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 http://archive.org/details/cu31924028863509 
 
WILLIAM KIDDLE, AT AGE 17 
 
Cherished Memories 
 
 OF 
 
 OLD LANCASTER— TOWN 
 AND SHIRE 
 
 William Riddle 
 
 Author or "Nicholas Comenius," "One Htjndred 
 
 and Fifty Years of School History," and 
 
 "Tribute to Old Lancaster." 
 
 LANCASTER, PA. 
 
 INTELLIGENCER PRINTING HOUSE 
 
 1910 
 
7C>Si±; 
 
 \ \'\ 
 
 \_. £.. C '■'■'- v 
 
 
 
To 
 
 GEORGE STEINMAN, 
 
 Whose devotion to the history of Town and County, as 
 President op the Lancaster County Historical Society, 
 has endeared his name for so many years to its 
 members, these few " crumbs swept up " along 
 the byways of old lancaster's nine hun- 
 dred square miles, are affection- 
 ately dedicated by the 
 
 Author. 
 
 Ill 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter paoe 
 
 I. Introductory : 1 
 
 II. Childhood Days — We Remove to Leesburg, Vir- 
 ginia — Easter and Christmas in the Sunny 
 South 14 
 
 III. Back to Lancaster — First Locomotive — School 
 
 Days — Andy Blue 31 
 
 IV. Lancaster in the 40's — Harry Stiff — Charlie 
 
 Buckram — Johnny Elliott 41 
 
 V. The State Railroad in the 30's — Grubey Sam — 
 Johnny Wilhelm, the Old Engineer, and Son 
 
 Charlie 58 
 
 VI. Rafting on the Susquehanna — Lancaster's 
 Growth — Congestion in Central Part — Its 
 
 Mayors 76 
 
 VII. Installation of the Water Works — President Tay- 
 lor in Lancaster : 90 
 
 VIII. Church Buildings Rebuilt— Check Books— A 
 
 Good Sister 102 
 
 IX. Getting Employment — A Country Fair in the 
 50's— Steffy— " Toodler"— Jake Parks— Hiram 
 
 Kroom 114 
 
 X. Leave Lancaster for Paradise — Experiences en 
 
 Route 127 
 
 XI. Held up by Tramps — A Garrulous Gate-keeper — 
 
 The Amish Schoolhouse 137 
 
 XII. Arrival at Paradise — My First Shave — A Trial at 
 
 Farm Laboring 147 
 
 XIII. I Become a Machinist's Apprentice — An Amish 
 
 Love Feast 160 
 
 XIV. The Campaign of '56— Fox Hunting— A Judge's 
 
 Turkeys 169 
 
 V 
 
Chapter Page 
 
 XV. Examined by County Superintendent Crumbaugh 
 
 —My First Schcol 177 
 
 XVI. Intercourse in the 50's — Hickory Grove School — 
 
 Menno Mengen 186 
 
 XVII. Merino's Story of His Courtship and Honeymoon 
 Trip to New York — Innovations in Farming 
 
 Methods and Machinery 197 
 
 XVIII. A Country Sale — Tendency to Extravagant Pur- 
 chases 216 
 
 XIX. Sexton Hammerpue — The Story of Jimmy Mc- 
 
 Guire — Patershine Trades Horses 225 
 
 XX. A Kicking Alderney — Squire Dugan Victimized. 236 
 XXI. The German Settler and British Redemptioner — 
 
 An Uncle's Cruelty 253 
 
 XXII. A Letter to Charlie, by Old Time Cronie— Fresh 
 
 Recollections by "Billie" 263 
 
 XXIII. A Tramp Through the "Up" Country— Sehoen- 
 
 eck — Ephrata — New Holland — Christiana .... 273 
 
 XXIV. Back Once More to Fairview — My First Bank 
 
 Account 285 
 
 XXV. Nomination of Abraham Lincoln — ■ "Wide- 
 
 Awakes" 300 
 
 XXVI. Letter to Menno Mengen — Farming Conditions of 
 
 Two Sections Contrasted 311 
 
 XXVII. Return Tramp Up the Susquehanna — The Haunt- 
 ed Inn — Closing Thoughts 325 
 
 VI 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Opposite Page 
 William Riddle, Age 17 {Frontispiece) 
 
 Abe Miller ]0 
 
 William Riddle, Age 73 14 
 
 Three in One 18 
 
 The Old Couiit House 40 
 
 "Harry Stiff" 44 
 
 Johnny Elliott 46 
 
 "Pappy" Strouse 54 
 
 Tommy Hannigan 56 
 
 North Queen Street in the 40's 62 
 
 "Grubey" Sam 64 
 
 Wright's Home at Columbia 76 
 
 Programme for President Taylor's Reception 94 
 
 "Steffy" 116 
 
 "Toodler" Richardson 118 
 
 Jake Parks 120 
 
 Hiram Kroom 122 
 
 Blind Johnny 124 
 
 Baker Young 126 
 
 Mammy Staines 128 
 
 Amish School : 142 
 
 Oak Hill 148 
 
 Strasburg — My First School 182 
 
 A Mennonite Maid n 198 
 
 Mengen's Double Decker , 232 
 
 The Present Day Beckie 254 
 
 Familiar Holiday Visitors 270 
 
 Bleak House 282 
 
 House at Fairview 284 
 
 Hensel Homestead at Quarryville 308 
 
 Fulton House, Birthplace of Robt. Fulton 314 
 
 VII 
 
Cherished Memories 
 
 PART I 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Introductory. 
 
 "True friendships! How oft the thought 
 Wakes up old memories that have slept, 
 And echoes in the dusty cells, 
 
 Where, locked securely, they were kept." 
 
 TRUE friendships! Cherished memories! As these 
 lines, so full of inspiration, pass and repass before 
 the vision, not unlike a series of moving pictures on the 
 canvas in the arcade, I am brought to a full realiza- 
 tion, on this my seventy-third birthday anniversary, 
 of the many eventful episodes that have come and 
 gone during the past seven or more decades. And 
 as I sit in the quietude of the home-nursery, on this 
 the sixteenth of glorious old February, I am started 
 unconsciously into reminiscing over a somewhat 
 varied career for which, if marked by no brilliant 
 achievement in the narrow sphere in which I have 
 moved, there have been few regrets. 
 
 Having given myself up to reverie, it is astonishing 
 how many incidents come trooping before the mind's 
 eye, not unlike a dusty, old volume that has been 
 embalmed and suddenly illuminated by the sun- 
 
 l 
 
2 Cherished Memories. 
 
 shine of the hour. If, under the pressure of these by- 
 gone events, I feel a shadow gathering around me on 
 this crisp February morning, it is because I see so 
 many broad gaps in the circle of old friends, who 
 have passed to the spirit land. In these seventy years 
 I have seen two great processions: one coming on the 
 stage to play its brief part, the other passing silently 
 away. In the former I see the faces of those with 
 whom I had played around the Lime Street Bridge 
 in the days of the long ago; in the latter, old friends 
 and comrades who, like myself, are listening to the 
 rustle of the autumn leaves waiting for the winter time. 
 And it is in the fact that I am so surrounded with a 
 family of young, loving hearts, that gives strength 
 and lends fresh warmth to a young-old man's heart. 
 But I do not deem it necessary to be reminiscent in 
 drifting into a melancholy mood on a birthday anni- 
 versary morning. And so, in the lines of America's 
 sweetest poet, I would say: 
 
 "What then? Shall we sit idly down and say: 
 'The night has come, it is no longer day?' 
 The night hath not yet come; we are not quite 
 Cut off from labor by the failing light." 
 
 Taking renewed hope from the foregoing, I am im- 
 pelled by an irresistible impulse to open up the store- 
 house of memory, crowded as it has become with 
 adventures we wouldn't forget if we could, and couldn't 
 if we would. Thus to begin the narrative, we have no 
 apology to make should it eventually find its way on 
 the turbulent sea of a capricious public sentiment. 
 
 That I was born on the sixteenth of February, 1837, 
 
Glad I'm a Pennsylvanian. 3 
 
 in this goodly town of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, found- 
 ed by the illustrious Penn, in 1682, I have never had 
 cause to regret; on the contrary, to be able to claim 
 Lancaster County as my birthplace, has ever carried 
 with it a feeling for which there are no words adequate 
 to express the love I have ever had for this "garden- 
 spot of America." 
 
 Taking into consideration my advanced age, which 
 I make no effort to conceal on a birthday anniversary, 
 I am not unconscious of the fact that, while this once 
 good old Quaker and I bare the same Christian name, 
 there is yet a wide gap in the dates of our birth. 
 Apart from this difference in age, no blood relation is 
 claimed on the part of either myself or my ancestors. 
 To avoid any misunderstanding on this point, it needs 
 only be said, I am of German descent, which, in itself, 
 should set at rest any desire on my part to ingratiate 
 myself into the good favor of the "Friends" of the 
 "Lower End" of this "Paradise of Nature," of more 
 than nine hundred square miles, extending westward 
 from the Octoraro to the Susquehanna, and from 
 "My Maryland" to the South Mountains on the north. 
 
 Having satisfied the Quakers that this volume is 
 not being written as a bid for votes, there are a few 
 others of the county's diversified nationalities to be 
 reconciled as to who I am, and what my purpose is 
 in throwing wide open the storehouse of memory at 
 an age when most other men have fallen into their 
 dotage. 
 
 Unlike so many I have known in years gone by, 
 I have never wasted any of my valuable time in 
 
4 Cherished Memories. 
 
 traveling the country over in search of my ancestors 
 only to awaken to the deplorable fact that, instead 
 of their being Revolutionary patriots or descendants 
 of the Pilgrim Fathers, they were either Hessians or 
 Tories. 
 
 Being a native-born citizen of the Commonwealth 
 of Pennsylvania, it may be a heartless admission to 
 declare publicly that I have ever been too thankful 
 in not having had too many distant relations from 
 whom to expect a fortune, with others hanging 'round 
 ready to make merry over what might eventually fall 
 into their hands in reaping where they hadn't sown. 
 
 Fortunately as it happened, those I couldn't well 
 overlook have at least managed to keep themselves 
 out of endless litigation; for which I have always 
 been only too thankful. Overlooking the expense of 
 the trip, I have never visited the Fatherland to re- 
 turn perchance with a ship load of poor relations 
 instead of a legacy. In this I have profited by the 
 experience of others who, in crossing the ocean's 
 breadth, have usually returned wiser if not happier. 
 
 To my way of thinking, the best heritage that can 
 be left any boy is, two strong arms and a willingness 
 to use them at honest labor with a desire to add some- 
 thing to the sum of human knowledge; and later, at 
 the close of a long life, to be able to say, "I have done 
 some things." 
 
 And now, since I've started to throw open the 
 storehouse of memory on a birthday anniversary, to 
 say that I came from honorable parentage on both 
 my mother's and father's side should be enough to 
 
Hustling for Oneself. 5 
 
 satisfy the average reader. How many well-to-do 
 brothers, sisters, uncles and aunts they may have 
 failed to bring with them has never given me the 
 slightest concern. Nor have I at any time been 
 anxious to learn their status, except to wish them all 
 a long and happy life with plenty of anniversary 
 "goodies" to make merry over; such as I am looking 
 forward to receiving before the day draws to a close. 
 
 Speaking for myself only, I have at all times been 
 only too thankful in feeling I was born under a lucky 
 star, in that I was compelled to hustle for a living 
 from the cradle up, instead of hanging 'round await- 
 ing a fortune to be squandered perchance before 
 reaching the years of discretion. In the gathering of 
 the little in my possession, the anticipation has always 
 been greater than the thought of the labor involved. 
 In this the impression is in no way intended to be con- 
 veyed that a legacy is to be despised, provided it is 
 used as a means of making the world wiser and hap- 
 pier. 
 
 Having gone thus far in the way:of introducing my- 
 self to the critical reader on the anniversary of my 
 •seventy-third birthday, considering my youth, I am 
 disposed to go a step further by declaring I've never 
 believed in the adage which advises a young man to 
 become an old man early if he wishes to be an old 
 man long. Rather would I be an old man for a short 
 length of time than to become an old man before I 
 was one. Of middle-age, old, young men the world 
 has already more than an ample sufficiency. They 
 are to be found here, there and everywhere, ready to 
 
6 Cherished Memories. 
 
 give up the battle of life at fifty, while others are 
 moving smilingly along at eighty, happy in having 
 won the good fight without a fortune awaiting them 
 at their birth. 
 
 "The harvest of old age," as set forth by one of the 
 wisest of the world's philosophers, "is the recollection 
 and abundance of blessings previously secured; riches 
 that may be spent prudently; honors that may be 
 courted without self -flattery or personal egotism; 
 pleasures that may be enjoyed within reason, and 
 last but not least, good health wherewith to perform 
 the functions of the body." Add to these, one other, 
 "character." And here let the boys of Lancaster 
 copy the following, frame it, and hang it over the 
 doors of their rooms to be repeated daily: "When 
 wealth is lost, something is lost; when health is lost, 
 something more is lost, but when character is lost, 
 all is lost." If, in the foregoing, I have indulged 
 myself in a few common-place trites on a birthday 
 anniversary, as a lesson not at all times profited by 
 the autobiographer, this is a privilege we feel sure 
 will be accorded to one of my time of life. 
 
 Drawing again on the storehouse of memory, what 
 a flood of reminiscences loom up, recalling scores of 
 friends long since passed from life's busy stage! 
 Friends! Let this word sink deep into the hearts of 
 the young; they are of all earthly things first to be 
 sought; always present, shut out of no place; never 
 out of season; never forgetful of one's wants in time 
 of distress, unless we of our own volition prove our- 
 selves unworthy. Cling, then, religiously to your 
 
Early Formed Friendships. 7 
 
 youthful companions, my boys, and when they are 
 no more, revere their memories as of more value than 
 all the riches of the Indies. Other new-made friends 
 may turn you the cold shoulder, but the friendships 
 formed in early life will ever linger as fresh and green 
 in memory as the thoughts of a mother's love. Yea, 
 the few yet living, as old age comes on, will cling to 
 you like the trailing arbutus to its native heath. In 
 time, you will begin to wonder how they have dwindled 
 to so few in number, leaving you either to become a 
 recluse or to seek new friendships. This may be a 
 little difficult for the pessimistic "old fellow," but for 
 the man or woman with whom age don't count, it's 
 the secret of a long, happy life. "He who looks upon 
 a true friend," runs another axiom, "looks as it were 
 upon a kind of image of himself." 
 
 In this degenerate age, how happily were all, old 
 and young, to act in accordance with the following: 
 
 "There's a maxim that all should be willing to mind; 
 'Tis an old one, a kind one, and as true as 'tis kind; 
 'Tis worthy of notice wherever you roam, 
 And no worse for the heart if remembered at home: 
 If scandal or censure be raised 'gainst a friend, 
 Be the last to believe it — the first to defend! 
 Say, to-morrow will come — and then time will unfold, 
 That one story's good, till another is told." 
 
 For quiet, peaceful reading, remember "There's a 
 definite career in life, and to each epoch its own peculiar 
 period has been assigned so that, in the feebleness of 
 childhood, in the stateliness of fixed manhood, as well 
 as in the maturity of old age, each has something 
 
8 Cherished Memories. 
 
 natural which should be enjoyed in its own way and 
 time." 
 
 In thus rambling 'round in my endeavor to catch 
 the thread of the narrative so soon to follow, I am 
 making no ignoble confession in declaring the date 
 of my birth. Unlike so many of my bachelor acquaint- 
 ances, I have never kept the old family Bible hidden 
 away in some secluded nook, out of reach of the more 
 inquisitive, only to have my age appear later in the 
 obituary column of the daily newspaper. For after 
 all what matters it: a man is just as old as he feels ; 
 a woman, as she looks. And God bless the aged wo- 
 men! With them there are scores of ways of robbing 
 old age of its terrors: pleasing associations, a happy, 
 contented disposition, a smiling countenance; added 
 to these womanly virtues, dress becoming maturity, 
 a willingness to give a little of one's surplus wealth 
 to the poor and needy, and we have even at ninety 
 a most lovable personage, ever to be admired, always 
 to be respected, especially if she happen to be an old 
 grandmother. And since we come to think it over, 
 what would home be anyway without a cheerful old 
 grandmother to attend to the wants of the grand- 
 children ! 
 
 Oh, yes! the old grand-pap may be tolerated as so 
 much household rubbish, but the dear old grand- 
 mother! Let then the old throw off the mask of de- 
 ception, and on each birthday anniversary call for 
 congratulations; these will be showered without stint, 
 and the nearer the century mark, the more hearty 
 will be the felicitations. 
 
Notables Born in February. 9 
 
 Be my own gait a little slow, the hair as white as 
 snow, the twinkle of my eye, as I take the youngest 
 on my knee, has lost none of its former brightness. 
 The old heart in my bosom beats with the same ten- 
 derness for childhood as in the days of the long ago 
 when, as a teacher on the "hill," I sported with the 
 lads on the playground, only to gather them 'round 
 me in the school room there to instill into their young 
 minds such precepts as a future life of usefulness might 
 require. If then, a jolly young pedagogue was I, to 
 become less than a jolly old father at my three-score 
 and ten, would be to confess that age has made me a 
 pretty old man! 
 
 Still searching here and there for a suitable beginning 
 for the narrative, I can rejoice with others born in 
 the goodly month of February of whatever year that 
 this, the shortest month of the twelve, has earned 
 for itself the proud distinction of having sent into the 
 world a Lowell, Longfellow, Mendelssohn, Galileo, 
 Dickens, Handel, Wagner, Edison and others too nu- 
 merous to mention. Coming to those of national repu- 
 tation, we find William Henry Harrison, born on the 
 ninth; with that of the illustrious Abraham Lincoln, 
 on the twelfth, to be followed by George Washington, 
 the father of his country, on the twenty-second of 
 this historic month of glorious old February. Surely 
 then, one who makes no claim to greatness, has some- 
 thing for which to be thankful to be able to say he 
 was thrown into such good company. 
 
 Of the number of patriotic Americans who could 
 point with becoming pride to 1837, as the year of 
 
10 Cherished Memories. 
 
 'his birth, among the last, with name embalmed in 
 the hearts of his countrymen, was Grover Cleveland, 
 twice elected president by a liberty-loving people, 
 whom he so patriotically served. 
 
 Another moment with this winter month, known 
 as the shortest of the calendar year. It stands pre- 
 eminently first, owing largely to the many Scriptural 
 and secular observances for which it has ever stood 
 conspicuous in the world's history. Thus, with the 
 passing of January comes Candlemas, the festival of 
 the Purification ; and the announcement of the Ground- 
 hog, the Weather Bureau's rival, that he is abroad in 
 the land; at times to stay, at others that, having seen 
 his shadow, has gone back to his snug winter quarters 
 there to enjoy another six weeks of his Kip Van Winkle 
 sleep, much to the disappointment of the young girls 
 who, with their many sizes and shapes of spring hats, 
 had been looking forward to a pleasant Easter morn. 
 
 Following this prognosticator of one's peace of mind, 
 comes the season of Lent. Nor is this to end the 
 month's festival days; for, on the fourteenth comes 
 St. Valentine's Day, on which all young hearts are 
 made glad in the hope of receiving a souvenir in the 
 shape of a carefully-shaped missive, which has seldom 
 failed to come along in the middle of February, with 
 its storm-clouds charged with hail or snow, turning 
 the sidewalks into skating rinks for the edification 
 of the boys and girls, whose gymnastic evolutions 
 must be tolerated as among the many other necessary 
 inconveniences. In lieu of these out-door winter 
 sports, the in-door, artificial skaters on "rollers" fill 
 
ABE MILLER 
 
Abe Miller and His Orchestra. 11 
 
 the rinks, as they swing their partners, not unlike the 
 boys used to their sweethearts on the improvised 
 platform over at Rocky Springs before the trolley 
 came to take the place of the omnibus. Years have 
 gone by since it rolled its way out Rockland street, 
 thence through the covered bridge, close by where 
 the boy Fulton steered his flat-bottom scow, and 
 nearby where yet stands the homestead which gave 
 shelter to General Hand, of Revolutionary fame. 
 
 Well, well! getting along pretty smoothly for a be- 
 ginning, say you not, my old-timers, who have not 
 forgotten the famous "Miller String Band?" Am I 
 opening your storehouse of memory to "Abe," as he 
 called out, in a drawling monotone, "Swing your part- 
 ners! Gentlemen to the right, ladies to the left!" 
 
 Not to cause the few living "old veterans" to be 
 limbering up their joints in boarding a trolley, in 
 imitation of the present generation in tripping the 
 light fantastic to the music of polkas and waltzes, in- 
 stead of the old-time "Virginia Reel," the "Lancers," 
 "Fisher's Hornpipe," ending with the "Devil's 
 Dream," it is to new Rocky Springs the tide of young 
 is pressing its way. 
 
 And, oh, my! how old "Rocky" has changed! 
 Why, it has become Lancaster's "New Midway," a 
 second "Coney Island," with the "Figure Eight" and 
 "Air-Ship" doing service amid the glare of the 
 myriads of electric lights and other amusements never 
 dreamed of a half century ago. 
 
 On the Conestoga, where in our clay the crude row- 
 boat catered to the pleasures of old and young, we 
 
12 Cherished Memories. 
 
 find the metal motor-boat gliding majestically along 
 beneath the over-hanging branches of willow and 
 sycamore, which yet stand in all their old-time rugged- 
 ness linking the past with the present. If, then, we 
 old fellows are back-numbers to "Old Rocky," why 
 deny us the pleasure of recalling the time when we were 
 the whole "push?" 
 
 Who, if may be asked, ever thought of visiting 
 "Indian Hill" fifty years ago except on an occasional 
 ramble? Now, known as "Williamson's Park," it 
 has become one of the most delightful retreats. Up 
 from the topmost peak the eye takes in, as the sun 
 sets itself to rest, a view not to be excelled the world 
 over. Here is "Old Dame Nature" catering to all 
 who love a day's outing where peace and rest maybe 
 enjoyed at the least possible expense. 
 
 Growing a little sentimental on a birthday anniver- 
 sary? Yes, growing yearly in closer touch with 
 "country life," in doing what Goethe once upon a 
 time said every man, woman and child must do with 
 their whole mind, heart and soul — "quicken into new 
 life those deeper human instincts which can never 
 view a landscape unless moved by the consciousness 
 that within and surrounding Nature's handicraft is 
 God's unseen hand." 
 
 Getting back to the town, recalls what the great 
 Luther so aptly remarked once upon a time: "The 
 glory and strength of a city does not depend so much 
 on its great mansions, upon its well-paved streets, as 
 upon its learned, serious, kind and well-educated 
 citizens." To quote him further: "Till seven, we do 
 
Luther on Citizenship. 13 
 
 nothing but eat, sleep, drink and play; from seven 
 till twenty-one, we work a little; then labor till fifty, 
 when we become children again." If, then, there be 
 any logic in the foregoing reasoning, there are two 
 kinds of children in Pennsylvania, if not in Lancaster: 
 those still under parental authority, and those pos- 
 sibly, who deserve to be, if their good deeds are to 
 be judged by their liberality of spirit. And here, the 
 pertinent question arises: "What have we as citizens 
 done to make Lancaster better, greater and artistically 
 more beautiful?" 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Childhood Days— We Remove to Leesburg, Va. 
 Eastek and Christmas in the Sunny South. 
 
 HAVING partaken of a sumptuous birthday anni- 
 versary dinner, prepared by one who, for more 
 than a third of a century, has proved herself the young- 
 old man's most devoted friend and help-mate, I light 
 a fragrant Havana, manufactured from the Lancaster 
 county home-crop. Happy! Words fail to express my 
 pent-up emotions as the family group of three sons 
 and two daughters, the younger a girl of fifteen, with 
 arms around her father's neck, and a loving kiss upon 
 his forehead, as in the innocence of her girlhood, she 
 plays with a few strands of gray "Old Father Time" 
 has permitted to remain. 
 
 An old man at seventy-three ! What a libel on that 
 most delightful of all the seasons, the autumn of life, 
 for one, with few regrets for the years that have gone 
 nor anxious longings for their return! "Of course, 
 of course," I keep thinking, "this bright-eyed home- 
 body is too young to remember her papa's first 
 daguerreotype taken at the age of seventeen, away 
 back in '54, on the third floor of the Kramph building." 
 It was then I was prone to consider this memento in 
 its little black case as fair for any young miss of six- 
 teen to look upon as were the many others which 
 embellished the walls of the late Jack Johnston's 
 
 14 
 
WILLIAM RIDDLE, AT AGE 73 
 
My First Smoke. 15 
 
 studio. And even at this household reunion, it carries 
 with it a charm with which none of my later photo- 
 graphs can compare. Reproduced as a frontispiece, 
 who would ever dare appropriate it except to pass it 
 off as his own? 
 
 And now, with a "red rose," the emblem of city and 
 county, pinned upon the lapel of my coat, I am per- 
 mitted, by common consent, to give myself up to an 
 examination of birthday-anniversary presents. 
 
 "Oh, glory!" I exclaim, as alone I glance over the 
 center-table. Coming to the last, I am puzzled to 
 know just what the package contains, wrapped so 
 carefully with ribbon— band of red, white and blue. 
 "No sweatmeats in this!" I articulate, as I dangle it 
 at arm's length. "Red, white and blue — patriotic 
 colors! nothing slow about this!" I continue to solilo- 
 quize, removing one layer after another. At last, at 
 last, my eyes behold a box of fragrant "Manillas," 
 from the far-away Philippines, with label indicating 
 that they had been admitted free of duty by the gov- 
 ernment custom-house officials. 
 
 Lighting one and throwing the smoke in graceful 
 ringlets over my head, I begin to enjoy the flavor as 
 I compare the aroma with that of the first "rattan" 
 I had ever smoked, at the age of ten, over on the Lime 
 Street Bridge, when a big, round copper cent went 
 pretty far along the lines of economy. Do I remember 
 this my first experience with the insidious "weed?" 
 Well, well, never mind, my boys, you won't have long 
 to wait; maybe, later on, if all goes right, the auto- 
 biographer may be persuaded into making a con- 
 
16 Cherished Memories. 
 
 fession of the health-giving effects of his first 
 "smoke." 
 
 And now, after a short hour's nap, I am all the better 
 prepared to launch forth on the evolution of the narra- 
 tive which, while of little interest to those who seldom 
 read other than the base-ball news, may yet prove 
 none the less interesting to the town and county's 
 "serious, kind and well-educated citizens." 
 
 Among the first of my childhood recollections were 
 the moral and religious precepts daily set forth by 
 my sainted mother; some to be observed and profited 
 by; others, to fall by the wayside, like good seed sown 
 upon stony soil. And yet, if all did not take deep 
 root, producing their full measure, I have had good 
 cause to rejoice that all didn't go in one ear and out 
 the other. 
 
 With this slight tribute to one who has long since 
 passed away in the fulness of her years, it may be 
 said that my three brothers died during early infancy, 
 leaving an only son to manage three girls, one older, 
 the others younger than myself. Thus the passing 
 of the boys goes to prove the truth of the adage, 
 "The good die young." 
 
 As I was to learn at a later day, I was born nearly 
 opposite the First Presbyterian Church, on the six- 
 teenth of February, in the year one thousand, eight 
 hundred and thirty-seven. At the time of my advent, 
 little occurred to disturb the town's equilibrium, for 
 the reason possibly that, during this somewhat early 
 period, there was no "Board of Health," compelling 
 doctors to make returns of all new-comers. To this 
 oversight may be attributed the apparent slow growth 
 
Old Lime Street Bridge. 17 
 
 of the town, which at this epoch contained a popula- 
 tion of something less than eight thousand, according 
 to the returns of the census enumerator. 
 
 From such data as I have been able to gather, it 
 was in '41 we moved from Orange to one of the new 
 brick houses on the east side of North Lime street, 
 south of the bridge which crosses the "deep cut," as 
 the railroad was called at this point. Beginning at 
 Chestnut, the turnpike, after crossing the bridge, 
 turned directly to the right, then to the left, passing 
 the Lancaster Cemetery, which was laid out in either 
 '49 or '50. Prior to this time, singular as it may seem 
 to those younger in years, this "city of the dead" 
 was devoted to the raising of corn, wheat and other 
 farm-products. 
 
 North of the Lime and Shippen street bridges were 
 what were known as the "Hensel" and "Bobby" 
 Fultz's orchards, in which grew the luscious fruits 
 of all kind and variety, from the rambo, smokehouse, 
 belleflower, pound-apple, to the much-despised grind- 
 stone, which, on being dug up from its burial place, 
 an the late spring, proved so mellow and appetizing. 
 
 After Lime Street was opened from the bridge to 
 Lemon, along in the early fifties, Mr. Jacob Dmcker- 
 miller built the first house on the west side, midway 
 between the bridge and Lemon. Directly facing our 
 house, where the Traction Company's freight station 
 stands, was a brewery vault, in which were stored, 
 deep down underground, the immense hogsheads of 
 lager and strong beer. In the rear of this ungainly 
 structure was the large frame carpenter shop of ~Mr. 
 2 
 
18 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Jacob Hensel, in which all work was done by hand, 
 instead of by machinery, as at the present day. 
 
 Aside from these diverting thoughts, there is one 
 other that must ever remain green in rnemoiy, not 
 to be overlooked if a true and faithful chronicle of 
 events is to follow. How can I forget when, at the 
 age of seven, father summoned the family group, into 
 his presence and told us that he had been requested 
 by the late William Kirkpatrick to take charge of a 
 manufacturing industry in the town of Leesburg, 
 Virginia! Where this place was located, whether a 
 hundred or a thousand miles distant, we children 
 little knew and cared less; that we were to leave Lan- 
 caster, not in a steam car, but in a carriage, seemed 
 all-sufficient. We were going to move. This in itself 
 had a, peculiar fascination, as it usually has for the 
 young, without any preconceived ideas of what a 
 "flitting" actually means. Only father and mother 
 could at the time feel that the parting from old friends 
 had a significance scarcely apparent to those younger 
 in years. 
 
 In order to aid the boys in looking over the maps 
 of their geographies, one April morning after being 
 crowded into a large carriage, we bade the town a 
 final farewell, with feelings that we were never more 
 to return. It was not, however, until we had reached 
 "Old St. James" that mother burst into tears at the 
 thought of leaving church and pastor, the Rev. Sam- 
 uel Bowman, whose frequent visits to our house had 
 endeared him to one and all. 
 
 It is then, with the deepest reverence, a few words 
 
THREE IN ONE 
 
Three Good Samaritfins. 19 
 
 may be said for one we all so clearly loved. Rev. 
 Bowman was a most lovable personage; he was more: 
 he was one of God's earthly disciples sent to comfort 
 the meek and lowly. Once a week regularly, amid 
 storm and sunshine, he would sit reading a chapter 
 out of the old family Bible, then all kneeling, would 
 come one of his fervent prayers which, if little under- 
 stood by those younger in years, never failed to make 
 a deep, lasting impression on the very heart and soul 
 of our indulgent mother, whose prayers went daily 
 up to Him Who giveth all things to those who trust 
 in His goodness and mercy. 
 
 Passing this heart-felt tribute, not without a keen 
 sense of its meaning, we knew Dr. Bowman as a lad; 
 we knew him as we grew in years, as he walked the 
 streets in company with his bosom-friends, Father 
 Keenan and "Pappy" Baker. These "three in one," 
 although of different faith, were bound together by 
 the closest ties of intimacy, socially and religiously. 
 Nor indeed were their spheres in life limited to the 
 personal; hand in hand, they went their way, as three 
 good Samaritans, inspired only by those higher and 
 holier motives — the elevation of mankind to a broader 
 conception of man's humanity to man. Sad as it 
 may seem, it was in the early sixties that the tick of 
 the instrument brought the news .that Doctor Bow- 
 man had met an unexpected death while walking along 
 the railroad near the present town of Oil City. 
 
 And now to our journey to Leesburg. What direc- 
 tion we took after leaving Lancaster I had at the time 
 no means of knowing, But later, as we crossed the 
 
20 Cherished Memories. 
 
 camel-back bridge spanning the Susquehanna at 
 Harrisburg, I for the first time began to realize what 
 leaving home actually meant, with the great expanse 
 of water beneath. Later I was overcome with a 
 feeling of fear and curiosity as we reached the Potomac 
 at the Point of Rocks, and where, to my horror, we were 
 landed on a flat boat, horse and carriage, with its load 
 of human freight. 
 
 Arriving safe on the other side, on we went for a 
 distance of more than thirty miles. At last, tired 
 and weary of the long journey, we drew up in front 
 of an unpretentious, two-story frame dwelling, 
 already furnished with such articles of furniture as 
 the stores of the town could best afford. 
 
 If my mind, even now, is incapable of picturing 
 Leesburg as it existed long years before the war, I 
 wasn't, at the age of seven, incapable of appreciating 
 the myriads of Spring flowers which grew before the 
 house in all their beauty.- Up and around the win- 
 dows and door twined the honeysuckle, while back 
 in the yard bloomed the peach and apricot, at all 
 times so tempting to the average boy as he glances 
 up at the ripened fruit so near yet so far. 
 
 As memory recalls, in addition to the flowers every- 
 where in evidence, it was the strangeness of the sur- 
 roundings that caused my first spell of home-sickness. 
 The excitement attending the long journey having 
 subsided, it took what only a mother's caressing 
 could do to keep the tears from flowing thick and 
 fast as my thoughts drifted back to "Old Lancaster." 
 At last the "spell" was broken as the village people 
 
Negro Melodies., 21 
 
 came ready with open arms to welcome to their midst 
 those who had come from the far North. For, in 
 those early times before the steam engine had reached 
 Leesburg, a family of strangers was so out of the usual 
 as to attract the attention of old and young. For- 
 tunately, as father's mission was in no way connected 
 with politics, our reception was all that could have been 
 expected. What it might have been had his name 
 been associated with any of the "Down East" Abo- 
 litionists, the writer has no means of knowing. 
 
 Before leaving Lancaster, to the best of my recol- 
 lection, I had never seen a colored person, nor had I 
 become familiar with the negro melodies I was later 
 to hear Mr. Joe Rattee's slaves sing to the music of 
 the banjo. Night after night, during the long summer 
 evenings, they would gather in little groups before 
 our house. And while I have long since forgotten 
 the- words to many of these simple refrains, they 
 •unconsciously burst forth at moments when least 
 expected, showing how impressions made upon the 
 mind and heart in boyhood yet cling down through 
 the after years of one's life. 
 
 As my playmates were my three sisters, with a few 
 of the neighbors' children to make merry over, all 
 my adventures, with a few exceptions, occurred in 
 and around the home. One of the most unfortunate 
 was, when I was set upon by an unruly old gander. 
 That I came out second best in the battle, a solution 
 of goose-grease well applied gave immediate relief 
 as a counter irritant. What actually became of this 
 disturber of my otherwise peaceful moments I have 
 
22 Cherished Memories. 
 
 no means of knowing. But as age with ganders don't 
 count, the probability is that during a contemplated 
 visit to this conservative hamlet, the first to give his 
 old friend a hearty welcome will be Mr. Gander. 
 
 Following this my most serious adventure came 
 others, the most pleasing of which was on a lovely 
 Easter morning when, crawling under a fence into a 
 field of deepest green, I discovered a half dozen beauti- 
 fully-colored eggs. Oh! how my young heart beat 
 with rapture at the thought of how a Virginia bunnie 
 had not forgotten to remember a little tot who had 
 come so many miles to pay her his respects. But my 
 sisters were not to be slighted; in other secluded nooks 
 they, too, were delighted to find their share of golden- 
 colored eggs to make merry over on this glorious Easter 
 morning. Never since have I enjoyed these Easter- 
 day offerings with more inward satisfaction. Before 
 the day had closed came the little colored urchins with 
 baskets filled with eggs of variegated colors. And it 
 was from these bright-eyed woolly-heads I learned to 
 use the small, speckled guinea egg to good effect in an 
 "end-to-end" contest with the ordinary kind. Held 
 tightly in hand, there could be but one result, the win- 
 ning over of the common kind, not excepting the duck, 
 goose or turkey egg. Of course, at the age of seven, I 
 was too young to catch on to the numerous other games 
 then in vogue among the larger boys in the village of 
 Leesburg, as well as over in Lancaster, where, notwith- 
 standing my departure, as I was later to learn, games of 
 all kinds had continued with uninterrupted regularity. 
 But as I wasn't there to take a hand in directing my 
 
Christmas in Virginia. 23 
 
 former cronies in the modus operandi of hopscotch, 
 marbles, kite-flying, corner and town-ball, and last, 
 though not least, "shinny," the reader must bear 
 with a few more of a young Virginian's escapades, as 
 a reminder to the lads of this twentieth century that, 
 sitting on the "grand stand" on a cold clay over at 
 •base-ball grounds in watching the players isn't getting 
 the most out of their boyhood life. 
 
 Well, with the passing of early spring came the 
 glorious "Fourth," but there were no firing of crackers, 
 no booming of cannon such as had fallen on my ears 
 over in old Lancaster. This, according to custom, 
 was reserved for the incoming Christmas, and when 
 it came, what a commotion! We children were all 
 ready to retire when a rap at the front door admitted 
 two " belsnickles," leaning on their staffs, dressed in 
 dashing, flashing colors, with faces encased in masks 
 such as more than one other boy has since observed 
 on a Christmas eve. Frightened almost out of our 
 wits, we children went searching 'round for the near- 
 est avenue of escape, which at this trying moment 
 was behind our mother's chair. Ah! but when they 
 began to strew the big horsey-cakes, nuts and candies 
 over the floor, I was the first to scramble forth, fearful 
 lest I should fail to get my full honest share of the 
 many goodies. And here it may be admitted that 
 in this rush my grasping spirit first began to assert 
 itself. As a gentle reminder that I wasn't the only 
 "pebble on the beach," I was given a gentle tap on 
 the head with one of the long poles, the result of which, 
 while it didn't cause me to disgorge what was sufficient 
 
24 Cherished Memones. 
 
 to serve the inner-boy for a week, had the effect of 
 restraining my impetuosity in making me more con- 
 siderate for the feelings of others more modestly dis- 
 posed. 
 
 Making due allowance for this scrambling propensity 
 in boys to be grasping everything in sight, the same 
 to-day as in "ye olden time," after two years' residence 
 in the "Old Dominion," who should come riding into 
 the village but William Kirkpatrick on his ever faith- 
 ful roadster, with saddle-bags behind. His long, 
 green leggings, strapped securely 'round his lower 
 extremities, presented a picture to my youthful im- 
 agination long to be remembered. And yet it was 
 only the usual custom to cover long distances at or 
 before the time of railroads. 
 
 Without running largely into biography, it may be 
 said from such intimate acquaintance as I had formed 
 later with this, the first manufacturer of threshing 
 machines in the county of Lancaster, that "Billy" 
 Kirkpatrick, as he was familiarly called, was, in many 
 respects a remarkable man, not only as a leader of 
 the town's industrial life, but as a citizen of irreproach- 
 able character. Active in politics, first as a Whig, 
 later as a Republican, he served the last years of his 
 life as Street Commissioner. 
 
 His first place of business was on the north side of 
 Chestnut street, near Market, removing later in the 
 rear of the late David Stauffer's residence, on East 
 Orange street, where he continued business until the 
 breaking out of the war. During the many years of 
 his active career there was seldom a time he wasn't 
 
Panic of 18.37. 25 
 
 hard pressed financially. As his sales were always 
 direct with farmers, he was compelled to be absent 
 for weeks on a collecting tour. Unlike to-day, there 
 were no "middle men" to handle his machinery, nor 
 had the day of checks come fully into vogue. 
 
 As only the very few can bear witness, it was no 
 uncommon thing for his workmen, laboring for a 
 dollar a day, to sit well into midnight awaiting his 
 return, and then be compelled to accept a dollar bill 
 to do the marketing the morning following. As every 
 .State bank had its own currency, what a time had his 
 brother Ephraim between sneezes ..(for he was an in- 
 veterate sneezer) to be searching the Bank Directory 
 in ascertaining what notes were good, bad or at a 
 discount. Only too frequently workmen were com- 
 pelled to accept orders for their wood, flour and other 
 necessaries. Trade unions and half-holidays being 
 unknown, many of the best mechanics were compelled 
 to accept such wages as would be beneath the notice 
 of the average boot-black of the present day. 
 
 William Kirkpatrick on this visit had a sad story 
 to relate; times the country over, instead of growing 
 better, were growing worse, compelling him to close 
 his Leesburg plant. 
 
 As every cause must have its effect, a short sketch 
 of results following President Jackson's administra- 
 tion, beginning in '29 and ending in the memorable 
 year '37, may serve to recall what John Quincy Adams 
 declared, that "without a dollar of national debt, the 
 government was in the midst of national bankruptcy." 
 
 Jackson's presidency of eight years stood without 
 
26 Cherished Memories. 
 
 a parallel as one of rapid growth and great prosperity 
 throughout the entire country. Canals had been 
 opened, steamboats were running on the Great Lakes 
 and Western rivers, and the whistle of the locomotive 
 was beginning to be heard beyond the Alleghanies. 
 Indeed, so impressed was Jackson with the fruits of 
 his eight years of office, that he was overheard to 
 say, "I leave this great people prosperous and happy." 
 
 However, in less than thirty days after Martin Van 
 Buren had assumed the duties of the office, business 
 failures in the city of New York reached the enormous 
 sum of one hundred million dollars. With this, banks 
 began to fail, and the difficulty of getting gold or silver 
 became so great that even the United States govern- 
 ment had to pay the army and navy in paper money, 
 which, if it chanced to be good to-day, might be worth- 
 less tomorrow. 
 
 Everywhere in all parts of the country factories and 
 mills came to a standstill, throwing thousands of work- 
 men out of employment. As many of the states had 
 borrowed large sums of money in Europe for the build- 
 ing of roads, canals and railways, it was with difficulty 
 they could raise sufficient money to pay the interest. 
 In 1830 the total debt for these improvements was 
 only thirteen millions ; seven years- later it had risen 
 to nearly two hundred millions. 
 
 For this chaotic condition there were three chief 
 
 causes: First, after Jackson had refused to re-charter 
 
 the United States Bank, a flood of state banks sprang 
 
 .into existence; second, the ease with which the people 
 
 had borrowed money led to wide speculation in land, 
 
A Parson With an Appetite. 27 
 
 leading buyers to purchase town lots at enormous 
 prices in Western " cities" that had no existence except 
 on paper. As a result, the government began to call 
 in the gold and silver which it had deposited in certain 
 "pet" state banks, refusing at the same time to sell 
 any more public land except for hard cash. As a 
 result, property of all kind fell in price; banks could 
 neither redeem their bills, collect debts, nor pay them; 
 thence followed the crash. 
 
 Such were the conditions that brought "Billy" 
 Kirkpatrick to Leesburg. Along in the middle forties, 
 with the closing of Harrison and Tyler's administra- 
 tion, after learning of these hard times which were 
 still being felt, we had but one of two alternatives, 
 either to remain in Leesburg or to drift back to Lan- 
 caster, the very thought of which, when it became 
 a reality, began to bring cheer to one and all. "We 
 are going back to dear old St. James," came the heart- 
 felt response of mother, as she gathered us all around 
 her. 
 
 That she never at any time felt reconciled to the 
 change was not owing to a want of kindness on the 
 part of the people of Leesburg. No; far from it! 
 But the elderly parson, as I can see him yet, with his 
 long-tail coat buttoned up in front to hide his yard- 
 in-length beard, was not the kind of a parson to take 
 the place of the much-beloved Bowman. Being of 
 the "Holy-Roller" Methodistic faith, he was as loud 
 in household devotion as he was when standing back 
 of the pulpit exhorting the mourners to come for- 
 ward. And while not a believer in the Millerite scare 
 
28 Cherished Memories. 
 
 which had swept like an avalanche over the village 
 during our first summer's sojourn, he was at all times 
 ready to predict Hades as the place for all who refused 
 to conform to his own peculiar religious convictions. 
 He had one redeeming trait, he seldom missed calling 
 'round to partake of a good dinner, oftentimes remain- 
 ing over for the evening repast. Often since have I 
 been reminded of the old adage, "a lean nag for a 
 long race." Where this goodly divine managed to 
 store the quantity of substantiate of one meal, always 
 being ready for the next, he never could be persuaded 
 to tell. As for birthday anniversaries — these he never 
 missed. And never within my mother's recollection 
 was he known to offer congratulations in any other 
 way than in one of his long-drawn-out prayers, which 
 always had the effect of putting us children to sleep 
 behind the ten-plate wood-stove in the shortest time 
 possible. On one occasion in particular, on seeing 
 him coming, I deliberately crawled into the wood-box, 
 instructing my eldest sister to sit upon the lid until 
 he had departed. That I was finally drawn out, half 
 suffocated, was not owing to prayer so much as to 
 mother's watchful eye. 
 
 Another episode occurring in Lcesburg at the time 
 has to do with the pestiferous crow, whose depreda- 
 tions had caused a small reward to be placed upon his 
 head by either the local or state authorities. Their 
 favorite roosting place was on a nearby hill, covered 
 with scrub-oak, cedar and other indigenous growth. 
 
 Besides the many others who took pure delight in 
 going forth to reap a harvest at crow-shooting was an 
 outlandish specimen of the back country, of grotesque 
 
Jimmy McClune. 29 
 
 appearance, wearing a suit of what was known as 
 "slouch-cloth," or common bagging. His equipment, 
 apart from a leather apron and otter cap, which resem- 
 bled the steeple of the meeting-house, consisted of a 
 small woodchuck's skin, sewed together in the form 
 of a bag, partly filled with buckshot; an oxhorn with 
 powder, and an old rusty gun about seven feet in 
 length from the muzzle to the breach, and which had 
 possibly come over on one of Columbus' first Dutch 
 ships. 
 
 Passing along the main street, he was interrogated 
 by one of the wags as to what regiment he belonged to. 
 "I belong to no regiment," came the reply, as he fired 
 his blunderbus over the head of the inquisitive by- 
 stander. "To what company clo you belong?" "To 
 no company." "Then where in the devil do you 
 belong, and what are you doing here"? "Dang, 
 twisted," said the fellow, "I don't belong anywhere, 
 I am fighting crows on my own hook, gosh, hang it!" 
 And away he went to the hill with his rusty carbine, 
 only to return later with the inside of his slouchcloth 
 bagging filled with crows' heads. 
 
 Only once since have I seen his equal, and that 
 was poor Jimmy McClune, who used to visit the 
 Tucquan camp on the Susquehanna; and where on a , 
 stump he would sit by the hour, playing on his one- 
 string fiddle for a few stray pennies which fell into his 
 coffers. That "Jimmy's music had charms to soothe 
 the savage ear," was apparent alone to "Conny," who 
 would linger by his side a whole night through in a 
 drowsy, sleepy attitude. But we are drifting. 
 
 And here, as a fitting close to this chapter, an epi- 
 
30 Cherished Memories. 
 
 sode may be related that goes far in linking the 
 present with the past. Father, at the time of our 
 residence in Leesburg, had invented a new corn- 
 sheller, and after completing a model, went his way 
 on horseback to the city of Washington with the 
 new device strapped to his side. Being anxious for 
 the trip, I was allowed to ride behind. What occurred 
 on our arrival I do not remember. But on our return 
 I was to learn that he had received papers entitling 
 him to lay exclusive claim to the new device. 
 
 And now, what might seem as a coincidence : it was 
 some forty years later, while on a visit to Washington 
 to view the remains of the much-lamented Garfield, 
 that I happened to enter the storage-room of the patent 
 office, and it was while strolling here and there among 
 the innumerable number of models of every imagin- 
 able shape, kind and variety, that my eyes instinct- 
 ively took in the crude device stored there so many 
 years before by one who at that time imagined he was 
 to reap a fortune out of the new patent sheller. 
 
 Since then I have often thought of the many de- 
 vices from which no returns have come to reward the 
 patentee for the worry and labor bestowed on them. 
 And yet if only the very few have reaped a rich harvest, 
 the ultimate good to the world at large, and to the 
 United States in particular, is beyond estimate. 
 From the first small beginnings, down to this year 
 1910, with drawings taking the place of the crude, 
 manufactured model, the world has at last seen the 
 "dirigible" sailing majestically along as the inventor 
 sits looking down over the heads of the astonished 
 multitude. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Rack to Lancaster — First Locomotive — School 
 Days — Andy Blue. 
 
 AND now, to our homeward journey! Homeward 
 bound! Has the writer touched a tender chord 
 in the heart of the traveler as he steps aboard a liner 
 on the other side of the great "Divide," only too glad 
 to get but a glimpse of his native land? If it's always 
 a pleasure to get away for a month or two, how much 
 more delightful to be able to exclaim, "Home again!" 
 
 Contrast, if you please, the difference in the mode 
 of travel between six decades ago and the present, 
 when an automobile or a steam engine can cover the 
 distance in one-tenth the time. In this advanced age 
 of hustle and bustle, when one may reach the North 
 Pole, or go around the world without attracting more 
 than passing attention, a description of our return 
 trip would seem to be a waste of time and energy. 
 However, a narrative once begun is not unlike a vessel 
 starting for a foreign port, it must reach its destination 
 or go down beneath the waves. 
 
 Accustomed by this time to jogging along in mak- 
 ing use of my eyes, it wasn't long until we had reached 
 for the second time the Potomac. And it was while 
 •taking supper at an inn on the Maryland side that 
 my eldest sister came running, saying, "Come, come 
 •and see the steam cars." Rushing to the door, I 
 beheld for the first time a monster locomotive puffing 
 
 31 
 
32 Cherished Memories. 
 
 its way over the rails. As I distinctly remember, the 
 engine had no cab, nor were the cars like those I have 
 since seen passing through the "deep-cut." Several 
 were not unlike those of an overland stage-coach, 
 except that these were strung together, one behind 
 the other. Added were a few open cars without any 
 protection from the sparks of the "wood-burner." 
 
 Although I had lived for a year or two within a 
 stone's throw of the Lime Street Bridge, I had never 
 seen a train nor could I recall when the motive- 
 power was the horse, in drawing the cars maybe at a 
 dog-trot from Philadelphia to Columbia. 
 
 Passing for the present much of local history relat- 
 ing to early railroading, it may be said that after many 
 inconveniences we once more reached "Old St. 
 James." It was then I heard mother exclaim, 
 "Thank God, we are once more back in dear, old 
 Lancaster!" It is, then, in no way strange that old 
 Lancaster has ever been dear to the young-old man's 
 heart, with early impressions seldom to be effaced. 
 
 Little could I imagine as we landed at the door of 
 the same Lime Street house from which we had de- 
 parted two years before, that I was so soon to become 
 the hero among the boys of my own age. That the 
 weekly newspapers made no mention of our arrival 
 was largely owing to the fact that the twentieth- 
 century reporter hadn't as yet been discovered. With 
 the boys, however, I was "it," for the good and suf- 
 ficient reason that I had traveled "some;" had passed 
 twice through the camel-back bridge spanning the 
 Susquehanna, whose width, according to my descrip- 
 
Early Cognomens. 33 
 
 tion, differed little from its length. But what mat- 
 tered it? Beyond, I had gone through miles of un- 
 explored territory, crossing the Potomac, a name 
 scarcely one of the town's kids of my age had ever 
 heard of, except what had been told them by the 
 High School boys who had gone through Peter Par- 
 ley's geography, without knowing whether the earth 
 was round, square or flat. 
 
 As this is my golden opportunity to set forth what 
 has hitherto failed to appear in the last "Obituary" 
 Volume — a few of my earlier escapades, I must ask 
 the reader's indulgence while I describe some of the 
 encomiums bestowed upon my youthful self, all with- 
 out having as much as thrown out a hint that I was 
 at all desirous of honors, such as have only too fre- 
 quently been heaped upon the heads of others by col- 
 leges and universities with the implied understanding 
 that on their demise a liberal allowance will be set apart 
 for the base- or foot-ball team. In one respect I've 
 been fortunate, for the reason that it isn't well that 
 too many good things should come early in life. 
 
 Well, be this as it may, owing to my having gone 
 where others had never dared to venture for fear of 
 being gobbled up by spooks, hobgoblins and kid- 
 nappers, I was, at the age of nine, ornamented with 
 'the distinguished title of "Commodore!" Why I 
 was the only one of a coterie of street urchins to receive 
 this "sea-fighting" honor can only be accounted for 
 on the assumption that I had personally met George 
 Washington, "first in war, first in peace and first in 
 the hearts of his countrymen," over in the city that 
 3 
 
34 Cherished Memories. 
 
 bore his distinguished name. The crossing of Mason 
 and Dixon's line had caused me to be looked upon as 
 a second Robinson Crusoe or a Marcus Polo, the former 
 being the first book on travel I had ever read, and 
 may be said to have been largely responsible for stimu- 
 lating the scope of my youthful imagination as a 
 descriptive story teller. 
 
 For a time I bore the title of "Commodore" with 
 becoming modesty, never once thinking of entering 
 the navy. And being an only son, to have entered 
 the army during the war of Rebellion, might have been 
 disastrous to my three sisters, whom I felt it my duty 
 to stand by in war and peace. Then birthday anni- 
 versaries couldn't be overlooked. 
 
 With this satisfactory reason, to which no old veteran 
 will enter his protest, after "Commodore" came from 
 my old friend "Jere," that of "Judge," followed by 
 "Squire," "Captain." As none of these titles had 
 any salary attached, I fell back on "Professor," 
 changing it to that of "teacher-instructor," and even 
 these I have managed to outlive. "Honorable" is 
 an appendage I was equally fortunate in escaping, 
 for the reason that I have never been mayor, nor a 
 member of the Legislature. Not to become too for- 
 getful, there is still one other title, that of "Uncle." 
 Ah! how very pleasing in one's old age to be desig- 
 nated "Uncle" by "Conny" on entering the "Ham- 
 ilton" for a julep of mint and cracked ice! But withal, 
 our genial bachelor friend never committed the un- 
 pardonable sin of designating poor me with the title 
 of "Grand-pap," for the reason, no doubt, that I'm 
 
George Washington and I. 35 
 
 still on the sunny side of life. Why, it's the surest 
 sign that you're getting old! Then to be met on the 
 street with, "How's the kid, old man?" You may 
 smile for the darling s sake, but when surrounded by 
 a half-dozen or more hanging 'round your neck, saying, 
 "Oh, grandpa, won't you take us to the picture show, 
 to the circus or to Rocky Springs?" Then to be 
 everlastingly reminded of birthday anniversaries, 
 after your last dollar has gone into a Nova Scotia 
 copper mine or into "Wireless," with promises to pay 
 at the coming of the Millennium! 
 
 But to get back to my return from Leesburg. As 
 the result of my having traveled "some," I was taken 
 into the best families, if not into a "dime museum," 
 where I was only too willing to tell of the many 
 strange people I had seen on my travels, of all sizes, 
 shapes and colors, excepting possibly the red men 
 of the great Western plains. 
 
 Without drawing too fine a point between the other 
 boys and myself, I usually managed to stick pretty 
 close to facts when in the presence of older heads, and 
 never once did I claim to have crossed the three- 
 thousand miles of ocean on the one side, nor the over- 
 land route to the Pacific, on the other. Yes, while 
 visiting 'round, 1 managed to follow pretty close in 
 the footsteps of George Washington, for the reason 
 that "George" and I were both born in the same 
 month of glorious old February. If, up to this time 
 I had never owned a little hatchet, it was owing to 
 the reason that there were no "ten-cent" Woolworth 
 stores ready to supply a "Commodore' with hatchets 
 
36 Cherished Memories. 
 
 sufficient to hack to pieces all the cherry-trees in the 
 town. But as I recall, the boys in the forties and 
 fifties were not so much given to "hacking" as to 
 looking after the delicious "bull-hearts" which grew 
 on the tree back of old Dan Wernts's blacksmith shop. 
 
 Over on the Lime Street Bridge, where the Sabbath- 
 school lads used to congregate, I was the center of 
 attraction, as each of my "greenies" stood with eyes 
 and mouth wide open ready to absorb the many 
 wonderful tales I had woven into all kind of fantastic 
 shapes. As was usually the case, all the big copper 
 cents that weren't gobbled up by the undertaker 
 for his gruesome purpose, went into the coffers of 
 "Mammy" Haggerty for "small-beer," "ginger- 
 horses" and "paddy-cakes", as a reward for their 
 youthful companion's tales, and which, to the "green- 
 ies," were as mystifying as they were entertaining. 
 As has already been said, Peter Parley simply "wasn't 
 in it." 
 
 And now, after these many years, I am surprised 
 how many of these paddy cakes could be crowded 
 into a boy's stomach without bringing on an attack 
 of acute indigestion. Why, if the olden-time doctors 
 had been as wise as those of this twentieth century, 
 the writer might long since have been operated upon 
 for appendicitis with such results as have usually 
 followed. 
 
 Having for the second time whetted the appetites 
 of the city boys, how can I well forego mention of 
 poor little Andy Blue! "Andy" was nearly as broad 
 as long, with a mouth extending from ear to ear. 
 
Andy's Love for Paddycakes. 37 
 
 Whether paddy-cakes were made for this porpoise- 
 shaped urchin, or "Andy" for this nutritious mixture 
 of molasses and walnut kernels, we know not. But 
 we remember "Andy's" reaching school with a 
 round dozen as his stock in trade. Unfortunately, 
 before he could manage to get away with more than 
 a limited number, the second ring of the bell came 
 as a warning that those remaining were to be stored 
 away somewhere; and as the safest place was into 
 his trousers' pocket, down they went without a 
 thought of what was to happen once the fermentation 
 began to bear fruit. 
 
 And now, my hungry lads, if I may arouse your 
 sympathy, in your imagination glance into the school 
 upon the "innocent" Andy, as he stands before the 
 red-hot stove with second reader in one hand, the 
 other deep down in the taffy's vice-like grip. It's 
 an awful moment, bringing tears to the eyes of the 
 on-lookers. Ah! but watch his contortions as the 
 irritable old pedagogue thunders forth, "Take the 
 book in your right hand, Andy, and in noway be 
 slow about it." 
 
 At last, at last, with one determined effort to release 
 the erring hand, out comes a mixture of slate pencils, 
 a barlow-knife and other odds and ends, all woven 
 'and interwoven with the lining of his pocket and 
 fingers, and so welded together as to make the separa- 
 tion of the "paddy" from the conglomerate mass 
 next to an impossibility. No, no! It'll never do to 
 revive old-time customs; these mixtures have had 
 their day, the same as the "love letters" our genial 
 
38 Cherished Memories. 
 
 doctor-friend used to wrap so carefully in his father's 
 candy store, nearly opposite where the Shober inn 
 used to stand, and wherein "Money" used to cater 
 to the incoming hosts at a time before the trolley and 
 auto had taken the place of the numerous traps strung 
 along the streets, giving the town a Whitmonday 
 appearance. 
 
 Making due allowance, as we feel sure the reader 
 will, for a little over-indulgence of boyish pranks, to 
 divert attention momentarily from the forties to a 
 much later epoch, to where stood the "Eagle," my 
 eyes take in the Young Men's Christian Association's 
 artistically-proportioned structure. As somewhat of 
 a coincidence, it was in "Temperance Hall," on Decem- 
 ber 9, 1869, that the Y. M. C. A. was organized, in 
 the Kramph building, since removed to make room 
 for the Traction Company's stately edifice. To pass 
 it by without a thought of the lasting influence upon 
 young manhood, would be to remain forgetful of the 
 difference between the advantages of this twentieth 
 century and that of six decades ago, when boys were 
 supposed to paddle their own canoes without a 
 thought of the turbulent sea over which they were 
 drifting. 
 
 And as we further glance the city over, it would be 
 singular indeed if we failed to take in the large brick 
 building on the east side of South Queen where, so 
 many years ago, Dr. Frederick Augustus Muhlenberg 
 dealt out his big doses of calomel jalap for nearly 
 every disease known to the medical fraternity. And, 
 oh, my! what a wholesome mixture when forced down 
 
Charitable and Educational Buildings. 39 
 
 a boy's throat on a pewter spoon! One single close, 
 whether for the tooth-ache or any one of the many 
 other complaints, was sufficient to cause a second 
 jalap to be given a wide range. 
 
 Blessed then be the women who years ago purchased 
 this building for the uplifting of young womanhood. 
 If, then, a generous support be given to the Young 
 Men's Association, why not an equally liberal support 
 to that of the Young AVomen's? 
 
 Along the same line of the educational are Lancas- 
 ter's magnificent public school buildings, for the 
 training of the young of the city, especially when com- 
 pared with the long rows of one-story buildings which 
 exist only in photographic portraiture. And yet in 
 our boyhood days they were not to be despised on 
 account of their crude, outward appearance. From 
 within have gone forth men and women who in years 
 •gone by stood for all that gave the town character 
 worthy the name Lancaster. 
 
 In addition to these new school buildings are our 
 churches, of which, in 1830, there were but nine; 
 which have increased in number, if not proportionately 
 in attendance, in the same ratio with the city's popu- 
 lation. 
 
 Apart from our hospitals and other charitable in- 
 stitutions, we have the new Stevens' Industrial School, 
 the A. Herr Smith Library, just entering upon its 
 first year of usefulness in educating the youth up 
 to a high appreciation for such literature as is most 
 needed in every well-regulated family. Westward, 
 resting like an English palace amid rows of maples, 
 
40 Cherished Memories. 
 
 is the "Long Home" for indigent women, while be- 
 yond the city limits of two-miles square, is the "Long 
 Park," adding pleasure, it is hoped, to thousands yet 
 unborn. 
 
 Nor can we overlook Franklin and Marshall's mag- 
 nificent buildings, standing midway between the 
 "Home" and the "Park." If praise be given to a 
 few of Lancaster's foremost citizens for their liberality, 
 a debt of gratitude should not be withheld from certain 
 non-resident students who, in glancing backward, 
 have not forgotten their love for their Alma Mater in 
 coming to its support with a generous endowment. 
 
