful aspirations. Now, alas ! he was gone. 
My visit to her was indeed one of sad pleasure and mournful 
satisfaction. \\'hile there we went together to weep over the 
graves of our "loved and lost" — our only comfort the assurance 


that in a far happier chme we should once more be united. 

When I returned home I found a letter awaiting me from my 
sister in Cincinnati, begging me to come down to the city, and 
place myself under the care of their own -Homeopathic physician, 
as I suffered much from general weakness and debility. My 
sister had become a convert to this system, and was anxious I 
should give it at least a trial. After seeing Doctor Peck I told him 
the long siege I had passed through with my mother's sickness 
and that now the great stimulus to effort had been removed. I 
presumed the reaction had followed, which perhaps no physician 
could relieve. He, however, attended me faithfully for some 
time and I began slowly to improve. After a while he was called 
East by urgent business, and came to say farewell, leaving me 
sufficient medicine to last during his absence. In bidding him 
good-bye I told him I should pray most fervently for his safe 
and speedy return. He thanked me, giving me some earnest 
advice with regard to myself — entire rest of both body and mind 
he had absolutely insisted upon. I used his prescriptions and 
found myself daily improving. We were looking for his return, 
when one morning brother David came home with the sad and 
startling news that there had been a railroad accident, and this 
good physician, noble friend and true Christian, had been 
instantly killed. Though many had been severely wounded he 
was the only one actually killed. A dear friend with whom he 
was traveling said they were sitting together when daylight 
began to dawn. The doctor awoke, and as was his custom, 
bowed his head in fervent prayer. At that moment the friend 
was called and went to take his seat in another part of the car. 
Suddenly there was a crash, and looking back he saw that the 
doctor had been struck upon the head by a timber from the 
broken car, and died without time for even a groan. In one 
instant, while engaged in prayer, his "lamp trimmed and burn- 
ing," he was translated to the presence of his Saviour. I had 
often lieard liim converse with my sister, and every word seemed 
to breathe of purity of character and an earnest Christian life. 
For fourteen years he had been, he said, an Allopathic physician 
when greater light dawned upon him and he changed his faith 
to Homeopathy. 

We all went to his funeral. Never have I witnessed such 


universal sorrow in any congregation. The speaker, as lie dwelt 
upon his spotless example and kindness to the poor, his tender 
love for all with whom he came in contact could only mingle his 
tears with their's, and hid them follow in his footsteps that they 
might be permitted to claim his final reward. 

In a few days I was taken very ill. My brother-in-law brought 
in a strange physician. Life hung on a slender thread but how 
faithfully my brother-in-law watched over me for many days. 
My sister was unable to nurse me, but Betty, the kind Irish girl, 
was ever ready to do for me, and finally I began to take up 
life's burden once more. Father now wrote that he was anxious 
to see me and as soon as able to endure the fatigue of the journey 
I went home. For many months I was almost helpless. Finally 
word came that Aunt Mary Douglas w'as failing and had express- 
ed a strong desire for me to come down there. Accordingly my 
next journey was in that direction. Nine months had made a won- 
derful change in her. The first sight of her altered countenance 
nearly ovecome me, and I was obliged to slip away out of her 
sight to control my feelings. She, on her part, was troubled 
about me, saying that I must now take a good rest and get strong 
again. She suffered at times most intensely. I inquired of the 
physician the cause. He said the disease was now tending toward 
dropsy, but he did not wish her to know it. I remained a few 
days only, as I had not come prepared to stay. Aunt was always 
kind, but now more so than ever. She sent my father two cans 
of oysters, with a large and delicious cake, also a handsome 
black silk handkerchief for a cravat. And as we parted, 
said, 'T want you to come back very soon with cousin Emily." 
I promised her I would. And after remaining at home two weeks 
I went back accompanied by cousin Emily, as she had requested. 
But Oh, how great the change in those two short weekp Her 
disease had developed rapidly, and as the physician justly feared 
had assumed the form of dropsy. She was now entirely unable 
to help herself and the faithful colored woman, Hannah, who 
had lived with her for so many years, fed her wdth a spoon. 
She was constantly troubled for fear she was wearying others. 
One morning when I went in to see her she said, 'A\^ould you 
believe it, I have been fighting all night." 'A\'hy," said I, "it is 
late for you to begin such work, \\nio did you find to fight with?" 


"Well," said she, "I had an awful fight with ApoUyon. He 
arrayed all my past misdeeds, my sins of omission and commis- 
sion, before me. My excuses were proved utterly worthless and 
worse than vain. Finally I was reduced to one simple plea. It 
was only this : 'Jesus hath died for me.' And this morning my 
fears have all vanished. I am no longer troubled, for I feel that 
I am 'more than conqueror through Him who has loved me 
and given himself for me.' " 

The fever attending her disease was so great that they could 
only allay it by placing pieces of ice around her head and giving 
her large bits to quench her thirst. Sometimes in alluding to her 
departure she would say, "It almost breaks my heart to say 
farewell, but you will think of me often as watching over and 
loving you all, won't you?" She was anxious to partake of the 
Holy Communion, and insisted that old Aunt Hannah should 
receive it with her. She was a Baptist. Once looking at cousin 
Emily she said, "You are a Presbyterian, Ellen is a Methodist, 
Hannah a Baptist, while Belinda and myself are Episcopalians. 
But when we all meet in the church triumphant above Jesus will 
not ask our earthly names. If we only love Him and each other, 
and wear the mantle of his righteousness, all will be well." 

There was a poor old lady about seventy years of age who 
came in one morning leaning on her cane. Turning to me she 
said: "What will become of me when Mrs. Douglas is gone? She 
has done so much for me." Aunt said, "Oh, aunty, you have 
often told me you would go before me, but you see I am going 
first." "Well," she said, you are only going to your good reward 
and if I was as sure of mine I should not mourn." One of 
her favorite hymns was this: "Hush, my dull soul, arise, cast 
ofif thy care, press to thy native skies. Jesus is there." Once 
she said to her son, "Sing that hymn about the oracle," for some- 
time no one could think to which hymn she referred. Finally 
her son Albert remembered it and we all joined him in singing. 
"Lord, forever at thy side, let my place and portion be ; strip me 
of the robe of pride, clothe me with humility; meekly may my 
soul receive all thy spirit hath revealed ; Thou hast spoken, 
I believe, though the Oracle be sealed." She now called for 
several other hymns. The last for which she asked was this, 
"Vital spark of heavenly flame." When we came to the verse 


"Sister, spirit, come away," she tried to accompany us. 

A dear old friend of about her own age was very ill at the 
same time, and we often sent to inquire of her condition. Albert's 
little son then came in to see her. Taking his tiny hand in her's 
she said, pleasantly, "Cirandma is going to see your little brother 
Richard. Are you not glad?" This was an older brother who 
had died some years before. We could not restrain our tears 
to hear her speak so cheerfully of leaving her friends. But 
amid all this cheerfulness she sufifered intensely at times with 
occasional spasms of pain. She continued to talk at intervals 
until her son begged her not to tire herself. Finally she fell into- 
a slumber. Early in the morning the friend who sat with her 
heard her praying earnestly for her children. After that she 
seemed to be comparatively easy, and leaving the door open they 
went into the next room to eat their breakfast. Soon she called, 
and her son sprang to her bedside to raise her up. As he did this 
she said : "Oh, my dear" and without a struggle she was gone. 
Shortly after came the word that the friend who lay so ill was 
also released from earthly pain. They had entered the eternal 
mansions together. Both were carried into the church at one 
time. It was certainly the most solemn service I ever witnessed. 
They carried their remains to the cemetery upon the hill south 
of the town, overlooking the beautiful valley of Paint creek, and 
there in the hope of a final resurrection they sweetly rest. As 
her son looked upon her for the last time he repeated the words 
of the hymn she loved so well, "Soul for the marriage feast. Robe 
and prepare." "Ah, he said, "her soul is indeed robed in a 
Saviour's righteousness. But the prop upon which I have leaned 
from my childhood has been taken from under me. All I can 
now do is to look above for strength." 

A day or two after, cousin Anna said : "Cousin, do you know 
what your aunt left yoti as a parting gift?" I said I certainly 
had no idea. "Well," she said, "one night as I was sitting up 
with her she spoke and said : 'Anna, I have something to say 
to you, a wish to express, and I know you will see that it is 
carried out. I want to leave Belinda a certain amount that she 
may buy a little home for herself and her father.' " This was 
only one of several bequests. And they were all faithfully 


My health was now so miserable that our house was rented 
to an excellent family, they taking us as boarders. My only 
remaining sister was shortly to be married to a farmer living 
in the country near us and father and myself were all there 
were left. My brother George had gone to Utah with a lawyer 
of our town, and Clinton was still in the West. The family who 
rented the house were New Englanders and tried in every way 
to make my father happy. One day he expressed a wish to have 
some alderberry wine. "All right, grandpa, said Mr. Pedrick, 
"you shall have some." Accordingly he went into the country 
and gathered a large basket of the alderberries, and they made 
a. quantity of this delicious wine. Mrs. Pedrick also made 
some of the tinest preserves I ever ate from the same berries, 
putting in plenty of lemons to flavor them, and using the 
finest pulverized sugar. They were certainly most palatable 
and delicious. They lived with us for some time, but finally 
found it would be for their interest to remove to another point. 
Cousin Albert then came up and he, with my cousin Juliet's 
son purchased for me a neat little cottage in another part of the 
town. The arrangements were shortly after completed and I had 
my old father comfortably settled. "Father," I said, "how is it 
that you have so soon made yourself contented in your new 
home?" "Well," he said, "there is gas to light the street and I 
can go to the bookstore to read the papers even at night if I 
choose. Then there is the market nearby to get anything we 
want to eat." "Yes, yes, I see through it all I said, you find that 
mind and body both stand a chance of being well supplied." I 
was glad to see him enjoying such a green old age. Just about 
this time came the sad news of the death of my brother George. 
He had long been a sufferer with a chronic disease contracted 
during that fatal war, and now he had died for away from 
kindred in a strange land. Poor brother ! if he had sinned, he 
also sufl:'ered. May he rest in peace ! 

Soon after this came the war of the Southern rebellion, which 
greatly excited my father. They began calling for troops all over 
our land. As my health was still feeble, I found myself unable 
to see to the house and wait on father properly. After looking 
about for some time I found a quiet family who were willing 
to come in and take charge of him. I then left home on a visit 


to Columbus, in order to have rest and cliange of scene. The 
next morning after I reached there came news of the taking of 
Fort Sumter. Then came the call for troops. The drum beat 
day and night. All was excitement and commotion. From every 
■city, town, village and hamlet they came. The railroads were 
chartered in every direction to bear the soldiers to their destina- 
tion. After returning from Columbus, I went out to stay with 
my sister at the farm, going in very often to visit my father. 
For a time his health seemed to fail, but after procuring him 
something in the w'ay of a tonic he seemed to revive and be him- 
self again. 

In the meantime, my sister's husband in Cincinnati had been 
appointed by the government as Inspector of Army Clothing. 
After working steadily for more than a year his health began 
to fail. Often he never thought of going to rest until the morn- 
ing dawned. Days and nights were spent in inspecting army 
goods, and shipping them to different points as they were re- 
quired. Finally they gave him a few days in which to rest and 
recruit. My sister wrote me asking if I could come down and 
stay with the children while she accompanied him on a trip East. 
Father gave consent and I went down, going directly through 
Camp Dennison, a few miles from the city. Thousands of 
soldiers w^ere there in camp. I could only compare it to a vast 
bee-hive. The evening I arrived Colonel Jos. vSill came to call 
on my sister. He was then at Marietta in command of the 
soldiers there. He had been finely educated at West Point and 
left there with high honors. Afterwards he opened a military 
school and proved himself an able instructor. WHien the war 
broke out he came forward at the call of his country. That 
evening I was much interested in his conversation. He said, 
although educated for war. he had a perfect horror of it. Many 
of his most intimate friends who had been with him at \\>st 
Point, were Southerners, and he would doubtless be arrayed 
against them on the battlefield. But he honored and loved them, 
and felt almost as though forced to fight with brothers. Shortly 
after my return home I heard of his promotion for gallant serv- 
ice, and following that came shortly after the sad news of his 
death in battle. His brother-in-law, the son of my Aunt Mary 
Douglas, went and brought home his remains to his grief -stricken 


family. The country, too, mourned the death of this brave and 
gifted soldier, and a noble monument has since been erected in the 
cemetery on the hill, where my aunt lies buried, to commemorate 
his gallant deeds. Many others among our acquaintances and 
friends shared a like sad fate. One of these was the only son 
of a widowed friend to whom I have ever been most tenderly 
attached. Captain Samuel McCulloch was the son of a merchant 
in our place. He was a noble and devoted son, and an alifection- 
ate brother, beloved, indeed, by all who knew him. In the hour 
of his country's need he would not stand aloof and accordingly 
enlisted and was made captain. After being in the army some 
months he came home on furlough. When about returning to his 
post he called on his friends to say farewell and then said "I 
never expect to come back alive." His prophecy was indeed 
true, for at the head of his men he was struck down by a minie 
ball and lived but a short time. When the news of his death 
came they feared to tell his mother who so idolized him, but her 
daughter said: "Mother is prepared to hear it. For many days 
she has said that she felt sure he was gone." It was some months 
after before his remains were brought home and buried beside 
his father in our beautiful cemetery. 

One day while I was in the country, my farmer brother-in- 
law came in saying to me : "You had better go home and see 
grandpa. The telegraph dispatches say we have lost seven gen- 
erals. A dreadful battle has been raging at Gettysburg." I went 
in, and found father on the little porch of the cottage. "Just 
think of it, he called to me, seven generals are killed, whom now 
have we left?" "The Lord of Hosts," I said. He smiled at my 
strong faith. The next day, however, came better news, the 
Union forces had gained the day. Then my father rejoiced 
indeed. My sister-in-law's nephew. Captain John Groce, was 
shortly after brought home wounded from Vicksburg. His good 
mother, the capital nurse who, as I always thought, helped to 
save my life in that terrible illness years before, watched over 
and cared for him until he recovered. Then he insisted on re- 
turning to his post. Shortly after came the storming of Fort 
McAllister and then he was killed. The same comrade who 
brought him home wounded before, now brought his embalmed 
body to his sorrowing parents. Forest Cemetery is his resting 


place, with a beautiful monument to mark the sacred spot. /\ncl 
there his friends often resort to weep over his grave, anfl mourn 
the brave soldier's early doom. 

I now went down for a few days to see Aunt Mary's son 
in Chillicothe. Here I heard of the funeral obsecjuies of Gen- 
eral Sill, my cousin Anna's brother. They were grand and 
im])ressive. The regiment over which he had command 
marched in the solemn procession. The horse u])on which he 
rode was led by a groom. All the honors of war were 
accorded him for his bravery, gallantry and devotion to his 
country. After recounting this, Anna said, "It seems as 
though our cup of sorrow is full to over-flowing. You know 
cousin how anxious and troubled your aunt was about her 
eldest son. I solemnly promised her on her death-bed that 
I would always do and care for him, and faithfully have I 
striven to keep that promise. But he has fallen into his old 
ways of drinking and we know not what to do for him." 
Shortly after this while under the influence of liquor he 
accidentally inflicted a wound in his limb with a pair of 
scissors, with which he suffered greatly. Finally to all out- 
Avard appearance the wound healed. Then came the call for 
a fresh supply of troops, for one hundred days. He responded 
to the call. Being so near forty-five years of age, he might 
easily have been excused or procured a substitute, but he was 
determined to go. His brother Albert argued the case with 
him, telling him how unfitted he was to undergo such fatigue. 
But all to no purpose. When the hour came he shouldered 
his musket and knapsack and went, marching on foot to 
Baltimore. After some weeks I received a letter from him 
telling me that he had been lying in the hospital for many 
long weary days. The wound in his leg, irritated by the long 
marches and exposure, had broken out afresh and he wrote 
that he feared he should "do Uncle Sam little service." 

Just at this time we received a visit from a very dear 
aunt then living in the West, the wife of my mother's only 
brother. They had been West now some fourteen years and 
this w^as her first visit East. We greatly enjoyed the un- 
expected pleasure of grasping her hand and holding sweet 
•converse. She said she could scarcelv wait to meet us all 


once more. Father was greatly rejoiced and had a thousand 
questions to ask. She stayed only a week and then returned 
home. When she bade my father good-bye she said, "Fare- 
well, Uncle, until we meet at our Father's house above." I 
went to the gate with her and she said, "Take good care of 
uncle, but he will outlive me many years. "Oh Abbie," I said, 
"we hope to see you many times yet and remember you 
must not work too hard." "How can I help it," she said, "Help 
is not to be found in the far West for love or money." She 
lived only about two years after this. My cousin, who was in 
the hospital was confined there all the time of his enlistment. 
But when the hundred days were up and his brother soldiers 
were coming home, he insisted upon coming with them, con- 
trary to the surgeon's orders, or advice of his friends. March 
home he would, and that on foot, carrying his heavy knap- 
sack and accoutrement. When he reached home his own 
brother did not recognize him, so greatly had he altered. 
As soon as I found he was at home I went down to see him. 
Anna said, "You would never know him. He has just lain 
down to rest." But hearing my voice he came down the 
stairs to see me. There was indeed a fearful change. He had 
contracted the fatal army disease, and that with the suffer- 
ings he had undergone with his wounded limb, had worn 
fearfully upon him. He could not be persuaded to diet him- 
self, according to the physician's advice, although he plainly 
told him the danger of his condition. When we sat down 
to dinner they had food especially prepared for him, but he 
refused to eat it, calling for corn, squash and other vege- 
tables, and insisting that all he needed was something to 
give him strength. He said, "I know I am getting better for 
I feel no pain, only weakness." But this weakness kept increas- 
ing every day. When I left I said, "Now be careful of your- 
self. Your old uncle wants to see you. When do you think 
you will be up?" "Oh," said he, "I will be well in a few days 
anrl then you will see me." But each day he kept failing. 
They had an excellent nurse for him, and when they asked 
what he wanted, he always said "Nothing. I have no pain."' 
Soon he ke])t his room and bed, and one evening when his 
brother Albert was sittino' in his room, reading to him, bv 


a l^right li^^ht, he said. "Why. Al, how dark tlic room is. Why 
don't you turn up the gas?" They could not beheve he was 
dying, but it was even so. He breathed his Hfe away as peace- 
fully as an infant going to rest in a mother's arms. 

My sister, who lived in the country, was now in ]joor 
health and the physician recommended her to leave her 
country home and remove into the town in order that she 
might have the electric battery api)lied twice a week, using 
the proper medicines to restore her. There was a nice Ger- 
man family living in our cottage. They had a daughter, Eva, 
who had been very kind to father. She had made the front 
yard a perfect bed of roses. "Eva," I often said, "this garden 
is beautiful to the sight as well as delicious to the smell." 
But they now left us and my sister, brother-in-law and the 
girl who had been for a long time living with them came 
to live in the house. Father was now eighty-four, although 
I could scarcely believe it. He was much more reasonable, 
and more easily influenced than when younger, and made 
very little trouble to any one. Often sitting in his chair and 
leaning on his cane for hours together, I shall always think 
this was the period when he became truly a Christian. One 
morning, after breakfast, he called me to come in to him. 
I ran C[uickly, fearing he might be ill. He said, "I w^ant you 
to kneel down and say the Lord's Prayer for me and I will 
say it with you." Afterwards I sat down by him. and he 
asked me if I remembered what John Randolph kept saying 
in his last hours, "Remorse. Remorse." "For days," said he, 
"I have felt that same word suits my case. Educated in Wil- 
liams College, learned in the Hebrew, Greek and Latin lan- 
guages, having read my Bible in all these tongues, I have 
believed it. doubtless with my head, but Oh, it has failed to 
touch my heart. How unworthy have I lived, how little have 
I done for others. Can I ever meet with acceptance?" I was 
sorrowful indeed, fearing his proud s]Mrit could never come 
humbly as a little child to the Saviour, asking for a new 
heart. "Father," I said, "the day with you is fast hastening 
to a close, and the night draweth near but you have not for- 
gotten that parable of our Lord when he tells us that he who 
came at the sixth hour was received even as he who came 


at the first. There is yet hope and mercy for you." Finally 
the burden was lifted and he appeared more tranquil. When 
our clergyman came I asked him to talk with him, and he 
then expressed a wish to receive the Communion. Then it 
was decided that Mattie, the young girl living with us, should 
be baptized at the same time. So one beautiful morning in 
June, several dear friends came and also our neighbor, Mrs. Ped- 
rick, bringing her three children to be baptized. Mattie had 
arranged beautiful bunches of flowers in vases on the stands, 
table and mantel-piece. Soon came the clergyman to admin- 
ister the solemn rites. Mrs. Pedrick afterwards united with the 
church. I dared not even trust myself to glance at my aged 
father, lest I should be entirely overcome. But Mattie said 
he leaned upon his cane, while the tears coursed down his 
furrow'-ed cheek. "Ah," he afterwards said, "I feel great peace 
now, but my sorrow for the past will never leave me while 
Hfe lasts." 

My sister's husband now decided to leave me and remove 
to the West, leaving Mattie wath me. By this time my health 
w^as partially restored so that I could have the satisfaction 
of waiting upon father. The winter had passed and the 
spring was opening upon us. I could see that father grew 
daily more infirm. But would still w^alk, leaning on his cane, 
to the bookstores, to look at the new books and papers, and 
if he found anything of interest, how pleased he would be. 
sometimes bringing it carefully home to show to me. 

If I asked father in the morning "How- are you, father," 
he would say, laughingly, "Well, I am feeble, but if I wall 
live to be old I must pay the penalty I suppose." I was always 
in the habit of giving him a warm bath every Sunday morn- 
ing. One Sunday, as usual, I had prepared the water. It 
was late, and Mattie had just gone to church. Father's 
clothes hung by the stove to warm. Some of the Sunday 
School children came in for a drink. I went out to the well 
and drc\v a fresh bucket of w^ater to give them. Then going- 
back 1 began to get ready for his bath. Putting a fresh piece 
of coal in the stove. It w^as so large I could not shut the 
door. As I stood with my back to the stove, I forgot about 
the open door, and before I was aware the flames had caught 



my dress, and father said: "You are all on fire!" 1 tried my 
best to ])ut it out, l)Ut all in vain. 1 r(jlled on the floor and 
called for help — my poor father was unable to do anything- 
for me. Suddenly I remembered the bucket of water I had 
just drawn, and ran out to the well. Seizing the bucket I 
managed to empty it over me, and so finally extinguished the 
blaze, but not before my side and arm were most awfully 
burned. The churches were now out and the neighbors came 
in to my relief, doing all in their power for me. But the 
agony I suffered no tongue can ever describe. The doctor 
came and examined me. He said that had the burn been two 
inches nearer my heart no earthly power could have saved 
me. As it was, I lay for ten long weeks in indescribable torture. 
The flesh fell from my arm. leaving (jnly the bone. Then 
when new flesh and skin began to form it was most excruciat- 
ing. Many a night 1 raved in agony and delirium. But the 
kindness of friends never failed 'me. Mattie, too, was un- 
ceasing in her deeds of love. The good physician. Dr. Jeptha 
Davis, must not be forgotten when I mention those who 
succored me in this hour of my sorest need. He dressed my 
wounds with his own hands for weeks, often bringing with 
him oranges and various other delicacies. There were at 
this time several other persons lying dangerously ill in our 
town, and it was difficult to procure watchers for all. Friends 
sent all the linen bandages they could spare, and nothing 
was left undone to alleviate my terrible sufferings. One kind 
friend sent strawberry preserves, another most delicious 
peaches with everything that could be procured to tempt my 
appetite as I slowly recovered. My cousin Albert, who had 
a short time before buried his brother, now came to see me. 
As my sister had now also come home from the West, to 
nurse me, he insisted on my going down home with him in 
the coach, saying that as their house was large and airy I 
would recover there far more rapidly. I accepted his kind 
invitation and spent a month with them. When I returned 
father was rejoiced to see me once more, and held out his 
hand while he could hardly speak. Finally he said, "You 
begin to look Hke yourself again." I brought with me for 
him to examine "Maury's Geography of the Heavens." which 


greatly interested him. 

And thus time passed until the winter came on. Father, 
though so feeble, still insisted on going- down to the barber's 
to be shaved. I begged him to allow the barber to come to 
the house, telling him I feared he would sometime be unable 
to get back home. And so indeed it proved, for shortly after 
one of his brother Masons was obliged to help him ho'me. 
He promised me then not to attempt to walk down street 
again. He was now confined entirely to the house, and often 
only able to walk from the bed to the stove. Christmas was 
his birthday. He was eighty-nine years old. In the morning 
I wished him a "Merry Christmas," telling him he had been 
my Christmas gift, the best one I had ever had. A sorrowful 
smile lighted his features as he said, "I will not be with you 
very long now." "Oh," said I, laughing, "you have said that 
for many years." "No, no," he said, "hot as I tell you now. 
I will tell you why I know I am fast failing. Last evening 
you were out when I was ready to say my prayers. I tried 
to say the Lord's Prayer and could get no further than 'De- 
liver us from evil.' I could not remember the rest." "Oh, 
father," I said, "I think you can say it." He now began, but 
sure enough I was obliged to help him finish it. He said, 
""While you were gone I had Mattie kneel down by my bed- 
side every night and pray with me. Then she would sing my 
favorite hymn, 'From Greenland's icy mountains. From In- 
dia's coral strand.' Martha says the great reason for my 
loving this hymn so well is because I am so fond of greens 
in the spring of the year." The day after Christmas there 
came to father letters from each of my sister's three little 
sons, living in the city. One was written by the youngest, 
only seven years old. His mother wrote that he had been 
practising on this letter for weeks. And the beauty of it was 
that it was entirely his own. In it he told his grandfather 
about the first pair of boots which had been given him for a 
Christmas gift. This greatly pleased his grandfather. All 
his friends that happened in must see and read these won- 
derful letters. And nothing would do but I must sit down 
and answer them for him, he signing his name. Each one 
must have the praise they so honestly deserved. "Now tell 


the boys," said he, "that 1 can follow the advice of lago when 
he says, 'Put money in thy house'." For each letter contained 
a little gift of money. Some little time after this I one morn- 
ing had an errand down street that Martha could not do. 
Father was very poorly — had a bad cold and was feeble. I 
said to Martha, "I will come back as soon as possible, and 
now you must watch him, or he may attempt to go about and 
have a fall. And, being so heavy as he is, it would certainly 
be the death of him." I hurried back, but, even as I feared^ 
he had fallen with his wdiole weight and was lying helpless. 
I had to call the neighbors to lift him on the bed. But It 
was indeed a fatal blow. I found his mind was wandering 
from that time. Whenever he weakened after falling asleep 
he would insist that he was traveling. Martha would say, 
to humor him, "Cirandfather, I know how often you have 
spoken of Niagara Falls. We w^ill start tomorrow. What 
kind of a lunch shall w^e carry with us?" "W'ell," he said, 
"I like pound-cake ; we will have that." That day I told this 
to a friend and the next morning she sent him a very nice 
one. .\nd so when we changed his clothes, putting on clean 
ones, she found he was always ready and \villing if she made 
him think he was preparing for a journey. He enjoyed the 
idea greatly. Our good clergyman came in often to read and 
pray with him. When asked what was his hope in a better 
world, his answer ahvays was, 'T place my only trust in 
Jesus, the Saviour of sinners." A few mornings before his 
death he seemed to wake from a troubled slumber greatly 
frightened, exclaiming, "I confess it is now too late." "Why, 
father," I said, "is it possible that the great enemy of souls 
takes advantage of your weakness? Have you forgotten Him 
who said T am the resurrection and the life ; he that believeth 
in Me, though he were dead yet shall he live' ?" A smile 
passed over his face, and he was quieted. After awhile he 
asked me to sing for him that hymn, "Am I a soldier of the 
cross?" "Sing slow, loud and plain, so that I may hear every 
word," he said. I sang, and when I came to the verse, "Wlien 
that illustrious day shall rise and all Thy armies shine," he 
raised both hands, saying, "Yes, thousands and tens of thou- 
sands shall be there." That night the colored nurse who was 


with him objected to my sitting up, for although it was now 
more than a year since I had been burned, I was not strong. 
"Father," I said, "I will stay if you wish it." "No," he said, 
"I will call if I need you." I was afraid he would pass away 
about midnight, but next morning he seemed about the same. 
One of his brother Masons sat with him. I stepped into the 
dining room. In a few moments he came and said "Come 
quick !" Not a groan escaped hi'm, only heavy sighs. Death, 
the king of terrors, had come even as a thief in the night. 
I thought I had expected him, but he found me unprepared 
at the last, though my father had fallen like a shock of corn 
fully ripe for the harvest. I could indeed praise my Redeemer 
that he had enlightened his mind, even at the eleventh hour. 
I looked at his venerable countenance as he lay there, remem- 
bering how often his words of cheer had solaced my heart 
through all my years of widowhood and desolation, and the 
burning tears fell thick and fast. Now truly was I alone 
in the world. For years I had cared for and watched over 
him, and now he too was gone. "Oh, Saviour, thou whom, 
not having seen, I love, be Thou my stay." I telegraphed 
for my brother-in-law in the city. My sister was unable to 
come; but he answered the summons. Father was always 
greatly attached to him. The Christmas before he had sent 
him a beautiful overcoat. As he was a large and portly man, 
w-e dressed him in this. I could scarcely ever persuade him 
to \vear it, so fearful was he of soiling it. He had expressed 
a wish that his Masonic brethren should inter him, with 
their own services. They now took charge of him. My 
brother-in-law was kind and sympathizing as he ever was, 
and on his arm I leaned in this hour of sorrow. My friends 
one and all proffered their kindest sympathies. But now 
my home must be broken up and every tie be severed. At his 
grave all united in the hymn, "Children of the Heavenly 
King, as we journey let vis sing," and then we left him, 
covered by the sods of the valley, there to rest until the 
morning of the resurrection. 

When I returned from the funeral to my lonely cottage it 
seemed as though my poor heart must break. Both mother 
and father had gone to the land of love and I must linger a 


little longer, waiting n:y appointed time, (jod grant that 
Ave may yet be permitted to clasp hands on that other and 
brighter shore. As I have previously menticjned, the hus- 
band of my cousin Juliet had. after remaining single for many 
years, finally married a younger sister of his wife — my cousin 
Emily. She was the relative who was so kind during all 
those long years of my mother's invalidism, and was equally 
as attentive and generous to my father in his old age and 
final illness. Now in my loneliness she and her husband 
insisted upon my going to spend a little time with them. 
Here lived my old and deaf Aunt Martha, of whom I have 
also spoken. She was now very aged, although retaining 
her faculties in a surprising degree. She felt my father's 
<leath keenly, but never willing to admit herself growing 
old, would say, "Your father die — me sorry. He very old 
man. Me little old; not much." Being of a sprightly turn, 
she did not really appear as old as she was. After this she 
Avould by words or signs tell me that my mother was her 
sister and I her niece, so I must always love her. At the time 
I was so badly burned they were afraid to tell her when she 
would inquire why I did not come to see her as usual. Finally 
when the danger w^as over her daughter ventured to tell her. 
For a moment she staggered and would have fallen had they 
not caught her. The next day Cousin Emily brought her 
over to see me. She began finding fault because I went so 
near the fire, but when I began to feign tears she said, "No, 
no ; aunt loves you all right." 

Just two weeks after father's death she was taken very 
ill from a severe cold — which became worse in a few days. 
Fortunately I was there, and in all her sickness she seemed 
contented if I was only with her. One day she called me, 
and pointing to the door said "Hush!" fearing her daughter 
would hear. She then made signs to me that she was going 
to die. Then, looking up, she said, "Me afraid, no." In the 
old family Bible was the picture of the cross. She would 
have this brought to her, kissing it reverently, and saying 
again, "Ale afraid to die — no, no." Like my own dear mother, 
she wanted no strangers about her, saying often. "Woman 
here? No, you my Jiiece." Martha (the young girl fixing 


with me) and I watched with her the last night she lived. 
Often through the night she would grasp my hand and kiss 
it. for she was very affectionate in her nature. As she tossed 
and turned so restlessly not a groan escaped her lips. In 
a few short hours she too was gone. Like some tired child 
she sighed her life away and left her frail earthly tenement 
for a happier sphere. 

After the burial of this aged aunt came the sad parting 
with the young girl Martha, who had nursed me so faithfully 
through my weary hours of that terrible burn, and father's 
feebleness and death. She was going to the West to join 
her family now living there. This completely overcame me. 
My heart was too full for utterance. I slipped away into the 
old summer kitchen, thinking that hidden there no one could 
hear my moans or witness my fast falling tears. But I 
entirely forgot the little window, which was open, near the 
house of Doctor Davis. My sobs reached the ear of the 
doctor's good mother, who came around and, peeping in, saw 
me with my face hidden in my apron. She said nothing, but 
began silently weeping with me. Soon the doctor's wife,. 
hearing the sobs, came around to find the cause. The first 
thing I knew I heard a merry laugh and then her cheerful 
voice saying, "Well, I believe I will not join this weeping 
assembly of sisters." I saw how ludicrous the whole thing' 
appeared, and, drying my tears, I joined in the laugh. But 
the doctor's mother could not so easily forget the scene, and 
said to me, "All these things are sent to wean us from earth - 
and remind us that this is not our home." It was indeed a 
hard trial to bid Martha good-bye. I gave her at parting 
many little mementos, among which was a small picture of 
grandfather, as a reward for her unvarying kindness and at- 
tention to him. 

In about a month after the death of my aunt another 
misfortune came. The youngest son of Mr. Rogers had 
invested considerable means in Minnesota, and the eldest 
brother also much more in addition. They had stored grain 
in a large mill near Hastings. Shortly after came an extraor- 
dinary freshet, such as had never been known in that part 
of the country. The floods rose rapidly. Toward night they 


removed whatever of valuables they could, leaving the mill 
in a canoe. The mill was stored to its utmost ca])acity with 
the finest wheat. During the night the foundation was 
washed away and toward morning with a tremendous crash 
it fell and was buried in the rushing waters. Before Mr. 
Rogers invested his means in speculation he was considered 
among our wealthiest citizens, as well as an upright and 
reliable business man. But this proved the finishing stroke 
to his fortunes. How thankful was I that my father and 
aged aunt were removed before these reverses came. My 
brother-in-law living in the city now decided to remove to 
Kansas and my sister wrote asking me to go with them there. 
I scarcely knew which way to turn. All these changes 
wrung mv heart, but I strove to believe that He "who rules 
in heaven and among the armies of men" still held me in 
His wise keeping, and to say now, as I had ever done, "He 
doeth all things well." I finally decided to follow^ their for- 
tunes and go with them to the far West. We took a night 
•car for St. Louis, from thence to Kansas City. St. Louis Avas 
a place of great interest and I would fain have remained 
there a few days, but we were hurrying on to our destina- 
tion. It was about the middle of June when we passed 
through the State of Missouri. Everything was in its most 
beautiful garb. Large patches of wdld roses could be seen 
as the iron horse bore us swiftly onward. At times the 
perfume of the sweetbrier was wafted on the passing breeze. 
Some varieties of flowers esteemed among our choicest col- 
lections at home were here growdng in all their wild luxuri- 
ance and loveliness. Occasionally when the bluffs were high 
above us festoons of the prairie rose would almost touch the 
cars, and peep in at the windows as we whirled along. My 
eyes never tired with this panorama of beauty. Soon we 
reached Kansas City and saw^ one of the finest bridges of the 
West. The next place of importance was La\vrence. This 
was quite a large and apparently flourishing town. Next we 
reached our future home and the terminus of our long and 
wearisome journey. 