 We first came to know Franklin and Marshall when 
 it stood nearly opposite the Shippen School for young 
 ladies, another most worthy enterprise, likewise 
 deserving a generous support. 
 
 Growing optimistic? Well, isn't it better to rise 
 on a February morning with cheerfulness of heart 
 than to turn pessimist in predicting the town's going 
 to the bad? 
 
THE OLD COURT HOUSE 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Lancaster in the 40's — Henry Stiff — Charlie 
 Buckrum — Johnny Elliott. 
 
 IN going back to my return from the "Old Domin- 
 ion," let me draw a pen picture of the town Lan- 
 caster, when I, as a lad of nine, took my first stroll 
 through the streets with a warning that I should be 
 careful not to pass too far from the curb for fear of 
 losing my kip boots, where, as had been said, a man 
 on horseback had gone down a short time previous 
 with only his broad-brim black-felt head gear remain- 
 ing to mark the spot where he had so suddenly dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Having grown somewhat in length as well as in 
 age, I was on the alert in noting everything new that 
 came within my vision. If, then, a strange face loomed 
 up, or another sleepy night-watchman placed on duty 
 by the goodly mayor, Michael Carpenter, in lieu of 
 one who had reached the century-mark, it wasn't 
 that the town had changed sufficiently during the 
 two previous years to cause me to lose my way in reach- 
 ing the court-house, in Penn Square, considered then 
 as now the "hub" around which has since centered 
 the commercial life of the city. 
 
 Here, in '46, where the Soldiers' Monument stands, 
 stood, until '51, as artistically-proportioned court- 
 house as could be found anywhere in the Common- 
 
 41 
 
42 Cherished Memories. 
 
 wealth of Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, only a very 
 few at this day can recall having seen this court of 
 justice, with the date "1783" deeply indentured on 
 its corner-stone. Like many another of the town's 
 old-time buildings, a splendid drawing of this struc- 
 ture is reproduced in this volume. 
 
 And now, dear reader, to follow the writer in his 
 description of this once-upon-a-time old landmark, 
 may be to awaken within you a greater appreciation 
 for "Old Lancaster," with a view of lending a helping 
 hand in the making of it more beautiful and artistic. 
 Here, as we stand close by Schaeffer's saddlery, we can 
 see the clock hanging in the belfry and further up, the 
 bell, sending hourly its ringing notes to the extremi- 
 ties of the town's four wards. Nor is the weather- 
 vane, upon which the washerwomen looked for storm 
 'or sunshine, to be despised when compared with the 
 present Weather Bureau's uncertain disclosures. 
 
 On election day might have been seen at each of 
 its four corners the voters lined up in the casting of 
 their ballots, with such results as have since followed 
 at the twenty-seven or more precincts in this later day 
 of improved municipal machinery. 
 
 Ah! but step within, and instead of tiled floor, elec- 
 tric lights and other costly decorations, your feet rest 
 upon common English brick. To the right of the 
 East King street entrance you find, perchance, sitting 
 behind an improvised desk in a high-top chair, the 
 learned, dignified judge, and before him a James 
 Hopkins, Amos Ellmaker, William Jenkins, James 
 Buchanan, John R. Montgomery, Emanuel Reigart, 
 
The Old Jail. 13 
 
 Reah Frazer, George Barton, Henry C. Long, William 
 B. Fordney, Washington Hopkins, Benjamin Champ- 
 neys, George B. Porter, A. L. Hayes and maybe 
 others, one or more of whom is pleading the cause of 
 some poor defendant awaiting the verdict, as for 
 months previous he might have been seen glancing 
 through the iron bars of the old jail, at the corner of 
 West King and Prince. From the bars above, by the 
 letting down of a string, the boys would attach to its 
 end a plug of tobacco to be only too thankfully received 
 by the prisoner at the bar. 
 
 With scores of others, I was present at the jail's 
 dismantlement, looked in upon the dungeon where, 
 as tradition had given place to rumor, a lone convict 
 had been forgotten and died of starvation. Deep 
 down in this underground vault, it was pointed out 
 how he had scraped the earth from the foundation 
 in his efforts to secure his liberty. 
 
 It was with trembling we stood on floor beyond 
 the main prison where the Indians had been massacred 
 by the "Paxton boys," a tragedy to be forgotten only 
 after the jail was purchased by Christopher Hager, 
 for $8,500, the site alone being available for the 
 erection of Fulton Hall, along in fifty-two. 
 
 If, then, there was lamenting over the removal of 
 the court house, not a tear was shed when the jail's 
 last stone was removed in the hope of blotting out 
 unpleasant reminders. 
 
 Too young were we to remember when Lechler was 
 hung within its dismal walls; not so, however, with 
 the hanging of Haggarty, for the killing of Fortney, 
 
44 Cherished Memories. 
 
 on South Queen street, nearly opposite Woodward 
 Hill cemetery. 
 
 The mention of "Woodward" recalls a few of the 
 many amusing characters whose profiles may be found 
 in the volume's pages, and which I've seen fit to desig- 
 nate the town's "celebrities." The first of this galaxy 
 of notables was "Harry Stiff," grave-digger, the man 
 who never buried people, always "planted" them. It 
 was at the time of the laying out of the Lancaster 
 Cemetery that we boys came to know "Old Harry." 
 
 However, it was in the daguerreotype gallery of the 
 late "Jack" Johnston, on the third floor of the re- 
 maining portion of the Kramph building, the rende- 
 vous of the humorously disposed, that I came in close 
 touch with "Harry" and "Jack," who usually catered 
 to the risibilities of old and young. 
 
 "Jack," as a newspaper reporter later in life, seldom 
 allowed an opportunity to escape his fluent pen with- 
 out holding this or that of his cronies up to a little 
 good-natured merriment. Apropos, many can scarcely 
 fail to remember two well-known "legal lights" who 
 on one occasion drove to Columbia to attend a polit- 
 ical meeting. It was after their return that the fol- 
 lowing appeared in the columns of the "Intelligencer:" 
 "Two of Lancaster's well-known attorneys having 
 started from the city with a swift team, were compelled, 
 owing to a mishap, to return on shanks-ma,re." 
 
 "Harry," as one of the town's "under life," was as 
 well and favorably known as was his humble calling. 
 And yet, one thing may be said to his credit, he was 
 never caught sitting on the front door step of a resi- 
 
HARRY STIFF 
 
Charlie Buckruni. 45 
 
 dence awaiting a "call," as was later said of a young 
 undertaker in the line of his commercialism. Nor was 
 he disposed to become one of the town's millionaires 
 in the piling up of a fortune; directly the reverse; he 
 was at all times liberally disposed in the rendering of 
 his bills for the "planting" of one of a half dozen out 
 of a single family. On one occasion, at least, when 
 payment was offered, he replied, after counting on his 
 fingers the others remaining, "No hurry in settling for 
 the 'planting' of the youngest, it's Harry who'll 
 wait to include the rest in one bill." Unfortunately, 
 with plenty of overdue accounts, Harry was at last 
 carried on a catafalque, such as were in use before the 
 day of hearses. 
 
 Next to Harry Stiff, in point of humor, was none 
 other than the colored Charlie Buckram, and of so 
 much importance as to cause one of Lancaster's well- 
 known portrait painters to paint of himself a life-like 
 portrait, and which at the present time embellishes 
 the walls of a well-known Philadelphia club-room. 
 
 In the line of his calling, as wood-sawyer and handy 
 jack of all trades, he was the first of the town's con- 
 tractors to form a "trust" by securing "jobs" and 
 then parceling them out to others, not at all times 
 with a handsome profit accruing to himself, like most 
 contractors of the present day, as the following story 
 suggests itself. 
 
 At the time Mathias Zahm's place of business was at 
 the southeast corner of Penn Square, the old gentle- 
 man sent for Buckrum and said, "How much for 
 shoveling the snow from off four pavements?" 
 
46 Cherished Memories. 
 
 "Twenty-five cents." A half hour later came four 
 stalwart colored under-strappers with shovels as Con- 
 tractor Buckrum superintended the work. Calling 
 for his pay, he exclaimed, bowing profusely, "Miste 
 Zahm, des colored contractor must heve four fippany- 
 bits, one fur each uf de shovelers." "But, but where 
 does the contractor's share come in?" "Lawd, boss, 
 it's ole Buckrum thet's furgettin' all 'bout hisself!" 
 
 As one of these of the "under-life" of the town of 
 the forties and fifties suggests another, it was still 
 years later when we first came to know "Johnny 
 Elliott." The last time we saw him he was walking the 
 streets like a withered tree in a virgin forest well on 
 toward his century-mark. Disguise the fact as some 
 may, they can hardly forget when they met here or 
 there to see this Shakespearian play "Hamlet," and 
 of how they went into convulsive laughter over his 
 many acrobatic contortions. In no way related to 
 the seventy-year-old Weston as a pedestrian, "Johnny" 
 is still pointed out as the man who, on being too late 
 at the Lancaster station, tramped his way from this 
 city to Baltimore, on a hot August day, with a kettle 
 of butter. Whether he arrived on schedule time, 
 beating the fast express, he never could be prevailed 
 upon to disclose. Nor was it the writer's pleasure to 
 sample the ingredient after having crossed Mason 
 and Dixon's line. It's well in meeting this century-old 
 withered tree to slip him a nickel, with a "Good- 
 morning, Johnny Elliott, and how goes the world 
 with you?" 
 
 Passing these well-known characters of bygone 
 
JOHNNY ELLIOTT (DIED KECENTL^ 
 
First Coal Used. 47 
 
 days, to be followed by other events enacted in the 
 new prison, on an early market morning, passing around 
 the Square, your eyes take in teams of cord-wood with 
 drivers standing close by, demanding from eight to 
 ten dollars per cord for oak and hickory. Turning to 
 "sellers" of marketable products, we find them deal- 
 ing out to the "buyers" butter at a levy a pound, 
 eggs at ten cents per dozen, making a big, round, 
 silver dollar go pretty far along the lines of household 
 economy, with no "price-fixer" whispering in the 
 ears of the "seller" to be adding another cent or two 
 a pound to their butter. 
 
 Referring to the high price of cord-wood as a fuel, 
 it may be said that in the middle forties and early 
 fifties coal was an almost unknown quantity in Lan- 
 caster. Along this line, as a singular fact, up to the 
 time of the discovery of coal and for some years later, 
 the forests of Lancaster county had a value beyond 
 estimate, and were so carefully guarded that none 
 but the very oldest trees were disturbed. For this 
 •there was a reason: Reports from the great treeless 
 West made it only too clear that in time the for- 
 ests of the Eastern Middle States would have a 
 value greater than the soil itself. Few at this day 
 can form the slightest conception of what the result 
 might have been, except for the discovery of the black 
 diamond. And yet, there has never been a time 
 when the ingenuity of man hasn't provided for what 
 nature has failed to supply, in its natural state. 
 
 The first dealer in the use of coal as a fuel among 
 the town-dwellers was old "Bobby" Johnson, whose 
 
48 Cherished Memories. 
 
 improvised scales were back on Prince, near Walnut 
 street. Those of the town's, however, were in a shed 
 where formerly stood the Reformed church, at the 
 corner of Duke and Orange streets. Unlike the plat- 
 form scales of to-day, these steelyards were so ar- 
 ranged overhead as to hoist the load high in the air, 
 after which the wagon itself was weighed in the same 
 way. 
 
 The "black diamond" was first hauled from Graef's 
 Landing, to which point the canal-boats had brought 
 it down the Susquehanna from the mines, thence up 
 the Conestoga by canal and tide-water to Lancaster. 
 
 In this connection, it may be not without interest 
 to learn that there is one living, Mr. Wash. Potts, 
 who, in his ninth year, ran away to become a riverman. 
 And many were the times he made his way from this 
 city via Safe Harbor thence through the Chesapeake 
 up the Delaware Canal, landing at Philadelphia. His 
 memory has suggested such staunch crafts as "The 
 Fanny Light," "The Rover of Lancaster," "The 
 Little Bob," "The Three Sisters," "The Julia and 
 Charles," "The BlantonC. Walsh," "The Col. Leland," 
 "The Charles Eihler," "The York of Lancaster." "The 
 Lewis Hufford" was the storage boat. How many of 
 these, almost forgotten crafts came regularly up the 
 Conestoga is difficult to estimate, since rafting and 
 canaling have since become only a fragrant memory 
 with the few rivermen living in the old town of Mari- 
 etta. "It was in 1861; we had just gotten out of 
 Baltimore," concluded Mr. Potts, "when the Confed- 
 erates captured one of our three boats, taking it with 
 
Old Style Stoves. 49 
 
 them to Norfolk, Virginia, allowing us to make our 
 escape with the other two. " 
 
 Our first recollection of this new fuel was when it 
 was unloaded in front of our house in chunks the size 
 of a bushel-measure, requiring the mallet to be brought 
 into use. This leads to our first departure from the 
 ten-plate wood stove to a "Benedict," adapted for 
 either coal or wood as occasion required. As we 
 recall, above the lower door into which wood was 
 used, was a small eight by eight box with door. Into 
 this the coal was shoved. And, oh my! what a time we 
 had in getting the black stuff to ignite! The old 
 bellows didn't seem to do any good. Many families 
 after giving it a trial fell back, either on the wood stove 
 or on the fire-place where, with the long-handled tongs 
 the wood could be kept in place over the andirons. 
 At last, in time, stoves were invented better adapted 
 for the utilizing of the new fuel. 
 
 Of all the Saturday afternoon tasks, that tried a 
 boy's patience, the worst was polishing up the stove's 
 front plate to keep it shining like silver, for all good 
 housekeepers were judged by the condition in which 
 they kept the stove-plate, usually the size of a girl's 
 twentieth-century summer hat. If this was one of 
 my weekly tasks, other boys had theirs in polishing up 
 "the knocker of the big front door" of many a resi- 
 dence. And as we look 'round, how few of these brass 
 or silver knockers, once so generally in use, are to be 
 seen except in rare instances, indicating that the 
 owners were well-to-do. Apart from these outside 
 ornaments, what has become of all the big front door 
 4 
 
50 Cherished Memories. 
 
 locks, fully a foot in length and of enormous weight, 
 with key resembling in size and weight that of the old 
 jail-door. 
 
 As certain other things pass and repass before the 
 mind's eye like a series of moving pictures in the five- 
 cent Arcade, among the first to suggest itself is the old- 
 fashioned cradle which I was compelled to rock, some- 
 times in my wrath letting it take a double somersault. 
 Next, comes the doughtrayand rolling pin; and in the 
 back yard the circular top bake-oven on whose fiat 
 surface the big, round loaves of dough were shoved in 
 on a long-handled platter. But this was before the 
 "bread-wagon" of the present day came along with 
 its " five-cent " loaves as diminutive in size compared 
 with the kind our mother used to bake, as they are 
 high in price and light in weight. 
 
 And yet, within many of these old-time residences, 
 there was all of peace, comfort, happiness. Usually 
 a shake of the "knocker" admitted the visitor. If a 
 stranger, or maybe, the minister, the judge or some 
 other high dignitary, he was shown into the parlor 
 that for weeks previous had been -closed to all other 
 outside intruders. Even the rays of "Old Sol" 
 weren't allowed to peep through the bolted shutters 
 except on "cleaning-up-day" when all was hurry and 
 flurry. And as to an occasional fly finding its way into 
 the old-fashioned parlor, it was sure never to get out 
 alive. 
 
 We have forgotten; there was one other occasion in 
 particular when the privacy of the parlor was claimed 
 by the girls, being their usual courting-place ; and the 
 
The Old Courting Sofas. 51 
 
 hair-cloth sofa of immense size with its iron springs, 
 was the one place for match-making. As we recall, it 
 used to be said that a proposal and acceptance made 
 anywhere else than on a haircloth sofa was sure to end 
 in a divorce. For this reason,if for no other, all well-to- 
 do families with marriageable daughters, had their 
 mahogany sofas handed down from generation to 
 generation. And to their passing for the cheap, mod- 
 ern kind, may be said, has resulted the numerous 
 separations. 
 
 But what have become of the "Brussels" with their 
 many designs of flowers and curlicues? Imported at 
 a time before the high tariff, on the one hand and the 
 revival of American industry, on the other, the bms- 
 sels was as essential to every well-regulated parlor as 
 were the two mirrors, one at each end of the room from 
 'floor to ceiling. Then the frescoed walls, hung with 
 paintings of the old folk long since passed away! Nor 
 must we overlook the center table of heavy mahogany 
 covered with wax-flowers and other bric-a-brac! In 
 many of the best furnished homes the splendid furni- 
 ture of other days, during recent years, has gone to 
 the auction-room or to the junk-dealer, who, knowing 
 the value of these relics of "ye olden time," has 
 reaped a rich harvest. Following went the rickety 
 piano for an upright, as have the fire-hearth for the 
 furnace or hot-water plant. But the saddest of all 
 is the thought that the girls no longer court on the 
 long, broad, haircloth sofa! 
 
 Another departure nevermore to return is the old- 
 fashioned spinning-wheel. We see it occasionally done 
 
52 Cherished Memories. 
 
 up with flashing dashing ribbon in this or that studio 
 as an ornament. And now comes to mind the quilting- 
 frame the size of a billiard table, around which on a 
 pleasant afternoon a score of good, old motherly 
 bodies would sit, as stitch by stitch they wove into all 
 kinds of fantastic designs a coverlet as a "haustire" 
 for one of their younger lady friends about to be 
 launched into the bonds of matrimony, with few 
 divorces to follow. 
 
 Then to keep fingers moving with knitting needles 
 in the making of socks for the girls and boys! "Oh! 
 to think of a sixteen-year-old girl of to-day wearing 
 socks!" Yes, bless you, my dear Miss, this was the 
 case before the finer manufactured hosiery came into 
 vogue. No finely woven, richly colored hose in the 
 middle forties were covered by patent leathers, such as 
 are at present polished daily in the "midway" where 
 the "shiners" reap a richer harvest than the best 
 of mechanics sixty years ago under a low tariff. 
 
 To close this chapter without reference to the boys 
 who wore kip boots during six months of the year 
 would be to remain forgetful of the abominable raw- 
 hides I was compelled to wear during winter, and 
 which were everlastingly prone to be rubbing the hide 
 off a young fellow's ankle-bones. Now, in all serious- 
 ness, for years I could never understand what earthly 
 use those ankle-bones were intended for, anyway, 
 except to be rubbed into blisters, needing nightly after 
 a boot-jack, a solution of goose-grease to relieve the 
 stinging which the abominable "kips" had caused to 
 a youngster's anatomy. But, oh my! when morning 
 
My First Kip Boots. 53 
 
 came, to be gathering them from under the stove, as the 
 ordeal of drawing them on began! With forefinger in 
 strap, what a pulling and twisting, to get them on in 
 time for school! Then, with one supreme effort, away 
 would go the straps as I went tumbling backward 
 over the wood-chest with feet high in the air. 
 
 Ah ! but when at last they were hung up in the garret 
 as nests for the bats, I had my other troubles, one of 
 which was to keep the toe of my left foot (for I was 
 left-handed) from eternally coming in contact with the 
 edge of a loose brick, causing the sufferer to be taking 
 a hop, skip and jump to relieve the excruciating pain! 
 Whether my big toe was larger or more misbehaved 
 than most other boy's, I had never determined out of 
 the curriculum of text books. And yet, mine was 
 most of the summer time done up in a piece of the 
 whitest linen. 
 
 Now, as most boys, at least in the country, have 
 reason to know, this is no imaginary experience. It is 
 based on my recollection of two brothers who attended 
 St. James. As we sat on the gallery, I, in my kips, 
 the others in their calf-skins, as it happened, the elder 
 drew up his trousers when, to my delight as well as to 
 my envy, what should my eyes behold but a red top. 
 "Oh, golly!" I blurted out. The next instant as I 
 cast my eyes in the direction of the pastor, there was 
 his outstretched finger aimed at the trio of guilty 
 culprits. And, as I may confess, the impression left 
 upon my mind, if not upon my conscience, has never 
 been forgotten. Even while writing of this little epi- 
 sode, I can in my mind's eye see that uplifted finger. 
 
54 Cherished Memories. 
 
 But the kindly smile which followed was the soothing 
 balm intended to allay the distress under which we 
 were resting with the eyes of the congregation centered 
 in the direction of the gallery as they usually are, in- 
 stead of on the minister. It's well, then, that boys 
 should have a monitor in the shape of an up-lift finger 
 pointing in the right direction at the moment they 
 feel themselves going wrong. 
 
 How these two brothers came by their red-top 
 boots may need a word of explanation: It was along in 
 the later forties that their father opened the first retail 
 shoe store for the sale of machine-made boots and 
 shoes. And as a matter of course,- his sons were the 
 first to make all the kip-boot wearers a little jealous 
 of their highly polished calf-skin foot wear. 
 
 As in those days the rawhides needed an occasional 
 blacking, the same as do the "patent-leathers" of the 
 present day a daily polishing, to go in search of a box 
 of "Mason's" shoe-black, always fell to the boys. 
 Well, how this article came into general use is to relate 
 one of the tricks of the trade which, while in no way 
 to be compared with those of the present day, was none 
 the less successful. 
 
 Gathering a dozen boys together, the advance-agent 
 started them out in different parts of the town to pur- 
 chase a box of Mason's blacking. For several days the 
 racket was kept up without results. Then, later on 
 came the salesman with the identical article loading 
 the merchants down with more boxes than they could 
 dispose of in a month or two. At last, with the demand 
 in no way equaling the supply, the trick was discovered. 
 
The Pesky Modern Shoestrings. 55 
 
 However, it gave Mason's blacking a boost, making it 
 for years a popular shoe polish. 
 
 That my love for red-top boots has never departed 
 is owing, no doubt, to the kind of shoes that have 
 come to take their place. Buttoned shoes the kind I 
 used to wear, needing only a hook to button them, 
 and a good jerk in getting them off, I could tolerate, 
 •until, going out of style, I fell to wearing those with 
 shoe strings a half a yard in length; this after drawing 
 a half dozen times around my ankles, I could tie in a 
 double bow with the little copper ends tucked well 
 down into the sides of the shoe. 
 
 It's what followed on returning a little later than 
 usual that repeatedly caused me to lose my patience 
 with the abominable shoestrings! Why, it was 
 only last evening, along about the hour of twelve, 
 that my torments began! Finding my way on tip- 
 toe up the stair for fear of disturbing the family out 
 of their midnight rest, I went my way feeling along the 
 side of the hall-walls, and as good luck would have it, 
 into the nursery. Thus far, I had succeeded admir- 
 ably in failing to awake even "Tabby," the house cat. 
 Throwing off my coat, I sat myself on the lounge and 
 began to feel 'round in the dark for the ends of the 
 strings to the shoe of my right foot. Getting a firm 
 hold of each, I began to pull with the usual result, a 
 knot and tighter than the noose which hung old man 
 Haggerty! 
 
 For a moment I sat pegging away at the knot until 
 my finger-nails began to snap off at the ends. Con- 
 cluding to give the right shoe a rest, I started with 
 
56 Cherished Memories. 
 
 the strings of the other, going about it in a scientific, 
 business-like manner. ' But lo! I was confronted in 
 the dark with two knots instead of one! Leaning 
 still further forward until the top of my derby touched 
 the floor, I screwed and twisted at the infernal knot. 
 Strong? Yes, even stronger than the catgut to my 
 fiddle. Searching 'round for a stray match without 
 success, I gave way to my temper, and began to swear 
 vengeance on the head of "old man Strouse" from 
 whom I had purchased the last pair. Determined not 
 to awaken the family, I jumped into bed under tick 
 and feathers. How many nights I may have to under- 
 go sleeping with my shoes on, rather than to take the 
 trouble of untying the blasted knots, I may have 
 occasion to state before the story's completed. And 
 yet, for a short bed, as I've discovered, shoes are a 
 preventive against the gout, rheumatism or cramp 
 in the calves of one's extremities. 
 
 Anything wrong with "Pappy" Strause? Bless 
 you, no! What matters it if for a third of a century 
 he has peddled shoestrings a yard or more in length; 
 others before him have done the same with others yet 
 to follow. Yes; old man Strouse is growing old, the 
 same with his pipe. So when you meet the honest 
 peddler, it'll be costing you only three cents for a pair 
 of shoestrings and maybe something more for a pair 
 of woolen socks. 
 
 At one time "Pappy" Strouse had a rival in Tommy 
 Hannigan, the quiet, unpretentious citizen we've 
 known for many a year. That he has sold more 
 pine wood, in the shape of matches, than all the 
 
TOMMY HANKIGAN 
 
Georgie Lambert's White Goose. 57 
 
 lumber merchants in Lancaster combined, should in 
 'no way provoke a feeling of jealousy against "Tommy," 
 who, well up in his three-score, goes from street to 
 street with basket on arm in the earning of an honest 
 livelihood. No, it won't do to ignore Tommy; for, 
 without the lucifer match, all the many house-wives 
 might be compelled to fall back on the old-time flint 
 and steel, which, to light a fire, required all of a wo- 
 man's patience. 
 
 Strolling out East King and meeting "Frank," out 
 of whom my early teaching made ;a good plumber, I 
 was admonished not to forget mention of Georgie 
 Lambert and his white goose, otherwise it might be 
 giving mortal offense to the older residents of 
 "Irishtown," and who, to know Georgie was to love 
 him for the tender regard he always manifested for 
 his constant friend and playmate. Following him 
 from the cooper-shop on Plum street, where it came 
 regularly on schedule time, the two went their way, 
 the one waving his white handkerchief, the other, 
 as if hypnotized by Georgie's persuasive gesticulations, 
 always obeying orders. 
 
 Whether this was the same Mr. Gander we left be- 
 hind over in the old town of Leesburg, we have no 
 means of knowing; and yet, growing a little home- 
 sick for our company, it may have followed us to 
 "Old Lancaster," eventually finding its way to the 
 cooper-shop on Plum street. Alas, alas! both Georgie 
 and his white goose live only as a sweet, fragrant 
 memory in the hearts of the older generation of the 
 ^'East End." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 The State Railroad in the Thirties — Grubby Sam. 
 
 Johnny Wilhelm, the Old Engineer, and 
 
 Son Charlie. 
 
 HAVING reached the age of a boy's venturesome 
 spirit that not even the sleepy night-watchman 
 could well subdue, my first inclination was to become 
 a "railroader," not that I was to be employed in any 
 other capacity than as a "free rider" through the 
 "deep cut" to the "Big Bridge," the objective point 
 of our summer-day escapades. 
 
 As many of the local shippers had their own cars, 
 with a small apartment at one end in which the con- 
 ductor "bunked," a plug of tobacco was sufficient to 
 secure a seat on the platform or bumper, the red cab 
 not having as yet come into vogue. As to rules and 
 regulations, there were none to interfere with what 
 was known as "the boys' brigade," with conductors 
 ever kindly disposed to their youthful charge. As 
 these were the days before the Legislature had passed 
 the law sending the tresspasser "up" for "ten days" 
 for doing just nothing but riding on the hind bumper, 
 oh, glory ! what a sporting time we boys had in getting 
 free rides! 
 
 Fortunate for the returned Virginian, all I had to 
 do after breakfast, during vacation days, was to slide 
 down the steep embankment and there await the 
 arrival of a train with Sammy Kurtz at the throttle 
 
 58 
 
Legislature Authorizes Survey. 59 
 
 of the engine. As one of his sons was usually a part 
 of the "gang," to slow-up in noway rendered him 
 liable to severe discipline. Of course if, as occasion- 
 ally happened, a train was made up of "canal-boats" 
 on their way from tidewater at Columbia to the 
 Schuylkill, we hadn't any use for them as a resting- 
 place; about as uncomfortable as has since become 
 a wire-fence for tired humanity, during the busy 
 harvest season. 
 
 Speaking of the busy harvest season, recalls how, 
 on a much later occasion, a tramp stopped at a farm- 
 er's house in search of a job. The morning following, 
 as he stood leaning over the barb-wire with tears in 
 his eyes, he exclaimed, "Sorry to be tellin' ye, me 
 farmer-friend, that I must be leavin' yer employ — " 
 
 "Why, why! sorry to be partin' with ye; gittin' 
 tired livin' on roast beef un' sich like mit a gla vennic 
 schnaps mit yer midawk essa?" 
 
 "No, no! gettin' all to eat any hungry man could 
 desire. But it's this way, if the truth must be told: 
 I've been all over your farm, surrounded by wire- 
 fences, and I've found a wire fence is no place for a 
 hard-working hired man to be resting durin' th' busy 
 harvest season." 
 
 And it was so with the "boys" out seeking a free 
 ride, the bumpers of a canal-boat being in noway 
 adapted for such rides. 
 
 Being somewhat of investigating turn, as the years 
 ran on, I became deeply interested in historical 
 research; as a result, I was soon to learn that the first 
 act of the Pennsylvania Legislature relating to rail- 
 
60 Cherished Memories. 
 
 roading was to pass a bill to construct a single track 
 from Philadelphia to Columbia. The road was begun 
 in 1828, and completed in 1834, over which the 
 "Black Hawk" made its first trip, reaching Lancaster 
 from Columbia in fifty-five minutes, fast schedule 
 time. Leaving the town at 8 a. m., it reached the 
 incline plane, Philadelphia, at half-past four in the 
 afternoon, requiring only eight hours to make the 
 sixty-eight or more miles. Whatever may have 
 caused an occasional delay, there was no complaining 
 among the guests, who were royally entertained along 
 the way by the numerous hotel-keepers. 
 
 As we boys had not as yet appeared on terra-firma 
 to report the speed on the "Black Hawk," a con- 
 densed account from others must suffice. It needn't 
 be assumed, however, that the crowds at the various 
 stations were all enthusiastic admirers of this the 
 first locomotive to disturb their otherwise peaceful 
 rest. Oh ! bless you, no ! Apart from the puffing and 
 sparks which the smoke-stack emitted, in setting fire 
 to an occasional barn here and there, it wasn't long 
 until a cry went forth that the noise of the "shebang" 
 had actually stopped the hens from laying their usual 
 quantity of eggs for Easter coloring. It was further- 
 more set forth before one of the township squires 
 that the constant screeching of the whistle had so 
 played upon the nervous system of their cows as to 
 prevent them from giving their usual quantity of 
 milk for butter churning. But as the costs were usu- 
 ally placed upon the informer, the opposition soon 
 began to subside. 
 
Black Hawk, The First Engine. 61 
 
 This, however, was not the formal opening of the 
 single-track road, but rather an experimental trip 
 made by the owners of the "Black Hawk" in order 
 to test the engine's endurance. Not proving a suc- 
 cess, it was withdrawn for others better adapted for 
 the purpose for which they had been constructed. 
 How the "Black Hawk" happened to receive its 
 name, may have been owing to the fact that along 
 about this time the public mind had become excited 
 over the atrocities committed by the Indian chieftain, 
 "Black Hawk," engaged in a war which bore his 
 name. 
 
 There was one other, the "John Bull," of English 
 design; this engine, with the "Fire Fly" and the 
 "Red Rover," did little service. All in all, from 
 1835 to 1S40, of the twenty-seven locomotives of 
 every make and shape, only nine were in operation. 
 Later, the "Lancaster" and "Columbia" were the 
 first to meet the road's requirements. Along in '49 
 or '50, Columbia No. 2 was built, to take the place 
 of its namesake. Connected with this engine is a 
 story of thrilling interest to be related as the remin- 
 iscences continue. 
 
 As has already been said, of the first opening of the 
 road through the "deep-cut" I have no recollection. 
 But I do recall the "Bald Eagle" and "Enterprise," 
 with their two driving wheels, one on either side. 
 Nor, indeed, were they and others of their kind to be 
 despised on account of their size. For what they 
 lacked in comparison with the monsters of to-day, 
 they more than made up in speed, except when pass- 
 
62 Cherished Memories. 
 
 ing over the "long stretch" known as "Grasshopper 
 Level," and where, with the "hoppers," covering the 
 rails, the wheels would go spinning 'round until 
 brought to a sudden stop. 
 
 Apart from these small engines with their brass 
 trimmings, wooden stringers were stretched along 
 over sandstone blocks, and to these, strips of wrought 
 iron three-fourths of an inch in thickness by four in 
 width were spiked. Occasionally one of these so-called 
 snakeheads would flare up at the end like a broken 
 hoop, passing through the underside of a car with 
 such results as may be imagined. 
 
 Later came the small iron "chair," fastened to 
 stone blocks. In these, an improved design of rail 
 was held in place by two iron wedges called "keys," 
 one on either side. As they were constantly olted 
 out, it became necessary for the "keydriver," with 
 his long-handle hammer, to replace them. Each morn- 
 ing he could be seen on his way from the station to 
 the big Conestoga bridge, usually requiring a full day 
 to make the outgoing and return trip. 
 
 However, as time ran on, the ".chair" and "stone 
 block" were supplanted by the cross-tie on which is 
 spiked the present "T" rail. The sandstone blocks 
 to be seen here and there, with two holes about six 
 inches apart, were the engineers' greatest annoyance 
 during the spring, when the frost was almost sure 
 to throw the rails out of alignment, causing a "run- 
 off." 
 
 And now, after these many years, let us take a 
 bird's-eye view in portraiture of the passenger sta- 
 
o 
 
 H 
 
 
 a 
 
Charles A. Jeffries. 63 
 
 tion when the railroad was still under State control, 
 down to 1857. Over on the southwest corner, wherein 
 .the "Pioneer-line" billed its passengers for either 
 Columbia or Philadelphia, stood the "Globe," kept 
 by one Owen Hoppel who, in his day, was as well 
 and favorably known among the railroad men as was 
 the father of our genial friend, "Wash," who yet 
 manages to link the present with that of sixty years 
 ago. In this connection, it was only recently the 
 writer was shown one of the small blue "checks" 
 each passenger was required to stick in the ribbon- 
 band of his hat as an evidence of having paid his 
 fare. 
 
 Among the very few old-time engineers yet living 
 in the halo of a ripe old age, few have had a wider 
 experience than the venerable Charles A. Jeffries. 
 How many times he ran his engine with its load of 
 humanity between Philadelphia and Harrisburg not 
 he himself can recall. Nor can but a very few of the 
 present-day readers remember when the first telegraph 
 office was in the "North American," now the "Im- 
 perial," on the southeast corner of North Queen and 
 Chestnut. 
 
 In those early days of telegraphing, we boys were 
 much interested in a story since become a trite. It 
 seems, as it occurs to our mind, a well-known shoe- 
 maker of the town, after having finished a pair of 
 calf-skin boots for one of the elite, concluded that 
 the quickest way to get them to the owner was to 
 hang them over the telegraph-wire. Having accom- 
 plished this to his satisfaction, he quietly awaited the 
 
64 Cherished Memories. 
 
 return of the owner with the cash. As it so happened, 
 along came an Irishman who, glancing up by the light 
 of the moon, exclaimed: "A fair exchange is no rob- 
 bery." So off with his rawhides, up the pole he goes, 
 exchanging the calfskins for his own. Early the 
 morning following, the shoemaker, stepping to the 
 door and seeing the old pair dangling from the wire, 
 turned to his spouse and said, "Bless ye, me darlin', 
 if th' wire hasn't been sendin' th' new ones to th' 
 owner, with th' old ones back to be mended!" 
 
 Among the many well-known characters who were 
 active in the State's employ as railroaders, was a 
 short-set, stoop-shouldered colored man, by the 
 name of Samuel Jones, but known to every ten-year- 
 old boy as "Grubey Sam." For a period of more 
 than a quarter of a century "Grubey" had charge of 
 the United States mail between Columbia and Lan- 
 caster, and was the only colored man actively em- 
 ployed in the railway service, even after the road had 
 been taken over by the Pennsylvania Company. 
 Smart, alert and as crusty as he was faithful, who 
 could blame "Grubey Sam," if at times he imagined 
 he owned the entire line in fee-simple. At the time 
 when railroading was in its infancy, Columbia was the 
 recognized headquarters for men who since have reach- 
 ed a prominent place in the Pennsylvania Company. 
 And many a little game of poker was indulged in by 
 the officials in which "Grubey Sam" usually held the 
 winning cards, being as apt at "shuffling" the cards 
 as he was in handling a mail-pouch. And yet with 
 all "Grube's" eccentricities, he was respected for his 
 
GRUBEY SAM 
 
"Barney" as a Boy. 65 
 
 honesty and loyalty. At last, at last, like many 
 another old railroader, he was compelled to hand in 
 his "checks" and go the way of all others. 
 
 And now of the startling episode; It was in Novem- 
 ber, 1S55, while still State property, that the "Colum- 
 bia No. 2" exploded at Penningtonville, now Atglen, 
 killing the fireman and landing "Johnny Wilhelm" 
 across the telegraph wires, from which he rolled down 
 a forty-foot embankment, escaping with a broken hip 
 and other minor injuries. Although badly crippled, 
 he managed for fifteen years thereafter to perform 
 his duties as engineer. 
 
 At the time of which mention is made, there were 
 two other engineers living as neighbors to old 
 "Johnny," on East Chestnut street, opposite the 
 Grubb estate — Samuel Kurtz, the only person killed 
 during the Centennial year of '76, one of whose sons 
 is still engaged in railroading, the other, Samuel 
 Rupley, whose four sons, John, Sam, Dan and Charlie, 
 were among the writer's most intimate acquaintances. 
 
 Of the contingent of "thirty-seveners," the great 
 majority of whom were Lime street bridge devotees, 
 only a few remain, one of the last to pass away being 
 the late B. J. McGrann. As a boy we knew him as 
 a jolly good fellow; as a man, he was the equally 
 generous host in making all welcome to his rural 
 homestead. And how could it have been otherwise, 
 as the son of Richard, one of the old-school Irish 
 gentlemen, ever kindly disposed toward the boys 
 out in his extended apple-orchard in search of the 
 luscious fruit. As a lad, selling "peppermint" to 
 5 
 
66 Cherished Memories. 
 
 the various saloons and hotels, it would have been 
 an oversight to have passed the McGrann house by; 
 where the Malones, Kelleys, McGoverns, Reillys and 
 others of their day, loved to congregate in a familiar 
 chat over the events of the day. Yes, this group of 
 high-toned, Irish contractors, who drank their toddy 
 together to the health of "James B.," were at all 
 times known for their loyalty to the good old De- 
 mocracy. 
 
 Then there was "Freddy," the scholar, who still 
 lives beloved by all who know hirh. It was he who 
 used to call 'round at our house for a glass or two 
 of our mother's mead, and a few of her fasnachts, 
 which, when turned out of the frying-pan, were even 
 more delicious than Mammy Gruel's sugar-cakes with 
 a big raisin in the center. But to relieve my mind, 
 as I recall those happy days, "Freddy" had a rival 
 in his young friend "Guss," the artist, who later 
 carved the two lions which for years stood before the 
 North Queen street entrance of the Howell marble 
 works. Changed a little, of course, the one residing 
 in Harrisburg, the other in this city, both have man- 
 aged to preserve their youthful vigor midway between 
 the seventies and eighties. 
 
 Besides "Freddy" and "Augustus," there were four 
 "Charlies," only two of whom are living, Charlie 
 Werntz and Charlie Wilhelm. Of the former there 
 were five generations of blacksmiths — his great-grand- 
 father, grandfather, father, and besides himself, a 
 son, both actively engaged at bellows and anvil, cov- 
 ering a period of more than a century and a half. 
 
Passing of the Willow Pond. 67 
 
 Charlie Wilhelm, the son of "Old Johnny," is re- 
 membered by very few, residing, as he has been for 
 many years, in the city of Harrisburg as a retired 
 employee of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company. 
 As boys we played together, followed the winding 
 course of the Conestoga from Binkley's bridge to the 
 old water-works. And since, with the shadow of 
 age coming on, it's been our pleasure to retrace those 
 steps of more than sixty years ago. And oh! what 
 sweet reminders did this last stroll suggest, linking old 
 age with early youth! 
 
 For a time we crept cautiously along the water's 
 edge, then further up the hillside, zigzagging our way 
 along with the September's sun up among the eighties. 
 But what mattered it, we had become boys again, 
 with all the spirit of adventure of our youthful days. 
 If the sycamores seemed as of yore, the stately oaks 
 and hickories which not so many years before gave 
 "Cedar Hill" its rugged appearance, are no more, 
 with only here and there a lone sentinel to mark the 
 spot where the "picnickers" used to wend their way 
 to "What Glen," for a day's outing. And here it 
 may be asked why our young friend "Frank" built 
 his beautiful residence on this high elevation? Only, 
 no doubt, to keep in touch with "Dame Nature," in 
 preserving recollections of the homestead, a mile or 
 two eastward along the pike, now in possession of 
 his brother Richard. 
 
 Ah! but the sycamores! they alone with the elm, 
 cedar, ash and willow seem to have escaped the 
 woodman's axe, containing, as many of them do, the 
 
68 Cherished Memories. 
 
 initials, cut thereon by the boys of six decades ago. 
 To these, perchance, hardiest of nature's two-century- 
 old trees, with their rootlets buried deep down under 
 the Conestoga's rocky bed, we pay tribute in the 
 name of all old men — once boys — who in their youth 
 made them their summer-day companions. 
 
 Turning from the upper Conestoga, we have an- 
 other regret, the passing of the "Willow Pond," where, 
 beneath the willows stood the "spring," with its cold, 
 sparkling water, as it went its way trickling along 
 until lost in the Conestoga. 
 
 Growing a little sentimental over the loss of the 
 Willow Pond? Well, for the man without sentiment, 
 who never can unlock the storehouse of memory, 
 'we have only commiseration. Dull, indeed, must 
 life be to the aged who, tired of the present, with 
 no bright earthly prospects for the future, have no 
 past, no pleasant memories of other days! 
 
 But how delightful then to go bathing at the "Big 
 Stump," so close by the "Big Bridge!" And here a 
 flood of recollections comes surging at the portals of 
 memory. If one historic spot outside of the town's 
 limits is deserving of being remembered, it is the 
 "Big Stump," still resting, as I am informed, below 
 the water's surface. As few had their private bath- 
 tubs during the forties and fifties, this familiar bath- 
 ing spot was the resort to which hundreds would go 
 during Saturdays and Sundays to bathe in the pure, 
 limpid waters of the Conestoga where many a swim- 
 ming contest went on. It was here, at the "Big 
 Stump," where Henry, "Buff" Markee lost his life. 
 
"Mortality Joe." 69 
 
 Fishing at the big buttonwood! Well, it was a cold 
 day when old "Mortality Joe" couldn't be seen sitting 
 there with his four long poles. If occasionally he 
 failed to return with a string of catties less than a 
 yard long, there was something wrong, either with 
 the hook or bait. Meeting him at sunrise, it was 
 fun for the boys to ask, "Where are the worms, Joe?" 
 .And his reply, "W-o-m-s, w-o-m-s!" as his cheeks 
 bulged out, indicating where he usually kept his stock 
 in trade. However, instead of carrying his bait where 
 the teasers had imagined, and where a chew of tobacco 
 served a better purpose, Joe's ill-luck in bringing home 
 a string was usually attributed to his failure to pro- 
 vide himself with a "plug," the juice of which, when 
 applied to the worms, always had a soothing effect 
 on the risibilities of the finny tribe. 
 
 And now, to draw certain conclusions from Joe's 
 course of procedure, the habit of tobacco-chewing 
 among all fishermen down to the present day is not 
 so much for the pleasure it affords all anglers, as for 
 the alluring effect the juice has ever had when applied 
 to the worm, and likewise on the nervous systems of 
 the catties, in particular. And here, let all anglers 
 take advice. 
 
 Apropos to the foregoing, as another fisherman's 
 yarn, it used to be said that among the many fish- 
 peddlers who went their way toward the Susquehanna 
 at a time when the shad and herring industry was 
 most profitable, was one Jessie Bently, a tall, raw- 
 boned peddler, who usually drove a pair of slab-sided 
 quadrupeds, one of which, as ill-luck would have it, 
 
70 Cherished Memories. 
 
 fell dead. Stopping at a farm house for what he most 
 needed, another mate to the off-mare, he caught a 
 glimpse of the farmer's blind "hoss" grazing away in 
 the meadow. Stepping up to Farmer Jeremiah, he 
 turned and said, after explaining his dilemma, "W-all, 
 Farmer Jere, how would ye like swappin' yer blind 
 mare fur a load o' 'saltin'-down' fur yer winter use?" 
 
 "Kind uf denxt it wouldn't be a bad swap pro- 
 vidin' we kin' gree on der number un' size. Ye see," 
 with a wink of his left eye, "dem mit more bones 'an 
 meat, I'll be sendin' iver to der bishop, mit plenty 
 uf time to be pickin' der bones." 
 
 "Jis' o' my way o' thinkin', Jeremiah. But ye 
 must recollec' there be all kind o' fishes in th' river, 
 shad, herrin', catties, mullets, horn-chubs, perch, 
 sunnies, wall-eyed pike, eels, an' a few spreckled trout, 
 an' this bein' so, ye'll have to take 'em as they run, 
 as they run, Farmer Jeremiah, an' don't ye forget what 
 I'm tellin' ye!" 
 
 With this understanding that Jere was to take 
 them as they run, Jesse starts with the blind mare 
 for the fishing banks, only to return at least a half- 
 dozen times with a full supply of shad and herring, 
 but never once did he stop to give Farmer Jeremiah 
 even a smell of his weekly catch. 
 
 It was well toward the close of the shad-fishing season 
 that Jere, growing suspicious as to receiving his supply 
 of "saltin's-down," started hot-foot for the river, 
 and meeting the peddler, as he was about returning 
 with a load, exclaimed, "Kensht der me nicht? Ich 
 bien der Jeremiah Hollfus." 
 
The Big Bridge and Big Stump. 71 
 
 "W-all, what can I do fur ye, Mr, Hollfus?" Wait- 
 ing a reply, "Did I promise ye any fishes?" 
 
 "Uf 'cose, uf 'cose yer did; said der be alia kind 
 uf fishes in der river, sume large, sume small, un' that 
 I wus to nem 'em as da run; but up to present time 
 der Farmer Jeremiah hesn't hed a chance to take 
 'em, big or small." 
 
 "Seems, Farmer Jere," in deep study, "that some- 
 
 •thin' was said 'bout yer takin' 'em as they run, an' 
 
 this bein' th' case, there's th' river, there they run; 
 
 take as many as ye please 'fore th' shad-season 
 
 closes." 
 
 Stories like this and others were always in place 
 around the sycamore, where the fishermen used to 
 congregate, at a time before the anglers, with their 
 jointed rods and reel, made this their summer retreat 
 in fishing for the gamy bass. 
 
 But to the "Big Bridge," so close by the "Big 
 Stump!" And here it may be said how few have 
 but the slightest recollection of this covered structure 
 extending in length over fourteen hundred feet from 
 the Conestoga which it crossed over to the farm- 
 buildings on the opposite side. To the average boy 
 it was something of a curiosity to see the engineer 
 pull down the smoke-stack before entering. First 
 used as a drive-way for horses instead of locomotive, 
 •the floor between the rails was dust-covered to the 
 depths of five inches, no doubt to give tbe horses' 
 feet a better footing, or maybe, to avoid vibration. 
 At intervals were barrels of water, in case of emergency. 
 To say that on occasions certain of the trains were met 
 
72 Cherished Memories. 
 
 by a living quadruped, known as "The Landis Bull," 
 may have been a story handed down as tradition. 
 And yet, in my boyhood, live stock was only too com- 
 mon along the tracks, not a few being compelled to 
 pay the penalty for their rashness. 
 
 It so happened, however, that, in '50, '51 or '52, 
 the bridge went up in smoke. Although I, among 
 others, was present at the time of its destruction, it 
 would seem impossible to fix the exact date when this 
 lengthy structure was destroyed. As neither of the 
 watchmen, Robert Conyngham nor John Stehman, 
 is living to bear testimony, other data must be 
 awaited. 
 
 Close by the bridge, to the left, on a bluff, stood 
 the "Spook House," presenting as forlorn an appear- 
 ance as it was possible for any ten-year-old youngster 
 to imagine. And few there were, after hearing 
 stories occurring within, could be persuaded to enter 
 after twilight had set in. By whom it was built and 
 occupied before the boys had riddled its window- 
 panes, are questions for the Lancaster County His- 
 torical Society to determine. 
 
 Superstitions of those days were not confined alone 
 to the boys; older heads were at all times ready to 
 indulge themselves in such gruesome stories of demons, 
 hobgoblins and other spectres as to make the average 
 boy almost afraid to venture by a graveyard after 
 night had set in. We well recall how as a lad we went 
 hurrying by the high brick wall leading from St. James 
 to Cherry street, built, as we were told, to keep the 
 spirits of the departed well inside the enclosure. 
 
An Animated Stiff. 73 
 
 Recalling hangman's day and the potter-field; who, 
 five decades ago, could have persuaded anyone to 
 locate in front of any of these burial grounds! And 
 even down to later years, how nerve-racking the story 
 of how three medical students went in search of a 
 "stiff," and disappointed in their search, loaded 
 one of their own three into a wagon, telling the driver 
 where to unload his charge. Covered with a white 
 spread, on, on the colored man drove in Rockland 
 street, with the other two following at a safe dis- 
 tance as witnesses of the scene so soon to materialize. 
 
 For a time, all was as quiet as the old graveyard 
 beyond; then came heavy breathing from under 
 the white spread. "Only the wind playing its 
 pranks," grumbled the colored driver, glancing back 
 over his shoulder, as he gave the nag a slight touch 
 of the lash. And yet the faster he drove the more life 
 his unearthly demon seemed to manifest. Suddenly, 
 and without warning, up 'rose "Mr. Ghost" in its 
 white robes, ready to embrace the old darkey, who, 
 dropping the lines, leaped from the wagon, and with 
 an unearthly yell that sent the echoes flying, started 
 at a double-quick homeward-bound. "Hi, ho! and 
 where are you going?" came the voice of the sup- 
 posed "stiff," throwing off the thin disguise, as the 
 old darkey turned for an instant and replied, "Fer 
 de Lord's sake, boss, des am no place fur a respec'ful 
 culled pusson wid a family ub seben childrens to be 
 caught prowlin' 'roun' wid ebil spirits, scarin' old 
 Mose to be losin' his 'librium!" And never after- 
 wards could the old colored driver be found within a 
 mile of any burying-plot after night had set in. 
 
74 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Referring to medical students, recalls a few of the 
 old-time family doctors of my boyhood, one of whom 
 used to enter our home with the worst-smelling, the 
 worst-tasting mixture ever concocted by an apothe- 
 cary's clerk. He was usually recognized before en- 
 tering the sick room by a way he had of sniffing the 
 air for fear a window or a door had been left ajar. 
 Stepping quietly to the sick one's bedside, with suf- 
 ficient solemnity to send the patient's pulse either 
 up among the nineties or down to zero, he would 
 remove his gloves, unbutton his long-tail coat and 
 prepare for the diagnosis. 
 
 Glancing with a knowing shake of the head at his 
 subject, he would call for a tin spoon, and after jam- 
 ming it down the throat in the region of the stomach, 
 draw it out with a deep yawn. Taking the patient's 
 wrist in his vice-like grip, he would count the pulsa- 
 tions and start to compounding the abominable mix- 
 ture of calomel jalap. Leaving directions of how 
 many teaspoonfuls were to be taken within a given 
 time, he would make diligent inquiry of what the 
 patient had been eating or drinking. If it happened 
 to be a feast or a famine, the reply was always the 
 same. 
 
 Indulging himself in a glass or two of old gin to 
 steady his nerves, he would dilate on total abstinence 
 as a panacea for all the ills common to humanity the 
 world over. After adjusting his gloves, and another 
 glance at the sick one, he would promise to call the 
 morning following, which from his look might be 
 taken as a slight hint that if he didn't call himself, 
 
The First Telegraph Poles. 75 
 
 Harry Stiff, the grave-digger, would be summoned 
 to get the exact size of his grave, with the undertaker 
 at no great distance awaiting the practitioner's exit 
 from the sick room. 
 
 But these old-time doctors had their uses, if they 
 had their abuses. And never once were they known 
 to recommend a liver-pad, nor to hurry a patient off 
 at a double-quick to be operated on for the appendicitis 
 when a more careful diagnosis might have resulted 
 in nothing more than a spell of acute indigestion. 
 
 But to get away from doctors, except when occa- 
 sion requires, it is more pleasing to get back to the 
 Lime Street bridge, where, in '45, the first telegraph 
 pole was planted, at the northwest corner. "Charlie" 
 and I had been standing close by the "digger" looking 
 deep down into the excavation with the youngster's 
 curiosity, when my more inquisitive young friend 
 ventured to ask what he was doing. "Only digging 
 a hole to put nosey boys like yourselves in." And 
 as we weren't sure to which of the two he referred, 
 we weren't long in beating a hasty retreat. And this 
 recalls one other occasion, when Harry Stiff was 
 asked what he proposed doing with the surplus earth, 
 he replied, with a squint of the eye, "Dig another 
 •hole to put it in." 
 
 Referring to the first telegraph line passing along the 
 railroad from Philadelphia to Columbia, it may not be 
 generally known that the oldest telegraph operator in 
 the United States, William Johnson, is living in this 
 city, now in his seventy-ninth year. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Rafting on the Susquehanna — Lancaster's 
 
 Growth — Congestion in Central 
 
 Part — Its Mayors'. 
 
 AS a purely historical sketch, apart from the narra- 
 tive to follow, a few notable events occurring 
 during the past two centuries may be mentioned by 
 way of acquainting certain readers with the founding 
 of Lancaster, in 1730. Falling back on the records 
 which have been handed down from remote times, 
 it was in the year 1729 that the mother counties of 
 Chester, Philadelphia and Bucks gave without price 
 all that fertile domain extending westward from 
 their own boundaries to the Ohio, to the new-born 
 county of Lancaster, a name given by that invincible 
 Quaker, John Wright, in honor of his own home, Lan- 
 cashire, England. Settling in Chester county, in 1714, 
 in 1729 he removed to Wright's Ferry (now Columbia), 
 on the Susquehanna, where the name Wright has 
 ever been held in fond remembrance. 
 
 And yet as generously as had these counties parted 
 with the territory westward of their present limits, 
 so, in after years, Lancaster county gave sufficient 
 of her broad acres to constitute some sixty odd other 
 counties, all of which have grown great and prosperous. 
 That our forefathers reserved sufficient of this 
 "garden-spot" for those who in after years might 
 make it their abiding place, should in no way provoke 
 a spirit of envy among the dwellers of the other part 
 
 76 
 
a 
 
 a 
 o 
 
 H 
 O 
 
 o 
 
 d 
 
 a 
 w 
 
Columbia Recommended as County Seat. 77 
 
 of the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. For, 
 after all, we are one people, cemented by the common 
 bonds of love and good fellowship, ever ready to 
 revere the memory of William Penn as among the 
 greatest of all the great men who first set foot on 
 America's soil. 
 
 In taking a retrospective glance over all the other 
 settlements, not to overlook the Pilgrim Fathers who 
 settled on Plymouth Rock, in 1620, history fails to 
 record in the deeds of man those that have borne 
 better fruit than the seed that was sown on the shores 
 of the Delaware by this goodly Quaker Penn, in 1682. 
 Happy, then, for those who can say, "We were born 
 on Pennsylvania soil." To act in accordance with 
 the precepts laid down by Penn so many years ago, 
 is to live the life of peace, comfort, happiness. And 
 now to follow the lines we have mapped out, it is 
 hoped a thought here and there may awaken a deeper 
 love for our city and county, in no way to the detri- 
 ment of other sections of this "land of promise." 
 
 At the time following the separation, a commission 
 'of three was named to determine the most suitable 
 location for the seat of Justice.. Wright's Ferry, 
 around which hangs a romance, seeming to possess 
 certain advantages on account of its proximity to 
 the Susquehanna, a strong wooden jail was erected 
 by the Wrights as the first step in recommending the 
 "Ferry" as the capital of the new-born county. And 
 but for the fact that, even at that early day, it was 
 apparent to the best engineering skill that the river 
 could never be made navigable for the commerce of 
 
7S Cherished Memories. 
 
 the world, Columbia might at this day be one of the 
 most important cities of the Commonwealth of Penn- 
 sylvania. Indeed, for many years thereafter, every 
 effort was put forth looking to this one end and aim. 
 Nearly a century ago, Simon Cameron was one of a 
 commission to determine the possibility of making 
 this rugged water-course navigable; and if we mis- 
 take not, the verdict was that a hundred million dol- 
 lars would not cover the cost. Apart from this, how- 
 ever, it should be remembered that the Susquehanra 
 for more than a century was the highway over which 
 thousands of rafts went their way to tidewater. 
 Then canaling before the time of railroads had given 
 all these river towns for hundreds of miles such a boom 
 as few other parts of the state had known. But, alas ! 
 with the construction of the McCall's Water-Power 
 plant and the robbing of the mountain sides of their 
 timber, the activity of this once mighty highway of 
 traffic is destined to live only in the memory of the 
 oldest riverman. 
 
 To give the reader some idea of the river's flourish- 
 ing condition, history records that during a three- 
 months' freshet no less than three thousand arks 
 and flat-boats went their way during the short space 
 of ninety days, loaded with all kinds and variety of 
 merchandise. 
 
 But even at the time of the separation of our county, 
 Wright's Ferry had its rival in Postlewhaite's, an 
 Indian settlement located nearly a dozen miles further 
 down, at a point some distance up the Conestoga, 
 nearby what is now known as Rock Hill. Here was 
 
City's Area Unchanged. 79 
 
 located a tavern presided over by one Postlewhaite, 
 in which courts were held for a short time, or until 
 1730, when something occurred to throw a clamper 
 over the spirits of the few dwellers of this then much- 
 favored point. That at least one defendant was 
 tried and convicted to serve time in the crude prison 
 the records bear ample testimony. 
 
 However, along at the time the commissioners were 
 divided in their opinions as between Postlewhaite's 
 and Wright's Ferry, Governor Hamilton appeared on 
 the scene offering a number of plots, all within the 
 present limits of the city of Lancaster. 
 
 Omitting the names of the various sites, it may be 
 said that nearby the present Penn Square, one Gibson 
 kept "open house" with a large hickory tree before 
 the door. And it was under this historic tree that 
 the red men of the forest met to ply their trade with 
 the white traders, resulting in the tribe being called 
 "Hickory Indians." And here it may be said that 
 our first recollection of this famous tree was while 
 visiting the museum at the corner of North Queen 
 and Chestnut.. Entering the upper story, we were 
 shown a walking-stick made out of a portion of the 
 Gibson hickory tree. Taking into account how ready 
 many of Lancaster's most intellifegnt citizens have 
 been since that early day to accept as truthful this or 
 that promoter's scheme with "millions" in it, I as 
 a growing lad was excusable for looking upon this 
 cane with a certain delight and curiosity. 
 
 Apart from the many changes time has wrought, 
 with a few of the town's streets undergoing change, 
 
80 Cherished Memories. 
 
 in one respect Lancaster remains the same as when 
 the first general survey was made, nearly one hundred 
 and eighty years ago, fixing the town's status within 
 its present two miles square. And this brings the 
 thought, that within our recollection, but one effort 
 was made to enlarge the city's boundaries. That it 
 failed to materialize was owing to various reasons 
 not neces'sary to enumerate, except to say that if the 
 people of Lancaster failed to manifest more interest 
 in the project started by a number of rural dwellers, 
 it was owing largely to that conservatism which, in 
 the good old days of their forefathers, was one of 
 their cardinal principles — to hold fast to the customs, 
 habits and traditions of their ancestors. This habit 
 of moving along conservative lines cannot be attributed 
 to a lack of public spirit, especially when contrasted 
 with that of the many "mushroom" towns, at all times, 
 only too ready to assume the dignity of a growing 
 municipality with few of the corresponding qualities 
 to warrant the "spread." 
 
 And yet in the opinion of many there arc two ex- 
 tremes — too close centralization, on the one hand, 
 and too wide expansion on the other. Whether Lan- 
 caster has reached either of these extremes is the 
 problem that will have to be met at no distant day. 
 It is not going too far to say that a city that could 
 comfortably house a population of twenty thousand 
 thirty years ago,. may be entirely too small to house 
 one of sixty thousand ten years hence. 
 
 On this question of expansion it is not our pur- 
 pose to pass judgment fro or con. And yet if we may 
 
Advantage of the "Square" Questionable. 81 
 
 judge from the congestion the "Square" has assumed 
 in being the town's "hub," with the trolley unloading 
 its hundreds of passengers daily at this much-favored 
 point, the conclusion reached is, that the business 
 men in possession of these commercial sites will oppose 
 any move for a "Greater Lancaster," should it prove 
 detrimental to their own financial interests. For- 
 tunate for the dwellers residing within hailing distance 
 of our magnificent Soldiers' Monument, and equally 
 unfortunate for those residing along the outer "rim," 
 it may be a question whether, after all, a public 
 "Square" is equally advantageous alike to all of a 
 city's citizens. With the price of real estate soaring 
 skyward, the time must come in the inevitable course 
 of events when a very few blocks of our leading thor- 
 oughfares can no longer support the thousands who 
 flock to the city on all notable occasions. These 
 timely reflections, however, may well be left to the 
 learned, wise, serious and well-educated citizens to 
 ponder over at their leisure. 
 
 In going a step further, without posing as critic or 
 fault-finder, the question suggests itself, Is Lancas- 
 ter, in the future as in the past, to grow largely of its 
 own momentum, wherein personal greed and selfish- 
 ness have ever been the rule? What is its status, 
 commercially, morally, intellectually and socially? 
 As to the town's social and intellectual life, it needs 
 no defender, standing as it ever has in the vanguard 
 of all the other cities of the Keystone state. To 
 prove that it has always claimed this distinguished 
 honor, it will only be necessary to glance back at its 
 6 
 
82 Cherished Memories. 
 
 long line of honorable citizens, noted at home as well 
 as abroad for their social and intellectual qualities, 
 especially in extending a welcome hand to all visitors 
 stepping within her gates. And yet, it must not be 
 forgotten that of the city's present population, only 
 .a limited few of our progressive business men remain 
 as descendants of those who a half century ago held 
 the balance of power. As the census is likely to show, 
 the active business men not to the manner born are 
 largely in the majority and will so continue. It is 
 only doing entire justice to credit them with a desire 
 to see the city of their adoption move upward and 
 onward to its true destiny. 
 
 Only too frequently has it been said that Lancaster 
 is lacking in that preponderance of "get-up," such 
 as has marked the progress of other cities scarcely 
 heard of when "Old Lancaster" was the largest inland 
 town in the United States. But as the size of a town's 
 status in square miles bears little comparison to that 
 of its inner life, we still claim a preponderance of 
 intelligence dating back a good many years. How- 
 ever, it will not do to live in the past, nor to point to 
 the time when Congress sat for a single clay in the 
 old court house. As much as we may delight in 
 recalling Washington's and Lafayette's visits, as 
 well as other memorable events to follow, these belong 
 to byegone days and can in no way enter into the city's 
 future growth and development, except as a glorious, 
 fragrant memory. 
 
 Passing over that lengthy period embraced within 
 1730 and 1818, the year the borough became a munici- 
 
John Passmore, the Weighty and Witty Mayor. 83 
 
 pality under its new charter, it is from the following 
 ninety-two years that a few "crumbs swept up" may 
 be gleaned, showing the slow progress made by the 
 town during these long intervening years. 
 
 It was in the memorable year 1818 that John Pass- 
 more became the city's first chief magistrate. Know- 
 ing little of his mental powers other than as an in- 
 imitable story-teller, it is to be hoped that these were 
 on a par with his physical, weighing, as tradition says, 
 something over four hundred pounds avoirdupois 
 on the town's steelyards. Beyond his proportions 
 as one of the town's "heavy-weights," little has been 
 handed down to posterity other than that the frame 
 of the doorway had to be removed before his remains 
 could be conveyed to their last resting-place. Nor 
 have we any evidence to show that any of his succes- 
 sors in office were equally weighty, physically. 
 
 One thing to his credit, as rumor runs, he was the 
 first of the town's story-tellers, with numerous others 
 to follow. And here it may be asked, what can be 
 more enjoyable than to sit in company with a friend 
 with the store-house of memory awakened to the 
 recollections of by-gone events? We may have read 
 by the hour of his pleadings at the bar, but when 
 brought into his presence as he dilates on his own 
 observations and personal experiences, we are over- 
 come with a consciousness that all book-lore is but 
 dross by comparison. Thus it has ever been that 
 the unwritten stories when narrated by the versatile 
 story-teller are so apt to hold us spell-bound. We 
 know not why, other than it is this one touch of 
 nature that makes the world akin. 
 
84 Cherished Memories. 
 
 And now as memory recalls the long list of these 
 goodly magistrates, it can be said we knew all more 
 or less intimately from '43 to this year 1910, some 
 as a boy in giving the mayor's office a wide range. 
 And what a splendid type of old-time gentlemen they 
 were, the last of the period before the war being none 
 other than the venerable George Sanderson, who 
 served from '59 till '68. Giving them due credit, 
 their highest ambition seemed to beto keep the town's 
 valuation and tax-rate to the minimum. In the per- 
 formance of this laudable purpose, all other short- 
 comings were kindly overlooked by their constituents. 
 The oversight that, without an equal assessment and 
 ■an adequate tax rate, no city can grow more beautiful 
 and healthful, seldom disturbed their equanimity. 
 
 It is safe to assume, as we look the town of more 
 than a half century over, that sentiment played but a 
 small part in its growth. Dating back to the time 
 the first log house was built, there was always a 
 •struggle; and it was under this stress of adversity 
 that the town grew rather of its own momentum than 
 through any preconcerted action on the part of the 
 citizens. At no time, until recent years, were the 
 well-to-do disposed to set apart a legacy for the 
 making the city more artistically beautiful. 
 
 As a result of reconciling differences of opinion, the 
 ballot was resorted to, each party shaping its policy 
 to catch the votes of the discontented with prevailing 
 conditions. As the newspaper has always been the 
 medium through which the masses have been reached, 
 right and justice were not at all times resorted to for 
 
Electing a Mayor. 85 
 
 the sake of the principle involved. In fact, every 
 effort to inaugurate a non-partisan system of local 
 government has proved a failure, as being incompat- 
 ible with the idea upon which rests the bulwark of our 
 liberty. If a governor or a president is to be elected, 
 the voters at a municipal election are admonished to 
 stand loyally by their party's ticket, apart from such 
 consequences as may result to the city as a munici- 
 pality. 
 
 It was at the close of the Civil War, in '69, that 
 William Augustus Atlee was elected, serving one 
 single term of two years. Being a magistrate with 
 high ideals, his attempt to enforce a few of the slum- 
 bering ordinances brought him into conflict with a 
 number of his own supporters, who shook their heads 
 in opposition to any departure from long-established 
 customs. 
 
 With the close of his administration, the rotation 
 in office went merrily on, with Democrat following 
 Republican and vice versa, almost down to the present 
 day. And what a glorious time for the newspapers 
 as the battle for supremacy continued. And after the 
 victory was won, what a grand walk-around with the 
 band playing "There'll be a hot time in the old town 
 to-night." 
 
 We know all about it; we've been there; stood at 
 a voting precinct during hail, snow or rain, pleading, 
 beseeching for the success of our mayoralty candidate, 
 whom we had reason to believe knew as little of the 
 science of municipal government as he knew of a 
 Worthington pump. But all the same we hurrahed 
 
86 Cherished Memories. 
 
 with the "old coon" at the head of the column of the 
 successful newspaper, with the defeated over the 
 way going up "Salt River" on one of the boy-Fulton's 
 flat-bottom scows. Fun! why, bless me, there's been 
 more right-down fun during a city election than at a 
 lawyers' picnic — at least for the hurrah boys. 
 
 But there's the other side to the picture to be seen 
 on inauguration day with the " ward- workers " flock- 
 ing 'round for the "plums." And what rejoicing 
 among the successful, what heart-aches among the 
 disappointed! It's not going too far to say that 
 could the history of each administration be written 
 from the time of the weighty John Passmore to the 
 present Mayor, the concensus of opinion would be 
 that they were all swayed more or less by political 
 expediency, in which serving the party in power in- 
 volved a higher duty than that of educating the 
 voters up to a higher standard of political economy. 
 What the result might have been could county, state 
 and national politics have been divorced from purely 
 local affairs may well be left to the intelligent citizen, 
 high and low, rich and poor. 
 
 With none but the kindliest feelings for Lancaster's 
 twenty-three chief magistrates, it might seem like an 
 act of discourtesy to ask to which should be given 
 the greatest credit for the lasting good accruing to the 
 city in proportion to length" of service. However, as 
 only seven out of the whole number are known to be 
 living, to expect these to pass judgment on the acts 
 of their predecessors or successors, as well as on their 
 own stewardship, might not be considered a breach of 
 
The Spoils System: 87 
 
 eitquette on the part of the young-old "thirty- 
 sevener" in noway disposed to hold them responsible 
 as the exponents of a system as deplorable in its results 
 as it is wrong in principle. 
 
 Patronage! it's been the motive power that has 
 kept all cities astir — everybody seems to be looking 
 after patronage. Even a few of our high-toned busi- 
 ness men reformers have not been averse to turning 
 in on election day, provided a few of the "loaves and 
 fishes" be parceled out as a reward for services ren- 
 dered in getting the "boys" into line. Truly, munici- 
 pal government for, by and of the people, if not at all 
 times for their direct benefit, is a wonderful system 
 when contrasted with that of a private corporation 
 which, were it to attempt to succeed along similar 
 lines, would drift into hopeless bankruptcy. 
 
 With such diversity of opinion as prevails among 
 the voters whose political proclivities differ as one 
 star differs from another, it has often been surprising 
 how much has been accomplished by councils. As a 
 councilman of nearly twenty years' experience, entire 
 justice compels the writer to declare that he has never 
 known • an instance where the people haven't at all 
 times received more than they deserved from their 
 public servants, considering the fact that nine voters 
 • out of ten are more interested in serving a friend, 
 be he contractor, ncwsp'aper or business man, than the 
 city, on the principle, that he who serves a friend best, 
 serves the city best. It's the old, old story, dating 
 back beyond our recollection, that to the victor be- 
 longs the spoils — the "plums" that annually fall from 
 
88 Cherished Memories. 
 
 the municipal tree. Great problems have hitherto 
 been submitted to councilmen for which they are little 
 adapted by training or education to work out a solu- 
 tion, with less attention paid in the selection of 
 entirely capable men as representatives than was 
 paid in the olden time to the election of a town con- 
 stable. 
 
 And this leads to the query contained in a leading 
 newspaper: "Are the people of all the leading cities 
 so helpless as to need a 'strong hand' to intervene 
 between them and their representatives by way of 
 instructing them how to act in the discharge of their 
 official duties?" This is a question we prefer to leave 
 to the wise and serious for a solution. However, it 
 may be said that this "strong hand" should at all 
 times be the city's chief magistrate. And yet, if we 
 mistake not, such a strong hand has not at all times 
 been supported by public opinion, even though he 
 has shown himself to look upon the office as a "public 
 trust." 
 
 Of one thing we feel entirely sure, that no charge of 
 "graft" has even been publicly entered against any- 
 one of Lancaster's twenty-three chief magistrates; 
 nor if made could it have been sustained. That all 
 have not measured up to the standard of a Mayor 
 Gaynor, may be admitted. And now to close this 
 somewhat gratuitous chapter, what support is the 
 public, without regard to political affiliations, ready 
 to extend to the recently-elected mayor? That he 
 is eminently qualified by long and varied experience 
 to prove himself a most worthy servant of the people 
 
City's Approaching Anniversary. 89 
 
 few will attempt to deny. So let there be united 
 action among all shades of party fealty in giving 
 Lancaster's twenty-fourth chief magistrate a generous 
 support on the principle that a city the size of Lancas- 
 ter cannot longer remain in statu quo; it must either 
 move backward or forward. And as forward is the 
 watchword of all cities, Lancaster should be no ex- 
 ception for the good and sufficient reason that it isn't 
 so many years until the old town's hundredth anni- 
 versary will be celebrated; and when the year 1918 
 comes, even the pessimists and "knockers" will want 
 to turn optimists. 
 
 And yet, of all the cities in the Commonwealth of 
 Pennsylvania, "Old Lancaster" is the best. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Installation of the Water Works — President 
 Taylor in Lancaster. 
 
 PASSING from the preceding chapter, not without 
 a sense of such diversity of opinion as its contents 
 may create, we ask the reader to dwell for a time over 
 the memorable events which occurred in 1837, the 
 most glorious of all the months of the calendar-year. 
 It is Washington's birthday anniversary; for months 
 previous the people of the staid old town were on the 
 tip-toe of expectancy over two projects that were to 
 start the young municipality on its onward course of 
 unexampled prosperity. The Lancaster Intelligencer 
 had just printed the advertisement found on the follow- 
 ing page. 
 
 If this characteristic "card" of through travel by 
 rail, stage and boat to the far-off city of Pittsburg 
 required several days to make the journey seventy- 
 three years ago, imagine an express train speeding 
 along to-day at forty miles per hour. 
 
 The first and most important of the two events, 
 from a local standpoint, is yet to be related. The 
 people had arisen on this twenty-second of February, 
 1837, at an earlier hour than had been their usual 
 custom; some rejoicing, others lamenting lest they be 
 suddenly swept from terra-firma by the bursting of 
 the new reservoir, or by a torrent from a disjointed 
 water main leading to the "Square." 
 
 Gathering in groups, some remain at home to pro- 
 90 
 
Diversity of Opinion. 
 
 91 
 
 tect their families from the supposed inundation, 
 others go their way to the "Old City Mill" to see the 
 
 wheels go 'round XpRM g PAST- LINE, 
 
 as the water is 
 being forced up the 
 steep incline of the 
 "Poor House" hill 
 leading to the new 
 storage reservoir. 
 'Diversity of opin- 
 ion prevailed, some 
 arguing that no 
 power under heav- 
 en could "lift" a 
 body of water up 
 and over the "hill" 
 without a reaction, 
 .others still that the 
 beautiful Conesto- 
 ga would run dry 
 during the summer 
 months, and still 
 others, that the 
 basin was sure to 
 explode when filled 
 to overflowing, and 
 burst it did later, 
 that on the north 
 side through faulty 
 construction, and 
 still later, on the south side, through neglect in shut- 
 
 OFFICE 
 
 For Philadelphia and Piltshurg, mtuaied near 
 
 the Oppot. Forth Queen Street. Lancaster, 
 
 Twi' doors South of Chamberlin's 
 
 Hotel 
 
 TniS LINK is of acknowledged speed Re- 
 commendations "have been given by th« 
 most rompetent judges, in relation to its many 
 advantages 1 he extreme neatness of 
 
 THE BOATS 
 
 The comfort and adaptation of the 
 
 STAGES 
 
92 Cherished Memories. 
 
 ting down the pumps after the reservoir had been 
 filled, causing the water to run down over the em- 
 bankment. 
 
 But, withal, the day passed as the water came to 
 the very center of the city. And oh! what rejoicing 
 when it gushed through the plugs: the victory had 
 been won, putting to shame the pessimists. And now, 
 as we look back over these more than seventy years, 
 what mistakes have been made! How much ink and 
 paper wasted by editors! How much diversity of 
 opinion, not to speak of the money lost in experiment- 
 ing! 
 
 Of course, at the time, the autobiographer was only 
 six days old, and couldn't imbibe more than a few 
 draughts of what the "pull-backs" declared was sure 
 to increase the death rate a hundred-fold yearly. And 
 yet, as an example, we live to bear witness that no 
 deleterious effects have followed, especially since the 
 "filter plant" has been in operation, for all of which 
 the washer-women can only be too thankful. Prior 
 to the installation of this beneficent plant, a few of 
 our citizens may have mixed the "red soil" of the 
 Conestoga with a little something stronger to neutral- 
 ize what one old gentleman still believes is necessary 
 to perfect digestion and assimilation — a small quantity 
 of Berks county's red soil. 
 
 However, unpleasant as is the reminder, it was half 
 a century later when the college reservoir, at a cost of 
 over a hundred thousand dollars, exploded. As to 
 the wisdom of the construction of this the "people's 
 folly," public sentiment was divided. It was a long 
 
Soldiers' Fair. 93 
 
 drawn-out contest. And yet, withal, what a blessing 
 has the Conestoga been to the people of Lancaster! 
 
 Another event worthy of mention occurred likewise 
 on Washington's birthday anniversary, twenty-seven 
 years later, the opening of the "Soldiers' Fair" in Ful- 
 ton Hall, in 1864, from which was realized a nmnificent 
 sum by the ladies of Lancaster, which amount, as we 
 have been informed, was the first step looking to the 
 erection of our magnificent Soldiers' Monument, com- 
 pleted along in 1874. 
 
 It is well we should not forget the heroic service of 
 the Grand Army boys, as determined in peace as they 
 were in war, and under whose auspices the fair was 
 .held. And yet without the unselfish devotion which 
 the women of Lancaster extended during an entire 
 week to this great cause, the "Square" might be 
 without this historic monument, so emblematic of the 
 days of '61, when the best of our young manhood 
 went forth to protect their country's flag. Other than 
 'what the newspapers contained at the time of its 
 erection, we have seen no extended account of those 
 who were the active moving spirits in this most worthy 
 enterprise. Soon all who were prominent in its con- 
 ception will have passed from life's busy stage, with 
 only the four sentinels standing as emblems in recall- 
 ing the eventful happenings of nearly a half century 
 ago. 
 
 The following amusing incident shows how these 
 four granite sentinels were misunderstood by a Lehigh 
 county lady, who, after passing from one to the other, 
 eyeing each carefully, remarked to her friend, in her 
 
94 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Dutch dialect, "Ich denxt cella mons be der alta 
 time apostles." 
 
 Referring again to the old reservoir, we must not 
 forget the passing of the town pump and what was at 
 the time known as the "bucket brigade." In this 
 extended line, as a well-filled bucket went from hand 
 to hand to the crude hand-engine, then back empty 
 along another, were merchants, doctors, lawyers, 
 preachers — all classes only too ready and willing to 
 take a hand when a conflagration threatened the 
 town. 
 
 Linking the present with the past, may yet be seen 
 standing on a shelf in the well-known tobacco store of 
 the Demuth brothers, a long row pi hats or helmets 
 worn by the firemen at a time before the paid depart- 
 ment came to take the place of the volunteer system. 
 Directly opposite, on another shelf, are two well-pre- 
 served "leather buckets," grim reminders of bygone 
 days. If then, all praise is due the firemen of to-day, 
 equal tribute must be accorded the memory of the 
 "volunteers" of "ye olden time," for their bravery, 
 all without pay or hope of future reward. 
 
 What mattered if the members of the "Sun," 
 "Union," "Friendship," "Shiffler" and a few others 
 got themselves into a little offensive and defensive 
 warfare, all for the glory that might result to the 
 victor! 
 
 But there were other troubles along in the middle 
 forties apart from the Millerite scare, in which a cer- 
 tain Lancasterian mounted an improvised platform 
 in his back yard, dressed in white robe, waiting to be 
 
For (lie reception of His Excellency, the :t^ 
 
 ?m 
 
 On Friday evening, August 10, 1849 
 
 TRUMPETER MOUNTED. 
 AIDS. CHIEF M.VKSHAL. 
 
 ' &■&££?%£?*' \ Maj.Gen. Geo. Ford, j S^J&J— " 2 
 
 BAAD. 
 
 Second AiaUiant InrnbaL IILMIV F, Ui:\|;nirT. 
 
 SfKoft-ot Ciluens on Hofst'l'.ieh. df.Csflcd ns fnilniv 
 on the I of i breast i white jmnliiloon: 
 
 — Rlaek coat with blue ribbon 
 
 md black haL '^CJ'Wj 
 
 President's Carriage. 
 u Governor's Carriage, 
 
 IWL cd Member of Cabinet's Carriage. 
 
 ) Committee of Arrangement in Carriages. O 
 
 *) w Officers and Soldiers of the .Mexican War, in do-oEftSy 
 v ^HisHonor^he Mayor, and the Presidents and roem-^ 
 
 1/3 bers of the Select and Common Councils, of the 
 rW city of Lancaster, in carriages. 
 
 C^i^ Oaaltt r Ebicr i FBAXC1S bCE.\,\V ESQ. j f 
 
 High Sheriff of Lancaster county and Deputies. 5$^, 
 Judges and Officers of the Courts. j&te 
 
 Citizens on Horseback. 
 Citizens on Foot. 
 Conestoga Teams. 
 Citizens in Carriages. 
 The Chief Marshal, Assistant Marshal, Aids, and? 
 
 8/ Jk Committee of Escort. rnnsiilin;: of ciiiiens decked .is di'-igi.aied in the programme, J 
 
 vill assemble at •' Ihe Manor Hfilrl," (BtilevV) West King si, on FRIJUY.at 5 o'clock 3lYjE 
 
 fffc Cam 
 
 nagr*. Cili/cn* m 
 ii theHarriiburg t 
 
 inr.scback. on fopt, «nd all oilier-, "ill Like Ihcir plat 
 
 npikr, ill llie iiiti-raecnonuflhe Itiilroad. 
 
 Order and Arrangement for Saturday. 
 
 For Ihe purpose of escorting His Excellency, President TAYLOR, lo llie Harris \ 
 I hurt Railroad on Saturday morning, tlic lllh instanl, Ihe Prnn->."ion will be reformed 
 1 agreeably lo the order Tor Friday, at SjoVlock, A. M in OrwcM 
 ! Duke street, lacing South and displaying Wc<l. Al I0J uVlu.-k, il+will ihi-n pro.;, id by 
 j Hie following route down Orange strccl lo North Queen, up Queen lo llie Prcsidcnl'n 
 Qnarleri. After the Presidenl is in line, the proe esMon will move out East King hired 
 lo Middle, down Middle to South Queen. upSr.ulh Queen lo Wesl King, out West Kmg-/ 
 
 ;indo 
 
 clotheH.,1 
 
 to Charlotte, up Charlotte lo Orange, doi- n Orange lo Prince. 
 
 mburg Turnpike. The ,..oc c «i n will then h,.li. when .lie President, Governor and vj 
 member* of ihe Cabinet will move to the right of the line, winch will then p 
 , view before them. 
 
 EP"A1I Banners, Emblems, fnsignias arid Mottoes ofa poliiical character, arc prohib- 
 ited from being introduced into the line. By order of 
 
 GEORGE FORD, 
 
 Chief Har»h»J 
 C. U. BOfELL. ) ,.., 
 
 B B. VONT>ETlS>UTH^\ ™ _ _ _ _ 
 
 X i ^. ■ ^- | g, , g. '' ^ r £.' i Jl i -J ' -j'- i ^ ' £"l ' '£''S.' ' : i"S^ i 3 i s-sl 
 
 PROGRAM FOR PRESIDENT TAYLOR* RECEPTION 
 
Laying of Gas-pipes. 95 
 
 received into the heavenly kingdom by old Saint 
 Peter. And yet, our goodly school-director-friend 
 was compelled to defer his upward ascension to a more 
 fitting season. 
 
 It was along in '43 that the gas-pipes came to dis- 
 turb the equilibrium of a few of the town's pessimists. 
 And oh, glory! how the doubters went their way pre- 
 dicting what was to happen when a pipe exploded, 
 filling all the houses with gaseous vapor, or when a 
 match was applied to a gas-burner! As a lad, we 
 recall one fastidious middle-aged growler. And bless 
 me, the town has still a few who haven't as yet passed 
 to that bourne where all growling is tabbooed! 
 
 After all, how surprisingly one episode will awaken 
 memory to others that for years had been lying 
 locked in the mind's storehouse. Too young to march 
 under the banner of William Henry Harrison, of 
 "Tippicanoe" fame, we were not by any mean: too 
 young to join the surging mass later out the railroad 
 to the Harrisburg pike. Taking our seat on the fence 
 (not a wire one, either) we awaited the arrival of the 
 Enterprise, with its distinguished visitor. For days 
 it had been rumored that President Taylor was to pay 
 his respects to the city. Accordingly, not to disap- 
 point the "Whigs," it was on the tenth of August, 
 1849, six months after his inauguration as the twelfth 
 President, that the distinguished citizen made his 
 appearance. And we can well recall the shout that 
 went up as he stepped from the car. "Zachary Tay- 
 lor, the hero of Buena Vista, President of the United 
 States, is in Lancaster!" And, oh, my! when he took 
 
96 Cherished Memories. 
 
 my small, delicate hand within his own soft embrace! 
 It was equal to that of a mother's touch in bidding an 
 only son a final good-bye! Since then I've shaken 
 other Presidents by the hand, but none with the same 
 warmth. For, at the time, "Old Rough and Ready" 
 had become an inspiration. 
 
 However, as he only lived little more than a year 
 after this his first and last visit, his untimely ending 
 may be attributed to the gratifying "send-off" he 
 received by the goodly people of old Lancaster, known 
 then as now for their good will toward all men. And 
 now, as the order of ceremonies is reproduced on an 
 opposite page, no further reference need be made to 
 this important event. 
 
 Reaching the station, it remained for the lads of 
 the town to meet a number of Mexican soldiers who 
 had fought under "Rough and Ready," only to re- 
 turn, as nearly a score of years later, did the veterans 
 of the Civil war. How oft have these Mexican sol- 
 diers, with their knapsacks strapped to their backs, 
 recalled the scores who left their homes in '61 to do 
 battle for their country's flag! At the close of the 
 struggle we saw some of them. And now, forty-two 
 years later, how many remain? We see but a rem- 
 nant parading the streets, no longer to the music of 
 a "drummer-boy" who marched off to the war by his 
 father's side, then a lad in his early teens. And it was 
 only recently the papers conveyed the sad news that 
 "Danny's" spirit had passed where the sound of his 
 drum and that of his father's bugle will nevermore 
 cheer the soldier-boys into action as in the years gone 
 by. Peace to the memory of drummer and bugler. 
 
Outbreak of Gold Fever. 97 
 
 Referring once more to the returned Mexican soldiers, 
 an amusing episode suggests itself. It seems, as the 
 story ran, that old John Cosgrove, whose place of 
 business was along where the Hotel Lancaster now 
 stands, had a son James, who had enlisted under the 
 banner of "Rough and Ready." Learning of his re- 
 turn, one of the wags wrote the father a letter with the 
 signature of James attached. As old John could 
 neither read nor write, one of a coterie of imps kindly 
 translated its contents. Catching its import, he went 
 from tavern to tavern holding the letter upside down 
 and repeating, "Tabaco, Buena Vista, Vera Cristo, 
 .Mexico, United States Army, Jeems Gosgrove, dacased." 
 
 At this moment James appeared on the scene with 
 knapsack strapped over his shoulder. Catching sight 
 •of his aged father, he was about to embrace him, when 
 the old man sang out, "Away wid ye; ye can't be per- 
 sonatin' yerself off fur me son J-ee-ms, fur he writ me 
 wid his own hand that he was killed away down in 
 Tabaco, Buena Vista, Vera Cristo, Mexico, United 
 States Army." 
 
 Turning from this bygone episode, it was along at 
 the close of the Mexican war that the gold-fever 
 followed. As history records, about eighty thousand 
 men from all sections of the country pressed their way 
 westward, a few by the overland route, others by way 
 of the isthmus, and still others by way of the Horn, 
 thence up the Pacific to the gold-bearing fields. 
 
 Among the number who hurried off to the "gold- 
 diggings" were a few from Lancaster City and county, 
 one of whom was Amos M'Cartney, who, later, married 
 7 
 
98 Cherished Memories. 
 
 a well-known Lancaster lady, who, in 1869 was the first 
 woman to cross from the Pacific to the Atlantic on the 
 Union Pacific. At a point near Salt Lake she 
 witnessed the driving of two spikes, connecting the 
 lines, one of silver from Nevada, the other of gold, 
 silver and iron from Arizona. 
 
 As another of those singular coincidences to be met 
 with, it was in '97, that the writer happened to be 
 delayed for a day in Sacramento. Taking a trolley 
 ride in the direction of the Sutter Mill-Race, he was 
 surprised to learn that this was the half-century anni- 
 versary of Captain Sutter's gold discovery. Every- 
 where on the car were evidences that something out of 
 the usual was taking the excursionists on a picnic- 
 jaunt, all wearing flags, badges and other mementoes. 
 
 Having in a casual way made known that I was from 
 Lancaster county, Pennsylvania, and had frequently 
 met Captain Sutter at his home in Lititz, I was called 
 upon for a few remarks. As a result I was decorated 
 with flags and emblems. The impression left upon 
 my mind was, with what sincerity all seemed imbued 
 in paying homage to the memory of one who had been 
 indirectly the cause of turning California from a wilder- 
 ness into fields of grain and orange plantations. 
 
 Touching upon the subject in which the American 
 people are at present most deeply interested, I was only 
 recently met by the query, "How do you account for 
 the high price all marketable products have assumed?" 
 This started me to thinking of the comparison between 
 the present time and the middle fifties. Then the great 
 majority of town dwellers were farmers, only on a 
 
Provisions Plenty and Cheap. 99 
 
 smaller scale than their country cousins. Many had 
 their truck-patches of potatoes, cabbage, celery, peas, 
 beans and other truck, thus relieving themselves of the 
 necessity of depending on the "curb-stone" market, 
 then the cheapest as have since become the private 
 markets the dearest among those of all the leading 
 cities. 
 
 Apart from these truck-patches was the stable for 
 the cow, and not far removed, the pig-sty, with shoats 
 to be butchered along about Thanksgiving. Ducks, 
 geese and chickens were as common as the English 
 sparrow of the present day, with this difference, the 
 much-abused hen wasn't then compelled to stand 
 sponser for the storing away in refrigerators of mil- 
 lions of her products by the rapacious "Trust" that 
 has the temerity to assert that the supply is not only 
 growing scarcer, but at the same time smaller in size. 
 
 In the fall of the year it was nothing unusual for a 
 farmer to bring to the home a quarter or a half steer 
 at four and five cents per pound, some of which was 
 salted down in pickle, the big, round "chunks" to be 
 hung in the chimney or smokehouse to be served later 
 as dried beef. Applebutter boiling with the making 
 of saurkraut was by no means unheard of in the best- 
 regulated city families. 
 
 Of course, these conditions prevailed when the 
 town was young, and before the incoming of the 'phone, 
 through which the "price-fixer" admonishes the 
 "seller" to add another cent or two a pound to the 
 price of his butter. Again, before the advent of the 
 private market houses, there was little chance for the 
 
100 Cherished Memories. 
 
 sellers getting "together" in the fixing of prices, 
 considered by those who have to pay the piper as 
 prohibitory. Yes, yes ; too much prosperity for some, 
 and not enough for others, has engendered a feeling 
 of extravagance among the more wealthy, with money 
 to burn. 
 
 Of one thing I feel reasonably sure that, to maintain 
 a just and equitable ratio between labor and prices, 
 there must at the same time be an adjustment between 
 the cities and the farming communities. So long as 
 the cities continue to rob the rural communities of 
 their sons and daughters, so long must the "buyers" 
 rest content to part with their hard-earned dollars, 
 or sell out and turn farmers themselves. So, I thought, 
 my friend could take his choice. 
 
 It was along somewhere in the early fifties that I 
 was drawn to the extensive apple-orchard at the 
 northwest corner of Duke and Lemon where a speech 
 was delivered by Anson Burlingame, the first ambassa- 
 dor to open the gates of China to the commerce of the 
 United States; this started me to thinking how com- 
 paratively few of the other towns of the country had a 
 greater supply of fruits of all kinds in the forties and 
 fifties, than Lancaster. Apples of every variety and 
 flavor from smokehouse, ranibo, belleflower, pounders, 
 to the much despised grindstone which, dug up along in 
 the early spring, how mellow and appetising. Then 
 the peaches, apricots, plums, harvest pears and others 
 too numerous to mention, hung from trees here, there 
 and everywhere, affording the small boy the oppor- 
 tunity of climbing a tree in "Bobby" Fultz's apple 
 
Forbidden Fruit. 101 
 
 orchard, noway rendering him liable to more than a 
 good spanking when caught astraddle the high-hoard 
 fence. 
 
 No longer do we see the "apple-picker" standing on 
 a ladder with bag strung over his shoulder gathering in 
 the luscious fruit. To one thing I never could become 
 reconciled — why the fruit which dropped on the out- 
 side of the fence from a tree, was without the flavor 
 of that which fell on the inside of the high-board fence. 
 Taking into consideration the danger, the effort, is it 
 because forbidden fruit is always the more palatable? 
 As this is one of those knotty problems for which I've 
 never found a solution, it is respectfully referred to the 
 Horticultural Society for their earnest consideration. 
 Awaiting a reply, we close this chapter. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Church Buildings Rebuilt — Check Books — A 
 Good Sisteh. 
 
 AS a city is a corporate body of individuals, it is 
 what the people make it, some few to move 
 with rapid strides, others to progress for a time and 
 then fall into "innocuous desuetude," all depending 
 on certain conditions, resulting at times from misman- 
 agement on the part of the local authorities, at still 
 others, through national reverses caused by over- 
 inflation or any one of the dozen other upheavals. 
 In this, Lancaster has been no exception to the general 
 rule. At periods it has moved along with rapid strides, 
 until over-building resulted in a sudden suspension of 
 all business activity. 
 
 Following such a condition in fifty-one and two, an 
 era of church improvement began in Lancaster in the 
 pulling down of a few of the old church buildings and 
 the erection of others of more stately appearance out- 
 wardly and better accomodations within. Thus, at 
 the corner of Prince and Vine Streets we, as a boy, 
 witnessed the erection of St. Mary's beautiful structure. 
 Following this was the "First Presbyterian" at the 
 corner of Cherry and Orange known then as now as 
 the "street of churches." On the site where the 
 present church stands was a small brick , structure 
 bearing no comparison to the present edifice. 
 
 At the corner of Christian and Orange stood during 
 102 
 
Old Saint James. 103 
 
 the same year a large stone building, bearing the title 
 and date, "First Reformed — built 1730 — rebuilt, 
 1753," with walls of limestone and plastered on the 
 outside. Were it standing to-day : it would present a 
 grotesque appearance in contrast with others, with its 
 small windows and other ancient style of architecture. 
 Following its dismantlement came the present more 
 attractive edifice, as the date o ; n a marble table 
 indicates— 1736— 1753— 1S52. 
 
 Recalling more vividly the old church building, it 
 was with boyish curiousity we stood during the even- 
 ing twilight of a summer day to witness the myriads 
 of leather-wing bats swarming out of its east and west 
 end gables. They semed to fly here, there and every- 
 where, to the annoyance of the gentler sex especially, 
 if one or more happened to enter a bed-room window 
 after night had set in. And oh, my, what a flurry as 
 all the household gathered to drive the unwelcome 
 intruder out of the privacy of the sleeping-room 
 
 During the years '51 and '52, the "Reformed" was 
 erected on the corner where formerly stood the town's 
 scales. And while this building yet stands devoted 
 to other purposes, directly opposite looms up one of 
 the most beautiful and attractive churches in the 
 city, facing as it does on the cast, "Old Saint James," 
 so changed from what it was when as a boy we always 
 betook ourselves to the gallery, owing, no doubt, to 
 the reason that the voice of the minister could be more 
 distinctly heard. There was still another reason: it 
 afforded the boys a chance to count the number of 
 regular "dozers" especially at the moment the long- 
 
104 Cherished Memories. 
 
 handled pole with bag at end was passed along from 
 pew to pew. 
 
 Another moment with the bats and swallows: So 
 numerous were the latter in our boyhood as to afford 
 lots of sport in knocking them right and left, as down 
 along the middle of the street they flew, with those 
 escaping to dart down this or that chimney, their 
 daily roosting place. And what a time the lank, lean 
 "chimney-sweep" had in driving these migratory 
 swallows, with their long tails and out-spread wings, 
 from their haunts, as out of the top of the chimney 
 would bob his own woolly head as he sang his merry 
 song for the edification of the boys who took pure de- 
 light in imitating the sweeper's melodious refrains. 
 Yes; the chimney-sweep of our childhood was a factor 
 to be reckoned with the same as is the pestiferous, ' 
 ungrateful sparrow of the present day, as unwelcome 
 a new-comer to the city-dweller as is the average 
 potato bug to the average farmer. 
 
 Ah, but how about the bumble bee, my boys? 
 Whew! it makes an old-timer wish he were young 
 again. As we recall, few were the lads with the 
 courage to face one of the bumble bees as backward^ 
 he moved in protecting his eyes — a sure target for their 
 unerring aim and sting. And here let it be said that 
 the boy who has never measured swords with an out- 
 raged bumblebee, in defense of its God-given rights, 
 its home, wax and honey, has missed one of life's 
 summer-day pleasures. What mattered it to return 
 •home on a Saturday preceding the Sabbath with both 
 eyes hermetically sealed? These gentle little creatures 
 
Thackara's Express. 105 
 
 may be just as numerous as ever along every fence- 
 corner, but the boys have no longer the instinct to 
 ferret them out, as had Ellis Gable, who seemed to 
 have a way of juking their stings. Again we ask 
 what have become of the bumble bee and the innocent 
 hornet? Awaiting an answer, it will be necessary to 
 pass to other innovations that have absorbed the at- 
 tention of our twentieth-century boys, if such are to 
 be found except on the baseball stand or in the reading 
 of a dime novel or perchance, the Sunday illustrated 
 papers. 
 
 As to ball-playing the middle of the streets were 
 equally divided between the boys, chickens, geese and 
 quadruped on the one hand, and, the slow-going traps 
 of all kinds on the other. And as to the pavements, 
 these old man Thackara claimed as an inherent right 
 for the express company, over which he drove his 
 push-cart from store to store delivering his daily supply 
 of such articles as weren't contained in Robert Moder- 
 well's freight wagon. Since then, while the sidewalks 
 have been kept reasonably clear of all obstructions, the 
 leading business streets are yet encumbered with all 
 kind of building material, leading the average stranger 
 to conclude that the people have no rights which 
 builders are bound to respect. However, seeing with 
 what danger the "old-timer" is surrounded, it won't 
 do to protest; each generation has had its "fads and 
 fancies. " Indeed, as well might we find fault with the 
 shape and style of the twentieth-century's girl's head- 
 gear which, if worn six decades ago by the young ladies 
 of the town, might have rendered them liable to arrest 
 
106 Cherished Memories. 
 
 for imitating their less pretentious cousins of the 
 farm. 
 
 But since we come to think it over, we have no fault 
 to find with either the girls or their hats. What matters 
 it if we old chaps be compelled to step outside on the 
 curb when a dozen of these " sixteen- year old" darlings 
 come trippingly along arm in arm casting sly glances at 
 an equal number of their boy-companions with hair 
 parted in the middle and cap at an angle of ten de- 
 grees to windward. Oh, yes! with these bright-eyed 
 hopefuls, done up in the latest patent-leathers and 
 other gewgaws, the youngsters of six decades ago 
 simply weren't in it. 
 
 To most fathers with a group of both sexes, what 
 would the town be anyway without the girls and boys? 
 Think for a moment of sidewalks given up entirely to 
 elderly maidens, bachelors and old married men! 
 Whew! what a commotion among the department 
 stores, millineries, ice cream and photograph gal- 
 leries, the theatres and moving picture shows, for the 
 girls; the pool rooms, clubs, ten-pin alleys and billiard 
 rooms for the boys! Why, well, indeed, might the 
 dancing and skating rink go into the hands of a re- 
 ceiver. And as to the summer trolley cars running 
 to Rocky Springs, even this line might be compelled 
 to go into foreclosure! No, no! the very thought of 
 curtailing the supply and demand of these happy, 
 go-as-you-please, twentieth-century lads and lasses 
 is enough to make all the town's bachelors get a 
 "move on.'' 
 
 The girls, bless 'em! what matters it if they are 
 
Boys Have Changed. 107 
 
 crowding the young men to the wall in all departments 
 of trade and commerce? After all, who can blame 
 them? It's the survival of the fittest. So, go it, 
 'while you're young, my girls, but be careful when 
 you come to join your fortune with this or that young 
 "sport," you aren't marrying one who'll let you do 
 the hustling in running a typewriter while he spends 
 his time and money in a pool or club room. 
 
 Speaking of the boys, having been one myself, unless 
 they are different from those of our days, it would be 
 strange if they didn't have the same hopes and aspira- 
 tions. And yet I am inclined to the opinion that the 
 genuine all-round boys are no longer in evidence. 
 They drift too soon from knee-breeches into the latest 
 style of men's wearing apparel. To drop out of boy- 
 hood into that of early manhood, with all the meaning 
 implies, would seem to be the tendency of their day 
 and generation. It's the same with the girls; we see 
 them to-day in their kilts, happy, cheerful, innocent — 
 tomorrow, we hardly know them in their womanly 
 attire. 
 
 "But — but," as we soliloquize, "it'll never do to 
 protest; the youngsters will have their way; we know 
 this from experience; complain, we do occasionally, 
 only to be told we are out of touch with the times. As 
 a result, we keep thinking, and yet pay the millinery 
 bills as one after the other is thrust under our eyes by 
 the youngest, who is always sent to reconcile the "old 
 man" to the inevitable. Grumble? Of course, for 
 where in the broad universe is there a man with a 
 "growed-up" family who isn't disposed to do a little 
 grumbling with the check-book resorted to daily? 
 
108 Cherished Memories. 
 
 The check-book! well, after all, paying bills by check 
 isn't half as aggravating as to be compelled to count 
 out the ten-dollar bills one after the other. Have ye 
 ever thought, ye fathers, how easy it is to write out a 
 check for a hundred or two? Then, the number of 
 lesser ones in paying gas, telephone, grocery and other 
 bills that keep accumulating from week to week. Yes, 
 after all, it's to checks that may be attributed our 
 twentieth-century extravagant tendencies. 
 
 In the olden days it was somewhat different ; then the 
 "old" man held the long, silver purse close within 
 his grasp; and as others have occasion to know, it was 
 with no little persuasion he could be prevailed upon to 
 open it. And bless you, when at last the little round 
 silver rings let out its contents, they were usually a 
 few fippanybits, levies, quarters, and maybe, a stray 
 half-dollar with its edges worn off, so long had it been 
 kept within the old purse. But the big, round silver 
 dollars, bank-notes and gold-pieces; these were usually 
 stored away for safe keeping, but where? None 
 knew but the old gentleman himself. It must have 
 been somewhere up stairs, so often did he stroll up and 
 back until he could make up his mind to disturb the 
 old bureau drawer. Yes, yes! with a shake of the head, 
 I've reached the conclusion that if anyone deserves the 
 noose of the hangman, it's the fellow who first invented 
 the check-book! 
 
 Ah, but notes, on the other hand, can be tolerated 
 for the reason that, as a rule they have from thirty to 
 ninety days to run, with the chance of the maker allow- 
 ing the "endorser" the pleasure of lifting them on 
 
Lifting a Note. 109 
 
 maturity. And of all the innocent diversions, that of 
 lifting another man's note, is the most gratifying. 
 Do you doubt it? Well, if so disposed, it'll be taking 
 you only one short minute, a stub-pen, and a small 
 quantity of ink to accomodate a friend in need. Under 
 this act of generosity, you rest content until the note 
 goes to protest. And then what? Well, never mind 
 the what ; go lift it and charge to profit and loss. Later, 
 perchance, you'll be repaid by being invited to partake 
 of a hundred-dollar "set-out" by a friend, at your own 
 expense. 
 
 Leaving this most delightful subject for "endorsers" 
 to dwell upon at their leisure, and getting back to the 
 girls — I am compelled in all candor to admit that, 
 before my tenth year, I had taken a mortal dislike to 
 my eldest sister; the others I could browbeat or win 
 over with a handful of delicious "love-letters." when 
 so carefully wrapped with a motto by our boy-friend 
 the South Queen street Doctor, growing a little old, but 
 the same warm-hearted man to-day as when in the days 
 of old he stood in his father's confectionery store. 
 
 As has been said, I could manage those younger 
 than myself, not so with the meddler with a boy's 
 greatest pleasures. Yes, this bright-eyed sister of mine 
 was everlastingly a thorn in my side. Indeed, what 
 she couldn't find out wasn't worth the while of Joe 
 Brientnall, the High Constable, or the sleepy night 
 watchman, who went his way by night calling out the 
 hours for no other earthly reason than to let the 
 sleeper understand that he was at all hours in evi- 
 dence. It wasn't enough for him to stand in front of 
 
110 Cherished Memories. 
 
 our house calling out, "P-a-s-t two o'clock, un' it 
 drizziliest, un' it frizziest, un' down cume der rain!" 
 No ! for he was sure to give two or three raps with the 
 handle of his cane, and then go his way to encase him- 
 self in his little watch-box which, on Hallow E'en, was 
 sure to find itself, he knew not where. 
 
 But to that sister. Oh! how I hated her! Go 
 where I would, or do what I might, I was sure to be 
 brought to a strict account. If I returned home after 
 playing "baggs" along the Conestoga, with a story 
 warranted to deceive even a twentieth-century detec- 
 tive, there stood facing the young "innocent" that 
 meddlesome sister. How this inquisitive youngster 
 kept herself informed, I could never learn. As to any 
 of my cronies turning tale-bearers — well I knew they 
 would lie themselves blue in the face before consenting 
 to divulge, of their own volition, any innocent boyish 
 amusement, even to the extent of robbing a water- 
 melon patch. And for this reason, I have always had 
 a certain contempt for the boy tale-bearer only too 
 ready to bear witness against his best friend. On the 
 other hand, I have always admired the lad who man- 
 fully steps forward saying, "Teacher, I did it with my 
 little hatchet." 
 
 What was still more aggravating, I was forever 
 being reminded of my "get-up," and the effect of evil 
 communication with other bad boys, upon good 
 character. If my hands needed scrubbing more than 
 once in fortnight, or hair brushing out with something 
 finer than a curry-comb, there was the fault-finder 
 morning, noon and evening, with water, comb and 
 brush. Oh, glory! how I hated her! 
 
An Outraged Stomach, 111 
 
 And now, recalling George Washington and his little 
 hatchet, I am in duty bound, as a warning to other 
 boys to relate an episode. Early one summer evening 
 after my first experiment with the noxious "weed," 
 I was led to the door by a few of my cronies who, after 
 telling my mother I had over-indulged myself with too 
 many paddy-cakes, they vamoosed as suddenly as they 
 came. Yes, I was sick unto death with what she 
 thought was a case of measles or scarlet fever. There, 
 in my little bed I lay trying to overcome the nausea 
 that had been playing hide and seek with an outraged 
 stomach, with my younger sisters standing by my 
 bed-side weeping their eyes out for my speedy re- 
 covery, as mother poured into me a dose of calomel 
 jalap. But that eldest sister knew what had happened 
 before my making an open confession that never, 
 never, would I ever again, use the insidious weed in 
 any form. But alas! how soon are promises, made 
 under fear of going to the bad place, broken with im- 
 punity! In my case, it required little more than a 
 week to fall from grace. 
 
 As a result, with no desire to set myself up as an 
 example for others to follow, the naked truth com- 
 pels me to declare that forever after I was a user of the 
 vile stuff in the shape of a cigar. However, I had one 
 "credit-mark;" I never chewed "terbacker;" nor have 
 I ever drifted in to the abominable habit of indulging 
 myself in a cigarette or of " chewing-gum," a practice 
 more unbecoming to the young girls of this twentieth 
 century than that of chewing tobacco in the olden days. 
 
 What might have been the effect on the "boy- 
 
112 Cherished Memories. 
 
 smoker" of sixty years ago, had the subject of hygiene 
 and narcotics been taught in the public schools, I have 
 no means of knowing. The chances are that, after a 
 lesson or two, I should have followed the example of 
 this generation's precocious youngster, who, when out 
 of reach of the moral influence of the teacher, starts to 
 proving the truth or untruth of the precept by taking a 
 puff or two. 
 
 Of course, up to the breaking out of the war, the 
 expense attending a quiet "smoke" wasn't very costly, 
 a big copper cent going pretty far along the line of 
 economy. At this juncture I might have broken the 
 habit except for the fact that the General Government 
 needed additional revenue, and as I was without 
 property holdings, how better could I contribute my 
 share to the Nation's immediate needs and wants? 
 
 With this satisfactory apology, I was along about 
 this time driven into a condition of "bondage." Oh, 
 to think of a youth of my tender years being compelled 
 to wade clear through the holy Book from Genesis to 
 Revelations! But as there was a premium offered 
 by our Sunday School teacher, Miss Benjamin, to the 
 one to be the first to complete the volume, I like a duti- 
 ful son, managed to skip along, leaving out a few 
 chapters here and there; and as to the "jaw-breakers" 
 — these I would skip over with as little compunction 
 of conscience as I would a five-rail fence for a rosy 
 peach. 
 
 And now, after looking back over my earlier boy- 
 hood days, how thrice doubly thankful am I to feel that 
 I had an older sister to guide my erring footsteps along 
 
Value of a Sister. 113 
 
 and over many a little chasm, so common to the aver- 
 age city boy now as then. Let it be repeated : The boy 
 who has never had a sister, be it one or many, should 
 lose no time in going in search of one. If, as has been 
 said, "What is home without a mother?" it may with 
 equal force be said, "What is home without a sister?" 
 The foregoing are but "crumbs swept up" along the 
 pathway of a boy's life. The brighter "jewels" — the 
 lads who have since developed into men of standing 
 and prominence as leaders in the great cause of the 
 city and county's prosperity — these remain for the 
 local historian to set forth in the pages of history. 
 The "crumbs" by others overlooked — these I have 
 attempted to gather into concrete form without the 
 slightest regard for the writer's personality appearing 
 too conspicuously in the lime-light of the modern day 
 critic, ever disposed to profit by the shortcomings of 
 others. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Getting Employment — The County Fair in the 
 
 Fifties — Steffy — "Toodler" — Jake Parks. 
 
 Hiram Kroom. 
 
 IF, in the foregoing, the writer has indulged himself 
 in a good many things that are old and others that 
 are of little interest to the younger reader, the fault 
 must be attributed to his years. However, in passing 
 from town to country there may be sufficient diversity 
 to make amends for such discrepancies as the previous 
 chapters contain. 
 
 Getting back to boyhood, on reaching my fourteenth 
 year, like most other growing lads, I naturally began 
 to look 'round for such permanent employment as 
 might best boost a youngster along in the world. As 
 there were no "umbrella factories" and other such 
 industries as have since made this city a Paradise 
 of "child labor," I became imbued with the desire to 
 becoming a blacksmith in the shop of the late Daniel 
 Werntz in the rear of the Balloonist John Wise's 
 home opposite the Grubb estate. It wasn't long, how- 
 ever, until I had stepped with my bare left foot on a 
 piece of hot iron in the shape of a horseshoe when I 
 suddenly changed my mind, something not unusual 
 even at the present day for boys born tired. Although 
 somewhat superstitious, at no time since could I be 
 persuaded to hang one of these disturbers of my 
 peaceful moments over the door of my bedroom as 
 a sign of good luck. No, I wouldn't give the snap of 
 
 114 
 
I Become a Clothing Salesman. 115 
 
 my finger for all the new or worn out horseshoes since 
 the first quadruped came over on Hendrick Hudson's 
 Dutch ship. In no way discouraged over this slight 
 mishap, I went my way in search of such other em- 
 ployment where horseshoes were nowhere in evidence. 
 
 In view of the fact that I had traveled "some," I 
 resolved to turn balloonist while assisting "Charlie" 
 in unrolling and varnishing the long rolls of silk in his 
 father's back yard. Whether I was conscious at the 
 time that at some future day I might go soaring over 
 the English Channel or down over the Hudson in a 
 monoplane, memory fails to recall. Nor can I re- 
 member at this late day whether it was the gas that 
 gave out or a storm that prevented my taking a seat in 
 the wicker-basket in going in search of the later much- 
 discussed Halley's comet's tail. What I do remember 
 is, the balloon was inflated on the plot of ground 
 where, among others, stands the residence of the Hon. 
 W. U. Hensel. 
 
 Compelled to live out my days on terra firma, as 
 good luck would have it, in the Spring of '51 I entered 
 Reuben Erben's Clothing Store on North Queen near 
 Orange, and where for three years I continued on "big" 
 days, such as April first, Whitmonday and Circus-day, 
 to act as salesman. 
 
 In the carrying of packages, notably on April first, 
 I usually found time to stroll down to Steinman's hard- 
 ware store, where an ample "spread" was provided for 
 their Dutch customers, who seldom failed to lay in a 
 good supply of substantial. Indeed, so alluring had 
 the "feasting" become in the fifties, as to cause at 
 
116 Cherished Memories. 
 
 least one other hardware man later to take at intervals 
 a half dozen Germans to his home at the noon-hour. 
 Then, to top the meal off with a ' ' half-sp anish ! " Why, 
 it's the easiest way of building up a profitable business 
 at the least possible cost. What mattered it if in the 
 purchase of a stove, the pipe consisted of but one single 
 elbow-joint. 
 
 Passing these little episodes, even a growing boy 
 couldn't help noticing during '51-'52, the beginning 
 of a new era for the town. Over on East King, the 
 thrifty John N. Lane had set the ball of improvement 
 rolling by erecting a new store of sandstone with metal 
 shutters that could be raised and lowered with the 
 greatest ease. So far in advance was he over other 
 merchants who had to bang theirs shut nightly, mak- 
 ing the streets look as if they had gone into mourning 
 for one of their class, as to cause him to be looked upon 
 as the foremost business man in the city. 
 
 It is scarcely conceivable to note the change between 
 then and now, with store-windows of plate-glass before 
 which hundreds stand during a Christmas-Eve, filled 
 to overflowing with such an assortment of gifts as to 
 have turned the heads of the merchants of half a cen- 
 tury ago, topsy-turvy. 
 
 During the early fifties, signs of improvement every- 
 where met the eye. The cotton mills began to loom 
 up with evidence that a newer order of business thrift 
 had set in. But in the midst of this seeming prosperity, 
 came a lamentable bank-failure. As Lancaster has 
 always been quick to recover from these periodical 
 upheavals, things soon began to assume their normal 
 status. 
 
STEFFY 
 
The County Fair. 117 
 
 On the Fourth of July, '51, amid the booming of 
 cannon, the people celebrated the seventy-fifth anni- 
 versary of American Independance. Later, beginning 
 October 19, came the opening-day of the Lancaster 
 County Agricultural Fair, held a short distance north 
 of the Groffstown road, midway between that and the 
 Philadelphia and Lancaster Turnpike. And what 
 a glorious time for the country-boys who had come 
 with their sweethearts to see the sights. 
 
 It was during this week that the "Museum" was in 
 full blast with Daniel Boone's club, with which he had 
 killed all the Indians in the state of Kentucky, as one 
 of the attractions. In an open lot not far removed 
 were the "Flying Horses," with the "Indians" perform- 
 ing their acrobatic evolutions. In still another tent 
 were the "India-rubber" horse, and the "Wild Man 
 of Borneo" with the grind-organ turning out its 
 sweetest melodies for the edification of the country 
 lads with a few of those older in years measuring 
 swords with the "light-fingered" gentry, usually 
 departing wiser if not happier. 
 
 But since we come to think it over, what's "Fair- 
 Week" for, anyway, if not to cater to the wants of 
 the unsophistocated "innocents" whether from town 
 or country? A little of this world's experience gather- 
 ed early in life and profited by is more wholesome than 
 to be unconsciously entrapped into the many snares 
 when one has passed his half-century milestone. 
 
 Referring again to the "Museum," we have no 
 recollection of ever having met "Steffy" posing as a 
 "dwarf" or strolling 'round taking in the sights. We 
 
118 Cherished Memories. 
 
 have, however, a very distinct reminder of having seen 
 Ben Mishler's protege, who, usually when in the city, 
 made his home with the man who built a house in a 
 single day of ten hours. 
 
 It's been said that on one occasion Steffy was ap- 
 proached by a showman, who on learning he had 
 passed his century-mark, offered him a good round 
 sum to travel with the show as a freak. The bargain 
 having been consummated, Steffy asked time to con- 
 sult his father before leaving home. "Your father, 
 your father! Why, why, where in the thunder is 
 your father?" "Oh, he's up-stairs nursing grand- 
 father, " came as he started to go his way. 
 
 "Steffy," whose portrait is seen opposite, was born 
 and reared somewhere in the eastern part of the county. 
 Only four feet in height, with body out of all proportion 
 to the length of his pedal extremities, and half-century- 
 old stovepipe hat perched on the top of his well-shaped 
 cranium, with a long, black stogie between his teeth, 
 our prototype coidd be looked for after each important 
 election with the returns securely stored away in the 
 crown of his steeple-shaped headgear. Stepping into 
 the headquarters of the "Thugs" and spreading out 
 the tally-sheet before the coterie of political bosses, 
 Steffy stood prepared for any changes which might 
 make things solid for "Mulhooly, " as the saying went. 
 
 Whether this product of the Welsh-mountain dis- 
 trict had imbibed too much of Mishler's Bitters of 
 labels of different quality, has escaped our storehouse 
 of memory, which, at times has been in the habit of 
 "leaking" when least expected. 
 
' TOODLER RICHARDSON 
 
"Toodler" Richardson. 119 
 
 Glancing with a sort of inward satisfaction at a re- 
 cently acquired half-tone, mailed the autobiographer 
 by a leading citizen, I am lost in reverie, as my eyes 
 take in none other than that of "Willie," otherwise 
 known to the town as "Toodler," painter, glazier, and 
 all-round handy man, always ready in a pinch to 
 turn a willing hand in the line of his calling to serve 
 a friend. 
 
 It was " Willie " who, when called to varnish a mahog- 
 any door or a grand-father's eight-day clock, would 
 just as likely give it a coat of the vilest black, green or 
 blue. Then, if a single pane needed replacing, the 
 owner was fortunate if he didn't have a few others 
 needing attention. 
 
 However, we must picture "Tood" as we found him 
 sitting on a barrel, happy, contented, done up in a 
 piccadilly collar and red necktie with cheeks of ver- 
 milion red and moustache of cosmetic black. But, 
 oh, glory! what a sight to behold when the perspiration 
 began to flow and the colors mix, with the thermom- 
 eter up in the nineties. It was then that all 'round 
 handy "Willie" was a subject for the artist's pencil or 
 the photographer's camera. Apart from his grotesque 
 appearance when not under the influence of too many 
 mint juleps, Toodler was a useful citizen. One or two 
 he could withstand, but the third, as many another 
 has discovered, compelled him to remain over night in 
 or on a barrel. 
 
 Taking the next half-tone in hand, and holding it 
 before the sun's rays to bring out the lines of the por- 
 trait, we are almost overcome with a congestive chill 
 
120 Cherished Memories. 
 
 as we glance it over. " None other than the inimitable 
 'Jake Parks'" we soliloquize, as we look it over more 
 critically. Reaching Lancaster at the time of the 
 landing of the first African ship on American soil, Jake 
 is going to live as long as there's a push-cart to push 
 or a banjo to play. After all, what matters it if during 
 a February blizzard, Jake is encased in the supple- 
 ments of all the discarded Sunday newspapers as a 
 preventive against certain epidemics common the 
 world over. 
 
 "Yes, yes, it's many a long day since we last heard 
 the ring of his voice and the strains of his banjo in the 
 'Yellow-Front' cigar store. While not a professional 
 of the late Charlie Loag order, he had a way of man- 
 ipulating the strings of his banjo for a few stray 
 nickels to charm the hearts of his hearers, of both high 
 and low degree. But Jake, too, is happy ever since 
 he sat before the camera to have his picture taken." 
 
 Drifting back to the "Museum," the place where 
 the boys of the fifties used to congregate, we have no 
 recollection of ever having seen Mammy Staines on 
 exhibition, but we are not so short of memory as to 
 overlook at least four old mammys — Mammy Jordon, 
 Mammy Bender, of "sparemint" fame, Mammy Hag- 
 garty and Mammy Staines, with her hoop-skirts of 
 • enormous size, resembling a small circus tent, such as 
 "Boogy" Hambright used to tote 'round the country. 
 
 The oldest and best remembered of this quartette 
 is Mammy Haggarty, who usually held forth in front 
 of the State-house. On one occasion, for which there 
 
JAKE PAKKS 
 
Mammy Haggarty. 121 
 
 are no records to confirm its truthfulness, something 
 occurred during an important trial in the Penn Square 
 Court-house. Holding a bottle of fermented mead 
 in the direction of court and judge, the cork went 
 sailing through the open window and striking the 
 venerable justice on the side of his wig, caused a 
 regular stampede for Reigart's liquor store for a little 
 something more appetizing than the flavor of a cork 
 from a bottle of Mammy Haggerty's home-made 
 beer. 
 
 Anyone strolling down North Queen during the 
 fifties from the "Museum" to the "Grape," might 
 have fallen in with many an eccentric character, one 
 of whom comes in mind. To imitate a short-set 
 German's vernacular was a boy's greatest delight; 
 and so, in passing old "Oscar's" place of business, it 
 was singular if one or more glancing into his store 
 wouldn't call out, "Jakey, tie der dog loose; Jakey, 
 lock der key un' puts der door in yer pocket." And 
 it was only the coming of one of the town's constables, 
 calling "Get a move-on, or I'll send you to the lock-up 
 on a barrow, you young heathen," that gave Oscar 
 rest from the torments of the town's hoodlums. 
 
 However, to pass the "Grape," presided over by 
 the two Michael brothers, would be to forget the 
 literati who used to congregate around the "cannon" 
 stove during frosty evenings. Among the best known 
 was none other than Colonel Dittmars, or "Ditt," as 
 he was called, as he went his way, leaning on his 
 staff. 
 
122 Cherished Memories. 
 
 On one occasion, as the story runs, he had just re- 
 turned from Niagara, where he had taken his educated 
 "Betsy" to see the sights. Standing before the bar, 
 with a coterie of his chums, he exclaimed, in sonorous 
 voice, "Gentlemen, I took Betsy to see the wonder 
 of the world — to Niagara. As I stood pointing to 
 the rapids, with the waters rushing down through 
 the whirlpool, I turned to the old lady and said, 
 'Where before, in all of the Good Man's handiwork, 
 did you ever see a more magnificent panorama? Ah, 
 yes, Betsy,' I went on, 'cast your eyes here, there 
 and everywhere, and tell Ditt where in the heavens 
 above or in the waters under the earth, another 
 Niagara can be found?' 
 
 "At last, at last, after exhausting my vocabulary 
 of descriptive adjectives, that educated Betsy turned 
 and said, 'Why, Ditt, where's the mill?' 
 
 '"The mill! Great heavens, Betsy!' And with this 
 I brought her back to the Conestoga where she might 
 see the stone grist-mill and hear the wheels go 'round." 
 
 And yet if Betsy had lived a half century longer, 
 she might have gone to Niagara and seen the wheels 
 go 'round, in sending the electric current to turn the 
 wheels in thousands of industries. 
 
 Great Scott! just as we are about to conclude the 
 town's galaxy of celebrities, here comes a long, ten- 
 page letter with the half-tone enclosed. Removing it 
 from its snug hiding place, our eyes at once take in 
 the image of "Hiram," the scissors' grinder and bari- 
 tonist, who years ago used to sing in nearly all the 
 
HIRAM KEOOM 
 
Hiram Kroom. 123 
 
 church choirs. One glance at his profile and his 
 identity is at once established. 
 