Of all the prairie towns we had seen Ottawa was the most 
attractive. The hotel where \ve first made our home had 


been built by a man who in his zeal for the new town had 
overreached himself and it had already passed into other 
hands. Labor is costly in the West, at least superior labor, 
and for the newcomer there are many trials and drawbacks. 
Great outlay and little income tends to discourage and de- 
press the emigrant oftentimes. Ottawa was then only four 
years old. The town had gone up rapidly. It already boasted 
of a large stone jail and court house, and three churches. 
These were built mostly of stone taken from neighboring: 
quarries. South of the town the Baptists have a fine college 
building, which can be seen for miles in every direction. 
Ottawa is surrounded by a rolling prairie, gay with flowers of 
every hue. The soil is a rich black loam. Just before enter- 
ing the town you cross a small, deep stream, called the Marais 
de Cygnes or river of swans. Over this is a fairy-like sus- 
pension bridge, one of the finest in the State. Through the 
summer season they have tremendous storms and tornadoes. 
The sky at times seems to open and floods of water fall from 
the heavens. Never before had I witnessed such vivid light- 
ning or heard such peals of thunder. Woe be unto the house 
unprovided with lightning rods ! Aside from these occa- 
sional storms the weather after we reached there was very 
beautiful for many weeks, and the sky and sunsets incom- 
parable. But often the heat is more like that of the torrid 
zone. Yet as a general thing it mattered not how much people 
suffered through the day with heat, when evening came a 
refreshing breeze would spring up and revive the weary so 
that when morning came they were strengthened to resume 
their daily toil. This breeze as winter came on was, however,, 
anything but pleasant. Most of the dwelling houses are so 
miserably constructed that the piercing winter winds would 
penetrate into every crack and crevice, exposing the inmates 
to attacks of fever and pneumonia, from which numbers per- 
ished every season. Ottawa was one of the most inviting- 
towns in Kansas. And after the streets have been paved 
from the stone cut from the quarries, and forest trees are 
grown to shade the inhabitants from the scorching summer 
heat, there will be no prettier town East or West, and no 
more desirable dwelling place. 


I endeavored to make myself happy, but found that hke 
the Shunamite of olden time I longed once more "to return 
and dwell among my own people." Sometimes I was so 
homesick that my countenance could not but tell the tale. 
Then dear little Freddie, my sister's youngest boy, only a 
little over two years old, would stand and gaze wistfully in 
my face to learn the reason of my looking so sad and mourn- 
ful. One morning while alone with me m my room he was 
busying himself with the straps of my large traveling trunk, 
using them for bridles while the trunk was his horse. He 
was very happy in his childish innocence, pretending to drive 
to Cincinnati, when, looking toward me, he jumped down 
quickly from his trunk horse and came and stood close by 
my side. His dear little hands were clasped together as he 
looked at me, while a smile played over his face, saying, 
"Freddie loves auntie, yes Freddie does." "Yes," I answered, 
"and auntie loves Freddie too, ever so much." But his loving 
spirit only made me feel more homesick than ever. He ran 
back to his trunk, getting on and whipping it to make greater 
speed. I turned my chair avvay to hide the teardrops as they 
fell from the hand that covered my face, not daring to sob 
aloud for fear he might see me. But in less than a moment 
Freddie was leaning over my lap, looking up in my face, and 
once more he said, "Freddie loves auntie, yes, a whole heart 
full." I caught him up in my arms and kissed him all over 
his sweet fact and told him now I was happy once more. I 
then sat him down and danced all around, singing "Yankee 
Doodle" to bring the smiles and make his little innocent heart 
glad once more, determined never again to grieve that loving 
spirit. I often rocked him to sleep in my arms, singing 
"Haste. My Dull Soul. Arise." He would ask a hundred ques- 
tions about the meaning of the hymn and seemed indeed far 
too sensible for his age. An old lady who sometimes came 
used to say of him, "Ah, little Fred is an angel all but the 
wings," and so indeed he was. After I had been in Ottawa 
nearly a year news came from Ohio to the doctor, my old 
physician from home, that his father, who lived next door to 
my cottage, had died suddenly and he must come and look after 
the business. And as I was anxious to return, mv brother- 


in-law concluded to place me in his charge. As soon as 
my sister's boys knew I was going they each counted out 
all the money they possessed and bought me a warm pair 
of lined boots to wear on my journey, as a last expression of 
their love and kindness. Indeed they all united to fit me out 
with whatever was necessary for my comfort and happiness. 
I had found a very dear friend in Kansas about my own age, 
who was an Eastern lady, but had removed to Kansas for her 
failing health. She came nearly every day to see me and 
we had become greatly attached to each other. I now bade 
her good-bye with all my other kind friends and we started 
on our journey homeward. Soon we were speeding swiftly 
on our way. At St. Louis the doctor came in and told me 
that the hero of Winchester, General Sheridan, was in the 
car. I soon discovered that he had a lovely looking lady 
under his protection. She was very charming and attractive 
in her manners. General Custer was also one of the party. 
After a day or so these brave defenders left us and v/e coon 
reached Cincinnati, going on to Circleville this same day. 
The good doctor insisted on my stopping with him at his 
mother's, as she was now very lonely. I remained there 
until established once more in my own cottage with the tenant 
who occupied it. He in the meantime settled up his father's 
business, after which his mother went to spend her remain- 
ing days with her children. We parted with many kind 
wishes, she telling me not to grieve, remembering that we 
were all journeying to that dear home above where fare- 
wells are unknown. 

After I was fairly settled again I went down to visit my 
Cousin Anna and her husband. I told her I must find some- 
thing to busy myself while with her, and although she said 
she feared I might hurt my arm I insisted upon making for 
her a log-cabin quilt. She gave me some beautiful bright 
pieces and when it was finished gave it to her eldest daughter 
as a Christmas gift. It was so bright that her husband pro- 
posed we should fold it. shawl fashion, and wear it over our 
shoulders after the manner of the Indian squaws. Anna 
now went up street and came home with a very pretty black 
cloth sacque which she had bought for me, determined not 
to be in my debt. After coming home a friend, Mrs. G . 


wished me to make one like it for her, giving nie nuiterial to 
make one for myself also, so I was quite busy for many 

In the fall I went down to the great Exposition then being 
held in Cineinnati, and stopped with my old friend, Mrs. 
Odioriie. Mr. Odiorue kindly escorted me with his wife to 
see all the wonders of the Exposition. The building was 
gotten uj) in the form of a vast amphitheater — three tiers 
of galleries rising one above another. Here were to be seen 
the most beautiful fabrics of every description. About the 
center of the building arose a pyramid of rocks, all covered 
with mosses and foHage, ferns of every variety and flowers 
of every hue, while in the center was a miniature cascade 
rushing over the rocks, adding a fairy-like softness and cool- 
ness to the enchanting scene. On our way home Mr. Odiorue 
told us that he had that afternoon received a letter from 
my brother-in-law in Kansas, saying that he would, with my 
sister and little Freddie, spend a few days with them on their 
return from Philadelphia, where they had been on an excur- 
sion gotten up by the Odd Fellows at Kansas City. How 
happy this news made me, for I was not only rejoiced to 
see my brother-in-law and sister, but more especially to clasp 
to my heart my darling little Freddie. In a few days they 
came. "Now," said brother David, "we must see the Exposi- 
tion by gas light." Accordingly we all, Freddie included, 
went to view the sights. "Look," said brother David to 
Freddie, "at the cataract tumbling over the rocks." Then 
lifting him in his arms he pointed out to him the great 
crowds of people surging to and fro below us. Innumerable 
gas jets were sparkling in every direction, while to all about 
us music lent an irresistible charm. It was late when we 
wended our way home, weary and footsore, and sought our 
jnllows only to live over in dreams the fairy spectacle. David- 
son's magnificent fountain had shortly before been unveiled 
in Fountain Scjuare. And my brother-in-law next day 
escorted me to examine its beauties, going early, before the 
crowd had gathered around it. It was in the center of the 
square, the principal figure looking due east. This beautiful 
female figure stood erect, bestowing the gracious gift of 


water with outstretched arms, while from her fingers con- 
stantly streamed the life-giving element. Striking groups 
were placed on each side around the pedestal, all symbolical 
of this gift so lavishly bestowed by Infinite mercy and wis- 
dom. Although the figures were larger than life, yet they 
were models of exquisite beauty and grace. The benefactor 
of this grand fountain has already passed from earth, but 
this work will ever remain as an enduring monument of his 
praise. One evening during the stay of my brother-in-law he 
and my sister were invited out to tea, and I offered to keep 
Freddie at home. While striving to amuse the little fellow 
I began asking him about matters at home, and speaking of 
his brothers I asked him which he loved best. "Well, auntie," 
he said, "I love all my brothers, but I love Lewy bestest. 
For you know Lewy loves. Jesus (this brother had shortly 
before united with the church in Ottawa) — yes, Lewy loves 
Jesus and I love Jesus." Then raising himself on his little 
toes, while his hands w^ere clasped together in childish earn- 
estness, he repeated, "I love Jesus and I'll love him till I die." 
His bright countenance seemed fairly aglow with rapture, 
and I looked upon him with a strange awe. He added some- 
thing which I did not exactly understand. How often since 
have I wished that I had asked him to repeat it that I might 
have caught its meaning. But I quickly undressed him and 
soon he was fast asleep in^his cozy bed. Little did I think 
that I must soon part with him forever. For it was only a 
few Aveeks after their return when I received the sad news 
that this precious blossom, so perfect in innocence and love- 
liness, had been transplanted to bloom forever in the garden 
of his Lord. For such as he we need not sorrow. The ills 
of life escaped, they rejoice eternally in the presence of their 
Saviour, watching, as we trust, for the coming of those who 
loved them so tenderly while upon earth. Shortly after this 
occurred the terrible conflagration at Chicago, which is still 
fresh in our memories. Then came such an exhibition of 
fraternal love and sympathy as revises our faith in humanity. 
From cities and towns far and near were swiftly transported 
car loads of provisions of every kind and description, clothing 
for the needy, food for the hungry, relief in every possible 
form. And trjday the great city has almost if not entirely 


resumed its fcjrmer prosperity. 

In little more than a year after Freddie's death his father, 
my kind and noble brother-in-law, was • suddenly called to 
join him, and today they both sweetly sleep, side by side, in 
Spring Grove Cemetery. Truly may we say of them, in the lan- 
guage of "the sweet singer of Israel," "they were lovely and 
pleasant in their lives and in their death they were not di- 

At some time subsequent to the events already related I 
went down in the coach to Chillicothe for my annual visit. 
Just before reaching there the range of hills encircling the 
beautiful town came in view. Never did these green hills 
look lovelier, or the deep blue sky appear more beautiful 
than on that day. "May" seemed written as with the finger 
of the Infinite all over the landscape. My cousin's home was 
nearly hidden by the dark green hedge of privet, covered 
with pure white blossoms. Many large old forest trees are 
still standing about, and these were interspersed with bushes 
of the sweet-scented syringa. while numberless roses added 
both beauty and fragrance to the dear old home of my Aunt 
Mary. As I seated myself by the window to rest the birds 
appeared to be holding a concert for my special benefit. Aunt 
Lucy Douglas came to see me as soon as she heard of my 
arrival. I welcomed her gladly, saying, "Now. you are all 
the mother left to me, for, as you know, you stood with my 
Cousin Juliet as my godmother." "Well," she said, "I am 
ever so glad to hear you say so. Now you must come often 
to see me at my boarding house." She had for years been 
nursing her husband, who lost his eyesight and had died only 
a short time previous. I told her I would gladly come, but 
was very anxious to read and review some books in my 
cousin's library, and that would occupy much of my time. 
She said, "I want you to come some morning very soon and 
go with me to the cemetery. I have a number of roses and 
ferns that I am anxious to set out on my husband's grave." 
The next morning I went and, basket in hand, we set out for 
the cemetery. Soon we began to ascend the path leading up 
as far as the Wilson monument. There we rested and en- 
joyed the lovely view spread out before us. It was a mag- 
nificent prospect. The ever-varying lights and shadows that 


play across the hills surrounding Mount Logan are indeed 
enchanting to the eye. The town itself seems to lie fairly 
embosomed in woods. The hills were in a northerly direction 
from where we were standing, all covered with their carpet 
of green, while here and there beautiful homes nestle among 
them. The prospect is truly charming. Upon entering the 
cemetery the fine monument erected to the soldiers meets 
the eye. Aunt Lucy carried her roses and ferns to the spot 
where her husband lay buried and carefully planted them. 
I noticed that one of the monthly roses was full of buds. But 
it looked so much like rain that we shortly after hurried 
away. She remarked that the soil there was so fertile that 
everything planted seemed sure to flourish. Evergreens es- 
pecially seem to grow luxuriantly. It was drawing near 
Decoration day, which they observe almost religiously there, 
and my cousin's son Albert was appointed that year to de- 
liver the annual oration. I decided to remain until that was 
over. It came with all the beauty of springtime. From early 
morn the ladies were busy cutting and arranging their flow- 
ers. Cousin Anna formed a most beautiful wreath of pure 
white flowers with which to decorate her brother's grave, the 
General Sill whom I have already mentioned. We also made 
one for Cousin Luke, who lost his life in the service of 
the Union. Aunt Lucy and myself were invited to accom- 
pany a mutual friend in her carriage to the cemetery. We 
found Cousin Anna and her family already there, near the 
platform where her son was expected to speak. Soon the 
soul-stirring music came floating upon the breeze and shortly 
after came the Sill Guards, marching proudly up the hill. 
Following them were the carriages containing the orator of 
the day with distinguished guests, after which came the mul- 
titude. Prayer was offered by one of the clergy and then 
the ode was sung, "My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of 
liberty," after which came the oration. It was a fine effort. 
The Sill Guards then formed in order of march, the citizens 
following, bearing their flowers. When their arms were 
grounded the flowers were placed upon the graves length- 
wise. After the decoration of the graves we returned to 
the speaker's stand, where we were dismissed. Aunt Lucy 
pressed forward to grasp her nephew's hand, complimenting 


him upon his oration, and upon the eloquent tribute he had 
paid to the memory of his brave unele, whose example was 
so worthy of imitation. The day had been intensely hot, 
notwithstanding the breeze. There was, however, plenty of 
refreshing lemonade upon the grounds. The soldiers' monu- 
ment was hterally one mass of flowers. Slowly we wended 
our way homeward, leaving every green hillock under which 
rested a soldier covered with the emblems of a nation's grate- 
ful affection. Thus ended Decoration day. 

The clergyman in Chillicothe, Mr. Stuart, who had been 
with them for five years, had now received and accepted a 
call to Georgetown, D. C. Doubtless he felt somewhat dis- 
couraged because many young men, members of the church, 
did not come forward and sustain him in the Sunday school. 
The young ladies did their part nobly. How grieved Aunt 
Lucy and Cousin Anna were that they must part with their 
good rector. "But," said Anna, "we can not let him go with- 
out giving him some testimonial of our gratitude for his 
faithful labors." Accordingly she, with other members of the 
church, united in collecting a sum of money with which they 
purchased from Cincinnati a beautiful silver epergne to be 
used for either fruit or flowers. They proposed to hold a 
festival for the benefit of the church and present the gift as 
a surprise to Mr. Stuart. All day Wednesday the ladies 
were busy in their pre])arations. The tables were covered 
with pure white damask, and dishes in which to serve the ice 
cream and strawberries, together with many delicious cakes. 
Cousin Anna's cake told its own story as you neared the 
table where it was placed. In the center of each table was 
a basket of lovely flowers, shedding their sweet perfume 
far and near. One particular species of white, feathery fern 
was mingled with the delicate roses, which called forth the 
admiration of all who saw or examined it. My Cousin Albert 
said that although from a boy he had roamed over these 
hills he had never met wnth it before. After the arrival 
of the Rector and his wife the blessing was offered and the lus- 
cious refreshments served. At the close came the presenta- 
tion by one of the members. The gift had been carefully con- 
cealed until the proper moment, then one of the gentlemen 
lifted the beautifvil epergne, placing it ui^on a stand prepared 


for its reception. The clergyman was standing near. All 
eyes were directed toward the speaker, who in a few appro- 
priate words presented the gift in the name of the ladies, 
as a small testimonial of their gratitude and appreciation 
for his faithful labors in their midst. Mr. Stuart was com- 
pletely overcome by surprise. He first turned pale and then 
the color flushed his face, while his eyes beamed with pleas- 
ure. His voice trembled as he endeavored to respond, say- 
ing that it was not the value of this beautiful gift alone that 
touched him, but the kindly feelings which prompted the 
offering. He should treasure it always as a fitting reminder 
of all their goodness toward him. He loved them all — having 
been for so long a partaker of all their joys and sorrows — 
and if life was spared he hoped often to visit them and grasp 
their hands with the same pleasure that he did tonight. The 
festival proved a gratifying success in ever}- respect. 

The next day I left for home, where I found the wife of 
my tenant as ever glad to see me. Her husband was away 
at work during the day and I always helped her take care of 
the little ones. Often on warm nights I persuaded her to 
bring the children into my room because it was cooler there. 
But now he insisted on keeping them all with them in their 
own little bedroom. As they were restless I begged him to 
let them stay with me, but he said "No," that I had already 
spoiled them, and now he must rock them all night." The 
truth was that the poor children were almost suffocated with 
the heat. The same morning that I left my cousin's, x\unt 
Lucy came to say good-by, bringing with her as a present 
a nice bonnet of her own, telling me to have it made over, 
which I afterward did and it was as good to me as a new one. 
A few days after I was going up street in the morning when 

I met a Mr. E , a friend who had formerly lived in 

Chillicothe. He said, "I have just received a dispatch from 
Chillicothe asking me to be a pall bearer at the funeral of Mrs. 
Peter Douglas" (my Aunt Lucy). I was greatly shocked, and 
at once said, "Well, I must go down with 3^ou if possible." 
He said he was going in about two hours on the cars, so I 
hurried home and quickly preparing myself was ready to 
accompany him to the train. We went directly to my cousin's 
where we found the Reverend Doctor Burr, an old friend 


of Aunt Lucy's. I'roni iheiice we went to her lioardin^ house. 
There I found two of ainit's nieces, one troni C'hicai^o, tlie 
other from New York Cit}-. The\- went with me to take a 
look at her. As she lay in her casket 1 was startled to see 
her looking so much as she did in her younger days. It 
recalled my memories of her as she was when I first saw 
her, a bride at my uncle's house. Dear aunt ! she was always 
beautiful! Now life's sorrows were all ended, and she had 
entered unto rest. Her friends one after another came again 
and again to take a last look at her calm and almost angelic 
countenance. Doctor Burr had now arrived and called upon the 
Presbyterian minister who had been with her in her last hours, 
to assist in the obsequies at the house, her own Rector having 
already gone to his new home. He made an excellent prayer and 
a few appropriate remarks, after which we entered the carriages 
and followed the hearse to the church. Doctor Burr, a ven- 
erable man, now upward of seventy, began the solemn and 
impressive burial service of our church as she was borne 
along the aisle. They placed the casket in front of the chan- 
cel. It was covered wdth beautiful flowers fashioned into 
various emblems. The altar was draped in mourning and 
the font wreathed in flowers. When Doctor Burr began 
to speak his voice trembled with emotion, and I almost fan- 
cied her now sainted spirit hovered near. "Are they not all 
ministering spirits?" His text was "Blessed are the dead 
who die in the Lord." Truly could this be said of our sister, 
who lived and died in the faith of Jesus. Spreading out his 
arms as though to embrace us within the fold, he affection- 
ately entreated us to be faithful followers of the same Saviour, 
even unto the end. At the close of the service the choir 
itnited in the hymn she had chosen for herself, "Jesus, Lover 
of My Soul," after which we went directly to the cemetery. 
Nearing the spot where I had been with her so short a time 
previous, I was touched to see that the rose she had planted 
with her own dear hands was now in full bloom. Loving 
hands had lined her grave with evergreens and ferns. Above 
her was placed a beautiful wreath of white flowers. Here 
we left her, not wdthout hope that we shall meet, no more 
to part, in that day when the Lord of Hosts maketh up his 


jewels. I often used to say to my mother, "Oh, if I could 
only be as good as Aunt Lucy." How often after her hus- 
band lost his eyesight and I witnessed her untiring patience 
did I repeat those words. Like most business men, her hus- 
band chafed under confinement. Once while visiting my 
cousin I called to see aunt and she said to me, "Don't you 
think my husband is unwilling to have me leave him for 
an hour, not even to go to Communion." The next Sunday 
after she said this happened to be Communion Sunday. I 
called there early and going up to her husband I said, "Uncle, 
I have come to stay with you while aunt goes to Communion." 
For a moment he was silent and then, speaking in an excited 
voice, he said, "Do you take me for a child?" Then, turning to 
his wife, he said, "Lucy, get yourself ready and go with Belinda 
to church. I can stay by myself." We went, and this was the last 
time he ever asked me to remain at home with him on Sunday. 
When the funeral was over I left for home, arriving at 
my little cottage very tired with my long walk from the 
depot. I had made an agreement with my tenant that while 
the weather was warm I should occupy the lower front room 
— father's room, as we called it. Going into it I told his 
wife that, being weary, I should retire early. Very soon 
her husband returned from his sister's farm, where he had 
been all day helping in the hay field. I had scarcely sat down 
to rest when he entered the room and, shaking his clenched 
hand fiercely at me, he said, "Don't you dare to get into that 
bed this night." I looked at him in perfect astonishment. 
Finally I spoke and said, "My friend, that is the very place 
I intend to go as soon as I am ready. I am too tired now 
to waste words." "Then," he said, "you shall not sleep here 
tomorrow night." "No," I answered, "nor any other night."' 
With this he left and I fastened the door, fearing he had 
been drinking. The scenes of sorrow through which I had 
just passed drove sleep from my eyes and slumber from 
my eyelids. Next morning his wife called me to breakfast. 
"Why," said I, "do you think it possible for me to eat here 
after your husband has treated me in this way? "I am ever 
so sorry," she said, "but you need not mind him. I never do."^ 
"That may be so," I replied, "but you are his wife." One of 


my old scholars in the country had long been wishing me 
to come and stay with her a few weeks and there I decided 
to go at once. A cousin of her's came and took me out. l)Ut 
from that day I never received rent from this dishonest man 
imtil he left my cottage. I found Mary pleasantly situated 
and living in a new brick house at the foot of a hill, where 
there was a noble spring. The old spring house was near by. 
It needed repairing greatly, but Mary said she must wait for 
better times, as it did well enough for the present. She had 
two dear little children, Mary, who was nearly five years 
old, and the httle boy but three. The following Sunday Mary 
went with me to visit a younger sister who lived three miles 
distant in the little town of Amanda. Her sister's husband 
came out to meet us, and calling me by name told me he 
remembered me well, having seen me years before when 
I was teaching in the Pickaway Plains, although he was but 
a boy at that time. Only the day before he had returned 
from the centennial at Philadelphia. When I asked for a 
description of it he answered that it would be an impossi- 
bility for him to attempt to give one. The grandeur of the 
buildings, added to the wonderful and curious articles con- 
tained therein, was most astonishing. It is indeed a marvel 
that in the short space of a single century our nation could 
be prepared to compete with the oldest nations in existence 
in exhibiting progress in arts, machinery and productions 
of various kinds. Amanda is a small town situated in the 
center of a rich and growing country, and her cereals are 
among the best. My friend's garden was blooming with 
many beautiful flowers. The Zinnias were of every color 
imaginable, resembling the rose, but lacking its fragrance. 
After admiring these her husband said, "Now as you have 
been so pleased with Harriet's flowers, suppose you go with 
me to see mine." So saying, he led the way to his hennery, 
where he had a fine collection of bufl^ Cochins and other fowls. 
These were from the lightest buff to the richest brown, their 
feathers as glossy as birds', the only drawback to their beauty 
being their ungainly forms. However, we told him we be- 
lieved that he deserved a prize for this interesting exhibition. 
Sunday, as it was, we took a walk through the village, 


which looked quite attractive from the many flowers culti- 
vated in the front yards. But our time was limited and we 
were soon on our way home, having passed a pleasant day. 
As we rode along a succession of beautiful farmhouses met 
our view, until we arrived at Mary's home. The next day 
I went with her to see the orchard. Her husband had planted 
there one hundred apple and peach trees. One tree she spe- 
cially pointed out, the fruit being of so fine and luscious a 
flavor for sauce. She said, "You noticed this morning what 
a peculiarly spicy taste it had. I can cook them awhile when 
quite green and it is good, but age adds to its flavor.'* 
They had what they called "Kansas sweet corn," which is 
of fine size and great sweetness. When cut from the ear 
and stewed, then adding her rich cream, it was absolutely 
delicious. The same could be said of her butter beans,, 
squashes and tomatoes, not forgetting the cabbage. I am 
fond of rice, but never knew how much it could be improved 
until Mary prepared it in her own way with this luscious 
cream. Little Mary learned all her letters in a few days, for 
she was a very bright child. Mary's brother lived some seven 
miles distant and we also went to visit him. In going we 
passed some miserable looking corn fields. Her husband 
said, "Just look at this corn. To my certain knowledge that 
man has given his ground no rest for years, and of course 
the soil is worn out. My fields have rested one or two years 
and as you see my stalks of corn fairly bend under their own 

Mary came to school to me for about three years gain- 
ing the prize several times as being one of my most faithful 
scholars. She is now one of the best of women and a good 
mother. I could plainly see her life was not a joyous one,. 
but no word of murmur passed her patient lips. Little Mary 
was a very interesting child, quick to comprehend and ready 
to learn. I had with me a little book called "Bogatzky's Treas- 
ury," given me by a friend some years since. In looking' 
over it she found a picture of a young man attended by 
the angel of light on one side and on the other was the spirit 
of evil, while another angel was offering to him a crown of 
life. In a moment she wanted to know all about these fig'- 


tires. 1 explained as well as 1 eould, saying, "When you are 
a good girl, Mary, you listen to the whispers of that beautiful 
sj)irit. but when you are naughty you obey this one who 
wears the cap with a plume. Look how insinuatingl\- lie 
glances at the young man. Even when you are trying to 
be good the evil spirit lurks ever in your little heart, but this 
angel of light whis])ers to you in loving mercy striving to 
lead you in the right path." As quick as thought she said, 
"But I will always listen to the good angel." Every day,, 
often more than once, would she come and ask as a great 
favor to see the sweet angel of light. 1 enjoyed my stay 
with Mary on account of her lovely and gentle spirit. I 
noticed that she was very careful, doiibtless on account of 
her children, never to make a harsh answer to her husband, 
not knowing what he might say in reply. Like Mary of 
old, she had indeed chosen "that good part which should 
never be taken away from her." But my enjoyment with 
her, like all earthly pleasures, was soon to come suddenly 
to an end. Her husband, like most farmers, was very proud 
of his three beautiful horses. He was unwilling to have any 
one drive them l)ut himself. He had one unruly animal and 
finally sold it to a drcjver. The arrangement was made and 
he was to take it about five miles distant to the railroad, 
where he would receive the money for it. IMary begged 
him to let some one else drive the horse, but no, he said he 
^vould drive it himself. When he came home he was about 
worn out. Tired as he was, he rose early next morning and 
took his team to get a load of shingles for his mother. He 
was caught in a cold, drizzling rain. Next day he was obliged 
to go to bed and was confined to his bed about two weeks 
when the disease went to his brain. He was full of strange 
fancies and was so wild and unmanageable that no one could 
do anything with him. He seemed to take a special dislike 
to me, imagining that I was his bitter enemy. Under these 
circumstances I thought perhaps it was better for me to 
leave the house. I did so, but he lived only a few days after 
I left, leaving my friend a widow with two little children to 
care for and rear as best she could. 

Shortly after I had the pleasure of going to view what is 
called the Rock House, of which I will endeavor to give an 


imperfect description. Many years since a Doctor Beeman 
came to live in the little village of Adelphia, only a few miles 
distant from this Rock House. He happened at one time to 
have some patients living in a southerly direction. Instead 
of attempting to go by the regular road he determined to 
strike across the country in order to shorten the journey. 
After proceeding some distance he saw about him a thicket 
of bushes. In attempting to pass through this his horse sud- 
denly balked, appearing frightened, and finally utterly re- 
fused to go farther. The shadows of evening began to fall 
darkly about his path. Dismounting, he walked forward him- 
self until he came to what appeared to him a frightful preci- 
pice. Finally he retraced his path and went back to his 
home. But his curiosity was excited and early next morn- 
ing he started again on the trail. As he drew near the same 
spot the horse became frightened as before. Again he dis- 
mounted and tied it to a bush, while he ventured to descend 
the ravine before him until he reached this wonderful struc- 
ture. Clambering up the steep rocks, he entered into what 
resembled a window in the cliff. After gazing about him, 
surprised and delighted with his discovery, he returned home. 
Shortly after he made up a party of friends, who prepared 
themselves in picnic fashion to spend the day there. This 
they did most pleasantly. Spreading their pure white table 
cloth, they made a fire in one corner of the Rock House. 
Here they regaled themselves with hot coffee, roast 
chickens, cakes and pies, with other delicacies, after which 
they made the place ring with sweet songs, and charmed 
themselves by listening to the grand echoes they produced. 
Ever since that time the Rock House has been a pleasant 
summer resort for picnic parties. It is ' situated among 
the hills, some twenty-two miles from our village, and near 
the little village of Perry. I was invited one summer to join 
a small party going to view this romantic spot. When we 
came near the place some one called out to look through 
the bushes and see the precipice. But as I was fearful of 
becoming dizzy I did not obey orders. Just above this descent 
was a large, flat rock. On this my friend ventured, taking 
me with her. Here was a rude stairway. Taking my hand 
in hers, she led me on. Down we went, not daring to look 


about us until we landed at the foot. It appeared as llimi^h 
we were abt)Ut to enter some marvelous cave. The Unek 
House has several clefts or openings. Into one of these she 
ventured, taking me so suddenly from out of the sunlight 
that I could scarcely see for a time. There was a great 
chilliness in the atmosphere, caused l)y the water which had 
dripi)ed for ages over these old rocks. Whole masses of 
these giant formations, now heavy with the mold of ages, 
had been thrown together by the Invisible x\rchitect, forming 
a grand arch which met far above our heads, looking like 
some vast cathedral of ancient times. Deep veneration stole 
over me as I gazed, remembering the words of old, "The 
Most High dwelleth not in temples made with hands." What 
ecstasy would it be to listen to one of BeethoAcn's grand 
symphonies in this rude sanctuary. How strangely sweet 
would be the vibrations of Mozart's melodies, echoing within 
these lofty arches. Looking about, we found a convenient 
corner where other picnic parties had made a fire and pre- 
pared their noonday meal. High upon one of these clififs we 
saw the names of other visitors inscribed, but we did not 
attempt to follow their example. After enjoying ourselves 
for a time we finally prepared to leave this wild and wonder- 
ful spot. My friend had a perfect passion for rocks and hills. 
Helping me from crag to crag, w^e descended in safety to 
the bottom of the ravine. These rocky ramparts had nearly 
excluded the bright sunlight, surrounded as they were by 
many inrmense trees. But the shade and coolness had fa- 
vored the growth of an endless variety of beautiful ferns. 
Nature seemed to have fashioned numberless plants of this 
description from the tiniest moss-blown flower to the lace- 
like and feathery fern, of every shade of lovely green. My 
friend filled her basket to overflowing and we then began climb- 
ing the hill opposite when the cry arose, "Look, look back at 
the Rock House." Hitherto the large trees had prevented us 
from seeing it in all its grandeur, but now the \iew was uninter- 
rupted and we gazed in wonder and admiration for many mo- 
ments before bidding the scene a final farewell. 

During the following summer my friend Mrs. S called 

and invited me to spend some weeks with her at her home in 


the country. "Well," I said to her, "I will come if I can do 
anything to help you." "Then," answered she, "you mean to 
say that you will not come unless I give you some work to do? 
You shall not overwork, but I promise to find enough for you. 
I have a quilt which I began to make last summer. About one- 
fourth only is finished, and you may work on that if you choose." 
Accordingly I accompanied her home. It was about five miles 
west. Crossing the Scioto river near the town, we entered a 
beautiful valley. Their loghouse stood on rolling ground, the 
lawn fronting it filled with grand old forest trees. As we en- 
tered these grounds the gentle breeze stirred the branches, like 
waving arms spread out to welcome us. When at last fairly 
rested I asked for the quilt. "Some," said my friend, "call it 
the tea-box pattern. I have heard others call it the Charm, 
which I think the prettiest name for it." This pattern is a 
small diagonal piece. One part of the pattern was made of 
black luster, running up and dowm the bed. Joining the black 
pieces is another of the same shape, only made of the most 
glowing colors. Care must be taken to place these so as to 
properly harmonize, lest the quilt should appear too gaudy. 
Then fill in with grave and sombre colors, not forgetting to 
use some white or light colors. Then the black intermingling 
makes it look indeed charming. In a few weeks I finished the 

quilt. I must not omit to say that Mrs. S cut all the 

pieces, arranging the colors to suit herself, which was by far 
the most difficult part of the program. My work consisted of 
sewing the pieces together. 

As the birthday of my friend drew near her kind neighbors 
insisted upon giving her a feast on that day, bringing with them 
baskets laden with every luxury they could procure to grace 
the table. One of them insisted on presiding at the table, telling 
her that she must have all the pleasure without the labor. They 
consented that her daughters should make two large cakes, but 

requested as a favor to do all the rest. Mrs. S consented, 

saying, "Now there is both dining room and kitchen at your 
service." When the joyful day arrived many old friends from 
town and country gathered in, and soon the rooms in the log- 
house were well filled. One friend, Mrs. R — brought a 

beautiful bouquet of white lilies from her own garden and their 


fragrance was most delightful. It brought to my mind those 
lines of Julia W ard Howe, written at the time of our most un- 
happy war : 

■'In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born beyond the sea, 
With a glory in his bosom which transfigures yovi and me. 
Glory, Hallelujah, our God is Marching on!" 
Another neighbor brought a large basket of oranges, with the 

sugar necessary to dress them, and taking off her bonnet she 
sat down and prepared them. And I must say that all who 
enjoyed them spoke loudly in their praise. When the table was 
ready it fairly groaned with its abundance of good things. Many 
brought little gifts, and some sent their sincere regrets that they 
were unable to be with her. Among those who came was a 

Mrs. Mary S , granddaughter of old Judge F . He 

was a particular friend of my father, while his wnfe was a warm 

friend of my mother. The father of Mrs. S was a 

Colonel F , now about seventy years of age and highly 

esteemed by all his neighbors. He had some years previous 
to this been elected to Congress. But in his old age he indorsed 
for his brothers, who engaged largely in the cattle business, and 
unfortunately lost nearly all he possessed. His daughter, Mary 

S , attended this gathering and told my friend she would 

be glad to have her bring the new quilt over to her house in 
order that her father might see it. Accordingly a few days after 
she did so and her father was so much pleased that he told Mary 
he would be delighted to have one like it for his own bed. As 
soon as my friend came home she said to me, "I know when 
Mary's birthday comes. It is the 6th of July, and that will be in 
about three weeks. Would it be possible to have a quilt like this 
made by that time? I can prepare all the pieces if you wdll do 
the sewing." "Well," I said, "if I have help I think it can be 
accomplished. You are so energetic that I am almost sure of 
it." "I think," she went on to say, "that we can gather materials 
among our different acquaintances without having to buy, and 
it will make a beautiful present for Mary and her father. Mary 
has always been so kind and generous to every one in the neigh- 
borhood. But some time since they have met with these mis- 
fortunes she has seemed to fear their friends had forgotten 
them. You remember her son Elias. He was one of the most 


promising young men in all this valley, and was her eldest son 
and her pride. At the beginning of the war he enlisted and lost 
his life in the service of his country. And the more I think 
about it the more I am determined that she shall see how much 
we think of her. V\t will carry out our plan." Accordingly we 
went to work in good earnest, doing our very best. Our plan 
was kept so secretly that Mary never even dreamed of our inten- 
tion. The day before her birthday Mary's niece living with her 
persuaded her aunt to go on a visit to her son's wife, living a 
little distance away, begging her to stay until near evening. But 
it began to rain after dinner and she concluded she must go 
home, fearing the creek might rise and detain her over night. 
The friends were already on the road. A few were at the house, 
and when she saw their vehicles standing outside her first 
thought was that her father had been taken suddenly ill, espe- 
cially as she saw the doctor's buggy there. Rushing into the 
house she met the doctor and exclaimed, "Oh, doctor, why did 
you not send for me?" "Why," he answered, "have you for- 
gotten this is your birthday?" She still could not understand it. 
and said, "What can it mean?" I went forward and saw the 
tears in her eyes and said to her, "You remember, my friend, 
we are told that those who sow in tears shall reap again in 
joy?" Then she began to comprehend it all. The friends now 
came pouring in, going directly to the dining room with their 

baskets. Finally, when all was ready, Mrs. Judge W 

came to me and said, "Do come out and see the table. You 
will agree with me that Darby can rival any other place in 
luxuries for the inner man." No less than twenty varieties 
of delicious cake covered the board, together with ice cream 

and other delicacies. My friend's sister-in-law, Mrs. T — '■ , 

who had been Mary's bridesmaid years before, came up from 

Chillicothe. Many old friends of Colonel F also came 

to rejoice with him. His cup of happiness fairly overflowed. 
As for Mary herself she seemed completely out of her element, 
having been accustomed always to preside at her father's table. 
"A\'^ell," she said, laughingly, "I am perfectly ignored here." 
"But look at your presents," we said ; "they are certainly a con- 
tradiction of that." My friend Mrs. W took my arm 

and we walked out to look at the splendid farm on the north 


side of the house. There are but few such charming views 
even in that part of the country. The house is built upon a 
ridge overlooking the valley. This farm contains acres of the 
choicest land and the immense corn fields were waving in the 
summer breeze. Interspersed w'ere patches of woods to enliven 
the scene. An overflowing gratitude tilled my heart and I 
thought, "This is indeed 'a land flowing with milk and honey'." 
Going back into the house I found my old friend, Mary's 

bridesmaid, the Mrs. F of whom I have spoken. I said 

to her, "You and Mary and myself are all widows, but we can 
bear our united witness to the unfailing goodness of our Heav- 
enly Father." After spending a most delightful season we re- 
turned to our homes rejoiced that we had done our part in 
giving happiness to our friend and neighbor. 


Among the mountains of Pennsylvania there lived a lady who 
was devoted to the Quaker form of worship. For years she 
had been accustomed to attend a prayer meeting held in the 
neighborhood on a particular day of each week. On the return 
of one of these days there was to be seen an indication of a 
gathering storm, for among these mountains these tempests are 
not uncommon, and often make great havoc as they sweep on- 
ward. Her daughter went frequently to the door, anxiously 
watching the approaching storm and knowing her mother was 
preparing to go out. "Why, mother," she said, "thee will not 
surely venture out while it looks so dark and threatening with- 
out." She made no answer, but shortly after away she went. 
The storm delayed its coming for a time and Mary hoped her 
mother had reached her destination before the storm burst forth. 
Toward evening she returned. "Mother," said her daughter, 
"surely thee must have been the only one present." "Mary," 
said her mother, "such a meeting thee hast never attended. One 
member, beside myself, with God, the Savior and Blessed Spirit 
were all there were there. When the storm burst upon us in all 
its fury, the lightning's flash, the deep, rolling thunder, mingled 
with the darkness, it was most fearfully sublime. But amid all 
the grandeur and terror of the storm we were not afraid. The 
still small voice of the Blessed Comforter spoke peace to our 


souls, that peace which the world 'can never give or take away.' 
Mary, my daughter, how gladly would thy mother impart to 
thee of that peace, but thee must ask it for thyself. As thou 
movest about in thy daily round of duties lift up thy soul to 
Jesus, who said, 'The wind bloweth where it listeth ; thou 
hearest the sound thereof, and canst not tell whence it cameth 
or whither it goeth. So is every one that is born of the Spirit. '^ 
'Ask and thou shalt receive ; seek and thou shalt find ; knock, 
and it shall be opened unto thee.' God alone can bestow this 
gift upon thee. The choicest gems of earth, or indeed all the 
vain things of time, are as nothing in comparison with it. Its 
possession will render thee unspeakably happy here and eternally 
happy hereafter." 

An atuit of a Mr. W , a near neighbor of mine, once 

came to visit him. She was now in her eighty-fourth year. 
Thirty years previous I had known her as a member of the 
Methodist church in our place, gifted in prayer and foremost in 
many good works. But she had the unenviable reputation of 
being not only Cross by name, but cross by nature, too. I went 
at once to call on her, anxious to see if age had been enlightened 
by grace. One glance at her mild black eye, as it met my gaze, 
spoke of a most wonderful change within. There was a soft- 
ness and kindness of manner so entirely different from that of 
olden times that I resolved to solve the mystery for myself. 
"Where have you been living these many years?" I inquired.. 
"At Wilmington," she said. "Do you know that they have fre- 
quent revival meetings there, just as you have here? Three 
years since one of the sisters in the church called to take me 
with her. After attending them for several days I was re- 
quested to speak. So, rising, I said, 'Dear friends, a glorious 
light has of late dawned upon my darkened soul. Now in my 
eighty-first year I have at length heard the still small voice 
calling unto me and saying, 'Arise, for Christ shall give thee 
light.' My dear friends, I fear that my religion has hitherto 
been but as the 'sounding brass on the tinkling cymbal.' Will 
you pray fervently for me that Jesus's love may fill my heart both 
now and evermore ?' " 

"Then the dear sister who came with me threw her arms 
about my neck, saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, peace on 


earth, good will to men. Jesus has indeed come to i^i\e rest to 
the \vear\' and liea\y laden, openinj^- uj) a fountain which shall 
be for the healing- of the nations.' Overcome h\' emotion, we 
all arose and a hearty shaking of hands followed, after which 
we all separated, feeling that we were one step nearer to our 
heavenly home above." 

This account gi\en b}- the dear old lady greatly interested 
me and I repeat it in her own language, trusting it may be the 
means of doing some good to others even as it did to myself. I 
add a letter penned in connection with the circumstances: 

"Permit me to congratulate you upon the return of this happy 
day, wdiich marks a half-century in your precious life on earth. 
You ma}- well bear witness this day to the truth that "goodness 
and mercy have followed you all the days of your life." Born of 
parents who placed their trust in Him "wdio spake as never man 
spake," you understand now as perhaps you never did before 
the inestimable pri\-^ileges you enjoy. Remembering that patri- 
archs and prophets, who, looking with undying faith to Jesus, 
while their lips mo\-e touched with hallowed hre, longed to see the 
day you are now permitted to behold, but died without the sight. 
Here in your lovely \\'estern home you may look about you and 
see flowers of every hue whose petals unfold to every passing 
breeze, while above shines the great orb of light, an emblem of 
that blessed sun of righteousness that shines, we trust, into all 
our souls. 

Then, dear friend, you may with love and gratitude look at 
the noble sons that God has given you, growdng up "like young 
plants," while your daughters are as "the polished corners of 
the temple." You have already waged a good warfare, but as 
you go forward on life's pathway endeavor still to continue the 
training of your loved ones in that way which He has pointed 
out, striving ever, though it may be in weakness, to do his 
blessed will. 

My fervent prayer for you is that our beloved Master shall 
say to you in the great "day of his appearing," "W^ell done, good 
and faithful servant. Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." 

My sister and m3'self had been invited to take a Thanks- 
giving dinner with a relati\-e of her husband, William Shaiifer. 
His wife had been waiting some davs for her daughter Nettie 


to be able to see us, as she had been very ill for some weeks 
but was now slowly recovering. 

Joyfully the mother greeted us, leading us up stairs into 
Nettie's room. We found her dressed to receive us, though she 
was still weak and pale. Her father had grown gray since I 
last met him, but there was still the same genial warmth 
of manner and kind courtesy as in days of old. By his side 
stood his little grandchild dressed in pure white while a broad 
sash, resembling Joseph's coat of many colors was tied about 
her slender waist. "Tell Cousin Belinda your name," said 
William, "and how old you are." "I am three years old," she 
said, "and my name is Ruth." "Now," he said, "grandpa 
wants you to show cousin how nicely you can dance. I will 
keep time with my foot." So he began to sing while she 
danced. "First upon the heel-tap, then upon the toe, wheel 
about and turn about and jump Jim Crow." As she finished 
she dropped a little curtsey with inimitable grace. I caught 
her and said, "You sweet child, who taught you that?" "Oh," 
said grandpa, "no one, it is perfectly natural with her. She 
is grandpa's own little girl, and loves to make all around 
her happy." 

Dinner was now ready. William picked up Nettie in his 
strong arms and carrying her down stairs, seated her at 
the dinner table, the first time for many long weeks. Most 
bountifully were the good things spread upon that hospitable 
board. William did the honors of the table, but excused 
himself before the dessert was served, saying that as his men 
at the pork house must enjoy their Thanksgiving dinner 
with their families he would be obliged to leave us. We re- 
mained for some time after dinner chatting pleasantly to- 
gether and relating our different experiences since our last 
meeting. Then taking a street car we left for home, rejoicing 
that llianksgiving day had passed so joyously for all of us. 

The I'\)urth of July, 1876, was the one hundredth birthday of 
our .\ali(in. .Ml political parties throughout the country 
united in their resolve to make the day a grand success. One 
in; two particular friends invited me to spend the day with 
them, but "No," I said, "this day must be spent with the 
lie()])le of this great Republic." As one of her daughters I 


too. must mingle. Not indeed like the e\il witches in Mac- 
beth, but in symi)athy with the ^reat heart which animates 
the whole." Accordin^i}- the early nKirniiit;- found me on 
mv way to the l"\air Cirounds. The lady at whose house I was 
staying offered me a Httle rocking chair to place near the 
speaker's stand. But when we reached the grounds a friend 
insisted upon my getting into his carriage so that I could 
be still nearer the orator of the day. I placed my chair, 
however, where I had the pleasure of seeing many a weary 
one resting in it. Soon came the speakers, attended by the 
choir. In a few moments our own military comj^any, pre- 
ceded by three bands of music, escorted to the grounds the 
Sill guards of Chillicothe. As they tiled around the platform 
I noticed them ])lanting numberless flags which had been 
borne on man}- a battle-field in the late unhappy conflict. 
The high wind fli^ated their tattered and bullet-riddled frag- 
ments to the breeze, as if they too must proudly wave in 
honor of victory. The winds prevented our hearing much either 
of the reading of the Declaration of Independence or the Oration. 
At the close of the exercises the triumphal bands struck up their 
grand and soul-stirring strains. Then the choir united in the 
patriotic ode, so dear to every true American heart, "My 
Countrv Tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Liberty," followed by 
the one equally inspiring, with its chorus " 'Tis the Star 
Spangled Banner. Oh Long 3klay It Wave, O'er the Land of 
the Free and the Home of the Brave." 

A friend then came down from the idatform antl said to 
us, "Do you know the lady who leads the choir today? 
"Yes," said I, "she is from the land of story and of song, New 
England. Few indeed, have so dear and powerful a voice, 
coupled with such rare sweetness." He then said he re- 
gretted the denseness of the crowd or we might get near 
enough to see the aged centenarian upon the stand. This 
was my first opportunity to look about me. An old man 
had taken advantage of my little chair in front of the car- 
riage. Soon came an honest looking farmer leading b\' the 
hand the smallest of two little girls, while closely following 
were three boys. Their father ke])t looking back to see if 
thev were still near him. It A\'as a i)rett\' sight. 1die wife 


of my friend remarked about them also and said as they 
passed that doubtless the mother remained at home thinking 
the father could better look after them in such a crowd. 
Many beautiful young girls were there dressed in different 
costumes. No two were trimmed alike. The peasantry of 
the Old World can not compare with ours in dress, burdened 
as they are with taxation and poverty. Ethiopia's sons and 
daughters also seemed to fully enter into the enjoyment of 
the day, keeping step to the music as they passed along. 
One of them seemed to feel fully conscious of her charms. 
She was attired in a black velvet basque. On her bosom and 
at each shoulder she wore a large bow of bright pink ribbon, 
resembling wings, while her waist was adorned with a broad 
sash of the same, falling gracefully over a pure white skirt. 
Reminding me forcibly of the Heathen Goddess Minerva. 
It was comical to see her put on all the airs possible, con- 
scious of her superior charms. 

Suddenly my attention was called to a little boy who 
was crying bitterly having lost his mother. I slipped out 
of the carriage to console him, but presently the mother 
came along and claimed her boy. All around were now en- 
joying their lunch. We, too, emptied our baskets and soon 
after my friend looked up and said, "We must be going, 
for there is a storm gathering." We accordingly started, I 
taking the little chair. We quickly made for the house near 
but found it unfortunately filled to overflowing. We then 
set out for the gate but found it already locked. A young 
man kindly led us through the carriages and horses to the 
upper gate. Thanking him we soon made our way to the 
house of a friend living near, getting there just in time. 
The storm, however, lasted but a short time, when the sun 
shown out again as brightly as ever. And in a little while 
we were all once more safely landed in our homes. Thus 
ended my happy centennial celebration. 


"Gentlemen, Enjoy Yourselves" : This was said by a landlord 

some fifty years since to my father and two uncles, who were not 

only brothers-in-law, but brother lawyers, including the Judge of 

the Supreme Court. The law business in those early times was 


very limited, my father often saying to mother, "Brother Douglas 
and myself must take the circuit of the State next Monday, com- 
mencing at Steubenville, going round by Marietta, Portsmouth 
and (Cincinnati, on toward the north as far as the Httle village 
called London, named after the famous city acrcjss the ocean." 
This village was the scene of this transaction. These four digni- 
taries of the law entered the barroom with their saddle bags, etc., 
wdiich they disposed of in the corner of the room. The landlord 
told them his wife was ill, but as he was the only one who kept 
open house for travelers he would do the best he could for them. 
(Opening the door into the next room, he exclaimed in these 
memorable words, "Gentlement, enjoy yourselves." Tired and 
wearied from riding on horseback, crossing swollen streams, after 
supper they retired to this same room. They had been in bed but 
a short time when my uncle called out, "Friends and fellow citi- 
zens, I say this is enjoying ourselves with a vengeance." Suiting 
the action to the word, he jumped out Hop-scotch fashion, or 
rather at lightning speed as he expressed it, and hastily lighting a 
candle looked for the cause of the trouble. The white sheets were 
literally black with fleas. Tired as they were, all went to work, 
until a countless number of fleas were destroyed. A second 
time they laid down, but not on downy beds of ease. Uncle was 
the ruling spirit of the hour. Jumping up out of bed, he ex- 
claimed, "Take the floor of the house, gentlemen, each and every 
one of you. These miserable bloodsuckers have only returned 
more fiercely to the contest." Now was my uncle in his native 
element, declaring this was a providential event to renew them in 
the vigor of their intellectual faculties. "\\'e are growing rusty 
even in the law, gentlemen. Arise, let us have one grand con- 
cert never to be forgotten !" All arose, ready for action. 
"Brother Atwater, you are a lover of music and have taught 
singing school. You lead and we will follow." Father com- 
menced, "Teach me the measure of my days. Thou maker of 
my frame." All helped with a perfect chorus of voices. Uncle 
Douglas's favorite was "Blind Bartimaeus." Uncle Parrish's 
was "Billy Button," but my father and the Judge did not fancy 
his choice. My Uncle Douglas was an inimitable mimic. He 
was nearly a ventriloquist. When my eyes were shut I have 
almost imagined it to be the \'ery person he personifiefl. P)Ut 


his humor was mirthful and innocent, never leaving a sting 
behind his jollification with those he loved. That night, father 
said, they one and all laughed until their sides were sore, as 
they had never done since or before. Father insisted this night 
to have been one of the happiest nights of his long life. 


Last letter received from Aunt Amelia Parrish. 

Aledo, Illinois. March 25, 1873. 
]\Iy Dear Niece : 

I thank you very much for your kind letter. Indeed I am 
greatly indebted to you for all the information I now receive 
concerning our family connections. I received a kind letter 
lateh' from Amelia Butler, telling me of the death of Mr. 
Brown. I have no words to express my heartfelt sympathy 
for poor Lucy. 

We know that God our Father will in mercy have com- 
])assion upon her. Will both comfort and sustain her until 
He shall call her to join him above. On the blessed assur- 
ance that if we are truly his own we shall meet as saints 
in heaven. Oh I could put my arms around her and en- 
courage her to trust a Saviour's love. 

Your aunt has made full proof of it. And now at the 
advanced age of eighty-three I have the assurance that He 
will shortly take me home. Then, my dear niece, we shall 
meet, the' it may be never more here upon earth. 

^ly Heavenly Father is dealing most kindly with me. 
The old Tabernacle is coming down though indeed gently. 
While the infirmities of age constantly remind me that I 
am nearing home. And yet everything is being done to make 
my stay here pleasant and happy. I feel that I have truly 
"a goodly heritage." 

I would write to dear Lucy, as I know her address but 
^'niost miserable comforters are ye all." In her Father and 
Saviour can she alone find comfort and peace. 

My life here is a secluded one, among strangers. I have 
not been out of the house this winter. Here in my comfort- 
able room, where my fire is kindled the first every morning, 
1 stay much of the time. You know that I am no sleeper 
Init I can read, sew and knit. But the keepers of the house 


l)o<^in to tremble, and it is with some diffictilty that T now 
write, for my vision is so (Hm. Indeed, I have about j,^iven 
up writing-. 1 mourn over it too, tor I enjoy so much every 
letter 1 receive, and do so love to hear from my friends. Re- 
member me very affectionately to Lydia. Mrs. Renick and 
all who ask about me. There are but few^ now left. They 
have nearly all g-one over the river and we shall soon follow. 

How ra])idl}' time flies, bringing- so many changes. Is it 
])Ossible I ask myself that Lucy Brown has three boys almost 
young men! Oh what a strong household to do good and 
take care of their mother, to love and comfort her now in 
her arduous duties. ^lay God kee]) them from evil and bless 
them. 1 am sorry to hear of Amelia and husband's ill health. 
I hope Lydia's son will be a comfort to her. We would be 
most happy to see some of our friends in this our ])rairie 
home, showing them how beautiful it is in summer, though 
most dreary in winter. 

Martha and her family have enjoyed good health this 
terril)lv cold winter. She has now both of her children with 
her. Lalla and her husband are both boarding at home. 
Lalla's health is much l)etter now. Parrish is editing a paper 
and studying law. Will be admitted this summer. Is con- 
sidered quite talented. Martha is a very happy wife and 
mother. You inquire after Mary Ayres. She has been with 
us for the past three months but left us w^eek before last, 
going to Tiffin to look after her property. She is now with 
Marcia. She has been greatly afflicted and tried. Perhaps 
there was a "needs l)e" in her case. We did all we could to 
comfort her. Mr. Geiger and ^Martha made her stay as 
pleasant as possible. I trust she may yet see some happy 
days. I would like to hear more about Albert Douglas and 
his family. His mother was a very dear sister and I feel 
sorry not to hear sometimes from them. I can never forget 
the happy days now forever gone. What dark waves of 
sorrow have since rolled over us. I feel sometimes as though 
I remember too much. Yet I do thank my kind Heavenly 
Father that he has spared the intellect he has given me even 
down to old age, enabling me to enjoy all the l)lessings he 


has so graciously given me. "Nor is the least a grateful 
heart, That tastes these gifts with joy." 

Martha sends much love to which I write my own. 
Your affectionate aunt, 

Amelia Parrish. 

Afy last letter from Aunt King written in her eightieth 
3'ear : 

Columbus, May 6, 1872. 
Dear Belinda : 

[My love beyond expression. You have unlocked memory's 
casket, and the days of "auld lang syne" came sweeping over 
me. I look around at the many vacant chairs, which recall 
the pictures hanging on memory's wall. Often and often do 
1 converse silently with those loved ones, whose forms are 
entAvined about my heart and touched with colors of amber, 
gold and purple. They can never fade while life lasts. I 
hope yet to meet them in the heavenly port. I am now at 
the depot where there is no return ticket. My health has 
been so feeble this winter that 1 have stood as it were on 
the banks of Jordan, but I am ready and "perfect love casteth 
out fear." I have just returned from Lancaster and visited 
Juliet who is in delicate health. Emily is with her, dejected 
and sad. She feels as though she had been cast off penniless 
and without a home. My heart aches for her. She has 
employed a lawyer to investigate her case. Albert King 
has come back on furlough from New Mexico. Will take 
a wife back with him. Willie is in Omaha. Tom is now a 
bookkeeper in the pension ofhce. Flora's health is poor, 
about as yours at her time of life. Lydia is. tall, and Lutie is 
a sweet one. 

As soon as I read your letter I sat down to answer it 
l)romptly. My best love to Mrs. McCulloch and daughter. 
Aunt Amelia Parrish spent her winter with Charles on the 
Wabash, but will go to Martha very soon. 

But I am growing so weary you 'must excuse my writing 
any more at present. Please write soon. Give my love to 

Ever your loving aunt. 

Flora King. 


Letter from Mrs. E. R. Bur.o-e : 

^^•esthel(l. July 22. 1878. 
\'ery Dear Friend : 

Your kind letter arrived by due course of mail bearing 
tidings of lovely friendship, which 1 will assure you gave 
me much comfort, it seemed sweet to hear one kind word 
from Circleville. When there you did not realize how many 
times your pleasant calls dispersed my sadness and put pleas- 
ure and cheerfulness in its place. Selkirk said, "Society, 
friendshi]) and love — divinely bestowed upon man. Yes. di- 
vinelv, for certainly true friends may well be termed one of 
the cardinal blessings of divine origin, and without them 
how drearv is life." Some author says, "The soul's casket 
is filled with the most beautiful and costly jewels, but the 
one that shines most brilliantly is the gem of love, planted 
by divinity — watered by seraphs and pruned by angels." 
Yes. a ])ure and loving heart reigns Queen over all the host 
nf virtues. 

Thus far we are well pleased with our new home, \'ery quiet, 
and everything is pleasant ; we yet board with the family ot 
whom we purchased, very fine people. Oh how I would like 
to have you step in and see us. This is a beautiful town contain- 
ing about ten thousand inhabitants, but a small portion of it is 
compactly built. The streets are very wide — one has two drives 
with a row of large elms between and all are lined with large 
trees. The churches are fine structures and the dwellings 
are generally good, but a large portion of them are richly 
l)uilt in modern style- with French roofs and surrounded by 
large green plats, fitted u]) with nnich refinement of taste. 
In the center of the city is a nice park, containing a beautiful 
fountain supplied by the Montgomery water, which also sup- 
plies the town. It is conveyed in iron tubes seven miles, 
directly from a fine spring among the mountains of ]\Iont- 
gomery, at an expense of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. 
The ladies here are doing much for Temperance, have 
formed a society, hired a good hall, and fitted up a restaurant 
(strictly temperate) where anyone can have a warm meal 
■or anvthing else they wish for what it actually costs. The 
ladies serve alternatelv as their course comes, giving freely 


their own labors and are rewarded with much success and 

Please remember me to any who may kindly inquire for 
me and please accept of much love from me yourself. The 
doctor wishes to be kindly remembered. May the white 
dove of peace fold you in her lovely wings by day and b}^ 
night smooth your lonely pillow. 

Affectionately your friend, 


P. S. Shall be happy to hear from you at any time. 

Answer to my friend Mrs. E. B. Burge : 

Circleville, Oct. 26, 1878. 
My Dear Friend : 

Words can not express my sincere appreciation of your 
truly interesting letter. Let me assure you it gave me great 
satisfaction telling me as it did of all the pleasant surround- 
ings attached to your new home. Your having removed to 
New England reminds me of my dear Aunt Douglas who 
lived all her married life in Chillicothe. You know it is 
situated but a few miles south of Circleville. From my 
earliest childhood I spent many weeks with this beloved 
aunt. Often she remarked to me the quiet, picturesque 
beauty of those hills. They remind me forcibly of my early 
home. Here in Ohio, the Frost King often delays his com- 
ing, at which time the different species of maple assume 
the most brilliant colors. The bright scarlet changes to 
crimson, shading off' to the richest brown. The golden yellow 
becomes dark buff, contrasting beautifull}'- with the evergreen 
laurel, the darker hues of the hemlock adding perfection to 
the whole. This dear aunt insisted, after the loss of my 
husband, that I should come to Chillicothe. One Indian sum- 
mer morning I went down. Arriving at her home she greeted 
me saying "You were wise to improve this lovely weather. 
If it continues we will take a walk tomorrow. Next day was 
delightful. "Let us go first," she said, "To the southern 
hill. They have laid out the cemetery there since you were 
last here." Ascending, and looking down we saw the dwell- 
ings of the village intermingled with the forest trees which 
lay at our feet. Aunt pointed across the river. You see 


Mount Logan and a succession of hills as they run toward 
the east, until lost in the distance. Each one nearest to us 
a])peared like some magnificent garden richly dotted in 
splendid apparel. At times the golden sunlight danced like 
some fairy phantom lighting up these favored spots. While 
the long dark shadows passed over many of them moving 
occasionally as if endued with a hidden life. Over all the 
landscape there seemed an unearthly radiance and purity. 
A soft haze enveloped the hills as far as the eye could reach. 
I said, "Aunt I am indeed pleased to have a glimpse of this 
charming panorama of autumn's changing glories." Dear 
friend, forgive my wandering back to the happy days of yore. 
The reason of my long delay in answering your kind letter 
is this : One of my early scholars begged me to come into 
the country and teach her children, a little girl of six years, 
and a little boy of four. It had been t\vo years since I saw 
either of them. I cannot tell you how overjoyed they w^ere. 
"^^'ill vou stay many nights, auntie, will you sta}' all sum- 
mer?" the little boy said. His mother had promised him a little 
wagon for learning his lessons. Quickly running to her he 
said, "Now I will get my wagon." I said, "Do you remem- 
ber before I went aw^ay I told you that Heaven was away 
beyond the stars "Please tell me now," he said. I com- 
luenced then tcj tell him saying, "Say with auntie this sweet 
little verse." Then he repeated it with me, 
"Far up the ever lasting hills. 
In God's own light it lies. 
His smile its \ast dimensions fills 
With joy that never dies." 
"Aunty," he said, "when ymi undress me for bed every 
night. I'll say it to you. Fell nie just one verse today." "I 
am afraid you will forget it," I said. "Nct, ncj," said he. 
■"W'ell then say this, 

"Jesus the very thought of me, 

A\''ith its sweetness fills the breast. 
But sweeter far thy face to see 
And in Thy presence rest." 
After that ever}- night when undressing him he would call 
for "sweetness." Then folding his little hands he would re- 


peat these verses after me. I know that Hke me you love 
children and think them akin to Heaven. 

Mary's wheat fields bend with luxuriant grain. Never 
before in Ohio have I seen such abundance. The cherry trees 
when laden with fruit were more beautiful even than when 
in bloom. You may know I enjoyed the feast. Mary's 
mother insisted upon my drinking half a pint of new milk 
both morning and evening. The weather became so oppres- 
sive that I was obliged to return home. Then Mrs. Swear- 
ingen came in and insisted on my going out with them. They 
have a large two-story log house, spacious and airy. 

Their eldest son while I was there completed his twenty-first 
year. Many friends were invited upon his birthday. The boys 
had whitewashed the old house for this grand occasion. The 
young men brought with them their sisters, or the girl they loved 
best. One young man greeted him with, "How do you do^ 

Mrs. Atwater's nephew and niece came from Kingston. Anna 
is very pretty and Chester fine looking. Part of the evening I 
spent in the room with the dancers. A few remained all night 
and were with us at prayer next morning. I can not tell how 
much love was sent you by Mrs. W'alke and Mrs. Bell, who were 

After I returned home I found I was just in time to attend 
the Colored Conference of the State, which was held this year 
in Circleville. They held their meetings in the fair grounds. 
More than one hundred ministers of the colored church were 
there. The president of Wilber force College preached by invita- 
tion in Rev. Mr. McMuUen's church. I was surprised and de- 
lighted to hear him speak. Indeed, all who heard his discourse 
spoke loudly in his praise. The colored Bishop of Baltimore 
preached at the fair grounds on Sunday. I was truly sorry I could 
not attend their evening meetings. They had a choir called the 
Hallelujah chorvis. The wild wail of the captive has now changed 
to freedom's joyful Hallelujah. The conference said they had 
never received a more kindly recognition of Christian fellowship 
than in Circleville. Their music seemed to charm all who heard 
it. Mrs. Atwater insisted upon my moving into one of her rooms 
this winter, telling me she feared another winter's walk from 


my former home would oblige me to leave the church militant 
for the one triumphant. 1 ha\e n(j special desire to leave my 
friends on earth that 1 lo\e so well. 

Added to all this, my sister, Lucy Brown, is now here. One 
of her sons is now in Gambler studying for the ministry. Before 
he left the city the Sunday school of which he was so long 
superintendent presented him with a beautiful student lamp, 
while the teachers gave him a fine alpaca robe. In the spring 
she leaves here to spend the summer with Lewis in (iambier. 
Dear friend, I feel that my cup runneth over with blessings. 

This is all of interest that I have to tell you at present. Give 
my best regards to your husband and son. I have no doubt he 
will succeed in his profession. Remember I shall always be 
delighted to hear from you. May His blessing, which is life to 
the soul, exer be with you all. Such is the affectionate prayer of 

Your sincere friend, 

Belinda A. Foster. 

A letter written to William K. Rogers, in Washington City : 

Circleville, August 15, 1879. 
Dear Cousin William : 

I received your kind letter while visiting at the Swearingens, 
mutual friends of ours. I only wished that Alary, the children 
and yourself could have been there, awa}' from the hot city, but 
know that in doing our duty there is pleasure, wherever one may 
be. Their large loghouse it situated on rising ground, surrounded 
by grand old forest trees. The house has been lately white- 
washed. This makes the contrast more beautiful, because of the 
many gentle showers which have made it like a continuous spring 
all through the summer. The varied shades of green show to 
great advantage the different woods of the forest. Nearly every 
morning I could hear the musical chu-chu of the redbird. Added 
to this was the continued moan of the wild dove afar in the 
deep wood, as though but yesterday she had lost her home in 
Eden's vale of love. Did the angel's flaming sword cause her 
to depart and ever more chant this plaintive strain to remind 
us of departed happiness? It would be impossible to describe 
some of the rides taken with me by my friends, on these beautiful 
Darby plains. One in particular I especially remember. The 
bright sunshine was varied by passing fleecy clouds which floated 


like snowdrifts above and beyond us, between which were great 
azure depths of clear sky, giving to the scene an indescribable 
charm. Mrs. Swearingen said to me, "This is the very time I will 
take you to see a friend of mine. Their farm lies just along the 
edge of the Scioto, and here we are. So, jumping from the car- 
riage, we went into the yard. Striking into a little path, I fol- 
lowed. Delving into the dark forest, I followed the shelving 
path down the rocky sides of a hill. Soon we came to the 
spring, enclosed in a box, as it seemed. It bubbled up over the 
pure white sand and was almost as cold as ice. But the marvel 
of this scene consisted in the singular beauty of the noble forest 
trees. These were standing in the Scioto, about twenty feet 
below the spring. There were five trees standing in two dif- 
ferent groups. So luxuriant was their foliage as to almost shut 
out the light. Sunshine could scarcely enter. It M-as dark and 
cool indeed. I can not convey by language the beauty of their 
appearance. After we returned home Mrs. Swearingen came to 
me, saying, 'T have news for you. Here in the paper I see. 
'To Mr. and Mrs. Rogers, a son'." Most unthankfully I ex- 
claimed. "Why was it not a daughter?" They have two sons 
already, and how pleased would Phoebe have been with a little 
sister. But 'tis a newly bestowed treasure of immortal worth, 
and as such I sincerely congratulate both yourself and Mary. 
I thank you for the reception of the little interest due to me. It 
is to your generosity alone that I owe it. Tell Mary my prayers 
rose in gratitude for her safe delivery. My love to the dear 
pledges of your affection, and both yourself and wife. 

Ever yours. 

Belinda A. Foster. 


■-■tfffffrmifn^aKfJ^a^ H 







"The best possessions of a family are its common memories. Those 
souvenirs constitute a sacred fund, which each member should cherish 
as beyond price.— The Simple Life. 


The father of the late President Arthur interested himself 
greatly in the origin and history of surnames. Among those of 
which he made a special study was the Butler family. This is 
the result : 

"The ancestors of the Butler family came from Normandy, 
and were known as Counts of Briony. One of the family named 
Havins Fitz Walter, came to England with William the Con- 
queror. His son, Theobald, accompanied Henry the Second to 
Ireland, and there secured the favor of the king by his zeal 
and ability in the reduction of that country. As a reward, he 
was given great possesions, and he therefore made that country 
his home. He was given the title of Earl of Ormond, to which 
was added, Chief Butler of Ireland, — the younger sons, having 
as surnames, Boetler or Butler. 

"Anne Boleyn was a Butler, was a sister of the Earl of Or- 
mond, and her name Margaret Anne. Anne Boleyn was en- 
gaged to her cousin, Pierre Butler, when she attracted the 
attention of Henry the Eighth, and her tragical fate is a matter 
of history. The coat of arms was a goblet, encircled by a vine, 
but the motto was forgotten by my mother, Aurelia Butler 

Her father, Ebenezer Butler, was a descendant of one of 
the younger brothers of the Ormond family, who fied to America 
after one of the rebellions in Ireland. The tradition in our 
family was that there were two who came together, one remain- 
ing North, of whom Grandfather Butler was the representative; 
the other, going South, of whom Pierce (was it Pierre, — a mem- 
ory of the old name?) Butler, the husband of Fanny Kemble, 
was a descendant. 

I have no doubt much of interest could be found relating to 
the fifty years before Grandfather Butler settled in western 
New York, and there surely is a genealogy of the Butler family, 


— quite a book, which I read in Washington, some sixteen years 
ago, lent to me by Cousin WilUam K. Rogers, Sr. 

But when I come to Ebenezer Butler, I tind myself on solid 
ground, for the fortunes of a man of strong will and self-reliance 
plunging into the wilderness of western New York, making a 
home, owning vast possessions, finding a place for himself where 
his influence was strongly felt, — is full of interest and life. 

I can but add the deep regret we must feel, that when we 
had the opportunities, the words of those who lived those times, 
were not carefully preserved. And that is one reason I am 
anxious to record, though so much is lost, — all that I can re- 
member of what I heard, from lips now silent. 

It must have been soon after the close of the Revolutionary 
W'ar, that Ebenezer Butler settled near Pompey Hill, in Oneida 
County, New York. He had been in our army during that war, 
and must have had, means, for he bought an entire township of 
land, built a home, had grist and saw mills, and a store, where 
the Indians exchanged their furs and handiwork for goods 
brought from Albany over an almost pathless wilderness. Here 
he married Rebecca Davis, whose beauty of person and char- 
acter is a tradition in the family. 

Five beautiful daughters and a son. grew up around them. 
Grandfather Butler's riches increased, he grew to be a man of 
consequence, and was sent to Albany as a member of the Legis- 
lature. His commercial interests became wider, and he visited 
New York city, bought ships, had agents there, and sent cargoes 
to England and Germany. 

He was a stern man, his word was law. My mother says 
that he never entered a room where his children were, that they 
did not rise until he was seated. Indulgent in many ways, he 
commanded, not demanded, great respect. 

But to his beautiful wife, he was ever the lover. My mother 
remembers the beautiful clothes and furniture brought from 
Albany and New York, and the exciting times when they were 
brought out and choice made first by the mother, and then by 
the five daughters. 

As the girls grew up, they were sent to Bethlehem, the famous 
Moravian school. How many have had an ancestor educated 
there ? 


One can catch glimpses of the unique Hfe around these young 
girls in their Western home, when they returned from what 
was to them the civilization of Bethlehem. 

Little or no society, a wilderness around them, groups of 
Indians seen every day, — New York was still a slave state ; and 
old Yat the coachman, Pompey the man of all work, and 
Mandy the cook, were strong in my mother's memory. Old 
Yat had been in the Butler family many years, and the attach- 
ment between master and man was strong. 

AA^hile Grandfather Butler was in Albany one winter, the 
beloved wife was given up to die, and a trusty messenger was 
sent to bring him home. Traveling was on horse-back, and with 
all speed he came near the home with a sinking heart. The 
picture was so stamped on my mind by my mother's dramatic 
manner, that I never forgot it. 

It was within a few miles of home, after night, bright only 
when the moon escaped for a time from the breaking clouds. 
The road was hilly, and far before him grandfather could see 
a powerful white horse, urged towards him by the rider. He 
knew it was Yat, and what word would he bring? 

"Yat," he cried, as the man drew near. "What of your mis- 

"Gone, Massa." 

He had his home and daughters, — grown to keep it up, but 
his courage and heart were lost. 

Misfortunes came to him. The war of 1812 and the Em- 
bargo, kept his ships loaded with their cargoes, from sailing, 
and they rotted at the wharves. It was little comfort to know 
after the War of 1812 was over, that the Embargo had injured 
us far more than the enemy. 

My grandfather was now an old man, and the loss of his 
wife had taken away the happiness of his life. He had lost 
money, courage, will. Giving up all he owned, with the excep- 
tion of enough to buy a small farm in Ohio, he again started 
for the West. Three wagons and two carriages contained goods 
and the family, and leaving Pompey's Hill, they went south to 
Pennsylvania, and crossed the Alleghanies over the western trail. 
They were six weeks on the way, traveling by day and camping 


by night. This was in 1813, and it was truly plunging into the 
unknown wilderness. They reached the farm on Alum Creek, 
ten miles from Columbus. 

It was a large family, — the oldest daughter, a widow with 
two children, having joined them. They could not be idle, but 
nmst turn their education to account. 

Flora embroidered exquisitely, and painted on velvet and 
silk, — taught by the Moravian sisters at the Bethlehem school. 
My mother was competent to teach the more solid studies, and 
they opened a school in Lancaster. 