 "Hiram" had no counterpart in the circle in which 
 he moved, being at all times a peculiar character unto 
 himself, possibly, for the reason that at an early age 
 he was disappointed in love. Many, indeed, were the 
 times, while leaning over his machine, he would un- 
 consciously hum the few lines he had dedicated to 
 his beautiful Maria, who had so cruelly turned him 
 down for another unworthy of her love. Born in 
 Ireland, he made but one trip to his native land, but 
 whether in search of the girl who had jilted him, he 
 never could be prevailed upon to disclose. However, 
 on his return he was wont to say, "Ireland was good 
 enough for Hiram as a boy; but America, the 'land of 
 the free and the home of the brave,' is the one place 
 for the scissors grinder to end his days." And here 
 he ended them not so many years ago. 
 
 Blessed with an over-amount of self-assurance, his 
 baritone voice, apart from the jingle of his bell, was 
 sufficient for any housewife to tell that Hiram, the 
 scissors grinder, was in evidence. His favorite ex- 
 pression on meeting anyone of a family was "And 
 how are the children?" 
 
 Throwing myself back in the old arm-chair, I begin 
 to chuckle inwardly as I recall " Shinnerhonnis " and 
 "Georgie Kuhns," the old colored denizen who used 
 to sleep in a ramshakle of a car in the rear of Thaddeus 
 Stevens' residence, with little "Ikey" as his bosom 
 companion. Then there was Jesse Britton, who, on 
 
124 Cherished Memories. 
 
 being sent for a beefsteak or a slice of ham during 
 August, always carried it in the crown of his hat to 
 keep it from being devoured by the pestiferous fly, 
 as numerous in those days as are the mosquitoes on 
 the Jersey coast. Old "Black Ellen" and "Shouting 
 Hanna!" Hanna was sure to get religion at the 
 shouting "Holy Roller's" colored meeting regularly 
 once an evening, only to fall from grace the morning 
 following. 
 
 "Hi, ho! And what can this contain?" I mumble 
 as I break the seal. Oh, yes, some good friend hasn't 
 forgotten blind "Johnny!" How many years he's 
 been siting with back against the telegraph pole at 
 Hirsh's corner entertaining the country boys and 
 girls! Once he was young, now he's feeling the ap- 
 proach of age, and yet he's industriously playing the 
 accordion at the "old stand." Drop, then, a penny 
 into his wooden box and you'll have the pleasure of 
 knowing you're helping the blind, the needy. 
 
 Again, whose likeness is this? Can I be mistaken? 
 Oh, no! it carries one back to war-times — to "Father 
 Abraham," and the late Ed. Rauch's "Pete Schifne- 
 brenner." This small sheet of Dutch dialect was 
 peddled years ago by "Baker," who, while not as 
 musical nor as young as forty years ago, is still on the 
 town actively engaged in selling the John Baer's 
 Dutch and English Almanac. Cheerful, happy, amid 
 all his adversities, "Baker" may yet be seen on the 
 "Square" dealing out the annual weather reports 
 which the "Dutch" prefer to rely upon rather than 
 on "Old Prob's" uncertain daily predictions, hitting 
 
BLIND .IOHXNY 
 
Baker Young. 125 
 
 it one day and missing it the next. Lend, then, 
 Baker a helping hand in the hour of his needs, rather 
 than to wait the time to be sending a few roses to deco- 
 rate his humble tomb. And so say we all. 
 
 Before drawing this, the last chapter on "city life," 
 to a close, it may be said that, for a period of three 
 years, from my fourteenth to my seventeenth year, 
 the total wages received, at $1.50 per week, amounted 
 to the magnificent yearly sum of -$78.00, most of it 
 going into the hands of the family: And yet, during 
 these happy years I had a royal time, as pleasures 
 went in those days, with never a thought of spending 
 a summer at the seashore. As familiar as I had be- 
 come with "city life," the reader may in due time 
 learn that the beginning of life over again in the 
 country wasn't, for a time at least, a bed of roses. I 
 had much to learn that a city text-book in no way 
 afforded. The contrast to follow may well repay the 
 •reader in comparing rural life of more than half a cen- 
 tury ago with what it is to-day. Apart from any de- 
 sire to hold my early life as an example for others to 
 follow, I was always ambitious, and ever since I've 
 had only contempt for the boy who isn't willing to 
 "stick" at whatever his hands may find to do until 
 something better comes along. To linger by the way- 
 side and never look forward is to go backward. And 
 once a young man goes sliding down the hill of life the 
 chances of success are as one in a hundred. Speaking 
 from experience, never give up one position until you 
 are sure a better one is awaiting you. And as a con- 
 cluding truism., the most critical time of a youth's life 
 
126 Cherished Memories. 
 
 is from birth down to the seventeenth year. Bridge 
 well over this chasm and you will have done an act 
 worthy of all praises, be ye teacher or parent. And 
 now to the continuation of the narative. 
 
BAKEE YOUNG 
 
PART II. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Leave Lancaster for Paradise — Experiences 
 En Route. 
 
 HAVING given an account of my boyhood experi- 
 ences in "Old Lancaster," it will now be neces- 
 sary to invite the reader's attention to the Spring of 
 '54 when I became a pilgrim to Paradise. 
 
 As another of those singular coincidences, it was 
 some time during February of the above-named year 
 that a tall, slenderly-built countryman called at our 
 house on a mission little differing from that of a half- 
 score years before when, at the age of seven, we left 
 for Leesburg, Virginia. 
 
 Without entering largely into details, the conver- 
 sation between Mr. Samuel Brua and father ran as 
 follows : He had started a manufacturing industry less 
 than a dozen miles east of the city of Lancaster, and 
 had come to secure a foreman with a thorough knowl- 
 edge of what the new "plant" required. Among 
 other things, he was overheard to remark that he was 
 desirous of securing the right to manufacture a corn- 
 sheller of which father held letters of patent, mention 
 of which was made in a previous chapter. 
 
 Little of interest was manifested by myself, who 
 sat behind the wood-stove to be seen, not heard, until 
 
 127 
 
128 Cherished Memories. 
 
 I overheard the remark that his place of business was 
 along the Pequea, a short distance removed from a 
 village called Paradise, some of whose dwellers were 
 Huguenots, others Scotch-Irish, with still others re- 
 siding nearby of the Mennonite persuasion. Who 
 they were and what they were I had not the slightest 
 means of knowing, for at no time within my recollec- 
 tion as a boy, had the subject of local history been 
 taught in any of the public schools of the town. Then, 
 as nothing had occured to take me country-bound 
 beyond the big Conestoga bridge, like most of the 
 other boys of the city, I was satisfied to paddle my 
 own canoe within its limits of two square miles. 
 
 And now, having declared somewhat apologetically 
 my lamentable ignorance of "country-life," I can 
 truthfully go a step further by saying that the only 
 Paradise I could at the moment recall came as the 
 result of a Sabbath-school lesson of that faraway 
 "Garden of Eden," which I now associated with this 
 earthly Paradise. This delusion led me to picture in 
 my mind's eye the pearly streets of Paradise, with its 
 "celestials" enrobed, if not in the Millerite garb, such 
 as I had seen down in Leesburg, at least in one equally 
 becoming to the dwellers — the Huguenots, Scotch- 
 Irish and Mennonites. At one moment, I was almost 
 ready to blurt out my entire willingness to leave this 
 town of Hades for Paradise, where the wicked cease 
 from troubling and the weary are at rest, including 
 myself, of course, as one of the weary, leaving all my 
 past sins for the Lime Streeters to settle at their 
 leisure. 
 
ill 
 
 :. 
 
 
 f> 
 
 SB/ JB 
 
 Hsk 
 
 IK 
 
 
 9 v^Bj V'. 
 'J BJ*B* Bj "41 
 
 IBF* -, 
 
 
 
 BMBflfi 
 
 ■ ■» — — 
 
 " MAMMY STAINES 
 
Town versus Country. 129 
 
 This hypnotic condition I can attribute to my 
 Sabbath-day teacher, who, as regularly as the hour 
 came, would hold before my imagination the pearly 
 streets of the "celestial" Paradise, where all good 
 boys might expect to find an abiding place. 
 
 Be this as it may, a few words may be said of 
 "country life" of fifty-six years ago, when scarcely 
 more than sixty per cent, of the soil was under culti- 
 vation. As far back as our recollection extends, on 
 both sides of the two turnpikes running in an easterly 
 direction from within a mile or two of the town of 
 Lancaster, were heavy timber tracts making it dan- 
 gerous for boys to venture upon. Unlike to-day, 
 there were no street cars nor automobiles. Besides 
 the one line of railroad was the rickety stage coach, 
 a half dozen or more departing six days out of seven 
 for the extremities of the county. There was one 
 other means of transportation, the "new plank road," 
 extending to the conservative town of Manheim. But 
 it wasn't long until the planks began to flare up at 
 the ends, causing it to be abandoned by the "sporting 
 fraternity." 
 
 Again, there was, at the time of which we write, a 
 feeling of antipathy on the part of the dwellers of the 
 rural districts against those of the town, and vice versa. 
 A paragraph from one of the Lancaster papers reads: 
 "It is difficult to account for the intense opposition 
 which prevails in certain sections of the county 
 against the people of the city." As a result, few 
 country boys in the fifties came except to enter a 
 store or a profession. And even many who arrived 
 9 
 
130 Cherished Memories. 
 
 on gala days were oftentimes made to feel that their 
 absence was more to be desired than their presence. 
 The same with the town boys prowling 'round over 
 the country, at times to return wiser if not happier. 
 "Town boys for the town and country boys for the 
 country," if not one of the unwritten mandates, acted 
 as a restraint in keeping the two sections in a measure 
 separate and apart. This is not meant to infer that 
 there weren't times when an "inrush" to the city gave 
 the town a holiday appearance, as on market days and 
 others; for there has never been a time when Lancas- 
 ter wasn't the center of trade and commerce. On the 
 other hand, there was a time within the memory of 
 the oldest inhabitant when few of the rural dwellers 
 could be induced to exchange a country home for that 
 of the town's. The turning of the tide from country 
 to city may be traced to the home-coming of the 
 "boys" from the war of the Rebellion. Having seen 
 life as they had never seen it before, thousands refused 
 to go back to the farm after having become more 
 closely in touch with the centers of population. 
 
 With all of a boy's hopes and aspirations centering 
 around "city life," it is in no way strange that, in my 
 seventeenth year, I should have conjured in my imagi- 
 nation all kind of notions, many of which were in 
 time to be dispelled like dew before the morning's 
 sun. 
 
 At last, after two months of anxious waiting, the 
 first of April came, with a six-horse Conestoga wagon, 
 at early sunrise, ready to convey our household effects 
 to old Paradise. Whatever may have escaped my 
 
A Parting Present. 
 
 131 
 
 memory during the past five decades, the sound of 
 the jingling of the bells on the hems of the six iron 
 grays remains, never to be effaced. 
 
 As the other members of the family excepting 
 "Terry," the terrior, and myself took the steam road, 
 to be on hand when the goods arrived, it remained 
 for the only boy to take a seat on the off-mare, for what 
 reason I know not, except to protect the more costly 
 
 CONESTOGA WAGON. 
 
 of our mahogany furniture and silverware from falling 
 into the hands of one or more of the Huguenots, 
 should either attempt to waylay the team enroute to 
 Paradise. 
 
 And here let it be said, as an historical statement, 
 that the only parting present received by the writer 
 was a rib-bound history of the county as he was about 
 to step into the saddle. This present I accepted 
 from a friend with the request that I make it my 
 guide and companion as I went my way to enter upon 
 
132 Cherished Memories. 
 
 that newer life to me at the moment, so full of unseen 
 possibilities. 
 
 In addition to this little appreciated bulky volume, 
 which I enclosed within my coat, I was followed by a 
 coterie of the Lime street gang as far as Witmer's 
 bridge, beyond which it wasn't safe for them to ven- 
 ture for fear of being lost, requiring the constables to 
 start out with bells in hand, as had only too frequently 
 been the case when one of the more venturesome of 
 the town-lads failed to return after night had set in. 
 
 Proud! Never before, except on my trip on horse- 
 back from Leesburg to Washington, had I ever felt 
 prouder than while sitting by the driver's side. And 
 now, to describe his appearance, in shirt sleeves with 
 buckskin breeches scarcely reaching below the tops 
 of his raw-hides, and black brim felt hat pressed well 
 down over his head of long hair of deepest black with 
 a few strands of silvery gray! That he was built for 
 work, his stalwart frame clearly indicated, leading me 
 to the conclusion that, if a resident of Paradise, he 
 been sent to prepare the soil for the "celestials" who, 
 if given to work at all, it wasn't with their hands. 
 
 However, all went well as we jogged our way over 
 the macadam road to the tingling of the bells, until 
 I had asked him such a flood of questions as to the 
 kind of people I was to meet down in Paradise, as to 
 cause him to view this inquisitive "greenie" with a 
 look of down-right credulity, if not curiosity. 
 
 That he was of "Dutch" ancestry, his idiom made 
 only too clear, leading his interviewer to divine that 
 if he was a living specimen of the village dwellers 
 
Invited to Visit Mennonite. 133 
 
 with whom I was so soon to cast my lot, the sooner 
 I retraced my steps the happier I should be. What 
 annoyed me most was his persistence in speaking a 
 mixture of German and English, repeatedly asking, 
 in his quaint way, "Kendst nicht der deitsch sprecha?" 
 At last, to my satisfaction, I was to learn that he 
 wasn't of Huguenot descent, nor a resident of Paradise, 
 but a Mennonite farmer, residing some miles north of 
 the pike, nearby what was known as the "King's 
 Highway," but where located I know not and cared 
 less — the village I was on the lookout for was Para- 
 dise. 
 
 Being of a happy, jolly turn, ever ready to crack 
 a joke in broken English, we managed to get along 
 fairly weU until reaching the Mennonite meeting house, 
 on the crest of a hill, when I concluded to rest my 
 stiffened limbs by jogging my way along on foot, 
 scarcely realizing the distance yet to be covered before 
 I should enter the pearly streets of Paradise! Indeed, 
 so friendly had we become before parting, that he 
 kindly invited me to visit his two-hundred-acre home- 
 stead when occasion took me to the "up" country, 
 and where, nearly a century and a half before, the 
 "Dutch" had settled themselves down in an un- 
 broken wilderness. To this I signified my entire 
 willingness, little dreaming how soon, or under what 
 conditions. As the result of this invitation, as the 
 reader may in due time learn, certain things happened 
 of which at the time I was in no way conscious. 
 
 A moment later as the team passed from view, I 
 was overcome with a feeling of such perfect content- 
 
134 Cherished Memories. 
 
 ment as to drive all thoughts of the town of brick and 
 mortar to the winds. At last I had come in direct 
 touch with Nature, with a language needing but to 
 be understood to make "country life" a thing of 
 beauty and joy forever. However, the next instant, 
 as I turned and caught sight of the spire of the Luth- 
 eran steeple, a reaction set in, overcoming poor me 
 with a feeling of home-sickness such as I had never 
 but once experienced. A thousand and one recollec- 
 tions of the boys who had gathered 'round the Lime 
 Street Bridge began to set my heart-strings to throb- 
 bing like the reel of an old-fashioned spinning wheel. 
 With these came others, causing me to regret that I 
 had ever been so foolish as to think of exchanging the 
 life of the town, so near yet so far, for the village of 
 Paradise, notwithstanding the fact that the sturdy 
 Mennonitc farmer had laughed some of my "celestial" 
 notions clear out of my head. And yet, how little 
 does a seventeen-year-old boy know of that Unseen 
 Power which directs our footsteps, destined, perchance, 
 to shape one's course of life, all for the better. 
 
 As there was no doctor within hailing distance to 
 prescribe for a disease called "homesickness," to 
 throw off the spell was but to cast my eyes in the 
 direction of the morning sun where, before my vision, 
 lay a picture more pleasing and artistically more beau- 
 tiful than that painted by the hand of the town's 
 most accomplished artist. The oaks, maples, hick- 
 ories having just put on their spring raiment of bright- 
 est green, soon began to drive all my former forebod- 
 ings, where, I knew not. Indeed, one blade of grow- 
 
Prone to Forget Old Friends. 135 
 
 ing grain contained more beauty, more richness of 
 color, more delicacy of shading than the grandest 
 etching in the parlors of the well-to-do over in Lan- 
 caster. Here, as I stood on the crest of the hill, my 
 mind drifted back to old Leesburg, to the field in 
 which I had discovered the half dozen beautifully- 
 colored Easter eggs so many years before. Sitting 
 myself down on a lone mile-stone on the face of which 
 were inscribed certain letters and numbers, dimmed 
 by age, I drew forth the time-worn history, now my 
 guide, friend and companion, and began to search for 
 the map of the county, to make doubly sure I was on 
 the right road to Paradise, my future home. 
 
 My future home! How could I convince myself 
 that there was any other place under the broad 
 canopy of heaven to compare with "Old Lancaster?" 
 Thrusting the volume within the fold of my coat, I 
 took to glancing over the long list of names I had 
 jotted down in a note-book, of girls and boys whom 
 I had promised to write an eight-page letter at least 
 once a day; yes, particularly the girls, who used to 
 come to visit my inquisitive sister. And yet, after 
 these many years, I am led to exclaim, how prone we 
 are to forget old friends as newer ones come to take 
 their place, as the reader shall in due time learn. 
 
 With this ignoble confession which may fall under 
 the eye of some of my former girl-friends of the 
 middle fifties, have you ever thought, dear reader, 
 how a boy's feelings can fluctuate? One moment they 
 may be up among the nineties, the next, down to the 
 zero point. And yet, after all, it is these little changes 
 
136 Cherished Memories. 
 
 of spirit that count for much in a boy's life. Too much 
 sunshine isn't at all times best; we need the clouds 
 so that we may all the better appreciate the difference 
 between a paddy-cake and a spoonful of calomel jalap. 
 It's, after all, the boy who bumps up against the 
 sharp corners, even should he come out second best, 
 in a tussle, in getting a black eye from his young an- 
 tagonist, who usually comes out first-best in the end. 
 And now to the continuation of my journey to Para- 
 dise. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Held Up by Tramps — A Garrulous Gatekeeper. 
 The Amish Schoolhouse. 
 
 CONTINUING these reminiscences, only those, per- 
 chance, who have passed their three-score can 
 realize that there is a certain glamour that carries one 
 back to irrevocable youth in which distance gives 
 enchantment. Were this otherwise, the writer should 
 never have attempted to set forth what may fall upon 
 the ears of the over-critical-doubters as "dead coals." 
 These dead coals that for more than five decades have 
 been lying dormant in the chamber of memory, we have 
 attempted to kindle into a flame; and in so doing it 
 can hardly be expected that the imagination isn't 
 to give coloring to some of the recollections that may 
 have become dimmed by age. What then is to follow, 
 is the result of personal experience on the one hand 
 and close observation on the other, with such idealism 
 as is permitted the chronicler who seeks to make a 
 faithful portrait of events slightly colored as occasion 
 requires. 
 
 Anyone in starting out from the city of Brotherly 
 Love for the old town of Lancaster, along the Phila- 
 delphia pike, can scarcely fail to notice at intervals 
 of a mile apart certain stone sentinels with letters and 
 numbers engraved thereon, many of which have be- 
 come bedimmed by age, planted over a century ago. 
 
 137 
 
138 Cherished Memories. 
 
 It was then, on one of these time-worn sentinels, I 
 happened to seat myself with the map of the county's 
 history before me, as a means of assuring a lone stroller 
 that he was on the right road to Paradise! And it 
 was while in this uncertain state of mind as to whither 
 I was drifting, that my eyes took in as forlorn a pair of 
 highwaymen as had ever strolled over, what at that 
 time I had mistakenly conceived to be the "King's 
 Highway, " but which I was later to learn, lay some 
 miles to the north — the "Old Road" over which Wash- 
 ington is credited with having traveled on his way to 
 the town of Lancaster during or after Revolutionary 
 times. 
 
 As it so happened, before I could gather my wits 
 together to assert myself, came the pressure of cold steel 
 against my forehead and with it, "Say, pard, can't 
 you be makin' yerself 'gre'ble by sharin' part o' th' 
 milestone with two o' per pals? No use in yer puttin' 
 on style seein' ye're wearin' a suit o' better fixin's so 
 be showin' up yer last 'pull' an' mebbe, it's Jimmy 
 an' Si may be dividin' up with ye after goin' through 
 th' Gatekeeper 'long later in th' day." 
 
 "No use to pander words, Jimmy; no use in wastin' 
 time on th' young striplin'; pull th' trigger on him and 
 go through his pockets later, fur, as he'll diskiver in 
 th' next world a smell o' brimstone's more con-vincin' 
 'an a flow o' moral precepts," added Si, as he stood 
 scanning the long stretch of macadam roadway with 
 his eagle eye. Tapping his pard on the shoulder, 
 came in a more persuasive tone, "Don't be usin' yer 
 gun without givin' th' youngster 'nother chance to be 
 
A Scared Boy. 139 
 
 deliverin' up, seein' he looks like a innocent sort o' a 
 town-stroller, engaged in readin' th' Holy Book, th' 
 kind me own mother handed me 'fore startin' out 
 livin' on th' rich farmers durin' summer an' puttin' 
 up at th' county's 'spense when th' snow's deep on th" 
 highway. " 
 
 "An' now, me tenderfoot," lowering his sharp-shoot- 
 er, "it's a sorrowful task it becomes weuns to be makin' 
 ye to be handin' over yer ready cash, an' yer Sunday 
 fixin's fur that o' a tramp's that's seen its best days. 
 So, be sayin' yer last early mornin' prayers, an' be 
 quick 'bout it, or ye're a goner 'sure's gun's made o' 
 iron." 
 
 In this my first experience with "country-life", the 
 only thing in addition to the foregoing that I can re- 
 call is, " An' now, to be takin' a tramp's 'vice, go back 
 to yer mother an' tell her that for her pious trainin' 
 out of yer Bible, she might have been sendin' on 
 a rough-box fur yer remains." That I was scared 
 beyond the power of words to express, goes without 
 saying. 
 
 In the town from which I had so suddenly departed 
 I was full of the spirit of adventure, courage and self- 
 assurance, ready to assume if needs be, the initiative 
 in a scramble for supremacy in all games of chance. 
 But now, almost at the very threshold of my starting 
 out, all my former daring had turned to sorrow and 
 wormwood. 
 
 However, to regain my perfect equilibrium re- 
 quired but a minute as I took in the sublimity of 
 Nature's handiwork, so interesting in anticipation. 
 
140 Cherished Memories. 
 
 And now, as I stroll the highway after these fifty-six 
 years with only these lone sentinel milestones to bear 
 witness of other days and other scenes, I am at times 
 overcome with a feeling that, after all, my first trip to 
 God's country was in accordance with the regulation 
 of a mysterious Providence. 
 
 Ascending a hill, after applying at a farmhouse for 
 a cup of coffee and a slice of homemade bread, the kind 
 my mother so often baked, I pressed my way forward, 
 hoping against hope to catch but a glimpse of the 
 Conestoga team which was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 After a time, in glancing along the great stretch of 
 pike, my eyes instinctively took in another gate with 
 pole extending the whole distance across the highway. 
 "Oh, ho! only another 'catch-penny' gate to round 
 'up' the Huguenots, Scotch-Irish and Mennonites," I 
 mused as I approached a blink-eyed, middle-aged 
 keeper dozing contentedly on a slab bench before his 
 lone place of habitation. 
 
 Stepping froward with spirits renewed, I exclaimed, 
 tapping him gently on the shoulder, "Good morning, 
 Mr. Gatekeeper; see anything of a Conestoga team 
 with six iron grays passing eastward along the high- 
 way?" Suddenly startled, came, "Three cents, three 
 cents." Then, "Oh, it's only a youngster a-foot; 
 thought sure it was one of Sammy's Dutch farmers 
 always ready to meet the keeper with a ' Goota morr- 
 ier,' forgetting the 'three cents' - owing the gate- 
 keeper." 
 
 "Yes, I see you're still in the land of the living and 
 haven't been done up by the worst pair of tramps it 
 
Sammy, the Gatekeeper, 141 
 
 it was ever my displeasure to meet," came for some- 
 thing more apropos, still feeling the pressure of cold 
 steel against my temple. 
 
 "Glad you've made a lucky escape; so, take a keep- 
 er's advice and don't be caught napping without a gun 
 to be protecting yourself against the scums of creation, 
 ready at any moment to enter a farmer's hennery, 
 carrying off every thing but the coop itself." 
 
 Glancing into my face with his deep, sunken hazel 
 eyes after relieving another passer-by of his "three 
 cents," he broke into an even jollier mood, and in his 
 rambling way continued, "Mebbe, you're in search of a 
 job, as you seem like an honest sort of a chap out from 
 the town on a stroll for your health such as the cities 
 don't afford during these bright Spring mornings. 
 And now," he resumed, drawing his guest to a seat by 
 by his side on the "slab," "if you're of a restful, con- 
 tented turn of mind, it's the gatekeeper who might be 
 employing you for a day or two as a substitute while 
 visiting his own Malinda down at the village church 
 where she's getting rid of some of her past sins at 
 protracted meeting. Ever been down at the mourner's 
 bench? You haven't? Well, if so it be, and single, 
 steer clear of the gal with bee of religion buzzing in 
 your ears, morning, noon and evening, scaring the 
 very shingles off the roof." 
 
 Turning from the humorous, it needs only be said 
 that "Sammy" was no myth, as years after I came to 
 know him more intimately as the gatekeeper a half 
 mile east of Leaman Place at the "cross roads," since 
 made memorable by a tragedy in which a well-known 
 
142 Cherished Memories, 
 
 gatekeeper was cruelly murdered by several high- 
 way tramps, all within the recollection of the people 
 of the county. 
 
 "Sammy" was short of stature, light of weight, with 
 a happy disposition when not aroused to anger. But 
 a word reflecting on his good Malinda, and he would 
 go to her rescue not alone in words, but at times with 
 a grip that sent more than one stronger than himself 
 sprawling to the ground. We well recall how on one 
 occasion, a decade later, he followed the non-payer 
 without coat or hat, on a dog-trot to the Hotel Kinzer, 
 a distance of three miles, and after collecting the 
 "three cents" due the company, went his way back to 
 meet his own Malinda with a smile. With a streak of 
 Irish humor, and a screechy voice, he was the soul of 
 honor. We loved Sammy, for he was kindly disposed, 
 generous to a fault, and as full of reminiscences as he 
 was full of the milk of human kindness. 
 
 During the more than four decades that have gone 
 since I first met this gatekeeper, I have had occasion 
 to know others. And as I pen these lines, how many 
 miles wouldn't I be willing to go to recall many a harsh 
 word as I reached a closed gate on a cold, stormy 
 night. Oftentimes forgetful that these faithful public 
 servants are but human, to hurry, maybe, some good 
 old motherly soul to lift the pole with trembling hand, 
 and then harshly berated for her tardiness, this was a 
 • cruelty for which there was no reasonable excuse. Then 
 to quibble over a penny or two, as she stood with 
 lantern in hand, only too frequently to be compelled 
 to find change for a five-dollar bill, this too, as I've 
 
a 
 o 
 o 
 
An Amish Schoolhouse. 143 
 
 many a time since recalled, was unworthy a man whose 
 motto should be "do unto others as you would be done 
 by." As a gentle hint, let autoists and others take 
 warning. 
 
 Continuing my way along the pike, I hadn't gone far 
 when my eyes took in a brick school house, the first I 
 had seen since leaving the city. As I approached this 
 lone temple standing in a cluster of oaks, I should have 
 passed it by, except for the number of little tots, some 
 of the boys sitting on the fence with their black felt hats 
 well down over their heads, with hair cropped "long" 
 from back to front, and short roundabouts with broad- 
 fall trousers scarcely reaching below the tops of their 
 raw-hide boots. Ah, but the girls, ranging in ages 
 from six to sixteen! In little groups they were huddled 
 together, in their quaint dress of linsey-woolsey, and 
 small sugar-scopped bonnets of sombre color, from 
 which sparkled eyes which shone like silvery beads 
 as they chatted together in their own idiom. 
 
 Being the intermission hour, from the master, an 
 elderly pedagogue of the old school, whom I came to 
 know more intimately in after years, I was surprised 
 to hear this was exclusively an Amish school set apart 
 by the school board alone for the educational training 
 of this particular class of children. The branches taught 
 as I was informed were confined to the four fundamen- 
 tals — reading in the German Bible, spelling, writing 
 and a little arithmetic in the single rule of three. The 
 other branches, geography, history and grammar, 
 were tabooed, as in noway necessary to make good far- 
 mers out of the boys and good housewives out of the 
 
144 Cherished Memories. 
 
 girls. To me, this was a revelation. As young as I 
 was, I couldn't help wondering what kind of human 
 beings their parents were and wherein they differed 
 from the "celestials" I was so soon to meet down in 
 Paradise. 
 
 The longer I conversed, the more I was to learn that 
 there was a wide difference of opinion among the 
 Amish, as they were called, as to the rotundity of the 
 earth, some believing it was flat, others that it was 
 square and a few of the more intelligent that it was 
 spherical in shape. When appealed to for my views 
 on this weighty question, I hadn't any to offer, not 
 having the slightest conception whether it was flat, 
 square or round, nor was I anxious to be informed. 
 
 And to his own, he was equally unconcerned, being 
 willing to teach the subject when required, any way 
 the patrons wanted it taught, whether round, flat or 
 square. And yet, from the following story, related by 
 my pedantic schoolmaster, the reader must judge for 
 himself as to where he stood on this weighty question. 
 
 You know, he went on, as he dangled his pedals over 
 a rail, "that there's a lake over in the old country with 
 no bottom at all ?" 
 
 " Never heard of it, as I can recall, " came my prompt 
 reply. 
 
 "Well, I will tell you all about it. My cousin was 
 showing the pond to a gentleman one day who looked 
 incredulous like, just as you do yourself, and as my 
 cousin couldn't stand to have his word doubted by the 
 fine gentleman, he said: 'By the great Jehovah, I'll 
 prove the truth of my words,' and so, off with his 
 
The Schoolmaster's Science. 145 
 
 clothes and, in he jumped, dived under and he didn't 
 come up again at all, at all. But certain it is he wasn't 
 drowned, sir, for a month later I received a letter from 
 my cousin in China to send on his clothes." 
 
 Apart from this and a few other stories relating to 
 school-life, I found my schoolmaster friend kindly 
 disposed, ready to take me with him to an Amish home 
 of which there were many on both sides of the highway, 
 with their red barns as distinguished from others here 
 and there surrounded by stately oaks. As to his 
 monthly salary, it only amounted to fifteen dollars, 
 but, then, as he explained, boarding 'round was an item 
 worth considering, with farm laborers receiving but 
 fifty cents a day with board thrown in to clinch the 
 bargain. As to joining him in partaking of an Amish 
 supper and perchance, a night's lodging ; this I politely 
 refused, having later other matters to consider, one of 
 which was the carrying the lighter of the household 
 effects up the winding stair of our new home down in 
 Paradise. 
 
 As this happened to be the year in which the law 
 created the office of County Superintendent of Schools, 
 my pedagogic friend seemed to be considerably exer- 
 cised over such unfavorable results as were to follow in 
 the new-fangled branches which had already been add- 
 ed to the school curriculum by Legislative enactment. 
 Without expressing an opinion, pro or con, as to the 
 outcome of the examination, of one thing I felt reason- 
 ably sure, in that Schoolmaster Kessler's theory as to 
 the rotundity of the earth might involve him in a sea 
 of trouble with the superintendent, whoever he might 
 chance to be. 
 10 
 
146 Cherished Memories. 
 
 And now, during the more than half century that has 
 rolled by, I have seldom passed this lone sentinel of a 
 school house, whether driving or in a trolley car, that it 
 hasn't brought up fond recollections of other days. 
 
 Colored as may have been a few episodes thrown into 
 the narrative, this Amish schoolhouse has ever been a 
 living reality. In how far the teaching of the common 
 school branches have undergone change, and whether 
 yet confined to the four fundamentals, the writer is 
 not prepared to say. The chances are that with the 
 onward progress in "child culture," the Amish, as I 
 have reason to know, from years of experience, pay 
 their school tax yearly without protest. And as school 
 directors, they have been found among the most pro- 
 gressive in the county. 
 
 However, after a friendly hand-shake, with the sun 
 well on its downward course, I passed through the 
 village of Soudersburg, the same to-day as it was a half- 
 century ago. As to the cause, this may be attributed 
 largely to the "inrush" to the cities with their well- 
 paved streets, electric lights and other daily and 
 nightly amusements so tempting to the average coun- 
 try boy, only to return when old age comes creeping on. 
 And now to Paradise! 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Arrival at Paradise — My First Shave — A Trial at 
 Farm-Laboring. 
 
 SOMEWHAT colored as the contents of the pre- 
 ceding chapter may seem to the incredulous 
 reader, whose emotions can be imagined, the general 
 trend of thought contained therein, conveys a con- 
 dition prevailing along the highway at the time of 
 which mention is made. However, later in the after- 
 noon, dust covered, with my boots looking as if they 
 had passed through a lime kiln, I reached the "cross- 
 roads," one finger of the hand-board pointing in the 
 direction of a large frame church standing on an ele- 
 vation some hundred yards to the right, the other, 
 to the left, leading to the "up" country, where re- 
 sided, if I had been correctly informed, the Mennonite 
 driver of the Conestoga team. 
 
 Glancing at a few articles of furniture standing in 
 the gateway of a two-story brick dwelling on the 
 northwest corner of the intersecting roads, I stood 
 for a moment almost insensible to the fact that I had 
 at last reached the very threshold of the village of 
 Paradise. Look where I would for the driver and his 
 team, they were nowhere in evidence, thus saving 
 poor Me the trouble of helping unload the heavier 
 articles, the lighter and more costly, as I've since dis- 
 covered at all Sittings, receiving the least attention. 
 
 147 
 
148 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Taking a hasty view of the surroundings, I was 
 about to slip in at the rear door, when Tarry, the black 
 canine, started to wagging his tail, rthus betraying my 
 presence to my inquisitive sister, and yet observing 
 the rule "silence is golden." And for this reason, if 
 for none other, I've ever since taken kindly to the 
 terrior breed, knowing at all times how to behave 
 themselves in never betraying a boy's secrets which 
 experience and careful training had taught them to 
 hold inviolate. 
 
 At last, after telling her how I had been waylaid 
 along the great stretch of pike by a few Indians lurk- 
 ing 'round ready to dangle my scalp at their belts, 
 I managed to take a peep into the dining room, where 
 around the table were seated a goodly number of the 
 town's celestials, men, women and children, all en- 
 gaged in partaking of the many good things that had 
 been sent in by the "reception committee" in advance 
 of my arrival. And oh, what a "spread" of pies of 
 every make and bake, from custard, apple and mince 
 to others, on which I later managed to exist, until the 
 supply became exhausted. And even down to these 
 my later years, I am prepared to testify that in no 
 other place on this mundane sphere are better pies 
 baked than down in good old Paradise! Where they 
 learned the art of pie-baking, whether first introduced 
 by the Mennonites, Huguenots or Scotch-Irish, needn't 
 be determined, so long as the quality and flavor of these 
 delicious articles of pastry still maintain their old-time 
 supremacy. 
 
 And now, a half century later, without attempting 
 
o 
 w 
 
 t- 1 
 
Pies and Judges. 149 
 
 to fathom the depths of the legal mind's understand- 
 ing, I have often wondered how it came that a Justice 
 of the State Supreme Court later took up his residence 
 in Paradise, in the mansion widely known as "Oak 
 Hill," standing like an English palace amid a cluster 
 of oaks and other lofty trees; and wherein as a boy 
 in our eighteenth year we were one of a "surprise" 
 party in paying our respects to the Wardle family. 
 But later, for the President Judge of the Court of 
 Lancaster County likewise to take up his summer 
 •residence in this "elysian," was for a time a problem 
 not so easily to be solved. Both may have had reasons 
 best known to themselves. And yet, I am inclined to 
 the opinion that, having heard of the delicious pies 
 baked by the many good house-wives of Huguenot, 
 Mennonite and Scotch-Irish ancestry, what less could 
 these two dignitaries do than to hie themselves and 
 family off to Paradise where, with a minister of the 
 Gospel at either end, they might indulge themselves 
 in the spiritual on the Sabbath, and a plentiful supply 
 of pies during their otherwise peaceful moments. 
 
 While not in the village, and yet in the township 
 of Paradise, a few miles east, on an elevation, stands 
 "Bleak House," presided over by still another member 
 of the legal fraternity, known far and wide as what 
 might be called the "Traveler's Rest," in which all 
 are accorded a hearty welcome. 
 
 However, with this my first appearance, it needn't 
 be assumed that I was to go strolling 'round the house 
 like a honey-bee, tasting of a little of this, that or the 
 other of the many delicacies without rendering value 
 
150 Cherished Memories. 
 
 for value received. Oh, bless you, no! For immedi- 
 ately on the discovery by the head of the house that 
 I had at last turned up, I was sent up stairs to screw 
 up the bedsteads, and string the cord to the small, 
 round knobs, some of which had been lost enroute, 
 with others jerking themselves loose as I, with the 
 other end of the cord in hand, would go tumbling a 
 double somersault backward with heels high in the 
 air. And here let it be said, in all seriousness, that 
 the boy who has never had the pleasure of stringing a 
 bed-cord, so much in evidence before the patent 
 spring came into use, has missed the joy of his life. 
 
 Rising to my feet, I happened to glance into a small 
 mirror, and was astonished to find that what I now 
 most needed was a shave. A shave! Yes, I needed 
 a shave before I could ever hope to appear before the 
 goodly people of Paradise! As this was the first time 
 my face had ever shown signs of what I had often 
 longed for — a pair of "burnsides, " to find a razor, 
 brush and soap was the next in order. So, after 
 rummaging here and there through a bureau-drawer, 
 these barber supplies were soon brought into use. 
 As it so happened, all went well with soap and brush; 
 but when I began to apply the razor, whose edges 
 resembled the teeth of a wood-saw, my troubles be- 
 gan. Being left-handed from the cradle up, to get 
 a grip on the infernal handle with the blade as loose 
 as the purse-strings of a railroader, I began with the 
 thought of how the salubrious climate of Paradise had, 
 during one half hour, stimulated my beard's growth. 
 
 Neglecting to turn the key to the door, I had hardly 
 
Celestials Smoked Out. 151 
 
 more than applied the blade to the left side of my face 
 when, lo! who should appear but that inquisitive 
 sister! Ashamed! yes, I was mortified to be caught 
 in such an undignified undertaking! As a result, and 
 at a moment when least expected, the blasted razor 
 caught me under the chin. Disappearing as suddenly 
 as she came, with a chuckle, what could I do? There 
 was no antiseptic plaster, no nothing to apply to the 
 glaring wound. But as cobwebs were plenty and not 
 at this moment otherwise engaged, to apply the 
 soothing balm, permitted the tonsorial operation to 
 proceed. 
 
 Well, after this labor of love was ended, I was called 
 down to arrange the joints of the parlor stove, which 
 had been twisted into every imaginable shape while 
 being hustled over the nine miles of macadam road- 
 way. But like an obedient son, awaiting what his 
 stomach most required, a substantial meal of pies, 
 the ends were at last joined and run into the chimney. 
 But as I hadn't taken the precaution to crawl through 
 the flue to determine the width of the wall, I rammed 
 the end of the pipe in, how far, I wasn't aware until 
 the fire was started. Then, to my chagrin, I dis- 
 covered that the smoke, instead of following the 
 usual upward course, as in old Lancaster, came 
 bursting out of the stove-door, and in such clouds as 
 to cause all the windows to be thrown wide open to 
 prevent the whole concourse of "celestials" from beat- 
 ing a hasty retreat. Of course, I was to blame, for 
 'where, in the broad universe is there a family of three 
 girls and only one good-natured boy who isn't made 
 
152 Cherished Memories. 
 
 the scape-goat for all the sins known since the stove- 
 pipe was first invented? To argue the question, one 
 against three ! Well, what is a boy's opinion to count 
 for, anyway, with the old folks generally on the girls' 
 side? 
 
 At last the cause being discovered by one wiser 
 in dealing with stove-pipes than myself, up went the 
 smoke and down the windows with a bang; for by this 
 time I was thoroughly disgusted with country life. 
 Having paid the penalty for my tardiness, I was ad- 
 mitted to the "spread," consisting of more of the 
 good things than I had ever tasted during my previ- 
 ous fifteen years over in the townstead, Lancaster. 
 
 To these goodly Episcopalians, and equally generous- 
 hearted Presbyterians who had come to be present at 
 the "flitting," I was an entire stranger. However, as 
 the years ran on, I came to know them not as "celes- 
 tials," but as peaceful, law-abiding citizens of more 
 than average intelligence. Divided as they were in 
 their religious opinions, yet on all questions pertain- 
 ing to the community's welfare they were a unit. 
 
 At last it soon became an absolute necessity for the 
 only boy in the family to get a move-on. With the 
 girls it was somewhat different, for they are as much 
 of the household as the old grandfather's clock. 
 
 During my first night in the strange house, I hadn't 
 time to weave into concrete form all the many air- 
 castles conjured up in my vivid imagination. The 
 night to follow, however, after having taken a survey 
 of the village street, which wasn't lined with rubies, 
 nor given a coating of kerosene, I was less tired, and all 
 
Loneliness of a Village. 153 
 
 the better prepared to lay out some course of action 
 best suited to one who had so suddenly entered upon 
 that newer life, without a thought of consulting the 
 doughty "Squire," whom I occasionally passed on 
 my way to the village store. 
 
 My first resolve, as I lay awake trying to escape the 
 knots, as a fellow might at the present day sitting on 
 a wire-fence in avoiding the barbs, was to start a 
 chicken ranch in and around the double-decker barn 
 that stood in the rear of our earthly place of habita- 
 tion. How I was to secure my first stock in trade 
 of Shanghais, a newly-imported breed, resembling 
 more the ostrich than the common variety, was a 
 matter of secondary importance. To my untutored 
 mind this was a noble resolve. The last thing I 
 thought of before retiring was the noble hen, and the 
 number of eggs I could count on her laying each day. 
 And as the morning opened, the crowing of the rooster 
 was even more delightful than has since become the 
 twittering of the sparrow. 
 
 To be entirely truthful, for a week or two I was like 
 one of the lost tribe of the Children of Israel, in search 
 of anyone of the young men of the village with whom 
 I might affiliate. Without actually knowing it, I was 
 in a transition state; had entered, as it were, a new- 
 created world, with everything around me so different 
 from what it had been over in the town. At last, it 
 began to dawn upon me that I had entered upon 
 "country life." And so, I was soon to learn that, of 
 all places outside oi the county work-house, a country 
 village is the worst. In the town from which I had 
 
154 Cherished Memories. 
 
 departed there was always something to do for a 
 growing boy, and even when not engaged, he could 
 go his way unmolested, with little danger of being 
 rounded up and made to give an account of himself. 
 If occasionally I was sent to the butcher's for a slice 
 of ham, I was glanced at over the top of his spectacles, 
 held in abeyance and compelled to answer a dozen 
 questions as to who I was, whence I came, what I was 
 doing, and what I proposed doing. In fact, I hadn't 
 been strolling around a week until it seemed that every 
 little thing I had ever done amiss was generally known 
 to every Tom, Dick and Harry, as if a transcript of 
 some alderman's office had been sent to the head 
 boss of the town. 
 
 If this condition has changed, the fact remains that 
 in nearly every hamlet the county over, a half century 
 ago, there was either the minister, deacon or squire 
 charged with the important duty of keeping tab on the 
 actions of old and young. But what was I to do? 
 There was no wood-chopping, no pavements to clean 
 of snow or ice. No! no nothing suitable to one of 
 my peculiar temperament. At last, at last, came 
 my opportunity to turn farmer at corn-planting in a 
 twenty-acre field a mile distant. As I was to report 
 the next morning, no time fixed, I arose along about 
 the hour of seven, and after dressing myself in my 
 best Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, hurried over to 
 the farm in time for breakfast. Imagine my surprise 
 on reaching the farm-house to find it deserted, the 
 only outsider being the "defender" of the house, a 
 ferocious bull-dog, looking up as if to inquire the 
 
Corn- Planting. 155 
 
 purpose of a stranger, and perchance, for all he knew 
 to the contrary, a lightning-rod agent. 
 
 Glancing hurriedly in the direction of a ploughed 
 held, I made haste to get there in time to earn my 
 first day's wages. A moment later, I was in the 
 presence of the pessimistic farmer who, after casting 
 .his eyes up at the sun, and asking me, in broken Eng- 
 lish, if I intended earning a full day's pay, handed 
 me a hoe, with the admonition that I get a move-on 
 in making up for lost time. Thus I went my way 
 following the "droppers" in covering the four or five 
 grains as best I could. And here, I am willing to be 
 qualified, that this morning was the longest I had 
 ever experienced. Would the dinner-horn never blow? 
 Would my poor, aching back nevermore assume its 
 upright position? Ah, but at last came the ring of 
 the iron bell calling one and all to the farmer's well- 
 supplied table. Always being a speedy walker, on this 
 occasion I simply out-did myself in being the first to 
 reach the water-trough. 
 
 As my notes show, after filling myself to the danger- 
 line on metsel-soup, brode-warsht and paunhaus, I 
 naturally concluded that an hour's rest on a seat of 
 the porch was what tired nature most needed after a 
 hearty meal. Stretching myself out to my full length, 
 I had hardly more than lost consciousness when I 
 was awakened by the shrill voice of the disgruntled 
 tiller, admonishing poor me that the middle of the 
 day was no time to be taking a cat nap. 
 
 With this peremptory command to get a move-on, 
 back to the field I went with hoe in hand, swear- 
 
156 Cherished Memories. 
 
 ing vengeance on the heads of all farmers the world 
 over. It wasn't long until the blisters began to show 
 evidence of others to follow before the sun had settled 
 itself to rest on the opposite side of the meandering 
 Pequea. Hour followed hour, as I followed the 
 furrows. At last, at long last, my eyes took in a 
 cloud, at first about the size of Dan Rice's circus-tent. 
 On, on it came, compelling all hands to seek cover in 
 the double-decker bank barn. And it was while stand- 
 ing alone, hoping it might rain for a month, that the 
 jaundiced farmer stepped forward, and after handing 
 over a silver quarter, exclaimed, "Ich gleixt nicht a 
 city cal; du kendst hame gehen." 
 
 Jamming the silver coin into my trousers' pocket, 
 and without the usual hand-shake, I found my way 
 back to my good old mother, conjuring up some plaus- 
 ible excuse for my sudden, unexpected return. Slip- 
 ping into her hand the "quarter," I then and there 
 told of my first day's experience at farming, at the 
 same time showing up the blisters. Instead of what 
 I expected, a scolding, I was condoled with, told not 
 to worry, that sooner or later something would turn 
 up to help me along in the world. 
 
 Ah! how many times since have I recalled my 
 mother's kindly words of good cheer when all seemed 
 dark around! She was the go-between, always ready 
 with a kind word or a pleasing smile to drive dull 
 care away. Yes, between my mother and myself 
 there was much of "each for all and all for each." 
 
 If then I had plenty of consoling words in the home, 
 what I had most to grieve over was that, before a week 
 
My First Literary Effusions. 157 
 
 had gone by, every half-grown lad in the village knew 
 what had happened over on the farm. 
 
 And so, as the spring months passed slowly by, 
 with the chicken scheme still in embryo, I was ashamed 
 to look a hen in the face: I had been tried in the 
 school of farming only to prove a lamentable failure. 
 More than this, I had lost caste among farmers' sons, 
 who usually met at the village store and tavern on 
 each Saturday afternoon. 
 
 Thus for a time I kept within doors, writing poetry 
 — yes, poetry of the higher order for the editor of the 
 "Strasburg Bee," a flourishing sheet, whose circulation 
 began to grow after my first poetical effusion appeared, 
 to be read and re-read before many a fireside during 
 the long winter evenings, as I was led to suppose. 
 
 Well, my first "hit" was in describing one of the 
 first country girls it was my pleasure to meet, in the 
 little stone church at Soudersburg. Sending it to the 
 "Bee," over the nomdeplume of "Naoma," I sat my- 
 self down to await the first copy tq reach me through 
 the mail. At last it came, and mark my feelings as 
 I sat reading it over for the tenth time in solitude! 
 
 At last growing weary of lack of financial returns, 
 only to feel how little appreciated was my creative 
 genius by the people of Paradise, I changed from 
 poetry to prose, sending my articles to the "Lancaster 
 Inland Daily," whose circulation extended over a 
 wider scope of country. With little more to do than 
 to meddle with other people's private affairs, it wasn't 
 long until I had resurrected every little episode occur- 
 ring in the village for more than two generations. 
 
158 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Sometimes I'd head my squibs "fads and fancies/' 
 which I felt were so appropriate in showing up a 
 recently-invented coffee mill by two of the mechanics 
 of the town, warranted to turn brown bread-crusts 
 into the finest Mocha or Java. This brilliant display 
 of genius I felt sure would eventually hand my name 
 down among the greatest writers of the world. 
 
 Ah, but alas! how little do we boys know the results 
 so soon to follow our inadvertence. A gentle hint 
 from the township justice soon brought my corre- 
 spondence to a close. To the minds of the village 
 dwellers I wasn't long in learning that the pen or 
 quill was all right in its place, but something more 
 was required of the hand that wielded the pen — the 
 handles of a hoe or plow. For this dearly-paid ex- 
 perience I was to profit in many ways as the years came 
 and departed. 
 
 And now, as a conclusion to this chapter, I have no 
 apology to make for the writing of my first poetical 
 effusions for the "Strasburg Bee." These, and others 
 since, have afforded the writer unspeakable pleasure. 
 Indeed, I can at no time recall when I wasn't ready to 
 pass over all other matter the paper contained in 
 searching for my own contributions to the world's 
 storehouse of knowledge. Others may have passed 
 them over as so much literary rubbish, but what cared 
 I? And to further conclude my highest ambition 
 has ever been to resort to the old scrap-book, and 
 thus read over and over newspaper clippings, wonder- 
 ing at times if some other hand than my own had not 
 penned them. Self-flattery — vanity! Oh, bless you, 
 
Happiness in Writing. 159 
 
 no, dear reader, there is a certain satisfaction in feeling 
 that as the newspaper is the medium for the exchange 
 of opinions, happy is the man who, in using his pen 
 to good purpose, isn't above sending his editorial 
 friend an occasional account of his travels. 
 
 And now, how do ye editorial critics like a poet's 
 philosophy? 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I Become a Machinist's Apprentice — An Amish 
 Love-Feast. 
 
 HOW the township and village happened to be 
 named Paradise is somewhat involved in tradi- 
 tion. It has been said that years before the separa- 
 tion from the mother township, Strasburg, in 1843, the 
 elder Witmer, on being asked to give the village a name, 
 exclaimed, "I know not what it has been to others, 
 but to me it has ever been a Paradise." 
 
 Passing this beautiful sentiment as one dear to the 
 old man's heart, it is more than probable this hamlet 
 had been called Paradise by the early settlers long 
 years before, maybe, by a Mary Ferree, a French 
 Huguenot who came to the country in 1709, and was 
 later buried in the Carpenter's graveyard, a mile south 
 of the village. 
 
 Coming within our recollection, there was among 
 the village dwellers a type of men who usually held 
 the balance of power when the question of education 
 became an issue. Along the turnpike from the Pequea 
 where it crosses the turnpike, east as far as the Gap, 
 were a thrifty class of Huguenot, Scotch-Irish and 
 Mennonites. Rich in all things which go to make a 
 people prosperous, contented, happy, these various 
 sects have lived together in common forbearance; if 
 not at all times agreeing on all religious and political 
 
 160 
 
The Witmer Brothers. 161 
 
 questions, they were still a unit in defense of their 
 sacred rights, as against ignorance, superstition, per- 
 secution, and have so remained down even to the 
 present day. 
 
 It was not until I had dwelt a year in the village 
 that I began to catch on to a newer order of events 
 leading up to a higher intellectual development from 
 an academic standpoint. The first to arrive after my 
 own advent was the Rev. B. B. Killkelly, as the pastor 
 of the Episcopal church on the "hill," and wherein the 
 Rev. Edward Buchanan, the brother of "James," had 
 officiated at an earlier date. East of the town, oppo- 
 site "Oak Hill," stood the Presbyterian church, 
 erected in 1S40, whose membership was composed 
 principally of Scotch-Irish descendants of culture and 
 refinement. 
 
 Along about the time of my failure as a farmer, I 
 had thrust aside the pen for a pair of overalls in the 
 shop of the Bruas. As financial assistance was at all 
 times necessary, this was furnished by Mr. Amos 
 Witmer, of whom there were four brothers, Elam, 
 Hiram, Adam and the aforenamed, with Elam a 
 resident of Philadelphia. While all were active, pro- 
 gressive, enterprising, Adam, being the eldest, was 
 perhaps the most favorably known, connected as he 
 was down to a ripe old age as director of the Farmers' 
 Bank of Lancaster. And here it may be said, as a 
 link connecting those far-off days with the present, 
 that his goodly wife is still living in the city of Phila- 
 delphia, in her hundred and third year. Although 
 nearly a half century has gone by since we last met 
 11 
 
162 Cherished Memories. 
 
 this good woman, fond recollections yet linger in mem- 
 ory for one whose long and eventful life was rich in all 
 earthly and spiritual blessings. May her last days be 
 as peaceful as was her young life at all times filled with 
 hope and sunshine. 
 
 And now a few words with reference to the large 
 frame foundry and machine shop which stood along 
 the banks of the Pequea. Where they were located 
 is now a perfect fairy land of flowers and shrubbery, 
 turned into an "Eden" by the owner, Mr. Parks, 
 known far and wide as the "seed-farmer." 
 
 If, as stated in a previous chapter, it was my pleas- 
 ure to come in touch with Amish life at the little brick 
 school house a short distance west of Soudersburg, 
 where I met a number of little tots, it was while an 
 apprentice that I first fell in with the three sons of 
 Samuel Kauffman, whose large bank-barn stood 
 directly opposite the Pequea. Old "Sammy," as they 
 called him, was one of the most delightful Amishmen 
 it was ever my pleasure to meet. And as for his good 
 wife, an elderly person of sweet, motherly face, this 
 goodly soul has left her image upon memory, never to 
 be effaced. Of the boys, only one remains. If they 
 differed from other young men, it was only in their 
 peculiar garb, their spoken language differing little 
 from my own. 
 
 It is, however, to the first Amish love-feast I ever 
 attended that a word or two, descriptive of this old- 
 time custom, may serve to correct an impression only 
 too general, as to the habits and traditions of a people 
 born to the soil from the cradle up. To enter into their 
 
An Amish Love-Feast. 163 
 
 home life, it will be necessary to overlook their "garb,", 
 which, after all, is only outward, with their better 
 nature beyond the reach of those who view them with 
 a sort of unmixed curiosity as they walk the streets 
 with their broad-brim black felt hats, short round- 
 about, with trousers scarcely extending below the 
 tops of their raw-hide boots. But who ever heard of 
 an Amishman begging alms or serving at the county's 
 expense in the home devoted to the poor? 
 
 It was on a beautiful Sabbath that I crossed the 
 wooden bridge spanning the Pequea. The day previ- 
 ous had been a busy one in the baking of pies, custards 
 and such other substantials as were to decorate the 
 table on the barn floor after the religious services had 
 ended. 
 
 On the porch, at an early hour, stood old "Sammy" 
 casting his eyes here and there awaiting the arrival 
 of the incoming hosts. Calling us boys to his side, 
 he said, "Un' now, fine chaps, be sure when you un- 
 hitch to mark both 'gowl' and conveyance, so that 
 you make no mistake when hitchin'-up time kume. 
 You see," he went on, drawing his buckskin breeches 
 closer 'round his waist, "as you care for der faithful 
 roadsters, so will 'der gooda' Father care for der 
 inner wants of the worshippers who may be kumin' 
 along before high noon to enjoy de many blessin's, 
 first, of a spiritual kind, and later, der best der farm 
 can produce." 
 
 And when the noon hour came, what a concourse 
 could be seen approaching in traps of every kind and 
 make! Some without springs to their dearborns, 
 
164 Cherished Memories. 
 
 others in spring-boards, and yet others on horseback, 
 as they came galloping, with their black hats covering 
 their foreheads, with hair cut long from back to front, 
 and yet not so short as to render themselves liable to 
 church discipline ; not, however, that the width of their 
 hats was to admit their spirits into the New Jerusalem; 
 no, not by any means. For, indeed, were such an 
 edict to be issued, what would become of all the city 
 girls with their hats of every imaginable shape, color 
 and style? 
 
 What followed as they crowded the barn floor is 
 easily described. At the end of the long rows sat the 
 goodly bishop, a kindly-disposed, elderly Amishman, 
 ■all ready to partake of what was to follow an hour or 
 two's preaching and silent praying. With the services 
 ended, was ushered in the long table around which sat 
 the multitude. And such a "spread!" When all was 
 over and the festivities ended, to the barnyard the 
 young men went their way to engage in a game of 
 corner-ball. Here and there the girls played hide- 
 and-seek, while those older in years betook them- 
 selves to the old-fashioned sitting room to talk over 
 the crops and such other topics as the farm usually 
 suggests. 
 
 At the close of this day, I went my way with a feel- 
 ing of friendship for the Kauffman boys. And ever 
 after, on meeting "Sammy," "Mike" and "Christ," 
 it was with a hearty hand-shake. Nor have I forgotten 
 that only one remains. But the grandsons, somehow 
 or other, they never pass me by without a kind word, 
 recalling the days when their fathers and I had played 
 in the double decker so many years before. 
 
Attending Summer School. 165 
 
 At the close of my two-years' service as an appren- 
 tice, it was only natural that I should assume some 
 little importance among the leading business men of 
 Paradise, who were not slow in recognizing true worth, 
 on the principle that it always pays a boy in the end 
 to be making himself generally useful, even at $1.50 
 per week, and no tips. 
 
 Feeling the need about this time of some additional 
 book-learning, I began to look around for the means 
 of paying my way in attending a summer school that 
 was about to open in a log house, near Mr. Jacob 
 Eshleman's mill, under a teacher who had been en- 
 gaged by the parents to instruct their sons in such 
 branches as the common school curriculum failed to 
 provide. As I was without the means necessary to 
 pay my way, to go a-borrowing was not to be consid- 
 ered for a single moment. As better luck would have 
 it, I secured a contract for the making of twenty-seven 
 window frames and blinds in a barn directly in the 
 rear of our home, and wherein I had erected ,an im- 
 provised work-bench. Starting at sunrise, and con- 
 tinuing after school hours, I had earned sufficient 
 not only to pay my weekly board, but my tuition as 
 well. 
 
 After a time our school was moved to the "center" 
 building, close by the toll-gate, a short half mile east 
 of Leaman Place. And here, at this opportune mo- 
 ment, I have an episode to relate and an error to cor- 
 rect. Among the boys who attended this school was 
 'as fine a young "heathen" as ever kicked the panel of 
 a school-room door in. During intermission, I was 
 
166 Cherished Memories. 
 
 inside holding the fort against all outside intruders. 
 But at an unfortunate moment, in came the panel, and 
 as my face was too close to the obstruction, my right eye 
 became as black as an Amishman's round-rim beaver. 
 Ever since that unfortunate occurrence I have been 
 compelled to listen to how this same youngster of 
 more than half a century ago had blackened my eye! 
 But I have long since forgiven "Milton," now the 
 president of the First National Bank of this city. As 
 a boy, he was the soul of honor; as a man well up in 
 his three-score, he is still one of the writer's most 
 devoted friends. 
 
 However, with this slight tribute, well deserving 
 many more, the time came when the school moved 
 in the new brick building close by "Oak Hill." It 
 was then that Mr. Amos Hurst, our beloved old school- 
 master from Muddy Creek, gave place to a Mr. Rodgers 
 as principal, with Professor McGibony, of the cele- 
 brated McGibony family, as first assistant; Horace 
 Yundt, Esq., now of Reading, second, and Dr. Leaman, 
 third assistant. After the resignation of Prof. Rodgers, 
 Mr. Yundt became principal. Later, the Hon. W. U. 
 Hensel attended this school as a lad of twelve. 
 
 But we must pass over much that comes tapping at 
 memory's portals. Having imbibed the contents of 
 Kenyon's Grammar and sufficient of the other branches 
 to make my way through the world, my next step was 
 to join the Paradise Literary Society. Here, in Witmer 
 Hall, we met almost nightly, discussing such weighty 
 questions as predestination, foreordination and others 
 which the village parsons seldom tackled except under 
 
Professor Karl Merz. 167 
 
 fear and trembling. As a result, it wasn't long until 
 I had written essays on every conceivable subject 
 since the subsidence of the deluge. Of course, I would 
 occasionally look up some century-old magazine from 
 which I could appropriate enough matter to make 
 discovery an impossibility. 
 
 To close this chapter without reference to the Para- 
 dise Female Seminary woidd, I feel sure, never be 
 overlooked by the many beautiful young ladies who 
 attended this institution of learning during the later 
 fifties. Living, as many of them are, in the halo of a 
 ripe old age, few can fail to recall their instructor in 
 instrumental and vocal music, the late Professor Karl 
 Merz. Known at the time for his kindness of heart, 
 and as a composer of national reputation, he later 
 became instructor in the Oxford Female Seminary 
 and still later, at the head of the Conservatory of 
 Music in the Wooster University in Ohio. As the 
 editor of "Brainard's Musical World," he ended his 
 .short life beloved by all who knew him. 
 
 It was during our leisure we together had constructed 
 a boat, and after launching it on the Pequea, invited 
 a number of ladies to go rowing. We had hardly 
 more than started from the shore when through some 
 cause, Miss Annie Killkelly's medallion, containing 
 her venerable father's picture, fell overboard. This 
 mishap ended our pleasure trip. 
 
 And now to the sequel : An hour later I returned to 
 the water's edge, and after disrobing, plunged into five 
 feet of water. Feeling 'round with my feet, at last I 
 felt something, and diving down, drew up the missing 
 
168 Cherished Memories. 
 
 medallion. As this most amiable lady is residing in 
 the city of Washington, it is the hope she may in no 
 way remain forgetful of this episode which up to this 
 moment had rested half forgotten in the writer's 
 memory. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The Campaign of '56 — Fox Hunting — A Judge's 
 Turkeys. 
 
 DURING the campaign of '56, then in my nine- 
 teenth year, I was too busily engaged in the 
 discussion of abstract questions to manifest more than 
 passing interest in the Buchanan-Fremont election. 
 However, on a bright October afternoon there came 
 driving up to our house an omnibus containing a half 
 dozen political speakers on their way to a Democratic 
 meeting billed to be held at the village tavern the 
 same evening. The principal speaker, as I recall, was 
 a young lawyer, the late Samuel H. Reynolds, then 
 noted as a rising attorney of more than average ability 
 as a public speaker. 
 
 This coterie of distinguished gentlemen I should 
 long since have forgotten except for one of the songs 
 they sang: 
 
 " Oh Buck and Breck, you'll surely win the day, 
 The woolly horse has gone to grass, so all the people say." 
 
 After indulging themselves in a few others, they 
 drove their way to the hotel, around which a motley 
 crowd had already congregated. But as I was noway 
 in sympathy with the election of " Buck" and "Breck," 
 I was not present to report the proceedings for the 
 "Inland Daily." 
 
 There came a time later when I was called upon 
 169 
 
170 Cherished Memories. 
 
 by a committee to assume the role of violinist at the 
 village inn in the absence of the town fiddler, and 
 where a "dance" was awaiting a musician. Flattered 
 somewhat at this compliment, with fiddle encased in 
 green bag, a short half hour later I sat upon an im- 
 provised platform the center of attraction. At a 
 later hour, as I homeward went my way, I felt I had 
 been raised a peg or two, at least in my own estima- 
 tion, if not in that of the dancers. But it wasn't long 
 until I discovered I had lost caste with the goodly 
 pastor, disposed as he was to look with disfavor on 
 these worldly promiscuous gatherings. Prone as I 
 was to keep this, my first departure from the straight, 
 narrow path, a hidden secret, I was soon to learn that 
 things going on at a country tavern usually managed 
 to spread with a sort of lightning rapidity. 
 
 For a time, until Thanksgiving eve, I gave the inn 
 a wide berth. But once having tasted of the sweets 
 of a night's outing, I wasn't long in falling from grace. 
 Learning that a turkey-raffle was being held, I con- 
 cluded to take but a peep at the "dice-throwers," 
 making sure that none of the "elect" was in evidence. 
 
 Without going into any extended explanation, it 
 so happened, I started home with Mr. Turkey Gobbler, 
 at the risk of only two levies. That the gobbler was 
 most thoroughly enjoyed the Sabbath following by 
 the rector and his good wife, who had been invited to 
 the feast, goes without saying, my well-concocted 
 story of how it came into my possession never for a 
 moment being questioned, at least while the turkey- 
 dinner was in progress. Later, however, there was 
 
Eli, the Fox Hunter. 171 
 
 more or less commotion among the church-goers, in 
 no way redounding to my credit as treasurer of the 
 Sunday-school on the "hill." But as the "auditing 
 committee" bore witness, none of the Sabbath-school 
 collections went the way of the turkey-raffling. 
 
 Passing this little episode as a picture from "the 
 school of life," if there was the written law supposed 
 to govern all classes in accordance with a certain high 
 standard of morality, there was also the unwritten 
 mandate which usually held the balance of power 
 among those little inclined to follow the dictates of the 
 town's literati. Between these two irreconcilable 
 forces there was at all times an irrepressible conflict — 
 the one class looking after the spiritual, the other, the 
 common affairs, notably the political. Of course, 
 even among the latter there were exceptions, when 
 the most hardened sinners would gather 'round the 
 mourners' bench, in the stone meeting-house of the 
 village, a short mile west of the Pequea, only to fall 
 from grace when the fox-season set in. 
 
 The fox season! Turn back the dial of time, search 
 the records of history for a time when the "hunters" 
 weren't ever on the alert to follow Reynard in a little 
 playful gallop over the hills to his capture or snug 
 hiding-place. 
 
 And this recalls the yarn that used to be told by 
 old Eli, the fox-hunter, as he sat before the inn with 
 feet crossed, surrounded by a coterie of young and 
 old sports. It seems that the fox-hunter had been 
 having a spell of melancholy for a playful "run," and 
 as his score of beagles were growing restless for a 
 
172 Cherished Memories. 
 
 "spurt," he caught on to a way of tickling their 
 fancies by a make-believe until the time for winter 
 sports began. 
 
 Calling his spreckled-face Ebenezer to his side one 
 August evening, he exclaimed, "Eben, me edicated 
 chap, as it's Deacon Smythers who'll be spendin' th' 
 night with yer parent to be on hand for early service 
 in th' mornin' to be 'sistin' th' parson in baptism' all 
 th' hardened sinners, it might be well in blackenin' 
 th' deacon's raw-hides, to be takin' this fox's foot 
 which th' old man's been savin' from th' last hunt. 
 An' be sure, Eben, to be warmin' it good and hot 
 'fore rubbin' it over th' deacon's kips, for ye see, they 
 haven't been greased since they first come from th' 
 cobbler, who's to be baptised himself for th' makin' 
 of them rawhides. 
 
 "An' so, comin' mornin," chuckled the relator, his 
 sides bursting with laughter, "when th 'aged deacon 
 started over to meetin', I jis' let go th' whole score o' 
 beagles for th' benefit o' their health. But gee whiz! 
 when they got th' scent, away they went howlin' to 
 beat th' Reamstottle band. Tell ye, men, it was a 
 happy time for th' beagles, but a sorry one for th' 
 head-pillar o' th' faith who went movin' 'long in th' 
 middle o' th' road, with his broad brim straw hat 
 kiverin' his gray locks. 
 
 "Lookin' back over his left shoulder, thinkin' it 
 only a little playful Sabbath-day mornin' run, th' 
 worthy Deacon Smythers stood kind o' enjoyin' th' 
 sport, as deacons mostly do 'cept on th' Sabbath, 
 when their minds be occupied with th' thoughts o' 
 
Deacon Smythers' Predicament. 173 
 
 baptisin' a few o' th' converted fox-hunters. But, 
 in th' name o' Eli, th' fox hunter! when the whole 
 ' pack got to surroundin' th' head pillar, fightin' their 
 way in gettin' at them raw hides, it was a sorry sight 
 for even meself to be viewin' without goin' to th' old 
 man's rescue. 
 
 "First he got to runnin' this way, then that, with 
 the howlin' kritters snappin' at his heels thinkin' they 
 be some o' th' foxes I'd been keepin' housed in th' 
 cellar for th' comin' Thanksgivin' run. Yes," contin- 
 ued Eli, rising to his feet, as if ready to mount his old 
 nag for the chase, " I was standin' on th' porch watchin' 
 th' fracas, as th' deacon stood kickin' in wardin' off a 
 calam'ty. First, he started to coaxin' th' beagles, 
 then to prayin', an' sich prayin', causin' th' people 
 to thinkin' camp meetin' hed broke out in th' middle 
 o' th' road. Seem' quotin' Scripture wasn't bringin' 
 th' answer, he got to sayin' cuss words; yes, men, 
 cuss words, an' in th' plain English, makin' even th' 
 fox hunter a wee bit sad at th' thought o' pious deacon 
 des'cratin' th' Sabbath in th' presence o' the church- 
 goers." 
 
 Before the fox-hunter could reach the sequel, old 
 "Natty" Trout chimed in: "Ever heard of how one 
 of the judges of the county court got to raising turkeys 
 back of his country homestead near by the colored 
 meeting house? No? Well, it was at a time when 
 the court was running short of criminal cases that the 
 jedge, after sending up for twenty years a poor colored 
 person for doing nothin' more than sittin' on his fence 
 durin' the dark of the moon listenin' to the sweet 
 music of his turkey-hens and gobblers. 
 
174 Cherished Memories. 
 
 "Yes, men," he went on, sipping away at a five- 
 cent glass of Kenagy's old rye, "the judge may have 
 been correct in his suspicions that Sambo's ears weren't 
 trained for sweet music as was his taste for roast tur- 
 key. And so, to give the court his dues, he had best 
 of reasons to think the colored parson wasn't hanging 
 'round his turkey-ranch listening to his favorite gob- 
 bler singing 'Me Old Kentucky Home,' one of the 
 tunes it had learned before being imported from 
 an old Southern plantation to improve the Lancaster 
 county stock, which at the time was showing signs of 
 becoming extinct. 
 
 "It was 'bout four each morning when one of them 
 sweet singers was missing from the court's turkey 
 ranch. This set the jedge to thinking how to circum- 
 went Sambo! Looking here and there for a safe 
 roosting-place, at last the court spied an old cherry 
 tree, standing close by his bed-room window; planted, 
 some said, long before the deluge had subsided, and 
 dying of old age." 
 
 Relighting his cob-pipe, which had been overlooked, 
 as it frequently had been, when his mind was given to 
 reminiscing, he resumed: "Calling all them hens and 
 gobblers 'fore him like a company o' 'Continentals' 
 on dress parade, just 'fore roosting-time, the jedge 
 got to tell'ng them all about Sambo's love for their 
 sweet music: Said the court, persuasive-like, 'The 
 opinion of his honor is, that the only safe roosting- 
 place be on the topmost limb of the cherry-tree beside 
 his bed-room window, where he can be keeping an 
 eye on ye.'" 
 
A Black Siren. 175 
 
 "Of course, turkeys of sense, took the court's ad- 
 vice?" chimed in one of the unsophisticated, who 
 had never had the pleasure of turkey-raising 
 
 "Kind o' think a few of the wiser did, and others 
 didn't; for, 'long about roosting-time it was the col- 
 ored parson's business to be skylarking 'round waiting 
 for the ceremonies to begin, and begin they did, bless 
 you, men! First, one then another began to flop his 
 wings ready to obey the mandates of the owner of the 
 ranch. So, up they flew, with the judge eyeing them 
 sitting one beside the other close to his bed-room 
 window. Looking up, he called and said 'he'd be 
 responsible for the stronger limb, but if anything 
 happened to the weaker branches of the tree, the 
 fowls of the air would have to depend on their wings.' 
 
 "Anything of a serious nature happen?" came the 
 interruption of a young farmer, by way of learning all 
 there was concerning the raising of turkeys not con- 
 tained in the latest treatise on horticulture and agri- 
 culture. 
 
 "Anything happen?" repeated the relator, glancing 
 at his stupid friend for failing to catch on. "Happen, 
 bless you! Along about four in the morning there 
 was the greatest kind of a commotion. Hearing the 
 gobble, gobble, the judge ris right up out of his dreams, 
 when, there on the window-sill stood his favorite 
 gobbler, beseeching him to be hurrying down as fast 
 as his pedals could propel his three hundred pounds of 
 avoirdupois. Looking up, with tears in his eyes, there 
 sat his favorite, the only one left to make merry over; 
 the others, harkening unto the voice of Sambo, telling 
 
176 Cherished Memories. 
 
 them how the tree was dying of old age, got to following 
 him of their own volition into the wilderness. Acquit 
 the parson? Better believe; for, according to the 
 sworn testimony before his honor, it was the sweet 
 music of Sambo in imitation of 'Me Old Kentucky 
 Home,' that robbed the court of his winter supply of 
 turkeys, compelling him to be living on salt shad 
 during the balance of the season of his discontent." 
 Ever since, as I'm informed, there's been a short sup- 
 ply of turkeys in Paradise. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Examined by County Superintendent Crumbaugh. 
 My First School. 
 
 IT was sometime during the spring of '58 that I 
 started a-foot before sunrise for the village of 
 "Blue Ball," in East Earl township, a distance a 
 dozen miles or more from Paradise, and where, as 
 I had been informed, County Superintendent John 
 S. Crumbaugh was to hold an examination. Reaching 
 said point, wrapped in a shawl, such as were commonly- 
 worn at the time instead of overcoats, I entered the 
 class with some few of my own age, others old enough 
 to have been my grandfather, at least so they seemed 
 at the time. To my great surprise, as well as to my 
 inward pleasure, at the close I was handed a small 
 blue paper on which were inscribed certain numbers, 
 all "threes" and "fours," one of the "fours" indicat- 
 ing that I had missed only twenty out of the thirty 
 words, but what mattered it! It stated the holder 
 was entitled to teach school; of this there could be no 
 mistake, for on the lower right-hand corner was the 
 examiner's autograph signature written in his fine, 
 delicate hand. 
 
 Seeking a secluded nook, I read and reread it over to 
 
 my inward satisfaction with a feeling that I had 
 
 passed safely the ordeal over which I had for some 
 
 days given myself much worriment as to the outcome. 
 
 12 177 
 
178 Cherished Memories. 
 
 As I sat alone, handling what I considered equal to 
 a college diploma, I couldn't help rejoicing over my 
 good luck, as I thought what a surprise it would be 
 to my inquisitive sister on my return to Paradise. 
 All that was now necessary to fill my cup to overflow- 
 ing was to get a school among the "Dutch" of this 
 the "up" country. 
 
 To the old school-masters I looked for congratula- 
 tions, but as they spoke a language difficult to under- 
 stand, I pressed my way into the room where the 
 directors were giving out the schools to the various 
 candidates. For a time I stood in their presence with 
 certificate in hand, but not a word could I understand 
 of the bedlam of voices. At last the secretary, a short- 
 set German, reached for my paper, and after glancing 
 it over through steel spectacles, exclaimed, "Kendst 
 dere nicht der deitsch sprecha?" Awaiting a reply, 
 it was passed to the other members, with eyes riveted 
 on the "threes" and "fours." Putting their heads 
 together over the table, they held a sort of pow-wow; 
 and a moment later I left the room with my tempera- 
 ture nearing the zero point. 
 
 Stepping into the bar-room, I was met by the 
 goodly father of Horace Yundt, who, noticing the 
 pressure under which I was resting, kindly advised 
 me, if at all anxious to become a teacher, to seek a 
 school in an English-speaking community where the 
 German was not required to be taught; for this friendly 
 advice I felt more kindly disposed toward the Dutch 
 secretary, who had returned my certifi-caie, as he 
 called it. 
 
Waiting for a School. 179 
 
 On my homeward journey the morning following, 
 I took occasion to let every passer-by who looked, like 
 a "schulemaister" (of which I was one in embryo) 
 understand that I too was one of that noble profession 
 of teaching the young idea "how to shoot." Tf I 
 knew little of what "keeping school" actually meant, 
 I still had the sweet consolation of knowing I had 
 a certificate, and woe be to the highwayman ready to 
 rob the possessor of what was now equal to a legacy. 
 
 At last, as I entered the pearly gates of Paradise, it 
 seemed to me that everybody within a square mile 
 knew or thought he knew that something out of the 
 usual had happened, as without a moment's hesita- 
 tion, I rushed pell-mell into the house, saying, as I 
 swung the certificate over my eldest sister's head, 
 "Take a good look at this, and tell your brother if he 
 isn't deserving of a gold medal." 
 
 Up to this time, it had never occurred to poor me 
 in my enthusiasm that a certificate without a school 
 was like a boat on the Pequea without oars. How- 
 ever, to frame it and hang it beside the profile of the 
 immortal George Washington, might, in addition to 
 serving as an ornament, lead the young ladies of the 
 seminary across the way to know that George and I 
 were born in the same month of glorious old February. 
 Later it occurred to me that certificates had been 
 stolen, and to have this occur meant my eternal ruin. 
 And so, what less could I do but to carry it nearest 
 my heart? 
 
 As day followed day without a line from anyone of 
 the more progressive school boards in search of a 
 
180 Cherished Memories. 
 
 teacher capable of "keeping school," I began to grow 
 weary with a feeling of what might happen to the 
 educational status of the county. While in this delu- 
 sive state of mental suspense, my eyes instinctively 
 took in an "ad" in the "Strasburg Bee," calling for a 
 teacher well qualified to teach one of the borough 
 schools. 
 
 "Oh, ho! and what can this mean?" I continued 
 to soliloquize, glancing the "threes" and "fours" 
 over. "A teacher well qualified!" As no mention 
 was made of the length of the term nor of the salary 
 per month — this I took for an oversight on the part 
 of James McPhail, the secretary. 
 
 Hurrying to Leaman Place, I boarded the fast ex- 
 press running between there and Strasburg. As the 
 locomotive sped its way along at the rate of five miles 
 per hour, I was afforded ample time to jump on and 
 off, picking an occasional berry as the engine puffed 
 its way monotonously along. Growing impatient, I 
 approached Engineer Beahm with the modest request 
 that he hurry the shebang along. With a knowing 
 shake of the head, I was politely informed that, owing 
 to a short supply of rails, he was compelled to wait 
 until the track-workmen had taken one from the rear 
 placing it in front of the engine. How many were 
 thus taken up at one end and fitted at the other, my 
 diary fails to record. However, after many delays, 
 I reached the borough with my certificate well pro- 
 tected against all intruders. Of those who left the 
 train the only one whose name I can recall was the 
 Hon. Thomas H. Burrowes, who, as I later learned, 
 was on a visit to his home town. 
 
Start School Teaching. 181 
 
 Those familiar with the saddlery-shop nearly oppo- 
 site Massasoit Hall fifty-two years ago, might have 
 seen a young man full of enthusiasm enter, and where, 
 to his surprise, he met six gentlemen — Robert and 
 Wilham Spencer, Christian Rowe,. William McPhail, 
 attorney-at-law, and his venerable father, James, the 
 secretary of the school board, and one other, whose 
 name I cannot recall. If the president was slow in 
 asking to see my certificate, I wasn't anxious to pro- 
 duce it, for, by this time I had learned the full mean- 
 ing of 1, 2, 3, 4, as noted on the lower margin of the 
 printed form. 
 
 Asked if I had ever "kept school," and if I thought 
 I could manage a half hundred youngsters, I replied, 
 with all my self-assurance, that I thought I could. 
 Then came the question of salary — twenty-five dollars 
 per month, term, six months. Would I be willing to 
 accept the position on the terms stated if elected? 
 
 "Great heavens!" thought I, as I mentally figured 
 out the sum total — one hundred and fifty dollars! 
 more money than I had ever before earned in six 
 months in all my life! "Yes, gentlemen, I shall be 
 only too glad to accept, provided I am elected." And 
 ^elected I was. 
 
 The first Monday of September, '58, opened bright 
 and clear as I, for the first time, entered the little brick 
 school house, a photograph of which appears on an 
 opposite page. As I well remember, it stood directly 
 south of Echternacht's hotel, some distance removed 
 from the main street. The desks and benches were 
 of the crudest home-made kind, with cannon stove in 
 
182 Cherished Memories. 
 
 the center of the twenty-four by twenty-six room. In 
 one corner was the rusty tin bucket with an equally 
 rusty tin cup, from which all drank, with no thought 
 of bacteria or other of the more prevalent diseases of 
 the present day. 
 
 Of this school, so dear to a young-old man's heart, 
 a volume might be written; and as to the town of 
 half a century ago, I can well recall when it was a 
 center of learning, of high literary culture, which it 
 has doubtless maintained down to the present day. 
 And yet, it is strange how one's ideas undergo change 
 concerning things we had set our heart upon when we 
 were a part of the moving multitude. 
 
 It was along in the middle of February, and at an 
 unlooked-for moment, that the school was visited by 
 the John S. Crumbaugh, who a few weeks later passed 
 away, in his twenty-seventh year. Little more needs 
 be said of this broadminded Christian gentleman ex- 
 cept what the writer's "One Hundred and Fifty Years 
 of School History" contains: "His life was a short 
 one, and yet it was an inspiration, a life not measured 
 by years." 
 
 Passing over much of interest, how can I forget one 
 of my first interviews with "Pappy McPhail," a man 
 beloved by all who knew him. Sitting in his saddler- 
 shop, he started to saying, "You may not be as highly 
 educated as some of the young college professors who 
 have been making application for the school. But 
 as it is not so much a college training our children 
 need, if you will drill them well in the four funda- 
 mentals — reading, writing, spelling and common artih- 
 
i-3 
 
 > 
 
 fcd 
 
 3 
 
 ■y- 
 
 a 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 t- 1 
 
Teaching the Four Fundamentals. 183 
 
 metic — the other branches will follow in due course of 
 time. Yes, young man, " he went on, in his fatherly- 
 way, "lay a good foundation in the four branches 
 named, and the board will have no fault to find with 
 your school-mastership." 
 
 Accepting this wholesome advice from a plain citi- 
 zen, it was the ambition of my life during nine years 
 to follow, to look well after the four fundamentals. 
 
 Some things have been forgotten, others, as fresh 
 and green in memory as the last of the closing year 
 1858, when we stood on the platform in Massasoit 
 Hall reciting Prentice's "Closing Year, 'Tis Midnight's 
 Holy Hour." Apart from this we have often had occa- 
 sion to glance in upon the two-story brick dwelling 
 on Decatur street in which dwelt the Christian woman 
 with her two daughters, with whom we boarded during 
 our six-months' stay in Strasburg. Then there was 
 the small brick church we attended, and not so far 
 distant, the drug store in which our young, old friend 
 Joseph Potts was the all-around busy apothecary's 
 clerk. He yet remains as one among the very few 
 of the writer's dearest and nearest friends. 
 
 No, we have no fault to find with Strasburg, even 
 though but slight improvement has been made as a 
 commercial center during these fifty-two years. It's 
 a goodly place to dwell with its excellent schools, 
 which for a decade were under the principalship of 
 Mr. Charles B. Keller, of this city. Following in our 
 footsteps later, he deserves credit for bringing the 
 schools of "Old Strasburg" to a high degree of pro- 
 ficiency. Nor are he and his successors to blame that 
 
184 Cherished Memories. 
 
 many of the young folks after graduating depart for 
 other fields of labor, only to return later to end their 
 days in this borough of peace and plenty. And here 
 it may be said that it seems to have grown into a 
 proverb that, while many of the towns are just the 
 place for girls and boys to be born, reared and edu- 
 cated, they are no longer the places wherein to dwell 
 down into a ripe old age. But as the race in life is 
 usually to the survival of the fittest, the unsolved 
 problem is one yet to be determined, namely, whether 
 in the end those who have departed from the towns, 
 the farm, for the over-crowded centers of trade and 
 commerce have, all things considered, bettered their 
 condition. The very few undoubtedly have, but it 
 is very much to be questioned whether the great ma- 
 jority, as old age comes creeping on, haven't had time 
 to regret the day they ever departed from the old 
 homestead. Every city has its living examples of 
 those who have not only wasted the products of the 
 farm, but the farm itself, amid the glittering shadows 
 of city life, where, when one man goes down under 
 financial distress, a dozen others stand ready to step 
 in to take his place, perchance, to regret the day they 
 ever left God's country. But it's the old, old story, 
 told and retold through the columns of the news- 
 papers. And yet, unless our own observation counts 
 for naught, the time must come when a reaction must 
 set in to maintain a just equilibrium between city and 
 rural life. 
 
 Fairview, to which we moved in '59, couldn't well 
 be considered a village unless one single house and 
 
Fairview. 185 
 
 a small frame shop so constituted it. However, be- 
 fore the time of railroads, it was one of the best known 
 hostelry's standing at the intersection of three roads, 
 and commanding a view not to be excelled the county- 
 over. As the township line separating Strasburg 
 from Paradise ran through the middle of my bed-room, 
 I had the credit at times of sleeping with feet in one 
 township and my head in the other. It was here, at 
 this most delightful point, that father carried on a 
 small industry until the breaking out of the war. 
 
 Not to overlook one other episode: it was on my 
 return from Millersville that the wedding occurred, 
 in that my now beloved sister, who had so frequently 
 been a thorn in my side, became the wife of the since 
 departed Prof. Karl Merz. What might seem like 
 another coincidence, his field of labor, until the be- 
 ginning of the conflict, was in a small Virginia village, 
 not so many miles removed from Leesubrg. 
 
 With this slight departure from the thread of the 
 narrative, the reader's attention shall be directed to 
 the "up" country, where the "Dutch" settled nearly 
 a century and a half before. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Intercourse in the 50's — Hickory Ggove School. 
 Menno Mengen. 
 
 AT the close of a month's stay at Millersville, I 
 was compelled to foot my way back to Fairview, 
 not that I didn't prefer even the rickety stage that 
 bumped its way along before the time of the trolley, 
 but for the reason that footing it was more economical, 
 with my last dollar gone for board and tuition. And 
 yet these four short weeks were sufficient to enlarge 
 the scope of my vision; in other words, I had learned 
 to think for myself and to determine questions not 
 contained in the course of study. 
 
 This coming in touch with instructors of the higher 
 order, and students from all parts of the county, re- 
 sulted in forming close friendships which I have always 
 valued most highly. Only a few remain to be met at 
 a Director's Convention or Teachers' Institute. There 
 were other advantages, at least so we young teachers 
 used to imagine. This recalls my second examination 
 at Intercourse, following that held at the "Blue Ball" 
 the year previous. Being the custom of the Superin- 
 tendent to ask what school was last attended, it was 
 with a sort of pride that I called out "Millersville." 
 Whether this prompt answer resulted in reducing the 
 "threes" and "fours" of the year previous to "ones" 
 and "twos," would be an admission I am in no way 
 
 186 
 
The Three-Shell Game. 187 
 
 disposed to make. If, however, as was the case, I 
 had succeeded in getting rid of the "four" in ortho- 
 graphy for a "one-minus," it wasn't owing so much to 
 the fact that I had spent four weeks at the Normal, as 
 to the way I had applied myself to Webster's small 
 blue spelling-book, to be followed by a book contain- 
 ing one thousand "jawbreakers," which the exami- 
 ner took pure delight in dictating to the class standing 
 at the blackboard, with an eye to a few of us copying 
 the more difficult from the "crack" speller of the 
 class. 
 
 However, my first acquaintance with the village of 
 Intercourse was in '55, when I was persuaded to attend 
 'a horse-race along the great stretch east of the town 
 known as the "Old Road" or King's Highway, where I 
 came near losing my only "fiver" in an innocent game 
 in which three small "cups" and an atom the size of 
 a pea, constituted the manipulator's stock in trade. 
 The trick, as I recall, was to tell under which cup the 
 pea was located. As I, not unlike one of Mark Twain's 
 "Innocent's Abroad," was among the first to observe it 
 protruding out of the side of one of the three cups, I 
 pressed my way forward with "fiver" in hand ready to 
 double it in getting something for nothing, when I was 
 hustled aside, possibly on account of my age, for an- 
 other "greeny." But lo, when the cup was raised, 
 presto the small white ball was nowhere in evidence, 
 and the other fellow's "fiver" went where the wood- 
 bine twineth. It was, however, a valuable lesson in the 
 "school of experience," worth all the prior knowledge 
 ever gained from the school text-book. 
 
18S Cherished Memories. 
 
 At the time and for some years later this "wide- 
 open" hamlet was the Paradise of the sporting fra- 
 ternity, where everything went, as the saying goes, 
 from a fox chase to a horse race. Nor were the cele- 
 brities confined alone to Lancaster city; they were as 
 much in evidence in this "go-as-you-please" town as 
 were the two taverns in full blast in dealing out the 
 "tangle-foot" to the numerous frequenters who gath- 
 ered therein. 
 
 Among the hangers-on, as the story runs, was an 
 eccentric individual with a wooden leg of the rough, 
 home-made kind, extending well above the knee. 
 Imbibing too much of the "elixir of life," he betook 
 'himself to the haymow. On awakening, the morning 
 following, he declared that old Satan had performed 
 a surgical operation on the wooden pedal, by ampu- 
 tating it with a common saw midway between the 
 end and the knee. However, after this surgical opera- 
 tion, he was supplied with one of the automatic, 
 double elastic kind by the "imps" of the village. 
 
 And now, before enlarging on my second school 
 experience, let it be said that the change that has 
 since marked the progress of this once "wide-open" 
 hamlet has been phenomenal. The sentiment of the 
 dwellers seems to have entirely changed, with schools 
 and a full corps of lady teachers of the higher order. 
 However, only a very few of the writer's old-time 
 friends remain; among them being Jacob Rutter, 
 former County Commissioner, whom we learned to 
 know as a boy, and whose venerable father, since 
 passed away, was as much of an all-'round sport as 
 
Searching a Boarding House. 189 
 
 he was respected for his many loving qualities of mind 
 and heart. If the two hotels are still doing business 
 at the old stands, they arc orderly conducted, showing 
 that the older order has changed, giving place to a 
 higher social and intellectual life. 
 
 It was some weeks after my appointment over that 
 •of a young lady who had presented a petition signed 
 by all the patrons, that I went my way in search 
 of the "Hickory Grove" school house, standing 
 by the roadside well protected by the overhanging 
 branches of a venerable oak. There were, of course, 
 some things I hadn't considered when, for the second 
 time, I made application for a school in a locality 
 where the idiom was largely in evidence. It seemed, 
 from the few people with whom I conversed, that I 
 had crossed a certain line of demarcation which had 
 separated the Huguenots and others of English pro- 
 clivities from a class called the "Dutch," with a 
 vernacular so pronounced as to make them an almost 
 exclusive sect unto themselves. This imaginary line 
 I came to realize during later years, was the Pennsyl- 
 vania Railroad. 
 
 Having satisfied myself as to the location of the 
 school, if not to its size and outward appearance, 
 built possibly a half century before, I went my way 
 in search of a boarding place, entirely unconscious of 
 the deep prejudice existing, not only against the 
 school board, but against myself as well. Reaching a 
 farm house, I knocked at the door, where I was met 
 by a farmer, whose only reply was, after learning my 
 errand, that he had already boarded one "schule- 
 
190 Cherished Memories. 
 
 maister" and, in his opinion, that was one too 
 many. 
 
 Discouraged almost to the point of despair, it was 
 after making other fruitless efforts that I was rewarded 
 for my time and trouble in meeting the identical farmer 
 who had driven the Conestoga wagon with its span of 
 six grays from Lancaster to Paradise some five years 
 before. 
 
 As it happened to be the noon hour, I was kindly 
 invited in to partake of my "midawk essa," as ex- 
 pressed by one we shall designate Menno Mengen. 
 Taking my seat on the long slab bench, I sat with eyes 
 centered on the blue washed walls of indigo, alto- 
 gether so different from those of the cosy dining room 
 over in Strasburg. Instead of table spread with pure 
 white linen, was the plain oilcloth. With the bright- 
 est of silverware lacking, were knives and forks with 
 bone handles, pewter spoons and dishes of variegated 
 colors of every make and shape, leading me to im- 
 agine that they had been handed down from the time 
 Mengen's great-great-grandfather built the first stone 
 cabin in a wilderness. But what signified the walls 
 if even bare of George Washington's profile, as my 
 eyes took in the bountiful "spread," with pies of every 
 make and bake; all to be partaken of with a spirit of 
 thankfulness, as a moment later came Menno Mengen's 
 long drawn-out silent prayer to the Giver of all good 
 things, ending with "A-m-e-n, a-m-e-n." 
 
 To state my errand was hardly necessary, the news 
 of the coming of the new teacher had already passed 
 from farm-house to farm-house, and as bad news, like 
 
A Good Mennonite Mother. 191 
 
 weeds, is apt to spread, so all kinds of rumors were 
 afloat. That a well-known young woman of influence 
 and standing should be compelled to give way to an 
 entire stranger, was more than the patrons could en- 
 dure with becoming equanimity; and more especially 
 among a people well-grounded in their prejudices, 
 likes and dislikes. 
 
 That Menno Mengen had, among others, signed the 
 petition in favor of the young Miss, was considered 
 the same as a protest against any other who might 
 be sent to teach the school. And it was not until the 
 next morning that Nancy, taking me aside, told me 
 that after a night of prayer they had reached an 
 agreement that I was to remain as a boarder, provided 
 their accommodations suited me. I was further 
 assured that three of their grandchildren should be 
 among the first to attend the school, the youngest a 
 bright-eyed girl of thirteen, named Beckie. 
 
 With this encouragement, this goodly Mennonite 
 mother took a seat by my side, and after hearing the 
 sound of my voice, said, in her own, low, modulated 
 tone, "I am only too happy to know that you have 
 been sent to take the place of Rudolph Gottlieb, the 
 former teacher, who, instead of teaching the plain 
 English, taught the children a mixture of both lan- 
 guages, the result of which is, that our children have 
 become lisping-tongue-tied, with an accent resemb- 
 ling that of Mengen's, who has never been able to 
 overcome the prevailing idiom." 
 
 "Yes," she went on, "the German as taught when 
 I was a girl was a most beautiful language, but in try- 
 
192 Cherished Memories. 
 
 ing to substitute the English, little has been gained 
 among our plain people but a dialect so pronounced 
 as to make it almost impossible to preserve the Ger- 
 man as it was spoken by our grandparents." 
 
 For a time, as I sat in the presence of this more than 
 ordinarily educated Mennonite woman, I couldn't 
 help noticing the difference between her own expres- 
 sion and that of "my man," as she called him. How 
 long the interview lasted with only a word of approval 
 on my part, I have no means of knowing. Later, at 
 the evening meal, as we sat together, the topic turned 
 to farming, when I may have said that if I were the 
 owner of a two-hundred-acre farm with three or more 
 half-grown boys, I'd set apart a half acre to each as 
 a beginning. I'd say, "Now, my lads, start to farming 
 these on your own account; raise what you please, 
 whether strawberries, cucumbers, radishes, or any 
 one or all of the many other farm trucks that always 
 command ready sale. And when the crops are har- 
 vested, I'd tell them, after deducting enough to pay 
 the interest, that the profits belonged to them." I 
 might have gone further in pointing out the competi- 
 tion between them and other farmers' sons, in catching 
 the spirit in making them show more interest in the 
 farm as a whole. If I neglected, I should have ad- 
 vised Menno to subscribe for a journal or two on hor- 
 ticulture and agriculture, in making the boys contented 
 on the farm as a part of God's country. 
 
 However, be this but the result of later deliber- 
 ation, I have often since interviewed farmers' sons 
 as to why they preferred the life of a city to that 
 
A Generous Father. 193 
 
 .of the country. The reply has almost invariably 
 been that they were in noway encouraged; yes, 
 discouraged in being compelled to work year in and 
 year out for only their bed and board, and maybe, 
 to be told on reaching full manhood to wait the time 
 for the "old man" to pass away. 
 
 The above compendium on the shortsightedness of 
 many of our most intellectual farmers the country 
 over can be illustrated in no better way than by what 
 occurred in one of the Lancaster banks not so many 
 years ago. After selling his tobacco for a good, round 
 sum, the farmer and his three half-grown sons stepped 
 up to the cashier, and after getting the check cashed, 
 he said, "Now, give me three dollar bills." Turning 
 to the boys and handing to each one of the bright, 
 new bills, said, "This is your, your and your share for 
 helpin' cultivate the tobacco. Now, take it home 
 mit you, and put it in der bureau-drawer for safe 
 keepin'." 
 
 Good advice! And yet, perhaps, these three young 
 men are still struggling along on the farm, and per- 
 chance not. If still there, they are not getting out of 
 life what the old homestead owes them. And now to 
 enter on my first day's mission as teacher of the 
 Hickory Grove school. 
 
 Of the five girls and six boys attending this school 
 during the fall and winter term of '59, we know of 
 only two yet living, the one known as "Harve," a re- 
 tired blacksmith, residing above Florin, the other, 
 "Amos," a respected citizen of Paradise township. 
 It is well then to know there are at least two wit- 
 13 
 
194 Cherished Memories. 
 
 nesses to bear testimony to what is herein set forth. 
 In noway disposed to betray their ages, yet at the time 
 they attended the "Grove" school, the former ex- 
 ceeded the age of the teacher by some months. As 
 both have reached an age in which they are in no way 
 open to an "engagement" to any of the five girls, the 
 hope is, that none of their inquisitive neighbors will 
 start to computing their ages, unless, perchance, their 
 former instructor's be taken as a basis. 
 
 With a certain pardonable pride, it is after these 
 many years that the author's storehouse of memory 
 is thrown wide open to the recollection of the many 
 discouragements starting with the first opening-day, 
 ending with the closing of the school-room door during 
 the early spring. As my roll-book shows, for a 
 period of three months, the number present at any 
 time did not exceed seven, making the number all told 
 eleven. It was nothing unusual on stormy days, for 
 the teacher to sit alone, holding the "fort" with a pre- 
 emptory order from the secretary to " close up and get 
 out," for the reason "that it didn't pay for the town- 
 ship to keep a school open eight months with an 
 empty school room." 
 
 There came a time, however, during the middle of 
 January, when the issue was to be forced to a conclu- 
 sion, the school closed and "der maister outdismissed," 
 as one of the directors put it in Dutch. Well, to give 
 credit to whom credit is due, it was the late David 
 Evans who had followed the much-lamented John S. 
 Crumbaugh as superintendent, and who, on a cold, 
 stormy day, entered the school, followed by the 
 
The Kickers. 195 
 
 board, a very few friends, and a score of dissenters, 
 filling the room to its utmost capacity. It was a 
 trying hour, and but for the inner consciousness that 
 I was trying to perform my duty, I should have given 
 up in despair. With a kindly shake of the hand by 
 the superintendent, the exercises began, at times 
 with but a single pupil in any one branch. 
 
 At the close, the superintendent stepped to the 
 platform, as I stood in the midst of what at the present 
 day might be called "kickers" or "knockers," feeling 
 that my doom as a teacher was to end in dismissal. 
 But his recital, as he reviewed conditions, laying the 
 blame equally on the heads of both parents and direct- 
 ors, gave me renewed courage. "Directors and par- 
 ents," he went on, " this school I find in first-class con- 
 dition with the teacher doing all that could be ex- 
 pected of one who has received but slight encourage- 
 ment." 
 
 What followed, as those who came to see the school 
 closed, needs not be herein related, except to say that 
 it was Menno Mengen, the Dutch patron, who ended 
 in a speech of such encouragement as to bring 
 good cheer to a young teacher's drooping spirits. 
 But, notwithstanding I received a number one mark, 
 the feeling of resentment continued down to the close 
 of the school with the number of pupils remaining 
 the same. 
 
 But this is not the end : three years later, I attended 
 an examination at the village of Intercourse, and while 
 there was called upon by this same secretary impor- 
 tuning me to take charge of what was known as "The 
 
196 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Pond" school, located in the center of the village. To 
 refuse with thanks this generous offer was to me at 
 the time a source of inward satisfaction, not that I 
 didn't appreciate the change of heart, feeling as I 
 did at the time that the school board was disposed 
 to undo a wrong for which I at the time was in noway 
 responsible. On the other hand, I was holding a posi- 
 tion in another district, with little danger of being 
 "outdismissed." 
 
 Among the teachers whose names have not been 
 forgotten was that of Millard D. Evans, now a prac- 
 ticing attorney in Pottstown, and one other, "Joel," 
 the present alderman of the Sixth Ward of this city. 
 Apart from these and a few other teachers, it needn't 
 be assumed I was was without friends in the village 
 of Intercourse, ready to back up the teacher by words 
 of encouragement as against the action of the school 
 board. 
 
 But as Menno Mengen, with whom I boarded during 
 the long, trying winter, was an inimitable story-teller, 
 the succeeding chapter shall be devoted to country 
 life as I found it on the Mengen homestead. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Menno's Story of His Courtship and Honeymoon 
 Trip to New York — Innovations in Farming 
 Methods and Machinery. 
 
 HARDLY more than a week had gone by when I 
 discovered there was a wide difference between 
 Nancy and "my man" Mengen, as she usually spoke 
 of him. Nor was I long in learning that both had had 
 their griefs and sorrows. These it remained for the 
 grand-children to turn into moments of sunshine — 
 the boys for Mengen to dangle on his knee at times, 
 with the bright-eyed Beckie as a grandmother's 
 darling. 
 
 It wasn't long until I reached the conclusion that 
 Nancy was the go-between, and that to reach the near- 
 side of Mengen, it was necessary to praise Nancy's 
 big, round loaves of home-made bread, as well as her 
 pies of every kind, make and bake. To follow her to 
 the cellar where the churning was going on, and where 
 the big, round rolls of butter were wrapped in the 
 daintiest of cheese-cloth, occupied many of my idle 
 moments. Indeed, so frequent had these visits be- 
 come, with Nancy's domestic affairs, that on one 
 occasion, as I reached the porch, Mengen exclaimed: 
 
 "Un' now, me yunga maister, so ye've been takin' 
 •a lesson or two in housekeepin' frum cella edicated 
 Nancy, same as Mengen's been doin' many times his- 
 self. Mit me alta frau, un' Mengen it's give un' take, 
 
 197 
 
198 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Nancy helpin' in harvest when a storm be brewin', un' 
 der alta mon rockin' der cradle when der glana 
 Mengens be down mit a spell uf der swump fever, 
 one uf der 'plaints that used to be kumin' 'roun' spring 
 un' fall 'fore der doctors got to perscribin' alia kind 
 uf patent med'cines, sume curin', others killin', un' 
 no mistake." 
 
 Changing his position in the old arm-chair, "Denxt 
 we kin be edicatin' ye up to a farmer's standard durin' 
 off-days, pervidin' yer not hangin' 'roun der midawk- 
 essa table waitin' fur der evenin' meal to begin, same 
 as wus der case mit grosa Gottlieb, der former maister 
 uf der destric' schule." 
 
 "Un' now," rising to his feet, "guess we kin be 
 'rangin' fur der price uf board, providin', too, ye 
 aren't givin' to writin' po'try, un' playin' der 'cordeon, 
 mornin', noon un' evenin', as was der case mit Gott. 
 Secon' place, as Mengen kum to tink it iver, too much 
 edication may be jist der right ting fur bankers in 
 figgerin' out interest 'bove der legal rate uf six cent 
 on der dallah, but fur plain farmers, it breeds discon- 
 tent, fillin' der yunga cals' heads full uf highfalutin' 
 ideas, makin' 'em dissatisfied mit a farmer's life." 
 
 "Well, Menno, let me here say, I've never been given 
 to anything but hard knocks as an all-'round town 
 ball-player, such, maybe, as you yourself took a hand 
 in before the rheumatism got to playing pranks with 
 your joints — " 
 
 "Der dihinker, me grosa maister! don't be remindin' 
 der head uf der farm uf cella days when corner-ball 
 wus alia der go on der farm. Un' now," rising and 
 
A MEXN0N1TE MAID 
 
Menno's Courtship Troubles. 199 
 
 stretching out his arms at full length, "if it wasn't 
 fur Menno's rheumatiz, he'd be showin' ye how to be 
 jukin' 'roun' in der ring." 
 
 Strolling our way in the direction of the double- 
 decker, out of Nancy's hearing, the now jolly farmer 
 resumed: "Startin' Mengen to talkin', keeps remindin' 
 him uf der time when he took Nancy to Neia York 
 on our weddin'-trip to see der sights more un' a half- 
 cent'ry back, when der yunga wimmens wus more 
 pertic'lar in choosin' a helpmate un' da be at present 
 time, un' no mistake." 
 
 "Yes, Menno, let's have the story of how you hap- 
 pened to persuade a young Mennonite maid of your 
 own Nancy's worth into marrying a 'Dutch' farmer's 
 son. Of course, I'm not looking at present for a wife, 
 but should the time come, my only hope is there'll 
 be another Nancy." 
 
 "Un' so ye're kind uf smitten mit my woman? 
 Any 'jections to marryin' 'nurther plain Mennonite 
 maid, pervidin' her nam's Beckie when her time kum 
 fur gittin' spliced?" 
 
 "Yis, yis," he continued, absent-mindedly, dream- 
 ing his early life over again, "Menno managed to git 
 Nancy after he'd learned der way uf poppin' der 
 question, which in dem days, mitout eny prev'ous 
 'sperience, wus a mighty ticklish op'ration, un don't 
 ye furgit it! Fust, it took blessed near der whole 
 winter in studin' up der way uf poppin' der question; 
 secon', he hed to be consultin' der alta folk uf how 
 da went 'bout it theirselves; third, der gal's parents 
 hed to be courted on divers 'casions; fourthly, der be 
 
200 Cherished Memories. 
 
 der bishop who wus allaway a bit shy in givin' his 
 consent 'fore guekin' up a yunga farmer's standin' un' 
 char-act-or to be makin' sure that after jinin' meetin' 
 un' wearin' a suit uf homespun mitout gallowses, he 
 prove hisself true to his married vow. Un' fiftly un' 
 lastly, der be der question uf finance, un' no mistake." 
 
 "And the old gentleman's farm thrown in by way 
 of getting Nancy off his hands?" I twittingly remark- 
 ed, leading Menno to the confessional-point, without 
 arousing his suspicions. 
 
 "Denxt, me 'quisitive maister, when ye start 'mong 
 der deitcha farmers huntin' a lovin' help-mate sich as 
 Nancy's been provin', it's a snug leetle farm-house 
 ye'll be needin', mit plenty uf fertile acres to be 
 strollin' 'roun' on; un' so, be savin' yer wages, makin' 
 each dallah be drawin' a six-cent interest iver in der 
 bank? Un' now, if Mengen may be concludin', it's 
 one uf der unwritten laws 'mong der Mennonite farm- 
 ers that, in der givin' 'way uf der datters, der fellows 
 wantin' 'em musdt be showin' up der deed uf inden- 
 ture free uf mortgage or jedgmen', un' no mistake," 
 with a knowing shake of the head. 
 
 "Sorry, Menno," with a deep sigh, "to be telling 
 you, the prospect of my ever marrying a plain Men- 
 nonite maid is a mighty slim one; for, don't you know 
 I'm only a poor, common school teacher." 
 
 "Tut, tut! alia der besser fur ye to be cumin' to 
 der schule poor, un' mebbe, leavin' it rich, un' to be 
 reachin' it rich, un' leavin' it poor." 
 
 "Can't understand your line of reasoning, Menno," 
 came my pertinent reply, in taking a lesson in the 
 theory, if not in the practice of farming. 
 
The Irish Contractor and Son Larry. 201 
 
 "W-a-11, to be 'lucidatin'. 'Cordin' to der records, 
 alia der deitcha farmers cumin' to des der 'up' country 
 at der time der alta Mengen built der stone cabin, 
 wus as poor as Job s turkey in hatchin' season. But 
 by un' by, mit der savin' uf der cents, mit der dallahs 
 takin care uf theirselves, da made der leetle home- 
 steads self-sustainin , mit a few golden nuggets laid 
 side fur a rainy day, which used to kume long more 
 frequently un' da do since der hevy timber be re- 
 moved. 
 
 "But der be der udder side of der question to be 
 told ye uf der scientific farmer cumin' frum der stadt 
 rich, un leavin' der farms in der hands uf der sheriff 
 to be ousgaspieled to der highest bidder, after der 
 barn-doors hed been iver-kivered mit hand-bills 
 'gainst which der law won't permit ye to be white- 
 washin'." 
 
 Glancing upward, in noting the direction of the 
 wind, the versatile Mengen resumed, in his inimitable 
 way, "Iver in der shire town lived, not so many 
 year ago, Jimmy O'Neal, der Irish contractor. Said 
 he to his son Larry, one mornin', says he, 'Me son, 
 since yer parent's been reapin' a fortune at railroad 
 buildin', 'curs to him to be sendin' ye to der farm- 
 schule, so that, on yer home-kumin'., ye kin' be showin' 
 der deitcha farmers how to be raisin' two bushel uf 
 wheat where only one hed been raised 'fore.' 'Cord- 
 'in'ly, as Jestice Dugan's been tellin' me, Larry grad'- 
 ated mit a cer-tif-'cate uf recommen' frum der head 
 perfessor uf der college. Tell ye, der alta contractor 
 wus mighty proud after readin' iver cella diploma, 
 
202 Cherished Memories. 
 
 embracin' a list uf alia der known product raised in 
 der shtate fun Pennsylvany since der William Penn 
 fust landed on her shores uf der Del'ware. 
 
 "Takin' Larry 'side, he said: 'Me edicated yung- 
 ster, it's yer parent's purchasin' fur ye a two-hundred- 
 acre farm to be growin' rich on. But me knowin' one, 
 fore startin' to farmin' on scientific principles, ye 
 musdt be junin' der Farmers' Society uf der county. 
 Tell ye, me maister, if Merino may be concluding 
 durin' fust year, dere be more prosper'ty on cella farm, 
 un' wus iver seen since farmin' fust begun. Crops! 
 niver in me born days see so many 'rieties sent iver 
 from der city uf Washington. Bless ye, took der 
 whole uf der barn floor to be holdin' der seeds fur der 
 spring plantin'." 
 
 "Nothing more is necessary, Mengen, I'm catching 
 on; a sort of 'Experimental' station for the instruc- 
 tion of the Dutch farmers of this the 'up' country 
 in the modus-operandi of conducting a farm on scien- 
 tific principles. And how did the experiment turn 
 out; suppose Larry grew independently rich the first 
 year?" 
 
 "Grew rich, denxt dere? Mit der celler full uf wine 
 un' der parlor full uf vis'tors frum der farm schule, 
 who hed cume to 'sist Larry, tings went swimmin'ly 
 on fur a year or two. But by un' by, mit der crops 
 takin' care uf theirselves, dere kume a change, one 
 of der kind that allaway be overtakin' farmers who 
 git to 'sper'mentin' mit alia kind uf products sint iver 
 frum der Sthate farm schuyle. So, mit Larry kumin' 
 to der farm rich, he left it poor mit der alta contractor 
 
When a Farmer's at Peace. 203 
 
 gettin' der hisself in pervidin' means to be keepin' 
 der younga graduate's head 'bove water till der sheriff 
 kume roun' tackin' a bill uf sale to der doors uf der 
 dubble-decker, un no mistake." 
 
 Looking up at the sun, "It'll be doin' ye no harm," 
 finally concluded Mengen, "to be keepin' der destric' 
 schule pervidin' when ye've drawn yer salary, ye 
 aren't hurryin' off to der stadt investin' it in coal-oil 
 certif'-cates in tryin' to git sumethin' fur nothin'. Un' 
 now, Menno might be sayin' as a warnin', keep yer 
 farm-gate under lock un' key, less, 'fore ye know it, 
 ye'll be loaded down mit a lot of certif'cates, fit only 
 fur der paperin' uf yer kitchen, un' which ye kin' be 
 seein' mornin', noon un' evenin' bearin' no interest. 
 
 On several after occasions I resorted to every de- 
 vice to get Mengen to tell the story of how ho had 
 taken Nancy to New York on his wedding trip to see 
 the sights, but without success. At last, one evening, 
 after having sold some of his wheat to pay off "old 
 debts," as he expressed it, I found him seemingly at 
 peace with all the world. And as the saying went, 
 '"when you find a farmer at peace with himself, it's 
 a pretty sure sign he's at peace with his neighbors." 
 
 "It wus after der bishop hed tied der knot, gittin' 
 a gallon uf daudy's hard cider un' der promise uf a 
 porker at killin' time, that Nancy, turnin' to Mengen 
 un' said: said she, smilin' like, 'As we'll be tied longa 
 un' we've been untied, pervided ye're faithful to yer 
 married vows, mightn't it be showin' a goota 'zample 
 to der yunga matales to be doin' likewise when der 
 time kum fur gittin' spliced, by spendin' our honey- 
 
204 Cherished Memories. 
 
 moon iver in Neia York? Ye see, Menno,' pinnin' a 
 geranium on me wammus, 'if yer willin', Nancy is.' 
 
 "Kind uf denxt, Nancy, that Mengen would be 
 kind uf enjoyin' der trip pervidin' ye've got der ready 
 dallahs to be payin' der bills at one of dem big tav- 
 erns on Broadway, costin' each a dallah a day un' 
 mebbe, sumthin' more by der week pervidin' we 
 spend der summer in der big stadt uf Neia York.'" 
 
 Keeping an eye in the direction of the kitchen-door, 
 to make sure the coast was clear, the jolly farmer 
 continued, "Un' so, mit Nancy dressed in her Dolly 
 Vardin fineries mitout hoop-skirt, un' Menno in his 
 buckskin breeches, mit gallowses un' udder fixin's 
 makin' him guck spruce-like, we took der stage fur 
 der county-seat. Gittin' to der Inlan' town, we stop 
 .iver night mit der jedge, it be cheaper un' stoppin' at 
 der 'Spotted Cat,' un' no mistake. 
 
 "Next morrier," lowering his voice, "we go sailin' 
 down der Con'stoga to Safe Harbor on der Susque- 
 hanna, un' den up der Ches'peake, un' through der 
 Del'ware Canal landin' by un' by in PhiPdelphy, un' 
 where long years 'fore Menno's great-great-grand- 
 dad bought a redemptioner uf which Nancy may 
 be tellin' ye 'fore leavin' der farm. Tell ye, me 
 maister," warming up to the subject, "sailin' iver der 
 river where der Christopher Columbus made his fust 
 landin', was worth alia der cost uf Nancy in payin' 
 der captain fur pintin' out alia der sights 'long der 
 way." 
 
 Smoothing out a few strands of gray which hung 
 over his forehead, then dropping the ashes from his 
 
Seeing Philadelphia. 205 
 
 two-for-a-cent cigar, he resumed, after catching the 
 thread of his story, "Un' now, hevin' reached der 
 stadt uf Brotherly Love, me un' Nancy went paradin' 
 'roun', arm in arm, fur it wusn't Menno Mengen to be 
 seein' his bride followin' in der rear, 'cordin' to der 
 deitcha custom. 'Gin, in a strange platz, der be 
 danger uf some smart fellow steppin' in twixt Nancy 
 un' Mengen.' 
 
 " Kumin' to der flyin'-carriages, same as we used to 
 iver in der stadt, Nancy got to sittin' on a giraff , hookin' 
 in alia der rings mitout gittin' skeered, mit Mingo by 
 her side, mit arms 'roun' der lion's neck, same as he 
 used to be doin' mit Nancy, after poppin' der ques- 
 tion, as I've been tellin' ye." 
 
 "Well, well, Menno, aside from what I've already 
 heard, proceed." 
 
 "Denxt, next we went iver to der Halls uf Inde- 
 pendence to see der Liberty Bell. Walkin' by me 
 bride's side, I got to pintin' to her pictures on der 
 walls. Un', bless me, Nancy, says Mengen, if here 
 isn't der George Washington's wery image crossin' 
 der Del'ware. Un', bless me, Nancy, if here isn't a 
 likeness uf Benny Franklin, der maker uf der alta 
 almanac, un' which be hangin' in der Jeremiah's 
 kitchen. Drawin' nearer, un' guckin' through her 
 Sundawk eyes, Nancy got to searchin' roun' fur her 
 great-grandparents, daguerrotypcs, as she called 'em, 
 un' seein' none resemblin' her ancesters, that edicated 
 Nancy turned on her heel un' said: said she, 'Menno, 
 as der be none uf our great-great-gran'parents' like- 
 nesses spread out on der walls uf der Shtate House, 
 
206 Cherished Memories. 
 
 it's to Neia York we'll be goin' to see der harbor un' 
 mebbe der ship our ancesters kum iver in. Un' mebbe, 
 she went on, leadin' der way to der Ferry, 'we may 
 be learnin' sumethin' frum der alta seamen 'bout our 
 grand-parents un' der boat da kum iver in." 
 
 "Of course, Menno, you saw the harbor, if not the 
 identical ship that brought Nancy's as well as your 
 own ancestors to the new world so many years ago?" 
 came my query, with a view to adding to my own his- 
 torical knowledge. 
 
 "Ships, ships! niver in alia me born days did Mengen 
 see so many uf dem sailing wessels tied up at der wharf. 
 It wus a sight wurth beholdin', sume new, others as 
 old as Methuselah, un' still others that hed been sailin' 
 der high seas iver since der diskivery uf America by 
 the Christopher Columbus, who, der harbor-maister 
 got to tellin' Nancy, wus still livin' iver on Broadway, 
 where he hed been sent after his last trip to der niea 
 wurld." 
 
 "You mean sailing vessels," came the interruption, 
 with a view of correcting some of his faulty English. 
 
 "Yis, yis, sailin' wessels, as I've been tellin' ye, me 
 'quisitive maister. So, mitout sayin, tank ye to der 
 captain uf cer'monies, up der Broadway went Nancy 
 un' Mengen in search uf Christopher, who, me bride 
 got to whisperin' in me off-ear, might be tellin' us 
 alia 'bout how our gran'parents kume iver from 
 Switzerlan' in one of Christopher's deitcha wessels. 
 
 "Un' now, if Menno may be addin'," resumed the 
 jolly farmer, with eyes still in the direction of the 
 open doorway, "mit me bride's Dolly Varden trimmins 
 
In Search of Columbus. 207 
 
 flyin' to der breeze which kume sweepin' iver der har- 
 bor, it wus a anxious momen' fur Nancy to be studyin' 
 out alia der pinted questions to be askin' der alta 
 Columbus 'bout her ancesters." 
 
 "You no doubt found the place of storage, and as 
 a matter of course, learned in due time all about your 
 own and Nancy's family tree?" again came the inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 "We did, un' no mistake! Steppin' up to der head- 
 doorkeeper uf der museum, which Nancy took fur a 
 modern boardin' house, she turned in her winnin' way 
 un' asked, 'Am Christopher Columbus visitin' here- 
 abouts?' 
 
 '"Christopher Columbo, as we used to call him when 
 sailin' der high seas — why, bless ye, yis! Seems we've 
 got der alta sea Captain sumewhere on ex'bition ready 
 to be interviewed by der descendents uf dem what 
 kume iver in one or 'tother uf his three ships.' 
 
 "'Un', un', am Christopher still livin', un' well?' 
 asked Nancy, growin' anxious to be der fust to throw 
 her arms 'roun' his neck. 
 
 "'Veil, veil, me dear Madam, denxt he's enjoyin' as 
 goota health as at enny time durin' der pas' four cent'- 
 ries; can't recall der name uf der doctor who 'tended 
 him durin' his last spell uf sea-sickness, nor der kind 
 uf med'cine da give him, but whatever it wus, it acted 
 like a charm, preservin' der alta sea-captin in goot 
 shape iver since. Un' now, if not too 'quisitive, please 
 give yer names, un' where ye hail frum, seein ye' re 
 on yer weddin' trip. 
 
 "Took Nancy 'bout a mi-nute to be gittin' out one 
 
208 Cherished Memories. 
 
 uf her weddin'-cards, writ by der alta Hiram, der 
 schulemaister, 'fore startin' frum der farm. Said me 
 bride to der high 'ficial in command, dat we now, two 
 in one, be frum der sthate uf Pennsylvany, cumin' 
 clear through frum Phil'delphy, der city uf Brotherly 
 love. Yis, yis," easing up the rheumatic foot, "took 
 dat lovin' Nancy more un' half a hour in describin' to 
 der head-boss alia der tings we hed eyed iver in der 
 Phildelphy Shtate House. At last, turnin' un' glancin' 
 at his watch one minute un' into der Mrs. Mengen's 
 sparklin' eyes der next, he gits to interrogatin' her mit 
 alia kind uf questions 'bout her early fam'ly 'fairs, 
 leavln' Mingo sort uf entertain' hisself squintin' through 
 der winder into der museum wunderin' howiver to be 
 gittin' der two sep'rated. At las', holdin' both Nancy's 
 hand tighter un' a possum in a steel trap, he says, 
 'Un now, me friends frum Pennsylvany, if ye wants 
 to see Christopher 'fore der sun go down, it'll be 
 costin' ye each dri-dahllah a head to be interviewin' 
 der alta sea-farin' captain, seein' yer both frum der 
 Keystone shtate der home uf William Penn, a distan' 
 relation uf Christopher's.' 
 
 "'Un' do ye tinks he still recomembers anytings 
 'bout Nancy Bruderly's fust gran'parents un' der 
 ship they kurne iver in?' asked dat lovin' wife uf 
 mine, 'handin' iver der cash, 'spose fur doin' all der 
 talkln.' 
 
 '"Oh, bless ye, yis; if he kin recomember any- 
 tings at this late day, I'm sure he hasn't furgotten yer 
 gran'parents, though his mem'ry isn't as goot as it 
 used to be when sailin' der high seas 'long der coast 
 
Old Oaken Bucket. 209 
 
 uf America in plantin' der blasted Spaniards on der 
 islan' uf Cuba/ slippin' der half-dollar, quaters, levies 
 un' fippinpbits into his vest pocket, in a way becomin' 
 der head-master uf cer'monier he wus. 
 
 "Fust, as Mingo recalls, he got to showin' me un' 
 Nancy a whole room full uf der mos' wonderful tings 
 ye iver laid yer eyes on. So, py un' py, as he got to 
 leadin' me gal by der arm, he turns to a petrified 
 mummy, sayin', 'Take yer time, me plain country folk; 
 no use in hurryin', seem' ye've got each three minutes 
 mere to be interviewin' Christopher Columbo 'bout 
 yer early ancestors, 'fore der sun go down, mitout 
 extra charge.'" 
 
 The sudden appearance of Nancy on the scene 
 admonished Mingo Mengen to defer the sequel to a 
 more convenient season, with the caution to his apt 
 pupil that no mention of the episode be made in the 
 old lady's presence. 
 
 Apart from the double-decker, Nancy's at all times 
 well-supplied table and the porch, where I'd sit listen- 
 ing to Mengen's stories, if there was one other place 
 I was delighted to linger, it was around the "Old 
 Oaken Bucket" which hung in the well. Of course, 
 the Conestoga wagon, standing alone in the wagon- 
 shed, and which long years before had plied its way 
 from the city of Philadelphia to the far-off town of 
 Pittsburg, seldom escaped our attention. 
 