The beautiful, intelligent girls, were a welcome addition to 
the small town. My mother, when speaking of her family, always 
added, 'T was called the homely Miss Butler." At this, there 
was always an outcry ; for my mother, with her dark hair, oval 
forehead, arched eyebrows, and penetrating eyes, could never 
have been called plain. 

Flora did not teach long. Two brothers. Christian and Will- 
iam King, were prominent men in Lancaster. They were neither 
of them young, and both bachelors. Within a year the school 
lost a teacher, and Flora became Mrs. Christian King. Then 
Mary came as additional teacher. 

The Butler girls were too attractive to be without suitors, 
and Mary became the wife, within the year, of Richard Douglas, 
a lawyer, living in Circleville at that time. Aurelia followed 
her to Circleville, and opened a school, but in 1814 married 
Orris Parrish, a lawyer of Columbus. 

"What a good deed to guard these frag- 
ments of the past, these glimpses of the in- 
ner life and fortunes of our ancestors." 

Aunt Martha, or as she was affectionately called. Aunt 
Patty was the eldest child of the family. She became very 
deaf from scarlet fever when but a child, but to lessen the dis- 
advantages of such disability, everything was done by her father 
that money and skill could command. As she grew older she 
was often her father's companion in his trips to Albany and 
New York. The prettiest things brought home, were, after 
the mother's choice, oft"ered to Patty. Her sweet disposition 


and beauty of person, together with a quickness of perception 
greatly supplying the defect of hearing, made her very attrac- 
tive ; and she was married quite young to a Mr. Hollister be- 
longing to the New York family of that name. 

He died in a few years, leaving her with two children, Juliet 
and Emily. She came West with her father, and remained 
with him at Alum Creek. Juliet Hollister, visiting her Aunt 
Flora King in Lancaster, met with a Mr. Samuel Rogers, con- 
nected with the King brothers in business ; married him, and 
went with him to Circleville, where he settled as a merchant. 
Her mother and sister came to her, and it was there I have 
the first remembrances of my x\unt Patty and Cousin Juliet. 

The former, in contrast with her sisters, was small, beau- 
tifully proportioned, with exquisite hands and feet, the oval 
forehead, and arched eyebrows — family characteristics — a sweet 
winning smile, and such a gentle, almost pathetic manner, due 
probably to her feeling of helplessness. I never saw her ruffled 
in temper, she seemed to understand by signs and movements 
of the lips, and never showed depression. Dear Aunt Patty, — 
I have only the pleasantest memories of her. 

My cousin Juliet was so much older than I, that her eldest 
child Will, was just my age. Even in my earliest years, I was 
impressed with the idea that she was held in the highest love and 
respect by the whole kinfolk. Xear relations are probably criti- 
cal of each other, but never did I hear but one opinion of 
Cousin Juliet. 

Cousin .Sammie, as we called him, was a man of means. 
His handsome home was, as was customary in those days, next 
to the store, — spacious and well-furnished, and with him lived 
Aunt Patty and her daughter Emily. 

Circleville is about twenty miles from Columbus, on the 
direct road to Chillicothe. Unlike any other town I ever knew, 
the public square and houses facing it, presented a perfect circle, 
from which the streets radiated like the spokes of a wheel. 
This arrangement, I am told, afterwards fell into disfavor, and 
was changed at much expense and trouble. 

Like Columbus, Chillicothe and Lancaster, there were found 
an intelligent and well-bred society. The country had not the 
attractiveness of that surrounding Chillicothe, but the grazing 


and stock farms of I'ickaway County have become celebrated. 

Here I made fre{|uent visits when quite young, — Cousin 
juhet dying when I was only eight years old. 1 had other 
relatives in Circleville, of whom I shall speak later, with chil- 
dren of my own age, and what good times we had in the Rogers 
liome. There peace and plenty reigned, — maple tafify and sugar, 
walnuts, hickory nuts, a beautiful table, with all that would 
appeal to a child's healthy appetite. How happy and soothing 
the mental atmosphere of the home, and this was due to the 
presiding spirit of the house. Cousin Juliet. I remember her 
as though it was but yesterday. 

She was of medium height, easy and gentle in manner, dark 
hair, but with a decided glint of red rippling over the whitest, 
most peaceful brow I ever saw. The eyes, beneath, dark and 
wistful. — you could go to her impulsively with any trouble, and 
with it all a most decided personality. Even yet, I can hear 
the winning tones of her voice. Perhaps some of our impres- 
sions were due to the evident devotion shown by Uncle Sammie 
to his wife. 

He was a tall, handsome man, reticent, very quiet, but not 
stern ; indeed, gentle, but no one presumed on Samuel Rogers. 
With fine business talents, and just and kind in his deaUngs 
with others, he stood high in the little business world about 
him, and he expected every one in his employ to give him 
their very best. 

William King Rogers was the eldest son and just my own 
age. He was tall, slender, and delicate, refined and sensitive 
in his feelings and manners, demanding little and giving a great 
deal. The child is father to the man, and he showed even then 
many traits, prominent in after life. These traits were dis- 
tinctly inherited from his mother. Sammie, the second son, was 
just the reverse. Strong physically, radiant with health and 
activity, handsome in person, strong of will, persuasive in man- 
ner, — his aim was to rule all things and it was through no 
fault of his that he did not. 

With everything to make her happy, and so necessary in 
the home to infuse courage and right living, Cousin Juliet died 
suddenly when she had been married about eight or nine years. 
Cousin Sammie was never afterwards the same, the light had 


gone out of his home. Aunt Patty was tenderly cared for, and 
he tried to till the place of father and mother both. 



"I said my heart is all too soft, 

He who would climb and soar aloft, 
Must needs keep ever at his side 

The tonic of a wholesome pride. 
"Then up my soul and brace thee, 

While the perils face thee, 
In thy heart encase thee, 

Strongly to endure." 
It was in Circleville lived also the second daughter, Belinda. 
She had been a belle and a beauty; she sought or asked for 
nothing in the pride of her youth, — all desired things came un- 
sought. Imperious in temper, she felt the world was made 
for her. Tall, slender, very erect, keen blue eyes, very fair, she 
ever preserved under all trials the manner and courage of a 
queen. Seemingly with a wealth of suitors to choose from, she 
had married some time before her father's coming to Ohio, 
Caleb Atwater, a man the direct opposite in character of her 
own. He was a man of fine education, an ardent student in 
his chosen profession, — he loved study and research in the 
science of archaeology. He had made quite a reputation, and 
was considered one of the leading archaeologists of the whole 
country. The ancient mounds and earthworks of Ohio and still 
further west, were fine fields for research, and some of his 
books, giving the results of his labors, were eagerly welcomed. 
But at the same time, he was utterly unpractical. He lived with 
his head in the clouds and his feet hardly touching the ground. 
Everything must yield to his favorite pursuit. 

Aunt Atwater had a legitimate pride, a large family, and a 
natural ambition for them. While there was a certain pride 
in the fame of her husband, there was little money in it. I re- 
member his receiving a large, imposing foreign letter, notifying 
him of his election to membership in the ROYAL ARCHAEO- 
French, and I was filled with envy when my Cousin Luc}' — my 


own age, answered it, in the same language. In the results of 
his total oblivion of every day. and family duties, I have often 
in late years been reminded of Professor Alcott. Louisa Al- 
cott's golden chariot, in which her father rolled smoothly over 
the last years of his life, came to my aunt in the love, ability, 
and care, given the whole family l»y Douglas Atwater, her eldest 
son, a man of sterling character. 

There were also Belinda, Aurelia, Clinton, George, and 
Lucy. George was a most precocious, handsome boy, showing 
as he grew up — wonderful literary ability, and developing great 
journalistic talent. He died young. 

Lucy, the youngest, was my own age, and also the age of 
Cousin Will Rogers. We all had mutual memories of those 
happy young days. Lucy developed striking success as a 
teacher, — her influence over her scholars both intellectually and 
in influencing their character, being remarkable. Her marriage 
to Mr. David Brown was a most happy one, ending all too 
soon, leaving her with three sons. She now lives with her son, 
the Reverend Dr. Lewis Brown, a prominent rector of the 
Episcopal Church, in charge of the important church of Saint 
Paul, Indianapolis. 

My Uncle Manly Butler was the only brother of my mother. 
He had little of the strong personality characteristic of his sis- 
ters, and seems to have made little impression on me in those 
earlier years. He was an upright, religious man. I remember 
much better his beautiful wife. We were very proud of Aunt 
Abigail, born Phelps, and sister of the late Mrs. Odiorue of 
Cincinnati. The family moved farther west when I was quite 
young. I have met, since, one daughter, Amelia Butler, who 
has taught at Bryn Mawr and other colleges, and showed her- 
self a woman of talent and marked ability. 


"In right family feeling lies the germ of 
all those fine and simple virtues which assure 
the character of right social action." 


Aunt Flora King was rightly named. She loved all beauti- 
ful, bright things. Excitable, easily made happy, she felt the 


need of a stronger character on which to lean, and this she 
found in Uncle King. Her embroideries and paintings on satin 
were considered works of art, and her husband delighted in the 
admiration they excited. Uncle King and his brother were called 
old bachelors, when the former married Flora Butler. He was 
in easy circumstances and in his indulgence and care. Aunt King 
seemed almost like a daughter, — indeed, not very different from 
that given to his two children, William and Flora. All house- 
hold cares were relegated to faithful Zuby and her daughter 
Fanny, and it was a happy, easy, indulgent life led in the King 

Lancaster society included many families whose names were 
part of our subsequent history. The Shermans, a large family, 
could well suggest the talented Beecher family. The father, 
a talented lawyer, and judge; Judge Charles Sherman, well 
known and esteemed in Cleveland in after years ; General Te- 
cumseh Sherman, one of the heroes of our Civil War; John 
Sherman, the great financier ; and two daughters, Mrs. Reese 
and Mrs. Burtley, well fitted by grace and intelligence to fill 
the social positions they were called to later. Senator Thomas 
Ewing, also affectionately called "The Old Salt Boiler," lived 
in Lancaster, — his daughter, Ellen, becoming the wife of General 
Sherman. The Shermans lived opposite my uncle, and Senator 
Ewing farther up on the hill. Lancaster was to a great extent 
built upon the side of a hill, the ground around these homes a 
series of terraces, the effect being very beautiful. Uncle King's 
house was old-fashioned, and already looked old for that new 
country. It had been built and added to as became necessary, 
a part being brick, the remainder of wood. Rambling rooms 
and halls, a step here, two steps down there, made it delightful 
to us. By no means handsome, with its two Dutch stoops, each 
on a different level, covered with vines and white roses, with 
upper and lower gardens reached by flights of steps and filled 
with old-fashioned flowers, it had a charm of its own. 

Summer evenings these stoops were the meeting places of 
neighbors. Judge and Mrs. Sherman, Mrs. Reese, their beau- 
tiful daughter and her courtly, elegant husband Henry Reese, 
the Hunters and Ganaghtys, Effingers, — what a time they had. 
Aunt King, restless, fond of society, full of wit and animation; 

I'AMIl.y M V. \ lOl RS—H I ^ 7 ' /, V. R 1 5 5 

L'ncle Kinj;-, a lar.^c man, (|uiet, unconiniunicatix c, _\ct showing 
his enjoyment in the life around liini ; WilHani the "nly hoy, 
and hdora the (laughter, held their little court on \\\q lower 
stoop, ^'oung people drop])ed in, lights sprang up in the parlor,, 
the old-fasliioned piano was heard, there was dancing. 

Maria Hunter and Ellen lowing, afterwards the wife of 
General Tecumseh Sherman, fresh from the Convent of the 
.Sacred Heart, gave us beautiful vocal and instrumental music. 
To me, just a school-girl, it was delightful and bewildering. 

The country around Lancaster was beautiful, and so different 
from that surrounding Columbus. The hills we could almost 
imagine mountains. We planned horseback rides to the summit 
of Mount Pleasant, and picnics, when we came home laden 
with mountain laurel and rhododendrons. Cousin AVilliam in 
appearance, was one's ideal of a young man. He was hand- 
some, tall, dark eyes, a good dancer, a graceful rider, skillful 
hunter, — full of the enjoyment of the life around him. Flora 
was a great favorite, not handsome but very attractive, natural, 
vivacious, and above all, the indulged and petted only daughter 
of the house. 

With this picture, I lea\e the King family. Full of love, 
life, and enjoyments, — need we care to pursue it farther? With 
all we know of life, can not we see death, changes, sorrow, 
drawing near ? 


"Oh, the s])irit (^f j^laces, the atmosphere 
which surrounds us when we go back in 
spirit to the homes we once knew." 


Mv Aunt Mary, the hfth daughter, married Mr. Richard 
Douglas about 1815, — he then living in Circleville, but afterwards 
removing to Chillicothe. As my mother had live daughters, 
my aunt none, and my father was an invalid for tive years, need- 
ing constant care, I was with my aunt much of the time from 
my ninth to thirteenth year. The change between the two homes 
seemed to stamp indelibly upon my mind the impressions of 
each. My aunt and uncle came often in their carriage with 
coachman to Columbus, and I returned with them. T made my 


first visit when not quite nine years old. I remember my aunt, 
dressed in a long, black silk pelisse, white leghorn bonnet, with 
a green dotted veil fastened to the bonnet, the other end drawn 
up by a ribbon and large bow, the veil thrown to one side. She 
was exceedingly graceful, with a stately carriage, and perfect 
self-possession. Her clear gray eyes looked into your inmost 
soul at once, you felt it useless to conceal or try to conceal 

Almost an invalid for years, the spirit seemed to triumph 
over the flesh. After sleepless nights filled with pain, her in- 
domitable spirit rose to the enjoyments and duties of the day. 
Almost painfully devoid of color, her clear cut features seemed 
carved from ivory. She was generous and conscientious, but 
Aery exacting. Having no daughters of her own, her standard 
was perfection. 

Coming as I did from a large family of eight children, where 
we sometimes numbered twenty, owing to the old-fashioned 
hospitality then observed, and where my mother had so many 
demands socially and physically upon her time, we were allowed 
great freedom within certain bounds, and the change was great. 
But I will not anticipate. 

We traveled the forty-five miles leisurely to Chillicothe, stop- 
ping at Bloomfield for dinner and to rest the horses. It was 
an old-fashioned tavern, as the word hotel was unknown in 
those days, with beautiful well-cooked food, and oh, the loveliest 
old-fashioned garden. How I jumped from the carriage, stiff 
with the enforced rest, to revel in that garden, almost forgetting 
my hunger and the good things in store for me. Tall, white 
lilacs, lower purple ones, flaunting peonies, fragrant old man, 
phlox, and larkspurs. Then, after an hour's rest we went on. 
As the lovely evening came on, the country changed, — high hills 
appeared, with rolling hills at their base. But when Uncle 
Douglas said, "Here we are, almost home," no Chillicothe could 
I see,- — simply high hills, one beyond the other. Then a turn 
in the road, and there was the town with the hills apparently 
encircling it, — our road of entrance had disappeared. To an 
imaginative child, it was beautiful. 

We drove up a circular walk to a fine old house, and Hannah 
and Lucy were on the steps to meet us. How I learned to 


l()\e these two faithful servants, who \\\'t;x\ witli my aunt twenty 

ChiUicothe was mostly settled by Kentuckians and Virginians, 
many of them bringing their slaves with them, and then of 
course freeing them. Housekeepers then were not forced to 
labor over the still unsolved servant problem. Even to a child, 
the difference between social life in Columbus and ChiUicothe 
was felt if not understood. In some respects the latter was 
like a Virginia or Kentucky town. There were not the many 
crude and discordant elements to be united. Society was a 
settled thing. Either you were of good stock, or you were not. 
If so hai)py as to belong to the first, want of money, plain 
living, a small house, were as nothing. One could see in the 
voice and manner the homage paid to refinement and good 
blood. There were many beautiful homes, and an elegance 
in living which compared favorably with "The East." The 
young girls were generally educated in Philadelphia, and 
were stamped with the Philadelphia seal in pronunciation 
and manners. 

The long list of families I can so well remember : The 
AVorthingtons, Creightons, James, Woods, Waddles, Reeves, 
Bond, Watts, Madeira, are only a small number of those I 
recall. My uncle's house was large, furnished in handsome 
style, and the library with two immense bookcases filled to 
overflowing, — on one, a large bust of Byron, on the other 

Here I revelled. My aunt did not approve of novels, but I 
found Miss Edgworth's, Scott's, and several of Cooper's, — 
the Leatherstocking series not then having been written. 
AVhen these were read, I found a barrel full of delightful 
Godey's Ladies' Book, and Graham's Magazines, in the attic, 
and developed a surprising inclination to spend my time there. 
But the most charming part of the house to me in my^ loneli- 
ness, was the clean, airy kitchen, with its wealth of tinware, 
shining white from constant scrubbing. Perched on one of 
these tables and listening to the wit and fun from Hannah 
and Lucy, I sat entranced until the swish of Aunt Mary's 
long silk garments, made me disappear. I was not actually 


forbidden to be there, but there was a misgiving that if I 
was found there, I would be forbidden. 

Here let me pay a well-deserved acknowledgment of all 
that I owe to this aunt. Time only deepens my gratitude, 
and makes me forget my tears and discouragement, through 
which all this was gained. Here I met many prominent per- 
sons, celebrated in the religious, scientific, and literary cir- 
cles of Ohio. Young as I was, I always had the place be- 
side my aunt, at the brilliant dinners she gave. I reinember 
particularly Bishop Mcllvaine, Doctor Daniel Drake and his 
equally celebrated brother Charles, and a young literary 
genius named Talfourd. This name quite puzzled me. as I 
heard Luke and his mother speak frequently of Sergeant 
Talfourd of England, who had just published Ion. How 
he could be in Ohio was a wonder to me. 

My aunt and uncle had but two children, both sons. Luke 
was a student. How delightfully he and his mother discussed 
the books he read to her; how they enjoyed the wit and 
literary style of their favorites. Young as I was. these things 
made a lasting impression. 

Among these books I remember, was Rejected Addresses 
by Horace and James Smith, just published in London. They 
professed to be rejected poems, offered for a prize, by Words- 
worth, Shelley, Coleridge, Lamb, and others ; and the keen 
enjoyment and remarks with which the peculiarities of each 
poet were imitated, gave me entrance to a new world. 

Albert was different. Litelligent, but not wedded to 
books, he loved outdoor life, was a skilful hunter, and had 
innumerable pets. Among the latter was a large black bear, 
and "I snatched a fearful joy" in being allowed to give him 
his food. This was easily done, but taking away the pan, 
took all my courage. The bear objected, and I always felt 
him at my heels as I ran. Why I persisted in it, no one 
knows. Albert had a beautiful voice. He was "incurably 
religious," as Sabatier says about mankind, and the hesita- 
tion visible in his common speech, disappeared in singing and 
in prayer. This was probably the cause of his giving up the 
profession of medicine, after years of careful preparation, 
and becoming a banker. He was warm-hearted, with much 


of his father's charm oi manner, and took a hi^jh place in 
his native town. 

How I wish I was equal to doing justice to the personality 
of my Uncle Douglas. That personality was strongly felt 
wherever he chanced to be. Standing among the foremost 
lawyers, he added to legal knowledge and logical powers, a 
keen wit and readiness irresistible. He was the idol of the 
children, and absorbed our delighted attention, from the time 
the old lumbering stage deposited him at our gate, until he 
left. I can feel his hand on my shoulder, and his voice say- 
ing: "And how is my bonnie dear?" Another sister was 
dubbed "Peter Piano," and a running flow of rhymes and fun 
made us happy. When staying with my aunt, there was a 
secret understanding between us, that when he looked wise 
after dinner, and retreated to the library, I should follow. 
Stretched on the lounge, and with eyes closed, he gave him- 
self up to the soothing influence of what would now be called 
my massage of the head. An imaginative child, I followed 
this up with impromptu stories, the sparse hair being a forest 
inhabited by wonderful beings. The nose, mouth, and ears, 
were the homes of other wonderful creatures, having ad- 
ventures and battles never ending. Strange to say, this 
ceaseless talk seemed to soothe or amuse my uncle, and after 
perhaps an hour, he would go to his office, making me happy 
with his expressions of delight, and a "ninepence" changed 
from his pocket to mine. My sisters visited Chillicothe often, 
and he was always the same dear, loving, Uncle Douglas. 
"There are recollections that are sacred 
and eternal. There are words and faces that 
never lose their hold upon the heart. 

"We may mingle in other scenes, and form 
other associations, but these dear familiar 
faces and loved scenes remain invested with 
fadeless beauty, and are exempted from obliv- 
ion and decay." 
Orris Parrish and Aurelia Butler, my father and mother, 
were married in Circleville on March 5, 1816. I have a slip 
from a newspaper of that date, in which the license was re- 


corded; also, the marriage the same day. Their bridal trip 
was made on horseback to Columbus, where they at once estab- 
lished their home. 

My father was a young lawyer, full of energy and overflow- 
ing with courage and confidence. My mother was then twenty- 
four, and my father but two years older. Their first home was 
on Broad street, the second house west of High. The house 
between was the home of David Deshler, and his bank was on 
the corner afterward for many years. My father must have 
realized some of his anticipations, for he could only have been 
married a few years when we removed to a new home, with 
ample grounds, I being carried across the State House square in 
a cradle on the broad shoulders of Josey Kag, the man of all 

The grounds of this new home lay between State and Broad, 
and Fourth and the alley back of Third street. On the latter 
were the handsome homes of Jeremiah McLain, P. B. Wilcox. 
John W. Andrews, and Demas Adams. These names bring up 
a multitude of memories connected with old friends of my father 
and mother. Dear Mrs. Wilcox, with her lovely face and win- 
ning manners. Mrs. Preston, just as charming. Mrs. Hannah 
Neil, devoted to all good works. Mrs. Alfred Kelly, whose home 
seemed then out in the country, and we always, in walking, asked 
if we "could go as far as the Kelly house." There was Mrs. 
Gustavas and Joseph Swan, Doctor Goodale, who made every 
one happy with the large means accumulated by his business 
ability. Mrs. Broderick and Mrs. Stirling were nieces of Dr. 
Goodale's, and were women of such strong character, of such 
great ability in the traits essential to the life of pioneer women 
— to me, in looking back, they seem to fill a unique place in the 
society of Columbus. 

Auntie Broderick, as we called her, had a heart big enough 
to include every one. In sickness she was the first in good offices,, 
for we had no nurses then. On joyous occasions she was neces- 
sary to assist in decoration and in making everything a success. 
Her home, plain and simple though it was, was headquarters 
for the young people — warm, bright and cheerful. Passing 
through many sorrows, she kept her cheerfulness and faith in 
people to the last. 


Mrs. Stirling, at the head ot Dr. ( ioodale's establishment, 
had scope for her executi\e and housewifely accomplishments. 
Hospitable as he was. her social duties mii^ht seem absorbing. 
lUit a strong churchwoman, she ne\er forgot her cluties as such; 
an exquisite needlewoman, her embroideries and all things nec- 
essary to beautify her home were remarkable. Her recipes were 
much sought for. .So manv others 1 would lo\"e to pay a just 
tribute to, but ha\ e not the space. 

The Court and State Houses were of brick, a brilliant, ugly 
red. and the cupolas and woodwork a dazzling white. In the 
latter was the State Library, and it speaks well for the people 
of Ohio that at that early day the number and value of the books 
proved an intelligent interest in it. The librarian for many years 
was AJr. Alills, a dear friend of our family, and from whose wife 
I received my name — Marcia Mills. 

The grounds around our new home were large, filled with 
beautiful forest and fruit trees. One in particular, called the 
Old Elm. was a grand old tree, from which swung a fine swing 
safely guarded, and in which it was our ambition to touch with 
feet the immense branches, seemingly in the clouds. This was 
the grand rendezvous for George, Sarah, and James Swan, 
Maria Wilcox, Sarah and Jim Doherty, Ann and Irwin Mc- 
Dowell (afterwards General McDowell, of the Ci\il War), 
Mary Noble, Ann Eliza and Lizzie Xeil. Lauretta Broderick — 
all friends of my older sisters, Mary and Martha. There were 
eight children of us, and we lived a busy and delightful life. 

We were sufficiently cared for, but had great liberty, under 
certain restrictions. We did not rule and govern the home, 
everything did not turn on the thought of the children, as it 
is too much the rule in these days, but we were happy, busy, had 
plenty of company, and were not a great deal from home. 
School. Sunday school and Church had their important place 
and due influence. Our father was a Circuit Judge, and often 
from home, but he had every confidence in the ability and iudg- 
ment of my mother, and was often heard to say, "She could 
carry out any plan she had resolved upon." 

I remember her as a queen in her home, tender, firm, above 
all deeply religious, hospitable when that word meant much more 
than now, looking well to the ways of the household, full of 


ingenuity and taste with her needle, and prominent in all church 
work. In my earliest years there was no Episcopal church build- 
ing, and but a small congregation. Our services were held when 
possible, in the old Dutch Church, on Third between Town and 
Rich streets. There were immense hay-scales next to it, a 
mystery to me for many years. Then I remember going to New 
Trinity, on Broad street near High. It was a handsome church 
for those days, and the first rector was James Preston, a man 
deservedly loved and esteemed. We crossed the Public Square 
diagonlly to reach the Sunday school, and for many years 
the great stones, cut and ready for the new State House, lay 
unused, offering temptations every Sunday too great to be 
resisted, for us to climb and jump over, much to the horror of 
the older members of the family. 

The dear old chants and hymns, the pealing of the organ, and 
the true congregational singing, are all dear to my memory. 

The Episcopal Church had been established long before in 
Worthington, and Bishop Chase had established a school there 
before Kenyon College was thought of. Bishop Chase was a 
large part of the early history of the Church in Ohio. He was 
a dear friend of my mother's Often her guest, and always an 
early riser, he frequently came around to take breakfast know- 
ing how early we had that meal. 

My oldest brother, Grove, was afterwards educated at 
Kenyon, and when a child, and my mother visiting Gambier, 
had the honor of being rocked in a maple-sap trough — no other 
cradle being found. 

Mr. Noble kept the National Hotel, opposite the State House, 
and where now stands the Neil House. He had several lovely 
daughters — Eliza, Catherine, and Mary. The Robinsons had 
charge of the hotel, corner of State and High, called I think. The 
American. The influx of strangers, and, Columbus being the 
capital of the State — the members of the legislature, made such 
demands on these hotels, that many families received friends, 
remaining in the city, for the winter, as guests. 

I remember particularly, Mr. and Mrs. Edward King, he 
being a member of the legislature — as guests for several winters. 
She was a daughter of Governor Worthington, and after Mr. 
King's death, married a Mr. Peters, the British Consul at Phila- 


(k-ljihia. and a poet of much merit. A warm, lasting friendship 
always existed between Mrs. Kin<^ and my mother. 1 ha\e 
alluded to the difference in the society, in Chillicothe and in 
Columbus. — the former conservative, few strangers, and, life, 
for a pioneer town, on a sure foundation. Columbus was just 
the reverse. As the capital of the State, many came, connected 
with the government. All political influence and life, had there 
its headquarters. Strangers and adventurers were drawn to it. 
Persons of note were sure to come and be publicly welcomed. 
When the Ohio & Erie Canal was finished, and the joy of the 
\\'est for a new wa}- of bringing the East and \\'>st together 
found public expression, ( iox'ernor De Witt Clinton of Xew 
York \isited Columbus, and was the guest of my father. 

The markets were excellently supplied, — all food very cheap. 
I remember a quarter of A^enison selling for twenty-five cents ; 
eggs, three and four cents a dozen ; butter, six and eight cents 
a pound. I can see my father now. with his market basket, and 
George Scott foUow'ing after with two more, all tilled to over- 
flowing for our large family. 

This family sometimes numbered twenty. Relatives and 
friends came, as we read in l^nglish earlier life, to make a visit, 
and remained months and e\ en years. There were many needs 
not supplied, and my mother was a busy woman. Candles 
were all made in the house, moulded or dipped, and were the 
only means of lighting large roomys, except occasionally an Ar- 
gand or sperm-oil lamp. Beef was put up, spiced or corned, 
the hams smoked or cured according to Epicurean recipes, — 
the sausages, tenderloins, and side-meat, all were tests and 
opportunities for the executive housekeeper to show her skill. 

When very young I remember all the old-fashioned methods 
that reigned in the kitchen, and what a wealth of delight it 
brought to the young ones of the family. The immense tire- 
place with the crane and pot-hooks, the skillets, with iron covers 
on which hot coals were heaped, the reflector in which the 
direct heat of the hre browned the biscuit and cornbread to a 
turn ; the roaster or spit, where turkeys, ducks and geese were 
roasted before the fire, basted and turned by the split until ready 
for an appreciative table. At a respectful distance we watched 
the heating of the great brick oven, near the fireplace. After 


the light dry wood had burned to coals, they were scraped out, 
and pumpkin, mince, and apple pies, and an array of cakes, 
were put in on an immense wooden shovel, and the door closed. 
It must have required great skill to know just when the oven 
was the right temperature, but cooks were really cooks in those 

Then the bread and rolls, and the baking was finished for 
several days. Days such as this, we did not dare to invade 
the kitchen. But there were other delightful times, when we 
could roast eggs with a straw put in to prevent an explosion; 
and sweet potatoes, also, while apples were roasted in the hot 
ashes until the golden juice bubbled out. Corn, stripped from 
the husks, leaned against the huge andirons, and were turned 
until ready for our feasts. What feasts we had-, out under the 
immense cherry or apple trees. Were children ever so happy? 
My mother's maids were always from Radnor, nice, self-re- 
specting, intelligent, Welsh girls. It seems to me they married 
so soon, but there were always sisters or cousins to take their 
place at once. We often afterward met these girls, in much 
more educated positions, and where they proved themselves 
equal to their new social duties. The servant girl problem was 
yet in the future. 

My father, as I have said, was a Circuit Judge, — his circuit 
reaching to Sandusky City on the lake, then called Portland, 
and several times I was his companion. Squeezed into a little 
sulky, well-named and only intended for one, with a little leather 
trunk under the seat, containing my belongings. I had much 
converse with him, and was dependent on myself at an age 
when now-a-days children are hardly out of the nursery. My 
father knew everyone, and I was always kindly cared for. He 
was held in high esteem as a lawyer, — brilliant, forcible, and 
eloquent, but bitter and sarcastic when roused. Of an inde- 
pendent spirit in the earlier years, he sometimes resented the 
arrogance that judges frequently displayed towards young law- 
yers, and was once sent to jail by a justly exasperated judge, 
for contempt of court, — spending a delightful evening with 
brother lawyers, who came to cheer his loneliness. He had a 
fine library, and took much pains that his children should be 
well read. He died in his forty-eighth year, after several years 


of semi-invalidism, and my eldest brother, Grosvenor, just ready 
to be admitted to the bar, — although only twenty, died of con- 
gestion of the brain, six weeks after. 

The dear old home was sold, and for economical reasons my 
mother with her five children, removed to Delaware, where 
she had manv old and dear friends. 





It has been my desire for a long time to put in form the 
personal recollections which cluster about my life-history. 
Every one has his individual experience. Events appeal to that 
inner witness which God ordains separately. From the past 
memory emerges with facts of indelible impress. The present 
is explainable viewed in such connection perfectly. We are but 
the complex resultant of that which has preceded and been 



I was born June 4, 1855, in the city of Cincinnati and State 
■of Ohio, at 237^ AVest Seventh St. The house was a two- 
story brick and stood back a Httle from the street, with stone 
steps going into the parlor. In the front room up-stairs I saw 
the Hght, as the chimes of St. Peter's Cathedral, upon Plum 
and Eighth Sts. were ringing the six o'clock anthem — "Adeste 
Fidelis" — "Come Hither Ye Faithful." The fact may account 
for two of my especial likings — Christmas and the Church. 
From my childhood Christmas has ever been a festival of pe- 
culiar ioy. This anthem is part of the mvisical setting upon 
that day in all historic churches. In the light of such a circum- 
stance my fondness for the season is no mystery. Among the 
family friends our house went by the quaint epithet of "two 
and three bits," thus commemorating the money in vogue, a bit 
being twelve and a half cents. 

In 1857 we moved to 39 Barr St. This was also a two-story 
house, but it jutted out on the street and had a side and back 
yard. My younger brother David was born here in September 
of the same year, my elder brother Douglas having been born 
in 1854 upon Broadway. In this house my earliest definite 
impressions were formed. It is a pleasure to summon these 
from those shadowy days. In the back yard was a cherry 
tree which grew close to the fence, \\4ien the fruit ripened 
we had more or less friction with the neighbors, as the branches 
spread into their yard. The matter was amicably adjusted by 
letting them have what came over the fence. Upon the eastern 


side of the hcnise there was a side door which opened iip(jii the 
stairs to the second story. Upon one occasion my father fell 
from the top to the bottom with my baby brother Dave in his 
arms. Strange to say the baby was not hurt at all and my 
father escaped with but a few bruises. We slept in the front 
room up stairs and I remember eating sugar with laudanum 
upon it when sick with a cold. 

Upon the corner of Cutter and Barr Streets there was a vacant 
lot with a great sand heap. Once while playing I fell from the 
heap and cut a hole in my head upon the stones. I can remem- 
ber coming home with the blood trickling down and alarming 
mv mother greatly, who bound it up with a bandage and forbade 
nie going there any more. My brother Douglas learned his 
letters in the basement of the Presbyterian Church u[)on the 
corner of Barr and Mound Streets. I was too young for that but 
used to enjoy going up to the place wdth the nurse to bring him 
home. Across the street a family lived to whom we became 
quite attached. Some one died there and I recall the curious 
impression made by crape upon the door and the difficulty of 
grasping what death meant. When these people moved away 
after their sorrow, they gave my father an oil painting entitled 
"The Wounded Dog." It is a very fine specimen of such work 
during the last century and is in our possession still. Next door 
to us lived a household by the name of King. The daughter 
was a dress-maker and married subsequently a Mr. Matthew 
Addy, who acquired great wealth later in the iron trade. One 
of my possessions was a little red Bible, given me by the ser- 
vant girl Betty, who was greatly attached to all the family. Tt 
was lost for awhile and the feeling of joy lingers with 
which I clasped it when it was found. My brother Dave was 
quite ill and I went out into the yard and lifted my hands 
In imprecation against God, because I had gained the idea that 
He was responsible for such sickness. It came to. me with 
peculiar comfort, when I was told that God was good and 
would take care of my brother and all of the family. I re- 
member very well wearing a suit of blue cloth, with a cord 
and tassels about the waist, also one of gray with strips of 
black velvet down the pants. Upon Seventh St. busses ran 
to and fro. I recollect watching them curiously holding 


on to the nurse-girls' hand. I attended Sunday school infre- 
quently at the Presbyterian Church, in the afternoon, where my 
brother went during the week. At that time my view of re- 
ligion was one of dread. The idea of punishment seemed to 
be in my mind and there was little pleasure in going to Church. 
I gained this impression in some way from the servants who 
connected any naughty act with the coming of "the bad man." 
As this personage was not very clear, his shape had an at- 
mosphere of positive terror. It was long before I could stand 
the dark, so filled was it with creatures of baleful character. 
I constantly put my head under the covers of the little trundle- 
bed, when the light was removed. AA'hen in answer to my cries 
the bed-room door was left ajar, so that the voices from below 
could come up, I went to sleep in peace. 

Our next place of residence was Lockland, some miles dis- 
tant from Cincinnati, upon the Hamilton and Dayton R. R. 
AA'e took the house of a Mr. James Skardon for a period of 
months. It stood upon the corner of a country street and 
had a large garden behind. Upon the side away from the north 
and south road the ground sloped down to a little brook, with 
trees upon each side. Here we sailed boats and waded upon 
summer afternoons. A\'e raised all kinds of vegetables in the 
garden and had chickens in the barn-yard. There was also 
here a horse and carriage. Upon rainy days we used to play 
in the carriage, imagining ourselves taking journeys. In the 
villages were locks, where the canal boats came to and fro. 
The sound of the water falling down always filled me with 
alarm and I never cared to go there, unless I had hold of my 
father's hand. About a quarter of a mile north of the house 
was a school-house where by brother Douglas went, and back 
of it woods, where we vised to gather hickory-nuts and acorns. 
Upon Fourth of July we had a fine time firing shooting-crackers 
and wearing soldier-caps of colored paper which my father and 
mother made. Tin swords and wooden guns were carried and 
my brother had a drum which seemed never out of his hands. 
Our friends from the city visited us here. Cousin Mary Gar- 
rison came, bringing A\'alter and Mamie, the two older children. 
We had a great time with them playing and were sorry to see 
their carriage go home. My third brother was born here — 


William Pratt Brown. He was taken sick and died shortly 
after birth. I was ill at the same time with typhoid fever. 
I can see distinctly the minister coming to our house and my 
mother crying bitterly. I did not go down stairs. It was in the 
winter time, as I recollect. The little casket was taken away in a 
hack and I think that my mother and father left me in charge 
of an old lady who lived across the street, named Aunty Capon. 
I did not get well for some time and had to learn to walk 
again. My father used to carry me down stairs wrapped in a 
large shawl. 