 During odd moments, I was to learn that along this 
 great stretch of highway, during the time grand- 
 father Mengen occupied the sandstone cabin, the 
 boy, Menno, was no stranger; he had traveled it to 
 14 
 
210 Cherished Memories. 
 
 the tingling of the bells and to the music of the horn 
 of the trusty driver, as he drawled out words meaning- 
 less to all except himself and his trusty roadsters. 
 As a growing lad, Menno had seen many ups and downs 
 in splurging 'round in the sowing of his wild oats. 
 To these numerous escapades he seldom referred after 
 joining meeting, for it was one of the church man- 
 dates to forget, and if not to forget, to forego at least 
 all mention of these youthful exploits, a violation of 
 which resulted at times in severe church discipline or 
 expulsion, the one being as unfortunate as the other 
 in demanding obedience to such rules and regulations 
 as scriptural observance required. As a result, it was 
 only at odd moments, when in the presence of a 
 stranger, that Mengen would throw off all reserve. 
 At such times he would sit by the hour ready to crack 
 a joke, except with the bishop or some of his Dutch, 
 pious neighbors, whose words were aye and nay. 
 
 Occasionally his mind would revert back to the 
 time the grain was reaped with the sickle, and later 
 by the cradler in a twenty-acre field of golden grain, 
 with the binders following in their wake gathering 
 the sheaves ready to be threshed out by the flail or 
 by the tramp, tramp of the horses' feet on the barn 
 floor. 
 
 The old-time cradle! How few of the present gen- 
 eration of farmers' sons recall those happier days 
 when a dozen or more harvesters swung the cradle in 
 unison with some familiar tune, as they awaited the 
 hour to partake of their midday lunch, with a drop 
 or two from the "demijohn," resting in the shade of 
 
New Farming Machinery. 211 
 
 a nearby tree. Picture if you can the feeling which 
 overcame the cradlers along in the fifties, when the 
 reaper and mower came to take the place of the 
 scythe and cradle. Many indeed were the laments 
 to which the writer was an eye-witness, in depicting 
 all kind of dire consequences, with starvation staring 
 the laborer in the face. 
 
 But the reaper and mower were not the only 
 modern-day devices the ingenuity of man has since 
 thrust upon the farming world, to be accepted by 
 some, to be rejected by others — at least for a time. 
 From threshing with the flail, later came the improved 
 thresher and cleaner, sending the grain into the bags 
 to be carted to mill or station-warehouse, now in a 
 Studebaker, a year or two hence, maybe, in an 
 automobile. 
 
 Still later, dating from the time the cradle was in 
 use, came the "stump-puller," the patent hay-rake, 
 casting the "tumbler" on the scrap-pile. Last, 
 though not least, we have the potato-digger, the 
 tobacco-planter, the hay-tedder and numerous other 
 farming implements never dreamed of by Mengen's 
 father, Jeremiah. 
 
 Whether, on an early September morning, as he 
 stood leaning over the porch awaiting the arrival of 
 those who were to assist him in threshing out the 
 remaining forty acres of golden grain, he was thinking 
 of the many changes time had wrought in the farming- 
 world since he was a boy, is not so clear; what he was 
 thinking of was the improved-thresher, among the first 
 of its kind awaiting the farm help. He may have had 
 
212 Cherished Memories. 
 
 his suspicions that the same opposition prevailed 
 against this innovation as had manifested itself against 
 the reaper of a few years before. At last, turning to 
 his "goot" Nancy, with bent head, he exclaimed, 
 "It's der alta Mengen's restin' under a he'vy weight 
 uf trubles, un' how he's to wurk hisself out of 'em, 
 der goota Lord 'bove only knows." 
 
 But Nancy Mengen wasn't the woman to stand 
 idly by without making inquiry into her husband's 
 troubles, which she well knew at times were more 
 imaginary than real. Long years as a devoted house- 
 wife had taught her to read, as if by intuition, his inward 
 thoughts and emotions. At last, after a prolonged 
 pause, broken only by the warbling of a robin red- 
 breast singing its song of welcome to its mate on the 
 topmost branch of the old gum tree, Nancy began, in 
 her low, modulated tone: "Yes, Menno, the Lord will 
 provide all the help you need and that before the day 
 closes; so, brace up, and forget not that every cloud 
 has its silvery lining." 
 
 "Menno, Menno," came with increased emphasis, 
 as a tear fell upon a few strands of gray resting on 
 his forehead, "glance back to the time, so many years 
 ago, when your great-great-grandfather built his 
 stone cabin in this then wilderness, and of how he had 
 to remove sufficient of the heavy timber to keep the 
 wolf of poverty at bay during the long, trying winters, 
 with snow covering hill and dale. If then, our good 
 Father kept an eye on the farm, He will not desert 
 those who continue in the straight, narrow path, 
 trusting at all times in His goodness and mercy. And 
 
Relying on Woman's Intuition. 213 
 
 forget not that you're getting well along in years with 
 troubles hanging heavier on your shoulders than they 
 used to before our two sons passed away, with the 
 grandchildren in our care. But the boys arc growing, 
 and within a few years more will be able to take your 
 place, so cheer up, and do not give way to despair.". 
 
 At this auspicious moment, Mengen's eyes caught 
 sight of his hired help coming down the long lane. 
 Giving his "goot" Nancy a loving embrace, he rushed 
 to meet them, saying: "A leetle late ye are, men, so 
 be steppin' into der ketchen fur a cup uf coffee, un a 
 few slices uf Nancy's snitz pies. Yis, yis, der Lord 
 has been answerin' Nancy's prayers," was his ending, 
 as they all repaired to the double-decker, to start to 
 threshing out the forty-acres of golden grain. 
 . Whether it was the arrival of the hired help, or the 
 timely words of the motherly Nancy that had driven 
 dull care from her husband's mind is for other farm- 
 ers to determine, disposed, as many of them are, to 
 thrust aside a woman's intuition for their own faulty 
 judgment. And this leads to the thought, no doubt 
 uppermost in the minds of the farmer-reader, "How 
 much better might I not be off had I relied on my 
 wife's intuition instead of on my own superior judg- 
 ment, in sending out the value of the farm's products, 
 and at times the farm itself, into some Western gold 
 mine." Do you see the point, ye wise men of the 
 farm? 
 
 It was after overhearing what had occurred between 
 Mengen and Nancy that I found the now happy farmer 
 strolling in the direction of the well for a draught of 
 
214 Cherished Memories. 
 
 its pure, sparkling water. Standing by his side a 
 moment later, he turned and asked, "Iver heard uf 
 der song called der alta 'Oaken Bucket?' Iver hear 
 uf der mon who writ dem lines? It's a song worth 
 yer singin' un' a story worth Farmer Mengen's tellin' 
 ye if you care to listen. Yis; it was der alta Jere- 
 miah who first got to singin' der song while sittin' 
 on der porch iver yonder. Un' as he sung line after 
 line, 'How dear to der heart be der scenes uf me child- 
 hood,' how we children gathered 'roun' des alta oaken 
 bucket, mit tears in our eyes, pledgin' our wurd alia 
 to der Jere that as longa as childhood lingered, so 
 longa would der bucket un' windless be held sacred to 
 der daudy's mem'ry. 
 
 "'Gin, me maister," resumed Mengen, leaning over 
 the windless, after disposing of a few glasses of the 
 pure liquid that came from the well's depths, "as der 
 story go, a party uf tipplers hed dropped into a bar- 
 room one sultry day, un' after partakin' uf der brandy- 
 toddy, one turned un' said, der inn-keeper's toddy 
 wus der best he had iver tasted. Jist then, 'nurther 
 said, 'I know of a drink that beats der best brandy- 
 toddy iver mixed to quench a drinker's thirst." 
 
 "'Un' pray, vas might that be?' asked one uf der 
 drinkers. 
 
 "'It's der sparklin' wasser I used to drink frum der 
 alta oaken bucket mit der promise to mc goot murther 
 dat what kum frum der depths below 1 would never 
 exchange fur any other.' 
 
 "Un' now, as Mengen recall der endin' uf der story, 
 one of der drinkers, Samuel Woodworth, as Jeremiah 
 
Pledge to Father. 215 
 
 called him, dropped his glass, un' runnin' frum der 
 tavern, went straight iver to his printin' office, where 
 he print dem lines, 'Der Alta Oaken Bucket.'" 
 
 And as I stood beside the tender-hearted farmer 
 and drank of the health-giving waters, it was there he 
 told me how he had pledged himself to his father, 
 Jeremiah, that, as long as Go dgave him strength to 
 withstand temptation, so long only would he drink of 
 the limpid waters that came from the earth beneath. 
 
 Improbable as this story may seem to the skeptical, 
 it is only one of many another to follow. If, then, 
 it contains a moral, so much the better for the story. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII.- 
 
 A Country Sale — Tendency to Extravagant 
 Purchases. 
 
 IT was on a Saturday morning following, with a 
 drizzling rain setting in, that Mengen, dressed 
 in his best corduroy trousers, said to his "goot" 
 Nancy, "Seein' der time fur der maister to be leavin' 
 de farm's drawin' near, to be takin' him to der farmer 
 Zimros' sale of household un' farmin' impPments, may 
 be helpin' 'long his edication uf der practical kind. 
 Un' Nancy," he continued, drawing on his kips, 
 "it'll be fordin" der maister on der way to be sayin' 
 goot-bye to sum uf der 'kickers' uf der schule. " 
 
 "Oh, Menno, Menno, you set me beside myself! 
 From what the boys have been telling their grand- 
 mother, you've already been filling his head with 
 stories unbecoming a man of your age, and now to be 
 taking him to a coimtry sale! Be careful then, Mengen, 
 not to let the wily sales-cryer load on the teacher a lot 
 of second-hand rubbish for which he may have no 
 use in the school-room. Yes, Menno, as you know, a 
 country sale is, of all places, the worst, leading to 
 habits of extravagance." 
 
 Chuckling inwardly at his "goot" Nancy's credulity, 
 and overlooking a woman's intuition which usually 
 surpasses man's faulty judgment, Farmer Mengen 
 repaired to the farm-yard, where "Old Trusty" was 
 
 216 
 
Neighborhood Sympathy. 217 
 
 already hooked to the spring-board ready for an early 
 start. 
 
 And now, before leaving the farm on our twelve- 
 mile up-country journey, it may be said that in a 
 .general way conditions of farm-life have undergone 
 little, if any, change during the past half century. 
 Whatever new departures have come with better 
 educational advantages and improved appliances, 
 making the labor of the farm easier than in ye olden 
 time, many of the customs, habits and traditions 
 remain pretty much the same. 
 
 Being a law unto themselves, they are disposed to 
 let the outer-world wag itself along to its heart's con- 
 tent, being seldom disturbed except by some unfor- 
 seen calamity. In this respect, Menno was no excep- 
 tion, ready at all times to loiter by the wayside, talk- 
 ing over such common-place affairs as the city mer- 
 chant might consider of little value during business 
 hours. And why shouldn't one be interested in a 
 neighbor's successes or failures? Having no "club- 
 rooms" wherein to meet at the close of the day in dis- 
 cussing a friend's private aff airs, who would deny them 
 this God given privilege of sympathizing with a farmer 
 whose tobacco patch had been riddled by a shower of 
 hail, or whose last dollar had gone into a bucket shop? 
 
 Apart from these few suggestive thoughts, as the 
 result of a short eight-months on the Mengen home- 
 stead, it was after swinging back the farm-gate on its 
 rusty hinges that I took a seat by the now jolly 
 farmer's side on our way to the Zimros sale of what 
 Menno took occasion to call "blooded stock." 
 
218 Cherished Memories. 
 
 On, on we drove our way with th well-informed 
 Mengen pointing to this or that well-cultivated 
 homestead, and of how after long years of patient 
 toil, it had been made to yield an abundance of crops. 
 Drawing up before a store and inn combined, it was 
 necessary for Mengen to alight, first, to give "Trusty" 
 a breathing spell, second, to lay in a supply of "bretz- 
 els" and cheese, in addition to a number of "half 
 Spanish," to be stored in his broad-brim black beaver, 
 for his own use. Mengen might have had other reas- 
 ons; it being a rule, seldom to pass a country tavern 
 without paying one's respects to the Dutch landlord; 
 to neglect this, was to violate one of the unwritten 
 laws custom had sanctioned. 
 
 Before dismounting came the familiar "Goota mor- 
 rier, Farmer Mengen. Kum a-mole in un' nem a gla 
 venic appel-jack mit der alta landlord." This free, 
 open hospitality, coming from the stubby inn-keeper, 
 soon convinced me that I had fallen in with a coterie 
 of farmers also on their way to the sale. If hitherto 
 Mengen had eschewed the higher German for the 
 prevailing idiom, which we make but slight attempt 
 to reproduce, differing as it does in different localities, 
 he was now only too ready to rattle off the "mother- 
 tongue," in which I might have been bought and sold 
 a dozen times over without my knowing it. 
 
 Glancing through a window into the bar-room, I 
 couldn't help noticing the Dutch landlord dealing 
 out the "tangle-foot" to all who had come to indulge 
 themselves, only to agree to disagree on any one of a 
 dozen different topics, no single one of which, to my 
 
Good Advice. 219 
 
 way of thinking, was applicable to' the farm, except- 
 ing the weather. However, all were happy, jovial 
 and for a time good-natured, until the fermentation 
 began to bear fruit, when, with the jingling of the 
 glasses, the room seemed to have turned itself into a 
 howling mass of unrestrained humanity. This was 
 still another phase of country-life, no longer a dream, 
 but a living reality. To my surprise, Menno seemed 
 proof against the landlord's importunities to partake 
 of a "gla venic eppel-jack," as he expressed it. 
 
 At last, as the motley crowd disappeared in the 
 distance, we followed slowly in the rear. Breaking 
 the silence, Menno said, as if by way of apology, "Ye 
 musn't be jedgin' our Deitscha farmers by der few 
 who be nemin' a leetle too much uf der landlord's 
 beverage; sich ye'll allaway be fmdin' at der taverns 
 on der way to a country sale. Most uf our peoples, 
 as ye'll diskiver, be law-bidin' un' temperate, even to 
 bein' devout Christians, 'cept bertime when sowin' 
 der wild oats." 
 
 "Un' now," continued Mengen, changing the sub- 
 ject, "dere be no kind uf a edication dat beats der 
 Deitscha auctioneer's, mit a way uf bamboozlin' der 
 farmers into buyin alia sort uf tings, fit only to be 
 stored way on der barn loft. So, as a goota wurd 
 uf vice from Nancy, don't let der sales-cryer git his 
 eye on ye, or ye're a goner, mit mebbe, a cribber on 
 yer hands, mit Mengen goin' on yer sixty-day note. 
 Besser keep watchin' der udder bidders gittin' not 
 what da allaway be expectin, sumethin' fur nothin', 
 un' no mistake." 
 
220 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Accepting this bit of wholesome advice, at a later 
 moment I stood in amazement, as I took in the long 
 line of teams hitched to both sides of the fences — traps 
 of every kind and shape, some with, others without, 
 springs or cushions to the seats; not a few of which, 
 for all I knew, might have come over from the Father- 
 land. 
 
 Reaching the mass of gathered humanity, I strolled 
 hither and thither, viewing some in shirt-sleeves, others 
 in short runabouts and broadfalls, with black-brim 
 felt hats, pressed well down over their foreheads, pre- 
 senting a picture altogether different from what I 
 had seen at the Kauffman love-feast, some half dozen 
 years before. 
 
 It wasn't long until I found myself a stranger 
 among an even stranger people, who eyed me with a 
 sort of idle curiosity. And yet, as I was later to learn 
 from Mengen, they represented the lords of creation 
 — the sturdy yeomanry who felt themselves monarchs 
 of all they surveyed in the realm in which they moved. 
 Viewed from the standpoint of the city novice, they 
 were a strange and motley mixture; but when meas- 
 ured by the standard of their own surroundings, they 
 were a frugal, industrious, law-abiding people, owing 
 their allegiance only to mother earth and what she 
 was willing to provide. If the crops were short one 
 year, with low prices, their hope was that better luck 
 might follow them the next succeeding. Subject to 
 no "trade unions," they could go where or when it 
 suited their convenience, without being dictated to 
 by a "walking delegate.". Even the half-grown boys 
 
A Jolly Auctioneer. 221 
 
 and girls dressed in all kind and shapes of homespun, 
 seemed contented, as they chattered away in their 
 mixed dialect. 
 
 However, as a twentieth-century after-thought, if, 
 in forming a "Farmers' Trust/' may they not, in being 
 dictated to by a "walking delegate," thus curtail, in 
 a measure, that free, independent life known alone 
 to the world of farmers? 
 
 Turning from this suggestive hint, I was left to 
 paddle my own canoe, strolling from house to the 
 'double-decker, only to wonder at the piles of rubbish 
 lying here and there awaiting the sales-cryer, whose 
 voice, coming from where I knew not, could be heard 
 even more distinctly than that of the vender's of 
 what was to satisfy the hunger of the great majority 
 who had come to gratify an idle curiosity in the en- 
 joyment of a day's outing, such as country sales usu- 
 ally afford. 
 
 It wasn't long until I had found myself on the 
 barn-floor, in the midst of a swarm of anxious bidders, 
 each zealous to out-bid his neighbor. However, I 
 hadn't been an eye-witness long until I discovered 
 that -each article had a value oftentimes beyond what 
 it might have been purchased at any one of the city 
 or country stores. 
 
 That the auctioneer understood his business, soon 
 began to confirm what I had been told by Farmer 
 Mengen. Being upwards of three hundred pounds 
 in weight and of a jolly turn, pouring forth in his 
 go-as-you-please way a volume of Dutch and English, 
 he managed to keep the bidders worked up to the top- 
 
222 Cherished Memories. 
 
 notch by weaving in one of his stories, salted down for 
 each occasion. Then, after the laughter had sub- 
 sided, he would lean forward, with article in hand, 
 calling for a generous bid. Catching but the slightest 
 motion of the head or an involuntary wink of the 
 eye, he would hold the bidder spell-bound in bidding 
 against one of the cryer's paid hirelings, with "Ain, 
 swa, tri, gone, gone to Adolph Conning at only half 
 der price." 
 
 Catching in his arms the souvenir, the fortunate or 
 unfortunate purchaser would start to inspecting his 
 bargain, then turn it over to his competitors, who in 
 turn would view it with as much curiosity as if it 
 were some memento handed down from Noah's ark. 
 
 Comparatively easy it was for the on-looker to force 
 his way into this mixture of men, women and children, 
 bumping and pressing against each other as if in search 
 of a gold mine, but to work his way out, with broad- 
 brim hats and sugar-scoop bonnets jamming themselves 
 into one's eyes, was no easy matter. 
 
 From the "bargain-counter" of the double-decker 
 I went my way to the house, taking in the many 
 womanly faces as they pried into bureau-drawers 
 filled with linen, trinkets and other articles of a 
 domestic kind, all awaiting the auctioneer's disposal. 
 Bedding and ticking came under the scrutiny of 
 matronly home-bodies, while those younger in years 
 cast wistful glances at an old-fashioned cradle, whose 
 oddity of shape and age, if not reminding me of the 
 one I was compelled to rock down in Old Leesburg, 
 served to bring conviction to the humorously-inclined 
 
Blooded Stock. 223 
 
 that it might have come from one of the Swiss pro- 
 vinces at the time the first settlement was made in 
 this the "up" country. 
 
 In the kitchen below were crowds, indulging them- 
 selves in low whispers on the merits of what were so 
 soon to bedeck their own homes. The antiquated 
 sideboard, filled with plates, cups and saucers, knives 
 and forks with bone handles of all sizes and shapes, 
 was ransacked by old and young, each with an eye 
 single to its purchase. 
 
 In this wonderland I lingered, almost persuading 
 myself to catch the eye of the jolly sales-cryer in the 
 purchase of the old grandfather's clock, standing in a 
 corner ready to be offered at a sacrifice to the highest 
 bidder. Stepping to the door, my attention was 
 attracted by: "Des iz der platz fun der lemonade, 
 only two benny der glass, mit a bretzel mitout extra 
 cost. Yaw, yaw," continued the voice, "kum a-mole 
 iver fur der oyster-stew, jus' six cent fur one bowl." 
 And he might have added, after I had sampled the 
 mixture, that a single bivalve had been thrown in 
 to give the "soop" the oyster flavor. 
 
 Beyond, where the hungry loved to congregate, 
 with the bidding under full sway, I caught sight of 
 the tall Menno Mengen intensely interested in what 
 the cryer called "blooded stock." In no way wishing 
 to become hypnotized by the auctioneer catching but 
 a wink of my own eye, I had little cause for anxiety, 
 knowing that Menno Mengen wasn't so easily to be 
 bamboozled by the wily tricks of the sales-cryer. 
 
 On due reflection, I could reach but one conclusion 
 
224 Cherished Memories. 
 
 for the close competition, no spot-cash down, only 
 the giving of a thirty, sixty or a ninety-day note, with 
 this or that farmer becoming endorser for his neigh- 
 bor, and vice versa. 
 
 However, at the close of the sale and before start- 
 ing homeward, in a casual way, I took an inventory 
 of Menno's purchases, consisting of a set of half-worn 
 harness, several old blankets, two copper kettles, 
 punctured with holes sufficient to extinguish any fire 
 during " eppel-butter-bilin' " season. Added to these 
 and other odds and ends, was a crow-bate of a cow, 
 denuded of her once glossy color, described by the 
 sales-cryer as of "Alderney stock," imported from the 
 Channel Islands. In addition were two half-grown 
 shoats, of the razor-back order, said to have come 
 from Georgia, and which, when loaded into the spring- 
 board with the other cast-offs, left little room for either 
 Mengen or myself. 
 
 Fortunately for ourselves, the old reprobate with 
 her baby-calf was compelled to jog her way along the 
 rear, while on the crate, containing the long-nose 
 shoats, I seated myself, with back facing the driver, 
 in leading the nondescript whose musical notes were 
 anything but a solace to my peace of mind. Perched 
 ■on the front seat sat Mengen, who every now and then 
 exclaimed, "Keep a tight hold uf der kritter, un' be 
 keerful, me younga maister, uf der glana shoats 
 reachin' out in bitin' off der ends uf yer coat-tail." 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Sexton Hammertoe — The Story of Jimmy McGuire. 
 Patershine Trades Horses. 
 
 TO pass from the sale without acquainting the 
 reader with what occurred on our homeward 
 journey, might be to throw some doubt on the story 
 as already related. For a time we went our way, Men- 
 gen holding the reins, and I, guiding Brindle by keep- 
 ing her at a safe distance from jumping aboard the 
 spring-board when not trying to go the other way, in 
 which I found my predicament a most uncomfortable 
 one from the viewpoint of the teacher. 
 
 At last, breathing heavily, Menno exclaimed in a 
 doleful tone, "Seein' der Mengen's runnin' short uf 
 a fresh supply uf stories to be entertainin' Nancy 
 when she gits to askin' alia' bout der tings her besser- 
 half's been buyin' at der sale, it might be well to be 
 stoppin' mit der alta grave-digger fur a fresh supply, 
 to be entertainin' der Jestice Dugan when he kume 
 'round to be payin' a ten 'vance iver der price bersalt 
 fur der Alderney un' mebbe sumthin' more fur der 
 razorbacks. " 
 
 Before I could realize the predicament into which I 
 was so soon to find myself, Mengen, glancing back over 
 his left shoulder, soliloquized, "As der sun's gittin' 
 close down 'long der horizon, un' as der Sexton's eyes 
 be not as goot as day once was, he may be takin' der 
 15 225 
 
226 Cherished Memories. 
 
 crate containin' der shoats fur der rough-box of der 
 alta Sol Shindle's last earthly remains, un' which, 
 if Mengen was correc'ly informed iver at der sale, wus 
 delayed in transit in crossin' what in der alta time wus 
 der 'Round Up.' So, jis' keep mum, un' we'll be 
 hevin' a leetle fun at der alta Hammerpue's 'spense, 
 un' no mistake." 
 
 Driving up, Mengen dismounted, and after hitching 
 "Trusty" to a post, said in response to my inquiry, that 
 the house to the right was the sexton's home, and the 
 one on the left, directly opposite, the "Dead-House" 
 in which all late arrivals were compelled to rest over 
 night to be given public interment the morning follow- 
 ing. 
 
 Glancing at the small stone structure with its 
 two windows, oaken door and roof of tiles, came a 
 voice, and before it had lost itself among the grave- 
 stones, appeared in the waning twilight, two round, 
 hazel eyes from the open doorway, and which for all I 
 knew to the contrary might have been those of the 
 late Sol Shindle's, if Mengen's words could be relied on. 
 
 As I attempted to seek shelter behind the Alderney 
 again came the same screeching voice, "This way, 
 back up, Mr. Undertaker, and we'll unload; too late 
 to plant the old poet's remains before the coming of 
 the 'morrow. And bless the sexton, where's the 
 •procession? Oh, I see, shipped the corpse in a spring- 
 board to save hearse-hire, with the mourners coming 
 along early in the morning, eh?" rubbing his eyes to 
 make his vision all the more clear, being, as Mengen 
 had said, a little nearsighted. 
 
Mistaken Identity. 227 
 
 "And now, Mr. Undertaker," came in a milder tone, 
 stepping forward with an acquired feeling of sympathy, 
 "Was the old poet sick long? Were his last moments 
 peaceful? Leave any bequests, in setting apart a 
 small legacy to Sexton Hammerpue in keeping his 
 remains from being carried off by the young medical 
 students of the city in search of a 'stiff?' Reconciled 
 to the inevitable, as most poets are, when they realize 
 their last hopes have departed? Any tears shed by the 
 near and distant relatives in expecting something for 
 nothing, always only too ready to open the deceased's 
 will? Compose any verses for his headstone? Have 
 them patented to prevent other scribblers from claim- 
 ing priority of title? Say how he wanted to be planted, 
 with head north, south, east or west?" 
 
 "Kind of denxt, me alta grave-digger, ye musdt be 
 hevin' a spell uf der nightmares; eyesight not so goot 
 as it once be?" shouted Mengen, with a half bewildered 
 look, feeling the joke was like a shoe on the wrong foot. 
 
 "Be they 'goof or bad, drive the old nag up and 
 we'll unload; have been waiting since noon for the 
 cortege, and here comes the poet's body in a rough-box, 
 and in such a crate! Guess, mebbe, after all," with a 
 solemn shake of the head, "the scribbler was too poor 
 to buy a decent casket or pay a respectable number of 
 mourners to be risking their lives through the tangle- 
 web of brush, without some guarantee of a safe re- 
 turn — " 
 
 "See here, Mr. Sexton Hammerpue, ye're a lettle 
 wrong-shifted, un' der sooner ye right yerself der 
 besser, bless ye. Ich bien der Menno Mengen, frum 
 
228 Cherished Memories. 
 
 der Menno Zimros' sale mit a pair of shoats penned up 
 in what ye've been takin' fur a rough-box. Sorry to 
 be disturbin' ye at des late hour, 'cept to denkin' ye 
 might be 'commodatin' us mit a story to be entertainin' 
 Nancy when she gits to pryin' into Mengen's purchases 
 iver at der sale, un' no mistake." 
 
 "Why, why, yes, Mengen, if it's only a good story 
 you want, it won't be costing you more than your time 
 and patience; so, as it's growing a little chilly without, 
 ask your hiding -friend to step into the dead-house, and 
 it's the Sexton who'll be telling you both how the young 
 laddy boy Jimmy M'Guire met his fate all the result of 
 a little amusement Justice Maloney and a few of the 
 rollicking laddy boys over in the village thought they'd 
 be having at the Sexton's expense." 
 
 And, as we stepped within this woebegone place of 
 refuge, the Sexton continued, after the closing of the 
 door, and lighting a tallow-dip, "Make yourselves at 
 your ease, my friends; those resting awaiting an early 
 burial in the morning won't be disturbing you; you 
 needn't have any fear of bringing back to life the vener- 
 able Doctor M'Ginty who died of the cholera, and yet 
 could cure others; remains came a little too late for 
 this day's planting. Knew the Doctor, Mengen?" 
 directing his remarks to him who sat on one end of the 
 casket, with myself on the other. 
 
 "And, and, do you mean to say the doctor died of 
 a malignant disease?" I exclaimed, looking for the 
 nearest avenue of escape. 
 
 "Un, un', gee whiz, Mr. Sexton, un' don't ye tink 
 ye kin be deferrin' der story to a more conven't season, 
 
Test of Courage. 229 
 
 seein' it's Farmer Mengen musdt be gettin' Brindle un' 
 der shoats to der farm fur Nancy to be takin' a peep 
 at fore' closin' her eyes in sleep?" 
 
 Placing his hand on the shoulder of the venerable 
 Mengen whose nerves began to show the wear and tear 
 of age, he was assured that there was absolutely no 
 danger of either of the "stiffs" regaining his perfect 
 equilibrium. 
 
 Having pacified us both that we should in due time 
 pursue our way homeward-bound, without the danger 
 of being followed by evil spirits or omens, we continued 
 to rest peacefully until the Sexton had finished the 
 story, one, if not the same, I have frequently heard 
 mentioned since by the older residents of the "up" 
 country. 
 
 It seems that the undertaker, after storing the body 
 of Silas Brickenbine in the "dead-house" preferred to 
 stop over night in the village instead of sleeping peace- 
 fully in the deceased Brickenbine's rough-box without 
 extra cost. 
 
 Dropping a word here and there in the village, it 
 soon became noised around the office of Squire Ma- 
 loney that the remains of Silas were in the dead- 
 house. Being of a jolly turn, the Justice started to 
 offering a small reward to any one willing to enter this 
 dismal place of refuge after night had set in ; and after 
 remaining with the corpse an hour with every evidence 
 that he had fulfilled his mission to the squire's satis- 
 faction, return with the evidence. It so happened as 
 the night ran on that none of the village boys willing 
 to make the venture, that Jimmy M'Guire declared that 
 
230 Cherished Memories. 
 
 having traveled old Ireland over without the fear of 
 ghosts and hobgobins, he was willing to earn an honest 
 dollar. 
 
 To make good his promise, he was given a hammer, 
 nail and a strip of red flannel which, upon entering 
 through a window, he was to tack to the side of the 
 deceased Brinkinbine's rough-box, so that it might be 
 seen by the committee the morning following the event. 
 Up to this time all went well as the courageous Jimmy 
 went his way whistling an old Irish reel. 
 
 To quote the sexton's language: "It was along in the 
 wee hours of the morning that startling results followed 
 Jimmy's first and last visit to this dead-house. Awak- 
 ened from my peaceful slumbers by a rap at the oaken 
 door, and thinking it only the wind playing hide and 
 seek, I raised the window of my bed-room, looking for 
 the kind of weather for the morning's planting when 
 lo! who should the sexton's eyes behold but Justice 
 Maloney standing at the door of the dead-house 
 trembling as if attacked by all the imps supposed to 
 be strolling 'round among the grave-stones, but for 
 what purpose I knew not. 
 
 " 'It's Justice Maloney, and none other, ' I murmured 
 looking still further out of the window. 'Ah, ha, by 
 all that's good and bad, if it isn't the defender of the 
 peace that's lurking 'round trying to rob the sexton of 
 his charge. Out of this at a double-quick, ' I shouted. 
 'Yes, away with you, Mr. Maloney, or it's the grave- 
 digger who'll be rushing down putting you into the 
 rough-box beside that of Silas Brinkinbine, and that, 
 before your early morning prayers.' 
 
Death-Fright of Jimmy McGuire. 231 
 
 '"Ach, an' it's yerself, Mr. Sexton Hammerpue 
 who'll have to be hurryin' down, for don't ye know it's 
 th' body of poor Jimmy M'Guire that's standing up- 
 right in the dead-house an' without any more life in 
 him than a grave stone,' came Justice Maloney's 
 lament, as he stood prying through one of the windows 
 with the moon shining brightly down. 
 
 '"Come, come, Squire Maloney, and what's bringing 
 you here at such an unseemly hour when you ought to 
 be resting peacefully beside your own Bridget. Got 
 it into your head that it's Bridget instead of Silas that's 
 lying in the rough box, eh? Well, if you have any 
 doubts, give one or two more raps, and if you can't 
 hear his voice, put your ear to the keyhole, and if good 
 luck be with you, you may hear him twisting 'round 
 in the coffin in search of a little of the fresh morning 
 air.' 
 
 '"Ach, and it's Justice Maloney who's responsible 
 for—' 
 
 "Rushing down stairs, with shillalah in hand, I ups 
 and gives him a whack over his bald pate, saying, ' Take 
 this, Mr. Maloney, for your impertinence in disturbing 
 Sexton Hammerpue out of his peaceful slumbers.' 
 Then turning the key to the lock, I shoved the portly 
 justice in ahead as a protection when lo! to my horror, 
 who should be standing upright but poor Jimmy 
 M'Guire and as dead as Silas Brickinbine himself.' 
 
 "'Oh, ho, Mr. Squire, it's a pretty fix you've gotten 
 yourself into with the evidence of your guilt staring 
 you in the face. Yes, Squire,' I continued, as with 
 another whack of shillalah, I sent him sprawling over 
 
232 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Silas' rough-box, 'you might just as well be making 
 your will in favor of the Sexton, who'll be seeing 
 you'll be getting a decent planting in one corner of 
 the graveyard without the presence of His Reverence 
 to be sprinkling a few drops of holy water over your 
 remains unbeknown to court and jury, who may be con- 
 victing you of murdering and standing the poor Irish 
 laddy boy upright in the dead-house, to be covering 
 up your foul act.' 
 
 "And now," resumed the Sexton, lighting another 
 tallow-dip, and pointing to the spot where the remains 
 of Jimmy had been found standing, "it all occurred in 
 this way: In tacking the strip of red flannel to the side 
 of the rough-box, the bewildered Jimmy accidentally 
 drove the nail through the end of his long coat. Turn- 
 ing to depart, and feeling something pulling at him, 
 and thinking it to be old Brinkinbine rising out of the 
 trance into which he had fallen, caused the Irish lad 
 to stand stone-dead from fright, bringing on an attack 
 of heart-trouble. 
 
 "To substantiate the statement before a Coroner's 
 jury, there was Jimmy's coat-tail clinging to the side 
 of the coffin as plain as if tacked there by some 
 unseed hand. And now, to conclude," added the 
 Sexton, with a grim smile, as we stepped out into the 
 moonlight, "it is to be hoped, Menno, the story may 
 have a soothing effect on your own Nancy's nerves, 
 in accounting for the lateness of your return to the 
 farm." 
 
 For a time during our drive homeward-bound all was 
 as quiet between us as if we were returning from the 
 

 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 s 
 
 F 
 H 
 
 a 
 
 K 
 
 w 
 
A Horse Story. 233 
 
 funeral of the much lamented Jimmy MGuire. And 
 it was not until the farm-gate was reached that the 
 now much disconcerted farmer exclaimed in a low 
 whisper, "Der alta grave-digger's story isn't restin' 
 wery easy on der Menno's memory." 
 
 After all had been arranged with Brindle, her baby- 
 calf and the razor-backs stored away out of Nancy's 
 hearing, Mengen, after locking the stable-door, seated 
 himself on the edge of the water-trough and ex- 
 claimed, "Ich glabst 'tisn't safe in buyin' Alderneys un' 
 razorbacks to be derpendin' on ther heavens 'bove or on 
 der earth 'neath, 'less yer usin' both yer Sunday un' 
 week-day eyes. Un' even den, chances be ye'll be 
 drivin' to der farm livestock mit more real-down 
 cussedness un' M enno iver see since der Alta Patershine 
 drive frum der stadt a gowl not wurth der room it take 
 up in der stall." 
 
 "Well, Menno, to give you time to conjure up some 
 •excuse to be giving your better-half for our delay, let's 
 have the story as a night-cap," came my half-sleepy 
 response, taking a seat by his side out of reach of 
 Nancy's bed-room window. 
 
 "Veil, 'side frum der alta Sexton's yarn, which kind 
 uf make der Menno a gla venic nervous, der Patershine 
 drive iver to der town, un' mettin' der dealer say, ' Mr. 
 Rubenstine, heve ye a goota gowl fur wurk?' 
 
 '"Der wery gowl to be suitin' ye, friend Patershine, 
 der fust to 'rive frum der shtate uf Kentucky, mit a 
 ped'gree uf der Blue Grass region, un' so quick on alla- 
 fours dat it'll do yer alta heart goot to see cella im- 
 proved stock uf gowl work, un' don't ye furget, Pater, 
 what the dealer's tellin' ye. ' 
 
234 Cherished Memories. 
 
 "Un' so, der Patershine pay spot-cash down fur cella 
 goot gowl mit wha der veternaries couldn't be curin', 
 he later drive hot-foot to der stadt, un' gittin' dere 
 'fore der dealer hed 'ris out uf his dreams, he knock 
 at der door uf his five-story residence.' 
 
 "'Un,' un', who kum knockin' at dealer's door 'fore 
 he kin be sayin' his early mornin' prayers?' mit his 
 bald head out of the window. 
 
 '"Du bist der Rubenstine, ich glawbst; un' ich bein 
 der Patershine, kum to tell ye cella Kentucky gowl 
 be a bawker; I hitch him to a load of stone dri dawk 
 iver at der lime-kiln, un' des morrier, he be standin' in 
 der same platz. Vas denxt dere iver cella goota 
 wurkin' gowl?' 
 
 '"Hum, hum; alia recht; goot nicht, goot nicht; 
 didn't I tells ye, farmer Patershine dat it would do yer 
 alta heart goot to see him wurk? 
 
 "So, hot-foot der Pater drive iver to der Reuben- 
 stine's twin bruder, un', after tellin' him alia 'bout 
 der last dicker, he say, ' Heve ye a goota gowl fur wurk?' 
 
 "'Der wery gowl ye're needin' on der farm, stop 
 when ye wants him to go, un' go when ye wants him to 
 stop. ' So der Patershine bein' a leetle hard uf hearin' 
 in his off-ear, he gucks cella goota gowl iver, countin' 
 the molers, mit a eye to der gowl's age, when he turn 
 un' say, 'How much spot cash down?' 
 
 "'One hundred un' thirty dallah, mit 'nuff off to be 
 payin' der toll iver der King's highway, ' say der 'com- 
 'datin' Rubenstine mit a smile. 
 
 " 'No, no ' say der pater, ' I gives ye one-hundred un' 
 twenty-nine, no more no less.' 
 
A Dealer's Insurance' 235 
 
 '"It's a go,' say der Rubenstine, reachin' fur der big 
 roun' silver dallahs mit both hands. 
 
 " ' On one condition, dat ye guarantee der goot wurk- 
 in' gowl to live ten year. ' 
 
 '"Gut in himmel, Mr. Patershine, no honest dealer 
 kin be 'surin' a Kentucky gowl to live ten year. ' 
 
 " ' Veil, so, goota morrier mine friend,' mit a wink 
 uf der left eye un' his thumb at his nose. ' 
 
 '"Holt a gla venic, it's der honest dealer who gives 
 cella gowl a goota recommen.' Un' into his office he 
 go un' write out in large writin, 'I hereby guarantees 
 der goota gowl to be livin' ten year, un' in fine scribe, 
 if he don't die. ' 
 
 "Un' so, der Patershine gooks der 'greement iver 
 mitout his spectacles, un' place it in his hat fur safe 
 keepin But sumethin' happened a week later when 
 der goota wurkin'-gowl died. Drivin' hot-foot iver to 
 der Jestice Dugan, he tells him all 'bout der dicker. 
 Pullin' down der diges', un' guckin it iver, der squire 
 say, mit a shake uf der head, 'Dere be nothin' in der 
 law to pervent a gowl frum givin' up der ghost 'fore 
 der ten year be up. Un' fur dis he charges der Pater- 
 shine ten dallah, un' no mistake." 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A Kicking Aldebney — Squihe Dugan Victimized. 
 
 DURING the week following our return from the 
 sale I couldn't fail to observe that Mengen 
 wasn't altogether at his ease. And as for his "goot" 
 Nancy, I was almost ashamed to look her in the face, 
 seein' from her looks that something out of the usual 
 had happened. At last, I began to hint around for 
 the cause, asking the farmer in a casual way if anything 
 had gone wrong with his recent purchases. 
 
 "Gone wrong! Took der sales-cryer a half-hour 
 pintin' out alia der Alderney's fine qualities; said she 
 hed been imported when a heifer frum der Channel 
 Islands; a small eater un' a free milker, mit a disposi- 
 tion as gentle as Menno's alta frau's. But bless ye, 
 Menno Mengen' s diskivered one uf her fine qual'ties; 
 she's a kicker; yis, a blasted kicker, un' don't ye furget 
 it to yer dyin' day, un' no mistake TJn' now, it isn't 
 that Mengen objects to a leetle kic'kin' hisself betime 
 when tings don't go his way 'roun' der duble-decker, 
 same as he may be doin' iver at der bank when cella 
 six-months' note fur der Alderney fall due." 
 
 "Why, why, Menno, no cure for a kicking cow?" 
 I sympathetically asked with hand resting on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Cure hust du nicht kared fur a cure fur der hog- 
 236 
 
Justice Dugan. 237 
 
 cholera, or der blind staggers? Ever read in der 
 schule beeker uf a way of gittin' rid of der hay-fever 
 that be kumin' 'roun' ivery summer? Ever learna, me 
 stupid maister, uf a way of gittin' shut uf der lightin'- 
 rod agent or der highway tramp? Prayin' by der 
 Bishop un' der wimmen may be bringin' rain, but 
 it'll niver break a kicker uf her tricks." 
 
 "Un' now," continued the much excited Menno as 
 we stood at the stable-door, "if only der reprobate 
 hed started to kickin' her didos at der beginnin' uf 
 milkin' dere might heve been sume chance uf savin 
 der cream fur churnin'. But no; she allaway waited 
 till the kettle wus full when, mit a spiral-twist uf der 
 tail, away go der milk un' der milker alia in a heap. 
 'Side uf der loss uf der pails which Farmer Mengen kin 
 be standin', what denxt dere uf seem' Nancy sprawlin' 
 on her back alia kivered ever mit milk. It's 'nurther 
 diskivery Menno iver dergucked at der sale owin' to 
 der lateness uf der hour — she's blind uf one eye, 'un 
 'tother ain't much besser un' der blind one." 
 
 "Un' now, me financier," added the farmer, taking 
 a glance along the lane, "it's Jestice Dugan may be 
 callin' 'fore sunset to be guckin' der infernal Alderney 
 iver. Dunerwetter if here ain't der Squire Dugan a 
 minute ahead uf time. So, jis' keep mum while 
 Mengen give ye 'nother lesson in finance by gittin' 
 Brindle off his hands at a ten 'vance uf der price ber- 
 salt." 
 
 Before I could more than juke behind a stray post, 
 the Irish justice had entered, regaled in a black suit 
 with a high-top beaver, to match, and body out of all 
 
238 Cherished Memories. 
 
 proportion to the length of his pedals, reminding me 
 of "Steffy" when seen for the first time as a boy. 
 
 "Ach, an' it's the Alderney ye have for sale, an' for 
 which you've no use the coming winter as yer note 
 states. Is the Justice correct, Menno, me honest 
 friend?" 
 
 "Kind uf denxt, Mr. Jestice, Menno Mengen's alla- 
 way ready to sell as well as buy; makes leetle diff'rence 
 which, pervided he gits a small 'vance iver der price 
 bersalt. Un' so, it's Brindle, imported frum der 
 Channel Islands, ye're wantin' to be takin' der platz uf 
 yer Susanna's Jersey that's died uf a lingering alta age? 
 So, me glana maister, " appealing to me, "trot Brindle 
 out un' let der jestice guck der iver in der open twi- 
 light." 
 
 Obeying instructions, Menno continued, "Guck her 
 iver, Mr. Jestice; no use in yer hangin' back, fur she's 
 as fine a kritter as iver k — ." And here the seller 
 came near, making a bad break — "Yis, as fine a Al- 
 derney as ever kissed der alta Nancy's hand when 
 feedin' her uf her own del'cacles." 
 
 "Seems to be well groomed; got th' proper height; 
 o' a tawny color; not too fat, not too lean, with a 
 kindly disposition. A free milker, I suppose?" glanc- 
 ing into Mengen's face, approvingly. 
 
 "Free, Squire? besser denxt she's free; if ye heve 
 eny doubts uf her freedom uf motion, ask Nancy, who 
 allaway do her milkin' when der maid be down mit a 
 attack uf der swump fever, gittin' bertime as much 
 as a kittleful at a single milkin'. But" (avoiding 
 another break). 
 
A Country Dicker. 239 
 
 "The price?" glancing her over for the fifth time. 
 "No use in wasting words, for with the Jestice Dugan, 
 time's money, seeing he got a hearing, mebbe, in 
 sending Timothy O'Neal to the work-house for six 
 months for getting his blind mare off on his next 
 neighbor for a sound horse as a three-year-old. Then, 
 'side of Tim, there are several cross-suits growing out 
 of Menno Zimros' sale, and which'll be needing the 
 squire's attention for the balance of the week." 
 
 "Hum, hum, 'side frum der Irish laddy boy's gittin' 
 what's cumin' to him in a stock dicker, Mengen isn't 
 . differin' mit ye in gittin' nuff out uf Tim's hide to be 
 payin' a goota 'roun' sum fur der like uf Brindle when 
 she gits to k — ," added the seller, hesitatingly, as if 
 to avoid any hereafter entanglements. "Yis," in- 
 differently, "paid a goot, 'roun' forty fur der glana 
 beauty; kin' heve her, Squire, hitchin'-strap thrown 
 in to klinch der bargain, at ten 'vance uf der price 
 bersalt, which'll 'bout pay her keepin' fur der past 
 month. Kind uf clenxt though, der partin' mit 
 Brindle'll be givin' Menno's alta frau a spell uf home- 
 sickness." 
 
 "The Squire's note, payable six months hence at 
 the bank over in the city?" 
 
 "No!" with a stamp of the foot, "spot cash, or no 
 sale; it's Mengen who may be givin' his own note fur 
 der like uf Brindle, but he's not 'ceptin' 'nurther 
 man's fur what she's likely to prove, pervidin' der 
 frau uf a cross road's jestice furstays how to be ticklin' 
 Brindle's fancy, as Nancy's be doin', un no mistake." 
 
 "Guess it's a bargain (handing over the silver dol- 
 
240 Cherished Memories. 
 
 lars). Sure, she'll be following quietly 'long behind, 
 th' squire's mare?" 
 
 "No doubt; no mistake; much success to ye un' 
 yer own Susanna when she kum to do her milkin'," 
 examining the cash to make sure he hadn't been 
 hoaxed. 
 
 "Un now, me financier, seein' Menno got Brindle 
 out uf der way, in 'fordin' Susanna a leetle innocen' 
 'musement, it's der Bishop who may be callin' next 
 fur der loan uf Nancy's big copper kettle fur eppel- 
 bilin', un' in der absence uf der head uf der farm, 
 ye kin be gittin' off on der head-pillar uf der faith 
 der two kittles mit daylight showin' through 'em. 
 'Gin, when der Patershine kum fur der loan uf a set 
 harness, ye kin be lettin' der Pater heve der set cumin' 
 frum der sale. Un' now since der be nuthin' lef but 
 what der sales-cryer call 'sundries,' des ye kin be 
 loadin' on der fish-monger, at a glana venic iver der 
 price bersalt." 
 
 "Yes, Menno, apart from any more visits, I am 
 ready to express my unqualified disapproval of your 
 recent actions; they don't tally well, coming from a 
 farmer in whom I've always had unbounded confi- 
 dence for fair dealing with your fellow-man!" 
 
 "Alia recht; un' while Menno 'predates yer wurds 
 uf respec', it's only a lesson in finance I'm givin' ye 
 in 'quaintin' ye mit der ways uf country life. Fur, 
 'cordin' to Mengen's 'sperience, dere be in ivery dealer 
 in livestock a leetle uf der alta Satan mixt in his natur', 
 same as in der Alderney, un' razorbacks; un' in des 
 Jestice Dugan be no 'ception to der rule; fur in nine 
 
A Lesson in Finance. 241 
 
 cases out uf ten cumin' 'fore him, der costs go to der 
 fellow havin' der means to be payin' em, be he der 
 pros'cutor or defendant, un who, deservin' uf jestice, 
 don't git, un no mistake!" 
 
 "Uf 'coose," continued Mengen, as he locked the 
 stable door, "dealin' in like-stock mayn't be 'cordin' 
 to der Scriptures, but it's der way uf der wurld. 'Gin, 
 •while ye kin be trustin' yer neighbors on gineral prin- 
 c'ples, tisn't safe to be takin' enny religious chances, 
 or to be trustin' in Prov'dence when ye kum to dicker 
 mit yer fellow-man in der stock uf der farm. Un' 
 now, to be concludin', be sayin' nuthin' to Nancy, 
 who may be tinkin' der Alderney started iver in search 
 uf der blasted razorbacks, un' captured by sume 
 jedgc uf blooded stock." 
 
 "The razorbacks, Menno! You don't mean to be 
 telling me the squealers have deserted the Mengen 
 homestead? Seems I've noticed the pens deserted." 
 
 "Veil, yis; de heve gone; un mebbe, if ye live till 
 Thanksgivin' kum roun', we may be hevin' a leetle 
 fox-chase mit der razorbacks out-runnin' der beagles. 
 Ye see," resorting to his red bandanna, "it wus only 
 •a hour' go when Mengen ousgefunen hut that both 
 had slipped through a six-inch openin'. Catch 'em? 
 thought so at one time mit Bowser holdin' on to both 
 der tails, un' tighter un' a possum in a steel trap." 
 
 For some days after this "lesson in finance," as 
 Mengen put it, all kinds of rumors were on tongues' 
 •end around the school. Nor was 1 without a presenti- 
 ment of what was likely to happen to Squire Dugan's 
 Susanna when the Alderney started to kicking up 
 didos, not by any means an unusual occurrence. 
 16 
 
242 Cherished Memories. 
 
 However, as I had been an eye-witness, and as I 
 had reason to infer, a party to the "deal," I naturally 
 kept silence, manifesting at no time undue curiosity 
 in such rumors as were afloat. But as the school is 
 the telegraphic medium through which all kinds of 
 gossip find their way to the home, I hadn't long to 
 wait until Mengen's own grandchildren had carried 
 the news of what had happened to the squire's better- 
 half. All that was necessary was to wait. At last, 
 Menno, limping from the porch with letter in hand, 
 exclaimed, "It's der alta mon who's been receivin' 
 des perlite note to call iver at Jestice Dugan's office 
 mitout delay on important business uf a dermestic 
 character." 
 
 "Of a domestic character!" I repeated, seeing there 
 was something resting heavily on his conscience. 
 For well I knew that, apart from dealing in live-stock, 
 Menno Mengen's word was at all times as good as his 
 bond. Indeed, as far as I was able to learn, no asper- 
 sion had ever been cast upon his name. I had further- 
 more learned that even should Mengen be brought 
 before the bishop, all charges would be dismissed, in 
 accordance with the unwritten law which placed all 
 dealing in live-stock beyond the pale of the church. 
 
 "Of a domestic character," I repeated for the sec- 
 ond time; this cynical reflection was not to pass with- 
 out a retort. 
 
 "None uf yer reflectin'; it's only a invite fur Mengen 
 to be actin' as pall-bearer iver at der stone meetin'- 
 house. Der letter wus writ on der last Sabbath, der 
 day uf der Susanna's taken uff mit a spell uf der 
 
Mose, the Grave-Digger. 243 
 
 swump-fever, ich denxt, un' bless me, des is Fridawk, 
 what sume of der superstit'ous call hangman's day." 
 
 "Yes, Menno," came my reply, in an undertone, 
 "there may be a hanging in this locality." 
 
 "Der dihinker! guck a mole ous; none uf yer re- 
 flectin' in remindin' Menno uf der Lechler hangin' 
 iver in der stadt. But to be furgittin' sich tings, as 
 it's niver too late to be showin' a friendly feelin' fur 
 der parted, ye might be drivin' iver to der meetin- 
 house mit a few geraniums to be placin' on Susanna's 
 grave. Un' since Menno kume to tink it iver, ye 
 might be composin' a few werses fur her hed-stone. 
 Un' on yer way hame, it might be well to stop iver at 
 Jestice Dugan's office, notifyin' his honor that, owin' 
 to a spell uf der rheumatiz, Farmer Mengen's words 
 uf symp'thy musdt be answerin' fur his presence in 
 sheddin' a tear iver Susanna's last restin'-place." 
 
 To have done less than helping the much-discon- 
 certed farmer out of his dilemma, whether his sus- 
 picions were well-founded or otherwise, would have 
 been to prove ungrateful to my tutor of the farm. 
 
 Losing no time, the early morning following, astride 
 "Old Trusty," I reached the graveyard an hour later, 
 and meeting Sexton Strebig, sitting on a marble slab, 
 was told the following story: 
 
 "Thinking his Susanna had been sent into the 
 next world by one of an Alderney's spiral twists, 
 Justice Dugan hurried over to the sexton to arrange 
 for the funeral, which would be along at high-noon 
 the day following. I lost no time in getting Mose, 
 my colored assistant, to digging, and he was detained 
 
244 Cherished Memories. 
 
 late into the night in giving Susanna's grave its finish- 
 ing touches." 
 
 "Yes, yes," came the mournful shake of the head, 
 "all might have turned out for the best except for 
 Squire Dugan's impatience in strolling around among 
 the tomb-stones to make sure there wouldn't be any 
 hitch in the burial ceremonies, as there sometimes is 
 when the colored Mose gets loaded down with too 
 much tangle-foot." 
 
 Up to this moment I was in a quandary as what 
 was to follow. What the result might have been had 
 it been night instead of day, I had no means of know- 
 ing, except to beat a hasty retreat homeward without 
 sufficient consolation to relieve Mengen of his rheu- 
 matism. But as I had been sent on a mission involv- 
 ing life or death, with such consequences likely to 
 follow, it was a duty I owed to the living as well as to 
 the dead, to remain to learn the sequel to an opisode 
 to which I was in noway a party except as silent wit- 
 ness over on the Mengen homestead. And now, at 
 this much later day, I am only too happy to be able 
 to relate the sexton's story, one of nay many other 
 experiences while I boarded on the Mengen home- 
 stead. 
 
 "Seem'd, however," continued the sexton, after 
 lighting his pipe, "the justice, with an eye to his own 
 interests, got to skylarking 'round in search of his 
 Susanna's last resting-place, when lo, what should 
 his eyes behold, as he imagined, but a ghost bobbing 
 up and down out of his old woman's grave. As the 
 head of the 'imp' went down, up went the head of 
 
A Shot at Satan. 245 
 
 Justice Dugan. And. so, for a time, each kept bobbing 
 up and down trying to wear the other out, with Sexton 
 Strebig leaning out of the window of his bedroom 
 wondering who was to come out first best. At last, 
 after playing hide and seek with the supposed ghost, 
 the squire, thinking the place too small to be hold- 
 ing his satanic majesty and his own Susanna without 
 too much crowding, started off at a double-quick for 
 his office, where he sat himself down looking up the 
 rights of a ghost's taking possession of his property 
 without a permit from either himself or the sexton. 
 Not finding any act in the digest to meet the case in 
 point, the learned Justice Dugan started to framing 
 a law that couldn't be overruled by a higher court, 
 providing any of the ghost's relations should be 
 coming 'round sueing him for a breach of the peace. 
 Placing the new act among the other forms of Black- 
 stone, the dispenser of justice reached for his rifle, 
 and back to this old graveyard he came to put the 
 new act into execution. On, on, the pussy squire 
 kept sneaking his way among the gravestones, when 
 what should his eyes behold but the same Mr. Ghost's 
 head bobbing up and down out of his own Susanna's 
 grave. At last, growing weary, he just let bang, when 
 out jumped old Satan with a yell, only to disappear 
 a moment later out of sight. When the coast was 
 clear, the squire crept his way along to find his spouse's 
 last resting-place, needing only a little rounding up 
 at the corner from which Mr. Ghost made good his 
 .escape." 
 
 "It so happened," resumed the sexton to his at- 
 
246 Cherished Memories. 
 
 tentive listener, only too anxious for the sequel, "that 
 on the morning following, as I sat by the squire's 
 side recounting Susanna Dugan's many good quali- 
 ties, who should step into his office but my faithful 
 assistant Mose, minus one of his ears, compelling 
 Sexton Strebig to juke into one corner of the fire- 
 place." 
 
 "Ach, an' th' top o' th' morning' to ye, Moses! An' 
 what can Justice Dugan be doin' fure ye, seein' he's 
 sittin' here weepin' his eyes out fur th' loss o' his be- 
 loved Susanna, who's soon to be laid low 'neath th' 
 weepin' willows?" 
 
 "Am dere any 'pinion in de diges', Squire, protect- 
 in' an ole grabe-digger in persuin' de labors ub his 
 callin? Ye see, it's des way, while des chile wus ober 
 las' ebening, gibbin' de las' fin'shin' touches to dat 
 ole woman's grabe o' yourn, de debil, he come prowlin' 
 'roun' an' takin' des colored pusson fur one ub dem 
 city-poets, copyin' th' 'scriptions off de mon'ments, 
 he jis' let bang, cuttin' off des darkey's right ea.'" 
 
 "Ach, an' it's th' law ye want, Mose?" added Justice 
 Dugan, wiping away a tear. 
 
 "Dat am de size ub it, boss," leaning forward with 
 the place of the missing appendage resting in the 
 hollow of his hand. 
 
 "Sorry to be informin' ye, me old colored friend, 
 that there's nothin' in th' law coverin' yer case. But 
 if it be consolin' to yer feelin's (drawing down the 
 leather-bound digest), th' jestice'll be readin' to ye a 
 new act he's been preparin' to be meetin' jis' sich cases, 
 an' which may be in yer favor or furnince ye, all de- 
 pendin' on th' wordin'." (Reads the new act.) 
 
Mose Resigns. 247 
 
 "Dat am a bad showin' fur des colored pusson, it 
 am fur a fac', Squire. No way den to be pun' shin' de 
 debil fur de loss ub des chile's ea'?" 
 
 "No, no, as I've said, th' new act's plain in its word- 
 in' as be th' loss o' yer right ear. But if Justice Dugan 
 may be suggestin' a way out o' yer troubles, take 
 this old rifle o' the squire's, an' afther th' cer'monies, 
 ye kin be hidin' behind one o' them Rev'lutionary 
 monuments durin' th' wee hours 6' th' night, an' if 
 good luck be with ye, ye kin bang 'way, gittin' one o' 
 Satan's ears in place o' th' missin' one. How do this 
 sthrike ye, me unlucky grave-digger?" 
 
 "Des case am widdrawn, Mr. Jestice Dugan, an' de 
 
 office ub grabe-digger am vacan'. No mo' shubblin' 
 
 in de hard clay ober de jes' an de unjes' ; ober de rich 
 
 an' de poo'; so fare de well, Mr. Jestice, an' may de 
 
 uawd hab mercy on de soul ub yer faithful Susanna." 
 
 "But, Mose," turning and wiping away another 
 tear, "don't ye know that Susanna's lyin' in th' next 
 room 'side th' pianner waitin' fur ye to be doin' th' 
 las' act o' th' cer'monies? An' don't ye know, Mose, 
 that ye're growin' old and feeble, an' haven't long to 
 live? Now, what reason will ye have to give to old 
 Saint Peter when ye come to stand 'fore him face to 
 face with yer right ear missing?" 
 
 "Lawd, Mr. Jestice Dugan, des colored pusson he 
 got all dat figgered out; fur when dat ebil day come, 
 it's Mose who'll be jukin' roun' 'hind Jestice Dugan, 
 showin' up de lef ea', sure as yer a libbin jestice." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha! a pretty well-concocted yarn. But 
 what, Mr. Sexton Strebig, became of Susanna? Not 
 
248 Cherished Memories. 
 
 still over in the old sitting room awaiting a decent 
 interment? To learn all about the old lady's final 
 ending is my mission, aside from your improbable 
 story. Ah, but may be, she isn't dead after all, only 
 lying in a trance the outcome of a sudden shock to 
 her nervous system, the result of an Alderney's spiral 
 twists, as I am now led to believe," quizzically re- 
 torted the searcher after information, ready to de- 
 part. 
 
 "Come to think it over, rather recall there was 
 something said by Justice Dugan of how his old 
 woman had been laid low by a recently-purchased 
 Alderney. Be this as it may, Susanna, hearing the 
 little setto between Mose and her own man, straight- 
 ened up in her fineries, declaring that if she couldn't 
 be given a decent send-off by the colored grave-digger, 
 she'd be deferring the burial ceremonies until a more 
 convenient season, even if she had to be disappointing 
 the women-mourners, gathered 'round, discussing their 
 own chances of marrying the disconsolate justice." 
 
 "Oh, ho, but who comes there!" suddenly ex- 
 claimed the sexton, jumping to his feet. "Yes, I'll 
 be hanged if it isn't Squire Dugan with the blasted 
 kicker; brought her over as part payment for the 
 loss of Mose's right ear, in order to avoid a suit for 
 damages. And now, young man, keep shady and 
 allow Sexton Strebig to interrogate the justice with- 
 out arousing his suspicions. 
 
 "Holy Moses! And such a specimen! And where, 
 Mr. Justice Dugan, did you come across the like of 
 this?" rushing to the road to meet the owner of what 
 
Farmer Sweeny the Next Victim. 249 
 
 I myself had recognized as the same Alderney pur- 
 chased at Menno Zimro's sale several weeks before. 
 
 "Come 'cross th' loike o' this! Jis' out givin' 
 Brindle a leetle exercise 'fore shjppin' th' blooded 
 beauty to th' 'Cattle Show' over in th' city o' New 
 York, where she'll be winnin' first prize fur her foine 
 qualities." 
 