After my brother's death the place seemed very lonely to 
mv mother and so we moved back to Cincinnati and took the 
house No. 32 Elizabeth St., between Central Ave. and John. 
Here life widened out in many ways and boyhood actually 
began. I can see the house very plainly. It was two stories 
high, with an attic, in which was the girl's room and our trunk 
room. It had a front, side and back yard. In the back yard 
was a wood-shed and grape arbor. There was a picket fence 
and gate in front. 

Next door to us lived an Irish family by the name of Foley. 
Mr. Foley was a teamster and had many men under him. There 
were a number of children, two of whom were called John and 
Molly. Mrs. Foley was an excitable sort of person and had 
her gusts of temper. The household was naturally of Roman 
Catholic persuasion and attended St. Peter's Cathedral. Across 
the street lived a boy, Louis Beauchamp, with his grandmother, 
who has since gained notoriety as a temperance advocate. Mid- 
way in the square James Walker lived, who was engaged in 
the brewery business. His little girl "Mamie" was the belle of 
the street. Farther up the street Charlie Cheeseman lived and 
upon the lower square William Skardon, a brother of our old 
landlord, manufactured clothing. Upon the corner of (Lentral 
Avenue was Frank's grocery, held in high regard by all the boys 
because there always stood upon the pavement a pile of sugar 
and salt barrels. It was considered a treat to scrape these when 
they were empty. John Kilduff had another grocery upon the 
corner of John street. Many events cluster about these days. 
When it rained the garret became our play-ground. Boxes 
were turned into stages and chairs turned down for horse:?. 


With glee we traveled from place to place, known to us by 
actual experience. From the window I remember watching a 
great fire upon the canal and wondering whether the flames 
would ever be checked. My first school was upon Clinton street 
between Central avenue and John street, where I learned my 
letters from a private teacher : later the Eighth District School 
became the Mecca for education and it was situated upon Eighth 
and Ninth streets, running through from one to the other, and 
between John and Mound streets. Our teachers, were Misses 
Hudson, Findlay and Boyd, and Mr. John Chamberlain — 
the principal was Mr. Frank M. Peale. Mr. Mason was 
our singing teacher and Mr. Louis Graeser taught us 
gymnastics. The old school was pleasant and the months 
slipped by imperceptibly. During the days of the Civil War, 
at times we picked lint for the hospitals and any notable victory 
meant a half-holiday. Recess was a noisy time and the play 
apt to be boisterous. One game particularly liked was called 
cavalry charge. The small boys used to ride on the backs of 
the large ones and try to pull each other off as they met. A 
boy named Atkinson always carried me. It was apt to be dan- 
gerous. Holiday time and vacation were always heralded with 
joy. Generally speaking my brother and myself were counted 
as bright pupils and stood high upon the roll in every grade. 

Upon Central avenue, opposite Elizabeth street, was D. B. 
Pierson's lumber-yard. This was a great place in which to 
play. We climbed up and down the piles of boards and had 
many a game of hide and seek in the yard. There was a singu- 
lar fascination in watching the shadows play across the lumber. 
Sometimes apertures were left that formed hiding places. Here 
upon rainy Saturdays we would sit imagining ourselves hunters, 
scouts and belated travelers. The world of books seemed to 
give us just such spots in which to live over their incidents. 
Upon wintry nights bon-fires were frequently kindled out of 
boards gathered together and potatoes were put to roast in the 
embers. They never came out brown — always charred black, 
but our appetites were not fastidious and a little salt made them 
taste better than those well-cooked at home. 

Thanksgiving day and Christmas came with especial delight. 
Thanksgiving day always meant a fine dinner and usually a long 


walk in the afternoon with my father, to settle the food which 
had been so heartily consumed. Walks were also a feature of 
Sunday afternoons and many a building was noted upon our 
rounds, that had excited the interest of people generally. My 
father always carried a cane and usually treated us to some- 
thing "good" in the line of cakes, candy or soda water. Christ- 
mas was the great day of the year. There was a mystery sur- 
rounding it for weeks ; purchases were hidden from our eyes ; 
everything was done to deepen our final joy. I once hunted 
for presents boy-like and was detected. It was the last 
time I did so, for it seemed both to anger and pain my 
parents. We were threatened with the loss of the present en- 
tirely, which was a fine oak sled, for our misbehavior. Christ- 
mas morning we were ushered down stairs where our gifts were 
laid out in rows. Breakfast was made especially nice, but I 
never could eat any. The excitement always took my appetite 

W'e went to Sunday school at St. John's Episcopal Church. 
My father was a Baptist by inheritance and my mother inclined 
to the Episcopal faith. Mr. and Mrs. T. G. Odiorne, of Dayton 
street were charter members of "St. John's" and also family 
connections. Through their influence we were induced to at- 
tend the church. The Sunday school was in the back part 
of the basement and had box-like seats in tiers. I sat upon the 
back row and was abashed at the start because I wore curls, which 
were the derision of the other boys who called me a girl. Here 
we were taught all of the Bible stories from colored pictures 
which hung upon the wall. Later we were transferred to the 
larger room and placed in classes. I sat by the door leading- 
out to Plum street. Christmas and Easter were always memor- 
able occasions. At Christmas we gathered together upon the 
"Eve," sang carols, heard addresses and received books and 
cornucopias of candy. A Miss Wells took us to and fro, and 
I remember how dark the night and bright the stars seemed. 
Easter was memorable for the custom of presenting some em- 
blem in flowers symbolizing the name of the class with an 
appropriate text. The Rector called each class in turn and two 
members responded. I usually was fortunate in being given 
such duty. One time w'e had a light-house with the text: "I 


am the Light of the World" and another time a sword repre- 
senting "The Sword of the Spirit." Rev. J. B. Honians was in 
charge and he had one remark fitting each case. "Now this 
is exceedingly beautiful." Twice I received the "Standard 
Bearer" a bound magazine for proficiency. In summer we went 
upon picnics — once to College Hill — and at other times upon 
the railroad or the river. The Superintendent was W. J. M. 
Gordon, who kept a drug store upon Eighth and Central avenue. 

The home of the Odiorne's was always a privileged place. 
Aunt Odiorne used to give us doughnuts and once w^e each 
received a little toy tub filled with candies. The Irish girl named 
Mary was a great favorite with us all. At this time their resi- 
dence was upon Eighth street, between Race and Elm — after- 
wards at 163 Dayton street. 

The Civil War added its events. My earliest recollection 
had to do with President Lincoln whom I saw in a carriage 
at the corner of Mound and Seventh streets, from the balcony 
of Crowther's drug store. Mr. Crowther was a friend of my 
father's. This must have been in 1861. Mr. Lincoln impressed 
me because he was so tall. He got up in the carriage to ac- 
knowledge the cheering of the people and it seemed to me that 
he would never straighten out. Drilling was a feature upon 
the streets, especially when Morgan, the Confederate cavalry 
leader was said to be near. The Guthrie Grays or Home 
Guards to which both Mr. Odiorne and my father belonged 
were constantly practicing the tactics. There was a military 
hospital opposite Washington park upon Race street. Several 
times I carried Sunday school papers there and gave them to 
the guard. Another noted hospital was upon Twelfth street. 
In this vicinity there was a camp most of the time and long 
trains of mules with white-covered wagons were congregated 
here. I saw two military funerals, those of General W. H. 
Lytle and General J. J. McCook. The mournful music, crowded 
streets, long processions, and the riderless horses walking behind 
the hearses, led by a soldier, appealed strongly to our young 
imaginations. McCook's remains lay in state at the old city 
hall upon Main street. Here the soldiers on guard pacing to 
and fro, the masses of flowers perfuming the air and the 
police keeping the crowd moving, are vividly impressed on my 


memory. There was a Pontoon bridge across the river. This was 
before any other had been built. The levee was usually crowded 
with boats waiting for the ice to break so that they might go 
upon their way to Madison, Louisville, Evansville, St. Louis 
and farther south. It was a great treat to go down to this spot 
upon Saturdays. 

Sometimes my father would get a carriage and take us for 
a long ride. We visited two Jewish families, Heidelbach and 
Seasongood — known as "White Jews" — and took dinner at their 
homes in Clifton. A great delight was a visit to the theatre. 
We went to Wood's and the National upon Sycamore street. 
The plays that still charm are "Cinderella" and "Mazeppa." 
We also went to see Gen. Tom Thumb, his wife and Minnie 
Warren, the Glass-blowers and a panorama of "The Fight Be- 
tween the Monitor and Merrimac." 

On Thanksgiving day we ate our dinner at the building 
erected temporarily for the work of the Sanitary Commission, 
of which Mr. Odiorne was a prominent member. The request 
had been publicly made that all citizens forego the customary 
feast at home and come to this place, paying the sum designated 
to help along the L^nion cause. It was a very cold day and 
the building, being a mere shed, far from warm. Huge stoves 
were placed here and there and kept at a great heat. My father, 
however, felt that it was a proof of patriotism to attend and 
we stood the inconvenience nobly. 

The day of Lincoln's assassination was one of especial prom- 
inence. It was April 14, 1865 and had been set apart as an 
occasion of rejoicing over the termination of the Civil War. 
It was a public holiday and the streets were filled with glad 
crowds. At night the houses were illuminated and flags dis- 
played to the breeze. Our front windows had colored tissue 
paper fastened to them with the names of Union generals in 
black in the center. Behind this lighted candles stood and the 
effect from the outside was happy. We boys had prepared a 
stuffed figure of a man to represent Jefferson Davis. This was 
placed upon the car track of the John street line and a line tied 
to the shoulders ran along the ground to a spot behind the cor- 
ner grocery, where safe from detection, we could jerk the 
effigy away after the car had stopped. For awhile this worked 


A'ery well, but at length the conductor and driver first deceived 
•came around again and our little game was squelched. My 
mother was always an early riser and after she had gotten the 
maid at work upon the breakfast, usually sat down in the dining 
room to read the morning paper, until the rest of the family 
descended. Upon the 15th of April she saw the black headlines 
announcing the President's assassination and she cried out in 
terror to my father, who tried to calm her by saying that it was 
probably not true, as he quickly reached her side, only half 
dressed. I can see their faces still pale with excitement and 
the gloom which seemed to haA^e fairly come in through the side 
door. The days that followed were funereal in character and 
a public demonstration of grief was made in the form of a 
procession with a catafalque. The churches and public build- 
ings were all shrouded in crape. The whole city seemed to 
tmite in lamentation and it was dangerous for pro-slavery men 
to appear upon the streets. A Methodist minister. Rev. M. P. 
Gaddis, delivered an eulogy in his church upon Seventh street, 
above Central avenue, and my father took me there with him 
to hear it. Abo\"e the pulpit was a flag, outlined with crape. 

My mother was a beautiful reader and used to read out loud 
to us children in the afternoons when we got home from school 
and also upon Sundays. She read successively Irving's "Al- 
hambra," Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress" and other classics from 
the best literature. I was always fond of imaginative books 
such as "The Arabian Nights," Grimm's "Fairy Tales" and like 
works. The "Rollo" books were great favorites. Upon Sat- 
urdays we were permitted to go down to the Young Men's Mer- 
cantile Library, to which my father belonged and read under 
the direction of Miss McLean, the Assistant Librarian. These 
were "red-letter" occasions and nothing meant so much to us in 
solid amusement. A form of literature forbidden was the 
"dime novel" — a series of books in paper backs filled with 
blood-curdling adventures among the Indians, pirates, burglars 
and kidnappers. These were passed around at school and were 
fairly devoured in secret. They were responsible for the ad- 
venturous spirit which culminated one Saturday in a great fight 
in the old burying-ground. where Wesley avenue now stands, 
between two companies of boys representing Indians and 


soldiers. At that time the graves were being opened and the 
bodies removed to make way for houses and streets. There 
were gruesome sights to us in the exposed skeletons and the 
more timid of our number beat a hasty retreat rather than 
remain to combat in such a place. 

We used to have curious experiences with hired girls. One 
I remember got drunk and chased my mother around the dining 
room with a butcher knife. It was quite a relief when a police- 
man came, loaded her into an express wagon and put her in 
the Ninth street "watch house." Upon the northeast corner of 
Elizabeth and John streets was a family, occupying the lower 
floor of a tenement house. The father died. He was an Irish 
Catholic and they had a wake for him. The body was laid u[)on 
chairs, and candles were kept burning about it by night and day, 
until the day of the funeral. The noise at night was hideous, 
as all who came partook of whiskey and got uproariously drunk. 
We children looked in at the door, which was wide open and 
made our comments upon the scene. 


Our summers were spent in Circleville, Ohio, the birthplace 
(jf my mother. We usually went there the last of June and 
returned the first of September, in time for the opening of 
school. The town was endeared to us from long associations. 
My first recollection clusters about my grandfather's house, 
which had broad steps from the back yard leading into a base- 
ment kitchen. T can see my aunt going down there to a huge 
fire-place. In the front room my Uncle George is lying down 
upon the floor, with a chair turned upside down and a pillow 
against it. The front door is open and I run there to see the stage 
come thundering down the street. Another recollection is in 
connection with Chillicothe, where I went with my father and 
mother on a visit to our relatives. I am permitted to stand by 
the coach door and look out at the whirling trees and fields. 
We usually stopped at the Pickaway House. This was kept 
by Mr. and Mrs. Coverdale. Tom Coverdale, a younger brother, 
kept the bar, and his wife, Emma, was assistant housekeeper. 
They were all English people and very kind to us children. 
Mr. Coverdale was in the army during the war, but later came 


home and operated the gas works. His daughter, MoUie Cov- 
erdale, I thought was the handsomest, woman that I ever saw. 
She married a Mr. Josh Childs, a school teacher, and they had 
one boy, John by name, who was fairly idolized. In the 
same house lived Mr. Augustus Hawkes, proprietor of the 
stage and bus line. He had a heavy gold watch-chain with 
seals hanging to it. Next door lived Mr. and Mrs. Otis Ballard 
in a part of Aunty Atwater's house, whose husband was dead, 
but whose son Richard was our play-mate. The house had a 
side yard and a sloping back-yard with a wood-shed upon the 
side. Here we had all kinds of pranks and did most of our 
playing. The coaches and omnibusses were always a source of 
enjoyment. Jeff Bye was one of the drivers and many a ride 
was given us to the barn or down the street. A Mr. Nichols 
was the agent and he did not like us very much and would 
send us home if he found us riding. In front of the Pickaway 
House people used to congregate to see the stages come and 
go to Columbus, Chillicothe, Kingston and Lancaster. Across 
the street was the Court House and in the cupola upon top we 
passed many hours. The jail was in another building to the 
north and I was there one afternoon when some boys were 
being sentenced for throwing stones. The judge seemed to 
enjoy directing his remarks at all the boys present. The 
canal crosses the Scioto river, and it was an event to go 
down and pass over on the bridge with the water thundering 
down at our side. My cousin had a boat which he rowed some- 
times, but there was always an element of fear in its use. Upon 
the river-bottoms broom-corn grew and its harvesting was one 
of the industries of the town. 

Uncle John Groce and Aunt Ellen lived upon East Main 
street. They had three daughters — Mary, Ellen and Jennie and 
one son, Charlie. We used to go there a great deal, play in 
the yard and take rides to the farm. When we were invited 
there, the dinners were something "gorgeous." Old Aunt King 
lived near by and her garden was always filled with old- 
fashioned flowers, which she would pluck and send in profusion 
to my mother. At a later date my grandfather lived upon East 
Main street, opposite the Methodist Church. My Aunt Belinda 
Foster looked after him and the cottage had four rooms below 


and two up-stairs. My grandfather usually sat in a rocking 
chair in the front room and we took turns in reading the paper 
to him. In the front yard grew flowers along the fence, my 
aunt's peculiar joy. My grandfather was a very large man 
and the porch shook when he walked across it. He was fond 
of raisins and used to give them to us when we had finished 
reading. Next door lived a family by the name of Pedrick, 
where there were several girls wdth whom we used to play. 
Near by was a black-smith shop and wagon yard. We could 
come through this place into my grandfather's yard. My grand- 
father never talked much to us, but every one who came to the 
house greeted him most pleasantly. His bulk increased with 
age and he became a great care to my Aunty Foster. She was 
almost burned to death trying to keep him from falling into 
the fire. The marks of that ordeal she carried to the grave. 
Alfred Burnett, the humorist, visited Circleville one summer 
and Dave ingratiated himself in his affections to such an extent, 
that he gave him a pass. His portrayal of the Arkansas 
preacher is yet fresh in my mind. My Aunt Aurelia was mar- 
ried to Mr. Henry Coontz and they lived upon the way to 
Columbus about two miles from town. It was genuine country 
and we loved to go there and stay. The barn-yard, orchard 
and fields were all very attractive. Across the creek there 
w'as a large ([uantity of mint, growing without cultivation. 
George Lerch, the boy at the Pickaway House used to take us 
there with him and bring it back for use in the bar and dining 
room. An event at the Pickaway House which stood out with 
especial prominence was a ball given by the Coverdale's in 
honor of a Miss Elias, whose father was the proprietor of the 
St. James Hotel, Cincinnati. William Boling, the Sheriff, did 
the "calling off." We boys sat beneath the tables, upon which 
the fiddlers played and watched the couples as they moved to 
and fro. We were delighted at being permitted to stay up 
and see a "grown-up party." The Episcopal Church, to which 
my aunts belonged, worshipped at first in a wdiite meeting-house 
rented from the Lutherans. Later a new church was built, which 
still stands. W^e played upon the rafters and watched the edifice 
as it w^ent forward. The congregation had many prominent 
people — Geo. Fickardt, \\'illiam Marfield. the Moore's and the 


Stribling's. Across the street was the Roman Catholic Church, 
also going up. The old cemetery was north of my grand- 
father's home upon Main street, about three blocks. My grand- 
mother and Uncle Richard were bt;ried there. My mother had 
the remains taken up and re-interred in the new cemetery north 
of town. She also had a stone placed there, giving the names 
and dates. Mr. Bentley Groce lived near and we used to 
go there and play with his sons. One of his sons was a Captain 
in the army and was killed in battle. He was buried with 
marked ''honors" and a handsome monument placed over his 
remains. One summer there was a rat-killing tournament in 
the town. Two citizens started out with as many helpers as 
they could interest killing rats in barn-yards, stables and where- 
ever they could be found. The one who produced the most 
tails was decided victor and the other one had to pay the forfeit 
of a dinner for him and his company. We were much interested 
in some "Wizard Oil" people who sold goods and gave a free 
concert at the same time. Large crowds followed them, carried 
away with the singing and thrumming upon the banjo of planta- 
tion melodies. Down at Kingston lived Aunty Atwater's sister 
and her family. It was a great treat for us to go down and spend 
the day there. "Uncle May," as we called him, kept a grocery 
store and the horses and vehicles tied in front of it were a source 
of amusement always. Emma May was always kind to us and 
the sons of the house were boon companions. Upon one occa- 
sion a prominent woman of Circleville drowned herself in the 
cistern. The fact impressed us greatly and seemed to make 
a sombre cloud in the sky. Acker King was the undertaker and 
I can see the funeral procession passing along the street. In 
fear. I stood holding the hand of our nurse-girl and wondering 
what it all meant. South of town Mr. Hawkes had a large 
peach orchard. W^e boys went there and helped the man pick 
the peaches and then rode in the wagon about the streets, as he 
sold them. It was our first taste of business. Baseball en- 
thusiasm was high and a game played between the nines of Cir- 
cleville and Lancaster interested the fans. Dan Hoffman, who 
afterward married Cousin Lucy Gillette, made a great catch in 
center field. Cousin William Rogers lived upon a side street and 
we used to go and play in his father's yard. My L^ncle Douglas 


was his partner at one time. There was a member of the family 
wdio went by the name of Aunt Patty and was a peculiar talker 
because her palate was gone. I was always afraid of her, because 
she made such strange sounds. The next town west of Cir- 
cleville was Williamsport. We drove there once so that my moth- 
er could drink the sulphur spring water for her prickly heat. 
Everything hereabouts lives in our mind. We always went 
back home with regret, mitigated partially when father met us at 
the little Miami depot wdth a hack, in which we rode at twilight 
through the streets. Our house seemed close after the vaca- 
tion but when the gas was lit and the shutters opened it speedily 
took upon itself the old familiar aspect. 

A peculiar happiness of these days was connected with a 
trip with my father and mother in 1864 down the St. Lawrence, 
river to Montreal, and then to New York and Philadelphia. We 
stopped at Niagara Falls at Fulton's International, Mr. Fulton 
being an old friend of my father's. The falls, the shops. Goat 
Island Tower where I stood trembling with fear, the drive across 
the suspension bridge with the wires vibrating under the report 
of a cannon tired in connection with McClellan's candidacy of 
the Presidency — all are indelibly stamped upon the memory. 
Shooting the Rapids proved very exciting, especially LaChine 
just before Montreal where an Indian pilot came on and took 
us through. I can see still the white foam about the boat and 
the lunge we made as we passed through the jaws of the treach- 
erous rocks. At Montreal it was so cold that my father bought 
me an overcoat of gray wool with black and white vegetable 
pearl buttons. We stopped at the St. James Hotel and the 
waiters were most attentive. In New York a Mr. Rose showed 
us much attention and in Philadelphia we stopped with my 
Uncle Philip. Here I went out with my Cousin Ed and Natalie. 
My Uncle Lewis was particularly devoted. Coming back we 
came across the Allegheny mountains and around the Horse 
Shoe Bend. 


In 1866 we moved into our home at 64 Hopkins street. It 
was upon the corner of a side street — Livingston by name. 
Across this lived the family of Mr. Staats G. Burnett and down 


the square that of Mr. Anson B. Mann. This house was most 
commodious, having double parlors, a dining room and kitchen 
upon the first floor — three bed-rooms, a sitting and bath-room 
combined upon the second — a girl's room and large attic upon 
the third. My mother who was a premium housekeeper soon 
had the place in perfect order. Ere long our many friends and 
relatives visited us and enjoyed our hospitality. These were 
the Odiorne's, Kecks, Shaffer's, Lockard's and Garrison's. 
Across the street lived the Leonard's. The little child was called 
Miles Greenwood Leonard and used to pronounce his name im- 
perfectly. His father was the Captain of the Eighth street 
engine house upon Cutter street. "Miley" died of typhoid fever 
and I can see yet the little white coffin carried out of the house, 
everybody in the neighborhood being affected to tears. Further 
up the street was a family by the name of Ingalls, the father 
white and the mother colored. To a boy this peculiarity was 
very perplexing. The eldest son was called Hiram. The -Bur- 
netts were very neighborly, the children were W^ill. Arthur, 
Julia and an older sister Edith. Mrs. Burnett was very 
handsome. The baby called after the father died and my mother 
consoled Mrs. Burnett greatly. We boys seemed more sedate 
here than upon Elizabeth street and did not play as much out- 
side. Our great delight was in books and these we began to 
read in large numbers. My brother Douglas and myself now 
went to school at the First Intermediate upon Baymiller street, 
between Clark and Court streets, but Dave still remained at the ■ 
Eighth District. 

In 1867 there was an epidemic of cholera in Cincinnati and 
my brother Dave fell a victim to the disease. His case was very 
critical and the doctor spent most of the day working over him, 
my father assisting and the neighbors helping in every way pos- 
sible. My mother was too nervous and sat down stairs crying 
bitterly. Dave finally grew better but his recovery was little short 
of a miracle. While the scourge lasted death claimed from 
eighty to a hundred daily. It was a time of great anxiety. I 
rose to the dignity of long pants and suspenders this same year. 
It was a delight to leave my coat off and walk up and down in 
the June sunshine airing these new possessions. Another 



-DEN FOb'i 


hrothcr was horn herf, Fred by name. He was a most affec- 
tionate, lovable child and endeared himself to everybody. 

The glimpses of these days are bright with Christmas joys, 
play-hours u[)on the street, election parades and visits t(j the 
engine house for tickets at the close of election, school friend- 
ships and memories, walks with my father upon Sunday after- 
noons and hours at home by the dining-room lamp where stories 
fascinated greatly. The period throughout is one of absorbing 

The teachers at school were Professor C'arnahan, Miss Hoyt. 
Miss Bridge and Miss Ashman. I studied German with Pro- 
fessor Aufrecht. Professor Victor Williams gave us lessons 
in music. My principal friends among the boys were Solomon 
Levi and Arthur LeBoutillier. both of whom lived upon upper 
Hopkins street. A delight of winter was to coast with these 
bovs down the centre of our street upon a bob-sled and at 
intervals to go to the Red Stocking baseball grounds at the foot, 
which was frozen over and skate upon the ice. The fires of 
drift-wood upon the banks were especially inviting and the 
graceful evolutions of the skaters very attractive. 

My brother Dave and I took up the business-card gathering 
fad and spent our Saturdays collecting from every part of the 
city. Sometimes we received display cards and the joy of such 
accjuisition was intense. Before we left the city for the West 
our collection had reached the thousands. My father was a 
fine horse-back rider and in his boyhood days had the reputation 
of being able to ride any kind of an animal. Out of this period 
I have a glimpse of him appearing upon a horse, bound for the 
country somewhere. To my childish imagination he seemed 
very tall and quite formidable. 


In 1868 our house was sold and father embarked in busi- 
ness in Ottawa, Kansas. Our relatives. Major and Mrs. 
Lucy G. Hoft'man were there and were instrumental in get- 
ting us to go. My father had been for seven years in part- 
nership with Mr. E. C. L. Mustin in the regalia business at 
the corner of Main and Fourth streets. He lost money there 
and so determined to draw out and go elsewhere. Squire 


McLean purchased our home for $6,400, a price a httle under 
the appraisement. As there had been an especial outlay in 
putting the house in order by painting and other improve- 
ments for the auction sale, my father was chagrined at the 
result. It was a great undertaking to pack and get our posses- 
sions in the car for their long journey. Aly Aunt Belinda 
went with us and also a girl who lived with us, Etta Wilson, 
who was a ward of Mr. H. M. Cist of College Hill. The 
last four days that we were in the city we stayed with the 
Shaffer's and Garrison's. We went by the Ohio and Missis- 
sippi railroad to St. Louis, from thence by the Kansas Pa- 
cific and the Leavenworth, Lawrence and Galveston railroad. 
It was all primitive travel for us and every aspect afforded 
interest. The so-called depot at St. Louis was naught but 
a shed and I remember with what zest we ate the lunch which 
had been put up for the journey. Fred was an infant and 
was not very strong. Every attention was paid to his com- 
fort. The L., L. & G. railroad terminated at Ottawa, so that 
"when we got out we saw merely the trackless prairie stretch- 
ing beyond. The streets were unpaved and the soil a black, 
sticky loam. Board walks stretched over the principal streets 
in every direction. We stopped at the Ottawa House while 
our home was being put in order. This was kept by Hiram 
Deggins and his wife. As soon as our goods ca'me and were 
unpacked we took up our quarters at our permanent home, 
which was connected with my father's dry goods store on 
Main street. W^e lived above and back of this place. Behind 
the store room w-as our dining room and kitchen. At one 
side was the door leading into the hall and up the stairs, 
where were parlors and bed-rooms. Subsequently an addition 
was added of a single room over the wood shed, which was 
A\here we boys slept. Behind was a large yard stretching 
to the alley. Across the street from us was the county jail 
and south of us there were few houses, although later this 
was built up considerably. I was impressed with the vitality 
■of the air and level character of the ground. Emigrant wagons 
with their white canvas tops passed. Wild and civilized Indians 
were seen everywhere and saloons flourished. Everything was 
new and bespoke a place undergoing growth. Our rela- 


ti\•e^. the Hottnians, lixed aliDiit three ^(|uares to our west 
and between us the raih-oacl was prujected. .^''ling south. The 
pubhc school was just across the railroad and its I'rincipal 
was a Mr. \'al. \i. McKinney. There were three churches 
at the start, Baptist, Presbyterian and Methodist. Later a 
Cono:reg:ational church was built. I'o the southeast the town 
was hilly and beyond stretched the landsca])e in unbroken 
expanse. Flowers dotted it in every direction. One especially, 
called the devil's shoestring, was in great profusion. The 
families that we knew were the Elder's, Horace Smith's. Frank 
lin's. Griffin's. Shulze's. Dr. Davis's. Stacker's, Brown's. Lath- 
rop's, Reed's, Shiras's, Atkinson's. Shomo's, Adams's. Esterly's^ 
Ridell's, Wasson's. Tone's. Sears's, Maxwell's, Glover's. Still- 
ing's, Holt's, and many whose names have now disappeared 
from memory. 

School life was interesting because so ditterent from that 
in Cincinnati. There were only two rooms in the building, 
the primary and advanced. In the latter, grades were indi- 
cated bv classes. The superintendent was a Scotchman 
named Mc Henry. There seemed always a certain amount 
of rebellion in the air and a good part of the Principal's work 
and that of the subsequent assistant lay in detecting and 
forestalling this condition. IMusic and drawing were taught 
bv expert teachers. At recess we played back of the build- 
ing, but the games were rough in character, as befitted the 
wild life of the West. The superintendent of i)ublic instruc- 
tion in the county was a Professor Fales. and his wife, a 
teacher, accompanied him on his stated visits. Once when 
fuel was scarce and expensive they ^^'erc censured for burn- 
ing corn in their stoves. Recitations, debates and public exer- 
cises were a frequent source of interest. Parents and friends 
on such occasions filled the room to overflowing. 

Wood fires were a great charm to us, having come from 
the region of soft coal. M}- father bought wood by the cord 
and it was piled up in our back yard. There my brothers 
and myself had the duty and pleasure (.)f sawing it up into 
suitable lengths for the varioits stoves — kitchen, upstairs, and 
in the store. Sometimes the fuel was scarce and only gotten 
at the last moment when the snow was falling. \\'ell wrapped 


up in coat and comforter, we passed many an hour over this 
needful work. Sphtting and pihng the clear hickory, oak 
or ash was an art worthy of laudation. At intervals black 
walnut was thus sacrificed. When we were dilatory in doing 
our chores my father would come out in mild disgust and 
show us what real work was like. There was no stove in 
our bed-room, but a drum in the room leading to it, heated it 
from the kitchen. A like receptacle warmed the spare room 
from the store. We had to carry wood from the woodhouse 
upstairs and keep it in a box made sightly on the outside by 

The Indians were always a source of interest. They 
traded regularly at certain stores and could be found lolling 
about the interiors or stretched out upon the adjacent side- 
walk. Dressed in clothing of skins, shirts of calico, with 
blankets of bright hue, long feathers in the hair, they added 
the element of the picturesque to our experience. Braves, 
squaws and papooses abounded. Ponies and dogs were every- 
where. The tribes most noticeable were those of the Sauks 
and Foxes, and their reservation was about thirty miles west. 
Keokuk was the chief and the interpreter went by the name 
of Kelly. Dave and myself became acquainted with the latter 
and he let us ride his old white pony down to the river (Marias 
de Cygnes) to water and also at other times. He gave us 
Indian bags and other belongings, which we cherished with 
pride. The squaws brought berries in the spring and in the 
fall for sale. They were great traders and indicated prices 
by raised fingers and "bits," a "bit" being twelve and one-half 
cents. An especially interesting event was a war dance given 
by them. The citizens raised one hundred dollars and they 
came to town one day in war paint and marched through the 
streets beating rude drums and screeching defiance. West 
of town they halted and made a circle with their ponies in 
which they squatted. Then the}^ arose to full height, bran- 
dishing tomahawks and spears, yelling in blood-curdling 
fashion and moving back and forth to the crude music. It 
was dramatic and devilish. A repetition was expected at 
night, but the crowd which assembled was doomed to dis- 
appointment. The money, which had been paid in advance, 


liad been s])ent for whisky and the braves and s((ua\vs abke 
were dead (h'unk in their chstant tepees. 

Two eyclones visited Ottawa, both doing great damage. 
The storms came with little premonition and broke in fury 
upon the place. The whisthng of the wind and the ])eaHng 
of the thunder struck terror to the heart. The downfall was 
funnel-shaped and wherever it fell ruin followed. It took the 
iron and tin roof from the Holman grocery next door and 
carried it four hundred feet across the Court House yard. It 
lifted wagons and carriages like balls of yarn and deposited 
them down by the bridge to the north. It laid low churches 
and stores as by dynamic power. In the few minutes of its 
reign it changed fairness into desolation, beauty into a wilder- 
ness. Sadly did we follow the course of destruction. Impair- 
ment of limb and loss of life were visible upon all sides. 

The grasshopper scourge was a novelty. These insects 
l)reed in the Rocky Mountains and become so numerous that 
once every seven years they descend into the plains for food. 
Thev never come farther east than the western tier of coun- 
ties in Missouri. We were advised of the coming of this 
destructive army some days before their final arrival. I can 
remember well the exact moment. The day was intensely 
sultry with that dry heat that presages a storm. Suddenly 
the sky was black with insects. The sun even was obscured. 
Upon grass and bush they settled and a short while saw 
everything barren. Their voracity was unquestioned and 
their curious whirr and chir]:) seemed positively ghoulish. 
Some one sent from Missouri for a product of the Kansas 
soil and a peck of grasshoppers was returned with the remark. 
"This is all the blamed country can raise." 

Our second house my father built himself. About a mile 
southeast of the store he purchased lots upon an attractive 
•corner. Here the plans w^ere evolved for a house of ten 
rooms, a most ambitious structure for the towm. My parents 
labored over every feature of the building and when it was 
completed it seemed to our eyes a veritable palace. There 
were porches upon the side and in front. The back yard had 
a woodhouse and chicken coop in it. Just across the street 
lived a familv named Reed and we used to play with the one 


child, a boy, a great deal. Mr. Reed was a carpenter and did 
odd jobs. His wife "bossed him" and had a fiery temper. 
Beyond us, up the lane, was Ottawa University, the Baptist 
denominational school, which never went beyond a prepara- 
tory stage of existence. Professor M. L. Ward was the 
preceptor and he had a corps of teachers under him. Rev. 
Robert Atkinson was the financial agent and he had procured 
from the Indians a gift of three thousand acres of land, which 
were in cultivation, for the benefit of the institution. He 
was a typical Scotchman and had a wife and children. Mag- 
gie, the daughter, was one of our school friends. Our 
experiences here were very pleasant and the public exer- 
cises always drew a large attendance. My brother Douglas 
was one of the "stars" and recited "Bingen on the Rhine" 
with marvelous eft'ect. He also ranked high in Latin and 
other studies of his grade. A noted so-called commencement 
was held at the Baptist Church and my theme was "The Ala- 
bama Claims." My father seemed quite pleased with my 
effort and gave me great credit for rivalling my brother in 
a field up to that time peculiarly his own. 

We entertained a great deal in the new house. Thanks- 
giving and Christmas were great events. The dining table 
was placed in the large sitting room and the HoiTmans and 
Wassons came. There were twenty at the table at a time and 
to my childish eyes the room seemed crowded with people. 
My mother's chief delicacies were turkey with oyster dress- 
ing, cranberries and raisins, cold slaw with piquant sauce. 
We ate and ate and then went outdoors for a long walk to 
aid digestion. There was always an atmosphere of delight 
throughout the home. My father took especial pride in 
extending hospitality and my mother's customary thorough- 
ness made each detail perfect. 

My brother Douglas got a certificate to teach and took a 
school about twenty miles away for the winter term. Upon 
one occasion Dave and I went down to visit him. Mr. Reed 
had a black pony noted for steadiness and good sense that 
had been purchased from the Indians. This we hitched tO' 
a buggy without a top and took our way across the prairie 
to our destination. It was a bright day in February and the 


roads were in fair C()iulitii>n. W'e made the tri]) ddwn un- 
eventfully, arriving about dinner time. My brother boarded 
with a Quaker family. I rememljer that they had mashed 
rutabaga turnips for dinner and apple butter. We started 
])ack about three o'clock and shortly afterward the weather 
changed and a norther came on. It grew dark, chill and 
stormy. Both Dave and myself became numb with cold. For- 
tunately the pon}- knew how to find his Avay. In common with 
such sagacious animals, having gone over the road once he 
could retrace it. We reached home about seven o'clock, mv 
Ijrother imderneath the covering, where I had ])ersuaded him 
to seek relief from the cold, and I simply holding the reins 
in my stiffened hands, hardly able to speak. The fire in the 
house never felt so good and it seemed as if m}' limbs would 
never regain their sense of feeling again. 