 "Oh, ho, and that's a horse of another color! Tak- 
 ing her to the cattle show, eh?" repeated the sexton, 
 glancing her over with his trained eye. "And by the 
 way, how's Susanna? Recovered from the trance, 
 the result of being kicked almost into the next world, 
 and by none other than this same blasted reprobate. 
 Come, Mr. Dugan, let's play fair; own up to the 
 Alderney's faults, and may be Sexton Strebig can be 
 aiding you in getting the slab-sided quadruped off 
 your hands to Farmer Sweeny, the bishop's tenant, 
 coming yonder, provided, of course, he hasn't heard 
 of your own Susanna's as well as of Nancy Mengen's 
 misfortune with the kicker's habits." 
 
 "Ach, it's th' top o' th' mornin' to ye, Farmer 
 Sweeny! An, it's a splendid specimen o' a Alderney 
 Jestice Dugan's been importin' from th' Channel 
 Islands by first boat. And now, if ye're open fur a 
 bargain, dismount, look th' beauty over; it won't 
 cost ye more 'an yer time, unless ye're in th' humor 
 o' addin' th' like o' Brindle to th' Bishop's stock o' 
 half-breeds," added the seller, assisting the would-be 
 purchaser from his saddle, as the other two stood 
 silent witnesses to the dicker so soon to follow. 
 
 "Unless Farmer Sweeny's eyes deceive him, it's th' 
 
250 Cherished Memories. 
 
 cross-roads' jestice — a honest man if there be one in 
 all der country 'roun." 
 
 "An' bless ye, it's the meetin' o' two — th' one bein' 
 as honest as th' other; so, look the ' prize- winner ' 
 over, an' if ye're on th' lookout fur a bargain, with 
 yer eyes fur yer market, it won't be necessary fur the 
 jestice to be takin' Brindle to th' cattle show, 'mong 
 th' rich buyers o' th' city." 
 
 "Recommen' her a goot, free milker, an' gentle, o' 
 course, squire?" 
 
 "Gentle, Farmer Sweeny! It's th' preserver o' th' 
 peace might be addin' if ye heve any misgivin's as to 
 her gentleness, run over an' ask Susanna, who, fur 
 three long hours lay by th' kritter's side without 
 winkin' her lef eye. Th' fac' is, Farmer Sweeny, if 
 it hadn't been fur th' diskivery o' Susanna by th' 
 jestice hisself, th' old lady might still be keepin' com- 
 pany with Brindle over in th' stable, seein' that they 
 both bed become a leetle 'fectionate, one with th' 
 other." 
 
 "Yaw, yaw," with a shake of the head, "o' a dawny 
 color, nicht too young, nicht too olt; a goot un' free 
 milker, mit an orraca goota dis'sition," soliloquized 
 the farmer, adjusting his spectacles, glancing first at 
 her eyes, then stepping aside, taking a broader view 
 in perspective, with an occasional glance at the "go- 
 between" sexton, who stood with a grinning look of 
 approval. For another moment, Farmer Sweeny 
 stood bending forward, muttering to himself, "a pail- 
 ful mornin' un' evenin'; des much cream fur butter; 
 des much skim-milk fur de pigs, levin' der balance fur 
 
Similarity of Stock Dealing. 251 
 
 der bishop's alta frau fur der deitscher cheese, 
 macha." 
 
 "Der price, spot cash, squire?" 
 
 "Sixty dollars, a 'vance o' ten over th' price paid, 
 th' half o' which will be compensatin' Sexton Strebig, 
 'count o' th' misunderstandin' 'tween th' squire an' 
 hisself," in an undertone. 
 
 "Sixty dallah! a gla venic high, denxt nicht?" 
 Then, "Nemma Farmer Sweeny's sixty-day note?" 
 
 "No, no; can't be takin' no man's note; spot cash 
 or no sale, with six per cent, thrown off fur prompt 
 payment, throwin' in halter for good luck." 
 
 "Gla vennic iver high in der price," concluded 
 Farmer Sweeny, opening the strings of his leather 
 pouch, counting out the required sum, minus the dis- 
 count. Then as a parting word: "Der Alderney is 
 net fur der olt mon's own use, but fur der bishop's 
 frau, who's gittin tired o' th' obstreperous kind." 
 
 "For th' bishop's wife, Rebecca!" observed the 
 now awakened justice, turning to depart. "Wa'll, 
 wa'll, my old friend, if th' jestice might be sayin' 'fore 
 leavin' ye an' Brindle, that it mightn't be well to be 
 placin' too much stress on th' kritters domestic quaF- 
 ties, nor fur ye to be tellin' th' bishop that th' infernal 
 reprobate come from jestice Dugan o' th' 'Cross Roads,' 
 who buyed her from Manngo Mengen o' th' two- 
 hundred acre homestead." 
 
 On my homeward journey, my stock in trade, as an 
 observer of passing events, had enhanced a hundred 
 fold. And as between the dealings of the city- 
 sharpers and those of the common run of farmers, 
 
252 Cherished Memories. 
 
 the difference, if anything, to my mind, was such as 
 usually prevails among dealers in live stock. Judged 
 from the higher point of morality, this difference was 
 as difficult to define as were Brindle's innate quali- 
 ties. 
 
 What struck the young amateur farmer most 
 forcibly, after relating the result of his escapade, was 
 the suddenness with which Mengo's rheumatism sub- 
 sided. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The German Settler and British Redemptioner. 
 An Uncle's Cruelty. 
 
 BEFORE leaving the Mengen homestead there was 
 one story coming from the more than ordinarily 
 educated Nancy Mengen, the main facts of which may 
 be relied on as a part of the English Courts' Records, 
 as far back as 1743. 
 
 As I recall the narrative, with certain foundation- 
 stones of the old stone cabin still to be seen on the 
 Mengen homestead, it was in the Spring of 1727, that 
 a few farmers from the lower Conestoga stood at the 
 foot of Market street, Philadelphia, awaiting the 
 good ship, "The William and Sarah," with its cargo 
 of human freight, comprising in all some four hundred 
 souls, divided into ninety families. Having made 
 known their intention of settling in Pennsylvania, 
 the heads of the families were required under oath to 
 declare their allegiance to the King of Great Britain 
 and fidelity to the Proprietary of the province. 
 
 Among the number who stepped from the ship was 
 a middle-aged German from one of the Swiss provinces, 
 with his wife Nancy and only daughter Rebecca, or 
 Beckie, a girl of thirteen. As it didn't require any 
 large sum to purchase a farm of two hundred acres, 
 which, at the time, was still a part of the county of 
 Chester/'our Mennonite farmer wasn't long in securing 
 
 253 
 
254 Cherished Memories. 
 
 a land grant for a strip of land lying along or nearby 
 the "Old State Road," some forty miles west of the 
 Delaware. 
 
 Reaching their destination in an unbroken wilder- 
 ness, it was during this same Spring, after many hard- 
 ships, that a stone cabin was erected, with its tall 
 stone chimney sending its smoke over the tops of the 
 lofty oaks. Within this crude cabin, Menno, Nancy 
 and Beckie settled themselves down during the long 
 winter to follow, to endure such hardships as only 
 the early settlers knew when the broad acres were a 
 wilderness. 
 
 "Picture, if you can," exclaimed this goodly grand- 
 mother, as I sat in her presence, "of a young girl of 
 thirteen, sitting by the open fire hearth on a cold, 
 dreary Christmas-eve, thinking of her home across 
 the sea, only to find her way to the loft, through the 
 many crevices of which the snow, sleet and rain found 
 their way. Ah, yes!" she continued, wiping away a 
 tear, "if hardships Beckie and others had to endure 
 over in the Fatherland, there was 'Old Santa Claus,' 
 who seldom failed to come with a pack of toys on his 
 back. Now all this waif of the forest could do during 
 this Christmas eve was to stand at the cabin-door 
 longing for just one of her former girl companions." 
 And here Nancy hesitated as she pointed to where 
 the stone cabin stood in the days of the long ago, to 
 add, a moment later, that in the family of the Mengens, 
 even down to the present, there has always been one 
 named "Beckie." 
 
 Omitting much that might be woven into the story 
 
THE PRESENT DAY BECKIE 
 
Redemptioner Secured. 255 
 
 to give it romantic effect, it was after the snow-drifts 
 began to melt away that it began to dawn on the 
 farmer's mind that what he most needed, in addition 
 to his own and Nancy's two strong hands, was one 
 younger in years, not only as a laborer on the farm, 
 but to keep company with Beckie, who was fretting 
 her young life away for a few of her playmates, now 
 so far on the other side of the great "divide." 
 
 With this double purpose in view, the day came 
 when the farmer determined to work his way back 
 to Philadelphia on horseback in the hope of purchasing 
 a redemptioner, one of the many who, at times, were 
 sold at so much per head, their time of service being 
 limited as per contract. 
 
 At last, after dismounting at the wharf, his heart 
 began to stir at seeing an American ship unloading 
 her passengers and freight. Rushing aboard and 
 making inquiry of the captain, he was informed that 
 his only hope of securing a redemptioner was in the 
 person of a young English lad, in his thirteenth year, 
 who had shipped in his care, under sealed instruc- 
 tions to have him taken as far into the wilderness as 
 to make his return impossible. Beyond this promise 
 and a few stipulations, the youthful redemptioner 
 was bargained for to serve as a hireling for a term of 
 thirteen years. Why the lad's term of service was 
 fixed at the unlucky "number thirteen, had not occurred 
 .at the time to the farmer, nor had he taken the pre- 
 caution to have the lad brought into his presence 
 until after paying down so much ready cash into the 
 hands of the captain. His only thought may have 
 
256 Cherished Memories. 
 
 been the pleasure it might afford Beckie on his return 
 with a boy of her own age. 
 
 Passing to the hold of the vessel, the youth was in- 
 formed by the captain he had at last reached the 
 point of his destination, and that he was to pass into 
 the hands of his new master. After picturing the 
 many pleasures upon which he was to enter, he was 
 reminded that he was not to disclose his identity, nor 
 the names of his near or distant relations under penalty 
 of being locked up in the town jail for the balance of 
 his life. Thus, under the promise, any poor, helpless 
 lad might be compelled to subscribe, the homeless boy 
 was hustled into his owner's presence, under a non- 
 de-plume, and there compelled to swear allegiance to 
 his master, through an interpreter. 
 
 That he was of English parentage, with a sweet, 
 charming personality, needed only a glance at the 
 outlines of his face, with two eyes sparkling like dia- 
 monds. These, in addition to his long, dark, wavy 
 hair, which hung in ringlets over his well-shaped fore- 
 head, contrasted oddly with his suit of English cut 
 and finish, now showing signs of the usage it had 
 undergone in battling with the motion of the ship on 
 its long voyage over the Atlantic. 
 
 What the Mennonite's thoughts were as he stood 
 glancing his purchase over may never have been 
 known. If, at one moment he had cause to regret his 
 bargain on account of the difference in speech, the 
 next, might it not be a blessing in disguise, in having 
 on the farm a young lad who could act as interpreter 
 in the numerous little trades between the trappers 
 
Son of an Irish Nobleman. 257 
 
 and himself. Then again came the thought of Beckie, 
 how pleasant it would be for each to teach the other, 
 the one the German, the other the English? Again, 
 as he reasoned, there would be little gossip between 
 them on his homeward journey, and then, not until 
 both had become familiar with each other's lan- 
 guage. 
 
 There was one other thing resting on the Mennon- 
 ite's conscience, mightn't he himself be arrested as 
 a kidnapper in harboring a youth under the legal age? 
 :Making these surmises known to the captain, he was 
 assured that no such legal entanglements were likely 
 to occur, owing to the redemptioner's willingness to 
 seek his fortune in the new world. 
 
 The contract having been arranged, the town's 
 strollers the early morning following might have seen 
 the hapless lad perched behind his owner as they 
 together went their way over their forty-mile journey, 
 landing at last on the great-great-grandfather's home- 
 stead — the cabin already mentioned. 
 
 And now, apart from what tradition has handed 
 down, certain facts since gathered from reliable sources, 
 may awaken renewed interest in what is to follow : 
 
 "Arthur Annesley (Lord Altham), as the reader 
 may now learn from a transcript of the English court's 
 record, married Mary Sheffield, the natural daughter 
 of the Earl of Buckingham. By her, in 1715, he had 
 a son James, the redemptioner of whom mention has 
 been made. The year following, the parents having 
 had some domestic differences, a separation was the 
 result. The father, contrary to the wish of the 
 17 
 
258 Cherished Memories. 
 
 mother, took exclusive possession of his son, James, 
 manifesting much fondness for him, until 1722, when , 
 he formed some intimacy with a Mrs. Gregory. His 
 legal wife having died in the meantime, no doubt of 
 a broken heart, and Mrs. Gregory expecting to become 
 his second wife, exerted herself in alienating his affec- 
 tions from his son by insinuating that the lad was not 
 his lawful heir. Having succeeded, she had him 
 placed in a school in Dublin. 
 
 "It so happened, in November, 1727, Lord Altham 
 died, and his brother Richard, wishing to possess the 
 estate and title, took measures to get rid of his nephew 
 James, by having him placed on board an American 
 vessel, which sailed from Dublin in 1727. Arriving 
 in Philadelphia in the early Spring, it was on board 
 this ship he was met by the Mennonite farmer, Menno 
 Mengen. 
 
 "For some cause not entirely clear, he ran away 
 from his master after having served twelve years of 
 his allotted time. Alone, dressed in a suit of bagging 
 or ' slouchcloth,' such as constituted the only wearing 
 apparel of those early days, he made his way westward 
 toward the Susquehanna, where he was arrested as a 
 runaway and locked up in the wooden jail at Wright's 
 Ferry. 
 
 "He was no longer a boy in his thirteenth year, but 
 a tall, well-proportioned young man, well past his 
 majority. And yet his appearance indicated that he 
 was not to the manner born, nor indeed of 'Dutch' 
 ancestry, as the German settlers were spoken of even 
 as far back as the settlement of the county. 
 
Identified by Countrymen. 259 
 
 " Proving himself a fine singer, the result of his early 
 training, it was only natural for the curious to gather 
 'round this log structure to enjoy the sweet strains 
 which came from within this forbidden place of refuge, 
 showing that amid all his long years of bondage, there 
 was still within him that one touch of nature that 
 makes the world kin. There may have been other 
 reasons for the interest manifested in the young man's 
 welfare, who seemed unable or unwilling to give an 
 account of himself when questioned by the authorities 
 as to who he was, whence he came and whither he 
 was traveling. Apart from his being homeless and 
 friendless, there was a certain something to convey 
 the impression that he might have been a spy, owing 
 to the fact that he positively refused to disclose his 
 identity. Nor, perchance, was he to be censured in 
 forgetting his own name, and may be, the town from 
 which he had been shipped twelve long years before. 
 However, it was by the merest accident he was iden- 
 tified as a refugee fleeing from his Mennonite master, 
 and to whom he was forthwith returned to serve out 
 the remainder of his allotted time as a redemptioner. 
 
 "But as all good things come to those who have 
 the patience to await the hour of their coming, so the 
 year 1740 brought a bright ray of hope to the re- 
 demptioner's dampened spirits. It so happened 
 during this same year that two Irishmen, John and 
 William Broders, were strolling over the King's High- 
 way through the 'up' country among the German 
 Mennonites. As night approached, they knocked at 
 the door of the Mengen cabin and were given shelter; 
 
260 Cherished Memories. 
 
 for it was one of the unwritten laws among the first 
 German settlers that no traveler be turned away 
 without a night's lodging and a little something to eat 
 and drink. 
 
 "Entering into conversation with the hireling, 
 they weren't long in discovering that they were sev- 
 erally from the town of Dumaine, in the county of 
 Wexford, Ireland, and that the redemptioncr, James 
 Annesley, was the son of Arthur. 
 
 "It takes a vivid imagination to grasp the delight 
 this announcement produced, as it fell upon the very 
 heart and soul of the poor bound lad of a dozen years 
 before, when he was carried from the ship to the stone 
 -cabin. What followed, as they all three sat together 
 talking over many a little episode occurring on the 
 Emerald Isle when he was a lad, can better be imag- 
 ined than described. But if their meeting was a 
 happy one, opening up a new world to James Annesley, 
 it was also a moment of sadness to the Mennonite 
 farmer, his good wife Rebecca, not to mention the 
 plain Mennonite maid Beckie, who had grown from 
 a discontented girl of thirteen into a lovely young 
 woman. 
 
 "It was not, however, until all arrangements had 
 been made for the redemptioner's departure to his 
 far-off Eastern home, and the news made known to 
 Beckie, that moments of rejoicing gave way to weep- 
 ing. If these two had not already become betrothed, 
 there was at all times enough of 'each for all and all 
 for each' to have cemented their lives as two in one. 
 Of course, during this long interval two sons had come 
 
Returns to Native Land. 261 
 
 to bless the family circle. But what were they to the 
 redemptioner compared with gentle Beckie, who had 
 joined him in many of his rambles along a rippling 
 stream that goes meandering the same to-day as 
 nearly two centuries ago! Isn't it reasonable to sup- 
 pose that in these little heart-to-heart talks James 
 had told Beckie the secret nearest his own heart? 
 Then it was from the Mennonite maid that James 
 learned to speak the German, as it was from the re- 
 demptioner, this lone flower of the forest had learned 
 the English. But as all love episodes must have an 
 ending, it wasn't to be that James was to return to 
 marry Beckie, such a happy consummation as the 
 sympathetic reader could most desire. Whatever the 
 intention of James, something occurred across the 
 •sea to prevent what might have been woven into a 
 romance. But why picture a scene that had better 
 rest for the reader to dwell upon during his or her 
 quiet moments? 
 
 "As an historical fact, apart from such intentions 
 as James had of ever returning to the Mengen home- 
 stead, the two Broder brothers actually kept their 
 word, in volunteering to go back to Ireland to testify 
 to the discovery they had made in the new world. 
 Reaching Philadelphia, passage was furnished this 
 trio by Admiral Vernon, of the West Indies, at the 
 request of Robert Ellis, Esq., a resident of the city of 
 Brotherly Love, as it has since been designated, for 
 its good will toward all men. 
 
 "Arriving in London, our former redemptioner's 
 troubles were only to begin. Having accidentally 
 
262 Cherished Memories. 
 
 killed a man, he had to stand trial, being acquitted, 
 notwithstanding every effort was made by his un- 
 natural uncle to have him convicted. Regaining his 
 freedom, action was brought against Lord Altham, 
 going to trial November, 1743, with a verdict in favor 
 of James. An appeal was taken to the House of 
 Lords, but, unfortunately, while this was pending, 
 the plaintiff died, leaving his uncle in quiet possession 
 of his ill-gotten gains. For a brief time only was he 
 permitted to enjoy the fruits of his long life of intrigue 
 and deception. Compelled to bear the ignomy for the 
 wrongs he had committed, he soon passed away, 
 exhibiting the spectacle of the finished villain in the 
 Irish nobleman." 
 
 With what has been set forth as an old-time historical 
 episode, it remains for those disposed to discredit the 
 Mengen homestead as the place where the redemp- 
 tioner was discovered by the two Irish Broders to 
 locate more definitely the farmer residing on the 
 Lancaster road some forty miles west of the Dela- 
 ware. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A Letter to Charlie, by Old-Time Cronie — Fresh 
 Recollections by "Billy." 
 
 IT was after listening to this somewhat graphic 
 story that I betook myself to the attic, when my 
 eyes instinctively fell upon a letter received some 
 months previous. If, therefore, the following reply 
 be not in the exact words as originally penned, it is 
 still the recollection of half a century ago, with such 
 additions as a larger experience of farm-life has en- 
 • gendered. 
 
 "Hickory Grove, April 1, 1859. 
 "Dear Charlie: 
 
 "With the incoming of this lovely Spring month, 
 with its bright sunshine and balmy air, your friend is 
 impelled, by a boyish impulse, to make up for lost 
 time by penning you a somewhat lengthy letter before 
 starting home. 
 
 "As it occurs to me, it wasn't necessary for you 
 to remind your Lime Street cronie that fully a half 
 decade had gone by since you and the other boys 
 followed the Conestoga team to Witmer's bridge. 
 
 "And now, looking back over the years that have 
 gone, I can most positively declare that never, except 
 in rare instances, have I ever regretted starting from 
 the city which, to quote your own language, is still 
 flourishing like a 'green bay tree in a virgin forest.' 
 
 263 
 
264 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Indeed, Charlie, it should have occurred to you that 
 if anyone was nourishing, it's 'Billy,' who's turned 
 teacher or 'master,' a term usually applied to all 
 pedagogues. 
 
 "Well, aside from any attempt to become your 
 .rival in poetic lore (though at times I've assumed that 
 distinguished honor of being the poet-laureate of 
 Paradise), during the past eight months I've been 
 both teacher and farmer, always in the best of health, 
 and as I may say, seldom overworked in the school- 
 room, with but a handful of scholars. 
 
 "Starting with the beautiful September, when I 
 fortunately struck the Mcngen homestead, there was 
 plenty to do on the farm before the rigor of winter 
 had thrown its mantel over all of Nature's handicraft. 
 And as October set in with ' corn-huskin',' ' eppel-butter 
 bilin,' there was little time for the reading of the 
 Dutch newspaper by Mengen, and which, at this 
 particular season, was used by Nancy in doing up her 
 jars of gooseberry, currant and quince jellies for the 
 goodly bishop and his Polly, who seldom failed to put 
 in their appearance to partake of the many delicacies 
 Nancy had stored away in her pantry. 
 
 "Strictly speaking, it was 'clearing-up month,' in 
 which all the many good things, as Nancy expressed 
 it, were stored away in her pantry 'to keep the wolf 
 from the door' when the snow lay heavy over field 
 and highway, thus shutting out from the school and 
 the farm the busy, active world — the city beyond. 
 
 "And here let me say, it was during one of these 
 bright October mornings that I found Nancy out in 
 
A Winter Prophet. 265 
 
 her garden or 'truck patch' shelling beans and binding 
 up the rose-bushes to protect them from the ravages 
 of 'Old Jack Frost,' who had never failed to come 
 along in giving the leaves a rainbow-coloring before 
 the stormy month of November had claimed them 
 as his own. And it was here in this old-fashioned 
 garden, where had bloomed the many varieties — lady- 
 slippers, sunflowers and other old-time plants, now 
 almost extinct, that I found Mengen in one of his 
 happiest moods, ready to take issue with the Dutch 
 almanac, by exclaiming, 'Be sure, Nancy, to protect 
 der rose-bushes mit plenty of rich garden loam, for 
 der comin' winter's goin' to be a tryin' one for der 
 many poor peoples livin' iver in den stadt where they'll 
 hardly be knowin' how to make both ends meet until 
 der early Spring kom round thawin' 'em out as it'll 
 be drawin' the "rheumatiz" from Mengen's jints.' 
 
 "'Yes, yes,' he went on, 'there's nothin' to beat der 
 Spring in wakin' up old dame Nature in gettin' our 
 farm well started on the, road to peace un' plenty. 
 Of course, sometime it be a little late in kumin', but 
 she generally manages to get here in time for the 
 sowin' of der seed. Un' now, to be gettin' to the 
 pint,' he resumed, 'it's goin' to be one of der alta old- 
 fashioned winters, mit snow kiverin' der tops of the 
 Canada thistle, iver by the longa lane.' And it was 
 only necessary for his 'goof Nancy to ask what kind 
 of signs, not contained in the John Baer Almanac, he 
 had been discovering, to start the Prophet Mengen to 
 declaring, in his Dutch idiom: 
 
 "'Not uf der goose-bone kind, to be hittin' it one 
 
266 Cherished Memories. 
 
 day un' missin' it der next, un' which der philosopher 
 livin' iver in Berks county's been makin.' No, Nancy/ 
 he continued, 'it isn't bercause der bark's stickin' 
 closer to der nor'-west side uf der alta gum-tree; un' 
 beside, if ye care to know, 'tisnt because der ground- 
 hog's peradin' mit his vind' cation-cap tied 'roun' his 
 neck in predictin' a early Spring that Mengen's got 
 in mind at this perticular moment; it's der blasted 
 razorbacks that heve been findin' der way back to der 
 farm uf der own volition, un' so thin, as to be needin' 
 der whole summer's crop uf corn to be gittin' 'em in 
 shape fur Christmas butcherin', un' no mistake. 
 
 '"Dere back, yes, der back, un' mit a new crop uf 
 bristles standin' square up on ends, that'll be savin' 
 Menno dere 'spense uf buyin' a fresh supply uf curry- 
 combs comin' winter. Un' so, if Mengen be a jedge 
 uf der signs that have never failed,, it's der bristles uf 
 cella razorbacks that beats der goose-bone ivery time. 
 Un', Nancy, to be gettin' way frum der goose-bone, 
 Menno 's been diskiverin' that der shingles uf der alta 
 Grumberger's barn heve been flarin' up on end, causin' 
 him to be kiverin' it durin' der down-goin' uf der 
 .moon. Un' as der Squire Dugan's been writin' Menno, 
 it's der posts uf der Fulstuff's fence that heve been 
 takin' theirselves upward, makin' der post-holes 
 ready fur 'nother plantin' uf posts mit der goin' down, 
 'stead uf der up-goin' uf der moon." 
 
 "And now, Charlie, after acquainting you with 
 some of the superstitious notions of not a few of our 
 Dutch farmers hereabout, you should have seen me 
 dressed on Saturdays in an every-day working-suit, 
 
Hard-Working Germans. 267 
 
 costing at a country store not over two dollars, with 
 gallowses thrown in as a bid for future trade, I sup- 
 pose; although, with the great majority of farmers, 
 suspenders are largely an unknown quantity, with a 
 belt to take their place. 
 
 "Not to become too tiresome, it would have done 
 your eyes good to have attended a love-feast on the 
 barn-floor of Mengen's double-decker. On the morn- 
 ing of this one day above all others, there was no 
 scurrying 'round in the greasing of boots, no carrying 
 of wood, no brushing of clothes and doing of other 
 chores. No, for all manual labor has been done the 
 day previous, leaving this the blessed Sabbath to be 
 devoted to holy things. And when at last it opened 
 up, with the boys done up in their best Sunday-go-to- 
 meeting fixings, and Menno and Nancy in their plain 
 garb, few words were spoken as we betook ourselves 
 to the table for an early breakfast, until Mengen had 
 delivered himself of a prayer in which no mention 
 was made of Brindle nor the razorbacks. 
 
 "And here, Charlie, let me correct what has so gen- 
 •erally become a mistaken impression, namely, that 
 the Dutch are clannish and hard task-masters, treating 
 their offspring little better than they do the stock of 
 the farm. What a libel on the customs of a commun- 
 ity little understood by the city people! Work them 
 they do during the busy harvest season, when even 
 the women occasionally take a hand in the harvest 
 field on the approach of a storm; and yet, it should 
 not be forgotten that it has been through work un- 
 ceasing that the Dutch have been able to hold the 
 
268 Cherished Memories. 
 
 balance of power during such financial upheavals as 
 have carried more than one city-dweller to the verge 
 of bankruptcy. Of course, Charlie, the Amish have 
 their own peculiar notions of just how much education 
 is required to make good farmers out of the boys and 
 equally good house-wives out of the girls. But after 
 •all, isn't it better to lay a good foundation in the four 
 fundamentals than to hurry them on through a college 
 before they have mastered fully anyone of these four 
 branches? 
 
 "They are not by any means as stupid as they 
 might seem when beyond their own environment. 
 We have seen a half dozen bunched together our- 
 selves on the town streets when boys, and yet, could 
 we have measured them by their own standard, the 
 chances are, barring our own conceited ideas of what 
 constitutes good citizenship, we ourselves might have 
 been found wanting in more than one particular, 
 notably our lamentable ignorance of 'farm-life.' It is 
 not alone the plumage that makes the bird a singer, 
 nor, indeed, an over-amount of self-assurance on the 
 part of town-youngsters, with hair parted in the 
 middle, that justifies them in turning critic by holding 
 up to ridicule their country cousins of the farm. 
 
 "And now, Charlie, in this attempted defense of 
 such Amish boys as I've met at a sale, a village store 
 and elsewhere, let me say that the recent talk I had 
 with Nancy has already been gathering fruit which 
 may in time make the Lancaster county farms yield 
 as much as a hundred-fold over what they at present 
 produce. My little scheme was this: That each of her 
 
Farming Recruits Needed. 269 
 
 grandsons be given a half-acre to be worked between 
 times in the raising of any one or all of the many 
 products the Mengen homestead can produce. To 
 make sure there would be no backing out by Mengen, 
 we've just gone over the farm staking a small plot for 
 each. Never saw boys more enthusiastic in their 
 zeal to persuade other nearby-farmers with sons to 
 enter into competition with themselves. What the 
 result is going to be, I may not be here to discover. 
 But of one thing I am sure, Charlie, that the farmer 
 who doesn't give his sons a chance on the farm, will 
 find that in the years to come they'll be deserting. the 
 broad acres for the cities, which in time may become 
 congested. And now, what think you of a young 
 farmer-teacher's philosophy? 
 
 " Withno intention of delivering a treatise on 'farm- 
 life ' among the Dutch, I can go so far by saying that I 
 have caught on to sufficient of the dialect not to be 
 found wanting when summoned to partake of roast- 
 turkey, 'un' a gla venic brode-varst, metsel-sup, un' 
 paunhaus,' the very thought of which should be suf- 
 ficient to cause you to turn farmer instead of following 
 the trade of machinist. Do you know, Charlie, what 
 I've been thinking? There ought to be established in 
 every city a 'recruiting station' for the enlisting of 
 young men to become farmers. A few months of 
 actual experience would, in the opinion of your farmer- 
 teacher friend, be the equal of an education at a 'farm- 
 school.' To have lived and died without having 
 tasted of the bitters and sweets of rural life is but to 
 imitate the rose wasting its fragrance on the desert 
 
270 Cherished Memories. 
 
 air. Growing poetic, eh? Can't help it, Charlie; 
 guess it must be the effects of the aroma coming from 
 Nancy's garden plot, where the roses have just started 
 to budding, and beneath where the honey-suckle vine 
 creeps its way along the sandstone walls of the old- 
 time homestead. 
 
 "Well, Charlie, seeing my goose-quill's showing the 
 effect of wear and tear, I should draw this rambling 
 letter to a close were it not for a desire to give you 
 an account of my visiting 'round with the motherly 
 Nancy on the Sabbath among all classes of Mennon- 
 ites, differing in their religious convictions as one star 
 differs from another. In this you must remember 
 that the term Mennonite is a relative one, embracing 
 sects divided on only minor points, such as you'll find 
 in every city. 
 
 "So changed have become my own views that I can 
 no longer view the German character through my 
 former boyish eyes, as in the days when seen parading 
 the streets on Whitmonday and circus days. Diffi- 
 cult to approach by the stranger, yet once you meet 
 them in their home-life, to have gained their confi- 
 dence is, figuratively speaking, to have their purse. 
 Along this line I can speak with some accuracy of farm- 
 ers and their wives I met at Menno Zimros' sale of 
 blooded stock, at the various wayside inns, where 
 the men who hadn't as yet joined meeting were prone 
 to indulge themselves in a few too many 'eppel-jacks,' 
 and may be, a mint julep, which, if you've never tasted 
 more than one, the advice is, don't. 
 
 "However, aside from the insidious effects of a julep 
 
o 
 id 
 ■f- 
 
 
 
 (G 
 
 
 
 WMBLJ 
 
 y. 
 
 _jflMraSi 
 
A Country Funeral. 271 
 
 (from hearsay, of course), and referring again to the 
 various religious sects I have met, there are the 'Old 
 Mennonites' and an offshoot, called the 'New,' a dis- 
 tinct class of religionists well grounded in their own 
 faith, leading Menno to declare that they alone are 
 to reach the heavenly kingdom. Apart from these 
 are the Dunkards and Seventh-day Baptists, not as 
 numerous as they once were in this the 'up' country, 
 with the Ornish or Amish, a people of simple garb. 
 
 "And lest I forget, there are the Welsh, on the far 
 East, the Huguenots in and around Paradise, as well 
 as the Scotch-Irish and Friends, residing largely in the 
 'Lower End.' Of these I know but little more than 
 what Justice Dugan has been telling Mengen before 
 he managed to get a blasted kicker of an Alderney 
 off on his honor, at a ten advance 'uf der price ber- 
 salt,' with the halter thrown in for 'goota' luck. And 
 now, as a certain bishop is the sole owner of the 
 'kicker,' the chances are that the quadruped may in 
 due time reach one or the other of the Rubenstines in 
 exchange for a 'goota' workin' gowl. There is an 
 even chance, however, that Brindle may eventually 
 find her way to Squire Dugan's twin brother, residing 
 in what I'm told is the earthly 'Eden,' and to which 
 point I hope to find my way in due time. 
 
 "Before closing, let me describe what old 'Harry 
 Stiff' would call 'a planting.' The meeting-house, 
 twenty by thirty, was crowded from center to circum- 
 .ference, the only available space was that taken up 
 by the wood-stove in the middle of the room, and which 
 was kept at fever-heat, with the thermometer at the 
 
272 Cherished Memories. 
 
 zero-point outside. To my mind, the deceased must 
 have been a very wicked soul while in the flesh, requir- 
 ing no less than three bishops to undo what had been 
 done amiss in the flesh during his four-score and ten. 
 First, came two sermons of an hour each in German, 
 with one of greater length in broken English. At last, 
 when all was over in the meeting-house, the concourse 
 went their way to the nearby burying plot, where 
 they laid his body down to rest, and where there was 
 more weeping over one who had reached the age of 
 Methuselah than I had ever heard in the city over 
 some miserly octogenarian who had failed into the 
 hands of 'Harry.' And yet, notwithstanding the 
 deceased's age, one good, old motherly soul was over- 
 heard to exclaim, as she bent over his grave, ' Der alta 
 dawdy died longa 'fore his time.' 
 
 "Ah, but at last, back to the house wc went, and 
 what a spread! For a time I kept myself busy count- 
 ing the pies, custards, fasnachts, doughnuts, ginger- 
 bread, not to mention the more substantials. And 
 now, Charlie, if you are on the lookout for a wife and 
 helpmate, take a run over to the 'up' country, and 
 I'll show you some of the prettiest Mennonite maids 
 you ever laid your eyes on. Were it not that they are 
 opposed to have their pictures taken, I'd be enclosing 
 those of such as I've met. And now, with the flavor 
 of Nancy's snitz pies finding its way into the loft, I 
 am admonished to get a move-on lest I miss another 
 of life's golden opportunities — a square meal. 
 
 "Your cronie of years gone by." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A Tramp Through the "Up" Country — Schoeneck. 
 Ephrata — New Holland — Christiana. 
 
 IT was after reading Irving's "Sketch Book, " and 
 before starting for home, that I became imbued 
 with the idea of reaching Fairview by a circuitous 
 route instead of taking the more direct way. In the 
 author's account of himself, he had this to say: "In 
 visiting the neighboring villages, the rambling propen- 
 sity strengthened with my years. Books of voyage 
 and travel became a passion; and it was only after 
 visiting my own country, her mighty lakes, her valleys 
 teeming with fertility; her tremendous cataracts 
 thundering in their solitudes; her broad, deep rivers, 
 rolling in solemn silence to the ocean; her trackless 
 forests, where vegetation puts forth all its magnifi- 
 cence; her skies kindling with the .magic of summer 
 clouds and glorious sunshine — it was only after look- 
 ing upon my own country's sublime and beautiful 
 natural scenery that a desire was created within me 
 to wander over scenes of renowned achievement — to 
 read as it were, the footprints of antiquity." 
 
 Whether then, at the age of twenty-two I had be- 
 come imbued with the enthusiasm of Irving to cover 
 at least a portion of Lancaster county's nine hundred 
 square miles during this genial spring month of April, 
 I am at this much later epoch unable to say. And yet, 
 18 273 
 
274 Cherished Memories. 
 
 my recollection is, that on refusing the loan of "Old 
 Trusty" and obeying the injunction of Menno and 
 Nancy to be sure to drop them a line after having ac- 
 quainted myself with the other parts of this "garden- 
 spot of America," I went my way in a northeasterly 
 direction, stopping long enough in the village of Inter- 
 course to hand the key of the school-house over to 
 the venerable secretary, who at this time was a well- 
 to-do merchant, personally kindly disposed to the 
 teacher who for eight months had proved a thorn in 
 his side along the lines of his official duties as school- 
 directors. 
 
 Passing the race course where, some five years pre- 
 vious, I came near losing my only "fiver" with the 
 "thimble-rigger," I went my way aimlessly amid the 
 silent raptures of contentment, as I gazed upon the 
 magnificent panorama spread before my vision. 
 Further on, as I reached the tier of upper townships, 
 with the soft blue sky blending into harmony the 
 various shades of earth's first spring covering, I stood 
 watching the clouds of gray smoke rising heavenward 
 as a locomotive went speeding its way eastward be- 
 yond the undulating acres spread like the revolving 
 forms of a kaleidoscope. 
 
 Making inquiry of the "deitcha" landlord of the 
 village I had entered, I was told in the idiom that I 
 was in Schoeneck (Shaneck), or beautiful view. And 
 oh! what a picture of unadorned splendor met my 
 eyes as I stood on an elevated platform, with the 
 "Gap hills" off in the distance to the south. Enter- 
 ing the hostelry for a newspaper, the only one I could 
 
Ephrata. 275 
 
 find was the German Volksfreund, published at the 
 county seat, to be discontinued a half century later, 
 as I have since learned. 
 
 Having familiarized myself with the reading of 
 Rupp, in addition to a certain experience gained in 
 visiting around among the "Dutch," with an ac- 
 quired familiarity of their customs, I wasn't alto- 
 gether a stranger in Schoeneck, where the vernacular 
 was the common expression. And here, it is well to 
 note the change of a half century later : instead of the 
 Dutch newspaper we have since found in this same 
 sandstone corner inn three of four others printed in 
 English, with magazines and other literature in the 
 same language. 
 
 As another of those singular coincidences, it was 
 close by, that one Harry Shirk and his son Michael 
 carried on the machine business in the later forties, 
 and for whom father had worked at one time for some 
 six months. Being absent for two weeks, I can well re- 
 call how we looked /or his return with so much anxiety; 
 and of how he told us children of the long stretches 
 of timber it was necessary to pass on his outward and 
 homeward journey. 
 
 To the best of my recollection, after warning the 
 people of Schoeneck to be on the lookout for the 
 blasted Alderney, I passed on to the hamlet of Ephrata, 
 where the only places of interest were the Tvloster 
 buildings and the extensive "Summer" Resort on the 
 "hill," which before the War of the Rebellion was 
 frequented by the elite from all sections of the country. 
 Nor has it since ceased to be a favorite place for those 
 
276 Cherished Memories. 
 
 who love to spend a summer in this old-time resort 
 overlooking the town of Ephrata, since grown to be 
 one of the most home-like boroughs in the county. 
 In this description it needs not to be taken for granted 
 that I had prolonged my stay on the hill in getting 
 rid of my first hard-earned hundred dollars, as so 
 many other young men have since done here and 
 elsewhere in not knowing where or when the next 
 hundred was to turn up. 
 
 Here around the Kloster where a few of the Taefur, 
 or German Baptists, were still in evidence, I lingered 
 for a time to learn from one of the descendants that 
 the people who years before had made these buildings 
 their place of refuge had been called "Seventh-Day 
 People," because they kept the seventh instead of the 
 first day of the week as the Sabbath. What surprised 
 me was to learn that, from a printing press at the time 
 of the Revolution, just before the battle of German- 
 town, three wagonloads of books, in sheets, were 
 seized and taken away for cartridges. There was still 
 one other place made sacred — the small burying plot 
 where a number of Revolutionary soldiers lay buried. 
 However, so many visits since have made the Kloster 
 and graveyard so familiar that few except the his- 
 torian think of paying them a visit. 
 
 Leaving the banks of the Cocalico, it was the day 
 following I reached "Graef's Thai," or "Grove Run." 
 Falling in with one of the Graef's descendants, I was 
 to learn a story which to others may have become so 
 familiar as to make it commonplace. And yet to me 
 it was a revelation, awakening a desire within me to 
 
The Settlement of "Earl". 277 
 
 linger on the homestead for hours. This, then, is the 
 narrative, which, although set forth by Rupp, had up 
 to this moment been overlooked by me: 
 
 As I recall, my informant had been a " schulemaister" 
 for more than forty years; and learning that I had 
 become a member of what was gradually assuming the 
 dignity of a profession, he at once drew on his store- 
 house of memory, acquainting his guest with how the 
 locality had been named Graef's Thai. 
 
 As Graef is equivalent to Earl, a name given before 
 it was divided into Earl, East and West, the story of 
 how the original owner Hans Graef happened to locate 
 so far from his home along the lower Conestoga or 
 Pequea at the time the county was a wilderness, 
 proved intensely interesting to one not to the manner 
 born. 
 
 The old settler's horses having strayed from his 
 home, he felt it his duty to go in search of them, which 
 at the time was an almost fruitless task. At last he 
 was repaid not only in the recovery of his stock, but, 
 what was of still greater value, in the discovery of a 
 fine spring in a heavily wooded spot at the head of 
 Grove Run. "In this Elysian," said he, "I shall fix 
 my permanent abode." Returning to his home, he 
 shortly after disposed of his effects, and returned to 
 where, under a white oak, near a spring, he built him- 
 self a log cabin in 1717.' ' Among other things, I was to 
 learn how this Swiss Mennonite had become a trader 
 among the Indians, and of how the magistrates in 1739 
 thought it proper to call at least one of the townships 
 "Earl," i. e., Graef. 
 
278 Cherished Memories. 
 
 In return, how could I well help relating the episode 
 of the purchase of Brindle, the Alderney, at Merino 
 Zimros' sale, and of the possibility of finding her 
 way to the Thai. For this bit of information I was 
 given a night's lodging and an early breakfast, and 
 later sent on my way to carry the news to the town 
 which lay at no great distance beyond. 
 
 "Kickers!" exclaimed the old ex-pedagogue, as I 
 left him; "such we have ever had with us of the human 
 kind, without a quadruped to produce an epidemic 
 .among the stock of the farm." 
 
 Having performed this gratuitous service without 
 Ibhanks of farmers when in convention assembled, I 
 •took the shortest road to the village of nearly a mile 
 in length, lying along a great stretch of pike. 
 
 Entering the western end of what had been known in 
 the years gone by as Shyswamp, reminding me of 
 the razorbacks, I was to learn from another Simon, 
 gatekeeper, that I had entered a community of still 
 a higher type of German Mennonites, and whose 
 speech partook less of the idiom of Menno Mengen. 
 
 Bent on doing the old hamlet up to my heart's con- 
 tent, it was only natural that I should draw comparison 
 between the old and new residences, the great ma- 
 jority of the former being the survival of days when 
 the hamlet was in its swaddling clothes. 
 
 Having rested over night at the "Styer House" as 
 a guest of honor, I was detained long enough in New 
 Holland to be surfeited with such an array of fox- 
 race and horse stories happening at the Reamstown 
 fair as to make those I had heard over in old Leacock 
 turn to wormwood by comparison. 
 
Charcoal Furnaces and Old Mansions. 279 
 
 Falling in with the Dillers, Rolands, Millers, Diffen- 
 derfers and others, I soon learned my nearest way to 
 the Welsh settlement, where the Charcoal Furnaces 
 were still in active operation. Feeling that I owed 
 the village people something in return for their kind- 
 ness, what less could I do in return than to warn the 
 community at large of Brindle's vicious habits as a 
 kicker. To provide against any unforeseen approach 
 of the Alderney, a committee was immediately dis- 
 patched to Simon the gatekeeper, to keep the gate 
 closed against all cattle known to have been purchased 
 from a certain Squire Dugan of the "cross-roads." In 
 resorting to such drastic measure opinion seems to be 
 divided, some arguing that as "kickers" had always 
 been the rule rather than the exception in the town, 
 wh.7 prevent a poor quadruped from entering? 
 
 Vith the discussion becoming somewhat animated, 
 I went my way toward the next village, giving the New 
 Hollanders time to reconcile their differences. Pass- 
 ing the "Blue Ball," where I had received my first 
 certifi-cate to "keep school," I hadn't gone so many 
 miles until I had reached "Goodville," and where, I 
 was led to believe by the name, all "kickers" had 
 yeaB before been given a ticket-of-leave. In this, 
 however, I was greatly mistaken. At last I was over- 
 joyei in reaching another village, such as Washington 
 Irviig had so frequently referred to in his travels 
 throagh Old England. 
 
 lire, while the churches were not as numerous as 
 its lame might imply, the beauty and effect of the 
 surrmnding country, with its mansions here and 
 
280 Cherished Memories. 
 
 there, told the tale of its prosperity in language more 
 forcible than words could express. 
 
 To tarry long in this second "elysian dale" among a 
 people of English and Welsh ancestry would have 
 been a pleasure except for my anxiety to reach home. 
 However, what I desired even more was to follow the 
 boundary separating my own home county from that 
 of Chester. Passing southward in search of tie 
 " blazed" trees of which mention had been made by the 
 historian Rupp, it wasn't long until I had reached 
 another hamlet, lying peacefully along the same line 
 of railway extending westward under the Lime street 
 bridge in Old Lancaster. 
 
 Before I could fully realize that I had entered Chris- 
 tiana, came the thought that it was near the strh of 
 wood-leave some distance north where a few y^ars 
 previous I had delivered my oration entitled "Mcfunt 
 Vernon, the Home of Washington," the effed of 
 which, I now felt satisfied, had left a deep, lasting im- 
 pression on the minds and hearts of the goodly Qualers, 
 residents of the villoge and surrounding country 
 
 At the time of this, my second visit to the village, 
 fifty-one years ago, aside from the large brick Ijotel 
 which yet stands with the Fieles brothers as losts 
 worthy of the name, there was but a sprinklirg of 
 houses, with no macadam side-walks nor electric 
 lights. And yet we can well remember a time, feven 
 before it became a borough, that Christiana w^s as 
 well and favorably known as any town of its siie in 
 Pennsylvania. As a recent writer has said, "The ijame 
 of the town is associated with antebellum events 
 
Christiana. 281 
 
 scarcely less known in political history than John 
 Brown's raid and the Harper's Ferry riot; for it was 
 in 1851 that the first blood was shed in the United 
 States in the resistance of the odious fugitive slave 
 law at or near the "long lane" leading from the State 
 or Valley road to the Noble road. Nearly sixty 
 years have gone by since Gorsuch, the Maryland slave 
 owner, was killed, his son badly wounded, with the 
 fugitive escaping to Canada. It's many a year since 
 we last saw the "Old Riot House," of which little now 
 remains to tell the story of those stirring times leading 
 up to the war of the Rebellion. Let then the old 
 stone house be rebuilt and dedicated to the cause for 
 which the good old Quakers stood in defense of their 
 sacred rights — freedom for those who entered her 
 soil. 
 
 For all-round story-tellers, the hamlet of Christiana 
 has, even down to the present day, but one equal, the 
 historian of the "Lower End," and who, unless we 
 forget, shall in noway escape the writer's pen. And 
 here, it may be said that space alone forbids mention 
 of an examination which took place in 1854, in the 
 village school, conducted by "Sam" and "William," 
 their pupil being none other than an elderly merchant 
 who, in the hour of his adversity, had made applica- 
 tion for a certificate to "keep school." Ah! how many 
 times was my late friend "Ike" given to repeating it 
 after banking hours of more recent years, as we sat 
 on one of the long benches in front of the hotel! And, 
 oh, my! if these time-servers were only gifted with 
 the power of speech! 
 
282 Cherished Memories. 
 
 But we must be moving on toward Paradise, stop- 
 ping only long enough at the old "Gap", from which 
 two diametrically opposite views strike the eye, the 
 one to the left depicting "Old Dame Nature" in all 
 her rugged wildness, that to the right, overlooking a 
 valley as rich in soil and landscape as are the' dwellers 
 of Salisbury among the most prosperous of the "Old 
 Guard's" diversified other sects and nationalities, 
 whose ancestors long years before took out their land- 
 grants in this haven of peace and plenty. 
 
 Passing slowly along the turnpike toward Williams- 
 town, we stop for a moment to take in the propor- 
 tions of the Yeates homestead, passing, years later, 
 into possession of our friend Mr. Daniel Denlinger. 
 As a curio, we still hold as a souvenir one of the small 
 square tiles of the porch-floor, said to have been 
 brought from England at the time this residence was 
 erected. 
 
 Beyond, over the crest of the hill to the left, there 
 was no "Bleak House" for the young stroller to rest 
 himself; nor, indeed, was the present owner, then a 
 lad, old enough to foresee that half a century later 
 he would be its genial host, at all times ready to wel- 
 come young and old, rich and poor, without price or 
 hope of future gain, to "Bleak House," standing as it 
 does in this year 1910, without a sign on its front- 
 door, bidding one and all thrice, doubly welcome to 
 the many good things always on "tap" for those who 
 might go straggling along looking for a square meal. 
 No! this outward display of welcome has at no time 
 during the past dozen years been necessary, for the 
 
Schoolmaster Amos. 283 
 
 reason that it has long since been known as "The 
 Traveler's Rest," in which all the many good things 
 are served in an over-abundance, whether to those 
 coming on foot, by train, trolley or by automobile. 
 
 Reaching Kinzers, a short mile west, we halt for a 
 moment to gather in a few "rat-tails" and "railroaders' 
 sandwiches," of which there are piles- awaiting the 
 stopping of the trains, allowing employees as well as 
 passengers to indulge themselves in what had been 
 the custom since the first engine, the Black Hawk, 
 went its way from Columbia to the incline plane in the 
 short space of eight and one half hours, a little more 
 than a score of years before. 
 
 Passing through Williamstown, where, on both sides 
 of the turnpike loomed up now as then, the many 
 delightful residences, at the time owned by the Eek- 
 erts, Slaymakers, Mcllvaines and other weU-known 
 goodly Presbyterians, the mansion of the then Scott 
 Woods is reached standing to the right, amid a cluster 
 of oaks and other indigenous trees, awaiting the pen 
 of an Irving to compare it with an English homestead 
 of other days. 
 
 Wending our way through the covered bridge, we 
 glance off to the right at a little log house close by 
 Eshleman's mill, and wherein this same structure, for 
 several weeks, the Dutch schoolmaster from Muddy 
 Creek taught a class of young men the more advanced 
 branches of learning. And what a splendid teacher 
 was "Amos!" Coming to Paradise at the age of fifty, 
 it was his daily precepts that have counted for so 
 much during more recent years. Where the master's 
 
284 Cherished Memories. 
 
 remains lie we know not; but we do know that he was 
 one of the many other educators who helped organize 
 the common school system. 
 
 "Back once more to dear old Paradise!" methinks 
 I hear myself exclaim, as I enter the village refreshed 
 by the pure Spring air, such as only a perfect April 
 evening can bestow upon those who love to commune 
 with "Old Dame Nature" in all her varied forms. 
 Stepping into the large brick store, after a "hand- 
 shake" all around, we pass by the Leidigh tannery, 
 thence close by the frame church on the hill, where 
 only a few years before it was my pleasure to assist 
 the organist in working the pedal which supplied the 
 music for the choir. Being at all times ready to offer 
 a willing hand, to stand back of the organ and "pump," 
 during a two-hour morning and evening service, 
 gave poor me a standing as treasurer of the Sabbath 
 school. At last, as the full moon came into view, 
 Fairview is reached. 
 

CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Back Once More to Fairview^My First Bank 
 Account. 
 
 HERE in the large frame dwelling at Fairview, I 
 received a hearty welcome, returning as I did 
 with something to show in the shape of bank-notes, 
 which I wasn't slow in depositing in the Farmers' 
 Bank, at the county-seat, for safe keeping. What 
 interest I received, if any, didn't at the time concern 
 me so much as to know that it was safe and at my 
 disposal when needed. 
 
 Of this my first deposit, there is one thing I dis- 
 tinctly remember, among the notes were a dozen 
 silver dollars. As I wanted to preserve these, owing 
 to their age rather than to their intrinsic value, I asked 
 the cashier if I could get them back when wanted. 
 "The same ones?" came with a smile. "No, we 
 don't lay aside the same money, to be returned when 
 wanted; it goes into circulation." As it didn't take 
 me many seconds to see the force of his reasoning, I 
 carried the silver back, handing it over to my mother, 
 to be hidden away, possibly, in some old woolen 
 stocking. 
 
 Having passed my voting age, I was full of expedi- 
 ents — barring that of opening a chicken-ranch, 
 •although, as I recall, I had captured at least one 
 specimen as a starter. Setting a trap, in the shape 
 
 285 
 
286 Cherished Memories. 
 
 of a box for a squirrel, I started for my prey early the 
 next morning, and after drawing up the slide, to my 
 everlasting disgust, I had captured a rooster instead 
 of Mr. Squirrel. 
 
 And now, while I had never heard of the house at 
 Fairview being haunted, I had almost nightly evi- 
 dence that it was, as I lay awake listening to the 
 unearthly sawing that was going on under the eve 
 of the roof. As the township line ran through the 
 middle of my bed, I couldn't for the life of me tell 
 whether the imps belonged to Paradise or Strasburg. 
 
 Each morning as I came down stairs, after a night 
 of restless tossing and twisting, thinking of all the 
 things I had ever done amiss, my good mother would 
 ask me if I had become homesick to get back to the 
 Mengen homestead? Telling her at last of how I had 
 been haunted, night after night, she kindly consented 
 to sit by my bedside the night following, when, on 
 being awakened, I was told of the cause: the squirrels 
 had been making the inner cornice their winter quar- 
 ters, and the unearthly rasping that I had heard was 
 their nightly gnawing at their supply of nuts. Half 
 ashamed of myself, it is only a desire to be truthful 
 that leads me to make this little episode known — one 
 of many another for which there is always a cause. 
 
 During the weeks following, when not taking a hand 
 in the shop at my trade at all kinds of farming sup- 
 plies, I would pass at intervals to the borough of 
 Strasburg, thence back to Paradise. It wasn't long 
 until I discovered that the "villagers" had turned to 
 discussing, instead of abstract questions, such as 
 
Bole Miller. 287 
 
 pre-ordination and fore-ordination, they were engaged 
 in those more weighty, such as the signs of the times 
 had indicated were sure to follow in the near future. 
 Later, when Lincoln was nominated by the Republicans 
 for president, all other topics except those relating to 
 his election were lost sight of in the maelstrom which 
 everywhere prevailed. Men who the year previous 
 had been bosom friends had now become irrecon- 
 cilably divided. And no longer was the Paradise 
 Literary Society given up to discussing the common- 
 place affairs of years previous. The two most strenu- 
 ous opponents in times of peace, Dr. Strawn and Dr. 
 Gibbons, had become the bitterest of partisans, in 
 the pouring out of their invectives of sarcasm on the 
 heads of their dissenters. Nor indeed was this diver- 
 sity of expression confined to literary debate. With 
 the fire of discord kindled, it needed only a Bole 
 Miller, the "pump-maker," to start it into a flame. 
 With his vocabulary of unmentionable adjectives, 
 always at his tongue's end, and fists ready for an 
 all-round fight, it was "Bole" who kept the political 
 caldron usually at the boiling-point in any crowd in 
 which he might find himself. Known far and wide 
 as kindly disposed toward a friend, yet, when the 
 question of the freeing of the slaves came up for dis- 
 cussion, he would rave himself into a frenzy, forgetful 
 of friendships. Passing away at a ripe old age, he 
 never relented in his abuse of all abolitionists. 
 
 With the machine business showing signs of going 
 into liquidation, to fall back on another term in the 
 school-room became a matter of self-preservation. 
 
288 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Hastening to the Black Horse Hotel, I entered the 
 class, receiving my third certificate from the superin- 
 tendent, the late David Evans, which entitled the 
 bearer forever after to teach in any of the schools of 
 the county without further undergoing examination. 
 
 To describe the exact location of the Cedar Hill 
 school house, as it stood a mile directly west of the 
 Wharton Smelting Works, with its tall chimney, 
 would be as difficult as to locate the homes of the 
 dwellers scattered here and there over a wide range 
 of hilly country. Judging from the youngsters who 
 attended the school, the parents were of nearly every 
 known nationality, the larger number being em- 
 ployees of the Nickel Mines, at the time in full opera- 
 tion, a mile south of the smelting works. In noting 
 the contrast between this section and that only a little 
 more than a dozen miles north, among all the pupils 
 there wasn't one who could speak the Dutch vocabu- 
 lary. Where or at what point this line of demarca- 
 tion began and ended has never been clearly defined. 
 In the valley a mile or two beyond the hills north- 
 ward, the German was, to some extent, spoken. But 
 after reaching the "ridge" was a population as entirely 
 different in their customs, habits and traditions as 
 could be found anywhere in the country. 
 
 And now to the school which stood facing the lonely 
 road leading from the toll-gate, where a murder was 
 committed years later, southward almost midway 
 between said point and Georgetown. To the north of 
 this stone structure a few hundred yards distant, 
 stood a lone, single dwelling and beside it a cooper- 
 
Life in the "Hills." 289 
 
 shop. Back of the school, in a hollow, about the 
 same distance, almost hidden from view, was a small 
 log house in which five of my younger years were 
 spent. And here, as I sit, fifty years later, in my 
 cozy home in the city of Lancaster, with fingers on 
 the keys of the typewriter, I am lost in reverie as I 
 recall my first night in this low-down home of the 
 "wood-chopper," John Nelson, and his good wife, 
 whose kindness can never be forgotten. They were 
 hillians, with a growing family of boys and girls, and 
 yet in their way, everything was done to make life 
 worth the living for one who hadn't as yet tasted of 
 the bitter and sweets of city-life for the second time. 
 
 In an upper room, directly beneath the rafters and 
 shingles, stood the high-post bedstead, covered with 
 the finest of spread. And many were the nights, 
 after retiring early, that I could see the stars shining 
 in upon my face through the crevices of the shingles. 
 Ah, but the cooking of "Mammy" Nelson, her chicken, 
 waffles and flannel cakes! Yes, then I knew how to 
 get away with a good meal at the low price of six 
 cents, against which, at the close of each month, no 
 exception was taken to my own book-keeping by the 
 big-hearted wood-chopper, long since passed to his 
 silent rest. 
 
 To be lost in the wilds of the woods, oftentimes 
 within a few miles of home, is nothing unusual, recall- 
 ing as it does how, on one occasion, I went my way 
 aimlessly through the brush, with only the plaintive 
 ring of a cow's bell, and the soaring of a buzzard 
 overhead. On, on I pressed my way, and as I strolled 
 19 
 
290 Cherished Memories. 
 
 I was overcome with a feeling of such perfect content- 
 ment as to drive all other thoughts from my mind, 
 except a longing desire to remain in the quietude of 
 the solitude in communion with "Old Dame Nature," 
 in all her virgin sublimity. Yes, yes, I had reached 
 God's country where the woodman's axe had scarcely 
 left its impress. 
 
 Passing from under a canopy of laurel, I beheld a 
 woman; yes, a lone colored woman, standing in the 
 doorway of a ramshackle of an apology for a dwelling. 
 Startled for the moment by the strange presentiment, 
 I was further confronted by a half dozen sleepy-looking 
 curs with outstretched necks, as if to inquire the 
 purpose of a stranger's interfering so unceremoniously 
 with their between-hour naps. Unlike Bowser, the 
 defender of the Mengen homestead, fed on the fat of 
 the land, these blind-eyed canines, with long-pointed 
 noses, ready to be prying into everybody's business, 
 came sniffing and wagging their tails as if created for 
 no other purpose than to keep the hillians on the 
 verge of starvation. For, as a rule, these yelping 
 hounds are most numerous where poverty is most 
 evident. 
 
 Approaching the gate, and before I could inquire 
 whither I was going, I was met by this same colored 
 denizen, who, stepping forward and shoving a six- 
 months-old infant into my arms, exclaimed, "Lawd, 
 boss, so ye be de docto' come at las' wid a dose ub 
 soothin' syrup fo' poor leetle Nanny, who's got de 
 hoopin'-cough an' is all fallin' 'way." 
 
 "For heaven's sake, woman, I am no doctor; take 
 
A Darkey Homestead. 291 
 
 your baby; yes, take it (thrusting the poor, dejected 
 foundling back into her arms). No, no, I am a 
 stranger in these parts looking for a way out of this 
 tangled-web of darkest Africa. And now, my good 
 woman, if a few stray coppers will serve you, take 
 them to buy all the soothing syrup you may need for 
 a fortnight." 
 
 "Gawd, boss, I took ye fur de docto'. An' he not 
 come to gibe des chile a dose ub soothin' syrup?" 
 Then, in a loud, screeching tone, "Des way, Toby, 
 Larry, Bessie, Pauline, Obediah, Mose! An' why 
 don't ye be hurryin' long to be showin' de strangah 
 de way to de tabern where he kin be gittin' a square 
 meal ub herrin', salt shad an' drink ub appel-jack; fur 
 der good Man 'bove knows we got nuthin' to be 
 temptin' der strangah's ap'tite." 
 
 "Are all these your own?" came my inquiry, as 
 from nowhere and everywhere came a troup of half- 
 clad youngsters, in bare feet, bright-eyed, ruddy 
 urchins, the eldest not being over fifteen. 
 
 "Y-a-s, boss, six ub dem am owned by Pete an' me, 
 de udder, mid marks on her face am our 'dopted chile, 
 jis' gittin' ober de scarlet feber. An' mebbe ye know 
 Pete who am ober in de brush cuttin' poles to keep 
 de mines from fallin' in." 
 
 "No, no, I've never met the head of the home. 
 But are you happy in this lonely, out-of-the-way 
 place?" moving out of reaching distance of the con- 
 valescent. 
 
 "An' why shouldn't weuns be? Dat be Pete an' 
 me wid all dese lubbin' ones roun' de house singin' 
 
292 Cherished Memories. 
 
 mornin', noon an ebenin', wid a horse, cow an' three 
 shoats, wid de boodles keepin' watch ober de farm 
 scarin' off de fellows comin' roun' swipin' de stock 
 durin' de dark ub de moon." 
 