At this time I began helping my father in the store. The 
business fell oft' and the regular clerk. Walter Post, got a 
position elsewhere. It was my work to open the store, wait 
for my father to relieve me and then come to breakfast ; go 
home to dinner and bring his or else have him go home and 
bring mine, and then stay down to close the store at night. 
I enjoyed greatly the walk to and fro. In winter time, under 
the star light, the roads crisp and ice-clad, it was a pleasure 
to drink in the keen air. and in summer the sounds of insect 
life and the flower-laden commons gave me deep delight. 
Once I remember coming home in a great storm, finding my 
way by the flashes of lightning and climbing along the fence 
at the foot of the hill which terminated at our house. I can 
hear the murmuring of the swollen brook yet and see the 
peculiar glimmer wdiich the periodical outbreaks caused. A 
great delight of these days was visiting the hospitable home 
of Dr. and INIrs. W. H. Shulze. Mrs. Shulze had that charm- 
ing literary personality that won my deep admiration. Books 
were a never-failing theme of enjovment. Many were the 
evenings that I found her rare taste an "open sesame" to the 
best literature. 

My brother Fred was my especial charge. He was a most 
lovable child and had that clinging, aft'ectionate way that 
■draws one irresistibly to its possessor. I used to dress and un- 


dress him, sit by his side as he went to sleep and more or 
less look after his welfare. When I left the house he fol- 
lowed me to the gate and watched me out of sight, and when 
1 returned was the first to voice a greeting. Once he was 
very loth to have me go and, as I disappeared down the hill, 
sobbed out his sense of loss. I came back and comforted 
him and then, bravely keeping back the tears, he went into 
the house to await my coming in the evening. His pet name 
for me was "Nonny," a nick-name for jokes occasioned by 
my claiming that I should have been called by the full name 
of my uncle, John Lewis Brown rather than simply Lewis 

Our parents taught us to be orderly and neat. At their 
bidding Mr. Reed made us little wooden boxes with lock and 
key in which to keep our treasures. We also kept weekly 
accounts and as we were paid for errands and work, usually 
ten cents a week, it was quite an undertaking to make the 
books tally. My father's brother in Philadelphia, Uncle 
Philip, was very much attached to him and loaned him money 
to build the house. Periodically my father and mother went 
east, where the Brown relatives lived. It was a great source 
of happiness to my father to meet his kin. He would speak 
of them all in detail upon his return and refer to the days of 
his childhood, when his brothers and sisters were about 'him 
in the parsonage. His father was a Baptist minister, the 
great friend and college mate of Adoniram Judson. He expected 
to go with this great missionary to India, but his health pre- 
vented, and so he remained in America. He preached at 
Scotch Plains, New Jersey, and Great Valley, Pennsylvania. 

A great sorrow came to us in the death of my youngest 
brother Fred. My father and mother went East, taking him with 
therri. They visited Philadelphia and then returned through 
St. Louis, where the fall stock of goods was purchased for 
the store. Fred had a severe fall in the cars and bruised his 
face badly. Shortly after returning home he was stricken 
with typhoid fever. It proved very treacherous and we 
fought it inch by inch and day by day. It was an alternate 
hope and fear that greeted. At last disease triumphed and 
he passed away December 17, 1871. I shall never forget the 

FAMILY MEM()Ih\S~nN()ll\\ V)\ 

blank that came and how the silent house with his dear form 
in it seemed full of mysterious awe. Wlien we returned from 
the funeral 1 sobbed in my father's arms and ming-led my 
tears with his. His dear spirit lingers about me always and 
the aching void made by his departure has never been filled. 
Owing to the stagnation subsequent to the grasshop])er 
visitation my father's business failed. Ft)r some months he 
sold a little, but at length secured a purchaser for the stock 
at greatly reduced rates. He was then attracted to Denison, 
Texas, thrcnigh the friendship of a Mr. Tone, who had been 
the editor of our weekly paper, and had given up his post 
to embark in real estate lines. Through him lots were pur- 
chased in the new place and a visit projected to make arrange- 
ments for removal, should indications seem propitious. My 
father was broken dowai in health and greatly depressed over 
financial reverses. My mother begged him not to make the 
long journey in his debilitated state, but he was anxious to 
get in touch with new conditions and if possible retrieve his 
heavy losses. I can see him now as he bade us all good-by, 
wearing a beaver cap and muffled up in a great black and 
w'hite shawd, outside of his overcoat. Northers were a feature 
of Texas, so he was told to be prepared for such change at any 
moment upon the way down. I was sick with pneumonia and 
lay upon my bed in the back bedroom upstairs above the 
kitchen. We did not hear from him for several days and 
then the cruel tidings came both by letter in anticipation and 
telegram in confirmation of his death. My brother Douglas 
had preceded him some months and was then m the postoffice at 
Denison. He met my father there and called a doctor at once 
when he came. Pneumonia in its worst form developed and, lack- 
ing the care of his home, in a land where everything was 
crude and inadequate, he shortly succumbed. Mv mother 
awakened me the night he died, not knowing of his illness, 
with the statement : "Your father is very sick and will not 
recover. He is calling me 'Lucy' over and over again." It 
was a startling proof of the closeness of union which existed 
between them. My brother afterward confirmed the fact by 
asserting that in father's delirium he repeated my mother's 
name over and over. Dr. Davis and Major Hofi-'man came 


to us and announced his death, which news they had received 
by wire. My mother was prostrated, and the city partook 
of our grief. On the day of the funeral the schools were 
closed, as my father was a member of the School Board. Rev. 
John Elliott, a Presbyterian minister, officiated at the funeral 
and interment. I was just able to be about and my mother 
was my peculiar care. By her side at the open grave I took 
the responsibility of looking after her, which became my 
cherished duty for forty-two years. I can never forget the 
night my father's body came. I listened through the window- 
to the creaking of the undertaker's wagon as it ascended the 
hill. Its gruesome sound struck a chill to my heart. When 
I looked at my father in his casket and touched my lips to 
his forehead the idea of death in its fullness dawned. That 
cold, icy touch showed me what inanimate clay meant. 

How shall I put in words an estimate of my father? He 
was the kindest and best of men, as tender as a woman, as 
patient as humanity. In sickness he was an ideal nurse and 
watched at the bedside with painstaking care. He idolized 
my mother and was never happier than when planning some- 
thing for her comfort. He was proud of his home and chil- 
dren. Any success that came to us at school filled him with 
delight. He loved to sing and play upon his flute. When 
especially touched the tears came to his eyes almost unbid- 
den. He had so much feeling in his composition that he 
could scarcely read a passage in a newspaper or book of an 
emotional character without a quaver in his voice. It was 
such a pleasure to do anything for him because he was so 
genuinely thankful. "Well, bub," I can hear him say, when 
he came into the store, "how are things now?" If a good 
sale had been made (which I usually concealed till he could 
see the cash drawer himself) his face would light up and he 
would give me a warm embrace. He carried always an air 
of comfort, and whatever our previous troubles had been, 
when he came in sight all disappeared. He was sincerely 
good and dear beyond words to express. He made the name 
of "father" luminous. 

Life meant now work. I had ere this taken up such duty 
and clerked for a confectioner, from whom I received three 


dollars a week. It was in the spirit of an experiment 
my first venture was made. My employer was a (ierman 
by the name of Keller. He had been a ear])enter and liad 
taken up this vocation by accident. His peculiar innovation 
was in making lemonade with an infusion of citrate of mag- 
nesia. He introduced a nuni])er of reforms and was notable 
for his parsimony. My next employer was a real estate 
broker by the name of Fisk, Calvin being the given appella- 
tion. He was something of a character and very shrewd. 
I received four dollars a week fr<Tm him and had to keep his 
office in apple-pie order. It was my duty t(j get down early 
in the morning and make the fire in a small cannon stove. 
I used to get the real estate transfers from the Probate Court 
and jnit them in the newspapers. Fisk was a great Baptist 
and was converted in a revival conducted by a minister from 

Religion presented its customary phases for a frontier 
town. Although my mother was an Episcopalian by choice, 
we attended a Ba])tist Sunday school. The Episcopal church 
was unknown and the Baptists were strong and dominant. 
As my father's family were all members of this denomina- 
tion in the East, it was natural for us children to gravitate 
there. The pastors were Rev. J. S. Kalloch, Rev. John A\'hite 
and Re\-. Mr. Ridell. I was converted under Re\". Mr. White 
and was baptized in the Marais des Cygnes ri\er upon a cold 
day in winter. My father hurried me home after the cere- 
mony, but I was none the worse for it. Protracted meetings 
were a frequent feature of our life. Evangelists would come 
and sweep the town wdth their frenzy. At one time they even 
held services in the saloons and the schools were closed that 
children might be better interested. 

When the Episcopalians started services my mother and 
I were confirmed July 28. 1872, in the first class. Bishoj) 
\'ail and Rev. ^Ir. Norwood sto})ped at our house. An upper 
room over Stacher's store was rented and the clergyman came 
to us semi-monthly. \\> had an excellent choir and some 
of the best people attended. Rev. Mr. Norwood was a 
deacon who came from Nova Scotia and Rev. John K. Dunn 
<jf Lawrence accompanied him periodically to celel^rate the 


holy communion. Rev. Mr. Norwood told us a remarkable 
incident concerning prayer. He was very poor and was work- 
ing his way through the divinity school in Nova Scotia. Upon 
a given Sunday the appointed lay reader for a certain 
wealthy church, without a rector, was taken ill and could not 
officiate. The Warden came to him and asked him to take 
the appointment. He shrank from accepting because of his 
shabby clothes. In his perplexity he turned, as was his cus- 
tom, to the Almighty and asked His help. He had scarce 
finished praying ere there was a knock on the door and a 
bundle was handed in. Opening it, he found that it contained 
a suit of clothes, his exact fit, of most excellent texture and 
finish. He put it on, went, and was the recipient of un- 
usual attention. He received the call to the church and ex- 
pected to take up his life there as soon as priest's orders 
were conferred. He met his wife in the Sunday school and 
was happily wedded. He never discovered who it was that 
sent the clothes, and always considered the matter a sig- 
nificant token of providential response to prayer and was 
firmly convinced that no extremity could not be met by like 

Our next minister was a Philadelphian, Rev. Preston Fu- 
gate, a man of rather imposing appearance, whose egotism 
was marked. He carried with him on his calls an envelope 
with laudatory newspaper clippings, to which he speedily 
referred and which he took pleasure in reading with explana- 
tory comments. He was a man of ability and preached an 
excellent sermon, couched in sonorous words. One sentence 
always lingered in our minds, "This is not the chimera of a 
heat-oppressed brain, but sound logic." He loved to change 
his surplice during the singing of the hymn before the sermon 
and preach in a black silk gown. This was a common cus- 
tom in those days. As he sailed down the middle aisle coming- 
from the robing room in the back of the hall he looked like 
a Spanish galleon "full-bellied to the wind." 

My brother David clerked for a man named Shumo (who 
kept a candy store). He was a universal favorite because of 
his genial (|ualities and love of fun. Everybody liked him 
and his fund of stories was inexhaustible. He was especially 


fond of dog"s. and every dog in the town wagged its tail when 
he appeared. He was a great mimic and could keep a room 
in laughter. Mr. Shunio had a wife who was something of 
a termagant. David quoted her as saying as strictly in keep- 
ing with fact, "Joe Shumo need not think he can make me 
his penny dog." He certainly never thought so or acted upon 
that basis of supposition. David got tired of Ottawa and 
longed for Cincinnatai. Suddenly he disappeared and we 
were greatly distressed. After some days we received a 
letter from Cousin Mary Garrison, who lived upon Eighth 
street, between Race and Vine, in Cincinnati, stating that he 
was there. We learned subsequently that he journeyed partly 
on foot and partly on freight trains and had arrived more 
nearly dead than alive. He had an attack of fever, but came 
through and was apparently none the worse for his experi- 
ence. We sent the money for him and he returned much 
crestfallen, but loud in praise of Cincinnati. Shortly after 
this Cousin Mary visited us, bringing her son Ralph with 
her. W^e had a delightful series of social gatherings in her 
behalf. The weather was torrid and my mother anuised us 
all by saying one night, "Mary, I am fairly sizzling." I ac- 
companied my Cousin on her way home back as far as Leav- 
enworth, where she stopped to see friends. It was a mem- 
orable circumstance in my humdrum life. We stoj^ped at the 
hotel, which was on the banks of the "Kaw" river, and visited 
the fort and penitentiary. We took a delightful carriage 
drive and every moment possible was given to sightseeing. 
I parted with both cousins deeply appreciative of their kind- 

It seemed the natural thing for us now to return to 
Cincinnati to live. With my father and brother gone Ottawa 
lost its hold upon our regard. Douglas was still in Texas, 
where he had stayed after my father's death. Thus the 
burden of removal fell upon me and day after day, with the 
assistance of such help as could be had. furniture and house- 
hold efifects were put in shape for shipping. I had been em- 
ployed since my father's death also. Stacher & Brown had 
a dry goods and clothing store upon Main street. I took a 
clerkship with L. N. Stacher and soon had as patrons most 


■of those who formerly came to our store. My lot was a 
pleasant one and although the hours were long (from 7 a. m. 
to 9 p. m. on ordinary days and until 11 p. m. on Saturdays) 
I managed to get along with credit to myself and satisfaction 
to my employer. My employer expressed great regret when 
he learned of my contemplated departure and gave me a let- 
ter of recommendation of a most flattering character. My 
brother Dave had preceded us some months and had obtained 
through Mr. T. G. Odiorne, a family connection, a position 
in the First National Bank. He lived with Mr. and Mrs. 
W. S. Wells upon Baymiller and Clinton streets, Mrs. Wells 
being a niece upon my father's side. Our friends in Kansas 
were most thoughtful of us in our last days and we closed 
our six years' sojourn with the good will of the entire com- 


Our first home in Cincinnati upon returning was upon 
Clark street, opposite Baymiller, where the street cars go 
north. It was a two-story house, with basement and attic. 
My mother in her customary happy way rented it of a pork 
packer who was in business upon Freeman and Clark, at 
most reasonable terms. My first position was with the house 
of William Glenn & Sons, wholesale grocers, on lower Vine 
street. I filled the place of entry or bill clerk. There was 
something very interesting about the life in this place. Sugar, 
molasses and all kinds of staples filled the huge building to 
the roof. A large trade was carried on in "New Orleans 
sweets" and the sidewalk was usually covered with hogs- 
heads and barrels. A large force of employes, mostly young 
men of the first families of the city, shared the labors of the 
concern. The firm was composed of William Glenn, his son 
James, and son-in-law, Richard Dymond, Joseph Ebersole and 
Frank Dunham. "Jimmy" Glenn, as we called him, had a 
high idea of his ability to write a business letter and was 
never happier than when called upon by one of the boys for 
help in such line. Richard Dymond made the prices. In the 
upper office were Mr. Mullen, head bookkeeper, and W. W. 
Myers, afterward my Sunday school superintendent. Wil- 
liam and Joseph Ebersole, Jr., had charge of the shipping. 


The meml)ers of the lirm were all ])rominent Methodists and 
were the mainstay of St. Paul's Methodist Church, u])on 
Seventh street, near Mound. Of the boys whu were my prin- 
cipal companions Poynter, "Nelse" Perry, and joe Pvans are 
especially remembered. Perry lived on Mt. Auburn and 
Evans upon Seventh street, opposite John. Glenn's was con- 
sidered a prized place to study business methods and the sons 
of the most wealthy families were brought there for that 
purpose, at little or no wages. One young man came after 
graduating at Harvard and spending some years in Germany,, 
fairly beseeching work. iVll available openings were filled. 
He was offered the job of whitewashing the cellar walls and 
was game enough to accept it and earned commendation for 
the thorough manner of its performance. An opening now 
occurred in the First National Bank, where my brother had 
been for (|uite awhile and so through the influence of Mr. 
Odiorne 1 took my place in the general bookkeeper's depart- 
ment. My duty was to keep the accounts with the banks and 
bankers in Ohit), Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky and West \'ir- 
ginia. Our chief was William B. Nichols and the others under 
him were Theodore P. Farrell, Horace W. Woodruff' and my 
brother Dave. We were a happy set, although the balancing for 
the entire bank was in our hands, keeping us many nights close 
to midnight, and kept always our good humor and loyalty. When 
we stayed down for supper we went to Phillip's restaurant upon 
Race street. The occasion had a spice of adventure in it and our 
additional work was rendered pleasurable. Two weeks vaca- 
tion were given us in the summer and a Christmas gift of 
one-half of one per cent, upon our annual salary. Our officers 
were L. B. Harrison, president; A. S. Winslow, vice-presi- 
dent ; Theodore Stanwood, cashier, and George P. Forbes, 
assistant cashier. In the bank, occupying the various posi- 
tions, were W. M. Sanford, receiving teller; Henry Guild, 
paying teller ; Alexander Hinchman, William and Joe Murphy, 
Dave Mitchell, Frank Bartlett, Jack Clark and Mr. Elhs. 
Stanwood was a musician and played the organ at the Uni- 
tarian church upon the corner of Sixth and Mound streets. 
He was very ])ompous and moved around the bank like a 
demi-god. Harrison was backward, Winslow shv and Forbes 


gracious and kindly. The bank was upon the second floor of 
the building on Third and Walnut streets. My desk was at 
the southeast window, giving me a pleasant outlook. I did 
my work standing, only sitting down for luncheon about 
twenty minutes. We began work at 8 a. m. and closed at 
5 p. m.. if the books were in balance. We were a very con- 
_genial lot and proud of the "First National." We played a 
match game of ball with the "Third" once and beat them 
badly. There was much "crowing" over the fact subsequently 
for a long time. Sometimes we went out for lunch to "Lo- 
ring's beanery" or "Julius Hengstenberg's." The latter had 
a place in the basement where the floor was sanded and the 
tables scrubbed immaculately. The bill of fare was simple, 
but most palatable. One Christmas my chief, Mr. Nichols, 
surprised me with a handsome copy of Longfellow's poems. 
It was so unexpected that the pleasure has never waned. 

After the family had survived an epidemic of smallpox we 
made up our minds that the Clark street house was unhealthy 
and moved to Findley and Baymiller streets, the second house 
west of the Church of the Cross. This was a much more pre- 
tentious place of two stories and a 'mansard roof, an iron 
fence in front, with side and back yards. It contained eight 
rooms and two attics. Old friends were in the neighborhood 
— the Lockard's and the Odiorne's, and the whole atmosphere 
was attractive. My mother showed her remarkable taste and 
generalship in making the house very shortly singularly beau- 
tiful. Our various belongings fitted in so well that ere long it 
seemed as if we had lived there always. It was a pleasure 
to come home at night and we usually walked all the way 
as a relief from the confinement of the bank, and greeted her 
sitting on the front steps or in the library. The cozy fire- 
place in the latter, piled high with anthracite, spoke cheer 
and peace after the day's toil. Here books and magazines 
abounded and friends came in with words of grace. We 
had a cook named Dina who kept things as my mother de- 
sired, immaculate, and also could turn the dining room into 
an appetizing temple. 

We had been attending service at St. John's church again, 
through the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Odiorne and sat under 


the gallery upon the east side. Ke\ . Dr. I )a\ idson was the 
rector and afterward Rev. 1'. P>. Mi)r^an, an evans^elisl ot' 
note. The choir was celebrated throui^hout the city. Mrs. 
Edmund Dexter was the soprano and had a voice of remark- 
able compass, although her enunciation was ]X)or. One Christ- 
mas day we had a curious experience. A clergyman came to 
officiate in the absence of the rector, who got drunk upon 
the communion wine, which had been placed temporarily in 
the vestry room. As he passed through the stages of intoxi- 
cation his utterances grew worse and worse. The congrega- 
tion noticed something wrong at the start, and, as the reason 
dawned upon them, passed out one by one, leaving the un- 
fortunate inebriate talking to empty benches. Rev. Mr. 
Morgan was a generous man and loved to have the young 
people at his home. We had a number of very pleasant 
o'atherings and met his family at his residence upon West 
Sixth street. He preached extempore and the church was 
full, for the method was new in an Episcopal pulpit. Our 
Christmas entertainments and picnics down the river in sum- 
mer were sources of delight. Mr. Ciideon Burton had charge 
of the young people's Bible class. I remember hearing at 
different times Bishops Jaggar and Penick. Rev. Messrs. 
Kinsolving, Norton, Reed, Bradley and Wines. Rev. Mr. 
Bradley came from Christ church, Indianapolis, and conducted 
a mission. He played a little cabinet organ and sang "Moody 
and Sankey" hymns. His methods were criticised by the 
more conservative members, but the impression made at- 
tracted outsiders and the general etitect was good. Great 
excitement was occasioned one Easter because an altar cloth 
was used. A simple table with four legs had done service for 
years. Young Mrs. Burton eml)roidered a maroon cloth and 
put upon it in gold letters I. H. S., and edged it with gold fringe. 
One member of the congregation would not come to the com- 
munion and left the church in wrath. Others stayed away for 
awhile. Afterward the tempest blew over and all was serene 
once more. During Mr. Morgan's regime the high pulpit came 
down and a lecturn did the work for sermonizing. 

When we moved from Clark street to Findlay we ceased at- 
tending St. John's and worshipped at the Ascension Mission of 


St. Paul's Church. Services were held upon Sunday evenings in 
what was known as the Church of the Cross, which a German 
Lutheran organization rented, glad to eke out their income by 
such method. Mr. Henry C. Schell, a churchman from Geneva,. 
New York, was prominent in this congregation. He called upon 
us and gave us a warm welcome. Others there were Mr. W. C. 
Otte (now rector of a flourishing church in the Diocese of Indi- 
anapolis), Mr. W. G. Ross, who played the organ; Mrs. J. J. 
Tranchant, Mrs. Nichols, Miss Meade, Mr. and Airs. Safhn,. 
Dr. and Mrs. Harper and Mrs. Knight. Rev. Mr. Edwards,, 
whose son was afterward archdeacon of the Diocese, was the 
iirst minister. After him came occasionally Rev. Messrs. Rhodes,. 
Babin, Frank Brooke (present bishop of Oklahoma), and at 
length Rev. John Milton Stevens. He was a Berkeley divinity 
man and was brought up under Bishop AA^illiams of Connecticut. 
He had a very attractive personality and won the hearts of the 
little congregation at once. I was appointed Superintendent of- 
the Sunday school and a teaching force speedily rallied about 
that developed the attendance to amazing proportions. St. Paul's 
church was a most kind parent, and the Rev. Dr. AA'itherspoon,, 
the rector, stood ready to assist in any manner needful. Mr. 
Rufus King was a prominent friend and pledged money gener- 
ously in our behalf. Mrs. Huntington, whose Shumway me- 
morial at Fairabault is a conspicuous proof of genuine consecra- 
tion, was most kind. A delightful Christmas festival was held 
upon Holy Innocents' night in 1876 and the carol "Holy Night"' 
was especially well sung. Bishop Jaggar broached his plans 
touching city mission work and desired the Ascension Mission 
as its foundation. So Rev. Mr. Stevens retired and the bishop 
took charge, changing the name to St. Luke's Chapel. The build- 
ing was purchased and Rev. J. Mills Kendrick was called as 
assistant minister. W't took over at this time the Chapel of the 
Redeemer and both places had large Sunday schools. I was en- 
rolled as a postulant and Mr. Odiorne arranged for my entrance 
at Bexley Hall, Gambler, the seat of Kenyon College. I visited 
the place with him and Mrs. Odiorne at commencement in 1878. 
stopping at Harcourt, the guest of Mrs. Dr. Alfred Blake. I 
enjoyed the services and ceremonies greatly. Mr. Henry D. Aves, 
now bishop of Mexico, delivered the principal oration, afterward 


published in the Standard of the Cross. Through Bishop Jag- 
gar's influence I received the promise of a scholarship fund in 
the hands of Mr. A. H. McGuffey of Cincinnati, set apart for 
the benefit of students of the university. In leaving Cincinnati 
I was the recipient of a student lamp and a black alpaca gown 
in token of the affection and good-will of my !^unday school 


Kenyon College was the Mecca of the churchmen of Ohio. It 
liad been founded by Bishop Chase in the 20's and represented 
the gifts of devout Englishmen. The very names were per- 
petuated in the building. Lords Kenyon and (jambier and Lady 
Ross are inherent in the very walls. The president was Rev. 
Dr. William B. Bodine. He was a man of genial ways, a most 
interesting preacher, with a memory that was exceptional and 
a gift of extemporaneous speech that was equal to any emer- 
gency. His fund of anecdote seemed inexhaustible and he ex- 
ercised a kindly sway that made him an uni\ersal favorite. He 
was rarely ever at home, because of the necessity of presenting 
the claims of the institution for both funds and students. His 
worth to the college can hardly be over-estimated. Many of its 
•greatest endowments are the result of his painstaking care. He 
was never happier than when entertaining distinguished visitors 
and he made "The Hill" luminous in places of note throughout 
the country. His wife supplemented his efforts and his large 
family of children were the pets of innumerable students. 

The professors at the seminary were Drs. Fleming James, 
Cyrus Bates and Abraham jaeger. Bishop Bedell gave instruc- 
tion in pastoral theology and Prof. Sterling of Kenyon occasion- 
ally lectured upon subjects of a scientific character in relation to 
religion. Dr. James was a Virginian and an alumnus of the 
celebrated university of that State. He had served in the Civil 
War on the side of the South and was nominated to his chair 
by Bishop Dudley of Kentucky. He was one of the kindest and 
Lest of men, a strict disciplinarian and yet most considerate. 
When the students were sick he had the tenderness of a woman. 
His house was ever open in hospitality to us and Mrs. James 
was as friendly as her husband. No one exercised a stronger 
influence over the theologians and his. genuine piety was a con- 


stant summons to deep religious consecration. Rev. Dr. Bates 
was a remarkably fine teacher. His thought was as clear as 
crystal and his illustrations wonderfully apt. He was the ablest 
preacher in the faculty and his sermons were heard with pro- 
found attention. Dr. Jaeger was a converted Jewish Rabbi from 
Memphis, Tennessee, who had married a daughter of Professor 
Wilmer (brother of Bishop Wilmer). His knowledge was pro- 
digious, but his delivery was so erratic that the congregation 
was more or less amused whenever he appeared in the pulpit. 
He represented Leipsic and Bonn in German degrees and his 
instructions in the philosophy of history were of incalculable 
worth to appreciative students. Bishop Bedell was the acme of 
culture and persuasion as a speaker. To a voice of exquisite 
modulation — like a perfect flute — were added all the graces of a 
finished orator. Action and gesture were of surpassing worth. 
It was a rare privilege to sit under such a word painter and 
master of rhetorical argument. 

Our studies took vtp most of the day. Friday we had faculty 
meetings in the seminary library, which were heart to heart 
talks from the professors upon some religious theme. There 
were no recitations upon Monday, as most of the men filled 
vacancies as lay readers upon Sunday and could not get back 
in time for morning class. At first I took up academic work 
in the college, making up the customary canonical literary 
studies. I was under Professors Strong, Sterling, Tappan and 
Rust. The dominant one of them was Professor Strong, whose 
work in literature was distinctive and superlative. He made the 
great characters of letters live anew and his summing up of their 
place in history left no revision possible. My seminary hours 
were filled with instruction in Greek, Hebrew, Divinity, Polity 
and History. At the end of the first year I passed the preliminary 
examination and was duly matriculated. On Sunday I took 
charge of Christ Church, at the Quarry, where I read the evening 
service in a student gown, taught a Bible class and read an 
assigned sermon. Sometimes I spoke without notes. It was all 
necessarily crude, but the experience was invaluable. I used to- 
call upon the people in their homes and found them most appre- 
ciative. In my second year, through the kindly intervention of 
President Bodine, I was engaged by Rev. C. H. Babcock, D. D.,. 


of Trinity Church, Columbus, to take charge of the Mission 
across the river in that city in a suburb called Middletown. It 
was in the midst of round-houses and business plants. \\ e used 
to gather at Trinity Church upon Sunday afternoon and take a 
Herdic to our destination. Mrs. General j. G. Mitchell, the 
Misses Deshler. Smith, and (jeiger. and Mr. Bailey were 
most regular and devoted. We had a tine school and the 
attendance at evening prayer, which came at the close, was 
gratifying. We had a curious experience at Christmas when we 
gave the girls dolls and the boys knives. \\'e found a number of 
the boys in tears because they had not received dolls. Thereafter 
we made no distinction. One of the women who brought her 
child to be baptized rather startled us by inquiring whether 
"Episcopals had big or little baptism." She explained by saying 
that "Big baptism is a sham but little baptism don't hurt and 
does good." I made my calls upon Monday morning when the 
parish was "in the suds," but many a warm friendship was made 
over the wash-tub. One year the larger part of the Confirmation 
class at Trinity came through Middletown Mission. At the 
seminary I took up library work in connection with Mr. George 
Rogers. We catalogued the collection of books making up the 
seminary library. Many were priceless in character on account of 
age, and were gifts to Bishop Chase by English churchmen. 
Autographs make them additionally valuable. Fellow-students 
there were Charles D. Williams (now Bishop of Michigan), 
William M. Brown (formerly Bishop of Arkansas), Henry H. 
Smythe, Henry D. Aves (Bishop of Mexico), C. C. Leman, A. 
H. Prentiss, G. B. Van Waters, J. H. Davet, E. M. W. Hills. 
F. S. Juny, S. W. W^elton, Douglas L Hobbs. W. H. Osborne. 
Rolla Dyer and Sherwood Rosevelt. W^e were a most companion- 
able body and made the walls ring with our songs and merriment. 
Bishop Bedell was our instructor in Pastoral Theology and the 
hours we spent at "Kokosing" were greatly prized. His hospi- 
tality was profuse and at Christmas-time all of the seniors and 
theologues upon the hill were entertained at dinner. It would 
be difficult to put in word all that this meant to under-graduates. 
Mrs Bedell had her couch moved to the table, as she was always 
in poor health and at the other end the dear Bishop sat, a perfect 
picture of a mediaeval saint. We were constantly visited by 


members of the Episcopate, who usually preached in the college 
chapel. Of these can be named Harris, Cox, Kerfoot, Peterkin, 
Perry and Jaggar. Bishop Williams of Connecticut delivered 
the Bedell lectures in 1881. His visit was a delight. At the 
seminary he met us all informally and told stories, as he alone 
could, by the hour. In my last years at Gambler I superintended 
Harcourt Sunday School and had as helpers Miss Bessie Blake 
and Miss E. C. Neff. The townspeople were always very kind 
We boarded at Miss Annie Putnam's, just back of the seminary. 
Of the citizens I remember especially the French's, White's. 
Cracraft's. Butler's, Xeff's and Fern's. At Harcourt School Mr. 
and Mrs. J. D. H. McKinley and at the grammar school, the Nel- 
son's were always thoughtful and helpful. I took my degree in 
June, 1882, and was taken ill in the recitation room. Bishop Bedell 
kindly sent over Dr. Welker to look after me and came himself 
in constant inquiry. On one of his visits he had me read to him a 
sermon for criticism. His judgment was always courted, because 
of his pre-eminence as a preacher. My sermon was upon 
"Solomon" and he expressed pleasure over the diction. I was 
ordained in the Church of the Holy Spirit by Bishop Bedell (for 
Bishop Jaggar who was in Europe) with my class-mate, James 
H. Davet, June 28, 1882. A curious incident took place in the 
vestry room. My vestments were made for my dear mother by 
the Sisters of St. John's Church, Washigton, and a beautiful 
cross with L H. S. was embroidered upon the front. Embroidery 
of any nature was then unknown upon surplices in Ohio and this 
departure attracted instant attention. Dr. Bodine, whether play- 
fully or as a monition, drew attention to my surplice saying that 
it had the "Mark of the Beast." Bishop Bedell said "That is not a 
proper surplice, sir," but adding, "it is too late now for change." 
I stipposed that if I had been his candidate in lieu of Bishop 
Jaggar 's he might have compelled a" change, but as he was per- 
forming a duty for another he had less authority. Bishop Perry 
of Iowa was present in the chancel and the sermon was preached 
by Rev. \\\ D'Orville Doty, D. D., of Rochester, New York. It 
was a scientific discourse prepared for Griswold College and per- 
tained little to our occasion. I graduated at the head of my class 
and was appointed to read "The Gospel" in the ordination service 
and received my degree at Rosse Hull last. The Bishop used th(; 


formula in taking me by the hand there — "Thou O Man of God 
* * * follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, 
meekness." The words seemed a little far-fetched for a mere 
ecclesiastical stripling like myself, but they were accompanied 
with so much emotion that they touched me deeply. My cousins, 
Albert and Annie Douglass, of Chillicothe, with their family had 
been making their home in the Badger cottage for a couple of 
years, while the youngest son, Joseph, was taking his course at 
Kenyon. They were present throughout the Ordination and grad- 
uation. Also, a boyhood friend of mine, William Walter of 
Cincinnati, who almost was deprived of attending through my 
absentmindedness. I locked the door of my rooms at Bexley 
Hall, with him inside, as T hurried to get to church for Morning 
Prayer. He crawled out of the window and jumped down to 
the ground. It chagrined me not a little when I found out what 
I had done. The next Sunday, July 2, I preached in the morning 
at the Church of the Holy Spirit at the recjuest of P>ishop Bedell, 
who was present in the church with Rev. Dr. Bodine. My sub- 
ject was "The Prime Requisite" and the text, St. Matt. \T. 33. 
in the afternoon I preached at the Quarry Chapel. Upon July 9. 
as I was quietly seated in the seminary pew awaiting the Morning 
Service to begin. Bishop Bedell sent word to me to come into 
the vestry room and asked where my sermon was. As I had no 
thought of preaching, none was in my hand. He then sent for 
Dr. Bodine, who came in and preached an extempore sermon 
of great power. He said that the text was suggested by the 
first lesson and it recalled a' sermon he had prepared from it 
twenty years before. It showed his marvelous memory and 
created a profound impression. Upon Julv 23 and 30 I took 
duty for Rev. F. M. Hall at Trinity Church. Newark, where the 
\isit was most pleasant. 


At the request of Rev. F. K. Brooke of St. James Church. 
Piqua (now Bishop of Oklahoma). I was assigned by Bishop 
Jaggar to the Mission Churches at Troy and Greenville. My 
rooms at the Seminary were speedily dismantled and everything 
packed and upon Saturday, August 5, we left for our new 
destination. During the week previous at the suggestion of my 


:good mother and with the assistance of Miss Annie Putnam^ 
we held a farewell reception at the Putnam home. It was a most 
pleasant affair and our friends, including the dear Bishop, whose 
kindly face always appears when "Kenyon" is mentioned, lent 
especial dignity to the function. We stopped over night on our 
way to Troy with Rev. and Mrs. Brooke at their hospitable 
rectory in Piqua. Next morning, Sunday, we drove down to 
the Trojan parish and conducted service. Rev. Mr. Brooke 
celebrated the Communion while I preached. Trinity Church 
was a square building without a recess chancel, this place being 
indicated by a platform upon which Lecturn and Altar stood. 
A curtained alcove at the side served as robing room. We took 
dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Henry Allen. For awhile we stopped 
at the hotel, but later took rooms in the Kramer boarding house 
upon Main Street. The congregation was very small but that 
simply increased its devotion. Of those who composed it I recall 
the Aliens, Miss De Frees, Miss Taylor, the Eddys, Dr. Horace 
Coleman and daughter, Judge and Mrs. Johnson and John De- 
AV'eese. Everybody was hospitable and we enjoyed the various 
gatherings greatly. The ministers of the different religious 
bodies called and the townspeople were most kind. Judge John- 
son, who was on the vestry, was a "great wag." He presided 
over the Probate Court and came to me with the announcement 
that he intended to turn all marriages over to me, that he could. 
One day he sent word that he had just given a license to a 
parsimonious old German, very wealthy, to marry a young 
girl. 'T told him," he said, "that I thought you would perform 
the job for $100.00 willingly." I waited much amused. By and 
by a buggy drove up in front of the boarding house and an old 
man got out, leaving the girl to hitch the horse, and inquired 
for me. Coming into the parlor he said, "What you charge for 
marrying me." I answered, "Oh ! that is a matter that rests with 
the groom. There is no stipulated amount." "\\^ell," he replied, 
"I can get married for a dollar in Piqua and so I pays no more 
in Troy." The account of the meeting when I told it created 
no end of merriment, because of the rivalry between the towns. 
The Pequots long gloried in the fact that their town set the 
mark even in marriage fees. Greenville, my other charge, was 
also small in membership, but there was abundant vigor among 


the communicants. The Perry's, l.ansdown's, Matchett's, War- 
ring's and Webb's were prominent. 1 stopped generally with the 
Webb's. Mr. H. A. Webb kept a store and painted portraits. 
We had a good .Sunday school and a fair attendance at worshij). 
At a general gathering of the clergy held in the place in con- 
nection with the Clericus, Rev. Mr. Webster of Christ Church, 
Dayton, was accosted by a small boy, as he was entering the 
church building with the query, "Mister, where are the dogs." 
Somewhat mystified, he said, "For what?" "Uncle Tom's Cabin! 
Is not this the company expected today." No, my boy," was the 
answer, "this is not a show but an Episccjpal conference." In 
Troy I found relatives of my father's family in the person of 
Aunt Fronie Peck and her daughter Cordelia. They were 
Lewis's and claimed kinship with Grandmother Lewis, my 
father's mother. After working in this field for six months, 
alternating between the towns upon Sundays, Bishop Jaggar 
summoned me to Cincinnati, to take charge of St. Luke's Chapel 
and the Chapel of the Redeemer, the former being my old 
stamping ground. In December, 1882, I had visited Cincinnati, 
with my mother, to marry my brother Dave to Miss Fanny 
Peter at the Church of the Atonement, Riverside. My brother 
at that time had left the First National Bank and was a travel- 
ing salesman for Thomas Emery & Sons. During my stay I 
saw and talked with the Bishop about the vacancy at St. Luke's, 
occasioned by the appointment of Rev. James Kendrick, after- 
ward Bishop of New Mexico, as General Missionary of the 
Diocese. I also attended the Oratorio of "The Messiah" at the 
Music Hall, an annual feature there holiday week. 


I assumed the assistant ministership of St. Luke's Chapel 
Sunday, February 4, Bishop Jaggar celebrating the Holy Com- 
munion and speaking gracious words of commendation. I 
preached from St. Matthew ix:L3 upon "Repentant Sinners 
Called By Christ." In the afternoon I superintended the Sunday 
School at the Chapel of the Redeemer and in the evening 
preached at St. Luke's again. My impression is that we stopped 
at the Odiorne's and Garrison's temporarily. The friends whom I 
had made formerly when in charge of the Sunday School were 


out in force and the first Sunday was most auspicious. Our 
first home was at what is now 806 Findlay Street, upon the 
north side, three doors above Linn. Here we gathered our goods 
and chattels together and began housekeeping. My dear mother 
very soon had the place inviting and attractive. My study was 
the front room up stairs, which also served as a bedroom. 
There were six rooms and two attics. It was all compact and 
comfortable. Very shortly it was the scene of hospitality and 
good cheer. In my work my mother entered completely. She 
was made president of the Aid Society and put new life into 
the organization. Her value as critic of my sermons was pre- 
eminent. She had so keen a literary sense and such a wonderful 
command of language, that any suggestion meant a marvelous 
change for the better. She was so instant in seeing excellence 
that her commendation rested upon fact. Her beauty of diction 
made even a postal card from her a prize. It was a superlative 
privilege to have her as a listener and every success that has 
been achieved since is largely due to such oversight. 

St. Luke's Chapel was the Bishop's Chapel and the family of 
Bishop Jaggar were regular in attendance. The Bishop lived 
for awhile upon the corner of Dayton and Baymiller. His chil- 
dren Mary, Louise and Tom all came to the Sunday School. 
Afterwards his place of residence was Avondale. My first 
critical experience grew out of the Ohio River flood. The water 
covered the lower part of Cincinnati up to Pearl Street and put 
out the gas when it reached the plant. I had a curious proof of 
this in connection with my first marriage. Mr. C. A. Maish, 
who was to marry a Miss F. M. Crowther came to secure my 
services. He said : "Where will the wedding take place" and I 
answered in surprise, "I suppose where you say." "Well," he 
said, "the bride's house in the western part of the city is now 
surrounded by water and I shall have to row her out with her 
trunk this afternoon." "Come here," I announced. W'hen they 
came at night we had to have the ceremony in a little room 
down stairs, with candles feebly burning to give us light. It was 
rather gruesome but the wedded pair enjoyed the novelty and 
spoke afterwards of its being unlike any that had ever occurred 
before. T was ordained to the priesthood in St. James Church, 
Zanesville, May 9, 1883, by Bishop Jaggar. The Bishop deliv- 

r.lMlLY MI-MO/h'S Hh'OlVN 209 

tred a charge u])()n "The I )ut}- of the Clergy in Kelatidii to 
Modern Skepticism" from the text of 1 Cor. ix. 1. Re\-. Or. 
Bates presented me and Rev. E. M. W. Hills presented my class- 
mate. Rev. J. H. Davet. In the chancel and assisting were Hishoji 
Paddock of Washington, Bishop Penick of Cape Palmas, Yen. 
Archdeacon Kirby, Rev. Dr. P>urr and Rev. L McK. Pittenger. 
The service was most impressixe and the Bishop e\ en more than 
ordinarily eloquent. The chancel was dazzling from the Shulze 
(the star soap man) Memorial Window, filling the entire space, 
a copy of Holman Hunt's "Christ the Light of the World." 
Additional dignity pervaded, because of the presence of the 
clergy and laity at the Ninth Annual Convention. The interest 
in all of the proceedings was profound. Upon my return 
my devoted parishioner, Mrs. Sarah A. Kendrick, sister of 
Colonel Robert Anderson of Fort Sumter fame, presented me 
with a pocket communion set and my mother added a priest 
ring', with a serpent head on it containing a small diamond as 
an eye. The ring has never been off my hand and will always 
stay there as a blessed token of her love. I celebrated the holy 
communion for the first time upon Whit Sunday, May lo. The 
next duty that arose was to make St. Luke's an independent 
church. A new organ was installed through the indefatigability 
of Mr. T. G. Odiorne, who became, with his devoted wife, 
members of our congregation upon the merging of St. Paul's 
with St. John's church. The old St. John's organ was sold and 
the proceeds put into the sweet-toned instrument from Koehnken 
& Grimm, a firm noted for their work upon the college 
organ at Gambier. In October my mother and I paid a visit 
to Dave and Fanny, who were living then in St. Louis. They 
were amused at the words of a colored maid who was setting 
the table and said, "Now grandpa will sit here and grandma 
there." Evidently she thought that I was a young husband 
in place of being another son. Upon December 9 I exchanged 
wdth Rev. Dr. Samuel Benedict of St. Paul's church in the 
morning. The service was held in the Sunday school room, for 
the chvirch proper was being extensively repaired. I preached 
upon St. Matt, xxv, 24, "Lessons of Advent Tide," and at the 
close of the sermon Mrs. James Cullen and her son, James Cul- 
len, Jr., came forward and thanked me for the sermon. In the 


evening they came out to St. Luke's. Thus was formed one 
of the most beautiful and lasting friendships of my life. For 
almost immediately Mrs. Cullen was transferred to my member- 
ship and became, with her household, foundation pillars in every 
good work. Her name ever after was linked with notable suc- 
cess in the church in the western part of the city. February 24, 
1884, I gave up charge of the Chapel of the Redeemer and upon 
May 14, at the annual convention of the Diocese, held in St. 
Paul's church, St. Luke's ceased to be a mission chapel and 
became an independent parish. The first delegates who pre- 
sented the application were T. G. Odiorne, W . G. Irwin and 
J. B. Day. 

St. Luke's chvirch was "sui generis." The people were warm- 
hearted, congenial and alive. Everything progressed in the spirit 
of loyalty and enthusiasm. Our Sunday school was large and 
well managed. My first senior warden was Mr. Henry C. 
Schell, a prince of churchmen. He was brought vip under the 
shadow of Bishop DeLancey of Western New York and knew 
the whole story of Hobart College. He accompanied the bishop 
upon his missionary tours and found zest in making the Prayer 
Book of household worth wherever he went. He had been 
crippled by rheumatism so that his blood formed chalky deposits 
at the joints and his hands were misshapen, but in spite of all 
he carried on his daily insurance business and was invariably in 
place upon Sunday. To show his affection for the church a 
single incident will suffice. When his daughter was to be mar- 
ried Easter week, his physician said, "You can not go to church 
both Easter day and Wednesday afterward, the day of the wed- 
ding, without peril." "Well," answered the stalwart church- 
man, "then I will go Easter day. I have never been away from 
church upon that blessed feast when able to go and I will not 
begin now." All of our senior wardens were men of like con- 
secration. Mayor James B. Day was devoted, earnest, loyal and 
liberal. He and his good wife were instant in every movement 
for the upbuilding of the congregation. Mr. and Mrs. W. G. 
Irwin were also peculiarly efficient and made their religion tally 
with helpful deeds. Mr. John A. Cochran was never happier than 
in working for the interests of the Master. Afifectionate and 
generous, he loved his church with a regard that never waned. 


He and Mrs. Cochran gave themselves in un\arying sacrifice to 
every need that uprose. Our junior warden, Mr. Charles Stan- 
ley, kept his place untrammeled from the start and honored 
every demand placed upon him vv^ith alacrity. 

Mrs. James Cullen was the great general. Her executive 
ability could not be surpassed. She stands at the head for a 
combination of traits that made her a miracle in work and a 
tower of strength. We held three downtown all-day luncheons 
and they brought in successively. $1,800, $1,200, and $800. In 
all of these Mrs. CuUen's tact and energy shone with conspicu- 
ous power. We held also a musicale at her house which netted 
$460. In all of this work her husband was conspicuous for 
generosity and kindliness. 

The church building was put in prime repair, renovated 
throughout, recarpeted and painted upon the outside. Three 
memorial windows were put in — Cullen, Carew and Ranney. 
Miss Louise Thomas carved a black walnut altar and Mrs. Cullen 
gave standards of light. The pulpit was given by the St. Agnes 
Guild in memory of May Jaggar. I held the first New Year's 
eve communion in 1886 and preached "The Three Hours' Agony" 
the first time March 30, 1888. These services subsequently be- 
came marked in their recognition throughout the entire city. 
The vested choir was introduced Easter day, 1888. Our music 
was alw^ays of a high order under the various organists, Mr. 
W. A. Coan, Mrs. Alia D. Gregory, Mrs. Ladd and Mr. E. C. 
Newlin. There was a bond of sympathy holding all together 
and everything done was carried with glad acknowledgment far 
and wide. 

Mrs. George F. Ireland deserves especial mention for her 
constant eiTort by pen and deed to promote our welfare. With 
an activity that was perennial and a devotion that went into every 
possible avenue, she lent herself unsparingly to our upbuilding. 
She was warm-hearted and kindly. Her friends were legion and 
her untimely death saddened innumerable hearts. 

I was present at the ordination to the priesthood of Rev. 
Messrs. G. E. Benedict, C. D. Williams, D. W. Cox, Lawrence 
Guerin, W. C. Otte, C. T. A. Pise, C. A. Ouirrell and Chris- 
topher Sargent. I assisted in the laying on of hands of almost 
all and feel that the duty was well performed. For ten years 


I was Secretary of the Cincinnati Clericus and one year Presi- 
dent. I served upon the committee of arrangements for the con- 
secration of Bishop Vincent and usually had an active part in all 
official gatherings that transpired. For five successive summers^ 
from 1884 to 1888, I preached for Rev. Dr. John Hubbard of 
St. Matthew's church, Philadelphia, coming up for the purpose 
from Atlantic City or Cape May upon Saturdays in August and 
remaining until Monday morning. I formed most pleasant ac- 
quaintances in the congregation, especially Dr. and Mrs. E. R. 
Stone and Mr. and Mrs. Gilroy, their parents. One August I 
preached at the Church of the Centeurion, Fortress Monroe, and 
had a choir composed of officers. The congregation was sum- 
moned by bugle and the flowers were from the government Con- 
servatory. During my rectorship at St. Luke's church many 
overtures were made to me to go elsewhere. St. James church,. 
Painesville, Ohio ; St. John's church, Lafayette, and Trinity 
church, Michigan City, Ind., were all urgent in calls. Every 
time, however, it seemed the part of wisdom to remain and fight 
the battle for robust churchmanship at Findlay and Baymiller. 
February 12, 1886, my eldest brother's birthday, I officiated at 
his marriage to Miss Sue Youtsey, assisted by Rev. Lawrence 
Guerin. The event took place at the residence of \ir. and Mrs. 
T. O. Youtsey, Central avenue, Newport. He was a widower, 
his former wife. Miss Ella Donaldson of \\^ashington, having 
died at \A^ernersville, Pa. The second marriage was one of great 
happiness upon both sides and my nephews and nieces are very 

Mr. Howard Saxby, one of my esteemed vestrymen and de- 
voted friends, was a strong supporter of St. Luke's church. He 
was the son of an English vicar and had a sister who "professed." 
He was a man of letters, versatile, witty and the life of any 
company. Through him many outside duties came. At the first 
Lodge of Sorrow ever held by the B. P. O. E. at Nixon's Hall, 
upon Fourth street, I made an address upon "Death, the Beacon 
of Life." The date M^as January 27, 1889. This was so favor- 
ably received that each year the order asked a repetition. L^pon 
.Saturday, June 9, 1888, I made the invocation at the compli- 
mentary dinner to the Press Club tendered by the commissioners 
of the Centennial Exposition of the Ohio Valley at the Gibson 




House. It was a magnificent success. The menu was [)erfecl. 
the decorations superb and the whole event matchless. I sat at 
the right of the president, Mr. ChaVles P. Taft, and on my left 
was Hon. Murat Halstead. Speeches were made by Halstead, For- 
aker. Governor Bryan, Sam Hunt and Saxby. It was as remark- 
able a gathering as Cincinnati has ever had. I acted as Chaplain 
for Hughes High School and the Normal School, delivering the 
first baccalaureate addresses that were e\er known in connection 
with their Commencements and also making the customary Invo- 
cations. Dr. Charles A. L. Reed, a valued communicant, interest- 
ed us in the establishment of a Woman's Free Surgical Hospital. 
Of this Mrs. CuUen was president, and some of our prominent 
women were upon the Board of Directors. I again acted as Chap- 
lain and gave a series of addresses to the Nurses. Through Dr. 
Reed I was elected trustee of the Woman's Medical College, 
whose honor was to graduate the first class of the sex in medicine 
in the W est. Since my seminary days I had been the correspond- 
ent of the Standard of the Cross from the Diocese. The Cincinnati 
letter became quite a feature and was the occasion of much 
felicitation upon the part of both clergy and laity. In addition 
to this I wrote many articles for the Criterion and was upon its 
editorial stafif. I was elected to membership upon the Board of 
Trustees of the Children's Hospital upon Mt. Auburn, and was 
chosen Secretary. In the interest of Church Extension I held 
cottage meetings and opened a Sunday school upon Werner 
street, Mt. Adams ; also in the afternoons held services at Wyom- 
ing. Each of these movements subsequently developed into 
strong centers of aggressive work. In Mid-Lent week, 1892, we 
held a teaching mission at St. Luke's church upon "The Church 
of God — Her Past Flistory and Present Status." All of the 
clergy, including Bishop Vincent, took part in the addresses and 
the Bishop publicly commended the movement as worthy of 
adoption throughout the Diocese. 

Through the constant migration of parishioners to the suburbs 
the financial burden of St. Luke's increased in heaviness. It 
seemed the part of wisdom to return to the fundamental idea 
and make the church the seat of mission work in the city, under 
the Bishop. Plans were consummated and the Diocesan conven- 
tion of 1892 endorsed the project. Believing that the design 


could be best carried out under a different spiritual guide, I re- 
signed the parish in December, 1893, and accepted a call to St. 
Thomas church. Battle Creek, Diocese of Western Michigan. 
Mother and I visited the Sanitarium there in August, 1892, and 
found the atmosphere delightful and the people most cordial. 
A subsequent renewal of hospitality in 1893 ended in a strong 
request to assume the rectorship. It was like tearing out heart- 
strings to leave Cincinnati. The parish had been so harmonious 
and loyal. As a proof, in 1889, upon my birthday, after some 
months' experience in boarding at the Denison hotel, the members 
completely furnished our new home at 447 Baymiller street, as a 
"token of love and esteem." While Mrs. W. G. Irwin and Mrs. 
Cullen were upon the committee, over a hundred persons united 
in the matured plan. Thus our intercourse had been that of a 
family and the various residences were like so many homes. 
But iT: seemed a providential design that change should come 
and so upon the first Sunday in F'ebruary, 1894, after Confirma- 
tion in the morning by Bishop Vincent and a Baccalaureate ser- 
mon in the evening to the Normal School, I spoke my words of 
farewell with a heavy heart and the relationship as Rector and 
congregation was severed. 


Our life in Michigan was one of great happiness. We were 
met at the station by members of the vestry and taken to the 
residence of Hon. George Willard, where we were hospitably 
entertained until the rectory was in order. A reception was 
given us at night and we had warm greetings from parishioners 
and townspeople. The church had been without a rector for 
some months, but the vitality of the congregation was wonderful. 
The first service was upon Ash AA'ednesday, February 7, and the 
attendance was large and representative. Soon the building was 
taxed to the utmost and at night chairs were placed in the aisles. 
The first Easter service crowded the edifice, many standing, and 
the offering was $800, sufficient to pay all back indebtedness to 
the Diocese. Sixty-four were confirmed the first year and by 
the time of the semi-centennial in June every organization was 
alive and doing splendidly. Mother made the rectory a gem. 
It was next to the church and the parishioners were rarely absent 
in the afternoons. Their kindness was proverbial. Being fine 


housekeepers, Saturdays always meant gifts of eatables and in 
the summer flowers in profusion. They had an annual custom 
of stocking our pantry with canned fruit and preserves. It was 
all so heartily done that the pleasure lingered constantly. 

Mr. W'illard was a model Senior \\ arden. He had been Rec- 
tor of the parish in the early days and gave up his ministry be- 
cause of the marked pro-slavery bias of Iiishop McCoskry. He 
became professor of Latin, member of Congress and finally editor 
of the Battle Creek Journal. His knowledge was prodigious and 
his memory accurate to an astonishing degree. He was never at a 
loss for fact or incident and was a public speaker of rare ability. 
It was a treat to listen to him upon the platform or in private 
converse. With all this he was modest, approachable, genial, 
appreciative and wonderfully cultured. He knew both ancient 
and modern languages. To listen to him construe was to delight 
in a master of translation. His English was singularly fine and 
his editorials made opinion all over the county. As he sat in 
his pew with his face lit up with approbation and encouragement, 
he was a picture of a noble and sympathetic friend. He was 
always instant in commendation and the Monday Journal told 
in felicitous language the excellencies in worship and sermon. 
He was a genuine Christian, large-minded, tolerant and opti- 

Dr. A. T. Metcalf, junior warden, was "a hale fellow, well 
met." He was an active thirty-third degree A. A. S. R. and Past 
Most Worshipful ( irand Master of Michigan. He was inimi- 
table in his way and had a friendliness that pervaded everywhere. 
A ritualist by inheritance, he enjoyed a good service intensely. 
His wife, Mrs. Helen Xoble Metcalf, was a perfect complement. 
Mrs. A. P. Noble, her mother, made the third member of this 
hospitable trio. Every Sunday evening I wended my way to 
their home for supper, at the close of service. The table groaned 
with good fare and the spirit of delightful chat made the hours 
memorable. Through the doctor I entered the Masonic fraternity 
and was knighted in the Commandery. My election as Excellent 
Prelate followed and the yearly pilgrimages to the church upon 
Ascension Sunday were most enjoyable. 

Mr. and Mrs. Edward C. Hinman were also very dear friends. 
"Ed" was on the vestry and proved himself a valued and excep- 


tional member. Through him the property adjacent was secured 
and the grounds enlarged to the corner. He also presented the 
processional cross when we introduced the vested choir. In every 
way his aid made progress and strength possible in the parish 
and his counsel was of priceless worth. Mrs. Hinman was dear 
beyond expression and her rare consideration reached far and 
Avide. \\'hile an invalid and constantly confined to her room, her 
thoughtfulness and devotion were unvarying. Her home was 
inexpressibly precious and to be her guest the heighth of satis- 
faction. To be the recipient of her kindness was to know all that 
the most perfect taste and courtesy could provide. The two 
daughters, Gertrude and Belle, I had the privilege of marrying — 
the one to John C. Garrison and the other to Arthur W. 
Lammers. Their beautiful friendship has been a most prized 

Mrs. Kate C. HoUoway was another member of the parish 
whose presence always occasioned joy. Unswerving in loyalty, 
munificent, a thorough churchwoman and a considerate supporter 
in every possible way, she won a place in our regard that has 
deepened with the years. My mother loved her as a younger 
sister and was never happier than in her company. Her subse- 
quent visits were looked forward to with bright anticipation and 
treasured up as especial privileges. 

Mr. and Mrs. S. J. Titus and their charming family were 
also much esteemed. Mrs. Titus was a connection of the Schell's 
and the relationship afforded constant opportunity for kindly 
courtesies and deeds of worth. 

The Diocese of Western Michigan was presided over by Rt. 
Rev. G. D. Gillespie, D.D., a bishop whose intrinsic worth can 
not be depicted in words. Sincere, earnest, faithful, unspoiled 
by eminence, and deeply consecrated, his home was a haven 
to his whole Diocese. His two daughters amply seconded 
his efforts and made the Episcopal residence famous throughout 
the country. In summer the bishop and his family went to their 
cottage upon Pine lake in Charlevoix. Here again everybody 
was welcome and the attentions that were showered upon the 
least visitor created a bond of affection that was perpetual. I 
was immediately honored with the office of Examining Chaplain 
in Literary Studies and also chosen to preach the Baccalaureate 


sermon to the graduating class at Akeley Institute, the Diocesan 
school for girls, at Grand Ha\en. I served upon the Standing 
Committee and was a Deputy to the ( ieneral COn\ cntion in W'ash- 
ington in 1898. The bishop and I represented the Diocese at 
the funeral of Bishop Knickerbaker of Indiana in January, 1895. 
The clergy were singularly brotherly and formed a band of 
aggressive workers. At Semi-annuals and Diocesan conxentions 
the intercourse was always dominated by depth of courtesy. 
Two of the brethren and their rectories were especially enjoyed 
— Rev. R. H. F. C^airdner of Niles and Rev. R. R. Claiborne of 
Kalamazoo. I conducted two quiet days for Rev. jMr. Gairdner 
and found the parish uniciuely appreciative. The Claibornes were 
genuine Southerners, never happier than when showing some 
•delightful attention to those who were honored by their regard. 

In 1896 and 1899, inspired by my devoted mother, we spent 
•our vacations abroad. In former years we had practically sur- 
veyed the Atlantic seaboard from Old Point Comfort to Rye 
Beach, L. I. We knew the New Jersey coast like a book. W'e 
also had gone from Traverse City, Lake Michigan, to Buffalo by 
water. Georgian Bay, Owen Sound and Toronto formed another 
journey. So we were prepared for the Old ^^ orld and found our 
trips peculiarly helpful. Upon the first journey we saw England, 
Scotland, France and Holland and upon the second we added 
Germany, Austria and Italy. My mother was a fine sailor and 
stood the hardships remarkably well for her years. Upon our 
return from Glasgow in 1899 we encountered an iceberg oft' the 
■coast of Newfoundland and were in great peril for six hours. 
Wt weathered the storm, however, and landed safely in New 
York. Upon this voyage eleven persons from Battle Creek were 
in the party, among whom were the W'illard's and Mrs. Holloway. 

I went about the Diocese a great deal for especial services 
and lectures. I held a Quiet Day in Hastings for Rev. W. \\\ 
Taylor and conducted services in Homer and Charlotte. At the 
latter place I prepared a fine class for confirmation and presented 
the Rev. Norman Harrison, who was in charge, for the priest- 
hood, preaching the customary sermon. I lectured at- Grand 
Haven before the \\ Oman's Club and at Akeley school ; also in 
Kalamazoo and Ceresco. My duty at Ceresco was curious in that 
the object sought was money to put a bell in the Congregational 


meeting house. I was frequently in demand for talks at the 
Battle Creek Sanitarium and formed an abiding friendship for 
Dr. J. H. Kellogg, the celebrated physician in charge. It was 
my pleasure besides to speak constantly to the various organiza- 
tions of the city, reply to toasts at banquets and preside upon 
occasions of importance. Father Sadlier of the Roman 
Catholic church was a great co-laborer and his place of worship 
was opposite St. Thomas church. He always invited me to speak 
at the annual St. Patrick's day celebration. He went abroad 
in 1899 and I met him in Rome. He was to arrange for us to 
have an audience with Pope Pius, but the pontiff was indisposed 
and so it did not take place. Upon his return his congregation 
gave him a public reception, to which mother and I were invited. 
The hall was hung with the papal colors and we sat at the chief 
table. I was astonished to be made especially prominent by 
having my name linked with Father Sadlier in a rhyming address 
of welcome. 

The twenty-fifth anniversary of the consecration of Bishop 
Gillespie and of the organization of the Diocese took place at 
Grand Rapids Thursday, December 7, 1899. After a most im- 
pressive celebration of the holy communion in the morning, with 
a notable sermon by Bishop White of Michigan City, in the even- 
ing the banquet and toasts took place in Military Hall. It was my 
especial charge to speak in behalf of the clergy and utter our 
felicitations over the happy Episcopate. Mr. Willard spoke for 
the laity. Mother and I were entertained at the residence of 
Mr. and Mrs. F. O. Gorham. During this same month a com- 
mittee from St. Paul's church, Indianapolis, consisting of Judge 
J. M. Winters and Mr. W. J. Holliday, visited our church osten- 
sibly to secure a rector to fill the vacancy occasioned by the 
resignation of Rev. G. A. Carstensen. They were entertained at 
Mr. C. F. Bock's at the close of the evening service and were 
presented to my mother and myself. Upon New Year's eve, 
which came upon Stmday, I was startled by a telegram from the 
Indianapolis Journal asking whether I expected to accept the 
rectorship in Indianapolis. The next day the call came in formal 
shape and was the subject of careful consideration. Indianapolis 
was not "terra incognita." I had visited it years before as the 
guest of Mrs. Bingham, through the kindness of Bishop Knicker- 


backer, to enjoy a quiet day conducted by Bishop McT.aren. 
Again I spent the night with Bishop Knickerbacker upon my way 
with liim to examine Michigan City as a possible incumbent. 
Twice I was entertained by Mr. and Mrs. George Tanner and 
once came down to meet Bishop White and talk over the vacancy 
at Christ church. My mother's Ufe-long friend, Mrs. C. B. Lock- 
ard, lived there and that formed a link in estimate. At the re- 
quest of the vestry I spent two days as the guest of Bishop 
Francis, looking over the field. Then I accepted the rectorship. 
My dear mother was rather anxious to come, because of the 
nearness of the city to Cincinnati and Ohio relatives. That finally 
cemented the conclusion. At Battle Creek the feeling of regret 
over the severance of relations was deep. The Vestry, Minis- 
terial Association and Parish Aid Society all voiced their sad- 
ness. I went over to Kalamazoo to attend a notable consecration 
service in connection with superb memorial gifts. Both Rev. 
Mr. Claiborne and Judge A. J. Mills expressed their sorrow over 
my leave-taking. Bishop White said to me, "You are the only 
man who can bring order out of chaos there and make that parish 
a success along church lines." So, after farewell words, upon 
Septuagesima Sunday, February 11, and a public reception Mon- 
day, we closed our work in St. Thomas church and came to Indi- 
anapolis. A singular feature of January had been a visit to 
Trinity church. Bay City, as the guests of Mr. and Mrs. Malone, 
family connections. The vestry there would have given me a 
call had I not already accepted the one in Indiana. But the way 
seemed indicated and our footsteps were apparently ordered. 
Nevertheless, our hearts ached as we turned our faces from 
kindly, delightful Battle Creek. 

We stopped at the Denison Hotel upon our arrival. It was 
kept by Mr. D. P. Irwdn, a nephew of Mr. Charles Lockard of 
Cincinnati, our old family friend. It was managed by James 
Cullen. We spent the week getting settled there, occupying two 
adjoining rooms upon the third floor. Our household effects 
were stored and the books and study furniture put in order at 
the church. Sexagesima Sunday was ushered in with zero 
weather, yet the services were all well attended. In the morning 
I celebrated the Holy Communion and preached from St. Matt. 


xi :28, "Come Unto Me." The spirit of willing co-operation was 
manifest and everything seemed to betoken conspicuous success. 
A large reception was given for us upon the following Tuesday, 
Bishop and Mrs. Francis receiving with us and Mr. A. O. Jones 
acting as Master of Ceremonies. Upon the committees were 
Mesdames Jones, Perkins, Oxenford, Abbett, Stanbery, \\ . H. 
Cooper, R. O. Johnson, Barbour, Taggart, F. F. Bingham, Vail 
and Bender. Of the vestry. Judge Winters and Mr. J. A. Barnard 
were out of the city, but all of the rest came. Upon our first 
Sunday we were the guests of Mrs. T. O. Barbour and family 
to dinner. They were Cincinnati friends and related to the 
Cullen's. It was a delightful experience to meet and greet them 

St. Paul's Church had been through a chequered career. Its 
various rectors were either in charge for a short time or com- 
pelled by stress to resign. Coming into existence at the close of 
the Civil War through the instrumentality of Rev. Horace 
Stringfellows, a Southerner of pro-slavery proclivities, a certain 
antagonism was generated from the start against its every move- 
ment. It had been designated as "The Rebel Church" and the 
statement was widely disseminated that arms for the Confed- 
eracy were housed in the basement. Of course this was all 
notoriously false, but the effect was produced of suspicion upon 
the part of the communit}^ which cropped out at intervals in a 
very determined way. The former rector. Rev. G. A. Carstensen, 
left after the Spanish-American War and there had been no reg- 
ular service since the preceding September. Everything, there- 
fore, needed attention and re-vitalization. The building was in 
wretched repair — furnaces broken down, windows demolished, 
floor warped and carpet in rags. The pulpit had no connection 
with the chancel and the steps into the choir were abrupt and un- 
safe. There was a bonded indebtedness upon the property of 
$12,000.00 and a floating shrinkage of income amounting to about 
S4,000.00 more. Many of the pews were rented only in name and 
the liberal members of the parish had to finance the situation at 
large personal outlay. Our first work was renovation and by 
Easter the place presented a totally different appearance. Mrs. 
Thomas Taggart took hold of the carpeting and renovating of 
the pews : carpenters shored up the unsteady nave : the choir floor 


was extended and the pulpit securely joined to it: even in the 
parish-house transformation appeared. The sacristy and room 
off of the vestibule were treated separately. They had been store- 
rooms for debris, but became devotional adjuncts ff)r the !>ap- 
tistery and Altar. In time — the whole [)lant was reconstructed 
in every possible particular. 

Certain members of the congregation were known to us be- 
fore we came. \\'e renewed our intercourse with the Tanners. 
Judge and Mrs. Winters were most kind and my mother found 
the latter very congenial. Mr. and Mrs. S. E. Morss proved de- 
lightful. Our first Easter we took dinner with them informally 
at night. Ever after there was a peculiar bond of regard. I 
presented Mrs. Morss and Miss Josephine for Confirmation in my 
first class. Afterwards I officiated at the funeral of Mrs. Morss's 
mother in Ft. Wayne. Mr. Morss had a tragic death from fall- 
ing out of his window at the Sentinel Building upon the stone 
pavement below and fracturing his skull. He was a very lovable 
man and an editorial writer of marked excellence. He had been 
Consul General to Paris under President Cleveland and was one 
of our celebrities. The funeral services w^ere held at St. Paul's 
and the interment took place at Ft. Wayne. The attendance 
was notably large. A special train took us to Ft. Wayne and 
Mr. Taggart acted as caterer, serving both dinner and supper 
"en route." At Ft. W^ayne Rev. Mr. Moffat, a Presbyterian 
minister, pastor of Mother Morss, assisted at the grave. Mrs. 
Morss was always a devoted friend and her kindness is a per- 
petual joy. 

The Diocese was always much in evidence, because Indian- 
apolis is the see city. We saw much of Bishop and Mrs. Francis 
and many pleasant gatherings centered at their home. Bishop 
Francis did much to bring the Diocese in touch with the outside 
Church. Prominent ecclesiastics and laymen were often his 
guests and we were the recipients of their inspiring messages. 
In this way Bishops Greer, Lloyd, Parker, Spalding, Anderson, 
Leonard, Seymour, Weller, W^oodcock, Dudley, Graves, Part- 
ridge, Van Buren and Vincent, and Messrs. Pepper, W^ood, King 
and Bailey appeared in our midst and left an abiding impres- 
sion. The Bishop was most hospitable and was ably seconded 
by Mrs. Francis who, whenever her health permitted, drew about 


her a circle of charming people. Her consideration and kind- 
ness made her greatly beloved. My good mother loved both the 
Bishop and his wife dearly and was the recipient of unvarying 
courtesy at their hands. I was elected to membership on the 
Standing Committee, was Deputy to the General Convention in 
Boston in 1904, Richmond in 1907 and New York in 1913. I 
was an alternate in 1901 at San Francisco and was appointed 
to fill a vacancy, going so far as to purchase reservations, when 
sickness at home made cancellation needful. Twice I served 
upon the Colored Commission of the Convention alid also the 
Committee upon the State of the Church. My associates upon 
the former were Bishops Sessums, McVickar, Lines, Cheshire 
and Gailor : Rev. Drs. W. R. Huntington, Winchester and 
Clark; Messrs. Bryan and Old: Chancellor Wiggins and Judge 
James McConnell. Our sessions were most enjoyable and while 
the Commission was finally merged into that of Suft'ragan Bish- 
ops, the work done was highly commendable. In the various 
cities the social functions were greatly enjoyed. So long as the 
Convocation system was in vogue, I was appointed Dean of 
that centering at Indianapolis. Everything that we did of espe- 
cial note found me sooner or later upon a working" committee. 
There was always plenty to do. The city clergy were, generally 
speaking, a congenial set. Rev. J. D. Stanley and C. S. Sar- 
gent were old Cincinnati friends and we usually worked and 
acted together. In the Diocese Rev. Messrs. Sulger, Leffingwell 
and Otte were especially friendly. At the Cathedral the Deans 
were all attractive personalities — Peters, Granniss, Huntington, 
Lewis and Sloan. Rev. G. G. Burbanck, of St. George's, was 
also an apostle of "vim and vigor." Outside of my cure at St. 
Paul's, I got interested in city missions and built St. Philip's 
Colored Church upon West and Walnut streets. I was called 
upon to officiate at the funeral of Miss Huldah Abrams, which 
took place at the residence of Mr. and Mrs. A. H. Henderson 
upon California street. Out of this event came the request for 
regular services and for five years these were held in St. Paul's 
Chapel. Then our new building was completed and there I 
officiated until the church was consecrated, out of debt, May 4, 
191.3, when steps were taken to secure a colored Vicar. My last 
service took place November 30, when I bade the devoted con- 


gregation an affectionate farewell. I had enjoyed greatly min- 
istering in their behalf and parted with them with genuine re- 
gret. Through a period of eleven years I had been Vicar, Treas- 
urer and spiritual guardian of the flock and it was an ordeal for 
them to have my oversight terminate. A beautiful Grandfather's 
Clock was given me and a copy of the Bible and Prayer Book 
combined as a concluding token of good- will. Particular notice 
should be given of Mr. and Mrs. A. H. Henderson, Mrs. Carr 
Settles, Mr. and Mrs. Lanier, Mr. \\'. H. Fielding and Mr. 
W. A. Thomas. 

Masonry made mc many friends and entered largely into 
my life. Coming as a York Mason, I found Indianapolis largely 
devoted to the Ancient Accepted Scottish Rite. One of my 
first duties was to officiate at the funeral of Colonel Nicholas 
R. Ruckle, an Active Thirty-third, Illustrious Commander-in- 
Chief of the Consistory, and a man who had all of the ritual 
at his tongue's end. Through the energy of Mr. W. H. Cary, 
the degrees were financed and I was initiated in the City Class 
of the fall of 1902. Through the courtesy of Judge Elliott 
I was immediately given work in conferring the seventeenth 
and eighteenth degrees I enjoyed very much meeting the 
brethren actively and socially. My class elected me President 
- and presented my ring to me, as a surprise, at the customary 
-banquet. With Mr. Harry N. Adams, I planned a Memorial 
Service for St. John's Day — kept upon the Sunday nearest. 
This has always been a marked feature and the addresses 
by men of note upon "St. John the Baptist" and "Im- 
mortality" have accomplished a great deal of good. I joined 
Ancient Landmarks Lodge No. 319 and Raper Commandery. 
This put me in touch with York Masonry and in May, 1913, 
through the kindness of Mr. Elmer F. Gay of the New York 
Store, Most Worshipful Master of the Grand Lodge of Indiana, 
I was appointed Worshipful Grand Chaplain. \\'ith him I at- 
tended many official functions and became known throughout 
the State. I preached an annual sermon before the Blue Lodge 
upon the first Sunday in January, addressed the Commandery 
at periodic times and officiated for the Consistory. For the 
Silver Jubilee of 1915 I held an introductory service and made 
invocations and pronounced benedictions. I became a kind of 


universal Chaplain for the fraternity. One duty greatly prized 
has been in connection with the installation ceremonies of Pen- 
talpha Lodge. Annually I act as Chaplain and in other capaci- 
ties as needed. I buried besides Col. Ruckle, John Caven and 
Martin H. Rice, both Honorary 33ds. 