 "And what do you live on, woman?" casting a few 
 more cents among the troup of woolly heads scramb- 
 ling 'round with open mouths and gaping eyes. 
 
 "De bes' we kin git. Ye see, de cow gibe de milk, 
 costin' nuthin' fur de keepin' durin' summer; same 
 wid de pigs, which go rootin' 'roun' de hillsides till 
 killin'-time. Ub 'cose, we ain't libbin' like we useter 
 was. But wait, boss, till de big, roun' yallow pump- 
 kins be ripenin' out in de cornfields 'mong de rich farm- 
 ers ub de valley. Yis, me darlin's," turning to them, 
 huddled 'round her skirts, "ye tink ye are tastin' de 
 pumpkin' pies, but ye ain't doin' nuffin' ub de kind, 
 so ye aint, me honneys." 
 
 "And now, boss," handing the poor, distressed 
 shadow of a babe over to Pauline, "eber hea' my Pete 
 preach ober in de colored meetin' house? No? Well, 
 my man am de whole show when he come to 'dres de 
 followers ub de faith. Durin' fust hour he stick closer 
 to de subjec' ub his text 'an do de rich farmers ober 
 in de lowlands to der purse-strings." 
 
 Growing more and more pleased over the attention 
 she was receiving, she continued, "Den Pete he spread 
 hisself ober de pulpit, throw open his coat, back his 
 shoulders, an' 'way he go puffin like a stem ingine up 
 grade, nebber stoppin' to take secon' wind until he 
 hab gone clear thru der Scripture from Gen'sis to 
 Reb'lations. Den, boss, arter reachin' de end ub de 
 
Colored Parson's Pittance. 293 
 
 Holy Book, he come back on de homeward stretch, 
 repeatin' word fur word. Den 'bout de time he git 
 ready fur de wind-up, he diskiver he miss a chapter 
 or two in de line ub his march. So, to be findin' de 
 place ub de missin chapter, be like findin' a cow 
 ober in de brush widout her bell. Betimes, ub cose, 
 he kin lay his finger on de tribe ub de children ub 
 Israel wadin' clea' thru de Red Sea. At udder time 
 he say, 'Sleep 'way, breddern an sisters, till de parson 
 know where he am at. Den, boss, ye should see my 
 man Pete wakenin' up de whole cong' ration. Fust 
 one, den de udder raise his woolly head wipin' his 
 eyes to make believe he be repentin' ub his sins; but 
 dat am only de colored pusson's make believe in hood- 
 winkin' my man Pete; fur wen de collection come to 
 be taken, dare stan' de two colored deacons wid dare 
 hands jammed deep down in der own trousers' pock- 
 ets holdin' on to de Lord's money jis as if dey be sus- 
 pectin' my man Pete be slippin' his own hands in dere 
 breeches' pockets, swipin' der hard cash, while de 
 cong'ration be snoozin' way wai tin'. fur de rector to be 
 •pronouncin der ben'diction." 
 
 " Well, well, I hope the collection was in proportion 
 to the length of the sermon — " 
 
 "Lawd, boss, wen de parson look into dem basket, 
 he jis lean his woolly head ober de pulpit an' say, 
 'Breddern an' sistern, as we hab only taken in nine 
 cents to night, ye'll habe to be hurryin' out, fur we 
 'can't 'ford to keep de lights burnin'.' 
 
 "And bless one who is a stranger in these parts, 
 how does the parson manage to exist on such a 
 measly pittance?" 
 
294 Cherished Memories. 
 
 "Dere be perquisites, betime, boss, bless ye. See, 
 de two deacons, da' come 'roun' de cabin durin' de 
 dark ub de moon wid a load ub chicken, duck, turkey- 
 hen an' gobbler fur de parson's Thanksglvin' repas', 
 an' who aint busyin' hisself 'bout other peoples' 'fairs. 
 Ye see, boss, it am a rule ub de members ub de par- 
 son's flock not to be askin' too many questions, cept 
 de be on script'ral subjects." 
 
 Of all the object lessons I had ever received, this 
 was the most convincing, proving beyond question 
 that contentment after all was largely a relative 
 quantity, not to be measured by the standard of the 
 dwellers of this or that section of country. 
 
 It was at a somewhat later date that business called 
 the writer to other stone or frame dwellings, located 
 here and there along and over the "Ridge," extend- 
 ing almost from the rugged hills of the Octoraro to 
 the Susquehanna, around the doors of which were 
 scampering an equal number of white tots, seemingly 
 as happy in their rambles as had been the parson's 
 colored family of youngsters, at peace with all the 
 world embraced within their narrow vision. 
 
 Many, indeed, were the times I had fallen in upon 
 little patches of the open, cultivated by the hardy 
 hand of toil, small farmers who were getting possibly 
 as much out of their small holdings, in proportion to 
 the money invested, as were the rich husbandmen of 
 the valleys out of their own fertile acres. 
 
 Stopping at this or that dwelling to break "bread," 
 I was soon to learn that these sturdy settlers were not 
 of German, Welsh or Huguenot ancestry, but a race 
 
The Church in the Hills. 295 
 
 of bone and sinew, of Scotch-Irish parentage — the 
 advance guard of a still higher type of toilers residing 
 further to the south. 
 
 Confirming in a measure Menno Mengen's stories of 
 how the Scotch-Irish had missed their golden oppor- 
 tunity in overlooking the best of God's country for 
 the scrub-oak, chestnut and laurel, I was not a little 
 surprised, on a certain later occasion, to learn from 
 a raw-boned driver of an ox-team that, with all his 
 hardships, no inducements could be offered in ex- 
 change for his own possessions, for the best the Ger- 
 mans of the "up" country had to offer. If the soil, 
 as he argued, was not as productive in its yield, the 
 very atmosphere the people breathed brought com- 
 pensation not to be measured by the number of 
 bushels per acre. 
 
 Here among this class of hardy toilers, if much of 
 the soil had never felt the roll of the reaper's wheels, 
 there was yet sufficient to eat and drink, with enough 
 of the where- with- all to clothe the body, besides the 
 school and meeting house, wherein all stood on perfect 
 equality. If, then, for a time the small church edifice 
 had escaped my eye, hidden, as at times it was, in the 
 density of foliage, one Sabbath was sufficient. With 
 it's being ushered in, came from hidden byways the 
 worshipers, some a-foot, others in traps of all kinds, 
 recalling vividly to mind those I had seen at Menno 
 Zimros' sale of blooded stock. 
 
 Mingling with a few of the more intelligent as they 
 stood under the shade of a monster chestnut, I was 
 not a little surprised to find them discussing, not the 
 
296 Cherished Memories. 
 
 spiritual, but the secular affairs of the day, in which 
 self-interest seemed to be the first law of nature. 
 Recalling Brindle, the Alderney, which Menno Mengen 
 had sold to Justice Dugan as a "free milker," I wasn't 
 long in catching on to how Quaker Reubens had, in 
 an underhanded way, inveigled his neighbor Lundy 
 into the purchase of a balky mule. In still another 
 group stood the irrepressible Dunlavy, pouring hot 
 coals on the defenseless head of Sylvester Coning for 
 having pulled the wool over his eyes in a land dicker. 
 
 For a time, these acromonious discussions went on 
 until one after the other stepped within this humble 
 temple, with its straight-back benches. Back of the 
 pulpit, on which rested a time-worn Bible, sat the 
 minister, with a smile on his wrinkled features. But 
 when he 'rose, with outstretched arms, in deep, earnest 
 prayer, I was compelled to bow the head, if not from 
 a sense of deep humility, at least in conformity with 
 the customs of this God-fearing people, whose an- 
 cestors, long years before, had dedicated their lives 
 to the soil of the hilly ridges. 
 
 But to the lasting impression left upon my mind 
 by the goodly parson's discourse; it was not as I had 
 been led to imagine, the blaming of Providence for 
 the unequal distribution of Nature's stores of worldly 
 goods. Directly the reverse: words of thanksgiving 
 rang through the assembly to the Giver for all the 
 many blessings which had yearly come to the just 
 and unjust. 
 
 Apart, however, from this delicate question of re- 
 ligious creeds, what is it that gives to the "hills" this 
 
Contented and Hospitable. 297 
 
 perfect contentment, on the one hand, and seeming 
 want on the other? Is it to be found in the old man 
 sitting astride a mule with cob-pipe, as away along 
 the road he goes, with shaggy beard and trousers 
 patched for the hundredth time with as many kinds 
 of remnants as a country store could well afford to 
 keep on sale? If it be not his clothes, which hang 
 loosely 'round his lank form, built for work, what 
 can be the cause as you see him draw up, with a happy, 
 go-as-you-please, "Mighty fine mornin', stranger, an' 
 how goes the world with ye?" And as you glance 
 into his face, with a feeling of commiseration for his 
 fallen lot, he will tell you he lives in the most pro- 
 ductive country in the world; the best wooded, the 
 best watered, and the healthiest. Start him to talking, 
 as he sits with legs thrown over offside of the saddle, 
 ■drawing away at his pipe, and he will tell you he 
 owns a horse, cow, some shoats and a snug little home 
 of a few acres, with no fever ague within a dozen 
 miles of his home. 
 
 Should he grow a little confidential over his glass of 
 toddy at a way-side inn, he will acquaint you with 
 his domestic life, of how he came to marry Maria Jane 
 he intends taking over to campmeeting in her best 
 Sunday 'fixins after sellin' enough o' his farm pro- 
 ducts to be buyin' a dozen yards o' calico to be makin' 
 th' young ones look spry like. 
 
 To cap the climax, he will invite you to spend the 
 night in his cabin-home. Getting there, you will see 
 at the front door a plain little house-wife, with her 
 brood of little ones clinging to her skirts awaiting one 
 
298 Cherished Memories. 
 
 who, she whispers, has come to spend the night with 
 dad. 
 
 Passing into the small sitting-room, with its two 
 windows and low ceiling, you glance at the plain deco- 
 rations, with organ in one corner, wondering what 
 kind of a meal is to be forthcoming, maybe, salt herring 
 or "brodewarsht." Ah! but a moment later, you 
 hear the voices of the little ones as they go chasing a 
 young pullet, which, captured, is soon frizzing on the 
 improvised stove, as Maria Jane busies herself with 
 the setting of the table. And such appetites! Well 
 may you, if stranger you be, bow the head in the 
 presence of this unselfish hospitality! 
 
 As you sit bending forward, you're asked to offer a 
 blessing. This over, you begin to realize, if never 
 before, that if peace and plenty reigned supreme 
 among the "Dutch" of the "up" country, true, un- 
 mixed happiness is the lot of the "hillians." Pass 
 from the table to the sitting-room and perchance you 
 will find before the organ a girl of sixteen playing and 
 singing some few tunes she had learned by note. 
 
 Later, as you sit out on the porch during the even- 
 ing twilight, this same little Maggie will stand by your 
 side, with sparkling eyes, only too ready to listen to 
 such stories you may have to relate; for in this 
 sixteen-year-old girl rest the hopes of the family. 
 If you are kindly disposed, you will enter into her 
 mother's thoughts and emotions. Her highest ambi- 
 tion is to make something more out of Maggie than to 
 remain a waif in the small cabin home. And oh! 
 how the young girl's heart beats with rapture as you 
 
Not Uncivilized. 299 
 
 suggest that possibly she might become a teacher of 
 a hill school! 
 
 Is this picture overdrawn? Let those who have 
 never fallen in with the hillians follow the westward 
 strata of woodleave from the Octoraro to the Susque- 
 hanna and they will find a civilization the equal to 
 that of the long stretches of country handed down 
 by the early Mennonites to their children as a legacy. 
 And now to continue the reveries. 
 
CHAPTER XXV.. 
 
 Nomination of Abraham Lincoln — "Wide . 
 Awakes." 
 
 DURING the early fall of my first term in the 
 Cedar Hill school, my evenings were mostly 
 given to attending the many political meetings follow- 
 ing the nomination of Abraham Lincoln, the Rail- 
 splitter. To join a Club of " Wide- Awakes, " with cap, 
 cape and torch had become the heighth of my ambi- 
 tion, as at the close of school I would hie myself off 
 to join the ranks of the "boys" in parade and speech- 
 making. And so, with only the slightest conception 
 of the issues involved, I was at times called upon to 
 follow some young city attorney, in the delivery of 
 his first speech. And as I stood listening to the ap- 
 plause which followed, how I wished I had become a 
 student-at-law instead of a plain, common school 
 teacher. 
 
 As it happened, I was hoisted on the porch of the 
 Williamstown hotel on the evening preceding the elec- 
 tion, and there predicted with out-stretched arms, in 
 a voice that sent the echoes ringing, the election of 
 Abraham Lincoln. Not to refer to the applause which 
 followed this announcement, it was on the morning 
 following I hurried to the post office at Bellmont for 
 the "Philadelphia Press" to which I had become a 
 three-months' subscriber. After reading "Occasion- 
 
 300 
 
Thaddeus Stevens. 301 
 
 al's" letter, the author of which was the late John W. 
 Forney, I naturally began to scan the paper for some 
 account of the speech I had delivered, predicting the 
 election of the great Lincoln. But look where I might, 
 I was doomed to disappointment. No, not a word, not 
 a line. Of course, of course, here and there were 
 short paragraphs of speeches delivered by the young 
 attorneys whose expenses had been paid by the 
 Republican County Committee, and who for all I knew 
 to the contrary, had sent extracts of their own speeches 
 to the "Press." 
 
 Making my laments known to Mr. John Keneagy, he 
 kindly consented to have me join him in a visit to the 
 Hon. Thaddeus Stevens, Member of Congress, who, 
 he felt sure would recognize my ability as a prognos- 
 ticator of coming events by securing the young teacher- 
 speaker, a clerkship at Washington. 
 
 Stepping into his office on South Queen Street, I was 
 introduced as a promising young man who had worn 
 the "cap" and "cape" at the numerous political 
 meetings, all of which entitled me, as he put it, to Mr. 
 Stevens' most earnest consideration. 
 
 In this enchanted state, with the clerkship almost 
 within my embrace, he glanced me over with his critical 
 eye and said, in his blunt way, "Young man, what are 
 you doing?" After receiving the reply that I was 
 teaching only a common school, he abruptly turned, 
 and after sending a chill down my spinal column by 
 his looks, exclaimed, "Go back to the school-room, 
 where you have your future in your own hands, to be 
 making out of yourself something more than a mere 
 
302 Cherished Memories. 
 
 clerk, reaching old age with little or nothing to pro- 
 vide for a rainy day." With this we left him. 
 
 During the summer of '65, after spending eleven 
 years as mechanic, farmer and teacher, I reached Lan- 
 caster on the very day the much-lamented Lincoln 
 was assassinated, entering the Recorder's Office. 
 Later, on the first of September, I entered the South 
 Duke street school as teacher, where I remained 
 until '68. And here little need be said of what is only 
 too well known to the scores of men, once boys, 
 whether for good or evil. If for evil, the hope is it 
 may have long since been forgotten. And yet as my 
 thoughts drift back to those halcyon days on the 
 "hill," I would be less than human to remain forgetful 
 of how often since I've been met on the streets with 
 "Why, old man, don't you remember me, one of the 
 boys you 'licked' for doing just nothing but running 
 away at recess without permission, in attending a 
 circus!" 
 
 Apart from these pleasing reminders, it was after 
 leaving the Duke street school, to get even with some 
 of the legal lights whom I had met at Williamstown, 
 I started to reading Blackstone with my devoted 
 friend, the late Abram Shank. But I wasn't long in 
 learning that the law was a jealous mistress, requiring 
 more time than I felt I could afford to give to the law 
 as a profession. 
 
 What led to my entering a well-known book firm 
 as their representative is no way important to the 
 public. It was at the close of my first year as teacher 
 in '65, however, that I started a-foot for Quarryville, 
 
Down to the " Lower End." 303 
 
 in the township of Eden, where an examination was 
 billed to take place the day following; with carpet- 
 bag well filled with an assortment of every kind of 
 text-books, not forgetting a few of the miscellaneous 
 kind for the directors' children, whose mothers always 
 had a good word to say to their director-husbands at, 
 on or before the time of the meeting of the school 
 board. As to the question of "graft" entering into 
 what was to please the little tots — this may be dis- 
 missed from the reader's mind as incompatible with 
 the teachers' profession. 
 
 If anything additional may be said, it is that busi- 
 ness was at all times a first consideration, and I have 
 never known a time since my first entrance upon 
 country life, in 1854, that I wasn't. ready to pick up a 
 few "gems," needing only the hand of the literary 
 lapidary to polish and perfect. Aside from a morning 
 sunrise or an evening sunset, every old building, mill 
 or furnace was sure to attract my attention. Then, 
 I had an inordinate desire to visit the "Lower End," 
 if for no other purpose, apart from business, than to 
 find out what kind of "celestials" were living in this 
 "garden of Eden." To visit "Providence," not far 
 removed, and for all I knew, nearer the heavenly gates 
 to the "New Jerusalem" — this place I could afford 
 to wait my time and pleasure, and where yet resides 
 our good friend, Dr. Helm, and where his venerable 
 father ended his days in peace and plenty. 
 
 Passing along the Willow Street Pike, the same 
 forty years ago as to-day, I switched myself off at the 
 second toll-gate to that of the Beaver Valley. Turn- 
 
304 Cherished Memories. 
 
 ing to the right at the first lane, it wasn't long until I 
 had reached what for nearly a century and a half had 
 been known as the location of Lancaster county's 
 first German Mennonite settlers in 1710. 
 
 Overcome with a feeling of intense curiosity, as my 
 eyes resting on a sandstone cabin, and as I took in 
 "C. H. H. K— 1719," what less could I do but to 
 enter its bleak walls, reminded as I was of the story 
 told by Grandmother Mengen little more than half a 
 decade before, of the Mengen stone cabin. 
 
 And now, nearly half a century later, anything of 
 interest that I might have to relate of my first visit 
 to the Hans Herr cabin, which has already assumed 
 historic importance by the erection of the "tablet" 
 on the soil of the Mennonite meeting-house, located 
 at no great distance from this stone home, long since 
 fallen into disuse as a dwelling, has already gone down 
 on history's pages. 
 
 However, the change which four-score or more years 
 have brought in awakening public sentiment, especi- 
 ally on the part of the Lancaster County Historical 
 Society, is only another indication pointing in the 
 direction of preserving, by suitable monuments, the 
 many landmarks made memorable by the deeds of 
 those who were active in our country's welfare nearly 
 two centuries ago. 
 
 While this slight tribute to the valor and sturdy 
 character of the first settlers of this, the central part 
 of our county, where others known as the Dutch also 
 took up their homes in a wilderness, a continuation 
 of my first trip to the "Lower End," among the 
 
Church Objects to Gorgeous Building. 305 
 
 dwellers of the Scotch-Irish and Quakers will be re- 
 sumed, with the thought always uppermost in mind, 
 of impressions made upon memory's tablet at the 
 time — forty-five years ago. 
 
 Leaving the Herr stone cabin, with its pictures at 
 present on sale in the various stores, I hadn't gone far 
 when, to my astonishment, my vision took in a pre- 
 tentious two-story stone dwelling with mansard roof, 
 with its six windows of sixteen panes each. To the 
 left, above the porch, was the date, 1740, and to the 
 right, 1823, recalling vividly to mind a picture of this 
 same cosy home building I had seen in Rupp's history 
 of the county years before. 
 
 Stopping to further view the exterior of what so 
 many years earlier was called "palace of sandstone, 
 one of the most stately mansions in the county," I 
 was met by an elderly personage who, stepping to the 
 door, seemed only too willing to gratify his curiosity 
 by asking where I was from and whither I was going. 
 
 "It was in 1842," he began his story, "that the 
 Bishop, Hans Tschantz, with his elders and assistants, 
 having repaired to the humble cottage hard by the 
 'stately mansion,' organized the meeting himself, 
 in which the owner was questioned, upon conscience, 
 to openly declare what his intentions were in erecting 
 so large, so gorgeous a dwelling — reminding him of 
 the rumor some twelve or thirteen years before; and 
 lately of the prejudice existing against the Germans. 
 .And his reply, 'That he was consulting only his own 
 comfort, and that he had no sinister views.' Next 
 he was reminded that, in their view, the house was 
 
306 Cherished Memories. 
 
 too showy for a Mennonite. After some concessions, 
 and mutual forbearance by the parties, it was resolved 
 that the owner be kindly reprimanded; to which he 
 submitted, all parting as brethren." 
 
 And now, three decades later, on glancing for 
 miles around at the numerous other stately dwellings 
 looming into prominence, the majority of which are 
 not only more extensive in their outward design of 
 architecture than any I had seen in the "up" country, 
 leads to the conviction that the descendants — Men- 
 .nonites — are throwing off the old and putting on the 
 new. For, look where I would, stood not only the 
 double-decker, painted in variegated colors, with 
 their spires glistening in the bright sunlight, but their 
 brick homes were even more delightful to look upon; 
 some with lawns surrounded by hedges, others with 
 little garden plots in which grew flowers of every 
 variety, interspersed with the greenest spruce. 
 
 Crossing the "Little Beaver," with the foot-hills 
 looming in the distance, I was forcibly reminded that 
 possibly these same ridges were but a continuation 
 of those far-off to the left, and over which I had gone 
 my way while teaching the district school known as 
 "Cedar Hill." 
 
 Glancing backward from this higher altitude, at the 
 rolling landscape, over this garden of nature's handi- 
 craft, as I entered the ridges of shale and mica, I 
 couldn't well help recalling what I had so often heard, 
 that a change of soil usually brought a change in the 
 customs and habits of the people, all of whom I was 
 now only too anxious to meet unless, perchance, as I 
 
Quarryville. 307 
 
 pressed my way further beyond the hilly ranges, I 
 should be compelled to met so few in number as to 
 make my trip of no avail. Where I had actually 
 crossed another line of demarcation, at least physically 
 speaking, with the valley of limestone gradually re- 
 ceding, was as perplexing as it was annoying. How- 
 ever, after taking one road, only to intersect with 
 another leading to nowhere, with a stray buzzard 
 soaring overhead, and a jack-rabbit crossing the road- 
 way, I, at long last, stood viewing the village off in 
 the distance. "Yes, yes," came my soliloquy, ' I have 
 reached Quarryville, in the 'Garden of Eden,'" pic- 
 tured so many years before to my immature mind 
 by the Sabbath-day teacher in one of our Bible lessons. 
 
 Stepping, with grapsack in hand, I entered the 
 tavern, and after making diligent inquiry as to the 
 secretary of the school board, I went my way in 
 search of the "corner store," standing some distance 
 westward, at the intersection of two roads. Wonder- 
 fully strange how one name can be associated with that 
 of another, in the awaking of a guilty conscience at a 
 moment when one's hopes are at a premium! For, 
 as I kept revolving the secretary's name over and over, 
 it seemed to carry me back to my own home-town, to 
 'a cherry tree on East Chestnut, and from which I, 
 with others, reaped a rich harvest when old "Pappy" 
 Hensel was quietly sleeping the sleep of the just. 
 
 With these vain imaginings, I bolted my way into 
 the general merchandise store to find standing behind 
 the counter a man of middle age, with countenance of 
 marked resoluteness of purpose, and yet withal one 
 
308 Cherished Memories. 
 
 from whom I received a most cordial greeting. After 
 showing up my "wares," with the assurance that I 
 should receive his support at the coming meeting, I 
 was directed to the president, one of three Scotch-Irish 
 brothers, who dwelt a short distance beyond, on adja- 
 cent farms. Singularly strange, as I went my way, 
 full of bright anticipations, I had forgotten all about 
 the delicious "ox-hearts," so surreptitiously taken 
 from the cherry tree, which few boys could pass with- 
 out casting sly glances up among the luscious fruit. 
 
 Circling around like one of the lost tribes of the 
 children of Israel, I at last reached Robert's farm, 
 where sat lounging on the porch three stalwart farm- 
 ers, whose appearance satisfied the agent that they 
 were not only well-to-do, but of the old school as well. 
 For a moment, with gripsack in hand, I stood glancing 
 furtively through the foliage, wondering if here I 
 should receive as kindly a welcome as had been 
 accorded by the secretary, ever ready, as I was to 
 learn later, to assist a young man in time of need. 
 
 Hesitating, to take in the artistic proportions of the 
 
 buildings, the first of their size I had seen since leaving 
 
 the valley of the Conestoga and Pequea, I overheard 
 
 what could have reference only to myself and lone 
 
 ■ gripsack. 
 
 "Say, brother J-eems, I'll be scotched if there isn't 
 another of them infernal oil-agents coming 'round, 
 and a smart-looking chap at that; suppose he's here 
 with another wild-cat scheme to unload on the old 
 man, and before he's had time to forget the parting 
 with his last hard-earned dollars. Guess, though, 
 
a 
 
 M 
 SZ 
 71 
 
 1=3 
 
 a 
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 H 
 v. 
 
 M 
 
 
The Montgomery Boys. 309 
 
 "we'll have to be inviting him in for dinner as the 
 shortest way of getting rid of the broker." 
 
 "Yis, Robert, it's your brother James who's think- 
 ing it's 'bout time for you to be considering the con- 
 sequences before risking any more of the products of 
 the farm in oil-well stocks." 
 
 At last, approaching the porch with grip dangling 
 by my side, I was saluted with, "Wa-11, young man, 
 from what neck o' woods do you hail, and what might 
 your business be, if not too inquisitive.?" 
 
 "A school-book agent with a supply of recently- 
 published text-books to be taking the place of old 
 Peter Parley's geography, Smith's grammar and 
 Pike's arithmetics," I retorted, regaining my com- 
 posure. 
 
 "Thought you were one of those slick promoters 
 with an axe to grind at the old men's expense. And 
 so you're from the city?" 
 
 "Yes, at one time a teacher, boarding for eight 
 months with Menno Mengen, Mennonite farmer, re- 
 siding along the King's highway; and whose opinion 
 of the Scotch-Irish and Quakers hasn't at all times 
 been the most flattering." 
 
 "Wa-11," eying his visitor over the top of his 
 glasses, "how are the 'Dutch' getting along, anyway, 
 on their sourkraut, paunhaus, speck and scrapple? 
 You see," rising from his chair, "between the Dutch 
 on the north and Billy Perm's descendants on the 
 south, I'm not searching the spelling-book for any 
 choice words of flattery, dang 'em! Yes, yes, the 
 one's on a par with the other; both have robbed the 
 
310 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Scotch Irish out of their natural rights in gobbling up 
 most of the best farm land in the county. But, young 
 man, open up your grip, and if you've anything in 
 the books to be teaching the young how to avoid the 
 speculators, you can count on Robert's vote, provid- 
 ing you can convince the secretary, living over in a 
 part of the corner store, with three smart young lads 
 running 'round." 
 
 What followed this hour's interview with Robert, 
 the tall, rugged farmer, can easily be stated: A day 
 or two later I succeeded in supplanting a line of text- 
 books that had been in use in the schools of the town- 
 ship since the system was first adopted. 
 
 At the time of which mention is made, Quarryville 
 was an unpretentious country village, from which, to 
 reach the county-seat, the rickety stage coach had to 
 be resorted to. Then again, during the winter, many 
 of the highways were almost impassable, owing to 
 their being used for the hauling of oar and limestone 
 from the immense quarries, still in evidence on the 
 verge of the town. 
 
 But mark the change after a short half century. 
 This pleasant retreat is now a borough with its trolley 
 and two lines of railroad — the one leading to the city, 
 the narrow-guage to Oxford and the Susquehanna. 
 Aside from its two banks and stores, with electric lights, 
 the town has put on a new aspect, especially since the 
 "low-grade" railway keeps running hourly east and 
 west. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Letter to Menno Mengen — Farming Conditions 
 of Two Sections Contrasted. 
 
 IT was during one of my much later visits to the 
 "Lower End," and where I had come in closer 
 touch with the soil and its people, as I had previously 
 with the dwellers of the "up" country, that it occurred 
 to the writer to drop a letter to Mengen and his "goot" 
 Nancy, almost forgetful that after these many years 
 both had either passed the River of Time or had 
 reached that of the prophet's age. However, as dili- 
 dence, industry and proper improvement of time 
 are material duties of the young, how better could I 
 obey Mengen's admonition than by the fulfilling of 
 a promise made years before. If, as I further reas- 
 oned, the old people were no longer on the homestead, 
 there would at least be the grandsons and the once 
 thirteen-year-old Beckie, only too ready to receive 
 a line from their teacher of the "Grove" school. 
 
 And so, not without some knowledge of conditions 
 prevailing in this southern Eden, I betook myself to 
 the hotel, at the extreme eastern part of the village 
 of Quarryville, to begin the labor of contrasting, for 
 Mengen's sake, conditions as they existed, altogether 
 so different, in this extreme lower end, from those of 
 the "up" country. 
 
 "Dear Mengen: Time has passed so rapidly since 
 
 311 
 
312 Cherished Memories. 
 
 we last sat together on the porch of the homestead, 
 as to cause me to chide myself for having delayed writ- 
 ing you and Nancy for so long a time. Recalling one 
 of the headlines I used to pen for the boys in their 
 copy-books, that 'Procrastination is the thief of 
 time,' I fear I have been practicing what I've attempt- 
 ed to teach others, to avoid putting off for tomorrow 
 what ought to be done to-day. 
 
 ''And now let me say in as plain language as 
 possible, that if, when I left the farm, I had im- 
 agined I was nevermore to find another the size of 
 your own double-decker, I must confess I was greatly 
 mistaken. Here and there in the valley of the Con- 
 estoga and Pequea, it was my pleasure to find barns 
 of immense size, filled with an overabundance of all 
 that should unite a people in the common bonds of 
 fraternal good feeling and lasting friendships. This 
 discovery, before reaching the foot-hills, led to the 
 conviction that, however the German Mennonites 
 might differ on minor points, their hearts are still in 
 the right place. 
 
 "With so much to write that couldn't be read in a 
 single night, I can only refer to the more important: 
 As an historical beginning, out of the sixty odd town- 
 ships and boroughs of this glorious old county, I have 
 broken 'bread' with all sects and religious denomina- 
 tions, and seldom have I had cause to complain of 
 their hospitality. If then it was my pleasure to go 
 driving to a Dutch country sale, where the idiom was 
 as pronounced as were the dwellers in their peculiar 
 garb, with their broad-brim, black felt hats, how 
 
Dutch Discriminated Against. 313 
 
 altogether different the people of this lower section 
 of God's country, where the plain English prevails, 
 almost to the exclusion of the German. 
 
 "This may be accounted for largely for the reason 
 that both the Scotch and Quakers are of different 
 nationalities, the 'Friends' from England, the Scotch 
 from Scotland and the north of Ireland, settling them- 
 selves down where it didn't require the labor of re- 
 moving the heavy timber of the low-lands further 
 north. 
 
 "However, as all my information comes from the 
 historian of the 'Buck,' and others, it must suffice. 
 And yet, singular as it may seem, it was only after 
 reaching the foot-hills, south of which only a few Men- 
 nonites have ever ventured, that the change became 
 strikingly apparent. Occasionally, it is true, here 
 and there a Dutch farmer was to be met, who, having 
 sold out his belongings at a good, round figure, went 
 his way southward, where farms could be had at 
 nearly one-half the price of farm land in the valleys 
 lying further north. However, as I was to learn, 
 between his neighbors and himself and family there 
 was little in common; not that they were not respected 
 as hard-working, industrious farmers. And yet, from 
 a social standpoint, they were largely discriminated 
 against on account of their illiteracy, style of dress, 
 and may be, their religious customs. Therefore, to 
 fully appreciate the conditions which time alone can 
 modify, you must remember that I have fallen in with 
 the Scotch-Irish and Quakers, believers in the adage 
 
314 Cherished Memories, 
 
 that they alone are the survival of the fittest, what- 
 ever this may mean. If then it was my good, fortune, 
 in this 'valley of the gods,' to mingle with all classes — ■ 
 descendants of the Scots and Penns — I have found 
 them little different from the common run of mortals, 
 with the possible exception of the Quakers, who raise 
 tobacco, not by any means for home consumption, 
 but rather for trade, commerce and dieing purposes. 
 Opposed to its use in any form as a soothing balm for 
 nervous diseases, these God-fearing farmers' wives 
 stand at all times ready to uphold their end of an 
 argument, the question of consistency being in noway 
 a 'jewel.' Happily for your young friend, in abstain- 
 ing from the 'weed' in their presence, I have avoided 
 many a little moral lesson, reserved alone for their 
 husbands, who usually manage to take their after- 
 dinner smoke at a corner store, where a0i antidote 
 can be had warranted to deceive the averse house- 
 wife, without being subjected to the 'moral code' on 
 their return home. 
 
 " In many other respects I have not been slow in 
 observing the same prevailing conditions among the 
 people hereabouts as elsewhere in my travels — a 
 growing tendency to encourage their offspring to 
 abandon the farm — the greater the facilities for seek- 
 ing an education, the less binding the home-ties. More 
 than once have I sat and listened to mistaken notions 
 of 'child culture,' wherein it was set forth that the lad 
 of brains should in noway be allowed to follow the 
 drudgery of a farmer's life, with so many other posi- 
 tions of trust awaiting them in the cities. And as for 
 
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 : ^^SSSSbS 
 
More Note-Books Required. 315 
 
 their daughters — the pretty girls, to marry them off 
 to 'professionals' of influence where they might em- 
 bellish a city home, if not the rule, is by no means the 
 exception among the more enlightened and prosperous 
 — a prosperity largely the result of long years of patient 
 toil on homesteads not to be excelled the county over 
 for peace, comfort and a long, happy life for those 
 who hold fast to the handles of a plow. 
 
 "And now, if, unhappily, your schoolmaster-friend 
 has gone astray in many of his deductions, they may 
 be attributed largely to the many inimitable young 
 'story-tellers' of the village, whose reputation as 
 local historians stand as par excellence among the 
 rank and file of dwellers of this lower section of the 
 county. 
 
 "Known far and near as familiar with every old 
 land-mark, from that of Fulton's historic birth-place 
 to David Ramsay's, the fund of information furnished 
 has required an additional number of note-books. 
 
 "What greater pleasure than to have pointed out 
 this or that old stone dwelling with a history dat- 
 ing back to the Crusaders! And later, to sit on the 
 porch of the self-opinionated Quaker Reubens, en- 
 gaged in a spirited discussion with his neighbor, the 
 irascible James McLadin, only to agree to disagree 
 as to what nationality credit should be accorded for 
 the preponderence of general intelligence, handed down 
 to the dwellers of the 'Lower End' as a birthright— 
 this alone was all-sufficient to start the writer to utter 
 a prayer of thanksgiving for the privilege of seeking 
 a solution to the much- vexed question, 'How, for so 
 
316 Cherished Memories. 
 
 many years, these two irreconcilable sects, the Quak- 
 ers and Scotch-Irish, were permitted to live in unity 
 one with the other, with an occasional war of words, 
 to be followed by tokens of love and friendship, even 
 to the extent of endorsing each other's sixty-day 
 notes. 
 
 "And now, Menno, if it was your friend's purpose 
 to conclude this rambling letter an hour ago, it was 
 not to be interrupted, as I have been since my return 
 to the country-store, by a visit from Justice Dugan, 
 twin brother of the 'up' country justice, on whom 
 you succeeded in passing Brindle, the blasted kicker, 
 at a ten advance of the price 'bersalt,' to quote one 
 of your favorite expressions. 
 
 "In order that there may be no mistake as to their 
 filial relationship, it needs only be said that Justice 
 Dugan of this lower end is a short-set, eccentric per- 
 sonage, dressed in a suit of thread-worn broadcloth, 
 with white high-topped beaver to match. His round 
 face is plump, eyes bright and gray; back a little bent, 
 voice strained from too frequent use in dealing out 
 the law to the just and unjust, always with a leaning 
 toward those best able to pay the costs in such cases 
 as from time to time had been submitted to his lord- 
 ship for an unbiased opinion. 
 
 "For fully half a century he had been, as he claimed, 
 the township justice, swaying the destinies of both the 
 Quakers and Scotch-Irish in their numerous dickers 
 in a horse-trade. However, his main purpose in reach- 
 ing the village, as he expressed it, was to meet one 
 who had crossed the line of demarcation from the 
 
Justice Dugan, Expounder of Blackstone. 317 
 
 homes of the 'Dutch' to that of the chosen people 
 of God's country, already referred to. Second only 
 .in importance, his purpose now was to learn wherein 
 the modus operandi of his twin brother's rulings, 
 as expounder of Blackstone and other commentators, 
 differed from his own dispensing of the law. 
 
 "In accounting for his lameness, which was only 
 too apparent, as he leaned upon his staff, he inci- 
 dentally remarked it was the result of being kicked 
 by an infernal reprobate of an Alderney, which some 
 years before had been shipped southward by a Men- 
 nonite bishop to improve the stock of bovines of the 
 Lower End. Of course, Menno, as I had already 
 become too familiar with Brindle's loving traits of 
 mind and heart, I concluded it would be unwise to 
 betray 'home secrets.' However, I am happy to say, 
 Squire Dugan finally succeeded in trading the 'kicker' 
 off to Robert, a Scotch-Irishman, for a few shares of 
 his oil-stock, purchased years before. 
 
 " In no way to be out-done by his own squire-brother, 
 in the dealing out of the law to his Dutch constituents, 
 Mr. Justice Dugan claimed to have married all the 
 bachelor and maiden ladies within a radius of :many 
 square miles; had divorced an equal number, leaving 
 the various parsons with little more to do than to 
 attend to their spiritual wants, which were grievous 
 and many, when their time came for handing in their 
 checks. In addition to what he had already related, 
 Justice Dugan claimed to have settled in an amicable 
 way scores of disputes between the Quakers and 
 Scotch-Irish over a 'hoss' trade. 
 
318 Cherished Memories. 
 
 "What seemed to trouble the Irish justice, and 
 what he had most to fear in his declining years, was 
 a sudden down-pour of emigration from the 'up' 
 country, compelling him to purchase a dictionary of 
 the German language, all the better to acquaint him- 
 self with the idiom as spoken by the very few who 
 had already planted themselves down among the 
 Quakers and Scotch. 
 
 "Following Mason and Dixon's line with my genial 
 young historian friend, over which, as the learned 
 justice was wont to declare, the Quakers and Lord 
 Baltimore had got into quite a little squabble before 
 the line was permanently established, I found this 
 section of our great and glorious county a perfect 
 Paradise of Nature's handicraft, needing only, what 
 the dwellers' hearts most longed for, an outlet to the 
 city, apart from the 'Narrow Gauge,' extending 
 westward from the mother county to the Susque- 
 hanna. For years this fertile section has remained 
 almost at a standstill, largely for the want of a direct 
 line of double-track railway connecting the dwellers 
 with the city of Lancaster. 
 
 "However, bereft of these modern-day means of 
 inter-communication, they are an intelligent, pro- 
 gressive people, and what is more, they live on the 
 best the soil can produce. Without, many of their 
 homes are of the olden style, surrounded by hedges 
 of deepest green; within there is all any family could 
 desire, from the organ or piano, to that of unadorned 
 splendor, with walls papered and overhung with many 
 an old portrait of grandparents. This much can 
 
Difference Between Nationalities. 319 
 
 hardly be said of their out-buildings, many of which 
 look as if they had been twisted 'round by a western 
 cyclone, with farming implements lying helter-skelter. 
 The soil, however, while not as fertile as that of the 
 valleys beyond the ridges, yields nearly, in bushels 
 per acre, the equal of that of the most favored of the 
 other sections of God's country. Then, the difference 
 in price is such as to attract the attention of farmers 
 elsewhere. 
 
 "As one of the Quakers' peculiarities, they seldom 
 go borrowing trouble, and little given to worrying 
 over what the morrow may have in store. Unlike 
 the Germans, to barter away their last horse or cow 
 to-day with the hope of buying another the day fol- 
 lowing, causes no lying awake nights lamenting over 
 how the crops are to be gathered in. If, perchance, a 
 mortgage or judgment covers the homestead, what 
 matters it so long as the interest can be satisfied. 
 And when it can no longer be met, they let the mort- 
 gagee do the worrying by taking the plantation off 
 their hands. 
 
 "And now, Menno, having written you freely and 
 without reserve, it has seemed only too apparent to 
 my own mind that in one particular there is a wide 
 line between the Quakers, Scotch-Irish on the one 
 hand, and the Germans of the 'up' country on the 
 other. This consists in what constitutes the home- 
 life of the respective sections. Especially with the 
 Quakers or Friends is the home-dwelling and its en- 
 vironment of first consideration. On the other hand, 
 it has become a tradition with the 'Dutch,' to make 
 
320 Cherished Memories. 
 
 the double-decker of first importance in the caring 
 of the stock. 
 
 "Having said that the Quakers are above the 
 average in general intelligence, this can be accounted 
 for by the number of agriculturists who yearly meet 
 in what has been designated 'Walker's Woods,' where 
 for hours they put forth such a volume of illuminating 
 knowledge on the cultivation of tobacco and other 
 products, as to lead the 'old timer' to imagine his 
 long years in following the antiquated methods of his 
 forefathers had been more than wasted. For hours 
 it was our pleasure to listen to one of the leading paid 
 agriculturists, only to visit his own farm a short time 
 later. And oh, what a conglomeration, with fields 
 overgrown with weeds, fences down here, there and 
 everywhere ! 
 
 "How different this farming in theory compared 
 with that of the 'up' country among the 'Dutch,' 
 and where there are few traveling delegates for this or 
 that 'woman's club,' as may be found among the 
 Quakers, where, in the district schools, the boys and 
 girls are taught how to let the old folks handle the 
 plow while they turn school-teachers or temperance 
 crusaders. And yet, God bless the women of the 
 Lower End, who allow their lords and masters to 
 attend to the suckers and cut-worms in the tobacco- 
 field, while they bask in the sunshine of contentment, 
 happy within their little homes, where love and peace 
 reign supreme. 
 
 "And now, my dear Mengen, to conclude this ramb- 
 ling letter, it is the wish of your friend that this missive 
 
Religious Doctrines. 321 
 
 may not fall into the hands of Justice Dugan, of the 
 'cross roads,' and later, into possession of his twin- 
 brother, and thence under the scrutinizing eyes of 
 the local historian. For none better than yourself 
 knows how easily it is to stir up controversies over 
 disputed points on doctrinal questions, over which the 
 six nationalities of the city and county have differed 
 from time immemorial. Again, to attempt to force 
 the Mennonite religion on the people of the Lower 
 End, or that of the Quaker or Scotch-Irish doctrines 
 on the 'Dutch' of the 'up' country, might result in a 
 calamity not to be viewed with instant and becoming 
 resignation. Guess, Menno, the good Father knew 
 what He was about in drawing the line of demarcation 
 between the dwellers of the upper and lower section 
 of our great and glorious county. 
 
 "What seems so strange is the fact that so few of 
 the dwellers of the Lower End have ever set foot on 
 the soil of the upper tier of townships, not that they 
 are ignorant of our county's history, a goodly number 
 having visited the far West, with a few visiting a 
 foreign land. And yet, Mengen, to conclude this 
 hastily-written letter, I am at this writing only some 
 forty miles removed from your own 'up' country 
 homestead." 
 
 If thus far the narrative has partaken of the lighter 
 instead of the more serious of farm-life, no apology 
 would seem necessary, at least to the pessimistic 
 tiller who seldom smiles, always ready to go 'round 
 among his neighbors predicting all kind of dire calami- 
 
322 Cherished Memories. 
 
 ties likely to overtake farmers before the crops have 
 been garnered. With the very few, the grumbling 
 propensity is innate, with others, acquired in coming 
 in touch with the pessimist. The optimist, the happy, 
 contented farmer, ready to take the good with the bad, 
 come in what shape it may, is one of God's noblemen, 
 full of the milk of human kindness for his fellowman. 
 
 If the business man of every city is measured by his 
 intrinsic worth, rather than by the size of his bank 
 account, so the farmer is judged and his status deter- 
 mined. "What are his domestic habits? Is hepen- 
 uriously inclined? Does he value the almighty dollar 
 above all other things material to his welfare?" If 
 the answer be in the affirmative, his homestead is likely 
 to be given a wide range. And here it may be said, 
 as an axiom, that what one farmer doesn't know of 
 his neighbor's successes or failures isn't likely known 
 to even the township squire or the bishop, who 
 usually manages to keep a close watch on every mem- 
 ber of his flock. And here, it may be further said, 
 that no people the world over are more religiously 
 disposed than the common run of farmers. Their 
 conceptions of right and wrong may differ from those 
 of their city cousins, no doubt owing to environment, 
 but withal, the rural dweller, with all his failures, 
 stands pre-eminently in the front rank of the world's 
 struggling masses. 
 
 But while there are a goodly number getting as 
 much pleasure out of country life, in their simpler 
 modes of living, than those of the cities, there are 
 still others residing on many Pennsylvania home- 
 
Mistake to Leave Farm. 323 
 
 steads whose one aim and purpose has been the 
 accumulation of wealth, to be squandered, perchance, 
 by offspring who have never been taught how to 
 enjoy each blessing as one year follows the other. 
 
 That economy is a "jewel," not to be overlooked 
 with impunity, goes without saying. Money has its 
 value only in how it can be made to contribute to the 
 pleasures and happiness of the farm and the commun- 
 ity at large. It is the home, oftentimes cold and cheer- 
 less without, that should possess all the comforts of 
 a city-life within. 
 
 A large, commodious double-decker, with its three 
 spires, painted in variegated colors, not infrequently 
 stands in striking contrast with the stone or frame, 
 unpainted dwelling, wherein old and young manage 
 to exist during the rigor of winter, only slightly better 
 provided for than the stock, bedded daily in their 
 snug stalls. It is not unusual, from homes like these, 
 that the ambitious country boy takes his departure 
 for the city, where conditions, domestically speaking, 
 are improved a thousand-fold. 
 
 It is poverty that causes so many otherwise intelli- 
 gent farmers to look with envy upon their distant, 
 city dwellers, living, as they are prone to believe, on 
 the fat of the land? Too many of even the wealthiest 
 of farmers fail to see that their marketable products 
 are at all times at their own disposal, at prices marked 
 "prohibitory." 
 
 It is this one-sided view of city-life, with well- 
 paved streets, lighted nightly by electricity, that has 
 led many a mistaken mother to hurry her boys off 
 
324 Cherished Memories. 
 
 from the farm — too poor to maintain them under like 
 conditions on the broad acres. 
 
 Too poor! What a satyr on country life! Where, 
 in the broad domain of Lancaster county, with its 
 millions on interest, are the farmers too poor to con- 
 tribute their share in the building of good roads? 
 Too poor to supply their dwellings with a proper 
 system of heating, and such other sanitary appliances 
 as every home is entitled to for the preservation of 
 health, a long and happy life? How many farmers 
 are too poor to subscribe for the daily newspaper, 
 and one or two agricultural journals, containing such 
 suggestions as to repay themselves a thousand times 
 in a single year? 
 
 To drive to the mill or to the city once a week in 
 attending market, to return, then turn the convey- 
 ance into a nearby stream, with wheels to the axle 
 covered with mire; to clean, oil and straighten out the 
 "raw-hides" for Sabbath-day wear — all these many 
 inconveniences are yearly met and acquiesced in, and 
 for what? To save a few dollars of road tax. Truly, 
 the farmers of Pennsylvania have, for nearly two 
 centuries, been looking through the eyes of their own 
 narrow prejudices. When will their hour of deliver- 
 ance come? 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Return Tramp Up the Susquehanna — The Haunted 
 Inn — Closing Thoughts. 
 
 DURING repeated visits to this the lower section 
 of God's country, with the thought of Justice 
 Dugan's misfortune ever in mind, of his experience 
 with Brindle, the blasted Alderney, I naturally kept 
 on the lookout for the vicious kritter, but to my 
 discerning eyes, the bovine was nowhere in evidence. 
 That Brindle had for a time resided on several home- 
 steads, was only too clear to my comprehension, owing 
 to a slight impediment, or lameness of certain mem- 
 bers of this or that family. Occasionally, I was to 
 learn, that such a quadruped as I described had been 
 frequently auctioned off by the sales-cryer in giving 
 her a "goota recommen'/' as Menno expressed it. 
 
 At last I was to learn from Robert that the old 
 reprobate had been purchased by one of Lord Balti- 
 more's descendants, residing on the opposite side of 
 Mason and Dixon's line, and beyond Justice Dugan's 
 jurisdiction; all of which was as gratifying as it was 
 consoling. 
 
 Leaving this perplexing question for the local 
 historian to deny or affirm, "Cherished Memories" 
 would not be complete without mention of a return- 
 trip from the homes of the goodly Quakers, where 
 the lady teachers at all times hold the balance of 
 
 325 
 
326 Cherished Memories. 
 
 power in the adoption of a series of text-books at a 
 school-board meeting. 
 
 The occasion of my return is distinctly recalled; I 
 had reached the Port Road at the "Quarries," a mile 
 or two from "Penn Hill," and where I had been 
 "undone" by one of the women teachers, when, to 
 my surprise, I was to learn that the road would likely 
 be tied up for an indefinite time, owing to a land- 
 slide. 
 
 Falling in with a half dozen or more raftsmen, I 
 concluded to join them on a tramp, without, for a 
 moment, considering the distance to be covered during 
 the long intervening night. Being of a go-as-you- 
 please turn, the two hours spent with them, at the 
 Whitteker tavern, placed the writer on terms of the 
 closest intimacy, at least with the leader, said to have 
 been one of three well-known Marietta pilots. 
 
 Although I had made frequent trips down the Sus- 
 quehanna, viewing the hills from the window of a car, 
 to observe the scenery on a tramp was exceeded, as 
 I was informed, only by sitting on a raft, a pleasure 
 I had never experienced. 
 
 It wasn't long, however, after starting on our 
 journey, after the sun had gone down beyond the 
 York hills, that I overheard a spirited conversation, 
 the question in dispute being whether to put up for 
 the night at what had for years been known as the 
 "haunted inn," or to move on to "Bald Friar." At 
 this moment I should have turned back, except for 
 the reason that I didn't want to show the white 
 feather. Being at all times a good whistler of a 
 
A Night With the Ghost. 327 
 
 certain melody I had learned down in Old Virginia, 
 this I kept humming as I strolled along in the rear, 
 with both ears wide open. At last, having overheard 
 that a murder had been committed in one of the upper 
 rooms of the haunted inn, my pedals began to show 
 a tendency of moving backward instead of forward. 
 
 Whether these gruesome stories were invented, for my 
 own special benefit, or as the result of their own 
 former experiences, I didn't have time to consider, 
 nor was I at the moment capable of discriminating 
 between a genuine Susquehanna ghost or one of the 
 imaginary kind that had disturbed my night's rest 
 over at Fairview. 
 
 At last, with all kinds of visions playing hide-and- 
 seek with my befuddled brain, I caught sight of a 
 two-story brick structure to the right of the railway, 
 *and the next moment I had dropped into a vacant 
 chair of the bar-room, ready to make my escape at 
 the first of the unearthly sounds falling upon my 
 ears, and which were as wide open as was the bar, 
 behind which stood, in the nickering light, as unkempt 
 .a specimen of humanity as the river could well pro- 
 duce. With both hands riveted to the arms of the 
 chair, I continued to hold the "fort," as I had previ- 
 ously the "key" to the Hickory Grove school-house 
 door. 
 
 As it happened, few eyes were closed, except those 
 of the Pilot's, who took to a bench, as the others 
 poured in a quantity of apple-jack, as if to ward off 
 the dismal sounds coming from, I knew not where, 
 nor was I disposed to go in search of the demons. At 
 
328 Cherished Memories. 
 
 last, when asked by the wizen-faced landlord if I was 
 ready to retire, I politely replied that for a night's 
 lodging in the "old arm chair," I was prepared to pay 
 in advance. What at the time added to my distrust 
 was the landlord's saying that he had deserted 
 the haunted building on a half-dozen previous occa- 
 sions, only to return. Had I considered for a moment, 
 I should have known that the fear of ghosts wasn't 
 bothering his guests half as much as the fear that the 
 apple-jack might run short before the twilight ap- 
 peared. 
 
 And now, but for a visit to "Benton," a score years 
 later, I might still be resting under the delusion that 
 fate had actually marked this brick structure for all 
 time unfit for human occupancy. 
 
 As the story goes, a certain gentleman of means 
 and sportsmanlike propensities, concluded to look 
 the haunted inn over with a view of converting it into 
 a private club-house. What arrangements he had 
 made for the caring of the Susquehanna ghosts we 
 know not. What we do know is, that he made the 
 purchase with the hobgoblins thrown in without 
 extra cost. 
 
 At last, after nights of patient waiting, Mr. Ghost 
 was discovered under the roof. And what a friendly 
 old chap he proved to be! Only another Mr. Squirrel 
 with his brood, who, in making his way over one of 
 the rafters, got to playing a kind of "see-saw." As 
 one end flopped up against a loose shingle, the other 
 went down, producing a peculiar vibration. 
 
 So impressed was the owner with his "rich" find, 
 
Lawson's Rock. 329 
 
 as to have a model in miniature made, which rests on 
 a shelf at "Ferncliff," as the building is now called 
 — to-day, one of the most delightful summer re- 
 treats along the Susquehanna. Thus was another 
 superstition to vanish. 
 
 Leaving this, at the time, haunted inn, we reached 
 Fite's Eddy early the morning following in time for 
 a sumptuous breakfast, with our equilibrium restored. 
 
 As the fishing season was at its height, with a falling 
 river, it was easily to be seen that Clark Bostic was 
 reaping a rich harvest from the scores of anglers from 
 Lancaster and elsewhere, all scurrying 'round to be 
 the first to reach "Lawson's Rock," at the time noted 
 for its big catches. And what old boatman wasn't 
 willing to remain out all night on this lone sen- 
 tinel in holding the "fort" against all intruders? 
 Standing in the midst of others at low-water-mark, 
 "Lawson" is yet pointed out by a few of the many 
 bass-fishermen as the most favored rock on the lower 
 Susquehanna, with fish stories as plentiful as were 
 the seven-pounders which always managed to escape. 
 
 But now, a good many years later, the Fite's Eddy 
 inn is no longer in evidence, nor is the register, on 
 which were inscribed the names of the hundreds who 
 annually made this retreat their abiding place. What 
 mattered it if during some nights a few were com- 
 pelled to double, treble or quadruple up, with others 
 lying on the floor, with still others, for all we know, 
 strung up on hooks? 
 
 Awakening cherished memories of Fite's Eddy? 
 It was here that the "Boss," as we loved to call him, 
 
330 Cherished Memories. 
 
 went his way with his trusty boatman, McCune, to 
 Lawson's. 
 
 But we must be moving towards McCall's Ferry, 
 where, in this year 1910, stands the Power Plant, 
 destined to obliterate more than one old-time land- 
 mark. A few miles beyond, we stopped to "water 
 up" at the famous "spring," around which the Tuc- 
 quaners gathered for a two-weeks' outing. And what 
 a galaxy of names a third of a century brings to mind 
 of this the Tucquaners' Club ! Among its membership 
 were the young and the old, the great majority having 
 passed to the spirit world. Ah! what a handy, accom- 
 modating, busy member was "John B.," for years the 
 club's president! 
 
 From the famous spring, one's thoughts turn to the 
 opposite side, where, for so many years, TJrie and his 
 willing helpmate dealt out the many good things — 
 chicken and waffles, fit for a king. And as the Tuc- 
 quaners now meet yearly in this same old inn building, 
 it is for them, rather than for the writer, to drink of 
 the water of the "spring," to the memory of their 
 departed friends. So say they all. 
 
 A short distance beyond, a lonely shanty for a 
 station was reached, but there was no "River- 
 side" and but few cottages, with no trolley running 
 to the city of Lancaster as to-day, with the river 
 converted into a lake, over which the steamboat 
 plies its way for a dozen miles. Yes, it is at "River- 
 side" that a meal can be had, with a little something 
 soothing, six days out of seven. 
 
 Reaching Shenk's Ferry, we draw the veil over a 
 
Samuel H. Zahm. 331 
 
 sad drowning which befell one of the "cock-fighters" 
 in crossing from an island during a. dark night. Later, 
 Safe Harbor was reached. And oh! how changed 
 from the time we made our big catches of catties and 
 perch, and where the shad and herring industry was 
 at its height! No canal-boats were to be seen 
 coming down the Conestoga, as in the days of a third 
 century before. 
 
 On this tramp, tramp, tramp, it was our pleasure to 
 fall in with our antiquarian friend, Samuel, or "Sam," 
 out in search of Indian relics, for which this section of 
 the county is still noted. Taking final leave of the 
 rivermen, Sam and I went our way up the Conestoga, 
 as the nearest and most direct way to the city. 
 
 Familiar as he was with our county's history, it 
 wasn't long until every old landmark was pointed out, 
 leading me, at least, to realize that if it was one thing 
 to read history from a book, how much more delightful 
 to stand on the very soil where, nearly two centuries 
 before, had been enacted so many scenes of thrilling 
 interest. 
 
 As we continued our stroll over consecrated ground, 
 what I had previously read of the massacre of the 
 Indians by the Paxton boys and the Donegal Rangers, 
 as they were called, seemed like an empty dream by 
 comparison, bringing one in closer sympathy with the 
 traveler to the far-off Holy Land and other points of 
 historic interest of centuries ago. 
 
 At last, satiated with Indian legendary, the per- 
 chance, same towering oak was pointed out by my 
 departed, antiquarian friend "Sammy," where William 
 
332 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Penn made his famous treaty with the Susquehanna 
 red men, who, in the years of the long ago, plied their 
 frail canoes over and along the river's rocky shores. 
 
 Tramping our way along, not far distant from the 
 Rock Hill hostelry and covered bridge, we reached a 
 point known, in 1729-30, as Postlewhaite's Inn, wherein 
 courts of justice were held for a short time, before the 
 county-seat was removed to the present city of Lan- 
 caster. 
 
 Reaching the old river town of Marietta, at a much 
 later day, in our young attorney friend, "Bernard 
 J.'s" automobile, it was our pleasure to meet three 
 well-known river pilots, Lunn, Fred and John, two 
 in the borough, the other at Accomac, and where a 
 supper of chicken and waffles were as delicious as 
 have so often been the "set-out" at Duffy's Park, 
 and where, in years gone by, the father of the two 
 boys made all welcome to this "elysian," with the 
 proviso that all angling for the gamy bass in the 
 silvery pools was marked prohibitory. 
 
 And now, with the storehouse of memory nearly 
 exhausted, there still remain a few fond recollections 
 of this western section of God's country before draw- 
 ing "Cherished Memories" to a close. Thus, to reach 
 the Conewago hills with their boulders, thence through 
 Bainbridge in Conoy to the Donegals, where "Home 
 Week" is being celebrated in the old-time village of 
 Maytown, laid out in 1762, we can, in imagination, 
 see a gathering of loose heels performing the light 
 fantastic in the center of the then "homeless town," 
 if such, at the time of which history makes mention, 
 it could be called. 
 
Electioneering for Her Husband. 333 
 
 Taken in charge by our local, historic friend, Hiram 
 Jacobs, the gates are thrown wide open, as mention 
 is made of the Pattersons, Galbraiths, Lowreys, 
 Camerons, and other early Scotch-Irish settlers, to be 
 followed by the Swiss Mennonites — the Forreys, Gar- 
 bers, Stricklers, with others too numerous to mention. 
 
 Sitting on the historian's porch, in the center of the 
 village, "Mary Ditcher's" name comes vividly to 
 mind, as methinks I see her wandering through the 
 woods, leading a nondescript of a horse, with knitting 
 in hand, clad in garment chiefly of sheepskin. 
 
 Filled to the danger line with historic reminiscences, 
 •it wasn't for Hiram to forego mention of 1732, when 
 Mrs. Galbraith figured in an election contest, in behalf 
 of her husband's success as a candidate for the Assem- 
 bly. And even now, as I sit before the typewriter, 
 I can see in imagination this courageous home-body 
 mounted on her favorite mare, Nelly, with spur to 
 her ankle, with her red cloak flying to the wind, as 
 away she went scouring the country to win the elec- 
 tion for her own Andrew, and who, when the votes 
 were counted, was elected over his competitor, the 
 invincible Quaker, John Wright. This, among the 
 last of "crumbs swept up," presents at least one 
 striking example of woman's courage and devotion. 
 
 And now, with a gentle hint from the editor-in-chief, 
 I am admonished that, as every story has its be- 
 ginning, so it must have its ending. Thus, with the 
 typewriter showing signs of needful repairs, I am 
 still young, hopeful, if not "red-headed," with a few 
 strands of "gray among the gold." 
 
334 Cherished Memories. 
 
 Looking back over these many eventful years, I see 
 the school houses in which I "kept" school, the many 
 who attended, the friends that I have had, who have 
 either moved away or passed to the unknown beyond. 
 Yes, they all come back vividly, knocking at mem- 
 ory's portals. And as for Mengen, Nancy, the boys 
 and gentle Beckie, the Mennonite maid, I do hope she 
 is living in perfect happiness, with a good husband, 
 with such a "goot" time as every true woman is en- 
 titled to, even among the "Dutch" of the "up" coun- 
 try. 
 
 And now, in conclusion, as I raise the imaginary 
 glass, filled to the brim with brightest hopes and 
 expectations of a glorious hereafter, I can only drink 
 to the good health of all " thirty-seveners " and their 
 families, that they may live long and prosper. 
 
 As a final word of adieu to the patient reader: Of 
 all the cherished memories, the sweetest, dearest, and 
 most lasting, are those which linger around a young, 
 old man's fireside, where, with a kind, loving wife, 
 three boys and two daughters, he has at all times found 
 the home to be the fountain from which all blessings 
 flow.