I qualified for the Indiana Society of Sons of the Revolution 
and the Society of Colonial Wars, coming in through my moth- 
er's lines of descent. In the former organization I have filled 
every prominent place and have occupied the post of Chaplain 
biennially. In the latter my work has been confined to that of 
Chaplain exclusively. I have served constantly elsewhere in 
making invocations and addresses. At the Woman's Prison and 
the Girls' Reformatory I preached constantly and for the In- 
dianapolis Conservatory of Music annually acted as Dean. I 
received the degree of Ph. D. from the Northern Illinois Col- 
lege at Fulton, upon examination, in 1902. I attended the con- 
secration of Bishops Brown and Williams, as an old friend, at 
the former's service acting as Chaplain for Bishop Vincent. 

Mother became President of the Parish Aid Society upon 
coming to St. Paul's Church. The organization was moribund 
when she took hold of it, but with her usual indefatigability she 
infused life into it and it took high rank again. Indianapolis 
was not noted for zeal except at intervals. A Presbyterian 
pastor rather astounded me by saying that church work was out 
of the question save between November and May. I demurred, 
however, and organized the parish in every line. In benevolence, 
we had the Sisters of Bethany and St. Margaret's Guild ; in 
missions. Woman's and Junior Auxiliaries ; in aesthetics, the 
Altar Guild, Choir Chapter and St. Cecelia Guild ; for men, St. 
Andrew's Brotherhood, and for boys, St. Christopher's Guild. 
We enrolled all told about 225 and the efficiency formed a great 
contrast to conditions which previously obtained. The choir 
was a continuous satisfaction under Mr. C. H. Carson and fav- 
orable comments were constant. At first we took the boys camp- 
ing, but afterwards found a weekly stipend preferable. Our 
Easter service, with the quartette of horns, produced a marvel- 
lous impression, but all of the Church Seasons had a distinctive 

Many interesting men and women belonged to the parish. 


Mrs. Thos. C. Hendricks, wife of former Vice-President Hen- 
dricks and a Senior Warden, was a very warm friend. We de- 
lighted in her companionship. She was always so hospitable 
and gracious. She made many presents and we were at 
her house frequently. She gave towards the church most lib- 
erally, contributing $3,600.00 for the bonded debt. Her death 
was a great loss and no one e\er took her place. Senator D. D. 
Turpie was a man of notable power and an authority upon liter- 
ary, scientific and political subjects. He was an Alumnus of Ken- 
yon College and delivered an address upon "Jonathan Edwards," 
epoch-making in character. He was palsied, but managed to get 
about with the assistance of his daughter. It was a treat to call 
upon him, because his knowledge was so exact and covered such 
a wide range. He was a great Churchman and gloried in the 
liturgy. His daughter had "perverted" to the Roman com- 
munion, but his loyalty could not be displaced. His funeral 
brought many distinguished Democrats to the church and his 
loss was greatly deplored. Our vestry was composed of typical 
citizenship. Mr. A. Q. Jones, the Senior Warden, was a man 
of boundless enthusiasm and generosity ; Judge Thomas L. Sul- 
livan was remarkable intellectually, of rare judgment, imvarying 
in liberality and unswerving in friendship ; Mr. E. C. Miller was 
appreciative and kindly to the extreme ; Mr. Peck was genial 
and devoted; Mr. Barnard companionable; Mr. Page faithful and 
untiring; Mr. Bliss dependable and responsive ; Mr. Maguire good 
natured and helpful; Hon. J. W. Holtzman fearless and stanch; 
Mr. Holliday courteous and considerate ; Judge \\^inters opti- 
mistic ; Mr. Aird churchly and attentive ; Mr. Hamilton in- 
formed in the faith and ready for action. Our deliberations 
were, as a rule, even-tempered and harmonious. \\ hile the 
Indiana atmosphere was not provocative of aggressiveness, it 
ministered to easy-going content. 

Of the women of the congregation most considerate, there 
came first the members of the Parish Aid Society, whose annual 
recognition of mother's birthday was always memorable. Of 
these Mrs. E. A. Cooper, Mrs. Sarah R. Appleby, Mrs. C. F. 
Cleveland, Mrs. Ida L. Martin, Mrs. H. M. Bronson, Mrs. 
George Werbe, and Mile. L. C. Metiever stand pre-eminent, Mrs. 
E. G. Peck was notably kind and the friendship formed at the 


beginning of my rectorship never suffered change. Mile. Meti- 
ever was a weekly inmate of our house and constantly engaged in 
needful offices. My mother was especially fond of Mrs. John 
W. Holtzman, Mrs. G. G. Bond, Mrs. Thomas L. Sullivan, Mrs. 
Rebecca King and Miss Emma and Mrs. W. J. HoUiday. Out- 
side the congregation her chief friend was Mrs. C. B. Lockard, 
whose associations went back to the beginning of her married 
life in Cincinnati and whose death unnerved her greatly. A 
valued visitor was Mr. J. W. Watson of the New York Store, 
an English churchman whose cheeriness and devotion knew no 
bounds. His demise created a great void. Dr. SoUis Runnels 
was highly esteemed both as physician and unvarying counselor. 
His care was intimate and comprehensive. 

My brother David's affairs assumed now a critical shape. 
His marriage proved most unfortunate. His wife developed a 
mania for stimulants, due to unfortunate heredity. While she 
was devoted to him, her attitude brought on a nervous break- 
down. Time and time again he would attempt to stem her ex- 
cesses and start over with her in housekeeping, only to end in 
deeper disappointment and dismay. His mind became unbal- 
anced and he was consigned to a private ward of the Insane 
Hospital at St. Joseph, Mo. When the news was communicated 
to us, I went out and brought him to the College Hill Sani- 
tarium. Here, for a while, he improved and then declined 
steadily. He died April 30, 1905, and was buried in Spring 
Grove Cemetery, Cincinnati, May 2, Dean Paul Matthews offi- 
ciating. He was a most lovable personality, full of fun, open- 
hearted and generous to a fault. His friends were legion and 
his business aptitude remarkable. He was quick in movement 
and speech, loved company and was the soul of any social 
gathering in which he took part. His infirmities were all due 
to his abounding good nature. He loved his own and was never 
happier than when extolling their virtues. He had pet names 
for us all, as if in endearment his originality had to express 
itself. He needed the guiding hand of a strong wife and was 
the sad possessor of one akin to himself. He was Baptized and 
Confirmed in St. John's Church, Cincinnati, Mr. Odiorne being 
his witness, and loved the Episcopal service devotedly. I visited 
him the day before his death and only returned to Indianapolis 


I' AMI 1 A- MliMOIRS—nROWN 227 

for Sunday services. Mother and I were ,L;reatly shocked to hear 
of his untimely end. As I left his room in response to my (|ues- 
tion, "Do you know me?" he replied by a smile that seemed to 
light up the whole place. It is a satisfaction to realize that 

"After life's htful fe\er he sleeps well." 
For of few could it be more truly said that he had "no enemy 
but himself." 

Upon a vacation trip East we renewed our relations with 
my father's family in Pennsylvania. We \ isited the Gill's, Hib- 
bard's, Feldpauche's and Brown's, Cousin Anna Mary Fultz and 
her family and the Reed's. We spent some time at West Ches- 
ter with Cousin John G. Moses and his household; also with 
Uncle James F. Brown in New Jersey. The old burying-ground 
at Great Valley Baptist Church where Grandfather and Grand- 
mother Browm are interred was a place of interest. I preached 
at Holy Trinity Church, W'est Chester, and had many relatives 
present. Our intercourse was permeated with recollections of 
my beloved father, who had been an universal favorite. The 
kith and kin were all anxious to do aught in their power to 
make us feel "at home" and the days that we spent with them 
will always be precious. 

A delightful event in 1910 was a visit to Circleville in con- 
nection with the Centennial. This took place the latter part of 
September and the first of October. We traveled by way of 
Columbus, stopping with the Benham's for lunch and taking quar- 
ters in the American House. Everything was suggestive to my 
mother and we successively visited the spots in the town coupled 
with her history. Atwater day she w'as the guest of honor. 
We rode in an open barouche, drawn by wdiite horses, at the 
head of the procession of school children. Our vis-a-vis's were 
Prof. Thompson, of Ohio University, and Prof. Marzluti'. of 
Athens. When we reached the hall where public exercises were 
held, mother was carried up the stairs to the platform in a chair. 
Col. Charles E. Groce was Master of Ceremonies and introduced 
her to the audience. Both of the professors spoke in honor of 
her father and I responded for the family. Many of her for- 
mer pupils called upon her and testitied to her inestimable worth 
in instruction. She was also greeted by officials and editors. 
The city seemed stirred by her presence. She visited the Expo- 


sition and was given a set of historical plates. She also went to 
the cemetery, where her parents and family reposed. The 
whole visit was an esteemed reminiscence. The address that I 
delivered was as follows : 


The Arabs have a tradition concerning a man who went forth 
in quest of diamonds. He traveled far and wide, returning at 
length to his native place baffled and discomfited. While casually 
up-turning the sod in front of his door, he discovered the treas- 
ure in brilliancy and abundance. 

An occasion like this suggests the incident. You are keep- 
ing the centenary of this city and county. Doubtless to the 
prosaic, Circleville may seem a strange place in which to find a 
noted man. Far and wide the eyes may have turned in search 
of unique greatness. But here, within these very streets, and 
but a stone's throw from this spot, lived a man unobtrusively 
and quietly, whose name is the synonym of greatness, in a day 
when heroes were few and the nation young. 

The value of this celebration to the family, which it is my 
honor to represent, comes from its very spontaneity. In obed- 
ience to the just conclusions of your discriminating men, Caleb 
Atwater emerges from the past to take his rightful place as 
"Circleville's Most Illustrious Son." It was Dom Pedro who 
said when viewing Abbots ford "that as a commodity literature 
might vie with the greatest." To him, and the fifty thousand 
others seeking that by-place, Scotland and Scott were identical. 
We find this truth more and m.ore accentuated in America. In 
the midst of our mercantilism — our devotion to pelf and prop- 
erty — there dawns upon the horizon the fact that those who ap- 
parently were mere star-gazers "wrought better than they 
knew." For the years which buries the sordid and the venal 
gives them the sure pledge of a deathless fame. The homage 
of a multitude, glad to cherish their names and rescue their 
history from temporary oblivion, is sweet because upon im- 
pregnable ground. 

Caleb Atwater was born of distinguished ancestry. The 
family name in England has its record of great achievement 
from the remote past. Soldiers, jurists, prelates and men of 
affairs have grlorified the heritage. The Norman Church built 


upon the estate in the Twelfth Century at l.enliani, in Kent, 
still summons with its sweet-toned bell the faithful to prayers 
and the See of Lincoln records as its first Bishop a scion of the 
race. In America, from 1638, representatives have adorned 
every walk of life. New Haven, and the shadow of Yale, have 
ripened much of the scholarship. But our subject today, who 
saw the light first in 1778 at North Adams, Mass., acknowledged 
Williams College as his alma mater. With almost no means, he 
worked his way through that seat of learning, by doing chores 
and ringing the bell for devotions and recitations. In vacation 
he found employment on neighboring farms. The rigors of 
such toil he carried to his dying day. His hands were frozen 
tending sheep and kept their gnarled appearance always. He 
graduated with the highest honors, receiving upon commence- 
ment day both degrees of Bachelor and Master-of-Arts, a dis- 
tinction unknown in the institution before or since. 

His first engagement carried him to New York city, where 
he opened a Young Ladies' Seminary and at the same time 
studied theology, being ordained to the Presbyterian ministry. 
He married Miss Diana Lawrence of the celebrated family of 
that name, whose untimely death, with her child of a few days, 
cast a gloom over his budding career. Giving up the ministry 
on account of ill health, Mr. Atwater studied law and was ad- 
mitted to the bar. In his journeyings about the State he met 
Miss Belinda Butler, of Pompey Hill, daughter of Judge Butler, 
a distinguished jurist of the time, and the acquaintanceship ended 
in his second marriage. She was a woman of unusual culture 
and character, noted for beauty, wit and good sense. She made 
him a most capable help-mate and supplied by her thrift and 
economy the very elements that he lacked. Mrs. Atwater's 
sisters had married lawyers of note in Columbus, Chillicothe 
and Lancaster in the then new and remote State of Ohio. Their 
glowing accounts of this western country produced their re- 
sult and Mr. Atwater gave up business, in which he had tem- 
porarily embarked and for which he had no fitness, and estab- 
lished himself in Circleville in 1815. 

After getting settled here he resumed the practice of law, 
a vocation poorly remunerated and of exacting detail. He was 
sent to the Ohio Legislature, where his literary bent showed 


itself in devising educational advantages. He saw the State 
without any provision for the teaching and training of the young. 
He at once championed the cause of the Common School against 
virulent opposition and framed the first statute upon the subject 
passed by the commonwealth. As a sign of the misappreciation 
of those days, while he published pamphlets, wrote letters and 
spent days in accomplishing this vital object, his recompense 
consisted of the grudging paltry sum of a few dollars for pos- 
tage. PLven the ordinary charges for clerical help and mileage 
were denied. W^hen we think of the outcome of such legislation, 
the magnificent public school system, the princely buildings, the 
thousands of teachers and the multitude of children reared to 
adorn the Republic, the ingratitude cries to Heaven for speedy 
and adequate adjustment. 

Mr. Atwater was also one of the original minority to advo- 
cate the introduction of canals and when finally the first one was 
opened he accompanied Governor DeW^itt Clinton, of New York, 
upon a triumphal tour throughout the State, in token of grati- 
tude to the man who is responsible for the primary movement 
in such direction in this country. At the close of his legislative 
duties he was sent by President Jackson as Commissioner to the 
Winnebago Indians and other tribes at Galena, 111., and Prairie 
du Chien. His vokime of experiences is strikingly valuable, and 
is prophetic in scope, as he presages the growth of American 
institutions. His powers of discernment were always remark- 
able and every horoscope he drew has been verified. He was 
from May to October accomplishing the mission and then went 
to Washington, where he spent as many months making his 

As an author Mr. Atwater occupied enviable ground. His 
first book grew out of his citizenship in this town, built in a 
circle and laid out by the mound builders. They had arranged 
their dwellings around it as a nucleus, put their Temple of 
Justice — that is, the Pickaway County Court House — in the 
centre, and radiated their streets from the circumference. Old 
prints preserve this original foundation. While change has come 
through these subsequent years, we cannot but sigh over that 
visible. What was an occasion of comment from its very dis- 
similaritv has ceased to be and the traveler s:ets no idea from 


the present api)earance ot tlie a|)])()site nieaniny,' ol the name 
"Circle\'ille." His initial xolntne was known as "Arcliaeoloijia 
Americana upon W'estern Anti(|uities." Jt attracted great atten- 
tion from foreign savants and Mr. Atwater was elected to 
membersliip in the princii)al scientific societies of Iun"ope. He 
held degrees from the Archaeological Society of Denmark, the 
PVench Academy, and the Royal Academies of (ireat I^>ritain and 
Belgium. His fame also as an original investigator upon such 
lines was widelv conceded in the I'nited States. Through the 
press and in publications there was constant reference to his 
preeminence. Later he published "A Tour to I'rairie du C"hien," 
"Washington," "An Essay on Education," "Writings of Caleb 
Atwater" and, in 1838, his celebrated "History of Ohio." We 
have no conception today of the self-sacrifice represented in 
such labors. Subscribers were few and at remote distances, 
book-making was costly and months inter\ened between the 
manuscript and the finished production. Straitened circum- 
stances attended those in such endeavor and only devotion to 
literature made the attempt possible. Too much honor can 
hardly be given to these pioneers of American letters who kept 
the divine fire burning amid such pressing obstacles. Almost 
always the charge was made of being visionary and impracti- 
cable. But such a comment has been unvarying from the re- 
motest past. A Homer, a Shakespeare and a Johnson faced such 
epithets and fought against such odds. Well is it for us today 
that these dreamers put their conclusions in tangible form. The 
marble of the present comes froiu this apparently unsubstan- 
tiated ground- work and glorifies such singleness of aim and un- 
limited consecration. 

Caleb Atwater was a man of marked physique. Hea\ily 
moulded, with dark eyes and complexion and a Roman nose, he 
walked with a dignity of carriage that impressed all beholders. 
\\ eighing over two hundred pounds and standing six feet in his 
stockings, each word that he uttered came with convincing power. 
He was a wonderful talker and had an encyclopaedic mind. 
Men like judge Andrews of Columbus. Judge Jones of Delaware. 
Judge (iranger of Zanesville, Judge Douglas of Chillicothe, and 
Alexander McGufl^ey of Cincinnati were never chary in relating- 
striking comments that he made. He was said to be informed 


to the last detail upon every known topic and was never con- 
sulted in vain by the many who thronged his door. He was the 
associate of the first men of the country : Stephen Girard, Albert 
Gallatin and Duncan McArthur rejoiced in his friendship. His 
companionship was eagerly sought and his excellence in epigram- 
matic speech universally acknowledged. No man could equal 
him in invective when shams or deceit occasioned rebuke. A 
theme upon which he often dilated was his visits to President 
Jackson, both at the Hermitage and also at the White House. 
His influence upon the thought of his time was immeasurable. 
He died in Circleville March 16, 1867, aged 89 years. For 
months his great mind had been beclouded and he sat motionless 
as if in meditation over the past. His tongue had lost its cun- 
ning and he was like a captive awaiting deliverance from bond- 
age. According to previous request, the Masonic fraternity took 
charge of his funeral, he being then the oldest Mason in the 
State. He lies buried in Forest Cemetery amid those who knew 
and honored him in years agone. Of his large family, who rep- 
resented his traits of versatility and accurate scholarship in 
many walks of life, but one survives, — his youngest daughter, 
Mrs. Lucy Atwater Brown, who lives with her son. Rev. Doctor 
Lewis Brown, Rector of St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Indian- 
apolis. She was his companion and amanuensis in his days 
of growing fame. As a linguist and literateur she won high 
regard in the 40's. Now, in her eighty-second year, she returns 
to her native home, proud of the distinction so generously 
awarded and happy that this celebration permits her renewal of 
associations that surround her as a cloud but brighten her period 
of sunset. 

"The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, 
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made ; 
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become 
As they draw near to their eternal home 
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view 
That stand upon the threshhold of the new." 

Parish life in Indianapolis was always strenuous. Few ever 
realized what a tremendous strain was invariably involved. As 
the city was a railroad center, so the population was migratory 
to the extreme. We were always building against the tide. Re- 


movals and deaths reached the hundreds. Then, there being no 
parochial bounds, parishes stretched everywhere. Weekly every 
part of the city seemed to summon and receive attention. The 
weakness of the diocese and its financial demand kept us from 
having assistance in the individual cures. Money had to go for 
missions and missionaries that otherwise could have applied to 
necessities at home. As the years of my rectorship increased 
and I became more generally known, naturally outside duties 
were enhanced. Still, there is really no limit to consecrated 
service and happiness should always consist in unlimited work. 
Inspired by the example of the Bishop of London and his visit 
to Richmond, I started, in 1908, outdoor services in summer. 
These were held upon the esplanade of the postofiice tipon New 
York street, facing University Park. The attendance was always 
reverent and cosmopolitan. The after-testimonies were grati- 
fying. Other features peculiarly prominent were Midnight Com- 
munions Christmas and New Year's eve. Organ Recitals upon 
the Saturday before Palm Sunday. Good-Friday night musical 
services, Hospital Flower Sundays and periodical Masonic serv- 
ices. Variety, which keeps away dead rot, was always encour- 
aged. Mr. Charles E. Williams, a teacher of elocution at the 
Conservatory of Music, proved most valuable at St. Paul's, and 
I had the privilege and pleasure of presenting him for ordina- 
tion to the Diaconate, having previously married him to Miss 
Grace Cummings. His success has given me the greatest 

My dear mother's health now became very precarious. For 
a while after reaching Indianapolis she improved. Martinsville 
was most helpful for rheumatism and Dr. Green, of the Sani- 
tarium, was \'ery skillful, ^^'e successively occupied the Savoy, 
Blacherne, Meridian and Rink apartment houses. Her wonder- 
ful aptitude in making places attractive gave all of these the 
touch which she alone could convey. The infirmities of age en- 
compassed her and yet her indomitable spirit kept her on the 
move. She inherited a predilection for early rising and was up 
and dressed long before she called me. Her tender care came 
out at night, for at every change of the weather she came in to 
see that I was properly clothed. She had few hours free from 
pain and bore with fortitude what an ordinary person would 


consider occasion for continuous complaint. She was precise in 
her interpretation of life, and the words that she applied and 
that came out in her last hours were indicative : "J^st perfect." 
She could not excuse indolence or waste. Whatever she did 
showed painstaking thoroughness. In garb, thought and action 
there was always evident consecration of purpose. She had an 
incisive speech that went to the core of things and put matters 
with exactitude. Those who could not appreciate transparent 
truth rebelled at her conclusions. But she was the delight of 
sincere natures and the friends who possessed her affection 
through years were linked to her "with bands of steel." She 
was absolutely honest in all of her endeavors and despised 
affectation or assumption. She was always genuine and her 
children had no occasion to blush for indiscretions or excuse 
unfortunate lapses. At first disease attacked her limbs. Then, 
in the exercise of too profuse hospitality, she had a stroke of 
paralysis. From this she partially recovered, although her lit- 
erary power in expression was seriously impaired. Thereafter 
the letters and postals, for which she was famed, ceased to 
gladden her correspondents. Her attendance at church became 
possible only through an invalid chair and her calls could be 
made alone by conveyance. Then her remembrance of faces 
was dimmed and she could not recall the past. During the 
summer of 1914 we moved from the fifth floor of the Rink to 
the third. As the apartments were identical in size, the change 
was not apparent. She became like a little child and was per- 
fectly satisfied with everything done in her behalf. Sometimes 
she was averse to the maid or the night nurse, but whenever I 
appeared she grew tranquil and accepted everything without 
demur. At times she seemed to realize the tmcertain tenure of 
existence and said : "I shall not be here long." But she passed 
her eighty-fifth milestone in serenity and happiness. While her 
sight failed completely, she knew my step and voice, and would 
jjress my hand to her lips or gather it close to her side in a 
warm embrace. In her last sudden illness, when I came home 
from church after the Good-Friday night service, she groaned 
as if in pain, but as I patted her arms she grew quiet. Her death 
upon Easter even was a great shock and while no time could be 
more beautiful, the fact of the separation so long dreaded as a 



likelihood, being now a reality, could scarcely be credited. Yet 
behind all was the certainty of the translation of a true ("hris- 
tian to an imperishable reward. In all of her c()u\ ersatiou ron- 
cerning faith in Christ and immortality she was singularK- free 
from cant. She always acknowdedged human imperfection and 
committed herself in trust to her Saviour, justice, which was 
an un\'arying element of her character, ke])t her free frf)m any 
self-adulation. With the sacred words of the Liturgy, she was 
laid away to rest. By the side of her husband, whom she had 
daily spoken of for almost half a century, she found final 
release from pain and sufTering and perfect peace in God. 

As I close these pages, I am conscious that all that I am 1 
owe to her. She was my all and every act performed worthy of 
regard has been due to her devoted oversight. No son exer had 
a better guide. Her counsel was timely and good. She never 
erred in indulgence or unwise laudation. When she was pleased 
outside criticism was superfluous. As she taught me religion 
in childhood, so today the thought of it is never separated from 
her. The consolation possible finds it deepest comfort in belief in 
reunion by and by. P'or the love of God in Christ has its real 
corollary in the affection which we show for one another. As 
mother-love is the mystery of life, so its recovery and priceless 
enjoyment will be the mystery of Eternity. When I go the way 
of all mankind, I rest confidently in the assurance that the first 
to greet me on the other side will be my mother, whose com- 
panionship was the treasure of Earth and whose renewed minis- 
trations will be the glory of Heaven. 

"One face abo\'e all others, 
Must with peerless lustre glow — 
Yea, a sweeter, nobler vision 
On this earth I ne'er shall know! 

Round that face like clustering jewels, 
All bright memories are masked. 
For my mother was the princess 
Of my palace of the past." 

To crystalize impressions and give her friends some detailed 


account of her life. I prepared, on behalf of the family, the 
following sketch : 


"This to her memory 
Who reverenced her conscience as her King ; - 
Who spake no slander — no, nor listened to it ; 
Who loved one only and who clave to him. 
We have lost her ; she is gone. 
We see her as she moved, 
How modest, kindly, all accomplished, wise, 
Through all this tract of years wearing the 
white flower of a blameless life." 

To bring to recollection the events of a sacred past is always 
a privilege. Memory is the sole realm from which we can never 
be debarred. W& live in reminiscence and reflection and our 
aims oft spring from actions set in motion there. Today our 
thoughts compass almost a century. 

Years ago, in Circleville, Ohio, there was born a child named 
Lucy, of parentage above the average. Her father, Hon. Caleb 
Atwater, was a man of versatile gifts and wide intellectual at- 
tainments. Her mother, Belinda Butler, was the daughter of a 
revolutionary hero and a jurist of note in New York. She ma- 
tured when her father acquired fame for public service and 
literary and scientific research. Graduated with both degrees 
at Williams College and ordained to the Congregational ministry, 
he gave up theology and became successively author, advocate, 
diplomat, legislator and antiquarian. He had an encyclopaedic 
mind and seemed an authority on everything. 

An early recollection of the child's life was the gift of a pair 
of beautifully beaded moccasons, brought by her father from 
Prairie du Chien, where he had made a treaty for the United 
States with the Indian tribes west of the Mississippi river. An- 
other memory was in connection with the orders and diplomas 
conferred upon him from abroad as the most distinguished 
archaeologist of his day. She remembered playing with these 
seals and noticing with wonder the inscriptions in various lan- 
guages. As she grew older her father's literary work was of 


absorbing interest. The books of the great writers across the 
sea came in packages to her home and she told with pride how 
much she vahied the first perusal of Wordsworth, Scott, Byron 
and "Christopher North." She was early noted for literary 
skill. Her power in marshalling words was conceded and her 
aptness in quotation and repartee unquestioned. When she 
reached womanhood her father had become celebrated as the 
first historian of Ohio. He had also fought a great battle in 
the General Assembly for Common School education against tre- 
mendous odds and personal impoverishment. Through him, 
financial support was made possible by the gift of public lands 
and thus he won as a proud title — "Father of the Public Schools." 
His essay upon "Education" is a classic of the period. His most 
noted publication is the "Archaeologia Americana," suggested by 
the prehistoric labors of the mound builders, who reared their 
dwellings in a circle, thus indicating the subsequent name of the 
town, Circleville. In all of his labors his daughter was a source 
of inspiration, suggestion and helpful comment. vShe was alike 
valued critic and defender. 

All these years were anxious and strenuous. The cultured 
output was large, but the income and recognition small. Still, 
leaders in the nation came to the Atwater door, among whom 
were De Witt Clinton, Albert Gallatin and Edward Livingston, 
while the best minds in the commonwealth were in constant con- 
sultation. On her part, Lucy Atwater had become known as an 
educator. She had a flourishing Academy for young people and 
her scholars in after years gave her praise not only for teaching 
them the rudiments of knowledge, but also imparting zeal, devo- 
tion and character. She wrote much and had won distinction 
as a brilliant essayist. Her three aunts had married prominent 
lawyers in Columbus, Lancaster and Chillicothe. These places 
were familiar spots and everywhere she went her beauty of face 
and person, astonishing knowledge of books and purity of diction 
made her a prized guest. She visited Washington in the forties, 
was presented at the White House and received much social 

In 1853 she was married to David M. Brown, a merchant of 
Cincinnati. The union was ideal. No people ever loved each 
other more fondly. He idolized her and lived simply, to afiford 


her blessing and comfort. Five sons were born, two of whom, 
WilHam and Fred, died early in life. The other three were 
Douglas Atwater, named after two branches of her family ; 
Lewis, named after one branch of her husband's family, and 
David Meeker, his father's namesake. Of these survive, today, 
Douglas Atwater Brown of Cincinnati and Rev. Dr. Lewis 
Brown of Indianapolis. After living some years in Cincinnati 
Mr. Brown went into business for himself, in the sixties, in 
Ottawa, Kansas. Here he conducted the Government agency for 
the Sauk and Fox Indians. Up to the time of the "Grasshopper 
Plague" he was very successful, but when that broke out prop- 
erty and other values declined. He attempted to begin anew in 
real estate lines in Denison, Texas, but was stricken with pneu- 
monia and died. 

Mrs. Brown returned with her family to Cincinnati, the 
scene of her former wedded life, where relatives and friends 
still lived. Here she established her home and two of her sons 
took positions in the First National Bank. When her second 
son entered Kenyon College to prepare for the Episcopal min- 
istry she went to live with her eldest son in Washington. At this 
time Col. William K. Rogers, her favorite cousin, with whom 
she had been brought up as a sister, was Private Secretary to 
President Hayes. When Rutherford B. Hayes was nominated 
for the Presidency, he turned to Mr. Rogers, who was his law 
partner, and said : "I will accept provided you promise to go 
with me to W^ashington, if elected." So he went, and Mrs. 
Brown was a cherished inmate of his home, attending, in the 
President's carriage, many notable functions and meeting the 
best official life of the Capitol. 

AVhen her son, Lewis, was ordered a Deacon in the Church 
of the Holy Spirit, Gambler, by Bishop Bedell of Ohio, she 
resumed her life with him and for forty- two years was his 
blessed companion, adviser and supporter. Words can not con- 
vey the priceless nature of this oversight. It was so intimate 
and comprehensive that it never waned. She renewed her 
Church ties, such a beautiful feature of her girlhood, when she 
sang in the choir and taught a Sunday School class. In Ohio, 
Michigan and Indiana, where parishes were held, as long as 
strength permitted, she was active in social, literary and religious 


work. She was I'rt'sidcnt of tlif (lillV-rcnt Aid Societies and only 
resigned effort to l)e placed upon the honorary list, lier mar- 
velous memory, grace of speech and charm of manner continued 
to the last. Five years ago she was the guest of honor upon 
Atwater day, at the Circleville Centennial. Her father's uniipie 
labors as the foremost citizen was recognized by especial trib- 
utes. Prominent educators, among whom were President Thomp- 
son of Ohio State University and Professor Alarzluff of Athens, 
vied in extolling his invaluable services. In the procession of 
school children, which was a notable feature of the occasion, 
comprising those in attendance in the city and county, even the 
Roman Parochial schools took part. She rode at the head 
through the principal streets, between lines of spectators, and 
was the recipient of marked attention. A prominent place upon 
the platform was reserved for her and she listened with delight 
as her son acknowledged the courtesy for the family. 

In Indianapolis she enjoyed greatly the meetings of the Caro- 
line Scott Harrison Chapter of the D. A. R., of which she was 
the oldest member, and was rarely absent when able to attend. 
She was eligible for membership to the Society of Colonial 
Dames, but never qualified. During these latter years age came 
on apace. Yet she still had the old ambition and was as particu- 
lar concerning her appearance as in her halcyon days. Always 
dressed in exquisite taste, she greeted her friends with that 
warmth of appreciation whose genuineness is unmistakable. 
Upon her recent birthday, February 23, she was taken from her 
bed where she had lain for almost a year, to fitly acknowledge 
the courtesies of those who called. Though impaired in mind 
and broken in body, her sweet smile and tender recognition were 
a continuous benediction. 

She was stricken with La Grippe March 27. and it seemed for 
awhile that her indomitable spirit and great vitality would pre- 
vail over this insidious disease. It is curious to reflect that a 
similar malady took her husband away, as if in death they were 
not divided even in this particular. She passed tranquilly 
through Good Friday, but upon Faster eve. as a little child going 
to sleep, she closed her eyes upon earth and "walked in Paradise." 
The mvsterv that had been the subject of connnent with her so 


often and had been accepted by serene faith was a problem nO' 
longer. Years before she had written : 

"I do not know, nor will I vainly question 
Those pages of the mystic book which hold 

The story still untold; 
But without rash conjecture or suggestion 
Turn its last leaves in reverence and good heed 

Until 'The End' I read." 

For her the light of the eternal morning had dawned and she 
was at length "Forever with the Lord." At her bedside as she 
breathed her last, besides her son, were Bishop Francis, Judge 
and Mrs. Sullivan and Miss Metiever. As she sank to rest the 
Creed and Prayers of the Church echoed with sublime consola- 
tion. Later, when she lay in state upon her couch, all signs of 
suffering were effaced and her past had returned in peaceful 
beauty. Her room became a glorious mortuary chapel with 
Crucifix, lights and innumerable flowers. 

Upon the morning of April 6th the funeral rites were held. 
First brief prayers in her bed-chamber, then public services of 
exceptional dignity and solace in St. Paul's Church, of which 
her son is Rector. These were conducted by Bishop Francis 
and Rev. James D. Stanley, Rector of Christ Church, and con- 
sisted of the Burial Service and the Holy Communion. Her 
favorite hymns, "Hark, Hark, My Soul" and "Tarry with Me, 
Oh, My Savior," were sung by the vested Choir. All of the 
city Clergy were in the Chancel. The unusually large congre- 
gation comprised, besides parishioners, representatives of every 
walk in life. The interment was upon the same afternoon, in the 
family lot in Spring Grove Cemetery, Cincinnati. Bishop Fran- 
cis, who showed his great devotion by accompanying the remains 
from Indianapolis, read the customary Committal service. Rela- 
tives and parishioners of St. Luke's Church there, of which her 
son was Rector from 1883 to 1894, gathered at the grave. AA'ith 
the priestly benediction, the obsequies ended. 

The lessons of such a life are priceless. The distinctive 
traits marked depth of culture. She was frank and fearless in 
expression, incapable of littleness or untruth, appreciative, sym- 
pathetic and the soul of honor. She could not tolerate deceit 


or pretense. Wherever she appeared lier influence won li\- un 
swerving rectitude. Refinement, with her. meant tlic cultixatinn 
of every virtue. There was no all()\- in her alleclidn. .She l<»\c(l 
with intensity and had the unvarying grace of humor. llcr 
intuitions were remarkahle. When she passed judgment u|)on 
indi\i(htal or circumstance, re\ision seemed impossihle. What- 
ever she did was accomphshed with a thoroughness thai won 
instant praise. She had no excuse for imperfection and held 
it was due to shiftlessness or negligence. As her early days were 
steeped in the best literature, so her interpretation was critically 
just. To hear her read from a favorite author was to experi- 
ence an artistic delight. Such perfect modulation and intelligent 
appreciation placed the eiTort upon the highest imaginative plane. 
Her religion was unaffected and positive. She knew her 
Bible by heart and had its precepts at instant command. Her 
church gave her daily help and she never wearied in extolling 
its merits. She was a churchwoman by inheritance. An early 
ancestor was consecrated tirst Bishop of Lincoln. The chai)el 
built upon the estate in England still stands, close to the manor, 
where the famil}- have worshiped for almost a thousand years. 
Upon her mother's side, the Butlers of Ireland have been always 
famed in church and state. She spoke of herself in the humblest 
accents and magnified Christ as her Redeemer and Guide. The 
last words that fell from her lips were upon Good Friday night, 
when she stretched out her arms to her Lord and asked to be 
taken home. Thus she lived and died; thus bids us live and 
die. Like her, "after life's fitful fever is over" may we know 
the peace which passeth all understanding and be clothed in the 
fullness of God. Years ago she adopted these words from Dean 
Alford as crystallizing her belief. They form a fitting close. 
"My bark is wafted to the strand by breath divine. 

And on the helm there rests a hand other than mine ; 

One who has known in storms to sail, I have on board. 

Above the raging of the gale I hear my Lord. 

He holds me when the billows smite ; I shall not fall. 

H sharp, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light; He tempers all. 

Safe to the land! Safe to the land! The end is this! 

And then with Him go hand in hand, far into bliss."